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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 4 years

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Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

Pairings: Arvin Russel x Fem!Christian!Reader

Summary: Arvin knew he shouldn’t have left you alone with that new preacher...

Warnings: Sexual assault, physical assault, cursing, Teagarden being a perv, really nothing out of the ordinary for this movie.

Word Count: 5250

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“Arvin! Stop!” You giggled, pushing your boyfriend off of you as he nibbled up and down your neck. There wasn’t anything sexual about it, he just loved to hear you laugh and he knew how much the action tickled your skin. “You’re so annoyin’!” You laughed, cheeks flushed red as you gently pressed on his head to try and move it.

He pressed himself up, looking down at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever lay his eyes on. Arvin was straddling you, his knees trapping your hips beneath him. A hand was placed on either side of your head and he looked down at you, “But you’re so pretty when you laugh.”

“Oh? And I’m ugly all the rest of the time?” You asked jokingly, hands reaching up stroke up and down his arms.

Arvin leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling away ever so slightly, hovering just above your lips. Both of your guys’ eyes were still closed as if it were a romantic moment until he whispered, “Ugly as a mule.”

You both busted up laughing and you shoved him, his body rolling onto the blanket beside you, “I’m breaking up with you.” You teasingly told him.

“Ah, c’mon. You know you love me.” He looked over at you, loving how the autumn sun lit up your features.

“I tolerate you. Don’t get it mixed up.” You rolled your head over to see him already admiring you. Your smile got bigger when you locked eyes with him.

“Well I love you.” Arvin admitted sweetly, bringing a gentle hand to your cheek and kissing you one more time.

Arvin made you feel beautiful and special and safe, all those things that no boy had ever made you feel. He always had. Even when you were children back in middle school and neither of you really talked to each other, when you saw him around the halls, a peace just settled over you that made you feel like you were on top of the world. When the two of you began dating ten months ago, that never changed.

“I love you too.”

The two of you laid back against the yellow blanket with little orange flowers on it, the one that you’d taken from the linen closet back home. This was yours and Arvin’s favorite place, a little clearing in the woods. The grass was tall enough to be soft but not so tall that it hid critters. Flowers lined the edge of the woods in the spring. It wasn’t springtime now but that only meant that instead of a display of white and yellow flower buds, the pair of you had a beautiful show of brilliant reds and oranges from the falling leaves.

Everyone in town knew you were together. Word spread fast around Coal Creek and it was nearly impossible to hide anything. Your families were both supportive of the relationship. Emma loved that you were involved with the church and put effort into the community when you could, often participating in bake sales around town. She liked to tease that you won Arvin over with your “man catching apple cobbler” as she now called it, since he officially asked you to be his girlfriend over a slice of the delicious dessert after a Sunday service.

Your parents liked Arvin as well. Even after Fred Dinwoodie had told your dad about what Arvin had done to Gene, it surprisingly made him like Arvin more. “You got yourself a good man who knows right from wrong and ain’t afraid to stand up for the people he loves.” Was what he’d said, which had surprised you. You knew that Arvin had beaten all the boys right after he’d done it, since he came to you to help him calm down and ice his knuckles. You were terrified for your parents to find out, though, sure that they’d tell you to break up with him for fear of violent tendencies. Thankfully, that day never came.

It was nice out there, bundled up in a warm brown coat, laying on Arvin’s chest, and watching the leaves fly across the crisp sky in the breeze.

“We should probably get headin’ back.” You said reluctantly, pushing yourself up to sitting.

“Why’s that?” Arvin perched on his elbow to watch you tighten the jacket around your frame, a cool breeze hitting just right.

“The new preacher asked me to come by this afternoon. Said he needed help planning a fundraiser to raise money for the less fortunate families in town.” You traced a finger over his knuckles gingerly, small pink marks littering his knuckles from his attack on Dinwoodie and his boys still healing over.

“Ain’t you one o’ them less fortunate families in town?” He asked, trying to find a way to talk you out of this. Ever since Preston Teagarden had humiliated Emma on his first day, Arvin had it out for the man.

You scoffed with a chuckle, “Yeah, but you are too and your grandma is still always bringin’ stuff to church. Just cause I’m broke as shit doesn’t mean I can’t try to help other people who are broke as shit.”

Arvin stood up with you and helped you fold up the blanket, “I just don’t like that new preacher. Somethin’s off about ‘im.”

“I agree that he was totally out of line callin’ your grandma out like that two weeks ago but I’d like to think that maybe I can talk to him about it.” The two of you began to walk back to Arvin’s car, grass swishing under your steps.

Arvin’s face twisted, “I just don’t trust the man. He’s always up there on that damn stage actin’ all high ‘n mighty every Sunday like he ain’t done nothin’ wrong.” He reached forward and opened your door for you, closing it after you slid onto the seat. He walked around the car and got into the driver’s seat.

“He’s a sinner like the rest of us. It’s just about doing what you can to make yourself better.” You responded, looking over at Arvin sweetly. He gave you a skeptic look and sighed deeply as he turned his attention back to look towards the road. With one hand on the steering wheel, he slid his free hand over to hold yours gently. The rest of the drive was in comfortable silence, with the exception of the radio quietly playing in the background.

Arvin loved you. He really really loved you. You generally had your wits about you, a heck of a lot more than most of the girls in Coal Creek, not allowing your religion to totally cloud your vision. You were a good girl, good enough to make his grandma happy and not cause too much trouble around town, always helping those in need, but not so pious that you made everyone else around you feel like a sinner. You were still fun, you still made mistakes. Arvin felt like you were something between ethereal and real, somehow elevating him as a person but also showing him just how good life could be.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but feel like you were making a mistake with this preacher. Of course, with your caring nature, you would help him, especially knowing it was for the poor folks in town. But something about Teagarden just made Arvin’s skin crawl. He just couldn’t put his finger on it…

The tires rolled to a crunching halt on the gravel outside of the church. The graveyard to the side looked dark and gloomy as always, the cloud of loss looming over almost everyone in this town in one way or another. The church, though, stood small and humble in the field, white paint chipping after years of weathering.

“Thank you for the ride.” You leaned over and pecked Arvin on the cheek.

He let out a heavy sigh, “You really sure you don’t just want me to take you home?”

You rolled your eyes at him with a sweet smile on your face, “Yes, I’m sure. It’ll be fine, Arv, but thank you for the concern.” Opening the door, you climbed out, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“What? No. I’m givin’ you a ride home.” Arvin looked offended that you even suggested such blasphemy.

“I don’t want you to have to drive all the way back here for me and I don’t know how long this’ll take. Besides, I don’t live too far from here.” You shook your head, leaning against the open door.

Arvin raised his eyebrows, “What kind of man would I be if I let you walk home alone at night? I’m givin’ you a ride home ‘n that’s final. I have to run to the market anyways to get some stuff for my grandma so I’ll just do that ‘n come back here for ya.”

With loving warmth welling up in your chest, you leaned into the car, holding onto the roof for balance, while you kissed him on the lips, “I’ll see you in a few then.”

Pulling yourself back out of the car, you closed the door and waved before spinning to walk towards the church. Looking behind you, you gave Arvin one final wave before disappearing through the door.

The church was empty, though you expected nothing less on a Saturday afternoon. The pews were empty so you wandered into the building curiously. You closed the door behind you as you walked further in. “Hello? Reverend?”

Preston Teagarden approached from the door off to the side of the main stage, where his office had been located, “Y/N! Forgive me, I expected you to be a little bit later.”

You stopped in your tracks, “Oh, I’m sorry! You didn’t say an exact time. Just afternoon…” You chuckled awkwardly, suddenly feeling bad for arriving early.

“No, no, it’s no problem at all,” He waved his hand dismissively. Teagarden made his way down the aisle a few rows before stopping, “So from what I’ve heard, you are the one to talk to about fundraising”

Flattered, your cheeks turned a light shade of pink, “Oh, well I don’t know about that… I’ve done a few fundraisers but I wouldn’t say I’m the one to go to.”

“Nonsense, girl! I’m sure you’ll help plan something amazing. Now, why don’t you come over here and we can start talking about it.” He gestured towards the pew he was leaning on and waited for you to sit down before sliding in next to you.

Your legs crossed when you sat down, “So, I was thinking about this for a few days and the high school has a harvest festival every November. If we set up a bake sale, we could easily raise a few hundred dollars, at least. Everybody loves Mrs. Lyle’s lemon bars and I’m sure those alone could rake in a small fortune.” You giggled a little at your small joke and the preacher did as well.

As he did so, his arm slid behind your shoulder so smoothly, you almost didn’t notice at first. Almost. Though the action took you off guard, you chose to write it off. People had done this before to you platonically so this probably didn’t mean anything. Just a show of interest in what you had to say.

“Mmm, you’re makin’ me crave some sweets,” Teagarden chuckled, looking over his shoulder and then back around the room.

“Well I can guarantee that you won’t be disappointed. Coal Creek ain’t got much but if we got one thing, it’s some mighty good bakers.” You dug around in your bag that you’d brought, searching for the journal that you’d been planning this event out on, “I actually did some math and I was thinking… we could charge a dime per cookie or a dollar a dozen, yeah? And then maybe a quarter for a slice of pie and then a dollar twenty five for-”

The preacher stopped you, placing his hand on the notebook, “You really thought this out, huh? You sure are one smart girl there, Y/N. You go to the high school?”

The older man had scooched closer to you sometime during your ramblings and suddenly, you began to feel suffocated by his presence. His body was nearly flush against yours and his arm around your shoulders were trapping.

He’s a preacher, he wouldn’t do nothin’, you tried to convince yourself but Arvin’s voice came ringing in your ears: I just don’t like that new preacher. Somethin’s off about ‘im. Trying not to be obvious, just in case you were misreading things, you slid away from him just slightly to put some distance between your bodies. As you did so, however, Teagarden’s hand closed around your left shoulder, rubbing it firmly but gently.

Your eyes widened when you looked over at his grip and your heart began to pick up pace. “Yeah.” Your voice was shakier than you thought it would be.

“What are ya? Junior, senior? You look young… but definitely not a little girl.” His eyes raked tactically over your body. Your legs were shaped out well in your cuffed denim jeans and your white and pink striped boat neck long sleeve shirt was far from revealing but Preston was well aware of the way the stripes curved out of place over your breasts.

“Senior. I’ll be graduating this June.” Now your voice was solid and low, just teetering on threatening.

The preacher smiled, “Ah, ain’t that exciting. Such a smart pretty little thing going out into the real world. It’s good to see a nice Christian girl going out there but y’know, the real world is real bad. Believe you me. You gotta be real careful out there. Temptation and sin ‘round every corner. The devil hides himself, y’know? Wraps up all his evil and disguises it as everythin’ you ever wanted.”

“A wolf in sheep’s clothing.” You stated quietly but firmly, looking up to lock eyes with him. Arvin was right. Something was certainly off about this man and you were becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second.

Preston smiled proudly, “That’s right. Now, you gotta make sure you ain’t fallin’ into any o’ his traps.”

Your jaw clenched and your eyes darted around the room before landing in your lap, “I’d like to think I got a good ‘nough head on my shoulders to see Satan working in disguise.”

He tsked, “That’s a good start but you can’t go relyin’ on your own knowledge of the world. You need to let God tell you what’s right ‘n wrong. Trust in Him.” His hand on your shoulder shook you slightly for emphasis while his other pointed upwards towards Heaven.

There was a brief moment of silence in which you could have heard a pin drop before he spoke again, “How is your walk with God?”

You looked over at him with narrowed eyes, “It’s alright. Could be better but everyone’s could, I s’pose.”

“I agree,” Preston’s leg started bouncing and he looked towards the front of the church, where he typically stood preaching, “E’ryone could walk a little closer. Myself included.” He gestured to the front of the church, “Why don’t we pray? C’mon over here.”

He stood up and walked up to the head of the room, just below the cross. Cautiously, you followed him. “I like to think as a man of God, I can do some of His work. Or rather put the good word out there and try to save as many souls as possible. Why don’t you get on your knees? Lemme pray for ya.”

A shiver ran through your spine as you knelt down on shaky knees, eyes going up to the large black cross that hung on the wall. Please, Lord, get me out of this. You prayed silently.

Preston stood behind you, his hands coming to your shoulders as he began, “Lord, today we pray for Y/N and her excursions into the world as a young woman. Help her see through the devil’s delusions and guide her through this world. Lord, I pray that you see Y/N in everything that she is as she dedicates her whole self to you. Give her strength, amen.”

“Amen.” When your eyes slid open, your whole body was shaking.

“So you say you got some good judgement?” Preston asked as you stood up, “Say you walk in the light?”

“I try to but we all have our slip ups.” You answered humbly and honestly, avoiding his eye contact.

Preston hummed, “I seen you with that Russell boy. Y’all going steady?” Silently, you nodded in response. “There’s a lot of temptation in relationships like that.”

It was clear what he was insinuating and it actually made you mad. What right did he have to be poking around in your romantic and sexual life? “Has he ever touched you?”

The bluntness of his question hit you like a rock, “With all do respect, Reverend, that ain’t really none of your business.”

He put his hands up in surrender, “I don’t mean to pry. I’m just concerned ‘bout that boy dragging you down into temptation. Sullying your position with the good Lord, ‘n all.”

“Arvin is a perfectly respectful man. He ain’t draggin’ nothin’ or nobody down.” Your voice was getting more aggressive.

“So he hasn’t touched you? He hasn’t seen you…”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Like I said, that ain’t none of your business. Thank you for your concern for my soul but what Arvin and I do is between us and the Lord. I don’t need no middle man reverend to redeem me.”

He shrugged, “But you know, one of the best ways to get right with the Lord is to surrender yourself. Fully.” He took a few steps towards you and your breathing hitched. There was a sexual tension in the air that made your skin crawl.

“I’ve already given my life to the Lord.”

You weren’t giving in quite as easily as Preston had expected. Those other girls, Lenora and Jeanette Reaster, had been easily manipulated into giving Preston what he wanted. Just tell them they were unclean and needed to get right with the Lord and right into his trap they fell but you… you were different. Smart in the worldy kind of way. You were the first girl to give him a hard time but Preston would be lying if he said he didn’t like the chase.

You were staring daggers at him, your jaw clenched, and your body standing tall and strong. It was almost as if you were trying to prove a point. You could have run, could have darted out screaming about what had happened, but you didn’t. There was no proof and Preston knew it. This was how he got away with it all. No proof, all words and small touches that were just innocent enough to be misread. It wasn’t until he got them in the backseat of his car or in the office in the back of the church that he actually touched them but by then, it was consensual. Sure, for Lenora and Jeanette there was the issue that they were minors but that was the fun of these little towns like Coal Creek, The girl always took the fall. It was always her fault. Preston could get off scotch free and he knew it. He loved it.

Almost like something out of a movie, he reached down and gently settled one hand on your hip and the other on your cheek, pressing his lips against yours without giving you a chance to object. You yelled indignantly against lips but when he pulled away, the hand on your cheek moved to cover your mouth. Preston leaned in close to your ear and whispered, “I am an extension of the Lord’s work. Surrender yourself to me fully to surrender yourself to Him.”

Arvin watched as you walked into the church with a distrusting pang in his gut. There was just something about that reverend that didn’t sit right. It killed him to watch you leave, knowing that you were alone in there with him.

But he also knew you were a big girl. The logical part of his brain kept screaming at him that he was being irrational. The reverend was probably an okay enough guy. He’d never be number one or even number twenty on Arvin’s list of favorite people but that didn’t necessarily mean that the preacher would kill your something. Besides, Arvin really did need to run to the market. Lenora had requested some pecans for a pie she wanted to bake and his grandma needed more milk. It would be a quick trip as town was just a short drive down the street.

Reluctantly, Arvin backed out the driveway and sped off down the street.

The entire time that Arvin was at the market, there was an unsettling tingle all around his body. It got harder to ignore as more time passed. The longer he left you with Teagarden, the worse he felt.

“Just these.” Arvin threw a bag of pecans and a gallon of milk on the counter and paid for it quickly, rushing back to his car. He wouldn’t be having these feelings for no reason. Best case scenario, you were absolutely fine and Arvin was just being paranoid. Worst case scenario… Arvin couldn’t think about it because every time he thought of one, another worse one popped into his brain.

It had only been about twenty minutes since Arvin left you alone with the preacher. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how long planning a fundraiser would take. Church activities had never been his thing but he supported you as long as it made you happy.

He sat in the car in the church parking lot, lighting up a cigarette to calm his nerves. Arvin’s leg bounced anxiously as he watched yet another late autumn storm roll in. The clouds cast a dark gloominess, turning the minimal light left from the mostly set sun a shade of grey.. There Arvin sat for another five minutes, awaiting your exit from the building but it never came.

Fuck it. Arvin twisted his hat on straight and threw the door open, nearly stomping out. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something was wrong. He could feel it.

Sure enough, when he threw the door open, he was horrified. Preston Teagarden had you locked in a tight embrace, his hands running over your breasts. The two of you were standing in the middle of the aisle, right in the center of church. You had a furious look on your face, “I swear to God you touch me like that again and I’ll cut your damn dick off!” You gripped desperately at his hand that was groping you, trying to pry it away but to no avail.

The sound of the door swinging open was enough to draw both yours and Teagarden’s attention. “Get your fuckin’ hands off her!” Arvin wasted no time running into the conflict. Teagarden dropped you and your knees buckled from the unexpected action, landing you on the ground.

He put his hands up in surrender, “Hey, now, let’s talk about this like real men.”

Arvin threw one solid swing to his chin, sending his head flying sideways, “You ain’t no real man. Real men don’t gotta go around gropin’ girls to get off, you sick fuck!” Another punch landed on his opposite cheek and it sent Teagarden to the ground.

You scurried away from him and stood up just ahead of Arvin. Preston cowered, hiding his face, “Please, please, have mercy.” His pleading eyes went from Arvin to you and he lingered on your gaze, knowing that he had a better chance with the mercy approach with you.

He found none. Even with his blood smeared face, his teeth stained crimson, and the way his body shook, you just scowled down at him, “I’m gonna tell e’ryone in this town what a disgustin’ man you are. You think you can get away with this, you’re dead wrong.” You sent a swift kick straight to his stomach, making him curl into the fetal position with a loud groan of pain.

But then he laughed. He actually laughed.

“What’s so damn funny?” You and Arvin both spat in unison, blood boiling.

Preston laid his head back and closed his eyes, an almost serene look of confidence contrasting the blood that covered him and the swelling of his lip, “Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to me. You came to visit the church after hours under the guise of helping me with a fundraiser. But then you used your womanly charms to try and seduce me, a married man of God.”

“That ain’t what happened!” Arvin yelled angrily, fists clenched by his side.

When the words left the preacher’s mouth though, your heart dropped. You knew the truth, Arvin knew the truth, the reverend knew the truth. But none of that mattered if the Reverend told everyone his concocted story because he was a man of God. Why would he lie?

A sadistic smile spread across his face, “It is if I say it is. Ain’t nobody gonna believe two teenagers over a preacher.”

“He’s right.” Your voice faltered as you spoke, nearly coming out as a shattered whisper. When Arvin looked over at you, your face had paled and you looked utterly broken.

It wasn’t so much that the assault itself was enough to break you, though, of course, it had definitely left you with the lingering ghosts of his filthy hands on your body. It was the fact that you knew he’d get away with it, that no matter what you or Arvin said, the town would believe Teagarden.

Arvin swallowed hard, trying to see through the blinding rage. As a boy, he never truly understood the bias that women faced when they were victims of sexual assault- how it was perceived as their faults in towns like this. It had never happened to anyone he knew so he never had much reason to think about it. Now, you were forced to live with knowing that you assailant was going to keep his position as a fucking preacher in town and that you couldn’t do anything about it.

Arvin wouldn’t let it stand.

He stomped forward yet again and knelt over Teagarden, sending blow after blow into his face. Bone crunched bone with a disgusting crack with every hit and you flinched every time.

Your eyes were wide with terror. Arvin’s violent past with Gene Dinwoodie and his boys was not unknown to you. You were the first person he’d gone to after the attack, in fact, and you’d actually supported him for the most part, only wishing that maybe he didn’t send them all to the hospital and only roughed them up a bit. Actually watching him beat someone to the brink of death though was something else entirely.

“Stop!” The word left your mouth before you even knew you’d thought it.

Arvin stopped and looked over his shoulder at you in surprise. He was doing this for you after all.

“Don’t kill ‘im. Please.” You begged, your voice heavy.

“What?” Arvin wasn’t actually sure what he’d intended on doing to the preacher. Sure, he wanted to kill him. That horrified, angry look in your eye as he touched you made a fire burn in him so bright, he didn’t know if it could be put out. But Arvin had never wanted to be a killer. He only wanted to prove a point and make sure that the message stuck. Now that he thought about it, though, he would have to finish the job or the preacher would tell him he’d attacked him.

Your eyes were almost brimming with tears, though none fell. This whole evening had been too much. First the assault and now watching the love of your life throw his good conscience away for you. You wanted the preacher to pay as much as he did but this just didn’t feel right.

“P-please… I don’t want you takin’ the fall for none o’ this. He don’t deserve to die but I think a good beatin’ will give him some time to reevaluate ‘imself.” You’d walked towards Arvin and placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

Arvin couldn’t fathom why you’d be protecting this monster. The question was clear all over his face. Why?

“I’m not asking you to stop for him. I’m asking you to stop for you. I don’t want you to have blood on your hands for me. Not for this.” His heart broke seeing you look the way you did, your eyes shining with tears, and your hand a little shaky. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you more.

Arvin grabbed the preacher off the ground by the collar and pulled him up almost a foot, leaning down to get in his disfigured face, “If I ever hear that you went near Y/N or any other girl again, I will find you and kill you. If you so much as look at her again, I will kill you. And if you tell anyone what happened here tonight, I will fucking kill you. You understand? Consider it that mercy you kept beggin’ for.”

He dropped the preacher gracelessly with a thud and wrapped an arm comfortingly around you. For a moment, he was scared that you’d flinch away. You’d never seen him when he let his anger get the best of him and he preferred to keep it that way. He didn’t want you to think that he was a violent man because he really wasn’t. Arvin just cared for a special few so much that he’d do anything for them. He’d never hurt someone he loved though and needed you to know that.

Thankfully, you leaned into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder as he walked you back to his car, leaving the preacher an unconscious mess in the middle of the church. When you exited the building, night had fallen upon Coal Creek, casting a fitting darkness over the town.

“Thank you.” You said simply and quietly, looking over at Arvin sincerely on the drive home.

“For what?”

“For everything. Just bein’ who you are.” You paused with a heavy sigh, “But promise me something?”

Arvin looked over at you, taking his eyes off the road for just a second to show you he was listening.

“Promise me you won’t go gettin’ yourself in trouble for me.”

He shook his head, “He deserved-”

“I know what he deserved,” You interrupted, “And I am so grateful that you stepped in to help. But I don’t want you gettin’ yourself thrown in jail or killed for me.”

There was short silence before Arvin looked over with the most sincere look you think he’d ever given you, “I can’t promise that. ‘M sorry, Y/N, but if I ever see you in danger, I’m gonna do what I need to do.”

It wasn’t the response you’d been hoping for but this boy had the ability to make you feel more loved than anyone else you knew. You only wished he understood that you only wanted what was best for him, just like he did for you. “I love you, Arvin.” You admitted, sliding across the seat to lay your head against his shoulder while he drove.

“I love you too.”

#arvin #Arvin Russell #arvin rus #arvin russel imagines #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel x you #arvin russel x y/n #arvin russel imagine #tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tdatt #tdatt fics #tdatt imagine

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star-lemonade · 3 years

Text

The Altar

Ateez San x Reader

Genre: smut, candy shop au

Cw: smut, San likes it when you say his name

Rating: R

Word count: 5 k

Thanks to @yutasgalaxy for giving feedback. I changed a lot since you read it xD

“You should really go there.”

Your friend’s voice still rang in your ears. These words had been said to you so often lately. Your friend had heard good things about it, although you suspected it was first-hand experience. You felt frustrated about the lack of men in your life. It was hard to meet someone new and the few times you had actually met a nice guy, they had not been interested in you. Afterwards you felt the drought in your bed even more than usual. Maybe it was time. Time to go there. The Candy Shop.

You went to the address your friend provided. That was the first unusual thing. When you had looked for it online, you had not been able to find an address. How could there be a place that can not be found on the internet? The building was as mundane as a grey house between other grey houses could be. The entrance did not look like a shop either. The window next to the door was small and drapes obscured the view inside. Only the “open” sign at the door indicated that this was the right place.

You opened the door, and a bell announced your entrance to the empty room. It was a small space for a store, and it was filled to the brim with boxes. Boxes on shelves, boxes on the floor, in giant box towers, boxes hanging in nets from the ceiling. The oddest thing was their color; all of the boxes were the same warm grey. No writing. No pictures. How did anyone know what was inside the boxes? Maybe I’m wrong here? You turned to leave.

“Oh, there you are.”

The voice came from behind you and it sounded familiar. The woman looked exactly how you remembered her, Ms Lee, who had been your homeroom teacher in middle school. She wore a tie-dye tank top that showed off her wrinkly arms.

“Ms Lee?”

She smiled like a proud mother, not something you wanted to see in a sex toy shop. Her smile had always been an attractive feature of her. You could see why she had been the most popular widow at the school.

“No, dear. I’m the Owner.”

Even her voice sounded the same. At least you thought she sounded like Ms Lee. On the other hand it had been years since you had see her.

“Oh, excuse me.”

You could have sworn that she was your old teacher, but she was not. Good. Imagine running into your old teacher in a shop like this. Awkward.

“Ehm, I’m looking for something.”

There was no point in feeling embarrassed now. You had already entered the sex shop, but you still felt your face burn. If you act awkward, it will just be more embarrassing. Get it together! You were about to elaborate further when she said:

“Of course. I think I have just the thing. Follow me.”

How could the owner sound so confident, when you had not given her any information? She turned around and walked to the counter in the back of the shop, and you followed. Surprisingly the counter was not made out of boxes stacked on top of each other but from wood.

“Wait here, please.”

The Owner went behind the counter and left through a door. The side room too seemed to be filled with boxes, as much as you could see of it. You still wondered how she knew what was in each box. Did they all have the same things inside? Maybe there had been a shipment of something, and now it clogged up the place? She returned with a smile on her face.

“Here.”

She held the thing out for you, and without thinking, you took it from her. Why did you do that?

“A walking stick?”

The long wooden stick was knobbly and looked like it had been a small tree that someone debarked. It was not carved but it had grown relatively straight. The surface was polished and waxed, shining in the dim light of the shop.

“Yes. You should go and have a picnic.”

You stared at the stick and back to her incredulously. This must be a joke.

“But-”

“No problem,” The Owner waved you off. “That’s on the house. Have fun.”

She smiled before leaving through the door behind the counter. The lock clicked into place you were alone with your stick.

“...should I stick this in my butt or what?”

You shouted after her but the Owner did not return. Reluctantly, you left and went home.

That night you had a dream about your childhood house where your parents used to live. It was small and cozy in a tiny town near the mountains.

The mountains.

Yes, you missed going up the hidden paths to the tops of the small mountains. The forest that covered them had been your place to play when you had lived there. You had spent the years of your childhood running around in the undergrowth. In your dream the sun was shining from a bright blue sky that only came in autumn. You walked up the mountain as you had done many times. It was not clear to you if this was a memory or not but you almost felt the sun burn on your face. You reached the top of the mountain in what felt like a record time. Here stood a bench that overlooked the valley and your hometown. It was beautiful.

When you woke up, the dream had left a hole in you. You yarned for the home, that was not your home any more. You decided that you would go there.

Today. Now.

You got dressed, packed an overnight bag and ate a big breakfast. The ride to the town would take two hours, but you did not know if you would be able to return to your apartment in time. Hiking was exhausting and maybe you would be too tired to drive back to the city.

You grabbed the walking stick and went to your car. The drive was familiar. You had done it lots of times. Today the time flew and you found yourself pulling into the parking lot of the only supermarket of your hometown.

Maybe I should get some food? I will be hungry when I’m up there. You looked at the mountain that barely classified as one. Today the air was humid and mist hung over the forest beyond the town limits. Thegrey sky looked about ready to release more on the land. You did not really pay attention to what you bought. The old man at the counter looked up and smiled. You paid and left the store.

The parking lot where the hiking paths started was empty. It had just rained and most people had stayed at home. You packed the food and drinks into your backpack.

