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kriz-fics · 1 year

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The Sword’s Legacy

Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.

Masterlist

Chapter Thirteen: Nooses and Axes

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader

Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters)

Length: 15K !!!

CW: Please take note. This chapter deals heavily and quite graphically with executions. If you are NOT COMFORTABLE with imagery and descriptions of hanging and/or beheading, please do not interact. Or skip the first two POVs (Eren’s and YN’s first POV) which are marked with the bird header and the winged orb header.

Other CWs: Graphic description of corpses / allusions to massive age gaps and necrophilia (not graphic) / Pieck's foul mouth / Period-Typical Attitudes

The day dawns as beautiful as the countryside. And it truly is beautiful, Eren can see that now, as he ambles along the lush green field on the back of his faithful bay rounsey, Yorik. When not cloaked in cold rain, Zheletov shows her true grace. She is enchanting, a land of fertile pastures, bright blue skies, and dense forests.

A soft breeze dances past, making the grasses bend beneath its light tread. Overhead, Lusin’s sun shines down upon them all, its harsh rays made gentle by the pervasive northern chill. By and large, the green is the very image of rural bliss: pastoral, picturesque, peaceful.

As peaceful as the grave.

Eren reins up beside one of the many gallows erected upon the sward. And there are many, rows and rows and rows of them, as far as the eye can see.

Yorik snorts and whickers, tossing his head and stepping back restlessly, unnerved by the presence of death. Eren holds firm to the reins to steady him and rubs a pacifying hand down the horse’s sleek neck until he settles.

The boy is fair, with hair of curling gold; his eyes are gray glass, pale and glossed over, unseeing. He cannot have been more than ten. But it is hard to tell with the corpses of the young, Eren has just now come to find - death seems to shrink them, making them look younger, frailer, more vulnerable.

He wonders what the boy’s name is.

Eren tries to recall what it was like to be ten. That had not been too long ago. He had been a grieving ten-year-old, newly come to court and suffering the loss no child should have had to bear so soon in his life.

But for that loss, he had everything to gain. He had everything to play for, it would all start for him at last, here at this greatest of courts. He was a fledgling, mourning yet poised to spread his wings and take his first flight. His whole life was ahead of him still, everything and anything could happen.

This golden fledgling’s wings have been clipped too soon.

A couple of flies buzz around him, poking and prodding at him with great interest. Against his gray pallor, the dried blood that seeped down from the cut on his brow is a shocking red. He must have struggled as they dragged him to his fate, a little fighter to the end, and so there was nothing for it but to beat him into submission. Stringing him up along with the others should have proved less of a challenge after that.

The sutures across his brow itch something fierce. Eren resists the urge to scratch it. Healer Dima would approve - he is not to lay hand nor finger upon the healing flesh unless it is to smear it with extract of dittany. To help with the inflammation and the scarring for brow and arm, the priest had declared, as he handed Eren a sizable pot of the stuff for his personal upkeep.

Several moments pass and still the itch torments him. Eren’s gaze slides over to the next body. Musing on the boy’s injury had made the wound flare up; perhaps staring at this one will help alleviate it.

The boy has her look, Eren notices. In a flash, a whole lifetime’s worth of comments flood his mind, people, kin and strangers telling him how much he favors his lady mother, the Lady Carla of blessed memory. He had often sat in front of a looking glass, pulling and prodding at his face and wondering what people saw to make them hold to that claim. He always thought he looked more like Father - they had the same hair and eyes after all. And he looked nothing like a girl. For a long time, little Eren had hated being likened to Mother, because he was not a girl, damn them all.

But those were a little boy’s thoughts, and courtly Eren was ten, almost a man grown and above such childishness. Now he can see what people see, see the features so soft and womanly on his mother harden into something more robust, more manly on his visage. Now he can feel pride at the thought of having Mother’s face. It truly isn’t as terrible as his younger self would have had him believe. Were he a woman, he would be fortunate to be half as exemplary as his lady mother. And it is nice, comforting to know that he need only look in a mirror to know that Mother is still with him, that she lives on in him.

Eren stares up at the woman’s lifeless body, watching her swing slowly back and forth as the wind blows past. Mother would have been of an age with this mother, had she been alive at present. Her hair, so much like her son’s, makes a tangled cloud of gold around her head. Tear tracks streak down her waxen, grimy face. Unlike her boy, her eyes are closed.

A sense of detached curiosity comes over Eren then, irresistibly drawn as he is to these condemned. Did she close her eyes to spare herself the anguish of watching the child of her body choke and convulse and struggle as he took the most excruciating path into the Fields? Did she weep as the noose constricted with every dying heartbeat, knowing that this was the selfsame pain her little one was subjected to? Did she succumb to despair before the last, knowing she was mere feet from her sweeting but was powerless, helpless, unable to save him, bound as she was?

Eren looks beyond her, at the rest of this gallows’ tenants. There are four to a frame. The grandparents, he surmises, noting the likeness of the wrinkled dead features of the elders to their daughter and grandson.

But beneath the gallows, all look the same. All their hands are bound behind their backs, and the rough hempen rope cuts into the soft flesh of their throats. Already, the black is slowly creeping up their pale miens. It will not be long now until death has its way with the fallen, leaving them all with dark and bloated faces. Then will their likenesses be more profound. One big family of the damned. The resemblance to each other should be most uncanny.

Above, the carrion crows circle, crying their harsh, raucous cries, waiting in the wings for them all to leave so they may commence with their feast. Below and closer to the banquet, flies are starting to bear down on the bodies. Soon, they will descend upon the field in earnest, covering each corpse like some dark living shroud. Flies and crows, the staunchest of companions. Where one converges, the other is sure to come.

Eren looks beyond his little family but there is no escape from the dangling dead. Countless elders, women, and children, some even younger than the golden boy, dead, all dead, because their sons and husbands and fathers played the traitor to their lawful king and broke their solemn oaths. Their lawful king will have his blood price, whatever the means, wherever the source.

Sir Symon Skaryn slowly weaves between the gallows on the back of his dun courser. It must be strange, unreal, to know you are the last of your House. Eren’s gaze lingers on him a moment, musing, pondering, watching the studiously blank face of the last and only scion of House Skaryn as he plods slowly past each frame, eyes sliding over their occupants as though they never were. Eren recognizes the look. That one has gone away inside.

Some ways away stride Sir Julian Halkin and his bay gelding. This one is beloved of the gods. It must help, being wardens of the Old Faith. It certainly saved his blood from the axe - piety is of use, after all, and makes for a good savior. Almost as good as Father. And he would have been incapable of doing that were it not for Eren and his timely heroics, such as they were.

It is cruel of the king to send the pair of northmen to see to the deaths of their countryfolk. Eren has to question the wisdom of this - it does not seem very prudent to offend further those whose families he has dispossessed and stricken from existence. But then, His Majesty can hardly offend them any more than he already has. This morbid duty may very well be a ploy to distance himself from two likely kingslayers.

Not since Marius Zackly has the realm seen the like amongst the Guardsmen. It is commonly held that the Guardsman had murdered the second Urklyn Reiss in cold blood by dint of his mistreatment of the knight’s younger sister, Queen Mariya. Others allow him a nobler cause. Urklyn II, the Unfortunate as he is called and the last wielder of the Founder, is a highly reviled figure, after all. Zackly cannot be faulted for ridding the realm of a despot and ending the threat of the Titans forever. Still, others argue that despot or no, the Guardsman had sworn to protect the king, whatever his sins, whatever his failings. If one such as Sir Marius could break a solemn oath, what does that do to the sanctity of vows? He had not been the first kingslayer, to be sure, yet he was the first such Guardsman and remained a decidedly polarizing character in the annals of history.

It will seem that Rod Reiss is not so remiss in keeping his northern Guardsmen well away from his royal person. Only a century parts Marius Zackly and the knightly northmen. His sin is still fresh, and vows seem to hold little weight nowadays. These northmen have seen to that.

Eren lightly presses his knees to Yorik’s sides and makes to move on. The golden boy stares at him, sad and forlorn. Stay a while, please, sir, his blank eyes of glass seem to convey. Eren hunches his shoulders and leaves. He is not here to keep the dead company.

Sir Julian comes to cross his path, and their eyes meet. A hint of what looks remarkably like deference flickers across those hazel depths, and the older man inclines his head toward him before passing on. Eren watches him trot away, feeling disquiet, bemusement, and pity well up inside him. A peculiar concoction of emotions, indeed.

It is a surreal thing, carrying the knowledge that a whole lineage lives on still because of him. Now he is tied, irrevocably, immutably, absolutely to the Halkins, whatever they do, whatever becomes of them, come what may. And they to him, whatever he does, whatever becomes of him, come what may. Eren does not know how to feel about that. He has never thought of being on the receiving end of a blood debt. It is a thought too large to comprehend, especially for the likes of him.

More than anything else, he does not know how to feel about being used as leverage for a boon, like he is some sort of bargaining chip in a game of dice. It was all to the good, in the end. Pointless to rail against something that benefits all in one way or another, he supposes. In their world, being used is a matter of course, he has come to realize. They all of them are bargaining chips, even those who fancy themselves as players. This is hardly the first time he has been played at the courtly table, nor will it be the last, and being used for a just cause is better than the alternative. Yet he cannot help but feel… something. And it is not entirely pleasant.

A handful of men-at-arms traipse across the field, slipping sprigs of mint into pockets and aprons and making sure all life had fled from their wards. The unoccupied Guardsmen, the Lord Commander among them, oversee the whole undertaking. Knights all, as Marius Zackly had been, and bound by the same vows, bound by the same calling to save innocent lives. Eren will soon be held to the same calling and yet he could not even save these. That does not make for a good beginning, it seems to him.

All are powerless before the will of the king. He has been robbed of the Halkins, he must have his blood price elsewhere. Eren did not think he would dare touch these commons, innocent and valueless as they are. To him, Rod Reiss is a middling king, with very little to commend him. Stout, sedate, lecherous, amiable, and unassuming, if a tad bit petty, that is all this Reiss king has to his regal name. And then they served him treason and treachery, and it tore him open to expose the dark and the sinister that moldered within. The middling king is not so middling, after all, and this one wants the North’s fear more than its love.

Eren sits up straighter in his saddle, swaying slowly with his horse’s gait as he spies Sir Levi turning his black courser round and making his way toward him. Best not to get too mired in his head. He saved a bloodline, that should still count for something. And he saved the holy traitor from his cruel fate.

Lord Grisha had milked his son’s deed for all it was worth to dampen the fires of the king’s rage. All it bought him were the Halkins (but for their lord, he must die withal), Sir Symon Skaryn, and a gentler death for the old lawyer. No longer will he be hanged to near-death, sliced open and shown his own innards as he lay still living upon the boards, and have his body quartered, the head, the arms, the legs, all to be buried in separate corners of the realm. Robert the Lawyer will be hanged to true death, wrapped in chains - a quicker death than that of most of these in the field.

The priest will die on the morrow, Eren remembers with a jolt. He wonders if he will be in attendance. Robert’s is not a private execution, the court will not look on as he takes his final steps to meet his Father Above. Eren reins back a bit as Sir Levi draws up to him at last and pulls ahead to take the lead. Should the Lord Commander order his soon-to-be erstwhile master to the affair, Eren will be obliged to attend him.

Robert of Feyhill still holds to his innocence to the last. Eren had asked Father if he believed the claim.

“The man still holds, even under duress,” Lord Grisha said.

Perhaps they could stand to handle him a great deal more sharply. Only then do criminals break. The old man truly is resilient. Again, Eren had felt that admiration, grudging and reluctant, but admiration nevertheless. He can see why Father is disposed toward the priest. He recalls the private audience he had seen between Lord Grisha and Robert the Lawyer three months past. His father would have gotten the full measure of the man then. Most like he found him as admirable as Eren did. Perhaps that was even enough to persuade him to back the northern cause to the best of his abilities. He had come through on that font and managed to help the lawyer sway the king away from his Tybur pet. That backing is proving to be of little help now that they have shown their true skins.

Yet Robert isn’t the only one balking at the charges, even under the sharpest of torture. The spearheads of the outlaw factions, who will be joining him in death come the morning, echo him to a man. They have naught to do with the attack on the royal party if they can be believed. Father had found that more than passing interesting. “There are other hands at work here, my lord. Believe what you will but me and mine still hold our oaths sacred,” the holy Father claimed.

Of course he would claim such. The criminal sort will say anything for the slimmest chance of a pardon. Were he truly honest and knew of no attack, then perhaps his hold on his folk was tenuous at best. Factions within factions are not unheard of, perhaps these ones were prevailed upon to go their own way, unable to reconcile themselves to the king’s peace and mercy.

Even so, his claim is worth looking into, Lord Grisha and even Zeke felt.

It was too little too late, though. The king must hand down his punishments, the sooner the better; an inquiry would further delay things and he was already determined to see them all guilty and have them eradicated. For all his clout and influence, Father was powerless to stop him. Right hand of the king he may be but that is all he is. The hand is not the head, only its servant.

The Traitors’ Thicket looms ahead, dark and forbidding and swarming with flies. It is here where the bulk of the carrion feeders hold court to pass the time until they can start their next course. They have made a fine start to their feast already. The strung-up outlaws each have a murderous retinue to attend him. One man must have been incredibly delicious; more crows converge on this one than any other. His eyes and most of his face have been pecked clean, so the birds move further down his body, tearing and clawing at his rags to get to the sweet meat beneath. His whole head is thick with flies, darting in and out of his empty eye sockets and tongueless, gaping mouth. Around him, his fellows are much the same short a crow or four. With each passing heartbeat, the traitors look less and less like men.

Eren turns his head to look upon the innocents once more. Nearby, a young woman of an age with him sways with the wind, her hessian apron blasted with dirt and mud. The rest of the Guardsmen stroll past on their mounts amid the dead, faces blank and hard as stone. Eren averts his gaze, as they do.

Knights protect the innocent. He has never wanted to be a knight for them, though. But truly, what knight at present can claim to such ideals? Such lofty principles only live on in the tales. He doubts if even Gerald Kirschtein, paragon as he was, had such charitable aspirations when he set out to become a knight. Men the likes of Sir Anselm of the Moonmere, Albert Reiss, Prince Rodion Siljan, and their ilk… Now he can believe the best of them. These were men of the people, true knights every one. And all figures of fancy and legend. Eren has only ever thought about the honor and the glory.

No anointed knight here is protesting this savagery. Perhaps it truly doesn’t matter that he couldn’t save these at all. Perhaps this is not so bad a beginning for his calling as he had first thought. Zheletov had escaped justice once, it cannot do so again. She has committed the highest of treasons and the wages for treason is death. It is law. It is better to be feared than loved. It is a sharp lesson but they must learn. This will give them pause should treacherous thoughts flourish once again. Now they know how traitors are dealt with in this kingdom.

The men-at-arms are all converging upon the Lord Commander. It will seem that these Zhelevic, innocent and traitor both, are well and truly dead. Eren takes one last glance at the countryside. The green is vibrant, the air as yet untainted by the stink of rot and decay, so still and peaceful. Zheletov is enchanting. An enchanting lichyard, the most enchanting lichyard he has ever seen. He turns his back toward death and trails behind Sir Levi as they and the others strike out for Merrydell. Above, the waiting crows begin to descend.

You had been eleven the first time you had seen a man die.

The late Lord Dietrich had been a cousin on your mother’s side. Distant cousin, Lady Theresia will be quick to claim. He was a traitor, attainted and disowned, there will be no immediate kinship with his lot. You do not much remember him. He had given you a gold and ruby bracelet on your tenth yearday, that is the extent of your familiarity with him. You still wear the piece now and then.

Eduard Dietrich claimed royal Eldian blood, through the female line. In the Old Way and with the Old Blood, that would have been enough. Yet he was Paradisian-born and his claim meant little and less than a rat’s arse to his and the Eldians’ sort. That did not stop him from entertaining delusions of grandeur. He had taken it into his head that he should be king and started to gather his levies to mount his usurpation. The realm could hardly have ignored such sudden suspicious conscription, and so the king had him taken in for questioning, only to uncover his treasonous plot. Witnesses were called upon, each one accusing him of listening to prophecies about the king’s death, hiring hedge witches to ill-wish him, and plotting to kill him come the Winter Fete. His death warrant was sealed in light of such damning testimonies.

It had been a cool spring morning on the Month of Showers, the day of his execution. It had not rained during the event, to the court’s great fortune; the showers would come much later, you recall. You also recall plenty of hunger pangs. The court had not yet even broken its fast, the king was in such a state to rid himself of this would-be pretender to the throne. You sat with the young Princess Historia and her other maids on the bench, wriggling your toes inside your new silk slippers (such a pretty pale pink, like your new gown) and longing for fried sausages and mashed neeps soaked in good beefy gravy.

The whole thing seemed like a masque, a play, a court entertainment no different than the ones you had of a night. You had been far away, unwitting and favoring your stomach. Your appetite vanished when the axe fell. He had a strangely stumpy neck, you thought then, as his head thumped to the straw beneath the block. And there was all that red. You had never thought that blood could be so… red. Like Rhyzkov red yet unlike it in equal measure. The headsman then lifted the head of the traitor lord so the court could take its last look. Eduard Dietrich smiled at you all, defiant and mocking to the last. It had not looked real, not to you. For all you knew, the headsman could have been showing you all some mask he fetched from some costume box. Yet you had seen the head part from the body, so it must be real after all.

Madam Anastasia, your then-governess, had praised your composure. Proper ladies know how to comport themselves even in the face of such barbarism. You had floated through the rest of the day, composed and numb and stuck inside your head. It had taken half a year for the nightmares of mask-like faces and headless men to stop tormenting you.

The Dietrichs of Goldcap lost much of their lands to their more powerful cousins, the Dietrichs of the Crown Hill, from which Mother hails. They had been fined heavily for their lord’s sin, leaving them much impoverished. They make a quiet presence at court now. The only one of some renown from their blood is a knight, Sir Ian Dietrich, yet only just. By and large, he is little more than a household knight, barely a step away from being a hedge knight. He is a doubtful scion of a doubtful line.

Whispers and murmurs erupt from the court assembled on the green below the platform they had hastily built to accommodate the Royal House and their retinue. You sit in your accustomed place beside the Princess Historia, looking on as the two condemned are led to the scaffold at the front of the main yard of Merrydell Castle.

Valko Skaryn walks to his death as defiant as Eduard Dietrich. Yuri Halkin looks about ready to piss himself. And piss himself he does, you note, with mild disgust. His courage leaks onto the flooring beneath his boots, forming a puddle that darkens the wooden planks. One of Death’s Hands glides forward, enigmatic and inscrutable in his robes of black and white, with the bronze key of the afterlife resting on his chest. He reaches inside his black left sleeve for a small scroll of parchment, which he unrolls so he may recite the lord’s crimes and pray the prayers for the condemned. No one pays heed to the mark of incontinence the frightened man left.

It is strange how much the liege cuts a poorer figure than his vassal. One will think it is Halkin who has lost everything, not Skaryn. Poor doomed, pissy man. The Halkins have been fined heavily for their lord’s crimes and lost the wardenship of the State of Kostrokan. Moreover, little Yakob Halkin, the new Lady Halkina’s younger brother, is to be sent to Midford to serve as the king’s new ward and cupbearer. A hostage, everyone knows, to be kept in custody for the Halkins’ good behavior. The Goldcap Dietrichs, worse or better off I cannot say. Circles within circles.

At least Lord Yuri and his have gotten off lightly compared to the Lesser House. The Skaryns are all gone, quietly expunged the day before. It was valerian that did for them, a softer and gentler death than their lord’s. A thimbleful of the stuff produces a light, dreamless sleep. A whole bottle produces a sleep that never ends, and it was such that was given to each member of the House. Better to be gently poisoned than feel the pain of a beheading. In a fit of twisted arrogance, Grigoriy Skaryn had demanded to be drowned in a cask of red instead. That is the rumor, in any case.

Death’s priest, having finished with his prayers, tucks his scroll into his white right sleeve and floats to the back of the scaffold. The black-masked headsman strides forward as another Hand half-leads, half-pushes the very disinclined Lord Halkin closer to the block. He is white as curdled milk as he stumbles and nearly falls over the waxed wood.

Some semblance of pity rises inside you as you watch this sorriest of productions. What a wretched creature. It is almost hard to look upon the petrified Lord Yuri as the executioner asks for his forgiveness, for he is only performing his calling and it should not be held against him. The lord gives the man a lost and uncomprehending look, as though he is speaking in another tongue entirely, and does not answer.

When it is clear that no reply is forthcoming, the Hand forgives the headsman for him and pays the man his customary fee of twelve silver crescents before asking Halkin to speak his final words. Once more, no words are forthcoming, hence they bid the lord to kneel upon the straw they have scattered around the block. To catch the blood, you know. Your heart begins to thrum faster in your chest, and you lace your cold fingers together on your lap. Apprehensive you may be but you are a proper lady, you will not look away.

Yuri Halkin will not kneel, so they have to force him down. He is sobbing by then, great, fat tears rolling down his fine, pointed nose as he lays his head upon the block and clutches at it as though it can save him. The sight magnifies the pity within you and makes your insides squirm uncomfortably. What an undignified way to die. You glance at the king askance, to where he is sitting upon a makeshift throne near his daughters’ bench. His face is dark and hard around the mouth. Clemency is well and truly dead as these lords.

The headsman raises his axe and waits for the lord to fling out his arms, the sign of his consent that the axe can fall at last. Halkin will not give it. Still he clutches at the block, trembling like a leaf, until some knight - Sir Levi Ackerman, you realize, recognizing the mop of short black hair and the pale purple cloak - strides forward to wrench his arms from the wood and hold it wide before him so the axeman may finally do his duty. Close by, Sir Julian Halkin watches his brother aid in his cousin’s shameful end, face blank as fresh parchment.

It takes only one stroke, to the wretched lord’s fortune. Sir Levi stalks away, looking mildly annoyed and inconvenienced. Spots of blood fleck his cheeks, dark against his pale skin. Sir Mike Zacharias hands him a kerchief he has conjured from somewhere so he can wipe down. Blessed with luck, you think, eyeing a couple of the more superstitious lords and ladies slinking forward to dip their fingers into the beheaded lord’s blood, so they may attract better fates. It is one of the stranger customs of the Creed you have come to witness, but it is a fascinating one as well.

The executioner puts aside his now scarlet-smeared axe and bends to pick up the lordly head by its mahogany hair. Its expression is twisted in grief, and tear tracks carve a path down his cheeks.

Overhead, the crows caw. You lift your eyes to the surrounding walls. The Skaryns might have died gently yet their bodies were not treated so. Each head has been dipped in tar so they - and the lesson - may keep longer. From your vantage, they are no more than dark orbs adorning the spikes upon the ramparts. The saddest orbs are the little ones. You watch as a crow perches atop a little head and tugs its ear off. Little and great, it makes no matter; the crows feast on them all. The longer you look, the more you forget they are even human. You turn your attention away and back to the scaffold. Their lord and their liege will be joining them soon.

Valko Skaryn goes to his death a braver man than his liege. He had gone pale as a sheet as he watched them bear his lord’s head and headless body away in nondescript boxes, but still he stands firm and does not crumble. He manages to forgive and pay the executioner himself before stating his final words.

You glance at the king once more and see his dark countenance grow ever darker at the lord’s continued insistence on his innocence and his lack of humility. Your eyes alight on the king’s hands as they tighten on the arms of his seat, more than certain he is on the verge of leaping out of his throne to shout, ‘Off with his head!’ had the lord not finished his spiel at last.

The way Skaryn throws out his arms to give the headsman his consent is almost triumphant, defiant. Would that his death is as dignified.

A lady screams and a gasp flies out of your mouth unbidden as the axe slams down the back of Skaryn’s shoulders instead of his neck, making the lord jerk upon the block. The court buzzes loudly in horror as the executioner checks and tries once more, only to botch it again. And again. And yet again.

Cold and sweating hands scrabble quickly for your own, and you look at your princess as she squeezes your hand almost painfully, eyes wide and aghast yet unable to look away from the bloody botch of an execution you are all now forced to witness.

The executioner, it transpires, is young and new to his trade. Halkin’s pitiful and unseemly death had discomfited him more than he thought it would, so he could not replicate his earlier success. Now a half-mangled man in red linen sprawls atop the block where once a lord in white knelt. In the end, Sir Mike Zacharias steps in and makes an end to it himself, to the court’s relief. Sir Symon Skaryn is gray as the stone walls around him; he could have been a corpse himself, such is his pallor.

Historia’s grip is cold and tight around yours. You can feel her slender fingers trembling, and you hold tighter, trying to convey what comfort you can in your touch. On the throne nearby sits the king triumphant with his face of grim pleasure, looking on at the head in the axeman’s gloved hand with its face of twisted pain. Hiring a green and untried headsman has produced the desired result. The scaffold is a mess of blood. Rhyzkov red yet unlike it, too.

Your face is prickling, familiarly so. You turn your attention away from the scarlet scaffold, almost reluctantly, and find yourself looking back into your betrothed’s green gaze. There he stands between his wan father and stony brother upon the sward, and he is looking at you intensely, ardently, admiringly, as if you are a spot of light in the darkness, the only good thing in this dismal world.

All at once you are warm and everything else ceases to matter. Not the bloody scaffold, not the undignified, awful deaths, not the cruelty of kings. There is only him. There is only Eren. He is all that matters, in the end.

Fifteen are made knights that day.

The Warrior’s transept in the Great Temple of the Creed smells heavily of incense, and the Grand Marshal’s deep, rumbling voice echoes off the high vaulted ceiling of the chamber as he prays his martial prayers to the martial god’s massive monument looming in front of them all. A far cry from last night’s peace and silence, Jean thinks, fighting to keep himself alert and on his feet.

That stimulating concoction of sage, knight’s garlic, and a bundle of other herbs he does not care to know nor name is wearing off. The Marshals had given them all Flasks of Awakening after their ritual baths, so they might complete their vigil with great success. It was a potent brew, that Flask. None of the fifteen had disgraced himself by nodding off in front of Sir Tardon.

Now sleep is doing its utmost best to make him shame himself in front of the court. Jean digs his nails into his palms, hoping a touch of pain may give his senses that necessary jolt awake. He had not disgraced himself last night, he is not about to do so now, not on this most auspicious of days.

Mikasa Ackerman is standing with her parents off to the side of the transept, not far away from him. A jolt shakes off the sleep inside of him at the sight of such pure beauty. The white gown she is wearing to match the initiates only elevates that cool and speckless grace. Her hair looks so black against the white, it is almost startling, and now he is gazing upon a queen of ice and snow, come among them from the northern songs and tales. Truly, she is a beauty. His Queen of Love and Beauty. His Queen of Ice and Winter.

Jean bites back a smile as he gives the Grand Marshal his attention once more. The sight of Mikasa Ackerman is a restorative more potent than any brew.

They have not long to wait, in any event. The High Priest dispenses with his prayers and the dubbing proceeds apace.

A handful of men-at-arms had acquitted themselves most admirably during the outlaw ambush. These will be knighted first, followed by the squires of the lordly knights. Last will come the Guardsmen’s lads, the few of them who proved their mettle in battle and showed the realm what training under the very best can truly yield.

The ceremony goes by smooth and quick, and all too soon, the Guardsmen’s lads will come into their own.

Their Bull is a knight at last. He should be well-pleased by that, Jean thinks, as he watches Sir Mike Zacharias lightly tap his foregoing squire upon each broad shoulder with the flat of his blade. Perhaps that pissy little tosser Galliard will finally ease off on Reiner now that they share a title. Perhaps he’ll ease off on all of them, for that matter.

Not anytime soon, though, Jean reconsiders, inwardly grimacing. The northern ambush had brought the summer progress to a crashing halt, and the court flew back to Belris soon after the executions. Lord Pixis, while upset at the fact that his preparations (and expenses) went to naught, did not complain overmuch. Northern sentiment has soured after the attack; best not to remind the court of his own Province’s earlier grievances with the king and raise concerns of another uprising. The Galliards - that is, Porco - have not been as magnanimous. The last stop was theirs, and the prickly Porco is not taking this perceived snub well. He will be unpleasant as sin come the next week or so, Jean knows.

Sir Porco is standing not too far away from Reimund Braun, knightly mien in place. His foremost rival’s lord father is not too far from Reiner, face hard and stern as he watches his boy rise to greater heights. Jean wonders if he ever felt proud of his only son. The way Reiner deals with and speaks of him leaves a lot to be desired. These are private matters, however, for the Brauns to work through, not anyone else.

The Braun lord is quiet of late, in any case, unusually so, in Kirschtein opinion. Tybur has won Zheletov now that the Skaryns are gone, something that would have rekindled Braun’s passion for territorial expansion. And northern stock is low at court nowadays, he may find the king with a more willing ear should he choose to push his old claims upon Trost once again.

And so House Kirschtein finds itself lying low with both eyes keeping a careful watch on the lay of the land. Their Province of Egstatten has just seen itself freed of Tybur’s yoke, any misstep of theirs will see it flying back into his hands sure as sunset. They had best tighten their leash on their side of the North. The cruel slaughter of Zhelevic innocents is starting to cause a stir in broader northern sentiment last they heard from their anxious vassals. Egstatten especially is seething with rage at the senseless murder of kin. Father has promised Lord Pixis a company of men to bolster his garrison should the commons boil over into a riot. No whisper of upheaval must leave their borders.

Within the borders of the temple, Reiner stands at last as Sir Reiner of the House of Braun. Jean watches as Reiner moves off behind the line of Guardsmen, to take his place in the line of new-made knights in front of the Warrior’s towering likeness. The merest flicker of pleasure flashes across his sire’s face, like the swiftest of blinks, so easily overlooked if one is not paying him heed. Quiet he may be for the moment but Reimund Braun will play the field of politics again.

Sir Levi Ackerman comes forward to take Sir Mike’s place beside the Grand Marshal and his attending Marshal. Unbidden, unwanted, the old entrenched envy inside Jean flares up strong and hot at the sight of Eren Jaeger striding forward to take his much longed-for knighthood. Jean grinds his teeth behind his lips and tries not to glance over at Mikasa once again. The look on her face as she watches Jaeger being honored is not something he cares to see.

There he is, the Magister’s beloved second son and now savior to the king himself, the consummate golden boy. So brave, so daring, made of the stuff of songs and legends. Truly, graces fall onto his lap so easily and so freely. Jean wrestles with his resentment and forces it down back to where it will no longer bother him. He has put that behind him, he should no longer be its thrall. Let past woes stay in the past.

The golden boy does not look as proud nor as triumphant as Jean expects him to be. You would think he was kneeling before a bier at a funeral. The thought snuffs out the embers of his resentment. To be sure, most every man of them looks somber and grave as pallbearers. The northern executions have sapped the triumph in this investiture. He cannot say if it would be any different were they knighted before the punishments. Surely the knowledge of innocents going to their deaths would have accompanied them to the Warrior’s shrine as it does now. Perhaps this is all to the good, to time the ceremony just so. The court needs something, something triumphant to bring the light back to the last of summer.

All too soon, the gates of knighthood loom before him, and he walks toward it nervously eager. He can ruminate upon the horror of innocent deaths later. The present belongs to his achievement. He may not have saved the most important man in the realm but he had saved his brothers-in-arms and helped bring down the outlaw threat. That should count for something.

It does count for something, lest he will not be standing here, he reminds himself as he pads barefoot in his whites to stand before his very soon-to-be former master, the Lord Commander himself.

The marble floor of the transept is cold beneath his feet and hard upon his knee yet it is not so uncomfortable as sitting on his calves for the duration of the long night. The would-be knights had all sat thus, with their arms and armor laid down before them, surrounded by Marshals who made sure they kept their silence and prayed their prayers.

Come morning, the pain in his legs near made him weep like a little girl. That pain is just now accosting his legs again, his muscles crying out in protest, but Jean bears it all. Pain is a knight’s consort, they will be more intimate than he cares for them to be in the course of this vocation.

The Grand Marshal approaches him with an ornate cruet in hand to smear the holy oils upon his forehead and anoint him a true knight at last. The Marshal hands his elder a cloak of cardinal red, which he wraps around Jean and pins into place with a brooch of red gold shaped into a likeness of a lynx with deep red garnets for eyes. The Lord Commander, by tradition, should have been the one to cloak him with the ceremonial mantle; for want of an arm, the Grand Marshal himself is obliged to do so instead.

Now comes the time to swear his oaths. Jean takes a breath to steady himself and, with his hand above his heart, swears to uphold and maintain all that makes knighthood good and holy. To adhere to the truth; to be loyal to his lord but answer to his king first and foremost; to defend the weak and helpless; these and more he swears until the list is spent and the last ringing notes of his voice fade away into the stillness of the transept.

Sir Erwin steps forward, his sword Sunstrike clutched in his gauntleted left hand, ready to proceed with the rite himself as custom dictates. After all, a knight does not need two arms to dub another. The flat of his blade presses lightly upon one shoulder and then the other as he acknowledges Jean’s vow and bids him keep it, and it is done.

Jean knelt a servile squire; he rises a noble knight. And nothing can please him more. At last. At last. Sir Jean Kirschtein takes his place among his peers, gloriously and unendingly proud.

Not even envy nor regret can touch him as he watches the fortunate four come forward, the chosen ones, the new elite. Amusement is all he can feel looking on at the utter farce that is Connie Springer being knighted as one of the Royal Guardsmen. How a lackwit like him came to be part of such exalted company is beyond Jean yet he is happy for him all the same.

Jean sobers some at his friend’s uncharacteristically dour expression. Losing Sir Gunther had been hard on him, and that compounded with the executions did not do wonders for his fortitude. He is not a terrible warrior, Jean can give him that. He has earned his spurs fairly, just like every man of them. And this is all to the good for the sprightly lad; perhaps the threat of the expected honor and dignity that comes with such a lofty post can finally make him more of a Conrad and less of a Connie. Sir Gunther’s noble boots will make a strange fit at first, but Connie will grow into them. The pale purple cloak of the Guardsmen is a good look on him. Better than the mantle of the Knight of Joywatch, at any rate - that will be worn by little Martin Springer, who will be squiring for his older brother and taking up their knightly father’s lands and title in time.

Once, Jean had dreamed of donning a pale purple cloak. Mikasa Ackerman and her delicate prettiness dashed his aspirations to smithereens; little smitten Jean knew he could not wed her were he a Guardsman. Not that his lord father minded. Richard Kirschtein had not been subtle about his reluctance to let his boy take the purple. Doing so would have robbed him of his only son and heir, for the Guardsmen swear to relinquish all rights and titles they are born to in favor of serving the king for the rest of his life. Lord Richard would much prefer to see his line propagate House Kirschtein instead of some distant relation’s.

