#but I could tell as I was saying it ‘wait this isn’t an appropriate conversation topic’ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thedreamlessnights · 6 months

Text

Someone to shed some light - pt. 5

Astarion x gn!reader (NSFW)

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: You and Astarion come across the camp, and its discovery adds a complication to the mix. The two of you share an intimate night together.

Warnings: 18+ - Blood drinking, mentions of past abuse. Explicit sexual content. Penetrative sex, fingering, first time sex.

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: As you can see, this chapter is an eventful one. I hope you'll all enjoy! This story is going to get wild, and we're going to start seeing some new (and perhaps familiar) faces 👀 Also, thank you so much to @aerynwrites for making the amazing header image and for looking over this chapter! I appreciate you so much ♥

The thick, awkward silence in the air follows you all the way to the stream - tailing along with you like it’s your shadow.

You’ve never been more grateful to see a body of water in your entire life, and it’s not due to the thirst slowly building in your mouth, or the grime on your skin itching to be cleaned off. It’s because you’re dying to do something that isn’t walking, dying to curb the silence, and dying to think of anything that isn’t Cazador.

How long have the two of you been traveling, now? How long since you’d come across Gandrel? The trees have been too dense to tell the time with any accuracy, but there’s a break of them over the water, and the sun is mid-sky when you glance at its position.

Hours, maybe.

Hours of thinking up a thousand different conversation topics. Trying to find something to fill the deadening quiet. None of them seemed appropriate, though; not in the aftermath of finding out that an evil vampire had enslaved Astarion for two centuries and is now relentlessly hunting him. What could you possibly say after that?

Nothing, you’d eventually decided. You’d say nothing. But that hadn’t made any of it any better.

The camp shouldn’t be far, now. But that can wait.

You sink to your knees on the bank, taking a handful of the mercifully cool water and splashing it over your face. It’s sweet when you bring it to your lips, blissful on your burning-hot skin, and you can’t help letting out a sigh of relief.

“I can’t wait to get out of these woods,” you say softly, more for yourself.

“They were your idea, my sweet,” Astarion replies, somewhere behind you.

“Freedom was my idea,” you combat defensively. “The woods just happened to be a temporary part of that.”

“If you’re planning to run from my mother, then it certainly won’t be temporary,” Astarion says. “I’d become very, very friendly with the woods if I were you.”

You drop your hands, shaking away the remaining water as you try - and fail - to bite away your frustration. “Why can’t she leave me alone? All I want is to go back to my home.”

“And I want to wake every morning with a virgin at my side,” he snipes, every word laced with melodramatic condescension, “but life doesn’t give us what we want.”

This time, your anger cuts through your chest like a knife as you shift to face him. “Well!” you exclaim. “Congratulations then, Astarion, because you do!”

He freezes, a glint in his eye, and you know you’ve made a grave error. “Do I, now?” he purrs. “Interesting.”

You ignore him, turning back to the stream, but your cheeks go hot. “Well?” you finally say. “Are you going to get cleaned up or not?”

To your surprise, he doesn’t respond.

You glance at him and find him staring at the water like it’s a poisonous bog. “Oh, come now, Your Highness. Don’t tell me the stream isn’t good enough for you?”

He scowls at you, but his gaze is quick to flit back to the stream as he speaks. “Running water used to burn like acid, dearest. I’ve never tested if it still does.”

Your mouth snaps shut. No more teasing him, you resolve. It’s only making you look like a complete ass. “Oh,” you finally say.

Astarion sinks down into a squat, hesitantly dipping his fingers into the water and giving a hum. “Well. I suppose that answers that question,” he says, shifting onto his knees.

He’s just as dirty as you feel. Gandrel’s blood is splattered all over him, and the grime of the woods has etched streaks of dirt onto his skin. Somehow, despite all of that, he’s still as beautiful as always. Maybe even more so, like this.

You feel a strange sense of disappointment when he starts rinsing the mess away.

It’s blazing hot out. It was easier to ignore earlier when you were under the shade, but the light is in full effect over the stream, and it’s unavoidable, now. You’re covered in sweat and dirt and the gods know what else. The itch to get clean is maddening.

At first, you try splashing water onto your skin and your filthy shirt, but all it ends up doing is drenching yourself - not cleaning anything at all. You’re left dirty, wet, and frustrated, and, well. Who knows when the next bathing spot will be. You’re already soaked…

You peel off your shoes and socks, get to your feet and take two steps back, then jump in.

The water is freezing cold, but it’s wonderful - euphoric under the pounding sun. It washes away the dirt and blood and sweat with ease, carrying them away as you kick around. The mild current feels like silk over your limbs. For a moment, you even float around on your back, enjoying the peaceful murmur of the water.

Then you remember that you aren’t alone, and you go upright. Astarion is watching you with a mixture of curiosity and disdain, distracted from his task. As soon as he sees you looking, he instantly goes back to trying to clean the stains out of his shirt - which is going about as well for him as it had been for you.

You watch his struggle for a moment before a string of words leave your lips. Words that wouldn’t have come out if you’d taken the time to think about it.

“You should join me!”

He glances at the water. It’s completely clear and a beautiful blue, but that doesn’t seem to matter to him. “Darling,” he says, letting out a haughty laugh, “you want me to jump in there? Only the gods know what’s in that water.”

“You’re using it to clean your shirt,” you point out, “which isn’t going very well, Your Highness. It’ll be the closest thing to a bath for miles.”

He simply scowls in response, and you shake your head.

“Alright,” you relent. “Stay up there in the heat, then, covered in blood and dirt. Just don’t start complaining to me when you start to feel dirty.”

His scowl deepens, but he gives up on the shirt and shifts until he’s sitting on the edge of the bank. “Fine,” he says sharply. He looks down and hesitates, tilting his head. Is he wondering how deep it is? If water used to burn, then he probably hasn’t gone swimming in…

Two centuries.

You let yourself stand, your toes sinking into the mud. The water isn’t much higher than your rib cage, and the crease between Astarion’s brows fades away. Following in your lead, he takes off his boots and socks, then lets himself slide into the water. He grimaces for a moment at the temperature, sinks under the surface, and comes up sopping, wiping water out of his eyes.

You almost feel bad, looking at that silvery mop of curls, but he doesn’t say anything. He simply pushes the mass of wet hair out of his face, then resumes his process of cleaning the blood out of his shirt. Or, trying to. It seems thoroughly fixed into the cream fabric.

For some reason, your attention on him feels like an invasion of a private moment, so you take to making sure you’re cleaned off, averting your gaze - especially when he takes off his shirt to scrub away the stains. The brief flash of porcelain skin you catch has your cheeks blooming with heat; it’s the most you’ve ever seen of him.

To distract yourself, you speak. “I’m surprised you actually got in.”

“Well,” he says. “Unfortunately, my warm baths have been conveniently misplaced. This will have to suffice.”

“Of course,” you mutter, paddling absentmindedly through the water. “For a moment there, I thought you might like something that’s remotely fun. My mistake.”

You’re still turned away, which is why the splash of water that hits you catches you by surprise. “Oh, you bastard,” you gasp, instantly sending another splash back at him.

He pauses, flashing you a wicked grin, and then you’re hit with another one, and another, and another. You’re splashing him back as much as you can and trying to swim away from the splash zone, and he’s splashing you, and you’re both breathless and calling taunts into the air. The sun is in your eyes, and water is in your lungs, and for a brief, blissful moment, it’s like all your worries have slipped away.

When the two of you are finally worn out, muscles aching, you push your way to the shore and lay on the grass, trying to catch your breath as your eyes flutter shut. The sun is golden and warm overhead, and with your now-drenched clothes, it feels wonderful.

A moment after you’ve gotten out, Astarion joins you. You hear the light thump of his wet shirt landing on the grass next to you, and then he’s sighing. “Gods - it’s hopeless,” he mutters. “Hopefully one of those Zhentarim knew something about fashion.”

His footsteps head back to his pack, but the feeling of warm sun on your skin is relaxing enough to keep you where you are as he digs around. When he stalls, you finally sit up, coughing some of the leftover water out of your lungs. Another joke is poised on your lips, but when you catch sight of his back, the words turn to ash on your tongue.

The soft pink lines seem like an intricate tattoo at first, but as your eyes continue to take it in, you realize that the skin is raised - far too much to ever be a tattoo. Scars. They’re scars.

You only see them for that brief moment before Astarion has found a new shirt and pulled it over himself, blocking out the sight of them, but even after they’re gone, the markings burn under your eyelids.

He turns to face you, and when he sees your face, the lightheartedness in his eyes immediately fades to something sharper. He knows you’ve seen.

“Your back,” you say softly. “It must have been painful.”

He looks away. “A gift from Cazador,” he says, his voice surprisingly soft. “A poem. He spent the night carving it into me.” He pauses, and pain flashes over his eyes. “He made a lot of adjustments as he went.”

You briefly think to yourself that - evil, powerful vampire or not - if you ever come face-to-face with Cazador Szarr, you’ll tear him to shreds with your bare hands.

Gods. You want to say that you’re sorry, but you already know Astarion won’t take it well. He clearly despises pity, and you’re not going to give it to him.

Instead, you get to your feet, ignoring the way your drenched clothes now stick to you, and head to your pack. “Why didn’t your mother kill him?”

He scoffs. “Believe me, she tried. Unfortunately, killing a vampire isn’t exactly easy. Rescuing me was the main priority, and, honestly? It was a miracle she even managed that.”

You nod, picking at a loose string on your sleeve. “Do you have any idea where he is now?”

“Baldur’s Gate, no doubt,” he replies stiffly. “In his ridiculous palace. He’s a Lord, you know.”

Ridiculous palace. It’s an ironic thing for him to say, but then you recall that Astarion probably doesn’t enjoy Erelin’s palace, either. Then, very much delayed, the reality of his words sinks in. “Hold on. You mean to say that there’s an evil vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate, and no one knows?”

“Oh, some do; they just don’t care,” he says, tilting his head. “You see - it’s all about power. He has a fair amount, and people will do anything to get even a taste of it. You should see his servants. They come to the door, begging for his eternal gift, and they’re stupid enough to think he’ll give it to them if they work hard enough.”

The concept of that is sickening. You fear nothing more than being thrown back into your personal prison, and here people are, volunteering to be in one - and one that’s far, far worse than yours, at that. All for what? Immortality? It doesn’t even remotely appeal to you.

From the look on his face, Astarion feels the same way.

Gods. You can’t even imagine what he’s experienced; not even half of it. Everything you’ve been through pales in drastic comparison to his two centuries of torture. Shame sweeps deep through your gut, dark and oozing, and it’s all you can do to not despise yourself.

Still - he complains about the petty things more than you do. And he hadn’t faulted you for wanting to run. He’d just told you not to bother, because you’d be caught.

“I don’t understand them,” you remark quietly, gathering up your things. “I can’t… imagine wanting something so much I’d give up my freedom for it.”

He shakes his head, and something reproachful paints itself into his expression. “Power is addictive, dearest. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

You sling your pack over your shoulder once more, and Astarion follows in your lead. “Well,” you say, “I suppose we’d better see what that camp is all about.”

You smell the camp before you see it.

The smoke you’d seen yesterday has faded in the air, but the smell of it is present: a distant, hazy odor that lingers in the forest. You and Astarion squat down to be safe, observing from behind the treeline, and it becomes immediately clear what it is.

Banners of silver and blue - those are Calthirian colors. This is your kingdom. What’s left of it, at least.

You’d been right. This rebellion is a prominent force, from the looks of it. No wonder Erelin had married you off instead of fighting. Still, it makes you wary to go waltzing straight into the place, expecting everything to turn out right. A level of paranoia lays over your skin like sweat, making it hard to think clearly. What if someone recognizes you? Do they know what you look like?

“Well,” Astarion remarks, “I suppose we’ve received our answer. And now that we have, we should be on our merry way.”

“Unfortunately,” you murmur in agreement. “You don’t think they’d give us directions to the nearest village?” It’s a long shot, and mostly a joke, but having traveled all this way to leave no better off is a sinking disappointment.

“They’d sooner recruit us,” Astarion answers. “Or kill us.”

You stare for a moment longer, then shake your head. “All right - new plan, then. We get the hells away from here. I’ll scale another tree and see if I can see anything.”

Astarion frowns, but doesn’t seem to have any better ideas. He follows silently as you creep through the woods, watching out for any nearby scouts.

You don’t like this place. It feels ominous, in a way.

Your breathing doesn’t return to normal until you’re a decent amount away, and you can’t help feeling like you’ve narrowly avoided something awful. Astarion stays on the ground while you climb another tree, and this time, the forest provides something very useful to you.

A city. Your city.

Baldur’s Gate, in all her glory, lies in the distance. It’ll take days, maybe even a week, to get there - but gods, is the sight of her a relief. Warm beds. Familiar faces. These days, there’s not many people you trust, but the ones you do are all in Baldur’s Gate. If you’re ever going to find any true escape, it’s there.

And, you think, your stomach sinking, there’ll be Ancunín outposts for Astarion to get back to his mother.

Astarion is pacing along the base of the tree when you hop down again, and his eyes brighten when he looks at you. “Gods. You saw something, didn’t you?”

“Baldur’s Gate,” you tell him, unable to mask the smile that spreads over your lips. “It’s a few days away, but it’s there.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Astarion sighs. “I couldn’t take much more of this.”

But you know what he’s really saying. He’ll finally get back to safety.

The two of you will have to have a talk sooner or later. You aren’t sure if he’s expecting you to return with him, and you’re not keen on arguing with him. You don’t want to leave him, but if it comes down to it - you can’t go back to Erelin.

Can’t, not won’t. It’s not even a choice. Every part of you rejects the suggestion like an unsuccessful transplant; every inch of you viscerally objects to returning to that palace. You’d bring him with you if you could, but you know that he’d never feel safe. Not while Cazador is out there, hunting for him.

The realization sombers the air as the two of you continue, skirting your way around the camp and in the direction of the city. You do a bit more hunting, and so does Astarion. Your food cooks in silence as the sun starts to set, and he seems to be lost in thought - just like you are.

When the crunch of a nearby branch sounds, the two of you leap two your feet without a second thought, reaching for your weapons. When you see who it is, your knife tumbles out of your hand.

“Cal?”

He looks more worn down than you’ve ever seen him, but it’s undeniably him. Chestnut hair. Grey eyes. A full, trim beard. He’s dressed in Calthirian colors, and his eyes widen in recognition as he stares at you, looking like he can’t believe you’re real.

“By the gods, is that really you?” he asks. “How? When? Last I heard, you’d returned to the queen’s palace - we’ve been trying to find a way to get you out, but - well, it doesn’t matter. You’re here! You’re really here!”

He glances behind you, and when he sees Astarion, he pauses. His eyes trail over the wedding rings you both wear, and the blood drains out of his face. “Oh no,” he says softly, taking a step back. His expression hardens, and his hand flits toward the sword at his belt. “No, no, no. Tell me that is not who I think it is.”

“Oh, him?” you say quickly. “This is Lirien. He helped me escape.”

“Of course it is,” Cal replies flatly. “Instead of Astarion Ancunín.” He shakes his head. “You think I can’t tell when you’re lying? I raised you! Gods - why? Why in the hells would you bring him? Do you have any idea what people will do when they find out?”

Astarion scowls. “I can hear you, you know,” he says.

Cal ignores him. “What am I going to tell them?” he mutters to himself, pacing, looking like he might topple over. “What am I going to do?”

“Nothing,” you say adamantly. “Cal? They’re not going to hear about it. Not about me, and not about him. Alright? We’re leaving.”

But Cal, instead of softening for you like he usually does, simply clenches his jaw. “You can’t be serious. This camp has been searching for a way to get you out for the last month,” he says. “We’ve lost… hundreds of men. They’re planning to mount a rescue mission for you, two days from now! Of course I’m going to tell them you’re here!”

“Well, I got myself out before they did,” you tell him, even though that isn’t really true. “And now, I’m going.”

Cal stares at you, incredulous. “What the hells did they do to you?” he asks. “Brainwashing? Torture?” He shakes his head in disbelief, then steps closer. “I won’t hide you. You were born to rule, understand? I raised you better than this.”

He mutters something under his breath before you can respond, and your and Astarion’s weapons fly toward him, falling neatly at his feet. You start forward, but Cal has snatched them up before you can make a grab for them. You have another knife in your bag, but - gods, do you really have it in you to kill him? Even now?

Before you can decide, he’s reciting another incantation. Warmth blooms on your skin, and something electric fills the air, hazing the air and tickling the inside of your lungs.

“What was that?” you ask, flinching at the sensation. “What did you do?”

“A tracking spell - over the both of you. It’ll tell us where you are even if you run. Don’t go trying anything. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

This side of him is something you don’t know, not even a little, and it breaks you. Betrayal cuts through you like a knife, etching permanently into a sharp, painful spot between your ribs. Something sours on your tongue.

You’re a pawn. You always have been, even to him. Erelin had been bad enough, but this? Cal cares more about your position than he does you. It hurts so much that you think something in you might actually rip apart and spill out of your gut, seeping into the grass below.

You have to swallow down the nausea to speak, but the slime of this situation coats your throat and your words when you talk. “Wait until tomorrow,” you request. “Give me one more night away from them. Please.”

He sighs. “I don’t have much of a choice in that. Aris won’t be back until morning anyhow. Come on, you two - I’ll get you situated.”

He starts off toward the camp, but neither you nor Astarion follow after him. Your mind is flying over thoughts at a thousand miles per minute, trying to think of what to do. Gods, what in the hells are you going to do?

“If I have to get the guards to drag you, I will,” Cal calls. “You’ll spend the night in chains. Come willingly, and you’ll get a tent. It’s your choice.”

You start walking. Your hands are shaking like a leaf. You look to Astarion, whose expression has tightened, who looks even more pale than usual. He’s scared, and you are, too. You have no idea what the hells these people want from you. Cal may have taken your weapons, but there’s still the other knife in your bag. Astarion has his teeth, and there’s two of you…

Astarion meets your eyes curiously, and his gaze flits over to Cal, raising his brows. His intention is clear, and it's the same thing you’ve been thinking to yourself. After a moment of torturous internal debate, you nod.

What had you once thought to yourself? That you were willing to do anything for freedom? Gods. Apparently, you are.

You’re just bracing yourself for a fight when the flicker of torches passes through the trees, and you hear the chatter of voices. More men, and from the look of it, they’re all armed. “Cal, is that you?” one calls, lifting his torch higher in the approaching dark so he can see. “New recruits?”

All hope left in you dies at the sight of them. Astarion tenses at your side, his hands clenching into fists. Shit, you think. Shit, shit, shit. They’re going to take you both, and you’re completely fucking helpless to stop it.

“Yes. Another round,” Cal says casually. It occurs to you that he probably doesn’t want to announce your identity right off the bat, and you can’t decide whether or not you’re grateful for it.

“Aris will be happy to hear that,” the guard replies. “With the siege, we need everyone we can get. You’re sure they can be trusted?”

Cal glances back at you, smiling grimly. “Positive.”

“Good.”

The two of you are escorted all the way to the camp, and the guards trail away when you reach the outskirts. “This way,” Cal says, leading the two of you to one of the empty tents. “There’s room for both of you, since you seem so fond of each other.”

You stare at the tent, wanting nothing more than to tear through it like a rabid animal.

“Don’t be like that,” Cal implores. “Whatever they did to you, we’ll reverse it. We’ll get you back as you were, hm?” He waits for you to respond, but you don’t. If you do, you think you might actually lose your mind.

“Alright,” he finally sighs. “Feel free to explore camp, get something to eat, but don’t go past the outer torches. If I wake tomorrow and don’t find you here, the whole of this camp will come after you. Understand?”

You swallow hard, your nails piercing into your palms. “Fuck you, Cal.”

He shakes his head and turns away - but as he moves past you, you catch a flash of movement by his pack. You say nothing, and he’s gone before he’s noticed. You and Astarion are left in front of the tent, alone.

Well. Here you are.

The tent is larger than you’d expected when you retreat into it, Astarion following after you and sheathing the dagger he’d stolen. There are two bedrolls, some blankets and pillows, and a large amount of space to the side. No amount of blankets and pillows can make any of this better.

Silence falls, sour and agonizing. You want to throw up. You want to drink yourself to death. You want to cry. And you really, really want to punch something.

“So…” Astarion says slowly. “I suppose we’ve met each other’s parents, now.”

You let out a laugh, but it’s bitter. “And what lovely introductions we’ve had.”

His brows pinch in feigned offense. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

You try to smile, but it falls flat. You’re so angry it feels like fire is bursting from your chest. Pressing your face into your hands, you try to breathe, wanting this not to be real - please, gods, don’t be real - but it is. You can smell the torches burning in the distance and feel the soft breeze that’s pressing through the partially-open flap of the tent.

Astarion sighs, then pushes the flap to the side and crawls through.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“To find something to make this situation bearable,” he says, and then he’s gone.

You don’t think he’s foolish enough to fight against the tracking spell with nothing but a dagger, but it doesn’t stop anxiety from fluttering in your gut.

You can’t stand sitting still, so you leave, too - not following after him, just restless. Drifting.

For a long while, you wander aimlessly around the camp, trailing from place to place with no destination. A person or two gives you an odd look, but you really don’t give a damn. Your problems are much larger than some strangers and their opinions. All of it will turn irrelevant come morning.

Is it fury you feel, seeping so darkly through you? Has your anger turned ice-cold? It’s as if your life has all been an illusion, some kind of cruel trick. Was any of it real? Did Cal ever really care about you, or were you simply a means to an end?

You often try not to think about your parents, but you allow yourself to do so now. Would they approve of this? Would they have wanted this for you, if they were here? Or would you be nothing more than a pawn to them, too?

You don’t know. You’re starting to wonder if there’s anyone who’s ever really cared for you.

The approach of velvet-blue sky brings you wandering back to your assigned tent. It’s different than it had been before - but you can’t recognize quite how. Not until you get inside, at least.

Astarion has set up a meal: candles and wine and much fancier food than was in your packs or at the ration stations. You stall at the opening, and he nods for you to come in. You take a seat across from him, admiring his work. With the tent closed, it almost feels private. You can almost forget the camp out there, even for just a moment.

“What’s all this?” you ask.

He hands you a goblet, and you take it without another thought. “Well, darling,” he says softly, “I thought we should enjoy our last night of freedom. Who knows where we’ll be come morning.”

You press the glass to your lips and drink, finding a dark, heady wine on your tongue. “We didn’t have wine,” you recall to yourself. “Where the hells did you get this?”

“Oh, you know,” Astarion sighs, waving a dismissive hand. “Around.”

This time, it’s a real smile that overtakes you. “Just like that dagger?”

“Of course,” he says, tilting his head. A mirroring smile plays on his lips, and he takes a sip of his wine. “If he didn’t want it taken, he shouldn’t have had it out in the open. Besides,” he adds, rolling a shoulder, “I was only returning it to its rightful owner.”

You shake your head. “I still can’t believe he did that. I never thought he was capable of… anything even similar to that. I thought he - cared. About me.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Astarion replies, but there’s a quiet sympathy on his face. “Especially if they intend for you to rule, which they almost certainly do.”

“Of course.” Your throat tightens, and you take another sip of wine. You feel drawn so incredibly tight. It’s like a part of you is waiting to burst.

“So,” Astarion muses, swirling the glass around, “our last night of freedom. Any idea what you want to do with it, my sweet?”

You let out a huff, staring down at your wine. “Aside from blowing this entire gods damned camp up?” You let out a shaky exhale. “No idea.”

“No?” he asks. “No lifelong list? Something you’ve always wanted to try?”

