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honestsycrets · 9 months

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before anyone else II: the reverent | admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader

❛ pairing | admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader

❛ type | double-shot, explicit

❛ summary | politics and murder? easy. but if he thought he could stomach forcing the princess he loves into marriage... he was wrong. or reader forces admiral miguel o'hara into marriage.

❛ tags | forced marriage, royal!au, admiral!miguel, princess!reader, mention of murder, betrayal, treason, angst, f!reader, persuasion inspired, Spanish is not translated, female led breeding session, hand jobs, spicy bath time, ignoring miguel.

❛ sy's notes | the update no one asked for. the first chapter felt very incomplete without this one, so i just wanted to complete this series with a little bit of angst and smut.

“And what is that? Up there, Lyla.”

Lyla is closer to you than he remembers. In his make-believe voyage to Stone’s home, he would need a new ship. Today Lyla invited you to sail imperial seas, cutting through the waters with a new ship, the Reverent. He hadn’t shown you much of anything in his rush to leave the capital eight years ago. He makes that right with Gwen at your side, donned in the clothing of the guard. You opted for a soft blue gown, a navy blue rebozo thrown over your shoulders. The fat bow that drew in your stomach tumbled down against the dress’s long train.

“That’s the Crow’s Nest.”

His men and women were ogling. It wasn’t exactly normal to have a soft woman on board—much less their princess. You held the top of your hat, glancing up at the beam. Sun bounced in your eye, and you laughed delightfully, clapping your hands together. “A crow’s nest? Why do they call it such a thing?”

“The Vikings would release crows from the crow’s nest if they could not see,” Gwen answered, he did not know she cared so much about ships. You looked at her in delight as she explained. “Chart the path they took toward land.”

“¡Qué chévere! Lady Gwen, you are quite knowledgeable.”

“All sailor legend,” Miguel responded, the string of jealousy coursing through his bones, before he jerked his head toward those gathered along the main deck. He never did like crowds. “Back to shore! Off to your work, then!”

“Thank you for showing me proper sailing,” they dispersed to the sound of your many thanks, a slight bow in your waist. If it were your father, he would never do such a thing. Gwen stepped to the side, holding her hands behind her back. “You have a wonderful crew.”

"You heard the admiral, off you go!" Lyla rushed off to the stern to take the ship's wheel.

“And Lyla?” she stopped, turning her big brown eyes at him. She probably knew what was coming as you slipped by Miguel, sliding your hand around his inner elbow. “No rum.”

It was one time, she threw a curse.

“Have I missed something?” you asked, setting your head against his thin poet’s shirt. He smelled of the salty sea and the thin film of his own sweat. The warmth of the sun must have drained you already, donned in tumbling full-body fabrics.

“I’ve something for you.”

“Have you?” you asked, turning around to face him. Miguel reached around his neck, loosening the cord. His gift was not a necklace. If it were, he’d be far outmatched with jewels like sapphires, diamonds, and topaz nestled between your breasts. He pulled a ring from the cord, slipping onto his knees. You recognized the ring that he presented to you immediately. A modest ring of pearl set with tiny bits of a jewel that wasn’t quite diamond on either side.

“Oh, Miggy. You kept it?” you slipped your hand down to his waiting fingers. Miguel slid his ring onto your finger.

“It isn’t much. A guards pay, yes?” He began, realizing he was stumbling over his words. “But I… couldn’t help but think you would prefer it to something new.”

You pulled your hand free, kneeling to catch his lips in a small, patient kiss. He was grateful for anything he could get-- repressed as he was. Gwen bit back a smile, a soft murmur of princess, to urge you not to draw out such attention in front of a band of sea-numb sailors. You slid back onto two feet, your hands coming together one over the other.

“I love it. I always have, Miguel.”

“Yes, well--” he cleared his throat. He pushed past Gwen toward the steer of the boat, barking some orders in intelligible sailor slang. “I should check on Lyla. Lest she beaches us on some obvious outcropping.”

Gwen and you both knew it was to loosen himself of the embarrassment of a kiss well deserved. You glanced down at the engagement ring glittering on your finger, a smile working over your cheeks.

“Perhaps I should not have asked Lyla for her help,” you leaned over to whisper in Gwen’s ear. “My Miggy will never let her live it down.”

“Yes,” Gwen agreed. “Perhaps not.”

Hours ago, Miguel was on the salty sea. Tonight, Miguel held a bloody seax, wiping away kingly blood from its blade with a handkerchief that he’d promptly dispose of. For all his talk, the king took death well. Admirable, even! Barely a coward’s cry, a simple do it mijo, as Miguel drove his blade across his neck. Perhaps he expected his death, perhaps he missed his sons. Miguel couldn't help but think he knew what would happen by asking Miguel to deliver you to Stone like a hunk of precious cargo.

“I would say that went quite well. No fuss from the council members. No fuss from the king,” Lyla relaxed at the king’s desk, her breeches smattered in blood. Miguel lifted his eyebrows at her, a bit of sweat dripping down his neck. “How about your fiancé? Think she’ll make a fuss? You did slit--”

“¡Callate! Go with the men and take the body to the undertaker.”

“You’re no fun,” Lyla threw her boots off the desk, guards flanking her side, heading toward the king’s chambers. Miguel replaced his seax in the sheathe, cupping his face in one of his large hands. The door creaked wide open. Jess, whose frame was also streaked in blood, strode in. Miguel threw her a handkerchief.

“Council members are done and dusted.”

He mulled over what was undoubtedly coming: talk of the next steps. Miguel braced himself for her prodding.

“It has been a long time, years maybe since the people favored the king. I dare say not ever."

"What of the imperialists?"

"My guards are posted to suppress those still loyal to the king."

“I can't imagine they were happy under his rule.” Miguel moved toward the king’s rum cabinet, grabbing a bottle of glass. He sniffs the pretentious liquid, striding around the front and pouring Jess a cup first, then himself. “He did nothing for them but levy heavy taxes. She is the one who handled public relations. They’ll welcome a new king.”

“Well, it is better to have a warrior king over a puppet king. Even the corrupt will be happy not to fall to Stone.”

He hummed in agreement.

“About your rule."

Oh, here she goes.

"You’ll marry her before the end of the rose festival. It is the perfect time for romance.” Jess drank her rum, clinking their ringed fingers together in a toast. “Everyone knows of her standing engagement to Stone. We can frame the wedding as an act of love and her father as an obstacle to it. The women will love it.”

“If she’ll have me.”

“Miguel. We agreed. She has no choice.”

The sound of it grated something low in his belly. His fiancé with no choice but to marry the man who murdered her father. Murder was in no way his preferred choice... It was unavoidable. He had no other choice.

“I know.”

Miguel threw back the rum. He cast a glance to the window, the sun rising over the horizon. She watches him push off the side of the desk, his claws scratching lines of blood behind his neck. He spoke to himself as much as he spoke to Jess with his next words.

“My woman is gentle. I do not know how to tell her-- that I’ve waited a decade to marry her only to force her to."

Jess had no answers. The king is dead, sang some distant lament, a panic echoing through the halls. He wondered which you would agree to attend first: the funeral or the wedding.

Your mother was assassinated when you were just a girl. Your brothers met their deaths while at war with Stone. That was the nature of war and being a royal. For much of your life, you were accustomed to the pain of loss. Creating connections with your subjects was what you always aspired to develop. You could talk to people in the crown city you knew would be there year after year. Like the willowy brunet who sold you rose oil even after Miguel left. That was why the rose festival was so important to you.

It was tainted that early morning with the shrill scream of the king is dead-- bouncing off the halls, sending your heart strumming in your chest as you lurched up in your silky sheets, throwing your feet over the bed onto the cold marble floor.

“My father is dead?” you asked one of the two sentinel guards who stood wordless at your door. Gwen was parked in one of your great lounge chairs, rushing to stand upon the sound of your sleep-laden voice. You picked the bottom of your sleeping gown, rushing down from your place on the bed to the double doors. Gwen stopped you short of them.

“By order of the Chief of the Imperial Guard, I’m afraid you can’t go out, princess,” she spoke smoothly. She cleared her throat. “It is not safe.” “Safe?” you repeated. “The last man I could call family is dead and you long to speak to me about safety?”

She steeled her face. Guilt trickled in, inking in her stormy eyes. She strode in front of the double doors, her hand over the pommel of her sword. You couldn’t believe your luck-- not only to be alive, drawing breath, but to at the same time be sequestered in your quarters like a small bird in a gilded cage.

“Yes, princess. It is for your own good.”

The doors swung open. In place of your father, with his jovial hops, your fiancé. Miguel took measured steps, swinging the door shut behind him. The doors boomed as they came to a close. Like the other sentinel, Gwen took her place in protecting the only feasible exit. Your chambers were high in a tower, looking before the beautiful coast and its silvery waves. You often looked out the window and thought of him.

“I take it you have heard.”

Something in his countenance set off an air of distrust. His chin was level as if it was cut out of marble, and effortlessly the words spilled from his lips. There had never been a day in your life that you did not trust Miguel O’Hara. That though he was curt, sharp, and decisive, he always bore your best interest in mind. That was something you reconsidered now.

He stood almost too pieced together. Miguel stood in a clean militant uniform, the finest set of regimental you ever did see him in. Any other time you may have drooled over the sight. Over the way he combed his hair back, tickling his broad throat. Or how tightly the shirt fit when he moved forth, then swayed back on his heel. His thumb hooked on the clasp of an iron belt.

“What have I heard, Miguel?”

“Of the military coup.”

His words carried no recognizable trace of remorse. They only communicated the facts of your situation.

“You…” you faded off. It couldn’t have been. ”It was you?”

“I had no other choice.”

Though he said the words, he knew you would find them inadequate. Wholly untrue, even. Your mind buzzed in disbelief, pacing backward to your bed. You glanced at the clothes your maid set out for the day, settled over bundles of fluffy pillows. As the sun raised over the glittering ocean, one that you visited often in his memory, you felt stilted. “I asked you not to--”

“Talk ill of the dead, yes, I know. I will not.”

“You missed my point entirely. I asked that you would not blame them for the past. To not dwell on it. You've done just that!”

It was perhaps an impossible ask to ask a man like Miguel, cocky as he were, to bury the past when your father made such requests of him. You could handle your father’s death by any other means. By an assassination by Jess or the many others who sought his head. With your heart something akin to numb, you dropped onto your bed, scratching at the ribbons laced in your hair from the night before. You pulled them free. Miguel made his way close, bending onto one knee between your own, sliding his gloved hand up your exposed skin.

“Perdóname,” he spoke candidly. You gazed at him with watery, bright eyes. If anything on this earth could fill him with remorse, it would have been that. He pressed a kiss to your knee. “It had to be done.”

“You say that but I wonder if you truly understand what those words mean,” you bit out. He appeared contrite, lowering his head lower, if at all possible. “What would you have me do next, hm? I have no more brothers to rule the crown. I care nothing for politics, only the health of my society, and what of Stone? Do you not think he will feel disrespected?”

“I did it for you.” Miguel simpered.

“For me? None of this is for me,” you repeated after him, knocking his hands from your knee. You replaced the skirt over the spot he kissed, finding the feeling of his slightly chapped lips blooming blisters of hot anger through your body. “No, you did it for yourself, Miguel. You are so selfish. My father gave you an ounce of power and you repaid him by taking his life.”

“I am selfish? He gave me nothing but years of pain.” Miguel’s facade cracked, his face going insipid. “I took these positions to please him. For you.”

“And how is it that these choices are now my fault?” you interrupted Miguel, looking up at his hard features. “Now where do I figure into this-- bloodlust of yours? What do you want of me?”

“I want you to marry me. You will marry me. You have no other choice.”

You weren’t going to let him skate by this time. You wouldn’t allow him to be this wonderful, handsome, caring man you fell in love with at first sight as a girl. The certainty with which he said those words was enough. You pushed past him, Miguel snatching your slight wrist in his thick grasp, holding you there. He couldn’t let it be. Not so easily.

“Get out,” you whirled your wrist around in his grip to break it. He easily could have overcome you, the admiral that he was. You heard the rumors of his swashbuckling run-ins with pirates and saw him in action as a guard. You knew the depths of his strength. He let you slip away. “That is an order from your princess, Miguel. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but it is the rose festival. I have duties to maintain peace that don’t require things such as murder and treason to the crown.”

He snapped his head down, inspecting something wildly interesting on the stony floor. His hands flexed and curled into tight fists, as though he could do or say anything more that would talk you from throwing you out of your quarters. His anger piqued before he absolved it of outward expression, instead speaking with a hard voice.

“We will speak of this again.”

“Out.”

He never wanted this. But it was necessary.

Miggy, Miggy, me duele.

The pain will pass, mi amor.

The only type of hurt Miguel wanted to give you preceded pleasure. One that could be fixed with patience and doting attention. That was what the rose festival provided nearly eight years ago. Today-- that reality couldn’t be any different from his reality.

Jess’s military presence was intense. Normally, you could cut bundles of bouncy rosy flowers and interact freely with others attending, creating rose products that could be bought, traded, or sold. Your chamber ladies held wicker baskets jam-packed with long flowers to be given to expecting or aged mothers, a small gift for their motherly worries. A parasol blocked the warm Mediterranean skin from your exposed skin.

“She looks beautiful today, eh?”

Lyla nudged him with a sticky creampuff between her fingers. Its rosy pink filling was smeared over her slight lip. Miguel’s arms turned one over the other, not a complaint on his lips. She was right as she usually was. You never wore red-- but the occasions that you did never failed to render him breathless. Unfortunately for him, the long dress hugged your curves beautifully, a fat bow behind your back, the diadem settled neatly along your head. You looked beautiful-- like that night, sliding into a hot bath of nothing but warm petals and rose oil purchased from some overly excited peasant. What he wouldn't give to hold your parasol, or the baskets, to simply be close.

“Suppose you didn’t think this bit through,” she leaned in, whispering words in his ear. “The whole let’s assassinate what’s left of her family.”

“Shut up,” Miguel pushed off the wall. “If you’re so knowledgeable, help me.”

“I could do that. Princess!” Lyla waved, rushing over. He followed her like a second shadow, nipping on her heels. Your gaze snapped to hers. A slightly forced smile worked at your lips as you brought your red-gloved fingers to the basket your chamber lady had. He tried to make eye contact-- but found you looked anywhere but his eyes, avoiding him in the cruelest way you could.

“Lady Lyla, I have something for you.”

“For me?” she laughed, a teasing thing. “I never receive gifts.”

“I give you casks of rum.” Miguel protested. You looked at Lyla for a moment, eyes flickering gently, before continuing your search.

How did you punish him? You look anywhere but at him. You ignore his existence. He longs.

“Yes,” you plucked out a ruby red crown of roses. “Well, girls, perhaps Lyla would like to feel like a woman for once. Trapped on the admiral’s battered and broken ship does not serve for much of a love life. Other than brief encounters at distant ports. Which I am sure you do not care much for.”

“Eh,” Lyla shrugged off the suggestion, slipping onto a knee so that you could set the crown of flowers on her head. She stands back up, nodding her head appreciatively. “I’ve had relations with some beautiful women.”

“Oh, please tell,” you took her thin arm and pulled her from his side, pinching your skirt between your fingers and walking on. As if he were fucking invincible-- “I am sure the admiral has taken on many lovers during the years. Have you?”

“He’s not even had one.” Lyla laughed, “Unless you count his hand.”

She thought she was so funny. Your chambermaids certainly thought she was, chittering in laughter among one another. He quickly understood that you not only did not want to speak to him but by peeling his-- begrudgingly said-- best friend away from him, you sought to make a point. To make him feel as lonely as your grief made you. In this busy, love-filled festival, he certainly felt it.

Miguel doesn’t buy things often. But there was something in the way the tiny stick of a man spoke. The glitter in his plain brown eyes invited Miguel to buy the stupid oil treatment that he spilled into his bath now. I think I remember you, you were the princess’s guard, the man said. You bought the princess this treatment years ago!

He couldn’t have remembered it. Miguel abandoned the towel by a gilded chair, sliding his sore muscles into the hot water. He shouldn’t have left to help his men at the docks. His muscles were tight with the tension of moving crates of products onto ships all afternoon and into the late hours of the night. The subsequent days of the rose festival proceeded much the same. It was nearly over. Jess would come soon to press him about his marriage. One that he was not certain would proceed-- not if things kept in this vein. Yet, he couldn't bear to walk to your chambers again, to force you into it.

“I’ve thought about it.”

Miguel would have jerked out of the bath if not for your hands sinking into the warm waters of the bath. Your gloves were thrown somewhere else, not here, dipping around his broad torso and below the waters. You wrenched your hand around his cock, gently pulling his dick to hardness underneath the waters. It did not take much-- it had been so long. He couldn’t quite process your words with the way you stroked him, milking him as if he were detached from his cock.

“Miggy."

"Yes...?" he didn't know what else to say.

"You murdered my father because you want to be king,” you said, the words held a vein of resentment. You enjoyed it, stroking the soft skin of his dick, tracing the veins that rushed to his head. You especially loved how he stiffened and grew in your silky hands. Miguel gripped the sides of the bath, his knuckles growing white as he held the rim.

“I don’t want to be king. I want you, I’d-- carajo-- murder him a hundred times over,” he supplied the truth, the words falling from his lips with great effort. Your other hand sunk lower, grasping his balls in your palm and melding them. You squeezed him in some mock punishment. But it wasn’t-- not nearly. It felt good. He cried out, a small pant of air filling the room.

“Hush, Miguel.”

“No-- te necesito. I need you, I’m so fucking-- I’m hard,” your languid circular strokes of his shaft were agonizing and caused him to ache. His nails dug into the side of the bath, mesmerized by how gently you treated him, settling a kiss at the side of his neck. Your pace quickened, jerking him more insistently. The many days at sea that he stroked himself just like this-- with the dream of your hands being the one to do it, to do just this, all culminated in Miguel’s harsh panting, trying to obey-- to be good for you, just as you had years ago.

“I know you do. You want me to marry you?” you murmured against his neck, tracing his pulse. He dropped his head back, closing his eyes, offering you only a small nod. Your hands drew back, leaving him bobbing in the water, so hard it hurt. So hard-- “Stop it.”

Miguel complied. You drew back your deep red cowl, drawing the strands loose as you moved in front of him. He bore at you in an incredible amount of awe, his hand pulling at his cock like it were second nature. He pounded into his own hand, so high on the lovely sight before him that it surged in his chest, the beautiful way your nails pulled at the frilled bottom of your nightgown, lifting and pulling it off your body. His mind was a haze, skin warm by the hot oil in the bath. What remained was a desire to be touched by you.

“¿Qué? I didn’t hear you,” your fingers teetered along your clit, stroking along your wet lips. Miguel soaked his own lips with the hunger that rose from the need to touch and be touched by you.

“Sí,” Miguel murmured, the words short and slight. You slipped into the water, gripping the rim of the bath and presented your ass to him. Miguel’s eyes caught your puffy lips, flecks of rose matted to your skin. He didn’t dare move-- lest you tell him to get out.

“Come mount me,” you urged, the words soft, gentle, inviting him to climb over your body. He didn’t know why-- but happiness bloomed in his chest, “Since you murdered what family I had left, you’ll give me more.”

“Give you… you want me to…” Miguel’s mind fizzled out, all cognizant thought of what you meant left field. In its place was the certainty of what you wanted. You wanted him-- his children. He clambered over you, nudging your lips with his cockhead.

“Sí, mi amor, I want you to impregnate me.” Your hand reached back, nails clawing into his muscular hip. Miguel flinched, the blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance. Water sloshed over the rim of the bath onto marble floors. What you asked for was to be used, to be filled. He couldn't equate the depths of your need when just a few days ago you banished him from your chambers.

“Is that so? Then I won’t pull out.”

“I expect you not to,” you bit back.

“Fuck,” Miguel murmured, taking his time in sliding forward. He wanted to savor the feeling, the way his cock slid apart walls that hadn’t been used in years. Your body stretched to make room for him, the feeling of burning pleasure dancing down your spine. Miguel gasped, realizing he should have fingered you first-- because your body was tight, so warm and good, full of his cock deep in your belly. You moaned his name, sounding so beautiful in ways that Miguel had only dreamed of in the past few years.

He snapped his hips in forceful but short thrusts, his fingers gliding up your sides to your breasts, his thumb and index finger rolled and pinched your nipples. “Dios mío,” he found himself panting. “I’ve missed this.”

“So Lyla says,” you threw back. “Ah, there, faster--”

“As you wish.”

You were talking far too much for his liking. His hands snapped down to your core, fingers delving against the clitoral hood, that sweet little spot he knew would cause a weakness in this facade of yours. You gasped, lowering your head down over the rim of the bath, accepting his thrusts with helpless cries of his name, growing in their intelligibility, until felt it more than he heard it. Your pussy spasmed around him, milking him for his seed. Not yet, he wanted to remember the way you cried for him-- for his children. He snapped his hips hard, short thrusts snatching any relief of orgasm far away.

“Por fa Miggy,” you whispered, something soft and hot. His eyes went wide, failing to focus on anything but your voice. “Don’t be a tease. Give me your seed.”