The path was slippery and your shoes sank a few centimeters with every step. This made the hike much harder and slower than you had expected. You knew the path well, even after all this time, your body moved on its own now. Pulling one foot out of the mud and planting it further up the path. Repeat with the other foot. In the forest you saw some trees that had fallen over. This was always the case of course but they were different from last time you had been here.

Some time later you found yourself at a bench, and stopped there to drink something. The next part would be a bit steeper so you pulled out the walking stick.

The ground was wet and the path was getting muddier the higher up you went. Maybe I should take a short cut to the top? If you went straight through the trees here, you would be there faster than following the path. You were impatient today and turned left into the forest.

The ground here was less muddy but you had to step more carefully. Holes in the ground could be hidden by dead leaves and small plants. Breaking your ankle in the middle of the forest did not sound like a good idea. The forest smelled of the herbs that grew all over the place. You considered picking some of them, but you were not sure which ones were really eatable. Ahead the trees grew less dense.

In the glade you saw something and walked closer to check it out. It was a slab of stone that was overgrown by moss and vines. You examined the stone closer and you noticed the top was smooth and the sides were covered in patterns. It was not an ordinary stone; It was an altar.

The altar of a forgotten deity. Lost in the forest and being consumed by nature without the care of the believers.

I don’t believe in gods, but it feels like I should pay my respects. You never know.

You set your backpack down next to the altar and picked up a stick that was lying on the ground. The moss grew mostly on the sides which would not be easy to clean but the top should be easier. You used the stick to scrape off the vines and grime that had accumulated there. It did not come off well but at least the altar looked a bit better than before. You drank some water from your bottle and looked into your backpack.

Maybe I should leave some offerings too?

You picked up a leaf and used it as a makeshift plate for the rice. The red apple and one of the little desserts would have to do.

“Have a good day.”

You returned to the car without having been to the top. It was still light outside so you decided to drive back to your apartment. You felt exhausted but you really wanted to sleep in your own bed.

When you arrived the sun had set and you were about to fall asleep. You fell into your bed and passed out, sleeping like the proverbial stone.

The next day was Sunday which was good. No work. No need to get out of bed either.

You showered, made yourself a quick breakfast and got back under your warm blanket. Sunday morning was the perfect time to do nothing. You turned on the tv and continued to watch the drama you had started the prior week.

The couple got together in this episode and it made you feel so single. Seeing them kiss on screen made you miss kissing. Yeah, just kissing. What a lie. You paused the video. Maybe I should watch some porn instead? It still bugged you that your trip to the Candy Shop had been so fruitless. Why did you get a walking stick? The stick. You had not taken it with you. It was probably still next to the altar in the forest. Ah, well, my dildo will have to do. Getting off with it was nice, but it was not the same as having sex with a guy. For a moment you thought about the pretty male lead in the drama. How nice it would be to run your hands over his face and body. Sadly, this was not very realistic. I will go on tinder on Monday.

“Is it too much to ask for a cute, caring boyfriend to have hot sex with?”

You groaned and looked at the ceiling as if that was where your fate would be decided. It did not answer.

“That’s your wish‽”

You almost jumped out of bed. The voice came from your right, the side of the bed that had just been empty. It was not anymore. The man blended into the white sheets with his white clothing. Your heart hammered in your chest.

“What the fuck?!” You shouted. “How did you get in here? Who are you? Get out!”

You backed away. There was no bed left behind you. You fell over backwards but did not hit the ground. Your hand was caught in an iron grip.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

The man pulled you back into the bed. It brought you close to him. He had long hair that was tied at the top of his head. Something you expected to see in a historical drama not in your bedroom. He had a stunningly beautiful face. Intense eyes, full lips and a sharp jawline.

Why are all hot guys psychos?

“Let go!”

“You will fall again.”

His voice was so gentle it made your heart skip a beat. It was familiar, like a deja vu. This was not someone you had met before, but it still seemed like you knew him. Get it together, the guy broke into your house, don’t be lulled in by his looks.

“How did you get in here?”

You did not know what to do. He held your wrists in his hands, but you backed away as far as possible. Was he going to do something to you?

“I followed you. Yesterday.”

He said it as if it was the normal thing in the world. You stared at him, open mouthed. He had been here since yesterday? Your blood turned to ice. His grip was still holding your wrists. If he had not you would have fallen out of bed now.

“You cleaned the altar so nicely it woke me up from my sleep. It’s been ages since anyone left an offering there.”

The altar. How did he know about that? There had been no one there aside from you.

“Let me go and leave.”

He stared into your eyes. Nothing was hidden from that stare. You wanted to look away but could not. As if hypnotized you stared into his eyes. They were not brown as you had assumed, but a very dark green, like the pine trees at night.

“That’s not what you wished for.”

He kissed one of your hands. His lips were soft but the gesture sent a shiver down your spine. Some part of you was responding to his touch while your higher reasoning was screaming to get away.

“Who are you?”

Your voice was only a whisper, but in the quiet room it was as loud as a scream. He looked at you, reading your face like a book. You did not know if it would be better to show your fear or hide it. What would make him leave?

“I am the mountain.”

He puffed out his chest a bit as he said that. The mountain. What kind of name was that? You had known everyone who had lived in your hometown and no one was called San. Maybe he was a tourist who happened to be in the forest? Then it struck you. The altar. The mountain, San. This man was not a man at all. He was the god of the mountain and you had brought him to your home. That’s what you get from being nice, an uninvited guest. Great.

“And I decided to grant your wish.”

You were not ready to process any new information, but here he was, talking. Was it even possible that this man was the god of the mountain? No one had seen you in the forest. You had been alone yesterday evening and just now when you had made breakfast, the door had still been locked. So unless he broke into your apartment just now… no, you had not heard or seen anything out of the ordinary.

“You doubt me.”

San was clearly disappointed in your lack of faith. He stared at you, waiting for you to explain yourself. You had every right to be suspicious of some random dude who claimed to be a god.

“Yes.”

He nodded slowly and looked around your bedroom. The little pout on his face made him look cuter and less scary, but he was still plenty scary. He let go of your hands and left the room. Maybe I should run for it. You sprang from the bed and in a few steps you were at the bedroom door. Where you almost ran into San. He was both taller and shorter than you had expected. Just like the mountain. His legs were longer than usual for someone his height.

“Here.”

In his hand was the basil plant you had bought a few days ago. It did not look too hot. The leaves had started to hang down and some were already crumpeling.

“Yeah, I should throw it out...”

San was appalled.

“But it’s still alive!! Look!”

He stared at the plant and it became healthy again. With your mouth open you stared at the plant. Its leaves were full and beautifully green again. The smell of basil filled the room.

“So you believe me now?”

The smug smile on his face was almost too much. You nodded reluctantly. San brought the plant back to the kitchen, while you sank down on the bed. There is a deity in my apartment. San sat down on the bed next to you.

“So, what was my wish?”

What dumb shit have I wished for? A smile so mischievous it made the hairs in your neck stand appeared on his face. He leaned closer and whispered in your ear:

“Hot sex.”

Oh fuck. The reason why you had gone to the Candy Shop had been to get something nice for you. It had been so long since you had been with someone. Sex with a good looking guy sounded so good. San was here and he was offering to give you what you wanted. But wait.

“Didn’t I say “a cute boyfriend”?”

San pursed his lips. “Technically, you did. ‘Cute and caring’”

“So, then where is my boyfriend?”

You pushed your jaw forward in a defiant manner. If you were going to get your wish, it had to be the right one. There was no way he could just make a guy appear out of thin air, could he?

“Am I not cute?”

The fake outrage in his voice was indeed cute, but hell would freeze over before you would admit that.

“What? Are you saying you will be my boyfriend?”

He stared at you and you stared back. It was totally absurd. San could not seriously mean he would be your boyfriend, right?

“Yes.”

You honestly did not have a comeback to that. San had said it like he meant it. I guess he didn’t have to make someone appear out of thin air after all. He is already here.

“Can I change my wish?”

You did not look at him, but you could feel his eyes on you. It had been a mistake, actually several mistakes. You should not have gone to the mountain, or cleaned the altar.

“Do you dislike me this much?”

San sounded almost hurt. What had he expected? That you would just lay down and spread your legs?

“You just showed up here, unannounced. What am I supposed to-“

You stopped yourself. Maybe it was not a good idea to yell a god. It was unclear what he could do besides making plants grow and looking good. San shifted beside you and when you looked at him, he lay on your bed.

“What can I do to make you more comfortable?”

He looked up at you. In that position, one arm probed up holding his head, he reminded you of the old timey rich people lounging on chairs.

“Why do you want to grant me a wish anyways?”

He hesitated. You had asked a sensitive question.

“I am in your debt.”

“Then make me rich and rest peacefully that you have settled your debt.”

You turned more towards him. He pressed his lips together into a thin line. You had to be careful now with your tone. One wrong word now could have bad consequences, so you just looked at him.

“I can’t do that.”

He pressed the words out and avoided your eyes. The fabric of the sheets was suddenly much more interesting. You wondered if he was telling the truth. Why was he insisting on this stupid wish you had made.

“What is in it for you? If you tell me honestly, I will consider it.”

His eyes flickered to your face before studying the sheets again.

“I can leave the mountain.”

He told the bed. “No one believes in me anymore...”

You wondered what the consequences of that were, but now was not the time to ask. So if he played house with you he could stay out here, instead of being alone in the forest. You were sick of being alone too. All the times you had felt lonely, may come to an end now, if you just said yes to San.

“If I said yes, what would happen?”

He tried to hide his relief, his hope, but failed. A smile appeared on his face. San sat up and his eyes sparkeled with delight and mischief.

“I would grant the more pressing part of your wish first.”

You wrinkled your brows. The more pressing part? He leaned closer and whispered in a velvety voice.

“You want to be licked, to ride on a big cock and be pounded until you come. That's the pressing part.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Yes, that was exactly what you wanted. In that order. He looked into your eyes. The more you looked at him the more beautiful he became. Just this once you did not want to overthink everything.

“So, what do you say?”

“What will happen after that?” You could feel his breath on your neck. His lips brushed over your skin. You swallowed audibly.

“I will do anything you want me to do.”

To make his point he kissed your neck. Gently sucking on the sensitive skin there. You move your head to grant him better access. His lips on you made your head spin already. Who would it be if they were somewhere else?

“Okay.”

You sighed and bit your lips. It was time to embrace this weird situation and be bold.

“Eat me out, San.”

He groaned against your skin, when you said his name. His lips landed on yours and he wasted no time. His tongue begged for entrance, sliding over your lips. You were not sure what you had expected, but you were surprised by how normal his mouth felt. San was warm and smelled of the forest after rain.

Your hands buried themselves in his long hair. You thought about untying it but it would be better to wait a bit longer. His Hands slipped under the hem of your pajama pants and between your legs. You gasped as his fingers touched your clit and slipped into you briefly.

“Apparently I will have to do a bit more to get you riled up, my love.”

San smirked at you and positioned himself between your legs. He made sure that he had your attention before he untied the fastings of his jacket. He did not wear anything under it so you had an unobscured view of his body; and what a nice body it was. The way his upper body tempered towards his waist was breathtaking. You wanted to touch him, ran your hands over his body. Right now was not the time though.

He pulled down your pants and kissed your thighs. San did not waste time and went straight to the point. He sucked and licked your clit, slowly circling it before flicking it with his tongue. You grabbed his hair and he smirked against your skin. His tongue moved down, ran around your entrance and dipped in briefly before moving up again. When he sucked your clit into his mouth, your moan quietly. You wanted to close your eyes and concentrate on the feeling of tongue flicking against you, but you also wanted to see him. He slowed the pace down and licked your clit. You felt his fingers circling your entrance before pushing in. The two fingers barely met any resistance and after a few more slow movements he pulled out.

He kissed the inside of your thighs and you groaned. That was not where you wanted his mouth to be.

“How about you ride me now?”

He looked up at you expectantly. If you did not know better, you would have thought he was giving you puppy eyes.

“You’re pretty eager.”

It was only half a joke. You raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. I am.”

Damn. I guess the immortal god of the mountain is not so selfless after all.

“Lie down.”

He was about to take off the jacket but you stopped him.

“Keep it.”

The way it revealed his chest and abs without being completely shirtless looked very sexy. San lay down on his back and you straddled his hips. The tent in his pants made it very evident how much he wanted this. You ran your hands over his chest and loved how his skin felt. It still seemed surreal that he was there, in your bed. Like a dream. But it was not a dream. He felt as solid and real as one could get. You leaned down to kiss his neck. It was so graceful. This close to him you could see the faint freckles on neck, that made him even prettier. You lightly sucked on the spot midway down his neck. He sighed and goosebumps appeared on his soft skin. You looked at his face to see him looking back at you.

“You’re very pretty.”

There was a part you wanted to make a joke out of it a la “you need to get your eyes checked” but you didn’t. It did not sound like a joke.

“You too, Mr Mountain.”

He smiled at the nickname. His hair was not as neat as earlier. You had tucked on it, while he had eaten you out and now some parts of the hair stood out more. Not many hairs had come loose completely though.

“Can I untie your hair?”

He reached for the tie and released it. How could he look any more stunning? With his long hair spilling over the pillow. He smirked up at you. It was very annoying that San knew how much he affected you.

“Are you motivated enough to ride me now?”

Yes, you were very motivated now. You pulled down his pants. It was going to be very fast, judging by his girth. You aligned yourself above him and let yourself sink down on him. The stretch made you gasp. His hands came to rest on your hips. You could still move freely, so it felt like he needed something to hold on to. You gingerly rocked your hips and heard San sigh beneath you. His fingers pressed into your hips. Moving your hips was the only thing you wanted to do now. You felt so full and so close already. Maybe him between your legs earlier was the cause of that. You leaned back and the changed angle made him press against your g spot. Every move sent waves of pleasure through your body.

San sat up and looked into your eyes. A light blush had appeared on his face. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he closed the distance. The kiss made your heart flutter and clench around him. He kissed down your neck to your chest. Your hand flew to his hair when he took one nipple in his mouth. He sucked and circled it with his tongue.

“Say my name.”

It sounded like a plea. His mouth was on the other nipple now while his hand came up to continue. You moved your hips as much as possible with him sitting up. The light biting and twisting of the nipples send electric shocks to your core.

“Oh, San.”

It felt a bit odd to say that but San hummed against your chest, doubling his efforts. Your hand grabbed his hair tighter and you rock your hips fast. So close. He bit down a bit harder at just the right moment to make the wave of pleasure came crashing down. Without realizing it you muttered his name over and over.

A few more movements and your hips came to a hold. San wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead. You sank against him and he held you. Your breathing calmed down as you enjoyed being held. He was still inside you and it felt so intimate that you wanted to lighten the mood with humor.

“So, am I going to birth a tree now?”

San chuckled and kissed your shoulder.

“That’s not how that works.”

You smiled against his shoulder as his hands rubbed your back.

After a quick shower, you and San returned to your bedroom. You put on a t-shirt and sweatpants. San lay on the bed waiting for you. When you looked he spread his arms, waiting for you to fall into his arms. You could not help yourself but smile. He really was cute. You sank into his arms and he kissed the top of your head.

“What you wanna do now?”

You asked his chest. It was nice and warm in his arms. Would it be rude to fall asleep now? Your eyelids felt so heavy, it was hard to keep them open. You were not sure if he ever answered because you drifted off to sleep so fast.

And that is how you got yourself a boyfriend that had been a minor god for some time. The plants in your house never withered and from time to time you would visit your town. The altar was still there, in the middle of the forest, slowly being assimilated by nature, but San always went back to the city with you.

For that one person who forgot, 'San' literally means mountain in Korean XD

I'm willing to write some more episodes in this universe, so if you have a request (idk San meeting your friends for the first time or something like this), send me an ask :))

#candyshop #ksmutclub #8makes1teamnet #Wkcnet #noonasinnetwork #Ateez Fanfic #San Fanfic #Ateez smut #San smut #Kpop Fanfic #Kpop X Reader #Ateez X Reader #san X Reader #Star Writing

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thetaoofzoe · 4 years

Text

Fic: A Wild Woman 1/1

Title: A Wild Woman

Summary: By Victorian Standards, you are considered the dreaded Wild Woman! Your aunt and uncle threaten to disown you and turn you out into the streets unless you agree to a little re-education on how to be a proper lady.

Rating: Mature, fluff, Soft Dom Sherlock!Henry, sex, unconventional

Pairing: Sherlock x YOU

Note: This was inspired by "A wild woman brought up a wild child. We'll make her acceptable for society." from the EH trailer.

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

Your Aunt and Uncle had had enough of you. They were fed up with your lack of female decorum and your absolute insistence to star gaze, associate with male aeronauts and start fires from chemistry experiments gone awry. But you couldn't help yourself. After the scandal of the woman who attempted to join the Chemistry Society a few years back, you had been forever changed. Women could do anything and you were intent on grabbing that elusive gold ring. If that meant attending boisterous underground resistance meetings, or not wearing your corset, then so be it.

Unfortunately, your family did not see it that way. To them, you were a wild woman who had no place in decent Victorian society.

One gloomy autumn evening, when your uncle returned from the gentleman's club, he sat both you and your aunt down at the dining room table for a talk.

Your uncle then gave you a choice.

Well, it was a choice between scylla and charybdis, but a choice nonetheless.

You were either to be turned out into the street to fend for yourself, with no money and no prospects and definitely no husband, or you were to travel to London to be kept, re-educated and made acceptable to be returned to society by a pair of reputable brothers who promised to produce reputable ladies.

What could you do, but agree to the latter, as the former was a nightmare you never wanted to experience.

So you made the long involuntary train-trek cross country to London.

The man who met you at the train station was tall, and slim with a well-manicured moustache that curled up at the ends in the most fashionable way. When he reached for your single suitcase and turned to walk away, you followed without protest.

Baker Street was a short narrow avenue that seemed unnecessarily busy for so early in the morning, and when the Hansom slowed, your companion opened the door and hopped out. He offered his gloved hand, which you took and followed him to the ground.

The cab rode off and gently taking you by the arm, the man guided you across the road. He walked up the steps to a dark painted door with the numbers 221b etched on a half-moon of glass above it. He led you inside and up the stairs to a room at the end of a long corridor.

It was a well-appointed room. Against the wall was a large bed with a patchwork cover flanked by two low dark wood tables upon which sat twin lamps with beaded green lampshades. To the left, a tall window brought in the hazy morning light and illuminating the small writing desk beneath it. There was also a large wardrobe stood in one corner opposite a bookshelf which was crammed with books.

'Your room, for the duration of your stay. I expect that it will be maintained without clutter.'

He then looked at you and slowly perused your form. You felt scandalised! No man had ever dared make his inspection of your body so plain before. Scandalised, yes, but a slow simmer of heat in your belly belied your inner outrage.

He humphed, and his eyes moved to meet yours again.

'Sloppy,' he said. 'That you expect to be taken seriously, dressed like this is insulting.'

You opened your mouth and he lifted his brows, waiting for you to speak.

'I expect, sir, for you to watch your tongue when addressing me.'

He laughed quietly.

'My brother will be home shortly,' he said ignoring your protest. 'I believe you will be spending the evening in his company. Granted, he is less strict than I am, so don't get used to his...'

The man pinwheeled his hand in the air as if searching for the most appropriate word, but the opening and then the closing of the front door distracted him.

'Ah,' he murmured. 'He's come home early. Please wash thoroughly and change your clothes. I expect that you have something better than this?'

You narrowed your eyes.

'I will give you one hour and then come downstairs and into the study for inspection. The study is to the right at the bottom of the stairs. Have you... questions?'

'Do you intend to stand here and watch me wash and dress?'

He smiled and wordlessly turned to leave you to your task.

'We'll break you of that attitude,' he promised and closed the door behind him.

You wavered on your feet and collapsed on the fainting couch at the foot of the bed. You were breathless, excited, astounded that you were aroused by the man's quiet dominance.

'This is ridiculous girl!' you chided yourself aloud. 'This whole thing is ridiculous.'

But at least you were in London. You had promised your aunt and uncle that you would be 're-educated' and that you were going to come home the niece they always wanted so that you could be married off to the local farmer's son. What they didn't know, was that you were going to use the little stipend they'd provided and run away into the arms of the big city.

In the meantime, this was what you needed to do to get to where you needed to go.

You got up, stripped out of your travel clothes and inspected the pitcher and basin on the wash stand in the corner. There was water in the pitcher and a clean cloth hanging on the railing. There was also a lump of lanolin soap sitting on the side of the basin and you went about washing the dirt from your travels off of your skin. You didn't bother with a corset, or your stockings. You merely shrugged into your chemise, dress and shoes and went down to the study.

You stood at the closed door, humming with excitement and terror. What if this brother was a hunchback, with a mutilated face and was only gentle because his looks terrified everyone. What if he was old and decrepit and smelled of liniment! You wrinkled your nose at the thought and opened the door.

The study was beautiful, quiet and a fire burned in the small hearth. The walls were covered with dark tapestries and old maps. Books and newspapers were stacked everywhere, but it did not appear to be done in a chaotic manner. There was an order to this room and your heart clenched when your eyes fell on the man who was rising from the high wing-backed chair.

If Gods walked the earth, on a regular basis, you would not have been surprised by his appearance. He too was tall, like his brother, broad across the chest with a narrow waist and sturdy thighs. He was in his shirtsleeves with a high starched white collar and dark brown tweed waistcoat and matching dress trousers.

And the curls. Oh the soft mass of chocolatey brown curls were stylish and clipped short and nicely complimented his handsome chiselled face.

'Turn around, please,' he said, his voice all honey and milk and you obeyed immediately.

'Face me again.'

You did so and he approached, hands clasped behind his back. He shook his head.

'You know this is unacceptable, don't you.'

It wasn't a question.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go, you thought. You had practised on the long train ride to London. You knew exactly how you were going to respond and exactly what you were going to say. But your mind had gone blank and only silence came out of your sweet quivering mouth.

You lowered your gaze.

His dark shoes were buttoned neatly and had been shined carefully. He was obviously a man who cared about his appearance.

'I expect things from you, when you're under my roof. This shabbiness and unruly nature will not be permitted and if you continue to pursue these avenues, you will be...'

He trailed off, and began to walk in a slow circle around you, prowling, like a sleek beast and you couldn't help feeling helpless.

Like you were prey.

He stopped after one revolution and stood at your back. He was so close that the heat and scent of him engulfed you. You closed your eyes, and sweat broke out across your upper lip and brow.

He 'humphed', sounding just like his brother and stuck a finger against your side. You didn't dare squirm away from his examination and you held yourself taut.

'No corset,' he said, finding you soft and unrestrained beneath your clothes. 'And I wager, no stockings or combinations.'

You were silent and it seemed that the very silence was a living creature, pricking your skin.

'Answer me.'

'No, none of that.'

He took in a long breath and let it out slowly.

'Upstairs, now. Gather your undergarments and bring them here.'

You turned so fast that you nearly banged into him. But you managed to scurry round him, and dart up the stairs as fast as your legs beneath your full skirts would carry you. You blindly grabbed everything that you had and nearly tumbled back down the stairs in your haste to please this man, this stranger, who within moments of meeting him made you want to drop to your knees and worship his masculinity.

He was still standing in the same place where you left him, back straight, head up, elegant hands clasped behind his back.

Out of breath, you stood before him, arms full of undergarments and he smiled. That smile took your breath away. He directed you to dump your clothes on the nearby desk.

'Now,' he began, scholarly. 'The makings of a society appropriate lady, begins at her skin. Do you understand?'

You swallowed hard and nodded.

'Good. Now, remove your clothing. We have to start from the skin.'

There was heat in his voice, filled with a demand that brooked no argument, and with trembling hands, you unbuttoned your waistcoat, unpinned your skirt and shrugged out of your rough collared shirt until you stood there bare beneath your chemise.

You worked your hands together in front of you feeling damp between your legs and ready to show him everything that was private about you.You unlaced the chemise at the collar and let it fall.

He looked at you for a long time, appreciating you, drinking you in and he was very obviously pleased with you.

He pointed to the combinations lying in a heap on the desk.

'Combinations.'

Your combinations were in two pieces so you stepped into the split bottoms and pulled on the top.

'Now corset.'

You went back to the table. You had two corsets, and you looked to him for his opinion.

'Blue,' he said. 'It laces in the back.'

Normally, as you dressed yourself, your corsets (when you wore them) laced in the front. But this one, he chose purposefully. He wanted to have control over dressing you.

The blue one was already partially laced so all you had to do was pull it over your head and hold it in place. You turned your back to him and waited. He began to slowly tighten your laces, starting from the top and working his way down, one after the other after the other he pulled the narrow fabric through the eyelets closing the boned corset around you, trussing you like a tart and stealing your breath.

The corset was tight, but not overly so, just enough to make you realise that you liked it. He tied the remainder of the cord round your waist and tucked in the excess.

'Will you take it off me when it's time?' you breathed, lightheaded with arousal.

And he hummed a soft response.

Then followed your simple cream and blue coloured dress, which you stepped into with his help. It buttoned up the back and he took his time doing so.

After what seemed an eternity, he stepped away from you and mourning the loss of his heat, you watched him walk to the chair, turn and sit down.

'Come here, and bring your stockings and ribbon.'

Like a puppy, you followed and stood at his knee.

He took the stockings and thin blue ribbons and laid them across his lap.

'Right foot,' he murmured and patted the spot on his thigh where he wanted you to put it. 'Balance yourself on the chair if needed.'

You put a hand on the top of the wing back and sighed softly when he rolled up the first stocking and slid it on your foot and up your leg. You bit your lip, but you couldn't look away from the deft fingers that trailed fire along your skin. He tied the ribbon just below your knee and folded the top of the stocking over it.

'Left.'

You switched legs and he repeated the process, only this time after he had tied the ribbon and folded the stocking down, he held your calf with both hands and looked up at you.

'Now you are finished. Is there anything that I did that you did not understand?'

You shook your head, not trusting your voice to come out as anything but a squeak. He nodded to acknowledge your answer, paused, and then slid one hand up your calf, to your thigh and over the material of your combinations to where they split to reveal your tender sex. He lightly brushed his fingertips over your naked mound and you made a noise that was quite unbecoming of a society lady. Clapping a hand over your mouth, you did the only thing you ever wanted to do the moment you laid eyes on him; you widened your legs.

'I prefer an unruly woman,' he said, sliding one finger into your slick wet cunt. 'I think they have spirit.'

Whining, you grabbed onto the other side of the chair and leaned on it for support. He stroked your clit slowly, carefully, pushing back the swollen little hood and pinched it between his fingers. You squeezed your eyes shut and stars burst against the darkness. You were going to scream if he continued.

'Please,' you whispered, jerking your hips forward, encouraging his further exploration. 'Please... just please!'

He slid his fingers out of you and with his eyes still on your, he put those same fingers into his mouth.

A cry of frustration escaped you. You hiked your skirts and climbed onto his lap, giving him just enough room to unbutton the opening of his trousers and draw out his leaking cock. You took him in hand and he grabbed your hips and pressed back into the chair as you positioned yourself enough to sink slowly down onto him.

You leaned back into his hands, tipping your chin up and moaning loudly, voluptuously, clenching tightly around him, circling your hips to feel all of him filling you completely. He groaned quietly, much more subdued, but no less aroused and he looked up just as you looked down at him. You grabbed his exquisite face between your hands and kissed him, lapping eagerly into his delectable mouth, letting your body rise and fall as your cunt greedily devoured him.

You pushed your fingers into his soft curls, and held his head up, kissing and biting at his plush lips, riding him slowly at first, and then faster as the crescendo of desire and lust and pleasure crested then exploded inside you. Every part of you clamped down hard on him and you rocked and back and forth, milking the shuddering orgasm out of him.

It took a moment before the two of you finally relaxed from your shared high. Still holding his face, you kissed his cheeks and his forehead and his lips over and over until his softening cock slipped out of you. You sat back on his thighs and imagined his cum leaking out of you and onto your combinations. You giggled at the dirty thought.

'I'm Sherlock,' he said after a long silence, looking up to meet your gaze.

'I'm... smitten,' you answered.

Maybe a little re-education wasn't such a bad thing.

-End

I hope you enjoyed it. Please like, share comment reblog all that good stuff. :)

#henry cavill #henry cavill smut #sherlock!Henry #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x you

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

Text

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— HYMN OF THE LOVESICK ; PART 5 / ?

( gif from this beautiful gifset by @knightwayne )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2k

SUMMARY: Alfred definitely knows something about Bruce that you’re not willing to think about and Bruce has an epiphany that changes the way he sees you.

