#she holds it together for the conversation - spits out 'hello mother' and acts as if the whole thing is beneath her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

drarryangels · 3 years

Note

Prompts are open! Professors!Drarry, husbands, one tells students all about his husband. No one knows who that is. Until one day sth clues them in. And everyone's like - WHAAAA?! Bets are lost. McG is amused.

Hello there! This is the oldest prompt in my ask box, haha! So sorry it took like two years to get around to this.... *blushes*

Anyways, I hope you like!

“That will be all for today,” Harry says. “You can have the rest of the period to work.”

He leans back against his desk and watches the scramble of students trying to pair off with their friends. He smiles and shakes his head. Every day is the same. Gloriously, marvelously, wonderfully the same.

“Professor Potter?”

Harry looks over to one of his students, a slight teenage girl with her hair tied up into three ponytails. “Yes, Miss Wimblefon?”

She twirls a curl of hair around her finger and smiles up at him. “I had a question for you. About the assignment.”

Harry sighs and waves his hand. “Ask away.”

“You said that the enchantment only works if the user is truly in love,” she begins.

Harry nods and folds his arms. “Precisely. Which is why you are only working on the theoretical application of this spell, and not trying to use it on your classmates.”

Jane giggles. “I’m in love. Can I give it a try?”

Harry stands up and brushes off the front of his robes. “You most certainly may not, Miss Wimblefon. As much as I am pleased by your interest in the subject, it’s not appropriate nor safe to produce the enchantment even when one is truly in love, and I have the strong suspicion that you are not.”

Jane’s cheeks go red. “Well, what does the spell do anyways?” she says, crossing her arms and huffing.

“An excellent question,” Harry says. “An easily answered one if you do your reading.” He holds his hand out to the classroom, and she gives him one last glare before turning on her heel and taking a seat with Mildred Daney.

“Merlin,” Harry says, dropping down onto the bed and spreading his arms out wide.

“What is it?” Draco asks, emerging from the bathroom and leaning against the door frame with his toothbrush stuck out of his mouth. “Jane flirting with you again?”

Harry groans and rolls over on the bed. “How did you know?”

Draco disappears to spit out his toothpaste, and then returns, smelling of mint and citrus shampoo. He climbs up the bed and drops down beside Harry, curling an arm around his waist and pressing his nose in the back of his neck.

“Because she’s the exact same with me,” Draco sighs. “Always playing with that bloody hair of hers.”

“She’s a sixth year already,” Harry says to the wall. “Isn’t this a bit odd?”

Draco nuzzles in closer behind Harry. “Someone should tell her that if she keeps tugging at that hair, it will all fall out by the time she’s twenty.”

Harry laughs. “Don’t you dare, Draco. Her mother will tear down the school.”

Draco bumps his head between Harry’s shoulder blades. “Well, then it will be McGonagall’s problem.”

Harry twists and rolls over to face Draco, his face smiling and bright. “You know,” Harry says, touching their noses together. “I think you may be right.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Yes,” Harry says and pushes himself on top of Draco, knees on either sides of his hips and arms around his shoulders. “Get Jane out of our hair.” He sets his head down on Draco’s chest. “And while we’re waiting for her mother to Floo in, we can plan our joint funeral, hm?”

“Bit early, isn’t it?” Draco says. He lifts his hands and rubs them up and down Harry’s back.

“Oh, no. Not at all,” Harry says. He lifts his head up and grins at Draco. “In fact, it may be a bit late if McGonagall has anything to do with it.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Forget I said anything.”

“That’s what I thought,” Harry says, and drops his head back down on Draco’s chest.

Draco is so warm, so soft. Nice. A weight tethering him to the ground, to sanity.

“Good night,” Harry sighs.

Draco smacks his bum. “Get up and brush your teeth, you buffoon.”

Harry groans as Draco pushes him away, all the way off of the bed.

“Why?” Harry wails as he hits the ground with a great oof.

“Because I love you,” Draco says happily before sending a stinging jinx in the direction of Harry’s backside. “Very, very much.”

“Hello, Professor Potter,” Jane says. She’s twirling her hair again.

“Hello, Miss Wimblefon,” Harry says over his breakfast potatoes. “May I help you with something?”

“Yes,” she says, looking rather pleased with herself with her chin all drawn up. “The book says that the enchantment provides a binding connection to the user’s true love. One that doesn’t break until death.”

Harry squirts some ketchup onto his plate. “Almost correct.”

“What?”

Harry picks up a piece of bacon. “Almost correct. The enchantment doesn’t die after death. That’s why it’s so complicated. It must be a mutual bonding, and both parties must be truly in love with the other. And the bond doesn’t break after death, which opens up a certain realm of questioning about putting intention behind spells.”

Jane shakes her head hard. “What does it benefit though? Why engage in such complicated and dangerous magic? What does it do?”

Harry smiles and sets his bacon down. “Miss Wimblefon, would you mind continuing this conversation during our class time? I’m trying to enjoy my breakfast.”

Draco snorts beside him.

Jane glances over at Draco briefly and narrows her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak again, but Draco looks up from his hash and stares at her with wide grey eyes. Too wide to really be attractive, people have said before. Harry likes them.

“Right then,” she says, and runs off.

“Bless you,” Harry says, linking his pinkie into Draco’s.

Draco raises his eyebrows. “Harry.”

“Yes, my love?” Harry smiles at him. Innocently, very innocently.

“Why are you teaching verus amor est alliges duplicia?” Draco glares at him, and squeezes hard with his pinkie finger. “That’s extremely complicated magic.”

Harry shrugs. “No reason at all.”

Draco sighs and winds the rest of his fingers through Harry’s. “Oh, Harry.”

Harry grins. “Oh, Draco.”

“It’s class time now,” Jane says.

Harry glances up at his charmed clock over the archway in his office. “Not quite, Miss Wimblefon.”

“Well,” she says, already sitting down in the chair opposite him. “I didn’t want to interrupt your lecture, so I thought I’d pop in early.”

“Right,” Harry says. It’s probably best to get this over with. Maybe if Harry answers all her questions, she’ll leave him alone. “Go on then.”

“I’m curious to know what is the purpose of the spell.” She folds her hands on Harry’s desk and leans forward.

Harry pushes his chair back slightly. “It’s an irreversible connection with the person who loves you most in the world. It links you together. So, theoretically, if one half of the pairing was hurt, the other would know it. If something good has happened to one, the other feels their happiness.”

“So they share feelings?” Jane asks.

“No,” Harry says. “It’s not sharing. It’s just a sense. An added knowledge.”

“And what else?” she demands.

“It can act as a protective charm, if in dire circumstances,” Harry says. “A bubble of defense, if the two are physically close.”

Jane sighs and kicks her loafers on the floor. “It sounds fine, but not worth the magic.”

Harry smiles. He’d felt the same way when he’d first learned of it. “Well it’s more than that. The best part about it is the connection. It is difficult to explain, even for those who have experienced it. It is a joining of skin, two souls being one, a linking of magic. It is being melded with another person, body, soul, and mind. It is having them with you, always.”

Jane’s mouth opens a bit. “Er. Professor Potter?”

“Yes?” Harry asks pleasantly.

“Are you bonded to someone?” Jane asks, looking scared and excited all at once.

“To my husband, yes,” Harry says, and smiles at her.

Jane falls out of her chair.

It takes another four days after Jane faints in Harry’s office before she comes to confront him again.

“You’re completely oblivious to it,” Draco is saying to Harry. “He has an excellent aptitude for Potions. He’s very talented, really.”

They’re in greenhouse four, so Draco can collect clippings for a potion in his classes the next day. Harry hovers by Draco’s side, not doing anything particularly useful.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Please, you should see him in Defense. I might as well transfigure him into a hippo, and see if it changes the results.”

Draco touches a hand to his chest. “My, my, Harry. I think you’re spending too much time with me.”

Harry pushes at him. “I know I am. Thank Merlin for it.”

“Professor Potter?”

Harry trips and nearly stumbles over into a collection of finger eating bushes before Draco grabs his sleeve and hauls him up.

“Hello, Miss Wimblefon,” Draco says coolly. “May I ask you what you’re doing out of bed at this hour?”

Her eyes pass over Draco. “Professor Potter, I have more questions for you.”

Harry is still choking on his breath. “Er. Yes. Miss Wimblefon, can we resume this conversation at a later time?”

“No,” she says, and comes to stand next to him. “Carry on with your walk. I’ll simply join in.”

They have no choice but to walk.

“I didn’t know you were married,” Jane begins immediately as they’re leaving the greenhouse. “Especially not to a man.”

Draco throws an elbow in Harry’s direction and raises both his eyebrows in question. What is she talking about? he mouths. Harry shakes his head. He has no idea.

“So you’ve performed verus amor est alliges duplicia.”

Draco straightens up beside Harry. He chooses not to look over at him for fear of being burned to the ground with the look on Draco’s face.

“Quite,” Harry says.

“With whom?”

Harry stops. “What do you mean with whom?”

He looks over at Draco, who looks just as bewildered as Harry does, his irritation at Harry’s curriculum forgotten.

Jane stops too and looks back at them. “Who are you married to?”

Harry could fall over laughing.

Draco speaks before he can. “Miss Wimblefon. What is my name?”

Jane finally looks at him. “Professor Potter?”

“Yes.” Draco says very slowly. “My name is Draco Potter.”

Jane shakes her head, still looking confused. “So?”

Draco huffs and flicks his hair off his cheekbones. “So I share a last name with Harry Potter. Who do you think I am?”

“Potter is a common name, it’s not weird that you both have....” Her eyes go wide. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” Draco snaps. “Merlin and Arthur, these children get dimmer every year. Potter’s a common name. Honestly!”

Jane turns and takes off running up to the castle.

Harry lets out a breath and holds out his hand for Draco to take. “I think you’re right, love. They really are getting dimmer.”

Draco takes his hand, gentle. “Why did we choose this career path anyways?”

Harry shrugs and they begin the walk up to the castle together. “Good pay?”

Draco blows out a hard laugh. “Good pay, indeed.”

Jane Wimblefon tells the entire school that Professor Harry Potter and Professor Draco Potter are married at breakfast the next day.

Harry drops his head into his hands and Draco rolls his eyes. Headmistress McGonagall stands up briskly and walks right out of the Great Hall. Hagrid bursts out laughing before knocking over the entire front table, and Professor Flitwick along with it.

The students go into a frenzy, jumping up and running from table to table, expressions of shock painted over their faces.

“Forget dim,” Draco says, looking out over the chaos. “This generation is entirely brain dead.”

Harry laughs so hard he gets marmalade in his hair.

#ask box #prompt #drarry #fic #fanfic #essentially plotless #fluff #domestic #professor harry #professor draco #husbands #hogwarts #mine #my work #draco malfoy #harry potter

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iloveitwhen · 3 years

Note

You want angst i have arrived!!!

Please can Adrian find a lost child turms out the child belongs Damien and mari extra salt if the child looks more like mari

So like Adrien doesn't find Marinette's lost child.... I totally forgot about that part of the ask....😭😭 Sorryyyyyy, i hope you still like it!

10 years ago

“I’m fine,” he snaps, “stop dotting on me, what are you, my mother?” He turns and storms away instantly regretting his words but not as strongly as he was annoyed by hers.

“I don’t understand,” Marinette says so softly that Adrien slows to a stop. “Why are you acting like this?” Marinette walks around to face him, trying to catch his eye. “I mean I thought we were happy, I thought you were happy?”

Adrien can’t look her in the eye, he can’t tell her he only started dating her to get over Ladybug, which had been failing miserably for months. At first he was happy, well she mostly just made him feel not so alone and that was everything he could have asked for, until he realized that that wasn’t enough, it wasn’t love, only comfort. Isn’t love supposed to hit you like a ton of bricks? Isn’t it supposed to take your breath away? Make you feel an abundance of emotions like nothing else ever could? Ladybug took his breath away, made him feel things, and Marinette? She was just a placeholder, he was trying to shove her in the hole that Ladybug had left in his heart, but she didn’t fit.

“Look at me.” Marinette doesn’t sound angry, just sad, defeated.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” he blurts, finally looking into Marinette’s eyes just in time to see her breath catch, her hand to fly to her mouth in shock, and her eyes water. Just in time to see her break.

“What?” she chokes out, “why?”

He shook his head, he knew even before they started dating it wouldn’t work but he “tried” anyways for Marinette’s sake, even though the object of his affection was really Ladybug. And of course he knew it was bad to flirt with another woman while he was dating Marinette but it wasn’t like it was hurting anyone. Besides, if he actually was able to pull Ladybug then it wouldn’t really matter in the end, sure Marinette would be a little hurt and he’d feel bad about it but it never would have worked out between them anyways.

“I’m in love with somebody else.” Adrien may not be the best person in the world but he at least can be honest, he really does appreciate Marinette, but the longer he stayed with her the more she reminded him of Ladybug, only driving the stake deeper in his heart that he wasn’t with her, only Marinette.

“Who?” she demands.

Adrien laughs, even he could hear the arrogance in the sound. “Why? What are you going to do, attack her?” For a moment she looks shocked but it quickly morphs to anger.

“I would like to know, Agreste, because I think I deserve it after all this time we’ve been together. I can’t believe that you’d really think that I’d-”

“It’s Ladybug,” he cuts off her inevitable rant but immediately regrets it.

“What?”

“I’m in love with Ladybug.” No turning back now.

“Adrien, you don’t know Ladybug, how the fu** are you in love with her?”

“We used to meet up,” well it’s not necessarily a lie, “she would always be there for me, she made me feel special, like I was her favorite civilian. We would have long talks about everything and nothing,” that’s how it used to be anyways.

“You’re lying.” Marinette is no longer crying but her eyes are red and she looks. so. angry.

Adrien shakes his head even though he is partly lying, “I’m not, but she told me how she was in love with Chat Noir,” oh how he wished that were true, “so I pushed myself away, but clearly it didn’t work. I’m still in love with-”

“Stop. Just stop.” This time Marinette cut him off. Looking up from the ground Adrien sees an expression he’s never seen on her face. Disappointment, contempt, just like the way his father looks at him. “I can’t believe this,” she laughs, empty of any humour, and shakes her head. Heading back over to the table she left her things at, she continues to laugh while repeating, “I can’t believe this.” Swinging her purse around her shoulder she grabs her keys and turns back to him. “This whole time. I can’t believe I've never seen it before now. I was so blind. So blind.”

“So you believe me?” Adrien knows it’s not really important but she was acting weird, crazy even.

“Do I believe that you’re in love with Ladybug. No. No, I don’t think you’re in love with her, I think you’re obsessed with her. I think you need therapy. I think you need to take a look at yourself and realize that love goes both ways, Adrien. Ladybug doesn’t love you back, never has, and never will.” Anger swelled in his chest but she yanks the door open and looks back one last time, “I can’t believe I gave my heart to a psychopath. You know, I really hope you get over her, Adrien. Because she will never. Ever. have you and you will never be happy with anyone else.” She scoffs and rolls still red eyes, “turns out I was blinded by you like you were blinded by her,” she says before stepping out and slamming the door shut.

Marinette never looked at him the same way again, gone was the soft adoration in her eyes and replaced with disgust and anger and disappointment, much like the way Ladybug did, if only she could get over her unnecessary negative feelings over him and love him as he loved her.

---

It was amazing how lonely one person could be, Adrien had only returned to Paris for the 10th anniversary of Hawkmoth’s defeat and it was a bigger celebration than usual and festivities were already beginning; but Adrien only felt a gaping hole in his chest from the memories of broken relationships with friends, his only sense of family, and regret. He took in the decorations hanging above doors and the happy squeals of the children in the park. He sat on the end of a nearly empty bench, flashing the pregnant woman on the other end a quick, polite smile not bothering to really look at her, only to reassure that he only meant to sit and not have a conversation with a stranger.

As he settled and saw all the happy families bustling about the familiar thought of being alone re-emerged, Adrien had simply accepted that he was built and born to be lonely and had accepted that a long long time ago. He accepted it the night Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated Hawkmoth and out of necessity he had revealed himself to the world to avoid suspicion of any involvement of his father’s crimes. Now he was invited every year to give a speech but every year he declined, holding out that Marinette would join him, would reveal to the world that she was Ladybug, but she had dropped any and all communication with him so he always said no. It was silly thinking back to that night, at first he was confused why Ladybug wasn’t surprised in the slightest when he revealed himself and, according to her, only by the goodness of her word revealed herself to him. Although he suspected it was more to watch him suffer than anything else.

“Oof!” Adrien’s thoughts scatter when a little girl trips and falls right in front of him.

“ARGHH I coming for youuuuu!” A man’s voice growls out in a playful manner and Adrien turns his head to look at the source of the sound, it’s a rather handsome man with green eyes that were striking against his dark skin.

The little girl giggles profusely and scrambles up, quickly hiding behind the arm of the bench and using Adrien as a shield from what he assumed was her father.

Adrien chuckled and glanced over at the girl, about to make a comment to her when his words died in his throat. The girl had a familiar splitting smile with twin pigtails and blue blue blue eyes. Save for the tan skin she was the spitting image of one Marinette Dupain-Cheng, of Ladybug.

Adrien is staring at her and she notices and her brow furrows.

“You’re not my mommy,” she says as if he had somehow replaced her or she was considering her mother really was him and had disguised herself somehow.

A giggle sounds from the other side of the bench. Adrien whips his head to the woman to find her laughing into her hand. She looked different than he remembered but it was unmistakably Marinette, she had a bun atop her head with bangs that framed her face and a sundress with a very pregnant belly.

“Marinette?”

A happy squeal right in his ear sounded, he flinched and looked over to see the man had snuck around the bench and scooped the girl up in his arms. “No! Papa put me down! Put me down!” she laughed, trying in vain to get out of his grasp while he placed obnoxiously loud kisses all over her face. The man turned to Adrien with a laugh and an easy smile on his lips.

“Sorry about that-” recognition flitted across the man’s features as he cut himself off, his face falling to a sneer, as if Adrien was scum of the earth, as if the man could not think of a better pass time than to kill Adrien. It was a terrifying change of demeanor, Adrien desperately felt the need to get out of this man’s sight before he got murdered.

“Damian,” Marinette’s melodic voice sliced through the tension but the man only walked towards her, not dropping his gaze from Adrien.

Adrien tried to look anywhere else but unfortunately found that the mini-Marinette had developed the same look and was glaring at Adrien.

Marinette had stood and placed a hand on the arm of the man to placate him before turning to Adrien with a small smile.

“Hello, Adrien.” He had imagined this moment so many times. So many times. And this was never in any of his imaginations. Marinette with a family that wasn’t his. “It’s good to see you.”

“Really?” he blurted, he needed to know if it was true, had she really thought of him as much as he thought of her?

“Of course.”

Of course. Of course. Of course.

“This is husband, Damian-”

“Damian Wayne,” Damian shifted his daughter to his left hip and thrust his hand out. Adrien reached his hand out and the other man practically crushed his bones with an unnecessarily strong grip.

“-and our daughter, Bridgette.” Adrien glanced at the girl to give her a polite smile but she was still glaring at him the same way her father was. It was quite unnerving.

“She’s the spitting image of you,” he tries awkwardly.

“And she’s got her father’s glare it seems,” she chuckles and Adrien tries to laugh along but it sounds much too forced. “I really do hope you’ve been doing well, Adrien. I know we didn’t leave on the best of terms but I hope you’ve been blessed with happiness as I have.” She contemplates him for a short moment. “We both deserve it after-” she waves her hand through the air gesturing towards the festivities, “-everything.” He knew she was referring to their time as Chat Noir and Ladybug but he only thought of how much he couldn’t have happiness after all the things that happened in his life outside the suit. “We have to get going but it was nice to see you.” She sends him one last smile and turns away, easily slipping into her husband’s side, who was Damian freaking Wayne, CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, and walks away. Again.

Adrien could never compare, and he knew it.

He lamely calls out, “It was good to see you too,” before collapsing back onto the bench and takimg a deep shuddering breath.

Ok i know he didn't find a lost child but I don't want to rewrite it😭😭 I hope it still checks the rest of the boxes!

#if someone semds another ask for the same thing i will write it correctly #i swear #damian x marinette #maribat #adrien salt #adrien is just dumb mostly #and selfish and dumb #anyways i hope you have a wondeful day #also my asks are now anonomous i didnt realize it wasnt before #asks #my asks

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liliesoftherain · 3 years

Text

My Everlasting Alstroemeria

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader; Midoriya Izuku x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst?

Summary: Part 2 of Alstroemeria

A/N: Hi y’all, here's part 2!! Bakugou’s Pov. Let me know if you want a Deku pov????

-----

“Say hello dear; this is Lady (l/n) and her lovely daughter, Miss (y/n) (l/n).”

Katsuki stands there as The Lady bows gracefully with her daughter following suit, so he straightens and greets them as he’s been taught to.

The Lady smiles, turning to his mother, and converses about something he has already tuned out. He stares at you, all properly cleaned and groomed--he wants to roll his eyes. He hasn’t encountered many girls his age before, but he knows they were all too, too girly.

“Katsuki, why don’t you show Miss (l/n) around the gardens outside? I am sure she will appreciate the sights,” His mother gently shoves him closer to where you stood, grinning triumphantly and looking at your mother with a wink. “Now, friend, we have an entire tray of biscuits calling our name--shall we?”

The adults walk off to the parlor, and Katsuki knows they’ll have a perfect view of the gardens from there. Just great, he has to continue to pretend to be nice.

He saunters away, yet doesn’t make it more than three steps as he realizes you still haven’t moved. How bothersome.

“Are you coming, or not?”

“Oh, um, of course!”

Katsuki actually rolls his eyes this time, all while struggling to keep his hands from entering his pockets--he can still feel the welts of his mother’s fan as she reminded him of how improper he acted. You keep quiet, and he supposes it’s better than you talking his ear off like the other boys from his school.

The garden was nothing new to him, the same flowers and exotic plants, perfectly trimmed and on display. The marble fountain in the center of it all was always a fan favorite--even if he could care less about the structure.

Despite his feelings, he noticed that your wide eyes have settled upon it so he brings you close enough to view the detailed carvings along the sides.

“It’s beautiful!”

“I suppose.”

He huffs, sitting on the ledge as you continue to admire it. The longer you stare, the more aggravated he grows, and he can’t help as he stands to shout for your attention.

“Hey! It’s just a fountain--Woah!”

Katsuki wasn’t expecting you to be leaning down to touch the water so close to where he was, so the moment he stands and turns he ends up bumping into you--sending you straight into the water.

The fountain isn’t deep, so you sit up without a struggle, but you are soaked. Your hair is ruined, and you spit water from your mouth. Rubbing your eyes of stray droplets, Katsuki winces at the fact you will start to cry at any moment--as well as the hits he’ll receive later, although he tries not to think about it.

“I, what were you, are you okay? Why were you so close to me?”

He grabs you by the arms and tries to pull you out, sending nervous glances to the large windows to his left. He can tell you’re still processing what happened; you’re rapidly blinking and proving to be of little help as Katsuki drags you out and plops you to sit on the edge--much to his annoyance.

When your (e/c) eyes bore into his own, he knows this is it; this is the moment where you’ll start to throw a fit, and he’ll never hear the end of it.

“Don’t cry, for the love of--”

Instead of tears, he is granted with laughter that thoroughly confuses him--why were you laughing? You chortle loudly, gripping the sides of your stomach and leaning forward. Katsuki doesn’t know whether he should steady you or step back, so he just stays still, watching as your body shakes and shivers from the breeze--yet you still laugh.

“What, just what is so funny?” Exasperation tugs his lips downward, and you struggle to contain yourself.

“Sorry. I just can’t help it--I, I fell into a fountain! Mother is going to be furious.”

You stand, and Katsuki jumps back to avoid getting wet; your skirts are weighed down by the water, and it falls to the ground around your shoes. Although, it doesn’t matter much, seeing as your shoes are also soaked straight through. His eyes narrow and his mouth twists in amusement, he struggles to contain his own laughter at the full sight of you.

“You look like a wet cat.”

“I feel like a wet cat.”

“You aren’t going to cry, are you?”

“Cry?” You tilt your head in confusion, grasping the ends of your dress to ring out as much water as you could. “Why would I cry?”

“Because, um, well, because you fell?”

“So?”

“So now your dress is ruined. Don’t you girls care about stuff like that?”

“It will dry, won’t it?” You shrug, grinning brightly up at him. “Besides, these dresses are pretty itchy.”

Huh. You were strange--especially for a girl.

-----

“Katsu!”

He turns at the sound of your voice, watching as you hike your skirts up and run towards him. He faintly hears your mother yelling at you to behave, to act more proper, but you pay no heed as you continue on. You’re out of breath by the time you reach him, yet you’re still grinning wide, with a missing tooth on display.

“You’re not supposed to run like that--you act like such a boy sometimes.”

He has to look away as you puff your cheeks in protest, smoothing your dress down as if it would help. You were awfully annoying.

“How mean of you Katsu, I came for you to be nice and play with me, not for you to be grumpy.”

“I am not grumpy!”

“You are too!”

Katsuki huffs, flicking your forehead before running further off into the woodland behind the manor. The yelp of aggravation causes him to laugh, and he turns back to see you chasing after him--the bottom of your dress collecting dust and you weren’t upset about it.

Good, he didn’t want to be friends with a girl who was fussy and cry-babyish after all.

-----

“Katsu!”

He holds in a sigh, seeing the table you have set before you--the same table you have been decorating differently for the last week in fact. Why did you have to do this anyway? What was the point of setting a table--didn’t the maids do that? Who cares what it looks like, it was just for gossiping ladies wasn’t it?

He spots another occupant and the table, and this time he cannot hold in his sigh of annoyance. Of course, Izuku had to be here, the little wimp never knew how to say no to you.

“Katsu, come sit and enjoy some tea!”

Your smile was small--formal--and Katsuki found the sight rather gross. Still, he sat down. Not because you asked him to, he was just tired after having to come all the way to your home. That was all.

“Good to see you, Katsuki!” Izuku waves shyly.

“I would say likewise, but it would not be gentlemanly of me to be dishonest.”

“Behave.”

He rolls his eyes at your input, leaning back in the chair as you come close and pour him a cup of tea. He observes your side profile, the way your brows--that used to be furrow in concentration as you struggled not to spill a drop--now stay smooth and worry-free. You’re graceful and poised, something he wasn’t used to. You catch him looking through the corner of your eye, and you smile sweetly at him. He quickly huffs, looking away annoyed.

Girls were so weird--you were so weird.

Katsuki watches as you gracefully take your place in the chair across from him, conversing in idle chatter with Izuku about who knows what. You sat straight, arms perfectly crossed over your lap, with a flawlessly pressed gown, and not a hair out of place.

“I just feel as if something is missing from the décor, don’t you agree?”

“I believe it is lovely, (y/n).”

“Well, thank you Izu, but I really believe there is just, just something that I need to add.”

You sigh, face screwing up as you ponder, and Katsuki acknowledges that he prefers your face this way. Less put together, more you. It’s easier to make fun of that way, of course.

“Your face will be stuck if you continue looking in such an ugly manner.”

“Oh hush you fiend, I do not need beauty tips from someone whose frown lines are more prominent than his fathers.”

Katsuki exhales quickly, amused at your quick wit.

Time passes and they leave you, Katsuki sending Izuku off with a warning of his victory at the next fencing match. Yet before he can fully leave your tea room, he glances back and watches as you continue to fret over whatever it could be you need for your final table piece. He turns away before you notice, heading home, and finds himself in his own mother’s parlor.

Her spread is just about the same as any other boring table, and yet set in the center was a large bouquet of her favorite flowers. Petals decorated around the tins and plates that would have held the food. Scoffing in distaste he leaves for his room, muttering how boring and stupid tea parties were and how he would never understand.

On his walk home after school the next day, he takes a long way home through a field of flora. He didn’t want to go home right away, that was all, and this was the longest route he knew. It wasn’t his fault it was full of flowers, and it certainly wasn’t his fault as he spotted a vibrant shrub of sunset-colored ones that he just had to pick.

Once inside his home, he mentally cursed as the first person to notice him was no one other than his mother.

“Katsuki, what are those?”

“Flowers mother, of course.”

His tone didn’t go unnoticed, and Lady Bakugou clicked her tongue at his words.

“For whom are your, of-course-flowers, to go to?”

“No one. I simply wanted them.”

“You simply wanted an alstroemeria--a romance flower?”

“I just wanted them; I do not care what they are.”

“...What an insufferable child.” She dismissed him with a wave.

He holds his tongue, rushing up the stairs and away from her scrutinizing eyes. A breath of relief stops short as she speaks up once more, a teasing tilt to her voice.

“Would you tell Miss (l/n) I say hello whenever you present her your gift? It has been too long.”

Why were all the women in his life so aggravating?

-----

“Katsuki, can you please try to act as if you are entertained?”

“This is the fourth dance today, (y/n), I cannot be any less than indifferent now.”

You both circle each other, the music from the pianist floods the ballroom and he can tell you were counting in your head along to the beat. He brings you back into his arms, and you stare into his eyes, your own swirling with emotion. Katsuki pulls his gaze away, choosing to look around instead; pride puffs his chest as he sees multiple alstroemerias decorating the room.

“Oh, of course! You must be exhausted--do you want to stop?”

He’s drawn back to your face, and he curses how he is unable to stop sneaking peeks at your pouted lips. He wants to say yes; he wants to tell you how his feet ache, how since he had barely gotten home from his small business trip with his father a mere few hours ago he wants nothing more than to sleep.

“No. Now continue before I change my mind.”

The smile that stretches across your face is absolutely radiant, and the laugh bubbles from your lips causes his stomach to twist in ways that he cannot explain.

You really are a strange and aggravating girl--one he can’t appear to say no to.

-----

“Oh Katsuki, it is adorable!”

He watches as you trace a finger along the broaches front, your once sullen mood has now gone at the sight. When he first arrived he didn’t understand why you looked to be so upset, but the moment you realized it was him you had perked up.

A part of him wishes to believe you were happy for his return, and not just the idea of presents.

The broach pin he had gotten was something he felt as if he needed to have for you; obtaining it on another one of his trips, this one lasting far longer than most. He went away the entire summer, staying in one of his father’s estates in another area he possesses, for educational purposes. As a future Duke, he was constantly thrown around to learn lands, trade, and the people of surrounding areas--especially of the land he will one day inherit. It was rather taxing, boring, and dare he say lonely.

Katsuki would never admit it out loud, but your presence was quite missed.

“Of course it is, my taste is impeccable after all.”

“Yes, the only man who would see the beauty in a woman’s broach.” You laugh at your own taunt, and Katsuki clicks his tongue as he pretends to try and snatch it back.

“I will just keep this then if I am the only one who sees such beauty.”

“No, I am merely jesting! Please, I love it.”

You bring it close to your chest, holding it carefully as if it were the most precious thing you owned, and his heartbeat quickened. He knew that wasn’t true--you may not have been as high in social status as he was, but being the daughter of a Viscount meant you still had luxury in life. As well as being the only daughter of your line meant you were pampered, downright spoiled, and yet you were anything but a pompous brat; you were wonderful, kind, caring, and too sweet for your own good.

“I really do love it Katsuki. Thank you. I’ll wear it always, it looks just like my favorite flower! My everlasting alstroemeria.”

Maybe you were too sweet for his own good.

-----

“What are you two doing here?”

Katsuki stands beside Izuku as they both find you in the drawing-room, accompanied by your mother. You both stand and bow, and he and Izuku dismiss the gesture--they are both too familiar to want to be treated with such formalities behind closed doors. Your mother allows the boys to take her spot, and she moves to the other side of the room to grant some privacy.

“Well, we are all to be busy this season--you especially of course.” Izuku starts, soft eyes not going unnoticed by Katsuki.

He does all he can to not push him away from your side.

“We came here to wish you luck, you are sure to need it with all this prepping you must endure.” Katsuki sighs, leaning back tiredly as if it was him to be affected.

Your laugh lights a fire within him, and he can’t remember when it had switched from an annoyance to being angelic music.

“You both are too kind--I shall survive, hopefully.”

You fall into easy conversation, and Katsuki remains reserved to observe.

You’ve grown throughout the years, no longer were you the wild child who would ambush him with sticks in the grove behind his home. No longer were you the young girl who would step on his toes purposely when he would verbally complain. No, now you were a bewitching young woman, one with an enticing face, enthralling wit, and a beauty like no other.

If you weren’t the top choice for the season, he would be surprised--no doubt would the rest of the male occupants; it was something he was dreading. The chance to court you would be more difficult with the more callers you had and while he didn’t want to use his status as a flaunting point, he would hope it would keep others at bay until he could propose.

However, no one was as big of a threat as the green-eyed dimwit he called a friend. Katsuki was no fool, he knew Izuku cared for you just as much as he did. How could they not become so enchanted with you?

You were perfect.

“I am not looking forward to all the dancing, it is different than dancing at home with one of you.”

“Well, you must promise to save a dance for me then.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow, attention focused on him. That’s what he liked to see.

“Yes, you must. I have been subjected to your torture for years now--I have to see if you can hold your composure while under that type of pressure.”

You snort, an extremely unladylike mannerism that he held endearment for, and roll your eyes at his taunts.

“Well then it is a promise, I shall always make sure to save you a dance,” you turn from him to the other and the illusion of being alone with you vanishes, “the both of you.”

Yes, if there was one person he’d have to watch for, it was going to be Izuku.

-----

“My Lord, this is my daughter, Miss Tokage.”

Katsuki merely greets her respectfully, not fully present in the conversation as he waits for your arrival.

When you do arrive, it is like time had stood still--no one else’s presence mattered except yours. You were ethereal; your seamstress having outdone herself as you wore a gown that did nothing but accentuate all the right traits. Your makeup--while you never needed it--brought out the color of your eyes and the temptations of your lips. Your hair was adorned with alstroemerias of the same beautiful sunset gold as he had brought to you all those years ago, and the urge to propose to you then and there was extremely difficult to hold back.

As his feet began to move toward you, a body blocked the way.

“My Lord, my dances for tonight are free--if you wish to occupy them, that is.”

His eyes flicker back to you, seeing you hanging off your mother’s arm as another suitor reaches you first. As long as it wasn’t Izuku…

He catches his mothers gaze, and she too looks as if she wants for him to turn the girl away. Yet she offers a half-heartfelt smile, and he feels his resolve crumble. That's right, Miss. Tokage was a very prestigious daughter, and it would be a good match. But that's not what he wanted--he wanted you.

He swallows down a sigh, accepting her offer as he writes his name on the first dance and pulls her onto the floor. Dancing with her is much different than with you; she's not the right height, she feels all too wrong in his arms, and the little conversation there is, is dull. Sure, he is probably the cause of that, as he merely offers polite responses and nothing more. He searches for you again, and finds you standing off to the side--the one and only Izuku standing next to you.

The song ends, and Katsuki means to take his leave to head to you but this girl follows him, and he tries to explain as peacefully as he can that he is no longer interested before he gives up and makes his leave anyways.

Katsuki searches the dance floor and sees how Izuku twists you effortlessly, and his anger begins to rise. You both are laughing, as always, and yet Katsuki knew it was different than before. This time, it meant so much more than playful banter between childhood friends.

Without another thought, he pushes himself in your direction with a simple,

“Pardon--”

Your wide eyes fall upon him and his heart stutters.

“Miss (l/n), a dance? A real dance, anyways. Seeing as the ever graceful Izuku may as well have two left feet.”

“Oh, most amusing, Katsuki.”