He responded with nothing short of a sharp growl, turning his hands onto your hips. He threw his hips forward in a harsh, punishing pace, as if he were taking out every second you punished him out on you now. Water soaked the floor, replaced with the ringing slap of his hips thrown against yours, his heavy balls full of cum that-- seconds later, he released. Miguel choked loud grunts, scratching at your back for relief. You felt his warm seed fill your walls, his chest bowing over yours as he spurt his cum seated against your cervix. His claws drew lines of blood free of your unmarred hips, marks of his claim.

“Stay-- stay there,” Miguel murmured against your back, pressing small kisses along your back to your shoulder. “If you want a baby, my seed needs to take.”

Soon enough, Miguel grew soft and fell free from your body, globs of his cum spilling down your thighs. He stepped out of the bath, drying himself off and throwing the towel on the slippery floor. He extended his hand out for you to take. You did, sliding over the crumpled clothes Miguel threw on the floor so that you would not slip.

“You marry me tomorrow,” you supplied. Miguel’s bushy eyebrows pushed up, suddenly realizing why Jess had not yet come to bother him about his failure to secure a fitting date for marriage. You must have arranged it.

“What do you mean tomorrow?”

“Then our honeymoon. I want to have a child in my arms before the year is up, Miggy. You can handle politics, war, Stone. I care not for any of it.” You settled your hand on Miguel’s chest, drawing it down over his firm pecs to the muscles of his stomach. He glanced toward your core, cum soaking your walls. “You have no choice.”

“You mean to say you are forcing me into marriage?” Miguel bit out, a heavy breath slipping out of his lips when you grabbed him again. Already? You walked him back out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, pushing him onto the silken sheets. He fell with a grunt, catching your body and dragging you on top. Cum from your leaking cunt soaked his thigh. You brought your thumb to his lips, quirking it against one of his fangs. Miguel turned his face to the side, glaring into the dark night.

“As if it were so hard. Now, the correct response is yes, my princess.”

He chuckled, small and pleased.

“Yes, my queen.”

Queen did sound so good when it came from his lips.

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chic-a-gigot · 2 months

Text

La Mode nationale, no. 45, 5 mars 1887, Paris. Nos. 13 et 15. — Dos et devant d'une robe d'intérieur. No. 17. — Costume de voyage. No. 20. — Robe de ville. Maison Vidal sœuers. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Nos. 13 et 15. — Dos et devant d'une robe d'intérieur en molleton crème. Jupe unie, froncée derrière, ouvrant devant sur une sous-jupe plissée, volant en bas. Tout le davant de la robe est garni par une dentelle légèrement froncée. Une longue ceinture de velours vient se nouer négligement à la taille. Le milieu du dos est garni par des bands de pékin, formant pointes, alternées avec de la dentelle. Plastron et manches en pékin formant chevron.

Nos. 13 and 15. — Back and front of a cream fleece house dress. Plain skirt, gathered at the back, opening in front onto a pleated underskirt, ruffled at the bottom. The entire front of the dress is trimmed with slightly gathered lace. A long velvet belt is tied casually at the waist. The middle of the back is trimmed with strips of pekin, forming points, alternating with lace. Chevron-shaped pekin bib and sleeves.

—

No. 17. — Costume de voyage en tissu pékin prune et héliotrope, et en cheviotte unie. Jupe plissée à larges panneaux, garnie dans le bas par un petit plissé. Longue draperie, très froncée à la taille, formant pointe devant et pouf drapé derrière. Corsage-veste, très ouvert, à revers, ouvrant sur une chemisette bouffant en faille à petits pois. Manches longues et plates, à parements de pékin. Grand chapeau de feutre, garni d'une longue plume amazone, dont le pied est caché sous un large nœud de ruban.

No. 17. — Travel suit in plum and heliotrope pekin fabric and plain cheviotte. Pleated skirt with large panels, trimmed at the bottom with a small pleat. Long drapery, very gathered at the waist, forming a point in front and a draped pouf behind. Very open bodice-jacket, with lapels, opening onto a puffed shirt in polka dot fault. Long, flat sleeves with pekin facings. Large felt hat, trimmed with a long Amazon feather, the base of which is hidden under a large ribbon bow.

Métrage: 5 mètres tissu pékin, en 1 mètre de large; 5 mètres cheviotte unie, 1 mètre faille.

—

No. 20. — Robe de ville en faille noire. Le devant de la jupe, encadré entre-deux darperies droites, plissées, est ornée par une broderie au passé. La jupe, très froncée derrière à la taille, retombe en pouf droit. Le corsage-veste, à très longues basques est également brodé au passé sur la poitrine; il croise sur un long gilet en velours noir. Parements également en velours.

No. 20. — City dress in black faille. The front of the skirt, framed between two straight, pleated darperies, is decorated with embroidery in the past. The skirt, very gathered behind at the waist, falls in a straight pouf. The bodice-jacket, with very long basques, is also embroidered on the chest; it crosses over a long black velvet vest. Facings also in velvet.

Métrage: 14 mètres faille noire, 1 mètre velours.

Capote béguin en tulle perlé garnie sur le devant par une fantaisie en plumes.

Beaded tulle bonnet trimmed on the front with feather decoration.

—

Nous rappelons que tous ces élégants costumes sortent de la Maison Vidal sœurs, 104, rue de Richelieu, dont les expositions de robes et de manteaux ont toujours un si grand retentissement et un réel succès. Ce succès est si grand, qu'il nécessite un agrandissement d'ateliers et de salons, pour lequel les sœurs Vidal préparent une magnifique exposition des nouveautés d'été, à laquelle elles convient toutes nos lectrices, dès que la date en ser fixée.

We remind you that all these elegant costumes come from the Maison Vidal sisters, 104, rue de Richelieu, whose exhibitions of dresses and coats always have such a great impact and real success. This success is so great that it requires an expansion of workshops and salons, for which the Vidal sisters are preparing a magnificent exhibition of summer novelties, to which they invite all our readers, as soon as the date is fixed.

B.V.

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sneakyblinders · 1 year

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The Shelby's

A/N: another installment of Tommy x Bee aka tommy & his darling wife!au. the Shelbys. hope you all are doing well! <;3 warnings: jealous tommy, sexual references, language, not canon, alluding to smut but no smut. 5.5k words. i take no credit for the gif!

1934

Tommy sat in his office at the betting shop one afternoon, sifting through paperwork. It never seemed to end these days, constant influx of papers from Parliament, things Mr. Churchill wanted his opinion on, speeches to prepare, bills to pay. It never ended. The phone call was a welcome distraction.

“Mr. Shelby? This is Harold Archer, from London,” the voice on the other end of the line said. Tommy could faintly recognize the man's voice. He was an up and coming politician in London society, someone Tommy did not really wish to associate with, but understood it was a necessary evil he would one day have to confront.

“Mr. Archer, what can I do for you?” Tommy asked.

“I wanted to extend my sincerest apologies to you and your wife, Mr. Shelby,” the man began. “We are hosting a dinner and luncheon at our London home. I’m afraid a stack of invitations was missed by our mail carrier and the invitations didn’t get out to a few folks, and unfortunately yours was in that stack,” the man said. Tommy rolled his eyes, fishing a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. “My wife and I would love for you and Mrs. Shelby to attend. It’s next Saturday evening into Sunday afternoon. Accommodations will be provided, of course.” The man droned on.

“I don’t involve my wife with business, Mr. Archer,” Tommy said, trying to get the both of them out of this predicament.

“All of the wives have been invited, Mr. Shelby, my wife does enjoy getting to know them all–more of a social than political arrangement if you will. I am sure your wife would enjoy some time away from your children, no?” Tommy could hear the man chuckle.

“No,” Tommy sighed. “She quite enjoys being a mother,” Tommy could hear Mr. Archer’s breath hitch on the other end of the phone. “But I will discuss it with her and let you know by tomorrow.”

That night, after the children had been kissed goodnight, all monsters scared away from under the bed and in the closets, Tommy breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, a moment with her alone.

Bee curled up next to him on the balcony off their bedroom, on some of the wicker furniture he’d just bought for out there. The spring evening had been warm, the warmth fading with the setting sun.

He wrapped an arm around Bee’s shoulders and she laid her legs over his lap. He absentmindedly rubbed her calf with his free hand, both of them sitting and watching the horses roam the back pasture in silence. Some of the groundsmen returned to their cabins for the evening after a grueling day of cleaning the dreaded pool house. The days were getting progressively warmer, and despite the cold snaps that were so prone to happening this time of year, the children were getting rather tired of being in the house all day. They had just constructed toy boats with Simmons and were eager to send them on their maiden voyage. So–Tommy had instructed the groundsmen to prep the pool.

Tommy cherished moments like this. Not much about his life, his work was quiet. But he always knew he could rely on Bee for moments of solitude and peace. To be comfortable with the silence—not feeling the need to fill the void.

His moment of peace shattered when he remembered—the dreaded dinner.

“What’s on your mind?” His wife asks, noticing his jaw clenching suddenly.

He sighed, shaking his head. “This man from London, Harold Archer,” he rolled his eyes. “Invited us for a dinner and luncheon next Friday into Saturday at his London home. Some big political to-do,” Tommy explained, shifting his attention from her one calf to the other.

“Both of us?” She asks, ears perking.

“Yes,” he sighed.

“Why do you not sound excited about that?”

“You know I don’t like to involve you in business, Darling,” he tells you.

“Yes, but, maybe it would do me some good to get to know some of these people. Get to know their wives,” Bee sighs. “I do get lonely, Thomas.”

He furrows his brow. “You have Sara, and Frances, and the children. And me.”

Bee rolls her eyes. “Thomas, it’s not the same as having a friend.”

“I’m not your friend?” He asks playfully.

“You are my greatest friend, my love, but who can I complain about you to?” She jokes, a cheeky smile on her face.

He brings a dramatic hand to his chest, gripping his heart. “I am hurt, my love,” he tells her playfully. “I am practically perfect, what in bloody hell would you have to complain about?”

She leans over and playfully swats at his chest, laughter rumbling deep in his chest as she rests her head on his shoulder. Their whole lives together, he had never understood Bee’s loneliness. He told her nearly every chance he could that she was all he needed in this world. Her heart had nearly broken when she couldn’t return the sentiment.

Of course, he was all she’d ever need romantically. But socially, she knew she needed friends. Women who understood. But no one really understood. Her or Tommy. Tommy unfortunately had cost Bee most of the friendships she had carried from adolescence into adulthood– and even her family did not understand their deep and unending love for one another, and many friends were either envious or afraid–too afraid to get close.

“Do you really want to go?” He asked, hands covering hers, thumb rubbing gentle circles into the back of her hand.

“I think it might be nice to go,” she tells him, and he realizes he’s lost the battle when he hears that tone of longing in her voice. She looks up at him, and he melts into her eyes.

“Alright, my love. I will phone Mr. Archer tomorrow and tell him that we will be there.”

“Oh, let me call his wife, please!” She says, looking at him, excitement filling her eyes.

And when she looks at him with those eyes—he cannot deny her anything.

The next afternoon Bee phones Mrs. Archer. Her name is Laurel. “Yes, this is Mrs. Shelby,” she says into the phone.

“Oh, my dear I am so sorry your invitation did not get in the mail! I feel so horrible for that oversight. I do hope you’ll forgive me,” she gushes into the phone.

“It’s no trouble, I assure you. Thomas and I will be there for your dinner and luncheon, we are looking forward to it,” Bee tells her, beginning to think of what she should wear.

“Oh, splendid! We will have the rooms ready, don’t worry about a thing,” she says cheerily.

“Mrs. Archer, don’t trouble yourself, separate rooms won’t be necessary,” Bee tell her.

“Don’t be silly, dear, it’s no bother. Looking forward to seeing you!”

And she hung up.

Simmons drove Bee and Thomas to the Archer’s London mansion. “No later than three, Simmons, not a second later,” Tommy told Simmons in regards to their pick up time the next day.

“Yes, Mr. Shelby, I’ll be here by three.” Simmons promised, throwing Bee a smile when Tommy’s back was turned. She smiled, shaking her head in annoyance at her husband.

The butler retrieved their bags from the back of the car, the London home bustling with people. Bee’s heart fluttered in her chest, not used to these sorts of events–nervous that somehow she’d embarrass herself, or worse, embarrass Tommy.

He held his arm out to her and she took it as the two of them were escorted into the house.

The Archer’s were waiting in their foyer, greeting guests as they arrived. “Mr. and Mrs. Shelby!” Mr. Archer beamed. He was an older man, about sixty, bald, with a gray mustache that reminded Bee of Arthur’s. Mrs. Archer had beautiful white hair and the most radiant skin Bee had ever seen. Her eyes were bright. “We are so pleased to have you, welcome to our home.”

“Thank you,” Bee and Tommy say in unison. Tommy clears his throat, slightly embarrassed.

“Right this way to your rooms,” Mrs. Archer said cheerily. Tommy shot Bee a confused look, but she was so busy taking in the beauty of this London house that she didn’t catch it. The hallways were ornately decorated, gilded frames of children, grandchildren, horses, dogs, prizes, meetings with US Senators, Presidents, prominent British families decorated the halls. Bee couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at how active Mrs. Archer was with her husband's dealings–all the connections she had. Mrs. Archer led the two of them down a hallway, stopping in front of a dark blue door. “Mrs. Shelby, this is your room,” she said delicately, opening the door. “And Mr. Shelby, your room is right across the hall. I’ll have your things brought around directly.”

Not even five minutes into this trip and Tommy had already had enough. “My wife had told you that two rooms won’t be necessary, and that is still the case. One room will be adequate for the two of us,” he said, stepping into the room Mrs. Archer had deemed Bee’s.

Bee blushed, throwing the woman an apologetic smile. “Oh,” Mrs. Archer said, surprised. “I am sorry, Mr. Shelby, I–most couples aren’t that way,” she said, laughing awkwardly.

“Well,” Tommy said from inside the room, eyeing the vaulted ceilings and the huge windows. “We are that way.”

Bee blushed again, embarrassed. “I am sorry, Mrs. Archer, we are very grateful for your hospitality. We’re just a little tired from the trip,” She tried to come up with an additional excuse to give for her husband's poor manners, but, truth be told, that was her husband most of the time. Bee was practically the only one he was never harsh to, and it was something his family reminded her of often, and with much disdain.

“I understand, dear. I will leave you to rest for the evening. Dinner is at seven,” she told them, just as the valet brought the bags to the room.

“I’ll take them,” Tommy said, taking their suitcases from the awkward valet. The valet stood there, eyes wide, hands at his side. “That’ll be all.”

Bee stood by the door as the valet awkwardly left, wringing her hands together. Tommy sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out a cigarette, the tension in his shoulders and jaw visible. “Thomas, are you okay?” She asks, sitting next to him on the bed.

He sighed, bringing the lit cigarette to his lips, tossing his lighter on the bed. “I hate these sorts of things. Hate being in these big crowds of people. Not being able to speak freely. I never feel like I fit in.” he admitted.

He had struggled with a lack of acceptance in his life, in general. From his upbringing and his heritage to his unconventional line of work, a common theme in his life was feeling isolated. Alone. A feeling he had grown accustomed to–a feeling he had allowed to make itself home in his soul, only making room for Bee and his children when the time came.

Bee rubbed gentle circles into his back. He fell backwards on the bed with a dramatic thump. The coils in the mattress squeaked under his weight. Bee giggled, climbing on top of him, pressing kisses to his forehead, nose, cheeks. “I know right where you fit, Thomas,” she tells him cheekily, earning a naughty smirk from him.

“And where is that, Mrs. Shelby?” he asks, hands grabbing onto her bum and squeezing, making her yelp in surprise.

“Right here!” she giggles, putting a hand against her heart.

He let out a thoughtful groan. “I can think of another few places right where I fit, Darling. Shall I show you?” he asked, rolling the two of them so he was on top of her, hips pressing against her.

“Oh, please do,” she nearly moans as he presses a kiss to her lips.

That evening at six thirty, some ladies maids and butlers were sent around to the rooms. There was a knock on their door as Tommy zipped the back of Bee’s dress. A maid let out a startled cry, seeing the two of them in the room together. “Mr. and Mrs. Shelby, I am sorry!” she said, averting her eyes from Bee’s exposed back.

“Oh, it’s no bother,” Bee tells her sweetly as Tommy glides the zipper the rest of the way up, smoothing the fabric over her shoulders gently. The back of the dress dipped down to the middle of her back, revealing the T M S Bee had inked into her shoulder blade a year ago.

The maid gasped at the artwork that adorned her body as Tommy pressed a kiss to her back. “May we be of assistance?” he asked, voice gravely with desire; not turning around, but rather pressing more kisses to the exposed skin of Bee’s shoulders, the back of her neck.

“Just here to help Mrs. Shelby dress, that’s all,” the maid said nervously, unable to divert her eyes from the scene unfolding in front of her.

“I assure you, Mrs. Shelby is in capable hands,” Tommy rasped, subtly dragging his tongue over the top of her shoulder.

“That will be all, thank you,” Bee manages to croak out as Tommy nibbles at the back of her neck. The maid scurries out of the room, closing the door softly. “Thomas, you’re cruel,” she chastises him as he turns to face the two of them in the vanity mirror.

He eyes her in the mirror, hands roaming over the front of her dress, cupping, kneading, caressing. “How?” he asked, hands moving to her back, fingers tracing his initials, inked into her skin.

“Practically seducing me in front of the staff,” Bee blushes, reaching into her jewelry case to retrieve Tommy’s cufflinks.

His eyes are dark as he eyes her, moving back towards him to fasten the cufflinks on his shirt. “Anyone would enjoy watching that,” he tells her, voice deep with lust. “Listening to those fucking sounds you make,” he shakes his head slowly, biting his lip, watching her trying to focus on the task at hand. “You drive me wild,” he whispers, gazing at her–a mixture of lust and adoration in his eyes.

“Thomas, please, you’re making me warm,” she stifled a giggle, an embarrassed smile on her face, cheeks flushing red under his gaze.

“You’re always warm, Darling,” he tells her.

“What’s gotten into you?” she giggled, finishing his other cufflink.

He walks over to his suitcase, where he retrieves a dark black box. “A man can’t show his wife how in love with her he still is? Even after all this time?” He hides the box behind his back. “Close your eyes,” he instructs.

She turns away from him and closes her eyes, giggling. “Thomas, what’d we talk about?”

He smirks, opening the box. “You said no more diamonds, that you had far too many than you could ever wear,” he recounts.

“Yes,” Bee agreed.

“Good thing I listen, hm?” he says, placing the three strand pearl necklace around her neck and fastening it in the back. “Open,” he instructs, and she does, fingers moving to touch the pearls.

“Thomas,” she gasps. “Thomas Shelby!” she turns around to face him, a smug smile on his face. “It’s too much, Thomas,” she tells him, fingers still running over the smooth surface of the pearls. “Thank you.”

He wraps his arms around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder, eyeing the two of them in the mirror. “Anything for you, my angel.”

And she knew he meant it.

The strands of pearls complimented the dark peach of her dress beautifully, which set off her hair and skin tone in the most enchanting way. It wasn’t a long necklace, the strands laying elegantly at the top of her collarbones.

“You look stunning,” he tells her, peeling himself away from her for a moment to pull his tuxedo jacket over his shoulders, and slide his signet ring on his pinky; his wedding band a staple he never removed.

“You look dashing, Mr. Shelby,” she teases him and he rolls his eyes. “You outshine me, my Darling.”

His sweet words bring to remembrance the first time he’d danced with her, all those years ago, at her grandfather's birthday party. That he had crashed.

“After all this time, hm?” she smiles, straightening his bowtie.

“After all this time,” he agrees.

The dinner bell rings, and they both let out a sigh.

The Shelby’s make their way down the hall, a housemaid guiding them through the various passages and hallways, to a large, open room. “Welcome to cocktail hour, Mr. and Mrs. Shelby,” the maid smiles sweetly at them, eyes lingering on Tommy.

“Thank you,” Bee tells her, Tommys hand moving to the small of her back, straightening his posture and widening his shoulders. The maid bats her eyelashes at Tommy, who paid her no mind, eyes canvassing the room. “Are you alright, love?” Bee whispers to her husband, who immediately tensed upon entering the room.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Just hate these fucking things,” he said.

The women seemed to be gathered on one side of the room, the men on the other. “I didn’t know there’d be a cocktail hour,” Bee said, pressing her lips together.

“Let’s go, Darling,” Tommy said as a waiter walked past with a tray of champagne. Tommy grabbed two glasses, handing his wife one.

A man approached Tommy–a man about his age, maybe slightly younger. “Mr. Shelby!” he greets enthusiastically.

“Yes?” Tommy replies, unsure of who this man is, or how he knows of him.

“I’m Hiram Quincy from Manchester,” he introduced himself, eyes sparkling at Bee.

“Oh, yes, I recall seeing you at my oath ceremony,” Tommy told him dully. Bee stifled a giggle. She understood why Thomas got into politics, but sweet-talking with other members of the political realm was not his strong suit. He loathed small talk. Would rather be silent for hours than talk about the weather, tell others menial details about his life, his children, and would rather someone throw all his cigarettes into the punch bowl than divulge information about his wife. She was his.

