#{|An unsteady heart guarded by walls: Musings|}

[bluemoonfantasiesiii]

T’was Then, As It Is Now (Dainsleif/Nigredo)

After temporarily deactivating the scrying orb, Aster carefully maneuvered his way through the corridors of his Master’s upper laboratory, steering clear of the hounds that roamed the facility. He didn’t trust any of them not to rat him out. After a few strategic twists and turns, the homunculus slipped through a large window. He was finally free, at least for now.

Aster took a moment to breathe in the fresh air, the blue-ish-green grass, the black trees with their shimmering blue leaves, and the inteyvats that dotted the ground like stars. He trekked through the woods that concealed his Master’s lab from the common folk of Khaenri’ah, humming a tune to himself as he went. He’d walked this path enough times by now that he knew exactly where to go to get the best view of the city in the distance, lamps glowing with blue light like the tiny particles from starshrooms. The palace stood proudly on the horizon, a near-black silhouette with shining blue lights adorning the walls and the rooftops. Unfortunately, he couldn’t slip into the city like he did last time, as his Master was there buying food and materials for a new experiment. He simply admired the sight from his vantage point, half-hidden behind the trunk of a massive tree on the hilltop.

Aster closed his eyes for a moment to listen and take in the faint sounds of the people carried over by the wind. However, the tranquility was quickly replaced with panic as the brisk brushing of footsteps in the grass approached. Aster’s eyes snapped open as an arm slammed into the tree trunk, half caging him against the dark wood.

The arm was completely covered by black armor, and Aster felt a slight sense of relief that his Master hadn’t caught him outside, but as his eyes followed the length of the limb to a chest plate with a crest of the Royal Guard, his stomach dropped. The homunculus craned his head to meet bright blue eyes and blond hair.

“Um, hello?” he greeted, voice trembling with trepidation.

“Who are you?” The knight demanded. “I know of everyone in the city, but I’ve never seen your face before. Are you an Outlander? Which nation have you come from?”

Aster’s head reeled at the onslaught of questions. He didn’t have many opportunities to socialize, so to suddenly be the center of someone’s attention was overwhelming.

“I, um… I’m from Khaenri’ah,” he said. The unsteadiness in his voice had the knight raising a brow, and Aster took a deep breath and forced his mind to settle down. “I trust you’re familiar with Gold,” he said.

“I am,” the knight answered. “What is your relation with her?”

“I’m…” Aster sighed. “I suppose trying to hide it would only make me look more suspicious. She created me. In a way, she’s my mother.”

The knight’s eyes shot wide before narrowing in disbelief. “What are you, exactly?” he asked. “A puppet? An android?”

Aster shook his head. “I’m still human,” he said. “I just…wasn’t born the same way you were.”

“A homunculus then.”

Aster nodded. “A homunculus,” he confirmed. He shifted uncomfortably as the knight looked him up and down. He pressed himself against the tree when the taller man leaned in close to stare directly into his eyes. He could feel warmth rise to his face at the sudden proximity. The knight was certainly pleasant to look at, and Aster had read plenty of tales about love at first sight. He could practically feel the knight’s breath intertwining with his own as his heart pounded against his ribs. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the knight hummed.

“Hmm. Your pupils are the proper shape. You are indeed of Khaenri’ah,” he said. “She made you well,” he mused. Aster let out a strangled noise. He was certain his face was comparable to an apple by now. This reaction seemed to snap the knight out of his thoughts. Evidently, he hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten to the homunculus, and he quickly pulled himself away from the stuttering alchemist, clearing his throat. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I… Erm, I haven’t even introduced myself yet.” He straightened himself and offered Aster a salute. “I am Dainsleif, Twilight Sword of the Black Serpent Knights.”

The name and title pulled Aster’s focus from his flustered state. “Oh! You’re the head of the Royal Guard! It’s an honor to meet you, Sir Dainsleif.” He bent at the waist in a bow. “My name is Aster, the youngest child of Gold and her assistant and future successor.”

“There has been talk of Gold creating a human being, but I hadn’t realized she’d actually succeeded. This is a feat even more miraculous than the birth of Durin.”

And just as quickly as he’d composed himself, Aster felt himself flush again. “There’s really no need for such flattery, Sir,” he said sheepishly. “I’m just a human like the rest of you.”

“And what is ‘just a human’ doing out all alone in the woods?” Dainsleif asked, lips quirking up in a smirk.

“I could ask the same of a Black Serpent Knight,” bantered back, feeding off the Twilight Sword’s energy.

The taller man chuckled, a low, smooth sound from his chest that shot something straight down Aster’s spine. “I’m merely making my rounds through the outskirts of the city to assure there are no enemies or monsters waiting to breach the gates. How would you like me to escort you to the central plaza?”

Aster waved his hands frantically in ‘cease and desist’ motions. “No! Absolutely not! I’m not even supposed to be out of the lab right now! Master will be furious if she catches me outside!”

“In that case,” Dainsleif said, offering a hand to the homunculus, “Would you like to accompany me as I complete my rounds? I’m almost finished, and it’s awfully lonely.”

“That I can do,” Aster said, slipping his hand into Dainsleif’s and allowing the knight to lead him away from the tree.

Aster rambled about Khemia and his Master, and Dainsleif told Aster about the general happenings in Khaenri’ah. The Twilight Sword even escorted the homunculus back home when Aster began fretting about his creator returning to see him missing, having lost all sense of time in Dainsleif’s company. After that, the young alchemist began sneaking out specifically to see his knight. During one of their excursions, Dainsleif greeted the homunculus with an inteyvat flower, gingerly placing it in his hair. Upon returning home that day, Aster pressed the flower into one of the multitude of books lining the shelves in his study, hiding it from his family. His little secret with Dainsleif. He felt like a fairytale princess slipping out of his prison home and away from his mother to visit a star-crossed lover, and the comparison made him giddy with emotions he’d never experienced before. Emotions that were dangerously addicting.

Emotions that were doomed from the start as the Cataclysm struck not long after.

—————————

Nigredo hadn’t expected to relive that fateful meeting almost beat for beat as it happened 500 years later, yet there he stood, back pressed against a pine tree as a black-clad arm left him half-caged to the trunk. Those same striking blue eyes once again piercing straight through him, even more so with the black mask that now concealed half his face. Aether had informed Nigredo that Dainsleif was still alive, but seeing the Twilight Sword in person was a completely different experience.

“Um, hi?” Nigredo stammered, unsure if this was some cruel, strange dream.

“Who are you?” the taller man demanded, a sense of deja vu filling the alchemist. “You aren’t the Kreideprinz. Your energy feels strangely…familiar. Like home.”

Nigredo scoffed and smirked up at the other. “You really don’t recognize me?” he teased. “Maybe if you get a good look at my eyes like you did the first time, it’ll ring some bells.”

Dainsleif was taken aback by the snarky reply. “Your—“ He leaned in a bit, not nearly as close as their first meeting, and his own eyes shot wide. “It’s you…” he breathed. “I thought you were dead.”

“I was,” Nigredo said. “Don't ask me how I came back to life, because I don’t know. But Rhinedottir… I just wanted to get away from it all. Her madness, her corruption, everything, and she fed me to Durin for it...”

“Your own brother…” Dainsleif shook his head. “Wait. How do I know you aren’t merely deceiving me? I’ve heard there’s a shapeshifter that now roams Mondstadt.”

“That ‘shapeshifter’ is my son, Sir,” Nigredo bit out the last word. “He’s just a mutated whopperflower that’s been stabilized. He poses no threat to the people of Teyvat. As for proof of my identity… I could show you my birthmark.”

Dainsleif studied him for a moment. “That would be acceptable,” he answered and stood back to give the alchemist some space.

Nigredo unclasped his shoulder strap and dropped it to the ground before unbuttoning his coat and unfastening the top of his shirt. Heat began to creep up to his face as he realized just how intimate this would look to an outsider. He quickly turned around so Dainsleif wouldn’t see and slipped his coat and shirt down his shoulders, just far enough to reveal the light blue star marking between his shoulder blades, the proof of his artificial origins. He heard Dainsleif’s breath catch behind him.

“It really is you,” he whispered. “Aster…”

Nigredo shook his head, ashy blond hair swaying over the nape of his neck with the motion.. “I go by Nigredo now,” he said. “I… I don’t deserve to be called a star in my current state…”

The alchemist startled when he felt hands gently gripping his shoulders, the warmth of the other’s breath ghosting over his mark. “I fail to see why,” Dainsleif murmured. “You still shine just as brilliantly as you did back then.” He pressed his lips to the mark, sending a pleasant shiver down Nigredo’s spine as the Erdeprinz’s breath hitched. Old feelings came flooding back to him. His heart was calling to him to give into Dainsleif and allow himself to whisked away by this knight in midnight armor like he did 500 years ago. But unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple anymore.

“W-wait,” he stuttered, giving the knight pause as the smaller of the two turned around to face him. “Dain, I… I need to think about this. I would love to simply leap back into your arms, but, well… So much has changed since we last saw each other, and…” He trailed off.

“And…?” Dainsleif urged.

“There’s…someone else now. The current owner of Dawn Winery and I are… I’ll need to talk to him about this. I do want to pick up where we left off, but my heart also belongs to him now. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but if I can have you both in my life, then…”

Dainsleif nodded and separated himself from the Erdeprinz, leaving an ache in the alchemist’s chest. “I would be content with that, if he agrees to it as well,” he said. “After everything you’ve been through, I’d say you’ve more than earned a bit of selfishness.”

“What if he says no?” Nigredo asked.

“Then I will accept that, and I will be content to merely spend time with you as comrades of a fallen nation.” Dainsleif’s visible eyebrow furrowed. “But would you be content with that?”

“I don’t know,” Nigredo answered. “I guess I would have to be. It’s not necessarily that I love him more than I love you. It’s just, logically speaking… His existence in this world is finite, while yours and mine aren’t. When his spirit has moved on, you and I will still be here.”

“Treasure the temporary while it lasts, then return to the eternal once it has ended,” Dainsleif responded. “I can indeed understand that. Whatever his answer may be, I will wait however long I need to, Nigredo. You needn’t worry about being too late to continue what the Cataclysm cut short.”

Nigredo smiled as Dainsleif’s words washed over him like a gentle wave of relief. “Thank you, Dain. I’ll call upon you once I have his answer.”

“Then I will be listening.”

Hesitantly, the two went their separate ways, with Dainsleif wandering off into the distance and Nigredo returning to the greenhouse. Without thinking, his legs immediately carried him to the small glass case that held the inteyvat Aether had given him after stumbling into his old home. The inteyvat that, once he found out where exactly the outlander had found it, he didn’t dare attempt to plant lest it turn to dust. He carefully took it out of the case and held it to his lips as he remembered Dainsleif slipping it into the braids at his left temple. He was dreading the conversation he would need to have with Diluc, but he could at least take solace in the knowledge that, no matter what the wine tycoon’s answer was, his first love would still be waiting for him when everything was over.

[monstersandmaw]

Male drider x reader - Part Four (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I think the previous parts have had a female reader, but I left it ambiguous/gender neutral in this one, even in the nsfw bits, mostly out of habit.

It's 8000 words, with a bit of angst, a good dose of fluff, some recognition of unhealthy attitudes, and a slightly messy nsfw scene at the end...

Hope you enjoy!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Gilvas waited until you’d closed the matching panel at the other end of the secret passage, and then turned away.

While you worked on the catalogue, you couldn’t shake the vulnerable look on his face as he’d told you about his late wife and as you’d stared at her vivacious features in the portrait. In the nine years since her death, he’d become a shadow, haunting this creepy old mansion and drifting from one day to the next, and it broke your heart. Gilvas was clearly a gentle soul, though his fuse was short at times, but you had begun to suspect that it was more of a defence mechanism than a character trait.

As evening billowed around the stone walls of the enormous house at the end of the day, with an awful lot still swirling around your mind, you nearly walked straight into Naril who was loading his last pile of autumn leaves into a wheelbarrow by the back door. He called your name just in time and you sidestepped with a bashful grin.

“So is it true?” he asked almost immediately.

“Is what true?”

His ears waggled and he laughed as he dumped the leaves into the barrow with a little flourish. “You and the master…?”

“Me and the master what?” you snorted, crossing your arms. “You make it sound like we’re school kids caught snogging behind the bike sheds! He showed me the portrait of his wife and told me a bit about her, that’s all.”

Naril shook his head expressively. “We’ve had people here on the estate before, you know? None of them ended up strolling the corridors with him.”

“How’d you know about it anyway?” you asked instead, resisting the urge to flick him in fond reprimand on his large ear.

“Chiara came in and started talking to my dad about it. I couldn’t believe it, and neither could they. The master doesn’t ‘chat’ with anyone…”

You shrugged. “Well, if he’s happy talking to me, I’m happy enough to listen. He seems nice, once you get past the way he likes to bark at you.”

Two days later, while you were stooped over the working version of the catalogue, scribbling something down in the margins of your cataloguing notes, the shadows moved in the recesses of the library, and Gilvas emerged. You looked up and smiled. “Hi,” you offered.

He nodded curtly at you and began to pace.

Setting your pencil down a minute or two later, you asked, “Everything… alright?”

Gilvas turned, apparently on the point of snapping something acerbic and defensive at you, but he caught himself in time and paused, throat working. The dark red birthmark on his neck moved and shifted like ink in water. If asked, you’d have said he was nervous. “I… I was wondering if you would take tea with me on the terrace today.”

You froze. Of all the things you’d been expecting from him, that had not been it. “Uh…” you began artlessly.

“Or not. You don’t have to,” he blurted, turning away. “Stupid idea anyway.”

“Wait,” you laughed, relief washing through you. “Wait. I’d love to. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Oh.”

If you’d been surprised, it was nothing to the expression on Chiara’s face when he summoned her to the library with a little bell pull that you’d not spotted before.

“You… You want to take tea… You want to take tea outside…?” the harpy repeated, looking unsteady on her clawed feet.

As if he’d just realised how unusual it was, his expression went blank, his four ruby eyes going dull, and he seemed to deflate. Gone was the intimidating, sharp-edged lord of the manor, and in his place you saw a vulnerable, shattered widower, with no one to talk to and rusty social skills.

Reading her master well enough, Chiara schooled her features into something resembling their usual sternness, and she nodded. “Of course. I will have it set up for you and…” she looked at you with her golden eyes and you tried not to shrink away. “For the both of you.”

“Thank you,” you said, and she nodded, departing.

“I think I gave her quite the shock,” he muttered, half smirking.

With a snort, you said, “We’re just going to have to find more ways to surprise them.”

“Them?”

“Your staff,” you said. “It’s clear that they all respect you, and they enjoy working here - well, obviously I can’t speak for all of them, but I have supper with Mr. Ambleside and his son almost every night. I don’t get the impression that they’d object to seeing a bit more of their mysterious master from time to time.”

“It’s been so long,” he croaked. “I… I’ve hidden myself away up here. I… I don’t remember — I mean…” he broke off and you noticed how glassy his eyes were.

Cautiously, you approached him and laid your hand on his foremost right leg. It was smooth like glass, and cold. It felt extremely brittle, though you knew the chitin was pretty tough. Your eyes nearly drifted to the empty stump on his right side though, and you suppressed a shiver. It wasn’t that tough. He shuddered and you nearly retracted your touch. “Sounds like you could use a friend to take tea with every now and again…” you said gently.

“I’d like that,” he said. “If… If you could bear it.”

“Bear it?” you repeated. “Please. I wouldn’t have accepted if it wasn’t something I didn’t already want to do.”

Gilvas fixed you with a piercing red gaze, making the blood-dark streak of his hair and the swirling birthmark stand out in vivid detail. “No,” he mused slowly, his legs and spider body relaxing a little into your touch like a great machine coming to rest. “I don’t suppose you would.”

Tea on the terrace became a daily fixture, weather permitting, and on the first day it was rained off, he asked you into a small drawing room on the ground floor that you’d never been in before.

Four and a half months into your stay, he leaned over the table and poured you another cup with shaking hands. He always shook, you realised, though the tremors worsened when he grew agitated or emotional. If Naril was right, he was about ten years older than you, and while at times he seemed youthful and almost playful when you got him talking about one of his interests - mathematics was a particular favourite of his - there were times when he seemed stiff and tired, and much, much older than you; and older than he truly was. He carried the weight of his grief around with him everywhere, dragging at him like chains, rattling in the quiet corridors of his mind and reminding him of his heartache. He never went too long with a smile on his face, the expression often shattering or sliding off his face to leave a brittle mask behind.

“Gilvas?” you asked as he set the teapot down on the tray with a rattle. “Everything alright?”

“You’re too perceptive by half,” he grumbled. “I wanted to ask you to dine with me tonight.”

“Oh,” you breathed, taken off-guard.

“You sound disappointed,” he said a slight huff to his tone.

Conflicted, you said, “It’s Naril’s birthday. He’s celebrating with the rest of the staff and some of his friends tonight, and he asked me to join him…”

“Then you must go, obviously,” he said. After a pause he added, “Naril is the one who tends to the gardens, is he not?”

“Mmm. He’s a firbolg.”

“My father always hired firbolgs for their way with nature. I’d forgotten that Ambleside has a child. How old is he?”

“About my age, I suppose?”

Whether or not he was aware of it, Gilvas’ face shuttered at that. With a sigh, he shifted his already vague gaze to the huge patio windows beside you and stared out at the gardens beyond. It had been raining earlier, but it had cleared up now to leave broad puddles flashing in the sunlight on the terrace. “I think I will go for a walk through the gardens this evening before sunset…”

“You want some company?” you asked, but he shook his head.

“No. Thank you.”

Naril’s party was just rowdy enough to be fun without straying too far into unruliness, and you stayed up late in the kitchens, laughing and joking with him and his father, who, it turned out, had quite the sense of humour with a few glasses of wine in him. Eloise, the maid, also joined you, and a few friends of Naril’s who lived in Starfall Springs. The laughter continued long into the night, until his friends from town announced that it was time to head back just shy of one in the morning.

Waving them off at the end of the night, still buzzing with the unusually vibrant evening, you and Naril turned from the upper gates and walked back to the house. In the dark, the firbolg could see much better than you, so he let you loop your arm amicably through his to stop yourself stumbling on the uneven driveway.

Just as you stepped back into the kitchen, he cracked a good-natured joke at your expense, recalling a moment from earlier in the evening, and you nearly fell about laughing. “Oh my gods,” you wheezed as you clung to his arm to stop yourself tripping up the step. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the plosive consonant with a chuckle. “You’re far too easy to tease. I —” he cut off suddenly, expression falling. His eyes were wide and he was staring at a point on the far side of the kitchen.

You looked up and found the hulking shape of a drider standing silhouetted in the dark doorway. “Forgive me,” Gilvas said stiffly, jaw working. “I came for a brandy. I thought you’d all turned in for the night.”

You blurted, “Gilvas?” at the same time as Naril whispered, “My lord?”

“Forget it,” he said, turning abruptly in the wide doorway. “I hope you enjoyed your evening together.”

Even after the door slammed behind him - the gesture leaving a sour taste in your mouth - neither you nor Naril spoke.

Finally it was Naril who broke the silence. “I’ve never seen him before…” he murmured, awestruck at the encounter. “He looks dreadful. Perhaps he is sick after all?”

“He doesn’t look as dreadful as he looked three months ago,” Chiara’s unexpected voice said tartly from the pantry to your left where she’d apparently been occupied, stowing away the remnants of the uneaten food.

You swallowed. “Well… I… uh… I guess I’d better head back. Thanks for tonight,” you said, hugging Naril briefly. “Happy birthday. I’m sorry I didn’t have anything to give you… It’s not as if I can go into town or anything from here…”

“Couldn’t you ask your friend to pick you up,” he said. “You know, the one you phone every Friday?”

Despite having phoned Damien every week since arriving, you’d never even thought of asking him to drive all the way out here and pick you up for the weekend. He’d probably do it though if you asked. “I guess I could…”

The idea took root in your mind, and as you took your break the next day, you used the house’s landline to call Damien’s shop since he’d be at work too.

“Hey!” he chuckled. “You don’t normally phone today. How’s things at the Spookville Court?”

“Don't call it that,” you scoffed. “It’s fine. Listen, I haven’t got long, but I was wondering if maybe you’d be free this weekend…? I know it’s not exactly a short drive, but I’d kind of like to get out of here for the weekend…”

There was a pause while he checked his calendar. “Sure,” he said. “I can pick you up on Friday night if you like?”

“You don't have plans?”

“I was gonna grab a beer with Sarrigan since he’s in town,” he admitted, “But maybe if you can get away early, we could go together?”

“I don’t see why I couldn’t…” you said. No one was monitoring your hours after all, and it wasn’t as if you hadn’t made huge inroads into the project already.

You grinned and practically flung yourself at him when Damien’s truck drew up outside your cottage on the far side of the courtyard. The wide expanse of gravel sat on the side of the house with the servants’ entrance, and was overlooked by the back of the mansion.

“I missed you!” you laughed, letting the colossal orc spin you easily in a circle. “You still smell like chocolate,” you said as his immensely long, black plait caught you in the face.

“Just proves I’m sweet,” he joked, and you groaned, smacking him in the chest with the back of your hand as he set you down.

“That was a bad pun, even for you.”

“You ready?” he asked.

“You don’t want to stretch your legs first? You’ve literally just got here.” He shook his head, but did nip inside your apartment for a drink of water and a bathroom break. While he was gone, you leaned against his truck and looked up at the trees above you. The height of summer was fading to the bronze of autumn now, and a few coppery leaves rained down around you like confetti, spiralling through the air that promised a change of season soon.

“Ready?” he asked, swinging your overnight bag easily into the truck and helping you up the enormous step into the cab.

As you drove away, you glanced up at the house and caught the glint of sun on a window as it closed on one of the upper storeys, but you soon forgot about the house as Damien began to regale you with stories of your friends’ antics.

