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akaashisupremacy · 3 years

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Moments of Courage

Summary: Osamu Miya is a difficult ex to have. When your paths cross endlessly, you try to rebuild your relationship. Will there be second chances? Or just more broken hearts?

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Osamu Miya x reader

“Are you leaving this party because of me?”

Osamu calls you out from the tiny hallway of your friend’s get together. After locking eyes with him, you did your best to subtly scamper towards the door.

“You don’t have to go. I can leave if it’s making you uncomfortable.” he assures.

You shake your head, “You can stay. I’m not having that much fun.”

You begin shuffling through the coat rack to look for yours. You’re desperate for anything to cut the time talking to him, talking about him. The only guaranteed way for this to stop is to leave.

“Are you hiding from me?” he asks almost rhetorically. His brows are gently raised.

“Yeah, obviously,” you retort, “I don’t want to be seen by you or with you.”

Osamu Miya is your ex. After over a year of dating, he decided to end things with you in a small cafe far off his onigiri stall.

“I’m too busy,” he claimed, “You deserve someone who could give you more time.”

You reasoned out that you didn’t mind not spending so much time together. His job was time-consuming. You understood that.

But Osamu was unsettled. You didn’t mind cheering him on from the benches waiting for him to finish up work. You liked seeing Osamu do things he was passionate about. And yet he felt unsettled, because he knew this was the type of work you would not engage in.

Osamu pressed on, “I’m sure you’ll find yourself someone more worldly, more sophisticated in the city. I don’t want to prevent you from meeting someone like that.”

Something dropped at the pit of your stomach. Your mouth was ajar. He’s really trying to break up with you. It’s no secret that you preferred the city and Osamu the countryside, but neither of you seemed to mind. You’d both make the time to visit each other. You made it work.

You remember barely touching your drink. Listening to him talk was like having a ton of bricks dropped on your back. The sunlight pouring in from the glass window suddenly felt prickly.

“I just don’t think we’re a good fit.” he swallowed, unable to look you in the eye, “I think someone from the country, someone simpler and more traditional would be better for me.”

You don’t miss the yearning in his voice, the dreaminess for someone who was clearly not you. He’d always tease that you were a true blue big city girl. You liked the tall buildings, the noise and the fancy department stores. You thought it was a point of endearment, but apparently not.

It’s been almost a year since you last saw him. He looks so unaffected it irks you.

“I broke up with you respectfully. Why are you mad?” he scratches his head.

It takes all your self-control to not slap him across the face.

“Because you hurt me! You’ve hurt me so…so…much.” your voice hitches before you can catch it. This is so humiliating. He’s clearly moved on from you.

Tears start pouring down your face. You quickly hide your eyes behind your coat.

“You’d eventually realize that I’m not right for you.” he murmurs, “We’re too different.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” you snap, clenching your fists, “So is this is it? To make you feel better you’re going to date a small town girl to solve all your problems.”

“Well, Kita did introduce me to someone lately.” he unironically replies, “She works in her family ryokan (inn) and we work similar hours. I think we’ll understand each other more than we did.”

Your eyes narrow.

“There’s no point staying in a relationship that I can’t make time for. Why can’t you understand that?” he snaps back.

It is one thing to be left for someone else and another for him to dump you just because. Somehow you feel like you lost even if you didn’t even have competition. He simply didn’t want you.

Your face contorts into an angry frown.

You slip on your coat and grab the door. “Man, you are a terrible ex. Do you know how it hurts when you tell me how wrong I was for you?”

When Osamu regains his cool, he tries to reach out to you, “I didn’t mean it that way…I didn’t feel good that I could make time for ‘ya and so I let the relationship go. Because i don’t know…—“

“Well, this is all just theory anyways.” he says, “I haven’t met Kita’s friend yet. We haven’t gone out yet, just the two of us.”

You do a double turn. “What?!?”

“Yeah, we’re working all the time but we haven’t made the time to meet.”

You break into a laugh. He stands stunned and confused.

“You know what? You stay behind. You left the last time. I want to be the one to leave this time.” you sigh, closing the door behind you.

You don’t turn back to see the look on his face.

————————————— Osamu mostly works in the countryside which means that you’d be less likely to run into each other in the city. It’s easier for you to keep your mind off him and focus on your current life.

So when you see him in the corner store in place of a small fried chicken stall you used to frequent, you’re visibly shocked, appalled even.

“What are you doing here?!” you jump back, “What happened to the fried chicken stall that was here?”

Osamu looks left and right, making sure no approaching customers can hear your dialogue.

“I run this stall now. Kawaneshi-san retired. It’s a great location. I’m literally in a crossroad between a shopping district and some schools. The rent isn’t too bad and it’s a very busy location.” he answers in his usual no nonsense tone.

You make a mental list not to pass by here again.

He recognizes the look on your face, “Have I just ruined your usual route for you?”

“I thought you were a country boy.” you avoid answering him.

“Even I need to make a living.” he snorts, carefully arranging umeboshi-flavored onigiri in his display case.

Sure! All of a sudden working in the city becomes important after he breaks up with you!

You roll your eyes and curtly walk away. You got here first. You love this city. You refuse to let some onigiri-making man ruin your everyday route.

The days roll into weeks. You stick to your route and diligently ignore Osamu each time. After a while it stops feeling weird that he’s there. You feel like you’re slowly taking pieces of yourself that he broke.

It feels so good to start to be whole again.

———————————— Your newfound peace with Osamu is interrupted when he calls you out of the blue one evening. He calls to tell you that he’s sick and that he needs help running groceries. The nerve!

“Don’t you have anyone else?” you groan. Hasn’t he made friends with some other shopkeepers?

“I have no one else. There’s only you.” he coughs through his words. He tries to explain that one of his few friends is out on bereavement.

You let it go. He clearly doesn’t have anyone for today.

You find out that Osamu lives in the apartment above his stall. The space is rather small. He shares his home with some of the equipment and supplies from his store.

He must hate it here. Osamu always loved wide open spaces.

You open the fridge to find it totally empty. His sink has a few empty bowls from his earlier rice porridges. You understand his desperation. He had nothing to eat.

Moved by his situation and the little compassion for him that remains in you, you sigh and begin chopping up some vegetables to make a nutritious broth. You add in some mushrooms and root crops. While the soup boils, you prepare rice and some pickles.

The faster he recovers, the less you have to interact with him.

When you bring him a tray of food in his room, he is equal parts surprised and confused.

“You can cook?” he clears his throat.

“No, Osamu.” you roll your eyes, “I eat all my food raw.”

He sits up and sniffs the aroma of your food through his clogged nose. He dips a spoon into the soup to sample his first meal of the day.

“I mean you can cook well, like a proper home cook.” he says, his eyes wide with awe. He quickly takes a few more sips and starts on his rice.

“I’ve never known.” he croaks, turning to you.

“You never asked,” you shrug, “And you like to do the cooking yourself. You probably assumed I can’t cook, because I’m not as passionate about food as you are.”

He quietly eats and looks away to confirm the truth in your statement.

You sigh and take a nearby basin with some towels in it. “I’ll leave after I bring the basin back.”

——————————————- Something changes in your relationship with Osamu after that incident. He starts to greet you when you walk by and sometimes offers you onigiri from his store.

You always insist on paying. He doesn’t always take it.

“You’re here to make a living.” you say as you push money into his hands.

In between these exchanges you start to ask about each other again. How are you doing? Was today busy? Stuff like that.

Slowly and surely, you two were rebuilding your relationship ground up. But it was tough. Neither of you went beyond these interactions. Maybe things are just meant to stay that way.

One late evening, the last customer for the day disappears out of Osamu’s line of sight when he heads into the back to start cleaning up. He’s about to start pulling down the rafters when you suddenly show up at his counter.

His face expresses his surprise.

“If it’s too late, I can just go.” you gesture sheepishly.

He’s always surprised when you come here on your own volition.

“It’s not,” he denies, “I was closing up too early anyways.”

You pick out your usual onigiri flavors and quickly pay up. As soon as you turn your back, Osamu stammers at you.

“I-I’m cooking up some stuff at the back. Do you want to stay and eat? Think of it as a return favor for the other week.” he refers to the episode of his sick day.

You’re caught off guard but you slowly nod your head to agree. You hadn’t had Osamu’s cooking in a while and it was getting quite late. He opens the door for you and you follow him towards the back of his shop.

In a messy plastic table, you see an array of salads and pickles with different kinds of miso soup laid out. You feel almost intrusive, even more than last week.

You set the table. Osamu fetches hot rice.

It feels unnecessary for you to be here especially if he is with someone else. You do your best to keep your mouth shut. This is a friendly return of favor.

Osamu notices how unusually quiet you are. He chats you up about work. He tries his best to be animated and show interest in your latest project. He asks about your coworkers and your work environment. Were you having fun? Do you get to eat on time?

For dessert, he brings out mochi wrapped in leaves.

“It’s made by the girl I was telling you about.” he remarks, while clearing the dishes.

“Oh,” your heart sinks. You get up and leave, feeling humiliated by your naivety. Of course he’s with her. You feel stupid for even hoping.

You’re about to walk out when he comes back in. “Apparently, she’s been secretly in a relationship with another chef in her family inn. They recently got married and are hoping to start a family soon. She sent these down to inform me. I suppose that solves the problem of having to see someone outside of work—”

He sees you standing. Confusion runs through his expression.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Just stretching…” you lie.

You want to shoot yourself in the foot in embarrassment.

When realization dawns on him, Osamu looks crestfallen. Any energy left in his body abandons him. He sighs, resigned.

“It’s ok if you want to go,” he nods, “Or if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

He bites his lip and looks down on his shoes. The room is still and pregnant with silence.

“I really am just stretching. My hip feels wonky from sitting all day.” you insist with some renewed energy. You grab hold of the pot on the table. “Also, can we get some more hot water? Tea would be nice with the mochi and it’s kind of gone cold.”

He offers to make another pot, relief evident on his face.

“I’ll go heat up the water.” he walks to the kettle, “Are you sure you want dessert?”

You sit back down.

“Yeah, I want to stay.” you murmur. For once you don’t go running to the door.

He glances at you, content, a small smile creeping on his face. ——————————————————

Atsumu, Osamu’s twin brother, always finds himself in his brother’s kitchen every time he visits. He doesn’t mind too much though. It gives them something to do when they catch up.

“Samu, you can’t still be moping around your ex!” Atsumu exclaims. He’s washing Osamu’s dishes as his brother prepares for their meal.

“I’m not ready to get back out there.” Osamu waves dismissively.

Atsumu flicks some water his way. “You’re just not open to seeing someone else.”

His words clearly prick Osamu who throws flour into his face. Atsumu dodges right on time and flicks some flour right back.

Some flour grazes Osamu’s sleeve. He sighs and dusts himself.

“It’s tough, because I’m working all the time. This job doesn’t pay too much and it’s not glamorous. Who’d wanna date someone like me?” he murmurs.

“That’s why you gotta date around to find out!” Atsumu emphasizes, “Maybe you’ll even find someone who might help you with your business when you get married.”

Osamu obstinately shakes his head. “It’s not as easy as you think.”

Atsumu dries his hand and carefully observes his brother. He puts his towel down onto the kitchen counter and raises his brow, “Or maybe I should just give you advice on getting back together.’

As if right on cue, Osamu slams his hand down onto the counter, “I hate that we still haven’t gotten back together. This is killing me!”

Atsumu chuckles in satisfaction. He’s hit the nail right on the head.

“Why has nothing happened yet? I’m already in the city!” Osamu continues on, “They can cook too! Did you know that?! I wish we can skip to the part where we can settle down.”

He vigorously gestures in frustration.

“I cannot! I just cannot move on until I know I’ve given everything to make this work and yet every time I see them all I do is offer them food!”

Atsumu places his hand on his brother’s shoulder, “You need to be more strategic about it. Here’s what you need to do…”

———————————————————————————

Osamu takes a deep breath before knocking at your door. He holds a bag of onigiri in one hand and whatever courage he has in another.

One knock, then another. He hasn’t been this nervous in a long while.

When you open the door, his ear picks up on a male voice inside your house. Combined with your expression, he realizes that he’s come at an inconvenient time.

“I brought you something.” he tries to smile despite the sweat pooling, “I made you lunch. I just wanted to make sure you were eating. We don’t have to talk. I just wanted to give this to you.”

He tries to look past your shoulder, attempting to glimpse at your guests.

“Are you seeing someone else by any chance?” he blurts out, “I want to clarify before I make any more free deliveries.”

You frown. “That’s none of your business, Osamu. You should leave.”

Your frankness pierces something within him. He hadn’t expected to be rejected so quickly.

Osamu’s eyes widen and his mouth drops. He quickly gathers himself before he gets disheartened.

“I want you to give me a second chance. You loved me so deeply. Maybe you can find love in me again.” he says quietly.

“I thought I was too much of a city girl for you,” you retort, despite lacking an edge in your voice. You notice his hands tightly clutching the plastic bag.

The noise at the back seems to melt away. It’s like you’re back in that party, standing too close to each other near the coat rack and the door.

“Maybe you’re not.” his shoulders gracefully go up and down.

You shook your head wryly, “Osamu, I haven’t changed. I like my job and the city. I’m not the life and business partner that you’re looking for. I’m just a customer and we should keep it that way.”

“I can stop if you like.” he offers meekly, putting his hands behind his back.

“Yeah, you should. You’ve hurt me so much.” you cover your mouth with your hands while you try not to sob, “There’s nothing to go back to.”

“I’m sorry I ended things the way I did.” he looks away, “Seeing you walk by me every day feels like penitence…“

You close the door before he says anymore.

Osamu gazes longingly at the door. It’s only now that the full weight of losing you sinks in.

—————————————— “How’d it go?” Atsumu calls to check on Osamu.

Osamu sucks in his breath, his palm pressed on his temple. Atsumu braces himself, this doesn’t sound good.

“They had someone else over.” Osamu is seething in frustration and angry tears.

“Calm down. Were they alone? Or was it a friend group?” Atsumu ’s mind races. He sifts through the situation in an attempt to placate his brother.

“Yeah? No? I don’t know.” Osamu snaps, “They told me she didn’t want to talk about it. Your advice sucks!”

Osamu walks most of the way home. When he catches sight of his store, he curses. He had left his damn bike at your apartment complex! The universe is not giving him any breaks today.

He sighs and continues towards his store. He had a friend watch it while he was away. He’ll have to come pick up after he closes the store.

Throughout the rest of the day, he tries to push you out of his mind. By the time he closes the store, he is bursting at the seams with anticipation to make his way back to your apartment.

Before he sets off, he sees your figure wheeling his bike towards him.

“You left your bike.” you breathe out. You fish something out of your pocket and toss him the key to his bike lock, “You left this in your lock too.”

“Every time you see me, I just look dumber and dumber.” he sighs in exasperation.

You can’t help but burst into laughter at his candidness. He perks up a bit. He hasn’t made you laugh in a while. Of course he’d rather have you laugh with him than at him. Still, this was a start right?

"Did Atsumu put you up to this?" you chuckle, handing the bike over.

“Yeah, how did you know?” he asks dumbfounded.

“I just do.” you scoff, “It’s not like you to show up on people’s doors.”

He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, “Sorry about that. It won’t happen again. It was a moment of weakness.”

Your eyes lower, framing the sad expression that sets into your face, “Yeah, it better not. I’ve moved on.”

You turn around to walk away. In a brief moment of courage, he cups his hands around his mouth.

“I’m not ready to move on from you and if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” he calls out.

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Taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan @kaizumi @holaaaf @glxar

Comment or message to be added to the taglist! I’m definitely making a part 2!

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

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Final Hours pt. 2: The Illusion

synopsis: Living life at the House of the Children of the Star is supposed to be safe and comforting. So why can’t you shake this feeling that you’re not even close to being safe?

word count: 1808

tw: rough sex, breeding, curse words, nsfw

a/n: I absolutely lied. I’m not done writing for Geto. I’ve got about ten years of silence and material I can work off of. Well, that implies... that I don’t hop on the Naoya train.

You turn your head at the sound of water splashing in the bathtub, listening to a babbling Renji and Suguru playing around in the bubble-water. It was undoubtedly adorable seeing the soft side Renji pulled out of the curse user these days, especially now that he was wanted and - in an effort to protect what he had built - ruthless.

But even his lack of tenderness with those outside of his small circle (you, Renji, Mimiko, and Nanako) had a purpose. This purpose would be re-explained to you every so often, whispered to Renji when he was asleep, and seared into the brains of those who followed him. You saw the countless evenings he spent thinking, in meetings, consuming curses… You originally thought it would wear him down faster than Jujutsu Tech had, but he only seemed to grow more powerful with every passing day.

“All done,” Suguru announces, producing a towel-wrapped Renji with a wide smile. “Now we can get you settled in for bed.” Fatherhood is good for him, you think before smiling back and holding your arms out for the giggling child. Mimiko and Nanako could be heard playing around in the hallways, no doubt testing each other’s patience with a game of tag. But you don’t mind. Nothing really bothers you anymore. At least, that’s the way you wished it were.

When you place Renji down in the crib littered with beautiful blankets and stuffed animals, the nagging feeling returns. This is all an illusion, something whispers to you, but you push the feeling away. You've gotten better at doing that lately: ignoring the sinking feeling in your gut at dinner or the tiny twinge of fear you felt at night when everyone was asleep. After you tuck Renji in, you turn to Suguru, who waited patiently for you to join him in your shared bedroom.

When he swipes a hand over your shoulder and presses his thumbs into your upper back, you relax into his touch, allowing him to strip you of the tension in your body. “It’s perfect…” he whispers behind you, and you desperately want to agree; you really do. But you keep your mouth shut, knowing that any argument would be lost the moment he set his lips to your skin or smoothed his hands over your hips. “I love it here.”

“I know,” you answer softly, and his hands still on your back.

“Do you… like it?” The hurt in his voice is evident.

“I love it,” you lie easily, trying to convince yourself that you do love it here; the children are safe, you’re safe, and no one would dare cross Suguru to get to either you or the children.

Except Satoru and Shoko. The remembrance of the two sorcerers puts you on edge again, and a shudder passes through you. You don’t even step foot out of the House for fear of them finding you and taking a sledgehammer to what Suguru carefully crafted as a safe haven.

“And I love you,” Suguru whispers, bringing you back to the present. “Mother of my children, tune to my song, blood in my veins…”

“You’re only waxing poetic because you want something from me.” The observation earns a low chuckle from him, and he smooths his fingers over your hips, making them jerk forward a little. “Just say it.”

“I want another child with you,” he murmurs, fingers splayed across your belly. “I want to have a family full of sorcerer--”

“Will this family get rid of all the non-sorcerers in the world?” The thought that any child of yours would have the capacity - of be forced - to murder makes you sick to your stomach. “Is that why you want so many children?” You’re not sure what caused you to snap, but it’s obviously caught Suguru off guard.

“Watch your mouth.” The command is emphasized by one of his hands grabbing your chin from behind. “Do you think I won’t have completed my goal before we grow our family? I have enough power to do this without their help. Our children won’t have to lift a single finger,” he hisses into your ear, taking care to lower his voice so as to not disturb Renji.

“You really see me as some sort of breeding cow, don’t you?” Suguru lets go of your chin and shuts the door to your room, and you prepare for an argument. But instead of turning to you and pointing a finger before beginning to raise his voice, he grabs your chin again, and walks you back against the wall. You stare him down, not one to back down from a fight. But he doesn’t say a word when he presses his lips against yours, roughly pushing a hand under your shirt and grabbing a breast.

“You think I see you as a cow, hmm?” You exhale shakily, daring to jut your chin out a little in defiance. You knew this game: he would soften you up with a show of dominance, tease out your submissive side, and you’d crumble into his arms and give him just what he wanted. But tonight, you won’t go down without a fight.

Yes, of course you want to give in. You want him to touch you and drive you senseless, but not at the cost of bodily autonomy.

“Yeah,” you answer confidently, feeling his fingers slip down your stomach.

“You’d be sorely mistaken, then.” His lips press against your cheek and heat pools between your legs. Fuck. You curse yourself mentally, angry your body was reacting exactly how you knew it would. “I worship you, kitten. Shit, your body is a mere fraction of what I see when I look at you.” The admission makes you look into his eyes, but you see no trickery there. His grip on your chin slackens, and that same hand falls to your waist as he trails his lips down your neck, pausing to suck on the tender flesh. “You’re more than just a mother, y/n… You know that,” he murmurs against your shoulder, and you shiver under his touch.

Suguru hoists you up easily and takes you to the bed, pinning you underneath him as he presses his lips against yours once more. “Do I have permission to make love to you?” The request is whispered against one of your wrists, and you shiver again as his lips press against that spot, too. Your throat dries up and you swallow hard, trying to form the words you want to say, and when his black eyes flick down to yours, his gaze is hard and unwavering like a stone. “Or should I fuck you like the cow you assume I see you as?”

“Fuck me,” you blurt, and Suguru’s hands instantly duck beneath the hem of your long skirt, pushing it up around your waist. Without warning, he tears at your underwear - another pair gone - and pushes your knees back forcefully.

It isn’t long before you see his pants drop over the side of the bed and feel his fingers probe angrily at your entrance. “You want me to fuck you?” he asks breathily, extending one of your legs back sharply. The question is rhetorical; he’s obviously going to fuck you regardless. You nod anyways, and he presses into you. The pain is sharp and undeniable, but as you open your mouth to cry out, Suguru pushes a hand against it. “Shut the fuck up.” You feel the urge to struggle as he moves inside of you as you’re not wet enough. But he stops mid-stroke and lubricates himself with a trail of spit before working himself back into you. “That’s a good girl… lay there and take it.”

You whimper around his hand, but he doesn’t relent while he pushes into you with force. Suguru seems to be enjoying the view, but you aren’t allowed to lay on your back for much longer. When his cock slips free and his hand comes off of your mouth, there’s a moment where the air rushes into you, but that’s quickly overshadowed by Suguru moving you sideways across the bed, your head dangling off the edge precariously.

“Open,” he commands, and you obediently open your mouth for him to insert his rock hard cock. You can’t take much upside-down, but Suguru definitely tries to shove his entire length down your throat. When you reach your limit, you slap a hand against his thigh, trying to push him off, but he grunts and removes your fingers easily. “I haven’t even gotten started yet.” He places his large hands on your tits as an anchor before moving back and forth and fucking your face.

You don’t know how to cope. While he invades your mouth, the sorcerer above you takes your ankle and stretches your other leg back, placing your big toe in his mouth. His tongue wraps around the digit with ease before he moves to the other toes, sucking on them without a care in the world. You want to yell, scream at him that it’s all too much, but you can’t. Not with his cock stuffed in your mouth. And when his other hand comes off of your breast to play with your cunt, you’re done for.

You practically lose yourself as all of the sensations come to a head, damn near evaporating into the air. When it’s over, though, his mouth lifts off of your foot, his cock slides out of your mouth, and his fingers leave you. You pant eagerly, wanting more, but he moves to the other side of the bed, pressing a knee against the mattress and pulling you to the other side.

When he enters you again, you claw at his back, still sensitive from your orgasm. “Su, my god!”

“Hush,” he claps a hand over your mouth again, raising a brow at your exclamation while he ruts into you. “I won’t have you waking Renji. If you wake him…” He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. You know whatever it is won’t be good.

Suguru continues to pump into you at an increasing speed, his face scrunching up like he’s about to cum. “Su, please…” you whine against his palm and that’s all it takes for him.

“Fuck!” The exclamation is followed by a warm feeling in your pussy that flows out as he continues to move inside of you, not stopping for a second to catch his breath. Somehow, he still has the stamina to continue moving as he pushes cum out of you. Then he picks up his speed again, moaning louder than before and removing his hand from your mouth. You whimper, and he looks down at you instantly. “We’re not even close to finished, y/n. You want me to fuck you like a cow? That’s exactly what I’m about to fucking do.”

#jujutsu kaisen getou #getou x reader #geto x reader #getou suguru #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk geto #jjk smut

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turning-dreams-into-chaos · 3 years

Text

Questions

Sirius Black x Reader

Request: hello! can i request an imagine in which reader is Lucius’ little sister, so she has a bad reputation among the marauders, but on their last year, her and Sirius are supposed to work on a project together so they start spending more time together and he realises that she’s not like her family at all, so they start developing feelings for each other? maybe they even kiss in the end? hehe. thanks!

Word Count: 4.3K

A/N: I wrote this for @angelinathebook‘s writing challenge and dear god, it’s taken months to begin this because pookiebear just hit 2,000 followers and the challenge was for 300... Love that. Anyways, my prompts were “I like spending time with you.” and “I’ve fallen in love with you.” Enjoy!

***

Y/N Malfoy.

