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parsnipspages · 3 years

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Hey Alex! I have a headcanon request! How would be the brothers and dateables react to realizing they want to marry Mc after Mc protects Luke from a Lesser demon (*Cough* beats the hell out of the demon by them self! And didn't get a scratch lol *Cough*) Thank you, stay safe and get some sleep!

TW: A mention of blood and alluded violence. This is written assuming that you have been with a specific character for a time before this. Most likely after arc 2 somewhere. This is a LONG one folks! Just over 2k words in total. GN!MC as always, with literally everyone that isn't Luke!

~~~~~

The first thing he heard was Luke shouting, the next, You shouting. His first instinct was his only thought as he threw himself into a sprint. He had to help you. To protect you from any that would bring you harm. His worry it seems, was misplaced. Arriving at the scene he found you standing over a lesser demon with your hand still curled into a fist. The last echos of a spell hung in the air and sizzled at the lessor demons unconscious face as the blood evaporated from its heat. You glanced back then, looking over to Luke, thrilled as he was that you had managed this. Then your gaze hit him. He had never loved you more.

BROTHERS Lucifer He had been ready to more or less go to war for you, but he didn't seem to need to. Lucifer was quick to chastise you for being so rash but he was practically preening from your resounding success. His dear human had come so far since the start of the exchange. After his stern words and thorough examination of your condition, he did complement your victory. Such things should be rewarded, and a dinner out with him seemed to be more than enough. Perhaps he could finally have the conversation he had been hoping to find a place for. Surely you were ready for life in the Devildom at this point, especially one by his side. He was glad now that he had already thought out that moment a thousand times, then a thousand more. The perfect dinner, the perfect speech, the perfect ring. The perfect spouse. He would have it all. Mammon The fastest of his brothers, Mammon saw you land that blow on whatever poor sap tried to touch Luke. The demon giving a pained wheeze as they hit the grass of the mall. He could barely hear the little angel celebrating behind him as he rushed up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist and his wings around your shoulders. Going on and on about how he had taught you so well. You were okay. You were more than okay! You had won! The question fell from his lips before he could even think to stop it, having been on the tip of his tongue for months. Mammon froze as his flush raced down his back, waiting to play it off as a joke if you said no. Hoping beyond hope he wouldn't have to. He had the ring in his pocket anyway, he even saved up to get that stone you liked... Leviathan Leviathan had been at school that day, somehow, though that didn't matter now. He was out of his seat as soon as he heard your aggrieved voice ringing in the air in that same tone you used to command him and his brothers with your pacts. By the time he had made it to you you were busy fussing over Luke, holding his cherubic face in your hands and looking him over with worry painting your features. He felt jealous now, if only a little, as he caught his breath and walked up behind you, wrapping his tail around your middle and nuzzling his way into the crook of your neck, mumbling everything between praise and fretting over your well-being. He never wanted to let you go again, he couldn't wait forever. Plans brewed in his mind of taking you somewhere special, maybe that beach you had liked... or maybe one of the many quiet corners of the Devildom where you two would hide away and chat the hours away... so many options. He couldn't let himself mess this up. Not this. Satan His tail lashing as he ran, Wrath itself raced down the halls as Satan came to your aid. Abandoning his book-bag in the library nothing crossed his mind as he focused solely on whatever piece of garbage had threatened his love. All of his thoughts of violence and retribution came to a crashing halt as he saw you, standing over the unconscious demon now bleeding into the grass. Luke huffed indignantly as he rushed to your side, clawed hand carefully running over your waist as he stares into your eyes looking for any hint of fear or pain. He found none, and pulled you into a kiss before smiling. He should have known better than to worry about you. Stronger than steel with nerves to match. Maybe he had been wrong when he had thought that staying with him would be too risky for you. You were the most amazing things in his world, and he was willing to do so much to keep that. He had plans to make now, and they would be perfect, just like you. Asmodeus Asmodeus wasn't usually one to be found running, let alone sprinting, yet here he found himself. His wings aiding him as he hopped over railings and ledges focusing only on reaching your side. To save you from whatever ugly low life would dare touch his darling. He didn't stop until you were in his arms, his fingers worrying at every piece of you as he babbled. He hadn't even seen the damage you had dealt to the demon, more concerned with every little hair on your pretty little head. It took a

few minutes to calm Asmo enough for him to stop preening over you before he saw what you had done. He tisk-ed as he looked over your nails and knuckles, covered in the fine dust of a magical spell. He took you then, back to his room so he could fix what you did to your lovely nails and hands. As he ran the polish back over your nails and saw the way you were watching him with that little smile on your face, he came to a realization. His hands stilled as the thought hit him, he had never wanted this before. There was always room for something new though, and you were the most welcome of changes he could imagine. Beelzebub Beelzebub had promised. That night he made his pact with you he promised to protect you, and he had already failed once before. Never again. Thankfully for him and the school buildings he was never far from your side nowadays. His demon form boiled to the surface as he sprinted to you from across the mall. Your fist slamming into the lessor demon before he had even made it to you. Their body hitting the ground as he came to a stop in front of you and Luke. He gave the angel a glance as he rubbed his knuckles and stared down at you. Your face lit up when you saw him, fist still raised as that sparkle lit your eye. Maybe you could protect yourself now, just a little. Beel frowned a bit as that now familiar warmth spread into his chest and onto his cheeks. You were so strong, and so amazing. He ignored Luke as he carefully picked you up and set to taking you to one of his favorite spots to picnic with you. A lunch date was in order after all of that, you had to be hungry right? And he had a conversation to have that would be between just the two of you. Belphegor Normally impossible to wake, Belphegor was attuned to your emotions now. His magic flowing through your shared pact telling him your emotional state at all times. Your rage had brought him back to the land of the wakeful, jumping from his nap spot near a heat register to run to you. Though when he arrived he had to laugh as he saw that lesser demon sprawled out stupidly on the grass. He could smell your magic on the air, the delicate spice of it tickling his nose as he sauntered up to you and tapped you on the head with his bushy tail tip. Look at that. You made him run all the way over here and for what? Nothing. Now you owed him a nap session, no fighting it. His fingers laced into yours as he lead you away from Luke, ignoring the chihuahua as he yapped away. His yawn covering his smile as he looked at you. You were stronger now, he knew that. Maybe now you would be comfortable to stay with him. He had a question or two, and he desperately needed your reply. ~~NOW DATABLES~~ Diavolo Diavolos' thoughts were twofold as he ran to you. One, his mind desperately clinging to the hope that you were okay. Two, what student at his school was getting expelled for aggrieving that which was his. He almost ran into you as he came upon the mall, shocked for a moment to see your raised fist and the felled demon below you as Luke cheered for your victorious actions and quick thinking. Diavolo could feel the familiar hiss of your magic on the air and he carefully placed a hand onto your shoulder, asking quietly what had happened. He was shocked to find that you were defending Luke in much the same way as he had intended to defend you. His warm smile spread across his face as he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles. Another thing to add to his list of reasons for loving you. Another reason to propose the idea of letting the public know he had found someone he wanted to officially court. He could almost see the looks on the elders faces when they found out, and he couldn't wait to have your permission to announce that much to them. Barbatos You would have thought that Barbatos would have seen this coming with his powers long ago. Alas he had promised both himself and you that he would let you have the surprise and the enjoyment of your time together without the careful pruning of timelines. You had said that the little mistakes kept things

interesting. A fistfight on the mall was not a little mistake. Neither you or Luke were quite sure when he had arrived, nor how he got there. His gloved hands ran over your knuckles as he stood between you and the cretin who had dared threaten both you and Luke alike. Not only his love, but the angel boy he cared so much for. Before long the lesser demon was dragged away and you found yourself in the kitchen watching the two bake away. Barbatos letting Luke do much of the work as he thought on his feelings from the day. He couldn't bare to let anyone bring you harm or forbid lose you to another. Maybe a little dip into human tradition was in order. Simeon The angel had left you and Luke only momentarily to run back to a classroom and grab a couple of forgotten notes. Simeon was stressing already when he heard Luke yelling, that feeling boiling over into borderline panic as your voice joined his. Notes forgotten once again he ran back to the mall. His heels deafeningly loud on the stone as his mind raced. Coming around the corner he saw the demon on the ground bleeding. Your magic hanging languidly in the air. You with your hand on Luke's' back as you lead him away from the scene. The smaller angel babbling on about how you had showed that demon what was what. His hand fell over his chest as he let out a breath and jogged to the two of you. Simeons arm wrapping carefully around your shoulders as his other hand found your arm. He had thought he had the will to fight the urge to make you his. To save himself and luke the possible consequences. But seeing you defending the boy. Seeing you doing what you thought was right by your family. He knew that those consequences didn't matter, you were more than they would ever be. Solomon Solomon wasn't typically one for worrying. He knew that you had your pacts to keep you safe and beyond that you had the spells he had been teaching you. He couldn't help but worry though, as he heard your shouts and Luke's and the distinct crackle of a force spell being cast. A recent addition to your arsenal and you were already having to use it. He came to you as fast as he could, stopping the reaction he had been brewing safely before coming to you. The lessor demon was standing by that time, rubbing their jaw as they stood and wincing at the burns from your spell. Solomon found you sitting with Luke and Simeon at a bench as you regaled the tale to Simeon. He leaned against the wall beside you as you spoke and he waited. He waited for Simeon to meet his eye and take Luke away to Purgatory hall. He waited for the brothers to say their goodbyes for the evening. He had waited for over a month already, and tonight he would stop holding back. He was allowed to be happy, and so were you.

#Anonymous #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me luke #obey me MC #obey me HC #obey me Headcanons #parsnips printings #Headcanon heresy

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capsized-heart · 4 years

Text

l’ incendie

Pairing: Hal x Reader

Summary: You grew up as witness to the atrocities committed under the British crown. Lord Grey is your father and newly pledged councilman of the royal court. Now, England has a new boy king, one who is set on keeping peace in Europe. You are determined to see England burn, even if it means corrupting the lionhearted boy of Eastcheap.

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: explicit smut, strong violence, sacrilegious imagery a blowjob in a chapel lmao

A/N: l’ incendie ; French translation for fire

..so..I watched The King back in November and have had this idea in my brain for the past 2 months now?? It literally consumed me. All throughout my last few weeks of classes and final papers, this is honestly all I could think about, like I’ve been bumping the soundtrack and rewatching the film to plan this, I looked at Lord Grey’s true lineage (he aint Scottish btw I made that up..but he really was related to King Edward lol).......I’ve just had to get this out of me for so. long. and I’m so happy that I finally have! It feels like this huge weight is gone, but I’ve enjoyed this creative process so much, like it’s so exciting when you hyper-fixate find a new piece of media that you enjoy so much that you dive completely and utterly into everything about it that you can get your hands on, and this is my piece for this!

And my boy Timmy?? Had no fucking clue who this guy was before I saw the film, now I’m writing fics about him a;sdkfjskj but you’re here reading this so. we’re both guilty.

I love story arcs like this where you see a character’s slow descent into corruption and having it revealed that someone was talking in their ear the whole time....i eat that shit right up. Reader’s character is heavily inspired by Lady Macbeth. Using wiles, using sex, etc. Ooh baby. I had fun with this.

gif credit to @michonnegrimes

Scotland was once your true home. Moors, lochs, rugged mountains, biting cold, all. You remember the endless mist and gloom, the wet winters of your childhood that made the creaking wood of your cottage whistle and moan. Summers were warm and mild and the highlands bursting with rich green and sunlight, running through fragrant fields of heathers, bluebells, myrtle with your skirts damp with dew, shrieking and choking on laughter as your older brother, Callum, chased you all throughout your little village of Kirkcaldy. Laughing himself, grabbing at you and wrestling you down into the mud, blossoms, and river water.

“Yield! Yield to the English crown or perish, wretched witch!” Callum would boom in mock play, tickling your sides until you’re gasping for air and tears stung your eyes.

“Aye! I yield!”

“What? You mad girl! Take it back! We are Scots!”

And then Callum would descend on you with all the wrath of England and you’d be howling with giggles and screams.

Returning home at nightfall smelling of wind and rain with vibrant wildflowers tangled in your hair and dirt streaking the skin of your cheeks, still plump with baby fat. Scarce food, but stomach full of adventure and blissful naivete. You were happy.

Your father would scold you promptly before his voice would soften a touch, smoothing back your hair from your face. Round, curious eyes and missing teeth. A feral, untamed child.

Daughter of Lord Thomas Grey. His precious girl. So much of your mother in you, the same fight, the same spark and love for life. Until you had ripped her body from the inside out and she had lost too much blood, the wet nurses unable to stop the bleeding and she had given her last breath cradling you lovingly against her naked chest.

You had killed your own mother.

In your early years, Callum and your father gave you nothing but warmth and protection, the sole surviving daughter of Grey lineage. But a child can only be sheltered for so long. Your world is a man’s world. Your country is no stranger to bloodshed.

The Anglo-Scottish Wars have endured for as long as you can remember, rebel leaders beaten down by English captains and more Christian blood staining the lush lowlands with every day. Robert the Bruce. Percy Hotspur. Blood all the same.

You are bleak, wild, uncivilized in the eyes of the English.

It’s all your people have ever known. Weary, resilient Scotland.

You have no memory of your mother, your earliest memory being the image of William Wallace’s torso strung up in the village square and the ensuing riots that had truly put the fear of God in you, mounted soldiers and civilians clashing in a fury of slick, gory steel, longswords and blacksmith daggers, a fear so raw and primal it struck you frozen and you’d soiled yourself in the midst of chaos. Callum had grabbed you and raced the four miles home as you bellowed atop his back with great, ugly heaves, snot and tears dribbling down your chin.

You didn’t need to understand the politics of rebellion or Wallace’s stake in it all to understand a massacre.

You have no memory of your mother, only murder in the name of the English king.

But you’ve learned to nurture that little glowing kernel of survival, of the fighting spirit and grit inside you that had evidently cost your mother her life. You’ve kindled it, watched it ignite with every passing year of war, your body flourishing into the figure of a young woman with embers in her soul. A stable simmering of flushed coals beneath your skin, glistening in the pools of your irises, ready to flare up and burn all you touch should you choose to.

You feel it now as a jostling carriage takes you to Northumberland, England. You sit quietly, watching the hills of Scotland tremble by, eyes hungrily drinking up as much of its strong landscape as you can.

Your father and brother have already gone ahead to England to make arrangements for Callum’s recent engagement to Isabel, Countess of Essex and only daughter of the Earl of Cambridge. You are reuniting after a lonely week, perhaps your last, to ever see your homeland.

Callum’s betrothal didn’t come as much of a surprise, rather, you’ve been counting down the days until your village lifestyle was doomed for inevitable change; for years, your father has been preparing the two of you for noble life outside of Scotland. Son and daughter subjected to the arts of chivalry, proper etiquette, gentility. The best that your little village could accommodate.

Your father and his maternal ancestry have interestingly long influenced the English courts, as his title of Lord would suggest. Through his grandmother’s side, you are distant descendants of Margaret, Duchess of Norfolk.

King Edward himself. Now cold and buried in London’s Westminster Abbey.

The coals jump, flames twisting at the idea of relatives long dead sitting idly on the opportunity and resources for a coup d'etat, instead choosing to line their own pockets and watch your country crumble from the comfort of their English estates.

The carnage and murder of monarchy feel that much more personal to you.

With your brother’s new marriage, Callum will acquire lordship and be gifted property in Essex. Your father will be secured a seat in the king’s council. You will be given rooms and hospitality in the castle as a noblewoman available for marriage. As Lady Grey.

A lick of fire coils up your throat.

God save the king.

The switch cracks so hard against the skin of your knuckles that your lip draws blood when you bite back a scream. Pain diffuses up your arm in fractured, ringing jolts and your eyes flood with hot tears. You hazard a look at where an angry welt has already started to flush, red and pulsing on the back of your hand.

“Again.” Says Miss Hunt.

Your gaze falls to the open manuscript in front of you, to the passage that you’ve rehearsed aloud for the past two hours. Your tongue works nervously in your mouth, swallowing. Sweat glistens your brow. You think you may even be trembling.

You draw in a quick breath and begin again:

“Time and tide wait for no man.

The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.

People can die of mere imagination.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche-”

Another crack and this time you can’t restrain the cry that leaves you. You blink back the heat blurring your vision, set your jaw when Miss Hunt clasps her hands coldly behind her back and looks down at you over her hooked nose.

“Your voiced consonants are absolutely horrid, girl. Don’t close up your mouth. If you are to perfect the King’s English, you are to completely forget that savage dialect before I cut out your tongue. Am I understood?”

Miss Hunt gives you a smart swat to your cheek.

You nod quickly.

Another stinging swat.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Hunt.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel, granting you a few precious moments of quiet, of rest. Afternoon light filters into the chamber in dusty, silvered shafts, hueing the book’s pages in a drab of diluted grey. The inked words of Chaucer bleed back up at you as you settle your breathing.

This English sits like gravel in your mouth, low and rough and choking up your throat. Sharply iambic, as if everyone is talking down to the other.

England’s English sounds slow and stupid.

You wonder if Callum had this much trouble mastering the accent. You wonder if Callum, as a Lord, has ever been slashed with a switch.

Since your arrival to England and for the better part of a year, Miss Hunt has dissected every syllable of your speech through bodily punishment and repetition, ripped out any trace of Gaelic, any remaining trace of Scotland on your tongue and sutured it back together with mouthfuls of Chaucer and pompous, exaggerated vowels.

But pain, degradation, and humiliation are wonderful motivators. And to your horror, it has worked.

Your father recently introduced you to a few councilmen out of courtesy and as the sister of the soon to be Lord Grey of Essex. You politely discussed politics, entertained banter and jests of marriage proposals. None questioned your status as an English noblewoman.

Masquerading with voice and poise.

But that hasn’t stopped your secret, unseen resistance.

Miss Hunt may have taken your language and cadence, but her practices have only shown you the true powers of speech, knowledge, shown you just how intimidated and afraid all of England is of the bold north, of any European empire threatening its legitimacy.

A cowering dog with raised hackles and snapping teeth, but only so out of mad fear.

The harder Miss Hunt pushes, the deeper you dig into your own studies. By day, you are her sole pupil. By night, by candlelight, you are the pupil of Cicero, studying rhetoric and the power of spoken influence. You’ve also begun to study French as a means to bolster your wiles and mental arsenal.

You are already a so-called savage by blood. Learning the language of England’s arch rival will do nothing to hurt your reputation.

You feel a bead of sweat slide down the base of your spine as the switch swishes impatiently in Miss Hunt’s clutches. Oral recitation and the simultaneous reduction of your accent demands every ounce of your concentration. You know already that if you are hit again, the skin will break and you’ll only be reprimanded harder. Miss Hunt is sadistic and cold with her beady eyes and that ugly high starched collar.

“Again.” Her voice clips evenly.

So, you inhale a strong, supportive breath and begin again, pushing down the smolder in your chest.

The day of the wedding is cloudless and full of sunshine, a rarity for England. Callum has been bustling about the chapel’s back rooms in nervous energy all morning, fixing his hair and dress shirt over and over. You send your father to go and calm him down as you tend to Isabel, shooing him away quickly so your father’s mirrored jitters won’t affect her before the start of the ceremony. She gives you a small smile of thanks.

Isabel looks beautiful sitting in front of the mirror as her maids finish arranging her hair. Back straight as a board, plump lips and cheeks the color of a rosy, coral pink. You help to pull the veil over her face and the thin fabric does nothing to mute her radiance.

You see the flickering range of emotions in her eyes as she sees her own reflection. The life that all women are fated to live. Her last moments of true freedom, uncertainty for the future, and that small, significant trickle of vanity at having a perfect day of her own.

You see it all. After all, you are a woman.

She relaxes a bit when you lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her gaze finds yours in the mirror.

“You and I will soon be sisters,” she laughs softly. You give her a pleasant smile.

“I would want nothing more.”

Her throat works as she swallows tears, gives you another radiant laugh. “Someday, you will be sitting here, too.”

The truth of her words causes your smile to weaken, but you quickly hide it by busying yourself with her skirts and lace. Your world is a man’s world, even outside of war-torn Scotland. One man’s world, to be exact.

King Henry IV.

“And I expect you, my dear Isabel, to be at my side when that day comes.” You say to her. She nods kindly.

Your brother and Isabel are married a few hours later beneath the rainbowed, iridescent wash of stained glass and chiming church bells. And as the newly wed couple beam at you and their close company of friends and family, as you see Callum hold his wife proudly on his arm, you think that the bride and groom may truly love each other despite their arranged marriage. The possibility of such a happiness makes you grin wide and the familiar coals to simmer down ever so slightly.

The reception then moves to the chapel’s outdoor gardens. Ornately trimmed hedges, chirping birdsong, bubbling marble fountains, and the sweet fragrance of daisies and roses perfume the budding spring air.

The sun is warm on your skin, the air brisk and comfortable. You keep your fur lined mantle draped around your shoulders, your embroidered sleeves catching hints of daylight, the jeweled metalwork glittering about your waist. And with your hair twisted with ribbon and pinned back with a light linen caul, even Isabel herself murmurs that you look as refreshing and incandescent as the flowers surrounding you. You smile back teasingly, whisper that no one could possibly compare to the blushing bride.

As sister of the groom, you mingle politely, accepting congratulations and kind regards.

You see familiar faces, lords and fellow council members alike, and some of those not yet well acquainted. You meet Cambridge, Isabel’s father and a bird of a man. Gangly limbs and a flittering that accompanies his quick movements, but cordial and gentle. He tells you the union of your families will be prosperous, benign. You agree.

Then, Cambridge is pulled aside by a young man. Cambridge seems to recognize him instantly and clasps him into an embrace, chuckling heartily.

“Hal! You made it!” he exclaims. The two talk together briefly before the young man turns to you.

He’s tall and lean, broad chested with sloping shoulders. The angular planes of his face are undeniably handsome, a strong nose, full dark lashes and brows that frame his bold complexion. Black, unkempt curls and soft, hooded green eyes that hold an undertone of vigor, like his very gaze has commanded attention his entire life. They flicker over you quickly, as if you’d imagined it yourself, a trick of the light.

You don’t miss the way they linger at the exposed dip of your neckline, however.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He then asks of Cambridge, his voice a soft murmur and his eyes never leave you.

Cambridge looks quickly between the two of you, as if acknowledging your presence again for the first time since this young man’s interruption. He burns bright red, stammering, then gestures to the stranger beside him.

“Of course. My lady, may I present my cousin, Henry. Prince of Wales.”

The suddenness and sheer absurdity of it all almost makes you burst out in laughter.

Cousin? King Henry IV’s eldest son is the cousin of your father-in-law?

With this marriage, you realize your family is now tied to the most powerful family in all of Britain. Yet, no one in the wedding party seems to have even acknowledged the presence of the boy prince dressed simply in dark cloak and tunic.

And then you remember. Prince Hal is a drunk, a dangerous playboy from Eastcheap. His claim to the throne is as illegitimate as the probable dozens of children from his bedded girls.

And asking for a formal introduction from his cousin? It’s utterly laughable, pathetic even.

Hal’s gaze is unwanted, skin prickling from where his eyes trace the curve of your chest in a way that makes you feel vile.

So, you wet your lips, pretend to wordlessly accept his flirtations and give him a slow flutter of your lashes. The reaction he so craves from you as his chin tilts back in delight, hungry to see more.

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” Your words drip with venom. Flowery girl with a serpent’s sharp tongue.

The barb makes Hal’s features tick in surprise, shock before settling back into a cool demeanor.

“Then you’ve heard of me.”

Your mask of amour stays firmly in place.

“It is hard to be deaf against such defamatory gossip.”

Hal hums softly with a hint of a smile, breaking his gaze to look out over the reception, ego obviously bruised. Cambridge goes pale as a sheet.

Isabel suddenly swoops in with the apology of wanting to introduce her father to a newly arrived guest and excuses him, hauling him away by the arm. Cambridge looks relieved to go.

And then it’s just the two of you beneath the halo of rose-tinted light.

“Beautiful ceremony.” He says simply. Hal is incredibly soft spoken for a prince and you find yourself unconsciously leaning in to hear him speak. Part of the intimate charm that makes him so alluring to women, you think. A whispered promise only for you.

“I thank you, sire.”

He takes a step forward. It startles you, enough for him to crowd you against the garden trellis wall. Ivy and lavender press into your back, dancing in the same breeze that peppers goosebumps down your spine. You shiver softly. Hal steps closer.

“I pray this is not the last of today’s festivities?” His words ghost over your throat, tickling the shell of your ear.

“No, sire. There will be a dinner tonight,” you reply just as quietly. You understand the game perfectly because it is the same one you have been playing your whole life. You indulge him, fire sparkling behind your fluttering eyelashes. “Surely your cousin will be expecting your attendance.”

Hal leans over you, hair tickling your face, green eyes glimmering. Up close, you see that freckles and beauty marks dot his skin. “I’m sure he will.”

You think you see him incline his head as though to kiss you. For a moment, you’re frozen, entranced.

You turn your cheek and his lips brush your temple. He hesitates with a low chuckle, keeping his close proximity.

“Then, I will see you tonight, my lord.” You whisper. Your fingers graze his arms as you sidle out of his reach. You can feel his eyes on you as you go and rejoin the other guests.

You leave him burning.

The tavern teems with merriment and the sound of fiddle, fife, and drum. You feast on broiled meats, roasted potatoes, greens, sweet breads and cakes until your stomach is full to bursting.

The glow of candlelight is lush and sensual, throwing shadows over the faces that only hours before you had shared with in prayer and communion in the church of God. Now, every attendant indulges in debauchery.

You’re drunk, blood pounding with mulled wine and spiced ale and cider. Pleasantly warm and head swimming, watching Callum and Isabel and friends and family dance about the room as if possessed, twirling in swirls of colored fabric that make you laugh and clap along in breathless euphoria.

You catch a glance of a figure standing in the doorway. You see the motion of a glass moving to lips, throat working to swallow drink. When the glass falls, you lock eyes with Hal.

You beckon him forth with a crooked finger. He grins wickedly and sets down his cup.

Despite the obvious wine in him, his steps towards you are sure and true and his hands feel good against you when they caress your waist, pull you against him.

You play coy and twist out of his arms. He groans.

He follows you like a dog until you’re in the midst of spinning bodies and then you turn to him. Giving him the permission to finally touch you.

His eyes ignite. He splays a hand on the middle of your back, perfect pressure, authoritative, the other gripping you tight and then you’re both cackling with drunken mischief as he guides the two of you across the creaking wooden floor.

You let him support you, lean against his chest, enjoying the sensation of being held so close. The thrill of feeling wanted.

Even if it is all a charade.

The strings and beat of thumping drums careen to a crescendo that has the entire tavern whooping and hollering in delight. You break apart from Hal to join in as the music flows through your limbs, absolutely enchanted, throwing back your head like that feral child from girlhood.

Hal looks just as wild, the rumored wayward prince. Long, dark locks falling in his eyes, tunic unbuttoned and disheveled. Light and shadow dancing across his face in a manner that makes him look devilish.

He pushes a glittering goblet into your hands, eases his strong fingers around your own to help bring it to your lips. You see the unmistakable red slosh of wine and wordlessly drink. He watches you tip back the goblet, watches rubied jewels of crimson spill down the sides of your mouth and down the skin of your throat.

“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” He cooes.

The flames feel desperately hot, flushing your skin and cheeks, burning bright behind your lips. Or perhaps it's the alcohol? Or the prince’s wandering touch that now seems to be cupping your breast, tongue lapping at the trails of wine…

The heat is suddenly too much and you push away to a secluded corner filled with empty tables to catch your breath. Hal slumps beside you. His head lolls, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw and his weight feels comfortable against your side.

You don’t know what comes over you. Perhaps you truly are possessed.

You turn into him and then your hand is reaching between his thighs.

Hal exhales sharply in your ear. You harden your touch, feel him widen his stance to accommodate you. He braces an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the space of the wooden bench as your fingers slip below the waistband of his trousers.

He gives a strangled sigh when you grip him tight and begin to coil your hand. His head lolls once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat. You feel your own breath quicken, feel yourself getting excited.

You mesh your other hand into his curls and pull him closer, press your body flush against his. Hal moans, keening, his arm now around your waist. You shush him quietly, tightening the hold in his hair.

To any patron, you look as though you’re only consoling a drunken boy, simply talking in the muted light. The shadows hide you both but the flames shine in your eyes.

“Enjoying the festivities, my lord?” You sigh into his cheek.

“Please don’t stop..” Hal whimpers.

You chuckle through a half-lidded gaze and work him harder. It’s delicious, erotic.

You hold all power, all of England in your delicate grip.

You watch his mouth fall open, dark brows furrowing, feel him tense against you before the eldest son to the crown spills himself onto your fevered palm with a sharp gasp, chest heaving.

“Good boy..” you murmur with a cheshire smile, running your fingers soothingly down the line of his jaw. Hal shudders with aftershocks, eyes closed, forehead glistening with sweat.

Before he can attempt to try and reciprocate the favor, you wipe your hand on his cloak and stand to fetch another drink.

You avoid Hal afterwards and don’t see him again for the remainder of the night. You think he must have gone home with another girl to satisfy himself and it makes you smile knowing you are responsible for laying that trap, for letting him taste pleasure, driving his desperation and taking it all away just as easily.

Your brother and Isabel spend their honeymoon in London before returning to her home in Essex. They write to you, informing of their safe arrival at the new estate and that you will have to come visit in the very near future. It warms your heart. You already miss them terribly.

Soon after, your father is awarded the scarlet, fur-trimmed peerage robes of the House of Lords and with your new rank, you experience the privilege of wealth for the first time.

Rich foods, dresses and flowing silk skirts, cosmetics, more books and manuscripts than you can imagine. You glow with health, beauty, pride, and sharpened wit.

But you have not forgotten your burning flame. Aided by money and status, your little light only grows stronger.

King Henry IV dies of sickness on a warm March morning. It had only been a matter of time, the stubborn man had been calling your father and the other lords to his bedside for the past several months to continue to discuss the politics of his own wars. In his dying breath, Henry IV saw that his empire had fallen to civil strife.

Court and kingdom are called to witness the coronation procession and as you stand with the lords and ladies of the crown inside Westminster Abbey, inside the church containing the tomb of your distant descendant King Edward and the generations of his forefathers, the same Gothic abbey where British monarchs have turned men into rulers and tyrants, you watch the archbishop anoint Prince Henry of Wales with holy oil.

His curls have been trimmed clean, his bare skin and body presented to be blessed with the sign of the cross. All old ritual, old prayer and Latin incantations that have been performed for over a thousand years.

So what is a new boy to wear the crown?

Beneath the arched stone cloisters, baptized in the sunlit streams of stained glass, you watch that same ceremony unfold again with burning heart. And harmonized by the tolling of bells, Hal is dressed in royal robes, regalia, scepter and all, shedding the title of prince as you all pledge homage to your new King of England.

“All hail King Henry.” The archbishop calls out to clergy, God, and country.

“King Henry!”

Neither you nor Hal feel the heat of embarrassment when the court is ushered into the dining chamber and you meet again in candle and firelight. The feast is an intimate setting, shared by the company of Hal’s new council, clergymen, and close family. Your father is seated alongside Cambridge, Chief Justice William Gascoigne, and the archbishop; even his sister, Queen Phillipa of Denmark, is in attendance.

Hal’s appearance and demeanor is surprising to you.

He looks striking, handsome as ever in his new robes and you can sense that familiar aire of charisma and confidence you remember from the wedding as Lord Chamberlain presents gifts from the monarchs of the world. A jeweled vase from King Wenceslas of Bohemia, a trinket of a mechanical bird from the Doge of Venice. Hal is jovial, good humored and merry.

The presence of his cousin and sister seems to comfort him greatly. And rightfully so, considering he now sits on the throne of his dead father. Dead as well is the alter ego of the delinquent prince.

Like a spoilt child opening wrapped packages at Christmas. The privilege of royal blood.

When the final trunk is presented, a gift from the Dauphin, you quite nearly let out a low snicker.

A ball for the boy king.

You see Hal hesitate before picking it up and the silence throughout the chamber is long, uncomfortable. The entire court seems to be holding its breath. Yet, you know there is an aspect of truth to the Dauphin’s gesture.

A boy indeed. You recall Hal’s touch and him gasping into your neck, his muffled begging, how quickly he had finished in your hand…

Then, the cool magnetism returns to his features. He locks eyes with you and you wonder if he is thinking of the same moment. You are both proud challengers, wielders of personal charm.

You wonder how long it will take to break him completely.

There’s a glimmer in his gaze you think to be from the blazing hearth as he tosses the ball once against the chamber’s stone wall, then catches it deftly with youthful poise.

After the coronation dinner, the court is dismissed and you find yourself to be one of the last remaining patrons as guests trickle out into the adjacent hallways and disperse through the rest of the castle. You deliberately hang back, watching your father, Cambridge, Phillipa, and William slip through the doors, slowing your step so that Hal can catch sight of you.

“Lady Grey,” you hear. His voice is galant, hushed with that same temptation of seductive promise. With your back still facing him, you can’t help but smirk.

You feign surprise and turn.

“Yes, my lord?”

Hal beckons to where he stands by the fireside. You gather your skirts and join him in the welcoming nimbus of light and warmth. When you bend to curtesy, his fingers find your chin, tilting your eyes to his own and forcing you to rise to your feet.

“None of that is necessary, my dear,” he whispers. He keeps your face cradled between thumb and forefinger, a delicate pressure, one that makes you feel precious as he holds you close. “Tell me, did you enjoy tonight?”

“Immensely.” You smile. Indeed, you have. The Dauphin might as well have spoken on your own behalf.

Hal hums, pleased. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, then eases in between the petals of your pink lips. You purse them ever so slightly and watch his self-control start to simmer. The candles burn low around the two of you, the only source of light emanating from the hearth itself. You are reminded of how the shadows flickered on the planes of his face the night of the wedding. Now, you see the same shadows again, but as king.

“I want you to have something.” He says finally.

He looks reluctant to break his touch from you, but you see his hand disappear within the folds of his robes. He then produces a glittering pendant with a golden chain, a necklace that looks ablaze.

Amber, you realize.

The surprise that crosses your features is genuine. Baltic amber set into teardrop sterling silver and gold, a gift from Rupert of the Palatinate and the kingdom of Germany. An extraordinary piece.

Hal’s hand finds your waist and you turn to offer him your bare neck, pulse pounding. You have no say, no power to even deny this token of affection.

His caresses against your skin as he fastens the chain are soft and featherlike and you can feel his breath on the top of your spine. The pendant is heavy, rich with precious stone and gilded metal, settling between the valley of your breasts. It feels cold, but shines like an inferno.

He lingers, tracing your shoulders when his mouth presses to your ear.

“Turn. Let me look at you properly.”

When you do, the weight of Germany itself, of foreign and fallen kingdoms and countries, conquered and pillaged and burned, simultaneously settles between the tender skin of your sternum.

Hal’s eyes cloud with dark delight when he sees the flaming amber. He takes your chin back in hand, angling your face every which way, studying how the firelight glints off the pendant with a sensual curiosity.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs.