There must be a thousand things you want to do while you still can, but none of them are coming to mind. You’re wound as tight as a rope, fuming, and would give absolutely anything to stop thinking.

When you shake your head, Astarion leans forward, setting down his glass. “Nothing comes to mind?”

“I - I don’t know. All I can think about is how… angry I am. I don’t know what I want.”

“Then allow me to make a suggestion, darling,” he says, taking the wine out of your hand, neatly setting it on the chest he’s using as a makeshift table. He leans forward, trailing his thumb along your cheek, and something in your stomach jumps. “We’re here, aren’t we? We might as well take the opportunity to distract ourselves.”

“Astarion-”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice low and honeyed. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’ve felt those little… trembles of excitement when my teeth are in your neck.” He pauses, tilting his head, and another smile plays on the corners of his lips. “No need to be coy,” he purrs. “Your body has already given you away.”

And you do want it. You want it so badly that you can hardly stand it. “And what about you?”

“What?” he asks, frowning. “What about me?”

“What do you want?”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Gods. Isn’t that obvious?” he asks, “I want you.”

You’re caught between the ever-growing want now steadily coursing through you and - something else. Something you don’t recognize. “If you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure,” he insists, frustration bleeding into his voice as he pulls back to look at you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You give him a half-hearted smile. “Well, for one, I’ve never done this before. Remember?”

The frustration bleeds out of his face, and the line that’s been creased between his brows disappears. “Please,” he says incredulously. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Haven’t you heard of vampires preferring virgins?”

Something flutters in your gut at his words, at the heated way he’s taking you in. “Alright, then, vampire,” you say, before your fears can suck you in. “Do what you will with me.”

His eyes darken. “Oh, I most certainly will,” he murmurs.

He leans in, and his lips meet yours, fragrant with honeyed wine, ardent and sweet. Gentle at first, but that quickly becomes a haze of need - his hand tightening on your cheek, your hand tightening on his shirt.

Gods, you think. Kissing Astarion is like hearing a new melody and knowing that it will never leave your mind. The kiss you’d shared at the wedding has already haunted your mind plenty, but this? This is incomparable. Electric. He coaxes your mouth open with ease, and arousal shoots down your back like a bolt of lightning. When his tongue brushes against yours, every muscle in your body goes slack.

In the midst of everything, you’re still inexperienced. Your hands don’t know what to do or where to go. One settles on his shoulder, the other keeps itself clutched in his shirt. You can’t tell if it’s right, but if it’s wrong, Astarion doesn’t say.

He places his free hand at your side, using it to stabilize himself as he crawls over you, still kissing you, straddling your legs with his hips. Then that hand is at your waist, and his lips are at your neck, and you’re letting out a soft, wanting noise.

He huffs, kissing up your jaw, gently nipping at the sensitive flesh of your earlobe. “Eager little thing, aren’t you?” he hums.

And what the hells are you supposed to say to that? Of course you’re eager. You’ve been wanting him for ages. The building need between your legs says that more than enough. You’re viciously turned on, and the smugness of his voice isn’t helping, but there’s still an awkwardness to the situation.

You have no idea what you’re doing. You can’t tell if anything you want is remotely right. In between the pleasure and passion, there’s a building anxiety that’s becoming more and more prominent. It’s distracting you from what he’s doing, which is leaving you nothing but frustrated.

“You’re thinking too much. Relax, darling,” Astarion murmurs, pulling away. “Close your eyes for me.”

And you do. You take one last look at him, so impossibly beautiful in the warm candlelight. His curls have dried tousled from the river, his eyes are half-lidded and dark, and there’s a certain amount of expectancy laced in his gaze that makes you shiver. Then, satisfied that you’ve enclosed the image to memory, you shut your eyes. The darkness helps, you think. A little.

“Good,” Astarion praises, and his lips return to your neck. He takes your hands and places them at his waist, and you’re more than happy to keep them there as he kisses down your jaw. In the darkness of your closed eyes, every touch becomes intensified. Every thought begins to slip away in favor of the feeling of him.

Sharp teeth, grazing along sensitive skin. The icy touch of his skin, sating the scorch of the arousal that shudders through your veins. The soft, almost ticklish brush of his curls against your neck as he kisses along your clavicle. The moment his hands stall at your top, your breath hitches, and your body flinches - an automatic defense you’ve ingrained over the years.

But you want him to touch you. You want this. So you take in a steadying breath and compel your muscles to relax, and he continues - not teasingly slow, but not rushed, either. Taking his time with you.

You’d thought he was beautiful when you first met, but you have to admit: you’re glad that your first time with him, as horrible as the outside circumstances are, is happening here, and not on your wedding night, when you were so hesitant of him. You wouldn’t have enjoyed it, then, even if he’d been the exact same with you. But now?

Gods, you’re enjoying it. And, judging by the growing hardness between his legs, he’s enjoying it too.

You’d like to think you’re a patient person, but you really aren’t. The more your want grows, the more your impatience does as well. Your breathing has turned heavy, and as his hands, slowly taking on your warmth, grasp lightly over your ribs, the rhythm of your lungs turns shaky - your entire body singing in want for something you’ve never even experienced.

Just as you’re truly getting desperate, he pulls away again, his hands trailing along your abdomen as he nips at your ear. “You poor thing,” he says, his voice light and teasing. “How did you stand it all this time, alone with me?”

You open your eyes and find him staring down at you, observing the sight of you. You shake your head, failing to bite away the smile that’s threatening to show itself. “Sex wasn’t exactly my priority in the middle of the woods, Astarion. The circumstances were awful.”

“True,” he remarks, tilting his head. His fingers graze over your thigh, still clothed with fabric, but you almost can pretend you don’t know better. “Still,” he says softly, his hands stalling at your lower navel, “here’s hoping we’ll get more time to enjoy this.”

Before he continues undressing you, he pauses, and that crease between his brows forms again. “Just to be clear,” he says, “you do want this?”

Your response is immediate, albeit breathy with want. “I do.”

He flashes you a grin, suddenly wicked. “Good.”

To your dismay, he crawls off of you, but it’s immediately remedied when he places his hands on your shoulder and eases you to the soft floor of the tent, coaxing your legs apart with his knee.

Any clothes you’re still wearing are quickly disposed of, and needless to say, being so naked while he’s still fully clothed leaves you feeling entirely too vulnerable. “Planning to take me with your clothes on?” you ask, and he pauses, blinking - shaking his head, as if shaking away a stray thought. “Of course not,” he says, the corner of his lips tugging into a smile. “Simply admiring the view, darling.”

His shirt comes off, first, tugged over his head. All silky-smooth skin that you want to trail your hands over, admire inch by inch. Gods, he’s beautiful, shadows reflecting over lithe muscle, supple skin and unearthly beauty you shouldn’t be able to touch. But you are. You gently lift a hand to him, running your fingers over his forearm, and he smiles, undoing his trousers.

Your entire body tenses in anticipation of him, but your gaze can’t stay in place. It meets his for a moment, taking in the dark ruby color of his eyes. It flickers over his nimble fingers, studies the tendons in his hands, dances over his chest and abdomen. Something stirs in you, something that aches well beyond the temporary arousal, something that cuts deeper. It’s something that, selfishly, wants him to stay. Wants him to curl next to you in the nights, wants him to leave his mother behind and continue on with you.

An impossible want, but it’s still there. After this, where will it leave the two of you?

You aren’t sure - but if this is the only chance you’re going to get at it, you’re damn well going to take it. Astarion leans over you, kissing you softly, and then his talented fingers are going to work between your thighs. They work a smooth, blissful friction that you’ve never been able to achieve by yourself - and, though the anxious rooting inside of you wants to shut your eyes, you don’t. You hold his gaze.

For just a moment, he looks almost distant, but his eyes clear - and something darkens in his gaze as he looks at you. He props over you, watching you as you squirm in pleasure, his lips slightly parted.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and you nearly come apart right there. You don’t, though. He pulls his hand away and you’re left shuddering, panting and aching. Then, he moves closer, places a hand on your thigh to coax your legs apart, and works a finger into you.

His hands are warm by now, but - gods. The feeling of him, compared to your feeble attempts, is nearly shameful. He takes his time with this - goes slow, watching your face intently. He doesn’t want to hurt you, you realize.

Your impatience is less now, as he increases it to two, then three; the stretch, despite his best efforts, is bordering on painful. The almost-pain fades the further he goes on, bleeding into something else that’s so intensely pleasurable you want to beg him to just take you.

When he finally stops, he tilts his head. “Oh, you’re ready for me, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice silky and low.

“Please,” comes your response.

“Darling, no need to beg,” he says. “I won’t keep you waiting.”

And he doesn’t. He props himself over you, lowering himself to kiss you, and your leg hitches around his waist. His skin is warm from touching yours, but it’s cold where your arms move to wrap around his neck. You’re mindful of his scars, because you doubt he likes them touched, and he brushes his nose against your cheek as he pushes into you. Slowly, again, but you’re not going to complain. There’s that wash of pain again, and then - oh, gods. Pleasure. Delicious, blissful friction. Your chest heaves and your mouth lets out a loud, needy sound.

Only then do you remember you’re in the middle of camp, but honestly? You’re so removed at this point that you don’t even care. If all of Calthir hears you getting fucked to the heavens by their enemy prince, so be it. Cal’s probably fucked off to somewhere else anyway, no doubt burdened by guilt. He has to feel some sort of guilt, doesn’t he?

“Gods,” Astarion pants, drawing you back to the present as he slowly deepens his thrusts. You swallow hard, watching the crease of pleasure form between his brows, studying the flash of fangs between his lips. You’re drunk on pleasure, the feel of him, the tiny solitude in this tent that separates you from the rest of the world. He kisses you again, and this time it’s heated, desperate, messy.

His tongue molds against yours, his fangs graze your lip. Gods, his pace is picking up. Your muscles are starting to tense - the flushed warmth that’s building under your skin is growing. He lets out a soft moan and grips your shoulder, and you instinctively tilt your head for him, giving him access to your neck.

He studies your expression for a moment, as if he’s confirming what you’re offering, and then - gods. He sinks his fangs into your neck.

If you’d thought the practice was intimate before, it’s so much more now. You barely even feel the pain of the piercing skin - all you feel is him tasting you, groaning into your skin, his hips still rolling evenly.

He only takes a little, but when he pulls away, there’s that rosy flush to his cheeks. When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on him, metallic iron. His movements are less graceful, now. His gaze is dark and intense, and his grip on you is stronger when he takes your shoulder again, thrusting harder - enough to have you tensing, the both of you panting.

When the pleasure finally takes you, it’s so intense it’s almost painful. It starts somewhere deep within, working its way through you, singing through your veins until the world blurs at the edges. Blinding, white-hot waves of it ebb and flow through you, taking you away from every sensation but that of Astarion, skin balmy against yours - floating somewhere in the depths of your mind until you finally come down.

Astarion shudders through his climax just after you, letting out a sudden, wanting noise - as if it’s been punched out of him. As if it had surprised him, just the way it had surprised you. You want to memorize it. You want to take that sound and remember it forever.

When it’s all passed, you’re left covered in sweat, sated, and very, very vulnerable. The arousal that had drifted away your insecurities is waning, and you’re left wanting to hide - to crawl away. But Astarion gently kisses you, carefully pulling out of you, and exhaustion takes over instead.

The Gur. Finding out about Cazador. Cal’s betrayal. All of that in one day, and it’s taking its toll. Your eyes feel heavy. Your muscles feel achy and worn out. Your thoughts are clouded over, too intertwined and complicated to drag apart when you’re like this.

You sit up and grab a stray rag, intending to clean yourself, but Astarion tugs it out of your fingers. “No, darling, let me,” he says.

And you do.

He confuses you - that he can be so vicious and so tender. He’d killed Gandrel without hesitation, without remorse - though, admittedly, you’d let him. Let him. As if you had some control over him. As if you could have stopped him. It should scare you, perhaps - that callous, venomous side of him - but it doesn’t. The rough edges of him you keep finding only make you want him more. The details don’t sate you. You always want more.

And now, you suppose you’ll find out what comes next.

The tent is silent. You fumble through your pack and find your sleeping clothes, and Astarion does the same. You’re hesitant, not wanting to push too far. You know very well sex doesn’t mean anything more - however much you might want more - and you know for certain that Astarion had not offered you anything aside from that. Still, the thought of curling up alone tonight has your chest aching.

When you finish dressing, you find that Astarion has pulled the two bedrolls together, fluffed up by the pillows and blankets. He raises a brow and pats the spot next to him, and it’s really very childish, the way your chest fills with a delirious sort of joy. You make your way next to him, and he folds you into his arms.

His skin is cool again. The little sounds of him are relaxing - the movements of his ribs when he breathes, the bob of his throat when he swallows, the light sigh he lets out when his head meets the pillow. It almost makes up for the silence in his chest. The void of sound where a beating heart should be.

For just a moment, before sleep pulls you away, you wonder if he remembers how it felt - to have something alive, thrumming in his chest.

tags: @amica-aenigmata-naboo @sadslasher13 @peachy-possum @the-lonely-abyss @maddiedrmr @starved-kitten @catching-fire-in-the-wind @aoirohi @g0retash

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x you #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 x reader #mywriting

249 notes · View notes

feyhunter78 · 6 months

Text

Pink Pastels Pt 34

Description: You and Miguel have dinner with your mother and things get intense. TW: mentions of pregnancy and vomiting Final chapter

You sit in the dimly lit corner of the restaurant, Miguel’s hand resting on your knee, a half empty wine glass in front of you.

“She’s never late, this isn’t like her.” You say, checking your phone once more, mere minutes have passed, but your anxiety has your stomach tied into knots.

“Maybe that’s all part of her therapy?” Miguel offers, his own wine glass in his hand, a deep red wine, darkened by the low mood lighting of the restaurant.

“Being late?” You snort.

“Allowing herself to relax and not abide by overly strict timelines.” He explains, taking a sip of his wine, then setting it down on the pristine white tablecloth.

“I guess I could see that…” You say, picking up your glass and swirling it around before taking a long drink of it. You didn’t want your mother to ask why you weren’t drinking, so you had the waiter bring your mocktail in a wine glass.

Miguel cups your cheek, turning your head gently, so you’re looking at him, his warm brown eyes, and familiar touch grounding you. “You worry too much, mi vida, it’s not good for the baby.”

“How can I not be worried?” You say, your hand coming up to cover his.

“Y/N, so sorry we’re late, we got a little sidetracked.” Your mother’s voice rings out, accompanied by the scrape of two chairs being pulled out.

You brace yourself, turning to face her—wait, we’re ?

Instead of just your mother sitting across from you, a man sits beside her. He’s tall, around her age, dressed appropriately for the occasion, but he’s a stranger, sitting at your table, next to your mother.

“What can I say, I just can’t keep my hands off you, Tiff.” The man said, giving her a wide grin.

“Mother, who is this?” You ask, forcing a polite smile onto your face.

“Oh, this is my fiancé, John.” She says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I didn’t—you didn’t tell me that you were bringing a guest.” You tell her, shooting daggers at her with your eyes.

“That’s my fault, kiddo, I wanted it to be a surprise.” John says, throwing an arm over your mother’s shoulders.

“Miguel O’Hara, y/n’s husband, pleasure to meet you, John.” Miguel says, reaching over the table to shake John’s hand.

“Pleasure’s all mine, I couldn’t wait to meet the man who makes your little y/n so happy.” John says, shaking Miguel’s hand, that wide smile still on his face.

“Our little y/n? I’m sorry, have we met before?” You ask, the shock still settling in your mind, your thoughts scattered.

“No, no, but Tiff has been telling me all about you, I already feel like we’re going to have a great daddy daughter relationship.”

You blink owlishly at him, stunned.

“How did you two meet?” Miguel interjects, the hand on your knee squeezing reassuringly, keeping you in your seat.

“Oh, we’ve been friends forever, but about a year or so ago we reconnected.” Tiffany says, smiling at John.

“And since then, it’s been happily ever after.” He says, taking her hand in his.

“We’re actually getting married soon, that’s why I wanted to have this dinner.”

You laugh, a short bitter huff, but your mother and John are saved by the appearance of the waiter.

After you all order, Miguel steers the conversation away from the wedding, asking John what he does for work, he’s an accountant, does he have any children, no, which is why he’s so excited to connect with y/n, what does he do in his spare time, whatever Tiff likes to do, he just loves her so much.

You feel like you’re going crazy, your mind running a million miles an hour as you try to piece together the information you’ve just been given.

“Now, now, enough boy talk, I want to discuss our wedding. It will be in a beautiful chapel, and y/n of course you’ll be my maid of honor, and we want Gabry to be the flower girl—”

“Gabi, my daughter’s name is Gabi .” You cut her off, hand wrapped tighter around the stem of your wine glass.

“Gabi, yes, whatever. We want Gabi to be the flower girl, it’ll be such a show of support.” Tiffany says, waving her hand in the air dismissively.

“Support?”

“Yes, it’ll show everyone that you support my new marriage. We’ll dress her up so adorably, and I’ll introduce her to everyone, my granddaughter who loves her grandmother so much, everyone will love it.”

The waiter brings the food, and you tuck in, grateful to have an excuse to not talk.

Since finding out you’re pregnant, you’ve thankfully been craving relatively normal meals, your baby’s favorite being chicken alfredo. Miguel made sure the restaurant had said meal and that it was good ahead of time, which you may or may not have cried about. You blame that on the hormones, though.

“I would want Gabi to be more familiar with the both of you before I agree to her taking on such a big job.” Miguel says, his voice tight, as he cuts your chicken into smaller pieces for you.

You thank him quietly, and continue eating, ignoring the look your mother gives you.

You would definitely describe Miguel as protective, but it’s in his nature, he’s Spiderman he knows how dangerous the city can be. And once he found out you were pregnant? It’s like someone flipped a switch. If you were treated like a princess before, now you’re treated like a queen. Not that you mind at all.

“All she has to do is throw flower petals and walk in a straight line, isn’t she six years old? Can she not do that?” Tiffany asks, her fragrant fish dish floating towards your nose, your stomach churning.

“She’s seven, almost eight, and yes she can do that, but Miguel is right, we want Gabi to be more comfortable with you two first.” You reiterate, voice unwavering, tone edged with finality as you wipe your mouth with your napkin and hope it’ll block out the smell.

“That makes sense, kids can get nervous with things like weddings.” John says. He’s eating some blue cheese nightmare that makes you want to vomit just looking at it.

“Exactly.” Miguel says, his eyes darting to you when you lean back in your chair, your hand resting on your throat.

“I’m thinking orange for my bridesmaid dresses, and I will be inviting your father, and his…whor—wife.”

“Oh, that will be nice.” You say, bile rising in your throat, when your mother cuts another piece of fish and holds it up to John.

The smell washes over you, your nerves, the shock, and a million other things making you sick churn together in your stomach turning it into a choppy sea, waves crashing and swelling, threatening to choke you.

“Cariño? Are you alright?” Miguel asks quietly, his thumb caressing the inside of your knee reassuringly.

“I—sorry, just give me a second.” You push out of your chair, and dash off to the bathroom, barely making it into a stall before you throw up, coughing and gasping, your throat burning.

There’s luckily no one else in the bathroom, just you, the small puff of an automatic air freshener and soft Italian music playing over the speaker. It’s cooler in here, the air conditioner working better in a smaller space, the cold tiles against your knees.

You grab some toilet paper and wipe your mouth, flushing the toilet and standing up, hand pressed to the side of the stall to steady yourself. Resting your hand on your stomach, you close your eyes and breath in and out through your nose, willing the wave of nausea to recede.

Once it does, you rinse your mouth with some water and fix your makeup, staring at yourself in the mirror. You’re three, almost four months along, barely showing, which is a godsend considering you’ve been able to hide it from most everyone. Of course, Miguel and Gabi knew Tia Margo, Monica and Brett, your parents, your brother, your friends at work, but your kids don’t know, and neither does your mother. Though she might know now if Miguel doesn’t come up with a good excuse.

Pushing the door of the bathroom open, you collect yourself and head back to the table.

“Everything okay?” John asks. He seems genuinely concerned, and if it wasn’t for his daddy-daughter comment, you’d almost call him a decent guy.

“Yes, yes, sorry.” You smile, taking your seat.

“I was telling them about the stomach bug that’s been going through the school.” Miguel says, intertwining his fingers with yours. Your food is already boxed up, Miguel as well.

“He said it was best if you two went home, but I told him I wanted to hear that from you.” Tiffany says, leaning forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t like how controlling he is, it’s never too late you can come home with us.”

Miguel’s grip on your hand tightens and you see red.

“Are you fucking kidding me? How dare you? Miguel is a wonderful husband, and you’re just a crazy bitch who can’t be fucking happy for me.” You snap, standing abruptly, yanking Miguel with you.

“Y/N, cariño, por favor, vámonos a casa.” Miguel whispers, grabbing your boxed food and putting it in the plastic bag provided by the restaurant. Trsl: Y/N sweetheart, please, let’s just go home.

“I’m not going to your fucking wedding to this rando, and our daughter is not going to be paraded about, so you can lie to all your friends. You will never have a granddaughter that loves you so much, you don’t even have a daughter that loves you.” You’re seething, Miguel’s hand in yours keeping you from doing something drastic.

“We’re going to leave, wonderful to meet you both.” Miguel says hurriedly, guiding you out of the restaurant and into the car. He buckles you in and then slips into his own seat.

After a while, he speaks. “Are you alright?”

You nod. “Yeah, she just gets under my skin so easily, and I hate it.”

“She was awful, and she sprung so many things on you, I don’t blame you for your reaction.” Miguel assures you, one hand settling on your stomach.

“I just never want to see her again.”

TL: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @needsleep3000, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @youcantseem3, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq, @rexs-wife, @sukaretto-n, @twilight-loveer, @f1shb0nez, @callsign-blue, @marcelineormars

#meg's writing #miguel’s pastels #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x you

163 notes · View notes

lfghughes · 11 months

Note

jack being overprotective please? When Y/n's ex boyfriend tries to start arguing with her and reminiscing about past issues and he defending her :)

a/n: protective jack is a yes for me

A smile was on your lips as you looked up at Jack, his own blue eyes looking down at you with the same amused look on his face. His arm was draped around you as you both walked around with all the other boys on your night out. You and Jack had this thing going on for a few months now where you two weren’t dating but you weren’t exactly far from it either. But you also didn’t want to be the person who asked what you two were and added any pressure to this.

Tonight did feel perfect though or it had until a familiar face in the crowd came forward. You instantly recognized the face that belonged to your ex boyfriend and you had silently hoped that he was just walking in the general direction. Of course you were not that lucky because his eyes were locked on yours. It had been several months since you had last seen him and your relationship had not ended on good terms at all.

The look on his face as he took in Jack also said it all. “Didn’t take you long to find someone huh?” He asked and you felt your stomach tighten in knots. You did want this to be a conversation that happened in front of Jack. In return you could feel Jacks body tense up once he realized that the guy in front of him was talking to you. “Careful with this one, bro. She’s sneaky. One minute she has you thinking you’re the one and the next she’s screwing your best friend.”

You were going to be sick and you were definitely about to cry. You genuinely didn’t care what your ex thought of you because you knew the truth but Jack didn’t know the story and you just knew that everything you two had experienced the past few months was going to come to a crashing halt because of some lies your ex was spitting. “I’m good, bro.” Jacks voice was tense as his arm unwrapped from around you, gently pushing you behind him. “I think it’s best if you shut your mouth and keep on going.” There was a clear warning in Jacks voice.

“Everything good, Jack?” Dawson asked, making his way over from the other guys who were all watching from a few feet away. It almost seemed like they were waiting to come over and defend their teammate if needed. The embarrassment just kept growing in you, what kind of impression was this making on them? “Yeah, everything is good. I think we’re actually going to head home for the night.”