With Widowsweb Court in the rear view mirror, you sighed and settled into the comfy seat, letting Damien talk as the house dwindled to nothing behind you. It felt good to be away from the limited confines of the estate, but as you looked forward to a weekend in Starfall Springs with your friends, something nagged at the back of your mind, like a caught thread pulling in the sleeve of a favourite sweater…

Your whole weekend in Starfall Springs was like the first breath of fresh garden air after a day spent in the dusty library of Widowsweb Court.

Damien had taken you to the Inglenook Inn that first night, where he, Sarrigan, their respective partners, plus a mothman named Merritt whom you’d met a few times before, and a couple of your other friends were gathered, and the lot of you talked late into the night. There were a lot of questions about Widowsweb Court, but you mostly focused on the work and describing the house and gardens to them. Somehow it felt disrespectful - an invasion of his privacy - to talk about Gilvas much.

As you left the pub to walk back to your modest apartment at the north end of the town, Sarrigan caught up with you. As he scuttled up to you, you were struck suddenly by the difference between him and Gilvas. Sarrigan Silkfoot’s silver-banded fur rippled in the moonlight, ruffled by the night breezes, where Gilvas’ spider body was black, hard, and shiny as black lacquer, and where Gilvas’ legs moved like articulated, curved daggers, Sarrigan’s were chunky and muscular and unbelievably fuzzy, ending in a little hooked and almost dainty talon. Gilvas’ legs ended in wicked points, sharp and slender as paring knives, and his fangs probably carried a deadly venom, where Sarrigan’s smile held only jollity. Gilvas also had no mandibles, where Sarrigan’s hardware clicked and chittered with his emotions.

“Listen,” he said as he fell into a near-silent step beside you. “I know you’ve not got any reception up there at Widowsweb, so I haven’t been able to get in touch by text or whatever, but I just wanted to ask you - away from the others - how it’s going. With my family’s history with theirs, I did some digging into the Widowsweb estate and the family…”

“You did?” You weren’t sure whether to be offended or curious, but in the end, the latter won out. “What did you find?”

“Just tragedy. Lately anyway. Earlier generations seem to have done ok, but… you should look him up.”

“Who, Gilvas?”

He nodded.

“You mean the fire?”

Again, he nodded, shuffling nervously. “The police think he started it, but they could never prove it.”

You scowled, horrified and hurt. “Sarrigan, I’ve met him. He doesn't seem like the type to murder his family - and his unhatched children too?” You shook your head, appalled, stomach roiling. “He’s devastated… rarely talks about them, and when he does… he’s close to tears. I think he lost a leg in the fire too.”

Sarrigan’s handsome face remained harsh and he clicked his mandibles pensively. Finally, he sighed. “Just… be careful, ok? The articles I found all said he had a nasty temper, and that since his wife’s death, he fired all the staff and turned into some kind of recluse…”

“They’ve got the last bit right,” you said, “But not the first.” He did have a short fuse though. “Thanks for looking out for me, Sarrigan, but I’m not worried.”

He nodded once. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

You shook your head and parted from him with a warm hug. “I appreciate it, but trust me… Gilvas isn’t some cruel, violent lunatic. He’s an isolated widower who’s never learned how to move past his grief.”

To your relief, Sarrigan seemed to take you at your word, and left you at your door looking happier for having aired his anxieties, and in turn having had them laid to rest.

The remainder of your weekend passed without incident, but you couldn’t get Sarrigan’s words out of your head. If he’d been painted by the press at the time as some kind of violent monster, it was no wonder that Gilvas had hidden himself away on his estate and never spoke to anyone.

On the Sunday of your weekend away, you met up with a few friends at Damien’s cafe for breakfast, and spent the better part of the day while the sun was out browsing the marketplace. As you passed a carpenter’s stall, your eye was drawn by a number of carved, wooden puzzle boxes. The satyr who had made them was demonstrating how one of them worked to a small crowed of fascinated onlookers, and when he finished, finally sliding the last section of wood free, the lid sprang open to reveal the empty chamber inside, and everyone applauded.

Fascinated, you realised what a tactile thing the boxes were, and suddenly thought of Gilvas. With his reduced sight, he relied a lot on his sense of touch. On a whim, you bought one and had it wrapped neatly in brown paper by the satyr. Thanking him, you headed home and packed up, bringing with you a few new clothes and a few more things to occupy your evenings.

Bouncing back up the driveway in Damien’s truck that evening, you couldn’t miss the looks the orc tossed you sidelong, and as you drew to a halt in the courtyard again, he stayed put in his seat and asked, “Are you really alright here? It’s so remote…”

“It’s fine,” you said. “I love the work, and the people are kind. I promise I’ll ring you the moment I’m unhappy, but for now, I’m honestly loving it. I’ve never had a better or more fulfilling job, Damien. I can’t believe I’ve got so little time left really…” You paused and sighed. “I almost don’t want to leave.”

He bowed his head and backed off, though not without pulling you half into his lap for a bone-crushing hug first. “Take care, OK?” he grunted before releasing you.

“You sure you won’t stay for some supper?” you asked as you slithered out of your side of the cab and landed on the gravel. “I bet you’d love Naril.”

“I can’t,” he said with a regretful grimace. “I need to get back to prep the shop for next week. Another time?”

You nodded. “Drive safely.”

For the entire week following your return to Widowsweb Court, you didn’t see even the slightest glimpse of Gilvas.

There was no trace of his having been in the library at all, and the secret panel at the rear of the room stayed firmly shut. You didn’t think it was your place to go wandering the corridors again, and although you continued to take a mug of tea out onto the terrace every afternoon, it was hardly the spread of High Tea that you had shared with him every day for months. The whole place seemed empty without his presence now, reminding you of your very first week there, when every shadow and doorway had loomed ominously large before you.

Finally, at the end of the week, you ran in to Chiara on your way back down and you paused to let her past with an armful of linen. “Chiara, is… is Gilvas around? Is he alright?”

She narrowed her eyes and tutted softly at you. “None of your concern,” she snipped at you before bustling off.

You stood there, mute and surprised.

It definitely didn’t sound like he was alright, but what were you to him, really? You thought of the box stowed away in your room, waiting for the right time to be brought out and given to him, and suddenly felt foolish. You’d known him for a matter of months. He was a lord, with land and a title; he had a whole household full of things already, and you were just there to reorganise his library. He’d probably already forgotten about you.

You worked solidly through the morning again the next day, but didn’t feel hungry enough to go down to lunch. You continued on through the day, pausing only to sip from your water bottle before heading back up the ladders time and time again with armfuls of books. It was exhausting. There was no trace of the webbing he’d used to catch you, and since there was also no sign of him, you made sure to take extra care going up and down.

With a sigh you finally set down the last of the hagiographies at eight o’clock that night, and put your hands to the small of your back, grunting. Dusty, tired, stiff, and still oddly demoralised, you thought you heard the creak of a door from the back of the library, but you’d barely dared to hope before the main doors opened and Naril stumped in, looking terribly out of place and awkward in his gardening overalls. He had mud on his trousers, but his boots had been scraped clean.

He sighed your name in obvious relief when he spotted you. “You ok?” he asked.

“Fine, why?” you frowned as you turned to face him, still with your palms pressed to the small of your back.

“You didn’t come to lunch, and you missed supper as well. I was worried about you.”

You smiled and dropped your hands to your sides. “I’m fine. I just… haven’t felt like myself lately. Thank you though.”

An awkward silence hung between you, and he scratched the back of his head. “Right. Well, there’s… uh… stuff in the larder and fridge if… if you get hungry. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t been crushed by a ton of books or something.”

With a chuckle, you said, “This isn’t The Mummy you know? People do actually secure their bookshelves…”

He laughed briefly and headed for the doors again. “Seriously though… Are you sure you’re ok?” he asked, ears waggling.

“I’ve… I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“Ok,” he said, green eyes wide and glassy. “Well, you can always talk to me. What are friends for, right?”

“Right. Thank you, Naril.”

He nodded, and left.

In the silent stillness of the library, you sank with a heavy sigh into one of the nearby chairs and let your palm cradle your chin, with your elbow planted on the wood of the table. When had this place started to feel so sad again? It was as if the gloom was seeping back into the fabric of the place like a sponge soaking up ink.  

About a minute later, a familiar movement caught your attention and you looked up to find Gilvas standing beside a bookshelf. He was tilting his head in that way that meant he couldn’t see you in the dim light, but he knew you were still there.

“I’m here,” you said quietly, hardly daring to move in case he scuttled away.

Locking onto your voice, he moved with expert familiarity round the library and came to a halt near your table. The only light now came from a lamp one shelf over. “I… I overheard…” he began stiffly. His red gaze sailed right over your head, so it was clear that he couldn’t see you, even this close up. “Is… I mean… Are you alright?”

“Could ask the same of you,” you said wryly, eyeing the dark shadows under his eyes and the tightness around his mouth. “I haven’t seen you in ages.” He looked dreadful again, as if he’d hardly eaten anything in the interim.

“Been better, I suppose,” he said. “The firbolg said you haven’t eaten today… is that right?”

“Mmm.”

“Should we raid the kitchen together?”

You smiled. “You haven’t eaten either I take it…”

He shook his head.

Standing, you swayed as a head rush washed over you and you let out a tiny grunt of surprise, grabbing the back of the chair.

With a scowl, he stepped closer. “Alright?” He steadied you, his hand finding your waist and lingering there.

“I missed you,” you breathed unthinkingly as you stared up at him.

Gilvas froze and then let out a rough exhale, withdrawing a few paces. “You did?”

“Mmm. I have something for you too, from Starfall, but it’s back in my room. I… I’d started to think I wasn’t going to see you again…”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his fingers curling briefly into fists at his side. “I… I rather let the melancholy take over again.”

“Why?” you asked, stepping closer to him. His ear followed you and he narrowed his eyes. You got the impression that you’d just stepped into his limited field of vision and he could now make out your silhouette in the shadowy library.

The lord of Widowsweb Court gave a bitter, brittle laugh and turned away, legs moving in sequence like a windup toy. “I think I misled myself,” he said eventually.

Your brows knitted and you closed the distance between you, laying your hand boldly on his cool, obsidian foreleg again. As before, he shivered, but he didn't pull away. “What do you mean?”

“I suppose I got carried away - this past month in particular,” he said in his rough baritone.

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” he said, that cut-glass edge returning to his voice. “You don’t know what it was like before you came here; before you —” he stopped himself but then took a breath and continued in barely a whisper, the consonants softly articulated. You had to lean in closer to hear him. “Before you brought the light back to this place.” His voice cracked as he added, “And you took it with you.”

“Gilvas…” you gasped, shocked by his tone.

“I know,” he growled. “It’s inappropriate of me, and melodramatic. You were only gone for two days. But it’s the truth. I got so swept up in spending time with someone again — in… in enjoying myself — that I somehow forgot that you have a whole life outside of our brief interactions here, beyond these walls…”

“Naril's birthday…” you breathed and he nodded. He’d stumbled upon you and Naril sharing a laugh and a close touch at his birthday and had assumed from the physical closeness that there was something more than friendship between you. That had been the last time you’d seen him.

Then he shook his head in disgust and sneered self-deprecatingly, “It’s as though I became a teenager again - spoilt and sour and… everything I loathe about myself.”

He backed away out of your grip until his huge carapace nudged against the shelf behind him and he went still again. Trapped between you and the books, he breathed heavily for a moment through his aquiline nose. Your heart was beating in your throat but you kept quiet.

“I have a nasty, possessive side,” he said, scowling. “I’d almost forgotten about it, but as — I hesitate to call it a friendship… I’m not sure what we had between us — but whatever it was grew, I came to think of you as… mine. And then I saw you laughing with him and… I remembered that you’re not mine at all. I have no right to make those kinds of disgusting demands or claims. You’re not mine — you’re not anyone’s but your own person. I forgot myself, and I hated myself for it.”

He was jealous.

Gilvas was jealous that you’d been laughing with Naril that night. Despite the anguish on his face, you had to smile. When he heard you chuckle softly, he growled at you again, deep and rich and animalistic. Defensive. That was all it was; defensive bluster.

“It’s true that Naril has come to be my friend here,” you said, moving carefully closer to him now that he couldn’t back away any more. “But I thought about you all weekend while I was away. I couldn’t get you out of my head. When my friend Sarrigan —”

“— Silkfoot?” he interrupted with a sneer. “‘Sarrigan’ is an old Silkfoot name…”

“Yes. Sarrigan Silkfoot is a friend of mine,” you said carefully, noting the lingering displeasure in his features. “He’s currently dating a human, and my best friend, Damien, is also very much in love with a human. If you’re worried about what previous generations of Silkfoots thought about relationships between species, you needn’t worry. The current heir to the family - Sarrigan’s older brother - has even recently married a human. Things have moved on since the founding of Widowsweb…”

His chest heaved and he sank lower so that his pendulous spider’s body was only a few inches above the ground, and his torso and head were almost on a level with yours. “I’ve hidden myself away too long,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

Taking a final step over to him, you stood in the space between his deadly front legs. It felt suddenly intimate in the extreme, and you reached your palm out and laid it on his chest. He flinched, but let you talk.

“Sarrigan told me a bit more about the papers said… about the circumstances of the fire… about what people believed at the time…” you said carefully, and Gilvas’ face darkened dangerously. “But I got to know you before I’d heard that, and I can’t believe you would have started it. I can’t believe anyone thought that of you.” You placed your left palm to mirror your right and felt the way his chest heaved with emotion as he listened. “You’re a good person, Gilvas. I told my friends that, and they believed me. And I think you’ve suffered alone for long enough.”

Gilvas’ expression shattered and he leaned forwards and drew you into his arms. “I don't want you to leave…” he whispered into your hair as he held you close. He smelled like books and sandalwood, warm and comforting, and you let your arms snake around his waist.

“I don't have anything else lined up for after I finish here,” you said without letting go. He was gently inhaling the scent of you, you realised, and you let him hold you, drawing comfort from the warmth of your body. “And I told you there’s a lifetime’s worth of work to do on this library…”

“I could renew your contract,” he said. “Or… Or you could… No. I don't want you to feel… obliged…” he said, swallowing thickly and drawing sharply back from your embrace as if you’d burned him. “If I’m paying you —” his face buckled into a sour grimace and he lurched slightly further away from you. “I don’t want to pay you to stay here…” he spat as if the idea thoroughly disgusted him.

You laughed. “I own my apartment in Starfall. I could rent it out for some income, and come and live here with you. That way… there’s no imbalance…”

“Yes,” he nodded breathlessly, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. “Yes, that’s… that’s good. And if you still have your apartment, you can… I mean… there will be somewhere for you… if… if you decide…”

“Stop,” you said. “Don’t push me away again.”

The drider took a huge inhale and nodded. Then he licked his lips nervously and said, “You know, we were going to raid the kitchen before we went down this path. You shouldn’t make any rash decisions on an empty stomach.”

“An excellent point,” you said with mock seriousness. “Let’s go.”

Over a rather strange and cobbled-together supper of leftovers scrounged from the pantry, eaten at the scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen, Gilvas stayed almost completely silent. At first, you thought he was just concentrating on eating, being particularly careful about his movements since he didn’t see as clearly as you did, but after a while, you discovered the crinkle in his brow and noticed the tremor in his fingers again.

“Wait here,” you said, pushing back from the table and touching the back of his hand briefly. He was always so cold.

“Where are you going?” he barked, tense.

With a giggle, you said, “Trust me. I’ll be right back.”

And with that, you vanished out of the back door and scuttled over the gravel to the little apartment above the old stable block where you’d been staying for the past few months. Minutes later, you returned to find him exactly where you’d left him, scowling at his food.

He looked up sharply as you reentered, and you watched his shoulders drop with relief a split second later when he figured out that it was you.

“Here,” you said, holding out the brown paper parcel to him, touching it to the back of his fingers in case he couldn’t see it.

In moments, it was obvious to you that he couldn’t, because his fingertips trailed along the edges, looking for a way into the parcel. “What is it?” he asked warily, shifting his head from side to side.

“You’ll find out. I saw them being made in the marketplace, and I think with your sense of touch you’ll probably have an advantage over someone with sharper vision…”

At that, his frown deepened, though not from discomfort. He was openly curious now, and he got to work on the wrappings, abandoning them to one side. “A box?” he murmured when he’d run his fingers all the way around it. Watching him, you suddenly felt a thrum of desire go right through you. You wanted him to do that to your body, to explore you by touch, and you barely bit back a moan as the force of it swept through you.

He paused and turned his face towards you expectantly.

“Yeah,” you croaked. “It’s a puzzle box. It’s all inlaid with different types of wood, and there are a few panels and sections that you have to slide in the right order to open it.”

At that, his face cracked into a gorgeous, open, delighted grin and your heart slipped sideways in your chest at the youthfulness it lent to his features. “I used to love these as a child,” he said. “Thank you.”

He moved then, obviously not having been sitting on a chair like you, and found his way faultlessly around the kitchen to where you were seated opposite him. The little inlaid box lay to one side on the table while he took your hands in his and squeezed your knuckles fondly, earnestly.

“Thank you,” he rasped again.

You raised your chin and he let go of you with his right hand and brought it up to cup your left cheek in his cool palm. His thumb traced an arc across your skin and you shivered, exhaling and breathing hard. “Gilvas…” you whispered, want burning inside you inside you like a flare. You didn’t want to push him or rush him, but if he didn’t kiss you in the next three seconds, you thought you might just wither up and die on the spot.

Mercifully, he leaned down, tilting your chin upwards to meet his lips. His kiss was soft, his lips cool and hesitant, but the moment you let a little moan of pleasure escape you, he deepened the kiss. His long fingers scrunched in your hair and he closed his red eyes with a flutter of long lashes. His two forelegs rose up slightly for balance as his body rocked downwards and he pulled back with a gasp, chest heaving again. “I want you,” he whispered hoarsely, looking suddenly shy.

You grinned and stood. “I want you too…”

Gilvas led you through the house, pausing with endearing frequency to kiss you breathless against almost every spare surface that wasn’t covered by paintings or suits of armour or priceless vases on precarious pedestals, and finally he backed you up against the double doors to a bedroom on the fourth floor, and picked you up so that you had to latch your legs around his waist at the point where his humanoid torso met his spider’s body. You ground yourself against him as he kissed you over and over, his long hair falling around your face in a black and red curtain.

With one foreleg, he delicately pushed the handle down and nudged the doors open. Still holding you, he drew your top off over your head, discarding it to one side as he carried you across the room and deposited you onto a massive bed. It bounced and flexed beneath you, and as you looked around you discovered that it was not a bed, but a thick and intricately woven web slung between the two perpendicular walls of the far corner of the room. You leaned back into it, feeling the soft silken strands flex slightly beneath you, and looked up to see Gilvas’ silhouette in the darkness of the room.

The moon shone through an open window to your right, painting fine silver highlights to the gleaming lacquer of his carapace and needle-like legs, and in the moonlight, you saw that he was dripping webbing onto the floor from the gland at the tip of his spider’s abdomen. You knew enough about driders to know that when they got really aroused, they often leaked webbing like this. Male driders did not mate the way many other beings did, but that didn't put you off. You wanted him - his pleasure, his ecstasy, his noises, his joy…

It did make him suddenly nervous though, as if he’d only just realised that you might be expecting him to penetrate you, and with his anatomy, he couldn’t.

“Gilvas?” you asked, reaching up for him where he still loomed hesitantly above you. “Come here… let me take care of you…”

“I…” he began, but he let you draw him down onto the soft, smooth webbing. His legs ended in those dazzlingly sharp points, and he seemed to dance across the webs like a circus performer on a high wire. He lowered himself down atop you and you kissed him again. His hands skated over your hips and he drew the rest of your clothes off to abandon them beside his bed.

Seeking friction, he carefully slid his slick abdomen against your legs and shivered, moaning. “You’re so warm,” he whispered, head bowing forwards as he rested on his elbows, one on either side of your body. “I can’t believe how warm you are… it’s… it…”

“Does it feel good?” you asked, raking your fingers through his long hair and he nodded wordlessly. “Can you roll over?” you asked.

“Oh gods,” he gasped, clearly aroused by the idea, and nodded.

It wasn’t the most elegant manoeuvres, but once he was on his back with his legs curled upwards like a black, clawed hand, you sat in the gap where his one missing leg should have been, and ran your hand over the smoothness of his underbelly. In no time you discovered the slit in his lower body that was leaking slick, pearlescent fluid all over himself.

“Oh!” he yelled, spine curling and legs twitching as you traced your fingertips around the softer inner walls of the slit. Where the rest of his body was cool and hard, there he was almost searingly hot, the inner walls silky and slick. “Oh gods, oh gods… oh gods…” he chanted in time with your motions, his whole body twitching and making the webbing rock beneath him.

The tendons of his neck stood out in glorious contrast beneath the watercolour birthmark as he clenched his jaw and rammed his eyes shut, lost in the sensations. His fingers scrabbled at the web of his bed and he rocked and shivered and arched into your touch as you worked him closer and closer. You knew he was going to make a mess when he came, and you felt your whole body flush hot at the thought of finally getting him to let go of all his tight control and insecurities, to give himself over to the simple, honest pleasure you were offering to give him.

The thought of that was almost enough to make you come yourself, but you focused on him until he growled softly.

“I want…” he began but cut off as you grazed a spot inside him unexpectedly with a fingertip that made him bellow wordlessly. “Fuck…” he hissed when he’d recovered, head lolling back again, and you grinned at the curse on his aristocratic tongue. “Wait…” he panted. “I want… I want to touch you… before I… before you make me…” he growled again in frustration. “I’ll only be able to… to… come once… please… let me…” Hearing him lose control of his words like that in the face of his arousal only made it all the more endearing.

“You can touch me,” you said coyly without changing anything, but when he genuinely snarled, sounding more like a werewolf than a drider, you laughed and leaned closer to him.