Your body begins to react on its own accord, chest rising and falling with faster breaths, your cheeks blooming.

“I thank you, my lord.”

Still cradling your jaw, he brings himself closer with only a whisper between the two of you. His crimson robes seem to swallow you completely, like the gaping maw of Britain’s lion, a mantle of blood. He speaks into the gap between your mouths, yet you feel every word upon your lips.

“With this gift, I expect to see you more around my court, Lady Grey. Am I understood?”

The tension he commands is unbearable. He watches you carefully, dark eyelashes fluttering. Trapped like a pinned butterfly. Then, you understand he’s waiting for a verbal response.

“Yes, my lord.”

He releases you.

The pendant suddenly feels more like a collar.

You’ve underestimated Hal. He is just as much the player as you.

You keep your promise. You see Hal daily in passing, often dressed in full regal attire as he comes from the council chambers, your father, William, and the rest of his train tailing close behind. The twinkle in his eye when he sees you is discreet, reserved only for you. The amber pendant remains fastened around your neck at all hours of the day, even while you sleep and bathe, like fire and ice between your breasts. A piece of Hal always with you.

The two of you are a queer, twisted pair of sweethearts. You’ve yet to be fully intimate since that wedding night, but the pressure that ripples with every fleeting glance, every grazing touch of lips and skin is enough to prove your attraction for each other. Or rather, the attraction to the game.

You keep Hal on his toes, never fully give in even when he invites you out for evening strolls in the palace gardens and the safety of darkness envelops you both. It is your nightly ritual to walk the grounds together amongst hushed breezes and chirping crickets, you as a means to unwind before bed, and a way for Hal to clear his mind of the day’s tolling demands.

And tolling they are. Despite his bravado, he is easily irritable, tense. You listen when he speaks to you plainly about his frustrations for the court and archbishop, how they all expect from him the same swift retaliation of his father.

You find Hal’s consciousness of this want to break tyranny quite curious. Sons are typical to idolize their fathers and see past faults. It is why you know how cruel kingship has endured in Britain for generations; learned behaviors become expected and change more difficult. You’ve even seen that same behavior in your own brother.

And Hal’s trust in disclosing even this to you is telling. The thread to unravel the boy king.

Tonight, you dare to pull at it, heighten your girlish wiles and offer him a lingering kiss and soft words. You tell him that Christendom is damned and tease that it’s his own fault his council is made up entirely of old, graying men, your father included, when he could have anyone else.

Hal’s spirits seem to lift a little with a ghost of a smile, understanding you perfectly as his arm snakes around your waist. He pulls you into a secluded labyrinth and settles into the stone seat of a fountain, pulls you atop his lap. The kiss he returns is fierce.

Without the burn of alcohol to subdue your senses, every touch is intensified tenfold. Hal feels it too, his breath coming ragged as he breaks the kiss to mouth down the skin of your neck, the dip of your collarbone, your chest. His hands wander beneath your skirts.

“It is only polite that I return the favor..” You hear him say.

Your mind is reeling. You knew this moment would eventually come, yet you feel ill-prepared when his fingers brush your core, his other hand gripping the back of your neck. You gasp, finding his lips in another tangled kiss, straddle him completely.

It’s strange, exhilarating to be on the receiving end of your little game.

If you are to truly break Hal, you are to first make him believe that he holds any sort of power over you, to reverse that dynamic you had set the night of your brother’s wedding.

You are to let him touch you.

And like the flaming sword of Raphael, Hal’s pendant, it is time to finally draw upon your fire.

You hate how good Hal is at this. He knows just where to caress inside you, the right amount of pressure, the weak spots at your throat and just below your ear. Your competitiveness takes over and you push him back against the fountain, start to circle your hips, grind yourself down on his hand and grip at the rich fabric of his tunic to better anchor yourself.

His eyes pool with lust with every sigh from your lips, watching you closely. He rolls his thumb, picks up the tempo of his fingers, relishing the sight of you slowly falling apart on top of him.

But it isn’t enough. You lean in and wrap your arms around his neck. He responds in tandem, gathering you close as you rock against him, the friction of his thighs sending you closer and closer to that threshold of pleasure.

“Please..I need t-to…” you whisper into his neck, into his mouth.

Words of magic. Hal’s expression flares with masculine pride, the delight of pleasing a woman.

The last of the day’s golden hour spills over you both in glowing, peached splendor and with the sound of the fountain’s rushing water as your only witness, you muffle your final moan with a desperate kiss, bliss pulsing behind your eyelids. Hal keeps his fingers where they are, coaxing the last waves of your orgasm out of you, cradling your chin with his other hand as his lips part yours, slipping tongue as you come floating back down to earth.

You’re dazed, flushed, lazily kissing when he removes his fingers. Slick when you suck them into your mouth and taste yourself. The velvet of your tongue makes him shiver.

“Now, what ever are we going to do about your council, my lord?” You murmur once you catch your breath. You gently kiss his fingertips.

Hal only smirks and pulls you to him.

Your plan begins to take motion. With each passing month, you worm your way deeper into Hal’s heart with honeyed words and empty promises. He confides in you more and more as he grows wary of his councilmen, trusting only the pretty face he sees in the privacy of his bedchamber each night. Graced against silk pillows.

You sense the crushing pressure upon him, his own doubts and fears. You slowly leech away his magnetism, his charisma, and take it for yourself. His eyes dim, harden with resolve. Gone is the assurance for peace. Hal instead grows cold, timid, questioning his every move.

You only burn brighter.

There is talk that a French assassin has breached the castle.

You hear the conversation for yourself when your father and William are called down to the dungeons, hear Hal speaking directly to this assassin as you linger at the top of the stone staircase.

“Qui êtes vous?”

“J'ai été envoyé par le roi de France pour vous assassiner.”

Hal’s voice is cool, calm as he pries for details. The assassin’s responses are noticeably vague. You infer it to be out of his own self interest.

Then, nothing. Days go by with no direct action from Hal.

You grind your teeth. War with France would be the perfect fruition of your schemes, the final act in a tragedy deemed to be an epic of British monarchy. War with France would show Europe and the rest of the world the extortion and murder of the English crown; not that these neighboring countries needed such a reminder. But England and her king have been blind for too long.

Previous attempts at quelling war had caused Percy Hotspur to rebel, Prince Thomas of Lancaster to push on and die alone on foreign soil.

Is Hal not trying to prove himself in this same way? Proving he is not like his father? Just as Thomas had wished for his peers to see him as a commander and better equipped to bear the crown despite being the youngest son, is Hal not guilty of this same charge of public approval?

And having the privilege to sit idly atop a throne amidst all this makes your blood boil. Idleness is instability, you’ve learned this years ago.

You will be the one to push Hal to war.

You are sewing one afternoon in an empty chamber when the strained voices of your father, Cambridge, and William reach your ears. Hushed and argumentative, it draws you to your feet, possesses you to lean against the frame of the door and just out of sight.

You hear the disgust in your father’s tone when he speaks of the king. The weakness in forgiving France, the lunacy of Hal’s ascension. It amazes you, grips you tight at hearing such passion and loathing; you’ve never heard your father speak this way about anyone, let alone the head of England’s monarchy. Slander and defamation carry swift punishment.

You learn that he and Cambridge have been approached by French agents. The three men debate quietly as you stand against the door, nearly panting. A coup d'etat? The idea excites you more than it should. But you perish the thought quickly before you can get ahead of yourself.

Why only approach the two of them? Surely to turn England’s people against their ruler, a greater number of conspirators would prove to be more efficient? You know distrust is not uncommon among Hal’s council, so possible traitors would not be hard to find.

This approach means your father and Cambridge have been judged weak in character by the French. Insecure, lacking, most likely to bend at the knee for candied prospects in exchange for loyalty.

And now as you eavesdrop on your own father, you know Lord Grey does not have faith behind his king and is too afraid to do anything with it. You know that if you had not gathered this knowledge for yourself, you would never have been told so, unseen as all women are expected to be.

These French agents and councilmen think they hold all power with their debates and their meetings in private, oblivious to the fact that it is women who move the world. Women like you, wielding their very sex to push these men as pawns.

Are men not born into this world by women? Do men not seek a woman’s tender embrace for love and comfort and to carry on long, unbroken lineages of royal blood?

Your own father, as all his peers, are blind to the influence you bear over Hal. Even Hal himself.

You find yourself in the king’s private quarters one cold night, sitting in front of the hearth and watching the crackling, shimmering flames that warm the room. The soft silence is comforting to you as you sit bathed in orange glow, wrapped in furs and waiting for Hal’s return.

Your mind wanders. You think of the French assassin still held captive in the dungeons beneath your feet, how the man had been granted asylum in exchange for a confession.

“Quel était le l'ordre?”

“Que je devrais tuer le roi d'Angleterre.”

And with the French approaching Cambridge and your father, it is certain, undeniable that tension is thick and stakes high for all of England.

You are standing on the very brink of war, standing flush at the edge of a swallowing cliffside with dragging winds and dark, inky waters swirling beneath you down below. Waiting to embrace you, like the jagged shores of St Kilda, the northern shores of Scotland. Calling you home like a siren’s song.

And Hal only needs one final pull before you both fall together.

The chamber door opens and the king steps inside. His presence is stormy, like a cold wind blowing into the room.

He’s dressed handsomely in a navy tunic and dress shirt, a mantle that drapes over his burdened shoulders. Yet, his hair is mussed and disheveled and you can see the tightness around his eyes. His once youthful glow now gone, but a sharpness to him that you think resembles a pike; diligent, wary, and still capable of hurting you if you’re not careful.

You pretend to quickly wipe away tears before you stand to greet him. Hal sees this and his brows draw together in concern, further contorting his expression into one of pain. He comes to the fireside.

“Good evening, my king,” you say as he takes your hands.

“What upsets you so?” he asks you directly. His voice is strained, sets your pulse aflutter more than it should. You give a small, breathless smile, a shake of your head.

“Nothing of your concern, just innocuous thoughts, my lord. Let us go to bed.”

But you do not move in the direction of the luxurious canopied bed, one you have grown intimately familiar with. You stay exactly where you are and let Hal’s mind race.

His fingers grip your chin and when you meet his eyes, they’re bold and smoldering, the first touch of life in them you’ve seen for sometime. His grasp is strong and a muscle ticks in his jaw.

“Speak freely to me. Please,” he whispers. “Of all people. My dear, speak true.” The last word falls like a plea from his lips. You suppose it is one as he pulls you closer. A boy desperate for truth, constricted and poisoned by a council of vipers.

Unknowingly turning to the girl with the pretty mouth as she pours poison into his ear.

At this, you bite your lips and summon tears that spill forth, pool your vision. You let the familiar sensations take over, the shortness of breath, the depleted posture, and pretty soon you’re trembling, weeping in Hal’s arms.

“This assassin. It frightens me,” you say finally, broken. “If he had fulfilled his order and taken you from me, left me here all alone…oh, Hal. I’m so afraid.”

His thumb circles your cheek, silent. You sense that dangerous cocktail of anger and darkness simmering just beneath his skin. Anger at the world, anger reserved for his dead father.

“France means to have you killed, Hal. Then what of us?”

Us? England?

Tears drip down your neck and onto your rising chest. Where you’ve left the first clasp of your blouse carefully unbuttoned. You press yourself to him ever so slightly, look up through tear-soaked eyelashes and embered iresis.

“Then what of me?” you whisper.

Hal’s lips are crushing against yours. You feel every ounce of his anguish, every bit of tension wound tight in his frame, every doubt, every fear. You feel the restraint as he cradles the back of your neck, his other hand finding your waist as he pushes you flush against him. The dichotomy to feel love, to feel comfort and safety and to relieve and dispel just a hint of the pressure building inside him. The dichotomy to conquer, the urge to channel this animosity in a way he must be familiar, to ravish you completely.

With your bosom rising and falling so sweetly, eyes glittering with tears, looking almost divine with firelight circling the shine of your hair in a golden halo, you watch Hal’s walls collapse. You let him succumb to that mirage of safety and warmth, to ease his conscience. You will both get what you want, eventually.

You break apart to kiss the line of his throat, his pulsepoint, where you know he’s weakest. Hal gasps as you thread your fingers through his curls, bring your lips to his ear in a soft lull.

“May I have you tonight, my king? Completely?”

His response is immediate, yet wordless when he tilts back his head and feels your mouth against his jugular, the hand at your waist tightening.

At last, you lead him to the bed with the intent of christening it.

He pulls you atop him, helps you unthread the bodice of your nightgown. Despite the blazing fire behind you, the air chills your shoulders, your chest as you slowly expose more and more skin, finally letting the thin fabric pool around your waist. The feel of his bare hands cupping your body fuels you, act as your catalyst. Soft, firm.

The amber necklace swings like a golden pendulum when you stoop to kiss him again, his fingers ghosting over the skin of your back. Hal’s desires are plainly stated as you feel him harden against your inner thigh.

There is no time for coy deception tonight. You make quick work of his tunic, leave his trousers and instead unfasten and pull him through, positioning where he wants you most. Hal is already nearly panting.

You arch as he settles inside you, a biting stretch that has both of you sighing when you bury yourself into the crook of his neck. Something long-awaited. You stomach the discomforting pressure and set a rhythm, one that has Hal cursing into your hair.

“You must protect the women of England, my lord,” you whisper. “Who will do so if you are gone?” You punctuate your point with a well-timed swivel of your hips and Hal moans low and guttural. “Your wives and children. Can you protect me?”

Hal’s arms wrap around you, nearly choking on pleasure. “I will. Anything for you. Please...”

Unseen by him, you grin. You can practically hear the crashing ocean waves, to feel the quench of water at long last! You think you could make him do anything in this moment with how enthralled he is in bliss.

You sit back and Hal’s hands glide over the smooth expanse of your stomach, watching his eyes grow dark, the amber pendant swinging between the two of you. The discomfort in your belly is gone and you start to mirror Hal’s pleasure, head falling back, sighs growing louder.

And as the two of you finally fall from the cliffside and towards the waiting waters, Hal gives a soft cry, vision rolling and you feel his heat spill onto your inner thigh. You kiss him until the strength drains from his body, a true succubus as Hal at last descends into sleep, relaxed.

You have the king’s word.

You awaken the next morning to find the bed empty and cold. Surprised, you dress alone and return to your chambers to call for your breakfast. When you send for your father to share his company, the servant returns and tells you Lord Grey is currently engaged and his presence cannot be requested.

“A meeting, you mean?” You ask the servant rather crossly. Why must everyone speak to you in riddles? You obviously did not sleep much the night before and had trouble long after Hal had finished, like a slumbering babe beside you. Typical.

Your mood sours further in that you won’t be able to share this meal with your father. You despise spending mornings in solitude. It seems like it’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other in private, with no councilmen lurking about.

“No, my lady,” the servant stammers slightly, the words stumbling out of his mouth. “Lord Grey is condemned and is forbidden from taking meals before tomorrow morning.”

“What?” You growl at his vagueness. Your anger and irritation rise hot and fast and you’re tempted to hurl the glass cup of strawberries at this blubbering young fool.

“Lord Grey and Cambridge await execution tomorrow morning for treason, by order of the king.”

Your world stops. You send the servant away with a ghost of a whisper.

When the door snaps shut, you laugh mournfully. So the gossip had come to naught. Hal had indeed kept his word. Your stomach turns in nausea. Food is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You rush to your writing desk, overturning bottles of ink, hands shaking when you retrieve quill and parchment, attempt to pen a desperate letter to Callum with a fevered hand. But before you can draft a single sentence, your blood turns cold.

You have not heard from your brother, from Isabelle in weeks. Have your worst fears already come true?

Glass and fruit explode against the far wall.

You tear out of the room like a bloodied banshee in search of Hal, fingers tinted crimson from cut glass and mashed berries.

And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and

cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee

that one of thy members should perish, and not

that thy whole body should be cast into hell.

One of Miss Hunt’s chosen passages from the book of Matthew comes crashing into your mind. You are like Eve, you think. Bearing the burden of Original Sin with lust and curiosity. You have tasted the fruit and have seen the evils of mankind. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined your plan backfiring so horribly.

Now, hellfire awaits your father, for you when you draw your final breath your last day on this earth. Suddenly seeming to loom that much closer.

You approach Hal like Samuel’s ghost did to King Saul on the eve of war, the Philistines instead of the French. Interchangeable, cycles of warfare that have dawned for milenia and will continue until the end of time.

He looks terrifying, colder and more severe than you’ve ever seen, outfitted in those horrible blood red robes that one coronation dinner long ago you had once thought he looked becoming.

You know with one wrong word you could be joining the two men to die at first light. Your mind races.

“My lord, to think my own father had been plotting against you sickens me,” you speak slowly. The sentence stings like venom in your mouth, damning your father. Hellfire burns brighter. But it is the only way you can protect yourself. Your grisly appearance, your quick breaths, it is all to sell your story. “May I accompany you tomorrow morning as witness?”

Hal’s lips twist into a hint of a smile, the shadow of his former self. “Of course, my dear. Lord Grey may have failed his fatherly duties as protector, but I will not.”

And so, with your hands wrapped in fresh bandages and stitchings, you stand in a courtyard with wind whipping around you, the only Christian woman among councilmen and knights as you watch your father lay his head upon the chopping block. His hair has been shaved off to ensure the killing blow will be swift and true. Shivering, pale, and damp with sweat, he looks like a ghost. Soon, he will be one. You want him to see you in these final moments, for him to know that you will utterly destroy this king, but you cannot risk the danger.

Like the coronation, Latin prayers are recited, only this time they are prayers for your father and father-in-law to find peace in the afterlife. The last time you, Hal, Cambridge, and your father had shared company like this had been at the wedding. You know now that Callum and Isabel are truly dead. In the blink of an eye, Hal has slaughtered your entire family.

Weary, resilient Scotland.

You do not cry. You must show your loyalty.

“Requiescat in pace.”

Weak, fragile as Lord Grey starts to whimper aloud. No daughter should see their father, their protector through girlhood, like this.

The axe glimmers in the sunlight and is brought down with deadly precision. Your father’s head rolls grotesquely off of his shoulders in a wet gurgle. His body is shoved aside and Cambridge is pushed onto the block next, now slick with fresh blood.

Neither you nor Hal flinch.

You are now fatherless, Hal, kinless when you enter the neighboring chapel alone. You sit in the first pew respectfully, head bowed as Hal crosses himself and kneels before the altar. With his back to you, you study the firm line of his spine, his clasped hands with the beaded rosary held firmly between. Unmoving, statuesque. He prays for a long time.

Thou shalt not kill.

You wonder if God is so forgiving.

The images of angels, of Mary and Joseph and flawless purity are what drive you to march up to Hal and kiss him hard. He hums in surprise, brows furrowed, the pressure behind his mouth mirroring yours when you grip the back of his head.

You want to kill him the same way he had murdered your father. But you settle with digging your fingers into the back of his neck and relishing in the way he hisses against your lips. You fumble blindly with the fastening of his trousers.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“Shut up.” You bite back.

You’ve never been afraid of Hal before today, you’ve had no reason to be. You’ve been so careful to build the reputation and the facade he sees, using words and sex to push him like the chesspiece you had thought him to be. And he’d pushed right back.

You want to hurt him in the only way you can.

He cries out when you suck him into your mouth with teeth and harsh pressure. You’re anything but gentle, taking him as far as you can so that you’re choking and Hal is grunting and pulling at your hair and the lewd sounds of your lips and tongue echo to the tops of the vaulted ceiling.

You’ve both lost family today. You are both selfish and full of quiet rage. The consequence of Hal’s choice is evident in how hard and wet you mold your mouth around him, how his hand tightens and pushes you farther down, wordlessly ordering you to finish him off in this holy church.

Like Christ Himself with bandaged hands, you twist and work at whatever you cannot fit between your lips. His hips snap forward, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes with burning throat, your scalp stinging from where he yanks back your hair, your linen caul disheveled. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth.

When his moans grow high and desperate, you take him out of your mouth and Hal’s release splatters white on the skin of your cheek, mouth still agape. He slumps forward on his knees, panting, as if still in prayer. The rosary dangles between his fingers.

Thou shalt not commit adultery.

The cross looms before you, silhouetted by candlelight. It is too much and you turn away.

If the change in Hal’s nature had not already been felt by all, it is seen in his dress. No longer does he donn the regalia of red cape and sceptre, but dark tunics and jackets that fit snug over the expanse of his chest. No more are the billowing robes, now replaced with tight military clothing and jackboots. A captain preparing for battle.

Hal recruits John Falstaff and countless other marshals for his campaign. It’s truly happening, you think. France will soon feel the wrath of England as your homeland and countless other countries have.

The amber necklace sparkles.

Tomorrow, Hal sets sail across the English Channel. Another crusade to add to the Hundred Years’ War. You wonder if French women are just as lustrous as the rumors suggest.

This is the last night you will be together like this for some time. The thought of Hal with another woman makes you quicken the hand you have around him and he gasps into your chest, spilling onto your thigh like that wedding night centuries ago. You’ve already made love countless times tonight, your bodies fitting together because it is only natural for two corrupt souls to find solace in the other.

Masquerading with voice and poise. A boy from Eastcheap and a Scottish girl.

As Hal shudders against you, kissing your throat and twining his fingers into your hair, he tells you he loves you.

You think you may love him too, in that twisted way of how fire craves oxygen. You need each other to fuel chaos.

You understand better than anyone the burden of a child forced to grow up, the weight of decisions and the toll it takes. Only the strong can endure such hardship, only the strong can triumph and come out on top. It has been so forever, a law as old as the world.

The speed at which Hal is already hard again makes you chuckle darkly. He pins you to the bed, hovering, eyes bearing into you before he enters you just the same.

“You were made to be beneath me,” he rasps, gripping your face with a single hand. His eyes glitter in the low light. The double entendre of his words make you rake your fingernails down his back in angry lines of red. He sucks a bite into the skin of your collarbone.

You know that when Hal returns from France, he will no longer be yours. He will be changed, most likely to marry a foreign princess to ensure peace. You think of Isabel and how she had evidently been the one to put you in this position of status, how a marriage is a man’s means to gain power. A law as old as the world.

Do you want him to be yours? The same way the English crown has raped and pillaged for the thrill of conquering the barbaric? A trophy? A prized kill? Still, the thought makes you bitter.

You say you love him back when he finds the spot below your ear, pushes your legs apart to drive into you that much harder.

There’s a bit of you that prays he will be victorious, that he will return to England and be yours again. But even if your paths do not cross in the future, you know you will see him again where the flames grow hot. Be that in his chambers or down below.

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dangerousconnoisseurdonut · 3 years

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Magical Thieves AU

In a Gotham where about 40% of the population have some sort or magical ability and only something like 13% have two abilities, Bruce is a street rat with his honourary sister, Selina, and the two are excellent cat burglars, known as the Cat and the Bat. Selina is a Shadow Magic user; she can blend into the shadows as well as bring her shadow to life in extreme circumstances. She is called a Night Stalker, and is not trusted by many of those gifted with Light Arts. Bruce though, if anyone knew what his real abilities were, he would be locked up in the interest of public safety; he is often referred to as simply a Chaos Courtesan, despite not being a Chaos Mage.

Bruce is one of the 13% that has two abilities; the first one alone would have him be monitored for the rest of his life, Technomagic, an ability that allows him access to computer files, all kinds of electrical data, and possess mechanical devices, and those are only the surface of his abilities, but they are enough to warrant the government being worried about him. His other, arguably stronger ability, however, would have Bruce either locked up in a special facility where he never saw another living person ever again, or killed; Blood Magic. An ability that is hard to regulate as the user can literally use their own blood or that of their attackers/victims against them. They can turn a person’s blood into acid so they are eaten away from the inside out, they can track a person as well as those with Animal Magic, and they can supposedly even control people by binding their blood.

Selina and Bruce have been siblings since they were nine-years-old and Selina found Bruce wandering around, looking for something to eat. Bruce’s parents were from feuding families and when they fell in love, they were both disowned, and they became rather good thieves themselves, until the police caught up with them and killed them in a shoot-out. Selina and Bruce have stuck with each other and managed to become two of the most sought after professional thieves around, and they have been saving for the chance to get out of Gotham for the chance of a normal life. They need just one more good payday and they ca leave for good; unfortunately, that opportunity comes in the form of Roland Daggett and Rupert Thorne (Sofia and Theo work as well, I just thought something different). They are offering the pair a huge payout, in return for what others would call a suicide mission; rip-off the King and Queen of Gotham themselves, Oswald Cobblepot and Barbara Kean. Bruce is all for ignoring this job as this is beyond dangerous, but the pair are also offering papers that will identify the pair as harmless, low-level White Magic users; papers that would cost upwards of $50,000 a piece.

Selina talks Bruce into taking the job and they stake out the place to prepare for Gotham’s social event of the year; The King and Queen’s Masquerade Ball. Selina poses as someone called to do a repair job to get access to the house and they learn the layout of the house, particularly the room that holds their prizes; two beautiful rings that identify Oswald and Barbara as the King and Queen. The night of the ball, Selina attends as a low level socialite and Bruce is a waiter, both wearing one of his blood glamors to help add to their anonymity. Soon, however, a hush falls over the crowd as the King and Queen make their entrance with their respective courts. Barbara enters with her consort Tabitha, her botanist, Ivy Pepper, and her two bodyguards, Bridgit Pike and Ecco Valeska.

Then there’s Oswald with his consort, Captain James Gordon of the GCPD, his engineer, Jeremiah Valeska (Ecco’s half brother), his advisor, Jervis Tetch, chemist, Jonathan Crane, his own bodyguards Jerome Valeska and Victor Fries, his informant (and not-so-secret assassin), Victor Zsasz, and his Chief of Staff, Alfred Pennyworth. Each of them have dangerous magical abilities and none were meant to be trifled with but, if Selina and Bruce want that big payday and those papers, then trifle they must. Some time passes and the pair actually find themselves talking to members of the courts; Bridgit hates these things and enjoys talking to those who feel as uncomfortable as she does, and Bruce finds himself saving Jonathan from an embarrassing situation. Still though, once the Ball really gets going, Bruce and Selina break away to the room where the rings are housed and just as they grab the rings, Bruce feels a frisson of unease shoot up his back; they’ve been caught.

The two Courts enter the room, and Oswald reveals he’s actually flattered that Gotham’s infamous Cat and Bat Thieves have not only targeted him, but gotten so far, though he was suspicious when a random repair worker appeared at the house, given that Jeremiah always takes care of such problems. Still, as he’s an admirer of their skills and he’s in such a good mood from the party, all they have to do is put the rings back and tell him who hired them, they can leave peacefully. Bruce and Selina both know, however, if they show up empty handed, let alone give up who hired them, they will be a pair of dead ducks. When Bridgit throws a small fireball at the pair to scare them, Bruce and Selina show their magic to protect themselves, and now Barbara finds them very interesting, offering them a fair percentage of what they would have made if they pulled off the heist. The pair still refuse to give up so easily as not having to buy those papers themselves, would save a large chunk of their savings.

Things go from bad to worse however when Jim and Alfred notice the blood charms and there’s just something too homey about them not to be handmade, and they realize that one of the pair is a Blood Mage. Once Oswald is informed of this, he’s ecstatic and informs Jerome to test the pair as the psychotic ginger is a chaos mage, and the only thing that can stand up to them are those of Order magic and Blood magic. Thanks to Jerome, they quickly figure out that Bruce is a Chaos Courtesan, and Oswald and Barbara know they need these two in their Courts. Not knowing this, Bruce and Selina make a break for it, which is helped by the fact Bruce managed to get a small sample of everyone’s blood, giving him a slight edge.

The two are about to take the staircase heading to the front door when Ivy manages to trip Selina, sending her careening down the stairs, thankfully only knocking her out. As Bruce reaches the bottom of the stairs to grab Selina, he instead is grabbed by the two Victor’s, Jim, and Jervis, who are quick to hide him in a small alcove as the other guests come to investigate Selina’s scream from her fall. Oswald and Barbara are quick to act as concerned hosts over the ‘poor dear who had a touch too much champagne and lost her balance’, a story corroborated by Bridgit and Ivy. When no one comes forward to claim her, Tabitha is quick to suggest they look after her, so they move her to a secure room.

Oswald meanwhile joins the other males, and Jervis tries to compel the truth from Bruce, but Bruce still has a vial of Jervis’ blood, and smashes it so that he can temporarily be immune to Jervis’ power. Zsasz and Fries however are quick to point out that Selina is very vulnerable at the moment and it wouldn’t be hard to...

Bruce is quick to reveal everything and give the rings back, not willing to let anything happen to Selina. Oswald orders some of his men to go to the meeting spot where Bruce and Selina were to meet Daggett and Thorne and take care of things. Bruce hopes to be able to leave with Selina once she regains consciousness, but Oswald naturally has other ideas;

Oswald: Let an injured kitten and obviously malnourished bat go wondering off into the night?! The ASPCA would have my head on a platter! Not to mention Barbara would have a separate one for my balls.

Jim: She is an avid animal lover, especially when it comes to cats. Same with Tabitha.

Oswald: Yeah, and I do not want that woman coming after me with her whip.

Bruce, starting to struggle between the two Victor’s: I will look after her; she’s survived worse falls than that! We both have!

Oswald: You see?! The kitten and no doubt baby bat, uh, what do you call a baby bat, anyways?

Jervis, enjoying himself: A pup.

Oswald: Thank you, Jervis; a kitten and a pup who are constantly being abused on the streets of Gotham?! Obviously they need someone to look after them! Do you like bats, Victors?

Victor Z: I think they’re adorable.

Victor F: Yeah, and this one is a real cutie.

Bruce: You can’t do this! Selina and I are people, not pets! We can look after ourselves!

Jim: And I’m the Captain of the GCPD, and I don’t think you can!

Alfred appears: Oswald, Ms. Kean has seen to it that her new kitten is properly situated in her new room, and I have prepared one for our bat whenever you’re ready.

Oswald: Thank you Alfred, if you would please? I wonder how much harder it is to train bats than birds?

Victor F: We’ll figure it out; besides, you always did love a challenge.

Bruce tries to cast one last spell, only to feel a sharp pain in his neck, and know no more.

For all those who liked my Underwater Gotham AU, I thank you and hope you’ll like this one just as much. Please leave a comment if you do!

#Gotham #kings and queens and thieves #oh my #bruce wayne #selina kyle #oswald cobblepot #barbara kean #tabitha galavan #jim gordon #jerome valeska #jeremiah valeska #ecco #ivy pepper #bridgit pike #victor fries #victor zsasz #jervis tetch #jonathan crane #alfred pennyworth

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marvelship-oneshots · 3 years

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EMERGENCY WEDDING 1 (WINTERIRON)

PART 1 OF 2 AU where Tony and Bucky get married in order not to be forced t testify against each other in court (part 1 of 2) [2.5k words]

Bucky's brain was numb. He was walking in the rain, with no destination, looking at the blood being washed from his hands by the rain. How could something like that happen? How could they think he could do something like that? He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that his best friend was gone and never coming back. The thought of having literally his blood all over his body made his sick to his stomach, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to react. He saw his body laying in a puddle of his own blood on the floor of his apartment and he didn't scream, he didn't cry, his brain just shut down. He had no memories of what he did from that moment to the moment he heard the sirens coming for him. Then, he ran until he was far enough from the city. Now, he didn't know where he was, but the police was not following him anymore, that was good. Eventually, he stopped running and started walking along the desert highway, despite the rain falling down on him. Bucky had no idea of what he would do after, nor of where he was going.

Tony needed a break. His life in the city was becoming overwhelming and he just needed to pull the plug for a while. So he hopped in his car and started driving without a destination. AC/DC was playing in the car at full blast while Tony drove down the highway. His mind was focused only on the song, the road was silent and empty. Somehow, driving in the rain, singing whatever song was blasting, in the dark of the night, had always relaxed him. He could barely see the road in front of him and he knew that he should pay more attention to what he was doing, but against his better judgment, he kept focusing on his own thoughts. It couldn't do any good, and he knew it. He was not looking at the road when something, or rather someone, crossed right i front of his car. He didn't see it coming and he didn't stop, basically running over it. He thought it was some kind of wild animal, a deer maybe, but he never would expect to find a full grown man laying on the street. Bucky didn't know why he crossed the road as soon as he heard a car passing by. He just did it. No wonder why he car ran over him. Sony stopped the car and ran out, hoping he ran over a animal and not a person. Bucky was laying on the road, bruised and exhausted. He thought he could die right there, after all, no one would have missed him, every single police officer thought he was a serial killer. Maybe, that was the only way to get out of that situation. Tony kneeled by Bucky's side, bending over him to check if he was still breathing. He was. However, he was covered in blood. "C'mon buddy, wake up, don't die on me" Tony shook him, trying to wake him up. Bucky finally opened his eyes and let out a growl. Tony sighed in relief. "C'mon let me take you to the hospital" said Tony, helping the strange man getting up. He was massive compared to Tony, he wasn't more than two inches taller than him, but he had very board shoulders that made him looked like a giant compared to Tony's figure. Tony helped him getting in the car. "No, no hospital, literally anywhere else, possibly out of the state" Tony sighed, sitting behind the wheel and turning the music back on. They drove in silence, well, Bucky was silent, Tony was humming along the songs, and stopped only when they found a motel. Tony booked a room for the two of them, he didn't want to leave him alone, he was possibly injured. Little did they know, that was the beginning of an amazingly crazy adventure. Bucky settled in the room and went to take a shower. Tony went out to grab something to eat and medical supplies. If Bucky didn't want to go to the hospital, he would bring the hospital to him. Bucky let his t-shirt fall on the ground. His whole body as covered in dry blood. He honestly didn't know if it was his or Steve's. He couldn't stare at himself in the mirror. Bucky slowly walked into the shower and let the shower run over him, washing away the blood. He leaned against the wall, letting himself fall on the floor. He took his hand into his head and finally let himself go. The only reason he knew he was crying was the salty taste of the tears falling in his mouth.

