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ladyofasoiaf · 3 years

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Sansa & Beauty - Quotes

RADIANT:

Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

A Game of Thrones - Jon I

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COMELY:

"Saffron is very beautiful, I'll have you know. Tall and slim, with big brown eyes and hair like honey."Alayne raised her head. "More beautiful than me?"

Ser Harrold studied her face. "You are comely enough, I grant you. When Lady Anya first told me of this match, I was afraid that you might look like your father."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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EXQUISITE:

"You do look quite exquisite, child," Lady Olenna Tyrell told Sansa when she tottered up to them in a cloth-of-gold gown that must have weighed more than she did. "The wind has been at your hair, though."

A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

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FAIR:

I must ask after Sansa. How else will I find her? She cleared her throat. "Goodwife," she said to the woman on the turnip cart, "perhaps you saw my sister on the road? A young maid, three-and-ten and fair of face, with blue eyes and auburn hair. She may be riding with a drunken knight."

A Feast for Crows - Brienne II

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BEAUTY:

The girl was too young and too plain to be Sansa Stark, but she was of the right age to be the younger sister, and even Lady Catelyn had said that Arya lacked her sister's beauty.

A Feast for Crows - Brienne VII

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Lord Littlefinger kissed her cheek. "With my wits and Cat's beauty, the world will be yours, sweetling. Now off to bed."

A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

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"Had we known such beauty awaited us at the Gates, we would have flown," Ser Roland said. Though his words were addressed to Myranda Royce, he smiled at Alayne as he said them.

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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LOVELY:

Sansa Stark looked especially lovely this morning, though her face was as pale as milk.

A Clash of Kings - Tyrion VI

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Sansa closed the shutters and turned sharply away from the window. "You look very lovely today, my lady," Ser Arys said.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

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"Leave the colors to me, my lady. You will be pleased, I know you will. You shall have smallclothes and hose as well, kirtles and mantles and cloaks, and all else befitting a . . . a lovely young lady of noble birth."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

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When the moonstones hung from Sansa's ears and about her neck, the queen nodded. "Yes. The gods have been kind to you, Sansa. You are a lovely girl. It seems almost obscene to squander such sweet innocence on that gargoyle."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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"My lady," Tyrion said, "you are lovely, make no mistake, but . . . I cannot do this. My father be damned. We will wait. The turn of a moon, a year, a season, however long it takes. Until you have come to know me better, and perhaps to trust me a little." His smile might have been meant to be reassuring, but without a nose it only made him look more grotesque and sinister.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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Her maids were dressing her when Tyrion appeared, Podrick Payne in tow. "You look lovely, Sansa." He turned to his squire. "Pod, be so good as to pour me a cup of wine."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

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And false. Sansa, Shae, all my women … Tysha was the only one who ever loved me. Where do whores go? "A lovely girl," said Tyrion, "and we were joined beneath the eyes of gods and men. It may be that she is lost to me, but until I know that for a certainty I must be true to her."

A Dance with Dragons - Tyrion IX

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"The Lord Protector's daughter," the bald knight announced, all hearty gallantry. He rose ponderously. "And full as lovely as the tales told of her, I see."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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PRETTY:

She frowned down at them with dismay and glanced over to where her sister Sansa sat among the other girls. Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. "Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands."

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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"He's going to marry her," little Beth said dreamily, hugging herself. "Then Sansa will be queen of all the realm."

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment.

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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"Lady," he said, tasting the name. He had never paid much attention to the names the children had picked, but looking at her now, he knew that Sansa had chosen well. She was the smallest of the litter, the prettiest, the most gentle and trusting. She looked at him with bright golden eyes, and he ruffled her thick grey fur.

A Game of Thrones - Eddard III

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A pity Ned Stark had taken his daughters south; elsewise Theon could have tightened his grip on Winterfell by marrying one of them. Sansa was a pretty little thing too, and by now likely even ripe for bedding. But she was a thousand leagues away, in the clutches of the Lannisters. A shame.

A Clash of Kings - Theon IV

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"I will sing it for you gladly."

Sandor Clegane snorted. "Pretty thing, and such a bad liar. A dog can smell a lie, you know. Look around you, and take a good whiff. They're all liars here . . . and every one better than you."

A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

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I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he's always liked me in this gown, this color.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

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"Leave her face," Joffrey commanded. "I like her pretty."

A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

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"Didn't you ever have a brother you wanted to kill?" He laughed again. "Or maybe a sister?" He must have seen something in her face then, for he leaned closer. "Sansa. That's it, isn't it? The wolf bitch wants to kill the pretty bird."

A Storm of Swords - Arya IX

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Jaime found himself wondering if Brienne might have passed this way before him. If she thought that Sansa Stark had made for Riverrun . . . Had they encountered other travelers, he might have stopped to ask if any of them had chance to see a pretty maid with auburn hair, or a big ugly one with a face that would curdle milk. But there was no one on the roads but wolves, and their howling held no answers.

A Feast for Crows - Jaime III

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Petyr put a finger under her chin. "That Royce glimpsed this pretty face I do not doubt, but it was one face in a thousand. A man fighting in a tourney has more to concern him than some child in the crowd. And at Winterfell, Sansa was a little girl with auburn hair. My daughter is a maiden tall and fair, and her hair is chestnut. Men see what they expect to see, Alayne."

A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

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Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket.

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

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She studied Alayne's face and chest. "You are prettier than me, but my breasts are larger.

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

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Sansa was the pretty one. He remembered a time when he had thought that Lord Eddard Stark might marry him to Sansa and claim him for a son, but that had only been a child's fancy.

A Dance with Dragons - Reek I

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Petyr put his arm around her. "So he is, but he is Robert's heir as well. Bringing Harry here was the first step in our plan, but now we need to keep him, and only you can do that. He has a weakness for a pretty face, and whose face is prettier than yours? Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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BEAUTIFUL:

"Joffrey likes your sister," Jeyne whispered, proud as if she had something to do with it. She was the daughter of Winterfell's steward and Sansa's dearest friend. "He told her she was very beautiful."

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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When the white horse stopped in front of her, she thought her heart would burst.To the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red. "Sweet lady," he said, "no victory is half so beautiful as you." Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his gallantry.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

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"Sweet Sansa," Queen Cersei said, laying a soft hand on her wrist. "Such a beautiful child. I do hope you know how much Joffrey and I love you."

A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

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She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

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His smile emboldened her, made her feel beautiful and strong. He does love me, he does.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

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"I will need hot water for my bath, please," she told them, "and perfume, and some powder to hide this bruise." The right side of her face was swollen and beginning to ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be beautiful.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

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His brow was damp with sweat. "I saw Sansa at the court, the day Tyrion told me his terms. She looked most beautiful, my lady. Perhaps a, a bit wan. Drawn, as it were."

A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VI

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"Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft... the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper..."

A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

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As they lurched into motion, Tyrion reclined on an elbow while Sansa sat staring at her hands. She is just as comely as the Tyrell girl. Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Grief had given her a haunted, vulnerable look; if anything, it had only made her more beautiful. He wanted to reach her, to break through the armor of her courtesy.

A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

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Tyrion had never seen her look more lovely, yet she wore sorrow on those long satin sleeves. "Lady Sansa," he told her, "you shall be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight."

A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

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"Ser Loras," she finally managed, "you.. you look so lovely."

He gave her a puzzled smile. "My lady is too kind. And beautiful besides. My sister awaits you eagerly."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

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"At the Hand's tourney, don't you remember? You rode a white courser, and your armor was a hundred different kinds of flowers. You gave me a rose. A red rose. You threw white roses to the other girls that day." It made her flush to speak of it. "You said no victory was half as beautiful as me."

Ser Loras gave her a modest smile. "I spoke only a simple truth, that any man with eyes could see."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

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She wanted to look beautiful for Willas Tyrell. Even if Dontos was right, and it is Winterfell he wants and not me, he still may come to love me for myself.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

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"You are very beautiful, my lady," the seamstress said when she was dressed.

"I am, aren't I?" Sansa giggled, and spun, her skirts swirling around her. "Oh, I am." She could not wait for Willas to see her like this. He will love me, he will, he must... he will forget Winterfell when he sees me, I'll see that he does.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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Tyrion wore a doublet of black velvet covered with golden scrollwork, thigh-high boots that added three inches to his height, a chain of rubies and lions' heads. But the gash across his face was raw and red, and his nose was a hideous scab. "You are very beautiful, Sansa," he told her.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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Ser Kevan told her she was beautiful, Jalabhar Xho said something she did not understand in the Summer Tongue, and Lord Redwyne wished her many fat children and long years of joy. And then the dance brought her face-to-face with Joffrey.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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Littlefinger pointed out a cedar chest under the porthole. "You'll find fresh garb within. Dresses, smallclothes, warm stockings, a cloak. Wool and linen only, I fear. Unworthy of a maid so beautiful, but they'll serve to keep you dry and clean until we can find you something finer."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

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"Marillion?" she said, uncertain. "You are... kind to think of me, but.. pray forgive me. I am very tired."

"And very beautiful.

All night I have been making songs for you in my head. A lay for your eyes, a ballad for your lips, a duet to your breasts. I will not sing them, though. They were poor things, unworthy of such beauty." He sat on her bed and put his hand on her leg. "Let me sing to you with my body instead."

She caught a whiff of his breath. "You're drunk."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

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"I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You're crusted over with snow like some little bear cub, but your face is flushed and you can scarcely breathe. How long have you been out here? You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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"But you're not, are you? You are Eddard Stark's daughter, and Cat's. But I think you might be even more beautiful than your mother was, when she was your age."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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"Do you require guarding?" Marillion said lightly. "I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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"Have you no honor?" her aunt said sharply. "Or do you take me for a fool? You do, don't you? You take me for a fool. Yes, I see that now. I am not a fool. You think you can have any man you want because you're young and beautiful. Don't think I haven't seen the looks you give Marillion.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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"And you must be the Lord Protector's daughter," she added, as the bucket went rattling back up to the Eyrie. "I had heard that you were beautiful. I see that it is true."

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

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"So you're brave as well as beautiful," Myranda said to her.

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

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"Dutiful and beautiful," said an elegant young knight whose thick blond mane cascaded down well past his shoulders.

"Aye," said the second knight, a burly fellow with a thick salt-and-pepper beard, a red nose bulbous with broken veins, and gnarled hands as large as hams. "You left out that part, m'lord."

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

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"I was never beautiful like Sansa, but they all said I was pretty. Does Lord Ramsay think I am pretty?"

A Dance with Dragons - The Prince of Winterfell

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"It was sweet," lied Tyrion, "but I am married. She was with me at the feast, you may remember her. Lady Sansa."

"Was she your wife? She … she was very beautiful …"

A Dance with Dragons - Tyrion IX

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Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, "Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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"You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age. I cannot seat you on the dais, but you'll have a place of honor above the salt and underneath a wall sconce. The fire will be shining in your hair, so everyone will see how fair of face you are. Keep a good long spoon on hand to beat the squires off, sweetling. You will not want green boys underfoot when the knights come round to beg you for your favor."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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"A beautiful bastard, and the Lord Protector's daughter." Petyr drew her close and kissed her on both cheeks. "The night belongs to you, sweetling, Remember that, always."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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#sansa stark #asoiaf #A Song of Ice and Fire #quotes #sansa & beauty #ymbq #agot #acok #asos #affc #adwd #twow #alayne stone #let me know if there is more #mine

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moonlightchess · 3 years

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a brief interlude in which a young mortician finally meets his patron saint.

(Diaphanous).

Around five years old, when he first started hearing them. Soft, muted weeping echoing lightly through the cavernous halls just beyond his bedroom door, and by ten he was accustomed to sliding out of bed, yawning, padding to his doorway to step out into the endlessly shadowed maw veining through the upstairs of his family’s home. The moaning creak of the floorboards was easily avoidable if you knew where to slide your feet, which by then he did, and he’d whisper into the dark: “You’re okay. It’s all over now, but stay as long as you need to. You’ll be getting along when you’re ready.” And even then, there was something profoundly tender and melancholy wrapping itself around little Theodore like an aura, to which the ghosts usually responded favorably. On occasion, they’d even slip into his bedroom after he climbed back into bed, gently tugging his duvet over him in thanks.

Sixteen, and Pere introduced him to the family business in the most definitive sense yet, bringing him down into the embalming room. There, he was shown how to drain the bodies, to sew their gums securely closed, to carefully apply powders and lotions to suggest sleep despite death. Pere helped him to remove the heart and lungs of a corpse in the preparation process of the old fashion, despite it having fallen out of favor in more recent years. Bellefontaine, Louisiana, lingered a decade or two behind much of the nation, in every way from embalming practices to racial sensitivity, both topics having already been addressed with young Theodore. “A person is a person, deserving of respect and love and dignity regardless of their skin, wealth, or any other such thing that the ignorant might think defines them,” Theodore senior had informed his small son firmly, long ago, meeting his midnight-blue eyes that were so solemn and sympathetic even then. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Pere.” Theodore had not understood, not entirely, back then. But at sixteen, hunched over the dead body of a local bait shop owner whose wife made the softest, sweetest beignets he’d ever tasted, clarity rose sharp and bitter. “Monsieur Dumonde,” had escaped him before he could swallow the words in the interest of professionalism. “I knew him. Used to buy worms from him when the boys wanted to go fishing, but it’s been so long. I didn’t know he was sick.”

“Everyone dies, ti-Theodore,” and he’d been in love with the way his name rolled from his father’s tongue in a thicker cajun accent than his own - tee-tay-oh-doure, Theodore junior. It was enormously soothing, even now as he considered shaving Monsieur Dumonde’s thick mustache away for his funeral - but in the end, he placed the straight razor back onto his father’s table of sharp tools, aware that his decision had been a test. “No. We leave the mustache, he always had one when he was alive. He used to tug on it and laugh at our homemade fishing poles whenever we went into his shop. His mustache was a part of him, and it’s important that we send him to the next with as much of the man he was intact as we can.” He’d been a little nervous, meeting the dusk-colored eyes that he’d inherited from his beloved father, holding his breath.

“Good boy,” and he’d exhaled. “There are many who would have shaved him, cut his hair, put on some strange new clothes he never would have chosen himself. But you, my sweet and quiet boy, you understand.”

Mere had been a dancer, once. Ballet had been her life, her identity, until a careless would-be principal prince had stumbled into her leap - during a rehearsal no less, she’d been denied even the dignity of a grand disaster to end her career in the middle of a soaringly tragic performance - and her ankle had snapped, had never healed properly. She limped a touch even then, bringing sweet tea out to their wraparound porch thick with creeping ivy and heavy flowers bursting open at random, studding the lush green like jewels in a necklace, where her teenage son sat cross-legged on a battered loveseat long since dragged out to face the elements of the swampland. Together, they would count the darting fireflies, tiny pinpricks of golden light waging a valiant war against the encroaching southern dark. “I was beautiful once,” she’d said to him. “They all used to come watch me dance, in the city.”

“You’re still beautiful, Mere.”

She’d only sighed, slipping a hand into the pocket of her pea-green silk skirt to retrieve a shot bottle of bourbon, hoarded from the liquor store in town, and poured it into her tea.

They were both gone now, six, seven years proper. He’d prepared their bodies, and in death all of his mother’s pain and longing had been exposed to him with the first incision into her cold and rigid flesh for the draining, sixty-two years of ballet and resentment filling up the glass reservoir of the tubing’s end, dark red. She’d always done up her soft, honey-colored hair into elaborate braids, draped over one shoulder or both or trailing down her back or even wound up into a twisted crown if she was in a happier mood than usual. Theodore had sat beside her, holding her stiff milky hand with his own and with the other, scrolling through youtube tutorials on how to create the perfect fishtail braid until he was confident.

Pere had gone five years after, the light in him having drained out as clear and real as every fluid in his wife’s body had eventually found its way into the belly of their aspirator in the basement. Pneumonia had taken his mother - she’d always had a poor and fragile immune system - but his father had been just shy of seventy and to this day, at thirty-two years old, Theodore had never been offered a satisfying cause of death for him. “Just his time, sug,” a nurse in powder blue scrubs had tried, patting his hand soothingly and because this was the south, “I’ll be praying for y’all - well, just you I suppose. Oh lord, you’re the only Bissonette left now, ain’tcha?”

He was. They’d left the entire mortuary to him, and with it all the responsibilities of being the local mortician and funeral director at such a tender age, and his head had at first swum dizzily with all the pressure and expectations. Theodore senior and his wife Lisette had been fixtures of their country community, familiar and comforting, always there whenever someone had passed on to arrange flowers and platters of cold cuts, to deliver gentle words to cushion the grief. They’d been known, trusted, but Theodore junior, well. Ti-Theodore Bissonette, so young to be running the whole house himself, and the folk of Bellefontaine just weren’t sure. Until the death of little Suzette Marchande.

Hit by a car, she’d been, some hideous beast driving drunk through the winding access road circling their little cajun town and pointed out toward Nola proper. He was in prison now, but Suzette remained dead, and in his huge, capable hands Theodore had poured every bit of his father’s knowledge and sensitivity into that girl. He’d dressed her in yellow, one of her own dresses supplied by her mother, but he’d also remembered that she’d loved frogs. She’d catch them in the swamp and hold them in both hands, laughing at their croaky sounds, but then she’d carefully deposit them onto some leaf somewhere. “They got big ones, in the jungle. The Amazon,” he remembered her saying when the Bissonettes had run into she and her parents in town once, years ago. “Big as cars, they are. I’m gonna go there someday and study ‘em.”

So he’d bought sparkly little green frog clips for her hair online, pinning it back from her freckled face. Her favorite stuffed froggie, named Monsieur Ourauron, Mister Ribbitt, had been lost in the crash, but he’d found one in the Amazon - or at least on amazon - that looked largely the same. When her parents had seen her during the open-casket service, they’d wept and clutched his hands, thanking him in a babbling blend of French, English and grief. That day had declared the end of one life and the beginning of another, as little Suzette had been delivered unto whatever waited after, but thirty-year-old ti-tay-oh-doure had been manifest and confirmed.

There was something to be said for how tall he was. He would have thought some would find it intimidating, difficult to relate to considering that he was six-seven or perhaps a touch over, impossibly long limbs and a hawkish nose, soft mouth borne of his Mere and his father’s nearly indigo eyes the color of a sky five minutes before the moonrise. His was soft, floppy, peanut-brown hair and a quiet timbre resonating in his voice that was immediately associated with the unthreatening sense of calm authority that his father had once carried around easy as an old sweater. Theodore would take care of everything, Bellefontaine knew. They’d be left free to grieve their lost, because he was here with his huge hands and endless legs and fleeting smile.

He lived alone, now. There had been flings, lovers, Audrey from Nola with her autumn-brown skin and fox-gold eyes, elegant and sure, but she hadn’t stayed long. “This place is charming, but you can’t actually expect to stay here all your life, can you?” she’d told him once, after the sex, the two of them naked and wrapped around each other in his sprawling bed with a gentle breeze from outside floating through his open window. She didn’t understand, and neither did the men, not even sweet Peter with his auburn curls and dimples.

“You’re all alone out here, doesn’t it get boring? Lonely? My god, you live in a mortuary.” His shiver had been all that Theodore had needed to kiss him tenderly and send him on his way. His father had been extraordinarily lucky to find Mere, he knew - so few understood, the nature of a curator of death. The ancient contract they’d signed, the tradition they’d inherited. It was sacred but horrifying to most, because everyone wanted the convenience of their holy order at the end of all things, but no one actually wanted to have to think about dying. About the fact that literally all of them, rich or poor, pious or skeptical, afraid or unafraid, was going to die. The repulsion, he understood, was instinctive, and he’d only made his lovers breakfast in the morning and never called any of them back.

Some of the ghosts never left, as it was, and there were mornings in which he’d make his way into the kitchen to find his black tea already steaming, his chair already pulled away from the table. Some of them had found their peace here with him, and so he’d leave his cello out on occasion so that they could pluck the strings or plink a few keys on his mother’s old baby grand in the living room. He was happy too, his natural introversion leaving him largely content in his solitary life. There were those who sought comfort in his touch after the funerals of their loved ones, holding onto his hands a beat too long as he bade them goodbye, meeting his eyes meaningfully, but he always released them to the hazy swamp air outside. They were hurting, vulnerable, and he was a gentleman.

It rained the night the stranger arrived, or stormed rather - Theodore’s lights had been flickering throughout the manor all night. He’d collected candles and charged his phone, but his power had soldiered on even as the thunder crashed and jagged needles of lightning slashed open the churning charcoal sky outside. He’d yanked open the heavy oak door in response to some insistent knocking, only to find a man roughly his age standing there on the porch. He was oddly untouched by the rain despite no car present behind him, moon-pale, spilled-ink hair thick and soft over limpid, silver-mirror eyes, colorless as a deep-sea creature’s, slicing through the dark.

“Saints alive, are you lost? Are you all right?” The man, he didn’t know personally, but a truth and clarity rolled from him like steam off the swamp, and he felt enormously familiar somehow.

“I wouldn’t say lost, no. May I come in?” His voice, soft and polite, still clear and steady over the storm.

“Yes, forgive me. Please.” He stepped aside, watching him enter, translucent eyes sweeping over the yawning, shadowed maw of the grand old manor’s entryway. “Who are you? I’m sorry, but I’m not taking in any bodies until morning.”

“I understand. Terribly sorry to intrude upon your evening like this, but you and I, we have a matter to discuss.” His accent was not local, nor was it unfamiliar. It felt like a forgotten dream, abruptly remembered, an old song once loved playing on the radio years later.

“I’m afraid I don’t recognize you, Sir. Have you been to one of my funerals?”

“Sweet Theodore, I have been to all of them.”

“I don’t understand.”

The stranger clasped his hands behind his back, idle as a museum patron, gazing thoughtfully up to the enormous and heavily framed oil paintings of Bissonettes past lining the walls of the entryway. “It’s my fault for allowing myself to become so fond of you, but you’ve never really understood just how rare a person you are, have you Theodore? I shouldn’t have come here, but I had no choice. I couldn’t let you leave here tonight, that tree would have rendered your car to a smoking wreck and your body to worse. And you, sweet Theodore, you deserve so much better. After all the respect and care and compassion you have shown so unfailingly to myself and my vocation over the years - I’ve come to love you, and you deserve a soft and quiet end. So much sweeter than the one planned for you, I had to make sure you didn’t die in that crash. I had to come here, on this night. For all your kindness, tonight I will be kind to you.”

Drunk, perhaps. Some sauced-up tourist stumbling through the bayou after a bar crawl, but - this far from the city proper? “I’m afraid that you’re still losing me, will you please tell me who you are?”

He turned then, colorless gaze meeting Theodore’s, an echo of sorrow in his faint smile.

“You know who I am.”

In the end, it was true. He supposed at least a part of him had known from the moment he’d opened the door.

“I do. I didn’t think I’d meet you this young in life, but I’m pleased to find you a gentleman, Sir. I can only hope that in the time you’ve allowed me, I’ve done you proud.”

“You and your whole dear family. You don’t know how much I owe you, all of you. You would have lingered, in pain, on life support, for months. It was unbearable, unacceptable. Not you, not my Theodore who has served me so gently and so diligently for so much of your life.”

“I suppose it’s time, then.” He was not afraid. Death, he knew. He’d existed out here in a kind of stasis for years, honoring his patron saint, the man standing before him in a soft black sweater and reaching out to slip an arm through his.

“It is. But I think the storm is winding to a close, and the mists are always so lovely. Why don’t we go see.”

Nodding, Theodore allowed himself to be led to the door, turning briefly to look back just one last time into his beautiful old house, his shrine to a softer death than most knew existed. He’d always done his best, to make the transition as easy as possible for those on their way to some other place, and now it was time to go.

“Will it hurt?”

“Not for you, no.” The stranger opened the door then, and Theodore couldn’t be sure that the new world laid before him looked the same to both of them, but he smiled at what he saw.

“You were right. It’s beautiful.”

The house and the ghosts left wandering its halls signed in unison with the departure of their beloved Theodore, but the rain had slowed and the moon had risen and they were patient enough to wait a while. Someone would come, someone as warm and bright as him, someone who would take care of them as tenderly as he had, some new Theodore born. In the end, after all, nothing ever really died, and daylight was coming on soon, sure as a promise.

#writeblr #writing #my writing #fantasy #death #louisiana #i'm still feeling shy about my writing but i'm completely obsessed with this character right now #just a little something i hope y'all like it

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lemonpeter · 3 years

Text

STARKER, by Peter B. Parker

Chapter 7: Betrayal

A/N: !!! and the plot progresses, with this absurdly long chapter (I think it’s our longest yet)!! we would love to hear your thoughts on the story so far and any ideas you have about what’s coming in the future! - bloo & bri 💕

Warnings: nff scene in the beginning, heavier angst (it’s finally starting 😈), character death mention

Masterlist ao3

————

When they walked through the doors of the fancy restaurant with the French name that Peter didn't even want to attempt to pronounce, the couple was met with a young woman standing at the hostess station, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.

Barely looking up from the little podium where she obviously was 'hiding' her phone, she glanced at Peter as she spoke, not paying any attention to the older man beside him. "Sorry for the inconvenience, but unfortunately we're full tonight. I'd love to help you make a reservation for another time if you'd like." Her eyes moved back down as she fiddled with a pen absentmindedly.

Tony didn't respond, just smirked down at Peter from behind his dark sunglasses. 'Wait for it' he mouthed. He sniffed lightly, nose twitching.

And Peter, well he just stood there and did exactly that. His eyes wandered, landing on the small, gold metal rectangle pinned to the hostess’ black button up. Hailey, it read in flowing black script.

The woman looked up, finally, when neither of them said anything. Her eyes met Peter's again and she smiled at him, raising one of her eyebrows questioningly. "Is there a specific day you'd like?" She turned to the side and began clicking through options on the computer. "We could do next Tuesday evening, at seven-thirty?”

Tony took that as his chance, clearing his throat. He shifted and took a step closer to his husband, hand moving to rest on his lower back. “We have a reservation, actually.”

Hailey looked up, then, head turning to face Tony in response to the sound.

Peter had to bite back a laugh at the way the hostess' expression changed, leaning into Tony’s embrace.

Mouth gaping, she simply stared at them for a moment, eyes wide with shock. Then a deep flush overtook her face. Hailey hurried to speak, spluttering over her words as she straightened her posture. “Oh, God, I am- I am so sorry. Mr. Stark. So sorry, Let me just-.” With shaking hands, she began typing before turning to them a moment later, an embarrassed smile pulling at her lips. “Everything’s, um, all set for the private room you reserved, sir. M-mister Stark.”

“That’d be ‘Misters’ Stark,” Tony corrected, smiling down at Peter. He pressed a kiss to the boy’s temple, eyes closing briefly and making a delicate blush spread over his cheeks.

“Yes, of course. If you’ll both follow me, I’ll show you to your table.” Having reconstructed her mask of professionalism, Hailey grabbed two menus and gestured for the two men to follow her into the main area of the restaurant.

They walked through the deep, navy velvet curtains that were drawn and made their way through the dining area. There were tables scattered throughout, all occupied by people who looked like they had more money in their wallets than Peter had seen in his entire life up until that point.

He could feel all of their eyes on him, no doubt wondering who was so lucky as to be on the arm of Tony Stark. He could hear their scandalized whispers. And he’d honestly thought he wouldn’t know how to feel about the attention. But here he was, preening under their gazes. The teen loved everyone seeing that yes he, Peter Benjamin Parker, had somehow lucked out and captured the attention of the playboy. He certainly looked the part, in his powder blue button down (of which the top few buttons were undone, exposing a bit of his chest and the thin chains draped from his neck, but not open enough to give away the lingerie he was wearing underneath) and his tight gunmetal trousers, both by Gucci. He didn’t even want to know how much the outfit actually cost.

But he wanted everyone else to.

The warmth of Tony’s palm on the small of his back as they walked, his fingertips ghosting over the top of his ass, had something warm fizzling deep in Peter’s belly.

Once they reached the far end of the dining area, they were led into an alcove off to the side, separated by another dark curtain. There was a single table in the moderately sized room, set up for two. A bouquet of red roses sat in the middle of the white table cloth like a centerpiece. The lighting was inviting and intimate at the same time, and it was quiet, the conversations of the other patrons but a low murmur in the background.

Hailey sat the menus down on the table in their respective places before turning to the two patrons. “Here you go, gentlemen.” While the two of them sat down, Tony pulling Peter’s chair out for him, she reached for the glass pitcher of ice water and filled each of their glasses. “I’ll start you off with some water, and a server will be right with you. I hope you enjoy your visit with us here at La Brise Fraîche.” She shot them a quick smile before making a hasty exit, face once more taken over in a rosy blush.