“Mrs. Shelby!” Laurel Archer spotted her from across the room, and waved her over. Bee gave Tommy an apologetic look before walking over to the crowd of women.

Hiram turned towards Tommy, hands in his pockets, eyeing Bee as she walked away. “What special occasion is this that Thomas Shelby allows his wife to grace us all with her presence?”

Tommy watches as the man's eyes devour his wife, eyes moving up and down her frame. “What the fuck did you just say?” Tommy asked, eyes narrowing at the man.

Hiram pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. “It’s no fucking secret, mate,” he chuckled, the cigarette between his lips. “You keep her locked up in the Shelby fucking Manor for fear of another man getting his sights on her and,” he shook his head, eyeing Bee again. “I can fucking see why,” he lit the cigarette. “She’s a a fucking dream.”

Tommy’s wrath was seconds from spilling over. He angled his body towards Hiram, his back to his wife. “Do you want to fuck my wife, Mr. Quincy?” he asked. The man's eyes widened. Until that moment, Tommy didn’t realize how beady they were.

Bee had her back turned, Tommy’s initials on her skin visible. “You marked her, hm?” Hiram asked, raising his eyebrows at Tommy.

Tommy raised his eyebrows, lighting a cigarette of his own. “She got it for our anniversary last year, actually,”

“How long have you been married to that siren of a woman, Mr. Shelby?”

Tommy could hear the blood furiously pulsing through his body. “Fourteen years.”

“Lucky fucking man,” Hiram ground out. Tommy protectively kept an eye on his wife. It appeared she was having a good time, speaking with the other women.

“The best I can do is offer for you to watch from a chair in the corner while I fuck her,” Tommy lowly told the man. “But I’ll have to take your eyes after we’re finished. No one looks at my wife that way, Mr. Quincy.”

Hiram shot Tommy a cold look as Tommy walked away.

Bee was in comfortable conversation with the women around her. Mary, the wife of an MP from Liverpool had asked dozens of questions about their children. She had beamed with excitement when she had told her of the twins.

“Oh, I’m sure they’re just darlings!” she gushed.

“They are. To me anyway,” she chuckled. “The nanny may have a different opinion.”

A young wife, Madeline, whose husband was an MP from Bedford had hung on every word she said. She had complimented nearly everything Bee wore, and gasped when she saw her tattoo. It was something Bee was proud of–something she’d never in a million years would have thought about before Tommy. But he could be so possessive sometimes. She got it to remind him that no matter what happened, no matter where life took them–she would always be his.

Bee had felt Tommy’s eyes on her all throughout the cocktail hour, protectively keeping watch. She’d caught his eye a few times, and had gently smiled across the room at one another.

“Will you sit next to me during dinner, Mrs. Shelby?” Madeline asked.

Bee smiled gently at her. “Of course, that would be lovely.”

The dinner bell finally rang and Tommy let out a sigh of relief, anxious to be near his wife again. He came alongside her, a hand on the small of her back, already feeling more grounded from just a simple touch. “Madeline,” Bee says sweetly to the young woman standing rather close to them. “This is my husband, Thomas,” Tommy meets the young woman's eyes and is stunned by how incredibly young she is. Maybe nineteen. “Madeline is Mr. Stetfordshire’s wife, from Bedford,'' Bee tells him as he shakes her hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Stetfordshire,” Tommy says.

“Your wife is wonderful, she’s kept me company this evening. I’m not too good at these social things, you see,” she said bashfully as her husband, easily thirty years her senior approached her.

“Aah!” the man said, “Shelby! I see you’ve met my wife,” the man said, an arm around his wife’s waist.

“Yes, Hugh,” Tommy said. “This is my wife, Bee,” Tommy introduced the two of them.

“We have all heard many things about Mrs. Shelby,” the man said, smirking at Tommy, who fought back a flush that crept up his neck.

“We’ll sit next to them tonight,” Madeline said, flashing her husband a pleading look.

“Of course, of course,” her husband said, giving her a sympathetic look.

The first course went smoothly enough, Tommy’s hand on Bee’s thigh whenever he wasn’t actively engaged in eating his dinner. It was something she’d gotten used to, really. Him always touching her, always wanting to be near–to know she was there. To feel that she was there, even though he could see her.

“Mr. Shelby,” Hiram bellowed from another end of the table they were seated at. “Tell us of your background, what interested you in politics.”

Tommy took a sip of his whiskey and cleared his throat. “I am Romani,” he started off with, earning several raised eyebrows from around the table. “We grew up very poor, being travelers, and I would like to see the world a little better–different for those after me who are in situations similar to the one I grew up in,” he said truthfully, one of the more transparent things he’d said in front of a group of people. That much was true, Bee knew, and her heart softened at the goodness that lived in this man. This man she loves–this man she would do anything for.

Hiram chuckled. “A Gypsy, hm? Bee, really, what did you see in him?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “He’s a war veteran,” she says, tone firm. “He was a Sergeant Major in the tunnels in France. He was at the Somme and Mons,” she told them, their eyes flashing sympathetic. “He saved me from being raped not long after we first met. He’s a wonderful father. A protective brother and uncle. There’s a lot I see in him. Not that it’s any of your business, but if you’re interested I could easily spend hours telling all of you of what I see in Thomas Shelby.”

Tommy’s eyes dropped to his hands in his lap, a wave of emotion overtaking him. The pride she had in him. The pride that she had to be his. Unashamedly and unabashedly. Bee literally wore him on her body and would scream it from the rooftops of Buckingham Palace that he was yours if he asked her to. He reached for her hand, smiling softly at her as the table fell silent, Hiram’s face falling.

Anger poured from Bee–anger at this assumption that her husband wasn’t worthy of love. Wasn’t worthy of her love, of this life he’d built. Tommy’s thumb stroked gently on the back of her hand, drawing her from her angered state.

The evening ended with a nightcap in the library, which was the most impressive home library either of them had ever seen. Madeline didn’t leave Bee’s side, almost like a lost puppy. At the end of the evening, as Bee made her way back to her room with Tommy, and Madeline with Hugh, she looked at Bee with a heartbroken expression.

“I would give anything for a man to look at me the way Mr. Shelby looks at you, Bee,” Hugh caught up to her and escorted her to her room.

“Goodnight, Dear!” Bee calls after her. Madeline threw her a smile over her shoulder as Tommy came up behind Bee, opening the door.

Tommy opened their room door, letting Bee in before closing it gently behind the two of them, securing the lock in place.

Bee sinks into the vanity bench, mind and body ready for sleep. “These things are exhausting,” she says, slipping her shoes off.

“Tell me about it,” he ground out, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders, lying it neatly across the dresser top. “All I heard about all evening is how many men want to fuck my wife,” he said, angrily tugging his bowtie free from his neck.

Bee turned around to face him. “What?” she asked in shock.

He scoffed. “Oh don’t act like you don’t know, Darling.”

“I don’t!” she tells him, mouth open in shock. “What on earth do you mean?”

He unclasps his cufflinks. “This is why I can’t bring you to these things because everyone,” he throws them down on the nightstand with a clang. “Wants to know about you,” he says, toeing off his shoes next. “Wants to talk about you,” he removes his braces from his shoulders. “Wants to know why I keep you locked up in a castle in Birmingham to rot away, while you make me out to be some hero at dinner. Here I am a jailer.”

Bee eyes him in the mirror. “Thomas,” she says softly. She gets up and walks over to him as he nearly rips his sleeve garters from his arms. “Thomas,” she holds his face in her hands and he sighs. “Look at me,” she tells him sweetly when he doesn’t meet her gaze. “I love you,” his hands grip her wrists. “They don’t know about us,” she tells him. “They don’t need to know everything. They just need to know that I am yours and you are mine.”

They undressed each other quickly, desperate to touch one another, feel one another, after a long night of longing looks from across an unfamiliar room. She was panting beneath him when he dragged his thumb over her lower lip and rasped, “Don’t you dare be quiet tonight. I want them all to fucking hear you. Hear you say you are fucking mine.”

She obeyed.

Bee fell asleep in his arms while he laid awake, observing every inch of her body as she slept. He ran gentle fingertips up and down her body, watching in amusement as goosebumps rippled in his touch's wake.

During the night she rolled over, the dim candlelight from his nightstand illuminating his initials on her back. He pressed a sleepy kiss to the ink. He rehearsed in his mind all the sweet things she’d whispered, moaned, cried into his ear when he made love to her. How worthy she made him feel. How loved. Treasured. Respected. Adored. Cherished. Feelings he’d never felt before. Never felt free to feel before.

His father had drunk to forget how he felt, allowing only anger to be the driving emotion in his life–something Tommy and all his brothers wore scars both physically and emotionally from. His mother felt everything deeply–something Tommy was afraid he and Arthur inherited. His father made them feel ashamed for feeling any extreme emotion.

Tommy remembered when he was five, his favorite horse fell lame and had to be shot, something a boy of his age was not prepared to hear, let alone see. He had run to cry in his mothers chest, terrified of the horror his father had inflicted on his favorite animal. His mother tried to soothe him, rubbing his back, rocking him gently in her lap. His father wandered in later, drunk and angry, pulling Tommy from his mothers lap. He screamed in his face, Tommy not remembering most of what he had said, half asleep and still terrified.

It wasn’t until he found Bee that he could feel safe again. She was his hiding place, his refuge. The one he could always run to. The first time he’d cried in front of her he’d been beyond embarrassed. But she held him and kissed every inch of skin she could get her lips on. He shook, body overwhelmed from exhaustion and pent up emotion, and she held him together in her arms.

When she woke up the next morning, she smiled at him and he looked at her with all the love and tenderness he could muster. “My lighthouse,” he whispered. “I was lost. Drowning. You saved me with your light,” he pressed kisses to her collarbones.

“Mr. Shelby, waxing poetic this morning, hm?” she asked as he moved atop her.

“I think when I’m old, I’ll write poems for you. That way you can read them when I’m dead and you’re missing me,” he said, half jokingly, half serious.

“Thomas!” she scolded, playfully swatting at his bum.

“Darling, the chances of us both dying at precisely the same time are terribly slim,” he said.

“But that’s how I want it to happen,” she said, eyes wide.

“I know, my darling, but that is the risk you run I suppose when you marry a man ten years your senior,” he told her, dropping to his forearms above her, his forehead against hers.

“Old man,” she giggled playfully, kissing him, her hands in his hair.

“Old man who knows what the fuck he’s doing, eh?” he smirked into the kiss, grinding his hips against hers.

“Oh yes,” she moaned as he made love to her again… for the first (and not only) time that day.

The Shelby’s skipped breakfast entirely, too wrapped up in one another to care that their bellies rumbled with hunger. They decided to prepare themselves for the luncheon and for their departure.

“Are you ready for your shadow to return?” Tommy asked with a small smile as he tied his tie.

“What do you mean?” Bee asked, selecting her jewelry.

“That young woman from dinner last night. She practically followed you everywhere.”

“She needs a friend, Thomas. And so do I,” Bee said, not meeting his eyes.

“Alright, my love, I’m sorry,” he came up behind her and pressed a kiss to her neck. “I do think her husband was rather old for her,” he said, hands resting on her belly, chin on her shoulder.

“Yes, it’s unfortunate but I do think they care for one another,” Bee said, reaching for her bottle of perfume.

Tommy stepped back as she misted herself with her perfume, the one he loved, the one that drove him wild. He admired her. Her grace, her elegance. And in that moment his heart swelled with gratitude that he was able to marry for love. Not forced to out of convenience, not trapped in a loveless one, bound only by the children they’d brought into the world. But for love.

They managed to emerge from their room a decent amount of time before lunch was scheduled to begin. Madeline caught Bee’s attention almost immediately. “Oh, are you feeling alright? We missed you both at breakfast,” Madeline smiled kindly at both of them.

“Nonsense,” another wife, Carol? Anne? Bee couldn’t remember, commented. “We all heard them last night. It’s ridiculous! This is a sophisticated party and they fuck like animals. Hmph!” she turned her nose up at Bee. Who smirked.

“At least my husband fucks me,” Bee smirked before walking towards the appetizer table, rather pleased with herself.

“Well! Most couples aren’t that way!” The goody-two-shoes wife said, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Well,” Bee shrugged. “The Shelby’s are.”

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#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x ofc #tommy shelby x bee sutton #tommy shelby x bee #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x ofc #thomas shelby #peaky fookin blinders #peakywomen #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #sneakyblinders #my au <3

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green-eyedfirework · 7 months

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An alternate ending to one of my many pirate AUs.

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Admiral Wayne's face was a stone mask but his eyes were chips of fire. If the man wasn't wearing scent blockers, Slade imagined he'd be swamped with furious, protective alpha scent.

Dick was all-but-leaning closer to him, despite the fact that they were on different ships, and Slade tugged on the rope binding his wrists behind his back to prevent the idiot from tipping over the railing.

"The Navy doesn't negotiate with pirates," Admiral Wayne said evenly. His eyes told Slade that the only reason the Deathstroke wasn't a smoldering wreckage was because Dick was still on it.

Slade hummed, "I'm aware of Navy policy."

Admiral Wayne's jaw tightened, "Then what are you here for?"

This was Slade's invitation to ask for a ransom from Wayne, personally. Regardless of Navy policy, if Slade put a gun to his eldest son's head and demanded payment, he had no doubt that Wayne would give it to him.

Fortunately for Wayne's coffers, Slade had no intention of doing that. "Returning Grayson," Slade shrugged, casually curling an arm around Dick's shoulders. Dick allowed it, but his shoulders were tense.

Wayne narrowed his eyes. "Just like that?" he asked slowly. "I didn't think that pirates were given to charity."

"Oh no," Slade said, letting his smirk do the talking for him. "Captain Grayson has already paid for his voyage home."

If looks could kill. Wayne paled dramatically, his gaze snapping to his son and then back to Slade as it darkened in anger. Dick sucked in a sharp, tight breath, and then did the best he could to smash Slade's foot. Slade let him—he could barely feel the omega's kicks through his boots.

"You're an asshole," Dick hissed, too low to carry.

"You already knew that, little bird," Slade murmured, and didn't even try to hide the laugh.

#my snippets #sladick #omegaverse #pirate au #sadly didn't fit anywhere but I do love Slade being a bastard

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juniper-sunny · 10 months

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A Knight to Remember - Part 3

Medieval AU | Knight!Silco | Silco x Female!Reader | No (Y/N) | Romance | Slow Burn | Eventual Smut | Fluff || SFW | WC: 5.75k | art by @designfailure56 (full piece here) | beta: @deny-the-issue

ao3 || Part 1 | Part 2

Your knight is forced to draw his sword once more, a prospect which worries you greatly…

taglist (open): @sherwood-forests @ilikemymendarkandfictional @ursawastricked @quirkykaty @let-the-monster-out @ariaud @silcoitus

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Mealtimes were always an awkward affair in your father’s hall. The discomfort was less amplified during feasts, but dining with just your lord father and lady mother was more unpleasant. It was their attitude towards the servants that you could not abide. They were treated as living furniture that your parents only acknowledged if they wanted their ale refilled or dessert brought to them. Other than that, they might as well have been as inanimate as the torches that illuminated the room.

Your knight was the sole exception, as he had been granted the cringeworthy task of tasting your meals for poison before you ate. After a bite of each dish, he would retreat to the wall behind your seat where your father could observe him closely for any signs of poor health. Besides your doubt that there were assassins in the kitchen, it bothered you that your knight was not invited to sit next to you even after the tastings. Overall, it was an injustice that he and the other servants responsible for providing such delicious food were not allowed to dine in the same comfort and excess that your family enjoyed.

In the whole span of your knight’s employment, he had never tasted any poison in your food. It did occur to you once to play a joke on your father by pretending to choke and fall to the ground, convulsing melodramatically. The likelihood of your knight landing in trouble due to your antics was unlikely. Still, he would not deserve the potential scolding your father could mete out. Although your knight might find amusement in the lecture your mother would give you on your unladylike conduct.

“Have you grown used to your knight, child?” your father asked. Of course not bothering to ask your knight if he had grown used to serving you.

“Yes, he serves me well. Thank you, father,” you said. If only you could turn in your seat to smile at your knight as you said that, but the backing of your chair was too high to do that comfortably.

“Perhaps he could accompany you during your voyage overseas,” your father said. “I may have been too hasty in forbidding you and your mother from traveling. After all, this year has passed peacefully, has it not?”

“Yes, it has,” your mother said. “I have spent entirely too much time in this hall, darling. I am only reminded how much I should appreciate you after spending time away.”

“And I love you all the more after your absences,” your father laughed. He reached out for your mother’s hand and grasped it lovingly. She smiled and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

They were often prone to such displays, as their affection had seemingly never diminished since the early days of their courtship. You and your brother had often looked upon them with comical disgust, but now you looked on with wonder. Would you ever find something like that with someone?

Could you find something like that with your knight—?

Your lord father called out your name. “I thought you would be pleased to travel again. The ship and crew are still available to escort you to your original destination.”

“I am, father, thank you,” you said hastily. The place you had hoped to visit was a week away by ship, an ocean away with foods and flora you had never seen before but only read about. The language of their people was foreign to you, and you had studied it diligently to gain a better understanding of their culture. Much time had been spent on preparations for the trip, so you were understandably quite upset when your father canceled it.

Now, though… you still could not turn to face your knight as your father was looking at you expectantly. You sipped from your cup before speaking, “Actually, I was hoping to travel north. There are forests there that remain green even through the winter. I should quite like to study a land where spring reigns eternal. There would be no need to travel by sea,” you added.

“Really?” your mother asked, looking at you skeptically.

You nodded and continued eating, keen to put an end to the conversation. If your parents questioned your true motives for changing your mind, then they might think of your knight’s fear of water as incompetence.

“Then it would please me greatly to take your place on that voyage, child,” your mother said. “It sounds like quite the adventure.”

“Is staying home not enough of an adventure for you, my dear?” your father asked.

“Of course. Being married to you is the greatest adventure one could ever have,” she teased. They both laughed. Your knight cleared his throat, which he only did when he was trying to suppress a chuckle.

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Traveling the world was already very exciting, but having your knight’s company in a new land was another prospect you were looking forward to. The gloomy, heavy gray skies could not dampen your good mood. A week later on one of your clandestine trips into the woods, you were about to ask him if there was anywhere he would like to visit. But he spoke first before you could ask.

“My lady,” he began. His tone was cool and calm as always, but there was a gleam of anticipation in his good eye. “Would you allow me the privilege of choosing where we go today?”

Your knight had never requested anything of you before. It was quite a surprise, the nature of which piqued your curiosity. “Of course, sir knight. Please lead the way.”

He smiled at you, a soft feather of a thing, so precious that you would hold it close if you could. Then he walked off into the woods at a measured enough speed that you could keep up easily.

How strange it was to be the one following instead of leading. Cold winds blew through you as if they were eager to trail him as well, rolling clouds heavy with impending rain across the skies. Curiouser still how he lead you on a path you had not taken in over a year— east towards your favorite river. You said nothing yet. What could his intentions be? You walked carefully in the mud, exercising the utmost caution. A misplaced step could dirty your dress and lead to interrogations and scoldings on where you went, what you did, and why. All very tedious conversations you hoped to avoid.

With his sturdy boots and thick trousers, your knight had no such reservations. He forged ahead relentlessly. He did look over his shoulder at you once or twice and you smiled at him. It was an instinct now, to smile at your knight whenever he looked at you. It was a hard impulse to curb when you were surrounded by other people with watchful eyes that might turn the smallest, most innocent actions into salacious gossip.

He stopped at the edge of the river, where the rocks still lay on dry land before they disappeared under the water’s surface. He rolled a small pebble under his boot before kicking it away decisively. It bounced over other rocks before landing in the water with a splash. Then, he turned to you with a determined expression.

“My lady, would you close your eyes for a moment?” he asked.

You nodded hesitantly, the world falling dark as you raised your hands over your eyes for good measure. You held them there even as a singular raindrop landed on your shoulder, the initial herald to oncoming rains. It was more important to demonstrate compliance with your knight’s request. But the waiting dragged on in boring agony with nothing to look at and almost nothing to listen to, save for the babbling waters.

After a few more minutes by your estimation, he still had not called out to you. What was he doing? You opened one eye and peeked cautiously through a gap in your fingers—

He was standing with his back turned to you. Waist deep in the water.

“Sir knight!!” you yelled, shocked. You ran clumsily over the rocks and crashed into the water. Cursing how it impeded your speed.

He turned just as you reached him. He caught you by your elbows as you grabbed his upper arms, a look of surprise on his face. The current swayed strongly around the two of you, disturbed by your hasty charge into the river.

“My lady,” he chuckled at your panic, ever the picture of serene stillness. “Do not be afraid. All is well.”

It was true. There was no need to rescue your knight from drowning when the river only came up to his waist, his head higher above the surface than your own. In your sudden realization that he was fine, your face flared in heat from embarrassment. Burning hot enough to counter the cold of the weather and the water. You would have looked away in mortification, but the sight was too wonderous to turn away from: He was standing there unbothered and was in fact smiling at you. Such a drastic change from how he acted over a year ago when he first followed you here.

“Please do not avoid the river or traveling by sea on my account, my lady,” he said. “I am no longer afraid.”