A/N: Guess who forgot which day pbr is usually posted? This idiot here. God, I’m sorry and this chapter can be boring. Next chapter will have a lot more going on, I promise. Also, this might end in the next chapter or two. Enjoy, folks.

WARNINGS: Kinda dramatic because I’m dramatic.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

Driving through the Wayne estate gives you a sense of much-needed peace. The never-ending tunnel with walls of identical colossal pine trees as you faintly hum to Aretha Franklin over the low whirring of the running engine. It’s a quarter to noon, and the sun doesn’t seem to shine in the city of Gotham—clouds of grey constantly shield its optimum shine, only to ever allow rays to seep through the gaps in the moving Autumn wind. You don’t mind it and you never did, growing up in the city left clouds unnoticed to you unless it signified the arrival of a thunderstorm. Weather and nature are the least of your concerns but you would appreciate it now and then.

The tunnel of trees comes to an end as a clearing of extensive fields emerges into view. What is left of the Wayne Manor still stands with ostentation, despite its skeleton along with its dignity rotting away to be eventually consumed by mother nature herself. There’s a sense of eeriness to it; you find it odd how a building could seem so alive at times, like it's watching you, despite its apparent decay.

You turn your head away and focus on the road.

A glance at your hand on the wheel, you’re reminded of last night, when his hands held yours—it burns at the mere thought of his gentle touch. And the drive home, silent with the occasional glances and small smiles. You recall how the passing streetlights cascade hues of orange on his wearied expression and how his eyes were bright when they flit to your figure in the passenger seat for just a moment. Something must have changed between the two of you, but you can’t quite tell what. Maybe it’s your undying love for Bruce. Maybe he feels the same way. You snort to yourself, alone in your car, one can only dream but it doesn’t mean they all come true. Bruce may love but he doesn’t commit. You can’t commit too. Now, you’re starting to believe you’ve been lying to yourself.

The glasshouse comes into view as you steer around the bending road and into the driveway. It contradicts everything the manor was but only shared its sense of glory. You like the glasshouse, less deafening and structured with the purpose of bareness and vulnerability but its dark furnishings keep it grounded and secure. Its sense of balance tricks your mind into thinking you’re stable. His car is still around, parked by the porch but you don’t see him, ambling around the household.

Switching off the ignition, you snatch the paper bag from the passenger seat and clamber out of the car. Darker clouds begin rolling from afar, your hair flying in the strong wind. A storm is coming, you’re sure of it. One of the rare times it rains during the season. You dread the thought of having to drive back into the city and across Westward Bridge. Driving over bridges built over the water in the rain scares the heck out of you.

As you swing the car door to a close, you hear the shuffling of feet amongst leaves behind you. Alfred, with a barrel of chopped wood—stocking up for the winter. There’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes albeit startled by your sudden presence. He mentions your name with endearment; you greet him with a small smile. You always liked Alfred. You enjoyed his company.

“What a pleasant surprise seeing you here,” he says, pushing the barrel aside as he nears you. “I’m afraid you just missed Bruce. He left for Metropolis an hour ago—duty calls.”

You nod, ignoring the clench in your heart. He hadn’t told you anything but frankly, you weren’t expecting him to anyway.

“Well, I just came by to drop off this,” You lift the paper bag, swaying it a little within your grasp. “As a thank you gift, you know.” Alfred smiles at this, gestures towards the house in a beckoning manner. “Come on in, I’ll make you some tea.” Before you could even protest, he’s gently guiding you to the door by the shoulder. It’s hard to say no to Alfred, especially when he offers tea.

Your mind wonders as you watch the drizzle of rain form ripples in the lake. You sit on a chair with a contemporary structure to it; it digs into your lower back, due to your bad posture. Uncomfortable but nice-looking and great armrests. Contradicts everything a chair should be. Alfred emerges from the kitchen with a black ceramic mug in hand, steam from the brewed tea lingering above it. He holds an identical mug, for himself. With two hands, you clasp onto the mug with acceptance, a radiant appreciative smile upon your lips. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.” Alfred shoots you a look of disdain, “I’ve told you many times, Alfred is fine.” Taking a sip, you shake your head, a smile still lingering. “No way. I have too much respect for you to call you by your first name.” Alfred mirrors you, settling for the chair to your right, swiftly sliding the scatter of papers to the corner of the table. You find it easy to fall into a natural conversation with the older man—the two of you are mutuals after all of a certain billionaire. Yet, Alfred is more of a father figure, having practically raised Bruce and you, well, it’s complicated. It always is. You don’t know where you stand in his life, and you're not sure if you want to know.

“Anyway, where have you been? I haven’t seen you in weeks.” It’s true. The usual sight of the butler sauntering around the glasshouse or somewhere in the Wayne Estate was absent during the last two weeks. Alfred is always around, his disappearance was glaring, impossible to go unnoticed.

He shifts in his seat, placing his mug on the table, teaspoon moving with a soft clang. “I was visiting family back in England. I appreciate that you have noticed my absence,” An eyebrow raises, your laugh comes out more like a huff. “Always, Mr. Pennyworth.”

Family. Mother. Dinner—you remember the dinner with your mother on Sunday night, and you’re the host. The host hasn't decided on the menu for tomorrow’s meal. Oh God, it’s tomorrow. Procrastination is your friend but your family’s expectations for you aren't. If you pop enough wine bottles, maybe she'll be too drunk to be disappointed by the end of the night.

And the wedding. The mere thought makes you sick. You don’t want to bring a date, but you don’t want to be alone. Weddings, love, couples—it makes you tick. It’s a glaring reminder of how your love life is an absolute disaster and your inability to maintain relationships. It’s hopeless, you’ll die a spinster and everyone lives happily ever after.

“Are you alright?”

It’s funny how those three words have been the most frequent words you would hear from those around you. You appreciate the concern, really, but you can’t help but feel there’s a stronger and deeper meaning to those words. It’s a question of assurance, a reality check, and a realization that you might be broken. Everyone is broken—in their own ways.

Although you seem reserved to some people, your tendency to open up about your issues to those close to you contradicts that though you instantly regret it. Especially when people tell you to change. You hate change. It’s terrifying.

You pause, suddenly feeling...fidgety. Yet, in the words of Bruce: In Alfred, you trust.

Remember, keep it light. You don’t want to haul all this luggage of yours onto an aging man. He’s already got Bruce’s luggage.

“My cousin’s getting married in two weeks and,” you sigh, he listens intently. “And as pathetic as this sounds, I really don’t want to go to it alone.”

Your words are direct, straightforward and you sound like a whiny teenager or the main character in a Wattpad story but truth be told, there’s an underlying meaning to it and you know, Alfred knows it. You just don’t want to admit it.

He takes a beat, assessing your sentence like he’s a therapist, wanting to select his words carefully. “Well, I don’t think you’re pathetic. It’s...understandable,” he flashes you a pointed look and you find yourself straightening your back. “Why don’t you ask Bruce?”

Your brain must have short-circuited at that moment.

Oh, hell no. Not in a million years.

You’re shaking your head, laughing nervously. “No, no. No. Never. I couldn’t possibly ask him to do that. He’s already done so much for me—”

“You’ve done a lot for him too.”

A pause, words stuck in your throat. You just look at Alfred through confused eyes. You’re not sure what that means. He’s staring at you with a knowing look. You sigh, shaking your head in denial once more. “No, that’s...that’s not true.”

It’s almost infuriating how stubborn you can be sometimes that it’s even irritating yourself. You’re staring at your fingers, playing with the tag attached to the teabag by a thread. As far as you’re concerned, Bruce is...the greatest friend you’ve ever had. Through thick and thin, he’s been there for you. He’s always there. It’s partly the reason why you have fallen for him in the first place. Hard. He’s easy to love when he wears his heart on his sleeve. It’s rare but it’s beautiful. You almost feel ashamed to be allowed to see him in that light.

“Bruce will do just about anything for you,” Alfred says calmly as he watches you avoid eye contact. “And I know, you’ll do the same for him.” You throw your eyes at the older man as he cops you a look. Your heart is beating so fast, so thunderous, you hear it in your ears. He’s right and you know it. That accidental kiss to your forehead on the night you asked him to come for the play comes back to mind in a flash. It feels like a mark on your forehead, it feels like it’s burning.

“Would you like a scone with that?” He’s pointing to your tea and with that, he’s off to the kitchen once more, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s late—a quarter to four in the morning. He spends most of his nights in the Batcave, hidden away from all the sounds and tumult of the world, shrouded in the darkness as the light of the computer screen cascades on his tired eyes. He ambles through the glasshouse, weary feet against hardwood floors, body begging to lay on grey sheets though he dreads a vacant bed.

He strains his eyes peering into the gloom when he perceives a paper bag, sitting idly on the table by the window. Nearing it, there’s a yellow post-it note stuck onto the bag and under the gentle light from the moon that reflects against the lake, he can make out words written on it.

It’s from you.

Thanks for coming to the play. I would have bought you something else, but I’m really broke. Sorry. I owe you one.

A drawn heart follows it. It’s tiny. His chest feels warm.

He should have recognized the paper bag because inside, there are four bagels. Four Asiago bagels. He laughs, it comes out more like a puff of hot air, feeling the warmth that resides in his chest spreading throughout his body.

Then, it hits him like a bullet to the heart. The impact is strong, powerful. Your impact on him is strong, powerful. There’s no mystery to his feelings for you but at this moment, he’s completely certain. For the first time in life.

He loves you.

Bruce staggers into the chair, hand carding back the strands of his hair. He can’t keep doing this to you. Whatever the hell is going on. Your friendship, the...stupid agreement. He wants none of it because it feels like he’s constantly going around in circles.

But what do you really want, Bruce?

TAGLIST

@raineeace

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #bruce wayne x you #batman x you #alfred pennyworth #justice league

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likeiwishiknew · 3 years

Text

Azriel X Gwyn - Autumn Connection

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29716227/chapters/73536900

She was nervous.

Gwyn had arrived at the house with Nesta and Cassian, who were there to meet with the rest of the Inner Circle. Cassian had asked Rhysand if it was alright for her to come, and the High Lord thankfully had not objected. It was her first time being in the home of the High Pair.

After they’d arrived, she’d split from the group. With the blessing of Nesta’s sister, Feyre, Gwyn in wandered the grounds and explored the marvelous home.

But that was simply a means to pass the time.

Gwyn had one single reason for being here, and he was sitting across the room - staring silently out the window. His hair reminded her of her own.

Lucien Vanserra.

Taking a deep breath, she walked over to him - noting his handsome profile.

“Why aren’t you in the meeting with the others?” she asked politely.

The red-headed male turned his head, and her eyes caught on his false golden eye as he scrutinized her.

“I’m not welcome there,” he answered.

Her brow crinkled, “What do you mean?”

“I came here in an official capacity, as emissary, to deliver news of what I’ve learned. But their discussions are meant for them alone.”

The male tried to sound indifferent but she detected the wistfulness in his tone. He said he did not belong, but a part of him wanted to. She lips pressed thin at the dejection that took over his face as turned back to the window.

“Well then, perhaps I can sit with you while you wait,” she offered, dropping down beside him on the large couch.

He said nothing in response.

“My name is Gwyn by way.”

Again, no answer. Gwyn refused to give up. No matter how stubborn he insisted on being. She’d mustered up the courage to show up here uninvited, and she would not leave with nothing to show for it

“You’re from the Autumn Court right?”

He gazed over at her apprehensively, “I’m sure you know who I am,” he returned, waiting for her to deny it.

But she didn’t. Gwyn saw no point in lying since they both knew the truth.

“You’re right, I do.”

She could’ve sworn he regarded her with begrudging respect for the fact that she didn’t attempt to lie. Perhaps, that was why he deigned to answer.

“I have not belonged to the Autumn Court in a very long time. But I’m sure you knew that as well.”

She nodded, “But you were born in that court, grew up there. Didn’t you?”

He eyed her attentively, “Yes.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

His eyes narrowed, “Why do wish to know about the Autumn Court?”

She smiled, lowering her voice as if imparting some great secret, “I’ve been told that my grandmother, a river nymph, once used her feminine wiles to seduce a High Fae from your home court. So, I suppose you could say I’m curious about it all. I mean we could be family.”

She gestured to her hair to make her point.

Lucien stared at her for a long moment, not saying anything, and she wondered if she’d laid it on a bit too thick.

Until he erupted in laughter.

This went on for several seconds before he managed to collect himself.

“I dare say that was not the sort of answer I was expecting.”

Any signs of ill-humor was gone from the male. He now looked downright amused, his hands pressed to his knees.

“A member of the Autumn Court seduced by a river nymph, truly? My goodness. I only wish I knew the story behind it, if it is in fact true.”

“Of course, it’s true. I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” she insisted.

“Right well, first thing you need to know about the Autumn Court is that they’re all a bunch of stuck up assholes.”

She crinkled her nose in distaste, “Aren’t they your family?”

Lucien watched her intently.

“That’s how you know I’m being honest when I say they’re painfully uptight and overly prideful. If what you say is true, any one of them will deny it.”

Gwyn didn’t much like what was being implied.

“Are you trying to say river nymphs are less than?”

She might not have known her grandmother but the insult still stood.

Lucien gave her a empathic look, “I’m not so pretentious that I would look down upon someone for being what they are,” he defended, “River nymphs are beautiful in their way. It is a different beauty than that is the High Fae but that should not surprise you.”

With him having spent so much time in the Spring Court, prior to the war, she was inclined to believe him.

"I can’t say I know. I’ve never seen a river nymph myself,” she explained, “My life was spent in the temple. And after Hybern...until I met Nesta I spent my time buried in the library.”

His eyes grew sad on her behalf.

“Don’t do that,” she said, “Don’t look at me like I’m something to pity.”

At her annoyed tone, he winced then conceded, “Very well.”

Her watched his expression making certain he meant it, when it looked as though he did, she started again.

“May I confess something?”

He cracked a small smile, “Who am I to say no when a female wishes to bare her soul to me.”

She almost laughed. There would be no soul baring today, at least not from her.

“I came here to meet you,” she confessed.

“Yet another admission I was not expecting,” he said, waiting for her continue.

“I never cared much about my parentage for a long time. But lately...”

“You’ve started to wonder,” he finished.

She nodded, “So, will you tell me about it? The Autumn Court that my mysterious grandfather is from.”

His demeanor softened.

“Ask and I will answer what I can, Little Red.”

She grinned at the sudden nickname. She rather liked it.

---

Azriel had come back from his latest mission worn and with little good news to share.

When he’d told Rhys, his brother had made the decision that they needed meet with their allies to see if any of them knew anything else. And then discuss what contingency plans they needed to put in place.

When Nesta and Cassian had shown up, he had been surprised to see Gwyn had come with them. She made some excuse about wanting to try and get out more, and he knew was not a total lie. But something told him it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Rhys and Feyre had naturally welcomed the young woman into their home. Telling her to explore all she wanted while they discussed matters. Gwyn looked not the least bit put out about being excluded and took Feyre up on her offer to see the grounds. Before he had much of a chance to speak with her, she was gone.

Leaving him distracted throughout much of meeting, his mind wondering where she was and what she was doing. He’d admit he did that a lot these days.

He was none too pleased when he arrived in the shared living space to find Gwyn sitting beside a certain Autumn Court Exile.

Azriel stared daggers at the male sitting across the room. It was certainly not the first time he’d done so where Lucien was concerned, and he suspected it would not be the last.

As always, the other male ignored him.

Gwyn sat beside the Exiled Son of the Autumn Court, speaking animatedly.

Even Elain watched the pair, a blank expression on her face. Yet neither Lucien nor Gwyn seemed to detect their presence, or perhaps they were simply ignoring it.

No that wasn’t right. Gwyn would never do that. And Lucien, much as Azriel disliked the male, wouldn’t miss detecting his mate.

Lucien’s earlier laughter had surprised them all. It’d echoed down the halls so that they’d heard it even in the meeting room. Feyre had smiled, mentioning that it had been a long while since she’d heard the sound.

They’d all wondered at the cause. Now he knew.

The two of them sat huddled close. A strange sense of intimacy there. Surely, they’d only just met and yet they appeared at ease in one another’s company.

Jealously filled him.

He believed Gwyn when she’d said they would move past the necklace situation. And for the most part, he felt they had. But he still sensed a level of reserve from her when they trained, when he’d greeted her earlier. He knew because he was much the same.

But even before that he wasn’t sure they ever looked so easy around each other.

It wasn’t fair.

At that precise moment, Lucien got up as if to leave. Only then did the male seem to notice the rest of them standing there. He paid Azriel little to no mind, his eyes going first to his mate and then to the Rhys and Feyre who had just come up behind. Nesta and Cassian on their heels.

Since he’d come at the behest of the High Pair, he addressed them first.

“And your decision?” he asked plainly.

Rhys was the one to answer, “We will do as discussed. Share our plans with Vassa.”

Lucien nodded. Gwyn came up beside him.

“Will you return soon?” she bid, “Tell me more stories of the Autumn Court?”

An uncomfortable silence followed. No one in the room spoke a word, while Lucien studied Gwyn.

“I’m not sure,” the red-headed male answered reluctantly.

Gwyn took in the rest of the room. No doubt feeling the tension.

She turned back to Lucien.

“Oh, I mean not necessarily in an official capacity. You can just stop by to visit me,” she said with a grin.

Azriel felt Elain tense beside him.

Lucien chuckled, “I don’t think you realize how that sounds. But alright, I’ll try Little Red.”

She smiled at the nickname.

Azriel, on the other hand, was seething.

To think the male would behave in such a way in front of his mate. Things between him and Elain had been uncomfortable as of late, partly due to the necklace incident but mostly because he’d realized his feelings weren’t what he’d once believed. Still, he cared about the female and he did not like to see her upset. Especially not by the male who was supposed to care for her the most.

“Thanks, Grandpa,” Gwyn jested.

Wait, what?

Taking a quick glance around their circle, he realized everyone but Nesta looked equally confused at the comment.

“Hey, don’t go blaming me for knocking up your grandmother,” Lucien answered in mock offense, almost smirking.

“You don’t have any proof that you didn’t,” Gwyn shot back.

“I should think I’d remember if I laid with a river nymph,” the male insisted.

"You said it yourself that any member of the Autumn Court would deny such a thing,” she argued, “And while you might no longer belong to it, that court birthed and bred you.”

Lucien laughed, “Alright enough with you, I’m off to do my job.”

“Stay safe,” she said right as he winnowed away.

The other male’s smile was the last thing Azriel saw before he disappeared.

Gwyn turned to Nesta, who had come up beside her, “I rather like him. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was my grandfather.”

“Ah yes, what a delight that would be,” Nesta answered sarcastically.

Everything else seemed to fade into the background. He overheard Gwyn thanking Rhys and Feyre for allowing her into their home. The other’s spoke as well but he was no longer fully listening. The tension that had been building inside him slowly ebbed away. Gwyn wasn’t interested in the other male. At least not in the way he’d feared.

“Are you alright Az?” Mor asked from behind him.

He turned to his friend, “Of course” he said without hesitation.

He wasn’t able to tell whether or not that was a lie.

He could hardly explain the relief he felt.

Somehow Azriel had forgotten Cassian mentioning that Nesta and Emerie were trying to help Gwyn learn more about her family.

Nesta’s bringing her along now made sense.

As if only now sensing his gaze on her Gwyn turned her head, eyes meeting his. She gave him a friendly smile.

He smiled back.

He needed to get ahold of himself, Gwyneth Berbara wasn’t his to lose.

She was his friend. Nothing more.

~~~

@azrielsshadowsdanceforgwyn @bittermuire @ofstarsanddreams @corrdolium

@brucexselina @inejjg @rhysmoira @gwynnight @fairytamy @bluegold08 @amandapearls @highqueentaey @lioness-says @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @lovelywordsandwine

@my-fan-side

~~~

Notes: This chapter was surprisingly more difficult than the others. Partly because there isn’t much direct Azriel and Gwyn interaction which is kind of what I’m living for at this point lol. But also because I was trying to capture some of Lucien’s humor as I remember him from Book 1. It was so long ago, but man I miss that guy. Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed it despite the lack of one on one in this chapter. Next chapter, promise. As always, share and comment as you please =D I love reading all of your comments <3

#a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #acotar #acosf #azriel x gwyn #gwynriel #azwyn #azriel #gwyneth berdara #gwyn pov #azriel pov #otp #fanfiction #read on ao3 #ao3 update #Lucien #lucien vanserra

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missorgana · 3 years

Text

you shine, i'll shine for you

pairing: alina starkov/genya safin, background nina zenik/matthias helvar

fandom: shadow and bone (tv)

rating: general

word count: 5163

warning: referenced cheating, swearing

summary: Genya thought she’d seen it all, until today, where a young person her age rushes through the door and approaches her with a strange question, “What sort of flowers do you get to tell someone to go fuck themselves?” (flower shop au)

(a fluffy au that’s been loooong underway !! inspired by this post, naturally. had a bit too much fun searching up flower meanings as well so... hope you enjoy!)

read on ao3

Genya believes flowers speak their own language.

They show love, adoration, and everything in between, and there’s a reason they’re used for most special occasions, she thinks; although a staple gift when you barely know someone, they’re also an invitation to get to know someone better.

Like Nina and Matthias. It didn’t surprise her in the least that he wanted to ask Nina out, alas, he asked Genya for help on the bouquet, since he just started. The look on her friend’s face when she told her about their fast date was too precious.

And naturally, this is why she opened her little flower shop in the first place. She loved the area, homely and cozy, the atmosphere and the residents.

She’s helped their clients with gifts for any situation you could think of; a last minute anniversary gift, flower arrangements for that big fairytale wedding, the perfect Mother’s Day bouquet, and the businessman getting flowers for his beloved sister’s grave touched her deeply.

Genya thought she’d seen it all, until today, where a young person her age rushes through the door and approaches her with a strange question, “What sort of flowers do you get to tell someone to go fuck themselves?”

She’s simply baffled by the request.

The client’s got restless hands and fire in their eyes, dark hair in a braided bun and wearing a baby blue dress, neck and ears dressed with gold jewelry and a matching septum piercing. They’re almost glowing in the late autumn sun, to be completely honest.

In fact, they’re already reaching for their purse, while Genya tries to work through her confusion and do her best - this is an assignment like any other, she reminds herself, this is her job.

“Oh, uh, depends on the occasion, really…” she starts, and since the customer in front of her curses themself as they find their wallet, the clear anger on their face intensifying, she figures she’ll need to keep her cool, “If I may ask?”

In customer service you’ll have to deal with rude clientele, God knows Genya has, and although this person in no way seems like that type of person, she still keeps it a priority to not upset them anymore than someone else already has.

She smiles, giving them less of her staple customer service smile, more a hesitant smile because the client also sniffs, and wipes their eyes rather stubbornly before looking back at her.

They’re also more beautiful than sunflowers in bloom, that much is obvious. But someone’s hurt them, and it makes Genya’s heart ache for them with a stinging kind of certainty.

“Sure,” they reply, sniffling again, “My boyfriend’s cheated on me for the second time.”

Second time? Dear God.

Genya doesn’t even know this man, but she does know he’s an asshole, mind the language. She’s sure she must look shocked, because the client chuckles bitterly, clutching their wallet a bit tighter.

“I just need him to fuck off for good. It’s long overdue, really.”

She decides to smile again, nodding, hoping she’s conveying her sympathy right, “I understand.”

And since she gets a timid smile back, albeit still with clenched fists down their side, it makes Genya a little more sure of herself again. If the person wasn’t pretty before, they’re even prettier now. She mentally curses whoever this man is for making them this angry, and making them cry. No one deserves that, but especially not them, Genya thinks.

Luckily it’s a Monday, a slow day for flower sales, and they’re the only customer inside, so she’s reaching for her encyclopedia immediately.

“I do know a bit about flower meanings,” she explains to them, “It’s not common knowledge, but I got a few ideas.”

The client nods, satisfied, and their eyes turn a little less angry and more curious.

“What’s your budget?” she asks while flickering through the pages, and the person in front of her takes less than a second to answer, “The biggest you got, he- We were supposed to go to Paris, so I’ve been saving up. Got some money to blow.”

What a fucking douchebag. Again, excuse the language, but this really sounds like the sort of person who’s drink she would gladly spit in. She might be really excited for this bouquet, now. Serves him right.

Everything that jumps to her mind should be in stock, actually. Genya’s never had to look up negative meanings to the flowers before, admittedly, but she does find some scribbled notes in what appears to be Nina’s handwriting next to the black roses. Revenge roses. Okay, maybe a bit too sinister, but she’ll keep them in mind.

She finds herself moving out behind the counter before she knows it, and when she picks up the first bunch she notices her client looking over her shoulder in an adorable kind of confusion, so Genya speaks up, “These are yellow carnations, they signal disappointment.”

They nod again, the small smile on their lips growing just an inch brighter. Their hands seem more relaxed, she finds herself noticing.

“Perfect,” they approve, “Is there a hate flower, you think?”

The bluntness no longer surprises her, and since the client huffs at themselves, Genya returns the smile with more certainty. Fair enough, she decides.

“Yes, surprisingly enough,” she chuckles, “Orange lilies. I also have foxglove for insincerity?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“I thought so,” Genya likes this person, she decides, probably way more than she should for a complete stranger, but… can you blame her?

She likes the guts it takes to make a bouquet like this, to be honest. And it’s like they keep getting prettier and prettier the more Genya looks at them, is that crazy? Probably. Matthias would roll his eyes at her, but she and Nina both know how cheesy he actually is, so whatever.

This client is also getting a hate bouquet for a soon-to-be-ex, though, so she’s real with herself, she can’t allow herself to get attached or anything. Would be unprofessional, regardless, but she can admire them anyway, right?

“What else, what else…” Genya wanders a bit more, her client following in tow, she’s got the centerpieces, but the white of this flower would add nicely to the overall look, “Meadowsweet! It, uh, it stands for uselessness.”

The person in front of her lights even more up at the suggestion. She’s thrilled, because honestly, not only helping them but also maybe, possibly impressing this client is suddenly very important to her.

“Alright, I think that’ll do nicely,” she finally tells them, writing the names and price ranges down on her notepad. “Unless you want to add some geraniums, too?” The customer looks at the sample she shows them, biting their lip in contemplation.

“It’s beautiful,” they confess.

“It is,” she agrees, “But it also signals stupidity.”

They laugh at that, a ringing sound like bells or… butterfly wings, maybe. This is just about making Genya’s whole week right now.

“Yeah, I need those.”

And so it’s decided, and she returns to her counter with the notes and shows the client the different bouquet sizes. She figures they might need a card, too, “I don’t have any ‘Fuck you’ cards, unfortunately. Will a blank one be alright?”

They nod, more eager than ever.

“Actually,” they’re running their finger over the sheet with the sizes before looking back at Genya again, “I know this is a big ask, but I was gonna leave the bouquet at his office. Do you think… we could, maybe, cover his desk in these flowers?”

Yet another suggestion that has her standing wide-eyed.

The client chuckles at themself again and fumbles a strand of hair behind their ear, “I’ll pay whatever it costs, I promise. If it’s even possible, that is.”

Genya considers this, and well, it’s definitely possible, they’ve got enough stock for it. The same thing as decorating a chapel for a wedding, sort of, but on a smaller scale. It’s doable.

“I do think my delivery guy can carry it, actually,” she replies, hoping Matthias won’t ask too many questions, but oh well, “We would need entry to the building, though-”

“I have the keys.”

“Oh.”

This person is well prepared. Genya loves it.

“It’s just really a matter of how many bouquets will be needed…” she’s thinking hard, an office cubicle is what she imagines the client is talking about, not too hard to fill up, realistically, “20? Will that be plenty?”

They full-on grin, “God, yes. Make it 22. I, uh, I got cash.”

And so it’s sorted, and a promise of scheduling the delivery for Wednesday, said soon-to-be-ex’s next work day, is settled. Matthias delivers the flowers a little before 8, the customer lets him in and they carry the load together, foolproof plan, Genya’s sure. “This is his number, Matthias Helvar, if you have any trouble, running late or getting into the building, whatever it may be.”

“Thank you so much for this, seriously,” they’re smiling almost from ear to ear, and honestly, she’s a little embarrassed that making this particular person as happy as they appear to be is making her feel so… warm? “This is perfect. I cannot wait to see his face. And walk away.”

It’s a funny sort of bonding experience, or feels like it, less than a transaction.

Before the client leaves, Genya gets their contact information in return, and an excited wave as the doorbell rings them out. Alina Starkov, the card says, and she/they pronouns right underneath.