Looking back on it all makes Jean want to laugh at his childish presumptions, yet something in him still dares to hope. Father had gone courting once hint of his son’s interest reached him - the Ackermans are one of the oldest Houses of good Paradisian stock and one of the eight High Houses besides, this can bring them great prospects. Lord Lukas demurred, to Jean’s great disappointment, though he can take comfort in the fact that the offer was not met with an outright rejection. The Ackerman lord has been demurring all prospects for his only daughter for years, Jean has as much chance as any to win both father and daughter over to his suit.

He sneaks another glance at the younger Lady Ackerman and smiles at the look of sisterly pride on her face as Connie and his fellows receive their due honors. She is always so serious and austere that any moment of soft tenderness from her is such a sight to see. He drinks it all in for several heartbeats, before giving his attention back to the ongoing investiture with a renewed sense of invigoration.

Four good men had been lost to them in the North, and four good men have been named to assume their noble calling. It is always a pity to lose such paragons as Sir Eld Jinn and Sir Gunther Shultz, but Jean is more than passing certain that their squires will take up their mantles easily enough.

Beneath the resolute mask, Jean can sense Bertolt Hoover’s anxiety. He has often heard it said that Bertolt is the perfect squire: deferential, tractable, and so, so biddable. The less pleasant squires have taken to calling him the Squire behind his back, for that is all he ever will be; a proper knight should be able to lead as well as serve, and serving is all he knows. Yet the Guardsmen must have seen something in him to invite him amongst their ranks - meek and biddable he may ofttimes be yet Bertolt’s skill with arms is nothing to turn a nose up at. And being a Guardsman doesn’t require much leading, Jean supposes, unless he is the Lord Commander (and gods know Bertolt will never aspire to that). He should do well in the Guard.

Marin Tarasav will be taking Sir Adam Yaros’s post. Jean suspects this was done as some sort of apology to the Tarasavs for the Crown Prince’s… indiscretions with the Lady Gudrun Arlert. How well that will serve the late Lady Mariya’s kin is yet to be known; the appointment smells like a sop to Jean but it is what it is.

The last appointment is hopefully no sop as Sir Dorin Serech is more than eligible to replace his brother Sir Miron in the Guard. Here is another appointment that Jean can take pride in. Just like that, Marco finds himself squiring for a Royal Guardsman, and that is a boon upon a knightly aspirant such as him. Jean will see his friend rise as high as him, he is sure of it.

Four good men had been lost to them in the North. Now four good men are standing before them all, the king’s new protectors, clad in their purple cloaks clasped with their pins of silver and amethyst. The purple stones wink up at Jean as the transept erupts with thunderous applause, somehow suddenly putting to mind another entirely different stone altogether.

He wonders where the lawyer’s sunstone has gone to. The perturbed Lord Richard had discreetly gleaned the fact that the jewel was not in the priest’s person when they took him in, to their great relief. If the gods are good, it has been used for the betterment of their cause and sold off for the sake of the displaced Zhelevic. But greedy hearts are just as like to make off with something so precious. Jean hopes not; they did not risk implication just so some light-fingered bastard can make a quick profit.

Father Robert had claimed innocence to the absolute last. Jean was there at his execution, to attend his Lord Commander. The lawyer had been racked so badly that he had needed the aid of two burly men to keep him upright. Old as he was, it had not been hard to leave lasting damage; his hips, knees, and ankles had been stretched to breaking point, there was no using them ever again. But where he was headed, there would be no further use to them, not anymore. The image of the priest held up by his captors wrapped in chains, quietly bleeding, and grotesquely limp in all the wrong places haunts Jean once more. At least Robert’s had been a quicker death than his folk’s. Some of those in the fields had taken their time dying upon the noose. It was just ill luck that they did not have chains weighing them down and snapping their necks for them.

The Magister had wanted to look into Robert’s claims, but the king’s rage could not be quelled. Lord Richard is now trying to take on that mantle himself. Nice and discreet-like, as always. Tybur gaining control of Zheletov is a daunting prospect. Were the Zhelevic truly innocent, someone else was trying to tip the scales in the Consul’s favor. Father could see himself grappling with an unsanctioned insurgence, just as Yuri Halkin had. If they must point fingers, they had best gather hard evidence.

And all at once, Jean’s joy and triumph leak away to be replaced by dread. There are so many things lurking in the dark these days. These are early days, yet still… His eyes alight on the new knights before and next to him. It would seem that the realm will have need of the likes of them soon enough. What a time to be a knight.

The last enchanting strains of the high harp fade away along with the princess’s dulcet notes as she makes an end to her song. You applaud with all the rest in the queen’s presence chamber, gratified and proud of your lady. She truly has the sweetest voice.

Historia stands from her cushioned stool, giggling and waving away calls for a reprise. Her lady mother, Her Majesty Queen Linda, summons forth one of her ladies to fill the quiet her daughter left in her wake with more music. You sit upon a divan of purple velvet next to the lady and the high harp, enjoying the spell of the moment. It has been some time since last you picked up a lute or played the high harp. You quite miss singing for an audience; your mistress prefers the sound of gossip to the sound of song in her own rooms, and she would rather put your voice to spilling secrets than serenades.

There is a little rush as the young men of the court crowd around Historia, to her amused alarm. Foremost among them is Reiner Braun, who instantly waxes eloquent about the beauty of her voice and the grace of her form. You stand from your seat, inwardly shaking your head as you pass the mass of royal admirers. That one has always been the most cunt-struck of the princess’s devotees. Not that Historia will have them, anyway. The one she truly wants is beyond her reach at present.

It is a thing of great luck that you had been the one to catch the princess and her maid at their dalliance. This summer had been a blessing to them, perhaps the best they had yet received in the course of their courtship. You found yourself a conspirator in their forbidden romance the moment you were made privy to it but did not regret the fact. The happiness of your mistress and dear friend is of utmost importance. But it is not an easy thing, to keep a secret of such magnitude. As happy as you are for your princess, the fear of Historia getting caught compounded with the recent developments in the North make for heavy burdens.

Wine. I need wine.

A decanter of it sits waiting on a sideboard close to the occupied loungers by the hearth. You pour yourself a glass and walk toward the girls by the fire, who smile and hail you over.

“So good of you to join us. We were just commiserating with our poor Lady Pieck here,” Isabelle Seitz says, gesturing at the woman in black sitting on the purple velvet armchair across the one you claimed.

“I am very sorry for your loss, my lady,” you condole, which Pieck acknowledges with an incline of her head and a small smile. The only heir to House Finger of Mühllug is a striking figure. She does not have the beauty that singers and poets love but something about her dark looks draws the eye all the same; she is a great favorite of the young men of the court, and most go in thrall of her. After speaking to her that first time, you can understand why. The woman is charmingly affable and has an easy way about her.

“My lady is most kind. Although,” Pieck lowers her voice and glances around carefully, before continuing, “it wasn’t much of a loss, truly.”

Hannah Kefka shudders in her seat on the purple divan situated between the two armchairs in front of the fireplace and its gently snapping flames. “You will forgive my saying so, Pieck, but I do agree. Thank the gods for my sweet, darling Franz,” she gushes, dreamy and starry-eyed. “At least he still has all his teeth.”

“Oh, you can be sure my next husband will have all of his, Father must oblige me on that. Being gummed all over gets tiring before long. I want someone with more… bite,” Pieck gleams at you all, eliciting giggles.

“We would have the truth from you, Lady Finger. Was it gout or sex that did for your old man?” Isabelle asks eagerly, ever the busybody.

The old Lord Rahojsa had passed in his sleep three days past, leaving his young wife of two years widowed and flying back to the custody of her father. His gout prevailed over him at last, the Healers claimed, yet that proved to be too deadly dull to the tattle-loving court. His three previous marriages produced no living sons and so it was widely said that, with this new marriage and a younger, more fertile wife, he had sought to remedy that problem most enthusiastically. In the end, all that sex at his ripe old age of four-and-fifty had killed him dead, the gossipmongers giggled behind their deceptively prim and proper hands. He just could not keep up with a nineteen-year-old young woman in her prime; he lasted two years, at least, they all gave him that.

Pieck sighs and sips her wine. “I’m afraid the court has it right for once,” she announces, to Isabelle’s delight and Mina Carolina’s scandalized fascination. “That was very unseemly of him. And the disrespect. He didn’t even reach his peak,” Pieck smirks at that bit of witticism and goes on, “the least he could do is get me in pup and give me an heir but alas. Old seed is weak seed and no amount of fucking will make it take root.”

“D-did he really die while…” Mina trails off, face flushing a vivid crimson. The black-haired girl is always a delicate one when it comes to more intimate matters, yet still she oft listens in on them as though she cannot help herself.

“Oh, yes. He died in me, actually,” Pieck remarks, offhand, to all of the listening ladies’ stunned horror. “Now I have some inkling as to what it’s like to indulge in Sir Henlein’s particular penchants.”

A shudder of disgust passes through you, and you hurriedly down a mouthful of red to mask the taste of revulsion on your tongue. Sir Gabriel Henlein, by and large, is a respectable, unassuming man from a respectable and unassuming House sworn to the Reisses. He serves as castellan for his elder brother, the current Lord Henlein, and does his duty well and ably. Would that he is all he seems. The man has been seen frequenting the Phantasm, that most questionable of brothels in the Red Walk, heavily rumored to indulge in a man’s more… adventurous tastes, the least of which are beautiful corpses. You had once wondered, in revolted interest, how the place manages to acquire such commodities but decided not to satisfy your curiosity. The knowledge would most like scar you for life.

“Honestly, Sir Corpsefucker makes it seem a great deal more pleasurable than it truly is. Old he may have been but Husband - may the gods give him rest, poor soul - at least could thrust and pound away at me. Before doing so made him a corpse himself, to be sure.” Pieck shakes her head, mischievously dolorous. “While I won’t say no to taking the reins every once in a while, I would loathe having to do it all the time. I need… reciprocation, I need life and passion, and I find the dead quite lacking in those. But I suppose some men prefer their women less lively.”

A gale of laughter meets her words, and she continues. “Gout,” Pieck rolls her eyes at that. “These priests and their pretensions, I tell you.”

“At least you can have more of a say on your next husband,” you put in, once again extremely grateful to the gods (and your parents) for saddling you with the young, strapping lad that is Eren Jaeger. Such luck, indeed. At least he is less like to die in bed with you. You take another hearty gulp of wine to rid your mind of fancies that include Eren and beds. You can indulge in them later in the privacy of your chambers.

“Mm-hmm. And this time I’ll get one who actually knows where the clit is.”

Isabelle stuffs her knuckles into her mouth to smother her shriek of merriment as Hannah blushes to the roots of her hair and Mina squeaks in embarrassment, face buried in her hands.

“For all their prissy pretensions, these priests know how to name things, I give them that,” Pieck goes on, quite unmindful of the furor she has raised in your little circle. “Clitoris. Clit. I like it. The clit and the cunt, the woman’s greatest founts of pleasure.”

“Have you no shame, Pieck? You speak beneath the portrait of a queen of spotless repute,” you chide in jest, covering your mouth in amusement. It is a pity Historia isn’t with you. She would have much and more to contribute to the chinwag, were she free of her persistent zealots.

Pieck glances at the portrait hanging above the glass-fronted cupboard beside the hearth and snorts most inelegantly. “Oh, spare me your shame. All queens have clits and cunts, and that one’s were used often and well, as her fourteen children could attest.” Eleanor of Aviçon stares down at you all, a comely woman with pretty, brown doe’s eyes and hair cascading down her shoulders in soft, elegant brown ringlets. She certainly does not look very reproachful or scandalized. “But, truly, is she as spotless as they would all have us believe? You don’t get fourteen whelps by being a virginal nelly. Pretty thing, though, isn’t she? Small wonder Berthold the Buck couldn’t get his royal prick out of her. Now that’s a man who knows where the clit is, if his reputation was anything to go by.”

“Oh! Speaking of whelps-” Isabelle leans forward, sly and underhand. “I heard that the Constant Whore has gotten herself in pup.”

“Gods, that Alma woman,” you remark, voice snide and cool and forbidding all of a sudden. You do not think much of the king’s official mistress. The Alma woman had first entered court as Historia’s governess and, by all your friend’s accounts, did a botched job of it. She spent the barest time educating her royal charge and preferred to moon around court, preening and flirting with the men.

While you thought this fantastically negligent, it paled to the utterly appalling way the supposed governess had treated her ward that one fateful day.

Historia, ever the affectionate child, had tried to hug her lady tutor. The woman forgot herself entirely and shoved the little princess away so hard that she hit the edge of the desk the governess was sitting in front of. That broke Historia’s nose and the bitch’s contract. Furthermore, for harming one of the blood royal, Alma would have lost her own nose - had she not seduced her former charge’s kingly father.

It was some spell, some potion, some hedge witchery, that made the king so beholden to her, the court liked to claim. She escaped punishment and was given her old post back, to the queen’s horror. Long had she tolerated her husband’s infidelities but this she would not bear. He could do as he liked with this new whore, but never again must she go anywhere near the royal children. An easy enough stipulation to adhere to, for the king, and so it was done. Today, Madam Alma is a governess in name only - everyone knows what she truly is.

“Hmm, she’s been the official whore for a decade, and not once has she whelped. Why now?” Pieck wonders, tapping long, shapely fingers against her bottom lip.

“If she thinks to have her bastard legitimized, she has another thing coming. The king’s never acknowledged any one of them. And why should he? He has two living sons, six children in all by Her Majesty,” Isabelle opines.

“Someone forgot to drink her söga,” you remark, but then add, “He did acknowledge his get from Tatyana Alyokhina earlier this year, but that was only because she’s highborn.”

“Perhaps she thinks to get the same settlement as the lady?” Hannah puts forward. “He gave her rich holdings for her upkeep. Perhaps Alma’s banking on him doing the same for her since she’s been favored so long.”

Pieck stands and heads to the sideboard to refill her glass. “What’s her secret, do you reckon? How does one become a Constant Whore? The king flits and fucks where he will but somehow, he always comes back to her.” She returns and settles back into her armchair, glass sufficiently full. Gossip is thirsty work, after all.

You look away, mockingly prim. “I wouldn’t know. I’m still an honest maid, I wouldn’t know her whore’s tricks, I’m still pure and quite untouched.” Pieck snorts and shoots a swift artful glance over at Roman Meledin chatting animatedly with his betrothed by one of the tall glass windows.

“Whatever the case, poor Queen Linda, having to bear all of that for all this time. And she handles it with such grace, too,” Mina comments, a little sadly, and you all glance over at Her Majesty, where she is sitting on her throne at the end of the chamber, sewing shirts for the poor with her retinue. Her ladies are all huddled around her feet, skirts spread out around them in rich swathes of silk and samite and satin as they go about their work. Beside them all, the recently widowed Lady Elena Tarana sings her songs with a sweet sadness. The whole scene makes for a charming tableau.

“Speak of poor ladies, though, I do commiserate with the Lady Tarana.” Hannah watches the lady at her play with a gaze of solemn sympathy. “I cannot imagine what I would do if my sweet Franz leaves me for the Fields.”

And there it is. You shift a little in your seat, your grip tightening a little around the gilt stem of your glass. You knew it would come to this eventually. How can it not when it hangs over the court like a bloody shroud? It is all you can do not to leap off of your chair and sweep out of the queen’s rooms.

Pieck turns to you, to your utter dread. “Have they found a likely candidate for the new Procurator yet?”

You take a little wine and smile your courtier’s smile. “Father is of the opinion that the king has his man, though he hasn’t said who exactly. I suppose we’ll know come winter when the court reconvenes.” Poor mousy little Anton Taran. The lord treasurer had been a casualty in the northern ambush all those weeks ago, curiously and woefully the only one of the Conclave to perish. A chill runs through you at the reminder of how close Father had been to being one of those casualties. You give yourself a little shake, deep within. No use dwelling on the what-ifs. Onward and upward. Onward and upward.

“I still can’t believe the Skaryns are gone,” Mina says in a hushed tone, her fingers curling on her lap. “It seems like only yesterday when I was speaking to Margarita Skaryna about northern fashions… I cannot wrap my head around it.”

“The Halkins truly are lucky,” Isabelle speaks after a short silence. “They may have lost a lot but better their lands and prestige than their lives.”

Kostrokan now belongs to the Volnys, one of the few Kostrokish Houses who are partial to the king. The Halkins had lost most of their lands to the new Paramount House but were allowed to keep the wardenship of the Godsway. All important activity and business in the State will move to the new capital, Konicaj, the ancient seat of the Volnys, now bigger with the addition of the neighboring Elibine lands.

The Crown State of Mitras saw itself expanding as well with the addition of Zheletov to the royal lands of Herstadt. The Volny appointment had come as quite a surprise to the court, as many and more had thought that a wardenship was in the cards for Tybur. It will seem that the king is still short with his cousin, no matter the recent shower of favors. Perhaps he thought a wardenship would be too much on top of the governance of Ishvelune.

This has not been met with bleak silence. Already, reports of stirring dissidents from the rest of the North are coming down to the capital. Thus far, most of the northern lords, cowed by the show of royal rage, have kept the discontent from getting out of hand.

The brewing, ever-growing conflict in the highlands feeds the stuff of your worst fears. It is good that the autumn reprieve is upon you at last. The comforts of home are much welcome and sorely, sorely missed. Down in the far South, at least, the North and its increasing tensions are far, far away and will not touch you and those you love. Tomorrow cannot come fast enough. I need to be away. Away.

“I beg your pardon, my ladies, but the hour grows late and I still have much packing to supervise with my household,” you announce to your little circle, who groan and pout and plead for your continued presence, only to yield to your pretext with goodbyes and well-wishes for a safe journey home on the morrow.

Never mind that your goods are packed and waiting for the grooms to cord them all up in the baggage train in the morning. A nice calming soak in the bath (and a good book) will do you wonders. You have the winter season to reel in whatever fresh miseries the realm will see fit to give you. Let autumn be your escape.

And Eren. You smile to yourself as you make to leave the queen’s chambers, having just finished your goodnights and farewells with your princess, who looked mournful at the reminder of the court’s reprieve. Autumn and home and Eren. These are what await you soon, your greatest comforts.

Your plans of escape and baths are abruptly dashed by no less a personage than your princess’s betrothed. To say you are surprised will be understating things. Jurgen has never paid you heed in all your years at court together. He does not seem to be in his cups as well, which makes your wariness instantly rise along with your courtier’s mask. It would have been a great deal easier to put him off were he drunk - easy enough to outwit and outmaneuver a man in his cups than one outside them.

Linse brings you on with pretensions to poetry, and you sigh to yourself. Very well. If he wants to play at courtly love (please gods, let it be only courtly love) then you can indulge him. You are no novice to the romance of the court, the least and meanest sort of romance that, in the surface, seems to promise you everything but more often than not promises nothing at all.

And so you find yourself sitting on the window seat of one of the chamber’s embrasures, doing your utmost best not to glance outside the leaded panes in utter boredom as the Linse boy recites his (terrible) verses to you. He is now attempting to write sonnets to your beauty, waving away your politely pointed remark about his betrothed, the Princess Historia Reiss, and how he should be writing of her instead.

“It would please me to write of you, my lady,” Linse simpers. “A woman of such surpassing beauty deserves to be written of, to be made immortal in verse. Indeed, you are so beautiful that it is the duty of every man to love and praise you, and I have always been a dutiful man. Besides,” a dark, almost nasty look flashes across his face as he glances over at the crowd of young men around Historia, so fast you almost miss it, “my most beloved betrothed has all the sonnets she needs. She will not miss mine.”

The smile on your face has taken on a fixed quality, you are sure of it. A demurral slips onto the tip of your tongue.

“Oh, don’t sell yourself so short, Linse. I’m sure you can trounce them all, with that silver tongue of yours.”

Your heart stops and you look up with a hastily stifled gasp. Eren is standing before your seat, face dark as an autumn storm, utterly at odds with the saffron-yellow tunic he is wearing. The added couple of inches to his height are used to impressive effect; he towers over you and your aspirant poet, and you can see, from the corner of your eye, Jurgen shrink a little but recover himself almost at once.

“You flatter me, Sir, but I must confess I believe my wit and my silver tongue have been entirely spent in the service of the Amethyst Empress,” he gleams at you in your silver and purple gown and your hairpiece of amethysts. “And so I have nothing for any other, no wit, no words, no love.”

That last word makes your betrothed’s eyes flash. “Oh, surely you have wit enough to know when to fucking piss off. My lord.” His hand has gone to the ornamental bronze belt around his waist, to where his blade will normally hang if he has it.

You twine your fingers together upon your lap. The very air within the chambers has, all of a sudden, grown peculiarly hot and cold at the same time.

"Eren-"

“Very well. I have overstayed my welcome, it seems, I am wise enough to admit defeat. If you desire more… refined company, you need only ask, my lady. I bid you good night,” Jurgen Linse gives you a winning smile as he stands with his things in hand. “Sir,” this he directs at Eren coolly, before taking his leave, all proper and dignified.

Eren watches him go, his jaw clenched tight with anger. One year of betrothal and friendship had never given you cause to fear him yet now… You chew on your lip at the look on his face. Never have you seen him so livid. You reach up, tentative and uncertain, for his hand, nearly flinching back as his incensed gaze flicks to you, quick and abrupt and menacing.

His expression softens as he catches sight of you, and he sighs. His fingers, long and calloused, lace through yours, allowing you to draw him down to the window seat with you.

“Fucking prick,” he growls, and his hand tightens around yours. “Any other respectable man would’ve been put off by a betrothal necklace… the fucking gall-” And he trails off into furious mutters, something something something ‘how dare he mention love to someone spoken for’ and ‘fucking spoiled pretentious lordlings,’ and other invectives that make you smile despite the situation.

“I thank you, Sir, for delivering me from the utter tedium that was Jurgen Linse’s verse,” you interpose through his irate tirade, successfully breaking him from his monologue.

He looks at you a moment and smiles, a little grudgingly. “Isn’t that what knights are for? Saving ladies from cunts like Jurgen Linse. It’s a duty I’ll happily hold to if it concerns you.” He glares around at the rest of the room, at the young men with their marks for the night, flirting, endlessly flirting. “Had I known better, I would’ve asked if I was looking at Some Boy.”

You take care not to let your eyes stray over to Roman and his beloved, and ventures, “Still on the scent, are you?”

“No,” Eren says mulishly, then amends, sullen and sour, “It makes no matter, anyway. I still wouldn’t be able to get so much as a peep of his name from you. But I’m sure one of these outstanding paragons of chivalry was the former favorite.” He gazes around once more, eyes narrowed and suspicious.

The thinly veiled jealousy in his tone is gratifying and concerning in equal measure. “Well, I can’t risk you making mince of his face. Such a scandal is something I am not disposed to manage.”

“It’s no more than he deserves,” Eren mutters, thunderously dark once more to your dawning dismay. His fingers dig almost painfully against the back of your hand. You wince a little and flutter your fingers within his hold. At once, he loosens his grip with hasty apologies and gentle strokes of your skin with his thumb.

The true depths of his jealousy had never been made clearer to you as it was then. You are not entirely sure how to take it. It had seemed a light thing once, common enough in boys (and girls) who had a claim on another. Yet you cannot help but sense a certain darkness in his envy, something dark and deep and dangerous, a shadow beneath his abyss.

You being that familiar with another man doesn’t sit well with me at all.

A shudder goes through you at the memory of his ominous tone that spring night. There was something thrilling in it; there was something chilling in it.

You give him a placating smile. “It’s in the past, Eren. Whatever feelings and dealings there were between me and Some Boy are long gone. And how many times must I give you tokens for you to see where my favor lies these days?”

The smile he flashes you then is a deal more genuine, and what chill there is in the air slowly begins to dissipate. He has yet to let go of your hand.

You sigh inwardly, relieved. “So, what brings you ‘round these parts? Correct me if I’m wrong but I have never recalled you visiting the queen’s rooms before.” Which is not out of the ordinary, for him. Only the flirtiest men are constant guests in these royal chambers. The royal women’s maids and ladies are often to be found thereabouts in service to their mistresses, and so the men buzz about, drawn to beauty and elegance as bees are drawn to flowers. As it is, the queen’s presence chamber has always and will perhaps forever be the place of flirtation. Queen Eleanor the Elegant set a strong tradition for it, at any rate.

Another look at your betrothed has you wanting to stifle a laugh. Eren Jaeger, with his grounded earnestness, is entirely out of place amongst his fawning, sycophantic peers, masters all of the art of courtly love, the best and most passionate of liars. He is the least flirtiest boy you have ever met. Well, except for Armin. Like calls to like, as they say.

“I stopped visiting about… a couple of years after I entered court?” Eren glances around, taking in the tasteful music, the greatest beauties of the realm, and the myriad, endless circles of flirtation, and shakes his head. “Nothing has changed from what I recall of it. I was only here because I was new to court and easily biddable. I went my own way soon enough. I’d rather do something more worthwhile like training than waste my time here flirting and being idle.” A peek at your face has him quickly adding, “Not that everything you do here is idle. Sewing shirts for the poor is a noble task! It’s just the rest of it that I don’t hold with.”

You giggle at his little fumble, glad to see his features clear of the storm that had beset it earlier. You squeeze his hand gently (still he will not free you). “We’re more idle than not in these rooms, true enough. But going back to my question: what brings you ‘round these parts?”

Eren blinks at you, as though the answer should have been obvious. “You. I wanted your company so I looked for you. They told me you were here so here I am. Honestly, only your presence could persuade me to set foot in this place again.” The jaundiced, suspicious look from earlier returns to tarnish his face. “Perhaps I should make it a habit. If only to fend off the scum…”

The beginnings of a tremble start to assail your upper lip. You place a hand over your mouth and titter, like some milkmaid being given the best of the summer berries by the farm hand she has been eyeing over at the other pasture. His last few words do not even register, so great is your glee. A fleeting gaze around the room shows you the friends you are supposed to have left some time ago, looking over at you with raised eyebrows and quizzical smiles.

Elsewhere, you can see a handful of the younger, prettier maids eyeing your betrothed, giggling and whispering behind their own delicate hands. The sight is enough to curdle the joy inside you. You are not the only one enamored of Eren Jaeger’s dashing good looks - you have quite forgotten that. He’s not here for them, though, the girl inside you whispers, smugly triumphant. He doesn’t belong to them. “Jurgen Linse should take notes - your conversation is so much better than his verse. Your budding poet trumps his practicing poet by leagues.”

“Is that what you want?”

You stare at him, confused by the unexpected query. And by his expression. There is that strangely blank look again, the very same that he had worn the day he failed to kiss you. It perplexes you now as it did then. Before you can ask what he means, he goes on, “Are the flowers not enough? Do you want the flowery words, the poems, the grand gestures?” He looks out across the chambers once more, and the emptiness is filled with uncertainty. “It’s what you’re used to, after all. And… I’m not. What you’re used to. Did Some Boy write you poems? Maybe I could be more-”

“I don’t want any of that.”

That look of surprise on his sweet face will always remain so endearing to you. You bring both your entwined hands up so you can cup that sweet face into your palm and feel the warmth of him. “I don’t want the poems and the grand gestures and the empty flirtations,” you tell him, as earnest as he. “Any words you say are verse enough to my ears. I don’t need or want you to be a grand romantic, ‘Ren. I like you just as you are: a novice and utterly, helplessly useless at courtly love. Because that makes you more real. I’d rather have your simple truths than any man’s flowery lies.”

His eyes turn to green glass and you see, with a jolt of shock, the film of tears that gloss over and fill the verdant pools near to overflowing.

Oh, sweetheart.

“Are you crying, ‘Ren?” you ask lightly, gently, tenderly rubbing your thumb across the apple of his left cheek. You note, with a small pang, the new red scar above his left eyebrow - a token of his knighthood, of the day he earned it.

He sniffles and turns his head to bury his face in your hand as if to hide away. His grip on you tightens. “No,” he mumbles in a small, thick voice, muffled by your palm. The tips of his darling ears have turned a pretty pink.

Your heart melts even more. “I would believe that whole tosh about having nothing for any other if it came from you,” you tell him, wanting more, more of this sweet, endearing, darling Eren who is quickly becoming the delight of your eyes. The side of his face that you can see has turned a deeper scarlet, to your elation, his skin so warm that, had you known better, you would have thought he had a fever. “And, you know, I wouldn’t like you as much if you were flirtier.” He is no Jean Kirschtein or Reiner Braun, the most proficient of flirts. But that is good. He need only flirt with you.

And he is more than passing capable, you think, now finding your own cheeks prickling as you recall his many attempts at seduction. All true and honest and successful, oh-so successful, which is more than you can say for the ones you have received over the years. You cannot even claim as much; he makes a more candid flirt than you, who only know the language of courtly love and have never dabbled in love sincere.

Eren emerges at last from the cover of your hand, face still Rhyzkov crimson but with eyes a clear Jaeger green, no longer of glass. He smiles up at you a little tremulously, lifts your hand from his face, and places the gentlest of kisses across the back of your knuckles.

Your skin still tingles long after you had set yourself the task of fetching wine for you both. His lips are pillow soft and pleasantly warm. Your friends swarm up to you to make inquiries to your continued presence yet you hardly notice, interacting on reflex with your mind firmly attached to your betrothed and his gentle mouth across your skin.

You come to him with wine and a smile, and for a long while you speak of the morrow and autumn and home, everything but your brief intimacy. Yet still it lingers deep. You have never dabbled in love sincere. Perhaps it is time that you have. It is ridiculous of you, you have come to realize, to always deal with false coin in the market of love when all along there has been another, better, truer currency of pure gold. That pure gold is now in your reach - it will be foolish to continue to dismiss the true and the valuable for the false and the lesser.

The talk turns to knighthood at length, as it inevitably will with this new-made knight.

“How has knighthood been so far? The little taste of it you’ve had, I mean,” you inquire, cradling your wineglass and settling back comfortably in the cushions of the window seat.

“It’s strange not being at Sir Levi’s beck and call now, for a start. To think he’s actually a peer. The greatest knight of the realm himself is my peer,” Eren says wonderingly after a mouthful of wine. “And I’ve already met little Falco.” A fond smile spreads across his lips. “Good lad. I hope to make a fine knight of him someday. I’ll introduce you when we go back to court after the reprieve.” He lets out a huff of air, an anxious gesture at the thought of having such influence on another’s fortune. “All the rest of it’ll be arranged come winter. And then… my knighthood commences. At last.”

The way he said this last was less exultant than the statement warranted. The smile slowly fades from his face as he stares down at the depths of his drink. “I thought I’d be happier,” he admits after a time. “I have everything I want, haven’t I? Everything I’ve dreamed of, worked for, served for. I finally have it but… it holds no joy for me.”

Clear as day, you see the gleam of a falling axe. And the slow creep of red. “The horrors are still fresh. I suppose not even the savor of knighthood can wash the taste of copper from our mouths.”

“I don’t know who to rage against. The northmen for their treachery or the king for his cruelty.”

“Hush,” you say at once, looking around swiftly for too-close ears. All are far off and out of earshot of treason, to your great fortune. Eren shoots you a mutinous look but does not press on, to your relief. “Dangerous to say such things here, close to royal hearing,” you tell him in an undertone.

Eren sighs and drains his glass. “You’re right. As usual.” He smiles ruefully. “I didn’t mean to weigh down the air. And it’s such a good night, too.” He squares his shoulders and straightens up, extending a hand toward you. “I’m a knight, the reprieve’s upon us, and Arsechkala awaits. We have a lot to rejoice.”

You glance at his face to his hand and back again, smile, and lace your fingers through his. You leave the queen’s chambers light and cheery. No use dwelling on unpleasantness. It will always be there, waiting. In the meantime, you will live and carry on and snatch joy where you can.

“Don’t forget to finish your packing,” you remind him once you reach the set of corridors that will take you to your respective apartments.

Eren groans and whines like a spoiled child. “Yes, m’lady.” A look of mischief rolls over his face, quick as a wink. “Perhaps m’lady would like to help me with my packing. Two is better than one, as they say, and the work’ll go faster.”

“Are you luring me to your rooms? At this hour?” you reply without a hitch in your bearing, though your heart is threatening to leap out of your chest. “For shame, Sir. Knights are supposed to be paragons of virtue. How dare you tempt me into bed with you.”

Eren is smirking now, hot and sensual all of a sudden. “It was worth a stab.” And he pulls you toward him by your interlaced fingers.

Your heart stops as he bends down to brush his lips across your cheek. Soap and wood and Eren engulfs your senses, and the burn of his touch feels good. Terrifyingly so.

Eren straightens up leisurely and stares down at you. “Far be it from me to tempt you to sin. Though,” his eyes, turning slowly black as sin, skim over your face with a measured hunger, “you have the look for it.” His fingers slip from yours to run lightly over the spot where he had kissed you. “A token of good night. Perhaps you’ll dream of me, then. My lady.” He inclines his head, gaze dark and intense, and leaves you standing in the middle of the hall.

There is a loud pounding of drums, and it takes you a while to realize it is coming from your own chest. Absently, you find yourself touching your face. Burning, burning with fever.

I already dream of you.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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A/N:

At last! The first chapter of the year! Have a 15K word chapter for the month-long absence!

Soooooo the modern AU oneshot was shoved to the backburner because my inner muses decided to focus on this instead. Since it’s my beloved baby, I couldn’t resist. Alsosmutcomeseasiertomewhenitactuallyhasaplot... asdasdsdfsdfjsdfjskfs

Did I mean for Chap. 13 to be filled with executions and introspection? Not really, but the stars aligned ✨

Added one (1) throwaway sentence to Proctor Nick's dialogue in chap. 6 about not offending the North just to tie it neatly to things mentioned here.

And yes, clit is a word in this world. I tried making it sound better and more “poetic” but I risked making it sound awkward. I do not want to go down the route of wordy phrases and descriptions for a tiny body part that will see a lot of play later (HEH). It all ends up sounding horribly and awkwardly like 'fat pink mast' and I have to repeat words that sound like that every time the clit is mentioned and. Just no.

And have more kisses to compensate for the failed attempt! It’s still a start! (Was I giggling and taking so many breaks because I couldn’t handle Eren and his Eren-ness? Yes). ‘Home’ awaits next time and thank you for reading, to my readers!!!

Tagging: @alekstraszas @lukepattersin @aki-and-saltfish

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #eren jeager x reader #Eren Jaeger #eren yeager #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan

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zeciex · 4 months

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@ferairee asked for Aemond's Pov. of their first time together during the chapter 'Ruination'

**Does not include the smut**

In the stillness of the room, a voice, soft yet accusing, broke through. “You did it.”

Aemond’s heart skipped a beat as she emerged from her concealment, drawing his gaze irresistibly to her. He quickly suppressed his surprise, feigning annoyance instead.

In the dimly lit chamber, illuminated only by the flickering flames of the fire, Aemond’s gaze lingered on her. She stood before him, devoid of her usual opulent attire, presenting a more vulnerable, almost intimate visage in just her nightgown. His eye traced the contours of her form, captivated by the soft firelight that played across her figure.

The gentle glow cast shadows and highlights over her, accentuating the gentle curve of her shoulders and the graceful line of her neck. Her dark curls, usually so meticulously styled, now fell freely down her back in an untamed cascade, adding to her alluringly disheveled appearance.