“How— but— the water�� are you alright??” you asked breathlessly, the cold and exertion robbing you of air. He gently squeezed your arms in reassurance, his thumbs rubbing the inside of your sleeves. The churning waters around you calmed, holding you both gently as if in a cupped palm, the skirts of your dress floating around you.

“I let a weak man die,” he said. “To end the fear of pain, so that it could no longer control me. I am strong now.”

“You have always been strong, sir knight,” you reminded him. “To survive everything you endured until now… there are very few who could bear it.”

“But now I am able to serve you fully.”

“You have always served me well,” you protested. “There is no need to subject yourself to undue distress.”

He shook his head. “I am now able to see the truth you speak of, my lady. There is peace in water… just as I find peace with you.” His smile was so tender, so open.

“Sir knight…” you said, swallowing hard. Stammering as you tried to find the right words to say. He let you stew in your awkwardness, his smile never fading the whole while, his sincerity changing into teasing at your expense.

When you first met, he did not seem capable of such vulnerability, much less sharing it with you. He needed only to carry out the duties you and your lord father assigned him. But to go above and beyond to indulge your desires that you had suppressed for so long… no one had ever shown you such kindness. It was a truly moving gesture.

“Sir knight…” you started again. “I do not have the words to properly convey the depths of my gratitude… Thank you. It must have been quite the ordeal to overcome your fear.”

“You could pass a lifetime without ever facing a challenge like that,” he said. “But it changes you forever. For that, I thank you, my lady.”

You pinched his arm, frustrated at how he was deflecting credit away from himself. “I played no part in your accomplishments, sir knight. Your success belongs solely to you.”

“I believed I had already reached the peak of my strength. You showed me how much stronger I could become.”

“I never meant to give you the impression that your fear of water was a weakness, sir knight. That was not my intention,” you cringed at yourself. “I am sorry.”

“Please do not misunderstand. You did nothing wrong—” your knight was interrupted by water falling on his brow. He blinked in surprise. The scattered sprinkle turned into a consistent splatter, then heavy sheets that drenched you both. Your dress was already soaked from the river, but water was now running down your head.

He let go of you. Just as you were about to mourn the loss of his touch, his hand alighted on your wrist. Pulling you gently but firmly as he trudged out of the river, the surface now hammered by the falling rain. You grabbed a fistful of your skirts and lifted them as high as you could, following him onto land.

He never let go even as he slowed down, allowing you time to carefully navigate over the slippery riverside rocks. As soon as you were clear of them, he sped up again, heading towards the forest. Intent on finding shelter under a tree. Your knight pulled you to his side, his shoulder pressing against yours. Still keeping hold of you, no longer gripping you but just grazing the end of your sleeve, his hand a loose bracelet around your wrist.

You instinctively turned to him. Perhaps he felt the same impulse for you met each other’s eyes at exactly the same time. You laughed as water dripped off his hair to land on your face. “We have been blessed with luck, sir knight. I was afraid we would have no suitable explanation for why we are both sopping wet.”

“I am quite blessed indeed,” he murmured, looking deep into your eyes.

What on earth did he mean? Your face flushed, heat tingling in your cheeks and ears before you could compose yourself. You let the damp locks of your hair fall in front of your eyes as you looked down, busying yourself with pulling your kerchief out of your pockets. Suddenly shy from the look he was giving you.

“May I?” you held up the kerchief. He nodded, and you proceeded to dab softly at him, wiping away the trails of water that trickled down his face. He closed his good eye as you wiped his brow, his cheek, and the bridge of his nose, so gently as to not accidentally prod or poke him. Water had pooled in the bow and scar of his lip, an invitation to touch him in that most intimate of places…

It was too frightening a prospect. You quickly swiped at his mouth, flinging water off his face. He chuckled and opened his eye, but all merriment drained from his face when you made to lift his eyepatch.

“Thank you,” his grip retightened around your wrist, not painfully but in an undeniable warning. “That’s enough.”

“Are you sure? It is quite soaked through. Please, at least let me wring it dry.”

“My lady… I fear that the sight may frighten you. It is not pleasant to look at.”

“Nothing could frighten me, sir knight,” you said softly. “Not if it’s you.”

His good eye widened at your declaration, his piercing gaze returning to determine the truthfulness of your words. When you did not waver or recant, he nodded slightly, closing his eye again.

The eyepatch was large and triangular with a thick band that covered almost the entirety of his left eyebrow. He had owned this particular eyepatch long enough that it molded to the shape of his cheekbone, curving concave to end level with his nostrils. Its color was the deepest black, embroidered with smooth scarlet thread at its edges. Your family crest was embroidered on the patch itself in light gold, as beautiful as reflected sunlight on the river’s surface. The thing was too precious to manhandle, so you patted it dry as best as you could before turning to his face.

His scars were extensive enough that the accessory could not completely cover them. They crawled outwards from his eye to beyond the edge of his temple, jagging through his hairline. You had seen the scars that ended on his lip before; they were not a collection of smaller cuts as you previously wondered, but part of a long line that flowed uninterrupted down from the eye socket. Another scar parallel to it curved towards his chin. A spiderweb of cracked lines concentrated most intensely where the lower lid of his eye would have been were it not missing entirely. The skin itself was ruined, unevenly colored an ashy gray that would not wipe away to match the same, healthier pale tone of his body.

Then there was the eye itself. The upper lid was missing as well, revealing a sclera completely colored black. The shape of the iris was amorphous around the edges, shapeless clouds of ink in water. For such a thin ring, the iris was many brilliant shades of orange, bright flickering flames in a bed of coal.

The ruin of his face was less frightening than what it represented. For such a gentle man to experience such a horrific injury at the hands of a loved one was too painful to bear. A lump in your throat arose as you resumed patting his face dry. Conscientious of starting at his hairline first before moving down to his brow. Did he experience pain when water dripped into the unprotected eye?

“It’s alright, my lady,” your knight said patiently. “You need not look at it any longer than you wish to.”

“Please do not misunderstand, sir knight,” you whispered. “I only hate to imagine how you must have endured so much pain and fear that day…” More frightening still was the irrational but not impossible prospect that your knight could face similar violence in the future. The fact that your knight’s entire tenure was peaceful did not quell the anxiety that threatened to choke you.

“And yet I am strong now,” he repeated, voice low and soft, a whisper of wind over gravel. “Just as I am always meant to be.”

Your knight’s face was as dry as it could possibly be given the circumstances. You raised your free hand as high as you could above him, hoping to shield him from any errant raindrops that might fall from the branches above. You took an unconscious step forward as his hand glided down to your elbow, holding you close. Your hand holding the kerchief cradled his face… such a thin layer of cloth preventing you from touching him unhindered, skin-on-skin.

He was close enough to see and perhaps feel the heat of your blush on your face. Could he also hear how your heart hammered away from both anxiety and anticipation? It was a fearful excitement that would normally have you running away if you were not rooted to the ground, bound to your knight by some invisible compulsion.

To be bound to your knight would be bliss. He was quite literally within arm’s reach. He leaned into your palm, raising his own hand towards your face—

“We should return home,” you blurted out, jumping back. You shoved your kerchief and his eyepatch into his still outstretched hand. “There is no telling if the rain will end soon.”

You turned and scurried away, pulling your dress off the ground with both hands. Not waiting for your knight to readjust his eyepatch. But the sound of his footsteps followed behind you soon enough.

Because of course he was still loyal to you. Even if you might be wedded to someone else in the future. Even if he was dedicated to you, you could not pledge the same to him.

You would do better to remember that.

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An illness fell upon you in the days to come. It was nothing serious, only a slight cold from your time in the river and rain. However, your lord father did once again treat it as a disaster. You were confined to your bedchamber and only a select few were allowed to visit you. Unfortunately, your knight was not included among them.

He had only come into your service less than two years ago. But now you could not imagine a life without him, and the days with only your handmaidens and father for company were quite lonely indeed. But on one trip to the washroom, late at night, you found a bouquet of your favorite coneflowers at your doorstep, wrapped in your kerchief. You grabbed it and held it close, clutching it to your chest. In the morning, you placed it close to your window.

Your mother had already departed for her travels before the day you followed your knight into the river. In his haste, your father had sent word of your sickness to her, for which she came back early.

“I am sorry, mother,” you said as she sat next to you on your bed. “You needn’t have returned home for my sake. I am almost entirely recovered now.”

“That is quite alright,” she said, placing the back of her hand on your forehead. “I am only relieved that you are better. There is something I wish to share with you.

“In my time abroad, I attended a sword-fighting tournament. It was quite exciting,” your mother said, eyes bright with giddiness. “We will be hosting one soon for my birthday and I intend to have your knight participate.”

“WHAT?!?” you shouted angrily. You would have said much more but you exploded into a fit of painful, hacking coughs.

Your mother held up a cup of water for you to drink from, disregarding your outburst entirely. “I thought you would enjoy seeing one. It has been quite a while since the last one.”

The last time you attended one was years ago during some celebration you could not recall exactly. You had enjoyed it no more or less than any of the other festivities that day. It was just like your lady mother to impose what she wanted onto others without consideration for anyone’s feelings but her own.

“My knight will not join. I forbid it,” you said as sternly as possible in between your coughing.

She merely looked upon you dismissively. “I must test his capabilities, child. If he is not a worthy fighter then I shall have another join your service.”

“Has he not already proved himself to you? He did save your life, mother,” you pointed out.

“And yet my daughter deserves only the best. This is the only way to determine his competence.”

“You are only interested in watching every able-bodied man of these lands fight,” you accused. “If you are so keen to witness some swordplay, why not take up the blade yourself?”

“Why, I am much too old and delicate to take up arms, child,” she laughed good-naturedly. “And this is much more fun.”

There was nothing more you could do to sway your mother. You were still fuming when she tucked you in and kissed you goodnight.

Another week passed before you were fully well again, and then another few days dragged on when your father insisted you continue resting. You were therefore quite eager for your next chance to find some private time with your knight.

In your time apart, he had accumulated some bruises on his face and neck and moved with a stiffness that spoke of sore muscles. It had taken all your restraint not to descend upon him when you first saw him at breakfast, surrounded by your family and other attendants.

Now in the privacy of the meadow, you fussed over him.

“Are you well now, my lady?” he asked.

“Never mind that,” you said impatiently. “Are you alright??”

“I am fine, my lady. These injuries are not serious,” he said. “I have merely resumed training. In this time that I have served you, I have not raised my sword once. I must not dishonor you with my negligence.” “You could never dishonor me, sir knight,” you protested. “And I care very little for my ‘honor’. I only wish to keep you safe from harm. If only my mother prioritized your safety over her own amusement!!”

He would have replied but was suddenly interrupted by a yawn he could not suppress.

“Are you tired? You should return home—”

“No, my lady,” he said. “I wish to stay by your side.”

He was stubborn, immune to your further attempts at persuasion. So instead you laid on your back, fully stretched out and staring into the sky. “Lie next to me, sir knight, if you insist on accompanying me.”

He raised an eyebrow at you but laid down obediently. As soon as he lay flat, his good eye began to shutter from weariness. You said nothing as he succumbed to slumber, not wishing to disturb him.

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You seemed to be the only one who was not looking forward to the tournament. If you could magically summon rain and thunder with your bad mood, then you would have flooded the town. As it were, the sun was shining bright and merrily on the first day of celebrations. A low wooden barrier was erected in the middle of town, carving out a circle for the arena. Tents had also been set up for the participants’ use where they could prepare in privacy.

The last opportunity you had to speak with the knight was the night before. Then the morning had been filled with preparatory work of your own, imposed by your lady mother who insisted you wear your finest dress and jewelry for the occasion. Then breakfast had been a feast in and of itself, with many other lords and ladies who had traveled from afar to attend. Forced to play the part of the obedient daughter, you offered as much hospitality as you could while glancing around frantically for your knight. He was nowhere to be seen.

Now, seated next to your father outdoors on a raised wooden platform overlooking the arena, the first match of the day was about to start. At least your mother had the consideration to only have your knight participate in a singular exhibition match, the first one of the day. He would not have to fight in multiple rounds, but that did nothing to quell your uneasiness.

Your knight’s opponent stepped into the ring first. He was a younger man named Finn, just as tall and broad of shoulder as your knight, but more muscular. Brilliant green eyes shone through under his dark hair, cropped close to his ears. He seemed more of a showman than a fighter in the way he stalked around the edge of the arena, arms outstretched and soaking up cheers and applause, banging his sword against his shield to encourage more noisemaking from the audience. His wide smirk grew into a sneer as he turned and pointed his sword at your knight, who had only just entered the ring.

Your knight’s entrance was much more understated. He walked calmly towards the center of the arena in long and confident strides, with a straight back and a proud, dignified bearing. Ignoring his opponent’s attempts to mock him with words you could not make out.

The two men circled each other a fair distance apart. Finn swaggered and jeered, feinting lunges at your knight to intimidate him. Throughout it all, your knight never flinched, stepping at a steady pace, sure and confident. Crouched low behind his shield with his sword raised level, pointing at his opponent. The tip of his weapon tracing small circles in the air.

You gasped when your knight’s shield came into view: he had painted your favorite purple coneflower on it, a dark orange seeded heart on the center disc while long straight petals unfurled outwards, filling the entire shield to touch the rim. If you could have run into the ring to pull your knight to safety, you would have.

Finn charged. Not another feint but a leap and a heavy swing of his sword at your knight’s left eye. An understandable move as the eyepatch would have fooled anyone into believing it was his blind spot.

But your knight raised his shield just in time to catch the blow. Finn’s sword glanced downwards. Quick as a flash, your knight slashed at Finn’s exposed side and jumped backwards. Almost dancelike with how quick and graceful he was on his feet.

The younger man swore and glared at your knight. Dropping all pretense of playing as he snarled, raising his sword and shield once again. Crashing his shield into your knight’s. But your knight never stumbled, still calm and unshakeable.

Another downward slash from Finn. Your knight blocked it with his sword. Then Finn slashed again and again, raining down a flurry of blows. All of them were blocked skillfully by your knight. But he was forced to walk backwards as the sheer barrage of Finn’s attacks pushed him closer and closer towards the edge of the arena.

Your knight was backed up against the barrier. He was forced to dodge Finn’s next blow by jumping sideways. Finn rammed his shield into your knight’s side, sending him tumbling to the ground. A kick to your knight’s wrist forced him to drop his sword.

Finn kicked the blade out of your knight’s reach, dropping his shield to snatch it for himself. He crossed both swords overhead, yelling in triumph. The crowd cheered along while you gasped in horror. Your knight leaped to his feet just as Finn shoved the discarded shield towards him. A surprisingly chivalrous gesture from Finn. Leaving one fighter with two swords and the other with two shields.

Your knight crouched low as he raised both shields. Peeking out over the tops of them. Finn laughed as he charged again, raising both swords high. But it was another feint— just as your knight raised the shields to block again, Finn turned and slammed his shoulder into the shields. Your knight held strong, staying on his feet.

Finn seemed to realize his mistake. Your knight was now a moving wall, made impenetrable by the second shield. He matched Finn’s speed move for move, blocking each attack perfectly. Waiting for his opponent to tire himself out.

A spinning slash from Finn. His back was exposed. Your knight charged into Finn, sending him crashing to the ground. The younger man dropped the swords and rolled onto his back. Only for your knight to pin him to the ground with a knee. Shield rim shoved under Finn’s chin.

Finn struggled but your knight did not yield. Whatever your knight was saying to his opponent was inaudible from so far away. But it seemed enough to make the younger man drop his head to the ground in frustrated defeat. Boos and cheers in equal measure exploded into the air as the victor got to his feet. Bowing in your direction before walking off.

You slipped away from your seat before anyone noticed, ducking into the tents. You passed through several, catching their occupants by surprise.

Finally, you found him. He turned to face you just as you entered.

He was shirtless, his chainmail shirt discarded on a nearby table. His eyepatch was missing as well. Leaving him the most exposed that you had ever seen him. Sweat dripped down his long neck to pool in his collarbone, then traced the contours of his thin but wiry arms. His toned chest rising and falling with each breath. Scars and bruises alike smattered irregularly under his skin. Large veined hands slinging a cloth over his shoulder. Trousers clinging to his tapered waist. Every muscle and sinew threading together to form his handsomely slender physique, tall and elegant even without clothing.

Oh. “I am so sorry—”

“My lady,” he said, surprised. “I did not expect to see you so soon.”

“I wanted to see you,” you said, squinting at the ground.

“Forgive me,” he said. A rustle of cloth, then the sound of him patting himself down. You looked up to see that he was now wearing a loose shirt. The deep V of the neckline ended above his ribs, giving you a tantalizing glimpse of his nakedness that you had so enjoyed.

“There is nothing to forgive, sir knight,” you said after clearing your throat. “I am sorry for interrupting you at such an inopportune moment.”

“All is well, my lady. I wanted to see you too. Please,” he gestured towards a wooden stool, inviting you to take a seat.

You smiled at him, finally relaxing from the stress that had built up since your mother’s announcement. “No thank you, sir knight. You need it more than myself. You fought valiantly! Are you hurt?”

“Thank you,” he smiled back. “It is nothing that a good night’s rest will not cure.”

“I am sorry my mother put you through this,” you cringed at her childishness. “I wish I could promise that she will never do so again.”

“As your father’s wife, I am obliged to serve her whims as well,” he said diplomatically, to which you snorted. “I am glad that she will allow me to remain in your service.”

“Thank goodness… you are the only one for me,” you sighed, then hastily added, “Another knight would be quite unnecessary.”

He raised an eyebrow at you in puzzlement. “Strange… your mother told me if I lost, I would be relieved of my duties entirely. If I had known they would only be halved then I should have been less afraid of defeat.”

Your jaw dropped at your mother’s audacity. Then you ground your teeth, doing your best not to cuss at your mother out loud.

“I should hate to lose the pleasure of your close company,” your knight said, even as he chuckled at your fury. “But I am glad to have your mother’s blessing.”

“Would that I could order you to give her a taste of your blade,” you grumbled. “Thank you for the flowers, sir knight. That was very kind of you.”

“Not at all,” he said simply. “I missed you.”

What a strange thing for him to say when you were standing right in front of him. But perhaps the tournament had weighed just as heavily on his mind as it did on yours, what with your mother threatening to end his employment.

“I missed you too,” you said softly. “I hope to see you again soon, sir knight.” As much as you preferred your knight’s company over your mother’s, it was time you left to rejoin her.

“My lady,” he said by way of goodbye, nodding once. He watched you closely as you departed. Hopefully, it would not be long before you were reunited with him again.

Part 4

#Arcane #Arcane fanfic #Silco #Silco x Reader #Arcane Silco #Silco Arcane #Silco fanfic #my writing #A Knight to Remember #AKtR

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sirthisisa-wendys · 1 year

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hii! could i request AU pirate!wakasa and black dragons and other characters, maybe toman (dont do it if you dont want to)

AUR MY GAHD (let me know if I didn't write anyone you wanted!)

Let's see what the guys do when they find a stowaway on their ship. And when that stowaway happens to be the Ship Comissioner's daughter.

Stowaway: Wakasa Imaushi/ Keizo Arashi/ Shinichiro Sano/ Takeomi Akashi/ Chifuyu Matsuno & Baji Keisuke/ Ken Ryuguji x Fem!Reader

wc: 2.1k

tw: like, a little smut, but mostly fluff

masterlist

Wakasa "The Shadow" Imaushi

Wakasa's crew shouts and runs about the boat, preparing for the inevitable. A departure from shore was always the most exciting part of the adventure, and as Wakasa leans over the map in his quarters, he feels a sense of enthusiasm overcome him.

The vessel he'd been working on for years was finally on its maiden voyage, preparing to take the seas by force. Waka imagines when his nemesis, Redcliff, would encounter him on the high seas. He shudders with pleasure as he remembers the installation of world-class cannons. Redcliff wouldn't stand a chance.

"Captain!" His door bursts wide open without decorum, and someone stumbles into the small space, panting heavily. "Captain! We have a stowaway!" Waka mutters to himself, frowning. Of course, this would be his first encounter on the seas.

He follows the short fellow onto the deck, only to see you lying on the ship floor with an ashen face. "A stowaway..." Waka murmurs, eyeing you carefully. He notices the jewels around your neck and wrist, admiring them for a moment before returning to his scowl.

"What are you doing on my ship?"

"I have no ill intentions," you mutter, holding a hand up in the air as an oath. "I swear I am only here because I have to be." Chuckles erupt around the ship as it drifts into the sea unmoored.

"I didn't invite you," Wakasa replies, crossing his arms. "I don't invite wenches onto my ship."

"I am not a wench," you protest, finding your legs momentarily. You stand shakily, holding onto the main mast. "I'm the commissioner's daughter." A hush falls over the men, and you swallow hard, meeting Wakasa's eyes without fear.

"Did he send you?" Waka wonders, instinctively stepping back from you. He doesn't deal with wealthy women at all. That's not his specialty.

"I'm..." You pause, choosing your words carefully. "I ran away." You remove your bracelet and necklace, handing them over to the captain. "That's my fare." Wakasa eyes the jewels, his gut feeling raring at him to throw you overboard. But you're a woman. A rich one at that.

"Where do you want to go?" The question weighs heavily on his mind as you ponder for a moment, then raise your head defiantly.