She wonders if she’ll ever see them again. She doubts it. But she hopes she’s wrong.

Genya does, in fact, see a particular client again, one that for some reason stays on her mind after the delivery is done and in the five weeks till she sees them again, embarrassingly enough.

Matthias didn’t ask a lot of questions, besides the wide eyes and then looking the happiest she’s seen him since Nina kissed him for the first time. He didn’t need convincing, to put it simply.

“Whoever this Alina is, they got some guts,” he laughed to her while they were packaging all those flowers for him, “Practically covered our expenses for the month.”

That’s true, it’s lovely, that pure luck that sometimes hits them like a flood.

She’s over the moon, but of course, she doesn’t mention the part of it being because of that person’s bright smile replacing dried tear stains, and how the change made Genya feel like she’s never done anything more important than making her happy. God, Safin, Nina is rubbing off on you.

The boy lets her know the delivery went smoothly, and that Alina thanked him profusely, but that’s as much as she knows before the bell rings on a late Thursday and Nina’s voice calls from the front of house and reaches to the back where Genya is currently cutting stems.

She dries off her hands in their signature lavender apron - credit to Nina for that, as well - you’d be surprised how dirty a day’s work can get, and Genya takes care not to ruin any of her many, many floral dresses. Yes, she wears florals only to work. Once again, sue her.

She’s not sure why her friend would need assistance, she rarely asks for it, yet, there she stands.

Alina Starkov gives her a smile once again, but it’s less timid today, in no way tearful, instead calm and curious. Like they’re happy to see her, almost.

“Genya! Hi!” she says, and she’s more than a little surprised, much like their first meeting. Did she ever introduce herself? “Sorry, I hope I’m not disturbing, I, uh, I told Nina how grateful I am for your help with you-know-who. Wanted to thank you in person.”

That’s just way too adorable, isn’t it?

She feels her smile growing without even controlling it, and the brunette next to her is definitely looking like she wants to ask some questions ( many questions), but she’ll have to wait, geez, Genya cannot be having a romance novel moment in her store of all places.

Realising she also has to collect herself while being in front of the client and her best friend, and not zone out because her inner hopeless romantic is firing up inside her, she decides to brush it off and try to act casual, somehow, “I’m just happy to help. I assume it went as planned, then?” “Better than planned, even. He’ll be regretting it for the rest of his life, I hope.”

Alina laughs, and Genya gets that warm flush inside her chest again. And out of the corner of her eye, Nina looks less curious and more just straight up smug. Damn her.

“I think Matthias is calling me,” is actually how Nina first speaks up, and while the client nods, like they’re away in thought, Genya sees right through her.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“You didn’t?” her friend questions, tilting her head, already moving towards the door Genya just came through, “Oh, I did. Can’t leave him hanging, might be urgent.”

“Nina-”

“Back in a jiffy!”

She’s left alone with Alina. Which is fine, you know, they were alone when they first met, right- but listen, Genya is still very much thinking about the person saying her name and the realization that she is, of course, wearing a name tag hits simultaneously with another shock: she remembered her name.

Logically, that’s not out of the ordinary at all. Gosh.

But she knows it’s not because it’s a shocking experience and more that a person who’s as beautiful as them is smiling at her and that they might just be the prettiest person she’s ever seen and that the thought of making her happy is making Genya happy, believe it or not. She doesn’t understand why this is different from any of her other experiences, but it is.

She hasn’t seen a smile like theirs before, that she knows. It makes her feel all strange and bubbly, like drinking champagne.

However, Alina is speaking up again, so Genya desperately needs to get out of her head.

“I was actually… uh, wondering if you’re maybe able to help me out again?” she starts, looking a tiny bit nervous, “If you’re not busy, that is, oh my God.”

And maybe Genya shakes her head way too quickly, but sue her, “Not at all!”

The client grins, the blush in their cheeks surely must be from the cold wind outside, and it just makes them prettier, if that’s even possible. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Now, she’s gotten this nickname before. Of course those times weren’t from Alina, and she makes sure to hide just how flustered she’s becoming, shaking her head and swinging her hand, “Stop it. I’ll try my best, heh.”

Alina clears her throat before continuing, “My best friend’s coming home, I haven’t seen him in over a year, and… Do you have, like, friendship flowers? I wanna surprise him at the airport.”

Once again, the person in front of her is just downright adorable. It’s almost frustrating.

Genya chuckles, because she doesn’t need the encyclopedia for this request, and easily makes her way over to the roses.

The client looks over the bouquet she picks up with the very same joy as their first meeting. “Yellow rose is the friendship flower, actually! Usually put together with violets, but I can change it up if you want…?”

“No no no!” they hastily reply, already taking the offer of grabbing the bundle, looking down upon it with visible dimples and eyes shimmering with excitement, “They’re perfect. Mal’s gonna love them, I know it!”

“Ah, I hope so.”

She feels almost shy with all this flattery coming her way, especially from Alina, of course, and once more she thanks her just about five hundred times before hurrying out the shop, phone chiming in the distance.

Even after they’ve left, Genya still cannot believe they came back. And remembered her. Or like, specifically sought out her help, again. Huh.

Nina immediately peeks her head around the corner when the front door has shut, her face lit up like it’s Christmas Eve, “They seemed nice. And pretty.”

“Nina,” is all she can come up with, giving her best glare, while her best friend feigns innocence.

“Yes, Genya?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

She sighs, “Just don’t.”

If Genya’s second encounter with Alina Starkov wasn’t surprising enough already, imagine her shock when she finds exactly this person entering her shop two months later. Events requiring flowers aren’t constant, which, again, is why she didn’t expect to see her ever again, but she’s not complaining, of course.

She’s working the counter when the door opening reveals Alina, their golden earrings present as always and her hair in two buns, wearing a cropped rainbow sweater and dungarees. Looking just as pretty as last time she saw them, oh God, that fluster’s coming right back.

Except she’s not alone this time. Alina’s got a taller stranger in tow, with curly hair, lip ring and pink floral shirt layered over possibly the most ridiculous graphic tee Genya’s ever laid her eyes upon.

Her recurring client waves when they spot her, heading straight to her, while their friend is almost spinning around in awe.

“Hello again,” Genya greets her, because fuck, she might just get excited over the mere sight of them. Meeting again. Is the universe trying to tell her something?

It’s an absurd thought that shouldn’t matter at all, get yourself together, she tells herself.

“Hi!” They seem even more excited than last time she saw them, and Genya wonders what the occasion could be before Alina continues, “How’ve you been?”

There’s that funny feeling again.

It’s kind of like a lump in her throat, this time, but still as bubbly and warm as before. It’s also just endearing for many different reasons, one being that she rarely gets customers twice, or thrice, and casual conversation is never as easy as theirs. She’s overthinking it, definitely.

“Busy, but good,” Genya tells her, and is about to return it, while remembering their companion, “You? And sorry, ah, I’m Genya.”

Alina’s eyes are like fireworks, almost, and she waves over her friend who’s entranced by the lilies. They’ve got a spring in their step as they make it over to them.

“This is Jesper,” they introduce them, and the tall stranger winks in greeting, “Jesper, this is Genya. I told him all about the shop, cause you’re like… the queen of flowers.”

Oh my God, why is she so sweet? It almost makes her feel embarrassed, the two of them looking at her as she imagines a blush rising just from the client’s words.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Right back at ya!” he replies, one hand in his pocket and another gesturing wildly in the air, “This is amazing, by the way. I see why Alina goes to you for stuff like this.”

Genya laughs, feeling strangely more comfortable and less nervous now. Still, she figures she should probably get to business, they wouldn’t have come here if they didn’t have a purchase in mind, right? As much as the compliments are much appreciated, Alina being the source of them is yet again making her slightly incapable of functioning normally.

She can only hope she’s improved at hiding crushes since high school, because, well… that is what this is. Genya can’t really lie to herself anymore, or pretend it’s nothing.

It’s making her slightly breathless, this person appearing and reappearing in her life.

But she does need to get over it, because as she tells herself every time, Alina is a customer and she is a salesperson. Her life isn’t a rom-com, as tragic as that may be.

“I hope your friend liked the flowers,” she said, not even needing to wait for a response as they lit up again and confirmed, dimpled smile and all, “Can I help you with anything today?”

Alina nods and hooks her arm with Jesper, “You know it. Friends of ours just got engaged, we wanna have a, uh… tiny celebration for them.”

“By that we mean surprise the shit out of them,” he follows with no hesitation, and Genya and Alina laugh, in syncron. Alright, that’s also totally fine.

“I’m sure we can figure something out for that,” she tells them. She figures flower meanings are less necessary this time around, and when she spots the bottle of champagne and heart shaped box in the client’s tote bag, she decides on a simple question, “Well, red roses are the classic. Most romantic. Do they have any favorite flowers or colors, and such?”

Jesper seems to be squinting in concentration, and Alina bites their lip. It’s quite endearing.

But the client’s eyes widen, then, and they blurt out with only a beat difference, “Pink!”

It comes out as a half-yell, actually, judging by the sweet elderly woman from down the block jumping in the other end of the shop, and Matthias nearly dropping the bunch of tulips he’s carrying onto the back of his bike wagon. The two look awfully apologetic during it all.

“Inej’s favorite color,” Alina explains with an embarrassed giggle, ducking their head, “It’s pink.”

Genya nods, “I see. How about… pink and white lilies, then?”

Jesper seems to smile in approval. “I like that. See, I would’ve just gone with pink roses.”

She gives them a sample, which they both seem pleased with, she hopes so at least, while chuckling once more at his statement, “Could work as well. But these are popular for gifts, they symbolise admiration.”

Her (favorite) client scrunches her nose with as big a grin as hers, already made up their mind, “I think she’ll love them.” And Genya, of course, feels a massive honor in helping them. Again. She can’t believe Alina’s come back two times. Gosh, she’s thinking too much.

“I’ll write these up for you, then,” she tells them while they’re already following her to the counter. At the same time, Jesper’s got furrowed brows in a thinkful sort of face, and Genya doesn’t really know if this is directed to Alina or herself, nevertheless he wonders aloud, “Not sure what my favorite flower is. You got one, Alina?”

“Duh,” the shorter person answers, without hesitation, “Sunflower. Everyone’s got one, right?

Sunflower .

In her mind, nothing else has made as much sense as this. This was the flower she first associated her client with, what their beauty could only be compared with. They shine, so much it’s near blinding Genya, at this point. Yes, she knows it’s cheesy, but it’s only in her head, after all.

Genya realises this question, however, is very much meant for her, and so she answers while typing in their total, bouquet already wrapped up to go, “I think so, yeah. I think your favorite means a lot for you, as a person.”

The taller man seems to consider this.

Then, “I like daffodils.”

“They mean rebirth,” she tells him, “Good choice.”

He looks pleased by her explanation. Alina seems to be the one deep in thought now, though, in fact, they’ve already paid and got the bunch in hand, Jesper saluting Genya in goodbye when the client asks, “What’s your favorite?”

As many times before, they never cease to surprise her, do they?

“My favorite flowers?”

She nods.

“Magnolias,” Genya needs no time to consider this, it’s easy, “Perseverance.”

Alina’s got her wide grin again, but… it changes, a little bit. It’s almost secretive. Promising. Regardless, Genya doesn’t know what to do with her thoughts about it, or the client bidding them their own farewell with, “Till next time!”

She’s quite sure this person will be the death of her, sooner or later.

And as if they could read her mind, Nina and Matthias appear at her side, the man’s arms crossed and her best friend’s arm around his waist, both looking at Genya like they could somehow dig into her brain and know all her secrets. They’re so annoying sometimes. When they’re not adorable. Mostly annoying, though.

“What are you two looking at?” she asks them, and the couple exchange a look before Nina grins.

“They asked for your favorite flower,” she says, her boyfriend nodding in agreement. Genya doesn’t know what to say.

“I know.”

Matthias cocks a brow, “You do?”

She scoffs in disbelief at whatever game they have going on, “Yes?”

Her best friend sighs and puts her free on her shoulder. She tilts her head, “Matthias asked for my favorite before our first date.”

Genya frowns. “I know.”

Nina then chuckles, because they’re both weird and wonderful at the same time, apparently, “You’re impossible.”

“I know what you’re suggesting, Nin,” she then says, because come on, it’s obvious what they’re implying. And it’s bullshit. It was just a question, you know? It must’ve been. Curiosity, that’s all. “But that is impossible.”

And because Nina’s looking at her in disbelief, she tilts her head in return, and her friend gives up on the staring contest soon enough. “Whatever you say, babe.”

As Genya expected, although much to her disappointment, it seems she won’t see anymore of her beautiful client with raven hair and smile like the sun itself, tragically.

It’s her own fault, really, getting… a bit too attached. She’s fine!

Of course Nina and Matthias are right about her crush, she already knew this. And a month after their last meeting, she admitted defeat just so they could get off her ass about it. Now, though, her best friend looks at her with a sad smile sometimes, like she can sense the disappointment that Alina’s presence is missing entirely from the shop.

They don’t have anything requiring flowers, she didn’t expect them to, all the time. And like, asking for Genya’s favorite flower didn’t mean anything, as her friends kept insisting. They were having a conversation. Customer and shop owner.

Why does she miss her? God, Genya needs to get a grip. It’s just a bit annoying, because she doesn’t feel bubbly and light anymore without Alina Starkov, and she still loves her job, of course , but maybe she does find herself a little bit jealous when the wedding season kicks in and the boutique is full of couples day in and day out, young and old, all looking at each other like no flower can compare to their love. It’s making her a little nauseous, not that she’ll ever admit it out loud.

Strangely enough, she does get a visit from a couple, a grumpy fellow and a woman with a soft smile, who never let go of each other’s hands while Genya sketched out ideas for the flower arrangement. They wanted geraniums. She somehow recalled her name: Inej Ghafa. And Kaz Brekker. Huh.

Matthias’ birthday passes, where Nina gets him cornflowers (of course), and a month later yet, a familiar face returns when Jesper stumbles in the door in excitement, eagerly purchasing a bouquet of irises for his boyfriend.

Even her mom’s in love, she tells her over the phone, and God, she’s happy for them all. Maybe Genya’s just been lonely too long.

She hadn’t even thought of dating in forever. Hadn’t thought of being single could possibly bore her, or tire her. Until, you know. Alina.

Whatever, whatever!

She’ll get over her stupid infatuation, eventually, she just needs to focus on her work, it was just a string of coindences, and once wedding season is over she’ll forget all about her favorite client who got away. Hopefully.

The universe has way, way different plans for her, though, apparently, because as she and Nina lock up for the evening, Matthias helping them carry the last load of a busy day even though this is technically his off-day (probably an excuse to be with his girlfriend even more, she suspects, but hey), Genya stops in her tracks in the parking lot.

The couple a few steps in front of her appear totally unfazed. They must know what’s going on.

And her suspicion is right, because Nina’s grinning from ear to ear when she looks back at her, “You okay, Gen?”

Genya blinks in disbelief.

Her car. It’s completely covered in… in magnolias. She can barely see any trace of her car, in fact, if it wasn’t for the lights blinking when she unlocked it.

What the hell is going on?

She’d had a rather normal day, busy but normal, and scheduled to drive back home to her mom for her birthday early tomorrow. But this is strange. Unreal. Not necessarily in a bad way, the flowers’ smell reaches her all the way over here, but just strange.

Matthias cocks his head and grabs Nina’s hand, “Aren’t you gonna look at your gift?”

“My… my gift?” she asks him, not sure what to say anymore. They definitely had a hand in this. “You already gave me gifts yesterday,” she tells them, dumbfounded.

Her best friend rolls her eyes, “It’s not from us, dummy.” “Who’s it from, then?”

“Shh! That’s a surprise.”

“Nina,” she warns, feeling the exhaustion take over her ever so quickly.

The brunette kisses her cheek and then tugs at her boyfriend’s arm towards her own car. Matthias winks. Screw them.

“Take a look!” they yell to her.

Well… okay then. Genya approaches her car slowly, only a little scared someone’ll jump out from the mountain of pink flowers and scare her half to death. Of course, this isn’t a prank, because her friends are bad at pranks, and the magnolias are so gorgeous she may be getting a little teary eyed.

These little ones reminded her to keep going, when she was at her lowest. It’s stupid, but she felt like she could overcome anything, learning the flower’s meaning and finding a blossom outside of her window back then, like a little reminder from the universe. That’s why they're her favorite. Perseverance.

Bugger, she should probably get started on digging her vehicle out from somewhere in there. Except… her eyes fall upon a little pink card, secured on the wiper. And on it, her name is written, in cursive, gold letters.

Her curiosity takes over, of course it bloody does, and she picks up the card immediately, and when she flips it over…

Is this a fever dream?

Happy early birthday, Genya Safin. Call me? Sincerest wishes (and apologies for the car, grand gesture), Alina Starkov.

This is most definitely a fever dream. Except the card is very real in her hands, and the smell of the magnolias embrace her like a warm hug, and her friends honk as they leave the lot, laughing audible even with the windows all the way up.

Alina’s phone number is written at the bottom, underlined and everything, with a tiny heart next to it.

A grand gesture. A grand romantic gesture, at that. Genya cannot for the life of her stop smiling, big and in shock and flushed and excitement flowing through her veins.

They remembered.

25 notes · View notes

crabmono · 3 years

Note

Hey there, I saw you wanted obey me themes story ideas. How about a date with beelzebub where the Mc and him hike up to a plateau area then have a picnic and stargaze. Then beel flys them home I order to avoid missing curfew. Make it very fluffy and full of love!

A picnic date with Beel!

(Thank you for the idea! I thought this was an absolutely adorable concept 😊 enjoy!)

“So, what do you say?”

The voice of the tall demon hit your ears as you looked up from your desk.

“A picnic?”

Beelzebub nodded.

You smile, standing from your chair. “I’d love to.”

That’s what Beel had asked the other day. Naturally he asked in advance, given he would need time to get things ready and he wanted to make sure you were down before he even started.

You’d heard from Belphegor that Beel was up all night—poor Belphie—specifically to make sure everything would be perfect, even going so far as to ask Barbatos for help on cooking.

As you got yourself ready to go, you grabbed a pair of hiking boots that Asmodeus had bought, so naturally they were very cute in style. A pair of stretchy jeans for ease of movement, and a warm sweater given the cold temperatures for this time of year. A sweater would be enough, it was still early autumn after all.

.. maybe a scarf, just for good measure.

With that all well and good, you took a small bag with a water bottle, mostly because Beelzebub had mentioned a hike prior to eating. You also made sure your D.D.D. was in your bag, put on silent.

With everything together, you walked out into the main hall to see Beelzebub. His hair looked a little nicer than usual, and he wore a similar pair of hiking boots to your own. You couldn’t help but wonder if Asmodeus helped him get ready.

Beel glanced over and waved. “Ready?”

“Yep.” You said with a grin.

Beelzebub made sure to let Lucifer know that you two were leaving—we don’t need him worrying when you weren’t present for dinner—and with that, you were off.

He took you on a small walk down a shopping street, pointing out some of his favorite restaurants in the area, even suggesting you stop at one for a quick bite.

“Aren’t we going to eat later?” You asked.

“Yea.. but this place has really good dessert.”

You laughed softly, grabbing his hand and entwining your fingers together. “We can have some after, okay?”

Beel glanced away, though you saw the red on his cheeks. “Kay..”

The shopping street was decorated in lights from shop to shop across the street, all of different colors in different areas, and the many aromas that hit your nose made your mouth water. The scent of fried foods, grilled foods, and baked goods too. You.. really should have brought a snack for the walk.

“.. Okay.” You said, glancing to another shop nearby. “Maybe.. We can have a little something.”

Beelzebub perked up, suddenly dragging you over to none other than Madam Scream’s.

You found his eagerness as he ordered really, really cute.

Of course, you also had to make sure he didn’t order an entire meal. Knowing Beel, he’d order the whole restaurant if he isn’t stopped.

With a bit of haggling with him the two of you were able to settle on a box of macarons. There were only five, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you should just give him the extra or cut it in half.

As you and Beel sat on a bench nearby to snack, he held up a macaron to your mouth.

“Take a bite.” He said.

With a raised brow, you took a small bite. Before you pulled away, Beel leaned in close.

He sunk his teeth into the other half, grinning like an idiot as he did.

Your face suddenly felt really warm.

He bit off half of the macaron in practically one bite, sitting up and watching as other people passed by.

“Dork..” You mumbled as you playfully punched his arm.

With the snack done, Beelzebub took your hand and led you down the rest of the street, almost not giving you a chance to throw away the trash.

A hop, skip, and a jump later the two of you approached a large mountain, standing right at the entrance to a hiking trail.

“It’s not as long as it looks.” Beelzebub said, noticing your wide eyes as you stared up at the huge formation. “.. Besides, we’re not going all the way to the top anyway.” He shuffled. “Another day, maybe. I don’t think I could walk all that way without eating something.”

You laughed. “Don’t eat the trees, please.”

Beel looked away, though a smile tugged at his lips.

He took your hand once more, giving your palm a quick squeeze before you started down the trail. Even though there weren’t too many people around, Beelzebub made sure you stayed very close to him. He even wrapped an arm around you at one point, and with his huge stature his arm almost wrapped around you entirely. That did make it a little hard to walk, but you didn’t mind.

The further down you went, the quieter it became. Most of the sounds you heard came from the forest around the trail. An animal, or maybe the wind dashing through the trees.

One would think this would be terrifying, but for whatever reason you didn’t feel any fear or stress. In fact, you found it quite beautiful.

As you walked, your eyes glanced at the large pine trees surrounding you, the flowers and foliage lining the untouched areas of the ground.

A few small bugs would appear every now and then, and you even spotted one somewhat resembling a ladybug.

To think, even a place where demons roamed could be beautiful like this… then again, demons weren’t so bad. At least, not the ones you knew.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, quickly pulling out your phone.

Beelzebub glanced over, looking around for a moment before settling back on you as he realized no one else was around.

You quickly snapped a photo of the sunset through the trees, overlooking the devildom. From here, you could see the academy as well as the castle, and the whole surrounding area. The mix of colors that the sky made during sunset and the visible light shining through the trees made for a breathtaking view.

Even Beel had stopped for a moment to take it in.

“Isn’t it great?” You said, taking the chance to lean on the demon. He didn’t seem to notice, but his arm slipped under yours, snaking around your waist. You leaned more on him, and he made sure to keep you upright.

Beelzebub glanced down.

“.. we’re almost there, you know.” He said.

You nodded, looking up at him. “You’re starving, aren’t you?” You can’t help but laugh as he nodded.

Beelzebub keeps his head turned for a moment. He then turns to face you.

His cheeks had gone red.

“Beel?”

He closed his eyes, leaning in very close.

The soft press of his lips sent a jolt through your entire body, His arm, still around your waist, tightens just a bit as he makes sure you’re right up against him.

He was so.. Warm. You didn’t know how else to react. Your once open eyes had closed, and now you stood there in silence as Beelzebub just wouldn’t let go.

For a moment you even felt his tongue brush against your lips, but he stopped right there and pulled his mouth away.

He wrapped his other arm around you, holding you for a moment.

With a small smile, you buried your face into him.

Unfortunately, he did have to let go of you.

Beelzebub let out a small huff, taking your hand for the fiftieth time as he led you down a smaller, less traveled down path.

He pushed a few tree branches out of the way, letting you take the first step onto a plateau, the edge of a portion of the mountain.

From here you could see even more of the devildom.

The sun had almost set by now, leaving only moonlight and stars to illuminate. Luckily, being right on the edge, the trees didn’t block that light. Even so, Beelzebub walked up to a blanket with a picnic basket that had been set out already.

He reached into one side of the basket and pulled out a few candles, setting them in holders placed around the blanket.

Wow.

Watching as he lit the candles, though he had to do one more than once, a warm feeling rose in your chest.

You walked over, taking a seat on the blanket and watching Beelzebub light the last candle.

He put a hand on his hip, looking up at you.

“Well..” He said. He took the spot next to you, crossing his legs and glancing at you once before opening the basket. He reached in and pulled out a handful of small sandwiches, and while they weren’t the prettiest food you’ve ever seen they still looked great.

He then pulled out a pack of strawberries, some kind of potato salad looking dish (with some definite differences to the human world variant), some bottled lemonade, and a small cake decorated with fruits.

He glanced down, looking a bit worried.

“I know it’s not all super fancy.. I tried to make it all nice, but I’m not really the greatest cook.” Beelzebub said, putting his hands in his lap.

“Barbatos had to show me how to do some of this stuff. He made the cake, actually. I had trouble keeping myself out of the fruit so he locked me out of the kitchen while he made it.” He sighed. “.. I’m sorry it isn’t the best.”

He wasn’t at all sure if you’d like this. In fact, he guessed you wouldn’t.

But you.. You had stars in your eyes.

He made this all himself. Well, with help, but he still put in a lot of work.

“Beel..” You say softly, suddenly tackling him onto his back.

Sat atop him, you leaned down and kissed Beelzebub.

He made a small sound, staring at you.

“You don’t hate it?” He asked.

“Beel, all of this just for me?” You said, laughing. “Wh- even the sandwiches.. They’re shaped like hearts. You..”

He blushed, looking off toward the city.

“You dumb dumb.. I love it.”

Beelzebub almost didn’t believe you for a moment. But as he watched you take a bit of a sandwich and smile at him, he felt comforted.

You moved back to the spot you were sitting, munching happily on your sandwich and soon, Beel got himself back up too.

He grabbed two sandwiches, scarfing one down pretty fast. Though, he tried to go slower on the second.

You gave him one extra, as you wanted to save room for the cake, and you knew he would have plenty regardless of what he ate.

Were they super pretty looking? No. But you were lying if you said they didn’t taste great.

“Mm.” You mumbled, looking to Beelzebub with a smile.

With a hum, you climbed into his lap and grabbed a strawberry, eating happily while Beel just stared.

“Hm.” Beel muttered, using a fork to grab a bite of cake. He held the fork up to your mouth, letting you take the very first bite.

“Mmm!” You hummed, deciding to grab the fork from his hands to take another bite. Instead of eating more, Beel just watched.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his face into the curve of your neck and shoulder and staying there.

“Beel.” You said, ruffling his orange hair. “You should eat some cake too. I can’t eat it all myself.”

“Mm..”

You watch, taking a hefty chunk onto the fork to hold up for the demon.

He lifted his head a little, before almost biting the fork in half as he took his bite.

“Careful- don’t eat the silver!” You laughed.

Beelzebub smiled, closing his eyes as he held onto you.

This little charade of you feeding him and him feeding you went on until the cake had been reduced to crumbs.

You, to be honest, were stuffed. Three sandwiches, god knows how many strawberries, potato salad, and at least two whole slices of cake were plenty to keep you happy.

Surprisingly, Beelzebub seemed satisfied too. Was it the food, or the fact he’d been cuddling you in his lap this whole time?

Whatever the answer, you didn’t mind.

You felt content, so much so your eyes felt heavy.

With a soft exhale, you sunk into Beelzebub’s arms and fell asleep.

… well, that didn’t last so long.

You felt a warm breath on your ears, and a low voice called to you.

“MC… MC!”

Opening your eyes slowly, you glanced up at Beel.

“Hmm…?”

“I didn’t wanna wake you up..” He let out a grumble. “We gotta get home. Lucifer will kill us.”

For a second you didn’t quite understand. Why would Lucifer…?

“Oh shit.” You looked at your phone.

The curfew that the eldest brother had set was fast approaching.

You stood up, just a little too quick for someone that just woke up, but you kept your balance as you helped Beel pack up what needed to be, and ready a bag of trash.

He put out the candles and grabbed the holders, before looking around.

He clicked his tongue. “Okay..”

All of a sudden, Beelzebub wrapped an arm around you and practically picked you up.

“You.. maybe wanna hold onto me. And the basket.” He said.

That’s when you noticed, his horns were out.

“Beel?” You mumbled.

“This is the fastest way home. Otherwise we’ll be late.”

“Beel, wait a sec- I’ve never actually been in the air like thi- whoa!!”

As your feet finally touched solid ground again you could feel the adrenaline still pumping through your body.

Beel leaned over, huffing and puffing as he tried to catch his breath.

“Go.. go on in.. I’ll be there in a minute..” He mumbled.

With a nod, you hurried in only to see Lucifer standing at the top of the stairwell.

He looked down at you, arms crossed, though surprisingly his expression wasn’t incredibly pissed.

“Welcome back.” Lucifer said.

Beelzebub walked in, looking up at Lucifer.

“We’re home.. On time.” He said.

