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thisblogisaboutabook · 3 months

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Rainy Season - Part 4

All You Ever

Azriel reflects on his past mistake including the night with Elain. Cassian makes a huge mistake.

A/N: Before reading this chapter please know that I am not condoning cheating or the actions of Azriel or Elain. I do not feel sorry for either of them in any way. I simply enjoy adding a little complexity to the story and selfishly love sprinkling in chaos. Also this is not proofread, I’m exhausted.

And for cauldron’s sake, please just trust the process before yelling at me!!! This is just one chapter from the two biggest idiots involved, not the whole story.

Part 3 Part 5

Warnings: Not proofread, Alcohol, Language, Unintentional ingestion of an aphrodisiac leading to sex

Azriel

He may have been a fucking idiot but Azriel’s self-awareness was painfully acute. His scar riddled hands were forever tainted with the essence of blood that even her plush lips couldn’t kiss away, his angel mate. What a cruel joke the cauldron had played the day that bond snapped between them. She was resplendent in sun shrouded glory and he was the devil who dragged her down. Just selfish enough to ignore the warning bells that he’d one day fuck it all up, just selfish enough to pull her away from her home and covet her within the walls of Velaris. In the beginning, he’d fought so hard to deserve her though she’d never asked him to. She wanted only him and knew he was unworthy of her, he always had been. It was exhausting - the mask. Constantly trying to hide from her that dark, sadistic side of him that was everything opposite of what she was.

She saw through it, of course. She always had. All she wanted was him, all of him. Begging him to show her beyond the good of him at surface level, she wanted all of his self-proclaimed bad too. She’d told him that dozens of times over the years but dropping that mask meant unpacking so much - so much more ugly than even he was prepared to reveal to himself.

At some point he began to resent her and he knew it wasn’t fair. He resented his perfect, pure, untainted mate. Wasn’t it ironic that she’d shown him everything beneath her own surface numerous times, unveiled that she herself was not the Angel he placed her on a pedestal as. She’d shown him everything and he still viewed her through that near-holy lense.

If only he could have put his stubbornness, his self-loathing aside and realized she would have done the same for him. It was too late for that now.

And now I'm without you, and it took distance to see that losing you, means losing everything

————

Something had been wrong for a while. He ignored it assuming that perhaps it was a mental blockade erected by a combination of fatigue and work tensions. He’d slowly distanced himself from his mate. He knew it hurt her, it hurt him too. His intentions were genuine, sparing her the pain of his own inner turmoil by distancing himself while he worked through it. He was simultaneously aware that he was a fucking bastard for doing so, she deserved an explanation but he couldn’t give it to her yet. He justified it as the lesser of two evils.

Unsurprisingly, the mating bond is a fickle thing. As he distanced himself, a chasm of emptiness opened within him that he’d desperately tried to fill with missions and various courtly duties. Training with the Valkyries helped, being there for Elain through her own struggles….

He took his duty to help her seriously, though it technically was not a duty even assigned to him. A distraction. It was a distraction. Ever the spymaster he spent their initial time together observing her, the things that brought a little bit of life back to those once bright eyes.

He’d sun his wings while she gardened and read across from her in the study, little things so she’d know she wasn’t alone. Eventually she began talking again. At first just a comment here or there but then there was communication, getting to know each other, small talk eventually becoming deeper topics. He learned of her resentment of the choice she felt was ripped from her, left with no time to mourn the loss of her mortal life or consider the implications on her relationship with Graysen because of it.

Not to mention the shock that one of the faces she blamed for being damned to the cauldron, one of the first faces she saw coming out of it was her mate and she was just supposed to accept it? Over time, Elain became a friend. A bright spot to the numbness created by the self-imposed gap between he and his mate. His mate….

It had taken some time to realize that he wasn’t feeling her through the bond, when was the last time he’d felt her? It was becoming fainter and fainter, more faint than it even should be with distance. He’d send feelings to her on occasion. A little spark of joy when he saw a lovely sunset or the moments when his desire for his mate heated his blood so thoroughly he had no choice but to excuse himself for relief by his hand.

He needed her to know he cared, he desired her, he loved her. A little time and space to collect everything he needed to bring to the surface, to give her all of him. He left her feeling like she wasn’t enough but she was everything. He just needed space.

Until she gave him space.

The devastation on her face the day she asked him to leave. Gods, damn him and the hurtful things he’d said. They’d be ingrained in his mind for the rest of his days along with the sound of her sobs as she fell apart before him. He’d done that to his mate. He was responsible for those tears. All because he’d been too selfish and prideful to share all of himself with her.

So, he left. She’d allowed him so much space, he could give her this.

I wish I could love you and make you believe it. It’s all you ever wanted from me

———-

The night with Elain

He couldn’t make it through dinner sober. Rhys insisted everyone get together at the River House for a friendly night of debauchery. Pouring himself a double shot of whiskey, he considered telling Cassian to send Rhys his regards and hole up in the house of wind for the remainder of the night. It was either, go to dinner and deal with all of the questions of “Where is y/n?” and “Why isn’t y/n here?” or deal with Cassian’s well-intentioned but annoying attempts of pressuring him into going, followed by a pout when he’d stand his ground on staying in, and then the inevitable intrusion from Rhys inquiring why he wouldn’t come to dinner.

He loved his chosen family dearly but they were busybodies through and through. All he wanted was to pass the time until he saw his mate tomorrow.

Begrudgingly he threw back his glass, poured another double, then headed to the River House.

Time moved slowly when all there was to do was dwell.

What had happened? He flew slowly to the River House. Going out of his way to circle far overhead of his true home, where his mate was. Was she waiting for him inside? Was she in town? Why couldn’t he feel her? Silence. Just as it had been for months. But the emotions he’d seen in her, they were so real. Shouldn’t they have sparked something in the bond?

As Azriel approached the River House he’d come to the conclusion that tonight he’d inform Elain he’d no longer be able to visit with her as he had been. He’d neglected his mate for far too long, this past week had given him the clarity needed to go home and give his mate his all. He could slowly open up to her, he could do it.

He just needed to make it through the night.

The night went by as usual. Good food, laughter, flowing liquor. He heavily indulged himself in the liquor anything to numb the impatience in waiting for tomorrow.

Feyre and Rhys sat closely together on a lounge, Feyre leaning into him, staring up at him like the stars in the sky.

Cassian and Nesta spent the entire time making bedroom eyes at one another, Cassian whispering dirty promises into Nesta’s ear that made even the queen of smut herself blush, Nesta taking any opportunity to brush her body against his in passing.

Gods, they were so in love it made him sick.

“Home.” He told himself.

“Soon.”

As the evening wound down, Cassian insisted everyone do shots to close out the evening. He was drunk enough that he stumbled carrying in the tray of shots and let out a battle cry of victory over the fact that he managed to not spill any of the liquor.

Azriel should have flown back to the House of Wind a while ago but he needed to talk to Elain.

Nuala and Cerridwen had been on duty with Nyx for the evening, compensated well to work overnight in case he awoke, giving Rhys and Feyre the now rare opportunity to go out to Rita’s. Mor, of course, drug Emerie along and went with them. Given that Amren would rather stick pins in her eyes than go out, she and Varian opted to go back to her place.

Azriel should have gone there, gone back to the River House, gone home and slept in the doorway until his mate let him in.

But he was so drunk. There was no way he was flying anywhere tonight.

Cassian and Nesta brought out a final round of shots. Elain winced, scrunching her nose as she threw it back. Azriel thought she’d be able to take her liquor better by now. Cassian and Nesta waggled their eyebrows suggestively at eachother before throwing theirs back. And damn, if Azriel didn’t wince when he took his shot too. That shit was awful. Had they drank through all of Rhysand’s good liquor? Did Cassian dig this out from the bottom shelf?

Once Cassian and Nesta left for the House of Wind, Azriel took the empty glasses to the kitchen, cleaning up a few of the remaining dishes throughout the seating area on the way. He barely made it into the kitchen before his head began spinning. That last shot had done him in. He couldn’t even remember the time last he’d been blackout drunk. Two centuries ago, maybe?

He still needed to find Elain.

The stairs felt longer and far less steady than usual, taking him more time than he cared to admit to make it up them. His hands felt tingly on the banister and damn, it was hot in the River House. No, he touched his face, flushed and hot to the touch. He was hot.

The tingling was simultaneously uncomfortable and pleasurable, spreading over his body with haste as he neared closer to Elain’s room.

He caught a glimpse of her and her scent hit him like a ton of bricks. Had she always smelled this good?

His breathing increased, nostrils flaring as he took in her scent and fuck - he was hard. It was too late to not say anything now as she stared at him expectantly. The stars in his vision cleared and all he could see was her, zeroed in on her fluttering pulse, those delicate features.

He needed to leave.

He just needed to - shit, what had he come here to say?

Azriel’s shadows whirled reminding him of his mate. His mate. He needed to go to his mate.

He needed to tell Elain something. He couldn’t think straight.

“Elain…”

And that was when she lunged at him.

Well is it too late, and are you too far to turn around and let me be

——————————

Elain

There was nothing the Cauldron loved more than Elain Archeron.

There was nothing the Cauldron hated more than Elain Archeron.

A thin line between the two, really.

She’d spend the rest of her life groveling for what conspired on that night. She never intended to sleep with him. She never, ever intended to hurt Y/N.

She remembered drinking more than usual.

She remembered Azriel finding her in the hallway.

She remembered a sudden rush of warmth, first from her chest, seeping outward through her extremities, low into her stomach and lower, lower.

She remembered Azriel having something important to tell her. She could feel nothing but heat. Her heart racing, breath becoming rapid.

Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his nostrils flaring. Like every single sense was hyper aware of her state. His arousal wafted through the air, his irresistible cedar and chilled mist scent clinging to her like an expensive cologne.

They were so very intoxicated.

They couldn’t do this. If she’d been sober and unaffected by whatever was running through her veins, she would have left. Immediately.

She wasn’t one to wreck a home and Azriel loved his mate so, so much. The way he talked about her, it made Elain jealous. Not of them, not of her. Only jealous that Elain herself had struggled so hard to feel anything toward her own mate for so long. Lucien who played a role in her loss of humanity, Lucien who would do anything to make it up to her, Lucien who never meant for it to happen, who tried so hard to help her, to connect with her, who wanted nothing more than to love her. Lucien.

Then why was it Azriel? Azriel who was standing in front of her clearly affected by her, trying his damndest not to be. Why was she so drawn to him? A mated male.

Was she sweating? It was so hot. Her breasts ached and her blood thrummed through her veins so voraciously that she was certain she’d bleed out at any minute. And if Azriel could see beneath her gown right now, he’d see how tightly her thighs were squeezed together. How desperately she needed release and by the tightness in his pants - she knew he was in the same state.

“Elain…” Azriel spoke. His breath ragged.

And all it took was her name rolling off of his lips for her to close the distance. One kiss. She just needed one kiss to remind herself that this was wrong. To run the other way.

And it only took one kiss to remind her how much the cauldron loved her. How much it hated her.

The moment when she felt the mating bond snap between her and Azriel.

The alcohol, the liquor, the heat, the bond. A lethal combination leading to the biggest mistake of her life.

The night she’d fucked Azriel.

She could never let him know about the bond.

—————————-

Elain woke up with a brutal headache. She would have killed for some headache power. Her room was dark, shadows deepening the onyx black of night as slivers of moonlight lined the edges of her curtains. Still nighttime, then.

Her surroundings slowly came into focus, awareness sharpening as a soft sound caught her attention. Swiftly she turned her head to find Azriel asleep on the other side of her bed.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no, no.

This couldn’t have happened.

What had she done?

She threw on her dress and tip-toed out of the room in a state of panic. She was a sensible female. She knew too well the pain of losing Graysen, a human male, not her spouse, not her mate. But still, his rejection had hurt like hell. Elain would never sleep with another woman- female’s mate. No.

She paced through the library, back and forth, back and forth, praying she didn’t wake anyone up. The walls were closing in on her. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be.

Oh gods.

And the mating bond. How?

Her chest was tight, she couldn’t catch a full breath. She needed out.

Before she could stop herself, Elain fled into the empty street with no destination in mind. Anywhere but here, anywhere but the bed where she’d likely obliterated a marriage. She’d certainly obliterated her dignity.

The starlight illuminated streets of Velaris were endless, winding through alleys and lanes. In her panicked state, Elain had no clue where her feet were taking her as she blindly followed her gut. It wasn’t until she was in front of the door that she realized her heart had made its choice. It knew exactly who to go to, she only prayed it wasn’t too late.

She took a shaky inhale and raised a hand to knock but the door flew open revealing a shirtless Lucien, his bare, muscled chest heaving. “I felt you coming.” He gasped. “Through the bond.”

—————-

Azriel

The sun’s rays illuminated the edge of the curtains. Azriel’s stomach was tight, nausea from the previous night’s alcohol overwhelming him. His bed felt colder than usual, more stiff.

He looked around to find that he’d never left the River House. He was…

He was in Elain’s room.

“Oh, fuck!” He sobbed to himself as the previous night came pouring back to him. Setting his face in his palms, he cried. What the fuck had he done?

Azriel bathed, desperately scrubbing Elain off of him. By the time he was through, his skin was an angry red. He snuck out of the River House, flying to a grassy knoll high above Velaris. The spot where he and Y/N had first made love, where the bond snapped, where he’d proposed. He shifted uncomfortably as he tried to get comfortable, the unease settling in. It was blasphemy to desecrate such a sacred spot with his shame.

“What do I do now?” He asked aloud, the only response the whipping of the wind around him. He didn’t understand what had overcome him. He’d never been so “effected” before, even in his drunkest moments. Once Elain’s lips met his, his brain had shut down, nothing else mattered but the feel of skin on skin. His body needed release and acted on pure primal instinct.

And now, he had a decision to make. He could go home and lay it all out, slightly easing the guilt of holding in his greatest sin while completely and utterly destroying his mate.

Or, he could go home. Show his mate all of the love that he had been withholding for too long now, sweep her off her feet, take care of her and start opening up. Give her his all, even the ugly parts that he kept so deeply hidden.

Gods, she’d given him so many chances and he’d let her down at every turn. There were no excuses for the way he had treated her.

All she’d ever wanted was him, all of him, including those sides he’d never wanted her to see.

Now he could only go home and love her. Love her with everything he had and pray she believed it.

———————-

6 months after Y/N left

Azriel looked in a hallway mirror on his way to Rhysand’s study. Dark circles hallowed out his under eyes. The drink he’d had prior to flying down here did nothing to numb the violent ache within his heart. Would it ever quell? Would this puncture wound ever heal?

It wouldn’t. And he didn’t know if he wanted it to. He was a bastard and deserved every ounce of this isolated misery. Trapped in a prison of his own making. The ache in his chest a constant reminder of the love he’d squandered. And for what? A meaningless night with a pretty female. Had he not had enough of those nights in his life?

Not that Elain would speak to him. Though she had apologized, countless times. It didn’t matter. As far as he was concerned, he was the only one to blame. Occasionally he’d catch Lucien’s assessing glare, an infuriating blend of contempt and pity etched into his features. Azriel didn’t know which he hated more, he didn’t deserve pity.

Azriel’s skin had sallowed. Had he ever been this pale before? And the bargain tattoo on his arm. Fuck, he hated it. After his third attempt to infiltrate the Summer Court, Rhysand gave Azriel the option of a cell in the Hewn City or a bargain.

Ironically the bargain served as a prison of its own. He was not allowed to go anywhere near the Summer Court or communicate with Y/N in any way. The only method of communication he was able to find a loophole with was the tugs on the bond. He’d pull and pull, nothing.

If only he could try to explain, apologize, anything.

Breaking his gaze from the shell of a male in the mirror, Azriel stepped toward the study.

Cassian’s booming laugh barreled through the cracked open door.

“Trust me, Feyre will love it. I’m sure you guys could use a little spark at the end of the day. You’ll be rolling in the sheets all night.”

Rhys only chuckled.

Cassian continued, “Tastes nasty as hell though. Here’s an extra vial, just in case. The first time Nes and I tried it, it didn’t work. Not sure why.”

Azriel let out a huff, stepping into the study. Cassian and Rhys ceasing their conversation in his presence. They’d been painstakingly obvious in not talking about their mates or anything relationship related in front of him since his mate had left. He refused to speak to anyone about why she left, too embarrassed to admit to this bed of his own making. They knew it was his fault and that was all that mattered.

Azriel scowled. “You don’t have to stop talking about your mates just because I’m around.”

Cassian awkwardly raised his arm, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry brother. We just don’t want to make things harder for you than they have been.”

“Considerate.” Azriel sneered, jerking his head toward the vials. “What are those anyway?”

Cassian smirked, “Oh, just some aphrodisiac potions from a new apothecary in Velaris. Really powerful shit. Nes and I-“ Rhys elbowed Cassian. A warning to not take the conversation too far. They could talk of their happy relationships without absolutely rubbing Azriel’s face in it.

Cassian quieted for a moment before continuing. “It tastes gods awful but the payoff is totally worth it. Remember those shots we took after everyone left dinner several months ago? We mixed it into Nes and I’s glasses and didn’t notice the taste. Didn’t work either though. Must’ve been a dud. Lady at the shop gave us a replacement vial the next time we were in and…. well, let’s just say we keep it in stock at the House of Wind now.”

Azriel went preternaturally still. His shadows growing angry as he ground out, “The night you two did a parting shot with me and Elain?”

“Uh…… yeah?” Cassian replied.

And before Cassian could realize what he’d done, Azriel pummeled him. Hauling him out the study doors and onto the lawn, not even making it to the sparring ring before his fists met Cassian’s face - the two Illyrians disappearing into a frenzy of fists and feet and glowing siphons.

The only sound over the impact of their hits and feral growls was Cassian’s confused, booming voice. “What the FUCK, Az!?”

————————————————

A/N: I am sorry for giving you an entire chapter of Azriel and Elain content but I will make it up to you with fluffy Eris and reader content in the next chapter!!!

@going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study @chessebookgirl @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @crazylokonugget @mysticalfuncollectorus @starsinyourseyes @b0xerdancer-writes @inloveallthetime

#sarah j maas #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #eventual Eris x reader #Elain #Cassian #Nesta #nessian #acotar x hunter hayes #inspired by a Hunter hayes song #all you ever #rainy season

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houserautha · 2 months

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These Destined Ends

Part 4

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: a striptease?, female masturbation, hints at incest/sexual abuse, mentions of killing, he fingers you at the dinner table, public humiliation aplenty

A/N: I made it exactly *checks clipboard* three parts without smut

The garment bag is composed of the finest fabric you’ve ever seen. Your pulse hammers at the thought of whatever might lay within — what could Feyd-Rautha have possibly chosen for you? You eye his usual all black garb.

Zipper cool to the touch, you glide it open, pushing aside the garment bag to reveal your present. Bile rises to your throat at the same time you feel a familiar swoop of desire in your stomach, a summation of your relationship with Feyd-Rautha so far.

The dress — if it could even be called that — shimmers seductively, black, and somehow inlaid with thousands of glittering beads. Two slim straps keep it secured, dangling, from the hanger. And there’s remarkably not much else to comment on: the straps descend daringly low, barely enough to cover your decency.

A belt encircles the middle of the dress loosely, and you can only imagine how it would withstand even the slightest of breezes without exposing you. You swallow, deliberating.

“Where is the rest?”

Feyd-Rautha reclines back in the chair. “Wife, why would I disguise your beauty with useless fabric? It would only pale in comparison.”

“I hardly believe this is acceptable dinner attire,” you point out, surprised at the coolness in your tone.

“It’s rude to refuse a gift,” Feyd-Rautha says. “Will you deny me the pleasures of gifting my wife for the first time?”

You bite your tongue to keep from lashing out. Fine, if that’s how he wanted to play.

Clearly this was his retaliation for your bold behavior, you just hadn’t expected it to come so swiftly after his arrival, or in the form of public humiliation. Normally you wouldn’t dare wear such an affront to fashion, or your sensibilities.

“Very well. I would be remiss to…deny you.” You look to Asha, who has presided over the entire interaction with wide eyes. With a smile, you say, “I would like you to undress me now.”

Her mouth opens, then snaps closed.

The upper level of the antechamber positions you higher than Feyd-Rautha, whose dark eyes have taken on the delighted glint of someone encountering a worthy opponent in the arena. Asha nervously obeys your command as you hold your arms out to your sides, allowing her to undo the difficult laces of your dress. The only sound in the room is the sound of it pooling at your feet.

“I hardly think my husband’s generous gift will allow for underclothes,” you laugh. Asha then begins removing your thin chemise from over your head. She tugs it up over her arms and your breasts slip from the fabric, leaving you entirely naked in the glow of the black sun.

Desire unfurls between your legs. You don’t even have to glance at Feyd-Rautha to know that he is fully captivated by your performance, at the sight of your naked form. In any other situation you might’ve been ashamed of your nudity; the curves you found unseemly, or the dimples of cellulite in the soft flesh of your thighs and ass.

But, beholden by the na-Baron, you were resplendent.

“The dress now, please,” you order Asha, voice breezy and carefree.

Feyd-Rautha’s gaze bores into you, sears your skin like its own personal brand. You loathe to admit that you’re actually enjoying this. Your thighs are slick with revel in your own cleverness, in wresting the control from the man determined to wield it over you.

Asha covers you with the dress, laying it gently over you — nipples hardened and skin flushed with self-admiration, in satisfaction of capturing Feyd-Rautha’s attention so wholly.

Asha moves to fasten the belt next but is interrupted. “Let me,” the na-Baron orders.

Which unspoken, is understood as: leave us. Your friend ducks her head and disappears from the antechamber. You silently thank her for closing the door behind her.

Feyd-Rautha approaches you slowly, measured in his movements. A predator reconsidering its prey.

So then why are you so eager for him to devour you?

He stands infuriatingly close to you without actually touching you, absurdly concerned with the so-called belt hanging at your waist. It vexes you that he refuses to meet your eyes, refuses to give you what you so ardently seek.

“I should strip this from you. Tear this dress from you with my teeth and bind your wrists,” he says, tugging at the belt, agonizingly composed, his breath fanning your face. “Show you exactly what you deserve for pulling a stunt like that.”

His fingers are deft as they fasten the belt. He doesn’t touch you once.

“Did you not like it?” You ask, breathless.

His proximity intoxicates you, takes you by the hand and leads you into a fathomless darkness. And yet he won’t look at you, won’t touch you, just turns simply on his heel of his boot and says over his shoulder, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

The smoldering shower water blasts between the blades of your shoulders, sluices over you and scathes your aching flesh. But it’s not enough, not a fit replacement for touch, for his touch.

Your fingers slip between your thighs and find your pleading cunt. A breathy noise escapes you, and you begin pumping your hand, no time for the attention you usually afford yourself — you’re desperate to rid yourself of this feeling, wash it away in the drain and pretend it never existed. Your release comes fast, insipid, and once your legs have stopped shaking with the effort of your touch, you wrench off the water.

And there you stand, cold and wet, cunt swollen and certainly not satisfied, but at least you can direct your thoughts from —

You slam your fist against the shower wall. Pain, leftover from Feyd-Rautha’s boot, quivers through you like a bow across the string of an instrument. How dare you let yourself become so entangled in him, in his game, in his inescapable command. You are a fool.

Quickly you towel yourself off and step back into the sorry excuse for a dress, warding off any traitorous thoughts belonging to Feyd-Rautha. You have no clue when dinner actually is but you won’t be caught shivering and spent. You apply a simple, dark makeup and leave your hair untouched, determined to set yourself separate from the rest of the Harkonnens in attendance.

And when the scents of food and the clatter of guests float through the antechamber, you take it upon yourself to join the others. You follow the din of a party, a sound you are accustomed to from your time on Caladan, and traipse into the Great Hall to find it already engaged.

The long table usually void of company is brimming with noblemen and women dressed in various shades of blacks and whites, and every single one of them turns and stares at your entrance.

Not even the strictest training can prevent the flood of embarrassment through you. It’s so prominent and all-encompassing that your entire body goes rigid with fear.

“Ah, the Lady Y/N,” a booming voice calls. “How lovely of you to join us at last.”

At the opposite end of the impossibly long Hall, the Baron lifts from the table on his suspensors and effectively stamps out any fleeting hope you had of going quietly into the night. Or perhaps dying on the spot. He hadn’t given you enough time to decide which.

“Come, take your place at my side so that you might meet your court and feast with them on this splendid occasion,” the Baron says.

Surprisingly, your limbs do work, and you somehow carry yourself past the leering eyes in your scanty dress and sit upon the only empty chair at the table. If you weren’t so completely mortified, you might’ve taken the time to glare daggers at the man beside you; Feyd-Rautha lounged regally at the right hand of the Baron. To your utter displeasure, he looked disgustingly wonderful in a dark tunic and pants, his lips reddened by the wine.

It looked a lot like blood.

“I apologize, your Baron, I had no intentions of causing a scene or demeaning your gracious invitation.”

The Baron eats in a ferocious manner best likened to a savage beast, wild and without abandon. Repulsion churns in your belly as you are forced to watch, doing your best to mask your horror as he gulps down his food in large, greedy mouthfuls. A smudge of sauce graces the corner of his unsightly mouth.

“There is no need for apologies, Lady Y/N, as long as it does not happen twice. No court is ever won over by a careless Baroness,” he says icily.

“Where were you?” Rabban asks next.

Rabban sits to the left of the Baron and across from you, fixing you with a glowering look. It’s not lost on you that he is already tormented by this, demoted to the less favorable side of the table in favor for his wicked brother, who replicates Rabban’s probing glare, no traces of awareness that he had been the exact reason for your tardiness.

“We met initially in the salon to give you time to appear. Tell us, where were you, wife? What demands did you have grander than this celebration of our upcoming union?”

Your molars might grind into dust by the end of the evening, if you survive it. You smile sweetly at him. “I suppose I was preoccupied with preparations, na-Baron. Your…gift is not easy to slip into alone.”

“However taxing, you look splendid,” the Baron says. He drains the rest of his goblet. One massive hand descends on Feyd-Rautha’s thigh, strangely intimate. “Nephew, will you fetch me more wine?”

Feyd-Rautha’s face storms over. “We have servants for that, Uncle. Besides, have Rabban do it for you. This banquet is for my benefit, after all, I should be allowed to enjoy it.”

The Baron studies him critically then, more sober than you thought possible. “Very well. Rabban?”

The mountainous man snatches the goblet from his uncle and vanishes to find a servant. You’re prompted to heap some of the food on your plate then, disconcerted by the lingering hand of the Baron and Feyd-Rautha’s obvious resentment.

Dinner passes without a hitch, your tardiness smoothed over by your status as the future Baroness. A small grace for such a tremendous burden.

You entertain the guests with stories of Arrakis and spice production, fielding their endless questions with as much charm and elegance as you can muster. And, frankly, it’s not as horribly daunting or tedious as you feared it to be.

The last course is coming to an end when a man strides up to the Baron with an expression of self-importance. He’s dressed similarly to the other Harkonnen guards but there’s something different about him — where the Harkonnens you know are arrogant about their strength, he hides it well. You immediately start to eavesdrop.

“The Emperor needs you for an urgent matter,” the strange man whispers into the Baron’s ear.

The Baron nods as if he’s been expecting this, and then without a word abandons his feast and glides after the man.

Feyd-Rautha had been surveying the party when you ask him, “What urgent matter?”

He sips his wine. “I don’t know.”

Ha, you think, he had been eavesdropping too. You frown. “He didn’t tell you?”

“My uncle does not tell me everything,” Feyd-Rautha replies. There’s a trace of anger in his voice, but it’s difficult to tell whether it’s pointed at you or the Baron.

Either way, this irritates you. You decide to provoke the beast. “What, like you don’t tell me when our engagement dinner is?”

Feyd-Rautha’s gaze cuts to you. “You’re upset.”

“Yes I’m upset,” you hiss. “I thought I warned you not to humiliate me again. Tonight was inexcusable, you filthy —”

“Ah, careful, wife. You must mind your words before our court. And my oafish brother.” He indicates Rabban with a slight incline of his head. You spot the older Harkonnen approaching with quite the entourage and you scowl. “Don’t make that face. Remember, this is a joyous occasion.”

“How could I forget?” You mutter miserably.

At your side, Feyd-Rautha is a study in beauty. Not in the classical sense, of course, but that of something devastatingly cruel and dangerous, the glint of a newly sharpened blade or the ocean during a storm. Breathtaking, in both senses. Unwittingly, you trace the slope of his brow, his handsome nose, the cushion of his plush lips, and you feel the familiar flicker of attraction.

“Where were you?” Feyd-Rautha asks without looking at you, still watching the party.

“Hm?” Did he know you were studying him? “What did you say?”

“I asked where you were. Before.”

“Oh.” There’s something in his voice that suggests that he knows exactly what you were doing. Your moment in the shower emerges unbidden in your mind, of your hand between your legs and his name in your mouth. You answer as flippant as possible, “I was waiting for you.”

Feyd-Rautha finally sets down his goblet. Rabban is taking his time returning, regaling his entourage with an undoubtedly riveting story, so the na-Baron must feel secure in your privacy.

“You forget that those are my quarters too, wife, and the walls are very thin.”

Shame creeps up your throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, is that right?” Feyd-Rautha grabs the bottom of your chair and pulls you closer to him. Any outside observer would simply think you’re having a regular conversation, which you suppose is the point, but there’s nothing regular about the way he slides his hand across your thigh and dips down to your heat. “Then I didn’t hear you touching yourself, whimpering and pleading for me? For my fingers? My cock?”

“I thought I was —”

“Alone?” He clicks his tongue. “If you didn’t intend for me to hear, then should I not give you exactly what you were begging for?”

It’s only too easy for him to nudge your dress aside and acquaint himself with your cunt, slide his fingers along your swollen lips and tease your entrance. You inhale sharply, without permission. He takes that as an invitation to delve a finger into your slick cunt.

“Feyd —”

“Tell me you don’t want it.”

You swallow, throat working. Rabban is finishing his story, evident by his boisterous laugh and then beckoning his entourage to the table. Feyd-Rautha keeps one finger inside you, unmoving, a sensation unfolding within you that you certainly won’t be able to ignore.

The rest of his hand cups between your thighs, a reminder to you, as long as you yield to him.

“Just say the words, and I won’t,” Feyd-Rautha says, his lips on the shell of your ear.

You’re frozen in indecision. When Rabban rejoins you, you’re sure that Feyd-Rautha will revoke his teasing hand. But instead he rocks his palm against you and drives his finger, then another, deeper inside you with dizzying ferocity.

You grip the edges of the chair, the force of his fingers cleaving through you, invoking a wave of pleasure that ripples throughout your body. It takes everything in you not to cry out.

“Brother, you remember my friends,” Rabban says. His cheeks are reddened by the spice-laden alcohol and he is oblivious to what’s occurring underneath the table. “Uriens and Ze’ev.”

Feyd-Rautha says smoothly, “Of course.”

“Uriens, Ze’ev, this is the Lady Y/N,” Rabban introduces you. He indicates each friend in turn — Uriens, a man of notable stature but a blank gaze, and Ze’ev, slightly smaller and sporting a sneer.

You dip your head and hope it’s enough to count as a greeting. You don’t trust your voice, not with Feyd-Rautha’s ministrations. Your cunt pulses with each one, clamping down on him, even the slightest of withdrawals enough to ruin you. Fortunately for you, or not, Feyd-Rautha shows no interest in stopping, curling his fingers in and out of you with agonizing precision.

“We wanted to speak to you about tomorrow, actually,” Uriens says.

Feyd-Rautha’s eyes narrow. “What about it?”

“What —oh! What’s tomorrow?” You ask. As soon as you speak, Feyd-Rautha pushes another finger in to join the others, spurring your body to jerk in response. You suppress a shudder.

Uriens, Ze’ev, and Rabban look too intent to notice your falter. Uriens explains, albeit with less enthusiasm, “We want to partake.”

Feyd-Rautha’s jaw flexes. His pace slows as he considers this request, and it’s almost more torturous than his persistent thrusts.

“No,” he finally says.

Rabban’s face darkens with anger. “Why not?”

“Traditionally those who partake do so because they are interested in the hand of the wife.” His tone veers dangerously close to a growl. “Are you telling me that you wish to take her from me?”

Uriens eyes widen. “No, na-Baron, we —”

“We understand the ceremony is purely customary. We ask only for a chance to partake in the revelry,” Ze’ev cuts in.

“There is no killing,” Feyd-Rautha says.

Uriens and Ze’ev nod. “Yes, na-Baron.”

“Then I don’t see why you shouldn’t partake.”

You bite back a moan as Feyd-Rautha then resumes his ministrations. You ask, “What’s tomorrow?”

You’re impressed that you manage to keep your voice even.

The Harkonnens exchange glances as if they’re reluctant to answer you. The slight one, Ze’ev, says, “Dessid aperr. The Crucible.”

“It doesn’t concern you,” Feyd-Rautha says.

Your indignation overcomes your pleasure, and you glare at him. “It does if my hand in marriage is being fought over.”

“The Crucible is a ceremony dating back to Emperor Shakkad the Wise,” Uriens eagerly says, jumping to please you. “When a Harkonnnen of noble standing is to be wed, they will engage in a battle against the other noblemen for the hand of the bride. To ensure that the strongest bonds are forged.”

Feyd-Rautha pumps his hand violently against you, and you feel your orgasm building. You grip the chair even harder. “I would like to partake.”

“The brides are not permitted to watch,” Uriens says. Rabban and Ze’ev both glare at him.

“I don’t want to watch. I want to fight.”

“Absolutely not,” Feyd-Rautha rasps.

“Why not?” You ask. You hope the breathy sound of your voice comes across as petulant and not aroused.

Rabban answers, “That’s how it’s always been.”

Feyd-Rautha glances at you. He must know that you’re close, can feel it in the way that you clamp around him. “Wife, is that what you want? Tell me.”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer.

He says, “Tell me that you want it.”

“I want it,” you breathe out, both of you aware of what he’s actually referencing.

More words form on your tongue but you’re unable to say it — your pleasure mounts as Feyd-Rautha buries his fingers inside you with swift finality and your orgasm seizes you. It’s white-hot and dazzling as it tears through you, walls contracting, his fingers stroking you to the end. A shudder racks through you.

Pulse hammering and your thighs trembling, Feyd-Rautha withdraws his fingers. He rises abruptly to his feet. Horror dawns on you as he then pushes his fingers into his mouth and licks them clean. Without so much as glancing back at you, Feyd-Rautha says, “Very well. Don’t be late this time.”

You stare after him. The aftershocks of your orgasm rumble through you — you can’t believe that he just did that then left you to deal with the aftermath. Uriens and Ze’ev stare at you in equal parts confusion and shock, while Rabban sneers at you, seemingly more aware than you thought.

You clear your throat. “Well, that’s been settled.”

“Something has been settled,” Rabban replies. His expression is nearly impossible to read, but the comment makes your cheeks heat up.

“You hold considerable sway over the na-Baron,” Ze’ev says.

You stand, smoothing down your dress and trying to maintain some semblance of composure. It’s difficult when your thighs are still slick, the memory of his fingers imprinted in your mind.

“I will be the na-Baroness,” you remind Ze’ev. “I hold considerable sway over everyone here.”

And with that you leave without excusing yourself, feeling the burn of their gazes on your back. It’s suddenly too warm in the Great Hall for you, the sweaty, lingering bodies suffocating. You’re not quite sure where you’re going. Certainly not after Feyd-Rautha. Though you can’t stop the way that your heart skips hopefully when you feel a hand grab your arm.

“What are you doing?” Asha hisses, spinning you around. “The party isn’t over.”