Tony chuckled as he shifted his chair a bit closer to the table. Slipping off his sunglasses, he popped them into the pocket of his black suit jacket, in front of the little pocket square that matched Peter’s shirt. “She certainly changed her tune, huh baby?” He shot Peter a soft smile as he picked up his menu and gestured for the younger man to do the same.

Peter hummed in response to his husband’s teasing, following his lead and opening the menu in order to look it over. A frown soon formed between his eyebrows, and his eyes flicked from the parchment up to Tony’s face. “Tony,” he said softly, “this, uh, most of this is in French. I can’t- And there’s no prices on here. How do I…” He trailed off, uncertainly, all of his earlier confidence gone now that they were alone again. He felt extremely out of his element all of a sudden.

Reaching across the table, the older man brushed his fingers over the back of Peter’s hand. “It’s alright, Pete. What are you in the mood for, baby? We should definitely get some wine,” he said, winking.

Peter giggled and threw his head back a little. When he looked back over at Tony, his eyes were gleaming and he bit his lip, running the toe of his shoe from the inside of the man’s ankle up to his knee. “You trying to get me drunk, Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s gaze darkened, causing Peter’s breath to catch in his throat. “Maybe I am, Mr. Stark.”

Their waiter approached them, then, slipping through the navy drapery. “Good evening gentlemen. I’m Jacques, and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start the two of you off with something to drink?” He smiled at them both as he spoke with a light French accent, eyes flickering between them before focusing on Tony.

The billionaire cleared his throat, not even bothering to reach for the proffered wine list. “We’ll have whatever the finest Cab Sauvignon is, and how about a Sauvignon Blanc as well?” Though he phrased it as a question, it didn’t very much sound like one, and Peter squirmed in his seat at the authoritative tone of his voice.

God, how was he going to make it through this dinner? They hadn’t even ordered yet and he was already horny.

And it only got worse from there.

The wines Tony had chosen were really strong, Peter thought to himself as he fumbled a bit with his fork, trying to twist up some of the creamy pasta on the plate in front of him. It was some sort of mushroom-based sauce, and it looked delicious. And it would be, if the numerous other dishes they had ordered and already sampled, Tony insisting that he try a little bit of everything, were anything to go by.

He was flushed from the alcohol, and inebriated enough that he was no longer bothering with trying to hold back the little sounds of ecstasy that left his mouth at each bite of the incredible cuisine.

His eyes fluttered shut once he finally managed to twist up enough pasta to put in his mouth, and the soft noise he made sounded truly indecent. He heard Tony’s sharp intake of breath and sighed contentedly as he chewed the bite of food before opening his eyes again in order to get another forkful.

Feeling his husband’s eyes boring into his skin, Peter looked up from his plate. A small whimper escaped him at the hungry look in his eyes. “Tony?”

The older man licked at his bottom lip as his eyes roved over Peter’s face. His voice was somewhat rough when he spoke, leaning forward in his seat. “You’ve got a little something there, baby,” he said lowly, bringing his thumb to his mouth to lick it before reaching across the table to swipe the digit just under Peter’s bottom lip. The small smear of glistening white came off easily, and he pressed the pad of his thumb against Peter’s lips, prompting him to open.

Another whine escaped the teen as he did so immediately, granting Tony’s finger entrance. Peter began sucking on it lightly to clean the sauce off, and he hummed once the light cream dissipated and he’d swallowed it down, allowing him to focus on the sensation of Tony’s calloused skin on his tongue.

Tony groaned softly, shifting in his chair. “Mmm, that’s my good boy.” He pulled his thumb away, smirking at the displeased noise that came from his young lover as he reached down to adjust himself in his pants.

Peter caught the movement. His own cock, which had been slightly interested since they’d left the hotel thanks to how sexy he felt in the lingerie he had slipped on, gave a slight twitch. “You hard for me, Daddy,” he asked, blinking coquettishly at the man and reaching for one of his two wine glasses, bringing the one filled with the red wine to his lips. He made a bit of a show of running his tongue from the base of the goblet up to the rim, cleaning up a rivulet of the dark, blood red liquid that had dripped down while he drank.

“Always, baby boy,” Tony said softly, keeping his eyes on Peter as he took a bite of what was left of the steak au poivre in front of him.

They continued eating, and Peter continued his teasing, until their server arrived a few minutes later to check on them. The young boy was glad the table cloth was there to hide the erection in his lap, his flush intensifying as Jacques approached them. Tony, however, didn’t look phased, continuing to eat the rest of his food and sip at the full-bodied alcohol in his glass, eyes trained on his husband.

Beginning to clear away the empty plates, Jacques spoke up. “I hope everything has been to your satisfaction, gentlemen.” When they both responded in the affirmative, he continued. “Would you be interested in ordering anything for dessert? Tonight’s special is a beautiful lavender and honey posset, it’s absolutely to die for,” he intoned, making eye contact with Peter and smiling.

Tony scowled at the interaction, sniffing lightly and narrowing his eyes a bit. “Nope, I think we’re all set…” He trailed off at the pleading look Peter gave him, big brown eyes peering over at him dolefully.

“Please, Tony,” the younger man asked, foot once again moving to rub against the inside of his husband’s leg. “I’m not sure what a, um, posset is, but it sounds really yummy, and Jacques says it’s good.” He looked at Jacques briefly, who nodded, and then back at Tony. “This is about trying new things, right?” He bit his lip for good measure, just to punctuate his little performance.

With an eye roll, Tony caved, his hand wrapping around Peter’s ankle underneath the table. He squeezed it, not ungently. “Alright,” he said, sending Jacques a quick smile as he piled the last plate into his arms. “We’ll have one of the possets, then, please.”

And he’d obviously made the right choice, as he was now watching Peter suck the remnants of the custard off of his pointer finger like it was his job to ensure that the small glass jar was spotless. “That good, sweetie?”

Peter hummed around his finger, eyes flicking up to meet Tony’s, which were once again flashing at him dangerously. His body thrummed in response, every fiber of his being screaming out in want. “It’s so good, Daddy,” he whined softly, the hand not in his mouth pressing down on the bulge in his pants. “So good.”

Sitting up straighter in his chair, Tony took a deep breath before reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He flipped through it for a moment before pulling out a stack of hundred dollar bills and slapping them down on the table. Standing, he walked around the table to Peter’s seat in order to gently pull him up and closer to him.

Peter followed willingly, stepping into Tony’s personal space and craning his neck up to that his lips could meet the older man’s. He moaned softly at the feeling of their clothed erections pressing up against each other.

“Let’s go, baby,” Tony whispered into his mouth, pulling away so that he could lead Peter out of the room and through the main dining area. He paid no mind to any of the other patrons, who were no doubt scandalized by the sight of the two of them, rumpled and clearly aroused.

Peter just flushed, grinning as he made eye contact with a few people, winking at an older lady who was looking at him with wide eyes.

Yeah, he liked people knowing he was Tony’s.

When they got back to the hotel, Tony backed Peter up against the door to the hotel room as he began to lavish his neck with kisses and bites while his hands gripped at Peter’s ass. “Fuck, baby, you look so pretty tonight,” he rasped, relishing in the way his husband jerked in his hold in response to a particularly sharp nip.

“Just for you,” Peter moaned, hands fumbling to remove Tony’s jacket. He threw it to the ground as it was shrugged off, gasping when he was lifted into the older man’s arms in order to be carried over to the bed and deposited on the covers. Kicking his shoes off, he watched as Tony did the same and rolled up the sleeves to his wrinkling white dress shirt.

Crawling on the bed to kneel over Peter, Tony reached for the buttons on the boy’s shirt and began undoing them. A low growl sounded in his throat at the first peek of black lace that became exposed. “What do we have here?”

Peter preened under his heavy gaze, pushing up onto his elbows so he could slip the shirt off his arms, exposing the black bodysuit he wore underneath. “Do you like it, Daddy?” He peered up at him from underneath his lashes.

“Like it? I love it, baby boy.” Tony trailed kisses down the teen’s chest, feeling the muscles in his abdomen twitch under in ministrations. When he reached the waistband of the dark trousers, he undid the button with practiced ease and pulled them down, pausing for Peter to lift his hips and throwing them to the floor once they were off. His eyes raked over Peter’s form, mesmerized by the sight of him spread out on the fluffy comforter, the inky lingerie creating a strong contrast. He could very clearly see Peter’s erection straining against the lace, and the wet spot that was glistening with precum.

“Daddy,” Peter whined, hips twitching upward in an attempt to get some friction. “Touch me, please.”

Tony hummed softly, eyes locking on Peter’s lips for a moment before he got off the bed in order to walk over to the kitchenette area. He rifled through the drawers for a moment, ignoring Peter’s indignant noises. When he found what he was looking for, he resumed his previous position.

Making eye contact with Peter, Tony uncapped the lid of the honey bottle and squeezed some out onto his pointer and middle fingers. “Get up, baby,” he said softly. “Kneel for me.”

Eyes wide, Peter followed the request, only wobbling a little bit as a result of the alcohol in his system.

“Now open,” Tony instructed as he brought his dripping finger’s to Peter’s lips. He groaned when the digits were enveloped in the warmth of the boy’s mouth, shivering when he started suckling, not unlike the way he treated the man’s cock. “Fuck, Peter.”

Bolstered by Tony’s words, and desperate for the sticky sweetness he was desperately chasing with his tongue, Peter whined in the back of his throat before he closed his eyes and began sucking in earnest.

Eyes blazing, Tony watched in awe as the teen fellated his fingers. His other hand moved up to grab at Peter’s unruly curls, using his grip to hold the boy still as he pressed his fingers further into his mouth.

Peter’s eyes flew open as he gagged around the intrusion, throat convulsing as Tony held him there. He whimpered, eyes watering as he struggled to breathe. He gasped when Tony eventually removed his fingers, spluttering as thick saliva dripped down his chin. “Daddy- please,” he rasped, voice already a little wrecked. “More.” His eyes flickered to the honey bottle that was laying on the bed.

Smirking, Tony snatched it up. His hands moved to his belt and began unfastening it. “Want some more dessert, baby?”

***

Peter was going to be mortified when he realized that they were able to see everything that was going on. Every lingering touch or look, every...well, every time he was with Tony was being broadcasted to SHIELD through EDITH. No matter what was going on, sensitive and tame content alike, it was all being witnessed by the agents (plus, even more uncomfortably, May and Ned.)

Unfortunately, he wasn’t aware. So it didn’t seem like he was going to stop anytime soon.

So Ned was forced to suffer through every moment of it in a room full of adults. Again, including Peter’s poor aunt. Hopefully she wasn’t paying attention, though, because it definitely would have been even more awkward for her to see. Or even think about.

Just. Ew.

Personally, he was trying to figure out if the situation was illegal. After all, Peter was seventeen. And even though technically it was all in his head, it was still explicitly sexual content that they were all witnessing, starring him.

Maybe it wasn’t the best or most relevant thing to be thinking over, but Ned was trying to ignore the reality of what was actually going on. Watching his best friend make bedroom eyes at and get railed by their deceased idol wasn’t something he was particularly fond of.

He just needed to distract himself from the...activities that kept occurring on the monitors. So he tried to keep his mind away from that part of the situation, legality and all.

What he really needed to focus on was getting Peter out. It had been nearly two weeks since Beck’s announcement that outed Peter’s identity. It had been almost two weeks since Peter had run away and gone into hiding.

They hadn’t even been able to make contact with him through May for days now. He was solely focused on Tony, just as he had been since the wedding. They weren’t sure how much longer that pattern would continue. Or if it would ever stop.

Everyone was getting more and more anxious by the day.

Ned hadn’t found any real solution yet. There were no cracks in the program, no hidden door in the code that he could sneak his way through. So far, it was all sealed tightly.

Usually, that would be considered a good thing. But it just made his job that much more stressful in the moment. They still had no location for Peter. They were yet to discover a way to shut down the illusion. All they had was the ability to send May in when Peter wanted his family there. Nothing else. And there hadn’t been much family bonding time lately.

“When do you think they’ll finally stop?” Paige wondered out loud, eyes firmly on the screen as she leaned over Ned’s shoulder.

The teen jumped at the sound of her voice, head whipping around until they nearly collided. He had no idea that she’d snuck up on him. “What? Oh.” He made a face as he processed her question. “I don’t know. Hopefully soon.” Although that was doubtful, if he was honest with himself.

She hummed in acknowledgment, nodding a little. Her eyes seemed to follow the movements on the monitor before she finally glanced away, seeming a bit flustered. “Yeah. They’ve been at it a while, huh.”

Ned had absolutely no desire to discuss his best friend’s sex life. Especially considering the circumstances. And the interest in the agent’s voice sparked something in him. Not annoyance, not at her, but something very close to that. He wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. “They kinda have. But I’m trying to not pay that much attention to all of it. I’d like to have something of a normal friendship with Peter when he’s out. I can’t do that if I spend all this time watching him get-“

“Leeds,” Fury interrupted, standing over the two young people.

Paige instantly straightened up when she heard him, a light flush overtaking her cheeks as she pushed her hair back behind her ear.

“Yes, sir?” Ned answered, slowly looking up at the man.

“Any change? There has to be something you can do to get his attention.” The director worked to keep up his hard exterior, but was obviously uncomfortable. As was everyone else.

Except maybe Paige. But Ned didn’t want to think about why that was.

Ned sighed, fingers absently tapping at his keyboard. “No. Nothing yet, sir. I’ve been looking for a way to slip through into the program more frequently, but everything is airtight. Tony Stark knew what he was doing.” He couldn’t keep the admiration out of his voice. Which was a little annoying, since the tech and designer in question was causing nothing but issues. “And Peter too, I guess,” he added, knowing that Peter had probably input quite a bit of his own code into the program.

“Do you think he knew that Peter would use the glasses for this?” Paige murmured.

Again with the interested tone. “Probably not,” Ned supplied, clicking away from the live-feed for a moment. He technically wasn’t supposed to do that, but it would make everyone more comfortable for the moment. And it made certain that agent Oliver would have to stop watching, at least for the time being. “I mean, maybe. But probably not.”

“Stark wasn’t exactly the picture of perfect morality, but I don’t think he ever imagined anything like this happening.” Fury shook his head, face contorted in visible discomfort. “Especially not from Parker. I knew he was a devious little shit but not like this.”

Ned was pretty much on the same page. He knew that Peter had his moments, but it was never anything more than normal teenage hormone-fueled...lust felt like too strong of a word, but nothing else was coming to mind. He’d never thought that Peter was even capable of the things he had seen playing out on the screen. Although, he really hadn’t thought about it too much. Or ever.

His best friend was objectively an attractive guy, but Ned had really never thought of him in anything but a platonic way. So this was a lot of stuff that he’d never wanted to see.

“I dunno, I don’t know much about him but he seems like the closeted-kinky type,” Paige offered with a slight smile pulling at her lips. “Y’know, eager to please and all? Maybe I’m the only one that sees it.”

“Can we not talk about this?” Ned said quickly, definitely louder than necessary. The annoyed-but-not feeling was back. He adjusted his glasses just so he could have something to do with his hands for a moment. “I’d rather just focus on getting him out. Or figuring out how to talk to him.”

“Leeds is right,” Fury agreed, looking at the screen again. “It wouldn’t be my first choice, and it pains me to say it, but I suggest you turn that back on. Just to be sure nothing gets missed. We need to send Ms. Parker back in as soon as he shows signs of wanting her back in.”

None of them believed that it would be happening anytime soon, but Ned begrudgingly clicked to the feed again.

“Great. Keep checking to see if there’s anywhere you can slip through, he’s already held onto that tech for too long.”

The man walked away, leaving Ned and Paige alone again.

Ned looked at the agent, giving her a smile. “So, any ideas? We’re still stuck with what we’ve got and I feel like I’ve tried everything.” He sighed heavily, looking back to the screen.

He expected to see more of the same, ‘the same’ being Peter engaging in some insanely sexual scene with no end in sight. But it seemed like they had finally stopped, as the screen was dark, Ned’s reflection looking back at him. Something that only happened when Peter fell asleep, therefore unable to keep the tech running.

“They’re asleep!” He announced to the room. Everyone seemed to collectively relax. No more having to watch a potential lawsuit.

And sleep was good news for Ned; that meant he was able to finally get some real work done without having to constantly check up on the feed. He would have about seven hours or so (going by how long the illusion was typically down for a night of rest) to work and figure out a way to shut things down without worrying about his friend waking up and realizing it. Maybe even stopping him.

Nothing had come of the other nights he’d been able to work, but he kept hoping that he’d get lucky soon. He was determined to save his best friend. He had to.

So he started the stopwatch to record how long Peter slept and then got to work.

***

Ned worked all night, but was still stuck exactly where he had been, in terms of progress. The only connection they had was through the small gap he’d been able to squeeze his own coding into to get May through. And he had a bad feeling that his ‘solution’ with that wouldn’t last for much longer.

He kept track of what Peter (and Tony, by extension) was doing as the morning went on, instantly becoming more focused when he heard a brief mention of family.

“I think it would be nice to spend another day with them,” Peter commented through the crackly speakers, seeming to pack up the countless bags that he’d acquired over the past couple of days.

Not-Tony hummed in agreement, moving to help his- husband? (Ned wasn’t quite sure how all of it worked. It was all just pretend, after all.) No matter what they were considered, Tony began helping Peter with gathering up his bags. “I think that’s a great idea. Haven’t seen them since the wedding, we should spend some time with them.”

“Yeah, just having everyone over would be nice. We could watch a movie or something. One of those old ones you like.”

Tony made an offended noise, glancing in Peter’s direction. “Just because it came out before, what, two thousand? Doesn’t make it old. You’re just a baby,” he teased.

“Cradle robber,” Peter shot back playfully, an easy smile on his face. Like what he said didn’t make Ned’s skin crawl. They joked so easily (Peter’s mind did, at least) and yet the age gap between the two seemed to become that much more apparent in the moment.

“Oh, quiet.” Tony waved one hand. “So are you thinking that you just want to go back to the tower? Or was there another idea in that pretty little brain of yours?”

“Just home. Please.” Apparently ‘home’ was the tower, where Tony had mentioned, because he nodded and smiled after the answer.

“That isn’t his home,” May said softly from somewhere behind Ned, causing the teen to turn around.

Ned leaned back in his chair, looking up at her. “I’m hoping that he remembers that,” he admitted. “But I’m sure he does,” he corrected quickly when he saw the woman’s expression fall.

“He has to. He can’t just- he can’t leave us like this. For someone who got him killed.” May’s voice took on a slightly angrier tone as she spoke. But the anger fizzled out just as quickly as it came. “I need to talk to him, Ned. Not just within his little script. I need to actually get through to him.”

The teen nodded slowly, watching her closely. He knew it was a bad idea. The mission so far was just to stick to the scene that Peter wanted and to follow his lead. Get close to him. May wasn’t nearly close enough yet. And Peter didn’t seem to be close to changing his mind in any way. “But Fury said-“

“I don’t care what he said,” May said sharply. “Peter needs his family. His real family. He needs me. Not the me he expects to play along with his little game.”

That was a dangerous thing to say, especially given how the director seemed to know everything that was going on. Ned hoped that Fury hadn’t heard her. That could possibly compromise the one advantage they had. “He does need you. But just- not yet. You have to go along with his scene right now. Just for a little while longer.”

The woman watched him, expression softening slightly. She knew that he was right. But there was nothing she wanted to do more than reach out to Peter and bring him home. To his actual home. “Okay. But I’m not going another week or whatever without him. I can’t do that shit. This has already gone on too long. He needs to be home. And if he doesn’t get it together, I’ll be bringing him back with or without SHIELD’s help.”

The last bit sounded like a threat, and it probably was. Ned knew that she missed Peter. He was her only remaining family member. And he missed him too, of course he did. He just knew that it was different because May had seen him break too many times before. And she didn’t want to see it again.

She left, presumably going back to the small room that had her setup for entering the illusion. If Peter was talking about family, she had better get ready to go in as soon as he expected her to.

She slipped the headset on and waited, heart aching as she watched Peter interacting with Tony through the screen. She’d never seen him look at anyone quite like that. With so much love in his eyes. It nearly broke her heart to think about how her goal was to take him away from that. But she felt less guilty when she thought about all she was bringing him back to.

His home. His family. His friends. Everything he needed was all here in the real world. And he’d find someone else to look at in that same way, she was sure of it. And when he did, it would be okay. Because it would be the right person and the right time.

Not a dead man who was the root of all his issues.

May held her breath as the scene changed before her eyes, transforming into the sleek and expensive interior of Stark tower once again. And as the couple relaxed in the living area, she saw how Peter’s expression shifted into one of more concentration.

And she heard the quiet ding of the elevator and knew it was time for her to slip into the fantasy again. She heard agent Oliver instructing her in the background, but she already knew what to do.

She let herself relax, getting pulled into the illusion until she was standing in the elevator with the rest of Peter’s ‘special guests.’ It still gave her an odd, sick feeling of deja vu to see Mary, Richard, and Ben all together like that. It was all wrong. But she had to act like everything was okay. Like she wasn’t horrified by being surrounded by family members (and her husband) that she’d already lost and grieved for years.

Her participation in the scene had to be perfectly in accordance with Peter’s intentions or it would all be ruined. At least that’s what she’d been told countless times. But as soon as the doors opened and she saw Peter again, every plan they’d ever discussed dropped to the bottom of her list of priorities.

She just wanted him to come home.

Peter glanced up once he heard the doors, beaming. “Perfect!” He held onto Tony’s arm gently, leaning against him. “Now everyone is here.”

They filed out of the elevator, going over to the couple. May couldn’t help but realize how off it all felt. Without Peter actively controlling the other figures, it was like they were hardly there. Nothing more than stand-ins.

It was terrifying to witness, making her that much more determined to bring the boy home. He couldn’t stay in this environment, living entirely in his mind with no real company. It would only do further damage to his mental state.

As soon as they were in a certain vicinity, the scene seemed to come to life. Suddenly there was soft chatter from the other people as they started carrying their own conversations.

May jumped when she felt a hand on her lower back, instantly wanting to bat the intruding touch away. She knew who it was before she even looked and forced herself to relax. She had to remind herself that it wasn’t her Ben. Letting herself get attached wouldn’t do her any favors. It couldn’t happen. She had to keep her focus on the goal of saving Peter. That’s what was important.

“It’s nice of them to have us over like this,” Not-Ben murmured to her. “Yknow, I like seeing Pete so happy.” He smiled a bit and May’s heart ached. There was the smile she remembered. Easy, slightly mischievous. All Ben.

“Yeah…,” she started, forgetting what they were talking about for a moment. All she could think about was her husband. She could finally have him back like this, maybe she saw the appeal-

No. She couldn’t let herself get sucked in.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been a huge fan of Tony Stark,” she whispered back, not caring about possible consequences. She had to keep her mind straight, and in that moment that required being honest.

“But he’s happy, May.” Ben’s eyes searched her face, but she knew it wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t seeing anything. And even if he did, he couldn’t do anything with the information he found. He was just another figment of Peter’s imagination.

“Yeah. For now,” she mumbled, looking away. She had to focus on what was wrong. So her brain didn’t get convinced that he really was her Ben.

He was too tall. Not by much, but just enough that it was noticeable. And it bothered her.

And he was too...muscular. Sure, he’d never been thin, but it wasn’t like this.

Then it clicked.

This Ben only existed as Peter saw him.

Of course her husband would have seemed like some big, strong man to the boy that he raised. He was Peter’s superhero. And Peter never saw anything different.

That fact shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

She fixed her expression, not letting her true feelings show. She still needed to focus on the task at hand, and that was getting close to Peter. She had to follow along with his scene and make sure everything was in place. Nothing could seem out of the ordinary from how he wanted it.

They all sat down, on a couch facing Peter and Tony.

Peter grinned at them, clapping his hands together happily. “Okay, so, I was thinking maybe we could play some games? That’s always fun, right?”

“Yeah, as long as you don’t cheat,” Ben mumbled with a smile. It was all just teasing.

“I would never! Mean.” The teen stuck his tongue out at him before laughing. “What should we play?”

“Monopoly?” Tony suggested, wrapping his arm around his husband’s waist.

“You’re so old,” Peter whined. Then he giggled, leaning into the touch. “Kidding. Monopoly would be fun, it just takes forever.” Good thing they had all the time in the world to play.

“And ruins families,” May said under her breath, but thankfully no one else seemed to catch it.

“No one has anything else going on, we can play for as long as we want,” the older man assured him. “Want me to go grab it?”

Peter nodded, smiling up at him. “Sure, baby. Thank you.”

Tony stood up to get the game, coming back only a moment later with the box in his hands. “I call being banker,” he said playfully. He sat down and started setting the game up on the table between all of them.

No one argued, just laughing as they kept joking and teasing each other about the entire thing.

As the night went on, the energy level never wavered. Everyone was happy and relaxed, excited to be around each other.

Everyone except for May.

She hid it well, playing along, but inside she was deeply bothered by all of it. Nothing felt right, no matter how the others were acting. None of them were real. It was just her and Peter.

She watched as Tony reached out for his “husband” again and her stomach flipped. She was tired of watching them behave like that and pretending it was okay.

“Don’t touch him.”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them and the guilt set in instantly. She had just ruined the whole mission.

But now she could try things her own way.

Tony’s hand pulled away from Peter immediately, the confusion clear on his face. And May knew that the expression was only reflecting what her nephew was feeling.

“May, he can touch me. He’s my husband, after all. We got married, remember?” Peter shot her a smile, cuddling up to the other man. He tried to brush it off as how protective she always was. Maybe that was just bleeding into his projection of her.

“No, he isn’t, Peter.” May’s voice shook as she stood up, trying to move closer to him. “He isn’t real. You know that. None of this is real.”

“You’re not real,” he said quietly, eyes wide as he tried to figure out what was going on. That wasn’t supposed to happen. But as much as he tried to focus, she wouldn’t go back into place. Things wouldn’t go back to how he wanted them.

What was happening?

“Yes, I am. I’m the only real one here. It’s just you and me, Peter.” She met his eyes, looking desperate. “It’s me, baby. It’s actually me, I’m here. Please come home, this isn’t good for you. You need to come home and give the tech to Fury so-“

“No,” he said quickly, seeming to snap out of his confusion. “Tony gave it to me. It’s mine. No one else’s. And this is my home.” He glared at her, moving into Tony’s arms more.

How had SHIELD hacked May into the program? There shouldn’t have been any way for them to do that. He’d worked on the security coding himself, adding onto what Tony had already designed.

“Did I?” Tony mumbled, looking like he was trying to remember. What tech was being used? It seemed like they were just in the tower, nothing out of the ordinary.

But May ignored him. She continued tearfully. “Your home is with me. Your home is in the *real world*, not this thing you’ve made up! You can’t stay here!” She was getting more frantic.

“No, May. I can stay here. Maybe you should, too.” He watched her, trying to keep himself calm. He needed to regain control over the illusion. Maybe he wouldn’t have to lose anything. He just had to convince her to stay.

“I’ll be doing no such-“

“What’s the issue?” Ben cut in, moving to stand next to May. But he wasn’t going to help her. He was looking directly at her. “You could stay, couldn’t you. Right here. What’s the harm in that?” He grabbed her hands, brushing against her wedding ring.

The one she knew was buried in her closet, amongst the other things that reminded her of him too much to leave strewn about the apartment but she couldn’t bear to completely get rid of.

But it all felt so real.

“You’re dead,” she whispered, her own tone surprising her. She sounded terrified and just as weak as she had in the time right after he died. “I can’t stay. You’re gone and never coming back. All of you are.” Except for Peter, who didn’t want to be saved.

Ben smiled at her, like he’d expected the answer. Then he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Like he had a thousand times when he was alive. “I’m here now, May. Isn’t that enough?”

She hated how real it all felt. How tempting it was. She hated how she could feel his lips against her skin and how easily it pulled her back into the denial she’d felt right after the accident.

Maybe she could stay. She could have him back, live out life like they were supposed to. They were supposed to be together until they were old and grey until finally going from natural causes. Old age. His murder couldn’t touch them here.

It would be so easy to just stay.

But she knew that she couldn’t. It wasn’t possible. It would only destroy her mind to stay with him. And if she wasn’t taking care of her physical body then what would happen? She had to go. Staying wasn’t an option. She just had to convince him of that as well.

She stepped away from Ben, ignoring how much it hurt her to do so. Then she turned to Peter again, moving closer. Maybe if she could just hold him-

His eyes narrowed more as he watched her. He pushed her away when she tried to get closer again, instantly feeling guilty. But he wanted to keep her away. She was trying to take everything from him. If she didn’t want to stay, fine. She could go.

But he wasn’t going to lose this too.

“Get away from me,” Peter snapped, staying close to Tony. He looked almost protective, although he knew that physically it was impossible for anything to happen. “This is my home. Here. With him. And my family.”