Lucifer smiled softly.

“I trust you two didn’t get up to any trouble.”

“Nope!” You said, grinning pretty widely.

#obey me #shall we date #beelzebub #leviathan #lucifer #mammon #asmodeus #satan #belphegor #mc x beelzebub #fluff #god i love beel #i love him so much #HE'S SO FUCKING SWEET #Currently crying over a very hungry himbo

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j-r-eirian · 3 years

Text

So for short Short number 2

Prompt: ' "This is my wife"

"George, that's a tree" ' thanks to @theworldofprompts

This is a romance/fantasy written in third person/past tense.

Hope you guys enjoy :)

The Red Maple

George had been looking forward to this day for weeks. Winter was such a lonely time for him, any company was much appreciated and it had been so long since he'd seen his brother. Martin had been in prison two states over for ten years, having been arrested for drunk driving and crashing into a pair of teenagers.

They'd both ultimately been fine, thank God, but Martin had been devistated and hadn't touched a drop the whole time he was in prison. George had only been able to see him twice but they'd talked on the phone and when he was ready to be released George had been more than happy to open his door to him while he got back on his feet.

Once the initial stage of his arrival had ended and his bags had been moved to the spare room, the pair moved into the kitchen for a cup of something hot.

"So, where's Vera? I thought she was going to be here...", Martin inquiried, slapping the kitchen island and looking around as if she was going to jump out of one of the cupboards.

"Oh, she's out back", George replied, taking a sip of his tea, "you know how she loves the garden".

Whilst he had never had the chance to meet her, Martin and Veronica had spoken several times over the phone. She'd been fine with George inviting his brother to stay, in fact, it had bee her idea. She was such a good woman, George wondered how he had ever been able to convince her to go out with him, never mind marry him.

After they finished their drinks, the brothers donned their thick winter coats and headed out back. The snow was beginning to fall thickly again, a foot already having fallen through the previous night. The air bit at their exposed hands and faces as George led the way through his expansive garden.

In other seasons, the colours of his garden were beautiful, eye-catching and chaotic. It was a wild place, always, no matter how much time he and his wife tended to it. That didn't bother either of them though, they didn't want a manicured garden. Nature, by its nature, was a wild thing and should not be stifled by man's need to control everything. At least, that's what they believed.

Right now though, aside from the fir trees that ran along the fencing and the hollybushes that sprouted here and there, the whole garden was washed of colour. But no less beautiful, in Georges humble opinion. The bare spruces, the lifeless rose bushes, the empty flower beds, every single part of the landscape was tonal whites, greys and blacks, brought to life by the enchanting glitter of snow and ice. It sparkled and shone brilliantly, making the dead world seem like a masterpiece.

At the center of this little patch of heaven stood his pride and joy; a red maple tree. The trunk was as thick around as both his thighs. The branches, brilliantly green in the warmer months and a most stunning mix of reds throughout autumn, were equally as bare and clothed in whiter hues.

They reached their glittering arms to the sky above and stretched out as far as they could go, little icicles adorning each like sparkling diamonds in the weak light. Every inch was beautiful to George. Just beautiful.

"Good morning, precious", he whispered, placing a hand on the frost laden truck before turning around and declaring to Martin, "This is my wife ".

Martins eyebrows drew together and he frowned, " George, that's a tree".

Oh how wrong he was, George thought. Throughout the rest of the year, Veronica was very much a part of his world. She laughed and cried, played piano and read, baked and cooked meals he could never hope to replicate in taste or presentation. She was everything a man could dream off for a wife.

During the Winter months, however, her instincts called her back to the tree her life was bound too. Once that final rouge leaf had fallen, with a single touch her body would meld with the greyish brown trunk and be lost to him until the Spring woke her from her slumber.

During that time, George would be left on his own unless he went to visit family. But that's the price one paid for falling in love with a Dryad.

With a grin, George laughed off the comment. "I'm joking of course. You know how she hates Winter, she's off in Spain visiting her mom," he slapped his brother on the shoulder and guided him back towards the house.

"But that there is her favourite tree. She planted it the first day we moved in so it's like having a piece of her here no matter where she is", he explained, "She planned the trip months ago, said she was sorry she wouldn't be here when you arrived but she'll be back come April so you'll get to meet her then".

Martin seemed to accept his words at face value, "aww, well, I hope she has a good time. She seems a good woman, you certainly seem happier since you met her".

George nodded, glancing back at the maple as he replied, "No truer words have been spoken, I'm a very lucky man".

Feel free to praise, critique, give advice or steal for inspiration.

#shortShorts #short story #short stories #literature #writing #writing ideas #writing prompts #romance #fantasy #love story #fairies #winter #creative writing

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 11

Synopsis: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild)

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: Explicit smut, violence, gore, cutting, angst, manhandling, choking, foul language, bondage, breath play, unprotected sex.

A/N: Assuming my usual panic attack positions! Ok, so there are about 2 chapters left and I fear this story is about to conclude... 😰 This chapter put me through an emotional turmoill! Many thanks for my editor and muse @agniavateira, @yespolkadotkitty for the cover art and @dancingwendigo and @wondersofdreaming who’re helping me through my panic attacks and providing tips

Please comment, review and reblog. 💖

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me

Pearly tendrils of light shine through the creases of his lids, waking him from a dreamless sleep. A mixture of iron and dream-like mellowness tugs at his nose, like death and fresh roses. It’s so close he can nearly taste it on his parched tongue. Swallowing the scorching dryness in his throat, the fallen man attempts to move but a leaden warmth defies him, hugging softly onto his upper torso and embracing him in the foreign fog of solace.

A delicate heartbeat murmurs against his, so frail it virtually feels as if it melted into his own ribs.

As if she dissolved into him.

Cold sweat layers his forehead. Snapping frantically he shoves the girl off of him, curling against the headboard with a crazed neurotic look on his face as if he was touched by a blaze of blistering fire.

“What the fuck do you want!?” August yells, his voice hoarse and cracked. His glare shoots through her across the small bedroom, his mind rapidly trying to grasp any recollection of the messy chamber. This location is strange to him; the walls feel like they’re closing in, withdrawing the air from his lungs in a place that seems like a warzone. The light-carpeted floor is soiled by a long path of the darkest red, the trail leading back to them.

The porcelain valkyrie is pushed to the edge of the bed, seemingly like a rare mythological creature. Her long hair drapes her face like a dark veil, pierced by two shiny diamonds that glimpse through, imbued with naivety. Still drowsy, she tries to collect her own senses, rubbing her heavy forehead and releasing a soft groan.

“Relax, stop shouting.” she pleads with lids half shut. Her slender arms spread in the air, suggesting a peace treaty.

August scowls, his airflow becoming short and quickened. He lets a hand rave over his chest with panic, finding it bare and sticky with dry blood and sweat. A clean bandage is wrapped around his left pectoral and crossed tightly around one shoulder. While the aching sting still bites into the wounded muscle, his energy has slightly renewed, as well as his sanity.

Or so he believes.

Making another hasty survey of the room, he finds his belt and armed holster scattered on the floor. He makes a dash for it, immediately aiming the gun in Ingvild’s direction, refusing to fall to whatever game this may be.

She stares at him motionless, remaining seated with her knees folded and her feet nestled below her behind. “Feels nice doesn’t it?” she provokes, her lips breaking into a faint grin as if the muscles of her face are still learning the concept of smiling. “To wake up with your tits out.”

Looking back at her unamused, his hand waves the gun. A glower shadows his face, painting deep lines in his forehead. The attempt to greet her with an onslaught of insults results in nothing but a painful wheeze as his throat sears.

“Don’t move,” Ingvild commands lightly and climbs off the bed, completely ignoring the click of the gun and August’s arm that follows her every movement. Her legs nearly float through as she moves gracefully, rushing to the bathroom nearby. She grabs a glass and fills it from the tap before quickly returning to sit on the bed, offering the tall glass to August.

Wary of her peace offering, he hesitates, scanning her for any signs of wickedness and finding none. Something else glints through her big irises instead. The deep lines that dot those beautiful greys seem so brittle, immersed in emotion he can’t define or recognize at all.

It makes him feel attacked.

Snatching the glass violently, he swallows its content in one gulp, feeling a thirst he never sensed in his entire existence. He places the glass on the nightstand, slamming it so harshly it shatters.

Ingvild peers at the light sparkling onto the broken shards and averts her eyes back to August’s profoundly ragged face. He glares with blazes of fury, evidently less than inclined to trust her despite her efforts to make amends, and the fact that she nursed him through a stormy night.

It pricks her heart, more than it ever did when she tried to gain Liam’s affection.

“I could have killed you at least three times in your sleep,” she murmurs and then pauses, attempting to smirk again. “You should really lay off the snacks, I nearly fainted trying to get you to the bed.”

Unphased, he carefully gauges her appearance. Soft, pale light shines through the window, showering her skin with a mellow haze as she sits holding a hand over her forearm, squeezing it nervously. Her glance is filled with rain clouds, the cynicism and the hatred he grew so accustomed to is untraceable.

A piece inside her shifted, deeming her fragile all of the sudden. In his heart of tar and stone, he knows she speaks the truth, yet the spirit of vengeance won’t let go. Bile rises in his throat, fingers twitching as the constant hunger to touch her prickles his skin. The woman is a natural prey to him, making his mouth salivate. It’s enough to see her defenceless to make him want to gnaw fresh cavities in her flesh.

But something else boils in his veins. More than just a primal need.

“Why can’t you just let me be?” he asks sharply, teeth gritted and jaw strained tightly. A slight tremor runs through his bones, his body dominated by anger and despair.

“You came here,” she answers, staring fearlessly between the barrel and his furious gaze. A small frown forms between her eyebrows, the grey clouds inside her lustrous eyes beginning to take wind. “You wanted to retaliate.”

Fragments of the other night begin to slice into the black matter of his brain: her tears, her lips moving slowly, whispering his own words of a vendetta in her angelic voice.

Like a dream, nebulous and virginal, how beautiful she was surrendering her will to his.

‘Fight it! She betrayed you.’

“Oh trust me, princess, I still very much want to see you die.” he retorts, the gun beginning to feel heavy in his hand. He reaches to hold his own wrist, giving a fierce glare. “You should have ended it, darling.”

“Yes, I should’ve killed you,” she agrees, her lower lip slightly quivering as she looks at him with desperation. Her chest begins to heave through the cleavage of her top, the same tarnished one she wore that night. It still smells like his sweat. His musk is so stubborn it lingers.

“I should be a good girl, for Liam, for Icarus. But I have so many thoughts going through my head over and over again, splitting my mind in half. I don’t want to do this anymore, I don’t want to kill for them, I don’t want to kill you. It hurts.”

Shuffling in a swift movement, she crawls toward him, her muscles flexing inward. Her slick manoeuvres remind him of a majestic feline. August’s pupils dilate as the lines of her face sharpen in his sight and the warmth of her body returns to caress him like a pleasant autumn breeze.

Ingvild reaches her slender arm for his wrist fearlessly before he can even muster any protest. Ignoring the gun aimed at her throat, she forces his palm flat onto her chest and inhales sharply. Her heart thunders against his touch, making his own beat accelerate.

“Right here,” she says, gazing deeply into his eyes as if trying to enchant him. “I have killed close to 470 people since I was 14. I don’t remember their faces, but I do know I never felt this before, not for any of them.”

The azure ocean in August’s eyes gushes with alarming gusts. The scarce physical contact ignited a spark inside him, driving him to withdraw his hand aggressively, putting down the flame before it begins to spread again.

“What do you want? What do you think this is?” he asks furiously, boring a frenzied look into her eyes. He feels a certain heat rising in his chest. He reasons with himself that it’s just the gunshot wound festering, burning his lungs to cinders.

“I want you,” she answers, her gaze dropping to his lips, admiring the fine shape. A sharp cupid’s bow hidden beneath the coarse hair of his thick moustache. Her hands dream of stroking his sculptured jaw and feel the bristle of his untamed stubble.

“I want to follow you on your mission.”

‘She is lying. Don’t trust her, remember what happened the last time you’ve placed your faith in a woman?’

August’s nostrils flare, his mind scouring frantically, bargaining for a reason why she would be different. Twice he spared her, his murderous will weakened by her manipulative spells, clawed by whatever it was she had on him. The voice in his head warns him gravely, yet the fact that here he is, still alive by her merciful hand spikes his doubts, meddling with his thoughts the way only she could do.

Ever since she stepped into his life he’s been spiralling into a cataclysm. Something that he always gripped with zeal was no longer in his control.

Leaning closer, he narrows his eyes with spite. The muscle of his jaw contracts, clenching tightly. He grazes the cold barrel of the gun against the supple skin of her cheek. “Why should I trust you?” he spits out, tracing her face further with the hard, crude metal. “You think that because I broke you in, I actually care about you?”

Ingvild studies his face, not showing any sign of fear as she nods to herself. “You need proof.”

The young woman looks around her, searching for something in the room thoughtfully. Her eyes rest on the nightstand beside August and she leans to it, brushing her entire figure against his broad body for a split second as she reaches for the broken glass.

“What do you think you’re doing, princess?” he asks cautiously, his eyes following her every move. He crooks his eyebrow as she sits in front of him with her legs bunched beneath her bottom. Displaying her left arm with her elbow resting on one knee and her palm facing upward, she presses the shard against her wrist.

August frowns in a mixture of confusion and agitation, alarm bells ringing at the back of his head. Yet no rational thought makes it to his mind as he watches the glass tear through her skin.

Silence befalls the room. Abruptly so quiet he can hear the buzz of the electric cords running through the walls. Even her breath pauses as her right hand drops the shard on the bed, her eyes remaining poised, darting onto his. Overcome with disbelief he wonders if she actually did it, scrutinizing her flesh which seems intact.

Suddenly, a spout of blood emerges through her open wrist.

Dark red liquor licks down her arm, sensually dripping onto her worn jeans and pooling onto the blanket. August’s heart stirs with shock, yet he attempts to force his emotions away.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?!”

Keeping her sight on his, Ingvild remains still, not flinching a muscle as the blood pumps out of her severed artery. The pain is excruciating yet the chants in her mind continue to tell her to hold her groans inside.

‘Show no weakness, prove your strength.’

“You want loyalty.”

“Won’t mean a thing if you’re dead,” he answers coldly, waiting for her to stop the blood, to show any fear or regret. The thick liquid continues to flow down her arm, tarnishing her porcelain skin that begins to turn paler as the blood drains from her body. He gathers the torture must be unbearable yet she won’t even make a whimper.

‘What is she waiting for?’

“I’m not going to save you,” August warns.

Ingvild shrugs lightly, trying not to move her arm too much. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll die one way or another, by your hand or Icarus’. At least this gives me a choice.”

The drops staining the bed sound like rain tapping against a window ledge, heavy and dull.

August’s brows knit together, his eyes running back and forth between her arm and her face, watching her lips turning light blue, triggering disturbing memories in his mind. “What on earth does that mean?” Heavy frown lines paint his forehead as he recalls her words before she shot him.

“I have to kill you.”

“You’re a slave?” he reckons, looking at the colour vanishing from her face as she nods. “How very disappointing, Ingvild.”

“A tool, controlled by men whom I’ve never seen to manipulate the world and sustain the old order, as you wrote in your manifesto.” she shuts her eyes for a mere second, trying to push back the throbbing twinge in her vein as her body screams with panic.

“They stole my freedom…” she pauses, finding it suddenly hard to speak. “They stole me... what did they take from you?”

“It’s none of your business,” he snaps, aware of how her voice slows down along with her breath. He swears he can hear her heartbeat getting louder as if begging to be rescued.

“But I am bleeding for you.” she provokes, offering a small weak chuckle. Feeling the euphoria creeping to her mind. “You should tell me your plans like villains do in the movies. I’m dying anyway.”

August snarls. Shaking his head, his eyes hold a rageful ocean, washed with concern. The image of her dying corpse lying beneath him flashes into his memory. A dead angel in the snow, lips frozen in time. He should have left her there in the frozen lake. But for a split second, she was Lacey and then she wasn’t.

As she slowly dives into her own death, he still wonders why he couldn’t let her drown.

‘For fuck’s sake.’

Ingvild closes her eyes accepting the shadows that seduce her to join them, the pain dwindling as her body gives in. But she’s quickly pulled back by August who holds her hand, covering the bleeding slit with his tattered shirt and pressing into it. His voice comes as distant thunder, vibrating gently in her ears before words begin to make sense again.

“Hold it up, like this,” he commands her, folding her arm and fisting her wrist tightly. “Where are the bandages?”

Ingvild tilts her chin, her sleepy eyes gesturing onto her bag on the floor where a pristine white pack of badges lies.

“Keep the pressure on,” he orders her again. His voice is calm as if once again he follows protocols. Yet something stirred, hiding within the silent sea of his eyes which snap at her for a split second.

They’re tainted by fear.

Ingvild watches with hushed admiration as he hurries to grab the bandage and returns to her. A small wrinkle rests between his brow, focusing intently on wrapping her open wound. He makes such a beautiful, neat work dressing her injury, she almost feels sorry for making a mess out of his.

“Have I proved myself?” she taunts, peeking at him through her lashes while he makes work of tying the dressing tightly at her wrist. His elegant hands wrap a piece of medical duct tape around the bandages, twirling the long thick bands ceremonially as if they were silk ribbons.

His stern gaze rests upon her face, noting every flake of her long lashes, watching the different colours shift like thick liquid as daylight breaks onto her glassy irises. Awe plays with the strings in his chest, mesmerized by the innocence in her that refuses to die even after he desecrated her.

The craving in him seethes. Like a thirsty man in the desert who stumbles onto an oasis.

‘You can’t let her go, can’t let her slip between your fingers.’

With her wrist still in his grasp, he allows himself to stroke a thumb over the white cotton of the bandage, brushing the suppleness of her skin.

“This is not the devotion I need from you, princess.”

Ingvild flinches like a scared animal, shivering at the foreign tenderness of his touch. No one ever touched her with kindness. Soft, feather-like caresses embark further up her milky skin, making her moan at the pleasant new sensation. Light and careful, his fingers ascend to her neck and press around her chin.

“Angel,” August murmurs, low and sonorous. His bulky body looms closer, whilst the grip around her jaw becomes tense, drawing her closer until his lips are a mere inch away from hers. “Do you want to be devoted to me?”

“Yes,” she answers, voice still lingering either by blood loss or the passion that begins to cloud her mind.

Consoled by her answer, a small growl builds in the pit of August’s diaphragm, accompanied by a lustful grin that edges his chiselled face.

“Then show me your devotion.”

“No…” she protests lightly, finally breaking into a true little smile that glints brightly in her eyes. The radiance almost makes him want to take it from her by force. “I’m not a toy.”

August smirk widens at her response, exposing his sharp fangs that beam at the faint hint of rosy hues that circles her cheeks.

“Did I stutter?” Authority paints his voice, his grip putting pressure on her nape and pressing her chin up with the pad of his thumb. The patience in him wears thin, greed weaving in his gut yet he vows to hold back as much as possible, unwilling to tear down her wings.

She must submit freely.

Fallen by his power, she watches the darkness pour into his eyes, his lips pulling apart slightly, anticipating the moment when he can steal the air from her lungs and nibble into the plumpness of her lips. Whatever strength in her wanes, bending to his will. She meekly takes his lips into hers, suckling him above and below, feeling the rough graze of his moustache.

It’s nothing like the violent kiss they shared in the pit, yet something in her quickly awakens: a hunger like no other, turning the kiss more demanding. Like fire spreading, their tongues quickly engulf each other, dancing feverishly. August’s growl vibrates all the way down her sternum, his hands roaming down to grope every patch of skin.

A mewl of protest breaks from her as he leaves her lips, followed by a deep sigh as he begins to kiss down her throat. The scruff of his coarse facial hair makes her blood rush and her heart pumps with exhilaration, nearly halting from the bliss of his touch.

“I want everything.” August blurts out, tugging her shirt over her head and then biting her breasts over her bra. The canvas of her skin is tainted by deep-grey and purple shades. Flicking the clasp of her bra, he wonders briefly which were from their fight and which formed as he fucked her so aggressively. He feels nothing but pride in knowing he will make new ones right now. Brand her as he claims her his own.

Sharp teeth sink into her tender breasts, coaxing yips of pain, marking her with wet little cavities while his fingers fiddle with her jeans, urgently huddling it down her legs along with her underwear. Impassioned, she shifts from her position, kicking away the last remnants of her clothes. The chill air tickles her wet flesh, making her exhale with ghastly need. More wolf than a man, August leans back, his torso layered with sweat that glistens of the dark fur of his torso. The fabric of his trousers is stretched painfully over the massive bulge and mindlessly she reaches out to feel him, kneading the outlines of his erection through his pants.

‘Fuck, her touch...’

Fervent groans tremor through his sinew as she squeezes him harder. She frees him from his trousers, running a hand up and down his shaft, astounded by his vastness and the correlation of smooth velvet skin over rock-hard muscle.

Still sore, the pounding heat of need rocks at the centre of her cunt, possessing her into swaying her perky breasts against his cock. Pearly beads of precum exude from the tip, coating the erected peaks of her nipples.

“Fuck!” August pants and swallows hard, as the battle over his self-control drains him. Patience has always been his virtue in bed, his power over women. Release in control by sodomy that inflicted true pleasure.

But not with her. She strings different tunes, singing seductive hymns to the animal in him.

He wants her. He needs her. He must have all of her.

‘I deserve her.’

Drawing back against the headboard, his hands snap at her hip, lifting her with ease to stand on her knees right above his cock. Ingvild nibbles at her bottom lip, her eyes falling onto his hardened shaft which lies heavily against his abs.

If not for all the injuries she caused him, the large man’s Adonis-like form would have looked like a renaissance statue cut out of marble.

“Come here,” he commands, removing one hand from her to seize the base of his huge cock which towers with glory amidst the dark bundles of curls. “Take me in”

A stream of arousal rushes inside her, making her quiver as she lowers her soaked crease onto his erection ever so gingerly. Cries of overwhelm break from her lips. His girth splits her apart, whilst his wolf-like glares bore into hers with the triumph of conquest.

Every push stretches her wider, forcing her body to succumb and accept him despite the painful effort. August is too big, his vastness tears whatever innocence is left to her, and he is not even fully within.

Shivering, she halts, hearing August’s snarl of protest when realizing she has her nails cleaving crescent-marks on his pumped shoulders.

“All the way in, angel,” he commands, and then bucks his hips into her and snaps her down onto his pulsating shaft, giving no notice to the scream she lets out as he sears her.

He drives himself in until her ass slams onto his thick thighs. She can feel his hot flinching cock buried within the dark pit of her gut while his sack strains against her clenched cavern.

“Good girl.” August praises, pressing her against his chest as they both pant and groan in harmony. Calls of pleasure and cries of pain mingle into a sinful symphony.

But suddenly he stills, and his hand snaps at her neck. Thumb pressing at her artery, he makes a small thrust, causing her to whine as little sparks kindle in her cunt.

“August, please.” she whimpers, trying to ride him to ease the aching despair that boils in her cunt. He fills her to the hilt yet gives no friction but the thundering throb of his thick veins.

“Devotion.” he replies, his free arm fishing for the leather belt perched on the floor. With one determined wring of his wrist,he wraps it around her neck, giving her a nice little collar with a leash made of the thick strap.

His finger brushes up and down the leather erotically, staring at the girl’s hazy grey orbs to see if he can find a drop of protest.

Instead, she presses her hands on his furry torso and desperately begins to mount him with teetering gasps. The noose tightens with the sway of her body yet the tension and the grind within is far too agonizing to stay still; the need to have him sunken in her depth of her soul defies any will to breathe.

August gapes his mouth with awe, groaning loudly as he feels her drenched cunt gripping around. She’s impossibly tight, his fresh little flower, crying out so hopelessly as if it hurts, as if being fucked by his large cock is so pleasurably unbearable yet her life depends on it.

“Poor little tight cunt,” he taunts, urging her to fall faster back on his thighs while bucking his hips into her with deep slams. “you missed this?” he asks with a groan, tying the strap around his fist and pulling her closer to meet his hooded gaze, “You missed me fucking you, angel?”

Unable to make more than strangled sobs, she nods with glassy eyes, feeling the squeeze around her arteries while her cunt convulses and blazes with ecstasy. Flames bloom in the pit of her womb, every assault of his cock inside her pushes the heat further through her nerves. Desperate, she is reduced to nothing but her pursuit of forgotten euphoria.

The fervent flames lick up her spine, darkness whispering in her mind. Yet she leans back, letting the noose devoid the oxygen to her heart and brain as her body falls lost into a delirium.

August feels her pussy tensing around his cock as the belt halts her airflow; through the heated waves of pleasure, an alarm blares. “Careful,” he rasps, reaching his fist to her throat to replace the belt and pulling her until her chest grinds into his own. “Don’t damage what’s mine!”

Her reply is a cracked wheeze, her body jolting as he fucks her into a punishing rhythm. Hot and burning, stoking inside her, balls thudding and battering her hole, the chant of their wet skin colliding in a violent dance accompanies the chaotic symphony of their moans. His angel latches onto him, wrapping tighter and tighter as her body accepts his offering of rage, sucking and milking him dry.

August pulls her face against his, fingers flexing around her jugular, lips grazing her own and then hovering to rob her of her feeble exhales.

“You want to breathe?” he snarls.

Ingvild nods, feeling the storm of fire about to erupt inside her. Her canal gripping him so tightly she can feel every tendon and ridges of him grazing her walls. Tears well in her raincloud eyes, her heart shrinking as she feels him, all of him, consuming her with his existence.

“Then come for me, angel.”

With his words, she arches back, letting the fire implode in her loins and sweep her into a rapture so intense her entire body shakes around him. All she can feel is August, filing her soul, seeping in deeper than her thoughts.

Tears spring down her cheeks, emotions and pleasure whirl at her heart at once.

“August!”

Hearing his name on her lips spikes the savage spirits within. Reduced to a beast, he takes hold of her hips, flipping her over and riding between her thighs. His hands pin her down by the neck and he ravages her through her climax. He can feel the flinch of his cock, swelling larger inside her narrow space. The innocence of her essence devours him. All the hate and pain diminishes and for a brief moment, he is allowed into heaven, feeling nothing but bliss in his chest. His shouts of pleasure echo into the room, his body jerking into her as the hot, white ribbons of his thick seed sprout into her womb.

Falling down to earth is always the hardest part.

Taking a hard swallow, he leans his sweaty forehead against hers, rolling it slowly and listening to the silent hisses from her mouth. Still basking in the afterglow of his orgasm, he pulls himself to his elbows fighting the spasm in his muscles and their will to collapse. His brow suddenly crumples at her sight: her eyes shine with a wide spectrum of emotions that glisten sadly down her temples. Shivering sobs escape from quivering lips, trying to find words that never make it to her tongue.

August observes her carefully, removing his grip from her neck gingerly and reaching out a thumb to dry her tears. The crystals in her eyes were broken to dozens of many pieces that reflected the light back in various shades. A look of a lost child that carries an oddly familiar sensation, something that makes him cold and warm, as if Ingvild is inside his blood and he is inside hers.

They had killed each other after all and then brought one another’s hearts to beat again. In his twisted mind, it made for a more profound intimacy than sex.

“Easy, babygirl.” he speaks unusually compassionate, dipping a finger in the wetness beneath her eyes and then slips it into his mouth, tasting the salt onto his tongue. “That was intense for you, wasn’t it?”

She nods silently, the emotional release tingling through her aortae, making her skin prickle with goosebumps. She never felt like this: whole, vulnerable, and belonging. She never felt anything at all, all her life. Her body tries to control the jitters in her muscles yet her body seems suddenly inexplicably cold.

“Sh... it’s okay,” August whispers, capturing her lips into a chaste comforting kiss. “I’ve got you.” he murmurs and allows his lips to trail lower, pressing soft butterfly kisses over every patch of skin and bone, descending through the plains of her naked flesh, tasting the mixture of their sweat. His fingers find the large crescent scar in her lower abdomen, tracing the withering stitches in a sick memory of their first night together.

He feels no remorse. Had he changed his action, she wouldn’t have been his right now.

Ingvild finally manages to release a sound, moaning with exhaustion as she eases into his care, her lungs and heart catching up when her body begins to float. With whatever strength left in him, August holds her the way a groom holds his bride, and carries her in his firm arms.

~*~

The bath is filled hot near to the brim. Mountains of foam edge onto the water, looking like fluffy little clouds. This bathroom is not as nearly as luxurious as the one he had in Bergen. It’s painfully plain, like something out of an 80’s film, yet right now it looks like the most outrageous, spoiling delight.