Post-orgasm clarity is eluding you. You shake your head. “I know, but —”

“Also, what was that shit earlier?” Asha asks. She adjusts her hold on a tray laden with champagne glasses. “There was some weird tension in that room. Don’t involve me in your weird — whatever, with the na-Baron again. Do you hear me?”

You nod stupidly, although you’re not entirely sure it’s a promise you can make.

Asha studies you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lie. “But I’m going to retire to my quarters. Can you cover for me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Asha says, obviously not convinced.

You huff out a breath. “I’m going to need the rest if I’m participating in the Crucible tomorrow.”

Asha nearly drops the serving tray. “The what?”

“I’ve been invited,” you say, which is also a lie.

“What?” Asha presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. “What is wrong with you, Y/N?”

To avoid her gaze, you take to scanning the party. You know perfectly well what’s wrong with you and you’re searching for his face even now, despite the fact that he’s the last person you want to see. You sigh. “I wish I could tell you.”

Part 5

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123

#dune #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #writing #fanfic #feyd smut

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hero-the-meep · 5 months

Text

Colour theory. The 60th Specials have this gorgeous colour palette of reds and blues and greens throughout. But what do they all mean?

Donna spends much of the specials drenched in red – her fiery copper hair, her pink and red jumper, the warmth of her house as the Doctor looks in from the cold, blue night, of the vortex, and of flames.

In many scenes, she's in fact the only source of warmth in frame.

The Doctor's palette is, of course, blue, and he starts his journey very blue prior to stripping off his long, solid overcoat to reveal brown and blue tartan (a mixture of both the Doctor's he's been) and white (a carte blanche that can throw to any colour).

Red and blue, the Doctor and Donna. These are our two primary colours for the Doctor and Donna as individuals. But it doesn't stop there.

Donna often throws red to the Doctor.

Or they share a frame of equal parts red and blue.

But more often than not, the Doctor casts Donna a sickly blue green – not in the moments of peril Donna chooses, like her choice to remember the mind of a Time Lord to save her daughter, but the moments of peril that truly make Donna afraid.

Staring out into the black nothingness of space without stars at the edge of the universe, so far from her family. Being confronted with herself. Half-remembering the Doctor with her daughter in danger, because of her (perceived) failure.

At her most afraid, like when the Doctor is genuinely angry at her, encroaching in her space, she wraps her body in her dark green jacket, a futile attempt to self-soothe. On an RGB colour wheel, green is our third primary colour.

Whereas the Doctor, at his lowest points, is drenched blue.

But where do they end up?

In glorious lavender purple and natural green with flickers of red and brown and yellow and blue.

Purple is a secondary colour, an additive of red and blue. Purple complements green. Green and red add to yellow; add a bit more red than green and you get brown. Yellow complements blue. Red and blue and green are triadic colours – high contrast, bold and vibrant, spaced evenly on the wheel.

Because their ark is not just for Donna to take on part of the Doctor, but for the Doctor to take on part of Donna as well. They are the Doctor and Donna, human and Time Lord, man and woman, travelling and at home – all these things and both and more, binary not-binary, a circle, complete.

Compare and contrast to season three and four.

Donna's colours are deep, jewel-toned reds and purples and blues, analogous colours. She's a bright, discordant blot in a sterile office. She's resplendently human in Pompeii. But by the end, she's adopted a long, brown coat, with just a hint of purple peaking out from a singlet top under all those layers. During Turn Left, never meeting the Doctor slowly sucks her colour to grey almost (but not) completely.

And when the Doctor takes her memories he returns her sans-jacket. Deep jewelled purple again.

The Doctor splits into a Doctor brown and a Doctor blue. One home, with a family. One travelling, alone. A bittersweet – not a happy – ending.

Now is their happy ending.

#doctor who #catherine tate #fourteen x donna #fourteenth doctor #ten x donna #david tennant #doctor x donna #donna noble #tenth doctor #tatennant

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harunayuuka2060 · 11 months

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MC: *received messages from Barbatos in the middle of their work shift*

Barbatos: With the utmost regret and devotion, I must confess my culpability in nurturing thoughts of a passionate nature concerning your esteemed self. Oh, how ardently my lips yearn to caress each inch of your resplendent skin, while my fingertips ache to explore the contours of your exquisite form.

Barbatos: You, my beloved, are the embodiment of my most fervent longing. In light of this audacious yearning that consumes my being, I beseech your grace and forgiveness for daring to desire your captivating presence.

Barbatos: Would you graciously consider gracing me with your company tonight?

MC: ...

MC: *calls Barbatos*

MC: This better not be a prank.

Barbatos: I won't do such thing. *chuckles*

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me mc #obey me barbatos

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wardenparker · 5 months

Text

New Year's Surprise

Jack Daniels x plus size female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 18.7k Warnings: Cursing, alcohol, internalized fatphobia, self esteem issues, pining, meddlesome friends, unwanted attention from a male coworker, light spanking, praise, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, Jack likes being scratched up, reader is described as having fingernails long enough to scratch (no specific length given), the love is requited they're just idiots. Summary: Ginger has a plan to get you and Jack to admit you have feelings for each other. She did not anticipate just how well it would work... Notes: Happy almost New Year everyone! Enjoy a little more winter seasonal smut and fluff from us to you 🥂🍾✨

"You're sure it's not too much, Ging?" Turning in front of the full-length mirror in Ginger's apartment, you inspect the glittering black cocktail dress that your friend helped you pick out at the mall during all those after-Christmas sales she promised you that you would find something at. She was right, like she always is, but now that the dress is on you, you're wondering if you haven't made a mistake. If it's not too revealing, or too short, or too tight.

Whoever in HR came up with this insane Cowboys and Flappers theme for the company New Year's Eve party deserved to have their head examined. You're not the femme fatale agent that gets sent out to seduce men and collect their secrets. Few men out there in the world are ever really seduced by the chubby girl in any given scenario, but it did tend to make you invisible. Invisible women can slip in and out of buildings in literally any kind of uniform and get through security without ever being harassed, and that works to your advantage on almost every case. Unfortunately, it also means that for the five years you've been a Statesman agent, you've also been fairly invisible to the man you've developed feelings for.

It’s perfect.” No matter how many times Ginger Ale tells you that you are sexy just the way you are, that insecurity gets the best of you. “I’m telling you, you will have every eye in the place.”

“I doubt it.” You sigh in the mirror and smooth your hands over the sequined dress one more time. “But that’s okay. I don’t want every set of eyes…”

“I know what set of eyes you want on you.” Your taste in men is your own, and Ginger won’t fault you for it, but she wonders why Jack. “It might do the man good to know that he’s got competition.” You don’t believe her when she says that it’s more telling that Jack doesn’t hit on you, but it’s the truth.

“He doesn’t, though.” Shrugging, you turn away from the mirror and decide to just go on with the night. Wishing won’t make it real and Jack Daniels barely looks at you. Even though you’ve partnered on cases, spend time together in and out of the office, and are arguably friends in every true sense? You’ve always wanted more with him. The only person who knows is Ginger, though, and you prefer to keep it that way since Jack will never return your affection. “And that’s…it is what it is. Even if you’re the only person I dance with tonight, it’ll still be fun.”

“Wearing that dress?” Ginger snorts as she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’ll have the faith for both of us, how about that?” She knows that Jack won’t be able to resist you tonight, not when she’s lined up a few of the junior agents to dance with you already. It’s time that Jack settles down and finds some happiness, and what better time than the New Year?

******

While you easily could have had the party at Statesman considering the size of the grounds, Champ wouldn’t hear of it. He’s hosting the damn thing himself come hell or high water, in his favourite suit with his wife dressed to the 9’s in her flapper dress, and more caterers than you’ve ever seen in your life all making his early twentieth century coal baron’s mansion look as resplendent as the day it was built. The place is palatial, with a ballroom so big that the band he’s hired looks tiny in one corner despite being six-men strong. It’s music and liquor and appetizers passing by on trays when you and Ginger walk through the door, and you gasp at how nice it all looks.

“I know he does it every year,” you sigh to your best friend. “But the theme is always different and I swear somehow the house always looks better on new year’s.”

“Champ does know how to throw one hell of a party.” She agrees, snagging two glasses of champagne from a waiter as she walks by. Her own sleek flapper dress is a vivid purple, making her beautiful skin glow and for tonight, she’s wearing contacts. Her short hair is perfectly styled, a cap like illusion, highlighted with the crystal headband she’s picked. “To a New Year we will never forget.” She hands you one glass and adds, “or regret.”

“You’re certainly optimistic.” You flash her and grin and tap the rim of your glass against hers. “Finally going to talk to Alicia or is this just positive vibes?” It’s been two years since Ginger started crushing on the woman who supervises Statesman campus tours and visitor experience, but she hasn’t made a move yet. Being frozen in place with someone you care about is something the two of you have in common.

“Positive vibes.” She huffs, rolling her eyes and trying to change the subject. “Look! There’s Tequila!” She waves the younger agent over to where you are standing. “You made it! Didn’t think you were ever gonna get back from Brazil, or if you wanted to.” She adds with a grin.

“Those are two very different questions.” Tequila agrees with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. Did he have to come back? Sure. But did he want to leave the comfort and luxury of that beautiful woman’s bed? Not at all. “But I would not have missed dancing with you ladies for the world,” he adds with a wink. He’s very much in on Ginger’s plan, after all, and is looking forward to the fireworks it will bring.

You fluster slightly at his words, but Ginger knows that you don’t have your cap set on Tequila. You just don’t handle compliments well. “You’ll have to get in line.” Ginger warns him with a smirk. “As good as Rye looks tonight, every man in here is going to want a dance. After I dance with her first.”

“Well I reckon I’ll have to be second, then.” Tequila puts in a playful pout. “But only because I would never deny Miss Ginger Ale gettin to be first.” He smiles again and tips his hat, having opted to wear his best Stetson with an elegant Kingsman suit. “You don’t have to,” you insist, knowing Tequila always has more choices of dance and bedroom partners than he could ever feasibly make his way through. “I’m sure you have other people you want to dance with tonight.”

“No one important.” Tequila smirks as he drags his eyes up and down your outfit and whistles slowly. “And no one nearly as pretty.” He promises.

“Liar.” Though you roll your eyes at him, you don’t protest anymore than that. He’s your friend, after all. And if he wants to waste his time dancing with you, you’ll just enjoy it. Tequila’s a fantastic dancer, after all.

“Never lie to you, honey.” Tequila croons, taking your hand and lifting it to his lips. “Lie about what?” The voice comes from your left and all eyes swing that way.

“Jack!” Normally you know he’s coming. The smell of earthy, expensive cologne and the tap-click-shuffle of his boots on polished floors. The soft humming he gets up to when he’s pleased with himself, not quite melodic but endearing because it means he’s happy. But you sensed none of that just now, too caught up in the band playing and the fragrant flowers and the tickle of bubbly in your nose and throat. “Nothing. We were just talking about dancing…” He looks like a dream, and it makes you sick to your stomach and elated all at once. Another night of watching him fawn over every woman but you is what you’ve resigned yourself to putting up with, but it’s just rude of him to look so damn handsome in that black velvet double breasted suit and sleek black Stetson while he does it.

“Dancing, hum?” His eyes narrow slightly at the grip Tequila has on your hand and he wants to reach out and slap it away, but he just shoots everyone an easy grin. “Ready to cut a rug tonight, eh?”

"I guess so." The shyness that threatens to shoot straight through you is knocked off kilter by Ginger, who hoots in response. "She's got her dance card all filled up already, Whiskey. Should've gotten here earlier," she tells him with a smirk.

His mustache ticks, it’s the only change to his facial expression. “I’m sure Rye can squeeze me in.” His dark amber eyes slide over to you and swipe up and down your body. “Can’t you, sugar?”

"Of course." You'd throw over the whole goddamn list for him. Besides, you have no idea what Ginger could possibly mean by saying your 'card' is full. One dance with her and one with Tequila isn't a full anything. "Of course I can."

“Good. Then how about I refresh you ladies’ drinks?” Jack asks, slapping Tequila on the back a little rougher than necessary. “Come help me with that.”

"Sure." Tequila grunts, throwing you a confused expression like he can't figure out why the hell Jack needs help getting champagne when waiters with trays are everywhere, but he shoots Ginger a secret smirk before following Jack into the next room where the open bar is set up.

“Tonight will be perfect.” Ginger predicts with a smug grin as she watches the two men walk towards the open bar. .

“What the hell are you doin’, flirtin’ with Rye?” Jack’s easy grin falls away and his brows knit together as soon as his back is turned to you. “You know that girl ain’t your type.”

"I can't be nice to my friend?" Tequila asks, pretending to be positively aghast that Jack would suggest he's up to anything else. One hand ever goes to his chest with a dramatic gasp.

Jack’s eyes cut towards the other agent, a frown on his face. “It’s one goddamn thing to be nice, it’s another to flirt.”

"When did I flirt?" The younger agent counters, knowing full well that's what he was doing but not about to admit it because he wants to make Jack stew.

“You were flirtin’ the second you can outta your momma, but you gotta learn there’s certain girls you don’t do that shit with.” Jack growls, stopping in front of the bar and holding up two fingers. “Double 62 Triple Barreled.” He orders, wanting one of the rare whiskeys that Champ had broken out tonight. “And two champagnes.”

"Now, why is that, Jack?" Tequila hums, looking down at his friend. Jack isn't too much shorter than him, but just enough to annoy the older agent on occasion. "Why is Rye one of those girls?"

“Because…” that’s where his argument ends, because there’s not really a reason beyond his own feelings. “It’s…unprofessional.” He decides. “She’s an agent for Christ’s sake.”

Tequila snorts at this string of logic, accepting his drink from the pretty bartender with a wink and sliding a large bill into the tip glass on the bar top before looking back at Jack. "That's a load of horse shit and you know it, Daniels. You fucking know it."

He does know it, but he snatches his own drink up and rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He hates that his stomach twists and he wonders if you had been flirting back. Looking over his shoulder at where you are standing, he clenches his jaw at the tassels that are swaying every time you move. “Don’t get her damn hopes up.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “We both know you ain’t gonna fuck her.”

"Nor does she want me to." This is gonna be a hell of a lot easier than he and Ginger thought, if Jack is always so fuckin wound up over you and he only just arrived for the night. "I ain't the one she has her eye on and everybody with eyes knows it."

Jack ignores that, huffing to himself as he tries to hid the fucking jealousy that curls in his gut at whoever you do have your eye on. Lucky son of a bitch. “No fuckin’ talkin’ to you, hardheaded S.O.B.” The champagne glasses are in front of him and he downs the rest of the drink to slap the crystal glass down and snatch up the flutes. Turning around without another word and stalking across the room towards you and Ginger.

It's only one room he has to cross, but by the time he gets there, Agent Brandy has sidled up beside you and Ginger and has his fingers ever so subtly on your elbow while bends his head and puts all his focus directly on you.

Halfway across the room, Jack jerks to a halt and growls, shaking his head as he resumes the walk and forces a moderately friendly smile on his face. “Didn’t think you’d be back from Korea, Don.” He interrupts as he arrives back at your group.

"Two days ago." Brandy flashes a smile in Jack's general direction but keeps his focus on you. "Glad I made it back in time, too. Champ throws a hell of a party."

His eye twitches but Jack nods. “Yeah he does. Shoulda brought that little gal you were seein’. Brandy. Brenda right? Or was it Bambi?” He shrugs. “Maybe all of them at once, knowin’ you.”

"Now don't be unkind, Jack." Brandy's eyes cut over to the older agent and Brandy offers what could be considered a modestly dramatic pout. "Or Rye might think the worst of me and throw me over for that dance I just got promised."

Jack seethes beneath the smile on his face. “Would hate for that to happen.” He lies, handing Ginger one of the glasses and then offers the other to you.

The glass is offered with a smile and you thank Jack, savoring even the tiniest moment of contact between brushing fingers as he hands it over. It's probably bordering on pathetic, how long you've carried this torch for Jack, and it seems like Ginger is really trying to encourage you tonight to come out of your shell tonight but you just don't know. As nice as everyone is being, it doesn't feel right. The only thing that feels right is when you're around Jack. It's just a damn shame that he doesn't feel the same.

It’s almost painful how the simple, innocent touch affects him. Now visceral his reaction is. Only the training that Statesman has given him keeps him from showing anything. “Well,” he hates to tear himself away, but he can’t be around you for too long. “I better go talk to Champ about some cases he wants worked tomorrow.” He offers.

"It's a party," you remind him, smile flickering as he steps back. Obviously the small touch that you'll be savoring for the rest of the night has had the opposite effect on him. But there's no need to show that. Not when it's fully expected that he doesn't want to be around you when there are plenty of other people to talk to and women to dance with. "Don't work too hard, okay?"

“Never do,” he nods at everyone and turns around and skedaddles over to Champ like his pants are on fire.

"Come on," Ginger loops her arm through yours and lends Brandy a smirk that you don't notice — you're too busy trying not to look after Jack. "Let's go dance, honey. The night is young and we are looking far too good not to show off."

Champ eyes Jack as he stops by his side. “Figured you’d have a gal in your arms by now.” He huffs as he reaches out to shake Jack’s hand. “Losing your touch?” Jack snorts. “When have I ever lost my touch?” He asks, pointedly refusing to look back over towards you. “Just surveying my prospects.”

"And how is Agent Rye this evening?" Champ doesn't even have to look to know that that's where Jack has just come from. He blew into the room so quickly that it's the only explanation for the fire in his heels.

“Don’t you start with me.” Jack groans, shaking Champ’s hand and huffing. “Far as I know, she’s dandy.”

"Why should I not start?" Champ knows damn well why not, but he enjoys riling up his friend. "Somebody beat me to the punch?"

“Every-goddamn-body here tonight is actin’ like they’ve never seen the woman in a dress.” He snorts, complaining about it even though he has already memorized the way the damned sequined dress clings to your curves and enhances them in ways that should be criminal. “It’s damned ridiculous and borderline workplace harassment.”

Smirking, Champ pours two glasses of his preferred Statesman 1972 Select, savoring the smoked cherry notes from that particular year. He hands one cut crystal glass over to Jack with his tongue set firmly in his cheek. "You know you'd be a hell of a lot less mad if you just asked the lady to dance your damn self."

The glare Jack cuts Champ is withering and he turns his head as he takes a sip, refusing to rebuff the remark. It seems like everyone is taking the piss with him tonight as Eggsy would say. (edited)

"She's allowed to have fun, ya know." Champ goes on, humming the thought as though the glare Jack just shot him wouldn't have struck a lesser man dead in his tracks. "Damn shame she hasn't set her cap on anyone. Big family dreams, that gal has. Always has. It'll be a damn shame when she finally decides to hang up her pistols and have a family, but I won't let her get farther than the training ring. Too good of an agent to just let her retire."

“Is there a point to your ramblings?” Jack grumbles. “Or are you just spouting shit tonight?”

"Do what I want in my own house." The older man chuckles heartily and claps Jack on one shoulder. "Got a couple of jobs to start the new year with. Come see me tomorrow and we'll figure out which one's yours."

He’s being dismissed and since Champ is also giving him hell, Jack quickly nods and walks off. Trying to walk around the ostentatious ballroom without looking at you. “Hello handsome.” A perfectly manicured hand drapes itself over his shoulder and the scent of gardenias and sandalwood fills his nostrils. “Tiffany.”

Like a bloodhound on a trail, you spot it from across the ballroom without even trying to. Twirling around with Ginger, your eyes catch sight of the gorgeous, skinny, leggy blonde who has let herself drape over Jack's side and you sigh. Deflate is probably the right word, but you remind yourself it was never going to happen anyway and just hold on to Ginger as the song comes to an end.

“What’s a tall, dark, handsome drink of water like you doin’ all by your lonesome?” She purrs, making him hide the wince he had at the put on accent of hers. She’s as southern as tofu and yet she tries to make it sound like she’s grown up around here. Still, she’s a distraction and the best part about it is that there’s no emotional strings. “Looks like I should be buyin’ you a drink, darlin’.”

"I wish you would," she puts on a too-high giggle and bats eyelashes heavy with mascara and augmented with false hairs. Laying it on thick, she pushes in even closer and lets her body fit against his with nothing left to the imagination.

Jack doesn’t feel anything but he paints a cocky smirk on his face as he turns to her. “Then let me go get something for you, what do you want, darlin’?”

“Champagne, of course,” she simpers, never once considering the fact that she’s at a party for a whiskey distillery. Hell, she hadn’t even dressed for the theme.

Tiffany hangs out at the bar Statesman regularly hangs out at. A groupie because she knows everyone there makes good money. He’d bet his bottom dollar she conned Scotch into bringing her.

“Some party.” Is her attempt at conversation, putting more effort into showing off her cleavage than completing sentences. “You distillery boys sure know how to treat your gals.”

“Of course we do.” Jack’s smile is wicked, but it’s a part of the persona he adopts when he is working a target, it’s not real. “Any gal of mine deserves to be treated right.”

“Is that an invitation?” She knows who Jack is. Knows the civilian job title he’s been at Statesman Distillery. Even if she knew what it was all a front for, she likely wouldn’t care. She might just try harder if she knew the real wealth being flung around between a lot of these people.

“Now sweetheart, I’m good for a night or two.” Jack drawls. “But I’ve got a lot of leavin’ left to do.” He hums, quoting the country song.

The pout on Tiffany’s face is both dramatic and pronounced, but seeing that he’s immovable in that point — and knowing his reputation — she makes a small sound of frustrated disgust before flouncing away. Apparently annoyed at having wasted her time on a line cowboy.

The huff that Jack lets out is one of pure relief. Happy that he won’t have to deal with her again for at least half the night. She might make her way back around depending on successful she is. It’s shameful to say, but most of the agents here have dallied with her, including Jack. However, he had only taken her home to satisfy a physical need. He slowly makes his way back to the bar to order another drink, not champagne.

His line of sight is unfortunate as he saunters back toward the open bar. Looking back out to the dance floor, he can see Tequila twirling you around and the two of you laughing as the younger man holds you close and mock-sings along with the band.

Jack’s frown is deep, furrowing his brow as he cuts his eyes away in a jealous huff.

It goes round and round like that for most of the night. One dance partner after the next sweeps you across the dance floor but never the partner you want. One beautiful woman after another sidles up to Jack and bats their eyelashes but none are the woman he actually wants at his side. It’s a three-ring-circus. A whirlwind. But you never seem to get close enough to each other to see that neither of you is actually having any fun.

It’s easy to have an arm around a woman, easy to smile and flirt. His eyes continuously find you on the dance floor. Ginger had been right apparently, you had a damn dance card that was slap full. He hisses under his breath, wondering how many of those men knew you bit your thumb when you were working out a problem or that your eyes changed to a lighter shade when you were feeling slightly bashful.

There isn’t a single night of your life where you’ve gotten this much attention from this many different men — or this many different people period — and while it’s fun in a whirlwind sort of way, you do find yourself clock-watching. Wondering why your fellow agents all seem to be paying you so many compliments tonight and why you sort of feel like Cinderella at the ball without a hint of the real Prince Charming, the closer it gets to midnight the more you’re thinking of just going home. The last thing you want is to glance across the ballroom at midnight and see Jack tangled up in a midnight kiss with some petite redhead or statuesque model with perfect curls. You’ll be happier skipping out early and being in your pjs with a book at midnight than you will be witnessing that.

It’s fucking infuriating to have so many people come between him and you. Every dang time he untangles himself to break in on your dance with some partner, Ginger, Tequila or Champ waylay him. He’s never had such a hard time getting to chat with you and it’s making him slowly unravel his temper. “Ah Jack, there you are.” He sighs and paints on a smile when Champ claps his back and shoves a drink in his hand. “Forgot to mention somethin’….” His eyes slide away from you laughing as you are spun around, bitter to be stonewalled again.

“Well if it ain’t the gol’dern Belle of the Ball.” The voice you hear behind you is the one person you were hoping to avoid tonight, and as you’ve just finished dancing with one of the guys from the technology department who you didn’t even think knew your name, there’s no escaping. Agent Vodka is one of those older men who doesn’t realize that James Bond is just a character and that no one drags that persona into their everyday life. He routinely ‘flirts’ with you like he’s bestowing you a huge goddamn favor for even looking in your direction, and you were genuinely hoping to avoid him tonight.

Vodka is handsome in a classical sense, some would say a silver fox, if he had a better attitude. As it stands, there’s a confused tilt to his Stetson adorned head and he rakes his eyes up and down your body in a very calculated gaze. “You musta cleaned up for hours. Getting ready for a good night.”

“Sure. I guess so.” You nod, tone polite but dismissive. Vodka has a tendency to interpret friendly as begging for hands to be put on you, and the last thing you want to do is encourage him. “Happy new year, Vodka.”

“Seems like Whiskey and I have been the only ones not with you tonight.” He intones, smirking slightly. “Guess you was savin’ the best for last, huh? Since Jack’s hangin’ all over the ladies, I’ll step in and claim this dance.” He doesn’t ask for permission, just stepping up to you and grabbing your waist.

“That’s really okay.” Reeling backward, Vodka is strong but your self-defense training is a hell of a lot better, and you twist in his grip to make sure he can’t get a solid hold on you no matter how hard he tries. “Appreciate the offer,” you huff, trying to push him away. “But I was just heading home.”

“Oh don’t be that way.” Vodka huffs and manages to pull you close. “Believe me, dancin’ ‘s just a prelude to what we can do later.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t want to dance with you.” You push back against him again, leveraging your elbow against his side to loosen his grip with a sharp shot to his liver. This has gone too far and is hovering on ruining the night — which has been fairly fun despite its lack of your favorite cowboy and coworker.

“Jack-“ Ginger doesn’t bother apologizing as she taps his shoulder and points out to the dance floor. “Why don’t you go save Rye?” She huffs.

At this point it’s obvious that it’s a struggle. People are giving you extra space on the dance floor as they realize what’s happening but for whatever godforsaken reason, no one has stepped in yet. Probably because they’re too shocked that Vodka has finally crossed the line into being physically inappropriate instead of just saying uncomfortable things.

“Sugar, I’m sorry I’m late for our dance.” Jack slaps his hand down on Vodka’s shoulder and digs his fingers into the fleshy muscle. Getting satisfaction from the immediate change in the man’s stance. “Don’t mind if I interrupt, do ya?” His tone is friendly, but there’s a warning woven in the words. Dark eyes turn towards you as you quickly step back from the other man’s grasp.

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d keep a dame waitin’.” Vodka mumbles, all sheepishness and apology now that he realizes he’s infringed on another man’s territory.

Jack doesn’t rip into the man like he wants to, everyone else is starting to relax and resume the party. “You probably need to lay off the liquor.” He tells the other agent, not really caring for the man either.

“You forget who we work for, Daniels?” Vodka huffs, giving Jack the stink eye. “Not like you go easy, either.”

“Last time I checked, I took no for an answer, Robbins.” Jack turns his back after letting Vodka go and sweeps you into his arms, effectively dismissing him.

The room damn near erupts into applause, chattering all around you erupting out of uncomfortable silence, but you don’t hear it. You don’t even see Tonic and Champ escorting Vodka out of the ballroom with the utmost immediacy so the dressing-down can be vocal and private. All you see is Jack, and all you hear is Jack. Even as quiet as he is, the huff he gives as he scoops you up and twirls you away speaks volumes. “Jack, you—you didn’t have to—” Of course, if he hadn’t, you’re not sure you could’ve gotten away so cleanly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t think a thing of it, sugar.” Although he has a few harsh words rolling around for everyone who didn’t step in. It’s like they were waiting for something. Alcohol’s done made their brains addled. “Although my own apologies for manhandling you to get you outta that sticky situation.” Even though he’s apologizing, he starts to lead you in a dance.

“I really don’t mind.” And that is the understatement of the goddamn year, as you instinctively melt against Jack the second he starts to move.

“Still…..” There’s finally a bit of happiness to the evening and he smirks down at you. “Now you can say your dance card has been filled.”

“Could’ve left Vodka off it completely,” you grumble lightly, but you still end up smiling. When Jack looks at you in almost any way you just light up from the inside. It’s instinctual.

“Don’t know what got into him.” Jack huffs, even though he’s saved you from encounters like that before.

“His namesake, most likely.” He had smelled like it, at least. A fact which added no charm whatsoever to your encounter. “Really, Jack. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Jack nods. “Sugar, you know that I know you are a capable agent. You coulda mopped the floor with him, but I’ll always give you whatever help you need.”

“I prefer not to bring hand-to-hand combat to Champ’s front door if I can help it.” If you let yourself really chew on the fancy, you could imagine Jack as rescuing you like a knight in armor. Like you were his to protect. “Not sure how much he’d appreciate that, regardless of how capable I am.”

“I think you’d find Champ more forgivin’ than you think.” He snorts, reminding himself of his own major fuck up just a few years prior. Champ had forgiven him and allowed him to regain the trust and confidence that he had destroyed through his own bling grief and rage.

“Maybe.” Jack certainly knows your boss better than you do even after several years with the agency, so you’ll differ from him. “But I’m glad to not have to find out. And…” The rest of the thought gets swallowed, and you cut your eyes away from him in embarrassment. There are some things better left unsaid and normally you’re so good at keeping your mouth shut.

“And?” Jack frowns slightly, not liking that you are holding back with him. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“It’s nothing,” you promise him, shaking your head and acting like it isn’t the biggest, most honest confession in the world from you that sets your cheeks on fire and makes you even more bashful around him. “I’m just…glad I got to dance with you. That’s all.”

“You didn’t think you were going to dance out the old year without ole Jack now, did ya?” He sounds pouty that you would even think that.

"Honestly?" Shrugging slightly even with one of his hands splayed across your back and the other holding yours tenderly against his chest, you wonder how ever you ever manage to keep a damn thing to yourself with him around when your mind just sort of seems to melt in his presence. "I was going to split and ring in the new year in my bed with the book I've been reading."

Jack frowns and shakes his head, not agreeing with your plans in the slightest. “Now that seems like a waste.” He draws. “Mighty fine night to spend readin’ a book. You should be doin’ other things.”

"Not a lot of other options to pick from," you mumble, trying to force your mind away from immediately conjuring the mental images and repeated daydreams of doing just about everything under the sun with — and to — him.

Jack wants to protest that, but the song starts to close out and you almost stop in your tracks. Obviously believing that he will end the dance now that Vodka is gone and the set is done. Instead of dropping your hands, he pulls you tighter against him. “Is that why you wore a dress like that, sugar? ‘Cause you didn’t have any options?”

"Ginger picked it out." Wrongly assuming it to be an indictment of the choice, you frown reflexively and wonder why he's still holding on to you. The trouble is over and the song is done. Shouldn't he be finding someone better to spend his time with? "I know it's...it's not right. Flapper dresses are designed for women who look the opposite of me. But she insisted on sticking to the theme."

“Opposite of you?” He makes a face of utter confusion. “What are you talkin’ ‘bout? Dress looks good, fits you.” Maybe you have a shit ton of pins in the dress? His sweet wife would always have to pin her dresses to get them to fit right. Nearly every night they went out, he was helping her pin it just so.

Skinny is what you meant, but instead of saying so you just chew your lip and shake your head. Voicing that out loud would really just cement the ruination of the night and you don't want to do that. "Never mind," you insist instead. "I'm glad you like it." Even if he's just saying it to be nice, which you're sure he is, it's still nice to hear.

There’s something bugging him about the way you continuously quit talking and get around what you mean. The next song starts to play and Jack moves to that slightly faster tempo. “No one’s breakin’ in yet, sugar. So I’m keepin’ you unless you need a break?”

"No." Not from him. You would never, ever ask for a break from him. "No, I'm good." In fact, you've been so distracted by the rescue that you haven't noticed midnight creeping ever-closer. "I don't want a break."

Jack smiles, not the cocky smirk he adopts or the charming playboy facade that he uses on women like Tiffany. This is a genuine smile, one that makes his dimple show with a flash of white teeth and the crow’s feet around his eyes appear. “Then let’s dance, sugar.”

Champ chuckles when he sidles up beside Ginger with a fresh glass of champagne for each of them and his wife on his other arm, all ready to lead the midnight countdown after this song is over. "Took all damn night," he laughs to his co-conspirator. "And ya had to pull out the big gun with Vodka. But look at 'em."

“Man huffed and puffed at being used.” Ginger rolls her eyes and curls her lip. “But I promised him the Antarctic assignment. It will seem like punishment to everyone else and apparently he’s romancing one of the scientists down there.” Personally, she doesn’t see why anyone would be romanced by Vodka, but to each their own.

"It's for a damn good cause." Champ stifles a guffaw and even his wife looks amused at the way everything went down. "Everybody deserves to be happy, don't they? Even Vodka." It earns another snort from the older man and he aims a smirk at Ginger. "So what's the plan from here, Ging?"

“If Jack will get off his ass, there should be a kiss at midnight.” Ginger grins. “And maybe, just maybe, the dumbass will realize that it’s okay to want her. She wants him too.”

"Of course she does." Everybody knows that. Everybody with eyes and sense in their head, anyway. "He's just been stuck in the whole of his own grief for far too damn long. It's about time he broke free. Which is exactly why I went along with this plan of yours."

“I’m glad you did. Jack’s felt so guilty about actually developing feelings for Rye that he’s convinced himself that it’s wrong to flirt with her.” She takes a sip of her champagne. “When he breaks, it’ll be entertaining.”

"Entertaining for all of us." Grinning, Champ holds his glass out to his partner in crime in salute. "I sure as hell hope it happens right here for all of us to see."

Unaware that he’s being plotted against, Jack continues to hold you in his arms, taking you around the dance floor and trying to keep from asking too many questions that would potentially ruin his easy relationship with you. “Have you had fun? Other than Vodka? Your feet have to be killin’ you, all the dances you’ve been movin’ to.”

“It’s alright, I’ll have a hot bath and soak them. Aside from the one little interruption, everything’s been so nice.” This is the best part, without a doubt. Attention from other people is a novelty, the compliments and laughter a kind change of pace. But any time spent with Jack will always out do any other experience.

“A nice hot soak and a drink is always good to unwind.” Jack hums. “If other activities aren’t available.” The comment is warm, almost suggestive as he twists you around and then pulls you close again, feeling your softness against him and enjoying it.

It’s the worst kind of gut punch, hearing a comment like that from Jack, and your eyes are downcast when you curl back into his arms. It’s too unkind to be deliberate, but at the same time it’s such a careless comment that you just want to scream. He would never be intentionally cruel to you but the flirtatious tone of the comment is too much. “Maybe I should’ve gone with Vodka, then.”

Jack stiffens, frowning immediately and his blood pressure rises in anger. “What the fuck?” He hisses, the moment making him grip you tighter, almost the point of hurting you. “Why- you?” He’s at a loss for words right now.

“Well it’s the only offer I’ve gotten in…a year? Maybe more?” You shrug dismissively but his grip on you doesn’t allow for it, making your tone turn even more bitter in the process. He doesn’t get to get mad about who offers when he has no interest in himself. “Definitely more than a year, now that I think about it.”

“That wasn’t a goddamn offer.” He snorts. “It was a cowboy playin’ grab ass when his partner wasn’t willing.” He reminds you, dark eyes flashing angrily. “Otherwise known as assault.”

“And yet it’s still the only time any man has looked at me twice in more than a calendar year,” you hit back, practically hissing under your breath as embarrassed tears sting at your eyes. “Nobody’s exactly lining up to spend time with the fat girl except tonight which is Ginger’s doing. I know it is.” (edited)

The two of you are hissing back and forth, so preoccupied with your emotions that neither one of you are aware of the fact that the countdown for midnight has begun. The crowd around you starts to chant down from ten but Jack's too busy growling at you in anger. "Why are you so fuckin' quick to insult every goddamn person who decided to dance with you?"