The thin fabric of her nightgown hun around her, the silhouette of her curves teasing beneath.

“What did I do?” Aemond inquired, reclining leisurely in his chair, his head resting against its high back. He observed, with amusement, the deepening scowl on her face. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You know what,” Daenera retorted, her voice laced with contempt as she moved closer. “Aran.”

As she approached, Aemond noticed the glint of the blade in her hand, and his pulse quickened–not from fear, but from an unnamable anticipation. What was her intention? To wound him as retribution for unveiling the truth of her own heart?

A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth. “What unfortunate luck. He was quite skilled, I must admit.”

“Luck?!” The word was a venomous spit from Daenera, now mere inches from him.

He felt the icy kiss of steel against his neck, the dagger’s point pressing menacingly into his skin. His gaze drifted across her face–the blush on her cheeks, the fiery intensity in her eyes, and how her hair framed her face as she loomed over him. The ghostly outlines of her figure were tantalizingly veiled, barely discernible–yet there, within reach.

A longing stirred within him, his hands clenching to resist the urge to touch–to see if her skin was as soft and pliable as he remembered. His eye wandered from her lips, the corners of which were slightly turned down, and back to her eyes, blue like cornflowers with specks of violet.

“Aran is paralyzed because of you!” Daenera hissed. “He will never walk again, never ride or fight or–”

The tension in the room swirled like a silent storm as Aemond interrupted her, a flicker of amusement in his voice, “Marry a princess. But you wouldn’t have married him regardless, would you?”

“That’s not the point!” Daenera retorted, her voice almost reaching an exclamation, frustration coloring her tone at the undeniable truth in his words.

She had never truly intended to marry the boy; it was a fleeting fantasy, a superficial, if not childish, notion. Deep down, she must have known it was unlikely to happen–Daemon would properly have never consented to such a union. Yet, she seemed to have allowed herself to believe her own pretense.

“Isn’t it?” Aemond prodded further, his tone suggesting. “Wasn’t that the purpose of this entire charade?”

“Aran was good and kind. He had his whole life ahead of him, and you snatched it away. You stole his future!” Daenera accused, her voice heavy with emotion.

“It’s a grave accusation, Princess,” Aemond replied calmly, unfazed by the anger in her eyes. “I wasn’t the one swinging the sword.”

“No, you were the one scheming. Why else would Baratheon restlessly target Aran? Why would he continue to strike him?” Daenera pressed, her grip on the dagger tightening as she leaned closer to him.

In that moment, Aemond found himself unexpectedly captivated by her proximity. The sweet, floral scent of her, reminiscent of a summer’s day, filled his senses. His heart raced, a warmth spreading beneath his skin as he fought the urge to close the distance between them, to gently brush his hand beneath her hair and draw her closer. A part of him resented the way his body instinctively reacted to her presence, the way she unwittingly stirred something within him.

He wanted nothing more than to ruin her for it.

Aemond maintained a composed demeanor as he addressed Daenera’s accusations.

“Boris Baratheon is his own man, in full control of his own interests,” he casually remarked. He had only offered suggestions; if Boris chose to act upon them, the responsibility was his.

Daenera, seemingly fueled by a mix of fury and determination, seized Aemond’s hair with her free hand, forcefully pulling it back against the chair. This action exposed his throat and caused his head to tilt upwards, meeting her intense gaze. The sharp sting from the tug sent a jolt through Aemond, his eye fluttering and lips parting in a hiss of pain mixed with an inexplicable thrill. He felt an involuntary response in his body, arousal stirring within him at her boldness.

She was perilously close now, so much so that Aemond was almost compelled to reach out and let his hand wander beneath the fabric of her nightgown. Would she allow it?

“Boris Baratheon may be his own man, but I know your influence played a part in this madness. Without you, Aran might not have suffered as he did,” Daenera asserted with a sneer.

“Has it crossed your mind that Boris Baratheon might have thought to honor you by besting the boy who so brazenly put forth his hand in marriage to you? That it was a mere act of honoring you?” Aemond proposed, watching as her eyes narrowed at him.

“There was no honor in this,” Daenera retorted sharply, and in her words lay an undeniable truth.

Aemond had been the mastermind of the current situation, orchestrating events to remove Aran from his path, and more importantly, to make Daenera face the truth about herself. He had anticipated some form of petty retaliation, but he hadn’t expected her appearance in the dead of night, with a dagger threateningly positioned at this throat–hadn’t expected she had the courage to face him like this.

She was so close, within arm’s reach.

“And what of you?” Aemond challenged.

“What about me?”

“Let’s not pretend that you ever truly considered him as a viable choice,” Aemond responded smoothly, his words carefully chosen to pierce through her defenses. He could see the impact of his observation, the realization that maybe she had been deceiving herself. If Daenera had truly intended to marry the Blackwood boy, she wouldn’t be here now, exposing her vulnerabilities in such a blatant manner.

Seizing the moment, Aemond allowed his fingers to lightly brush the skin of her knee. The unexpected touch seemed to startle her, causing her to step back. But he was quick to react, his hand darting out to grasp her wrist firmly, preventing her retreat, all while the dagger’s edge remained pressed against his skin.

“You are lying to yourself if you thought he was enough for you,” Aemond murmured.

“I care for Aran,” Daenera responded, her voice heavy, betraying her uncertainty.

“Do you?”

Aemond found a dark amusement in the lies she seemed to tell herself. As the blade pressed deeper into his skin, he felt a shiver cascade down his spine, a mixture of danger and anticipation.

“I do,” she repeated. “I do.”

“Mmm,” Aemond hummed, his lips curling into a smug smile. “Perhaps you do, but you could never love him. You would never yearn for him–burn for him.”

“Is that why you conspired against him?” Daenera retorted sharply, her challenge cutting through the air. “To save me from a passionless marriage?”

With a sudden release of her grip, she stepped back, her eyes piercing as she evaluated him. Aemond, unflinching, allowed the raw lust within him to surface unmasked, his expression settling into a knowing smirk. He felt a small trickle of blood where the dagger had pressed against his enc and casually wiped it away with his finger.

“Oh gods. You’re mad,” Daenera declared, her lips twisting into a humorless smile. “You paralyzed Aran simply because you desire me. You don’t want anyone else to have me, even when you don’t have me.”

In response, Aemond rose from his chair, his movements deliberate as he closed the distance between them, an imposing figure. He was acutely aware of the uncomfortable tightness of his trousers, a physical testament to the tension between them.

Daenera, defiant yet visibly affected, raised the dagger in a threatening gesture, but it did little to dissuade him.

“Do not pretend that it doesn’t excite you,” he observed, noting the tell-tale signs in her– the flush on her neck, the quickening of her breath, the way her gaze lingered on him. He was certain she harbored the same desires form him as he did hers, as intense as his own, though she cloaked them in denial.

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Why did you come here tonight?” Aemond challenged.

Daenera faltered, her mouth opening and closing as if westling with her true intentions.

“Cat got your tongue?” Aemond taunted with an edge in his voice.

“I came here to avenge Aran,” she finally responded, her words sounding more like a rehearsed line than a heartfelt declaration. “I came here to pluck the other eye from your skull.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed with an intensity that spoke volumes. “Liar.”

“Step back,” Daenera commanded, her hand wavering slightly as she bransied the dagger in a futile attempt to intimidate him.

“What are you going to do?” Aemond drawled, deliberately stepping closer to heighten the tension, daring her. “You come to my chambers with a dagger, you threaten me, and then what? Are you going to kill me?”

The fallacies in this plan were astounding, which only served to underline the reason for her presence. It was not revenge, that was a cover, another lie she told herself.

Before she could muster a response, Aemond acted swiftly. He seized her wrist in a vice-like grip, pulling her towards him with a force that left no room for resistance. In a fluid motion, he spun her around, her back flush against his front. His grip remained unyielding on the wrist holding the dagger, pinning it against her chest. His other arm encircled her waist, holding her in place. He felt the warmth of her body, sensed the subtle tremor that coursed through her.

A low chuckle escaped him.

“You’re despicable!” Daenera spat, her body tense as she struggled against his hold.

“I am,” Aemond murmured in agreement, his voice a velvet caress.

Daenera’s laugh, cold and laced with desperation, rang out in the room. “I wondered what would drive you to such lengths just to hurt me. I thought it might be common cruelty, given your fondness for it… but the answer is much simpler, isn’t it? You were jealous.”

The accusation struck a chord within Aemond, igniting a sneer on his lips. “You know, if it had been me down there, on the arena sands, facing the Blackwood whelp, I would have run him through with my sword.”

“How terribly green of you,” Daenera taunted, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“And even then,” Aemond whispered softly, his fingers gently brushing away the strands of hair that obscured her ear, “You would still desire me.”

His words barely had time to settle before she reacted with an unexpected ferocity. A choked sound escaped him as she fiercely stomped on his foot, simultaneously driving her elbow back into his stomach with force. Caught off guard, Aemond doubled over, gasping for breath.

Daenera seized the moment, gripping him firmly and pushing him back until he stumbled onto the bed.

The softness of the mattress contrasted sharply with the intensity of the moment as Aemond landed on his back. Daenera straddled his hips, with a sneer on her lips. He could feel her pressing against him, her movements stirring a deep, primal response within as her core settled on the bulge of his trousers. He bit the inside of his cheek to quell the moan that threatened to erupt. As she leaned over him, the blade found its way back to his throat. Aemond lay there, a mix of arousal and tension casting through him, as he watched the fabric of her nightgown shift, revealing the soft flesh of her thighs.

Suppressing another moan, Aemond fought against the instinct to move against her as her heat poured into him, his skin burning with want. Instead, he let his fingers wander, traced her exposed skin before gripping her hips, almost pleading for her to either be still or move. His fingers pressed into the flesh of her hips, the touch both possessive and reverent.

Her skin was as soft and pliant as he remembered, fueling his desire even more.

Daenera then shifted the dagger, positioning it perilously close to his remaining eye. In her expression, Aemond saw a fleeting through of retribution, a twisted sense of empowerment. He clenched his teeth, feeling a surge of resentment mix with his intense fascination–his desire for her.

“I should pluck your eye from its socket, just as my brother once did,” Daenera said, her voice laced with a menacing drawl. She applied a subtle pressure with the dagger, lips curling into a wicked smile. “And perhaps one day I shall, Aemond Targaryen, should you continue taking things from me.”

As Daenera uttered his name, Aemond felt an inferno of emotion ignite within him. Her saying his name wasn’t just a form of address; it was an acknowledgement of the desire that simmered between them, a tacit challenge to seize what he had so boldly claimed he would. His hands tightened on her, a silent vow that he was prepared to utterly consume her–a promise to ruin her.

“If I burn, you shall burn with me,” she declared, her voice a blend of defiance and promise.

Withdrawing the blade from his skin, Daenera leaned back slightly, her gaze locked with his. In her eyes, there was a daring, the dilation of her pupils revealing the depths of her lust.

Aemond watched her closely, searching for any flicker of hesitation or retreat, but found none–only an unspoken longing that matched his.

In response, Aemond shifted, sitting up to close the distance between them. He captured her lips with his, a kiss that was both destructive and defining, sealing their mutual descent into a whirl of desire and ruination.

This kiss was not just a physical connection; it was a cataclysmic meeting of two souls caught in a storm of their own making, a moment that threatened to upend everything around them.

#A Vow of Blood

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universalinfo · 1 year

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A Quick Product Design Guide: Principles & Approaches You Must Consider

When it comes to product design, there are a few key principles and approaches you need to keep in mind. From user experience and customer feedback to branding and marketing, this guide will help ensure your product designs are on point. So let’s get started!

Define the purpose of your product

It’s always important to remember the adage: “Fail to plan, plan to fail!” When it comes to designing a product, one of the most important steps is defining its purpose. Not only will this ensure that you have something specific in mind throughout the design process, but it will also help guarantee that you wind up with a product that meets (or exceeds!) your expectations in the end. So go ahead and give yourself the gift of planning for success by taking time to figure out what you want your product to do – then start crafting away!

Do your research

Don’t be caught off guard! If you’re designing a product, make sure to do your research and keep product life cycle engineering top of mind. You want to produce the perfect product that serves its purpose while lasting, so be sure to consider all phases of the product life cycle engineering—design, manufacture, operation, maintenance, and disposal.

Doing your research helps you save time, money, and resources in the long run. So don’t skimp on the research portion when designing a product; it’s worth the extra effort!

Identify your target audience

When designing any product, it’s essential to identify your target audience; otherwise, you’ll end up shooting in the dark! After all, how can a product be successful if it doesn’t meet the needs of the people who are likely to buy it?

Knowing your target audience provides invaluable insight into which features they want and value most, helping to ensure that what you design resonates with them. Plus, it saves time and energy by ensuring that there are no surprises or mismatches that can derail a project later on. And don’t forget – understanding your target audience also keeps the creative juices flowing by inspiring new ideas tailored to their preferences.

Hey designers – don’t sell yourself short; identifying your target audience is one step you won’t want to skip!

Create a prototype

When product life cycle engineering is utilized to its fullest potential, creating a prototype should be at the top of any product designer’s list.

The importance of this cannot be overstated: with a model to refer to and test, it’s easier to analyze the product’s functionality and design flaws before taking the plunge into product development. It not only ensures you create a product that works as intended, but also saves time by avoiding potential hiccups in production. Plus, it’s just plain fun to see your product come to life!

So next time you’re ready to start designing, don’t forget the joy of unleashing a new product — create a prototype first.

Test your product

It might be tempting to jump straight in and launch your product without first stepping back to test it out, but resist the urge! Testing is one of the most essential steps when creating a new product; it is not only important for debugging any code issues, but also serves as an opportunity to ensure that the user experience with your product is top-notch.

Without testing properly, you could unwittingly release something that isn’t quite finished, which could mean bad news for its reception. Perhaps most importantly, testing is a chance for you–the creator–to step back and admire your work from the perspective of someone who has never seen it before. Now there’s something worth testing for!

Make improvements

Designing a product can be as simultaneously thrilling and intimidating as designing your rollercoaster. You pour time, energy, and resources into building something that other people will eventually use, so it’s no surprise that you want to make sure that your hard work pays off!

Making improvements to the product you’ve designed can ensure its success; tweaks big or small to streamline processes or tweak an existing feature can result in an even more favorable customer experience. Ultimately, when it comes down to it, perfecting the product you created is a way of giving yourself and your customers the ride of their lives!

Conclusion

By following these simple steps, you can increase your chances of developing a successful product. Of course, nothing is ever guaranteed – but if you take the time to do your research and create a quality product, you’ll be well on your way to success. So what are you waiting for? Get out there and start inventing! Source: https://cloud9planning.com/sb/quick-product-design-guide-principles-approaches-must-consider/

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doll-in-the-walls · 1 year

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Strangely Charming - Chapter 25

Chapter Sum: The night of the Snow Ball, Maeve is one of the chaperones and Max’s ride to the dance.

A/N: So we’ve skipped over a month since the last chapter. It was early November then and now it’s mid December (because the time skip says “one month later” so December and then I read on the wiki that the Snow Ball was on the 15th. No idea if that’s right but that’s what we’re going with.)Sorry this has taken forever. Happy Holidays!

Warnings: None

Words: 2375

(Previous Chapter)

Mae’s Dress:

Mae’s PJs:

The night of the snowball Maeve knocked on Max's front door. She heard a familiar voice shout "Got it!" and a moment later Billy opened it. He frowned in confusion when he saw how she was dressed and blinked.

"I'm chaperoning, remember?" Maeve reminded him.

"Yeah… you look good." A small smirk pulled at his lips as he looked her over. She rolled her eyes with a smile.

"She ready?" Billy started to answer when Max called out from inside the house,

"Mae?"

"Yeah!" she called back.

"Come on in, we're just finishing up," Susan called. Billy stepped to the side and gestured inside. Maeve walked into Max's room to see her mother finishing her hair. Susan turned to smile at her. "What do you think?" she asked while Max rolled her eyes.

"You look great, Max." Max gave her a look. "Really."

"You look lovely," Susan said.

"Thank you, ma'am." Maeve gave a small curtsey.

"And thank you for driving Max."

"Oh, it's no problem."

"Can we go now?" Max asked as she stood.

"Have fun, sweetie," Susan said.

"I'll try," Max muttered but smiled at her mom.

"Come on," Maeve said with a smile as she nodded to the side.

"Hey, hold up a sec," Billy said as he stepped out of his room, lightly grabbing Maeve's arm to stop her as Max opened the front door.

"Door's unlocked, go ahead, just gimme a sec," Maeve said to Max who gave Billy a look before heading out to the car.

"Keep an eye on her tonight?" he asked quietly.

"That's kinda in the job description," she said with a chuckle. He rolled his eyes with a small smile.

"Seriously."

"Yeah. Of course. You know I will," she assured him.

"Mae!" Max called from the car. "Come on!"

"Jeez, no patience," Maeve said as she turned to the door but stopped once more as Billy took her hand.

"Uh- after?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Not in this dress," Maeve said quietly with a playful scoff to which Billy once again rolled his eyes.

"Got a date tonight," he said, indicating that he wanted to meet at her house instead of having her come in through his window. He would sometimes use the excuse of having a date - when he didn't - to leave the house so Max and their parents wouldn't know he was really just meeting up with Maeve. (Though it didn’t really matter if Max knew; she already knew the two hung out together.) He had explained that it was better if they just thought she was Max's friend. He didn't want to think about the things his dad would say if he thought Billy was into Maeve at all.

"Mae!" Max called from the car again before beeping the horn twice. Billy resisted the urge to shout back at her.

"Okay," Maeve said to Billy with a nod and he released her hand. He watched her walk down the steps and get in the car. Max seemed to immediately start complaining and even sent him a glare before he closed the door. He turned back to see Susan smiling.

"She's a sweet girl," she said.

"Yeah," he muttered.

“You should’ve said you were going on a date; I could’ve driven Max.” Billy turned to her with a confused frown.

“What?”

“Well… you are going on a date with her, with Maeve, aren’t you?” she asked, her brow suddenly pinching in concern. Billy realized she must have been watching and either assumed that the date he said he was going on was with Maeve or that he was going on a date with someone other than Maeve and therefore that would mean he was 'cheating' on Maeve if Susan assumed there was some sort of relationship between the two based on what she had just seen. He was glad his dad wasn't home. "I won't tell him," Susan added with a sad smile, as if reading his mind. Billy felt his shoulders relax a bit.

“Uh yeah… yeah I am.” He cleared his throat and ignored Susan’s happy-for-you reaction. “We’re meeting later… after the dance,” he said before quickly going back into his room.

"Alright, go have fun," Maeve said after Max signed in with Mr Clarke. Max flashed her a smile before she headed into the gym, quickly finding Mike and Will at one of the tables.

"Well, Miss Emerson, all the punch station positions are filled," Mr Clarke said. "You can always swap with someone later, but for now you can just monitor."

"Actually, I'm supposed to help Jonathan," Maeve said.

"Oh, right. Well, he's off to the left, you'll see him."

"Thank you," Maeve said before she made her way in. The camera flashed and Jonathan nodded to the kids before pulling out a small notebook. "Hey," Maeve said before lightly tapping his shoulder. He only jumped slightly but turned to smile at her.

"Hey."

"I’m ready to help." She held out a hand for the pencil and notepad.

"Uh, yeah so, I already numbered a few pages- just have to write down last names and first initials, oh and their homeroom class."

"Got it." Maeve nodded.

"And which grade," he added quickly. "Sorry."

"You're fine," Maeve said with a chuckle. "Relax."

…

About half an hour after arriving, Maeve saw Lucas arrive then another 20 minutes later Dustin arrived. She didn't pay too much attention to the actual dance, though she did occasionally check on The Party when she wasn’t busy writing down names. She did see when El came into the gym before one of the first slow songs started.

The slow song ended, another upbeat song playing shortly after, and The Party returned to their table. Maeve watched Nancy say something to them before she pointed over towards her and Jonathan.

“New customers approaching,” Maeve teased and Jonathan turned to see his brother and his friends. “Hey guys.”

“You look pretty,” El said with a smile.

“Aw thank you, so do you, sweetie.” She turned to Mike briefly before looking back at El. “Now, I know tonight’s the exception to staying out of public, but seeing as Jonathan’s the one handling all the development of the photos I think it’s safe for you to be in them.” She looked at Jonathan who nodded with a smile. El’s smile grew and she looked at Mike excitedly.

“Couples first then?” Jonathan suggested as he motioned them to stand in front of the backdrop. Mike and El were first then Lucas and Max after Maeve encouraged the two, having seen their dance as well.

“Will, did you want to go ask the girl you were dancing with if she wants a picture?” Maeve asked.

“Th-that’s okay,” he said, shaking his head.

“Okay,” she said with a smile and a nod, not pushing the matter further. “How about all the boys together?” The four moved into position, goofing off as they tried to decide on poses.

“Will you take a picture with me?” El asked Maeve.

“Of course. Just me and you or did you want Max in it too?” she asked, softer. El chewed her lip briefly.

“Just me and you.”

“Okay.” Jonathan took their photo before handing the notepad and pencil back to Maeve for her to write the details down.

“Can I get a picture with you too?” Dustin asked Maeve with a smile.

“Well, you’re just a regular ladies man tonight, aren’t you?” Maeve teased with a smile; he stood a little taller with a grin. “Of course, I’ll take a picture with you.” The two stepped in front of the backdrop, but Maeve quickly held up a hand. “Oh, wait, wait, wait,” she said and bent down to undo her heels, placing them beside her. “There.” She smiled at Dustin who was no longer three inches shorter than her. He held out his arm for hers with a big smile. “Max?” Maeve asked after the photo was taken.

“The less photos of me from tonight the better, thanks,” she said.

“Well, we gotta have one with the whole Party, right?” Jonathan asked.

“Come on,” Mike said when Max didn’t move to join.

“Fine,” the red-head groaned but was trying not to smile. Maeve slipped her boots back on and stepped to the side. “Where are you going? If I’m in the picture you have to be too,” Max said as she pulled Maeve back into the shot, hooking an arm around hers.

“Jonathan said The Party, I’m not-” Maeve started as she shook her head.

“Stay?” El asked as she put her arm around Maeve’s other arm.

“Okay, but then one without me because I can feel Mike’s frown from here,” Maeve said before looking back at him as he rolled his eyes. The other boys chuckled.

“You’re going to tell him aren’t you?” Max asked as Maeve drove them back to Max’s house later that night.

“Tell who what?”

“Billy… about…” she hesitated.

“No. I’m not gonna tell him,” Maeve assured her. “A girl has to have some secrets. Besides, if Lucas breaks your heart it isn’t Billy he’s going to have to worry about.” Max tried to push down her smile.

“Thanks Mae.”

Billy glanced over towards Eddie's trailer as he shut the door to his car and saw all the lights off and the van missing. There was a wreath on each of the two doors to the trailer and a single string of lights on the railing by the main door. Maeve's place however didn't have any lights or a wreath, the only thing it did have was a little snowman with a Santa hat in the window.

Billy sat down on the steps as he pulled out a cigarette. Before he had a chance to light it the door opened behind him. He looked up to see Calcifer looking down at him.

“Just get in here,” Calcifer said as he rolled his eyes, walking back to the kitchen and leaving the door open. Billy stepped in, closing the door behind him.

“Where’s uh… the cat?” Billy asked. Calcifer glanced up from the pot on the stove in the kitchenette.

“My room. Mae says he doesn’t like you so she asked me to keep him in there.”

“Ah…” Billy nodded.

“Mac?”

“What?”

“Mac and cheese.” Calcifer motioned to the pot. “Eat it or don’t, I don’t care.” He grabbed his plate full and a can of soda before walking down the hall to his room.

…

“Cal? I’m home!” Maeve called out as she put her keys on the hook by the door. “See you made yourself at home,” she said to Billy who sat on the couch with a plate of half eaten mac and cheese and a soda.

“Your brother said I could eat it,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not gonna say no to free food.”

“Did you at least save me some?” she asked as she put down her bag and took off her heels. He paused with the fork halfway to his mouth.

“Was I supposed to?” he asked. She put her hands on her hips and he chuckled. “Relax, I’m kidding. I left you some.” She flipped him off playfully as she made her way down the hall to her room to change. When she came back in her PJs, she walked into the kitchenette to make herself a plate.

"Ya know, I know it’s still ten days away but… no tree?" Billy asked. Maeve paused and raised an eyebrow at him before opening the fridge for a soda.

"Did you not see the sign for the trailer park when you drove here?" she asked with a chuckle. She looked over and saw how he looked confused. "Unless I go out and chop a tree down myself, no, no tree."

“Oh…” He nodded, shifting in his seat awkwardly.

“Plus cats and Christmas trees aren’t a good match,” she said and he chuckled. “Cal was supposed to put up the lights we borrowed but so far has been too lazy to actually go out and do it.”

“Borrowed?”

“Mrs Byers had a bunch of extra lights, yeah.”

“Ah…. alright…” He nodded again. “So, how did-”

“She had a good time and that’s all you need to know,” Maeve said as she sat down next to him, placing her plate on the coffee table next to his. He frowned.

“That’s it?”

“Yep. That’s all you’re getting outta me. If something happened that you needed to know about I would tell you.” He rolled his eyes and leaned back. “Pout all you want, but her happiness has higher priority.”

“I’m not pouting,” he muttered.

“Mhm,” she hummed as she flicked on the TV.

“Hey, where are those lights?” he asked as he stood. Maeve raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why?”

“Well, if you’re brother’s too lazy to do it, I’ll put them up for you.” He shrugged. “You got a step ladder?” She rolled her eyes at him.

“It’s freezing out; sit down.”

“Alright, just tryna be nice,” he said as he shrugged again before sitting down.

“While I appreciate the thought, Cal’s not getting out of it that easily.”

“If he wants to do the lights let ‘im,” Calcifer said from the kitchenette and Billy jumped in surprise.

“Jeez you’re quiet,” he said and frowned as he heard the other boy snickering at him.

“Nope, you said you were going to do the lights,” Maeve said.

“And you said you were going to do the other decorations,” he reminded her. Maeve motioned to the window, her mouth full. “That doesn’t count.” Maeve rolled her eyes.

“Well we don’t have a fireplace anymore so stockings are out. What else am I meant to do? I’m already doing all the food stuff.”

“You say that like you’re cooking for more than just two people,” Calcifer deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

“You shush…” she muttered. "Hey, I was gonna invite Wayne and Eddie so that makes four, ha!"

"Who?" Billy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Eddie's uncle," Calcifer clarified. "Hey, why don't you just ask Eddie to put up the-"

"You're not getting out of it, Cal," Maeve said. Calcifer frowned and rolled his eyes.

A/N: I was going to continue the end scene a bit more but just ran out of ideas and wanted to get this chapter up tonight.

___________________________

(Next Chapter)

___________________________

#Strangely Charming fic #Stranger Things #Billy Hargrove #Stranger Things fanfic

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ookaookaooka · 6 years

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only 424 more hours of gameplay to go before the battle against vecna the ascended

#must... resist... urge to skip ahead....#that fight looks BALLER and i wanna watch it #theyve been stuck in the underdark/dwarf mine thing for like eight episodes #but i wanna experience it with Context...#critical role

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moonbaby26 · 3 years

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Title: Escape

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader

Notes: Actual pairing interaction starts in the second section after the Reader character gets out of the elevator, feel free to skip down to that if you like. Reader thinks about Peter in the first section, but it is more setting up how they got so separated from the others, plus a Wolvie cameo. I wanted Peter x Reader to be able to have more interaction away from the group.

Summary: Continuation of previous chapter. Set during X-Men: Age of Apocalypse. You and the others have been taken to Stryker’s base and must survive to find your way out together.

Warnings: Wolverine cameo advisory with a 100% chance of stabby stab. Mild language.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @drikawinchester , @n0obmaster69 , @alexloveskili , @what-a-silver-lining , @bluesprings18 , @weakmoony-stuff , @slytherinsi-mp

Peter Maximoff x Reader Masterlist

——————————

“The day of reckoning is here.”

Your eyes opened at once, that unmistakeable voice now reverberating through your mind as fluorescent lights passed one after another above you.

“Professor?” You breathed aloud, immediately trying to sit up on the moving gurney.

But the restraints were drawn too tightly as your head only rebounded backward just as quickly when your torso didn’t rise in tandem.

“Shit!” the guard to your left cursed, his hand drawing back from the gurney rail at your sudden movement.

You turned your head towards him, confused, even as the professor’s words continued in your mind.

Yet Xavier’s voice sounded strange, forced. And you didn’t understand the context. Was it a warning? A threat to someone?

It didn’t really seem to fit the current circumstances to say it was directed at you or your captors. But he only kept speaking.

“The dawn of a new era will emerge. For there is nothing you can do...to stop what is coming.”

The two guards were looking around too then, reacting in sync with the telepathic message leaving you no doubt that they could hear it as well.

But why would Xavier be in their heads too? Did he already know where you were?

One guard chided the other, as if the two of them didn’t both have the same frightened expression. “Damn stun pulse is wearing off it is all, just hurry up and finish this transport. Colonel Stryker wants it taken to the lower testing bay,”

“Don’t tell me you aren’t hearing that voice?” The other guard retorted, “What the hell is that?”

Did they just call you an ‘it’? What was this place? Not a hospital surely. But you could barely dwell on the implications of the guard’s words ‘lower testing bay’, and the impending threat that represented as your last memories finally began to bubble up.

The X-Mansion in rubble, the helicopters swooping in over the trees, the students and staff unconscious in the grass, that soldier cracking your ribs, and-

Peter.

He was a stranger to you still, but he’d been right there against you. Surely you had drawn more attention to him just because your powers had let you resist a few moments longer than the others. Because you’d been so stubborn, not going down until you’d been forced to.

If these men had hurt any of your friends, you would be furious. But if Peter, who had also saved so many of your friends was now in more severe danger because of your actions, you wouldn’t forgive yourself.

“Where did you take the others!?” You arched against the restraints abruptly, your palms opening to face upward, trying to summon any bit of your energy at all. A wisp, an orb, anything that could have helped you right now. You had to find your friends.

But nothing came. Not even a glow or flicker of what you truly were as you now had both guards’ full attention.

“Freak! Just shut up!” One of them shoved the gurney in retaliation to your outburst, the caster wheels rattling across the concrete floor before the bed rail hit against one of the walls, jarring you painfully.

“Those with the greatest power. Protect those without. That's my message to the world.”

Xavier concluded his words then. And somehow, that sounded more like himself than any of the rest of it. The real meaning still eluded you, but hearing him in that tone at least meant he was okay. He was somewhere urging the rest of you on. At least this part you knew was true as you took a calming breath, realizing panic and anger would serve you nothing right now.

Something was blocking your powers. That much was obvious. It would be unrealistic to think that the effects of any stun weapon would be this long lasting though.

On the other hand, you knew chemicals existed that could also temporarily block mutations. Hank used one almost medicinally whenever he didn’t wish to be in his true “Beast” form. But it had to be injected direct into the veins to have any real effect.

You could feel that they hadn’t removed any of your clothing, nor had they rolled up the long sleeves you were wearing. You doubted they would risk a chemical like that wearing off at an inopportune time and likely would have started an IV if they possessed anything of that nature.

There were no tubes or lines attached to you that you could tell, only the restraints now holding you to this bed. Leather straps across your body, metal cuffs on your ankles and wrists-

But wait, you were able to move your head as you’d already discovered. You shifted it again, trying to get a better feel of what was around your neck. Metal as well, but loose as you could still lift your head up enough to see it just a bit. It and its dull, red status light.

Inhibitor collar, you realized with an all new dread sinking in. You had heard of these of course, but it was the kind of thing that students sheltered at Xavier’s school would never have to dream of really. Something you never thought you’d have to experience personally.

How naive.

But you still couldn’t give up. Your mind was racing as you tried to come up with any strategies now. Your options were so limited, but they couldn’t keep you tied down forever. Surely they’d have to move you to a more permanent containment at some point, untie you if even for a moment.

Yet, there were guns as well. You hadn’t missed that detail, but you considered it more fully now as you glanced to the long barrells swaying behind each guard’s back as they pushed you along.

They were slowing now though. You raised your head enough again to see elevator doors nearing. The lower testing bay, you remembered them saying.

But just as one guard had started to reach for the keypad beside the doors, an alarm blared, all three of you startling at the sound.

Orange lights lit up along the walls, spinning in time with the sirens.

“Weapon X is loose. I repeat, Weapon X is loose!” A man’s unnerved voice sounded over speakers you couldn’t see, echoing down the corridors.

You could only watch as both guards spun around on their heels at that, guns immediately drawn. The one thing you could be absolutely sure of then, was that you were now the very least of their concerns.

Before you could consider how to use this surprise in your favor though, screams and the echo of gunfire erupted seemingly on top of you all.

The guards were terrified. This could be your only chance.

“Take this collar off of me, please! I can help you!” You weren’t begging as much as you were truly trying to reason with them. “Look, this is serious right!?”

More men were screaming just around the corner. Only feet away now. Clearly their time to consider had run out.

You saw one of the guards glance down at you, weighing your offer if just for that moment. The other was still staring straight ahead, gun braced, body rigid.

“FIRE!” The one not looking at you screamed, and that was it. It was too late.

You flinched as the gunfire rang deafening in your ears, the muzzle flashes just above you while empty bullet shells rained onto the floor.

You didn’t know how many bullets their gun magazines could hold, but the barrage seemed to just go on and on until an inhuman snarl rose even above the pounding gunshots.

Like a blur he was upon them. One guard was immediately thrown against a nearby wall, as if he were made of paper. His gun didn’t even faze the attacker.

You were frozen as you had to watch him die in front of you. Metal blades impaled the guard, blood splatter running down the wall as his body fell. You wished the other guard would have just turned and ran, but that probably would have been fruitless now too if you were being honest.

The attacker had turned immediately back around, one slash knocking the gun away from the remaining guard, and the second taking out his throat.

You were too in shock to do anything but close your eyes in the moment you felt some of the blood hit you. It was warm was all you could really process, before you opened your eyes again to now see the killer standing over you.

His breath was fast, eyes black, no emotion evident but rage. He had no clothing on him above the waist, just muscular and bloodied with metal cords coming out of his body and attaching to some sort of helmet.

You heard the random sound of more bits of metal hitting the ground, and thought you saw a few bullets working out in reverse from his flesh.

He was one of you then, a mutant.

But you were afraid to speak. Anything could set him off again.

He was looking down at you, through you really. You thought you saw his eyes go to your throat. The collar? Or maybe you just imagined it. Everything was happening in just seconds.

His arm swung suddenly, those blades were part of him you realized, attached to his fists as they came for you. At least it would be a quick death.

You felt a burning, heard ripping and even the metal of the bed breaking as he struck more than once.

“He’s here!” Someone else screamed from back down the hallway and the gunfire started all over again.