Sitting on the stone, his hand whirls the water, testing the heat before stepping in.

“Come here,” he beckons, reaching toward Ingvild to join him as he sits down, releasing a deep sigh of relief as the hot water soothes the pain. The bath is hardly big enough for a man of his size, his knees buck up, peeking above the water.

Ingvild takes his hand, stepping to sit at the spot between his thighs, making sure not to wet the bandages on her wrists. August’s arms guide her to melt back against his broad chest carefully, avoiding friction with the gunshot wound that begins to ache more and more as the last of the endorphins dwindle. He breaks into a small groan and lands his chin atop her head while glaring into the water with rising concern.

“They will come for us.” Ingvild finally manages to find words, her voice still husky as her jugular strains. “Once they know you’re not dead, they’ll hunt us. We need to move, fast.”

August weighs her words. He muses over the sacrifice she made, and for whom? The man who stabbed her and nearly left her to float in a frozen lake? ‘She chose, you didn’t force her.’

Indeed, it was her free will that brought her to him.

“We should,” he answers, rinsing some water onto her torso and rubbing her forearms clean. “Just relax now, you won’t do me good all broken.”

“You care about me,” she teases, a small smile creeping on her lips.

“We will make for my safe house from here, and then we can take the train to Manchester,” he answers, ignoring her comment.

Ingvild catches some foam in her palm, squeezing the dissolving material between her fingers lightly and then blows it with the weak airflow that comes from her lungs. Little specks of bubbles fly into the bath. August watches them with her silently.

“For the plutonium,” she utters.

“Yes.”

Tilting his head slightly, he looks down to see if there is any disgust or fear shadowing her face, yet finds none. The girl continues forming little abstract shapes in the dwindling white hills, twirling her fingernails on the tiny bubbles. The edge of her spine peeks between the thick strands of her hair, while hues of purple, nearly black, hug her nape. The girl is forbearing, enduring as she was taught; he wonders if it’s to please him, or if it pleases her as well.

Cupping water in his hands, he begins to wash her skin, pouring onto the back of her neck and her shoulders. He brushes his fingers through the brown waves of her hair while she leans her head back and closes her eyes.

It’s as if years of tension peel off from her, uncovering truths she fought to hide. August was right, and so was Liam; no one ever loved her. But now in the arms of a monster, she suddenly senses what she imagines would be care and affection. His touch is no longer clinical and it feels as if vines are growing onto her limbs, twirling around her and pulling her to become one with him.

In her mind, she can’t help but start picking into the not-so-distant past, recalling being his hostage and the conversations they had when they still hated one another. The anguish that resonates in his eyes didn’t speak of hatred individually toward the world, the specks of brown held a fair amount toward himself as well.

“What did Sloane do?” she asks curiously. “In Bergen, you mentioned she did something to you.”

She feels August’s sudden halt, his long digits entangled in her hair, pulling slightly while his chest sinks inward. His inhale takes into a heavy suction and his nostrils flare. He didn’t think of Lacey since he woke in Ingvild’s arms.

“She tricked me.” his eyes focus onto nothing and his fingers resume their course through Ingvild’s wet strands. He becomes slightly agitated, unlacing the small knots that formed at the edge with force. “She suspected me and never liked me- for a reason, of course. She knew someone was distributing secrets and weapons beneath her nose, so she sent a spy. In my case, it was my partner.”

“A woman,” Ingvild continues, the realization hitting her softly. “Lacey.”

Her name on Ingvild’s tongue sends a shiver creeping from the base of his spine.

“Yes,” he answers dryly and clenches his jaw. “We were partners for months. She got close. She... was loyal, she understood me or so I thought, but then I found out, she wasn’t.”

Ingvild hears the shift in his tone again, in their reflection on the water she sees him staring forward with grim shades painting his eyes. The corners of his lips tugged down as he broods.

“It sounds like you loved her.”

August remains silent, giving no answer. It resonates in her right away - betrayal burnt hotter than the wound itself. In their carnal twist, August burned her, but it wasn’t her carnal devotion he sought for.

“Where is she now?”

“Dead.” he answers, releasing a deep sigh of silent rage, not even bothering to shy from the truth this time. Ingvild was bred into a world of monsters; she breathed them, she killed them and he was just another beast for her to slay. Yet she chose to stroke her hand on his snout regardless of what she knew.

“I killed her.”

In his mind Lacey walks away, her blue heels tapping on the floor, echoing before she gives him one last glance. She turns away, her golden curls dulled by the lack of light as she vanishes into a mist of smoke and shadow.

Ingvild feels a slight relief at the thought of Lacey being dead, for some reason she can’t explain to herself. August returns his gaze to her again, removing his hands from her hair. His hand wraps around her jaw, pressing her head to look into his piercing glare. He looks for fear but finds none.

“Try to rest,” he commands and then wraps his arms around her possessively. “Long days are ahead.”

“Will you read me your manifesto?”

August looks down on her face once more, wondering for a moment if this is another hallucination. A terrible thought crosses his mind and his heart flinches; what if in these moments he’s actually bleeding to his death in the pit, his mind playing tricks as he breathes his last breath?

But the softness and warmth of her body feels more vivid than ever. Stronger than the doubt that creeps into his mind.

“There has never been peace without first a great suffering. The greater the suffering, the greater the peace. As mankind is drawn to his self-destruction like a moth to the candle...” he chants, accompanied by Ingvild who also recites his words in her gentle voice.

_________________________________________________

disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

#Henry Cavill #August Walker #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #August Walker Fanfiction #August Walker smut #August Walker x OFC #Henry Cavill Smut #Henry Cavill x OFC #Henry Cavill Fic #August Walker Fic #augustwalker #henrycavill #augustwalkersmut #henrycavillsmut

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write-orflight · 4 years

Text

Trouble: Chapter 2

*Gif not mine*

Pairings: HotchxReader

Prologue Chapter 1

Rating: M

Words: 3K

Warnings: Basic witch stuff, angst, mentions of child birth, mentions of near death

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: After Haley’s passing, Aaron Hotchner has lost the light in his eyes. He seems to find it it the most unlikely of places, an occult themed coffee shop ran by a witch.

A.N: Tarot, wicca, and crystal information is very secondhand if you see any inaccuracies, no you don’t. If you are a witch tho and want to help and be nice to me enter my ask box please, I’m annoying my friend too much.

Chapter 2: God, don't let me lose my mind

The deeper into autumn you got the more busy the shop was.

Halloween was a big money grabber for your shop. People loved to come to the shop around that time because your shop offered such ‘spooky’ feel, as the hipster who came in that morning would say. You hated that. Halloween was one of your favorite holidays simply because the veil between the natural and supernatural was so thin it was the best time for spells and charms but what you didn’t like was people and baby witches asking you about certain spells or how to commune with spirits just so they can do something “extra spooky” for whatever parties they were having for the season. Consultations were such easy money though so you’d never turn them away but your answer was always the same, that Spirits are not toys and that if they are going to invite them it better be serious and for the right intentions otherwise they might not leave.

Despite it being your favorite season, It didn’t make you less annoyed.

“If I have to make another Pumpkin flavored whatever and tell a sorority girl not to invoke a demon in her house, I’m going to scream.” Silena says to you as you enter the shop, Artemis in tow. Your sitter had to take an exam so you had to watch her for the first 2 hours of your shift. Artie, knowing the drill by now, tries to crawl up to the bar stool. You watch her for a second, smiling her little legs before taking pity on her and hoisting her up. She immediately pulls a coloring book and crayons out her bag, before working diligently in silence. You kiss her temple before walking behind the counter, tying your apron on.

“You had another consultation today?” You asked.

“Pfft, it wasn’t even that. She asked me while ordering her coffee, though I should’ve charged her for that dumbass question.” You look at her pointed, nodding your head towards your child who repeats everything. Silly winces “Sorry, but still. If this is how halloween is going to be, you’re probably going to have to do some balancing spells.”

You rolled your eyes. “Exactly what I need, more work.”

“What’s a dumbass?” Artie pipes up from her perch on the stool.

“Something you are not and shouldn’t repeat unless you want your mom mad at me.” Silly says, reaching across the counter to ruffle her hair.

The doorbell of the shop rings and the very man who’s occupied your mind these past couple of months steps in. Aaron Hotchner was one of your favorite customers despite not talking very much, he’d make small talk while you made his order which you found yourself doing slower than it would normally take you, just to get a little bit more of his time, he’d leave a tip in the jar and be on his way always leaving you with a small smile that you always immediately returned with a wide one. You tried to stop yourself from getting attached but here you were, an adult woman who had a crush on a customer who probably didn’t think about you when he left the shop.

You’d never seen him on a weekend though and frankly you didn’t know if you could handle seeing him like this again, he wore dark blue jeans, a black belt and a black t-shirt that fit a little too well over his broad chest you couldn’t help but staring at his arms that you’d never seen on display like this. You knew for a fact(well you hoped at least) he’d have no issue picking you up or pinning you down.

Now’s not the time, y/n… you think.

“Hey, you.” You greet, flirtatiously. You’ve been trying not to flirt with him, you really were but sometimes you couldn’t help it. It was your personality. “Didn’t think I’d see you in here. On a weekend, no less.”

“Yea, decided to stop for coffee before heading to my sister in law’s. Can I have my usual and an Americano for her?” He asks

“You got it.” You wink before starting to work. Silly gives you a knowing look which you brush off. Hotch takes a seat at the bar a few seats away from your daughter who looks up at him.

“Hi!” She says excitedly. “I’m Artie.”

“Hi Artie, I’m Aaron.” He looks around. “Are your parents around?” You look up. You’d forgotten to mention you had a kid to Hotch, which would probably explain his confusion of a random child sitting alone.

“My mama’s right there, silly.” She laughs. “Mama?” She says you look up automatically from the milk you’re frothing.

“Yes, bean?” You say.

“Can I have a brownie?”

“Well, I don’t know. Did you finish the addition tables I asked you to do?” She shakes her head at you. “Well, how about you do that then we’ll see if it’s brownie time, deal?” She nods, fast while pulling her math homework out of her bag. Hotch watches the interaction confused but with a slight smile.

“I didn’t know you had a kid.” He says

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Gus.” You say, calling him by the nickname you affectionately gave him your first meeting. “But yes I do, that’s Artemis.”

He nods, knowingly. “How old?”

“Well, I don’t know. How old are you, bean?” You say.

“I’m six!” She says, holding up 5 fingers, you grab her other hand to extend her other index finger too so the number was actually 6.

“Really? You’re not 16 yet?” Silly asks, ruffling her hair. “I thought you were driving us home tonight?”

Artie shakes her head. “Mama says I can’t drive yet.”

“Between you and me kid, your mama shouldn’t be on the road either.” You swat at her.

Aaron gives a small chuckle at the display in front of him. But he has to ask the burning question in his head. “Her dad—“

“Not in the picture.” You cut off. “Like not even in the same gallery.”

Hotch nods understandably as you put his drinks in the carrier for him. He looks at you confused when you add a 3rd cup.

“Hot chocolate.” You say. “For your son. I imagine that’s where you’re going. To pick him up from your sister?”

“How did you know I had a son?” He asks.

“Oh, I just used one of my witchy spells to find out information on you.” You say jokingly, but he looks at you with mild horror. “I’m kidding, Spencer told me.”

He nods. “Thank you, y/n.”

“No problem, come back to see me?”

“Always.” He says, offering you a small secret smile before leaving. You can’t help the dreamy look you give his retreating back.

“Are you coming back to earth anytime soon?” Sil says, shaking her head. “You got it bad, kid.”

“Pfft, no I don’t.” You say turning to clean up the mess you just made.

“I don’t understand why you just won’t ask him out.”

“He’s healing, Sil.” You say, shrugging. “And I don’t want to push him into something he’s obviously not ready for.”

Not to mention you also didn’t think you were ready for it.

———————————————

On Halloween day, you get a visit from one of your favorite customers

“Pennywise!” You say to chipper blonde women who strolled in she was wearing a orange and black dress with little jack-O-lantern earrings that you had gotten her the beginning of month. You move your hair back to show her the Ouija board pointer earrings she had gotten you in return. Penelope Garcia couldn’t just accept a gift without giving one in return.

“Hey Y/N, how are you this ole hallow’s eve?”

“It’s Halloween and a full moon tonight.” You say excitedly. “It’s like witch Christmas.”

“I don’t know about that but I am happy for you. Can I have a pumpkin spice latte and since I’m such a good friend an Americano with extra sugar for the good doctor?” She asks.

“You got it, Pen.” You say before starting her order. “Heading into work now?”

“Sure am! Hopefully there’s not a gruesome murder so I’ll be able to spend my Halloween having fun.” Penelope says. “You got any plans?”

“Other than taking Artie Trick or Treating and charging some crystals in the full moon, no.”

“Come on, no wild parties? no hexing beautiful men into falling in love with you?” Penny asks. You laugh loudly, shaking your head. “Man, maybe the life of a witch was more exciting in my head.”

“Yea, you did.” You laugh. “I’m basically just a cool rock collector plus love spells, so not my thing.”

“So there’s such a thing?”

“Yea there’s love spells. I don’t believe in using them. I think love itself is it’s own powerful being. It shouldn’t be manipulated with, if someone was meant to love me they would.”

“Speaking of love and love spells…” Silena pipes up from the display case she was loading pastries she just made into. “Penelope, how’s your boss?” You glare over at her.

“Hotch?” Penny asks looking between the two of you before smirking at you. “Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t.” You say at the same time as Silena says. “She has a Texas sized crush on him.”

Garcia practically squeals at that. “Let me set you up please.”

“No, Penny.” You say, immediately

“Why not?” Her and Silly say at the same time.

“Because… I don’t know didn’t his wife just die months ago, it’s hardly appropriate for me to try swoop in.”

“Ex-wife. They were already long divorced before she died.” Penelope adds

“Still! It’s not appropriate.” You say.

“So what? You’re just going to keep making him free coffee until he realizes you're into him?”

“Yup” you say adding the 3rd cup to Garcia’s carrier. “Give that to Grumpy for me please.” Garcia opens her mouth to say something but you just hold up your hand cutting her off

“Fine.” She says, grabbing the carrier. “Only because I have to go to work though, this conversation isn’t over.”

“Yes it is.” You call after her.

——————————————

You were back in the shop. Artie was tuckered out after a long night of trick or treating and crashing from her sugar high so you decided to charge some of your crystals and do some balancing spells, knowing for a fact a lot of teenagers did stupid shit to upset the balance.

As you were lighting the candles and incense, you heard a knock at the door. You were long closed so who could possibly need something right now? You look out the window and Aaron is standing there. You’re confused but you let him in anyway.

“Hey Grumpy, what’re you doing here?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know you were closed, I guess I’ve never been here at night. I’ll go. I'm sorry for bothering you.” He says turns to go but you grab his arm to stop him.

“Gus… it’s almost midnight, no business is open. You’re here because there’s obviously something upsetting you so I’m not just going to let you leave.” You all but push him into barstool. “Now like I said it’s almost midnight so there is something important I need to do so if you’ll sit tight for like 2 minutes, I’ll make us coffee.”

Hotch obliges, sitting silently watching you as you lit some candles on the altar you kept in the shop. You placed the honey cake you had made earlier in the day on the altar before whispering.

“Thank you to the patron, Artemis, Great goddess of Moon and Magic. Mistress of deer and owl. Be thou my guide and Inspiration. Teach me Thy mysteries and lead me in thy ways.” You stand and turn back to Hotch who is watching you intensely. “Sorry about that, midnight is her favorite time. Coffee?” You ask, He nods as you move behind the counter.

“Can I ask what it is you just did?” Hotch ask.

“That?” He nods. “It’s a full moon so since Artemis is my patron goddess, it’s best to leave a sacrifice to stay in her favor.” You shrug. He looks at you like you're crazy but you're used to that look. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s no different then some catholic practices. In fact, Christians often stole from pagan practices, and only one is just considered ‘taboo’ now.”

“Is that why you named your child Artemis, because she’s your Patron?” He asks.

“Actually, Artemis is my Patron because of Artie.” You say, he looks at you as if asking you to continue. “I wasn’t always like this.” You say gesturing to yourself and the shop. “My parents are pastors and for a long time I was this faith devout christian girl. But I got pregnant out of wedlock, my parents disowned me and I was looking for something to turn to. I met Silena and she introduced me to Wicca, and said whoever my Patron was through meditation and study, They’ll reveal themselves to me. So I went months, meditating daily, and still nothing was working. Then I went into labor, and everything was going wrong. I thought, this was my punishment from god for not only getting pregnant without marriage but turning to witchcraft. I had to have an emergency C-section. And when I was on the operating table, I almost died, Artie almost died. I started to see these images of deer and boar running through the forest. And finally when I came back to, and I could hear my baby crying, the first thing I saw when my eyes opened was the full moon out the window.” You sigh, sliding a cup to Hotch before moving from behind the counter to take a seat next to him. “That’s when I realized the goddess had saved me and my child. And while Artemis prefers virgin patronage, and that ship had long sailed past back then. I figured naming my child after her was the next best thing.”

“That’s a beautiful story, Y/N.” He says, looking at you sincerely.

“Thank you, and since you’re not running for the hills, why don’t you tell me why you really knocked at my door at midnight.”

“It’s just…” He starts, clearing his throat. “Tonight was the first ‘major’ holiday without Haley. And I tried to take Jack’s mind off it, make it fun but it was like this looming weight above us. That it wasn’t the same without her and that it never would be. And I was upset and just wanted to take a walk but I guess my feet carried me here.” He shrugged.

“Well I’m glad you’re here grumpy. And you’re healing you need to give yourself time--”

“I don’t have time!” He snaps. You flinch back a bit, having never heard his raised voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just-I don’t have time to heal. I have to be there for Jack.”

“Who’s there for you, Aaron?” You ask. He looks at you confused. You hardly ever call him by his name. It's either grumpy or gus or a combination of the two. Never by his actual name, he hated how much he liked how it sounded coming from your lips. “Do you know what a rock tumbler is?” you ask, he shakes his head confused where you’re going with this. You run behind the counter to retrieve the box you had dug through the very first night you met.

“Well a rock tumbler is a device you put rocks into. Rocks that have eroded, rocks that have trekked the earth, rocks that have been to hell and back. And what you do is you put them in this device with a little bit of water and you wait. Days, weeks, months all the while this device is just spinning, you don’t see what’s happening on the inside but after a while, when the time is right, you get these beautiful lustrous stones.” You say, showing him the box. “Healing is the same way, others don’t see you working. But in the end, they’ll see the result. And you’ll feel the result too. But if you don’t take that step you don’t end up with gems like these. You just end up with an eroded dingy rock.” You look up at Hotch and he’s tearing up slightly. Your heart melts. “Do you want a hug?” you say.

“You don’t have to--”

You cut him off. “No one on earth gives hugs because they have to. I want to give you a hug if you want one. So do you want a hug?”

He nods, fastly. So you stand, he follows suit and allows you to pull him down into a full embrace. Your arms around his neck and shoulders, he envelopes you fully into his torso, arms tight around your waist. You sigh, content. Before shaking yourself out of it. This wasn’t about you. No matter how right it felt.

After a minute or so you break apart. You look him in the eyes and he’s staring back at you in what feels like admiration. You clear your throat. “Can I give you something?” you ask.

“Is it another crystal?” He asked back.

“Yes, it is.” You rummage through the box before pulling out the one you needed. “This is Aragonite, it’s good for healing old wounds and building emotional strength. Now I can gift you this but you have to activate it yourself. Even if you don’t believe it, I feel like it’s good words to hear yourself say anyway.” You grab his left hand, sliding the crystal into it. He looks into your eyes. “Now say, I release past wounds and embrace resilience.”

Hotch sighs. “I release past wounds and embrace resilience.” He then slides the stone in his pocket. Before grabbing your hand again. “Thank you, Y/N”

“Anytime, Grumpy.” You say.

Taglist: @megatrexus @roses-and-grasses @tittymuncher69 @liaabsurd @ladyravenclaw @genevievedarcygrangerreading @softbibxtch @xxdisappearwithoutatracexx

#hotch x reader smut #bau x reader #hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner x reader #criminal minds

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project-paranoia · 3 years

Text

Live Watch: Thousand Autumns Episode One

Oh wow someone got the good... guzheng? Something in that family of instruments anyway. They got the good music for that. And the animation is beautiful and beautifully synchronised to the clip excerpts.

And the imagery! The opening with the symbol of the Dao, and then main character number 1, Shen Qiao, all in white, in a fantastically and subtly ornamented outfit - I love the textures of the cloth they put in on the animation here, cloth and clothes textures are so easy to get wrong and they’ve done it beautifully here. I think this is supposed to be Shen Qiao’s original sect leader/zhangjiao outfit and he looks properly leaderly in it.

And this, followed by a closeup of Yan Wushi’s hand holding the ring of contention, and then Yan Wushi himself, very handsomely rendered in 3d animation - and again I have to voice my appreciation of the cloth textures. That’s actual subtly 3d brocade textures they’re rendering there, with the correct flow for how cloth hangs on the body, and the correct variances of light on the areas with thicker brocade and it is, frankly, very impressive. And they didn’t lose colour saturation doing it either, making that purple robe look suitably luxurious. The shiny hair ornament and one sidebang in white is a nice touch as well. As are the hints they set right in the opening that Shen Qiao and Yan Wushi are ... opposites, and complements, linking them back to the Yin/Yang balance of the symbol of the Dao.

So much love for this opening song it’s so good. Also going to be a pain to translate accurately with a proper sense of the poetry of it, but so good.

Alright episode 1 proper, 风雨欲来. The coming of the wind and rain, literally, I think. Maybe even the foreboding or oncoming storm, if you’re going for the feel of the term instead of literal translation. Oh. Oh that opening montage with the bird’s eye view and the fog and the high mountains - I was so taken by this scenery I sketched and tried to paint it at least 3 times. It’s a very moving shot. Also very much in the grand tradition of xianxia/wuxia, and also, even without a word, hinting at the traditional stance of the Mt Xuandu sect - to 出世， to remove themselves from the world to cultivate in the seclusion and clarity of the literal peaks above the clouds and dust of the world.

Oh. Oh that opening shot. The challenge to combat by Kunye to Shen Qiao. The.. subtle and ornate embroidery and brocade and patterning on Shen Qiao’s sect leader robes is so awesome. The wave motifs repeated in the 3 layers of robes, even on the hair ornament/冠 in his hair, the resolute look on his face! The closeup shot of the 山河同悲 sword - and what a name for it. A sword named for, if I may be excused poetry in translation - compassion and pity and fellow feeling for the griefs and pains and trials of the world as encompassed by the mountains and rivers - what a blade, and what a name, and what a bearer that would be worthy of it. A very good hint, at the kind of person Shen Qiao is, even before they have him open his mouth.

The contrasting costuming decision for Kunye et al is also very nice, hinting at the cultural differences between, say, the peoples that live on the central plains and the more nomadic groups living on less kindly land, shown in the different materials available/preferred - leather, furs, etc vs cloth, silk, cotton etc

And the fight choreography! So nice! The 3d animation works really well here,in that there’s no limitation to the capabilities of human bodies and it’s possible to really show in the visual medium the knock out drag down fight between 2 people whose martial - and quasi magical - capabilities are already at potentially mountain splitting levels. Not to mention also, showing that a Shen Qiao who isn’t being handicapped by sabotage... really can wipe the floor with Kunye if he wants to. And then, of course, once the fight gets to Half-step Peak and they’re out of sight of inconvenient witnesses, the signal for the ambush. And then the effects of the sabotage take hold.

Ah, flashback to 20 years ago, to provide the audience with the world info we need to understand the rest of the story. Not to mention also informing us why Hulugu would even bother. Or why Kunye coming in to challege Shen Qiao is so narratively important. And also introducing the ring that so many would fight over later.

Yan Wushi’s character introduction.. is quite something. As is Yu Shengyan’s. Ah, Shizun, congratulations on exiting your 10 year cultivation seclusion, would you like the highlights on the changes in the world in the past 10 years? But also a good show of character, because they have him not even looking at Yu Shengyan, but looking away in the distance, and telling him to only tell the most important bits, he’s not interested in useless words. Also serves as a nice introduction to some people who’ll be important later, and giving us a time marker for when Shen Qiao ascended to the sect leader post - 5 years ago, after the death of his shizun Qi Fengge. Ah Yan Wushi, your characteristically arrogant attitude - aside from Qi Fengge, who in life was worthy of being the first among all the wuxia world, the rest are not worth even mentioning. And here too a little hint that Yan Wushi might care a little bit in some way for those who are his, including his disciples - He tells Yu Shengyan that this location, this Half Step Peak that they’re at, because of its physical characteristics, is good for him to cultivate to the next level of understanding/enlightenment of the martial arts used by Huanyue Sect.

I love it whenever they hint that the more... developed characters whose martial arts are very good have improved senses. A little flow of blood in the water, Yu Shengyan notices something is wrong, looks at his shizun, and receives a nod of affirmation that he perceived correctly and should take action. And then after that, they come upon a body of one of the Mt Xuandu disciples, and Yan Wushi’s verbal remark that today, Mt Xuandu is troubled and not pure and clean. And then Shen Qiao literally falls from the cliff top - and the pan up makes it very clear that for most people, this is a lethal fall.

And then the surviving ambushers attempt to finish the job when Yu Shengyan checks whether Shen Qiao is still alive... and Yan Wushi takes the training opportunity when he sees it, and tells his disciple to use his strongest techniques to take on the remaining assassins. And then, when Yu Shengyan can't quite wipe the floor with them... criticizes his lack of growth, as might be expected of Yan Wushi, and steps in to really wipe the floor with the assassins, as might not be expected of Yan Wushi. Also doubles as a really nice display to the audience of his level of strength. In fact.. listening to the voice, I think one of those assassins appears, unhidden, in later episodes. Heh. Plot continuity, a nice one. As are the assassins having common sense, recognising Yan Wushi's infamous technique, and running before they're cut down.

Ahahahaha yes Yu Shengyan, your shizun really had you pick that fight for training, and he's really about to pick up Shen Qiao and have him rescued on a whim. Also nice to review, on rewatch for the details, that part of this whim is perhaps curiousity as to Shen Qiao's ability to survive and/or recover, as hinted by the thin thread of strength provided by the Zhuyang Ce, that Yan Wushi identifies as the thin strength keeping him alive, despite the aforementioned lethal fall.

Heh. Yu Shengyan – and maybe Huanyue Sect's other job – information gatherers aka spies.

Ah, Yan Wushi, you really are fascinated by people's reactions under stress, aren't you.

Shen Qiao awakens! Oof, the amount of damage – can't see, amnesia – damaged or even broken meridians – the donghua doesn't mention how much time passes, but given that Yu Shengyan mentions that Shen Qiao's broken bones have only just finished healing – could not have been a matter of days. Weeks, maybe even a month, minimum. Unless Yu Shengyan meant that the bones have only just been set – which could mean a few days. And then the mindscrew from Yan Wushi, telling poor amnesiac Shen Qiao that, yes, your name is Shen Qiao, oh, and you are one of my disciples from Huanyue Sect! Someone sure is hasty to put his poke the injured person plans into action! Ah Yan Wushi, if you could please give Shen Qiao a break, he just had a near death experience! But also – the scope of the injuries – yes, it benefits Yan Wushi's plotting but also – Shen Qiao was injured beyond the scope of ordinary medicine? Yu Shengyan has to be stationed to basically care for him until he is able to awaken – and presumably recover – appropriately!

Alright, time marker, 3 months after previous events.. okay. Shen Qiao can walk, some, though the animators were careful to make it a clearly pained walk, in comparison to how he was moving pre-Kunye fight. And then of course the blindness, which may also explain how they've animated him moving with more cautious steps. And the coughing, and the eyes that can't focus – all in all, a detailed and careful show of how badly injured Shen Qiao still is. Can't help sniggering at every 'shidi' I'm hearing him say though. And Yu Shengyan... yes, really, even though you and your shizun can't quite believe it, there really is a person this kind and considerate of other people.

The appearance of the weiqi board motif! Strategy, and planning, and part of the arts of the refined gentlemen..and the hint of how Shen Qiao is perceiving/visualising the input that he hears, since he can't see right now. And the hint that he might be using qi to help sort through what he hears – well enough that he can identify it's a weiqi board, and even the piece being placed. Very Awesome. Especially when they show Yan Wushi possibly testing Shen Qiao's capability to perceive the world around him by hesitating and purposely not putting down his piece.. and Shen Qiao very naturally picking up the piece – black, the correct colour and the one Yan Wushi was about to play – and putting it in the correct position on the board that Yan Wushi was about to place. Is it any wonder that the next thing Yan Wushi checks is the state of his recovery?