The night was definitely ruined and it was your fault. You followed Jack in silence back to the car and the car ride back to your place was silent. You knew the inevitable was coming. He would drop you off at your place and tell you he just thought it would be better to end it before anyone got in too deep with feelings. “Hey, you okay?” He asked, his voice a quiet whisper almost as he parked the car in front of your place. “Sorry, that’s a dumb question after everything.”

“What he said isn’t true. I don’t expect you to believe me but I didn’t do anything he accused me of. His friend texted me but we weren’t seeing each other or anything. He just freaked out when he saw it and it wasn’t the first time he acted that way so I broke up with him.” You quickly explained in hopes of redeeming yourself even just a little in his eyes. His hand went out, covering yours and giving it a quick squeeze. “Hey hey, I believe you. I didn’t believe him not even for a second.”

Relief washed over your body at his words. “I definitely didn’t like the way he was talking about my girlfriend which is why I got pissed but it had nothing to do with thinking you did what he said you did.” You appreciated what he was saying but you got caught up on the girlfriend part. “And this is probably the worst way possible to really make us official but it also feels appropriate.” All you could do was nod your head. “No, No. Actually I would much rather us talk about me being your girlfriend than anything that happened earlier so go on please.” A small laugh left Jacks lips as he nodded his head towards your apartment. “Well how about we talk about it inside?”

#jack hughes #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader

281 notes · View notes

sukuna-dees-nuts · 13 days

Text

rizzless sukuna pt 4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

at long last!!! it's here, im back!

---

It’s been about two weeks since Sukuna had his date with Megumi. His mood is the best it’s been in awhile; the change is enough for his parents to notice. When they try questioning him about it, he brushes them off with an easily crafted lie. He’s not quite ready to tell them that he’s possibly dating his younger brother’s best friend (who they almost consider their own son at this point).

Sukuna isn’t ashamed or anything. He knows that his parents wouldn’t give a flying fuck if he told them he isn't straight, but he also didn't think it necessary to tell them anything. Who cares? It isn’t anyone’s business but his own. They’ll figure it out when Sukuna brings Megumi as his date to dinner or something. The idea alone gives him butterflies and he scowls at himself.

He and Megumi have been texting back and forth nearly nonstop since their date. Well, nonstop in the sense that he talks to Megumi more than anyone else, which only happens to be his brother and Maki. Sukuna has never been one to hold a conversation (which was obvious during their date), but there’s something about Megumi that makes Sukuna want to talk. He wants the conversation to keep going. Every time it drops, he finds himself picking it back up again, usually with a movie related question.

Megumi still questions the fact that Sukuna says that he is not a movie buff simply due to the amount of movies that the older boy has seen. The more Megumi mentions it, the more Sukuna starts to believe it himself and he curses his younger brother’s effect on him, not that he’d ever admit it to Megumi or Yuuji.

At the moment, the two of them are arguing over who is better: The Joker or Loki.

Raisin Boy: Idk I think that Joker could outmatch Loki

Sukuna's jaw drops and his thumbs furiously tap away at the screen, not listening to whatever Yuuji is saying to him. He's in the middle of an important argument!

’There's no way. Loki has Joker beat 100 times over! He’s taken punches from Thor and The Hulk, and he has magic. There's nothing the Joker could do to Loki!’

He huffs and drops his phone onto his leg, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits for Megumi's reply.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Yuuji asks, briefly glancing at his brother before looking back to the screen so that he can dodge an attack.

Sukuna shakes his head and scoffs, “Your shitty gaming skills. You still haven't beaten this boss?”

The younger boy grunts. He stays quiet for a moment as he concentrates before he replies, “His spinning maneuver that he does always catches me off guard.”

Another beat of silence stretches between them and Sukuna momentarily forgets about his little argument with Megumi as he watches Yuuji rolling around on the screen. He manages a few hits on the boss character before ultimately meeting his doom when he goes into his spin attack and kills Yuuji’s character immediately.

Yuuji huffs and slumps back against the couch in defeat. “See what I mean?”

“Gimme that,” Sukuna grumbles. Reaching over, he snatches the controller out of his brother’s hands. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees (his ‘boss fighting position’ as Yuuji has appropriately named it).

The only sounds in the living room are the sound of Sukuna’s fingers rapidly hitting buttons on the controller and Yuuji’s gasps in surprise. He sits up with wide eyes as he watches Sukuna effortlessly fight this boss character that Yuuji has been struggling with for about a week now. Of course, leave it to Sukuna to pick up on Yuuji’s slack.

When Sukuna’s phone dings, his concentration goes out the window and he glances down at his phone to see who the message is from. A bad decision on Sukuna’s part because within that same second, his character dies from a large attach from the boss, leaving Yuuji’s character defeated once again.

“Wh—Sukuna!” Yuuji groans. “You almost had it!”

Sukuna shrugs and tosses the controller back to his brother. He picks up his phone with a shrug, unlocking it to read Megumi’s message. “Sucks.”

Yuuji stares at his older brother for a long moment, taking in the expression on his face. There isn’t a smile per se, but he notices the way Sukuna’s features seem to relax when he reads the message he just got. It makes Yuuji raise an eyebrow in intrigue. Who could he be talking to that would earn just barely a hint of a smile from Sukuna?

He leans over, trying to peer at Sukuna’s screen, curiosity getting the better of him. “Who are you talking to?” Yuuji asks.

The older boy’s trance is broken at the sound of Yuuji’s voice and whatever “smile” was on his face falls immediately and he narrows his eyebrows at his brother. “What?” he asks, instinctively leaning away from Yuuji.

“You never just lose a boss battle because someone texted you. Who is it?” Yuuji asks again, a shit-eating grin on his face and he leans even closer to try and get another look at Sukuna’s phone.

Sukuna scoffs and shoves Yuuji away roughly. “None of your damn business.”

“Well it has to be someone!”

“Yeah, I’m asking the adoption agency if they’ll take you back if we still have the receipt.”

“I wasn’t even adopted!”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that? I’m hot and you’re…” He pauses, his eyes quickly glancing over his brother and grimaces, “eugh.”

Yuuji’s jaw drops. “What do you mean eugh? We look the same! We have the same face!”

Sukuna slowly turns his attention back to his phone, turning his body so that Yuuji can’t peek at his screen. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy.”

With a shake of his head, Yuuji kicks his brother in the leg and goes back to playing his game, grumbling under his breath.

Focusing back to his phone, the older boy goes back to replying to Megumi. He types out a message only to backspace and try again. This happens 3 or 4 times which seems to be enough to concern Megumi because another message pops up.

Raisin boy: I'm just pulling your leg 😂 I agree that Loki is far better than Joker

Sukuna’s jaw drops as he stares at the message. Another one pops in.

Raisin boy: As your brother likes to say… Got em

Unable to keep himself from chuckling, Sukuna shakes his head and his mouth cracks a smile. “Oh my God.”

Yuuji glances over, his attention caught by the sound of his brother laughing. “Okay, seriously, who are you messaging?”

“Shut up,” is Sukuna’s reply.

Raisin boy: And you say that you’re not a movie buff

Biting his lip, Sukuna mulls over what he wants to say next. Since they’re on the topic of movies, he wants to ask Megumi to come over when his family isn’t home so they can actually watch The Exorcist and The Conjuring together as they’ve had planned.

He kicks Yuuji in the leg. “Do you still have plans with your friend Johnny or whatever on Thursday?”

Yuuji makes a face. “... you mean Junpei?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The younger boy slowly nods his head. “Uh yeah, why—”

“'K, thanks.”

Sukuna begins typing out his message, asking Megumi if he’s busy on Thursday afternoon. He hopes whatever higher being is out there watching that the other boy isn’t busy. It’s almost disgusting to Sukuna how much he wants to spend time with Megumi. Sukuna doesn’t even want to spend this much time with his own friends. Or friend, in this case. Maki doesn’t mind, of course. She has her own life and isn’t reliant on Sukuna for socialization.

“Who are you bringing over?!” Yuuji exclaims, dropping the controller to turn his full body in Sukuna’s direction. “That’s the only explanation!”

Sukuna scoffs. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would!”

The next thing Sukuna knows, Yuuji lunges at him. He tries to grab the phone out of Sukuna’s hands but his grip is strong, the two of them playing tug-of-war with it. Yuuji tries twisting his body so that his back is facing Sukuna, pinning the older boy’s arms under his armpit to give him better leverage when attempting to pry the device out of Sukuna’s fingers.

“Yuuji, you brat! Let go!” Sukuna grunts.

“You first!”

Sukuna makes the decision to let go with one hand so that he can tickle Yuuji’s side, in hopes of making his brother lose his grip. It works, but not in the way that he had hoped. The phone slips free of Sukuna’s fingers and Yuuji’s jerky movements are enough to send it falling and sliding acros the hardwood floor.

Naturally, Yuuji dives for it first, scrambling along the ground to grab it. He cheers in victory and flops down on his back, holding the phone above his face as he reads the name on the screen. Sukuna is quick to jump to his feet as he snatches the phone out of his brother’s hands. However, the damage is already done, judging by the confused look on his face.

Yuuji sits up, yelling after his brother's retreating figure. “Who the hell is Raisin boy?!"

#jjk #sukuna #sukufushi #yuji #rizzless sukuna #credit to nessieartss for yujis line at the end because we had a great conversation with that #echo writes #im realizing that megumi is a little like ooc in this with how invested he is with sukuna #but let me have this one dorky series alright #also sukuna is kinda ooc but im working on it

64 notes · View notes

zweetpea · 6 months

Text

Happy Birthday My Love

Happy birthday L

ao3 version: here

It was the best day of the year. That is to say it was Halloween, and more importantly your husband L’s birthday.

I know right? You snatched the greatest detective in the world? Obviously, you’re beautiful. Anyway enough about you!

————

You met him in a cafe in NYC when he was 23 and you were 21. You were reading a Sherlock novel, he ordered 14 big cookies, 2 strawberry slices shortcakes, Jasmine tea with a bowl of sugar cubes, and a banana split. He sat right by your table and you looked over with concern.

“…are you okay?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m concerned for your health. You can’t seriously eat all of that in one sitting.”

“Why can’t I?”

“Because that’s not a proper lunch.” You say as you lift up your drink.

“Of course not. This is my pre lunch snack to get my brain stimulated.” At his statement you spit out your drink in surprising.

“What are you, diabetic? How can someone eat so much and yet be so skinny.”

“I find that you can burn calories by using your brain.”

“Okay Einstein. Just don’t drop dead anytime soon. I’m just here on vacation, I don’t need the police suspecting me to be the serial killer going around.”

“Why would they think that? You’re just a tourist.”

“I don’t find most police to be very bright or effective. Private Investigators do more work in a week than any beat cop could do in their entire life.”

The strange man was silent for a second, so you assumed that the conversation was over. However you weren’t expecting him to hold out a cookie for you. “Take it. Movie theater popcorn isn’t that good.”

“The hell?”

“Your tickets. Jaws, 1:15. I assume that your waiting for someone. You only got a drink and during lunch hour most people buy food.”

“Oh really? When do you have lunch, if this is your snack?”

“Same time as your movie. The only difference between then will be I’ll be dinning on fine quality food and you’ll be having stale popcorn and processed butter.” You look away. “Did I strike a nerve.”

“No offense but you’re a stranger. I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to spill my guts and whole life story to you.”

“Yet you asked me if I was okay.”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen anyone eat so many sweets. Is it a crime to be concerned?”

“No. Just think of this as me repaying the generosity.”

“My Fiancé and I came out here to meet his parents.”

“You’re a little young to be getting married.”

“Uh, thanks? I don’t think it’s that weird, I’m 21. It’s not like I’m 12 being married off to some foreign diplomat.”

“Let me give you some advice. He either gave you the ring to get you to shit up or because he wants an unpaid maid.”

“Excuse me?”

“21 men don’t typically give up on hooking up with bimbo’s in short leather skirts. I’m 76%- no, 78% certain that he’s going to cheat on you by years end if he’s not already cheating. And judging by the way you smile sadly at your ring and scrunch your hands around your tickets I think you know that too.”

“What would you do if you were me?”

“Dump him and go out with the skinny diabetic across from you, clearly.” He responded sarcastically.

“Ha, you’re so funny.” You replied back with the same tone, rolling your eyes.

“You should at least tell him what you want. If he’s not willing to negotiate, leave him.”

“What I want, huh? I want to go see Jaws, would any diabetic Einsteins be interested in movie theater candy?”

“Okay that jokes run its course. No I’m not interested in that chewy soulless garbage.”

“Could I bribe you with another slice of cake?”

“I thought that you were worried about my health? Also this is highly improper.”

“Making a new friend?”

“Chatting up a man when you’re engaged.”

“It’s not like I’m asking you out, I just don’t want to go to my movie alone. When life gives you lemons, ya know?”

“Cake and cookies. You eat some too okay. I’m Yuuji.” You shook him hand and replied back with your own name.

——

“Okay, why do you like this movie?”

“It’s a classic! Sure they probably should’ve just poisoned the stupid thing. Sometimes the right answer is the most obvious one.” You two smiled as you walked out of the theater.

He stopped dead in his tracks. “Sometimes the answer is the most obvious one. I gotta go, here…” he scribbled down something on his ticket and handed it to you. “Nice to meet you, friend.” He trotted off down the street. You looked down at his ticket and saw he gave you his number.

“Huh, not bad Emo boy.”

————

“My love, wake up. I made you breakfast.” You say as you kiss his neck.

“Let me sleep in on my birthday.” He groaned. “Don’t temp me to give in with that sultry voice. You know I can’t say no to you when you do that.”

“Not true. It’s only 82.79% affective. As evident of now.”

“I stayed up late for weeks to perfect your favorite pancakes for you.”

“How’d I get so lucky to have a wife like you?”

“Good question, better question though is how did I manage to impress the world’s 3 greatest detectives?”

“By being intoxicating.” He replied smoothly.

“Okay Casanova, eat up before you food gets cold.” He smirked, grabbed you by your waist and pulled you into bed with him. Then he trailed kisses from your collar bone up to your jaw and finally planted a long deep loving kiss on your lips. “L!”

“How can you be mad at me when I have the sweetest treat right here in my arms?”

“I love you, L.”

“I love you too.”

BONUS:

L: Mmh, these buttercream cheese and strawberry pancakes are delicious. Thank you my wife.

You: A perfect meal for my perfect husband. Mwah!

You Two kiss!

#l x reader #l lawliet #l lawliet x reader #L fluff #L Lawliet fluff

123 notes · View notes

cloudlessly-light · 5 months

Note

OOOOMMMGGGG!!!!! I can’t get the idea of Emily buying a skims dress and Aaron going absolutely crazy for it. Emily would look drop dead in a skims dress.

A/N: Thanks to @sapphoe-sun for bullying me into posting chapter 3 a few days earlier than I had originally thought. Happy thanksgiving to those of you who celebrate, in my part of the world we do not, so instead I spent the evening writing more filth.

Title: Seems you cannot be replaced (Chapter 3/7) Summary: It shouldn’t have happened, but they were drunk. It shouldn’t have happened but it felt right. It shouldn’t have happened but now it has. It shouldn’t have happened now they have to deal with it.

Or, Emily always leaves before he wakes up, but she always leaves a note. Word Count: 3,6k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, oral, rough, dirty talk, consumption of alcohol, hint of feelings

It’s more awkward seeing him after the second time. She’s running late that morning, barely paying attention as she parks her car and then rushes to the elevator leading up to their floor. She’s late so she doesn’t expect him to be there, also waiting for the elevator. But when she sees him, she stops so fast she almost trips, frozen to the spot. He freezes for a moment too, eyes locked on her for a second before he clears his throat.

“Hey.” He says just as the elevator door opens and he holds his arm out and waits for her to enter first.

“Hi.” She answers as her heart beats hard enough that she thinks she’ll crack a rib. “I- uhm-.”

“We made a mistake, again.” He interrupts her but his voice isn’t as sure as it had been the first time they had this conversation. “I shouldn’t have texted you.”

“It’s alright.” She tells him, because he might have been the one to reach out to her, but she had been the one hoping that he’d take it there, had been more than happy once he did. “But,” She sighs heavily, more than aware of their limited time before the ding of the elevator would force them to stop this conversation. “Hotch, maybe we should try and stay away from each other for a while?”

He looks away from her for the first time, eyes moving to the lit up numbers that’s showing as they continue up.

“Maybe that’s what’s needed. I’ll pair you with Reid or Morgan for the time being.” He turns completely from her, taking a small step away just as they get to the sixth floor. An appropriate distance, she thinks as he once again waits for her to get out first. Always the gentleman.

They walk the short way to the bullpen in silence that’s tense and uncomfortable and once they’re inside she immediately heads to the kitchenette as he continues towards his office.

She knew it was the right thing to do, knew that they needed some space from each other. So why did she feel disappointment when she looked at his retreating form?

A few weeks passes and just as he had suggested they rarely worked together, she was sent off to crime scenes and he’d be at a station, or he’d be questioning victims and she’d go to the ME’s. If they were in the same room they were never alone but it wasn’t uncommon that their eyes would meet in some sort of silent understanding. They understood each other, that had only become more obvious as they worked apart.

She didn’t want to admit that she missed being around him, didn’t want to be that girl, but she was sure she caught him looking at her from across the room, was certain that he had refrained from reaching for her instinctively and it made things harder. But she couldn’t fall in love with her boss, could not make that mistake. So she ignored the looks and the urges and it worked, for a while.

Then it’s JJ’s birthday and for the first time in what felt like forever, they have the night off.

“I want to go somewhere nice.” The blonde says as she watches the rest of the team pack up. “So I booked us a table at Buon Giorno.”

“Oh I love that place! But how did you manage to get a last minute reservation?” Penelope asked, brown eyes wide as she stared at the other blonde.

“I have my ways, I can be very persuasive.” JJ grins and Emily arches a brow at her friend before putting on her coat.

“If it was Italian you wanted, I could have cooked.” Dave says, cutting off the excited ramble Penelope for sure would start.

“No, I booked us a table, we are drinking wine and eating a nice mean and we are relaxing.” JJ’s eyes moved to Aaron who was just leaving his office. “All of us, I know you don’t have Jack tonight.”

Emily tried to hide the smirk on her lips as she looked at Aaron. He wanted to say no, but if he listened to anybody it was JJ. Behind her she heard Derek chuckle lightly, he too having caught the look of surprise on their boss’s face.

“Fine.” Aaron finally said and looked at his watch. “What time?”

“8,” JJ turned to look at Penelope and Emily. “We should get home and change.”

“It’s 3 hours until 8.” Spencer’s confusion was obvious and while Dave suppressed his own chuckle, Derek patted him on the shoulder.

“You got so much to learn about women, kid.”

Emily felt his eyes on her the moment she walked into the restaurant. The black, floor length dress she wore hugged her body tight, the thin straps showing off her collarbones and a bit of cleavage. She felt sexy, confident and the burn from his stare only made her feel more secure.

“Damn Princess. You look good.” Derek was the first one to greet her and she rolled her eyes at him.

“Thanks, you don’t look so bad yourself. All of you.” She looked around the table where everybody except Penelope was seated at. “Happy birthday again JJ.” She smiled and hugged her tightly.

“Thank you.” She smiled back just as widely and sat back down while Emily walked to take a seat in between Derek and Aaron, knowing that Penelope would want the last seat next to JJ.

She looked at Aaron quickly, his jaw slightly tense and dark eyes familiar in the way he was looking back at her. She felt the urge to touch him, her fingers trembling in her lap and she quickly fisted her hand tightly. He looked like he was about to say something, mouth opening just slightly but he was interrupted by the sound of Penelope’s heels.

“Sorry I’m late!” She quickly hugged JJ before sitting down. “I was getting everything ready and lost track of time.”

“Ready?” JJ looked around the table, confusion clear on her face.

“Dinner first.” Penelope grinned while JJ tried to argue but didn’t have time before the waiter came to take their orders.

They enjoyed the food and wine and each other, it was one of those rare nights that they rarely got and Emily loved it. Jokes were told between sips of red wine, stories shared between bites of pasta and by the time the check came Emily had almost completely forgotten about the way Aaron’s eyes on her made her feel.

But then they’re heading to the bar where Penelope had invited the rest of JJ’s friends and she ends up squeezed in between the door and Aaron in the cab. Spencer was beside him and Dave up front, the two lost in an argument that Emily hadn’t paid attention to and definitely couldn’t pay attention to when she felt the heat of Aaron’s strong thigh pressing against hers. He was close, so close that when he turned his head to speak his breathing fell against her face.

“Are you okay?” He asked as he watched the way she pressed against the door.

“Yeah, just a little crowded in here.” She offered him a smile, one that he returned before his eyes slowly moved from her face, down to her exposed neck and then cleavage. When he looked back at her face, her cheeks were tinted in that familiar pink hue and he licked his bottom lip.

“Sorry.” He muttered, his voice low and thick and she felt the pull low in her stomach. The moment was gone as quickly as it had come, like Aaron realized what was happening and he shook himself out of it, facing forward and giving her the time she needed to clear her head.

It wasn’t a long drive from the restaurant to the bar, for which she was thankful as she took a couple of deep breaths of fresh air when she stepped out of the car. She was quick to walk in with Spencer, intent to try and keep some distance between herself and Aaron. If she didn’t, she knew where they’d end up.

It seemed like Aaron had a similar idea, keeping away from her as he drank scotch and talked with Dave in a corner. But his eyes drifted towards her often, like he couldn’t tear his eyes off her and that dress. The thrill of it is impossible to ignore and she wonders if anybody else is picking up on it. But she realizes that no, they’re all too busy talking, playing pool or darts, they’re busy having fun and she knows that they all needed a night like this.

But she can’t concentrate on the conversation around her, couldn’t focus enough because she knew, realized somehow, that he’s going to come to her. And it’s thrilling.

She’s by herself by the bar when it happens. The familiar heat of his body against her back, one hand next to her as he leans against the bar. Her hair is up and that means that his breath falls against her bare neck, making her shiver.

“Did you really have to wear this?” He talks quietly against her ear and goosebumps rise on her arms.

“I like it.” She keeps looking ahead as he lets the crowds of people push him against her.

“I like it too. That’s the problem.” It’s a murmur against the back of her neck, his voice low enough that the slight growl of it vibrates against her skin.

“We’re supposed to keep away from each other.” She turns then, comes face to face with him and is almost taken back by the lust that emanates from him. Eyes blown black, breathing slightly ragged, fingers gripping the edge of the bar as he boxes her in. Emily looks around, can’t see anyone from the team near them and then she looks back at him. “Shouldn’t we?”

“We should.” He agrees and straightens slightly as he lets go of the bar, knowing that they’re on thin ice as it is. “But then you came to dinner looking like this.”

“Aaron, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“It was never a good idea to begin with.” He smirks, lets one hand graze the curve of her hip to feel the soft fabric of the dress. “Should I walk away?”

She knew that she should say yes, knew that every time she went there with him her feelings would blur even more. As much as she wanted to keep lying to herself, it wasn’t just physical between them anymore and that’s the precise reason why she should say yes. But that’s also the reason she can’t.

“No.” She breathes and she sees the way he relaxes and then both his hands are on her hips, pulling her tighter against him.

“My place is closer.”

He’s on her the second they’re in the cab, managing to slip away with excuses of a headache and seeing Jack and as Emily sees the lights from the bar get further away, Aaron’s lips are on her neck.