You moved at the sound, why you didn’t know, it should have been all over regardless. But in your amazement, you realized you could move. His claws had broken through the restraints, broken the bolts that held you to the bed. You were bleeding, but only from cuts as he’d grazed you.

He’d freed you.

The gurney tumbled over with a clatter as you jumped from it. But bullets were hitting all around you as the guards continued to fire at him. You still had the inhibitor collar on, so you couldn’t defend from that. You weren’t bulletproof like him.

And he was already charging them again, but there were so many this time. A bullet grazed your arm, and you knew you had to get out of there now.

You turned, hitting the elevator keypad. You had no choice as you wouldn’t make it out of this hallway otherwise. You ducked inside as soon as the doors opened, trying to stay against the sides even as bullets were now hitting the back of the elevator. The only way was down, and you took it.

As the doors closed, and the elevator finally sank below the firing line, you allowed yourself some real breaths.

To think, just hours ago your main concern had only been whether or not you were ready for Hank’s organic chemistry final. You’d laugh if you weren’t still trembling a little, clothes torn and blood all over, most of it not even your own.

Now it was time to find the others and a way out.

—————————

“(Y/N)?” You heard in your mind, pausing in the abandoned hallway you were now wandering down. You’d left the elevator behind some time ago, but hadn’t yet found any other way back off this level.

“Jean?” You answered aloud, both surprised and relieved. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. We are now. I saw them take you too, but where are you?”

Talking to a telepath was always a bit strange. You could feel her own stress and anxiety as she began to fill your mind. She wanted to see what you were seeing.

You looked around you to oblige her, but from what you could tell every corridor only looked like more of the same in this labyrinth.

“I got into an elevator when all the shooting started, when that man-“

“Logan. We met him too. He’s escaped now, he-” She paused, your recent memories now visible to her. “He helped you.”

“He did.” You felt she both was and wasn’t surprised at this.

“Anyway,” She continued as if something was distracting her, like she was physically talking to someone else, while mentally talking to you. “The Professor needs us. We’re sending Peter to find you. He’ll bring you to us and then we’re leaving together.”

“Okay,” Was all you could answer, as you felt Jean leave your mind abruptly at that. You remembered Xavier’s odd speech earlier, something you really hadn’t had time to deconstruct any further with everything else that had happened immediately after. You supposed they would fill you in when you were all reunited.

But you did feel a significant weight leave your shoulders at the mention of Peter’s name, even though it sounded like this horrific day was still far from over. He was okay too then at least. You hadn’t screwed up enough to get him hurt in a way you couldn’t take back.

Yet how long would it take for him to find you? Should you just stay in place, or go back to the elevator now? You hadn’t found any stairwells or other-

“(Y/N)?”

You’d be lying to say you didn’t almost fall over in surprise as a tiny gust of air was the only other thing that announced him as Peter was suddenly standing beside you.

“You’re as bad as Kurt!” You gasped, before you could stop yourself. You clenched one fist at your side, at least having the self control not to punch him right in the arm as you might have done with some of the boys at school if they had given you that kind of scare.

“That’s the blue kid with the tail right? Not to be confused with the big blue hairy guy, he’s the one that told me your name by the way, or the blue famous chick from TV?” He shook his head, but his eyes were amused. “You guys have some kind of quota on the color blue or what?”

You stared at him. He did like to talk didn’t he?

When you didn’t respond right away, you saw his eyes wander down, then back up. “Red said you’d be a bit of a mess, but you sure you’re okay?”

Your shirt was torn from well, now you knew him as Logan...that man’s claws. Those cuts were still bleeding a bit, but the guard’s blood was on you as well. The metal shackles were also still on your wrists and ankles, though their chains had been broken, and the inhibitor collar was around your neck. Yes, you must look quite a sight.

“You mean Jean,” you corrected. She must have given him some warning at least before sending him. “Yeah, I’m fine. So you found another way out of here, we should-”

But he didn’t seem to be listening, either that or you weren’t very convincing on the being okay sentiment.

He looked quite serious all of the sudden. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you when Colonel douchebag was trying to work you over.”

You blinked. What was he talking about?

“Stryker I guess they said his name was, the guy that kicked you back at the house.” He just continued. “That piece of shit bailed already.”

“How did you know about that?” You asked honestly. Peter had been unconscious as far as you’d known.

“I mean I was in and out,” He answered, seemingly understanding your confusion now. “But uh...” He hesitated, kind of an awkward smirk building then. “I definitely remember you laying on me. The impact wasn’t that great, but afterward was pretty nice.”

Your felt a heat rising to your face immediately. The absurdity of being physically embarrassed at his implication and tone, as you stood here literally bleeding in the belly of some mutant torturing black ops lab was not lost on you.

“Look, I...” You didn’t even know what to say, but you knew if you didn’t start talking now you were never going to recover control here. “I’m really glad they didn’t hurt you, and I’m sorry too if I got you involved deeper in all of this. And I want to thank you for pulling everyone out of the mansion this morning. We owe you so much. I just-” Oh man, where were you even going with this? You looked to him still feeling like you were just digging yourself deeper, “You can stop me anytime now you know?”

He was now outright grinning. “You’re welcome, babe.”

Not helping. AT ALL.

You were staring at him again. “They’re going to be waiting on us, you know,” You felt you were going to be pleading with him in a moment.

“I know, places to be, worlds to save...” He just moved closer and you tensed a little bit. He noticed, but stood his ground. “I have to brace you or you’re just going to be hurt even more when I run you back to them.”

“So is that how you do it, then? You’re just that fast?” You asked honestly. His actual mutation wasn’t something there’d been any chance to discuss. You could infer only so many ways he would have been able to evacuate those in the mansion almost instantaneously. But you knew teleporters too, even people who could move through reality on other planes. There was always more than one way to do something.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” He chuckled, smirking enough for you to know he was still just picking with you as one of his hands went behind your head and the other to your ribs to brace you. He really did know where you’d been hit then.

His hands were warm, and you could smell that damn cologne again now as you tried to ready yourself for whatever was about to happen.

You didn’t know what you had expected. You knew how it felt to take off in a jet, or slam the gas pedal down in one of the Professor’s expensive cars, or ride on a really intense roller coaster. But this wasn’t that. There wasn’t even any time for your brain to register the acceleration. It felt like just a single heartbeat before you were standing back in front of those elevator doors with him.

It was the deceleration that hit you. By the time your body knew it was moving, it had already stopped again, your organs lurching and your equilibrium completely thrown off as vertigo took over. You leaned forward immediately, trying not to dry heave as puking seemed almost imminent.

He took one of your hands, his other hand moving down from your ribs to your waist as he helped support you still.

“It’ll pass. It happens to everyone the first time,” He spoke, probably the softest tone you’d heard from him to this point.

“You’re telling me there are people who have been-” You swallowed, fighting that nausea back down. “have been with you multiple times?” You meant to say multiple times like that. People who needed to be rescued this way multiple times. You stood up, still queasy as you tried to face him and correct this blunder immediately. Why did this guy have you so flustered!?

“I’m not normally like this,” you stammered, waiting for some great retort from him as you’d just left yourself wide open with that slip.

It was only then that you realized he still had one hand on your waist, and you were now facing him, just inches apart. And the silence was worse. It was much worse while he was just looking back at you.

“No,” He finally said, “I uh...I don’t have anyone that’s stayed around long enough for that.”

He wasn’t joking at all now and you knew it.

“I didn’t mean...” You started, but stopped again when you didn’t know how to finish.

But the vulnerability was gone just as soon as it’d come. His smirk returned as he let go of you, moving forward to hit the keypad for the elevator. “I did look for stairwells by the way, if you were wondering. It only took me as long as it did to find you down here because this damn elevator is slow as hell.”

You actually were a little relieved to finally be focusing back to the task at hand. But you still felt an unspoken conversation lingering that would need to be continued later. You wanted him to know who you really were.

And honestly...you now wanted to know who he really was.

The harsh buzz from the keypad brought you back to attention as Peter hit it again.

A tiny screen blinked “CODE ERROR” in red as he groaned. “It didn’t need a damn code to come down, that makes no sense!”

You responded in a few moments, realizing the likely truth fairly quickly. “But it would make sense if you were more concerned about things getting out of the lab than you were of things getting in.” The same would be true for the lack of entry and exit points. They surely weren’t concerned with fire safety or anything else but keeping their specimens captive when they built this place.

“Ugh, that’s dark,” He answered, glancing at you and then back to the keypad. “You’re almost making me not feel so bad for all the guys that looked like swiss cheese on the way down here. But lucky for you, you’ve got me, and these five hombres.” He waved his fingers at you before immediately beginning to punch in multiple codes in faster succession than of course would have been possible for anyone else.

“Peter, I don’t think-” You started, already having a good suspicion of how this might play out, before the keypad abruptly quit accepting inputs, the tiny screen then blinking LOCKOUT. The only thing that did surprise you was a new even thicker door suddenly closing over the original elevator doors.

And you couldn’t help it then. You laughed. A real laugh. It was just the dumbest icing on the cake. “Okay, Han Solo. I think that will do.” You didn’t care if he would understand the reference or not. You needed that laugh right now.

But he didn’t let you down. Not even for a moment. “Okay then Leia, then you show me how we’re getting past here to save the ugly little ewoks.”

You were still snickering a little, but you shook your head. “I can’t,” You motioned to the inhibitor collar still around your neck. “Not with this on. It’s blocking my powers.” You had hoped once you were all back topside that Hank would be able to disarm the thing. It was probably radio controlled or something like that. “We’ll have to wait on Jean and the others to realize we’re taking too long, they’ll come for us.”

“I don’t wait,” Peter retorted. “Besides, like I said, I showed you mine. Time to show me yours.” He tilted his head, eyeing you. “Really, I’ve been dying to know.”

“Sure you have,” You were skeptical, but it was actually hard to read him right now. Was he actually that curious about you? “And I’ve already tried to take it off, it doesn’t budge.”

“Again, babe. You didn’t have me before.” The smug tone was back, as he evidently had some plan you didn’t know if you were going to like or not.

“You realize, this thing is nearly against my jugular veins, right? What are you going to do?” You had every right to be hesitant you thought. Especially after the keypad failure.

“Just be still. I’m going to vibrate it apart.” He answered confidently.

Okay, now you really didn’t like this. “Again, head, throat, things I need to stay in one piece. What if it has some self destruct thing and explodes?”

“I can pull you away from that before it even burns you. How do you think your friends lived when your house blew up this morning?”

You could have mentioned Alex’s fate then, but that would have been needlessly cruel. Alex must have already been gone before Peter even entered the building. He did save everyone else you thought.

“Trust me,” Peter looked you in the eyes and you could feel yourself relenting.

You really did believe him it seemed. Hopefully that faith was not misplaced. “Please be careful,” You closed your eyes, going stock still.

“For you? Of course.”

You heard his jacket move, which told you he was raising his arms. Internally you tensed-

And then all you heard were pieces of metal and circuitry skittering across the floor in every direction. You were still standing exactly as you had been as you opened your eyes to a too pleased with himself Peter.

“Some shrapnel did try to go into your face, but I moved the pieces. No kaboom though.” His expression changed then to happily expectant, “So come on, I’ve helped three times now, the stage is now yours,” He made an exagerrated motion to the big metal door now blocking the elevator. “What’s your poison?”

Poison? An interesting way to put it, but you knew what he meant. All mutant abilities were both a gift and a curse. Yet even after all these years of meeting people of your own kind, it was still very personal to show someone your real self for the very first time.

Especially when you evidently cared what he thought of you as you realized your nerves were suddenly about much more than just being able to get open a door or not. How would he react?

You took a breath, still extremely aware of his eyes on you as you turned your palms upward. It was always easiest to start with your hands. But you’d need to bring the energy all the way through you to get the kind of power it was going to take to pull this door out.

There was a slight relief in you as your hands began to glow white after a moment. At least you knew you were no longer defenseless, that these people hadn’t taken your abilities permanently.

In your peripheral vision you could see Peter shift, but you didn’t look to him, trying to concentrate as the energy spread up your arms and you closed your eyes. It always felt so warm, like being in the sun on a clear day. It spread to your chest, legs, up your shoulders and over your face. Even through your hair as you willed the energy to lift you up, now completely enveloped until you were a silhouette of a person. Glowing in soft white light and levitating about a foot off the floor.

You opened your eyes again, feeling you had things in control enough now to speak to him. The tone of your voice changed slightly in this form though. There was a hum to it, the energy moving across your vocal chords like every other part of you.

“I’m going to try and pull the door out of the way and into the hall. Please be ready to move as I won’t have a lot of control over it once it gives. My effort is going to all be on breaking it.”

You looked to him after a moment though when he didn’t respond. You knew he was fast enough to keep himself safe obviously, but you had to be sure he was ready. Was he really just staring at you? “Peter?”

He blinked. “Yeah, uh. That’s...” He stepped back from the door, but never took his eyes off you, this weird expression on his face. “That’s cool.”

“Please mind the door,” You reiterated gently, not quite sure what to make of his reaction to your powers.

“Sure, sure thing.” He sounded more like himself then. “Do your deal.”

Your deal as he put it, involved willing this same energy now in a field around the door as you rose your hand up to control it. Once you were sure you had it solidly, you began pulling your hand back, trying to pull the door out of its railing.

It gradually started to creak, but like you’d thought, this was going to take some real doing. You pulled harder and harder, the metal just groaning louder. “Come on,” You spoke, not really sure if you were talking more to yourself or the door.

Your arm was starting to really ache with the effort. But just when you thought you might have to try something else after all, you finally felt the door give. And when it gave, it did so spectacularly. This massive chunk of metal collapsed, exploding out of its rail as it rocketed down the hallway. You just moved to the side to avoid it, the smaller pieces hitting you harmlessly in this form.

To your eyes it only looked like Peter disappeared and then reappeared as he also easily missed all the debris.

Once that obstacle was out of the way, you glided down, back to the normal elevator doors. They were slightly damaged from the removal of the larger door. But now it only took minimum effort to force them open.

You entered the elevator, the inner keypad was also blinking that same “LOCKOUT” error from earlier. So the elevator itself was going nowhere. But this was now no longer an issue for you.

“I can carry us up,” You looked to Peter, though unsure how comfortable he would be with this new idea.

He was standing at the entrance of the elevator already, watching you still. You could see the wheels in his head turning. And then he finally asked. “So, you’re glowing...and flying. Is this like radioactive glow, or I just need some sunscreen kind of glow?”

“It’s just light energy in the visible spectrum.” You answered reflexively. “But not even UV, the wavelength itself doesn’t cause any damage. It’s only when I make it solid or make it unstable that I can do anything harmful with it.”

You could see he may have skipped the lessons on long and short wave energy and radiation in science class as he just kept staring.

“You’re fine, it’s safe” You smiled. Certainly not the first time you had heard such questions. “The Professor and Hank had me tested from the very beginning, I never would have been allowed so close to other students without more precautions if I was that dangerous.”

“So you’re...close to some other students?” He asked almost tauntingly, one eyebrow raised, and it took you a moment before you realized he may be getting back at you for your comments from before.

It was probably just the fact that you were in your energy form now, but you felt confident enough to respond just as quickly, “It’s more like the Brady Bunch than what you’re thinking. Like having a whole house of little brothers and sisters.”

You had already opened up the ceiling of the elevator while the two of you talked, looking up now to the empty shaft and elevator cables. It’d be much easier to move the two of you rather than to try and lift the whole elevator. You reached a hand out to Peter. “I can lift us up the shaft to the floor that the others are on and open the doors, then you can take us to them. Deal?”

You had trusted him to bring you here, as well as to remove that collar from you. Would he now trust you to bring him up several floors without dropping him?

He was looking at your hand. “I probably could just run up the walls you know.”

You paused, realizing you hadn’t considered that. You didn’t really know what all he was capable of truly. But just as you started to lower your hand, he surprised you by grabbing and holding it.

“Yet how many guys can say they flew with you, huh?”

“Practically none,” You admitted. “I don’t make a habit of picking up my friends.”

“You aren’t quite building confidence here.”

“I’m sure that door weighed more than you.”

“And look how it ended up. Again, not comforting.”

This guy was truly something else. “Come here, we take much longer and they really are going to be sending a search party for us.”

You extended the energy from your hand across his body gently. He was obviously much lighter than the door, and the closer you kept him, the easier it would be to move the both of you.

You tried not to make eye contact with him again as you levitated the two of you through the top of the elevator and up through the shaft. Even though you knew you were fully capable of doing this, you still didn’t want to lose focus.

But his voice didn’t sound frightened at all as he spoke up to let you know how high to go. “They’re on the top floor, we’re stealing a jet to get out of here.”

“Wow, but okay. Got it,” You sped up a little at that, no longer worried about passing your landing point as you went straight to the top.

When you reached the highest doors, you were able to force them open with a turn of your free hand, bringing you and Peter safely through and back onto solid ground.

You powered down immediately as your feet met the floor, the light fading back into your body until you were just standing there in your torn, bloody clothes once more. “Okay, I’m ready to get nauseous again, let’s go.”

He actually squeezed your hand before he let go of it in order to brace your head and ribs again. “For the record that felt pretty good. You’re really warm. Zero g’s was cool too. Thanks.”

“Um...you’re welcome?” You answered, a little flustered all over again to your own dismay, and really not knowing what else to say before he whisked you away in an instant.

It really was going to be the longest day ever.

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

#quicksilver x reader #quicksilver #peter maximoff #peter maximoff x oc #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximof x reader #x men apocalypse #quicksilver x y/n #quicksilver x you #x men fanfiction #x men

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zabiume · 3 years

Note

Prompt: could we get a fic about Ichigo and Orihime’s very first date. Like that awkwardness in the beginning then they get more comfortable as the date goes on

I was going to answer this to the T, but I realized there have been a lot of awkward first date fics, so I thought I'd add a little twist to this one. Hope you like! :')

[Read on Ao3/ff.net]

They were twenty—well he was twenty, and she was a few weeks short of her birthday—when Ichigo could admit to himself that he maybe, possibly, probably thought about taking Orihime out on a date sometimes. It wasn’t a lot—his mind had erected rigid boundaries about what he was allowed to want, and what was strictly confined to his private thoughts when he was lying in his dorm bed and listening to Keigo snore.

And Keigo snored a lot.

So maybe he did think about it often, about Orihime coming down to visit him at college, eyes sparkling fondly when she saw through his attempts at humble-bragging about something he was secretly proud of. Listening to her thoughts and her opinions and her occasional bad puns.

Often, he felt homesick just thinking about it—which was ridiculous, really, because his university was a fifteen-minute train ride from home and having Keigo tail him around college was really no different from high school.

(Or maybe it was just stubborn denial of the fact that his homesickness wasn’t really for home, at all. Not strictly anyway).

Either way, when Orihime texted him back saying, yes, she would be interested in coming down to see this really cool aquarium he’d spotted, he sat up in bed and grinned like an idiot.

…

This was a mistake, Ichigo thought, the morning of, flinging a wad of clothes out of his closet. He was due to pick Orihime up from the train station in twenty minutes and he had absolutely nothing to wear.

“Wear a leather jacket,” Keigo said, from where he was lounging upside down on a study chair. “Girls like leather jackets.”

Ichigo made a noise of acknowledgement but frowned. In truth, he wasn’t really worried as much about the outfit as he was about the date itself. Orihime was a friend—a good friend, and half of him was perfectly content to let that be the status quo. The last thing he needed was an awkward change. The other half of him, though, the half that bloomed in hope when she so much as smiled at him—that half wondered if she’d maybe give him a chance.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and sighed glumly. His hair was too orange. This was a terrible idea.

A sudden knock against the door pulled both him and Keigo out from their reverie.

“Kurosaki-kun! We’re here!”

Ichigo frowned. We?

He threw his leather jacket over his shoulders and quickly hurried to fling the door open—

—coming face-to-face with Orihime, Chad and Uryu, all dressed up and ready to go in their summer clothes.

Ichigo frowned.

Chad flashed one thumb up in greeting.

“Sado-kun’s car just got back from servicing, so we drove here instead of taking the train.” Orihime explained happily, hands clasped together. “We figured we could spend more time with you that way.”

“I’ve been wanting to see the kelp forest exhibit,” Uryu felt the need to butt in quickly, lest anyone assume he willingly wanted to spend more time with Kurosaki.

Ichigo, on the other hand, was stunned. He opened his mouth to make a bold attempt at words, but was interrupted again.

“Sado? Ishida?” Keigo had come up to the doorway, one brow furled in confusion. He glanced at Ichigo. “But I thought it was supposed to be just—” Ichigo was on him in a flash of a second, palm forcefully covering his mouth even as his ears burned in embarrassment. They wrestled until Keigo was fully in Ichigo’s control, stumbling backwards into the room. The door slammed shut. Someone—probably Keigo—screamed.

Orihime, Chad and Uryu glanced at each other in confusion. When Ichigo re-emerged, he looked rumpled, but made a valiant effort not to let his inner turmoil show.

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “Let's go.”

…

In retrospect, he’d never really specified it was supposed to be a date. There was absolutely nothing in his text that indicated he wanted to maybe try holding Orihime’s hand while they watched the magnificent giant Pacific octopus leer at them. But still. Though he loved Chad (and Uryu, he begrudged), he wanted nothing more than to glare at their looming shadows behind him right now.

“You know, it was so thoughtful of you to invite us out like this, Kurosaki-kun.” Orihime bumped her shoulder with Ichigo’s. “I’ve missed this.”

Ichigo softened, despite the misgivings in his head. “Me too.”

“Is that a cuttlefish?” Uryu piped up from behind them. “I’ve never seen one on this side of the Pacific.”

Ichigo groaned. He resisted the urge to turn around and snap, “how does it matter?!” but ultimately chose to grit his teeth instead. His forehead and armpits were damp with awkward sweat and this was going a lot worse than he’d pictured it in his head.

“I think it's a squid,” Chad rumbled.

Ichigo pinched his brows. Orihime raised a brow in concern and he flashed her a fake, half-hearted smile that only made her face falter in more concern.

Good going dumbass, he thought.

“Look!” she gasped suddenly, and his heart gave a strong lurch when her hand curled around his bicep. He forcibly peeled his eyes away from how close they were to follow her gaze upwards. They’d arrived at a darker section of the aquarium, a long, overhead arch glowing a vibrant sea-green above them. Ichigo squinted, trying to see what she was seeing among the thick kelp and seaweed.

“There,” she whispered, hand unconsciously clutching him tighter. He followed her pale finger, just in time to catch a bloom of kelp morph into a nebulous cloud of pink, tentacles unfurling outwards in gentle curls. “Camouflage.”

Ichigo returned his gaze to the dancing spots of the water’s reflection on Orihime’s face, utterly captured by the soft ‘O’ of her mouth, the pretty arc of freckles that dusted across her cheeks, her shimmering eyes. When she turned to look at him—and found him already looking back—her hand slipped from his arm in surprise and her cheeks pinked. Their knuckles were so close now, almost brushing, and Ichigo held his breath.

“Welcome to the Carnivore Kingdom~Where the mighty carnivores thrive and roam! Carnivooore Kingdoooom!”

“Damn it, Chad!” Ichigo roared.

…

After Ichigo’s outrage over Chad’s ringtone had gotten them kicked out of the kelp forest exhibit, Orihime had retreated to the washrooms to fix her hair and makeup. Ichigo had seemed rather poorly earlier, but she hoped he was alright now. He’d sounded so keen over text about meeting up this week, it really was strange to see him acting out. Had he been in a fight? Shaking the thought out of her head, she exited the restroom, only to find Ichigo waiting by the entrance—alone.

“Did Ishida-kun and Sado-kun skip ahead to the sea otters already?” Orihime asked, confused.

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck, a dull color rising to his cheeks. “They, uh—” he cleared his throat. “They left.”

“Left?”

Ichigo opened his mouth, then closed it. He took a deep breath, one fist clenched. “Inoue, I haven’t exactly been honest with you. About today, I mean.”

Orihime’s belly tightened in worry. So something had happened. “Kurosaki-kun—”

“I meant it to be just the two of us,” he confessed sheepishly, meeting her eyes. “Y’know. Like a date.”

He stared at his fingernails after a prolonged moment of silence. Orihime’s mouth fell open.

“Oh,” she heard herself say, very softly, the sound of her heartbeat filling her ears in fierce thrums.

He must have caught something in her expression, because he quickly added, “But I don’t mind if you don’t...if you don’t feel the same. I don’t mind staying friends, Inoue—I mean that. I’d never want you to feel obligated, and if this isn’t something you want—”

“NO!” she shouted, before simmering down in embarrassment, her face feeling hot. He glanced up at her curiously—maybe a little hopefully, she thought, her chest swelling with tightness. Her eyes felt thick with the first swarm of tears, but she fought them back to shake her head and stammer out, “No. I want this. I—I’d love to go on a date with you, please, Kurosaki-kun.”

She clenched her purse tightly with one hand, her only relief being that his face was as red as hers was. They stared at each other for a tense moment before his face broke out into a smile—a real, boyish smile full of warmth and relief.

“Good,” he said, nodding. “That’s good. Want to go—uh, see those sea otters?”

“I love sea otters,” she said faintly.

“I know.” He smiled, holding his arm out for her to take.

She took it.

#yes ichigo sends them home #ichihime #myfic #asks #happy birthday hime!

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stargazing-enby · 3 years

Note

“I can’t believe you told them you were my fiancé” + Drarry 😘

Thank you @stavromulabetaaa @secretlycrazyhummingbird and anon for your prompts! I turned them into a New Years story, I hope that's all right 😁

Thanks @april-thelightfury115 for betaing!

Drarry | 2k | Teen and Up | Fake Fiancés, Auror Partners, Locked Down Together, Love Confessions | Read on AO3

“...And we’re still unsure whether the situation will be safe enough for us to marry in spring, so that’s why we haven’t organised much yet. Don’t worry, you’ll be the first to know as soon as we have a date.”

Harry, mind still fuzzy with sleep, empty mug in hand, stopped in his tracks by the living room door. Had he heard right?

“We understand, Draco,” came Narcissa’s voice from the Floo. “But you must understand our concerns, too.”

“I do, mother. But you know this was necessary.”

“We do,” Lucius said. “The most important thing is that we’re all safe right now, even if we missed having you home last night.”

Harry didn’t hear the end of the conversation—didn’t notice Draco walking into the kitchen a minute later; he was too busy frowning at the kettle.

“Morning,” said Draco from behind him. “Didn’t know you were up.”

“Didn’t know you were engaged,” Harry said without thinking—without turning around, without even understanding why he didn’t want to turn around; didn’t want Draco to see the whirl of emotions unravelling in his chest.

“Oh,” Draco said, voice low. “You heard that.”

Harry shook his head, eyes still fixed on the kettle.

“Not on purpose.” His words came out strained, and he cursed himself inwardly. Why did he even care? It wasn’t like Draco’s personal life was any of his business. Sharing a flat didn’t make them friends, now did it? No matter how much Harry had grown to enjoy having the git around all the time, and watching him fall asleep while they watched telly together at night, and getting to see Draco’s tousled hair in the mornings—

Draco sighed—a slow, heavy sound—and leaned against the counter beside him. Harry did look up at him then, and the maelstrom of emotion probably still all over his face came to an abrupt halt when he realised Draco was holding back a giggle.

“I’m not engaged, Potter,” he said, grin widening. “You look really upset at the idea, though. It’s a cute look on you.”

Draco’s mirth was beautiful, and so, so good at softening Harry from inside out. Still, Harry crossed his arms over his chest with an indignant huff, grumbling, “Sod off, I thought you were keeping an engagement from me!” When Draco only laughed at him, he added, “Why on Earth do your parents think you’re engaged, then?”

“I’ll tell you,” Draco said through another giggle, “but don’t murder me. I’m the best Auror partner you’ll ever have.”

Harry just raised his eyebrows at him—curiosity and concern mixing with a subtle hint of betrayal that refused to fade away just yet.

“My parents are…very traditional,” Draco started.

“I’d gathered that much, thank you.”

“Shut up, you giant prick. The thing is, they firmly believe people must live with their parents or on their own until they marry. Sharing a living space with anyone other than your spouse is…improper to them. I’m sure I don’t need to go into detail as to why.”

“You really don’t,” Harry said, grimacing.

“So when I told them I was moving in with you temporarily, I sort of…kind of…had to tell them we were engaged, and the only reason I was moving in with you before getting married was that we wanted to wait until the pandemic was over to have a big wedding with all our loved ones.”

To Harry’s credit, he didn’t drop the mug full of piping hot coffee all over himself.

He did gape at Draco for a good three seconds, though.

“Your parents think we’re engaged?”

“That’s what I said, yes.” Draco had the decency to look sheepish, at least. “If it’s any consolation, they also trust me to remain chaste until my wedding night, so they don’t think you and I have—”

“Oh my god.”

“I would never, anyway. They raised me well.”

“Stop. Shut up.” Harry rested the mug on the kitchen table—sat heavily on a chair, gaze unfocused. “But didn’t you explain—”

“I did explain to them I was moving in with you because we work together and it’s safest to have you as the only person in my bubble so I don’t put them at risk, yes. They argued I had enough money to rent a place for myself, and I panicked and told them you and I had plans to marry anyway, so it wasn’t all that bad, since they trust me to wait until my wedding night to—”

“Yeah, yes, got it.” Harry pressed his eyes closed, desperately trying to will images of a virginal Draco Malfoy draped over a white king-sized bed from his mind. “Were you planning on telling me any of this? You’ve been here for weeks…”

“I was, of course.”

Harry side-eyed him.

“It’s just—I guess…I was waiting for the right time to tell you, and it never really came up. And don’t give me that look! Remember how long it took you to tell me you weren’t dating Ginny anymore?”

“That’s different!” Harry said.

“Potter, you let me send both of you a Christmas card as though you were a couple and replied to it with her because it felt too awkward to tell me you’d broken up!”

Harry took a sip of his coffee to avoid Draco’s gaze.

“That may be true,” he muttered eventually, when he looked up at Draco again and found him still looking expectantly at him. “But this involves me directly. I mean, what if I’d answered a Floo call from them while you were in the bathroom and they’d brought up the engagement?”

“Excuse you, I never schedule anything at bathroom hours!”

“I...don’t want to know what that means.” Would it be too much for him to bury his face in his arms and fall right back asleep? “What are we going to do now?”

“We wait until lockdown is over and pretend we’ve broken up and are no longer engaged, of course.”

“What, so your parents hate me forever?” Harry asked. “No, thank you!”

“What do you mean, no thank you? The alternative, in case you hadn’t noticed, is to marry me, Potter!”

“You’re making my year start with a headache,” Harry groaned. “I hope you’re happy.”

“Very much so, actually,” Draco said. “Because you will pretend you’re my fiancé over Floo, won’t you? My parents have been asking to talk with you directly, and if it doesn’t happen soon, they’re going to start thinking you’re a bad husband…”

“Fiancé! I mean—flatmate. Colleague. Ugh. Fine. Fine. I’ll do it,” he said when Draco just pouted dolefully. He couldn’t resist those puppy eyes, dammit. “But I’ll be cursing you to hell and back in my mind the entire time.”

Draco’s grin was definitely not worth the sacrifice.

***

“Harry! What a delight to finally be able to talk to you. Draco says you’ve been busy with work matters lately.”

“Y-Yeah, it’s been chaos,” Harry said, resisting the urge to glare at Draco and hoping Narcissa couldn’t see the puzzle sitting on the coffee table or the stack of movies by the sofa through the Floo. “I’m really glad to see you, too.” Fuck, that’d sounded awfully awkward. “Happy new year, by the way—let’s hope it’s a better one.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be. The year an offspring gets married is always among the best of a mother’s life.”

“Right. Of course.” Add ‘upsetting Narcissa terribly’ to the list of reasons to curse Draco.

“And I imagine it will be an even happier year for you two, especially if a future heir is in the picture by the end of it!”

ADD ‘ALMOST CHOKING TO DEATH ON MY SALIVA’ TO THE LIST OF REASONS TO—

“Mother, please, I think it’s a little bit to early for that—”

“I know, I know, sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “I’m just really excited for you, my Draco. You’ve wanted this for so long…”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat.

“Harry, you are one very lucky man, I hope you know that,” Narcissa went on, oblivious to the look Harry and Draco were sharing—the colour drained from Draco’s cheeks, a breath caught in Harry’s lungs. “I do hope you will be taking the Malfoy name, too! It would be an honour to have you as a part of our family tree…”

She went on about the Sacred Twenty-eight for what seemed like forever, and Harry was only vaguely aware of Draco interrupting her with the excuse they had to get back to work and ending the call after a round of good-byes.

For a moment, they both stared into the faceless flames.

“You’re not going to buy it if I tell you I really do need to get back to work, right?” Draco said after a moment, voice low.

“You know the answer to that.”

Draco huffed.

“Well, then, go ahead and ask what you want to ask. Don’t make me suffer for longer than necessary.”

Harry sneaked a glance in Draco’s direction. Unlike a few moments before, his face was a dark shade of red, hand clutching the edge of the carpet, knees drawn close to his chest.

“I don’t want to ask if you don’t want to tell me,” Harry murmured, looking back into the flames.

“It’s not like I can Obliviate you,” Draco retorted. “You heard what you heard.”

Harry nodded.

“That you’ve wanted me for a very long time.”

Draco didn’t reply.

Harry glanced at Draco’s hand again, now playing nervously with the fringe of the carpet, and, after a moment of hesitation that faded with his next exhale, he reached out and rested his hand on it. Draco’s fingers stilled under his touch, and Draco’s eyes found his—wide, scared, vulnerable.

He dared run the tips of his fingers over Draco’s knuckles, and his own breath caught when he heard Draco’s hitch.

“Draco…” Harry started, not knowing what he was even going to say. “The past few weeks have been… they’ve been—”

“Don’t,” Draco said, voice strained. “Don’t. Just—” He looked away again. “Just tell me you just want to be colleagues and be done with it, please.”

“Maybe that’s not what I want.” He slipped his fingers between Draco’s soft own; squeezed them gently. “Maybe what I want isn’t so different from what you want. You don’t know what’s going on inside my mind. You have no idea what the past few weeks have meant to me.”

Draco didn’t move under his touch—didn’t seem to move at all, except for the quick, uneven rise and fall of his chest. When he talked, the words came out quickly, in a whisper, as though he was terrified to hear himself say them.

“What are you saying, Potter?”

“What I’m saying is I want more of this. More puzzles, and movies, and more of your way-too-salty chicken soup, and more evenings and mornings by your side. I’m saying I hadn’t realised until very recently how much I want more of you, Draco. But I do. Merlin, I do.”

A sound somewhere between a whine and a choked cackle came out of Draco’s throat.

“You sound like I’ve actually proposed to you, you idiot,” he groaned. Harry rolled his eyes at him, squeezed his fingers yet again.

