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milazka · 3 years

Text

not the greatest feeling ever | 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝.

the less i know the better masterlist

main masterlist

summary: fuck it, i’m not doing a summary, i’m so bad at it. oh! there’s smut btw.

warnings: smut, cursing, mentions of blood, underrage drinking

last thought: i’m proud of this one, took me a lot of time to write, but i think it was worth it! enjoy your reading! love, milz.

─── ° • ❀ ───

The gentle breeze twirls her golden locks in all directions. She hums the lyrics of You never can tell, having watched Pulp Fiction for the hundredth time last night. Her irises are fixed to the slightly damp roadside covered with fresh fallen leaves from this morning rainstorm. The last rays of sunlight caress her baby-like skin as they disappear into the horizon, painting the sky in a mixture of orange and rose.

“C’mon grandpa, you’re slow as hell!” she teases Marcus, turning her head back to stick her tongue out at him. Standing on his skateboard, he sends her the finger, scraping the pavement with his over-used black vans to gain speed and eventually catch up with her.

“That’s how the turtle won the race, dumbass,” he gently nudges her shoulder with his hand as he rides his board besides her. She gives a sharp turn of the handlebars to move her tires out of the sand and back on the pavement, giving him a death glare.

“I almost fell in the ditch, shithead!” he simply laughs, his head falling backward. His dark colored hairs, normally slicked back, are ruffled by the warm September wind, giving him a laid back look that fits him perfectly. She adores hearing his laugh; it's one of the purest and most delightful sounds. It was only recently that she heard him laugh again, having not heard it for months after the day they lost the third musketeer of their trio. It was one of the hardest moments of their lives, but sharing this kind of experience brought them closer than ever. Charlie was there for him when he hit rock bottom, stroking his back while he cried on the shower floor, freezing water running down their damped bodies. She was also by his side the first time he went to therapy, soothingly squeezing his hand before he entered the office.

“If someone had to fall in a ditch, it would be me.”

“You know that Max and I made bet on how long it would take you to fall in a ditch?” she replies, checking his reaction at the corner of her cerulean eyes. He grins.

“How much did you bet?” he curiously asks, one eyebrow arched.

“Fifty bucks,” his eyes almost snap out of their sockets. He stops, stepping off his board.

“Fifty bucks?! That’s insulting, thought I was worth more than that,” he shouts as she makes a u-turn, retracing her steps, stopping in front of him.

“I’ll give you half of it if you wait ‘till June,” Charlie sarcastically says to him, elbows leaning on the handlebars of her bicycle. He caught a glimpse of light in her gaze; a twinkle of amusement he always finds in the corners of her softly crinkled eyes when she smiles truthfully.

“Deal,” he winks at her, drawing a small laugh from her slightly parted lips. He picks up Charlie's polaroid from the basket at the front of her bike, signaling for her to ride so he can immortalize the moment for her. Marcus knows she keeps those famous polaroids in an old converse box as a source of happiness; they're memories of moments she doesn't want to forget.

He takes the little camera to his eyes, snapping a picture when Charlie turns her head to the side to look at him, smiling like there is no tomorrow. As the picture is slowly developing, he hears a squeal of tires and a squeal of surprise from the distance.

“Fuck Charlie!” he shouts, running towards her as she sits, holding firmly her right forearm. His heart tightens at the sight of her painful face, her traits are torn by pain and he can see tears gathering at the corner of her squinted blue eyes. Marcus hates to see her in pain; he knows she's not the type to complain about anything so when he sees her azure eyes filling with water, he knows it's serious.

“You got a few scratches,” he whispers, running his eyes over her legs and arms. “We’ll go to your house and clean you up, okay?” she nods, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Marcus tucks his skateboard under his arm, grabbing the handlebars and seat of Charlie's bike simultaneously.

─── ° • ❀ ───

“Hold still,” his hazel eyes are focused on the mid-depth cut on her forearm. His bushy eyebrows furrowed, giving him a severe, almost cold sober look. She takes a big gulp of the rich whiskey she borrowed from her father's secret stash.

“Oh fucking hell!” she swears between her clenched teeth when the rubbing alcohol makes contact with the exposed flesh of her forearm. “That’s not the greatest feeling ever,” she whimpers, her forehead resting on his shoulder covered by his green olive shirt.

“I know, angel, I know,” he runs his hand through her blonde hair, gently stroking her scalp in a soothing way. She keeps her head resting against his shoulder, holding back the tears that threaten to run down her flushed cheeks.

“I’m usually the one taking care of you,” he knows it refers as much to all the times he fell off his skateboard as it does to when he hit rock bottom when their friend passed away. Charlie isn't used to being taken care of; she has always been able to look after herself without anyone's help.

Crying is for the weak.

She swallows her tears, putting her mask back on with a slight smile.

“Your new neighbor saw me fall,” she changes the subject, pausing to take another gulp directly from the whisky bottle. “Great way to make a first impression,” a light laugh escapes from her lips, but she halts when she notices his gaze turning away almost discreetly. “What’s wrong?”

Over the years, she has learned to read him like the palm of her hand; she knows he looks away to the left when he is hiding something from her and that he scrapes the back of his neck when he is embarrassed.

“I-I had sex with her,” he blurts out, avoiding her gaze while he still applies pressure on the bandage covering the wound on her forearm.

“Holy shit,” her eyes widened, not expecting this kind of disclosure. “Wait, what about Padma?”

“You know she is not my girlfriend, Charlz,” he sighs, finally sustaining her non-judgmental azure irises. It' s one of the things he likes about her; she never judges him and even if she did, he wouldn't know since she hides it so well.

“Was it good?” she does not insist about Padma, knowing perfectly well that she is the first one to know. He doesn't answer, looking thoughtful as if a million thoughts are running through his head. He steals the bottle of alcohol from her, gulping down a few ounces of the throat-burning liquid.

“What aren’t you telling me, Marcus?”

He shuts his eyes, exhaling loudly.

“I don’t know if I was good… God, I don’t even know if she came!” her heart tightens; he looks distraught and she knows that this is a big deal to him, after all, he just lost his virginity. He breathes heavily, his jaw as tightly clenched as his fists.

“Show me.”

“What?!” he opens one eye, eyebrows furrowed as if he was questioning if she was being serious.

“Show me what you did, I’ll tell you if it’s good,”

“You’re drunk, Charlz…I don-” he stops as soon as her silver rings coated hands grip the hem of his olive shirt, grazing the soft skin of his lower abdomen with her fingertips. Sitting on her knees, she brings her head up to his neck, pressing her lips against the skin. The feeling of her wet lips on his burning skin sends a shiver running through his spine.

“I’m sober enough to remember everything and give you my consent,” she whispers to his ear and he almost moans when she slightly nibbles his lobe. Her hands slips to the back of his neck, forcing him to hover over her as she lies on her back.

Both his hands are lingering on the buckle of her belt, struggling to undo it. She clutches his chin with one hand, plunging her reassuring gaze into his. He looks nervous, his hands trembling slightly when he takes off her jeans. She presses her lips to his Adam's apple, feeling him tense up at first, but relax as she sensuously slides her tongue up to his sculpted jaw.

“A-are you good with two figers?” he nervously asks, his right hand resting on the edge of her panties.

“Yes,” he hesitantly slips his hand into her panties, parting her legs with his other hand before sliding his index and middle fingers up and down her folds. She can see him blush when an almost quiet moan escapes her lips at the feeling of his fingers inside her core. He pumps them in and out slowly, as if he was afraid to hurt her.

“Try to curl them in a ‘come here’ movement,” she demonstrates with her own fingers. He nods and mimics her actions, making her whimper under him.

“That feels good,” she encourages him. “What did you do next?” she softly asks, rubbing her thumb against his cheek to sooth him.

“Hum, well, we-um, you know, did it,” he says, blushing like a little child who just got his first kiss with the popular girl.

“You didn’t go down on her?” she asks, looking quite shocked. He seemed clueless. “I mean, you didn’t use your mouth?”

“Uh no, should I have?”

“You boys really know nothing about female pleasure,” she sights. “Try watching lesbian porn next time, you will learn A LOT more,” He almost chokes, not expecting to hear this come out of his best friend's lips while his fingers are still inside her. They've always been comfortable with each other, but not to the point of talking about the kind of porn they listen to. The idea of her best friend watching porn and getting herself off almost made him cum in his pants.

“You do know what a cunniligus is, right?”

“God, Charlz, I’m not five years old! Yes, I know what it is!” he exclaims, his ego lightly bruised by her question.

“Well, show me then, playboy,” she challenges him, a cocky smile slipping on her lips. the alcohol going slightly to her head.

He pulls her to the edge of the mattress, kneeling at the foot of the bed between her legs. His lips kiss the skin on the inside of her thighs, sucking it until he sees a dark red mark appear. He gets rid of her underwear in the blink of an eye before placing her legs over his shoulders. He darts his tongue out of his mouth, licking a long strip between her folds without giving her the chance to acknowledge what was going on. He stops once his tongue rests on the bundle of nerves, licking around it in a circular motion.

“Fuck,” she moans. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“You really think I've never watched lesbian porn?” he teases her, biting the inside of her thigh, making her body jolt. He dives back his head to her core, sucking her clit into his mouth.

At leats he know where the clit is.

"Oh my god Marcus," she moans, squirming against his grip. He places his arm over her lower abdomen, pinning her body against the mattress. She can feel his two fingers sliding back into her core, the sudden feeling causing her hips to buck up against his face.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me, hun?” he praises her, fingers curling inside her just like she taught him. She could barely feel herself, letting out a series of high-pitched moans as Marcus tongue was working on her bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she whimpers, her head pressed down against the matress. Her fingers tangle in his dark hair, tucking at the roots as she let out a cry, the euphoric feeling taking over her body for a moment. Marcus looks up to see her eyes shut tightly, her legs shaking on his shoulders. He can feel her core pulsating around his fingers as she comes down from her high.

He took a mental picture of her, engraving this moment in his memory forever.

─── ° • ❀ ───

taglist; @cognacdelights @ellegotohell @janedartist

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keilemlucent · 3 years

Note

if you are interested, i would like to present my dear salem with hero hawks and his little horny crush on his innocent assistant bc man’s corruption kink go brrrrrr😇

okay look LOOK i have... such a thing for hawks getting a h*rd on for his sweet, far-too kind PA.

(NSFW)

word count: 2.5k

warnings: dubcon, coersion, (a little bit of) yandere hawks, reader wears lingerie, reader is sorta oblivious, sugar daddy hawks, scumbag hawks, power imbalance, hawks is a manipulative bastard but its hot so who cares <3

...

“Are you sure this is... appropriate, sir?”

No, no, definitely not, not at all. Taking his sweet, desperately-in-need-of-a-break PA out on a little shopping spree was definitely crossing a lot of professional lines, but how could he care? He was far more focused on the wobbly way ‘sir’ had dripped off your tongue.

It wasn’t sin, but he’d get you there, he was quite persuasive.

The little shopping trip (literally) landed you at a luxury mall across Fukuoka, many-floored and lavishing decorated with twinkling, bright bulbs and crystal on every fixture. The stores were expensive, too expensive for you to afford on your own but Keigo knew how hard you’d been working! All that extra paperwork (he’d been purposefully giving you because it kept you around the office later and more often) had been getting done beautifully, and you deserved a treat. Many of them.

Consider it an early bonus.

You already had quite a few bags dangling off your arms, the cords and ribbons digging into your arms (god, he wished he could make some marks of his own--). And Keigo had decided to treat you to one, final stop. He guided you to the store entrance with a hand on your lower back.

God help you, a lingerie store.

Nothing cheap, only custom-made and designer pieces. It was more of a boutique, some places private where no one would bother the two of you.

He watched your expression, the pull of your brows and the way your pupils dilated. It might’ve been from a bit of ill-placed stress, but he’s sure he can get your eyes just as inky other ways, if given the opportunity.

“This is remarkably appropriate, dove,” He hummed and ushered you inside the store entrance, flashing a grin to the starry-eyed salesclerk. His hand drifted downward, just over the upper curves of your ass, just to watch you squirm. “Consider it a reward! You’ve been doing so much good for me and the agency, you deserve a treat or two, don’t you think?”

You shifted the bags on your arms and dared to meet his gaze with your own, meek and wide, “I-I think this is more than ‘a treat or two’--”

“Then shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, thanking me for my generosity then?” Keigo smirked as your expression faltered. You were way too easy and god, he fucking loved it.

Before you had a chance to fret anymore, he assured you quietly that everything was alright. A bit of praise to ice the pinpricks he left behind. He shooed you into the fitting rooms, pointing a beaming smile at a clerk and getting to work.

He’d have you spoiled, whether you liked it or not.

...

You sat on the plush bench of the fitting room, hands in fist and lip tucked between your teeth. You chewed on it, swallowing around your dry throat. Hawks’ voice drifted back from the salesfloor, though you couldn’t tell what he was saying. You could pick up words like ‘sweet’ and ‘cute’ and you could only assume the words were about the bright-eyed, big-titted employee you saw when you walked in.

You squeeze the fabric of your skirt and tried to let some of the tension in your shoulders dissipate.

“Oh, wow, dove, the selection they have here is amazing!” Hawks whistled as he returned to the fitting room, alone, carrying an armful of padded, velvet hangers.

“I can imagine,” You wished you could have looked around a bit yourself, but Hawks had a much better eye for these things than you did. You were very fortunate to have him around.

He arranged them on a gold railing nearby, wings tucked to his back as to not crowd the small space of the dressing room.

It was truly just a single room, though it was large enough. Six-sided, each wall complete with a well-padded, velvet bench seat to idle on. The middle of the room had a little raised platform, leading to three, angled mirrors. They were massive and felt a bit too revealing as Hawks hummed to himself nearby.

The only thing separating you from the rest of the store was a heavy, velvet draping.

Hawks plopped onto the cushion next to you, letting out a deep sigh and leaning back. You watched him, gaze flickering from the garments on the rack and the exposed patch of his chest visible from the unpopped buttons of his shirt.

His feathers brushed up against your arm and you shuddered.

“Now, sweet thing,” He clicked his tongue, jerking his gaze to the hangers. “I picked out some pretty sweet pieces for you. Why don’t you try them on and let me know what you think, hm?”

You nodded, though your stomach felt like there was suddenly lead in it. From the looks of the lace and silks, those pieces weren't going to cover much of anything. You mentally sparred with yourself.

It’s not... that bad. It’s not like he’s going to see anything more than he would if you were wearing a swimsuit.

Besides, this a gift, right? You should at least show him what he’d paid for on an actual body.

He had you so well-trained--

You stood, moving to the rack on shaking legs and examining the pieces.

They’re all... a bit whorish. None of those soft babydolls and teddies that folks wore in those softcore pornos that you definitely never watched. The pieces Hawks picked for you aren’t the least bit modest. They’re all lace, mesh, and ribbons. Stockings and garters that looked like they might be a tich too snug. You grab the least garish-looking piece.

And Hawks was still in the room, body lax and slumped against the cushions.

His eyes lazily opened, a bushy brow-raising, “You good, dove?”

“... Aren’t you gonna step out?”

He chuckled and you knew you were fucked. Just not literally, not yet.

“Why the hell would I do that?” Hawks laughed and righted himself. His vibrant gold eyes bore into yours, though they looked more black than topaz by that point.

You swallowed.

“I would prefer if you d-did.”

“And if I don’t?” His voice oozed something that made your knees weak. “What then? I know you don’t like disappointing me.”

You didn’t, but this was a bit far. ‘A bit’.

“... s-sir, please,” You begged, albeit quietly.

This was crossing lines. As much as Hawks gave you special treatment at the agency, literally and figuratively taking you under his wing and tending to your needs as he saw them and has he saw fit, stripping and playing dress-up in expensive lingerie definitely was too far.

As much as part of you adored the attention, you tried to keep that quiet. Stuffed down and hidden. Hawks was your boss, and you had to keep yourself occupied with his busy schedule and mountains of paperwork, lest you allow yourself to dissolve into thinking his attentions were anything other than favoritism.

Oh my god, you really were that dense

“’Please’?” Hawks cocked his head to the side, the corners of his lips curling. “‘Please’ what, dovey? Tell me.”

You let out a shaking breath, “Hawks, this is remarkably inappropriate--”

“Maybe,” He cuts you off swiftly, a flap of his wings pushing him to his feet and directly in front of you. “You just need some help? That’s it?”

Your mouth went dry. He wasn’t wrong, not really.

“That’s all, huh?” Hawks ran a hand through his hair, his wings curling around the room, too-wide and fluffed for the small space. “Should’ve just said something. I imagine you don’t do this kind of thing often.”

“N-no, I don’t.”

Does anyone?

“That’s alright, I know you try your best and just need that extra push, hm?” Hawks sighed, deep in his chest.

With the scarlet swallowing your peripheral vision, you feel like you’re suffocating. Maybe in a good way. You nodded, pliant.

He always knows you. What you want, what you crave, what you need.

Nimble fingers untucked your blouse from your waist, and you yipped at the chill of his fingers. He was undeterred, loosening the garment and immediately going for the buttons.

One by one, they came undone and you wrap your arms tighter around your middle. Hawks ogled, openly and without a care. It made something in you writhe, but you still wanted more of it. His attention, overt affections that supposedly mean nothing-- you want it.

He slid the blouse from your shoulder, letting it fall to the ground. You watched as his feather shuddered, rippling as he let out a few harsh breaths. You knew how you must look, hot and flushed to the touch. Bare on your upper half, sans a cheap bra that had seen better.

“Are you sure--” You weren’t sure what you were going to ask, but Hawks didn’t let you say it besides.

“Yes, of course, obviously,’” He licked his goddamn lips. A taloned-finger caught the pilling strap of your bra, snapping it against your shoulder. “Besides, look at this! Can’t have you representing the agency, me, and my brand wearing shit like this.”

Something burned in your gut, some mix of shame and arousal that was threatening to spill from the wet corners of your eyes.

Hawks dropped to his knees, so fast you hardly could register it. His hands hooked in your skirt by the first two knuckles and tugged and he went down. The sound of splitting fabric cracked in the air, and your skirt fell to the floor in tatters.

And Hawks, the fucker, hovered just inches away from your covered cunt. The cheap cotton of your panties did nothing to shield you from the hot breath that he fanned over you.

“H-Hawks!” You cried out, attempting to push at his shoulders with sweaty palms. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Just taking a closer look,” He gave you no time to protest as those quick fingers of his pulled the elastic of your panties, tugging them down your thighs. He had the decency to tap your ankles, one at a time, so you could step out of the garment. “You don’t mind, do you?”

You let him.

Perhaps you should’ve protested a bit more. Maybe. But it wasn’t like this wasn’t your wildest fantasy. Your sweet, too-kind boss, spoiling you. You weren’t sure if you’d thought about Hawks that way at first, but he had gotten to you at some point. The impromptu lunches, the late nights together, the walks and flights home. There was even that one he’d managed to wrestle a guy getting too handsy at a club with (how had he known you’d even been there?)

Hawks unclipped your bra, throwing the thing to the side with a look akin to disgust. He snatched the hanger and garment from your hand and nodded toward the platform.

“Stand over there like a good girl for me, okay? Don’t take your eyes off yourself.”

You couldn’t disobey him, could you?

You’d seen what he did to people who crossed him, when it really mattered. He didn’t put his heart or energy into something unless he really, actually cared. And the handful of times you’d seen that go to shit had left memories of sharpened feathers and terror-filled eyes in their wake.

But you were good for him. His assistant who always made sure his meetings lined up with his patrols, and that everything was brief unless entirely necessary otherwise. You were the one who made sure he had caffeine nearby and a full belly, even on his most busy of days.

He’d never do anything other than be kind, right?

You didn’t want to find out otherwise.

He approached you from behind, the silk of the garment tucked over his arm. His eyes looked predatory, gleaming and inky.

He only stopped when his chest is flush to your back, hands finding their home just above your hips with a squeeze. You shuddered at the feeling, new and raw and you couldn’t tell if you hated or loved it.

“I want to see how this looks on you, god,” Hawks groaned, nails biting into your skin. “Hold still for me, dove.”

You did.

You didn’t dare move an inch as Hawks took his sweet time dressing you up. The garment is silken straps, the lace wrapping around the curves of your hips and chest, securely with expert bows that he pats into place after each one.

It was impossible to ignore the bulge pressing into your ass. Even as he pulled the pair of panties between your cheeks, stroking the lace and the fat with a wide palm, you were far more focused on the heat and hardness slowly grinding at the other cheek.

He tied you up expertly, and you watched in the mirrors, seeing each angle of it. The way his hands squeezed and pulled at your flesh along the way. The hungry glint in his eyes as he traced your figure. The way his wings seemed to shake and flutter in tandem with your short, quick breaths.

You were truly at his mercy.

“Look at that,” He whistled low, grabbing your jaw and pulling your gaze just where he’d like. “Tied up like a pretty present I told you this would be good, didn’t I?”

“Y-You did.”

Hawks sighed, draping himself over your shoulders and nuzzling into your neck. You could feel the part of his plush lips, the way they drag over your skin. You swore you a nip or two.

His gaze met yours in the mirror. One of his hands trailed low, very low, sliding over top of the lace panties and cupping your sex. His index fingers lazily traced your lips through the fabric, idle. His other went to grope your chest, more insistent as he palmed at you, pinching a nipple as you began to sputter.

A warbled moan cracked from your lips as Hawks fingers dipped below the seams of the pretty garment, rubbing at just the rights parts of you, tugging your body flush to his.

“W-Wait, Hawks!” You wrapped a hand around on his wrist, begging your breath to stay somewhat even. “What if someone hears? Or one of the employees comes back? What if--”

“Do you think I care?” Hawks groaned, grunting as he ground into your ass. The unmistakable sound of fabric tearing cut through the room (again) and the fabric of his pants hit the ground. And suddenly you could feel how hard and hot he was.

Something twisted in your gut and your legs rubbed together. Hawks caught your gaze, scarlet enveloping the room from the sides of your vision and the mirror in front of you.

Hawks shifted your face toward his, nosing along your cheek. The grip on your jaw was replaced by one on your throat; he was hardly exerting any pressure but the threat and meaning were clear.

Keigo has you right where he wants you. He always has, always will. You’re just a bit too... naive? No, maybe dumb... That’s a bit mean, isn’t it?”

“You need this just as I do,” He spoke low and rolling, touch burning like embers. “You know you do. I know you do. You trust me, don’t know?”

All you could do was nod before Keigo slotted his lips to yours, staking a claim that was only new to you. He nipped at your bottom lip, tugged until you were wincing into his mouth. He caught every sound, every little gesture of yours was his, just like you were. Keigo kicked himself for waiting for this so long, but he could be ginger, under the right circumstances. Ones that benefited him. He could only hope you were as good of a fuck as you were fun to toy with.

You’d be sin yet, Keigo resolved as he pulled away. He just had to coax you there first, and he wasn’t against more... direct methods.

Maybe you’d finally get it then.

#salem answers #tw dubcon #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #my hero academia #PLEASE mind the tags askdljfks #i've never posted anything like this on this blog so #enjoy💕#honeykeigo

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gotnofucks · 4 years

Text

Compromise

Paring: dark!August Walker x Reader

Summary: Your surrender to him would ensure the safety of the world.

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con, smut, violence, blackmail and manipulation, 18+ ONLY

MASTERLIST

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The doorman helped you out of the car, your hand firmly clasped in his gloved one as you steadied your feet in your high heels. The cold made gooseflesh rise on your arms and back, the little hair standing up in the breeze. You clutch your coat closer, following your escort inside the hotel and exhaling deep in the elevator. You were nervous, not something unfamiliar. But you were also scared, something that could prove fatal in your line of work.

As the elevator dinged, announcing the top floor that opened in front of you, you almost didn’t step out. The whole thing felt off, the bodice of your dress hugging you tight and making it difficult to breath. And yet when your escort waved you forward, you followed behind him, the floor length skirt of your dress softly swishing on the marble floors and your heels tick-tocking against them.

The man led you past a number of unmarked doors before stopping before an ornately carved doorway, intricate vines twisting on its surface to form a beautiful design. The man gave three sharp knocks and pushed the door open, bowing a little as you entered but not following. The clicking shut of the door made you flinch, and you looked around at the room in awe.

It was a beautiful room, large with the opposite wall made completely of glass, the night sky twinkling at you as the distant city lights burned small like tiny candle flames. There was a round table in the center of the room, draped in silver and black silk tablecloth and set with two chairs. Against the right wall sat a large four poster bed similarly laid in black sheets and sheer white curtains tied to the posts.

You swallowed uneasily, walking inside with as little noise as possible. The invitation, glittery silver ink on black polished paper burning a hole inside your handbag. It was worded so wisely, disguised as a dinner invitation, and yet bearing the marks of someone who could destroy your life. The code was easy to break, and as you read between the polite lines of invitation and gazed at the secret code for your covert mission, your hands trembled. You don’t tremble much. You learnt not to when you joined this task force as an agent.

And yet, the knowledge that someone knew about you and your mission made your fingers curl up for warmth inside your palm. The future of millions was depending on this mission, and this mission depended on you. If you failed, the world would fall, and you will live the rest of your life bearing the blood of endless lives on your soul.

When he stepped out from the shadows that concealed the door behind them, you gasped. Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised, but you were. The blue green eyes you had looked at everyday for the past few months gazed back at you, amused, analyzing.

“Hello Agent, a fine evening isn’t it?”

August had always been polite, always sincere. He was the one person you thought was innocent in this whole operation. He was just a CIA operative; he was an agent who got recruited into something they didn’t know the truth about. Yet, he stood before you with a smile gracing his lips beneath that bushy mustache and the dimple on his chin barely visible under his beard. He was donning a sharp black suit matching with the room esthetics, and he cocked his head at you, pulling out a chair as an offer.