“You smell so good.” He groans as he inhales the smell of her perfume and the scent that is distinctively Emily. Then he’s moving his hand over her body, only stopping once he’s holding the back of her neck and angling her face towards his. Dark eyes dart over her face, like he’s trying to memorize every freckle, count every eyelash.

“What?” She finally asks and he smiles, something soft and almost shy.

“You’re so beautiful Emily.” He doesn’t give her time to respond before his lips are on hers, swallowing up whatever words she was about to say. But for that she’s thankful because she wasn’t even sure what her answer would be. This time it wasn’t words thrown in the throws of passion, but something that felt precious. She forces the thought away, instead her fingers find their way to his short hair and she grips it tightly, wanting to keep him close.

He hums against her lips, pushes his tongue between her lips and pulls her closer, the hand not on the back of her neck fisting the fabric of her dress at the waist. She’s completely lost in him, was already going crazy with desire and then the cab driver clears his throat loudly.

Aaron pulls away with a laugh of embarrassment, he seemingly as lost in her as she had been in him. But he doesn’t move away from her, instead he takes her hand in his and laces their fingers. It felt good, his grip feeling warm and safe and she knows that she should walk away, if nothing else she should pull her hand away. But she doesn’t.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks and she chuckles lightly.

“How large your hands are.” It’s not a lie, not completely and he smiles too. “And how I’m really looking forward to getting out of these heels.”

“Oh really?” His smile turns a little darker as he leans closer to her ear. “And here I was thinking we’d keep the heels on tonight.” He whispers against her ear, making her shiver.

The rest of the cab ride goes by in relative silence, the occasional squeeze from his hand and knowing looks all that she’s able to focus on. When they’re finally outside his apartment Aaron keeps her hand in his and doesn’t let go until they’re inside and he turns to lock the door while she hangs her jacket up.

“Look at you.” He growls as she stands in front of him, eyes moving up and down her body, like he’s done many times that night, but this time the look in his eye is wilder. “I’ve wanted to tear this dress off you all night.”

She takes a step back when he steps forward, a teasing smirk on her face.

“Do not rip it. I won’t have anything to go home in.” She backs up with him following her until she almost falls over the couch, but Aaron is quick to wrap his arms around her.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, this is a dress I want to see again.” He spins her around so she’s facing away from him and his lips ghost over the back of her neck. “But for now, it’ll look nice on this floor too.”

She feels his hands as he slowly pulls the straps down, his mouth soon following to place hot, open-mouthed kisses on her shoulder. He continues down her spine as he keeps pulling the fabric of her dress down, a low grunt of appreciation leaving him as the strapless bra and then matching panties come into view. He kneels behind her, pulls the panties off her and helps her step out of both before gently pushing her forward.

“What are you-”

“Bend over.” He interrupts her, voice so low it’s barely a rumble in his chest as he pushes her down to lean over the back of the couch.

She’s already panting, every breath he takes tickles the back of her thighs, his fingers slowly move from her calves and up her legs and back again. Then he’s urging her to spread her legs wider and she does without hesitation. Her cheeks are burning from being so exposed, but she can hear the way his breathing hitches, can feel his touch turning needier and she relaxes.

When his tongue moves through her it’s without warning and she lets out a sound of surprise that quickly turns into a moan as he pushes his tongue inside of her. His arms wrap around her thighs, keeping her open for him as sucks her clit between his lips. There’s no teasing like it had been the first time, his movements deliberate as he seemed to remember everything she enjoyed.

“Fuck, don’t stop.” She whimpers after only a few minutes, her legs already trembling. She can feel his smirk against her wet folds, and if she wasn’t getting so close she’d use her high heel to stomp at his foot for his smugness, but he’s only flicking her clit faster, grabs onto her harder.

“Aaron.” She gasps, face hallway buried in the pillows as her hips buckle into him, chasing her orgasm.

“Do it.” He groans and then sucks her clit hard and she comes with a scream. Her entire body is still shaking when he stands behind her, one hand between her legs to rub her clit and keeping her orgasm going as he pushes his jeans down his legs.

“Oh fuck!” She cries out when he pushes inside of her before she’s even fully come down, aftershocks still rocking her body when he stretches her.

“Emily.” He grits out through clenched teeth, only taking a second to enjoy her still clenching pussy before he starts to thrust hard and deep inside of her. His hand is still on her clit, the other keeps her down by gripping the back of her neck and she whimpers at the steady pleasure. “Fuck you feel so good.”

She felt her body respond to him too quickly, the tension between her legs already back. Her hands were gripping the couch in a death grip, moans and whimpers fell from her lips louder and louder and she could hear him behind her, groaning and swearing.

“Another one already baby?” It was rhetorical, her center was clinging to his cock, body tensing by every stroke of his hips.

“P-please.” She gasped and he snickered, fingers moving faster over her clit.

“Please what?”

“Make me come.”

“Needy thing.” There was no malice in his voice, only that teasing tone that she had gotten used to when they were together like this. And it only made the tension in her stomach build faster. “Say it again.”

“Say what?” She was so close she could taste it, every muscle in her body tensing.

“Say my name when you come.” He snapped his hips harder and she came again.

“Aaron!” She cried out, body spasming between his and the back of the couch, legs completely giving out as pleasure made her eyesight blur.

Through delicious pleasure she felt him slip out of her, then he was helping her out of the heels and gently pulled her up to look at him. Her eyes were hazy, a lazy smile on her lips and he kissed her.

“Let’s go to bed, you’ll ruin my couch if we continue out here.” He winks when she swats his side with a fake huff.

“Rude.” She muttered but didn’t try to stop him when he pushed her towards the bedroom, arms around her as he kept her close.

“Me? Never.” He grinned against her neck before removing her bra and then pushed her onto the bed.

She spread her legs, let him push back inside of her with a smooth thrust as he kissed the air from her legs. Her arms looped around his neck, her legs wrapped around his hips, clung to him as he started to move, hitting deep inside of her over and over again.

“So good, feel so good.” He whispered somewhere near her collarbone, his lips everywhere he could reach, leaving small marks on pale skin.

Her nails were leaving their own marks on him, little halfmoons dug into his skin, scratches along his back. She knew he loved it, the slight pain that came with it making his groans louder and deeper, until he was fucking her hard enough for the bedframe to slam against the wall.

“Let go Aaron, let me feel it.” She gasped and he groaned in response. His hand moved between them again, fingers finding her sensitive clit.

“Gonne fill you up. But first you’re giving me one more.” He panted and her head fell back against the pillow.

She isn’t sure how he does it, but he manages to drag a third orgasm from her in no time at all, the pleasure rushing through her hard and fast. Her orgasm forces his, the tightening around his cock enough to get him to the edge too. The moan together, bodies locked and breathing heaving as they let themselves enjoy their combined bliss.

“Your neighbors must really hate you” She teased once he’s rolled off her and they’d come down from their respective highs. He laughs, still breathless and reaches for her.

“Maybe.” He said as he rolled her on top of him. They were silent for a moment, his finger gentle as he brushed her messy bangs away. “You know, you don’t have to go.”

“What do you mean?” Her eyebrows furrowed as she studied him.

“Tonight, you can stay.” His voice is gentle, careful and she sighs.

“You know I can’t.” She says but doesn’t move away from him, instead she lets her head lean on his shoulder as his arms wrap around her.

“Yeah, I know.”

Aaron had always been a light sleeper, but Emily had the ability to move around without disturbing him. It’s early when he wakes up, early enough for the sun to barely creak in through the blinds and yet he knows that the space next to him will be empty even before he turns to look.

When he does he finds a napkin from the bar they had been at, Emily’s familiar writing on it and he sighs heavily. He hadn’t want her to leave.

Last night was fun – Emily

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss smut #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss smut #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotch x emily #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #aaron x emily #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss smut

72 notes · View notes

adreamareads · 5 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

The lovely @inexplicablymine tagged me to do a 2023 roundup but since I'm actually here on the appropriate day, and I have something to share, why not?

Is it really a WIP if it's ready to post? I say anything that's not posted is a WIP.

Tagging @cricketnationrise @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @cha-melodius @xthelastknownsurvivorx @affectionatelyrs @daisymae-12 @orchidscript and anyone else who wants to share.

Working title: ghost dad. Posting title: TBD.

“Um, excuse me, Uncle Alex.” Alex shares a look of amusement with Bea. “What is it, nena?” “I remembered something that I wanted to tell you!” Alex waits patiently, and Ellie continues. “Yesterday, I saw a ghost!”

“You did?” Alex asks. “Where?” “Here! But upstairs by the bedroom.” Ellie’s eyes are wide as she recounts the tale. “He was tall, like Uncle Henry, and had kind eyes. Nanny didn’t see him, but I did!” “Elizabeth,” Philip interrupts. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. You probably imagined it.”

“I believe you, conejita,” Alex soothes. It’s not surprising that Philip is brushing it off; Alex can’t imagine he has any sense of belief in something greater than the monarchy. Alex isn’t sure he completely believes in ghosts, but he won’t rule it out completely, either. His abuela had always told him stories when he was growing up, and he always tries to be respectful of the dead, just in case they are actually around. “What else can you tell us about the ghost, darling?” Bea prompts. “I know he’s a ghost because he was kind of fuzzy,” Ellie says thoughtfully. “I could see him but he didn’t look like Nanny did or you do now and he was standing behind her.” “What did Nanny say?” Martha asks. Alex speaks at the same time. “Did he say anything?” Ellie shakes her head. “Nanny said the same as Daddy, ghosts don’t exist. But I think she was cross because baby Georgie kept crying. The ghost just waved and smiled; he didn’t say anything. He looked nice. I hope he shows up again. I want to talk to him. He reminds me of Uncle Henry.” Alex smiles to himself when Henry comes over, now brought into the conversation. “How so, love?” Ellie shrugs and brushes her fine hair out of her face. “He just looked kinda like you? I thought he was you at first, but it wasn’t.” Alex hears the hitch in Henry’s breath. “Oh,” is all Henry says, but Alex knows the range of emotions behind that one syllable.

#rwrb #adreama writes #rwrb fanfic #red white and royal blue movie #red white & royal blue #fanfic #wip wednesday

50 notes · View notes

princelylove · 28 days

Text

Since a lot of recent requests have lacked manners, here’s how to submit a request to me, in steps.

First step: Greet me. When you start a conversation with someone, do you just start talking? Maybe to a stranger on the street, but it’s not polite given the circumstances. You’re about to ask me to write something for you, why do you feel so comfortable not saying hello? Use basic manners. Show me the respect I deserve. Your request does not have to be perfect, but put some effort in.

I prefer to be addressed by “Prince” or “Your Highness.” You may use other titles, but you must keep it appropriate to my rank. Nothing lower than a prince’s, or I will lightly flick your wrist, or send you to the dungeon for a few days.

I can forgive mistakes in addressing me only if the effort is evidently there. Sometimes I am wrongfully addressed as ‘Your Grace,’ but I do not mind it because the respect is obviously there and they’re trying. An attempt is an attempt. I’ve answered requests with the wrong title before, and will likely do so again if other requirements are met. That does not mean that I prefer it, but I don’t exactly take it as malicious intent.

Second step: Talk to me. This can be praise for my works, an off topic comment, or any thoughts you’d like to share.

I may be a stranger on the internet, but I write your porn for free, and don't exactly think I'm asking for much at all. Show some respect and do something for me. I like to be spoken to, even if it isn’t stroking my ego. Why would I open a blog that takes requests if I didn’t want to talk to people about my works? I could be somewhere else, or turn my inbox off entirely and only write what I want.

I do not know why you would request something from me if my demeanor isn’t appealing to you, but I cannot and will not force you, you do not have to stroke my ego for me to answer your request. You just need to use your manners and at least speak to me a little. You can talk to me about your request.

An example of this is this anon's request, where they asked a question and elaborated, and were polite about it. I like it when anons elaborate like this anon did, you do not HAVE to speak about me when you send a request.

If you would like to play into my worship kink, spend some time talking about my works or my demeanor. Be specific, consistent, and try not to throw darts at a thesaurus. Perhaps this topic deserves a separate post, which I will make if someone requests it.

Third step: Say your request.

Include a “Please” and “Thank you.” You are asking me for a favor. I do not have to respond to it, acknowledge it, or even read it in the first place. Be polite about it. “May I please request —” and “Could you please tell me your opinion of —” are fine ways to start whatever you’re about to talk to me about. “Please” and “Thank you” are very, very basic manners. I know I do not have to teach my peons how to speak when the majority of you are older than I am and very much so should know that.

I do not mind when anons prattle on in my inbox, but try to keep it within control. I cannot write for you what you have already written, but if you’re aiming for something specific, it’s better to tell me some details.

You can also ask a small question, like this anon. As long as you're polite, I don't mind the lack of a big message attached, but I do not want the majority of my inbox’s messages to be so small. Try to elaborate at least a little bit.

Fourth step: Send it in and wait. Sometimes I will let your request sit in my inbox for a while, as in up to or over a month, but if it's up to code, I'll get to it. If you're worried I deleted it, send another in and ask if it broke any rules of mine.

You cannot rush me. This is MY laptop, I'm not doing something on my laptop that I do not want to do. Checking if it's okay is fine, I will either post the original soon and delete the "Is it ok?" message or respond to the is it ok message if the original is taking some time.

I'm probably going to go through my inbox today and weed out the ones I don't want to give attention to. If you sent an ask that you think doesn't fit what I've just stated, or otherwise broke my rules, try again. I've got some older requests that are fine but I've just yet to get to, it is not personal. I tend to either answer an ask immediately or I'll take a month and a half.

If anything is confusing, send an ask for clarification.

#the prince speaks

10 notes · View notes

stilemawillow · 2 months

Text

MTIJ | Ch.30 City of Dumbassery, Here I Come

|mtij masterlist|

pairing: levi ackerman x reader

word count: 13k

summary: a girl with a variety of hidden complexes has to live with a french asshole for nine months. easy? on the surface. problematic? definitely. romantic? not too much, or at least they’d make it a point to say so everytime when asked. the end? please, their dynamic isn’t as simple as that.

warnings: nsfw content; mentions of nudity; virginity loss; oral sex (f! receiving); protected sex; explicit sexual content; reader discretion advised

A hundred-dollar question: where do people go to blow off steam when their interns weren’t back back from their vacation yet? First and foremost, never City of Dumbassery as it’s not a place for relaxation. I might’ve been its main population these days, but I fancied myself a rational person capable of making the right choices when needed. Pretend you’re not looking at my romantic history. The right choice, however, wasn’t always right in the heat of the moment, only in perspective, so we begin this scene with me, seated on Erwin Smith’s couch with Hanji Zoe and a cup of coffee.

For more information on the right-est choice I made as of late, keep watching. Or as asshole-me insists on promoting: Come see the prequel to the biggest fuck-up of this girl’s life. I, though oblivious to its imminent eventuation at the point where we start, had a vague notion of what I wanted the next few days to look like. Let’s just say, humourlessly enough, that my wildest dreams came nowhere close to the reality that would take place.

“I’m sorry about last time, (Y/N). I didn’t know about you and Eren.” Hanji’s contrite apology made my smile widen as I lifted the cup of coffee to my lips. Dismissing the fact she brought the topic right back with the intention to make amends, Hanji was a good person and clearly sincere in her ways of regarding me. Kindness was one thing, but this woman’s pure cordiality was admirable.

“It’s not a problem. I could tell it wasn’t your intention to hurt me.” The corner of my mouth twitched in self-reproach at the manipulative bullshit I let slip. Instantly, I corrected: “Not that I was hurt.” If it’d been Annie, she wouldn’t straight-up laughed. Had it been Levi, he would’ve stared at me like I was dumb for thinking him dumb enough to buy it. But this was Hanji and she just smiled reassuringly.

“You can share if you want to. That’s what I’m here for with all my friends,” she offered. It sounded tempting but I couldn’t allow myself that kind of openness yet. Annie was, as always, the only person who knew the full story in all its repulsive glory but if I wanted to preserve (Levi’s privacy) my reputation, I couldn’t tell the whole thing here. The whole thing – look at me dodging the serious parts in an attempt to make myself feel better. I couldn’t tell Hanji about my intoxicated attempt to sleep with her friend, who gave dubious if any consent. Sounded appropriately disgusting like this.

“Mike and Erwin seem like they lead pretty decent lives, though.” Redirecting the topic, ignoring everything weird, dismissing all as a dirty scheme meant to humiliate me – a methodical step-by-step guide on how to be a paranoid bitch. It would’ve been my equivalent of the Bible if I weren’t an atheist. Even if I regularly used OMG, if I had to pick a fictional character to believe was real, at least I’d pick one from a book with a legit author – something by King, Thackeray, Hemingway, Tolkien, Orwell or Hawthorne. Following that train of thought, I might as well start worshipping Mickey Mouse – it’d do me more good than the big guy with the beard who loves me but would make me suffer for all eternity for stepping out of line once. I did it a lot.

“It wasn’t always like that. Not to mention Levi was stuck in the gutter a month back.” Hanji’s words snapped me out of my daze. “I know I told you to wait for him, but I don’t trust him, so make sure you keep this conversation a secret,” she warned while leaning forward as if afraid the walls would hear. The suspense, though exaggerated and a bit comical, made me put down my coffee. “So, you know how Petra is mentioned here and there?” I nodded. “She was Levi’s fiancé. She died in a car crash last October.” I knew I should’ve reacted appropriately but I couldn’t force it quickly enough. Hanji noticed. “You don’t look shocked.”

“No, but I am surprised. A lot of things make sense now. I’m sorry for your loss.” I hastened to make a recovery to lessen the doubt along the planes of her face. A pang tugged on my heart. When I considered the alternate reality where Petra hadn’t died, the notion of Levi not arriving for his internship was incomprehensible. He’d be studying hard at home and married. No rings, no chaos, no cheating for me – yes, good, but no company around the house either, no distraction and no comfort.

“You haven’t done anything to apologise for it,” Hanji said. “Anyways. Shorty was in a really bad place the months after. Working himself to the bone, no sleep, no food, no nothing. He just had to be doing something. The one good thing that came out of it was his weekly visits to his mother.” A small pause, a moment of consideration for her and an odd feeling of fascination for me. I was soaking it up like a sponge because I was seeing, at last, his angle. “Maybe it hit him that if death came for Petra, it could come for Kuchel, too. I can’t know for sure. All I know is he exhausted himself to the point he collapsed. Unconscious for three whole days. Isabel told him he’d gotten the internship when he woke up.”

“So he used it as an escape,” I finished. It was a logical conclusion. Hanji nodded. Avoiding pain wasn’t the way but he’d been desperate to get away and the internship had been the perfect opportunity. He’d grabbed his bags, boarded the plane and then… well, had to deal with me. Not a warm welcome by any means. He hadn’t even had the energy to get angry or look like he felt anything. I hadn’t known, hadn’t cared enough to see. It made me uncomfortable to realise it.

“Flew over a whole ocean and kept working,” Hanji proceeded. “He wanted something to distract himself with. When he ran out of work because he did overtime, he started calling home more often. Vague details were all he gave, but I got the feeling he had something else to work on.” Hanji’s words made a lopsided smile kiss my lips. He’d wanted to busy himself with my well-being, but I’d taken it the wrong way, as I often did. Nowadays the matter was often used against him but never by him – wasn’t that funny?

“Becoming the spoiled brat’s babysitter,” I filled in kindly, but Hanji’s disapproving frown meant to reproach along with the eloquent gesture of her crossing her arms. I didn’t regret the way I worded it. Eren, Annie, Mikasa and my mother had often tried to make me rethink my ways, but results were yet to manifest. This story, with me as the shitty protagonist most likely to be insufferable contrary to sympathy-inducing, portrayed reality as I saw it – and reality often neglected character development.

“He never called you either, but he did mention taking care of you had the same effect as working, if not better. I felt he might find himself a friend, so I supported him. I think I made the right choice. You have a lot in common,” Hanji declared. It struck a cord – did we really? Our arguments were fire lashing out at ice – not something that happened with people got along. Levi was hard to anger whereas I had a short fuse – everything was a personal insult. No easier target than a conceited paranoid.

“On the topic of that,” I piped. “How do you forget somebody?” The question was light-hearted. I decided to dismiss the whole story so I could ponder it later. Hanji’s brows furrowed as she smiled sympathetically. She couldn’t imagine the situation well enough. The question was I over Eren? had kept at a safe distance from my mind during my birthday vacation and the beginning of August only to assault it now with pitiless ire.

Things kept coming back when I least needed them. Thoughts of the twinkle in his teal eyes or the crooked smile he always wore before a kiss, the sound of his voice – the softness he’d told me he loved me with the first time, the haunting quiver in it when we were breaking up. I woke up at night with the howl of planes taking off and landing. On some mornings, I woke up, hoping to hear a knock at the door and see his face. Would he be more tan? Would his eyes be the same? Would his hair be styled differently? Would he have grown taller?

But, (Y/N), a voice would say in my head, people don’t grow taller just like that, it’s physically impossible.

Eren can, I’d argue, because Eren is my boyfriend and he can do anything if he puts his mind to it.

But Eren wasn’t my boyfriend and he wasn’t a miracle-maker. I’d sit in bed and argue with myself that Eren would come back, that I wanted the best for him and that wasn’t me, that we were done, but that he’d still come back. He never did. A small desperate part of me still hoped for the door to open – any door. Erwin Smith’s apartment’s front door right now, even. I could almost hear his footsteps going up the stairs. I swore I could. I turned to Hanji, a naïve question – can’t you? – flickering in my orbs. She didn’t catch it.

“I’m not an expert,” she said instead. “But Levi can be of help. His coping mechanisms aren’t the best example to follow, but he has a good head on his shoulders. He just doesn’t listen to it.” She might’ve thought, with how desperate I looked, that I might cry. She didn’t know pride would rather have me rip out of my tear ducts before that happened. I didn’t cry often or in many people’s presence. That wasn’t to say I didn’t like Hanji. But Annie and, unfortunately, Levi were the exceptions here. The latter was a mystery, probably my attempt to play a damsel in distress to ask for attention. Attention and help and fucking, might as well – a kiss. Couldn’t he just kiss me sometimes without me having to be in the middle of a mood?

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t copy those coping mechanisms even if I wanted to. Work, sex and alcohol are never a good mix.” I let out an awkward string of laughter, weirded out by my abrupt disconnection from the conversation and how it turned my thoughts against me. I didn’t miss him that much. Also, he was coming home tomorrow. I had nothing to play the desperate whore for. There was the blondie. That wasn’t jealousy, though. I’d say it was my wish to prove myself better.

“Sex?” Hanji echoed with a conflicted expression.

“Sex with my father’s secretary. I think it was around May. He stormed out after calling her and came back drunk in the middle of the night,” I explained. The brown-haired woman took a second to process the story, then burst out in incredulous laughter. My brows twitched. “What’s so funny?” Was it something else or was I just weird for not thinking my father’s intern and secretary fucking the joke of the century?

“I remember him telling me about that,” she started, voice hinting at a new bout of cackling. “He went to her place for paperwork and she had her boyfriend over. They kept offering him drinks and he agreed to shut them up. Crossed the line at some point. He even got lost on his way back to the house.” I wanted to face-palm using the table and, hopefully, get myself into a coma. Was there a person on this Earth denser than me or was I a phenomenal idiot?

“Oh, God,” I muttered in a wheeze. “I’m so stupid.” Embarrassment and shame painted the tips of my ears bright crimson as I clenched my fists. Hanji patted my shoulder.

“You’re not stupid. I would’ve thought the same if I had no context. Levi would never just have a one-night stand, though. Not the type of person for it. He claims it’s the wrongest way to get over something.” Her brown eyes, previously fixed on me, were now directed at the coffee table. “Might work for you, but he most certainly hates it.” A snort was drawn from her lips as she withdrew her hand from my shoulder. I tried not to think about it, but it was inevitable. Hitch’s party, him refusing, refusing, refusing, because it would be “just like that” and “just like that” was a solution for neither of us.