“Because I know I’m right.” The two of you have never once torn into each other like this and while it breaks you’re heart, you’re so angry that lashing out is happening by instinct. It hurts so much more to be doubted by him and you can’t even express why. It’s devastating. “Do you even know what assignments they give me, Jack?” You hiss back, not hearing the shouts around you. “The ones where they need someone to be invisible! If they need someone plain and ignorable, they come straight to me. Do you know how much that fucking hurts? Because I’m good at it and that’s even worse than them just assuming. I’m excellent at not being noticed. At not being desired. It’s my fucking superpower. So no, I don’t think for a second that any of these dances were genuine moments of interest or offers for literally anything else. Because why would they be?”

His heart breaks and he's simultaneously enraged that you view yourself that way. "Five! Four! Thr—" He reaches up and grabs the back of your neck to yank you forward so your nose is less than an inch from his own. "You want a goddamn offer?" He snarls, losing all sense of reason when it comes to you and ready to prove how wrong you are. "Here's your fuckin' offer." Without another word, he drags you forward to plaster his lips against yours in an angry kiss.

It should feel terrible. It should make you so angry you slap him. It should make you feel a hell of a lot of nasty things, but instead what you feel is the undeniable melting of your own self against him, finally getting the only thing you’ve wanted since the day this infuriating cowboy sauntered into your life. Jack is firm under your hands, burning hot and intoxicatingly inviting in the way he does not pull away. You must have gotten so mad you blacked out, because this is impossible.

When you don’t push him away, when you don’t slap him, Jack growls. Using the soft sigh that you give to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth with another groan as the cheers and sing of Auld Lang Syne happens all around the two of you.

Either you’ve burst a blood vessel from being so angry and ashamed or this is the best dream you’ve ever had. Jack wraps both of his arms tight around you and you cling to him, fists dig into the arm of his suit jacket and the hair on the nape of his neck as you silently beg this hallucination never to end. You can live and die in this moment and tell yourself that it was more than a dream. You can imagine this is exactly how fiercely Jack kisses when he really wants to. When he wants someone.

The kiss has turned from an angry mashing of his lips against yours to a passionate mingling of your breath and tongues. You whimper and his entire body tighten with need. Overriding the portion of his brain that is screaming that this is a bad idea, that he is bad for you and continuing to kiss you as everyone else has moved into dancing now.

Neither one of you has realized that his hat has been knocked off, or that he’s drawn you so close your back has bowed, or even that you’ve entirely given up on needing to breathe in order to never have to stop kissing him. Years of repressed desire and soul-crushingly unrequited love are just being poured into every second you spend drowning in this impossible fantasy.

“Well damn.” Champ chuckles from his position on the dance floor with his lovely wife. “Didn’t expect that long of a show. Boy don’t stop soon, he’s gonna devour her right there in the middle of the floor.”

“That’s what happens when you repress your feelings for six goddamn years,” Ginger snorts in amusement. “Should I go interrupt them?”

“No.” Champ decides with a shake of his silvery head. “Leave ‘em. Don’t want the boy to get spooked before he makes up his mind what’s gonna happen next.”

“And he will.” Ginger agrees with that completely. Jack spooks faster than a newborn foal.

“He would, where she’s concerned. Boy has his heart in it and he’s been fightin’ it.” Champ agrees as his wife chuckles. “He will figure it out.” She promises. “Rye won’t let him walk away from this with a smile and a handshake.”

“I think she’d rather die than let him go, at this rate.” The smile on Ginger’s face is soft. Glad that her friend is finally getting everything she — you — have ever wanted. It really is only oxygen that makes the two of you pull apart, panting for breath with fingers curled into each other’s flesh and clothes like you’re hanging on for dear life.

Jack’s eyes are dark and searching as he looks at you. Looking for the answer to a question and when he finds what he’s looking for, he grabs your hand and starts to drag you off the dance floor.

“Jack?” The realization that that really just happened ignites a small panic in your chest and a riot in your mind, and the fact that Jack hasn’t let go of you or run off in disgust is only confusing you more.

He doesn’t speak, he can’t speak right now. The people on the floor just seem to part, moving out of his way as he guides you off the floor. He does squeeze your hand though.

“Jack?” The longer he goes without saying anything the higher the panic rises, but you cling to his hand all the way to the front door of Champ’s house where the front room has been transformed into a coat closet.

Jack doesn’t answer and spins you around to press you up against the wall, kissing you again. “Get your fuckin’ coat.” He demands roughly.

It’s a much briefer kiss but it leaves you breathless all the same, and the determination in his eyes makes you shiver and rush to obey. If this is what you’re going to get with him — just a few demanding kisses before he decides it was a mistake and turns you away? Then you’ll take it.

His hat is missing, Jack realizes when he goes to readjust it and frowns. Patting his head and looking around to see if it fell off around here, but it’s nowhere in sight. It’s a small price to pay, but he runs his hand through his hair as you rush back to his side. “We’re leaving.”

He doesn’t seem angry, but for the life of you there is no version of tonight that goes any further. Not in your mind. A conversation about how you shouldn’t have kissed him — or at least kissed him back, since you have a dim memory of his hand pulling you to him right before your mind went blank — or at least about how it was a mistake is bound to follow.

The second your hand is in his again, Jack is dragging you through the doors and down the stairs of the house to his Bronco. He’s parked close, thank god and he can barely get the door open before he’s grabbing your waist and practically throwing you up into the seat.

It shouldn't be a thrill to be lifted up and tossed around as though you weigh next to nothing, but there is something in Jack's singular determination and focus that tells you not to question or fight it. If he wants to manhandle you a little before whatever uncomfortable confrontation is bound to happen? Well, it's not as though you haven't literally fantasized about that scenario. At least now you have a frame of reference.

He’s holding onto his control, barely. Racing around the front of the vehicle and jumping in beside you. He can’t even talk to you as he starts the engine. Thankful that his place isn’t too far away as he throws the Bronco into gear and slings gravel as he spins out.

The most surprising part might be that he reaches for your hand as he drives. His fingers curl through yours and hold onto you on top of the gear shift, not letting you do your usual thing of shifting away or curling in on yourself in uncertainty.

There’s only two miles left to go. He grunts as he slows down to make the turn and your hand moves the shifter with him, making sure that he doesn’t squeeze it too hard as he goes through the gears.

He's driving to his own house. You've done this route yourself more times than you can count for a thousand different reasons. The apartment that you rent with your ample Statesman salary is well on the other side of Louisville and Ginger lives closer to you than to Jack, so it's not like you have any doubt where he's headed. When he pulls the Bronco down his long and winding driveway toward the large farmhouse he's called home for a decade already, your hand tightens slightly in his, nervous and wondering what will come next.

When he cuts the engine, there’s a half a second before he opens the door. Almost speaking but he doesn’t. Instead, he’s climbing out to walk around the truck to open the door.

"I wish you would say something." Even if he's helping you out of the car and holding onto your hand, you can't figure out what's going on in his head. Not having any clue is making you a little panicky the longer it goes on.

Jack stops, two steps away from the path to the front door. “Do you want to come inside?” There’s a fear that you don’t want this. That you are not on the same page as he is.

He's not angry. Or upset anymore, that you can tell. But the determination in his gaze is still there for something that you can't quite put your finger on. "Yes," you decide, nodding as you step toward both him and the house. "I do." Whatever happens, you're hopeful it won't be bad.

You said yes. Your words spur him on again and he’s off like a shot, dragging you behind him. The biometric lock is a godsend. There’s no fumbling for a key at the door as he hustles you inside and slams it behind you both, pressing you against it as he attempts to devour your mouth once more.

This was not the reaction you expected. Not in any way. Not even when he had kissed you twice at Champ’s house before hauling you over to his place with the fires of hell scorching his toes. Anybody else might have read the signals, but not you. Not with the surprised squeal you let out or the soft moan that follows it — both completely outside of your control.

You’re alone now and this time, Jack doesn’t keep his hands on your waist. Both hands grab firm handfuls of your delightful round ass and squeezes as he presses into you. His painfully hard cock grinding into the soft pouches of your hips.

Because of the complete blanket of disbelief you're living under, it takes you longer than you're proud of or will ever admit to realize what is pressing against your hip. It's the first throbbing twitch from under his perfectly tailored suit that has your eyes flying open and both of your hands pressing firmly on his shoulders, breaking the kiss as you gasp in surprise.

“What- I thought-“ Jack’s frown is one of utter confusion as he drops his hands and steps back from you. Hating the feeling of rejection and suddenly wondering if he’s made a fucking fool of himself by getting twisted in knots by a woman who doesn’t actually want him. “‘m sorry.”

"Why?" The incredulous question is out of your mouth before you can stop it, and the confusion marring both of your faces makes you suck in a deep breath. "I—I just—I'm surprised," you admit, as damned foolish as that makes you sound. Fucking shocked is what you are, but you don't want to be labor the point and ruin whatever is happening.

He feels foolish and embarrassed, like he’s been caught with his hand in a candy jar. Reaching up and running his hand through his hair, he blows out a breath. “You said you wanted to come in.” He reasons. “I- what did you think would happen?”

"I—I don't know," you admit, feeling even more ridiculous than he does. Your back is still against his front door, crying out loud. "I ruled out you still being mad at me after you kissed me again but I didn't think..." Gesturing at him lamely, you blow out a breath and rub at the back of your neck. "I'm not saying I want to stop, I was just surprised." If this is the only chance you're going to get with him? You're going to take it and run with it as long as it lasts.

He frowns again, wondering how you could want him and yet be surprised when he wants to take you to bed. “So what do you want, sugar? Because I’m feeling like a penny at the bottom of a pan, rattled.”

The expression cracks the tension, at least for you, and an unexpectedly bright and beaming smile graces your lips as you reach for him boldly and find to your own delight and continued surprise that he doesn't draw away. "What I want is...a long shot." It's more than that, but you're downplaying your own fears to a rather extreme degree right now. Trying to be brave. "But...what are the odds you were thinkin' about taking me upstairs?"

“House odds.” Jack rasps out, knowing that the odds are always in the house’s favor when playing at a casino. “Pondered the idea of strippin’ you down right here and making you squeal against the door, but then tossin’ you over my shoulder and haulin’ you to my large, luxurious bed also has its merits.”

You genuinely have to shut your eyes to steady yourself, exhaling long and deep and praying you aren't actually moaning out loud like you are in your head. As it stands, both images he paints have your knees weak and your body shivering. "Eith—um—either one," you manage to stammer out, eyelashes parting so hesitantly that they flutter like wings. "Either one is good."

“Sexy as you look, sugar….” Now that he knows that you are on the same page as him, a little bit of the cocky swagger is back. “Thinkin’ it’d be a goddamn shame not to spread you out.” Despite your stature, Jack tucks his shoulder and scoops you up over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, bolting for the stairs.

"Holy hell, Jack!" A nervous shout and a squeak escape you when he picks you up, and you cling to his jacket as he carries you through the house you've visited innumerable times before.

Chuckling, Jack slaps your ass with his free hand as he ambles up the stairs easily. “Don’t be nervous, sugar, I won’t drop you.”

This time you definitely do moan out loud, too taken by surprise to stop the sound or swallow it before it can come out of your mouth and you know Jack heard.

He grins to himself, slapping your ass again and is rewarded with another moan. “Mmmmhm.” He chuckles. “Rye likes a little bit of light spanking. Noted.”

"Pretty sure I'll like anything you do," you admit ruefully, though you're quickly feeling the constraints of embarrassment fall away as he reaches his bedroom door. This is real. This is really happening.

"I'll keep that in mind when I hogtie you to the bed and lick whipped cream off your body." He teases, kicking open the slightly ajar door and striding into the room to toss you down on the bed like a character in a romance novel. Right now, he doesn't know if he's supposed to be the hero or the villain, feeling a bit like both as his rough handling of you as him immediately reaching for your ankles to pull off your shoes in his eagerness to see you naked in his bed.

“See?” You huff at him, heavy breathing coming from nothing but an undeniable surplus of desire. “That actually sounds sexy coming from you.” Everything does, but his quick fingers are divesting you of your shoes and that reminds you how your Spanx is part of this undressing process — which is the single least sexy thing in the world.

Jack rips off his tuxedo jacket and tosses it down on the floor. Climbing up onto the bed and over you to press against you fully, pinning you down to the bed with a groan. Quickly capturing your lips again in a frenzied kiss.

It makes no damn sense to you, but you’re not going to question it anymore. If Jack could have literally anyone in the world but for tonight he chooses you, then you’re just going to make sure he doesn’t regret it. That decision on your part sort of pulls you out of your nervous shock, and all at once your hands are pulling open his tie and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt with enthusiasm.

“There we go.” Jack groans when you stop acting shocked and start acting. Your hands on his body makes him shake and he can’t help but rock his hips forward. “Sugar.”

He could probably call you whatever he wanted and you would just go with it, but hearing him call you Sugar — that sickly sweet name he favors so much yet seems to bestow on you so rarely? It feels like you might melt so deeply into his plush mattress that you will never get up again.

Moving from your lips takes sheer willpower but he wants to explore more of you. One hand bracing on the bed and the other sliding up to squeeze your breast as he kisses down your chin and to the soft, vulnerable skin of your throat. “Driving me crazy, baby girl.” He coos, voice rough and lusty. “So goddamn pretty.”

No one who has ever met Jack would be surprised to learn how mouthy the cowboy is in bed. He’s mouthy in every other aspect of his life so frankly it would be pretty strange if this was the exception. Still, to hear those words said to you is beyond your wildest dreams. It’s surreal in the most sensational of ways. Even when you had dreamed of being with Jack, you had never dreamed of him praising you.

He groans when your fingernails bite into the skin on his chest as you hastily push the shirt opened. “Tigress, huh?” He growls, squeezing your tit again, a little harder this time and his hard cock pulses against your inner thigh. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’m just as goddamn eager as you. But ‘ole Jack likes a bit of wildness.” He bites down on your shoulder as he chuckles. “We’ll have ourselves one hell of a rodeo tonight.”

If you even knew where half this boldness came from, you might be a little embarrassed. But given the fact that you never thought this would happen, it mostly just feels like you're telling yourself not to waste the chance. Lightning never strikes the same place twice and this is your lightning strike, so you're going to lean into the whole thing if that's what he really wants. Your nails strike a path down his chest but get caught in his undershirt, a fact which makes you huff in frustration and search blindly for the hem to tear off that layer of clothing as well.

Jack groans and finally decides to give you what you want. Pulling back long enough to finish pulling his arms out of the shirt sleeves, he tears the undershirt off and throws it off the side of the bed to reveal his chest. Unable to resist pulling your dress down to pop your breast out and diving back down to wrap his mouth around a nipple.

"Oh fuck." It's a move you weren't expecting, but your back arches off the mattress instinctively to push your chest up and invite him to take and take and take — just as much as he wants to. If you were coherent enough to suggest it you would try to start wiggling out of your dress but as it is the only thing you can focus on is the heat of him surrounding you and the way every place he kisses you seems to catch on fire immediately at the press of his lips.

He suckles, bites and then licks the hard nub in his mouth like he’s gorging himself on you. Because he is. Hands searching for the zipper to your gorgeous dress. It’s beautiful, but it needs to be beautiful on his floor.

"If you want it off, you have to let me sit up," you manage to huff out, barely able to do more than pant at the way he's clearly trying to devour your tits first.

Groaning in protest, his lips are twisting in a pout as he pulls away. Panting breathlessly as he itches to launch himself at you again. “Hurry up, sugar.”

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the zipper, pulling it down and carefully undoing the clasp at the top before letting the heavily sequined cocktail dress slip off of your arms so you can maneuver it over your head. Half-naked in Jack's bed with panties so soaked you could probably wring them out is not how you expected to end this night, but here you are.

“Fuck.” Jack frowns at the tight shapewear he’s met with. “My present’s a little too wrapped for my liking, baby girl.” He hisses, curling his fingers under the layer to start stripping it off of you. “Want you naked.”

"It was the only way that dress was gonna look halfway decent," you mumble, shifting under him and definitely avoiding looking him in the face while he peels the Spanx off of you. It's a little bit too intimate even for the man you've wanted to be intimate with for years — to the point of making you feel completely naked even when you still have your bra and panties on.

He scoffs, nearly ready to whip his knife out and start slicing the material. “Bullshit.” He huffs, happy there’s just the bra and he uses two fingers to flick the four hooks open. “You don’t need nothin’.” Instead of explaining, he’s diving back into your tits while one hand dips into your panties.

“Fuck, Jack!” Instead of a tight reaction of shock, this time he’s rewarded with a moan and your legs falling open for him as the fingers of one hand dig through his thick hair to scratch along the base of his scalp. If he wants you to be bold, you’ll be bold. You’ll be whatever Jack wants as long as you just get to be in his bed for one night.

Jack moans against your tits, incredibly turned on by the pure moxy he’s always loved in you. Despite your utterly untrue view on yourself, you are sassy, sweet and sexy. That’s why he’s unable to resist now that he’s tasted you. Once he’s teased one breast enough, he switches to the other. “Gonna eat you up, sugar. Devour you whole.”

"All yours." It's sort of unintentional, the vow-like nature of the thing, but you're just being honest. You've really been Jack's since the day you met him. Even if it's taken so many damn years to get the two of you into this situation together, it's still the truth. "Whatever you want, handsome."

He groans, fingers sliding through the sweet slick that is covering your folds. “Want you.” He mumbles as he starts to slide his finger deeper, pressing against your entrance.

It's not even in your mind to ask why when he's splitting you open on two thick fingers like that, and you swear if that's how this night is starting you might actually ascend directly to some higher plain if you get to actual sex. "Ha—fuck— you have me."

“Mmmmmm.” He licks your nipple “Not yet.” He pouts, pulling his fingers back out of you to plunge them in again. “But I will, sugar. Cum for me and then I’ll have you like I’ve been dreamin’.”

The curse you groan out is nearly incoherent, more of an agreement than anything else but you'll be damned if you let this moment be anything less than memorable for both of you. Jack hovers over you and you wind your arms around him to encourage him to continue sucking on your tits while his fingers piston in and out of your pussy with determination. You know it won't take too much longer before your legs start to shake, and as if Jack knows it just as intuitively, he curls his fingers inside you and you gasp out a moan of his name.

His teeth nip at your sensitive flesh as he hisses. Feeling how tight your pussy squeezes his fingers and imagines his cock inside you. Tight and fucking scorching hot, just like he had imagined with his hand wrapped around his cock in the shower. “That’s it, pretty girl.” He coos before he sucks on your nipple again. Moaning when you arch up, writhing under him and making the prettiest, most desperate sounds he’s heard in a long time.

No one who has ever been in this bed has ever left it with any remaining doubts about Jack’s skills as a lover, and while you knew that before? Now you understand it oh-so-very deeply. His fingers pump into you mercilessly, curling at just the right angle to make you cry out in pleasure in every pass, and yet somehow he’s managed to keep the angle of that curl perfect while still holding them apart — stretching your eager pussy open and making sure you’re ready to take every inch of him. All of those intricacies combine with the dedication attention he is lavishing on your tits, and when the tense coil of restraint in your belly snaps it explodes into a thousand white-hot stars behind your eyes as you cum for him.

You’re gorgeous when you fall apart, just like he knew you would be. Keeping his fingers moving, he watches, enthralled with you as you cry out his name in a pitch that has his cock throbbing. The hot gush of your pleasure makes his fingers squelch inside you and he groans out your name while he starts to slow down the rhythm of his hand, letting you float down from your orgasm, drawing it out for you.

“Holy hell…” When your eyes open again you’re completely boneless beneath him, giggling softly at the light-as-air feeling in your body that never ever feels lighter than anything.

Dragging his wet fingers out of your cunt is his own personal kind of hell, but the urge to taste you is too great. Watching you with dark eyes as he slips his two fingers into his mouth with a lusty groan.

“Take your pants off.” The way you groan it is nearly an order but you definitely meant it to be begging, though at this point you don’t care. Especially when he arches an eyebrow at you and smirks. “Take your fucking pants off, Jack.”

Chuckling, he shuffles off the bed to oblige you. “Never let it be said I don’t follow orders, sugar.” He winks as he kicks off the tuxedo pants and hooks his fingers into his boxer briefs. “These too?”

“The fact that you even wear underwear is a shock,” you tease, motioning for him to continue stripping and trying — but probably not succeeding — to not stare.

He smirks. “Had to contain the beast for once.” He winks as he drags the tight material down. “Don’t wear ‘em normally.”

The Beast is probably as good a name as any, and you have to swallow a groan when he frees his throbbing cock — already damp with precum. It’s a wonder he can contain it, and you’re caught in between wanting to bend forward and taste him or just lying back for him to have his way with you. Curiosity and a curtain of lust win out on the short struggle, and you lean forward to take the purple head of his cock in your mouth just after he climbs back onto the bed.

“Fuck!” Jack moans out loudly and pushes your head away gently after a moment. “Baby, baby…” he pants. “You keep that up and this rodeo will be over before it starts.”

“Sorry…” Embarrassment burns your cheeks, and you shift back to get under his blankets. “I just had to know…”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Jack huffs. Kneeling on the bed and pulling the covers away as you hide your body away from his eyes. “Just don’t want to embarrass myself by blowing my load because of your pretty mouth before I can hear you scream my name.”

“I already have,” you remind him, a softness in your tone belied by the heat in both of your eyes. “Guess I might have to be a little louder this time.”

“Only if it’s right in my ear.” Jack wraps his hand around his cock and strokes it as he reaches for your thigh. “Buried deep inside that little cunt and feeling like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

It goes without saying that you’re both clean. All Statesman agents are required to have clean bills of health in order to be on the roster for missions and you’re both active agents. “I—have an IUD.” Is what you tell him instead, shivering a little at the reality of what is about to happen.

Eyes lighting up in delight, Jack’s lips curl up. “Oh sugar, it’s not my birthday yet, why are you showerin’ me with presents?” He coos, sliding his hand up and down your ample thigh. “Pretty as a damn picture.”

The real answer is that you’re desperate to feel him, but you just smirk instead, not wanting to get your heart more involved than it already is. “Because I don’t have a condom and I’ll be damned if we stop now because of it.”

“If you want me to get one…” Jack motions back to his pants. “I have one in my wallet.”

“I don’t want the barrier,” you admit, biting your lip at the extremely vulnerable nature of that confession. “If it’s okay with you.”

His smirk turns into a wicked grin. “You read my mind, sugar. I want to feel all of you.”

You could make a joke about how much of you there is to feel, but just this once you stifle the urge. Opting instead to reach out and gently cup Jack's cheeks in both of your hands before pressing a soft, earnest kiss to his lips. "Then what are you waiting for, Cowboy?”

As you lean back, Jack follows you. Climbing up your body and groaning as he settles between your thighs. “You want to cum again, pretty girl?”

"Not without you this time." The reality of Jack is better than anything you thought so far. Since this miracle is surely once in a lifetime, you want it to be as amazing as possible.

Jack groans your name, pressing his lips to yours in another hot, wet kiss. Passionate and consuming as he pushes an arm underneath you. “I’m right here with you.”

As impossible as it seems, he really is. He is right there with you, taking you in his arms and making you feel delicate and desirable for the first real time in your entire adult life.

He doesn’t rush, although he wants to. Every kiss is slow and thorough. Reaching down between you to take hold of himself to notch at your entrance. “Hold on, sugar. See if we can ride for longer than eight seconds.”

“I’m not gonna buck you, Jack.” You can promise him that, because you know damn well you’re going to hold onto this moment for dear life and not question the gift that it is. This one little shining moment is just for the two of you and you’re never going to forget a single second of it.

His eyes are watching, burning into yours as he starts to slowly rock his hips forward. Breaking you open with the first inch of his cock and swooping in to kiss you again when you gasp.

The world slows down, motions stretching into time and blending together in ways that you can’t quite wrap your head around so all you know in this moment is Jack. Every time he thrusts forward again your moans get that much deeper, until on the final experimental rock of his hips, he is seated fully inside you and you feel so spellbound and grateful for the moment that you’re all but sure you could cry. Instead you pour yourself into kissing him, rocking your own hips slightly to take him more comfortably and adjust to the weighty feeling of having him inside you.

“Fuck, baby girl.” Jack inhales sharply, stealing your breath as he tries to rein himself in, throbbing violently inside you. If it weren’t for the fact that he had promised you a rodeo, he would be cumming, overwhelmed by how hot and tight you are. You’re perfect, just like he always imagined. “You be a good girl and take my cock, m’kay?”

Good girl is another one of those sticking points for you just like getting your ass slapped, and if Jack had no idea before, he certainly does now, from the way your cunt just spasmed around his length and you moaned like you were coming all over again.

“Ohhhhhh.” Jack’s eyes nearly cross and he gives a particularly sharp thrust when you clamp down around him. “You like that.” He pants out. “You’re my good girl?”

“S’not fair,” you huff, throwing him a playful pout that gets cut by another shaky moan. “You’re finding all the buttons I like pushed way too easily.”

“You haven’t - fuck - figured out my buttons yet, sugar?” Jack ducks his head down and slides the arm not underneath you down your hip and thigh to pull it up higher. Sinking deeper into you with a moan of your name.

“Liking to have your cock sucked doesn’t—fuck!— count,” you tell him, back arching as he hits a new angle inside you.

He chuckles and licks at your pulse before he nips at your skin with his teeth. Fingers digging into your pillowy flesh and groans when you clench around him again.

Finding a rhythm is as easy as breathing. Being with him is so much more natural and intuitive than you dreamt it would be. Your natural tendency to be a little rougher is equaled by his enthusiasm for making the bedroom a loud and raucous experience. There’s no hiding from each other or demurring, not once you get going. It’s like something inside you has finally been unlocked after a lifetime of waiting — waiting for Jack to come along with the key that would open you up.

If it surprises Jack that you are wild in bed, it’s probably the best goddamn surprise he’s ever gotten. His back burns from the raking of your nails when he hits deep. He fucking loves it. Your wildness makes him go absolutely feral over you.

It’s the opposite of who you are in everyday life. A version of you just for him. A version of you that leaves your worries outside the circle of your bodies and embraces sex as something carefree. Which, if you’re honest, isn’t really how you’ve felt about sex with anyone besides Jack. (edited)

His lips and teeth map every inch that he can reach as he pumps in and out of you frantically. Trying to keep the pace hard and fast because every time your cunt clenches, his hips stutter from how fucking tight you are. “Fuck, my good girl.” He growls. “So fucking tight.”

“So fucking big,” you give back, starting to pant heavier and more unevenly. There’s a whine forming in the back of your throat that you can’t hold back and you bite down on the juncture of Jack’s shoulder as your legs threaten to shake all over again. You’re so close to cumming but you don’t want this to end.

Jack changes the tempo, slowing down and grinding his pelvis against your clit. “You gonna cum for me, baby girl?” He rasps out. “Cum on Jack’s big ‘ole cock and soak me?”

"So—oh, fuck—close, baby." The way you feel right now, you might actually fall apart at the seams when you cum again, but it will be worth it. It will be worth just knowing first hand how gorgeous Jack looks when he follows you over the edge. "Don't stop. Don't fucking stop, Jack."

“Never.” Jack growls, smashing his teeth together and hissing at the way you claw and writhe under him. It’s like taming a feral cat in a pillowcase and he loves it. Your thighs are crushing his hips and all he can do is imagine them around his head. “Cum for me.”

A half dozen thrusts later, your cunt is clenching down on his cock and pulsing with a fierce orgasm that has your thighs tensing at his waist and your back bowing off the bed. Everything seems to be happening at the top of however it possibly could, and that includes the way you cry his name into the night before collapsing back into his sheets with your arms and legs still around him, willing him to follow you to bliss.

Jack moans your name, pants it again against your lips. His brow knitted in concentration as he tries to last. His body tightening and tensing as his pleasure builds to that almost painful precipice. His heart pounding, but not because of the physical exertion, but because of the almost loving look on your eyes. “Love you.” He moans, right as his lips crash against yours and he breathes it into your mouth again. “Love you.”

You freeze under him, but Jack is too caught in his bliss to tell. Like a bucket of water has been splashed over the bubble of this night and popped that shell keeping you separate from the world. Did he just...? There's no way. There's just absolutely no way at all. You must have imagined it. Wished for it so desperately that you hallucinated the words. Because otherwise you're not quite sure what you'll do — because Jack has never lied to you. But he's also never given you any reason to think your feelings might be requited.

Caught up in his orgasm, Jack rides wave after wave of complete bliss as he empties himself into you, metaphorically and physically. Giving you every bit of himself as he finally acknowledges the truth of why he has always kept you at arms length. His love for you terrifying him, but right now, he’s flying. Collapsing into your arms and panting out your name as he catches his breath.

There's nothing you can do with this shock except bury it, holding him and gently stroking his hair while he catches his breath with his head on your chest. You imagined it, you remind yourself silently, blinking back tears at how much you wish it was true.

The whiskey, the emotions and the exertion have Jack cuddly and sleepy as he comes down from his orgasm. “Fuck, baby girl.” He hums, kissing your neck as he slowly pulls out of you and shifts to your side to roll you over with him. “Wore me out.” He chuckles. “But gave a hell of a ride.”

He tucks you into his arms to be his little spoon, not letting you get away for even a second. Any other time? This would have been thrilling. "Get some sleep, baby." Returning the pet name seems innocent enough, and you reach back to run your fingers through his hair gently. "You earned it."

His eyes are closed when he shoots you a sleepy grin. “Talk when we wake up, sugar.” He promises, fingers stroking your skin softly.

That promise might be why you sleep so fitfully in the night to follow. Why you're so wound up that when your Statesman issued phone chirps from your purse on his floor around 6:30 in the morning, your eyes open immediately. Jack has turned over in the night, sleeping on his back now with one arm still around you but not so tightly that you can't extract yourself to answer the message. That phone is used only for missions and confidential communication, meaning you absolutely cannot ignore it. Incoming Message: Agent Rye report immediately for mission briefing. CODE BLACK. Code Black. You curse under your breath, careful not to wake Jack, and rub one hand down your face in dismay. That level of secrecy in a mission assignment means you can't even wake him up to say goodbye. You're supposed to speak to no one, just proceed immediately to the nearest Statesman branch for your mission briefing. With a sigh and another, more colorful curse, you shake your head and glance back at the bed where Jack is sleeping soundly. There's nothing to do but get dressed and Walk of Shame your ass into the office. You just wish you could wake him up to say goodbye.

It’s been years since Jack has slept so well. Deep and dreamless, none of the nightmares that often plague his rest. The soft scent of you surrounding him and soothing him like nothing he’s had in a long time. When his eyes open, he’s feeling like he’s had the best sleep of his life. Frowning when he doesn’t feel you next to him. Calling out your name softly in case you were in the bathroom. “Rye? Sugar?”

There's no trace of you anywhere. He may as well have come home alone last night, except for the scent of you in the air and the scratches on his back. It's almost an insult when he sees a fallen sequin on the rug where your dress had been tossed.

“Fuck.” Jack’s slipped out of plenty of beds, ducked out and kept walking. The walk of shame was never shameful when there was a little bit of pep to his step, but right now, he’s pissed. Pissed you didn’t have the fucking balls to wake him before you slipped off like a thief in the night. Snatching up his pants, he digs into the pocket for his phone, dialing your number and ready to have it out with you.

"Hi! Sorry I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I'm able!" Your voicemail message is insultingly chipper when it picks up right away, almost taunting him. Like you aren't willing to talk, when nothing could be farther from the truth.

“Fuck!” Jack shouts, throwing the phone and scowling angrily. Pissed that you aren’t here, that you apparently don’t want to talk to him. “Fine, you regret it? Fuck you too.” He growls and stomps into the bathroom to shower. If you wanted nothing to do with him after he had let down his walls last night, he wants nothing to do with you either.

******

"What's got you all chewed up and spat out today?" Tequila raises an eyebrow at Jack when he comes huffing into the office, a little late and a lot pissed off. He had expected Jack to be in a stellar mood.

“Not a goddamn thing.” Even though his feathers are ruffled, Jack practically refuses to even think about you. To the point where he had thrown the sheets and the costly Tom Ford tuxedo away. “Whadda we got?” Desperate to concentrate on a mission, he jumps straight into business.

"Wingman prep." Tequila tells him, tapping the folder on his own desktop. "Somebody got tapped this morning and Champ wants us to comb some old mission files to prep for an extraction. Plan B sorta shit." And since all of the mission-ready agents on the Statesman payroll are top notch with years of experience under their belts, anyone potentially needing an extraction from a mission is a big fucking deal.

“Who got tapped?” Jack asks, grabbing a file and flipping it open with a frown on his face. “Scotch?”

"I thought you'd know already." Tequila's eyes snap back up to Jack in concern. "It was Rye."

Jack freezes and slowly lifts his eyes from the file to find Tequila frowning at him, confused by how he doesn’t know. “Why would I know that?” Jack asks after a moment. It explains why your phone was off, but you had still slipped out without saying a fucking word.

"Because...you went home with her last night?" Everybody knows that you and Jack left the party. Absolutely everyone. There was a whole extra celebration after you left. "Figured you woulda known by her getting up this morning and all."

There’s a split second where Jack wants to snap that you had left him to wake up alone, but he doesn’t. What comes out of his mouth instead, is to deny the whole thing. “Took her home.” Jack shrugs, lying easily as if he couldn’t care less. “She wanted to soak in a bath and read some book.”

The frown on Tequila's face deepens measurably, pure confusion marring his usually chipper face. "Bullshit," he huffs, leaning back in his desk chair. "I saw you kiss her. No way."

“Believe what you want.” Jack snaps flatly. “Where are we in planning the back up plans?” The hurt is soothed slightly by you being called away, but it doesn’t make it nonexistent. You hadn’t even left a goddamn message for him. He could have seen not waking him if you had left some sign that you didn’t regret the night even happened.

"Early stages." Knowing better than to poke the dragon when he's mad about something, Tequila defers to work like Jack clearly wants. "Tell me what you think, but I think me on the ground and you in the Silver Pony is the best bet." Whatever happened between you and Jack, the man is clearly hurt, and Tequila makes a note to go and talk to Ginger when he gets his next chance. If you had said anything to anyone, it would be to her.

“Whatever.” Jack practically rolls his eyes and shrugs. Usually he loves the opportunity to fly and show off in the Silver Pony, but he’s so worked up over you that he doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “Guess that’s the plan. If needed.”

“If needed.” All Tequila does is nod, but damn he really needs to talk to Ginger.

******

Jack holes up in his office, barely answering the phone and not leaving it all day, not even for lunch. Catching up on paperwork that is normally never done as he works through not being at home. Not remembering how you tasted and sounded last night. He’s even refused to pull up your camera footage, not wanting to see what you are doing. He’s miserable and is determined to stay that way.

“Thought I’d find you in here.” Champ’s gruff voice cuts through the silence long after everyone else has gone home for the night. He knew exactly where Jack would be. Especially after Tequila said the senior agent was out of sorts. “Come up to my office, Jack. We’re gonna have a drink.” It’s not a suggestion or a request. This is a direct order from this commander, and Champ turns around and heads back down the hall knowing Jack will follow.

Jack sighs and sets his pen down, ripping the reading glasses off his face and tossing them down on the folder. He had stayed cooped up in his office so he didn’t take his bad mood out on anyone so he doesn’t see why he needs to be called out onto the carpet. Still, he pushes back from his desk and follows the older man to the conference room Champ preferred over his official office. The bar cart in here was better stocked.

“Pick your poison.” Champ tells him, motioning for Jack to sit down at the conference table as he strolls over to the cart to grab a bottle and two glasses.