His cool fingers dug into your arms as he tugged you tight against his body, pulling you down to lie atop him along the length of his belly and humanoid stomach, and you ground yourself against him for a little relief. His hand slid down your body, down your side, and before you could think, he was pleasuring you. “Let me,” he hissed when you tensed a little, revealing his venomous fangs as a flash of white in the dimness when you tried to pull back to finish him.

“But I wanted to make you come,” you pouted, and he actually laughed at that, four red eyes closing and crinkling softly in the corners with genuine amusement at your disgruntlement.

“Too bad,” he groused. “I want to watch you first.”

“Fair enough,” you grunted as he caught you just so and you rocked against him. “I’m so close…” and you really were. His touch was relentless, demanding your pleasure in return for the sensations you’d just given him.

“I know,” he snarled right in your ear, teeth - the non-venomous ones you hoped - just grazing the shell of your ear. “I can smell it on you.”

And with that, you came unexpectedly hard, crashing into your release and clinging to him. He eased you through it and when you lay panting and spent on his chest, he moved his hand to his mouth and cleaned himself luxuriantly, obviously enjoying the taste of you on his skin.

After that, he seemed softer and more relaxed, and when you’d recovered enough to get your legs back under you and return your attentions to his body, he finally seemed to have allowed himself this connection to another person. His body heaved and rocked rhythmically, his legs knocking nonchalantly against each other as he spasmed and moaned, and as he grew wetter and slicker around your hand, and his inner walls began to clench and shiver in a distinct cadence, you knew he was getting close. He was also giving you the most delicious sounds; gasping and cursing, grunting and even wailing softly at times when you slowed your touches to a barely-there whisper against him.

Eventually though, he began to rock against you in earnest, and you felt his release coming as a rapidly-building wave, gathering momentum until it finally ripped through him like a wildfire. White release gushed from his entrance and covered your hand, rolling down the sleek, shiny carapace to soak into the webbing while his body heaved and convulsed with pleasure. He made no sound, his face contorted in a rictus of pleasure as he gave everything he had to you, his hands gripping the webbing as he released in messy waves all over himself and you.

Finally as the pleasure faded to something gentler and less intense, he lay back, motionless on his bed, muscles completely slack, face soft, breathing quiet.

“Gilvas?”

“Mmm?” he hummed without moving.

“You alright?”

“Mmm.”

Weak and completely spent, he lay there unmoving for a long time while you gently trailed your fingers around his still clenching slit as aftershocks of pleasure rippled through him. Eventually, you wiped your hand clean on the webs beside him and shuffled up to lie beside him. He still looked absolutely exhausted and drained, and you sat there a long time just watching him.

After a very long time, he mustered the energy to open one arm to you and you nuzzled in against his bare shoulder. His breath hissed softly through his slack jaw and he pressed a shy kiss to the top of your head. “See why I wanted… to make you… to make you come first?” he whispered, words heavily slurred and indistinct.

You nodded and shifted to drape your arm across his chest and draw idle patterns over the bare skin of his white torso.

His skin was starkly pale in the moonlight, and as you stared at him, you realised he’d probably relied solely on touch for the whole time you’d been in the room. You smiled and pressed a kiss to his jutting collarbone, making him inhale sharply.

He was still too thin, still obviously not taking care of himself properly, but, you thought, if he’d trusted you and let you in to this extent, perhaps you could both take care of each other now.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he whispered after another long while of silence and closeness in the dark.

“Just thinking how good this feels,” you said honestly. “And how I could lie like this forever… Or at least… until you’re ready to go again.”

He snorted, taken off-guard. “Won’t be for a very long while,” he said bashfully. “Driders don’t recover quickly. Not the male ones, anyway.”

“I’m in no rush,” you said, laying your cheek back down on his cool skin and shivering as goosebumps rippled up your body.

He fumbled around on his other side and drew a large blanket up and over his body, careful to avoid the mess on his carapace, and let you snuggle up beneath it.

You’d have to wait for the dawn to go again though, because you were asleep in his arms in minutes.

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Maybe we'll get to see more of them in the future, but for now, this four-part story is over. Thanks for your comments and enthusiasm for the cranky spooder boy!

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I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

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[absynthe--minded]

more Blessed Hands is coming I promise, it’s just been a hellish end of year

as a thank you for sticking with me, enjoy a sneak preview (cw: foreplay)

“How do I look?”

“A bit like one of the early sages at Cuiviénen,” Findekáno said. “But I think you’ll be able to manage without seeming too scandalous.”

“It’s a pity I don’t have a right hand,” Russandol mused, lifting his arm and striking a dramatic pose. “I could pass for one of the statues in the Vanwamari at home.”

“Aiya Maitimo, the great philosopher!” Findekáno jested, his smile wide enough to nearly split his face open. “Come on, then. We’d best find your chair.”

“Must I take it?” his husband asked.

He frowned. “Do you need it?”

“Perhaps, but I’d rather try for it on my own.”

“What if you grow fatigued?”

“I doubt I will. We certainly slept for long enough.”

“But - Russandol, you’re already unsteady now.”

“And you cannot save me a second time, from the unspeakable terror of falling upon my much-lauded face?” The smile on his lips faded quickly; for a moment he looked impossibly exhausted. “I - I’d like to walk with you, Finno. I know it might be unwise, but I cannot help it. I want my hand in yours.”

“Well, if we walk side by side, I doubt it will be my hand you’re holding to,” Findekáno answered, taking a place beside the taller nér. “Here. Drape your arm over me. I’m tall enough to be your crutch.”

“And a finer crutch couldn’t be asked for, or found anywhere on either side of the Sea,” Russandol said, smiling. “Come on, then. Let’s see what we can manage.”

After a few minutes of fumbling, they were side by side and intertwined. Russandol’s left arm was across Findekáno’s shoulders, with the shorter nér bracing his head against it, and his fingers were tight in the blue tunic his husband had chosen to wear that morning.

“All right,” Findekáno said, looking up at Russandol as best he could. “We’ve done the hard bit - ”

“Getting me out of bed was the hard bit?” his husband interrupted.

“ - yes, Russo, it was.”

“What do you call the long walk to the laundry, then?” he asked, and then groaned in exaggerated, mock pain when Findekáno elbowed him playfully. “Ah! And now the truth comes out! My long-suffering husband has at last revealed his true nature, the dastardly villain!”

“Shut up,” Findekáno said, but he was laughing. “You’re awful, did you know that?”

“Only as awful as I’m allowed to be,” Russandol retorted. He was smirking, eyes sparking, and didn’t stop even when he dipped his head down to steal a kiss. His husband tried unsuccessfully to dodge him, caught between arm and chest, only relenting at the last possible second.

“You have to stop,” Findekáno said, almost gasping; his face was burning when they broke apart.

“Oh, do I?” Russandol asked, raising an eyebrow that was bisected by a scar. His expression was seemingly unchanged, but there was a sharp edge to it that turned Findekáno’s gut to soup and set his heart fluttering in his ribs. “What if I like making you blush?” He leaned down a second time, and his eyes were turned to molten silver, and the scars that traced their way across his face lent it a gravity and an intensity that threatened to leave the other nér weak and boneless on the wooden floor.

“We - we only just got up,” Findekáno managed to murmur finally, voice breathy and only half-convinced of what it said.

“And who’s to say we can’t get up again?” Russandol answered. His fingers gripped his husband’s arm like a vise, and the smirk returned to his thin lips. “Though, I’d have to stuff your mouth with a handkerchief - as I recall, Turukáno is on this wing, and you’re quite loud when you’re enjoying yourself.”

Findekáno acted without thinking, shoving the other nér hard upon mention of his brother. Maitimo staggered back, right arm casting about in the air, drawing his husband after him.

“Let go!” Findekáno cried, laughter edging into his voice. He was awkwardly tripping after Russandol, half-pressed against bare skin and well-draped bedsheet, and his brown eyes were dancing.

“Oh, no,” Russandol shot back, laughing openly as he staggered across the floor. “You caused this, you’re coming with me!”

“And if you fall, what then?”

“I shan’t fall, that’s what then!”

They were both laughing now, torn between mock combat and embrace after embrace, kissing and nearly kissing and making no progress towards either the bed or the door. Some nameless weight had finally broken apart, freeing them at last, and Findekáno was giddy with relief and dizzy joy.

“Kiss me,” he demanded between fits of giggles, reaching up with his free arm and forcing Russandol down to his mouth yet again. “Now.”

“As the Crown Prince commands,” Russandol answered, meeting his gaze.

There was a dangerous rumble to his voice that went right to Findekáno’s hips, and he was hard and fully erect when he pressed himself to his husband’s thigh and rode against the scant muscle and too-obvious bone.

“I’ve gained quite a lot of my strength back,” the taller nér continued, lips trailing over brown skin and teasing at kissing. “I ought to test it.”

“Oh?” Findekáno asked, his hröa flush against Russandol’s. Every inch of him was ablaze with need, and every almost-brush of his husband’s lips against his skin made him want to take matters into his own hands and slide his tongue into that damnably evasive mouth. “Test it how?”

“Like this,” Russandol breathed, and kissed him at last, forcing him backward and up. One arm went about his chest, and the other dipped down beneath the curve of his spine; he was pulled upward and off his feet all at once.

He groaned, remembering countless stolen hours in Valannor, and put his legs around Russandol’s waist so that his aching cock was riding against his husband’s bare stomach. His hips shifted, seeking friction, and his tongue was busily working its way into a mouth that practically begged for him. His eyes were shut, lost in the bright glory of their bond.

Russandol, for his part, was staggering back - his legs had failed to anticipate the weight of another elda, and were protesting this shock vehemently. He slammed into solid wood, reaching it at last, resting against it so he could hold Findekáno aloft and keep kissing him. Even this was not quite enough, and his elbows sought something more to brace against. But when his arm at last landed upon something hard and iron-cold, it gave way, and suddenly the wall itself was shifting away from him, and he was falling into empty air.

Findekáno cried out when Russandol fell backward, torn between shock and laughter as they landed hard enough to force the breath from his lungs.

“Oh, no,” he said, looking up to see the open door and the quiet hallway. We must have been braced against it, and Russandol’s arm caught the latch! He was too amused to be upset and too busy laughing to catch his breath.

“Are you all right?” he asked, still giggling. “Were you hurt?”

“No,” Russandol answered, “but I want to issue a formal complaint to whoever decided a door-latch ought to be at a level with my elbow.”

“I hope you don’t bruise,” Findekáno said, glancing up in front of them. “That would be hard to explain - !”

Aicatillë was seated on his stool, his sword across his knees, looking at the both of them with a bemused expression.

“Hello, haryon-nînya,” he said, nodding to each of the néri before him in turn. “Condo-nînya.”

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Findekáno said quickly, blushing furiously and wondering exactly what it was that he meant by making such a statement.

“I’m sure you’re right,” his guard replied; his narrow brown eyes were alight with mirth. “Is there anything I can do for either of you? A hand up, perhaps, or some clothes?”

Oh, I want to sink into the floor! Findekáno thought, nearly bursting into laughter when Russandol answered him with You’d have to go through me, and wouldn’t that be a pleasurable experience?

You’re awful, he said, still blushing, but he couldn’t keep a smile from creeping back onto his face as he untangled himself from his husband’s borrowed bedsheet. It’s a good thing I love you.

Indeed it is, the other nér told him, watching him get up with a dreamy expression. I think I’d be quite lost without you.

[onemilliongoldstars]

a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter 32

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

32/33

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

Book Three: Chapter 11

Lord Pike’s eyes are as cold and merciless as the ice of The Wall, and there is not a flicker to them as his hands tighten around her neck, an iron band cutting into her skin. He does not seem to hear her gasping cries, or feel the prying of her fingers, her nails digging so deep that warm, sticky blood spills across their skin. She tries to feel around behind her, but there is nothing she can use as a weapon, and his weight is so heavy on her chest that she can scarcely breathe. When she opens her mouth to scream again, no sound comes out and his eyes glint, his fingers tighten. Her head spins, and she reaches up to claw at his face, his eyes, her nails scouring through his skin until it looks as though he has been mauled by a wild beast. Beneath her fingers, his skin begins to crumble, and she watches in horror as it peels away in long, bloody strips, falling away to reveal an empty face behind it.

 The touch to her shoulder jars her so violent that she startles awake with a gasp, jerking away from the touch. Through the dim light she makes out Harper’s figure, holding out a candle and hesitating over her. 

Her eyes are creased with concern, one tendril of curled hair falling out from her braid as she takes a slight step back. “I’m sorry, your majesty, you wanted to be woken before the dawn?” 

Her breath seems to return to her in staggered stages, and she pulls air back into her lungs. Her voice is weak and broken when she answers. “Yes, yes I’m sorry Harper. I was just startled.”

Concern still lingers at the corners of Harper’s gaze, but she gives a nod and turns away to light the tapers around the room and stir the fire into life. 

Clarke pulls in a slow, unsteady breath, watching her with vacant eyes. Her fingers ease up to touch softly at her neck, the ghost of a bruise tingling beneath her fingertips. It seems impossible that her nails are not caked in blood, and her throat not hoarse with screaming, and bile rises in her throat when she thinks of Pike’s skin falling away into her hands. 

Harper must sense her disquiet, because she breaks the silence with mindless words as she draws the water and warms it over the fire. “The weather should be fair today, your majesty. The sky was as pink as a peach last night. Summer will be here before we know it.” 

“Yes,” Clarke eases herself slowly from the bed, wriggling her toes against the cold slabbed floor. “I do so long for it.” 

“We all do,” Harper smiles, and steps behind her when she settles into the chair in front her looking glass. “Will you wear your crown today, your majesty?” 

“No,” Clarke shakes her head, reaching out to run the pad of her thumb over a rose petal in the vase before her. “For today, I think I would like to forget I am the queen.”

The sun has risen by the time she descends the final sandy steps onto the private docks behind the castle. It is already a warm day, and she is glad of the hazy, light fabric of her dress, baring her back and her arms just as she used to when she was young and care free in Highgarden. Her hair is pulled back into soft golden braids, a golden, rose shaped clasp keeping them together, and a light stole is draped over her arms, in case the weather turns. The dock is quiet in the morning sunshine, but for Lexa, Anya and Lincoln, waiting patiently beside the low, bobbing pleasure barge. Lexa is dressed more lightly than Clarke has ever seen her before, with britches and a white linen shirt, pulled with a honeycomb stitch at the top of her arm. Her tunic bares her arms and is fastened down its front with silver direwolf pins, her hair pulled back in a simple braid. 

As she approaches Lexa turns and offers a smile so wide she is caught off guard for a moment. Gone are their secret smiles of the past, shared glances hidden in the embers of their forbidden love, and in its place is something that seems to have risen from the spring itself, its head turning to the new sunlight. Her heart stutters, as it hasn’t since those fateful days in Winterfell so very long ago, and she feels a flush rising to her cheeks as Lexa nods her greeting. 

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.” She returns, as she crosses the final few steps that separate them. She has to dig her nails into her hand to keep from reaching out and touching Lexa, so great is the depth of her feeling. Though they cannot be heard here, there may still be eyes watching, and it wouldn’t do to stir any unrest in the people. “Have you been waiting long? I apologise, I slept poorly.”

“No,” Lexa’s brows twitch with concern at her words, but she doesn’t comment. “No, not long at all.”

“Your wolves are not with you,” Clarke observes, as they fall into step walking down the dock together towards the pleasure barge. When Lexa shakes her head, Clarke cannot help but press, eager and curious. “I have never seen you without them.”

They come to a stop beside the barge and Lexa turns to look at her with eyes that see straight to the deepest parts of herself. “Perhaps,” She muses, softly, “they know that I don’t need them, not here and now.” 

The words catch at her tender heart more acutely than she expects, and when Lexa offers her hand out to help her down the gangplank onto the barge, she finds that she is trembling at the touch. They board one after the other, their guards accompanying them. The pleasure barge is a long, shallow vessel, towards the front of which a low bench is hidden from the sun by a canopy of hazy curtains. Clarke sinks into the cushions there, and after a moment of hesitation Lexa joins her. The curtains swing about them, and though they are not alone, the illusion is almost as good. 

Behind them, Clarke’s most trusted and expert oarsmen push away from the dock so silently and smoothly that she barely realises they are moving until the dock begins to slip away and leave them with only a distant view of the city. 

Lexa must notice her glancing over her shoulder, because she asks, quietly. “Are you worried about leaving it behind? If only for the day?”

Clarke pauses and considers her words, glancing back at the imposing towers of the Red Keep, reaching up into the blue sky as if they intend to pluck the sun from its perch themselves. Part of her worries, a part of her that she expects will never stop worrying, but it is not enough to draw her back. “No,” She answers honestly, and Lexa’s smile makes her eyes shine. 

As they sail smoothly from the harbour, Clarke runs her hand over the embroidered cushions below them, trailing her fingers across the golden stitching. 

“It’s beautiful,” Lexa comments, obviously watching her, and Clarke nods. 

“It was made for King Thelonious and his wife, to allow them to leave the city in privacy and luxury.”

“I never met the king’s wife,” Lexa admits, “But I hear she was a beautiful and clever queen.”

“So do I,” Clarke offers her a small smile. “King Thelonious loved her very dearly. He was never the same after her death.”

Lexa’s gaze holds hers. “They were lucky to have each other, even for such a short time.”

Warmth and peace washes over her, as it always does when Lexa looks at her so deeply and truthfully, as if she is the thing she is most sure of in the whole world. Clarke has to glance away, to keep herself from flushing and stuttering like a fool, and after a moment she manages to find her words enough to speak. 

“Aden once told me about your mother, he said that she was the only woman your father ever loved.”

“They were very devoted to one another,” Lexa admits, “Or so I have heard,” Her voice changes, catching and breaking over some unspoken emotion. “I never met her.”

Clarke reaches out and twines their fingers together, keeping her voice soft. “You must miss her.”

“No,”Lexa conjures up a smile which is as false as a mummer’s mask. “How could I miss something I never even knew?”

“A bird caged for all of its life will still miss the sky,” Clarke counters, and squeezes their fingers to ease her words. “You can admit it, I won’t think any differently of you.”

“I know you won’t,” Her thumb rubs a gentle circle over the smooth skin of Clarke’s palm. 

They are disturbed by Octavia clearing her throat obnoxiously from beyond the hazy curtains. Clarke glowers at the hazy shadow of her shape and she catches Lexa biting back her smile as she calls out. 

“Yes, Octavia?”

“Your majesty,” Octavia must take that as her cue, because she puts her head around the curtains and can’t look either of them in the eye when she says. “There are refreshments for you, would you like them brought in?”

Clarke purses her lips, annoyed despite herself, and then nods curtly. “Yes, that would be fine I suppose.”

“Thank you, Octavia,” Lexa puts in, still trying not to laugh at Clarke’s utter lack of manners. They settle back onto the bench as plates of dewy strawberries and goblets of cool, watered down wine are delivered by their guards and set upon the low table before them. 

“The sea here is so beautiful,” Lexa comments, as Clarke picks up a strawberry. “So blue and clear and bright.”

“There are legends of mermaids in these parts,” Clarke tells her, offering out the plate of fruits. “Sirens who would steal away sailors’ hearts with their songs and seduce them with their beauty.”

Lexa’s eyes linger upon her face. “I think I understand their plight.”

—-

They finally slow when they reach a spit of land, barely big enough to call itself an island, with sandy shores and a  few rolling hills on which long grass and a smattering of trees grow, some hanging heavy and colourful with their fruit. The island has no dock and so their shallow ship simply slows to a stop amongst the sandy shores, bobbing  back and forth in the clear water. 

Lexa gazes out onto the spit of land and her brows furrow, “Where are we?” 

“This is royal land,” Clarke explains, as their guards busy themselves preparing to disembark. “Nobody comes here but the king or queen.” She cannot help but smile at the blush that dusts Lexa’s cheeks when she adds. “We will be completely alone.” 

“I see,” Lexa tries to hide her smile, “Would you like me to carry you to shore, my lady?” 

“Not at all,” Years of practice with Wells make it easy enough for her to follow Anya and Octavia into the water. Slipping her shoes from her feet, she gathers her skirts in one hand and holds the other out for balance as she slips from their vessel and into the warm, shallow waters. The sand shifts beneath her feet and for one horrifying moment she thinks she might fall, but rights herself just in time. 

When she looks back to the boat, Lexa’s astonished expression draws a delighted laugh from her and everything feels light and delicious as she watches Lexa pull her shoes from her feet and follow her into the water. When she too stumbles, Clarke holds out her hand to steady her and Lexa laces their fingers together, holding tightly as they make their way together up to the beach. The sand is warm and soft beneath their feet, and their fingers stay laced together even as they find their feet. 

“Ser Lincoln and Captain Snow will go on ahead with the servants, your majesty,” Anya says, once they have approached. “And ensure everything is safe and set up. We will follow,” She indicates to herself and Ser Roan. “Just in case.”

Clarke gives Lexa a wide smile and she feels filled with a childlike glee as she leads the way from the beach to the well trodden path through grass and trees. 

“Where are we going?” Lexa looks to her, expression open and curious, and Clarke squeezes her fingers.

“You’ll see.”

They tread their way carefully through the undergrowth, their shoes still held in their hands. Beneath their feet, the grass is as soft as sheepskin, warm from the sun and sandy, and Clarke luxuriates in the feeling as she walks. Together, they make their way to the highest point on the island, their fingers never untangling from one another, exchanging soft conversation. Though the air is warm and the sun glows down upon them, it feels as if they are back at Winterfell again, sitting in the library or walking the battlements, so comfortable is their quiet conversation.

“This place is beautiful,” Lexa says, as they walk through a grove of orange trees. “So quiet and peaceful.”

“The best is yet to come,” Clarke promises, with a smile, and guides them into a clearing.