“I’ll consider it,” I joked. “I was busy up until recently, but maybe university won’t be enough to distract me.” I smiled as Hanji chuckled, patting my back.

“Another boyfriend should do the trick in that case,” she said.

But I don’t want another boyfriend, I wanted to counter. I want your grumpy short friend. The thought froze me up. Asshole-me joined Hanji’s hearty chuckle. Bold of me to think it. Terrible of me to think it. Wrong of me to think it. It was complicated. If romance was not involved here, it was undeniable at this point. I could almost feel it written in capital letters on my forehead.

ATTRACTED TO LEVI ACKERMAN. VERY.

“I’m not ready for the commitment.” Was the only comment to exit my mouth due to the sudden discomfort nestling in the crevice of my ribcage. “I think,” I added awkwardly, reluctant regarding a relationship but very opinionated on the topic of engaging my father’s intern in something inappropriate that would make our relations twice as complicated as they were.

“A friend with benefits then?” Hanji’s mind-reading abilities amazed. I realised it suddenly – that it was natural, this attraction of mine, no matter how humiliating and inconvenient. It wasn’t weird and maybe it wasn’t all that wrong. It was a guy who was three years older than me who lived with me that I considered unreachable. The forbidden fruit, so to say. He was handsome, mysterious and had abs. Natural to be attracted to that. Natural to be attracted to it when I saw it every day and it saw me every day and most times it treated me with passive kindness. So there’d be no harm, I assumed, in initiating something a smidge bigger. What was stopping me? I didn’t have a boyfriend, I wouldn’t feel guilty and I wasn’t insecure because, hey, he’d kissed me last time. Obviously, I wasn’t nasty.

“Update from a virgin to a slut then?” I smirked, a decision born. Hanji’s mouth clamped shut shamefully and I laughed. “I’m kidding, calm down. It was just a joke.” I patted her back. The ring on my finger was cool to the couch and soothing. My resolve, for once, was there. I had a goal. A simple one at that – nothing dangerous. Two words: kiss Levi. I would do it because there was nothing to stop me. I mean, what was the worst that could happen?

…

Imagine an elegant expensive kitchen armed with all kinds of top-quality appliances. Paradise for all little housewives who greet their husbands with a warm meal. I wasn’t that type and the fact I spent four hours cooking more food than a family of six could eat didn’t make me one either. Judging was futile because I took care of that myself during the whole process. Currently, the fruit of my effort sat in front of me – a full three-course meal with different forks to go with the high-class atmosphere. I was far from a successor of Gordon Ramsay, but I outdid myself this time. Why? Last-minute anxiety maybe. Or fear. I needed a distraction because the thought of Eren wouldn’t stop pestering me. Added to that was the fact my father could walk in without Levi. Asshole-me didn’t help.

Bet on the outcome now! A once-in-a-lifetime offer that provides an endless amount of entertainment for the whole family! Fifty bucks says a discount version of William will use the vanishing potion and fly back to France! The other side of the bet? Sorry, I don’t know her. With such a commentator, it was early to skip the food and go straight to consuming my fingernails. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. Place your bets right now, your bets need to go in the ballot box, quickly fill out the slips and put them in! Will he go or yes? And what’s the sweat for, princess? Don’t we like watching history repeat itself? I love it. So bet, bet, bet, bet! Come on, faster! If I had a penny for each time your father’s intern left you in the summer, I’d have two pennies. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s hilarious it happened twice!

The jingle of keys pulled the plug on asshole-me’s voice. I’d waited a whole hour now and my head snapped up so fast I heard my neck pop. The front door opened and my heart flinched when my father walked in, dressed in one of those hideous Hawaiian shirts they sold in souvenir shops and flaunting on his nose and cheekbones a really bad case of sunburn. He’d say the sun was harsh in Minnesota. I’d pretend not to hear because believing was impossible. He slipped out of his sandals and I clasped my hands together in excitement.

“Dad, finally! I was starting to think I’d have to reheat everything,” I said. He turned to face the fake exasperation masking the genuine joy I felt at his return. A doubtful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and my eyes were frantically bouncing from him to the open door. Panic began to well up in my mind. Asshole-me was diligently digging a hole for it, to fit as much as possible.

“A pretty big feast you have there.” Rolland Raven took off the sunglasses he was wearing to eye the food a bit better. I cracked a smile I hoped wouldn’t seem constipated. My thought process was starting to lag due to overload when I heard a faint curse. Next thing, Levi’s pale figure, wearing a ridiculous straw hat. My heart dropped like a stone, plugged the pit of panic and made asshole-me yelp when it nearly crushed her fingers. I felt like stumbling back into my chair and never getting up.

“I guessed you might be hungry after the flight. You don’t have to eat all of it,” I said. It was then a pair of graphite hues shot up to my face. It felt like each muscle in it strained almost to the point of tearing. My father took a seat at the counter while the intern opted to drop off his luggage upstairs and change clothes. I stared after him a second too long while he was climbing the stairs.

“You’ve never waited for me after a business trip before.” (E/c) clashed with (e/c) as my father began picking his food and digging in with more enthusiasm than I’d expected. Levi had mentioned the almightly Raven had complained about the poor quality on the trip compared to what he had at home, but it was still a compliment to witness it manifested.

“I usually have things to do when you’re on business trips, father. This summer I needed a source of entertainment.” I rolled my eyes, letting them scan the interior during the roundabout lie. Lucky enough, they caught the exact moment Levi was leaving his room, tugging down his shirt. A glimpse of fit abdominals. A vague tan line. The food on the counter became a tad bit less appetising.

“Don’t you have Eren Jaeger to help with that?” My father’s question made my attention snap back in place just in time for Levi not to catch me staring. He took a seat at the far end of the counter but I was too preoccupied with a small freak-out fit to dwell on it.

“About that,” I squeaked out with a constipated expression, prompting both men’s attention to turn from half-hearted to wholly undivided. Amazing. I couldn’t have done a better job at it if I’d begun yodelling out of the blue. “Eren broke up with me two months ago.” The key to not sounding like a squeaky toy was to not meet anybody’s gaze. My father was blinking like something had gotten in his eye and Levi’s jaw clenched at the discomfort he was subjected to.

“And I wasn’t notified of that because?” Rolland Raven, among many a quality, was a proud man who, in spite of his profession, could never act quite as predictably as I wished him to. This was no exception because I didn’t have time to open my mouth before he silenced me with a hand in the air. “No, forget I asked. I need to have a serious talk with him. Maybe make him pay back all the dates you’ve handled with interest. We can make a fortune.” The devious plan was voiced in his typical cold-blooded businessman manner. I waved my hands around in discomfort.

“Hold your horses, father. You’re not the one who got dumped. Eren ended the whole thing because he went to study in Germany,” I explained but it wouldn’t satisfy my father, who only glared while putting a fork-full of potatoes in his mouth. Levi tried to become fully invisible. I thought if things got too heated for him, he might make a dash for his room with the dish.

“Unreasonable as can be. If he loved you as much as he had the balls to claim in front of me, he could’ve thought of an alternative that didn’t include breaking your heart. Because of something as insignificant as distance, too.” My father leaned back in his chair with folded arms. He forgot all about food so he could glare at me.

“4898 miles to be exact,” I murmured pitifully. Both men shot me an incredulous look, to which I switched on defence mode. “I did my research. I wasn’t crying the whole time.” Subconsciously copying my father’s position, I reclined in my chair and crossed my arms, glaring like a child prior to giving a sigh and smiling weakly. “I gave it a lot of thought and he did the right thing. So can you be the one to tell mom later?” The last inquiry seemed to surprise him, maybe because it was expected of me to share more with my mother and thus already have her know the super secret information I was handing him.

“I’ll try not to cry as I do.” A nod and a similar weak smile. “You did well not to tell me immediately.” He returned to normal – calculating and sharp, looking for weaknesses and thinking in numbers. Levi’s lack of shock went unnoticed, which I was secretly thankful for. The raven was looking at me playing with the silver band around my finger to soothe my nerves.

“Because you would’ve gone to the airport to kick him to the curb like a good father?” I smirked, a pointed look aimed at the dark-haired businessman, who only snorted in return prior to redirecting his attention back to the food.

“… maybe.” A small pause betraying care, an awkward glance in his intern’s direction conveying mild panic as a result of his feelings showing and a fake clearing of the throat to show discomfiture. He changed the topic immediately. “Have I told you you’ve become a better cook than your mother?” (E/c) clashed with (e/c) and I knew he could see I was holding back laughter by the way the corner of his mouth twitched downwards in displeasure.

“You have now. Congratulations on successfully dodging the topic,” I announced with a complacent grin as he scoffed, ignoring the embarrassment so he could go back to eating. Levi’s gaze was relentless but, once having resolved the current minor conflict, I felt too ashamed to return it. I couldn’t be speaking of Eren, thinking of Levi and acting like a professional whore. It went against my moral code. I wished it was as stable as my pride. Somewhere in my head, asshole-me was drafting an advertisement for the future demise of both.

The following day was unexpectedly laid back in terms of emotions – the process of waking up and going to work was starting to become mechanical. I disliked that I was turning into a nine-to-five zombie, but Melinda’s cross remarks did nothing to hinder my placidity and Adam’s request for a date was, surprisingly, accepted with a pinch of reluctance. It was time for something new, I defended when asshole-me breached the topic of my change of heart. I couldn’t go a whole life without clashing with a man who wasn’t Eren. To forget him, I actually needed to accept that. Because knowing he wouldn’t come back and I didn’t want to get back together was different from realising I couldn’t stay in the comfort zone of being endlessly attached to him and using it as an excuse to never move on.

I felt a smile light up my face the moment I saw Levi in front of the TV with a cup of tea in his hand. Unfortunately, I couldn’t use him to move on – it was the conclusion I drew from the quiet happiness gripping my heart at the sight of him beckoning me over. Everything I’d done had been quite enough. I wouldn’t turn him into a tool as well. So I settled on the couch and we led a half-assed conversation about the movie playing until my parents barged in, beaming and formal. Going for a date at a restaurant – yeah, no, I knew where they were going after. I smiled as we sent them off, and then the ebony-haired intern began choosing the movie we’d be watching and I worked on the snacks downstairs.

Accepted a date, claimed you won’t use him and now you’re pondering the kiss you’ll initiate. You know you’re fucked in the head, correct? Asshole-me piped mockingly, making me huff. I knew I was fucked in the head because she was there. Also, kissing Levi and using Levi were two different things. Different for him how? It’s kissing. It wasn’t. It would be exploring this time – not thinking about being distracted but feeling it for what it was. Jesus, that’s such a weak excuse. I felt she might be face-palming. Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You spent so much time telling your best friend you don’t like him, then you miss Eren, then you “date” Adam, then you grab your friend-zoned intern and decide you’ll be kissing him again – after you established you’re fucking inferior to the blondie who’s clearly hitting on him or clearly intent on doing it too. Can you not follow the timeline?

“Princess, why does Natalie tell me you’ve filled out all the forms related to the company’s income during our vacation?” Levi lowered the phone from his ear. The call had ended a second ago and he was glaring at me doubtfully. I was busy watching the movie – hopefully, excuse enough for scarce to no eye contact. I opened the pack of Doritos I’d dug up from my secret stash in the garage and warily eyed the pale intern’s expression.

“Because the forms were in the office downstairs and I figured they’d get in the way of our movie marathon, asshole. I haven’t messed them up.” My scoff was promptly returned to sender as Levi shoved his phone back in his pocket and clicked his tongue in exasperation. Another three minutes passed before I spoke up: “By the way, I need advice.” The room was dimly lit and the raven’s sharp gaze was on my temple.

“Will you have it in mind when you get back on your bullshit?” The inquiry was flat and doubtful. I tried to nod but it came out looking like a cringe and a shrug. His lips pursed in exhaustion. “Spill,” he ordered coldly, making me pout.

“How do I forget Eren?” Squeaky was the best I could do after becoming tense again. Nervousness was gnawing at the feeble stem of courage I’d managed to grow and my hopes for this to go as smoothly as a chat about the weather were stuck in an elevator on the top floor of a skyscraper. Even overthinking was useless here.

“Easy,” he said. Again, there was that breach of grammar. “Find somebody new. Judging by how much you’re smiling these days, you might as well be done with that.” The suspicious mockery made me snort.

“Don’t you think I might be happy to have you and dad back home?” I asked pointedly.

“No,” he countered with a defiant click of his tongue. What he said next sounded like an extract from a Jorge Bucay book. Something about self-love maybe. “Before you get with Rivers, however, you have to accept that Jaeger is now your ex. He’s part of the past and the past doesn’t hold power over the future if you don’t let it.” I bit back laughter to not offend him.

“Such a poet you are,” I huffed half-heartedly. “And how do I stop loving him?” Seriousness stood perched on my right shoulder, but the Doritos between us kept decreasing and I felt the soothing coolness of the ring on my finger. Our gazes locked and I stared, just because I could, because he was back, because he acted normally. And why wouldn’t he? Our circumstances surely weren’t enough to alter his demeanour.

“You don’t. You never will and you should get used to it.” His answer cut deep and I realised it might’ve confused me but I was too captivated by his eyes to process it. He forced himself to explain: “We never stop loving somebody once we’ve fallen for them. We just fall harder for another person.” It was as romantic as it was businessman-like. A bit too… systematic somehow.

Line up, line up! Asshole-me encouraged. I imagined a big queue in front of an entrance door with a sign bearing my name above it. Number 12, pass through, but beware – number 10 wasn’t careful with his words and number 11 made no effort to change that! The asshole side of me clearly fancied the idea. For all waiting, the Eren Jaeger mural is on the left and the guy on the right is the one you’ll never be! Keep trying but keep this face in mind – Levi Ackerman is hiding in a lot of the corners you’ll visit! He’s an invaluable guest at this establishment! Oh! Is it time for the next one already? Hurry up, number 13! Don’t hold up the queue, who knows how much capacity we have left. And so on until the last victim had walked in. It made my nose scrunch up.

“Does that mean you still haven’t gotten over Petra?” I piped curiously, bright eyes observing closely the intern’s reaction. The movie was no longer as interesting. Everything I could focus on was the furrow between Levi’s brows and the flat unperturbed look in his eyes. He grabbed a Dorito from the pack. I moved my hand away just in time to avoid a clash.

“It means I haven’t fallen in love with the next in line,” he said, reinforcing the notion of a queue. “I’m used to the fact she’d dead. Filling out every report in the world won’t bring her back,” he paused briefly and gulped, “so I go on with my life.” The explanation was simple but relatively quiet, like he was trying to say the words while not exactly aiming to have me hear them. His gaze was staring at the screen ahead as I looked down, trying to come up with a good one-liner to put him out of his discomfort.

“I feel like we’re becoming pensive,” I started with a lopsided smirk, “so let me pull a Reverse Uno card on this mood by saying I’ve reached a milestone in my life.” Licking the Dorito dust off my fingers, I puffed out my chest proudly, making the intern put a hand to his mouth. Maybe he’d bitten back a smile behind it. “I won’t get fined for driving without supervision now. Not to mention, I can have sex.” Waving an index finger in front of his face, I didn’t react when he grabbed it without warning.

“I don’t see what stopped you before,” he stated nonchalantly. I shrugged, concluding I hadn’t exactly shared with him details about my childish vow.

“There was this really religious teacher at school when I was ten – she scarred all her classes by giving them unsolicited Sex Education lectures mixed with Bible verse. Got fired because children complained to their parents, but she did a good one on me before that,” I explained with a smile, yanking my finger from his hold. “Since sex was for sinners – both began with the letter s, she explained to us – and I didn’t want to be a sinner because it meant… well, a bad person, I told myself I’d have sex only after turning eighteen, regardless of the temptation. So I held out. Proud of myself for that.” My complacent smile made him snort. He might’ve glanced at my lips right after.

“I’m sure there’s been a lot of temptation for you, princess,” he drawled in a deep sarcastic voice, moving the empty bag of Doritos away before wiping his fingers with as I processed the retort. I sat still, pouting for a fraction of a second, when it hit me this was my chance. The signal was there – shining in bright green, if I wasn’t color-blind – and it was time for me to grasp the opportunity.

“More than you can imagine, asshole,” I said with a scoff, not parting my eyes from his profile to observe his reaction. We cast aside the fact he could’ve poked fun at me being the furthest thing from a believer, yet such a big aspect of my life had been altered by a religious teacher. The tip of his nose twitched when he snorted in dismissal, not daring to meet my eye all of a sudden.

“The mood has been brightened. What do we do now?” He turned to face me, curious but hesitant, and I felt a surge of courage at the sight of the indecisiveness dawdling about in his grey eyes. The blue specks were calling me – count us, (Y/N), count us – and I concluded this would be the one time I initiated anything between us. It was stressful and scary, but it was Levi, so want overpowered fear, resulting in something we’d have a hard time sorting out our feelings on.

“Watch the movie you so diligently picked for us maybe?” But actions contradicted words because I was leaning in and he could see it. For two whole seconds, there was no movement on his end. Panic was about to make me pull back, pin it to something else, anything else, when his hand lifted, slender fingers gently tucking my hair behind my ear. This was it. It would happen. I was exploring what it’d be like without the guilt of purposefully seeking distraction.

It was slow – the first kiss – his lips barely landing on top of mine so we could taste the water even when we knew it was lukewarm. The movie was like white noise – I could catch fragments of dialogue and the screen illuminated Levi’s profile the few times my lids fluttered open. His hold on the side of my face was gentle, granting permission for me to pull back at any point. I didn’t know what he was thinking. I knew I was barely thinking and it felt nice, for my head to be so blissfully empty. It was all sensations and when he dragged his tongue over my bottom lip, my mouth opened to allow access for further exploration. The kiss deepened and I tried to push closer into him.

“Get on top,” he muttered into my mouth. His right hand dipped to grab my leg. I might’ve flushed bright red, but I still complied, slowly straddling him and letting his hands guide me to where he found it most comfortable. I was terribly aware of what I sat on. It might’ve been terribly aware of me, too.

It was slow and fast at the same time. We weren’t breaking the kiss but some moments of it – like his hand brushing my side and making me cover in goosebumps – were fleeting like blinks while others – like the weird scorching thing in my whole torso – felt endless. It was indescribable to a point, the heat of the moment but the moment was long and the pace was changing slightly the more it went on. It hadn’t been him either. It was him responding to me, because I couldn’t for the life not hold him tightly and subconsciously look for more. We were glued together and his fingers had tentatively pushed up my shirt at the back so they could trail up and down the curve of my spine.

My head was tilted, fingers tangled in his hair and heavy huffs escaping my nostrils. He smelled like lavender and rain and cologne, and my fucking conditioner I’d told him a thousand times to stop using because it was expensive. I didn’t bother scolding him about it now. My desperate want turned the kisses hungrier and there was this point – I might’ve wiggled slightly to find an even closer spot – but he stiffened and grabbed the back of my head, growing twice as persistent and passionate. Weird, using that word about him. It hit me the forbidden part of male anatomy I was seated on top of had risen to attention. It made me wonder if it had happened before and that, in turn, was simultaneously embarrassing and flattering. He was attracted to me, too. Duh. We were literally making out on my bed.

When more began translating as more of everything instead of more of this particular thing, he seemed to sense the shift. His hands guided me off his lap and back on the bed. My head was resting against the pillow and my head was empty, lids fluttering open to drink the sight of him the first time he broke the kiss – pale but handsome, tired but caring, bored but clearly moved by the happening. It was a miracle. I’d been begging for this statue to show me anything in the beginning of his internship. I hadn’t known it could show me this – it looked like a godsend. My heart was going a hundred miles per hour, my breath was unsteady and my body felt hot all over.

It didn’t matter where he kissed – my lips, my neck, my chest, my shoulders – I just wanted him to keep kissing me. Temptation had seldom been this strong and the vow was no longer active, it was fulfilled – an electrifying realisation. I didn’t need to have him stop. What my sinner’s hands did the moment that resolution snapped in place was to grab the hem of his shirt and, with pointed urgent eyes, plead with him to take it off. He hesitated for exactly one second, then complied, like he’d complied with everything else without having me say it. He was kneeling between my legs, arms going over his head so the piece of clothing could be discarded. His chest and abdomen flexed, the biceps, the triceps, all the other names of muscles I’d had to read about but hadn’t memorised. Adonis in the flesh. Fuck me for drooling. Oh.

If I could paint, I’d paint him. If I could sing, I’d write a song. If I had a taser, I’d tase myself out of being so cringe-worthy in admiring the body of a man. But when that body pressed against mine, everything became a bit too hot – literally and metaphorically – so I decided the next step was to cool down by taking off my own clothes. First the shirt, then the pants he helped out with. I almost laughed when they tangled at my ankles and he had to tug them off with an irritated frown. Here it was, having my father’s intern see my bra again. This time I didn’t mind.

“Frills? Seriously?” Well, now I minded.

“Do we have an issue?” I snapped with a pointed look. It didn’t help he was towering over me, sizing up my underwear with eyes that spoke simultaneously of him being amused and him being something else. I wondered if he was still hard. I hadn’t touched there once.

“It’s almost cute,” he mocked flatly. He didn’t reach to take it off – he just leaned down to mollify me with a kiss. It worked. I was carried off into wanting more again. The weight of him on top of me grounded the body and made the soul soar. It was a cringe comparison but whatever, it was true. I realised, right about the time I tugged on the waistband of his sweatpants and his brows flashed in unrestrained surprise, that I was an eighteen-year-old doing exactly what was expected of every single eighteen-year-old on the planet – sneaking a boy into my room while my parents were out.

This here was a boy I trusted and a boy I was halfway convinced was more of a man than a boy, mostly when it came to observing how he casually sat up and removed his sweatpants with precision contrary to clumsiness. My eyes flickered down to his boxers. Still hard alright. There was a rush of excitement and shame all at once when I realised it. A bit too late to stop and pin this a mere heat-of-the-momet make-out session. It was the real deal. Happening. Live. In my room. On a late August evening. Goodness gracious.

It took me a second to process it and he might’ve sensed that I’d grown a bit rigid despite remaining just as active. He didn’t advance the happening, petting my hair and kissing me, and trailing lower, but only as low as he’d gone before, finding the rest a sort of forbidden land. Didn’t even take off the bra with the frills he mocked me for. What a gentleman. He was kissing the curve of my breast and I was wondering how in the fucking hell I’d deserved this.

“We don’t have to,” he warned at some point. “If you don’t want to. Saying no is allowed.” He kissed me and it was intoxicating, but also the last snapped nerve. I arched my back off the bed, elbows bending so my hands could reach for my bra clip. The shoulder straps went loose and Levi paused for a moment to process what the act meant.

“I won’t say it,” I muttered with determination, eyes locked with his. Pride was strong within me even now and, having the wordless consent, he gently took off the bra before paying some attention to newfound territory. It was like being examined in a lab. Again, my boobs weren’t perfect. It was genetics and fate, and whatever else. In being embarrassed about him staring at my chest, I was graced by the thought I hadn’t shaved anywhere. Double embarrassed. Wasn’t it only right that the first time would come with presentability? There go the Raven teachings.