When you look away, his smirk loses its humor and grows tighter; Izuku’s eyes darken in return. His arm tightens around you, and Katsuki has to bite his tongue lest he say something he’d regret.

When you take his outstretched hand, he calms; you’re the only one who could soothe his soul with something as simple as your touch. He spins you round, before pulling you close--this is what he needed. You fit perfectly into his arms, there was no way anyone could ever replace you.

“How are you this evening, (y/n)?”

“Very well, My Lord.”

Katsuki doesn’t know what to make of your neutral face--normally at these events you joke and tease him, talking the night away, uncaring of the scrutinizing eyes of the guests. Now, it was as if you were truly strangers, speaking formally as any other person would.

After a bit more coaxing, you relax, and even let out an adorable snigger--he bites his lip to hold back a smile. There was the girl he loved.

“May I say, your hair looks lovely tonight--alstroemerias again? It suits you.”

He spins you, slightly longer than before just so he could control his flaming cheeks, and holds you closer when you spin back. All of his life he never understood why he cared for you so much; you were some strange girl his mother had made him escort around until you were so much more.

He yearned for your quips and teases, he ached for your time and presence, he so desperately desired to spend every moment by your side. You understood him like no other, conversations with you were never dull, always full of life and warm--and he longed to converse with you until he grew old and unable.

To him you were his path to true happiness, and Katsuki wanted nothing more than to be truly happy. Yet, your happiness mattered more; Katsuki would do anything to ensure it.

He bowed when the dance finished, and his eyes looked up and locked onto green. Izuku stood off in the crowd, bottom lip caught between teeth before his attention flickered elsewhere. Maybe this was the opportunity he needed to take, to propose here before anyone else could. But fear kept his mouth from moving, what if you were to say no? What if you never spoke to him again? He could let you go if he had to, but did he really have the strength to never be able to be near you again?

“Thank you for the dance, My Lord. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.”

Confusion tore him from his thoughts, words caught in his throat as he watched you hastily walk away. Your tone was sharp, words final as you disappeared in the crowd.

When his eyes flickered to where Izuku once stood, he found that he too was nowhere to be seen.

-----

Katsuki Bakugou has never felt quite this hurt before; the feeling of his heart clenching in pain is something entirely new to him. His body is numb, his hands shake, and the feeling of drowning makes it difficult to breathe.

He is stuck in place, watching as another puts a flower behind your ear and brings your hand up to his lips. He cannot move as you grow shy, basking in the presence of another man's soft gaze.

“Izuku…”

“If the Lady is willing to accept, may I be so bold as to call upon her tomorrow?”

“Of course, My Lord.”

That punch to the gut is what it takes for him to come back down to reality, and he quickly turns on his heel and leaves. He aches in silence, leaving the ballroom without any goodbyes, blowing right past the juniper maiden who just couldn’t take the hint.

None of that was important, he was too focused on his need for a breath as his chest constricts with the lack of oxygen. His gasps ring out into the empty night and he’s forced to learn against a marble pillar lest he falls.

To be reduced to such a pathetic state angered him, but it was nothing compared to the anger he felt at his so-called childhood friend.

The anger soon melted into even more pain, and Katsuki clenched his jaw at the way his throat constricted. He knew from the beginning he hadn’t much of a chance, he knew Izuku would be his biggest competition, and yet, there wasn’t one at all. If Izuku won your hear--who was he to argue that?

And so, he knew that nothing will ever be as good as it once was, as you were, nothing will be worth all his effort like you were, no one will ever come close to you.

But if you were happy, he could pretend to be.

For you, his everlasting alstroemeria.

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amwritingmeta · 4 years

Text

S15: Dean and Cas

Pardon my lateness. Life is mental at the moment! I haven’t watched 15x17 yet but hope to do so today or tomorrow. Gods preserve me, for then there will be only three more episodes left. *is this real life??*

Okay, leaving that, let’s talk about Dean and Cas, shall we? Yes, we shall!

Dean and Cas’ relationship, or rather, how they relate themselves to each other, has been in focus this season, because it’s been pivotal to both of their arcs in canonically straightforward ways. Ways so straightforward that we haven’t really seen the likes of them since S11, and with the very heavy-duty callbacks to S11 these last two episodes, it all seems quite fitting.

I mean, Jack is a bomb like Dean was a bomb and Dean got to ask Amara why she would bring Mary back, and she got to clarify she meant it as a gift, a thank you at the end of S11, because Dean didn’t blow himself to kingdom come and her along with him, because instead he realised how he could broker peace and allow for light and dark to find balance.

Which is what Dean needs to find right now.

He needs to balance out the light and dark, the masculine and the feminine, the conscious and unconscious, the ego and the shadow. He needs to balance himself out in order to let go of his fury. Why does he need that? Why would the narrative continuously hit on him needing to let go of his anger? Because that’s the reason why he was put on this journey to begin with, this slow and steady coming-of-age-coming-into-his-own progression of finding forgiveness and feeling worthy and having faith that he deserves good things.

How do we know this?

Well, arguably this season through what happens to Dean whenever he gives his fury free range, whenever he allows it to hollow out his faith, his trust, making him one-track minded, suspicious and controlling: he loses something.

He loses Cas.

This season has been all about highlighting what happens when Dean is unable to be even the slightest bit self-aware, when he veers off the path of self-acceptance. This season, Dean has had Cas disappear out of his life twice: first when Cas walked out of the bunker and second in Purgatory, when Cas went with the Leviathan. (to get them away from Dean)

The first time Dean almost lost Cas was really all about highlighting Cas’ independence (thank fuck for that), letting us see how far they’ve come in their relationship, because Dean didn’t dig himself a grave this time, perhaps having faith, in spite of it all, that Cas would come back to him, and Cas went off on his own, feeling like there was nothing left for him at the bunker when there was no forgiveness to be had from Dean.

Except, Cas thought better of it. He realised it wasn’t just on Dean to push for change—it was on him as well. And, knowing Dean, Cas had the epiphany that he would have to lead the way.

Dean, of course, not being able to forgive and forget all that easily, needed a final push, which is why the second time he almost lost Cas was all about Dean. He had to confront his anger. He had to, because naming it and admitting it as the root cause of so many of his actions (and reactions) is a cornerstone for him to begin letting that anger go.

Almost losing Cas brought him to a moment of clarity, brought him to take a knee and admit to being wrong and offering the forgiveness he’d been holding back, because being angry is easier, especially when, it could be argued, you were beginning to feel that trust in good things lasting.

Yeah, speaking of good things lasting, it brings us to this question: Why is Dean so angry?

He doesn’t know why (or so he claims) and he probably does need to have his eyes opened for him, the way Amara tried to open them, the way his conversation with her was a highlighter for the point he’s being pushed to finally reach in his progression: forgiving the past, embracing the present, trusting in the future and in the fact that he deserves to live a long and happy rest of his life.

The fact that she’s completely dressed in pink - hello positive femininity representative who kicks ass and who once almost killed God and then was balanced out so that she instead healed him with her light and they twisted into dark and light smoke and went off together - is just delicious icing on the cake.

Yeah, and that’s the issue, Dean, alright, buddy?

Dean is angry because his mother died and her death meant that he lost his father too, it meant that he didn’t get to have a childhood, it meant that he stopped believing that he could have good things that would last, because of a confused sense of identity and a crippled sense of self-worth—why did bad things happen to him if he didn’t deserve it somehow?— and pushed him to mold himself into what would make him feel strong and brave: the image that his father projected.

The soldier.

The weapon and the shield.

And now it seems Protect Sammy has morphed into Sacrifice Jack, all because Dean’s fury at Chuck’s manipulation isn’t containable, and there’s no way Dean’s going to let Chuck live. Even if it means Jack dies in the process. As Dean said to Sam in 15x16: at least it’s not them this time.

All the while we just sit here and witness Dean morphing into the revenge thirsty spitting image of his father one last time, for one final, big ole push towards the line he’ll have to cross if he’s to finally understand once and for all where it’s actually drawn.

At Cas’ feet.

Remember back in S12, before Cas died, there was that subtle (erm) motif of pointy things going through people’s hearts from behind? Yeah. It happened twice, if I remember correctly, before the pointy end of an angel blade went through Cas’ heart and he died an angel death in the season finale.

Yeah. That.

So.

So now, in S15, we have Cas caught in a motif again, only this time Dean is right there with him, because it involves both of them.

We’ve had anger and loss, and then honesty and forgiveness.

We’re back to anger, we’re back to Dean seeing red, blinded by it, and the only thing—we’ve been shown—that can unblind him is…?

That’s right: losing Cas.

So he will lose Cas again. We’ve been on the precepice of this as fact for a good long while now, haven’t we, my merry macarons? We have indeed! The question becomes how will Dean lose Cas again? Is Cas actually going to die? Again??

I still sincerely doubt it.

I think Cas will find another way, and that other way will equal a sacrifice on his part. His life? I mean, it could be, but what about the Empty? What about allowing himself to be happy? It could add up somehow, I guess I just can’t see it. So I think the sacrifice will somehow involve Heaven, because we know Michael will be back, and I hope it will involve Hell and all of the forces God has brought into being working against him—together.

S p e c.

Now, I’m a sadist. No, not like that -> I’m a sadist when it comes to characters. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a sadist. (Misha Collins is one, as we all know) (I joke!) (down Bessie!) What I’m getting at is that I want Cas having no other recourse but to do whatever it is he’ll have to do to save Jack to, quite literally, break Dean.

We know they’re all teary eyed in 15x18 (feels like it’s Billie whom Dean is glaring at) and we’ve seen Dean crying against a wall and omfg I want it to be explicit and over Cas. Yeah?

We ain’t getting them driving off in the Impala together (which is fine btw because the final episode should focus on the brothers more than anything else) (I mean, a hint that they will be driving around in that Impala post season finale while Sam goes to be with Eileen would be fab, but we can only hope and wish, yeah?) (horses held), so let’s get Dean broken over thinking he’ll never see Cas again.

Let it be done with a big fat black marker in enormous circles around his emotional state. Let him TELL Cas to stay this time, like he should’ve done when Cas walked out the door in 15x03, only for Cas to be unable to comply, because this is all to teach Dean a lesson that this is where his anger gets him, and what he needs to do to save Cas is let that anger go, stop thinking Jack is expendable, and find a better way.

I mean, this is speculation, guys. This is hoping and wishing all over this narrative. But glory effing be if it’s anywhere in the ballpark.

It would be mind-blowing if there was a God intervention of some sort, a talking down off the ledge, as it were, as per end of S11, but I’m not going to hold my breath for *rainbows*…

I’ll hold it for balance, though. :)

Cas has waited for Dean for a long time. Dean being dismissive of Cas in 15x15 can, once again— because whenever he acts like a dick it comes back to bite him on the ass (there’s a visual for you)— be looked at as part of the tapestry that makes Cas feel there’s nothing more for him but being a father to Jack.

Dean did nothing but instill this feeling in Cas after Cas came back from the black hole that is the Empty in S13, Dean being all “You were brought back because we needed you”—Dean saying zero things about how he was basically ripping apart at the seams from the grief of losing Cas just hours before Cas made that phone call.

And of course not. Why would Dean admit that? Even to himself, once Cas was back.

He wouldn’t!

Ignoring how he really feels about stuff and taking Cas for granted is kinda what he does, so back to normal it all went. So normal and so leveled out that something had to happen, right? Because, in Dean’s mind, good things don’t last.

And then Mary happened.

Oh, my heart!

And Dean went off and cried, by himself, because he still couldn’t show emotion that openly, even to the people closest to him. But he went down on his knees and he cried in Cas’ ear during that prayer, and that really was something.

That said, Mary’s death was Dean proven right once again, and this person, who is the source of faith and hope and that budding belief that maybe, this time, everything was going to actually get better and stay that way, became the target of Dean’s anger over the injustice of it all. Because Cas was the root of it. He’s always been the root of Dean’s slow-to-grow hope that could bloom into belief and trust, if he just dared let it, that he deserves to be happy.

I wrote in an ask reply that I doubt we’ll get human!Cas, but then I remembered that Cas is still status quo-ing it. It’s why he almost left the bunker without telling anyone again, that choice of skedaddling without checking in getting interrupted by Dean, and Cas being brought into a situation where he had to divulge the information, not only that he was leaving and might not make it back (Dean’s face though!), but that Jack is going through a trial that will ultimately destroy him, which was a nice shift in this dynamic of theirs.

Now, look it, the writers may end Cas’ journey on him status quo-ing it... but for the Empty.

And I would shrug at the Empty and think, well, maybe that won’t come into play... but for the fact that the deal was brought up just a few episodes back.

So. Happiness.

Somehow something will need to push Cas toward a moment of happiness. And letting himself be happy is such a climactic moment for his entire journey—and look at how it perfectly mirrors what Dean is being pushed toward—that I find it difficult to see how that moment would bring an eternity in the Empty.

But I’ve written a lot of words on why I just can’t make sense of why they would choose to kill him or have his moment of happiness be tied to a narrative punishment so I’m not getting into all that again, but because both Dean and Cas are being pushed toward happiness, I’m curious to see which route the writers have chosen to take with it.

It would be thrilling and satisfying in equal measure if we finally get Dean crying over Cas, and only Cas. No filter of Bobby or Mary to take away focus and allow for an argument that he’s not actually grieving Cas.

It would be thrilling and satisfying for it to be very baseline Just Cas. As it has been just Cas this entire season. Cas at the center of Dean’s anger. Cas at the center of Dean’s push toward healing. Cas having had enough, drawing a line—the one that is still there, at his feet—and doing what he’s always done best: calling Dean out on his bullshit behaviour. Cas making Dean put words to his anger, express forgiveness and say that he’s sorry and all within the same moment to boot.

What all this will amount to, we’ll have to wait and see.

In a few weeks. Or next week. Or maybe there will be strong indicators where the pendulum is actually swinging in 15x17!

Holy. Hell.

But I can’t see it ending somewhere tragic. If it does, it does. And it will be what it will be. And I’ll mourn a little, and accept it and move on. But I do believe it will end somewhere hopeful. Somewhere that leaves things quite tied up, but also open to interpretation, so that we can pick and choose who ends up where and how these men decide to continue on their journeys, now that this enormous leg of their progression is done, and they’ve learned to put the past to rest.

And if S11 is anything to go by, then the echoes of that ending would be a powerful way to tie everything up, as S11 was meant to be the end of the road, until Andrew Dabb picked up the reins with an idea of how to continue the show for a few more seasons. Or so I’ve heard.

11x23 also gave us the most gloriously frustrating exchange ever written for two characters in a car. Omg. Dean we-ing the absolute hell out of his speech when it was him, he was the one, the entire time Cas was possessed by Lucifer, who insisted they make sure Cas came back unscathed. “You’re the best friend we ever had” my ass, Dean!

I wanted to talk about Dean and Sam as well, but there’s too little time at the moment for me to write more. And it’s painful, but I have to concede or hit a wall and hitting walls fucken hurts.

I will mention that Sam telling Dean off at the end of 15x16 still gives me goosebumps just thinking about it.

Finally, Sam. Finally.

As ever, sprinklings of salt all over this meta and speculation, my dearlings, but omfg it’s beautiful.

Right then. I’m off to watch 15x17! Wish me luck! *gah!*

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high-tidethunder · 3 years

Text

so long lives this, and this gives life to thee

inspired by this post!

Act I: SCENE I: Holly. The main stage at the Michigan Renaissance Festival. Enter QUỲNH, wearing a long red velvet gown, her hair draped over her shoulders and braided with gold and strings of pearls. She is backlit by string lights on the stage that surround her like a halo.

QUỲNH:

This is a story of two men,

A thief and a knight,

Whose lives are inexorably entwined,

Wherever, and whenever they meet.

This is the story of a years-long fight,

The lost hope of one,

Amidst the search for the other.

This is the story of the power of a young girl,

And her empathy.

This is the story of a family,

And the ties that bind it, which will never break.

This is a story of a love, everlasting.

They might just need a push to get there.

~~~

Joe finishes belting his sword to his back and pushes his way out of the canvas costuming tent and onto the stage, where a crowd of families has already gathered. He smiles at them, waves, sits down at the table on the stage’s corner and pulls up the copy of yesterday’s newspaper that sits on it, studiously focusing on the photograph of Governor Whitmer that graces the front page.

Andy misses their cue by five minutes. Joe has to cough four times, stomp twice, and slam down the wooden tankard he’s been pretending to drink from before they tumble out of the costume tent, adjusting their silk doublet and the circlet twisted into their hair. He is going to kill Quỳnh.

“Yusuf! It has happened again!” they call, and he’s not entirely sure the frantic thread of their voice is an act. At least they remember their lines. “That scoundrel can’t keep getting away with this,” they growl, pacing the stage, pointedly ignoring the audience. They stop in front of his chair, folding their arms across their chest. “Another carriage has been raided, in the eastern wood. He made off with the whole load of silks and what gold the driver had.”

“And what do you wish from me? Years, this has been going on. He is like a shadow, melting away into the night, I cannot find him. I am lost,” Joe retorts, and stares forlornly into the empty mug in front of him. “That blackguard Nicolò di Genova is a thorn in my side that I cannot dig out.”

Andy straightens, then, and finally turns out to look at the audience. They notice the young girl in the first row and crouch down to look at her, smiling kindly when she ducks her head shyly. “Hello there, sweetheart,” they start, voice warm. “My name is Andromache, what’s yours?”

The girl looks up at her parents for a moment and waits for her mother to nod encouragingly before looking at Andy again. “I’m Aisha,” she says, barely loud enough for Joe to hear.

“Hello Aisha, I’m the queen of this realm, and I think that you,” they look up now, “all of you, might be able to help out my knight here. What do you think?”

Aisha’s eyes widen and she stares up at Andy. “Maybe,” she says, still quiet.

Not one to pressure audience participation, Andy stands and steps back, turning to look at Joe before addressing the crowd again. “I bet, if Sir Yusuf here shows you a picture of the man we are looking for, you would be able to tell us if you’ve seen him,” they say, giving Joe a sidelong glance.

He takes the charcoal sketch of Nicky he’d done the week before the festival started out of the pages of the newspaper and stands, walking to the edge of the stage. “This man,” he starts, jumping down in an area in front of the stage clear of any people and gesturing with the sketch, “is called Nicolò, and for many years he has evaded our capture while ambushing our trade routes.” Joe begins to walk up and down the length of the stage, holding the picture out all the while. “He has stolen many goods and deprived many tradesmen their hard-earned wages. We cannot let this stand, and I don’t believe any in our kingdom would think we should.” He stops, “There is a reward on his head, and should any of you be brave enough to join our scouting party, you will be well compensated.” They would get a $20 credit at a select few stalls. One per family. “Will anyone here join our cause?”

Aisha steps forward, a small step, accompanied by an encouraging smile from her mother. “I will,” she says, and the rest of the crowd breaks into a cheer of assent.

Joe grins and kneels down in front of her. “I think,” he starts, looking her in the eye, “that you would make a fantastic second-in-command,” he says, folding away the sketch of Nicky and tucking it between his chestplate and his shirt.

Right then, the stablehands bring out his and Andy’s horses and he stands, mounts the horse, and looks down at Aisha. “Would you like to ride with me, m’lady?” he asks, waiting as she looks to her parents for their agreement before nodding vigorously.

Her father lifts her into Joe’s waiting hands and he settles her in front of him on the horse before signaling to Andy that he’s ready to go when they are. They nod and lead their horse to the front of the crowd to address them, explaining that they and Joe would be leading the group through the fairgrounds in the search. They wait for everyone to situate themselves between the horses, then head out towards the costuming stalls. Joe waits for everyone to clear out before bringing up the rear, making sure to keep pace with Aisha’s parents.

~~~

About halfway through the “search”, Aisha asks to see the sketch again and Joe switches the reins to one hand, pulling the paper out and holding it in front of her. He notices now that he’d gotten Nicky’s nose wrong and he tells Aisha so with a fake-somber shake of his head. In truth, it is a little disappointing. Nicky had willingly sat for an hour for Joe to get the sketch done instead of just handing him a headshot like anyone else would have done. He’d wanted to get it right.

She pats his hand consolingly, stares at the picture for a moment, then asks, “What if he’s hungry?”

Joe is a little taken aback, but he can see her parents smiling next to them and would never try to discourage a child’s empathy, so he responds, “Well, then we would feed him. But, if he takes others’ wares, they’ll have nothing to sell, then they might go hungry.”

“Why couldn’t you feed them, too?”

“We could. We would. But it is difficult managing a kingdom, Aisha, we can’t know everyone who’s hungry all the time. We can only do our best to stop those who are taking advantage of other people, so that they have no reason to go hungry.”

“But when we find him, if he is hungry, you’ll feed him?”

Joe can’t help the smile that’s spreading across his face. “We will, sweetheart. Queen Andromache wants no one in this kingdom to suffer.”

~~~

When Andy finally leads them to the blacksmith’s stall, a little boy in the crowd is the first to spot Nicky where he’s half-hidden behind Booker, the smith, and the new girl, Nile, who are deep in a conversation about metalworking.

Joe hands Aisha back to her parents, then dismounts and draws his sword, handing the reins off to one of the stablehands and approaching the entrance to the shop. “Nicolò di Genova!” he calls, and Booker and Nile step out of the way as Nicky looks up from where he’d been pretending to browse the scabbards on one wall.

“And who are you?” Nicky spits out, shifting on his feet into a fighting stance.

“I,” Joe starts, and wastes no amount of grandeur as he looks out over the crowd amassed before them and continues his speech, “am Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Mohammed al-Kaysani,” here he pauses and looks at Nile, standing next to him with genuine delight on her face, and winks at her, “called al-Tayyib,” he says, swiftly turning and bowing to her, taking her hand in his and pressing a gentle kiss to it. “And you,” he says, standing abruptly and swinging back around to confront Nicky, pointing his sword at him accusatorily, “Nicolò di Genova, are a thief.”

“And by whose authority do you make this claim?” Nicky asks, quirking an eyebrow. “I am but a traveling merchant, here with the sunrise and gone with its set,” he says with a saccharine smile. A taunt.

“Peddler of stolen wares,” Joe bites back, advancing as Nicky steps backward, eyes widening in apprehension in an expression that is almost comically exaggerated to anyone who knows him.

Joe remembers the countless lunch breaks that had been spent rehearsing after Nicky had come to him after their first week of shows together and asked for help making his performance more believable.

He can’t help but be a little proud of himself for the result.

“You have not answered me,” Nicky says, buying time as he makes his way further into the smithy and towards the rack of swords on the far wall. “By whose authority are you making this claim?”

“I am making this arrest under the authority of the Nomad Queen.”

At this, Nicky turns to look at Andy, sitting horseback behind the crowd, drawing their attention to them. They straighten their back, their delicate gold circlet glinting in the sun, and stare down their nose at Nicky.

Nicky takes this moment of distraction to lunge at the rack of swords, grab his blunted prop one they’d planted there that morning, and deftly pull it free. “It is not an arrest you will make without a fight,” he snarls, once again settling into a fighting stance.

“I did not imagine it would be,” Joe counters, coiling his own muscles like a spring.

It’s Nicky who attacks first this time, lunging at Joe as he swings his blade at him in a sweeping downward arc. Joe quickly checks that Nile and Booker have cleared the crowd to a safe distance away before allowing himself to fall back, his own sword raised over his head to protect himself from the blow. He forces Nicky’s sword to the side, inadvertently pushing the two of them chest to chest, and makes to draw the dagger at his hip before his arm is twisted back and Nicky ducks away from him. He growls and advances again, Nicky blocks his first blow but stumbles over a divot in the ground at the second one and falls, dropping his sword to fling out his hand and break his fall. Joe’s hand darts out to grab the fallen blade and he throws it in the direction of the smithy before standing over Nicky, settling the point of his sword under his chin.

“Do you yield?” he asks, panting slightly.

He’s suddenly acutely aware of the way Nicky’s Adam's apple bobs when he swallows.

For a moment, Nicky’s eyes darken into an emotion that isn’t there quite long enough for Joe to recognize it, before hardening into steel once more. “Never,” he spits, then reaches up and, in one swift motion, twists Joe’s sword out of his hand and rolls to his feet. And then, Joe finds himself with his own blade to his neck, staring down it to that same dark look in Nicky’s eyes.

He’s about to say something when Booker calls to Joe and hefts Nicky’s sword his way and they’re in the thick of the stage fight again until Nicky yields.

~~~

“Why did that little girl remind you to feed me?” Nicky asks when they’re back in the costuming tent, and Joe huffs a laugh.

“Aisha,” he responds, “She was very worried that the scoundrel we were looking for might have turned to crime because he was hungry.”

Nicky smiles at this, one of those barely-there smiles of his that Joe first read as a reluctance to tolerate his presence but now sees a kind of beauty in. “Good for her,” he says as he makes his way through the tent to his cubby, undoing the clasps of his leather jerkin as he goes.

Joe goes to his own cubby and sheds his heavy leather armor before tucking it away. He grabs his phone and wallet and is about to leave to grab them lunch when he hears Nicky let out a curse and call for him, and turns to see him tugging helplessly at the last clasp on his jerkin. “Need help with that?”

“Please? I think it caught on the undershirt and I don’t want to tear it if I don’t have to.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll see what I can do,” Joe says, walking over.

He takes the stubborn clasp in his hands and Nicky lets his own hands fall to rest on the wooden chest behind him as Joe messes with the fabric of his shirt, trying to figure out where it’s caught.

“Sorry,” he says, still holding the fabric taut as he kneels to put his phone and wallet on the dirt floor at Nicky’s feet to free up his hand, “I think I see where it’s caught, but-” he looks up from the ground and cuts himself off when he realizes just exactly what position he’s gotten himself in.

Nicky looks down at the same moment Joe looks up at him and barely gets out a ‘what?’ before his eyes widen ever so slightly and he clamps his mouth shut, the tips of his ears turning pink. Joe clears his throat and Nicky’s jaw tightens and he tips his head back, staring steadfastly at the ceiling as Joe goes back to twisting the fabric of his shirt out of the clasp of his jerkin.

“All good!” Joe says when he finishes, forcing cheer into his voice and pulling down the shirt. He very nearly pats it smooth before he catches himself.

“Thanks,” Nicky says, almost clipped, and Joe hazards a look up at him as he blindly reaches out for his phone and wallet.

“Well, I’m not going to ask what you two were doing in here, but I will remind you that this is a tent and does not lock, and I am going to ask if either of you know where my wife is because I believe she owes me $50 now,” Andy says from behind them, and Joe whips around to look so fast that his neck hurts. They wave, phone in hand, then duck out of the tent.

“It’s not what it looks like!” he tries to call after them, raising himself up on one knee towards the tent entrance in some half-assed, desperate attempt to stop his reputation from being ruined.

A hand lands on his shoulder, then, and he feels Nicky’s hair brush at the side of his neck, a sensation that probably shouldn’t send a shiver through him but does anyways. “I think,” he says, voice low in Joe’s ear, “I would very much like it if it was.”

Joe stands so quickly he slams his head into Nicky’s chin, and the other man lets out what Joe assumes is a truly impressive string of curses in Italian, although his semester abroad in Rome didn’t quite teach him whatever it was Nicky had just said about a pig.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, fuck, Nicky, are you okay?” he gets out in one breath, turning to see Nicky with a hand pressed to his mouth and a wild look in his eyes.

“That,” he says pointedly, tightly, muffled by his fingers, “was not the outcome I was hoping for,” he finishes, taking his hand away from his mouth and revealing his lips, smeared with blood.

Joe’s heart plummets and he jerks forward, grabbing for the box of tissues he knows is on top of the cubbies and tearing one out. He crumples it in one hand and holds it to Nicky’s bleeding lip before he realizes what he’s doing.

“Sorry,” he says again, not quite sure if he should keep holding the tissue to the cut.

Nicky makes the decision for him, bringing his own hand to take hold of the bloodied tissue and shaking his head. “I should be the one apologizing,” he says, eyes downcast. “I shouldn’t have said that, it was unprofessional and,” he stops, frustration flooding his features, as though the words he wants to say are evading him. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he finally says and looks up at Joe. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Joe says, shaking his head. “It’s not a big deal-”

Nicky cuts him off at this, “I’ll just take this as a ‘no’ and leave you alone,” he says, and the tone in his voice twists Joe’s gut.

“Wait, Nicky, no. Don’t,” he protests, reaching out for Nicky’s wrist. “Take it as a ‘I don’t have any dinner plans tonight, and I did make a promise to feed you’?” he offers, hoping he sounds as sincere as he is.

The tension melts from Nicky’s face, the worried lines at the corners of his pursed lips turning up in a smile. “You’re a terrible cook,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

Joe laughs, and it feels like letting go. “I am,” he agrees. He’s perfected three dishes that aren’t sandwiches or cold cereal, and even with those, they’re half-burned half the time. “But I’m really good at picking good restaurants because of it,” he says, and Nicky snorts.

“I like the sound of that,” he says, and warmth blooms in Joe’s chest.

“6 sound good?” he asks, a time that should give them both an hour or so after their shift ends to get cleaned up. “I’ll pick you up.”

“Sounds great,” Nicky says, just as Joe hears his cue line for his next performance coming from the stage.

“Who knows where the night might go, huh?” he says, looking Nicky up and down and winking before turning and running for the stage.

#the old guard #the old guard fic #tog fic #userlyde #as i did with the fight gym au...i will more than likely write more of this on a whim #it's about...the found family...#the freedom from restrictions of Research because these are things im Intimately Familiar with #my fic

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the-demelza-robins · 3 years

Text

american high school!jily part five: of explanations and apologies

hello!! SO sorry this has taken so long, thanks for sticking with me! here’s chapter five :) you can also read it on a03 if you want!

Petunia comes back for Thanksgiving with a declared major and a boyfriend. The major — nursing — is to be expected; the boyfriend, however, is not. His name is Vernon. He’s stocky and short and smells like cigarettes. They sit in the living room — Petunia and Vernon, Mom and Dad, Lily — in near silence.

Finally, Lily speaks. “How’s school?”

Petunia flicks an invisible piece of lint off her pencil skirt. “Fine.”

“What are you majoring in, Vernon?” Lily’s mom asks.

His lips spread across his face and it takes Lily a moment to realize that this is what his smile looks like, reptilian as it may appear. “Finance.”

“Vernon’s very good at it. He’s a senior, you know.”

“A senior?” Lily blurts out before she can stop herself. “In college?”

Vernon shoots Petunia a look, like who the hell is this girl, and Petunia responds with a grimace before turning back to her sister. “In college, Lily.” She spits Lily’s name like it’s poison.

“It’s just —”

Lily’s mom glares at her.

A knock sounds at the front door, and Lily springs up to get it, surprised to find James standing on the doorstep. It’s been drizzling out, and he doesn’t have a coat, and for a second Lily feels like she must get him warm, give him a blanket at least, but then he smiles and wipes droplets off his glasses and offers the bouquet of flowers he’d been holding.

“From my mother to yours.”

“Huh?”

“I think they’re on the PTA together, hit it off. She wanted me to bring flowers to the Evans household.” He looks over her shoulder, into the house. “Is this a bad time?”

From the living room, Lily’s mom calls, “Who’s there, Lily?”

Lily sends a panicked look in James’s direction. “Um. James — James Potter?”

“Don’t leave him out in the rain,” her mother calls, scolding, almost, and Lily can imagine, with frightening clarity, the look Petunia’s giving Vernon right now — the Lily’s always been different, socially awkward, just my silly sister, glad you found me and not her…

“You okay?” James asks, brow furrowing as his eyes search her face. “I can come back.”

“No, sorry, just spaced out for a second. Come in,” Lily responds, shaking herself slightly and taking the bouquet. “They’re pretty.”

“My mom wanted to send, um, lilies and petunias, but I talked her out of it,” he admits, hands in pockets as he follows her through the foyer and into the kitchen, where she starts looking for a vase.

“Thank god.”

“Thank James,” he teases, hopping up on the kitchen counter, and this is something he’s always been infuriatingly good at, James: acting like he’s at home wherever he is. Tricking her into feeling comfortable, even when she’s not.

For a second — brief second — Lily imagines what it would be like to stand between his knees and kiss him. She dismisses the thought. Finds the vase. Fills it with water from the kitchen sink and cuts the flowers’ too-long stems and arranges them in a pleasing way. James watches and doesn’t speak.

She’s run out of tasks, now, so she turns to face him. “That calc test is going to give me a migraine.”

He smiles, something weak in it. It occurs to Lily, horrified, that he may not want to be here, with her; that he may have come in because her mother insisted that he do so, that he’s been waiting to leave this entire time. After all, why would he want to spend time with her? They’d been friendly at school, sure, but that doesn’t mean he wants to see her outside of it. She opens her mouth, closes it: how does one say “you can leave, if you want” without sounding like a complete jerk? Besides, she wants him to stay. She’s not sure of many things, but that she’s sure of. She would exchange James’s palpable silence with Petunia’s any day.

“Is your sister here?” he asks, tracing a finger along the faux-marble lines of the countertop. She tries her best not to keep staring at his hands. Why is she staring at his hands?

“Yeah, she’s home for Thanksgiving. With her boyfriend.” Lily can’t hide the displeasure that coats those last few words.

James raises an eyebrow. “Would you rather she stayed single?”

She shrugs, leans against the opposite counter. The Evans’ kitchen isn’t huge — more like an afterthought, removed from the rest of the first floor — and only a few feet separate them. “He’s just… three years older than her. And so boring.”

He laughs at that. “Maybe he’s not boring to her.”

Lily leans forward conspiratorially. “Want to know a secret?”

“What?” he whispers, head tipping towards hers.

“I think she likes that he’s boring.”

James makes a face. “What’s the fun in that?”

“I know, right?”

“Lily?” A new voice.

Lily turns so fast that she can feel her neck crack, just a little bit. Her mother now stands in the doorway, apron over her nice dress, eyeing the flowers and the boy who brought them. “Hello, James.”

“Hello, Ms. Evans,” James says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. That confidence, that sense of self, falters under Laurel Evans’ gaze — she’s been known to have that effect.

That is, at least until she tilts her head, smiles. “How’s your mother?”

He grins back. “Great, yeah. Having a bit of a gardening moment.”

“Looks like it. The flowers are wonderful.”

“I’m glad you like them.”

“Stay for dinner?”

Lily looks at her mother in shock, but the woman doesn’t even cast a glance in her direction. James does, though, and for a second Lily swears she can read his mind. It goes like this: he raises an eyebrow, and she responds with a shrug, and he thinks for a moment (fingers still tracing those marble-countertop lines, Lily can’t stop watching them move) and then nods, and says, “If you’d have me, that would be great.”

“You’d better get out of the kitchen, then. You can visit with Petunia and Vernon?” Here, Laurel’s eyes shift to her daughter. “Or Lily can show you the house?”

Lily’s never been like her mother, not really. Appearance-wise, Lily’s hair is too red and her eyes are too green and her hips are too wide. Personality-wise, her voice is too soft, her confidence too fallible, her way of being too unobtrusive. Laurel and Petunia: two peas of the same pod, but here, now, when Laurel glances at Lily, gives her an out, another option, anything better than spending more time with her sister — now, Lily realizes that her mother may understand her better than she thought.

“I’d love to see the house, Lily,” James says, mischief in his eye, knowing what he knows, now, about her annoyance with Petunia.

“Wonderful,” Laurel says. Wind blows against the windows as she and Lily swap places, as James hops off the counter, as he follows Lily out.