“You look lovely, let me take that coat.”

You let him remove your coat, rubbing your arms as you silently took the seat he offered. In this large room, with the dark décor, his huge beefy body made him appear sinister, like a dragon who was overlooking his hoard.

“I didn’t expect you.” You commented, taking a sip of the water in front of you. Just like that, your fear was gone. The nerves before the mission vanished as you came back into your element. The field was your battleground, and you knew you owned it. August smiled, sitting across from you.

“Oh, I know, and that was your mistake. Or maybe it was my success. I am not completely innocent but –”

“– you don’t exactly scream a genocidal maniac either.” You completed for him. He was good.

August Walker walked the fine line when it came to being an agent. While he was courteous and polite, he was also easy to anger. You’d seen him in action, fighting off men twice his bulk with barely an effort, the faintest tinge of amusement in his eyes as he watched them bleed. Espionage was a rough life, and many agents went in over their head to deal with the bloodshed and cruelty they witnessed. You didn’t think he was naïve, but you also didn’t think him evil.

“Where did I go wrong?” You asked him, genuinely curious. You were so meticulous with everything; each move you made was calculated. You had to be brilliant to be handed a mission as important as this.

August splayed his hands on the table that was curiously empty of any food, only two glasses of water and two empty wine glasses with a bottle of wine sitting in the center.

“Nowhere truly. You were so fascinating to look at though. In fact, I think that had I not been looking so closely at you, I would have missed the little signs.” His voice was smooth and soft, level. Eyes never leaving yours, but then again, they barely left you before. You knew he was watching you, but you had thought it was natural for someone to keep an eye on the new addition of the team.

“Little signs?”

“The first time I noticed something was when you tapped that tattoo near the crook of your elbow. You did that often, I though it was a nervous tick. I thought it was cute.” He continued, and both your eyes strayed to the small Celtic shield tattoo that was inked over the scarred skin hiding the small chip under your skin. Your eyes met his and he smirked.

He had known all those times you touched it to send out messages in morse code, to send out locations. He had known, but never let on.

“What else?” You wanted to know, if only to stall the rising trepidation in your belly. Did you compromise everyone in your team?

“Your eyes.” He said, almost breathlessly and for a moment it became difficult to maintain the eye contact. “Your eyes were such a lovely shade when I first saw you, sparkling. I love how expressive they are, how they seem to glitter. But when you wore the smart lenses, they seemed different. Maybe not to others, but to me. I knew exactly where you have flecks in your eyes, the lenses shielded them.”

You found yourself gulping as you heard him spoke, the passion in his voice thrilling you as much as it terrified you. His gaze on you had never been just analytical. It was fanciful. It was observant. He didn’t look at you like an agent, he looked at you with the hunger of a wolf.

“What do you want August?” You finally asked him, unsure what he wanted from you.

“First, I want you to take off those earrings and crush them.” He said, sitting back on his chair and raising a brow. You stiffly followed his command, pulling off your earrings and crushing the pearl on top of it with the edge of the glass, including the G.P.S tracker inside. August seemed pleased and he nodded, coming forward to take the bottle of wine and pouring you a generous amount.

“I don’t want to remove the chip as long as you promise not to touch it. The blood, it would ruin the mood wouldn’t it?” He asked while cocking his head, taking his wine glass, and clinking it with yours.

“You did not call me here do drink wine and just talk. What do you want?” You snap at him, irrigation bubbling in your gut. The twitching mustache whenever he smirked, that irked you.

He crossed his hand over his chest, licking his lips as his eyes dropped from your fiery eyes to your pursed lips, and from there to your cleavage.

“I want you to give up your mission” He said. The unsaid ‘and’ in there made you arch your brow in question. “And I want you to surrender to me.”

You leaned your elbows on the table, scrunching your nose as you said with as much venom as you could muster, “No. And no. I’d rather die than let you destroy innocent lives for your misguided idea of peace.”

The flash of teeth told you he expected that answer. Taking a sip of his wine he rolled that gulp in his mouth before swallowing, your eyes following the movement of this Adam’s apple.

“Well then, we negotiate.” He offers and pointedly looks at your wine glass. You touch it lightly with his and gulp in a mouthful, trying to keep your nerves steady. This was still your battlefield; you could still win.

“You want to negotiate a terrorist attack?” You asked him with the smallest of smile, and he returned you a bigger one.

“Call it a proposition. I’ll stand back on the attack as long as you agree to surrender to me”.

You blinked, confused, and caught off guard. You drowned your wine, taking deep breaths to calm yourself.

“And by surrender you mean?”

You knew what he meant. He had admitted to you that he was watching you. He spoke to you like he knew you. His eyes raked over your figure in a way that seemed to go deeper than the skin. You watch him stand up and come over to your side, sitting on the table edge in front of you.

“You know what I mean. I want your complete surrender. You have five minutes to decide.” The amused tilt to his voice raised your hackles and you nervously looked over your shoulder.

“Five minutes?” You asked and he chuckled.

“You had to have known that your wine had poison in it.”

You stood up from your chair so fast it toppled. You glanced at your empty wine glass and then to August. Was he lying? But even as you toyed with that thought you could feel sweat building above your lip and hairline, breathing getting just a tad bit harder. Your eyes widened and you stuck a finger down your throat, trying to vomit.

“Won’t help, its already in your blood. You just need to decide if you’d rather be mine or rather be dead.” August said, just sitting and watching your frantic movements. You panted, eyes closing as you fought to think clearly. It was not a difficult decision to make. You opened your eyes, glaring at him as he played with a small vial of what you were sure was the antidote.

“Well sweetness, what will it be? Me, or the cold arms of death?” He asked.

You walked up to him, taking hold of his lapels to pull him closer and slapped him hard.

“You bastard.” You spat. “Give me the antidote.”

You reached for the small glass bottle, but August pushed you away with a firm hand on your shoulder. He looked mischievous, your suffering a source of amusement for him.

“Not so fast.” He tutted. “You need to surrender sweetness, and the first thing to go will be that pride.”

With that, he unbuckled his belt and quickly undid the button on his pants, eyes on you the whole time. You watched in bafflement as he lowered his boxers to bring out his semi-erect cock from within, a closed fist stroking it slowly.

“On your knees.” He commanded, and with a flick of his finger snapped open the bottle and poured some antidote on his now hard cock. “You don’t have much time. You want to live? Get down on your knees and suck.”

The burning in your lungs increased both with the poison and humiliation as you sank down to your knees, the will to live making you waste little time to come forward and put your mouth around him. Your tongue laved at him, catching the bitter essence of the antidote, and eagerly looking for more. He let you do it your way for a while before fisting your hair and jerking you hard, forcing his tool deep inside your mouth.

You moaned as he stretched your lips around himself, the girth of him too wide for comfort. You tried to breath through your nose, tongue moving around for the left-over antidote sticking on his skin.

“Suck sweetness, suck like you mean it. Your world depends on how good you put that mouth to use.” He said groaning, thrusting in your mouth with vigor. You did as he commanded, hollowing your cheeks, and sucking gently, swirling your tongue as you bobbed your head. You pulled away, gasping, and then poking at his slit with your tongue, tasting his musky precum.

August pulled you up by your neck, pushing and moving behind until you fell and landed on the soft mattress of the bed. He climbed over you, pants discarded and shirt unbuttoned, a maniac gleam in his lust blown eyes.

“Please, the antidote.” You begged. You hated pleading but you love breathing more. As you reached out a hand, August took it in his and kissed your fingers before kissing the inside of your wrist. You shivered, his gentle caresses making you respond despite your revulsion.

He brough the antidote to his own mouth, taking in a mouthful and then lowered his mouth to yours. You parted your lips, allowing him to transfer the life saving liquid into your mouth and you swallowed. His tongue invaded your mouth, swirling inside and your hands grabbed his shoulder and hair, pulling him closer. The possibility of dying had you clinging to the only source in this room that made you feel alive in this moment.

“I hate you!” You mumbled against his lips, pulling on his mustache with your teeth and he chuckled. His hands lowered the straps of your dress, lips following to suck a mark into your skin.

“You can hate me, but you cannot leave me. Your precious world stays intact, as long as you do what I say.”

You let him take control, moans spilling from your mouth unbidden at the pleasure he wrecked on your mind and body. You slyly moved your hand down, letting it drag down your side along the slit in your dress to grasp your thigh holster. August’s hand reached the knife strapped to your thigh just as yours did, his lips smiling against your skin as he grabbed it.

“Oh sweetness, you wring my heart with your strength.” He locked his gaze on yours, using your own knife to cut your dress in the middle and bare you to his eyes. The small scars that you received over the years in your service littered your body, and you groaned when he traced them softly.

As his bare body folded over yours, you let your thoughts fly away. You surrendered to his whims and your basic nature, nails digging in his back as he held you close and entered you slowly. You moved in tandem, meeting every one of hit thrusts with a raise of your hips, lips molded over his and curses flowing between both of you.

The ridges of his cock scratched your walls and made you whimper, the sheer size of him taking away your breath. You felt so full, full of August. In that moment, he occupied your body and your thoughts. Your hands roamed his sweaty body, heels digging in his strong back as he powered into you. The delicious burn of his beard left red scratches around your nipples and neck, his hands holding you tight enough to burn their shape in your body.

You convulsed around him, his finger mashing your clit making you soar over the cliff and fall into a valley of pleasure, lightning bolts racing across your back. He was still thrusting, forcing you to look at him as he emptied inside you. As he rolled over and you caught your breath, he tossed you the remaining antidote which you gulped swiftly.

You watched him pant, his hairy chest glistening with sweat. The raw power of his body, the pleasure he just delivered both embarrassed and excited you. You knew you must surrender, must compromise yourself if that was what would take for the world to survive.

“You may own my body, even my mind at times. But don’t think I’ll ever surrender my heart.” You told him and he laughed, reaching over to hold your arm in his, pressing a soft kiss first to both your cheeks and then lips.

“You know I can’t resist a challenge sweetness.” He said. You watched in fascinated horror as his fingers hovered over your tattoo, looking at you with glittering eyes. He tapped out a short message that made your heart stutter and then your knife was pressed into your skin, digging deep to pull out the chip as your screamed.

She’s Mine

His bloody fingers cupped your face, pulling you closer to nuzzle you in his warmth.

“Just surrender to me, and the world will wake up to see another day.”

+++++

Tags: @what-is-your-wish @shooting-star-love @stanmysoul @sweeterthanthis @scentedsongrebel @muralskins @rayofdawnworld @agniavateira

#august walker x reader #dark!august walker x reader #august x reader #henry cavill x reader #dark!henry cavill x reader #august walker #henry cavill

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imagine-darksiders · 3 years

Text

Haven - Chapter 6.

First Steps

Summary: The Black Hammer’s infamous mettle is put to the test when he finds himself approached by a sleepy, human youngling. You get your hands looked at and learn a little bit more about your massive guardians in the process.

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As soon as the minuscule woman sitting in front of him finally succumbs to the persistent lull of sleep, Ulthane nearly lets slip a powerful sigh, only just managing to snap his lips shut in time to catch it.

The giant is not about to utter any sound that might risk waking you up again, not when you're so clearly in desperate need of a long, uninterrupted rest.

Balancing an elbow on each knee, the maker slumps forwards and scrubs tiredly at his face with a thick, calloused hand which he drags down just enough to peer at you over his fingers.

For perhaps longer than he ought to, Ulthane meticulously studies the side of your face that isn't pressed up against the tree bark, unaware that his own features are becoming softer and softer with each passing second.

Although you're sitting right in front of him and he's even held you, touched you and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're real and here, he still can't quite believe that he'd managed to save both you and the children. Admittedly, he's reluctant to stand and leave, and he tells himself that a few more minutes of keeping watch is just a sensible idea, certainly not paranoia setting in. 'Besides,' he thinks, scanning the room and taking note of both the awkward angle at which you've lain yourself against the wall and the broken 'glasses' that sit at the end of Archie's bed. 'There're some things I need to take care of...'

-------------------

Slowly, the sconces flickering on the walls burn lower and lower, dripping wax onto the wooden ground until at last, the maker decides your sleep is deep enough that he could move you to a bedroll without waking you up. Glaciers would have moved faster than Ulthane in that moment as he rises to his feet, wincing at every creak of his leather tunic and the clanking, metal belt fastened around his waist. Soon enough though, he's upright once again and he bends down, inching his fingers closer to you until he's able to slide them gently around your back, fingertips brushing over delicate vertebrae and his heart begins to hammer when you scrunch up your face and emit a small moan. For several beats, the maker remains frozen in place until you settle down again.

Breathing a gentle sigh that ruffles your hair, Ulthane carefully works his fingers around and underneath you, having to wiggle them so that your legs sit comfortably across his palm, allowing the maker to press his thumb to your front and pull you up against his chest.

With cautious steps – which would have been cause for amusement had anyone been there as a witness – Ulthane carries you over to the spare bedroll and lays you down upon it, mindful of your head the whole way. Once again, he retracts his hand with an almost painful slowness but the moment his fingers slip out from underneath you, he's startled when you unexpectedly roll towards him in your sleep and fling an arm out, draping it loosely around his forefinger.

The maker's breath catches like a hook in his throat.

Fragile lips part slightly and you let out a soft sigh of contentment, your features relaxing until the lines in your forehead begin to diminish.

Ulthane swallows, captivated by the sight. He'll just have to stay where he is then....

Fine. No problem. Clearly you're subconsciously seeking comfort wherever you can find it, and who is he to deny you that?

The maker is more than ready to crouch here all night if he has to. But then... he considers what a shock it might be for a fetching, young human like you to wake up with a scruffy giant looming over them. Suddenly, staying doesn't seem like the most prudent of ideas.

“Sorry, lass,” he breathes, giving his finger a careful tug until it slides out from under your arm. For a second or two, your lips twitch down at the loss of warm contact, but soon after, you fall still on the bedroll, your breathing slow and even, which is more of a reassurance to the maker than you could possibly know. It's a simple facet of biology he never realised could be a comfort to him after seeing so many humans whose chests were motionless, as if they'd been turned to stone.

Ulthane indulges himself in another few seconds of watching your ribs expand and contract before he pushes himself to his feet again and treads back over to the entrance, bypassing Archie's bunk along the way.

Tree bark scrapes noisily against the maker's braid as he hunkers down against the wall, opening his palm up and squinting curiously down at the fragile spectacles now laying within it. Shifting his weight slightly to one side, he flips the lid of a pouch on his belt and digs around in it for a moment until he pulls out a handful of small tools, those typically saved for his more delicate work.

Settling back against the tree bark, Ulthane readies himself for a long and hopefully peaceful vigil.

-------------------------

There wasn't any particular reason why Lucia jerked awake in the middle of the night. Only one thing is for sure though, she tells herself adamantly as she clutches at the front of her thin, cotton shirt and gulps down a lungful of air – Waking up has absolutely nothing to do with a nightmare. Definitely not at her age. She's seven, after all. Far too old to be afraid of such babyish things as bad dreams, even those that are filled with gnashing jaws and grey, lifeless eyes, or of hulking monsters who have four arms that raise high above her, just moments away from squashing her flat against the ground below....

Groggily, Lucia twists her head around to see her classmate, Kitty, is still sleeping soundly on the bed next to her.

Kitty has always been a heavy sleeper, and she doesn't even stir as Lucia shuffles tiredly to the ladder at the end of their bunkbed and slides her bare feet onto the first, wooden rung. The girl's descent is painfully slow and she can barely keep her eyes open to see where she needs to place her hands, yet somehow, she manages to make it down to the ground in one piece.

The young girl blearily peers towards the enormous doorway where you and the giant were sitting last night after she and her classmates had climbed into their respective beds. Glassy, sleep-deprived eyes seek out your familiar shape, yet they fail to find you in the spot they expected you to be, an outcome that causes Lucia's throat to tighten. Not a moment later however, she catches sight of Ulthane and her chest hitches apprehensively.

The giant of a man is still sitting propped up against the tree wall with his piercing, blue eyes fixed in her direction, hard and unflinching as stone. It's an unnerving thing to be held underneath that gaze, and yet, as abrupt as Ulthane's appearance is, Lucia doesn't retreat back up into the bunk bed. Rather, she blinks slowly up at him and rubs one of her eyelids with a closed fist. She's tired and she's hungry and she wants nothing more than to see her mother again, to fall into a pair of warm, comforting arms and be reassured that this is all just an unusually long dream. Nevertheless, with a distinct lack of any other viable grownup in the vicinity, the girl's sleep-addled brain seeks out the next nearest source of safety and protection.

Ulthane stiffens and his jaw grows tight when the human youngling begins a slow march across the tree towards him, dragging her feet the whole way.

As she stumbles past Archie's bed, Lucia doesn't even seem to notice that her classmate's glasses are no longer discarded at the foot of it, but instead lay just beside his head, looking polished and brand new without a single crack marring the lenses. Why would she notice, after all, when her sights are set on the mountain of a man sitting in the entrance, his blue gaze tracking her vigilantly across the tree? Perhaps if she'd been even slightly more awake, her stomach might have churned at the thought of venturing closer to something so formidably colossal.

The tiny girl comes to a stop in the space between Ulthane's boots and she tips her heavy head back to peer up at him whilst he, in turn, stares down at her, the bushy eyebrows sitting on his forehead slowly raising with every second that ticks by.

Not for the first time, the Old one is completely lost for what to do.

He'd been prepared for the human younglings to avoid him altogether, not for one to approach him, alone, in the dead of night and without her guardian present.

Swallowing thickly, the maker flicks his eyes up to seek you out on the other side of the room and he momentarily considers making a loud noise or clearing his throat, something that might jar you awake so you can intercept the exhausted child currently yawning up at him. He's quick to scrap that idea, however, sharply reminding himself that he's a maker, for the love of Stone, and the Black Hammer to boot. He's faced down scores of undead, battled against invading, demonic armies! His hands have shaped cities and crafted weapons capable of cataclysmic destruction! He – Ulthane Black Hammer – has no reason to be so tense in the presence of -! 'Oh, maker's beard, she's trying to climb me.'

Apparently, following any lack of a rejection from the giant she'd so boldly approached, Lucia's childish mind has reasoned that it's safe to proceed. So, without a word, she ventures right up to the enormous chain dangling from his equally large, leather belt and, before he has the time to flinch at the prospect of a child getting so close, she reaches up and slips her hands around one of the chain loops and begins hauling herself up into the giant's lap.

The angle at which Ulthane is propped up against the tree works to Lucia's advantage and her hands and feet find easy purchase on the maker's intricately adorned apron, allowing her to crawl onto his stomach without much difficulty, proceeding onwards until she comes to a halt directly over his thundering heart.

Any breath that had once occupied Ulthane's lungs no longer exists as he wheezes it out, all pretence of bravado fleeing him whilst the little human makes herself comfortable upon his chest. Hands like fragile glass twist into his blue, striped cowl and tug it close, seeking comfort in the soft fabric and then, after parting her jaw around yet another yawn, Lucia plops herself down on her belly, head turned to the side so that Ulthane can see her eyes flutter closed.

Every rise and fall of the maker's chest seems far too violent a motion, prompting him to try to keep his breathing as shallow as possible, even though his lungs begin to burn with the effort and his throat bobs as he swallows a thick lump, tilting his chin to peer down his nose at the child.

All right.... All right, he can do this. He can be gentle. After all, he's been gentle with younglings before. Although come to think of it, maker younglings are far, far sturdier than humans. One glance at the girl's twig-thin arms and he clenches his jaw, his immeasurable nerve actually beginning to waver.

It's laughable really. The mighty Black Hammer's famous courage shaken by a tiny, little girl.

If his brother could see him now, he'd be bent double, howling with laughter.

Then again...

Ulthane's shoulders lose some of their tension and with the speed of a melting icicle, his forefinger creeps steadily towards the human.

….Thane has never had something so fragile laying beneath his palms. Thane has never had the terrifying responsibility of holding a body so breakable that just breathing in its direction seems like too much of a risk.

The pad of Ulthane's finger finally touches the child's spine, feather-light and hesitant to the point that he can barely feel her individual vertebrae beneath his toughened skin.

Maker's beard... She barely even covers the length of his palm... He holds his breath when she lets out a soft noise and shifts, curling her legs up tight against her stomach and pushing the curve of her spine a little more noticeably into Ulthane's touch, causing his heart to lurch in response. There's a tenderness to his frown as he hesitantly sweeps the pad of his forefinger down her flimsy shirt and finds himself momentarily exasperated that humans don't bother wearing any kind of armour. They aren't exactly fast enough to outrun their enemies. Nor are they especially strong. Their bones can shatter after a short fall and a single fracture in their spinal column could render them completely incapable of movement. Why, all it would take is a single slip of his finger and....

Shuddering, Ulthane withdraws his hand and lays it on his stomach, just below the girl's feet. In the museum, carrying the humans had been different. He hadn't exactly had much of a choice. Now though, with enough time to stop and think about all the ways a being of his size could unwittingly damage them, Ulthane is far more hesitant and his mind begins to race because suddenly, he has to be so, unfalteringly aware of himself, uncomfortably so.

In direct contrast to the maker's frenetic brain, Lucia isn't really thinking much about anything. All she knows is that she feels a lot safer now than she had in the bunkbed. No nightmare would dare to touch her here, not with the giant keeping watch. With this in mind, the girl lets out a last, lingering yawn before she buries her face in the blue fabric clutched between her fingers and finally drops back off to sleep.

Ulthane is so busy wondering what your reaction will be if you awaken to catch him like this that he doesn't even notice Lucia has fallen asleep on him until he sees her hands go slack around his cowl and her back starts to rise and fall at a much slower pace.

For countless hours – or perhaps it was only mere minutes – the maker watches his charge as she sleeps, every now and then casting his watchful eye over the rest of the group.

Lucia doesn't stir again, not even when Ulthane eventually plucks up the nerve to relax, leaning a little further back into the wood behind him. Not even when, a few minutes later, he curls one of his vast hands over her back whilst she continues to sleep, being beyond careful not to put any weight on her.

All of a sudden, just as he lets his head drop to rest against the bark, it hits him that this girl – this impossibly small, innocent human child might just have wordlessly admitted that she trusts him, and he very nearly shoots upright once more at the revelation.

Outside the tree, the first of Earth's birds begin to sing, hailing the sun as it brightens the eastern sky and while Ulthane's ear twitches at the sound, he doesn't tear his eyes from the girl curled up on his broad chest. Slowly, the maker's forehead wrinkles into a frown.

He doesn't deserve her trust. He doesn't deserve the trust of any human, not least that of those he's taken into his care. If they knew... If they ever found out about what he's done, who he's conspired with, then he would have that tenuous trust ripped away from him and replaced with cold, angry hatred. 'And that,' he tells himself with a solemn sort of acceptance, 'is something I do deserve.'

---------------------

It's with a grim and despondent weariness that your head eventually raises from the soft surface it lays upon. Unlike last night, awareness comes back to you in a rush, slapping you harshly across the face with the memory of where you are and what has happened to the world around you. The temptation to simply let your head fall back against the pillow is almost overpowering.

Almost.

Pressing your eyelids together, you take a moment to brace yourself before stretching your arms up over your head, jaw parting into a yawn.

Warm firelight greets you when you blink into the room, disoriented for a few seconds as you realise you're no longer sitting in the tree's entrance with a maker in front of you. In fact, it abruptly occurs to you that you're now laying down, a fact that causes you to give a start, struggling up onto trembling arms and pushing your face up off a scratchy, green pillow.

Glancing around, you deduce that at some point during the night, you must have been moved to the bedroll Ulthane had mentioned. Of course, you're fairly certain you haven't suddenly begun to sleepwalk, so you imagine that the culprit is none other than the maker himself. Blearily, you rove your gaze across the chamber towards the hollow that leads out into the main trunk. It doesn't take you long to spot him, and when you do, your heart leaps into your throat for a second before you manage to swallow it back down.

Ulthane is leant up against the wooden wall just inside the hollow with a restful smile on his face, but what draws your focus are his hands that are cupped gently over a familiar child. The unruly pair of jet-black buns poking out over the top of his thumb are unmistakably Lucia's.

Suddenly much more awake, you throw the ratty blanket off your legs and clamber upright.

In a flash, Ulthane's head jerks up and he feels his hackles raise, only relaxing once he realises it's just you shuffling over to him, the heel of your palm scrubbing at eyes still thick with sleep.

“Mornin',” he rumbles quietly, raking his gaze from your head to your feet.

A little self-conscious under his probing stare, you throw out an automatic reply of, “Good morning,” before drawing to a halt just beyond his boots, wringing your hands together and shooting anxious glances between him and your student. The maker must have been able to guess what you can't quite find the courage to voice because his ears droop and a crestfallen line appears between his eyebrows.

Guilt slugs you hard in the chest when you pick up on his hurt expression, so you force yourself to pry your hands apart and send him a tired, albeit hesitant smile, whispering, “What happened?”

It's a relief to see the maker's face soften at your question.

With a grin that's borderline sheepish, Ulthane removes one of his gargantuan hands to reveal Lucia curled up underneath it on his sternum, her comparatively miniscule fingers twisted into the fabric of his soft, blue cowl. The loss of her makeshift blanket causes the youngster to frown lightly and utter a sound of protest before she settles down again. You can't help but sag with noticeable relief upon seeing that she's unharmed and apparently very comfortable on her newfound bed.

Huffing out a soft laugh, Ulthane admits, “Think this littl'un might've had a bad dream... She rolled out of bed a couple o' hours ago and... Well.” He tips his bearded chin indicatively at the girl.

Sparing her an exasperated look, you shake your head and sigh, “Sorry about that, Ulthane. You should've woken me up so I could take her back to bed.”

The maker's shoulders move as if they're about to lift into a shrug, but he thinks better of it when Lucia emits another, quiet whine and buries her face into his scarf.