"Wherever you're going." He scoffs at your remark.

"You want to become part of my crew?" You shrug in the face of the white-haired pirate, smirking.

"It's better than being wed to a megalomaniac." Wakasa laughs out loud, which encourages his crew to do the same.

"I'm just as thirsty for power," Waka promises, pocketing the jewelry. "But I'll bite. We're going to the Isle of Wolfgulch. If you think you can make it on my ship for a week, we'll see about making you part of my crew."

"You won't regret it," you reply, and Waka's eyebrows shoot up.

"Oh, I sure hope not," he breathes. "Or I'll toss you overboard with the other fools."

Keizo "Redcliff" Arashi

Heavy boots thud toward you. You're on the wooden deck, face down, praying to whatever god is out there that Redcliff would crush you quickly.

"It's illegal to trespass." The simple statement makes you nod once. "What should I do with you?" You lift your head to look at the icy-eyed man, praying a little harder in your head. He looks down at you curiously, but this isn't the first time his eyes have lain on your features.

You wonder if he remembers you from all those years ago. You wonder if he remembers your father or how he once looked on Keizo and told you, "That one is a born sailor." You don't see any register of memory behind his eyes, so you lower your own to the floor again.

"No answer," he finally mutters. "Hm."

How could Keizo forget the hot summer you spent on the beach, watching him redo his knots and untie them again while your toes skimmed the cool water's surface? You weren't yet thirteen, but you watched the older boy work his way around a mast and back, desire seeping into your heart as he grew stronger, smarter, more--

"Get her some clothes and a meal," Keizo grunts, turning away from you. "The commissioner's daughter is a friend to us."

"A friend?" you exhale, your heart beating wildly. Perhaps he had forgotten the illicit kiss you stole from him before he sailed away for the first time, leaving you on the shores of a fuzzy memory.

Keizo turns his head toward you, stopping on his way up the steps. You can read his expression from far away, the one that says "later" as if you were something to be dealt with. But instead of continuing his path up the stairs, he walks back down, his eyes serious.

"If your father knew you were here, what would he do?"

"Not a damn thing," you reply softly.

"Are you sure about that, y/n?" Keizo lifts your chin with a single finger, his eyes searching yours.

"I told you I'd follow you to the ends of the earth if you ever returned." A smile lifts the corners of Keizo's mouth, but only slightly.

"Both of us remembered, then."

Shinichiro "Soft Iron" Sano

Shin puts his head in his hands, considering the awful dilemma he's presented with.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, clasping your hands together. "I just have to make sure my brother is okay..." Shinichiro leans back in his chair, wounded. Your brother! Mikey flashes in front of his eyes.

"You understand, don't you?" Shinichiro lowers his hands to look at your face. Oh! Your pleading face wounds him even more, despite the fact that he's certainly at sea and in heaps of trouble. He pauses and takes a deep breath, then lets it go before answering your pleas.

"You will see your brother," he murmurs. "We will turn the ship about and return you to your home." Your eyes widen, and for a brief moment, Shin thinks you will accept the verdict. But then you burst into tears.

"Don't cry, don't cry," he urges you, standing from his chair and coming around to comfort you. "It's just..." Shin searches for the answer among his many thoughts. "He's not on this ship. But perhaps he'll be on the next one."

"He said he was on Soft-Iron's ship," you reply quickly, unfolding the letter you stuffed into your pants pocket. "Look!" Shinichiro reads the words with mounting dread. It's a bald-faced lie, he thinks. But a damn good one.

"I've never known your brother," Shin answers, looking at the foreign signature in dismay. "He must have misled you. I'm sorry." You take the letter back while sitting and absorbing the news.

"Then we need to find him!" You stand up and take Shin's place at his desk. "We have to search for him. You'll help me, won't you?" Shin stiffens at the sight of your hopeful face turned to him. You had expertly tapped his weakness: a pretty face and a mission.

"S-sure," he hears himself say. "We'll find him together." You hurry to him and throw your arms around his neck, thanking him profusely. Soft-Iron can already feel his heart melting into nothingness in his chest as he inhales your womanly scent. Dear Lord, he prays silently. I hope we never find this guy.

Takeomi "Scar-Face" Akashi

Takeomi is above you, huffing and grunting as his hair caresses your face. "You should've... never... shown... your face... little thief."

Your fingers instinctively grip the sheets, but you release them to drag your nails across Takeomi's back. "Hate fucking is still fucking," you quip back, sweat rolling down your spine. Takeomi cries out as the pain mixes with pleasure, one becoming the other in an endless loop of insanity.

"Got caught stealing from me again." You roll your eyes at his comment, moaning despite your annoyance. Stealing from Scar-Face was too easy, you reckon. If it wasn't the booze that brought him to his knees, then it was money. And if it wasn't that, it was women. Well, you. You're the only woman in his life at present.

A hand comes up and smacks your left ass cheek, and you bite down on your exclamation, trying to hold it in as the crew circulates just outside the door. "You'll pay for that," you hiss, but Omi just huffs a short laugh.

"That and all the other shit you've taken from me, huh? Just paying out of my ass," he complains, rutting into you roughly. This is pure heaven, you think to yourself, digging your nails into his back again. "You'll pay for what you stole tonight."

"Impossible." You clench around his cock, pushing him closer to his high. Takeomi gasps, trying to hold his shaky breaths, but he continues to fail miserably. "I'm gonna take that orgasm before you can take mine," you laugh, clenching around his again. "I took your manhood once, and I'll do it again. Just like I stole your heart." Your tone is teasing, but there's a modicum of truth behind the statement.

"If your daddy wasn't who he was, I would've made you a wench long ago." Takeomi shudders, groaning sharply before spilling his seed inside of you. "Would've... made you my wife... a long time ago."

Chifuyu "Shore Raider" Matsuno & Baji "Blackmane" Keisuke

"No, no, no!" Baji grabs your arm, pulling you out of the closet. His touch isn't rough, but it's enough to set your skin ablaze. "No stowaways!"

"Hey!" you shout, stumbling behind him as he drags you into the open. "That hurts!"

"What hurts me," Baji begins, growling. "Is that Chifuyu sneaks you onto this ship without my permission and then hides you in his closet!" Chifuyu comes down from his perch at the wheel, his eyes full of concern.

"Baji!" It's clear he has every intention of throwing you into the ocean, but Chifuyu quickly stands between him and the railing. "Don't you dare--"

"Women distract us from our purpose," Baji sneers, gripping your wrist even tighter. "Or did you forget the vow we made, Matsuno?"

The vow. You stand in the salty air, watching Chifuyu pale, then blink twice as if a spell had been broken. "I know we made a promise to each other," Chifuyu murmurs, holding his hands out. "Nothing will come between us, Baji; we're co-captains. But I love y/n, too."

Baji grunts, his jaw muscles fluttering. "If you have a woman," Blackmane begins, turning his head towards you. "Then I'll need my own. You'll help me find one, won't you?"

"As sure as the sun rises," Chifuyu nods, smiling brightly. Baji lets you go and stalks off, shaking his head and muttering about the "silly spell" you'd cast over his friend.

Ken "Dragon Skull" Ryuguji

"Tell me the story again." Draken leans his mouth on his laced-together hands, eyes devoid of emotion.

"I got on the ship during the night," you repeat. "I stowed myself into the pantry, where the pickles and eggs are. And I fell asleep." Draken nods. "And I woke up when we were a ways away from the shore."

"But I don't understand why you snuck onto the ship." You roll your eyes, sighing loudly.

"Dad? Arranged marriage? The whole 'you speak when I say you speak,' 'you jump when I say you jump' thing?"

"Freedom," Draken articulates, and you nod. But it was more than that.

For years, you watched Draken hone his skills as a pirate. Every time he returned, he brought more loot and more fame. You feared being left behind in the wake of all of his success.

"I didn't want to be left behind," you exhale.

"Why didn't you just ask?" You're stunned, unsure of how to answer the simple question. "Y/n, we've been friends for so long. I would've told you that you could come along. Now, I'm sure I have the ire of your father and the whole island."

You had yet to consider how this would complicate things for Draken. You were just thinking about being at sea with your best friend, exploring the world together. You hang your head, but Draken walks toward you and touches your cheek from his bed.

"Cheer up," he urges you softly. "I'm not going to make you fish food today. Even though you scared the dogshit out of my crew."

"I brought some money if that makes any difference."

"Keep the money," Draken whispers, his eyes softening. "That's your loot. The first rule of the sea is what's yours is yours." He leans forward to kiss your forehead. "Come on, I might as well introduce you to the others... since you're stuck with me and all." You giggle as he takes your hand, leading you to the deck.

#shinichiro sano x reader #shinichiro sano #wakasa imaushi x reader #wakasa imaushi #takeomi akashi x reader #takeomi akashi #takeomi akashi smut #keizo arashi x reader #keizo arashi #ken ryuuguji x reader #tokyo revengers draken #ken ryuguji #chifuyu matsuno x reader #baji keisuke #keisuke baji x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers

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missmungoe · 7 months

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She’d known the soul-bond her whole life—longer than him, who’d lived nearly a decade before she’d entered the Fates’ weave, and even then it had taken years before he’d begun to feel her hurts as his own, or at least as anything other than a little girl’s innocent pains. And even now, it was mostly gentle aches he felt, at least not counting her period cramps, but then the life she led didn’t exactly invite danger, running her bar in a peaceful seaside village, and with a hobby whose only real hazard was the occasional paper cut.

But while she’d spent so many years being afraid of his pain, a guarantee given the life he lived, as a pirate and a swordsman, Makino had forgotten that accidents could happen, even in peaceful seaside villages.

#Shanks x Makino #One Piece #opfanfic #Shanks #Red-Haired Shanks #Akagami no Shanks #Makino #One Piece Makino #Shanks/Makino #Red-Haired Shanks x Makino #Monkey D. Luffy #Red-Hair Pirates #Akagami no Kaizoku #One Piece fanfiction #Soulmate AU

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trillscienceofficer · 1 year

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trillscienceofficer's B'Elanna/Seven fic rec list

While B7 is a relatively small ship I have read some excellent stories over the years, and thought I'd finally compile a rec list. This is just a fraction of my favorites though, so feel free to check my AO3 bookmarks for more if you feel like it.

The links here span a lot of different genres and ratings, so be sure to check the relevant tags beforehand.

you've got my number by @ezrisdax (Rated G, 5.2k words)

This is a groupchat fic and it's genuinely one of the funniest fics I've ever read. The characterization for the entire main cast is spot on, there are so many hilarious recurring jokes, and the way Seven and B'Elanna connect unexpectedly is very believable and sweet. I still reread it fairly often and it always manages to make me laugh!

It Was Everything by @rinari7 (Rated E, 2.7k words)

Extremely well done "Year of Hell" AU. I remember this being one of the first B7 fics I've ever read and it's stuck with me since. It's very clever in the way it purposefully subverts the 'usual' fannish approach to B'Elanna/Seven and I really love it, sad ending included.

Apples and Bananas by @bumblingbabooshka (Rated G, 2.8k words)

A very recent addition to my personal favorites, but what an addition. This fic is really well written, and I love the pointed approach it has towards Voyager canon when it comes to the (terrible) way it treated B'Elanna. The overall theme of "B'Elanna deserves better" is intertwined so effectively with both the present and the history of B'Elanna's and Seven's relationship (and their parenting of baby Miral). This fic made me ache in the best of ways.

Holograms and Hobgoblins by initialism (Rated T, 2.7k words)

This fic made me grin the first time I read it! It's about B'Elanna getting into a debate with Seven on what constitutes a good general-purpose-entertainment holodeck program, and what results from that discussion (I won't spoil you more than this but trust me, the payoff is worth it).

The Lower You Fall by @grumpachu (Rated T, 5.7k words)

Very well written (and dark) "Tsunkatse" AU. The angst is truly no joke here—B'Elanna is forced to fight and brought to the point of losing herself, and her only tether to sanity is an injured Seven. I really, really love this fic.

Shut Up and Dance by @cosmic-llin (Rated G, 1.1k words)

The setup of this fic feels so Original Series, in the best of ways—Janeway, B'Elanna and Seven are invited to a reception hosted by the government of a matriarchal society, and have to try and fit in as best they can. Seven and B'Elanna, being who they are, manage to annoy each other into learning a few of the local dances.

Abdication by @deepspacevoyagers (rated T, ~500 words)

Haunting AU in which Seven becomes part of the collective again, but some parts of her humanity persist.

#b7 #b'elanna torres #seven of nine #b/7 #seven/b'elanna #voy #fic rec #star trek: voyager #initialism's tumblr account (if they have one) eludes me #if you know please tell me i'll gladly edit the post and tag them

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bluebirdsongs16 · 8 months

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Dialogue Fic: Language Lessons

Aziraphale: Ma tante préfère le chapeau avec la plume jaune. (My aunt prefers the hat with the yellow feather.)

Crowley: Nn.

Aziraphale: Ma tante adore les films et va au cinéma tous les vendredis. (My aunt loves movies and goes to the movie theater every Friday.)

Crowley: Good for her.

Aziraphale: Pour le petit déjeuner, je prends du thé avec un peu de lait et une cuillerée de sucre. (For breakfast I take tea with a little milk and a spoonful of sugar.)

Crowley: Tell me something I don't know.

Aziraphale: Voudrais tu voyager á la plage avec moi l'été prochain? (Would you like to travel with me to the beach next summer?)

Crowley: Non. Je veux ton amour et je veux ta revanche. (No. I want your love and I want your revenge.)

Aziraphale: *flustered to hear Crowley speaking French* E-Excuse-moi? (E-Excuse me?)

Crowley: No? 'Kay, how about, tu veux coucher avec moi, ce soir? (Do you want to sleep with me tonight?)

Aziraphale: *bluescreens*

Crowley: *smug* Finally, that shut you up.

Aziraphale: *takes a moment while he commits to his core memories the moment Crowley invited him to sleep with him, in French, then recovers himself* Oui. La question c’est...veux-tu? (Yes. The question is...do you want to?)

Crowley: Ngk. *looks at Aziraphale and realizes he's serious* ...Oh.

Aziraphale: *realizes the same* ...Oh, indeed.

Notes:

1) Aziraphale likes yellow because he associates it with Crowley's eyes, and here uses it in his example sentence without realizing his bias.

2) They're using 'tu', the informal 'you' pronoun instead of the formal 'vous' because 6,000 years of friendship I think warrants dropping the vous (even though it changes the song lyrics...see #3 below).

3) Crowley is only using French he's picked up from media, on purpose. He's quoting Lady Gaga and Moulin Rouge. When Aziraphale turns the tables on Crowley, he does it by quoting an ABBA song. Because two can play at that game. :3

#good omens #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and his hobbies #Aziraphale practices French and Crowley tolerates it...sorta #Aziraphale subconsciously adores the color yellow #can we all take a moment to imagine how sexy Crowley would sound speaking French #Crowley only speaks the French he picked up from music #Aziraphale says two can play at that game #aziraphale gets the last laugh as he should #asking your oldest friend to go to bed with you with ABBA lyrics

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kissmetae · 2 years

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Come back to bed

❧ Taehyung x Reader

❧ AU: (Idol!Tae, Husband!Tae) You moved to Paris with your husband about a year ago. Since then, you’d found a job at a high-end fashion brand that you really enjoyed. While preparing for the upcoming fashion show you have a lot to deal with at work and what could make it worse if it wasn’t for the designer’s assistant who refused to leave you alone or take the hint “I’m married”. Taehyung is of course invited to the fashion show, but at the after party the assistant massively over-steps… right in front of Taehyung, unaware of the fact that Taehyung is your husband.

|| FLUFF + Smut || 8.6k || masterlist in bio ||

❧ Rating: MATURE || sexual content, unprotected sex || Warnings

❧ Smut features: Soft and loving, very vanilla. Foreplay, oral (giving), fingering, top/power-bottom!Tae, stripping (receiving), slight sensory play, love bites/hickeys, scratching, soft!possessive!Taehyung, gentle and careful, after-care.

❧ A/N: Based on a request by Anon! // The fluff is extremely domestic

❧ Disclaimer: This is fiction. Actions and events in these stories are often exaggerated and to a certain degree unrealistic. Please have this in consideration when reading fiction, especially if it includes sexual content.

-----

The white sheets rustled gently as you stretched your legs. You reached your arms above your head, twisting your torso slightly and letting out a soft groan.

The sun had begun its early voyage, leaking light in through the large windows of your bedroom. The sheer curtains moved softly as a gentle breeze snuck in through the small opening. You sat up, the covers slipping down your body and exposing your bare chest to the cold air.

Curling up under the heat of the sheets again was tempting but you had to get going.

The sheets rustled again and you felt a warm big hand feel it's way up your spine from the base.

"Don't go yet." A deep raspy voice pleaded.

"I have to get ready for work." You said with an empathetic smile.

"No." The man pouted.

His dark curls were a mess over his pillow, cheeks flushed in an innocent pink tint.

His broad lean shoulders were better than any pillow and you could feel them call for you to rest your head back on them.

With a groan, he pushed himself up to sitting, slightly slouched. He blinked slowly, eyes stuck at your chest. A smirk spread across his lips before he went back to his pout. He leaned over you, his weight forcing you back down on the bed as the curls fell over your chest.

"Don't go." He pleaded again, rubbing his face between your breasts.

The two of you were both naked from last night endeavours and you'd gladly stay home to relive it again in the morning hours. Your back arched, his big hands squeezing you tight as he moved his hips against you. Repeatedly telling you how beautiful you are, how badly he craved and wanted you. Confessing every secret thought and fantasy involving you.

"10 more minutes." You announced, brushing your hand through his messy hair. Tired as he must be from last night, he seemed to have dozed back off again.

It had been a little over a year now since you and your husband (currently knocked out buried between your breasts) had moved to Paris. You'd found a job at one of the mayor fashion houses in the city and had become unexpectedly passionate about your job. Your husband on the other hand, was among the "celebrity clientele" so to say. He was a singer (mainly), occasional actor, multi-brand ambassador and (although he wouldn't admit to it himself) a model. Sometimes you'd tease him by adding the flare "influencer" to the list. But he wasn't an "influencer", just a person who happened to influence a lot of people.

Carefully, you tried to slip out from under his 179cm frame. With some struggle and internal resistance, you managed to get out of bed. After a quick shower and getting dressed and ready you headed into the kitchen to make yourself some breakfast and a cup of tea.

The kitchen had a tiny balcony with large glass doors leading out onto it. From it, there was a distanced view of the Eifel Tower. In the evening as the sun set you both loved to sit there, him with some wine (in stereotypical Parisian fashion), maybe a platter of sort or a light dinner.

The kettle clicked and you poured some steaming hot water into your large mug. In unison a pair of strong arms wrapped around you from behind.

He whimpered needlingly.

It was very not like him to get out of bed this early which spoke for how needy he truly was.

"Taehyung." You sang.

He responded with another whimper.

"Honey~ you're making it hard for me to resist your wish."

Taehyung smiled triumphantly.

"But-" You turned in his embrace to face him. The pout returned, along with big pleading eyes.

"But you have to go to work." He filled in and sighed. "I know, I just... want to hug you a bit more before you go." He added.

The fact that he was naked didn't make it easier either.

"Would you like some tea?"

He shook his head.

"Ok go put on some pants and we'll cuddle while I eat my breakfast, ok?"

His face lit up and a kiss was stolen from your lips before he headed back into your bedroom. The view of his toned back and round butt made you want to call in sick for forever. But today was an important day at the office.

Taehyung returned less than a minute later dressed in a pair of polka dotted pyjama pants and sat down next to you on the sofa. His eyes travelled from you to your plate and his face pulled the cute expression he'd always do when he wanted something. He opened his mouth playfully and you gave him a spoon full of your granola much to his pleasure.

"Was it today you were having the fittings with the models?" Taehyung asked, his hand rubbing against your lower back.

"Yes! It's the final fitting for alterations before the big show."

"It's a shame my beautiful wife has to work, or they'd have the most beautiful model walk their show." He said in a dreamy voice and placed a kiss on your shoulder.

"I can barely walk in heels. Someone has to coordinate it all behind the scenes in comfy sneakers."

"I'm excited to see the venue."

Taehyung was of course invited to the fashion show that would take place this weekend and without revealing too much you'd let it slip that you'd managed to arrange a very flashy venue for the show.

You kissed Taehyung goodbye, twice. Then headed down to the parking level of the building and got in your car.

The office complex was about a 10-minute drive but due to the morning rush hour it'd usually end up taking 25.

Once you arrived the models had already begun to gather for their fittings and some of the tailors and designers had already begun with their alterations. Pinning fabrics, adjusting zippers, measuring, and marking lengths with and without the shoes to go with the look.

It all appeared to be going ahead of the plan, like an automatic speed train on a carefully curated train track (constructed by yourself).

The day went by quicker than expected and suddenly you were back in your little car, reversing out of your parking space.

Taehyung had texted you earlier, he'd been at the studio all day since you left for work and so you'd pick him up on the drive home. You pulled up in front of the modern sleek building wedged between the two older looking beige stone buildings and Taehyung came out of the entrance.

He plopped down into the passenger seat with a relieved exhale and closed the door.