***

The Evans residence is not a mansion, not in any sense of the word. Lily avoids the living room, where Petunia, Vernon, and Mark Evans still sit, making stilted conversation, but she shows James the home office, the first-floor powder room, the dining room where they’ll eat later. “Upstairs are just bedrooms,” she says, standing by the staircase, unsure what to do with herself.

“I bet you have a color-coordinated bookshelf,” James says, like he can tell by the freckles on her face or the way she walks or anything about her, really.

“Oh?” she replies, cocking an eyebrow. Standing on the first step of the staircase, they’re the same height.

“Yeah.”

“One way to find out.” And then they’re walking up the staircase, and into Lily’s room, and she has to blink. Has to reset. Because this — James Potter in her room — was never supposed to happen.

“No color coordination,” he tsks at her bookshelf, then sits on her desk chair. She takes the bed — it’s a twin, not big enough for the both of them. All is quiet as she watches him examine her desktop. She feels laid bare, vulnerable, as he looks at the pictures she’s chosen to frame.

“Halloween, freshman year,” he says, pointing at a photo of Lily and Marlene, dressed as emoji salsa dancers.

A dim memory surfaces. James, in a broad-rimmed hat and heeled boots. “You were a cowboy, right?”

“Yeah. Peter was my horse.”

She sees it, now: James, shorter and rail-thin, all sharp angles, drinking in Sirius’s kitchen. Seeing her. Shot, Evans? Her, wrinkling her nose, turning away. Her first real party, completely sober. “I bet he loved that.”

His expression darkens for a second, then he nods. Gives her an easy smile. Her skin’s prickling because the last time they were together for this long, they ended up kissing. And she’s not sure that’s an experience she wants to repeat. Well, part of her’s not sure that’s an experience she wants to repeat.

He turns back towards her desk, focuses on an old photo of her and Sev; one she’s debated cutting up and throwing away a million times. “I forgot you were friends with Snivellus,” he says, aiming for a light tone and missing the mark completely.

“It’s Sev.”

He turns back towards her. “Oh?”

“It’s Severus. Sev. Not Snivellus.” She needs to regain control of this situation, needs to put some barrier up; needs to remind herself that the boy in her bedroom, the one looking through her stuff, is still James Potter. Still too sharp to touch.

“He speaks quite nasally, though,” James says, smirking slightly.

“I think it’s quite a mean nickname to give someone,” Lily says, tone stiff. She sits up straighter, meets his eyes.

He looks away first, something like red coloring his cheeks. “I guess it is. Old habits die hard.”

It’s a concession — yes, a small one, but a concession nonetheless. She decides to match it with one of her own. “I keep thinking about Halloween.”

His gaze snaps back to hers, and it’s her turn to blush. “Not the — not that part. Before. When you asked me why I’m so, well, confusing.”

She can’t do this. Can’t unspool her thoughts, untangle them, arrange them neatly; can’t do it while looking at him, can’t do it while in her childhood bedroom, can’t unpack the mania and leave it for him to interpret, like some lost artifact.

But then she marvels at the fact that he’s here, that he’s listening, waiting patiently. And she decides that she can at least try.

“For the most of my life, I haven’t been on your side, James,” she finally starts, staring at her lap. “Sev was my only friend. I felt like he was the only one who got me, who truly saw me. Petunia didn’t; Mom and Dad tried but they were too busy. He was my only ally.”

At this, she dares to look up. He’s frozen, devoid of all color: a painting. An anomaly against these pink-painted walls.

“And — not to go into specifics — but he had a rough childhood. Rough home life. And you — you’ve always been so perfect, James. Smart. Charismatic. Um, handsome. You coasted through life, and you made his a living hell.”

“I didn’t coast through life, Lily,” James mutters, but it’s a moot point. She knows it, he knows it.

“It’s not your fault — the coasting, that is. Everyone knows you’re destined for — well, whatever you want, really,” she says, making some vague gesture towards the window, towards the world. “But it was a harsh contrast to Sev. You were perfect, and you were still bullying him.” A whisper, but he can hear it: “The perfection hurt the most, I think.”

He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. “And then that night. Halloween. You asked why I was mad at you, and you didn’t remember. You didn’t remember all those days on the playground. You could just forget. It made me, well, mad.”

He clears his throat, but she’s not finished. “I know you’re not like that anymore. I overheard you in the stairwell, back in September, and it was nice of you to take the blame for the camera. And I know that Sev — well, he’s — he’s not really someone worth defending. But that’s where it gets hard. We were friends for a long time, and I’m trying — I’m trying so much to forget, to forget about our childhood and our moments together and the fact that, for so long, we were each other’s person. But it’s difficult, and your reaction was just salt in the wound.”'

The thought strikes Lily, belatedly, that she’s never told someone this much about her relationship with Sev. She wonders if confiding in James was a mistake, but dismisses the thought. She trusts him now, she realizes. She has no real reason to, not really; a shared math class, one Halloween night — these connections don’t inspire automatic faith. Yet still, his casual friendship over the past month, the way he blends into her home life: these small interactions make her confident that he'll guard her secrets.

“Lily, I’m so —” he sounds stiff. Like he’s exercising a muscle long neglected. She hears his inhale, hears him start again. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I forgot on Halloween. I separate — I didn’t make the connection between you and Severus, Lily, because I’ve tried so hard to forget it. Reminding myself that Severus Snape knows you better than I ever will — it’s just too painful.” Another breath. “You’ve always been the one I wanted to impress. I was so jealous of Severus, Lily. When we were younger, I couldn’t believe that you chose hang out with him over me, but of course you did. You’re so good, Lily. We were assholes, we hurt people. I regret it all, now.”

The air stills. He looks up, then out the window. His glasses have fallen down his nose, and Lily feels the oddest urge to slide them back into place. “It’s okay,” she finds herself saying, because it really is. A textbook apology. She accepts it wholeheartedly. “I just wanted to explain.”

He nods, gaze slotting back to hers, something wonderfully familiar about it. “Your explanations are more emotionally taxing than the average girl’s, Lily Evans.”

She feels her mouth giving way to a smile. “Can’t ever do anything halfway.”

He chuckles quietly, face falling into unreadable territory yet again. “Right.”

Shit. “I would — I would like to be friends, though,” she offers tentatively. “For real this time.”

For a second she gets deja vu — that same proposal of friendship, his same smile, reappearing now, a month ago on Halloween. “That’s a relief.”

“And James?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t — I need you to know — I don’t see you as that elementary school kid anymore, okay?”

His grin stretches even wider, but before he can respond, Laurel Evans knocks on the door, telling them that dinner’s ready.

Lily can’t help noticing that, as they leave her bedroom, James is standing up straighter than he did before. Can’t help noticing that she is, too.

#jily #jily fanfiction #james potter #lily evans #jily fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #petunia evans #mauraders #high school!jily #james x lily #James Potter x Lily Evans #mine #My writing

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follow-your-fire · 4 years

Text

In your tender hands

Rating: Explicit/NC-17

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur (Merlin)

Written for bottom Arthur fest 2020

@bottom-arthur

“You need to get that stick out of your ass. And you need to relax.”

Arthur bristles a little at the choice of words but holds himself back. “It’s a massage, not a holiday. How is that gonna relieve my stress?”

Freya gives him an incredulous look. “You’re an idiot. Have you never had a massage before?” she asks, and it’s obvious that the question is mostly rhetorical. Which is probably the main reason why her eyes grow twice their size at the lack of response. “Oh my God, Arthur! Seriously?!”

“You did what?” Arthur nearly spits out his coffee, glaring daggers at his assistant.

Freya only rolls her eyes at the dramatic response. “You heard me. I booked you in for one hour when you take your break.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” He rubs at his eyes in frustration. “How the hell am I supposed to squeeze a massage in? My break is one hour too, plus the commute, plus I want to have lunch.”

“You’re acting like I don’t know your schedule off the top of my head. How long have I been working for you?”

“Two years,” he replies automatically, taking a moment to appreciate the fact.

All in all, Freya is a wonderful assistant. Arthur knows she’s the only reason why he hasn’t had a mental breakdown yet. She’s punctual and diligent. Stubborn as hell and as ruthless as they come. It’s kind of a double-edged sword though. While she gets the job done - actually goes beyond her line of duty - she also takes great pleasure in bossing Arthur around. And of course, Arthur being the push-over he is, lets her get away with it.

So yeah, Freya is a godsent who saves Arthur from losing it on a daily basis. But she’s also the spawn of the Devil who loves to discover all the ways to drive him nuts.

“And four months,” she corrects. “So cut me some slack, Princess.”

Ignoring the jab - because really, Freya, it’s getting old - he comes back to his previous point of concern. “Then you should know that my schedule is fully packed today.”

“Not anymore,” she announces smugly, walking over to her desk to pick up the iPad before she returns to Arthur’s office. “I moved Masa to tomorrow at 11:15 and Cutforth to Friday at 2 pm, which gives you,” she does a quick count, “two hours and fifteen minutes for your break.” She closes the iPad, smiling victoriously. “Now, stop fretting and make sure you leave on time. I booked you for 12.:15. The commute is about fifteen minutes and you should be there at least five minutes in advance.” She grabs a pen and a post-it-note from his desk, scribbling quickly. “There,” she says, tearing the note off. “This is the address.”

“The enchanted cave,” he reads in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Shut up, Arthur. Merlin is the best there is. He put me back together after I lost my parents. He’s usually fully booked weeks in advance. You’re lucky that he has a soft spot for me and let me squeeze you in.”

Arthur turns more solemn at the mention of Freya’s parent’s untimely passing. It doesn’t make him any less confused, though.

“Sounds more like a shrink to me than a masseur,” he thinks out loud.

“He might as well be,” she laughs, affection evident in her voice, which softens Arthur’s irritation somewhat. “You need to get that stick out of your ass. And you need to relax.”

Arthur bristles a little at the choice of words but holds himself back. “It’s a massage, not a holiday. How is that gonna relieve my stress?”

“I don’t have time for self-pampering,” he grumbles defensively.

“That’s exactly why you have to make the time!”

“That’s quite an oxymoron.”

“Shush.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Really, Arthur. You need to unwind.”

“I don’t-”

“Arthur,” she groans impatiently. “Go. Get. The. Massage. I’m gonna make sure you leave on time and I will check with Merlin that you actually turned up.”

“I think you’re confusing who’s the boss and who’s the subordinate here.”

“I think you’re full of shit and need to shut up and listen to someone smarter than you.” She turns on her heel and walks out of the office before Arthur has a chance to retort anything back. “Don’t be a prat, Arthur. For once in your life, do something nice for yourself.” And with that, she shuts the door behind her.

Arthur arrives at the place at 12:07, just in time to walk to the door as a woman walks out. He steps to the side, waiting for her to pass.

“Arthur?”

He snaps his head up from where he was blankly staring at the side-walk. “Oh. Hey, Mithian,” he greets when he recognizes one of his long-time friends.

“Don’t hey me and give me a proper hug hello,” she complains and doesn’t waste any time to rise on her tiptoes and wrap him in her arms. Arthur returns the hug with a smile on his face.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been great but how have you been? I haven’t heard from you in ages,” she scolds him gently.

“Been busy.”

“Aren’t you always,” she scoffs, sympathetic. “Nice to see you’re finally doing something for yourself,” she says, getting a confused look. “You’re coming for a massage, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I am. My assistant made me.” Oh, shit. That shouldn’t have come out.

Predictably, Mithian bursts into giggles. “Figures.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, Arthur. Someone needs to look out for you if you don’t,” she explains, her eyes soft and a wave of affection washes over Arthur as he remembers his uni years and their brief but lovely time together as a couple.

Now that he thinks of it, Freya reminds him of Mithian a lot. It occurs to him he’s attracted to a certain type of person. Not necessarily in a romantic sense but more in general.

His sister is like that too. All fiery and strong-willed, calling Arthur names on a good day, but when it comes to it, she’s a protective mother-hen.

So is his best friend. Lance is usually calm and collected but doesn’t hesitate to call Arthur on his bullshit, in the most loving way, though. So does Gwen. Those two really rub off on each other.

What is it with him attracting people into his life who spend most of their time scolding or mothering him? He needs to look into it later.

“I still don’t see how this is supposed to help.” He shrugs indifferently.

“Oh, you’ll see. Just wait for it.” And good grief, she winks at him. “I need to get going. Let me know how it went. You have my number, right?” Arthur nods. “Great. Also, it wouldn’t kill you to get in touch here and there, you know?”

Sighing guiltily, he humors her. “I will.”

“You’d better. Okay, gotta go. Enjoy yourself!” She blows him a kiss and takes off.

He very much doubts he’s gonna enjoy himself but if he’s lucky, maybe he’ll get to nap while the guy gets handsy with him. He could use an extra hour of sleep. God knows the five hours he’s come to consider his routine are not cutting it anymore.

He sighs in relief as he walks through the door to find a rather unassuming lobby. Given the name of the business, he expected the place to live up to its cringeiness but thankfully there are no tacky lights, no magical crystals scattered around, no candles in every corner, nor every surface. The only thing that can be considered a bit spiritual or whatever is the incense perched on the counter, right next to the business cards and leaflets. Thankfully, the scent is very subtle and doesn’t trigger a headache.

“Good afternoon! You must be Arthur,” says a voice to his left and Arthur nearly jumps out of his skin. He didn’t even notice anyone in the room with him.

As he looks over in the direction the voice came from, he finds a man, presumably his masseur - Mark, Matt? - standing in the door leading to what Arthur guesses is the massage room.

“Oh. Hey. Yeah, that would be me.” He turns to face the man, straightening his back. He must look out of place, clad in his suit, still wearing his tie.

The man approaches him with a smile. “I’m Merlin. It’s nice to meet you, finally. Freya talks about you quite a bit.”

Arthur reaches to grasp his hand when Merlin offers it, giving it a firm shake. “Don’t believe anything the little minx lets out of her mouth.” He attempts a joke, hoping his discomfort at being told his assistant talks about him is not too obvious.

He must succeed because Merlin is throwing his head back with a laugh. “She said you would say that,” he teases. “That’s alright. I like to make up my own mind.”

Arthur withdraws his hand and gives him a stiff smile. Outside of work, he has no idea how to make a decent conversation. Not upon the first meeting anyway.

Tilting his head inquiringly, Merlin asks, “You seem quite tense. Is everything alright?”

“It’s just... Look. I know you’re busy, Freya said so. And I appreciate you making time for me. But,” he huffs, knowing he’s gonna sound like a jerk no matter how he phrases it, “I don’t really care for massage much but Freya insisted. She can be fucking scary sometimes. Don’t tell her that though! And I just... I feel really out of place, okay?”

He expects to see Merlin’s expression sour, thinking Arthur is just a pompous douche. He wouldn’t even blame him. But, to his bewilderment, the man’s face is nothing but open, not a single trace of judgement.

“I won’t, I promise,” he says with humor. “If you don’t mind me asking - have you had a bad experience in the past?”

“More like no experience at all.”

For the first time, Merlin looks caught off guard. “You never had a massage?”

“No. I just never saw the point. And anyway, I don’t really have time to spare. The only reason I’m here is that Freya did some magic with my schedule and cleared it up enough to give me two hours off today.”

“Oh.” Merlin suddenly perks up. “In that case, I’d like to show you some of my magic, if you let me.”

Arthur’s brain short-circuits for a moment. Did he just hear what he thinks he did? Or is he so tired he started hallucinating? Plus, his dry spell of six months is probably not helping either.

“Um... I... magic?”

“Yeah, you know...” Merlin sweeps his hand over the lobby. “The enchanted cave? Seems fitting?”

“Oh.” Arthur chokes out. “Right. Right...”

“Oh God, I just realized how cheesy that sounds,” Merlin reflects with a hint of embarrassment. “Anyway, I should stop talking. You didn’t come here for a chat, after all.” He steps to the side, gesturing towards the massage room. “I’d just finished setting it up before you came in, so it’s all ready for you.”

Arthur gets the hint and with a deep breath, he makes his way to the room. Unlike the lobby, it’s bathed in a soft yellow light and.... yup, those are candles alright. No crystals, though.

Merlin is right on his heels. “I’ll let you undress in private, to your level of comfort.You can hang your clothes here, or you can just fold them and put them on this chair.” He gestures to the chair in the corner. “After that, lie down on the massage table, on your stomach, this way around. You see the sheet over there? That’s for you to cover yourself with. I’ll be back in a few minutes when you’re ready. Do you have any questions? Requests?”

So many questions. He goes with the most concerning one. “Yeah, um, when you say my level of comfort...” He cuts himself off. Thankfully, Merlin picks up on it.

“Whatever works for you, really. I can even massage you with your clothes on, although...” He gives Arthur a quick once-over, “I can’t imagine it would be comfortable for you.”

Yeah, no. Definitely not. And he has to go back to work after and he’s sure that showing up in a wrinkled suit would earn him a few judgmental looks.

“But really, it’s up to you. You can keep your clothes on, or just your underwear. If you’d prefer to be completely naked, that works too.”

Arthur hopes the dim lighting of the room conceals his blush. There’s no reason why a man of 32 years should blush at the thought of being naked.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Merlin echoes with an encouraging smile. “Be back soon.”

Arthur releases a relieved breath when Merlin closes the door behind him. This whole thing is even more awkward than he expected. Merlin seems like an alright bloke, if a bit odd but Arthur supposes that comes with the job. He seems nice though, with all the reassurances and effort he put into making sure Arthur is comfortable.

He wonders how many male clients Merlin gets. So far, he knows that Freya and Mithian are swept away by him. Although it’s hard to tell if it’s because of his supposedly outstanding massage skills or his looks.

He groans internally and maybe even a bit out loud. Nope, don’t even go there. No hitting on your masseur. Yeah, that wouldn’t end well. Not with Merlin about to spend the next hour gliding his large hands over Arthur’s whole body.

A shiver runs down his spine and in an attempt to push his thoughts away, he begins undressing, starting with his tie. He hangs his jacket and shirt on the hanger by the door and the rest he puts on the chair, just as Merlin instructed. In no time, he’s standing there clad only in his underwear, debating whether to leave that on or not.

To hell with it. Merlin must have seen it all already.

He ends up ridding himself of his briefs too, face going aflame as he adds them to the pile on the chair and rushes to climb onto the table, settling on his stomach and doing his best to arrange the sheet Merlin provided for him so it covers him as much as possible.

A minute or two pass with him fidgeting in his position. Whether it’s from discomfort or nerves, he doesn’t know, but then Merlin is knocking gently on the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Y-yeah,” he calls hoarsely, grateful Merlin can’t see his face.

The door clicks open and Merlin walks into the room, speaking from somewhere to Arthur’s left. “You probably already figured but one hour allows for a full body massage. Is that alright with you? Or do you want me to forgo any areas? Or spend some more time on a specific one?”

Logically, Arthur knows these are all valid questions but they do nothing to help him relax. More like the opposite.

“Um, no, that’s... you can do whatever you want.”

“Alright. Any contraindications I should know about?”

“I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking.” Oh God, what did I just say? Stop trying to be funny, Arthur!

It draws a boisterous laugh from Merlin, easing some of Arthur’s tension. “Thanks for clarifying,” he says, catching his breath. “Any injuries?”

“No. I twisted my ankle playing football, but that was years ago.”

“Okay, good.” There is some rustling and thumping, then Merlin speaks again. “Do you care for any specific scent? I’ve got a variety of essential oils, energizing or calming. I have a special blend for stress relief if you’d be interested.”

Arthur winces a little at the fact he’s so easy to read. “Um... sure. But maybe not too much? I still need to go back to work after this.”

“Duly noted,” Merlin promises and busies himself with what Arthur assumes is mixing the oils or something.

Thankfully, he doesn’t take long, preventing Arthur from driving himself into a frenzy. He doesn’t know why he’s so flustered about all of this. So he never had a massage, so what? People do it all the time.

It’s just then that he notices that music is playing but it’s so soft it could almost escape his hearing. He focuses on listening in hopes of distracting himself.

“Okay, I’m all set. I’ll start with dry massage, working my way down from your shoulders. That alright with you?”

Yeah, he never had a massage but he’s pretty sure that asking for affirmation every two minutes isn’t how this usually works. It occurs to him that Merlin is doing this only for him.

He’s equal parts irritated and touched by it.

“Yeah.”

Gently, Merlin places his hands on his shoulders over the sheet. It’s just a simple touch, not even on his bare skin, but Arthur swears he can feel the heat of Merlin’s hands seeping into his own body and spreading throughout. He suppresses a sigh.

“I’ll start with medium pressure. Let me know if it’s too much or if you’d like me to go harder.”

Arthur hopes the whimper that makes it past his lips is not very audible. He clears his throat to cover it up.

Merlin doesn’t say anything. Instead, he presses his hands into the tense muscles of Arthur’s upper back, finding all the right spots from the get go.

A guttural groan escapes Arthur before he knows it.

“Too much?” Merlin asks, stilling his movement.

“N-no. No, it’s... it’s good. Just didn’t... expect it.”

“Good. Let me know if it changes.”

He stays on that area for a few minutes, lingering when he finds a sensitive spot, working out the kink. It’s a curious combination of pain-pleasure and Arthur is not sure if that’s what it’s supposed to feel like, but he knows it leaves him all pliant and floaty, so it’s probably alright.

Merlin makes his way down the spine, to his lower back, then goes back up and pays the same attention to his arms and hands.

He walks around the table and starts working on the legs.

Arthur releases a shuddering breath. He just had a leg-day in the gym yesterday and damn, can he feel it. Merlin’s touch is like a balm on his sore muscles and he exhales as pain gives way to relief.

It’s not long before Merlin comes back to the head of the table, hands grasping at the sheet.

“I’ll move onto the oil part now, yeah?”

“Okay.” At this point, Arthur will take anything. Why has he never done this before?

Merlin pulls the sheet down to his lower back, folding it over and leaving his back and arms exposed. The air of the room is not chilly by any means but Arthur shudders all the same.

There is a slick sound as Merlin covers his hands with oil before bringing them to Arthur’s shoulders again, spreading the oil over the whole expanse of his back and arms. Although the pressure is not as hard now, with the oil easing the way, Arthur finds this part even more intense, Merlin’s touch nearly searing without any barrier between them.

He glides his palms, fingers and forearms over Arthur’s back with long, confident strokes, then switches to short, firmer ones, alternating between the two.

Arthur’s vaguely aware he’s all but melting on the spot, feeling almost detached from his body despite every nerve ending being on fire.

At some point as Merlin rubs at the tense muscles of his neck, he slides his hands into Arthur’s hair, at the base of his skull, rubbing in circular motions.

This time, it’s definitely a whimper that Arthur lets out, blushing furiously.

“S-sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Arthur,” Merlin instructs in a gentle voice. “You carry a lot of tension here. Plenty of people do but you even more so. Just let go.”

Against his better judgment, he does just that. As Merlin’s hands continue their ministrations, he lets out a series of little huffs and whimpers, unable to stop himself when he starts.

“That’s it. Just let go,” Merlin repeats and puts more force behind his touch, making Arthur’s noises grow in volume.

He both welcomes and mourns the loss when Merlin’s hands leave him in order to grab a hot towel and wipe the remaining layer of oil from his back before covering him with the sheet again.

“I’ll move to your legs now, okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

He’s surprised when Merlin touches his shoulder, prompting him to lift his head. “Since I’m finished with your back, you can have a pillow if you want. It might be more comfortable for you.”

Arthur doesn’t object in the slightest, taking the pillow Merlin’s holding and resting his right cheek on it, sliding his hands underneath. Yeah, much more comfortable.

“Thanks,” he mumbles almost sleepily and hears Merlin chuckle.

“You’re very welcome.”

Then, Merlin is exposing his left leg, tucking the sheet in the space between his legs and over his hip, revealing his left butt-cheek in the process. He doesn’t even have the strength to feel embarrassed.

Merlin doesn’t waste time before coating his hands with oil again and bringing them to Arthur’s leg. He starts with his feet, then moves to his calf, then thigh until he’s worked all the way to his bum.

Arthur nearly jack-knives from the table as Merlin’s thumb presses into the middle of his cheek.

“Sorry! Was it too much?”

Arthur presses his face into the pillow to hide his flush. “I... ugh... I just... didn’t expect... that.”

“Oh,” Merlin quips. “I can skip that part.”

Jesus, Arthur, stop being such a sissy. It’s just a massage. A professional massage.

“It’s fine. You just... surprised me.”

“Sorry about that,” he says genuinely and resumes the massage, albeit more tentative than before.

Now that the initial shock is over, Arthur begins to appreciate the attention Merlin’s paying to that particular part of his body. He never knew how tense he was in... well.... there.

He whines a little when Merlin presses his thumb into a tender spot.

“Shit. I would’ve thought that going to the gym four times a week would make up for sitting on my ass several hours every day,” he grumbles more to himself.

“I think you’re doing an excellent job at the gym,” Merlin replies with humor, then promptly freezes, Arthur following suit. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. That was... very inappropriate. I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it. Not that you don’t have a nice ass. I mean... oh shit,” he starts panicking, removing his hands from Arthur’s body. Funny enough, witnessing Merlin freak out makes Arthur strangely relaxed.

He responds with a huff. “Take it easy, Merlin. I appreciate the compliment. You can continue.”

“Are you... are you sure?” Merlin asks tentatively.

“I’m sure. You like my ass, so what? I’ve been working hard on it.”

Merlin laughs, a bit nervous, a bit relieved, and eventually listens, resuming the massage on the other leg, starting from his foot again.

Maybe the whole exchange should make everything weird but strangely enough, Arthur is even more relaxed than he was before. The realization that Merlin is only human, with no filter it seems, making it easier.

Merlin hesitates when he works his way up to Arthur’s bum again, but with no complaint in sight, he repeats what he did on the other leg.

When he’s done, he steps to the side of the table and lifts the sheet off of Arthur, holding it in front of himself like a screen. “Can you turn over, Arthur?”

Arthur gathers all his strength to prop on his forearms with the intention to do just that, but stills momentarily.

“Arthur?” Merlin questions when nothing happens.

“I... um....” Well, shit. How did I not notice I was sporting a semi?!

“What’s wrong?”

“I... might have a... situation,” he admits, face burning.

At first, Merlin is silent, then the realization dawns on him. “Oh. I see. That’s fine, Arthur. It happens more often than not,” he reassures but it doesn’t help much.

“But I... God, this is embarrassing,” he hides his face in his hands.

“I understand why you would think that, but I promise it’s alright. It doesn’t mean anything; it’s just a natural reaction.”

It takes some more prompting but eventually, Arthur flips onto his back and closes his eyes as Merlin drapes the sheet over him again, the outline of his half-hard dick painfully visible.

“I can fetch you a blanket if it makes you feel better?”

“If you don’t mind,” he squeezes out without opening his eyes, only doing so when Merlin hands him the blanket and he rushes to throw it over his lower half. “Thanks. Sorry about that.”

He dares a look at Merlin and finds him smiling in empathy. “Not at all. It’s no big deal, Arthur.” He reaches for a bottle of oil and puts his hands on Arthur’s arm. “Just lie back and relax.”

Arthur does his best to do just that while Merlin massages his arm and hand before switching to the other one.

By the time he’s finished with them, Arthur’s calmed down considerably and, thank fuck for that, the embarrassment was enough to have killed any interest his dick might have taken in the situation.

He expects Merlin to announce the massage has come to an end when he finishes wiping his arms with a hot towel, but to his surprise, Merlin slides a chair behind him, sitting himself down, hands coming to cradle Arthur’s head. Arthur lifts it automatically, assuming that’s what Merlin wants him to do.

“You just relax, Arthur. Don’t help me by holding your head up. I’ll manage.”

It’s not an easy thing to trust someone not to drop your head but Merlin is nothing but cautious as he maneuvers it around to get to the spot he’s aiming for and Arthur finds himself giving up control completely. Head massage doesn’t sound like anything special but to his bewilderment, it’s the most relaxing thing ever. At some point, he even starts dozing off. At least he thinks he does because he nearly jumps out of his skin when Merlin says his name.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?” he snaps his eyes open, looking up at Merlin upside down, seeing the other man smiling fondly.

“Did you fall asleep?”

“N-no?” he stutters, cheeks growing pink.

“Of course,” Merlin says in the way that screams he doesn’t believe him but humors him anyway. “Well, I’m all done here. How are you feeling?”

“Weirdly disconnected from my body,” he says with a grunt, attempting to sit up. “Shit, I don’t know how I’ll get any work done for the rest of the day.”

“What time do you finish?”

“Officially? Around five. Actually? Seven. Sometimes eight.”

“God, that’s disgusting.”

“You have no idea.”

“Thankfully, I don’t,” he agrees. “I’ll let you get dressed. Meet me in the lobby when you’re ready, okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s with sloth speed that Arthur puts his clothes on. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of Merlin’s busy schedule and can only hope he’s not stalling.

He squints at the bright light of the lobby when he emerges from the massage room. When his eyes adjust, he spots Merlin walking towards him with a glass of water. “Here, have some water.”

“Thanks,” he accepts without objection, just because he’s barely standing. He doesn’t know what Merlin’s done to him but it feels like his body doesn’t even belong to him. He has no idea how he’s gonna drive back to work without driving himself into a street-lamp.

“How much do I owe you?” he asks when he’s chugged down the whole glass, reaching for his wallet.

“Oh. It’s already paid for. Freya used your credit card when she booked you in.”

Arthur blinks at him blankly. How dare Freya pay for something that Arthur hadn’t even agreed to yet?!

Yeah, as if she would ever take a no for an answer.

He sighs, pulling out a twenty pound bill regardless. “She would, wouldn’t she. That little shit,” he grumbles under his breath. “At least let me tip you,” he holds a hand with the bill to Merlin.

“Actually, she included the tip, too,” he says sheepishly, giving Arthur a crooked smile.

“Bloody hell,” he huffs indignantly, then takes a deep breath. “Whatever. Just take it.”

“But-”

“Merlin. Take. It. You’ve done a great job,” he insists, holding eye contact.

Merlin still hesitates at first but resigns eventually. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Okay. Thank you, Arthur,” he smiles appreciatively as he accepts the money. He bites his lip, seemingly in thought, then turns around and plucks one business card from the pile on the desk, grabs a pen and writes something down. “Here,” he turns to Arthur, holding the card to him. “If you ever feel like coming back for another massage.”

Arthur takes the card, noticing that Merlin wrote another number on in besides the one already printed. “Thanks but... I’m sure Freya has the number.”

“This is my personal number,” Merlin explains and Arthur’s brows shoot up in surprise. “I’m not always able to pick up the phone here but if you text me on my personal number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Oh. Okay. Thanks, that’s very... um... I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Merlin mumbles, fidgety. Arthur finds it both amusing and confusing.

“Well, I should get going. Thank you again.”

“Oh! Of course, don’t let me keep you,” he rushes to say. “See you next time?”

“Yeah.” As non-committal as he sounds, he finds he means it. Something’s telling him he’ll be back sooner or later. Probably sooner.

“Take care of yourself, Arthur,” Merlin calls as Arthur opens the door on his way out and his heart skips a beat at the genuine tone.

He turns around to give the man one last smile before the door shuts behind him.

“So? How was it?” Freya advances on him as soon as he comes back. He slumps into his chair, sitting upright when Freya places a box of takeout in front of him.

“Fine.” Freya is not impressed. “It was good, okay?” he adds, opening the box to reveal his all-time favorite pad thai and all but inhales the food.

“Told you,” she says smugly, ignoring Arthur’s glare. “Gonna go again?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, that’s convincing.”

“Shut it, Freya,” he shoots back. “I got his business card. I’ll give him a call when I feel like it.”

“I can do that for you.”

“Nope, thanks. I’m sure I can manage to make a phone-call myself, even without an intervention of my obnoxious assistant.”

Freya throws a balled-up napkin at him. “Ungrateful prat,” she retorts and stomps out of his office.

“I heard that!”

Arthur lasts exactly four days and two hours before giving in and taking Merlin up on his offer to text him on his personal number to book another appointment. He didn’t expect to snap so quickly but after waking up the next day after his massage, refreshed and chirpy, feeling as though he had a brand new body - who could blame him, really.

Hey, Merlin. It’s Arthur. I was wondering if you had a slot available this week?

There, simple and straight to the point. Freya said that Merlin is usually booked out weeks in advance but asking never hurt anybody.

His phone chimes with an incoming message about ten minutes later.

Hi, Arthur! Nice to hear from you again. :)

Sure thing. Did you have a specific day and time in mind?

Nope, he didn’t. He was willing to adjust his schedule just to squeeze in an hour.

Not really. Freya implied that you’re usually fully booked so I thought I’d leave that up to you.

She’s over-exaggerating ;) I can make time.

Oh, God, he’s one of those people. Emojis and shit.

Oh. Okay, then. Thursday work for you?

It does :) What time?

This is... unexpectedly easy. He should have never let Freya bullshit him. But that’s what she does. She’d do anything to get her way and make Arthur do whatever she wants. No Christmas bonus for her this year!

Is 6pm too late?

As a matter of fact, he never finishes before six. Hell, he never finishes before seven. But maybe his friends are right. Maybe he should make time for himself once in a while. It won’t kill him, will it?

Thought you didn’t finish work until ungodly hour :D

He’s already typing out a reply but Merlin beats him to it with another message.

And it’s not too late. I’ll write you down for 6, then ;)

Oh. That easy, huh?

Thank you, he sends first, then rushes to add an explanation. I can make an exception once in a while. He hesitates with the next part but decides to throw caution to the wind, just this time. It’s worth it.

He regrets it as soon as he hits send, but doesn’t get a chance to wallow in it for too long before Merlin’s reply comes.

Oh no, now there are expectations I need to live up to :O

Jk. Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself last time. See you Thursday ;)

Red to the tips of his ears, he types out a quick see you before pocketing his phone, busying himself with the remaining paperwork in hopes it will calm down his racing heart.

He’s not that lucky.

On Thursday, he wraps up his work just before 5:30, hoping it’s enough time to get through the traffic.

It is, as it turns out.Though he’s cutting it close, parking the car just two minutes before six.

“Sorry, I underestimated the traffic,” he rushes to apologize when he bursts through the door, finding Merlin lounging peacefully on the sofa, swiping through his phone.

As soon as Merlin lifts his eyes to meet Arthur’s, his whole face lights up with a wide smile. “Hey! No problem at all. You’re my last massage for today, so no rush.”

“Thanks but it’s already late. I don’t wanna keep you any more than needed.”

Merlin dismisses his worries with a wave of a hand. “Nonsense. It’s no trouble. Come on in,” he smiles encouragingly and Arthur dutifully follows him to the massage room. It looks exactly the same but Arthur feels much more at ease than last time, now that he’s familiar with it.

“Thank you again for finding time for me,” he says gratefully because it feels like he hasn’t said it enough.

It earns him an indulgent smile. “I was happy to do it. It’s no trouble, really,” Merlin repeats and Arthur takes the hint.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes. “You know the drill by now, right? I’ll be back in a few.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Merlin nods his head in acknowledgement, leaving the room to give Arthur privacy.

Similarly to last time, Arthur hangs his suit and shirt and folds the rest of his clothes, laying face down on the table and covering himself with the sheet. As promised, Merlin knocks on the door a couple minutes later, entering when Arthur gives him a go-ahead.

“Any requests today?”

He suppresses the urge to crack an inappropriate joke. “Not really. Same as last time is good.”

“Alright,” says Merlin and he starts the massage exactly in the same way he did last time, humming appreciatively when he rubs at Arthur’s shoulders.

“You’re not nearly as tense as before. Both literally and figuratively,” he points out.