“Whatever your havin’.” Jack wonders what this is about, but he doesn’t ask. Just waits patiently for his boss to get to the reason in his own sweet time.

Champ grunts slightly, grabbing a bottle of ‘74 Reserve, and brings it to the table. He pours two fingers in each glass and slides one over to set in front of Jack before sitting down beside him and taking a sip from his own glass. “You’ve been hidin’ today,” he assesses after a moment of silence. “But I hear you damn near took Tequila’s head off this morning when you got in.”

“Can’t have a bad day?” Jack asks, picking up the whiskey and staring at it before taking a sip. “Woke up wrong, that’s all. I’ll apologize to the crybaby later.”

“He’s not a damn crybaby,” Champ huffs, covering his own amusement with a scowl. “I walked by your damn office, fool. And when he did come talk to me about it, it was because he was worried about you.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jack scowls and shakes his head. “I had a bad morning. I’m fine. Not gonna go off and try to kill all the drug users again.”

“Not saying you would.” Holding up his hands in a show of innocence, Champ leans back all the way and stares down his nose at Jack for a second longer before he shakes his head and shrugs. “But between you and me just these walls? Just thought you might wanna know that Rye got sent off Code Black, is all.” He isn’t supposed to say. Black is black. It’s too priority and top security. But you’d been so torn up this morning and Jack’s been so out of sorts in his own way that Champ has rightfully assumed that something fairly big must’ve happened after you left the party.

His jaw nearly drops. Champ never gives information away like that. He frowns, looking back down at his glass again and feeling relieved. If you had gotten a Code Black, you couldn’t wake him up. It would have been against protocol. He swallows and finally nods. “Good to know.”

“Just don’t want you stewing over it.” The older man says, watching carefully as he sips from his glass again. “You wanna be upset with anyone, it’s me. Not her.”

“Right.” Jack drains the rest of the whiskey and the crystal hits the table slightly harder than normal. “Anything else?”

“Nah. That’s it.” There’s nothing more that Champ can really say, and now Jack needs to process. That’s just how these things work. “See ya in the morning, Daniels.”

Jack stands. “‘Night, Champ.” He walks out of the room and back down the hall towards his office, looking down at his feet as he goes.

******

It’s two weeks before Tequila and Jack are given a stand-down order and told their rescue mission won’t be necessary. Mission success, they’re told with authority, even though it took longer than expected. They don’t get more than that, though, and Jack is walking past Ginger’s lab on his way out of the office late that night when he hears your voice again for the first time in weeks. It’s tired, and quiet, but unmistakable. “Can we just get this over with, Ging?” You ask your friend quietly, knowing that decontamination and a full physical are extremely necessary considering where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. But you want to get the hell out of here and finally go talk to Jack.

He would never admit it, but he’s been living at Statesman. Barely going home to change and often refreshing the outfits that he keeps in his office for unexpected late nights. On call the entire time in case you needed him. Now you are here and Jack feels like running away. So much self doubt had built up over two weeks, he’s driven himself crazy over every little thing. Obsessing over the details of New Years.

“Once you have a clean bill of health, you go storm the ranch or whatever it is you’re going to do.” Ginger teases, full of warmth. “But I would try his office first.”

Jack frowns slightly and wonders what the hell Ginger is talking about, storming the ranch. He almost pushes the door open, but he doesn’t. Just wants to see what you will say if you know that he’s not listening.

“It’s been two weeks, Ging.” The pops and hums and beeps of her equipment punctuate your voice from inside the lab. “Every single second I haven’t been thinking about this mission I’ve been reliving that night. And I could kill Champ for sending me away Code fucking Black before I could even tell Jack how I feel about him.”

“I know it was bad timing.” He hears Ginger sigh. “But hopefully it gave you some time to think about what you’re going to say?”

Jack’s stomach twists and he feels nauseous. Wondering if you’ve decided that it was a mistake. He swallows harshly and whirls around, not wanting to hear how you plan on letting him down or friend zoning him.

“I’m going to tell him the truth,” he misses hearing you say. “That I’ve been in love with him for six years, and that I’m done being a coward about it.” This mission so easily could have killed you every single day that it became something of an eye opener. Getting back to Jack had become the most dominant and driving force in your mind at times.

Walking down to his office has Jack twisted in knots. He’s never been a coward before but he damn sure feels like running. Playing back that night in his head over and over had made him realize what he had said. More importantly, what you hadn’t said back. Walking over to his bar cart, he pours himself a heavy double and bolts it down. He’ll get wasted after you crush his hopes but that was needed so he doesn’t beg like a pathetic wretch. He needs to keep his pride somehow.

It’s twenty more minutes before he hears footsteps in the hall and hears your tentative voice calling his name. “Jack?” There’s nerves in it, anxiety hovering around you despite your triumphant mission. But you appear in his doorway looking worried and chewing your lip. “Hey…you’re still here.”

“Work’s never done.” Jack huffs, plastering on a friendly but not too friendly expression. “Haven’t seen you around in a few weeks. Mission go alright?” It’s painful to see you in that doorway, looking tired and beautiful. Reminding him of how you looked before he had fallen asleep and lost you.

“I’m home and in one piece.” It’s what you always say, but at least it’s true. He doesn’t exactly look happy to see you, though, and that makes you falter a little. Not enough to shake your resolve, but your optimism that he’ll respond with joy cracks right away. “Do you…can we talk a little?”

“Sure.” He takes off his reading glasses and stands. Moving over to the alcohol again. “Want a drink?” He asks, not looking over his shoulder at you. He sees the worry on your face and knows you are concerned about your working relationship. What he will do will be accept your wants, wish you well and promise that he will not let what happened affect your professional relationship. Then he will demand a transfer to the New York office, permanently. You nod and he pours out two drinks. “What’s on your mind, Rye?”

“Well…you are.” It seems like such an obvious answer that it almost feels silly saying it, but he won’t even look you in the eye so staring at the beginning seems like a good idea.

“Oh?” Turning around is hard, but he manages to look curious instead of sick to his stomach. “Now why would I be on your mind, sugar?” The endearment slips out and he nearly bites his tongue as he carries them over to the small sofa area.

The message is loud and clear: it really didn’t mean anything to him. Regardless, though, you have to power through. If he really didn’t mean what he said and has no interest in being with you, you’ll request a permanent transfer. Chicago, Dallas, Los Angeles — anywhere but here or New York. Swallowing a sigh, you accept the glass from him but just hold it in your hands while you gather your thoughts. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk before I had to leave,” you start, trying not to let the warmth and proximity of him get under your skin so easily. But you can’t really help it. “I did the best I could for a message to let you know what had happened, but it wasn’t much. And I’m sorry for that, too.”

His facade cracks, the scowl as quick to vanish as it appears and he scoffs. “Message received, Rye. A lone sequin on the floor. Practically like it was a dream, except for that.” He tosses back the whiskey. “Can you just get to the part where you tell me it was a mistake, you don’t want to ruin our friendship or work relationship? Or whatever bullshit excuse you’ve settled on to tell me you regret it?” His eyes are dark and pained when they finally land on you, barely resisting the urge to flee.

“On the floor?” Your brow furrowed instantly, a frown painting itself on your lips, and you set the glass in your hands aside to shift closer to him on the little couch. “Jack, I left a sequin on your nightstand.” The choice was even more horrible than you had worried it would be, apparently, because he looks so hurt he could actually cry. A fact which makes you instantly want to cry as well. “A black sequin was the best I could do for a signal. It—it must have…blown off. Stupid fucking flapper dress with all that fringe. It must have gone flying when I left the room.” There was no other breeze, no window open or fan blowing. Only you could have sabotaged yourself like that.

He doesn’t believe you and shakes his head. “Why would you leave a black-“ he trails off when it hits him. Black sequin - Code Black. Trying to tell him that you had wanted to leave a message but couldn’t. Champ had broken protocol by telling him about the Code Black and apparently you had tried to signal the same thing. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” You shake your head in resignation, blowing out a shuddering breath. “I didn’t want to leave. Especially not after…” Another shaky breath leaves the rest of you shaking in turn, and you shove your hands under your legs on the couch. This is the most terrifying thing you’ve ever asked a person in your entire life. “Did you…mean it? What you said?”

Jack bites his lip, wanting to ask you what you’re talking about but he can’t do that. You look distraught that he had thought you had just disappeared. “Yeah.” Jack admits quietly. “Look, I know that it’s not something you were expectin’ ta hear, and you don’t feel the same.” He rolls on with the emotions that he needs to get out. “I won’t be mad, or take it out on you. But that night….fuck.” He blows out a breath. “I got to touch you. Just like I fuckin’ dreamed of. And I couldn’t just let you think it was a heat of the moment thing for me.”

“Why do you think I don’t feel the same?” With your heart beating wildly and your shakiness only increasing, there’s a sort of explosive quality in your mind and body that you can’t quite figure out how to control. Like all you want to do is launch yourself at him for a kiss but you know you need to talk first. To get it all out in the open. To be honest with each other. “I—I honestly had no idea you thought of me as anything but a friend. I was…well…shocked is a bit of an understatement.”

Jack snorts. “I know my reputation. Hell, I crafted it. But I couldn’t flirt with you. It’s too- shit- you had me from the first time we met. I was fucking hooked and it wouldn’t have been right. You were a junior agent and -“ he shakes his head. “I was running from the kind of commitment you were made for.”

“Your reputation was built by a man who had loved his wife so deeply that he couldn’t bear the thought of loving and losing again,” you remind him quietly. You sure you hadn’t known that right away, but when you had learned about his wife and son, you understood implicitly. “But it…it never stopped me from falling in love with you. Even when I thought I’d never be more to you than an acquaintance. I considered myself damn lucky to eventually become your friend. I just thought…I thought the fact that you never, ever flirted with me…meant that it was unrequited. So I made myself okay with it. Until two weeks ago.”

“I respect you, Rye.” Jack murmurs quietly. “I didn’t want to make it seem like you were everyone else, because you weren’t.” It’s backwards and twisted, but no one ever said that he had defeated all his demons. “When I broke- I gave you everything.”

“More than you know.” A soft huff of a laugh escapes you and you shake your head again, willing your nerves to calm down even a little. “Just…please understand, Jack. That I’ve been in love with you since the second I met you. And the only reason I didn’t say it back the night we slept together is because I was so shocked to hear it from you in the first place. I thought I’d hallucinated what I wanted to hear, and then before I knew it we were asleep…and then I woke up to a Code Black.”

“I was upset.” Jack admits quietly. “Really upset.” He flushes slightly. “May have been thinkin’ some not-so-polite things until Tequila told me it was you who was slated for the mission.” He won’t tell you that Champ had broken the rules. “Convinced myself that you had run off to go save the world so you wouldn’t have to tell me that you’d had too much alcohol and that’s why you let me take you home.”

“Not at all.” Taking a chance, you reach for his hand and practically sigh in relief when he slots his fingers through yours. “I pretty much thought I’d died and gone to heaven, if I’m honest. I just kept thinking…if this only happens once, I never want to forget a single thing.” You squeeze his hand gently, wishing you could have said all this two weeks ago. “I’m sorry my message didn’t work. That’s…you have every right to think nasty things about me. I’m so sorry.”

“No I don’t.” Jack protests. “Not if you meant to be here. Not if you wanted to be here the next morning. Then it’s just a bad misunderstanding and I’m sorry.”

“Then I guess we’re both sorry.” He’ll never know that you cried all the way to the office that morning at having to leave him, you decide right now. It would only make him feel even more guilty and he doesn’t deserve that. “But I’m not sorry about what happened between us.”

“You aren’t?” He tightens his grip on your hand, relaxing slowly as you talk and he understands that this was one giant cluster fuck. He’s used to those, he can handle those. “That’s good, sugar. Because New Years was probably the best night of my life.”

“God, I hope you mean that.” Your shakiness is for more than one reason, although you needed to have this conversation first. Whatever the two of you decide will happen next is a decision made by both of you, not just you alone. “Because…Ginger couldn’t clear me…after my physical. I can’t go back on the list.”

Jack frowns, brows pulling together. “Why can’t Ginger clear you? What’s wrong?” There’s a number of things that can be fixed by Statesman tech and he’s worried that it’s something bad.

Your stomach churns with worry, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. The unmistakable advances of Statesman tech can do things that most doctors absolutely cannot, thanks to Ginger Ale, and you’re not sure whether to thank her or curse her. “It’s not that something’s wrong, technically,” you admit, giving another worried squeeze to his hand. “But we probably ought to have used that condom…”

Jack’s eyes widen and they drop to your stomach, discerning the meaning of your comment. You aren’t a liar and Jack would believe you if you said you didn’t sleep with someone else, but he’s confused. “Sugar- how?” He chokes out. “I got snipped when I joined Statesman.”

“When was the last time you had your sperm count checked?” You had made Ginger do the test three times, but the result was always the same. Your birth control failed and Jack’s second kid is already growing, if very slowly. “The chances of a vasectomy failing are less than one percent, but it can still happen.”

Jack frowns and then rolls his eyes and groans. “The chamber.” He remembers. “When I got shot and then- uh, put back together.” He shakes his head. “Ging said I might need to get it checked but I dadgum forgot.” He bites his lip and tries not to freak out over the fact that you are pregnant after your one and only time together. “What do you want, sugar?” He asks.

“Not more than you’re willing to give freely.” The answer is that you want all of him. Every single bit. Love and a life and a family. But you know that even if Jack does love you, he’s never loved anyone the way he loved his wife. And losing Maria nearly destroyed him, so he may not be willing to take that chance again. “But I…unless you really object…I’m keeping the baby. Even if you don’t want a commitment or anything. I just…you’re right about me. I want a family and if this is my only chance I don’t want to give that up. Especially not if I get even the littlest piece of you with it.”

“You think I would-“ he shakes his head. “No, I would never force you, one way or the other.” He frowns. “I was asking if you wanted to have a baby. And if you think I’m gonna sit back and let you raise it by yourself, you must have hit your dadgum head.”

“I want this baby.” It had only taken about ten seconds after learning it existed to determine that, even if you’re still grappling with the reality of it. “And I want you.” You inch closer to him on the couch. “However you want to be together. That part is up to you.”

“It’s been a long damn time since I’ve thought about being a daddy, sugar.” There’s a slight smirk on his face but he doesn’t make the obvious crude joke. “But I’m pretty traditional when you break it down. I’m not gonna want to be apart from you and our baby.”

He might not have made the joke but you still laugh, having made the sugar daddy connection in your mind easily enough. “I know it’s a lot, Jack. And we didn’t plan it. But…” All you can do is shrug your shoulders slightly, looking up at him with such obvious hope and even more obvious water behind your eyes. “But, I love you.”

“I meant it, baby girl.” He promises you, reaching out to caress your cheek and then cup it. “I love you. I love you so much, sugar.” Licking his lips, his eyes drop down to yours. “Can I kiss you?”

"I wish you would." practically beaming at him, you lean in and let the moment wash over you. Jack's lips against yours. His hands on your skin. His baby - your baby - is already starting to grow.

Jack pulls you close, pressing his lips against yours and groaning softly. “Sugar, you’re gonna have my baby.” He whispers against your lips in awe. “Just the one time, one time between your thighs and you are carrying my baby.”

“One time is all it takes.” You can’t help the broad way you smile, giggling softly against his lips as you steal another kiss.

“I don’t regret it.” He promises. “I don’t regret you.” He smiles as he kisses you again. “We really did shake things up for New Years, didn’t we?”

“Just a little bit.” Another laugh escapes you, and you lean into his side only to be rewarded with Jack’s arms encircling you and holding you close. “I don’t regret any of it. Except maybe not making my message a whole lot clearer.”

“We’ll get better at communicatin’.” Jack promises with a smile. “We’re partners now.”

“Do you want to go get dinner, maybe?” The end of a mission can be crazy even when it’s successful, and you just want to try to relax tonight. Especially with everything changing in your personal life too, apparently. “My treat?”

Jack scoffs and shakes his head. “You ain’t paying, sugar.” He huffs. “Not while you’re with me. If you want dinner, we can go out, or I can take you home and throw some steaks on the grill.”

“I kind of want to celebrate,” you admit, feeling silly about it even though it’s the truth. “If that’s okay?”

“Then we’ll go out and celebrate.” Jack promises before he frowns at something you had said. “Why would you have thought I would never be interested in you?”

“Because…” It feels sillier than the celebration thing now that you know the truth. Silly and even a little pointless, but he asked so you’ll tell him. “Because you flirted with every woman in the world besides me. Which Ginger said is how she knew you were interested in me. But I didn’t believe her.”

“You know you’re wrong, don’t cha?” Jack asks you. “When you said that you get sent on assignments to be invisible? You’re sent on the assignments you are given because you get the job done. Champ knows that if he gives you a task, it will be done.”

“Whatever the reason is, he’ll have to do without me for about a year.” It isn’t worth having a debate over your lack of self esteem with him right now, and you especially don’t want to ruin the mood by crying anything other than happy tears, so you just redirect the conversation altogether. “This baby is my top priority.”

“Our top priority.” He corrects you. He’s nervous, terrified really, but there’s no one he’d rather have a happy accident with than you. “Our New Year’s baby.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #Jack Daniels x plus size reader #Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels #Kingsman Golden Circle #new years eve #new years fic #idiots in love #pining #the love is requited they're just dumb

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ioveartfilm · 15 days

Text

ACROSS YOUR MEMORIES

Summary With only fragmented memories as your guide, you set forth on a journey of self-discovery, navigating through the labyrinth of your past to learn who you truly are.

Genre Romance, Drama, Historical, Adventure.

Additional Content Mature Content, Dark Themes, Murder, One Shot.

Pairing Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

Playlist┊Masterlist

𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄, 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐎 . . .

In an age of resplendent grandeur and regal magnificence, there existed a stately palace where the nobility gathered for lavish banquets and extravagant balls. The guests reveled in the splendor of these gatherings, their laughter, and dance echoing through the palace, their countenances aglow with unbridled joy. However, there was a night not like any other night inside the grand palace, a special night of significance and celebration. It marked the momentous occasion of the 300th Anniversary of the Stroganov Family's rule over their country. A celebration that needs days of cheerful parties, with their beloved people, who are proud to call them their leaders.

Czar Aleksandr and his esteemed wife, Agata, presided over their country with regal grace. Blessed with a family that seemed the embodiment of prosperity and happiness, with four radiant daughters and a cherished son. Despite their benevolent rule and efforts to meet the needs of their subjects, a seed of resentment festered in the hearts of some, fueled by dissatisfaction with their governance. However, others denied these theories proclaiming they were other causes of the Stronganovs downfall. They believed it was all part of a malevolent curse woven by the family's trusted healer and confidant, Grigori Rasputin.

Once welcomed into the inner sanctum of the Stroganov family, Rasputin wielded his supposed divine gifts to earn their trust, particularly in his miraculous healing of their beloved son, Mikhail. Believing Rasputin to be a vessel of divine intervention, the family placed their trust in him, unaware of the sinister depths of his true intentions. It was a grievous revelation when the Stroganovs discovered that he was far from holy. So they banished him with grieving hearts. They rumored despite his banishment, he made an unwelcome entrance at the anniversary party with unwavering determination. He was immediately pushed aside, not guaranteeing him the chance to pour excuses for his previous actions. Enraged by his humiliation, Rasputin uttered a chilling oath, vowing to erase the Stroganov lineage, until no one was left alive. They said the night descended into darkness, the stars themselves seemed to dim, and an ominous pall hung over the palace, foretelling the sinister promises that lay ahead. The Stronganovs dismiss this, thinking they were just words coming from a madman.

However, Rasputin's vow came to life. In the dead of night, when the moon hung low in the sky and shadows danced ominously across the palace walls, the citizens rose up as they stormed the once-impregnable fortress of the Stroganovs, their clamorous voices echoing with cries for justice and retribution. The Stroganov dynasty finds itself besieged by the wrath of an embittered populace. Fighting desperately to escape the clutches of their enraged citizens in the middle of the night. As the night wore on, the once-proud lineage of the Stroganovs was extinguished one by one, leaving no one left. Though whispers persisted of a few survivors who managed to elude the grasp of the mob, their fate remained shrouded in mystery. The few survivors they believe they escaped on time were their youngest daughter and the mother of the Czar. Years passed by and the mother of the Czar took a step into society after the tragedy of her family, seeking her youngest granddaughter. Confirming the rumors to be true. They indeed managed to get away that night, though she ended up losing the trail of her granddaughter. Despite the passage of time and the trials that beset her, the steadfast belief in her granddaughter's survival remained unshakeable. With each passing day, she clung to the fragile thread of hope, knowing that somewhere beyond the reaches of her grasp, her beloved granddaughter was alive.

“It’s you. You’re the princess, (Y/N)!” The young girl before you claims with a bright smile gracing her lips, as she stops you from narrating any further. You can’t help but laugh at her innocence, caressing the side of her face.

“And what makes you think I’m the princess, little Annie?”

She went into a state of thought, lowering his gaze, finding her reasons to believe you were the Stroganov’s lost princess. “You both have the same name!” She claims, standing proudly on her belief.

“Oh? So what if the princess and I share the same name? Perhaps my parents were fond of the Stroganovs. That doesn’t make me the princess.” Little Annie only huffed in annoyance at your response, turning her gaze away.

You muse silently as you observe the young girl before you. Your past is a complete mystery, and you've often wondered about your origins. When you first arrived at the orphanage, you possessed a necklace, a solitary keepsake inscribed with the words Together in Paris. The significance of those words remains a mystery, but they resonate deeply within you. Perhaps, Paris is where you should go now. In the present moment, you find yourself recounting a story to little Annie, a tale she adores hearing before you depart from the orphanage. As you are about to venture into adulthood. However, you feel a pang of emotion knowing you'll leave behind the only home you've known.

“Annie, promise me you'll behave while I'm gone.” You gently request, drawing her attention. The initial annoyance on her face melts away, replaced by a flood of emotions as the weight of your departure sinks in. Rushing into your embrace, she clings to you tightly, tears dampening your clothing.

“I'll miss you.” She sobs, her voice muffled against your chest.

You tenderly cradled the little girl's face in your hands, guiding her gaze to meet yours, and imparted words of solace. “No matter how far away I am, I will always be in your heart.” You reassured her, your voice a gentle melody of comfort. “And always hold onto this truth: never allow others to define you or dictate your path. You should always listen to your heart.”

Touched by your words, Annie's face broke into a smile. “You really are like a princess.”

You plant a tender kiss on Annie's forehead, sealing your words of wisdom with a gesture of affection. “Don't forget my words.”

Your departure not only left a void in little Annie's heart but also in the hearts of the other children at the orphanage who had grown to see you as a protective older sister. Amidst tearful farewells outside the orphanage, Miss Agafya, with her usual stern demeanor, interrupted the bittersweet moment to deliver instructions about your new job at a factory. As you attempted to bid a final farewell to the children, Miss Agafya's harsh push reached you as she scowled at your actions.

“Are you listening?”

You clear your throat turning to see the woman before you. “I am listening Miss Agafya, and I am grateful for everything you have done for me.”

She huffed in response turning around to open the gates of the orphanage. “Thank goodness, you're finally leaving. I can finally breathe from all your chattering. Especially that stupid necklace of yours. Together in Paris, she says.” She laughs in mockery, taking your determination to find who you are, amusing.

“It's time to discard those silly dreams of yours and take a place in life once and for all!” Those were her final words as she pushed you outside the gates of the orphanage, relieved that she was able to get rid of you.

As you trudged away from the orphanage under the falling snow, the weight of Miss Agafya's words bore down on your shoulders. What if Paris held no answers for you? What if your search for a family is nothing but a fool's dream?

Rumor says that the lost princess still draws breath, possibly concealed amidst our midst, the whispers of the townsfolk intertwining like tendrils in the streets. Her grandmother, it is said, offers a grand sum to anyone who reunites her with her long-lost granddaughter.

“And I shall be the one to undertake this endeavor.” A gentleman with white locks and sapphire eyes murmurs to himself as he traverses through the town, catching snippets of the murmurs among the people regarding the lost princess. The day is ripe with promise, he senses it distinctly. He found himself strolling through the bustling town market, his spirits buoyant, ready to purchase whatever piqued his interest.

He then approached a stall adorned with exquisite garments, a charismatic smile playing on his lips as he addressed the young woman attending to the merchandise. “Ah, sweetheart, how are you on this splendid day?” He inquired, tipping his hat gallantly.

The maiden, unimpressed by his suave demeanor, dismissed his advances with a subtle roll of her eyes. “Begone, Satoru. I am occupied with the sale of my wares.” she rebuffed, maintaining her focus on her business.

Undeterred, he persisted in his charm, “But I'm willing to pay this time.”

Her gaze met his with a hint of skepticism, “How much?”

“Any price you propose, fair maiden.” He replied with a sly grin. After some persistent negotiation, she relented, offering a fur coat she claimed once belonged to the Stroganov family, taken from their abandoned palace.

Once the deal was done, the young woman stared at him quizzically, wondering why he lingered. “Is there anything else you need?” She inquired.

Drawing closer, he remarked, “You're quite cold to me. Despite the many evenings we've shared.” She bristled at his audacity, swiftly motioning for him to lower his voice.

“Please, keep it down.” She urged, casting a wary glance around.

He nodded, feigning contrition. “Of course, of course.” He replied, before adding mischievously. “But what about my farewell kiss?”

“You have quite the audacity to make such a request.” She retorted. However, upon realizing that he hadn't budged, she begrudgingly relented, willing to do anything to hasten his departure. As she leaned forward to bestow a kiss on his cheek, he deftly shifted his head, resulting in an unintended collision of their lips.

“Ah, you!” she exclaimed in disbelief as she jerked back.

He chuckled at her reaction, lifting the fur he had purchased. “Thank you for the fur, my dear.” He says before turning around to leave the flustered woman behind.

“Satoru!” a voice echoes across the bustling market, drawing his focus. He turned his gaze towards the voice to meet the gaze of his esteemed companion. “Ah, Suguru!” He replies, his grin widening at the sight of his friend. With a friendly embrace, they exchange greetings.

“I have marvelous news,” Suguru announces eagerly. “I've secured us a theater. All we need is finding the perfect actress to play the role.”

Satoru laughed heartily at his friend's words, as both men took off walking side by side. “Ah, finally. This is our last chance to raise above. No more foolish dealings, no more reckless ventures. We will guide her every action and word to ensure she embodies the essence of royalty in every aspect.”

“You speak the truth.” The raven-haired man remarked, casually draping an arm around Satoru's shoulders, subtling shaking him. “It's you and I who are best suited for this job. Besides, how challenging could it possibly be?”

“You just have to say it.” Satoru's glare pierced through his friend beside him, as they had spent hours finding the perfect actress inside the grand theater Suguru got them both. “None of these women even come close to resembling the princess, let alone the ability to act like her.”

Suguru sighed, sinking back into his seat, glancing back at him. “What did you expect? There's simply no one who compares to the princess. It will take more than a day to find someone capable of acting like royalty.” Upon sensing his friend’s sudden state of contemplation, he pressed on. “However, this entire thing relies on you. After all, you’re the only one who has known the princess up close.”

A frown adorns his features, “I was but a mere servant; I was never close to the princess to begin with. I could only watch from a distance.”

Suguru's gaze lingered briefly on the man beside him, upon noticing the change on his demeanor, so he decided to let the matter go. “Perhaps it's time we take a break.” He suggested. Satoru couldn't agree more as both men rose from their seats to leave the theatre.

“Young one, there is a way you can travel anywhere without a visa. A man who resides frequently at the old Stroganov Palace can help you get to your destination without an issue. However, you didn't hear it from me.” The words of the elderly woman at the station echoed in your mind after you were denied a ticket for not possessing a visa to travel to a foreign country.

“Perhaps there's still hope.” You thought, considering the possibility of seeking help from the mysterious individual that rooms inside the grand abandoned palace. As you navigate the unfamiliar streets guided by the old woman's instructions, a sense of anticipation mingled with uncertainty as you venture towards the enigmatic Stroganov Palace. Perhaps, it wasn’t a bad decision after all.

“Huh.” You mused aloud upon finally arriving at your destination. Your sight was greeted immediately with wooden boards barring entry to some of the entrances. How are you supposed to get in? A furrow formed on your brow as you contemplated how to get access to the palace. You positioned yourself, placing both hands firmly on one of the boards, determined to remove the obstacle blocking your path. With a steady exertion of strength, you pulled with all your might. After several attempts, you managed to succeed, nearly causing you to lose your balance. With that, you were granted access as you began to enter the palace. Your eyes eagerly roamed around your surroundings, taking in every detail that your gaze could capture. Despite the passage of time and the evident wear and tear, you couldn't help but appreciate the lingering beauty of the palace. You have heard of the glamorous parties that were taken in here, imaging just for a moment the impossible scenario. As you explored further, each corner shrouded in dust and echoing with the weight of years gone by, you felt a sense of awe for the history that permeated the palace's walls. It is a shame that such a grand palace was abandoned by its people, losing its grace along with the history that once resided in it. A sudden sharp pang of headache pierced your temples, causing you to wince in pain after you stood gazing at your reflection in one of the palace's opulent mirrors. However, the pain eventually ceased. You find it odd how your body was reacting the moment you stepped foot into the unfamiliar place. But that wasn’t the only oddity happening, figures seemed to dance at the edge of your vision, elusive and ephemeral, vanishing as soon as you attempted to focus on them. Despite the eerie occurrences and the unsettling atmosphere surrounding you, there is no room for fear in your heart. An unexpected warmth stirred within you, along with a sense of familiarity. This place seemed to seep into your thoughts, carrying a wave of emotions you never knew you had. Perhaps, you were in here, a long time, back in a 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑…

“Ugh! This dress is too tight.”

Sofiya swatted your hand away from your dress wary of any potential damage. “(Y/N), this is the dress Mother specifically chose for you tonight. Show some gratitude and try not to cause a scene.” She admonished, her tone tinged with exasperation. Before you can respond back to your sister's words. Your other sister, Mariya entered your chambers, her smile radiating warmth.

“Sofiya,” Mariya began, her voice gentle yet firm “Don’t be too harsh on, (Y/N). She may be a handful at times, but suffocating her won't make things any easier.” Finally, someone gets it. You sighed relieved that your sister Mariya came to your rescue.

Sofiya huffs, turning to sit on your bed as she watches, Mariya sitting you in front of your mirror to do your hair.

“Don't get too comfortable with her kindness, she’s only this way because someone special is attending tonight.”

Your curiosity is piqued at the mention of a special guest, prompting you to turn toward Mariya with an inquisitive gaze. “Sister? Is it true?” You ventured, eager for answers.

Mariya hesitated, her reluctance evident as she carefully considered her response. However, Sofiya is too stubborn as she proceeded to speak further.

“Ivan Sokolov, I heard that was his name.” Sofiya commented nonchalantly unaware of her sister’s glare towards her direction.

“Do you not have anything better to do than torment poor (Y/N) or pry into my personal affairs?” Mariya chided, her tone tinged with frustration.

“What are you so mad about, sister?” She responded innocently. “The gentleman holds a prestigious position in the state; I'm sure father would approve of him.” You laughed at this, recognizing her penchant for teasing Mariya at every opportunity.

Mariya let out a huff, diverting her gaze away from her sister, choosing instead to focus on her task of styling your hair. Sofiya hovered behind her, watching the process intently.

“Ponytails again? Maybe you should let her hair remain untouched for a change.”

“Say,” Mariya interrupted, her fingers pausing mid-air in their task, “Does Mother happen to be aware of your secret exchanges with our Gardner.”

She could only stare at her sister in disbelief, listening to her unexpected threat. “You wouldn't dare.”

“I’m afraid mother and father wouldn’t approve of such a scandalous relationship, wouldn’t you agree?”

In the blink of an eye, both sisters descended into a childish squabble, with hair tugging and shoving. Before you could even turn around to intervene, you felt a harsh tug at one of your half-done ponytails, “Ouch! What did I do?”

“Sisters, Mother insists we hurry downstairs—” Your other sister Tatyana stopped at your doorway, her words dying down her throat, as she witnessed the sight before her.

“I can't believe you two.” Tatyana scolded. “Aren't you supposed to be the eldest?” It was almost laughable that their youngest sibling had to reprimand them for their childish behavior.

Both sisters huffed, releasing each other and attempting to fix their disheveled appearances. Eventually, both left the chambers to their respectful rooms to look presentable for Mother.

Sighing, Tatyana approached you, “What were they fighting about?” she inquired.

“Men.” You confessed with a sigh.

Tatyana let out a chuckle. “I figured.”

Observing your disheveled hair, Tatyana took charge. She proceeded to style your hair with deft fingers into a simple yet refined hairstyle. By the time she finished, you looked effortlessly put together, you were ready for tonight's occasion. However, you don't need to do much since your natural beauty complements almost anything. And your siblings knew that, after all, you bore the closest resemblance to your mother.

“You look beautiful darling,” Mariya complimented you warmly as all of you gathered before the arrival of the guests. “I apologize for getting carried away and not being able to finish styling your hair.” You dismiss her apologies with a warm smile.

The beauty of the night enveloped all of you in an embrace. With graceful movements and delighted expressions, everyone swayed to the music, lost in the enchantment of the moment. Yet, you and your younger brother Anatoly could only observe from a distance, being spectators to the lively scene before your eyes. You begin to notice all the details from where you sit, as your attention is drawn to your sister, Mariya, who is gracefully twirling on the dance floor with a gentleman whose face is unfamiliar to you. Could this be the renowned Ivan?

“Are you bored, sister?” Anatoly's pierce through the air, bringing you back to the present.

You glanced down at your brother, a smile playing on your lips, while you shook your head in response. “Not at all I'm content with you by my side.” The disease that afflicted your brother had left him unable to walk for extended periods. You did everything in your hand to ensure he never felt left out or isolated when events like this took place. After all, you were his older sister, someone he was fond of, a role model to follow even though you were the youngest among your sisters.

“(Y/N), Anatoly.” The sound of your parents' voices caught you by surprise, causing you to lift your eyes to meet their warm glances.

“Come along, darling.” Your mother addressed your brother first, extending her hand towards him. Anatoly took her hand and rose from his seat to follow her obediently.

Meanwhile, your father mirrored your mother’s gesture, extending his hand towards you. Confused, you stared down at his outstretched hand until he spoke, “I thought you might like a dance with your father.” Your lips broke into an excited smile at your father's proposal, and you immediately took hold of his hand, eager to share a dance with your dear father. Father had been preoccupied with his duties lately, and your longing for his presence endured until today, as you entered into a waltz with him. He held you close as you swayed to the music, both of you wearing excited smiles that illuminated the night. At that moment, everything felt perfect, nothing could ruined such a splendid night.

You momentarily forgot your original purpose for being there as you found yourself transfixed by the intact portrait of the royal family. Memories of the stories you had heard over the years flooded your mind as you gazed at each individual depicted in the painting. “Czar Aleksandr and his wife, Agata Stroganov.” You began to whisper their rightful names to yourself, observing the previous leaders of the country standing at the center of the portrait surrounded by their children. “Mariya, Sofiya, Tatyana, Anatoly.” And lastly, your gaze landed on the supposed last survivor of the family along with the Czar's mother, the Grand Duchess, the youngest of the sisters. Somehow, her painting felt oddly familiar the longer you stared at her form.

“Who's there?” A grave voice echoed through the grand palace, jolting you back to the present moment. Panicked, you hurriedly descended from the grand stairs, your heart pounding with adrenaline.

“Hey, wait a minute!” the voice of a man persisted as you attempted to leave the palace. But you were unable to as a man with white locks descended from the other stairs, accompanied by a black-haired man trailing behind him, effectively blocking your path, as you stopped your tracks in the middle of the stairs.