"Hey there lovely." He smiled, leaning across the center divider and cupping your cheek with his large hand. His soft lips pressed firmly against yours and all tension just melted away within. A magical superpower only Taehyung had.

During the drive home Taehyung talked about how he'd written a lot of lyrics today, some he was exceptionally confident in. "I felt like that one was one that would make it in the final version. It felt good inside, like a lyrical eureka moment." He asked you about the fittings and how it all went down, he could probably tell that even though everything went well you were experiencing some stress and pre-show anxiety.

"Want to eat some take out tonight and just relax?" Taehyung suggested. A romantic eureka. "I'm so glad you brought that up I've been having some serious craving since lunch."

"What did you have for lunch?"

"I got a random salad at the café around the corner, but it smelled funky, so I didn't end up eating it."

Taehyung gasped softly as if offended.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a protein bar. "Good thing I always have my WECK with me."

"WECK?" You questioned.

"Wife Emergency Care Kit." He explained and pealed open the packaging before feeding you a piece as you drove.

Oh, how he made your heart throb... if you weren't already married you would've stopped the car here and now mid-traffic to DEMAND his hand in marriage.

"What else do you keep in the WECK?" You asked, leaning slightly to take another bite of the bar.

"Many various items." Taehyung said and held up one of your scrunchies.

The scent coming from the white bag was quickly spreading throughout the tiny car, making your mouth water. You stopped at the usual take out spot, not surprising of course: Korean.

Once back home Taehyung arranged the boxes and sides neatly and set it all out by the living room table. The balcony was “closed” today due to the dark incoming clouds in the sky. After getting changed into something more comfortable you were greeted by the sight of delicious food and your husband attempting to light a candle.

“How cozy.” You pointed out and took a seat on the sofa.

He smiled. “Shall we watch a movie or continue the series?” He asked and placed the now lit candle down. It smelled like vanilla and sandalwood, a scent that had become reminiscent of “home” for you.

The next day you went to work as per usual but instead of pulling of to the office building, you parked a short walk from the venue of the show. The lighting and stage crew were busy setting up and installing. Other people were setting up chairs, tables and decorations. The venue was an old factory, it might not sound charming, but this factory had stood abandoned for some years now and you didn’t expect to get the permit to host the show here at first. The venue tied together well with the aesthetic of the collection and the main designer had loved the proposal. So it was to everyone’s joy when the unexpected grant arrived in your email.

“We definitely need someone to set up the entrance walkway as soon as possible.” You pointed out to your co-worker as you carefully walked around the area.

In the open space at the centre of factory, the models had gathered for rehearsals as well as a filming crew (to record some behind the scenes and preparation shots).

As more and more decorations and props got put into place the full vision was coming into fruition. It was sort of a post-apocalyptic disco, the abandoned factory with rusty mechanics and concrete featuring the many disco balls scattered around the area in huge piles, giant commissioned art pieces and hanging from the ceiling.

Press area, VIP area, general area… entrance, stage, lighting, DJ… you skimmed through your list to make sure you’d checked on everything.

Suddenly a loud gasp was heard from behind you. “Très magnifique!” A familiar voice called out in awe.

You turned around, clipboard in hand and spotted the designer. She was dressed in a long black shimmering dress, a blue fluffy coat and black gloves. To tie it all together a set of disco balls dangled from her earlobes. She removed her tortoise brown sunglasses, pushing them up into neon orange curly hair.

However, aside her was her assistant. Her cousin, significantly less colourful with a black suit and blonde hair with a tube and a half of hair gel in it. It looked shiny enough to be able to grease all the pans of the largest restaurant kitchen in all of France.

“Denis.” You greeted as he approached you.

“Long time no see.” He said, gracefully taking your hand. Only for you to quickly turn what would be a hand kiss into a semi awkward handshake.

Denis cleared his throat softly and took in the view. “Looks great.” He said. “Cousin loves it, clearly.” He added, nodding towards the mesmerized woman checking her reflection in one of the disco balls. “We didn’t expect anything less.” He smirked.

“Glad to hear… it is all coming together good so far… no accidents.”

“Yet.” He added, looking towards his cousin. As if on queue a shattering sound echoed through the concrete space.

“Pardon!” She called out awkwardly and stepped over a now shatter disco ball.

“This is why she is a designer and not a seamstress.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. A pretty rude comment for someone who offered her cousin a steady in come when he was job-less and almost homeless… but their family dynamic was none of your business.

“I think it’s for the best you keep an eye on your cousin instead, I was just about to leave too.”

“Even thou I would rather keep my eyes on you madame, I think you might be right.” What an annoying flirt.

“Au revoir Denis.” You said in an as neutral tone you could and turned towards the exit.

“Goodbye darling.”

You let out a deep sigh as you sank back into the car seat. Even though you knew this was just his personality, it bothered you greatly anyway. You sent a text to Taehyung that you were on your way home and started the car, just as it began to rain.

The windshield wipers performed a rhythmical squeak as they swished over the window back and forth, back and forth. While driving you thought back of the time when you told Denis that you were not only in a relationship, but married. With arrogance he simply smirked and said “I don’t care, it has never stopped me before so why would it now.” Clearly ignoring your obvious disinterest. Maybe it was all fun and a joke to him, but it was really getting on your nerves.

The “beep beep” echoed cutely as you locked your car and hurried towards the elevator to get home. Thinking too much about Denis only made you aggravated and you needed your husband to “cleanse” you off his weird vibe and forget about him.

The door unlocked and like an excited puppy your husband sprung to his feet and hurried into the hallway where you were now taking off your shoes. Familiar, warm , strong arms wrapped around you and the soothing scent of him calmed you down immediately.

“My beloved has returned to me” He recited dramatically and kissed your temple, forehead and lips.

“How did your shoot go?” You asked, smiling up at him.

“I looked cool.”

“You always look cool.”

“Eh… sometimes I’m a mess.”

“A hot mess.”

Taehyung paused to consider. But instead of waiting for his response you kissed his sweet pout.

Letting go and stepping back he helped you take your coat off. “You had a long day today.” He said, his way of asking.

“So much prepping for the show, despite it being exciting, I’m starting to look forward for it to be over… and the designer came to stop by today.”

“Was he there too?” Taehyung asked immediately.

“Yes.” You sighed.

“As annoying as always?”

“Very, looking like an overly greased shoe.”

Taehyung chuckled.

“And he tried to kiss my hand… again.”

Taehyung gasped dramatically, his face making an angry pout. “Only I have permission to do that.” He said, taking your hand gently and lifting it to his lips.

“I have written permission and if I must I’ll bring it with me to the show and show him in person.” Taehyung said and pressed a gently kiss on your knuckles.

“Our marriage certificate?”

“Yes.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the visual of him waving the documents in front of Denis’s face.

“I feel like the two rings on my finger should be evidence enough but… he’s sticky.”

“Yucky yucky.”

“Indeed.”

“Come, I’ll get that yucky yucky energy off you. Have you eaten?” Taehyung said and pulled you along by the hand into the bathroom.

“Lunch, a few hours ago.”

“hmm…” He hummed deeply, hands reaching to the hem of your top. “Would you like to eat some ramen?” he asked with a playful smirk, slipping his hand up in under the fabric.

“What flavours do you have at your place?”

“Kim Taehyung flavour. Only.”

“Oh! That’s my favourite one!”

Taehyung broke into a chuckle and lifted your top up and over your head. You reached for his t-shirt, pulling it up and off his lean body before his lips crashed against yours, backing you closer towards the shower.

His kiss was rough but soft, hands unhooking your bra, pulling the straps off your shoulders and dropping it to the tiled floor. You unbuttoned his pants, he pushed down your skirt, boxers pushed down his thighs, panties tugged down by his grip… He leaned down slightly and picked you up. You hooked your legs around him as he backed you up against the cold tiles of the shower wall, refusing to break the kiss. You reached your hand to brush his hair back and grab a hold of it, the other squeezing his shoulder muscle. Taehyung’s hand searched for the knob of the shower and without warning a cold flush of water rained down over both of you.

Instinctively he pressed up firmer against you with a groan in reaction to the cold water. His lips pressed against the side of your neck, planting little love bites to blossom. This was exactly what you needed. Sometimes you thought Taehyung might’ve developed the ability of mind-reading without telling you… that or he just knew you thoroughly well.

As the water temperature began to increase, a thin steam filled the shower. His plump soft lips moved up along your jaw to your ear. In his deep honey voice, he whispered by your ear, words that he knew always made you flustered and giggly.

He leaned back slightly to study your reaction. His hair was soaking wet and brushed back.

“Do you find me attractive?” He asked with a slight tilt of his head.

“Attractive is such an understatement and you know it.” You reassured, pressing your hand to the back of his head to get him back closer. Close enough for you to press your lips back against his.

Taehyung smiled against the kiss, pressing back firmly and sliding his hand up from the back of your thigh to the curve of your glute.

The rain was fluctuating a lot the past days, most days began with a clear sky only to then result in a heavy down pour. Not that it was unpleasant, it was just adding to a cosy ambience. With the heavy pattering at the windows, you snuggled up on the sofa with your bowl of ramen.

Taehyung walked out of the bedroom, dressed in pyjama pants a long sleeve black sweater. As he passed behind the sofa, he ruffled the back of your head affectionately and went to grab his own bowl. The sweater fit tighter than most of his clothes, enhancing his broad build and the curves of his shoulders deliciously.

How could he go back to sweet and innocent so fast after only minutes earlier being a sexy moaning mess thrusting into you in the shower… A thought you’d had many a times throughout your relationship. But never would it be a complaint.

Taehyung sat down with his bowl next to you, the pink after-sex blush still present on his cheeks, making him look even more adorable than he already was.

“You’re such a cutie.” You smiled and took a sip of your broth. He smiled shyly.

Once you had finished your ramen and an episode of the show snuggled up together, you got ready for bed. There was something sacred about getting into bed at the end of the day. The habit of it making your muscles relax once you slipped in under the sheets. And with Taehyung shifting closer behind you, spooning you with his arm wrapped snuggly around your waist and his lips pressing gentle kisses to your nape.

The day of the grand show had finally come around.

You were woken up by your alarm, shifting and leaning to set it to snooze as you returned to you spot, snuggled up against your husband’s warm chest. With your hand you drew soft gentle strokes up and down his back. A gentler way to be woken up than by a startling alarm.

“Honey?”

“Sweetie?”

“Taehyung?”

“It’s time to wake up.”

He shifted and let out a soft groan.

“Wakey wakey.” You teased, making him crack a smile.

Taehyung had to leave ahead of you in order to get ready with his stylists, you on the other hand got ready in solitude at home. Styling your hair, applying your makeup, and slipping into the dress you’d selected for the event. Lastly you hung your staff badge around your neck and got ready to head to the venue.

Last minute preparations were in full action once you arrived. Backstage the models were being styled and fitted into their looks and the designer was ravaging through it all back and forth inspecting and correcting. Today her neon orange hair was styled into an intricate braid up do and she was wearing a simple black silk slip dress to contrast the hair.

Once you’d made sure everything was in order logistically you headed over to the press entrance area to help register and give out badges to the various journalists and photographers.

At these types of events the press might as well be the VVIP merely for publicity reasons. Now unfortunately they weren’t gifted goody bags or invited to the after-party. (Someone always tried to get in, but the list and security was strict.)

Once all the press had arrived you headed back inside the factory only to stumble upon the greased man in the same suit in the doorway…

“Madame.”

“Denis.”

“Going to plan?”

“Yes.” You said, trying to push past him inside but his hand reached up and grabbed your arm to stop you.

“I saved you a seat next to me.”

“I’m working and so should you be.” You said and pulled your arm free. With all the stress of everything going right and fluidly you did NOT want to deal with Denis arrogant ass right now.

Someone inside likely needed your help, or the press area needed to be reorganized or an extension cord needed to be found…

But everything seemed to be going fine already.

Overlooking the space filling up with people, cameras being set up and waiters serving champagne. You granted yourself the time to take a deep breathe.

As the official press had begun to set up inside, the unofficial press (paparazzi) had set up outside. Multiple cars began to pull up, flashes going off, loud chatter and the occasional voice yelling over the sound for a celebrity to look their way.

All you had left to do now was to be available and easy to locate in case of emergency.

You took a tall glass of water from one of the waiters and found a spot near the backstage entrance overlooking the space. The perfect spot to be found if needed and to spot any mishap. Or launch to catch a falling disco ball before it smashed.

The DJ was playing the type of house music you expect to hear walking into the stores of Prada or Chanel. The service staff were dressed formally, and the crowd was starting to take their seats. Everything was going fine.

The VIP area was also beginning to fill up with a mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces. Once you laid eyes on the most familiar one among them, your shoulders relaxed.

If Taehyung was here, then everything was genuinely going to be ok even if the building caught on fire.

He was dressed in a 3-piece black silk suit with no shirt and a chunky chain necklace. His hair was styled in a side part, hairs curling and curving to frame his face. Looking absolutely breath taking. Every now and then you caught him looking around while trying to get to his seat. Once he settled, he looked up towards where you stood, and a wide smile spread across his face.

His hand came up for a subtle wave and you waved back.

Playfully, you made an obvious gesture of checking him out from head to toe and began to fan yourself with your staff budge. With his fist by his mouth, mimicking clearing his throat he tried to hide his grin and placed his hands back on his lap.

His eyes gestured from you to his lap, hinting for you to look. Sneakily, his thumb and index were crossed over in a heart in his lap and it was your turn to hide your grin with your fist.

Denis’s voice made the bubble pop. Seeing Taehyung was enough to forget about him even though he was standing beside you… if he kept his mouth shut.

“Go check on your cousin Denis.” You said, disregarding whatever he had said.

“I already have. I’m here to supervise the show with you.”

You tightened your fist in frustration.

“Whatever.” You whispered under your breath. In the same moment the lights dimmed, and the spotlights aimed towards the numerous reflective balls, filling the space with moving spots of light. The space felt like a monochrome disco-rave club, it was amazing seeing it come to life. The excitement of everything coming to fruition formed a new bubble around you and you became fully emersed in the show.

Once each piece of the collection had been showcased, all models walked a final lap together followed by the designer herself waving, bowing, and thanking everyone. The press were almost tackling each other in their area to try and get the best shot of her.

The next rush was about to unfold. As soon as the first model entered behind the curtain there would be a careful and chaotic removal of all the pieces to get them safely back to the headquarters and secured. During all of this, the VIPs and VVIPs would be escorted to the after party, then the models, the staff, and the designer herself. The after party was more like a reception than the after party you’d imagine. The DJ would of course be continuing his gig at the location and more food would be served plus the bar.

As the show ended you had to rush backstage to help the models get to the coach that would take them to the rooftop bar where the after party would unfold. In other words, you had no chance to go with Taehyung. He obviously couldn’t stay behind and wait. His stylist was likely impatiently waiting to get him ready for the after-event.

The pieces were secured and taken back to the HQ, the models had already left for the after party and the staff were assembling to head over as well. The backstage area, with all it’s vanities and mirrors usually became a makeshift changing room post-show for the staff and models to get ready for the after party.

The dress you’d picked out for the event, was selected with the intension of being suitable for both the show and after party, thus you wouldn’t have to stress and sweat backstage… a mistake you’d lived through before that led to your favourite (and expensive) foundation shattering on the floor and getting all over your heels. Heels that Taehyung had gifted you. Glossy black stilettos… forever ruined. And who’s fault was it?...

“Hey, can you give me a ride to the after party?”

Denis…

“Go with your cousin.” You said, turning away from him to count how many people were left in the room. (Not that you needed to know, but anything to avoid him was more important.)

“She left with the models, her car wouldn’t start.”

Of course something always had to go wrong. At least this was minor and didn’t affect the show but… “Of course it did…” You sighed. “Fine.” You weren’t heartless and a taxi likely wouldn’t show up.

To: Taehyung

-Leaving the venue now!

From: Taehyung

-Just got changed and ready! Heading to the AP now too.

-Drive carefully <3

You put your phone back in your bag and placed it next to the shoe box in the back of the car and closed the boot with an unintended slam.

As you took a seat behind the wheel, Denis had already begun to fidget with the media screen.

“How do I connect my phone?”

“You don’t.” You said and buckled your seatbelt.

About five minutes into the drive down the makeshift road leading from the venue, Denis finally leaned back and settled for a radio channel he’d already scrolled past 4 times.

“Made up your mind?”

“They all play the same music either way.”

For once, you agreed. The radio seemed to have either a limited access to songs or all narrow-minded DJs being paid to play whatever was on the top list (4 years ago).

As the song came to an “end”, interrupted by the voice of the host mid-song. A familiar beat began to play under their voice, introducing the next song. Your hands gripped the wheel a little tighter, trying to hide your grin as the deep husky vocals of your husband filled the car.

“He seemed more interested in you than the fashion show.” Denis suddenly said.

“And you seemed more interested in him.”

Denis rolled his eyes. “He’s good looking, I’ll give him that.”

“How generous of you.”

“I know, I can be generous too you know. You’d know if you ever welcomed my generosity.”

“Your definition of generosity is different from mine Denis.”

“Many people would love to have my attention you know.”

Except me. You thought.

“If you’re going to flirt with me, I’m kicking you out of my car. Enjoy the music instead.”

“Are you a fan?”

“Yes.” You smiled. “A huge fan, actually. I have all his albums.”

“I better keep you away from him then.”

“Again, Denis. I am married.”

“So? You never talk about your husband, I don’t even know his name.”

“Why do you need to know?”

“To see if I’m better than him.”

You sighed. Please let this drive be over soon.

After surviving 10 more minutes of Denis self-promoting his own music “career” (creating Spotify playlists) you finally pulled up to the valet outside the venue.

You quickly retrieved your bag and changed from your comfy shoes into the black stilettos you’d kept in the shoe box in the boot. Seeing how upset you’d become over your foundation-stained stilettos, Taehyung had gone out and purchased a pair of brand-new ones without hesitation or asking the day after the incident. This was how he first came to know about Denis. Since then, you’d told Taehyung whenever he bothered you. Mostly because Taehyung always managed to cheer you up and make you forget about him.

Prio 1, get away from Denis. Prio 1.5, find Taehyung.

A vintage-rich elevator looking straight out of the Gatsby-era took you to the top floor of the building. You tried to urge Denis ahead by going to the bathroom only to find that he waited for you like an obedient puppy for its owner, tied to a lamp post. You’d gladly duct tape Denis to a lamppost if you had the chance.

The elevator dinged, opening to a wave of music and a foyer with two security guards. Before entering the building you were ID checked and cross checked with the list of invites. One guard polite held the door open for the two of you to enter out on the rooftop.

Fairy lights in various colours were hanging around the bar area, people were scattered around the roof top, mingling, dancing, eating. (Or all three.)

Your eyes immediately began looking for Taehyung.

“You want a drink?” Denis asked, leaning in slightly to over-voice the music.

“Rosé please.”

Denis winked. Making your gut twist in discomfort. “Coming right up, don’t go anywhere.” He said, the opposite of what you had planned.

As Denis headed towards the bar, you walked deeper into the crowd of people, looking for Taehyung. When you spotted him in the distance, your gut twisted in a completely different manner. Butterflies erupting within and a smile spreading over your face.

He was leaning back against the glass fencing wrapping around the roof top, on the other side of the cluster of people. Dressed in high waisted black slacks, a tucked in mesh top and an oversized black sequin blazer. The chunky chain was replaced by a giant star stud in his left ear.

In one hand, he held a tall glass of wine. In the other a tall glass of your favourite beverage, reserved for you. As Taehyung caught the sight of you, he stood up straight, smile widening.

“There she is.” He grinned, handing you the glass. “Do you come here often?” Taehyung asked playfully and licked across his lower lip out of habit.

“This is my first time here, actually.” You took a step closer towards him.

Taehyung’s eyes travelled down your body, to your heels and back. With another step, he closed the space between you and leaned down by your ear. “You’re coming home with me.” He whispered, slipping his hand up over your hip. A familiar touch so comforting.

You let out a soft chuckle. “We can take my car.”

“How convenient!” Taehyung giggled, his smile making his cheeks look extra full as he leaned back from your ear. He tilted his face slightly, lifting his hand from your hip to come to your cheek… his soft plump lips parted ever so slightly, gaze becoming softer as he leaned in.

But the moment was abruptly interrupted as a hand pulled at your shoulder from behind, parting you from Taehyung. He bit the inside of his cheek and his brows furrowed into a frown.

“I need your credit card so I can pay.” Denis said, holding his hand out as if you’d pull it out of thin air and hand it to him. You knew he would never buy you a drink, he was asking to buy himself one and go get yours as a “generous” thank you gesture.

“I already have a drink.” You smiled, holding up your glass.

“I don’t.”

“Sounds like a you-problem.” Taehyung added and took a sip of his glass.

Denis eyes widened slightly as he noticed Taehyung. Seeing them both next to each other you realized how Taehyung almost towered above him.

“You already located him? That’s impressive.” Denis scoffed. ”Sorry, I told her to stay where she was so she wouldn’t bother you.”

“I’m not bothered. I’m enjoying her company a lot.” Taehyung said with a straight face and aimed a smirk towards you.