When Tony came back, Bucky was sitting on the bed, blankly looking at the wall in front of him. "Hey man, I bought you a cheeseburger" Tony said, sitting down next to him and handing him a burger. Bucky nodded and started to slowly unwrap it. "By the way, I'm Tony" he introduced himself, reaching out for him. "James, but friends call me Bucky" Steve was the one to give him his nickname. He smiled at the memory and a single tear fell on his face. "I'm...uhm I'm sorry I ran over you" Bucky shook his shoulders. "I crossed the road, jumping in front of your car" "Are you hurt? I saw a lot of blood" Tony asked concerned. "No, I'm fine" Tony scoffed and turned n the TV. The news were on. Tony looked at the TV then at Bucky and then back at the TV. "Uhm, Bucky, why is your face on the news?" "What?" Bucky turned towards Tony, took the remote and turned the volume up. "Shit shit shit fuck" On the screen there was Bucky's picture with a gigantic red WANTED written under it. "Care to explain what that is about?" "It's not what it looks like, I swear" "Oh I see, so you're face is not on the national TV and you are not wanted for murder" "No" Tony raised his eyebrow "Well yes, but also no" "Are you going to kill me?" "What? NO!" Tony let out a loud sigh. "Ok, now that I can relax, explain" "I've been framed for a series of murders, including my best friend's" Bucky sat on Tony's bed and Tony scooted closer to him, putting a hand on his thigh. "I'm immensely sorry" Bucky looked at Tony with a mall smile. "It's ok" "What's gonna happen now?" Tony asked "I mean, you are running from the police and I helped you, so this makes me an accessory to the crime. What's gonna happen now? Are we going to live on the run?" Bucky chuckled. "I'm sorry I put you in this position. And I don't know how we're going to get out of this" Tony lightly smiled and walked out of the room, coming back a few minutes later with a bottle of whiskey. He poured some in two glasses and passed one to Bucky. "Ok, first thing first, gimme your credit card and SIM card. We'll leave here here, from now on only cash. we're going to move every couple of days, with disguises." Bucky sipped on his whiskey, looking at Tony in awe. "Then, we have to understand who is trying to frame you. Suspects, leads whatever pops in your mind, you write them here" Tony said slapping a pack of sticky notes on the table. "Questions?" "Yes" Bucky smiled "Why do you have sticky notes laying around?" Tony laughed, tucking himself into the bed. "Seriously though, thank you, you don't have to do this. No one knows that you helped me" "Oh please stop it, we're in this together. Now go to sleep, we're leaving early tomorrow" Bucky chuckled. "Yessir" _____________________________________________________________________ "Ok, so we have a bunch of suspects that are totally unchained from each other. This means we have no lead" Bucky nodded, looking at the binder full of colourful sticky notes he and Tony had composed in the past weeks. Bucky threw himself on the bed, covering his face with his hands. "We're screwed" The TV was on on the news, now next to Bucky's face there was Tony's. "Every single piece of evidence they have is against me and once they get to us they will offer you plea deal to turn on me because let's admit it, I dragged you into this and you have no reason at all" Bucky caved into his pillow. "Then I'll be double screwed" Tony rolled his eyes and walked over to Bucky's bed, sitting next to him and started stroking his hair. "Buck, I might have an idea" Bucky looked up. "We're in this mess together and together we're getting out. See, I have a little bit of law training and there is this thing that will ensure that we're not forced to turn on each other" "And why didn't you say it sooner?" Bucky asked sitting up. "Yeah right. It's called spouse privilege. Essentially, if we're married, no one can force me to turn on you and vice versa" Bucky jumped up and started pacing up and down the room, in silence, with his hands in is hair. He slowly walked over to Tony and kneeled in front

of him. "Tony, will you marry me?" he asked taking one of his hands. Tony started laughing."Yes, yes I will Buckaroo" Bucky sat on the bed ad let himself fall on his back. Tony laid next to him . "Are we really doing this?" Bucky asked. "You'll have to break up with me, because now I am your fiancé" The two laughed. "You would have liked him" said Bucky after a moment of silence. Tony turned his head to look at Bucky. "Steve. You would have liked Steve" Tony nodded. "He was my best friend in the whole world, how could they think I've killed him? Why would I have killed my best friend?" Bucky started sobbing loudly in Tony's chest. Tony gently stroke his long hair until Bucky fell asleep, snuggled against him.

Bucky and Tony pulled out their best clothes - jeans and a white shirt- and pulled up at the docks. There the officiant who was supposed to marry them was waiting for them in front of his boat. Tony had found him on the internet the night before and had booked a wedding. Tony squeezed Bucky's hand before walking up to the man, giving him a reassuring glaze. "Do you, James Buchanan Barnes, take Anthony Edward Stark as your lawfully wedded husband?" Bucky looked at Tony in the eyes. Tony nodded. "I do" he said, moving Tony's ring from his index to his ring finger. "Do you, Anthony Edward Stark, take James Buchanan Barnes as your lawfully wedded husband?" "I do" he said smiling, putting the ring on Bucky's finger. "By the power vested in me by the State of Missouri, I now pronounce you husband and husband" Tony took Bucky's hand, gently squeezing it as the officiant handed then the marriage certificate. Tony left the man the cash they agreed on and the newly weds ran to their car. Tony started driving, smiling at the road. "Are you ok?" he asked Bucky. "This is weird, right? We barely know each other and we got married" Tony chuckled. "It's like you've never heard of an arranged marriage" Bucky gently hit Tony's shoulder. "This is nothing like an arranged marriage and you know it"

They had been driving for the whole morning, making hypothesis on new leads, unfortunately running in circles. "If we turn ourselves in, or let them find us, maybe we'll be able to have more resources and actually get something done" "You want them to catch us?" Tony nodded. "You're out of your mind. I would be risking death row here" Tony shook his head. "No you wouldn't. You supposedly committed the crimes in New York, we will be judged there, so no death penalty for you." "Are you sure? It can go extremely wrong, at least now we're...free" Tony pulled over by the side of the road. "We don't have the resources here to sort this out, if they catch us, maybe we can have a shot" "What if we don't?" Tony shook his head and made a hand gesture meaning that it was not the time to be pessimistic. "It's prison Tony" "Buck, you're my husband now, you're basically a Stark. My father's name still holds a certain power" Bucky looked at him. "Ok, we're doing this" Tony took out his phone, put in the sim card he had been saving and dialed Pepper's number. "Tony...WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?" Pepper screamed as soon as sh picked up. Bucky could hear her even if she wasn't on speaker. "Pep, I'm in a huge fucking mess" "Yeah, I know. You have some explaining to do" "Yes, I know, but now is not the time. Get the lawyers ready" A few minutes after Tony closed the call, they heard the police sirens behind them. Tony and Bucky looked at each other, smiling. Tony pressed on the gas pedal, exceeding the speed limit. "You know the phrase forget and it will go away? Well, it does NOT apply to being chased by police cars, trust me on this one" Tony said laughing, turning he volume up. Tony looked at Bucky. He looked scared. Tony held his hand, bringing it to his mouth ad leaving a small kiss on the top of it. "I'm on the highway to hell" Tony started singing along the AC/DC song that was blasting. "On the highway to hell" Bucky started singing along. When the song was over, Tony and Bucky looked at each other and Tony pulled over. The police cars stopped behind them. "Come out of the car, hands where I can see them" Tony and Bucky opened the door, slowly stepping out of the car, with their hands behind their heads. "You're under arrest, You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. You have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish. If you decide to answer questions now without a lawyer present, you have the right to stop answering at any time." the officers declared, while closing the handcuffs around Tony and Bucky's wrists. The officers pushed them into the car ad drove them to the closest police station, waiting to be escorted to New York. Tony took Bucky's hand. "It's going to be ok, i promise"

#buckytony #bucky barnes #tony stark #tonybucky #tony x bucky #bucky x tony #winteriron #starkbucks

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marshunter06 · 3 years

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Promise Me You’ll Say Yes

Summary: Promises are made to be broken, or maybe that’s not how the saying goes... What about till death do us part instead? A follow up to Promise Me We’ll Still Be Friends. Shout out to @ahdicrs for reminding me this sequel exists and of course for encouraging it, mad love to you (:

Courtney used to believe in marriage until her parents’ fell apart and she was left heartbroken after being embarrassed on live television. It took a long time of finding herself and love to make her believe in marriage again. Connor allowed her to see that being married wasn’t such a bad thing, so when he proposed she said yes, but then they broke up. It was for the best, she knows that there’s only one person in this world for her and he was standing in her kitchen making her a cup of tea while she’s sorting through her mail.

Duncan places a kiss on the top of her head as he sets her drink down on the coaster next to her. She smiles at him, seeing that he finally remembered her words about staining their dining table. The smile fades quickly as she flips to the next piece of mail, she sighs as she opens the envelope already knowing what it was.

You cordially are invited to the wedding of Connor and Lisa on June 8th

She stops reading after confirming her suspicions. Duncan’s eyes widen in surprise as he sees the invitation in her hands. Her reaction worries him, he didn’t know she kept in touch with her ex financé.

“You still talk to Connor?”

“Only once more after I gave him back the ring. He was the expert witness for the prosecution on the last case I worked on. He caught up to me afterwards and we talked a little.”

“Why would he invite you to his wedding then? That’s really weird.”

“Because I broke my promise.”

“I promise to cherish you even more after we’re married.”

“I don’t think that’s possible Connor, you spoil me already.”

“I love you Courtney, and I stand by my statement.”

“Hm… that hardly seems fair.”

“Well then promise me you won’t break my heart.”

She laughs at that wondering what was going through her fiancé’s head. She already agreed to marry him, which he knows is a big deal to her given her past.

“Promises are broken all the time, I’ve seen too much of it in the courtroom.”

“Then there needs to be consequences.”

“What kind of consequences did you have in mind?”

“If you don’t think I’ll cherish you more after we’re married then I’ll do whatever you want no questions asked, but… if you break my heart then you’ll have to break Duncan’s too…”

“...what?”

“I’m kidding Courtney. I know you’re just friends. How about you have to go to my wedding if you don’t end up being the bride?”

“You’re so certain you’ll find someone after me. Wow, I knew your heart wasn’t in it.”

She says this with a smile teasing her soon to be husband, and he takes it as such. For Connor she would always be the one, even if he wasn’t the one for her.

“...so are you actually going to go?”

“I’m not sure honestly… but most likely yes.”

Duncan didn’t like the sound of this at all. The worst case scenario popped into his head as he imagines his Princess objecting to the wedding and running off with the groom to elope. What would he do if she really did leave him?

“Duncan…?”

He reacts without thinking. He grabs her hand pulling her body into his holding her tight. She stiffens as she tries to figure out what the heck her boyfriend was doing. His next words silenced any other thoughts she would have spoken.

“Marry me Court.”

She must be asleep, no way was this happening. Maybe she needs to get her ears checked. Was he seriously proposing to her while panicking about whatever ridiculous scenario he envisioned in his mind? She tries to push out of his reach, but he only holds on tighter afraid she would leave and never come back.

“Duncan! Let go of me!”

“Not until you promise me you’ll say yes.”

“No! My answer is no!”

She manages to get free as his grip on her loosens. He could feel his heart break as she crossed her arms with a frown on her face. She didn’t mean that… right?

“Princess…”

“I meant it. No, I’m not going to marry you.”

“It’s because of Connor isn’t it? I knew it! That bastard! I swear I’m going to…”

She stops his ramblings as she pulls him close to kiss him. It shuts him up immediately, he tries to deepen the kiss, but she moves away once more leaving him hanging.

“Princess…”

“I said no because you have no intentions of marrying me. You’re just saying it because you think for some goddamn reason I’m still hung up on Connor when I literally dumped him for you.”

“That’s not true! I would marry you!”

“We’ve never even talked about marriage before.”

“We did, back when we were first dating. You asked me where I saw us in the future. I always intended on making you my wife.”

He was right. They did talk about it when they first started dating back when they were sixteen, he was the first person to make her believe that it could actually work. Now though, she wasn’t so sure. She loves him, she does and she knows there’s no one else on this earth for her, but could he promise her the rest of her life?

“You don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that I don’t… I’m just not sure if I want to get married…”

“You were going to marry Connor.”

“Maybe not, honestly I think I would’ve broken it off before it actually happened. You know how things turned out with my parents. Can’t we just be happy the way we are?”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Really? You’re not mad?”

“I mean I’m a little disappointed, I won’t lie about that, but as long as we’re still together it doesn’t matter whether or not it’s on paper.”

He smiles reassuring her that he was alright with changing his plans for their future, all he wanted was her to stay by his side. She was surprised he gave up so quickly, a part of her was almost disappointed, but did she even want to get married? She loves him, she really does, and she knows they’re back for good this time. So why was she hesitant about the idea of making it official that they would spend the rest of their lives together?

Evidently she was still bothered that she couldn’t sort out her own feelings. She continued to let it occupy her mind while she was at work, even though she has a strict rule about not letting personal matters affect her on the job. She was so caught up in her own thoughts, she doesn’t see the door open leading to her almost getting hit if not for the hand that reached out to pull her back just in time. She was immediately jolted back to reality and as she turns back to thank the person who stopped her from humiliation, she sees a familiar pair of deep ocean blue eyes staring back at her.

“Connor? What are you doing here?”

“Apparently I did so well as your expert witness, I was contacted again by one of your colleagues to help in their case. It’s nice to see you again Court.”

His smile is genuine and freely given without any malice hidden behind his expression. He truly was happy to see her, and she finds herself smiling back thinking the same. Sure they didn’t work out, but that doesn’t stop them from being friends right?

“It’s nice to see you too.”

“I’m sure you’re busy, but if you’re free, I’d love for you to meet Lisa. You can bring Duncan too of course.”

It seems the men in her life were just full of surprises, she wasn’t sure how to respond to that. On one hand she wasn’t lying when she thought of Connor as a friend, but she also thinks it would be extremely awkward for all parties involved if they all were forced together as if they were just regular old friends catching up. He sees her hesitation and immediately backs off, he always did know where she drew the line and he respected her boundaries.

“Sorry, that was probably a weird request, we don’t have to do that. You’re still going to come to the wedding right?”

“I am, I already got the time off approved.”

“Perfect, I’ll see you there then!”

He waves goodbye at her before walking off towards the back of the building to speak to her coworker. She lets out the breath she’d been holding since his unannounced presence, it’s odd this feeling she has regarding her ex fiancé. Maybe Duncan had a point when he said being friends with an ex lover is a terrible idea. Still, Connor’s a good man, and she was the one who broke his heart.

Read the rest on ao3 since I’m biased towards that site (:

#duncney #PMYSY #plus this forces you guys to read my long ass author note #promise me you’ll send asks/feedback... jk... unless... 🥺👉👈#Mars needs to go to bed so she stops this nonsense

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toomuchofabastard · 3 years

Text

Heaven’s Final Betrayal (5/6)

[ << CHAPTER 1 ] [ < CHAPTER 4 ]

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Aftermath of Rape/Non-Con, Mentions of Dissociation

Word count: 3,726 (total 19,201)

Fic Summary: It was obvious that Heaven wouldn’t exactly be thrilled about Aziraphale’s role in preventing Armageddon. But neither the angel nor Crowley could have predicted how far they were willing to go to get revenge, and now Aziraphale needs him by his side more than ever.

READ ON AO3

___

Madame Tracy contemplated the saucepan full of Brussels sprouts.

Then she rapped her fingers against the side of the pan and glanced at the clock again. 2:46 pm. Mr. Aziraphale would be arriving at around a quarter past three. What to do?

She still made sure to boil up some Brussels before every séance, finding that no potpourri or expensive aromatherapy oils could create an atmosphere of safety and reassurance for the type she entertained quite like the familiar scent of vegetables that had been left on the stove too long.

But that was her regular - well, human - clients. Would it work on an actual, literal angel? Aziraphale reminded her of some of her (now ex-)clients in ways, although she could think of several key reasons why he would never be interested in the services she’d offered them, beyond the cup of tea. And a cup of tea and a chat was exactly what she’d promised. She wondered again what she Aziraphale might be needing to talk to her about. Crowley had made it sound pretty serious when they’d first arranged this afternoon together.

She’d been in the Oxfam shop just off Tottenham Court Road, browsing through some second-hand purses, when the bell over the door had rung and a damp and surly-looking young man had entered. She instantly recognised the copper-red hair, not to mention the serpentine tattoo on the side of his face, the monochromatic clothing, and the curious propensity to wear sunglasses even on a rainy day.

Crowley hadn’t noticed her at first, striding straight up to the till and shoving a hefty tome at the surprised teenager behind it with a brusque “Here.”

“Oh, um, thank you! Is this to donate?” they asked.

“Yeah, yeah, it is,” Crowley had responded distractedly, running a hand through the back of his hair, and eyeing up the door already. Madame Tracy wandered over as the cashier started to input something into their till.

“Do you qualify for Gift Aid?” they asked Crowley.

Crowley turned back and snorted, seeming amused. “No, I don’t pay taxes,” he explained, as though it should be obvious. That didn’t surprise Madame Tracy one bit. He was a demon, after all. Tax evasion was probably the least sinister activity he got up to.

Crowley made to leave and Madame Tracy rushed to catch his attention before he was gone. “Crowley, love, is that you?” she called out.

He swung round, looking a little startled, but then clearly recognised her after a few seconds. “Oh. Hey,” he said, awkwardly waving a hand. He paused, then asked “You alright?”

“Very well, thank you,” she replied, stepping closer. She noted out of the corner of her eye as the cashier picked up the old book Crowley had donated with a puzzled look on their face and started to type its details into their computer. “Me and Mr. S are still looking for a place in the country. Nothing yet, but with the market being what it is at the moment, we’ll probably have to be patient,” she said.

“…Right,” responded Crowley blankly. His vacant expression made it clear to Madame Tracy that he had no idea who she was talking about. Come on, demon, she thought. You’ve only known him since the sixties.

“Of course, he’s retired from the old Witchfinding now,” she led on. “Fancied he might take up firearms restoration, or maybe lock-picking.” She watched Crowley’s face closely. He remained hopelessly blank for another few seconds, and then suddenly she saw a light ping on in his eyes.

“Right, right, yeah,” he said hurriedly. “The sergeant. ‘Cos you’re together now, aren’t you?” he said. She thought she could detect a faint patina of red spreading across his cheeks.

“Exactly,” she said. She smiled widely and kindly at him, and decided to take mercy and change the subject. “And how are you and Mr. Aziraphale doing?” she asked.

Immediately, she saw that it hadn’t been a good avenue of conversation to pursue. Crowley’s face darkened and his eyes became hard and troubled. He ran his tongue across his teeth for a second, appearing to weigh something up in his head.

“Yeah, not so great,” he eventually replied, voice low and jaw tight.

“Oh, dear,” Madame Tracy remarked uncertainly. “What’s wrong?”

“…Something happened,” Crowley sighed, and ruffled the back of his hair again. “He’s not… doing very well with it.”

Suddenly, the spark of an idea seemed to light up the demon’s harried face. “Actually,” he said, “I’ve been thinking; he needs someone to talk to about it - someone who’s not me - and, well, if he’s up for it, could you maybe…?”

Madame Tracy understood what he was getting at, and thought about it. She liked the angel. They saw eye-to-eye on the important things, like the fundamental problem with designating people as wholly Good or wholly Evil, and whether you should put the milk or the tea in first. And he’d been gracious enough to forgive Mr. Shadwell for exploding him and accidentally burning down his bookshop, citing impending Armageddon as a ‘mitigating circumstance’ for all involved.

“I’m sure I’d be very happy to chat to him about whatever’s troubling the both of you,” she smiled.

Crowley smiled too. “Thanks,” he said, casually, but his tone and the relaxing of his shoulders betrayed a deep relief and gratitude.

“I’m free on Thursdays now, if you like?”

“Sounds great- well, I’ll ask him, anyway,” Crowley said.

Madame Tracey nodded. “Just give me a ring, love.” Next to her, the young cashier’s eyes suddenly bulged wide as they stared at whatever result concerning Crowley’s book the computer had just presented them with.

Crowley gave Madame Tracey a sharp nod and then turned to leave. “Um, sir, are you sure you want to-!” the cashier called out, but Crowley had already sauntered back out into the rain.

That had been six days ago, and now the angel himself would be here in less than an hour. Madame Tracey tapped the saucepan again. To boil or not to boil? Probably she should have thought about this sooner. Well… what harm could it do? From the sounds of it, it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation and Aziraphale would need something reassuring. And if it worked on her usual visitors, then why not him? He seemed just as English as she was. Maybe more so.

Madame Tracey nodded to herself, and then set the sprouts to boil.

◥|⧗|◤

About half an hour later, there was a sharp buzz on the intercom. When she opened the front door, the angel and the demon were standing there side by side, one dark and the other fair, almost putting her in mind of a pair of chess pieces. A bishop and a knight, perhaps. Crowley looked uncomfortable, and Aziraphale looked nervous.

They exchanged brief pleasant greetings, and then Madame Tracey beckoned Aziraphale inside. “Do come in, dear.”

“I’ll be back for you around four, alright?” Crowley said to him, as he massaged Aziraphale’s hand.

The angel murmured something in response and kissed Crowley dotingly on the cheek, squeezing him close. Madame Tracy saw a recalcitrant blush blossom underneath the demon’s sunglasses and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Aw. They were sweet together.

They parted and Crowley slouched back to his car, which Madame Tracey could swear was a vintage Bentley model older than she was. Aziraphale smiled at her and followed her inside, down the drab hallway and into her less-drab flat.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Madame Tracey said, and then popped quickly into the kitchenette. As well as the Brussels sprouts, now boiling away happily★, she’d been sure to boil the kettle and pre-prepare two cups, saucers and teabags, which she quickly assembled and brought out to the table in her sitting room. She placed one in front of the angel.

★Or as happily as any vegetables - had they attained sentience - could be, whilst being boiled to within an inch of their lives.

“Sugar, dear?” she gestured to the bowl.

“No, thank you,” Aziraphale replied, perfectly sweetly, but his hands were fidgeting underneath the tablecloth.

She sat down next to him and took a sip from her own cup. “Lovely,” she remarked. He likewise sipped his tea quietly, and nodded in agreement, although his face was gloomy.

“So, what exactly was it that you needed to talk to me about?” she asked.

“Um… I-I don’t really know where to start,” he replied with a light chuckle.

“Why don’t you just start at the beginning?” she suggested gently.

Aziraphale took a deep, slightly shaky breath, cradling the tea close to himself, and swallowed. “You, um, you remember the other angel that was at the airbase, in Tadfield?” he began.

Madame Tracy cast her mind back. There had been all manner of bizarre characters and phenomena around that day - an honourable mention to her-with-the-angel-in-her-body - but she did recall a figure who had spoken down to Aziraphale after the two of them had been separated again.

“Tall fellow?” she said. “Sharply dressed? Very easy on the eyes?” A habitual hint of coquettishness crept into her voice with the last question.

Aziraphale nodded. He didn’t look happy at the description.

“Nasty piece of work, I thought,” Madame Tracy added, coldly.

A brief smile flashed across the angel’s face. “Yes,” he said, taking another deep breath. “That’s Gabriel.”

“He’s your boss?”

“Was. I believe I’ve been - uh - ‘let go’.” He laughed humourlessly.

Then he gulped, and looked down. “He- Heaven- well, they… weren’t best pleased with me for helping to prevent Armageddon,” he said. “So they decided I had to be… punished for that, and-and for, um, associating with Crowley.” He raised his eyebrows slightly as he spoke the word associating, and Madame Tracy could tell exactly what sort of ‘association’ he was referring to.

There was a pregnant pause. Aziraphale seemed to be trying to work himself up to saying something, staring down at his clenched hands and breathing heavily.

“They… th-…” he started, but then stopped with a pained frown. He sighed. Then he tried again, but his mouth moved silently, no words coming out.

“Take your time, dear,” Madame Tracy said. She patted him reassuringly on shoulder.

He smiled briefly again, but the anguish was obvious in his eyes. For a few moments, he just sat still and took several deep, forced breaths, while Madame Tracy waited patiently. Eventually, he managed to stutter it out.

“They… r-raped me.”

Then he turned immediately away to look up at the ceiling, and blinked rapidly as tears formed in the bottom of his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart,” exclaimed Madame Tracy. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting but it certainly wasn’t that. Instinctively, she reached to brush his hand. Aziraphale glanced at her and then quickly away again, his chest beginning to heave. A few choked gasps escaped the angel and his shoulders jerked silently up and down with sobs. Madame Tracy rushed to grab him a tissue from the box on the sideboard.

He accepted the tissue with another quick polite smile, and dabbed heavily at the watery corners of his eyes. She continued to stroke the back of his hand as he dried his eyes and tried to compose himself a little. The poor dear. It was unthinkable, what had happened to him.

“Apologies,” Aziraphale eventually said. “That’s the first time I’ve actually…s-said it out loud.”

Madame Tracy gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his shaking hand. “No need to apologise, dear,” she said. “I’m so sorry. That’s dreadful.” She shook her head. “Awful.”

Aziraphale said nothing.

She didn’t feel it was really her place to ask him to clarify, but she felt herself pressed on by an awful morbid curiosity. “You said ‘they’…?” she asked cautiously.

Aziraphale swallowed, and managed to somehow look even more miserable. “A-Another angel, you wouldn’t know him,” he explained. His eyes wandered a little and his face darkened. “Even nastier piece of work than Gabriel. Always has been.” A minute shudder ran through his body.

“And they have the cheek to call themselves angels,” Madame Tracy scoffed.

Aziraphale snorted and waggled his eyebrows in agreement. The angel reached mutely for his tea and took a long draft, sighing deeply as he set it back down. He tapped the side of the cup restlessly as he moved to speak again.

“Crowley witnessed it all,” he said, the lines of anguish returning to his face. “He’s been so good to me. So patient.” He trailed off as a dreamy, loving look entered his eyes and the lines were replaced by the plumped cheeks and crow’s-foot creases of a real smile. Then the smile faded.

“But… well… it’s changed things,” he continued. “And I- I don’t know what to do. Neither does Crowley.” He looked over at her hopefully.

“What’s changed?” she asked delicately. “Maybe I can help.” That was doubtlessly why Crowley had asked her for this in the first place.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Um… I keep- I keep having these… ‘episodes’, I suppose, where, um, well, I feel… disconnected from everything. Sometimes for hours. Crowley tries to snap me out of it but it-it doesn’t always work.”

Madame Tracy said nothing, letting him continue.

“And it’s interfering with our, um…” - the angel coughed and his cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink - “…being intimate together.” He glanced at her hopefully again. “Y-You’re something of an expert in that area. What do you suggest?”

“So you’ve tried ‘being intimate’ since?” Madame Tracy responded with a question. She would normally be a lot more frank, but right now it was probably easiest to borrow the angel’s charmingly-euphemistic turn of phrase.

Aziraphale nodded.

“And it didn’t go well?” she prompted.

The angel shook his head. “We got halfway,” he said, “and it was- it was ok, it was nice, but then, well,” - he frowned - “something changed and I just, sort of… went numb.” His face creased with regret. “And that was the end of that.”

She smiled softly again and rubbed his arm.

“You’re going to need time, dear,” she said. “You have to be patient with yourself.” Aziraphale stared down into his tea, still forlorn.

It’s a good thing he came to me, she thought. At least she had some experience with this kind of thing; more than Crowley would, anyway. Content, well-adjusted individuals weren’t typically in the habit of visiting a sex worker when they could just as easily be getting ‘it’ in more typical places. Many of her clients had clearly been in it just as much for the company and emotional support as the sex, and over the years, she’d gotten pretty decent at assuaging the needs of the soul in addition to the body.

“If you want my advice for what to do-” she began, and he instantly looked back up at her, “I think you should try to focus on yourself. Rest, do things you enjoy, make sure you’re relaxing; really just take some time to nurture yourself.”

Aziraphale looked uncertain.

“As for the disconnecting-” she pressed on, taking charge of the conversation, “-well, we just need to find a way to reconnect you, that’s all.” A sudden memory flitted into her mind. “Come to think of it,” she continued, “I had a client once who I think suffered from a similar thing.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose inquisitively.

“He was rather odd with it - he would start listing things; objects that were in the room,” she said. “Said it helped to name all the blue things he could see or things he could smell. Quite bizarre.” She’d heard about Mindfulness and Similar Capitalised Concepts in magazines, although she wasn’t sure what blue objects had to do with it. “But it seemed to work for him,” she finished.

The angel looked rather sceptical. “So I should… count objects?” he asked.

Well, she hadn’t meant that quite so literally. “It’s all about grounding yourself in the present, I believe,” she said authoritatively. “Always returning to reality, and focusing on what’s around you.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly.

“For example, in the, ahem, bedroom” - Madame Tracey batted her eyelashes - “if you feel yourself drifting off, try to notice all of the touches and sensations and whatnot. Your Crowley seems very attentive,” she continued, causing Aziraphale to turn beetroot-red and grin sheepishly at the floor, “-so you just relax and think about what feels good to you, all the things that feel pleasurable in the moment.” She thought for a second.

“Do you have a bathtub?” she asked suddenly.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, and then nodded. “Yes- well, Crowley has one, in his flat.”

Madame Tracey raised a finger to hush him and then quickly got up and left the angel sitting, confused, at the table, as she vanished into the bathroom at the back of the flat. With targeted precision, she collected together a number of parcels and baskets she’d had lying around, and brought an armful back out to the living room. They bumped and tumbled as she dumped them onto the table between them.

“So-” she pointed at each of the objects in turn, “-you’ve got bath bombs, and there’s some salts there too, and moisturiser and your essential oils and- oh, you like tea, don’t you, love?”

Ignoring Aziraphale’s bewildered face as he tried to process the question, she bustled over to the kitchenette and began pulling boxes from one of the cupboards. She reached to the very back and pulled down a bright gift box, containing a selection of exotic and colourful loose-leaf teas, which she’d at first mistaken for potpourri.

“One of my old clients gave me these, but Mr. S will never go for that sort of thing and after all, your need is greater,” she said, and added the box to the sprawling pile on the table.

“I-I couldn’t possibly accept all this!” the angel protested.

“Oh, nonsense, dear,” Madame Tracy replied, fussing a hand at him. “I’m always buying this stuff, or getting given it; I’ve plenty enough to last the rest of my life and beyond. It’s good to pay it forward.” Satisfied with the haul, she sat back down next to him.

Aziraphale looked sheepish again. “And… this will help, you think?” he asked quietly.

“Well, it’ll certainly relax you and engage the senses,” she said. “And they say smell is a powerful thing, don’t they?” The smells that emanated from Shadwell’s flat certainly were, she thought to herself. “If you can practice focusing when you’re happy and relaxed, it’ll come easier when you really need to.”

Aziraphale sighed, and some of the tension finally melted away from his face as he smiled. Madame Tracey returned the expression.

“Oh, bother,” Aziraphale muttered, as he reached for his tea and noticed that both cups had gone rather lukewarm as they’d been talking.

“I’ll brew us another,” Madame Tracey said as she began to get up.

“Oh, no need!” Aziraphale stopped her. He clicked his fingers sharply and suddenly both cups were once again as hot as newly poured, the smell of fresh tea thrown back into the air around them. Madame Tracey blinked in surprise. Sometimes she almost forgot that Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t human, and then they went and did - she’d heard them called miracles, and that seemed apt - just like it was nothing. Amazing.

She picked up the cup, somewhat cautiously, and took another sip. The angel smiled again, and joined her.

◥|⧗|◤

Crowley prodded the doorbell and then stepped back, squinting again at the needlessly complex display of his watch. He was a little bit earlier than he’d said. Hopefully that didn’t matter. He lounged against the edge of the wall as he waited for a response from inside the house, still feeling taut with nerves. This whole thing had been his idea, and while Aziraphale had assured him that he agreed, Crowley felt a little like he’d pressured the angel into it. He just hoped it would help.

He heard muffled footsteps, and stood up straight as the door clicked open and revealed Madame Tracey’s cheery face, greeting him. Aziraphale came up behind her, his arms full of… boxes? … and squeezed past until he was standing in front of Crowley.

“Hey angel,” Crowley said softly. “Ready to go?”

“One moment, dear,” Aziraphale replied. He turned back to Madame Tracey.

“I-I really can’t thank you enough, for all of this” - he gestured to the pile of boxes - “and all of the advice and just… for listening.” Crowley was glad to hear a note of calm and relief in the angel’s voice, which hadn’t been there when Crowley dropped him off.

“Any time, love,” Madame Tracey patted Aziraphale’s arm. “You take care of yourself now.”

She looked meaningfully at Crowley, and then added: “Both of you.”

Aziraphale beamed at them both, and then carefully picked his way over the doorstep and followed Crowley to the Bentley. Crowley opened and closed the door for him, gave a vague wave to Madame Tracey, and got into the driver’s side. As he did so, a cacophony of overlapping scents instantly hit him. It was just like he’d walked into one of those cosmetics shops - the sort that you could already get a whiff of from fifty metres away and whose products always looked tantalisingly edible.

“What’s all that about?” he nodded towards the source of the offending smell, the horde of parcels in Aziraphale’s arms.

Aziraphale laughed lightly. “I’m under strict instructions to relax,” he explained, his tone humorous.

Crowley smirked. “Well, I could have told you that.”

Aziraphale laughed again. Crowley’s heart squeezed in his chest at the sound of it. It was so good to hear him laugh again.

He leant close to the angel, his voice becoming earnest. “It helped, then?” he asked.

Aziraphale’s face softened and he gazed lovingly into Crowley’s eyes. “It did,” he replied sincerely. Crowley’s heart soared as the angel reached out to draw him close, and planted a firm kiss against the corner of his mouth. Then he settled back with a satisfied sigh. Crowley gazed at him fondly for a few seconds, then he put the Bentley into gear and they roared away.

#my fanfiction #rape tw #noncon tw #whump #aziraphale!whump #good omens whump #nsfwhump #long post

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aaarianna-actuallywrites · 4 years

Text

Mistletoe Confessions

I wrote this for the Edens Zero Secret Santa Exchange on Discord. Here’s some EZ Crew Christmas Shenanigans!

“I know! We can do Secret Santa!” Rebecca suggested. “It’ll be fun!”

“Woahhh,” Shiki muttered, eyes growing wide. “Rebecca, what’s a Secret Santa?”

She gasped dramatically. Weisz rolled his eyes at her antics.

Shiki, Rebecca, Homura, Pino, and Happy were sitting on the couch in Edens Zero’s game room, with Weisz leaning against the arm, debating what to do for the upcoming holiday.

“I am also curious, but I won’t say that out loud.”

“Secret Santa is where everyone picks one person and gets that person a gift.”

“Ooh, I pick Rebecca!” Shiki shouted with his trademark enthusiasm.

“It’s supposed to be secret, idiot,” Weisz said. “And why do you not know, Homura?”

“We did not celebrate this ‘Christmas’ on Odeo.”

“So each person gets one gift?” Pino asked, her antennae wiggling in budding excitement.

“Yeah. Instead of everyone getting a bunch of presents, we each get one present that’s more personal,” Happy explained.

“How exciting!”

“Sounds like a shitty deal if you ask me.”

“Oh come on, Weisz, don’t be such a Grinch,” Rebecca teased.

“I am not a Grinch.”

“You’re totally a Grinch,” Shiki said.

“You don’t even know what that is!”

“It is decided,” Homura said, nodding solemnly. “Weisz is a Grinch.”

“Neither do you! Ugh, you guys suck.”

“What is a Grinch?”

‘Of course only Pino would have the decency to ask first,’ Weisz thought.

“A Grinch is a grump with a shriveled up heart who hates Christmas, gift giving, and cheer,” Rebecca explained, almost like she was giving a lecture to a group of kindergartners.

“Hm,” Pino said as she processed the new information. “The definition does seem to fit Mr. Weisz rather well.”

“What are we shitting on Weisz for this time?” Ivry asked as she, Hermit, and Witch entered into the madness.

“Weisz is being a total Grinch about doing Secret Santa,” Rebecca said.

“Oh, yeah, makes sense.”

“Why is everyone ganging up on me?” Weisz grumbled.

“Oh, are we celebrating Christmas, Lord Shiki?”

“Yeah! Rebecca just told me about it. It sounds like fun! She also told me about Santa and his spaceship that can travel across the entire cosmos in a day!”

“Santa’s not even-”

Before Weisz could finish his sentence, he was staring down the barrel of Rebecca’s spare pistol.

“Don’t even think of spoiling this for Shiki and Pino,” she threatened quietly.

Weisz held up his hands in surrender. Rebecca slowly lowered her gun, eyes narrowed in a threatening glare.

“If it is secret, then how are the recipients chosen?” Homura asked.

“Everyone writes their name on a piece of paper, and then we each take turns picking one out of a hat,” Hermit said, not looking up from her handheld game. “And then you keep who you’re buying a present for a secret until you give them their gift.”

Homura put her hand over her mouth at Hermit’s pointed comment, but said nothing.

“Couldn’t you just write a program or something that pairs us up randomly?” Weisz asked.

“I could, very easily. But I won’t.”

“Why not?” He was nearly whining.

“I’m keeping in the spirit of Christmas. Also, to piss you off, specifically.”

“Why does everyone want to bother me today?” Weisz grumbled under his breath.

“Cause you’re an easy target as long as you keep bitchin’,” Ivry said, punctuated by flicking Weisz’s ear as she strode past.

“Why do you not like Christmas, Mr. Weisz?” Pino asked.

Weisz shrugged. “It’s not like I hate Christmas, I just don’t care one way or the other about it. And it never made sense to me why so many people act like it’s such a big deal. It’s just another day.”

“It’s a holiday. That’s like saying your birthday is just another day!” Rebecca said.

“It is.”

Rebecca gasped again.

“Can you stop being so dramatic?”

“I have paper and pencils for everyone,” Witch called as she walked back into the game room.

Weisz blinked, not having realized that Witch left the room to begin with, but still taking the paper and pencil when she handed it to him.

The room fell mostly silent, with only the scratching of pencil on paper as everyone scribbled their names down.

“What about the hat?” Shiki asked.

Ivry snatched the sorceress hat off of Witch’s head and handed it to him, putting her slip of paper in. “Here ya go, Shiki. There’s your hat.”

“Awesome!” he said as he enthusiastically shoved his own paper in it.

The hat was passed around the room and everyone put their names in, though Weisz did it with extreme reluctance.

“Alright! I wanna pick first!”

Shiki nearly punched the hat out of his own grip with his zealousness as he reached in to pick his Secret Santa recipient.

“Remember, you’re not supposed to say who you got. It’s supposed to be a surprise to the person you’re giving the gift to,” Rebecca said.

Shiki handed the hat off to her as he read the name on the paper he picked. To Weisz’s surprise, he managed to keep quiet about who he drew.

As the hat made its way around the room, Weisz vaguely wondered who he’d get.

‘If I had to choose, I guess it wouldn’t be too hard to get a gift for Shiki. That idiot would be excited by actual coal,’ he thought, chuckling quietly to himself.

When the hat finally made it to him, there was only one piece of paper left inside.

Homura Kougetsu

‘Damn.’

He left the game room, wondering what in the cosmos Homura would want for Christmas.

‘Even if I asked, she probably wouldn’t know herself, since she’s never celebrated Christmas before.’

He groaned, dreading the task ahead.