May was still shocked at how he’d shoved her. He’d never behaved in such a way before, no matter how things had gotten. And he’d never been so angry, not at her. Not at anyone.

Where did her boy go? What happened to him?

“Peter, please,” she begged. “You can’t live like this. It might seem good for now, but you’re just going to hurt yourself. Please, you’ve gotta shut it down and tell us where you are. We’ll come get you and everything will be okay. SHIELD is working on fixing what happened with Mysterio, you can-“

“I’m not going anywhere! And I’m not telling you where I am, you’ll just make me stop!” There were tears welling in his eyes and his voice was shaking despite how strong he attempted to sound.

All May wanted to do was wipe those tears away and pull him in for a hug like she’d done countless times before. But she had a feeling that was a bad idea.

She felt so helpless, watching him from afar. She was losing him and she knew it.

That hurt more than anything else.

“Baby, please,” she murmured gently. “You can come home. Everything is going to be okay. We can get you some help,” she said slowly.

“I don’t need help. I need this.” And no one would take it away from him. “EDITH, find however she got in. Patch the hole. Make sure it won’t happen again.”

“Yes, Peter,” The AI answered, almost sounding nervous. If that was even something she was capable of.

Fear flashed through May as she stared at him. “Peter, please, don’t shut me out.”

“You’re not taking this from me. Everyone has taken everything from me!” Tears streamed down his face freely. “I get to keep this one thing. I get to have them all back. And you can’t take that. No one can. I won’t let you.”

“Peter, you need to come home. I miss you, we all miss you so much, baby. Please!”

“I miss you too. That’s why I wanted you here. But you messed it all up. You could have stayed here with me. With Uncle Ben.” He wiped his eyes, trying to calm himself.

“I’m sorry, baby, you know I can’t.”

“So you have to leave.” He was informed that EDITH found the coding that had been put in and she started fixing it.

“I love you, Peter. Please, think about what you’re doing,” she begged him. She was pushed from the illusion, still able to see through her headset but she couldn’t interact anymore.

“I love you too. But I’ve already thought about it. This is where I belong.”

Her screen went dark.

She ripped the headset off and threw it, burying her face in her hands. She’d fucked it all up.

And she’d lost him. He didn’t want to come home.

He wasn’t going to come home.

Agent Oliver rushed in, wincing when the tech hit the wall. It was probably broken now, but that could be dealt with later. She’d just watched everything play out on the screen, just like the others had. May was the first priority. “Ma’am-“

“I’m going home.” She looked up, eyes red like she was holding back tears. She pushed her glasses up and sniffled. “I’m leaving. This entire operation is pointless.” She stood up, quickly leaving the room without looking back.

“Ms. Parker, please, we’ll figure out another way,” Paige followed after her.

“May?” Ned looked up from his computer, quickly wiping away his own tears. There was enough to deal with, he could hold it together. He still had to figure out how to save Peter. “Please, don’t go. Not yet.”

She looked at him, but shook her head. “I’m going home. I can’t...I can’t do this. I messed it up, you’ll be better off without me. I can’t help you anymore. I’m sorry.”

As she walked away, she heard other people calling after her. Probably Fury, some other agents. But she didn’t turn around. She needed to get out.

Unlike Peter, all she wanted was to go home.

The drive to the building was short, her brain in a fog the entire time. She didn’t let herself feel. She couldn’t yet. Not until she was in the safety of the apartment.

Her car was parked and she was going up the elevator before she knew it. She blinked, slightly disoriented. She kept her eyes closed during the ride up, almost convinced that she would see Peter again when the door opened.

Of course, she didn’t. And she walked to the door of the apartment, posture defeated. Her whole body felt heavy, weighed down.

As soon as she put the key in the lock, the door opened and Happy pulled her into his arms.

“The kid called me,” he told her gently.

Her heart skipped a beat when he said that, hoping maybe he meant Peter. Maybe he changed his mind.

“The one you’ve been working with. At SHIELD,” he clarified, seeing the look on her face.

With that, she promptly dissolved into tears.

May Parker was a strong woman. She didn’t cry often. And even less often around other people.

But too much had happened, even for her. And she knew that Happy wouldn’t go anywhere no matter what she said. That he would stay, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. So she let herself cry, not holding anything back.

Everything was falling apart. Each tear that fell reminded her of it all. The guilt, the hurt, the anger she’d felt. The reopened wound of missing Ben. The aching void in her heart where Peter was missing.

Her boy didn’t want to be saved. So what was there that she could do?

Maybe this was just another loss that she’d have to learn to live with.

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #SbPBP #B&B write #Peter’s EDITH!verse #starker angst #nff #mention of character death

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poke-entomology · 2 years

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After finally getting to Goldenrod City I stopped by the department store, picked up my funds from the prof, and got some supplies for the rest of my journey... Oh hey! I forgot to tell you guys why I’m out here in Johto to start with! Recap time!

~Day 0~

Okay, so it started back a couple weeks ago at the island. We got an offer to head out to the Johto region and do some personal research with Prof. Birch. I was chosen, as our local bug type expert, to head out and take full advantage (and get some more experience under my belt).

Unfortunately I had to leave my team behind for this one. *sniffle* Couldn’t even bring my little Ilumise. Gonna miss em... Oh! But the Prof did offer me one of their starter pokemon that didn’t get picked this year! It was an energetic little Tododile that loved battles! But didn’t love participating. We talked and agreed that they would travel with me as an assistant, help with catching my first pokemon, crossing water, that sort of thing. In exchange, the little guy would get to tag along and watch all my battles!

I decided to name them Cheer, our team’s cheerleader and my new number 1 fan!

~Day 1~

On the road we met up with a spunky Spinarak who was helping a Caterpie out of the pond near Cherrygrove City. I offered to let the two ride along with us till they were warm enough to move around on their own. Heh, they took a liking to my bag (though that may have been the lunch I had packed away, lol) and we got our first traveling companions! The Caterpie I named Duster after the powder attacks a Butterfree uses, also because I’m a huge nerd who loves Mother 3. Nanna the Spinarak is a caring little lady with a big heart so her name was easy to settle on.

~Day 2~

We met someone unexpected today, Professor Oak who was in the region to sponsor their own trainer, a rehabilitated kid who had a troubled past, named Silver. I uh, may have mentioned that my boss, Prof Peach, wasn’t the biggest fan of them.

Big mistake.

I was “encouraged” to battle with them to see who’s charge had more skill. Man, that was a slog of a fight. Cheer really wasn’t eager to go up against that Chikorita, especially given it’s distaste for fighting. But wouldn’t you know it? Nanna stepped in to defend the poor thing and won with a few pokes from it’s stinger!

And you know what else? Silver isn’t really that scary of a guy once you know him. A little blunt sure, but it seems like he came a long way. Gotta respect that! We talked about the league for a bit and decided to take on the gym challenge (hey, I can have hobbies on this business trip! it’ll help my studies!).

Well... I think that’s everything I didn’t cover in my other notes. I’ll keep you updated from here on out!

#decided to go for the story thing #a bit long since I had to cover so much #I'll try to keep them shorter from here on

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chauhee · 4 years

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Playful (Royal AU) - K. Sunwoo

[Requested by @prinxessouo] Hello! 🥰❤ Just came across your blog and was wondering if I can request a royal au scenario? Something like you're a princess and he's a prince and you meet at a ball and it's love at first sight or smth ♡ I seriously can't choose between Hyunjae, Juyeon and Sunwoo so could you just choose the one you think suits the best, please? 🥺❤ Thanks in advance and have a lovely day! ♡

Summary - it’s your first ball as the princess of your country. Thousands of people came from around the world to see you. You were also to meet the prince you were to marry in the future. Little did you know that you would meet a mysterious handsome man named Sunwoo in the process...

Warnings - None, I think.

Genre - Fluff

A/N: Hello! I also had a hard time choosing, because they’re all so perfect for this scenario. I chose Sunwoo because he seemed like a bit of a challenge to be put in a position of a prince (idk if that makes sense lol, just a feeling). Please request more! This was very fun to write, I hope you enjoy!

Powder and perfume overwhelmed your senses as you stood at the mirror, staring at your own reflection. Your eyes traced your perfect hair, not one strand out of place. Still, you searched for a flaw. Your dress was also perfect. It was chosen by you, made by the most talented tailors from around the world. Your shoes were slightly uncomfortable. That was all you could complain about.

They had kept you secluded from society for so long. The country knew you existed, but they hadn’t gotten the privilege of really seeing you, not after the incident with your older brother. He had lost the respect of the country, and was therefore banished when you were very young. You were never meant to have this high position, but here you were. The future queen.

Thousands of people flocked to see you tonight. If you only glanced outside your window you would become much too overwhelmed to handle the amount of attention awaiting you. You were nervous, understandably. You had never seen more than ten people at once, and now you have thousands begging to have, if only, a moment with you.

This was also the night you were to meet the prince you had been promised to. You knew you were to be married off for political reasons your entire life, and you trusted your parents to choose well, so you were not bothered by it. You had never seen his face, though.

You didn’t want to be shallow, but some part of you hoped he would be handsome. You cannot count the amount of times you had tried to imagine his face. You hoped he would smell good, that he would have soft skin, and that he would have a kind smile. Those were the three things you always considered when you thought of him.

“Honey?” Your mother walked into the room, also dressed to perfection. “It’s time to go down.”

She walked up behind you as you continued to observe yourself in the mirror. She could see that you were nervous, so she held your hand tightly.

“You will be doing this more often from now on,” She said softly beside your ear. “It will get easier.”

Usually advice does not help nerves too much. Sometimes it can actually make it worse. However, knowing all that your mother has gone through, it comforted you greatly. You smiled at her in the reflection.

“You look beautiful,” You told her. “I think I like your dress better.”

“Oh, stop. That color is perfect on you. Let’s go before we’re late.”

You followed your mother out of your room, through the wide corridor, and down the steps. Guards were at every corner, guaranteeing your safety. It made you feel simultaneously safe and uneasy. The fact that you even needed guards always made you feel strange. You wondered if they were there only to protect you or to make sure you don’t do anything... reckless. Like your brother.

The two of you reached the doors leading to the ballroom. Loud chattering and music filtered through the cracks in the door. It was exciting and overwhelming. The guards at the door awaited the signal to open the doors. Of course, you had to be introduced.

“...Princess (Y/N) and Queen (Y/M/N)!” You heard as the doors were pulled open with force.

The ballroom was full of all different kinds of people. Your curiosity left you a step behind your mother, who had to pull you forward slightly. You scanned all the faces of the people there. You could tell that for many of them, this was also their first ball. You smiled at the children who looked up at you in awe.

As you got closer to the front of the room where your father, the king, and your siblings stood, someone caught your eye. He was quite tall, at least, he was significantly taller than you. He had dark hair and the most handsome face you had ever seen before. Well, it wasn’t like you had seen very many faces at all. He stood out from the crowd as if there was a spotlight placed on him. He looked at you with an expression you could only describe as awe. When he saw you looking at him as well, he smiled.

You thought you could collapse from the intense feeling in your stomach and chest. You were nervous and excited at the same time. The feelings confused you, but you enjoyed it, anyway. You smiled back. It was a small smile, a flirtatious smile you had seen your cousins flash the boys who lived and worked in the castle before. You internally thanked your parents for forcing you to hang out with them, despite your distaste for your cousins in general.

You quickly looked forward, at your family. You stood up next to them and turned towards the crowd, just like you had been taught. Your father said a few words to the people, but you weren’t listening. Your mind was on that boy in the crowd. The one you avoided looking at in order to feign confidence for a few moments.

Once your father had finished speaking, the ball roared back to life. Hundreds of people moved in time with the music, causing a wave of incredible movement to occur right in the middle of the large room. Women went back to their conversations with glasses of alcohol in their hands. Servants continued to pass around food platters, slipping in and out of the room quietly. Children ran around, avoiding the watchful eyes of their parents. Men fell over themselves to get a glimpse of your father. You searched the room secretly for the man from before, but he seemed to have escaped your gaze. He must have slipped away while you were trying to be cool.

Great, now I lost him. You groaned internally.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. You’re promised to another. You straightened your posture and directed your attention back to the organized chaos surrounding you. You were waiting for someone to ask you to dance.

“Y/N!” A voice called from the crowd. You searched for the owner of the familiar voice that had called your name. “Y/N?”

There she was, right in front of you. Your childhood best friend. You had not seen her since the doors of the castle had been closed. You could barely contain your happiness to see her.

“Y/F/N!” You said, you swore you felt tears threatening to fall from your eyes. You restrained yourself from giving her a giant hug in front of everyone. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

“I know, right!” She looked at you with fond eyes, taking in the fact that you had grown so much. She had as well. “You look so beautiful!”

“So do you!” You laughed.

“Care to dance?” She bowed, playfully. You looked over at your parents, asking for permission silently. They both nodded. It had been a long time since they had seen you so happy, so they allowed you to have a bit of fun.

You took her hand and she walked you to the middle of the room where people were dancing energetically. Your friend twirled you dramatically, occasionally bumping into the older couples around you. No one was bothered, though. They enjoyed the youthful energy the two of you possessed.

After a few minutes, the music slowed down. Your friend pulled you into a slow dance to talk a bit. You two have a lot of catching up to do.

“So, how have you been?” You asked her.

“Not bad. I’ve missed you terribly, though,” She looked up at you with sad eyes. “I can’t believe I missed growing up with you.”

“I know...” The pang in your chest would not let up. It hurt you so much to be separated from your best friend. She was more your sister than any of your real sisters. You were inconsolable when you were told you would never see her again.

Thankfully, it was untrue, though. “But at least we can see each other now. We never have to be separated ever again. If anything ever happens, I’ll make you live here with me,” You said to her.

She lightened up a bit, laughing through her tears threatening to spill over her powdered cheeks. “Hey, don’t look but there’s an insanely handsome guy coming over to us.”

You tensed up a bit and despite your better judgement, you looked.

You caught him just as he reached the two of you. He smiled a bit awkwardly at the two of you. “Uh, Princess Y/N, can I have the next dance?” He asked.

You stared up at his handsome features, almost entranced by them. Your friend quickly answered for you, “She would be honored.”

Your friend let go of your hands, walking towards your siblings to speak to them while you danced with the (basically) perfect man.

He put his hand out for you to take it as the music changed. You were unaware of the fact that everyone in the room who was not dancing had turned to watch you two. Even your parents watched as he guided you further into the center of the room, placing one of his hands on your waist, the other holding your hand. You placed your free hand on his shoulder.

He’s strong. You thought to yourself. You felt him guide you through the dance moves. You had done them hundreds of times before in your dance classes, but they had been with your younger brothers or your cousins. This was entirely different. You could barely allow yourself to look up at his face, so you kept your eyes trained above his shoulder, staring into the distance.

“You look beautiful,” He said softly beside your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Thank you,” Your cheeks heated up. You glanced at him, seeing that he had been looking at your face this whole time. “You look very handsome.”

He chuckled, looking around the room for a second before returning his attention to you. “I’ve waited to meet you for a long time.”

“Really?” You turned back to look outside the grand windows. “I get that a lot, you know... as the princess.” You were only teasing.

“Ah, yes, of course, your highness,” he laughed again. You felt his breath on your skin. “I’m sure I’m a bit different from everyone, right?”

“What makes you say that?” You look into his deep brown eyes.

“I don’t know...” He turns the two of you quickly, causing a giggle to escape from you as you held onto him tighter. “Just a feeling?” He flashed a wide smile at you.

“What’s your name?” You asked him through laughs.

“Sunwoo. Kim Sunwoo.”

It sounded familiar, but you ignored the feeling quickly. “Nice to meet you, Kim Sunwoo.”

“Nice to meet you, too Y/N Y/L/N.”

“No one calls me that,” You laughed at him.

“Can I?”

“You can call me whatever you like,” Your gaze softened on his face, and you were suddenly hyper aware of his lips.

“Excuse me, Princess,” A man approached from your left. “May I have the next dance?”

He had the look of someone who was about to bore you to death with talks of politics. You couldn’t reasonably refuse, however, so you had to say goodbye to Sunwoo. He bowed and kissed your hand, holding onto it for a bit longer than what may be considered normal.

As you danced with a few other men, you couldn’t muster the strength to really listen to what they were saying. Your mind was on Sunwoo. You couldn’t get his eyes, or his hands, or the feeling of his breath on you out of your head. You were thankful when the music stopped and you were able to return to your family.

When your mother saw you approaching them, she smiled widely at you. She pulled you close to her while holding both of your hands. Your best friend also neared the two of you, clearly ecstatic about something you were not privy to.

“Are you ready?” Your mother asks you, smoothing out bits of your hair and dress that had fallen out of place as you were dancing.

“Ready?” You questioned.

“To meet him! The prince!” Your friend said from beside your mother.

You had entirely forgot about that, especially while dancing with Sunwoo. Well, it was fun while it lasted. “Oh, yes. I think so.”

Your mother guided you to the left corner of the room, where a group of men and women had gathered around your father and a young man who was hidden by the heads between you two. You took a deep breath. I guess Sunwoo was practice for the real thing. Maybe I should be thankful-

Your internal monologue was cut off when you saw exactly who was having such an interesting conversation with your father.

“Sunwoo!” Your mother called out. “It’s so wonderful to finally see you again after all these years. How you’ve grown into such a handsome gentleman!”

“It’s nice to see you too,” He looked over at you with a teasing smile.

“Well, this is Y/N,” Your mother pushed you forward, right in front of Sunwoo. “You two should start getting to know each other.”

“Hi again,” He chuckled at you.

“You knew this whole time?”

“I thought you were playing, too!” He said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to deceive you.”

You sighed. “So...”

“Would you like to go outside?” He asks, putting his hand out for you to hold once more. “It’ll be easier to speak to you without so much noise,” he leans closer to you, whispering in your ear: “and without so many watchful eyes.”

You glanced over your shoulder, finally noticing the fact that everyone in the room had turned to watch the two of you. You turned back to Sunwoo. “I’d love to.”

He held your hand as you two walked off to be alone. The confused onlookers watched as he guided you outside, to the garden. You didn’t pay them mind, though. All you felt was his strong hand holding yours. The broad night sky welcoming you two under it’s protection. It was a night you would certainly remember forever.

#the boyz #sunwoo #this was a bit inspired by frozen if you can't tell #WOW I pumped this one out fast #I hope it's good #thank you for requesting again #my writing #requested

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reinepadova · 3 years

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To Be Seen

[←Previous] | Chapter 4 | [ Next → ]

There are many paths up the mountain. But the view from the top is always the same.

Qingce Village. A plot of land once dwelt by an enormous, dreaded beast. A great threat, and source of terror for its inhabitants. Dark were the skies, and molten was the earth. Stones quaked and shifted from battles sown, and water turned fog from the heat of conflict.

Many a life perished or fled – those that are able, found refuge in the marshes or by the sea. Those that could not, stayed and endured.

But long has passed those years of misery, Morax reflected, eyes turned soft at the drifting dust under sunlight. Only Mt. Qingce remains, steadfast and true. A preserver of the old and the young, and of the croplands turned abundant. The landscape painted with colors of tranquility, with shades of the quiet.

To this, he could say, was one reason he fought. Why he dared raise great spears against those that oppose him, that question his strength. Why his ambitions for a seat with the Seven was so great.

Why he let his life's blood spill and his flesh torn asunder, all to be used for trade.

All he had sacrificed... so that all may prosper. So those deemed weak but with a passion for life, and a mind that craves understanding may learn, may improve. May become greater than what they thought to be. What they can be.

And flourish they did, Morax thought fondly, gazing out the window to watch three children play. A boar in the distance, charging away. Admirably so, like the trees and blooms that persisted amidst the cracked earth, or emerged from the muddy waters that once flowed red.

His eyes narrowed, then shut, musings turned grey.

He has danced and sung to the tune of combat, played his part well into the final act. His will, ironclad – unyielding and absolute, against the odds. Against all the other gods. All to reach the peace the entire land longed for after the audacious declaration from Celestia:

「Survive, and be crowned The Seven.」

「Gain the power of the divine.」

「Be one above all, in your chosen land.」

And to this, he succeeded, with glory placed upon his head, and the remnants of slaughter at his feet.

The Prime of the Adepti, said they. A riotous cheer. A whisper, filled with dread. Ha. Even among the Seven – the original, and the newly seated – he is the eldest, hence, the most respected. And therein lies his burden. To be charged as the standard, to be exemplary in the eyes of his people...

Still. This position is not without its advantages – he would not have fought for it if there were none. Truly, he could not ask for more, even if he tried. The enormity of his titles, to be granted the highest of honors among those that dwell in the newly named Teyvat – bearing in mind the heavens that granted his godhood of course.

His people are proud of him. His land reveres him.

And yet.

Why must this... dissatisfaction linger? The feelings of restlessness. Aimlessness. Like a shell drifting in endless sea.

What must be missing, when the fruits of his labor, the smiles of his people, and the generations therafter, are present and abundant? When the inhabitants accepted his protection, his standards, with delight, and worship. When they honor him by fulfilling contracts in accordance to how he fulfill his. When they sing songs and tell stories of his conquests, of his deeds as lessons to keep in mind, as morals to strive for and progress to.

Why then does this void exist? What is it he still lacks as a being?

Is... he still enough? Is he –

“... is Mei still doing good?”

A murmur, gentle and small, broke through his musings, eerily echoing his thoughts out loud. Morax turned inquisitive, amber eyes at the closed door, wonder outshining the memories, and bringing him back to the present.

The Miss Lala had been explicit about the necessity of his confinement, citing the resurgence of chaos upon his appearance. Seeing the tired yet resolute set to her shoulders, he could only acquiesced. He did not wish to tire the lady more with an argument. But truly, it was an odd request, at best. His people are familiar with this form, and would not run in fright, as she so fears. Why, they would likely crowd around him, vying for his blessing and attention and –

He rested one claw under his maw, pondering. Ah. That brand of chaos. I see. It seems she has better foresight than the average mortal. And most considerate as well. How kind.

His ears perked, hearing a faint, crackling call of farewell at the main entrance. He swiftly nudged open the door of the lady's chambers and floated out, seeing immediately the quiant scene at the kitchen.

“You're doing very good. You can stop when you smell it turning to powder. It's like... milk, but very very faint.”

“Oh! Can Mei put it on the lilies after? Please? Pretty please?”

Even from behind, the tilt of her head, the softness of her stance, indicates a fondness for the child. There is no doubt she is smiling down at her as well. She patted Young Mei in between her pigtail buns and replied, “Of course you can! You can sprinkle as much as you want. After we make the soil mix.” The little girl squealed, turning back to her task with renewed vigor.

He drifted closer, brows furrowing when the lady discreetly rub at her eyes while the little one is distracted.

It seems I may need to intervene.

-{-}-

Stella raised a brow, feeling long whiskers brush over her shoulder, before the slight weight of the guardian's muzzle rested on it. She smiled when gold orbs focused curiously on the crunching and banging Mei's been doing, relieved that he showed himself after the chief went out for her rounds.

“It's for the flowers,” she explained, reaching to caress a glowing petal nearby. “A bird's eggshell is rich in minerals. Its as effective as any other fertilizer... but with lot less smell.” Mei giggled in agreement, adding that her Gran-gran was ecstatic when she was taught other tricks in the garden from Lala – especially doing away with 'pork poopy' all together. “Also, also, Lala taught Mei how to water plants!”

Stella chuckled at the inquiring eyes of their floating guest, who managed to tilt its head at her from an odd angle – the perks of having a long neck, I guess? “She keeps drowning the Jueyun Chili plants back in the Harbor. At most, they just need a sip within a week. Ha! I know that look,” she crowed, seeing familiar incredulity on the guardian's face. “I don't know why no one thought to cultivate herbs in their own garden. Or to water them for that matter. They can't always depend on the rain. No one can control the weather.

Besides, if you can cultivate rare flowers, like the ones in Yujing Terrace, why not something as common as herbal plants?”

-{-}-

It is because of their plenitude that such notion is not considered. The oceanids have a knowing of the needs of the land – as such is my deal with them. They have been good to Liyue ever since. Why, when the croplands of Qingce are at their most vulnerable, Rhodeia answered their plea in an instant!

– Is what Morax would have said. But he only let out a small rumble and slow nod, turning back to the little girl covered in flecks of white powder, gaze softening at the sight of her bright smile.

As insightful as the siren has been since the start of their journey, it is not unwise to tread carefully. Knowledge is power. I have yet to know what she will do with it, once bestowed. If only the Fatui have not been such a conniving force as of late. I would have welcomed any foreigner within my stone walls.

Nevertheless, her care for a child not her own or of her people is admirable and exceptional, a far cry from how that organization operates. Her good sense too, would make for an engaging conversation.

Throughout the endless centuries he lived through – and will continue to, perhaps – he beared witness to a myriad of changes, great and small. No detail is insignificant enough for him to overlook. Or at all. He could not afford to. For one changed clause, nay, even one unclear word, could spell disaster for his land's defenses.

That said, he could assert he has very good memory. All printed and verbal contents of a contract is written like a tablet in his head, etched deep and fixed. The prosperity Liyue is blessed with is proof of his steadfast attention to detail; to consider all particulars, both the advantage and disadvantage, before he would, as they say, 'seal the deal'.

It is rare indeed for him to think 'what more does he not know?'

And yet, here he his, observing and listening. The lady elucidating their intention to gather an interesting mixture made out of smoked rice husk, charred wood, clay and soft sand. Another source of nutrients, she says, for the Lilies to be comfortable in during transport.

Eventually, he could focus no longer at her words, seeing her fighting to keep awake, feeling her sway dangerously on her feet. Her charge looked up in concern as she leaned on the counter, eyes closed shut in pain.

-{-}-

Stella gritted her teeth, about to reach for her temple when her world shifted again.

Although she never indulge in the various wines this world had to offer, she can imagine this was how the drunks at the dock feel: head, heavy as ores; body, light as a feather.

Or was it, float like a feather? It certainly feels like she's in the air. Literally. A sensation she never thought she'd experience again after –

An inkling of worry crept up her neck, minutely thinking of Mei, before she faceplanted on something soft. She reached out a hand, feeling cotton and smooth silk. Her...bed?

“Urgh... where – what?”

A low snort nearby answered her. She felt too tired to think of anything of it. The pillow under her seems exceptionally comfortable right now. Maybe she won't suffocate if she stayed this way?

So. Tired...

A chuff sounded next, lighter in tone, before something wrapped around her shoulders. She breathed deep as sunlight burned her eyes, a tugging at her feet made her crane her head down. She now lied flat on her back, with a large, blurry... something, weighing her down.

“... Mei? What are you doing?”

Her charge was quiet, wholly concentrated on making sure her boots were placed near the bed before coming up to her. The little girl tugged and dragged a blanket up and over her legs, intending to swaddle her with it. Stella feebly raised an arm, wanting to help, but a gleam of teeth made her pause. A muzzle cradled a handful of the cloth near Mei's arm, and lifted it easily up to Stella's chin.

“Lala? You rest, okay?” the little girl whispered, smoothing down the blanket while staring at her with wide, understanding eyes. “You work hard again for Mei. The Lilies? Mei tried to follow you last night, but Chief-dàmā told Mei to stay and wait. Mei tried, but Mei too tired. Mei wants you to sleep now.”

“But Mei. The Lilies – ”

“Gran-gran always scold bàba 'a person who does not know good rest, does not know how to do good work'. Leave the Lilies to Mei! Mei will ask for help. Promise! Lala should rest.”

“Are you sure – ”

“Lala. Rest.” the girl asserted, a stubborn tilt to her chin, but eyes still pleaded for her to agree.

Before Stella could make up her mind, the weight on her chest suddenly spread, encompassing her down to her legs, trapping her effectively. A huff of hot breath made her squint and look up. Larger, glowing orbs stared her down, making her stare back, mouth agape.

Mei giggled, seemingly satisfied she'll behave while Mr. Guardian was around, and quietly left. The skipping tone of her steps was still loud enough for Stella to hear behind the closed door.

She sighed, gaze turning wry. “Alright. You made your point. Get off.” Having a predator over her like this would normally be a terrifying experience. But when she remembered how kind it had been with her during their sprint back to the village, and how gently it gazed down at Mei, she knew she could trust it – to a certain degree. She's sure it has the strength to crush her with a quick squeeze, but she's oddly confident it won't.

Stella quickly reconsidered her good opinion though when the creature had the gall to chuff, as if amused, and placed its large head next to her, adjusting its body to lie comfortably on the bed – but with her still under it!

A sudden thought went through her like a lightning bolt.

“If you can grow this large, why didn't you do so last night and we could, you know, fly back here?”

Amused eyes turn blank, blinking back at her with a look that spelled of realization.

Stella groaned, grumbling about 'common sense is not common at all' under her breath.