“Yeah,” Arthur agrees. “I felt really good when I woke up the next day. All loose and relaxed.” He clears his throat, cringing at his wording. “And I was just nervous because it was my first time, I guess. Now that I know the ropes, it’s easy to just...”

“Let go?” Merlin finishes for him and... is that smugness he hears?

“Y-yeah,” he replies, feeling silly all of sudden.

“I’m glad to hear that. Glad I could help.”

“Me too.”

They remain silent after that. While Merlin doesn’t do anything out of the ordinary - or rather, anything that would be different to last time - Arthur can sense a shift in the energy in the room. In Merlin. In himself. He might be imagining it but he would swear that Merlin’s hands... linger - which is kinda a stupid thing to say, this is a massage after all, touch is a crucial component here - but... yeah... that’s what it feels like.

Every touch of Merlin’s hands on his body feels amplified, Arthur nearly vibrating in response to... he has no idea what he’s responding to. He only knows it feels good.

It feels right.

When Merlin asks him to flip onto his back, he’s relieved to find that the humiliating experience from last time is not gonna be repeated - no awkward boners today, ladies and gentlemen!

He hisses through his teeth when Merlin presses into a tender spot of his arm.

Merlin’s immediately apologetic. “Sorry! I didn’t expect you to be so sensitive here.”

“ ‘s fine,” he mumbles drowsily. “I might have overdone it in the gym today.”

“When did you have time to go to the gym?”

“Before work. Around five.”

“God, that’s disgusting. Why would you do that?” Merlin sounds truly appalled which only amuses Arthur.

“I’m too tired by the time I finish work. At least this way, I get a bit of a boost in the morning.”

“I’m still not convinced.”

“Shut up, Merlin. Without the gym, I wouldn’t have the ass you like so much.”

He snaps his eyes open in panic and finds Merlin gaping at him in shock.

“I... I did not... ugh...”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say that, I swear! I’m just really tired, basically falling asleep. I just talk shit when I’m like that.”

Forget the boner. This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him.

Funnily enough, his stammering helps Merlin fight through his shock and now he’s more entertained than anything.

“No filter, huh? I can relate,” he brushes the whole thing off and resumes massaging over Arthur’s arm, softer this time and Arthur would moan appreciatively at the soothing effect the touch has on his sore muscles but given his previous faux pas, he doesn’t think it’s the right time for it.

Merlin works his way down to his hand, paying special attention to the spot at the base of his thumb that is always so stiff after spending hours and hours every day typing on his laptop.

A weird thing happens after that. Same as the last time, Merlin slides his fingers in between Arthur’s, squeezing and pulling until he hears a cracking sound of the joints. That is all well and good but instead of pulling away, he remains with their fingers interlaced. It almost feels... almost feels like they are holding hands.

Arthur opens his eyes again to give Merlin a questioning look but Merlin is staring at their joined hands instead, an expression on his face that Arthur can’t really decipher but if he were to guess, he would almost call it... longing.

Merlin must realize what he’s doing because his eyes widen as they lock onto Arthur’s, panicked and so blue.

“Sorry!” he blurts out, pulling away and ducking his head as he makes his way to the other side to repeat the process on the other hand.

Arthur feels the air around them grow thicker. He doesn’t know what happened exactly and doesn’t dare ask.

He can tell Merlin keeps himself in check as he finishes with his other side and it’s not long before he moves to the head massage.

After all of that, it’s really hard for Arthur to relax but he does his best as to not make things even more awkward.

He’s equally relieved and disappointed when Merlin’s hands disappear, signaling that their session has come to an end.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby when you’re ready, okay?” Merlin asks stiffly.

“Okay,” Arthur agrees, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding when Merlin shuts the door behind him.

Since he knows he doesn’t have to rush because he was the last client today, he takes his time putting the clothes on and mentally prepares himself for facing Merlin in a few moments.

It takes all of his courage to maintain eye contact when he leaves the room, coming to the desk where Merlin’s already waiting for him with a glass of water.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t finish the whole glass, his stomach too unsettled for that and pulls out his wallet.

“I know for sure Freya didn’t pay in advance since I booked the massage myself this time,” he comments in what he hopes is a light-hearted tone. It works because it draws a chuckle from Merlin.

“You’re not wrong,” he agrees, going quiet again but shaking himself off at Arthur’s expectant look. “Oh! Sorry, it’s seventy pounds.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow in surprise. While he wouldn’t know anything about the regular massage price, it doesn’t seem too much considering how popular Merlin is. According to Freya, anyway.

He plucks out two fifty dollar bills and hands them over. Merlin blinks at him in confusion. “Um... that’s a bit--”

“Just take it. You deserve it. You’re good and you went far and beyond to make time for me even at the late hour.”

“It was no tr--”

“Merlin, will you shut up and take the bloody money?” he nearly whines at the man’s stubbornness, relieved when Merlin eventually gives in.

“You’re so bossy,” he shakes his head almost fondly.

“Goes with the territory. I’m the CEO after all.”

“In that case, that was a lousy tip for a CEO.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

And just like that, the tension has disappeared and they are back to their easy banter.

“I’m just teasing,” Merlin reassures unnecessarily, a dopey smile still in place. “Let me know if you wanna do this again, yeah?” He sounds unsure, although why, Arthur has no idea.

“Actually, if you really don’t mind, could we make it a weekly thing?”

“Oh,” Merlin says with surprise. “Sure. Thursday again? Or do you want a different day?”

“Thursday is good. Six o’clock?”

“Yeah. Yeah, works for me.”

“Brilliant,” Arthur smiles back. “I’ll see you next week, then?”

“Looking forward to it.” The way Merlin’s face softens further shouldn’t make Arthur’s stomach do flip-flops but for some reason, it does.

Oh, no. Abort, abort!

“Yeah. See you,” he mumbles and all but runs to his car.

Arthur lets out a girly squeal when Freya slams a pile of papers onto his desk.

“Why haven’t you gone see Merlin again?” she asks accusingly and... wait, what?

“Excuse me?”

“I thought you liked the massage. That you felt better after. I thought you’d go back.”

Well, not that it’s any of her business but...

“I’ve been like four more times since,” he argues back, watching Freya’s furious expression turn confused.

“No, you haven’t. There’s no way you could have altered your schedule yourself without me noticing.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, annoyed that he, the fucking CEO, has to explain himself to his assistant. “Yes, I have. I’m going today, actually. I go every Thursday after work. Well, I finish early, so I can be there at six. Which, by the way, you could have done the first time around. I truly don’t understand why you’d rather mess with my appointments to get me a rushed massage on my break instead of simply booking one in the evening.”

If anything, Freya grows even more confused. “You’re lying.”

Arthur positively bristles at the insult. “I’m not!”

“You so are. Merlin doesn’t work evenings. And he doesn’t work weekends. His last bookings are for 4 o’clock. Hence why I had to book you for your break.”

He’s already preparing a come-back to defend himself when the words finally sink in. He snaps his mouth shut.

Then why... why did Merlin agree to Thursday evenings? That doesn’t make any sense.

“Are you sure you’ve got that right?” he asks instead because... because if it’s true, it puts many things into perspective.

Like the fact that Merlin literally beams every time Arthur shows up.

Or the fact that his touch seems to linger, seems to grow more and more intense with every visit. Like he’s enjoying touching Arthur.

At first, Arthur thought it was just his imagination, but upon checking the time when he got to his car only to find Merlin had extended the massage by at least ten or fifteen minutes, it was obvious that he wasn’t making it up.

Most importantly, it would explain why Merlin started texting Arthur randomly, usually on Fridays to ask how he was doing, if he felt alright and so on.

It would even explain why he would sometimes text on the weekend too.

It did not explain why Arthur indulged in the texting.

It did not explain why it was the highlight of his days.

“I’m sure,” Freya replies, confirming his growing suspicion. When he doesn’t react, she turns concerned. “Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

She hesitates. “You’re not lying.” A statement, not a question, but he still answers it.

“No.”

“Oh,” she breathes, out of words.

“Do you...” He clears his throat. “Do you know why Merlin would make an exception for me?”

The glint in her eyes suggests that she might have a good idea about that, but doesn’t say so. “I think you should ask Merlin that.”

Yeah. Yeah, he should.

He will.

“You seem very... serious today. What happened?”

“Why did you agree on 6pm Thursdays?” he asks directly before he loses the nerve.

“Huh?” Merlin blinks at him.

“Freya told me you don’t do evenings. Why would you let me impose on your time?” God, he feels so stupid.

“Oh,” says Merlin. “Well, first of all, you’re not imposing.”

“But-”

“Second, working for yourself has a lot of perks. Like that I can do with my time as I see fit.”

“So you decided to spend it on me.”

“More like spend it with you.”

Spend it with-- oh. Oh.

“What? Why?”

Unexpectedly, Merlin snorts. “You don’t know?”

No. No he doesn’t.

“No.”

“Oh, my, you’re a right dumbass.”

“Excuse you?!”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, apparently running out of patience. “I simply like you, okay? At first, I agreed because you seemed like you could use some relaxation. Quite a bit of it, really.”

Arthur bites his lip, hesitating with the next question. “And then?”

Merlin sighs, shoulders sagging almost in defeat. “And then I just liked seeing you.”

Arthur takes in a shaky breath, both startled and excited by the admission. “Why didn’t you just ask me out, then?”

Merlin laughs, but there’s very little humor in it. “That’s hardly professional, Arthur.”

“That’s what worried you?”

“Of course it did! It does! Jesus, Arthur, you have no idea,” he shakes his head, “no idea how much I have to hold myself back when I have my hands all over you.”

Arthur swallows audibly, noticing for the first time how dry his throat has gotten. Well, here goes nothing.

”What if... what if I don’t want you to hold back?”

Merlin stares at him with his mouth hanging open, his gaze roaming over Arthur’s face in search of something. Probably a confirmation.

“Arthur, that’s not--”

“It’s 6:02,” he blurts out.

“What?”

“It’s two minutes past six. You should have started with the massage by now.”

Initially, Merlin doesn’t respond, looking as though Arthur’s talking in a different language. When Arthur holds his eyes, hoping to prove his point, he resigns on any further arguments.

“Come on in then,” he instructs tiredly and Arthur follows him to the room. He’s shedding his jacket even before they get there. He hangs it and starts taking off his tie just as Merlin turns around to face him.

“Okay, I’ll let you--” He cuts himself off when Arthur pulls the tie over his head, throwing it on the chair and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“Don’t bother,” he says, too pleased with himself when Merlin stays rooted to the spot, openly staring.

“Uh...” Is all he manages when Arthur gets rid of the shirt, exposing his chest (which - it’s not like Merlin’s never seen it before anyway) and begins working his belt and trousers open. Soon, he’s pulling them down together with his briefs, stepping out of his shoes in the meantime.

As he straightens up, completely naked, he takes a few seconds to appreciate the way Merlin looks at him, his jaw practically hitting the floor. Lips twisting into a smug smile, he turns to the table to climb on it, settling on his stomach as he does every time, except now he doesn’t bother covering himself up with a sheet.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he calls with barely concealed amusement when Merlin doesn’t move an inch.

“Uh... yeah. Yeah, let me just...” he stutters, reaching for the sheet.

“Leave it.”

“W-what?”

“No point.”

“But--”

“Merlin,” Arthur says darkly, “leave it.”

Thank fuck, Merlin actually listens and abandons the sheet in favor of grabbing a bottle of oil, pouring some in his hands with trembling fingers.

“Arthur...” he tries one more time, hesitant.

“Merlin,” Arthur returns. “Shut up.”

He hears Merlin exhale shakily and then, the familiar sensation of oil-slicked hands takes over all of his senses. He sighs in relief when the touch causes his body to go completely lax as it always does.

Merlin’s hands are unusually tentative, like he’s still not sure he’s got Arthur’s permission to touch him - like this - after what he admitted to him. It’s for that reason that Arthur starts making deliberate noises of pleasure, humming softly, or outright groaning and moaning when Merlin arrives to a particularly sensitive spot.

Above him, Merlin begins making noises of his own, but he sounds more pained than anything. Out of curiosity, Arthur turns his head to the side to peer at Merlin, just to be able to see what expression is on his face right now.

He doesn’t get that far because all of his attention is stolen by the very visible, very prominent bulge pressing against the front of Merlin’s trousers.

“Shit,” he utters before he can stop himself, feeling his dick twitch helplessly where it’s almost squashed between his body and the table.

Immediately, Merlin freezes on the spot, his breath hitching.

“I... Arthur...”

Arthur lets out another moan at witnessing Merlin’s obvious desire for him and returns his head to the previous position.

“You can do my legs now,” he says suggestively, but it sounds more like an order. For a moment, nothing happens. Merlin doesn’t withdraw his hands but he doesn’t move either. Arthur is about to impatiently prompt him to action but in the end, Merlin goes willingly, moving around the table until he’s standing at Arthur’s feet.

He covers his left leg with oil and proceeds to massage it from the foot up, almost as if nothing unusual is happening.

It’s not until he makes his way past the knee, to the hamstrings and inner thigh, that Arthur feels him falter, the pressure letting off and in a desperate attempt to urge Merlin on, he spreads his legs further apart.

Behind him, Merlin makes a choked off sound, his grip on Arthur’s thigh tightening.

“A-Arthur,” he says like a prayer and Arthur feels himself grow harder the lower Merlin’s voice drops.

“Go on,” he orders and this time, Merlin recovers faster, sparing barely a few seconds before he starts rubbing his thigh in circular motion, slowly working his way up, up, all the way to his ass - his very exposed ass.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers, barely audible, but Arthur hears him all the same. He knows what he’s asking and in lieu of an answer, he digs his knees into the table to push his hip up and back, groaning when the movement provides friction to his now fully erect cock.

“Do it,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please.”

Merlin makes an indescribable sound and then his slick fingers are dipping tentatively between his cheeks, brushing against his entrance.

Arthur feels his pulse quicken, heat spreading throughout his whole body at the single touch.

“Gods, Arthur, the sounds you make...” Merlin praises, rubbing at his opening in tiny circles.

“Merlin,” he returns, attempting to spread his legs further apart. Merlin all but growls at the display and then he’s bending over to pepper kisses over Arthur’s naked shoulders, even as his fingers press against him more insistently.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Arthur,” he mumbles into his skin and Arthur trembles at the soft-spoken words.

“Fuck me,” he moans, hitching his hips up. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Shit, Arthur, you can’t just.... can’t just say stuff like that.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just hurry up and get on with it,” he tries to sound irritated but it falls flat when a whine is torn out of his throat as Merlin enters him with one finger.

“Shit. Shit...”

“Payback,” Merlin laughs, kissing just behind his ear.

“Merlin, I swear to God...”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say,” he retorts with fondness and starts pumping the finger in and out.

Satisfied when Merlin actually listens, Arthur is able to relax again, offering himself to Merlin’s skilled hands.

He is nothing but gentle as he works Arthur open, adding more oil before a second finger joins the first, then a third one.

Under him, Arthur’s rolling his hips against the table, seeking as much friction as he can because Merlin’s taking too bloody long, checking on him every two fucking minutes. Just as he’s about to call him out, the fingers brush against his prostate, successfully stealing all the words out of his mouth, together with his breath.

“Fuck,” he grips at the edge of the table, struggling to breathe.

Merlin chuckles at his reaction. “You like that?” he asks smugly, totally unhelpful and unnecessary and hits that spot again.

“Would l-like it better if you f-finally got your dick in m-me,” he trips over his tongue, panting.

“Impatient,” Merlin clicks his tongue but before Arthur can tell him where he can stick it (pun intended), Merlin’s fingers leave him.

His breath hitches at the sudden emptiness and in hopes of speeding up the process, he gathers his strength to hitch himself up until he’s on all fours. He expects Merlin to climb up behind him but instead, there’s a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to twist to the side.

“Not like that,” Merlin explains, nudging him until he’s turned over completely, facing him. “I want to see you.”

Arthur wants to crack a joke, call Merlin sappy and whatnot, but he can only blush.

“Oh.”

“Can you sit on the edge?” Merlin instructs, helping him to get into position. He manages just fine by himself, sitting on the side of the table with his legs hanging off. He watches, mesmerized, as Merlin rids himself of his T-shirt and trousers in under ten seconds, feeling accomplished at seeing him so impatient himself even though he chastised Arthur for it only minutes ago.

“Eager, are we?” he teases, hearing the blood rush in his ears. Merlin gives him a dark look, clearly disapproving of his tone, and takes the final step until he’s standing between his open thighs, grabbing him by the hips and pulling forward.

The movement is so sudden that it sends Arthur flat onto his back, hips hanging off the table. Merlin nudges him to wrap his legs around him and braces himself against the edge with his hands.

“You’re such a bloody tease,” he chides with a shake of his head.

“Shut up, Mer-- fuuuck,” he nearly chokes as Merlin’s cock breaches him without a warning, sliding in fully with one push. “Shit.”

“Okay?” Merlin checks with a quake in his voice, proving he’s not as collected as he makes himself to be.

“Y-yeah. Just move already.”

Merlin chuckles. “So bossy.” Then proceeds to do just that. He pulls back almost completely before pushing back in, again, and one more time until he’s settling into a rhythm.

It takes Arthur a couple more minutes to catch his breath but when he does, he focuses on meeting Merlin halfway, although the position barely allows it.

“M-Merlin.”

Merlin snaps his hips almost violently at hearing his name tumble from Arthur’s lips in that tone and Arthur moans loudly when he drives directly into his prostate.

“Fuck! Fuck, Merlin. R-right there.”

“God, Arthur. It‘s so good. You’re so good.”

Arthur keens at the praise, urging Merlin to go faster.

Instead, Merlin halts all the movement, earning a desperate whine from Arthur. He chuckles at the reaction and leans forward to slide his hands underneath him to pull him up until he’s sitting up, their chests close enough to touch.

“Arthur,” he whispers in the space between them before there’s none because suddenly, Merlin’s crashing their lips together, unexpected and so good. He swallows the surprised sound from Arthur’s lips, licking into his mouth.

Arthur moans in agreement, wrapping him in his arms and deepening the kiss.

Merlin grabs him by the hips again and starts a new rhythm, his thrust shorter but harder.

Arthur whimpers against his lips, squeezing Merlin between his thighs. He gives up any effort to help Merlin out and decides to kiss the living hell out of him while Merlin plows his ass.

It works just fine and it’s not long before Merlin’s thrusts grow erratic and uncoordinated.

“A-Arthur,” he chokes out between kisses. “I’m gonna...”

Instead of replying, Arthur takes his lips in another kiss and clenches around his cock, drawing a hiss from him.

“Arthur!”

“Yeah, come on,” he encourages and clenches his ass again.

Merlin manages two, three, four more thrusts before he stills, buried to the hilt and spills himself inside Arthur. He presses his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck, panting against the sweaty skin while his hips continue their subtle grinding motion.

Arthur presses a kiss to his temple, sliding his fingers through the dark locks, marveling at the silkiness.

Merlin lifts his head to peer at him from under his lashes. His pupils are blown wide, overtaking all the blue of his irises. There’s a lovely flush to his cheeks and the way his fringe sticks to his sweaty forehead is almost endearing.

Arthur’s never seen him like this and he wants to appreciate the view but doesn’t get much time because then, Merlin is untangling his legs from around him and slides to his knees in front of Arthur. He gives him a little smirk before opening his mouth wide and swallowing his cock.

“Nngh!” Arthur yelps with surprise, throwing his head back in unexpected pleasure.

“Shit, Merlin.”

Merlin hums around his cock and starts sucking him in earnest. It feels so good he can’t even feel embarrassed when he feels Merlin’s come leaking out of him and to his shock, he also feels Merlin’s fingers slide into him again, hitting his prostate with deadly precision. “Merlin!”

It barely takes another half a minute before Arthur’s screaming himself hoarse as his orgasm overtakes him and he comes in Merlin’s mouth. Still, Merlin’s mouth doesn’t leave him, working him through his release instead until he’s whimpering from over-sensitivity and pulling at his hair to pry him off.

Merlin releases his cock with an obscene sound that echoes in the small room, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands up between Arthur’s open legs.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing he asks and Arthur can’t help but laugh.

“Are you for real?” Merlin just blinks at him. “We should have done that ages ago, instead of the massage.”

Merlin groans in annoyance. “That’s not the nature of my business, Arthur!”

His irritation only amuses Arthur further. “You could make an exception for me,” he teases, pulling Merlin closer and Merlin goes willingly, although the scowl is still on his face.

“That depends on how much you’ll tip me,” he shoots back.

“Oh, I’ll tip you all you want, Merlin.”

Merlin slaps the back of his head gently. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Hmm. But I think you like it,” he says smugly, pulling him into another kiss, letting out a moan when he tastes himself on his lips.

“You’re awfully confident for someone who just got fucked on a massage table.”

“You mean for someone who just talked his masseur into fucking him on a massage table.”

“I think manipulated is better-fitting.”

“Or seduced.”

Merlin scoffs. “You did not seduce me.”

“Oh, really?” he teases. “I’d say you gave it up pretty easy after seeing me in my birthday suit.”

“I did not!”

“You did, though.”

“Your mind is misleading you.”

“Whatever you say,” Arthur concludes dismissively, then gives Merlin a wicked grin. “Next time, you’re gonna lie down on this table and I’m gonna ride you.”

Unsursprisingly, Merlin all but chokes on thin air. “That... uh... sounds... agreeable.”

“I’ll say.”

“You’re so annoyingly confident.”

“Just because you make it so easy.”

“Arthur.”

“Merlin,” he huffs. “Shut up. And kiss me again.”

And for once, without a single protest, Merlin does just that.

OMFG, Merlin! You DIDN'T!

Huh?

Don't "huh" me! You know bloody well!

Apparently not.

You fucked my boss!

!!! JFC, I can't believe he told you! :O

I sent him your way so he got that stick out of his ass. Not for you to replace it with your dick!

He didn't. His limp did, jsyk.

He could have hurt his leg or something...

And he brought me coffee. He'd never brought me coffee before! I've never seen him in such a good mood!

Your welcome :-*

*You're

That's disgusting. I'm never getting a massage from you ever again!

Oh, well... it was worth it :-p

*Freya has left the chat*

#bottom!arthur #merthur #top!merlin #massage #bottom arthur fest

54 notes · View notes

lizacstuff · 3 years

Note

Thoughts on the last episode of SCK? I thought it was a vast improvement over the last episodes but still seems like an Edser reunion is super far away.

Hello! I liked this episode, I really loved a lot of the Edser scenes and pretty much enjoyed everything that did not include Selin. (I hate her guts, ya’ll, lmao)

Let’s see, I have a bunch of asks and I have some time today, so I’ll try and answer those in a big post later, but overall I thought it was a solid episode. As far as a reunion being super far away, I don’t know. They are definitely doing what I’ve been saying all along, and that is proving that he would fall in love with her all over again. So that has to be complete before he gets back his memories. And I think they are going to give us a little more of that even after Selin and Deniz are gone. Hopefully we jettison them soon, and then we’ll get to enjoy a few episode of Edser shenanigans as they dance around one another.

(more under the cut)

As for this episode, wow, the spoilers that said there was no Ayfer/Alex in this episode were WRONG, weren’t they? Starting with Ayfer, for the first time she didn’t annoy me with her trying to control Eda’s life. I actually applauded when she gave Eda the time limit for breaking the fake engagement. Good! Girlfriend is allowing Deniz to spin the situation out of control and I’m glad someone is helping her reign it in. Ayfer actually acting in Eda’s best interest for once, let’s hope Ayfer/Aydan plan that dinner with their wayward children soon and without any faux fianc��s.

As for the Aydan/Ayfer/Alex of it all, it wasn’t the worst B-plot we’ve ever seen on this show. At least there were some entertaining moments. I liked Aydan/Ayfer getting together to discuss Eda and Serkan, and Alex as a two/three-timer is the least shocking development ever. Aydan is already ruined as a character so she might as well be okay with trying to move in on Alex while Ayfer is still in the picture. As for Alex... is he dead? Surely not... Who knows, but it looks like we may get some more comedy out of the situation in the coming episodes. I did laugh at them moving the body and Ayfer trying to go incognito wearing the sunglasses at night. Neslihan is very good at certain comedic moments.

Even with Alex, Ayfer, Aydan, Selin, Deniz and Ceren running around my nominee for worst character of the week is... Piril. Seriously, fuck her. She’s 100% enabling Selin’s delusions and has totally normalized her buttcrack crazy behavior and apparently cares not at all about Serkan or Eda. Is she high trying to convince Selin that Serkan went off to organize a surprise, can she not read the room at all? She should be staging an intervention with Serkan, not trying to further Selin’s deceitful agenda.

I will say this for the writers, though they have done their best to destroy Aydan and Ceren recently, Piril is staying pretty true to character. She’s the actual emotionless robot of the show and has always been a pretty shrewish, not-great, not-likeable person. It makes me sad that a teddy bear like Engin is shackled to her and honestly I don’t think she has any business having children, she’s not gonna make a great mother.

Melo and Ferit are honestly the only side characters (and Seyfi) that have rights at this point. Thank goodness Eda has Melo! Though I do think that the show purposely has weakened both Eda and Serkan’s support system in order to enable them both in this crazy storyline. If Serkan had real friends, he would have wizened up about Selin by now, and if Ceren hadn’t gone off the deepened, wanting to hurt Eda, she would have provided proof of Selin’s duplicity.

As for Eda and Serkan, so glad their screen time is back on track! I will always, always take more of them, but this felt like a big improvement from the last two weeks. I really loved their scenes together and their dynamic even (especially?) when they’re at odds and arguing, that was always a huge part of their relationship.

Loved their office scenes, the sparing over the client and Eda coming out on top. It was priceless watching her bet with Melo and then counting down until Serkan came to find her in the coffee room. The red hot sexual tension with the “Nobody touches you but me” moments and the “accidental” kiss. I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve worked in offices for many years and shockingly have never had my mouth accidentally come into contact with Gerard from Accounting’s mouth. “Accident” SURE. I guess that’s what happens when you’re drawn to each other like magnets.

I know there’s a lot of vitriol being spit at Serkan for how “cruel” he’s being, and he does need a slap upside the head at times, but mostly I saw this episode how soft he was. Did ya’ll see him sleeping in the office clutching Eda’s wedding invitation? That is SOFT. Or inviting her to sit with him at the coffee shop and saying he felt at peace there? SOFT. Or apologizing after he said harsh words in the office? He said “sorry” he never says that. Or leaving the hotel and heading back to the office because she was having trouble? Picking up coffee at “their” place on the way? Offering to help and calling her boss? Smiling proudly when she closed the deal? Letting her hug him? Soft, soft, soft, soft, soft.

Insisting she go to the hotel? Letting her sleep on him? Smiling about it? Snowball fights? and then finally at the end, taking off to look for her, finding her necklace, finding her, carrying her to shelter, caring for her, being concerned about her injuries, putting her necklace back on her, asking about their past, covering her with a blanket, and falling asleep with her?

IT’S ALL SO SOFT.

This man is already back in love with her, he just doesn’t know how to identify those feelings, process them or what to do with them. They still scare the crap out of him on top of the fact that he thinks she has been able to easily move on from him and their great love, and is sincerely happy and in love with another man. That shit-stain Deniz basically told him he was glad his plane crashed so that Eda could finally be happy! What an awful, heartbreaking thing to hear.

Yes, he said/did some things to hurt Eda, mostly by laying it on thick with Selin at times, but EVERY SINGLE time, it was done in reaction to him having Eda/Deniz thrown in his face and he was absolutely reacting to that. Our Miss Eda is really having to thread the needle when using her fake engagement to push him, and sometimes she went a little too hard and missed the mark. There were times when Serkan needed some hope and she didn’t give it to him. And then we have Deniz the shit-stain interfering. I’ve pretty much given up hope on him playing Selin, he did too much damage this episode, I will never be over his conversation with Serkan. And that conversation is what Serkan was reacting to when he laid it on thick with Selin at the party. It’s not because he actually gave a damn about her, there was nothing sincere about it, it was an act because he had been crushed. Plus the guilt of forgetting her birthday and of knowing the feelings that he was having for Eda.

Selin needs to go. I think the entire audience is feeling the fatigue of her presence in this storyline and she crossed quite a whole new professional line with putting Serkan’s entire company at risk in order to prevent Eda from going to the hotel. This storyline would be so much easier to take without her. I could actually enjoy the slow burn, falling back into love, stops and starts, hurt and angst if she wasn’t always looming, but she casts a pall over everything. I really think the writers miscalculated with this. The amnesia story could have worked fine without her and actually been really enjoyable to watch. At this point I will take her exit however I can get it, even if it means she doesn’t get her comeuppance.

However, how much do we love it on this show when the villains’ machinations backfire!? Sorry Selin, you weren’t banking on Serkan leaving you without a word and running to help Eda, were you? The scene in the office when Serkan arrives to help has catapulted on to my list of favorite scenes of the entire series. I loved every moment of it (and plan to gif pretty much every moment of it). I loved how they finally got to just work together, collaborate, join their talent and get a win for the company. Serkan needed to experience that, needed to see what kind of partners they could be and I’m so glad we got a chance to see it again too. Then the hug. What a relief! The first time since he’s been back where she’s actually gotten to hold him and have a few minutes to just feel his heartbeat and his warmth and take a beat to celebrate the fact that he’s alive. And how cute was he afterwards? All awkward smiles and fidgeting. It felt just as good for him as it did for her.

Another scene that deserves to be called out is the coffee shop. What a delightful surprise, I had no idea that was coming. And to find out Serkan permanently reserved that table for them? Because it was their table on their first real date? MY HEART.

Of course the final scenes in the cabin were beautiful and fraught and made my heart twist. I think this was a moment where Eda should have given up the game and come clean about the fake engagement with Deniz, but then the show couldn’t continue to milk this story. And they’re clearly not done with it yet.

However, I'm hopeful that we’re on the tail end of the engagements and Selin and Deniz will exit soon. So we’ll end with a <prayer circle> for that to happen!

#Sen Çal Kapımı #sen cal kapimi #edser #sck episode discussion #edser discusssion #sck 1x32 #sckask #asklizac #Anonymous

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btssmutficslovingfan01 · 3 years

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Friendly Encounters- Chapter Twelve

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: A friend challenges you to go out of your comfort zone and talk to one of the cute boys at the café. However, after attempting to flirt with one of them, they reveal that they are in a relationship with each other. It’s fine, though, because you’re all friends now!

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Romance

𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: Smut, Fluff

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Awkward Interactions with parents, Cheating, Hurt/Comfort

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 9.6k

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Jimin x Reader x Yoongi

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“Are you sure you want us to go?” Jimin asks one last time as he runs his fingers through his slicked back hair. You bite your lip and it takes everything within you to tell him “yes,” which is so pathetic on your behalf. It sounded like a ‘no’ in the tone you used.

“Hey Jimin, here’s an idea: how about you tell your parents that you want to introduce Y/N to them? It’s not such a big deal bringing your best friend along, is it?” Jimin taps his chin, pondering Yoongi’s suggestion. On the inside, you were dying of happiness.

“No, it’s not. Let me text my brother.”

“Well, don’t just stand there. Get ready!” Yoongi ushers you out of the room, leaving Jimin to talk to his family while you throw on last year’s cocktail dress and do your hair in the tidiest manner. Yoongi helps you with your makeup, and when you’re finished, you look classy but not too classy. The look you were going for.

“Oh kit, you’re...wow.” You can’t believe you took his breath away. Better yet, Yoongi is actually blushing! You know you’ve won, in your heart. There was never really a dispute in the first place, it was just all in your head.

“Thank you, Yoongles. Shall we go?” Jimin meets you on your way downstairs, giving you the all clear for dinner. You made a plan to come home early so your mother wouldn’t suspect a thing, but you weren’t going to lie to her. If it came up in a conversation, you would tell her. “So you used to live in a mansion?” You scratch your ear as Jimin boops your nose, this time with Yoongi in the driver’s seat and Jimin in the passenger’s.

“Yeah. It wasn’t a big deal back then. Hardly anyone knew I was a rich kid. I studied hard in school, I was the top of my class, and I was class president. No one knew about my background, though.” You’re surprised, if you saw Jimin on the street, you would assume he was royalty, or at least someone important. He was too pretty not to be.

“You know what, the past doesn’t matter. Let’s put that behind us and focus on the present. What did you tell your family about us?” You opt for a refresher, since it had been a while since you had to put up a facade in front of someone.

“I told them the usual. We’re best friends, Yoongi is my boyfriend, and as far as they know, Y/N is just a friend.” You tuck your hair behind your ear, nervously rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet.

You kept reminding yourself over and over that you are supposed to act like you are just friends with your boyfriend….s. The same goes for Yoongi. You’re just Jimin Park’s best friend. Best friends are close, almost like they are dating but instead of romantic love, it’s platonic. You love Jimin romantically. Oh, this is gonna be hard.

“Hello, hi, welcome to Park manor. May we take your coats?” You and Yoongi give each other a knowing smile before taking off your coats and handing them to the maid who offered to take them. You follow Jimin inside, a couple paces behind Yoongi so it appeared more natural with the distance between you three.

“Hey, Y/N?” A man who has the same eye smile as Jimin greets you at the door of the dining room.

“Hello. That’s me,” You shake his hand. “You must be Jihyun.”

You make light small-talk as you continue down to the table, where you take your seat next to Jimin, on his other side sits Yoongi.

“First of all, I would like to start off by saying Yoongi and I will not be getting married,” Jimin starts off his speech as you anxiously glance down at your arms which are crossed down underneath the table. “Second, I wanted you to meet my best friend. She was the second person to ever approve of us. Although we didn’t need approval, she still made us feel welcome as we settled into the bedroom next to hers.” He introduces you to the family more formally than you would’ve liked, but it’s not a big deal. At least you have the opportunity to introduce yourself and mingle with his family.

“May I say, you have a lovely home Mr. and Mrs. Park.”

“Thank you, dear. You know, we are so glad our Jimin met you.”

“Really?” Sensing your discomfort, Jimin immediately changes the topic. “Oh my god, is that a real diamond I see, mother?” He points out her ring as she guffaws at his odd behavior. Of course, she let it slide since he had brought her back to her favorite topic of conversation: herself.

“It is. Your father got it for me on our 29th wedding anniversary.”

“Wow, congrats.” You applaud them as they shift in their seats, ignoring you as they turn to speak to Yoongi.

“What do you do besides being a music producer?’

“I work in a coffee shop a little away from home.” Mr. Park purses his lips as Yoongi says this.

“I wasn’t aware that your parents owned such a place even though they live in such a prodigious-I meant prestigious home.” Jimin grits his teeth at his parents, his expressions looking more amusing by the minute.

“I don’t live with them. I live with Jimin.” They give Yoongi a puzzled look before turning to their son.

“It’s true. We both live under the same roof, Y/N’s house.”

“Well why don’t you just move back in? We have plenty of room and we are dying for you two to tie the knot already.” You scratch your head in confusion as Jimin excuses himself to go to the bathroom. You have no way to silently communicate with Yoongi, either. All eyes are on you, with Jimin’s departure.

“So, what do you think of our Jimin?” His parents seem to be looking for a particular answer, and from the way Yoongi stares at you with pleading eyes, begging you “please don’t mess this up for me,” you can’t help but lie through your teeth.

“He’s a great friend. He treats Yoongi well and they’re the best couple I’ve ever known.” Yoongi nods in your direction, a rare smirk playing on his lips as he sips some tea that was poured out for him earlier. He didn’t like showing other people the teddy bear side of him that he tries so hard to hide, yet around Jimin’s parents, he’s the slightest bit worried. Maybe that has something to do with the fact that his parents are grilling you for a sign that their son might be interested.