~~~~~~~~

“Okay, we’re off! We’ll be back soon!” Rebecca called out to Witch as everyone piled into the Aqua Wing to venture down to Blue Garden to shop for their gifts.

“I apologize for not being able to go with you. Unfortunately, as you know, I cannot leave the ship.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Witch!” Pino said. “Miss Rebecca and I will help you get your present!”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. We’ll be in constant contact, it’ll be just like you’re there with us.”

Witch smiled, but Weisz could see that she was a little disappointed.

“In the meantime, I will plan out the decorations.”

Weisz put his new earbuds in to shut out his crewmates’ yammering. He’d taken to listening to music a bit more recently, even if the only songs he listened to were considered “old” by everyone else’s standards.

Though he’d never admit it, sometimes he did miss Norma. Even if it was only a longing for the simplicity of his time compared to the future he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of yet.

‘I still have no idea what Homura could possibly want as a present. I can’t remember her ever wanting anything since I met her, except..’

Weisz cracked his neck, shaking away the thought. ‘That’s not gonna help.’

~~~~~~~~

As soon as Rebecca led them to what had to be the biggest outdoor mall Weisz had ever seen in his life, everyone ran in different directions. Or in Shiki’s case, floated.

Weisz walked slowly, looking at all the shops around him. This part of the mall was mostly clothing stores, which would be useless, as he could make any kind of clothes he wanted in the Dress Factory on the ship.

One shop in particular caught his eye, however.

‘Heh. Christmas-themed lingerie? That’s worth buying.’

He was halfway across the court when he remembered that they’d be giving their presents in front of everyone else. And that Homura probably wasn’t one for lingerie in the first place.

‘I might be shameless, but even I’m not that shameless.’

He grumbled, but kept walking.

He passed by clothing stores, jewelry stores, and sports stores, all of which he doubted would carry anything that Homura could be remotely interested in owning. With each store he passed, his annoyance grew.

’What kind of gift do you give a swordswoman who says everything, but doesn’t seem to want anything material?’

His friends had long since ditched him, but even if he asked everyone on their crew, he doubted any of them could come up with a concrete answer as to what Homura would actually like. Though she said everything that came to her mind, she’d somehow never mentioned her interests, besides…

As Weisz rounded the corner, he finally saw a shop that he could work with.

‘What do you get a swordswoman? A decorative blade,’ he thought. ‘Even though her Ether Gear means she’s literally never without one, and I doubt she’d have a use for a blade that’s not meant to be, well, used, it’s as good a place as any to start.’

A bell rang as he walked into the shop, and almost immediately after stepping through the doorway, the noise from outside seemed impossibly distant. Weisz’s ears started to ring faintly in the sudden silence, one that even the dust seemed afraid to break.

The broad-shouldered clerk at the counter looked up, but didn’t say anything as Weisz began to wander around the shop. The sheer number of pointy-death-sticks hanging on the walls made him a little uneasy.

Guns have a safety function, after all, and knives and swords do not.

‘Zweihänder, Broadsword, Rapier, Dao, Katana, how many fucking ways can you make steel sharp enough to kill someone?’ he thought.

The man at the counter seemed to be the only employee in the shop, and he watched as Weisz navigated all the complicated classifications that he never even knew existed.

‘Well, a big sword is out of the question,’ he thought. ‘I don’t know if I can even lift it, let alone…’

He blanched as he noticed the price on a nearby Claymore.

‘..Afford it. A smaller knife will be fine. I think.’

The employee never spoke, but Weisz could feel his stare as he moved through the shop.

‘I know I’m a thief, but he can’t possibly know that, and I sure as hell can’t steal anything from here if I can’t even carry it.’

The silence was nearly unbearable, and as he came around to the back of the shop, Weisz was seriously tempted to just leave and get a generic Christmas gift that no one could dislike.

‘It’s not like someone who’s never celebrated Christmas before would know the difference, right?’

He shook his head. Homura couldn’t lie, and he- and everyone else- was sure to hear how much or how little she liked his gift. And he refused to be the only one unsuccessful in their Secret Santa charades.

Out of the corner of his eye, he just barely caught part of the description of a small dagger.

Valkyrie.

He nearly gave himself whiplash with his double-take.

Valkyrie Wingblade Dagger.

Even Weisz could admit that it was a beautiful work of art. The blade itself was somewhere around six to eight inches and two-pronged, but that wasn’t the most impressive thing about it.

Spreading out from the handle was a set of wings. Each individual feather had been meticulously crafted, and the wings formed a hand-guard of sorts. The handle itself was simple, yet elegant, and there were two little things jutting out from the bottom of it.

‘Maybe that’s for hanging it?’

“Find something that interests you?”

Weisz jumped as the employee’s deep voice boomed in the silent shop. He could hear his accelerated heartbeat in his ears.

“Uh.. yeah, maybe.”

“The Valkyrie dagger, huh? It’s a fine choice. Who’s it for?”

“A friend. She.. likes swords, and her teacher’s name was Valkyrie.”

“...Interestin’. I heard stories about some warrior single-handedly changing the tide of the war on Odeo about ten years ago now. Some of ‘em put ‘er name as ‘Valkyrie,’ but I thought that was just hearsay. It is an ancient name, after all. Didn’t think anyone besides historians and sword experts knew about it.. Wonder if it’s the same person.”

Weisz blinked at the history lesson. “Valkyrie Yuna. That’s her name. And she’s definitely the same person as my friend’s teacher.”

“Yer friend must be one hell of a fighter, then.”

“Yeah..”

“You gonna get that one, or keep lookin’?”

Weisz glanced down at the dagger’s price tag, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief to find that it was reasonable.

“Sure, I’ll get this one.”

The clerk reached into the display case to grab it. “If you want, you can get it engraved. It’ll cost a little extra, and take a bit of time, but it’s a common option this time of year.”

“How much more?” Weisz asked hesitantly. “And how long will it take?”

~~~~~~~~

Edens Kitchen looked nearly unrecognizable. Witch had gone far beyond what Weisz had expected in turning it into a winter wonderland; Color-changing lights and garland criss-crossed the room, and fake snowflakes that he suspected Witch had cut out herself all hung from the ceiling. Christmas tree and gingerbread man cutouts decorated the bottom two feet of the walls, red and green ribbons were wrapped artfully around each of the tables and chairs, and fake snow covered the floor. There was even a real Christmas tree in the corner that was so picturesque, he vaguely wondered what movie it was stolen from.

Not to mention the mistletoe that was hanging in just about every doorway in and around the kitchen, which he took careful measures to avoid meeting anyone under.

Pino had frozen in excitement for a solid twenty seconds when she saw the decorations, to the point that Weisz was nearly concerned Hermit would have to reboot her. Shiki was equally excited, temporarily losing control over his Ether Gear in the process. Witch and Rebecca had to weigh him down so he wouldn’t ruin the decorations on the ceiling.

Weisz was impressed. Witch’s decorations almost put him in a festive mood, which was more than he could say for any other Christmas celebration he’d been to in his life. Even the food was festive, with holiday staples like mashed potatoes, turkey, and stuffing all decked out in red and green embellishments wherever possible. Even the eggnog and hot chocolate had red and green shavings in them, which Witch had assured all of them were just pieces of chocolate and sprinkles.

What she missed in Secret Santa shopping, she more than made up for with the decor.

“It’s beautiful, Miss Witch!” Pino’s antennae were nearly invisible with how fast they were wagging.

“Yeah, you really went all out! It looks amazing!” Rebecca said, trying to pull Shiki away from getting tangled in the lights.

“I must agree,” Homura said from behind her hand. “I feel as if I am in that Christmas-themed village from that movie Rebecca spoke of.”

“Thank you. I wanted to make our first Christmas together truly special,” Witch said, blushing. She’d replaced her sorceress hat with a Santa one, and her staff with a giant candy cane. “I even made everyone a Santa hat to really get in the spirit!”

“Everyone meaning everyone,” Ivry said, with a pointed look at Weisz. “And you gotta wear it. Ship rules.”

Weisz grumbled, but Witch looked so happy with herself and her efforts that he didn’t want to ruin it.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll wear the damn hat.”

‘I guess it won’t kill me, it’ll just do significant psychological damage.’

After an hour of partying, eating, drinking eggnog, and watching Pino try to meet everyone, including him, under the mistletoe- which he reluctantly agreed to, letting her give him a cold kiss on the cheek, both because he feared he might be staring down Rebecca’s pistol again if he didn’t, and she was just too adorable for words while asking(though he’d never admit it)- it was time for Secret Santa.

“It’s time for presents!” Rebecca sang.

Everyone scrambled to the pile of presents under the tree, rushing to give theirs first.

“Here,” a dry voice spoke beside him.

He turned to find Hermit presenting him with a small box.

“Thanks,” he said, opening it slowly. He wouldn’t put it past the little troll of a Shining Star to give him a gag gift that would blow up in his face.

He was pleasantly surprised to find a real present in the box, but also a bit confused by it. “Is this just the Arsenal Suit?”

“More specifically, Arsenal Suit Mark One-Point-Five. I spent two days slaving over the formulas to make it more cost effective. Plus a couple of other special features. We can test it out tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Hermit.”

“Of course,” she said coolly.

As he looked around, he saw Pino giving Witch a box that was bigger than the little bot was- or, more accurately, Pino was sitting on top of the box, and Rebecca was handing it over- Ivry standing behind them, a gift he assumed was for Rebecca in hand, and Shiki giving Happy a candy cane colored bag.

He found Homura standing in the doorway under the mistletoe. As Weisz walked over, he made sure not to step under it.

“Here,” he said, suddenly embarrassed as he handed the long box over to her.

“Thank you, Weisz.”

As she moved to open it, Weisz was struck with sudden anxiety.

‘If she doesn’t like it, no one will let me live it down for who knows how long,’ he thought. ‘And I actually tried with this. She has to like it.’

He briefly wondered why he was so concerned about her reaction now, when he hadn’t been before.

‘Is it really only because this is the first time I’m giving a gift to someone who’s opinion really matters to me? Or is it because this is the first swordmaster I’ve tried to give a gift to?’

She stared into the box silently. And somehow, her silence was worse than her outright saying that it was horrible. He’d never seen Homura speechless before.

Slowly, she reached in and pulled out the blade, examining it carefully.

“Valkyrie wings…” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” he said, unsure of what else he could say.

He watched as her eyes roamed over the dagger, taking in every detail. Her eyes widened when she noticed the engraving.

“So, what did you want the engraving to say?” the clerk asked.

“Valkyrie Homura.”

Finally, Homura looked up at him, her mouth slightly open and eyes widened a bit in shock. Then, she pressed her lips together as tears welled up in her eyes.

‘Son of a-’

“Thank you.” She interrupted his train of thought, a smile spreading across her face.

“Y- you like it?”

She nodded. “Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Immensely so.”

Putting the dagger back in the box and closing it, she looked back up at him and smiled again. A genuine smile, one that Weisz had never seen on her face before.

‘She looks really pretty smiling like that.’