“Who are you?” He demanded. “How did you get in here?—” The man's countenance slowly drastically changed, as his sapphire eyes widened as he studied you intently. You can only stand there, as both men stare at you as if they found a valuable treasure.

“I'm sorry, I never meant to trespass.” You began feeling unease under their intense gazes, clearing any misunderstanding, not wanting to be pointed out as a trespasser or a thief. “I was told that if I came here, I could get the help I need.”

The white-haired man blinked owlishly, barely acknowledging your words, instead, he turned to the black-haired man beside him, his expression breaking into a wide smile. “Suguru, are you seeing what I'm seeing?”

“I can't believe it.”

“Excuse me.” You interjected, regaining confidence as you grew impatient when both men left you out of the conversation. “Can you two help me with what I need?”

The white-haired man turned his attention back to you, as he exclaimed, “Right! I apologize for my poor manners.” He ascended the stairs to approach you, and when he did, he couldn't help but inspect you from head to toe, practically circling around your form.

“What—Why are you circling me? I noticed the way you two look at me. And I don't like it, it makes me uncomfortable.”

“Satoru, don't overwhelm the lady.” The black-haired man whose name is Suguru chided the other.

“My apologies again, I got a little carried away.” Satoru concedes, stepping back, and raising his hands in a placating gesture.

“A little?” You retort, crossing your arms together against your chest. “Are you going to stop circling around and staring down at me like a vulture?”

“Anyway,” He replied smoothly, discarding your insult. “I don't think I've properly introduced myself. My name is Satoru Gojo but you can call me just Satoru. And the gentleman behind me is Suguru Geto.”

“Very well,” You began your tone tinged with a hint of skepticism, as you proceeded to introduce yourself. “I am (Y/N).”

Satoru arched an eyebrow upon hearing your name. “(Y/N)?” he inquired with curiosity. “As the Grand Duchess (Y/N)?”

“Yes, apparently me and the Grand Duchess share the same name. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Pardon my curiosity, but do you not possess a last name?” Suguru was the one who interjected this time as he approached you and Satoru.

“Unfortunately, no.” You elaborated with a sigh, “I was found wandering alone when I was only ten years old.”

Satoru hummed thoughtfully as he listened to your words. “So, you're an orphan?” He remarked.

“Yes. I know it's strange,” You admitted, “But I don't recall much about my past, just scattered fragments.”

Satoru glanced back at Suguru, his expression unreadable, before muttering, “Perfect.”

“However.” You added, a glimmer of hope evident in your voice as you reached for the necklace adorning your collarbone. “I do have a clue. And that clue leads me to Paris. So, that's why I am here. I have been told you're the right person to help me obtain travel papers.”

“Hmm, well. It is a funny coincidence you see, since we both are heading to Paris.” He mused with a charming smile, digging a hand into one of his pockets, to reveal three gleaming tickets held in his hand. “But," he continued, his tone taking on a more serious note, “The third ticket belongs to the Grand Duchess.”

You gasped in astonishment as both men took hold of your arms and turned you around, directing your gaze to the portrait you had been studying earlier. “I'm not sure if you've noticed, my dear, but you bear a striking resemblance to the Grand Duchess.”

“I do?”

“Of course! Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? Your eyes, your physical stature, your hair, you even possessed Aleksandr’s smile.”

“And Agata's countenance.” Suguru chimed in, his agreement echoing Satoru's sentiment. “We are destined to reunite the Grand Duchess with her grandmother, Nadya Stroganov in Paris.”

You let out a laugh, unable to contain your disbelief. “Are you implying that I am the Grand Duchess?”

“Exactly.”

“Alright, you managed to confirm my theories, you two are crazy.”

Before you could turn around to leave, Satoru stood in your path. “Just think about it,” He urged. “You're headed to Paris in search of answers, aren't you? Perhaps you're looking for family, someone who can provide you answers of who you are. Your supposed family, and the Duchess's remaining family both reside in Paris. Do you need me to connect the dots any further?”

You tried to interject, but Satoru quickly pressed on. “Have you ever considered the possibility that you might be royalty?”

“I mean, isn't it every girl's dream to be a princess or something like that?”

Satoru let out a sigh before stepping closer to you, his imposing stature momentarily giving you pause, but you held your ground. “We're not discussing dreams here, we're talking about history.” He said earnestly.

You didn't even realize when he reached out and took your hand in his, offering a reassuring squeeze. “I'm giving you the opportunity to find out who you really are. And if you happen to be a duchess, then that's what we'll find out.”

Soon, he released your hand and returned the tickets into his coat. “But I won't pressure you anymore. This ticket is for the Grand Duchess, and since you believe you're not her, I can't do much but wish you good luck in finding your family.”

With that, he turned to leave, gesturing for Suguru to follow him. Both men descended the stairs, leaving you standing there in contemplation.

“What are you doing?” Suguru hissed in annoyance at his friend's earlier actions. "Are you seriously letting her go?”

“Relax,” Satoru replied, his voice under a whisper. "I had it all under control. Besides, do you honestly think she'll be able to make it to Paris without our help? She'll come around, you'll see.”

“I hope you're right.” Suguru groaned.

It didn't take long before your shout echoed through the palace. “Satoru, Suguru, wait!” you called out, as you ran towards them.

“See, I told you.” Satoru remarked with a smirk. Suguru rolled his eyes in response.

He swiftly turned around to face you, feigning surprise. “Oh, you called us?”

“Okay, fine. You're right on certain things.” You conceded. “I may not remember who I am, but who gets to say I'm not a duchess or a princess, or whatever she is right? And if I am not the duchess, they will know right away, and all it will be a simple mistake.”

Satoru nodded in agreement. “Sounds like the perfect plan.”

“Either way, it gets you to Paris.” Suguru added with an anticipated smile. “Is the best option you have.”

“He's right, sweetheart. So, Do we have a deal?”

Your lips curled into a smile as you nodded, taking his hand in a sudden shake. “Deal!” But Satoru quickly withdrew his hand, wincing in pain.

“Ah, I'm sorry—” You immediately offered your apologies, not expecting to hurt him with a simple handshake.

Satoru waved off your apology, swiftly returning to his usual demeanor. “After you, Your Grace.”

In that moment, the weight that had burdened you disappeared. Finally, you had the chance to find your family and fill the void that had haunted you for as long as you could recall.

“I cannot believe this. Can you at least sit up straight? Instead of slumping against the seat like a drunkard.”

“Oh, I am sorry. I never thought of you as a royal expert. But I guess that’s just me.”

“You’re funny. Isn’t she funny? Who do you think is going to teach you all the things you need to know to make it believable?”

“You know what? It’s going to be a long trip, and I don’t want to start on it with a headache. If you’re kind enough to shut your face for at least, I don’t know, the whole trip? I will appreciate it.”

“You—”

“Seriously, you two are already behaving like a married couple.” Suguru complains, trying to refocus his attention on the newspaper on his hands, it hasn’t been an hour inside the train and you and Satoru are at each other’s throat.

“Isn’t my fault that every little thing I do bothers him.”

“Well, the least you can do is listen to my advice. Instead of acting like a brat.” Satoru retorted, his tone tinged with frustration.

You narrowed your eyes, before you turned to look out the window beside you. Unable to bear the sight of the man in front of you. It would be a long trip, and there wasn't much to do but watch the landscape outside. However, that wasn't much of an option with everything covered in snow. So, Suguru kindly provided you with one of his books to entertain yourself for a while.

Soon, the tranquility was short-lived as Satoru returned from wherever he was, taking a seat beside you. “Listen,” He began, “I believe we got off on the wrong foot.”

“I believe we did, but I appreciate your apology for disturbing me ever since we met.” You acknowledged, not bothering to lift your eyes off the book on your hands.

Satoru chuckled. “Who mentioned anything about apologizing? I shouldn’t be apologizing when all I did was helping you. Instead, you should be apologizing to me.”

“Look,” You replied, setting down the book in your lap finally meeting his gaze, “I know there's a lot you want to teach me, but for now, all I want is some peace and quiet, especially from all your chattering.”

He scowled, shifting so he was seated across from you. “We really need to work on your behavior too. You're too rebellious.” He remarked sternly. After that, an uneasy silence settled between the two of you.

You couldn't bear the tension any longer, so you stood up to get some fresh air, away from him. However, your attempt was thwarted when both of his legs blocked your path. “Excuse me, could you move?” You asked, trying to maintain your composure.

He made no move to shift, his gaze wandering everywhere but to you. “Hello? Are you mute?” You tried again, hoping to regain his attention, your patient running low.

“Oh, forgive me.” Satoru quipped, a hint of sarcasm in his tone, “I thought you said you preferred silence.” Your frustration peaked, realizing you had no choice but to clamber out, stepping on the seats with your dirty shoes.

“Ugh, you're insufferable!” Those were your last words as you stepped out, slamming the door behind you.

It wasn't long before Suguru returned and took a seat beside the white-haired man. Upon noticing his expression, he couldn't help but inquire, “What's your problem?”

“She's my problem.” Satoru replied, gesturing towards the direction you went with a disgruntled expression. “I'm telling you, Suguru, that girl is getting on my nerves.”

“It's partially your fault.”

“How's that my fault?” He demanded, his tone defensive. “She’s impossible!”

“For starters, you have a habit of running your mouth like a fool.” Suguru said, punctuating his statement by hitting Satoru's mouth with the back of his book.

Hours passed by and the freezing weather contrasted with the cozy atmosphere of the train, lulling you into a deep sleep, as you stretched across your seat. Meanwhile, Satoru dozed off in an upright position, his arms folded across his chest, exhaustion dawning upon him.

But suddenly, he was jolted awake by a shake, his vision slowly starting to clear only to find his friend hovering over him, wearing a troubled expression. “Suguru? What's the matter?”

“We've got a problem. We need to head back to the luggage van. They'll realize our travel papers are fake; they've changed the colors.”

“What?” He exclaimed, rising from his seat and casting off the haze of slumber that clouded his senses.

“Quick, wake her from her slumber before we're discovered.” Suguru urged urgently, gathering the luggage before they could find them.

Great, another burden on his shoulder. Could this day get any worse?

“Do you really need to be this close to me?” Oh, it can. Isn’t like he wants to be this near you, but what can he do in this situation? There’s barely enough space for the three of you.

“I apologize, Your Grace but we are doing the best we can to get you to your destination.” Satoru responded, his tone polite yet tinged with a touch of annoyance.

The interior of the luggage van proved to be a stark contrast to the warmth of the train cabins. Clad in your worn coat, you clutched it tightly around your frame, seeking whatever warmth it could offer amidst the biting chill of the confined space. You just hope everything you’re going through, it will be worth it in the end.

(Y/N)!

Huh? A voice echoed through the cramped space of the luggage van. Surprised, you lifted your head, scanning the dimly lit surroundings for the source of the sound. However, none of the men present seemed to have uttered your name. Could it have been a figment of your imagination? A sudden sharp pain pierced through your senses, causing you to instinctively clutch your head in distress.

“Nana!” A childlike voice calls out.

“Oh, darling! How I missed you.” The elder woman dressed in opulent attires exclaimed, pulling the little girl into a warm embrace. “My sweet child, you have grown since our last encounter.”

“I have missed you too so much! Why don't you stay over at the palace more often, Nana?”

The elder woman smiled at her granddaughter's inquiry, raising her hand to caress her cheek tenderly. “I wish I could, my darling, but circumstances dictate otherwise. That's why I've brought you a small treasure.”

“A Treasure?” The little girl's eyes sparkled with excitement.

Soon, in her hands rested an oval-shaped music box, its exterior made of gold, adorned with delicate details, such as white shiny pearls, and intricate floral motifs. With a graceful motion, the elder woman retrieved a delicate key from around her neck, its intricate design catching the light as she held it aloft. Inserting the key into the ornate lock, it unveil the figures within. The dancing figures come to life with a beautiful melody echoing within the walls of the box, almost like they are trying to share a tale with those who are willing to listen. The girl's eyes widened in wonder as she beheld the mesmerizing sight before her, her heart filled with a sense of fascination.

“Whenever I am away, my dear, just imagine it's me singing to you.” She imparted tenderly, nestling the box into the young girl's palm. Afterward, she delicately fastened the necklace, ensuring the key and its ornate pendant rested against the girl's chest.

On the wind. Cross the sea. Heard this song and remember. Soon, you will be home with me. Once upon a December.

“(Y/N)!” Satoru's urgent voice broke through your daze, bringing you back to the present with a start. Gasping, you looked around in a panic, only to find yourself still in the cramped luggage van with the two men.

“Hey, what's wrong?” he says placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, trying to get your focus on him. Soon Suguru is by Satorus's side, his eyes carrying a hint of concern.

“I...I don't.” You began to stammer, the words catching in your throat, still in a state of disorientation.

Satoru noticed your state of mind, he grasped your hands with a firm squeeze. “Breathe, You're here with us.” He reassured.

Satoru's firm grip and comforting words eventually calmed the tempest raging within you, allowing you to draw a deep, steadying breath, regaining your composure as well.

A genuine smile spread across his lips, acknowledging your newfound calm. “Well done.”

“Are you alright?” Suguru's concerned inquiry drew your attention, prompting you to meet the anxious gazes of both men.

With a nod and a reassuring smile, you replied, “I'll be fine.” As you glanced down at your hands resting in your lap, you noticed that Satoru's grip still lingered. Satoru followed your gaze and noticed this right away. Clearing his throat, he releases you.

“Thank you.” You expressed your gratitude.

Satoru simply nodded in acknowledgment, avoiding your gaze. You were too busy observing the man in front of you, Suguru's comment barely went through your senses. “Ah, you two.”

The heartfelt moment was abruptly shattered by a violent jolt that sent the contents of the van tumbling and nearly threw you all against the walls. Satoru's swift reflexes prevented you from harm as he steadied you. “What is happening!” He exclaimed alarmed, as the three of you tried to make sense of the sudden chaos by rising from the floor. Suguru was the first to react, dashing towards the door to see what was going. As soon he swung it open, his eyes widened in shock at the sight before him—the van had become detached from the rest of the train.

“Crap.”

Satoru joined Suguru's side, his eyes widening in shock at the sight before them, not only the train is speeding at a dangerous pace but the coming railings magically disappeared. “We have to get off this train now.” He concludes to his friend, before proceeding to retrieve their luggage.

“What's happening?” You asked, your voice filled with concern.

“I don't know but this train is out of control, we need to get off this train unless you have a dying wish.”

“Are you insane? If we jump, we will be dead too!”

The van shakes you three once again, causing you all to lose equilibrium, you are running out of time and you must take a final decision. “It's now or never!” Satoru shouted, seizing their belongings and opening the other hatch with Suguru’s help. Thankfully, the grand amount of snow below would cushion the fall. With a grunt, the three of you leaped from the speeding train, landing safely in the soft, white snow below, as the train proceed to marched until it fell off the rails landing into the dark abyss.

Seeking for breath, you managed to lift your head off the snow, struggling to sit up. “Is everyone alright!”

Satoru was the first to confirm, groaning aloud and massaging the back of his head. “I think I've broken my neck.” He muttered in pain.

Suguru followed suit, running a hand through his black hair, “There goes our ride.” He lamented.

“There it goes my last chance in getting to know who I am.”

“Alright, everyone.” Satoru interposed, standing on his feet. “Let's not get discouraged, we'll find our way to Paris one way or another.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” You inquired, shaking the snow off your attire as you stood up.

“We'll start by heading straight until we reach Germany. From there, we'll catch a bus to take us further, and eventually, a boat will carry us to Paris.”

“But," Suguru added as he began to extract their luggage from the pile of snow, “before you meet the emperor, we have to visit someone else first.”

“What do you mean? I thought I would meet the empress first.”

Suguru cast a puzzled glance back at his friend, who shot him a glare when he revealed this information to you. “What? You wanted to keep it a secret until we got there? She deserves to know.”

“And who this someone I must see?”

“The empress's first cousin, her name is Marina. We have to pass through her first, to make it believable.” Suguru elucidate.

“Oh no, no, no! I was never told I was supposed to prove I was the grand Duchess,” You protested, your anger boiled over “I'm not exactly royal material!”

Satoru approached you, attempting to quell your anger. “That's precisely why we're here. We'll teach you everything you need to know.” Frustrated, you contemplated walking away, but the falling snow kept you rooted.

Suguru placed a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you to face him.

“I understand it's daunting, but you're not alone in this. There's nothing back there for you. However, you have a future awaiting you in Paris. Regardless of the truth, we will stick beside you. You're so close to finding the truth, let's not stop now.” Though hesitation still lingered within you, the sincerity shining in Suguru's deep black eyes compelled you to reconsider.

In the end, you relented with a sigh, “Fine. Teach me everything you know; it's not like I have any other options. Suguru nodded with a smile, releasing his hold on you.

Only for Satoru to step in, embracing you by the side. “Good decision; you won't regret it.”

You huffed, pushing him off you. “You talk too much.” you teased a hint of playfulness in your voice, despite your efforts to conceal the fact that you were growing fond of them. “Let's not waste any more time than, I'm freezing all over.”

“Get this little rascal out of here! We cannot afford to be late for the banquet!” A stern voice of a man demanded, harshly grabbing the little boy’s arm and dragging him out of the kitchen.

“Please forgive my son, sir. He's only eight years old, you know how children are.” Pleaded the gentle voice of his mother.

The other man scowled, releasing the boy and throwing him against his mother. “It better be the last time he does this” He growled.

The young one struggled to comprehend why he was looked down upon when he only wanted to fill his hunger.

“Listen to me you can't do this ever again, you heard me. Such actions cannot be repeated otherwise you will bring trouble for both of us.” His mother admonished with a tender yet firm tone. Unfortunately, constrained by his low status, there was little he could do but comply with commands. With his mother being a servant, he was bound by the same duties and obligations. However, in his heart, he wished for a life free from such hardships. Currently, he found himself seated on the steps leading to the grand garden, his stomach gnawing with hunger. Yet, his mother assured him that she would return with food once her tasks were fulfilled.

“Wow, Your eyes are like sapphires!” The sudden voice almost made his heart skip a beat. He turned his head toward the direction of the voice and saw a boy, probably younger than him, standing inches away from where he was seated. As he studied the boy's attire, he realized that he was likely part of the royal family.

“Anatoly!” A feminine voice echoed through the halls, halting him in his tracks. “You shouldn't wander off like that.” Soon, his eyes met those of a stunning girl of his age, clad in exquisite and graceful attire, her visage radiant under the golden sunlight. She was absolutely gorgeous.

“Sister, I've made a new friend.” The boy announced eagerly, his eyes bright with anticipation. The other girl, puzzled, followed her brother's gaze until it settled on the boy seated nearby.

The girl and the boy with sapphire eyes and white locks locked gazes for what felt like an eternity before she pierced the silence with her sweet voice. “I didn't know we had company. I'm (Y/N). Nice to meet you.”

He felt like a fool, unable to tear his gaze away from the beautiful girl standing before him. Pushing down his true feelings, he spoke softly. “I'm Satoru. Nice to meet you too.” Since that encounter, the two children began to sneak out to play with him, vowing to keep their little secret playtime hidden from others. Maybe being the son of a servant isn't such a terrible thing after all.

“What is this?” You remarked, eyeing the garment in Satorus's hands with a raised eyebrow after he announced he had bought it for you along with other things.

“A dress? Have you not seen a dress before?”

You rolled your eyes at his comment. “Yes, I have seen dresses, but this isn't a dress. This is a tent.” The dress boasted a striking hue, yet its extraordinary length certainly caught the eye.

“Stop jesting, will you?” Satoru chided, handing you the garment. “Go and try it on.”

“I suppose this will have to do. My appearance barely is enough to represent such status.”

Satoru paused, his stride halting as the uncertainty in your voice caught his attention. Slowly, he turned to face you, his gaze piercing yet tender as it met yours. “I hope you're not serious. This is just a simple dress. Your true beauty lies beyond the fabric.” His words caught you off guard, and you found yourself momentarily speechless. As you met his gaze, you could feel your heart fluttering in your chest. Did he really mean all of it? Then, without warning, Satoru found himself drawn closer to you, his hand reaching out to delicately sweep aside a stray tendril of hair that veiled your countenance, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “You are already beautiful, this should be the least of your concerns.”

Immobile, you found yourself under his intense gaze, not knowing what to do in his kind of situation. All that escaped your lips was a mere whisper, “Satoru...”

Realization washed over him like a tide, swiftly withdrawing his touch. “I... I shall await you upstairs.” He stated, his words bearing the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Of course.” You replied, trying to regain composure, though your heart raced restlessly. What was all that about?

Suguru was busy reading one of his books before his eye caught Satoru's disheveled appearance coming from downstairs a smirk dancing on his lips. “What happened to you?” He quipped, unable to resist teasing his friend.

“Shut it.” Satoru retorted tersely, taking a seat across from his friend and joining his arms together against his chest.

The white-haired boy found himself laughing hysterically at the sight of his friend struggling with the snug dress, his stomach already hurting from laughing nonstop. “Are you preparing to perform at a circus?”

The little girl went to smack the boy's shoulder, not finding anything amusing about his comment. Her excitement from earlier of showing her attire to her friend vanished. “You're so mean. This is my dancing dress, something you wouldn't understand.” She retorted with an eye roll.

He hummed thoughtfully as he circled around her, inquiring, “Dancing dress, huh?”

“Hmm, that's what Mother calls it.”

The boy nodded stopping his inspection, extending his hand towards the girl. “Can you at least teach this servant boy how to dance, or do you not know how to yet?”

The other girl became flustered by his teasing, replying, “Of course, I know how to dance! Just watch me!”

She went to take the boy's hand, recalling what she had been taught, except she was a little nervous, counting the steps inside her head. In her nervousness, she accidentally stepped on the other's foot. “Ow! Watch where you're stepping!”

“It's your fault.” She bickers back, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“You're hopeless.” the other boy teased, sticking out his tongue.

“Uff! I don't want to dance anymore. Let's do something else." she suggested.

Before she could turn around, the other boy called her out. “You know, I lied earlier.” He confessed, taking the other by surprise.

“About what?”

“The dress looks nice on you.” he admitted, averting his gaze.

She hummed proudly. “I knew you were lying.”

“Though your dancing skills are terrible, you may kill someone with those steps.”

“Shut up.” She retorted with a playful grin.

Satoru winced as Suguru out of nowhere, nudged his side. “The dress you chose was impeccable, it suits her splendidly” Suguru remarked, directing his gaze toward you. Satoru followed suit, and the sight before him left him breathless. Indeed, Suguru's observation was astute; the dress he had selected appeared to be crafted specifically for you. With your hair elegantly gathered in a ponytail, framing your visage, and the attire gracefully embracing your form, Satoru found himself unable to tear his eyes away from you.

“Why don't you ask her for a dance?” Suguru prodded Satoru, gesturing subtly in your direction.

Right...Right!

He quickly approached you, extending his hand with a gallant gesture. “May I have this dance?” he asked, a hint of nervousness underlying his confident demeanor.

You accepted with a smile, feeling a flutter of excitement growing in your chest. “You may.”

Both of you commenced a waltz, the graceful movements flowing seamlessly between you, synchronized as if you had danced together for years. Initially, you took the lead, your steps hesitant yet eager, but Satoru swiftly took over, guiding you with a gentle touch and a patient demeanor. The sun began its descent, casting hues of gold and orange across the sky, adding a touch of grace to the scene.

“I think I'm feeling a little lightheaded." You eventually confessed with a laugh, “I think it's because of all the spinning.”

Satoru chuckled, his hold on you still firm. “Me too.”

And there it was, the same expression from earlier, as though he wanted to confess something to you. You didn't even realize the dance had stopped. The two of you could only gaze into each other's eyes, with a thousand unspoken words lingering between you. Soon, both of your faces were mere inches apart, and you could feel the anticipation building in the air. With bated breath, you closed your eyes, leaning forward ever so slightly. However, his touch never came. When you opened your eyes, you found him gazing at your lips with a resigned expression.

“You're doing well.” He murmured softly, releasing his hold on you before turning away, leaving you in a whirlwind of emotions and unanswered questions.

You were tempted to reach out for him, yet a sense of intuition urged you to allow him his space. Suguru, with a resigned sigh, positioned himself beside you. “He's always been this way. Just give him time.”

As night descended, the confines of the shared room enveloped you. Satoru offered you the bed to you, opting for the floor, while Suguru claimed the upper bunk. Despite the weariness that settled upon the men, sleep eluded you, your mind a labyrinth of restless contemplation. After what felt like hours your mind gradually surrendered to the soothing embrace of sleep, offering a temporary respite from the whirlwind of thoughts and uncertainties that had plagued your consciousness. Anyway, it doesn't matter what you think anymore, you're this close to getting to Paris, it's too late to retract at this point.

Sister, sister, another reverie enfolds, could be another one of those dreams that have plagued your mind lately? In a blink, it whisked you back to the resplendent palace back in your hometown, except everything looked so vivid as opulent chandeliers cast a radiant glow upon the grandeur that surrounded it. Almost like you were pulled back into a memory.

Sister! The persistence of the voice compelled you to turn in its direction. As soon as you do, you are arrested by the vision of a young woman, her countenance aglow with the radiance of youth. Could it be?

A “Mariya.” escapes your lips, recognizing her as the esteemed Grand Duchess from the regal portrait. Why is the Grand Duchess in your dream?

She stands before you, extending her hand to clasp yours, drawing you into her embrace with an air of familiarity. “Sister, how you've blossomed!” She exclaims, her words imbued with a prescient warmth. “I always harbored the conviction that you would metamorphose into a vision of ethereal beauty.” You were lost for words upon hearing her kind words, an urge to return the gesture grew within you and before you could reciprocate the symphony of approaching footsteps reverberated through the hallowed halls, heralding the arrival of two other figures, sprinting towards you with effervescent joy.

“Sister!” They cry in unison, enfolding you in their sisterly embrace. They orbit you with peals of laughter, their adulation palpable in every word.

“You look resplendent, sister.” They proclaim, their gazes alighting upon your attire. You followed their eyes, casting your eyes downward, you behold yourself draped in a resplendent gown of sunlit hue, cascading in luxurious swathes to grace your ankles. Its neckline, artfully sculpted to accentuate the delicate curve of your collarbone, is bedecked with the finest of jewels, each gem a testament to regal heritage. In this moment, you embody the very essence of a Grand Duchess, ensconced in a tapestry of magnificence befitting your exalted station.

Startled, you gingerly lift the edges of your gown, your fingers delicately tracing the intricate patterns woven into the fabric. As your gaze sweeps over your attire, a sense of wonderment floods your senses. Adverting your gaze off the attire, your eyes landed on the two girls who claimed they were your sisters. Tatyana and Sofiya Stroganov.

The two sisters, sensing your amazement, share an affectionate glance before each taking one of your hands in theirs. “We've missed you dearly, come on join us.” they chime in unison, their voices a melodious symphony of sisterly affection. With a mischievous glint in their eyes, they gently tug on your hands, urging you to join them in a playful dance. Your heart sings with joy as you join in the merry dance, the sensation of belonging washing over you like a gentle tide. With each move across the polished expanse of the palace floor, you feel a sense of liberation, as if the weight of the world has been lifted from your shoulders. The grandeur of the palace fades into the background as you become lost in the joy of the moment, spinning and twirling with your sisters in a blissful reverie. This is where you belong.

As the dance of joy reaches its crescendo, the touch of your sisters vanishes. With a start, you open your eyes to find that your sisters were never there, their presence merely a figment of your imagination. A pang of longing courses through your heart, tears threatening to spill at the harsh truth that lies ahead. As you stand in solitude amidst the resplendent opulence of the palace, a voice pierces through the silence, drawing your attention like a beacon in the night.

“Darling.”

Turning towards the sound, your heart skips a beat as you behold the imposing figure of Czar Aleksandr, standing before you. Strangely a surge of emotion wells up within you as you struggle to find your voice.

“Father.” You whisper, the word escaping your lips in a hushed breath, laden with vulnerability. As he draws near, his gaze tender yet inscrutable, you are overcome by a sense of trepidation mingled with hope.

“My beautiful, beautiful daughter.” The words uttered with a tenderness that cuts through the air like a sharp blade, bring forth a flood of emotions that you can no longer contain. Despite your efforts to maintain composure, tears spill uncontrollably down your cheeks, each drop a testament to the depth of your longing and the ache of unfulfilled yearning. The walls you had erected around your heart crumble, leaving you vulnerable and exposed before him. His hands, weathered yet gentle, reach out to cradle your face. His lips pressed softly against your forehead in a gesture of paternal love. I want to stay, in this whimsical fantasy, I wish to stay, to fill this void inside of me. Lifting your gaze from the tender touch of your father, you are surprised to see you have more company approaching. A woman, dignified yet weary, walks hand in hand with a young boy whose steps falter with each limp.

“Mother, Anatoly.” you whisper, the words escaping your lips in a breathless murmur.

“Sweetheart.” Your mother's voice carries a soothing melody as she speaks. “Please cease those tears do not cry anymore.” How can you not cry when they are gone while you are living carefree.

“Sister, dont cry.” Anatoly's voice floats towards you as he approaches your side, enfolding your waist in a tender embrace.

With a sweep of your hand, you wipe away the tears that cling to your cheeks. You caress the top of Anatoly's head, imparting a silent reassurance. “Alright, I will not cry no more.”

With your reassurance, Anatoly went to his mother's side. With a heavy heart, you watch as your beloved parents, accompanied by Anatoly, begin to depart, turning their backs on you their figures receding into the shadows. A sense of panic grips you as you realize that they are slipping away, leaving you behind in a world suddenly devoid of their comforting presence. Desperate to hold onto the fleeting moment of togetherness, you try to follow them but find your feet rooted to the ground as if held fast by invisible chains. You pleaded desperately, begging them to stay with you, just a little longer, even if all of this wasn't real.

“Please don't leave me.” You cry out into the void, the sound of your own voice reverberating off the walls. You shut your eyes tightly, seeking solace in the darkness of your solitude.

“They are gone.” A voice halted your crying, drawing your attention to the unfamiliar surroundings around you. Gazing around the unknown space, you find yourself no longer surrounded by the grandeur of the palace.

“Who's there?” you shouted, scanning the surroundings, only to find an abrupt shift in the atmosphere, shrouded in an eerie feeling that unsettled your senses.

“They are dead, why must you persist?” The voice echoed, causing your breath to quicken and a ringing sensation to fill your ears. “They are dead, do you think they would want to see you?” it continued, each word weighing heavily on your heart.

“Please, stop.” You begged helplessly, but the voice persisted, recounting a harrowing tale. “Apprehended against their will, deceived they were, reunited in a dimly lit room for a photo, unaware of the impending danger.” they continued, its words painting a vivid picture of despair each syllable piercing through your soul like a dagger. “Countless firearms lifted and directed toward them, shooting at gunpoint without hesitation. Their blood mingled with each other, the blood of your father, mother, your sisters, and your brother Anatoly, who couldn't have the chance to heal and walk like a normal boy. The Czar was a despiteful leader, he's the one who made his people suffer with empty promises, and caused the demise of his family.”

Feeling overwhelmed by everything, you let cry out a gut-wrenching cry, till it tears the walls of your throat.

“You should have died that night along with them. You have no right to breathe when they were the ones who met a tragic end.”

With ragged breaths, you unleash a defiant shout into the void, your voice ringing out with fierce determination. “Show yourself, coward. Show yourself if you are brave enough to denigrate my family!”

As the sound of dragging chains fills the air, a primal sense of fear grips you, rendering you momentarily paralyzed in its icy grip. Emerging from the shadows like a specter from the depths of your darkest nightmares, a figure cloaked in brown, tattered coat steps into view. Though, his face remains hidden.

“(Y/N). Poor innocent (Y/N) Looking for a family who no longer exists.” The voice taunts the words laced with venomous contempt. Each repetition is a cruel mockery of your goals.

“Who are you?” You inquire with a trembling voice.

“Ah,” He says, feigning offense, his words dripping with disdain. “Are you saying you don't remember me? But of course, you barely recall your family. What would you remember about this old man?”

A pang of confusion grips you as you struggle to make sense of his words.

He emmited a low chuckle witnessing your struggle. “Think, carefully. December 18th, 1916.”

“Oh, Nana thank you so much for this treasure!” The little girl expressed brightly holding her gift close.

The elder woman caresses her granddaughter's locks, as she murmurs softly with a vow, “It will be our secret lullaby.” Promising a melody to cherish in the days to come.

But the tranquility is shattered by a disheartening scream that pierced through the air, drawing the attention of all within the palace walls. Eyes turns towards the entrance as a man, his features twisted into a menacing scowl, while he strides bodily into the grand hall, his presence commanding respect and instilling fear in those who dare to meet his gaze.

The Czar immediately went to block the man’s path. “How dare you come here. You’re no longer welcome!”

The other man laughed, not believing the Czar’s words. “Ah, Aleksandr. I thought we were family, how can you speak to me that way? After all we have been though.”

“You have lost the right to call us your family. Not after you have done to my son Anatoly. You are a traitor!”

“You questioned my methods without seeing the results.” He roared. “That boy won’t heal without my helps and you know it, Czar.”

“Those methods you say, are vile, impure. I refuse to let my family under your malicious intents.” The Czar stated with unyielding resolve. “Now leave! I never want to see your face ever again!”

“So is that how it will be, Czar?” He sneered.

“You dare to disrespect the great Rasputin.” He continues, his voice rising with indignation. “Very well, so I shall place a curse upon you and your family.”

The Czar’s expression hardens, his jaw set in a grin line as he braces himself against the impending threat. “You dare to threaten me and my family?”

With a wave of his hand, Rasputin conjures a powerful gust of wind that swept a through the palace, rattling the doors and windows with an otherworldly force.

“Oh, I dare.” He declares, “Listen to my words. You and your family will meet your demise on the fourth night. And I will not rest until I see the Stroganov’s linage gone!”

“(Y/N). That man sounds scary.” You chuckled at Annie’s comment in the middle of your storytelling. Ruffling her hair affectionately, you reassured her.

“Don’t worry. Those are tales, It wouldn’t be possible that the Stroganov’s family was wiped out by a man’s curse.”

“Rasputin!”

The man hummed, “Now you know who am I.”

“You—Why did you killed my family?” You demand, your question hanging in the air like a dark cloud.

“I won’t explain my motives to a dull girl like you. Just know that I won’t rest until I see you dead too.” With a swift movement, he seized your wrist, his grasp like iron unyielding as he pulled you closer to him. With this proximity, his features came into view, you can see his countenance filled with malevolence. “I will follow your every move until I see you draw your last breath!”

“Let me go!” Your cries are unheard , as darkness envelops you in a suffocating embrace, leaving you powerless. (Y/N)…

(Y/N)!

Gasping loudly, you awaken from your slumber, your heart racing with panic as you struggle to orient yourself. “(Y/N)!” Someone calls out to you, yet their voice remains a distant echo in the recesses of your mind. Your mind is consumed by the tumultuous images that still linger in your subconscious.

Soon strong hands grip your face, trying to connect you back in the present. Then, your focus started to take place, as your eyes met with the sight of Satoru’s face. His eyes search yours with concern. “(Y/N), can you heard me?”

“What…What happened?” You managed to utter.

“You had a nightmare.” Satoru explains gently. “I sensed something was wrong and I followed you. You left the room in your sleep and got here. If I haven’t gotten in time, you probably would have jumped off the boat.”

In that moment, the weight of your despair crashes over you like a tidal wave, unable to hold back your feelings. With a chocked sob, you launch yourself into his arms, seeking comfort in the warmth of his embrace.