-{-}-

“I apologize, good sir. But Zhongli-xiānsheng has not yet returned,” Ferrylady intoned quietly, bowing her head.

The gentleman in Fatui robes raised a blonde brow, growing pensive. “Still? How peculiar. We thought this special consultant is only busy during an adepti's Rite of Parting. It's been awhile since the last one, isn't it? We heard he's fond of strolling around the harbor. He's not one easily missed.”

“That is not inaccurate. But – ”

“But as we value his expertise in all matter of things, we believe he deserves some 'R and R' once in a while, don't you think~? I gave him leave to do so however long he likes~” said a laughing voice at the doorway.

“Hu Tao-zhǔrèn!”

“Oh. The Director?”

Hu Tao smiled wide, closed lipped, strolling into the office with a dancing step. Despite her upbeat demeanor, the gentleman still sweat dropped at the strange gleam in her eyes. “A consultant's work is just as demanding as any other job in Liyue, you see. Its why those of this realm, and of the next, leave very satisfied from our parlor~ No complaints at all!” she giggled sweetly, eyeing him more as she took a dainty step closer. “Buuut. Considering you have been on such a long wait, we will give you a great discount! Twenty percent, including the incense. You'll even get double the savings if you have a buddy with you~” she sang, fanning out two dark coupons from her sleeve and waving them invitingly.

The gentleman froze in place, quaking internally in terror. His time in the Fatui made him all too familiar with subtle threats, and this is a masterfully done one. Luckily, the Ferrylady spoke softly again, distracting him from his oncoming panic.

“Sir, may I take a message? Or would you rather we send for you when he arrives?”

“Ah, ahh...no need! The Director is... very clear, ehem – we don't mind the wait at all! An appointment with him is not that urgent anyway. Just mention the Fatui is interested to get acquainted with him, and his knowledge of the obscure. We’re confident your business will greatly benefit from a connection with us.”

“Hmm... I doubt it,” the Director hummed breezily, turning to a window to gaze out at the full moon.

The gentleman blinked, thinking he misheard. “Excuse me?”

Hu Tao giggled cutely, glancing back at him with smiling eyes. “We'll keep your words in mind, good sir! Buh-bye now~ I'm sure you're a busy man yourself. Our dear undertaker will tend to you when you need our services. At any time.”

The gentleman gulped, eyes widening. “Uhh, right. Yes! With gratitude!

Uhm, farewell, Director Hu. Thank you for gracing us with your presence, and your time. You too, Ferrylady,” he hurriedly added, not wanting to often the boss of the funeral parlor by being rude to the undertaker –

The... undertaker...

One who buries the bodies...!

When the gentleman hastily scurried away into the night, the Ferrylady turned to her young boss, face turning worried.

“Hu Tao-Zhǔrèn? I apologize if this might be spoken out of turn but – ”

“Why am I so direct with a potential customer?” Hu Tao smiled more lightly, doodling something on a parchment with careless brushstrokes.

“...”

Hu Tao chuckled, used to the Ferrylady's silence. The quiet suits the atmosphere perfectly.

“Hmm. Let’s just say for those that have incurred death's wrath, dark butterflies shall sure to follow. Poor things. To think they would have to do such a thing. Such a waste of delicate beauty.”

The Ferrylady gasped, hovering her hands over her mouth, eyeing the rough symbol of the Fatui next to large ink splatters. “Oh my! You mean – ”

“When Zhongli-xiānsheng is back, warn him of the visit. Business might pick up soon. Who knows~?” Hu Tao shrugged, humming thoughtlessly into the moonlit night.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

[←Previous] | Chapter 4 | [ Next → ]

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

A/N: Sorry for the long introspection. I’ve been like this whenever I try to think link a 6,000+ y.o. Archon. Then again, no matter how much knowledge you have, there’s so many things you can still learn about.

Like common sense.

Quick translation of the honorifics I chose to use:

Chief-dàmā = Mei affectionately calling Granny Ruoxin ‘Chief Granny/Auntie’.

bàba = daddy/papa

xiānsheng = mister. In Japanese, its like ‘sensei’ (hence the Jap Dub xD)

zhǔrèn = director/manager

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Follower Tag: @meladollsims

#to be seen #zhongli #zhongli x female OC #zhongli x oc #fanfiction #companion mini exuvia #shapeshifting archon #hu tao #ferrylady #common sense is not common

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fleckcmscott · 4 years

Text

To Have and To Hold

Summary: Y/N makes an oversight at work. The resulting extra hours with Arthur delight them both.

Warnings: Swearing, Smut

Words: 4,272

A/N: This story had been kicking around in my head for about two months, but I hadn’t been sure if I was going to write it. Then I read @sweet-nothings04‘s amazing Hand-in-Hand (which you all need to check out, if you haven’t), and knew I had to put it on paper. Thanks to her for the inspiration to finally develop this, and for the title, too!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Perhaps it was the sunshine that stirred her. Or the horns of traffic on congested streets. The hammering of a distant construction site. The chatter and occasional yelling of passersby. The hum of Gotham awakening.

Y/N blinked in confusion - how could it be so bright this early? - and squinted at the clock at Arthur's side of the bed. No numbers greeted her, just its blank, plastic display. Stretching, she reached to her left for her watch, in its spot by the beige rotary phone on the nightstand.

"Shit!"

Nearly knocking over her glass of water, she clambered off the mattress. Arthur had warned her the lights could go off in his apartment. Not often and not for long. But enough to annoy. Naturally, his building's shoddy electricity had to mess with the alarm today. When she'd stayed up too late. When he'd had to leave ahead of her to commute to the other end of the city for a rare winter gig. When her body had chosen to oversleep in the coziness of his blankets.

Her nylons had never been yanked on with such haste. Arthur had made coffee but she skipped it in favor of brushing her teeth. Pausing on her way out, she took a calcium supplement and grabbed a note from the counter. She read it while riding the wood-paneled, graffiti covered elevator: "Your presentashin will be great. You snored a lot. Good thing your cute. - Arthur." He always signed his name. As though she wouldn't recognize his scrawl. As if anyone else wrote her sweet, sassy missives. She grinned until she hopped on the for-once punctual subway.

The presentation he'd referred to was set for that afternoon. She was expected to discuss the evidence and court file for this week's contested hearing. Last night, she'd sat at Arthur's breakfast bar to compile the case's final details and finish prep sheets. Gently, she'd rebuffed his subtle advances. His attempts to draw her attention from work to him.

Excitement had been palpable as he'd hovered near her. She was fairly certain she knew the cause because it enthused her as well. In three and a half short weeks, he'd be moving in with her. They'd officially begin traversing whatever the future held for them together. Hesitation had been clear in his posture, his drawn shoulders when (after plenty of convincing on her part that yes, she really, really, wanted him) he'd finally accepted the key to her place. But since he'd added it to his own keyring, he'd brightened. Strode a little taller. Walked a little prouder. Touched a little bolder. As though the weight he carried had lessened, at least by a couple cinder blocks' worth.

At his slight pout, she'd decided to find a way to involve him. He'd perched on the stool next to her, rested his cigarette in the pink ashtray to the left, and taken the proffered exhibit stickers with a quirked brow. Y/N had handed him papers, which he'd added labels to for her to write on. Then she'd stacked them in four different piles according to type. It had taken longer than usual - she was faster alone. But the intimacy of sharing the professional elements of her life with Arthur (besides the office wear he liked, claiming it showed how "smart" and "pretty" she was) had tightened her chest. And the curved-up corner of his thin lips had reflected how pleased he was, too.

They hadn't been able to collaborate on everything, however. It was past midnight by the time she'd joined Arthur, who had retreated to the bedroom an hour or so earlier. He'd been sitting against the headboard, half under the cover. The harsh blue light emanating from the old black and white TV at the foot of the bed had sharpened his features. Deepened the set of his eyes. He'd stubbed out his smoke as she closed the door. "I taped The Honeymoon Game. We can watch it when you're here again." A beat. "If you're not busy."

"This is supposed to be my last big project for a month or so." Sighing, she'd gotten her nightgown from her overnight bag. "I didn't mean for it to take all evening." She climbed in next to him and threw her arm across his lap. "I'm sorry."

He'd been stiff. Unyielding. The telltale signs he was miffed or upset. But he'd twined her hair around his finger, let his touch fall to her brow bone. "It's okay," he'd said lowly, adjusting to lie alongside her. "I don't want to be... I'm not being fair."

"You don't have to pretend with me, Arthur. It's all right to be annoyed." Tiredness had pulled at her as she'd fought to watch the rest of Gotham Tomorrow Tonight. The contact of his socked toes to her bare ones had made her smile, though, and she'd nuzzled his bicep. "I missed you," she'd mumbled, then promptly passed out.

The squeal of wheels on metal tracks prompted her to sling her canvas tote onto her shoulder. Shaw & Associates was a short sprint from the nearest station. She was certain she looked ridiculous, running down the street in her high heels. But she managed to slip into the office with two minutes to spare. Once she poured herself a cup of joe and straightened her blazer, she settled in her cushioned chair to get started.

It was only when Matt told her he wanted to meet before lunch that she'd rummaged in her bag. And realized she'd neglected to bring the file. Recalled it was sitting on Arthur's kitchen counter.

Fuck.

Her nails tapped the wood surface of her desk. Excusing herself to the bathroom so she could go retrieve it wouldn't fly. Matt would send a search party. She could try to discuss everything from memory, tell him documents were still being gathered. But he wasn't that oblivious. She settled on owning her error. "It's at home." Her delivery was nonchalant.

He waited until she'd loaded her typewriter with paper, then responded wryly. "You're not supposed to take files home anymore. Remember what happened last time?"

She leaned back as he stepped in front of her. "There was the slew of family cases that came in. With Patricia on leave, I'm handling all our calls and mail. Not to mention paperwork on her filings. It wouldn't have gotten finished if I hadn't taken it." Snorting, she shook her head at herself. Heat bloomed in her neck. "Not that it matters when I don't have it."

Expression softening, Matt stuck his hands in his pockets and jutted his chin at her. "How long did you work on it?"

It was hard to discern if he actually cared about the hours she put in. Or if he merely wanted to gauge the possibility of her doing investigations off the books again, something he'd explicitly prohibited. "I don't know." She waved dismissively. "Three or four hours?"

He let out a huff. "You put in enough time already. Go home at noon. We'll get to it first thing tomorrow."

"I have a lot to do." Her eyes widened at the myriad piles of folders laying around. "And I can't imagine you playing operator."

"I've managed when you've both been in court or at appointments. Besides," he continued as he headed back to his office. "You never take days off."

Straightening, she wheeled her chair to watch him plop down on his leather seat. "I'm taking three days next month," she countered.

His glare contained an unequal mix of mirth and consternation. "Y/N?"

The phone started ringing. She succeeded in making one ear ignore it. "Yes?"