Your name held a lot of depth at Hogwarts that you didn’t want. Being the younger sister of Lucius Malfoy didn’t come easy. Everyone either feared your brother or didn’t like you because of him, which sounded absurd when you’ve tried your best over the years to make friends outside of your house. Your brother said it wasn’t worth it, Slytherin’s would always be superior and to stick with the pure bloods here, but you hated the thought, knowing the bad beliefs had rubbed onto Lucius greatly.

Even after Lucius graduated a few years ago, people still didn’t like you and you gave up, finding that trying to make people understand you is too tiring. You had one more year left at Hogwarts and all you wanted was to finish it off gracefully, no longer embarrassing yourself with the rejection of friend groups.

Tapping your fingers against the table, you tried to pay attention to professor McGonagall teach today’s lesson, but it was really hard when all you heard was the Marauders definitely not paying attention. It was irritating really how they didn’t seem to get trouble for their antics today. After hearing one of them snicker, you couldn’t help but look back at them. Sirius and James were both turned around to Remus and Peter’s table, Remus had his face in his notes but an obvious smile on his lips and he listened to his friends. Peter was snickering quietly as James mumbled something, but Sirius was the only one who hadn’t been paying attention, instead he was smirking as he saw you staring at his friends. Once he caught your attention, he sent you a wink before your eyes widened and you almost snapped your neck as you faced the front again.

Sirius rolled his eyes as he turned back to the group. “Malfoy was looking at us.” He whispered as James scoffed.

“What did she want?” James mumbled with a half smirk as he spared a glance at you, finding you focused more on the lesson.

Sirius furrowed his brows. “And I would know because we obviously had a very vocal conversation.” Sirius said sarcastically as his friends laughed a little louder, James nudging Sirius before someone cleared their throat behind James. The four of them looked up, seeing McGonagall standing there and the whole class looking at them. “Hello Minnie, what can we do for you?” Sirius asked, plastering a smile on his face that caused Professor McGonagall to purse her lips.

“Mr. Black, it would do you and your friends good to pay attention in my class. Especially for the term project I’ve assigned.” She raised a brow at them and Sirius remained unfazed.

“Ah, that’s okay Minnie. I’m sure we’ll all figure it out together.” He sent he a wink as McGonagall started towards the front of the classroom.

“For your project, I will be assigning your partners.” You watched Sirius’ smile fall as you let out a laugh, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Professor McGonagall, though she said nothing. “And Mr. Black?” She called out, without even turning around. “That’s detention.”

He threw his hand in the air as he glanced around the room, finding you trying hard not to smile. Sirius huffed out a breath at your reaction. Although he’d hadn’t had many run-ins with you, he knew your brother was bad news and he assumed you’d be just like him. He heard rumors of you trying to befriend people, but based on the fact you never seemed to stay with those people, Sirius was certain it was because you were like your brother.

As Professor McGonagall began rambling off partners for the project, Sirius finally began listening, waiting for his name to be read. His friends all had their assignments and Sirius shifted in his seat, realizing there were only a few people left. “Sirius Black.” McGonagall said and for what seemed like the first time as she read off the names, she paused. Sirius furrowed his brows, watching her cross something out and scribble down something else before she continued. “And Y/N Malfoy.” Sirius’ mouth dropped opened as he stared at McGonagall, knowing he heard her correctly. He looked over to you, seeing you slumped back on your stool in a state much like Sirius.

“Class dismissed.” McGonagall said before looking up, seeing a few of her partners already heading to each other to start talking. In fact, the only two who seemed not to was you and Sirius. You slowly packed your belongings, sparing a glance back to Sirius who was still sitting in shock.

“Great.” You mumbled before heading over to him. “Black?” You said, knocking him out of his stupor. He blinked a few times before letting out a pitiful laugh and grabbing his bookbag.

“Come on, lets get this over with.” He grumbled as he started walking out of the room. Staying in place, you looked back to McGonagall, seeing a smirk on her face as you began to wonder what you did to her for her to force this on you. “Malfoy, are you coming?” Sirius asked when he realized you weren’t following.

You swallowed thickly before following behind him in silence until you reached the library. He stopped inside, glancing around to all the students before looking to you. “You really weren’t paying attention when she told us about the project, were you?”

Sirius expected you to bring that situation up, but he hadn’t expected your voice to sound so soft when you had. He nodded slightly, licking his lips as he quirked a brow. “I think we both know I wasn’t.”

“I figured.” There was a playfulness that again shocked Sirius as he cleared his throat, following you to the correct section of the library. You scanned the shelves for a moment before starting to pull books out. When you had a couple of them in your hands, you turned towards Sirius, giving him a huge fake grin as you pulled his hands up and started piling the books into him.

Sirius looked down at the stack as it started piling up. “Do we really need all these?” He asked dumbfounded, pulling his head back as the books reached his face. He heard you laugh and furrowed his brows.

“Absolutely not, but I wanted to see how many it’d take you to say something.” You smirked, counting the books in his hands. “It was 13, in case you were wondering.”

Sirius tried to hide his chuckle but it didn’t work. As soon as you removed all but 3 books, his face was back to the same mad looking one he wore when you left the classroom. You quickly averted your gaze. “Shall we?” you asked, gesturing to the table next to you. Sirius didn’t nod or anything as he placed the books onto the table and slid into the seat with his back to you. You let out a nervous breath you hoped he couldn’t hear as you moved around the table.

“So,” Sirius said, looking down at the books. “What’s the project?” You nodded and explained the project to him again, this time with Sirius listening and asking questions.

“That’s it?” Sirius asked a few minutes later once you were finished. You nodded, watching him lean back with a smirk. “See I didn’t need to listen in class.”

“Only because I did.” You quipped with a chuckle and reached for a book. Sirius, however, saw you reach for it and grabbed it first. He wore a grin as you looked at him, rolling your eyes and reaching for another one.

“You’re so mature.” You mumbled and Sirius clicked his tongue with a grin.

“I am, aren’t I?” His obvious use of sarcasm wasn’t lost on you as you flipped opened your book, scanning the pages for any useful information. Sirius did so as well, although he kept taking looks up at you before slamming his book closed. The sound caused you to jump as you looked up confused. “Okay, what’s your deal.”

“My deal? You’re the one who slammed the book closed?” You narrowed your eyes in confusion as he shook his head.

“I mean, are you like everyone says you are?” He shrugged and once again you were confused.

“People talk about me?”

Sirius averted his gaze, unsure if he should say more. “A little.” He admitted, watching you nod slowly.

“What do they say?” your voice wavered a little and Sirius gulped as he shifted in his seat.

“Just that you were the same as your brother.”

You let out a surprise huff of air with your eyebrows raised. “Oh.” You began, glancing about the library. It was then you noticed a few people casting looks your way, seeing you with Sirius obviously earning a few conversations.

“Are they right?” Sirius asked bluntly, tapping his pen against the table.

You locked eyes with him, your mouth upturning to smirk. “Absolutely.” You lied, seeing Sirius’ face falter. “You know, Lucius and I, brother and sister, why wouldn’t I be like my family?” Your question was rhetorical and Sirius knew it, but one thing was hitting him hard. He knew how Lucius was, everyone did, but he also knew how different one can be from their family. Look at his family. His brother and him barely spoke to each other as it is and he was estranged from his parents before he was even out of school. Why did he just assume you were like your brother? Why did everyone assume you were like your brother?

“Look this was fun, kind of, and it was a great beginning to the project, but I have to go to my next class.” You lied to him, putting the books in your arms to borrow. You left Sirius with the one he was reading as he nodded.

“Yeah, of course.” Sirius said, shaking away the thoughts in his head. “Uh, meet tomorrow?” He asked and you nodded, not looking in his eyes.

“Yeah. See you then.”

With that, you were off, leaving Sirius alone in the library with the book in front of him. He sighed loudly after you left, slowly falling himself forward onto the table. He couldn’t be wrong about you, right? 7 years of going to school together and he couldn’t have assumed wrong about you this whole time, could he?

Sirius groaned to himself, realizing he had been sitting there for quite alone before shoving the book into his backpack and heading out to find his friends. He realized he could’ve used his map, but he needed the walk. It took him down the black lake, feeling the cool air hit his skin as he stopped walking when he saw someone sitting against a tree. He snickered quietly as he moved closer, leaning against the tree.

“So, what class is this?” he asked, watching you jump out of your skin, the book you were intently reading flying out of your hands as Sirius threw his head back in laughter.

“For Merlin’s sake Black, what the hell?!” you shouted at him, holding an arm against your stomach as you let out a breath.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” Sirius continued to laugh as he fell to the ground, pushing your book over to you as you snatched it, keeping your eyes off him.

“You are not funny.” You muttered, fixing your position as Sirius moved to lean against the tree right next to you.

He was still laughing slightly as you opened your book back up, trying to find where you left off. “So, are we going to talk about how you lied about having class?”

“Nope.” Sirius made an appreciative face at your honesty as he watched you adjust your green and silver scarf around your neck. There was a silence that overcame the both of you before you couldn’t take it anymore. “Did you need something?” You asked, putting your book in your lap as you turned to meet his grey eyes.

Sirius put on a cocky smile. “Nope.” He said, popping the ‘p’. You bit lip as you kept yourself from saying anything and looking back to your book.

Once again, there was a silence as Sirius stared out to the lake, often taking glances to you reading. “Stop looking at me.” You muttered and turned your page.

“I’m not looking at you.” Sirius said very much falsely as his eyes never moved off your face.

“Black, I’m serious.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m-“

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” You interrupted him, looking at him again only to see him smile. It was then you realized he was messing with you, trying to get a reaction out of like he’d get out of your brother. “Alright. How about this, you can ask me one question a day until the end of the project, but you have to leave me alone for the rest of today.”

Sirius raised a brow. “What makes you think I want to know anything about you?” He asked and you shrugged.

“It’s your choice, take it or leave it.”

Sirius considered for a second before nodding. “Okay, deal.” You expected him to ask you the question then, but he didn’t, instead he just sat there.

“Your question?” you nudged him, hoping this could be sped up.

“Oh, I have to think about it.” He smiled at you again before leaning back against the tree.

You groaned although you were amused at his choice. “Fine, then as you think, lets get some work done?” You switched your book for one about the project and Sirius listened, pulling out his book. You weren’t sure how long you both sat there, talking over the project and exchanging information, but soon it was getting colder and even your scarves weren’t warm enough for the cool air.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.” You said before letting out a yawn as you covered your face.

Sirius nodded as he stretched. “Agreed. I still have my question though.” You nodded, fighting off another yawn.

“Yep, what do you want to know?”

You both stood off, brushing off the grass as Sirius pondered for another second. “What’s your favorite color?”

You looked at him with astonishment. “That’s your question?” you asked and he nodded. “Out of everything you could’ve asked, you want to know my favorite color?”

Sirius doesn’t know why he chose that question, but seeing your confused reaction, he deemed it the right now. “Yep.”

“Y/F/C.” you said, letting your voice rise with amusement. Sirius pretended to make a mental note as you rolled your eyes, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “You’re going to forget.” You called over your shoulder as your heard Sirius jog to meet your strides as you walked.

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Miss Malfoy.” You looked at him out of the corner of your eyes, an action Sirius caught with a grin. “My memory? Spectacular.” He boasted and you nodded, stopping when Sirius and you were about to go separate ways.

“Good, at least then I know you’re not going to forget our study times? Tomorrow? Black Lake after classes?”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll bring us a blanket.” He promised, making a mental note as you snorted.

“That’s cheeky.” You grinned before walking your way, hearing Sirius yell out to you.

“I meant for the ground! So, we don’t have to sit on the grass!” You glanced over your shoulder before you turned the corner, sending Sirius a wink as he stood in place, watching you disappear. “Cheeky.” He scoffed, finding the smile on his face not going away any time soon.

Sirius, despite his memory not being as perfect as he promised, was right on time for the project time the next day, and the day after that and every day for the next month, often getting there before you. He always had the blanket too, spreading it out on the ground as you both sat or laid on it, reading your books and working on McGonagall’s assignment.

You didn’t have much longer in the project, and Sirius and you were right on schedule to finish and if someone asked you, Sirius and you were starting to get along really well. Sirius felt the same way, he wasn’t expecting a friendship to blossom between the two of you, but it was so easy. You were so unlike how he expected. Sirius was laying on his side, propped up on his elbow as he flipped through the book in front of him, honestly getting a little bored of what he was reading. He sighed, eyes moving to you, slouched over and head leaning onto your palm as you flipped the page.

Feeling Sirius looking at you, you glanced up, meeting his eyes and smiled before looking back down. Sirius however never looked away, in fact, a weird feeling overcame him. There were butterflies in his stomach and they wouldn’t leave. Although, he wasn’t sure if he wanted them too.

“Sirius?” you looked up. The butterflies seemed to flutter faster as you called him by his name, no longer by Black. “You haven’t read in almost 5 minutes, are you alright?”

He nodded, a lazy smile on his face as he pushed back his long hair, running his fingers softly through it. “Just tired, Y/N. We’ve been working for a while.” He admitted and you agreed, slowly closing the book and leaning back on your palm, settling into a position to look at him.

“Finish the rest tomorrow? I honestly think we’re almost done.” You voice held disappointment you hoped Sirius hadn’t picked up on. If he did, he didn’t say anything. “Got today’s question?” Sirius smiled slowly. He loved the question part of the day. Some of them were things like favorite class, favorite animal, favorite food and others were ones like what your Boggart was, if you’ve ever had your heart broken, just personal questions. Sirius allowed you to ask him a couple too and mainly you just re-asked his questions, figuring if you had to answer them then he had to as well.

Sirius sat up as he looked at you, preparing to ask the question. “That first day of the project,” He began, earning a nod from you to continue, “why did you pretend to have a class?”

You gulped, making a face. You should’ve known he would’ve asked that sooner or later. “I didn’t want to be assumed the same as my brother.” You admitted quietly. Sirius felt awful for asking as soon as he did. He should’ve realized the reason. “We’re different people, with different ideals, different mannerisms. I didn’t want his legacy to become mine. I think when you asked me if I was like him,” your words slowly quieted as you looked out to the lake, taking a shaky breath, “I figured if people were going to assume who I was without figuring it out themselves, then I’d let them.”

Sirius just stared at you, a small smile on his face that was beginning to make you uncomfortable before he spoke up. “I think I’m figuring you out.”

You let out an unsteady breath. “You are, are you?”

“I think so. I do know one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“I like spending time with you.” His smile never faded from his face as you slowly smiled yourself.

“I like spending time with you, too.” You admitted, pulling your knees up as Sirius and you looked away from each other, feeling your cheeks heat up. The smile remained on your face until a few certain thoughts made their way into your mind and you had to remind yourself of a few things. The biggest thing?

He’s only spending time with you because he has to.

You cleared your throat, shoving the books and papers you had into your bag as you scurried off the ground. “Um, I almost forgot I have to do something!” you lied and right away, Sirius could tell. He didn’t say a thing as you backed away reminding him of tomorrow’s final worktime before you were gone, leaving Sirius alone to ponder what just happened.

That night, alone in your room, you finished up the project, putting the final touches and saving you the next few days of having to work with Sirius. You weren’t sure why you did it.

Maybe you didn’t want to force your presence upon Sirius anymore.

Maybe you figured it was better to detach yourself from Sirius before he could.

Or maybe you’ve realized the feelings you had every time Sirius smiled at you were no longer platonic.

The next day, Sirius had the blanket all set up by the time your study session came to start, he was seated, leaning against the tree as he waited for you. Today was going to be a big day for Sirius, he’d been telling his friends about you for the last month and after several nights of them trying to convince Sirius to tell you how he felt about you, he was going to. He was beginning to get a little concerned when you were late since you’d never been late before.

“Hey.” He heard behind him as he stood up, meeting your eyes as you stood back from the blanket. Her furrowed his brows, watching you fold your arms tight to your body.

“Is everything okay?” Sirius asked, trying to keep his voice lighthearted despite the dread in his chest.

You nodded, gulping and dropping your eyes. “I finished the project last night.”

“You what?” Sirius asked, unsure why you would do that. “I thought we were going to finish it together.”

The silence that crossed you both made Sirius uncomfortable. “Well, now we don’t have to.”

“Did I do something? If this was about the questions-“

“It’s not about the questions, Black.” Sirius’ heart dropped as you called him by his last name. “Look, the project’s over, you don’t have to be forced to spend time with me anymore, you can go back to pranking with your friends and I can go back to my books and avoiding everyone.” You started to turn around and head back to the school but obviously Sirius ran after you, grabbing your hand to turn you around.

“Hey, I was never forced to hang out with you.” He tried to counter but you just shot him a look, putting a smile on your face to hide much this was actually hurting you.

“If we were never assigned as partners, you’d still be thinking I was like Lucius, probably talking about me behind my back and your friends would be-“

“Don’t.” Sirius cut you off, not wanting you to take a trip down that path. He took a breath, trying to keep his voice low. “Y/N, If I never sat with James on the train in first year, I wouldn’t have any of my friends. If I stayed with my family, I would’ve grown up like them. If I hadn’t talked back to McGonagall that day she was assigning partners and if you hadn’t laughed at it, we never would’ve become what we are.” Your breathing hitched as he spoke. He was right though, just because you were forced to work on the project together doesn’t mean you can’t now be friends. Or more.

“What are we?” you whispered, feeling the cold nip at the unshed tears in your eyes.

Sirius stared into your beautiful eyes, sparkling as the midday sun shined upon them. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.” He admitted, taking a step closer to you when he realized he was still holding your hand.

You looked down at your hands, Sirius’ fitting perfectly with yours and you felt the warmth spread from his touch. “I have a question for you today.” You whispered as you met his eyes again. Sirius nodded, licking his lips in nerves. “How do you feel about me?”

Sirius didn’t say anything at first. He knew exactly how he felt, but saying it out loud was another thing. He cleared his throat, feeling you squeeze his hand as he squeezed back. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Both of your eyes widened at Sirius’ honesty. He thought you’d let go of his hand, maybe call him out for being crazy but you didn’t. Instead you smiled at him, a bright wide smile that had Sirius’ heart souring. You opened your mouth to speak but stopped yourself, unsure of what to say. “You’re serious?”

“In more than one way.” He joked and you rolled your eyes, well aware of Sirius’ jokes. He brought a hand up to your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Y/N.” he repeated.

“Well, I have news for you, Sirius.” He smiled at you as grabbed his other hand, letting your fingers intertwine. “I’ve fallen for you as well.”

Sirius celebrated, letting go of your hands as he pumped his hands in the air as he remained on cloud nine. You laughed as you watched him, your smile stretching your face before Sirius stopped what he was doing and grabbed your hands fast, scaring you by his sudden moments. “I still have my question.” He beamed.

“Okay?”

Sirius’ eyes flickered down to your lips and you already knew what he wanted to ask. He slowly pulled you closer to him, your bodies pressed together until you could feel Sirius’ breath meeting yours and both of your eyes slowly closed. “Can I kiss you?” He whispered.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you closed the distance between your lips, feeling Sirius move his hand up to cup your cheek, his fingers threading loosely into your head as he deepened the kiss. You were breathless, drowning in the feeling of Sirius and you never wanted to come up for air.

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I’m Always Curious Part Ten

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Notes: Not beta-read. I hope everyone is well!! Thank you to everyone that’s read/liked/reblogged/replied! I really appreciate it! Summary: The mission that the Captain had chosen not to brief us on that night at Liquara (which I was trying so hard not to think about), was a diplomatic mission to Larilia.

The slush-o mix was not worth the hangover.

I considered the conversation I’d had with the Captain the night before as I laid in my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I was just… So confused. Had he really bothered to leave the bar just to ask me if I was alright? And the way I’d spoken to him…

I groaned, smoothing my hands over my face. I had a dull headache, I was hungry, and I had an intensive to get to.

“You’ve been, really? An active war zone doesn’t exactly seem like a prime vacation destination,” Thaleh commented, crossing her arms as she leaned against my console. I smiled.

“It wasn’t really a vacation. My dad had a diplomatic summit at the capital. I didn’t get to see much. I mostly stayed in the suite they had set up for him and spoke with the aide that had gotten stuck looking after me.”

The mission that the Captain had chosen not to brief us on that night at Liquara (which I was trying so hard not to think about), was a diplomatic mission to Larilia. The planet had been embroiled in a civil war for the last 78 years. The Federation typically did its best not to get involved in such matters, but the Larilians had reached out to the Federation for mediation.

Admiral Spargo had boarded the Enterprise, tasked with bringing the conflict to a peaceful end.

Cyril Spargo was practically a Starfleet institution. His storied career with Starfleet had included a fifteen year stint as captain, numerous diplomatic missions, and countless victories - both on the battlefield and at the negotiating table. The man even had a maneuver named after him.

“Larilians are matrilineal in all things, so, if the translator that’s chosen is a woman, and if yourself or the Admiral have something to say, the translator is going to need to announce it first.” That was the last thing I had on my list of pertinent information pertaining to Larilia. Pike nodded, glancing from me to the Admiral. “I think we can handle that,” He nodded, “Is there anything else that you think is crucial?” “No, Captain.” “The lieutenant also prepared a briefing document on the Larilians, it’s available for review if needed,” Number One chimed in. Pike gave a nod, lip quirking into what looked like a small smile. I’d only made the document because I’d mistakenly assumed, when asked to put a brief together, that it would be given to Thaleh, and that she’d be speaking to the Captain and the Admiral herself. “Thank you, lieutenant. Dismissed.” I stood, nodding to the group before leaving the Captain’s ready room. I tried not to make too much of a hurry out of it. I hadn’t spent any time around the Captain since my idiotic comments on the turbolift. He had seemed no less his usual self than when I’d come in, had been attentive throughout. I had been avoiding the observation deck all week, but after my shift I found myself drawn to it. It was empty, and I was relieved. I relaxed for a few minutes, peering out of the window and watching the stars whizz by in silence. “Lieutenant.” I straightened up, whirling around. I swallowed thickly. “Captain.” He stood just by the loveseat I’d settled on. I wasn’t sure if I should gesture for him to sit; surely he’d just settle down if he wanted to? “I wanted to thank you again for your comprehensive briefing today,” He nodded. “Of course. Glad I could help.” “I also wanted to inform you that you will be beaming down with myself and the Admiral to aid in the Larilian negotiations.” Panic wormed its way into my core. “Me?” Pike’s brow arched. “Problem?” “No, of course not, sir, but-- Surely there’s someone on the ship that’s more qualified for something of this...Magnitude.” Pike seemed to consider this, pressing his lips into a thin line and directing his eyes to the ceiling, as though he was looking through a catalogue of other communications officers. Then his eyes returned to me. “Are you not the one that briefed us on the cultures and customs?” That felt rhetorical, though the look I was fixed with told me that I was obliged to answer. “Yes.” “And if I recall you speak six languages fluently, would you just...List them for me?” This felt like a trap. “...Federation Standard, obviously--” “Obviously--” “Vulcan, Orion--” “High and Low--” “That’s still technically only one language, Captain-- Cardassian, Romulan, Laril...ian…” I trailed off, nodding a little bit. Pike mirrored the movement. “I think you’re plenty qualified,” He reassured me, “And you won’t be beaming down to negotiate alone. We drop out of warp in two hours.” He turned to leave. I eyed his retreating back, feeling the panic turn to jitters. I don’t know what compelled me as I stood hurriedly, saying, “Captain.” He stopped, turning back to face me. For a moment, I couldn’t speak; he was looking at me so expectantly. Of course, if someone were to address you, you’d assume that they’d know what they were going to say in advance. “...Lieutenant?” He asked, taking a step closer. “The other night, I--” I let my eyes drop to the cushions for a fraction of a second before meeting his eyes again. The least I could do was look the man in the damn eye this time, “I’m sorry.” His brow furrowed. “What are you apologizing for?” He seemed sincerely confused, which only made this about a billion times worse. “You asked me if I was alright, and the way I responded--” Pike held a hand up to stop me, and I closed my mouth. “I overstepped,” He shook his head once. Jitters reverted to panic in a split-second. “No, you--” “Lieutenant, it’s alright,” He cut me off again “And if there’s nothing else, I have to speak with Admiral Spargo about his strategy.” Panic dropped away, embarrassment shooting up to take its place. I shook my head once, lowering my eyes to the cushions then. “Nothing else, Captain.” “Two hours, lieutenant.” The thump of his retreating footsteps on the carpet, and then swoosh of the automatic doors. I let myself turn and drop back down onto the loveseat, head tipping forward and resting in my hands. “Fuck,” I whispered, heat prickling at the back of my neck as that embarrassment radiated, sweeping through me like a fire and burning me from the inside out. I leaned back, reaching up and frustrated tugging at my collar, opening it at unzipping it, fanning at my neck, my ears, my face, desperately trying to cool the flush. He thought that he had overstepped? Well of course he felt like that, the man had asked me if I was alright and I had basically shrugged him off, called him a liar, and avoided him for a week. “Shit. Shit,” I breathed out, fanning at my face with both hands now. “If anything, exerting that much effort that is only going to make you more warm.” I didn’t turn to meet Una’s eye as she sat down beside me. “Nervous about the assignment?” She guessed. “I’m never drinking another fucking slush-o mix again,” I swore.