“It was horrible, Satoru.” You whispered, sinking your face into his chest.

Satoru holds you close, his embrace turning into a refuge from the turmoil that rages within you. “It’s alright. It was just a nightmare. I’m here, I won’t leave you alone.”

Never again.

“Marina, I cannot endure this any longer.” Startled, Marina turned to see the elder woman standing before her, her gaze filled with concern, upon hearing the pain lacing in her voice.

“Mademoiselle, whatever do you mean?”

“I can't bear to see other girls claiming to be my grandmother.” She confesses, her heart heavy with the weight of the deception that surrounds her. “My heart cannot endure it any longer.”

“Mademoiselle, I know it's a painful thing to do. If I may speak frankly isn't the time yet to lose our hopes. I believe your niece is alive somewhere in the world. You just have to let her come to you.”

“Marina, I have no desire to discuss that matter any further.” The elder woman states firmly. “Can't you see that I'm getting older? I don't wish to torture me this way anymore, I shall let my family rest in peace..”

“But, Imperial Highness” Marina begins, but she is swiftly interrupted.

“Please, respect my wishes.” She implores, her final words carrying a weight of finality that brooks no argument. With a sorrowful glance, she turns and leaves the room.

“Ah, her Imperial Highness is so stubborn.” Marina murmured under her breath, a sigh escaping her lips. She then turned her attention to the letter that lay before her, penned by her beloved Suguru.

“When on earth will you be arriving?” She mused aloud. According to his letter, her beloved explains he had found someone who could potentially be the Grand Duchess, a discovery that filled Marina with a sense of optimism. Perhaps this newfound lead would be enough to persuade her Imperial Highness to reconsider her stance to meet with the woman, and to finally be reunited with her lost family.

Three days later, Marina receives word that her beloved Suguru will finally be arriving. Ecstatic, she waits eagerly at her house, anticipation coursing through her veins as she counts down the moments until his arrival.

When Suguru finally arrives at the door, Marina's heart leaps with joy. “Suguru!" She exclaims excitedly, rushing forward to greet him with open arms. Pulling him close, she presses her lips to his in a tender kiss, savoring the sweetness of their reunion.

“Oh, how I missed you.” Marina whispers, her voice filled with genuine affection as she gazes into Suguru's eyes, her heart overflowing with love for the man who holds her heart.

“I have missed you too, my love.” Suguru replies, his voice tinged with warmth as he returns her embrace.

Ahem.

Right. How could she forget that she would be having more company? With a sheepish smile, Marina reluctantly departs from Suguru's embrace and turns her attention to the others who have arrived. “Please, come right in.”

Once inside, Marina finds herself staring at you in awe, her eyes widening with a sense of wonder as she takes in your appearance. How is this possible. “Darling, you look so alike to the Grand Duchess.” she murmurs, forgetting about everyone else. None of those girls before has come to look so much to the Grand Duchess, but now you are here standing in front of her with so much resemblance, it almost feels like a dream come true.

Being aware of her intense gaze, Marina quickly apologizes, realizing her lapse in manners. “Ah, where are my manners? Please, come sit down, darling,” she says, gesturing towards a comfortable chair. As you settle into your seat, the afternoon unfolds with Marina gently probing you with a series of questions, her curiosity piqued by the striking resemblance you bear to the Grand Duchess. Each inquiry is met with thoughtful consideration and measured responses, as you strive to convince her of the truth of your identity.

“May I ask,” Marina begins, her tone serious as she broaches a difficult topic, “how do you manage to escape the rot that night?” As her question lingers in the air, you feel a flicker of memory stirs within you, fragments of the past dancing at the edges of your consciousness. Slowly, tentatively, you begin to speak, the words flowing with a newfound ease as you recall the events of that fateful night.

“There was... a boy.” you start, your voice soft but steady as if the memories are pulling you back into the depths of the past. “I was with my Nana, trying to retrieve something out from a room. And then, out of nowhere, the boy appeared.”

As you speak, the images come flooding back to you, vivid and tangible as if you were reliving the moment all over again. “He guided us." You continued “into a secret passage, and there, hidden within the walls, was a door.”

A nervous chuckle escapes your lips as you meet the gazes of those around you, the absurdity of the tale dawning upon you. “I know it sounds silly, doesn't it?” You admit, a wry smile playing at the corners of your lips. “Doors in walls, secret passages...”

Suguru lifts his gaze, searching for his friend, who remains silent and contemplative as you recount your tale. Sensing the weight of his thoughts, Satoru stands abruptly, excusing himself from the room. Suguru follows suit, his concern evident in his furrowed brow as they step outside into the cool embrace of the evening air. Satoru runs a hand through his white hair, his expression troubled and distant. Unaware of his friend's presence at first, he seems lost in thought.

“That boy...” Suguru finally speaks, “It was you, wasn't it?”

Satoru sighed heavily, “It doesn't matter who I was.”

“It should matter, if she is telling the truth, then you saved their lives.”

“She's telling the truth, she is the Grand Duchess.”

Suguru's eyes widen with a mixture of surprise and disbelief as he searches for confirmation. “Are you sure?”

In response, Satoru nods solemnly, as he affirms. “Yes, I am sure.”

Before Suguru can respond, your joyful voice interjects, breaking the tension. “Guys, Marina says we can meet the Empress tonight at Palais Garnier!”

Satoru nuldged his friend side, “Let's go.”

Paris was a world away from your hometown, each corner exuding an air of glamour and sophistication that took your breath away. Everywhere you looked, there were exquisite attires and fashionable individuals, each one adding to the city's allure and charm. As you navigate the bustling streets of Paris, Marina insists on paying for your attire for tonight's event. Touched by her willingness to go above and beyond to ensure your comfort and confidence as you prepare to meet the Empress, you decided to push aside your fears at least for tonight. As the night descended upon Paris, Marina, Suguru, and Satoru stood outside, resplendent in their finest attire, each one exuding an air of elegance and sophistication befitting the occasion. Satoru, in particular, with his hair neatly styled, looked even more striking. As they were chattering along with each other, they didn't even realize the moment you called out for them.

“Should we go inside?”

Upon hearing your voice, Satoru's eyes widen at the sight of you, his expression filled with genuine admiration and awe. Can you be any more beautiful than you already are? The dress they have picked for you looks absolutely stunning, accentuating your every curve and contour with effortless grace. Its swirling blue color shines under the lights of the place, casting an ethereal glow that illuminates your beauty even further. And the pearls adorning your neck and hair add a touch of timeless elegance. Regaining his composure, Satoru steps forward, his demeanor composed and dignified as he approaches your side. With a graceful gesture, he extends his arm for you to enlace yours with his, a silent invitation to join him on this journey into the heart of the opera house.

“Shall we, your grace?” With a gentle smile and a nod of agreement, you accept his invitation, intertwining your arm with his. The four of you indulge in the beauty of the opera house, taking in the ornate architecture and lavish décor that surrounds you. As you wander through the opulent halls, Paris continues to impress you with its timeless charm and undeniable allure. With its aesthetic and the acts that were on display.

Once the acts of the opera were concluded, it was time for the much-anticipated meeting with the Empress. As you stood by Satoru's side, a sense of anxiety gnawed at your nerves, threatening to overwhelm you.

Sensing your apprehension, Satoru gently grips your hand in his, his touch a reassuring anchor in the sea of uncertainty. “It will be alright.” he whispers, his voice filled with unwavering confidence and support. “You are the Grand Duchess. I am sure that once the Empress sees you, she will know right away.”

“I will go first to introduce you. Wait here.” Satoru assures you. He releases your hand and steps forward, he prepares to approach the Empress on your behalf.

Marina first signals for Satoru to enter, “She's right there please approach her carefully.”

Once inside, Satoru parts the curtains in front of him, revealing the Empress sitting with her back facing him. With careful steps, he approaches her.

“Your Imperial Highness,” Satoru begins, his voice measured. The Empress turns her gaze to him, her expression serious as she observes him with little interest. “Who are you?” she inquires, her tone sharp and direct from where she was seated.

“Allow me to introduce myself, I am Satoru Gojo. I was a servant back at the Stroganov Palace.”

She quirked an eyebrow at this, with a little interest growing inside of her. “And what's the purpose of your visit?”

“Your Highness, please allow me to speak freely. I have come all the way from Russia with the purpose of bringing your granddaughter back to you, she is waiting outside and—”

“I have heard enough.” She cut him off, rising from her seat, leaving the man behind puzzled by her words.

“Your Highness, wait!” He quickly went after her.

“I know what you are after.” the Empress interrupts, “You are after my money. Do you think I am naive just because I am old?”

Satoru's expression remains composed, his eyes meeting hers with a steady gaze. “Your Imperial Highness,” he begins, his tone respectful but firm. “I assure you, my intentions are not what you presume.”

But before he can continue, the Empress points a finger toward him, her tone accusatory. “I have heard of you,” She declares, her words cutting through the air like a knife, recognizing his name at that moment. “You are a con man from Saint Petersburg who holds auditions in hopes of finding an actress that can play the perfect (Y/N). I will not see anyone else don't you understand? Aren't you ashamed you're hurting this old woman with false hopes? You can teach her everything, but in the end is never my lovely (Y/N). I won't fall for your twisted games.”

“Please, I am not trying to trick you!”

“I will not listen anymore, so I kindly ask you to leave, otherwise I will have to throw you out.”

“I am telling you, she's the Grand Duchess, you just have to see!” His words fall on deaf ears as the Empress ignores him, calling for her guards.

“Please remove this awful man out of my sight!” With rough hands, Satoru is dragged out of the room, and thrown outside like a common criminal. As he kneels on the ground, frustration coursing through him. He has to keep trying otherwise, all this was for nothing. Suddenly his eyes catch a glimpse of your dress, so he lifts his head only to meet an exasperated expression placed on your face. He saw the hurt and betrayal reflected in your eyes.

“You used me?” You accuse, your voice laced with pain. At that moment, Satoru realizes the gravity of his mistake. You have heard everything—he knows he has lost your trust now.

“(Y/N), wait!” Satoru calls out urgently as you try to leave the place. He grabs your hand, turning you around to face him. “Let me explain.”

You push his touch off, your voice trembling with anger. “I can't believe I actually believed you, that I trusted you, that I even fell... Ugh!” You shake your head in frustration, unable to find the words to express the depth of your disappointment. That you fell in love with him.

“You what?” Satoru asks, hope glinting in his eyes as he awaits your response.

“Forget about it, I dont want to see you ever again.”

As you try to break free from Satoru's grasp, he proves to be quicker, dragging you towards an isolated hall where he traps you against the wall, holding you hostage. Before you can protest, his lips are already pressed against yours with a desperate intensity, his hands framing your face as he kisses you with a fervor that leaves you breathless. You try to push him away, your hands pressing against his chest in a feeble attempt to resist his advances. But the way his lips move against yours, the warmth of his touch, sends a shiver down your spine and ignites a fire within you. Against your better judgment, you find yourself succumbing to the passion of the moment, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as you reciprocate the kiss with equal fervor. In that fleeting moment, nothing else matters except the electric connection between you and Satoru. You reluctantly pull away, gasping for air and grappling with the tumult of emotions raging within you, staring at his eyes with a hint of uncertainty.

“I may have done this in the beginning solely for the money,” he admits, his gaze searching yours for any sign of understanding. “But things have changed. I realized you were indeed the Grand Duchess, and I wanted to reunite you with your family after everything you have been through. You have no idea how much it hurt me to think all these years about what happened to you, what if I could have done more.”

“You mean...?”

“Yes, I was that silly servant boy you were friends with also the one who helped you escape with your nana that night.” With Satoru's revelation, the pieces of the puzzle finally fall into place. Now, you know why his name sounded so familiar, you already knew him ages ago.

“What do you suggest I do? My nana doesn't wish to see me.”

Satoru's touch was gentle as he brought your hands together, his lips brushing against your knuckles in a tender kiss. “Leave it to me. Please return to Marina's place with Suguru, I will catch up with you later.” With a sense of resolve in his voice, he walked away. As you watched him go, a spark of hope ignited in your heart, trusting Satoru's word.

Gather round, my fellow compatriots, for too long have we borne the weight of inequality upon our shoulders, shackled by the indifference of the privileged. We will no longer be insects they can easily step on. We shall rise, resplendent in our righteous fury, and cast off the chains that bind us. So rise, my brothers and sisters, let us claim our rightful place, and put an end to the stroganovs!

“(Y/N), where are you going!” The older woman struggled to keep pace with her granddaughter, their footsteps echoing through the palace corridors as they attempted to reach the exit amidst the chaos of the citizens' invasion in the dead of night. The young girl suddenly freed herself from her grandmother's grasp, her determination driving her onward as she hastened toward her quarters.

“My music box!”

Once inside, she swiftly shut the heavy door behind them, and soon the muffled echoes of distant shotguns reverberated through the walls. “We don't have time for this!” the older woman admonished her granddaughter, her voice tinged with urgency as she surveyed their surroundings.

There was... a boy.

“Your Highnesses, over here!” A voice, beckons to them, drawing their attention towards a boy adorned in humble attire with locks as white as snow.

He guided us into a secret passage.

With a gesture, he leads them towards a concealed passage in the wall, where a hidden door awaits.

“This way!” He instructs them, “Through the servants' quarters, straight ahead without stopping.”

Navigating through the bustling streets, guided by the boy with white locks, the elderly woman and her granddaughter finally found themselves outside the confines of the palace. With the next train about to depart, they hastened towards the station. Amidst the crowds, the elderly woman managed to board the train first. But the little girl struggled to keep up, her small legs unable to match the pace of the frantic crowd.

“Sweetheart, run!” her grandmother's desperate plea rang out, her voice tinged with fear as she reached out for her granddaughter's hand, urging her to hasten her steps.

In a cruel twist of fate, just as their hands locked together, the girl's grip slipped, causing her to lose her balance and plummet to the ground. With a sickening thud, her head struck the pavement, rendering her unconscious in an instant.

(Y/N)!!

February 25th -The family of Czar Aleksandr, the former emperor was found dead, with authorities presuming fatal gunshot wounds as the cause leaving no survivors to shed light on the harrowing events.

“Your Imperial Highness!”

“Marina, my family is dead!” Even if it looks like the end, Nadya refused to let it be. Among the bodies, (Y/N)’s body wasn’t found. She knows her last grandchild is alive.

My lovely (Y/N), wherever you are. Please come back to me.

As the minutes ticked by with no sign of Satoru's return, you found yourself pacing the confines of the room Marina had graciously offered. Was your Nana still refusing to see you? Perhaps Satoru couldn't catch up with her in time. Perhaps Satoru couldn't catch up with her in time.

At the sound of a knock on your door, you hurried to answer, heart pounding with anticipation. “Satoru, is that you?” You called out, relief flooding your voice. “Oh, I was so worried, I—!” But your words faltered as the door creaked open, revealing a figure whose unexpected presence left you speechless.

“Your Imperial Highness?”

“Not quite who you expected?” With a quickly courteous bow, you welcomed her into your room without further comment.

The older woman entered the room dragging her dress behind her, while her back was facing you. “I have to say, that boyfriend of yours is really persistent, to the point where he practically dragged me here by replacing my driver.”

He did what!

“Your Imperial Highness. Please accept my apologies, I never wanted this to happen—” You began, feeling a sense of responsibility for the unexpected situation.

She abruptly turns around, cutting off your words with a piercing gaze. “I see that he has trained you well, teaching you how to look, speak, and act like royalty. Well, I can say you’re different from the other candidates I’ve seen. They are terrible actresses if you ask me.”

She walked across the room, her steps measured and deliberate, until she was seated directly in front of you. Her scrutinizing gaze swept over your form. “Just who are you?”

You began to fidget with your hands, lowering your gaze. “I was hoping you would tell me.”

Sighing softly, she continued, her tone weighted with sorrow. “I've grown weary of countless girls claiming to be my beloved grandchild. For ten long years, I've searched tirelessly, hoping to find her, only to be disappointed time and again. I believe it’s time for me to finally move on and accept that my family is gone. So, please I beg you to stop searching for me.”

“Your Highness, I don't intend to deceive you.” You confessed with sincerity but isn't enough to conceive her.

The woman raised her eyebrow, her grip tightening on her cane as she awaited your response. “Then what is it that you seek? Money, a Reputation? What is that you want from me?”

Your gaze shifted to the spot beside her, unable to meet her eyes as you grappled with the weight of her questions. Upon noticing your request, Her Highness nodded, patting the space with her hand, and inviting you to sit down.

As the two of you sat in silence, the weight of the moment hung heavily in the air until a subtle change in her tone drew your attention. “What is that?”

You followed her gaze, noticing she was staring intently at the pendant adoring your collarbone.

“This..?” You began, the words catching in your throat for a moment as you reached up to touch the necklace, “...Well, I've had it for as long as I can remember.” A sheepish smile crossed your lips as you traced the intricate design with your fingertips.

“May I have a look?” She asks in a whisper, her voice barely audible.

You nodded, carefully removing the necklace from your neck and placing it on her outstretched hand.

“Together in Paris..” She reads out, her voice soft with curiosity.

You offer a slight nod, “Yes, that's precisely why I come here. To uncover whether I belong to a family, if I belong to yours.”

The woman's hands trembled as she continued to hold the necklace. “I cannot believe this.” she whispered, her tone becoming increasingly waver.

“Your higness?”

“Here, hold this.” She says, gently returning your necklace to you, before extracting a box from her belongings.

It's the same box you've seen countless times in your dreams. It's... “My music box!”

Taking your necklace once again, she reveals that it's a key to the box. She uses it to unlock the box, and as she opens it, the room is filled with a familiar lullaby. You feel a rush of emotions as the haunting melody fills the air, transporting you back to cherished memories.

“This melody…”

You begin to hum along with the melody, your voice blending seamlessly with the notes. Soon, your Nana joins in, her voice gentle and melodic as she sings along with you. Together, the two of you create a harmonious duet, lost in the magic of the moment.

On the wind. Cross the sea. Heard this song and remember. Soon, you will be home with me. Once upon a December.

“Oh, my sweet child!” Nadya exclaimed with enormous joy, her voice trembling with emotion as tears streamed down her cheeks. Overwhelmed with emotion, she pulled you into a tight embrace, and you returned it with equal fervor, feeling an undeniable sense of belonging wash over you. At that moment, surrounded by the haunting melody of the music box and enveloped in Nadya's embrace, you knew that you had found where you truly belonged.

“See? Didn’t I say you were royalty?” Soon after, your Nana bid you goodnight, allowing you to rest for the evening. It wasn't long before Satoru visited you, with a widened smile and his slender fingers caressing the sides of your face.

“I can’t believe you kidnapped my Nana, you brute.”

He retracted his hold, his expression sheepish as he rubbed the back of his head. “Ah, I guess it was the heat of the moment. I couldn’t let your Nana go away without seeing you first.”

You let out an involuntary chuckle. “You’re crazy.”

Seeing that you weren’t mad about him dragging your Nana to see you, he reached for your hands, his eyes locked with yours. “Crazy, just for you.”

“Are you really? You just reunited the Grand Duchess with her Grandmother. When will you claim your reward?”

Satoru sighed, shifting his hands so he can pinch one of your cheeks, “I can’t believe the woman I’m in love with is this clueless.”

“Shut up. You’re so annoying—”

“And feisty too. You haven’t changed at all.”

That’s right, you haven’t. Not even the slightest. And he’s glad you haven’t. He had his doubts when he first met you, thinking, wow she has a striking resemblance! It would be easy to fool his Imperial Highness, the recompense will be his for sure! Yet, a knot tightened around his heart. She looks so much like her…not the Grand Duchess but the girl he spent his childhood with. Along his journey, he realized that he was too blind to see, that the girl he failed to protect was in front of him. His (Y/N)…

“The music box…You kept it with you all these years?”

What an absurd question. How could he not? “It was the last thing that reminds me of you.”

But there’s no need to hold onto a music box anymore. Because, his most cherished treasure is safe and sound in his arms. He vows from now to protect her, not bearing the thought of losing you again.

“Here, Do you remember this drawing?”

“Oh, yes! I remember Sofiya teased me, saying it looked like a pig riding a donkey. But I must say she was right, I am a terrible drawer.” As the memories unfolded, both you and your nana found yourselves enveloped in laughter, reminiscing about cherished moments of your family within her grand quarters at night.

“You know, darling, your laughter bears a striking resemblance to that of your dear father, Aleksandr.” A tender smile graced Nana's lips as she spoke, her gaze lingering on you. “Your father will undoubtedly swell with pride when he sees the remarkable person you've become.”

Releasing a serene sigh, you lifted yourself from the floor to settle beside your Nana. “I'm certain they're watching over us, filled with happiness that we've been reunited.”

Nadya nodded in agreement, her expression reflective of the shared sentiment as she extended her hand for you to grasp. Together, you made your way toward a nearby mirror.

“Look,” Nadya whispered, “you also carry the visage of your beloved mother, Agata.”

Ah, yes. Your lovely mother, Agata. Even though you were closer to your father, your mother held a deep affection for you, as she did for all your siblings. After your relationship with each beer of the family. Though, you always suspected that Tatyiana was your mother's favorite. A small chuckle slips from your lips at this thought.

Nadya allowed you to peer into your reflection, disappearing briefly only to return moments later with a regal adornment in her hands. “A Duchess is never without her crown.” she declared with the utmost delicacy, placing a resplendent diadem crafted from silver, its dazzling diamonds intricately encrusted around it. “There.”

Nadya smiled warmly upon witnessing your expression of awe reflected in the mirror. “How do you feel, dear?” She inquired, her voice tender with anticipation.

“I feel... like I am finally home.”

“Oh, darling, you are simply breathtaking!” Maria's voice echoed melodiously through the halls, her admiration evident as she beheld you draped in opulent finery, the dignified crown adorning your head with grace, ready to partake in your first ball after so many years.

“I knew from the very moment I saw you that you were the Grand Duchess.” Maria exclaimed with a delighted laugh, her excitement over the roof as she clasped your hands in hers.

Your lips widened into a bright grin as gratitude filled your heart. “Thanks to all of you, I was able to reunite with my family.”

“(Y/N) I...” Suguru's voice interrupts, drawing your attention as he continues with a solemn tone. “I must confess that my intentions from the start weren't honorable. Satoru and I only saw you as a means to obtain riches, and for that, I apologize. Seeing you once again with your family after all you've been through is worth more than any reward.”

“I have long since moved past that matter. Even if those were your initial intentions, they ultimately led me here.”

Suguru's countenance relaxed, “You're too kind, Your Royal Highness.”

“There's no need for formalities. Just call me by my name. After all, I consider ourselves friends, wouldn't you agree?”

He chuckled warmly in response “I suppose you're right.”

“Well, let's not waste any more time then.” Marina chimed in, “Let's not delay any further. Our guests await us inside.”

That’s right but— “Wait, where's Satoru?” You inquired, stiffened in your moves.

“He left early, mentioning he would try to return as soon as possible. Don't dwell on it too much. Satoru will join us when he can. Let's heed Marina's advice and head inside now.”

Despite the joyous occasion, a nagging feeling gnaws at you. Intuition tingles at the edge of your consciousness, hinting that all may not be as it seems, though the specifics remain elusive. As hours passed, Satoru's absence lingered. Could it be that something has happened? No, maybe you're simply overthinking. Isn’t the time to overthink these things, specially over trivial matters.

“(Y/N).”

The sound of your nana's voice breaks through your reverie, jolting you from your thoughts. “Darling, why aren't you dancing? Do you feel well?” she inquires gently, concern lacing her words. It's only then that you realize you've spent most of the evening sitting, lost in contemplation.

“Ah,” You sit up straight, gliding your eyes upwards to meet Nana's gaze with a smile. “I suppose I've been preoccupied with a lot on my mind.” You replied, acknowledging the weight of your thoughts.

Before you can dwell further, Nadiya suggests, “How about we step out for a breath of fresh air?” Fresh air? Yes, perhaps that's what you needed.

As you and Nadiya step out of the bustling ballroom, the quiet solitude envelops you both, prompting her to inquire once more. She lifts a hand to cup your cheek, her touch a comforting reassurance. “What's wrong?” She questioned softly, her eyes searching yours for any sign of distress.

Her presence is enough for you to open up. “I suppose I have some lingering doubts,” you admit, leaning into Nadiya's touch, appreciating her concern. “But nothing worth your concern, Nana. It's just…”

She absorbed your words, her intuition cutting through the silence. “Is it Mr. Gojo?” she ventured gently, her perceptive gaze meeting yours. You blinked in surprise, startled by her uncanny insight. It was as if she had glimpsed into the depths of your mind, unraveling the tangled threads of your worries with effortless ease.

“My dear, I wasn't born yesterday.” Nadiya begins with a knowing smile, her touch feather-light as she traces your cheek before gently lifting your chin. "That look," She continues, her tone affectionate yet perceptive, “is the look of someone who's in love.”

“I suppose I'm that obvious.” You acknowledge the transparency of your feelings with a sigh.

“What troubles you then? Do you perhaps doubt him?” Do you doubt him?

“I... given the circumstances, I guess I have my worries. But I don't wish to doubt him. After all, he confessed to me that he didn't care about the money.”

“And you should hold onto that. Darling, I spoke with him this morning, and he still refused to take the bounty.”

"He did?"

Nadiya nodded in confirmation. “He's a man of integrity, (Y/N). His heart is pure, and his actions speak volumes.”

"Then where is he now... do you think he has left?"

“Now is the moment to have faith. Trust in the person you love, without hesitation. Allow him to find his way to you, just as you found your way to me.” With these words, she enfolds you in a comforting embrace, her touch a soothing balm to your troubled heart, as she bestows a gentle kiss upon your forehead. Nadiya turns on her heel, leaving you alone to consider your next action. As her presence fades into the distance, you're left with clarity. She was right. With renewed resolve, your thoughts turn to finding Satoru as soon as possible. Yet, the vastness of Paris presents a daunting challenge. Where can you even begin?

“(Y/N)…” A voice calls out, halting your movements. You pause, uncertain if you heard correctly or if it's just your imagination playing tricks on you. You thought your dreams were finally over?

(Y/N). Wait, that’s Satoru’s voice!

“Satoru?” You called him, your voice echoing through the corridors, but instead of a response, you heard only the echo of your own name repeated over and over again. Determination surged through you as you sprinted towards the direction of his voice, hoping to find him. His voice eventually led you into the gardens, winding through the labyrinthine pathways, yet there was no sight of him amidst the verdant foliage.

And there it was, the same headache that had plagued you ever since the beginning of your journey. With a hiss of pain, you closed your eyes tightly, attempting to quell the throbbing ache in your skull. Time seemed to blur as you battled against the relentless agony, lost in a haze of discomfort. When you finally opened your eyes, you found yourself no longer in the serene gardens but amidst the empty streets of Paris. Panic surged within you as you heard the urgent voice of Satoru calling out to you, his expression twisted with fear. Fear for you.

Your eyes followed his voice, locking onto his figure as he seemed to struggle against some unseen force. Before you could reach him, he was forcefully driven to the ground.

“Satoru!” You sprinted towards him, your heart pounding with dread, only to be halted in your tracks by another voice that cut through the chaos.

“Ah, I knew you would come.” The voice sent a chill down your spine, and you felt your blood run cold as you recognized the sinister figure before you. No, it couldn't be… "This was too easy." the man taunted, his voice dripping with malice as he revealed his true identity once again.

Rasputin. You gritted your teeth in rage, and your eyes narrowed with determination as you faced the evil man who had imprisoned Satoru.

“Let him go.”

He laughed mockingly in response, “Now why would I do that, just because you asked me to? Who are you to order me around.”

“What do you want?” Your voice trembling with defiance.

Rasputin's dark gaze bore into yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. “You know what I want.” he replied cryptically. “Why must you be so stubborn?”

“(Y/N)...” Satoru's weakened voice interrupted, his head lifting feebly from the ground. “Run.”

Rasputin found it amusing the heroic facade Satoru was attempting to uphold. He strode over to Satoru's side, his gaze filled with contempt as he stared down at the weakened figure on the ground. “Why are you protecting a Stroganov?” His voice dripping with disdain. “You are a disgrace!”

With a swift and deliberate motion, he brought his foot down upon Satoru's left hand, inflicting a cry of agony from the young man.

“Satoru!!” You called out in anguish, your heart constricting with pain and anger at the sight of his suffering.

“Didn't your beloved mother die the night of the Stroganovs' downfall?” Rasputin's words are laced with accusation and scorn. “Did you even care for your mother? You chose to save the last remaining members of the family instead of running away with her that night.”

Before you could interpose, you felt yourself trapped by some unknown force, immobilizing you in place. With frustration and desperation you struggled against the invisible bonds that held you captive.

Satoru groaned in pain, his glare fixed defiantly upon Rasputin. “You don't know a damn thing.” He spat out.

Rasputin scoffed, his gaze calculating as he turned towards you, a dagger glinting ominously in his hand. Appearing like magic. “I am giving you an opportunity to choose. Either you pierce your own heart with this dagger, or I will kill this boyfriend of yours while you watch.” With a cruel smile, he now forced the dagger into Satoru's hand, adding to his torment.

“No!!”you cried out in anguish, Fearing at the thought of what Rasputin might do to Satoru if you don't do what he says, “Please leave him alone! I will do it!”

“(Y/N), Dont—!”

Rasputin silenced him, as he removed the dagger from Satoru's hand and flung it into yours.

“Then what are you waiting for? Do it.”

Your hands trembled as you held the dagger, the weight of the impossible decision pressing down upon you. The air grew heavy with tension as you stood frozen, torn between the unbearable choices laid before you. Is this really how your story ends? Just when you were reunited with your Nana. But on the other hand, you can't have a happy ending when others are in danger. What will happen if you refuse?He could kill Satoru, even your Nana if he ever gets his hands on her. Everyone could be in danger, because of you.

With a shaky sigh, you began to direct the dagger toward your chest, your heart heavy with resignation. Rasputin could only watch with anticipation, his lips curling into a menacing smile as he eagerly awaited your demise.

Yes, Yes! Pierce through your heart and die..!

Lost in his anticipation, he forgot about the world around him, his focus solely on you, ready to witness your death once and for all. Just as the dagger was inches away from piercing through your flesh, a sudden impact jarred Rasputin's attention, his jaw colliding with a powerful fist. Stunned, he stumbled backward, realizing too late that he had let his guard down, allowing Satoru to rise from the ground and deliver a successful blow.

As Rasputin reeled from the punch, a strange Reliquary rolled onto the ground, catching your attention. Setting the dagger aside, you sprinted towards the mysterious object.

Rasputin groaned, summoning strange winds with an eerie green glow that ensnared Satoru once again, trapping him as his prisoner. “You think a simple punch will hold me back?” Rasputin countered, his voice thick with malice as the green aura began to choke Satoru.

“Rasputin!”

Glancing back at you over his shoulder, Rasputin's eyes widened in shock as you were holding his Reliquary in your grasp. How in the world in landed on your hands?

“Looking for this?” You challenged by placing your heel upon the Reliquary, which it looked like held a grand significant power by the way Rasputin grew agitated by the sight. You began damaging it until it started to crack open.

Rasputin's expression twisted with fury as he realized his mistake. “Insolent, I will kill you!”

Suddenly, the sky darkened ominously, a powerful gust of wind nearly knocking you both off your feet as the ground beneath you began to tremble. Struggling to maintain your balance, you felt a surge of panic as Rasputin seized the opportunity, raising his hand and directing the forgotten dagger towards you with a swift gust of wind. You embrace yourself for the impact, standing on your ground. But the blow never came. When you opened your eyes, you saw the dagger piercing through Satoru's waist, causing him to collapse to the ground. Rushing to his side, you shook him urgently, “Satoru, stay with me!”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you watched the color drain from Satoru's face, his condition worsening with each passing moment. Anguish gripped your heart as you felt the weight of Rasputin's cruel words like a dagger to your own soul. You would have preferred it was you who took the blow. The feeling of guilt hurts so much.

“This is what happens when you challenge me.” Rasputin taunted, his laughter echoing eerily through the tumultuous atmosphere, his words a cruel reminder of the dire consequences of your defiance. Fail. You have failed everyone.

With a heavy heart, you carefully set Satoru's body down, your head bowed in sorrow. But you had not given up. With determination burning inside, you raised your hand, clutching your necklace tightly. Rasputin raised an eyebrow in confusion, unable to discern your intentions.

“I remember you once told me you have been watching my every move.” You began, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. "And whenever you're near, my senses start to hurt as painful memories come flooding back."

You glanced back at the cracked remnants of Rasputin's Reliquary, "That's when I realized you hid a small but powerful relic in our closest things. You hid your power within my necklace, as a backup plan in case… well, in case your Reliquary was destroyed. Otherwise would you know my whereabouts? My necklace and your Reliquary were already connected. Once it was near, you managed to seek into my head.”

Rasputin's expression shifted, realization dawning upon him as he understood the gravity of your words. Before he could react, you threw your necklace onto the ground and placed your heel upon it, the green lights emanating from the necklace growing brighter with each step.

“This is for Satoru!”

"Stop!" Rasputin called out, desperation creeping into his voice, but it was too late. The distance between you and the necklace was too far.

“This is for my family.” For their unjustified deaths.

“And this is for me!”

With that, the necklace shattered, releasing its stored power in a brilliant burst of light. The souls trapped within it were freed, encircling Rasputin as some kind of dark deal was broken. In horror, you watched as Rasputin was consumed by the swirling vortex of souls, his form melting away into nothingness in a matter of seconds. In the end, the powerful and vile man was reduced to nothing but dust upon the ground, vanquished by the very power he had sought to wield. And that's where you understand your father's words back then. Rasputin was a greedy man who made unholy deals to gain the power to take over Stroganovs within the confines of their home by pretending to be their most loyal friend. But it doesn't matter anymore, it finally ended. He can't hurt you or anyone else anymore.

Wait, Satoru!

As you rushed to Satoru's side, your heart sank at the sight of his closed eyes, realizing with a heavy heart that you were too late. Burying your head into his chest, you wept bitterly, grieving the loss and the pain of failing to protect him as he had protected you.

“Did I ever told you I like fiery women?” Satoru's unexpected words startled you, causing you to pull away abruptly. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you beheld the sight of him opening his eyes, the lingering pain still evident in his gaze.

“Satoru!” you cried out happily, but you restrained yourself, remembering his wound. “Satoru, how are you feeling?”

Grunting softly, he clutched his side, his expression tight with discomfort. “It wasn't a critical spot, so I'll manage.”

“Let's go back and get you treated.” You insisted, but Satoru's hand rested gently on your cheek, directing your gaze down to him.

“None of this was our fault.” He murmured, his voice filled with reassurance. “My mother's death has nothing to do with your family. Sometimes fate takes painful turns that we can't do anything about but accept it and move on.”

“Satoru, please stop talking. Save your breath.” You pleaded, but he shook his head putting on his usual charming smile, despite the pain.

“I love you, nothing ever is going to change that.” He confessed softly, his gaze unwavering.

You let out a quivering chuckle, tears still staining your cheeks as you nodded. “I love you too, more than anything.”

How far are you willing to go for love? Ah, well that is a funny question. Where can you begin? Love is what gave you the courage to partake in a journey that brought you sorrow, and pain, but also gave you hope. Love is what kept you going even though you thought countless times there wasn't a single person out there that could love you. But in the end, you found your family, you made friends, and you fell in love...you gained so much along the way and it was all because of love.

“What do you say? Exploring across Europe? I mean, unless your grace is too refined to go on adventures.”

“Are you underestimating me?” You teased in return.

Satoru shook his head, his eyes filled with warmth as he lifted you into his arms, twirling you around with infectious laughter. “I could never.”