His shoulders scrunched up in embarrassment as he realized what he was thinking, and he looked away in an attempt to hide the blush he was sure was spreading across his face, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I would not have expected something so thoughtful from you,” she said, immediately covering her mouth as she realized what she said. “Oh, I hadn’t meant to say that aloud. My apologies.”

“No, I’m with you on this one. I wasn’t expecting it, either.”

She giggled behind her hand.

“So, why are you standing over here?”

“I was hoping to meet Shiki under the mistletoe.”

“I- a- .. oh. Really?” he asked, ten kinds of confused all at once.

“Yes, I was hoping to challenge him to a duel.”

“A- uh, what?”

“Ivry explained mistletoe to me. If two are caught under it, they must duel. She called it ‘mistlefoe.’ She said it was a time-honored tradition.”

Weisz burst out laughing so hard that he had to lean against the doorway so he didn’t fall over completely.

“What is so funny?” she asked, her hand coming back up to cover her mouth again, this time out of embarrassment.

“That’s not what mistletoe is for,” he said after he managed to calm down enough to be understood.

“Then what is it for?”

Now completely calm, he stood up straight. “The point of mistletoe is that you’re supposed to kiss whoever you meet under it.”

They both froze as they realized that Weisz had stepped underneath said mistletoe without realizing it. Matching blushes sprung up on their faces as they struggled to speak.

“W-well, I suppose I would not mind it so much,” Homura said, slapping both hands over her mouth with a high-pitched squeak.

His shoulders scrunched up even further at her confession.

“Y-... you wouldn’t?”

“I-... I, umm..” her voice was almost a full octave higher than normal. “Sister Ivry!”

“Oh, shit,” the wicked nun cackled, hiding behind Witch as Homura stormed over to her.