“Great, that’s good. We wanted to get to know you better, though, Y/N.” His mother’s smile is so similar to his, it’s easy to see where Jimin got his teeth. Although, she does have the thinnest lips you’ve ever seen on a woman. Jimin definitely takes after his father, look-wise. The man looks like an older and slightly more wrinkly version of his son, you can’t say you’re too surprised either, since Jimin was related to these people biologically. It’s so funny how they didn’t even make an effort to get to know Yoongi, focusing on you instead.

“Well, what would you like to know?” Yoongi gives you a blank stare, but with his expression you can tell he doesn’t like where this is going. To others, Yoongi’s blank expression is just that, but in all the time you’ve spent together, late nights chatting up a storm, other nights spent tumbling in the sheets, you’ve gotten to know his minute differences in those stares that you once thought meant he didn’t like you. This one in particular, with the slight twitch in the left corner of his lips meant that he was upset. You recognize the look, from when Jimin told him he couldn’t join you on one of your group dates several months ago.

“Where did you go to college?” You slightly choke on your drink, spitting out the water in your glass before clearing your throat.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Park raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, did you not go to a university after all?”

“No, it’s not that...I just graduated from high school. I haven’t even moved into my dorm yet. I’m going to college this fall.” Mrs. Park nearly faints. “Dear, shall I get you some tea? You look so pale.”

“That boy, what was he thinking? How old are you? You’re not a minor, are you?” She gasps. “Are you pregnant?”

“Mother!” Jimin walks back into the room at that moment, and you could not be more grateful. “Y/N and I do not share a relationship of that nature. When I said we’re friends, I wasn’t joking. Are you alright?” Your black-haired prince charming had arrived to rescue you from the evil stepmother, or in this case, mother-in-law who doesn’t know it yet.

“I’m fine, but I’m ruining everything. Jimin, Yoongi, can I speak to you in private for a moment?” Jimin glances at Yoongi and sees his expression, opting to stay quiet and follow you two out as Yoongi starts the conversation. “Why did you give her the freedom of choice? His mom clearly likes you better than me and I’m supposed to be his boyfriend for the night.” For a moment, it sounds like Yoongi is jealous of you even though you’re supposed to be in a relationship with them both.

“You are! I didn’t do anything, she just started assuming things and left you out of the conversation even though I was trying to point out how perfect you are for Jimin.” You try explaining yourself but it just ends up sounding like you were trying to be better than him.

“There’s a reason why they don’t like us being together, and that’s because I’m not taking over my family’s business. Jimin comes from money, I have to earn my own money because my parents disowned me.” The room falls silent once he says that, apart from the light chatter out in the dining room, the foyer is empty and dull. It’s still a beautiful entryway. “You know I’m trying my hardest to be the best friend. It’s so hard, restraining myself from holding your hand, every time you look down when you’re anxious, I just want to wrap my arms around your shoulders and kiss your cheek. Yoongz, I’m so in love with you both that it’s becoming hard to hide it. I’ve never been so deeply in love the way I am right now.” Jimin doesn’t say a word as you and Yoongi share a passionate kiss under the moonlight, the world around you fading as you closed your eyes and lived in the moment.

“I know love can be scary, and it can make you feel like you have to be perfect for your partners. But at the end of the day, I love you because of who you are. With every flaw, you’re just that much more perfect.” You melt under his gaze as he flashes you another adorable gummy smile and you bury yourself into his chest, hugging him tightly before you return back to the dining room.

“If they ask you anything too personal, just squeeze my hand once.” Jimin gives you a reassuring smile as you take a seat at the table once again.

“You three seem awfully close. Yoongi, have you ever had a girl best friend before?” Yoongi gives her a kurt smile. It’s the type of smile that tells a person he doesn’t want to be there but at the same time he has to hold out for as long as he can for the sake of his boyfriend reconciling with his parents so he can possibly inherit a lot of money and the three of them could start over in another place with no worries whatsoever.

It’s not a realistic plan, but that’s where Yoongi hoped it would secretly go. The main reason why Jimin wanted to meet with his family again was to make up with them. At the end of the day they were his parents, and he should love them because they raised him well and sheltered him. Yoongi also owes it to them for giving birth to one of the most important people in his life.

“You’re sitting across from her. Y/N is also my closest friend, aside from the obvious (Jimin).” Yoongi’s statement catches Mrs. Park off guard. She didn’t expect her son’s boyfriend to also be close with his best friend. She assumed there would be a weird love triangle between them, whether it’s the girl stealing Jimin away from Yoongi or Yoongi stealing the girl away from Jimin, she was sure there was some drama between them.

“That’s great! Wow, I’m so glad you’re getting along. Shall we make a toast to the three musketeers? Brave friends who manage to stay together despite the fact that one of them is obviously in love with the girl instead of his boyfriend...Yoongi!” The blank-faced man lets out a hearty chuckle before eyeing Jimin carefully and playing his card just right so none of them get caught red-handed.

“You’re such a joker, Mrs. Park. Imagine that, me being in love with Y/N instead of you.” Honestly, his change in behavior was amusing to you. Even if he was faking it, poor Mrs. Park was absolutely buying it.

“Come on Yoongi, let’s go cheat on Jimin together.” You loop your arm around his and pull him away from the group and as Mrs. Park gawks at you, you respond, “It was a joke.”

“You’re crazy, but that’s why I love you so much.” You shush him, putting a finger over his delectable, glossy lips.

“Not so loud, we’re gonna get caught. Don’t kiss me either, Jihyun is spying on us.” You whisper to him, as he simply clings to you for dear life. He could care less as the man watches your “friendly” interaction but thinks nothing of it, since Yoongi was obviously into Jimin and there was no way he could be into you because he seemed just as expressionless as before. With his brother, he seemed happier.

This is why Yoongi’s blank expressions come in handy. Even if you could read him, to others it would just look like he’s not emoting.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“In order to win his parents over, you need to talk. Get back out there and show them that you’re interested. Ask Mr. Park about his company, get some info, spit out some facts and boom, they’ll love you.” You used the exact same formula during awkward dinner dates with your dad’s friends’ sons and the reactions are always the same. Also, you weren’t like other girls your age. You were a normal teenager, but you were also social, and much less addicted to your phone.

“I don’t know..”

“Just go!” You shoo him out as he hesitates, taking a moment for yourself before walking back into the dining hall to meet with Jihyun. “It’s not nice to eavesdrop on people’s private conversations.” You meet eyes with Jimin’s older brother, giving him a cheeky grin.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, I was simply passing by.”

“Sure you were, I saw you staring when I was trying to tell him something important.” He grits his teeth but cools down quickly as you and Yoongi find your seats back at the table, now Mrs. Park finally takes an interest in him as he opens up. Yoongi follows your advice and soon enough he’s the light of the party.

After two hours, you decide to head home, your mom was returning soon and she wanted to hear all about the dinner. She knew this was just as important to you as it was to Jimin and Yoongi but even more so Jimin because his parents also kicked him out, in a manner of speaking.

“You were a delight to have around, thank you for taking in our Jiminie and his boyfriend.” Mrs. Park thanks you profusely as you make your way out of the house.

After a couple more goodbyes, you find yourself in the middle of a very uncomfortable car ride home. The tension between Jimin and Yoongi was thick, you could tell because of the way Jimin kept glancing over at him through your view of the rearview mirror.

“Can someone explain to me why you’re both acting like this?” Jimin keeps quiet as Yoongi speaks up. “I can give you an explanation, but you might not like it.” You felt like a parent listening to their fighting children as they explain what the other did wrong.

“Tell me.”

“Jimin’s family doesn’t like me because I can’t produce an heir. That’s the only reason why. Now that Jimin’s brother will definitely never settle down with a woman, Jimin is their last hope. Business isn’t that pretty,” You nod in understanding as he goes on. “The reason why Mrs. Park was being extremely attentive towards you is because she wants her son to be with you—instead of me,” You gulp. You hated the direction this was going. “It’s not that they dislike me, Jimin being with you would solve a lot of problems. No one would care as long as you both made outside appearances and socialized with the right groups of people. You would be Jimin’s ideal life partner.”

It’s not what Yoongi said that upset you, he was right. Rich people lived unhappy lives, but it didn’t have to be that way. Even if you were “right” for Jimin, even a blind man could see that Yoongi is a much better match for him.

That’s just how your relationship worked. Those two will be closer than you could ever hope to be with them, but they still love and accept you for who you are at the end of the day. Becoming Jimin’s wife would be a dream come true, but you also wanted to be a wife to Yoongi. You wanted to marry them both and have kids, if the state allowed it. However, you do not live in such a harmonious society.

Girls would absolutely destroy you if they had knowledge of your polyamorous relationship with the two men. They already reacted badly enough to the rumors from Jasmine, it was only a matter of time before they discovered you. Mrs. Park would probably have a heart attack if she learned of your true relationship between the boys. With all being said and done, you understood she was a mother that worried for the future of her child, just as any other, but second of all she was also the wife of the owner of the Park Business. She used Jimin as a pawn in that sense, so she can set him up for a better future in the long run. At the same time, she was actively driving a wedge between him and Yoongi.

“No, I’m not marrying Jimin. I thought we talked about this, I won’t marry either one of you so I can be committed to you both. It’s unfair if I did it otherwise.”

“Maybe we should all just pack up and leave.” Yoongi jokes, but as Jimin pulls up to the driveway, he stops the car, turning to face you and Yoongi with a blank expression on his face.

“Maybe we should. Let’s all run away together and forget the past!” You didn’t know what was happening. It was as if reality came crashing down. Jimin wasn’t making a shred of sense. Him and Yoongi were busy chatting away as you packed your suitcase. Were you really doing this?

You look down to see that your phone is ringing, but you don’t pick up the call. Instead, you let it go to voicemail. Sorry mom.

You silently said goodbye to your house as you, Jimin, and Yoongi piled into the car. This time, Jimin had opted to sit in the back with you as Yoongi drove with his keyboard safe in a bag beside him on the passenger seat. You were going somewhere with them, far away from the place that you knew. You were still going to college, as Pelard’s first semester was only two months away. You were tired of your father making decisions for you, and your mother always butting in somehow.

This was your life, and it was starting to feel like you had some control over it. You spent the night in a hotel room, squeezed between Jimin and Yoongi as the two men were still acting weird with each other but it was okay because you still had them. You rested easy with them at your side, waking up feeling well rested.

The next day you continued on with your journey, finding a place near your college. You were nervous, having to live on campus the first year meant that Jimin and Yoongi couldn’t stay with you. Instead, they had to live in an apartment across the street. Even that was too far for you. Yoongi decides to come with you on the first day, making you feel more giddy as he was an older man and you were a peppy child compared to your boyfriend.

The academic advisor takes a liking to Yoongi immediately, even offering him a job as he raises his hands and explains that he already has a job. You’re further away from home now, but at least you still have your boyfriends.

The boys continue working at the café, but whenever someone tries hitting on them, they immediately shut them down saying, “I have a girlfriend.” It’s easier for them to pretend like they aren’t dating in public so that people don’t pry. If they said they were dating each other, people would definitely be less accepting and more openly rude.

Even with one month into college, you have all A’s. Yoongi is a music producer for a small company, but he has more people coming to him with projects and crediting him for his work. Hoseok even called him out during one concert and promoted him to thousands of fans, the crowd loved him.

Jimin was a full-time dancer now, he even opened a dance studio so he could teach teenagers contemporary dance. Since there aren’t a lot of places in the area, Jimin decided to open one up using whatever little money he had from his parents. You were proud of him.

The three of you lived a fairly quiet life, and it remained like that until you ran out of money to pay for college. Yoongi chipped in and revealed that his parents accepted his lifestyle, finally giving him access to his black card again. So you could make unlimited purchases and still have more money! Yoongi decided to sign one in your and Jimin’s name, but you decided that you weren’t going to spend the money uselessly even if you could.

Jimin spent a lot of money on clothes for himself, as well as getting you and Yoongi gifts. After a lot of nights spent in bed with you three awkwardly looking up at the ceiling while trying to fall asleep, who knew all it took was a small peck on the lips before they were all over each other like a couple of wild animals? You were happy to be in the middle of that, shortly after finding out that Yoongi got a job offer in New York.

All that’s standing between you and your dream life with the boys is this: as Yoongi made a decision and as tough as it was, he ultimately chose to take the job. You and Jimin did pester him about it, after all.

You made sure to call each other everyday, it has become a habit of yours and Jimin’s to curl up on the couch all tangled up in each other before calling Yoongi and smothering your phone with kisses. You and Jimin had resorted to rock-paper-scissors just to see who could hold the phone while you were talking to your boyfriend. Of course, Jimin ended up winning every time and hogging the phone, allowing you only about two minutes to chat with Yoongi uninterrupted.

It has become irritating for you, his once cute habit now pissing you off because you were excited about college and you wanted to share it with Yoongi but Jimin was more clingy than usual. One day, you decided that you’d had enough. “That’s it,” You stop him before he can start speaking again, muting the call with Yoongi so you can speak to Jimin in private. Your producer boyfriend crinkles his brow in confusion as he looks to you to unmute and tell him what had you so stressed. “What is your problem?” Jimin pouts, jutting out his lower lip but you’ve found a way around his natural charms. Your frustration with him was too great to overlook. You were starting to see his flaws, little cracks forming where your relationship used to be almost dreamlike before. You can’t believe you didn’t see it before. It was like you were blinded by how well he treated you that you forgot he was just human, too.

“Nothing. I just wanted to talk to Yoongi.”

“For how long? Jimin, I haven’t had a proper conversation with him in a while, can’t you just give me the time I need to explain everything to him?” Your tone softened with him, naturally, but you were still just as angry, a cacophony of emotions swirling into what would be the breaking point of your relationship.

“But I wanted to talk to him now, I have an important dance competition coming up and I wanted to see if he could make it.” He was completely frozen in place, his hand tightly gripping the phone as Yoongi asked you what was happening. The next few minutes were all a blur.

“Give it to me, I want to talk to Yoongi right now.” You pried the phone from his hands after he reluctantly let go, massaging his fingers which you clawed off with your short nails. They may be tiny, but they sure did leave a mark on his hands.

“You hurt me.” Is all he said as he turned away and silently retreated to your shared bedroom. You unmuted the call so you could fill Yoongi in on the happenings on campus. Your boyfriend was eating noodles, some takeout from a restaurant nearby. It was late at night for him, while it was only evening for you, so the time difference wasn’t a problem.

“What happened?” You sighed, looking back at the direction in which Jimin disappeared in.

“Lots of things. Sorry, Jimin’s just...we’re having problems. Our relationship isn’t as easy as it used to be.” Yoongi sighs on the other end as you explain with a heavy heart.

“Commitment is never easy. It’s one of the reasons why all our past relationships failed. The third could never handle the load that came with having two relationships at once.” You bit your tongue, the guilt seeping through the cracks of your hardened heart. Yoongi recognized that expression well; you were agitated now, seeing as Jimin left you in a sour mood.

Everything was fine before you had to ruin it.

“I’ll talk to you later, Yoonie. I can’t wait to see you again in person after all this is over.” Yoongi beams from the other line, waiting for you to end the call.

“Good night,” You prodded your fingers into your knee, waiting around for some movement from Jimin. Yet, he doesn’t say a word, taking silent strides until he reaches the fridge to grab a fresh bottle of water. “I’m sorry.”

He turns back, without a single utterance, he steps forth in the direction of your bedroom. His footsteps stop midway, and just when you think he’s gone, a sigh escapes his plush lips.

“I know.” He walks away, and you take it as a sign that he forgives you but you’re not in the clear just yet, as Jimin hasn’t fully accepted your apology wholeheartedly.

The next day you plan a date. You know Jimin is probably not in the mood but you invited Jin over so that you can execute your plan more easily. Jimin pays no mind to you, greeting Jin in the living room as you get some snacks for your old friend. They catch up, as you wait for the right moment to intervene. You told Jin the entire plan before Jimin woke up, and how you would take him on the most romantic date of your life, planning every single detail down to the distraction, where he comes in.

This strange atmosphere has been brewing between you and Jimin for a while, but you were determined to wholly win him back as yours, rightfully. You solved your issues with Yoongi, now it was time to fix things with Jimin.

You and Jin agreed to meet him in the park in exactly 20 minutes, as Jimin said he would catch up with you later. You checked your phone anxiously, waiting for the time to pass as Jin glanced up at you with a look of concern in his eyes.

“He’ll be here.” You bite your lip as Jin eyes the red balloon which was floating away from a child. Just as he was about to chase it, he saw Jimin catch the balloon and hand it to the mother and her baby giggling in the stroller as Jimin played with him. You then saw him too, and just as you were about to wave to him, you saw him talking to a woman. She had auburn brown hair and looked caucasian, with her clothes being more tourist-esque, but you could tell that they knew each other from the way she hugged him.

Jin just watched you wordlessly, his mouth hanging open as you observed your boyfriend. To say you felt crushed was not enough, you were disappointed in him. When he started leaning in, you saw him kiss the woman, right on the lips. After a while she reciprocated, you saw her wrap her arms around his shoulders.

You left the park quickly, grabbing your picnic basket and leaving Jin to carry the plastic bags as he rushed behind you, trying to convince you that it wasn’t what you thought it was.

“He kissed another girl, Jin. I saw it, and I know you saw it. What else do I need to know? Did you know about this?” You were quick to turn the blame on him, but he calms you down shortly after in a soothing voice.

“No, no, I’m just as shocked about this as you are. What Jimin did wasn’t right.” You couldn’t say anything more. Jimin already did it. He kissed the girl and you watched as it happened right in front of your eyes.

You head away from home, leaving Jin to stay behind and “talk” to Jimin when you supposed that he was probably going to yell at him for hurting you and Yoongi. Speaking of Yoongi, as soon as you reach your friend’s house, you call him. Melinda was a good friend of yours from school, and she saw you were in need so she was letting you spend the night in her guest bedroom.

“Hey-o. What’s going on?” He sounded tired, his voice cracked when he picked up the phone.

“Yoongi, baby, he cheated on us.” You heard a ragged breath on the other line as he gasped in surprise.

“What?” You couldn’t believe it either but mama didn’t raise a liar. Maybe you really had imagined it. Then the image of him kissing her replays in your head, over and over again.

“Jimin...I invited him to the park for a picnic date and used Jin to lure him there, then I saw him suck face with another girl right in front of me. Jin saw it too, so I know I’m not crazy.” Yoongi’s breathing makes it a little bit difficult to hear but you can make out the words after he sits down.

“That can’t be right. Did you talk to him?” You sigh, biting your lip to keep the tears from rolling down your cheeks.

“No. I ran away as soon as I saw. Jin went to talk to him but I’m spending the night at a friend’s place.” Yoongi sighs just as you had, and you can sense the fatigue in his voice. You’re sure a relationship problem is the last thing he wants to deal with now, especially since he worked so much.

“Okay, well stay there and I’ll book a flight for the first thing in the morning. I’ll check up on you first, only because I want to make sure you got the facts right. I’ll talk to Jimin after I’m done with this call, alright?” You felt like a child waiting anxiously for her father to come home for the first time. Not only that, but you felt vulnerable. Melinda didn’t ask you about anything that happened the night before, instead greeting you with a warm breakfast and a hug after seeing you cry in front of her for the first time.

She didn’t need to ask, it was clear that someone broke your heart. You told her about your friend visiting you and she was confused at first because she thought you were referring to Jimin, but then when she saw how worried Yoongi looked upon seeing your puffy cheeks and how he gently held you in his arms, she understood exactly what was going on.

“Sorry, Yoongi, this is Melinda. Melinda, this is Yoongi. He’s my best friend.”

“Hello.” She greets him politely, winking at you and jabbing your ribs as you blushed at him.

“Stop,” You giggled along, feeling a lot better in comparison to how you felt yesterday. “Yoongi, I’m sure about what I saw. Call Jin if you don’t believe him.” You explained after telling him.

You’ve gotta admit, after dragging Yoongi all the way out here you were feeling a little guilty. You made a working man catch an early morning flight just so he could be with you while your relationship with Jimin was falling apart.

“Melinda, are you heading out to work?” You ask as she slides on a pair of black heels.

“Yeah. I need the tips. Bye Y/N, Yoongi. Feel free to help yourselves to anything in the fridge!” You smile, locking the door behind her as she stepped out.

“Are you sure you’re okay on your own?” You nod as Yoongi places his hands on either sides of your shoulders. “Good, because I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you again,” You squealed as he pulled you close and planted a deep, passionate kiss that made you feel tingly all the way to your core. You wiggled your toes as he let go, his hands sliding down your back as you smirked.

“There’s a lot more waiting for you, kit,” You hum in satisfaction as he kisses your forehead and hugs you one last time before he leaves. “I promise that you’ll get your answers. And I’ll get mine. If Jimin Park seriously cheated on both of us, he’s gonna be in a lot of trouble.” You raise an eyebrow at his tone of voice. He sounded mad, but that was his sexy voice. You might be imagining things, it’s been a long time since you’ve slept with him, after all.

You kept yourself busy the entire time, either doing the dishes or washing your hands or taking a shower. You were a very clean person and you intended to keep that way unless something stopped you. You wondered what they were talking about and if it could have possibly been a misunderstanding or a trick of the eyes. Jimin isn’t the type of person that would cheat because he’s bored. Maybe he cheated on you because you did something wrong.

After about an hour and a half, Yoongi reenters the house, Seokjin on his tail. He yelled for you from the door, already your suitcase in hand as you climbed down the stairs. You gave him a short hug as Seokjin was present and you didn’t want to make him feel awkward. From his expression, you could tell that he didn’t have any good news.

“You were right. He cheated on us,” You sighed, looking down at your clenched fists as Yoongi gently takes your hands in his. “I’m going back to New York, and you’re coming with me.” It didn’t process in your mind when Yoongi said it first, but then it slowly started to make some sense.

“What about college?”

“You’re going to NYU,” You jumped up and down happily before Yoongi pulled out the enrollment paper. “You can transfer credits from your current college to over there, but I know your parents expect you to finish at Pelard so I gave your mom a call and she discussed it with your dad and they both decided to let you go. You’re an adult now, kit.” You fold your arms.

“Yet you still baby me.”

“How could I not?” He kissed your forehead soundly before you took his hand and walked towards your new future together.

The plane ride was uncomfortable. You didn’t like feeling so cramped. When you got to the airport in New York, you felt much better. Thoughts of Jimin faded away like a fresh autumn breeze. You and Yoongi were together and you couldn’t be happier. Jin had business in town, so he used that as an excuse to tag along with you. Although, he knew better than to be the third wheel.

“I’m gonna go get a drink.” He winked at Yoongi before walking off to leave you alone with your boyfriend for a moment.

“How are you feeling?” He asked quietly, as if he was speaking to a small child.

“Honestly...a lot better. How about you, baby? Jimin cheated on you too.” He shrugs, looking away from you, looking at the sun as he squinted his eyes and he pretends that he got something in his eye.

“Oh, my eyes are burning.” Warm tears trickle down his cheeks as you caress his arm. It was late winter, almost the new year. You only had a few more months before the end of the first year, but it looks like plans change. And apparently, so do people.

“Here baby, let me get a tissue.” You pull out a travel pack of tissues, settling on one brand that you know is kind to the skin. You’ve had your fair share of bad experiences with cheap tissues, it’s hard to find a good brand that produces high quality tissues for less money.

Even after wiping his tears away, new ones fall. His eyes are red and you can tell this goes deeper than a speck of dust in the eyes. He’s hurting, and he needs you to soothe the pain. You’re his remedy, and he doesn’t know when it happened but you slowly took the place of the most important person in his life. Jimin hurt him badly. You wanted nothing more than to be there for him and take away his pain, but you yourself were in no better condition.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He sniffles, wiping his runny nose with a tissue. You sigh, your heart thrumming in your chest as a heavy feeling of guilt settles in.

“It’s okay to cry. I have these swings of extreme contentment and then it’s replaced with sadness the next. I should’ve known.” You blew your nose into another tissue, mirroring Yoongi as you stood next to him.

“No one could’ve known. He was acting normal with me and clingy with you...I don’t understand how he managed to balance a second girlfriend after all that.” You wiped your tears away with the back of your hand.

“We don’t even know that. She could have been a booty call, or maybe he spent all his spare time with her because he was bored with me. Oh Yoongi, I’m so-”

“Don’t apologize again,” He takes a deep breath before starting. “I asked him how long the affair was going on, and he told me it was around 2 years. The girl was a college freshman and she lived around the area at the time but then she switched schools, to your school. He said that he meant to break it off long ago because he felt bad but he was in too deep. The girl was utterly in love with him. He said he couldn’t just leave her. He was right about that part, but everything else was just shit. Not only couldn’t he commit to a relationship with us, he didn’t even have the balls to break things off with a frickin’ side piece,”

He breathes heavily after that, taking a sip out of a water bottle that Jin brought for us earlier. You stay quiet, not knowing what to say. Nothing made sense anymore. You couldn’t believe that was the same Jimin you met at the coffee shop. What happened to that bright young man who loved his boyfriend to pieces? If he didn’t love you, didn’t he feel anything for Yoongi? He was together with him for a longer time.

“He really had the nerve to say he was sorry. And he wanted you to come home. When I asked him why he did it-he couldn’t give me a reason.” You wrapped your arms around Yoongi’s shoulder, resting your head on his shoulder as he looked at you with stars in his eyes. You were his world now. Not Jimin, but you.

Yoongi showed you around his luxury apartment, and after taking you on a grand tour (and showing Jin to a guest room which was far away from your bedroom), he showed you to your bedroom. You were confused at first when you saw the messy bed, and laundry basket in the corner half-full. The room looked like it already belonged to someone. Then, it hit you.

“No.” You gawk at Yoongi as he nods, gummy smile wide as ever.

“Yes. You’re moving into my room.” You leaped into his arms, just as Jin walked into the room.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything…” He knocks on the open door as you wiggle out of Yoongi’s grasp, stifling a giggle with Yoongi putting a hand on your belly.

“No Jin, what’s up?” His hand slides down to your thigh and you slap it away, standing up and adjusting your shirt as Jin whistles at the door.

“I have to head out now and I have a meeting late tonight so could you give me a key or something?” Yoongi nods, pulling out some spare keys from his pocket.

After he leaves, Yoongi turns to you with a hand crawling up your thigh.

“We have the place all to ourselves now.” You reciprocate, placing an arm around his shoulder as he grins at you mischievously.

“What’s a good leisure activity that you have in mind, Mr. Min?” You ask, as he flicks your shirt upwards.

“Getting naked?” He’s not very subtle with those bedroom eyes, enticing you as you lean into him on the edge of the bed, seducing him with every inch of your being.

Instead of demanding control, both of you mutually agree on sharing the load. You are on the pill, so you didn’t mind him going raw. You liked it better, actually. You close your eyes, letting the pleasure sink in.

Yoongi didn’t have to do much to make you scream from under him. The moment was nice while it lasted. You were tired but there wasn’t an excruciating soreness that spread throughout your lower body. You felt kind of like you were on a cloud, actually.

Yoongi was very gentle with you, overall, and he didn’t need to give you much aftercare. You felt like there was a hole in your heart, and it was a strange feeling you really couldn’t describe. You weren’t “feeling” it because of Jimin. But you didn’t want to tell Yoongi that. Your body didn’t react how it normally does to him. Is it possibly because of the stress clouding your erogenous zones? You felt like there was a rain cloud over your head.

It wasn’t until the fifth day that he took notice of your strange behaviour.

“What’s the matter?” You don’t have the heart to tell him.

“Nothing.” You’re lying, he can tell by the tone of your voice.

“Y/N, we promised to be honest with each other. No more keeping secrets.” You both made that promise to each other once Jimin was found out. You realized that instead of pushing him away, you needed to let him in. He was absent for only a while but it was a long enough time for Jimin’s true colors to show.

You miss him, terribly.

“When we...have sex...I don’t feel anything. I just feel sad, and disconnected from the rest of the world.” You confess to him, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

“Aw, kit, you know sex is the least of my concern. I’ve been getting by just fine way back when I first came to New York. Besides, I’m sure you know as well as I do about why you’re feeling this way.” You give him a guilty smile before he grabs your hand and pulls you towards the door.

“What are you doing?!” You exclaim as he covers your eyes with one of his hands. You’re surprised by how large his hands are compared to the rest of his fragile physique.

“Surprise!” You gasp when you see the view. You’ve never seen anything like it, the buildings towering over the city, the cars so tiny they look like ants, and the billboards all lined up with your vision. You were truly in the Big Apple.

“Yoongi, this is amazing.”

“Consider this our first date, alone.” You didn’t know what to say. Yoongi seems to have moved on quicker than you but he’s known and dated Jimin longer than you. Yet, you can tell he hasn’t forgotten. Not when his eyes glisten with tears, and the corners of his lips twitch as he forces a smile. You can see that he’s struggling just as much, trying to put on a strong facade for you.

“Oh, Yoongi. Come here baby.” You rarely called him “babe,” or “baby,” since that was something Jimin called the two of you. “Kit” was an exception to this rule, since it was short for kitten and to him, you would always be one.

You and Yoongi lived a fairly peaceful life, six months passing without incident. Your parents visited and your father was even more surprised that you weren’t pregnant. With his traditional way of thinking, he thought that you were going to produce grandchildren for him and your mother in around the first year of living alone with your boyfriend.

To the outside world, it looked normal. You and Yoongi were a straight couple, living alone in a New York apartment with access to the rooftop. You went to college while Yoongi worked in a studio and produced music for famous people. Yet, you were secretly bemoaning the loss of your second lover.

Inside your heart, you felt it. The immense pang of guilt.

You weren’t the one that cheated on Jimin, so why do you feel so damn guilty?

You and Yoongi agreed not to discuss him any further, in hopes of one day waking up and not having the waking thought of, “Am I ever going to see him again?” but rather worrying about each other. He kissed you on the forehead and left for work as you stayed home and kept the air conditioning on.

It was just the beginning of summer, and you had two weeks of break. Yoongi said he would come home early so he could take you out on a date but you just wanted to stay in. Yes, you were that couple now. Especially since you stole almost all of his hoodies and wore them whenever you were visiting his friends and coworkers.

At the ring of the doorbell, you thought that Yoongi was home. He said he would be home sooner, so that was your initial thought. When you opened the door, however, standing in front of you was the infamous Jimin Park himself.

“Please don’t close the door. Before you say anything, just hear me out.” You couldn’t form any words, so you just silently rang Yoongi on video chat and when he picked up you flipped the camera to show Jimin standing at the doorway.

“We’re listening.” Yoongi speaks for you with his lips pressed into a thin line. He looks angry.

“I made a mistake. I know what I did was awful but after properly ending things with her I came here to make things right with you,” Your heart was swayed, honestly just hearing his voice was making your heart (among other things) flutter and it just gave you this sense of nostalgia. “You don’t deserve what I did to you. And I just wanted to say sorry.”

“I’m on my way home right now. You stay in place-both of you.” You sigh, shaking yourself out of the daze.

“You can’t just come all the way here and just say “sorry.” An apology doesn’t make everything you did magically okay.” You scratch your forehead as Jimin pouts with his luscious lips shining in a manner that should be impossible but it’s not because he’s Jimin.

“I deserve that.”

“You left me in the park broken hearted. You left Yoongi, who was thousands of miles away, alone. And now you have the audacity to come all the way to New York just so you can beg for our forgiveness?” You meant it rhetorically, but Jimin seems more than inclined to give an answer outright.

“Yes?”

“I hate you.” You hiss at him as he lowers his head to the ground in shame.

You didn’t converse with him any more than you had to, once Yoongi arrived you rushed to his side and latched yourself onto his arm. He obliged, sitting across from the couch that Jimin was sitting on with you on the hand rest, your arm around his shoulder as he kept an arm around your hip. It shows just how comfortable you are around each other as a couple. You don’t know why you felt the need to do so in front of Jimin specifically, as it felt equally important for you to readdress the fact that he is no longer part of your romantic lives.

The strange rift that formed between you was making this harder than it needed to be.

“Now if you’re done apologizing, would you kindly take this cab fare and go to a hotel? We don’t have room for you here anymore.” Yoongi hands him a 20 dollar bill as he tucks his hands into his pockets. He was wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a striped tank top. He looked good, but not so good that you felt faint. You kept your thoughts fixated on Yoongi. Jimin is now your ex boyfriend.

“I already have a place. I booked the hotel room for a few nights because I knew just one day wouldn’t be enough to make up for all the pain I’ve caused you…” He falls to his knees, muttering phrases to Yoongi in korean for the next few minutes and from his stoic expressions, you can tell he does not care much for what the man has to say.

Feeling slightly awkward about the situation, you drop down to your knees and place your hands on his shoulders. Jimin looks up at you with teary eyes at your sudden burst of empathy.

“Jimin, I think it’s admirable that you came all the way here just to talk to us in person. But it’s still too soon. Six months or six years, it’s never gonna change the fact that you cheated on us first. You were unfaithful and you lied. I don’t think we can trust you again. It’s a full circle. You know better than me that relationships are about honesty, loyalty, but most of all it’s being able to tell each other everything. I don’t think I ever kept anything from you guys, did you Yoongi?” He shakes his head, crossing his arms as he towers over you and Jimin.

“I’m just asking for a second chance.” You and Yoongi exchange a series of looks before silently agreeing on the final decision.

“Fine. All you get is one chance.” Yoongi says, surprising the man.

“Yes!” He springs up to his feet, wrapping his arms around Yoongi in a prolonged embrace. After hugging him, he turns to you with a genuine smile playing on his lips.

“Thank you.”

༻• At Your Parents’ House •༺

“How is my baby doing?” Jimin drops his bag on the recliner as he huddled up next to you, engulfing you in a warm hug. You felt your lower half burn again, this time an excruciating pain shooting up your sides. You hate your period, more than anything at the moment.

“Everything hurts and I feel gross.” You felt even more helpless, feeling the blood clot leaving your body as you sank deeper into your couch. You scrunch your nose before pushing yourself off the couch to run to the bathroom. In addition to feeling super gross and uncomfortable this month, you also have nausea. If you didn’t know any better you’d think you were pregnant. But that was impossible, considering that you can’t physically leak blood if it wasn’t already going to your child.

You were actually a little late, since your period skipped a good two months but the doctor said it was normal for your body to do that sometimes. So you ruled out pregnancy. It still doesn’t change the fact that you feel like shit. Even if you are wearing one of Yoongi’s branded balenciaga sweatshirts.

“Hey guys, I just got off the phone with the Weeknd. He said he’s excited about this collab but he’s even more excited to see how fans will react to it.” You congratulate Yoongi as he props down on the couch next to you.

“That’s great Yoongles, I would jump for joy if it wasn’t for these stupid cramps.” He gives you his signature gummy smile as you rest your head against the couch, taking in the few moments of silence before your mom interrupts you again.

“It’s time for dinner!”

You gather in the dining room to eat. You were still nauseated, so you passed on your mom’s homemade meal. She forces you to gulp down some grapes regardless, insisting that you eat something before the sun goes down.

You yawned by the time you were done, tired from the day’s activities which required you to finish a homework assignment over break and listen to Yoongi’s new track he produced for the Weeknd to release. You didn’t give him any tips, you just did your best to listen and give him some good feedback. You loved everything that he makes, so why wouldn’t this be the same?

As soon as the first few notes started playing, you shut down. Yoongi has never produced something so...out there. He has a particular style of music, a genre that only he can pull off. What you heard was something so metallic and unlike him. That was definitely not his style, but he was proud of it.