As you both laughed and spun around like two teenagers in love, Satoru paused for a moment, gazing into your eyes. In that moment, for the first time, you were the one making the first move, by pulling him into a kiss, holding each other close as if there were no tomorrow.

You couldn't help but feel grateful to your Nana for knowing your heart best. It was her advice that help you made the best decision ever. While there would always be time to be a Grand Duchess. Now, all you could think about was embarking on countless adventures with the man who had stolen your heart. And who knows, perhaps you would even extend the Stroganovs with a couple of children.

For the first time, you were eager to see what the future held with Satoru by your side, ready to face whatever challenges awaited you together.

🏷 𖥔 ݁ ˖ @levisfavoriteteashop ┊ @kawaiimusiccollection ┊ @ilovemilfsandilfs69 ┊ @tsukikeimybeloved ┊ @gojostit ┊ @enchi-ladass ┊ @0tsukie ┊ @yuuuumii ┊ @lineelilii ┊ @import-mage ┊ @sabrinaotako ┊ @simonexox0 ┊ @Summervibes1609 ┊@Regalillegal ┊ @bluelinen ┊@Eternal_Genesis ┊ @air3922 ┊ @lovey-dovie23┊ @crescent-z ┊@euphoricchills ┊@bakarinnie ┊@httpstoyosi

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chococolte · 2 years

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word count. 798

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, obsessive behaviors/thoughts, sagau + cult au, g/n reader

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. request from my old acc </3 no au mentioned, but i went ahead and did sagau ^^

It's mortifying, the first time it happens— when you bring him into your chambers and ask him to kneel at your feet. He's afraid he'll do something wrong, something to upset you— this close to you, this close to your scent, he almost feels like passing out. Gorou is unable to do anything but lament as his guard falls without complaint, his tail wagging behind him.

His every action feels scrutinized under your eyes, even though you say nothing, only a faint smile playing on your lips. Gorou bends the moment you voice your request, head nearly hitting the floor. You laugh; so, so beautifully. Pink dusts his cheeks, and he's only capable of thinking of two things while your scent muddies his mind:

One: He's so incredibly grateful you're unable to see his expression. He can't imagine how shameful it would be if you were to see him like this, dazed and dizzy from your attention. At least like this, he can remain in front of you, capturing your eyes and doing as you desire, while salvaging what little pride he can have in front of you.

And two: Though Gorou would never admit it, even to you, he feels safe by your feet, safer than he ever has before. He finally feels at peace by the bottom of your resplendent throne, like he's finally, truly, where he belongs. As if he had been living his entire life unaware he was missing a part of himself. Even if you are his God, even if it was just the two of you, Gorou would still find it unbearable to say it aloud. But his tail gives away his internal thoughts anyhow, uncaring as to how his God may perceive him now; it sways side to side, jumping with excitement.

"Gorou." You voice through the mist clouding his mind. It pierces through like an arrow, splitting apart the fog. He blinks and shivers as soon as he realizes it. His name falling from your lips leaves him breathless, left wanting more. He does not dare ask, waiting for you to finish speaking.

You hum contently looking at his bent figure. "Raise your head," you command, and Gorou does not dare dally. He rises his head the moment you order it, following without a second thought. You smile. Gorou feels his sense of self-control waver— he wants nothing more than to leap into your lap and beg you to look at him more, praise him more.

"Come here, won't you?" You phrase it like a question, as if you are only asking. As if he has the right to refuse you, in all that you are. Gorou hesitates, but only for a moment. You tap your lap, and something in Gorou breaks. He scrambles on all fours, as he finally understands what it is your offering.

Your hands reach for his face and cup his cheeks without much preamble. He barely has time to comprehend anything before he's shuddering into your warmth, holding himself back from leaning his entire body weight into your hands. Gorou sighs blissfully, his ears and tail twitching as they beg for your attention.

So close to you, your scent is almost overwhelming. It clings to your clothes and the air, and it envelops him entirely. Gorou can't stop himself from trying to dig himself deeper.

"You're so desperate," you tease, voice soft and unhurried. Gorou's breath hitches in his throat as he flushes, hiding his face in your hands. He doesn't trust himself to say anything: to refute your words would be a lie.

He is desperate. Desperate for you, in all of your glory. In all of your greatness, beautiful and poised.

You laugh at the sensation of his canines rubbing against the palms of your hands. Then you pull back, and Gorou almost whines from the lack of contact. He leans forward, trying to follow your warmth, almost falling on top of you. Just as quick, your hands are back, but this time they're rubbing at the base of his ears, scratching at his scalp.

Gorou shivers, gasping. Your fingers move and touch all the right places, leaving him panting for air. His tail stiffens for a moment, then all of his tension is released as you play with the tips of his ears.

Gorou knows his face must be embarrassing, eyebrows creasing and cute, little noises leaving his mouth. If your expression is anything to go by, you're enjoying every bit of it. He bites his lips as he tries to keep quiet, almost drawing blood.

"Don't do that," you say, scratching at a specific spot that makes his back arch. "I want to hear what cute little sounds you can make for me. Be my good boy, won't you?"

Gorou whimpers.

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pseudowho · 3 months

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The One Month Wait

❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️

Contrary to popular opinion, he does nothing for you on Valentine's Day.

Granted, he thanks you for the beautiful chocolates you made him, the rose-petalled bath you run him. He feels his love coil deeply when you thread your fingers through his, dinner all but forgotten as he is nourished by your adoration instead.

He groans in appreciation when you roll your fingers into his sore shoulders, the oils fragrant and intoxicating...but as you swing your legs over him to straddle his lap, your kisses deeper and more dangerous than stormy seas, you are the most intoxicating thing in this room.

You are resplendent in the barely-there candlelight, unzipping him, unbuttoning him, undoing him, and he melts into the promise of your touch.

He lets you deconstruct him like this, piece by piece by mouth by lips by hands by the deepest parts of you, and he feels otherworldly, above and outside himself all at once, lost in your name and the haze of hedonistic pleasure. All at once, he gasps, moaning and twitching under you, reconstructed as something more than when you began.

He revels in this new self, stripped so gently of hubris, and dismay, and fear, and allows himself to believe you when you declare him worthy of your love. He glows in it, golden. He feels an odd twirl of competitiveness in his belly.

Tangling his fingers in your hair, pulling you in to taste your lips once more, your lipstick still vibrant on his cheeks, neck and cock, he whispers against you, and you thrum with anticipation.

"I'll get you back for this, on White Day."

-- Nanami, Gojo, Geto, Ino, Higuruma, Kusakabe, Sukuna, Toji

White Day Multi-fic coming 14th March 🤍💌💋

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nyctoaerah · 5 months

Text

𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

“𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘”

╰┈➤𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒: Where suguru geto founds himself deeply enamored with satoru's non-sorcerer sister to the point of obsession. ╰┈➤𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Patricide, Sexual Assault, Non-consensual touching, Attempted Rape, Incest, Gore. ╰┈➤𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere! Suguru Geto x Fem! Gojo’s Sister! Non-sorcerer! Reader ╰┈➤𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 & 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 ╰┈➤𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

•───癖好───•

IT HAD BEEN A COUPLE of weeks ever since [Name] had encountered Suguru, and currently, [Name] found herself seated on a comfortable chair with a mirror positioned directly in front of her. She had meticulously styled her hair into an elegant princess-inspired half-up, half-down hairdo; the upper part of her hair adorned with the intricately braided strands that Satoru had woven for her before going out.

Tonight, they were hosting a grand party for some unknown reasons, and though the idea of attending wasn't exactly her preference, Satoru had adamantly insisted, and thus [Name] reluctantly agreed. However, she was determined not to appear disheveled or bring further humiliation upon her esteemed clan.

Taking great care, she applied skillfully chosen makeup, adorning her face with a touch of gray eyeshadow accented by glitters and other luxurious embellishments that Satoru had bought for her.

Her eyeliner possessed a refined precision and her lips were adorned with a soft, yet eye-catching, pink hue.

Her gaze shifted towards the necklace Satoru had given her as a birthday gift the previous year, which, until now, had remained unworn.

It was probably very expensive, considering that Satoru tends to buy her a lot of expensive things. The necklace silver-tone glistened and was encircled by dazzling diamonds.

Adorning this piece were crafted flower-shaped jewels, and at the very center of it all, a resplendent circle housing perfectly cut rubies.

Placing the necklace around her neck, [Name] examined herself in the mirror, feeling a subtle twinge of self-consciousness regarding her appearance.

‘Do i even look good...?’ she thought to herself, her self consciousness getting the best of her once again.

She was donning a simple azure-hued dress which was enhanced by a few tasteful pieces of jewelry, that again, was given to her by satoru. Satoru was mostly the one who buys her things as their clan seldom bestowed any items upon her.

What makes this even more remarkable is that Satoru consistently selects the most costly presents to give her. Although [Name] is not unappreciative, she cannot help but perceive these extravagant gifts as too expensive for someone in her circumstances.

Speaking of Satoru, [Name] wanted to ask for his opinion on whether she looked good or she looked like shit. (even though she knows that satoru would always say that she's pretty)

However, Satoru was temporarily absent, presumably occupied with the task of greeting their arriving guests.

Releasing a gentle sigh, her eyebrows knits together as she contemplated whether or not to proceed on going to the damn party.

Discord permeated her relationship with her clan, and vice versa. Yet, Satoru insisted that she attend the party and divulged that they had agreed upon her involvement due to an impending announcement. A flicker of doubt whispered in her mind, speculating that they might subject her to humiliation, but surely, Satoru wouldn't permit such degradation in public, would he?

he adored her and reciprocated her love; hence, he would shield her from any harm. right? Right? Right? He would protect her.

Her muscles tensed slightly at the sound of the door to her room opening.

“Satoru?” She swiveled her head towards the entrance, anticipating his arrival. However, to her disappointment, it was not Satoru who crossed the threshold; instead, her father made his way into the room.

Her eyes widened and instantly, her muscles clenched and her jaw tightened as she observed who it was.

‘Shit! What is he doing here?!’

[Name] panicked internally and struggled to put up a relaxed expression.

“O-otou-sama..,” [Name] whispered under her breath, her voice cracking and barely audible as she shakily rose from her seat and placed the pillow on the chair before bowing respectfully—not really wanting to anger her father.

Upon noticing his return, her eyes scrutinized him from head to toe, sensing his gaze on her body which made her uncomfortable .

“You've returned...”

Summoning a smile, she forced herself to feign happiness.

“Welcome back, Otou-sama” she greeted, though her smile was forced and unconvincing.

Her heart raced within her chest as she averted her gaze, keeping her eyes away from his piercing stare. “If I may speak.. what brings you here?” she inquired tentatively, anxiety griping her every word.

With each step he took towards her, her father's mere presence sent shivers down her spine. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her body to tremble involuntarily.

“Your father has missed you dearly,” he spoke softly, his touch lingering in an uncomfortably intimate manner. She couldn't help but feel that a father's touch should never be this way.

He shouldn't touch her like this.

A father should not touch her daughter like this.

“You have grown into a remarkably beautiful woman,” he remarked, his words causing her discomfort. Unpleasant memories resurfaced as she noticed the scent of alcohol emanating from him.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, finding no solace in the way he had complimented her. It had been five long years since she last saw her father, because he was overseas, and the dude too, was often abusive during her earlier years. However, something about his current behavior unsettled her, creeping her out in an inexplicable way.

“It must have been quite challenging for you to handle Satoru in that way...” He let out a light chuckle as his fingers gently traced circles on her tense shoulders, causing her to feel a mixture of revulsion and fear.

Disgusting and utterly repulsive was her father.

“I-it wasn't that bad,” she responded, her voice trembling slightly. Ofcourse, satoru sometimes acts like a man child, but it was only because he hadn't been given the chance to be a child and [Name] loves his brother.

“Satoru is a good person” she stated.

‘Unlike you.’ she added mentally.

“I'll go and call satoru,” [Name] said, her heart racing inside her chest, as if it were about to burst through her ribcage. Her instincts were in overdrive, her flight and fight instincts were screaming at her. She wanted satoru to just come back so bad and take her away from this creep of a pathetic excuse of a father.

“No,” he firmly stated, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

“Why not?” she questioned.

“Because it would deeply sadden me,” he declared with a touch of theatricality, causing [Name] to resist the temptation to glare at him.

“You would do anything to keep me happy, right, [Name]?” he questioned, seeking assurance from her as she hesitantly nodded in response. Of course, she had her own boundaries and limits, and she wouldn't go to extremes for his happiness.

“Beloved daughter,” he whispered in a low voice, and she visibly flinched when his hand began to inch toward her hip. Attempting to distance herself, she took a step back, yet he followed her, backing her into a corner until her back collided with the wall. Her heart raced with unease as his grubby hand veered towards her inner thighs but she swiftly slapped it away and she earned a glare from it.

“Speak as you're told,” he commanded, his words causing her to swallow uneasily. Her response had to be compliant.

“Yes... yes, I will,” she murmured, detesting the tone she was forced to use. The anticipation of Satoru's return grew with each passing moment, as she increasingly felt an overwhelming sense of discomfort, a foreboding feeling that something dreadful was bound to happen.

“You are nothing more than a mere accident that occurred during the prenatal development in your mother's womb, [Name].” he told her and she raised an eyebrow, finding his statement to be random.

Of fucking course, she doesn't fucking need to know that.

She knows that she's an outcast.

She knows that she's just a mistake.

They don't need to remind her about that fucking truth, for she's aware of it.

“Satoru is meant to be a sole child.”

He added.

“But speaking of your mother... She no longer fulfills my needs,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice.

‘Like i give a damn,’ she thought bitterly.

“Her beauty has diminished,” he uttered, causing her to freeze as his hand stealthily crept beneath her dress.

“Do you realize how beautiful you are?” he inquired, drawing nearer, subjecting her to the repulsive stench of alcohol.

“I think that you'll be able to satisfy me, daughter.”

His words had a paralyzing effect on [Name], rendering her unable to react or defend herself, it felt as if she was nailed in her place.

“...”

The desire to push him away and slap his hand away was evident, yet she found herself immobilized, as if invisible strings were pulling her to stay still against her own will, like a marionette in the hands of a puppeteer.

‘Satoru, where are you?!’

Looking anxiously at every nook and cranny of the room, her [E/c] orbs searched desperately for a familiar face: Satoru. The urgency in her grew increasingly intense as she was in dire need of help.

In her time of distress, it was Satoru whom she longed for. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. Only Satoru. His presence could provide the security and support [Name] craved.

It was satoru, always satoru and only satoru.

Her dependency on Satoru was very evident and She was scarily dependent on the white-haired lad. Her fingers curled up as she swallowed a lump in her throat.

“What's that supposed to mean, Otou-sama?” she feigned innocence, cringing internally at herself for sounding so dumb. Certainly, she was fully aware of his intentions. She wasn't intellectually naive by any means. She comprehended precisely what he was alluding to, the repugnant depths of his perverse desires that he was referring to.

The mere thought of it caused an intensely uncomfortable sensation to ripple through her entire being, primarily because she shared a bloodline with him as her own flesh and that she was his blood daughter.

“Can you explain it?” she asked, trying to look ‘cute and confused’ and making a genuine effort to maintain a composed facade. Yet behind this facade, she was gripped by an overwhelming sense of panic, frantically attempting to stall for time as a means of gathering her thoughts and possibly finding an alternative solution—and for satoru to arrive, ofcourse.

[Name] shivered as his dirty hands ascended towards her delicate face, enclosing it within his grip.

“My daughter, so pure and untainted,” The ugly man uttered, causing a nauseating sensation within her. He sarcastically murmured, emphasizing her purity and innocence. “How adorable,” he remarked, revealing a sinister undertone. With a sinister intention, he offered,

“Stay still, alright?” her father's disgusting voice echoed in her ears.

[Name] swallowed thickly, the rhythm of her heartbeat reverberated through her chest with an alarming force, threatening to break free from its bony confines. The sound of blood rushing through her veins seemed to echo in her ears, serving as a reminder of her vulnerable state.

In this vulnerable state, she was left pondering the same question over and over: Where the fuck was Satoru when she needed him the most?

‘Satoru, where are you? I need you...’

As she inhaled and exhaled deep breaths, attempting to calm her racing pulse, the absence of Satoru loomed over her like a dark cloud. Satoru's absence only magnified her sense of helplessness, increasing her yearning for his presence like a beacon of hope.

“W-what are you doing?”

She squeaked as she experienced a sense of repulsion as she felt his dirty grubby hands clutching at the strap of her dress, as if he wanted to take it off and the mere proximity of his hands filled her with revulsion. She wanted nothing to do with his touch, especially since he was her own father, making the situation even more disturbing.

“Otou-sama.. this is wrong...”

She was a minor. She was 16. He's a fucking adult. This is fucking pedophilia. This was incest. This is infidelity. This is so wrong in so many ways. And more especially, this is sexual assault.

This whole scenario seemed morally and ethically wrong in countless ways. Her jaw clenched tightly, her eyebrows furrowed, and a scowl formed on her face as she directed her intense gaze at him. She was disgusted, angry, and scared.

“Please don't touch me...” she gritted out.

Sensing her disapproval, he paused in his actions and met her gaze with a hint of irritation.

“Don't you fucking dare to look at me like that,” he uttered with a sharp, venomous tone, as if he wasn't talking to her in a sweet voice before and acting as if he wasn't being a creep earlier and lusting at his own daughter, prompting her to suppress a snarky reply.

“What do you mean—”

SLAP

Her [E/c] eyes widened as an abrupt, stinging sensation spread across her face, causing her head to turn to the side due to the force of the slap delivered by her own father. Despite the pain, [Name] remained silent, raising a trembling hand to touch her tender cheek.

The impact of the slap left a prominent, reddened mark on her delicate skin, causing her to clench her teeth together and direct an intense glare towards the ground, desperately holding back tears.

It was so fucking painful.

Suddenly, [Name] felt his hand cupping her cheeks, a invasive gesture that further heightened her discomfort. His words only added to her distress as he coldly remarked,

“If you didn't provoke me, I wouldn't have to leave such an imprint on that pretty face of yours.” He then proceeded to openly scrutinize her body, examining every curve and contour, which made [Name] bite down hard on her lip in nervousness, trying to cope with the overwhelming emotions swirling within her.

“Otou-sama, don't do this” she managed to whisper.

“P-please stop...” She winced in pain, her eyes welling up with tears, but he glared furiously at her and forcefully gripped her throat, applying just enough pressure to leave her gasping for breath. The sensation of his hands crushing her windpipe sent a searing agony throughout her body.

“You dare command me to halt?” he hissed menacingly.

“You were practically begging for this, parading around in an immodest dress and presenting yourself like a harlot,” he accused, causing tears to cascade down her face.

[Name] struggled to breathe, her larynx engulfed in excruciating pain. Eventually, he released his grip, allowing her to desperately gasp for air.

[Name]'s throat was ablaze with agony, and she instinctively clutched at her neck while trying to steady her rapid breaths. In truth, she had not worn a provocative dress, but rather a modest and unassuming one. So how could she have possibly provoked him in any way?

[Name] wasn't begging for it. He was fucking delusional.

In this moment, she longed for Satoru's presence, yearning for his support and help to escape this horrifying situation.

She absolutely despised being trapped in this predicament and her mind continually echoed her brother's name, Satoru, Satoru, Satoru.

[Name] felt an irrepressible urge to scream, to call out for Satoru's help, but she couldn't summon the courage.

“Satoru..” [Name] breathed out shakily, trying to scream but she couldn't do it.

With a heavy heart, she fell into silence as her father began to kiss her neck, an unspeakable violation of the boundaries between a father and his daughter. Helplessness engulfed her entirely as she grappled with overwhelming feelings of disgust, fear, and anger. Why didn't satoru returned? why wasn't he there when she needed him the most? Why wasn't satoru—

A sudden realization washed over her, causing her to come to a halt. It was a frightening realization that she had become excessively reliant and dependent on her older brother.

She found herself unable to defend herself in any situation, constantly relying on him for protection and support. The mere thought of standing up for herself seemed impossible. The depths of her dependency on Satoru was alarming.

As her eyes darted back and forth, her pupils began to tremble, accompanied by a nauseous sensation.

It was alarming just how reliant she had become on her older brother, Satoru. She couldn't even protect herself; constantly relying on him for both defense and support. She was utterly incapable of standing her ground or facing the world on her own.

The depth of her dependence became increasingly clear as her very core began to tremble. The nauseating urge to vomit overwhelmed her when her father, with his hand on her waist and thigh, pressed an unwanted kiss upon her shoulders. It was at that moment that she understood the root of her helplessness, connected intrinsically to her reliance on Satoru. This dependence, she couldn't deny, made her vulnerable to abuse.

Her vision became clouded by tears, prickling at the corners of her eyes, as the weight of her powerlessness enveloped her. She couldn't accomplish anything without Satoru by her side.

She was nothing without satoru.

In her eyes, she saw herself as weak, nothing more than a mere shadow, incapable of even the simplest tasks without satoru's guidance and protection. Her entire identity seemed intertwined with this inescapable dependence, leaving her questioning her worth and purpose.

She's useless. Just like they had said.

Yet, amidst her turmoil, a glimmer of realization began to take shape within her. Just because she's a non-sorcerer doesn't necessarily equate to constant reliance on Satoru.

Slowly, she began to understand the necessity of her own dependence if she ever wanted to taste the sweet freedom she so desperately craved; She needed to be independent. No longer did she wish to be shackled by her dependency on Satoru; it was a burden.

In this moment of clarity, she could feel her hands clenching into tight fists, and her knuckles turning white.

When she felt his grimy hands tracing up and down her thigh in a lewd manner, an intense wave of fear surged through her.

Then she screamed, the thoughts of being independent going through the back of her mind as she completely forgot about it.

“SATORU! SATORU! HELP!” she cried out in desperation, as he pushed her father away from her and attempted to escape towards the the door while continuing to scream for satoru, her trembling hand desperately gripping the doorknob as she continued to scream for satoru. She banged on the door loudly, hoping to alert satoru.

“SATORUUU! HE TOUCHED ME!”

Meanwhile, her father grimaced in pain but managed to muster a threatening remark,

“You insolent brat...”

“SATORUUU! OTOU-SAMA IS TRYING TO RAPE M— MMPHH—!!” her voice was abruptly muffled when her father covered her mouth with his other hand, silencing her screams grabbed a handful of her hair, his sharp nails digging painfully into her scalp and she began to sob on his hand.

“Shut up!” he hissed and dragged her forcefully towards the bed and pressed his body against her.

“No one will come to your rescue. They will simply turn a blind eye to someone as pitiful and insignificant as you.” A malicious grin spread across his face, a grotesque display of his sadistic pleasure.

“You are nothing,” emphasizing his contempt for her. The pain intensified as his razor-sharp nails continued their assault on her scalp.

“Poor thing, can't even use jujutsu and yet you dare to talk back to your superiors” he scorned, belittling her inability to utilize jujutsu.

[Name] teared up as she tried to scream but her screams were muffled by his hands. Expressing his derogatory views towards women, he continued,

“Women like you are feeble, incapable of defending themselves, always needing a man to protect themselves” He further degraded her, completely aware that [Name] Is dependent to satoru.

“I bet that if you were given a chance to go out, you would go show your body off to men like a whore, because you are already doing it right now in our house.”

“Women are meant solely to satisfy and serve men, bearing and caring for children.” He let go off her hair with one final and painful tug.

“So you better do your purpose as a woman and satisfy me”

He then pulled at the straps of her dress, ripping it off. she let out a scream that was muffled by her father's hand, as she squirmed in discomfort as his hands shamelessly explored and fondled her chest.

In a desperate attempt to defend herself, she delivered a knee strike to his groin, causing her father to emit a pained grunt as he stumbled backwards, ultimately collapsing in agony on the ground.

she tumbled to the ground, falling in a heap alongside her father. The impact caused her elbows to press into his stomach, inflicting a sharp pain that left him gasping for breath. Without wasting a moment, she promptly rose to her feet whilst clenching her teeth together and fixing a piercing glare upon her father.

She wasted no time seizing a momentary opportunity to unfasten the sharp hairpin that had previously secured her braids. As her lustrous [H/c] colored locks cascaded freely around her face.

Writhing in pain, clutching his injured groin, her father managed to wheeze out in a raspy voice, his words dripping with contempt, “You insolent child!”

Without granting her father even a moment to react, she lunged forward, the pointed end of the hairpin finding its mark in his eye as she stabbed him in the eye. Initially, the sharp tip of the hairpin pierced the delicate iris, causing it to recoil instantly. Blood erupted from the wounded eye, splattering both her and her father as he unleashed a horrifying scream, desperate to rid himself of the searing agony consuming him.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” she repeated shakily.

Unrelenting, she slammed her feet firmly on his chest, effectively knocking the wind out of him. Crouching over his writhing body, her teeth clenched with as she applied intense pressure, feeling his bony ribs crack beneath the pressure exerted by her mere feet, causing bone fragments to likely disperse throughout his entire body, inevitably inducing excruciating agony.

Lost in a blood-red haze, she acted on instinct alone, unaware of her own capabilities and the reasons fueling her actions. However, the satisfaction derived from defending herself against her tormentor overwhelmed any semblance of rational thinking.

Driven by an insatiable thirst for vengeance, she plunged the hairpin deeper into his eye, mercilessly breaking through the fragile barrier of the eye itself. With a twist of the hairpin, she targeted and severed the optic nerves, thoroughly obliterating his vision. All the while, her father's cries of agony served as an eerie soundtrack to her brutal assault.

However, she remained unsatisfied with the extent of his injuries.

Suffering from fractured ribs and a severely injured eye proved to be insufficient in punishing him adequately. The gravity of his sins, which involved attempting to sexually assault her and subject her to abuse, demanded a far greater retribution. He undoubtedly warranted a punishment of a much higher magnitude.

He deserved this for looking at her in such a dirty way. He deserved this for trying to rape his daughter. He deserved this. He deserved every single part of it.

Her father was still writhing on the ground, uttering agonizing screams. With her free hand, she began to gouge his eyes using her fingers. The crimson liquid spurted onto her palm, and the squelching noises resonated in her ears as she pressed her fingers into his eyeball, causing them to penetrate the outer layer—the sclera, and eventually piercing through the iris. As her fingers continued their destructive path, they shattered and obliterated the delicate lens within the eye, she delved even deeper into the eye socket, curling her finger upwards and effortlessly piercing through the gel-like vitreous humor, permanently robbing him of his ability to see.

The sensation of the eyeball squirming under her touch intensified his torment, causing him to cry out in excruciating pain.

She then finally distanced herself from the horrific scene, leaving behind the haunting image of the hairpin penetrating his eye, her trembling hands glistened with crimson liquid. Breathing heavily, she bore the weight of her strenuous exertion. But she wasn't satisfied yet.

Making her way back to her previous spot, she seized the chair and launched it at his defenseless body, a reflection of the fury in her trembling eyes. She was grateful for being away from the other rooms and she was grateful the blaring music that drowned out the sound, for she knew the wretched screams of her father, an abomination seeking to violate her, would go unheard.

Unleashing her pent-up rage, she struck him repeatedly with the chair, causing his face to become disfigured and adorned with grotesque wounds. A broken nose and a swollen, battered lip, gouge out eyes were the least of his deserved punishments—and many more.

How dare he kiss her space with his repulsive, chapped lips? How dare he tarnish her with his grimy hands? The chair continued to collide with his wretched body, until it succumbed to the sheer force, shattering into fragments. The pieces, now stained with blood, came to rest on the floor, which too had become drenched in the crimson fluid of the disgusting man.

Breathing with intensity, she was overwhelmed by the putrid aroma of her father's blood permeating her senses, finding it as repulsive as his very presence. In response, she made a conscious decision to inhale solely through her mouth, bypassing the revolting scent.

She clenched her fists tightly and repetitively punched him. The force behind each blow became so relentless that her own knuckles ruptured, causing her blood to intermingle with his as she persistently aimed to annihilate him.

As she delivered her punches, she could audibly discern the sound of his skull fracturing. The exertion of her physical strikes caused her breath to become labored, each inhalation eliciting a searing pain in her chest, and with every exhale, it felt as though her lungs were on the verge of bursting. In addition, her windpipe seemed engulfed in an inferno, intensifying her discomfort.

As she readied her hand once more for impact, the sight of her knuckles, now exposed and vulnerable due to the blistered skin, revealed the delicate hue of her light brown bones.

She experienced excruciating pain throughout her entire body, but she paid it no mind and pierced through the flesh of his countenance, the contact between her hand and his skull sending a shudder through her being.

But it wasn't enough. She wasn't satisfied yet

•───癖好───•

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guacamoleroll · 5 months

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𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖈𝖍𝖔 𝖔𝖋 𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖈 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖘 「𝔣𝔶𝔬𝔡𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔢𝔳𝔰𝔨𝔶」 ༉‧₊˚

content. f!reader. implied breaking-and-entering, fireworks, metaphors about stars, soft!fyodor, he's secretly down-bad, he's also incredibly possessive. descriptions of moscow (red square, st. basil's cathedral), mentions of eastern european food (pirozhki), references to greek mythology (perseus and andromeda), jokes about greek incest. not proofread. 2.2k+ words.

author's note. starting the last of my fics for the year with the first bungou stray dogs character i've ever written for. thank you for such a lovely year! ࿐ ♡ ˚ .

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

synopsis. within the last minutes of the year, sitting underneath the stars, two lovers discuss the stories mapped within constellations. in themselves, they find that some tales are timeless.

"It's so lovely at this time of night."

You couldn't contain your astonishment as flurries coasted to the earth in silent swells, dusting the city in a sheen of sparkling white. With an outstretched hand, you gathered flakes into your palm, admiring them before they melted with the heat of your skin. The riverside stilled as you coasted along the sidewalk, frozen in thickening ice as parents ushered their children away from its tempting surface. Tourists clustered under trees, shivering in their thin hats and coats as they underestimated the spite of Russia's wind. But despite the chill, there was an unmistakable gaiety in the air, smiles strewn on glassy faces as they awaited the new year.

You tailed behind Fyodor as he sauntered forward with broad steps, unable to catch your breath as the basket of freshly baked pirozhki settled heavily in your stomach. Your eyelids threatened to close as exhaustion crept into the corners of your vision; journeying between museums, promenading through parks, and scowering various foods had taken a toll on your energy.

You groaned. "Do we have to go tonight?"

He merely chuckled, the velvety bass of his voice tracing goosebumps down your spine, easily distracting you from the fact that he hadn't answered your question. Your field of vision spiraled into a haze, thoughts shot far in the distance despite the frost attempting to rouse you, left unaware as an assured hand ushered you inside a concealed entrance to the luminous structure slumbering outside of Moscow's main square. You walked forward into the endless darkness, only to bump into something sturdy. Your fingers carded through the puffed fur of Fyodor's coat, tugging on its ends.

"Fyodor?"

With a click, the room was brought to life. The high-vaulted ceiling outstretched to reach the heavens above, walls embellished with intricate frescoes of ancient Abrahamic tales. Flares of resplendent color danced across the floor as moonlight met glass, casting waves of softened light upon your skin. A labyrinth of winding corridors hid in the shadows, prompting any curious wanderer into a trove of antediluvian alcoves and chapels.

Your jaw dropped, gawking at every deliberate component. "What is this place?"

"It was a cathedral erected in honor of Tsar Ivan the IV." His gloved hand puckered altar cloth between his gracile fingers, tracing the embroidery as his mind drifted elsewhere.

You hummed, racking your brain as it itched in anamnesis. "Wasn't that the terrible one?"

He was silent as he released the fabric from his fingers, but the self-satisfied smirk told you everything you needed to know. "Indeed. This place once brimmed with life, hosting religious gatherings and services for the denizens of this city." His boots snicked against the tile, the noise reverberating as it spun towards the ceiling. "It has been left as a relic of time."

You ever-so-delicately brushed your hand against one of the columns, not wishing to disturb the peace of stillness and rest that blanketed the cathedral.

"How marvelous."

Your attention went astray as Fyodor tinkered at a lock, the hinges of a thin door ricketing with unsettling squeaks as he stood aside, uncloaking a never-ending staircase to the unknown.

"After you."

Your muscles cramped with every step, dread buried deep in your gut as your vision remained impaired, the flashlight beam smattering inconclusive rays of light as it aimed at your back. It was almost like the architects had attempted to reach the clouds, their grandiose endeavor churning a flare in your back as you slumped against the wall, your lungs burning with every passing moment. Your spirit was invigorated at the sight of a door through the dime ire of light, basking in your relief as you stepped out the door, the crisp breeze of winter striking your skin as—!

"W-Woah!"

Your feet teetered over the ridge of the roof; only your ankles remained flimsily rooted onto solid paneling as your arms swung out to balance yourself. Fortunately for you, an arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you back against Fyodor's chest. A quick peek upward towards his impish expression revealed everything you needed to know.

"You must be careful, любимая."

Your breath was shuddery, inwardly wavering on whether to punch him or kiss him, the indecisiveness reigning victorious as you pointedly ignored the mellifluous lilt of his tone, hands binding to his arm as your gaze locked onto the ground several hundred feet below.

"Good lord, we're high," you muttered between pants.

His arms braced you further against his chest, leaning away from the perilous drop. "You're trembling." The tension in your grip eased at the sensation of a gentle kiss against the crown of your head. "You know I'd never let you fall, hm?"

"Right." You released the amalgam of tense breath that clawed at your throat, able to balance on your own two feet as you settled your view to the skies.

Your feet shuffled across the panels as you slogged onto a wider expanse of the roof, slumping against a wall as the tension evaporated out through your fingers, the nightmare of plummeting from the roof erased from your mind. However, you swallowed a yelp as the flashlight flickered off, leaving the both of you enshrouded in complete darkness—at least for a brief moment.

Clouds stacked in bunched within the stratosphere, mirroring fragments of light that bounced from below in a nebulose aurora. But despite the wonderment of their decadence, they lost their luster once the stars peaked through their fogged edges, the finite speckles scattered like freckles across the canvas of the heavens. They felt close enough to touch if only you reached out toward them, daring to do so. Your fingers trailed maps of these celestial bodies, finding a sense of peace in their familiar patterns.

"Are you familiar with Ovid's Metamorphoses?" Your voice pierced through the silence.

"I can't say I am."

You withheld the impulse to laugh—he had the entire compendium of books in his personal library. It would be a surprise if he hadn't at least skimmed them, but you decided to humor him this once, scooching closer to point towards a specific cluster of stars.

"Those are the constellations of Perseus, the son of Zeus, and Princess Andromeda, the daughter of King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia."

You took his silence as an encouragement to continue. "Perseus found Andromeda chained to a rock as a sacrifice to the sea monster, Cetus, by her parents in order to save her home." Your fingers drew out the character within the stars, a grin upturned on your lips as you envisioned the archaic tale in your mind. "It was told that he found her so beautiful that he slayed the monster, rescuing her before fighting against her uncle for her hand-in-marriage."

"Her uncle?" Fyodor mused.

Your nose scrunched in a grimace. "There's a lot of that in those stories, I'm afraid."

"The couple went on to live happily ever after—an extremely rare ending to most ancient stories."

"There is a simple explanation for that," he replied.

You snickered, already aware that your open-ended commentary would eventually lead to some thoughts from the infamously brilliant man.

His eyes rolled in return at your amusement, disregarding the tightness of his chest. "We hold onto ancient tragedies because they are a reflection of life. Nothing in our world is as simple as a happy ending." A vacant look ruled over his features, a familiar expression that often shielded his thoughts within the dark, contemplative hours of the night. "Most aspired heroes never reach their potential due to their blind devotion to selfish aspirations and goals."