#I'm Always Curious #captain pike #captain pike x reader #Captain Pike/Reader #Captain Pike Imagine #Captain Pike/You #Captain Pike x You #Christopher Pike #christopher pike x reader #christopher pike/reader #christopher pike imagine #christopher pike x you

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glimmerglanger · 4 years

Note

Loved your angst prompt fics :) would love to see your take on #36 if you're willing

Oooooh, yes! (36 is “Do you understand what you’ve done?”) ROTS AU. Established relationship.

~~~~~~~

“Do you understand what you’ve done?” Padmé asked. She wasn’t the first to put the question to Obi-Wan. People kept asking him, over and over again, their expressions stricken, as though he had somehow not been in full control of his actions.

It was strange, he thought, sitting calmly in the cell beneath the Senate. He’d always been in control of himself. Why should they all assume he had somehow had that control torn away from him?

Still. Padmé looked close to tears, as though she were keeping from weeping only through an extreme force of will. Obi-Wan looked at her, his hands bound - he had let them bind him, afterwards, seen no reason to fight - and said, “Yes, of course.”

“Force, Obi-Wan,” she said, turning her face to the side, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. “You--”

“Is Anakin alright?” he asked. He felt dreamy. Not quite connected to his body. He had, for some time. Ever since he’d walked into the Chancellor’s chambers and seen Anakin on his knees, Palpatine looming over him, the entire space stinking of the Dark Side.

“He’s…” Padmé swallowed. He watched her blink rapidly. “He’ll be fine, you didn’t manage to kill him.”

Obi-Wan blinked, cocking his head to the side. “Kill him?” he asked, remembering the way Anakin had looked at him, the rage in his expression as Palpatine crumpled to the ground in several pieces. But, oh, yes, they had fought, hadn’t they? Briefly. Anakin had been angry with him. Confused. “I would never--”

“You killed the Chancellor,” she cut in, panting, “and you tried to kill Anakin, how can you sit there--”

Obi-Wan stood, head clearing just a bit, and said, “I saved Anakin.”

She shook her head, losing the battle with her tears, turning away from the cell. She did not speak again, as she hurried down the hall, leaving him standing in the cell, his heart beating against his ribs. He had saved Anakin.

He’d always saved Anakin.

They’d see.

Or perhaps they wouldn’t. He found, standing there in the silence, recalling Palpatine’s cackling, horrible visage as he gazed down on Anakin, that he cared little what they thought.

“You admit to killing the Chancellor,” Tarkin told Obi-Wan, some time later. They’d dragged him out into a larger room, one surrounded by glass walls. He could see Senators outside the glass, staring in. There were guards in there with him, blaster trained on him.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, because lying seemed pointless. He had cut down Palpatine where he stood, without thought or hesitation. He would do it again. He had felt the intentions in the room. He had sensed the death. Palpatine had Anakin on his knees, of course Obi-Wan had--

There were murmurs all around, looks of shock and horror. Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side. “He’d already killed several Jedi Masters, including Master Windu.”

Tarkin shook his head. “We have only your word on that, Kenobi.” Just Kenobi. As though he were no longer a Master. No longer a General. No longer anything.

“Ah,” he said, “I see.”

“I’m not sure that you do,” Tarkin said, mouth thinning out. “You are being charged with murder. Several counts of it, in fact.”

Obi-Wan took a breath. Lifted his head. He said, “I only killed Palpatine,” and listened to the crowd titter and murmur.

Tarkin narrowed his eyes. “We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?”

“Can I see Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, when the guards escorted him back to the cell, after his day in court. They did not answer him. They only pushed him into the cell and left him there, with the memories of crossing sabers with Anakin, driving him back, holding him off until he could calm down and see that Obi-Wan had done the necessary thing.

It was agreed, over the coming days, that he had not killed his brothers in arms. It was agreed, likewise, that he could have brought Palpatine in alive. That he had used excess force, carved up an old man, currently helpless.

Obi-Wan did not say: he had Anakin on his knees.

He did not say: he was trying to destroy something precious, something I love.

He did not say: I would kill him again, right here, in front of all of you, for what he tried to do.

No one, as far as he was aware, knew that Anakin had been on his knees in that room. None of them knew the part he’d played in what Palpatine had attempted. No one had seen the glow of gold across his eyes, temporary, there and gone.

Obi-Wan kept his silence regarding it. He had always looked after Anakin, after all. And, if someone had to be destroyed by this, by Palpatine’s death, well… He saw no reason that it had to be both of them.

He had wielded the saber that dealt the killing blows, after all.

They called him a rogue agent, in the Senate. An example of Jedi aggression. Something had to be done, they said, and Obi-Wan could imagine what it would be. He would be cast from the Order, if he had not been already. Stripped of all he had built his life on. Most likely thrown in jail, for the rest of his life.

He listened, when Padmé came to explain his situation, and nodded. It was a small price to pay, for doing what needed done, and he felt numb, still. Dreaming or drifting. Waiting to wake up.

They brought him before the entire Senate, to read out his verdict. They made him stand in a chilly hallway where he could hear the echoes of twisted rhetoric. Where he could listen to people say he’d been power mad, that he thought he could take the law into his own hands.

He’d only wanted to save Anakin.

But they wouldn’t understand, and he’d known that when he ignited his lightsaber and stepped into the room. He’d done it anyway. He’d do it again, so perhaps they were right. Perhaps he’d gone too far. Perhaps he was a danger to democracy itself, though he doubted it, very much.

There was applause, out in the Senate chamber. He drew in a breath when the guard to his right took his arm, and it was only then that a familiar voice said, “Excuse me.”

He had not seen Anakin since that night in Palpatine’s chambers. Anakin strode back into his life with blazing eyes, gripping the guard’s shoulder, twisting him around, and striking him across the face. “Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, baffled, as Anakin stunned the second guard.

He looked… better. His eyes had cleared of the golden glow. His expression was set and stormy as he grabbed Obi-Wan’s arms, bending over the shackles clasped around his wrists. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Anakin asked, making a little victorious sound as the shackles opened.

“Committing several major crimes,” Obi-Wan said, drily. “I’m supposed to be--”

“We can argue about this later,” Anakin said, grabbing his arm and yanking him forwards, down the hall, away from the main Senate chamber.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan protested, “I’m about to be convicted for murder, if you could--”

Anakin spun, shoving at him, driving him against the wall with his expression fierce and his eyes blazing. “I’m not letting them convict you of anything,” he said, flat and hard. “When we both know you -- you saved me, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, and felt like he was waking up, finally. Like he was fighting his way free of the clinging dreams that had held him since he was forced to knock Anakin unconscious, Anakin’s last words had been furious. He’d claimed that Obi-Wan had betrayed him. Damned him. Obi-Wan said, quietly, “You said--”

“I was wrong,” Anakin said, leaning forward and down, pressing a single, hard kiss to his mouth, something Obi-Wan had thought he’d never get again. Not after Palpatine’s chambers. “Now come on, I have a ship waiting, but we need to move.”

“I don’t--” Obi-Wan started, because he’d been fully prepared to spend the rest of his life in a tiny cell, if that was the price for saving Anakin, and--

“You saved me, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, dragging him forward. “Now stop arguing and let me save you.”

#obikin #my fics #standalone fic #glimmer replies #ask me anything #rots au #implied happy ending?#needed one after that last fic

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lostinfantasies38 · 3 years

Text

Ten Favorite Dialogues from 2020

I picked 10 dialogue exchanges that I loved from the stories I posted this year. A few of them are from the same stories, since I spent a good chunk of the year working on long fics instead of one shots or shorter stories. Under the cut bc they are lengthy.

I also realized that most of my zingers tend to be in my descriptions and don’t always make it into my character’s dialogue. I might have to change that.

In no particular order:

Dorian chuckled. “Honestly, you two are disgraceful. You can’t come to a club looking like sex on legs when you aren’t single. You’re going to give people a heart attack.”

“Jealous, Dorian?” Alistair needled.

“Insanely,” he replied smoothly. “Aside from myself and Zevran,”—he saluted the elf who shot him a saucy wink—“you’re the most attractive men here. And to add insult to injury, you’re together,” he sighed dramatically.

Accidental Alliance, a oneshot modern Cullistair AU

“Step two of the pie liberation was to avoid suspicion of the adults.” Evan giggled at Connor’s phrasing and thought he heard Alex snort in amusement, too. “Zoe’s job was to act as a distraction, which wasn’t hard to accomplish because Cynthia decked her out in this frilly monstrosity that every woman within a five-mile radius oohed and aahed over. She fucking hated it, of course, but it worked in our favor for The Plan. And yes, those are honest to God capitals, babe. Think Mission Impossible: Thanksgiving 2010.”

“Alternate title: Pie Larceny,” Evan quipped, overjoyed by Connor’s rich laughter. Alex definitely chuckled at that.

“Yes! Oh my God, that’s amazing. I’m totally renaming it Pie Larceny.”

Save Me From Myself - part 3 of my DEH series, Connor Murphy/Evan Hansen

“It makes me want to wrap you in blankets and bubble wrap and smother you with attention until you’re sick of looking at me, though.”

A broken laugh tumbled out of Evan’s mouth. “Well, there’s a mental picture. What are you gonna do? Roll me down the street?”

“I’m working out the logistics, but rolling you around does sound kinda fun,” Connor teased.

Snorting, Evan retorted, “I mean, you do have practice rolling joints. Guess a bundled up boyfriend isn’t much difference.”

Connor’s borderline hysterical laughter almost drowned out Evan’s airy chuckles. “Jesus Christ, Evan,” he wheezed, shakily wiping away tears.

Save Me From Myself - part 3 of my DEH series, Connor Murphy/Evan Hansen

Returning his head to the shadows, he hissed, “Sister Agnes is milling around. I need a distraction so I can reach our room.”

Kai grinned and pulled a dehydrated pepper from his pocket. “Down the hatch.”

Gavin stopped him with a concern expression. “Are you sure about this?”

He snorted softly. “Please, I grew up eating these. My mum sends them because she knows I love them. They’re like candy. I’ll be shitting fire for a week, but they don’t hurt my mouth. I’ll burn hot and sweat like crazy though. Trust me, it’ll work.”

The redhead arched an eyebrow. “So you carry them in your pocket at all times?”

“No,” Kai answered irritably. “That’s why I needed Easton earlier. To act as a distraction for me so I could get it out of my room.”

Gavin sighed. “If you’re sure. I mean, we could brawl in the hallway, that would work, too.”

Alistair glanced around the corner. “Hurry up and choose. I’m not waiting forever.” Kai smirked and popped the pepper in his mouth.

“Well, that decides it,” Gavin groaned. Alistair tried not to laugh as over the course of a few minutes, Kai’s face visibly flushed in response to the spicy heat and sweat pooled under his hair, running in rivulets across his face.

“How do I look?” he asked.

“Like you’ve got the sweat,” Gavin replied sardonically.

“Perfect,” he retorted. “Right, good luck, Alistair. If I fail to distract everyone, Gavin’s got you covered.”

Find Me Well Within Your Grace - young Cullistair prequel fic - excerpt from Ch 11 featuring a few of my OCs and Alistair

Wrapping his arms around her as she hummed at the stove, he said, “Sirra and Alistair either just left my apartment or she only now deigned to tell me they’re gone.”

Eowyn grinned wickedly at him, checking the clock on the dining room wall. “My, my! Four hours later! Scandalous.”

“I wish you could have seen them. The magnetism! It was instant.”

She giggled. “I saw the photos. That’s more of Alistair’s almost-O face than I ever want to see again, thanks very much.”

He snorted. “Fair enough.” After a pause, Zevran chuckled, “I give them a month.”

Rounding on him in horror, Eowyn stared at him with wide mossy eyes. “You just said they were perfect together! Do you think we made a mistake?”

“No, amore mio. I mean, I give them a month before they elope. I might have been party to their engagement shoot today.”

She blinked slowly as the giggles built until she was clutching the kitchen counter in a fit of uncontrolled mirth. “Okay, that may be accurate knowing Alistair!”

“I’m thinking of changing my business cards. Should I add ‘Matchmaker Extraordinaire’ or ‘Signor Soulmate’?” he asked cheekily.

Shot In The Dark - Sirra Brosca/Alistair modern AU oneshot [dialogue shown is between Zevran/OC]

Cullen grinned with him. “Me either. Maybe we can improve your chess skills enough for you to graduate from mediocre.”

“Oh, ha ha. You and the others can have fun with that, thanks very much. Here I was hoping we could spend more time in bed,” he teased, sliding a hand into his curls.

Rolling his eyes playfully, the blonde retorted, “Of course, count on you to think how often we can sleep together instead of improving our skills.”

“That is how we improve our skills.”

“Training skills, you fiend.”

Heaving a melodramatic sigh, Alistair quipped, “Well, one of us has to be the boring one in the relationship. Glad it’s not me.” Cullen elbowed him gently in the ribs, chuckling along with his lover’s bright laughter.

Find Me Well Within Your Grace - young Cullistair prequel fic, excerpt from Ch 12

“You’re not worthless,” Alistair whispered. The breath she’d been holding passed her lips with a tiny mewl of surprise. Still unable to look at one other, Alistair kept his hand on her wrist and she resisted the urge to scoot further away.

Sirra murmured, “You don’t know me, Alistair. You can’t say that.”

“I can,” he insisted firmly, his fingers pressing just a bit harder on her flesh. “It doesn’t matter who you were. When you join the Grey Wardens, all that matters is who you are. I may not know who you used to be in Orzammar, but I have a pretty good idea who you are in the sun.”

Sun Touched - excerpt from Ch 4

“I’m sorry, Alistair, I wanted to surprise you. Most dwarves in Orzammar, caste and casteless alike, have genital piercings. It’s cultural and unrelated to murder.”

His eyebrows climbed into his hair. “Even the men? How in the Maker’s name does that work?” Sirra opened her mouth to explain, but he hastily held up a hand and shivered. “Rhetorical question. Please do not answer that.”

Sun Touched - excerpt from Ch 14

“I love you, too,” she murmured, gracing him with a watery smile. “If I had known you were up here, I would have left Orzammar years ago and tracked you down,” Sirra mused, only half joking.

“Oh, really?” he quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “I can just imagine you sneaking into the droll monastery and breaking me out. I would have assumed you were a figment of my imagination, a desire demon, or Maker-sent. Regardless, I doubt I could have resisted the mischievous glint in your eyes as you crept in to find me in my smalls, surrounded by thirty other recruits, and told me to run away with you.”

Laughing, Sirra raked her short nails down his toned chest. “A naked teenage version of you? I would have taken you on the spot, letting the recruits feast their eyes on us, before dashing out the front door with your bare ass in tow.”

He closed his eyes with a lusty moan, and swallowed hard, his voice strained when he replied. “Definitely Maker-sent then. To think, we could have been on the lam for the last few years, making mad love wherever we went.”

Sighing melodramatically, Alistair smirked and playfully bopped the tip of her nose with his. “Ah, well, at least I have you now and that’s all that matters.”

Sun Touched - excerpt from Ch 17

10.

“Stop it,” Morrigan mumbled irritably.

Alistair feigned innocence. “Stop what? I’m sitting here like a good patient. I wasn’t even talking until right now.”

Yellow eyes bored into hazel as the subtle light faded around them, his shoulder apparently healed. “You know very well what. Stop staring at my hands. ‘Tis most distracting.”

“And here I thought it was my hands distracting you during the fight,” he smirked. “Not where my eyes happened to land. How could you have known that I might have been paying attention, if you weren’t observing me, too, hmm?”

Scoffing, Morrigan took a large step back and crossed her arms haughtily over her chest. “You are insufferable.”

Sheathing his sword, Alistair shrugged with affected boredom. “I may be insufferable, Morrigan, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Deny it all you want, but we both know the truth.”

Snagging his shield from where it fell on the ground, he slung it over his back and murmured for her ears alone. “Besides, for a cranky witch who grew up in a swamp, they’re surprisingly soft and gentle… when they want to be, that is.”

You Give Me That Lovin’ Feelin’ - ch 2. Part 1 of 3 of Morristair written for @scharoux 14 Days of DA Lovers

#tag game #fave dialogues #my ocs #my writing #lostinfantasies38 #Sun Touched #FMWWYG #find me well #14 days of DA lovers #deh #dear evan hansen #dragon age #cullistair #sirrastair #morristair #evan x connor

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kaylathekittykat225 · 5 years

Text

Replacement // Roy Harper X Reader

Warning/s: none, I think?

Word Count: 3,247

Another Saturday, another update. This time, another one from my archives, Roy Harper! I don’t know what I will do when I run out of things I can easily post. But that is a problem for later me that I can deal with. Am still in a fluffy mood, because I am currently sick, and I when I am sick, I get clingy and want someone to hug and to hug me and yeah. All I got right now is my blanket, so we will just have to deal.

Here’s my Masterlist.

Enjoy.

—–

"How am I supposed to face him? I've been living his life for eight years now. What if he tries to kill me?" Roy let his mouth run, asking rhetorical question after question while you drove him to the hospital.

"What if Ollie wants him back? What if he wants to go back to Ollie? What if Ollie makes me-"

"Roy," you gently laid your hand on his leg, capturing his attention and his focus went to you. "Why are you so nervous about this? You've spent the last five years trying to find him and now you sound like you're about to meet the president." Your eyes flickered over to him, making sure to pay most of your attention to the road ahead of you.

He sighed and slouched down into his seat, "I just don't know what he'll think of me." His words lost in the wind blowing through the rolled down window, the hospital coming into view.

"If he's even half the Roy he was, in sure he'll get over it." You smiled over at him as you pulled into a parking space, hoping to yourself that this will all work out fine.

The two of you walked into the entrance of the hospital and saw an anxious and pacing Ollie waiting for the two of you. He spotted you two as you entered and briskly made his way over to you. "Roy, Y/N, thank goodness you're here."

"Hey dad." You smiled up at him, pulling him into what felt like a much-needed hug. "It's good to see you."

"I am too, Y/N I just wish it was under different circumstances. Mom says hi." You sighed, happy to smell his cologne again, not having seen him since New Year's.

"Tell her I say hi back." You pulled away from the hug, your dad turning to say hello to Roy. "Is he awake?" You pursed your lips, watching both your father and Roy shuffle from side to side.

"Yeah, he's this way." You two followed your dad down the corridor, Roy's hands were tightly holding onto one another before you slipped your hand between them, taking his clammy hand into yours.

"It's gonna be fine, babe," you whispered quietly before entering the room you assumed to be Roy Harper's...the other one.

Ollie opened the door for the two of you and you all walked into the room. The view out the window gave a perfect overlook of Star City, a view you've seen your entire life, from looking out your bedroom window to running across the roof tops of the City's skyscrapers.

In the middle of the white hospital room, pulled against one of the stable walls was a bed and the millions of cords leading to a heart monitor, IV lines and a lot more, hooking up to a lot of beeping.

And laying on that bed was none other than an exact copy of the nervous man beside you.

Only he was younger.

And his arm was also missing.

"I told you I'm-Ollie?" His blue eyes widened to the size of saucers, but they weren't the eyes you knew.

They were different than what they use to look like. Colder, more shut off, scared.

"Hey Roy, how are you feeling?" Your father asked as he took one of the seats near the bed.

"I wish everyone would stop asking me that," he grumbled to himself, his thumb twiddling with the air, possibly dancing with an imaginary partner, his eyes darted around the room and never looking directly at his former mentor.

You swallowed the heavy feeling in your throats and turned to look at Roy, your Roy, the one you'd fallen in love with when he tripped over a statue of your grandmother when he tried to ask you out in a date. His eyes were alive and warm, and staring directly at the icy blue ones of the original Roy.

Oi all these Roys are giving you a headache.

Squeezing his hand gently, his attention was drawn to you, returning the pressure into your hand. "Now or never," he mouthed to you before he stepped out from behind your father, just enough to keep you hidden still behind his built figure.

"Oh, you're...you're the one who got me back didn't you?" He avoided the word rescue, still the same Roy you knew, never wanting to admit needing help, his eyes also avoiding his doppelgänger standing in front of him. "Th-thanks I guess."

You sighed from behind your dad's back, much louder than you intended, bringing Roy's eyes to look in your direction, "What, is there another one of me to show me?" Oliver's body shifted in front of you so he can look down at you, looking for an answer from you.

You nodded your head and stepped out from behind his back, keeping Roy's hand in your own, you sucked your lip in between your teeth as you slowly looked up to see the other Roy staring at you in shock. "Y-Y/N?"

"Hey, Roy." You smiled sadly at him. His eyes absorbed as much of you as he can, running them up and down your body, stopping when he saw you and his clone were clasping hands. He scoffs and turns away, trying to cross his arms for only to be reminded that it was gone.

"Great, so while I was on ice, you found another Roy Harper, the sidekicks formed their own team, aliens invaded the earth, and Ollie grew that dopey goatee?" You bit back a giggle, instead coming out as a snigger when you looked over to see your father's reaction.

But hearing the word sidekick plucked an old string for both you and Roy, your Roy. "We try not to call ourselves sidekicks." You shifted your weight around, feeling out of place while your father argued for the dignity of his goatee.

Grabbing for a familiar looking folder, you pulled up the medical charts to see what the doctors thought of the returned super. You flipped through the pages, easily able to understand everything from your years of practice of being on the medical team in Mount Justice and understood that he really was on ice. He hadn't aged a day since you last saw him, but he legally should be twenty-three by now, everything about him was the same as Roy, how could they be different, they were exact clones.

"And what happened to my arm?! And now my clone goes and steals Y/N?!" Your breath got caught in your throat, honestly you felt so guilty about this whole situation. Setting the folder back on the table, you turned back to three men, all three were on you, almost expecting you to take over the situation.

"Roy..." You took a seat in the very uncomfortable chair next to your used to be best friend, his eyes staring into your own, waiting for an answer. "I guess it's time," You wrung your hands together, your breath shaking as you thought how to best explain to him what happened.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

The two of you puzzle pieced everything together, you told him what he missed while he filed in what he last remembered. It broke your heart to see him look so heartbroken to hear eight years had passed since he went missing.

He listened as everyone told their part of the story, your dad explaining how hard he worked, Roy telling him how he was grown and had no clue that he was a clone, while you watched him intently, being the brunt of the bad news.

"So, you're saying...that you took my place, you've been living my life for eight years." Roy stared bitterly at the other one, who sheepishly looked down at his shoes.

"Hey," You weaved your fingers between his, the contact sending a shiver down his spine as he looked between your face and his hand. "Roy worked tirelessly to find you, for the past five years he has been looking for you nonstop. To the point it almost drove him crazy." You muttered, looking at him briefly before looking back at the younger Roy.

"Huh," Little Roy nodded and turned to look at your dad. "but not you, you gave up on me."

"Roy," You hissed at him, tightening your grip on his hand, except the wrong Roy went to answer.

Your Roy stepped forward, placing his hand on my shoulder, looking down at his clone. "Look, I don't want to be the cause of anymore arguments, I understand if neither of you really want to lay eyes on me again."

You were about to turn back around when the little Roy beat you to the chase, "I don't know, but from what I see, the clone didn't do anything wrong. He didn't ask to be created, plus, he found me, so I can't blame him." Thinking the four of you had finally come to a happy understanding, you loosened your grip on his hand from death grip to comforting presence.

"But I can blame you!"

"Roy!" You pulled him back from attacking your dad even if he couldn't do much to him. "Dad, Roy, leave!"

"Y/N, if that really-"

You stared back a the two of them with a glare that bested Batman's, "Out." The two grown men left, their heads low as they were kicked out by a twenty-two-year old girl. Groaning, you let your body fall onto the chair behind you, your weight pushing the piece of crappy furniture backwards some inches. "They can be so infuriating."

Looking back up at Little Roy, his new and unsaid nickname sticking with him now, you had hoped he would just talk to you, after all, you two were childhood friends. "Why are you here?" His voice was hushed, and his body shrunk as his mind churned and thought of the information he was just presented.

"Because I wanted to make sure that you three didn't kill each other," You chuckled, hoping to grab some sort of reaction from him, nada. "I wanted to see you, Roy. Is that too hard to believe that someone cares about you?" For the first time since you arrived, a smile graced his lips, his eyes showed how grateful he was towards you.

"You've changed," Roy couldn't help that his eyes took in your appearance, you were the same as he left years ago, but you looked older, your eyes looked like there was more wisdom behind them. But something caught his eye as you went to cross your arms.

"So, have you, Roy." You could feel his eyes just looking at you, all of you, and his eyes were curious, so many questions behind them. "Ask away my friend." You chuckled as he blushed at you finding him out.

"You can still read me like an open book I see." You nodded, waiting for him to go on. "How did you...what was it like with me gone?"