Still shaded by orange trees, before them the gentle rise they have been climbing falls away sharply into the sea, and the view it exposes is a breath taking expanse of crystal blue waters. In the distance, the mainland is visible: the tall towers of the Red Keep and gathered around it like sycophants the rusted tile roofs of the city. Upon the ground are spread rugs and cushions for them to lounge on, hazy strips and fabric hanging from the trees to keep the hot midday sun from their faces, and a spread of breads and cheese, meats and fruits, is awaiting them.

Lexa casts her a shy, surprised smile. “You planned this.”

“Of course,” Clarke fights against the beam that is threatening to spread across her features. “Won’t you sit, my lady?”

With a smile Lexa sinks onto the floor, settling upon the cushions. She turns back to their combined Queensguards as Clarke follows her, and waves her hand to them. “We are perfectly safe here for the moment, you may all go.”

Octavia and Anya exchange a disgruntled glance, but when Clarke nods her agreement they move away reluctantly, peeling back into the trees until you could almost forget they were there. They are suddenly as alone as they ever are, but there are no nerves now and when Clarke looks up into Lexa’s face she feels contentment shine through her, like the sun into a darkened room.

“I can understand why you missed your home when you were with us in Winterfell.” Lexa tells her, once they have both settled back into the cushions, so close that they are almost touching. “Truly, this place is beautiful.”

“Oh, Kings Landing is not my home,” Clarke shakes her head, and curls fall over her shoulders. “Even now, it is nothing compared to Highgarden.” 

“We’ve never really spoken about Highgarden,” Lexa gazes down upon her, “You have seen every inch of my home and yet I know almost nothing about yours.”

Something pinches in her heart at the mention of home and she has to avert her gaze, running a stray thread of embroidery from one of the cushions between her fingers. “Highgarden is like… a dream compared to Kings Landing. The sun always shines and the sky seems to go on forever and ever.”

“Tell me about your favourite places to go, when you were growing up there?” When Clarke looks at her, surprised by her words, Lexa explains, with the most earnest tenderness. “I want to know you Clarke, all of you.”

The smile that has been tugging at her lips appears, unbidden and difficult to shake away.  “Once I learned to ride I used to love setting out into the rose fields alone. Our lands went on for leagues, I could ride for a whole day and never meet anyone who bore me ill will.” She glances at Lexa from beneath her lashes and watches the queen’s face begin to colour under her hooded gaze as she continues. “When I became older and young lords began calling I would ride with them out to the orange grove or the orchards of peach trees, and we would find some shadowy place to hide away.” She has the distinct pleasure of watching the blush settle and darken upon Lexa’s cheeks, and laughs quietly at the sight.

Lexa makes a disgruntled little noise in the back of her throat, but leans in to accept the strawberry Clarke offers as a peace token. The juice spills over her fingers and across Lexa’s lips, and Clarke struggles to tear her gaze away as Lexa’s tongue darts out to catch the sweet droplets. Her breath comes out in a soft sigh, and Lexa’s eyes are dark, even as she draws herself reluctantly away. Clarke pours them both a goblet of wine, desperate to drown out the yearning hum that has settled in her breast, but when their fingers brush together, the touch of Lexa’s warm hands sends a shiver through her like she has never felt before and she feels like a young maid again.

Lexa’s eyes flicker to her, as green as the leaves that stretch for the sky around them, and Clarke feels almost breathless at the sight. Lexa finally tearing her eyes away only barely helps her claw back her sanity, and she takes a long draft of her wine to hide her flushed cheeks, though she is sure it barely works.

“I’m sure you charmed many young lordlings into giving away their heart to you.” Lexa finally jokes, her voice weak, but Clarke laughs obligingly anyway.

“There were several marriage proposals,” She admits, at last, sharing a teasing smile with Lexa. “But none who were remotely suitable.”

“It is a fair archer who could ever catch the heart of a Lady Clarke Tyrell,” Lexa’s voice is soft and her eyes glance away to the view, as if afraid of what she will see in Clarke’s expression.

Unable to help herself, and unsure why she should, Clarke reaches out and traces gentle fingers over the back of Lexa’s hand, easing it over until she can lace their fingers together and Lexa’s eyes are drawn back to hers again.

“It is a good thing that you shoot so well then,” She murmurs into the space between them. “I would not want to give my heart to any but you.”

Lexa’s breath escapes her in a stutter at her words and when her fingers tighten which affectionate tenderness, Clarke swears her heart stops in her chest.

“I once wondered what it would have been like if we had met before… everything.” Under Lexa’s curious gaze she is powerless but to continue, “If you had to come to Highgarden as a guest of my father and our eyes had met over feasts and dancing.” 

“I know what would have happened,” Lexa remarks, her voice so low that Clarke’s eyes widen in surprise. “I would have been helpless before you, Clarke.” Lexa’s thumb tracks a warm stroke over her palm.

“And I you,” She admits, in a whisper. “Of all of the suitors, not one has ever compared to you, Lexa. Sometimes I-” She cuts herself off, suddenly shy and uncertain She has kept her heart so closely guarded for so long, the chains that protect it are stiff and old.

Familiar fingers, warm and rough from years of swinging swords and pulling back bowstrings, nudge at her chin and when she raises her gaze she finds Lexa looking back at her, eyes as soft as summer grass. “You can tell me anything, love.”

The name sounds so perfect falling from her lips and Clarke leans into her touch as Lexa cups her cheek.

“After all we have been through, all we have seen and survived, sometimes I still fear that my love for you will break my heart open.” The words leave her in a rush, and when she glances up at Lexa she worries what she will see in her eyes.

Despite her fears, there is nothing but love in Lexa’s gaze, and when she offers out her arms, Clarke falls into her embrace gratefully, allowing Lexa to wrap her arms around her and press them together so tightly that Clarke feels as if she is sinking into her. She is surrounded by Lexa’s warm scent, pinewood and something sweet and soft, a flora she cannot place, and when Clarke rubs her cheek against her shoulder, her lips skim the exposed skin above her shirt.

“My love,” She speaks with more tenderness and emotion than Clarke has ever heard in any two words. “Clarke, I promise to protect your heart, no matter what. I swear it, before the old gods and the new.”

Clarke’s breath hitches, and she blinks tears from her eyes as she places her hand very carefully over Lexa’s heart, spreading her fingers apart. Beneath her touch, she can feel the steady thrum of Lexa’s heartbeat, and it is like opium to her, spreading peace throughout her body so that her voice is calm and measured when she answers.

“And I promise to protect yours, always.”

Lexa’s hand still rests on her cheek, and when she  guides Clarke’s face gently up to look at hers, it feels as natural as breathing to part her lips and breach the space between them, kissing her. Lexa’s lips are soft beneath hers, the fingers that thread into her hair and hold her close- as if she would ever wish to escape this blessed prison- are impossibly gentle. This must be the heaven her Septas told her about, Clarke thinks, absently, for how else could she explain the pure, unadulterated joy that spreads through her at Lexa’s touch. They break apart only when they have to gasp for breath, foreheads pressed together and lips still brushing. She feels as if she is addicted to Lexa and cannot bear to pull herself away, if even for a second. For her part, it seems that Lexa feels the same way, because she does not unwrap her embrace, keeping them so close together that they are sharing breath. 

Still, Lexa’s eyes flicker open and find Clarke looking up at her, and her expression shifts with the slightest unease. “Is this alright?” She asks, in a whisper, and Clarke lets out a soft breath of laughter. 

“Of course,” She answers, and cradles Lexa’s cheeks in her hands to bring their lips together again. 

Lexa’s lips are like a tonic for an ailment she did not know she had. They taste like strawberries and wine, and her skin is soft as butter beneath Clarke’s touch. Their bodies seem to move as if they know exactly where they should be and when, like a dance that they never knew they had been learning, but in this moment Clarke cannot think of any reason she wouldn’t want to be as close to Lexa as possible. Her body shifts and she drops her hand to curl at Lexa’s waist, fingers tightening in the fabric of her linen shirt, until she is pressing Lexa back into the cushions, their kisses becoming hot and heavy and more desperate than Clarke knew love could be. 

The brunette gasps for air again, and Clarke takes the momentary respite to continue pressing her lips to Lexa’s jaw bone, tracing its sharp ridge with her kisses, worshipping the valley of her neck until Lexa runs a tender thumb over her cheek and draws her up. She kisses her quickly, though there is nothing chaste about it, it is all fire and passion, as if she cannot help herself, and then says, her voice breaking over her ragged breaths. 

“Clarke, I don’t- We have to stop now if-”

“I don’t want to stop.” Clarke insists, and presses back into her love like Lexa is air and she will suffocate without her. “Please, please Lexa.” When still the northerner hesitates, Clarke adds, a desperate yearning  to her voice. “You are the only person I will ever love like this,” Her throat is tight and she brushes away the tears that slip down her cheeks impatiently. “Please, Lexa. Please let me love you and know what it is to be loved in return.”

Gentle fingers curl around hers, stilling her furious movements, and Lexa meets her eyes with green so deep Clarke thinks for a moment that she can smell clover fields and a fresh spring rain. Tenderly, she runs her thumbs over Clarke’s cheeks, catching her tears. “All I want is to love you,” She admits, in the quietest of whispers. 

When their lips meet again, it is with the softest of whispers of a sigh, and it feels to Clarke more like a homecoming than any journey’s end she has experienced before. Lexa falls back against the cushions beneath her, hands around her hips urging her to follow, and when Clarke fumbles a little settling herself above her, they exchange a slight, nervous chuckle which brings them back together again. 

The feeling of Lexa’s body beneath hers is like nothing she has ever known. She has ridden the finest stallions and sailed in the fastest ships, she has commanded her enemies to die and killed men with her bare hands, but that is nothing compared to the rush of adrenaline she feels with her legs on either side of Lexa’s body, her hands framing her face like some beautiful portrait. 

For some time they are simply lost in one another, kissing and learning one another in a way they have never been afforded a moment to before. The lightest of touch appears at Clarke’s bare leg, where her skirt has ridden up, playing with the fine hairs there, and she reluctantly pulls her lips from Lexa’s to meet her questioning gaze. Lexa seems nervous beneath her, the touch of her fingers is so light that Clarke is sure she will pull them away in a moment if asked, so she reaches down and pulls Lexa’s hand further up her calf, hauling a strangled gasp from her lover. 

As Lexa’s hand continues its steady, uncertain exploration of her body, Clarke fingers at the laces that pull the neck of Lexa’s shirt together, giving Lexa her own curious look. As if to answer her question, Lexa sits up a little, and with a moment of awkward struggling, pulls her shirt over her head. Clarke’s eyes widen at the sight of Lexa bared before her. Though she has seen the pale expanse of Lexa’s chest before, today her lover wears no bindings and her breasts stand tall in the center of her chest, nipples already pert and puckering. 

The sight is enough to draw an audible gasp from Clarke, and Lexa laughs softly, even when Clarke tosses her a glare. With renewed vigour, Clarke falls upon her exposed skin like a woman possessed, kissing, sucking and nipping every inch, working her way steadily down towards Lexa’s breasts and beneath her the northern queen shivers and whimpers. When she reaches up to cup one, and runs her thumb over Lexa’s nipple, Lexa jolts beneath her, arching up into her touch and letting out a soft moan. It’s enough to heat the pool of desire between Clarke’s legs and she begins to feel herself become uncomfortably wet, shifting a little for fear that she will drip through her light chemise and onto Lexa. 

She worships Lexa’s breasts as if they are the statues of the Seven themselves, and she a devoted Septa. Neither is left untended for long, and she delights in the strangled moans she tugs from Lexa’s body with every purposeful stroke of her tongue. Truly, she would have been content to spend the whole day learning how to make Lexa squirm and shiver beneath her, but soon her lover finds her strength again, and she finds herself gasping against Lexa’s skin as her hand travels up beneath her dress, circling the underside of her knee for a moment to give her the chance to stop if Clarke hesitated. 

But Clarke is far from hesitating, in fact it feels as though every sensible thought from her mind has vanished other than wishing that Lexa would touch her harder and faster. Their eyes meet as Lexa’s hand continues its journey up her body, both shivering at the intensity of the feelings between them, until finally Lexa’s fingers brush against the hairs around her cunt, and they both still. 

“I- I-” Lexa cannot seem to find her words, her eyes suddenly wide, and Clarke shakes her head, silencing her. 

“I can show you.”

True to her word, she takes Lexa’s hand in hers and guides her to the touches that she has learnt make her quiver and scream into her bedclothes. Lexa’s fingers feel different to her own, and the touch makes her shiver like she has been trapped in the ice for years, but she encourages her concerned lover to continue. Where her fingers are soft and well practiced in this routine, Lexa’s fingers feel longer and warmer, and though she is still finding her footing she touches parts of Clarke that make her squirm and whimper. Lexa’s fingers run the line of her wet slit, eyes wide with amazement, and when they journey upwards to bump clumsily against her clit, Clarke spasms with desire, a high keening escaping between her lips. At that, Lexa’s eyes flash with hungry desire, and she nudges away Clarke’s guiding hand, her fingers running circles over the sensitive little bud. 

She sits up, her free hand grasping at Clarke’s back to keep her steady and close against her. Her lips finding a path from Clarke’s earlobe down to her collarbones, cursing softly when she comes up against Clarke’s dress. For a moment her touches to her cunt hesitate, and Clarke whimpers, grinding her hips wantonly down onto her hand. She cannot bear to think that Lexa might pull away now, and instead she reaches up to pull at the laces and clasps of her own dress with frustration, until the flimsy sleeves fall down her arms and expose her heaving chest. 

Lexa makes a delighted noise, falling upon her breasts like she has been fasting for days, and when her lips seal around Clarke’s nipple, she throws her head back and cries out, pressing only harder into Lexa’s touch. Her crest comes too quickly, she feels as if she is galloping towards it on a stallion that she cannot control, and when she falls over the edge it is with a high pitched cry, falling forwards into Lexa’s waiting body. 

There are a few moments of uncertainty, as she reaches down to help Lexa work her through the aftershocks, but then Lexa’s arms are around her, easing her tired, sweaty body back into the cushions and holding her close. Lexa gazes down at her, awe shining in her eyes, even as she runs a hand through her hair, brushing the sticky tendrils away from her face. 

“That was beautiful,” She breathes, and Clarke can’t help but laugh, even as Lexa continues earnestly. “Truly Clarke, I have never seen anything so beautiful in all my life. Thank you for letting me-”

“Thank you,” Clarke tells her, voice low and throaty, and the sound of it sends a shiver through Lexa. Just the sight reinvigorates her, and Clarke clambers back on top of her lover, her dress still tangled around her waist, to press her back into the cushions. Lexa’s widened eyes meet hers and she brushes the softest kiss to her lips, pouring every tender thought she has had into this touch. 

“Can I return the favour?”

“I-” Lexa hesitates, staring at her, and her cheeks begin to pink as she says, quietly. “I do not know if I can… I have never…”

“Oh you can my love,” Clarke smiles, “I will show you that you can.”

With that, she begins to trail her way down Lexa’s body again, like an adventurer picking her way through unknown terrain, she takes her time to familiarise herself with every rise and fall of the body below her. Lexa is all muscle and sinew, her body built from years of training and leading an army. It is so different from Clarke’s own softness that she is fascinated by it, by the way Lexa’s breath shifts with she kisses the underside of her breast, by the way she keens and jerks when Clarke places a bite to her ribs. Lexa’s britches are little issue when she comes to them, she simply pulls at the laces and Lexa lifts her hips obligingly to tug them down and reveal dark, wiry, wet hair and the beautiful scent of her arousal. 

Carefully, watching her lovers face, Clarke touches her gently, exploring her wetness and watching the way that Lexa’s eyes widen, her breath hitching at certain touches. When Clarke takes her finger, covered in the evidence of Lexa’s want, and sucks it clean, she fears the girl may pass out. Unable to help herself, she leans in and draws the flat of her tongue along Lexa’s slit. Beneath her, Lexa jolts at the touch, a strangled cry escaping her. Clarke looks up, concerned that she’s done something wrong, but then Lexa’s hand curls in her hair and tugs her unerringly back down again, and Clarke smiles into her wetness. 

---

It is some time later when Lexa runs her hand through her lover’s golden locks, pushing them back to gaze upon her sleeping face. Clarke’s delicate braids have begun to unravel in their fervour, her hair sticky with sweat, and Lexa feels a twinge of satisfaction in knowing that her restless fingers contributed to such disorder. She knows that her own hair must be equally unkempt, but she cannot bring herself to care about that, or anything else, when Clarke’s sleeping body is resting upon hers.

With the sun dappling the ground through the leaves of the orange trees, everything feels calm and peaceful. This island is like a paradise that their real lives cannot touch, and in that moment she wishes so deeply that they could stay here forever and let the world find its own way. Perhaps Clarke feels her discontent through the beating of her heart, because in that moment she stirs, her eyelids flickering open to reveal blue like the summer sky looking up at her.

Lexa feels a tinge of regret to have disturbed her, but how can she truly be sad when greeted by the sight of Clarke’s beautiful eyes blinking up at her, clearing the sleep from her vision.

“I fell asleep?” The southern queen asks, her voice rough with fatigue. “I’m sorry, I-” She goes to move away, but Lexa tightens her arm around her just a little. Clarke relaxes back into her hold with a grateful sigh, and then offers a wicked smile that makes Lexa glad they had managed to redress after their ardour. “You exhausted me, my lady.”

Lexa flushes a little at her words, bashful despite their earlier intimacy. “You were tired,” She admits, and her expression softens with concern. “You said you slept poorly?”

A shadow passes across Clarke’s face at the reminder, and she half shrugs, as nonchalant as possible. “I had bad dreams, that’s all.”

“Bad dreams?” Lexa prompts, and runs a hand down her bare arm ever so gently. 

Clarke hesitates, mulling over her words for a few quiet moments, before reluctantly admitting. “I dreamt about Pike, that he was in my rooms…”

The mention of the treacherous lord’s name makes Lexa bristle unhappily, her jaw clenching even at the thought of Pike so close to Clarke again. But the bags beneath Clarke’s eyes and the genuine exhaustion she sees in every inch of her body is enough to placate her, and she reassures her quietly.

“Pike is gone. We both watched as the executioner took his head.”

Beneath her, she feels Clarke shiver, and a bite of revulsion runs through her as well. As evil as Pike may have been, the sight of his head being cut from his body is not one she wants to see again.

“I know I just-“ She hesitates again, and when Clarke looks up to meet her gaze, there is something terribly sad in her eyes. “Sometimes it is as if… I have been so terrified for so long, my body has forgotten what it is to be safe.”

Lexa has to shut her eyes for a moment, to hide the pain she feels, and instead only tightens her arms around the girl in her embrace. She knows what it is to be scared, has faced down an army of thousands with the weight of a nation upon her shoulders, but always she has had a sword in her hand and her own army at her back. She can’t imagine how Clarke must have felt, alone and virtually defenceless in the capital.

Soft lips press against hers, drawing her from her thoughts and she opens her eyes to find Clarke looking back at her, a smile playing at the edge of her lips.

“Let’s not think of sad things,” She instructs, “Tell me something happy, please Lex.”

“Alright,” Lexa can’t help but steal another kiss, before allowing Clarke to settle back into her side easily.

“One of our horse boys disappeared while we were here,” She casts her companion an exasperated smile, “Surely seduced by the excitement of the capital. Anya managed to find a new boy within the day though- a lad called Peter who calmed her mount when he spooked in the street.”

“The boy just appeared from nowhere?” Clarke asks, ever so lightly, and Lexa hums her agreement, running an absent minded hand through her hair.

“As if he were sent by the Gods,” Lexa agrees, then smiles to herself. “Though I’m sure the gods have many more things to trouble themselves with.”

“Will you take him back to Winterfell with you?” The words are enough to give them both pause, and Lexa hesitates, contemplating the painful thump of her heart.

“Yes,” She murmurs, eventually, “He will work in the stables.”

“Aden will be glad to see you again,” The joviality in Clarke’s voice is as false as silk roses. “You must make him write to me and tell me how Rose is doing.”

“Stop, please,” She is surprised to find that her voice is breaking over her words. When Clarke meets her gaze, there are a sheen of tears to her eyes as Lexa begs, “I don’t want to think about leaving, or Winterfell, or any of it. I just want to think about you – and love you.”

“Lexa,” Clarke cradles her cheeks in her hands and leans forwards to capture her lips again. “I love you too.”

Their foreheads pressed together, their bones tired from making love, and the sweet smell of oranges in the air, Lexa could almost believe that this moment would never end.

Clarke is warm in her arms and when she twists to press a kiss to the side of her head, she hums happily. Lexa gives a soft sigh, following Clarke’s gaze out to the crystal waters and the bluest of skies. “Then that’s all we need.”

It’s a lie, but a beautiful one.

 ---

It is a warm, bright day, the first of many that the southern summer will bring, when a messenger girl, almost tripping over her own feet to give a deep bow of deference to her queen, tells her that a representative from the Iron Bank has arrived. Clarke’s brows furrow, and she thanks the girl before asking her to have both the guest and Queen Lexa sent to her private audience chamber, with the utmost discretion.

Harper watches from where she is checking Clarke’s new bed linens for poison, and asks, quietly. “Is there anything I can do, your majesty?”

“Have refreshments sent to us Harper, if you would. And when you’re done go to Grand Measter Orrin and ask him for the leather satchel from across the sea, and bring that to me.”

Harper nods, and bobs a curtsey, before hurrying from her solar. Clarke runs a hand over the skirt of her dress; her eyes linger on her crown, but when she looks in the mirror she sees a woman who could easily be underestimated and that is exactly what she wants.

Lexa has already arrived by the time she gets to her private chamber, and is pacing back and forth before the window like a caged animal. Soon, Clarke knows, she will have to return to the north. The life of a courtier in Kings Landing does not suit her, and besides she has her own country to rule.

“Your majesty,” Lexa turns at the sound of the door, catching sight of her. There are still servers arranging sweet wine, cheese and fruits along the table, and so all they can do is look at one another, their hearts pounding.