Flicking his eyes from the girl up to you again, he instead murmurs, “Didn't want to disturb you. You looked like you needed the rest.” His broad mouth tilts up in one corner and he drops his gaze to Lucia, eyes crinkling fondly at their edges. “'Sides, she weren't exactly any trouble.” He decides to leave out the part where she'd clambered into his lap and almost gave him a heart attack.

“Huh...” you muse thoughtfully, sparing the maker an appraising look, “Guess she must trust you after all.”

Ulthane's smile falters for a second and his ears seem to wilt, you assume due to disbelief. You have no idea that your words only twist at the barbed-wire coiled around his heart as he's once again reminded that he's just one confession away from being a monster in all of your eyes.

Be it from the rumble of his chest underneath her ear or the tug of his cowl as the giant lifts his head to look at you, but Lucia abruptly shifts, stretching her legs out and pushing sleepily on his sternum to raise her torso from the unconventional bed.

There's something considerably amusing about a nine tonne giant bristling with apprehension as a child no larger than his finger lifts her head and blinks tiredly up at his looming face. You can hardly fault her when she lets out a yelp and lurches backwards onto her knees, startled by the enormous man peering back down at her. However, in doing so, she begins to topple over at the awkward angle and would have fallen down the length of Ulthane's chest had he not flipped his hand over with surprising speed to catch her in his palm. She lands against him with a soft yelp and scrabbles at his calloused skin for a moment, trying to take stock of her situation.

“Sorry there, lass,” the maker chuckles, though his nostrils are flared, betraying his prior alarm, “S'pose I'm not what you were expectin' to see first thing in the mornin', eh?”

After taking a couple of large, gulping breaths, some colour begins to return to the girl's cheeks and her eyes land on Ulthane's hesitant grin.

Instantly, her face lights up with recognition.

“Heracles?” she croaks, scrubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

The maker's tusks flash in the dim light as he huffs out a warm laugh.

“It's Ulthane, Lucia,” you remind her gently and the girl mumbles a quick, 'oh yeah,' in response, stretching her arms up and yawning widely.

“Miss?” a croaking voice pipes up from the bunk beds behind you. Turning about, you see Archie - roused by the commotion - tugging his legs out of the blanket and swinging them over the edge of the bed, his bare feet hardly brushing the wooden floor, he's so small. He's staring over at your group, mellow eyes wide behind his glasses.

With your brain still partially addled by sleep, it takes you a few seconds to recognise the change.

“Archie!” you blurt out louder than you'd intended to, pulling several other groggy children from their slumber, “Your glasses!”

As the boy peers over at you, you're startled to notice that there's an unmistakable lack of any break or crack in the lenses of his spectacles, a fact that seems to have shocked him as much as it shocks you. For a second, you wonder if you'd merely imagined that they were broken. You were, after all, almost falling asleep on your feet yesterday.

But then, Archie presses a few fingers daintily to the frames around his eyes and says in a small voice, “They were broken last night...”

Keeping his attention focused stubbornly on Lucia, Ulthane leans forward and deposits her on the ground next to you with the level of care and concentration one might use to set down a crystalline figurine. His slow, deliberate movements catch your attention and you tear your eyes off Archie to shoot the maker a thoughtful hum, brows slowly knitting together across your forehead when he fails to meet your gaze and instead fiddles absentmindedly with the golden buckle on his belt. Suspicious, you're about to ask him if he knows anything about the impossible circumstances of Archie's glasses when Lucia promptly reaches up and snags the sleeve of your jumper, giving it a tug and declaring that she's hungry.

Ulthane must have been relieved at the distraction because moments later, he plants his boots on the ground and heaves himself to his feet. “Hungry? Well, we can't be havin' that, now can we?” he barks, bunching up his shoulders until there's a loud and satisfying 'crack!' that causes you to wince.

Seeing the maker at his proper height sends Archie stumbling backwards until his calves hit the bunkbed's wooden frame and the resulting thud pulls Kitty's head unwillingly from her pillow.

“Ungh, dad?” the girl moans, rubbing the dust from her eyes and looking out over the edge of the bunk bed, only to let out a strangled gasp at the sight of the bearded giant looming over you.

“It's all right!” you hurriedly say as Sam and Ashleigh also flick their nervous gazes between you and the maker, “It's just Ulthane, remember? He helped us yesterday.”

The initial confusion that always follows sleep begins to dissipate, recognition instead taking its place, at least on the faces of Ashleigh and Sam. Kitty, in the meantime, adopts a scowl and stubbornly remains in her bed, even as all the other children hesitantly start to venture closer to the giant.

“Miss,” Lucia complains, pulling at your sleeve again, “I'm still hungry.”

It's a surreal thing, you ponder quietly to yourself, that the end of the world has come to pass, and yet here you are, worrying about what the children are going to eat for breakfast.

For a few, selfish seconds, you're struck by just how unfair it all seems.

'What about what I want?' You scowl down at your shoes. 'Maybe I don't want to get up and eat and tell them that everything's gonna be okay when I know that it isn't! Maybe – maybe I'd like a few, goddamn minutes to grieve! Instead of putting on a stupid smile and a brave face and... and-...'

Small, weedy fingers slip into your other hand and just like that, the agitation is sapped from you.

You know without even having to look that Archie is standing by your side with his watery, blue gaze fixed nervously on the side of your face, seeking instruction and reassurance in a world that no longer has any rules. Exhaling softly, you deflate and lift your eyes to find Ulthane watching you closely from the entrance. When he catches your gaze, you think you see his lips twitch, like he's trying to give you a smile but his heart isn't quite in it.

Eyebrows pinched, ears drooping - He looks... sad, you realise.

The expression is fleeting however, and it vanishes the moment you blink.

Dragging your eyes off the maker, you look down at Lucia and Archie and force a smile onto your face. “Okay, let's go. Kitty, come on, we're going to eat now!-” Turning, you beckon for the last child to follow, yet all she does is cross her arms and glare down at you, bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

“I want my dad,” she suddenly declares, and it takes a lot of effort on your part not to sigh. Gathering yourself, you school your expression out of the grimace it's collapsed into and reply, “I'm afraid he's... he's not here, kiddo.”

“What about my mummy and papá?” This question comes from Lucia, but when you open your mouth to respond to her, you find yourself interrupted by yet another question from Ashleigh, spoken far more softly than the others. “Do our parents even know where we are?”

The rooms falls silent again and a sort of hopelessness snatches the air from your lungs, leaving you feeling trapped and utterly, wholly useless. What are you supposed to tell these children? That the chances of finding any of their parents alive is astronomically small? That their mothers and fathers are, more likely than not, dead? Torn apart by demons? That they may never see their families again?

You wonder what the maker would do, if he were in your stead. You're dying to ask him, but a quick glance at his stoic face reveals no insight. Perhaps you'd be disappointed to know that Ulthane is silently referring to your judgement, unwilling to offer an answer to the difficult question simply because he, like you, hasn't the first idea of what the 'correct' response is. Should the children know the truth when they're still so young and unequipped to deal with the sort of tragedy truth inflicts? Or should they be protected from it, given hope that the following days are worth waiting for?

Shit... He wants to take the decision out of your hands when he catches a scent of the frustration and terror that pours out of you. The silence has begun to stretch out for so long, he wracks his brains for something to fill it. Luckily for him, you take a deep breath, letting the air fill you up entirely until your lungs start to hurt and you can't fit any more in. Then, after a beat, you exhale it all roughly and clap your hands, cheerfully saying, “Look. Why don't you guys come and have some breakfast and let me sort out finding your parents, okay? I'm... sure if Ulthane and I put our heads together, we can work out a way to let them know where you are.”

Thankfully, your words take immediate effect, perking the children up a bit and putting a relieved smile on most of their faces, though you do notice that Archie, by contrast, has his head tipped towards the ground and his hand tightens around yours. Without seeing the look of panic that flashes through his eyes however, you assume he's put at ease, like the others. A plan of action – even one that's been made up on the spot - is just what they all need hear right now.

A quick glance up at the maker reveals that he isn't nearly as optimistic about your plan as the kids seem to be. However, when they turn to stare questioningly up at him, the giant's face takes on a self-assured grin, one far more authentic than you imagine yours to be.

“Aye, don't you worry littl'uns. Old Ulthane and your teacher'll suss it out.” When he turns away to face the hollow, you catch a brief glimpse of his smile as it falls to something dour, yet his voice retains its chipper tone. “C'mon then, best get some food in you, eh?”

You decide to ask Kitty one more time if she'll come down from her bunk, but again, the young girl just shakes her head and casts a mistrustful glare at the back of Ulthane's head. In the end, you just shrug and concede.

“Okay,” you tell her, starting after the giant, “I'll bring you something to eat in a bit.”

She doesn't reply.

The rest of the children are quiet as they huddle at your back and follow you tentatively out of the sleeping area, lead by an ever-watchful maker, who continues to cast backwards glances over his burly shoulder at you and the kids, as if he thinks you could disappear without any warning if he so much as takes his eyes off you.

Archie's hand remains firmly clamped around yours all the way across the wooden bridge and down into the tree's vast inner chamber.

Once you spill out onto flat, solid ground again, you allow your eyes to wander up to the top of the trunk, where a large crack has split right across the toughened wood, through which shafts of sunlight drift lazily down into the room and dapple the floor with patches of warmth.

Dimly, you realise it must be late morning.

Through the hole in the makeshift ceiling, you can distinctly hear the sound of leaves hissing and whispering like voices in the wind. But above that, you can make out something else. Whistling. High and pretty and tuneful.

“Birds...” you whisper, sporting an incredulous little smile, unaware of Ulthane's gaze drinking in the sunlight that glints off your hair.

What had once seemed such a mundane occurrence nearly reduces you to tears on the spot.

The birds are still here, chirping away amongst the colossal branches high above you. They survived. Just like you and the children have survived.

Deep in the depths of your heart, deeper than the blood and the cells, a tiny ember of hope flickers to life.

'Maybe,' you tell yourself, 'the world isn't as dead as it seems.'

Meanwhile, behind you, the children are busy making their own discoveries.

Lucia's bottomless supply of curiosity must have won out over her trepidation, for she's the first to venture away from the safety of your leg and take several, tentative steps out into the room, her eyes roving to and fro until they're little more than a blur.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls your attention away from the ceiling and you jerk backwards as a large, wooden crate is promptly dropped at your side by an eager Elanya.

“Mornin' humans!” she calls down to you, startling the children and earning a subtle growl from Ulthane which she expertly ignores, “Got you some good eats in 'ere!”

With a hand held over your racing heart, you give the young maker a tight-lipped smile and reply, “Good morning to you too. Kids, this kind lady has brought us something to eat, what do we say?”

Ulthane's eyebrows raise in amusement when there's a shy, stuttered chorus of 'thank you's' from the children. Elanya meanwhile, is positively beaming.

“Ha! 'Lady,” she echoes, flicking one of her blonde plaits over a shoulder and bending down to the crate, taking the lid between her hands before pausing to glance up at you. “Don't think flattery will make me forget what we're doin' later, missus,” she warns playfully, keeping her eyes locked on your hands even as she gives the crate's lid a single yank, tearing it free of the nails keeping it in place. Admittedly, you have to admire her persistence.

“My hands are fine,” you tell her as she tosses the lid aside and dusts off her gloves, “They stopped bleeding last night.”

Unconvinced, the maker cocks her hip and squints down at you. “Doesn't mean they won't still need seein' to.”

“S'probably for the best, lass,” Ulthane mutters to you, wincing at the look of betrayal you toss him, “Can't have you hurtin' if we can do somethin' about it.”

“Well, what about your arm?” The maker narrows his eyes but you don't falter, refusing to be the sole person on the receiving end of Elanya's doting. “You said you'd let her look at it if I let her see my hands.”

Quick as a flash, Elanya's amber eyes dart from you to her fellow maker. “Arm? What happened to your arm?” she barks.

“Oh. I – er -”

Try as he might to twist himself sideways and hide his injury, the youngling's sharp gaze finds its target and she lets a hiss slip out of her mouth. “Maker's beard! That's a doozie!”

There's something highly entertaining in the way Ulthane shrinks back as she marches over to him and grabs his arm, but as much as you'd like to continue watching him utter halfhearted complaints and try to escape her grasp, you decide to use the distraction to address the hungry children behind you.

Every mouth is watering like broken faucets at the sight of a crate full of food, yet none of them have made a move towards it, instead dragging their hopeful gazes back and forth between you and the wooden box. You have to admit, you're impressed with their self-restraint.

All of a sudden, before you can open your mouth to tell them to go ahead and dig in, a hulking shadow falls across the tree's entrance and when you lift your gaze towards it, you see the third maker trudging heavily inside.

As soon as he spots the children staring back at him through wide, frightened eyes, Yarin stops dead in his tracks, every muscle in his massive body turning rigid.

“Er...” Perplexed, he roves his eyes up to you and blinks, surprised to see you standing behind the younglings for a change, not in front of them.

In the span of seconds, the air inside the tree grows thick with disquiet and you're convinced that at least some of the kids are about to turn tail and dive behind you in search of protection.

It's Elanya's voice that ends up cutting through the uneasy tension.

“Yarin!” she exclaims, gesturing towards the children, “Just in time'! Mind keepin' an eye on the bairns while I see to these accident-prone ninnies?”

No sooner does the suggestion leave her lips than your heart drops down into your shoes faster than a stone sinks in a puddle and you begin moving towards the kids, noting that some of their faces have gone pale.

“Uh, I – I don't think-” you start, only to be cut off by a heavy but gentle hand falling upon your shoulder, almost throwing you off balance despite the care with which it's placed there. Glancing backwards, you find yourself peering up the length of Ulthane's muscular arm and meeting his powder-blue eyes.

Sensing your obvious hesitance, the maker offers you his trademark grin. “They'll be okay, bonnie,” he rumbles quietly, “Yarin'd sooner pull his own teeth out than let anythin' happen to those littl'uns.”

Biting your lip, you swivel your head around to look at the strange maker again. Ulthane you've started to trust and Elanya is slowly but surely endearing herself to you. Yarin, however, is a complete unknown. You've hardly heard him say two words and so far, you've found he's been the most difficult maker to get a bead on.

Shaking your head, you briefly resist against Ulthane's hand as he tries to pull you towards the spot where Elanya stands waiting, a wet cloth dangling from her fingers.

“I don't know...” you mutter even as the Old one succeeds in half steering, half dragging you across the tree and parking you in front of the younger maker, who bends onto her knees and slowly reaches out for you.

“You're not goin' any further from 'em than here,” Ulthane continues to murmur reassurances as he leans against the stone structure, observing Elanya's hands with rapt attention, ready to reprimand her if she becomes too rough.

You're so focused on Yarin as he cautiously settles himself next to the crate that you jump when large, warm fingers slide underneath your hands and lift them into the air and you very nearly end up pulling away, but two thumbs pressed gently against your palms keep you in place.

Whipping your head around yet again, you come face to face with Elanya's sunny grin and find that she's the one with her hands cupped oh-so carefully under yours. She almost seems mesmerised as she strokes the pads of her fingers along your delicate wrists, only catching herself once Ulthane very deliberately clears his throat, causing her to give a start and lean over to inspect the dried wounds on your palms more closely, tutting at the Old one's possessiveness.

“You don't have to worry about Yarin, you know” the youngling says matter of factly. Briefly, her gaze flicks up to your face before returning to your hands once more and she adds, “Aye, he looks like the sort of brute who'd eat humans up for breakfast, but between you and me?-” Pausing, she squeezes one eye into a wink and lowers her voice, whispering, “- he's a ruddy great softie, he is.”

As if to prove her point, she raises her chin and smiles fondly over your head and after following her gaze, you actually let a chary little bubble of laughter burst from your mouth at the sight before you.

Surprisingly, it's Ashleigh who appears to have approached the moustached behemoth first. She stands in front of his crossed legs, kneading her fingers into her bright, yellow dress as Yarin scoops something out of the crate and slowly holds his hand out towards her with a small sandwich packet sitting in the centre of his comparatively gargantuan palm, looking thoroughly lost.

It takes a couple of tense seconds, but gradually, the girl begins to inch forwards and pries her fingers away from the fabric of her dress, all the while staring up at the maker warily.

However, when he doesn't suddenly spring forwards and snatch her up, she grows a little bolder and stretches out over his fingers until she can reach the sandwich. Then, with the hesitancy of a doe, Ashleigh draws the precious food close to her chest and even from halfway across the tree, you can hear her meekly say, “Thank you,” giving Yarin one of her rare and peaceable smiles for good measure.

Behind you, Ulthane lets out a chuckle as his fellow maker's ears prick forwards happily and his cheeks are stretched by a beaming grin, as though the young human had just handed him the sun itself.

“Well, would you look at that,” Elanya murmurs, gently dabbing at your palms with the wet cloth, “I've nae seen him smile that wide since Dagny was born.”

Suppressing a wince from her ministrations, you raise an eyebrow and ask, “Who's Dagny?”

The blonde maker hesitates, her mouth hanging open as though she's only just realised what she's let slip and now has to decide whether or not it's her place to say more. In the end however, she resumes cleaning the dried blood off your palms and slowly mutters, “She was... Yarin's bairn.”

“Yarin... has a daughter?” you breathe, looking back at the brawny giant with newfound curiosity.

To your rear, unseen, Ulthane's eyes slip closed and he bows his head, exhaling a regretful sigh that escapes his lips in the form of a single word. “Had...”

You don't ask him to elaborate.

“I’m... christ. I’m so sorry,” you croak to the makers behind you instead, regarding Yarin with a little less caution and far more sympathy, “I never even considered...” Ashamed, you trail off at the realisation that all this time, you haven’t really given any thought to the idea that these large and incredible beings might also have families, just the same as humans do. You find yourself humbled by this new piece of knowledge and make a private vow to offer Yarin an apology for the way you’ve been staring at him, as though he were a threat to the kids.

Observing him now as he sits with his shoulders hunched and his head tucked in to make himself appear smaller for the sake of easing the children’s nerves, you berate yourself for being so quick to judge.

#darksiders #darksiders 3 #ulthane #fluff #kids #found family #gentle gianrs #angst #reader #next up #Yarin and Kitty #Elanya and Ashleigh and Sam #Reader and Ulthane find themselves alone outside the tree

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 5 years

Text

Even if it hurts (E.D. AU)

Pairing: gangster!Ethan Dolan x lawyer!reader

Summary: When Ethan Dolan, the most dangerous man in New York walks into Y/N’s office in need of a lawyer and with claims of being framed for a crime he didn’t commit, their lives quickly become intertwined and the mutual attraction between them soon becomes impossible to ignore.

Warnings: violence, angst, fluff, swearing, drinking

Word count: ~11.1k

Heart pounding in my ears and chest, I find my breath halt in my throat. A hand covers my mouth, pulling me closer and I find myself unable to fight. Back against a firm chest, another arm wrapping around my waist, my wide eyes look around in panic as my first exhale fights its way to my nose. It clears my mind just enough to stop the lingering scream deep within my being from forming, just enough to recognize the smell that fills my nostrils. I know that smell, the expensive cologne that intoxicated me for the better part of the year.

It's him.

„Stay down and be quiet. Can you do that for me?“ He whispers in my ear, bringing about a chill that spreads down my back and takes over my entire body.

I nod, shakily turning to glance at him. If I were to die, I wanted his face to be the last thing I see.

Even if it is his fault I am in this position.

10 months ago

I've always been goal-oriented, ambitious to a fault some would say. I considered it my greatest value, something that allowed me to be a trailblazer despite obstacles I encountered in life. I've made several sacrifices to get to where I am today and although I have become who I always wanted to be, I had one thing left to achieve.

To become partner.

Being a lawyer specialized in criminal law is daunting, something many avoid for high profile cases, though rare, usually ensure you have a target on your back for the remainder of your life. I found it thrilling. I never expected to get a high profile case, satisfied helping those who needed my help and building my career as the youngest lawyer in New York City.

Little did I know that would all change.

„Y/N, we have a client and no one else is in. Do you mind taking the case?“ Spoke Katherine, the assistant and in a way the only friend I have. I smile and nod, giving her a go ahead.

„Sure, I'm not busy.“ Just as I finished the sentence, he walked through the door.

Now don't get me wrong, I am in no way, shape or size a hopeless romantic that falls head over heels for guys who walk into my office or any guy really, but it's hard to ignore the feeling this man imposed. With his height alone, this man attracted many unwanted looks and attention. He's tall and even under his classy clothes, his muscles are evident. I swallow thickly as my eyes fall to his toned chest and the white dress shirt covering him. The sleeves are pulled up to his elbows, revealing a couple of tattoos on his forearms. His arms fold over his chest, and with such a simple gesture his muscles bulge but that's not what takes my attention. It's a silver, bejeweled ring on his right index finger.

I dare to look up, finding his dark brown hair comely and perfectly tousled as if he spent hours on it, while it probably took a minute and a hand through the silky looking strands. His eyebrows are bushy and unusually arched, framing his deep brown eyes many consider basic, but there's something different in his. Looking into them there is a storm brewing, one that would turn the brown murkier and more dangerous, something many people I defend hold in their hues but none quite like this man. His jawline is sharp and his chin pointy, almost taking the attention off his plush and soft looking pale pink lips many surely lost their heads over.

„Please take a seat.“ I show him to the chair across from mine, just on the other side of my mahogany desk that served as a buffer.

„Thank you.“ The man says politely as he takes a seat, leaning back but his eyes never leave me. Not for a second.

„I am Y/N Y/L/N and I will represent you if you choose to hire me. Now, tell me why do you need my services.“ I have this little speech practiced to perfection, leaving no doubt or possible fear in my voice for clients to detect. I've learned quite quickly that showing fear is the greatest mistake one can make for it will get you either killed or kicked off the case.

I couldn't tell you which option is worse.

„Well, I am Ethan Dolan and I am here because someone is trying to frame me for a crime I did not commit.“ He explains as he crosses his legs, but not the way women do. It's that rest-your-ankle-on-your-knee kind of a way, a wide spread of confidence and yet I always found it to be the opposite. I've learned to look past cockiness.

„And what crime would that be, Mr. Dolan?“ I raise an eyebrow, taking a pen to write his name on a piece of paper for later use. Trust your client is what they teach us in law school, but I find my own background check to be more efficient in the long run.

„Murder.“ His reply is simple and short, passing his lips so effortlessly when in truth it puts my heart to a full stop for a moment before it finds a normal rhythm once more.

„Alright. I'll have to check with senior partners, but as far as I'm concerned I will do my best to acquit you of these charges. I do need more information, Mr. Dolan. An alibi would help.“ I tilt my head slightly to the right, catching a glimpse of a gold chain peering under his collar.

„I have one, I'm just not at liberty to discuss it.“ Ethan's face is stoic, as if none of this touches him. It's as if he's fearless which I'd snort at if this wasn't a business meeting and he my next paycheck.

No man is fearless.

„That's not a problem. It will make my job harder, but it's not uncommon my clients can't divulge their whereabouts. I'll make it work. Anything on the crime itself?“ I try to keep my composure, knowing the intensity of his gaze will start burning holes in my skull if he keeps his unblinking eyes on me any longer.

I'm used to being underestimated due to my age alone, let alone my looks. I'm aware I'm young and I'm sure I am appealing to some, but no one had ever studied me as closely as this man does. This man that doesn't look much older than I am, a man who is perhaps just as driven as I am.

„The murder happened at the docs last month on the 25th of April at approximately 10 pm. A man was killed with a gun and dropped into water. My contacts already warned me the police is building a case against me. From what I've heard, the gun found was mine and they claim to have DNA evidence on the scene.“ Ethan lays out the case with cold precision, his right hand now wrapping around his left ankle that remains atop his right knee.

I nod, scribbling details to check on later, distracting myself from his incredibly good looks. The way he talks is enough for me to know he's more than a petty criminal, but someone high up in rank, probably a gang member.

„I'll check on these myself with the station and a few of my own contacts.“ I chew on the pen cap, narrowing my eyes at the letters written before me. Putting the pen down, I look to Ethan once more.

„Y/N, I'll be honest here. If I would have done this, I'd never be stupid and leave a trace. They'd never find the murder weapon, let alone my DNA. I didn't do this and I expect you to prove it.“ Ethan stands, planting his palms on my desk as he leans forward. The proximity itself would make anyone jump, but I remain calm and in my seat. I face his hard gaze and keep my composure.

I can even see his one inch stubble, a couple of beauty marks and earrings – a stud-like diamond in each ear. There's a faint blemish on his left cheek, one I'd normally never see, but for some reason I'm studying this man as closely as he's studying me.

„Miss Y/L/N.“ I correct him, giving him a curt smile while his lips twitch for the first time since he entered my office, finally spreading into a smile. His smile isn't as cold as I expected it to be, but it's dangerous. Just as his eyes hold a danger I'm unaware of, so does his smile. A part of me thought he never smiles, maybe smirks from time to time, but this was a full, pearly whites on show kind of a smile.

It's alarming how disarming it is.

„Miss Y/L/N.“ Ethan repeats, dragging out my last name like it's the sweetest tune he'd ever heard. I'd like to say it made me melt or allowed a thousand butterflies to shed their cocoons and fly inside my stomach, but it didn't. It made sharks swim inside my stomach and a nauseating sense of discomfort take over.

„Right. So, I'll call you in a couple of days with information and until then...lay low. Lets not give them any ammo to use against you, because I'm sure they're watching you closely. Even a minor offense will be cause for arrest and we can't afford that just yet. So, lay low and wait for me to call. I'll try to make this speedy and get the charges dropped as soon as they're made.“ I stand up, walking around the table and standing in front of him. Each click of my heel made me cringe inwardly, but outside I kept a picture of confidence and peace.