And the word nipple is somewhat lame – I’ve heard it from native and non-native speakers of English both – but there is no other word. So when his tongue rolled around my nipple, I forgot I hadn’t shaved and drew such a sharp breath I almost choked. My chest was heaving and he was thumbing my other nipple. I thought we’d get straight to it and was mistaken. He knew better, it seemed, because a virgin needed the bare minimum of this much and more foreplay to truly relax. It hit me for a fraction that this was actual foreplay while I was staring at the ceiling between trying not to make any sounds. I was like a dead fish, just letting him do things to me. More responsive than a dead fish but awfully inexperienced in any case. It made me feel just a bit guilty. My one saving grace was the fact his erection kept brushing against my leg – and if that was there, then it meant he wasn’t dissatisfied.

It was a black spot for a while because I couldn’t pinpoint between the overwhelming build-up of nice but not nice enough where exactly Levi was kissing or sucking or nipping or touching. Now it would be my thigh, now leaving a hickey on my shoulder, now trailing kisses over my jaw and down my neck, now caressing my side, now trailing a finger down to my navel, now my boob, intermission, the other boob – and the whole time there was that thing in my abdomen, the same one I’d felt with Eren, the hot knot begging for attention.

This was a new person and I hadn’t thought it’d come with a new person, but it was there alongside a brand new dynamic which wasn’t hurried or harsh or overtly passionate like I’d been used to. The pace was decent and steady and passion here didn’t amount to bruises – or at least not explicitly so. The new person made it thrilling, overwhelming. The new person made it a brand new experience. And when the brand new person’s hand gently dipped to touch the part where my legs met, I shivered all over, heart and lady boner flinching at once. Levi, with his obstinacy, refused to ask permission vocally. I still nodded, spreading my legs a bit wider. Slowly, like my panties weren’t in the way, he kissed from my knee to the base of my inner thigh, nipped slightly and made me yelp, and muffled something like a chuckle against the plush of my leg.

I didn’t know what he was thinking. I knew his fingers pressing against the spot where wetness had accumulated made my mouth gape slightly. I craned my neck and closed my eyes. There was embarrassment holding hands with excitement, with pleasure breathing down their necks. Nothing quite mattered. I breathed out like I’d been holding my breath for fourteen minutes when the raven’s fingers gently dragged back and forth against my core and then he might’ve been impatient, because he tugged my underwear out of the way, down my legs, past the knees and the ankles, dropping it with the rest of our clothes and the empty Dorito bag on the floor. It was a whole mess, this thing. I wanted it.

“The house is empty, princess,” he said while leaning down to kiss below my navel.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, almost out of breath in spite of my lungs functioning perfectly. His fingers were ghosting on the side of where I wanted him to touch. His mouth dragged lower. There was the jab of shame about not being shaved again. It hadn’t sent him to his feet and out of the room, so it was probably fine. A man wasn’t afraid to fight the jungle, I’d heard a few times before.

“That you can make noise without being scared,” he responded casually. I snorted and decided inwardly that I wouldn’t be making any noise whatsoever, just to spite him. It did feel good, though, so I doubted I could actually hold back effectively. As though to challenge the unsaid decision, Levi cut the suspense short. When his tongue rested where only one other had before, I came close to whining. My hand shot down to paw at his hair and he hummed against my clit. The vibrations of it made me writhe slightly.

He licked and sucked – nipped twice, which made me yelp both times – and did all sorts of other magic. Added to the title of mind-reader would now be the rank of mage. Then, there was this point when I could feel his fingers prodding at my entrance – a gentle warning of what was to come. First it was one. My mouth gaped and there was a slight flash of something like pain. More like discomfort. Now this was brand new wherever I looked at it from. Remember, my vow had its doors but none had included penetration. Officially the furthest I’d gone with somebody. Goodbye, hymen. You served us well.

He waited. Waited almost a full minute and distracted me with his tongue before I rolled my hips to give him the green light. Slow pumps. It was still uncomfortable, but the friction wasn’t painful. Just uncomfortable and new and I didn’t like change, but when this one found with its finger one particular spot sold off as the Bermuda Triangle for men to find, I might’ve liked this particular change. First, it made me moan. Second, the more he kept reaching that spot – because it was impossible to miss I liked it – the closer I was to coming. There were sloppy sounds and a second finger inserting itself in me, and my voice bouncing off the walls before dropping to the floor in a hush.

I might’ve said his name, actually, I might’ve half-screamed it. The orgasm hit me like a brick dropping straight on my genitals and he kept flicking his tongue slower and slower until I’d ridden it out in full. How considerate. When his fingers came out, there was a spot of blood. My mouth clamped shut in shame. He reached over to clean them with a wet wipe – then he cleaned me, too, because obviously he could see things that were invisible to me. There was slick on his chin and I glared half-heartedly when his eyes twinkled in amusement at me.

“Well, that’s done,” I muttered while he leaned over with the intention to kiss me again. “Wipe your mouth, asshole.” I put a hand to his chest to prevent my own pussy juices from coming in contact with my face. For a clean-freak, he sure didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get them off.

“You don’t want to see how tasty it is?” He was mocking me. I was red and hot all over still, a bit like a deflated balloon being refilled with exasperation contrary to air. No longer a virgin, as far as doctors would care. Still kind of in the middle, considering typical hetero interactions included something more than fingers.

“God, no!” I tried to push at his jaw and he almost chuckled when the pussy juice got on my fingers and I flicked my wrist frantically to get it off.

“It was god, yes a second ago,” he drawled pointedly. I burned bright red under his gaze, naked and not a hymen-bearer and kind of lost as to what came next. I pouted, swatted his shoulder and pretended to be very disgusted when he kissed me, making it open-mouted and sloppy for the sake of spiting me. In truth, it didn’t taste like much. Tasted weird, unlike food and drink. Well, that’s bodily fluids for you.

Remember the right-est choice I made as of late? Here it comes. The kiss guided his fingers down to my clit again and mine – to the band of his boxers. A tug and a snap, and he asked me three whole fucking times if I was sure. Not verbally, of course. It was just the particular way he stopped between each step to make sure, to look at me straight in the eye and have me nod my consent back to him. Like I’d change my mind that fast. God’s sake – if I would’ve said no, I would’ve said it before we’d kissed. But this wasn’t something he would do under normal circumstances – not a matter of alcohol, guilt or duty. It was free will and choice. Mine might’ve been made sometime last month, right around my birthday.

The boxers were gone. I blinked at it. A penis in textbooks, a dick in colloquial speech, a cock in smut books, a member in tame erotica. Length, girth, meat sword, love machine – could go on forever. We sat staring at it like it was an alien and while I was bashful, I was also bad with measurements without the aid of a ruler, hence why I safely concluded that I could stack about four donuts on it and put the zipper on it. There was that thing – precum, was it? – leaking from the tip. In all honesty, no I didn’t want to lick it off. Same went for sperm. In the history of mankind, I’d done the gracious thing and sucked off my boyfriend exactly once – the rest had been handjobs because blowjobs came with terrible pains in the jaw, a cramping of the tongue, a crap salty taste and the awkward detail of looking like an unattractive fish during the act. So, no, I didn’t volunteer to show off how bad I was at it.

“Condoms, shit.” It flew out of my mouth unintentionally. Levi’s face scrunched up. We were both visited by the bitter realisation that going further was not an option anymore, unless he wanted to don on a sock. Then the solution came to me. “Keep it up, I’ll be back in a minute,” I mumbled hurriedly, jumping off the bed and rushing butt-naked out of the room so I could go to my parents’ bedroom. Yeah, no, such was the reality of things. I tried to keep my conscience untainted while rummaging through the wardrobe. The hidden box of condoms in the back by the shoes was the saving grace. I wouldn’t speak of this to a living soul that wasn’t Annie Leonheardt ever.

The moment I returned to the room with the box held proudly over my head, Levi snorted. He laid me on the bed again and the mood returned, which was weird because I’d pinned him the type of experience one moment of interruption and consider it all ruined. Not that I’d thought about him during sex or having sex. I hadn’t. I promise. I was thinking it now, when I was about to have it with him. The kisses eased the natural awkwardness and by the time he was putting it in, I was a desperate mess again. Sweat stuck to skin and my breath got stuck in my throat when he pushed it in. I blanked, gaped like I’d received a headshot and felt him stand still to let me adjust. There was, again, mild discomfort. Fingers couldn’t compare to a dick.

I gave it half a minute and told him to move. The first thrust had me whining into his mouth. It was good. It was good, progressively becoming better and better and better, a surprise arriving with each snap of his hips. My father’s intern having sex with me, my father’s intern, my father’s intern, my intern, my Levi. The first five minutes were full of careful slow strokes to let the awkwardness dissipate and for me to get used to it. I won’t call myself anything but I’ll say I got used to it a bit too fast for comfort. So it went. Losing my virginity to my father’s intern.

“Faster, can you--- a bit faster?” The words were choked out and you’d wonder why I would ask for faster when slow was doing a good job of making my chest heave like I was running a marathon, but it was maddening and addictive.

“I can for you, princess.” It was a rasp against the side of my neck and I was blanking because the voice, paired with the hands, with the scent, with the sensation of being full and empty, then full and empty again was so mind-numbing I could melt on the spot and stay there forever. So slow and careful turned into fast and considerate. There was no harshness in him even when he kneaded my boobs or licked stripes down the length of my throat, no harshness whatsoever when he gripped my thighs or my sides. It was tight, but pleasant, egging me on further.

I bit down on the pillow when he found the spot. I bit his finger, too. I bit his shoulder and I bit my own hand to keep my voice down because how was something on this Earth allowed to be so nice? Fuck. He murmured at me to moan if I felt like it. There was a smug undertone. And when he reached between us to roll circles around my clit, I didn’t moan – I was a banshee impersonator, neck craning, back arching, toes curling, all that jazz. I came with a crash and a bang, and it might’ve been an hour by now, or maybe more, but the neighbourhood was asleep and I was wide awake, trying to wake them up, too.

A five-minute break of kisses served as an intermission to avoid me becoming overstimulated but Levi was still hard and still quite energetic in spite of the fact he’d been fucking me for an overall of thirty minutes without stopping or having his pace hitch. Round two started fast and I had my legs up, knees on the sides of my head. It was hot, seeing him through that kind of frame. Just one bead of sweat on his temple – not sticky all over, unlike me. Why was I the one becoming exhausted anyway? I was being a pillow princess. His eyes were gorgeous and his lips were slightly swollen.

“Please, don’t stop,” I whined at some point. He didn’t seem to have any prospects of stopping anyway, but I couldn’t help it. He huffed, chest heaving with lust and I knew it wasn’t easy to be the one doing all the work, so I mentally gave credit where credit was due. “Oh--- Levi, God!” He seemed like he wanted to laugh and my ring glimmered in the dark against his cheek while I tried to pull him down for a kiss which was simply impossible in our current position. He switched it five minutes later. It was not an understatement to claim I was seeing stars and everything was nice and nothing was awkward and this was the most handsome man with the most stamina on this land.

I lost my voice at some point, or I thought I did because my third orgasm couldn’t make me bite down on the pillow fast enough to muffle the literal holler that left my lungs. His name, by the way. If that hadn’t woken the neighbours, I wasn’t sure anything would. I was recuperating and he was trailing gentle pecks along my neck, still not finished. Was sex always this physically draining? My mind might’ve blanked during the third round and we were in missionary again because I insisted that I be able to kiss him any time I wished to. His hand was holding my wrist captive and the other was massaging my breast and it was all a giant whirlpool of pleasure and heat and fluids – the nasty and the nice in one, but I couldn’t care less about the nasty.

He came with a growl, biting down on my shoulder to muffle something that sounded like my name as his pace hitched and turned sloppy for the first time in what felt like hours. He slumped down on top of me and I was breathing more heavily than him, calmed by the weight. I was blinking at the ceiling and my heart was doing somersaults in my ribcage. He went to shower after a minute of rest, I called him out for being a clean freak and it just so happened that my perception of time wasn’t all too warped because checking my phone made me realise we’d had sex for about three hours, foreplay included. I slipped into the shirt he’d tossed on the floor, wiped myself and very considerately ignored the soreness in my hips while changing the sheets.

To my biggest surprise, he returned to my room in a new pair of boxers with his hair wet. There was no invitation. He joined me on the clean bed and wrapped his arms around me. This might’ve been aftercare. When our gazes locked, I didn’t dare avert my eyes in bashfulness. It was surreal and I wanted to memorise it. Then he asked me again – as voicelessly as the first time and the following ten – and I answered positively by flashing him the biggest smile I could muster. No words were exchanged. Levi rolled his eyes and I tucked myself under his chin, legs tangling with his. I was knocked out cold. I wouldn’t hasten to write this off as a happy ending but I wouldn’t immediately turn it angsty either. I explored. It was nice. I don’t think I regretted it for a second.

Waking up was a surreal experience because it included the added luxury of being bathed in sunlight with a warm arm draped around my midriff and a pale sunlit face inches from mine. A spot of purple in the crook of his neck and a few red crescents on his shoulder. Perhaps one or two leftover scratches on his back. I blinked at the sight incredulously, gradually coming to and realising what this position meant – prompted by last night’s three different ones, too.

It happened! Asshole-me hollered in my head, nearly hysteric, slamming a pan into a bell and making the echo of the toll ring painfully against the confines of my skull. You ruined it all! It was like an automatic switch – suddenly, the neutral was the bad and I had complicated it with my impulsiveness, my stupid hormones. I imagined four months of awkwardness and the wish to have more but being completely incapable of asking for fear it would mean feelings. I pictured a tense atmosphere, uncomfortable interactions, embarrassing thoughts, lame excuses. A friendship built with struggle and just barely reinforced annihilated to smithereens by my dumb ass.

I cringed, removing my hand from Levi’s chest to slap myself across the face for being horrible again – not in using him but in indulging my own selfishness. His eyelids fluttered open before the admonishment transpired and I was staring straight into the melted silver which had the tendency to read my thoughts. The current self-reprimanding cacophony would entertain him.

“… should make you coffee,” he mumbled half-coherently, making me blink wondrously at his hazy composure. This is normal, his eyes whispered, lips pressing nonchalantly to my forehead before he got up, so there’s no need to be so shocked. The trip down the stairs was silent. I had left scratches. More than two.

Currently, we were in the kitchen, sitting around the counter with our mandatory morning drinks. Unsaid words hung from the ceiling like dangling cobwebs. Levi, who’d needed a moment to retrieve his memories in full, was stiff and uncertain, and in spite of that visibly calmer than me. I could feel my face heating up as I thought of what to say. This wasn’t normal, even if both of us upon our respective awakening had pinned it such. It was something we had to discuss but how were we supposed to discuss sex when we sometimes fought over food? Deciding what to do seemed impossible.

“Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?” The raven, of course, was the one who broke the silence while I was slurping on my coffee, gaze averted and heart beating erratically. “Princess, I’m afraid this is something important,” he said in the face of my silence. His piercing glare was on my temple but I wouldn’t turn, keeping my fingers glued to my cup and my mind grounded in panic. “Need I remind you exactly what happened?” Levi pressed additionally, husky voice raising in audible urgency. I felt completely and utterly naked – dressed in only his shirt and my own underwear.

“We had sex, that’s what happened.” I shrugged, mind preoccupied with the strange feeling eating its way into it. Deep into my stomach, up to my lungs, through the chambers of the heart, in the windpipe – but not painfully. “There’s nothing more to it.” The nonchalant statement didn’t get a warm welcome. That much was to be expected. The attractive intern was frowning, rubbing his temples with a frustrated sigh. I tried not to look at his fingers.

And I’m trying to do just that, asshole-me scoffed pointedly. There’s something different about them when they’ve been inside you last night, yeah? A good type of different. Imagine it. My shoulders tensed as I chased her around in my head with a frying pan. Levi ran a hand through his ebony locks. Wow, is that the sex hair? And I pursed my lips in displeasure, knowing the struggles of the current moment and choosing in spite of them to secretly a wish for a second time. No harm, you know, no harm whatsoever in wanting to fuck your father’s goddamn intern, yeah? No? Can you hear it? Does it sound like a good sentence? Does it?

“Where exactly does your lacking virginity fit into your nothing more to it?” His retort made me cringe, well aware of the virginity ace hidden up his imaginary sleeve. It was a bit harder to argue with him when he was half-naked, letting me see the spots I’d bitten and kissed. The situation: we’d had sex. My side: I had nothing against him being my first because I trusted him and he’d been experienced and careful enough to make it nice. The actual problem: he was my father’s intern.

The abstract part: intimacy often came with, well… intimacy. Casual sex had the advantage of not seeing your partner again afterwards and in our case, we’d had casual sex with somebody we saw daily. Future speculation: tension due to this adventure would brew either discord or twice the ferocity in repeating the adventure. A possible solution: talking about feelings. Additional issue: Levi and I talking about feelings? Not in this day and age. Not in this life either. Telling him he made me feel warm and appreciated? Impossible. Honesty in the face of something embarrassing? Sorry, I don’t know her. She must be really lame.

“Everywhere, because I don’t care for it. It might add complexity to your situation, but it doesn’t play a big role in mine.” Dismissing the whole of it and pinning it on him was wrong. My nonchalance was false. Maybe it was what made him take a deep breath prior to speaking up again, his tea untouched.

“You’re supposed to be freaking out, princess.” His eyes were on mine and asshole-me was screaming: Come on, do it! Just kiss him and make things worse! Go right ahead! I averted my gaze with a snort. He’d used my nickname last night. Added a shade of meaning to it. I tried to get a grip as my rational side reasoned with the situation. This had been a one-time thing – or at least for him. Following that train of thought, wanting more was useless.

“You think I’m not?” It was high-pitched and ludicrous. Memories were surfacing and it was somewhat unpleasant to think they wouldn’t repeat. Levi kissing me in the dark, almost saying my name, clearing the hair from my sweaty forehead, biting my neck as he came, smiling against my lips as I tugged on his hair and tried not to moan, holding me close afterwards, not once saying the wrong thing. “I’m freaking out. You just don’t see it.” My downcast gaze was thoughtful and the air was becoming heavier with something I couldn’t identify. I could feel him staring and it bugged me not to know what he was thinking. “What?” I snapped, refraining from playing with my ring.

“What do you want to do now?” He asked flatly, eyes pinning me in place. “Do you want me to pretend this didn’t happen or do you want us to keep going?” It was ridiculous hearing him say it because, usually, he wouldn’t. I blinked, thinking I’d misheard.

“Keep going as in keep having sex?” I echoed to make sure I’d understood. It might’ve gone out a bit more shocked than expected, which made him sigh.

“I was listing options. In the end, it all comes down to what you want.” The flat voice made me realise I knew what I wanted well enough to have chosen during the conversation with Hanji three days ago or maybe even before I’d had the courage to admit it to myself.

“I don’t know what I want,” I lied with a pointed look, vehement embarrassment clawing up my throat and scratching at the back of it. I could say I wanted to keep going – his offer meant he might be willing – but his response was a fifty-fifty on whether he was sexually frustrated or would rather stick to decorum while living in the same house as the girl he was fucking and her father. I couldn’t turn the question on him because it was mean. I couldn’t call it a mistake because that would be another lie. I was tired of lying when it didn’t go to protect my pride.

“You don’t?” He quirked a thin brow mockingly, feigning the surprise he didn’t feel. “Or you just don’t want to admit your favour the more embarrassing option?” I sat motionless, knowing this wasn’t what I should’ve been doing – considering it. Maybe this was a test he had for me – to see if I’d be dumb or act like a reasonable adult. But (there came that stupid word again) if Hanji had been right, this wasn’t a random hook-up, which meant there might be something and---

Are you seriously considering a relationship with somebody who’s leaving in less than four months? Asshole-me interjected, making me sigh in defeat. Doesn’t fuck randomly, okay, fine, but this is an exception. How in the fucking hell would he grow to like you? You know that’s impossible. Methinks he went along with it because you clearly wanted it. Think about it, he does all sorts of bullshit for you. So what sounds more plausible? Him being himself or him liking you? The former, of course, but I couldn’t admit it. Like I couldn’t admit he was right to say I favoured the more embarrassing option.

“Even if it was like that,” I chose to return the favour and be doubtful, “I’m not inclined to think your morals would let you humour me.” My chin was tipped upwards while Levi shook his head and finally took a sip from his tea. The ghost of a smirk in the corner of his mouth disarmed.

“I have little to nothing against it. But,” (that fucking word again) the firmness of his voice was the only thing keeping my chest from swelling, “it doesn’t sound like an ideal course of action when you’ve almost got yourself a new boyfriend,” he reasoned calmly, somber responsibility lacing his tone.

“It’s not cheating if we’re not official,” I protested instantly, furrowed brows and a pout. He snorted.

“That’s not what I meant, princess.” My lips pursed at the jolt the nickname gave me. “I don’t want sex clouding your judgement. I get Rivers isn’t your boyfriend, but you shouldn’t exclude him as a possibility just because you’ve started thinking you have feelings for me.”

“Besides being a poet, you’ve turned into a psychologist, too,” I exclaimed with a genuinely cheerful chuckle that made him quirk a brow. Something in my throat shrivelled up. “Don’t dwell on my feelings too much, asshole,” I reassured. “I like this because it’s something new, not because I’m head over heels in love with you.” I was still chuckling as he sipped on his tea and fixed me with one of those firm looks that had the ability to bend the knees. The effect was doubled in intensity this morning.

“Make your choice then,” he said boredly, not wishing to be too imperious, seeing as the situation wasn’t taking place in a formal setting where he was the boss and I was the indecisive underling. I might as well have been, with how hot my ears got while I held his gaze, brave and stupid in the face of somebody who read me better than I sometimes read myself.

“I’m not saying it out loud,” I muttered, bashful. The ebony-haired intern watched me struggle before tilting his head to the side with a fake air of oblivion.

“Then I won’t know what you want,” he said innocently, attempting to mock my shyness and what was more – succeeding. I burned bright red, feeling heat creep up my neck and my glare was pointed and uncontrolled. It couldn’t pass as mere annoyance because Levi was hitting a nerve.

“I didn’t see you having a hard time knowing everything I wanted last night, but okay.” There was more spite than sass in the sentence, which only further conveyed my inability to stay nonchalant – something that clearly amused him. “I want us to… keep going. Satisfied?” Crossed arms, downcast gaze and a childish pout. I was the live embodiment of the word petulance and Levi wasn’t done having fun with it.

“Not as satisfied as I clearly left you.” He was smirking and I glared at him, furious and not knowing where the blood would go when there was no space left in my head. I hopped off my chair, turning my back to him and hearing how he moved to stand behind me. A well-meaning hand landed on my shoulder. “It was a joke, princess, there’s no need for the cold shoulder.” His tone was flat and disinterested, but there was a pacifying sliver. He might’ve been trying to make peace but I wouldn’t have it after all the embarrassment he put me through – just to have a good private laugh, too!

“Un-fucking-bearable, that’s what you are,” I hissed, brushing his hand off my shoulder and heading to the staircase in order to escape. He gave chase and set on ignoring the usual code that forbade touchy-touchy when unneeded. The pure and unfiltered imagination one must have in order to picture a shirtless Greek God chasing after a poorly dressed eighteen-year-old spoiled brat was too ambitious a requirement for anybody to fulfil. Turn to mythology for that, but it’s inappropriate there and this one meant well.

“I’ll stop embarrassing you if that’s what you want.” His hands were on my shoulders. He turned me around and I didn’t look at him, much less respond. He could sense I was ashamed. His hands slowly trailed down over my arms to hold my wrists in a grip I could, with effort, free myself from. “Does the mere mention of sex with no context whatsoever embarrass you, princess?” He knew it did, leaning forward with twinkling eyes and a complacent half-smile. “Your face is red.”

“And you’re a fucking genius, congratulations,” I spat with sarcastic disgruntlement. He pulled me forward so that I bumped into his chest. My shoulders jumped in surprise. I didn’t want to look him in the eye but the sight of the marks I’d left on him were no less embarrassing to behold. My heart sped up and I was pouting, flush against him with nowhere to go.