Biting your lip, you had to think before answering this one. "Honestly Roy, it was like you never left, yes you were missing, but Roy, the other Roy that is, was just like you. We never had a reason to suspect he wasn't you until we found the file on him being a project of Cadmus."

The ginger nodded his head, he was expecting that answer, but it still hurt to hear it. "I see the ring. You don't have to hide it you know." Now it was your turn to blush, it was only a matter of time before he saw the gold band on your left ring finger. "I had been dreaming of doing that since the day I met you."

You smiled at the memory, spinning the ring around as you leaned forward, twiddling with it while you thought back to the simpler times. "You mean when you insulted my mom or when I fell into my birthday cake."

"How about when you gave me a bloody nose." The two of you were happily laughing about the time your parents thought it was a great idea to invite Roy to your birthday party, that day didn't end well, but it did lead to the two of you being fast friends. "It's still crooked from that, I don't think I could ever forgive you."

"Well obviously you did I mean you mar-" You cut yourself short, forgetting for that second that this wasn't your Roy you were talking to, but the other one. The one your Roy is based off.

"I was going to ask you to go out with me as soon as I got back from that mission, that's why those goons got the jump on me, I was smiling like an idiot just at the thought of asking you and I was distracted. I had it all planned out, I was gonna swoop in and when you got home from school-"

"You were going to give me a teddy bear with a box of chocolates and be all romantic and ask me out." Finishing the story, you grinned at that memory as well. "He did that you know. At least, he tried. He ended up trip over my nana's bust, successfully breaking it."

Looking up at Roy, he was staring down at the stump where his arm used to be, a frown on his face and his eyes sad and slowly getting glossy. "So, he really was me. An exact duplicate."

You leaned forward and gently ran your fingers over his face, stroking his cheek with your thumb, "No, you two are very different people, he may have acted like you Roy, but no one can be you Roy Harper. You are the most talented, amazing kid I have ever know, pretty damn hot too." His face got warm under your touch, his eyes finally looking up to meet yours again, the glass getting thicker.

"So why did you marry him?"

"Roy," you sighed and looked back at the door where you're sure your dad and other Roy were listening intently. "I can't ever say if it would have been you and I if this all never happened. That's in the what if universe, but I do know, that I love my Roy, he may have started out like you, but he is a different person. You will be nothing like him when you are twenty-three. You two may look the same, but I promise you, that there is only one of you, Roy."

Roy slowly nodded his head, leaning into your touch while your hand still rested on his cheek, letting a few salty tears run down his face before he takes a deep breath and wipes his damp cheeks dry. "I think I better let you get some rest." You whispered quietly as you stood up to let him have his own time, knowing that was a big part of his processing things.

"Wait," Roy grabbed hold of your hand, stopping you from getting to far. He noted the tips of his fingers were rubbing the smooth gold wedding band, but he ignored that, knowing this was stupid he asked anyway. "Before you go, Y/N, can I...can I...I wanted to..." He was at a loss for words. The woman he had always loved was married to another, to himself.

"What is it Roy?" You sat back down, not letting go of his hand, letting him have your full attention.

He gulped, finally having the courage. "Canikissyou?" His words came out a gargled mess, his mouth deciding to break, and his face went red hot, almost as red as his hair.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," Working on calming him down, you ran your free hand through his hair, know at least your Roy became like a purring kitten when your fingers met his hair.

Roy slowed down his breathing and tried one more time to ask, "Can I...kiss you?" He kept his eyes glued to his lap, examining the wrappings on his opposite arm, his fingers still interlaced with yours.

There was an awkward silence in the air between the two of you, he waited for you to storm out and never look at him again, but he still felt your hand holding onto his.

"Well how am I supposed to give you a kiss when you won't even look at me." His eyes slowly looked up to yours, a smile on your face as you moved to sit next to him on the bed.

He leaned in a little closer to you and you leaned in towards him where the two of you met in the middle. You pressed a quick and chaste kiss to his lips, your experience in this field evident as he was totally shocked about what just happened.

"That's right, I was your first kiss." You chuckled at his bright red cheeks, pressed another kiss to his cheek this time, chuckling at the young blushing fifteen-year-old. "If it makes you feel any better, you were mine too." You stood up as you gave his hand a final squeeze before letting it go, walking out the door.

Before you reached the door, you looked back at the ginger and smiled at him, and he smiled back. "If you need anything, I write my number down for you to use if you need to talk about anything thing. It's on your charts if you ever want it."

"Thank you, Y/N." He smiled at you again, his cheeks still dusted pink as you left the room.

Outside you met your dad and your Roy waiting for you, "You guys should probably go easy on him if you want him to get accumulated to everything." Ollie nodded his head and turned back to a waiting doctor.

Roy gently pulled you into a hug, resting his chin on top of your head and smothering you in his chest. "He asked me to kiss him." You whispered into his chest, your own actions shocking you as soon as you realized what you just did. Feeling his grip around you tighten, you knew he heard you. "And I did."

You could hear the deep sigh, the breath tickling the top of your head. "I'm not angry, but, why?"

"He's just like you when you came back." You looked up at your husband's face, studying it and seeing how much eight years has done to him, it was shocking to see especially with the younger him being on the other side of a wall. "Lost, confused. I just wanted to give him some comfort."

Roy hummed to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he slowly let you out of his bear hug. "Let's go home," he said as you linked pinkie fingers together, him gently pulling you down the hallway.

"Home sounds good." You thought of Roy, both of them, they were the same person, but two completely different people. "Roy?"

"Yeah?" He looked back at you, happily surprised when you met him with a small peck. "Hmm, nice little surprise."

"I love you, Roy Harper." You smiled up at him, something in you happily told you that this was him.

Yes, that young fifteen-year-old pulled out of time was Roy Harper, there's no denying it.

But the man in front of you, your ginger, arrow shooting husband, he was just as much Roy Harper. But he was different.

That's because he was your Roy Harper.

#roy harper #roy #roy harper x reader #roy harper imagine #roy imagine #roy x reader #roy harper one shot #roy harper oneshot #red arrow #red arrow x reader #red arrow imagine #red arrow one shot #red arrow oneshot #yg #yg x reader #yg imagine #young justice x reader #young justice imagine #young justice

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pagesoflauren · 4 years

Text

Siren’s Call (Steve Rogers x reader; Pirate AU) - Ch. 5

Warnings: mentions of hangings/executions

Summary: Summary: Steve Rogers wants to make a name for himself by joining the Navy. He has the ideal life planned out and is ready to achieve it. You were raised on the sea and your spirit greatly resembles it. Every time you cross paths with a certain officer of His Majesty’s Navy, things only get more and more interesting.

Previous Chapter

Siren’s Call Masterlist

You held your chin up high as you were stripped of your weapons. They took your pistol, your sword and dagger. You were vulnerable. Captain Rogers kept a firm grip on your arm as he led you off the ship, giving commands to other members of his crew to seize the ship. You wondered why he didn’t shackle you.

“Take inventory of what you can, transfer the useful goods to the Avenger. Put the ship in tow. We’ll bring it to Port Royal in Jamaica.”

“Captain, shouldn’t we stop over to make sure we won’t be followed?”

“No,” you heard him say harshly, “we’ll go straight there.”

When he saw your smug look at their disagreement, his face hardened and he shoved you forward again. “Move.”

His ship was on the next dock over. He was much taller than you, taking longer strides than yours, causing you to stumble quite often.

As luck would have it, your crew was returning, carrying barrels and boxes of goods you needed. You whistled, unfamiliar to Captain Rogers, but your first mate recognized the tune.

He instructed your crew to draw their swords, which they did and they made straight for you.

“No!” you called, “the ship! Take the ship back!”

The last word was muffled as your captor covered your mouth with his and used more force as he pushed you forward, almost sending you to the ground before you got your footing properly.

“Captain, I can take it from here,” the first mate said.

The Captain refused as he brought you below decks to the brig. Once there, he opened the cell door and all but threw you in. You fell to the ground and heard the cell door click closed behind you.

“Get comfortable,” he said sarcastically, “You’ll be here a while.”

You sat up and crossed your legs, back leaning against the solitary column that stood in the middle of the cage. Your eyes take in your surroundings, noticing the half-barrel hinges on the door. Across the bars, he still stood there.

“Why do you linger, Captain? Afraid I’m going to disappear in a puff of smoke before your eyes?”

“No.”

“Afraid I’m going to manage to toss you overboard again?”

“No.”

“Worried I’m going to steal your sword again?” “Is everything a joke to you?”

“Only men when they get angry,” you smirked.

You watched his expression relax, though he kept a white-knuckle grip on the hilt of his sword.

“You know killing me now would do you no good right?” you asked rhetorically, assuming a more comfortable position. “Isn’t it your modus operandi to kill pirates publicly? Hanging us from ropes like pigs in a butcher?”

Steve wasn’t expecting you to know Latin. If there’s one thing he couldn’t fault you for, it was your intelligence. He hated it.

“Where did you learn Latin?” he asked dumbly, avoiding the taunt you previously fired at him.

“My father,” you said easily.

A moment of silence passes between you two. His gut twists with the way your right cheek hollows as you bite the inside of it.

“I noticed something very peculiar at Playa Blanca. We made port there last week. There was a new ‘wanted’ poster ordered by you. But that’s not the peculiar part. Care to know what it is?” you teased.

He didn’t answer. You continued.

“The peculiar part was how well the poster captured my likeness. It was almost like looking in a mirror. Though, there was no name. Just a title. ‘Captain of The Siren’s Call.’”

“I don’t need to know your name to order a ‘wanted’ poster for you.”

You chuckled at that statement, getting up from your seated position and standing in front of the bars, arms crossed.

“Well, Captain Rogers, you will need to know my name in order to make a proper report to your superior about the location of my ship, my capture and my escape.”

“Your esc--”

“And I don’t feel like telling you my name unless you tell me yours.”

There’s no explanation for the rush of willingness that comes from him as he openly gives you his name.

“Captain Steven Rogers.”

Again with that damn smirk.

Something comes over him, he’s sure of it. He hangs onto the way your lips shape around the sounds in your name and revels in the way that it sounds like the prettiest violins and piano fortes. He can’t help the feeling that your parents were so correct in giving you that name because it suits you so well.

He shakes his head. Get it together!

“Pleasure to meet you,” you say, sticking your hand through the vertical bars.

He only stares at it for a moment.

“You’re supposed to take my hand in yours; you know, like the first night we met--”

“I know what I’m supposed to do,” he bites, “I refuse to shake hands with a pirate.”

“Hm, and here I thought officers of the navy were gentlemen. It appears I’m wrong.”

He’s had enough of your sarcasm. He begins telling you the conditions of your imprisonment.

“You will stay down here and only here for the duration of the voyage. You will be offered two meals a day and a vessel of fresh water. You may relieve yourself in the bucket behind you. It will be emptied every morning. At every hour, an officer of His Majesty’s Navy will come down to check on you. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Captain,” you say, rolling your eyes.

He swallows the lump in his throat. He can’t stand that he likes the way those words sound coming from your mouth. He shakes the thought from his head and turns on his heel to leave.

“What does your wife think of the idea of you chasing around a pirate woman all the through the Caribbean?”

You smile when he turns around, taking the bait you’ve laid.

“Pardon?” “Your wife. Does she not think it’s odd that you’ve sent out ‘Wanted’ posters all over the Caribbean looking for me?”

“I don’t have a wife.”

“Your intended, then.”

“I don’t have an intended, either.”

“Hm. I would have been certain there was someone on this Earth you loved,” you sigh. “Though I imagine the woman would be very unlucky to receive such affections since you’re so focused on me.”

“Well, what does your husband think?” he says, throwing the question back at you, “You’re always taunting me.”

“In what manner?” you feign innocence, widening your eyes and blinking owlishly at him.

You don’t miss the deep gulp that runs down his throat.

“Blowing kisses, smiling...you’ve been driving me mad.”

“Have I now?” you say in a distracted tone, pretending to fuss over a fraying string on the cuff of your coat.

“You know you have!” he shouts, taking you by surprise when he marches forward and grips the bars. He’s positively fuming now.

Men are too easy, you think.

“I assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about, Captain Rogers,” you smile, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek. You’re shocked when your breath hitches, your heart flutters.

Shock gives way to satisfaction when there’s a loud exploding sound and people are shouting on the levels above you. You assume it’s the soldiers scrambling to get ready to fight; you’re certain your crew has come to save you.

Steve turns away and your palm tingles from where it made contact with his skin. When he makes for the steps to ascend to the top deck of the ship, you speak again.

“It was lovely talking to you, Captain. I’d say we’ll talk some more later, but I’m certain I won’t be here when this battle is over.”

You watch as he pauses, thinking about saying something, but someone is shouting for him to come to the deck quickly.

Little do you know that the spot where you touched his face feels as if it’s on fire.

Tagging: @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff @steverogersxreader @chljmntgy @chaoticfiretaconerd

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #steve rogers x you #avengers x reader #avengers fanfiction

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youngster-monster · 4 years

Text

yellow rose - jealousy

A royal anniversary is the event of the year. Nobles from all over the land flock back to the court just to be seen. Unfortunately for Arthur that means he has to attend, since it’s his wedding they’re celebrating.

Doesn’t mean he has to like it.

He puts on a smile and hooks his arms with Guinevere's, politely thanking the people who come up to them with presents and well-wishes. Currently they’re caught in a conversation with a Duke — he is rhapsodizing about how lovely their union was, what charming couple they make, what an example of loyalty and devotion they are to the rest of them. All lies, of course. Arthur and Guinevere are hardly the loving couple he paints them as: everyone knows this was only a political alliance, helped along by the fondness the two held for each other once upon a time.

Nowadays it’s harder to keep up the pretense that they’re in love with each other.

Arthur catches Guinevere’s gaze lifting from the Duke’s face, drifting towards the back of the room. He follows suit and finds Lancelot, pale armor seeming to glow faintly in the candlelight. As if silently called by his lady’s attention, the knight looks up and smiles blindingly at her. She answers in kind.

The Duke must believe it’s directed at him because he flounders for a moment, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Arthur thanks him one last time for his kind words and glance meaningfully away. The Duke scampers. Guinevere pulls them towards the floor space that’s been cleared up for dancing before anyone else can approach them for another one-way discussion.

It does, incidentally, bring them closer to where Lancelot stands.

Next to him Gawain raises his cup in salute and discreetly elbows Lancelot into covering his besotted smile somewhat. Arthur responds with a nod, lips tugging upwards at his friends’ antics.

“How long until we can sneak out?” Guinevere whispers only for his ears.

He leads her into as graceful a spin as he can muster and ducks his head to hide a grimace. “Who knows. Hours, probably, until they are bored of seeing us and send us on our way to… properly celebrate.”

She makes a noise somewhere between disgust and annoyance. He can’t help but agree to the sentiment. He glances up, assessing the crowd still gathered in the room. Gowns glitter under the lights, gilded and colorful. Then among them he glimpses the sight of a figure clad in black. He’s keeping to the edges of the crowd but Arthur would recognize Maleagant anywhere, even in the low light, among what looks like the entire noble population of the country.

The music shifts then and he almost trips. Guinevere catches him and makes it look as if nothing happened, though she meaningfully rolls her eyes at him. The sheepish smile she gets in return placates her but he knows he will hear about this later. She does like to mock him for his puppy-like reaction to the prince of Gore’s presence.

Finally, the song fades out and they are free to stop dancing. A blessing for Guinevere, who risks her life at every moment with him as a partner. With all the attention on them it feels right to lean down and press a kiss at the edge of her lips, just close enough to make it seem genuine. She rests her hand against his face and gives him a secret little smile.

“He’s looking at you,” she says, eyes darting above his shoulder.

Ah. He’s going to hear about this later. No matter: it’s not like Maleagant isn’t aware of their charade, or what it takes to keep it believable.

“Why don’t you go see your knight, and I’ll do the boring part of our royal duty and go greet the heir of the neighboring kingdom?”

“Boring, right.”

Guinevere draws back from him and gives him a wink before turning in a whirlwind of bright fabric and disappearing into the crowd. Lancelot, seeing her alone, immediately drifts away from the other knights and meets her halfway.

When he turns around, Arthur wishes Maleagant would do the same. There’s an awful lot of people between the two of them and he could use the help crossing the distance. But the other man is seemingly deep in conversation with Leodegrance and either hasn’t noticed Arthur’s approach or doesn’t care.

It takes time, what with everyone wishing to stop him to wish him many more years of a happy marriage, before Arthur finally reaches the two men. Only then does Maleagant deign to look at him. Arthur warned him that they shouldn’t interact too much in public lest people notice something is amiss. Apparently, Maleagant took it as an encouragement to go back to the way he acted before they grew closer.

Namely: making Arthur’s life harder just for the fun of it.

He manages to make bowing look respectful to all who watches them warily except to Arthur, who clearly sees it as the sarcastic gesture it is. Maleagant only bends the knee when he wants to, not when decorum says he should, and usually in a more… intimate context.

“My liege,” he greets, looking at Arthur through long, dark lashes. The way his lips curl in a grin when Arthur swallows audibly reminds him of a cat playing with a mouse.

The rest of the short conversation is a blur of social graces and, on Maleagant’s part, thinly-veiled innuendos. Arthur leaves before his attention can be taken as a show of favor, though they would be right in assuming this. He can’t help but feel the weight of Maleagant’s eyes on the back of his neck as he goes, gently mocking.

That night, he’s waiting for Arthur in his room.

Fortunately Guinevere is already gone, spirited away by Lancelot as soon as they stepped into the relative secrecy of the castle’s dark corridors. The two never got along. A mix between past grievances and personal resentment he would need years of context to properly understand. Maleagant insists that it’s because Guinevere cheated on Arthur, even though he’s not protective or righteous enough to care, and Guinevere claims he’s scary and untrustworthy, which isn’t wrong but lacks nuance. Arthur much prefers staying out of it and keeping their interactions away from the public eye at a bare minimum.

When Arthur opens the doors to his personal quarters he’s sitting in front of the fireplace, drinking some of his expensive wine and staring into the flames. His black armor is scattered around the room, dropped where he shed it, leaving him looking oddly vulnerable in his underclothes. Arthur rarely gets to see him like this. Usually they’re either in full armor or naked and there is little time for the in-between.

He looks up at the sound of the door gently closing. He finishes his wine, puts the glass down and rises smoothly. He doesn’t so much walk as prowl towards Arthur, pushing him against the door until he’s pinned.

“Hi,” Arthur squeaks.

Maleagant’s lips brush against his neck, up to his jaw, trailing a line of warmth all the way to his ear. His hot breath washes over his skin. “Hello, Arthur,” he says. His voice, low and dark, sends a shiver down Arthur’s spine. “Leaving your lawfully wedded wife so early in the night? What will the court think, I wonder.”

He doesn’t actually get the opportunity to respond to the rhetorical question. Maleagant sinks his teeth into the sensible skin just behind his jaw. Arthur’s gasp morphs into a breathless little moan as he sucks a bruise into his neck, marking him for all to see.

“I don’t think I have a collar high enough to cover that,” he complains halfheartedly.

“Then don’t. Let them see you’re mine, even as they believe you’re hers.” Maleagant presses a light kiss against the new bruise, then another on Arthur’s cheekbone, a third just under his eyes. He stops a hair’s breadth from his mouth.

Arthur breaches the gap himself, surging to capture Maleagant’s lips with his even as he grips the back of his neck to pull him impossibly closer. Maleagant goes easily, chuckling into the kiss. This time, when he bites to Arthur’s lip it’s gentle. Not enough to truly hurt, but enough to distract him from the hand trailing down his body for a second. He’s reminded of it when it dips under his pants, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his hips.

He breaks the kiss with a sigh and lets his arms hang around Maleagant’s shoulders for a moment as he catches his breath. Eventually he says, “Bed?”

The other man thinks about it, eyes hungrily roaming Arthur’s face as if by burning every detail of it in his memory he would make it his more than Guinevere’s. As if it weren’t already the case.

He nods and the desire in his eyes turns into deviousness. Before Arthur can notice the change he’s hoisted him up in his arms in a bridal carry. His strong arms take the weight of the king easily and it doesn’t take him much effort to carry Arthur to the bed and drop him on top of the soft sheets. He follows him down, settling on top of Arthur.

“The things I want to do to you,” he whispers, sounding almost amazed by whatever he’s seeing in Arthur at the moment.

He fights down a blush and lets his eyes fall half-closed, watches Maleagant through his lashes. “We have all night,” he says. “Why don’t you show me?”

#writing #April Bouquet #la légende du roi arthur #maleagant #king arthur #guinevere #ye olde lavender marriage

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gwaciechang · 4 years

Text

A Very Pierre Prequel (2/5)

And now back to our regularly scheduled reader POV where Pierre suffers a lot and the reader is unrelentingly kind to him.

“What’s 14 times 15?” you ask out loud.

“210,” Laurie’s terrifyingly clever friend, Maisie, answers almost at the same time.

“Thanks,” you tell her, continuing with your article. 210 pounds of heroin disappearing overnight from a police station couldn’t be an accident.

Something falls from the big oak tree with a thud, and you look up, alarmed.

“What the hell was that?” Laurie asks.

“A man fell out of the tree,” Maisie says nonchalantly.

“Shit,” you grab some bandages out your purse. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll go with you,” Laurie reaches for their scarf.

“No,” Maisie says suddenly, taking out her keys. “Laurie, you have to get ready for work. I’ll go.”

Laurie walks back to her room without another word, and the two of you run down the stairs to find the injured man. Maisie presses the button for the elevator on the way for some reason, did you forget to tell her it was broken?

“Hello?” you peer at the man at your feet. Miraculously, he’s not bleeding anywhere you can see, but he is holding his stomach. “Do you need an ambulance? I have a first aid kit.” Shit, you left it upstairs.

“Ambulance?” he looks at you in confusion. “What’s an ambulance?”

Shit, how hard did he hit his head?

“Who’s the president?”

He gives you another confused look, and you remember this is England, they don’t have presidents. Wait, do they call ambulances something else here, too? Shit.

He stares at you with obvious agony in his eyes until Maisie steps in.

“Follow my finger with your eyes,” she says, moving her index finger. “Okay, I’m going to shine this in your eyes to check your pupil response,” she holds up the flashlight on her keychain and his pupils must respond well, because she nods at you. “No concussion.”

“Why are you holding your stomach like that?” you ask, gesturing to where he still has his arm wrapped around his middle.

“I hit a tree branch on the way down,” he says through gritted teeth.

This close, you can see blood on his shirt. “How many?” you ask.

“Come on,” Maisie goes to his side and motions for you to help her carry him up to your apartment. His shirt feels weird.

Maisie soft metallic clinks when she walks, but when you look, you don’t see anything she’s wearing that could cause it. You open your mouth to ask, but the elevator dings.

He’s holding up remarkably well, or maybe he’s just leaning more on Maisie, seeing as she has a pretty firm grip around his middle with the hand she’s not using to twist her necklace. You focus on leading the three of you down the hall.

“Take off your shirt, or whatever that is,” you deposit him in a chair next to the kitchen counter. It definitely doesn’t look like any shirt you’ve ever seen.

“Um,” the man holds his middle even tighter.

“Get the first aid kit,” Maisie says imperiously, and you do. There’s a loud, metallic crash, and both you and Laurie enter the room to see a goddamn sword on the floor. “I was planning a magic trick,” Maisie looks you right in the eye, and you can’t tell if she’s lying. “Pierre, take your shirt off,” she says, and this time the man, Pierre apparently, listens.

The cut on his stomach (or the newest one, anyway) doesn’t look nearly as bad as the mostly-healed one on his chest, or the multitude of burns all over his torso. You’re not sure if you touch it out of horror or compassion, but it makes Pierre swallow and sit up straighter.

“Alex, disinfect his cuts, please. Laurie, I’m driving you to work,” Maisie picks up the sword and leaves, dragging a very confused Laurie with her.