“I’m being serious!” he said, unable to hold back a laugh. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not! I’m just—this whole situation, it’s…”

“I know,” Harry murmured. “But it doesn’t have to be. Things don’t have to be so different now. I mean, we already work together and we’ve been having movie nights every Saturday for, what, three years now? And now we live under the same roof, we cook meals together, we fall asleep together on the couch…Merlin. We’re already like a married couple, aren’t we?” Harry said, horrified. “No wonder your parents bought the engagement story!”

“Wait till I tell you they were actually surprised it hadn’t happened sooner…”

Harry buried his face in his knees to stifle a groan.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, and stood up still holding on to Draco’s hand. “Let’s make some lunch and pretend like this wasn’t the most embarrassing conversation we’ve ever had.”

Draco’s fingers were still comfortably hooked around his as they made their way to the kitchen.

#otpshipper98 #drarry #harry potter #drarry squad #drarry fic #pining drarry

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

Text

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 5

A/N Sorry for the long break between chapters. As some of you might have seen from my Tumblr blog, I’ve been off on vacation these past two weeks. Plus, when I felt the urge to write, it was my new Vaquero AU that kept calling to me (21,000 words and counting!), rather than this fic. Which is probably a good argument for why I don’t like to post WIPs. In any event, here is the next chapter some of you have been asking for, entitled Third Appointment. Be careful what you wish for. Angst ahead, plus a trigger warning for infertility trauma, miscarriage.

The first four chapters are available on my AO3 page.

The Thursday after her impromptu encounter with Jamie and his niece at the Royal Hospital for Children, Claire woke with a strange twisting pain in her gut. Skipping breakfast, she was halfway to her office before she diagnosed herself with an acute case of nerves, the kind that sprouted between her lungs and ribcage like a vestigial organ whose sole purpose was to unsettle her.

She wasn’t in the habit of meeting patients outside of the clinical confines of her practice, but it was more than that. Jamie had caught her in a moment of weakness, with both her personal and professional armour missing. What he might have seen and how he could have interpreted it had occupied her thoughts ever since.

Eating lunch was out of the question. By the time two o’clock approached, her insides were a buzzing hornets’ nest of anxiety, her palms clammy with sweat. A half-empty bottle of Xanax called to her from the bottom of her purse. Before she could weigh the implications of taking one at work on an empty stomach, Jamie’s familiar knock intervened.

She could tell as soon as he entered that Maggie hadn’t needed a transfusion that week. His russet curls shone like garnets in the midday sun and his uncanny eyes glittered like sapphires. Still, he avoided looking directly her way as he settled into his usual chair, and she wondered if the overlap of their personal and professional lives had left him feeling unnerved as well.

“No wheat grass smoothie,” he commented, his gaze running over her desk.

“No, I didn’t have time for lunch today.” It was a blatant falsehood, since she’d spent her lunch hour picking her cuticles until they bled, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Ye should eat more, Sassen..., Doctor Beauchamp. Ye canna help anyone else if ye’re no’ properly nourished.” She caught the slip, and for some reason it angered her.

“Is this your attempt to negotiate a reduction in your fees, Jamie? Dietary advice in return for counselling? Because if so, I’m afraid I don’t bill on the barter system,” she snapped, despising her churlish tone.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, then dimmed. Message received, he sat up straighter in the armchair and crossed a foot over his knee, assuming a position of poised and detached calm that had no doubt served him well during business negotiations. She regrouped by pretending to glance at her journal for the notes from their previous session, although the space next to his name was accusingly blank.

Boundaries thus defined, the session went surprising well. Jamie spoke of his relief that Maggie’s latest round of chemotherapy was over, allowing her to return home and to some semblance of a regular life for a child of six. Claire coaxed him gently towards the topic of his overwhelming guilt for abandoning his family when he was most needed. Jamie processed pain through the recounting of stories, coming to terms with his self-decreed transgression by weaving together the tale of those he loved and pointing to the holes his absence had caused.

As his resonant voice spun its web of words, Claire became aware of an underlying hum. At first it was subtle, like the mumble of traffic from a far-off motorway. But as their hour together ticked by, it grew in strength until she could no longer ignore the buzz that pressed against her from all directions.

“... saw that it was really Jenny and Ian who I was... Claire? Doctor Beauchamp, are ye well?” Jamie was watching her with concern, and she realized she’d been shaking her head, trying to dislodge the omnipresent hum.

“Yes, I’m... yes. Sorry. Just a funny noise that’s... Please, continue.” When Jamie didn’t immediately pick up the thread of his narrative, she tried again. “You were saying something about Jenny and Ian?”

Instead of continuing his previous thought, Jamie picked that moment to broach the topic she’d desperately hoped he would avoid.

“I hope ye’re no’ upset about the other day, at the hospital. I didna mean tae impose or tae... o’erstep the bounds of our relationship. No’ that we have a relationship, mind,” he hastened to add. “Only a professional one. But when I saw ye, I couldna resist introducing ye tae wee Maggie. I hadna told ye about her yet, and I thought...”

“Jamie, it’s fine,” she cut in, halting his rambling explanation. “She’s a lovely girl. They all are. It’s only that, I’m sort of...”

“Ye’re verra good with them. Children, that is. Ye’ll make a fine mother one day.”

All the oxygen left the room at once. Her heart beat so hard there was a bruised feeling behind her sternum. Launching to her feet, Claire stumbled blindly away from her desk. She wanted to run, to scream, but her vision was a narrow chasm and a now-deafening throb filled her ears. She only made it a few steps before her knees buckled and the carpet floated upwards to meet her.

“Ifrinn!” Jamie leapt to her side, catching her by the shoulders before her head could hit the floor. He lowered them both carefully to the ground, resting her body against his lap. “Sassenach? Claire? Can ye hear me? Do I need tae call an ambulance?” The words reached her from very far away, but the threat of medical intervention acted like a dose of smelling salts.

“No,” she groaned, the room spinning around her like a kaleidoscope. “No hospital. I just... need to eat,” she grasped at the most innocuous explanation for her current state.

Without dislodging her, Jamie stretched his long arm and brought back the small basket of miniature muffins that were the day’s offering from Geillis. With surprising dexterity, he peeled away the paper one-handed and broke apart a bite-sized morsel, holding it gently against her lips. Realizing that her dignity couldn’t get any more battered, Claire opened her mouth and allowed Jamie to feed her. After only a few bites, the buzzing disappeared and she was able to sit up on her own.

“Thank you,” she murmured, afraid to look into his eyes for fear of the pity she knew she’d see there. “You were right. I should have eaten lunch, I guess.”

“Claire.” Jamie made a prose poem of the single syllable of her name. She looked up at him through her lashes, stunned to find him looking back, not with pity, but with something akin to adoration. “Mo nighean donn,” he ran a tender hand through her loosened curls. “Ye need tae care more for yerself.”

“I will. I’ll try.” And when she said it to him, she really meant it. Jamie made the impossible seem probable.

They stared at one another, shoulder to shoulder on the floor of her office. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but nor did she move. Her gaze flitted over his face, noticing a vestige of boyish freckles across the bridge of his nose, a mole hidden in the harvest stubble on his cheek. Jamie was performing a parallel inventory, eyes finally coming to rest at the level of her mouth.

“Ye’ve got a wee crumb, jus’ there.” Unconscious, her tongue swept out, triggering a predatory response, twin blue laser beams narrowing on the target she had just painted on her lower lip.

“I... I’d verra much like tae kiss ye, Claire. May I?”

An amputated moan was all she could manage in response, but Jamie must have understood its meaning. He bent his head until only a whisper separated them. The air crackled, sending that extra organ plummeting towards her hollow womb. Clenching her eyes shut in defeat, she closed the infinitesimal gap until they met in an effervescent caress of lip and tongue.

Cold washed over her skin, bathing her in gooseflesh. Jamie tasted like he looked; a banquet of fresh, volatile flavours that called to mind a picnic in a meadow, a spray of sea foam, the warmth of hearth and home. She could feel him trembling against her, his moist breath rushing against her cheek in shallow pants. For a score of heartbeats, Claire was the happiest she had ever been. Then, reality crashed down around her.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, pulling away. “I... this can’t... I’m sorry.”

Jamie leaned back with a mixture of longing and resignation. She hated adding herself to his list of regrets, but it was for the best.

“I’m your doctor, Jamie. This isn’t right.”

“Aye, I ken. I should apologize, but I canna seem tae find it in me tae repent.”

Jamie stood, reaching down to help Claire up as well. As soon as it was apparent she was able to stand on her own, he dropped her hand as though it burned. The line between his brows deepened, and she could see the question forming before he gave it voice.

“What if ye werena my doctor? Would it be right then?”

“That’s neither here nor there, because I am, Jamie. A relationship between patient and doctor of a romantic nature is ethically off-limits.”

Jamie nodded, apparently accepting her explanation at face value. Her heartbeat calmed. He moved slowly, gathering his coat and starting to leave.

“But what if ye weren’t?” he said, facing the door. “If we’d met at the hospital, or out on the town?”

“I...” she stammered, searching desperately for any answer except for the truth. “No, Jamie,” she said at last, watching as she destroyed his last bastion of hope. “I’m sorry. I just don’t feel that way about you.”

Nodding abruptly, Jamie let himself out of the office. She listened to his low murmuring voice through the door as he spoke to Geillis, heard him make an appointment for the following week, then the loud snap of the main door closing. Only then did she allow herself to collapse once more to the floor, angry sobs overtaking her.

***

“Are ye out of yer fuckin’ mind?” Geillis inquired with her usual brutal eloquence.

With the help of a Xanax, Claire had managed to see her last two patients of the day, and only needed to navigate the shoals of her office manager’s ire before she could go home and fully medicate herself into a dreamless sleep.

“Jes so we’re clear, ye want me tae write a letter terminating your services as a doctor an’ suggesting suitable alternative providers? An’ ye want me tae send this letter, over email, tae Jamie Fraser?”

“That’s right.” She had determined that icy calm was the best antidote to this conversation, which was fortuitous, since she felt numb all over.

“An’ what reason am I tae give fer this abrupt conclusion tae yer association wi’ Mr. Fraser?”

“I don’t owe him an explanation. Only sufficient notice and an opportunity to seek counselling elsewhere,” she said, feigning reasonableness.

Pushed past her limits, Geillis rose from behind her desk, a tiny tempest of moral indignation.

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, ye are a good friend, a fine doctor an’ a fair employer. But I swear by the Almighty that if ye dinna drop the façade and tell me wha’ is going on I am going tae smack ye until yer ears ring!”

There was a certain relief in knowing that Geillis wouldn’t take no for an answer. And unlike Jamie, she knew where Claire lived and would not let her rest until the truth came out.

“He kissed me. Or rather, I kissed him. And I liked it! That’s why, Geillis.”

Her friend’s shoulders sagged, all righteousness gone in an instant. She reached around Claire’s frame and held her in a bone-crushing one-sided hug.

“Och, hen. An’ ye figured ye could deal wi’ those pesky feelings by jes, what? firing him as yer patient?”

“I can’t deal with this right now, Geillis. I can’t feel the way he makes me feel. And this practice is all that I have left. There’s no way I can risk losing it just for an affair that won’t even last the summer.”

She didn’t need to elaborate on her reasons for that dire prediction. Geillis knew them as well as anyone.

“He’s an intelligent man, Claire. He’s gonna ken something is up. Moreover, he’s a good man. He deserves tae hear the truth.”

Shaking her head sadly, Claire walked towards the door. Just before exiting, she called back softly to her friend.

“Geillis? Make sure to include Dr. Rafferty’s name on the list of referrals. I think they’d be a good match.

***

Monday morning dawned with little promise for the fledgling week. Moving robotically through her weekend routine, Claire thought frequently of chickens. How their bodies kept moving once their heads were lopped off, nerves and muscle and bone continuing to function for a time despite the fatal blow.

The elevator chimed its arrival on her floor. As the doors slide open, Jamie was the first thing she saw. He loomed by her still-locked office, a sun-topped thundercloud gripping a sheet of printer paper.

She’d worn her best black suit and a pair of chunky heels that brought her closer to his height. Perhaps, on some subconscious level, she’d anticipated this confrontation. Perversely, she relished it. Vitriol and deceit didn’t suit her, but it was preferable to feeling absolutely nothing.

“Do ye mind tellin’ me,” Jamie began before she’d even set foot in the hallway, “jus’ what this is about, Claire?” He brandished the paper like a wanted poster.

“I would think it was self-explanatory, actually. I’m terminating our professional relationship,” she huffed, golden eyes coming to life for the first time since Thursday.

“Via email. Sent tae me by Miss Duncan, because ye dinna have the guts tae do it yerself. Christ, Sassenach, even my ninth grade sweetheart didna dump me so cruelly!”

“I’m not your sweetheart!” she burst out, a flood of emotion cresting with her rising anger. “Don’t call me that! I was your doctor, Jamie, and now I’m nothing to you. Nothing. Just go. Please. Just go,” she finished weakly and without any hope that he’d listen.

“All this jus’ because I kissed you?” Jamie persevered. At her stubborn silence, he continued, “Nah, I dinna think so. Ye’re many things, Claire, but a coward isna one of them.”

She found this hysterically funny, since a coward was the only role she played to perfection. She didn’t have time to laugh, however, because Jamie was suddenly standing much closer, forcing her to lift her chin to meet his stormy eyes.

“Nah,” he continued smoothly, a big cat alerted to the smell of its prey. “If ye’d objected tae the kiss, ye would have told me so. Read me the riot act or kneed me in the bawls. I think ye’re scared, Doctor Beauchamp. I think that kiss terrified ye, because ye realized ye liked it. Somethin’ ye couldna plan for in yer wee journal, right there under yer nose. Bet it made yer heart beat so fast. So fast, jus’ like it is now.”

Jamie’s hand rested gently over the placket of her suit jacket, where he could surely feel the trip hammering of her pulse.

“Please,” she begged. “Don’t. I can’t...”

“Can’t what, Sassenach?” he whispered back, goading her.

The truth hung on her lips, and the toll of the past few days meant that she no longer had the strength to stop it from spilling forth.

“Can’t have children. Ever. I tried, for years. Fourteen miscarriages, fourteen lost chances. And seeing you with those children last week. I know it’s presumptive, but I could never deny you that chance, Jamie. That’s why I can’t see you anymore.”

She was looking down, watching the buttons of his shirt rise and fall with his agitated breath, but as she finished speaking, their movement ceased. Chancing a glance upward, she was stunned by the fury that had overtaken his expression.

Jamie opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed to speak in a gritty growl.

“Mutation of the RUNX1 gene tha’ causes leukemia. I was tested, along wi’ Jenny an’ Ian, after Maggie was diagnosed. I have a fifty percent chance of passing it along tae my children. An’ since I canna stand the thought of ano’er bairn havin’ tae suffer as Maggie has, as soon as I got the test results, I went out an’ had a vasectomy.”

Claire recoiled as though she’d been slapped, a high pitched whine in her ears.

“Ye’re no’ the only one who’s hurting, Claire!” Jamie continued, voice dashing against the rocks of her name. “We’re no’ meant tae suffer alone. Ye, of all people, should ken that.”

Stunned in the silence following the thunderclap of his revelation, she couldn’t find the words to express her sorrow, her outrage, and her crippling shame. By the time the power of speech returned, Jamie was gone.

#my writing #outlander

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shes-ghostface · 3 years

Note

Nice can we get some spicy Harry Warden spending his first Valentines day with his s/o? (Preferably fem)

I’ve never written quite a strong NSFW before so I’m sorry if it’s a bit weird or lame 😂 I hope by spicy you did mean nsfw, if not I’m so sorry! 😂 I feel like I took too long to actually get to the spicy bits 😂 so if you get bored skip down about 14 paragraphs, that’s when it gets to the nsfw! 🤍

Harry Warden x Fem s/o (very NSFW)

February 14th, the day you know Harry isn’t fond of, had finally came around. You and Harry had been together for a few months now. He wasn’t much of a celebrator when it came to any holiday, but you know Valentines Day was a bit of a trigger for him. You didn’t exactly know what to expect as this was your first one together, and you hadn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon.

You have your own apartment not too far from the mines, Harry stays at your place a lot though. He likes to know you’re safe and be able to watch over you. Plus he gets a nice view of the town from your window as your apartment is pretty high up. But he prefers to pick his next victim from there rather than look at the scenery.

You do go to the mines with him sometimes, but you prefer not to as it is really cold and damp, sometimes Harry leaves dead bodies lying around too which is quite stomach churning. Once he realises your discomfort though, he moves them instantly and throws them down the mining chute. You can’t even imagine how many bodies are down there.

Harry tries to make you feel at home when you’re there by filling his furnace up with wood to make sure you’re warm, he puts the radio on to give you some noise to listen to, as he doesn’t talk much. But you don’t mind, just his company is enough to keep you happy. It always plays classic 80s music, it’s the only music he will listen to, so don’t ever try to change the channel.

Harry was very shy at first, you only really knew you had started dating him when he began to bring crystals from the mines to your door along with small notes covered in soot, usually they only consisted of him telling you how nice you looked today, or that he’d be coming by later. He wouldn’t be there when you opened the door at first. He would just leave the crystals along with a note outside your door in a pouch for you to pick up, you knew he would be watching you read his notes from somewhere though. Another thing he did, is he would watch you as you worked and if anyone flirted with you, they wouldn’t be in the next day, or any days after that. You didn’t want to know exactly what happened to them, but you had an idea. Once he got more confident though, he would knock at your door and before you could even open it fully he would barge it all the way open, knocking you back. Of course he caught you before you fell every time though, and he would yank you into him for hugs, getting soot and blood all over you and your clothes.

Once he was comfortable, he definitely made himself at home, he would immediately plonk his sooty ass on your couch and drop his pickaxe at his feet, then motion you to come sit in his lap. Oh you don’t want your clothes getting dirty with the soot? Tough shit, he would get up and drag you to the couch and place you in his lap himself. Harry is VERY touch starved, so any chance he got he was touching you or pulling you into him so he could feel you against him. You could be cooking and he would be behind you instantly, hands wrapped around your waist, watching over your shoulder, rattling your ears with his heavy breathing under the gas mask. Of course you liked that though. When it came to bedtime, if he was staying over, he would be in the bed first. You didn’t want soot and half dried blood all over your bedding? Oh well, guess you’re washing it in the morning, because there’s no shifting this heavy bastard. Soon as you walked into your bedroom he would already be sitting up waiting for you, he would pat your side of the bed, telling you to get in. He didn’t move much through the night, he just held your hand in his leather gloved one. The whole night that is, if you tried to move he would grip your hand tighter.

It was getting darker by the minute as you were getting ready for your night shift, but you couldn’t really focus on anything due to wondering where Harry was. You thought he would have woken you up if stayed over last night but when you woke and looked to his side of the bed, all you seen was the sooty outline of his body. He must have kept quiet, which was strange for him. He usually barges in and the sound of his dense, blood coated pickaxe hitting the floor usually wakes you.

You were getting your bag ready for the night shift but you got knocked out of your thoughts by the banging on your apartments door, you sighed as you placed your bag on the kitchen counter before making your way to answer it. You were hoping it was Harry, you wanted to see if he was doing okay, today of all days, but as you opened the door, to your disappointment, it was just your neighbour from across the corridor. She asked if you knew what all the soot in the hallway was as it came to and from your apartment. You just shook your head and closed the door in her face, you couldn’t be bothered dealing with anyone’s shit right now. You had 30 minutes to get to work and you wanted to fill Harry’s Valentines card out before you left, just in case he came by. You didn’t know how he would react to receiving a card, but you hoped it would be a positive reaction.

You finished writing his card just in time before having to set off to work, you reread it just to double check it sounded okay.

“To my Harry, Happy Valentines Day. It’s our first one together, so I wasn’t sure on getting you a card but I couldn’t resist! Looking forward to seeing you once I’m done with work, lots of love.”

That should do, you thought. You didn’t want to overdo it as it was your first Valentines with him and you weren’t even sure if he wanted to celebrate it in the first place. You sealed the red envelope and left it on the kitchen counter so he would see it as soon as he walked through the door.

You grabbed your bag and hoisted it onto your shoulder as you walked towards your door, as you pulled it open and went to walk out, you were met with those black, sooty overalls. His musky scent filling your senses, you looked up and were met with that gas mask of his, followed by his heavy breathing. “Oh- hey Harry, I was just on my way to work, I got you a card. It’s on the counter if you want it.” You said nervously, as you fidgeted with your bag strap on your shoulder. Harry looked up from your face, leaning slightly to the side to look over your shoulder into the apartment, noticing the red envelope. He looked down to you suddenly, causing your breath to hitch. “I need t-“ before you could even get your sentence out, Harry abruptly swung his left hand from behind his back, you flinched, closing your eyes preparing for the worst. Nothing happened.. as you opened your eyes back up, he was holding out a red, heart shaped box. You were shocked to say the least, you weren’t expecting anything from Harry as you knew he wasn’t fond of Valentines Day. “You- you got me something?” You asked. He nodded, holding the box out closer to you, urging you to take it. “Thank you Harry!” You gushed, taking the box from his gloved hand. You were a bit apprehensive to open it as you had heard the stories of Harry leaving human hearts in chocolate boxes, but as you opened it, you were surprised to see it was actually full of chocolates. A smile lit up your face, which made Harry perk up and fidget a little. “I can’t wait to share these with you later! Thank you so much!” You exclaimed as you wrapped your arms around the top of his shoulders, he returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you tightly to him. You did feel some dampness as you held him though, and that familiar smell of blood filled your nose, it definitely hadn’t been long since his recent kill.

As gross as it was, you still loved being held by him, but unfortunately, the hug had to end so that you could go to work. “I have to get to work, but I’ll see you later and we can have a nice late night together if you’d like?” You asked. Harry pulled away, looking down at you, he didn’t move for a few seconds, then he shook his head. “No? You don’t want to spend time together tonight?” He nodded, “You do want to? Then what are you saying no to?” He didn’t respond straight away, but then you heard that husky, deep voice you hardly ever hear, “Work.” He edged himself closer to you, causing you to slightly step back. His body stood in the doorframe, taking up the entirety of it, blocking you from leaving. “Harry, I have to go I could get fir-“ He pushed you back into your apartment, causing you to stumble backwards. He slammed the door behind him, dragging his bloody pickaxe and placing it under the door handle, preventing anyone from coming in, he then turned to you. “No.” You felt his voice rattle through you, his tone callous. He wasn’t messing around, you weren’t going to work it seemed. “Okay, well I’ll have to call them and say I can’t make it Harry. I can’t just not turn up.” He stood there, breathing heavily, watching every step you took as you walked to place your bag on the kitchen counter and take your phone out to call your boss. Luckily your boss picked up the phone instantly, you told her you couldn’t make it today as something just came up. She wasn’t happy due to the late notice, but she just told you to make up for it by coming in earlier tomorrow.

As you put the phone down Harry’s frame loosened, he edged closer to the red envelope on the counter. “Go ahead, open it.” You told him. He grabbed it, causing black soot to coat over most of it. He took the card out, staring at the front of it, which had a silhouette of a couple kissing and a banner saying Happy Valentines. He stared for a few seconds, you had never actually kissed Harry. He never takes his mask off in front of you, which bothered you a little bit as it would be nice to feel his lips against yours, and to actually see his eyes instead of those blacked out, glass frames on his gas mask once in a while. He opened it, reading the contents silently. He stayed quiet for a while, before looking up at you, staring at you whilst stroking the card slightly with his gloved thumb. “Do you like it?” You ask, eagerly awaiting his response. He doesn’t say anything, he just places the card back on the counter and starts walking towards you swiftly, you had no idea what he was doing. He had never came at you so aggressively.

Harry was barely even an inch in front of you when he stopped abruptly, towering over your frame, you could feel his gaze burning into you. You were nervous to look up, you didn’t know if this was a good reaction or a bad one. You felt his right hand tug at the hem of your jeans, causing you to stumble even closer into his large frame. “Harry what are yo-“ he put his left gloved hand over your mouth, as you looked up at the glassed eyes of his mask, all you heard was his deep, stern voice “Quiet.” You had no idea what was going on, he had never been this forward before. You nodded, agreeing to not ask questions. He brought both of his hands to the buttons of your jeans, undoing them frantically. He is touch starved after all, he had wanted to touch your body for a long time now, but he was waiting for this day. Considering everyone says it’s the day of love and all that. You didn’t resist, because you wanted this just as much as he did.

He pressed forward, forcing you to move with him, he lowered you onto the couch, giving him the ability to pull your jeans off of your legs, you couldn’t help but blush. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks, Harry noticed this, he loved seeing you so flustered. Knowing he had this power over you, it got him even more excited. His member was hardening with each second that passed. He needed you, and you knew how much you needed him. Your jeans were ripped completely off at this point, you felt the cold air hit your bare legs. Harry traced his gloved hand over your white, lace panties, leaving a slight trail of black soot mixed with blood from his finger. His breathing started to get heavier, you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Harry got to you in ways no one else ever had, just him looking at you made you weak, never mind all of this. Your t shirt didn’t stay on for long, he yanked that off, nearly causing it to rip from the force. You were left in your white lace bra and panties, the cold air nipping at your skin as his gaze burned into every inch of your being. He was fascinated by your body, so soft, so small, compared to his.

Harry got up suddenly, you had no idea what he was doing, but you were aching for him. He can’t strip you and get you all flustered to just leave. “Where are you going?!” You yelled, to which there was no reply, all you seen was the room go black. He had switched the light off. “Harry?” Nothing. No response, until you heard heavy footsteps inching closer to you, along with leaden breathing. His mask was still on, that’s for sure. You didn’t say anything as you felt his presence approach you, the heavy footsteps from his boots stopping abruptly, inches in front of the couch where you were left waiting for him. “Take them off.” He commanded, causing you to blush and become flustered. “What?” You asked nervously, “You know what. Take them off, or I will.” He growled, causing your whole body to shudder. You shifted in your seat, not sure what to expect next, you put your thumb under the hem of your panties to begin pulling them down, but Harry was impatient. Do you not realise how long he has been waiting to make you his? He lets out a frustrated sigh, emphasised by his mask. All you felt was his gloved hands brushing against your thighs as he pulled your panties down, dropping them to the floor, beside his boots. He could see pretty well in the dark as he had grown accustomed to making his way around down in the dark mines, but you could barely even make out his silhouette, you could only just see his body heaving up and down from his breathing, but you knew he was staring at you. “Mine.” He growled to himself, just loud enough for you to hear, causing even more heat to rush to your core.

The tension between the two of you was agonising, he just stood there taking the sight of you in, making you wait. Was he doing this on purpose? Did he know how much this was affecting you? You heard him move ever so slightly, from what you could make out in the dark, he had lowered himself onto one knee. His gas mask level with your face, before you could react, you felt his leather gloved hands push your legs open, causing you to lose balance and slide down the couch slightly, you gasped and stabilised yourself with your hands either side of you. Harry was brushing his right hand up your right thigh, causing a streak of blood and soot to trail up your leg. He loved seeing blood on your skin, it was like art to him. Knowing his most recent kill was marked on you, this made him start breathing rather erratically. He found it so hot. He couldn’t resist, you felt one of his gloved fingers enter your heat, moving it in and out ever so slowly at first, causing you to melt into his touch as he put a second finger in. You hadn’t been touched there in so long, you had forgotten how it felt. You didn’t even care that he left his bloodstained, soot covered glove on as his fingers eased in and out of you, making your breathing heavy and your body feel waves of pleasure. Harry was fascinated by how wet you were for him, your fluids mixing with the small amount of blood made him throb from excitement. He couldn’t wait to be inside you, to feel your warm, sticky core taking his cock. He couldn’t resist it any longer, his fingers left you, making you feel empty. You heard him get up from the floor, he was stood upright now, looking down at you. You heard the zip to his black, mining coveralls coming undone. You were yearning for him, you wanted him inside of you so bad. Every second felt like a minute, but this is Harry. You won’t be getting what you want just yet, he made you feel good just now, time to return the favour. “Sit up.” He ordered, you did as you were told, you couldn’t see as it was still pitch black in the room, but Harry’s length was solid, and of course, the only thing that could ease it was you. Your mouth was at the perfect height to take his cock, and you better believe he is going to take advantage of your pretty little mouth. You felt his gloved hand stroke your cheek, then his thumb tracing your lips. “Open up for me.” He growled, you obliged, opening your mouth, all the while still aching to feel him inside you. You felt the tip of his cock brush past your lips, onto your tongue, filling your mouth, causing your tastebuds to twang. You were expecting him to taste dirty, considering he hadn’t showered in a few days, but he didn’t. You didn’t know what soot tasted like, but you do now. The chalky substance soon watered down once Harry started gently thrusting his cock in and out of your slick mouth, brushing his hands through your hair, “Good girl, yes. That’s my good girl.” He muttered over and over every time you took the full length of him inside your mouth and down your throat, causing you to slightly gag. Harry wasn’t exactly small, you had never had someone this size. He was both girthy and long, perfectly evened out. This was a slight concern though, you kept thinking about how much smaller than him you were, hopefully he wouldn’t go too rough when he is inside you. Or hopefully he will.

Harry’s breathing was slower and heavier. You tasted his pre-cum overtake your tongue just before he slowly pulled out of your mouth, “Good girl, now stand up.” He commanded. You wiped the slight mix of saliva and Harry’s pre-cum from your lips with your hand as you lifted yourself up off of the couch. “Why?” You asked, eagerly awaiting his response. To which he never gave you an answer, he leant down, grabbing the backs of your thighs with his gloved hands, one with some of the fingers still wet from being inside of you. He lifted up against him, you wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck as he lead you both towards the bedroom. This caused your heart to feel like it was beating out of your chest, all you could hear was his heavy breathing from under his mask and the heavy footsteps of his boots leading you to the bed. He booted the door to the bedroom open with ease, rushing inside, placing you down onto the bed. He leant down, arms reaching around your back to undo your bra. He unclipped it with such ease, tossing it to the side, “Lay down.” He instructed. You laid back, anticipating his next move, you were craving his body against yours, every time he touched you it was like a fiery blaze rushed through your entire being. It was darker in the bedroom than it was out in the living room and kitchen area, so you couldn’t really see Harry at all. You heard the sound of metal unclipping, followed by the sound of a rush of air coming out of his mask. He’d taken it off, for the first time he was maskless, right in front of you. You wanted to see his face so bad but you knew to respect his privacy, if he wanted to show you his face, he would in his own time. The sound of him unlacing his boots and stepping out of his coveralls came next, you now knew he was completely naked. He doesn’t wear anything under his mining gear, which made your stomach flutter with excitement. You felt the bed lower as he got onto it, moving towards you. You felt him leaning over your body, peering down at you. “Don’t turn a light on, or you’ll know about it.” He growled, “I won’t” you replied, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat. “Good girl. Now lay still.” His voice was so deep even without the gas mask, you couldn’t help but bite your lip in anticipation. He lowered himself so that he was inches away from your face, you heard him inhale through his nose, taking in your scent. He hadn’t smelt you without the gas mask before, and your scent drove him crazy. He pressed his surprisingly soft lips against yours, caressing your face with his bare hand as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. “So- precious.” He whispered between the kisses, his lips sent you into some kind of frenzy, you couldn’t get enough of him, it was so nice to finally feel his lips and skin against yours for once, instead of his leather gloves and rough coveralls.

Harry began to lower his hands, caressing your breasts as he buried his face into your neck, kissing it unrelentingly. He craved every inch of you, he couldn’t help himself, his hands started to feel up and down your waist and hips, his teeth sinking into your skin with teasing bites, causing you to wince and moan at the painful pleasure. Harry is gentle, but once his animalistic side gets the better of him, his dominance shows. He pushed himself up, parting your legs and readying his cock at your entrance. You didn’t have time to prepare as he slid himself into you, he stretched you out so fast, you felt your walls clenching around his length, causing you to gasp and moan with the pleasurable shock. He was relentless, he didn’t give you a chance to adjust to his size before pounding into you, his right hand reaching down to your throat and gripping with force, causing your breathing to hitch. He loved seeing you so helpless, taking his cock like a good girl whilst the hands he has used to kill so many were on you, he could kill you right now if he wanted to, whilst fucking you senseless. This sent him into a frenzy, he lowered both of his hands to your hips, gripping them to give him the stability to pound every inch of himself into you. You didn’t even have time to catch your breath from him choking you before he made you breathless again, his cock reaching parts of your core you didn’t even know were reachable. You couldn’t focus on anything but the pleasure rising with every stroke of his member thrusting deeply into your heat, you were so close to cumming that you had to grab onto him forearms to keep yourself stable, you were surprised you hadn’t both fallen off of the bed from the sheer force he was ramming into you. Your body feeling jolts of pleasure throughout it every time Harry thrusted himself all the way into you, hitting the spot just right. Harry was nearing his edge too, he couldn’t get over how tight you were and how well you fit around his cock. His little angel looked so dirty with the soot and bloodstains from his hands all over your body and throat, causing him to buck into you with every ounce of energy he had left, making you hit your climax as he railed into the deepest part of you, whilst hitting your clit just right, “Oh god- Harry yes, YES.” You whined euphorically, hearing you moan his name drove Harry wild, knowing he made you feel so good with his cock, it made him pound into you mercilessly, feeling your tight, wet walls engulf every inch of him, he gripped your throat once again, just to see you at his mercy as he unloads himself into your heat. “Yes, yes. Good girl, su- such a good girl for me.” He moaned, whilst tightening his grip on your throat, making your vision blur. All you could feel was his cock throbbing against your walls as his cum oozed into you. His breathing erratic, he lowered himself back down to you, easing his grip around your neck, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Mine.” He whispered, rolling off of you. He had claimed you as his. You couldn’t believe what you had just experienced, you knew your first time with Harry would be amazing, but you couldn’t even think straight because of how much he had just devoured you.

You heard Harry get up off of the bed, and begin to get dressed again. You heard his coveralls zip up, then his mask click back into place and his breathing become rattled and heavy again. He switched the light back on once he was his ‘normal self’. He just stood, staring at you, his chest heaving in and out. “I’m going to get in the shower, you can come in with me if you like?” You asked, hoping he would agree because he definitely needed one after that. He shook his head and replied, “After.” To which you gathered was because he still wasn’t ready for you to see his face just yet. As you went into the bathroom, Harry couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had just happened. He usually hates this day, but this was the best day he’d had in a long time. He won’t ever tell you that though. He went out into the kitchen, heading towards the door to get his pickaxe, but before he reached it, the card you had gotten him caught his attention. He was staring at the couple kissing on the front of it, it had been so long since he had kissed someone. Feeling your lips against his made him feel something he hasn’t felt in a long time, he never thought he’d feel love on Valentine’s Day ever again. But you proved him wrong. He shook himself out of his thoughts, Harry was an old fashioned man. He didn’t think dwelling on feelings was necessary. So he put the card into his coverall chest pocket, and headed to his pickaxe.