„Lay low...I can do that. I'll be waiting by the phone...Miss Y/L/N.“ Ethan outstretches his hand for me to shake and although everything inside me screamed not to, I knew this might help build a relationship which would ensure his trust and that is always a good thing.

As soon as my hand touched his, his fingers curled around it and encased my hand. Ethan gently lifts my hand up, bending down as well until his lips touch the back of it.

I was right...his lips are soft and plush and oh so very kissable, but they also bring an unfathomable desire to run and hide.

No, I am not afraid of Ethan Dolan. I am afraid of the tingling sensation his lips left on the back of my hand even when they parted, even when his hold on it relented. Even when he smirked and passed by me and left my office. Even as I fell asleep that night.

„Do you know who that is?!“ Katherine whisper shouts, closing the door behind her. It startles me enough to turn around with a gasp, a hand over my chest.

„First: not cool! Second: who?“ I tap my foot as she approaches, nervously looking around.

„I googled him! It's Ethan Dolan, one of the most dangerous men in New York, possibly in the US.“ She speaks in a hush tone, folding her arms over he chest as she nibbles on her bottom lip.

„So? I don't care. My job is to make sure everyone has a fair trial and I'll do that, even for the most dangerous man in New York.“ I state, grabbing my phone to start making calls and get to the bottom of this case.

Sooner I'm done, sooner I can forget him. Even angels have wicked schemes and he's someone who takes devils to new extremes. It's best I'm far from the eye of that particular storm.

„You called, Miss Y/L/N?“ Ethan peaks inside my office, only a second after knocking.

I sigh, painting a smile on my face regardless of the disturbance. I had wished for a moment alone to collect myself and properly process the day's events. Ethan didn't know that, so he strolled right inside.

„I've made some calls and talked to a few friends in the force.“ I stand, ignoring the stinging pain shooting from my feet to my ankles, knees and back. Wearing heels all day is a form of torture.

I move in front of the desk and beside the chair Ethan had settled in. Leaning on the table, I fold my arms over my chest and look him directly in the eye.

„I've seen the evidence and it's circumstantial at best. The gun did have your fingerprints, however it's not registered to you. There was no DNA left on the scene, so your guys got that wrong.“ I list, unintentionally throwing in a jibe.

I realize what I said a moment too late. Ethan only clicks his tongue, almost entertained with my sharpness, but chooses to remain silent.

„I've found some things that just don't add up. They didn't use the usual coroner, the body itself might not have been examined right so I petitioned for an autopsy done by a trusted pathologist. They built the entire case on the premise you usually are at the docs at the same time every week and of course, the gun which we can always argue was stolen. I've already gotten a court order to get any video surveillance from the area to prove you didn't come to the docs that night at all, but it will give us a chance to see who did.“ My voice is tired and slightly strained, as if I'm going through motions. I know I'm doing a bad job covering it, which means he might pick up on it.

The way he holds my gaze, I know he's a perceptive man. He's someone who needs to be a good judge of character, to read people quickly and determine if that person is trustworthy or not.

But, so am I.

For some odd reason, I trust him. I believe him and I will defend him. It's ridiculous because this might be the only crime he didn't commit, but I plan on doing my job regardless. I don't know this man, but I think...I think I shouldn't write him off as the bad guy straight away.

„I'm impressed, Miss Y/L/N.“ Ethan chimes in, pursing his lips and I have to force myself not to give into my mind's sudden want to study his lips. They may or may not have some kind of magical ability to make me question my sanity, but I will not be unprofessional and give into what might be a simple case of curiosity.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but I will not let it kill me.

„You seem to have a good handle on the case. However, I do have concerns.“ Ethan furrows his eyebrows, pushing them closer until a single vertical line appears between them. He puts his right, ringed index finger on his chin, lightly touching his bottom lip and cocks his head to the side.

„If you have concerns, I'm always here to help clear them.“ Though I sound overly nice and too eager to please, I have to remind myself this is my job and I'd be the same way with any client, not just Ethan.

But if that were true I'd address him as Mr. Dolan, even in my thoughts.

„Well, you're here way past working hours which is a double-edged blade...I'm grateful you're working overtime to clear my name, but if you overwork yourself this might end up backfiring. I can hear it in your voice. You are tired, Miss Y/L/N and I hope you take the rest of the night and enjoy yourself. I'd be willing to drive you home and even pay for dinner.“ Ethan slyly suggests and I scoff openly. I don't bother hiding my reaction from him this time around and I sense his demeanor change instantly.

„Did I insult you in any way?“ His jaw clenches, his eyes darkening and I step back shaking my head.

„I can't accept any gifts from clients and I definitely can't involve myself personally. It's unprofessional and I expect you to stop blurring the lines here.“ My tired tone has successfully transformed into a stern one, unforgiving and he knows it too.

Ethan stands, folding his arms over his chest and furrowing his eyebrows.

„I didn't intend to blur any lines, Miss Y/L/N. I only meant to make sure you get home safe and have a warm meal. I didn't suggest I'd be joining you.“ His response brings up a volcano inside my head, the heat rushing to my cheeks.

He was trying to be a decent human being and I just bombed his attempts.

„I'm sorry if I got the wrong impression. It's been a long day and I'll keep your concerns in mind. I still don't think anything you suggested would be appropriate, but I do thank you for it.“ I smile softly, hoping to soften his hardened face.

His left eye narrows ever so slightly, like he's sizing me up and determining if I'm worth the trouble or not. But then his face softens and his arms fall by his side as he takes a few sturdy steps towards me. His right hand clenches and relaxes before he pockets it.

„It's alright. Many get the wrong impression. I know the rumors they spread about me. I just hope you can look past them. I make a lot of questionable choices, some many deem immoral or illegal, but I'm not a bad person Miss Y/L/N. I'll be waiting for your next call.“ Ethan sighs, his face falling as he walks by me, our arms brushing against each other and for a moment, in that silence that followed, I swear I heard electricity cackle at contact.

It was supposed to be a relaxing night of drinking my favorite wine and watching the latest episodes of my favorite shows on Netflix. It was supposed to be that way, but it turned into anything but.

„Hello? Yes, this is she. HE WHAT? I'll be down as soon as possible.“

That's how I found myself running to my closet to put together a proper outfit as my client, Ethan Dolan, was arrested near the border with almost half a million dollars in his trunk.

I rushed to the station, immediately greeting the officer who gave me a call earlier. We dated briefly a couple of years ago when I was just a law student, but he's married now and I'm still married to my job. We remained friendly and he became my greatest asset in the police force.

„I'm here, you can let up on Mr. Dolan now.“ I smile at Duncan, turning on the charm. Sure he's married, but I know how to read people and Duncan never stopped feeling that attraction he had for me.

It never hurts to put on a nice show, does it?

„Don't worry Y/N. You have him properly trained. The boy barely said a word since we took him in. The only thing he did say is to call you and that's all. I'm surprised you took on such a case.“ Duncan leaned on his desk, his hands behind him for support as a fond smile appears on his face.

I return the smile, cautiously speaking.

„I'm a lawyer. Anyone with a check can hire me to defend them in court. Why not try a challenge?“ I wink at him, pointing to the hall.

„Room two?“ I question, already taking off.

I heard Duncan's footsteps behind me, rushing with his keys jiggling. He surpasses me, managing to unlock the door on the first try. I nod in acknowledgement, walking inside and he closes the door behind me.

„Sorry to wake you.“ Ethan plasters a fake smile on his face, one that didn't hold any charm, only venom. He's pissed.

„I was awake anyway. So...“ I approach the desk, sitting in my designated spot.

„Why take so much money and be so close to the border?“ I ask without beating around the bush. He'll either be honest with me or he'll lie through his teeth. Either way, I'll know the truth and I'll know if he and I will have a good collaboration during the case.

„I can't tell you.“ He says, averting his gaze from me for the first time since I've met him and if that's not alarming on its own, then the bruise forming around his left eye is.

„Who punched you?“ I put a little more pressure, getting a sigh from him.

„Doesn't matter. How much trouble did this get me?“ He counters my question with another of his own and it's my turn to sigh.

„I'm sure you're aware this looks like you're running.“

„BUT I'M NOT!“ Ethan shouts, his usually mellow and calm voice now echoing against the walls.

„Is everything alright in here?“ Duncan opens the door, looking to me for answers. I just nod, letting him know I'm fine.

„I know you weren't running.“ I say quietly, just enough so he can hear me. For the first time ever, I see his poker face dissolve and shock register on his face.

„You do?“ His voice is quiet, but his tone is higher as the surprise passes to his vocal chords as well.

„Yes. You're not that stupid. If you wanted to run you'd probably take a jet and you wouldn't carry that much cash on you. You'd put it in an offshore account. You also wouldn't run when the crime you're being framed for is clearly not your fault.“ I list all the reasons I believe him to be innocent, each of the reasons making his initial hostility disappear and be replaced with awe.

„You're a genius.“ He whispers, his lips remaining parted.

„I just know your way of thinking. I also got more info on the body and I'm sure we can raise enough reasonable doubt for the jury to make the right decision. Ideally, we would have avoided this entire mess of a trial and I would have had the charges dropped, but this arrest made sure we'd see a trial. I'll try to get you out, but you'll have to stay tonight.“ I rest my elbow on the table, using my right hand to rest my head on it.

„You're tired again.“ He states matter-of-factually and I let a smile pass my lips. A true smile, one unadulterated and free of stiffness it's usually accompanied by.

„And orange is not your colour.“ I throw a remark his way, one that widens his eyes and pushes a chuckle past his lips.

„I think I pull it off!“ Ethan's cheery tone isn't lost on me, but I find myself melting in the vibrations his chuckle created inside my heart.

A smile remains on his lips, one I'd usually try to ignore, but I can't. Not anymore. Smiles are supposed to be soft and inviting, but his is charming and deadly. I used to think there is nothing more dangerous than a man with charm until I met him. Ethan’s smile has daggers in it, ones who aim to kill.

Is it so wrong I am a willing victim?

„Keep telling that to yourself, big guy.“ I chuckle too, standing up. I am tired, exhausted even. But I have a job to do and that's to make sure this guy never wears orange again.

„Sleep well, Miss Y/L/N.“ Ethan says fondly and I stop to look at him.

„Don't get yourself killed, Ethan.“ I accidentally say his first name, mentally kicking myself over it immediately. But then his killer smile makes yet another appearance this night and I don't feel so guilty about it anymore.

„So I called in a favor and we have a judge willing to listen today. All you have to do is say you're not guilty and let me handle the rest. Okay?“ I know I'm not supposed to coach him, but Duncan was kind enough to let me in for a single minute and I wasn't going to waste it. Ethan nods, quickly following after me and into the patrol car that's taking us to the courthouse.

„Not guilty.“ Ethan says just as I asked him to and I hold back a smile.

„As you can tell, my client here only moved his assets to the bank nearest to him. He had no alcohol in his blood at the moment of the arrest. He had no weapon and he definitely hadn't committed a crime. He's a rich man, your honor. If we arrested every wealthy person in New York for handling their own money, we'd need bigger prisons.“ I know the DA had already included the murder charges into the case, using this arrest as a steppingstone to charge him officially.

My goal is to get him out of prison and quickly, because he promised me to survive the night and not cause trouble, but I can tell by the bruises on his face, new ones forming, he had tried his best to do as I asked him to.

„You realize there's more charges brought up against your client?“ The judge raises an eyebrow and I nod.

„I am aware. However, that deserves a trial of its own and I'd prefer my client to wait for that trial in the safety of his own home. One look at Mr. Dolan will tell you exactly why. I'd like him to live to see the trial, your honor.“ I know this argument is compelling, especially because gang bosses rarely survive till trial and the media would be all over the court if Ethan died in jail because they were too stubborn to let him out.

„Fine. Mr. Dolan, until trial you will remain in house arrest with an ankle monitor to make sure you stay put. I also demand you leave your passport before we release you. Bail is set for a 500 000 dollars.“ Judge is about to use her gabble when I stop her, interjecting.

„If I may?“ I can tell the judge is annoyed, but she allows it.

„If the DA is alright with this, I'd like to speed this process up. I'm sure you'd like to wrap the case before the media gets in on it and sooner we get this done the less coverage it will get. Considering the new evidence I left for you this morning, you'll see a lot of bad police-work is involved and I'm sure we'd like to keep that on the down-low?“ I say coyly, looking to the DA and the judge who just furrows her brows.

„You do realize that means picking out a jury that might not be very open to sympathize with your client?“

„Only if he's guilty, your honor.“

„Fine. Jury selection in a week. Now get out of my courtroom.“ She hits the gabble, ending the torture for Ethan for now.

„You're really good.“ His hand brushes against mine as we move toward the patrol car.

„I know.“ I smile, nudging him.

„I'll be down to see you next week, okay? I'll have to set up office in your house for convenience. It will help us work faster and more efficiently, get it all done on time. Is that okay?“ I take out my phone to check the address. He lives upstate, while my office is in the middle of the city. It would take too long to travel back and forth, losing us precious time and I needed his input while I worked on the case.

„Of course. You're always welcome to stay, Miss Y/L/N.“ Duncan is the one that pushes his head down and forces him in the car, closing the door behind him. I notice the glare Ethan sends his way, just as I notice how his eyes soften when he looks at me.

„I'll set up his ankle bracelet.“ He states and I wrap my arms around myself for additional warmth as the cold September air begins to chill me to my core.

„Great. Thanks Duncan.“ I give him a small wave, feeling Ethan's piercing gaze on me the entire time.

I watch the car as it drives away, hoping I can get this case done quickly and quietly, ensuring myself a partner spot if I win. I've already had a good two months behind me.

It's been tiring, but I'm determined to win. For myself and for...for Ethan.

„You call this house arrest?“ I looked around, twirling in the foyer in shock.

„I've been going stir crazy. Tell me we can get this whole case over soon.“ Ethan walked down the stairs in a pair of shorts, ones that revealed numerous tattoos tainting his skin.

„You do realize a trial can't be over in a blink of an eye. We got you out quickly, but you'll have to deal with this mansion you have for a while longer. This is...this room alone is bigger than my whole apartment.“ I state, frowning and he chuckles.

„You're welcome to stay. I'll have them make you a bed. Loads of guest rooms to choose from.“ Ethan replies, winking and I roll my eyes at him.

„Oh, that's a first. You never rolled your eyes at me before. Are we becoming friends?“ He speaks fast, excitedly and I realize maybe he is going stir crazy.

„I roll my eyes at you all the time...In my head.“ I add the last bit, getting him to burst out laughing.

„That's a good one, Miss Y/L/N.“ Ethan points his right index finger at me, his booming laugh still bouncing off the walls.

„You can call me Y/N. We're not in the office anymore.“ I give him this little inch of ground, one single inch and yet I know he'll take a lot more than an inch.

„Awe, we are becoming friends Y/N!“ Ethan exclaims and I put my hands on my hips, looking up with lips pressed together.

I regret that decision already.

As months passed, I've gotten to know Ethan better than I thought I would.

I'd often catch him staring at me, even when he thought he was being stealthy. While he worked at his desk and made calls I pretended not to hear and held meetings I pretended not to acknowledge, I worked on his case in the same room.

I had a bulletin board, every single piece of evidence I could piece together on it and marked in order. I knew we had this in the bag as he'd say, but I needed to be prepared in case they had something new to present me with. I knew I'd have to look into the policemen who did the work as most things didn't make sense.

The footage showed a younger officer was on the job, a single cigarette bud left on the docks and it belonged to the same officer. Those same cigarettes were bought a block away.

Why would a cop be in a shady district he didn't belong in, buying cigarettes, smoking on docks? Why would he commission the autopsy be done by a different coroner?

Once I looked into his records, I found he had gotten his hands on a lot of money recently...Enough to buy a new apartment in Manhattan and a villa in Miami along with a yacht. No cop earns that amount of cash. I don't earn that amount of money!

I hired some help, a detective to follow the officer in question and he already acquired photos of him meeting suspicious men I didn't know.

„I know that one. It's Jacob. He's the head of a rival gang - Black mamba.“ Ethan stopped at my bulletin board, pensive.

„And they're your enemy, right?“ It's a rhetorical question, we both know it.

„Come with me. It's lunch time.“ Ethan takes my hand in his, startling me into a gasp. I don't pull away though, allowing him to guide me outside to the patio as he does every day now.

I know he's growing impatient, frustrated with his captivity and inability to be out there with his men. It's eating him alive that he can't be of help, that his people suffer the consequence.

„You never asked what it is that I really do.“ He states, taking a sip of his orange juice and I do the same, shrugging.

„It's not my business to poke my nose where it doesn't belong. My job is to get the charges dropped.“

„You're not curious at all?“ Ethan cocks his right eyebrow, swiping his tongue across his lower lip and if I wasn't seated already, I'd be swept off my feet for sure.

He has a way with words, his gestures always mean more. He is a charming man, one who is extremely intelligent and knows how to manipulate people to get what he wants. It's impressive how he works his magic on unsuspecting victims, but I knew how to fight him on it.

„I wouldn't say that. I just think you'd tell me if you wanted to. No pressure.“ I reply calmly, folding my hands in my lap as he leans into his seat.

„I'm not a criminal, Y/N.“ I'm still trying to get used to him calling me by my name. It rolls off his tongue like velvet, so smoothly and enriched with undefined emotion.

„I will admit to having a colorful past...I used to deal for money to get my dad proper treatment. But as time went on, I got enough money to buy my way to a better life. I own several hotels and clubs, most do have illegal casinos and fight clubs under, but we don't kill people. We don't allow for criminal activities. In fact, our policy is to let people have fun but not ruin their lives. I've always had a good relationship with the force and the city because of it before, but whoever is framing me had corrupted the police.“

„I killed someone.“ I stop his confession with one of my own. He stops talking, visibly curious and a little shaken up. To be honest, I'm not sure why I'm telling him this. It's crossing a boundary and I know once I do, the lines will no longer be blurred, they'll be erased. But I want him to know I'm not judging him. I know of his past, I just never told him I knew. I know he had a rough childhood...losing his mother and twin the same day he took his first breath. His dad being sick and his older sister taking it hard...He took care of them the best he could at the time. He did what he had to.

So, yes, I will let him know of my past if that means he can trust me. I want him to trust me.

„It wasn't intentional. Self defense and it happened while I was an undergrad student...My parents had always thought I'd marry their friends' son, Lewis. He was charming and could always convince the room he was right. He commanded respect and always seemed perfect...Until he tried to force himself on me. I pushed him off me before he could...“ I trail off, averting my gaze but before I know it, Ethan is crouching beside me, his hands taking my cold ones into his warmth.

„It's okay. You don't have to share anything more.“ He says softly, making me want to continue.

„He hit his head and it was instant death. My lawyer saved me from a lifetime in prison over a crime I didn't meant to commit. My parents cut me off after that and I had to work three times harder to get to where I am today as result. But I am proud to help others escape a fate I almost lived. I hope you know I'm not judging you, Ethan. I will get you out. I will.“

Ethan raises his hand, his fingers brushing my bottom lip gingerly and I hold my breath, refusing to move. My brain is screaming no, knowing this could get me disbarred, but I want to feel his lips so badly that I know should he make a move, I won't stop him.

„I know you will. And I promise to protect you during the process.“ He tugs at my bottom lip with his thumb before stepping back and I finally take a breath, letting out the pent up air flow freely.

That night, Ethan and I laid our souls bare in front of each other. He didn't spare any detail of his life, letting me in on the good, the bad, the ugly. And there was a lot more of the latter than I'd like to admit. But I understood him better, on a deeper level many would never.

Ethan soon began to notice things about me most people never knew. He knew how I take my coffee or if I need to be cut off. He knew when to make me take a break, because my eye would start twitching like I'm possessed. He knew when I'm too tired to make the drive back to the city and made me sleep in one of his guest rooms. He knew which pizza I liked and when I craved it. Hell, I think he even figured out my menstrual cycle as pads and tampons mysteriously appeared in the house a few days before I was meant to start my period.

It was both comforting and infuriating. Mostly because I had come to know the same about him.

He likes his coffee black (as he often jokes is his soul), just like he likes dairy free pineapple pizza we always argue over; I think it should be illegal and he disagrees. He likes to have a sip of whisky before bed to relax his mind, but he also likes a glass of wine with dinner. His favorite car is a Jeep and his favorite hotel is the one he owns in Hawaii. He loves to travel, but is a workaholic. He loves to goof around and yet, his work ethic is flawless. Ethan is creative, even if he hides that side of him. He isn't a playboy as many would believe for he made sure I knew the name of every girl he came in contact whenever I'd see him with one. I never asked him to provide that information, but he was adamant. Ethan likes yellow, although I could argue that's an understatement. His entire mansion is woven in golden colors intertwining with black undertones. Hell, even his socks are yellow if his outfit is black. I find it to be a true testament to his character – despite the darkness looming within, Ethan is the epitome of sunshine.

I've come to see a different side to him, one that had nothing to do with his occupation. When he's focused on work, Ethan is serious incorporated, but a moment away from the job, his true colors shine through and a goofy persona takes over – a man that is loving, kind and accepting. He's open to new things, experiences and people, never backing down from a challenge.

In all the time we spent together I have come to a conclusion: Ethan Dolan is not a bad guy, only a good guy that was put in a series of bad situations and he did the best he could with what he was given.

„Are you okay?“ Ethan speaks, breaking the veil of silence that had lingered in his study for hours. I stood before my bulletin board, aware that no matter what happens I'll make a lot of enemies once this case is over. The corruption ran deep and once I exposed corrupt cops, those above them – the very men that paid them to do their biding, those men will be coming for me. It's potentially a very dangerous endeavor and I've become far too aware of it as of late.

I always have a feeling someone's following me and no, this isn't just a woman's instinct. It's not about me walking home alone in the dark nor about the fact that I keep seeing the same man in my close proximity every day. It's about what Ethan told me only a month into this case.

„You're about to make a lot of dangerous people very angry, Miss Y/L/N. I'll understand if you choose to step down.“

„I'm aware of the risk it brings, but I cannot allow these men to continue obstructing justice. I have to believe things will work out for the better.“

„At least allow some of my men to accompany you.“ Ethan pressed, but I waved him off.

„I'm fine on my own. But thank you for the offer.“

I'm not sure I made the best choice, but a choice was made and I don't have a chance to start again. Either way, most my time is spent in his mansion as the case goes to trial tomorrow and we will either win or lose...whatever happens, we will do this together.

„I'm fine, Mr. Dolan. You should get some rest.“ I mumble, barely keeping my words and thoughts coherent. I stare at the board pensively, feeling him coming closer without having to look back. I can feel his presence, even when I'm on the other side of the room. I'm not a firm believer in auras, but if they are real, his is incredibly powerful and magnetic, alluring to the point of hopelessness sinking in when I try to fight it.

Working side by side with a man you're attracted to, not only physically but mentally as well...I'd call it torture. All I want is to press my lips against his, close my eyes and take it in. I'd be willing to let all my previously established beliefs burn to the ground, all for a single kiss and I'm barely holding onto who I was before I met him as it is.

„Ouch...Mr. Dolan. Back to that, huh?“ Ethan's voice is low and somehow still cheery. While he keeps his tone down, the emotion in his voice is palpable.

I think he feels it too.

Sighing, my right hand moves across my abdomen and clasps my left elbow. Turning around, first thing I see is his gold chain and it's much closer than I initially realized. He is so close I'm afraid he can hear my heart beating out my chest.

„Sorry, Ethan. I'm just tired.“ I emphasize his name, hoping it lessens the professional tone that had taken over me.

It's a constant fight really, the lawyer vs. the girl.

„Here's a crazy thought, maybe you should rest too.“ His tone is light and sweet, his arms moving up. With his right hand, he gently tilts my chin up to connect his gaze to mine. With his left hand he strokes my right arm, so tenderly I'm unsure if it's his touch or just a ghost of his touch I feel.

„You're right.“ I whisper, eyes flickering to his lips for a moment and they curl at the corners, forming an impish smile.

„Always am.“ He speaks, wetting his bottom lip. Ethan blinks slowly, reminding me of a cat that's expressing affection. He'd probably cackle if he knew I compared him to a cat, insisting he's a lion and anything but domesticated all the while not realizing he is both wild and domestic, a perfect combination of an adventurous dreamer and a professional realist.

The tip of his index finger remains on my chin a while longer, making me hyper-aware of the closeness between us. I feel my lips tingle, parting in need and his follow suit. Faint smell of whiskey hits me, but I don't find it foul nor do I step back.

Reluctantly, I put my hands on his shoulders and push myself to look into his eyes. In this moment they're anything but ordinary. His eyes are alight with desire and craving he'd been suppressing for a long time, the earthly tones twirling in a pool of lake green until they're hazel instead of his usual brown.

I liked the brown, they comforted me. But the hazel intoxicated me, captivated me.

„You know we can't.“ I whisper the last words my sanity had to offer, hating myself for even thinking about anything except his lips in this moment.

In that split second before his touch every nerve in my body and brain is electrified. It's the anticipation of being together in a way that's more than words, in a way that's so completely tangible.

Ethan leans in, his forehead resting on mine and the tip of his nose brushing against mine. My left hand moves around his shoulder and to the back of his head, fingers grasping at the short hair. He's breathing heavily, his eyes closed. And so I allow myself the comfort of closing my eyes as well. My right hand drifts down his collarbone and to his chest, stopping right where his thundering heart wildly fought the bony confines that kept it in place.

„Once this case is over, I plan on wooing you Miss Y/L/N.“ Ethan speaks suddenly, voice strained and yet filled with determination.

„I'm going to woo you so hard you won't remember why you ever fought this attraction in the first place. Your head will only think of me, your heart will only beat for me. You will crave every moment of your life is spent by my side and you will remember this sweet torture as time wasted...time you could have spent in my arms, in my embrace.“

God he has a way with words and I know I was right...he's a charming man, one I already want in my life, my bed and he knows that too. But he respects me enough to allow me to be who I am, a lawyer who values her principles. A person who never jumps head first, but dips her toes and slowly submerges. A person that measures five times before cutting and a person who needs to be absolutely certain before taking a step further.