“Sorry,” you laugh nervously, while you dab disinfectant on everything. “I don’t know what’s up with her today.” Not that you know what’s up with her any day.

Pierre just sits still, taking the alcohol sting with disturbing fortitude.

“Did somebody hurt you? Because these don’t look accidental,” he stiffens in the chair, and you’ve definitely crossed a line. “Ignore me. I’m being nosy, I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t apologize to me,” Pierre says, and he lowers his shirt and stands.

“I’m not done,” you say.

“I was sent here to kill you.”

You look at the floor where the sword used to be. “Not a magic trick, then?” you ask rhetorically.

”I think she knew, but I’m not sure how,” he walks toward the door like he’s going to the gallows.

“Sit back down,” you gesture to the chair.

He stares for a second. “I just said I came here to kill you.”

“And I said I wasn’t done,” you hold up the disinfectant. “Sent here by who?”

Pierre doesn’t answer, but he does sit down. Still, he keeps his eyes on you, like he's expecting you to unhinge your jaw and swallow him like the flergen from Captain Marvel. You giggle a little at the reference, and Pierre looks confused, which is fair.

“I was just thinking of a movie I saw,” you explain.

He smiles back just the tiniest bit. “Did you see it on the television?”

“No, I saw it in the theater.” The way he said “television” reminds you of those old medieval fantasy shows you used to watch.

“They still have those?” he visibly brightens.

You look at him with a little more concern. Maybe he does have a concussion? But then you think about those burns. It’s not inconceivable that the same person who's been torturing him repeatedly kept him away from the world.

“I need to stop thinking about conspiracy theories,” you grumble.

“What’s a-”

“No,” you hold up your hand. Pierre’s jaw snaps shut. Now this, you could get used to.

He's starting to shiver a little now, so you walk over to the thermostat and turn it up. He stands up again.

“For god’s sake, sit down and let me take care of you,” you say, exasperated.

He stares at the thermostat, but he sits down like you told him to.

“Any other injuries?” you ask when you're finally done.

“No,” he says, but he’s rubbing his arms, so you take your jacket off and motion for him to do the same. And for good reason, it turns out, because his arms are covered in shallow, bleeding cuts that look like they were made by-

“Did somebody scratch you?” you ask, holding your hands up to the cuts.

He looks away.

“Am I the first person you were sent to kill?” you ask a bit more harshly.

There's a beat of stillness, then he shakes his head.

“Who sent you?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” you cross your arms and hope you look intimidating.

“Sheldon Blake,” he whispers, eyes darting between the lights, the microwave, and your laptop.

Your heart stutters in your chest. “The drug dealer?” you grab another chair and sit down in front of him. “So my hunches were right!” you should probably not be grinning so wide.

“So you have been investigating him,“ Pierre’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “You need to stop.”

You scoff. “What are you, my keeper? I’ve never been in the habit of being quiet about evil, and I'm not going to start now.”

Pierre slams his fist on the kitchen counter. “I was sent here to kill you, do you understand?”

“Obviously,” you nod to the tree outside, “and you suck at it. One fall out of a tree and you’re spilling all your secrets to me.”

He retreats with a lost look.

“What?” you ask, curious.

“It wasn’t the fall that changed my mind,” he says quietly, and this makes you blush.

You put the first aid kit back. So what do we do now?” you ask. “Clearly, you’ve just left his cult, or whatever, I mean, if you don’t know what an ambulance is, then it’s definitely a cult he has in his warehouses-”

“Warehouses?”

“You know, the place he makes his heroin.”

Pierre shakes his head. “What is heroin?”

Your jaw drops to the floor. “What do you mean, ‘what's heroin?’ It’s an opioid drug, horribly addictive, and extremely painful to detox from. I mean, I think. I’ve thankfully never had to deal with it myself.”

“Opioid? Like poppies? Wait, don’t tell me. You do realize you still have to deal with a man who makes it and will kill you to stop you from talking about it,” Pierre says with a frown.

You snort. “He can try. He hasn’t done a very good job of it recently, has he?” you nod to the spot on the floor where Maisie dropped the sword.

Pierre looks uncomfortable again. Good.

“Do you want to go back to him?” you ask. You know better than to take a person out of a situation, even an abusive one, against their will.

Pierre swallows, but doesn’t answer.

“Has anyone ever asked you what you want?”

Pierre gives you the smallest shake of his head, and you’re going to nail Blake with your article.

You think for a second before switching tactics. If he’s not familiar with his emotions, he’s still a hitman, and they have to be familiar with bodies. “Does the idea of going back to Blake make you feel lighter or heavier, physically?”

Pierre takes a second to think. “Heavier,” he says hesitantly.

“Then I want you to stay here,” you say.

Pierre looks at you in disbelief. “You want a man who was sent here to kill you to stay in the place where you sleep.”

“You can sleep on the couch, if you want. I could even tie you down if you’d like.” Well, assuming you can untie the flogger you got after that interview with the professional dominatrix. “How does that sound?”

Pierre lets out a sigh. “I feel a good deal less clouded in my head, knowing you’ll at least take precautions to protect yourself, even if you won’t stop the foolhardy activities that got you Sheldon Blake'’ attention in the first place.”

“Yeah, well, because I have the option to walk away is exactly why I shouldn’t,” you say, grabbing some grapes out of the refrigerator to wash. “I need to tell the stories that I can walk away from so that people who can’t walk away can be safe.”

You notice Pierre eyeing the fruit in your hands, and hold the bunch within his reach. He only takes a single one, and he takes his time to savor it with small bites. He looks at you while you pop them in your mouth two a time with wide eyes, but doesn’t comment or ask for more. You watch him watch you eat for less than ten seconds before you give in and pull a few off to hand to him.

He takes them with reverent hands and a whispered, “Thank you, ma’am.”

You can’t help the recoil, and he reacts immediately by stuffing the grapes in his mouth and lowering his head to expose the back of his neck. He puts his hands on top of his knees with his palms up, and there are scars peeking out there too.

You’re not sure what this means, so you just keep going. He’s safe to say this to, it seems. “I’m tired of being ma’am all the time. It’s the 21st century, people aren't just mister or ma’am. I’m just Alex.”

#pierre you dick #knightfall fanfic #into the joeyverse #joey i am literally begging you not to look through this tag

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carbonitekisses · 5 years

Text

IV: Trust and Promises

In which Jon and Sansa finally have a moment alone after his return to Winterfell. Also on AO3

Her hand trembles slightly but the key turns the lock and the door swings in.

No.

I can't do this. Sansa takes a step back into the hallway. Not right now.

"Stay," he asks of her. Loud enough that she hears him, quiet enough that she is sure Brienne knows nothing of his presence in her rooms. She could leave and none would be the wiser.

Sansa was a lady at the age of three. A lady's courtesy is the only reason she takes one last painful draw of free air, steps into her room, and seals the exit.

Discreetly, she tries to steady her breathing though her lungs beg her to gasp and heave. Jon is here and Sansa will not show herself as weak in front of him. She thought she knew him, at least a little. She knew him as a king, a partner, and family. But then he left for Dragonstone against all counsel, and came back changed. He's still Jon. She still trusts him. And yet, Sansa's heart stutters in her chest and there is so little room, so little air, He left and came back as someone who's actions I do not understand...perhaps someone I did not ever really know. Jon remains standing, waiting for her to make the first move. Caught unawares and unprepared, it is an ambush she has walked into. Sooner or later a confrontation between them had to pass. She had rhetorically hoped it would never come. Pretend, that is all I can do for now. Pretend I am everything I am not—calm and indifferent. Varys and his little birds will have to wait. First, this.

The lady of WInterfell confidently walks around Jon Snow and takes her place behind the great oak desk. I made the first move, let him be the first to break the silence and speak.

He hears her before he sees her.

“...only be a minute in my own rooms.”

Jon rises from the chair set before the desk just as she opens the door. He can tell she's been outside. The wind has played with her hair though the braids have done their duty in keeping it in place. Although she has been in the cold her cheeks lack the red that normally colors them after being in the winter wind. Jon would think her unwell but she shows no discomfort or uneasiness. Her left foot takes a backstep, ready to retreat into the hall. She can't leave. He can't let her.

“Stay,” he whispers.

And she does. Reluctantly, he knows, but she stays.

She calmly closes the door behind her. He thinks of what to say to break the silence but Sansa's gaze passes over him. If Jon hadn't spoken and witnessed her surprise at seeing him in her rooms, he would think himself invisible. He watches her as she strides to sit behind her desk. Sansa blankly looks at him as he remains standing. She will not speak, fine. Then he will.

"Are you well?"

"Yes."

"Any news of import?"

"A lot has happened since you left the North."

The window behind her does little in keeping out the gales that push back against the castle walls. He is glad for it. The wind makes the silence between words slightly more bearable.

"And will you not tell me of this news?"

"First: how did you get in? I'm assuming Arya was involved?"

“Aye.” It took her less than a minute to pick the lock.

"Thank you."

Arya shakes her head as she works the metal pick into the lock. "Don't thank me. I'm not doing this for you." A final twist and the door unlocks. "I have my own reasons."

His little sister is harsher and sharper-edged but the sweet girl he remembers is still there. He wonders what else besides lock-picking she's learned during her time away from home.

"I don't trust her."

"Arya, she's your sis—"

"Our sister." She pushes the door open and steps aside so he can go in. "And I wasn't talking about Sansa; I've played the game with her. I have yet to play it with Daenerys Targaryen. Or with you."

"What game?"

She gives him a smile instead of an answer, and leaves.

“Where is she?” Sansa asks him. “Arya? I need to speak with her.”

Arya had mentioned going to the forges. The blacksmiths are hard at work, laboring day and night to make dragonglass weapons. Something tells him that if he told Sansa where Arya is she would leave in search of her. “I don't know,” he lies.

She says nothing, her eyes flicking to the closed door behind him. Yes, she would have left him to search for Arya.

Jon had arrived at Winterfell yesterday but right now is the first time Sansa and him are truly alone. Their reunion had been confined to their embrace in the courtyard. From there onwards, aside from the assembly in the hall, they spent the rest of the day in different parts of the keep, with different people, and different tasks. He knows his own reasons for avoiding her...what he doesn't know is why she avoided him. Since Castle Black, Jon has come to understand a little of what makes the woman that stands before him. She's strong-willed, persuasive, and unafraid to speak her mind. Jon had expected her to hunt him down like a she-wolf and bring him to heel, demand answers to the questions he knows have been simmering ever since he signed as 'Warden of the North' on that damned scroll.

She never came.

“You've been avoiding me.” He knows she had avoided him. She must know he had avoided her.

“And you, me,” she confirms. “We've been avoiding each other. Now we're not. Is that all you came here for?”

Her lack of feeling or care needles him.

“No. It's not. We need to talk.”

Without warning or apparent cause, placidness seems to replace her discordance. "Very well, then. What news do you want to hear of first?" She leans back and lays her arms on the chair's armrests. He sits, cautious and wary of her change in tone. "The food shortage, the fickleness of the northern lords, the tension between the Free Folk and northmen, Arya and Bran? Or perhaps we should discuss the newer concerns that arrived with Daenerys Targaryen. Varys' little birds, the hatred the north holds against Targaryens and Lannisters, the wight dragon, and, again, the food shortage."

"Little birds?" It's a term he hasn't heard of and the first topic that tumbles out of his mouth.

"Varys is called Master of Whispers for a reason," she replies drily, "Little birds, he calls them. Spies. Eyes and ears that report back to him, and often spread secrets and lies of their own. No conversation, secret, plan, or information is safe with them here. There is a reason Varys has survived three regencies. He's a dangerous man."

And you brought him here, is left unsaid.

Jon swallows and tries to bring some moisture to his drying mouth. Spies in Winterfell that report to Varys and, by extension, to Daenerys. Daenerys who is quick to anger and impulsive. Northerners are not known for their tact or minding their tongues. If the assembly in the hall is anything to go by, Jon is sure these little birds will have an easy job of reporting how unwanted Daenerys is in the North. It is a problem he is not sure he can solve. It is a problem he didn't even know existed. How private is this conversation? Could there be a little bird in this very room? At least he knows Brienne is standing guard right outside.

Speaking of dangerous men, "What of Baelish? I have yet to see him following you around the halls." He tries for humor in order to not betray his preoccupation, "Did Ghost frighten him away?"

There is a shift in her demeanor. Minutely, her hands tighten around the armrests. Her nostrils flare while she takes in a drag of air. Something happened between Baelish and her. "I love Sansa, as I loved her mother," Baelish had said. Jon should have killed the beady-eyed man when he had the chance. Instead, Jon left Sansa unprotected and alone with a man whose hungry stare never wavered from her.

"Don't worry. He's no longer your concern. Or a threat. Arya, Bran and I saw to that."

Unbidden, his gloved hand tightens. Muscle memory. Tendons and muscle move as he tries to choke a neck that is no longer there. "What happened? He made his intentions towards you very clear to me before I left."

"I don't want to talk about Littlefinger right now."

"Sansa." He says her name like a challenge. He doesn't know why he is so intent on this. He feels almost childish, fixated on a topic he can see she holds no love for. However, it is the first time that she has shown any matter of feeling or investment in this...conversation. And there is something dark and viscid within him that needs to know—that wants to break the veil of ice she is wearing. "I need to know," Sansa stiffens. "Did he—did he cross any boundaries he shouldn't have?"

"You 'need to know'?" Her head lowers, shaking humorlessly, until he can only see the braided rose that crowns her hair. Words are slow and pointed in coming out of her mouth. Her tongue seems to savor each syllable. "Funny, that, how you demand answers and explanations from me. How, suddenly, 'we need to talk'. We needed to talk several moons past, what use is talking now? My counsel and opinion doesn’t matter to you."

You're wrong. There are few people he can and does trust. He left the North in her steady and capable hands. He entrusted the safety of their people to her. She...she came into his life unexpectedly but he now finds himself unable to fathom a future without her—and the rest of his family. How can you doubt your importance to me? Or believe that your counsel and opinion doesn't matter? “It does matter—”

Her chair scrapes against the floor as she abruptly stands, and her hands grip the edge of the desk. “No, it doesn’t." As if surprised by the vehemency that coats her words, she blinks rapidly, and twists her face away from him. "One raven, Jon. That is all you cared to send." Her voice is hoarse; he surmises it is probably from anger. "You left our home and a kingdom we just reclaimed, to leave on a mission everyone advised you against because we couldn’t risk losing you. Moons without a single word, or scroll to at least let me know you were alive and well." She lifts a hand to wipe away a strand of auburn that escaped her braid. "And then when I do receive a raven it’s to let me know—not confer with or discuss—but to let me know that you bent the knee. Brienne told me of how you publicly pledged yourself to Daenerys at the Dragon Pit. No one aside from you and the Targaryen queen, not even Ser Davos, your hand, knew."

He mimics her and stands just as harshly. Jon thought she trusted him. 'We need to trust each other'. They had promised atop Winterfell's battlements, hadn't they? "You weren't the one that had to negotiate with Daenerys. I was." Anger at her mistrust worms into his throat. Sansa wasn't kept prisoner with no access to her ship and weapons. She doesn't know of how tense the situation was. She doesn't know how volatile Daenerys' temper is. She criticizes him without knowing exactly what transpired on that thrice-damned island. "You have no idea what it was like, you only believe what you want to believe and accuse me of—of I don't know what."

"That's the problem! I have no idea because you refuse to confide in me!" Her gloveless hands release their grip on the desk. The lady of Winterfell draws her shoulders back and circles the desk to stand before him. The barrier between them is gone and at this close distance Jon can see a faint redness lining the white of her eyes. "You act like a lone wolf without thinking of the consequences. With the stroke of a quill, you sent a scroll renouncing a crown voluntarily given and voluntarily accepted," a breath shudders past the belt that tightly winds around her waist, "and it fell upon me to try and explain a situation I knew nothing of to the people that put their trust in the Stark name. Thrice now, a Stark king has lost the north. Did you believe the lords would accept a Targaryen queen as easily as you did? You know what the North has suffered at the hands of southern rulers—especially Targaryens. I'd almost wager many of them would rather die in the Long Night than submit once more to 'Fire and Blood'."

"Then they're fools," he says through clenched teeth. We're really all just Northern fools in the end. "Do you think the Night King cares about who holds what title? Titles don't matter—"

"Oh, yes they do," she cuts in, "What will happen after the war? After the Night King is defeated? You say you fight for the living but it seems you don't care or understand that life, the very thing you are fighting for, will continue on afterwards and the promises and pledges you have sworn will matter. Who rules over us, over the North, will matter. That you pledged northern men to fight for a bloody throne in the south will matter." Her volley of attacks leaves her winded and gasping. "You're a fool if you don't understand this."

"She has dragons, armies, and dragonglass. We need Daenerys, what don't you understand about that?" He isn't wearing the cloak Sansa made for him yet he feels himself warming underneath Sansa's clear disapproval. Sansa always gets under his skin. What does he have to do to gain her trust? "Without her we will not win this war. I've seen the Army of the Dead. I've fought them. Not even her dragons are safe. You heard Bran, the Night King now has a dragon of his own." Guilt at agreeing to go beyond the Wall for Daenerys' truce, the loss of Uncle Benjen, guides his eyes away from Sansa's penetrating gaze. "You have no idea what we're up against. If I hadn't gone to Dragonstone...there is no doubt in my mind the Night King would kill every single northern man, woman, and child before making his way south. You must know," he takes a single step forward, tries to make her understand. "All I care about is protecting the North. I promised to protect you, remember? I could never forgive myself if I hadn't done everything possible to protect you, Arya, and Bran."

The braziers and sconces mounted around the room crackle, and cast her face in orange light. He feels like she's ripped from him an unknown truth he himself is blind to. She looks at him, unblinking. He stares back, waiting. His eyes start to burn but he will not yield. Sansa's veneer of ice seems to thaw. Out of the corner of his eye he sees her thumb worry her palm. Quietly, she asks him a question that tears open the wounds on his chest, “Was it duty to the North or love for her that made you bend the knee?"

#in which Jon and Sansa finally have a moment alone #and many things are discussed but also left unsaid #unreliable narrator #jon x sansa #jonsa #jonsa fic #jonsaff #trust and promises #players & pieces

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sprnklersplashes · 5 years

Text

Truth Of His Dreams (10/?)

AO3

“We had him right in front of us!” Antony, one of the soldiers sent to London with Quill, whispers harshly as they briskly head back to their hotel. It’s nowhere near as lavish as the ones they pass on the streets, but the budget didn’t stretch to four star accommodation. “We had him right in front of us and you told us to wait.”

“Yes I did,” she says sharply, not looking at him, not even slowing down. “Patience is the key to victory.”

“Did your father teach you that?” he asks, his tone flippant. She stops in her tracks, the question hitting her face-on, seeming to freeze every muscle in her body. She grabs Antony by the shoulder and turns to make him look at her. Rather than pin him against the wall behind them, she keeps him there with his back to the road, where he can hear the sound of passing cars. Regret immediately flares into his eyes, and the corners of her mouth twitch up into a smile, despite the unsettling nausea in her stomach and the way her hands shake even as she grips the front of his coat.

“Maybe,” she says, deciding it to be the best reply. She lets him go, secure in the knowledge that he won’t mention her family again. Her father is legendary among former revolutionaries and especially in the police and army. Her, not so much. She’s heard whispers in the cafeteria; she is where she is only because of her father’s act, sympathetic officers and admirers in office boosting her up. She won’t be mocked, certainly not by someone beneath her. She turns and keeps walking, Antony scurrying just behind her. “Rachel is staking out the Queen’s apartments. Once we know her next move, we can make ours. If she doesn’t claim this boy as her heir, then we take him and his friends back to Rhodia. Let the justice system deal with them. And if she does-” She feels the gun in her pocket. She knows it’s a dead, inanimate object, cold hard metal, yet she swears it’s burning in her pocket. “You know what we do if she does.” She suppresses a shiver. “What happens to him if she does.”

“Will you?” Antony asks after a long silent pause. She glares back at him, hoping to subdue him without having to say anything. He doesn’t meet her gaze, but shrugs.

“Humour me,” he says quietly.

“I have to,” she replies, knowing how she’s not answering his question. “Otherwise we have a legitimate heir running wild in the world.” She repeats Dorothea’s rhetoric from that day in her office, finding herself almost mimicking her tone. “A threat to the stability of the Republic.”

“Is he?” Antony asks. Quill rolls her eyes. Bravery and boldness are some of the best traits a solider can have, and she’d never condemn someone for showing them, but she wishes that in this particular moment, Antony had less of it.

“I should have pushed you into that road when I had the chance,” she mutters, barely audible enough for herself to hear, let alone him. She turns around to face him, keeping walking backwards. “Of course he remains a threat, Antony,” she explains. “You think he won’t return to reclaim his crown? Or the fact that he’s alive and thriving won’t inspire some loyalists back home?” Antony nods, not saying another word until they get back to the hotel.

The lobby is almost completely deserted when they get back in, one man dozing on one of the leather couches, his coat pulled over him like a blanket. Quill shakes her head at the sight before stepping into the lift to the third floor, riding up in an uncomfortable silence. She looks at Antony out of the corner of her eye. She almost feels guilt, and she hates it.

When she enters her room, the only source of light is the little bedside lamp. Jenkins sits next to the wall, initially reading, but jumps up when he sees her. She barely pays him any attention. Her focus is on the little girl starfished out on one of the bed, her mouth open and snoring softly. Aware of Jenkins and Antony’s presences, she crosses over to the bed, resting her hand on her cheek just for a moment. Kat murmurs and snuggles into her pillow, but she doesn’t wake. Quill lets her hair fall forward, hiding her soft, affectionate smile.

“Any problems with her?” she whispers.

“None,” Jenkins replies. “She just kept asking when you’d be home. What you were doing?”

“What did you tell her?” she asks, turning sharply to face him, her blood running cold.

“That you were doing work,” he answers delicately. “She didn’t ask what kind of work.” She turns back to look at her. “Good for us she doesn’t ask questions. Not old enough yet, I suppose.”

“She will be one day,” Quill mutters.

She had been old enough to ask her father. She had been old enough to listen to him and be told that he shot three people in the head, be told it was all for the greater good. And she had been old enough to listen to her parent’s marriage deteriorate day by day since that night, to watch her father stare vacantly at the wall with a bottle of vodka in his hand, watch him get up later and later until one day he didn’t get out of the bed. Her mother had ushered her out of the room and forbidden her from entering, even when paramedics came to do the final check and confirm the worst to her.

She bites her lip, tears overflowing in her eyes as she keeps sitting next to Kat. One day, Kat will be old enough to ask questions about what happened tonight. And one day, she’ll have to look her in the eye and answer her. Tell her what she did.

Her father’s daughter.

*****

Matteusz checks over the contents of his bag one more time. He barely has any money, but he’s heard that flights to Rhodia are cheap. Or maybe he can get a boat to France and do the long trek all over again, but backwards this time. But he’s not staying; he decided on that last night. He barely slept, staring up at the ceiling, the image of Charlie’s tear filled eyes and face twisted in rage looking at him stuck on his mind. He remembers the venom in his voice as he spoke to him. He wonders if he’s remembering it wrongly, if he remembers Charlie being more angry than he actually was. Or less.

Charlie has every right to hate him after all.

“You were just going to go?” a voice asks behind him. He turns and sees April, leaning against the wall, looking at him sadly, big round sad eyes and her little pink lips turned down, while Dash sits at her heels. She looks at his packed bag. “Were you even going to say goodbye?”

“Where’s Ram and Tanya?” he asks instead of answering her.

“In the other room,” she answers, sticking her hands in the pockets of her jeans. The make-up from last night is mostly removed, leaving only patches of foundation she was too tired to scrub off. “You’re not the only one upset here.”

“I know,” he replies. “I hope I’m not because we should be upset, we should all be-”

“We heard it all from Charlie last night,” she tells him sharply. “And yeah, we all feel bad about this Matteusz. But we’re not running.”

“Who says I’m running?” he asks. “He is where he belongs, I’m going where I belong.”

“And where’s that?”

“Rhodia. Where else?”