“It speaks,” he whispered by my ear. His hands retraced their steps over my arms and shoulders, gently gliding against the sides of my neck until they held my face. “Does it want to go up to my room?” Blue specks in a pool of melted silver. The question was genuine, in spite of being masked with slight mockery. The adult of us two. I tried to stay mad, but it was impossible. I promised the blue specks I’d count them later and then we were kissing. It was a funny picture – the whole of this situation – ridiculous but somehow not fictional. It was him lifting me off the floor and me wrapping my legs around him. It was him making step after step, steady and careful not to drop me while I snickered into his mouth. It was me being a literal koala and then it was us, hearing the jingle of keys.

“Shit,” I cursed, parting from him with a smack. He let go and I could catch only a glimpse of the panic on his face before I was running up the stairs. I’d barely closed the door behind us when I heard my mother greeting the empty kitchen downstairs. While I breathed out in relief, Levi was already heading to the balcony. It occurred to me that there was a pack of condoms on my nightstand and they were stolen. I’d need to make a trip to the pharmacy and replace the box. Talk about inconvenient. “Careful now,” I piped while the intern was preparing to make the jump, “we don’t want you to fall.” He gave me a half-hearted glare but said nothing.

When he was gone, I plopped down on my bed and grinned incredulously at the ceiling. This “secret sex” thing we were about to dive into wasn’t how I’d imagined the weeks prior to my first year in university, but oh, well. Expect the unexpected and if unable to – just accept it. This officially marked the beginning of my longest stay in City of Dumbassery. It was surprising, however, that I wasn’t alone in there. Twice as surprising that I’d be stuck with my father’s intern. Whom I was having sex with. Amazing. Spectacular. Asshole-me would have my ass for that.

tag list: @unloved-cadillac ; @donaldthrts

#mtij #levi x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #x reader #levi ackerman imagine #reader insert #levi ackerman x reader #it finally happened #all i'm going to say: i wrote the actual sex scene while editing the rest of the chapter because i was too bashful in the past lol #sure hope it's not worse than the vague three paragraphs of the past #levi is a literal king who preaches consent and safe sex and nobody will change my opinion #also our drama queen is entering a brand new arc of her life #beware: storm incoming

7 notes · View notes

evilwickedme · 2 years

Note

The +1 is one of Bruce's love interests asking his kids for permission

So this ask is referring to my tags on this post by @darsky17 where various slash pairings for the batkids try to bribe Bruce into giving them their blessing to marry his kids and I said this would be a cute 5+1 if I could think of a plus one and I love this so much !!!

Anyway I wrote it

before we get married, I need to get permission from Batman

also on ao3 here

Bruce has never seen Wally West this nervous – or at the very least, he’s never known him to sit in his nervousness for this long. It’s been a solid minute of sitting in absolute silence in his office in Wayne Manor, and he can’t help but wonder why he’s been called into this meeting by the Flash.

“Wally,” he gruffs, hoping it’ll prompt the kid to say something. Well, kid – neither he nor Dick were really kids anymore, were they, approaching thirty as they were. They were settling down, and Bruce was feeling more and more his age nowadays.

Wally releases a nervous laugh. “Bruce.”

Bruce sighs. “If you’re not going to tell me why you’ve asked me here, I do have business to attend to.”

“No, wait!” Wally says, blushing. “Oh, I don’t know how to say this.”

Bruce was very careful not to let his frustration show. He was aware that he could be… intimidating, when he wasn’t in control of his expressions.

Wally grabs a pen and random piece of paper from his desk as quick as – well – the Flash, and scribbles something on the back of it, before handing it back to Bruce.

Can I marry your son? is scribbled in nigh-illegible handwriting on the back of it.

Bruce breathes a sigh of relief. Is this what this all was about? “Is that all?”

Wally nods once.

“Of course, Wally,” Bruce says, to Wally’s visible relief. “I honestly am a little surprised you even asked. The two of you have known each other for over a decade, and I’ve trusted you with my life in the field.”

“Yeah, but now you’re trusting me with your son,” Wally says.

“And now I’m trusting you with my son,” Bruce agrees. “For the rest of your lives, hopefully.”

Bruce comes home to absolute chaos. It’s a full house for Thanksgiving tonight, but he didn’t expect most of the guests to arrive until much later – and he’s still a little surprised whenever these particular guests arrive at all, although it’s always a pleasant one.

“Jason,” Bruce sighs, “why is Damian threatening Lian with his katana?”

Lian Harper, a very bright seven year old who also happened to be Jason’s partner’s daughter, was currently holding onto Titus for dear life as Jason and Roy Harper – said partner of Jason’s – worked together to keep Damian from slicing her to pieces.

“Miss Lian made a comment regarding keeping Titus to herself,” Alfred provides. “Master Damian took it badly.”

“He’s cute!” Lian yells.

“He’s not yours!” Damian yells back, struggling to get past Jason’s bulk.

“Damian!” Bruce snaps. “Lian isn’t taking Titus, and even if she was, it will never be appropriate for you to threaten a seven year old with your katana!”

“Yeah, you tell ‘im,” Jason says.

“Why are you here, Jason?” Bruce says wearily, instead of dealing with Jason’s unnecessary tone. Damian, luckily, finally backs off and is guided away by Alfred, who Bruce sends a quick grateful look towards. “Not that I don’t want to see you, we just weren’t expecting anyone until three at the earliest.”

“Actually, it was because of me,” says a sheepish Roy. “I didn’t expect it to get so dramatic,

but I needed to have a quick word with you before everybody else arrives.”

Jason just shrugs when Bruce looks at him. “If it were up to me, this conversation wouldn’t be happening, just go talk to him.”

“Uh,” Bruce says. Then he suggests, “Shall we go downstairs?”

“This is an upstairs conversation,” Jason says confidently. “Come on, I’ll go get Lian something to eat in the kitchen, you can talk in the lounge or something.”

Lounge it was.

The two of them sat down facing each other, and Roy immediately started speaking. “I want to marry Jason.”

Bruce blinks.

“We’ve talked about it, and it’s what’s best. I’ve been a stabilizing influence in his life, and Lian is attached to him now. He wants to adopt her. And we’ve been living together for two years now, it just seems like the next logical step. And he’d never admit it, but he loves when shit’s traditional and whatnot, so before I can buy the ring and actually propose I’m asking you for his hand. But if you say no we’re never showing up to Thanksgiving ever again.”

Bruce has managed to blink twice more before Roy finishes his speech.

He’s experiencing the most bizarre sense of de ja vu. It was somehow both more complicated and a lot simpler with Wally and Dick than it is with Roy and Jason.

“Say something,” Roy says, a smidgen of nervousness creeping into his voice.

“You love him?”

Because the thing is, Bruce knew there was a physical aspect to Jason and Roy’s partnership, and he’d suspected there was more to it, that there were feelings involved as well. But they’d never acted like a couple. So he just… has to be sure.

Roy visibly relaxes. “Is that all?”

Bruce nods.

“Yeah, Bruce,” he says. “I love him. I’ve been loving him. I’ll keep on loving him, too. As long as he’ll have me. Wouldn’t marry him otherwise.”

“Then yes,” Bruce says.

Roy nods once, then gets up, wiping his hands on the front of pants as if from sweat. He couldn’t have possibly been actually worried about Bruce’s answer, had he?

“I’m going to go find my daughter and future husband, then,” he says.

It’s a quiet night in the middle of the week when Spoiler unexpectedly joins Batman on a roof during patrol.

He’s surveilling the warehouse below for any suspicious activity.

There has, so far, not been any suspicious activity.

Steph makes some small talk, which passes half an hour just fine. He asks her about her classes, and if she’s getting enough sleep. She assures him she doesn’t have any Thursday morning classes, which wasn’t what he’d been asking, but also wasn’t not what he’d been asking.

After a while, though, the night goes quiet. Bruce is pretty sure Steph joined him specifically to say whatever it is that she’s getting ready to say right now, so he doesn’t interrupt. That, and he’s never been particularly chatty.

“I know I’m not your daughter,” Steph says.

Bruce recoils. “That – ”

“No, wait, that came out wrong,” Steph says quickly. “I don’t mean that – ugh. Okay. Let’s start over, can we start over?”

Bruce waits, knowing she’ll take that for the permission to continue that it is.

“I’m in love with your daughter,” she says. “I have been for a while. And I’m not saying it’s coming up any time soon, but I guess what I was wondering is… how you would feel if I was part of your family. For real, I mean.”

“Spoiler,” Bruce says.

“I’m not asking you to be my dad,” Steph continues as if uninterrupted.

“Spoiler, I,” Bruce says, and this time waits for Steph to make sure she’s done. Once convinced, he continues, “I know I’ve been… less than perfect, with you especially. But I hope it’s never been in doubt that I. I want the best for my children. And that blood or not, I. I love you, like one of my children. And I would be eternally grateful to have you as a member of my family.”

Steph says nothing, just looks at the warehouse Bruce has been neglecting. Bruce waits for her to respond, but eventually looks back at the warehouse as well. Nothing new.

She pounces on him, hugging him from the side as tight as she can. “Thank you,” she says wetly, then, before he can make a decision on what to do with his arms, she darts away. “I’ll see you around, Batman. Also, I’m pretty sure the operation in this warehouse cleared out last week, Oracle said something about it last time I talked to her.”

Batman doesn’t swear, but he comes close to it right then.

4&5

Spending a weekend at the Kent farm sounded a lot more pleasant in theory than it ended up being. There was no room, for one, so Jon and Damian and Kon and Tim had both doubled up, while Bruce ended up on the couch, having had to fight the Kents for the privilege of not replacing them in their own beds.

“You wouldn’t have anywhere to sleep if I did,” Bruce points out. “It’s fine.”

And it would’ve been. If it weren’t for the fact that farm sleeping schedules were entirely antithetical to his own. Batman was the Night Incarnate, and Bruce often ended up in bed at four, five, or even six am.

Jonathan and Martha Kent were up at sunrise, and Clark joined them to help, and Bruce could not sleep through the racket the two of them were pulling in the kitchen while also having the audacity to stage whisper, as if that was any quieter than speaking.

So he was understandably cranky when a scant two hours later, at the abominably early hour of seven am, he was awoken by the two Kent boys’ fight.

“I’ll be the first!”

“No, I’ll be the first, you’re literally twelve!”

“Age is only a number!”

“Where the hell did you even hear that?”

“What is going on?”

Oh good, Lois has joined whatever this is. Bruce gives up any semblance of sleep.

“Oh, um.”

“Jon and I were just…”

“They were,” a yawn punctuates Tim’s introduction to the conversation. Bruce gets off the couch. “They were fighting over which one of them would get to marry a Wayne.”

“Tt. Ridiculous. It’s clearly Jon.”

“I’m not fighting with you over this. I’m going back to bed. Don’t fight with your twelve year old brother about stupid shit, Kon.”

“But Tim,” Kon whines.

Bruce arrives at the scene of the crime – the hallway at the top of the stairs. The conversation immediately stops dead.

“You can both marry my sons, assuming they are an appropriate age and not already married to someone else, in this hypothetical future marriage proposal,” Bruce says. “But only if, and I do mean only if, I get some damn sleep between now and then.”

Jon and Kon both look properly chastened. Tim, who was also arguing for sleep, looks vindicated, while Damian chooses, as was to be expected, to hide his embarrassment, and Lois has never been scared of Bruce in her life, which is one of the main reasons he likes her.

“Come on, cranky pants, you can use Clark’s bed now that we’re all awake,” she tells him.

Her practical, hands on approach to solving problem was another reason, of course.

There were so many kids in this house nowadays. But only six of them were, legally, Bruce’s. So Selina approaches those six first.

“Dick, Jason,” she says, “Tim, Duke, Cass, Damian. Thank you so much for coming.”

“Selina,” Jason says, sounding amused. “Thanks for the role call. Are we here for a specific reason, or?”

“Hmm, well,” Selina says. Then she shows her hand – literally.

Tim whistles. “That one’s much nicer than the last one. Assuming you didn’t steal it?”

“That’s fair,” she says. “No, I didn’t steal it. He asked, again. And I said yes, again.”

“This is going to be a disaster,” Jason says gleefully.

Dick hits his arm. “Don’t be like that, Jay,” he says, “you’ve been living in married bliss for like, four years. Maybe something rubbed off on him.”

“Tt. As if Father has anything to learn from Todd,” Damian says snootily. Selina resists the urge to scratch him between the ears like a slightly hissy cat.

“Well, maybe not nothing,” Selina says. “He made quite a convincing case that we could make it work this time. And I want to.”

“You do?” Duke asks, suspicious. Also fair.

“I promise,” Selina swears. “Is that okay by all of you?”

“Cass?” Tim asks.

“Truth,” Cass says simply.

Tim shrugs. “Good enough for me.”

Dick smiles at her.

Damian tuts, but it’s almost friendly.

Duke nods.

Jason shrugs. “If he wants to try again, we’re not going to stop him.”

Selina smiles. She knows that this really is – acceptance.

“Thank you,” she says. “I can’t wait to be a part of this family.”

#birdflash #jayroy #timkon #stephcass #damijon #batcat #dc fic #dc #this my fic #ask #resplendent-ragamuffin #batfamily #this took me an hour please don't expect it to be good #gail speaks

128 notes · View notes

from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 5 months

Text

Tolkien Family Week, Day 7: Freeform (aka Háma struggles to parent during a time of war)

If you know anything about me, you know that I am unreasonably attached to the character of Háma, who only really appears in the books for one chapter before dying a brutal death. But what a chapter! In just a few pages, he proves himself to be loyal, wise, and forward-thinking…a real Middle Earth mensch. So I had to put Háma in my @tolkienfamilyweek somewhere! My day 7 story builds a little on something I’ve previously written about Háma and the struggles of being a parent in a time of war, but you don’t have to be familiar with that to understand this. Just know that he’s married to Bryttalif, the midwife in Edoras; they have a small daughter named Hálwinë; and he’s an amazing and wonderful person.

**********

Háma looked up from his pipe to see Hálwinë standing hesitantly in the doorway, wearing her nightdress and holding the little cotton-stuffed linen horse that Bryttalif had made for her as a recent birthday gift. Her large brown eyes were rimmed with red, which Háma guessed to mean that she had been crying alone in her bedroom before coming to seek him out.

“What’s the matter, little one? Do you need something?”

“I can’t sleep,” she sniffled. “Can I sit with you?”

“Of course you can. You can keep me company while I wait for Mama to get home.” He opened his arms so that she could clamber up onto his lap, and he took a wool blanket from the basket next to him and wrapped it tightly around them both to keep out the late winter chill that leaked into the house through the drafty windows and doors. She hugged herself to his chest, and he gave her a quick kiss on the top of the head before lightly resting his chin there. “I can’t help but notice that you look sad. Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

She burrowed a little deeper into his chest and spoke without looking up, muffling her already quiet voice. “I don’t want you to go away.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He had been expecting to hear about a bad dream, or how she was frightened again by the branch of the rowan tree that sometimes tapped on the glass of her windowpane when it was windy. But this was something else entirely. He wondered if it was an idle fear or if she perhaps knew more than he realized about events unfolding in the city.

He put a hand under her chin and tipped her face up so that he could look directly into it. “Why do you think I am going away?”

“Dernifel said today that there will be a war. He said bad people are coming, and all the guards and soldiers will have to go fight them.” Her eyes filled with tears and her lip began to tremble. “And you are captain of the guards, but I don’t want you to go.”

She began to cry, and he made soothing sounds and rubbed a comforting hand up and down her back. As he did so, he silently cursed Dernifel, a mischievous little boy who lived nearby and was the youngest of five brothers. Dernifel often heard things from his siblings that he then repeated to other children with little regard for the appropriateness or accuracy of what he said. It was thanks to him that Háma had already been forced to answer fraught questions from Hálwinë about everything from where horses go when they die to why parents sometimes lock their bedroom doors. But those conversations felt easy now in comparison to the idea of explaining the possibility of war and the looming threat from Isengard that was becoming more apparent in Edoras every passing day.

“I don’t want you to listen to Dernifel about such things,” Háma said. “He’s a silly boy who doesn’t really understand everything he says.”

She looked up tearfully and wiped an arm across her eyes. “So he is wrong?”

Háma sighed. He made it a point never to lie to Hálwinë, but neither did he want to burden her with truths that she could not possibly process. “He isn’t wrong or right. He talks as though he knows what is going to happen, but he doesn’t. No one knows that yet. So you should not believe something just because he says that it is true. Do you understand?”

She nodded and was quiet for a moment, gazing at the cheerful fire that flickered in front of them and warmed the room. But when she looked back up at him, her brow was still furrowed with concern. “If no one knows yet, then maybe you will have to go?”

He ran a hand over her hair and pushed some loose strands away from her face. “The guards will go to help other Rohirrim if they are in danger, just as soldiers from other cities would come here to help us if we needed it. But we will only go if the king cannot first find another way to protect his people, and I promise you that he will try very hard to do that. Once we know for sure what is going to happen, Mama and I will talk to you about it and answer all of your questions much better than Dernifel ever could. But in the meantime, you need not worry about something that may not ever come to pass. Can you try to do that?”

She nodded again and snuggled her head back down against his shoulder. For a time, they sat in silence, and he rocked back and forth until her sniffles slowed and eventually stopped. In the warmth of their blanket, with faint pops and crackles from the fireplace and the dark, woody smell of his pipe tobacco, she finally drifted off to sleep, and he carried her back to her room, tucked her into bed, and kissed her forehead.

He went back to his chair and picked up his pipe again, puffing away absently as he imagined what it would be like to ride out with his men, leaving Hálwinë and Bryttalif behind. He had been away from them before, of course, but never for long stretches at a time and never for anything like the battles he was increasingly sure were coming. He was still contemplating these unhappy thoughts when a gust of frigid air swept through the room, and Bryttalif hustled inside, shaking a light dusting of snow from her cloak. She turned to shut the door against the wind and then leaned back against it, a tired smile on her face.

“If spring does not arrive soon, I may never feel my toes again!”

His heart was immediately lifted. It wasn’t in his nature to brood, and the sight of her smiling face was all that he needed to regain his typical amiability. He patted the seat next to him and held up the wool blanket. “It is plenty warm over here if you’d like to join me.”

She dropped her cloak by the door and lightly kissed his cheek before arranging herself comfortably under the blanket at his side.

“I’m glad you’re home,” he said. “You’ve been working too hard lately. Did everything go smoothly?”

She leaned back and stretched her frozen toes toward the fire. “It did. There is no greater gift for a midwife than a quick delivery, and this baby was in quite a hurry. And since he obligingly showed up so promptly and without incident, I can get a good night’s sleep and have breakfast with Hálwinë for the first time all week. How is she?”

He hummed an uncertain noise. “She’s alright now, but she has been hearing things from the other children. About Isengard and the likelihood of war. We’re going to need to talk to her more fully about it soon. It will not be long before we will have no choice in the matter.”

She sighed and dropped her head onto his shoulder. “I hate this. How can I explain things to a child that I do not understand myself? Why should Saruman want to hurt us? What benefit does he get from threatening Rohan, his friend and neighbor for so many years? The world has become a frightening and confusing place, and I have no comforting words to make sense of any of it.”

“Some things will never make sense, but we just do the best we can to muddle through. And we take our happiness where we can find it.” He reached a hand out and rested it on her belly, which grew rounder each day. They had known she was expecting a baby for weeks, but it had only recently become visible to him and the sight never failed to stir his soul.

She covered his hand with her own and sat quietly for a moment before turning her face to him. “Háma, are we crazy for bringing another baby into the world just when everything is skewing off course? What kind of future will this child have when all around us things are falling to pieces?”

The look on her face broke his heart. But though he understood why she would ask such a question, there was no doubt in his mind about what they were doing. He kissed the tip of her nose.

“We are not crazy. We are just people. What are we supposed to do, stop living? Because our way of life is under threat, we should voluntarily give up the very things that make that life worth protecting? I don’t believe that. No matter what else is happening in the world, this baby will have a loving family, and that is the start to a good future.”

She drew her feet up under the blanket and leaned more of her weight against him. “I admire your optimism,” she murmured. “And I certainly hope that you are proven right.”

He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in to rest against his chest, and they sat together in silence, watching the fire crackle and glow. After a few minutes, he heard her breathing become slower and deeper, and when he looked down he saw that her eyes were closed, her long dark lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. He carefully extricated himself from underneath her, then gathered her up in his arms and carried her to their room. He lay her in their bed, put a quilt over top of her and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

We’ll be alright,” he whispered. “You’ll see.”

#tolkien family week #freeform #hama #rohan #forth eorlingas #parenting in middle earth #everyone deserves a hama in their life #lord of the rings #lotr fanfiction

11 notes · View notes

wheredafandomat · 2 years

Text

Dr. Laufeyson

Chapter 16 - Intoxicated

Warnings etc: Loki x female reader au where Lokis a therapist, therapy, flashbacks, smut, swearing, mentions of past trauma later in the fic including abuse both physically and sexually - not explicit detail, 18+. PLEASE tell me if I ever leave anything out x

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

“What are you doing?” Loki asked, walking back into the room and seeing Darcy pulling the phone from her ear as she turned to look at him.

“Your phone was ringing so I answered it.” She offered dismissively, putting the phone back down.

“You answered my phone, who do you think you are?” He scorned as he stormed towards her.

“Calm down.” She spoke cautiously.

“You think you can just waltz back into my life and now you think it’s appropriate to answer my calls. What next? When does it end with you?” He demanded, frustrated with Darcy and the fact that it was probably you who she answered the phone to. Did you both speak? Did you think that he had left you for her? He wouldn’t.

“Loki, what’s the matter. You haven’t been yourself recently.” She questioned, placing her hands on his cheeks. It was true, he hadn’t been himself, especially since that night with you. He had been far from himself since then. He felt lost, forlorn. He desperately wanted to return your calls, run to your apartment, kiss you again but it was wrong, he couldn’t.

“Nothing.” He lied, removing her hands from him. “Why are you even here?” He then asked. He hadn’t spoken to Darcy either since that night and now she had just shown up at his house.

“Because I want to speak to you, really speak to you. I think we should give us another chance.” She admitted, studying his face.

“We’ve tried us remember, it didn’t work.” He answered plainly.

“Please Loki.”

“I think you’ve forgotten that it was you that left me.” He laughed dryly.

“And it was a mistake.” She quipped “please Loki.” She continued, hands finding his cheeks again “we were good together.”

Loki considered it, of course he considered it but it wasn’t so much a relationship in itself that he desired, it was the companionship. It was the feeling he got when he held you in his arms, the way he felt when you danced together, how it felt to be kissed, truly wanted. Those were the things he yearned for, not the charade that he and Darcy previously kept up. You, he wanted you. He thought that it was purely lust but it wasn’t, there was something else. If only things were different. If only you had met somewhere else, under different circumstances, perhaps he could have had that, a life with you or at least a proper date.

“Darcy, I-I don’t love you anymore.” He confessed, removing her hands again as he took a step backwards watching her hold herself as if he had shot her, as if she wasn’t the first to fall out of love.

“You do.” She finally answered, moving towards him and pressing her lips to his before he moved back.

“Darcy.”

“If not me then who?” She interrogated.

“There isn’t anyone else.”

“Who’s y/n?” She then asked having seen the name on the phone when she answered it. That caught Loki of guard, he definitely wasn’t expecting that. Darcy made it seem as if she just absentmindedly answered the phone, not that she had studied the recipients name, enough that she could recall it and bring it up. He was silent. “It’s her isn’t it, you’re with y/n.”

“I’m not.” He finally answered “she’s just a friend.”