It only makes me care for him more.

Painfully slow, Ethan moves back and away from me, walking to the door before casting me a look.

„Goodnight and good luck. I believe in you.“

Fuck, I want him so bad in every way possible.

A tight squeeze of his hand in mine is all I need to breathe properly again. The closer we are to the courthouse, the more press you see. Today the jury will be presented with all the evidence and hear my final argument why Ethan Dolan should be allowed to walk out a free man. Today is what the past ten months have all lead to – the intrigue, the longing, the emotional vulnerability we both shared. It comes down to this single day.

„Whatever happens, know that I am grateful for everything you've done for me.“ Ethan gives me a reassuring smile, one I barely return but I make the effort...For him.

The car stops and our hands part, no longer intertwined, no longer comforting.

We manage to get through the crowd, walking inside with a minute to spare. Once inside, we were no longer Ethan and Y/N, but a client with his lawyer.

I presented the findings, the photos, the connections and bank accounts of the officer who tampered with evidence and of course, my own coroner who served as an expert witness...Even Duncan agreed to testify for Ethan and against the cop who clearly sold his soul to the devil.

Expedited trials are always draining, some more than others, but this took a toll on me. Mostly because I couldn't deny a personal involvement.

„The jury will now retire to deliberate. Once they reach a decision, we will call you back.“

The gabble hit and I turned to leave, knowing Ethan is close behind. I kept a stoic face for the crowd, but the moment we walked into a private conference room, I turned around and slammed my body against his, practically jumping in his arms. My arms wrapped around him tightly as did his, sharing a bone crushing hug we both needed. I could feel him shake in my embrace, but so did I.

„You did great.“ He mumbles in my hair, making my heart skip a beat at the sound of his voice.

Ethan sets me down on my feet and I straighten my outfit, dragging my sweaty palms over the fabric to smooth out any wrinkles.

„Now we wait.“ I smile, trying to hide how anxious I am.

We sat in that room for hours, both bouncing our legs and hands, talking about the most ridiculous things either of us could think of. It's how I discovered he was a conspiracy theory enthusiast...ironically he is a part of one now.

„They've reached a decision.“ I look at my phone, my smile falling and I feel myself paling. If I'm this nervous, I can only imagine how he feels. I stand, quickly walking over to him and cup his face. I look into his eyes, trying to find courage to tell him what lies in my heart, but I fail to do so. The words simply won't form. The decision was made quickly which can go both ways: good for us or bad...very bad.

Instead of speaking, we share this one last look and leave the room as we came in – two people who have everything to lose.

If the charges are dropped, I promised myself to let myself love him. I promised to give him my all, even if it hurts. He makes me want to dive in, head first and for that I know I will not change my mind.

We sit, remaining silent as we can be while the room fills with quiet whispers and predictions of the outcome. The air is so brittle it could snap, and if it doesn't, I might. In seconds we will know, we will cheer the roof right off or pain will engulf us entirely.

My mind is closed to all outside influences as I stand, focusing only on the jury entering and the paper with their decision being passed to the judge. I can see, but the sound is off, the only sound being my frightened heart inside my chest.

„Not guilty.“ That's all I hear.

Next thing I know I'm engulfed in Ethan's arms, swayed left-right as a heavy sigh passes my lips and is absorbed by his well tailored suit. I allow myself a few seconds longer in his embrace, knowing any longer would be suspicious and the last thing we need now is doubt.

The very moment we part, a single step away, that's when a loud shot sounds in the courtroom and panic settles in.

I find myself on my knees, hearing screams around me and numerous shots fired right after.

It's him.

„Stay down and be quiet. Can you do that for me?“ He whispers in my ear, bringing about a chill that spreads down my back and takes over my entire body.

I nod, shakily turning to glance at him. If I were to die, I wanted his face to be the last thing I see.

Even if it is his fault I am in this position.

Ethan reaches out under the bench, grabbing a gun the guard held in his unmoving, blood splattered hand. Retreating, Ethan takes in a couple of quick breaths before turning to me with a faint smile.

He peaks over the wooden bench behind us, exhaling loudly in relief.

„Come on.“ He grabs my elbow, pulling me up to my feet. Swiftly, his left arm tucks me in his side, his left hand resting on my waist. He looks around carefully, slowly moving forward.

I can feel his heart beating violently fast, matching my shallow breathing. I hold onto him, trusting he'll lead me out safely. I had no doubt in my mind Ethan would protect me just as he promised. I can feel the fear in my chest waiting to take over. It sits there like an angry ball propelling me towards an anxiety I just don't need in this moment for it could be deadly.

„Y/N, are you listening to me?“ Ethan whispers, shaking me lightly to get my attention. I look up with eyes wide, seeing a flash of worry and anger mix in his brown eyes. But there's something else I see...

Fear.

I have never seen Ethan so afraid and I don't think it's his life he fears for.

„Yes.“ I whisper back, my lips quivering as my chin trembles in my own fear that I couldn't hide. Fear for myself...fear for him.

„When I tell you to run, you run. Do you understand me?“ Ethan speaks in a rushed manor, his words clear, but his command isn't.

„You want me to leave you?“ I ask incredulously.

„I want you to do as I asked and run. Okay? Don't look back, don't come back, don't do anything that will put you in danger.“ Ethan lists, cupping my face quickly before pulling us behind a pillar.

I can hear the sirens wailing outside, meaning more police, more help is on the way. Outside is safe, inside isn't. So why is Ethan insisting I run and he stays?

„I can't leave you.“ My voice cracks, even in a whisper. I feel the oncoming tears put pressure in my eyes, trying to blur my vision.

„You can.“ Ethan's tone shifts, becoming sharp and it's clear he's not negotiating with me. Not anymore.

„Do this for me, please. You saved this villain's soul, now let me save your life. It's my fault it's in danger anyway.“ His left eye narrows ever so slightly, almost like an involuntary twitch as his gaze focuses on my face. It feels as if he's studying every line of my face one last time, hoping the image of it stays with him.

„You were never the villain of my story, Ethan. Quite the opposite...You're the main protagonist and you have a role to play still. I'm begging you to come with me. Don't go chasing death when I need you.“ I'm pleading, praying he sees just how strongly I feel for him.

I never loved someone as I loved him. I know now love is more than just a physical intimacy, but a deep need to keep your lover safe. It's about building each other up, growing together and becoming better versions of yourself with someone's guidance. It's more than saying I love you, but showing it.

Ethan never said the words, but I knew. I knew whenever I'd wake up wrapped in two extra blankets in the morning or when he'd try to cook even if he burned everything, even water. I knew when he took my hand in his and kissed it softly, but never when I was awake. His respect for me was deep, so deep he never tried to steal a kiss.

I knew.

„I'll come back to you. I promise.“ Ethan smiled softly, pecking my forehead quickly before moving away from me and away from the protective pillar we hid behind.

„Run Y/N.“ He says sternly and I stumble back, my heart caught in my throat as I see a man on the other side of the long hall slowly approaching us, a man I recognize as Jacob.

„Y/N, please.“ Ethan begs and despite my heart screaming to remain by his side, I do as he asks and bolt for the front entrance. My heels click with each step, echoing in the empty hall. Reaching the door, out of breath and with a heart bleeding for the man left behind, I whip around and cast a look toward him.

Ethan stands calmly, his gun pointed toward Jacob who has his gun up as well. I can hear them talking, but my brain fails to process a single word as I'm grabbed and pulled outside by armed forces, screaming and kicking.

„You have to help him! Please!“ I shout, shaking the man who grabbed me and I quickly recognize it's Duncan.

„They can't enter because there are hostages. Y/N, you know the protocol.“ Duncan tries to reason with me, but the panic inside me rises to critical levels, breaking open every wall I've built to keep my emotions in check.

Gripping my hair at the root, I feel as if the world is spinning around me. I look to Duncan's gun, contemplating taking it and rushing back in.

„Just a little higher.“ Ethan adjusts my stance, his hands serving as support for my own as I clutch the gun in my grasp. His voice rings inside my head as his breath tickles my ear enough to distract me. I take a deep breath, heading his warnings and taking in consideration all the instructions before pulling the trigger.

„I hit the target?!“ I exclaim in question, shocked I have it in me. Jumping, I turn to Ethan who quickly takes the gun from me and puts the safety back on.

„New rule! No jumping with guns!“

I could do it. I could take the gun and if nothing, it will be a good distraction for Ethan to act fast. But it could backfire for it will distract him too.

Shaking my head, I decide to go for it.

In the same moment another shot goes off and I'm petrified, frozen solid with the ice spreading through my veins. I want to move, to run inside or scream and cry, but I can't. I'm stuck staring at the door with a large lump growing bigger inside my throat. I can hardly breathe, my entire body shaking, mind losing focus and time slowing down. I feel as if I'm going to pass out.

And I do.

Do you know that feeling where you're convinced your eyelids have turned into led because it's incredibly hard to even begin the process of opening your eyes? A single blink feels like lifting a stone from your eye and your mind just wants to give up, let the weight win and rest for a while longer.

„Y/N, please. I need you to come back to me. I kept my promise.“

I don't have the luxury to rest for a while longer. Not when I hear his mellow voice and the hurt laced in it. I can't rest peacefully when he's calling for me, not even for a moment.

Blinking my eyes open, I groan audibly and enough for his eyes to snap open too and his lips to form a smile I thought I'd never see again. When that shot sounded, I was sure he was gone for good. I was sure I had lost him.

So, how come I'm the one in a hospital bed?

„Why am I?“ Is all I can say, my sandy throat stopping all other words in my throat and I realize I'm parched.

Ethan brings a cup of water to my lips, helping me take a sip to soothe the scratchy feeling.

„You, uh...Jacob was a distraction. You were the target and one of the corrupt cops took a shot at you. A sniper got Jacob, so he's no longer a problem for us.“ I furrow my brows, trying to sit up in my haze. Ethan pushes me down gently and with little to no force as I am too weak to fight him.

„Duncan managed to tackle the guy, but the bullet still hit you. It severed your femoral artery and you lost a lot of blood, but you'll be fine.“ Ethan puts his right palm on my forehead, slowly gliding back and pushing my hair away from my face as my heart flutters.

„Should have stayed with you.“ I state, giving him a half smile.

„I wish I could have protected you. I feel as if I failed you.“ Ethan's head hangs low, but I shake my head a little too fast, finding myself lightheaded even in bed.

„You did great.“ I say the words he usually says to me.

„And I love you for it. In fact, I love you.“ I know it's the narcotics speaking, removing my filter entirely. I wanted to tell him that, but not today and not like this. It was supposed to be more romantic and yet, it brought a smile on his face. A real, genuine smile I'd die to keep steady.

„I love you too.“ Ethan doesn't hesitate to reciprocate, leaning in slowly only to leave a peck on my cheek as I fall asleep.

The recovery went well, no hiccups and I was soon released, staying at Ethan's until I was well enough. He took care of me to the best of his ability, hiring help for things he couldn't help me with. He never left my side though. It was his hand in mine and I never wanted to leave. Not ever.

So I didn't. I moved in, or should I say he did. His men did all the work and I just relaxed in bed, healing. We put the romance on hold until I was well enough, focusing on a way to use Ethan's money and influence for something better – to help people in need.

I made partner too.

In the end, the romance part began once more and Ethan insisted I join him for an event.

„You really meant a ball?“ I chuckle, looking at Ethan with a wide smile who held my hand and helped me out the limo. Met gala is the event he chose to debut our relationship and a charity we started together to help troubled youth as he once was.

Sure he didn't completely leave his business, but he tried to keep himself on the right side of the law most of the time. Many didn't understand our relationship, because who the hell expects a gang leader to date the most famous criminal defense lawyer in the state, but that's just it – our love is unconventional, but it works.

I keep him straight and he reminds me to live and not bury myself in work. He is the one that gave me courage and taught me how to truly love and allow myself to be loved. I've seen him cry, I've seen him smile and I know his fears just as he knows mine. I've had doubts, but I love him and I know that with him beside me, life will be full of challenges we will survive together.

„You're my girl. I want to show you off.“ Ethan whispers in my ear as we pose, his lips brushing my cheek before he presses his lips firmly onto mine and I find the world melting away. His hand clasped gently into the back of my hair, pressing in softly. Though his lips are pretty, it is the feel of them that sends my mind into a sensual state of intoxication. They are softness, passion and the promise of the sweetness to come. We pull back and smile. I lay my head on his shoulder shyly and even though I’m still filled with the warmth from the kiss, I shiver. I shiver for he’s been patient with me so far and this is our first kiss as a couple. At first it was his desire for me to get better and be independent again. He wanted me to be in one piece before deciding if I want to be his girlfriend at all.

Little did he know I had made that choice long before I got shot.

„You cold?” he asks but doesn’t give me time to answer. He pulls his jacket off and drapes it over my shoulders.

The cameras around us are flashing, blinding us, but he holds my gaze and I feel safe. He always makes me feel safe, even when a crazy mobster wants to kills us, so this environment is much easier to relax in. The hollow human being I used to be is filled with so much love and stubborn hope for the future and it's all thanks to him.

Kissing my forehead, Ethan and I move ahead with hands clasped together.

„I love you.“ He whispers and I feel my cheeks darken with the heat his words caused. I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing that.

„I love you too.“ I whisper back as he pulls me into his chest and starts to dance like a loon.

„What are you doing?“ I question, swaying with him, giggling.

„Just wanna dance with my girl. Is that a crime?“ Ethan teases, smirking down at me and I purse my lips.

„You're in the clear for now, Mr. Dolan.“ With that, he captures my lips in yet another slow, passionate kiss.

There was a depth in the connection that I was unaware that existed until I fell head over heels with the purity of stillness that arises from living within the internal embrace of this present moment. I gazed upon every inch of my being through the eyes of unconditional compassion and love, feeling as though I’m seeing myself for the first time, finally, loving myself for the first time. It's the moment when you suddenly become whole. Sloppy, lip biting, smiling in between make out sessions. It's knowing everything about them, their goals, future dreams, and what they want to name their kids. It's being there even though it's a forbidden love, and enjoying every moment.

That's love...the real thing. We are people who love fiercely; we are passion and fire - sparks and energy to last a lifetime. I hold my fire for him, but it burns not only in my heart, but in my blood, so it’s there in every part of my being. No matter what happens next, no matter the choices we make, Ethan had become the hero of my story.

A/N - I’m not a lawyer obviously, so it’s not the most accurate thing I’ve ever written from a professional view. Hope you enjoyed it and if so, feedback is appreciated!

Part 2

Tags: @xalayx @fallinginlove-16 @accalialionheart @heeydolan @heyits-claire @notanotherdolantwinsblog

#ethan dolan #ethan dolan x reader #dolan twins #ethan dolan au #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan angst #ethan dolan fanfic #ethan dolan fluff #ethan dolan fic #ethan dolan fanfiction #ethan dolan x you #ethan dolan x y/n

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coneygoil · 5 years

Text

The Home We Built Together, part 30

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Writer’s note: The 19th marked one year that I first posted this fic!! It’s amazing to see how far it’s come!

Her breathing was even now.

Astrid had fallen asleep against his side, her head resting upon his slender chest. Hiccup hadn’t loosened his hold on her. He couldn’t, not after almost losing her.

His heart had plummeted to the bottom of his stomach when he realized Astrid had fallen from the saddle. There was little comfort when he looked back to find she’d landed on a ledge. The red dragon had instantly sensed her presence there.

“We gotta go back, bud!”

Toothless didn’t hesitate firing at the red dragon. He aimed for its most vulnerable part – the eyes (and Night Furies never miss) -- and the dragon retreated, furious and snarling. The short window gave them enough time to rescue Astrid.

There was a lot to be said and discussed. A plan to formulate. A village and a whole fleet of dragons to protect. But now was not the time.

Hiccup had noticed Astrid’s behavior after the rescue. She was clearly shaken and upset, but when she collapsed in his arms sobbing uncontrollably, it was then that Hiccup realized how deeply it had affected her. Astrid was a pillar of strength, and to see her in such a state of distress had jarred him.

A new commitment welled up inside him. A fierce need to protect that he’d never experience before.

Hiccup was always the one in need of protection. He was the talking fishbone that could barely lift a weapon. He never had to worry about anyone but himself, really. But now? There was more at stake than just his puny well being.

Hiccup squeezed Astrid’s sleeping form a little closer against him, planting a tender kiss to her golden crown. He kept his lips pressed in her hair and whispered the three words he wished to utter aloud, “I love you.”

As if his confession stirred her from slumber, Astrid shifted in his arms. Her hair brushed his jawline as she lifted her head to sleepily look at him. Hiccup waited with bated breath. Had she heard his confession? Would she return the endearment? The first signs of daylight were peeking on the horizon, and the lamp continued to burn low on the bedside table. She blinked her eyes, still puffy from the breakdown she’d had not even a couple hours before.

Astrid cupped his cheek, her fingertips brushing softly on his skin. Hiccup nuzzled into her palm. He’d never had the chance to feel a loving touch before. He never knew his mother and his father only held him as a young boy. He’d longed for something his skin had never experienced. But now, he could have it and he closed his eyes to savor the caress of Astrid’s hand upon his cheek.

He was pleasantly surprised with a soft kiss that he returned in sweet pecks. They continued to plant little kisses on each other’s lips as Astrid pull him with her to sit up on the bed. They’d both gotten better at kissing, having lots of practice as of late. Hiccup was thankful they’d gotten passed the awkward dance of shyness of expressing their affections.

With hand upon the back of his neck, Astrid drew him into a deeper kiss. A kiss that told of unspoken need. A kiss that told of unspoken of love. Astrid broke away, though only mere inches from Hiccup’s face. Their heavy breathes warmed each other’s faces. He longed to capture her lips with his once more, to pour out the love that were overflowing inside of him.

Then Astrid spoke the words that made his heart soar, “I want to be your wife in every way.”

He searched her face, the reassurance of her gaze leading him on. This was what he’d longed for. “I want to be your husband in every way.”

***

Rap. Rap.

Hiccup’s face scrunched at the loud noise banging in his head.

Rap. Rap. Rap.

He groaned at the noise banging faster. He rolled over to hide under his pillow, or at least he would have if he wouldn’t have been held down. He blinked away the blur in his vision to find an arm strapped over his chest. The golden crown of his wife was cushioned against his shoulder, and her leg was thrown over his. She was cuddled up to him like he was an oversized stuffed toy.

“Hiccup? Astrid?” the all-too familiar heavy lilt of Gobber called from outside.

Why was Gobber at their front door? Hiccup peered out the window, eyes widening in realization. It had to at least be lunchtime!

“Astrid!” he hissed, taping her arm splayed over his chest. She’d never slept this deeply before, and Hiccup wondered why she was so tired-

Oh.

The thoughts of their union just a couple hours ago suddenly slammed into his memory like a magnificent, engulfing wave. The innocent exploration of each other’s bodies. The awkward positioning as they figured out how to fit together. The satisfying pants on one another’s faces at the height of pleasure that hit all too soon. The odd thought that, yes, there was blood afterwards mingled in just as Astrid had said on their wedding night. Heat flushed on his face when Hiccup remembered they didn’t bother redressing and were sleeping against each other in their birthday suits.

Astrid rolled off him, eyes slit open just enough to see him. “Huh?”

Hiccup jumped out of bed. “Gobber is here looking for us. I think it’s lunchtime already!” Glancing down at himself, he flushed at his bare skinny body. No time to linger on the fact that he was completely nude in the middle of the day in front of his wife. He fumbled with his shirt that had been strewn on the floor, shivering at the chill of it on his warm skin. Not bothering to put on undershorts, he tugged on pants, nearly falling over in the process. He dashed down the stairs to the bottom floor, dodging furniture on the way to the front door.

Hiccup yanked open the door, revealing Gobber with hook hand half raised to knock. “Hey, Gobber,” he greeted, slightly winded. Hiccup tried to look casual as he leaned against the door, planting the other hand on his hip and giving a toothy smile that wasn’t fooling a yak.

“Hiccup, you and Astrid missed dragon training this morning. I was wondering if one of those beasts had eaten you two for breakfast.”

Hiccup focused a chuckle, trying to hold up his pants that he carelessly tied on while stumbling down the stairs. “No. Me and Astrid had a long night.” He feigned an exaggerated yawn. “We uh… just overslept.”

Gobber narrowed his beady eyes suspiciously then the older man’s bushy eyebrows lifted into his forehead. His mustache spread into a wide smile. “Oh, I see.” He leaned in close as if there were people around that might hear. There was actually no one nearby. “Did you two finally decide to take your honeymonth?”

If this was anyone besides Gobber, Hiccup would have been terrified of the consequences. But even so, he went stock still.

Gobber chuckled lightly. “Oh, don’t worry, Hiccup. Your secret is safe with me. It’s okay that it didn’t happen right away. You two are young and still discovering your bodies. Ye just needed to get some practice in before the big event.”

Hiccup raked twitchy fingers through his hair that was most likely disheveled more than usual. As much as he wanted to sink into a hole talking about the private matter, he was thankful it was Gobber as the listening ear. Gobber was probably the only one in the entire village who’d take an understanding to their decision to wait. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

Gobber straightened as he stood back. “You two kids take all the time ye need. I’ll see ye back at work when you’re ready.” He winked before lumbering off in the direction of the forge.

Hiccup stood there in the doorway wondering if that conversation actually just happened. They’d been a bit of controversy about him and Astrid not taking their honeymonth (but when was anything involving Hiccup not met with controversy). It was never addressed to them face to face, but Hiccup overheard hushed tones around the corners of buildings and passing conversation in the Great Hall. Why was the Chief’s son not spending the time with his new bride? But their consummation had been confirmed (though a little deceitfully), and they’d had permission from the Chief to continue their duties only because of the fast approaching winter months and the need to train the newest warriors for Berk’s defense against dragon raids.

Shaking himself out of his bewildering contemplation, Hiccup shut the door.

“Did Gobber give you an earful?”

Hiccup spun around to find Astrid at the top of the stairs. Dressed in a red tunic. His red tunic. With pale, bare legs extending from the hem. He stared, awestruck, mouth slightly gaping. He’d never seen her in red, but he knew instantly he wanted to see her in that color more often.

Hiccup swallowed. “He let us off the hook.” He gravitated toward Astrid descending the stairs like she was a magnet pulling him in. As if just the sheer act of kissing her wasn’t enough to make him think he was living in an amazing dream, his mind shifted once again to their marriage bed. How his lips yearned to kiss the column of her neck and beyond. “Somehow he figured out we hadn’t yet…y’know—” Hiccup laced his fingers together.

Astrid laughed softly. “If you wouldn’t have acted so obvious whenever he brought it up.”

“How am I supposed to act when talking about…that?” Most Viking men talked quite bluntly and with no shame about the makings of their marriage bed. If Hiccup was supposed to start talking that openly about his and Astrid’s privacy, then he’d rather stay in his perpetual awkward state.

Astrid sighed with a little grunt and met him in the middle of the room. “I don’t know.” Her hand found his shoulder while her other lingered on his chest, teasing the skin between his loosened shirt ties. “I’m happy we became husband and wife completely.”

Hiccup felt the breath in his lungs shudder in delight. His hands found her hips. Astrid snaked arms around his neck as he drew her closer. “Me too.” He couldn’t help the soft smile that crossed his lips. “Gobber excused us from our duties.”

Astrid grinned, twirling a lock of his hair around her finger. “That means we can—”

“Go fly Toothless farther again--Ow!” Hiccup retreated into a defensive position when Astrid’s fist smacked his shoulder. “What was that for!?”

Astrid crossed arms over her chest. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m competing with a dragon for your affection.” Her mouth was an unamused straight line, but her eyes still held a twinkle.

“Toothless can’t give me this,” he replied in a deep suave tone. He pulled her by the biceps, planting a gentle peck on her lips. He shrugged a shoulder, looking thoughtful. “I mean, he could but it’d be way slobberier.”

Astrid’s grin was back. “I can hit you again, if you’d like?”

They dissolved into laughter until the moment had passed.

“What’re we going to do about the dragon’s nest?” The question sobered the mood and laid a heavy blanket of burden around them.

Hiccup frowned. “I don’t know. Not yet, at least.” The fear that clinched his heart when the massive dragon emerged from the pit returned, but that was nothing compared to losing Astrid off the back of Toothless. He could still feel the sensation of her sobbing in his arms and the fierce need to protect her that had awoken inside him.

Caressing her cheek, he vowed to her with all that was inside him, “I promise, I’ll protect you.”

Astrid search his eyes then shook her head, determined and strong as the Astrid he knew. “No, Hiccup. We protect each other.”

They held each other there in the middle of the living room, the promise bonding them together. Hiccup never knew he could feel this intensely for anything, but as they stayed there, he knew without a shadow of doubt that he’d formulate a plan to protect Berk and the dragons and Toothless. But most of all, the girl that he loved.

***

Writer’s note: It finally happened! I’d gone back and forth ever since I started this fic with whether I’d have them consummate the marriage during this fic. As the story progressed, it felt like it should happen. I’m not completely satisfied how some of this chapter came out. There were two moments that I’d been working up to and I felt I didn’t emphasize them enough. But I’ve been working on this chapter for like nearly a month now and if those parts hadn’t improved yet, then they probably weren’t going to. I’m happy with how the story is playing out and there’s so many more big things that are about to happen!