"I know you haven't forgiven me for that whole Renew Corp. thing." She flinched at the casual mention of the company she loathed. Of her failure. But she forced herself to listen. Matt picked up a pen and started writing. “Rather than being stubborn, try saying, 'You're right.'"

~~~~~

Y/N stood in front of the narrow, white stove, stirring the soup she'd thrown together using bouillon, carrots, onions, and pasta. Ingredients she'd found in Arthur's kitchen. Music poured, at a respectable volume, from the radio on the windowsill. Swaying out-of-time, she added a sprinkling of black pepper, one of the only three spices he had (along with powdered garlic and salt). Wearing a content smirk, she sampled the steaming broth.

When she'd left the office, she'd been frustrated at herself. Yes, she was human. Everyone made mistakes. But she wasn't the forgetful type. Particularly if someone was depending on her. However, as she'd stopped in Burnley for another change of clothes, hopped on the train to Otisburg, and pictured Arthur's reaction to finding her in his home instead of having to call to wish her sweet dreams, her disposition had improved. Not only would he have her for an extra night. He'd get a late lunch, too.

The click of the deadbolt and clank of his keys on the entrance table came the second she turned off the stove. She listened to his heavy exhale as his bag dropped to the floor and shut the door. In her peripheral vision he froze, then approached tentatively. She reveled in his delicate hold on the dip of her waist, the peck he planted on her cheek. The smell of greasepaint wafted to her nose. "I hoped I hadn't made this up," he sighed with what sounded like relief. "But your meeting."

She angled herself towards him, gaze roving over his red and blue plaid blazer. The painted-on smile. His irresistible brown curls, mostly flattened by the wig he'd worn. Fidgeting with the petals of the squirting flower on his lapel, she scrunched up her face. "This morning went to shit." She explained the power outage, the clock, her own stupidity at leaving the file in his apartment. "I've packed it. Don't worry."

His posture grew pensive. "Sorry. Maybe- Maybe we should have stayed at your place. Your building's better."

Him thinking her error was somehow his fault had to be nipped in the bud. "No," she said. "You asked to make more memories here before we move in together. I'm happy to do that."

He paused, long enough she could have sworn she'd heard the gears in his head grinding. "Are you in trouble?"

Not unexpectedly, he had put together her mistake and her early dismissal from work and assumed the worst. "If I wasn't fired for trying to stop the Waynes, it's going to take more than an oversight to get me thrown out on my ass." Her brow furrowed. She sneaked a hand under his jacket and placed her palm on his chest. "I just hate that I wasted last night for nothing."

Soft lips, slightly sticky with red paint, grazed her temple. "It's okay," he said. "You're here now. And I got to help you."

The balm of his kindness loosened her rigid stance. His zeal to assist her, to ask questions, to learn about every aspect of her branded her heart completely. She leaned into him, kissed the squishy fold of skin under his chin, and nudged his ribs. "Food's ready. Go change. I want to hear all about your day."

Arthur emerged from the bathroom within minutes, clad in his worn, blue house pants and toweling his hair. Dimples were on constant display while they ate. The glint in his eyes was the one he usually had if his act or a job had gone particularly well, if he was pleased with himself. Was the one starting to be an almost weekly occurrence. Was the one that made his green eyes sparkle and caused her stomach to flip. He inched closer to her with every sentence.

The kids at the new children’s medical center had liked Carnival, he said. They hadn’t minded that he’d "filled in" for Gary. The magic tricks had all gone without a hitch, and the clinic had provided the balloons, which was a savings. The nurses and doctors had been nice; they’d even asked for his card. He’d had to provide a slip of paper with his address and telephone number instead. But he was sure he’d be invited to perform again. And he asked Y/N for help writing Gary a thank you note for the referral, claiming, “You’re better at that than me.”

“You’re the one who journals every day.” Her bowl and spoon clattered in the sink. “And your letter to me was beautiful. Just let me proofread it.”

Soon they were reclined on the sofa, sharing the flat pillow he’d used when he’d had no choice but to sleep there. The tape he’d recorded yesterday was playing. The Honeymoon Game had been a casual watch before, he’d explained. Not a nightly ritual like Murray. Given that he had a girlfriend and was a boyfriend himself, it had become fun to view.

She was only half-focused on the TV’s talking heads. Her mind was drifting to moving day, which filled her with gladness. She examined the plaid walls, the white cream color ceiling, the knick-knacks strewn about in the glow of the setting sun. The lantern with an owl hanging in the corner; the green, plastic drawers by the television; the curio cabinet... They were all a part of 8J, but assuredly not a part of him. How much would he be bringing with him, she wondered. And what would he be leaving behind?

“With one sugar and a shot of milk.” Arthur’s lively voice broke through her contemplation. Ah. He was reacting to the questions posed to the contestants, and making the answers about her, as he was wont to do.

She nestled back into the pleasant warmth of his firm frame. “Three sugars,” she replied, confirming she knew how he took his coffee. They continued to play along, with him showing off everything he’d memorized about her, and her replying with what she’d gathered about him.

Eventually, he shifted behind her. Raised himself on his elbow. “How did you know you loved me?”

Her hum was soft. Short. Possible responses were multitude. She’d suspected she could fall for him early on. When he’d wanted to repay her for doing what anyone should have done on the subway. And the first time he’d had the courage to call her after they’d split a slice of pie, his slight stammer revealing his nervousness. Maybe she’d say it was how slowly he’d drunken his wine during dinner, initially squinting as he sipped, his inexperience with alcohol obvious.

But she chose to go with what she believed was truest. What she assumed he’d hear most keenly. “Before we slept together, I hadn’t been with anyone for four years. And even then, it was different.” His hand splayed on her abdomen, thumb dragging along the waistband of her green leggings. A delightful ache flared in her center. “When I woke up, I felt perfect.”

“You felt like you were perfect?”

“No, silly,” she laughed, batting his forearm. “I knew I hadn't made a mistake. I reached out to your side, first thing - I’d thought of it that way, even then.” At the sensation of his hardening shaft against her rear, she giggled. “You’d made me so happy. You always do. I wanted to you to bed me again.”

The round tip of his nose skimmed her cheek, and she shivered at the dip of his fingers into her panties. “I want to again,” he rasped, paraphrasing her. The grind of his length was making her light-headed, and she twisted her torso to look at him. “I’ve been thinking about it.” Cheekbones glowing, he averted his eyes. “Ever since I woke up.”

“My monthly started,” she said regretfully. His descent halted, and a groan of frustration left him as he lowered his forehead to her shoulder. She mused. While he was becoming more apt to say what he desired, it happened rarely. But she loved it and didn’t want to discourage him from letting himself be assertive. Would he be offended by her suggestion? “I freshened up before we laid down. I have a tampon in. There are other things we can do.” She pressed her lips together, hoping she didn’t sound presumptuous. “If you’re comforta-“

“I’m comfortable.” His mouth quickly claimed hers, opening on a sigh. The tip of his tongue laved at the seam of her lips, and his messy enthusiasm made her whimper. Leaving a scorching trail in its wake, his hand traversed to her upper leg, gliding over the crease where her thigh and vulva met.

Shallow breaths caressed the nape of her neck, stoking the heat threatening to consume her. But the studio audience blaring from the television’s mono-speaker kept wresting her out of her haze. She snatched the VCR remote from the coffee table and hit the pause button.

The tease of his fingertips at her dark curls caused the peaks of her breasts to stiffen. She gasped as the rough fabric of her sweater dragged along them. His fore- and ring fingers spread her outer lips and she shuddered. The leisureliness of his fondling didn’t detract from its intoxicating effect.

Though it was a tad rough. “You’re kinda dry. Hold on.” Swiftly, he brought his hand to his mouth and wet his fingertips. Y/N blinked at him. It was clear he thought nothing of it, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, considering he’d confided he liked going down on her. Still. Seeing this normally reserved man improvise so he could pleasure her made her center throb with need.

Y/N was doing her damnedest to get her leggings and underwear down. Arthur snorted at her spirited, failed attempt at kicking them away. “It’s okay,” he chuckled, pushing them off her ankles with his foot. Then his touch fluttered at her swollen folds. She arched into him, already feeling as though she would burst. Bent at the knee, her leg lifted until her foot was flat on the couch cushion, allowing him easier access. He took advantage, sweeping forward and back along the rigid line of her engorged clitoral hood. She rolled towards him subtly, her moans getting louder with each tap to her sensitive nub.

Still holding himself up, he cradled her head. "Your sounds make me crazy," he said lowly. Once his hips started following hers, faintly rutting against the flesh of her backside, she closed her eyes. Hurriedly, she reached behind her to yank at his pajamas. "What?" he asked.

"I want to feel you," she whispered. There was a huff and some fumbling. And moments later his cock was settled at the cleft of her bottom. She bit her lip, savoring the weight of him. God, he felt wonderful.

His fingertips whispered over her clit, daring to follow the edge of her inner labia. She heard him gulp. "How does it feel when we're together? When- When I'm in you?"

"Warm. Full. Like you belong there," she replied with a smile. That last part of her response must have been unexpected, given that his grazes ceased and he trembled. "Don't stop," she whined, placing her hand on his. "Please, Arthur. You know just how to touch me."

Groaning, he started anew, deftly swiping quicker and quicker. The undulations of her pelvis hastened unevenly, begging both for release and for their coupling to last forever. She ran her palm up her torso, kneading her breast and plucking at her nipple. He nuzzled at her ear, grunting low in the back of his throat. Winding her fingers into his loose waves, she tugged lightly. Her belly twitched. Her whole frame tingled.

His skillful touch. The love they had for one another. The noises he was making in the crook of her shoulder. They all combined to throw her over the edge, and a wave of pleasure crashed through her. She cried his name brokenly, feeling empty without him inside her. But he kept holding her, guiding her through the crests of her climax. She was gasping, struggling to suck in air. Surely, she thought, he could detect the thundering of her heart against her ribs.

Gradually, the quivering grip she had on his locks eased. The kisses he planted on her neck were open-mouthed, desperate. And he hadn't halted the ardent movements of his hips. Y/N turned onto her other side. Gazing at him, she raked his curls out of his face, caressed his cheekbone with her knuckles. His look was hungry, darkened with need. The creases between his brows deepened as her hand trailed through the sparse dusting of hair on his chest.

There was a youthful charm to this situation, she considered. To them craving each other but not completely joining. It reminded her of being a teenager. When she'd been curious and horny, but nervous and not quite ready to go "all the way" with her ex. Being with Arthur allowed her to do all that again. To relive those experiences, to explore and make discoveries with him. To fall further in love with him daily.

She tenderly pecked the freckles at the top of his sternum, nestled against the notch above his clavicle. "I'm lucky to have you."

He didn't miss a beat, even as she trailed past the ticklish spots on his flank. "I'm luckier."

"I disagree." She outlined the slender muscles of his stomach, the v-lines leading to his cock. Played with the springy, brown curls at the base of him. "Without you, I'd only have my work. Which was enough before. But not now." After a moment, she concluded she was being sappy. She had to change it up. "And I wouldn't be having the best sex of my life."

Clearly flustered, he muffled his laugh. "Really?" His blush was prominent, his grin ecstatic.

"Really." Groans short and sudden, he rocked into her touch when she encircled his ample girth. Her fingers danced along his shaft, marveling at the contrast of his velvety skin with how hard he was. Pumping up and down, she tugged at him, trying to match the speed of his thrusts. He nudged his nose to hers, gazing at her before his hooded eyes flitted to watch what she was doing. Then she looked, too.

The sight of him fucking into her hand made her dizzy with want, even though he'd just gotten her off. The crimson, swollen head glistened, slick beading generously at the tip. Y/N licked her lips and spread it around him with the pad of her thumb. Moaning sharply, he bucked harder. Her motions quickened, flicking repeatedly at the notch on the underside.

Demand was implicit in the grasp he had on her upper arm. And it strengthened as his hips' stuttered, becoming unpredictable. Ragged pants hit her face. "I'm- I'm gonna make a mess.”

"It's all right," she soothed. Keeping ahold of him, she lay on her back. He followed and settled on top of her. Whimpering her name, he rubbed himself against her labia. But she gently pushed him onto his knees and continued palming him, her fingers teasing the ridge on his erection. It wouldn't take long to make him come. She could see it in the clench of his jaw, the tightening cords in his neck, his abrupt, needy cries...

Plunging forward, he held himself in place, grunting, clutching her urgently. His release hit her abdomen, warm and wet, and she gasped, her body curving up towards him. The feel of him spilling onto her couldn't completely distract her, though. Not from the beauty of his parted lips. Not from the relief that gradually spread across his features. Not from the slackening of his muscles as tension ebbed.

Sweat had gathered on his forehead. A droplet ran from the end of a dark brow to his jawline. Then he kissed her, his mouth groping at hers. "I love you," he said. He gave her one last peck and sat up on his knees. Holding onto the arm of the sofa, he retrieved her underwear from the floor and wiped her belly off. "That was fun." He tucked his chin bashfully.

"I concur." She entwined their hands and sat, then stretched as she pushed herself to stand and walk to the bathroom. The washcloth he'd designated as hers hung on the hook by the towels. She cleaned herself, listening as Arthur started the show again.

A new round of questions was just beginning. "When you and your spouse first met," the host started, "what was your first impression?"

Arthur's answer was instant. "Nice."

Y/N said the first thing that came to mind. "Handsome."

She popped her head out of the room to find him leaning on the entrance of the short corridor, beaming at her with hitched giggles. He was probably waiting for his turn to clean up. Like he normally did. But she couldn't stop herself from staring at him. Loving eyes met hers and his brows lifted expectantly. "Yes?"

Smiling, she wrung out the washcloth and put it back in its place. She stepped to him with a smile and smoothed his hair back. The rush of happiness in her soul, one she wasn't even sure she had, enamored her. Not only at what they'd shared on his old, scratchy sofa. But at Arthur being Arthur. At knowing soon she'd get to sleep next to him every night. Build a life with him, one she hadn't dreamed of even six months ago. Nothing she could say seemed adequate. So she went with a kind gesture, one she knew he'd appreciate. "I'll make us some decaf. And I love you, too."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @howdylilflower @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @mrscarnival

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck smut #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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kaetastic · 4 years

Text

RUNAWAY WITH ME

pairing: Baker!Steve Rogers X Princess!Reader

summary: Y/N had finally reached the age she was to be suited to be married off to a prince who lives up to her father’s expectations. Except, her eyes were on Steve, the recently added member of the bakery. It doesn’t work out the way she wanted it to be...

word count: 10.1k

warnings: fluff start, hints of angst, a hurl and tsunami of angst

note: This has been in my drafts from 29th September!! Good lord! I’ve let it out to breathe, and yes- I haven’t been uploading 🥺😫😭 life is so hectic with all these piling works and exams coming up. Please don’t mind the Victoria Era X Middle Age and the inaccurate history behaviours. I’m sorry if the story feels rushed!! Happy new year! Have a nice day! Take care!! 💕 sorry for the long wait!

“And I was never sure whether you were the lighthouse or the storm.”

Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, it pressed the softened baby-like flesh. The layers of creams heavily smeared by her maids had created it a soft padding, forming a thick layer. The taste of honey seeped into the crevices of her porcelain white that were monitored very closely by nannies as if she was a mere child. Running from one side to the other, just like a bustling market on the free days, the hurried and frantic air suffocated every worker- everybody in fact. Like a piercing caw of an eagle, the screech rung through her ears. The fabric worn by the servants sliced into the heavily thick air, it swishes before clashing of tools echoed throughout the almost no free-spaced left corridor; the scent of freshly cooked scrumptious and definitely worth salivating for meals peeled through the air. Although she was surrounded by so many eyes and figures of bodies that would be able to fetch a good fortune of gold for snitching as a witness, the possibility to succeed an escape from the crowded area was a hairbreadth short. While crying in agonizing pain, her dress crinkled under her mighty grip. God save the souls who dare to oppose her. Ruffles of her dress bundled in her fingers, and although her fingernails were maintained, it had somehow got caught in the sharp corners of each edge. The frilly material tickled her fingers, the sheer layers protecting the extravagant silk.

As if someone stared down onto her with pity or sympathy, a boisterous bang echoed from the room with clouds of steam puffing out of the kitchen. A twinkle glinted in her eyes when all the occupying figures of the hallway entered the crowded room. She took the chance, pacing away with only one goal in her mind. Raising the hem of her dress to hover over the dusty floors, the rush of excitement flushed her cheeks. The overlapping voices allowed her to speed off with no worry of the noises she could emit. Wearing a gleeful smile, the grin she tried to wipe off remained with determination. Nothing ached in her chest, the familiar hole of emptiness now light and as if wrapped in tight fabric- all the contents packed protectively. She felt like a bird. The recent sitting with her father had been the reason for her uncontrollable twitching fingers and short tolerance for annoyance. Anything would be better than to be in her father’s presence. She will not allow her father’s irritating tenacity ruin the addicting happiness.

“I said cream! Not milk!” The exhausted worker huffed, his fingers engulfed deep in the dough. His hunched shoulders ached, neck creaking like an ancient door. If another batch of requested items were given to him, he would’ve surely passed out. The blink of sleep he got last night was a blessing in such a long time. Even if an assistant was assigned to him- Leopold was practically useless. Although their task to do as their guider say, which was easy enough, Leopold was like a giraffe offspring who had recently breathed in the air. Despite the roaring anger, Steve had to remind himself every now and then that he should not express the rage towards the apprentice for he was new to the castle. It came to him with no surprise that the young boy got lost for a whole while.

His shoulders turned to face hers. The frustration he held for the apprentice had flipped to shock, which diminished into the air as a pair of gentle lips moulded into his. While she stood comfortably with her eyes closed tight and her arms wrapped around his neck, his icy blue orbs stared into her shut eyelids before curtaining to a close.

With an awkward stance, his fingers were decorated with strings of haphazardly thrown pieces of dough and flour powder ran from the tip of his fingers to his exposed elbow, hovered over the tight corset that suffocated her breathing- which she practically grew out of. The rolled-back sleeves bulged to form a miniature hill to rest on his arms, displaying his veiny skin. Smiling through the comfort of seeing him, she pulled back, chest smooshed on his. Oh, every time she would be with him, it was bliss. Eternal bliss she wished for and hoped forever since a child. Though she knew the happiness was maintained in secret and their love was not for display, every moment of terrifying imagination, the scenarios that are likely to happen (her greatest fear that had built up, standing tall above her) crept its’ way to manifest her thoughts. How scandalous it would sound. Familiar laughter and slicing whispers played in her exhausted soul. If it had ever reached her parents, the only thing she expected to see would be their disappointed smile as their eyes gloss over their failure of a daughter; that was not capable of even matching or level with other princesses who had carried their family name, done with their duty then thrown away. Like rag dolls.

Craning her head up to face the Adonis who she had admired ever since he had pulled up from his bowing position, her fingers trickled down the sides of his face. She still remembered when her eyes had landed on him, he was like no one else. Although the first thing she noticed about him was his youth which wasn’t that prominent in the castle. He was merely a servant and a baker for the castle but he had her eyes lingered on him- not because of his visage but him entirely. She recalled the day she had stuck to walls, spying on him. A difficult task that would perplex people to their core, a large clump for anyone to even gulp down; their expectations possibly (most likely to be) lowered or just deteriorated, not a surprise if they were eradicated completely despite her being a royal. When she had noticed him stealing the batch of fresh bread which were meant for the guests that rested in the castle for a while, her low expectations of him had diffused into a grin. He had brought it for the kids who had been smothered with emissions of coals and as if a beast with daggers as teeth had torn their pants, their knees had bruised open for the whole village to see. No child deserves to meet such fate.

Her thumbs rubbed the cumulus clouds flour that was swatched on his cheeks. A cheerful giggle laced with silk erupted out of her lips, “Hello good-looking sir.” Steve’s lips curled up even though he was filled with built-up anger minutes ago, a rosy blush pierced his cheeks at her sudden and clearly unexpected (but not shocking) compliment.

“Good morning, my princess,” The corners of her lips twirled down like the crescent of the moon, Steve was quick to realize his careless mistake which could lead him to the separation of his head from his body. His shoulders jerked back in an attempt to pull away, to bow and to salute towards the royal family member that stood before him. But her arms did not waver, it stayed in-tact as her eyes twinkled with disbelief. “Have you had your meal yet, my princess?”

The speed of his words flashed by due to the desperation of fixing his splotch of mistake. Her lips quivered down into a frown, not satisfied with the name he called her, “I’ve told you many times, there is no need to address me by such means,” Steve’s mouth gaped open to argue against her words, well, to correct and remind her of his position that was below hers, ‘But you’re a princess, my lady’ Her finger was quick to flick up, silencing him as she knew the disagreement from his side which was the only excuse he ever thought of and used. “No-huh, you’ve made a mistake and you shall face its consequences,”

The man’s face blanched. His lips quivered, eyes widened. The minuscule trembling of his muscles caught her attention. Regret filled her, the choice of words she had chosen was clearly not suitable for the time and situation, “Do you not recall? If you addressed me ‘princess’, you will have to take me to the lake. We made a promise.”

Almost entirely, his chest exhaled relief. The decrease in mass of weight in his chest has now caused the chains wrapped around him to loosen its grip. A breathy sigh fell off his lips at the words. However, some parts of his body went against to accept what she had said, it held a cage around his throat, encasing the tensed muscles that pleaded desperately, “We did?” Although the word of formality and great respect nearly fell off his lips, somehow- he had managed to swallow it back down as it glared into his vision.

She hummed, the vibration muffled by her throat as she shut her eyes tight, the thought of her father knocked on her head. But she was too exhausted from being irritated to even open the door, “You know..,” Pulling back with one arm wrapped around his neck while the other rested on his chest, she glanced at his outfit. Although it was plain in colour and made by someone who knew none of dressing, it was simple. Somehow, Steve had succeeded in making the outfit for elders look extravagant on him. The white top wrapped around his muscular body, if he had contracted one muscle- it would be for display. With an oat-coloured apron overlapping it, the ties around his neck and waist had slippery knot as they tried their best to hold onto one another, “How about we fulfil said-promise now?”

Steve’s lips dried, cracking like dunes of sand. All the moisture in his mouth and throat evaporated into the now unbreathable air. Even though it might’ve been the eighth time he had met up with the princess, he couldn’t help but feel the force nudging him to the edge. There was more than mixed feelings when he talks with the princess, and all of it walked side-by-side with questionable thoughts. Oh, how he would’ve fainted in the past to think he would be one to set the same pace with a royal member when he should’ve distanced at least a goat’s yard worth away from her or slow down so she could be at the front. Every time he breathed the same air as her (still somewhat a miracle to him), landed his blue eyes on hers’, pressed his skin onto hers and to cherish the time he had with her- an overwhelming emotion of second thoughts and the uncontrollable doubts about the situation he was in clawed his throat with monster-like cuts.

“I have to bake my pastries.” He stuttered before the quirk of his lips played a soft smile, he begged that she would be convinced to let go- even though, a part of him wanted the moment to linger longer, not wanting the it to ever end.

A genuine laugh like soft melody echoed in the room, her head thrown back at his lame excuse, “The pastries can wait. Although… a lemon tart does sound scrumptious right now…” Though his eyes glinted of hope to scurry away, the drumming of his heart could not find itself to rest. It was sure he would be a red mess as soon as she leaves- only if he knew that she saw the red creeping like vines onto his ears. The blush of rose on his neck peeking to greet her.

With a creak just like the crackling of fire from the humungous oven, the door was pushed to an open. The confused, blank expressions resounded a difficult reason for Steve to breathe. Silence bounced off the walls of the hallway, all the maids must have been busy elsewhere.

The apprentice who held a weight full wooden barrel of milk froze. The first thing he saw was the twinkle of gems that embedded her dress that for sure costed a fortune. A fortune he could never be able to imagine. Was she real? There was a quick conclusion in his head that the only possibility for the mysterious figure would have to be of royalty and someone who held a great number of coins in their hands. Questions buzzed over his head, rapid blinking eyes- he hoped the medicine he had consumed in the morning did not cause him to see things. Was the princess really there? Of course, he had seen her wandering around and about the walls of the castle, however, it was rare for her to not be trailed around by a guard, his sharp and narrow eyes trained on her with their stance ready to jump on anyone that was able to harm her. If it was true, if she really was there, why were her arms around Steve? As if dug to the ground, his foot froze in place.

The only sound that echoed through the frozen-in-time room was the hissing of an angry container of water in the corner and the peaceful chirping of the birds outside of the gaped open window, very much contrary to each other. The two sets of eyes that rested upon the boy who had a slight quiver, the prickling fears that he will meet his death quite sooner than he thinks. Steve’s eyes shut tight in annoyance. Taking that as a sign to enter, Samson huffed under his breath, his sore arms cried out in aching before letting out a short celebration as soon as he dropped the barrel onto the floor. As the door met the frame, it let out a boisterous bang. Wincing at the minor splash of the pearly liquid, he made way to calm the steaming copper cauldron. Despite the toned-down noise of the water boiling, Steve sent darts of glares towards the wooden barrel.

“Are you deaf, Samson?” The words fell off his tongue like a sharp whip, the younger boy’s head curled down as his eyes were coated by embarrassment. Not only over the fact that this was his fourth time being scolded at such an early time in one day, but the presence of the princess had multiplied the humiliation by a tenfold. “How could we use milk for the recipe? It wouldn’t work!” Red fumes tugged his ears and cheeks, anger and frustration exploded like fireworks in his chest. If it wasn’t for the soft hands that caressed him, he would not know how the horrible the outcome would’ve been.

“Steve.” Samson’s head twitched up at the soft and lustrous voice who suspected, very much to obviousness, that it was the only royal in the room. Her tales have been uttered, although he has tried to lay a peek on her- the stories have done her no justice. All the words said by the people did not know what it felt like to breathe in the same room as the princess. It almost felt like a miracle. Taking in all of her presence and her beauty, he stood at awe. “No matter, I’ll note the maids to retrieve it,” Snapping her head to the blond-haired male, she stood on her toes, brushing her lips over his ears with the gentlest touch. Steve pursed his lips into a thin line. “Sunset. I’ll be waiting under the tree.”

There was no need to inquire her which tree she had set the meeting at, for that was where their rendezvous was often set at. The warmth of her body had stranded him cold. Sending a delicate smile towards the apprentice, the whisper of the brief string of words painted a cheerful expression, Samson nodded hastily, clearly delighted. Which made Steve more curious. His eyes bounced from her to his apprentice, he needed context.

Before she left, her eyes glinted with content.

Steve’s joints creaked like the well’s rusty lever near his perimeter. Falling onto his scrapped knees, who had quirked an eyebrow with astonishment at his attempt to stay awake, he let out a silent groan as he met the cooling stone floor. Body begging and pleading for warmth, the contact between his body and the warm cloth played tricks as if a hairy blanket had been draped over his shoulders, heating his shivering figure.

Although not a streak indication of morning daylight was seen, the awakening rays of yellows and orange were fast asleep- their accompany, consisting of the glowing moon and joy-filled stars burst into a shimmering twinkle party as they dance. The weight that rested on his lashes pulled like a curtain to a shut despite his creditable effort to stay wide awake. His lips rested on her saggy knuckles. The spark of her abnormal warm skin reminded him of the hottest of the summer days when energy evaporated into the air.

Even though his lids made frequent contact to shut tight, his mind was on high alert just like those boisterous noises at a bustling market. He didn’t deserve any of it. If his mother fell sick, he does not have the privilege to lay back, ears rung with her pitiful whooping coughs. That was how it was ever since he was a little boy. Whenever he fell ill, an unfortunate curse set by the gods for his stick-like figure (thanks to his mother for shoving down a tenfold bucket full of food down his throat) and the ability to fall into exhaustion effortlessly, his mother would always be there, the only one who watched. The father figure for him existed none, he knew not a detail of him since it was rare for the topic to be brought up even though there were times he wished his questions were satisfied with even the slightest of answers. Not his visage, not his voice and not his clothing remained in Steve’s memory or the house. Steve concluded that there was not even a single string that wrapped around the two who shared blood.

Bringing his eyes to look upon the effects of the terrible sickness, corners of his lips withered down. The promises and words uttered by her now felt like an empty jar of hope, a false reassurance. As if her lips were smeared with more than a swipe of flour, the snow-covered mountains meandered with cracks that erupted a layer of now dried red. Glossing her faded face was the dancing of the fire hung upon the stone walls. Its red light glazed her powder-white hair. The heat shrieked every so often whenever the wind whispered towards the deaf inanimate object. Even though he had made her drink plenty of water, her body still limped with pale contour. There was something that he wasn’t giving right and it was prominent. Shivers ran down in tingles, her chestnut eyes blinked towards the swerving lit sconce used to light the shadowed house.

Steve scooted closer towards the bed, leg accidentally slamming onto the hard wooden slab that hovered few centimetres over the ground. The thin layer of horse skin that draped over her itched his skin, piercing through his pants that had somehow transformed from wheat-beige to smouldered black. He pursed his lips at the minor inconvenience that did not want to be eradicated despite his efforts of squirming out of the discomfort. Thoughts bounced off his messy vessel, there was no more space to think calmly.

Gripping her hand which was clamming with sweat even though the night seemed to be chilly and full of frost, her hand smaller in size compared to him, he needed to know that she was there with him. It was his only rope to reality. Prodding his head into her spectrum of view when it seemed she did not notice his presence, he sighed as a red blush smeared onto her nose.

“Ma, are you in need of nourishment? Water? I’ve snagged a few pastries that I have baked up today,” He needed to do something, he has to- or his body would find it as an excuse to sleep it off, hence why he was ready to do as she commands with no hesitation or thought. Except, she didn’t utter a word. The light in her soul quivered, dim, as darkness flickered.

“I told you we should’ve paid the healer a visit.” His shoulders drooped down with a sigh. Very much to his disappointment, he knew she would’ve rejected his suggestion even if he had stretched it out for days. He regretted not taking responsibility into his own hands. There were so many options he could’ve chosen and there could’ve been a possibility for her to return back to her healthy shape once again. But no, he had to agree with her stubbornness.

The straining of her raspy answer (most likely to scold at him for bringing up the horrible idea) snapped a reflex in him to grab the handle of the water jug, somehow, despite her low energy and lack of hydration- her hands were agile to stop him from doing so, “No… I, I can feel it, Stevie.” His eyebrows furrowed like waves of the sea. Confusion struck him.

“Feel what, Ma?” The weight pressed onto his knees, the pressure of the stone floor punctured into his skin. Although his knees screamed in agonizing pain, he paid no attention for his eyes rested on her now almost-soulless ones. The mirrors that would reflect his smile now hazy with unbreathable fog he would not be able to pass through. The wrinkles creased on her cheeks formed bumps of dunes and petit hills gone. It was nothing but a vast area.

“The end.”

Caressing her leg was the prickly grass, Y/N’s fingers curled tightly around her frizzy dress, the sweat that poured out of her pores glistened the thin layer of the complex white sheet. Poking her head in all directions, she bit her bottom lips in slight distraught. Where was he? He must have faltered back a bit. An exhausted sigh left her lips, the back of her head ached as the harsh marbling of the tree bark pierced into her skin. With her head in her palms, she groaned in frustration at the prominent tears in her dress. Darn it. It was a freshly seamed one too.

Despite the fading colours in the now-night sky, her focus was not spent on the change in time. She desperately hoped no one was sent to find her. But of course, in the corner of her thoughts- there laid the knowing that her father was the one to surely send a servant to fetch her. The only way she could see was due to the light source that glossed over the grass patch over the small hill that seeped through the hairbreadth spaces of tree leaves were the moon rays, which glazed her skin and the warm yellows from distant houses. While distracted playing with her shadows, moving her hands in the forms of animals, a figure appeared to rest their eyes on the needed princess to complete their quest.

“My princess! Oh! I have finally found you!” Panting, the woman who held a magnificent bosom yelled out, quite too loud as villagers who inhabited the houses in the nearby perimeter popped their heads out of orifices of their house, towards the girl who sat with fading hopes.

As she snapped to a sitting position, staring at her maid with widened eyes, she prayed Steve had not made an appearance for it would’ve created a painful problem that would be perplexing to solve. Although a part of her craved him to claim his love for her- and then maybe, they could run away, she saw the sparkling glitters in his eyes that didn’t want to let go of the memories that he had made and obviously, his mother who he loved dearly.

There was no sign of him. Fingers digging the sandy soil, small bits and irritating chunk made home in the crevice of her fingernails; the blossoming hair-like grass poked her, taunting every time she twitched to find a more comfortable seating. Frantic emotions raised in her, “Sybil!” With widely open arms, she waited for the woman to climb the hill, who breathed heavily, taking in quick inhales and exhales, most likely exhausted.

Sybil raised her hand, flapping like a bird stuck in muddy water as a surrender to the energy-absorbing activity. The princess stood patiently with her hands behind her back. Finally, the maid had reached her designated place, her hands rested on her knees- still panting heavily as if she had never breathed.