And then we have Yan Wushi's characteristic multipronged planning – creating trouble for Hehuan sect, training for Yu Shengyan, testing opportunity for Shen Qiao. Very excellent, any and every outcome has benefit to Yan Wushi.

Ah the encounter at the medicine shop. Hm. Okay, the sharing of the medicine is clearly a hint to Yan Ziwen of some kind that he and his should be especially cautious tonight, perhaps even to run for their lives tonight. Though it's maybe a hint in the actions, and not the words, because the words don't sound suspicious at all. Neither do the actions, if you were watching as a observer and didn't know Yan Ziwen's paranoid character – a blind person would unsurprisingly wish to be extra careful where they put their hands. And at night, on the attack... for all that Shen Qiao can't quite see, and is currently relying on the rest of his senses... he can tell that something's off about Yu Shengyan's actions. And then... Shen Qiao remembers... the sword, and what Qi Fengge taught him. And then the confrontation, and the near strangulation by Yan Wushi... Shen Qiao has such a nice literary register to his speech. Four word phrases even under severe near strangled stress, with the right philosophical meaning to make his point to Yan Wushi. And then the reveal of Yan Wushi's plotting. Very nicely done.

And now, the first of Yan Wushi's many many invitations to Shen Qiao to forsake his daoist path and join Yan Wushi's ... evil sect is not the right word. Demonic path is technically correct but has moral overtones that don't fit. Join Yan Wushi's cultivation path, maybe. Join and get bloody revenge on everyone who's wronged Shen Qiao – and already there are so many of them. And we the audience wonder for half a second – is he going to do it? Is this going to be a revenge story? And Shen Qiao flat out refuses in words, in the first of many times. And then Shen Qiao walks away from Yan Wushi. Here the animation is a delight again – the audience gets to see the little micro expressions that flit across – he's actually walking away?! And then Yan Wushi does his dramatic gifting of the bamboo stick. And too, a few seconds later, the reveal of their movements being spied on by Duan Wenyang, and Yu Shengyan's orders to continue searching for .. something. Ah, the plotting in Thousand Autumns. Always a delight.

#山河剑心 #thousand autumns

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allie1804-fan · 3 years

Text

Kerense Part 2

This is a continuation of Kerensa - read Part 1 here

Kerensa (Part 1)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 , Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Warnings : Just like Keanu in these fics, I don't actually know any of the other real people portrayed here so my versions of them are all supposition!

LA Home?

After a couple of weeks, they moved on to LA. Kerry was Flabbergasted by the size and style of his home. It had a cool feel due to the size of the rooms and the large pieces of art in the main living area which had vast bi-fold doors leading out to the patio and pool. He was most excited to show her his pond with Koi Carp and the breathtaking view.

His office and bedroom were warmer in style, more in keeping with the man and she was thrilled with the kitchen which his sister had designed with herself in mind for when she visited and wanted to cook or for Keanu when he had a caterer come in.

On their first night, they ordered take out and ate outside by the pool. They were both tired from travelling but he promised to take her out to some favourite haunts soon. His bigger priority was making her and Scout feel at home and welcome.

That started with meeting his mum. Having heard a lot about her before he left, his mother, in particular, was very keen to make her acquaintance. She invited them over and had a meal catered.

She was welcoming but there was an edge of scrutiny in her gaze and her questions.

In the car on the way home, Kerry pointed it out.

It’s just like Jason Robards says in Parenthood. “It never ends”

“What?”

“Well, your mum was clearly concerned I might be some kind of leach!”

“Kerry, she thinks that about everyone I meet, but especially women. But she liked you, I could tell. And you bonded over all your English connections right?”

“I guess!”

Next up was Karina who had them over for Thanksgiving. She was more easygoing than her mother and they had a very relaxed day with Keanu and his brother-in-law bonding over the football and Kerry and Karina enjoying working together in the kitchen.

In the weeks running up to Christmas, their projects were on hiatus and they focussed on getting Kerry acclimatised to LA. Keanu bought her a car (she was not up for driving his Porsche) and they went on bike rides up PCH, took Scout on hikes in local parks and continued her introductions to his friends.

Key amongst them was Alex Winter and his family. They spent a great day on the beach at Malibu with him, his wife and their 2 youngest sons. Alex took a cute pic of Kerry and Keanu there - She had straggly wet hair from messing around in the sea and was wearing a loose shirt over her swimming costume. Her arms were draped around Keanu’s neck and they were both grinning broadly. She liked it so much, she had it printed and framed and placed it on their dressing table. It was one way she could try to settle in.

She certainly felt safe and welcome in his home, but, truth be told, not really at home

Some of that was connected to Scout. There was an inner courtyard where Scout could chill in a shady spot and you could walk him along the road nearby but only in the evening when the surface would be cool enough. To walk the dog, you really needed to go to a park, beach or further out into hills. It wasn’t just a stone’s throw away like at Sennen.

Also, in one sense, the house felt huge but at the same time, claustrophobic. It was curious that she could feel hemmed in despite the space and open view at the back - it was like you couldn’t touch the nature that was so near at hand and when she felt like that, the waves of nostalgia for Sennen were powerful.

Another challenge she faced and hadn’t really expected had been the number of female friends Keanu had who, it was clear, were past sexual partners. It wasn’t that anyone said anything to her, least of all him for whom it was all just water under the bridge, but some of them had an unmistakable body language towards him, while others displayed a certain possessiveness that she found, if not threatening then at least challenging.

She knew he’d had a different life from her, longer in single mode, less settled in one place and with a lot of opportunity to be promiscuous, so she knew she had to accept it, but she also struggled to imagine still hanging out with people you’d been so intimate with in the past as it had been a very rare experience for her.

Fortunately, Karina was a bit of an ally in at least filling in the gaps as to who was or wasn’t an ex. Kerry didn’t want to come off as jealous or obsessive, so asking Keanu was a no-no, at least at first. One day, Karina had come over to talk Christmas food and caught Kerry staring off into the distance.

“Hey, where have you gone?” Karina asked her.

Wha …? oh sorry, nowhere, I’m right here”

“ oh no, not falling for THAT. What did he do?”

“Keanu? Nothing. Honest.”

“Kerry?”

“Honest he didn’t. It’s just, errm Autumn came over last night”

“Ughhh”

“What?”

“Nothing, she’s just not my favourite of his exes that still hangs around him”

“Oh so she IS an ex, I wasn’t sure and he didn’t say so”

“He wouldn’t, to him it’s ancient history - and it is. They properly dated in the 90s and then I’m pretty sure she was, you know…. A friend …..”

“With benefits?”

“Yeah, sometime in the 2000s but not in the past few years. Was she civil to you?”

“Yeah yeah, she was just quite, erm touchy with him and sort of “

“Possessive?”

“Not exactly, but she made sure to mention things from way back several times as if to remind me and him that I’m the new kid. I mean maybe I was being over-sensitive, it was weird”

“Naah, that’s her thing. She didn’t manage to clinch him and that still riles her so she hangs in there with the “trusty oldest friend” card.

“Yeah but she’s not his oldest friend right? Brenda is from school and that lovely lady Clare is from before her time right?”

“Right, I mean Autumn is from way back but she’s not the unique one she likes to think.”

Mostly, the exes were subtle in their comments or behaviour but China Chow came close to making Kerry spit her drink out at a Christmas party when she was a bit drunk. She was saying how happy she was to see Keanu happy.

“And you my friend are a lucky girl, he’s good between the sheets too huh?, hic!”

The following morning Keanu and Kerry were lying in bed with a coffee, nursing hangovers and doing a party post-mortem.

“Oh my God, China was drunk wasn’t she?!” Keanu snorted.

“I’ll say!” She replied rolling her eyes

“What?”

“Have you had sex with all of your female friends?!” She asked pointedly.

“Oh my god, what did she say?”

“Oh, how happy she is for you …..”

“Mmmmm, so?”

“And how lucky I am….and how good you are between the sheets”

It was Keanu’s turn to almost spit out his coffee.

“That must have been awkward.!”

“Well would have been worse if we weren’t both at least a little drunk”

“Do you mind?” “That I have a past?” he clarified when she looked questioningly at him.

“No, I just, I never had an ex who I still hung out with after we split so it’s a little weird for me. And they’re all so, you know, LA glamorous.”

“Come ‘ere.” He said pulling her close after seeing the uncertainty in her eyes.

“It’s you I love, you I want to wake up with every morning and hold in my arms each night. And they're so called glamour is no match for your beauty. And, it’s like, over 10 years ago that I was with any of the friends I still see, sexually. Kerry, I promise. Are we ok?”

“yeah, we’re good” she reassured.

And they were. Christmas was around the corner and Kerry enjoyed shopping for gifts, getting a tree and decorating the house. They placed the bird decoration for Ava on the tree and he gave her two angels to hang for her babies and a Celtic fertility symbol in hope of a future as parents. They spent Xmas Day with his mother and Karina and Keanu went on his usual Boxing Day bike ride with old friends while Kerry went to the cinema with Karina.

On 29th they headed back to the UK, where they spent New year with her sister and family and 10 days having catch-ups with friends in London and Cornwall.

By mid-January, they were back in LA and finally, it felt like there would be a period of being more settled. They socialised but there were no more big introductions to make and Kerry planned to crack on with her novel.

@fortheloveoffanfic @kindainlovewithkeanu @omg-imagine @keanureevesisbae @penwieldingdreamer @paperplanesandwallflowers @witty-wallflower @karlee1225 @bitchyslut99 @toomanystoriessolittletime @ladyreapermc @kissmyromanticquote @tacticalchics @utterlynuts @kylosbitch @thebigbubowski @thelightnessofthebeing @gatsbynouvel @keanuficfiles @fanficsrusz @jardaniswife @cheezbort @mazzylana97 @maggiemoo1892 @girlfriday007 @siriussnape07 @yomnaislame @soarocks @fadingkideclipseempath @franny-banks-world @keanulowe @babylovejongin @lucky134ever @jasmindaughteroftheworld @tomorrowsanotherday @fokinqueen @littlefreya @leftyreea @wheretheriversrunintothesea @iworshipkeanureeves @fics-not-tragedies @ficsnroses @fickenstein @popacherryvisitalibrary @aah8903 @thethirstyarchive @cynic-spirit @australianpsychos @meetmeinthematinee

#keanu fanfic #keanu reeves fan fiction #keanu fan fiction #keanu reeves fan fic #keanu #keanu reeves #keanu ofc fiction #keanu reeves imagine

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kusunogatari · 4 years

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[ ObiRyū October | Day Twenty-One | Sacrifice] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū ] [ Verse: Of Monsters and Men ]

[ Previous ] [ Next ]

“All right...there we are.” Gathering up the mixture of herbs, spices, and tea leaves, Ryū carefully bundles them in some cloth, tied shut with a ribbon. “Whenever a nightmare strikes, brew this in hot water and drink. It will ease your mind and urge your body to sleep.”

“Thank you...you’re a blessing, you are.”

The woman just gives a soft smile. “Thank the earth and its bounties, not me. I just know how to use them. Take care of yourself.”

Making his way out, the man plagued by ill dreams takes his leave, dipping his hat to another just making his way in. The second figure lingers a bit stiffly in the doorway, his own hat removed from his head and instead nervously wrung in his hands as he waits for the healer to notice him.

“Oh!” She comes up short, turning and seeing him at last. “I’m sorry - have you been waiting long?”

“No, just a moment. I, er…”

“Has it been a fortnight already? My how the time flies…”

“Yes ma’am, it...it does.”

“May I take a look?”

Nodding, the man comes further into the cabin as she flares the lamp hanging from the rafters. With careful hands, she takes and tilts his face to the light to better examine it.

Along one side, horrible claw marks mar the surface of his skin. Half-healed now, they look clean and healthy.

“They seem to be doing well...you’ve been keeping up with them, then?”

“Yes, ma’am. Every night, and every morning. Like you told me.”

Ryū smiles. “Good. I’m sorry I didn’t realize the day, I’ll have to mix it now. Do you mind a short wait?”

“Not at all. The rain forced us back, so I’ve nothing to do until it dries.”

“Yes, the weather has been something atrocious lately...soon Winter will be here.” Moving about in the one-room cabin, she begins pulling ingredients from drawers and cutting them from hanging samples. A mortar and pestle are taken from their shelf, herbs thrown into its groove to be mashed. “I dread the thought, but...it’s as Nature intends. We’ll be thankful come Spring thaw and planting.”

“Do you ever have a sour thought, Miss Suigin?” the man then dares to ask.

She offers a soft laugh in return. “Oh, I do. But I keep them inside so as not to sour the air, too. I’d much rather make it sweeter.”

“Oh you - you do that just fine.” His lips flicker upwards in an uncertain smile. Was that too forward…?

“Well aren’t you just the sweetest thing!” A warm smile lifts her lips, and he finds his chest fluttering. “Mister Uchiha, you’ll make me blush with compliments like that.”

“Well, it’s true! You’re the kindest soul in this little town, and you do well by all of us with your medicines. A kind word is the least I can spare you.”

That seems to leave her without a retort, working at her mixture for a moment in silence. “...I appreciate it. I do dote on everyone. Life out here is harsh, so...any little thing I can do to help folks along is good enough for me. Hardships are easier to face when we work together, and that’s done best with everyone of sound mind and sound body.”

Obito just watches as she goes about her mixing and mashing, wondering for the hundredth time how she knows all she knows. A score of books line a shelf...maybe it’s something written that she follows?

“All right...I think that’s done it. You know enough by now, but I’ll say it for my own peace of mind: take a sample on your finger and run it along each mark until they’re all covered. Let it sit overnight, and for as long as you can stand it in the morning before you wash it off. A few more weeks, and we’ll have those wounds scarred shut. It might not be the prettiest thing, but...it’ll keep the wounds clean and minimize the scarring.” She then gives him a curious tilt of her head. “And the rest of your symptoms?”

“Hardly notice them, ma’am. None of those strange headaches, no flashes of anger. All gone.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thank you, miss Suigin...truly, I -?”

She waves aside his thanks, having heard it many times before. “I know well enough by now how grateful you are. But save your breath for yourself, and take care. If something goes awry, let me know straight away.”

“I will.”

“Go on, then - get some rest, it will be dark soon.”

Nodding politely, he takes up his medicine and takes his leave. By now the downpour has faded to a light misting, the smell of cold air creeping into the evening. She’s right...Winter is just around the bend, and he still has so much to do before the first snow falls.

Around the corner of the cabin, he doesn’t see a pair of jealous eyes watching him, turning from the window and fading into the dark.

Once home, he lights the lamp by his bed, taking it to the broken mirror he’s got hanging on a wall. Every time he catches sight of his reflection, he has to grimace. Whatever that beast was that attacked him that night...it sure left its mark. But thanks to the village healer’s efforts, the angry red tissue is calming, finally starting to close. The pain is nearly nonexistent now, and the strange feelings he’d felt have all but disappeared.

She really is amazing…

Pushing the thought away as his face warms, Obito carefully unravels the hide the paste she’s made him rests in. It smells oddly spicy, but never stings. Practiced fingers delve into it, watching his reflection to carefully trace it along every mark.

It feels oddly cold...but maybe that’s just because of his prior blush.

Once it’s all in place, he fixes himself some supper to let it dry, lest he smear it on his pillow. The stew he’d left to simmer while out working it’s a bit dry, but edible. The recipes his grandmother taught him before passing have served him well, but...he can’t help but wish he had a wife to do so alongside him.

Traitorously, he thinks again of the healer. Oddly enough, despite what he considers to be great beauty and soothing manners, she’s yet to be married. Part of him wonders if her position keeps most folks at bay, or...if it’s the quiet, lingering superstition about her. While most everyone depends on her concoctions, some find her skill with them...odd. Add in her unique appearance, and some have dared to whisper witch.

But no one has outright accused her, so the clergy of their little village have yet to act. Obito finds the notion ridiculous. Some plants harm, some plants feed, and some plants heal. Knowing the difference doesn’t take otherworldly knowledge, or whispers from the devil. Anyone daring to call her some evil spellcaster would be deeply mistaken. Only has she ever helped the people of their little town, never harmed!

Someday...he might muster up the courage to ask her. But for now, it doesn’t feel proper. His work in the village crop fields earns him a miser’s pay, and his cabin is hardly suitable...it needs work. He’ll only make her an offer once he feels that offer is worthy.

So for now, he’ll sit and sigh at the thought.

He tides up after his meal, gently prodding the poultice to ensure that it’s dry before slipping into bed. He’ll have to do the same routine come morning, then the next night. Over and over until the wounds are fully closed. But he doesn’t mind the effort if it means keeping himself whole.

And getting to see the healer every fortnight for more.

Autumn continues to pass at pace, the weather slowly chilling as Obito and the rest of the farmhands work to bring in the last of the harvests and store them away for winter. Animals too are butchered, salted and dried to cover the long Winter months. It’s often a narrow window that they survive the harshest part of the year. At least one life is typically lost. But they all fare far better together than they would apart.

But two days before he once again needs to visit the healer...something changes.

On his way to the fields, Obito slows as he spots an odd sight. A rather sizable group is gathered outside the local church. It’s not Sunday...they aren’t congregating for that. Then what…?

Trying to weave his way to the front, he realizes the crowd forms a ring around a space just before the doors. And at the center is the pastor...and the healer.

Her face is taut with apprehension. “If I’m to be tried, then I want to face my accuser.”

“So you can hex the poor soul? I think not. They will be kept out of sight for their safety, should you decide to loose the devil upon them. They claim to have seen you practicing the dark arts within your home more than once. These accusations must be heard, and you must be tried for your crimes.”

...oh no…

“I’ve committed no crimes! If mixing plants for a person’s health is a crime, then so is any other harmless task! How many of you have benefited from my work, my knowledge?” She turns imploringly to the crowd, desperation in her eyes.

To Obito’s amazement, not a single soul speaks up, all glancing aside in shame as they refuse to admit it. In his chest, he feels a growing heat of anger.

“Me!”

At once, they all turn to him, parting as he shoves his way forward. “Me, and nearly everyone else! If this woman’s intent was to harm, she would never help us! How many wounds has she patched? How many fevers has she broken? If her intent was to harm...she would never have lifted a finger for us. Half of us would be dead or dying if not for her help. That sounds far less like the work of the devil than it does of an angel.”

Across the gap, her face alights, staring at him hopefully.

“A ruse to cover her tracks,” the priest hisses in retort. “She lulls us into a false sense of safety, of security...while in the dark she conspires with devils and demons! She is cunning...but the eyes of the righteous have seen through her veil!”

Obito’s teeth grit, and he tries to move forward. But arms hold him back, even as he struggles. “Those eyes lie!”

“Throw him in jail to keep him out of the way,” the pastor orders, looking down his nose at Obito. “We cannot let his infatuation with this she-devil interrupt our just and legal proceedings. If God demands a sacrifice to keep our village pure...so be it. Let the trial commence!”

Grunting and yowling as he’s dragged away, Obito does his best to fight back. But it’s one against many, and he’s soon thrown into the singular cell of their little jail.

Hands grip the bars. “Let me out! She’s innocent! Innocent, I tell you!”

The men who dragged him only sneer, turning their backs and shutting the door behind them.

With the slam of the entrance, a sense of finality seems to overcome him. He can hardly escape...and he’s the only one willing to defend her. Surely they’ll convince themselves of her guilt to lay blame on one soul: let her bear their collective sins and be washed away.

No...no!

Slowly, he sinks to his knees, hands still gripping the bars. It’s not fair...how could they do this…?

...he never got to…

The agony of silence and unknowing is torture. The town constable brings him scant meals, refusing to speak as Obito peppers him with questions of the goings-on. A day passes, then another, and another.

That third day, he realizes two things. That he has not been applying her poultice, and that today would have been the day for his next visit. The knowledge clenches his heart. As before, a headache has been creeping up on him, his temper fraying...but that may just be his present circumstances.

He has to get out of here...he has to free her…! But how...how…?!

As the day fades, night slowly blanketing the village...Obito realizes it’s too light. Beyond the single barred window, flickering light begins passing by.

Torches.

Hauling himself up, he gasps as - haloed against the darkness of the woods beyond the village - her cabin goes up in smoke. Hungry flames reach skyward, as if seeking to consume the stars.

“No…!”

Not far from it, a pyre has been erected. And led from the courthouse, fighting and screaming, is Ryū. Hands bound, she’s fitted amongst the kindling and straw to the wooden pole at the center.

They’re going to burn her…!

Rage seems to fill his veins with molten magma, burning from the inside out. Hollering incoherently, he pulls at the bars despite knowing he cannot budge them. Torches are laid at the base of the pyre, and like her home, flames begin to climb.

And then, atop the fiery halo, pale moonlight breaks over the scene as clouds shift aside to bare the full moon.

Like a blow to the head, Obito’s headache reaches a fever pitch. He collapses, clutching his head with a howl of anguish. His entire body seems to pulse with anger and pain. It burns...it burns…!

Outside, the crowd turns to the jail as a ragged wail breaks through the night.

And then, with a shower of stone, the wall bursts forth. Eyes a molten gold, a dark beast crawls from the rubble, teeth bared with a chest-shaking growl.

“Monster!”

“I-it’s come for its mistress!”

Roaring with a flare of spittle and glint of pearlescent teeth, the creature lanches forward as the terrified villagers scatter. He wants to tear, to gut, to destroy!

But first!

With a leap, he reaches the pyre, ignoring the flames and clawing her bounds to shreds. She coughs and wheezes from the smoke, but gestures desperately to the singeing fur of his side.

“O-Obito…!”

But he spares no time for himself, easing her over his shoulder as her form goes limp, too exhausted to stay awake. Lip raised and snarling, he stares down the villagers with their muskets and pitchforks. Oh how he longs to shatter their bones and carve their flesh!

For now, however, there are more important things he must do.

In a half-lope, he lowers to three limbs, one spared to hold her as he flees. A few foolhardy humans try to chase, but he’s swift as the wind, disappearing into the moonlit trees and underbrush. Soon, the only sounds are those of his rushing breath, pluming in the cold as they leave the village behind.

Only once he feels they’re a safe distance does he slow, coming to a stop at the bank of a creek. Gently, he sets her along the sandy shore. A whine crawls up his throat. The hem of her dress is singed, heat blisters along her bare feet where the flames had crept close. As carefully as he can, he urges them into the cool water.

A gasp sounds, and he balks as Ryū suddenly wakes at the feeling. “A-ah…!” Her voice is raw, growling and wincing from the smoke she breathed. Struggling to sit upright, she looks to her feet before her gaze lifts to her companion.

She doesn’t look at all afraid...but rather, sad.

“...I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I thought I could keep it at bay, but...without your medicine…”

He crouches beside her, head tilting.

“...there was wolfsbane in the poultice. It was treating your wounds, but...also the infection of the beast you were marked by. If they’d closed without you missing a dose, then...it would have been held at bay. But now...there’s nothing I can do. With every turn of the moon, you’ll change. It’s all my fault…”

Ears falling, he lets his snout come to rest at her cheek. It wasn’t you...it was them…! He longs to speak, but can’t muster words in his shifted form.

Rather than retreat, she carefully raises hands to hold his massive jaw. “...your burns…!”

Looking at his side, Obito realizes he was indeed wounded...perhaps this hide is too thick to feel?

Ryū begins urging water up to the melted flesh, earning a flinch. “Sorry, sorry...but we need to keep them clean. I think I can find what I need here to make a poultice…” From the plants along the bank she does her best to make a mash with a clean river rock, tearing the hem of her skirt to bind it. “...it’s not perfect, but...it should help. You’ll bear these marks as a man, too. And all for my sake...but...thank you. You saved my life.”

There’s another careful nuzzle to her throat.

“...they were right, you know.”

He pauses.

“I am a witch,” she admits softly. “But not the kind they believe in. I come from the earth, I know its secrets, I bend them to my will. But never could I harm someone. I’m inspired not by the devil, but by the mother of us all. I knew it was only a matter of time before they accused me. Their beliefs always lead them to the wrong conclusions…”

The pair go silent for a time. The creek serenades them with its gentle trickles.

“...I know not where we’ll go. What we can do. But...we are alive. And come morning, when the moonlight fades, you’ll be a man once more. That, at least, is something. But Winter is fast approaching...we’ll need to be swift.” Gentle hands stroke at the coarse fur of his snout. “...will you go where I go?”

Obito brightens, declining his head in a nod.

“...then together we will go.”

OKAY...I actually really like this one xD It could be longer but I need to catch up dfkjggh - still managed to hit my 3k goal mark though! Hopefully tonight I can get another one done and be back on track lol We have a proper werewolf this time, not a Nightwalker werewolf xD And he is ANGER! Do not touch his witchy waifu! Also I didn’t use any other characters cuz...I didn’t know who to use so it’s just the duo this time lol so fill in the blanks any way you want! Anyway, I have irl things to sit and wait for (and...actually do) so I better run for now, but hopefully I can be back in time to get more done today! Thanks for reading~

#obiryū october #abyssaldespair #uchiha obito #suigin ryū #of monsters and men [ au ]

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volganic · 4 years

Text

Song of Communion (Redux)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] || [AO3]

OH GOD OH MAN IM SORRY THIS UPDATE IS LONG OVERDUE but its so long in comparison to other chapters........... ty liz for always supporting me and telling me to keep every detail in here bc otherwise this wouldnt be half as long as it is

song is o magnum mysterium (and quite literally the song that started this whole au in the first place)

A high-pitched ring of steel meeting steel sang through the crisp autumn air. Both Volga and Link's weapons were locked together as they tried to overtake one another. In the passing months that Link had come to visit and train under the dragon's watchful eye, this was the first time they had traded blows. The Dinolfos chieftain that the Hylian usually sparred with (under Volga's supervision) stood on the sidelines.

Volga withdrew his spear back, only to thrust it forward again to breach Link's defenses. Having gone through these exercises time and time again, Link had expected it to withdraw and drew his shield up to block the lance from grazing his exposed side. He's thankful for moving it when he did — the dragon's raw strength was far greater than he had imagined; aimed to kill, unlike the Dinolfos who only struck to subdue. The force of the blow sent a shot of pain up through the length of his forearm. He grit his teeth and took a step back, ending their exercise to brace his right arm. He'd definitely feel that in the morning.

His partner lowered the spear and sent him an inquisitive look. Before a question could fill the space between them, Link brushed off any concerns he must've had with a dismissive wave.

"I'm fine! Let's continue."

Volga shrugged. If there's one thing he learned by mentoring him thus far, Link wasn’t like most people: where most people would have yielded and accepted their loss, Link recovered with a renewed strength and vigor. It was a commendable quality to possess. It also made him stubborn. Too stubborn sometimes, but someone else could be unfortunate enough to teach him patience and to pick his battles. He'd leave that to the poor woman general back in the castle.

Their feet moved together in sync as they circled around each other on the cliff side, their steps carefully choreographed to keep their attention on each other's movements while still mindful of the crumbling rocks beneath their feet, and easily poised to either strike or block whoever dared to make the first move. Link desperately tried to ignore the bead of sweat running from the edge of his brow down over his cheek, but moved quickly to brush it away.

That was all the distraction Volga needed to suddenly lunge forward with his weight to strike. They fell into rhythm now: strike, step to the side, block, sweep, repeat. The dragon had drilled these movements into his brain. It took a lot of calculating than he was used to, thinking at least three steps ahead before the enemy while also keeping an eye for any openings or escape routes — this was only a friendly spar, but the danger of traps or ambushing parties was also something to keep a note on in the actual battlefield. General Impa would find it unorthodox and out of order by her methods, but it was far more engaging and befitting of a leader as grueling as Volga's system worked.

Link stumbled with a swipe of Volga's weapon nearly coming into contact with his ankle. He teetered off to the left, barely catching his footing on the edge of the cliff. Volga scoffed when the Hylian righted himself and poised his shield up, waiting for the next move.

"Scatterbrained today, aren't you?"

"No," he lied. His eyes averted away from Volga for only a second to see that the Dinolfos that lurked in the background was slowly stalking its way toward his unguarded flank. Have to move away from the edge of the cliff, he thinks, somehow catch Volga off balance, turn to keep both of the dragons in sight, overtake them —

— there's movement in his periphery from Volga's direction. Suddenly he felt a shove, and felt himself falling. There wasn't much time to react to such brute force, and even less to grab any of the rocks to keep himself from falling further down the cliff side. Volga stood on the edge, spear still in hand, and was growing smaller and smaller with each passing second. He tensed with realization. Stupid, he thought, stupid to think he could have trusted him!