“Our friends from across the sea?” Lexa asks, pointedly.

“They will be here soon,” She reassures her. Unable to help herself, she crosses the room, breaching the space between them so that they can speak more privately. “I believe it is truly them this time.”

“As do I.” Lexa nods seriously. “We must present a united force, they must understand that we are not pawns to be played in their games.”

“We will,” Clarke assures her, and steps away as a knock comes to the door. Often, she feels as though she is the tide and Lexa the shore, and though they are forced to retreat from one another somehow they always come back together.

“Enter,” She calls, as she settles herself into the high backed chair at the head of the table, carved with elaborate roses and stags. Lexa steps up behind her, her hand upon the back of her chair, and Clarke thinks they must make a rather striking tableau because their guest’s eyes widen as he is shown inside.

Dante Wallace looks much the same as he had all those months ago, though his hair is more silver now and there is gauntness to his expression that wasn’t there when last they met. He bows, low and elegant, to them both, and offers a charming smile when he straightens up again.

“Your majesties, well met.”

 “Well met Master Wallace,” Clarke answers, with a nod of her head. “I hope your journey was not too strenuous.”

“The crossing of the Narrow Sea is never easy on old bones, your majesty.” Dante gives a small smile. “But I had to come to meet the new queen of the south.” 

“Please, sit,” Clarke gestures to the chair before her. As Dante sits, she pours him a goblet of wine, “We have met before.” 

“Indeed, but I have not met the new queen,” Dante takes the goblet she offers with a nod of his head. He offers her a smile which is almost paternal, “I thought you would go far when last we met.” 

“It is terrible circumstances,” Clarke glances down at her own goblet, “But I intend to do whatever it takes to keep my country safe.” 

“It seems that you are keen to maintain the good relationships King Thelonious left behind,” Dante observes, and his eyes linger on Lexa long enough to make it clear what he is referring to. “I hope that that courtesy extends to us.” 

“I hope so too, Master Wallace.” Clarke glances back at Lexa, as if she had forgotten she was there. “Have you met Queen Lexa of the Northern Kingdom?”

Master Wallace doesn’t flinch away from her expectant expression, a cordial smile on his face. “I have not yet had the pleasure, your majesty.” He nods to the northern queen, “Your majesty, we at the Iron Bank have written to you since your reign began.” 

“I am aware,” Lexa answers, steadily, and only the slightest shift in Dante’s expression gives away his annoyance. 

“The queen and I are keen to ensure that relationships between our nations are close.” Clarke informs him, a steely edge entering her tone. 

Almost as if she were listening at the door, a knock comes and Harper is shown inside. Clarke waves a hand at her, motioning her closer without drawing her eyes away from Dante Wallace. 

The foreigner watches the handmaiden’s approach, a flicker of hesitation in his voice before he says. “That is excellent news. All any of us want is peace.” 

Harper deposits the leather pouch into Clarke’s hands and retreats without a word, closing the door softly behind her. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” At his words, Clarke dips her hand into the pouch in her dress and pulls out the iron coin that has been beneath her pillow for so many nights. With careful precision, she places it onto the table between them and watches as his face turns grey. Into the silence that hangs between them all, she says. “There are others in Braavos who feel similarly.” She reaches into the pouch, her fingers closing around the cold, withered skin of Cage Wallace, and places the face onto the table between them. 

Dante Wallace stares down at his son’s face, and his expression draws as if he is going to vomit. He recoils away from the sight, his chair legs scraping against the stone flag floor with a terrible squeal, but he doesn’t get very far before Lexa’s strong hand clamps around his shoulder, keeping him down. 

The silver blade she presses against his throat shines in the candlelight and Clarke sees the master’s eyes bulging with fear. 

She offers her prettiest, rosebud smile. “It wouldn’t do for people to find out that you once sought to undermine our close relationship. It would be terrible for the Iron Bank’s reputation.” With a sigh, she puts the face back into the bag and pockets her coin again, as Lexa slides away from the Braavosi banker. 

Clarke is slightly impressed that Dante doesn’t flee in an instant. Instead, he takes a moment to straighten out his robes, and stands with all the grace a man just held out knifepoint can possibly have. 

He clears his throat and speaks weakly. “As you say, your majesty,” he gives a nod of his head to them both, and turns for the door, but Clarke’s words pull him up short. 

“And I’m sure you will be happy to erase all of the crown’s debts to you, won’t you Master Dante.”

---

The sun draws in, painting the sky with long strokes of apricot and rosebud pink. This is quickly becoming one of her favourite parts of the day: her petitioners have all gone home, and from her place on the balcony with Wells she can hear the sounds of people in the city downing tools and streaming into the inns and alehouses of the city. 

This balcony is hers now, just as the castle behind it is, and the city sprawling out below, and while that weight has not become any lighter, she has learnt to bear it better in the weeks that have passed. Beside her, Wells seems more relaxed than he has in years, and she glances over at him curiously, taking a sip from her goblet before asking. 

“You seem to be in good spirits, my friend?” 

Wells considers her words for a moment, and then nods. “I am.” He answers, and he offers a smile that warms her to the bones. “I feel more content than I have done in some time.” 

She eyes him with interest, “May I ask why?” 

“You are the queen, you may ask whatever you wish.” He teases her, and she scowls at him over the rim of her goblet. “Truly though,” he continues more seriously. “For some time I have been wondering what I will do next… there is no place for a disgraced prince in your court.” 

She cuts through him, abruptly alarmed by this line of talk. “There will always be a place for you here, Wells, you know that. This is your home as much as it is mine.” 

“I know, but as long as I am around there will always be a challenge to your reign, whether I want to be or not.” He sets hardened eyes upon her, “I am done being a pawn in their games. I will not be used against you.” 

“But where will you go?” Her wide eyes are set to him, her heart thrumming in her chest.

He takes a deep breath, “I know this sounds strange, but I would like to return to the Maesters in Oldtown.” 

Her brows crease and her mouth drops open to protest, but he speaks over her. 

“I have always wanted to learn more, and now that I am no longer a prince I am free to do so. Who better to learn from than some of the wisest men in Westeros?”

“Maester Wells,” She rolls the words across her tongue like a sugar coated almond, considering them. After a moment she admits, reluctantly. “It would suit you.”

He smiles, and reaches over to place a hand upon hers, squeezing gently. In the glowing evening light, she sees the lines that have been carves around his eyes and the heaviness that rests there, and wonders if he sees these confessions of age and weariness in her too. 

“I will not go without your blessing, but I truly think it would be the best for your reign if I were to leave.”

“Of course you should go,” She frowns at him, “If it is what you want I will not stop you- though I will miss you dearly.”

“Thank you, my friend,” He smiles, and she is reminded of the youth they shared, of chasing one another through the castle gardens and stealing away from their Septa. Part of her aches for those times, but she knows now that they will never be what they were before. That innocence was stripped from them long ago and the best they can hope is to find some happiness in the world they have now. 

“What about your son?” Her voice is pitched so softly that Wells can pretend not to hear her if he wishes. When his expression shifts to sadness, she presses a little further. “I don’t think that they allow babes in Oldtown.”

“You’re right,” He sighs, shaking his head. “I love my son, but I could never care for him as his mother did. Whenever I look upon him-” His voice breaks and she turns away, giving him a moment to gather his emotions.

“I think you would be a wonderful father,” She murmurs, to the warm evening air, and Wells squeezes her fingers. 

“Thank you Clarke but… it would not be fair to raise my son when everytime I look at him I am reminded of everyone I lost.”

“I won’t argue with you,” Clarke assures him, after a moment, “Though I think you’re wrong. I will make sure Benam is protected and well cared for.”

“I meant what I said,” Wells fixes her with a firm gaze, suddenly more sure of himself than she has seen him in years. “I want you to raise him, acknowledge him as my son and your heir.”

She presses her lips together, considering. There is a part of her, she is ashamed to say, which sees the advantages Wells is offering her and wants to take them without hesitation. But there is another part of her, a larger part, who cannot help but think of Aden’s words to her in the Winterfell crypt what feels like a lifetime ago. “Are you sure you won’t regret it? Every son wants to know his father, and every father wants to know his son.”

“I am sure,” Wells looks at her with grave eyes, and she senses that he has given this great thought. He stands and takes a few steps to the balcony, looking out over the patchwork of red tiled roofs and snaking streets. “My father wanted the Baratheons to rule this land for all of eternity. He thought that we would always do what was right for our people. While watching him wage the war against the north I saw for the first time how difficult it was to be a ruler,” He shakes his head and glances back at her, a pitiful smile upon his lips. “My father was a stronger man than I, and I saw him be pulled in every different direction by advisers who sought to influence him. For some time he lost sight of his wisdom and his faith and all he was fighting for, and in that time so many men died in an unnecessary war.”

Clarke stands, her skirts swaying soundlessly around her legs, and moves to join him at the balcony. “Your father was a good man,” She tells him, softly. “Please don’t doubt that.”

“I don’t,” Wells assures her, “He had merits that I do not. He was certainly braver and more shrewd than I will ever be, he had more wisdom and ruthlessness. That is how I know I cannot be king… but that doesn’t mean my son might not be better than I am.”

Clarke’s brows crease and she glances to him, “Benam?”

He meets her gaze and speaks earnestly. “Raise him Clarke, and teach him to be the sort of king this land deserves. At least then the Baratheon name will live on and my father’s legacy will be satisfied.”

“After all you’ve seen, you still want Benam to be king?” Clarke shakes her head, astounded. 

“He will have the best teacher there is,” Wells smiles at her, touching her hand very gently. “And besides, from what I understand you are unlikely to be making any heirs yourself.”

Her eyes widen and her head snaps to stare at him so violently that she feels her neck twinge. “What?” She demands, and her fingers tighten instinctively about his. “What have you heard?”

“Not heard,” He promises her, “Only seen with my own two eyes. You seem to be very attached to Her Majesty Queen Lexa.”

“I-” Clarke scrambles for words, like a fish out of water, and Wells laughs very softly at her floundering. “Are people talking?” Clarke demands, at last, “Do people know?”

“No one knows but I, and perhaps your Queensguard if they were not dropped atop their heads as infants,” Wells laughs, and then continues at her stricken expression. “Peace, friend. I only know because I have watched you fall in and out of love since we were babes.”

“And you still want your child to be raised by me?” Clarke asks at last, with a watery, derisive laugh. “Who makes such unwise decisions?”

“Oh Clarke,” For a second she thinks she sees pity in his eyes. “We don’t choose who we love. I know that, above anyone else.”

“Soon it will not matter,” She shakes her head, and forces her eyes out to the slowly darkening horizon. “She will return to Winterfell any day now.”

“And she will take your heart with her,” Wells observes, quietly. When her gaze turns to him, he offers a sad smiles. “The common people may think that we are blessed with all manners of riches, but content is a crown seldom enjoyed.”

At that, she can only nod, and they stand there together for some time, watching as the sun eases further and further through the sky, leaving trails of indigo in its wake. A knock comes to the door, startling them from their reverie, and when Harper steps in and introduces Queen Lexa, Clarke’s heart throbs. 

“Your majesty,” Lexa hesitates at the doorway to the balcony, her gaze flickering uncertainly to Wells, “I apologise, I thought you would be alone at this hour.”

“That’s alright, your majesty,” Wells bows his head to them both. “I will take my leave, I have suddenly got a hankering for roast lamb and new potatoes.”

“Prince Wells, you really don’t have to-” Lexa protests lamely as he places down his goblet and inclines his head to Clarke. 

“Nonsense,” Wells shakes his head, a smile playing upon his lips. “Thank you for your counsel, your majesty, as always.”

“Thank you, Prince Wells,” Clarke smiles, watching him leave, and when Harper closes the door behind them both she crosses the space between Lexa and herself and takes her love’s hands within hers. “I am glad to see you.”

“And I you,” Lexa confesses, and the stars dance within her eyes when she leans forward to steal a kiss from Clarke’s lips. It leaves Clarke breathless and smiling, and she can’t help but pull Lexa back to her by her hand, pressing their lips together again until they have to break away, laughing very softly. 

“Would you like to sit?” Clarke gestures to the two chairs left empty on the balcony, but Lexa takes her hand, smiling a little sadly. 

“No, I couldn’t bear to be that far away from you tonight,” Their hands still clasped, she pulls Clarke towards the low stone wall, and they lean against it together, so close that their shoulders brush, and look out onto the stars just beginning to show themselves in the darkening sky. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your time with your friend.”

“Don’t be,” Clarke runs her thumb over the smooth skin of Lexa’s palm. “We have said all there is to say tonight,” At Lexa’s curious glance she explains. “He tells me he wants to become a Maester.” Lexa makes a soft, interested noise, and she continues, a little hesitantly. “And that Benam should be my heir.”

“His son?” Lexa’s eyes widen, focusing with an intensity that Clarke has not seen in her before. “That is an interesting proposition- he does not want to raise the child himself?”

“He says he reminds him too much of Ivy, the boy’s mother,” Clarke meets her gaze and squeezes her fingers. “Wells loved her very much and she was killed by Pike’s men.”

“That is terrible,” Lexa’s expression is soft with sympathy and understanding. “Wells must miss her immensely.”

Clarke nods, and then asks quietly into the silence that settles about them. “What do you think I should do?”

Lexa sighs ever so softly and turns to look at her properly, her expression intense upon Clarke’s features. When she speaks, she is incredibly serious. “I cannot tell you what to do Clarke, but if you would like my advice… you are young yet and could easily bear many heirs of your own.”

Clarke’s eyes meet hers and her voice breaks over her words. “And if I do not want to bear many heirs of my own?”

Lexa’s breath catches in her throat, and she swallows. “I would… ask you to be sure when you make that decision. Life is long Clarke, and your reign is yet beginning. You may find it helpful… perhaps even desirable… to have a king by your side some day.”

“I am sure.”Clarke takes their clasped hands and presses them against her breast, above her heart. Her voice wells with emotion when she says. “I know what I want, I know who I want. You will live in my heart always Lexa, and I could never bring myself to try to replace you.”

“Oh Clarke,” There are tears sparkling in Lexa’s eyes. “You know I would never ask you…”

“You don’t have to ask,” Clarke shakes her head, “And you could go away and marry hundreds of other queens and kings, but I would still love you just as much as I love you today.”

“My heart beats only for you.�� Lexa answers, without faltering. “I will never love another, not until my dying breath.”

At those words, Clarke can’t help but lean forward to capture her lips, kissing away the tears that fall down her cheeks and wishing that she can soothe the anguish that rages through them both. Lexa’s arms wind around her waist, holding her close, and when they break apart their foreheads touch, so that they are looking deeply into one another’s eyes. 

“You understand that we can never be wed while we are queens?” Lexa murmurs, their lips almost brushing. “My people have fought hard for their independence, and while it may have been for the wrong reasons it’s my responsibility to help them find their way now.”

“And I cannot abandon the south without a leader,” Clarke lets out a very soft sigh, resting her head against Lexa’s shoulder and enjoying the feeling of being held, of strong arms clutching her close. “And so we are like the sun and the moon,” She muses quietly, her eyes fixed to the sky darkening to twilight. “Destined never to be together.”

“But when they meet, even if ever so briefly,” Lexa murmurs, brushing her hair back from her forehead and pressing a soft kiss close to her ear. “The sky is filled with the most beautiful colours. We will be that way Clarke, I could not live without you for very long.”

Slowly, Clarke peels herself away from her lover’s arms as she thinks about what Lexa means. “So we shall meet in secret?”

“Until all is settled and we can be together as we should be,” When their eyes meet Lexa is soft, but determined. “As I say, I can no longer live without you.”

“Nor I you.” Clarke breathes, enraptured by the sight before her. 

“And we cannot leave two great nations within sovereigns,” Lexa brushes softly along her cheek. “So we must meet, for the good of our people.”

Clarke’s lips quirk, and she echoes. “Our people.” 

“And one day, when all is said and done,” Lexa cradles her very close, as if afraid she will vanish. “I should like to marry you, Clarke Tyrell, if you would be obliged.”

“I think I should like that more than anything else,” Clarke catches her lips again and when they kiss it tastes of roses and cold winters nights and promises to be kept.

[dragonfire2lm]

Rubies and Sapphires: The Ruby Heart

Chapter 2: Spells and Swords

Beyond the red brick walls lay a formidable castle with towering spires, banners displayed the Clan Crest, a dragon coiled around a top hat, and Red was forced at sword point down the dirt path. The courtyard, with dead or dying plants in the neglected flowerbeds, was empty.

Were it not for the few scattered, top hat wearing people she saw looking at her curiously, warily from with the relative safety of the castle’s front gate, she would assume the place was abandoned. But that was far from the truth, the castle interior a maze of winding halls, within which the members of the infamous clan went about their business.

There was something about the place, an oppressive air that the inhabitants couldn’t shake that made her tail bristle. It set her on edge.

With Reginald in front of her and Wright behind her, sword threateningly pointed at her back, she was escorted through a pair of doors and into a large room.

“Your Majesty, we return with good news.” Reginald said smoothly, with added flourish as the trio halted before a round table.

The table was old, with a large, polished crystal inlaid in the middle of it, and several chairs placed evenly around the circumference. Seated on the black and gold throne at the head of the table, was a man wearing a black top hat with a crown in the shape of a dragon with its wings outspread.

“Good news eh?” he drawled, adjusting his red cape as he sneered at the sight of the Red. “Who’s she?”

“May I introduce The Cadmean Vixen, she assisted us in retrieving the jewels without issue.”

That caught the ruler’s attention, he swiftly rose from his seat, walking over as the two men presented the stolen gems.

“And let me guess? You think she should join the clan…”

“Her skills are indisputable-” Reginald said.

The clan ruler scoffed, snatching the ruby from him. He smirked as he inspected it. “Good job Reggie, and here I thought you were only good for scribe work.”

He eyed the ruby, a crooked grin splitting his face. “Yeah, we can do some real damage with this…”

“King Terrence?” Reginald asked and the other man snapped his gaze over to his subordinate.

The king gave Red a glance, looking her up and down. “You look human…”

“She’s a furhide.” Wright interjected.

“Tch, well Reggie, since you want her in the clan, she’s your responsibility,” Terrence ordered as he pocketed the ruby. “Take the Star Sapphire to the vault and give the furball a run-down of the joint... Oh and due to the shortage of rooms, she’ll be staying in the stables. I’m not wasting space on a stray.”

With his orders given, King Terrence turned on his heel and left the room with purpose, cape swishing behind him.

She heard Wright sheathe his sword.

“Well, it could have gone worse.” Reginald stated.

Wright snorted as Red glanced between the two of them. This, admittedly, was uncharted territory for her. She had spent how knows how long working by herself, living day-to-day, and relishing the few brief moments of having food readily available and a roof over her head, that suddenly being thrust into this group of magic users was daunting.

Wright handed the Star Sapphire over to Reginald. “You head to the vault, I’ll handle the girl.”

The stables were as empty as the courtyard. The building itself was sturdy despite the minor signs of disrepair she could see on her initial inspection. Red had been left to her own devices after Wright had given a no-nonsense, brief tour of the fortress. Nothing more than showing her where the mess hall and baths were located before leading her to the stables.

“Reginald will meet you in the mess hall tomorrow, don’t keep him waiting.” Wright had warned her.

The place felt like a ghost town. Like something stripped of all that grandeur and life, leaving it a hollowed-out husk while the people simply made do.

The best she could manage in the space she had been given was finding a few tattered blankets in a chest and making a rudimentary nest in the loft.

As the first light of dawn peaked through gaps in the roof, she laid down on her makeshift bed, wide awake and alert for any signs of danger. She filled the oppressive silence not with sound, but with thoughts.

Tales of the Toppat Clan, legends, reached even her during her travels. As much as she would like to hope that maybe she had finally found somewhere to call home, the reality of her situation was impossible to ignore.

Another hells damned life under the heel of another master. Bitterly, she mused that maybe that was what she should get for being a bleeding heart and sticking her nose in someone else’s business. She knew she was being dramatic of course, but it mattered little when she had nothing but her own thoughts for company for so long.

She knew it was going to be an uphill battle, but it wasn’t in her nature to just turn tail on people without reason and the Toppats had yet to do something to betray her trust.

So here she was, trying to concoct a scheme to turn her situation into something that would benefit everyone.

*******************************************************************************************

“We’re going to rob Galeforce blind!” Terrence announced to the Toppats that sat around the table. Red herself stood behind Reginald, watching the meeting unfold.

“See we got ourselves the Radiant Ruby,” the king said, showing off the jewel in question. “With this beauty we can ensnare a dragon and with a dragon on our side, no one will be able to stop us!” he grinned, an unnatural, twisted look on his face. “Just picture it, with a dragon at my beck and call we could go anywhere and steal anything. ‘Course, we gotta get one first.”

His words made her stomach drop, disgust rolled in her stomach, and she did her best to keep a straight face as he continued.

“Now, we all know dragons love gold, and we’ll need a small fortune to lure it into the trap. So, we’re going to sweep across the land, bust through every one of Gale’s strongholds, villages, you name it, and take as much as we can carry.”

A tense silence fell around the table.

“We’ll be in sight of our first target in an hour, pick your teammates and party up.” Terrence ordered and the room became a hive of activity as people got up from their seats and left to make their preparations.

She fell in step behind Reginald and Wright.

“We’re going to capture the dragon?” she asked.

“If Terrence wants us to, then that’s what we’ll do,” Reginald replied, resigned. “We have little say in the matter.”

“Once you pass your initiation, you take the oath, and The King casts the Binding Spell that makes you a permanent member of the clan,” Wright explained as they turned down a corridor. “Terrence rewrote it when he became king, an’ there’s nothin’ we can do about it.”