“So, what’d you think?” You give him a toothy grin, not saying much else except for a thumbs up.

“I think it’s great.”

“I knew you’d like it!” He picks you up and spins you around, making you shudder in his arms as the bile makes its way up the back of your throat.

“I’m gonna throw up…” You rush to the nearest bathroom, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. After washing your mouth and brushing your teeth, you gag at the stench of the vomit you forgot to flush. You quickly press the handle before opening the door to let in your concerned mother.

“Is everything okay?” You didn’t have the heart to tell her. You didn’t even tell her the details of what happened with Jimin. This was your first time visiting her supposedly after you “broke up” with him. Now how will you explain that you don’t like Yoongi’s new song?

“Mom, how do you tell someone something that they might not want to hear?” She raises an eyebrow as you rub your hands together, staring at her in anticipation.

“It depends on the situation. If it’s important, it’s good for them to hear. Even if they don’t like it, you should tell them their mistake so that they can improve.” You thank your mom softly before rushing back to Yoongi, slowing down your pace once you reach his (technically your) door.

“Yoongi, I have to tell you something.”

THE END

❆

Short note from the author: Thank you for reading this story. I did not mean to make it so long in the first place but after doing everything I wanted to in this fic, I had nowhere to take the plot. Sorry if my characters get too OOC or if you feel like the quality of my writing got deteriorated over time. I don’t have an editor or a beta reader so this is so much harder than it needs to be.

#yoongi x jimin #jimin #yoongi #yoonmin #yoonmin x reader #bts poly #poly #female reader #18+#coffeeshop #au #friendlyencounters #jin

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dreamcatcherfication · 4 years

Text

Ask Me Who I Am, Pretend You Know My Face

Let 👏 Anne 👏 Have 👏 Feelings 👏 And 👏 Character 👏 Depth 👏

AKA Anne has an existential crisis. Anon requested “this isn’t you sounds very much like something happens to Anne and she just shuts down...? Maybe Beheaded Cousins?” And I’m happy to oblige. I’m not a big fan of the ending, but I didn’t know how else to tie it together. Not sure what went through my mind when I wrote this, but have it anyway. Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, I’m now a war veteran.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Existential crisis, anxiety, cursing

Anne Boleyn was many people. She was the temptress history remembered her as. She was the carefree gremlin that the queens’ show presented her as. She was a woman wrongly beheaded by her vengeful husband. She was the mother of one of England’s greatest monarchs and more.

Of all things Anne was great at, it was acting. She had been doing it long before her second life, and now it was her profession. There wasn’t a time she wasn’t playing a role and charming someone. And it took a toll on Anne, to the point where she never stopped acting. Even when she went to bed, Anne gave her mirror a charismatic smile and winked, making sure her mask was on. Playing a role was easier than playing herself.

It was easy to distract historians who came to interview her. Anne was the most well known queen, so she often had solo interviews to deal with from pushy historians. At first it had been a lot to deal with, but Anne had grown used to their invasive questions. They were almost always the same, so she had her prepared answers. They never wanted to know about her opinions or choices, they wanted to know about all the drama and ‘seduction’ she took part in.

It was Anne’s offday and she had a plethora of interviews scheduled. It wasn’t her chosen way of spending the day, but she needed to get them done anyway. She wasn’t one to turn interviewers away without even meeting them, so she decided to make a day out of it. The first interview wasn’t too bad, actually starting out on a relatively high note. The interviewer was a big fan of the show, and she wanted to know about the dynamics of the queens and what it was like being reincarnated. She made sure Anne knew she didn’t have to answer a question if she was uncomfortable, and Anne was grateful for that.

The second interview was fine. The historian wasn’t too pushy and seemed generally respectful, but he kept asking questions that dragged up bad memories for Anne. By the time the interview was over, she could feel herself settling into a frustrated mindset. This third interview would not go well, and Anne knew that the second she walked into the small office.

This historian was an old white man with greying hair and ancient glasses. She could already tell he was one of those snobs who would argue that his opinion was fact. But rather than judge him right off the bat, Anne put on her excited persona and gave him the benefit of the doubt. “Hello!” she spoke happily, giving him a dazzling grin.

“Ah yes, Anne Boleyn,” he spoke in a rickety old voice. He pulled down his glasses and gave a smile that seemed to physically pain him. “I’m Director Hoffman, pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Anne replied, shaking his hand. This was the third time she’d gone through the motions today, but she acted as if it was her first.

Director Hoffman leaned back into his seat and sighed. Anne sat in the seat across from his desk and put her hands in her lap. He had a pen and paper in front of him, as if he could record the entire interview by hand. Anne already had a bad feeling growing in the pit of her stomach, but she attempted to stifle it. “Let’s get started, shall we.” Anne nodded silently, waiting for his questions. “What made you go after King Henry VIII?”

Cringing, Anne realized he was jumping right into the thick of it. “Really it was my father. He pushed me to get involved with Henry for power. It wasn’t so much my choice.”

“But,” Hoffman pushed, “that’s not what historical records say. In fact, most everyone agrees that you were highly calculated in your bid to steal the King from his wife.”

Anne clenched her teeth and attempted to stay civil. “Well history tends to be misleading about a lot of things. As someone who lived the experience, I can tell you for a fact that those records were not written with me in mind. They paint Henry as a saint while putting me and his other wives down, painting us as horrible when that wasn’t the reality of it.”

Hoffman didn’t write any of that on his page. “I find that hard to believe,” he stared at Anne. “How is it that this airheaded girl you appear to be broke England from the Church?”

“This might be hard to believe,” Anne’s voice dripped with malice, “but men tend to over exaggerate when they let their dick decide.”

The director’s eyes widened and he grew aghast. “What an improper thing for a lady to say!”

“Freedom of speech,” Anne shrugged. “Another thing we didn’t have back then. All your documents you rely so heavily on, they only say what Henry wanted to hear. It’s all biased.”

Director Hoffman absolutely refused to listen to what Anne was saying. “You, Anne Boleyn,” he practically hissed, “are a disgrace to the historical figure this country remembers. You are a disgrace to Elizabeth and all English monarchs. You should be ashamed of who you are.”

Biting her cheek to keep from screaming, Anne slammed her hands on Hoffman’s desk. The old man leaned away from her, fear creeping in behind his eyes. Restraining herself, Anne stepped back and marched out of the room, not so much as glancing back.

On her way back to the queens’ house, Anne hadn’t lost any of her anger. She couldn’t take it anymore. Everyone telling her who to be when she was already trying to cater to them. She tried and tried and tried and they were never happy with what she gave them. Maybe she was broken.

Storming into the house, Anne didn’t acknowledge any of the other queens. “Anne? Where are you going?” Jane called from the dinner table where all the others queens were conversing with each other.

“Leave me alone,” she said, continuing through the room to get to the stairs.

“Hey, don’t leave Anne,” Aragon told her, standing up. “You should at least come eat.”

Freezing but not turning around, Anne growled, “I don’t want your food, okay?”

Cathy frowned and put her fork down. “Anne, is there something wrong? You can tell us -”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Anne yelled, still staring at the wall. “Or maybe everything’s wrong, I don’t know. But nothing’s changed, so you don’t need to worry. Go back to your food.” And then she left the queens, and shut herself up in her room.

The other five queens all shared confused glances around the table. “I’ll handle this one,” Kat said, standing up.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Anna asked, her eyes flicking to the stairs where Anne had just been. “She doesn’t seem to be in the most forgiving mood.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kat made her way to the stairs. “She’s my cousin and I’m going to try and help her.” And then she was gone as well, disappearing up the stairs to (hopefully) make Anne feel better.

Muttering, “Godspeed,” Cathy gave the air a small salute.

As Kat traveled up the stairs to Anne’s room, she couldn’t help but hold her breath. Literally anything could be going on with Anne and she had absolutely no grounding with how to deal with it. Still, this was her cousin and she would try her best. “Anne?” Kat knocked on her door. “Can I come in.”

“I can’t stop you,” came Anne’s defeated voice from inside.

Gently opening the door, Kat made her way to Anne’s bed. The girl in question was lying face down on the bed, her limbs spread out at awkward angles. “Hey Anne… how are you doing.”

Anne scoffed into the bedsheets. “What do you think Kat?”

“I think you’re pretending to be angry to hide that you’re hurting.”

Kat noted the way Anne reacted to her words. She sat up from her position and faced Kat with a defensive glare. “I’m not hiding anything. I’m fine. Good and dandy! Happy fucking Christmas,” Anne snarled, her upper lip starting to curl.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kat quietly asked, moving closer to her cousin.

Anne pulled away, creating distance between her and Kat. “I don’t need to talk about anything. Why can’t you let that go? Crawl back to Jane and leave me alone.”

A pang of hurt went through Kat, but she brushed it off. Anne didn’t mean it, even if her words still stung. Biting her tongue and glancing down at the floor, Kat summoned up her courage. “This isn’t you Anne.”

Chuckling ruefully, Anne fiddled with her bedsheets. “Was this ever me?” That definitely wasn’t the response Kat was expecting, but she kept quiet as Anne started to unravel. “I’ve never been me, have I?” Her voice started to quiver, a sign that she was holding back tears, or something much worse. “I’m the temptress or I’m the falsely accused. I’m the ditzy stage girl or I’m the chaotic wingman. I’m the slut or I’m the King’s prize. But I’m not me.”

Of all people Kat would think to have an existential crisis, it was not Anne. Her cousin always seemed so confident and sure of herself, but here she seemed so confused and broken down. “Anne, you aren’t defined by just one thing.”

“Then what am I defined by?” Anne shot back, her eyes red. “The documents of history? They’re bullshit,” she spit. “Am I defined by my show persona? It’s seventy-five minutes, that can’t be it, Kat!”

The genuine fear on Anne’s face as she tried to figure out how to define herself frightened Kat. “I know the real you.”

“Do you?” Anne asked, the pleading in her voice real. “Please, tell me who I am, because I can’t take this any longer. I’ve tried so hard to do what they want,” Anne’s voice broke. “And they’re never satisfied.”

Grabbing Anne’s hand and pulling her closer, Kat made sure they were face to face. "You are my cousin. You're loyal and caring and you would kill anyone who looks badly at your friends. You're the life of the party, always encouraging people to be their best self. You are educated and smart, even though you tend to hide it. You're human and you have emotions just like anyone else. You are Anne Boleyn."

Choking back tears, Anne threw herself into Kat’s arms. “What if I can’t be that? What if I’m not who you want me to be?”

“Oh Annie, I don’t want you to be anyone but yourself. No matter who you are, I’ll still love you.” For a moment, Kat thought Jane must’ve been rubbing off on her because of the sudden role reversal. But Kat didn’t mind being the one to comfort her cousin, especially when she needed it so badly.

Anne flopped back on her bed, taking a giggling Kat with her. “Can you stay with me tonight?” Anne asked, her voice small.

Rolling to the side so she could face her cousin, Kat immediately agreed. “I’d love to stay with you Annie. But we should probably change into pajamas. And you need to eat something for dinner.”

Kat started to get up, but Anne pulled her back down, hugging her tightly. “No, Cousin Cuddles first.”

“Cousin Cuddles are the best cuddles,” Kat mumbled contentedly.

Before they knew it, both cousins had fallen asleep together, safe and sound.

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

Tag list:

@radcowboyalmondtree@boleynhowards@annabanana2401@babeebobo@dont-lose-your-queerhead@everything-insanity

#six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #sixfic #beheaded cousins #anne boleyn centric #existential crisis #the other queens are there too #very briefly #old white historians being assholes #i wrote this fic in four hours and it shows

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crystalwillow · 3 years

Text

Exiled Problems - Chapter Five

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Casey Valentine (F!MC)

Features: Bryce Lahela

Word Count: 2.7K

Warning: This AU features themes of; Angst, Swearing, Alcohol Use, Violence, NSFW Material (Mature Themes, 18+)

Taglist: @sophxwithers @otakudreamer @an-jell-o @curiousconch @mm2305

=========================

Later that evening Casey walked through her front door, head lowered as Ethan and a couple of police officers file in behind her.

“Casey?” Nigel asks hesitantly, “why are the police here. And why is Dr Ramsey here?”

Slowly, Casey looks up revealing the stitches in her lip and the slight black eye that’s formed from where her mother’s hand caught her eye.

Her father gasps in horror, rushing over and searching her eyes. “Who… who done this?”

Casey glares at her mother and spits venomously, “She did.”

Nigel looks over to his wife in pure shock. “Dorothy!?” he exclaims, inspecting Casey’s face before looking back at his wife. “Why?”

“Oh spare her the pity, Nigel. She was being an ungrateful bitch. She’d rather run off with him and ruin the image we’ve worked so hard to build than marry the suitor we’ve picked.” her mother replies just as venomously, the glare she gives Casey matching the intensity of her words, as she points towards Ethan harshly.

“Now you listen here you-” Ethan starts to seethe but stops when Nigel raises a hand.

“I’m disappointed in you, Dorothy.” he expresses sorrowfully, “Whilst I agree we have to make sure she maintains her own image, as well as the family’s; violence is not the answer here.”

“No. It’s okay dad. I’m not staying.” Casey informs them. “I’m just here to collect a few things.”

“What do you mean?” Nigel asks with confusion on his face.

“I’m staying somewhere safer than here.”

“You are safe here, poppet. Come on, your mother didn’t mean this.”

Both women scoff at him before heading off in different directions leaving Nigel standing in awkward silence with Ethan and the officers.

Later Casey struggles down the stairs with 3 big suitcases full of stuff.

“Is 3 suitcases really necessary, Casey?” Ethan asks as he’s drawn back into the moment from the commotion.

“Yes. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” Casey quips.

“I’d think likely 3-5 days. Give things time to blow over and settle down.”

“I don’t want things to blow over and settle down, Dr Ramsey. I want them to change and I want to be able to date who I want to date and not be forced into some loveless marriage for money and my image.”

“I… Right, I see.”

“Do you?” she challenges. “Do you really?”

Ethan gives her a look of surprise at her sudden outburst and she sighs after a moment of tense silence.

“Sorry,” she apologises. “I… I shouldn’t be taking my anger and frustrations out on you. It’s not your fault.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m used to being blamed for things that aren’t my fault. I am a doctor after all. You have to learn to grow a thick skin to these sorts of things.” he smiles back kindly.

An hour later the pair walk through the front door of Ethan’s apartment, abandoning the suitcases by the door. Casey settling on the couch, Ethan disappearing into the kitchen and reappearing with two glasses of water, offering one to Casey as he settled next to her.

“Th-thank you.” Casey stutters as she accepts the glass.

“You’re welcome.” Ethan smiles kindly taking a gulp of water from his own glass.

They sat in silence for a while, the energy awkward and weird as they looked to anywhere in the room but each other.

“So-”

They both started at the same time, chuckling nervously as they cut each other off.

“Sorry, I- You go first.” Casey blushes.

“I was just going to ask you if you would like me to show you to your room?”

“Um. Yeah, I’d… That would be nice. Thank you.” Casey smiled as they rose to their feet.

Ethan led Casey to one of his spare bedrooms, wheeling two of her cases with him. As they entered, Casey’s jaw dropped. She looked around at the homely yet clean decor that inhabited the room; Ethan chuckling as he noticed her expression.

“Impressed?” he asked with a bemused smirk.

“Uh.. no. I just… wasn’t expecting something with such a homely feeling for a guest room.”

Ethan nods understandingly at her honest answer. “Most people don’t. And by most people… I mean about 45% of the 37 people I’ve had stay the night, before you. You’re now the 38th person I’ve allowed to stay here.”

Casey chuckles as she sits on the edge of the bed. “That’s so you.”

“What is?”

“Focusing on the statistics of reviews from people you invite or allow to stay here.”

“Oh? Analysing me now are we, Miss Valentine?” Ethan asks as he sits beside her

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Casey scoffs, gently shoving his arm with a shake of her head

“Me? Ridiculous? Now where would you have come up with that idea?”

“You literally lost all sense of rational thought and invited me to visit you at work the other day for a quick hook up before our date later that same night. You cleared your desk and readied protection in an easily accessible place. No man with a ration or logical, over-ticking mind… does that.”

“So what I’m hearing here is that… I’m not like these other men who are douchebags and expect the women to take care of the protection they should carry. Which in turn makes me a unique and rare find. Some, any woman who is willing to do irrational and illogical things when it comes to quelling the fire in her loins, would date.”

Casey looked at him with a goofy yet bemused smile of her face before they both burst out into laughter, falling back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as the sound died down. After a while Ethan pulled himself up, Casey copying his action.

“I should let you sleep, and get to bed myself. I… have an early shift tomorrow.” Ethan says clearing his throat.

“Yeah, sure.” Casey nods, “Um… goodnight.” she smiles as she follows him to the door. “And thanks again, for letting me crash here. It… means more than I’ll ever be able to explain.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” he soothes, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and rubbing slightly. “I will admit that it’s a new thing having the woman I’m sort of dating staying in my apartment for a prolonged period of time. But, it’s going to keep you safe. That’s what I care about.”

Casey’s eyes shine with tears as his kind words sink in and Ethan pulls her into his chest, rubbing her back soothingly as he feels some of the tears soak into his shirt. After a moment they pull away from each other, Casey swiping the remaining tears from her cheeks with a small chuckle.

“Goodnight Casey, sweet dreams.” He smiles softly, cupping her cheek; wiping away the last stray tear.

Casey places her and over his, returning the smile. “Goodnight, Ethan.” she whispers back as Ethan plants a soft kiss on her forehead before wordlessly leaving the room with one last smile.

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

The next two days passed by peacefully of Ethan and Casey falling into a new routine Ethan would wake up for his early shifts and leave breakfast for Casey to heat up when she woke up, they would meet up for lunch at Derry Roasters and then Casey would cook a nice meal for when Ethan got home. After that they would settle together and play a board game, listen to an audio book together or Ethan would binge true crime videos with Casey until it was time for them to head to bed. The morning after she moved out of her parents house for her temporary stay at Ethan’s, Casey had contemplated not turning on her tablet or laptop and being present for work, but then she remembered; she’s not THAT petty. So she took a shower, got ready for work, conversed with Ethan a place in his apartment she could use as her work space during the daytime, and that’s how things had been going.

Smoothly.

And for Casey that brought a sense of comfort and calm she hadn’t felt for a long while, it’s also what she was currently zoned out pondering on as Ethan spoke to her about ideas for dinner.

“... or we could go down the route of- Casey… Case?” Ethan asked, poking at her arm gently. “Hello? Earth to Casey.” he spoke louder waving his hand in her face.

Casey blinked a few times before looking to Ethan, letting her eyes adjust to his face. “I’m… sorry. What were you saying?” she asks flushing a bright rosy pink.

“I was making suggestions for dinner tonight. Maybe a pasta dish, something like spaghetti and meatballs, or ravioli. I was then suggesting we could take the lazy route tonight and just order something in.” Ethan responds.

“I can do spaghetti and meatballs. No problem.” Casey smiles brightly, taking a sip of her coffee before her face drops when her attention is draw to the door as the bell tinkles. “Oh no.” Casey whispers before ducking behind Ethan.

“Casey? What are you doing?” Ethan whispers.

“It’s him. THAT’S Bryce Lahela. The one I have an arranged marriage with. Just… act normal.” she whisperer yells back remaining in her spot.

Ethan watches from the corner of his eye as Bryce orders a coffee and then looks around the cafe, his eyes stopping on Ethan and a smirk sliding onto his face before he siddles over to the table.

“Ethan Ramsey.” he states.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan says after a moment, looking up from the newspaper in front of him. “Do I know you?”

“No.” Bryce says nonchalantly “You don’t. But I sure as heck know you.”

“Obviously. You addressed me by name.”

“OOOO. You’re as stiff as your reputation perceives you to be.”

Ethan shakes his head indifferely. “No… I don’t think I am. I just... don’t go looking to cause trouble with random people as you seem to be doing.”

“Oh, don’t act dumb Ramsey. You know why I’m here.”

“Enlighten me.” Ethan chuckles as he sits back in his chair.

“Where is she? Where’s Casey.” he demands

“The family sent you to do their dirty work have they?” Ethan retorts, clearly unimpressed.

“She’s my fiancé and she should be at home with her parents where she belongs. Not wherever you’re holding her against her will.”

Ethan laughs in his face at the weak veiled threat before looking Bryce in the eyes with a bitter coldness.

“Listen here, twerp. Casey is not being held anywhere against her will, where she is, she’s there because she feels safer than at home where she could be abused in any way, at any moment, by anyone. Now if you have a problem with that, take it up with the police. But if I were you my friend, I’d keep in mind they organised this whole thing.”

Bryce stares Ethan down for a couple of minutes before his name is called out, with a slight aggressive grunt he turns on his heel, collecting his coffee and then leaving the store.

After about 5 minutes, Casey pokes her head out. “Is it safe?” she whispers to Ethan, who looks around and then nods. She crawls out from behind him and then sits back in her chair. “Sorry about him.” she smiles shyly.

“It’s okay.” Ethan says shaking his head lightly with a soft smile. “Don’t apologise for him. Ever.”

“O-okay.” she nods, finishing her now cold coffee before closing her salad pot and placing her phone on top as Ethan left the table ordering two to-go coffee’s. As they stepped outside, Ethan turned to Casey. “Let me drive you back, just incase there’s any unwanted visitors around.”

“I- That would be great, thanks.” Casey smiles as they head over to Ethan’s car.

After dropping Casey back at his apartment safely, Ethan headed back to work; groaning as he entered the lobby hearing a familiar voice shouting in the main lobby.

“Well he works here doesn’t he?! So why can’t I see him!”

Gripping the handle of his briefcase Ethan straightened his spine and walked past the commotion only to have to do an eye roll before slipping into professional mode as her turns too address the shouts

“There he is! Oi, Ramsey!”

“Bryce Lahela. Or should I say… Daddy’s trust fund baby?”

“Ouch. That one hurt. You’ve done your research I see.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Ethan snorts, “I was on a call with Casey for our entire conversation. Just so you know, you’ve pushed her further away.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“And what reason would I have to do that?”

“You’ve been on dates with her. You want to keep her all to yourself.”

“How are you so deluded?”

“I’m the deluded one? That’s rich coming from you.”

Ethan laughs a little. “As thrilling as it would be to put you in your place where you belong… I am going to be the bigger person here and ask you to leave before I have to call security.”

“Aw, don’t want to lose your little job as a doctor because you’ll no longer be able to impress Casey?”

“Actually, no. I don’t want to lose my job because I enjoy it. As for impressing Casey, I have more than one way to impress her. Whereas you…” he trails off looking bryce up and down with a scoff of disgust. “You have none.”

The air around them tensed as nurses and fellow doctors within earshot alike stopped as they heard Ethan’s words. Bryce stood opposite Ethan his confidence wavering as more time ticked by with him saying nothing back.

“Yeah… Well she probably fakes it anyway.” Bryce spat in a panic before stomping out of the main doors.

Ethan chuckled as he watched Bryce go, clearly flustered that Ethan had been able to render him speechless.

Later that evening Ethan arrived home to the aroma of garlic, tomatoes and pasta wafting through his apartment. “That smell is divine.” he smiles as he enters the kitchen to the sight of Casey dishing up two plates of food.

“Thanks.” she smiles up to him before placing some garlic bread into a basket. “Dinner will be served out on the balcony tonight, if you would be so kind as to go and take your seat, kind sir.”

“Well this is certainly new.” Ethan chuckles. “I never thought I'd see the day where my apartment turns into a personal restaurant.”

Casey giggles. “Just go and wash your hands, then head outside.”

Ethan salutes her and heads off to do exactly that. By the time he’s comfortably seated, Casey heads in his direction with a tray of drinks. “One scotch with water not ice?”

“Oh, thank you.” Ethan smiles as Casey sets the glass in front of him.

Casey smiles as she sets the glass of wine in her own spot. “Your food will be with you shortly.” she smiles with a nod and slight bow before turning and heading back inside, only to reappear moments later carrying the same tray now adorning their food. She places it carefully on the table before placing the tray inside on the coffee table, returning to take her seat.

Ethan smiles at her as she takes a sip of her wine.

“What?” she blushes, shyly tucking her hair behind her ear.

Ethan smiles at her for a minute longer before shaking his head. “Nothing. I’ve just never felt so free and unjudged around someone before. Nor have I felt so loved by someone other than my dad.”

“Oh? What about… what about your mom?” Casey asks hesitantly.

“I… We don’t discuss her.” Ethan replies, voice turning cold as he looks to the horizon.

“Oh… Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay to ask questions, Casey.” Ethan says warmly as he turns back to Casey. “I just prefer not to talk about her.”

“That’s fine too.” Casey smiles. “We can talk about other things. Like… how was the rest of your day?” she asks.

Ethan gives an amused smirk as he launches into telling her about Bryce and their exchange, Casey’s eyes widening and her cheeks flushing red as he mentions the part about what he has that can impress her. Talk then turn back to their work days and how that went for them as they eat on the balcony with the Boston sunset as the perfect backdrop, laughing well into the night.

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#choices stories you play #playchoices #pixelberry studios #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan ramsey #casey valentine #bryce lahela #ethan x casey #bryce x casey #lahamseiroshoe writes

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punkandsnacks · 4 years

Text

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Eleven; Reveal.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3-

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: !!! major blood gore/violence/death !!! in this chapter-

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

Another week in the life of a soon-to-be-wedded young woman perched delicately upon the dizzying precipices of matrimonial bliss; for she had to suffer yet another outing with her intended huffy Sergeant.

They were bid to the local theatre three towns over, this eve, to take a the comedic operatic of a show. A paltry pastime perhaps, Hux was not keen, where Iris entered the evening determined to have some share of joy in it.

She’d often found a healthier outlook far more substantially bearable, than that of a venomous one. A better application of her energy as far as she’s concerned; her determination to enjoy such things outweighs the scope of misery she could place upon her evening.

She’d be sat down upon a comfy seat. In the dark. Not conversing. That sounds like some sheer brazen luck to her; she won’t have to interact with Hux or his overbearing unctuous mother. But then her mind callously interjects that she’d have to spend the rest of her life married to the man. So one night’s reprieve was almost sadly tragic. A happenstance to be mourned.

Pitied. If she had anyone who could so pity her in that manner.

They could certainly pity her now. Sat in a dark coach. Travelling and clunking along to the theatre house.

Hux sit’s opposite inspecting the quality of the shine of his boots. Besmirching his valet’s hand no doubt.

She sits opposite. All wrapped up in her velvet cloak and another silk dress he didn’t compliment her on looking so becoming in.

A better man might’ve atleast called her pretty. Might’ve atleast made her feel just the tiniest bit flattered that he has her on his arm. No such luck with the loveless Armitage Hux.

Moody silence sits with them. Almost as if a completely intrusive third passenger. Heralding the frosty silence that’s colder than the light of the icy moon outside tonight. Catching on all the snow. Shining over brown-frosted hills and dead winter trees.

They come to the gaiety of the theatre. Even as the coach pulls up, Iris can see numerous men and women flocking there. Driven in by the chill and the desire for the show. The name of which is emblazoned above the door. And in peeling posters all along the torch lit front of the stony theatre building.

A creamy edifice of domineering cotswold stone. The sleeting snow, like mush and rain and ice, patters and melts into the roof and seeps soggy into the dirty pavements. Spitting gloopy down from the heavens.

The weather is a foul as Hux’s somber mood. He barely looks at her just as he barely offers her a hand down from his coach. She had wounded his ego most sorely the other night. With the carriage and the wolf debacle.

Iris has never known such frailty or scorned derision greater than that of a man’s bruised ego. Softer than eggshell.

She would be more incensed at his sullen mood. If she wasn’t already suffering in other ways. A persistent headache had taken up residence in her temples. It pinched and hurt and her tolerance for annoyance had furiously lessened.

They cross the steps up the foyer, and cut through the bustling crowds to come to the gathering of their family who await them. Their carriage preceded their own by mere minutes. Maratella rewards herself being so sly and forward thinking in sending Hux to fetch Iris in their second coach whilst the rest of her family rode on with her and Brendol.

She fancied she was giving the budding lovebirds a moment alone; probably imagines they’d steal a kiss or gabble excitedly about their wedding plans. Hopes for the loving future ahead. She wasn’t to know they were barely on speaking terms.

Hux catches her elbow before they reach their assorted relatives. Brings her to a stop.

“Might we endeavour to appear civil, tonight Iris?” Hux speaks lowly into her ear. Stooping over her. Looking as if they are exchanging some lovers secret from a trysting moment.

“I should like to set an example of gentility for yours and my families interests. For we both know what is at stake if we are, after all.... destined to be wed.” He tells with a note of dullness to his voice.

Be still my swooning heart, Iris remarks to herself dryly.

“There is no quarrel between us, Sergeant. And if there is, I assure you, it is certainly not being offered from my quarter.” Iris insists. A veiled comment meant to remind and remark how annoyingly taciturn he was behaving.

Without mistaking her utter joy at correcting a gentleman’s behaviour and the out-coming matter of it being inherently satisfying; she’s more vexed at how he can seem so displeased with her conduct.

He does have the gall to look the tiniest bit ashamed to that confession. He offers her a flicker of a curtly guilty smile. Nodding. “Very well.” He adds.

Iris looks down and gently takes his offered arm. He stands straight. Peacocking, puffing his chest out in his scarlet uniform. They stride across for their families with perfectly false smiles pasted on their faces. An air of geniality seeping out of every pore.

Posy and Flora are the first to not so subtly comment at their sister and the titian haired Sergeant being left alone together for an entire carriage ride. Again.

Her mother leans to Maratella and smiles something unto her friends ear. If her relatives get any the more transparent, Iris strongly suspects she’s going to scream and start tearing out her hair.

Iris nods a hello to the Huxs’. Brendol is in attendance tonight. A man of late age, little hair. Thinning russet red that hints at his sons colouring. He is portly and acts and speaks as if he disapproves greatly of everything in his path.

The man is merely eyeing her with the same bored indifference as his son. Mutters something to his wife about getting to their seats before too long. Looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else. Bedecked in his army uniform too. The heritage of proud soldiers, the noble and gallant Hux ancestors. Men with soldiery and lust for war and medals and honour in their blood, dating as far back as the Normandy landings, most likely.

She felt something then she never fathomed she’d feel for Armitage- she pitied him.

Growing up with a father who domineered and controlled his interests as much as her mother had controlled hers. She was raised and bred for marriage? Hux was raised and bred for the glory of war. No matter if he wanted it or not. Anything to continue the proud heritage. She suspects they are perhaps more alike in that regard than she first thought.

She however, cannot pretend it makes her love him any the more. Respect him slightly, possibly. But her heart and feelings are still sworn away to another man.

“I’m very much anticipating the performance. Maratella you are very generous to invite us all to take use of your box. Such a fine view.” Iris insists to Mrs Hux. She had even said that it would not be so prudent for Iris to start calling her ‘her second Mama’ if she so wished. For they are almost connected as family already.

“Indeed. Miss Ashton you are most welcome. My dear friend and I jointly share the box for the season. I think mayhap you know of her? Lady Spencer...” She preaches jovially. Loudly enough for everyone around them to hear. Whether by design or accident- Iris cannot say.

Iris nods. “Indeed ma’am. We were at her ball at Cavisham House, just last eve.”

Maratella’s face falls with comedic over-exaggeration. “Oh we did most want to attend. Alas so many parties and assemblies we are promised to at present!” She gushed.

“Armitage and I got caught up at the Countess of Whetherby’s assembly last evening. Hux took dances with many fine young ladies. But I dare say he missed you something most acutely awful my dear.” She winked at Iris. Reaching over and patting her hand in mock comfort.

Her levity didn’t lessen the barb of insult that struck through her heart. She’d waited on Hux being in attendance all evening, and he thought so little of her, he took dances with other women.

Now atleast she knew where she stood. No matter Maratella’s telling her otherwise. That pity she spoke of before, quickly dried up. The well of her good thoughts for Hux quickly dried up. As it usually does mere seconds after prevailing herself of his company.

She rather wants to drop the arm of his she’s now holding in fake mannerly affection. Only she doesn’t get the chance too. Maratella is already rabbiting on and boasting about something else.

“Alas, I had word from my poor friend Lady Spencer just this eve. She sent me a missive. I chanced on its arrival just as we made ready to leave. She so hates to decline an invite to the theatre. But she is struck down with pains of the chest. A nervous compliant I fear.” She admits sadly.

“She did say she sent a certain gentleman to take her place. I believe you are of his acquaintance, Mrs Ashton. He claims one with you...”

Mrs Ashton frowns most keenly. “Pray. Who might that be?” She comments.

“That would be me, I believe.” Interjects a new deep voice into their conversation.

Iris’ skin crawls. And not in any sort of horrible way. But the very best way. That smoke and whiskey-molasses voice that sets her bones quivering is like manna to her ears.

So sudden his appearance that all the blood in the upper half of her body rushes suddenly to her face. Heating her cheeks. And she’s never been more aware of her spine being a column of thrashing fizzing and excited nerves.

Their party turns around and sure enough, there is Lord Ren. Stepping out of the shadows of the nearest hallway. He looked oddly at home amongst the scarlet blood walls, the shadows, and the cloaking velvet curtains of the nearest entryway. Hands behind his back. His impassive figure cuts a handsome image.

Black coat and breeches and boots as always. An ivory silk waistcoat the colour of old bones sits on his top half. A searing white cravat knotted at his neck. Collar tipping under his chin. A monochrome monstrosity. So monstrous because he’s so beautiful Iris can liken no other sight in the world like him. He was truly a wondrous beast.

He appears so opportunely. As if summoned by the devil. Sculpted out of thin air. In a great rushing shift of air he brings with him the cologne that’s almost as tantalising as his very handsome looks. Sandalwood, rich dirty earth and something cold and opulent, fragranced, like frost crusted on mint leaf.

Iris takes great pleasure in knowing his mere presence grits her mothers teeth to dust. She’s biting back her tongue. So as not to be uncivil in front of Maratella. Showing up her host was the height of rudeness.

“Lord Ren.” Maratella gasps excitedly. Preening and fussing with her appearance. Kylo looks over at Iris warmly. Sets her soul on fire with those honeyed black eyes before he smoothly rolls his look across to Mrs Hux. His second host for the evening.

His vampiric charms and hypnotic influences seep out of his every pore. The aids to the ultimate predator. He can enchant anyone. Even the vapid likes of Mrs Hux.

She’s reacting to him - blushing and fluffing her hair curls. Even in her late age. Humans are always so susceptible to him. He never has a problem attracting interest. He’s tall, dark and far too beguiling. The weak mortals - of either gender - throw themselves at his feet and fawn into madness that he might dare look at them.

His eyes are however, set upon one prize. And at that very moment; Kylo’s ultimate prize has her hand hooked on another insipid man’s elbow. That won’t do.

He eyes the contact with fleeting derision as Mrs Hux flatters and compliments him every manner. As if her tongue simply drips honey and sugar.

“... Indeed. We are all so honoured you will be making up our merry party this eve. Lord Ren.” She wheedles.

Kylo tips his smirk across at Caroline Ashton. Who looks ready to spit venom at him past her forked tongue. She was reddening with rage. Clutching her hands together like she wanted to break bone.

“I am excessively happy to make up the party.” He smiles. Hoping it would be a dagger in Mrs Ashton’s scaled skin.

“Lady Spencer simply begged the acquaintance on me. I couldn’t possibly in all good grace refuse it.” He shows off.