His back slammed into something. It wasn't the ground, he knew that much. The impact still knocked the wind out of him, and before he knew it, he — they — were scaling their way back up the mountainside. The Lizalfos chieftain that acted as his safety net didn't seem too thrilled with carrying him back up to his master, but Link thanked the three that they still were looking out for him.

Link was less than graciously dropped back along the edge of the cliff. The Lizalfos and Dinolfos chattered among themselves and retreated back into the caverns now with their duties completed. Now it was just him and Volga, left with an air of tension.

"Didn't expect that, did you?" It wasn't a question. They both knew that much. Link ignored the hand offered to help him up and pushed himself off of the ground, dusting off his tunic and brushing dirt off of his face.

"You could have killed me!"

"Not my intention," he scoffed, "but there are others who are more inclined to do so." He clapped Link's hurt shoulder for good measure, smirking inwardly with the grimace he was given. The Hylian could pout and whine all he wanted. It wouldn't stop Volga from relishing in the fact that he toned him down another notch.

"Are you sure you don't need any more weapons?" Link asked. In reality, he was genuinely curious, but he couldn't pass up an opportunity to poke fun at the dragon. Volga grunted dismissively in response, shuffling out of Link's way as he allowed the boy to wander around in the room.

Today must have been something really special: not only was it the first time he had ever sparred with Volga, but this was also the first time Link was allowed in the center of the volcano — more importantly, it's where Volga kept his so-called "hoard". Maybe it was a tad naive of Link to assume Volga was the kind of dragon to collect all things that sparkled and shined, to have a room (or several) flush with treasures never before seen that piled to the top of the ceiling and threatened to spill over with its endless amount of secrets. The three chests that sat along the wall hardly looked like they harbored anything of worth. Blue eyes watched the dragon sift through one of the chests, and while it held a considerable amount of jewelry, it all looked extremely... tacky.

What he was rifling around for, he didn't know.

Link rolled his eyes and instead faced the walls of the cave. This, he believed, was the real treasure. Weapons upon weapons upon even more weapons lined the faces of the walls in an elegant and organized display. It was like being in a candy store! Not a single space was wasted, ranging from the smallest of daggers meant for tiny hands to the largest Goron-forged blades he had ever seen taking a place like a trophy. How Volga of all people managed to acquire them (or sweet talk a Goron into giving up such impressive armaments) was a question for another day; he didn't want to be pushed out so quickly after being invited in for the first time by prying too much.

He toddled over to look at spears undoubtedly meant for the Zora. A careful fingertip ran over the curve of the trident. "Is your spear like that of the Zoras?" he asked innocently, eyeing the gleaming silver hilt of a Zora spear next to the trident.

"Just because we're no longer outside does not excuse you from your other exercises, boy," chided Volga from the other side of the room. "Run through it again — and don't touch anything."

The Hylian swiveled his head to look at the dragon and object, finding that Volga's back was still turned to him. Alright, maybe he was a little predictable. Link pulled his hand away from the Zora weaponry with a huff and moved quietly to admire another set of miscellaneous weapons.

əʊ m æ g ʌ m

A smile crept onto his lips as the words paired with his tenor rolled off his tongue so naturally. Though the translation of it was lost to him, such a simple activity like singing brought him an immense amount of joy, a sense of freedom — even if it were in the middle of the volcano.

m ɪ s t ə r aɪ ə m

At least here in the caves, there was a sense of privacy that the castle could not provide — or as much privacy as he could get with the dragon or any of his kin within earshot. Better them than any of his comrades who would begin to question when and where he had found his voice.

Volga paused his rummaging to listen to how the notes reverberated off the decorated walls. Link took it as a good sign that he hadn't been interrupted by now and continued on, staying within arm's reach of the wall and running his fingertips along the rocks, trailing between the edges of many dangerous blades.

i: t ə d m ɪ r ə b aɪ l

One sword caught his attention. It stuck out among the collection of other plain, familiar-looking swords that Volga had hung around it — swords he might have picked off from Hyrule's forces, no doubt. Its serrated blade nearly pricked his finger even with the most delicate touch. If its serrated edges weren't striking enough, the jewels encrusted from the center of the blade to the hilt and the four-pronged guard were enough to keep him interested. It was intimidating, but a beautiful blade.

Volga might not have been the kind of dragon drawn to every trinket that sparkled and shined, but Link was beginning to convince himself he might be that kind of person instead.

s eɪ k r e m ə n —

"Stop."

Link frowned. With a heavy sigh, he released the breath he had been holding to finish out the rest of the melody before he was so graciously interrupted. He tore his eyes away from the sword to face Volga who now stood in front of a closed chest, arms folded.

"What have I told you?"

The Hylian crossed his arms. "Don't touch anything—"

"Wrong." Volga paused and wrinkled his nose considering his words. "Perhaps I did also say that, but that is not what I refer to now." That earned him an eye roll from Link. "Need I remind you of the importance of the diaphragm?"

"Hylia, not this again!" groaned Link, throwing his hands up in the air. "It's always something with you, isn't it? Am I not good enough by your standards?"

"You're ever approaching it," he countered, "but you continue to move too much, and it carries in your voice despite how you choose not to believe it."

The dragon took three large strides to approach Link, planting his clawed hands on the captain's shoulders, adding an uncomfortable squeeze and pressure for an extra measure. Link grimaced again with the weight against his bad arm.

"Like the core of your body, the diaphragm is a key component to—"

"'—to achieve a better quality of pitch, volume, and tone'," Link finished for him. It was obvious it wasn’t his first time hearing it before either. "'If your breathing is poor, it reflects in the singing', I know, I know."

"Then," Volga pressed his thumbs into the pressure points in Link's neck, "why do you continue to breathe so poorly?" His hands stayed locked in place as the Hylian crumpled in his hold, writhing and attempting to swat him away.

"Volga- ow- stop—!!"

"You should start by releasing tension in your upper body."

The dragon loosened his grip for Link to stumble away from him, a smug grin upturning his lips with the ferocious look he was getting. Link rubbed the back of his neck in annoyance.

"You're such an ass."

"I could say the same about you."

Link shot him another glare through narrowed eyes and now turned his back to the dragon. He hasn’t decided whether or not it was a good thing that Volga was capable of being just as immature.

“Where’d you get this?” Link asked and pointed to the sword, desperate to change the subject. "I could use a new blade."

“We haven’t finished our lesson, boy,” he said. Link braced himself for another painful squeeze to his arm as Volga pulled him back away from the display. Instead — with gentle hands — he dropped a silver band encrusted with a round emerald cut into Link’s hesitant palm. It was far more elegant than the jewelry he had seen it mixed in with, more along the lines of what he had imagined Volga would be enamored with.

Something in the back of his mind reminded him that this stone looked familiar.

"- song stone."

Link shook his head, breaking out of the stupor he didn't realize he was in by the stone glimmering against the light. "What?"

"It is a song stone," Volga repeated, having sensed Link's distracted mind. It definitely was an opulent accessory, if not the most dignified piece in Volga's hoard. But he wouldn't tell the boy that. "I think you are prepared to harness its power."

Another magical item. The Hylian knit his eyebrows together with some aversion. "Uh-huh." Even with the hesitance toward it, Link still slipped it onto each finger to find the perfect fit. It was a really pretty thing… The ring fit snugly around his middle finger, and almost looked to glow brighter as his hand moved around to catch the light. "And it can do what?"

"Amplify your gift, if the name was not obvious enough for you." Volga smirked from another one of Link's annoyed expressions and crossed his arms. "There are no limits on your vocal range with the power of the stone. After all, how else do you plan to command your army? Or perhaps even charm lost, weary travelers to their doom?"

The displeased expression on Link’s face quickly turned disheartened. "Volga, that's not funny."

"I am not trying to be funny. Jokes are another way of stringing up lies, and I do not care enough to lie." The dragon shrugged nonchalantly. "It is merely the reputation placed upon me, and if that is how they choose to acknowledge me, I have no interest in fixing it. If it keeps fools off of my mountain and out of my caves, so be it. If they choose to ignore it, I accept no responsibility for what may happen to them in my domain."

The words hung in the air for longer than it should. Link's eyes moved away from Volga's concealed ones to look back down to the ring. Even after all this time, the Hylian had never considered how he was one of the lucky ones — if not the only one — to make it out of the Eldin Caves alive. He had fallen for Volga's magic, to one of many of his songs, and yet here he stood, now learning how to wield it for his own greater purpose.

He had never considered those who lost their lives to it.

Volga cleared his throat. He despised the tension that lingered between them.

"Rumor has it that the stone you hold was forged from the same emerald safeguarded by the Children of the Kokiri," he said softly. Link perked at that and looked to him again, interested. "Whether that rumor is true or not, I myself cannot say, but I would be inclined to agree that its magic could stem from their songs." Uncrossing his arms, he tapped the jewel chained to his own chest with a clawed finger. "This jewel of mine not only does this contain the magic of my birthright, but it, too, is also a song stone, forged by the Goron Ruby."

Ah, so that's what that was. Link stared at it and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, idly turning the stone on his finger with his thumb.

"Volga, I don't think I can—"

The faint echo of a Bulbin's horn traveled through the air, cutting Link off. That wasn't a sound he was used to hearing. The dragon perked at the sound, understanding its call.

"I want you to have it," he assured, gently placing a hand on Link's pauldron. "I implore you to let go of whatever doubt you might have clouding your judgement. You've earned it. Come now, my friend!" His arm moved around to wrap around the other shoulder, pulling the Hylian even closer and ushering him out of the room. "The newest group of chieftains have returned with fresh kill, and the time to feast is now."

"Wait— wait wait wait-" Link squabbled, planting his feet on the ground, "did you just call me your friend?"

The dragon paused. Did he say that? His tongue ran along his teeth as his jaw shifted in thought, tasting the word in his mouth. Friend. All things considered, that was the best way to describe their relationship: more than strangers, more than acquaintances, neither enemies or allies — at least until now. Volga nodded once as if to convince even himself. "Yes, I did. It seems only fitting to say so, does it not?"

"You could have at least started by using my name first. You've never called me 'Link'!"

"Don't push your luck, boy," Volga chuckled dryly and tightened his grip. "Do not tempt me into changing my mind. I would like to arrive at my own feast on time, and your chances of getting that blade you've been gawking at are slipping away."

"Brothers and sisters!" Volga silenced the group of his kin who growled among themselves by pounding the end of his spear against the cave floor. The sound nearly made Link jump out of his skin. "Tonight, we are gathered here not only to celebrate the autumnal equinox, putting aside our struggles and hardship of the last season, but to also forge a path to better our future. I thank you," he gestured to the troop of the smallest Lizalfos in the cavern, "for this bounty you have brought us. You have proven your strength and honor to rise to the occasion, to rise as chieftains, and to rise as leaders for the next generation of our kind.

As we move on with the coming season of change, we too, must change." He beckoned for the Hylian to move out from behind him. Reluctantly Link did so, stepping to Volga's left and coming in view of the band of lizard kin. "Most of you are familiar with this human," he said, purposefully careful with his tone when referring to the boy, "and know he is not a threat to our clan. With that said..." he passed his weapon over to Link's unsuspecting hands. This wasn't something Link as prepared for, severely underestimating the weight of the spear and nearly dropping it. He was a deer in headlights, now put as the center of attention, all of the reptiles’ eyes fixed on him.

"Tonight, we also forge our alliance with this boy. Though we are that of a neutral party, he is our friend, and, like the rest of you, my chieftains, he has risen to the occasion with the spirit of a dragon and will guide us forward for the greater good."

"But Massster!" A Dinolfos rose from its perch in a rush, eyes darting between the boy startled in his boots and its master, "you said we do not like humansss! We kill them!" It growled in opposition to the Hylian when his expression hardened. Sizing him up, it took a step forward when Link slightly shifted a foot backward. "Thisss one is small and weak! Easssy to kill!"

"This one could kill you should I allow him to take another step toward you," Volga hissed, clasping his hand above Link's on the spear. "Move one more inch closer and he will become a threat to you. He will remain on this mountain longer than you if you continue with your insolence, and by Din’s name, I will leave you to bleed out myself. Learn your place, hatchling." His words dripped with poison.

The Dinolfos held its vindictive stare for a moment longer before recoiling back to its perch with a sad growl. Volga snapped his head to the rest of the drakes with a frown.

"Any more objections?" They sat in silence; his decree was loud and clear. The Hylian himself was just as shaken with Volga’s outburst, thankful that he wasn’t on the receiving end of it this time. "No? Very well."

Link was left to hold the spear alone again as Volga moved forward to the slabs of meat scattered about on the stone table in front of them, ruthlessly pulling a Moblin flank apart by the bone from the lot of the carcasses. Having been so distracted with seeing almost the entirety of the lizard tribe in one place and nearly getting into a dispute with one of them, the Hylian had nearly forgotten that this was a feast for them — everything was raw.

His stomach turned with the sickening squelch the meat had made when the dragon knight bit into it, blood and juices painting the edges of his mouth and dripping down his chin. Hylia, why did he agree to do this?

Volga exhaled in bliss with the coppery taste of fresh meat on his tongue. A sense of accomplishment warmed his bones; this, he knew, was the right course of action to move forward for both his people and in Link's destiny. He swallowed his chunk of meat before turning back to the Hylian, expecting him to accept his offering. When he didn't, Volga snarled quietly; culture shock must have settled in and frightened the boy senseless. But why? It was only meat! A harmless, ritualistic offering!

A sideways glance showed the tribe of Lizalfos and Dinolfos stirring in their place, eager for their turn to devour their bounty. Being surrounded by predators….

To ease the boy’s anxieties, it seemed logical to appear less menacing in a cave full of dragons. Volga held the bleeding limb between his teeth, his hands moving toward the straps that held his helmet together.

Link’s eyes widened; everything unexpected today snowballed into an avalanche all leading up to the dragon unmasking himself. His grip on the hilt of the pike made his knuckles turn white in anticipation. He was lucky enough to escape from Death Mountain more than once, but never pinned himself ever lucky enough to witness the dragon of the Eldin Caves without his helmet.

The pointed chin strap clattered to the floor.

Oh goddesses.

Oh Hylia.

A mess of ashen-colored hair spilled out from the edge of the helm and Link’s breath hitched in his throat. Again, it was naive to think that Volga was anything more than a monster after months and months of grueling combat practice and coaching his voice. Had it not been for the other’s tall height or the black markings that surrounded his striking green eyes that now looked through him, the dragon could more than likely pass for a human. The Hylian stood frozen in place, the same cold rush he had felt the first time he had entered the caves and been mesmerized by the dragon’s song flooding his veins; this time, it was the dragon’s appearance that mystified him.

It wasn’t until the spear was taken from his hand that Link finally tore his eyes away from Volga’s. Now his hands were bloodied with the meat that held more significance than to serve only as a predator’s meal. Despite the voice of common sense screaming at him to not eat the raw meat, Link finally nodded in acceptance and bit into the flesh, pushing himself to ignore the blood dripping down his own chin this time. The chewy texture was awful and the taste was worse, but he only had this one life.

Why not?

Volga, pleased with the acceptance of his offering, took a hold of Link’s wrist and held it high, turning them both to acknowledge the rest of the troop. The Lizalfos and Dinolfos sat at attention.

“For the glory of Din!”

The cavern came alive with a cacophony of the dragon tribe’s roars, fires burning bright.

The first few days after returning from the caves dragged on from the castle’s infirmary — partaking in a draconian feast was fine, so long as the meat wasn’t raw and bleeding. Healers pushed Link to drink one too many teaspoons of bitter-tasting yellow potion, easily unconvinced that whatever ailment plagued him was not “only a stomachache”. His stomach churned horrifically from the aftermath, but the reward outweighed the risk, all worth being accepted into an extraordinary clan.

A clan he couldn’t bear dragging them through a war that wasn’t their own to fight.

Link eyed the Magical Sword from its place across from his bed. Its previous owner had already been unfortunate to cross paths with this Cia, this witch that was planning an uprising of unknown proportions — she, in turn, was unfortunate enough to cross paths with the dragon that pushed her back into her place of hiding. Maybe, just maybe, it was a good thing that she had run into him first.

How would things have been different if she didn’t? Link often wondered about the outcome more than he would care to admit. Would the war have been over by now? Would Hyrule be laid into ruin? Would he be able to keep the princess safe?

His eyes fell down to his hand where his thumb had idly turned the stone around on its ring.

Cia needed a general to start this war. If she had succeeded, would Volga have joined her?

“Captain!”

The sharp sound of knocking against his door jarred him out of his thoughts. The hero — now that he was back within the castle, he almost forgot he had a title to uphold — moved to open the door. The messenger stood stiffly in a salute.

“The General wants you to ready your mount and prepare to move out before sunset, captain!”

Link nodded once and saluted him off, shutting the door once he could no longer hear the heavy footfalls from the corridor. It was already mid-afternoon. There wasn’t much time before twilight would be upon them. He turned back to look at the sword. Better to use it now than later.

Without a second thought, he secured his newest weapon to his back and made his way out for the stables.

“Can we talk for a second, Link?”

Their newest addition to their party at least asked nicely. The hero paused his inspection of Epona’s hooves to look up at Lana, inviting her to continue on with her questions. Though she might have been allied with them for the last few months, Lana still remained an enigma to him: he wasn’t sure if she was hiding more than she let on since their first encounter, and more so with how much she knew about Cia.

“I-I can see you’re really busy,” she stammered, already falling over her words. “But I just wanted to ask you something personal, if that’s alright?”

It took every ounce of restraint to repress the urge to roll his eyes. Lana was a cute girl, sure, but Link knew where this conversation would eventually lead up to. There was no time to play these kinds of games with allies who had more than just a friendly interest in him, and even less with the sun slowly setting and sky turning into orange.

But the company was nice, the presence of another person filling the space in the otherwise empty stable. Link turned back to his work and gave her one stiff nod.

Lana relaxed almost immediately and smiled sheepishly. “I’ve noticed that you leave the castle grounds every chance you get whenever you’re granted the time,” she said quietly, planting herself on a wooden box near the other side of Epona to keep Link’s attention. “May I ask where you go?”

He didn't look at her as he shuffled from one of Epona’s legs to the next. His hand moved up where she can see, fingers and thumb pressed together. They move from the corner of his mouth to swipe over and touch his cheek. Home.

Her smile faltered. Lana said nothing as she wiggled in her seat and grew visibly uncomfortable with his answer. Her feet kicked at the hay around the box. Some part of Link didn’t like this conversation at all, but he steered his thoughts into focus, now rummaging through his pack to make sure he had everything he needed —

“I know you don’t go home, Link.”

He snapped his head up to look at her. Yeah, now he really didn’t like the direction this was going. He frowned when her eyes met his.

“I know the village you hail from is in the west, but you head northeast. Please, be honest: where do you go?”

Was she stalking him? That was enough. Link scoffed quietly and pushed himself off the stable floor with the pack in hand, haphazardly throwing it over Epona’s saddle. He wanted this conversation to be over with whether he was prepared or not for whatever mission he was being set on. As he stood, Lana stood with him and stepped closer.

“W-Wait! I don’t know where you go, but I just want you to be careful, Link! The last time you returned, you were sick for nearly a week!” The sorceress said in anguish. He ignored her in favor of looking for the reins for his horse. “I can sense a change in you every time you come back, and I’m not sure if—” she stopped herself when Link snaps to look at her with narrowed eyes. She steadied herself with a hand on Epona’s mane, fingers delicately brushing through her white mane. “I’m not sure if it’s dangerous yet. Cia is coming closer with each day, and I— I can’t lose yo—”

“There you are, captain!”

Lana backed off, retreating to her corner as Link both relaxed and tensed with his general now in the room. Their conversation was now at an official end with Impa wandering into the stables. He gave her a salute in greeting. She threw an arm over his shoulder and turned him away from Lana’s direction. At least they still held a common distrust over the sorceress.

“I apologize for this short-notice, but I need you to head into Faron Woods. Reports of more monsters have been flooding my desk, and some are trickling in with rumors of a sprouting Manhandla deep in the forest.”

Link blinked up at her with an incredulous expression and suddenly noticed the lack of her own weapon on her person. Impa understood what questions he had written across his face and nodded affirmatively. “Yes, captain, you will lead a small brigade by yourself. It’s not your first mission alone, but I trust that you can command a group on a mission such as this.” She patted his arm and released him, moving to pass the reins on Epona to him.

He wasn’t sure whether he liked the idea of being left to command a group of men yet without her guidance. On the other hand, it was nice to know that the Sheikah had seen enough growth in his skills to trust him with another mission. Soon enough, maybe, he would be the one to take charge and lead their men to victory. Without a second thought, Link accepted the reins and pulled Epona along out of the stables, sparing Lana one last sideways glance. Resigned in her corner, she gave him a small wave of goodbye.

Once outside in the glow of twilight, he climbed into his saddle. Some of his men — two soldiers and one fellow captain — were waiting for the order. Their general stood by Link’s side and saluted them off. “May the goddess Hylia smile on you all. And Link,” she said, placing a hand on his forearm, “bring my men home safely.”

The hero nodded to her with a lopsided smile and snapped the horse’s reins. With a loud neigh, Epona led them off into the settling dusk in the direction of Faron Woods.

#hyrule warriors #fic #volink

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crimziedrawings · 5 years

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Idk if your still doing prompts but Lucien and mystery sounds cool as shit ❤❤❤

I have never been more dedicated to writing in my life. This story is now one of my top favorites!

Prompt list here

Everything Will Change

Lucien treaded through the autumn woods, his steps light to avoid drawing other creatures' attention. His eyes passed a tree (a bush, really), it's fragrant tea olive flowers a deep orange. His lips pulled into a small smile as he thought of Tamlin. He shook his head, and continued through the trees. No matter how hard he tried, his thoughts always drifted back to Tamlin. How was he now? Where was he now? Did he hate him, think that he betrayed him? Lucien sighed, pausing to pull his hair back. Tamlin wasn't just his High Lord and master. He was his best friend. Sometimes he feels that he failed him. He should've stayed with him, he should've tried harder to keep his friend away from the darkness. Sometimes he questions their friendship. If they were really friends, if they were really compatible, shouldn't Tamlin had listened to him? Or had trusted him?

Crack. Lucien whipped his head towards the sound, his dagger already in his hands.

"Who's there?" He said quietly, but firmly.

A figure moved from behind a tree, and in a blink appeared a few feet away from Lucien. The man -no, creature, wore a black robe that looked older than the creature itself. Lucien's eyes widened as its bony fingers reached up to pull the hood back, revealing sunken eyes and a pale, wrinkled face.

"You're a-" Lucien's voice caught in his throat as his stared in disbelief at the creature. "You're a Suriel,"

"I am," the creature replied. His voice was a ragged whisper but Lucien heard him clearly, as if the wind carried it.

Lucien lowered his dagger. A Suriel. Right in front of him, drawn without a trap or offer. He was probably traveling himself, and they just so happened to cross paths. Maybe because Lucien wasn't seeking him, or because he posed no real threat, the Suriel deigned to speak to him. Is this how Feyre had met the Suriel too? Or did she seek him? Lucien didn't know how Feyre came across a Suriel but was shocked at the fact that she did, especially when she was a mere human. Lucien thought of what Feyre told him had conspired the last time she met the Suriel. He had died protecting her. This made Lucien think that perhaps not all creatures were soulless.

"Did you know the Suriel that died, the one my..." Friend? Acquaintance? What even was Feyre to him? Lucien straightened. "The High Lady of the Night Court tried to help?"

Lucien swore something flickered in the Suriel's depthless eyes, something akin to sadness but at the same time not.

"I did," the Suriel said.

Lucien bowed his head slightly. "I'm sorry for your loss,"

The Suriel watched Lucien with a look he couldn't place. "Your heart is a kind one,"

Lucien raised his head, staring at the Suriel. Why was he here? What did he want? Was he going to eat him? Did they even do that?

After what seemed like minutes, Lucien asked, "Can I help you?"

The Suriel gave a chuckle, or what Lucien assumed was one. "Odd question for my kind,"

Lucien lips twitched, a small smile forming. Right, because Suriels are sought after because of their all-knowing knowledge and honest tongue. "Of course. My apologies,"

The Suriel continued to watch Lucien with that look. It unnerved him.

"Where do you wish to go, fox?" The Suriel asked.

"Home," he answered, twisting to face the north.

"Which one?"

Lucien turned to the Suriel. Should he go back to the Spring Court? Perhaps he could fix things with Tamlin. He should fix things. But it's too early. As much as Lucien hates it, Tamlin needs to suffer for a bit.

"The Autumn Court,"

"To your family?"

"To my mother," Lucien corrected. "I couldn't care less about my brothers and father,"

The Suriel's eyes seemed to clear, a look of understanding spread. "Your father, yes,"

"You know of him? Is my father so awful that even the Suriels know?"

Lucien wasn't in the least surprised. His father was a horrible man, and he was not blind to it like his brothers.

"We know all," the Suriel declared. "But no, the High Lord isn't so awful,"

Now Lucien was surprised. "You don't need to sugarcoat it for me. Beron is dreadful,"

"Beron, yes. But your father is quite a ray of sunshine," the Suriel said, a hint of humor in his voice that Lucien did not understand.

"Beron is my father," Lucien voiced, confusion masking his face. Surely the Suriel knew that.

"Is he?"

The world slowed and started to feel almost suffocating. His mind was a jumble of thoughts and his chest a mixture of emotions. Each tried to fight their way to the front, and it took everything Lucien had not to give in. His fingers trembled slightly in restraint. "I... I've never had a reason to suspect otherwise,"

"No? It seems to me there are many reasons,"

Now that he thought about it, there was a lot that wasn't natural, or that didn't make much sense. He was darker than his brothers, but Lucien chalked that up to his time outdoors growing up, when he tried to distance himself from his family. That also didn't sit right with him, shouldn't he want to be with his family? It's not like he hates them, his brothers and... Beron. But he always felt different, softer and warmer. And Beron, he raised him as his son just like his brothers but there was always... something. A dismissal, a preference for one of his brothers, even a look. There was always an aura of division, but Lucien thought that was because he took after his mother the most.

Oh, gods. His mother. Did Beron know? He already treated his mother with the most sickening disrespect but if he knew that she had another child with a different man... Lucien did not want to think of it.

"Does he know? Does my mother know?"

"Yes,"

The world closed in more. Suddenly, he could not get enough air and his head twirled. His eyes shut tight against the dizziness.

Lucien paused, eyes snapping open. He wondered whether he should ask. Did he want to know? Did it change anything? And as he voiced it, he knew that it would change everything. "Who's my father, then?"

The Suriel became even quieter, it seemed.

"Tell me." He demanded. "Who is my father?"

The Suriel stayed silent, though his head rose slightly.

"Please," he begged.

The Suriel watched him with that look again.

Lucien felt a sharp pull in his heart.

But no, the High Lord isn't so awful.

Lucien shot his hand out, his fingers shaking as his restraint lost control. "Wait. You said High Lord,"

Was that a smile on the Suriel's lips?

"One of the High Lords is my father?" He whispered.

That's impossible. His father- Beron would've been furious. He would've treated Lucien like he was a disgrace. He wouldn't have been this calm- yes, calm compared to what should've been. Beron hated the other High Lords, and to have to act as a father to one of their children... Lucien held back the tears as he thought of his mother bearing this weight. She should hate him for bringing such difficulty in her life. Yet she loved him, and sacrificed much for him. Lucien hoped that there was a chance the Suriel was wrong, so that his mother, an angel in a fae's body, hadn't suffered.

"Maybe you got the wrong person. There's no way my mother has had any kind of relationship with another High Lord,"

"I cannot lie," the Suriel professed. "I am not mistaken,"

The Suriel looked up as a breeze came through, ruffling the trees overhead. A ray of light peeked through the leaves, nearly blinding Lucien as it set on him.

Amusement shone in the Suriel's eyes. It's lips pulled back in a smile, revealing yellow teeth. "It's a beautiful day,"

The world closed in as realization hit Lucien.

The High Lord isn't so awful

Your father is quite a ray of sunshine

It's a beautiful day

"Helion Spell-Cleaver is my father?" He choked.

The Suriel's head rose higher. "I ask you again, Prince."

"Which home do you wish to go?"

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