“Almost nothing…” Reginald said quietly. “If I just had the ruby…”

The vixen blinked. She could help him again, a few weeks to memorize the layout of the place, give off the impression that she was harmless, unimportant and build up a reputation in the clan…

Yes, she could steal the ruby in a month if she had the time and resources. She thought about leaving but judging from what little she’d put together from their first conversation, and the revelation of the binding spell, what little morality she had wouldn’t let her stand by and ignore this.

“I can get you the ruby.” She spoke up.

The two men looked back at her in surprise.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Terrence will make an example out of you if you so much as try and that is assuming, he doesn’t just kill you.” Reginald said.

“You’re not under the spell yet girl, why don’ you get off this rock an’ leave this to us?” Wright asked with raised eyebrow. “This is Toppat business.”

She stared back them defiantly. “Because I know what it’s like, you become so used to having no say in anything, to waiting for the next order, for the next chance to be useful, that it becomes normal, acceptable even… To the point that you don’t know what to do with yourself once you finally found freedom.”

“I spent five… six years at The Wall,” she divulged, powering through the well of emotions and hazy memories the admission bought forth. “They keep furhides as guards, treat them no better than actual dogs, I needed the coin and it seemed like a good offer at the time. I only got out six months ago.”

“And since then, you’ve made a name for yourself as a thief.” Reginald summarized, the shock morphing into understanding. He shared a look with Wright.

Something seemed to pass between them, a fire had been lit as the two men moved to walk beside her.

“We’ll meet in the stables tonight after the raid and discuss this further.” Reginald stated.

She nodded and joined them as they headed to the foundry to make their preparations.

*******************************************************************************************

Hours later, Red’s head was spinning, she struggled to fight against the light-headedness as the sounds of combat roared around her. She was in her fox form, hiding in a house. She’d been separated from the Toppats as soon as the fight began, the guards had been organized, a cohesive unit that had the slap-dash tactics of the mages outmatched in minutes. She had taken refuge in the shadows, slinking into houses and storing any valuables she could find in the magical pocket realm in her tail.

She’d been unlucky enough to watch as one of the Toppats, an archer with an enchanted bow, took the sharp end of a blade to the face. Red had been forced to hide in a house because the sight had made her fee like she was going to faint. As she waited for the dizziness to subside, something crashed through the back door.

She stumbled over to hide beneath a table as someone shambled into the room. Wright, unsteady on his feet, walked in with Reginald lobbing balls of fire from his hands behind him to cover their escape.

Wright sat down on the nearest available chair. Reginald locked the door behind him and waited with bated breath.

The fight raged on outside, but no guards appeared to have noticed the two men ducking into the house. Red crept out from her hiding spot, shifting into her human form, and adjusting her robes.

“What happened?” she asked cautiously as she approached them, the worst of her dizziness fading as she focused on the two Toppats.

Reginald glanced back at her, still on edge. “His defensive wards were broken by a shield bash.”

She made a noise in sympathy as she fished around her robes. She pulled out a potion bottle and handed it to Wright. Both men were surprised by the sight of the potion.

Reginald looked at the potion, then up at her. Wright grimaced as he accepted the offered potion, unscrewed the glass lid, and downed its contents.

“Thanks.” Wright grunted already looking more alert.

“If you need more, just ask,” Red said. “I can always make more.”

“You’re an alchemist?” Reginald asked.

“I picked up a few things at The Wall.” She replied.

Reginald was quiet for a moment. “We… could use your talents in the clan, we lost our healers some time ago...”

“We got a job to do, we’ll discuss this later.” Wright said as he got up.

The three of them avoided the frontlines, breaking into houses, stores and took whatever gold and valuables they could carry.

Something exploded.

The three of them moved to an open doorway and peered out to see what was going on. Maniacal laughter could b heard as the dust cleared and Terrence stepped out of the cloud of dust.

His grin was vicious as he held a golden staff. The staff had glowing black runes carved down its length and a black crystal set into the claw shaped top of the magical weapon. The Toppat King loosed a bolt of black energy from his weapon of choice towards the busiest part of the battlefield. Guards and Toppats alike were caught in the blast, Terrence only caring for his immediate victory, and Red heard Reginald suck in a breath in horror at it all.

 “His own men are in there!” Red hissed. “The hells is he thinking?”

“We can always recruit more…” Wright quoted bitterly.

“We need to help them, everyone, with me.” Reginald commanded as he led the way.

As their ruler ran rampant, the small band retrieved as many of their wounded as they could, Red’s seemingly endless supply of potions and elixirs proving to be a boon to the clan and saving countless lives.

[seriouslyhooked]

The Same Soul (Part 6)

Available on FF Here and AO3 Here. Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5.

Our world AU where Emma and Killian knew each other as teenagers. Killian was sent to spend a summer with family in America. He met foster kid Emma while there. They fell in love but then he was forced back home and she couldn’t take the memories so she ran away, trying her best to move on from the dreams they’d always hoped for. A chance meeting brings them back together years later, and this time nothing and no one will keep them apart. Rated M.

A/N: Hey all! So after a few months away from this fic, I am back and more ready than ever to tell this story. I love a fic that takes place in both the present and the past. It’s a really fun thing for me and I hope you all feel it adds some good context and dynamic to this AU overall. In this chapter we are back in the past, during the summer that Killian and Emma first met, and it’s been about a month since their first date. It’s a fluffy chapter to be sure, but there’s some moments that might have just a touch of angst. And that’s all I should say, don’t want to spoil too much. Anyway, hope you enjoy and thanks so much for reading!

(Past)

Today is going to be a really good day.

It was the first coherent thought that crossed through Emma’s mind this morning as she woke with the sun, stretching her still sleepy limbs across the softness of her mattress. She was thrilled at the prospect of today, and grateful to have a totally free and clear Saturday. Because there was no camp on the weekends, Emma was left to her own devices, and, as with most other free days that she’d had here this summer, she was going to spend that time with someone she now couldn’t imagine not being in her life.

Even the thought of seeing Killian sent a rush of warmth through her, and Emma knew if she looked in a mirror right now her cheeks would be flushed a noticeable shade of pink. She never blushed before, schooling herself to keep all of her feelings as contained as possible,  but it was unavoidable with Killian. He just got to her in a way no one else ever had. He was charming, yes, and he was also crazy cute, so much so that he distracted her both when they were together and apart, but he was also thoughtful and attentive and patient in a way that let Emma know that he cared for her while also giving her breathing room to be whoever she wanted to be. Emma craved that specific blend of connection and freedom after years of being on her own, and she didn’t know how the hell he managed to understand her so well, but she’d started thinking of Killian as the ‘Emma whisperer’ in her secret musings these past few weeks.

For all her life, or at least as long as she could remember, Emma had been called closed off. The case workers assigned to monitor her and the people at the homes she stayed in said good things about her independence and self-reliance, but at the end of the day it was her guarded nature that people commented on most. That was purposeful, a defense against heartbreak that Emma learned long ago. If she kept people at a distance, and managed all of her expectations, she wouldn’t grow attached and wouldn’t feel disappointment. This made the way things were now so foreign to her. Emma had never woken up each day looking forward to the present. All her life she had been stuck, caught up in the flow of the small but unsteady existence she led. She had nowhere to belong and no one to belong to, and being so unmoored made it that much harder to invest in the good things in life. But this summer that was all beginning to change.

Part of it was this place, this corner of the world that was so serene and green and lively. It was so much quieter than the city she had always known, but no less alive. The woods out here were teeming with life, with birds and bugs and all sorts of creatures Emma felt like she’d never quite get used to seeing and she loved it. Every day was new, but it also felt routine. That was something Emma never really had, and so it calmed her, just as much as her nearly day trips to the coastline did. Watching the waves come in and out and hearing them lapping on the shore helped her center herself, and getting lost on the well trod paths out in the woods somehow made her feel more found than she ever had. She felt safe in this magical location, but so much of that sense safety also came from Killian.

It was hard to put into words why that was. There were so many little things, so many actions tied up in words and moments she would cherish forever, but it had been about month since she met him, and Emma swore each day her walls crumbled just a little bit more. There was so much between them now, and no one in the world knew her like Killian did. She had shared her thoughts, her dreams, and her hopes, and that was a huge thing for her because sometimes, in her darkest moments, she wondered if those wishes were worth having. Life had been hard, but this summer was a lesson in the goodness that could exist too, and when she thought of goodness Emma’s mind always started and stopped with Killian. She saw his smile, she heard his laugh, she felt the press of his lips on hers and the warmth of his hands on her body, and she replayed the quiet but bold affirmations he gave to her every day.

‘You steal my breath away, love.’

‘You make me hope, Emma. You make me feel that anything is possible.’

‘There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with you.’

Those were just a few of the unimaginable things he’d said to her over the past few weeks, and somehow she believed him every time. The ability she had to sniff out a lie had never been triggered with Killian. He was honorable and honest, earnest and sincere, and while that was amazing and miraculous, it was also still an incredibly scary thing for Emma to know and accept.

Because right now, as good as things were and as happy as she was, there was a risk. This could all go sideways at any moment. This summer was eventually going to end. She was going to leave this magical place, and this boy who she loved was going to leave too.

“Love?” Emma said the word aloud, rocked into a state of shock that she’d so freely used a word she never shared with another living soul. She had never loved anyone before, but there it was: she loved Killian.

But that was crazy! Loving him was crazy, and yet she did, and she didn’t want to fight it. It was hard to tell if she even could. Nothing had worked against him when it came to her defenses. One by one he brought them down just by being himself, and the feeling when he did made it all seem worth it. If today was the last day she ever had with Killian, it might just kill her, but she couldn’t seem to run preemptively. She had to see him, had to soak this all in as much as she could.

Still, as she got ready for the morning ahead, Emma knew that there was one thing that scared her most when it came to Killian and it was simple even in its abundant complexity: where as Killian had been completely forthcoming, telling her everything about his life, from his derelict Dad to the passing of his mother, she had held back. She had given him so much more than she ever had to anyone else, but the most important part of all, the part about her being abandoned and never finding anyone who wanted her all this time, that was still a secret. He didn’t know she was in foster care, he just knew she was on scholarship. He asked about her family a few times and she diverted, but that was weeks ago. He respected her not wanting to discuss it, but what would he say when he knew? Would he still look at her like she was some kind of perfect person? Or would he see that she was ordinary, or worse that she wasn’t worth loving after all?

The tolling of the clock on the mantel told her that she had no more time to dwell in these awful what-ifs, because Killian was supposed to be here now. Since he had never ever been late in all their time knowing each other, Emma knew he’d already be waiting for her at the gate, and when she grabbed her bag and locked the door behind her, she turned to find she was exactly right. But still, even if they’d shared weeks of similar moments, she was still struck breathless by the sight of him, and the world seemed to spin just a little more than usual as she made her way towards him.

“Emma,” he said in greeting, his eyes filled with both relief and appreciation as she meandered towards him.

No sooner was she through the gate than his hands were on her, pulling her close with a speed that made her gasp. He smiled at her, running one hand along her cheek as the other held her hip. Then he dipped his lips to hers, kissing her with in a slow and sensual way that made her want more, while still being appropriate enough for this not so private place.

“I missed you, love,” he said when he pulled back, the truth in his eyes shining just as bright as the cerulean flecks in his ocean blue gaze.

“You just saw me last night,” Emma quipped, though her heart was pounding in elated satisfaction.

“Aye, but it makes no difference. You know I hate to leave you. Nothing feels right again until we are together.”

“Well lucky for you we have all day,” Emma said and Killian agreed he was a lucky man before kissing her again. This time though, their stolen moment was interrupted by a low whine coming from below, and Emma laughed as she pulled back, crouching low to greet the other favorite companion she’d met this summer.

“I’m not the only one who missed you,” Killian said as Emma loved on Missy with her usual vigor. She loved this dog so much, almost as much as Killian seemed to, and hearing she was missed not just by Killian but by Missy as well made Emma feel so special.

“I missed you both too,” Emma whispered as she stood up, ducking her head so Killian wouldn’t see her eyes which were threatening to water in the face of all this affection. But he waited her out, taking her hand and running his thumb back and forth along her skin absentmindedly.

“It won’t always be like this, Emma.”

Hearing that made her stomach cramp up in actual pain. It hurt to realize that Killian saw the end of this too. When summer came she’d miss him even more, but when Killian tilted her face up to his she was confused. Because he didn’t look sad – he looked determined.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that someday soon there will come a day when we don’t need to be parted. Not for a single night.”

Emma didn’t even know how to respond to that. She wanted it, but she also knew how far away that day must be. Here he was saying it would be soon, but they were still so young. They couldn’t make decisions about their life like that until they were of age, and though Killian was older, he had a few months left before he hit eighteen. But even with all that, the look in his eyes gave Emma no choice but to hope. He had that expression again, the one that said he’d stop at nothing to see a good thing come to pass, and everything she knew about Killian told Emma that where he had a will he would always make a way. Instead of responding to him directly, she pressed another swift kiss to his lips and smiled, watching as the action calmed him down and melted away some of the harshness of before.

“So, what are we doing today?” she asked, after pulling back and taking his hand once more.

“Nice try, love, but you know it’s not that simple,” Killian teased. His propensity for surprising her had only continued as the summer went on and Emma groaned, though it was mostly for show.

“You’re lucky I always bring everything just in case.”

Emma stopped short after her unanticipated confession, hoping that Killian wouldn’t realize how true that was. She essentially had everything that mattered to her in this bag right now. That’s how few belongings she really cared about. There were clothes and such at her living quarters, but the few items she truly valued went with her wherever she went just in case. She’d never had to run before, but she was always prepared, even now.

“You all right, Emma?” Killian asked and Emma nodded, regrouping and doing her best to immerse herself back in the day with Killian.

He made it as easy as possible to do so, bringing her to one of her favorite places in the area – the beach. Once there they walked along the coast, passing dozens of other people, some with their families, and some with friends, until finally they were at her favorite spot – a sandy patch nestled between rock-lined coves that Killian had brought her to a few weeks ago.

“I still can’t believe no one knows about this place,” Emma said, shaking her head in awe as she helped Killian spread out the blanket he’d brought for the two of them to use.

When that was done, she reached for her shirt, stripping it away and shedding her shorts leaving her in only her bathing suit, and she didn’t think much of it. She was so comfortable with Killian at this point and they’d done this a number of times. She didn’t think of it as anything more than an innocent act, but when she looked back over at him, surprised at his silence, she realized how much she effected him. The look in his eyes was a cross between ravenous and bewitched and it made her feel immensely powerful. She could have chosen to wilt under his appraisal or feel embarrassed, but how could she when he was so obvious? He was clearly very pleased with what he saw, and that was only fair seeing as how in a few short moments, he’d lose his shirt and she’d feel the same way.

“Cat got your tongue, Jones?” Emma teased and she heard a low rumbling sound that she might have mistaken for Missy if it wasn’t heard a time or two before. No, that was all Killian, losing his head again and letting some sort of primal side take over. It thrilled her to know how much he wanted her, and this back and forth was intoxicating to her. It turned out Emma liked a bit of a chase, and with that in mind she smiled widely at him before sprinting at the water, knowing he was half a second from pulling her close.

Hearing his curses and the sound of him trying to get rid of his own clothes was hard over her laughter, but Emma was now attuned to these moments that she’d play back later like her favorite song. She made it to the water’s edge, delighting in the cold ocean as it counteracted the heat of the sun and her exertion, but then she was caught, with Killian’s arms wrapping around her as he carried her further into the water. She screamed, but in a playful way, and then they were submerged together underneath the ocean swell, bobbing underneath the waves until they came back up again and she splashed him in foe offense.

“Killian!”

“What? We needed to cool off, love. If we didn’t we’d run the very real risk of being charged with public indecency.”

“Is that right?” Emma asked as Killian caught her again in the water. Being like this she let her legs wrap around him as he held her. She wouldn’t go so far in real life, but here it just felt right. It was a tease of what could be, and as she felt his hard body underneath her she squirmed a bit, making him groan again.

“Have I ever told you how tempting you are, Swan?”

“Only like every day,” she replied, biting her lip to keep back a smirk and getting exactly what she wanted in return – another heated kiss. And damn was it hot, even with the water around them, Emma was burning up, taking it just to the edge with Killian and wishing so badly that they could go even further. So far they hadn’t, choosing to be much slower in their physical intimacy while they truly got to know one another, but Emma was finding more and more each day how impatient she was. She didn’t like the waiting, and if Killian weren’t so steadfast in taking things slow… well, she didn’t really know where they’d be right now.

“God, you undo me,” he said resting his forehead against hers, his breath coming out in harsh pants that mirrored hers. She sighed at his words, closing her eyes and taking it all in. She wanted to keep this moment forever, just like all the others, and she was almost afraid to open her eyes again, thinking maybe this was all just some crazy beautiful dream.

Yet as the day went on, there was more and more proof that this wasn’t a dream. This was really her life, and Emma was happier than she’d ever been before. Their time on the beach evolved into a picnic in the cove, and then a long walk with Missy through town. They got ice cream, they watched the ships come in and out of port, and they talked with each other about anything and everything. As the sun set, they enjoyed the natural beauty, watching the sky change and the fading light bid goodbye to a nearly perfect day. It made Emma worry that they’d soon be saying goodbye to each other as well, but Killian had other plans. Down for anything herself, Emma followed him back through town not so far from where she was staying. Before they got there, though, Killian stopped at a giant estate Emma had seen before and recognized as his Uncle’s. She felt her heart catch – she’d never been to his Uncle’s place before. Was this some sort of meeting she didn’t know about? She wasn’t dressed for this, or ready, but before she could truly panic Killian kissed her hand in a knowing and gentle manner.

“Don’t worry, love. We’re not going inside tonight. My plans are of a more outdoor nature.”

Emma expelled a breath, glad for that fact but then her mind wandered to how gorgeous this place was. As spectacular as the main estate was of her benefactress, this house was just as palatial but in a different way. It was less manicured and groomed. The flowers here were less cultivated and more organic, honoring the true beauty of the world around them. Emma still couldn’t fathom why anyone needed a house so large, but as they went behind the house, Emma’s breath caught again.

“Oh my god,” she said, the words carrying on the wind as she took in the sight before her. For there was a path lit up in the night by tasteful, gilded lanterns leading deep into the woods.

“I wish I could take the credit for these, but my it’s all my Uncle’s doing.”

“He must be a real romantic,” Emma said, and Killian looked thoughtful.

“Perhaps. If he is, he’s sadly unmatched now.”

“He could still find someone,” Emma said, suddenly hoping for happiness for a man she’d never even met.

“I hope he will,” Killian said. “But trust me, Swan, this isn’t what I brought you here to see.”

Emma couldn’t imagine what could be better than this, and the whole way out into the woods she found herself wondering where they could be going. The golden glow around them as the twilight darkened towards full blown night was so surreal and almost otherworldly. She could hardly fathom where it would lead, until they came to a large clearing. She waited for something, not really understanding what the end game was here and just when she was about to ask why they had come here she spotted the first blip at the corner of her eye.

“Fireflies,” she whispered, not realizing if she spoke aloud the thought that crossed her mind.

For nearly seventeen years Emma wondered what fireflies really looked like. Would they embody the magic that stories and movies seemed to make of them? It was somewhat suspect to her, until now, when she could feel the anticipation and the instant satisfaction of seeing one and then another and then another. This clearing, for whatever reason, was filled with them and it seemed Killian had timed this exactly right for them to take in the show.

“Now some might say that this is the best seat in the house. They don’t seem to go very far into the trees, so you can see them all just fine right here.” Killian murmured the words as if speaking too loudly might scare away these new little beings.

“But what if…” Emma trailed off, not wanting to ask for more when he’d already given her so much. Yet again Killian’s thoughtfulness was gifting her with an impossibly wonderful experience, and to make a suggestion right now just felt ungrateful.

“What if we wanted to be in the thick of it?” Killian asked, reading her mind and Emma nodded quickly prompting a smile from Killian. “Well, I came prepared for that.”

Emma tore her attention between the continuing lights around them and Killian rummaging through his backpack, but when he produced two flashlights covered in blue tissue paper she was surprised. “It’s an old trick my brother learned when we were kids. Fireflies are drawn to the color blue. It attracts them, like moths to a flame.”

“I can relate,” Emma said, thinking of Killian’s eyes but covering her mouth in horror as she realized she said that aloud. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Not likely, Swan,” Killian replied, pulling her closer and kissing her sweetly before handing her her flashlight. “Now come on, we’ve only got a little while with them. Let’s make the most of it.”

Emma was glad for his request because he ended up being oh so right. The lightening bugs were breathtaking and astounding, spiraling through the meadow in entrancing little swirls, some of them even landing on her and Killian. He was right about the lights. They seemed to love it, and Emma adored the sensation of being surrounded by them all. Everywhere she looked there were golden blips, sparkles in the night that pulsed in perfect harmony with the rest of this wooded grove. She instantly knew that stories couldn’t do this justice. One had to experience this, they had to feel the summer heat turning to a nighttime cool, smell that woodsy smell of fresh earth and green leaves, and hear the gentle buzzing of these tiny beetles in flight. Only though first hand experience could someone understand the real beauty behind this and appreciate what a strange and amazing occurrence this was in nature. It made Emma believe in something else, something divine, because such a perfect moment couldn’t be an accident. It had to be fate.

They stayed out there, for how long Emma couldn’t be sure, but in that time she let her guard down completely, even more than she usually would. Killian always made her feel older, like a woman or an adult, but right now this was a space where they could be a bit more childlike. She never had this as a little kid and she loved it, and Killian seemed to love her love. They laughed together, running around at different moments, taking in the ebb and flow of these little lightening bugs with the help of their flashlights. Sometimes they landed on her, lighting up her sun-tanned skin in this almost ethereal way, other times they lit up Killian, illuminating his expression which was already so bright and happy, making Emma’s palpable joy climb even higher. But eventually, their private little light show ended. Perfect moments had to come to a close, and one by one the bugs flew off, leaving Emma and Killian out there alone under the pale moonlight, lying out under the ever brightening stars.