“Rhodia?” she asks, her voice jumping up an octave, at least. “Are you serious? You’re a wanted man there, Matteusz. You put so much effort into escaping and now you’re running back.”

“This escape wasn’t my idea,” he reminds her. “And fine, maybe I won’t go back. But I’m not staying here.”

“You’re giving up on yourself,” she tells him. “And on him.”

“He doesn’t care,” he replies. He swallows the lump in his throat. “He hates me. He hates all of us.” April bows her head. “So I am going wherever he is not. That is how I will make peace with myself.”

“And I can’t talk you out of it?” she asks. He shakes his head, knowing that if he says anything else, he’ll start crying.

She comes over and hugs him tightly. He replies in kind. She’s his friend, after all. They all are, despite everything.

“At least send us a postcard,” she whispers. “From wherever you end up.”

“I’ll try,” he replies.

A knock at the door causes them to pull away, both quickly drying their tears.

“It’s open,” Matteusz says, assuming it’s Tanya or Ram. Selfishly, he hopes it’s Ram, because he’ll be better at goodbyes than Tanya is.

Only it’s not either of them. It’s a tall, blond haired man, unknown to both of them, in a pristine white suit, looking around the room rather uncomfortably.

“Is one of you Matteusz Andrzjewski?” he asks.

“Yes, I am,” Matteusz answers, looking over at a confused April. She shrugs and looks back at their new guest cautiously. Matteusz looks out of the corner of his eye, taking note of the heavy looking book sitting on the desk, just in case he needs a weapon.

“I need you to come with me,” he says. “By order of the Queen Mother of Rhodia.”

“Why?” he asks. “What does she need with me?”

“I’m just the messenger,” he replies. “She says you and she have unfinished business.” Matteusz looks back at April, his stomach turning. “The car is outside to take you to her apartments.” His tone is final and demanding, and Matteusz doesn’t want to see what would happen if he disobeyed. There’s a bulge in the man’s trousers, looking big enough to conceal a baton.

“Okay,” he agrees. April runs up and grabs him by the shoulder, shaking her head frantically. He takes her hand off him, holding it gently. “Give me an hour. If I am not back by then, assume I’ve been kidnapped or something and call the police.” He looks back at the man, who pulls at his tight-looking collar. “An hour, all right?” Behind him, Dash whimpers and runs to Matteusz, nuzzling against his legs, bouncing lightly, his little tail already wagging. Maybe he wants to see his master. “The dog comes too.”

“Fine by me,” he says, having no desire to argue. April nods and reluctantly allows him to follow the man out of the room, Dash running at his heels. They walk down to the lift in uncomfortable, prickly silence, the man staring ahead of him in the lift, only glancing at Matteusz once or twice out of the corner of his eye. He walks him briskly to the car; it’s not a brand Matteusz knows, barely any cars were manufactured in Rhodia, but it’s big and shining black, the edges lined with silver. Inside, the seats are white leather and sparkling clean, so much so that Matteusz feels awkward sitting on it, as though he might leave a dirty handprint on the fine upholstery. Or that Dash, excited as he is, might leave an unfortunate yellow stain on it.

When they get to the Queen’s apartment building, Matteusz has to fight the urge to let his jaw drop open at the sight of it. It, like almost every building in London, towers over him impressively, light brown with intricate patterns carved into it. If he looks up and squints, he can just about make out the angels sitting on the two front corners. Dozens of French windows, framed by red or purple or blue curtains, line along the walls, and a red carpet rolls down the imposing stone staircase, which in turn is covered by a white and gold canopy.

“Come on,” the man says to him, his tone not unkind. “She’s waiting for you in her apartment.” He hurries across the foyer to the lift, barely able to take in the colourful mosaic on the white tiles or the diamond chandelier above him, resting against the white and gold ceiling. He thought the hotel he was staying in with his friends was grand, but this is another world entirely.

The man takes him up to the top floor, the lift moving so swiftly that he worries he might faint, although that could be just nerves. His nails dig into his sweaty palms, his heartbeat growing louder every second. He’s not sure how he’s meant to even speak to the Queen Mother with his mouth so dry. He thinks briefly that since he reunited her with her grandson, the least she could do is give him a glass of water.

He follows the man out of the lift and to the first door on the right, where he knocks swiftly. Countess Oswald opens it, smiling warmly at Matteusz.

“Thank you for bringing him, Elton,” she says, before looking at Matteusz. “Come in, she’s been expecting you.”

“So I hear,” he says under his breath, stepping into the main living room. “Can you take care of my dog for a moment?” She nods and scoops up Dash before leading him to where the Queen Mother sits elegantly on a small blue loveseat, wearing a long green dress, her hair held up with an emerald clasp. He’s not sure how to feel about her; despite her change of heart, he’s still not sure he forgives her for how she treated Charlie at the ballet. He settles for bowing slightly to her, keeping his head up.

“Your Majesty,” he greets. “Happiness looks lovely on you.” He glances around nervously, wringing his hands. “He’s not here, is he?”

“No,” she answers with a shake of her head. “No Charles is downstairs, conversing with some old family friends.” She smiles, soft but radiant. “It’s coming back to him now. Bit by bit. We looked through old photographs this morning. He remembers how he loved them.”

“Is he all right?” Matteusz asks. The question takes her by surprise.

“As well as he can be,” she says with a sigh. “It’s difficult for him. Living with the burden of being the only one to survive. I imagine it will be hard for him to bear.”

“I know the feeling,” he states. She cocks her head to the side, but she shakes his head. “Your assistant said you had business with me?”

“Indeed,” she answers, beckoning him closer. He does so but maintains a respectful distance. She gestures to the leather suitcase sitting on the loveseat, opening it to reveal more money than Matteusz has ever seen in his life. So many piles of paper bills, they almost seem worthless. “The reward money. 10 million, I believe is what I advertised.”

Matteusz looks at it. He has never dreamed of having so much money. He could buy a house for himself, Tanya, April and Ram, in the nicest part of London. They could live in luxury and freedom, attending ballets, eating whatever they wish whenever they wanted. They’d never want for anything.

“Thank you,” he says. “But no.” She frowns, coming closer to him. “I don’t want your money.”

“Then what can I give you for returning him safely to me?” she asks. “Jewels? Cars? Anything you want, it’s yours.”

“Unfortunately, what I want isn’t something you can give me,” he says. He bows again, lower this time. “Thank you, Your Majesty. But you may keep your money. I would never know what to do with it.” A daring idea sparks in the back of his mind, and he takes a chance. “Perhaps try giving some of it to charity.” He turns to leave, but she grabs a hold of his arm, turning him back to face her. He casts his eyes down as she studies his face, muttering something under her breath.

“That’s not a Rhodian accent,” she states.

“I’m not Rhodian. Not by blood anyway. I’m Polish.”

“I see,” she says. “What’s your surname?”

“Andrzjewski,” he says carefully. She nods, her face unreadable.

“There was a man who worked in our palace,” she tells him. “His name was Andrzjewski. Not a common name at all, certainly not in Rhodia.” He looks at her, slightly surprised, and she laughs warmly. “I remember more than you think. I knew many servants by name. He had a son, too. And if I do my maths correctly… How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” he replies, his voice shaking.

“Mm,” she says. “Just a few months older than Charles.” She lets go of his arm, knowing she doesn��t need to hold him there. “You know I keep thinking about last night. How sure you were that he was the real Prince. And then Charles told me how he survived last night. He said a serving boy led him to safety.” Matteusz turns his head away, but she grasps his chin and gently pulls him back. “You were that boy weren’t you? The boy who saved him. That’s how you knew it was him.”

“Yes,” he answers after a long while. “Yes.”

“I should grant you a Lordship,” she says. “Leave you a part of my inheritance in my will.”

“No,” he says. “I do not want your money. Or any title.”

“Then I can give you one thing,” she tells him honestly. “My eternal and sincere gratitude.” She grasps his hand tightly, her hands trembling. “Thank you for saving him.”

“You’re welcome,” he says quietly. He almost laughs; you’re welcome is such a light, trivial phrase, but he can’t think of anything else to say. “I should get back to my friends.”

“If you wish,” she says, gesturing to the door. “Elton will deliver you back. But Mr Andrzjewski, if you ever change your mind, I will not hesitate to hand over the reward money.”

“Charlie is home,” he says. “That is my reward.” He turns and leaves a slightly shocked-he’d dare say impressed-Queen Mother in her apartments and leaves, clicking the door shut behind him. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans against the door to give his shaking legs a moment of peace.

“Are you ready to be taken home?” the young man, Elton, asks. Matteusz jumps, having not known he was there.

“Yeah, yeah.” Elton gives him an easy grin, setting a shaking Dash on the floor, who immediately begins pawing at Matteusz’s legs.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, leading him to the lift. “Nice dog.” The lift opens just before Elton can push the button.

Matteusz wants to turn and run when he sees who steps out; Charlie, dressed in a light blue suit jacket and white trousers, his blonde hair pushed slightly to the side, accompanied by a young dark haired woman dressed similarly to Elton. He sees Matteusz immediately, stopping dead in his tracks. So many emotions cover his face in a single moment, shock, confusion, maybe a slight bit of happiness thought could be tricking himself out of wishful thinking, then finally a moment of realisation followed by a quiet kind of anger.

“Matteusz,” he greets coldly.

“Charlie,” he says.

“Young man,” the woman next to Charlie says, her voice shaking slightly. “You will address the Prince as Your Royal Highness. And bow when you speak to him.”

“Jenny, that’s really not-” Charlie begins.

“It’s fine,” Matteusz interrupts. He bows slightly, just enough to keep looking at him. “Your Royal Highness.”

“I trust you have everything you were looking for,” he says bitterly. Matteusz tries not to show how much it stings.

“My business is finished,” he simply states.

“Good.” Before Charlie can say anything else, Dash runs up to him, pawing at his legs. Charlie breaks out into a smile, the same smile that made Matteusz’s heart skip a beat on a rooftop in Rhodia. Seemingly having forgotten everything else, he scoops Dash into his arms, chuckling as he licks his face. He eyes Matteusz suspiciously, one hand running through his fur.

“You brought the dog?” he asks.

“He wanted to come,” he states. “Maybe he missed you. He is technically your dog.”

“I suppose so,” he says. “If it’s all the same to you.”

“Of course it is.” Charlie nods stiffly. He gasps slightly, his eyes already shining.

“Goodbye Matteusz,” he says, and he hurries down the hall with Dash in his arms. The woman who was with him, Jenny, shoots Matteusz an apologetic look before heading after him, and he gets into the lift with an uncomfortable looking Elton.

“Is that his dog?” he asks as he presses the button. Matteusz looks at him oddly, since that was the last question he could think to be asked. “Just making conversation.”

“He had it when I met him,” he explains.

“Hey, look, I know it’s none of my business.” If he wasn’t committed to being kind, he’d tell him he’s right, it’s none of his business and ask him to stop talking. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” When he turns to look at him, Elton simply shrugs. “I mean, you’re not exactly subtle. And I know heartbreak when I see it.” He doesn’t reply, simply sliding his hands into his back pockets. “That must be rough, mate.”

“Rough is one word for it,” he replies.

*****

Charlie keeps stroking Dash’s fur rhythmically, trying to banish Matteusz from his mind. It’s not easy when he’s been all he can think about whenever he has a free moment. Luckily for him, he rarely has a free moment now, with old family friends clamouring around to see him. He starts recalling names once he sees them, bits and pieces of his fragmented memory coming back to him, building back him up from the nothing he used to be, brick by brick.

“Grandmother?” he calls out as he steps into her apartment-their apartment, he corrects. She’s given him the guest bedroom, despite Countess Oswald insisting he can take hers. He’d be fine sleeping on the floor in the living room. “Grandmother, are you here?”

“Here I am, love,” she says, coming out of her own bedroom. She crosses over to him as quickly as her old legs will carry her, eyeing the dog in his arms with amusement.

“Yeah,” he says delicately. “Um, about that. He was mine in Rhodia and I took him across Europe and…” He takes a sharp breath in, deciding to leave Matteusz out altogether. “He uh, he followed me here. Can I hold onto him?”

“Of course you can, darling,” she says, stroking his cheek. She’s touched him so much since they found each other, stroking his face and hair, holding his hand and touching his shoulder. Like he might disappear on her again. Still, he won’t complain. It’s been a long time since someone was so affectionate with him.

Dash, apparently bored, jumps out of his arms and runs around the room, exploring every new piece of furniture available to him. Charlie sees his grandmother try not to wince when he nestles up to the couches and chairs, no doubt leaving his hair everywhere.

“He is trained isn’t he?” she asks him.

“Uhh, probably.” He says, thinking back to Rhodia. They had set up some newspapers in the corner of the theatre and taken turns trying to train Dash to do his business in them. It took a while, normally leading to loud complaints from Ram and debates over who was going to clean it up. He shakes his head. Forgetting his former friends is harder than he thought it would be.

“Well we’ll have to get someone in to train him anyway,” his grandmother says. “Now come here.” She takes his arm and leads him over to the couch. “Tonight, we’ll announce you to the world, officially, right here in the hotel. A celebration for Rhodians only.” She squeezes his hands. “A reminder that they didn’t win. Not entirely.” He nods, but his smile dips slightly. No doubt the room will be filled with Rhodian nobility, but they won’t compare to what was lost that night. Every person he meets lost someone eight years ago.

“I wish they could be here with us,” he says, his voice small. She kisses his head, gasping lightly.

“They’re always with us,” she reminds him. He hums in agreement but isn’t entirely sure if he believes her. She wipes away his tears. “Anyway, the press will be there too, and they’ll certainly have questions about you. About where you lived, why you took so long to come here…”

“Let them ask,” he sighs. “All that really matters is that we found each other.”

Before she can say anything else, the front door opens abruptly, and he hears Countess Oswald’s unmistakable voice making futile protests. A man with bleached blond hair and a familiar enough face sweeps in, wearing a red-lined black cape over a navy blue suit, despite the warm enough weather. He looks Charlie up and down with a snarl. He briefly considers hiding behind his grandmother but thinks better of it. He won’t hide from anyone. Behind him, Countess Oswald looks devastated and mouths an apology to them, but his grandmother waves it away, looking bored.

“Surely, Your Majesty, you don’t believe this imposter is the Crown Prince Charles,” he says. Charlie is sure he recognises the voice. An image creeps up in his mind, he guesses from when he was six or seven, at a party on a cold, dark night, his parents talking with this man, giving one word answers to his long, elaborate speeches and giggling when their backs were turned. His father made a snide remark about how he wasn’t sure why they had to invite him-

“Count Masters,” he interrupts excitedly. He steps back, his mouth open a little in shock. Details comes flooding into Charlie’s mind and out of his mouth with little control, the way it seems to do when he remembers someone. “With your dyed hair, loud voice-and vodka breath!” Count Masters covers his mouth with his hand while Charlie bounces a little. Admittedly, he doesn’t look as dignified as a Prince should look. “No wonder my parents laughed at you behind your back.”

“You’re right Charles, they did,” his grandmother agrees. He feels slightly bad, but only slightly. His parents never liked Count Masters anyway. Appalled, he turns and runs out, not bothering to even bow at either of them.

“Where were you three weeks ago when he was pestering me?” Countess Oswald asks. “By the way, when I was downstairs, this arrived for you.” She pulls a small white envelope out of her coat and hands it over to him. “From one of your friends. Hand delivered too, must be important. She looked like she ran to get it to you.”

His heart sinks when he sees the handwriting; his name is written on it in Tanya’s distinctive looped scrawl.

“Thank you,” he says, putting it into his pocket and intending to never take it out. “I’ll read it when I get the time.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Your Majesty, I have an arrangement this afternoon with Countess Ashildr,” she says.

“Of course, Clara,” she says. “Go, enjoy yourself.” The Countess-Clara, he supposes-smiles and drops a curtsey to each other them before leaving. Behind him, his grandmother tuts. “She thinks she’s subtle.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, turning to her.

“She and Countess Ashildr think their whole little affair is private,” she laughs. “Maybe the rest of those old fools haven’t picked up on it, but she can’t get past me.”

“Nothing gets past you,” he says.

“Mm.” Guilt crosses her face as she wrings her hands. “Perhaps. You know, Charles this party tonight… You don’t know most of these people. You were still a child when you saw them last. And since it’s your party, you’d be more than welcome to invite some people.”

“Who would I even invite?” he asks. “I imagine everyone I know is already on the guest list.”

“Perhaps your friends from the ballet?” The suggestion takes him by surprise, making him feel cold all over. He pulls at the sleeves of his jacket, suddenly far too uncomfortable in it. “And your young man?”

“He’s not my young man,” he replies, turning slightly away from her. “And they aren’t my friends. They were using me.”

“Well, if it’s not plain t you that he loves you-”

“He’s not my young man, Grandmother!” he says sharply and regrets it immediately. He looks at the floor, biting his lip hard to keep it from trembling. “He’s not.”

Whatever feelings he thought Matteusz had for him was in his imagination; he knows that now. And he was a fool for even thinking anything different. His grandmother shrugs casually, shaking her head at him.

“When he refused my reward for finding you, I thought Charles has found himself a different kind of Prince.” His head shoots up at her words. “One of character, not birth.”

“Matteusz refused the reward money?” he asks.

“You are home,” she replies. “He said that was his reward.” She takes his face in her hands, looking at him with shining eyes. “You have made this the happiest day of my life, Charles. Make sure it will be yours as well, Charlie.” She kisses his forehead gently. “We will always have each other no matter what you decide.”

“Promise?” he asks.

“Of course,” she says. “Now I need to go out for a while. Make arrangements for you before you’re made my official heir. Will you be all right on your own?”

“Yeah.” She kisses his head one last time before heading out, reminding him he can call her or Countess Oswald if he needs anything. He sits back down on the couch and pulls the letter out of his pocket, his hands shaking so badly he can barely read it, one single thought pounding in his brain; Matteusz didn’t take the reward money.

*****

Quill’s radio bursts into life in the early afternoon, right when she was contemplating going out, having almost given up hope entirely that they’d have word on the Queen and the boy. It’s just her and Antony; Jenkins once again minding Kat by taking her down to get ice cream.

“Quill? Quill, come in, it’s Rachel. Over.” Her voice comes in with a burst of static, shaky and difficult to make out.

“Rachel, I copy,” she replies into the mic. “Any updates on the Queen Mother? Or the boy? Over.”

“She’s recognising him,” Rachel replies. Quill’s blood runs cold as she grasps the mic tighter, her finger pressing harder and harder on the red button keeping Rachel’s channel open. “She’s recognising him as her heir tonight. And he’s alone now. Over.”

“Alone, over?” she asks dumbly. Her heart feels like its clawing its way up her throat.

“Yes. The Queen Mother said she’d be gone a few hours. I have a key to the room, swiped from one of his guards. What’s our next move? Over.”

“Stay there,” she decides immediately. “I’m on my way. If I need back up I’ll radio in for you. Don’t move until you get my signal. Over.”

“Copy that. I’m keeping the channels on their apartments open. Take a walkie and I’ll radio if there’s any disturbance.” On the other line, Quill hears her swallow. She wonders how old Rachel is; fresh, round face and wide green eyes. “What’s the play?”

“You know what it is,” she says flatly, fighting against the lump in her throat. “She’s recognised him. His fate’s sealed now.” The room falls quiet, so quiet she can hear Rachel’s breathing through the static of the radio. “Over and out.”

Her gun is already in her holster, fully loaded. There’s no turning back now. She gets up and puts on her coat, concealing it. She can’t explain why, but her hands are shaking. She doesn’t feel fear. She has never felt fear. She is a soldier, and wars aren’t won by cowards too scared to pull the trigger. Her father wasn’t scared. No one who fought and killed and died eight years ago was scared. And despite her hands shaking as she opens the door, her chest feeling empty as she steps out of her hotel and in the direction of the Queen Mother’s apartment building, she tells herself neither is she.

*****

It takes Charlie a full hour to open the letter. Grandmother still isn’t back yet, and he curls up on the floor, back against the sofa to read it.

Dear Charlie-Charles, now, I guess,

Look, I’ll just say it. I am so, so sorry. I didn’t think-I never thought about how this plan was going to mess with you. I never thought that far ahead. I just wanted out of Rhodia and I wanted the money so badly I-forget it, that’s not important.

I wish April were writing this. She’s better at this than I am but I just wanted you to hear this from me. Or read this. Whatever.

I’m really happy you’re happy and you’re home and you’re with your grandma again. You deserve it. I hope you have good Prince-y life. Living in castles and being rich. I hope you get everything. We all know you’re the real Prince anyway.

I know you hate us now and you probably should. I wish we’d done it all differently. I wish we were still friends. I wish I’d done it right from the start. April’s sorry and Ram’s sorry and Matteusz is a mess. He’d rather you not know that but he is. We’re all so sorry. Honestly.

Tanya.

By the time he finishes, he can barely read with the tears in his eyes.

He folds it over and places it next to him, his body going limp as he lets out a long breath. His limps sink into the sofa and floor; he feels too drained to move. Once again, everything he had thought it gone in an instant.

Dash pushes his head against Charlie’s hand, demanding to be pet. He huffs a laugh and gives into his puppy’s wishes. Dash rubs his nose against the letter and rests his head on Charlie’s lap, looking up at him. He recognises the look on Dash’s face; it’s the same one he had the first day they met and he pulled him towards the Capitol, away from a life of working in a factory without an identity and towards a long journey home.

And towards Matteusz.

Picking up Dash, Charlie wanders over to the mirror above the fireplace. He looks fine, he knows that. He’s taken a hot shower for the first time in… well longer than he cares to admit, he’s eaten more than rations and stolen food and slept on a real, comfortable bed that doesn’t poke and stab his back. And he has someone who loves him. He’s not searching for himself or who he is anymore. He has someone to hold him-and who did hold him for hours and hours last night. He should be happy and he is.

And he also isn’t.

Eight years is longer than most people realise, including himself. And he might be Prince now, but for eight years he was an orphan. It’s a big jump from one to the other, and he knows that he’s not landed yet, and he definitely won’t have landed by tonight. He might well have been born into this world of money and diamonds, fine food and fast cars, but a lot of that is still an unfamiliar bur to him, a process of learning it all again.

Maybe it’s not his world anymore, or at least it won’t be for a while.

Maybe his world is a boy with a Polish accent and dimples and whose hand fits right in his.

And it only took him this long to realise it.

Stupid boy.

Behind him, he hears the door open and he wipes the tears from his face, trying to calm his frantic heart. He at least thanks God that he has a grandmother who can understand him, who’ll wait for him to come back when he does. He’ll always come back.

“Grandmother, I-”

His voice catches in his throat when he turns, only a small, pained gasp escaping him instead. In his shock, he stumbles backwards on shaking legs, knocking into an ornate hat stand. He’s not sure if the room got colder or he just did, but a shiver runs down his spin. It’s not his grandmother. Or Clara or any of the other Counts and Countesses or any of the bodyguards or servants. She closes the door behind her, sliding the chain into position. The click seems to echo throughout the the room and hit his chest. He can’t think how she got in here, into his apartment or into this country for that matter. It’s been many weeks since he saw her last and she looks more or less the same; straight blonde hair and pale skin, especially with the black ensemble she’s wearing. Her steel blue eyes seem cold as they lock on him, not even leaving as she pulls out a heavy looking gun and snaps the safety off, a feral snarl on her face.

“Quill,” he whispers, his voice thin. She flashes an empty, quick smile and raises her gun.

“Hello, Charles.”

I should be glad I’m where I should be

But nothing is what it was

I didn’t know he mattered to me

But now I can see he does

#marlie ff #class ff #matteusz andrejewski #charlie smith #class bbc

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ohfrickfanfic · 7 years

Text

You Could Tell Me Secrets That I’ll Probably Repeat

This definitely isn’t as innocent as my virgin! Tyler fics, but Josh is still a virgin nonetheless. Title taken from the Panic! song Bittersweet.

Pairings: Virgin! Josh x Reader

Warnings/tags: Daddy/kitten kink, light choking

“Hey, you okay? Jenna asks, adjusting her white towel as she takes a seat next to you in the sauna. “You’ve just been really quiet, and I know this whole girls day is supposed to be about relaxing and what not, but you just seem like you’re a million miles away. And not on a beautiful, desert island somewhere either; more like lost in a sea of your own thoughts.”

"Jenna, do you think Josh is cheating on me?” you blurt out, staring down at your newly pedicured toes.

“Are you crazy?” she retorts. “What would make you think that? That boy is crazy, head over heels in love with you. Like, I might even say obsessed.”

"I don’t know, it’s just that… don’t repeat this to anyone, but Josh and I still haven’t had sex and we’ve been together for over a year now. I just thought if he wasn’t getting it from me, maybe it was because he was getting it from someone else. Don’t get me wrong, we fool around and stuff, but every time we get even remotely close to having sex, he puts a stop to it somehow; suddenly he’s hungry, or he needs to go to the bathroom, or he doesn’t feel well. I just don’t know what else it could be.”