Weisz stayed frozen, staring at the now empty space in front of him, his heart racing.

~~~~~~~~

A few hours later, everyone was passed out in the game room. Rebecca demanded they have a “Christmas Movie Marathon” after their Secret Santa shenanigans, and of course Shiki agreed.

Now, both of them were asleep on top of each other, drunk off their asses from Ivry’s spiked eggnog. The nun in question was also drunk, sprawled out on the floor.

‘I didn’t know Ivry could get drunk, seeing as she drinks all the time. And she’s an android.’

Hermit was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, with Pino and Happy curled up in her lap, all of them asleep.

‘Apparently, androids sleep, too.’

Weisz shook his head, stretching his neck out and looking at the other side of the couch where Homura had been sitting. She left an hour ago, citing wanting to go to bed as the reason, but she left with both hands forcefully covering her mouth, and he had a sinking feeling it was because of him.

When they came in for the movie marathon, they sat on opposite sides of the couch and didn’t look at each other the entire time. Their earlier conversation crept, unbidden, into his mind again.

‘I wouldn’t mind kissing Homura, either, I guess. She’s beautiful, strong, kind-’

He considered it nothing short of a Christmas miracle that his stomach growled at that moment, interrupting his train of thought.

On his walk to the kitchen, he tried overthinking about what to eat, so as to keep thoughts of Homura and kissing out of his mind. It was easier to just brush off that conversation as the holiday spirit affecting her in an odd way than to think about wanting to kiss her and the ramifications of doing so.

‘For one, she can’t keep a secret to save her life, so everyone else would know within twenty-four hours,’ he thought. ‘She’s probably never even- Why am I still thinking about this?!’

He almost forgot about the decoration explosion in the kitchen. Walking into it was a decent enough distraction as he forced himself to change the subject in his mind.

The leftover food from their party hadn’t been put away yet; The bowl of mashed potatoes was nearly empty, both of the pies and the cheesecake were completely gone- most likely courtesy of Rebecca’s bottomless pit of a stomach- and the turkey was split down the middle almost perfectly, with one half picked at and the other untouched.

Weisz tore off a small piece of turkey and tossed it into his mouth. None of the party food really interested him, so he pulled up the holographic menu to skim through. But it didn’t do as much as he’d hoped in terms of distracting him. After five minutes of mindless scrolling where his mind wasn’t really on the food, he gave up and ordered a glass of water.

‘Do I really want to kiss Homura, or did that damn Santa hat do more damage than I thought it would?’

The kitchen slid his glass of water over to him, and he sipped on it slowly.

‘Is this what it’s like to doubt yourself? Have I really never doubted myself in my entire life? I probably should’ve.’

“Wow, I’m a selfish prick,” he muttered.

No longer hungry, he finished off his water, deciding to just go to bed.

‘Hopefully I’ll wake up and be able to convince myself that all of the “Kissing Homura” business was just a dream.’

As the kitchen door slid open, he ran into someone coming in. That someone being Homura.

‘Either the universe hates me, or it just likes laughing at me.’

“Weisz,” she said quietly.

“Homura,” he said, his mouth suddenly dry.

“I was just going to get some water.”

He nodded, unsure of what else to do.

They stared at each other for a few moments until Homura nodded and moved to walk past him. He was content to just let her pass him by- at least, he thought he was. But somehow, his mind and his arm weren’t on the same page, because he found himself reaching out to stop her walking away.

“Hey.”

She turned to face him, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Yes?”

‘Fuck it.’

“Did… did you mean it? What you said earlier?” he forced out.

“A-about.. kissing?” her voice was unnaturally high again.

He sighed heavily, suddenly very aware of his racing heartbeat. “Y- yeah.”

“I… yes,” she whispered, her cheeks a fiery red.

His shoulders scrunched up far enough that he felt like a turtle trying to retreat into its shell. His pulse pounded in his ears, and suddenly it seemed as though his entire torso was burning in embarrassment.

Of course it was only then that both of them looked up and noticed that they were right back where they were before: under the mistletoe.

Homura took a deep breath, straightening up. Her confident posture only lasted a couple of seconds before she spoke. “What about you?”

His eyes widened in shock. “Do I… wanna kiss you?”

She nodded, refusing to look at him.

“I, um… Well… You’re not drunk, are you?”

“W- what?” she asked, shocked. “No. In truth, I do not like alcohol. Not its taste, nor its effects.”

“...Okay.”

“Why?”

“It’s a weird day,” he said, shaking his head.

“Are you?”

“Stone cold sober,” he said. ‘Though this conversation is making me feel like I’m drunk,’ he thought. ‘Either that, or I’m in a fever dream.’

Homura paused, eyes darting back and forth. “You never answered my question.”

Weisz breathed in, then out slowly. “... Yeah,” he said, surprising both of them with his answer. “Yeah, I- I.. want to kiss you.”

Both of them were silent for a moment, uncertain of what to do.

“I have… never actually kissed anyone before. Is it like a battle?”

The noise he made was somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “No, it’s not that complicated. It’s pretty easy, actually. Haven’t you ever seen a movie or read a book with a kiss in it?”

“Well, yes, but how can I know how much of that is fiction, and how much is accurate to reality?”

Weisz tilted his head to the side. “Fair point. But it’s basically the same, for the most part. It’s, well.. I mean, it’s just something you learn by doing.”

“Then let me learn. Or teach me, rather.”

“O-okay.” For the first time ever, Weisz hesitated to kiss her. Not even his first kiss was this drawn out.

He rolled his shoulders, projecting a calm he didn’t feel, and brought his hand up to her cheek. Without giving himself time to overthink, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

The first couple of seconds were awkward. Homura stood still, not quite grasping how to respond. But she proved herself a quick learner when she started kissing back.

Weisz brought his other hand to her waist, pulling her closer. Homura covered his hand on her cheek with her own, resting the other on his arm.

He ended their kiss sooner than he would have liked, but he didn’t want to overstep with a too-intense one. Resting his forehead on hers, Weisz still kept close to her lips, torn between wanting another kiss and wondering if Homura did.

At this distance, it was hard to not look at each other, but they both tried.

“That… was nice.”

He nodded slightly. “Mhm.”

“Weisz,” she whispered, finally looking him in the eyes.

“Yeah?”

She gulped. “...Teach me again?”

The corner of his lips turned up in a small smile. “Okay,” he said, leaning in again.

“Wait.”

He stopped. “Hm?”

Homura moved the hand that was resting on his arm to instead lay on his cheek. Then, she leaned forward and reconnected their lips.

Weisz’s hand on her waist slid around to the small of her back, pulling her even closer than before. His hand resting on her cheek slid down to join the other. He allowed himself to kiss her a little harder, nearly losing himself in the moment.

When they pulled apart again, they were breathless.

“Well… You’re definitely a fast learner,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Thank you, I pride myself on it.”

Weisz chuckled, which set Homura off giggling before taking a step back. Neither of them took their hands off the other.

“Thank you… for teaching me.. about mistletoe. It was…-”

“Yeah, it was good for me, too.”

Homura nodded, a small smile growing on her face. She looked away from him.

“Well, it has certainly been… an interesting first Christmas,” she said, stepping away slowly. “Goodnight, Weisz.”

“Night.”

She turned her head away, hiding her smile as she walked past him.

Weisz touched his lips lightly. “Yeah,” he said to himself. “Maybe Christmas isn’t so bad.”

#Edens Zero #Edens Zero Fanfic #Weiszmura #EZ Secret Santa #Mistletoe Confessions

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aliceslantern · 4 years

Text

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 24--Best Laid Plans

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary: Ienzo and Xemnas go down to the lab.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

The lab was colder than Ienzo remembered.

How many hours had he spent here as a boy, perched on somebody’s knee or getting in the way? And even then, despite the fact that not much could be done with the architecture of the room, there were always books, and cups of tea, and laughing people to make the room feel less sterile.

It was cold--literally and figuratively--and empty, and silent other than the hum of the cooling fans, the ventilation.

“What is it you need?” Xemnas asked him.

Ienzo considered. He’d never done this without wires before, so it might be more complicated than he’d thought. “Watch the doors. Let me know if someone’s coming. I can’t keep up an illusion if I’m in there.”

It shouldn’t be easy to trust Xemnas, and to a degree it wasn’t--his heart was racing, and he hadn’t been able to sleep at all the night before. The only piece of good news in all this, relatively speaking, was that he’d started his period. One less thing to worry about. The thought of it was at the forefront of his mind; not because it was necessarily worse than he remembered, but because the last time he’d done such work, he’d been pregnant.

Xemnas tapped in the password. “It’s DoorToDarkness, for future reference,” he told Ienzo.

He almost groaned. “You’re kidding.”

A smile. “My father is nothing if not literal.” He touched Ienzo’s shoulder. “What do you need from me?”

“Keep watch. If someone comes… wake me.” There was a chair nearby; Ienzo dragged it over. He held his hands over the keys and let the magic flow under his skin.

The sensation was not so overwhelming now that he was used to it, but to be on the other side was odd. He looked around, taking in shelves of books that served as a metaphor for files. Where to begin?

“Ienzo? Is that you?”

The relief he felt was immense. “Tron. Thank goodness.” It was dark here; he squinted.

“Oh, so good to know you’re okay. The…” He gestured to Ienzo’s stomach. “Everything’s… okay?”

“A little girl. Almost seven months old.”

“Oh, that’s good. That’s very good.”

There was something smooth about his tone. Something odd. Off-putting. “Come into the light?”

Tron did so. He still wore a neat suit, but it was different, flecked through with threads of red that looked more like cracks. His expression was pinched, pained, and he moved with difficulty. “Hello, user,” he said. “I’m afraid you are--unauthorized--”

“Tron?”

“Another user is--accessing critical data--” He twitched. He mouthed the words “I’m sorry.”

“Xemnas!” Ienzo screamed. “Wake me up! Wake me up now!” He hadn’t realized how dependent he’d become on Cid’s interfacing with him to get out . He tried to run from Tron, but with a glitch he was thrown against one of these shelves, a pair of hands around his throat.

“I’m--sorry--user--I’m--interfacing--accessing--memory--”

Ienzo struggled, feeling Tron flicking through his mind, but this body could not breathe . Had Xemnas betrayed him? Why was this happening? But why would Xemnas betray him if--

Amalia flickered in his mind’s eye. The image flickered… and held. Tron’s grip loosened around his throat, and he fell. “No. No. Please. No.”

“Terminal--upload--copying--fifty-four percent--”

Ienzo pushed Tron hard, but the program just slumped over. “Do you know what you just did?”

Suddenly, with force, he found himself back in his body, which was in the process of being thrown. Ienzo hit the wall hard. His ears were ringing, and his vision grew blurry. He thought maybe he’d broken a rib or two and gasped for breath. He saw a crumpled brown-and-silver mass near the computer--Xemnas--and a pair of black boots approaching him.

“You’ve been a very naughty boy, haven’t you, Ienzo?” Young Xehanort asked. “Both of you.”

“How did you--”

“A program is not a person. All you have to do is mess with them a little , and they’ll hand you everything you need to know on a plate.” He stepped on Ienzo’s chest, pressing hard. “So naturally, when you began to be friends with my brother, who has always suffered so dramatically from middle child syndrome… well, it was only a matter of time, right?”

“What will you do?” He had to gasp the words.

“Well, considering the wealth of information I just accessed… I have a lot of work to do. Wouldn’t you like to see your family, Ienzo?” He pressed harder, and Ienzo’s vision started to darker. “Wouldn’t you like to hold your little baby again? I can do all that and more. Yes. I think they’ll all be quite comfortable where we can see them.”

“Don’t hurt her--”

Hands snapped to his throat. “You have no right to tell me what to do.”

Darkness.

---

A cold, wet cloth was being pressed against his throat. Not hard, but enough to be disorienting. Ienzo gasped a little.

“Easy. Easy.” Xemnas’s voice. “You’re hurt. Don’t move.”

The air smelled musty, and his body felt wrong , his power dead, heavy. His chest ached tremendously, and so did his throat. He tried to swallow. His vision wouldn’t quite focus.

“Seems to me several ribs are broken, and you may have a concussion. You were also strangled until you lost consciousness.”

“Where--” He tried to ask, but all it sounded like was “wh”.

“We’re being kept in a cell in my brother’s lab. Fitting, is it not? Try not to speak. You may damage your vocal cords further.”

Ienzo tried to sit up, but the pain almost made him cry out. Xemnas eased him back down onto the small cot.

“Do you think you can drink some water? I’ve no idea if it will help, but--” Water running, a cold metal cup being brought to his lips. “At least we have this much.”

The cold water both hurt and felt good to get inside of him. “S...sorr…”

“There’s no way you could’ve anticipated this, Ienzo.”

“Tron… corru…”

“He was quite proud to tell me he’s been watching you for some time. I promise I had no idea.”

“My… my ba…”

“I do not know if my father pursued them. If they’re smart, they might be able to get away. But knowing him… the whole city watch, Heartless, would’ve found them with ease. I like to think my father would not kill an innocent child. Not if she might be of use.”

He felt a thick rush of tears, and the added swelling in his throat made him unable to breathe for a moment. Xemnas dampened the cloth around his throat again. “I’m trying to figure this out. Somehow. There are still people on our side. You must rest.”

“I can’t… My dau…” He coughed, so hard and for so long his vision went gray, between the broken ribs and the swelling in his throat. He tasted blood. Xemnas turned him so that he might spit it into the empty cup.

“...I just hope there’s no internal damage.”

There was the sound of muffled beeping, and a metal door sliding open. Ienzo was so dizzy, and nauseous; definitely concussed, he decided hazily.

“My father desires an audience.”

“Brother--”

“You are no brother of mine.”

“At least give the child a potion. He can barely breathe.”

“As if I would trust a single word that comes out of your filthy mouth. Come. Get up . I’ll drag you if I have to.”

Ienzo swallowed blood. “Hel… help…”

Xemnas eased him gently to his feet. The man flinched when he took Ienzo’s weight--he must’ve been injured somehow too--and when he set Ienzo on his own, his whole abdomen ached from the lack of support.

Young Xehanort grabbed his wrist roughly and towed him out of the cell. Every step, every breath , hurt, and he wasn’t completely convinced he would stay conscious. He tried to bear it, if so to beg for his daughter’s life, and in a strange fugue he found himself in the throne room.

“My dear prince. ” There was venom to his words now. “Well. I should’ve known better, shouldn’t I? You played your cards almost perfectly . Were it not for my son’s vigilance, you could’ve wrought a whole lot of havoc, couldn’t you?”

Ienzo’s vision was blurry. He took a few stumbling steps forward and knelt, despite the wave of agony it caused him. “F-forgive…”

“We’re beyond that, I think.”

“P-please don’t hu--” He spat up more blood. He heard a muffled scream to his right, and the sound was so familiar that fear washed through him. As slowly as he could without causing himself pain, Ienzo turned towards the source of the noise.

Demyx. Crumpled at the foot of Young Xehanort’s throne, his hands bound. Ienzo just barely saw Braig behind them, his expression stony.

Xehanort smiled. “I’m sure our guest needs no introduction. You have quite a close relationship, don’t you? It’s alright. Say hello. Go to him.”

Demyx dashed over to him. “Ienzo. Ienzo. You’re so--” He could do little more than dab the blood off of his face.

“Wh-when did he--”

“They got us last night. All of us. At once.”

“Whe--”

“She’s okay. She’s okay, Ienzo. He left her with Even.”

“...Enough chit chat, I think.”

Demyx knelt and helped Ienzo lean against him. He pressed Ienzo’s hand, very subtly, against his pocket. Ienzo could feel the outline of a knife. No doubt that in the panic of their capture Demyx had been too worried about the baby to use it. Ienzo tried to work it out with small twitches.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

There were Heartless guards, even if Braig decided to help them. Even if Xehanort truly was as frail as he looked--and Ienzo was sure he wasn’t--there was also the matter of his son, glowering behind him, his own power not to be underestimated. Ienzo was wounded, his power jammed, and potentially all Xehanort would have to do was whisper before his whole family was killed.

But what else could he do? He was found out. Surely that wouldn’t mean leniency. And honestly? He’d rather everyone be dead than forced into a life of suffering and servitude. The knife slid into his hand, and he forced it up his sleeve as Xehanort spoke.

“You’ve caused me an awful lot of trouble, with your antics,” Xehanort began. “So much so that I can’t even justify keeping you as a pet. You’ve made it personal, so I shall do the same in turn. Child?”

But he was not speaking to Ienzo--all of a sudden there was another muffled cry and Demyx was pulled away from him. Young Xehanort dragged him across the stone, and despite Demyx’s struggling, it was fruitless. He threw him down at his father’s feet.

“What do you want?” Ienzo forced out painfully. He glanced at Braig. Do something, he thought desperately.

“Ienzo, it is not nice to hurt people who have treated you well.” He grasped Demyx by the hair. “It’s a shame. You could’ve been useful to me too. Seeker blood. You must be close to the last of your kind, no?”

“Fuck you,” Demyx spat, and Xehanort kicked him hard in the groin. “I’ll kill you,” he continued. “I’ll ki--”

It happened so fast that Ienzo could barely see it; all he knew was that suddenly Demyx was bleeding heavily from a spot below his heart, curling and convulsing on the cold marble.

“Rather annoying, that one,” Young Xehanort said.

Xehanort came closer to him. “You see, Ienzo, you need motivation ,” he continued. “You agree to help me, truly help me, and I’ll heal him. I’ll heal you both. Your child, your filthy family , will be safe. There is no need for suffering. It is counterproductive to what I want. You could usher in a new era of knowledge, of equality .”

“D-don’t--” Demyx forced out. “Don’t--”

“Shut up, boy. Kingdom Hearts could be ours . Your power, our strength. Decide quickly, Ienzo. It seems you’re running out of time.”

The proper thing to do would be to submit. Agree absolutely, yes, just stop the bleeding. Try to con his way out of this. But seeing Demyx twitch on the ground drowned out all reason, and something snapped. Ienzo screamed. Heat bled out of him, forcing against the jam, shattering it, a wave of magic making his skin burn. The sight of Demyx’s blood only made the burn worse, scalding, needing to get near him to heal , his whole soul crying out in agony. Suddenly it became clear why it was called soul binding.

“I told you he would not see reason,” Young Xehanort spat. “Why do you keep going after and after what will never succumb to you?”

Ienzo reached for the knife. Xehanort grasped his face. “This pain will pass, boy. This world can be… great again. I can shepherd in an era of--”

“Like hell you will.” It took the rest of his physical strength, but Ienzo took the knife, and all of his power, and he forced it outward, the Heartless guards to shiver and collapse and he forced the metal up through flesh and bone-- Xehanort collapsed, and the blood ran hot against Ienzo, but he didn’t care. He saw Braig grasp at Young Xehanort’s head and slit his neck. He could barely feel his body in this strange maelstrom of pain and numbness. He dragged himself over to Demyx, who had gone pale and still. “No.” He slapped at his face. “No, no, no--”

“Zo,” he slurred.

“It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” He held his hand over the wound and pulled. Healing Isa had been easy, with the magic from the birth, but he was fighting the jamming, and his own weakness, and he could not feel his own body, though somehow he felt like he was on fire --

Amalia needed Demyx.

The thought of her gave him enough strength to heal the wound--

“Zo?” Demyx’s voice was stronger now, and suddenly Ienzo was being the one cradled. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t move --

“I killed him. They’re dead,” he whispered.

“What’s wrong--why are you--”

“Too much…” He heard more than felt his teeth chattering. “Too much magic--”

“How do I fix it?”

“Can’t.”

“What do you mean I can’t?”

“Can’t--”

Then, the sound of footsteps and another voice-- “Braig--? Ienzo? ”

“Even--how did you--you’re covered in blood--”

“Not mine--don’t worry about that--”

“Dad?” Ienzo forced out.

“Child…”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s in… shock. I need…”

For a long while, everything just stopped.

#heartlines #ienzo #demyx #zemyx #xemnas #tron (kingdom hearts)#young xehanort #master xehanort

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xjamlessparkx · 5 years

Text

divorce | myg | 13

summary: in which you have to go through a painful process of your own family shattering

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: angst

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 |12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17

“What are you doing?” You heard you mom approaching you. She put the glass of coffee next to the laptop on the table while she bends down slightly. You were scrolling through the page as you felt her narrowing her eyes next to your face.

“What does that mean?” She asked, pointing at the screen. You stopped and turned your head to her.

“I think it’s the best if I and the children move out and start newly.” You clarified and put on a weak smile.

It’s been already a week since the last time you saw Yoongi and had the serious conversation with him. After that, you deeply rethought about your life decisions and the way you acted through this whole process. Sometimes you could really act like a freaking idiot but other times it was him being the douchebag.

You searched for a new job, this time everywhere since you considered about moving your house. You didn’t want to get reminded about Yoongi anymore. First, the house and then a good job if possible. You looked for apartments with a low rent monthly which was pretty hard to doubt you still kept searching every day and every night.

“You will move out?” She asked calmly, pointing at the monitor. You nodded as she turned her face to you again.

Suddenly, she hit the table with her palm, making you wince in your place as some of the liquid dropped out of the glass.

“Are out of your mind? You start talking nonsense. You, you don’t even have a proper job and you start searching for a new home?! Who will pay the rent? The electricity? Your children have their needs and so do you! You can’t get your life together if you think that way!” she yelled, furrowing her eyebrow. You cleared your throat and stepped back.

“Mom… it’s not that I haven’t thought about all of this-” she cut you off, fidgeting with her fingers in front of your face.

“Cleary, you’re using your mind irrationally. Stop that nonsense now and come back to your senses!” She took a deep breath and shut her eyes, massaging her temple. You stood up and examined her face, trying to distinguish her expressions.

“Mom” you heard a thin and feminine voice calling out for you. You turned around to face your little daughter, “are we really moving?” she asked out of blue.

Your eyes widened as you gave your mother a narrowing gaze. If she hadn’t yell then your daughter wouldn’t hear the two of you. You shook your head as you went up to her, “No, no, no- we aren’t” you kneeled down on her level and cupped her cheeks, “Well, not now. Mommy is just looking for a better home for us-” Ahran furrowed her eyebrows and pouted slightly.

“No mom, I don’t wanna move out of here. This is our home.” You licked your lips as you sighed and slid your hair behind your ear.

“Look sweety, this will be much better for all of us-”

“No! If we move out, we won’t be able to see dad frequently anymore…” she pouted and you sighed again.

“Look, I haven’t even found a new home and for now-” you were cut off by the doorbell ringing non-stop and someone hitting the door loudly. Your eyes widened as you turned around to your mother. “Mom, take the kids,”, taking Ahran’s hands in yours your guided her to your mother and she stood up, leaving you to go and get Junsun. The rude person behind the door didn’t stop to bang on the door.

As soon as you opened the door you were met by two pairs of eyes, looking furiously at yours. Yuna. As if the problems who had to deal with weren’t enough, you just had to endure her. It was a nice and chill Sunday until she had to butt in.

“Where is Yoongi?” Just as she wanted to come in your put your arms on the doorframe, preventing her from coming in.

“Who are you to disturb my peace? Plus trying to enter my home without my permission-” You had your hands firmly on the frames as you narrowed your eyes and stared into her eyes which were really red and puffy as if she cried.

“I know that he is in here! Let me in!” She suddenly started yelling and tried to push past you while you stopped her, closing the door shut. She started hitting the door even louder which made you sigh deeply and extremely annoyed with her.

Your hand reached the doorknob and you pulled it forcefully, making her stumble forward. She cleared her throat.

“Listen Yuna,” you started, crossing your arms over your chest as you started into her eyes, “Min Yoongi isn’t here and if you don’t stop bothering me I will surely think about calling the cops for disturbing my peace in my home!” You snapped, making her wince in shock.

“Don’t act innocent Y/N! You know the reason of my presence-” you cut her off, clearly annoyed about her voice and the way she assumed that her way of thinking was right.

“I have no idea why you’re in front of me. Clearly, you’re not leaving, right? Okay, I‘m sorry, but I have to call the cops-” just as you reached out for your phone, she took it away and hid it behind her back.

“Don’t act like you don’t know anything because hell you know what’s going on right now. Because of you, Yoongi broke up with me!” She yelled, taking a deep breath afterward. You furrowed your eyebrows, not sure how to react in this situation. Your feelings were mixed and you couldn’t tell them apart, unsure if they were expressing euphoria or just confusion.

“What?” Perfect! That was literally all you could think of? Just answering in a confused way.

She let out a fake chuckle as she pulled out her hand, handing you your phone back.

“I won’t let you take over us! Believe me. I won’t let you have Yoongi because-”

“I don’t care.”

Indeed, she was surprised about you not talking back. You let your mouth say the words which your mind repeated over and over again. Sometimes it’s getting more real and one is accepting it when it’s said out loud. You didn’t want to fight anymore because you weren’t sure if it is worth, consuming your energy for his unfaithful love.

“Now please leave-” again you wanted to close the door, but she held her arm in front of you, stopping you.

“Yoongi can’t get back to you….” she shook her head, her eyes getting teary as you furrowed your eyebrows. At that moment the postman came up to you, handing you a letter. You rolled your eyes and ignored her presence while opening the letter. She was still mumbling words and you just hoped for her to realize that you gave her an answer already. Your furrowed eyebrows relaxed as your eyes were reading the words, written on the letter.

It was your official date in court for the process of the divorce.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you shut your eyes.

“Here!” You yelled, turning the paper and showing in front of her face. “It’s our official lawsuit. One week. Only one week until we are done, you understood?!” you gritted your teeth, surprised about the sudden anger and the penetrating voice of yours. “Now leave my freaking house!” Without saying anything further, you pushed her and shut the door close. Throwing the papers on the small commode, you stomped off into your room and slammed the door shut. You were angry but you didn’t know why.

With your hands you went through your face and hair, going from one corner to the other. Slowly, you started biting your nails and you really didn’t know why. You couldn’t figure out why you were in the state of hysteria. It was cruel and kind of humiliating how your heart got ripped off and was cut into pieces. Your heart was full but your mind was empty. It was strange and yet so hurtful. You sat down on the edge of your bed and looked up, your gaze meeting the pictures, which were hanging on the wall in front of you. You chuckled about your stupidity, for not hanging them down. In that time, you couldn’t raise your hand and put them down. It was just wrong.

It felt like your mind woke up as it was sending an impulse to your feet, dragging you to stand up and walk to the pictures where the beautiful memories were plastered on. You smiled to yourself as you were looking at one and each of them. Hesitantly, you reached out for the pictures. Your hands slowly and gently caressing them with your hands. When the realization hit you, you grabbed them and threw them on the ground, causing a loud mess.

Suddenly, the door opened. Your mother ran up to you.

“Y/N!” She had a worry written all over her face. Her arms wrapped around your body and pulled you tighter to herself.

You were in the state of crying but no tear left your eyes. Your body, heart, and soul felt that it was the last step before releasing your new life after the lawsuit. It was so complicated and you didn’t know how to react because of the different feelings your whole body expressed.

Indeed, your mother was worried and wanted to give you a helping hand. At some point, she thought that her help wouldn’t be enough. You have to go through professional therapy for recovering but her saying that would make you even angrier. Of course, you wouldn’t agree. You weren’t insane, just a mother who is going through difficult times. Surely, you hoped for recovering and you were sure to be a new person as soon as you start changing and decorating your own life differently.

You stood up and took the pictures, throwing them all into the trashcan in your room. Meanwhile, your mother followed your actions and watched you pitiful and sad for not being able to help you properly.

“Mom… I’m ok!” You said, leaving the room and going up to the laptop. You were going through the same websites all over again, trying to find a good job and a new home with a payable rent.

It was already getting darker and you were still sitting in front of your screen, writing many online applications and calling some estate agents for a new home. Luckily, you made some appointments for good apartments which you will be looking at this whole week. They weren’t too small and in a bad area, you hoped for good news.

“Y/N, wake up…” a warm hand touched your shoulder and shook you awake, slowly and gently.

You lifted your head from the hard ground which obviously was your table. Going through your hair, you tried to familiarize yourself with your surroundings.

“Mom? What time is it?” you mumbled, your voice coming out low and raspy.

“You were in front of the screen the whole night. I made sure that Junsun and Ahran get their bus. You should wake up now…” She smiled weakly at you as she put her hand on your shoulder. “How about you take a nice shower while I clean the house? Let’s go out together, get some fresh air, gossip around and get different thoughts, huh?”

You smiled at your mother’s suggestion and nodded slowly. But how could you know that going out would make you feel even more miserable?

#min yoongi angst #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bangtan angst #bts angst scenarios #bts angst series #min yoongi angst scenarios #min yoongi angst series #min yoongi x you #bts x you #bts x reader #bangtan angst scenarios #bangtan series

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everlarkficexchange · 5 years

Text

Why Do I?

Author: @hutchhitched

Prompt 53: Everlark have been friends for a long time. Then this exchange happens. Person A: Why Do I even like your dumb ass? Person B: Huh? Person A: *panics* I SAID YOU HAVE A NICE ASS. [submitted by @iliveilaughiloveiread]

Rating: M

Summary: Peeta’s in love with his roommate Katniss. She thinks he has a really good set of buns. All puns intended.

Author’s note: Thanks for the prompt, @iliveilaughiloveiread. I had a lot of fun writing their banter.

“Peeta?”

“Kitchen!”

I hear Katniss throw her keys on the table in the entryway. It’s rare I know she’s there before she sneaks up on me. She’s so quiet I’ve lost track of the number of times she’s scared the shit out of me. I may have dropped a few trays of baked goods on the floor and jumped and screamed like a little girl when she’s tackled me with bear hugs and tickles. The squeals I make when her fingers slip under my shirt are so far from masculine it’s embarrassing, but I wouldn’t trade her hands on my skin for anything.

“What are you doing here, Mellark?” she asks in her throaty chuckle. “You’re not usually home on a Wednesday afternoon.”

“The kid cancelled again,” I answer, referring to the ten-year-old boy I typically tutor mid-week.

“Ah. So, it’s just us,” she replies before crossing to me and snuggling against my side. I lift both hands in the air and hug her with my elbow.

“Sorry. Cookie batter.”

She shrugs away, slumps onto a stool, and leans over the counter to observe. “Sugar?”

“Yes, Dumplin’?”

I grin at her laugh. I’m glad she’s finally rediscovered it. It’s been such a recent thing, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.

“Sugar cookies?”

“Ohhhh… You’re only interested in my baked goods. Maybe I can whip up some buns for you later.” I turn my back to her and clench my ass several times until she begs me to stop. When I turn, her gray eyes sparkle with mirth, and a rare smile graces her beautiful face. When she finally chokes back her laughter, she covers her mouth with her hand and murmurs something.

“Huh?” I can’t have heard her right. There’s no way, but it’s too tempting to let go. “Why do you like my dumb ass? Is that what you said?”

She freezes, and her eyes widen slightly. She gulps several times before blurting, “I didn’t say that! I said, ‘you have a nice ass!’”

“Oh, reeeeeeally?”

“Shut up!” she barks and sprints from the kitchen. A few seconds later, her bedroom door slams, and I sigh heavily.

Katniss Everdeen will be the death of me. I’ve loved her since Kindergarten, and I have no idea how I got so lucky to be her best friend. Well, technically, I do. She used to only talk to Madge Undersee, the daughter of a local politician, and Gale Hawthorne, brooding outdoorsmen who made all the girls in our high school swoon until he graduated and enlisted in the Marine Corps. When Gale left and Madge moved to the state capital after her father became a senator, Katniss drifted through the hallways between classes like a ghost. It only took me three months to work up the nerve to approach her in the lunchroom and ask if she’d like company. Another five weeks passed before she agreed to hang out with me outside of school. Three years later, she said yes when I asked her to be my roommate during college, and we haven’t lived apart in the seven years since. It’s been the best decade of my life.

Except for that pesky little being-in-love-with-her thing. She either doesn’t know or doesn’t care. Other than the hugs she gives me, we rarely touch. The most vulnerable she’s ever been with me was when her sister was in a car wreck a few years ago and went into the hospital. Katniss fell apart that night, and I did everything I knew how to do to comfort her. I wish I could do it every day.

I wish a lot of things I’m sure will never happen. Kissing her lips. Seeing her naked. Sinking into her and losing myself. Hearing her breathy moans when she comes. My ring on her finger. Marriage. Children. Grandchildren. Growing old together. Sharing a last name.

“Give it up, Bread Boy,” I mutter. “She’s never gonna love you that way.”

I turn my attention to the cookies. The timer dings, and I pull the first batch from the oven and let them cool while I mix several different colors of icing. Minutes turn into an hour as I decorate batch after batch. I’m just finishing the last few when I hear her behind me.

“I’m hungry. You want to grab dinner?”

I’m careful to keep my face blank when I turn and take in her beautiful face. She’s vulnerable and trying not to show it. Her gray eyes are haunted, and she’s wringing her hands. As much as I’d like to tease her, she doesn’t need that right now. She’s needs reassurance and understanding.

Sometimes it sucks to do the right thing instead of pushing for what I want.

“Always,” I answer quietly and wait for her to meet my eyes. “What sounds good?”

“Carbs.

“You want bread, huh? Maybe a little bun action?” I absolutely have to wiggle my ass. In fact, I have to back up to her and shake it some more. Her face floods with color, and I wink at her.

Sometimes it’s amazing to do what I want. Screw the right thing.

“You are the worst,” she grumbles, and I laugh at her discomfiture.

“I am, but I will feed you if you’ll help me clean up the kitchen.”

“Well, that sounds like a lot of work.” She crosses to me and bumps her shoulder against my arm. Without thinking, I tug her to my chest and nestle her head underneath my chin. She wraps her arms around me, and I kiss her on the crown of her head. When she relaxes, I squeeze her until she yelps.

“You’re a lot of work,” I joke and let her go. Beyond pleased, I hide my grin at the chagrined look on her face. Maybe, just maybe, she might like me a little more than I’d realized.

****

Two days later, I come home to her car in the driveway. She’s not expecting me, I’m sure, since I was supposed to have dinner with my older brother. I didn’t bother to text her when he bailed. Instead, I decided to surprise her, so I sneak inside the house and attempt to be as quiet as possible walking down the hall. I’m about as graceful as an elephant on roller blades, so I’m surprised she doesn’t call out to me.

Her door’s open, and I can hear rustling as I approach. I pause and try to figure out if she knows I’m out there when I hear her moan. Perplexed, I peek around the doorjamb and my mouth drops open. Her legs are splayed, and her eyes are closed. Her left hand grips the headboard, and her right is shoving a piece of plastic between her legs. It takes me a second to realize it’s vibrating. She moans louder, and my eyes widen.

Katniss Everdeen is masturbating. In our house. With her door open. And I can see her.

I jerk back into the hallway quickly and stand frozen to the spot. It feels terribly wrong to stay where I am, but I’m even more terrified to move and alert her to my presence. It’s a form of exquisite torture to listen to her as her breath quickens. She’s more vocal than I expected, and I’m horrified when my dick twitches in response. Every sound from her makes me stiffen, and my jeans tent higher the longer I listen.

She curses and groans for several more minutes, and I’m powerless in her spell. My dick throbs, and I allow myself a little bit of relief by rubbing myself through the denim. I absolutely cannot jack off in the hallway. It’s unacceptable to get off to her private act. Unforgivable.

I’m about to throw all my ethics to the wind when she releases a strangled moan. It’s obvious she’s climaxing, and I can’t stand it anymore. I turn and rush from the house, praying she’s too involved in coming to hear me.

I try to calm down, but I can’t. Stumbling to the side of the house, I duck behind the honeysuckle bush that’s big enough we’ve joked it could be a secret hideout for neighborhood kids. Thankfully, no one’s there, and I grunt as my hand fists my cock.

Echoes of the erotic sounds Katniss made ping in my head, and I can’t erase the image of her fucking herself with silicone. Hunched and desperate to finish before she realizes my car’s in the driveway, I imagine her screaming my name as I tug and stroke. A stiff breeze rustles the bush shielding me from the rest of the world, and I bite my bottom lip as a thick rope shoots from me and stains the green leaves and white blossoms. The sickeningly sweet scent mingles with the smell of sex, and I shudder as I give one last squeeze and release. Quickly, I tuck back into my jeans and wipe my hand on the inside of my t-shirt. I’ve got to get back inside.

I’m frazzled when I stumble through the front door. Making as much noise as I possibly can, I call out her name and wash my hands in the kitchen sink.

“I didn’t hear you pull up,” she says from behind me, and I jump. She’s snuck up on me again.

“Huh,” I reply, desperate to appear normal. “I was out there for a while. Checking email and stuff. You know.”

“Yeah?” She arches her eyebrow and shrugs. “Slow at work, so I’m off tonight. Your plans fell through?” When I nod, she asks, “Want to watch basketball? Have dinner?”

“Sure.”

Watching sweaty men run up and down a court handling balls seems like the perfect remedy to forget how much I love the woman standing in front of me who was naked and writhing in her bed only a few minutes ago. Either that, or I’m in hell.

****

Five days later, I know I’ve entered another dimension that’s been created specifically for self-torture. I haven’t slept through the night since I saw her. I wake myself from erotic dreams and keep a roll of paper towels next to the bed to erase the evidence. I feel like I’m twelve again—unable to control what happens between my legs and experimenting every time I’m alone. I’m embarrassed by my constant state of arousal, and it’s getting harder to hide from Katniss—literally and figuratively.

I’m in the shower jerking myself with a soapy hand when she knocks on my bathroom door.

“Peeta?”

“Yeah!” My arm twitches with tension. I’m almost there.

“Hey, can you give me a ride home from work today? Getting that wheel replaced I messed up a few weeks ago.”

Her voice washes over me like velvet, and my hand moves of its own volition. I’m so close. So, so close.

“Peeta, you okay?”

She’s inside my bathroom. I can tell by the sound of her voice.

“Yeah,” I sputter. “Fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” I groan as heat rips through me. Two more strokes, and I come. I suck in my breath and choke. I can’t breathe as I cough and sputter, and her hand appears at the corner of the curtain.

“Peeta!” Alarm evident in her voice, she warns me of her intention, and I have a split second to cover my crotch with a washcloth before she peeks around the corner. Her eyes narrow as I continue to hack, and I raise my right hand to cover my mouth. I slip slightly and brace my left on the wall, leaving the washcloth draped over my very prominent erection, which she’s clearly just noticed.

“H-holy shit,” she stammers. “I’m so sorry. I—” She bolts from the bathroom, and I rip back the curtain, grab a towel, and stagger after her on shaky legs.

“Katniss! Wait!”

She’s wide-eyed and frozen in the hallway when I emerge from the steam-filled room. The towel still tents slightly, but the absurdity of the situation and my recent ejaculation has deflated my hard-on significantly. I’m as mortified as she is until I realize I’m dripping wet and only in a towel in the hallway with the love of my life.

“You were choking,” she blurts. “It sounded like you were dying.”

“I know. It’s fine.” I rush to assure her I understand.

She stares at my chest, and I almost cover myself before I realize she seems completely dazed. Water droplets run down my stomach, and her eyes follow them. I’m not sure what to say, so I remain quiet, hoping somehow things won’t get any more awkward than they already are.

“I shouldn’t have…I mean, I didn’t know you were… I, uh… Yeah.”

I reach for her shoulder, and my towel shifts. Her eyes widen as I grasp it closed. Her eyes lift to mine, and I’m struck at the wonder in them. Frozen for several seconds, I study her until she takes a step toward me. And then another. And another until she lifts her hand and grazes her fingertips across my stomach. I suck in air and hold it while she traces the curve of my torso.

I exhale in a rush when she toys with the edge of the towel and tugs it from my skin. I let go, and the damp cloth pools at my feet. Her eyes rake over me, and the hunger is raw when she finally meets my eyes.

“I…” The words get caught in her mouth, and I watch her for a sign before leaning down and brushing my lips against hers. I don’t dare open my eyes until I feel her arms slide around my back, and then I crush her to me and tilt my head to kiss her deeper.

I lose track of time as we stand there. My body sizzles as my skin warms and the water evaporates. Her body is pliant and firm against mine. Her hands tug at my neck and trail down my back to the top of my hip bones but don’t go any lower. Her clothes stick to me, and I have a vague recollection that she’s already dressed for work as I wind her thick braid around my palm. I don’t ever want to stop.

She releases a breathy moan, and I press her against the wall and push against her. My knee slides between her legs, and I can feel the heat at her center as her tongue slides over mine. I tug her shirt from the waistline of her pants and grunt when my palm hits her smooth skin.

I rip my mouth from hers and suck on the hollow below her ear. “You feel so good,” I mumble in a tortured whimper.