You stepped into the hot shower, the beads of water caressing and cleaning your recently devoured body. You didn’t know, but Harry was watching you from the slight crack in the door. What you weren’t expecting, was five minutes into your shower, to feel his presence right behind you. As you looked to the floor of the shower, you seen the black, soot filled water running down the drain. You froze for a minute, not knowing whether to turn around, but you couldn’t resist. You really wanted to see his face. As you turned, you seen his chest first, which had dark brown hairs and scars scattered across it, you lifted your hands to brush over them, he has been through so much. You knew not all of these scars were just from his victims fighting back, some of them were from when the mine collapsed. It hurt knowing how alone he must have been for so many years. You looked up and were met with his dark, icy blue eyes, they were gorgeous. His hair was a dark brown and his skin pale, which was no surprise because how on earth would this guy get any sun wearing that mining get up everyday. You couldn’t help but stare, he was so handsome. Your gaze made him look away, no one had seen his face in so many years and he wasn’t used to getting looked upon for so long. You lifted your hand to his face, turning his head, making him face you again. “Thank you, Harry.” He looked down at you, before suddenly getting out of the shower and tugging the shower curtain back over, you could hear him putting his coveralls and mask back on from the other side. You stalled for a minute, giving him some space, then you went to open the curtain but he beat you to it. You were met with the blacked out glass frames of his mask, “Happy Valentine’s Day, angel.” He whispered, as he backed up and lowered himself onto the chair in the corner of the bathroom, leaning forward, his legs slightly apart, resting his arms on them while spinning his pickaxe in his hands as he watched you finish cleaning up the body he had just claimed.

I’m sorry it’s so long and it took a while to release! I thought it would be good to release it on Valentine’s Day 😂 but I hope you like it! 🤍🤍

#slasher x reader #harry warden x reader #harry warden #my bloody valentine

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whumpinggrounds · 3 years

Text

All Caught Up

woohoo here for day 1 of @whumptober2021 with some superhero/sidekick content :) as i’m sure you’ll figure out, this is for the barbed wire part of the prompt

tagging @whumpy-writings, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed :)

CW: barbed wire, (duh), blood, field medicine, cuts, pain, crying, sidekick whump, environmental whump (kinda??)

The mission is going well, as far as August can tell. He’s been relegated to recon, which is a nice way of saying that he’s spending the night running circles around the action. Beck, ever the diplomatic leader, makes sure to talk up the importance of it, emphasize how August is keeping them safe by watching everyone’s back. August, young and green though he might be, is smart enough to know that it’s a little less dramatic than all that. At least he’s contributing, August tells himself. Mercer, his fellow trainee, is back at the compound with the medic girl, Valerie. Perhaps it’s only because August’s power is more useful, but he’d like to pretend it’s a little deeper than that.

By his fifteenth lap around their perimeter, August has to call his wishful thinking what it is. He’s not any more capable than Mercer, and certainly he’s less useful than Valerie. He’s just convenient for the current mission, which, by the way, he doesn’t even get to know about. After just a few minutes of the task, he has to admit what he’s really doing, which is running pointless circles around a warehouse in the dark, keeping his eyes open for anyone suspicious.

“What kind of suspicious person should I be looking for?” August had asked, overloaded on adrenaline as Beck and Donovan briefed him on the mission. Beck had nodded at the question, but Donovan had looked nothing short of disgusted.

“We’ll be at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city in the middle of the night. Anyone shows up, they’re suspicious. Is that simple enough for you?”

After weeks of training with him, August was well used to Donovan’s digs, but hearing it in front of Beck made him flush like it was the first time. He ducked his head, cringing from the friendly pat Beck tried to land on his shoulder.

“Don’s just stressed,” Beck had explained with an apologetic smile. August had forced a smile. If that was true, Donovan’s spent the past several weeks stressed, every minute of every day.

The memory of the conversation cheers August, just a little. It reminds him that he’s out here, jogging easy laps around the warehouse, instead of inside, within range of Donovan’s caustic comments. At a steady, sustainable lope, August cuts through the clear, slightly cool night air like a knife. He’s dressed in black from head to toe, including a mask pulled down over his face that hides his spiky, strawberry blonde hair. When he first dressed out like this, August had been tempted to ask what would happen if someone thought he looked suspicious, skipping around dressed completely in black. Before he got the words out, though, he imagined Donovan’s withering response, and Beck’s awkward pity. August decided it was better just to keep his mouth shut. Now he focuses on watching the world around him, scanning alleyways and empty roads in widening circles. It’s easy, meditative, the most familiar motion August knows.

Around him, the night is thick and silent. His footsteps echo down quiet streets, only the sound of buzzing streetlights and distant sirens there to keep him company. Of all the sketchy parts of the city, August wouldn’t have picked the warehouse district for a criminal hotspot – most of these places are legitimate shipping contract, complete with a rent-a-cops posted outside their chain link fencing. This building is on the edge, though. August examines it on his closer loops, trying to glean from the outside what must be going on within. He has a lot to learn, and it’ll take him twice as long if Donovan and Beck won’t explain things to him outright.

They’ve been in the area almost an hour when a new noise makes August’s ears prick up. Something rattles in one of the side streets, a way that’s been empty the last three times August checked it. Tightening his circle, August trots toward the sound, not sure whether he should hope for a stray dog, or something a little more exciting.

As he draws closer, August tries to note the ways the alleyway might’ve changed, but he just hasn’t been paying enough attention in all this quiet. There’s a bottle, gleaming empty, in the center of the alley, which may not have been there before. Slowing to a walk, August scans both sides of the way carefully, making sure to check the window sconces above him. He gets to the street on the other side, ready to give up, when he sees him. Across the way, there’s a man watching him – dark clothes, shifty eyes. Their eyes lock, and August feels his heart rate pick up.

Before he can say anything or start to move, the other man is turning and running. Despite himself, a smile spreads across August’s face. Perfect.

Springing into action, August throws himself into the chase. After all the casual jogging, it feels so good to run – muscles firing at top speed, peak efficiency. The world blurs past his face as August’s legs pump beneath him, fine and strong. Fully confident in his abilities, August charges forward, fighting the urge to grin.

Up ahead, the stranger doesn’t look back. Presumably, he can hear August’s footsteps, catching up to him in leaps and bounds. The guy darts into a nearby building, dodging through dilapidated rooms, no doubt as a last-ditch attempt at evasion. Smirking, August tears after him.

The only thing that keeps the man out of August’s reach are the doorways and minor obstacles that block August’s path. He has to slow down to dodge, and the stranger pulls ahead again, fleeing out the back door a few precious yards before August. Growling, August hurls himself forward again, springing off the bottom steps of the house. He takes two massive strides and then –

And then August is on the ground, for seemingly no reason. Heart pumping hard, adrenaline surging through his veins, August tries to bounce back to his feet without even checking what might be wrong. That’s when the pain hits.

It’s stinging, at first, in his legs, and then a strange, metallic rattling sound. August lies still, brain still trying to catch up to what exactly is going on. Slowly, tentatively, he tries to separate one leg from the other, and then sucks in a breath as the tearing pain sharpens. Peering down, he whimpers as the source of his agony is revealed.

A bunch of old, rusty strands of barbed wire are wrapped around his legs. He must’ve run into them, almost full speed. If they were stapled to something before, his momentum must’ve carried him straight through, but it’s just as likely that the coils were just sitting there. Either way, the wire is now wrapped tight around his legs, digging in with every little motion he tries to use to escape.

Okay. Okay. August tries to keep his breathing level, but it’s hard. It’s getting shaky. Okay, he tells himself, just, just sit up-

But sitting up moves the wires, makes them tear at his skin in new and agonizing ways. Hissing through his teeth, August gives up for a second, lies panting on the ground like a landed fish. The weight on his legs makes the barbs dig in all the deeper. Whining, August pushes himself up on his elbows and, fighting pain, reaches back to try to pull the damn thing off. Every single motion makes the barbs dig deeper, rip and tear at August’s skin like they have teeth and independent, vicious will.

Despite his gritted teeth, his clenched fists, his desperate attempts to control himself, tears leak from August’s eyes. Angrily he swipes them away, panting through the waves of stinging pain, trying to think. He needs to…he needs to…he needs to get upright, so he can untangle himself.

The thought of standing, of all the maneuvering he’ll need to do, puts a sob in August’s throat. He just wants it to stop hurting. Adrenaline is draining from his system, leaving him with helpless, useless pain. August wants someone to come help him – but even if Donovan and Beck are out looking for him, he has no way of knowing when they’ll find him. Besides, he’s a full-on adult. He’s supposed to be a superhero. He’s supposed to help on this mission, not hinder. August needs to fix this himself.

Drawing in a long, unsteady breath, August steels himself, eyes closed. He can’t fix anything from his current position, facing the ground and unable to see just how bad the knotting is. Trying to stand is going to dig the barbs even deeper into his thighs and calves. Flipping over on his back will tangle him further in the loose strands of wire. There’s no good option, but he can’t just lie here on his face and let the barbs bury themselves in his skin, hoping someone finds him soon.

Gritting his teeth, August makes his move fast, giving himself no time to chicken out. Throwing his body to the side, he flips himself onto his back, dragging the strands of wire with him.

The pain is blinding. Either the wire is still attached to something, or its own weight resisted August’s move – whatever it is, the wire wrapped around his legs drags hard against August’s flesh. Caught off guard, August screams, a harsh, ragged sound that echoes loud into the night. He screams just once, and then bites down savagely on his cheek, pressing a fist to his mouth to muffle his sobs. Below the waist, his pants grow wet with blood.

Fuck. Fuck. It hurts so bad his body shakes with his tears. It hurts. Inside his head, August is wailing, but on the outside, all he can do is lie on the ground shaking, pressing his fist so hard against his teeth that his knuckles split and bleed.

Fuck. Fuck. Just breathe. He has to breathe. He has to breathe, and then he has to get it together, and then he has to fix this.

After a few minutes of regaining his composure, August sits up gingerly. In the dim glow of flickering streetlights, he looks at the mess wound tight around his legs. Just seeing it makes his stomach drop. He has no tools with him, nothing that could be used to cut spiky steel wire. August will have to sit here and peel each piece away from his skin by hand, even as tugging at one strand pulls another strand tighter.

It's going to be agony. But August doesn’t have another choice. Already, his pants are damp, and it won’t be long before a puddle starts to form. He can’t just sit here and weep until his mentors come to save him.

With one shaking finger, August tries to trace the wire, to figure out where and how to start. Eventually, he abandons that idea – he’s held by at least two, maybe three separate pieces of wire, and they’re all twisted together, a chaotic tangle that engulfs his legs in too many different places. Locking his jaw together and vowing that he won’t scream, August sets out to free himself.

It feels like it takes forever. A few times, August wishes dizzily to pass out from blood loss, or pain, but though the barbs cut deep, he’s not losing a dangerous amount of blood. The pain, rather than knocking him out, seems determined to keep him inescapably, unbearably present, aware of every little agony that razor wire can cause. Every shift, every tug, every careful little motion sends searing pain reverberating through his body.

Driven to distraction by the pain, by gritting his teeth and reducing his screams to grunts, August casts around him, finally landing on an old cardboard box collapsing in on itself nearby. With greedy fingers he hauls it to himself, folds it into a packet as thick as a wallet, and stuffs it in his mouth. Cringing from the taste of earth and mold and damp, August draws in a difficult breath around the mouthful and then attempts a particularly hard yank.

Head falling back, August yowls into his makeshift gag, biting down so hard he chokes on his trapped tongue. Coughing, crying, keening into the cardboard like a wounded animal, August works an especially tight strand away from his calves, not letting himself stop, no matter how painful or loud the going is.

When the loop is finally loose, August lets his teeth creak apart. His jaw aches from the clenching, and his teeth have worn deep, blurred impressions in the old cardboard. His hands are trembling, stained with blood from his legs and from where he’s cut his palms heaving at the wire entrapping him. Swiping a bloody hand across his mouth, August tries to get his breath back, all the while moaning, letting out little repetitive whimpering cries, like an animal caught in a trap and begging for aid. Distantly, he’s surprised at himself – he’s never heard these little pleading whines before and wouldn’t have thought it was something he would do. He’d always thought of himself as a yeller, before, someone who outright bellowed their pain. Tonight, he’s timid and pathetic as a child.

By the time Beck and Donovan find him, August is working on the last round of wire, surrounded by the bloody remnants of his prior successes. He’s too exhausted and pain-sick to focus on anything but freeing himself, so he isn’t alerted to the presence of the other supers until he hears Beck’s murmur. “Oh, fuck.” The leader sounds horrified, sick. “Oh, fuck, August, what happened?”

Too weary to have dignity, August just opens his mouth and lets the cardboard fall out, hands dropping to his sides and away from the barbed wire still stuck in his legs. “Saw som’n watchin’ the warehouse.” It’s been so long since he tried to talk that August isn’t sure why he’s slurring – maybe exhaustion, maybe the pain. Maybe because he’s been biting down so hard on cardboard his jaw feels like it won’t work right ever again. “Trieda chase ‘em. Didn’ see…didn’ see the wire.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Don’ know. Feels like…a long time.”

August looks up at Beck with total, hopeless, bottomless despair. Swallowing hard, Beck drops to his knees beside August, hand slipping down to his toolbelt. In seconds, he has a pair of wire cutters out and ready, and August feels hysterical laughter well within him at the thought of how easy this all would’ve been if only Beck had been around.

From another street floats a familiar, four note whistle. Beck replies in kind through his teeth as he brings the clippers to rest against the wire. August grits his teeth, steeling himself for the snap, the sudden retraction of the coils. Hesitating, Beck peers at him. “This…this could hurt.”

“’ve peeled…plen’y of it off m’self,” August grits out. “Jus’…hurry.” He drags in a shaky breath and wills himself to be brave. “…please.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, August remembers the cardboard too late. Without it, he lets an agonized grunt escape his lips as the wire cutters sever the last loop. Even the minute relaxation of his newly released legs is enough to jerk cruelly on the barbs embedded in his thighs. Fresh tears spring to his eyes beneath his mask, and August wonders wretchedly if Beck can see them.

If Beck does see his youngest trainee crying, he’s good enough not to say anything about it. When August peeks through slitted eyes, he sees his leader bent over the wire, focusing hard, drawing each barb out carefully and trying not to jostle as he does.

It hurts only a little less than August’s work on himself, but it’s over blessedly quick. When Beck finally sits back on his heels, August is left panting and bloody, but finally free. For a long moment he just sits there, leaning back on his elbows, trying to catch his breath. Opening his eyes, he discovers that sometime in the last few minutes, Donovan arrived, and is now staring at him, green eyes unreadable under his mask.

“August was trying to chase down a possible spy and ran into some razor wire.” Beck’s voice is low, distracted. “Maybe night vision goggles next time? Or-”

“Or the trainee learns not to run into shit like fences, walls, and goddamned barbed wire.”

“Don-”

“Can’t teach common fucking sense, Beck.” Donovan snorts. “Or maybe you can, but you shouldn’t waste your time.”

Letting his head drop, August bites his lip hard to avoid dissolving into tears. He’s tried so hard to be brave. When he speaks, his voice comes out as a wavery, exhausted whisper. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a long silence from his two mentors. “Come on, Donovan.” Beck sounds tired. “He’s lost a fair amount of blood.”

Donovan just grunts, and crosses the courtyard, and scoops August up in an effortless bridal carry. He isn’t especially gentle, but he isn’t especially rough either, and he carries August, bloody and teary and exhausted, all the way home.

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millllenniawrites · 3 years

Text

delicate (Poe Dameron x Reader)

part six of dear love of mine

words: 1.9k

warnings: mention of hair but specifics aren’t given; reader has a last name; regency au for the aesthetic but it’s historically inaccurate for the *vibes*; afab!reader; slow burn; sexual themes throughout; eventual smut; pining; warnings will be added as the series progresses

a/n: it’s been ages since I updated this series but hello! We’re back! Reader is a mess and I love it! Hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

The late afternoon sun peaked out from behind the clouds and you basked in the light, tilting your face up to catch its rays. This was the reason you’d agreed to promenade all the way to town when you could have taken a carriage. The warmth, the light, the time outside, it was one thing who’s description in books just never measured up, no matter how talented the author.

Ana and Finn strolled ahead of you, close enough that your mother would have scolded them. Her elbow brushed his and their eyes met and you grinned like a fool, almost skipping beside the General. Your hand rested on his (very firm) bicep, which you used to keep a respectable amount of distance between the two of you.

Your dreams hadn’t fooled you. He did run warm. As warm as the sun that beat down on you both. You kept a light grip on him, scared he may be able to feel the way your heart raced through your palm if you held on any tighter.

The General leaned close enough to murmur, “It seems our plan is working well, Miss Dean.”

He was right, though you hated it. In the few days since he’d proposed his scheme, Ana and Finn had seemed to grow closer still. This whole excursion was Finn’s idea, to head into town. It worked out well that your mother had requested an order of fabric and that you could take over this task for your servants, who had been swamped preparing for the season ahead.

It would be Siena’s debut. She was still young, but your mother wanted to give her a chance to enjoy herself without the pressure of marriage on her first season.

You would be attending the parties too, as a chaperone. It would be easier to turn down suitors now that you and Poe had been seen in public together. Though when he began courting others, it might pose a problem.

He was well within his right to do so. It wasn’t as if the two of you were genuinely courting. Even if he was sweet. And had had flowers delivered to your bedroom two mornings this week.

You had tossed them out the window.

As you reached the edge of town, you stepped away from him, pretending that you needed both hands to lift your skirts. Luckily, the shop you had to pick up the delivery from was right along the road.

Finn bowed slightly to Ana before turning back to you. “We will collect your mother’s order.”

“We’ll be here.” Ana batted her eyelashes at him and you resisted the urge to groan.

This would make her happy. This was the entire point of putting up with the General at your side and his very warm, very large hands.

He stepped away from you, following Finn into the shop without so much as a backwards glance.

“So things with the General seem to be going well.” Ana’s elbow found a soft spot in your side and you coughed, which saved you from responding. “I never thought I’d see the day you let a man truly pursue you, sister.”

“This hardly counts as pursuit. And once the parties start, I’m certain he will get swept up with all the beautiful debutants.” One of those girls would do much better for a General, someone that had been instructed since birth on how to take care of a man and a household, rather than in matters of trade and employment and the upkeep of your property as you had.

Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “Have you seen the way he looks at you? I cannot imagine anyone else catching his eye the way you have.”

“A temporary interest, perhaps. But it is temporary.” And fake, though you couldn’t tell her that. She would most certainly object to any kind of meddling on your part, despite the fact that you had meddled and organized and made-happen most of her life.

The boys were quick. The General and Finn were at your sides moments later, the roll of fabric balanced over Finn’s shoulders. He looked like you imagined a sailor from one of your novels might, swaggering and sweet and able to carry double his weight if he chose to do so.

Those shoulders would be good for lifting children. And for taking care of your sister.

The General did not leave the shop empty-handed either. A small bag poked out of the pocket of his trousers, and he was clutching something tight in his hand.

“Miss Dean,” the General ducked his head, though his eyes didn’t leave yours. He held his hand up between you, opening it to reveal a pale golden ribbon. He smiled, small and almost timid, and something inside you melted. “May I?”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure as to what he was asking. He stepped forward and looped the ribbon around your head like a circlet. His fingers brushed your soft skin as he secured it with a knot at the base of your neck. You shivered despite the heat, goosebumps running up your arms as you gazed into his eyes.

“Cold, Miss Dean?” He asked. Though his words were innocent, they were tinged with something darker. Something knowing, as if he could read your thoughts in your eyes.

“Just caught a chill.” You forced a smile, turning to your sister. “Shall we head home?” The stain in your voice was evident, and she hid her grin behind a gloved hand as you turned back for the road home.

As Finn found his place at Ana’s side and the General found his place at yours, you began to seriously regret not taking a carriage. The walk home seemed so much longer, each step like running through molasses.

“Miss Dean, you’re shaking. Once we are out of sight of the town, if it would make you more comfortable, you may wear my coat. I can imagine your mama would not take kindly to you taking ill from a stroll.”

“I am fine,” you hissed, stepping even further away from him.

A carriage barrelled down the road towards town. And towards you.

You were nearly fully in the road, and the General reached for your elbow to guide you back out of the way. “Miss Dean, I must insist—“

“You will insist nothing.” You wrenched your arm out of his grasp, but moved off the road just as a carriage careened past.

The General skirted behind you, putting himself between you and the road and forcing you to walk further away from danger in order to keep your distance from him. “I will insist that you don’t end your own life, Miss Dean. I am courting you. Your death on my watch would tarnish my reputation.”

You would have slapped him if not for the warmth in his voice. He was… joking? Had you reached the point in your strange companionship that you could tease?

When you looked up at him, your elbow bumping into his side, his eyes were soft. There was a vulnerability to him, an openness that stole your breath.

You stuttered to a stop. He continued on, ending up in front of you and completely turned around to face you. “Are you feeling well, Miss Dean?”

“I am,” you breathed, unable to pull your gaze from his face.

“Shall we continue?”

You suddenly shouted, the words ripped from your throat. “A stone!”

Ana and Finn stopped and turned, looking at you curiously.

“A stone in my shoe. There is a stone. In my shoe. On my foot.” You rambled, your face burning.

Poe ducked his head to hide his smile. Only loud enough for you to hear, he said, “But of course. I would not expect an intelligent woman such as yourself to wear shoes on your shoulders.”

Poe knelt before you. He held his hands out and you let your foot peak out from under your skirts. Carefully, without touching your skin, he undid the buckle and eased the shoe of your foot, shaking it out before holding it before you once again. He did not comment that there was no stone, simply smiled up at you. Kneeling before you. A surge of power flowed through you at his physical submission.

You snatched the shoe out of his grasp, shoving your foot back in it and setting off without waiting for him to rise. He scoffed behind you, but you paid him no mind. You stomped past Finn and Ana, the buckle on your shoe clacking with each step.

You could feel Ana’s glare scorching across the backs of your shoulders, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Not now. He laid you bare before him with a simple smile, and then returned your power to you, over and over again.

It was beginning to make your head spin.

The General returned to your side in silence, though you could still feel the burning of his smile. You did not exchange another word until the four of you had passed into the house.

The sound of the buckle on your shoe snapping against itself echoed in the large foyer as you stopped, turning to Ana and Finn. Mister Kirk took the fabric from Finn and disappeared, presumably to deliver it to your mama.

After glaring at you, Ana guided Finn into the drawing room with a promise of a game. The doors were left open, as was proper, and her ladies maid stood watch over them.

You did not realize how close the General was standing to you until his whisper tickled your ear. “Would you like to stop this charade? Your sister and Finn seemed to be progressing just fine without us.”

You startled back and shook your head, aggressively enough that the ribbon the General had tied for you fell from your hair and onto the floor. You weren’t sure what had come over you, but you were more than certain that your sister and Finn would need your help. You had to see this through.

“Then we shall continue.” He said simply. “You do keep things interesting, Miss Dean.” The General picked the ribbon up from where it had dropped and handed it back to you. “I cannot say that I regret accompanying my companion this summer.”

“I have a feeling, General Dameron, that Finn is the type to not take no for an answer. I am not certain you could have avoided following him in his pursuit of my sister.”

He chuckled again. “Perhaps we will end the summer with each a sister for ourselves.” The darkness in his eyes had returned. His tongue wet his bottom lip and you gasped involuntarily.

“Goodnight, Miss Dean.”

The General was the first to walk away, the edge of the brown bag just peaking out of his pocket.

You clutched the ribbon tight in your hand. You considered throwing it to the ground, or running outside and abandoning it to the creatures of the night, but you couldn’t let it go. Instead, you clutched it to your chest, the fabric soft against your palm, and you watched the doorway he’d disappeared through, waiting for him to return.

#poe dameron x female reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x f!reader #regency au #poe dameron fic #poe #poe x reader

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goldentournesol · 4 years

Text

Mon Cher

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

Part 2 of Mon Lapin

The one where Spencer and Reader finally go on a date after pining over each other for too long. (Reader owns a French bakery)

Length: 2.6k

A/N: tooth-rotting, cheesy FLUFF! thank you to everyone who requested a part 2, i wasn’t going to write it but y’all--i think this might be my favorite thing that i’ve written so far!

masterlist

Spencer knew that across many cultures, pink lilies represented love, admiration, and compassion. All things he wished to convey to Y/N, so it really wasn’t difficult to pick a bouquet of pink lilies for her. His heart thumped against his ribcage as he neared the bakery where he told her he’d meet her. He hoped he wasn’t too forward with her yesterday, but he was getting antsy. Despite seeing her a couple times a week when he was in town, it was never enough just to chat casually. He wanted to lose himself in conversations with her. With all his ambition for knowledge, he couldn’t think of a subject he wished to memorize more than everything she is.

He cleared his throat and made sure his tie was as straight as it possibly could be before pushing the glass door of her bakery, the chime of the small bell reaching the corners of the store. His eyes swept across the familiar scenery, but she wasn’t there. He approached the counter nervously.

“Hey, Marissa. Is Y/N here yet?” He asked her coworker and she beamed upon seeing him.

“Hey! She should be here any minute. I kind of forced her to go home to get ready and all, it’s really hard getting her out of the bakery!” She laughed and Spencer nodded, smiling, grateful for the extra minutes he needed to compose himself.

He found Y/N’s dedication to her job endearing. He glanced down at the bouquet and adjusted the flowers in an attempt to find something to do with his hands instead of tapping nervously against the counter. Why was he so nervous? She wouldn’t have agreed to the date if she wasn’t interested. Well, then again, he didn’t really give her an option. Was that the wrong decision?

Just before he could spiral into his thoughts any deeper, the bell chimed again, causing him to turn to face the door. The air evaded his lungs as soon as his eyes settled on her, an occurrence Spencer didn’t think happened in real life. He’s read about it, sure, but he never thought he’d ever experience it. She strolled in, a dark emerald dress flowing with her movement. Spencer had to remind himself what the function of the respiratory system was when she approached him.

“Spencer?” She spoke softly, realizing that he hadn’t said anything. He blinked, snapping out of his daze with a prominent blush.

“Y-yes. Hi, sorry, um,” he paused, a bashful, sheepish grin overtaking his face, “you look beautiful, Y/N.” She mirrored his smile, cheeks reddening as she glanced at the bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Merci, mon lapin. [my bunny] You look just as dashing as ever. I see you remembered the lilies.” She sent him a sly smile. He had forgotten about the bouquet in his hand under her intense gaze. He nodded, his arm extending the flowers to her. She graciously accepted them and immediately buried her nose in the center of the bouquet, emerging with a smile that could make Spencer’s knees buckle if he wasn’t careful.

“They’re beautiful, thank you. Give me one moment.” She scurried off into the kitchen of the bakery and returned with the largest cup she could find. She settled the flowers in their new home before picking one out of the bunch and securing it to one of the bobby pins near her left ear. Spencer was positive he resembled a love-sick puppy as he took in the sight. Marissa was pretending to wipe down a table in the background, but really she was fawning over the two lovebirds.

“Shall we?” Spencer managed to speak, gesturing towards the door.

He tried to contain his grin as he stared at her ethereality. She smiled up at him and nodded, taking one last look at Marissa before she left. Her coworker sent her a teasing look and waved goodbye. Spencer offered his arm to Y/N as they stepped into the chilly air. She gladly took it and beamed up at him. He tried not to focus on the way his arm felt tingly with hers around it.

“I’m so glad we’re finally doing this, Spencer.” She spoke and he nodded.

“Me too, Y/N. So, I wasn’t sure what you liked so I settled for a reservation at an Italian restaurant. Would that be okay?” He tried to swallow his nerves.

“Yeah, that’s perfect!” It didn’t really matter, she knew she’d go wherever this man asked her to go.

The nervous energy in the air was lighthearted and it made her feel like she was a teenager going on a date for the first time again. They caught each other up on their lives as they walked. Both of Y/N’s hands ended up around Spencer’s arm and he found himself relishing in her warm touch as well as every little squeeze she gave when she got excited about something she was saying. He wanted to pay attention to the direction they were walking in, but it was too damn hard with the way the lamp lights reflected in her irises. He’d almost walked right past the restaurant.

“Oh, we’re here.” He laughed lightly, leading her to the entrance and they were seated immediately.

Dinner went smoothly. She’d known that he was an interesting man, but he made it so easy for her to get lost in him, what he was saying, his eyes- oh man, those eyes. She knew all about eyes being the windows to the soul, but she didn’t know how one man’s eyes could possibly convey so much emotion. She watched him talk about his work family and his real family, although not in great detail. They were so captivated by each other, the waiters had to make noises with either their throats or mouths to get their attention.

Once they were out of the restaurant, they continued walking down the same street, still deep in conversation about a topic probably wouldn’t interest anyone else. Spencer hadn’t really planned the night out, he didn’t know what exactly she would like, so he decided he’d let the leaves fall where they may. All he did know was when she giggled, his heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, they stopped in their tracks and she let out a loud gasp.

“Oh! You know what I just remembered?” Spencer stared at her curiously, “There’s a tiny theater up ahead that plays some really cool foreign films, you probably know about it. I know the owner, she texts me whenever they add a French movie. Tonight they’re playing one of my favorites, Les Parapluies de Cherbourg! [The Umbrellas of Cherbourg] Oh, you would love it! Would you like to go? It’s totally fine if you have something else planned, though.” Spencer grinned at her excited nature and nodded eagerly.

“Are you kidding? I always have to beg my friends to come see foreign films with me, I’d love to go.” Spencer couldn’t believe this was happening. They arrived at the theater soon and she was disheartened to hear that they didn’t have subtitles for the movie.

“It’s okay! I don’t mind if there aren’t any subtitles.” Spencer said once he saw the smile dissipate from her face. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her that he’d already seen the movie before anyway. The gleam in her eye was much too precious when she spoke of the film.

“Are you sure? I can probably whisper-translate to you, uh, i-if you’d like.” She stated somewhat shyly, a blush creeping up to her cheeks.

“I’d like that.” Spencer smiled as he realized that the roles were usually reversed and he’d usually be the one whisper-translating a movie to someone.

And so they sat in the small theater, arms tangled in each other over the arm of the chair between them. She had one hand on his bicep as he leaned the top half of his body closer to her. They were probably sitting closer than they normally would have sat, but she used the excuse of whisper-translating to her advantage. She felt a strand of his caramel hair tickle the tip of her nose as her lips whispered in his ear. Spencer fought to regulate his breathing every time she came near. He was glad he’d seen the movie before because he was sure that if this had been his first time seeing it, he’d have absolutely no clue what was going on. She also fought to resist the urge to press her lips to his clean shaven jaw--and basically everywhere else.

The movie ended before they knew it and they could finally see each other in the gentle light of the theater. Spencer turned his face to send her a grateful smile just to find her face inches away from his. His eyes involuntarily flickered down to her lips. The same lips that were by his ear a few moments ago. She smiled back softly and they enjoyed the closeness for a short moment before Spencer shyly broke eye contact. They broke apart, both blushing from head to toe. Both far too shy to initiate anything. He cleared his throat before standing from his seat. Y/N followed him out of the theater.

“So, did you like it?” She asked as they stepped out, noticing that the streets were a lot darker and quieter than they had been prior to entering. It must have been late.

“Yeah, I loved it.” Spencer said, almost breathlessly, but he wasn’t talking about the movie, of course. She grinned with triumph and courageously slipped her hand into his as they walked back in the direction they came from. He took it one step further and laced their fingers together. She swooned over his smile.

An aggressive gust of wind suddenly washed over the two of them on the sidewalk, which made them instinctively close their eyes to brace themselves against the dust in the air. She only opened her eyes as she felt the lily in her hair slip out of its secure place from in between the prongs of the bobby pin.

“No!” She gasped and Spencer quickly -and ungracefully- leapt to catch it before it flew too far. She laughed as he turned to face her with a pleasantly surprised expression, almost in disbelief that he actually caught it. He approached her again and gently returned the lily to its rightful spot just above her ear. He moved a stray strand from her face and she gazed up at him with a certain type of adoration. His hands moved to cup the plumpness of her cheeks as they relished in each other's tender gazes. She let her hands rest right under his ribs and pulled him impossibly closer.

“You are so beautiful.” He whispered, his breath washing over her face. He felt the skin under his fingertips warm up.

“Merci, mon cher.” [my dear] She whispered back, a definite level-up from mon lapin. That he did know the meaning of.

Spencer grinned slightly before finally leaning down to close the gap between both their lips. It was gentle and sweet, neither of them rushing it. To many onlookers, they were just a young couple sharing a kiss on the sidewalk in the middle of the night. To them, it was a silent declaration. A statement that conveyed more emotion than any of the thousands of words that existed in all the languages they spoke between them could. Y/N found herself following through after Spencer reluctantly pulled away for air. She stopped herself, blushing profusely at her involuntary movements. He only grinned wider in response before stepping back and grabbing her hand again.

“Let me walk you home.” He told her as they began walking again.

“Actually...the night doesn’t have to end yet, if you don’t want it to, I mean.” She smiled up at him.

“I don’t want it to, what do you have in mind? Everything’s closed down.” Spencer pointed out.

“Um, I might know a place.” She said in a teasing manner with a slight smirk, “The owner and I go way back.” She giggled.

“Oh really now?” Spencer played along, laughing.

“Mhm, we’re practically like this.” She laughed as she crossed one finger over the other on her free hand to represent a bond.

She unlocked the door to her bakery and pulled him in, closing the door again behind him. Before Spencer could even register what was happening, she had grabbed a hold on his tie to gently guide his face back to hers and enveloping his lips with her own. Spencer responded immediately by wrapping both arms around her waist securely. The kiss was significantly more passionate than the first, but just as sweet. She pulled apart first and bit her lip sheepishly.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it.” She admitted and Spencer stood in a daze.

She giggled and moved away to turn the lights on, but only some. The soft light illuminated the empty bakery and he realized then just how beautiful the place really was. Or maybe he thought everything would look ten times more beautiful after a kiss like the one he’d just received. The thought had extended to her, of course. Spencer didn’t think it was possible that she could look any more beautiful. But there she was, in all her glory, proving him wrong as each second passes.

“Come with me, I have something to show you.” She hooked her pointer finger around his and dragged him to the kitchen. He was in awe as he took in the sight of all of the kitchen appliances. It wasn’t a large kitchen, but it was oddly spacious and organized.

She smiled wide at his reaction, “This is quite literally where the magic happens. Ooo! Come look, I made these right before I left, Marissa must have taken them out of the oven before she locked up. They’re for tomorrow.” She pulled him to a tall bakery rack and he spotted his favorite treat, pain au chocolat. She took one off the tray and gave it to him. It was still warm on the bottom. He couldn’t hold his excited grin back as he took a hefty bite out of it. She giggled as she watched him close his eyes dramatically.

“I’m truly at a loss for words, Y/N. They’re so good. How do you get them right every time?” He asked with fascination and she propped herself on the counter of the kitchen, taking one for herself.