“He’s probably just nervous because he’s a virgin,” Jenna states matter-of-factly.

“Umm excuse me, what?” you ask, completely flabbergasted.

“Umm, okayyyy, judging by your reaction and the look on your face right now I’m gonna go ahead and assume you didn’t know that, so let’s forget that I just said that ok?” Jenna scrambles, wishing she could retract her previous statement.

“Oh God, I feel like a horrible girlfriend. Like, I should have known, been able to pick up on it or something. When we first got together, anytime I tried something he would tell me that we’re going too fast and he wanted to take things slow, which I completely respected. We did just get into a new relationship at the time, and maybe he wasn’t ready to move as quickly as I was, I thought, but now, in retrospect, it all makes sense,” you say, embarrassed by how oblivious you’ve been, your blushing cheeks disguised by how flushed they already are from the sauna’s heat.

“He’s so private. Like, I don’t even know what he would be into sexually. We’ve just done basic stuff and I’ve had to figure out on my own what he likes. I wish he would just communicate about this stuff with me.”

"Yeah, you two definitely need to talk about that,” Jenna says, stifling a laugh.

“What? What is it? What else you do know?” You practically beg her to tell you whatever it is you can sense she’s hiding.

“Ok, how do I put this? You know the tie-dyed tank he has…” she starts.

“Yeah, the one that says DAD on… OH. MY. GOD. Shut Up!” you exclaim, realizing what she’s trying to tell you. “I mean I could definitely get on board with that!” you smirk. “But how is it you know my boyfriend is a virgin and has a daddy kink and I don’t?” you question with a laugh.

“Because I’m married to his blabbermouth best friend,” she chuckles. "If you tell Tyler not to repeat something to anyone , just know that I don’t count, but otherwise he takes it to his grave,” she says with a laugh, crossing her heart with her hand.

“What about Tyler? Does he have a daddy kink too?” you tease. Without a word Jenna brings her fingers to her lips and slides them across in a zipping motion, her lips curling into a smile at the edges. “Oh, now you keep secrets,” you joke, playfully shoving her.

You and Jenna enjoy the rest of your girls day at the spa now that you can relax and not worry about the state of Josh’s fidelity, even if you are nervous about how to bring up the topic of his virginity when you return home.

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

“Hey baby, you have a fun girls day with Jenna at the spa?” Josh asks when you return.

“I did, thanks babe.” You smile at him warmly, but notice his expression start to change to something of concern.

“Umm, can I… can I talk to you about something?” he starts as he takes a seat on the couch, but before you even get a chance to answer he’s rambling.

“How could you think I was cheating on you? Do you have any idea how much I love you? You’re mine, all mine, no one else’s and I’m only yours, do you understand me?” Josh speaks on the verge of tears.

“I’m guessing you talked to Jenna?” you say sitting down next to him, your stomach swirling with guilt over his reaction. “I’m so sorry baby. It wasn’t like that, really. I didn’t know what to think. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I talked to Tyler, actually, but I don’t know, I was nervous I guess,” he answers, starting to calm down a bit.

“Our friends really suck at keeping secrets by the way,” you say, letting out a small chuckle. “So, do you, like, wanna wait until marriage or…”

“Not necessarily marriage. I was just waiting until I was really truly in love…”

“Oh,” you cut him off, sadly.

“I’m not done… listen, I love you so much. I’m in love with you,” he rambles with watery eyes, cupping your face between his hands. “I waited so long to find the right person I was willing to share myself with like that, and then I found you and I was afraid to fuck it up. I know you’re experienced and I don’t care, really, I don’t, but you have something to compare it to and what if I don’t live up to it? What if you’ve had better? What if I suck at it and you leave me?” he continues his ramblings with a rapid fire of rhetorical questions, a small tear escaping from one eye.

“Baby, you’re not gonna suck at it. You’re so good at everything else. You always get me off,” you smile, wiping the rogue tear away with your thumb and resting a comforting hand just above his knee. “And if, for whatever reason, the sex isn’t the greatest, we’ll work on it together and I’ll teach you what I like. I would never leave you just because the sex isn’t perfect. But I need you to promise me something. You have to be willing and open with me and tell me what you like too, okay?”

Josh nods his head, eyes fixated on the floor.

“I mean it, anything at all. I won’t judge you,” you encourage, lowering your head to his line of vision and hoping he’ll admit his secret kink to you. He looks up, locks eyes with you and swallows hard, but remains silent. You realize with the current state of his nerves, he’s gonna need a little more coaxing. “Anything else you wanna tell me… Daddy?” you tease, sliding your hand up from his knee and running it along his inseam.

“Oh f-uck, how did you know about that? He moans slightly as he speaks, rolling his hips up into your palm.

"I told you, our friends suck at keeping secrets,” you snicker as you palm him through his black, ripped, skinny jeans. “You uhhh… wanna take this upstairs?” you say suggestively, feeling him hardening though his jeans.

“Fuck yes, I’m so ready,” he huffs excitedly, crashing his lips to yours and pulling you into his lap. With a firm grip on your ass he stands, making his way to the stairs as you wrap your legs around his waist. Your mouths are still locked in a passionate kiss as he ascends the stairs with you in his arms, only breaking for a brief moment as you pull your shirt up over your head and discard it along the way. In an instant your lips are on each other again, tongues circling the other’s wildly as you reach behind you, unclasping and ridding yourself of your bra. Josh nudges open the ajar bedroom door with his foot and tosses you on the bed, climbing on top.

“You want me to ride you?” you ask, out of breath already.

“Oh no, I’m in charge,” he says sternly with lust-filled eyes as he grasps the waistband of your pants.

“Whatever you want, Daddy,” you smirk, lifting your hips off the bed to assist him in there removal.

“Mmmm, fuck, never stop calling me that, Kitten,” he groans, raking his bottom lip through his teeth as he completely removes your pants and panties in one motion.

“Hmmm Kitten? I like that,” you purr, reaching for Josh’s shirt and tugging it off between kisses. He moves his mouth down your body, pausing at your breasts to flick his tongue over each nipple as he cups them in his hands. His lips ghost over your stomach in soft kisses as he makes his way lower.

His fingers prod at your entrance as his mouth finds your clit, assaulting it with a series of rapid kitten licks. He pushes his thick digits inside of you, making you arch off the bed as he curls his fingers in rapid succession.

“Daddy, please…” you whine, tugging at his bright hair. “Just fuck me. I’ve waited long enough,” you writhe impatiently.

“Whatever Kitten wants, Kitten gets,” he smirks, sitting up on his knees, quickly undoing his belt and pushing his jeans and boxers down his legs, removing them. He settles between your thighs, lining himself up at your entrance with a shaky hand.

“Hey, you’re doing great. You’re gonna be amazing,” you encourage, looking him in the eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He kisses you softly as he eases into you, moaning lowly against your lips. “Oh f-fuck, this feels better than I imagined… so tight… so wet,” he pants as he slowly thrusts his hips. You let him get used to the new feeling with each slow roll of his hips, enjoying his half-lidded, lust-filled expressions from above you before guiding him along.

“Faster, Daddy!” you beg in a moan. He hums in response, instantly quickening his pace. You attempt to wrap your legs around him, but he pushes your legs together and rolls you onto your side. Laying behind you with his hand gripping your waist, he pistons his hips against your flesh as he nuzzles and sucks your neck. You elevate your top leg, hooking it over his hip and allowing him deeper penetration. “Fuck, Daddy, right there!” you cry out in pleasure as he hits your spot. He sets a perfect rhythm, hitting it with each roll of his hips. He runs an unsure hand from your waist, up over your breast to the base of your throat grasping it lightly.

“I- is this okay?” he asks shyly.

“Yes, Daddy, it’s more than ok!” you exclaim, bringing your hand over his, tightening his grip slightly. Josh’s thrusts get sloppy and offbeat, and you can tell he must be close. Determined to make you cum, he lowers his hand from your throat to your clit, vigorously rubbing it with the pads of his fingers as he gives you all he’s got with his thrusts. Biting his lip, he holds himself back until you say the magic words.

“Daddy, I’m cumming!”

Almost instantly you feel him fill you up, his cock pulsing inside you as it empties, loud moans escaping his lips. After the last twitch of his length, he pulls out and you roll to face him.

“See, I told you that you wouldn’t suck,” you smile as you catch your breath. “So, care to explain how my little virgin has such a kinky side?” you tease, causing him to blush slightly.

“Ask your freak of a friend Jenna. I constantly have to listen to Tyler’s stories of all the crazy shit she’s into.”

#josh dun #josh dun smut #josh dun x reader #twenty one pilots #twenty one pilots smuts #twenty one pilots fan fiction #virgin! josh

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

Note

Anticipating the next chapter of the artist series!!! 😍

Mod Note: If anyone can remind me which fic this is, I’d be very grateful. Until then, have some more CoC.

Chain of Command: Part 5.

Claire traced the pattern on the rough table, trying to avoid making eye contact with Mama Crook who –with a very motherly stare– was keeping council with her in the privacy of the downstairs study.

“Who, Claire, ye need to tell me, aye?”

Dipping her head closer to the wooden hardtop, Claire tried to contain the butterflies that were forming in her belly.

She shook her head.

“Did he force ye? You can tell me. Ye *ken* me, Claire…”

For six months she’d managed to conceal the child, using rags to hold her belly flat under her skirts after her failed ‘escape’ attempt. But in a moment of weakness, she’d snuck away from her duties, undone her bindings - just as her baby began to move within her - and just sat with her palms cradled over the unborn babe.

Mrs Crook watched her sneak away and had followed, curious as to why Claire had been so withheld recently. Pushing the door open, she viewed Claire with a sort of awed-wonder as the lass stripped down and sat cross legged on the floor, cradling her extended belly with such peaceful reverence.

Claire shook her head again, keeping the identity of her secret lover concealed.

Huffing out an audible sigh, Mrs Crook dropped her joined hands onto the tabletop, her patience wearing thin as the minutes ticked by.

“Claire, ye need t-”

Opening the door, Brian plowed into the small room a large smile on his face as he viewed the two women, “Mrs Crook! I need some…” his words trailed off as he took in the tense scene in front of him, his smile faltering as he caught the sweep of Claire’s belly beneath her thin dress.

“Mary, mother and bride,” he cursed, pulling a chair beside Mrs Crook as his weight fell into the seat with a solid thump.

“Dinna ask me who, sir,” she sighed in defeat, “I canna get her t’ tell me who’s fathered the bairn.”

Holding his hand up to Mrs Crook a look of understanding crossed Brian Fraser’s face as he placed his large palm over Claire’s joined ones. “Claire, lassie, who?”

Remaining stoic, Claire pressed her lips together, Brian’s familiar blue eyes piercing her armour as she tried to stay quiet. “You’ll send me away, so what does it matter if you know?” She questioned, her voice stable for the moment as her fingers twitched where they lay beneath his.

No matter what, she wasn’t from their world. Whether she told him the truth or not, she would not be allowed to raise her baby the way she’d dreamed since discovering her new circumstances.

“Ach! It *does* matter, Claire,” Brian whispered, his hard stare holding some unspoken emotion that Claire couldn’t place, “especially if it’s someone who hurt ye! And we willna send ye away, why would ye think such a thing?”

Hiding her head beneath her curls, Claire pulled her eyes away.

“Is that the reason fer *Inverness*?” Brian whispered, sensing her crumbling resolve he changed tack, his palms rubbing soothing circles over Claire’s clammy hands.

Claire’s cheeks pinked but she remained quiet.

“Did I ever tell ye,” he began, a wistful reverence in his tone, “about my mother, Claire?”

Bringing her head up, Claire studiously ignored Mama Crook as her eyes locked with Brian’s once more. Shaking her head, she licked her lips as unshed tears welled in her eyes. “No,” she replied, the hunched set of her shoulders relaxing a little as she settled to listen to his tale.

Seeing her calm, Brian’s mouth twitched upwards as he continued. He had an idea, of course, as to why Claire was being so coy about her tryst. But he wanted her to tell him the truth of it without having to force the information from her. He knew that this story was likely the only thing to break down the walls which she’d built around her wee secret.

“Ye already ken Jamie and Jenny’s grand-sire, aye?” He forged ahead, waiting only briefly for Claire’s nod in between words, “weel, he met my ma in a rather unconventional position…”

Sitting on the guest bed, Claire shifted her weight. The mattress was incredibly comfortable but she just couldn’t seem to relax. Despite his best efforts, Brian had been unable to coax the identity of Claire’s mystery suitor from her. She very nearly cracked after hearing his story but the more rational part of her saw through his attempts to prize the information from her. In the end, the story saw Brian’s mother raise him alone - without the help of Simon Fraser. Only in guilt had the man gifted Lallybroch to Brian and Claire could only see the same fate for herself and the baby. Why bring Jamie’s reputation into disrepute? She’d rather continue to conceal it in the hopes that Jamie wouldn’t feel the need to claim ownership of her unborn once he discovered her secret.

She’d come this far, already in too deep, Claire -as stubborn as she was- had chosen her path.

Ellen clicked the door open, pushing the thick wood slowly so as not to spook Claire. She had returned home to find Brian with his head in his hands and and empty dram of whisky drained on the table in front of him.

He’d only to say two words and Ellen knew it all.

‘She’s pregnant.’

With the words still echoing around her head as she snuck into the bedchamber.

“Claire?” She questioned quietly, reaching her hand out to run over the young lassie’s hair as she tried to hide her eyes from Ellen. “Ye ken what you mean to me, to us…” she began, her hands trembling a little as she tried to quash Claire’s misgivings. “I wouldna be here today if it wasne for you.”

“I’m so sorry, Ellen,” Claire blurted, her emotions boiling over at Ellen’s motherly touch.

“What is there to be sorry for, a leannan? I dinna think there is anything ye need apologise for. But we canna do more until you tell us…tell me, Claire…” she pleaded, “please?”

When Claire still refused to speak, she tried one last thing. Wrapping her arm around Claire’s shaking shoulders, she brought her against her chest. “Ye ken how strong our Scottish blood is, Claire,” she whispered, “tell us and we can assure you both safety and protection before the bairn arrives. Do you want to be a family?”

The question was supposed to be rhetorical, but Ellen did not, and had never believed in the impossibility of any situation.

“You’ll send me away once you know,” she spoke repeating the same worry to Ellen as she had to Brian, her voice muffled as she burrowed deeper into the wool of her shawl. “Or take my baby away from me. Why yearn for something I can never have?”

“This has to be your choice, Claire. I canna force yer honesty. But I will strive to help you in any possible way. And we would *ne’er* remove your child from ye.” That particular statement and cut Ellen deep - for Claire to assume that either her or Brian would punish her so severely made her heart ache.

Taking Claire’s hand in her own, Ellen first ran their joined palms over Claire’s belly and then raised them to place over her own heart. “Trust in us, Claire. We will see ye safe.”

Closing her eyes tight, Claire felt the steady beat of Ellen’s heart and swallowed. “I should have told him first,” Claire sighed, tears falling down her cheeks as she opened her eyes again, staring directly at Ellen as she tried to convey meaning with simply a look. “W-will you tell him I’m sorry for it...?”

Padding downstairs, Ellen huffed out a rather large breath as she pressed herself to Brian’s side.

“How is she?” He asked, eager to know if his clever wife had managed to wrangle the truth from Claire.

“Scared still,” Ellen sighed. “She thinks she’s alone.”

“Have ye managed to convince her that view is supremely foolish?” Brian chuckled worriedly.

If anyone could do it, Ellen could. After Jamie, Ellen was the Fraser with whom Claire had the strongest bond.

“What’s amiss, Mam?” Jamie piped up, his voice echoing through the almost-silent room. Brian and Ellen’s eye rose to meet his immediately. They’d been so deep in thought that neither had seen or heard their youngest enter until he’d made himself known.

“Son,” Ellen coaxed, patting the sofa next to her as she spoke, “before I tell ye, I think we need a wee chat, aye?”

Sitting with some trepidation, Jamie perched on the end of the seat with his fingers strumming out a nervous rhythm against his bare knees. “It’s Claire, isn’t it?” He broached, unaware of her current predicament. She had been off-colour for a while, avoiding him completely in recent weeks. He’d been busy though, which had made giving her space easier.

Brian took Ellen’s hand, watching as Jamie’s gaze flittered restlessly between them both. After Willie had been taken, sickness in the house always came with some manner of trepidation.

“Jamie,” Ellen began, her eyes serious as she clutched Brian’s hand tightly, “Claire’s pregnant.”

Steeling himself, Jamie wrung his hands together as he stood outside the guest bedroom door. The distinct sound of sobbing filtered under the door and his heart shattered at the idea of Claire suffering alone for all this time, afraid and unable to come to him with her news.

*Promised*, his mother had told him. She’d spent most of their romantic time together thinking their actions to be illicit - all because of some misconceived notion that he was to wed another.

In a moment of weakness as a child, his grief at losing his brother consuming him inside and out, he’d made a promise to his father. Claire had been his beacon. His shining light. And no matter how she saw herself, he saw the treasure she truly was. In those dire days he had promised Brian that one day Claire would be his bride - no matter what.

Brian, it seemed, had taken him at his word to this day. The rumours that had been spilt throughout Broch Tuarach had not been wrong, he was permanently entangled with someone whom he loved greatly. But since the name of the lucky lassie had been conveniently omitted - to allow Jamie the chance to woo his intended properly - Claire had only heard a partial truth.

She’d craved Jamie, labouring under the assumption that sometime soon he’d be betrothed to another woman.

Suddenly her downtrodden mood over Laoghaire became clear to him as the mist evaporated before his eyes.

Cursing his foolishness, Jamie berated himself for the lack of clarity on his behalf. This mess would not have occurred had he cleared Claire’s misconceptions. Had he not allowed her to block his every attempt at making his position clear to her, they would *not* be in this situation now.

Opening the door, he walked across the wood paneled floor and knelt beside the cushioned four poster bed.

“Why, Claire?” He muttered, taking hold of her frozen hands as he began to kiss her frigid digits. “Why did ye spend all this time thinking yerself no’ fit for me?”

Stunned, Claire remained silent. She’d expected the ‘why’. After all, Jamie was loyal to a fault. To think that he’d missed the chance to resolve this mess earlier would have certainly had him in knots. But she hadn’t expected latter part of his statement.

Ellen’s calming influence earlier had worked. Within moments of their unusual mother/daughter-like conversation beginning she’d broken, sobbing relentlessly as she hiccuped through her sorry tale.

“Because I’m not, Jamie. You’re the Laird Broch Tuarach... and I’m plain Claire, nothing more.”

“No!” Jamie cried, tears slipping from his eyes as he leaned forwards, pressing his forehead gently against hers, “dinna you ever say that, Claire!” He castigated, his patience at the depredation of her self-worth depleting.

“It’s you, mo nighean donn. It’s always been you! Can’t you see?” He begged, pleaded, his tone reverent and true as he grasped her tightly.

“All of those years ago, I pledged myself to ye. My body, my heart…everything. I told da. So yes, I am promised. I was *always* promised…but to you, Claire.”

Fresh tears cascaded down her cheeks now as she dragged in a ragged breath, relief and sorrow coursing through her veins as she hurled herself from the bed and into Jamie’s waiting arms.

“Oh, Jamie,” she spluttered, gripping onto his shirt so tightly that she almost tore into the fabric, “I l-love you…God how I love you.”

“Then you’ll have me?” He whispered, his lips caressing her ear slowly as he pressed his flat belly against her round one, the feel of his child between them emboldening his words by touch alone. “Because, Christ, Claire, if I don’t love ye too. I always have…”

#Anonymous #Chain of Command #Maid Claire #Laird Jamie #;Mod MBD

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skswriting · 7 years

Text

not really a fairytale ending

Rating: T Pairing: Seokjin/Namjoon Words: 6156 Summary: Seokjin has known of his fate since he turned thirteen, that in order to ensure he meets the strongest spouse possible for his kingdom, he is to be locked away in a castle guarded by a fearsome dragon when he turns eighteen. - “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Seokjin.” There’s a moment of pause, where Seokjin thinks he almost feels fingers brushing over his arm, before the gravelly voice washes over him, “Namjoon. My name is Namjoon.” AN: Heads up Namjoon is a dragon; you can also read this on ao3

Seokjin has known of his fate since he turned thirteen, that in order to ensure he meets the strongest spouse possible for his kingdom, he is to be locked away in a castle guarded by a fearsome dragon when he turns eighteen.

Seokjin stares out of the carriage as they near the castle, an impossibly large and dilapidated looking structure that is surrounded by a pit so dark Seokjin is sure it swallows all light.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way, son,” his father apologizes but Seokjin merely shakes his head, having had years to come to terms with his life.

“It’s okay father, really.”

A guard helps him down out of the carriage and Seokjin holds in his sigh, staring in an almost bored manner at his surroundings.

“The dragon should be down soon to collect you. With any luck, my son, a savior will be here for you soon.”

Seokjin smells the dragon before he sees him, a sharp smell of brimstone and something almost spicy, and then there’s the rush of wind as something lands with a heavy thud near them. The wind stirs up dirt and Seokjin ducks his head and covers his eyes with his cape in order to avoid the sting. When the wind settles and Seokjin lowers his cape, a gray dragon is resting near them, eyes red and glowing and sharply focused on him.

Seokjin’s father grabs his neck and brings him into a bow and the dragon huffs, smoke billowing out of its nostrils as a moment of stillness surrounds them, until the dragon dips his head back.

“Thank you, terror of the skies, for helping my kingdom,” his father states, “For making sure only the strongest and bravest knights will be good enough for my son, we offer you his weight in gold.”

There’s a pleased rumbling and Seokjin has to assume it’s the dragon, as he can’t raise his head yet to see, his father’s grip warm and secure as they rise from their position.

The dragon lowers its wing and Seokjin takes it as his cue to leave, turning to his father and embracing him in a rare show of affection.

“I hope to see you soon,” Seokjin murmurs and his father sighs, patting his back.

“I hope so too.”

His first season in the castle takes some getting used to. Contrary to popular myths, he is not locked in the highest room in the highest tower. He’s free to roam the halls and corridors, decorated with old furniture and cobwebs, paintings weathered and yellowed. The inside is not nearly as bad as the outside portrays, but its damp and cold sometimes and definitely not home. His room is nice enough and there’s always food for him to eat, but his guardian is never around and Seokjin is definitely lonely.

His favorite room in the castle by far is the library, which is covered wall to wall and stuffed to the ceiling with books from generations back, pages well-worn as if someone leafed through them frequently. Seokjin finds a comfortable armchair lined in silk, in an obscure corner of the library, losing himself in thousands of words for hours and hours, or even days.

He never seems to notice the red eyes always around the corner or the lips pulled up into a small smirk, even though he can always smell just the faintest hint of brimstone.

Winter comes and there still have been no knights or fighters, but Seokjin is hopeful. Winter will give them time to prepare for the melting of the snow, when it is optimal to go out on quests. Someone will come for him and someone will get past his guardian and Seokjin will be able to return home.

Winter brings the temperature down considerably in the castle and Seokjin awakes to a fire cackling in the pit in his room, the glow casting soft shadows on his wall. There’s often soup simmering in the kitchen, garlic and rosemary hitting his nose and drowning out anything else. Blankets are piled up in his favorite corner in the library and he bundles under them as he dreams of spring and flowers and who is coming to save him.

Red eyes watch to make sure his lips stay pink and that his cheeks don’t hollow, that he’s safe and secure within the castle.

“Is this the prince you’re lusting after?”

“Wha- I’m not lusting after him!”

“Your dopey expression says otherwise. What do you want from me?”

“I hate you. I need a favor.”

Seokjin keeps a calendar on the wall of his bedroom, marking out each day with a piece of charcoal and keeping count of the days. Some days have little stars on them, days when Seokjin had caught the flash of eyes or the end of a tail. He’s never tried to track his guardian down, but he keeps track of these days because it makes him feel less lonely.

The first day of spring brings something unexpected: a raven tapping on Seokjin’s window until he wakes up and then tapping until he hesitantly opens the window. The raven flies inside and perches in a rafter, watching him with its beady eyes.

It follows him around, waiting until Seokjin leaves the room to swoop by, repeating the action every few feet until they reach their destination and it can nest again. It’s a peculiar situation, the sudden arrival of the raven, but its welcomed. He feels less lonely with a living thing flying around him. Eventually, he starts talking to it.

“Breakfast this morning was delicious, next time I’ll share with you.”

“I’m glad the weather is starting to warm up; being able to open the windows makes it feel less stuffy in here.”

“I read the most wonderful story today, settle in, I’ll read a few passages to you.”

He passes a lot of time that way, reading any and every book to the raven, who actually seems to listen to him. Seokjin reads to it tales of magic and lore and monsters and heroes, eyes set intently on the page as the raven ventures closer each time, until eventually it perches on Seokjin’s shoulder and nestles into his hair.