Denis grabbed your arm and Taehyung’s smile immediately fell. He tugged, trying to get you to go with him. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t bother you again. Come now, leave him alone.” Denis tugged again put you pulled your arm out of his grip.

“Excuse me, but who are you?” Taehyung asked.

Denis looked at you.

“He’s asking you.” You clarified.

“Denis. And this is-“

“I know who she is.” Taehyung interrupted and reached a hand to your face. With a gentle touch he moved with the intention of moving a strand of your hair behind your ear. But Denis hand came out, holding Taehyung’s wrist to halt his motion.

You could tell Taehyung was reaching his limit as he inhaled deeply and bit his lip.

“She’s married.” Denis said, wording it like a threat as if you were married to Denis himself.

Taehyung yanked his hand free from Denis’s grip, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you firmly against him. Leaning down, Taehyung slipped his tongue into your mouth. Immediately, you met his lips, lacing your free hand into his hair. The taste of his mouth was something you’d longed for all day, his touch, his hold… Just Taehyung. A sample of him was never enough… and displaying his love for you like this… was arousing, more arousing than you’d want to admit.

Taehyung pulled away, flashing a hint of his own arousal in his gaze before he turned to Denis.

“I know. I’m her husband.” He said sternly. “And you don’t fucking touch her, or me. Understood?” Taehyung said, holding you tightly against him still.

You could tell Denis was flustered, anyone could, despite his attempt to hide it.

“I need a drink” He muttered.

Taehyung placed his glass down on a nearby table and took your hand in his. Without a word he pulled you along with him through the crowd. You managed to quickly set your own glass down at a table you passed by before reaching the door back into foyer.

The elevator dinged as it arrived, and you stepped in. Taehyung looked… pissed. Pissed was the right word. He was breathing deeply, biting the inside of his cheek to contain himself.

You got in the car once the valet had brought it to you. Sitting behind the wheel with a deep sigh, you looked over at Taehyung as he buckled his seatbelt.

“Are you ok baby?” You asked gently.

“No.” He said and brushed his hair back with his hand. “Why didn’t you tell him that I’m your husband?”

“I told him numerous times that I’m married.”

“But not that I’m your husband.”

“It’s none of his business who I’m married to… and knowing him, if he knew he’d probably just start talking down about you to me and I don’t want that.”

Taehyung sighed. You could tell he felt hurt.

“I think the best way of telling him was showing him after all. Maybe he wouldn’t have believed me if I simply said it. And he’ll surely shut up now when you humiliated him… which was very sexy of you. Just saying.” You said, eyes focusing on the traffic.

“It’s just… the way he grabbed my wrist to stop me from touching you. My own wife!? I wanted to throw him off the roof. I felt… I felt violated!”

“What makes it worse is that one the way there in the car-“

“You went together in the car?” Taehyung asked.

“He claimed the designer’s car broke down and she left without him.”

“Bet that was a lie.” Taehyung scoffed.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw the way he was looking at you during the show… I should’ve thrown him off the roof while I had the chance. So, what did he do in the car?”

“Your song came on and he asked if I was fan, I said yes of course and he started talking about keeping me away from you because he saw how you stared at me during the show… ironically.”

“I was admiring my wife.” He muttered. “But stopping me from touching you…” He shook his head in disbelief. “Ha. The only one, sole one that gets to decide when, how or if I get to touch my wife, is my wife.”

“I don’t appreciate him trespassing on your territory, honestly.” You added, earning a soft snort from Taehyung.

He looked over at you and drew a gentle touch with his fingers down your arm. “My territory” He repeated. “Mine.”

Finally, you arrived back home. Parking the car in your reserved spot and opened the car door to step out. Taehyung, holding your bag, had already made it out of the vehicle. His eyes widened slightly as you stepped out and closed the door behind you.

“You drove in stilettos?”

“Yes? We were in a rush I couldn’t bother to swap back into my sneakers.”

The corner of his mouth curved, gazing down still. “Impressive.” He stated and held out his hand for you.

Back in the apartment, Taehyung proceeded with what had become a tradition when you wore heels. Sitting on the bench in the hallway, he was kneeled before you gently slipping the glossy black shoes off your feet one at the time. His large palm caressing the back of your heel, along the outer side of your foot and under it. Causing a faint tickle.

“There we go.” He said gently, looking back up at you. His eyes were big. But his expression quickly changed into something else. He swallowed, gazing at your knees instead. His hands came up over your knees, caressing. Without warning, he pushed your thighs apart wide, sending a shock wave through your veins. Your heart began to pound.

Taehyung looked back up again, leaning in further.

“I want to reclaim my territory.”

You swallowed.

Taehyung stood back up, appearing even taller than usual from your seated position. With ease, he bent forward slightly, slipping his hands in under your thighs and picking you up. Your arms quickly reached around his neck for balance. He carried you into the bedroom, gently placing you back down on the edge of the bed.

The sexual tension made it all more arousing.

He stood between your legs, reaching for the sequin blazer, and slipping it off his sculpted shoulders. Unbothered, he let it fall to the floor behind him. Your breaths became longer and fuller. Taehyung’s slender fingers gripped the mesh of his top, pulling it out of the hem of his pants and off his head. The teasing shielded view of his defined chest coming into full view. It joined the blazer on the floor. His gaze never leaving you.

He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, letting them fall. His thumbs slipped into the hem of his underwear, tugging them down over his hips.

“Touch me.” He pleaded, sounding almost like a whimper.

Despite Taehyung being generally confident, he had moments and days when he felt unsure. Standing in front of you, exposed and vulnerable in this very moment could be taken as a display of confidence. A request for pleasure. But knowing Taehyung, after the many years of friendship, dating and what became marriage… You knew that this was Taehyung’s way of asking for reassurance.

He wanted to hear you call him beautiful, wanted to feel your touch on his body like wordless praise. He wanted to see, feel, hear how much you wanted him, adored him. He wanted to experience you, the way only he could. The way only he was allowed to.

You reached your hand up, brushing your finger through his thick black hair. His eyes fell half-shut in response to the tingling sensation and he let out a deep exhale, almost as if relieved.

Your hand continued down his face, stroking his smooth cheek with the back of your hand, tracing down his jaw and tickling your fingertips down his throat. He broke into a smile.

“Feel good?”

Taehyung nodded.

Curling your fingers slightly, making contact with your nails to the skin right above his chest, you began a slow voyage down his torso. The gentle scratch made him shiver. The curve of his throat moved as he swallowed, goosebumps rising over his skin, a tingle down his spine and hardened nipples.

“How did you escape the art museum?” You asked, admiring him with your hands.

Seeing his reaction to your touch was almost half the pleasure. The anticipation building up as you reached further and further down. His tongue swiping over his bottom lip, the bite on the inside of his cheek. Eyes closed, imagining what could come next.

“I jumped out the window and ran.” He said and let out his trademark giggle.

His chest was moving in a faster rhythm as you passed his waistline. The anticipation becoming unbearable.

Seeing him like always made you want to treat him with the most delicate touch and care. Taehyung let out an unsteady inhale as you parted your hands to go down the front of his thighs. With a gentle touch, you ran a hand up along his hard dick. The longed-for touch causing him to hum and lean his head back.

You leaned forward, taking him in your mouth. His hand landed on your head, more to support his balance as you sucked him off. A moment later, his fingers began to soothingly rake through your hair, scratching your scalp. A touch so heavenly and relaxing. The same touch by other hands would never have the same effect or feel as Taehyung’s.

Soft deep moans of pleasure escaped him and you could tell it was becoming harder for him to remain still. You allowed him to slip out of your mouth, licking over the tip one final time before sitting back up.

Taehyung’s cheeks wore a deep pink flush, his eyes gazing down into yours. His hands fells to your shoulders, pushing you down on the bed with a wide eager grin. He crawled up on top of you as you moved further up the bed. Soft plump lips crashed against yours, fingers pushing up the fabric of your dress, slipping the straps off your shoulders… The dress was discarded onto the floor. Your bra straps were slipped off your shoulders, bra unhooked and pulled off. Almost immediately his hands cupped your breasts, lips latching onto one of your nipples as he squeezed and felt.

His patience was running low, greed taking over. His left hand travelled down along your side and slipped in beneath the hem of your panties. His lips abandoned your nipple, relocating to the side of your neck. His lips making sure to leave a trace behind…

Another hum escaped him as his fingers slid in between your lower lips, feeling reassured by how you’d become wet for him. Earning you a soft nuzzle against the neck.

With care he gently pushed a finger into you, curling it the way he knew would drive you insane.

Turning your face to the side, you meet his eyes. His big dark brown eyes studying your reactions to his fingers intently. “Does it feel good?” He whispered, earning a nod in response. He slipped in another finger carefully, working to warm you up. With gentle scissoring motions he made you even more wet. “Your moans are like music to me.” He confessed, for not the first time. “Music that only you get to hear.” You added, making him blush a little deeper with a grin.

With that, Taehyung withdrew his fingers and slipped your panties down and off your legs. He climbed back up on top of you, spreading your thighs for him. Without warning, he leaned down, surprising you with a firm kiss against your aching clit. The start of a trail as he placed the next kiss against your lower abdomen and moved up, placing a kiss as often as possible. Kissing up between your breasts, up your throat, chin and reaching the final destination, your lips. He slipped his tongue in, tenderly caressing your own as his hand pushed your thigh a little further apart.

Reaching for himself, he positioned his tip to your entrance and pushed his hips towards you. Slipping in carefully and slowly, allowing you to feel the filling sensation and stretch as he moved deeper and deeper. A groan escaped his lips, falling for his own pleasure. The feeling of being deeply embraced, squeezed tight. His words from the many times before would always come back… the way you felt so soft and warm to him, so comforting but at the same time so needy for him, so craving…

Your arms wrapped around him, hands resting against his toned broad back as he pushed in all the way. “Ah, fuck… fuck this feels so good.” He confessed, pushing his hips up against you even firmer.

He picked up a deep gentle rhythm and parted from your lips. Finding his way back to the side of your neck again. His favourite place to settle, able to hear your every moan and whisper confessions in your ear.

The way he knew your body never failed to amaze you, he knew exactly how to move, when and what you needed. Words were no longer needed between you, he was fluent in the language of your body. He knew what you needed, what you wanted. The rewards of long-term loyalty.

“Of all the art I’ve collected… you’re my most treasured piece.” He whispered. “They’re all worthless compared to you.”

Your nails dug into his back, causing him to inhale sharply. “I love when you do that.” He groaned. “Harder. Scratch me.” He begged. Unable to resist his wishes you scratched your nails down his back, earning a long deep moan from your husband, his face scrunched in pleasure. His hips were moving at a faster rhythm, pushing his endurance to perform. But you had other plans.

Pushing your hands against his strong shoulder muscles. “Get on your back.” You said, breathing heavily. Taehyung swallowed.

He wrapped his arms in under you, holding you against him as he rolled over to not slip out. Any second was a second too long… especially when you were so close.

You slipped your hands to his chest to push yourself up to ride him, but Taehyung’s grip tightened around you. “No.” He panted, squeezing you tighter against his chest and thrusting up. “Mine.” He asserted, one hand grabbing your ass and the other pressed against your back. You gave in to him and nestled your face into his neck, latching on to the skin of his thick neck, marking your own territory in return, well aware how dangerous this was to do to Taehyung. A deep moan escaped him, and his entire body squirmed beneath you. His neck was so sensitive and the mere thought of you giving him a love bite got him off more than anything. Your name left his lips followed by a groan and a “please”, “I love you so much”, “Yes”. The more he responded, the harder you went at his neck, peppering him with kisses and sucking at the skin. Turning him into an absolute mess beneath you.

To the point where you couldn’t take it much more. Your head fell to his shoulder, his bottom lip between his teeth. The pleasure becoming too overwhelming as is took over. You slipped a hand into his hair, grabbing it gently for comfort. His arms squeezed tighter, skin glistening from sweat. With another deep thrust he came, along with what sounded like a mix between a groan and a whimper. His hands gripped firmly, holding you still as he buried himself deep, just in time for your own shaking release. The tension in your body immediately left as you felt your senses give in to the pulsing pleasure within and you fell heavy on top of him. Both of you equally desperate to catch your breaths. After a brief moment of recovery, Taehyung’s hand began to caress your back up and down softly, reminding you of the safety in his arms.

“You always feel so good.” You whispered softly, snuggling into him.

He smiled.

Another moment passed and he carefully slipped out once you’d calmed down. Rolling over onto your side, you were able to snuggle up a lot more comfortably. With your head to his chest and his arm around you, holding you securely against his warm body.

Listening to his racing heart begin to calm down you felt a soft kiss on top of your head. You looked up at him and he meet your gaze with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Yes?” he said playfully, brushing a hand over your hair.

“I love you.”

His smile became even fonder, the deep flush of his cheeks making him appear shy and flustered. He was truly glowing.

“I love you too.”

172 notes · View notes

clericofshadows · 4 months

Text

opportunities

Description: Kaidan Alenko gets stuck in a Citadel elevator with Admiral Steven Hackett, and they come to a few realizations that lead to a better future regarding them and Nyx Shepard.

Pairing: Past Male Shepard/Steven Hackett, Current Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard. Future Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard/Steven Hackett

Notes: This is a No Reapers AU (or rather, mostly no Reapers with some remnants). Not terribly important to this fic, but it's how I'm writing Nyx's canon.

Kaidan still wasn't quite used to being called Spectre Alenko about as much as being called Commander Alenko. Two new titles gained post the Battle of the Citadel, and many new responsibilities now his to handle with Captain Nyx Shepard by his side.

The Normandy became a true joint Spectre and Alliance vessel with a new mission after her maiden voyage: root out the remaining remnants of the Reapers and geth under their thrall.

Nearly an impossible quest in such a large galaxy, but Nyx's visions made a few things clear.

It's still hard to imagine how close the protheans were to victory, wiping themselves out in the process of defeating most of the Reapers.

And now it's this cycle’s turn to finally put a stop to it.

Nyx was currently meeting some old friends of his, and Kaidan decided to take part of his leave by visiting the Alliance designated areas to burn off some steam. Sure, he could easily access the Spectre ranges, but he wasn't in the mood for that environment, preferring something closer to home and rich with familiarity.

He sent a quick message to Nyx to let him know where he decided on going, but didn't receive a response. Probably has his notifications on silent, like damn near always when he’s not on duty. The bastard.

Kaidan sent him a few little kisses and hugs as well for him to see whenever he bothered to look at his omnitool and rounded the corner to access the wards’ elevator entrance to get to the nearest rapid transport point.

He entered the elevator and was about to close the doors when someone called out to hold it. He quickly pressed the button to open the doors back up, and to his surprise, it was Admiral Hackett rushing to the elevator, clothed in civilian wear. A green turtleneck, grey dress pants, and oxfords shined to perfection. Damn.

Not the first time he's seen him out of dress blues, but well, Kaidan can't quite deny that the man wears civilian clothing well. Especially an outfit he'd choose for himself.

Kaidan nodded at him once the doors closed, wondering why he was on the Citadel. Here for business? His outfit suggested otherwise.

“Heading over to the Alliance outposts?” Hackett asked. "Or something else entirely?"

Being with Nyx meant that Kaidan had become closer to Hackett. They're friends, and he was easier to approach and talk to than he expected. A quiet understanding between them, both knowing they were the few who knew of Nyx’s secret biotics.

Even with Nyx's complicated feelings, still lingering to this day.

There were times when Kaidan wondered why Nyx chose him, especially after the Battle and when he took it upon himself to introduce the two over drinks. Kaidan didn't fully feel like an outsider, but he could see the history and chemistry between them and felt like Nyx wasn't the only one between them that still carried a torch.

But he and Nyx have never been better. Nyx had opened up more and was freer with his affection, his parents seemed to like him, and well, the sex was great too.

Kaidan nodded. “The Spectre ranges are great, but I prefer something closer to home.”

“Nyx not joining you?” he observed.

“Still out with some friends of his. Think he's using that as a way to get some more information rather than catching up. He invited me, but…” Kaidan trailed off, rubbing his neck. “Not my scene.”

“Though you two were in your honeymoon period,” he chuckled. Kaidan felt his cheeks heat up but didn't exactly argue. “After the Battle, I think he took that as a sign to not be so goddamn hesitant with what he has.”

“Things… have been good,” Kaidan said, hesitating a little. “Still the same stoic bastard, but I get a lot more hugs now,” he laughed, testing the waters. Hackett gave him a knowing look, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

This is the first time he's actually become acquainted with a partner’s ex and wanted to get to know them more beyond passing.

“Ah, always such a clingy bastard. Wouldn’t know it until he lets his walls down,” he said fondly. “I’m happy he finally has someone he can trust. More than just someone who can watch his back.”

“I got the impression he wasn’t used to having a squad with him. And when he told me more about his history, I was surprised he even accepted the Normandy.”

“As was I,” Hackett replied. “I warned Anderson that Nyx would likely refuse, but I ended up owing him credits.”

Kaidan couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. “You know, Nyx has never really told me about how he ended up in the position. Well, at the time, we were still in the awkwardness of finding out he was going to be my superior officer.”

In this moment, there was something about Hackett that was easy to open up and be more relaxed with. Maybe it was the inherent awkwardness of the Citadel elevators, but Kaidan wouldn’t mind if this trip lasted a little longer.

“Nyx has always cared about the rules until it starts to impact him,” Hackett said with a smile. “He chose it mostly out of duty, but I think a part of him missed action despite some of his past. Always wanting to be on the move or–” Hackett cut himself when the elevator’s lights started to flicker and the movement slowed until it stopped between floors with a bit of a creak.

Well, he got his wish.

“Shit,” Kaidan cursed, glancing over at the panel to hunt for an emergency call option. Sure, he could get easy access to the panels and climb his way out, but where they were could make that futile. Best to leave C-Sec to try and get them out.

And it wasn’t like he was Nyx and going to be shooting out the glass as a last resort to dealing with the Reaper threat either.

Before he pressed the emergency call button, Hackett activated his omnitool. “I'll message Nyx, but since he's technically on leave…”

“Everything is silenced,” Kaidan sighed. “I've tried to break him of that, but he won't even–”

“Put an exception in for me,” he and Hackett finished together. They shared a long look before breaking out into a bit of laughter.

“So, the bastard hasn't changed,” Hackett said, shaking his head.

“Too damn set in his ways,” Kaidan replied, hitting the call button. He expected C-Sec to be delayed for a while, still dealing with all the repercussions of the attack.

He went ahead and sent a quick message to Nyx anyway, just in case, but he doubted it would be seen anytime soon.

“Elevator W-AD1, this is Officer T’Seva. We've been getting multiple reports of elevator faults across the wards. May I get your names and status?”

Kaidan cleared his throat. “Spectre Kaidan Alenko and Alliance Admiral Steven Hackett. We’re fine and in no current distress, so please, don’t feel like you have to prioritize us over others. Do you need my credentials?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary, thank you, Spectre. I can connect you to some of my superiors, but there’s not much we can do until we can individually evaluate every elevator.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kaidan said, glancing over at Hackett, who nodded in agreement. “Take your time. Prioritize what you need. We can sit tight.”

“I’ll send that message over. We apologize for any inconvenience this has caused. Ever since the battle,” they trailed off. “You both are likely well aware of everything that’s been going on.”

“We understand,” Hackett spoke up. “We’ll let you know if we run into any issues.”

“Thank you. Again, we apologize for any inconvenience, and we hope we can get to you soon. It appears by your diagnostics there’s something we can fix on site once we arrive. Be careful, and call us if anything changes.”

A part of him wanted to know what exactly was wrong with the elevator, but if he really wanted to find out, he could just hack into the panel and provide external power via his omnitool himself.

Maybe it's better to remain ignorant.

“It’s alright. Thank you,” Kaidan said, and the officer ended the call. With a glanced look over at Hackett, they both signed and sat down on the floor of the elevator, facing each other.

“Did you get a message through to Nyx?” he asked, crossing his arms against his chest.

“It looks like it was sent,” Kaidan replied. “Didn’t bounce back.”

“Good enough. What exactly is he doing, by the way?”

“Catching up with some old friends of his. They were going to bar crawl, and I wasn’t interested.”

“Not your scene?”

“Something like that.” Kaidan tapped the back of his neck. “L2. I don’t do well with bright lights and loud noises.”

Hackett winced in sympathy. “Right. You’ve done well despite–or should I say in spite of–that implant.”

“It’s merely a tool I've learned how to shape and use to my advantage. Got a few dents and scratches, but who doesn’t?”

“You’ve got that right.” Hackett glanced around. “Are there–?” He made a motion with his hand, gesturing around.

Kaidan did a quick scan with his omnitool and nodded. “Won’t take me but a second to throw up a privacy field.”

“They know there’s a Spectre and an Alliance in here, I doubt it’ll raise too much suspicion.”

“I don’t know,” Kaidan couldn’t help but grin. “The wrong officer sees it and starts spinning all kinds of tales.”

“One superior officer is not enough for you?” He teased back, and Kaidan laughed as he activated the privacy field, scrambling the camera feed and muting the audio.

He was a bit surprised Hackett played along.

“Maybe not. The perks are just so good,” Kaidan said, focusing his gaze on Hackett, a smirk tugging at his lips. “The benefits alone make it worth it.”