He sees Caroline flinch and watches the veins strain at her temples. He will torture her for every second. Tenfold. For what she’s putting her daughter through. Making her suffer the attentions of a arduous prick, who thinks himself the finest soldier England has ever produced.

That makes Kylo scoff. He known soldiers like Hux: men who flock to the uniform, quick to put it on. Not so quick to honour its pride and meaning.

Men like him; fighting men like him are one’s born out of centuries and generations upon generations of soldiers forced unto the army life by their domineering and stuffy fathers. Kylo casts an eye over Mr. Hux who boredly inspects his pocket watch. Doesn’t so much as even turn his head toward Kylo.

He’s seen a hundred men like this. And they flee from battle. Unable to take the horror of being cannon fodder. They think themselves above it. Better. Superior. They don and peacock their red coats but when it comes down to committing the savagery of fighting in battle, they run.

Kylo’s slit the throats of a thousand deserters in his day. He’s sure when the next war comes - and it will - he will be called upon to do more of the same.

He’d take ten peasants with the will of iron and guts to defend their homeland with their bare bleeding hands, warring to the bone, over a thousand preening dandy officers like Hux. Ones who picked the lint and specs of dirt off their uniforms. Bragged about their commissions and then would doubtlessly abandon good men to die when battle finally came.

“How long have you known Lady Spencer sir?” Mrs Hux asks.

“Not at all until I met her at the ball last Eve. Mrs Hux. She was most grateful for my ousting an awful drunkard who was causing insult to her guests.” Kylo explains.

Mrs Hux looks amazed. Iris blushes. Posy and Flora look all flirty up at the tall Lord. Mrs Hux looks ready to swoon.

Armitage appears bored and annoyed. “How very gallant of you Lord Ren. Did he offer you insult perhaps, snub your grand title? Laugh at your boots?” Hux sniffs with derision.

Kylo locks eyes with the redheaded cur who dared to offer him, the landed peer, an insult. The ember warmth leeches from Kylos eyes and his smile drops. His stare hardened to black frost. His eyes glitter darkly in the lowlight. Like shiny, scuttling black beetles wings.

“Actually, Sergeant, he offered foul mouthed insult to your beautiful fiancée. You would know of this, had you not left her unattended all evening.”

Hux sneers and his lips twitch to snarl an ugly response. Kylo looks nonplussed. Though behind his back, his knuckles crack white where he curls his fist. And he feels the veins in his arms and his biceps strain, itch and tense not to retaliate.

Sensing the men bristling over Miss Ashton. Maratella suggests they all take to their seats for the performance begins soon. The Ashton’s walk off with Brendol and she takes the time to turn around and hiss at her son. Her sugared smile disappears and coldness takes its place.

“Armitage. Remember your manners. Don’t be so uncouth in front of Iris. And especially not to Lord Ren.” She shrilled at her son, before she takes her leave.

Hux cups over the back of Iris’ hand where it rests on his elbow. Kylo stays stood opposite. Glaring at the man. Seeing his hand on hers made his blood itch for terrible violent things. He aches to reach across and twist Hux’s stupid neck til it crunches into pieces.

What’s worse... is that Hux doesn’t love her.

He will never love her. He is using her for show and want of connection and that is all. Instead of appreciating the beauty on his arm... he’s using her to manipulate the emotions of another man he detests.

Kylo so very much wants to dismember the sad prick. The animal in him claws at its confinement’s. Slobbering maw baying at the gates of his temper. He swallows and keeps it tamed - for now.

“Hux. Please. I beg you. There is no cause for incivility here.” Iris insists.

Sensing the bristling and enflaming of masculine tempers flaring up around her. Kylo looks calm. Hux looks snotty and more and more like a spoilt brat not getting his own way. The poncy Sergeant barely turns his head to her when she speaks.

He’s fraying on the last ragged rope holding Kylo’s inner beast in check. In his time he was raised to hold women in high regard. They were warriors. Mothers. Strong farmers, and skilled craftspeople. People worthy of alignment with men. In this rabid society? They are merely goals and dowries to be won. It sickens him.

Hux looks like he wants to stomp his foot and stroppily exclaim that Lord Ren started it. He eyes as the crowds about them thin away. Off to their seats. He snatches his arm off her. Steps forward.

“Do not dare think to correct me, woman.” Hux says lowly at her. Before he turns his head to Kylo. Still addressing her. But his eyes stabbing into Kylo.

“Lord Ren should be apprised of speaking so discourteously towards me.” He warns. Thank goodness he wasn’t isn’t full ceremonial dress and had his sword strapped to his side. He might have run Kylo through.

Lord Ren raises one sardonic brow. Really, there was an advantage to his lofty peerage ranking as a Lord. It meant he was always in a position to arch a sardonic brow. His smirk tips up on one side too.

“You offer me threat? Sergeant?” Kylo asks. He’s twice the man’s width. And three heads taller.

There’s no question who the real power is. Kylo’s itching to show how much. Slam the pathetic boy up against the nearest wall. Feet off the ground. He could choke him there with one hand. It would be no more to him than swatting away a stray flea.

“I do, Sir. Maybe your foreign ways make you unaware of the standards here in our polite society. But understand me; it is in very poor taste to try a poach a man’s intended from him.” He snarls. Voice reedy thin.

“In my foreign experience...” Kylo digs at his poor choice of words. “I seldom recommend that senseless men such as yourself leave their beautiful ladies unattended. Who knows what may come to pass...” Kylo suggests.

He wouldn’t allude to their kiss last eve and bring her mortification and embarrassment. Hux recoils to spit some more venom but Kylo steps up.

“Perhaps if you bore an ounce of gallantry and backbone you’d be better placed to deserve a woman like Miss Ashton. A curious intelligent woman, whom you can overlook and subjugate at every turn. She deserves a far better spouse than some coward in a uniform.”

“I would call you outside if I believed you had any honour with which to meet me.” Hux seethes.

He was challenging Kylo to an illegal duel. Not over Iris’ honour. But rather his own. How typical. Lord Ren’s amused face quickly turns into the most terrifying expression she’s ever seen. Such fury steeling his handsome features.

“Don’t dare talk down to me, of honour.” Kylo cautions. Iris’ mouth gapes. Such wounded fury in his eyes.

“You believe that because you don a pretty red coat that you are the most valiant warrior to ever set foot on this earth? I’ve seen such carnage and bloody fighting that it would make you shudder in horror and scream out in your dreams. I’ve fought in more wars than you can ever name, boy.” He spits in gross insult.

“I gladly lack many things your fetid society seems to value. But don’t you dare accuse me, of lacking honour.” Kylo seethes.

“I will not waste my time listening to more of this effrontery.” Hux straightens his back. Pretends not to be undignified and stalks off towards the box after his family.

Iris sighs in his wake. It appears he’d forgotten to escort her. She wasn’t entirely sure that was a bad thing. She didn’t wish to spend time with such a spoilt brat of a man, who can’t look behind his own ignorant scope.

“I detest many things. But a man such as he who so readily and openly snipes to others and thinks himself loftily superior, is not something I can pretend to stomach.” Iris offers to Kylo. Chewing lightly on her lower lip in trepidation.

He walks quick across to her and gently plucks her hand up to kiss it. Putting it on his arm thereafter. If her own idiot of a fiancé won’t escort her, he sure as hell will. Damn the cur for making less of her.

“I’m so sorry for his conduct Lord Ren. And any insult you offered you. ” She offers. Even though he’s trembling with anger and rage, entwined with disgust for that man. He doesn’t let her see how close he came to loosing his temper. A hairs breadth.

He’s sure to look stern. But his eyes are warm. “Your apology is not needed. Iris. He formed and spat those words. You did not.” He tells her seriously. He lets the bitter bile of rage slip off his tongue. She calms him.

Her beauty soothes the beast.

She looks ashamed. Ashamed of being connected to such a low example of man. “A woman is supposed to support her intended in every manner...” She says with perturbation.

“Well. He makes that venture impossible.” Kylo admits lowly. She smiles a little. Agreeing. Though she dare not speak such terms aloud.

“If I might add, You look very handsome tonight. Miss Ashton.” He flatters. Where her cloak was taken some time ago by the porter, the exquisite nature of her dress came into view.

A soft teal blue silk. Simple cut. He’s seen it on her before. The one with the low back and the sweeping train. He admired it on her before, and he will do so again. She shouldn’t be made to feel plain or boring in her dresses when she really did look truly beautiful in each one.

Tonight there is a thin necklace with some pretty sparkles and paste gems of some blue stones set around her neck. He watches the broach of it raise and sink with her breathing. His eyes run unhindered along her collarbone. Watches the jitter of her pearl drop earrings.

They walk up the narrow little carpeted stairs, and come along the hallway. Selecting their door they join the others in Lady Spencer and Mrs Hux’ box. The theatre was not exactly a grand one. Though the building was magnificent in its Georgian architecture it was a small country place of not much elegance. Candles flickered low, and the gloomy edifice is only made bright by the stage lights blinking upwards towards the painted scenery and the backdrop of draped red curtains.

The rest is lost to darkness. Ladies and gentlemen mill about in their seats, shifting in the rows of seats below. The upper circle opposite is populated too. As busy as the rest of the place.

The show is shortly to begin. Kylo doesn’t have time to admire the look on Caroline’s face seeing him deliver Iris to her seat. Glaring at Hux sharply, who gave him his own acerbic look right back. They watch the big impressive Lord stride down the box toward his seat.

Hux leans into her. “I make no such apology for my exit. I cannot stand a man who thinks so meanly of brave soldiers, such as I.”

Iris sighs to herself. Of course he overlooked the fact that he was the one who started the tirade of insults in the first place. He turned Kylo’s chiding the Sergeant onto a martyrdom for all English soldiers.

“I understand.” She says dully. Her head is throbbing. Temples hurt.

If she says anything else she’d get too incensed with him. He didn’t even defend his poor actions. Kylo was directly correct about Hux; he really did have no backbone or honour where she was concerned.

The curtains pull apart. The play begins. Lord Ren settles in his seat. Down the far far end of the box by Maratella and Brendol. Iris finds it not at all ironic or unsurprising that there’s a box length of people between them. Doubtless that was her mothers doing.

Kylo knows it too - he catches her eye where their seats are set back. A wry grin tugs at his lips. Despite herself, Iris blushes at it. She looks down into her lap. Hux turns to the side and catches her blush. Sees how Lord Ren turns away. Smug and smiling. It piqued his interest.

Iris tries to concentrate. But it appears the niggling headache she began to suffer earlier was pounding incessantly at her temples. She’s reminded of it every time there’s sharp clapping or the pitching whine of a violin chorus. The room suddenly feels much too much. Too hot. Too stifling.

Her dress feels too sticky - clinging to her back and her chest. She forgot her fan and she wished she would have remembered it. So she wouldn’t now be gasping for air.

Another thundering round of applause sharply rippled through the theatre. She shuts her eyes and winces at it. How it stings so at her head.

Hux continues clapping beside her. Elbows jostling her. Kylo frowns at the idiot not even sensing she was unwell. He doesn’t applaud. He looks her way with a frown of interest. Brow creased with concern.

It wasn’t long til the intermission now. Barely a half of an hour. Kylo watches her face crumpled in pain. She stands and says something idle and quick to Hux. He nods and she slips away. Out the darkened door. Into the shadows of the dimmed theatre.

Kylo turns his head back. Tries valiantly to concentrate on the insipid comedy play. But he finds he can’t. Especially not as a moment opposite catches his eye. Draws his eyeline to the opposite box. Where a dark coated man with golden hair slips out the door. Smirking directly at Kylo. Piercing eyes stabbed into Kylo’s nonexistent soul. He knows that smirking face.

Viscount Eversleigh. The most foul letch on two legs. The drunkard he had thrown out of the Spencer’s ball last night.

He couldn’t leap up and go after Iris. It would look planned. He had to leave it as long as possible. He tried to think that the perfidious and indocile Eversleigh had gone to fetch a drink. Yet he seemed like the kind of man to order someone to do it for him.

Kylo’s worries and paranoia seeps heavy through his blood like rotten sticky tar. He hates this sickening feeling. He prayed that Eversleigh’s exit wasn’t fuelled by Iris’. He really did.

He has no such blind faith left in mortal men. He may be the darkest foulest creature, but it’s nothing to some men’s filthy aspirations. Some were truly vile. Especially those men gone on drink and snobbery who view the world as quite their own.

Kylo launches out his seat. Hot in pursuit. So quick in fact it rattled back on its far legs as he rose out the thing so quick. Storming for the door. He almost yanked it off - ripping it clean of its hinges, like matchwood. If Hux wouldn’t care for her, the task fell to him. To protect his little Dove.

Iris made her way down the stairs. Stopping before she got to the foyer. She needed air and in search of it, she rounded the stairs up to the boxes and found a narrow dingy hallway which snaked out onto a dark alley.

The door was left wide open and cold slushy grey of night and the scent of damp and dirt spilled inside. Seeping onto the cold wet stone doorstep. Darkened by the spitting slush of rain.

She takes deep lungfuls of the bitter air. It hurts her lungs but the cool feels so soothing on her skin. Her skull still echoes with the nasty pain of headache. But the air helps aids her.

She no longer feels so suffocated. Stifled by this evening and her dress. Forcing herself to be civil to a heartless man she doesn’t want. It takes it toll of her already sore shoulders from carrying the weights if other people’s expectations.

Oddly enough, when she’s talking to Lord Ren, her worries and all those bothersome fretting’s leave her mind. For a second, she feels like someone sees her for the sheer value of herself. See’s and cherished her as a whole. It’s an awfully heady feeling for the likes of her; who always felt sought after merely for marital status and connection. She who was always made to feel like an example of regency gentility for marriage. And never having any dreams or aspirations beyond.

She sighs. Crosses her arms over herself. Hears the silk rasp. Feeling how the cold nibbles savagely at her arms. Stings her chest and turns her necklace to savage ice resting around her throat. Before she starts to shiver, she shifts herself from the doorway and turns to go back inside; entering back into her paltry monotonous existence.

The one that made her chest seize up in panic, the same thing clawing through her blood. The one that made her want to run fleeing every chance she got.

Damn family reputation. Damn propriety and society. She could run for the coast with the meagre pin money she has saved. Hidden behind the loose skirting in her bedroom. Behind the door. She’s gotten used to stashing the odd sixpence in the velvet pouch therein. She has a neat little sum tidied away by now.

She could go for the coast. Where no one knows her. Down and across to Dorset and seek for work. Or maybe Plymouth? Perhaps give herself a new name. Invent a dead husband who died in the war, invent a past that wasn’t at all true. Wear a wedding band that represented nothing more than a falsehood.

She may yet find work in some great grand house for a noble family. She has a good brain and much knowledge, she could be a Governess well enough. Teach young girls or young masters in the nursery. She was so vastly tempted by the idea. Atleast that way she’d have a life she could control.

She’d almost run away so many times. She was merely ten and four the first time she tried.

Barely longer in the tooth than Flora was now. And she’d wanted to bundle her meagre possessions into a carpet bag, and go scrounge together a life earning a measly palm full of pennies in some dirty gin soaked tavern on the outskirts of London, where no one would know her. Anything was a desirable alternative to staying and having her head bitten off day in day out by her mother. Always ready to find fault with her eldest.

Caroline Ashton’s fears of propriety and want for connection completely ate her up. There was no affection in her of any sort.

There wasn’t anything else there in the woman behind that porcelain front. Iris remembers learning that the day her mother clipped her across her cheek in a harsh slap for not getting the practiced dance steps right. That was the first night she dreamed of running away.

She regrets the memories now. They are no more than barbed reminders of her failed hopes. She’s never been brave enough to run. Her penance for her spoilt dreams. She’s stayed. She’s the biggest coward she knows of. Never could quite summon the guts to do it.

She sighs deeply. Turning and heading for her seat; the intermission began soon. She wanted to avoid the crowds if at all possible. She makes it just to the corner of the dingy hallway.

And where she’s looking down at her feet, when she looks up she’s gasping and jolting backwards at the sudden apparition of the man before her. Blocking all discernible light from the hallway beyond.

Stood there with his foppish mane of honey curls. His sapphire coat and his biscuit coloured breeches. Viscount Eversleigh. He stands. Smirking. Twiddling the golden sovereign ring around around around on his little finger. Anticipating her.

So suddenly she shrunk back with a gasp. “Lord Eversleigh.” Iris timidly greets him. Her back hits the wall where she stumbled.

“Iris. Isn’t it?” He seeks. She doesn’t care for the fumes of whiskey on his breath and on his jacket. Or his attentions. His manners. His looks. She didn’t care for anything and everything about him. And if he had a dog too? Well. She didn’t care for that either.

“We are not intimately acquainted.” She dismisses. He would never have known her first name.

He chuckled and stalks slowly towards her still. Backing her into the wall. She had nowhere else to go. Her hands scrabble against the smooth cold plaster. She can hear her heart hammering in her ears. Aware her chest is heaving and he notices this too.

“We could be...” He smarms at her. Smile tugging up. There’s a glazed look of something she can’t quite read in his eyes. And it’s bright and awful.

“Tell me, my dear, how long have you been lifting your skirts for Lord Ren?” He coos. Flattening her to the wall. His coat brushing her chest. “How long has he been fucking you?”

She’s mortified. And scared. Her mouth gapes. Such insulting speech. “I beg your pardon...” She gasps.

“Don’t be all missish. My dear. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way he pays court to you. Holds your hand. Much more than that redheaded prick does.” He scoffs. The shock of his foul language lands on her skin like the lashes of a cracking whip. They leave her sore and reeling.

“Indeed you are mistaken, Sir. And you are drunk.” She holds firm but her voice wobbles. She recoils from his breath as he stood over her. Intimidating. Hands flat to the wall by her shoulders.

One either side. He’s enclosing her. Trapping her. She turns her head to the side. Repulsed. He watches her neck corded, straining with each breath.

She feels the heat of his breath roll down her skin. “Please move...” She ushers lowly.

“How often does he get you under him? Hmm? Every day? Every week. Do you scamper over to his estate under the guise of running errands. Get on your back for him. Knees spread to the sky.” He drawls. “Bet you look a pretty picture... lying out under him, ready to be rutted.”

Iris glares up at him. She grits her jaw. She’s dealt with the foul four legged creature of fangs and venom that is her mother. Like a Greek harpy. She tries not to let this entitled man scare her.

“Get off of me.” She bites in a lethal little whisper. Full of rage and grit teeth. She almost shakes with it. He was making her feel lesser than her worth. She won’t stand for that. Not under any condition.

He smiles more. His hand skims down for her hip. Brute fingers rasping the silk. He grips the side of her thigh. Hard. He licks his dry lips and she wants to empty her stomach contents onto his shiny brown boots. “A man like me could make good use of such a gorgeous plump arse such as yours, Iris.”

She’s had more than enough. She brings her hand up, striking quick, she slaps him hard across the cheek. He’s too drunk and stupid to respond quickly. He had none of his wits about him.

She wriggles out from under him. Gathers up her skirts as a bundle in her arms and dashes away. She hears the commotion of him. His boots clack the tiles. He shouts and barks after her slurring. He sounds like he was following. Pursuing her.

And then it stops. It all stops.

There’s a garbled yell. Muffled and the yelling. And then, silence. Nothing but the sleeting rain pattering down on the stone doorstep where she was just stood. The wind howling down through the open door. Bringing the bitter frosty cold with it. Howling desolate down the eerily silent hallway.

“Turn back.” Comes that silvery honey voice in her head. The ancient one she can’t fathom to whom it belongs. It’s almost as if it’s always been there. Always croons sweet melodic things at her. The silvery voice that swims in her dreams.

“Turn back around. You’re perfectly safe little spark. There’s something you need to see...”

Something terrible is ringing dark and violent down in her bones. It makes her slow to a stop.

She doesn’t know why. But something within her along with that voice, calls upon her body to stop. And she turns back.

He wasn’t there-

She thinks she’s descending into madness. That she dreamt him. Or made him up. But then again, the fumes on his breath were far too vile for her to have conjured them up. Foul breath and sloshes of Scottish malt whiskey. She saw a stain on his collar where it had dribbled onto his chin. Down onto his cravat. She couldn’t have made up such an unnecessary detail as that.

She treads cautiously back down the tiled corridor she just fled down. Eyes flitting all over. She must be taking leave of her senses. Venturing back into the place where the man she ran from is residing.

She comes to the corner. Puts her cold hand to the wall to steady herself. The rain is louder. The wind howls more vicious. The cold pricks her skin like a ream of dressmakers needles rasping her into pain. The hair on the back of her nape stands to vulgar attention. Black nasty fear rotting in her veins like cloying syrup. Her heart feels too loud.

A whimper leaves her throat. Her chest pounds ragged with a shaky breath that leaves her in a tremble.

For there’s a handprint smear of blood and spraying droplets dribbling down the pale yellow wall just ahead.

Her gaze is drawn to the tiles of the floor, where little crimson drips shimmer in the half light, leading out the door. Into the raining and the dirt and the foul smog of the open brick alley way beyond.

Through the rain and the dark. She focuses on the big dark shape she can identify as a man. Hunched over. Her gaze is drawn downwards to the pair of wet brown boots. Dripping with something viscous and black.

Scarlet-black. Blood.

Those lifeless legs and limp arms lay prostate against this humungous dark shape. Bowed over the soon to be corpse. Dark head bowed. Iris recognises the scent of the cologne fading in the air. Mint leaf. Sandalwood. And rich dark earth.

And she can hear slurping and groaning.

Her eyes cannot help but leak tears. Sheer fear bubbling up in her body.

She almost can’t comprehend what she’s seeing. Her eyes must be traitors. They’re lying to her. She can’t possibly be seeing this. This must be the death of her sanity. Throw it in a grave and cover it with soil. Mourn the loss of her saneness.

There’s a slick thud as the dark shape drops the figure in its arms. Bloodied pale hands, big wide hands, drop Eversleigh’s blue coat collar. The limp man looks comically small against this dark beasts proportions. He’s dropped to the mud and dirt of the alley floor. Strewn into the filth where he belongs. The dark shape puts one hand to the brick wall. Crimson cakes it’s round yet sharp fingernails. It’s human hands.

It turns its shaggy head back to her. It’s not a beast. It’s a man. With gold eyes ringed with garnet.

Lord Ren.

And there is blood smeared raw and dripping down his mouth. Over two sharp fangs protruding from his plump upper lip. Staining his teeth. Running in sticky red rivulets over his handsome chin and dribbling down his white silk waistcoat.

He looks right into her. Pierced into her eyes and stunned her brain, persuading her not to move so much as one muscle.

She can’t know how long they stand there gazing at each other. Kylo stalks in to her. Sleeting slushy rain dotting on his hair. On his shoulders. On his blood stained front. She shrinks to the wall. Tears silver in her shimmering eyes.

She wants to speak. She can only stare. He’s nearing the doorstep.

“Little dove...” He seeks. Panting. Her eyes catch on the way that even his usually white teeth are bleeding crimson. It sticks in the cracks between them.

“Wh-what...” She seeks. Shakes her head in disbelief.

“Iris. I will not hurt you. I offer you no threat. Believe me.” He pledges. Reaching out a steady bloodied hand to her. Raising them both. Showing her he means his word. He means no danger to her. Never to her.

She doesn’t know if she’d rather sob, or run or scream- her brain cannot choose which.

“There’s this voice in my head.” She begins in a sob. Shakily pointing at her throbbing temple.

“And it’s telling me to..to... trust you.” She cries. Conflicted by the blood lusting monster she sees in the man before her. Caught in those haunting eyes and the blood and the gore of this shocking moment. He’s the same, yet so different. its painful.

Kylo is moved by the fact Iris can hear Draegan in her head. Ever the lenient one. He was reaching out.

“You trust that voice?”

She nods. “I must be mad.”

“You are not mad.” He soothes. “What I am is as real as you or I, standing here right now.”

As real as the bee stings of cold rain he can feel on his cheeks. The wet stickiness of his tamped down hair. The wind on his skin. And Eversleighs blood in his throat. Tasted like warm metal and whiskey spice.

Her eyes drift back to the slumped man in the dirt on the alley floor. “Is he?” She gasps. Seeking as to his state of life.

Kylo doesn’t tarry in his answer. But he keeps his words soft. “Yes.”

For the way he assaulted her, Kylo should’ve taken his head clean off. He’s done it before.

Hearing the vile thoughts in the drunkards perverted head about all he wanted to do to her when he got her alone, it well justified Kylo’s ridding the earth of the bastard letch by ripping his neck out. He turns back, nudged the tip of his boot into the man’s head. Turns the bastards throat away so she wouldn’t have to see the gore.

When he twists back, Her gaze sticks on the harsh glare of gold that was his eyes that were usually the deepest handsome shade of russet. Such savage eyes.

A terrible thought clicks in her head like snapping bone. “All those deaths of late... the wild animal attacks. It was- you?....”

“I’m afraid so.” He answers her curious questions.

She gasps anew. “It all makes sense now. And that Wolf...” She begins. “The one with the golden eyes.” The pieces start slotting together.

He nods.

Her mind can’t make sense of this insensible thing.

She expects to wake up any minute and this be the dizzying reaches of some far off, fantastic fever dream. Scrabbling first her bedclothes as the dream fades from her imagination.

“D-Do you wish to kill me, Kylo?” She whimpers.

He looks agonised. “No. Iris.” He pleaded to her so honestly.

“No.” He croons.

“In fact if anything happened to you, it would most likely kill me.” He assures her.

Her mouth gapes again. He watches those rosebud pink lips part. There is nothing but majesty and integrity on his face. In his features.

“I hardly know what to say...” She admits.

“I didn’t intend for you to find out the nature of what I am, in such a manner as this.” He confesses.

“You were going to confide in me?” She seeks.

“Yes I was. But when I saw this stupid drunk sneak after you. I had no choice. My hands were tied upon the matter. I could not have you hurt.”

“You did it to save me.” She comments.

“Of course I did, my dove.” He explains.

“I-“ She’s so moved she can hardly form words. Questions zip and crackle around her head like a crackling roaring fire. Like splintering logs fluttering with sparks.

She’s so dazed and enchanted. She almost doesn’t hear the applause come from inside that signifies the start of the intermission.

Kylo’s voice snaps her out of the stunned haze that swims in her mind like a pool of thick dark black treacle. She can’t free her arms or legs. The thick of it is swallowing her whole. His voice manages to finally disturb her out of it.

“Iris. You need to go. Now.” He tells. Eyes flicking upwards, hearing the clamour from within of footsteps and clattering doors. Crowds are descending. They can’t he found like this.

She barely summons the energy to move. “How will you-“ She looks back at the lifeless corpse of Lord Eversleigh.

“I’ll take care of it my Dove. But you must not spare a worry for me. You must go now.” He orders gently.

She slips around the corner and walks quickly away. Quitting the scene. Kylo watches until she moves out of sight. Her blue silk skirts trail away. He watches her as she moved back into polite society.

He looks down at the corpse and the blood seeping into the dirt. His pretty gentle Dove is back into the folds of politeness and civility.

How fitting;

The beast is out here. Confined out into the filthy muck and the snow and the blood, where he belongs. Outside, banished to the shadows.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

#kylo ren #Kylo ren x oc #vampirelovestory #vampire!kylo #vampire au #adam driver #very wolves and doves #vampire #demon #ao3 fanfic #Iris vibes🕊#Draegan vibes 🥀#Lord Ren vibes 🐺#blood #violence #death #mentions of death

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asgardianthot · 4 years

Text

Hunting Season (sambucky) – Part 2

Series Masterlist

Summary: The Barnes family is your average rich people circus. With Bucky’s post-breakup financial depression, and a literal treasure hunt at stake, his best friend Sam finds himself in a mad situation in order to help him. They sure can pretend to be together, but that’s just the easy part.

Words: 3810

"So how do we do this?" Sam asked.

He was brushing his teeth with the door open so he could glance at Bucky, who sat on the edge of Sam's bed. He was going to give his friend the bed back once they fully decided to go to sleep and Bucky took the couch, again, but for now, he was enjoying the comfort of a bedroom. He always did find comfort in Sam and his hospitality, after all. He remembered that one Christmas the Barnes spent in the French Alps, the one Bucky avoided because he had just broken up with Rumlow for the first time; Sam was kind enough to invite him to the Wilsons for the holidays, and that was when Bucky realized where his friend got his charm and kindness. Sam's entire family were the most welcoming people Bucky had ever encountered, which made him wish he had been born into a home like that.

As Sam spit the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth, Bucky thought of the specificities of their plan. At the realization that, if his parents had sat through several different relationships with the same Brock Rumlow, they probably wouldn't blink at the sight of a new man, he felt that the plan wouldn't be too complicated after all.

"I don't know." He shrugged, "Can you pretend to be gay?"

While Bucky's question was asked nonchalantly, Sam received it like a suckerpunch. It was supposed to be an easy answer, however the topic was a delicate one for Sam. Not that Bucky knew anything about it, but Sam kept a few secrets to himself. And since his friend had only ever seen him dating girls...

"Easy peasy." Sam faked a smile before cleaning his chin with a clean towel, "It's pretending I like you that's gonna be tough." He joked.

"Funny." Bucky said without a hint of amusement.

Eventually, Sam returned to his original concerns. The stakes weren't too high for him, but if Bucky got caught with this, he would never hear the end of it. Who knew what his parents would put him through, and Bucky had already mentioned something about being banned from the annual hunt for life, losing all hopes of ever getting the slightest fraction of Nana's money. Those two million dollars could mean everything to Bucky, so they really had to put on a show.

He walked back to his room and gestured his guest to give him some room, next to him. Bucky granted him the space, and they both sat in their own seriousness.

"No, but seriously, do we have to kiss and stuff?" Sam asked.

Bucky reflected on it.

"Maybe. I mean, we gotta make it believable."

The other man nodded, taking in the idea of kissing Bucky, even if just for an act, until Bucky's words caught him by surprise.

"Wanna practice?"

Sam raised his eyebrows, and cleared his throat with nervousness, "Uh, sure."

Nevertheless, he was met by a very amused Bucky, who happened to have been holding in his laughter. When he cracked up, falling back on the bed with pride on his own joke, Sam de-tensed.

"I'm kidding, dude." He threw a light punch to Sam's back, "We pro'ly won't even kiss through the entire week. Family's real uptight when they wanna be."

Sam let out a breath only he could hear, hopefully, and pretended to be comfortable with the entire situation.

"Okay, but if we do have to kiss, it better look real."

Day 1.

The time had come, and spirits weren't great. Sam had his shit together, luckily, but Bucky wasn't as confident. In the ride from the station to the lake house, they both sat at the back of the taxi, trying to prepare for the upcoming week. Eight full days of acting couldn't be too easy, but Sam was calm.

James looked the polar opposite, as he tried to keep his cool, mumbling to himself.

"Deep breaths." He told Sam like he was doing the calming for both of them, and it brought a small smirk to Sam's lips.

He watched his friend breathe in and out with his eyes closed, and he feared he might have a mental breakdown before they even got the chance to reach the house.

"Hey, I got this." He reminded Bucky, in attempts to ease his worries.

"God, I really hope you do."

Suddenly, the panoramic of the gigantic residence came to their field of vision. The two-story house had direct access to the lake, along with stored kayaks and sailing equipment. There was a -- floating there, unused, marking the family's possessions, and facing the big garden that separated the house from the water.

As soon as the vehicle stopped in the entrance, an employee came out to take care of their bags. Sam gave Bucky an odd look, himself not being used to maids and being served like that, to which Bucky only pressed his lips together. That's the Barnes way.

"Oh, come inside!" Bucky's mother welcomed them, ushering them inside.

They both obeyed and walked up the three steps to the door, finally entering the house. Before either of them got the chance to speak, though, Winnifred began theatricalizing.

"You poor things, it's so hot outside!" she lamented while pressing a hand to her chest.

Bucky tried, and failed, to reject her drama, "It's not that-"

"You must be Samuel." She ignored her son, and continued to ramble over Sam's attempts to at least say hello, "You want a drink? It's too hot."

The guest eyed Bucky, who was just staring into nothingness. If his eyes could speak, they would have been saying 'yep, sounds about right.'

"Uh, sure." Sam accepted, "Thank you, ma'am. I'm so glad-"

"There he is!" he was cut off by Bucky's father, who walked into the welcoming hall with his arms extended, "The man of the hour."

The two men shook hands.

"Sir." Sam nodded.

"Oh, please, it's George."

Sam opened his mouth to say something polite, when the woman interrupted him once more.

"And Winnifred." She added.

This time, Sam waited for a gap in the conversation. He hadn't been able to lay out a single sentence to the married couple, so he awkwardly waited for them to interrupt him, but when the silence extended for too long, he smiled, nervously.

"George and Winnifred, then." He agreed, nodding, "It's nice to meet you."

"James tells me you teach." Winnifred jumped right into the discussion.

"I do." Sam smiled, "History."

"Which school?"

"Mom, don't be a snob." Bucky warned her.

"I'm just asking him a question." She pledged innocence, as usual.

As much as the question of academic elitism bothered Sam, he had to remain polite. He hated gratifying rich people like that by disclosing the snob university where he worked. Sometimes he wanted to quit and go back to where he started, small high schools, poorly funded programs... for now, though, he had unpaid student debt and a two million dollar hunt to win.

"It's alright." He bit back his pride and dismissed it, "I'm teaching at Princeton right now."

Winnifred raised her eyebrows with one half excitement and one half surprise.

"That's a fine school." She showed how impressed she was.

The woman probably thought Bucky couldn't do better than the family friend business trash. She probably figured her son was too stupid for a Princeton professor, much less to settle down with one. It didn't add to the bad image Sam already had of her.

"I have some contacts in Harvard, could get you a spot." George butt in.

"Dad."

"Thank you, sir, that's not necessary." Sam rejected very gracefully, "I love my job and I certainly can't leave my students."

George gave him a respectful nod, while Winnifred gave his son a look, one that yelled well done. The interaction had gone better than any of them had expected, making Bucky forget every concern he had before. When they moved to the living room, which was right next door, the fake couple exchanged some victorious glances. Feeling much more confident now, Bucky pointed to the old lady sitting at the end of the room.

"Sam, I'm honored to introduce you to Nana Barnes." He dramatized in order to annoy the woman.

She looked like the kind of grandmother who had strong opinions on people and therefore, favorites, and Bucky sure acted like the favorite, teasing her with the confidence that she wouldn't mind. Nana didn't bother standing up. She was wearing a conservative black dress, reading glasses and she held a glass of Champaign on her hand. The matriarch look suited her wonderfully.

"I've heard many good things." Sam approached her, extending his hand.

While shaking the young man's hand, Nana eyed him up and down.

"You're handsome." She said in a powerful tone, "Much better looking than the last one."

Nervously, Sam fixed his tie and cleared his throat.

"Thank you." He frowned amusingly, not sure if he was meant to take the compliment or not.

"Are you an idiot like him?"

Sam tilted his head, "Excuse me?"

"That Rumlow boy, he was an ass. Couldn't tell his south from his north. Now, are you a smart man?"

Sam looked back at Bucky, who merely gave him a thumbs up as he backed away and left the two alone. It was only then that Sam noticed Bucky's parents had abandoned him as well. He accepted his situation, and sat down on the chair next to her.

"I... like to think so." He smiled, "I sure hope so, or else I'm teaching the next generation to be just as dumb."

"Ah, so I've heard." She spoke like it was the first thing she fully approved of, "It's a nice break from all the dull business men in our family. Is Jamie planning to live off your Princeton check?"

This time, the harsh question caught him less off-guard, "No, ma'am, I'm just helping him get back on his feet."