Thank you to all y’all who are keeping up with this story! I really hoped y’all are getting the same enjoyment I’m getting from writing it <3

Tags: @martabm90 @chiefhiccstrid @drchee5e @celtictreemuffin @hey-its-laura-again

#httyd fanfiction #hiccstrid #arranged marriage au #the home we built together

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p-artsypants · 5 years

Text

Longest Night (10)

The day started out sucky to begin with. Her crush ousted to the class and Adrien. Lila taking pride in exacting her revenge. But by the time patrol was over, a young man was dead, and Ladybug's identity was at risk. Lila was the least of her concerns. Good thing Adrien was taking it all like a champ.

Ao3 | FF.net

Warning: This chapter has more public humiliation, and some fighting. There’s quite a few different needles in this chapter as well. This is where the real torture begins.

—

They say the first night in prison is the hardest. But at least in prison, there was a bed, a toilet, and three square meals a day.

By the soreness in her neck, Marinette figured she had gotten some sort of rest. Calling it sleep was generous. It was more like a shock induced trance.

She moved her arm that was sticking out of the door, sending a tingling sensation all down the limb. Her hand was tight, still attached to Adrien.

Then she heard sniveling.

“Kitty?” She asked softly.

He responded with a broken voice. “My lady…did I wake you?”

“I…don’t know if I ever got to sleep.”

“I didn’t.” He said without hesitation. “Thank you for holding my hand all night. It helped.”

“Of course kitty.” She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. “How’s your arm?”

“I can’t feel it anymore. It’s totally numb.”

“Well, I guess that’s a blessing in this case.” She had her head resting on the ground, and peered under the door, trying to gauge what time it was. But there was only darkness.

Soon enough though, there was the light of flashlights in the hallway, followed by footsteps.

“They’re coming for us.” She said, untangling their fingers.

They drew their hands back in, and waited.

It was only a moment before the light fed through the cracks of the door and the clicking of heels came to a halt on the cement floor.

“Rise and shine happy campers!” Salo’s sickening voice called.

The little slots in the doors opened, the brightness of the flashlight painful against the eyes.

“Arms out.” One of the men demanded.

They both presented their wrists, so the chains could be reattached.

Then in a series of clicks, the locks were undone, and the doors opened.

Adrien nearly fell in his rush to get out, but he was grabbed by the arm to stay still.

“Eager are we?” Salo laughed. “Well, no worries, we’ll get started right away.”

They were ushered back to the room they were in yesterday. “Look at you kiddies. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. You wouldn’t believe it, but so many people are excited to see you this morning.”

They were both yanked into place, just barely out of reach from each other. Chains were bolted to the floor, replacing the ones on their wrists. While another pair hung from the ceiling, most likely for later.

Marinette looked up to Adrien, finally able to see his face.

He looked awful. Hair disheveled, skin pale and clammy, and his eyes dark with bags.

“Over a million viewers on the site.” Stated a man from the corner.

“And it’s not even six yet. Can you believe it?” Salo walked up to Adrien and started to untie his gown in the back. “Let’s see, how is this arm doing today?” She pulled the gown sleeve forward, displaying a blackened bruise covering his shoulder. His arm looked bizarrely flattened and unnatural. “Oh, what a lovely shade of purple. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you match all over soon enough.” She patted his face. “But we’re going to start with your lady first, is that okay?”

Adrien shook his head. “Hurt me first. Whatever you what to do to her, do to me instead.”

Salo laughed, loudly and manically. “Oh you are so cute! But it doesn’t work like that kitty cat! You see, she was the one who jailed my Eddy. So she has to be punished.”

“Please,” Adrien begged. “Don’t hurt her.”

“Hmph.” Salo smirked. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

The clock struck six am.

“Congratulations. Now begins day one of your sentence. Before we begin, I’d like to tell you the rules.” She folded her hands in front of her, like a teacher talking to a particularly thick student. “Rule number one: There is no escape. So you can just forget that right now. Rule number two: We take turns here during our games. So when your partner is having fun, you are expected to be quiet and wait your turn. Rule three: If I ask you a question, you answer it. And rule four: you do exactly what I tell you to do, when I tell you to.”

Marinette sneered. “And what happens if we break one of these rules?”

Salo smiled at the gumption. “Why don’t you try me and find out?”

Marinette thought better of it, and stayed silent.

Salo turned to Marinette, appraising her. “So…Marinette Dupain-Cheng. How old are you, again? State it for those at home, so they can know.”

“17.” She breathed. So Salo knew her full name. She must have done her research last night.

“17! 17 goddamn years old! And you’re playing superhero! The fate of the city of Paris rested solely on your shoulders, and you haven’t even finished Highschool! That’s…that’s embarrassing! Who let you do this?”

Marinette didn’t answer.

“I said, who gave you the earrings, Marinette?”

Marinette glared, making it clear she wasn’t going to answer.

Salo punched her squarely in the nose, sending her stumbling, but the chains were too short to go anywhere and she fell on the floor.

Salo snorted. “Wow, you have no balance. Who knew Ladybug was such a klutz?”

Marinette glared up at her, blood dripping from her nose.

“You really look ridiculous with those stupid pigtails. Like a baby. A toddler. Not a superhero in the slightest.”

Marinette continued to glare, as she rubbed under her nose, smearing the blood away. This kind of thing wasn’t that bothersome. Chloe had said worse before. People on the Ladyblog forums said worse.

Salo grabbed her pigtails and yanked, forcing Marinette to stand, while tears came to her eyes. “Is that what you are? A baby?”

Marinette rolled her eyes.

“Are you a baby?!” She yelled, shaking her. “That was a question!”

“Obviously not!” Marinette shot back.

Salo gave her hair another yank, rendering her silent.

“No…pigtails are for pigs! You’re a little piggy, aren’t you?”

Adrien watched, on edge. That punch looked like it hurt, but Marinette was tough.

“Yeah…let’s make you a little piggy.” She walked over to her table, and grabbed something.

Marinette and Adrien shared a look of apprehension.

Salo returned with a strap with two sharp, metal hooks on the end.

Marinette could see were this was going and backed away, reaching the end of her chains. Then she crouched and attempted to hide her face.

“Now now, that’s no way to behave. Hold still!”

Just like with her earrings, Marinette kicked and wriggled, anything to keep that woman away from her. But Salo was a lot rougher this time, slapping her, hitting her, pinching her, anything to inflict pain. Finally, she trapped her face against the floor, and the hooks took hold in her nostrils. Not enough to pierce all the way through, but enough to hurt and draw blood. The strap went over the top of her head and attached to the collar, forcing her nose up like a pig snout.

Salo got off of her, and looked down on her with a grin. “You look absolutely ridiculous.”

“Mari…” Adrien began, taking a step forward.

“You, shut up!” Salo commanded with a slap. “You are not allowed to speak. You are here to watch in silence!”

Adrien flinched at the tone.

Salo whirled around right as Marinette was trying to take the strap off. “On your hands and knees.”

She did as she was told, her gaze on the floor.

“Look at me.”

Glancing up, Marinette saw a camera right behind Salo, recording her humiliation for the world to see.

“What does the little piggy say?”

Her heart pounded and her cheeks burned. But she croaked out, “…oink.”

“What was that?”

“Oink!”

Salo snickered. “No no, that’s not what a real piggy sounds like. What noise does a real piggy make?”

Marinette snorted in her throat.

“That’s a good piggy! Nice and loud! So everyone can hear!”

She snorted again, louder, making a really gross sound.

“Again!”

Over and over, she snorted like a pig, the camera swooping into her face and catching it all.

“Over this way now.” Salo demanded, walking over to her other side.

The chains were heavy, but allowed for Marinette to crawl on her hands and knees over to where Salo demanded.

“Now over here.”

Marinette crawled back and forth and back and forth. The cement was rough on her palms and bloodied her knees. But she did as told, choosing to be humiliated than to be beaten again.

Though she assumed that’s what it would be like for a while, having to pick between two awful options.

“Oh, goodness me. You haven’t eaten yet, have you? You must be starving!”

The last time she had eaten was breakfast yesterday morning, since the Akuma cropped up before lunch. Her stomach coiled tightly, nausea replacing the thought of food.

“Here, food for the piggy.”

A rotten apple plopped in front of her.

Marinette turned up her nose in disgust. There was no way she was going to eat that.

“It’s that, or nothing.”

She rather take the nothing. She sat back, glancing up at the woman in refusal.

“You sure? I won’t give you anything else today.”

Marinette shook her head slightly. She wasn’t desperate enough.

Salo kicked the apple away, not too far out of reach. “You’ll want that eventually.”

Marinette glanced at Adrien, who was looking at her with disgust. Not her, per say, but what was happening to her. Though it didn’t exactly help.

“I can see you’re tired of this game. Do you want to stop being a piggy?”

“Please…” Marinette groaned.

Salo grinned. “Alright then, stay still.” She blessedly removed the hooks, Marinette’s nose sore and still bleeding.

Then she tried to stand, but Salo kicked her in the side. “Did I say you could stand?!”

“No…” Marinette breathed.

“No, what?”

“No ma’am.”

“Good girl,” Salo snorted. “Stay.”

Marinette remained on her hands and knees, her arms trembling and her knees aching. She could hear Salo coming around behind her, but didn’t dare turn to look. Her hands were on her head, forcing her to look down.

Then, there was some snipping, and then a little more, and then something black fell on the ground in front of her.

Her pigtails.

Salo tussled what was left her hair, making it wild.

“What do you think, kitty cat? doesn’t she look more mature?”

Adrien was staring, his mouth slightly open, and his eyebrows pinched.

“I asked you a question, maggot.”

“Yes, she…she looks…nice.”

Marinette took that as a clue that her hair cut was not well done.

Salo stood and studied her. “Hmm, you know, I don’t really see it. I think…once a pig, always a pig.”

Marinette snarled at her, spitting at her feet.

“A wild pig. Don’t you think so, Pasolini?” She glanced at a man in the room, the same one who had dislocated Adrien’s arm.

With a completely neutral expression, he started coming towards her, his steps slow and menacing.

Marinette immediately started to backpedal, scooting on the floor away from him. But soon, she was on the end of her rope and there was no where left to go.

Pasolini easily pinned her to the ground, her temple forced against the cement. Try as she may, there was no pushing up. Thankfully, he was only pinning her, and not doing anything else.

“Get off of her!” Adrien barked. “You’re hurting—ugh!” Adrien was elbowed in the stomach, his words coming up short.

“It’s only day one, so I’ll give you a break, but remember the rules! No talking.”

Adrien winced, but didn’t say any more.

Marinette was breathing hard, her nostrils flaring as she glared up at Salo. The light was directly behind her, casting her into darkness.

She felt the piercing pain of the hooks in her nose again, forcing her nose up. The pain ease slightly if she raised her chin.

There was a buzzing sound as Salo rested a knee on her back. “Now, hold still.”

Despite her rapid breathing, Marinette did hold firm. She had no idea what was happening and didn’t want to cause herself anymore pain.

Something slid across her scalp, just on the side of her head above her ear. Then she felt the sensation of loose hair by her ear.

She was being shaved.

“No…no please…”

“Oh it’s just a little.” Said Salo. “It’s in style right now.”

She shaved right down to the skin, as Marinette felt her fingertips brushing against her.

Then the buzzing stopped.

“Hold her still, Pasolini, we can’t have her move an inch for this.”

The man moved a hand to her jaw, pressing her face hard against the cement. Then he replaced the knee on her lower back. She couldn’t move, and she could barely breathe.

A new buzzing sound started, and Marinette felt Salo rest her hand on the side of her head. This buzzing was incredibly loud, and she could feel the vibrations in her skull.

Whatever she was doing, it hurt. Burning, stinging, itching, like a nail was being dragged over her scalp.

Or a needle.

A needle!

“What…are you doing…to me?” Marinette grit through her teeth.

“Shh…” Salo hushed, in a way that would have been soothing if it wasn’t so condescending. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Marinette could barely see Adrien from here, but she could see that his teeth were exposed in a snarl.

Finally, finally, Salo finished her deed, and Marinette was pulled back to her feet. Her head hurt, and reaching up, she found blood on her fingers.

Then a mirror was in front of her, Salo holding it with a proud grin. “What do you think? I think it’s so you.”

Tears came immediately, because for a half second, she couldn’t recognize her own face.

Blood was smeared all around her nose and mouth, and fresh drips still came from her upturned nose. Her eye was blackened with bruises. Her hair was chopped awkwardly and uneven, with her right side shaved clean. In fresh red ink, ’cochon’, the French word for pig, was tattooed on her scalp.

Marinette choked out a sob. She was marked for life.

“You now how much people pay for tattoos these days? And I gave you one for free! No gratitude?”

Marinette just continued to cry. She felt hideous. She felt like a pig.

“I said, no gratitude?” Salo pinched the underside of her arm.

Marinette cried out, and then answered, “T-thank—Thank you ma’am!”

“You’re welcome, little piggy.” Salo laughed, and then shoved her so she fell on her rear.

Marinette glanced up to meet Adrien’s eyes. He was also crying, but his nostrils flared in anger. How dare this woman? How dare she!?

Salo just waltzed around the room, looking between the two of them and her table filled with unimaginable torture devices.

“Now let’s see. Before I damage the goods…” She waved over to a man at a computer. “I’m ready to connect that call, now.”

“Connecting.” He replied.

The screen that had been used the day before to show the news report lit up again, a phone icon on it. Then, Gabriel Agreste’s face. It looked to be his personal cellphone.

Tom and Sabine were in the background, looking between him and another screen on their end.

“Monsieur Agreste! Wonderful for you to join us.”

“I don’t need your false pleasantries. Where are you? How did you get this number?”

“Oh come now Gabe, if you want to win, you have to play the game.”

“I don’t see a game. I see a sick creature torturing children.”

She scoffed. “You’re no fun.” Then she tapped her chin, deep in thought. “Alright then, we’ll start the bid at 50 million. Just a smidgen less than your net profit for this year. That’s doable right? Surely your son is worth that much.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw. “How much for both of them?”

“I’m afraid Chat Noir is the only one up for sale. I still have so much planned for Ladybug.”

Gabriel opened his mouth to respond, but Adrien beat him to the punch. “Don’t you dare give her a single cent, Father!”

Salo whipped around, glaring at him. “Shut up!”

But Adrien was undeterred. “They’ll just spend the money to do this to others! Don’t let that happen!” His speech was cut short as Salo clocked him in the jaw.

He hit the ground hard, and she gave him no time to recover as she kicked him over and over with her steel toed boots. She didn’t finish until he was gasping for breath.

Then she turned back to the screen. “60 million. And the price will continue to rise day by day. And you’ll end up having a very expensive funeral with a closed casket.”

Gabriel had his eyes shut tight, like he was being presented with the hardest choice in the world.

Because he was.

Finally, he swallowed and looked off to the side. He gave whoever was there a soft smile and nodded. “No deal, Salo. I don’t negotiate with terrorists. I will find my own way to save my son. One that doesn’t benefit you. I love Paris, almost as much as they do. And I refuse to be responsible for its downfall. Not when my son has worked so hard to protect it.”

Salo frowned hard. “You’ve spurned me, Gabriel Agreste. I’ll take you next. Once I’ve finished with your son. This was your only chance to save him. But I’ll let you say goodbye.”

The camera moved past Salo to Adrien who was lying on the ground. “D-Dad…”

“Hang in there, Chat Noir. Just a little while longer.”

“I…I love you, dad.”

“I love you too, son.”

The call ended.

“Sickening.” Salo scoffed. “You’d think a man that rich wouldn’t care about the money. But I guess I was wrong. He doesn’t really love you. He was just trying to make it easier on you. How does it feel to be rejected by your own father, huh?”

Adrien took steadying breaths, his chest hurting from her kicks. At least, that’s what he assumed the pain was from.

“That was a question!” Salo shouted, right in his ear.

“He didn’t reject me,” he breathed. “I wanted him to stay out of it.”

“You’re an idiot. But everyone knew that. Chat Noir has always been the dumb one. Isn’t that right, Ladybug?”

Marinette was still lying on the floor. She didn’t sit up, but she answered, “Chat Noir is a genius. He’s goofy, but he’s smart.”

“He’s an idiot!” Salo yelled back. “He’s a retarded piece of shit!”

Adrien clenched his eyes shut. It was just words. Just words. Lies.

“You’re not trying to drown me out, are you?” Salo asked, getting in his face. “Because I can do this all day, dumbass.”

“We hate liars.” He stated, firmly. “And you’re nothing but a liar.”

Salo laughed. “You’re a child. You don’t think I can hurt you? Didn’t you see what I did to your little Love Bug earlier? You looked so angry.”

Adrien opened his eyes to glare at her.

She smiled maliciously. “Want to see if we can make her look that angry, too?” Then she looked over his head, to Pasolini.

The man came over and pressed a hand to Adrien’s head with little effort. He was already exhausted.

“Now let’s see.” Salo’s hand caressed his cheek. “My my, you don’t have your ears pierced. I would have thought you did, considering Ladybug’s Miraculous are earrings. What if there was an emergency, idiot? What would you have done then?”

“Just…hope there wasn’t one?” He asked, nervously as she traced his ear with her finger.

“Childish. Stupid. No matter, I’ll fix that now.”

There was a hard pinch, and Adrien felt something sharp on his neck, right beneath his earlobe.

“There, we have a pretty diamond one. Well, it’s not really diamond. I think it might be glass. Either way, it was on sale for like five bucks. You’re not allergic to any metals are you?”

“…no? Did…did you pierce my ear?”

“Doesn’t hurt as much as you’re expecting it too, hmm? Not to worry, we have plenty more to do. Let’s see…oh, we’ll do this pretty gold one next.”

So she pierced his ears. One piercing after another, passed the lobe and into the cartilage, where the gun snapped through with a crack. Where it hurt significantly more.

Ten piercings on each side. By the end of it, his ears were red, itchy, and pulsing.

“Well what do you know? I’m all out of studs. Oh, but I think this is a good look for you. Don’t you think so, Ladybug?”

Marinette watched from where she laid on the ground, her tears never stopping. “You’re still handsome.” She stated.

“Hmm, still handsome, huh? Well, we’ll work on that in a bit.”

Pasolini sat Adrien up, as the camera zoomed in on the fresh piercings.

“We made Ladybug into a piggy, but I think we’ll keep the cat theme for you. A mangy, feral alleycat.” She took out the studs from his middle cartilage piercings and replaced them with small hoops. Then she threaded twine through the hoops on both sides and tied them together on top of his head, yanking it tight so his ears pinched to a point.

Like a cat.

Adrien hissed in pain.

It wasn’t enough to scream, but it sucked. And the pain got worse the longer it was held. It would have been surprising if the piercings didn’t just rip out of his ears.

“Meow meow kitty cat?” Said Salo in a disgusting sugary voice. “Can you say meow meow?”

“Meow meow...” Adrien forced out, despite the pain.

“Like a real kitty.” She demanded.

He rolled his eyes and meowed, imitating a cat. He did it often enough as Chat Noir that it was easy. But outside of the mask...it was just weird.

“Is kitty cat hungry?”

Not if she was going to give him a rotten apple too.

A can opened, and with a splat, a cylinder of meat plopped on the ground in front of him.

Cat food.

Of course. This woman loved being literal.

“This isn’t rotten. Fresh from the store. You’re a growing kitty. Go on...” She pushed his face into the food with her foot on the back of his head. “Eat it.”

He got some of the mush up his nose as a result.

“I’m not hungry.” He argued.

“Nonsense, I could hear your stomach growling all night. Eat up.”

Adrien closed his eyes. Just pretend it’s pate, like at one of father’s fancy dinner parties. He told himself.

Then he took a bite. It wasn’t the worst thing he had eaten, and it smelled better than Camembert. But the texture was disgusting, and he was eating off of a dirty cement floor.

Knowing that his father was watching him at that moment also was a kick in the shin.

Salo waited until he swallowed to laugh. “Ha! He actually ate it! What a dumb pussy cat!”

Adrien spat out the second bite in his mouth.

“No? Not hungry?”

“You bitch…” He hissed.

She scowled, her fist clenching. “Oh, you don’t get to call me names.”

“That wasn’t one of your rules.” Adrien spat.

Her hands darted out, latching onto his throat above his collar. Her fingers curled into his skin as she pressed down on his adam’s apple. He coughed and choked, taking hold of her wrist with his good arm.

“I could crush you under my thumbs. I could break you, kill you with no problem. It’s a mercy that I haven’t already. Do you understand?”

Adrien’s gagging and choking was her only answer.

She dropped him, and he fell to the ground.

Salo snapped her fingers and Adrien was yanked up on his knees. Pasolini grabbed hold of the twine between his ears and forced him to look up.

“I thought you were smart enough not to pick a fight with me. Guess that’s what I get for thinking so highly of a big dumb idiot.” She scooped the rest of the cat food in her hand and shoved it in his face.

Adrien kept his mouth firmly shut, but the food smeared all over, even going up his nose. Salo wiped her hands clean on his robe.

“We’re going to mark him.” She told Pasolini, who simply nodded and pushed Adrien back down on the ground, a knee on his back and his hands holding his face flat.

Just like with Marinette, Adrien’s head was shaved on the side, the left, right above his ear.

Then, the tattoo gun started up and Salo got to work etching a foul name on the side of his head. It ached, and the drumming of the gun was unbearable. Adrien clenched his eyes shut and willed the pain to go away, but it went on and on.

“There. Fitting, for you.”

Adrien sat up on his own, his battered knees aching at the movement.

Salo thrust the mirror into his face, showing the abuse she put him through.

His word was ‘chatte’ the French word for pussy, but not the feline form.

“Are you going to think twice before sassing me next time?” She asked, pinching his cheek.

“Yes ma’am.” He whispered back.

“Good.” She snorted. “Now, I’ve got other things to do. But we’ll have more fun tonight.” Then she called to the others in the room. “Suspend them for now.”

The cameras were still rolling as Salo left the room. Men came and changed out their chains, attaching them to the ceiling instead. With a loud cranking sound, the chains shortened, so they were just barely able to reach the ground. Adrien cried out in pain from his bad arm.

Then slowly, the others left the room, until Adrien and Marinette were alone.

“Do you think they’re watching?” Marinette asked.

“They have to be.” Adrien gestured towards a camera with his head. “They’re broadcasting us to all of France.”

“Yeah…” She breathed. She didn’t have an escape plan anyways. The chains were almost medieval in design, the kind with a pin that had to be broken with a chisel. Breaking the link to the chains was the only way out, and that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

“How’s your nose?” Adrien asked.

“It hurts. How’re your ears?”

“Hurts.”

He was tired. Such little sleep and all he had gone through already, he just closed his eyes, and begged for sleep to come.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #ladybug #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #whump #fanfiction #adrienette #ladynoir #longest night

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unlockthelore · 4 years

Text

Hidden in Plain Sight [ TLC ]

Hiei never would have guessed that part of being a father of a young child would be sitting in silence. For the better part of a half hour, he laid on his back and watched his daughter scribble on a piece of paper by the sliding glass door leading to the backyard.

The glare from the sun and his own bleary eyes from falling asleep one too many times obscured the drawing from his sight, and the occasional glances she gave him along with a hushed hiss of, “No peeking” gave him the idea that glimpsing it wasn’t allowed.

Propping up his elbow, he rested his cheek against his palm as he watched her switch from one crayon to the next. Most of them lying around her haphazardly but the quickness to which she found the next one bespoke of an orderly chaos.

Green eyes flicked from one corner of the page to the next and her tongue poked from the corner of her lips, eyebrows furrowed as she worked. If Hiei knew that it wouldn’t have disturbed her, he might have laughed, but the similarity was uncanny. Even in the way that she leant back to admire her handiwork, all he could think of was how similar she was to Kurama.

[ She is his daughter. ]

The disembodied voice of the Dragon whispered close to his ear and Hiei closed his eyes, seeing the image of the ethereal creature in the darkness, staring at where their daughter sat with a soft smile tugging at his lips. In the form of a scaled beast, made of not only the shadows of the Void, but iridescent violet scales glowing with youki far older than the Makai itself — the Dragon was softened by the sight of a child.

[ Our child. ]

Violet eyes flicked in his direction and narrowed challengingly but Hiei didn’t want to fight. The sunlight pouring in from the windows warmed his skin and furious scratching of wax against paper as their daughter continued her work was pleasant to the ear. Right now, he was happy to simply just be.

“Papa?” Her voice called out to him, tiny fingers poking and prodding at his cheek for his attention. “Papa, wake up.”

Hiei slowly opened his eyes, curious green ones studying his face closely with her nose mere inches from his own. The corners of his lips twitched and though he didn’t smile, she did. A soft giggle slipping past her lips as he bumped his nose against hers before settling with his head pillowed on his arms.

“Done already?”

She shook her head, lying flat on her stomach beside him, obscuring his view of the drawings left in the sunlight. Hiei yawned loudly, pulling back one of his arms and resting it around her, dragging her closer to his side and resting his cheek against her head. Despite her laughing protests and insistence that his hair was tickling her, he rubbed his cheek against her head and hugged her close. Eventually, the protests died down and she rested her head on her arms, tucked beneath his chin.

“Hey Papa, what’s your favorite color?”

Hiei arched a brow and hummed, his eyes drifting shut. Over the years, he found himself liking other colors more and more, and allowing himself to admire the world around him rather than view it in contempt.

Opening his eyes, he glanced down at his daughter’s peaceful face and smiled.

“Green.”

She tipped her head to one side, slipping it from beneath his chin and Hiei shifted, laying his head on the arm tucked in front of them to stay beside hers.

“Why green?” She asks, resting her cheek on his fist and he smiles at the sparkle in her eyes. Always wanting to know, always curious. He hoped that she never changed even if it meant all of her questions would be heaped on him.

“Why not green?” He asks playfully, and she wrinkles her nose, mulling the question over.

“You don’t ever wear green, that’s Uncle Yusuke’s color.”

Hiei hummed at the observation and she had a point. Admittedly he wore black more often than not and even now, despite all the colorful clothes in his shared closet with Kurama, black was a prevalent color. Kurama said he didn’t mind, that the color suited him, and Hiei loved him for it.