And he couldn't deny that Hackett was quite the handsome man. The same things that drew him to Nyx drew him to Hackett. Scars, voices, the way they held themselves… and he knew damn well his tastes often went to older men in his fantasies.

Hackett crossed his arms against his chest, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect this from you.”

“I don’t see you complaining,” Kaidan said, keeping his tone neutral. “Allow me to be serious for a moment?”

“Thought you already were,” he challenged.

Kaidan nodded, leaning back against the elevator wall. “Part of me was. Nyx never stopped having feelings for you, you know.”

“Trust me, I’m well aware,” he said quietly. “And what does that have to do with–”

“It has everything to do with this. Because you obviously still care for him a lot,” Kaidan said, softening his expression. “At first, I felt like I was competing for something that I would never live up to, but later, I felt like Nyx simply had too much love in his heart for one person. I know he loves me, I feel it and we’ve been great, but–” Kaidan stood up and sat down next to Hackett, watching as he followed his every move with his gaze. “I wonder if he’ll be happier if he has us both.”

“So, you’re testing the waters with me, seeing if what, this could be more than us sharing him?”

“Even if it doesn’t work between us, that doesn’t mean this won’t work,” Kaidan replied. “All I see is an opportunity to get what we all want. Nyx, and something more.”

Hackett snorted but something lingered in his expression. “You're a good man, Kaidan. Sorry you got dragged into our decades long mess.”

“I’m not,” Kaidan moved closer. “I think we should all have a long talk once we get out of this mess and after we chew Nyx out for keeping us on mute, yes?”

“I think we should too.” He smiled, and Kaidan believed it to be genuine, tugging on his scar and pulling it across his face quite handsomely. “I’ve… denied my own feelings for him for years, wanting him to move on. But I think we were doomed from the goddamn start.” He shook his head. “As saving each other's lives changes your mindset quite a bit.”

“I'm familiar.” Kaidan closed his eyes, and he flashed back to Virmire, activating the bomb and Nyx refusing to choose between him and Ash, nearly jeopardizing the mission and losing some of the Normandy’s marine detail in the process. He flashed back to the beacon, to Nyx’s anguished cry to move out of the way when the debris of the ship and of the tower threatened to crush him and Ash.

Kaidan felt like he hadn't had the chance to really return the favor.

“And you’ve been impacted by that as well, I see.” Hackett said, giving him a knowing look.

Kaidan blinked before nodding. “A few times.”

“He's a devoted man to the people he loves.”

“That he is,” Kaidan breathed out. He turned to look over at Hackett, his eyes glancing down at the man’s lips. “I would kiss you right now, but I don’t want to do this without Nyx.”

He let out a surprised laugh. “We are of the same damn mind, Alenko.”

“Call me Kaidan.”

“Then you call me Steven.” His eyes flicked down to Kaidan’s lips. “To think we all have similar scars.”

Damn, he was right. They all had something on their lips. Kaidan's was the least severe out of the three, though.

“Where did you get yours?” He asked.

Kaidan felt no need to hide it, figuring Steven already knew. “BAaT. When Vyrnmus attacked me after I lashed out.”

He nodded. “First Contact War for me.” Kaidan could've guessed, and he didn't elaborate.

“And Nyx as well,” Kaidan said. “He's been more open about that than I expected. About a lot of things.”

“Such as his exposure,” he said pointedly, and Kaidan shrugged. “I knew you were something special when he told me how he reacted during his little game that damn near backfired on him.”

“Nyx is a goddamn idiot,” Kaidan chuckled. “But I still liked him despite that. When we got together, that first night, he said he saw a man he could trust.” Kaidan glanced over at Steven, who nodded and motioned for him to keep going.

“And he wanted something specific out of me, so I was extra observant to make sure he was still enjoying himself, you know? I've been with a few biotics, not many, and there's a common theme: we let loose in pleasure. It's hard to avoid, even for someone like me. I saw blue rimmed eyes that night, and I told myself it was a trick of the light. I never told him that I noticed, and he never said anything to me about it. Maybe he didn't even notice he did it,” Kaidan finished his little tale with a sigh. “Didn't have any of the telltale signs of a current gen, so I just tucked it away in the back of my mind. Even after he told me the truth, I didn't dwell on it.”

“I've tried my best to keep him protected from his anomaly, and I appreciate your discretion. I've always worried with his… proclivities that something would come out. Never did,” Hackett admitted. “Granted, he has an experimental implant and amp to help with that, but I'm a protective bastard, he would say.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I like that in a person,” Kaidan said. “I should tell him, but at this point, I don't want him to worry.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” he replied with a wry smile.

“Thanks.” Kaidan adjusted his position, pulling a leg up.

“I'm tempted to call them back so we can get out of here sooner,” Hackett muttered.

“You and me both, but no need to waste resources on us just because of who we are.”

“Exactly. Doesn't mean that I'm starting to be a little selfish.”

Kaidan laughed. “Ah well. We can deal with that later.”

“Speaking of, have you ever done something like this before?” Hackett asked, changing the subject.

Omega shore leave. Vorcha mafia, 5000 credits, a bottle of whiskey, and two very handsome men.

Kaidan grinned. “Sort of. Had a run in with the vorcha mafia at an ill-advised trip to one of Omega’s casinos. Later I ended up doing well and securing myself a nice sum of credits and an expensive whiskey, but I angered the wrong people in the process.”

He laughed as Steven raised an eyebrow. “You contain many secrets, Kaidan.”

“I contain multitudes,” he laughed. “I guess I’m good at hiding it. Anyway, turns out one of the vorcha I pissed off was a target for a merc, and I got involved with him and his partner in ah… more ways than one. Temporary, but I've never forgotten them.” Memories played out, surely reflected on his face, a smile that was tinged with a hint of sadness. He had their info, but lost it with a bug in his software and hadn't backed it up in time and never tried seeking them out since.

“Looks like they got away from you,” he said softly. “I'm sorry.”

“A part of me was too, but I ended up with something beautiful in the end, so I can't complain,” he shrugged. “I owe it to them for helping me appreciate my biotics a little more. Hadn't been with another L2 before, especially not one that wasn’t at Jump Zero, and well, the merc understood how to be with a biotic.”

“An L2 that wasn't with BAaT?”

“Turns out that after he got the surgery, his asari uncle trained him and later fitted him with an asari amp. Fought like a commando too. Never seen anything like it. Regis was one of a kind for sure.”

“Regis… Shepard?” Steven asked.

How the hell does he know about him?

Kaidan tilted his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows. “Yeah. Why?”

“Son of Hannah Shepard, another Admiral in the brass. She never was happy that he didn't join the Alliance, but he's a good contact for us about Terminus affairs,” he explained. “Which means the other merc was Zaeed Massani, and that makes this one small goddamn galaxy.”

Kaidan's face broke out into an incredulous expression. “You're shitting me.”

“No, I'm not.” Steven smirked. “Zaeed was Alliance, but for only a bit. Had a short fling with him before he left and before I knew Nyx.”

Kaidan couldn't help but laugh. “So, not only do we share history with one partner, but also have another. Holy shit.”

Steven snorted. “Maybe we're more compatible than we think. To good taste in men.”

“I'll drink to that.” Kaidan looked down at his lap. “Small galaxy indeed,” he echoed.

A silence fell over them, comfortable and warm.

A ping from Kaidan’s omnitool interrupted it. He glanced down, knowing he only had a handful of contacts that he gave notification access to.

NS: You’re stuck in a fucking elevator? With Steven? I’m on my way

“I stand corrected, he did get our message,” Kaidan said, showing the display to him.

“Call him.”

Kaidan put a vid call through, and Nyx answered nearly immediately, on the move. They shared a look.

“No shit, you really are trapped. Apparently it’s been happening all over this sector.”

“Hello to you too, love,” Kaidan rolled his eyes. “But we haven’t been in here that long and–”

“Too late. I’m on my way. Already notified C-Sec to start to get you guys out. You’re too much of a damn gentleman, Kaidan.”

“He’s not the only one who told them to hold off,” Steven interjected. “In case there were actual emergencies more important than our comfort.”

“Oh great, not you too! Selfless bastards. Let me guess, are you two besties now?”

Something like that. They shared a look again, and it didn’t escape Nyx’s notice. He stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes. “What happened between you two?”

“Nothing bad, but… we all need to sit down and talk about it,” Kaidan replied.

“Or you can tell me now, since you both seem comfy enough in there.” He cocked his head to the side, not sounding annoyed or angry, just curious.

“Kaidan and I have a proposition for you,” Steven began. “About your relationship. About what could be something between the three of us. Which is why this is far better with us in one room instead of a vid call.”

“Oh!” He widened his eyes. “Fuck, uh… okay. Wow. You really think this could work even after all these years?”

“Only one way to find out. Kaidan proposed it because… quite frankly, Nyx, you aren’t the only one that misses what we had,” Steven said softly. Kaidan reached over to squeeze his hand, and to his delight, he took it and held on tightly.

Nyx closed his eyes, breathed out, and opened them a moment later. “Alright. We can talk. Kaidan, you asked for this? Even though…” he trailed off, looking unsure.

“Nyx, I love you, and I want you to be happy. And I can't deny that I can see something working between all of us. But even if Steven and I find that we don’t work, that doesn't mean we can’t still have this between you two and between you and me..” Kaidan punctuated his statement by gesturing between them. “And well, you know what I like.” He grinned.

“Shit, Kay, I love you too, you know that. And, yes, I know what you like. Hell, a part of me has selfishly thought about this too, though in ah… more compromising positions than this.” Nyx smiled.

“Never change, Nyx,” Steven said, starting to lean against Kaidan.

“Don’t plan on it. I’m on my way. Oh and feel free to, well, spend your time however you like until we get there.” He winked and shut off the call.

A message popped up a moment later, addressed to the both of them.

NS: C-Sec told me they’ll be there in fifteen. That gives you at least ten ;)

Cheeky bastard.

Steven let out a breathy laugh. “Obviously, we need to talk about this far more than that, but… what do you think?”

Kaidna smiled, leaning in closer. “I think it went well. He gave us a ringing endorsement, so why not spend those–” he glanced down at his omnitool– “next few minutes getting to know each other a little bit more.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Steven made the first move, closing the distance between them, first with a soft, chaste kiss, testing the waters. Kaidan chased after him when he broke away, deepening the kiss and climbing into his lap. He made a surprised sound when Kaidan settled on top of him, pulling him in closer and tangling a hand into his hair. Fuck, he was good at this, Kaidan biting back a moan as Steven started to explore his mouth.

“Don’t tell me you like to be quiet,” Steven said, breathing against his lips.

Kaidan chuckled, moving to kiss down his neck, pushing away his turtleneck. “Didn’t want you to think I was easy. No, I like it loud…” he nipped a kiss just underneath where the collar of the turtleneck sat. “I like it rough…” he licked a stripe up to his ear to purr into and nip at the lobe. “I love it public, even.”

To his surprise, Steven only laughed, keeping a hand tangled in his hair. “Good. I think you and I will be just fine together.”

For a brief moment Kaidan wondered exactly how similar they were and if that factored into Nyx choosing him and staying with him.

“Yeah? I look forward to finding out more,” Kaidan said, leaning in to kiss him once more, but the elevator shifted and the panel started to ring. Right.

Kaidan lifted himself off of him and watched Hackett adjust his pants before he got up out of the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat and accepted the call. “Hello?”

“Hey Spectre. It’s Bailey. We’re getting you two out thanks to your fellow Spectre. Mechanical failure and software failure, nasty business. You’ll be moving again before you know it.”

“Thanks,” Kaidan replied. “Let us know if you need us for anything.” He hoped he didn't sound out of breath.

“We have it covered. Just sit tight for a little longer.”

The call hung up and they both let out a sigh of relief. Kaidan leaned against the back wall of the elevator. “Almost got too carried away.”

“You clearly aren't sorry about that.”

“You're right. I'm not.”

The elevator’s lights flickered and suddenly it started to move. A few moments later, it stopped on its original destination, and on the other side, Nyx was waiting for them, along with some C-Sec personnel.

“Good, you two didn't kill each other,” Nyx laughed, leaning in to kiss Kaidan's cheek as he walked out. “Are you still planning on going over to the ranges or…?” He looked expectant.

“I think I just want to relax for a while. Let's go back to the apartment,” Kaidan said, taking his boyfriend's hand. “Might make some good food, if you want to join us, Admiral.”

“Lead the way,” he replied, and they headed over to the nearest transport hub.

– –

The moment they were inside their apartment, they all immediately headed over to the large couch Nyx insisted on buying for them. Now, Kaidan was thankful to have it, all three of them able to sit comfortably after taking off their shoes.

Nyx sat in the middle, his hands in his lap. “First, I have to ask: Were you two making out when they called y’all back?”

Kaidan sighed in exasperation as Steven snorted. “What do you think is the answer to that, Nyx?” Steven asked, nudging him on the shoulder.

“A damn shame you two threw up that privacy field, is what I’m going to say to that. I guess… you both found out you two are a helluva lot more similar than you both realized,” he admitted, not meeting either one of their eyes.

“Hey, look at me,” Kaidan said, gently turning Nyx’s face towards him. “I’m not mad that you clearly have a type. I mean, I do too.” He laughed, trying to break up the tension. It seemed to work by the way Nyx’s shoulders relaxed. “It just means that we may end up being more compatible than we realized.”

“Or maybe not,” Steven replied, though not out of any malice. He kept his tone light as he continued, “but we won’t know unless we try. And we can still both love you, Nyx, even if we don’t end up feeling that way for each other.”

Nyx closed his eyes, leaning back into the couch, letting out a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re both right, as loathe am I to admit it. I want both of you. Ever since I met you, Kaidan, and you took care of me that night the way I needed, God… you became special to me in a way I haven’t felt in many years.” Kaidan squeezed his hand. “And Steven, you were the one I let get away and I’m sorry.”

“Maybe you were,” Steven began, and Kaidan saw him reach out for Nyx’s other hand. “But that distance may have been good for us. Don’t apologize for something that ended up being good for us in the end.”

“Time will tell on that,” Nyx said, looking at both of them. “I know Kaidan has had his own experiences with poly relationships, but have you…?”

Steven shook his head. “You know I’ve never been one for dalliances the way you were. No, this is new territory for me too. Kaidan told me a bit about his time.”

“Oh, he did?” Nyx smiled, taking a second to pull his hair out of his long ponytail, letting the silvery strands fall down and lay on his shoulders. “Sounds like you two got real acquainted.”

“We did,” Kaidan said with a purr. “We need to go out sometime as the two of us, to get there even more.”

“Kaidan, if you keep up that voice, we’re going to go a lot farther on this damn couch than just a conversation,” Nyx warned, shaking his head. Kaidan pecked his cheek, glancing at Steven who watched in interest.

“We do need to go out as couples a few times. I’ll be on the Citadel for a while longer, so I want to take you both out separately. See where this goes… get to know the man that claimed your heart,” Steven said, his own voice falling into a husky purr.

Nyx held his head in his hands. “Fucking hell there’s two of you now.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Kaidan leaned in to whisper into his ear, watching him shudder. “I want to hear all about those fantasies. What positions we were in, what you were doing.”

“What we were doing,” Steven continued from the other side.

Nyx took another deep breath. “Yeah. One day. I’ll do whatever you two want. But now? I’m hungry and that bar food wasn’t enough for me and my metabolism.”

“Lucky for you, you have a biotic boyfriend who understands. I’ll make my Mom’s chicken noodle soup. Good, hearty, and my way of sharing the love,” Kaidan said, getting up from the couch.

“Nyx raves about your cooking, but I think he misses being behind a real grill,” Steven said, stretching himself out on the couch. Nyx nodded at the mention, Kaidan familiar with how much his man loves to grill, even impressing his father when they were prepping for dinner. “I’m a bit of a chef myself.”

“Oh, really?” Kaidan asked, making his way over to the small kitchen, starting by washing his hands. “We’ll need to compare notes. Most of my recipes are modified for our increased caloric intake, but I make Mom’s soup as authentic as I can.”

“I still keep my modified notes from when we found out about his exposure. I’ll take you up on that offer,” he said. Kaidan felt something in him soften at that.

Kaidan started to gather the ingredients, laying them all out on the table before he started putting the basic stock together. He grabbed his favorite stock pot and put it on heat, tossing a few tablespoons of butter in. To his surprise, Steven got up to join him. “Need some help dicing and slicing?”

“Could always use an extra hand,” Kaidan said with a nod. “Dice those carrots, celery, and onions for me.” He grabbed a few cloves of garlic and started to mince them, motioning over to a nearby cabinet that had a spare cutting board.

Steven nodded and got to work. “Am I going to get the recipe after this?”

“You’ll have to meet my parents first,” Kaidan replied with a wink, smiling while Nyx laughed as he got up to join them, leaning against the edge of the island.

“Already making plans to introduce him to the Alenkos…” Nyx said with a teasing lilt to his voice. “How long did it take for you to take me over to them?”

“Remember, we were on the Normandy for how long?” Kaidan chuckled. “And they ended up loving you, so you had nothing to worry about.”

Steven looked only a little hesitant, slowing down his dicing before recovering.

“Don’t worry. My parents… have a lot of love to give. They’ll approve,” Kaidan said, but a part of him knew that his father was worried enough about the rank difference between him and Nyx. Not that it really mattered with both of their Spectre statuses, but introducing Steven into the mix is going to make things… interesting.

Better see how this goes before he mentions it to his parents.

“Sounds like Nyx’s family,” Steven said, scraping the vegetables into the pot at Kaidan’s nod. “You’re Earthborn too, right?”

Kaidan nodded. “Around Vancouver. My family has a beautiful orchard we call home.”

He waited for him to elaborate on his own origins but he didn’t. Nyx didn’t offer anything either, so Kaidan wasn’t going to pry just yet. He started to stir the vegetables, adding the garlic after a couple of minutes passed. “Chicken’s in the fridge, if one of you could grab that for me. I’ll let it cook in the stock and with my Mom’s seasoning mix, and in less than an hour, we’ll have our soup.”

Nyx nodded and grabbed the requested ingredient. Kaidan tossed in some of the seasoning mix, careful to not let Steven see too much of the process, just to be a little shit. He eyeballed the amount of chicken stock he needed and grabbed the wrapped chicken thighs, placing them in the stock after bringing it to a boil. He reduced the heat to a simmer and covered the stock and chicken and set a timer on omnitool to check it later to make sure everything had cooked through. “Alright, out of my kitchen,” Kaidan said, washing his hands again. “Won’t be done for a while, so let’s find something to watch while we wait, hmm?”

Nyx, of course, found a pre-eezo discovery sci-fi film to watch, enjoying his tradition of grading old-Earth sci-fi to see how accurate they were. Kaidan found it endearing and adorable, the way he kept a meticulous spreadsheet of his personal ratings and opinions.

Nyx grabbed the knit blanket they kept folded over the back of the couch and unfolded it over them.

Kaidan settled against Steven, never quite resisting a good cuddle, and relaxed as the movie began. He could get used to this so easily, he realized. The intimacy of making food together, working in a kitchen and knowing where the other was at any time.

Steven wrapped an arm around Kaidan and pulled him in closer as he leaned in to peck Nyx on the lips, soft and sweet, a contrast to what Kaidan and Steven got up to in the damn elevator. Nyx let out a surprised sound and with a chuckle, he pulled him in closer, deepening the kiss. Kaidan watched them with a soft smile on his face, seeing how the former ex-lovers relaxed into each other, a familiarity and ease that quickly overcame any awkwardness they initially had.

“I missed this,” Nyx admitted quietly, just loud enough for the both of them to hear, breaking apart from the kiss with a sigh.

“Me too,” Steven replied, vulnerable and open and soft.

Kaidan saw their years apart melt away.

“And now I want to see what I missed,” Nyx teased, motioning towards him and Steven. “If you two want, of course.”

“I think we can manage,” Steven said, his piercing eyes landing on Kaidan. First, Kaidan had to deal with Nyx’s gene modded purples, and now he’s dealing with Steven’s icy blue.

Kaidan answered by leaning in for a kiss, pressing his lips softly against Steven’s, letting out a pleased sigh as he parted his lips, letting him take the lead. He heard Nyx make a happy noise from beside them, clearly enjoying the show. They kept it relatively chaste, merely enjoying making out like teenagers on the couch, but it was new territory for them.

They’ll have plenty of time to explore later.

When they broke apart, Steven asked, face a little flushed, “So, Kaidan, what do you like to go out and eat.”

And all Kaidan could do was laugh and give him a smile.

This could work, according to the stirring in his heart and the pleasant heat throughout his body. Someone who understands Nyx and his past and his secrets. Someone who’s been through it all.

Someone who also knows Kaidan’s secrets.

He had to admit to himself that it was nice not having BAaT hanging over him, already knowing that Hackett knew part of the story because of his file. One day, he’ll give him the full story, and maybe he’ll hear some more stories of their past. Of the war they both fought in and survived. For now, though, Kaidan was content waiting for his meal to be done and relaxing with what could be the best opportunity he’s had since the Normandy posting.

#mass effect #kaidan alenko #mshenko #male shepard #steven hackett #nyx shepard #cleric's writing #now I need a ship name for this triad

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