“Well, it took time and effort to perfect the recipe, Dr. Reid.” She giggled, biting into it. “I can show you how to make them one day. Maybe our next date?” She looked at him hopefully and he nodded eagerly.

“Yes! You can finally show me how to make pain au chocolat.” He tried to imitate her accent, he really tried. She burst out laughing at his cuteness.

“Pain au cho-co-lat.” She emphasized, separating the syllables.

“That’s what I said! Pain au chocolat!” He laughed, although the pronunciation was still slightly off.

“Alright, close enough.” She giggled again as she pulled him closer, locking her legs at the ankle behind his waist. They’d have plenty of time to perfect his accent later.

“Embrasse-moi, mon cher.” [Kiss me, my dear] She whispered.

Right then, he thanked himself for having the foresight to brush up on the language enough to do exactly what she asked.

Half-eaten pains au chocolat were long forgotten.

Mon Lapin (part 1)

#spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid masterlist #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #cm

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beauvibaby · 4 years

Text

The Feeling When...

— • you meet Anthony Beauvillier at your job, and instantly click, but then he sets you up with his best friend, what could go wrong?

word count: 7.8k

a/n: I wrote this whole thing in less than 24 hours, I’m not sure how, but I really put my all into this and I’m proud of it, hopefully I can do it again sometime

The bell above the door chiming made you lift your head, smiling at the guy who just walked in. Basketball shorts and a tight fitting sports top covering his body, a small layer of sweat on his skin, one earbud in and the other hanging around his neck, his phone in his hand. He had yet to see you as you made your way to your spot behind the counter, politely excusing yourself from the lady you had been speaking with. You took in the way his blue eyes lit up when they landed on the muffin in the case, telling you he probably had yet to eat this morning, he ran a hand through his already tousled hair, finally stepping towards the counter as someone walked in behind him. “Good morning.” You spoke softly as he lifted his eyes to meet yours, you could swear his eyes widened slightly before settling into a warm smile. “Good morning.” He had the faintest bit of an accent, you made a mental note of that. You smiled in return, suddenly forgetting your words, “what can I get for you?” You inquired, watching his eyes dart between the muffin and you, he smiled when you laughed softly, grabbing a paper to put the muffin into a bag. “And a coffee, please.” He spoke, pulling his debit card out of his wallet while you whisked around to grab his coffee, a smile graced his face when you glanced back at him. He stepped aside so your coworker could help the next person in line, turning towards him, you took the few short steps, setting the to go cup down in front of him. You typed in his order, allowing the total to come up on the screen for him, “thank you,” he paused, picking up the bag, “Y/N.” He concluded, reading the name off your tag, lifting up the coffee cup. “You’re welcome.” You responded, trying not to seem like you were asking for his name, “Anthony.” He spoke, backing up slowly before turning on his heels, you watched with lingering eyes as he walked out the door.

***

Again, the familiar chime of the bells shook you from your head, except this time you weren’t working, you were huddled up in the corner laptop open in front of you. The internet in your apartment was out, and wouldn’t be fixed for a few days, so you had made the short walk to the cafe, you got an employee discount, and it was free wifi, so at least you had a couple of hours to ponder the internet, catching up on the latest facebook drama, reading gossip about celebrities, the usual. Your eyes landed on a much more put together version of Anthony, you had thought he looked good before, he looked even better now, the grey dress pants leading to the white button up shirt, it was a good look. You awkwardly shifted your gaze down when he started to look towards you. He moved up in the short line, you could feel his eyes landing on you every once in a while, you resisted the urge to look up and meet those blue eyes. When you no longer felt his eyes on you, you glanced up, hearing his voice over the small chatter in the building, he ordered the same as he had the other day. That warm smile on his face, a calm and cool demeanor radiating from him, welcoming even. The type that would have a girl head over heels for him. Surely, he had a girlfriend, the thought ran through your mind, which resulted in getting you caught staring.

The soft chuckle that fell from his lips made a flutter rush through your chest.

“Is this seat taken?” Anthony questioned, voice delicate as he glanced at where you not so gracefully had your feet propped up, you glanced around and saw many open seats, but who were you to turn down a perfectly attractive guy who wanted to sit with you. “Oh, no, go ahead.” You whispered, smiling up at him as you slid your feet off the chair, watching him rest his body against it. You pulled the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, silence overcoming the both of you as you stole glances at each other, completely oblivious to the other doing the same. You decided to bite the bullet and closed your laptop, making his eyes shoot up from the muffin he had been picking at, a closed lip smile on his face as you giggled under your breath. “So, Anthony was it?” You teased, feeling comfortable around him, despite him being a total stranger, because if we’re being honest, knowing his coffee order doesn’t make you acquaintances. “Last time I checked, that was my name.” He responded with a slightly raised eyebrow, eyes scanning over the sweater you had on, it was well worn, but looked nice with the v-neck cut into the front. “Mhm,” you hummed, hiding your smile with a sip of your own drink, “well, Anthony. What’s got you so dressed up?” You inquired, he glanced down at his clothes, like he had forgotten what he was even wearing. He shot a playful smile at you, breaking off a piece of the pastry in front of him. “What do you think?” He quipped, tossing the piece of food into his mouth, nearly missing and bouncing it off his chin, but he played it off.

“I would say a date, but I think you know better than to come talk to another girl when you have one waiting.” You mumbled, watching as he nearly choked on his food, a laugh tumbling from his lips. “No, there’s no girl, I just came from work.” The way he said there was no girl, it made your heart flip in your chest. Pushing it aside, you picked up your conversation, “work?” You hummed, looking to the ceiling in thought. “It’s the middle of the day, so if this was a lunch break, you’re clearly not working in the city.” You spoke, watching as he nodded in agreement, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You could be a manager somewhere, I guess.” You trailed off, peeking under the table at his shoes, they looked fairly expensive. “Not even close, Y/N.” He snickered, the ease of which he used your name, once again sending your heart into a skipping rhythm. You racked your brain for ideas, truly wanting to guess what it was that he did. For a brief moment, you wondered, could he possibly be in the limelight, but you pushed it aside, certainly you’d recognize someone as handsome as him.

“Well, this just isn’t fair, you know what I do,” you motioned to the room you were sat in, “but you’re just letting me humiliate myself with horrible guesses.” You laughed light heartedly, he shrugged his shoulders, sipping on his coffee, “hockey.” He mumbled, watching you cutely tilt your head to the side, confusion covering your features. God, what he would do to get to see you look at him like that all the time, a childlike quality in your demeanor that brought him peace. “Hockey, I play hockey.” He repeated, in a stronger voice this time. You nodded slowly, “oh.” You muttered, the realization hitting you, “oh, oh, you mean professionally?” You gasped, sitting up a little straighter at the sudden epiphany. Anthony nodded, eyes crinkling slightly when he laughed at how panicked you must have looked. “Long Island, oh my god, you play for the Islanders.” You spoke sheepishly, a pink hue rising to your cheeks. “Yeah, I do.” He responded, glancing at his phone as it lit up, he quickly shut the screen down again. “Have you ever been to a game?” He inquired, the way his voice raised slightly caught your attention. “No, I haven’t.” You tucked your hair behind your ear, fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater again.

“You should come, I can get you tickets-unless, uh you have a boyfriend.” He spoke awkwardly, shifting in his seat. “I don’t.” You answered, watching his eyes widen, his lips seeming to move before his brain could catch up with what he was saying. “Oh, great, I have a friend, Mat. I think you two would really hit it off.” He spoke, hiding the way he wanted to curse himself for spitting those words out. You hid the disappointment on your face, “oh, that’s really nice, Anthony-” “Tito, call me Tito, please.” He cut you off, before motioning to continue. “Ok, Tito. That’s sweet but I don’t think that’s a great idea, I hardly know you, let alone this Mat person.” You sighed softly, expecting him to just give in at your words, but you’d come to find out really quickly that he was stubborn. “Please, it’s the least I could do for taking up your time.” He assured you, looking away as you chewed your lip in thought. Worse comes to worse, you’re getting a free ticket to the game, what’s the worst that could happen? “If you insist.” You gave in, he had to hide his excitement, since he blew his chance by mentioning Mat. “Can I have your number?” He questioned, and you shot your eyebrows up, letting out a surprised, “what?” Before you could stop yourself. Tito smiled at your reaction, “so I can keep in touch about the ticket.” He assured you, he made an observation of the way you let out a soft “oh”, something you did quite often when you were caught off guard. “Right, yeah, of course.” You rattled off, holding your hand out for his phone, hating the way you could feel the heat rushing to your face. He handed you the device, open on a new contact, you typed in your name, and number quickly before handing it back to him. You watched him quickly add something before saving it. “I’ll text you? To find out when you can come.” He spoke, sliding out of the seat, only then did you realize how long you had been talking to each other. “Yeah, that works.” You murmured, “Bye, Tito.” You added as he headed towards the door, “bye, Y/N.”

A text from Tito came a lot sooner than you had expected, that same night he shot you a message.

“Hey, It’s Anthony”

You smiled at the screen, before reminding yourself he was setting you up with his friend and not with himself.

“I was told to call you Tito”

“Sorry, let me start again - Hey, it’s Tito. Is that better for you?”

“It’ll have to do, I guess, but I don’t appreciate the sarcasm.”

You watched the reaction pop up on your phone, him sending a haha to it before the dots came up showing he was typing.

“So, there’s a game coming up next weekend, Saturday, if you’re free…”

“That works!”

You thought maybe it came off too excited, when he read it but didn’t respond. Then your phone lit up with a text,

“Great, Mat is very excited.”

A sigh fell from your lips as you typed a robotic response,

“I am too!”

And that was that.

****

Saturday came before you knew it, the whole ride to the arena you were nervously chewing your lip, rubbing your sweaty palms on your jean clad legs. You had done some googling, and watching how they could get slammed into the boards had your skin crawling, how anyone could get enjoyment out of that was beyond you.

Once you arrived, you had hoped your nervousness would die down, but it only grew as you walked to your seat, close to the glass, and became surrounded by people in Islanders gear. You made it to your spot, and sighed in relief, at least you were there and you could try to enjoy the game, keyword being try.

The second the guys skated so effortlessly onto the ice, your nerves shot back up, searching for the only two jersey numbers you cared to memorize, eighteen and thirteen. Of course they skated alongside each other, stopping in front of your section, you waved sheepishly, watching them both grin. “Hi” you mouthed, unable to stop the blush rising to your face when Mat waved back. You couldn’t deny, he was attractive, but your mind kept bouncing back to Tito. The way he caught your attention so effortlessly, you watched as they spoke to each other as they turned to truly begin their warm ups, Tito glancing back at you with this look you couldn’t fully decipher, before shaking his head at his friend, your mind wandered with what it was they had spoken about. Surely it couldn’t be about you, what was there to say? Especially to cause Tito to look at you the way he did, almost in a concerning manner. There was a tap to the glass in front of you, Mat holding a puck for you, he motioned for you to stand and you did, easily catching it as he tossed it over to you. A smile on your face as you saw he had signed it with a silver marker,

“Hi - Mat Barzal”

You shook your head with a laugh as he grinned boyishly at you, the enthusiasm he showed encouraged you to be more open minded to this set up, it’s not very often that someone would end up in the situation you found yourself in. “Thank you” you mouthed, feeling the eyes of girls around you, suddenly realizing you’d need to develop thick skin to be around these boys.

The game flew by and before you knew it you were being pulled to the side by some big burly guy, with a security badge, and you began to panic. “Y/N Y/L/N?” He questioned trailing off, and you nodded, “Mr. Barzal asked me to catch you before you left, he wants to bring you down to see him.” He spoke lightly in contrast to his gruff looks. “Oh.” You whispered, “oh, yeah ok.” You came to your senses, awkwardly following the man, feeling eyes following you as he directed you down a hallway and out a large door. “I-uh-can I ask you something,” You paused waiting for his name, “Jeffrey.” He spoke, his voice still shocking you in comparison to his large build and thick beard. “Can I ask you something, Jeffrey?” You completed your earlier question. “Sure, why not.” He humored you, his face aging for a moment when he smiled and his skin crinkled together. “Does Mat do this often? Bring girls down here after games I mean.” You couldn’t help but ask, some minor worries overtaking your conscience. Jeffrey stayed quiet, giving you a sideways glance. “A lot is a stretch, I’d say sometimes.” He finally chose his words, carefully tiptoeing around the subject, not wanting to put himself in a compromising position. You nodded, deciding against saying anything as the elevator slowed to a stop, the doors opened and Jeffrey stepped out, pointing to a row of chairs down the hall. “Wait there, he should be out soon.” He spoke, walking off like he hadn’t just left a complete stranger outside of the locker room, where anyone could find them.

It felt like an eternity, but in actuality it was only ten minutes until Mat walked out, dressed in his pregame suit, hair combed back after his shower. “Y/N.” He smiled, and you shot to your feet, “Hi.” You smiled, allowing him to give you a short hug, but your mind slipped into thinking what it would feel like to be hugging Tito in this moment. “How’d you like the game?” He asked, the two of you slowly walking down the hall, your heeled ankle boots clicking on the cement. You didn’t know where you were walking to, but you followed him. “It was good! I’d never seen one before.” You answered cheerily, keeping pace with him, he smiled down at you. “Really?” He gasped, faking offence, a hand resting over his heart. “Yes, really.” You laughed softly, feeling his eyes scan you over. You didn’t want to admit that you could tell the sparks weren’t really there, for either of you, as far as you could tell. He was kind, definitely, and attractive, but he seemed more like a friend, or a brother if you will, and that isn’t how any girl wants to feel when they’re on a date. “Did you want to go grab something to eat?” He offered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. You nodded, deciding to still humor the scenario, “sure.” You gave him your signature smile. He mirrored it, and you could tell you were both being polite, but it was still a nice night. He was a gentleman, of course, paying for your food despite your protests, offering to drive you home, but caving when you insisted on taking an Uber home was fine.

While you were waiting for your car, Mat stayed beside you, his phone chiming with a text from Tito, which he instantly showed you, and the two of you laughed softly.

“Double date, with me and Kylie?”

“Who’s Kylie?” You asked Mat, after hesitantly agreeing, it would be fun, at least, since you got along well with Mat. “Some girl, I don’t know why he even talks to her, she just wants to hook up but get the perks of nice dates.” Mat scoffed, and you had to hide a laugh. “It is pretty funny.” He commented, causing you both to start laughing hysterically on the side of the street. “I’m glad we agree on that.” You giggled, catching Mat smiling at you.

Maybe, had you not known his best friend, you would kiss him in that moment.

“I’ll text you, to set up this sure to be weird double date.” He spoke, as the Uber pulled up to the curb. “Alright, thanks for tonight, it was fun.” You told him, and he could tell in that moment that you both were on the same page, he thought you were beautiful, and kind, and funny, but he didn’t have that chemistry that he could see between you and Anthony. His mind wandered to the question he asked on the ice,

“Are you sure you aren’t interested in her, you look at her in that way.” Mat sighed, skating beside Tito in warmups, he watched his friend glance back at you in your seat, a pink tint on your cheeks from the earlier interaction. “No, I’m sure, you two would hit it off.” Tito sighed softly shaking his head, pushing his thoughts aside, he had royally screwed up, and there was no way he could fix it himself.

Mat came to his senses when you leaned up and gave him a quick kiss to his cheek, “goodnight, Mat.” You mumbled, slipping into the car, “goodnight.” He replied, shutting the door for you.

****

You smiled as you opened your apartment door, Anthony smiling widely from the other side, “I brought cheetos.” He sang teasingly, for a moment you truly wanted to wrap him in a hug, relieved to see him. “You’re the best.” You sighed, snatching the bag from him, it’s been a couple of weeks since your date with Mat, you’ve kept in touch, but haven’t really seen each other since then, he came into your job a couple times, but that's all. You and Tito have been spending a lot of time together, whenever your schedules allowed, and for a while you had thought maybe this double date wasn’t going to happen, but then of course as he stepped into your apartment—like he had grown accustomed too. “So, I don’t know if Mat asked you yet, but I was thinking Friday night for that double date.” He spoke casually, missing the way your whole body tensed at his words. “Uh, yeah that works.” You answered softly, disguising your sadness by offering him a cheeto from the bag he so graciously brought you. “I bought you a whole bag, and I only get one? Must have been a really bad day.” He teased, you nodded silently, “indeed it was, Beau.” You plopped yourself down on your couch, him following suit like the two of you had begun to do, him on the other end of your couch as you laid, feet beside him. He listened intently as you two catched up on things from the past few days, anyone looking in would assume the two of you were together, if not, close to it, but you two told yourselves that it was nothing. You were being friendly, that's all, friends do this all the time, right? Besides, he did set you up with his friend after all.

***

“You look beautiful.” Mat complimented as you opened the door, he was picking you up for the double date, you had your hair curled lightly, letting it fall behind your shoulders, it was early spring, so there was still a light chill in the air, especially at night. So you had opted for a red sweater dress, throwing a lightweight jean jacket over top. “Thank you.” You smiled, smoothing out the material, “let me just grab my bag.” You held up a finger, rushing quickly to grab it off the counter. “Ready?” He smiled when you came back. “Yeah, I think so.” You made sure you had your keys and phone in the bag before locking the door on your way out.

“This should be interesting.” Mat sighed as he pulled up to the valet, Anthony and this Kylie girl, standing on the curb, you shivered at the sight of her. A barely there dress covering her skin, pin straight bleached hair hanging over her shoulders, and way to dramatic makeup covering her face. “Oh.” You let out softly, laughing at the sight of them, Tito looked way to put together to be beside her, “I agree.” Mat sighed, putting the car in park, climbing out as you followed suit, once again smoothing out the material covering your skin. “Hey guys.” Anthony grinned, all but pulling Kylie along to greet you both. You gave him a quick hug, smiling and waving politely at Kylie, who barely repeated the actions, but you could tell her eyes lingered on Mat’s body a bit longer than it should have. Mat and Anthony made small talk as you were led to the table in the restaurant, leaving you and Kylie in awkward silence. She gave you an odd glance when Mat pulled out your chair, you brushed it off, telling yourself there is no way that this was Tito’s type. “How have you been?” You asked, trying to break the silence as you all looked over the menu. “Good.” Anthony spoke, Mat agreeing as he smiled softly at you.

It continued awkwardly, everyone loosened up after the food arrived, and the wine kept coming. You all quickly learned that Kylie was a lightweight, and a flirty drunk. You grimaced as she ran her hand up the back of Tito’s neck, he shifted slightly, almost as if her touch made him uncomfortable. “So, dessert?” Mat piped up, clearing his throat when he jumped in his spot slightly, “you ok?” You questioned sweetly, he leaned over and whispered in your ear. “She just slid her foot up my leg.” He stayed there for a moment as you processed his words, you stifled back a laugh, hand covering your mouth. Tito raised a brow as the two of you pulled away from each other laughing. “Nothing.” Mat brushed him off, “so Kylie, how long have you and Tito known each other?” You asked, glancing up from the dessert menu that you and Mat were looking over. “Who?” She questioned, looking away from Anthony, eyes hazed over, he held in a sigh. “Anthony.” You trailed off, looking between the two like they were insane. “Oh,” she laughed, hand running down his arm, “a couple months.” She spoke, as if he was the light of her world, where we all could tell she wanted to hook up and get on her way. You nodded, leaning closer to Mat as you let a tiny yawn slip, it was more of a reaction thing, after tonight, you and Mat had mutually decided you would stop trying to pursue anything romantic. He slipped an arm over your shoulder, Anthony’s jaw clenched at the sight for a moment, something Mat definitely noticed. You didn’t as you turned to mutter to Mat about the cheesecake, he nodded in agreement, you shut the menu and placed it by the edge of the table.

“OH! Alright,” Mat slid his chair back abruptly, glaring at Kylie, “that’s enough.” He demanded, and you had to hide your laugh by sipping on your wine, Anthony looked between the two with confused eyes. “What’s going on?” Anthony questioned, you all but choked on your wine as Mat shrunk into his seat. “Shall I?” You teased when Mat stayed silent, he nodded, running a hand over his face as he calmed his blush down. “Your date has been attempting to play footsie with him all night.” You spoke with a straight face, Tito just stared at you, like you were joking. He broke out into laughter, taking you both off guard, Kylie huffed dramatically, standing up, “I’m leaving.” She snapped, the three of you looked at each other and began laughing together. “Goodnight, Kylie.” You called, nearly snorting when she gave you a hair flip, you turned to Mat, hiding your red from laughter face in his neck, again making you miss the way Anthony’s face faltered, although, Mat noticed it and shot his friend and apologetic look. “I think I’m going to call it a night.” Anthony announced and you all but shot up in your seat. “Are you sure?” You questioned solemnly, the alcohol in your veins slowing your reflexes, letting the words slip from your mouth before you could stop it. “Yeah.” He muttered flagging down the waiter so he could pay his part of the check, you glanced at Mat who had an unreadable expression on his face. “Have a good night, Tito.” You spoke when he stood after paying his part. “You too.” He answered shortly, taking you off guard, you sunk into your seat, reaching for your wine glass as you watched him walk away. “And we’re not gonna do that.” Mat took the glass from you, shaking his head when you gave him a pleading look.

“Y/N, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people in this much denial.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, pulling his card out for dinner, you stopped him, putting your own down instead, he didn’t fight you, not wanting to push you tonight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You scoffed, crossing your arms, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “Oh please.” Mat groaned, “I could tell from the second you came to the game, he kept looking for you every chance he got, and the way you light up around him.” He trailed off, and you felt guilty, “Mat, I didn’t mean to lead you on, I wasn’t–“ “it’s ok, I knew it from the beginning, but I figured I’d give it a shot anyways.” He cut you off, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “you two have to figure it out, I’ve never seen him like this before.” Mat explained easily, standing once you got your card back and put it away. “Let’s just get you home.” He laughed under his breath when you shakily stood up, a mix of the alcohol and being seated for so long.

****

“Be right with you!” You called from around the wall, not bothering to look towards the front counter as you lugged the oversized bag of coffee grounds towards the front of the store. You huffed as you rounded the corner, nearly dropping the bag on your feet when you spotted Anthony and Mat standing there. “Oh.” You whispered, setting the bag on the counter, “hey.” You muttered, eyes bouncing between the two. “Hi.” Anthony mumbled, awkwardly shifting on his feet, Mat stayed silent watching the silent exchanges you were sharing. “I saw you moved on from Kylie.” You couldn’t help but speak, Mat nearly died trying to hide his shocked laughter, covering it up with a cough as he turned away. You held in a sigh when Tito only nodded, “yeah, I did.” He decided to speak, not sounding like a guy who was interested in her. You’d seen pictures online of him with this girl, not much better than Kylie, which quite honestly disgusted you. How a guy like him would go for a girl who clearly didn’t want anything real. Pushing those thoughts aside, you grabbed their usual orders, Anthony paid for both, and left a nice tip in the jar for you, which made you feel cheap, you knew he was simply apologizing in his own odd way. You pulled the money out of the jar and gave it back to him, he was astonished. He opened and closed his mouth looking for words, “Anthony, I really have to get back to work.” You sighed, looking to Mat for assistance, he shrugged, sipping on his coffee in amusement. “We’re going out to this bar tonight with some of the other guys, some of their wives will be there… if you want to come?” Mat offered.

Why you said yes was beyond your comprehension.

“I’ll be there.”

And there you were, owning your appearance, figuring, if you had to spend the night with the man you were so clearly falling for, and his best friend, you might as well get some attention from someone who wouldn’t deny their feelings.

The skinny jeans hugged your legs just right, giving your butt just a little boost, that paired with your white lace, off the shoulder top, made you look perfectly tan even this horrible bar lighting. You added a simple pair of strappy black heels, holding your clutch in one hand, hair laying curled behind your shoulders. And, of course, we can’t forget the bright red lipstick that—unknowing to you—was going to drive Anthony absolutely crazy all night.

“Y/N! You’re here!” Mat cheered, clearly a couple beers deep already, you laughed at his excitement, making your way over to him, you gave him a quick hug, his presence welcoming, you quickly came to learn that you could tell Mat anything and he would do his best to help you, he cared about you, even more so because his friend was falling for you, and falling hard. “Hi.” You waved to the two ladies, Sydney and Grace, you found out quickly, that they would also be shocked at Anthony and yours interesting connection. “Hey!” They greeted cheerily, all but whisking you off to their table, leaving the boys to be their slightly rowdy selves. “So, you and Tito.” Sydney wiggled her eyebrows, a smirk falling onto her face. You sighed, but you felt comfortable with them, so you started spilling everything.

From the moment you met, to the feeling when he walks into your apartment, the way your heart always skips a beat at the sight of him expertly making his way around. How his eyes still lit up every time you said you saved him a muffin from work, how he knew that after a long day, you didn’t want ice cream or chocolate, you wanted Cheetos. How you could feel him stealing glances at you right now, all the way up to how you’re beginning to think you’re falling in love with him after only two short months of knowing him.

“Oh my god!” Grace gasped, hands going to her heart, “that’s so sweet, Y/N.” She added, looking to Sydney who was sniffling, “hormones!” She defended, referring to her baby born a few months earlier. You chuckled at their reactions, suddenly searching the bar for Tito. You had been speaking for a while, and you knew how guys could be around each other, so when you saw Mat desperately searching for you, you couldn’t help but shoot to your feet. You excused yourself and weaved your way through the over crowded bar, appearing by his side in record time. “He’s hammered.” He whispered into your ear, chuckling when he himself almost tipped over. You caught Tito’s gaze, and instantly you could tell he was angry, about something, what it was, that you didn’t know. Or didn’t want to admit. “Wow there buddy.” You lightly pushed Mat into the barstool, “can he get a water, please?” You called to the bartender, he shot you a smile, you directed Mat to stay in the chair and drink the water when it came. “Yes mom.” He grumbled, lazily smiling, you sighed and made your way towards a spaced out, angry Anthony.

“Tito?” You spoke, placing a hand on his shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin, eyes focusing on you, he stepped out of your gentle hold, knuckles white on the handle of the beer glass. “What, Y/N?” He snapped, you hadn’t pegged him as an angry drunk, but maybe you were wrong. “Don’t give me an attitude!” You snapped right back, he was taken back by your force, nodding slowly. “I’m coming over here to check on you, what’s got you in a mood?” You asked, shocked when he ignored you and motioned for another beer, which the bartender hesitantly gave him, shooting you a look that said he was about to be cut off. You sighed, a little too loudly as Anthony picked up the glass and brought it to his lips, he shot you a look. “What is it now?” He retorted, completely ignoring your earlier question, again. “I think you’ve had enough to drink.” You crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look. He scoffed, rolling his eyes for effect, “as if you would know, you’ve stayed away from me all night!” He muttered with a venomous tone. You’d only had a couple of drinks, so your mind was still fairly clear, but your emotions bubbled to the surface before you could stop them. Your eyes burned, you could feel the water reaching the brim, “I stayed away from you because I was letting you have fun with your friends, you didn’t come to me either, Anthony.” His eyes trained on your cherry red lips as you spoke, but he shook himself from the thoughts of kissing you as you spoke his true name with force. He met your gaze, and his anger faltered, but he was too far gone in alcohol to realize what he should be doing, he should be apologizing, he should already be your boyfriend, he should be telling you he loves you, but of course—that’s not what he did.

He chose to be silent, again.

“Right, nothing to say.” You whispered, and he didn’t miss how your voice broke, you shook your head looking to the ceiling, silently cursing yourself for being so dumb, for thinking he would ever be more than just a friend to you. “I’m going home, Anthony,” this time his name was like a faint whisper falling from your lips, “do you need me to call you an Uber?” You had to ask, you’d hate yourself if he didn’t get home safely. He shook his head, to full of his own drunk ego to do anything else. He watched as you went to say goodbye to Mat, patting him on the shoulder, silently thanking him for inviting you, he watched you wave to the other guys of the group, who had all welcomed you with open arms—you fit right in. Lastly, he watched you say goodbye to the ladies, who kept glancing over at him, muttering words to you that he couldn’t decipher in his hazy vision. Then, just like that, you were gone.

You had to have only been home for an hour, nearly asleep in your bed when you heard a knock on your door, your eyes shot to the time, 1:14am flashing back at you. Hesitantly, you stood to your feet, pulling a sweater on over your pajamas, hugging it tightly to your chest as you walked. You flicked the lights on, holding your phone in your hand as well, just in case. The knocking came again, with a heavy hand, which if we’re being honest, made your heart rate pick up, unsure of who was on the other side. You made it to the door and your breathing stopped for a moment when you looked through the peephole, Anthony standing there with a red face and wobbling stance. “Y/N, I don’t know if you’re there.” He slurred, “I need to talk to you.” He continued, getting cut off by a hiccup, you couldn’t let him go on in this state. You swung the door open, watching as his eyes widened, bloodshot, making them look even more blue. “Tito.” You sighed, helping him inside, his legs shaky as he walked. “I thought you would’ve been home by now.” You added, gasping when he nearly fell over, you held onto him tighter, getting him to your couch just in time for him to fall down. You rushed over to the front door, shutting and locking it before returning to him, you squatted in front of him, to meet his eyes. “I’m an idiot.” He whispered, almost as if he forgot it was you he was talking to. “No you’re not.” You murmured, resting a hand on his knee, his eyes landed on it, before moving to your face, slightly puffy eyes, making his heart wrench in his chest, he made you cry. He flickered his gaze to your lips, they were swollen and pink from you scrubbing the lipstick off, the whole time you had been doing that, you thought what an idiot you were for thinking it would pull him in.

“I am.” He said again, nodding as he blinked slowly, the effects of the alcohol kicking in. He was about to speak but you stopped him. “Anthony,” there it was again, the disappointment in your voice as you spoke, you might as well have stabbed him in the heart, “whatever you want to say, I think it should wait until tomorrow when you’re sober.” You explained, carefully pushing his jacket off his body, he watched in awe of your warm nature as you slipped off his shoes. “You can stay here, I’ll go get a pillow.” You whispered, to which he didn’t respond, the second you were gone, he laid on his stomach, one arm hanging off the couch as the tiredness overcame him. His eyes burned with drunken emotion, but he hadn’t realized as he knocked out in your living room that a single drop fell, staying in a pool under his eye. You rounded the corner, stopping in your tracks at the sight of him spread out on your couch, his soft snores filling the otherwise silent space. You made your way over to him, setting the pillow down on the side table, taking the blanket from the corner and moving to drape it over his back lightly. You tiptoed into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and a couple of Advil, placing them both on the coffee table in front of him, as you were placing them down you looked over and caught the single spot of wetness under his eye, now feeling like someone had stabbed you in the heart. You gently reach over, wiping it off with your thumb, sighing when he smiled softly in his sleep. Bending down, you left a light kiss to his cheek, “goodnight, Tito.”

***

Morning came much sooner than you’d like, after spending the whole night tossing and turning, crying once again, overwhelmed by the not knowing of what he wanted to tell you last night.

You woke when you heard a soft crash in the kitchen, “shit.” Tito whispered, you could tell he was trying to get a pan out, but you had them stacked in such a way that it was impossible to not make noise. You stayed silent in your bed, as if he could see through the wall. You listened as he muttered to himself, words you couldn’t quite decipher, the fridge opened and closed, the sound of your coffee pot being turned on. His feet made their way down the hall, you could tell he stopped outside your door, unsure of what to do, he decided against waking you, and you heard him step into the bathroom instead. A sigh fell from your lips as you climbed out of bed, you were still in your pajamas from last night, and the sweater still hanging over your frame, you decided that was good enough. You brushed out your hair and tied it up sloppily, a messy bun with your leftover curls. You caught a glance in your mirror, sighing for what felt like the hundredth time already, your eyes puffy, cheeks pink. Oh well, you thought as you stepped out into the hall, at the same time as Tito. “I didn’t wake you did I?” Was what he decided on, you shook your head staying silent, making your way into the bathroom, “oh.” He let out softly, a habit of yours he had picked up on, something he had started doing himself.

He was back in the kitchen when you came out, standing in front of the stove, flipping over the eggs in the pan, you slid past him to get to the coffee pot. “How’s your head?” You asked, the silence, for once with him, being awkward. “Not too bad.” He answered, smiling softly at you, you returned the gesture as you poured some creamer into your cup. The silence came back, neither of you speaking as he continued cooking, you pulled out some bread and made toast, trying to calm your mind as you thought of how you wanted to do this with him all the time. Something so domestic as cooking breakfast, but it was just the two of you, it was nice.

You placed two plates beside him, both with toast on them, he slid the eggs equally onto the dishes, staying silent as he slid the pan off the burner to cool off. “Thank you.” You mumbled, taking the plate and going to the small table you had, he only hummed in response, sitting adjacent to you. It stayed silent, the only noise being your forks hitting the plate, or coffee cups being set down.

When you finished, you stood, taking the plates, he didn’t protest as he looked lost in thought. Your mind raced as you turned the water on, squeezing dish soap onto the sponge. Was he ever going to say what he came here for? Could it possibly be what you thought it was? Certainly if it was that, he would’ve said it by now.

You hadn’t realized you had let the tears begin to fall until you heard him stand up from the chair abruptly, he was there, in three large steps. He stood beside you, keeping his eyes on you as he turned the water off, he silently pulled your hands from the dishes, letting them lightly fall into the sink, he grabbed the towel and dried your hands. You cried harder as he pulled you into his chest, one arm tightly around your back, his other hand cradling the back of your head. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry.” He whispered after a while, he had begun to rub shapes into your back, noticing how it made your breathing slow slightly. You shook your head, pulling away from his grip, despite his best efforts to keep you flush against him. “What is this?” You asked, keeping your eyes on his, “I can’t keep doing this, why did you come last night?” You asked in more detail, crossing your arms over your chest. Anthony looked at you, trying to find the right words to say, but deep down he knew none of them would make up for how he treated you last night, or for how he had dragged this on for months now. “I came to apologize.” He muttered.

You went stiff as a board, of course it wasn’t what you had hoped for. “That’s all?” You questioned, looking up at him with desperate eyes. He nodded, “I shouldn’t have been so rude last night, you didn’t deserve it–“ “No, I didn’t.” You cut him off, anger rising in your chest, “Anthony, if that’s all you had to say, I really think you should leave.” You whimpered, voice cracking as you pushed past him.

Idiot, he thought to himself, why couldn’t he just say it.

Finally, his brain came to its senses and directed him towards you, he grabbed your hand, tugging you towards him, grabbing your waist to steady you when you crashed into him. Eyes filled with tears once more, he stayed silent as you stared at you. You let your eyes flutter shut as he leaned forward, his lips ghosting over yours, silently asking if this is what you wanted, when you didn’t pull away, he took that as a yes. He fully connected your lips, sighing into you, relief filling him when you reciprocated the action, your arms going around his neck, desperate to keep him close. He took a few steps forward, pressing you against the wall, his body flush against yours. When he pulled back, a soft whine fell from your lips, you opened your eyes to find him already looking at you. Eyes slightly wide, a smile working its way onto his face, “you need to say it, Tito. Please.” You whispered, resisting the urge to pull him in again. “I love you.” His voice was soft, gentle as he looked down at you. “I have ever since I walked into that cafe.” He added, you tugged him back into you, kissing him again, this time pouring emotion into it. The two of you moved in sync, in perfect time with each other, like you already knew everything about one another. Which in a way, you did.