“Peeta,” she moans, and my hips jerk against her when her hands slide down and cup my ass. All those jokes about buns ripples in the shared sexual tension that increases steadily as she kneads and cups me. Not surprisingly, I’m turned on again, and my cock behaves like a heat-seeking missile. I rub against her groin, and she grinds into me.

A nagging voice tells me to stop, to pull back, but I don’t want to listen to reason—only what her body’s telling me. I don’t understand anything except the way we fit together. I maneuver her a few steps over until she stumbles backward into her room and onto her bed. I stretch over her and wrap her legs around my waist. She moans as I thrust my hips against hers until she moves in rhythm under me. A few seconds later we’re dry-humping like teenagers.

I can feel the seam of her pants against my dick, and she squirms until her breath catches. When it does, I press against her and watch in disbelief as she unravels underneath me.

“Right there,” she begs. “Don’t stop. Right there.”

I buck against her, pushing the material against her clit until she spasms and quakes in my arms. She pants and moans as her body trembles, and I realize I’ve just pushed the woman I love over the edge. I made her come, and I didn’t even have to get her naked.

When she stills under me, I’m suddenly aware of our situation. I’m naked on top of her, and she’s just climaxed inside her pants. Her work clothes are rumpled, soiled, and damp, and I’ve got my second raging boner of the morning. It’s so ridiculous, I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re laughing at me?!”

Before I can process her question, I’m flat on my back, and she’s glaring down at me from the side of her bed. Infuriated, her gray eyes flash, and her hands are clenched at her sides.

“No!” I protest and smirk when she looks down at my junk. It’s both incredibly embarrassing and equally thrilling that she’s seeing me naked (again) and seems to like it.

“Then what is it? I’m bad at this? I didn’t live up to expectations? What?” She spits her interrogation so fast, my head spins. I grab the sheet and cover myself. I’m starting to shrink, and that’s definitely not what I want her to see.

“Katniss, you are absolutely not bad at this. Not even close to bad. More like fucking amazing.”

“Really?” Her voice is so small I almost can’t hear it.

“Hell, yes! I just— I mean, that was not how I expected that to happen.”

“Expected what to happen?”

“Us!” I blurt and snap my mouth shut. I hadn’t intended to admit just how much I’d been wanting to kiss her.

She grins and sits on the edge of the bed next to me. “You’ve been planning that?”

I nod and lean over to kiss her cheek. “For the past twenty years or so. You have no idea the effect you have.”

She blushes and ducks her head. “Well, I might have a little bit of an idea,” she says and nods toward my lap. “You going to take care of that?”

My face burns at her insinuation. “I don’t think that’s going to be necessary,” I answer in a desperate attempt to regain some dignity.

“Who said anything about necessary?” she teases and attempts to pull the sheet back.

I want to so badly. I almost ache with it, but this is not the right time. I want hours with her. I want the rest of my life. I don’t want our first time to be a quickie on a weekday morning when we both have to be out the door in less than an hour.

“I can’t believe this, but we both need to go to work. You’re probably gonna want to change, and I’m going to try to save face and walk out of here without worrying about you watching my bare ass as I go away.” Before I can think about her ogling me, I stand and cross to her door. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Sure,” she agrees. “And Peeta?”

“Yeah?” I poke my head back in her room for her answer.

“I’m still not exactly sure why I like your dumb ass, but you really do have a nice one.”

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #hutchhitched #iliveiloveilaughiread #prompt 53

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timehealsfanfictionbka · 5 years

Text

Time Heals....Chapter Thirty-Two

Robyn left the twins at the table to answer her ringing doorbell. She looked through the peephole and saw Chris leaning against the doorframe with his shirt unbuttoned and his jacket tossed over his shoulder. She hadn’t seen him since they left the lawyer’s office. He literally just told her it was time to go and walked out of the building without her. Luckily she had driven herself because he was gone before she made it out of the entrance doors. She sighed deeply then opened the door, “Chris, what are-”

She didn’t finish her statement before his tongue was down her throat. He dropped his jacket and moved his hands to gently cradle her face. Robyn’s hands settled on his hips as she tried to gain back control of her body. Chris started moving forward and she instinctively started to walk backwards, unsure of her proximity to the nearest piece of furniture or wall. They started moving further into the living room. She placed her hands out to guide their steps just as the back of her knees hit the arm of her couch. They toppled over it and onto the couch. Chris still kissing her as he settled his body into the crevice between her legs. Robyn froze as she heard chairs moving across the floor. She shoved Chris, the momentum knocking her onto the floor, “Owww!”

Chris tucked his face into his hands as he started to laugh. Running footsteps sounded as Erin and Erica appeared in the living room. Robyn looked over at her daughters then hung her head in embarrassment.

“Mommy, are you ok?” Erica asked.

“I’m good, Sweetie. Mommy, just fell off the couch, no big deal.”

“Daddy, why are you laughing? You supposed to help her” Erin said.

Chris just started laughing harder and pressed his face and hands into the couch cushion. Robyn pushed herself to her feet and rubbed her lower back, “girls, it’s fine. Me and Daddy were playing around and I fell, that’s why he’s laughing. It’s not serious, you can finish your dinner.”

“You sure, Mommy?” Erin asked.

“Very sure. You can go back to the kitchen.

Robyn waited until they left the room before walking over and punching Chris in the back, “what the hell was that?”

“What was what? I kissed you.”

“Our children are here. Can you imagine if they saw us? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing now. I was pissed until a few moments ago.”

“That’s why you kissed me like that?”

“I needed it. Sorry if I was too rough.”

“I fell off the couch, rough would qualify.”

“You fell because you pushed me hella hard not because I kissed you.”

“I was in shock because you kissed me therefore it is your fault that I fell.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t whatever me and what the hell would possess you to do that, in an open doorway of all places,” Robyn noticed her door was closed and there was a huge scuff mark in the white paint, “you scuffed up my door, Chris.”

Chris looked back at the door and frowned, “my bad.”

“You damn right your bad. You can’t be doing things like this, what if it was other people here besides our daughters? Did you think about that?”

“Not really.”

“I knew I should’ve never kissed you.”

Robyn rubbed her lower back as she started to sit down on the couch, she noticed Chris starting to sit down next to her and she moved to the armchair next to the side table, “you stay away from me.”

“Damn Bajan Girl, it’s like that.”

“It is very much like that. You don’t know how to control yourself. Kissing me like that all out in the open. Almost made me choke on my tongue with your overly aggressive ass. The hell is wrong with you?

Chris chuckled and Robyn threw a pillow at him, “You got one more time and I’ma kick your ass out again.”

“My bad. My bad.”

“So what are you here for?”

“I told you I was upset. I came to talk to you.”

“And you couldn’t have just did that instead of sticking your tongue down my throat.”

“I just saw you and I kind of went into autopilot.”

“Autopilot would imply that this is something we do often. We only kissed twice.”

“Twice is enough.”

“I’m tired of you.”

Chris started to laugh but swallowed it at the look on Robyn’s face, “Are you ok?”

“My mind is clearing so I’m good. So what happened to piss you off?”

“Tiana’s ass.”

“Did she take the settlement?”

“Her lawyer asked for a day to consider it.”

“And what did you say?”

“She’s got until 8 am tomorrow morning to call my lawyer with a decision.”

“So how are you gonna deal if she doesn’t settle?”

“We’re going to court.”

“Do I still have to do a deposition?”

“No, I’m not gonna have you do that. A part of me feels like that’s what Tiana wants, to drag you into it further and I don’t feel like playing her game.”

“Well thank you.”

“Thank you for being willing to do it if I needed you to”

“That’s what friends are for.”

“Friends?”

“Yup. Friends, Christopher.”

“And I thought you loved me.”

Robyn rolled her eyes, “you are really trying to get put out. So what do you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“You came over here to feel better. Now what else do you want?”

“I can’t just hang out.”

“I didn’t say that but hang out and do what?”

“Watch a movie or something. I don’t know.”

“Chris, do you know what time it is?”

“So?”

“Chris, I have a life and so do you. It’s too late for you to just hang out.”

“Why? A movie doesn’t take long to watch.”

“Yea, if you plan on staying the night and you are not staying the night.”

Chris frowned, “damn, just kill my dreams.”

“Chris, we talked about this.”

“Actually we didn’t but should we?”

“No, we’ve crossed enough lines in the past few days, I’d rather not compound our sins any farther.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“Chris, what just happened a few moments ago? Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

Chris rolled his eyes, “whatever.”

“Look, you can stay for dinner but you gotta go after that.”

“Do you really want me to?”

“Want and need you to. I don’t want to do this like this and I definitely don’t want the girls to get the wrong idea.”

“This has nothing to do with them.”

“Chris.”

“OK, ok. Dinner then I’ll go.”

“Thank you.”

“So is staying the night completely forever out of the question?”

Robyn stood up and started walking towards the kitchen without answering. Chris chuckled then followed behind her.

Chris rested his hand on top of Robyn’s as they leaned against the porch railing. Robyn smiled over at him then looked up at the sky, “you should probably get going soon. It’s getting dark.”

“I can drive at night, this isn’t my first go-round.”

“Whatever. What’s your schedule for the week?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Why?”

“You wanna go skating on Friday?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“No,” Robyn said with a roll of her eyes, “I’m asking you to chaperone with me.”

“Oh, well then sure I’ll go.”

“What you mean oh well? You were gonna say no if it was a date?”

“No, it was gonna be a yes either way but if it was a date, I’d get to flex a little.”

Robyn chuckled, “you are a mess.”

“I need to talk to you about something. I didn’t want to say anything at the dinner table.”

“What’s up?”

“I filed the petition to update the girls’ birth certificates.”

“Oh ok. You could’ve said that in front of them.”

“I wasn’t sure how you would feel about it.”

“How was I supposed to feel about it? You’re their father, you should be on the birth certificate.”

“I don’t know. You never mentioned it so I figured you wanted to leave them blank.”

“I was gonna leave it up to you, I wasn’t gonna put your name on them if you didn’t want to be on there.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to?”

“I don’t know but I wasn’t gonna assume.”

“You might get some papers in the mail so I just wanted to let you know upfront.”

“I appreciate the heads up.”

“No problem.”

“It really is getting dark, I don’t like you driving so late so you might wanna get going.”

“Walk me to the car?”

Robyn shrugged then stepped back from the railing. Chris grabbed her hand and they walked down the porch steps to his car.

“Call me when you get in.

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Don’t start with me.”

Chris laughed, “Love you Bajan Girl.”

“Goodnight Chris.”

“You not gonna say it back?”

“Nope. Get in your car. Go home. Get some rest.”

“You know you sending me mixed signals.”

“I am doing no such thing.”

“Uh huh. Can I at least get a hug?”

Robyn sighed then hugged him. Chris kissed her temple and squeezed her waist, “whether you say it back or not, I know you love me.”

“I am not having this conversation with you.”

Chris chuckled and kissed her cheek before climbing into his car, “don’t dream about me too hard.”

“Bye Christopher.”

Robyn tapped the hood of his car as she walked past it to go back inside her house. Chris waited for her to close the door behind her before pulling out of her driveway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She tugged on a pair of jeans then turned to see her figure in the mirror. She huffed as she pulled them off and threw them onto the growing pile of clothes on her bed. She stood in front of her closet with her hands on her hips, her t-shirt hem lifting.

“What to wear? What to wear?” she murmured to herself as she looked at the expanse of clothes in her closet. Everything either felt too dressy or too tight. She was going skating, she needed to have a certain degree of maneuverability. She pushed a few hangers out of her way and grabbed a pair of black joggers to hold up against herself in the mirror.

“I like those.”

Robyn screeched as she turned towards the voice, “Christopher!”

Chris laughed as he leaned against the doorframe, “I figured you’d be dressed by now.”

“When did you get here?”

“A few moments ago. I told you I was just down the street and on my way over.”

“Why are you up here?”

“I called but nobody answered me so I used my key to get in. Nice legs.”

Robyn frowned then looked down and remembered she was walking around in a t-shirt. Luckily it covered to mid-thigh. She slid the black joggers off the hanger and pulled them on. She looked in the mirror and gave an approving nod to her look. She grabbed a pair of white Hi-top AF1’s and sat down on her bed to put them on, “you go downstairs, I’ll be down there in a minute.”

“I’d rather wait up here. Who knows the next time I’ll get to see your legs?”

“Stuff like that is gonna get you put out.”

“Why you always trying to get rid of me?”

“Because you always saying stupid shit.”

Robyn pulled her up into a messy bun as she got up off her bed. Walking over to her vanity, she grabbed her phone and mini bookbag, “we can go. You got the address?”

“Already programmed in my GPS. You look cute.”

“Thank you. So do you.”

Chris smiled then moved back so she could walk out of her bedroom. He flipped off her light switch before leaving to follow Robyn downstairs. She moved towards the front door and grabbed her keys off the wall hook next to the door, “you can leave the lights on. I hate coming back to a dark house. We shouldn’t be out long maybe two hours or so.”

“The girls are already there?”

“Yea, they’re leaving from a friend’s house. We’re meeting the other set of parents there.”

“Oh ok.”

“Did you eat? I don’t know if you wanna eat any of the skating rink food or not.”

“I can eat there. My stomach can handle it. I like greasy food from time to time.”

Robyn chuckled, “that’s not what I meant by that but good.”

“Which car we taking?”

“Whichever you want, you driving.”

“Chris rolled his eyes, “we’re taking your car then.”

Robyn handed him her set of keys then walked ahead of him out the front door. Chris closed the door behind him, locked it then followed Robyn to her car. He pressed the automatic unlock button as he walked to the driver side door. Robyn tilted her head as she settled her hands on her hips, “don't even think about getting in this car without opening my door.”

Chris huffed then walked around the back of the car to open the passenger door. Robyn sat inside and sat her purse in her lap, “thank you.”

“You’re not welcome.”

He walked back around and climbed into the driver’s seat. Robyn laughed at the frown on his face, “you got manners, you should use them more often.”

“We’re going to a skating rink, no need to be so formal.”

“There’s no special time to be a gentleman, Christopher. I shouldn’t have to keep having this discussion with you.”

“Yes Mother.”

Robyn mushed his face and Chris licked her palm.

“Ewww!” Robyn exclaimed as her face twisted up in disgust, “you’re gross.”

“You love me.”

“No.”

Chris raised his brow and before Robyn could move, leaned over and pecked her lips, “Love you.”

“Stop that.”

“Why? I like kissing you.”

“Stop it and I’m not gonna say it again.”

“Ok. Ok.”

Chris turned the key into the ignition then pulled out of her driveway to drive off down the street.

Erin turned to her sister, “Look Sis.”

Erica looked at the direction her sister was pointing and noticed their parents coming through the doors of the skating rink together, “you really think they are getting together?”

“I told you I saw them kiss that day Mommy fell off the couch.”

“I still don’t believe that.”

“I saw it with my own eyes E. I think Mommy and Daddy are getting together.”

“We should ask Grandma.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I heard Mommy complain about not wanting everybody to know.”

“Oh, yea let’s not get in trouble.”

“I’m telling you E, just watch them. It’s so obvious.”

Erin stopped talking as she noticed their parents walking over them. Both girls hugged Chris and Robyn before sitting down at one of the tables with them.

“Are you and Daddy gonna skate, Mommy?” Erica asked.

“Yea, I know we’re here to chaperone but we don’t want to crowd you guys.”

“Thank God,” Erin said with a sigh.

Chris playfully flicked her nose, “you ain’t gotta be that relieved, Ms. Thing.”

“I love you, Daddy,” Erin replied with a smile. Chris pressed a finger into her dimple and she giggled.

Robyn sat down with her rental skates next to Chris. She watched the kids going on the rink for a few moments before she got a glimpse of the girls. They were holding hands as they made their way around the rink, “I didn’t know they could skate so well.”

“You don’t normally take them skating?” Chris asked.

“No, they must go skating whenever they’re with their friends though. I’m nervous about this.”

“What?”

“I am way too old to fall on my ass out there.”

Chris laughed, “I am expert so don’t worry. Stick with me and you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“You will. First step, make sure your laces of secured, don’t want them to get caught in the wheels.”

Chris kneeled down and tightened the laces on Robyn’s skates, “that should do. You ready?”

“No.”

“Bajan girl, just trust me seriously. If you fall, it’s not gonna be that bad and I’ll try my best to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

Robyn looked down at him and Chris smiled, “if I’m sore tomorrow, you’re paying for a spa day.”

“Deal.”

Chris stood up and held out his hand. Robyn grabbed it and they started to make their way to the rink. Robyn wobbled a bit as her skate touched the wood grain of the rink. Chris tightened his hold on her hand, “we’re gonna start off slow. Just push forward and it’ll come to you easy, I promise.”

Robyn pushed off on her right foot and they started skating. Chris slid his hand over her waist to steady her more as they started to make their way around the rink.

“This would be a good date night,” Chris whispered.

Robyn looked over at him, “don’t you go getting any ideas. I’m only letting you this close because I don’t want to fall.”

“Ok, I’ll let you claim that.”

Robyn rolled her eyes and Chris laughed as they continued skating.

#chrianna #timehealsfanfiction

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wildtige429 · 5 years

Text

A Father’s Regret

@lynea-kureji This one is for the comic you made.

Warning for the faint of heart.

This will make you cry like a baby.

------------------‐----------------------------‐----------------------

Rats patrol the grounds of the overtaken Butterfly Castle. There were no signs of any intruders or rebels in the active darkness of the night.

One rat guard fell asleep agaisnt the pillar supporting the secret entrance of the castle in which his boss, Ludo, says it needs to be guarded after he entered. Not getting enough sleep, the rodent went to sleep after his 100th nod.

He was deep in his sleep that he didn't hear footsteps approaching and was awakened by a cold and metallic object jabbing into his forehead with a squeak.

"You alert the others, there's going to be a bullet in your brain," the intruder's dark voice threatened the rodent. He doesn't wanna die so, he drops the spear and raises his paws over his head in surrender.

"Where...is....Ludo?" The intruder demanded. The rat cooperated by pointing at the secret entrance of the castle, trembling uncontrollably. In an act of mercy, the figure removed his gun and walked passed the rat guard, disappearing down the dark stairway.

-----

The rings and visor of his uniform and helmet provided enough light for him to see through the dark. Toshi has no idea there would be a secret room down underneath the Butterfly Castle when he first came here months ago. Gaining a little acceptance from the royal family, seeing that Star is truly friends with the son of their greatest enemy, Toshi is allowed to see the them in court whenever there is a problem arising.

A chill ran down his spine from an unsuspecting source when his feet hit the flat ground of the dungeon. Through his uniform, his scales prickled with chills and shivers and yet he couldn't understand why its so cold underground.

"They must be hiding something down here," he assumed to himself, "But what?"

He makes his footsteps silent as a cat's as he makes his way through the dark catacombs of the dungeon. He gripped his gun tightly under pressure from getting spotted from unsuspecting rat guards or getting caught by Ludo's pets. In which he can handle by using his MMA militia combat.

The more closer he ventures into the catacombs, the colder the aura becomes and his breath is beginning to fog up the visor within his helmet.

Thinking back of what he did few days ago, he felt sorry for running away from home after his mom told him about Ludo getting a wand of his own using the other half of Star's wand, Glossaryck betraying his friend and teaming up with the enemy, and Ludo not being himself but acting and sounding more like -

His father. He knew he was alive after the explosion.

With the wand's power in his hand,literally, and possessing Ludo's body, he defeated the High Commission with the Chancellor dead and Moon retreating like a coward, but he knew she did it to save herself and the Commission members' lifeless bodies.

And he's going to change it all. He is going to finish what he had started a long time ago.

He halts when he enters a large cavernous room that gives out a bright bluish glow and its aura reaching -8 celcius. Being quarter Mewman, Toshi could handle a little cold but he is no Wintertail. Looking around, he sees ice crystals forming stalagmites and structures all over the room with a giant boulder dug deep in the center. He swore he can see something frozen with the ice until he looked down and spotted a figure he oh-so recognized from afar.

And whatever he's doing, he appears to be putting some kind of spell on the ice block that is imprisoning whatever is in it.

He's planning to unleash it on Mewni, he hypothesized, I won't let that happen.

Like a ninja, he snuck through the shadows formed by jutting stalagmites that grew from the ground, his footsteps silent as he approaches.

The figure was busy putting a spell onto the ice when he hears a click. A click of a pistol locking in place. Behind his head.

"Stop what you're doing," a familiar voice threatened.

He lowered his glowing green hand and stepped away from the ice. Still at gun point, the possessed avian turned around and glances up to the unexpected visitor's masked face.

"When an unexpected surprise to see you.....Shirogane," Toffee greeted, solemnly.

Still aiming his pistol at his father's head, Toshi used his free hand to remove his helmet, setting his hair free and cascading down his shoulders.

"I knew you were alive, Dad," he said, "That 'ghost' you sent to haunt us had me thinking about you surviving the blast. And here you are.....possessing the only body you can find and using the force you hated all those years."

Toffee scowled, "Ludo is an idiot to whom I enjoy using. His state of mind is weak, making him an easy body to use."

"Hmph, too bad he looks a homeless hobo now," Toshi sneered nastily, "And you've been making him delusional with your whispering through the wand."

"Fools will be fools," his father stated.

They stood there for a while until Toshi pressed the muzzle of the pistol into the possessed avian's forehead, right between the eyes. And Toffee showed no sign of flinching.

"I will not stand by and watch you do whatever you want, Dad," Toshi vowed, his face hardening into a hatred-lined scowl, one that Toffee thought he saw himself in his own son, "Innocents; both Mewman and monster, will be killed by you and your actions on your rogue warpath shall not be forgiven."

Fat angry tears streamed down his cheeks as he continued, "You left me and mom after the day I was born so you can hide your shame from your own son! What kind of damned father would do that to his own child to whom he swore to raise and love!? And breaking the heart of his own wife after they vowed that they will be together no matter what!?"

Toffee's eyes widened by his speech but he kept quiet, remembering the haunting words his son delivered to him in the time of the explosion took over him and the hurtful confession of his own wife.

"Now you've hurt my friends and those who care for us!" Toshi snarled, his finger on the trigger clenching the piece hard, "And now....," his voice grew cold and hard, "I wouldn't mind killing you even if it means killing Ludo."

Toffee can actually see himself standing next to Toshi. The scowl and angry tears they both shared in the events that turned them into what they are. Memories flashed in the older lizard's mind of what drove him to kill Queen Comet.

"THEY WERE MY FAMILY!!!" he heard himself roar with hatred and heartbreak before he took her life with his sickle.

Haunting memories that he pushed at the back of his mind flashed with red from the blood of his slaughtered loved ones, his younger self traumatized yet seething with vengeance upon their killer. His screams of revenge echoed throughout his mind that will forever be embedded in the minds of those who heard it.

And seeing his son in this state, Toffee decided to accept his fate by closing his eyes.

Toshi can see that his father is accepting this fate that he put him down to, growling hesitantly on whether to pull the trigger. Shaking all doubts away, he let out a cry.

BANG!!!

The gunshot created a cacophony of echoes throughout the cavern, bouncing off the walls from the sound.

Strangely enough, Toffee didn't feel the life slipping away from Ludo's body. Cracking his eyes open, he glanced to see why he's not dead.

It turns out.....that Toshi angled his gun above his head and fired into the ceiling.

"I'm not like you, Dad," he panted, weakly, "I am not a murderer like you."

Letting his arm fall and dropping his pistol to the ground, he reached into the right sleeve of his uniform and untied a red ribbon with a Japanese bell slipped on it.

"You can take this back if you want," he huffed raspily. And he chucked it down at his father's feet.

The possessed avian's eyes widened more with recognition on the bell. He reached down and cradled the object with such remorse that he immediately whispered just as Toshi was about to leave.

"I gave you this."

His son stopped, his voice grief-stricken and hoarse, "Yeah. You got that from some dealer when you learned mom was pregnant with me."

Toffee sighed, "And I thought you would be a girl. But when I found out you were a boy after you were born.......I just gave it to you right away."

Toshi bit his lip, his conscience telling him to turn around, "That was the day before you lost your finger and you left us."

Clutching the ribbon and bell in his hands, the possessed avian sighed gravely, hints of sadness audible in his tone, "There.....is something I didn't tell your mother about."

The young lizard turned around a step, looking down at the possessed avian, his gaze blank and sad.

"I.......I see myself in you, son," Toffee began, "Misjudged, shunned and discriminated by people to whom we did nothing wrong to. But every misery and suffering we gone through, we became stronger and wise. I can see it in your eyes, Shirogane."

Toshi blinked in mild surprise, admitingly knowing that he was right. Living in Mewni in hiding with his mom, there had been incidents where he had been attacked by a gang of kids to whom they started to beat him to the point he retaliated. The sight of his blood-covered claws and teeth will forever be in his mind. His mom comforted him that day, reassuring that he did it out of self defense and she promised never to leave him alone ever again.

However upon the kids that he attacked reporting the news that they were attacked and discovered The Lizard's son to the soldiers in town, he and his mother have to flee until they couldn't run no more in different locations where they won't find them.

And by the time he became 12, they fled again, only to be rescued by his father's trusted friend and godfather, Rasticore. Being given the dimensional scissors, the frilled lizard plots out that he will make it look like they jumped off a cliff and bidding their farewells to their savior and his parents' old friend, they opened the portal and left to Echo Creek.

Where they spend their lives normally without fear.

"I killed Queen Comet because....," he heard his father's voice rang out through his thoughts. He was taken by surprise when he saw actual tears gathering at the corner of his possessed eyes.

"Because she sent a squadron to kill any spies of the monster army. And my family were falsely executed because of her," his father's voice broke at every sentence he uttered, "My parents. My brothers. My sisters. Slaughtered like sheep at a butchery. And I was the only one to survive it."

Toshi could not believe what he's hearing. He couldn't believe Star's grandmother would do such a thing. The murder of his family all because of the paranoid fear of spies has turned him into the villain the Mewmans fear him for.

That's why he went rogue and killed her just as they were about to sign the peace treaty. His father wouldn't let his family's murderer get away with it.

"I had no idea," he whispered, stunned, "I thought.....I always thought you just hated the Mewmans for what they did to you."

"More than that," Toffee sniffed, wiping away his tears, "I never wanted any monster to suffer what I been through. Your mother was just loyal to me no matter what without knowing the reason I went rogue. But she did it for being treated like a monster by her Mewman halves."

"I knew that," Toshi muttered, looking away.

"But what I don't understand is........," he looked back, his eyes saddened yet hard from control on trying not to release his tears, "Why did you leave me and mom that day!?"

Toffee's mouth opened a bit, almost as if he was going to answer, but shut it and looked away with shame and regret.

"It was a stupid mistake to make," he muttered under his breath.

(Flashback)

youtube

The desert was barren, except for the screeching blowing winds scattering sand everywhere it carries. It was once a camp of his army that were loyal to his cause but they scattered off after Queen Moon took away his finger using the Darkest Spell. And now, everything is swallowed by the sands. Banners of Septarian tribes; Hottails, Wintertails, Dragontails, Snaketails, Monkeytails and Swifttails were either fallen or stood erect out of the sands, tattered or burnt.

Abandoned by their selective tribes who were members of Toffee's rogue army.

"All I think about is covering up my shame and humiliation after my army left like cowards," Toffee narrated, "All. Except your mother. And you."

Toffee, adorning the skulls of the dead queens on his shoulders, dressed in his war uniform, gazed out into the blank distance of the desert. The wind ruffled his hair a bit as he turned his head around to face whoever is behind him.

Mint, his loyal second-in-command......and his wife....approached him wearing a cloak over her war attire and cradling a bundle in her arms. Toffee let out a sigh when she stops before him. And they looked into each other's eyes.

"Your mother told me that I could fix what I lost as long as you were with me," Toffee spoke, his voice breaking from remorse, "And we could do it together."

"But I......,"

He laid a hand, that is missing a finger, on her cheek, and slowly shook his head as a decline for her offer. The sight of her stunned face wretched his heart painfully but he made his face stoic and emotionless. Slowly, he slipped his hand from her face and inches his hand towards the bundle. A really small claw reached out and held it.

"I chose the worst decision I have ever made in my life," he finished.

Resisting tears from spilling out, Toffee squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath and took out a red ribbon with a Japanese bell attached to it from his pant pocket and dangled it in front of the infant.

The tiny lizard in the bundle grabbed the ribbon just as Toffee moved his hand away, the baby's fingers slipping away from the finger.

"I told your mother that I can't be with you and her," he explained, "Because it would be a big risk of getting hunted down by Moon's hunting squadron. I couldn't risk myself, you or your mother the burden of being hunted like deer in a hunt."

"Even if it means I have to sacrifice my ties with you two."

Toffee reached out and brought Mint close, their foreheads touching just as she began to wept. The moment he pulls away, he begins to take his departure, his back turned to his distraught wife.

"It was a regretful decision! A decision that will haunt me forever!"

Mint pulled the hood over head as she turned around to take her other path away from Toffee. Cradling and positioning the little Toshi close, so he can see his departing father, Toffee can spot the sight of his son's face scrunching a little, his green eyes watery with tears at the corner of his eye.

"I was so sorry. If I hand't chosen that decision, you and your mother wouldn't suffer like I do," Toffee finished, his voice trembling with emotion, "You were right about me. What kind of father would abandon his family when he promises to be with them no matter what? And what kind of father breaks a promise to his own child to whom he vows to love, protect and raise?"

Toffee continues walking, not turning to see his family leave. Every footstep he makes on the sand, tear stains were left amidst the footprints.

It is turned out that.....The Lizard is weeping. Fat tears of grief, regret and remorse stream down his cheeks and dripping down into the sand at every step he takes.

(End Flashback)

"I know I hurt you....and your mother.....for the past 20 years....," Toffee whispered, "And I never forgave myself for it."

He was startled a little when Toshi suddenly collapses on his knees before him. He picks up the sound of weeping and his heart wretched at the sight of his son's tear-stained face.

"You did it to protect us," he whispered, clenching his teeth to hold in a sob, "I always thought you left us so you can hide your shame. But I was wrong!"

"My father, Toffee, The Lizard and rogue general of the monster army,......sacrificed himself by severing his ties with his family.....so he can protect them."

He couldn't take it anymore and he lets himself sob emotionally until he fell onto his hands, fat droplets of tears dripping down into the ground.

"I am so sorry, Dad!" He wailed, "I shouldn't have said that I wish you weren't my father that day!! I'm sorry for being a bad son!!!"

Small clawed hands reached out to his face and he felt the possessed avian laid his forehead onto his, closing his eyes and stroking his hair to comfort him.

"No, son," his father wept, ferling tears streaming down his cheeks, "I am the one who should be sorry. For not being there the past 20 years. I'm sorry for not being a good father."

As both father and son wept and wallowed in their grief and regret, they failed to sense an unexpected guest hiding behind a boulder.

Queen Moon slowly raised a hand to cover her mouth in total shock of what she just heard. She was so moved that tears uncontrollably streamed down her cheeks.

She has heard about why Toffee killed her mother, why he left his family, and to why Toshi had a grudge agaisnt his father in the first place.

She has known that Toshi is the rumored child of Toffee and his second-in-command, Mint, after she defeated him, the moment she first saw Toshi take off his helmet. The reports of Toshi and his mother committing suicide to save themselves from the law were false news and they had been alive this whole time, living on Earth.

And what's shocking, is that the hero, The Wyvern, is none other than the shunned and misjudged by public son of the immortal monster. Even if he is a monster, Toshi was not like his father.

Restraining herself from sobbing that will expose her presence to them, Moon quietly departs to the stairway and left right away without getting caught.

----

(Epilogue)

Razor and Kurogane sniffed the ground for any scent marks of their young owner. With Mint following behind, she would race up to them and questioned whether they figured out the location of her missing son.

"Have you found him?" She asked the beasts. The two animals peered up at her and mewed and growled in decline. Her worry grew more at every decline, her fingers clenching and unclenching the coar of her coat.

"Oh Toshi, where are you?" She whispered in a prayer.

They suddenly jumped by the sound of bushes rustling. They get into the defensive but relaxed when a regal face strodes out of hiding.

"Hello, Mint," Moon greeted sternly.

The half Lacertian narrows her eyes, "Moon. It has been 20 years. You're as beautiful as your mother."

"Indeed," the queen nodded slowly. Taking some breaths, she spoke, "I knew you and your son didn't kill themselves that day. And my suspicions were right when Star talked about you and your son after she arrived on Earth."

"Rasticore saved us," Mint explained, "He finally fulfilled his duty as Toshi's godfather and Toffee's ally."

"Why are you here, Moon?" She demanded in a slow and low tone.

The queen rubbed her hands a little with hesitation until she got the courage to speak out, "I know where your son is. And your husband. And you will not like what I'm going to tell you next."

Mint finds herself hyperventilating from fear of what she's going to say but kept her breathing in control.

"Your husband is planning to unleash a legendary beast thought to be dead centuries ago onto Mewni," Moon spilled out, "You probably know who I am referring to, yes?"

Dread fills her heart that Mint nearly fainted onto the ground if it weren't for Razor swooping in to catch her. She had never expected that it was alive this whole time. And worst of all, Toffee is about to use it attack Mewni.

Flashes of images about a giant beast with a black fin and gold eyes brought her heart to hyperspeed that she can only utter the beast's name in a hushed whisper.

"Kurogane....."

Just by hearing the name itself made the tatzelwurm creep backwards in fear, knowing she’s not referring to it.

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

I actually cried when I write this down!!!

Who would have thought I could do such a tear jerking story!?

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gellavonhamster · 5 years

Text

the eye of the storm, or a still life with pineapples

teen and up audiences (?) || Bertrand Baudelaire/Beatrice Baudelaire/Lemony Snicket + guest starring other ships and characters || pre-canon, canon divergence

ao3 link || originally posted in Russian

As famously said by a famous cartoonist and later by an even more famous musician and before them, probably, by many other famous and not so famous people, life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans. For example, less than half a year ago I was certain that in a little while, I would marry the woman I love, and dance with her at our wedding, which would be held in a place called the Vineyard of Fragrant Grapes. A few months passed, and here I was dancing at the wedding indeed, but not as a groom and not with the woman I dreamed to marry. However, she was also attending the party, and radiating beauty in her refined wedding dress just like in my erstwhile dreams. It was her wedding – her and another man’s, and I didn’t doubt that many guests were surprised I was invited and, on top of that, entrusted with reciting one of the wedding blessings. Then again, there weren’t that many guests: only the trusted long-time associates, most of whom both the newlyweds and I had the honour to consider our friends. Some of them were familiar with the events which had resulted in my bride marrying someone else; as to the rest of them, I hoped they were too well-mannered to whisper behind my back. On the other hand, if they decided to spread some gossip, I would not have minded it much. In these latter days, all kinds of things were being whispered about me behind my back, said out loud, and printed in the newspapers. If I had a chance to choose between the discussions of my love life and the accusations of crimes I had nothing to do with, I would have chosen the former without a moment’s hesitation. Unfortunately, in practice, there were two options: either both the former and the latter or just the latter, and I had no choice anyway.

Even the celebration venue was not what I had expected. The Vineyard of Fragrant Grapes was undoubtedly very lovely at that time of the year, but just like many other gardens, libraries, restaurants, post offices, bookstores, and tailor shops, it had lately become unsafe for the members of our organization. It was far too risky to organize the wedding in a widely known place. That was why the ceremony itself, as well as the celebratory banquet, took place in a small hotel outside the City. It was called The Eye of the Storm, and that name was more than appropriate. “The eye of the storm” is an expression which means an area of calm weather at the centre of a hurricane, both literally and figuratively, and so the present celebration seemed a calm moment at the centre of the hurricane of feuds and treachery that was raging in my life, as well as in the lives of the groom, the bride, and all the guests. An attentive visitor would also notice another eye – the motif used in the design of the hotel, from napkin rings to the moulding on the ceiling. To paraphrase the definition provided above, one could say that the eye of the storm is an area at the centre of a hurricane where the world is quiet.

“Snicket, wake up!” called the lady I was dancing with. “Do you want us to bump into someone?”

“Sorry. I got lost in thought. And we wouldn’t have bumped into anyone: you’re the lead.”

“And good thing that I am. For a moment I felt like I was dancing with a coat rack or something like that. You alright?”

“Of course I am, R,” I smiled at my partner who was none other than R, the Duchess of Winnipeg. “How about you?”

“I’m fine, L. You know me,” she smiled back, but I saw it in her eyes that just like me, she couldn’t stop her gaze from drifting to the bride, who was dancing with her beloved in the centre of the ballroom. “It’s been long since I’ve come to terms with the fact that this is how it’s going to end. It’s only that when I used to imagine all of this before, it was you, not Bertrand, and it was easier somehow. But it’s nothing.”

When I first met R, she was yet to become the duchess and the renowned meteorologist and the multiple fencing champion of VFD. Back then she was just the daughter of the previous Duchess of Winnipeg, now deceased; just a little girl who had just got her volunteer’s tattoo and, being confused and a little bit scared, went to explore the infirmary in search of someone who would explain to her where she was, why she was taken away from home, and where her parents were. That evening, she didn’t find the answers to all of her questions, but she found a little boy – me – who, like her, had just been tattooed and didn’t understand what was going on. We were already friends when we met Beatrice, the woman whose wedding we were dancing at today. When we understood that both of us were in love with her, we promised each other that we wouldn’t let that circumstance ruin our friendship. There is an absorbing Gothic novel in which three friends propose to the same girl, and remain friends after she chooses one of them. Similarly, my friend and I both courted Beatrice, leaving it up to her to choose one of us and not expecting that in the end, just like in that novel, there would be three contenders for her heart, and it would be the third one that she would favour. One could only hope that at that point, the similarities with the novel would end, although taking into account Beatrice’s fondness for bats, she would surely be amused by the prospect of being turned into a vampire.

“I do know you, R,” I confirmed. “And that is exactly why I am worried.”

“Oh, come on. If you want to know, today I feel much better than over the last two months combined. Look around, L: even in these trying times we’re surrounded by noble and trustworthy people. My dear friend got married and is happy. I am dancing at her wedding in a wonderful dress and in an excellent company, and who knows,” she winked at me, “perhaps it’s in that excellent company that I’ll meet someone who would help me to let go of the past at last.”

“You will meet – or you have met?” I asked, intrigued. My friend smiled cryptically. “Who is she?”

“Look to your left. See a beautiful girl in a peach dress standing by the window?”

The girl was beautiful indeed. Something about the features of her face seemed familiar to me but I didn’t know her name, which was what I told R.

“Sally Sebald,” she told me, with the same conspiratorial look. “The little sister of Gustav, our Monty’s new… assistant.”

If “our Monty” had heard the way R had spoken the word “assistant”, he would have definitely pretended to be offended to the marrow of his bones. However, at that moment he was busy dancing with that very assistant. The music stopped, and the band bowed in response to the applause, then proceeded to flip through the sheets, selecting the next piece to play.

“I’ll leave you for a while,” R announced. “I must ask her for a dance. Promise me you won’t just stand by yourself ruining everyone’s mood with your long face.”

“I promise. Go for it,” I squeezed her hand, wishing her luck. “And I’ll go grab a bite.”