“God that was… I don’t even have words.”

“So you liked it then?” Killian asked, as if it wasn’t a given that this was one of the single best moments of her life.

“I’ve never been so happy,” she confessed, looking over to Killian and wondering if it was okay to say that. Did she seem weird or desperate? It only took one moment to know he didn’t see her that way.

“There’s something I have to tell you, Emma. Something I’ve been wanting to say for a long time.” She could hear her heart beating in her chest, pounding in anticipation until he said three words she wanted to hear more than any other. “I love you.”

Emma let those three little words wash over her, seeping into her very being like water to a rose. The elation at knowing that this incredible human being could feel for her what she felt for him was sensational. In the magic of the moonlight, lit up as she was from such a perfect day, Emma finally knew what it was to belong and to feel at home. Killian had made all of these beautiful moments possible in her life. He made ordinary things feel extraordinary and exceptional. He looked out for her, applauded her, cheered her on ,and believed in her. He made time for her and he listened to her, reassuring her at every impasse that she was smart and fun and worth being around.  He showed her every single day since the first day they met that she was important to him, and right now, when he told her he loved her she knew that he meant it. In a bond forged in honesty and truthfulness, this was somehow the truest thing he’d ever said to her, and it brought happy tears to her eyes. She wanted this so much – wanted him more than anything else in the world – but he didn’t really know her, and realizing that she now had to come clean broke her heart.

“I know you think that, but you wouldn’t say that if you knew everything,” Emma said, sitting up and hiding her face as her knees automatically came in, curling her up into a fearful stance. But before she could retreat too far into herself, she felt his hand on her, a gentle reminder of his devotion.

“Emma, I promise you there is nothing to know that would change how I feel. I love you. Don’t ever doubt that. Whatever you think there is still left to tell me, I swear on everything it won’t change my love.”

“But it will!” She cried out, her tears no streaming as her throat closed from the pain of it all. “You don’t get it. You can’t love me because no one ever has. I have no parents, no family. They gave me up. They didn’t want me.”

“Emma,” Killian whispered, but she couldn’t let him reassure her. She appreciated that his hands stayed on her but she had to get this out.

“I don’t know what happened to them. I was found as a newborn and no one could figure out where I came from so I went into the system and I never left. When I was little I liked to think that they still wanted me. Maybe they’d come back. Maybe they were sorry for leaving me. But whatever kept them from keeping me it doesn’t matter. The end result is the same. I went into the system and no one ever wanted me. I was never good enough. I never fit. I don’t belong.”

“That’s not true, Emma. You do belong. You belong right here with me.”

“How do you know that? How are you sure?”

“Because there’s nothing in my life that means as much as you. No one who makes me feel so much, who makes me want again. You are this rare and impossible treasure, like an angel from a dream and yet you’re real. And it doesn’t matter to me where you come from, it only matters because it made you Emma, the girl I love, the only one I ever will.”

“I love you too,” Emma confessed, “But I’m scared. I’ve never loved anyone. I don’t know how – I -,”

Her worries were pushed aside as Killian brought her close, kissing her apprehension away and trying to show her the intensity of his feelings. His faith in this was so strong and so reassuring, it was impossible to deny him. His love was still so strong even though he knew. She had told him her last terrible secret – she’d shared just how lost and lonely she really was – and here he stayed, claiming her, wanting her, loving her.

“I thought I was broken, Emma,” he said as they came apart, but just barely, clinging to each other with all this heavy emotion swirling around. “When my Mum died I thought I was mostly gone with her.  I didn’t think I’d ever be happy again, I felt like nothing mattered anymore, and then I met you and I realized that even in darkness there is light. You saved me, Emma. You made me whole, putting back pieces I never had, even when she was here. And you did it with your smile and your wit. You did it with the look you get when you know you’re right, and the way you always want to help anybody in any way that you can. I hadn’t even known you a day and I knew I’d never be the same, and that I want you forever. I didn’t get a chance to say it before, but I feel as you do. Today was the happiest I’ve ever been and it’s all because of you. Because you love me, and because, even if you’re afraid, I know that love isn’t going anywhere.”

“I might mess this up,” Emma admitted, knowing that anything was possible with something so new and foreign to her.

“You couldn’t even if you tried, love. Something this right is fated to happen. You can’t run away from destiny. You can’t muck it up. It follows you, and you, Emma Swan, are my destiny.”

How could she compete with words like that when they spoke to exactly how she felt? Emma didn’t know, so she followed her instincts, pulling him close and spending the rest of the few precious hours they had left before her curfew reveling in this new state they were in. Love had been here for some time, but to have it shared like this, spoken aloud and agreed to so clearly was indescribable. She still was afraid, she still was unsure, but that wasn’t going to hold her back. Whatever she didn’t know she would learn, and whatever obstacles may come, she knew Killian would be there for her every step of the way. She just had to keep fighting and keep choosing this new life, two things she planned to do as long as she had her soul mate by her side.

Post-Note: Hey all, so I know that I have done the firefly thing before, but for me personally it’s one of the highlights of every summer. I genuinely love seeing the fireflies. I loved catching them as a kid, I love watching them with my family, and I think sharing that magic with someone you love is just about the sweetest thing you can do. I wanted Killian to share that with Emma, and I think that having written so many stories, it’s okay if there’s some overlap. I mean as the self-dubbed queen of fluff, I have recycled a trope or two before already… Anyway, next chapter is going to also be partially in the past and as you might have guessed it will be from Killian’s POV. That being said, it’s a very heavy chapter but I will not leave you guys in pain or suspense. There’s nothing I hate more than leaving a story in a precarious place, especially emotionally, trust that I will make it right even if I break our hearts just a little bit in the process. As always, I thank you all so much for reading. I hope you’ve enjoyed, and I would love to hear what you think!

[thephantomisdead]

Trial and Error — Chapter 2

(Trial and Error on AO3)

(← Return to Chapter 1)

“Good morning, Arthur.”

“Good morning to you as well, Counselor,” came my client’s cheery reply. He didn’t turn around to face me as I entered.

After the door shut behind me, I made my way to the opposite side of the room and took my seat. I placed my leather bag by my feet and dropped my ever-growing case file onto the table with a resounding thud. My client, it seemed, was chained to the table again today. I’d been warned repeatedly of the risk he posed, despite my position as his attorney. In our interactions so far, he hadn’t given me a reason for concern — in fact, he’d been polite, albeit unsettling — but the handcuffs were a constant reminder that set me on edge.

“You seem to be in awfully good mood today,” I observed.

He smiled cordially. “I haven’t had a reason not to be. Would you like to hear a joke?”

I raised my eyebrows and motioned for him to continue. “By all means.”

Arthur shifted in his chair before he began. “How do you get to the hospital quickly?”

“I don’t know. How?”

“Stand in the middle of the road for a while,” Arthur chuckled.

I cracked a small smile. It was somewhat morbid, but it was clever.

“Are those the kinds of jokes you usually tell?” I asked.

Arthur shrugged, gazing around the room. “Sometimes. I’ve always liked writing my own jokes. I try to figure out what my audience will like, but they don’t always react the way I’d hoped.”

“Do you think it’s because they’re bad jokes?”

“No, not necessarily,” he mused. “Humor is very subjective, Counselor. It depends entirely on your audience.”

“It’s funny you should mention that,” I remarked, looking through the brown file before me. “Audience and whatnot. We need to talk about how you’re going to present to a jury. We need sympathy. Did you put any consideration into what I asked you about last week?”

“Some. Do you have a cigarette?”

“I’m not giving you a cigarette,” I told him flatly. “Not until you help me do my job.”

He frowned.

“Look, we talked about this last time I was here. I can’t do this without you — that’s not how it works. You have to be a sympathetic figure, someone a jury can relate to, at least on some level. I can’t paint you that way for them if I don’t know anything about you.”

“You have a whole file on me, don’t you?”

“I need more than bare facts,” I maintained. “I need you to sit here and talk to me about your life so I can go into that courtroom and show people that you’re more than what they say about you on the news — that you’re human.”

He let out a humorless chuckle.

“Do you want to go to prison for the rest of your life?” I snapped. “Because that’s where you’re headed. What about Arkham? Do you want to end up there again?”

Arthur’s legs were bouncing nervously.

“You’ll be lucky if they send you to the chair,” I went on. “This whole city thinks you’re a monster! Do you honestly think —”

A sharp laugh escaped his lips. Arthur doubled over, covering his mouth with his hands.

“I’m trying to help you, goddammit,” I insisted, leaning forward over the table. “How is this funny to you?”

“It’s — I —”

I realized what was happening when he choked back a sob and continued to laugh. It was painful to watch.

“...take your time,” I said quietly. “You’re okay.”

As Arthur’s laughing fit continued, a guard walked up to the window, eyes wide with concern. I shook my head quickly to dismiss him, waving him away while Arthur was still occupied. The man raised his eyebrows as he walked away, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur managed. His eyes were watering. “I have —”

Another laugh forced itself from his throat.

“I know, it’s fine,” I muttered, leaning over to search my bag. “I read about it in your file. It’s okay. Just... take your time.”

As I fished through the front pockets of my bag for the cigarette pack and lighter that I knew I’d left there after my bar exam, I heard Arthur’s strangled breaths begin to even out.

“Here,” I offered, sitting up again. I nodded toward the crushed, barely empty pack of cigarettes in my hand. Arthur pulled a cigarette out with unsteady fingers, and I lit it for him before doing the same for myself. He took a long drag before speaking again.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. The ash of his cigarette fell onto the floor as his hand continued to shake.

“You don’t have to apologize,” I replied, pushing the yellowed ceramic ash tray over toward him. We sat in silence again before I continued.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” I admitted. “I shouldn’t have said all that. I’m sorry. I’m still trying to find my footing. I’m not quite sure what I’m doing yet.”

Arthur cleared his throat half-heartedly. He stared at the smoke floating up from his half-consumed cigarette, but he didn’t speak.

“I read through all your files,” I told him slowly, hoping to move on. “Did you really bring a gun to a children’s hospital?”

He took another drag off his cigarette and muttered something I didn’t quite hear.

“What?”

“I got jumped,” he repeated, just barely above a whisper.

“Both your employer and the police reported that you told them it was a prop.”

“One of the guys at work gave me the gun after some kids stole my sign and beat me up,” he explained slowly, holding his hand out with the near-finished cigarette between his fingers. “I tried to explain what happened, but my boss wouldn’t believe me. I kept the gun in case I needed to defend myself again... I told them it was a prop because I was scared.”

I sighed. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. But you do realize that this makes you extremely untrustworthy, right?”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“You told your boss and the police one story, and now you’re coming forward with another,” I explained. “Even if this is the truth, it shows that you’re willing to lie.”

“We all lie,” he muttered, crushing his cigarette out. “One way or another, we all lie. I just had a good reason to.”

“I haven’t lied to you, Arthur.”

He let out a mirthless laugh. “You lie every single day, Counselor. You’re lying to me right now. You lie when you get dressed in the morning, pretending for everyone that you’re a high-brow, ‘respectable citizen’ with a good job. You lie when you buy things you can’t afford with money you don’t have, just so you can lie to yourself and say you’re happy with your state in life. Everyone lies. This whole society runs on lies. That’s the only way things get done. You’re no better than me, even though you lie to yourself about that, too.”

I wanted to respond, but I held my tongue. Our conversation wasn’t supposed to be about me, or society, or the suit I knew I’d paid too much for.

“I’ve tried to be honest with you, Arthur.”

“I’m not sure you have,” he retorted.

“I’ve tried my best to be honest with you,” I explained, “because I want this relationship to be built on trust. I want the jury to trust you, too, and if I can believe you, so can they. I’m extremely hesitant to put you on the stand because of the story you told the police, but I’m still considering it. It would give us a decent chance to clarify your side of the story, at least for the firearms charges.”

“I think those are the least of my concerns.”

Silence fell over us again. I didn’t know what to say next. I had my work cut out for me — the prosecutors had already provided me plenty of evidence to work with. Of course, I was going to try to get as much of it deemed inadmissible as I could, but I still had a sinking suspicion that I wasn’t going to win the case. The Public Defenders’ Office had stuck me on Arthur’s case all alone, and no one was eager to give me any advice. Everyone wants to help the new kid until they realize the new kid is the killer clown’s lawyer.

“I have to be honest with you, Arthur,” I began slowly. “I’m doing my best, but... I really don’t think we’re going to win this.”

He shrugged. “I never really expected to.”

“It’s why I’ve been so insistent about getting to know you better,” I explained. “I want to shoot for as lenient of a sentence as we can.”

Arthur began fiddling with the handcuffs around his wrists and sighed before he spoke. “Alright.”

“Alright what?”

“Alright, we can talk,” he clarified, locking eyes with me. “But I want to know about you.”

I swallowed and took a deep breath. “Well, what do you want to know?”

He looked up, thinking. “Why did you become a public defender?”

“Everyone wants to put criminals behind bars,” I answered, “but they always forget that real justice involves the criminal getting his day in court. Even the most hardened criminal has a right to explain his side of the story. I guess I wanted to do the dirty work that keeps the system working properly, I don’t know.”

I paused before continuing. “Why did you kill your mother?”

Arthur crossed his arms and gave me an icy stare. “You have my file. You know what she did.”

“I want to hear how you felt.”

He clenched his jaw. “I took such good care of her for all those years and look what she did to me,” he spat. “My mother could never admit that she did something wrong. She made me what I am, and she lied about it every minute of my entire life.”

My heart sank as I recalled the news reports about Arthur as a child. The beatings, the neglect, the torture and abuse... his mother had serious problems of her own, but they were no excuse for what she’d done to her own son.

“She was awful,” Arthur murmured, “and I never even knew it.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. We don’t have to talk about her anymore, not unless you want to.”

Lifeless eyes trained on the wall behind me, he spoke again. “How do people treat you now that you’re working with me?”

I didn’t like how that sounded, not one bit. Working with him. The very thought sickened me, tied my stomach in knots, and I could have sworn my heart skipped a beat.

“I’ve developed a bit of a reputation,” I answered. He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m the newest hire at the office and I’m already a leper. I think they stuck me on this case because no one else wants to deal with you,” I confessed. “No one pays any attention to me once they find out I’m your attorney. My parents found out from the news that I’m working on your case, and now they won’t even answer my calls. You’ve scared this whole city. Everyone I know is terrified of you.”

Arthur looked up, gazing into my eyes. “Are you terrified of me?”

I hesitated.

“I... honestly don’t know,” I confessed, looking away.

“I don’t want you to be,” he said matter-of-factly.

I couldn’t honestly say that I disagreed.

(Continue to Chapter 3 →)

[take-ya-to-the-ghey-bar]

✘

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Still here

So very angsty Victor reflection story. I feel really bad for him. Inspired by Digital Dagger’s Still Here. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ljegvS94qE

Musing through memories Losing my grip in the grey Numbing the senses I feel you slipping away

Victor punched two wall, reveling in the feeling of splinters crushed against his skin yet it only made the rise of tears fall faster and the wave of misery returned, bringing him to his knees.

Fighting to hold on Clinging to just one more day Love turns to ashes With all that I wish I could say

Spending every night, he would sniff the covers for her smell but there was nothing. And worse, he couldn’t remember what she smelt like. Or feel like.

I'd die to be where you are I tried to be where you are

The warmth from her side of the bed was a distant memory. A  dream. Ash was a dream.

Every night I dream you're still here The ghost by my side, so perfectly clear When I awake, you'll disappear Back to the shadows With all I hold, dear With all I hold, dear I dream you're still here

She was like a dream. He had thought ever since he first saw her. The way her inhumanly long dark hair fell down her back like waves, her ice blue eyes flashing with inspiration or determination, her glowing tan skin. He never seen such a combination of looks, on paper it shouldn’t work, but with her... she was dream.

I dream you're still here Hidden companion Phantom be still in my heart Make me a promise that Time won't erase us

That we were not lost from the start

Some days he missed her more than others. He mostly kept it together for Carla’s sake. It wouldn’t do to break down in front of her when she finally got over crying every night the first two years Ash had left. His heart had hurt more to see her violet eyes filled with tears than to think of his own feelings. She was so young, and he.. he didn’t want to disappoint her. He had promised to always keep her safe and happy. He had promised her that Mamí would come home. Telling her Ash wasn’t coming back would crush her.

I'd die to be where you are

I tried to be where you are

But today, he just had a feeling. It had been 7 years and she had sent no word. She wasn’t coming back.

Ash was dead.

I dream you're still here Ever slightly out of reach I dream you're still here But it breaks so easily I try to protect you 

Brilliant, ambitious, determined Ash was gone. It wasn’t possible. She was the last person he could see dying or being defeated. Ash would never give up, not even to death. She was that sort of woman. In fact that was one of the things Victor most admired in his wife, how she would do anything it takes to get what she wanted and no one could stand in her way.

But....

I can't let you fade I feel you slipping

He felt the weight of that realization press down on his chest all day. He had missed managed to nod and speak at the appropriate times but the weight was all he could feel. The heavy weight, and the lump in his throat that constricted his breath. Now he felt like he was in a dream. His whole body felt heavy and unsteady and his limbs ready to fly away at any second.

Victor managed to stumble to his empty bed and grip the pillow to his face to keep Carla from hearing. His lungs heaved with sobs and air that fought to win over his tired body. Hot tears streaked down his face and the overwhelming pain, sadness and hopelessness within that threatened to engulf him.

I drove by all the places we used to hang out getting wasted I thought about our last kiss, how it felt the way you tasted And even though your friends tell me you're doing fine Are you somewhere feeling lonely even though he's right beside you? When he says those words that hurt you, do you read the ones I wrote you?

Memories of when he first, quite literally bumped into Ash while running away from the Galdonian Royal guard. Late night dips in the hot springs of Córdoba. Ash standing tall and proud as a single spell wiped out all their enemies from their hideout. Them holding hands as the priest declared them man and wife. Holding Carla. Holding each other. It was all gone forever.

I feel you slipping away Every night I dream you're still here The ghost by my side, so perfectly clear When I awake, you'll disappear Back to the shadows With all I hold, dear With all I hold, dear

There was never going to be another woman like her. She was the only cunning enough to survive and thrive in this cold world and strong enough to do it beside him. He couldn’t imagine life without her. He didn’t want to.

I dream you're still here I dream you're still here (Every night I dream you're still) (Every night I dream you're still here) I dream you're still here (Every night I dream you're still) (Every night I dream you're still here)

She was the only one who understood him and knew him better than anyone. His parents had kicked to the streets after finding out his part in the Avalor coup d’etat, not once listening to his explanation and the traitorous Esteban. Ash did. Whenever he had a few nightmares, Ash didn’t comment on his unmanly sobbing. She pretended it wasn’t happening. She was very good at blocking things out when she wanted to. She would kiss him and massage his shoulders, reminding him that he was so much better than that cowardly traitor Esteban and that he will get what he so rightfully deserves. No one will hurt them again. 

If today I woke up with you right beside me

Like all of this was just some twisted dream I'd hold you closer than I ever did before And you'd never slip away And you'd never hear me say

He would never have those nights again with her.

Ever slightly out of reach (I dream you're still here) (Every night I dream you're still) (Every night I dream you're still here), But it breaks so easily.

Memories flew by in a jumbled rush but one that kept returning was their last goodbye. The one he couldn’t particularly remember because he hadn’t thought it was the last goodbye. He hadn’t taken the time to memorize her face or to hold on to her touch or kiss just a bit longer.

Just a bit more time.  

Love turns to ashes

I dream you're still here

She was back, but it wasn’t Ash. I remember the day you told me you were leaving I remember the make-up running down your face And the dreams you left behind you didn't need them Like every single wish we ever made

That’s the one realization he had come to while sitting in his jail cell.

Not only was her raven hair gone, but so was any glimpse of vulnerability or sweetness.

Not any that he could see at least. Which was exactly how he knew it wasn’t Ash. Ash never showed her weaknesses to people. But he was the one exception. That was why she loved him and he loved her. He could allow himself to trust and to love.

But he couldn’t do that anymore. Not with her. She refused to look at him with anything but disdain, it was like she had amnesia and they were back to their first meeting when she had written him off as some layabout thief.

It was like she didn’t remember him. He rather wish that she didn’t. It would make it easier to know that it was just a mistake, that he could do something to revive her memories.

But this...

He could read between the lines.

“You can go guard the prisoners. If you think you’re up to it.”

At night, she wouldn’t talk to him, just fight. She wouldn’t disclose the “ghastly” spells and secrets she had learned from Zopilote. She wouldn’t allowing him to do the spell with Carla because she thought he would mess it up. Or he would distract Carla. Or some other reason just to punish him for a failure that he didn’t even know he did. She was constantly mentioning her superior skills and training.

“I will not fail so you can be comfortable, Victor.

I will not lose just because you can’t win.”

It was like all those years between them never happened. Him comforting her and stroking her hair through her nightmares. The flirty kisses from her, and corny jokes on his side. The laughter they shared after too much beer. The nights when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other or the gloomy days tending to wounds. He remembered all those little things. Her confused face when he put food on her nose, her genuine non-evil laugh, when she would complimented him sometimes.... 

It was all gone again.

There was no explaining it. She didn’t have amnesia. She wasn’t an even more evil clone. She didn’t lose her memories. It was the real Ash. She just didn’t care about what they had before. 

A knife to his heart would have hurt less.

It was a second death but a worse one.

I wish that I could wake up with amnesia And forget about the stupid little things Like the way it felt to fall asleep next to you And the memories I never can escape

He had to look at that still gorgeous face face every day and know that it wasn’t her. She didn’t love him anymore. Whatever happened during those 10 years changed her and he had to admit to himself now as he stared at the bars that he didn’t love her either. Whoever this Ash was, he didn’t love her. 

It was a small consolation all things considered. At least it made his heart ache a little less. But it just made him try harder to remember their last goodbye because though neither of them had known it then, it was truly their last goodbye.