His mind wandered to Kurama. The redhead with vibrant green eyes and a golden-eyed silver fox, both one and the same, but qualities of Kurama that he loved without question. Accepting and nurturing, gentle and kind, but with the ability to be cold and callous. Those eyes that chose to look upon him with care rather than contempt and saved him time and time again simply by glancing his way.

“Papa,” she whined, and Hiei felt a tug at his shirt along with a poke to his cheek. “Are you dreaming again?”

Looking down at her, he smiled at the slight pout she wore. It was in the little things that reminded him of how much he saw Kurama in her but those eyes — those eyes told it all. Ever since she was born, always smiling, always laughing, looking at him as if he hung the moon and stars. Hiei huffed, burying his face in her hair and pressing a kiss to her temple, his chest feeling warm as he heard her giggles.

He would burn the sun to cinders for her smile and for those eyes to never shed a saddened tear.

“Your eyes,” he says, and her giggles gradually taper off as she focuses on him, eyes wide and adoring. “And your dad’s eyes.”

Hiei rested his hand on her forehead, brushing her hair aside and laying a kiss there while she hummed and patted his hand.

“They’re precious to me. Seeing them, it gives me all the reason I need to like green.”

Pink tinged her cheeks a darker shade and she squirmed beneath his arm, curling closer to him and wrapping her arm around his back. A low rumbling in his chest as he laughed and hugged her closer, letting her stay tucked against him for as long as she wanted before lifting his arm as she wiggled away from him.

Arm dropping to his side, Hiei closed his eyes and prepared to drift off to sleep when he felt his hand being lifted again. Crinkling paper shifted in front of him and the smell of wax hitting his nose as he opened his eyes. Her hands rested on the edge of the paper but the picture itself was clear.

Three figures standing side by side, smiles on their faces as they held hands, each a little difference but the one in the center shared traits from the other two. Hiei smiled amusedly, resting his cheek in hand as his gaze flicked over the page, taking in the shorter dark-haired figure with a purple smudge in the middle of its forehead. The taller red-haired figure with a flower growing from the top of its head, and the one in the center holding their hands, the smallest out of the three.

“Why is a flower growing out of your father’s head?”

“Uncle Yusuke said that if you pour water on dad’s head, a flower will grow.”

Hiei stifled a laugh, covering his mouth and jerking his head away when she looked at him confusedly. Yusuke would die if he did something like that. Kurama was forgiving and he could appreciate a joke but unsuspectedly having water thrown on him just to see a flower grow would be a test to the fox’s infinite patience.

“And there’s more on the back, Papa.”

Glancing down, Hiei watched as she turned over the page and his eyes softened. A similar picture was at the back but instead of the red-haired figure, one with silver hair and two triangular ears atop its head was present, golden-eyed and with a bushy tail, but holding the smallest figure’s hand nonetheless.

“Do you think dad will like it?” She asks, no less excited but with a hint of concern that darkens the sparkle in her eyes.

Hiei feels the swell of pride and hugs her close to his side, brushing his thumb over her hastily written signature.

“He’ll love it, Aiko.”

#yu yu hakusho #kurahi #kurama #hiei #minamino aiko #fanfiction #my fanfiction #tender loving care

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frost-or-fire · 4 years

Text

"I'll Be Good"

Part 2 - Dawn

The jingle of the bell signalled that, yet, another customer have came in and by the smell and irritating sound of voices, they were mundies.

Their tones were a bit too loud and cheery for a Tuesday morning, wearing smiles that seemed too fake.

Bigby tries to focus on drinking his black coffee, tries to pay attention to what Snow was telling him, but there were far too many sounds going on in The Mornin' Joe's Diner.

That or it was the fact that Bigby knew something wasn't right. His stomach twisted and churned with his inner Wolf itching and gnawing to get out.

"-The Witness I interviewed last night told me they heard something in the room next to--Bigby?"

The Sheriff blinked and looks back to Ms. Whites piercing blue eyes, seeming to have stared off for far too long.

"Hm?"

"Were you paying any attention? Or was the lack of sleep catching up to you?" She huffed, cutting up her hash browns with a small hint of aggression in the hand holding the knife.

He gave an exaggerated huff in return, "No, just being observant."

She rolls her eyes, taking a bite out of her breakfast before turning her attention to the manila folder. "Well, you can observe and multitask at the same time, right Mr. Wolf?"

Bigby gives an amused smile before going to cut his sunny side eggs. "Well, I'm done observing now so.." He gives a small gesture to her before taking a bite of said food.

"Right, so," She places her utensils down and pulled a paper that had a photo clipped to it. "As I was saying, the witness has explained to me that she have heard a commotion next door to her apartment..."

The noirette pulls the picture - that also had some bio on the witness - away from the perfectly typed essay-ed paper that had information from the brief interview. There was a sound of papers crinkling in the motion of shifting over the table and soon the air was filled with its signature black ink smell you'd similarly catch when cracking a book open in a library.

Bigby takes the paper, abandoning his breakfast for the new assignment. His eyes skimmed over the description while Snow continue to talk.

"She invited me back to her place for a better inspection of the crime scene." Her piercing blue eyes lifted up to look at him now. "This is where you come in, you ask the bigger questions and with your keen eyes we might see some clues to guide us along."

"Only problem is," Bigby rests the papers down, unsettled and antsy in the action when he looks back up to her. "The witness doesn't like me to say the least.."

Snow sighed, restraining an eye roll in the process. "Look I understand that you and her don't get along but-"

"Red hates my guts, not to mention Woody put stones in my guts. She isn't going to cooperate with me." Bigby says, finality in his tone to demand the ending of the conversation.

In which Snow was not letting it happen. She reaches to her glass, taking a long sip from the citrus juice. "I know you two don't meet eye to eye-"

"-Figuratively and Literally."

"-but we need this Bigby. At least seem tolerable to get some answers from her, How hard can it be?"

"Uh, very. I'm the 'Big Bad Wolf' who impersonated her grandmother. How can you not see that in a person who clearly holds a grudge against me?" Bigby grumbled, glaring down at his food intensely. Aggressively (penetrating) poking his fork into the yoke center of his egg.

Snow sighed, cutting her food up in little pieces with the manners of elegance and grace that she couldn't shake off. "I know, I know, but maybe this could be a chance to get forgiveness from her. 'Bury the axe between you two,' some might say.."

Bigby shakes his head, engrossed with making his own crime scene out of his meal. "She won't forgive me, even if I do show up at her place with a basket of sweets..."

Ms. White peers up at him with a soften look in her eye, daintily reaching over the table to hold his clenched hand. Squeezing it ever so gently like he was about to break at any moment.

In that single second, all time, all sounds became so far and gone where everything narrowed down to that singular second. As cliche as it sounded, the wolf couldn't find it in himself to brush it off, snort at the corniness, he just felt so at peace. Her slightly cold, petite, small palm holding his more large, rough, warm one like an anchor in a raging sea. Like a very life line that gave him air to breathe in the midst of that storm.

And soon that moment was ruined when the door bell jingled yet again.

Their hands draw back like touching burning flames to nurse an injury. Bigby clears his throat, looking down at his plate of food while Ms. White goes to comb her hand through her hair with her blue eyes glancing off.

"Right, so, where does Red live exactly?" Bigby asks, biting back retorts he could be saying to avoid further interactions with the young girl.

Snow, relieved that she doesn't have to put up another round of persuasion, gently taps the paper she handed over with one of her manicured nails. "Its all there, information that you'd need to talk to her."

She looks back up to him, seeing the unease and slight frown on his bushy brow. "Don't worry, I'll be at your side to make it less... Unpleasant.."

Bigby gives a dry smile, "As if having your enemy show up at your door is pleasant at all.."

Snow doesn't do much to hold back the eye roll and returns to eating, leaving the conversation at that in favor of not having cold hash browns.

And in about that moment, the Sheriff trails off into his own little world. His distant gaze shifts out to the big window nect to their booth to watch the cars go by and the little people who walk on the sidewalk.

The rain has came to a steady sprinkle unlike the heavy down pour earlier that morning. The roads were slicked with the residue that the cars were going at a slow pace.

The air was sticky and moist that it almost leave him uncomfortable from not showering the past few days and unchanged clothes. Sweat dried to his skin among other fluids that can go without mentioning.

But deep down, it brings him back home.

It resurfaces memories of his mother scolding him as a child whom returned to the den caked in mud. And those memories bring back memories of his siblings who would race through the forest. Testing each other out. Seeing who out of all of them was the fastest.

He smiles to himself, his eyes focusing once more to notice a figure outside the window.

Familiarizing the brown curls that stick out in wild directions. The careless strut they walk as if with purpose.

Bigby frowns, his posture stiffening up some as he observed the person who was making their way to the Diners' door. He sees the strong built of lean muscle under the not so covering clothes the person was wearing.

By the time the door opens, the room was filled with a familiar smell of moss, grass, and earth. The scent sends him reeling back into a time of era that was so familar yet so old and lost that its close to foreign.

His stomach drops when he catches the person's eyes and finally puts a name to the face.

The person, who's a young woman, also stiffened. Leveling his stare and can almost hear the few muttered words under her breath.

"Shit.."

Snow perks up and looks towards her partner.

"Bigby, what's wro-"

"Dawn."

#twau bigby #twau #sheriff bigby #bigby wolf #snow white #the woodsman #toad junior #toad #the trip and trap #the wolf among us #dawn wolf

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phoenixtakaramono · 6 years

Text

G&G ch16 Sneak Peek III

Lost in the moment, they didn’t hear the footsteps that’d been plodding toward them. They both leapt apart when they heard a shy, “Pardon me…?”

Dark brown eyes were peering up at them unreservedly, her tiny face oval like a melon seed. Having wandered over Rin was looking back and forth between them. At the end of their attention, poking her index fingers together, she said, “This Rin came to ask, because you’ve been walking behind us all this time…. Does this mean I need to make myself ‘scarce and give the adults time to themselves’ again?”

Both Kagome and Inuyasha gawked down at her.

Having seized the mood in the air, Rin began to bow at the waist, her hair falling into her face like a long brown veil. Unbeknownst to them, a glimpse of a smile ghosted over her face. “I’m sorry to have bothered you and Kagome-sama—”

Surprisingly, Inuyasha had been the first to act. He crouched down, sharp claws settling on her shoulders. He blurted, “No, we were talking about you, kid!” Against the chilly night air, with how hot his face and ears burned, he was certain he must’ve appeared aglow. Crimsoned. He refused to look up at Kagome whose reaction was a match to his.

“…You were speaking about me?” Rin sounded astonished. Then her head tilted. “About what?”

His mouth fumbled uselessly.

Before that bravado—and that abrasive, social ineptitude—of his caused another upset, Kagome came to his aid. “Rin-chan.” She’d crouched down beside him, mustering a warm smile despite her flushed cheeks. She now had the child’s complete attention. “If I may ask, has Sesshomaru ever...shared his plans for what he intends to do with you?”

“What does milord ‘intend to do’ with me?” Rin repeated slowly, her brows dipped in rumination. She glanced down at her toes, the melancholy unbefitting her youthful visage. Rin seemed to give it intense thought before answering, “Whatever milord wants, this Rin is happy to follow him.”

“Ahhh…. That…. I mean….”

“Kagome,” Inuyasha cut in, “wants to ask, just what is your relationship with Sesshomaru?” He could tell the insinuation had escaped comprehension when Rin only stared at him, a lackluster reaction to what he would expect if the girl hadn’t been so innocent and naive. “Why would you follow somebody like him?”

She was riveted on his face. There was an intensity emanating from those dark eyes, one that made him think the child was seeing someone else in his position. He had the feeling, had he not redirected them from the skeletons and corpses left behind in this well-known forest, she would regard them with curiosity or a somberness—dim and musing—that few girls her age would show. It’d be equally likely she’d put on a show to disguise any vague reaction, normal only to those who had become numbed to such sights.

Inuyasha had a flash of insight. Humans can be cruel, especially to those who were different—or those who had been orphaned. In the past, this girl, too, might’ve been ostracized in the past. He fought the urge to grimace.

After a while, Rin relaxed. “Neh, y’know?” Her voice had softened once more. She held her hands over her chest, her cheeks becoming rosy. A bright, gap-toothed grin was aimed at the night as she shared, “Traveling beside milord, with Jaken-sama and A-Un, makes me feel warm and safe, like being washed in sunlight…. Sesshomaru-sama is generous and smart, great and mighty. So even if my place exists only in his memory or to admire him from afar like the stars, while time is still on my side, I am blessed to be beside Sesshomaru-sama. As long as I can. That is my wish....”

Her obvious, infectious joy had stirred something in Inuyasha. In that moment, he thought he might’ve understood her situation.

There were people who had suffered greatly and wanted to cling to a powerful being in order to heal the lingering emotional trauma in their souls. The weak either sought or resented the strong; that was something only those who lived in these tumultuous times would understand. Finding solidarity in others was not a foreign concept to him, especially with civil unrest spread amongst all the warring provinces.

There was no denying her utmost trust in the daiyōkai; Sesshomaru must’ve done something extraordinary to have secured the child’s unshakable devotion, for her to sing his praises, and for her to make that face.

Even so, there was the question about what the girl truly felt for an individual half a millennium older, whether it be platonic or familial—or something else entirely. Much as Inuyasha hated it, demons and mortals truly walked different paths. Even a hanyou like him was no stranger to the fragility of humankind.

Just as he was about to unleash his question, there was a nudge to his ribs. Inuyasha and Kagome exchanged looks. He saw her raising a finger to her lips as she shook her head at him.

His ears flattened. When she remained stalwart despite his hard-pressed look, he jerked his head. He stood up, the subjugation beads clacking from the movement.

Being given the reins, Kagome had replaced his position before her. “One last question we have. I’m sorry if it’s a sensitive subject….” She hesitated for a few seconds, before reaching out to clasp those small hands. A child’s warmth…. “There is no polite way to put this. But where are your parents? Your family?”

At that, Rin’s smile dimmed. She slowly shook her head, squeezing Kagome’s hands.

Kagome felt her stomach plummet.

Inuyasha had been resting against a tree, feeling the rough bark against his skin and keeping watch. Fiddling with the string of beads, it was then that he picked up something that even his acute hearing could not fully make out. His nose soon creased as well. Beneath the forest scents and the scent of death, he’d gotten a whiff of something that stirred traces of familiarity. His eyes narrowed. “Something stinks.”

For some reason, the smell made him irritated on the instinctual level. And he didn’t know why.

From his peripheral vision, he caught Kagome tensing. Both girls had glanced toward him. Seriousness had replaced Kagome’s heartfelt expression when she met his sight. In a moment of weakness, he’d faltered.

There was a trace of Kikyo’s mature beauty in those eerily similar features.

He felt his chest tighten. The grief may have ebbed, but the feeling of guilt would never fully vanish. He still remembered cradling Kikyo that night in the fields, his companions respectfully keeping quiet throughout. Her tears had flowed when he’d pressed his lips against hers, with him feeling the weight of her lighten in his arms until her clay body eventually dissipated into beautiful spheres of white, the long sinuous forms of her soul collectors vanishing with the fragment of her soul they’d been sustaining all that time.

The image of her content expression would forever be etched into his heart. Her soul’s finally at rest now, you fool, he forcibly reminded himself.

Even with their uncanny similarities, Kagome was her own person. She was not, and never will be, Kikyo—as her supposed future reincarnation or not. Looking at her now, seeing past the physical similarities, even with the resemblances in their innate spiritual abilities and in their kindness, he should know the woman in the forest with him was uniquely and unforgivably Higurashi Kagome.

His Kagome.

An unbidden lick of pride burst from his chest like fire. This woman had come far from the witless stranger who’d first stepped into his world, inexperienced and soft and as brash as him—but undeniably brave and clever. He’d once believed her only redeeming feature to have been her diligence. But now she was someone he had come to have faith in—with all the security, strength, and fulfillment he didn’t know he sought in a partner.

This aspiring priestess was the third human in two hundred years of painful memories who’d accepted him, all of him, even his yōkai heritage.

Even time itself couldn’t tear them apart, not when her devotion to him was that strong.

He peered at their surroundings, seeing nothing but a sea of trees. He inhaled several times, his lungs filling with cool air. While spring was close, one could still feel the last of winter lingering in the air. Again, what was that scent…?

“Ara?” Rin suddenly exclaimed, her body turned sideways. “Wan wan-san? Where do you think you’re going?”

At the sound of her voice, across the distance the massive black form seemed to have paused mid-activity, his snout lifting up from the soil. His head and ears swiveled in her direction. With a keen bark, he vanished into the dense forest. The last thing they saw of him was his bushy tail.

Rin began tugging her wrists, desperately trying to free herself. Kagome’s grip constricted. After a few seconds of hesitation, it was only when she didn’t sense any malevolent energies within their vicinity and Inuyasha didn’t warn them of any immediate threat, that Kagome finally released Rin.

Two pairs of eyes beheld them—one a warm dark color and one an otherworldly set of gold—as the girl scuttled away. Inuyasha had already joined Kagome when the priestess started straightening to her feet. Able to read her much like an open book, he saw just how rigid her shoulders were. There was internal conflict playing on her face. Kagome was still brimming with questions.

A strangled noise escaped her when she felt a hard smack against her shoulder blades. Being shoved forward, she twisted around to glare at Inuyasha.

He looked unrepentant, lowering his palm. “C’mon, worrywart. You won’t stop fretting until we hand her over to Sesshomaru or to that stupid kappa of his.” Inuyasha was still awful at it, but he had gotten better at distracting her whenever she seemed lost at sea, adrift with nothing to hold on. He’d learned what could tide her over. While his claws were usually a constant weight on the hilt of his father’s sword—a superfluous gesture in reality, but it soothed his nerves—he shifted the rucksack onto a safer position over his shoulder.

Bracing himself to be slammed into the dirt, he told her dryly, “Stop being so indecisive. We’re going to lose her at this rate.”

“I know that!”

Despite having caused her annoyance, he was surprised when Kagome didn’t activate the beads of subjugation. (And she’ll never remove those accursed beads off you, his subconscious whispered—the side of him that he was ashamed of. There was no trace of anger in him, the one emotion that never failed to make him feel brave and less helpless, cresting in wake of that train of thought. Only resignation. Y’know she knows better than to....)

Lost in his thoughts, he’d nearly recoiled when she smooshed his cheeks and she brought her face closer to his, standing on her tiptoes to meet his height. He couldn’t help but to take a big whiff.

Kagome used to have an astringent, pungent stench when they’d first met. Chemicals so sweet and fruity, they’d dulled all other smells. Back then he could track her from a distance, even when she climbed out of the Bone Eater’s Well. He’d only noticed a change later in their earlier adventures—one far more pleasant and subtler to his nose. That new fragrance didn’t sting the olfactory senses.

Although it’d been sometime since she’d returned to stay with him in the past, that artificial sweet fragrance—flowers of some sort—remained in her long smooth hair. That, with her natural scent, didn’t fail to make his heart stutter.

“You’re terrible,” she breathed, bumping her forehead against his. The corners of her mouth lifted. “But thank you. You’re always looking out for me.”

He could feel their breaths mingling. There was a coarse texture to two of her slender fingers, formed from improper archery without a glove, when he felt her hand brushing his hair away from his warming face. Fingertips trailed down his jaw, across the side of his neck—stilling over the purple beads—and then she squeezed his shoulder briefly, before drawing away.

Then they ran. Together.

The trunks grew so closely together, it was easy to envision how travelers could feel disoriented wandering the Forest of Illusion—or what Kagome knew to be the future’s infamous Suicide Forest. It was fortunate they were with Inuyasha, who guided them safely over the treacherous roots threading through the forest floor and the moss. Trees organically twisted and turned. Because its location was at the base of a mountain, the ground was rocky and uneven, concealing hundreds of caves.

Abruptly Kagome recalled the instance where she’d come face-to-face with the celestial maiden from one of Japan’s famous folktales here at this site. She shivered, feeling a phantom twinge below her shoulder blade where the arrow had once pierced through her.

In the end, it wasn’t that difficult tracking the canine’s pawprints, considering that wildlife seemed sparse. The closer Kagome and Inuyasha approached the destination, they thought they heard voices as soft and murmurous as wings. Judging by the calm, deep cadence of the person speaking quietly, it didn’t seem like it was yurei—vengeful, mournful spirits known to manifest around these parts—who had lured Rin over and bewitched her.

Inuyasha was the first to realize who the individual was. His claws began to unclench from the hilt of his father’s fang.

Shoving the leaves away, Kagome said, “Hold on, isn’t that—?” Her words trailed off once she saw the back of a figure knelt beside the girl.

Both the stranger and Rin were in a small clearing, facing the base of an old tree. Sitting back on their haunches, their bodies blocked sight of whatever that had them enamoured.

The man was dressed in a monk’s attire, although the dyes were bolder and luxurious than the outfits sewn together by the humble acolytes of the Buddhist faith. His robes resembled that of a thirteenth-century Sôtô priest with the toga-like purple kesa draped over his left shoulder, tucked into the front of his long-sleeved black koromo.

The only other signs of his vanity were the hair that had been tied back into a small ponytail and the golden hooped earrings. He was absentmindedly petting the head of the large beast sitting beside them, docile, and eyes still shut.

The canine’s ears perked up when Kagome exclaimed, “Miroku-sama!”

“...Yes?” Hearing his name, the man turned around. His expression lit up, handsome and pleased.

The canine whined when the hand that'd been petting him retreated.

Gripping the wooden handle of the shakujō ritual staff to support his weight, Miroku rose up to his feet, the rings rattling against the metal finial from the momentum. “Oya, Kagome-sama, Inuyasha? What a fortuitous surprise. I didn’t know you were accompanying this fine young lady.” His voice was like melting honey.

Rin giggled.

“Aren’t you a kept man now, ‘hōshi-sama?’” Kagome remarked dryly. Her brows dipped abruptly, and she scanned their surroundings. Neither the demon slayer nor her nekotama—a two-tailed demon cat—were anywhere in sight. She asked, “Where is Sango-chan? And Kirara? They’re not here with you?”

The last time they’d seen the newlyweds was when Inuyasha and Kagome had been ready to depart. Kaede—Kikyo’s surviving younger sister, now the village priestess and midwife—had been tasked to watch over the new family while Kagome and Inuyasha went on a journey.

Kaede's village in the Musashi Province—which would later be split into modern-day Tokyo, most of the Saitama Prefecture, and part of the Kanagawa Prefecture—was at least two-to-three days worth of travel on foot. The village was a lynchpin to all the extraordinary events that brought the lives of three humans, one half-demon, and two demons onto a collision course. Each had their own goals and motivations, but eventually they’d all agreed to work together to collect the Shikon Jewel shards before the jewel fell into the wrong hands.

It was also the same village where the prodigious shrine maiden fell in love with a half-demon; it was the same village where those two lovers were deceived by a disfigured bandit whose heart fell into darkness and had become the fearsome entity known as Naraku; it was the same village where Kagome first met Inuyasha. It was also nearby to the time-traveling well—where villagers once dumped the bones of exterminated yōkai—and to the Goshinboku where Inuyasha had been struck by Kikyo’s sacred arrow, with the tree having suspended his body in time for fifty years.

“What are you doing here?” Inuyasha blurted, folding his arms. “Don’t tell me two brats are too much for you.”

Miroku cast an eye shrewdly on them. “Contrary to what you may think sometimes, I’m no degenerate,” he answered slowly. His expression turned a bit rueful when he gazed down at his feet. “No, I’m on a different pilgrimage of a sort, for a peace of mind.”

“...Eh?”

“Would you and Kagome-sama like to see?” Shuffling away several steps, he revealed what had him and Rin so enthralled.

“Waaa!” Kagome exclaimed, awestruck. She’d clapped her palms together. “How cute!”

Staring up at them were thirteen sprites, each green like leaves and glowing. No bigger than her palm, they all wore chipped lacquered bowls as a hats. Vaguely humanoid in appearance, they reminded Kagome of bobbleheads—but alive and with big dots for eyes and a mouth. The sprites stood atop a miniature shrine the size of a dollhouse, with the stone surface encrusted over with moss.

Everyone of them that carried a sprig immediately pointed them up at Kagome, waving the stems animatedly. They seem to be driven to excitement when she crouched down to take a closer look at them. One had even tripped.

“They’re kodama,” Miroku explained. He sounded amused. “These tree spirits supposedly help guide the lost and can grant wishes. So long as you don’t mistreat them or destroy their home, you won’t be cursed. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of them.”

“I have, but only in mov—folklore,” she quickly corrected herself, aware that the topic of movies—another product of modern technology—would only confuse everyone around her. Kagome then noticed the paper talisman and incense left on the altar. She took an educated guess. “...Did you come this far to make a wish, Miroku-sama?”

Before Miroku could answer, Inuyasha spoke up from behind them, “What do you even need to make a wish for?” He was looking at Miroku’s palm, where the dark void once resided. Inuyasha looked confused. “Naraku’s dead. Your Wind Tunnel has been sealed. You no longer have to worry.”

Miroku’s hand clenched. He remarked casually, “Oh? Didn’t you know...? We’re expecting our third child.”

Kagome gawked at him. “Sango-chan is pregnant? Again?” She’d really wanted to ask, You were actually serious about that?

In their travels, Kagome remembered the man had once expressed he wanted ten or twenty children, but she had taken his words for granted. Women used to think poorly of the traveling monk; his tendency was to approach every attractive female and ask them to bear him a son. Even when he’d met Sango, his lecherous habits persevered.

It wasn’t until later they realized what he’d been asking for all that time. Miroku was determined to leave behind a legacy—proof that he’d existed—before he fell to the same fate as his father: being consumed by the curse, leaving nothing of himself behind except a crater in the ground.