“I love you.” You repeated back to him, pulling away just enough to speak, he nearly whined at your words, not realizing how badly he had needed to hear them. “I’m so sorry, I was so dumb, I couldn’t admit that I fell for you so quick. It scared me.” He whispered, his breath fanning over your face. “It scared me too.” You sighed, hiding your face in his neck. “You’ll just have to tell me all the time now.” You teased, making the both of you relax.

The feeling when he told you he loved you, that was something you’d never forget.

The feeling when he showed you, in all the little things, in all the physical ways, in all the ways he would look at you… it made it all worth the wait.

taglist: @starkeysdunn @kempe @mtkachuk @wtfkie @literarycharleton @starkeyseguin

#anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier #Anthony Beauvillier fic #imagine #imagines #requested #nhl writing #nhl new york islanders #the feeling when...

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aonesteddybear · 4 years

Text

Little Maiden

tanaka ryuunosuke x female reader

warnings: 18+ smut ahead, highly dub-con. fairy tale/red riding hood au with kitsune!tanaka (breeding, innocent!reader, knotting, manipulation, oral sex, vaginal sex, request for others)

word count: 7575

notes: this is for the hq server collab, which the prompt was fantasy. tanaka was my pick and i saw this delicous piece of artwork for kitsune tanaka...and i knew what must be done. this has some crack moments but is mostly pwp and please heed the warnings! (also spot daichi in this!) be sure to check out the masterlist here and see all the other great writings and artwork done!

Once upon a time, there was a young maiden who lived within a village on the outskirts of a forest. It was a bustling town, with plenty of travelers that came to it and held many stories. Despite this cluster of activities, the town knew not to let any of their ladies wander into the forest, and certainly not every third moon cycle when even the animals within the forest seemed jumpy and on edge. The ladies that did stray off on their own, often came back with clothes torn and speaking of a beast with nine tails disguised as a man who would trick them into performing lewd activities with him, taking their status as a maiden and leaving them heavy with child. Those that encountered him, almost never were the same, lusting after what they encountered. Often they would disappear later on, back into the woods in an attempt to find the creature, never to return.

These stories are of course whispered from adult to adult, careful not to let young ears hear in case they would seek out the beast itself to find out the source of the stories. Most travelers believed the story to be made up, a legend to account for women who sought out companionship of men before they were wed, and had to deal with the consequences when they started to present. Yet the town remained insistent, that there was a beast within the woods, and it was determined to corrupt the maidens within it.

You of course knew the whispers, or just the stories and repeated instructions to never enter by yourself. “Always take your brother,” your parents insisted, “And don’t stray from each other's sight.”

It was that mantra which was told to you yet again, as your mother fixed your cloak around your neck. “Do not leave the path, and Daichi, please do not harass your sister anymore. Stick together, closely. I need you to get this to Grandma. Go straight to her house, don’t dawdle, and do not talk to anyone, Y/N I mean it. The woods are dangerous.” Your mother insisted, pressing a kiss to your hair line as she slipped the basket into your arm. “I will see you both tomorrow.”

Your brother rolled his eyes, ruffling your hair as you walked past as you slapped at him even as your mother tsked at both of you. You waved at your mother one last time before you skipped after your brother with a call of “Wait up!”

As you both disappeared into the woods, your mother's voice of “Be safe! Don’t talk to strangers!” called after you.

The start of your journey was uneventful, the trees whispering to you both as you wandered further and further along the path into the woods. Despite the forest darkening as you continued within it, the foliage along it continued to grow. Soft flowers bloomed along the path, butterflies flitting to and from them as you watched in awe.

Anytime your step would falter, convinced to go smell them your brother’s hand was firm on your back pushing you along. “Come on, we have to make it before nightfall.” He urged, and you reluctantly continued on.

As if the forest seemed to hear your internal struggles, it seemed each time the path curved a new batch would be there, with more flowers blooming within it as if you couldn’t resist the next plot. Eventually your brother opted to walk in front of you, not wanting to slow to your pace. Still he would call out for you, a “Y/N, hurry up!” anytime you would slow too much to look at the intricate blossoms.

Still as his pace continued steady, you fell further and further behind him. Until, this time when you stopped to bend over to look at the flower stalks, his voice didn’t call out to you. You lifted your head, squinting at the darkness of the forest as you followed the path around the curve.

It will be alright, you thought to yourself, He is surely just ahead. I can smell these and then run and catch up with him.

Yet as you leaned over again, a hand reaching out to grip the orangish flower, a shadow fell over you.

“They’re foxtails.” A voice mused from behind you, causing you to jump slightly, stumbling forward as you landed in the patch as you spun around to stare up at the man who spoke.

His hair was shaved down, short which drew attention to his face instead. Sharp brows were arched as he looked down at you, who was still sprawled upon the ground, but dark lines framed his eyes, sharpening his appearance. “Here, let me help you up.” He offered a hand out, and you carefully took it.

Subconsciously, you realize just how warm the man was as he pulled you up, and you examined his clothing in confusion. His pants were baggy, hanging off his frame and he wore only a vest which revealed his stomach and arms to your view. “Are you a traveler?” You blurt out, and he smirked, looking down at his own appearance thoughtfully.

“I suppose so.” He decides on, eyeing you. “And what about you? What is a young-” he paused, inhaling softly as he eyed you up and down before he continued, “maiden, doing out here all alone?”

You flushed at his words, smoothing your hands on your dress as you looked down. “I’m not alone.” You stated, “My brother is just ahead. We’re going to Grandma’s.”

He raises an eyebrow, “You surely look alone. I do not see anyone. Just you and myself, young maiden.”

Do not talk to strangers. Your mother's words float back to you as he stepped forward closer towards you, and you stumbled back. “I-I should go.” You stuttered out and he laughed softly, “No, stay. It is alright.” He promised, reaching down to pluck one of the flowers off to hold up to your face.

“They’re foxtails.” He repeated, “I personally think they’re lovely. Don’t you?” He questioned, waving it in front of your nose, and you felt your eyes cross as you try to examine it.

“Yes,” you admitted, and he grinned as if you just complimented him. “There are even prettier flowers further along here.” He purred out and your eyes followed his hand where he pointed, further off the path and deeper into the foliage.

You stared longingly at the flowers, foot shifting as if you would head in the direction before you hesitated, shaking your head. “I shouldn’t, my brother will surely be looking for me and my mother says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

The stranger frowned, irritation flicking over his face before it faded just as quickly. “My apologies, I must have forgotten my manners. You may call me...Ryuunosuke Tanaka.” He offered, “Surely your brother hasn’t gone far, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to see the flowers and be back before he comes looking for you. Now, little maiden, shall we?”

Your nose crinkled slightly as he stepped into you, “My name is not ‘Little Maiden’.” You retorted, “My name is Y/N.”

The man smiled, a foxish grin appearing on his face. “You are a maiden though, are you not, Y/N? You’re also rather little compared to me. Therefore...” his words trail off as he eyed you with a certain hunger, and you stepped back slightly at the close proximity of him.

You looked away in embarrassment, back towards the path where your brother had left, but the man’s presence next to you had you looking back at him for guidance. “You know my name. Now, we are no longer strangers, right? Come. Let’s go see them together.” He coaxed, voice soft as it washed over you and you nodded, taking his hand as he led you through the flowers and further off the path.

As he continued to guide you, the slightest uneasiness bubbled up in your stomach as he led you deeper into the woods and away from the way you were supposed to have been going. Anytime you attempted to turn to look behind you he’d jerk your arm, causing you to tumble into him as you attempted to not fall. “Sir-” you started, but a soft tsk from him had your words dying off as he interrupted you. “We’ll be there soon little kit, do not worry.”

As if his words were understood a bit too literal, the woods opened up around you and instead revealed a meadow of flowers. “Oh, it’s beautiful!” you exclaimed, pulling from his hand to instead investigate further into the field, bending over to sniff them as you went.

The traveler (Tanaka he said his name was, you reminded yourself) followed you around as you flit between each flower, but it isn’t until his hand gently touched your hip that you gasped and turned to stare up at him in confusion. “Do you smell that?” He questioned pulling you into him closer, and you flushed as you are pulled into his chest.

The warmth of his body is evident even through your clothing. Your hands came up to attempt to push at his chest, even as he held you tighter to him. “Do you smell that?” He repeats, voice a low rumble in his chest and you paused your wiggling to inhale deeply.

The smell of the forest dominated your nose, overwhelming you with an earthy scent of rain even with the proximity of the flowers surrounding you. Underneath it all you could smell the hint of spices, (Cinnamon a voice in the back of your head states) and the touch of wood smoke as you inhaled again. Confused still though, you look up at him. “Smell what, Sir?”

He licked his lips, looking down at you as a smile appeared over his lips and once again, you wiggled slightly, attempting to pull away as his head leaned down to press into your hair. “I don’t know,” he mused. “It smells sweet. Like..a treat.”

His face moved down your head, nuzzling along your ear and down into your neck even as you giggled at the tickling sensation, attempting to wiggle away from him. “Sir-!” you attempted again, even as his hands tightened on your flesh.

His body dips as his face moved down your body, opting to press his face into the valley of your breasts even as you gasped, hands pushing at his head. “W-Wait! You can’t do that!” You gasped as his tongue flicked out, running along your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, voice monotone. “I’m just trying to find..the source of that delicious scent.”

His hands tightened on your body even as you attempted to squirm away from him and he continued his path down. He paused at your stomach, inhaling through the fabric, and you aren’t able to see how his pupils dilated at the scent. His hands gripped painfully tight on your waist before he shoved you back, allowing you to sprawl out on the bed of flowers which caught your weight as if it was a bed rather than solid ground.

He ignored your soft cry of objection, his hands bunching your skirt up as he pushed it up and his head dips down in between your legs, seeking out the source. “You can’t!” you attempted to argue, but the feeling of warm, wet muscle sliding over your underwear had you gasping and pushing at his head in objection. “S-sir!”

He looked up at you, annoyance clear on his face. “What?” he questioned and you quickly shake your head, attempting to wiggle backwards even as he grabbed at your hips, attempting to prevent you from moving away. “You can’t!” you insisted again, your voice dropping. “It’s...indecent.” You whispered out.

The traveler snorted, eyes rolling as he grabbed at your clothes, tugging them down even as you let out a squeak of objection, “It’s alright. Look, I found what smells so sweet. I wonder if it’ll taste just as sweet,” He questioned, his head dipping down as he licked a stripe up your folds even as you cried out.

“I-Sir! You...you shouldn’t!” you again attempted to argue, even as he held your hips to his face, licking and sucking at your core as you trembled. “Mother...Mother says I shouldn’t touch myself there. You shouldn’t lick there.” You whimpered out, eyes filling in tears upset by his action.

Sensing your distraughtness, his head raised and you feel your cheeks heat up as you realize his face is wet as he sits back. “What is wrong? Does it not feel good? Surely your mother just didn’t want you to get hurt.” His tongue flicked out then, and not for the first time you feel your stomach turn in anxiety at his tongue, a bit too long to be fully human.

One of his hands slid down your body, rubbing at your thigh as you wince. “Did it feel good?” he asked again and you shrugged slightly. “It felt funny.” You repeated, and he smirked at that. Your eyes flicked down to his mouth again, eyebrows knitted together in confusion at the point of teeth you could have sworn weren’t there earlier when he smiled.

“Did it feel good?” He repeated, his hand moving over your mound, his fingers dipping into your folds as he rubbed at a spot that had you gasping and attempting to jerk away from him in response. “Look how good it feels.” He purred, his words filling you with warmth. “If it doesn’t feel good, I’ll stop. Okay?”

When you nodded in a hesitant response, his eyes glinted in excitement, leaning forward once more as he pulled you close to his face as he licked a new stripe up your cunt, holding you firmly even as you gasped and attempted to pull away. “Does it feel bad?” His voice against your core sent trembles up your spine as you shook your head in response as he continued his lapping.

You watched curiously as his own hips grind against the ground in earnest. Your focus diverted for a moment, quickly back to his face as you felt his tongue press against you, and slide into you as you jerk, attempting to pull back. “W-wait!” You cried out in surprise. Pushing at him as he held you to his face, eyes flicking up to make contact with yours, even as you attempted to get away.

His tongue continued worming it’s way into your body, stroking at areas you didn’t know existed as you whimpered for him to stop. “It feels weird!” You manage out, panting as he watched you with eyes that are blank and emotionless. His hands were painfully tight on your hips, preventing you from moving as you effectively grind against his face instead.

As your legs trembled around him, you began to feel a tightening in your stomach. “S-Sir...Wait! It….I...stop….it feels...too much!” You attempted to whine out a coherent sentence even as he continued, nose bumping into your clit rhythmically as he nuzzled into it.

One of his hands removed from your hip, opting to slide down as he pressed a finger into you alongside his tongue as you cried out, jerking as both of them curled, stroking opposite walls. As he pushed in another finger you cried out, not sure what exactly you were crying for as a wave of euphoria poured over your body.

He held you with his free hand, refusing to let your hips part from his face as he eagerly drank up your cum. As he attempted to add a third finger inside you, you let out a squeal.

“Your fingers! They’re so big!” You managed out in overstimulation, and he smirked this time, pulling back as he sat back for the second time, sliding them out of you as he raised them to his face. His tongue wrapped around them as he lapped off your juices from them. “Better to finger you with little maiden,” He purred out as you flushed.

“You are, right? A maiden?” He clarified. “Never had anyone else touch you like this.” His eyes narrowed dangerously, and you swallowed as you nodded. He hummed in appreciation at your answer. “Good, I don’t like to share.”

His hands reached down to his pants, pushing them down and you quickly averted your eyes as he wrapped his hand around his straining cock. “What’s wrong?” His voice was teasing, “Have you never seen a cock before?”

You shook your head in embarrassment, “No, Sir.”

He hummed in excitement, energy radiating off him as he inched closer to you, reaching out he grabbed your hand. Jerking you forward to wrap your hand around his cock, alongside his. “Here, feel. What does it feel like?” He questioned, hand enclosing around yours as he instructed you how to stroke him.

Warm, “It feels warm.” You admitted, and he hummed, hips pressing his cock up into you harder. “What else?” He asked and you swallowed nervously, looking from where your hand was wrapped around him to his eyes. “It’s...big.” you decide on and this time his amusement is clear. “Better to fuck you with.” He explained bluntly, grinning as your eyes darted away in embarrassment.

He shifted, standing and you flinched back slightly as his cock became eye level with you. A hand found the back of your head, preventing you from pulling back further and instead nudged you forward in encouragement.

“C’mon, little maiden.” He purred out, and you swallowed looking up at him in confusion, unsure of what he had wanted. “Take it in your mouth.”

You paused, looking at it again as if you were considering it before you looked up at him once more, “I’ve never done it before though, Sir.”

He tsked his tongue, stepping forward and tapping the head of his cock against your lips as you flinched, pulling back, but his hand was there again, pushing you back against it as he rubbed the beading precum against your pursed lips.

“That’s alright, you can practice.” He promised, his words comforting despite your situation. “"Now, didn't your mother ever tell you it's good to try new things?” He scolded and you flushed at his words, nodding your head reluctantly as his cock pushed at your lips.

He rubbed his cock against the softness of your lips, coaxing you to open your mouth for him. “Look, it's leaking milk just for you,” and he was right. You could see the white fluid bubbling out the tip, and being rubbed over your lips. “Go on little kit, drink up…” He encouraged and you allowed your lips to part as he pressed it into your mouth and you immediately attempted to recoil at the bitter taste of his precum.

A firm hand on the back of your head prevented you from moving as your eyes fluttered up to him in panic. “Doesn't it taste good?" He asked, his other hand leaving the base of his cock and opting to brush fondly over your cheek bone, as he allowed you to pull back.

You immediately made a face, your hand moving up to wipe off your face as you avoided his face, instead opting to look past his hips. However, your thoughts were paused by the sight of what appeared to be a tail hanging from his hip, and as you watched it split into three separate ones.

You stared at them curiously, at their see through form, and as you watched one curled around towards you. The tip of the tail coming forward but before it could brush against your nose, a hand on your head was pulling you back into reality, and when you flicked back to look at the tails they were gone.

“I asked you a question, little kit,” Tanaka repeated, except this time, his voice was light as if he was on the verge of laughing. You hesitated, “Um,” your eyes flicked back to his hips in confusion at the illusion you had seen. “I..No. It didn’t taste good.” You admitted and this time the man snorted, an attempt to stifle his laugh.

“Now, that isn’t a very nice thing to say to someone who just offered you something to eat. Certainly not to someone who already ate you, little kit.” His voice was amused as his thumb ran over your lips, pressing on the bottom one as you parted for him again. “You know, you should know better. Didn’t your mother teach you to have better manners?” He questioned gently and you felt your eyes burn at the scolding words, tears welling up in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” You whispered out, and this time as his thumb moved into your mouth and pushed down on your tongue he looked excited. “It’s okay. I know what you can do to make it up to me.”

You looked up at him, in confusion at his words. “What? Really?” You asked around his finger, and he smiled, head cocking to the side and you blinked at the glint of light as it wrapped around his head, the illusion of ears appearing just as quickly as it disappeared.

“Yeah.” He whispered out, “Close your eyes, hold open your mouth.”

You obeyed, and as his thumb left your mouth, you’re empty for only a moment before a new heavy weight is pressing into your mouth the saltiness returns. As your eyes fluttered open in curiosity, your head is pushed forward, the soft head of his cock hitting the back of your throat as you jerked backwards into his hand which remained steady in pressure in an attempt to hold you on his cock.

Your hands found purchase on his thighs, pushing on them even as they rolled against your face, forcing you to take more of his cock into your mouth and throat as you gagged. Saliva ran down your lips, tears trickling out your face as you looked up at him in panic as you struggled against him. “Shh it’s okay, just relax. You’ll get it,” He insisted, his free hand petting tears from your cheekbone as the other holds painfully tight in your hair.

As his cock hit a particularly sensitive area of your mouth, you gagged, your hands fly out, grabbing at his legs and as your fingers brush against fur you grab at it. The man stiffened underneath your other hand, body jerking in response as you pulled at what you held.

A shaky noise escaped his body and as he released your head, allowing you to pull off his cock with a gasp as you looked up at him. Slowly you process the fact that the noise he made was a whine. He looked just as startled as you were, your eyes tracking from his face to your hand which currently held- “A tail.” You blurted out, the words escaping from your mouth before you could stop it.

He looked unamused at this statement, the tail twitching underneath your grasp as it writhed. “Yes,” he stated plainly. “Now, you should do that again, please.” He requested, pulling your head forward once more towards his cock, and as you opened your mouth to object his cock was pushed into your mouth again, except this time he was much rougher.

His thrusts were unpredictable, and excited as he forced your head down on his cock in sync with his thrusts. Your hands blindly fumbled at him, the fur warm under your one as you tugged at it in objection, and that only seemed to further spur him on. New fur brushed against your other hand, and you obeyed the silent request to grab at it with the other side.

His noises of pleasure only increased as he fucked into your face, you tugging at the-, no, his tails. You whimpered in objection as his thrusts became uneven. You could feel the trembles in his body, and as he hit the back of your throat yet again you couldn’t help but jerk on both of his tails. Fingers fisted in them tightly as you pulled at them in objection at the treatment.

His hips stuttered as he gasped, and just as suddenly warmth flooded your mouth as he allowed you to jerk away. Coughing at the taste you spat out what you could, looking up at him through teary eyes as he sighed, taking a step back as he yawned.

This time you could see the fangs protruding where his canines would be, much too long to be human. If that wasn’t a big enough of a hint, his eyes were dark, pupils slitted fully now and behind him...multiple tails swayed behind him, trembling with energy.

“You have a tail!” You accused, still coughing, voice scratchy as the man snorted in amusement. “I have nine actually, can’t you count?” He mocked and you bit your lip, trying to stop the tears that were already threatening to spill.

“What are you?” You questioned, trying to sound brave despite the quiver in your voice and he grinned. “Guess,” he demanded and you couldn’t help the pout of your lower lip. “I don’t know.” You admitted, and the man rolled his eyes. “That’s no fun. That’s not even a guess.”

He frowned, rubbing his own arm as he considered for a moment. “Fine though. I’ll tell you, but only because no one has played with them in a while and I’m in a good mood.” He leaned forward, gripping your face tightly in his hand and you winced as long nails (Claws, a voice told you) pinched into your skin.

He smiled, leaning forward as he pressed his lips to you, kissing you softly. “I’m a fox. A trickster god. A kitsune, don’t ‘cha know.” He whispered to your lips, and as a tear spilled from your eye, his free hand came up to wipe it away. “And right now, it is breeding season, sweetheart. You caught me right at the start of my rut. I very much do appreciate the help, but I’m not even close to done, yet.”

“I don’t want to help. I want to go home.” You decided, and the man let out a bark of a laugh. “Oh silly little kit,” He mused, petting your cheek again even as you attempted to flinch back from him in fear of what he’d do next. “I may be a trickster, but I didn’t even have to trick you here with me did I?” He purred out, voice dripping like honey over you.

Your lip trembled as you held back your tears, “It’s late. My brother will be worried. I have to go.” You insisted, and the fox god scoffed now, tails lashing in annoyance at his plans being interrupted. “You help me, and I’ll get you back before they even notice you are gone. They won’t know a thing.” He offered, “Deal?”

You hesitate, before you nodded, “Deal.”

A smile spread across his face, tongue flicking out to lick at his lips as he eyed you, and you can’t help but feel once again you’ve made a terrible mistake. “Good. That makes this much easier.” He purred out.

“Makes what easier?” You question nervously, eyes shifting from his looming figure to the empty meadow you were in. “This,” His voice was deep, dangerous as it wrapped around you.

He moved forward forcing you back as he grabbed your legs, spreading them roughly apart as you gasped. One of his hands slid down, running along the inside of your thigh and back towards your cunt as you attempted to close your thighs around him. “Stop it.” His words were harsh, and you froze at the command. “You agreed to this.” He reminded and you swallowed, suddenly regretting your words from just a few moments ago.

“You haven’t told me what this even is!” You accused as he shifted to fit himself in between your thighs preventing you from closing as he forced a finger back into your cunt.

He ignored the squeal that fell from your lips as your hand came up to push at his shoulder, “It hurts!” You yelped and he ignored you, pulling back only long enough to add another as you cried out his name this time.

“Did I not already tell you? It is breeding season.” He stated plainly, bored as he curled his fingers inside of you appreciating the squeal you let out at the sensation again. “I have no interest in making you behave, or fighting with you honestly. I really only want to stuff this little cunt of yours with my cock.” His words were punctuated with particular hard curls of his fingers causing you to whimper, “I’m going to knot you, and see how you drip with my cum, and look swollen with my seed.”

His words have you shivering, trying to form coherent sentences as he continued to play with your hole. He pulled back again, this time forcing a third finger in as you whined at the stretch, your hands flying up to your mouth as you tried to silence your noise this time. His eyes flick from where you were stretched on his fingers, to your face as you covered it.

An amused expression crossed his face as he cocked his head to the side, “You know, no one is going to hear you here. Feel free to be as loud as you want. No one will find us.” He promised, and if he realized how much his words filled you with dread he didn’t seem to care. In fact, he seemed quite happy at this fact that no one would stumble upon your acts.

Still you couldn’t help but let out a sharp gasp at a particularly hard thrust of his hand, his long fingers hitting a spot inside of you that made you wince in pain. Satisfied with your response, he pulled back licking at his fingers again as you panted underneath him watching in confusion as he mused. “You’re ready.” he stated simply.

“Ready for what?” You question again, and this time he doesn’t try to hide his annoyance at your repeated question. “Ready to be fucked open by my cock, that’s what, Little Maiden.”

This time the name is mocking, as if he was taking great glee of the fact he was about to take your maidenhood status, and as you attempted to push back slightly on the ground his hand was grabbing at your skin painfully tight, in a bruising grip.

“Shh, it’s okay. Don’t be scared, little kit. It won’t hurt much.” He promised, fingers coming up to smooth over your cheek as he fitted himself between your thighs. His other hand fit between your two bodies, brushing up against your sensitive bundle of nerves as he palmed his own cock.

“I could have been rude, not tried to make you feel good and stretch you out a little. I told you I would, right?” He questioned, touching your face fondly, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, feeding on his words.

“Of course, it’s not going to help when I knot you. Can’t exactly prepare human bodies for that before it happens.” He muses on, more to himself as his words drop and you feel your face contort in confusion. “Knot?” You question and he smiles, his face bright at that. “Oh yes, I’m going to split you open on my knot, little kit. Fill you with my kits.”

You start to ask what he means once again but a pressure on your core had you attempting to scoot back. His hand connected with your shoulder holding you steady as he pushed up, and into you.

You gasped in pain, tears welling up in your eyes as you grabbed at him. “W-wait, sir!” You attempted to call out, hands flying up to grasp at his body and arms as he pushed you down with the same force he was pushing his hips up with.

The stretch was painful, and you could feel as he pushed each new inch inside. Even though he had used three fingers inside of you, it felt nothing compared to the stretch of his cock as he made your cunt provide room for him.

If he cared for your whimpers, or the soft tears flowing down your face he didn’t comment on them. His own head dipping down as his eyes fluttered shut at the velvety sensation wrapping around him. “You feel so good,” He purred out, eyes fluttering open to look up at you and even through your tears you could see the unnatural glint to his eyes.

You swallowed, trying to hold back your whimpers as his hips pressed flush against yours. You felt like you were going to be split open, the sensation uncomfortable as his cock pressed firmly against your cervix. “Hmm? Why are you crying now?” He questioned, his thumb coming up to wipe at your tears as your lower lip trembled.

“It hurts.” You stated plainly and he tsked softly, “We’ve barely begun, I told you this.” He attempted to soothe. You could see his tails lashing in anticipation behind him, the goldish red of his fur catching your attention. Drawing your focus away from throbbing dull ache in between your legs “Now, quit crying little kit. You barely have anything to cry about. I haven’t even moved, you can cry later.” He promises, and once again you start to question his words, lips parting to ask what he meant by that.

However, his hips drew back, causing you to yelp softly at the sudden removal of pressure and new friction from your body. “W-Wait-!” You start to object, as his hips snapped back into you causing the air to leave your lungs as you stared up at him.

“There, see? Don’t cry.” His voice was light, teasing as he pushed himself up on his arms, shifting to a new position as he started to roll his hips in earnest, head cocking as he listened to your squeaks of objection as you attempted to form a coherent sentence.

“What is it? You have to tell me.” You knew he was mocking you as your hands gripped at the flowers beside you, trying to find purchase as he fucked you in order to ground yourself. “Oh? Nothing. Hm, disappointing. Well if you’re not objecting….”

His voice trailed off, as he suddenly pulled out, grabbing you by your hips as he flipped your body over. You started to object again as his body covered you, his cock pressing up against your thigh for a moment before it entered you just as suddenly. One of his hands gripped your hip, holding you tightly as the other found the spot in between your shoulder blades, shoving you down before he gripped the back of your neck.

The new position caused him to groan at the tightened sensation, a soft praise of “That’s a good girl, just like that.” as he encouraged you to hold the position as he draped over you. His hips slapping into you as he fucked into your body.

Your soft mewls of pain slowly turned into pleasure, trembling underneath him at the odd pressure as he drilled into your core, pressing up against your cervix with each thrust. His presence was warm, stifling as he covered you.

As if he could sense your discomfort, his hands moved to pull at your clothing. Ripping it down the seam along the back as he shoved to the side. Your protesting words were cut off as he pushed your face further into the ground with a soft snarl of “Quit complaining.”

His words left your stomach flipping as he undressed you, pausing only briefly with his thrusts before he leant back over you his skin flush against yours. The smell of cinnamon and smoke clouded your head as he pressed his face into your neck. You could feel the soft rumble of a growl in his chest, his hips stuttering against you as he found a new pace which had you both gasping for air.

Chills trembled through your body as his hands wrapped around you, grabbing at your chest and pinching at your nipples as you whined in objection. “W-wait, please slow down. I-I can’t.” Your words were whimpers, barely formed as your fingers dug into soft soil as he pounded away into your sopping cunt.

You couldn’t see it as his fingers dug into your neck pushing further into the ground, his eyes rolling in annoyance. “Can you shut up, and just whine for me instead?” He questioned, each word punctuated with a thrust, the finals one hammering directly into your cervix as you sobbed out for him.

Pleasure and pain mixing together in a ball in your stomach as he fucked into you with skilled rolls of his hips. As pleasure continued to grow in you, you could feel his thrusts begin to change. Rather than fucking you with a speed and intensity that left you struggling to breathe, they became much more targeted as he grinds into you with his hips.

Each press you could feel the nudge of something at your folds. You attempted to turn your head, looking back in curiosity at the new sensation but his hand was immediately there pressing your face further into the ground. “Stay,” His words were a soft growl that vibrated through you as he held you firmly and you found yourself nodding weakly even as he continued pressing into you. Soft fur ran against your legs, and you could feel his tails wrap around you, an attempt at a comforting gesture.

His grinding became more insistent as his lazy thrusts continued, and as it built you couldn’t help but push back against it, the pressure rubbing against your clit. This action of yours seemed to please him greatly as he leaned back over you, covering you effectively as he purred praises into your ears.

It wasn’t until he started to push it forward into your hole with purpose that it clicked in your mind that he was attempting to fit it inside you. You hadn’t seen what this new pressure was, but you could feel your hole painfully stretching at the pressure and your instincts told you that it was going to hurt.

As if he could sense your panicky thoughts, his hands were suddenly back on you holding you painfully down, his weight on your back as he continued to shove his hips against yours. “Don’t even think about it.” His words chilled you but the pain had you continuing to squirm as he tightened his grip on you, tails running against your skin.

As the pressure increased on your cunt, your breathing started to increase. Tears rolling down your cheeks and onto the ground at the burning pain continued. “Relax, it’s only going to hurt worse if you fight me on this. You’ll be okay. Breathe.” His words were attempting to be calming to you as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and shoulder.

His fingers dug into you as you attempted to calm your breathing as he instructed but the pressure only increased as your eyes squeezed shut. Your teeth gritted together for a moment before a sob of pain escaped. “It hurts!” You accused and he hummed, licking at your skin. “I know, you’re doing so good.” He promised.

“You said it wouldn’t!” You sobbed out, and he snorted in amusement.

“Did not...I told you I was going to split you open on my knot, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing.”

Your lower lip trembled as he continued to push into you, “It hurts really bad, please stop.” You attempt again he shushes you pressing his lips against yours, “Shhh little kit, it’ll be okay. It’ll be done soon, I promise.” He whispers against you, leaning up to lick the tears leaking from your eyes and down your face. “Go on now, cry for me. I told you, you could cry later. Didn’t I?” His words were spoken into your skin, soothing as his fingers release from their bruising grips rubbing at your skin in soft circles instead.

For the briefest moment, the pressure alleviates and you make the mistake of letting out a soft exhale, thinking he had stopped. Eyes fluttering shut as you let out a soft “Thank you.” However, as his hips snapback forward connecting you two firmly again, you feel your mind blank for the briefest moment before light explodes behind your eyelids.

Pain clouds your mind, and you are convinced you definitely were just split open as the knot at the base of his cock pushes into you, sinking past your hole and into your cunt. As blinding as the pain is, the shuddering euphoria washes over you following it, a sharp sob escapes from you as his teeth dig into your neck.

His hands pinning you to the ground under his weight preventing you from pulling away as you cum around him spasming underneath him. His noises of pleasure fill your ears, muffled as his teeth puncture your skin. His body trembles over you, his scent of cinnamon and smoke overwhelming you as he effectively ties the two of you together, his tails sliding against both of your skin before falling slackly.

As both of your orgasms wash over you, the pain returns as a dull throb in your cunt. As his fingers loosen on his hold of you, his weight sagging slightly you squirm attempting to pull away from him but just as quickly his fingers are back bruisingly tight on your hip and shoulder. His teeth dig in further into your skin making you cry out in pain. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare. You’re gonna hurt both of us.” He snarls, his voice muffled by your skin. “Stay still.” He hisses out, breath uneven as his hips ground into you once more, his movements limited now but not prevented.

With each half-hearted roll of his hips, tugging at your hole you whimpered in pain. You could feel the warmth filling your stomach, and after a few more minutes you could feel it dripping down your legs. Sensing the fluid leaking also, the man shifted. His arms wrapping around your body as he rolled to the side, pulling you with him as his hands ran over your belly fondly cupping it lightly as he held your firmly to his chest.

As both of your breathing lowered back to normal, his hands continued to rub softly at your skin. His tails wrapping around to tickle at your skin as well. He was much more gentle now, his touches almost loving, but you still couldn’t help the soft tears roll down your face at your bruised skin. Sensing your emotions the man nuzzled into your throat, tongue running along the bite mark he had left. One of his tails reached up, brushing off your cheek of your tears as you turned away from it.

“What’s wrong, little kit?” He purred out, his words sleepy and you shrugged in response. When a few seconds passed and you didn’t continue on with an answer, he pinched at your skin lightly as he pressed a kiss to your jaw. “Come on now, talk to me.”

You let out a soft sight, turning to look at the man, your lower lip trembling and he immediately stiffened in concern. His tail coming up to brush against your face again, as he nuzzled into you. “Oh stop, you’re okay. I promise.” He soothed, fingers running over your body in encouragement. “You did so good.”

“I want to go home now, Sir.” you whispered softly, and the man laughed gently at the statement. “You know you don’t have to call me ‘Sir’. I gave you my name,” he pointed out, avoiding your request. “Oh...I’m sorry, Tanaka.” You decide on and he hums, pressing another kiss to the corner of your eye. “Ryuunosuke is fine.”

“I’m sorry, Ryuunosuke.” You repeat, and he hums happily rubbing his face against you. You two laid in silence for longer, his fingers running up and down your body as he held you to his body. His lips pressing soft kisses against the skin he could reach, his tails rubbing against your legs, and wrapping around your body providing warmth to you both as your eyelids drooped against your will.

“Ryuunosuke?” You questioned, voice slurred with sleep. “Hmm? What is it, little kit?” The kitsune questions you, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he presses a soft kiss to your cheekbone. “When can I go home?” You ask and the man laughs softly.

It was a sound that warms your body as you feel your body drift into unconsciousness, his head moving to rub down over your stomach fondly, and the soft bulge still there from the kitsune’s actions earlier. As you feel the world fade to black, it is his words in the background, a soft whisper into your skin that guides you into sleep.

“Oh silly kit, you’re not going anywhere just yet. You’re not leaving until you’re heavy with my kits. Then you can return to your realm, just like I promised.”

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