“A friend?” She scoffed “well then call her, let’s speak to this friend shall we?”

“Darcy you’re acting crazy.”

“Call her, I want to hear her say you’re just friends.” Loki narrowed his gaze, confused by Darcys outburst and behaviour until he spotted the open bottle of wine on the table. She was never one for being able to handle her liquor.

“This conversation is over. You can sleep in the spare bedroom tonight and then you can leave in the morning.” He decided sternly as he turned to leave the room.

“No wait.” She called after him, grabbing his phone and presenting it to him “call her.”

“Darcy I—” he began before the phone rang.

“Where are you going?” Steve shouted over the music as you began making your way outside.

“Just to make a call.” You answered before stumbling outside into the bitter cold. Getting your phone out, you called Loki, liquid courage coursing through your veins. You wanted to ask him who she was, the woman who answered last time. You wanted to ask if it was the woman from the restaurant, the woman who clearly he was in a relationship with which meant that he was a cheater as well as a bastard. You wanted to ask why. Why he felt the need to get your hopes up making you think you both could be something only to tear that all away from you and ignore you for days. You needed a friend right now, he knew that.

“Give me the phone.” Loki protested as Darcy held it tight in her clutches whilst it rang.

“Nooo.” She screeched.

When Loki didn’t answer, you decided you’d leave one last voice message and then you’d leave it. No questions, no anger. You wouldn’t return to him as a friend, a balm or a therapist. You’d leave him be. Clearly he wanted nothing to do with you and you felt as if you were embarrassing yourself by continuing to hassle him. Quickly wiping away a tear that had fallen from the cold temperature and definitely not the fact that Loki didn’t answer again and had left you with no explanation, you spoke.

“Hi Dr Laufeyson. As it’s the end and we’re finished now I thought I might as well tell you the conclusion I came to. I—I don’t enjoy meaningless sex it’s—I think it’s control.” You sniffled “I’m in control of who I sleep with and I like that as opposed to Curtis forcing me to sleep with him.” You slurred, head spinning “so if that’s what you wrote during our sessions then you were correct well done.” You laughed mirthlessly. “B-bye Loki.” You could hear a few rowdy guys catcalling you as you tried to see through your double vision to hang up the phone.

“Hey pretty.” One of them spoke, wrapping an arm around you.

“Get off me.” You spoke angrily, hanging up the phone as you pushed your way past them, making your way back inside.

When the phone stopped ringing, Darcy cursed having not answered it in time meanwhile Loki felt relieved. He knew that it was you calling him. He snatched his phone from her, cutting his eye at her.

“My offer still stands. Stay in the guest room tonight and sleep off whatever mania has shrouded you. I want you gone before I wake up.” He spat, turning on his feet and making his way towards his own bedroom. Shutting the door behind him, he made his way towards his bed where he sat down before looking at his phone and noticing the voice mail you had just left him. Like all the other ones he had listened to, unable to spare his ears the melody of your voice, he played it only this one was different.

She a little crazy 😂

@howdidurhammergrowchris @lokisprettygirl22 @jaspearl31 @lucylaufeyson3 @peacope @emma-laufeyson @deathlydelusion @multifandom-world8 @lulubelle14 @ppartridgee @geekwritersworld @kats72 @123forgottherest @lokisninerealms

@michelleleewise @eyesbluelikethetitanic @lokiprompts @mischief2sarawr @consistentreader578 @mcufan72 @lokixryss @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #tom hiddelston loki #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#oc fiction #loki fanfiction #loki angst #darcy lewis #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki au #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader

118 notes · View notes

renee-writer · 6 months

Text

The Heart Don't Lie Chapter 10

AO3

Claire knows where her priorities lay. She hurries past a still Jamie and into Rose’s room. The young lady stares at her. Her cries have stopped. Now she lies on the bed, hands over her mouth, her big eyes full of stunned horror.

“Please,” muffled through her hands, “please Dr. Randall, tell me it isn’t true.”

Claire takes the seat beside her. She takes a breath. “I’m sorry, Rose. It is.”

Jamie stares at her, incredulously. Willa runs over to him and falls against him. He holds her as he continues to glare at her mam.

“Daddy, it is a joke, right? A bad one.”

He shakes his head. “I wish it was. You weren’t to find out this way. Your mam and I were going to tell you when your sister was better,” As he speaks to her, he keeps his eyes on Anna, “she wasn’t to tell you like this.”

“You cheated on daddy!” Willa glares at her mam.

The trio aren’t aware of the scene they are becoming until one of the nurses steps up.

“We need you to take this conversation into the waiting room or chapel. Sorry, but our patients need quiet.”

Jamie shakes himself.

“Aye, of course, sorry.” He turns stiffly, holding Willa by his side. They walk towards the chapel. Anna follows.

“How? I don’t understand. How can he not be my dad?”

“He is your dad in every way that matters. He held you when you were first born. He changed your nappies, rocked you to sleep, watched you roll over, crawl, walk. Took you to your first day of school, helped you with homework, was there when you graduated. He will be there when you graduate uni, will give his blessing on your marriage, will walk you down the aisle, hold your children. He is your dad.”

She feels her own heart break at the lass’ pain. She knows the agony of being childless. Rose feels the sting of betrayal.

“Thank you, Dr. Randall. I just don’t get it. Why has mam lied for twenty years?”

“You shall have to ask her.”

She nods. “I will. Then I may never speak to her again.”

“Did you cheat on daddy?” Willa stares daggers at her mam.

“No. Rose was born six months after our wedding.” She clings to the pew in front of her, “I thought she was his.”

“Bullocks! Don’t lie to the lass, any more then you have. She wasn’t sure. I was chosen to be her dad. Was picked. Even though she knew I was in love with another.”

“Dr. Randall?” Her mam’s eyes jerk to her, “It is obvious from how he looks at her.”

“She was just Claire Beauchamp then. I made a mistake, Willa. I slept with your mam after we had a fight,” He runs his hands through his hair, “that is why she was able to convince me that I was Rose’s dad. That and my own guilt. I thought I was being punished for cheating on Claire.”

“Mam, did you know he loved her?”

“This conversation isn’t appropriate for you.” She replies through stiff lips.

“That’s a yes.”

“Mind your tone. If I hadn’t done what I did, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Daddy, I am going to check on Rose.” She hugs him and hurries past her mam without a word.

“Give it some time. She is your man.”

“She is a liar, Dr. Randall. He will always be my dad but, I also have another out there.”

Willa comes to the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yes Willa,” She comes in, “I shall let you ladies talk. Do you need anything before I go? Something for your nerves?”

“No, but thank you for talking with me. It helped.”

“I am glad. Ring for the nurse if you need anything.” She squeezes her hand and slips out.

“I like her. Wish daddy would’ve ended up with her.” Willa says.

“Did you know?” He stands, hands fisted on his hips. She sits, sheltered by the pews between them.

“Everyone knew. You were the couple on campus.”

“Yet you trapped me anyway.”

“I did think she could be yours.”

He starts to pace. “Who’s her biological father?” She doesn’t answer, “Do you even know?” he sneers.

“Of course. What type of woman do you think I am?”

“You don’t want me to answer that. Trust me.” He takes a few steading breaths, “Who?”

“Simon Grant.” The words come reluctantly. She knows just how he will react, or thinks she does.

He stares to laugh. It isn’t out of humor. There is a sharp hysterical edge to it. Her blood runs cold.

“Perfect! Simon Grant, the only student, until us, married in freshman uni. Of course he couldn’t be her dad, you couldn’t trap him into marriage, as he was, so you choose me.”

He walks over to the door before turning and looking at her. “I will expect you to be moved out by the time Rose is released. She will recover at Lallybroch. You won’t be there.”

He walks out.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #the heart don't lie #chapter 10 #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #modern au

2 notes · View notes

the-lonelybarricade · 2 years

Text

La Vie En Rose: Chapter 9

Chapter title: Gone, I'm Gone

Fic Summary: After everyone is freed from Under the Mountain, Elain is given the opportunity to stay in the Spring Court as a human so she can get to know her soulmate. Set in the timeline from A Court of Faded Dreams.

Read on A03 ❀ Masterlist

The fortunate thing about Lucien being poisoned was that Elain was able to savor his company for three entire days.

“It’s my magic that doesn’t work, not my legs,” he complained.

“The healer was very clear,” Elain hummed, as she settled a tray of food into his lap. She was not the least bit put out by having him in her bed, and she’d been doing very little to hide her pleasure at the circumstance. “You’re on strict bed rest until your magic returns.”

Lucien glanced wearily at the food in his lap. “And how am I to trust this isn’t laced with faesbane, just to keep me in your bed longer?”

The idea had certainly struck her, though she had no means of procuring faesbane even if she had wanted to resort to something so nefarious. Lucien could see she was entertaining it, because with a soft laugh he pushed the tray aside so he could pull Elain into his lap instead.

“You’re meant to be eating,” she admonished.

Lucien’s lips found her neck. “Gladly,” he murmured into her skin, broad hands already sliding along her thighs to push up her skirts.

“The healer was strict about that, too,” she said, slapping his hands away.

Lucien sighed, pressing a conceding kiss to her shoulder as his hands settled much more sensibly around her waist. “When I imagined spending all day in bed with you, I thought it would be much more… strenuous.”

“Rogue,” she accused. “The whole point is to avoid anything strenuous. Are you saying you haven’t been enjoying my company?”

She made a point of pouting her lips, earning her a begrudging smile from her mate. “I would never say that, lady,” he said, grabbing a piece of bread from the tray if only because he knew it would please her. “I’ll admit, restless as I’ve been, I will miss these quiet moments with you once war settles over Prythian.”

Part of Elain was tempted to avoid the conversation entirely. She wanted to continue living happily in this little bubble they’d created, and pretend like this peace was not a fragile thing. But… Belladonna had reminded them that the world beyond that manor’s gates was still dangerous. And Lucien had seemed especially contemplative the last three days.

“What will I do?” she asked quietly, “When you go off to war, will you take me with you?”

Lucien looked out towards the window, where the morning Spring air washed through the room despite the fact that in the Mortal Realm, autumn would soon be falling to winter. His lips pressed tightly together and his metal eye began slowly clicking in a way that she sensed as being deep in thought. Elain couldn’t decide if he was remembering the battles he had witnessed, or imagining the ones that were to come. “I… I will not tell you what you can and can’t do, lady, but I do not think it’s a good idea. You would be better staying where it’s safe. Either here, or in the Night Court.”

Her hands fisted in her skirts. It was the answer she expected—the answer that she knew was appropriate and reasonable. And she knew that Lucien, who would be in the thick of battle facing all that violence and bloodshed, faced a far larger burden. It was why she restrained herself from telling him how frustrated she felt to be incapable of doing anything more. Because truly, shouldn’t she feel grateful all that was expected of her was to sit and wait?

With a gentle hand, Lucien pried her grip away from her dress. She heard the rattle of teacup against saucer from the tray behind her, and then a warm mug of tea was being pressed between her fingers. Elain accepted it instinctively, letting the warm porcelain ground her as she glanced up into steady russet and gold eyes.

“What would you do, if I took you with me?” He asked curiously. “I presume you don’t wish to fight.”

“I don’t know a lot about war,” she admitted shyly, leaning into the steam that curled beneath her chin. “But I assume there’s more to it than fighting. Perhaps I could help with the wounded? Or help disperse rations to the soldiers, or… just stay in your tent, and know whether or not you were able to make it back each night.”

Elain ducked her head to take a sip—mostly because she couldn’t bear to see another rejection on the tip of his lips. She knew it was foolish, perhaps even selfish, to ask this of him. But when she slyly peaked over the rim of her teacup, Lucien looked considerate.

“Is it purpose that you’re searching for, lady? Or reassurance? Because if you need something to occupy yourself, to feel as though you’ve helped, you needn’t come to war with me to find it. There will be plenty of help that can be done here, while Tamlin and his soldiers are away. We’d need someone like yourself who could keep order in the Court.” Elain lowered her cup so she could look fully at his face, assessing if his words were genuine.

Lucien smiled, as if he found it amusing that his words surprised her. “I’ve seen how well the people here respond to you. How easily you helped me with those reports. I could think of no one better suited to be the interim Lady of Spring.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, now that she could see he was being serious. “I’m just a human.”

She couldn’t imagine that any fae, regardless of how friendly Elain had become with them, would stomach being ruled by a human. No matter how temporary.

Long fingers circled her chin, and she could feel the scrape of calluses she would never have expected from someone so refined as Lucien. Those fingers pulled her face upward as Lucien leaned closer so that their faces met levelly, hardly a feather’s width apart.

His eyes were blazing as he said fiercely, “You are so much more than that, Elain Archeron.”

Those words burned in the space between them—through his body and every place where they connected. Where her legs pressed into his own. Where his breath fanned her face. And especially where his fingers still gripped her chin, as though every ounce of his conviction had focused on one spot, channeling a heat that made Elain yelp and spill her tea over both their laps.

Air rushed between her teeth at the sharp sting of hot, wet cotton.

“Fuck, sorry Elain!” He quickly scrambled to help her off the bed, frowning as he watched her bundle the soaked parts of her skirt away from her skin.

“I guess your magic is back,” she said lightly, turning so that Lucien could help unlace her dress. He obliged wordlessly, nimble fingers tugging at the satin ribbons until she could slide out of the fabric.

Elain was half expecting some comment about scheming to undress her, but when she turned to face him Lucien’s gaze dropped immediately to the pink, irritated skin that dappled her thighs. She wondered if he wasn’t moments away from dropping to his knees and begging forgiveness.

“I’m fine, Lucien,” she assured, stepping closer to press a hand to his cheek. “It’s just a little hot water.”

She felt him relax, just slightly. He stretched his hand out to the side, studying his open palm like it held some great mystery.

“That’s never happened to me before,” he admitted. “My magic just… reacted. It happened in the forest, too.”

Elain recalled that bright flash of light that Lucien had emitted. Different, somehow, from the flames she had seen from him before, though she couldn’t place why. They were both bright, both warm… and yet, it was like comparing a campfire to the sun.

Still, with her limited knowledge on magic, she searched for some way to reassure him. “Perhaps it’s reacting strangely to the faesbane?”

“Perhaps,” he murmured, looking unconvinced. Then, after a moment longer of consideration, Lucien shook his head, dropped his hand, and fixed Elain with an easy smile. “In any case, it seems my magic’s back. Per the healer's instruction, I’m allowed physical activity once more. And as it just so happens, you’re already undressed and the bedsheets are already ruined.”

“You are unbelievable,” she said, suppressing a smile.

But she didn’t stop him as he removed the food tray and the ruined sheets from the bed, or as he stripped out of his own clothes and lowered her onto the mattress.

❀❀❀

They didn’t tell anyone that Luicen had regained his magic until an entire extra day had passed—spent doing little more than getting lost in the heat and passion of her newly energized mate. Elain was tempted to pretend the magic hadn’t returned until Tamlin came to investigate it himself.

But loyal, duty-bound Lucien rolled out of bed at dawn the next morning. Elain watched him, groggy and half asleep, as he shrugged on his jacket.

“I’m going to join Bron and Hart for training,” he murmured, ducking his head to press a kiss to her temple. “I will see you at lunch.”

Elain grumbled a sound that sounded more like complaint than agreement, nuzzling into the warm space his body had left behind. She heard Lucien laugh under his breath before he crept out of the room.

She woke up properly when Alis burst through the door hours later, looking unusually flustered.

Fear pulsed sharply through her heart, enough so that Elain threw aside the covers and bolted out of bed. “What’s wrong?”

“It is best you dress quickly, lady,” Alis said, already standing in front of the open wardrobe and throwing a dress over her arms. “There is not much time for your questions.”

Sensing the urgency, Elain stayed silent as she let Alis hurriedly lace her dress. The moment she was decent, Elain ran out the door and down the hall. Her head was spinning with all the things that could have gone wrong since she’d seen Lucien that morning. Had he been hurt in training? Had Belladonna come back? Something worse? Whatever it was must have been serious—everyone in the manor seemed to be rushing about with a distinct look of panic. Had Hybern come to the Spring Court?

Elain headed towards the barracks, her teeth digging into her cheek when she noticed that it was unusually crowded. The sentries she spied coming and going were seemingly dressed for battle, carrying all manner of weaponry. Tamlin was nowhere to be seen, and it was Lucien—Lucien at the front of all the warriors, giving them some sort of pep talk. Her heart plummeted. He was safe, yes, but for how much longer?

He finished speaking, and the sentries seemed to disperse. Elain took advantage of the moment to grab his arm. Lucien paused, looking as though she’d surprised him in the middle of a thought.

“Elain,” he said, the dread in his voice confirming her every suspicion. “Winter Court is under attack.”

She swallowed back the scream that was building in her throat, knowing she could save all of her distress for when he was away. And though it was obvious, she still asked, “Is it Hybern?”

He nodded, jaw clenched tight. “Tamlin got word an hour ago, he’s already left to captain his fleets in Summer—the Night Court is also sending their aid. I’m leaving…” He winced. “Immediately.”

Though she had known it was coming, had dreaded it, it somehow felt surreal that the war had truly come. She clenched her teeth in an attempt to stop her lip from quivering. Lucien touched her face gently, reading the latent fear and disappointment. “We knew I’d have to go into battle sooner or later, little dove.”

“I wasn’t expecting it to be so soon,” she admitted, knowing she probably seemed ridiculous with the tears that sprang to her eyes. She pulled him into a tight embrace, pressed her face into his chest. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

He clicked his tongue, fingers loftily catching at a lock of her hair as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I’ve the most valuable thing a soldier can have—someone to come home to. Of course I’ll come back.”

She sniffled, pulling away because she knew she needed to let him finish preparing. She felt useless enough, the last thing she wanted was to impede them any further.

Lucien gripped her shoulders, grip firm but still gentle. “Elain, love—” she froze at that— “I know we talked about you coming with me, but for now, while we’re away, please stay in the manor. The wards are up, and we’ll leave sentries behind to guard, but… I need to go into battle knowing that you’ll be safe. Okay? So just… do whatever you need to pass the time.” He smiled teasingly and added, “You can even finish some of my reports if you’re up to it. And I’ll be back before you realize.”

She nodded, mind still caught on his chosen term of endearment. Was it a slip of the tongue, and he’d meant to say dove? Or did he perhaps only mean it in a casual sense—

“Elain?”

She blinked, snapping her attention back to his face. In a different circumstance, her lack of attention might have been amusing to him, but now he only looked concerned.

“I’ll be fine, Lucien,” she answered, thankful he was not the sort of faerie who could read minds. “I’ll stay in the manor, like you ask. It’s you I’m far more worried about. Please, be safe.”

He leaned in for a kiss, chaste and sweet even as it lingered on Elain’s lips when he pulled away, nodded his goodbye, and hurried back into the barracks to make up for the time he’d lost in saying farewell.

❀❀❀

Shortly after their departure, Elain found that his request of passing the time was laughable indeed. Knowing that Lucien and her sister were on the other side of Prythian, battling an unknown army, all Elain felt truly up to doing was pacing circles in her room. Every attempt at busying herself with a small, mundane tasks was interrupted by any sound outside her window. She was growing tired of running to press her face against the glass only to find a pair of servants who were taking advantage of their High Lord’s absence to have a romp in his gardens.

So she ended up pacing the study, wishing that she and Lucien had a more direct means of contact like Rhys and Feyre. Then, at least, she would know he was safe. She’d be able to relax knowing that at least he was alive.

But perhaps it was better not to know. She couldn’t imagine the grief she would feel if she knew he wasn’t okay, and she had to stay in the Spring Court with that knowledge while having no way of helping him. Elain couldn’t imagine a greater agony. The anxiety of not knowing was second only to that.

At one point, she’d heard a commotion downstairs, and she felt flooded with elation, thinking that the battle was over and they’d finally returned home. It seemed to be over much quicker than she’d imagined, but perhaps the threat wasn’t as great as they’d been led to believe, perhaps the combined armies of the Spring, Night, and Winter Courts were enough to subdue the threat quickly.

The marble walls and floor became a blur as she dashed through them with a singular goal—to see that Lucien was safe. When she saw the whisper of scarlet hair around the corner, she nearly sobbed in relief, nearly barrelled into his arms to shower him with kisses.

But he turned, and Elain nearly stumbled from the momentum as she grinded to an abrupt stop.

For it wasn’t Lucien at all who stood before her, but someone who bore a similar face. All the warmth and kindness that she associated with Lucien, this male possessed none of it. Her stomach twisted at the cruel smile he offered her, sizing her up with a scrutiny that could only ever be predatory. Elain knew all at once who he was.

Though she knew she was hopelessly defenseless, Elain still sprinted back the direction she came. She didn’t know why one of Lucien’s brothers was here, didn’t know how he’d gotten into the manor, but she knew no good could come of it.

She took a sharp corner, knowing her lone advantage was in her familiarity of the manor. If she took enough turns, she could make it to the kitchen and pray that some of the staff were around to help. If not, she could still use their entrance to escape.

It was like Lucien chasing her through the woods. There was no sound beside her own crashing footsteps and the thunderous beat of her heart, no way of knowing if they were near or far. And just as she glimpsed the final turn at the end of the hall, a flash of red hair darted out before her. Her feet skidded against the smooth marble, hoping to break the other direction, but as she turned she saw he was there, too.

Two brothers. Perhaps they were all here. Not that it mattered, for two was enough to corner her.

Elain’s eyes darted around, searching for something to aid her. She grabbed a still life painting that hung on the wall, brandishing it overhead like it would do anything against two High Lord’s sons. They didn’t even carry weapons, which was somehow the opposite of reassuring. The one to her left cackled.

“I like you. It’s too bad I can smell Lucien on you,” he taunted, voice cold and merciless. “Typical of him not to invite us to the mating ceremony.”

They weren’t mated—not yet—but it hardly seemed an important distinction to make in her present company.

“You’re so pretty,” the other one cooed. “Maybe he didn’t want to share. We had so much fun with the last female he brought home.”

They closed in, snickering like a pair of foxes to themselves, as if they’d caught something much more impressive than a creature that couldn’t even hope to fight back. Still, Elain tried, just as much for Lucien as for herself. She couldn’t imagine the way it would devastate him to learn she’d been taken by his brothers—the last thing she wanted was for him to relive what he’d gone through with Jesminda.

So when they lunged at her, Elain put all of her might into swinging the painting at the taller one’s head, breaking the frame and canvas in half. He grunted, though she sensed it was more in irritation than pain, and grabbed at her shoulder. She did her best to take advantage of her much smaller form, trying to duck and evade and twist out of their grip, at one point thinking she’d escaped before one of them seized her by the hair. He tugged fiercely, pulling her back into his solid frame so she could be restrained properly.

“Feral thing” the taller one sneered. “A lesser faerie is bad enough, but a human? it’s almost pitiful how easy it would be to break you.”

“Maybe we’ll put you through our own trials, so you can prove yourself like your sister,” the other one said mockingly.

Elain only bared her teeth, knowing it wasn’t the least bit intimidating but refusing to let them see how scared she was. Even if they could most likely smell it.

A third brother came into view, this one seemingly older. “Mother said not to harm her,” he said, sounding irritated to see the younger pair had been playing with their prey. “Now let’s go, before anyone can send word to Tamlin and Lucien.”

Elain only had enough time to quickly untie the leather around her wrist, watching it fall to the floor before she was enveloped in smoke and shadow. A signal, just as much as it was a message: Don’t come for me if it means risking your life.

Taglist: @arrowmusings @daydreamer-anst @darling-archeron @bridgertononmymind

#La Vie En Rose #LVER #Elucien #Elucien fic #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain #no smut just plot sorry

28 notes · View notes