His grin stretched ear-to-ear. The picture of a doting husband, he shared dreamily, “She is. We hope it’s a boy this time.”

Despite herself, Kagome could feel her expression softening.

“Unfortunately, there’s not much I can do for her otherwise in terms of alleviating discomfort…. As Sango’s husband, I sought to acquire blessings for another safe delivery.”

“Didn’t Kaede baa-chan prepare her herbal remedies? From last time?”

“That she has. However….” Something seemed to occur to him in that moment, and he frowned. Eyeing the child, after making certain she was preoccupied with the kodama and the strange canine, he silently gestured to Kagome and Inuyasha. Without checking to see if they understood, he turned on the soles of his feet and marched off.

Kagome and Inuyasha exchanged looks, before they quickly moved to follow him. They eventually traveled enough distance where they couldn’t be overheard, but they remained close enough to keep Rin within sight.

Leaning against the bark of a tree, with his staff tucked between his sleeves, Miroku whispered to them, “Why is it that I find you two traveling with that girl?”

“Sesshomaru’s disappeared,” Kagome whispered back, watching his brows leap up. “We just found her—alone. With that big canine. It wouldn’t be right to leave her alone. Inuyasha and I promised to escort her back to...to Jaken, I suppose.”

“Yes...that canine.... Now that you mention it….” Miroku peered at the black mass across the distance. He was muttering to himself, “At least it’s not a black village dog.”

“Come again?”

He waved both of them off. “Don’t mind me. As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone, it seems to be of little concern.” He’d folded his arms again, the sleeves falling down to cover his hands. “I consider it fortunate that you two are here. I wish to draw upon your wisdom. Have you and Inuyasha noticed the lack of bandits lately?”

“Um, I attributed that to our stroke of good fortune?” She withdrew an amulet from beneath the folds of her outfit. The careful brushstrokes on the fabric of the bag was meant to bless the wearer with safe travels. Her smile was shy. “Thanks to your gift, we’ve somehow managed to avoid the more dangerous paths.”

Miroku returned her smile. He reached for her hand, gently pressing it down. “I am glad you still have it in possession, Kagome-sama. I’d thought Inuyasha would’ve tossed it by now.”

Almost immediately, Inuyasha made a noise of indignation.

“Calm, Inuyasha. I say that in jest.” His good humor faded, and a somber expression replaced it. “Listen. Strange things are afoot. On my way here, I’d even stumbled upon a deserted village. According to the nearby village elder, those peasants seemed to have taken all grains of rice with them and fled to neighboring villages or to the mountains.”

“Why? Is it because of the war?”

“I’d initially thought as much. But it’s not just that.” He was looking down at his shoes. His brows were furrowed. “I’ve also heard word of an interesting...superstition, spreading across the provinces. The villagers I spoke to describe a masked figure. A foreigner. It is said that seeing him can be a precursor to one’s death. He comes bearing gifts to those in his favor, and brings misfortune to those who are not. Whether that is falsehood or not, it might not bode well for the future of the Ashikaga shogunate and the Oda clan if he roams—”

“Wait, the Oda clan? As in, Oda Nobunaga, the famous warlord from history?” Kagome exclaimed, beaming, her voice rising a pitch higher with each word expressed. She could feel Inuyasha eyeing her incredulously. “The real one that will become the most feared overlord in all of—?”

#green and gold #ch16 #sneak peek #inuyasha #this’ll be the last sneak peek for the IY part #I’ll probably post 1 or 2 HP sneak peeks #but much later

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demondeanismybaby · 7 years

Text

Just One Drink Later

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2059

Warnings: Smut, fluff, one night stand, oral sex (male receiving, female receiving), spanking, kitchen sex, unprotected sex (I would advise against this in real life), slightly rough sex

Summary: You meet a handsome stranger at a bar and decided to have a little spontaneous fun.

A/N: I have been in the mood to write some smut lately, so I came up with this little one shot.

You tapped your foot against the edge of the cliche looking red and black stool you had picked out at the corner of the bar furthest from the door to the place, trying to avoid the crowds of people, and feeling the weight of your day making you edgy. The bar had some weird name that you could never remember no matter how many times you had passed it by but it was some little hipster joint that always seemed to have people in plaid, glasses, and men with bushy beards milling around in front of it. Stopping by for a drink had been nothing more than a whim after a long tedious day of work filing paperwork and listening to various people complain and you had been looking for a way to unwind. This place was on your route home and it was in walking distance just in case you had a few too many. No drinking and driving for you.

It seemed like it had been a bad call though, the place was busier than you had hoped and you had yet to be able to get the bartenders attention long enough to order something. You pushed yourself up on the edge of the long wooden bar and tried to lean far enough over that maybe the guy would get annoyed enough that he would come take your order.

“Hey,” a deep voice said near your ear and a warm hand landed on your lower back.

“Woah there cowboy,” you said sitting back down fully and turning to look at the stranger who decided to put his hands on you, “no touching.”

He held his hands up in surrender and you immediately regretted the rule you had just made. He looked like a model with a heavy jawline lightly smudged with stubble and dusty blonde hair that was just slightly long enough that he didn’t look like a soldier but the part that really stood out and made your stomach dip was his eyes. They sparkled, with what you could tell was the kind of mischief that would leave you begging for more in the morning, behind their leafy green depths. Totally out of place for this kind of joint, he looked rugged but not in the lumberjack sort of way.

“I mean, hi, I’m Y/N,” you held out your hand, making sure that you didn’t let your nerves show in the slight shake of your fingers.

“Dean,” he said and wrapped his huge palm around your much smaller hand and you could feel his warmth seeping into your skin.

You talked for what seemed like hours, eventually, you had gotten your drink but it sat half-forgotten at the edge of the bar because your whole focus was on the man you had met earlier in the evening. He was amazing, funny, smart, and sweeter than you could have hoped for. You had been feeling kind of lonely lately, it was probably what had driven you to going and getting a drink by yourself in the first place but as the night rolled on you felt like maybe you weren’t going to end up home in bed by yourself for a change.

He didn’t use any typical flirtatious one-liners that you almost expected him to, instead, when it was fairly late you noticed the way the gentle touch of his hand on your arm started to linger. His finger tracing a light swirling pattern in your skin. It was just seductive enough that it had you wanting to pull him into the deepest kiss imaginable.

Finally, it was more than you could take, “hey, let’s get out of here,” you said laying your other hand on top of his on your arm and getting his full attention.

His eyes were dark and lust filled as he stared at you, probably making sure you weren’t too intoxicated to be asking a man home in the first place, and eventually he seemed to decide that you were sober enough to leave with.

“Sure thing, babe,” Dean said following your lead as he took your hand and walked the short block back to your apartment.

You two giggled and joked the whole walk home, you felt drunk even though you knew you hadn’t even finished the one and only drink you had ordered, it was just being with him you felt giddy and lightheaded and like you wanted to do something spontaneous.

Neither of you could keep your hands off each other, by the time you had made it back to your house you were already lipped locked with Dean and barely noticed you had made it to the door at all until you heard the dull thud as his back collided with the wood. Groaning you pulled away from those plush barely pink lips and dug your keys out of your purse that was hanging forgotten at your side, you used the moment as an opportunity to brush your hand against his ribcage as you made to unlock the door and when you turned the knob you both practically fell inside.

“Oops,” you giggled, “sorry about that.”

“No worries,” he said but his eyes were black and hungry as they looked at you and soon you were back to devouring each other.

Both of you started tugging and pulling at the clothes that were currently in your way. There were too many layers. You hadn’t dressed for a hot date instead you were in your boring work clothes which meant a sweater, a tank top, and leggings were barring you from feeling his skin against yours. Also, he was wearing a thick leather jacket which was making it seem like there was way too much between you.

After a few minutes of confused movements, you both paused long enough to tear off the remaining items that were on your body. Until you were standing in your panties, and unmatched, bra and he was in front of you in nothing but a pair of hunter green boxer briefs which perfectly put on display the hard line of his cock.

“Come here,” he said in a low husky voice that had you immediately obeying.

Wrapping you in his arms you moaned slightly as his hands traveled down your body moving from your shoulders, slowly, down to your waist and stopping at the curve of your ass. He drew his hand back and then landed a quick slap against your right cheek and you giggled a little at the slight sting and your combination of arousal and nerves. You didn’t bring home strangers often but this seemed totally worth it.

You stood leaning against the hallway wall enjoying making out but knowing that you were going to need a change of location to get anything more going. As his mouth traveled from your lips downwards stopping to nip along your jaw and then to your neck sucking softly at your pulse point you decided to move this show to a more interesting local.

“Hey,” you said, “let’s move this over a little,” you took his hand and led him to the first room you could find, it just happened to be your kitchen.

Your lower back bumped into the counter and it took barely a second for him to get the idea and he lifted you at the waist onto the granite countertop that you had standing in the middle of the room. The first thing he did was pull your panties carefully down your legs and then flung them somewhere on the other side of the room. He ducked his head in between your open thighs and kissed your legs softly and you enjoyed the way your core tingled at the sensation.

“God, that feels so good,” you moaned out.

He took the encouragement as a sign to continue and moved his way to your dripping core, licking along your delicate folds before moving his way up to your aching clit. He sucked it into his mouth tracing his tongue along the sensitive bundle of nerves and your thighs closed, clamping down around his head, your fingers trying to fist through his short hair but unable to grab a hold. You could feel your hips bucking but his hands wound around your legs pulling them apart and giving him access to taste you exactly how he wanted to until you were a limp puddle above him.

As he stood up the only thing you wanted to do was return the favor. You maneuvered your way off the counter top making sure you didn’t fall and hurt yourself as your legs wobbled underneath you. Climbing down onto your knees in front of him. You grabbed the edge of his boxers in your hand and tugged them down freeing his massive cock. It sprang up almost slapping you in the face and you fisted it in your hand before drawing your lips around the tip. You tasted the salty tang as his precum hit your tongue and you quickly worked your head up and down over his shaft taking as much as you could down your throat and loving the way you gagged slightly as he pumped against the back of your throat.

“Holy shit,” Dean hissed above you.

You tipped your head back and you could see his arms straining as he held onto the counter for dear life trying desperately not to come right there. You pulled off with a wet pop and stood up and kissed his neck.

In a matter of seconds, he was moving you around, leaning you over. Your elbows resting on the surface of the counter as your ass jutted out behind you. Again you jumped at the slight sting as he brought his hand down firmly against your ass cheek.

“You like that baby,” he asked as you giggled again.

“Oh yeah,” you said and felt him do it again you whole body jumping slightly at the sting one of your hands knocked into the dish of sugar you kept there and sent little white grains tumbling down over the edge of the counter.

You couldn’t find it in you to care about the mess you were going to have to clean up later.

His hand wrapped around your waist as he drew closer to you, you could feel his dick nudge against your entrance and he lined himself up to sink inside of you. He thrust in hard and fast in one quick snap of his hips he had bottomed out and you could feel a slight burn as his thick length speared you. He set a brutal pace, and you were thrust forward into the edge of the counter, doing the best you could you pushed back into his movement the both of you moving faster and harder on each pass.

“Fuck, just like that,” you cried out and soon you tumbled over the edge of bliss again clench around him.

After a few more thrusts he suddenly pulled out of you, “turn around,” he groaned and you did.

Knowing what was coming you got down on your knees in front of him and as he quickly fisted his cock to completion he sprayed the hot sticky white jet out onto your chest.

You were sweaty, tired and now covered in come. Still, it had definitely been worth it.

“Dean,” you said as you stood up, “it was really nice to meet you.”

He threw his head back and laughed, it was rich and deep, a part of you wished you would have a chance to get to know the person in front of you better. Although sometimes you knew it was better to have one night, then nothing could wind up letting you down in the future.

“Want to get cleaned up?” He asked and you thought about it for about two seconds.

Now was the time to decide, either you could kindly ask this guy to leave and you knew he would get dressed walk out the door and you would probably never see him again. Or, you could invite him upstairs take a shower, talk more and possibly fall asleep wrapped in his arms.

“Yeah,” you said and you were confident as you led the way upstairs, “I think that sounds good.”

You knew you had made the right choice.

#dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction #dean x reader smut #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fluff #spn reader insert #my writing

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ladyscientia · 7 years

Text

Tempus Vernum Ep.2

That one time you learned what Ebony was.

Blind!Ignis x Reader Spoilers below the cut!

Episode One: That one time you started working as the Royal Secretary

On your second day at work, you arrive at the castle EARLY. You’ve got just under a dozen bags hanging from both arms as you hoof it up the castle stoop. Today you’re going to unleash your personality onto that posh new office. There are too many niceties and you’re determined to make it feel more like home.

Icy rain spits down relentlessly from the half-lit sky. An angry morning breeze whips it at you and it’s cold. The straps of the bags cut into your stinging fingers. The same Crownsguard who greeted you yesterday is at the top. She squints down at you from beneath her rain drop speckled hood and starts down the stairs to meet you. “Good morning, Miss Secretary! Let me give you a hand,” she insists. As her breath hits the winter air it condensates immediately, forming swirling clouds of fog. Today you get a closer inspection of her. She has a softened square-shape face and two differently colored eyes; one brown and one blue with perfectly sculpted brows to crown them. Her nose is aquiline, framed by lightly freckled cheeks which have been rouged by the cold. Lots of brown hair is tucked behind (almost comically) round ears. “Thank you so much!,” you respond, exasperated. You create your own clouds of condensation. “I didn’t get your name yesterday, by the way.”

She smiles with congeniality. There’s a slight gap between her two front teeth. “I’m Anju, mam. I’m happy to help.” She raises her hand to her communication device. “Open the doors, Eine. The Royal Secretary’s here. I’m helping her bring some stuff in.”

Eine? Must be another guard on the inside. Anju takes all but two of the bags onto her own arms. The doors shift open and you both rush in to take shelter from the rain. Once they shut behind you, Anju unabashedly shakes the water off her body like a dog, starting the shake from her feet and up to her head, letting chestnut hair loose from the hood.

“Damn, Anju!” Says the guard who’s shut the doors. “I didn’t want to get wet until it was my shift outside.” Anju beams. “Mam, this is Eine. Eine likes to sit on his ass.” You gauge Eine. He doesn’t LOOK like he’s always sitting on his ass. He’s an average-sized young man with tidy black hair and brown eyes. His mouth is quirked in a grin. ...It occurs to you that this is what flirting looks like. (It’s been a while, ok?) “Good morning, Eine,” you say. “Thanks for getting the doors.” “No problem. It’s literally my job,” he respond with an impassive shrug. He takes some of your bags from Anju. You can tell she doesn’t want to give up the load, but she submits as if to recompense for getting him wet. They follow you to your office door.

The lobby has a completely different aura at 6:ooam compared to the early afternoon setting you arrived in yesterday. It’s EMPTY in there, except for the three of you and a couple of other Crownsguard at the other end. You’ve got neat little heels on and they clap loudly against the marble. You feel yourself wincing with each step as if you might wake someone up. As you get to the office door, you notice a faint, ebbing glow through the stained glass window. “Does it ... always look like that?” you ask Anju. Eine answers, “the book shelf has lights in it.” Anju gives him a sideways glance. He adds with another shrug, “It used to freak me out, so I walked into the office one day and ... made the observation.”

You fish around in your coat pocket for the key Sam gave you yesterday and pull open the door. You see for yourself that the floor to ceiling bookshelf that separates the lobby and lounge is lit up with tiny ropes of display lights. Fancy. You feel around the wall to the side of the door until you find a light switch. LED ceiling fixtures inundate the room with sunshine-bright, white luminosity. Anju and Eine let the bags down on the floor in front of the desk and leave you to the silence of your office.

You meander around for a while, transferring personal items from your bags to various areas in the office; a framed photograph here, a trinket there. You find your favored coffee mug amidst the mess and fire up the Keurig. It is SO time for a cappuccino. You fill the cabinets on the walls with some of your own supplies. You have specific little things you prefer over what you’re usually given. It’s an idiosyncrasy you gained as a teacher way back when. You stuff your favorite snacks up there, extra clothes (because seriously you just never know. Have you ever worked with children? Not that your new coworkers are children, but hey! Accidents happen!) You sander to the other side of the office, fall into the couch - fuck it’s comfy - and turn on the tv.

The local news channel is on when you hit power. The small font in the corner of the screen displays the time. It’s about 7:3o now. When does work start for the staff that works in the lobby? You’re about done with unpacking your bags and kick your heel-clad feet onto the coffee table. Might as well just hang out until Sam gets in. You rest your head on the back of the couch with a long sigh. You just weren’t made for mornings this early. Good thing you only have to unpack once. The volume of the tv is low and you can hear the ice/rain mix spattering on the windows on the opposite side of the bookshelf. There’s an Altissian toffee aroma settling in the office thanks to your cappuccino. It’s so warm. So quiet. So cozy. You close your eyes. “Good morning, Miss Vernum!” An inadvertent voice greets you from the doorway. You nearly spring off the sofa in shock. You turn your head, eyes burning with a desire to sleep, to see Royal Adviser Ignis. He’s wide awake and incontestably fresh as a fucking daisy. He’s got a black can of some kind of drink in one hand. He sips from it, waiting for your response. “Good morning,” you say a little bit confused. You stand and instinctively brush down your skirt. “Two things though. One: how did you know it was me? And two: how are you so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on a morning like this?” You immediately want to face palm yourself for the idiom that spurted thoughtlessly from your mouth. Bright-eyed. Oh gods.

“I was on my way to get the morning report from the Crownsguard at the front of the lobby when I smelt Altissian toffee.” He says perceptively. “I figured it couldn’t be anyone else at this time of day. Our lobby staff is notoriously late. The LOT of them. I’m always tactile and ready at this time of day. Especially considering that I live here.”

“You mean that in a literal sense, don’t you?”

“Indeed,” he nods, taking another sip. “I have my own private quarters here in the castle.”

Neither one of you says anything for a solid thirty seconds. He looks as though he’s taking in the alterations of the office, turning his chin slowly from left to right. Is he smelling out your things? Or maybe he can see a little bit out of that eye? Maybe he can see that you’re staring at him? You muster yourself up off the couch.

“Would you like a cappuccino?” You ask for antiquity’s sake, walking past him and toward the desk. “No thank you, Miss Vernum. I’ve got a can of Ebony.”

“Ebony?” You pull your mug out from the dispensary area of the Kuerig. It’s contents are almost cold now. “What’s Ebony?”

Ignis was in the middle of a third sip when you ask the question. He clears his throat and inquires ardently, “you’ve not heard of Ebony?”

Obviously not. You answer him nicely, shoving your mug into the microwave that sits beside the coffee machine. (You need that cappuccino HOT.) “I’ve heard of the color. But not the drink.”

What the FRACK are you saying? That’s the lamest thing you’ve ever heard. Why are you so befuddled by him?

“Would you ... like to try some?” He asks.

What? He adds, “unless you have an aversion to sharing drinks. But I can assure you, the taste of Ebony is worth the risk.” What could taste SO good that he’s not willing to let you WAIT to try it? It’s a damn good thing he can’t see (or can he??) Your cheeks feel hot. They’re no doubt as flushed as Anju’s who was outside in the cold rain for who knows how long for. “Ignis Scientia!”

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Sam shows up in the doorway, brushing past Ignis and straight into the office. He’s officially your tall, dark and feminine knight in some kind of salmon-colored dress suit of sassy armor. Thank you. “Stop flirting with the new girl and get your fancy slacks out of here. I’ve got work to do!” He says, shooing Ignis away. “I beg your pardon?” he backs out of the doorway, holding his beloved can in the air to protect it from Sam’s swatting.

“Do-on’t even try to pretend. I know you, pretty boy. Get out of here. Out!” He shuts the doors and turns his heel to face you. His expression turns quickly to a pleasant one. He folds his hands at his chest.

“You’re here early, little bird,” he says taking a look around the office. It’s like slamming the door on Ignis never happened. “I like your stuff.” “You’re here early too,” you revere.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s something the Royal Adviser said,” you remark, taking your mug from the microwave. It’s steaming. YES.

“Ignis? What’d he say about me?” “That you guys are always late.” “Hmm,” for a second he looks like he’s going to be offended. He plants a hand on his hip, then rolls his eyes. “It’s true. ... BUT, I wanted to get here before you today.”

You blow the steam off the liquid gold. “Why?” “I have a surprise for you I wanted to get set up.” He produces a small package from his pocket. “It’s your earpiece!” Oh! You get one of those. Cool. Sam continues; “almost every member of the staff has an earpiece. Even cheeky Mr.Scientia. But we all communicate on different channels. The Crownsguard has their channel. The council has their channel. The secretaries have their channel. Etc. etc. We usually wait about a week to give new people their ear piece. But you did so well yesterday, I thought I’d surprise you.” You think back on yesterday and all the chatting Sam did into the earpiece with the other ‘chick-a-dees,’ falling in and out of laughter through gossip and small talk. You hated to admit that you felt a little left out of the fun. But now you were being accepted early into the circle for your hard work. It felt good and as an added bonus; took your mind of fancy-slacks.

“Wow. Thank you.” Sam is pleased with the results of your happiness. “You’re welcome, girl! Now come with me. You’re working at the front desk again. We’ll get your ear piece worked out and introduce you formally to the rest of the lobby crew.” He already feels like your best friend. He finds the remote to the tv and turns it off for you, shoves what’s left of your untouched bags beneath the desk and leads you by the small of your back out of the office and into the lobby.

The secretaries enter in cliques through the front door. There’s a very young man, maybe 19 years old, who goes by Teddy. He’s got ruffled sort of sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. He’s shortish and slim. He walks in with a woman that’s at LEAST 20 years older then him. She introduces herself as Marnie. Her hair is three blonde shades lighter than Teddy’s - almost white. Her eyes are enormous and brown and you can tell just by looking at her that she’s the kindest out of the group besides Sam. Behind those two come three girls, in their early twenties.

Sam bends down and whispers to you, “These are the bun girls.” All three of them have their hair in messy work buns. All three of them have brightly dyed hair and cat-eye winged eye liner. They vary in shape though. There’s Kait, the short and pear-shaped one. Beside her is Jemma, the tall one. And lagging a little behind is Ann, the one who probably still wears junior sizes.

“Evelyn will come in last. That’s my boo,” explains Sam, taking his seat behind the desk. You follow suit and sit beside him. “She’s the dark and moody one. But don’t let her fool you. She’s got a bigger heart than all of the bun girls combined.” Evelyn enters the lobby some ten minutes later, in no rush. She’s probably your age. She’s got ebony hair (ebony ...) that lays flat down to the middle of her back and bangs that have been cut straight across her forehead. You ADMIRE her eyebrows. They’re pencil thin above almost black eyes that aren’t entirely void of warmth. Her desk is closest to the front of the lobby and furthest away from Sam’s. She nods her head tactless in greeting to the both of you and takes a seat, adjusting her earpiece on the way down.

“Well, that’s everyone that works the desks,” says Sam. “Sorry you weren’t able to really meet them yesterday. It got kind of busy. Anyways, you’ll learn more about what their individual jobs are as we go along. For now, just watch what I do and listen to what I say.” You take notes throughout the morning as Sam works, writing down important things like where certain supplies are located and what time different deliveries or important people come through. He teaches you how to use your earpiece and the difference between talking into it and using mute just to listen. He tells you quietly that every now and then he’ll listen in to other channels to get a heads up on what’s happening in the castle. Evelyn knows the passwords to every single channel somehow and they get a delightful kick out of listening to Anju and Eine when they set up their own chat outside of the Crownsguard network.

Learning the social ins and outs of working the lobby is exhausting in itself. Every now and then Sam will reach for the phone before you and allow you to sit back. You catch a glimpse of the Royal Adviser passing through the lobby a few times. He’s always on a mission and never running into anything. It’s confounding. After the fourth time in passing he stops at the desk and hands Sam a giant manila envelope.

“Sampra, these are from Captain Amicitia to give to Prompto when he arrives with the hunters’ report today.” Sam examines the folder and responds, “what’s in it?” “Hunter-y things,” says Ignis, pushing it further across the tall counter top of the desk. You’re looking up at him from where you sit. There’s a necklace hanging out from the unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt. The little silver piece dangles over the envelope, swaying slightly as he talks. There are a few scars across the curve of his neck.

“Classified things too, I bet,” says Sam taking the envelope. He has a specific spot for it in the drawer by his knee. “Oh, by the by; I have Miss Vernum’s earpiece hooked up and she’s live and wired on the network.” “Ooh. Good!” Ignis praises in your general direction. You sink into the chair. He continues; “I trust you’re adjusting well, Miss Vernum?”

“Ahh ... as well as I can.”

There’s another moment of weird silence between the two of you. You turn quickly into the computer chair to pull yourself away from his magnetic allure. The wheels of the chair squeal at you from the sudden force.

“Well ... I’ll leave you two at it then,” he taps the counter top and walks away.

When lunch time finally arrives you’re far beyond relieved to take shelter in the privacy of your office. You yank the earpiece out because the unfamiliarity of it is irritating the cartilage and shove it into the drawer Sam’s assigned to you for the week. When you stand from the desk, you find yourself stretching as if stepping out of a car after long ride. It feels good to walk - to stretch your legs. You nod in passing to the other secretaries. The stain glass door of your office is calling to you. The comfort of that couch is calling to you.

There’s something sitting at the foot of the door though. Something small. Something black. You walk a little bit faster and glance over your shoulder before stooping over to pick it up. It’s a can of Ebony. When you sink into the sofa and pop it open, you muse on the gesture. ... Then drink. It’s cold. But damn is it heavenly. Smooth and rich.

When you come to work the next morning, arriving an hour later than before, there’s another can waiting for you.

-END

@chocobrowritings @not-that-edgy @loonriderx

#my writing #tempus vernum #tempus vernum episode 2 #ffxv #final fantasy 15 #ignis scientia #headcanon #fanfiction

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