With that, I made my way to the cold table at the opposite end of the ballroom. “Cold table” is an expression which here means “a buffet-style table with the dishes that the guests are expected to help themselves to” not a table that is cold to touch, although I couldn’t have had any idea if that particular table was cold to touch before I ever touched it. As I was eating mushroom tartlets, I watched the dancers. Here was my brother waltzing with Olivia Caliban, and there was my sister, talking animatedly about something to her partner during the dance – and looking, as I was pleased to notice, like after all the recent troubles and worries she was finally at peace. Some of the guests might have been watching her too and wondering who she was dancing with: Frank or Ernest? That was, of course, the wrong question, while the right question would have been “How many Denouement brothers are there, actually?” I shifted my gaze to R, who was dancing with Gustav’s sister, then to Gustav and Monty and then to Ike and Josephine Anwhistle and so, looking over the dancing couples one by one, I finally met Beatrice’s eyes as she looked at me over her husband’s shoulder. My heart sank. That ballroom was full of people I held in great affection, and still I had to abandon them tomorrow, to flee abroad in order to save myself and everyone who was closely associated with me and could get in the firing line because of that. I didn’t know when I would see all of them again. Just the thought of it made me suffocate with grief.

“Snicket,” someone said. I turned around. There was a woman standing next to me, one that was different from the other guests for two reasons. Firstly, most of the invitees were the same age as the bride and the groom, while this woman was much older. Secondly, I have never met anyone with a hair as thick, long, and unruly, presently already greying. Even if she had tried to arrange it in some sort of a hairdo on the occasion of the party, all the pins and clips clearly were already lost, unable to tame this natural disaster. “Do you mind?”

“An interesting question. For a well-mannered person, there’s only one answer to it,” I observed, “which could be in equal measure correct or incorrect depending on how much…”

“Snicket,” my chaperone interrupted me, annoyed, “I asked because you’re standing by yourself ruining everyone’s mood with your long face. If you’re fine with being in such condition, I can leave you alone.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Theodora,” I objected. “Shall I pass you something? The salmon sandwiches are really good.”

“Thank you, I’ve enough for now,” she showed me a full plate. For some time we stood there eating and not saying a word, enjoying the music, the meal, and, to the lesser extent, each other’s company. Finally, Theodora said what she apparently wanted to say from the start.

“I grew wary when I saw you here, quite honestly,” she began. “I knew you were invited, as astonishing as it may be, but I was still surprised you’ve showed up. I’ll admit I feared that at the last moment you’d… pull some trick. I even told Bertrand about it, but he just waved it aside.”

“Well, that just proves the student has surpassed the teacher when it comes to getting other people,” I shrugged. “I suppose you wouldn’t trust me, but I didn’t even think of ruining the ceremony. Believe it or not, I sincerely wish Bertrand and Beatrice nothing but happiness.”

“You’re a peculiar person, Snicket.”

“Am I? I thought I am insufferable and lack respect for my elders.”

“And that, too. It won’t ever cease to amaze me that you and Bertrand hit it off.”

My brain instantly came up with a couple of presumably witty responses concerning how well we hit it off indeed – the champagne might’ve been to blame – but I restrained myself. There were some things she’d better stay unaware of.

“Life is full of surprises,” I observed instead. Theodora looked at me dubiously.

“I’d like to believe you’re telling the truth,” she said. “That you really came here to congratulate them on their marriage, and not to wallow in self-pity or make them doubt they made the right choice. You’re a peculiar person, Snicket, and that is precisely why I feel I really might be right to believe that. Care to ask the old hag for a dance?”

“With pleasure,” I agreed. This conversation was somewhat upsetting me, and it appeared I was already failing to keep the promise I gave R anyway. “May I have this dance, Theodora?”

The look on her face told me she was expecting some other answer, in which I would have pointed out, for instance, that I see no old hags here, but she still gave me her hand, and we went dancing.

***

The celebration ended late into the night. Many kind words were said to the bridal couple, many wonderful songs were sung, and the young Quagmire, evidently inspired by the example of his friend Bertrand, seized the moment to propose to his beloved. Finally the time came for everyone to head home. I was hanging around the hotel lobby and making my adieus to the guests: some of them were waiting for their taxis to arrive while some preferred to make use of the secret tunnel that connected The Eye of the Storm to a number of VFD buildings in the City. I was bidding farewell to my friends: sometimes a handshake, sometimes an embrace, and sometimes simply an exchange of phrases which would’ve seemed nonsensical to the uninitiated. My future appeared to me full of uncertainty and loneliness, and the volunteer’s work kept becoming more and more dangerous with every passing day. If I was destined to never meet my comrades again, then I wanted to remember them precisely the way they were that evening: happy, content, elegantly dressed, and with a newly found confidence that we may still be bound to witness the victory of nobility, valour, and erudition over cunning, avarice, and bad taste.

“We’ll meet you by the road junction at nine,” my brother said, clapping me on the shoulder. He was obviously worried. I didn’t want him to worry about me – I was doing that myself just fine. “Are you sure you don’t want to leave earlier? You could get there in time to catch the…”

“It is highly likely that our enemies have infiltrated the crew of the Prospero. You know that yourself,” I didn’t let him finish. “I’ll take the train. Don’t fret about me, Jacques. Better try to get some sleep. Or…” I cast a sidelong look at Olivia, who was standing nearby and apparently waiting for my brother, “spend the time until morning the way you see fit.”

It was twilight outside The Eye of the Storm, but I had no doubts Jacques blushed.

“You’re taking a lot of risk, L,” he said, displeased. “Are you sure it’s worth it? After all, everything has changed now…”

“I know,” I said. Deep down, I wasn’t sure indeed if it was a good idea. If it was appropriate now, no matter how much we wanted to believe it was. But I couldn’t act differently. Firstly, I had given a promise. Secondly, if I changed my mind, then – who knows – I might miss the last chance to feel happy that I’d get in my life. “I am only sure that if I leave now, I am going to regret it. See you tomorrow, Jacques.”

He frowned but said nothing more and, after hugging me once again, got into the car and left. I headed back to The Eye of the Storm. My brother and Olivia were the last ones to leave; presently the only ones staying at the hotel were the employees and the newlyweds. I sneaked a look into the ballroom and saw them talking about something to the hotel owner. The bride laughed at something and took her groom – her husband – by the hand. I was standing there in the dusk and thinking: what if my brother was right? Wouldn’t it be better for me to leave before it’s too late – just like that, without saying goodbye? I shook my head, chasing these thoughts away as if they were circling me like Snow Gnats, and hurried to the second floor. At the very beginning of the corridor, a bored-looking hall porter was sitting on a chair and cleaning his nails. I approached him.

“Mr. and Mrs. Baudelaire are wondering if the still life with pineapples displayed in the ballroom is for sale,” I said.

The hall porter raised his head to look at me.

“Unfortunately it isn’t. It’s the only thing our owner has to remember his late grandmother by,” he replied, and gave me the key from the luxury suite. There was no further conversation between us; I took the key and headed to the suite.

I entered the room, closed the door behind me, and looked around. As it is commonly known, luxury accommodations differ from the regular hotel rooms in the number of amenities and the refinement of the furnishings. In the present case, one of the indisputable advantages of this suite in comparison to the other rooms was a bookcase with a great number of books on its shelves. I looked over the room, checking, among other things, the presence of weapons and fire extinguishing tools hidden under the bed in the event of the enemies of the bridal couple finding out where the wedding was taking place and deciding to pay a visit. Then I took a collection of poems by Oscar Wilde from one of the shelves and immersed myself in reading, hoping for once I wouldn’t get much time for that.

Indeed, I didn’t have to wait for long. There was the sound of steps and voices, and the just married burst into the room – it struck my eye that they were still holding hands. They didn’t notice me because as soon as Mr. Baudelaire shut the door behind him, Mrs. Baudelaire pinned him against that very door and kissed him. Since she threw off her high-heeled shoes the moment she ran into the room, she had to stand on tiptoe to kiss him, which looked absolutely adorable.

I watched those two who had clearly forgotten at that moment about the world around. Without a doubt, the Baudelaires were a beautiful couple. Beatrice was lovely even wearing an old tracksuit covered in dirt after the annual orienteering competition held in the city sewers – presently, in a white and golden wedding dress, she looked like an angel. Bertrand, handsome and well-built, looked dapper in a cream-coloured suit with a tea rose on the lapel. I was feasting my eyes on the both of them, all the while racked by doubts as to whether I’d better withdraw through the window before they noticed me. I even started to reflect on how wide the windowsills of The Eye of the Storm were, but then the Baudelaire spouses pulled away from each other and finally realized they were not alone in the room. My presence did not surprise them in the slightest.

“You’re here,” Beatrice said, and her face lit up with such joy that I shook all the thoughts about the windowsills out of my head.

I put the book back on the shelf.

“I asked the hall porter about the painting with pineapples,” I said. “It is not for sale.”

“What a pity,” Beatrice replied merrily, ran up to me, and kissed me on the lips.

I was not destined to tie the knot and start a family. When I was engaged to Beatrice, I tried to ignore the thought of it but it was always with me, in some hidden corner of my mind. It was there when Beatrice accepted my proposal and in the early days of our relationship and when I was twelve years old and Theodora was telling me that her previous apprentice, the same young man who was half-smiling now as he watched me kiss his wife, would become a husband and a father, while all that awaited me was loneliness. I was not destined to find the happiness harped on about by writers and telenovela characters and the designers of those advertisement posters that featured parents and two children, always a boy and a girl, carelessly consuming cereals or ice cream. But I knew happiness of another kind, and while the creators of cereal advertisements would hardly be able to appreciate it, I suspected that some writers could have understood me. I was kissing the woman that wasn’t mine in the eyes of the law and the society yet still was mine as much as I was hers – that is to say, with all her heart and all her soul – and I was happy. That was more than enough.

Beatrice pulled away from my lips.

“I was mad the whole evening I couldn’t just come up to you for no special reason,” she told me. “Couldn’t dance with you, not even once.”

“It is important that as many people as possible are sure we’re not together anymore,” I reminded her. “You have plenty of your own enemies, Beatrice. You shouldn’t have to deal with mine to boot.”

“I refuse to believe that any single one of the people who were here today…” she started, but stopped short. Perhaps she remembered how fragile the bonds of friendship can be, and in how much danger they can be put both by ambition and the sense of duty. Perhaps she remembered about the family whose manor she used to visit as a child and about a night at the opera and the poison darts; about the articles in The Daily Punctilio and the stolen sugar bowl. I pulled her close. I didn’t want her to think about those things on the day of her wedding.

Bertrand coughed. I met his eyes, and felt Beatrice softly push me away. It occurred to me that kissing the wife right in front of her husband’s eyes is extremely improper, so when he approached me I decided to atone for my behaviour, and kissed him too. If Beatrice always kissed with all the fervour of the woman who could fight off a giant eagle with her bare hands, then Bertrand always did it with all the thoroughness of the man who enters a lions’ cage without fear because he has studied their habits in all detail and thought out all the actions required in case the situation gets out of control. I didn’t see Beatrice’s face the moment my lips touched Bertrand’s, but I knew she was smiling.

I ran my hand over his chest and felt for the tea rose.

“Been wondering all evening if it’s natural or not,” I said. My head was spinning. I still hadn’t fully got used to the effect these two had upon me, and this might have been our last night together.

“Artificial,” Bertrand said, took the flower out of the buttonhole, and put it into my pocket. “Take it. As a keepsake of this day.”

“Thank you,” I said. As I was looking at him, I hoped yet again that if Beatrice’s children (who were bound to be born one day: she’s always wanted to become a mother) take after their father, they’ll inherit Bertrand’s features, not mine. I wouldn’t mind to pass on the colour of my eyes or my hair, but certainly not my innate tendency to corpulence that created certain inconveniences when it was necessary, for instance, to exit the building through the basement window. As to Bertrand, he was outrageously good-looking from head to toe – I remembered vividly how it used to annoy me back when I had just met him. I used to be itching to hit him even though he never actually provoked me in any way. I didn’t want to admit for a long time that what was hiding behind that was simply the longing to touch him. “But I think that can wait. I am not leaving yet, after all.”

“Will you stay till morning?” Beatrice asked hopefully.

“I am to meet Jacques and Kit by the road junction a mile from The Eye of the Storm at nine o’clock. They’ll take me to the railway station – not the nearest one, but the one after – where I shall board the train at nine twenty-nine.”

“It’s five minutes to two now,” Bertrand observed, glancing at his wristwatch.

“About seven hours,” Beatrice said, taking a step towards Bertrand and me, and put her hand on my cheek. “Almost the whole night.”

“Your wedding night, by the way,” I reminded. “Are you sure that…”

“Lemony Snicket,” she interrupted me petulantly, and slapped me on the lips lightly with the tips of her fingers, “yes, we are sure, we’ve discussed all that more than once, we told you the password that got you the key to our room for a reason. If the world was simpler and quieter, you would’ve been getting married today as well. Consider this as your wedding night too. And before you’ve managed to make some other silly statement: yes, we’ve discussed that as well.”

I looked at Bertrand. He nodded without thinking twice.

“The fact that Beatrice and I are married now doesn’t change a thing,” he said. “Remember that when you return to the City. You will return one day, won’t you, Snicket?”

I was about to answer honestly, “I don’t know”, but I just couldn’t.

“I’ll try to,” I said. That was also true. I would have given anything not to leave the people I loved more than anything else in the world, but since I had no other choice, all that was left to me was to make every effort to come back to them sooner or later.

“All right,” Beatrice said. “All right,” she repeated, and it seemed to me I saw tears glisten in her eyes and I felt scared. She stopped me with a motion of her hand before I could say anything to her. “We’ll talk about that later. Are you feeling sleepy?”

“Are you suggesting I go to sleep, Beatrice?”

“I suggest you accept that you’ll only get to sleep on the train.”

With that she pushed me to the bed – a large bed, the kind that three people would fit on with ease. Beatrice moved towards me and I moved back until I fell on my back right on the blanket. Beatrice lifted her skirt a little and climbed first onto the bed, and then on top of me.

“Careful, Snicket,” Bertrand said as he noticed that my hands slid under her skirt. He sat on the bed and bent over me. “She’s got a dagger in her garter. Sheathed, of course, but you never know.”

I grabbed the tip of his necktie and pulled him closer.

“How interesting,” I said. Beatrice was straddling me, rising a little and then pressing herself to me again, and I was moving towards her in sync. “Do you also have anything hidden underneath your clothes, Mr. Baudelaire?”

“See for yourself,” Bertrand offered, and kissed me.

The storm was raging outside the hotel, yet only figuratively. Clouds were gathering over all the fearless and well-read people who have dedicated their lives to science, literature, and keeping the world quiet. But I and those two that I loved were in the eye of the storm: literally, because that was the name of the hotel, and figuratively, because that night we weren’t thinking about the schemes of our enemies and the everyday dangers that befell our friends. I was happy in a way the one whose beloved has just married someone else rarely is, and here, in the eye of the storm, nothing could take that happiness from me – at least not until the morning.

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events #lemony snicket #beatrice baudelaire #bertrand baudelaire #duchess of winnipeg #s. theodora markson #jacques snicket #lemonberry ice #beatrice x r #snicketverse #my fic #gella talks snicketverse #tbh i really didn't even try to fit it into canon timeline #i just wanted to write some light-hearted self-indulgent ot3 fic and i went for it

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adilynia-kiden · 5 years

Text

The Trinity Wedding: Part 1

Writer’s Note: As I mentioned before, I’m not entirely sure how many parts this wedding will be in, but you can find all the previous posts HERE. Included in this post is a seating chart that will hopefully help give everyone an idea of where all the players are working from.

This has been Co-Written with Teren, Lycan, and Annest Ninro-Kiden (Teren’s daughter and best Wingwoman ever!)

With Adilynia seated, the risen Nishanians follow suit.

Alituari's conversation, while primarily communicated through intricate gestures between herself and her two companions, is interspersed with softly spoken words. "Lovecraft" and "Elthron" apparently having no linguistic equivalents in the unspoken tongue.

The man sat behind Tanner leans forward to keep contact with her while the pale figure between them idly puffs on his cigarette. Looking to their new Father for permission, Garren and Scassira rush forward to greet their friends like silent unfeterred puppies the moment the Baron nods in ascent to their silent requests.

Behind the Baron, Halcyon introduces himself to his two seat mates. "Sir Halcyon Krim." Having participated in the vote to allow the man to act as Ironwall's acting Regent, Count Ngu'nye and Baron Munro merely nod. Pax, however places her palms together in a vertical position, bowing her head to her fingertips in greeting.

The central figure on the sofa, Count Condea, next to Alituari chimes in on the discreet conversation at a volume which borders on - but doesn't exceed - rudeness. He quickly makes up for the discrepancy with his word choice. "We're all know who you are, Krim. We're why you're fuckin' here."

For just a moment, Sir Krim appears about to address the speaker, but instead licks his front teeth in an expression of abject discontent before engaging Pax in silent discourse; rather than allowing himself to be badgered into an unseemly display at such a public event.

"Celestials bless..." Anou'e whispers to Doyle, who quickly concurs in a whisper.

"No kidding. “

Once the twins had left to greet the rest of the party, Tanner returned to trying to take everything in. For a kid from Westfall, the opulence is not unlike the Thalassian court that he's only recently been introduced to, but certainly more awes inspiring considering the Marquis' of Nishan were of his same race.

Nothing is spared from his sea-glass eyes, especially not Addie, who he always returned to focus every 19 seconds exactly. Certainly an odd thing for those of the mind to study the young man who managed prim posture and a brave face for his obvious nerves. But when the title 'Sir' was uttered from the man behind the Baron, Tanner took a vested, but subtle interest in his glances to another knight. Sir Halycon Krim.

Poised and perfectly still, Brilaria muffled what little sound there was into her shoulder as she chuckled at Raelin and the twins. It was such a familiar sight to see the ginger heathen bring himself down to their level as to carry on a silent conversation in comical miming between them. LIke Maladir, her thumb moved along the golden ring on her finger in the same muscle memory familiarity that he did, to compensate for the smoke now making it's way into her hair.

While Addie preferred meditative breathing, the Confessor chose to think of all the ways that a situation could be worse; Broken glass. Void Sludge. Fel. Scourge. Old God tentacles. Felhound shit. Mmmm, Yogg blood... in order to keep her focus. Odd, but effective in combating what could be an annoyance for a Thalassian noble more to used to people jumping at her beck and call than her having to bite her tongue.

Taking in a sharp breath, Addie's eyes lifted to Jan'in from under the bow of her head and whispered words. "It's an honor to keep your company again, Baron Ninro..." Addie silently commended her own bravery as she usually tended to keep quiet around him, but her usual behavior had certainly been cast aside for the propriety of the day which demanded, at the very least, a polite and humble greeting. Raelin held his tongue, but the proverbial light bulb of recognition went on in his head in putting names to faces for Lady Annest's new husband.

Addie's long ears ticked at Anou'e and Doyle as her carefully controlled smile tipped more towards the genuine in the simple exchange. Not just the blessing, but it took her back into the suite were the young Incubus's reaction to the Praetorium epitaph 'Titans Balls' had made for quite the moment.

Mal too had heard it, and turned to share a look with Addie that said very little on the outside but ended in a playful wink from the Commander. "No cracks..." he finally whispered that tugged the fondest of expressions from the gilded Pixie.

“No cracks.” Addie repeated firmly, reaching over to cover her father’s hand with hers as a silent chuckle was shared between them

Tanner's keen eyes would pick out a dynamic assortment of fashions and styles which seemed to range from all black or all white, to rich vibrant hues in pastel, deep, or metallic colors. For all of the voices who ignored the Outsiders and spoke freely of their excitement, delight, or disappointment of the coming union between the Marquis and his Guardian, there were hundreds close enough to be seen clearly who elected to use the local hand signs and avoid any possibility of their discussions being taken in by the foreign creatures.

At the edges of the wedding venue, live music played from several different pianos, harps, cellos, violins, and flutes; all in perfect harmony with one another.

The sound of the music wafting inward to those seated seemed to hold significant meaning for the Nishanians, who all rose from their seats and turned to face the raised dais at front and center. An enormous uproar of cheers, hoots, and hollering comes from the crowd beyond the gates, followed by thunderous applause as Larcos Sobo'Avill opens a portal and Countess Nerenna Reon steps to the center.

Shimmers of various magical energies begin to fall like pixie dust from on high above them, and a second portal opens in front of Nerenna, no more than two feet to the left of her on the dais, and Teren Kiden steps out with a sheepish grin.

The sound of so many voices and applause resounding all around him is deafening, even for those without sensitive hearing. Those like Pax Urbi, Alituari Sunvein, the Praetorium, and the abruptly pissed off Vampire sat near them. "Son of a mother fucking piece of shit banging whore dung!"

Blissfully, his voice is swallowed up to most mundane ears in the crowd, and his comments are missed by the nearby children. "These two dumb sons of bitches better never need to get married again, or I'll eat their fucking young."

Alituari stifles a laugh, while she and Count Condea cover their ears. Grinsren catches the commentary more through the discreet use of his mental abilities, chuckling openly at his companion.

Poor Tanner had no idea what to expect. His mouth literally drops open with the widest expression of wonder that likely had ever been seen on his youthful features. Absolutely everything that happened from the moment the Nishanians rose and onward built his sense of awe exponentially.

He was moved to clap with them. To revel in their joy, even if he understood nothing more than the inspired pageantry. "Oh I am so using that the next time Duchess Bloodwind thinks she's going to out do me at the Fire Festival..." Brilaria had the good sense to whisper her malice into Raelin's ear as the heathen half-elf moved in close behind her, only to abandon his usual flirtatious ways and choose the chivalrous path of shielding Bri's ears for her.

"Really? The Marquis Tall, Dark and Spank My Ass walks out, and you're thinking about one upping the girl who stole your book in primaries?" Raelin said quietly, laughing and joining in the celebration the moment Teren walked on stage. He was half deaf anyway without charms.

Both Maladir and Addie had taken note of the important figures and followed their lead with regards to proper reactions and behaviors expected. However, their reactions to the crowd couldn't have been more polarized.

For Maladir, the sound is deafening and lowers his long ears slightly with the tip of his head. Inhaling deeply, his posture only draws straighter at the discomfort on his keen senses while one ears rests on his shoulder, and the other is muffled with the cup of his hand, yet his open expression and warmth never seems to dim.

For Addie, it's all she can do not to slam her hands against her ears and hide in her father's chest. A distinct loss of color is seen in her cheeks at the restraint necessary to slowly and politely, cover her sensitive ears and dip her head in such a way as to not disturb the sparkling tiara on her dark hair. "Oh Light bless..." she whispered, breathing slowly and focusing entirely on the beacon of stability that came with seeing Teren walk on the stage.

The Twins quickly join in with the joy and celebrations, Scassria tugging on her brother's arm at the spectacle and the sight of their Grandfather trying to cheer and hollar as loud as anyone else especially when they saw Teren.

Baron Ninro keeps close watch over the two children, scooping Scassira up and setting her between himself and Garren so the two don't topple one another from the sofa in their excitement.

From the stage, Teren shares a warm embrace with Larcos as the Arch-Magus moves to stand on his left; marking himself as the Best man for the event unfolding before the vast majority of their people. Whatever words are exchanged, they both laugh and nod. As the Magus catches sight of Brilaria, he gestures intricately, unleashing his magic in a long line of multi-colored sparkles which roar out through the crowd several times before aligning with the long white carpet to produce yet another portal at the far end of the aisle.

The roar of the crowd dies down as the portal remains open for several moments without any sign of use. The pregnant pause erupts into another round of raccous roars and cheers as Baroness Annest Ninro-Kiden steps through.

Stepping through she pauses as if she truly was lost or even surprised as she makes a gesture of glancing around before catching her daughter waving eagerly to her and Anne gives her a tiny wave and wink. There she straightened her shoulders preening for a moment before taking a step forward as if she was meant to walk down the aisle alone and she was quite owning it. None of her doubt of concern about impression there. But then she pauses as if realizing maybe she was missing someone and pauses again, looking to her Father as if asking silent isn't she missing someone?

#The Trinity Wedding #Teren x Lycan x Adilynia #Annest is the best #20/10 best daughter ever

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hellevator-mp3 · 6 years

Text

Gilded Age || Part 1

Pairing(s): Felix x Changbin

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3,100+

Warnings: N/A

Author Note: Uhhh yeah, I’ve literally had this idea in my head since like, June?? and I’m finally doing something about it??

Changbin always believed that he was always going to be the head knight to the prince, or rather, the soon to be king; nothing more, nothing less. All it took was a bed and a bargain for both him and the freckled prince, Felix, to realize that fate had an odd way of working things out.

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Changbin watched with weary eyes as his charge paced back and forth in front of the large window that took up half of the wall, occasionally stopping to peer out and look for the telltale signs of a carriage making it's way up the drive, shadows cast by the trees shifting in the early evening light. "Maybe you should take a seat, Felix." He murmured, the use of informal speech pulling the younger boy from his thoughts.

With a gusty sigh, Felix threw himself in the plush armchair situated directly across from the door, watching as Changbin got up and took his place by the door, his tunic rustling slightly underneath his leather vest as he leaned on the wall and tucked his hands into his pockets, eying Felix with slight interest all the while. The younger of the two was dressed in a deep red tunic, decorated with a thread that shimmered like gold and made it's way across his clothing in an ornate design, connecting fluidly with his district crest that adorned his left breast. Stockings made of a matching color sat low on his hips, leaving a sliver of skin to be shown between it and his tunic when he readjusted his position in the chair, before the offending piece of clothing was tugged back into place and Felix looked up to meet Changbin's wandering eyes.

"I just don't understand why it is that I'm being forced into this. Chanhee has been sending letters upon letters in an attempt to court me, no matter how many times I tell him that I'm not looking to get married so early." Felix's words came out whiny, causing Changbin to let out a chuckle at the younger. "Not to mention, neither of my parents will hear a bad word about him. They don't care that their only son is being forced into a marriage, they just care about having the districts united, since Chanhee rules district 4." The boy pouted, only serving to pull more laughter from Changbin.

All it took was a few long strides before Changbin sunk to his knees in front of the other boy, holding smaller hands in his own and looking up at the blond in front of him. "And what if there was someone else courting you? Somebody that you would actually accept?" He replied, a mischevious twinkle in his eye and a sly smile on his lips. Felix stared at him for a moment in confusion, before his eyes widened and he let out a small gasp.

"Wait - so you're saying -" He started, stopped, and started again, seemingly unable to form a coherent thought. "You'd court me?" Color flooded both of their cheeks at the thought, although Felix's was more from knowing that he may be able to escape marrying Chanhee, and Changbin's...came from knowing that he was completely, utterly in love with the man that he was serving.

Changbin nodded in confirmation, and was about to speak his mind when the telltale noise of a carriage pulling up the drive was heard, and the two sprung to their feet, Felix rushing to the window to peer out in time to see the horses pulling a wooden carriage being urged to stop, before a figure stepped off the front seat and made it's way to the side to open the door. A new figure emerged from the interior, the royal green of his outfit a stark contrast to the grey rocks that he had stepped out onto. One of the butlers - who Changbin quickly realized was the head butler - made his way out to greet their guests and presumably lead them to the parlor, where Felix and Changbin were currently waiting. They shot each other a slightly panicked glance, before hurrying back to their spots and waiting in silent anticipation. Just before the door swung open, Felix caught Changbin's eye and mouthed 'yes', causing the elder's cheeks to burn.

Prince Chanhee was definitely a man of royal descent, Changbin thought to himself as the other stepped into the room, meeting Felix halfway as the other stood up to greet him. The two settled into chairs across from each other, and Changbin watched with bated breath as they talked about the affairs happening in their respective Districts, before Felix met his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. "I would like to decline your requests for courtship, as I am already being courted by someone else." He managed to force out, the words curt and sharp. Changbin watched Chanhee's face morph from something beautiful into a rage, and saw Chanhee's intentions before they ever happened. In what seemed like mere seconds, he had thrown himself in between the two, just as Chanhee was lunging across the table at Felix.

It seemed as though Changbin blacked out for a few moments. When he came to his senses, Chanhee was laying on the ground, holding a hand to his bleeding nose and calling for his butler. A man entered the room, helped his master up before leading him out of the room and apologizing for the trouble that he had caused. Changbin watched until the two were out of sight down the hallway, before turning back to Felix and checking over him for any injuries. He was relieved to find none on his young master, but still led him out of the room and to the Keep, just past the knight and servants respective rooms, and past a heavy wooden door to the king's quarters, settling him on the edge of the bed before digging through the wardrobe to find more 'casual' clothes to change him into, knowing that the fancy tunic that currently adorned him was more than likely beginning to get hot and become itchy.

Changbin guided Felix out of his clothes and then got to work on replacing them. He kneeled at his master's feet to pull his socks up, before helping him into a fresh pair of stockings. Standing up, he towered slightly over Felix as he grabbed a plain white tunic that contrasted sharply with the black stockings, which he pulled over Felix's head before working on the ornate buttons that decorated the fabric beginning at the midriff. Felix, during this entire procedure, just stared blankly at Changbin, until he was finally shaken from his thoughts as Changbin got closer than he needed to because he had noticed the slight blush adorning the younger boys cheeks. Changbin laid a gentle hand on his forehead, moving it to his cheeks as well to check for a fever. Just when he was about to withdraw his hand, Felix's smaller on settled over it and the younger closed his eyes with a sigh, leaning into the elders cool touch. Changbin couldn't stop himself as he admired the boy in front of him. He realized with a start that he was close enough to count the freckles spattered across Felix's cheeks, the way the edges of his eyes curved, along with the arch of his cupid's bow and the way he was pouting, big brown eyes looking back at him curiously.

"You know, normally people don't start off courting like this." He teased lightly, a bright smile breaking across his face. Changbin couldn't even find it in himself to back away, instead continuing to look at Felix like he was a blind man seeing the sun for the first time. It seemed natural enough to lean forward and press a small kiss to the tip of Felix's nose, before backing away with what was left of his self-control. A bright blush adorned both of their cheeks, and Felix caught a hold of his sleeve before he could back away too far, dragging Changbin closer once again and down to his level, before returning the kiss, but this time on his cheek. Changbin couldn't stop the smile that adorned his lips afterward, finding himself thinking about the encounter for the next few hours and well into the night, as he was preparing for sleep. He had shed the heavy vest along with his stockings, and found himself laying in the knights quarters with the images of a freckled prince never leaving his mind as he slipped into a light slumber.

He woke with a start just a few moments later, or so it seemed, to the bell ringing just next to his ear. As Felix's head knight, one of his duties was to see to the prince when he called, even if it was in the middle of the night, and no matter if it was because he was in danger or he just wanted some water but didn't feel like getting out of his soft bed to fetch it for himself.

However, Changbin realized as he jogged into his master's room, this wasn't either of those two examples, but a rather rare one. Felix was sitting up, back resting firmly against the pillows, face turned towards the windows with his eyes closed and the moonlight streaming in, turning his face a pale shade of silver that enchanted Changbin - and not for the first time. It wasn't until the door slammed lightly that Felix's eyes snapped open and he turned to face Changbin, his face flooding with a thousand questions that faded away with every second that passed as he realized who it was standing in front of his door. They had a silent stare off for a brief moment before Felix gestured for the elder to make his way to the bed, which he did with no hesitation. Before Changbin could even throw out the question that sat on the edge of his tongue, Felix scooted over to make room and let out a small 'stay with me', his eyes pleading with Changbin to join him underneath the covers and hold him until everything righted itself. Changbin lets a joking sigh of resignation slip from his lips that sounded vaguely like a 'fine', before sliding underneath the covers with Felix, allowing the younger to slip underneath his arm and resting his head on Changbin's chest. The elder guided them down so they were laying down, and waited for Felix to readjust so he was comfortable, shifting his head slightly and throwing a leg over Changbin's knees.

Changbin couldn't help but laugh at the other's clinginess, drawing the younger closer and holding him in place with a firm grip on his shoulder with one hand, while the other drew idle shapes onto the boys skin, letters turning into words and words into poetry and poetry into confessions of love that could, or rather would, never be heard. Felix hummed in content, burrowing his cheek further into Changbin's chest as he pulled himself ever closer, nearly laying on top of his guardian. Neither of them paid it any mind, Changbin continuing his idle activities and letting his mind wander over the day's happenings, content to allow his prince to rest wherever was comfortable. He didn't know when it happened, but the two of them slipped into a dreamless slumber soon after, one right after the other.

The next morning was a mess of shouting and general noise that startled Changbin from his sleep, which then woke Felix. The both of them stared through tired eyes at the commotion at the foot of the bed, which included some of the other knights and a maid who looked slightly terrified out of her mind. One of the knights broke from the group, before sticking his head out of the door and yelling something unintelligible. Some of the other staff, including the head butler, made their way into the room, expressing their relief.

Changbin looked at each face in turn, before asking, "What's all the noise for?", his voice low and scratchy from sleep. A familiar face popped out from behind one of the taller knights, one of the youngest boys that went by Jeongin, who had been training under Changbin for the past few months. He slowly raised his hand, before words came tumbling out of his mouth that Changbin didn't understand. When he was asked to repeat it, with proper pronunciation this time, the boy said that he found Changbin's bed empty and kind of, sort of, maybe told one of the other knights, and word quickly spread.

While they knew that Changbin served as Felix's main protector, they never knew of his midnight excursions to the youngers room, since he always returned before daybreak. Felix let out a sleepy noise, snuggling back into the elder and mumbling for him to kick the rest out. "You heard the prince, leave so I can get him ready for the day." Changbin reiterated, his voice stronger than the dirty blond's, who had returned to his previous position, with his face against his chest, slowly drifting off to sleep as Changbin ran a hand over his back, smoothing down his wrinkled nightshirt in the process. The others slowly shuffled out of the room, the maid following through last and shutting the door quietly as she left, leaving the two in silence. Gently, Changbin shook his charge, who let out a sleepy groan at the motion, clinging tighter to his companion. That is, until Changbin leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, stopping the younger in his tracks and causing him to look up with wide eyes, their faces mere inches apart. The soft smile that graced Changbin's lips at the sight was just enough to take Felix's breath away as he watched Changbin watching him, eyes taking in every feature of his face with interest, even though they had seen each other thousands of times - but Changbin could never get enough, always finding something new to love about the younger.

Suddenly, Felix looked away and buried his face in Changbin's chest again and covering his exposed cheek with his hand, hiding the blush spreading on his cheeks from view. Changbin smoothed down the youngers ruffled hair with his hand, gently combing through it with his fingers and pulling at the knots that had formed in his sleep, listening to the boy hum in content and feeling him move closer. "You better not be going back to sleep." He murmured, gently tugging as his fingers caught on a particularly nasty knot, before managing to get it unknotted and continuing with his slow motions. Felix let out a deep sigh, before finally looking up at the elder, their faces once again inches apart and getting closer together as the two leaned in - that is, until Felix turned his head suddenly and sneezed loudly, the motion so sudden that Changbin jumped and consequently fell off the bed, dragging the covers onto the floor around him. They sat in a stunned silence for a moment, before Felix began to laugh at Changbin's quiet groan of pain as he rubbed his back. The younger leaned over the edge of the bed and watched his guardian with laughter still dancing on his lips, smile bigger and brighter than the sun. He offered the other a hand to help him up but instead was thrown back when Changbin tackled him, the two scrambling to find footing and get an advantage over the other. Changbin finally succeeded, his training giving him a slight advantage as he pinned Felix's hands above his head with one hand, the other holding himself up, while he moved to straddle the younger and keep him in place so he could get revenge.

It started with fingers dancing over his sides before Felix broke out into a loud bout of laughter, his face slowly turning red as he gasped for air and writhed underneath the other boy, trying to free himself. The elder paid it no mind, finally releasing Felix's hands in order to tickle him with both hands, and allowing the boy under him a chance to retaliate. All it took was a split second before the tables turned and Changbin found himself pinned underneath the smaller boy with the flush ever so prominent underneath his freckles, and for the first time, Changbin realized just how close they were.

In his moment of weakness, Felix took total advantage and began to attack the older boy as he had been attacked just moments before, the both of them laughing messes before Felix dropped forward and let his head rest on Changbin's chest, trying to catch his breath. Changbin threw his head back and let it rest on the plush bed as he tried to control the fast beating of his heart, reaching up to stroke Felix's hair and check to make sure he was okay. The younger nodded in confirmation, picking his head up to look at his latest victim, the smile on his face fading into something softer, before morphing into something akin to worry, maybe fear. "Changbin?" He muttered, drawing himself up and looking down at the elder.

Changbin hummed in response, settling his hands on Felix's hips after sitting up as well. Their eyes met for a split second, before Felix turned away to look at some point just behind Changbin, "Can I...kiss you?" Changbin stared at him in a shocked silence at the question. While he was prepared for most of the strange questions that he was asked on a daily basis, this was one that he wasn't ready for, but nodded in response anyways, replying with a hushed "please" as the younger leaned in, their lips meeting for the first time. Felix's hands came up to rest around Changbin's shoulders as the two tentatively kissed, trying to learn each other in a way that they had never had a chance to before. It was nothing more than an innocent kiss, their lips moving slowly against each other's, Felix's fingers tangled in the hair at Changbin's nape, while one of Changbin's hands rested on the youngers hip, and the other came to rest on his cheek. They didn't move far when they pulled away, choosing to stay close enough that they were still sharing the same air, before Changbin broke out into a smile and pecked Felix's lips once more, stroking his cheek softly with his thumb as the two relaxed against one another, breathing evening out as they reveled in the tenderness of the moment.

That is, until Changbin’s student, Jeongin, threw the door open with such force that it scared both of the boys on the bed, the younger clinging together to his guard. Jeongin's mouth dropped at the sight, before he slowly backed out and closed the door behind him, leaving the others to dissolve into a fit of embarrassed giggles seconds later.

#changlix #stray kids fic #kpop fanfiction #seo changbin #lee felix #skz

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