Around the corner, a gray haired male always listens intently to a voice that haunts his every waking moment. His eyes will slip close as the words wrap around him, imprinting into his skin as he slowly exhales a puff of smoke. How he wishes he could have Seokjin curl up in his lap, have that voice perched near his ear as it read books to him that he’s read a thousand times over but seemed brand new each time Seokjin picked one. But he couldn’t. He can’t.

The first hero shows up in a suit of armor dinged and scratched to hell, and Seokjin watches bemusedly from the confines of the castle as his first task is to find a way to cross the pit. There’s a rickety bridge but it looks like it could collapse at any moment and only a fool would take it.

Apparently the hero is a fool because he places a hesitant foot on the first plank and then another and another. He makes it about an eighth of the way when the bridge starts to swing and he freezes and his indecisiveness is his downfall. The plank under him gives out and Seokjin gasps as his leg falls through. He struggles for a moment, his weight causing the bridge to swing more and Seokjin watches in horror as the planks around him give out and he falls into the dark pit.

The raven beside Seokjin squawks and he shakes his head, feeling sorry for the hero who lost his life but turns away from the window.

“Shall we read another book?” he asks rhetorically, because he’s going to read another book whether the raven wants to hear it or not.

He settles in his favorite chair and the raven chooses to roost in the rafters, squawking at him to start once it gets comfortable and Seokjin smiles.

Seokjin falls asleep after a few hours, head lolling and mouth dropping open just slightly, book drooping in his hands until it falls into his lap. Brimstone swathes him as a blanket is tucked gently under his legs and pulled up to his shoulders lest he get cold. His lips turn up just slightly and the dragon leaves, comforted by this thought, but as the brimstone trails after him he misses the plummet, the frown that settles on Seokjin’s face.

“This is getting ridiculous, just show yourself to-”

“No! I can’t do that! What if- what if he gets hurt?”

“What’s going to hurt him? You’re the most powerful being in this land.”

“That’s what I’m scared of: me.”

Heroes come and go, either deterred by the pit of darkness or succumbing to its depths. Only one hero has made it across, a smart one, who had observed the castle for close to two weeks and realized that every so often it spewed forth air so dense one practically could swim across. And swim the hero did, triumphant in passing the first trial. But after passing the pit comes the dragon and the sudden appearance of the great beast startled the hero so much that he immediately swam away.

Smart. But not brave.

Summer is Seokjin’s favorite season and the rundown state of the castle has allowed the foliage to take over and Seokjin is greeted with beautiful flowers. The back end of the castle is abundant, vines growing over the walls and floor of what was once a grand patio and the remains of what looks to be an overrun hedge maze blossoms with every plant imaginable. Seokjin spends most of the summer season outside, lugging book after book with him.

The raven shows up one day with a friend and Seokjin is ecstatic, happy to have two friends now.

“Hello!” he greets the raven and his new magpie friend, who peers down at him with beady eyes from where the two are perched on a tree branch, “It’s so nice to meet you!”

His old friend squawks and the new one follows suit, hopping on the branch and ruffling its wings. The raven seems to nuzzle closer to the other and the magpie makes a chirping sound, settling down on the branch and the two lean against each other.

“Is this… is this your mate?” Seokjin has never seen bird’s mate outside of their species.

The raven squawks again and Seokjin supposes that’s as best of an answer he’s going to get.

“No matter, it’s nice to have more company,” Seokjin smiles, “I was just getting ready to settle in, would you like me to read to you?”

It’s the magpie who squawks, flapping it’s wings excitedly and Seokjin beams, pleased with the day’s turn of events.

“Wonderful! Prepare yourselves, this one is a thriller…”

“Hyung this is so stupid, I don’t see how-”

“Shut up Jungkook and just do me this favor.”

“But hyung, if you don’t want him to be lonely why don’t you-”

“You don’t understand!”

“Then tell me.”

“What if he’s scared of me?”

Seokjin gasps as the door to the library is thrown open.

“Your highness! I’m here to rescue you!”

A hand grabs his wrist and pulls him out of his chair. The raven and magpie cry out, wings flapping heavily as they launch themselves from where they had nested in the rafters and swoop out of the room. Seokjin feels a little disoriented as this knight pulls him from the room, sword drawn and armor smoking slightly.

He’s pulled harshly down the hallway and he gasps at the slight pain in his shoulder, stumbling on his feet.

“I slightly wounded the dragon, but it won’t hold it off for long,” the knight explains, turning a corner and Seokjin can hear the growling shaking the castle walls.

“You-You hurt it?”

If Seokjin could see under the knight’s armor, he ventures the knight would probably be giving him a dirty look.

“We have to hurry, the air in the pit will only be blowing for a little bit longer.”

Seokjin doesn’t mean to drag his feet, but he can’t help it. This knight is being rough and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t exactly want to leave.

The sun is blinding as the knight drags him out and Seokjin stumbles over a crack in the pavement.

“Get up!”

There’s a loud roar and the ground positively shakes, the dragon crawling its way out of a pile of rubble. Seokjin is almost relieved to see that the only visible sign of harm is a small wound near it’s shoulder.

“Shit,” the knight hisses, “Take cover.”

There’s smoking billowing out of the dragon’s nostrils and its eyes are glowing, almost looking like lava is going to spill from its eyes.

Seokjin scurries away, hiding behind what’s left of the outside wall.

The knight doesn’t stand a chance. His shield isn’t strong enough to withstand the fire spewing from the dragon’s mouth and he isn’t fast enough to dodge a swipe from its sharp claw. The armor gives way under the dragon’s immense strength and the knight staggers before he falls down into the pit.

It all happens so fast that Seokjin barely has time to comprehend the death of the knight before he’s crawling out from behind his hiding spot.

The dragon stares him down, eyes intense, before huffing out some smoke and turning away from him.

“Wait!” Seokjin’s voice cracks as he scrambles after the dragon, “Wait you’re hurt!”

The dragon doesn’t falter, wings starting to flap as it gets ready to take off to where ever it goes.

“No! Wait! Please!” Seokjin chases after it, but the dust from its wings gets in Seokjin’s eyes and he has to cover them.

When he deems it safe to open them, the dragon is but a speck in the distance.

Seokjin has never actively sought out his guardian, but all he can think of is the blood trickling down the dragon’s shoulder glistening on its scales.

The raven and magpie circle him tirelessly as he wanders the halls. There are parts of the castle he’s never been in and it’s a little unsettling.

“Hello?” he calls from time to time, “I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

He doesn’t know what he expects the dragon to do; the dragon can’t exactly speak, but Seokjin doesn’t know what else to do.

The magpie trills and pecks at Seokjin’s hair, gently, until Seokjin finally acknowledges it.

“That hurts, what are you doing?” Seokjin complains, but the magpie just lands on the cold tile, hopping around until realizes there’s blood on the floor, “Could this be…?”

It’s a trail that leads farther into the darkness of the castle and Seokjin is getting a little scared. But the magpie and raven fly on, stopping every so often to make sure Seokjin is still following them.

“Did you guys know where it was the entire time?” Seokjin huffs, a little annoyed because he’s been looking for the dragon for a few hours and they could have lead him to it and saved him a lot of trouble.

The raven flaps its wings and swoops further down the hallway and Seokjin quickly follows, feeling like all the heat is being sucked from his body. The walls almost seem to be breathing, the ground quivering beneath his feet as the hall came to an end with a door.

His two bird friends watch as he slowly approaches the door. Should he knock? Should he just open it? Would he die if he did? He takes in a deep breath and slowly turns the knob, the door sliding open on creaky hinges.

The most surprising part of the room was not the gold that seemed to line the walls from floor to ceiling, or the immense heat that rolls over Seokjin the moment the door opens, or even the amount of blood rags that were piled up in the corner. The most surprising part was seeing an extremely attractive man sitting down in a chair with his shirt off and shoulder bloody, eyes red with smoke billowing from his nose as brimstone hits Seokjin’s nose.

“What are you-” his voice is deep and Seokjin shivers, the heat turning up just the slightest bit, “Goddammit, are Yoongi and Jungkook with you?”

Seokjin gives him a helpless look, because he has no idea who they are. But the raven and magpie fly noisily into the room and red and brown eyes watch them land and Seokjin gasps as he watches their skin and feathers shift until two men are standing there.

“What game are you two playing?” the attractive man stands up, a look of discomfort passing over his face quickly before anger settles over it, “I told you-”

“Hyung stop being dumb,” the used to be magpie snarks, “You’ve been bleeding since you got wounded, let him help you.”

Red eyes turn towards him and Seokjin is rooted in his spot, unable to move and unable to look away. The man seems to be having an internal conflict, teetering where he stands before he lets out a long sigh, smoke escaping from his mouth.

“Fine,” he finally mutters, crashing back into his chair, “Only because I can’t get the bleeding to stop.”

Seokjin moves mechanically towards him, dropping to his knees beside the chair as he assesses the wound. The skin is peeling back from the center and blood is leaking steadily from the wound and it smells awful.

“His sword was poisoned,” Seokjin murmurs, plucking the bloodied rag from the man’s hands and pressing it to the wound. The air heats up around them as the man goes rigid, smoke encasing them and Seokjin can only guess that it hurts.

“I need one of you to bring water and more towels and I need someone to go to the garden and gather up a few flowers, it doesn’t matter I just need the stems, some nightstalk, and some wisp wraps if you can find them.”

No one moves for a few seconds until Seokjin turns sharp eyes towards the animaguses and snaps, “Hurry!”

They’re gone in a flurry of wings and cries, almost crashing into each other in their haste to fly out of the room and the man in his hands lets out a sound almost like a laugh.

“You’re my guardian aren’t you?” Seokjin asks quietly, his own eyes focused on keeping the rag pressed tightly to the wound as red eyes trace the features of his face.

“I am.”

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Seokjin.”

There’s a moment of pause, where Seokjin thinks he almost feels fingers brushing over his arm, before the gravelly voice washes over him, “Namjoon. My name is Namjoon.”

Seokjin smiles lightly, glancing up and effectively having the breath knocked from his lungs at the intense way Namjoon is gazing at him. He almost feels dizzy, swaying slightly on his knees, but he definitely, definitely feels warm.

“Here you go hyung,” a basin of water is set near Namjoon’s feet and Seokjin startles, turning to see the magpie holding out the towels.

Seokjin takes them with a murmur of thanks, dipping one of the clean towels in the water.

“This may sting a little,” Seokjin tells Namjoon who only nods and turns his face away.

Namjoon hisses through sharp teeth when Seokjin presses the soaked towel to the wound, steam rising from it.

“Hurry up Yoongi,” Jungkook whispers, as Seokjin pulls the towel away and blood rushes forward, tainted a slight green.

“The poison has had time to set,” Seokjin tells Namjoon, “It’s going to be hell to get out. Why didn’t… why didn’t you let me help you?”

“I didn’t- I didn’t want you to see me like this. I’m your guardian, I’m supposed to protect you. I couldn’t let you see me, not for the first time, not hurt like this.”

“That’s dumb; now you could be die because you let your pride get in the way,” Seokjin lectures and Namjoon turns back towards him, surprise clear in his eyes as Seokjin stares him down, “I was worried about you and you just left me standing outside like that. Also, that knight was kind of a dick why would you let him get so far?”

Jungkook lets out a sound of surprise behind him but his comment brings a smile to Namjoon’s face and that’s what Seokjin was looking for.

“Bad judge of character,” is all Namjoon gets out before Yoongi flies into the room in a whirlwind, dropping Seokjin’s requested items on his lap.

“Wisp wraps, where did you get the- are you bleeding?”

Yoongi looks down at his bloodied hands and shrugs, “It’s not my blood.”

Seokjin blinks, a little intimidated by the raven, “Does anyone have a knife?”

Namjoon wordlessly offers up a sharp claw, contrasting with his other four human fingers but Seokjin can’t deny the usefulness of being able to transform certain body parts when needed.

“Cut these plant stems and chew on them,” Seokjin instructs, as he dunks the nightstalk into the basin of water, “This is going to hurt; nighstalk is poisonous, but it counteracts other poisons.”

Namjoon watches with rapt attention as Seokjin lets the nightstalk soak up some of the water before cutting off the stem.

“I’m going to stick this in your wound and wrap it with wisp wraps, okay? Namjoon listen to me, this is really going to hurt.”

They hold eye contact for a few seconds before Namjoon looks away, mindlessly chewing on the plant stems, “I’ll be fine.”

Seokjin takes a deep breath before he presses the head of the nightstalk into the wound and works on wrapping the wisp wrappings around it. Beneath him Namjoon shudders and his jaw tightens, smoke pouring out of his mouth as he keeps his face turned away from Seokjin. Touching Namjoon is almost too much, his skin blazing hot underneath Seokjin’s fingertips but Seokjin grits his teeth and continues to wrap the nightstalk until he’s out of wisp wrappings.

“I told you it would hurt.”

It’s silent for a tense few moments, before Namjoon relaxes under Seokjin’s hands and leans back in the chair, eyes slipping closed.

“I’ll have to change the nightstalk head in a few hours, but with the wisp wrappings holding it in place it should speed the process along.”

Namjoon nods and fatigue seems to wash over him, his body going almost slack as he tips his head back. The room has cooled considerably and Seokjin shakes his head at this stupid, stupid man.

“C’mon, let’s let Namjoon rest,” Seokjin tells the animaguses, shooing them towards the door.

Long fingers wrap around his wrist and Seokjin turns to see Namjoon gazing up at him with tired, glowing eyes.

“Will you… will you stay with me? For a little while?”

Seokjin’s eyes widen and he can hear low murmuring coming from the two behind him before there’s shuffling and the door shuts quietly.

“Of course,” Seokjin smiles and pulls up a spare chair, settling down across from his guardian.

A small smile takes over Namjoon’s face and he relaxes again. His eyes slip close again and the hand around Seokjin’s wrist goes slack. Seokjin shakes his head at the guardian; the poison must have taken more out of him than he was willing to admit.

It gives Seokjin time to look around and really take in his surroundings past the tremendous piles of gold. He’s not surprised to find that this room also has a tremendous amount of books piled on every available surface, most of them old and weathered and a lot of them opened up as if Namjoon had started them and gotten bored. A small bed is pushed into the corner, blankets pooled at the foot of the bed as if Namjoon had kicked them off in a hurry.

He turns his eyes back towards the dragon, whose chest is rising and falling in a steady motion, and reaches for a random book on the floor. He’s been reading a loud for so long that it almost feels strange to read in silence.

“Read to me.”

Seokjin startles, barely into the first page, when the deep voice interrupts him. Red eyes are focused on his when he glances up and Namjoon must not have been as asleep as Seokjin initially thought.

Seokjin doesn’t question the request, just quietly clears his throat and sinks a little farther down in his seat until he’s comfortable, “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess…”

Seokjin expects Namjoon to open up, after that, or at least be around more often. To his dismay, the exact opposite happens and Namjoon practically disappears. Namjoon’s room is cold every time Seokjin visits, hoping to catch a glimpse of his guardian but he never succeeds. It’s a little frustrating how he had basically brought Namjoon back from the dead and now the other being is ignoring him.

“Where he is?” he rounds on Jungkook, whose been silently following him all day. He’s starting to think Namjoon had instructed the magpie to watch over him.

“I honestly don’t know,” Jungkook tells him, holding his hands up, “He didn’t tell me or Yoongi.”

Seokjin huffs and walks away and Jungkook quickly follows him, transforming to keep up with Seokjin’s ticked off stride.

Seokjin expects some kind of cordiality from Namjoon, not this childish hide and seek game. What he does not expect, is for the main doors of the castle to be busted down by a knight in pristine armor.

“Oh,” the knight stumbles, “That was easier than I thought it would be.”

Seokjin stares him down, completely over strangers breaking into his- his home.

“I’m not in the mood for this,” Seokjin spins on his heel and walks away, the magpie cawing as he swoops after him, “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing. Be safe getting back across the pit.”

The knight splutters behind him but Seokjin keeps walking, intent on staking out Namjoon’s room until he can get some straight answers out of said dragon.

Seokjin doesn’t leave Namjoon’s room for two days, Jungkook and Yoongi bringing him food as he alternates between staring at the ceiling and flipping through books that don’t hold his interest.

“Hyung maybe you should-”

“I’m fine waiting here thank you,” Seokjin tells Jungkook, lounged on Namjoon’s bed like he belongs there.

Jungkook shakes his head, transforming and flying out of the room. Yoongi makes a sound from where he’s burrowed in a hole in the wall, eyes sleepy as Seokjin reads mechanically to him. It feels weird sometimes, considering Seokjin now knows Yoongi is a real live person, but it’s a habit he can’t seem to shake.

His eyes are drooping halfway into the book, Yoongi making small sounds every so often from his hole, when the door bangs open and brings heat and brimstone with it.

“Namjoon,” Seokjin gasps, rubbing at his eyes.

Namjoon observes him lying on his bed, blankets pulled up over his waist and hair slightly messy from where he had been reclined.

“Where have you been?” Seokjin asks, “It’s been four days.”

“Have you been here the whole time?” Namjoon questions, walking farther into the room and shutting the door quietly behind him.

“No. I came here after a knight showed up unexpectedly because, you know, my guardian decided to just up and disappear instead of protect me.”

Namjoon has the grace to look guilty, toeing at a loose tile as he drops a sack on the floor by the door.

“Where is he?” Namjoon asks, taking another step towards the bed and Seokjin sets his feet on the floor, before he clarifies, “The knight.”

“I’m not sure,” Seokjin shrugs, standing up and coming eye to eye with molten lava, “He’s not important to me.”

Namjoon heaves out a sigh, like he’s tired and like the weight of the world rests on his shoulders, “Seokjin…”

“Why did you leave? Why did you leave me?”

Namjoon drops his gaze but Seokjin doesn’t let up, steps closer until the heat envelops him fully, until he can lightly place his hand on Namjoon’s arm. The muscle tenses beneath his touch, akin to stone, but Namjoon doesn’t back away.

“I was really worried,” Seokjin murmurs, allowing his hand to travel higher up Namjoon’s arm until his fingers graze just under the lump of Namjoon’s shirt where his bandage sits, “I was afraid you wouldn’t come back.”

“Of course I’d come back,” Namjoon interjects immediately, raising a hand to place over Seokjin’s, his fingers warm and secure as they fit through Seokjin’s, “I’d always come back to you.”

“Why?” Seokjin asks, looking up at him to see Namjoon already looking down at him, the air around them heating.

Seokjin thinks he hears the door open and shut, but he’s so focused on the way Namjoon is invading his space he doesn’t honestly care.

“What are you so scared of?” Seokjin’s voice drops to a whisper and Namjoon sucks in a breath, letting go of Seokjin’s hand so he can brush shaky fingers along the back of Seokjin’s cheek.

“You,” it dances along the curve of his nose, up his cheek and over his neck, “me,” Namjoon’s voice is so deep and it feels so safe that Seokjin pushes just a little bit closer, “everything about us Seokjin,” the way Namjoon says his name has his eyes fluttering shut as he slides a hand around Namjoon’s sweltering waist.

“Of me?” Seokjin asks, smoothing his hand down Namjoon’s chest so it can join the other one around his waist.

“Of what you do to me, of how you make me feel.”

Seokjin can feel the brush of Namjoon’s eyelashes against his cheek and all it would take is the subtle turn of his head and he’d be kissing Namjoon. Does he want to kiss Namjoon? Dear all that is holy, yes.

“I’m supposed to protect you Seokjin; I’m not supposed to find comfort in your voice when you read, or watch you tend to the garden. I’m not supposed to want to watch you sleep every night and be there when you wake up. I’m not supposed to fall in love with you and everything that you are.”

Seokjin turns his head and kisses Namjoon, catching Namjoon’s lower lip between both of his as his hands slide up Namjoon’s back. Namjoon makes a sound and kisses back, lips bruising as he holds Seokjin’s face. Namjoon tastes like heat and spice and something soothing, something almost familiar that has Seokjin turning to putty in Namjoon’s grasp.

“Seokjin I-I… we can’t,” but Namjoon doesn’t pull away from him; instead he pushes him back, towards the bed.

Seokjin doesn’t say anything, just grabs ahold of Namjoon’s collar so when he sits on the edge of the bed Namjoon bends over so they don’t stop kissing.

“I don’t want-”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Seokjin pants, pulling on Namjoon’s shirt, “C’mere.”

Namjoon doesn’t need to be told twice, crawling on top of Seokjin as he pushes him to lay back. When Seokjin pulls away to breathe, he catches the tail end of a wince on Namjoon’s face.

“Oh, your shoulder,” Seokjin stutters out.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” Namjoon presses a kiss onto Seokjin’s temple, working his way down and across Seokjin’s jaw, tipping Seokjin’s head back so he can kiss down his throat.

“Namjoon you-”

Namjoon presses kiss after kiss into Seokjin’s skin until the heat is almost too much, Namjoon almost swallowing him whole with his body, pressing him down, down, down into the mattress.

“Hush,” Namjoon commands and Seokjin’s body is practically thrumming as Namjoon settles himself more comfortably on top of the prince, “Let me just. Kiss you. If only for tonight.”

Seokjin doesn’t say anything else as he threads his fingers through Namjoon’s hair and tugs until they’re eye to eye, red meeting brown for a few moments before Namjoon dips his head down to press an infinitely sweeter kiss than ones they’ve shared previously to the bow of his lips.

“Kiss me for the rest of my life,” Seokjin tells him, stressing every syllable so Namjoon knows, so Namjoon understands.

“Don’t promise something you can’t keep Seokjin,” Namjoon murmurs, brushing their lips together again and Seokjin tightens his hold in Namjoon’s hair.

Seokjin pulls Namjoon on top of him fully in lieu of an answer, marveling in how good Namjoon feels with his heat and his brimstone scent and his plush lips pressing against every square inch of skin they can reach.

“The rest of my life,” Seokjin reiterates and Namjoon makes a sound as he kisses Seokjin.

Again. And again. And again.

Seokjin blinks hazily up at the ceiling, his bedroom warm and smelling of brimstone. Summer is here and having Namjoon around can be unbearable sometimes, but Seokjin supposes he can’t be upset that the dragon naturally exudes heat.

“There’s a knight about a day’s journey from here,” Namjoon comments, as casual as can be as he lounges on the bed beside Seokjin.

“Not interested,” Seokjin shoots back immediately and Namjoon chuckles, flipping the page of his book though Seokjin knows he hasn’t read a single word all afternoon.

“But this one comes from far, far away; aren’t those the best types of heroes?” Namjoon asks, finally giving up his charade and letting the book fall so he can trace a finger down Seokjin’s cheek.

Seokjin hums, letting his eyes fall shut as Namjoon’s heat rolls over him in waves and lights up every cell in his body.

“Not interested,” Seokjin repeats and when he blinks his eyes open again, Namjoon is shaking his head and sliding out of the bed, “Where are you going?”

“If you’re not interested I’m just going to stop him now,” Namjoon shrugs, like he’s uninterested in the whole situation but Seokjin can see the smirk tugging on Namjoon’s lips, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Seokjin watches him go, muscles rippling beneath his shirt with every step and Seokjin has the urge to call him back, to pull him down beside him and let brimstone completely consume him. So he does.

“Namjoon,” he says and the dragon stops in his doorway, hand grasping the wood as he turns to look over his shoulder at his prince.

“Hm?”

Seokjin purses his lips, indicating what he wants and Namjoon snorts, but turns on his heel and walks back towards him.

“You’re incorrigible,” Namjoon mutters and Seokjin smacks his chest before gripping his shirt and pulling him down.

“Just stay and deal with him when he gets here,” Seokjin tells him, already starting to sweat under Namjoon.

“But if I just deal with him now-”

“Yeah but then you’d be gone and I don’t want that,” Seokjin frowns and Namjoon kisses it away.

There’s silence for a few moments, the only sounds Seokjin’s labored breathing as Namjoon digs his fingers into just the places and the wet slide of their lips and tongues.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the way you taste,” Namjoon whispers and Seokjin whimpers at the sound of his voice.

“Good because you’re kind of stuck with me.”

Seokjin’s father had come calling, demanding to know why no knight had been able to save his son. Seokjin had tried to explain that they were just trying to find the best suitable spouse for Seokjin and the kingdom, but his father had been livid and threatened to have an army attack Namjoon if there was no progress by winter.

“Father,” Seokjin sighed, leaning against Namjoon’s wing as they stood on the other side of the pit, away from their castle, their home, “Father I’m not coming home.”

“What?” his father had spluttered, “What do you mean?”

“I’ve decided I want to stay here; I want to live here,” Seokjin explained and smiled when he felt a pleased rumble run through Namjoon, “Just have Taehyung get locked away, he’ll have knights lined out the door to save him.“

“You are our heir!” his father had cried, “This is unacceptable.”

A little bit of smoke and fire from Namjoon had his father running away and Seokjin had shook his head.

“Good because I don’t want to be rid of you,” Namjoon tells him, seriousness laced in every word and Seokjin smiles, running a hand through Namjoon’s hair, a habit he’s come to really like.

“Good because I don’t want to be rid of you,” Seokjin echoes and Namjoon smiles, wide and bright and beautifully, before kissing him again.

Once upon a time in a tower far, far away, a prince fell in love with his protector.

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