“What are you doing out so late my princess? The castle has gone frantic! It’s a mess! We’ve all been so worried about you! Oh, thank the lord Caspian’s prediction he called ‘theory’, of you was not true. A crazy bloke he is,” Rolling her eyes at the recent unexpected meeting with the king, the vomit worth words spewed by Caspian echoed in her head. God knows where he got his slight gruesome ideas sent shivers down her spine, hopefully, it was somewhere far away from her. The strenuous exercise caused her muscles to groan. The only activity in the castle that called for such pulling of her tissues would be the making of butter for the royals, which nowadays is rare as she has been newly assigned to keep her eyes onto the heights of the grass of the garden; that is until they need her professionalism in the kitchen. “Come along, his Majesty will not be pleased to hear that you’ve spent all this time under the moon.”

In the corner of her eyes, she had seen the streak like the yellow sunset. The burning flame that hovered over the stick formed an orb of light, reflecting his face. Although relief filled her chest to see him before she disappeared into the cage called home, she noted the rough clothing he wore. Then, she was home.

Screeching like a bird who had set its eyes onto the meal for the day, the silver cutlery traced itself against the twinkling pewter plate. With closed doors, passerby paid no attention as they remained unbothered. The caged tension that sparked between the figures who sat on the dining table formed a twitching silence that’s been waiting to be cut in half.

Sawing the chicken into proper consumable pieces, she plastered a notice onto her head as a reminder to sit with her back straight up and to make sure it was her food that approached her mouth, not the other way around. It was not so lady of her. Eyes glancing at the circular bread that sat in the middle of the table, she bit her bottom lips in contemplation if she should place it on her platter. Almost like a languid creature, she grabbed a slice of the bread when it seemed like her parents were too focused on their thoughts. Munching on the seasoned meals while playing the memory of the embarrassing time where she chewed loudly with an opened mouth formed a stressed string in her head. It was when the Odinson’s family paid to visit. However, she was just merely a child of 9 years. Surely no blame could be placed on that, right? Sighing in her head, she knew that the memory would haunt her to another sleepless night of squirming in an attempt to block it away.

The remembrance of their eyes snapping to her as if she committed a crime that was worth an execution sent shudders every single time she would look back at the horrible memory, not that she wanted to, an accident remembrance. There was an intense despise against the memory that lingered longer than she wanted it to be.

Ever since she had been visiting Steve, she had been very aware and conscious of her surroundings. It was as if her ears had awakened to be on high alert, guarding the world and sounds around her. Therefore, any crack or shingle of her father’s heavy armour, troubled sighs of her mother and the difference in everybody’s breathing or footsteps had been embedded into her head. It amused her how hard she focused on the smallest and subtle aspects that no one would pick up, the overlooked things.

There was no doubt that if her father had caught up with the unusual and… little to no help hobby of hers- the lecture would have taken the whole day. Poking her eyes to peek at her father, who flicked his fingers as a gesture towards the guards to leave the room, there was no usage of words as they seemed to comprehend him. The noble King’s eyes faltered to a shut at the ear-pinching noise of metal dragging onto the ground and the armours that clashed with the floor like the clatter of plates. Not so stealthy and sly anymore. The whooping of the door shut was followed by his heavy weighted sigh.

“There is no point in addressing your late coming to the castle. It is no use to me to inquire you of your adventures outside of these walls, rather than perfecting your sewing,” There was an almost enlightenment of relief, the stone that wrapped around her heart cracked with joy. Letting out a silent sigh in content that she didn’t know she held, she watched as her father languidly placed the luxury utensils onto its’ proper and correct positions beside the plate. However, she wished the feeling of relief was the conclusion to the emotions, it wasn’t. The clench and churning of her stomach were like whispers, feeding onto the idea of horrible possibilities that were very much possible as long as her father remained in his solid position of nobility. If this was like any other normal day, he would have gone on and on with his mouth babbling and spewing as if his hair paled whiter with every word he uttered. “However… this behaviour must be altered if you were to wed.”

As if her ears had finally found something interesting to actually listen to, her hands froze mid-air, hovering over her food that she was about to pierce into. Disbelief painted her face.

“Father?” Gulping down the mass that blocked her throat, she pulled to rest her back on the chair. Not wanting to comprehend his words, she wished it was like a blur. A part of her thought she was overthinking the situation, just like with any obstacles she had faced- having no predictions with her father who she has learned growing up to be very random and most of the time, spontaneous. Although she aged as a part of the royalty, she had heard the consequences faced when the children had gone against their father, who sadly, was also the King. So she knew it wasn’t a wise decision to go argue his proposition, not including the morning’s argument. Despite her wanting to listen to him with a muffled ear, God knows what problems she will have to face if she didn’t list the words.

The grip she clenched onto the narrow silver knife tightened, the lubricant produced by her palm had formed a slick lining of moisture, the pointy object nearly flapping off her hand like a fish who jumped out of its comfort zone and onto land. A sigh breezed out of his tainted lips. The rare sound she barely heard was one of those she scripted in a list amongst the ones she did not like. Although the background of her family prominently impacted the royalty of the kingdom, she paid respect to her father who had managed to keep it stable and monitor such power in his hands that compared to other royals, who’ve lost their minds as soon as that immense energy is placed in their palms. The only time she could recall hearing the sound emitted by him was when she was a child, up late at night (the reason being her dark room), peeking through the door’s crevice of her father’s office. Where he would sigh once, massaging his temples in distress before continuing back to proceed his papers.

“Never would I imply something onto you that you do not consent… but this is for the good of the kingdom,” The tension between the electrifying shocks from the two increasingly intense glares quivered as she vibrated over the string. “It’s finally time for you to tie the knot so peace can be set between lands.”

In the corner of her eyes, she noticed her mother who held her head down, quiet throughout the whole dinner. Even though she did not converse with anyone, Y/N could read the words embedded in her head. Her mother was a strong woman but if you had visited her to sit down and converse, it would most likely be her boasting of the gold that laced in her hair. The last time her mother had done her hair was a long time ago, the memory faded into something she could barely piece together. Her hair was pinned up tall, strands of locks torn down to cover her visage, hands still working through the thick meat.

“Father, I thought we have settled this in the morning? I’ve said what I’ve said and I stand by it,” Distraught cowered her lungs, the hope she held onto now dimmed into the shadows. The war in her head narrowed the possibilities. Even if she was to go against, there was no point. Her father was the king after all. If she knew her father, he was a very patient man who would and could not be wavered even if large amounts of intense and chaos had bestowed upon him. Even though they have discussed the same problem in the early sunrise, the two sides remain to not find a conclusive flat mutuality and understanding. She nearly brought up the one name she prohibited herself to utter in front of her parents and she had somehow succeeded, containing herself not to. “There has to be another way.”

She knew there was no other way. All she hoped for was her father to tarry so the time between her and Steve could linger longer. The clear message was received. However, not well as she watched him shake his head with a lurking disappointment. The appetite that had been building throughout the long day evaporated despite the small amounts of food she had consumed for breakfast. The knife and fork in her hand met the table with a clash. The Queen’s head snapped up. Without hesitation and her heart drumming like tap dancing of the rain, her chair screeched into ears painfully. Nibbling her lip at the ear-piercing sound, her breathing hitched at the path she had decided to walk on. Descending her knees with a hurried speed, she bowed her heavy head which was overflowed with exhaustion, not bothered to keep her back to remain straight.

Before her father had the chance to order her to sit back onto her seat, she scurried out of the dining room with a chained heart.

The yells behind her faded away as the distance grew largely. With frantic movements, she paid no attention to the mud that settled onto her luxurious dress that costed a fortune to be made by the finest of dressmakers. Tears rained down from the upset clouds. Craning her head up, droplets pricked her skin like that of a twitch of a mistake in sewing classes. Somehow, she had managed to outrun and fade away from the peripheral of the guards who paced behind her and the maids that were too occupied with finishing their tasks. All the sound that seeped out of the crevices of the door were gasps of the maids, clashing of armour and yells echoing from one another.

Despite strands of her hair that laid itself onto her face, branching like roots of a plant, she was unbothered to give a care. Sticking to her skin to form a twirling painting, the incomprehensible image itched her. She felt so bounded. The chains that curled around her body tugged her back, the mark it left behind burned her skin. She was hopeless and useless.

She no longer cared for the expense of the dress that was worth tens of lands, all she needed was to be as far as she could from the perimeter of the castle. Fingers curled around her dress, the splashes and squishing sounds emitted when her feet made contact with the mud waved like a piece of awful music which had no rhythm to her ears. If she poured her heart contents’ out, she knew it would not be enough to stabilize her uncontrollable thoughts and the full container of pouring emotions.

Thanks to her informative lookout of Steve, this was her third time seeing his house. The first when it was the second day of him working as a baker for the royal, the second when he had pointed out to her that there were ducks that had been waddling around his area (she was more than ecstatic to have been invited to watch ducks quacking); unfortunately, he did not know that she had already known of the plot of land his house situated on, his neighbours and the continuous long list of those who had inhabited the homes before.

Faint glowing of light blazed from creeks of window shutters of the houses she paced by. The warm and comforting light patted her back, a reminder that she was not alone. That darkness was not stealing a victory this time and that if there were the presence of a vicious beast who would have popped to scare her, there would be multiple to witness her.

Not all monsters embody bodies. Some might as well be words.

The familiar yellow straws that had been thatched onto the roof of the house flapped at the intensity of the wind. Even though the brick walls were similar to those neighbouring ones, Steve’s house seemed different to her. Maybe it was facing the pond but she believed it was due to the range of colour difference in the roof’s straws.

Although she knew it was rude of her to bang on someone’s door at such a random moment in the night time, quite destructive also, she was manifested with irrational actions that could be the end of her. Rapping the door with her knuckles, her hand hovered over the wood. Teeth chewing her bottom lip, she wondered if she had knocked for too long. Annoying, that’s what I am. What if Steve gets irritated? She had started to have second doubts if this was a mistake. Crackling of fire seeped out of the door’s cracks, the rainfall that represented her imaginary sobbing had finally calmed down. The trickles of rain played a soft melody, splattering to meet contact with the small puddle, its own creation that had transformed into a hindered flood. After a solid minute, the door creaked open to expose a Steve with dishevelled hair that weaved messily. She had almost lost her breath when her eyes landed on him. His eyes snapped wide open once he realized who stood in front of him. In a frantic mess, fear engulfed him, if a beloved royal was seen in front of low status houses at so late at night- not only was it over for him, it was for her too. He whipped the door and Y/N caught a glimpse of a fading body in the bed.

“My princess,” Pulling the door to shut behind him, his eyes darted along the path. Despite it being so late at night, it was normal for the villagers to sleep late as they would have to prepare for the next day. Which applies to his parallel neighbor, Peter, who worked day to night with little to no sleep. The reason light was strong from his house was due to his occupation, Steve remembers when he had seen Peter’s fine crafts. The details speckled on the timbres were fascinating, it must’ve taken weeks. Hence, why he mumbled under his breathe. “Please follow me.”

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion but nonetheless, scurried behind him. It was not far, but good enough. The shade allowed Steve’s drumming heart to beat at a slow rate. But not adequate to satisfy the comfort to pace away from his fear. Licking his lips, his knees were jumpy in impatience.

“What do you mean?” With her head stuffed in the clouds, all she had been doing was daydream of the moments they could’ve created. She wouldn’t deny but agree over the fact that she was scared to face the harsh reality. Ever since she grew up, the only thing she could remember was the horrid room she would have to sit in for hours. The walls were menacing and haunting. Hands aching as she would have to sew or practice how to silently place cutlery down. The lingering memory when she had eavesdrop her parents mumbling about her marriage was plastered in a solitary room, the door would open for the memory to lead her to sleepless nights. The longer she remained in comforting happiness, the results end up to be rather unexpected.

Steve let out a sigh full of weight and exhaustion, his fingers waved through the locks of his hair. Ruffling his hair, beads of sweat cascaded down. He bit the inside of his cheeks, “Our love is forbidden. This… this tie around us has already been written down as indecent. You’re a princess and I’m a nobody,” The lashing of his tongue left no time for her to speak out her own opinion. “I’m not like you. And you know that.”

“You’re not a nobody, Stevie,” The ache in his heart left a crack open as pumps of air filled it up. “Sure father’s head would be blown into pieces if I ever told him and sure it will bring my family’s name down… but isn’t that what love is?” She inquired with confusion. The last word she uttered held a strong weight to it and she mumbled it with no hesitation. “Sacrifice?” With his head held down low, eyes focused onto the suddenly interesting puddles with baby ripples, his ears could not help but perk up to everything she uttered. “Steve… please.” As if poked with a finger, her throat froze when she stepped forward in hopes of holding him in her arms. He stepped back.

“I just don’t think we should continue this… meeting. I’ve thought about and you probably did too. I know your father is searching for someone with a status worthy for you. Someone who has land, someone who has a title. Who’s like you.” His eyes drooped down, the fire in his chest roared to awaken for it had not sided with his head, gritting for him to follow his heart who had been trapped in an inescapable cage. The air closed on him, first, he could not think, now he couldn’t breathe. There was one thing his mother had taught him, which he believes does not apply to the current situation. When you run away from your problem, you will only leave a trail that leaves a track for it to follow. And so ever since a little boy, he had followed her words without a doubt. But not now. A force had bounded his ankles, it was as if something did not want him to follow his decision.

“Then let’s go away,” Stopping on his heels, the droplets of water slid down his roof to drench his shoulders. “We can leave a-and live somewhere else, somewhere far.” Clenching on her hand, fear erupted as she never thought of losing him like so.

“I can’t. Just like I said, I’m not like you. I don’t have much.” The screeching of owls emitted from the crowd of trees. Oh, she used to adore the feeling of the soft drips. Now it was nothing but emptiness and darkness comforting her, or an attempt to. The thought of a secret ceremony flew over her head.

For so long she had tried to discreetly escape her room and the castle. The doors that she used frequently to walk into the town or the rooms that seemed unused were barricaded or guarded by loaded guards. She could barely count the days, which have turned into weeks. All of them, she got caught and she ran out of excuses. Whether it was sunset or when the moon woke up from his long nap. All for one person. Even though she had tried countless times, never giving up with a fierce determination, she had finally concluded to the silence echoed from her father. It was possible he did not want her roaming as he decided to find the solution to her marriage. She had no idea who he was discussing her availability with, she doesn’t know who she will be sold to.

There was a time she thought of actually escaping. To run away from the walls of her heart. However, Steve was right. Despite her being a royal family, all she had was family even if people would only glance at her way when gold would flourish every time she walked over the ground.

At first, she thought everyone in the castle was cunning and snitches. She was wrong. Somehow, a maid of hers- very close to her years, knew there was something wrong when she was combing the royals’ hair. The numbness. The aching of her muscles. Mary, her name was. Stood up and had inquired her, she had risked it all- her life, the money she worked hard for, for her parents. Even though it was difficult at the start, the rocky tides had soothed to finally land. The barriers that stood between the two crashed, no side expected the other’s action. It was not right and wise for Mary to judge the princess but she did, she thought she was nothing but a spoiled and ungrateful girl. It had applied the same for the royal. Y/N assumed that after the day Steve established his, very well-received, thought, everyone had been viewing her differently. As if she was somebody else.

Her head was clogged with him, every second of every day. Whenever she was doing something that held no ability to remind her of him or memory that was connected to Steve, it made her think of the only person she found comfort in. It was unhealthy. A part of her hoped that he would be doing the same, even though it was selfish and cruel of her to wish the pit of feelings she was going through to be placed upon him, but she had to face reality and forced herself to comprehend that he wanted none of it. Even from the start and she was blind to see. Too caught up in the idea of a world with only him and her. All because she was a princess. All because of class.

Steve had been begging the gods to stop haunting and torturing him with all the memories he was forced to leave behind. The day he snapped the string, he felt like everything was over. He couldn’t believe all those words spat from his own mouth. But… that was what he wanted right? She was a princess. He was a mere servant. The possibility of him to call her his lover was nothing but exuding with impossibility.

Whenever Mary had errands to run such as purchasing from the market, she would sneak away to slip a piece of paper under the baker’s door. And although his fingers had run along each- never had he responded. The bundle had laid like a pile of coal that were contrary to warmth.

Something changed that one day. Frustration soared in his chest when those who lived around him glanced at him, they were sceptical. Suspicious. The buildup created flows of anger and irritation to prickle his skin for days. Even though it had felt longer than it actually was- the last string had screeched. He reminisced the painful ripples in his jaw. As soon as his eyes had rested on a girl who halted in the middle of her pace towards his house, he was very much sure it was Y/N’s messenger. The letter that she had held between her fingers creased as Mary stopped, eyes have gone wide at his unusual appearance.

He was never outside when she had dropped the letters. There was nothing but panic and the desperation to go back that fluttered in her head.

He didn’t mean to. Days he stood in front of the shy fire, head in his hand in an attempt to play the day he would always regret. He didn’t mean to snatch the paper from her frail hands. He didn’t mean to rip it through the middle like a knife cutting the thick air, without thinking about tears that seeped into it. He didn’t mean to watch her fall into the watery mud. As if the gods were outrageous with his pathetic actions, the rain roared with vibrant thunder. The witnesses that had circled around them had scurried into their comfort of a house.

The words he had muttered pinned into his skin, a forever memory that he would have to carry away with a heavy heart. The words that he thought would’ve been the last, “Tell her to stop. I’ve had enough of her childish words and actions,” Grinding his teeth, narrowed eyes as he looked down on her. “She’s making this very difficult when all I asked for was for her to leave. I don’t want to be part of her little chess game. She’s nothing but like all those royals, snobbish and selfish. So run along. I never want to see her face ever again.”

Tears of the sky glossed her skin as fear churned in her stomach, the praises and high words uttered by the princess felt like poisonous lies. He was no kind soul. He wore not the silk-gentle eyes. The figure who stood on top of her wasn’t a man. Vibrant and striking like the flag, his eyes flickered with redness. Her hands gripped the sludge, mud slipping around her fingers as a stress reliever.

When Mary paced towards the castle like a newborn giraffe, the castle had never felt hotter than the summers or when one would linger too close to the oven. Even though it had rained minutes before.

“Mary! Oh dear child, what had happened?” Concerned servants circled around her. They stared at her with pity, nose scrunching at the mess she had left behind that trailed behind her.

“Where is the princess?” The river of dirt ran over her cheeks.

So he stood, caramel shirt smudged with dirt and bits of green plants embedded his pants, it seemed as if he had just run out of a jungle, eyebrows furrowed at the elongated script that was hung on the wall. The wind whistled, almost sighing at his atrocious history. It did not soothe the growing fire.

Although the thought of her had peeked over his thinking, he had managed- beating himself to avoid the lasting ends of her. That was how it was for weeks… turning into months. Torturing his head that had no restrictions. That night he went home, the bed that he would always be able to snooze in felt like prodding bricks. He wanted nothing but to rest- somehow, he had been punished.

It seemed like the eyes that watched over him felt that it was necessary to add more weight to his guilt and grief. It was two months in when his eyes had faded, the soul of his mother had abandoned him to live sole. There were times when he had thought it was selfish of her to leave him because ever since a child, it was always him and his mother. Then, living felt difficult to cope with. For weeks his muscles felt sore, his voice never echoed in the house, the door stood shut for weeks before it creaked open when he realized the food that had languidly been consumed and it was time to pay rent. He had prohibited himself to touch his mother’s bed that rested a couple of steps away from him. His eyes had only glossed over the blanket that created bumps and waves.

Oh, how much he had missed walking under the sunny heat and beside the salty sea with his mother. The last memory he had of such a fond moment was that when he was merely a boy of 6 years. Somedays, he had liked to sit in front of the ajar opened window that invited the cooling air with his head rested on his arms- lips pouting as he cranked his memory box. He had reminisced most of the time he had when he was just a boy with twigs as arms, there was nothing he could do, and he could not even aid his mother in hopes of a better lifestyle.

Thanks to his mother’s care, he was now a man with arms stuffed with fish and rabbits, not forgetting the greens. There was pride that had twinkled in her eyes once he had announced that it was possible for him to work under a lord to support the two of them. There was hope that relit with a burning flame.

Acceptance flew by, but it was not easy. Easy was not the word he would use to describe the conditions he was under, at all. It was more of a strangling experience, a horrible one. Days before the unexpected announcement from the royals, he had been battling in an exhausting war within himself. He was desperate for equilibrium and balance. There were silent days and times when he had left his window a hairbreadth space to breathe in the air from the outside. When he had finally found stabilization, out of nowhere, the raw wound that felt that it was losing attention cried once more. The scandalous ties he had with the princess had prodded his mind when his life was finally riding a calm wave. Despite his attempt to build a robust barrier that he had hoped stood tall, it seemed his barrier was not strong enough. The miniature holes exposed his weakest spots, allowing the thoughts to engulf him.

The following days, his hearts weighed heavier than the forest he would chop trees from. A job he had picked up from a lord who inquired him with an interesting offer. Although he had tried to keep his mind busy, Y/N was just splattered all over his head. The ghouls that slept in the corner of his room taunted him with whispers at night, the haunting song led him to the disability to think for a week.

Regrets dreaded his soul. It was not only cruel of him to scare an innocent and harmless maid, but entirely, it was not him. Was it? Hours he spent hoping that the person who had pushed the servant into the mud. Did he even push? If he did make her flinch and land in the mud, was it his fault? Did he become intimidating? He found no closure when he was surrounded by his house walls, accompanied by his own thoughts that seemed to shut his mind from having any other opinions.

The rush of air that occupied his house comforted him, well, it was more of reminding him of what he could’ve got. Time spent with Y/N was the only thing he looked back at, craving for her presence. He would wonder as he chopped woods if she had thought of him. Because all he could do was glance at the door in case of a knock. He had hoped for her to visit him, for way too long. How could she? When I basically ordered a royalty?

Just like a failed pastry, it had seemed his life was crumbling to pieces. The unexpected and uncommon announcement from the castle had caught off the villagers.

It was a sunny day, beads of sweat cascaded down his forehead and puddling on the thirsty yet dry dirt. Since he had been chopping the forest away with the day before, his muscles had weakened with a splat. There was nothing more that he wanted other than to dip his arms in icy water. Despite the decrease in orders in the following day and time to rest, it did no justice to his energy.

The commotion around the messenger who had scrambled onto a platform so everyone was able to see him away felt as if it was just yesterday. While bodies had paced away from the announcement and back to proceed with their chores, Steve remained standing. His eyes flickered in bewilderment. The clench in his hands loosened, the tight grip had slackened as the words had seemed to muffle his hearing.

Prince Loki of Asgard was expected to wed the princess.

Following weeks, it seemed the new announcement had been trailing after him, haunting him with every possibility it can. The news was whispered from lips to ears, like an endless cycle and repetition. The most discussed gossip was about the Prince’s beauty. It had been rumoured that the gold he was drowned in, glittered in his eyes. Young maidens would mumble between one another, passing on the (he believed to be) false rumours that Prince Loki had a voice of silk that roared during battle. Although Steve liked to latch on and believe that maybe, just maybe- if Prince Loki’s… rumours were false, maybe Y/N would be in his arms once again. And then he could start it all over again.

Waves hurled at one another, jumping over each other as it dragged it towards the bed of the ocean. Although it was harsh and rough, it was nothing like the tranquillity exuded close to shore. Whereas the threatening water stared with taunts, the baby waves cuddled and coated the variety sized pebbles of different shapes. With a random arrangement of colours, the gradient of multi matched rocks displayed an accident masterpiece of nature. To some disgusting, others- home. The smell of one day on the water body would either cause someone to regurgitate their meals or sleep with ease.

Glossing over the indigo sparkly surface were two pairs of eyes, though one had far much distance from the other. As if the water had absorbed all the moisture in his throat, his lips fainted to a dry like a dehydrated paintbrush’s bristles. Fiddling with his fingers with his eyes on the figure that had caused him all of the increasing tenfold anxiety.

Approaching the brick wall, separating the two worlds as protection, his jaw clenched with a halt in his pace. It took him everything to hold back, to not take a glance to his right- the clawing of desperation in his gut generated a lot of heat. His eyes quivered. Lips parted in an attempt to utter the words that had been embedded onto the walls of his mind. To only produce a faint buzzing of a groan and lip smacks.

Although deep down inside of him, he held onto the burning rope of hope- wishing for it to come true, his tongue had lashed before he had control over it. With a string of saliva pulled, his words rung through the thick and deafening air, “Are you glad?” As soon as the word echoed into his ears, a groan emitted in his head at the useless inquiry. The answer was prominent, yet he dared to ask.

With every blink, her energy drained out of her body. The will and motivation to raise a muscle eradicated as her head blared to find the answer to his question. A moment passed. “Glad?” She chuckled softly. “I don’t think that is the right word to use with all these tiring emotions and situation,”

He nodded, not knowing how to proceed with the conversation, “I’m a married woman now. It is not right for us to see each other. I will get going now,” Like a spin of a rose, she twirled around with all her gentleness and majestic swirl. Halting as their shoulders stood a hairbreadth away. “It was nice knowing you, Steve Rogers.” Though like a painful tug when her maids braided her hair, she clenched her teeth. Pinching the sides of the dress and hovering it over the ground, she curtsied like an ancient doll who creaked with every nudge.

Steve stood speechless. She was married. And it was not to him.

tag: @bookgirlunicorn

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #baker!steve rogers x princess!reader #princess!reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers oneshots #steve rogers oneshot #avenger imagine #avenger oneshot #captain america imagin #au #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel oneshots #marvel oneshot #loki x reader #loki

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

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FRIEND AND THE IMPERIAL EGGS : Part 3 of 7 : MLP Fan Fiction

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

FRIEND AND THE IMPERIAL EGGS

A Daring Do tale

Part 3 of 7

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

8927 words

This is a Fan Fiction based on My Little Pony. Canterlot, Princess Luna and the name Daring Do are owned by Hasboro Inc.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

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Moreegg entered the Baron’s study in the morning. There were many signs of the Baron having worked on the collection. As he began to tidy up, he found the Baron’s cold tea only half drunk. It was sitting out on a recent newspaper, opened to the celebripony gossip.

The teacup was weighing down a note:

Moreegg: Take good care of the Barony in my absence. I have had a brilliant idea that can expand the collection with some of the rarest eggs ever. I must do this alone, Yoksonu, Baron.

As the mystified Moreegg was straightening the side table, he noticed an item in the Celebripony Gossip.

“The Gryphon Empire takes great pride in announcing that an Imperial Clutch is soon to be expected. In spite of the difficulties caused by the recent civil war, a trustworthy clutch-tender has been found to care for the Imperial Eggs.”

Moreegg gazed sadly at the empty Gryphon egg case and said softly, “Please, dear Celestia, not that.”

////////////

The firing range that had been set up in the Hospital Aerie’s lowest level reverberated to the rapid roar of Daring Do’s beloved Spiderly 13 mm! The powerful buck of the gun in hoof with each round and the smell of powder added to the delightful experience!

“Three bullseyes, the other two within three mm!” exclaimed nurse Grayyk. “It is wonderful how you can maintain such accuracy with recoil like that!” She held the retrieved target up for Daring Do to examine.

Eyes sparkling, Daring Do pointed to another target. The holes in it were not as tightly clustered. “For a so called novice shooter, you are doing really well! That little 8 mm is just perfect for your claws!”

Nurse Grayyk was writing the tallies and times into Daring Do’s chart. She looked up, clipping the pen back to the chart. Her crest set to show how pleased she was, she answered, “If a student does well, it is a reflection on the quality of the teacher. I have the best!

“Now to the pool. I was told by Friend not to let you try laps yet. It may help you to know that the Hellbore poison did a lot of damage to your connective tissues at the joints. You need gentle, low resistance exercise for best recovery. She is very concerned that you recover the best, rather than fastest.”

Daring Do nodded, faking glumness. Actually, as the warm waters closed about her, she relaxed, and began the enjoyable slow exercises that Friend wanted her to do.

////////////

Baron Yoksonu leaned back in the working chair. “You understand how I want this done?”

“Yes, Sir. Our field may be small but we are well known for the quality of our makeups and prosthesis. You want a quality makeup that will be durable for up to a week. Over it, you want a second, basically a mask of your present self. One that will be easily penetrated.”

Shaking her head, the orange mare began applying careful layers of latex like material. “It must be an elaborate practical joke that you are pulling.”

The Baron, considerately trying not to move, agreed, “It is indeed. It should be quite the jest when it is done.”

Hidden within his wallet lay a simple seeming card. It had been MUCH harder to obtain and far more expensive than the make up work, and that was not cheap. The card was an Equestrian Railroad Security Inspector’s card.

The picture on the card was what was being applied to him now, as the quality makeup basic disguise.

////////////

Friend was happily playing with the Eaglets, preening them and cuddling. She was feeding them dangled strips of meat now. They were developing exactly as her Eagle nymphs should.

She was surrounded by that delicate glow of magic that guided and protected her precious eggs and the nymphs that hatched from them. None of these, Eagle or Gryphon, would ever become a changeling, so, she reflected, they were nymphs.

She also considered, far down in a mind more clever and devious than any who knew her but perhaps Matunen, all that she had learned of Gryphon and Pony politics and schemes as she had consumed her prey. Those evil, plotting Gryphons had their share to contribute to her thoughts.

Found in both Grata’s mind and that of Matunen, was the detestable Baron Yoksonu and his collection. Several of the eggs in his collection had been gathered from creatures of intelligence and wisdom. Because of that, even Doctor Do, her Matunen, detested the Baron. Matunen did recognize the scientific value of the collection and that had to be respected.

While serenely preening and feeding the next sweet little Eaglet, she smiled to herself. Grata had gone along with announcing the new Imperial Clutch in Celebripony News.

Just this morning, a far flying Eagle had returned her the news. The Baron, barely home a day, had disappeared. All was proceeding as it should.

////////////

Grata was sharing a nest with her Empress and the Right Wing of the Throne. Their chosen consort had done his part a week ago and it was time. Soon they would produce the Imperial Eggs.

The Empress raised her crest in frankness, “Grata, I cannot help but be worried about announcing our clutch in the Celebripony News. This should be a State Secret. Why is it not?”

Grata replied, “Friend, who will be tending our eggs for us, asked me to do it. She said that it might help to uncover any remaining First Creationists and other undesirable sorts.”

Hisst, the Right Wing of the Imperial Throne, raised her crest in question, “What she is doing won’t put our eggs at risk, will it? I mean, her magic seems so, so gossamer thin.”

Grata, crest rippling with amusement, replied, “Our eggs will be perfectly safe. Remember what happened to the traitor Arrokk, who tried to fly through it? The staff only needed broom and mop to clean him up. There was no shred of him big enough to pick up by claw. The other seven that Friend gathered up and dumped at the foot of the Throne at that same time? None could resist that gossamer.

“Friend can be soft, gentle and loving. Under that gentleness is toughness like I have never seen. She thrives best, not by taking love, but by sharing it. And love is the wrong word for it. There just is not any other. It is a subtle and very complex magic.

“Using that magic to guide the development of chicks in the egg is only one example of it in action. The destruction of the traitor Arrokk while in flight is a different aspect of it. Doctor Do’s healing is another. Our very existence as a species is yet another. All of those things, together with her feelings, is what she means by loving the eggs.”

The Empress finally entered the conversation, crest raised in question, “I have been most carefully reading all of the reports on Doctor Do’s condition. There are actually more reports on what the doctors have observed about Friend.

“They have never found her to be asleep as we understand the term. Is that true?”

Grata, crest spread in honesty, replied, “That is true. Friend does rest but she is always ready for instant action, if needed.”

The Empress nodded, holding her breath and pushing. “There. I do believe that is the last of our clutch.

“Let us take the eggs down to Friend. I want to meet her up close and see her reaction.”

////////////

<==PREVIOUS NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

#FRIEND AND THE IMPERIAL EGGS #Part 3 of 7 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer

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jugandbettsdetectiveagency · 5 years

Note

22 (spy) for the prompts!

Spies AU (from a fic idea I’ve always wanted to write but don’t know if I ever will)

“I don’t want to hear it, Agent Jones. This is your assignment and I expect you to follow orders as they’ve been given to you,” General Tate’s voice echoes over the speakers, deep and warm despite the firmness of his tone. Jughead can feel his features rearranging themselves into a slightly less-severe version of the scowl he is wearing as he resists the urge to scuff his shoe against the floor like a chastised child. He can feel the General’s eyes boring into his forehead from the screen, looking down as he is to hide the hurt he knows will be floating to the surface. Hurt that his superior will see straight away.

General Terrance Tate, codename ‘Pop’, had (very fittingly) been something of a paternal figure for Jughead ever since he’d been recruited by the CIA at only seventeen. Well, he supposes that the General that arrested your ganglord father and saved you from a path you were looking for a way off anyway is better than no one. And while he hadn’t exactly been entirely warm to the idea of working for the government at the time, even he has to admit that this job—this life—has saved him in more ways than can be counted. Not the least of which is the man currently shaking his head on screen despairingly.

“Look, son…” Pop begins, steepling his fingers on top of his desk. “I know it’s a little close to home—”

Wrong, Jughead wants to interrupt. It is home. It is almost exactly home. Although, if he were being honest, nothing about it ever felt particularly homey during his youth. Nevertheless, there was something close to sentiment attached to that place that no amount of training could ever get him to shake. But even that still didn’t change the fact that out of all the impossible situations he’d been placed in as an agent, this was the first time he’d wanted to flat out refuse orders.

“—but there’s no denying you’re the best man for the job. You’re familiar with the area, you know the people there.”

“Exactly! I know them, and they know me. The risk of being comprised for this mission surely outweighs the knowledge that I could easily pass onto another agent in a single afternoon,” Jughead half-pleads. He can hear how desperate he sounds, losing his cool in front of his superior and making himself sound like an idiot. He can hear it, but that doesn’t stop him.

“Nevertheless, the higher-ups believe it to be an asset and have chosen you. Therefore, it is you who will be on the plane to Riverdale by six o’clock this evening.” Pop has switched to his official, General voice, and Jughead knows anymore arguing is a lost cause. He has too much respect for the man before him—almost to his detriment.

“Yes, General,” he replies robotically, looking past Pop’s eyes into the pixels of the screen instead.

Pop sighs, a weary exhale, but continues on. “Your partner will meet you once you land at JFK and she’ll give you your brief then.”

That startles him out of his sulk. “Partner?”

“You didn’t think you’d be going in alone, did you? There’s evidence that the Fizzle Rocks supplier for the entire eastern half of the country is operating out of Riverdale. We’d hardly be likely to send you in by yourself.” Jughead feels his face heat. “No, you’ll be working together, and acting as each other’s cover while you’re in town.”

A distant beep sounds from Pop’s end of the line. “That’ll be all.” He pauses, dark eyes searching. “Good luck, Jughead.”

Jughead stumbles through arrivals with the kind of brain fog unique to being on a long flight. Bleary eyes search the gate for any sign of his greeter.

It doesn’t take long to spot JONES, written in neat, bold, block letters, but when he does all remnants of sleep clear immediately.

His eyes follow the hands clutching the poster board, along the arms clad in a powder blue sweater, up towards a prominent chin, appled cheeks, a slick blonde ponytail and— “Betty?”

Time turns itself back a decade in the space of ten seconds. Green eyes blink, once, twice. “Jughead.” Ten years since he’d last heard his name in that voice. “It’s good to see you.” His stomach flips and he’s seventeen again.

Betty Cooper looks exactly as she used to—exactly as she does, in every memory Jughead’s kept of her. Of which there are many. Her hair is a golden blonde, secured tightly in a prim ponytail. Her lips are full, her body slender. She’s wearing a sweater and jeans he could’ve sworn she owned in high school, and her shoulders are pulled back in the way he used to see her do whenever she was approaching a situation with full force. He’s not sure whether the fact that he now appears to be the situation should make him laugh or frown.

The only difference, that Jughead can see, is the smile she’s giving him in greeting. Where once before there was the easy warmth that came with a whole youth of friendship there’s now the guarded, sterile quirk of the mouth that eerily reminds him of Betty’s mother.

With that final thought he’s catapulted back to the present, something cold and uncomfortable in his stomach, and the reminder that a lot has changed since he was seventeen.

“Yeah, you too,” he manages to get out finally, a little crease between her brows alerting him to the fact he’s been quiet too long. “Are you…” He’s not quite sure if coming straight out and asking your old high school crush if she’s a secret agent in the middle of a busy airport follows protocol but, in fairness, the CIA never equipped him for this situation. Jughead swallows thickly. “Are you, um—”

“Your ride?” Betty finishes for him, something else hidden in the look she sends him. “Yes. Follow me.” With that she reaches for the handle of his suitcase and pulls it behind her as she heads for the exit, leaving Jughead to trail dazedly behind.

“Here’s your brief on the mission.” Betty hands him a thick manila folder seconds after he’s slid into the leather interior of her car. He’s not sure what kind it is, but then again engines were always her thing, not his.

(He’d zoned out most times his dad tried to teach him how to tune an engine or salvage parts from Steve’s junkyard. The promises they’d build a car from scratch faded to nothing by the time Jughead hit puberty and they were distant echoes when everything turned to shit some years later.)

“They’ve really been building their case, huh?” Jughead resists the urge to let out a low whistle as he thumbs through the wedge of documents in his hands. His torso slams back against the seat as Betty hits the gas and merges back onto the road. Quickly his hands have new business, discreetly gripping the shiny black upholstery beneath him, hoping he doesn’t leave nail marks as he watches the speedometer climb higher and higher.

He’s distracted from immanent doom by the quiet snort that comes from his left. “That’s putting it lightly. How much has your General told you about this case?” Jughead thinks she looks away from the road a beat too long to send an arched eyebrow his way, but Betty looks as relaxed as ever behind the wheel.

“Not a lot. It was kind of a last minute assignment.” He shifts uncomfortably. She picks up on it immediately.

“Can’t imagine you were jazzed to be assigned back home?” For a split second Jughead hears something, a softness, around the edges of her words that merges the past with the present in a dizzying cocktail—he resists the urge to physically shake himself out of it. “It might be a lot different than you remember. Have you been back? Since,” she adds.

“No,” Jughead sighs, turning to watch the greenery fly past the window. “Not since.” He stops suddenly, a small laugh escaping him. “And who the hell says ‘jazzed’ anymore?”

If he’s not mistaken, Betty’s smile grows an inch before she stifles it. “All the coolest intelligence agents.” Jughead lets out a proper laugh at that, rewarded with a flash of teeth in return.

“How exactly did that happen?” The question has been burning on the tip of his tongue since he saw her standing at the gate.

“What?”

“This, you, here. The last time we spoke…” Jughead takes a breath. “The last time we spoke you were applying to the Ivy Leagues.”

Betty starts nodding before he’s even finished. “I was. A lot… changed in that year you were gone from Riverdale High.” The silence is deafening in her brief pause, but then it’s gone. “Including my choice of school, and my major. Recruited out of M.I.T my junior year—Engineering.” There’s a hint of pride in her voice, and Jughead can’t blame her.

For the entirety of their high school careers Betty was set on Journalism at somewhere like Brown, Colombia, or Yale. Her parents ran the best (the only) newspaper in town—The Riverdale Register—and it was always assumed that Betty would get her degree and carry on the Cooper legacy.

A thousand more questions threaten to spill from his lips, but Jughead swallows them down. He’s not sure where he would start, or if he even should. It’s not really his place to pry anymore. They haven’t spoken in the better part of a decade, which he supposed negates all friendship privileges from here on out. Technically, they are two agents, thrown together on an assignment, expected to get the job done—nothing more, case close, thank you ma’am.

Jughead blinks rapidly, pulling a hand through his hair. “Impressive.” In the silence that follows Jughead expects Betty to ask her questions: what happened to you? Where did you go? What have you been doing all this time?

Why didn’t you say goodbye?

A part of him believes that she should have the answers—vague, though they might be—now that he knows she’s an agent herself. But the part of him that still thinks to tuck his old grey beanie into the back pocket of his suitcase wonders if Betty’s given as much thought to him as he has to her these past years they’ve spent apart.

He thinks she’s about to begin the interrogation, hearing a deep intake of breath, so he steels his nerve and tries to take the five seconds he has to decide how he’s going to answer. But instead all Betty says is, “You really should get a start on that. There’s a lot you’re going to want to know before we get to Riverdale.”

Jughead glances down at the brief again quickly. It feels like it’s developed a heartbeat while resting on his lap, thumping dully with everything he’s ignored about his hometown in the time he’s been gone. It’s both enticing and repulsing in equal measure, inciting a low hum of nausea in the back of his throat. He tips his head back against the headrest and lets his eyes fall shut.

“I’ll get carsick if I read,” he lies. He knows Betty must see right through him—he’d never make it past basic training if that were the case—but surprisingly she doesn’t push it.

“Okay,” she says quietly. There’s a click and then the muted tones of the radio fill the car. That, along with the drone of the engine and the tiredness from the plane, lulls Jughead into an easy sleep. Right before he passes out, he thinks he hears her singing.

“Jughead… Juggie, wake up we’re here.” His sleep addled brain can’t quite register the apprehension in her voice when she uses his old nickname, but his stomach does all the work for him, waking dormant butterflies in a flurry.

He inhales sharply, reaching up to rub his eyes. “‘m not asleep.” When Betty blinks into focus she’s smirking disbelievingly.

“Sure you’re not. You know, it was very rookie of you to fall asleep in the presence of an agent you’ve only just met. Who knows what I could have extracted from you in the past hour.”

Jughead’s almost entirely certain that sentence wasn’t supposed to be a turn on, but his body is defying him in all sorts of ways right now. “Nah, I trust you,” he says through a yawn, still dozy. “Known you forever.”

Betty stiffens minutely and it’s enough to catch himself, awake and alert in the next breath. “Right. Well.” She fidgets with something in the backseat, leaning close enough that he can smell the wafts of coconut from her hair. “You better put this on.”

Jughead isn’t entirely listening. He’s looked out the window and realised— “Betty why are we at your old house?” A creeping dread begins to set in. Maybe he should have read the brief on the way after all.

Betty sighs, settling back into her seat. She meets his eyes unwaveringly as she says, “This is our base of operations while we’re here. The CIA bought it after my parents divorced”—that shocks him, and Jughead thinks he should cut in with a condolence or something but she’s powering on—“and modified it for ease and security while we’re here. It seems… more believable to small town people that I’d come back to my family home with my husband.”

To her credit, she looks sheepish.

“Your what?” Jughead splutters, completely forgetting himself. His heart hammers in his chest. Betty holds up the thing she was searching for in the back, silver and glinting between her fingers.

“You should put this on before we get out. Our cover is Mr and Mrs Jones, married three months ago, come to start our family life in Riverdale.” She smiles with some strain.

Fuck.

#riverdale #bughead #bughead fanfiction #riverdale fanfiction #betty x jughead #jughead jones #betty cooper #writing

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starfaring-princelotor · 5 years

Text

No Time Like The Present

Summary: Lotor receives a gift and finds it means more to him than he realizes.

Pairings: Lotor x F!Reader

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I kindly ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. Thank you. ★

Warnings: N/a.

Future Sight___Historic Significance___No Time Like The Present___Thinking Ahead ___Best Friends

Lotor knew he was staring.

He knew he was unconsciously drifting his gaze from the professor to where you were sitting, directly across the hall from him. More than once he had to snap out if it by internally slapping himself, even if you didn’t once recognize the indecent gaze of his eyes lingering on your body. Your mouth. Your neck. Your shoulders. All of you. From the way your quill moved with every flick of your wrist to how those lips would mutter silently to yourself in reminder.

Lotor wondered what else your hands could do. What else that mouth could do. What else hid behind those lustrous orbs of yours. He couldn’t decide between wanting to steal a kiss from you or wanting you to take his breath away with a press of your delicate, pillowy lips upon him. His thoughts were rampant with little care for the rules he labeled as self-respect. And, damn it all, he had to control himself better.

You are not in love. You are heavily infatuated, you fool. You know the difference, now gather your wits and pay attention to the lesson at hand.

Hand. Lotor’s mind flashed an image of your hands, helplessly clinging to his back in wild lust. Were your nails long? Would you be digging them in his hot flesh while his hips grind against your body underneath him? Oh, how he wanted to feel your palm touching his chest, anywhere your curious mind desired. Are you the kind to let your fingertips explore or -

Damn. What was he? A foolish hormone-driven prepubescent again?

“Asked her out to the Yule Ball yet?”

Lotor kept his gaze glued on you and, without missing a beat, answered, “No. I do not think I will.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Shiro was watching his friend, that half-lust, half-adoration look in his eyes, “I heard Throk was going to.”

“You sure hear a lot of gossip nowadays, hm, Shiro?”

“Not my fault Allura’s mice like to hang out with me.”

He would have to hand it to Lotor, though. The man didn’t even flinch when he mentioned Throk. Was he that enthralled with you? Were his rose-colored goggles too tight on his face? Did he even notice you staring straight back at him with a small smile on your lips? No, he thinks not. He was on cloud nine and riding high in his horny thoughts.

“She will not agree to go with him.”

“Never get rid of that confidence, friend. It suits you,” Shiro grinned, containing his chuckle to not draw attention, “Since when could you tell the future?”

“I can not,” he grinned, “But chances are slim for Throk when she, no doubt, has lines of eager suitors just waiting to ask for her hand.”

Shiro was tempted to roll his eyes. What a hopeless romantic, this guy. When his grey orbs caught the black rose sticking out of his friend’s satchel, the Gryffindor prefect shook his head in mirthful amusement.

Hopeless? Maybe not. Romantic? Definitely.

Another crumpled ball folded itself into a snake, the magic from your wand bringing inanimate objects to life. Temporarily, anyways.

If anyone were to come into your room, they would see a zoo littered all over the floor. Paper animals from bears to giraffes tramped over the rug, some hiding under your bed while others sought to rip the smaller one to pieces. Ah, yes, the circle of paper life. It mattered not how noisy they were being. It could not distract you from hovering the tip of the quill over another blank parchment.

And hover it stayed.

The words were not coming to you and that was beyond frustrating. Your penmanship was fine, beautiful even, but the prose? The poetic soul? The letters meant to represent those lingering thoughts in your head were not working with you tonight. Or any previous night, for that matter. All you were doing was wasting ink and time. And yet, you kept trying, struggling to make this letter as perfect as possible for a certain white haired Slytherin.

Sighing heavily, you straighten your back and stretched your arms above you, letting your mind wander.

If there was one thing you appreciated with being Lotor’s friend, then it is that you didn’t need to be perfect. Everyone had flaws, but he showed you twice already that fixing them is what makes you a better person. Change is a good thing. Painful, but good. It was difficult keeping your eyes astray from that mirror shard. Easily one of the hardest hurdles you have ever had to do. You wanted so badly to see your mother, your father, all of you, smiling happily like before they…

“Dear Lotor,”

Dear Lotor? Was that proper for your friend? Hopefully, yes.

“Words can not express how thankful I am to have you by my side.”

You thought back to potions class, the time in the forest, even when he was guiding you to your house’s wing. A small, fond smile spread on your lips.

“Whereas I have been recklessly selfish, you have dutifully”

Dutifully? Ugh. That was not the right word! You know he wasn’t helping you out of duty. Well, not completely anyways. You hastily scratched over “dutifully” then continued writing, figuring this was a good 56th draft.

“You have kindly grounded me to see things more logically, something I have failed to do for someone sorted into the Ravenclaw house.”

Yes, yes. Keep it somewhat light with a self-burn joke. No doubt he would agree with you anyways. Probably chuckle to himself if he reads it. When he reads it. You bit your bottom lip, hesitating on the next words itching to transfer from your mind to ink. This part was always the hardest. The blank yellow tint of the paper mocked you, teased you for the cowardly trepidation gripping your chest. All this time, locked in your room, you came to one conclusion: you liked Lotor. You would consider the both of you as friends, right?

Right.

“If it is all the same to you”

Scratch that. It was too non-chalant.

“I hereby request that”

Scribbles. Too formal.

“Would it be terribly selfish if I were to ask you to attend the Yule ball with me?”

As...friends? Best friends. You felt your face warming up at those two words. Best. Friends. You really liked that.

Prince Lotor was nervous.

A rare occurrence for him, but it did happen. While he brushed off invisible lint from his shoulder, other hand folded neatly behind his back, he kept his posture straight and regal in waiting like a true gentleman. The bottom of the stairs have never felt so intimidating before. His collar suddenly felt too tight and, goodness, was that a scuff on his boots? Who dared step on his shoe without his knowing? He kept sneaking glances to his cuffed wrists, just to make sure he was presentable for the public. No, not just the public. But for you, too. Of course he was fine, handsome even, and yet…he was stiff as if he was going to face a basilisk with only his bare hands for weapons.

Green was still a horrendous color, but he will admit it complemented the black suit wonderfully.

“Prince Lotor.”

Your voice calling his name, with his proper title, drew his nebulous eyes up each carved marble step. That smile on your face suited you well and, in all honesty, was better than the elegant dress draping past your ankles. That beauty radiating from your eyes put the soft sapphire linen to shame. Little did he know, you were thinking the same when you stared in awe at the silver braid crowning his head. Did he even realize he was grinning like a fool with a soft fondness glazing over his sharp face?

“You look beautiful, my dear,” he held his hand out, which you gladly surrendered your own on top of his, “Surely, this flower will not even hold a candle to you.”

You scoffed, he chuckled, “C’mon, Casanova, give yourself some credit here. I’d say try not to attract too much attention at the hall, but that’s nearly impossible for you.”

“Oh? Go on,” Lotor tied the white silk band around your wrist delicately, ensuring the blooming corsage was centered properly, “Think women will drop to my feet and beg for a dance?”

“Ha!” you barked a laugh, “That’ll be the day. But no, it’s more like...you’re just hard to miss.”

With his height, his skin, his hair, yes, Lotor was indeed hard to miss. No doubt people would stare and, although you had no problem with speeches and crowds in a classroom, this was a different setting all together. A social gathering, not something you were accustomed to yet, especially besides someone whose mere presence demanded attention. Lotor curbed the playful banter then held his elbow out for you to take, already sensing your creeping uneasiness while his own nervousness disappeared in thin air.

“I do not suppose you have any more of that invisible ink you used in your letter, hm?” there was a hint of pride at your ingenious trick, one he almost wasn’t able to solve, “We could douse ourselves in it and run off. All those in our year will be there, I doubt they would notice two people missing.”

Besides, it’s not like this is the first time Lotor would bend the rules for you.

“And land you in trouble with the Headmaster Bob? I think not, Mr. Prince Slytherin Prefect.”

“Please,” he said with some exasperation hidden in his grin, “Just call me Lotor for tonight.”

The doors were already open and, from above, you could see the enchanted ceiling sprinkling snowflakes of all sizes. They disappeared before touching anyone’s head, but what truly caught your sight was the bright moon and the powdered tall trees displaying a winter wonderland before your very eyes. Magic was truly a special phenomenon you will never quite get used to.

“Damn, looks like we missed the ballroom dance,” you sure did not sound too heartbroken about it, “Seems like my accursed knack for being late strikes once again. Terrible.”

Lotor arched a brow and grinned down at you, “Nonsense. We will still get our dance yet, darling, though this music is not exactly suitable for it. Nor is...all this wild hopping and flailing.”

While all the students were inside, going crazy to the rock of ages blasting in the hall, Lotor led the two of you out into an isolated garden patio, complete with cement benches, neatly trimmed bushes still shimmering with green leaves, and even a soothing fountain filling the chilly air. Strange, but the cold did not seep into your bones as fast as you thought. In fact, you felt rather warm besides your friend.

A puff of fog left your mouth as you spoke, “It was getting stuffy in there. But, aah, the fresh air is nice.”

You took a deep breath just to emphasize your approval, but when you tried to release your hold from him, Lotor’s bigger hands refused to let you go. He wasn’t clasping tightly at all, more loose to let you go if you truly wanted to. Your questioning gaze and tilt of head made the Prince falter for a second, before he offered you an enchanting smile. Enchanting or mischievous, you wondered?

“I was serious about the dance,” he liked the surprised look on your face, “But if you are not of mind, it is no tragedy, my dear.”

“You know, I failed that lesson. Spectacularly, might I add.”

“Good thing I am not a teacher then, hm?”

A laugh left your mouth before you could stop it, funny bone simply tickled at the light banter. Yes, it is a good thing he was no teacher. You returned to his arms, much to his delight, and placed your free hand on his broad shoulder. Lotor tangled his fingers with yours before setting his palm properly to grip your waist. He was half tempted to squeeze, maybe try to see if you were ticklish at all, but it was your hum of thought that distracted him.

“Just don’t laugh when I step on your toes.”

“I will most certainly laugh. You know this.”

Teasing bastard, but you grinned in amusement anyways. Lotor nearly puffed up his chest, ready to lead you into the dance, but first he started...purring? No, ridiculous. He was humming a soft tune, one completely different than that leaking from the dance hall. Slowly, with the utmost care as if he was holding an ethereal moon goddess in his very arms, the Prince guided you along with his firm, lithe body.

Chest against chest, pelvis flushed together, the surrounding garden and night slowly faded away as the only thing both of you could feel was each other’s sublime presence. He was good at this and, really, now you kind of wish you paid more attention in class. Lotor expertly avoided your missteps, making it seem like you were flawlessly following his guide even though he was doing 95% of the work.

You were acutely aware that he had a smile on his face, one you have never seen him wear since you first met him crossing the threshold into Hogwarts castle.

“You are staring.”

“Can’t help it. Your freckles are distracting.”

“I get that quite often,” he flashed you an honest, handsome grin, canine glinting under the dim moon, then found his throat constricting suddenly, “You may touch them, if you wish.”

As the dance came to a slow end, you decided to take him up on that offer. His hands smoothed down to hold your waist, a way to keep you close to him in this chilly, chilly night. Couldn’t risk you getting a cold or becoming sick, right? Lotor kept still when gentle fingertips trailed up to his chin, barely skimming over his jawline, then gave the barest of flinches as you touched him. His cheeks were freezing, but your warm thumbs caressing over his freckles felt absolutely blissful.

You don’t know why, but you half expected those speckles to glow.

“Hm,” you squinted, eyes narrowed at him and, well, it put him on alert. Was it something he did? Said? Perhaps he was holding you too tight -

“...55...56…”

“...Are you,” he started, realization dawning on him, “Are you counting my freckles?”

A pinch on his cheeks, “Yes! You made me lose count. Stay still.”

But he didn’t. Lotor bellowed out a laugh, head tossing back at the ruined moment. No, not ruined. This was perfect. Not exactly what he expected, but you always did have a funny way to diffuse domestic scenarios. Leave it to you to make him swerve off his intended path. A good thing, no doubt. Always expect the unexpected. His chest was shaking while you tsk’d at him for interrupting your very important assignment.

“Come, darling,” he let out a relieved sigh, the laugh doing wonders on his hardened, infatuated soul, “Sit with me. I have something for you.”

Lotor brushed off the layer of snow from the cement bench then motioned you to take it. He did the same for his own spot before glancing up at the night sky. Beautiful. Always has been, but tonight, those star seem to be glimmering even brighter than before. Your eyes were stuck on the moon and it was in this rare, pleasant silence where the both of you came to understand how...nice it was being with each other.

“Christmas was never something I gave a second thought to because it was too...how do you say? Too sentimental, ” his hand reached into his coat, pulling out an immaculately wrapped square present, “It was not a holiday for me. Celebrating with family over a warm dinner and thoughtful, spoiled presents. Hugs and togetherness spreading cheer and good will to each other. Sickening, really.”

You would have believed him if you didn’t catch that growing smile on his lips.

“But I realize that is wrong. What it means to me does not mean the same for others. Not to you,” his thumb brushed over the shiny bow on the present before he turned and offered it to you, “There are people who had a happy family and...ahem, pardon me.”

Lotor was at a loss for words. This talk was making his heart jump in his chest, crashing into his vocal chords and messing with his brain only because it felt awkward sharing personal thoughts so...openly.

“I simply hope this gift exchange, as you say, is enough to bring back those joyful memories for you, my dear.”

My best friend. Lotor was no dunce. He could piece two and two together, especially after you shared with him the history of your broken family. He didn’t need to hear it all and, judging by how much it affected you, you weren’t going to indulge him. The only thing that mattered was that you were happy. You had a happy family and, damn it, just because his own parents were cruel and heartless doesn’t mean you should follow his chosen path of being the seasonal despondent.

You had good memories of your family, but this? Lotor’s gift? You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the surge of feelings making your lower lip quiver. You threw your arms around him in a crushing embrace, causing the Prince to stutter at such straightforward displays of affection. And yet, his arms wrapped around your midsection as he returned the sudden hug. This...this felt nice, especially knowing you accepted his gift.

“Thank you,” you swayed him slightly before backing off him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Lotor. This is...it’s not the same, but…”

Lotor’s smile faltered a bit.

“But it’s much better. Way better.”

Now, he felt ridiculously proud of himself.

“I love it - “

“You did not even open it yet.”

“I know! I’m just taking in the moment! It’s important! It feels good!”

Lotor raised a silver brow and, finally, you pulled the bow and strings off the present. The wrapping came off next. The Prince found himself unconsciously holding his breath in dreadful anticipation. The book with no title laid bare for your very eyes, but you went deathly silent. Intricate etchings in the green leather dye suddenly seemed mediocre for someone like you. The symbolic tree with jade minerals carved into leaves were too dull. He knew he should have gone with emeralds. Much prettier, much shinier, much more suited for -

“Wow…” your voice was low, but full of dazed awe, “You...you made this?”

“Oh, no. I bought the journal,” he watched your fingertips gently skim over the leaves, “But those, I put in myself. I even...ah…”

The timber of his voice trailed off and you turned to look at him to see his gaze fixated on the white floor, “Yes? You even…?”

“So pushy, you are,” he chuckled, running a hand over his hair and trying to steel himself with being so open, “I have enchanted it. Do write in it tonight and see what happens.”

“You aren’t going to tell me?”

“No.”

“See, that’s just mean,” you bumped your shoulder against him lightly, playfully, “Now I can’t wait until the dance is over.”

Would you think differently of him if he said he didn’t want it to end?

“Okay, fine, keep your secrets,” you reached into your bag, “Now, before I give this to you, you have to close your eyes.”

“Oh, really now?”

“Yes, really.”

“Very well, I will humor you.”

You almost wanted to pinch that catty grin off his face, but he did obey when his lids slid close. Taking a few seconds to make sure he wouldn’t peek, you gently grabbed his hand and placed the paper wrapped orb in his palm. At least, you should have, until you noticed a certain pale scar cutting across his skin. The scar from the mirror, an unwelcome reminder of your foolish actions.

Taking a deep breath, you plopped the gift and pushed his fingers up to curl around it.

“Alright, there.”

When he opened his celestial eyes, the first thing Lotor saw was that your smile, as true as it was, had a quick flutter of sadness creeping at the edges. It disappeared before he could question you and he ultimately decided, well, perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was that fleeting memory of your family invading your mind again. In any case, he let it go for now, then deftly peeled apart the wrapping covering your gift.

Your leg was bouncing in anxiousness. Every crinkle of the paper was a mocking tune to the gift in his hand. This wasn’t as practical as his gift. Did he like gifts that were more useful than sentimental? Oh, stars, what if this was just going to be sitting in a storage box, hidden away for years because all it ever does is show one’s emotions and -

Lotor’s brows shot up in genuine surprise, “Is...is this blue sandstone?”

“Uh huh,” your hand came up to rub your neck nervously, “Shined it, too, until it was good and ready. Do you...like it?”

Why did you even ask that? It only made your throat tighten more in trepidation, both wanting and afraid to hear his answer.

He could not take his eyes off the orb, inner stars slowly changing to green grass and blooming flowers and sunshine all around. It was warm, so warm that he had to bring both of his hands in to cradle it lovingly. This small gem was...precious. Beautiful. He knows about these, he knows about these intimately, but he never sought to own one himself. Lotor liked to believe he is a man who knows himself both inside and out, emotions included.

But this soothing visual of spring time told him otherwise.

“I do,” he whispered, “I do like it. This is...This is truly an extraordinary gift, my dear. I will cherish it forever.”

Lotor may be a Prince, but right now he felt like a King.

You sighed in relief. Lotor took entirely too long to answer, but when he did, his words made you feel big. Wholesome. Accomplished, even. Then...then you realized what exactly this was you were feeling. You felt accepted. You didn’t feel so alone now. It was quiet, both students simply touching and admiring the gifts given by the other while the stars protected you two from above.

“Do you...want to go inside? Grab a drink?”

Lotor slowly dragged his eyes to lock with yours, a certain tenderness radiating from them in the night. It was a good look on him, one you thought, well, you wouldn’t mind seeing it more often.

“Not yet, my dear. I am...taking in the moment.”

Neither of you wanted the night to end, but alas, even youngsters had their limits. Lotor’s tie was loose, jacket hanging off the side of his chair, and top two buttons of his shirt undone. Still, he wasn’t tired, he didn’t want to sleep, not when the blue sandstone orb was still in his possession. This would easily be a treasured gift he will not share with others. Solely for him and him only. Not even Kova would have the luxury of touching this.

The navy-dyed journal on his desk began glowing a faint, soft hue. Lotor couldn't stop the surge of...joy? Happiness? Eagerness? Something. The surge of something fluttering to his face and planting a smile on his lips. He flipped it open to the first blank page and waited in suspense. He never told you what the secret was because he wasn’t quite sure if his enchantment worked in the first place.

Then, words started appearing on the parchment, words written in your handwriting.

“Dear diary,

Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

Lotor grabbed his quill, uncapped his ink bottle, then dipped it before writing right under your sentence.

“Me, too.”

#lotor x reader #congratulations!#the wizarding world now discovered #text messaging #get it #because its in a book #a text book #spacestories #also early post because duty calls tomorrow #and it will most likely be all day

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lilyharvord · 5 years

Note

we were promised a shower scene and thats the tea

You all absolutely were promised a shower scene. I don’t know who to tag anymore either… I’ve been out of this for so long... who is even around anymore? I don't know.... @clarafarleybarrow, @spookymareshmallow, @marecalrandomstuff, @anyone-anything-canbetrayanyone, @war-storm, @nightmarebarrow. You guys are the only ones that I know for sure are alive.

It was my sons birthday by the way, does everyone know that???And in honor of my sons birthday….

BIRTHDAY CHEERS

“Do you ever get cold?”

I sigh, and then slowly turn to look at Nikoli. He was a young recruit, probably too young now that I thought about it. Standing on the edge of the Lakelander territory and waiting for a group of our soldiers to return back over the border, the only thing he could do to pass the time was ask me any question that popped into his mind.

“Yes,” I reply, as patiently as I can, “I get cold like everyone else.”

“But, you could just warm yourself up right? Or does it take longer to get cold cause your body temperature runs so much higher?” Nik was about as curious as any other new blood. He wanted all the answers, and I had half a mind to tell him to go back to the base and get a cup of coffee. That would probably not go over well though, considering the fact that he was hyper enough as it was without adding caffeine into the mix.

“It doesn’t work like that.” I murmur, as I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat. He sits silently for a moment before asking, “is Miss Barrow coming to the base again?”

I froze, it had been a while since Mare had been here, but with good reason. She had her own life in Montfort, and after three years of living her life, and me living mine, it was hard for us to get away from our respective circles to see each other. The decision to try again had been a mutual one, but with the condition that if anything ever felt wrong, we were dropping it. It had been half a year since that agreement, and although we wrote letters back and forth, we did not really speak of the other to anyone, or really admit to the fact that we were together in any sense of the word. So, Mare had not come back to the base since then.

“She’s busy. She’s in Montfort.” I said with a shrug as I squinted to see through the new falling snow. It had started falling around noon and so it was deep enough that a few of the other members of our group had gone out to play in it like children. I was no use in the games though, simply because the minute I picked up a handful of the white powder, it melted in my hands.

Nik blows out an exasperated sigh, and then says, “I liked her. So did the other guys.”

“I’m sure you all did,” I can’t help the grin that stretched across my face. Mare had made a name for herself among the group, and a few of the older men had noticed the multiple letters I got from Montfort, all carefully and teasingly addressed to his royal highness Tiberias the Seventh, in Mare’s chicken scratch. Her writing had gotten better over the course of our letter exchange though. Only after I had requested for her to please try because I was having a hard time reading parts of it though.

She was my mystery girl. All of them teased me about it, some of the younger ones like Nik running me the letters when they arrived shouting that my mystery girl had written to me again. As far as any of them were concerned, it wasn’t Mare. A few of the smarter ones, the ones who knew about the war and what had truly happened during it, smirked and teased me about shocks and storms.

The truck rumbled around the corner, as Nik opened his mouth again to respond and I stepped forward as I whispered under my breath, “thank my colors.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer any more of his questions, especially with the direction they appeared to be going. He followed after me though. With a grunt I pulled open the door which was almost frozen shut and smiled up at our captain saying, “Evening, did you have a nice slide on the ice?”

She frowns down at me before climbing out, saying, “They certainly didn’t mention your horrible sense of humor when I asked about you in command.”

I grimace but force the smile to stay up as she slides by me and continues, “See to it that the engine is checked. It kept idling while we were trying to start it.”