"You're right," you sighed, hands balled against the corner of his cape in an attempt to thaw your frozen fingers. You wanted to say more, but it felt like your mouth was cotton-filled. So, instead, you returned your eyes to the sky.

"Sometimes, I wish I was a constellation." He looked at you. "Even with its flaws, this world is undoubtedly beautiful from above. I like to think the stars admire us just as much as we do them."

And he didn't say anything more; he didn't need to. Instead, he reigned you onto his lap, his coat shrouding your shoulders as he shared its warmth. You leaned into his embrace, basking in the flutter inside your chest.

"You're awfully cold, милая," he grumbled, his fingers mapping your frigid palms.

"Our roles are reversed now," you quipped. "I hope you think about this the next time you decide to stun me with your hands in the morning."

"I'm afraid I might forget," he whistled.

"You little—"

But you found your voice hidden underneath layers of crackling. You ogled as fireworks wiggled their way into the night sky, shimmering onto the city square, the towers of the Kremlin becomen heavenly statues as their structures temporarily glistened. Without a second thought, you grabbed onto his hands, giving them a squeeze with each pop. You were so attentive to the collections of radiant sparks that you didn't notice the eyes boring into your skin; Fyodor's gaze averted from the fireworks to contemplate the interlacement of your fingers.

He surmised you were to be his future the moment you had locked eyes for the first time—his destined, pre-ordained other half as he journeyed to actualize God's promised land. It wasn't a surprise that someone was fated to remain in his keep—another loyal follower, too intertwined in their own aspirations to connect to his cause without deliberate guidance.

But not you.

You may not have supported his cause with the devotion of his witless flock, but you understood it better than anyone. And most importantly, you understood him. You peered through his intricate plans and performative malice, reading into his cause as you unraveled his intentions. It had been an enticing cat-and-mouse game, the both of you constantly entangled in a mental match, intellect and morals clashing. He knew you were his perfect match from your analytic dexterity, but he had no idea that you would pull at the strings cast around his heart, ones he believed had been severed long ago.

His heart had never belonged to anyone or anything—his mind and will were forever devoted to his cause, but his heart hadn't beat since before he could even remember. The sudden constriction of his chest was so foreign.

You must've been quite the powerful woman to kickstart the heart of a demon, excavating a trove of humanity he had buried within himself with a simple glance of your eyes—and all without knowing, your gentle expression puncturing through his abstruse masquerades, somehow able to see everything except the turmoil that you left in the wake of your very touch.

He found himself less and less concerned about the echoed beat of his heart within the emptiness of his chest, too captivated by your smile as you beheld the heavens with a benevolent expression, savoring the burning red and gold sparks despite their dullness in comparison to you. In spite of himself, your everlasting happiness had become an intrinsic component in his plans.

You were made to remain at his side—not as a brainless devotee, but as his equal and often opposite. The world, so rotten yet somehow divine through your benevolent gaze, may try to pull you away, but he'd have no issue burning cities to their ashen roots if anyone dared attempt to pry you from his hold.

His lithe fingers outlined the constellations of every freckle and beauty mark, star patterns copied onto your skin as his touch drifted your attention from the flashes and flickers to him, your inquisitive eyes scanning his face as he remained unmoved.

"Федя?"

He shuddered with unparalleled delight at the euphonious sound of his mother language slipping like honey from your tongue, foreign to your lips yet dulcet all the same. Your bonniness beaconed him forward, a heat flowering in his once cavernous chest as he captured your lips, which were as soft as the powdered snow that glinted on your skin. His heavy breath tickled your nose, which crinkled in tandem with your eyes as you drew him in for another. Words became meaningless, his skin seared like static as your arms drew him closer, skin scorched from the cold of your hands against the nape of his neck.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, ensuring that your empyreal features weren't veiled further as flakes of snow flurried once more, your parted lips and shallow breath leaving him in a helpless state of complete limerence. He stirred as his hand brushed against your pulse, your own heart racing concertly with his.

You parted in bittersweet bliss, yearning imbued in your bones as your hands drifted towards one another to intertwine. His forehead rested against yours, your shared breath permeating in spirals within the open air as he peered into your hazy, glossed-over eyes.

His hand cupped your cheek, the frame to a divine masterpiece. "Ты согреваешь мою душу, мое нежное солнышко. Твоя красота вне всякого сравнения; твой разум безупречен." He had never looked at anyone like this before, his ire thawed by the brilliance of your tender gaze as if he had melted. "Я бесконечно благодарен, что Бог привел тебя ко мне."

And you laughed. "You know I don't understand anything you're saying, right?"

He kissed your forehead, concealing his smile as his lips pressed against your skin. "You will one day, солнышко. You will."

любимая = darling милая = dear федя = fedya ты согреваешь мою душу, мое нежное солнышко. твоя красота вне всякого сравнения; твой разум безупречен = you warm my soul, my gentle sun. your beauty is beyond comparison; your mind is beyond flaw. я бесконечно благодарен, что бог привел тебя ко мне = i am eternally grateful that god brought you to me. солнышко = sunshine

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @imhandicapableofmath @lovedazai @hauntedsol @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @squigglewigglewoo @kelperspelt @miloofc @thesilvernight0wl @s1eepybunny @dazaisms @deepseafragments @justanotherjester @kotysluny @aureatchi

#muse's anthology ‧₊˚ ⋅#f!reader #꒰ა ⎼ [fyodor]#bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader

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trashybugs · 5 months

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[Fanservant] Pan-Human-History Fairy King Oberon

PHH Fairy King Oberon

Class: Ruler

PROFILE

Default:

The great fairy king and the ruler of the Seelie court. Different from his Lostbelt counterpart who was born as a doomsday terminal, this fairy king lives just to enjoy life and be happy.

Although he was born as the elven king Alberich from the Germanic folklore Nibelungenlied, as time progresses, he has incarnated into a more famous portrayal from Shakespeare's "Midsummer Night Dream". He loves fame and attention, he doesn't mind shedding his old shell to become a more resplendent butterfly.

He is very capable in combat and holds a great strength, capable of controlling the nature and weather even from a change of mood. Because of his overwhelming strength, he's used to toying with his enemies and underestimating them. He prefers to summon his fae servants to fight for him while he watches from a fair distance with a benevolent (cruel) smile.

Bond 1:

Height/Weight: 183cm, 60kg (not counting antlers)

Origin: Germanic folklore, medieval European literature

Region: Britain (formerly), Avalon

Alignment: Chaotic-Neutral

Gender: Male

"My my, dearest, pray tell, why are you staring at me with that innocent, doe-eyed eyes look of yours... are you that astonished at how different I am to that pathetic, washed-out mimicry?

As expected, not a single being in any realm could come close to my greatness after all. Of course, there's a limit to what playing pretend could do... Now, come sit beside me. I would love to hear what you think of me."

A flirty, unrestrained, and outgoing monarch. Oberon has gathered a lot of lovers from varying races in his lifetime, and he's still open into adding more to his harem.

Bond 2:

While he loves gathering beautiful people for himself, he also takes great enjoyment in playing matchmaker and seeing other people's relationship develop, for the best or the worst.

A complete opposite from his other self who appreciates and finds value in everything, this Oberon does not bother attaching meaning in anything he chases. He doesn't view relationships and connections as something that should be cherished, for in the infamous Shakespearian play, his wife has proven to still love him no matter what he does.

He has a great many desires but his motives seem to be empty and short-sighted. As seen in the play, he gave his queen, Titania, a love potion to prank her without thinking much of what will happen after its effects wore off. He received no consequences for his actions and the story eventually brushed aside the quarrel that they had, further enabling his behavior. To him, there never seemed to be a problem that came his way or a moment in the story that criticized his faulty mindset.

His appetite for the world is unquenchable, as he views everything in it as worthy of enjoyment. He seeks to collect everything that shines before his eyes, yet as his collection grows, so does his dissatisfaction. What motives he has to obtain them are but a momentary fancy, but due to his own frivolous nature, he's fundamentally incapable of realizing and fulfilling his desire for a genuine attachment

Oberon lives as any pan-human history fairies will do, living life as he pleases.

Bond 3:

Being one of the great-father of the fae realm, Oberon, who came from the inner sea of the planet and has no connection with human civilization, is very connected to nature.

This can be seen with his appearance, a large beautiful antlers that attracts birds and insects to land on it, and legs resembling a stag. his outfit and a flowery cloak that is magically created by his fae servants. He’s adorned with jewelries from humans who gave him offering as a way to pass his territory safely. In some legend his pearls are made out of maiden’s tears.

with a face that is blessed to be forever beautiful, he is a king that is fitting to rule the fae realm.

Without his beloved queen Titania to accompany him, he took in her role and personality. He developed more gentle, nurturing, almost motherly role to the fairies around him.

As long there’s nature around him, he could give birth to new fairies on a whim using little bit of mana from his Fairy Patterns. He sires many children from that method of reproduction alone but he also took enjoyment in creating them with others. Such as his consorts and random human maidens.

In some legends he have another famous fairy queen besides Titania, named queen Mab

Bond 4:

Oberon was horrified and amused upon finding out about his other self. A pretend prince in rags and naught a kingdom to speak of. A solitary, spineless insect who is content to forever stare at the star above him instead of dragging it down for himself.

Oberon can't wrap his mind on the way his other self sees the world, and while he agrees that stories should not be forgotten, he thinks they should rightfully be enjoyed forever, else they don't qualify as something interesting. In that case, they might as well be obsolete in his eyes.

In the end he took great enjoyment in observing his other self, and wouldn't even mind extending his affections toward him.

After all, he is still his beloved's master compatriot.

Bond 5:

Though his favor is true in a sense, his seeming infatuation with the Chaldean master urges him to act as though he's madly in love with them. In truth, he initially sees them as a form of entertainment, something to satisfy his curiosity and burgeoning envy as to why his other self-took so much liking towards them.

His yearning for the fictitious Titania might perhaps be even stronger than that of Oberon Vortigern's, for he sees Titania as his rightful wife in the myth, unlike Oberon Vortigern who is simply a pretender. As time goes on, his desperation to have a genuine affection for his master grows, leading him to question why their relationship with his other self seems to flourish more than it does with him. He's failed to understand that his connection with his master is fundamentally different, as the relationship between his other self and the Chaldean master have been forged through a long journey together in Lostbelt Britain.

Despite his strong longing for a true love, he doesn't put much effort in trying to find it nor is his attachment to that desire strong enough to make him hate Pan Human History.

"After all, the world is a beautiful place filled with enjoyment, what would be the point in destroying such things?"

The world is but a playground to him, in the end.

big thanks to my friend @lamunana who helps me brainstorm his lore, write her own ideas and even fix my grammar!

#fgo #fate grand order #fgo oc #PHH Oberon #Oberon #trashy oc #fgo fanservant #fate fanservant

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sprout-fics · 7 months

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Falling Down to Earth (Part Three)

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Four of Snowblind (Formerly 'Of Shadows and Bones')

Rating: PG-13 Wordcount: 5.5k Tags: Slow Burn, Trauma, Found Family, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Self Esteem Issues, Referenced Familial abuse, Mom Laswell, Domesticity, Reunions, Therapeutic healing, Sparring, Fluff, Happy Ending Warnings: References of childhood verbal abuse A/N: (See Ao3 for full author's notes)

Just like that, the autumn wind washes gently across your being.

It’s been weeks since you cried into Laswell’s arms in the dim, midnight light of her kitchen. Time has shifted since then, and the pull of the earth rotating endlessly under you now casts you into a hazy, resplendent golden glow of fall. The northeastern breeze cradles you as you lift your face to the late October sunshine, eyes closed and basking in the glory of the waning sunlight before winter’s eve. The aging trees that line the lane of Kate’s neighborhood begin to transform into amber and cognac, shifting against the crisp air where summer falls away with a gentle sigh.

It transforms you too, you think. The world is ever changing, evolving, turning itself over with death and renewal in a ceaseless evolution that seems to mirror the interior of your soul. You allow it to carry you, cradle you, and in your reverie you think about how despite everything, some things seem to stay the same.

“Grief is a funny thing.” You write in the journal Laswell has given you, a shawl draped across your shoulders, the crickets outside speaking of a time well past sunset. “I didn’t know that’s what it was until now. I’m still not sure what I’m grieving for, exactly. Maybe it’s for the things I missed because I didn’t let myself have them. Maybe it’s for the way I was treated. Maybe...it’s for the way I treated myself.”

You wake there come dawn, head bent against your arms, fingers tucked against the pages as if you still have so much more to say.

It’s not been so long since that night that you can’t remember the chest cracking sensation of your sobs, the way your fingers had stretched her shirt as you clung to Laswell in the solitude of her embrace. You think if you let your memories shift ephemeral across your thoughts you can still taste the salt of your tears, not unlike the ocean you were once so afraid of. It still roils under your gaze, held high on a precipice far above the waters. There lies your darkest nightmares, the haunting words of your father with his devastating prophecies. Yet it feels distant now, something caught in your shadow, but only when you turn to look. You know it will follow you, and that alone is enough to frighten you. Yet it is chased away by the brightness of the changed world around you.

The things Laswell said to you, her hushed words as you emptied yourself of sorrow into her arms remain with you. How she was sorry, how she was proud, how you belonged exactly where you wanted to be. You hold the words fast to your heart like a small, glowing lantern that burns a gentle flame. The fear, the anticipation and the dark chlorosis stays there too, but it’s different now. Changed, just like you.

Like the inexorable change of seasons, there’s something inside you that’s shifted now. Your paralytic fear and self-loathing keeps its place inside you, but the heaviness is no longer unbearable. You feel it lifted by a new, whispering updraft that buoys your healing wings and holds you delicately aloft against the sun. Sunlight dapples through dissipating storm clouds, and it streams through your fingers onto your wide-eyed, captivated gaze.

There’s things about the world around you you’ve never noticed until now, and in this new, profound wonder of yours you take it in with fluttering fascination that feels like the wingbeats of hope.

You notice the laughter of children in the afternoons when the school bus whines to a halt at the top of the lane, of the games they play and the call of their parents when it comes time for dinner. You notice the way black-eyed susans grow against the aged fence of Kate’s back yard, see a chipmunk sit and eat the dried seed heads. In the hours past sunset there’s a call of a barred owl from the aged oak that shadows the front yard. In the morning the rising sun reveals hovering particles of dust that float against the gauzy white curtains in the front room. Small things you’ve taken for granted now seem to mesmerize you, offering a glimpse of a world so much more delicate and beautiful than the one you thought you knew.

You notice the sound of your own voice now, how you’ve gone from quiet and subdued to something gentle but firm. You surprise yourself by how much you seem to say now, allow your own thoughts to echo into words. More than once you provide a quick comment to Kate or Paula and they pause, laugh at your humor, delighted and astonished at the things you’ve kept quiet until now. They notice the shift in your demeanor, look upon you with tender gazes that say little and yet convey so much. They’re watching you find your path, watching you balance delicately atop this new summit, arms spread like extended wings to hold yourself aloft. They hold your hands as you do, and you trust them to catch you should you stumble.

They take you to a fall festival, where the scent of maple curls across your senses. Paula stands over the produce stand and considers ingredients philosophically, and you sheepishly tug Laswell to go look at the petting zoo, to which she gives you a bemused look at your childlike fascination. When Paula fetches you to examine Halloween decorations Kate wanders off in search of coffee, returns to confess her secret adoration for cider-spiced flavors. You linger by the pumpkin patch, watch children struggle to hoist pumpkins larger than themselves. Paula nudes you meaningfully, and you carefully choose one for yourself, where it later sits on the steps up to the front door with a misshapen, lopsided grin.

“I know the sound of my own laughter now.” You write, and again that ache of grief and hope sits heavy in your chest, expands exponentially outwards as if your bones are barely enough to contain it. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to feel so much joy.”

The golden hour of afternoon spills through the windows of the office you visit each week, where conversations come easier to you now between you and your therapist. He smiles fondly at you as you struggle to reveal the things you’ve kept so tightly wound to yourself, trying and earnest and still learning the words to name the things you feel caught inside your hollow, filling heart.

You tell him everything you told Laswell and more. It’s a slow, grueling process. There’s so many things you’ve repressed and forgotten, and you learn you can’t remember them because it’s too painful, and that it’s alright. You learn the names of the things you experienced and learn how to balance them carefully against the weight of your soul, decide what is and isn’t worth remembering. He’s patient in a way you aren’t familiar with, and you smile at him gratefully when he gently suggests that it’s enough, and sends you home with a reminder to be kind to yourself.

It’s hard on some days, and you come back weary and ragged, overworn and crumpling into Kate and Paula’s arms. They hold you, keep you safe from the spiral of your own mind, and you learn how to let yourself be taken care of despite the tears that well in your eyes.

You learn that too- how to cry and not punish yourself for it.

Kate is patient as she reminds you over and over again the things she thinks of you, the things that are, and they balance against the words of your father, tip the scales so his prophecies are carried by the wind off the distant edge of the earth. You learn and keep the knowledge that you are so much more than what he thought of you.

“I didn’t realize just how much I’ve done with myself.” You write in your journal in the gentle cradle of evening. “I always thought it wasn’t enough, and maybe it still isn’t in some ways- but the things I’ve done mean a lot to me. I graduated university by myself, joined the military, got my medic training, made sergeant rank, got recruited by the CIA, and now I work with an international anti-terrorism taskforce.”

You pause.

“I’m still so young.”

You sometimes wonder what your father would think of you now, with all the things you’ve done, what they’d all think of you. The last time you’d spoken to your family had been shortly after your college graduation, when your mother had asked if you had gotten over your fierce independence and were ready to come home. You told her instead you were following through on your commitment to join the army. She’d been frantic and had handed the phone to your father. He’d only gotten three seconds of yelling before you had hung up and blocked all of them, curled into yourself in your dorm bunk and cried yourself empty.

You know reaching out would be only an attempt to prove yourself to them still, and you know now you don’t need them.

Instead, you look across the Atlantic, past the unfathomable depth of the ocean to the place where you belong. You look to them.

The team still hasn’t reached out, and you know it’s through no fault of your own. They’ve been deployed out of cellphone range for weeks now. Even if you tried to contact them the call wouldn’t go through. So you wait anxiously for them to return, thinking about all the things you want to tell them once you hear their voices.

Kate must take note of your anxious pacing when the worry becomes too much, because one weekend she tosses you a gym bag and tells you to be ready in ten minutes. You follow orders and clamber into the car with her, curious when she drives you out of the city and towards a subdued suburb with an aging strip mall, wherein lies what seems like a martial arts ring.

“Don’t tell Paula.” Kate levels at you with a pointed finger when she escorts you inside, and you hide a cheeky smile but cross your heart to never tell.

“Didn’t figure you for the type.” You levy back and watch as Kate rolls her shoulders while she wraps her hands. She has a lean build, narrow shoulders with stringy muscle that flexes under your eyes. She’s not strong so much as she is dexterous, agile in a way where the boys are not. They’re larger, packed with muscle that slows them down. Not Kate. Kate is lean, efficient, and fast.

You learn this quickly, as your typical approach to sparring with the boys becomes null and void against Kate’s quick onslaught, precise and practiced. A foot hooked around your ankle sends you sprawling the first time, and the second Kate uses your momentum to send you tumbling once more.

“I thought you never joined the military?” You wheeze from the mat as Kate stands over you.

“I didn’t.” She smirks and offers you a hand to stand. “I’ve just lived around soldiers long enough to pick up a few things.”

“More than a few things.” You gasp, doubling over to catch your breath as you rise. “Christ, Kate, that knocked the wind out of me.”

Laswell grins smugly. “That’s why we get back up.” She supplies, and you blink at the barely hidden nature of her words before feigning a roll of your eyes with a begrudging smile.

Kate stretches as she wanders away from you, looking very much like a cat in the sunshine, even with the pleased curl of her lips. It’s unfamiliar to you, the way she easily folds herself into the ring, seems at home here. Kate is a woman of many mysteries, and this itself feels like one of hundreds you’ve yet to fully understand. Yet somehow the confident flex of her muscles and glint of her eyes as she takes in your stance makes complete sense with what you know of her.

“Foot forward.” She nods, and you blink, glance down as you adjust. “It’ll help you balance when you throw your punch.”

You must look a little nervous at that because Kate huffs an amused chortle.

“Don’t laugh.” You whine piteously. “What if I hit you and Paula finds out? I don’t want to sleep on the streets.”

“Better make it count then.” Laswell quips, and springs forward.

Hours later, you find out Kate has been doing this since before Ethiopia, maybe even before you joined. You get the upper hand on her a few times, and warm under the praise she gives you before standing at attention when her hands gently guide your arms at a different angle, widening your stance. The guidance she gives you is much more focused on speed rather than the precision and endurance Price’s training offers. It’s useful in its own right, perfect for when you find yourself without any weapon to spare, and are focused more on escape than fatality. The bounce of the mat under your back becomes familiar, and more than once Kate snips at you for holding back on your strength, afraid to grapple in earnest.

It’s only once you’re both braced against the wall, damp with sweat and trying to catch your breath that you both call it quits. You pass a water bottle back and forth between you and prod the forming bruise on your hip with a minor grunt.

“You did well.” Kate tells you, and you beam at her.

“You’re different from the boys.” You tell her again, and Kate smiles around the lip of the water bottle.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She returns.

“It is.” You assure her, take a long sip of water when she offers it. “Harder, in some ways.”

A comfortable silence falls between you at that, and as you pull your knees up to stretch you idly offer: “I managed to pin Ghost once.”

Kate freezes out of the corner of your eye, but the gesture is lost in a moment before she offers a mild ‘Oh?’

“It’s true.” You go on, shifting to continue stretching with a little grunt. “Took a couple tries. Can’t say he was nice about it. I ended up bruised to hell the day after.”

“Sounds like he didn’t go easy on you.” Kate replies a little absently in a way where you know she’s thinking about something.

You pause, consider her words, mind hazing over and returning to that September day.

You blink and the light changes. Your next breath, forced through parted lips, seems to ooze the toxicity from your veins, lifting the weight from your shoulders. The bones inside you are still cracked, fractured, and you know they probably will be forever. Now, however, you understand, and the knowledge seems to strengthen them, dull the bitter horrible pain of your own doubt long enough for you to see.

Not a shadow, a light in the darkness. Guiding you forwards even if it threatens to blind you, drawing you out of the confines of your own lack of confidence by force if he has to. He's not doing this to mock you at all. He's not looking down on you, he's not gloating or tossing you around for his own sadistic self-pleasure. He's trying, in his own way, to teach you, to show you that you do have what it takes. He's breaking you systematically, scooping you from the ashes and charred remains so the frayed and broken edges of you are polished into something new. Something stronger.

He's doing this because he sees you. Just you, and that's already good enough. You're good enough.

“No.” You offer quietly. “I think he did. I think he knew how much I needed it.”

You straighten to look at her then, and there’s silence that passes between you as you are both caught by the other’s stare. There’s meaning in the absence of words, one that you can see by the way Kate’s eyes glint with curiosity and a knowing sort of intrigue. You wonder if what little you’ve said is too much, if maybe she’s seen that part of you too, the part that always wonders why Ghost seems softer with you than the others, the part that longs for him to be. She seems surprised for a moment, eyebrows arching silently as realization flickers across her gray eyed gaze.

When she smiles, she says nothing. At a mere glance, however, you can tell she knows.

You clear your throat, feeling your face warm, make a point to stand quickly and feign a few more stretches before hastily providing that Paula will be missing you both soon. Kate acquiesces gracefully, to which you are grateful that she does not needle you for further details about your concealed feelings towards the lieutenant. You’re not sure you can stand it if she did.

It’s after dinner that Kate gets a ping on her cellphone, taking a glance and grabbing for her coat. She provides a quick excuse of ‘work calls’ before giving Paula a parting kiss and grabbing her bag to race off towards the Pentagon. You and Paula exchange a look, and you can hardly contain your smile because even though Laswell has said nothing, you know her sudden disappearance means they’re back.

It’s already the wee hours of the morning in the UK, as Soap would say. The team sets up to debrief in the morning, and you know you won’t be able to contact them until after. You know from experience that they’re more than exhausted, de-kitting and slinking with weary limbs to rinse the grime and blood in the showers. There’s no way to talk to them tonight, and even tomorrow you know will be spent as a much-needed day of rest. The excitement, the trepidation gnaws at you as you force yourself to bed, anxious to hear the voices of your team, to know they’re home safe and sound, to tell them all the things you wish you said sooner.

Laswell doesn’t appear at breakfast the next morning, and Paula tells you she’s still at her office vigilantly reviewing the intel the team has gathered. You take it from her lack of contact that there’s been no major incidents, that everyone is alive and safe and well. Still, you pace anxiously around the house for most of the day, counting the hours on your watch and tracking the differences in the time zone before you’ve vowed to call them. As you do, you try to plan the words you want to say, raking a hand across your face and distracting yourself with the news, with something. You’re stalling, you know, but your mind wanders back to the hospital, to the way you pushed Soap and Gaz away, and you can’t help but wonder if the things you want to confess are going to come too little too late.

The phone line rings for what seems like hours when you finally gather the courage to dial Gaz. You know he’s the one who’s most responsive to his cell, with Soap being easily distracted and Price and Ghost hardly ever looking at theirs. It’s only a few moments, but the wait feels like a lifetime before he finally picks up.

“Fix?”

“Gaz.” You exhale, face melting into a relieved smile. He sounds surprised, yes, but more than that he sounds pleased to hear from you. A positive sign.

You hear a whoosh of air on the other end, and Gaz leans away to the phone to talk to someone on his side.

“Hang on, mate. Gimme a sec-”

You wait, and then blink down at your phone for the incoming video call, hesitantly tapping at the screen to reveal Gaz’s warm, cheerful gaze.

“Fix!” He greets again, and now you can see the smile that lights up his face at the sight of you. “Bloody good to hear from you. How have you been?”

Something sharp clenches in your ribs for a moment, in the same place as your injury, the place where you’ve been holding so much heartache for so long. You nearly wince at it, feeling the muscles grow taut-

and then release, unfurl in blessed, emotional relief.

“I’m good, Kyle.” You tell him, trying hard to keep the swell of emotion out of your voice despite the way it clings in your throat. “Really good.”

Gaz smiles impossibly brighter, but before he can say anything else there’s motion, bickering, a protest, and then Johnny’s face replaces Gaz.

“Fix!” He grins, eyes sparkling. “God, hen. We’ve missed you so much. How are you? How’s your ribs? Are you taking it easy?”

Warmth threatens your eyes now as you feel the sweet release of reprieve flood through you. It takes effort to swallow it down, to not get emotional at the mere sight of your friends- but Johnny’s words “We’ve missed you.” threaten to undo you at the seams.

“I am now.” You reply, and internally wince at the way your voice trembles when you force the tears back. “Not at first, but Laswell helped whip me into shape.”

“Good woman, Kate.” Gaz comments and tilts the phone so you can see both him and Soap at once. “Jesus, it’s good to hear from you, Fix. We’ve all been thinking about you, wondering if you were alright.”

Ah, fuck it.

You let the tears come, scrub your face and try to not let them wet your cheeks, tilting the phone away a moment too late. A hiccup seizes your chest for a moment, and you allow yourself a few moments to let it free before looking back to Gaz and Soap’s concerned stares.

“I am.” You tell them, voice choked up. “I’m more than alright.”

You wish you were there, you wish you could be there beside them, but the embraces they’d offer you feel warm all the same, even from a thousand miles away.

“What’s all this?” A voice intones on the other side, and Soap turns towards the source, beaming brightly.

“We’ve got our bonnie medic on the line.” He says, and you’re quickly passed in a flurry of motion to reveal the face of your captain.

“Sir.” You greet, and Price blinks, then shakes his head with a small, fond smile.

“None of that.” He admonishes lightly. “You call me as friends do.”

“Of course.” You manage, throat constricting with a fresh wave of emotion. “Price.”

Price’s eyes are warm, affectionate, looking upon you not with the furious discipline from before, but that of the friend you know him as.

“You look good, Fix.” He offers softly, and you straighten under his gaze as the praise finds its mark. “Has Kate been treating you right?”

“More than right.” You return, feeling the anxiety shed itself with every word. “I’m getting spoiled here.”

“As ye should!” Soap comments from off-screen. “Our medic deserves the best.”

Price huffs a laugh then, and it makes your smile grow that much larger, almost enough to make your cheeks hurt.

“Seriously.” You add. “Have you ever met Paula? I know you have, Price, she’s told me the story about coming home to you and Kate alone in the kitchen.”

Price winces at that, at the awkward memory of Paula finding a strange man in her house in familiar discussion with her wife. “That wasn’t my best first impression.” He admits, and you hear Soap and Gaz whisper conspiratorially somewhere behind him, curious as to the details of the unsaid story.

“She’s an amazing cook.” You go on. “I’m going to have to work hard to get back into shape with everything she’s been feeding me.”

“What I would give for a home cooked meal right now.” Gaz laments woefully. “Think you can bring her back with you to the UK?”

You’re about to respond when Gaz’s words catch inside you. Your brow furrows for a moment, processing, before you look at Price, who looks to Gaz with a reprimanding frown.

“Wait-” You manage, hope rising sharply inside of you. “Does that mean-”

Price smiles, and it’s genuine, sincere, the kind of smile you only see after he’s immensely pleased with you. You feel your heart stammer and you suck in a gasp when he speaks.

“Laswell officially cleared you for duty.” He tells you, scarcely containing his own enthusiasm. “You’ll be coming back whenever she gives the order. But-”

Your excitement cuts short in your chest, but the hope there lingers as your breath catches.

“Only if you want to.”

It takes a moment for you to understand, and in the silence that follows Soap grapples for the phone with an almost manic desperation.

“We want you to come back.” He clarifies quickly. “The team hasn’t been the same without you. Of course we understand if you need more time, if you want to talk it over with Laswell, but-” He sucks in a breath, and you watch the way his blue eyes alight with anxious energy.

“We...we want you home, Fix.”

Home.

The place you’ve fought to be, to earn your place there. Home, with your brothers who have kept a seat warm for you despite all this time, have made a place for you in their hearts despite your failures. Home, to the place you are meant to be, to the place where you belong.

“Of course I’m coming back.” You sigh at last, your voice breaking with an overwhelmed happiness you can’t contain. It bleeds into Soap, his eyes melting with relief before Gaz once more seizes the phone.

“Not a moment too soon.” He announces, and his own expression scarcely contains the joy in his eyes. “We can’t wait to get you back.”

You laugh a strange, overwhelmed sound at that, once more wiping your eyes as they warm and obscure your gaze of the team’s smiling faces. As you do, there’s a quiet murmur on the other side, and by the time you focus back there’s a different face that looks back.

Ghost.

“Fix.” He greets, and despite the balaclava that hides all but his eyes, you see his expression soften. “It’s been a while.”

“It really has, hasn’t it?” You return, voice dipping low to match his own. “Are you well?”

Ghost shrugs, eyes darting away from the camera for a moment before they return. “Nothing major.” He offers. “A few bruises and scrapes, the usual.”

“You’re not allowed to get injured before I get back.” You tell him seriously, eyes narrowing. He only tilts his head in return.

“Thought I wasn’t allowed to get injured at all?” He drawls, and your smile returns at the way he easily falls into the banter.

“Well then you wouldn’t need me, would you?”

Ghost blinks, considers this, his eyes weighing on you even as you grin at him. You fail to contain the affection in your eyes as his gaze softens.

“I suppose that’s true.” He concedes at last, and your laughter releases like a soft autumn breeze.

The group crowds around the phone for what seems like hours, passing you back and forth before finally setting you up on a nearby table to observe them all at once. Soap disappears and returns with beers as you give them a tour of Laswell’s house. When you stop to pet Whiskey Gaz fails to resist the urge to make baby noises at the retired K9, who thumps his tail in amicable greeting. It precedes a conversation about the various working dogs the team has seen, which is then followed by a serious discussion about the differences between British and American suburbs as you give the team a view of the outside of the house.

Paula is introduced shortly afterwards, and as you pass the phone to her she happily greets the team, and then quickly follows it with a declaration of how they’re to treat you properly once you return. You think you see Price swallow thickly on the other side of the camera.

The team finally discusses their most recent mission in Kenya, tracking a weapon smuggling ring along the Somali Coast. You share stories of your deployment in Ethiopia, of the dry mountain wind and your bustling medical tent. You feel it curl around you from the source of your memories, winding back far before this story began. It lifts your face to the sky you thought you fell from, the golden clouds that once rushed past your form as you hurtled downwards. Now, you feel it catch under your wings and lift you higher, basking in the glory of the sun you have missed so much. it doesn’t burn as it did before, and instead the gentle warmth and laughter of your comrades fills the emptiness of your heart where you once held so much sorrow.

It’s not over yet, you know that. There’s still so much more to be done. The long ignored, festering thing inside of you remains, but the growth is stifled now, replaced by an ease you have never felt before. It will take time for it to mend, just as the wound that once lay in your side, but you know now that even though you’re still healing, it doesn’t mean you’re broken. There are those that love you, adore you, hold you close and safe to their hearts.

You’ll fall again, you know. The darkness of the ocean below, of the churning water of failure where your past haunts you, will remain. Yet present too is the arms of your family, your real family, ready to catch you as you fall back down to earth. You know now that you’re not alone, that as much as you fall there will be people to catch you, hold you fast within the safety and comfort of their embrace. You look to them like a headwind, feel the breeze of their smiles graze across your cheeks, breathe in the familiar scent brought to you by the wind. You lift your hand to it, discern it like the rotating axis of the earth, let it whisper across your memories and engrave their hearts there.

The hour grows late in the UK, and eventually the team is forced to end the call with promises of another one shortly to follow. You say farewell, and in the seconds that follow the screen going dark you buckle into yourself and let loose the full tide of emotion within you. Heartache, grief, joy, relief, and above all sincere gratitude that the ones you love accept you for who you are, will stand beside you despite everything. The tears run warmly down your cheeks, but beneath it is a smile, a thanks to the heavens for putting you in a place where you are loved.

You talk to them frequently in the days that follow, waiting for Laswell to clear the red tape to re-designate you to the taskforce once more. Price calms you as you await the news anxiously, assures you Kate will find a way to send you back to them one way or another. Soap and Gaz happily distract you as they find a way to include you in a drunken game night that has you clutching your stomach with laughter.

It’s on a quiet night that you talk to Ghost, who is the one to call you, strangely enough. It’s a short call compared to the others, and it’s endearing the way Ghost feigns an excuse to check in on you. You curl into the window seat in your bedroom, watching the sunset as you talk in low voices about everything and nothing at all. The comfortable silence lingers between you both and finds a place to perch inside you alongside the secret you hold just for him.

At last, the order comes through. You’re sent back as Laswell’s CIA liaison under her command, on loan to the taskforce indefinitely. You unfold your military greaves from the closet, smooth the fabric under your palms. The heavy fabric is a reminder as to who you are, the person you’re born to be. A soldier, a warrior, a protector.

You hesitate in the doorway of the bedroom, hoisting your duffle over your shoulder. The sunlight dapples through the sheer white curtains, washes the room in pale, ethereal light that sighs softly into your memories. You know you’ll be back again. Maybe not soon, but you know this place too is home, that in this city you grew up in, your real home is the place you choose to be, with the people who love you.

They’ll see you off as you make the long journey back to England, and will embrace you before you climb aboard the plane. They’ll await you for the long flight, counting down the hours until your return. When you arrive they’ll take you into their arms when you step off the plane, lift your face to see your teary, joyful smile and by the sound of their voices alone you know you’re home.

The hazy pink light of sunset illuminates your bedroom.

The journal left on your desk remains unfinished.

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