The lady narrowed her eyes like she was quizzing the new boyfriend.

"How long have you known my grandson?"

The fake couple had prepared a whole concocted tale, but right there, in front of the matriarch who worshipped the truth, he figured telling her the real story wouldn't hurt.

"I don't even know. Probably... six years?" the realness behind his words made Nana seem interested, "We met through other people, next thing I know we're best friends for good. Couldn't shake him off my back."

The woman laughed, "He can't help it, the Barnes have bloodsucker in their DNA."

Bucky had mentioned at some point, how the woman referred to the Barnes as simply the family she had married into when it came to pointing out their flaws, yet called herself a Barnes when it suited her. Sam, however, held in any type of snarky comment or laughter, and made an effort to remain excessively polite. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the façade for long, or at least not for the entire week, so he made sure to make the best first impression possible.

"No, Bucky's not like that.” He defended the man, although he immediately decided against contradicting the matriarch; he raised one hand in retreat, “I mean, you've known him all his life, so what do I know? But, uh… he's not that kind of friend."

The last word brought a smear of annoyance to the woman’s features, considering Sam had used it twice already.

"You can say boyfriend, Samuel, I'm not a prude." She protested.

Suddenly, Sam realized he was being too genuine. The way he spoke about Bucky was so truthful, he forgot for a second that he was meant to pretend to be his loving partner.

"Yes, boyfriend. Sorry."

In the welcoming hall, Bucky was thanking the service for getting his bags upstairs. He noticed a taxi parked outside, and he figured his cousin or one of his uncles had arrived, but as he wiped sweat from his forehead, the door opened, and his sister Rebecca walked in. As to be expected, she was dressed to impress in a light blue skirt and a sunny hat, wearing the additional drops of sweat that fell down her neck like an accessory.

"What are you doing here?” Bucky ambushed her, not too happy to see her, “You said you wouldn't make it."

The young woman didn’t seem offended by her welcoming, for she knew she was about to lie.

"I decided to spend some time with my family." She smiled brightly, reaching to hug her brother.

"Bull.” He stopped her. “What happened?"

Rebecca sighed, "Why do you always assume something's happened?"

"Because I'm the one picking up your slacks and shoving it under the rug." Bucky spat, looking around to check that nobody was listening.

"My hero." She rolled her eyes.

"Someone has to keep making you look perfect."

The words hit her, but she didn’t wince. Her face fell minimally, which was her own way of accepting it. Bucky was right, after all, because for years he had helped her out in every singl one of her fuck-ups, never asking for anything back, which resulted in their parents beliving their little girl to be a practical angel, while James remained the family screw up. The thing was, both siblings were emotional trainwrecks, but Bucky was the only one who got any backlash for it.

"So what was it?” he asked again, this time much more relaxed, “Boyfriend? Boyfriend's wife?"

"Actually...” Rebecca lowered her voice, “It's money. I need to win the hunt this year."

Bucky couldn’t believe his ears. Rebecca had only joined the family vacations to ruin his plans.

"I need to win the hunt this year." He was quick to shake his head.

"You don't understand, I owe a shit ton or money, James.” Unfortunately, his sister was just as enthusiastic about her own issues, “It's bad."

"Then get a loan from dad." He proposed in a very order-like tone, for he knew their father would give Rebecca money, while never offering Bucky a penny.

"He can't know I'm in debt!" she whisper-shouted.

Bucky took a deep breath and massaged his temples, still in disbelief that they were in this situation to begin with. He had brought his best friend into this, for all sakes. He couldn’t lose the money to his little sister. He wanted to explain to her how he was penny-less and had been enduring their parent’s hellfire for weeks, but Rebecca already knew that, and if that alone didn’t bring out her empathy, no amount of persuasion would. He wanted to tell her exactly what kind of treatment he had received in their parent’s house, but of course, Rebecca must have already guessed.

As much as he wanted to keep fighting, Sam joined them, and the two siblings were distracted from the argument.

"Samuel Wilson, why on earth are you in this shithole?"

Sam was baffled, as they hadn’t even spent half an hour there, and things were already not going according to plan. Bucky had sworn Rebecca wouldn’t be there, which was good, because Rebecca knew Sam and she knew that their relationship was not at all romantic.

"Good to see you too." He said, trying his best to ignore her obvious confusion and walking closer to Bucky, "Uh, your folks-"

"Sweetheart, you made it!" Winnifred’s exclamation echoed across the room.

"Of course, mama." Rebecca faked enthusiasm as she opened her arms.

"I see you've met Jamie's boyfriend." The siblings’ mother remarked as she gave Rebecca a quick hug.

Even before the contact was over, Rebecca was frowning.

"Boyfriend?"

Think, quickly.

"Yes, boyfriend. “ Bucky said loudly; perhaps too loudly to be believable, “We didn't wanna say. Thanks for ruining the newsbreak, mom." He faked discourage.

Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest, "No, you're not."

Desperate to play it out, Sam pressed a hand to the low of Bucky’s back, in an attempt to show affection and commodity with one another. Bucky, however, froze a little, because it was the first time Sam had done something like that and it felt more than just odd.

"We sure are." Sam grinned.

"Yeah, it just..." Bucky failed to imitate his fake boyfriend’s confidence as he scratched his brow and struggled with words, "Just sort of happened. We were going to tell you."

The room went silent, and Rebecca definitely wasn’t convinced. In fact, she saw straight through both of them and deciphered the truth behind the masquerade in a matter of seconds, which didn’t amuse her at all. They were going to take her prize away.

"Bucky's cheating." She said.

"Excuse me?” Winnifred opened her eyes wide, offended at what the accusation implied.

"At the hunt.” The young woman continued, earning a pleading look from her brother, who begged her not to out his lies; thankfully, she proceeded with a mocking tone, “He knows Nana's biased for couples, so he dragged his boyfriend to this freakshow."

Both Sam and Bucky felt like they had been given a second life, and they quickly laughed it off to dissimulate. Winnifred made a comment about her daughter’s choice of words while they all moved back to the living room, and although what had just happened was a sign that Rebecca wouldn’t out them, all three involved never got their eyes off each other.

Dinnertime was an event for the whole family. Others had arrived with their own luggage, setting three different generations in one table. Sam could only feel how strongly out of place he was, among the fancy drinks and conversations about business and family companies. He was learning a hell of a lot about Bucky’s family, though. The fortune was earned by the parents of the deceased grandfather, and he had been the one to ‘make them all rich assholes’, according to Bucky’s words.

"Aside from us and Becca, everyone here just wants to win the hunt for their ego.” He explained in whispers, leaning closer to Sam to not be overheard by the rest of the family, “It's just a fun tradition to them."

"I bet it's fun, getting four millions a year." Sam snorted quietly.

It made Bucky laugh, which got the attention of his aunt. She eyed the couple like they were just so cute together, and it only then occurred to Bucky that maybe they did.

"Oh, I forgot about Uncle Milo.” He gestured to an old and nice-looking man at the other end of the table. “Grandpa Theodore's brother, he's after the fortune."

Sam didn’t believe his friend, for it sounded like cliché rich family drama, something out of a soap opera. However, the young Barnes explained that the cliché was real, and that Uncle Milo had gambled his share of the fortune away, so he maintained his proximity to Nana in a desperate attempt to get it all back, the money, the house, everything. He soon continued explaining the rest of the less relevant characters: George's brother Teddy and his wife Andrea, who had a son about their age; cousin Colin. He was a dull creature and he looked like he'd come out of a Lacoste magazine, both him and his Ivy-league-college-sweetheart fiancée did. The third Barnes sibling was Aunt Ida, who had no children but was happily divorced.

“Are we all done with desert?” Nana stood up from her chair.

Cousin Colin raised his fork to speak and say that he hadn’t, but Nana didn’t seem to care.

“Wonderful. Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“No speech, Nana?” Bucky teased her.

“No, you’re all well aware. Except for Samuel, but he’s a smart man, he’ll catch up.” She winked at him.

That was apparently a good sign. She liked Sam.

“The first clue is very easy: just the meaning behind it all.” The woman chuckled at the end of her sentence, earning a few confused looks, “I didn’t hide it very well. You’ll find it if you search for it.”

Every guest remained seated. Knowing the woman, she wasn’t kidding, and this was just a riddle they were supposed to decipher, but they never failed to give her the benefit of the doubt that perhaps, just maybe one time, she would give them a real clue instead of messing with them as much as she could. Nana raised her glass of Champaign as a toast.

“Happy Hunting.” She smirked to the glass before chugging it down.

They seemed to be walking around aimlessly, just as the rest of the participants. This sounded like more of a mental riddle to fix by themselves, instead of an actual clue that was hidden somewhere. Bucky had the idea to look around grandpa Theodore’s old room in search for something emotional, although that didn’t sound like Nana, but she had told them to look for the meaning behind it all- she could have meant the meaning of the hunt. When Sam’s brain clicked, he grabbed Bucky’s arm to stop him.

"I got an idea." He announced.

Bucky glanced down at his arm, which was still being held by Sam.

"What're you thinking?" he raised an eyebrow.

"I'm guessing you guys have a library?"

Bucky nodded, "Smart."

Once they found the library, they were submerged in stillness. They shut the door so they wouldn’t give anyone else the same idea, and turned on the lights; the room was probably the calmest one in the entire house. There were high shelves with old books, two dusty reading chairs and a coffee table. Sam figured he wouldn’t mind spending some time there.

"What are we looking for?" James asked in a low voice.

Sam ran his fingers through the shelves for a few seconds, lurking for that one specific piece of literature he had in mind.

“Viktor Frankl.” Sam mumbled, concentrated on his task.

When he found the title, he pulled the book out and offered it to Bucky. Man’s search for meaning, 1946. It was too classical for fancy college men not to have heard of it, but the riddle was a tad too complicated for them. It was as if Nana had expected Sam to guess it first. Bucky caressed the cover, taking in the title and internally understanding the joke. The meaning behind it all. You’ll find it if you search for it.

He let a soft chuckle escape his lips as he opened the book and searched through the pages. Sam leaned in too close, over his shoulder, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel weird at the sensation of Sam’s breath hitting the back of his neck. He didn’t believe it was okay to even notice that sort of thing.

Suddenly, an envelope fell from the book, and Bucky looked back at Sam with amusement.

“That tricky old hag.” He laughed.

A/N: I know this wasn’t too exciting lol but it was more of an introduction chapter:/ next part will have your much needed fluff and intensity! Thank you so much for reading xx

#sambucky #sambucky au #fake dating au #sambucky fanfiction #sam/bucky #sam wilson/bucky barnes #sam x bucky #sam wilson x bucky barnes #fatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #marvel fanfiction

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thecleverdame · 4 years

Text

Control and Release - 27

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: After the rest of the staff is caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester. As the arrangement becomes more defined, you and Sam begin a sexual adventure with dangerous consequences.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 5.7k

Parts 28-31 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories, including the ABO series Gods of Twilight and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

Two Months Later

Two of W & S's private planes are sitting side by side on the tarmac as you walk toward the stairs and board the jet. In the front section are the larger, roomier seats reserved for the more important members of the staff.

You spot Sam the moment you board, he’s seated with a laptop open in front of him. Next to him is the welcome sight of Pepper, pointing to something on the screen and rattling on. He seems to sense your presence, glancing up and locking in while you shuffle down the aisle. A small, amused smirk pulls at his mouth, throat bobbing as he watches you.

He really did a number on you this morning; set the alarm and everything to ensure the two of you had plenty of quality time together before departure. He had you in handcuffs, moaning his name before you were even truly awake. And now your ass is throbbing. He was in the mood to really give it to you good and then you begged for it even harder. This morning’s spanking will definitely make for an uncomfortable flight, but that’s the point. A constant reminder of his hands on your ass, enough to keep you wet in anticipation of what’s to come over the next few weeks together in a new place.

This trip to London is scheduled to last four weeks if everything goes well, but likely closer to six. Six weeks in a city you’ve only dreamed of visiting. The new office means training a hundred employees at W & S’s flagship UK office. You’ll each train your counterpart, helping to guide them through the internal processes.

“Hi Pepper,” you grin as you walk by them. “Welcome back.”

While you never imagined those words would be true, hell hath frozen over. Having a second rate replacement who didn’t understand your working or personal relationship with Sam proved to be incredibly challenging. Now that Pepper knows your secret, you hope this part of things will become easier. She’ll give you all the unfettered access you want with no questions asked.

“Hello.” She manages a grim, sickly smile.

Sam glances around, ensuring there’s no one else in the front cabin before speaking up.

“How are you this morning, Y/N?” he smirks, mouth barely containing a shit-eating grin.

Pepper sighs, shifting uncomfortably between you, with a roll of her eyes. She was at his house this morning to help him prepare. She watched you eat Corn Flakes in his kitchen with her trademark look of irritated judgment.

“Good, how are you, Mr. Winchester?” you counter, looking back as Millie boards the plane, walking up behind you. “Better keep moving.”

You enter the back section with a dozen smaller seats that are still a luxury compared to a commercial flight. Cole glances up from his book and smiles wide and warm, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.

Sam is sure it was him who turned you in to human resources, but you’re not convinced. He hasn’t acted any different towards you. He’s just as easy to work with as he was before the incident. It’s been almost two months now and there’s been nothing, no whispers or sideways looks. Someone saw or heard something, but whoever it is is playing their cards close to the vest.

For the first couple of hours, you chat about work, then he tells you about his mother and how hard the death of his father was on the whole family. You offer up little anecdotes about your parents and growing up in New Mexico. Even show him a couple of family photos.

Eventually, he makes a move to his iPad and you open your book. It’s hard to concentrate. You can feel him sneaking glances at you, once, twice and then every couple minutes.

You shut the book, turning to him.

“Is there something on your mind?”

He’s silent, settling his headphones around his neck. You see the wheels turning; whatever he’s about to say, he’s wrestling with it.

“I just...I thought I knew you.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach.

“What does that mean?” you hiss. Swiveling in the seat you glance behind you at Millie asleep with her mouth hanging open and Adam from IT watching a movie with giant headphones over his ears.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.” Cole leans closer, eyes closing for a moment as if this conversation is equally as painful for him as it is for you. “I know you’re trapped in what seems like an impossible situation and you don’t know how to get out, but-”

“It was you.” You’re taken aback, staring at him as he blinks innocently at you. “You’re the one who went to HR.”

“Of course I did!” he nods curtly. “And I’d do it again.”

“That was none of your business.” You thrust a finger toward him.

“Of course it was, what he’s doing to you is wrong.” Cole reaches for your hand and you pull back like he’s burned you. “Look, I underestimated the level of power he wields. I thought HR would open an investigation and then you’d have an opportunity to tell someone what he’s been doing to you.”

“This is unbelievable.” You sink back against the seat.

“I agree. They know and they didn’t do anything. I thought Winchester was a straight shooter, but I should have known someone with his reputation would have a nasty skeleton in the closet.”

“Whatever you think you heard, you’re wrong.” You’re worried now. He’s so genuine in his explanation, he honestly believes Sam forced himself on you, coerced you into sex.

“I know what I heard,” Cole insists, grabbing for your hand. This time he catches your wrist and pulls you closer. “You don’t have to put up with that kind of treatment. You’re a strong woman, I can help you.”

“You have no idea what you’re walking about,” you whisper, swallowing hard. “You didn’t understand what you heard. You think it’s something that it’s not.”

He stares at you, sighing and sitting back.

“Alright,” he nods. “But if he’s doing this to you, he’s doing it to someone else, too.”

“Cole,” you turn toward him. “You have to let this go.”

“The Winchesters are bad guys. All of them,” he comments dryly, flipping open his computer. “Sam may have had more success than his brother but he just hasn’t gotten caught for his dirty deeds yets, but they’re both rotten.”

You shake your head in disbelief, trying to determine why he’s invoking Dean. He must have done his research.

“You have to trust me when I say that you have it wrong.” You might as well stop, all this pleading in vain. Cole has an idea in his head about who and what Sam is and he’s never going to let it go.

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” He gives you a tight smile. “I just needed you to know that I know. If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”

Eight Hours Later

“I’m not normally one to say I told you so, but…” Sam leans out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips and a toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“You were right,” you concede, holding up both hands. “I just hate that he thinks you’re this evil guy.”

“Half the world thinks I’m an asshole,” comes his voice from the bathroom. “That’s nothing new to me. Does it bother you?”

”Of course it does. I don’t like the idea of Cole believing you’re some monster.”

“Well, Cole can’t love both of us at the same time.” He chuckles to himself and you hear him spit into the sink.

Sam’s room is ten times the size of yours, with a parlor, living room, massive bedroom and a bathroom large enough for a shower and soaker tub. To top it all off there’s a balcony just off his bedroom overlooking the city. You’ve been allocated a small box of a room on the second floor at a hotel down the street but luckily Sam handed you a key card to his room as soon as you stepped inside. He and Pepper are the only staff staying at this hotel, which makes slipping in and out a hell of a lot easier.

“Do you like the room?” Sam asks, wandering toward the bed in his underwear. “They have an even larger suite on the top floor but no terrace. I thought you would enjoy being able to sit outside.”

“I do,” you smile, watching him thoughtfully. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

“I never stop,” he responds, smiling when you blush. “Are you tired?”

“Depends on why you’re asking.” You offer up a tired pout. “I’m pretty exhausted but I could be talked into any number of things.”

The London offices may be smaller but are no less impressive than the Boston office you work out of. You stand silently beside Cole as the elevator rises up the top floor.

“How are you?” he asks, adjusting his tie.

“Good,” you answer, staring forward.

You’re not sure what to say. After the world’s most awkward flight you checked into your official hotel room and went to join Sam, happy to be far away from everyone else. You haven’t spoken to Cole since you got off the plane.

Now that you’ve had time to process what he said, there are several things that don’t sit well. It seems as if he’s disappointed in you, let down that you were either unwilling or unable to turn on Sam and admit to harassment. If Cole truly believes Sam demanded sexual acts from you, it’s pretty shitty to say he expected more.

“I like your outfit.” He clears his throat looking ahead. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Thank you. It’s new.” You look down at your tweed suit, a gift from Sam that morning. It’s Chanel, something you’d never be able to afford on your own. You were apprehensive over such an expensive gift at first but once you tried it on you figured it was a drop in the bucket for him.

“Looks expensive.” He gives you a once over.

“It is.”

The first meeting of the day is with Lady Toni Bevell and a dark-haired man named Mick who shakes your hand with such vigor you barely have feeling left when he lets go.

Cole introduces himself, explains his position and how long he’s been with the company. Then Toni chimes in, folding her hands on the table in front of her.

“Well, obviously, I just started in this position. I was a practicing lawyer up until a few years ago. But I’ve known Sam for a long time.”

“You know Winchester?” This seems to perk Cole’s attention and your ears go hot.

“We went to law school together,” Toni explains. “Old friends.”

“And I’m Mick.” Mick smiles big and wide. “I managed a barrister’s office, but they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. So now I’m here.”

He seems like a nice guy and you’re looking forward to making new friends. Knowing someone in London can’t be a bad thing.

“And you are?” Toni’s tone is unmistakable, she’s dripping with annoyance and you haven’t even opened your mouth yet.

“Y/N,” you smile at her. “I’m a department liaison.”

“Ah, yes,” Toni tilts her head, examining you. “Sam told me all about you.”

You nearly fall out of your seat and Cole shifts beside you.

“Y/N has been invaluable to me.” Cole inserts himself. “Showed me the ropes when I first started.”

“She must be quite impressive given that we don’t even have her position in this office but yet, she’s here.”

There’s something bubbling under the surface, a hostility she’s either barely able to hide or not attempting to. Frankly, you're surprised she hasn’t lunged across the table yet.

“I’m sure we can find something for you to do.” Toni sighs.

“I’ll need her, we have several projects in the works.” Cole’s words are a clear declaration. He’s a calm and collected guy but he doesn’t like anyone bossing his people around.

“Of course,” she nods, strumming her fingers on the table, eyes narrowing as she looks you over. “I look forward to working with you both.”

The minute the two of you are alone, Cole turns to you and whistles. “What did you do to piss her off?”

“Nothing!” you sputter. “I’ve never met her before.”

“Maybe it’s the suit,” he jokes.

“You didn’t tell me you and Lady Toni go way back.” You get up from your perch on his bed, slinking toward him.

“I didn’t think about it.” Sam shrugs, writing in his notebook without looking up.

“She’s sort of...hostile.”

“That’s what makes her good,” he responds, turning a page. “She’s a pit bull.”

“Well, she definitely hates me. I’m not sure what you told her, but it must have been some real shit, because I could feel her death rays from across the room.”

“Did she say something to you?” He puts his pen down, glancing up.

“It’s less what she said and more how she said it.”

“If it becomes a problem you should let me know.”

“Okay.” You watch him, his jaw shifting while he thinks. You know this look well. He’s trying to decide if he’s going to tell you something.

“I want to be upfront with you.” He takes off his glasses, setting them on the table.

“I want that too,” you agree.

“I’m not so sure you do.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Toni used to…” He stops to regroup. “We were together for a period of time.”

“Together as in...fucking or dating?”

“Both,” he explains.

“Oh.” You have to admit, you’re taken aback and instantly jealous. Of course he’s had sexual partners before you, but you prefer not to think about that.

“It wasn’t anything like what we have. She’s a cold person. There was no emotional component, it was strictly physical. We’ve remained in contact over the years. She’s a trusted colleague and friend.”

You’re quiet, contemplating exactly what that means. There’s an immediate embarrassment that starts in your heart and flushes out until your cheeks are burning. The party at Nick Luster’s place was different, but the idea of the people you work with knowing about your dynamic, specifically you as a submissive, is a fact that you would prefer to stay between you and Sam.

There’s a complex push and pull. During sex, Sam will use the idea of public humiliation as a turn on, and it is. But only as a fantasy. The thought of Toni Bevell with that kind of intimate knowledge is too much.

“Did you two...were you like us?” You’re struggling to find the right thing to ask. “Did she enjoy the same things I do?”

“No,” he answers quickly, making no move to get up from his seat. “I got bored quickly, but she was easy and available.”

“I see,” you look away from him, unsure how you’re supposed to react to this information.

“Are you upset with me?”

“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.” You sit on the couch next to him.

“You look like you’re upset.”

“I’m jealous,” you admit, looking him in the eyes, those eyes that draw you in and hold you there. “Thinking about you with someone else is uncomfortable, but I’m glad you told me. Did you tell her about me? About us?”

“Yes.” He slides a hand over your knee. “She asked me about my life, and I told her I was seeing you. I trust her discretion.”

“Does she know about our...dynamic?”

Sam’s forehead wrinkles, displeased with your question.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you. I don’t talk about my sex life, especially with someone I’ve slept with.”

“Right.” You relax back against the couch. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

Sam looks tired. He’s been working sixteen-hour days and not getting enough sleep. It’s starting to take a toll.

“Is there anything else you’d like to know?” he offers. He’s hovering somewhere between annoyed with the implication and trying to remain open and honest.

“I don’t think so. I’m glad you told me,” you answer. The two of you look at each other in silence before you lean forward and kiss him on the lips. He’s tense, mouth in a tight purse as he returns the gesture. You pull back, examining him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing to do with you,” he sighs, giving your arm a squeeze.

“Do you want me to go so you can get some work done?” You point at his computer.

“No, I want you to stay.”

He looks...sad, maybe defeated or perhaps it’s something else. There’s been something going on for a while now. He’s been a freight train barrelling forward with a power and speed that’s unstoppable. It doesn’t seem to matter if he’s focused you, the house or his career, whatever has his attention he’s pushing further and faster as if he’s racing toward the finish line under some elusive threat.

“How’s your ass?” he asks, snapping you back to attention.

“Tender,” you grin, eyes fluttering away from his stare.

“I bet,” he rubs his thumb over his index finger, lost in thought before sitting back and tapping a hand on his leg. “Show me.”

“Now?” you look around at his open documents strewn over the table.

“Yes,” he shifts the tone of the interaction. “Now.”

There’s that familiar tingle, the excitement beginning to build. You rise to your knees, pulling the skirt up over your hips and crawl to him, laying carefully over his lap.

“Jesus,” he gasps. A big, warm hand softly smoothes over a butt cheek. “This had to hurt.”

He’s never seen marks like this on you before. You got a good look this morning at the black and blue welts across most of your backside. You’ve been encouraging him, and in turn yourself, for more each time. A little harder, a few more strokes. Not only does it build the pleasure for you but you love the ache it leaves for days afterward.

“I like it.” You wiggle in his lap.

“Stay still.” This command is accompanied by a small, stinging smack to your left side that makes you yelp in surprise.

He slips into this mode so easily and it’s clearly where he’s most comfortable. When the two of you are occupying this space, there are clearly defined roles, dominant and submissive, and he doesn’t have to think. This part of Sam operates on autopilot. He’s still learning to navigate the waters of being in a relationship, and truth be told, so are you. You’ve only dated a few guys and even that doesn’t compare. Sam is in a league of his own and there are times when you feel the same pressure of doing everything the right way.

When the two of you are like this, everything is suddenly effortless. The way he speaks, touches, fucks, it’s all unadulterated instincts. You and Sam have a natural rhythm, unlike any connection you’ve experienced before.

Sam’s uncomfortable with the entire conversation.

His “relationship” with Toni ended a decade ago and even then it was nothing more than an easy way to get laid. They were both busy, focused on nurturing fledgling careers. Neither with time to meet or date someone new. So they fucked.

Toni was far too much of a control freak to ever let him be the dominant one. She had trouble letting go, giving in, and in the end Sam realized that was what he needed, more so than blowing his load a couple of times a week. It was only satisfying for those few seconds of his release and then the satisfaction melted away like water down a drain. By the time he got out of bed, he was itching for something more.

He broke it off, told her they were done and walked out of her apartment when she started to argue. It was years before he heard from her again. And when she walked back into his life he was different, their dynamic was different. It was all business and she’s damn good at what she does. So when she was in the market and looking to make a change, he made her an offer, and a salary, she couldn’t refuse.

He could see the levity drain from your face the moment he said the words. We were together for a period of time.

He wasn’t sure if he should say anything but he’d made a promise to be upfront, and he’d want to know if you had screwed some guy he was working with. But then that look washed over your face and his stomach dropped.

It’s not that you’re skittish, in fact, you’ve proven to be quite the opposite. But he’s already put you through more than any rational person should put up with and he’d prefer to keep you from more unpleasant details.

Then you asked if she knew about the details. Red-cheeked and embarrassed you found the wherewithal to ask despite your apprehension. Instant offense rose into his throat, but he held back. He does that with you, only with you, holds back the harsher responses he lets fly on everyone else.

All he wanted was to redirect the conversation and shifting the entire scenario was the best way he knew how.

Now you’re laid out over his lap, bare ass still black and blue as you try desperately not to wiggle. God, your ass. He loves this ass, in fact, he loves every inch of your body. Someday Sam intends to take you on a vacation somewhere tropical, secluded, and keep you naked for a whole week so he can look at you whenever he wants.

But this will do for now.

“Sam,” you whine, both legs flexing.

Your voice snaps him back into the moment. Who knows how long he was lost in his own thoughts, but the waiting is part of what turns you on, so it works to his advantage.

“Shhh.” He smacks one cheek with an open palm, lighter than he normally would. You’re sporting some serious bruises. “Are you wet?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, cheek pressed into the couch cushion.

Of course, you are. If he believed in fate he’d have to think you were made for each other. Sam needs control, now more than ever and you’re always willing to give it.

“I’m going to make you cum,” he explains, running a palm over your ass. “And that will be your last orgasm for a week. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Winchester,” you whisper.

Jesus Christ. His cock throbs in his pants. Those words get him every fucking time.

“What do you want right now?” he asks. Moving his hand between your legs he strokes the tip of his thumb through your folds. He can feel the heat between your thighs before he even touches you. And then that wet slick inviting him inside.

“I want you to fuck me.” Your voice is fractured, a broken wheeze as you suck in a breath, vibrating at his touch.

He’d love to fuck you, but he won’t. Maybe later tonight, but not yet. He likes to make himself wait, the build up makes it even sweeter. Being inside, feeling your warm little body writhe and wriggle underneath him is a reward he only allows himself in moderation.

“You want me here?” He presses his thumb at the opening of your cunt and you moan, your entire body twisting across his lap.

“Yes, please!”

The best part about you is that there is no act. You don’t put on a show for him, you’re just as desperate as you sound.

“Not today,” he explains casually, swatting your ass.

“Fuck,” you groan, turning your head to rest on the other cheek. He can see your face, eyes squinched shut, mouth open as you struggle to stay in place.

“Control yourself,” he commands and you instantly stop squirming.

Sam grins, adjusting his hips underneath your weight. His erection is painful but this isn’t about him. This moment is about you and the ways he can make your body respond.

Dipping his thumb back into your slick, he rubs up and down between the lips of your pussy, the tip brushing your clit. You gasp and rock forward, mouth opening and closing. Once his thumb is coated in your own arousal he moves back up to your ass, pulling your cheeks apart and pressing his thumb at the tight ring of muscle.

He watches your face as he presses his thumb inside. Your body fights it at first but he just keeps the pressure until you open up and he pops inside. He normally uses more lubrication but you like the pain.

You groan, face twisting in pleasure and discomfort as he forces himself inside.

His reach is long enough that his other fingers can easily get to your clit and he begins to stroke up your dripping cunt and tapping your clit as his thumb moves in rhythm, in and out of your ass.

It’s an easy slide back and forth over your bud and your hips begin to move with his hand. He could tell you to stop, but he likes to watch you like this. Desperate to take more of whatever he’s got to give. Fuck. If this isn’t over soon he might cum in his pants.

“Sam,” you moan, eyes opening and closing, but seeing nothing. You’ve got that signature glassy-eyed stare you always get when you’re getting closer. “May I cum?”

“Yes,” he nearly chokes on his words. Shoving his thumb as deep as he can, he works your clit faster and harder. It’s not even thirty seconds before your orgasm takes over.

You let out a long, low moan as your ass tightens around his thumb and your empty cunt clutches around nothing. He loves watching you orgasm, he can see your body consumed in pleasure as you pulse and release again and again until you’re boneless, laying across his lap.

There’s no better feeling in the world than watching you like this.

Sam’s felt like this about one other person, but that was a long time ago. And he and Jess were kids. It didn’t feel like it at the time, but it’s true. That relationship and this thing with you are uncomparable.

He wants you all the time, he thinks about you obsessively and wonders when the universe is going to take it all away. You moan again and he slips back into the moment.

You’re soaked, glistening wet over your pussy and on his fingers. He pulls his hand away, fighting against the swelling lust.

Sam is finding less and less restraint when it comes to you.

“Fuck it,” he murmurs, sliding out from underneath you. Making a muffled sound you look back at him as he gets on his knees between your thighs. Sam watches, licking his lips as you raise your hips up and back toward him as an invitation. He unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants in record time, yanking his dick from his underwear.

Fisting his cock, he takes another moment to admire you like this, belly down and presenting yourself like you want it as bad as he does. He’s so fucking hard he can barely stand it as he lines himself up and catches the head of his cock in your pussy. He slides forward in one quick thrust as your body opens up, stretching wide to take all of him inside.

His eyes roll back in his head as his balls rock forward. You’re hot taffy squeezing around his cock, sopping, practically on fire from your orgasm and gripping every inch of his shaft as he pulls outs, only to push back in. You whine and pant, twisting on his cock, shoving your body against him begging for more. Sam wants more too, he wants all of your body and mind and anything else you’re willing to give to him. He wants you warm and wet like this. He wants you calm and quiet when you’re lying next to him at night.

He knows he’s got a big dick but the way your cunt grips him, the sight of your stretched out pussy sliding up and down his length makes him feel twice as big.

“Sam,” you moan his name, lifting yourself up onto your forearms, thrusting backward into the shove of his hips. He grabs a fist full of your hair, admiring the way your back arches and the angle changes. “Fuck, Sam, right there!”

“You like that?” he asks, jaw clenched tight as he thrusts fast. “Want me to cum inside you?”

“Yes! Please!”

You’re close to another orgasm, he knows your body well enough to recognize the wind up. Your ass is making a familiar skin-on-skin smacking sound as it meets his hips, accompanied by the wet, squelch of your cunt taking his cock again and again and again.

“Don’t cum,” he instructs, feeling his balls go tight. He smacks your right butt cheek twice, two quick whaps that send you reeling. He doesn’t really give a shit if you cum, in fact he hopes you do. There’s nothing better than you trying to fight it off and end up cumming on his cock when you can’t hold it back anymore.

“I can’t,” you sputter, twisting your neck to try and look at him. “Oh god, please. I’m gonna-”

And then you cum for the second time that evening, sucking and squeezing around him. Your tight little cunt flutters around his dick and he pushes as far inside as he can get as he cums.

It always starts as warmth in his stomach and a tingling in his balls. It builds and builds and then explodes, pulsing through his veins while he empties inside you. He huffs, mouth sealed shut, deep breath in and out through his nose as he comes back down from the high.

You’re lying still underneath him, back rising and falling while you wait for him to join you. With both hands on your hips he pulls his cock back, nice and slow so he feels the crown drag along your walls one final time. The head pops free and he waits, watches, feeling overwhelming satisfaction when his cum trickles back out, creamy white dripping over your clit.

“Sorry,” you try to look back at him, face bright red. You want so badly to please him, to obey. “I couldn’t help it.”

Sam smiles, sitting up and tapping your side as an indication to roll over.

“Bad girl,” he grins, settling back between your thighs, leaning down for a kiss. Your hot breath and eager lips as you press upward, always wanting more of this more intimate connection. “You need to learn discipline,” he mumbles over your lips, the tip of his nose pressing into your cheek.

“Good thing I have a dedicated teacher,” you laugh, thighs squeezing his waist and mouth finding his. You’re pressing up into his weight, wet pussy sliding over the skin just above the base of his cock. Everything about you is designed to distract him from the rest of the world. He wants to stay in this moment, to carry you to bed and get lost in the sweet smell of your hair and the warm, soft slide of your skin. But that’s not reality.

“I have a meeting.”

“Seriously?” You’re displeased, staring up at him.

“Drinks with senior staff.”

“With Toni?” you ask casually.

There is it. That hitch in your voice, left eye twitching, pupils contracting. You have a thousand tells despite the fact you consider yourself to have a solid poker face.

“Yes, she’ll be there,” he confirms, dipping down for one last kiss before peeling himself away, leaving you spread wide on his couch. He doesn’t want to look at you, can’t stand the line that forms in the center your forehead when you’re hurt and trying to conceal it. “I’m going to spend time with her while we’re here. It's unavoidable. And you’re going to work with her.”

“I know,” you sit up, that lazy wash of happiness draining away. “I just...I’m still processing the information that you two were lovers.”

“No,” Sam snorts, pulling his shirt over his head, and turning to face you. “Not lovers.”

“Fuck buddies,” you shrug, cheeks flushing a fresh shade of crimson.

“Is this a problem?” he asks, turning away and heading to the closet to find a fresh suit.

“No, it’s just, I don’t like it. I don’t have to like it. But I’m an adult and I’ll deal with it.” You’re mad at him, but it’s a valiant attempt at not letting it show.

If he weren’t so gun shy about being outed, he’d bring you with him. But you’ve made it clear you’re not ready for that yet and he understands. Being with him, publically, will change the entire trajectory of your life.

“I'll be back in a couple of hours.” He watches your back as you walk to the bathroom.

“Okay,” you raise a hand in acknowledgment without turning to look at him. “I hope you have a good time.”

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester smut #Sam Winchester Fanfic #sam winchester au

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