“Well, it would be cold out, and you did leave it in the cold for a long period of time without running it.” I said with a shrug before closing the door behind her. She passed Nik on her way to the base, and the driver went with her. I chuckled to myself and then crossed around the front and climbed into the driver’s seat. Nik climbed in the passenger seat, his eyes lighting up as he asked, “Do you think I could work on the truck alone?”

“Are you going to unscrew the wrong thing like last time, and set us back two weeks?” I raise my brow at him, and he drags his tongue over his lower lip before looking forward again. I laugh as I shift the truck into drive and try to make my way through the snow toward the garage.

As I pull into the garage, Nik starts snickering. I sigh and then look up from the dash to see a figure wrapped up in the largest jacket I’ve ever seen. I hit the brakes a little harder than I should have, and Nik snorts as the belt cuts into his shoulder. Eventually, I ease up on the brake and it slowly rolls forward before I brought the truck to a stop and put it in park.

Nik watched them reach up and remove their hood, and then said with a laugh, “Hey! It’s Miss Barrow.”

I gripped the wheel tighter as she came around to the drivers side of the truck and opened the door. I glanced down at her, and she smirked up at me before saying, “Hello Tiberias.”

“Mare.” I reply, trying to keep my lips from twitching up into a smile. She doesn’t try to hide it though, as she leans against the door and says, “You wouldn’t be busy right now would you?”

Glancing over my shoulder at Nik, I raise my brow. He frowns for a moment, seeing my expression and says coolly, “I can handle checking belts.”

I look away laughing, and climb out of the truck to join Mare on the ground. Her hands are freezing when they grab at the exposed skin of my wrist. I shiver for a moment. She drags me away, and I have to look over my shoulder to say to Nik, “Make sure you put new oil in, clean the ice off the-”

“Off the rims, I know,” Nik says with an eyes roll. I purse my lips, certain he will forget that, but Mare tugs on my arm again, pulling me in the direction of the bunker. She smirks when I glare at her, and teases, “You’ll have plenty of time to work on your little engines tonight, but its been six months, I want at least two hours with you.”

She tugs me out into the snow, until I close the distance between us, and slide my arm around hers to pull her close. She laughs softly, and presses to my side saying, “I was sitting in there freezing my ass off for almost an hour, just so I could surprise you.”

“Well you certainly surprised me,” I grin down at her. I can’t hide the warmth that blooms in my chest at her presence. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to see her until now.

We step into the warmth of the bunker, and she pulls off her hat, shaking her hair out. The ends are still a deep purple, apparently the electricons would never lose that tradition. She brushes her fingers through it, as I ask, “Are you here to bring something for command?”

She purses her lips and says, “I can’t just come see you?”

“It’s a little out of character for you, I won’t lie.” She glares at me, but her lips curl up at the corner when she sees them I’m smiling. I was curious about her arrival though. Mare wasn’t exactly the most romantic person, she was entirely practical. If she was here, there was a purpose besides just “seeing me”. Shrugging, and looking around at the empty hallway, she says, “Well show me to your rooms, I want out of this stupid jacket.”

Shaking my head, I start down the hall, unzipping and removing my jacket as we go. Our boots make hollow echoes on the metal floor as we walk toward the end of the hall. I had chosen the room specifically for how far it was from the lounge room, just so that I could feel like I had some resemblance of privacy.

Opening the door, I watch her step underneath my outstretched arm, and into the room. The last time she had been here, she hadn’t seen the room. She glances around at the space, taking in the mess of papers on my desk, the neat little stack of letters on my bed side table, as well as the few books I have stacked there. Among them is a faint gold cover that is starting to brown from the amount of times that I have held it in my hands and read it.

Mare slides her jacket off, and on an impulse I will never get rid of, I take it from her. She watches me cross the room to hang them up so that they can drip in the corner instead of all over the floor. She rubs her hands on her arms, and grumbles, “It’s cold in here.”

“The others figured that I was best suited for this room, since it’s furthest from the heating system.” I offer as I crouch down to begin untying my boots. She steps in front of my bed and then sinks on to it, her hands running along the freshly washed sheets. She glances at the stack of letters again and then grabs them before flipping through them. I toss my boots in the corner before asking, “See anything you like?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t have sent you something I didn’t like.” She replies dubiously, before setting the stack back down. She turns her attention on me then, and with a smile says, “So impersonal, I figured your room would have a few more personal touches.”

“Would you like me to hang your picture on the wall, so that I can stare longingly at it all day and night?” I ask with a laugh before coming to stand in front of her. She looks up at me, and then tilting her head to the side, replies, “That sounds utterly dramatic. Yes, I want you to do that. I’ll send you my picture when I get home.”

“I’d prefer the uniform one.” I tease, referring to the one she had to take as a member of the Monfort government. She waves me away in annoyance, and I laugh as I cross the room to pull my shirt off and toss it into my laundry bag. She leans her weight back on her hands and asks, “What does one have to do to get a nice shower around here?”

Glancing at her over my shoulder, I reply, “Say please..”

She smirks and then leans forward to untie her boots as well. She is silent while she does this, and I shrug to myself before turning around to gather my things for a shower as well. I had spent almost all day in the garage and standing out in the cold. I couldn’t wait to stand under the burning water for a few minutes.

I feel Mare’s cold hands press against my lower back, and I almost jump and yelp in surprise. She laughs and then whispers, “Please.”

I glance over my shoulder at her, and get a little wicked smirk from her as she looks up at me under her lashes. Raising my brow, I say, “Didn’t we say that we didn’t want to-”

“Today is special circumstances.” She murmurs, as she slides in front of me, trailing her nails along my skin as she does so. I shiver at the sensation, and she sighs as she says, “Birthdays are a once a year thing after all.” She reaches up to push my hair away from my face, and then says, “Of course, we could just-”

“No, no, this is fine.” I whisper, feeling my chest hitch as she trails a nail down down my chest again. Wicked little gremlin, I think. Pressing herself closer to me, she whispers, “Say please.”

I glance over my shoulder at the door that leads to my bathroom. Bringing my eyes back to her, I say, “Maybe later.” With that, I pull away and make my way toward that door. I can almost feel the daggers she’s throwning at my back with her eyes. Opening the door, I look over my shoulder and say, “Shower first.”

Her brow raises, as the surprise melts of her face. Scurrying across the room then, she slides past me and through the open door. Backing into the little room, she practically beckons me with her smile. I close the door behind us, and step toward her, reaching for her arm. She dances away though, and turns. Looking over her shoulder she says, “Shower first.”

I laugh at her throwing my command back at me. She grabs the hem of her shirt and tugs it over her head then, tossing it toward the wall and then shimmies out of her pants too. I look away, another habit that I will probably never lose. She snorts when she notices, and when I glance over my shoulder, she is standing with her arms crossed, and her eyes dancing with laughter. “Still so ashamed of this,” she teases, as she advances on, me and reaches up to wrap her arms around my neck. Pulling my head down to hers she asks, “Were you just going to ignore your birthday?”

“That’s what I’ve been doing the past few years.” I reply, as I trail my nose along her cheekbone. She sighs, and runs hand through my hair, while the other drops between us. I feel the weight of my belt disappear first, and I open my eyes to meet hers as I say, “It really hasn’t meant much to me.”

“It means a lot to me,” She whispers before undoing my pants. I grab help her remove them, and then reach up to trail my fingers along her skin. She breathes deeply, softly, almost patiently. Cupping her neck, I press my lips to hers in a light kiss. She tilts her head to the side to adjust the angle, and deepens the kiss until she has to press her body against mine to get closer. I back us up towards the shower. Guiding her inside, I press her against the wall delicately, and reach behind me to turn the water on. It’s so cold it burns at first, and I grit my teeth against it as I rest my forehead against hers. She hisses when a few of the freezing drops hit her skin, but as the water warms, she presses herself back up against me. We both relax into each other, feeling the warmth of each others skin, as we touch every inch of each other. So long, so very long since I had seen her like this. I missed her desperately, from the sound of her voice, to the way she grumbled about everything that didn’t remotely go her way.

Gently, I slide my hand along her leg before tracing it up her hip. Her lips curl into a smile as she feels where my hand is going. “It’s your birthday, not mine,” she murmurs against my lips as she kisses me again. Laughing softly, I pull away enough to rest my forehead against hers and slide my hand down to rest on her inner thigh. “I don’t mind,” I murmur as I press my lips to her temple and let my hand slide up between her legs.

She murmurs at the sensation at first, and then lets out a long groan. She grabs at my shoulder, gripping it until her knuckles turn white. She whispers breathlessly into the space between us, “You certainly haven’t forgotten anything.”

“How could I?” I tease as I press my lips into the space at the hollow of her throat. She cranes her neck back and moans softly, her body going taut with the feeling. Grinning at the fact that I can still bring her to this point even years later, I drag my lips up to her ear and grab at her earlobe, tugging softly. She pants as she shifts her legs and tries to grind her hips on my hand, looking for more friction. She climbs higher and higher, her breath getting faster and faster, until she gasps, and throws her arms around my neck. Her legs seem to almost collapse out from underneath her, and in that moment, I press my lips to hers, inhaling the sounds she makes as I get her through her climax.

She rests her head against my shoulder once her body stops trembling, and whispers, “You ruined all my plans, like always.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes, and then reply, “I have to say it is a gift of mine.”

“Goddamn pain in my ass,” She growls before running her fingers through my hair. She presses her hips against mine and then smirks as she says, “You’re all hot and bothered by me though.”

I shrug, and try to pull away, but she holds me close and trails her nails along my sides, making me squirm as every nerve fires at once. She hums to herself, then and bracing her hands on my shoulders, hops slightly, and I catch her. Sliding her legs around my waist, I press her against the wall again, and press my lips to hers as she knots her fingers in my hair and grinds her hips against mine. I groan at the feeling and say, “We shouldn’t be in her much longer, the water will get cold.”

“Good thing it won’t take long then,” she murmurs before shifting. She slides a little lower and I can’t help the sound that comes out. She grins and then whispers in my ear, “Go ahead, I’m ready.”

As she goes to kiss me again though, the water turns freezing again. She cries out at the sensation, and I laugh, as I wrap my arms around her and carry her out of the shower. She wraps her arms around my neck in response and then hisses as I carry her into my room to lay her on the bed, “You’re coming to Montfort next time, and we’re having a proper shower when we won’t get interrupted by cold water.”

“I’ll come for your birthday,” I promise with a smile before sliding under the sheets with her, and silencing her with a kiss.

#my fanfics #my work #some smut for yall #the shower scene is back #red queen #glass sword #war storm #marecal #hey everyone come and get yall's smut #I have returned from under my rock #hello every #yes it is good to back #good luck finding me again #I'm turning my chair back around

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sammyspelledwrite · 6 years

Text

A Royal Affair

It’s AU August so here’s ch 1 of my new Ladybug fic

Summary: Marinette is a Chinese princess, sent to France under the cover of diplomacy to recover the stolen Miraculouses. She soon discovers one of the Miraculouses, held by a musketeer named Chat Noir. He agrees to help her find the rest if she helps him stop the akuma. Meanwhile, le Dauphin Prince Adrien has unexpectedly stolen her heart. AO3

Marinette may have been ill at ease in her royal qipao, with bright red tassels dangling from her ornamental headpiece, but it did not show on her face. She surveyed the silly French court with a look her grandfather would have been proud of. Any one of these people, she thought. Any one of them could have stolen them.

She unconsciously raised a hand to the black gems that swung from her ears. Now, with their magic dormant, she couldn’t sense the Miraculouses around her. But she knew they were there.

“Princess,” snapped Madame Bustier. “You must be more approachable! How will China ever establish trade with France if no one speaks to you?”

Marinette held her tongue. On the surface, this was a diplomatic mission. It chafed the emperor’s pride to send someone abroad, rather than wait for the other country to admit China’s superiority. But something valuable had been stolen from the emperor, and it was imperative that no one knew the true purpose of her visit.

“Will I be presented to the king soon?” Marinette asked in Chinese.

“En Français,” Madame Bustier hissed. “The king hasn’t even arrived yet.”

“Oh god,” someone said. “What is she wearing?”

“Highly unfashionable,” another agreed.

Marinette turned slightly to see two French ladies of the court, around her own age. One wore makeup in that distasteful French way, accentuating every corner of her face. She had blonde hair done up in a large bouffant, adorned with pearls. Her dress was bright yellow, something Marinette had to remind herself was not reserved for the king here. The other had orange hair, rather short, and wore a pale lavender dress that Marinette actually liked.

“I’m sorry,” Marinette said, smiling a little. “Who are you?”

The orange one squawked. “How dare you! This is Dame Chloé Bourgeois! The future reine of France!”

“Oh?” Marinette frowned. “You’re engaged to the prince?”

Chloé gave her friend a smack with her bejeweled fan. “Sabrina, be quiet.” Then she sighed heavily. “Yes, everyone knows that I will soon marry le Dauphin, Adrien. It’s simply right that the two most beautiful people in France be joined before God.”

Marinette took this girl in again, from her bedazzled fan to the pearls in her hair. She wanted to tell her that what her grandfather wore on one hand was worth more than her father’s French fiefdom. But she did not. Instead, she said, “That’s nice.”

Chloé gave her a strange look, then harrumphed and left her in peace. Her friend Sabrina hurried after her.

“You see?” Marinette said to her teacher. “I am making connections.”

Madame Bustier did not have time to scold her, for the music stopped and everyone turned their attention to the end of the great hall, where the head butler stood. “Mesdames et messiers, the butler announced. “Le Roi de France et de Navarre, Roi du Soleil, Gabriel.”

The men bowed, and the women dropped into deep curtsies. There, at the entrance to the mirrored hall, stood a tall man with a serious face. Atop his head he wore a great, powdered wig, in his hand a pearl-topped cane. His suit was powder blue and embroidered in gold.

“Monseigneur le Dauphin, Adrien.”

A young man stepped into the hall. The prince. She had been shown his likeness on the voyage, but it did not compare. They called his father the Sun King, but surely they meant his son. Absolutely radiant, with hair blond as wheat. Even from here she could see his eyes were green like imperial jade. He stood tall, straight-backed, and looked over the heads of his people.

Chloé had been right on one thing, at least. This man was beautiful. But Marinette pushed that thought away. He was but another prince. Marinette was the daughter of the eighth princess of Emperor Qin, and she alone had been chosen amongst her cousins to wield the power of the Miraculous.

King Gabriel took his seat in his throne, and the members of the court lined up to pay their respects to him.

After a dull half hour, and the people were back to mingling, Madame Bustier walked Marinette to the throne. King Gabriel sat rigidly, a servant beside him holding a bottle of champagne for when le roi’s glass ran dry. On the other side, in a fine powder blue suit only slightly less extravagant than his father’s, was Prince Adrien.

“Monsieur le Roi,” said Madame Bustier, curtsying. “I present to you Princess Mei Ai Nuo, or Marinette, of the Qing Dynasty.”

King Gabriel gave her a look that made her feel ice in her heart. Then, with an air of dismissal, raised his right hand to her.

Marinette’s eyes widened. Did… did he expect her to kiss his ring? She glanced at Madame Bustier for help. Her teacher gave the tiniest nod.

Oh god. This wasn’t covered in her training. Was she expected to actually kiss his ring or the air above it? Should she grab his hand to do so?

“Allez-y, child,” King Gabriel said.

Marinette felt her cheeks turn pink as she bowed low and kissed just above the ring. King Gabriel withdrew his hand and waved at Adrien. “My son,” he said. “Prince Adrien.” He nodded. “He will dance with you.”

Marinette was taken aback. She looked at the prince, who gave her a most breathtaking smile. “Mademoiselle,” he said, bowing slightly, “may I have this dance?”

Marinette curtsied like she’d been taught. “I would be honored, monsieur.”

Prince Adrien took her hand lightly in his and led her onto the dance floor. Marinette felt that people were staring. The red tassels in her hair swayed in and out of her vision. Adrien placed one hand behind his back and his other arm against hers. He stepped, and she followed, like she had been taught during the voyage to France.

“Was the journey long, mademoiselle?” the prince inquired.

“Yes,” Marinette said. “But I am happy to have come. Establishing trade between our nations is so important.”

“Indeed,” the prince said, and Marinette resisted rolling her eyes. “Tell me, where does your French name come from?”

“Ah. My father is French.”

The Dauphin smiled. “That would explain why you’re so beautiful.”

Marinette missed a step, and stumbled into the prince. He caught her easily and righted her, but Marinette could have sworn she heard that Chloé girl scoff.

“I understand that you will be staying with us for some time,” Adrien went on, his steps perfectly on rhythm.

Now that Marinette had made one mistake, she couldn’t remember how to keep going. She was a step behind, then one ahead, then the wrong foot, then another. She felt flustered. “Um, I, yes. My emperor, the China of grandfathers—I mean! Um. My father—no. I… ambassador?”

Now the prince laughed. “I think it’s wonderful our countries are trying to establish trade.” He leaned close and murmured, “And I’m glad you’re not another unsubtle attempt of my father’s to find me a bride.”

Marinette bristled at the prince’s attitude. Did he think every woman presented to him wished to wed him? She halted. “No, Dauphin, I am a diplomat here to further my country’s economy, not a concubine sent for the pleasure of the French house.”

Prince Adrien blinked at her, his expression regretful. “I-I’m sorry, mademoiselle, I did not mean to offend.”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” she said. “It matters what you said. The future ruler of a country should know that. Now, excuse me.” Marinette folded her arms into the sleeves of her qipao and walked away.

Marinette saw Madame Bustier gaping at her, so she changed directions and headed to the mostly vacant seats on the far side of the hall. She dropped into one with a huff and thought longingly of China.

“Is he that bad a dancer?” someone asked.

Marinette looked up. A beautiful dark-skinned lady was seated only a few chairs away. She had the most incredible dark hair, and she wore a striking orange dress with pearls stitched into the bodice. She held, instead of a fan, a golden rod with a pair of eyeglasses on top. “I mean,” she went on, “le Dauphin is certainly has to be bad at something, right?”

With a snort, Marinette folded her arms. “Bad at talking to foreign dignitaries,” she said.

“Such as yourself?” The woman raised an eyebrow, then smiled. “I was wondering why I hadn’t seen you before. Dame Alya, of House Césaire, from Avignon.”

Marinette smiled politely. “Princess Marinette, de Chine.”

Dame Alya’s jaw dropped. “China?” she said, incredulous. “That’s amazing. I have been desperate to leave France, and see the world. I’ve written all there is to write about our great country. It’s time to learn from others.”

“They allow women to write?” asked Marinette.

Alya smirked. “Only the good ones. In China, women have little privilege, non?”

“Women have plenty of privilege,” Marinette said. “I just… assumed Europe was more restricting.”

Alya said, “Then we both have much to learn. Princess Marinette, I would be delighted to meet with you during your stay at Versailles. I have a lovely apartment in the west wing, you must come visit me.”

Madame Bustier had told her to make connections, thought Marinette. “It would be my pleasure,” she said.

There was the sound of glass breaking. Marinette and Alya turned to see two ladies of the court all but fighting. “What are they doing?” Marinette cried.

“I’m not sure,” Alya said, frowning. “I’ve never seen Aurore so angry.”

Marinette stared, but she could practically hear Madame Bustier’s disapproval, so she turned away. And, was it her imagination, or was it growing dark in the palace?

Suddenly someone screamed.

#fanfic #miraculous ladybug #ml #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #royal au #my writing

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reylofanfictionanthology · 6 years

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More Than Love: the 2018 Reylo Fanfiction Anthology Gift Fic Exchange Treats Masterpost Part One

The More Than Love collection on AO3 | Master Post Part One on Tumblr | Master Post Part Two on Tumblr | Treats Part Two on Tumblr

you burn with me by Anonymous for itslaurenmae

Rey's soulmark burns when she meets Kylo Ren for the first time.

Wake by Anonymous for Aniye

Kylo Ren wakes first in the Throne Room after the battle with Rey. He has precious moments to decide what to do with her before he's joined by his second in command, General Hux.

Raindrops by Anonymous for jennity

"Rey sees rain for the first time. It's colder than she thought it would be, but not as cold as space. Leather gloves, warm hands."

Bonded and Balanced by Anonymous for iamladyloki

Rey prepares to meet Ben face to face after months apart after fighting together in Snoke's throne room. She remembers times the Force has bonded them as the prepares to land the Falcon in the Lake Country on Naboo. She focuses on meetings that happened after Crait as she tried to forgive him and they grew closer in many ways.

That Place Where I See You by Anonymous for nymja

A templar didn’t seek out magic. A templar didn’t seek out heresy -- and yet he sought her. A Dragon Age AU featuring templar!Kylo/apostate mage!Rey

The Link that Lingers by Anonymous for Chthonia

As Rey attempts to explain the Force Bond between her and Kylo Ren, Leia witnesses the phenomenon firsthand as it activates during Rey’s explanation. Set after The Last Jedi.

Flowers for Every Season by Anonymous for kuresoto

Rey uses her skills as a florist to help Hux woo a girl at his law firm despite the interference of his harsh boss, Kylo Ren. Modern AU.

so close by Anonymous for Like_A_Dove

Rey is near-fatally injured trying to fight Hux and a few of the Knights of Ren. Kylo escapes with her, but for how long?

undone by Anonymous for caisha

Rey braiding Kylo's hair and vice versa, just domestic stuff.

Towers and Tails by Anonymous for bittersnake

Rey lives a nice, quiet life as a mermaid at the head of the Humanology department at the local community college, until one day she gets caught in a freak storm and sort of accidentally saves a Human's life. Because of this, she loses her job and gets turned into a Human herself, cursed to spend her days in an old abandoned lighthouse where every step she takes is incredibly painful and she could get turned to sea foam at any moment. Well, not a week later after this whole mess during a hurricane, none other than the Human she saved shows up at her lighthouse. Ben Solo. And they're trapped in there. Indefinitely.

To Softly Drown by Anonymous for caisha

Rey and Kylo Ren know they shouldn't, but they keep finding ways to be together.

Handiwork by Anonymous for Vivien

After the war, Ben and Rey write a happier story for themselves as they work to build a life together.

The Family they sought by Anonymous for iamladyloki

Renporer goes to his rooms one night to discover his Empress is expecting.

What They Saw by Anonymous for kylorenaissance

Speculation on what Rey and Kylo may have seen in their respective visions in TLJ.

A Dangerous Affair by Anonymous for AceQueenKing

They know it’s dangerous. They’ve almost been caught dozens of times, either outright or in their tangled lies. - In which Kylo and Rey can't quite let go of the hold they have on each other.

Trust Issues by Anonymous for Slittherwolfe

Ben Solo has left the military to become an actor and met and married Rey, also an actress. They are living the happily ever after until the inevitable question is asked...

Starlight Gets in Your Eyes by Anonymous for kuresoto

1960s AU where Ben works for First Order security and Rey for a flower shop!

Weirwood Dreams by Anonymous for crossingwinter

The Force did not send him a nuisance. It sent him his equal, his other half. Rey. Damned he would be if he didn't treasure her.-Dreams and stories may have kept her sane but he was what kept her alive.

when i knew love's perfect ache by Anonymous for ArcherHybrid

Post-TLJ. Rey and Ben aren't very good at staying away from each other, and Rey's self-control is severely lacking for a Jedi. Or: Rey gets pregnant through the Force Bond, and that is frankly ridiculous and unfair, she would like to say.

Causality by Anonymous for PalenDrome

Kylo Ren has been kidnapped, drugged, and forced into sex slavery by the Hutts. Rey is sent by Leia to rescue him, posing as a client, and ordered to do whatever it takes to get him back. And she isn’t prepared for how devastating this mission will be.

alderaan places by Anonymous for Plutoascending91

Ben is moving to the back window display, preparing to lock up, when he notices something strange in the middle of flora and vases.One, mud-caked motorcycle boot peeks out from underneath a table curtain. The boot belongs to a leg. Even though it’s covered in so many bright tattoos that it looks like leggings or something. His eyes trail up, seeing that the leg goes up to hips that are covered in beat to hell jean cut-off shorts, that an old cream tank top is tucked into the waist of the cut-offs, and that brown, wavy hair hangs over the shoulders of the tank. The pieces eventually register in his mind as a girl.A girl. Is under his table. Sketching.

Take My Hand by Anonymous for yellowdress

“You have kind eyes,” she lets the sentence hang unclosed, her eyebrows raised in a wordless question.“Ben,” he whispers it as if he’s confessing to some unbearable sin.“You have kind eyes, Ben.”

Finally by Anonymous for yellowdress

Rey is busy with school and work, but when a party in her apartment complex becomes too much of an issue, she's forced to deal with the problems she would rather ignore. It would be easy if she had only her neighbor, Finn, to face. Unfortunately Ben is there as well, and after what he's said, she has no desire to see him again.

For There is Nothing Lost by Anonymous for bratanimus

After things get physical with Ben, Rey quibbles with the terminology of sex and considers what it means for their relationship.

The Only Truth by Anonymous for sokki09

Rey is a struggling singer/songwriter who catches her break when her cover of a Knights of Ren song goes viral. Before she knows it, shes spending studio time with the prickly Kylo Ren, who is busy working on his first solo album, and none of it goes as expected.

Fire and Powder by Anonymous for TheStolenQuill

Two teachers who hate each other because their classrooms share a wall. A Valentine’s dance. A matchmaking principal. A chaperone assignment that ends in an unexpected romance.

Letting Go by Anonymous for murakamism

Instead of running away, Rey tries to convince him some to see her side, to let go of the path he's walked for so long and given everything to.

Same Eyes, Different People by Anonymous for juniorstarcatcher

After Snoke creates the monster Kylo Ren, Luke Skywalker's Jedi Academy is lost, along with his nephew, Ben Solo. Years later, General Organa offers a reward for her son's safe return. Finn and Rey, two orphans living and working on Takodana, plan on pawning off Matt, the Radar Technician as the lost prince, after noticing his striking physical similarities to the only son of the Alderaan princess. "If you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people," Maz told her, but Kira knew the truth. Ben Solo - her Ben - was gone. Kylo Ren had murdered him six years ago, back when she went by the name Kira.

Impulse by Anonymous for cuddlesome

Rey trying to "get back" at Kylo by being topless without warning one of the times that they bond. It backfires, of course, because he likes seeing her tits. An impulsive decision to get one up on Kylo Ren turns into something Rey never expected.

truth and touch by Anonymous for thelittlescrimshaw

Rey squeezes her eyes shut, wishing and hoping against everything that both her problems would vanish into thin air the moment her eyelids fluttered open.

A Path Chosen by Anonymous for OccasionallyCreative

Rey. Master of the Knights of Ren, a woman of legend and tales, who took her own Master and bent him to her heel. A terror and a blessing swathed in black wraps; his savior from the endless wastes of Jakku who currently wanted nothing but him to fall in line. But Ben Solo wasn’t one to fall easily. ------- Ben Solo was left behind on Jakku. It wasn't long before he was found by Rey, Master of the Knights of Ren, who promised him a better life and an inheritance he couldn't ignore.

By Night by Anonymous for czechia

He tried to memorize the look in her eyes as he touched her, trailing his fingers up and over the knobs of her spine, reacquainting himself with the parts of her he had forgotten. The scars she had acquired during their time together were still there, puckered ridges he used to know as intimately as the stories behind them, staining his memory like ink.

in that dry white ocean alone by Anonymous for KKetura

Sometimes the things we hate in others are the things we fear inside ourselves. How do you keep running from the other face in the mirror?

Holonet Mail by Anonymous for TheJGatsby

Two work rivals, who despise each other, unknowingly fall in love as they exchange letters through the holonet.

Call Me Sweetheart by Anonymous for diasterisms

It's a good life, what they've created together, but Rey simply hates Ben's silly names for her.

Sweet Nothings by Anonymous for diasterisms

“Hey asshole, I was sitting here.” The stranger looked up at her from behind thick-rimmed Ray Bans and ran a hand through thick black hair. There was a bit of foam on his lip. “What do you want me to about that, sweetheart?” ------aka, the five times Ben refers to Rey with pet names and the one time she replies.

Daffodil by Anonymous for Plutoascending91

Ben Solo gets an unexpected visitor on a Wednesday afternoon with a very specific request.

You've Got to Hide Your Love Away by Anonymous for solikerez

Rey and Ben, two Hogwarts students, met in their second year and quickly connected, but when Ben learned that Rey was Muggle born he knew they could never be together. His strict, pure-blood grandparents would never allow it and had already abnegated his parents for joining Dumbledore. They took him in after the death of his parents in the war and swore never to let their family be torn apart again. Unfortunately, forgetting Rey became just as impossible as the relationship must be.

Clean Hands, Light Heart by Anonymous for kimaracretak

Rey knows how cruel you need to be, to get things clean. She doesn't want to be cruel, though.

we'll never sleep by Anonymous for ChecktheHolonet

Kylo needing Rey but loathing himself for it, looking for a way to release his frustration and rage, relying on her to recognize his needs and fulfill them while taking her own pleasure in being able to exert a level of power and control.

Kissed By the Sun by Anonymous for Trish47

Rey had very limited personal experience with men, but she knew enough about them to be surprised when the first article of her clothing Ben tried to remove was her arm wrap.

without him I feel his arms around me by Anonymous for the-reylo-void

A sad little conversation between Rey and Kylo post-TLJ. Some angst and pining, a convo, and Rey POV. Talk about why they both did what they did in the throne room. They both wish they didn't have to fight each other anymore.

There is no 'You and I' by Anonymous for mrstater

Rey wishes Kylo Ren would leave her alone. Or so she tells herself.

To: Professor Rey Niima's Husband by Anonymous for solikerez

There are a few rumors going around in Hogwarts.

Convergence by Anonymous for politicalmamaduck

Other, also known as ‘soulmate’ for people who wanted to believe. Not everyone had an Other, and the only way to find your Other was by saying their name. When that happened, memories of their life, where they grew up and the steps that led them to you, would be condensed into a single flashback that passed in a blink of an eye. The fact that someone had said Rey’s name and didn’t bother approaching her hurt, especially since she had a good idea why. Her parents tossed her aside when she was barely five, so she shouldn’t be surprised that her soulmate had done the same.

This Monstrous Force by Anonymous for meritmut

She never knew what she looked like in the Force. She knew what she felt like, and she knew what others appeared to her. Some nights she would dream of waking in a shifting world of limitless power and her teeth were replaced with fangs, her eyes with refined sight and the hunger of a beast that hasn't fed in far too long.

In the Rain by Anonymous for jennachangedherusername

Walking through the market near the new Resistance base, Rey thinks she sees a familiar face, or is it just a mirage?

banes by Anonymous for firelord65

The galaxy belonged to Rey. He belonged to Rey. And still it was not enough. Whatever emptiness burned inside of him magnified itself in her, had long since grown out of control, worse than any black hole. He could be sated by her touch, her lips on his, the comfort of words he no longer believed that she believed: you’re not alone, I understand, I’m here with you, we can do this.There was nothing that could sate her.

Cloudbusting by Anonymous for mrstater

“Have you heard of cloudbusting?” he asked. They could never talk about what they were talking about, but it all meant the same thing, every time.

A glimpse of future by Anonymous for cuddlekylo

Kylo Ren comes back home where his wife Rey awaits him with a surprise (which actually really shouldn't be one).

Acquired Tastes by Anonymous for NextToSomething

When Kylo Ren and Rey share a meal under most unusual circumstances, they find they have a taste for things they never expected.

The Scroll by Anonymous for Acacieae

It was ironic that between the two of them, Ben and Rey’s boxes of possessions equaled less than those of the late Leia Organa and there were only four of those metal containers.

That Which Haunts by Anonymous for dietplainlite

Kylo and Rey are assigned to do a trip from Nar Shadda to Canto Bight, but the Falcon decides to act up in it's most reliable way.

it goes round and round (everything falling) by Anonymous for politicalmamaduck and rosewitches

again and again, she slips from his grasp like moonlight (reincarnation au where ben seeks her through their past lives and maybe, just maybe this time this time will be the last)

No Way Back by Anonymous for misszeldasayre

They are intertwined. Inseparable. It's almost unbearable. Kylo cannot move forward, no matter how often Rey appears to tell him he must.

Mirrorbright by Anonymous for juniorstarcatcher

An Anastasia AU set in the SW universe. An evil Force-user curses the Solo family, giving rise to a coup that separates the Organa-Solo family - the young prince Ben disappearing in the mayhem. Years later, his mother has offered a reward for his return. Con artist and smuggler Rey and Chewbacca plan to pass off a phony as the prince and collect the reward, never guessing that the orphan they've tricked into helping is truly the crown prince, Ben Organa Solo.

The Lure of the Light by Anonymous for Alethnya

Snoke failed to turn Ben to the dark side, but found a willing apprentice in Rey. Years later, Rey has set herself against the resurgent Jedi Order - and one ridiculously infuriating Jedi in particular.

Crawl Under Your Skin by Anonymous for witchoil

"Underneath his forehead, beneath her skin, a heat wave’s been building in Rey's lower belly, smoothing and constricting, pushing and pulling on elastic tendrils. Kylo can pinpoint the exact moment when it shatters."

dunes of sand by Anonymous for punkeraa

Senator Ben Organa is sent to Jakku to evaluate the state of the old Imperial base and secure it from the rising First Order.He finds so much more than he could have imagined.

Called by Distraction by Anonymous for Ariel_Riddle

Kylo Ren follows his high-ranking officers to a brothel where he sees a vision in white: Rey. Possessed by desire, Kylo sweeps her away toward his ship, though they don’t quite reach it.

Truth Be Told by Anonymous for pythia

“Do you even know who you’re working for?” He taunted. She wiped a smear of blood from her lip. “Don’t worry, we’re the good guys.” Spying a workbench nearby, Rey picked up a screwdriver to use as a weapon. This man was relentless. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”Alias AU: Rey is an agent with SD-6, a secret branch of the CIA. But a chance encounter with the mysterious agent Kylo Ren could send everything she knows crashing to the ground. Could she be working for the very enemy she thought she was fighting?

Back on Track by Anonymous for dustoftheancients

Ben and Rey are bickering neighbors who are forced to work together in the end.

carrie. by Anonymous for punkeraa

The first week of being a parent was always the hardest.

safe by Anonymous for LueurdeLaube

Leave me be. You don’t deserve any of this. Please...

Chase Away His Demons by Anonymous for Limra

Rey is pregnant and goes to tell Ben, but has to deal with his jealousy first.

Whatever She Wants by Anonymous for starlightreader

"Tie me down and take whatever you want." When Rey tells him she wants to re-enact the day they met, Ben isn't sure whether having her at his mercy will feed his fantasies - or his nightmares.

#reylo #reylo fanfiction anthology #more than love #reylo exchange #rffa writers #master post #mod post #moodboard

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