It was all still a blur.

Tell me this is just a dream 'Cause I'm really not fine at all

[bits-bobs-and-barnes]

Fall From Grace; Chapter 9 {Bucky Barnes x Reader}

Warnings: intense sexual lust, and nudity

Tags: @collette04 @nickyl316h @hiddles-rose @steve-rogcrs @letsthedogpackandthecats @butteryoptimisticpeanut @jilldsumner @stat89posts

{Author’s Note: This one’s a little longer, so strap in! As always, like and reblog to help the blog, and drop me comments or an ask to give me some feedback! I hope you enjoy the latest installment of Fall From Grace!}

Read the previous chapter here! A heavy sheen of sweat had broken out across your forehead, and you struggled to keep your guard up, feeling the weight in your limbs.

Romero came to a stop, looking perfectly at ease. “Do you want me to take it easy?” He asked, lowly, his eyes drifting to the commander, who was currently correcting Rivera’s stance and chiding him for dropping his guard again.

You shook your head, pulling back your shoulders and straightening up your form. “I think the new pills are messing with my head,” you surmised, stepping forward and throwing a half-hearted jab. “I’ve been sweating since last night- and I can’t focus on anything but-” you groaned as he snagged your ankle and pulled you to the ground, pressing his knee into your chest and holding you in place.

He gave a toothy smile. “I couldn’t resist,” he confessed, “keep your feet a little closer together, or your guard is wide-open.” He stood and extended a hand.

You could feel the eyes of the commander, and ignored him, taking his offered hand and righting yourself back on your feet. “Noted,” you breathed, feeling that familiar shortness of breath that resulted when you were thrown on your back. “I keep feeling these tingles, all over my skin,” you explained, stepping forward in an attempt to throw him, but found him undaunted. “And I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest.” You drew forward again, swinging, but instead, opening yourself to another of his attacks.

He grabbed your shoulder and spun you, tightening an arm around your waist, and the other loosely around your neck. “I have that effect on people,” he teased in your ear, holding you for a second longer than necessary.

You felt a bolt of warmth burst from your chest, and trail down towards your thighs. Your lips curved into an unsteady smile. God, you’d been in this facility too long- and Romero was looking far too appealing in the plain black gear.

He released you, his eyes seeming to glisten with unspoken mischief. He retook his stance, though it seemed to be just a formality to you, given the back and forth of the conversation. “I wish we weren’t confined to our rooms,” he mused, beginning a soft stride to your left, and letting your eyes follow the movement as he circled the mat.

You lifted a brow, making sure to keep him at arm’s length, and always just in front of you, never to the side. “Oh yeah? And where would you go?” You tried to shake off the momentary warmth of your cheeks, reminding yourself that you had an audience, and that even if you were alone, everything you did was on tape. You glanced up at the camera perched in the corner almost reflexively, you’d grown far too used to the surveillance- since Marie’s death, they seldom gave you a moment of privacy.

He took the moment of weakness to lunge, hooking his leg around yours and pulling you off-balance, placing one hand to the small of your back, and the other to your sternum, forcing your body to straighten in his grasp as he applied pressure to your spine. “You wouldn’t invite me to visit yours?” He replied, and you could practically feel the timbre of his voice as it curled over your ear, producing an imperceptible shiver. His thumb peeked just over the neckline of your shirt, touching the skin, and lingering for just a second before he retracted his touch, allowing you to walk away.

You felt your breathing stall for just a second. “Cocky,” you chided, finding it hard to focus on the fight now. There was something bigger at stake now, and you couldn’t find the heart to care if your form was sloppy.

The rest of the fight continued in a similar manner. He’d throw you, and offer some half-veiled flirtation that turned to weak-criticism when the commander walked by. He always gave a brief smile after, as though he was apologizing for the front. It felt forbidden, dangerous, but not nearly as dangerous as your almost-encounter with the commander. You didn’t think Romero would choke you… unless you asked him to.

Finally, you felt your sore muscles give out, and you stayed on the mat, panting, and staring up at him with a mixture of adoration and contempt. “You win,” you admitted, closing your eyes to grant you a moment of respite. “I surrender.” You could hear his laughter, and smiled reflexively. There was something joyful about being around him, a sort of lingering haze that made it easier to breathe. When Romero was around, you didn’t feel so melancholy. “Is he looking?” You asked, voice soft enough to avoid detection if the commander was indeed nearby.

“Not right now,” he answered, and you could hear the soft thump of his footfalls as he crossed the mat, followed by the feeling of his hand on your forehead, checking your temperature, and almost reflexively pulling back. “Do you want to get up?”

“Not particularly,” you stole a peek at him, “do you want to knock me on my ass again?” You teased, lifting your arm to shield your eyes from the harsh fluorescent light.  

He kneeled on the mat, and hooked an arm beneath your left knee, lifting the limb and pressing your knee back towards your shoulder. His other hand drifted to take a grip of your shoulder, fingers skimming the warm flesh on his path, before he pressed your shoulder into the mat too.

You were, in essence, pinned, but you made no great effort to escape the cool confidence of his hands.

“If you asked me to,” his words were soft and melodic, “I would do this again.” and then his touch was removed, and he was standing back on the mat, guard raised without a word.

You could hardly find the willpower to stand, aching in every part of your body, and returning to your cell, taking the fistful of pills they presented with little complaint, and curling up with your pillow, beginning to relax and fall into a slumber.

And then, the heat started. An uncomfortable warmth, building just between your thighs, and prompting a constant shifting beneath your uncomfortably itchy sheets. You kicked them off, and shifted again, trying to bury your face in your pillow and retire, but finding that now, the discomfort resided in the once comfortable polyester of your clothing. You needed to take it off, or you were sure you would die. You were in a full sweat as you practically tore off the night-clothes, feeling the surge of energy return with a vengeance. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you allowed a wanton cry to seep from between your lips. Your mind was blank, only a sea of emotions and sensations dictated your thoughts.

You ran a hand over your hip and shivered at the goosebumps the gesture produced. You were insatiable, and though your touch felt good, you couldn’t help but imagine what larger more competent hands could accomplish. You could feel Romero, whispering softly in your ear, easing you forward as he confidently guided your movements. His hands were warm, grabbing, teasing, and unyielding. You reached to grab the pillow, intending to find an anchor, but somehow, finding it between your legs. You rocked on the uncomfortable cotton pillow case, and allowed more of the shameful cries to leave your mouth, sounding like an adult-film star midway through a shoot. Suddenly, one of his hands pulled away, and you whined with disappointment, but it soon returned, metal digits drifting across your rear. You hardly noticed when the commander took over, but he quickly made himself known in your dreamlike fantasies, taking a fistful of your hair and pulling tightly.

“You’re mine, Y/L/N. Not his.”

The morning didn’t come easily.

You were twitching and spent, nude on top of an uncovered mattress, pillow taking the brunt of your nighttime activities. You could hardly respond when the doctor inquired of your condition, and did not react beyond a tick or two when he examined you. You could hear his voice, but lacked the energy to do much else beside superficially listen in to his comments.

“She’s in serious condition, sir, she’s not in any shape for training, she can’t even stand.” There was a pause. “Perhaps, but if this is a serious reaction?” Another pause. “If you insist, sir.”

You felt a hand touch your forehead, shortly followed by a rag to wipe away the sweat. “This reaction is entirely normal, Y/N, and the delusions and hallucinations are side-effects of your medication. They should be receding in the next few hours, this is merely your body’s natural immune response to the chemicals.” It was a male voice, one you had never heard before. “We are giving you a sedative to ease the process, but this will still be incredibly physically taxing. We are going to restrain you, to prevent you from doing harm to yourself or the other physicians.” He called to someone else in the room, and laid a hand on your forehead, feeling your temperature, and sighing softly with disappointment. “I imagine my analysis does not satiate you, my dear, so I’ve brought in your commander to speak to you more personally while I prepare your medication.”

You could hear the soft tread of footsteps, and felt the bed dip beside you, but you did not have the strength to pry open even a single eyelid.

“How you managed to moan through soundproof walls astonishes me,” his voice was a thick and heavy whisper, as though he too was fighting the effects of sleep, “I had to watch and rewatch your fight with Romero, trying to find the exact moment your mutation took hold.” One vibranium digit drew a sharp line over the outside of your thigh. “I didn’t find it,” he admitted, pausing for a second as a brief conversation lifted behind him. “But I did find the exact moment his did.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined it was stern, serious, but crushed beneath a mask of neutrality.

“Be careful with that one,” his finger again raised over bare flesh as though he was unaware of the torture the motion pulled you through. “He’s just as dangerous as any of you.”

[alleiradayne]

867-5309

Summary: A reluctant Sam arrives at Bela's hotel room under the premise of helping her with a hunt. Square Filled: BelaSam Warnings/Tags: Bondage, Dom/Sub, Dom!Sam Winchester, Vaginal Sex Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester/Bela Talbot Word Count: 2,161 A/N: For @spnkinkbingo this fills my BelaSam square. Song: 867-5309 by Tommy Tutone

Regret.

That sickened, sour sensation filled his stomach as he raised his fist and knocked on the hotel door. When it opened, Bela Talbot stood in the frame, her lavish bathrobe cinched about her waist and her hair tied back in a small clasp with a pin.

Sam regretted even answering his phone.

“Sam,” she breathed as she drank him in with a thirsty gaze. “You look… well.”

“What do you want, Bela?”

She waved him into her room as she turned on her bare heel and headed towards the desk. A guarded step and a scanning gaze bore Sam over the threshold, and he startled as the door snapped shut behind him.

“Aren't you on pins and needles,” she mused. “What's got you so worked up?”

“You, calling me in the middle of the night while I'm out on a hunt,” he started as he dropped his bag at the foot of the bed. “And you just happen to be on a hunt yourself, right in downtown. Not ten minutes away. How convenient? What do you really want, Bela?”

It wasn't as if he thought she had told him the truth earlier that evening. However, he had expected some sort of trap; it wouldn't be the first time. But when Bela dragged the knot of her robe apart, Sam’s heart stopped.

She wore nothing beneath it, not a stitch of fabric. And as the white linen pooled about her feet, Sam couldn't help but stare. Languid steps crossed the space between them as Bela hefted her own bag from the desk, then handed it over to him.

“I want you, Sam.”

He took the bag from her and tore it open, the zipper parting between his hands to reveal an array of devious sexual restraints and toys. “Pick. Whatever you want to use. You're in charge.”

“You called me for sex?” he asked with a quirk of his brow.

She giggled at that. “I got your number off the wall.”

Sam scoffed as he rolled his eyes and tried to hand the bag back to her. “Why didn't you just ask?”

“And how would you propose I do that?” she snapped as she brought her hand to her ear. “Oh, Sammy, I'm so horny, please come over right away and fuck me,” she mocked. “Yeah, not my style. But you’re here now, all tall, dark, and brooding. That bag has the gears in your head churning, I can hear them. What’ll it be?”

He looked into the bag once more as she gave it a gentle push back into his arms, and he found a set of leather restraints. He dragged them from the bag and held them aloft as he asked, “How do these work?”

“Don't play coy with me, Sam,” she started. “You know exactly how they work.”

In truth, he did not, but his cock convinced him otherwise. His erection strained painfully against his constricting underwear and motivated him behind his better judgement. Fuck, but he wanted her. Not because it was Bela. He hadn’t been laid in over a month. It hadn’t been a priority until now, until he stood in a room with a completely naked woman—with her perfect tits and fat ass and thick thighs—that convinced him he wanted her as badly as he needed to breathe.

He discarded the bag and grabbed Bela by the wrist, then shoved her onto the bed. She cried out a whimper of surprise that sent a jolt of adrenaline straight to his groin, and Sam knew then there was no turning back. Might as well go all in.

“If I’m in charge, we’re gonna do this right,” he started as he tossed the leather bindings to the bed. His belt flipped apart and stripped from his waist in a smooth flourish as he knelt on the bed. “You’re going to do as I say. You will call me 'sir' and nothing else. Do you understand?”

Bela attempted to crawl further up the bed, but Sam grabbed her by an ankle and wrenched her back to him. “I asked you a question. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she mewled as she cowered beneath him. “I'll do anything you say.”

He grabbed her other ankle and pinned them together. “On your stomach. Now.”

Without a word of protest, Bela rolled to her stomach and lay silent as the grave. “If at any point you need to stop, say 'Colt'. Do you understand?”

She nodded into the mattress with a whimper. And then the flat of his hand landed on the meat of her ass with a resounding slap so hard, Bela screamed. When she quieted, Sam laid atop her, the weight of his entire body barely held up. With his lips against her ear, he whispered, “I asked you a question, my dirty little girl. Do you understand the safe word?”

“Yes, sir,” she whimpered.

He pushed off of her and returned to her ankles. “Good. Now,” he paused as he wrapped his belt around her ankles, binding them together. “We’re gonna play a little game,” he continued as he picked up the leather bindings. Bela had been ready, for Sam found both of her wrists gathered at the small of her back. “You're going to be quiet, no matter what I do to you. Understand?”

As the leather slipped around her wrists, Bela responded. “Yes, sir.”

With her bound, Sam stepped from the bed and stripped, then returned to her bag for a condom. When he returned to the bed, he grasped her by the hips and hauled her up to her knees. Bela whimpered a breath through her nose but beyond that, she remained quiet. “Good girl,” he sighed as he smoothed her supple ass. “That sounded difficult for you. Do you like being loud?”

“I do, sir,” she moaned. “This will be difficult for me.”

Sam sat back on his heels as he spread her cheeks to reveal her sopping cunt. “Perfect,” he groaned. “Looks like you’re enjoying it.”

“You know how much I enjoy a challenge when you boys are involved,” she said.

Another railing slap met her sensitive flesh as Sam slapped her again. “What are you supposed to call me? And keep quiet.”

“Sir!” she whimpered, her thighs quivering with the strain of her control. “I'm sorry, sir.”

“Better,” he chimed as the tips of his fingers teased her lips. “You’re wet as fuck, baby. What got you so ready for me so fast?”

“When I called you,” she started with an unsteady breath. “The sound of your voice alone does so much for me. But then there was the anticipation.”

He hummed his agreement as Sam leaned into her, lips just shy of her flesh. “Did you anticipate this?” The tip of his tongue slipped between his lips to tease her pussy, and Bela would have jumped from the bed were it not for her restraints.

“Fuck,” she hissed, “No, I didn't, sir. I imagined you'd hate-fuck me and leave.”

“You think so low of me?” he asked. “I'm nothing but a complete gentleman in the bedroom.”

“I see that now, sir,” she sighed, her breath short and caught in her throat.

“And I know how to handle my subs,” he stated as he grasped her cheeks and held her parted wide for him.

Sam wasted no more time teasing her. His lips sealed around hers and sucked her clean. Bela startled with a bitten whimper, but he held her still in her precarious position, nothing but her shoulders keeping her balanced. Subtle rolls of her hips begged him for more, and Sam obliged, his tongue lapping her arousal and circling her clit. Almost bitter, her sweet fluids ran over his lips and down his chin as his tongue worked her cunt into a flowing mess. Her cries shortened as her hips stuttered, her release near, and so Sam parted from her.

“Fuck, Sam—sir! Sorry, sir, I meant sir,” she babbled over her shoulder as Sam lifted his hand high overhead in anticipation.

Instead of another slap, Sam grasped her hips and smoothed the fading welt from his previous punishment. “I’ve claimed you. You know that, right? This means you’re mine.”

“I do, sir,” she mewled. “I’m yours to do with as you—oh!”

As much as he enjoyed Bela’s lilting accent, Sam’s patience had run out long ago. He pressed the tip of his cock to her pussy, dragged from clit to taint and back. “Do you want me to fuck you, Bela?”

“Please, sir, I need you,” she begged. “I need to feel you inside me. Feel you spread me.”

Sam breathed a growl through his gritted teeth. “You are a filthy little slut for me, aren’t you?” he asked. “Begging for my cock like that.”

Bela moaned a broken cry into the mattress, still attempting to maintain her volume. “I am, sir. I’m your dirty little girl.”

“Good. That’s how I like them,” he said as he pressed the tip of his cock into her. “Pathetically desperate for a big fat cock in their cunt.”

A string of babble ran from Bela’s slack mouth. Poised so, Sam couldn’t help but stare, not just at where he penetrated her, but at all of her. Restrained and presented to him, she was his to do with whatever he pleased. And Bela? Sam knew she was the sort of woman that could handle whatever he dealt. He had no expectation of hearing their safe word that evening.

As he slipped into her, Bela shuddered, and Sam’s gaze returned to himself, wrapped in her flesh. He coated a thumb in her arousal, then teased the rim of her ass until lubricated. Satisfied, he pressed into her hole as his pelvis met her ass, and the last of Bela’s control fled. She cried out a long high moan into the mattress that sent a shudder of arousal to his cock for a hard flex.

When Sam withdrew, he set his pace without any buildup. His thumb worked her ass as he pumped his cock into her cunt, her thin, pale arousal coating him head to base and running down his sack. God, but she was sin incarnate, all lewd moans and writhing body and dripping sex. The burning ache of his arousal swelled in his sack as he continued to thrust, his hips slapping against her ass and punctuating her pathetic moans. Coupled with her cries, Sam growled and groaned for a song of deviance with which he was all too familiar.

And then his orgasm flared wildly out of control as Bela clenched around him as her wailing moan filled his ears. Hard, prolonged flexes squeezed his cock and extracted his orgasm from him, long spurts of his cum filling the condom. His hips stilled as he came, both hands grasping Bela’s hips for leverage until the rolling waves passed and his spinning head steadied. Long breaths filled his lungs sucked through his nose and rushed from his mouth as he forced his racing heart to slow, but it was Bela’s wiggling hip that returned him to reality.

The bindings on her wrists slipped away with a flip of his fingers, and her arms flew apart, finally freed. Sam tore away his belt at her ankles and eased her to the bed where she collapsed. He slumped beside her, exhausted as she and equally breathless. He gathered her in his arms and held her close, a hand running through her fallen hair. He could help but stare at her, a used mess. Sure, she had that classic after-sex glow, but when did Bela ever not look absolutely exquisite? It wasn’t as though he had harbored feelings for her. But Sam would never deny that he had always found her attractive. He just valued his life more than getting laid, and he assumed that sleeping with her would result in his death instead of his partner’s.

“What are you thinking about?”

He breathed in deep, filled his lungs, then sighed. “How stupid of an idea this was.”

Her glare narrowed as she said, “For some reason, I’m not surprised you feel that way.”

“No, I’m sorry,” he grunted. “That’s… I really don’t want to get mixed up in your business. At all. We got you out of your deal. I didn’t want to cash in on that favor this way.”

She propped her head up on her hand and curled into his side. “Then don’t consider it cashed. I still owe you. But,” she mused, “I’d love to keep doing this. No strings. Just sex. I knew you’d be fun but that exceeded my expectations.”

Bolstered, Sam met her heavily lidded gaze with his own confident smile. “We can keep doing this on one condition.”

“And what is that, my dearest Sam?”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to whisper in her ear.

“Buy more leather.”

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[cakesunflower]

Reach For You [Dad!Calum AU] Ch. 3

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Chapter 3

FOR THE NEXT few days, Calum was trying hard to keep it together. After wiping everything off his dresser and throwing a glass against the wall, he managed to keep calm. He wasn’t a violent person, by any means, but the frustration had built up to the point where he knew if he didn’t let it out in some way, he was going to explode. The second he arrived back to his rented penthouse in the city after his parking lot confrontation with Aspen, Calum let every bit of his frustration, anger, and heartbreak out.

That was three days ago. Yet, come Saturday, Calum was still battling an overwhelming flurry of emotions he wasn’t used to.

How could she? How could Aspen just. . . Not tell him that he had a daughter? He knew for a fact that she was aware of his desire to someday have a family, to be a father and love his children with every fiber of his being. Their breakup had blindsided Calum and broke his heart, no doubt, but he so desperately wished Aspen had told him that she was pregnant. Instead she stayed away, God knows why, and welcomed their child into the world without him.

He should hate her. With everything he has, Calum should hate her, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He couldn’t before and he still couldn’t now. He was beyond pissed, completely devastated that she kept Luna from him, but hating someone he once loved seemed too difficult for him. Every second he spent with Aspen was constantly playing through his mind for the past four years, closing Calum off from the possibility of ever having those kinds of memories with anyone new. His heart was guarded by fifty inch steel, refusing to let anyone sneak a peek as he threw out any chances of ever being with someone so emotionally, so intimately again. And it was all because of Aspen.

She destroyed him. In a way, she had. Yet somehow Calum still couldn’t hate her. And he hated that.

He exhaled a sharp breath, grip on the steering wheel tightening as he leaned back in the seat. Over the past few days he had managed to calm down, and quickly Calum had become excited and beyond nervous to meet his daughter. Luna. He was going to meet his daughter, and Calum had no choice but to revel in this excitement by himself. He didn’t tell any of the boys, didn’t even mention to his family that he saw Aspen again. For now, he needed this for himself.

Pulling into the parking lot of the apartment complex Aspen had texted him the address of, Calum took in a deep breath before stepping out of his car. He made sure to grab the gift bag from the backseat, though he was a bit apprehensive if Luna would like it. He’d gone to Build-A-Bear and bought a snowy white teddy bear for her—he’d received quite a few looks from the people there—and bought a number of those outfits for Luna to dress it as she pleased. He didn’t even know if she liked stuffed animals. He just didn’t want to show up empty handed.

Stopping at the front door, Calum’s eyes gazed over the names of the residents on the side, before pressing the button next to the one labeled A. Russo. “Hello?” her voice crackled through a moment later.  

“It’s me,” Calum responded gruffly, unable to help the way his eyebrows twitched into a frown at the sound of her voice.

Instead of responding, Aspen buzzed him in and Calum headed towards the elevators, bringing him to the fourth floor where she’d told him they resided. Each step closer to the appropriate door had Calum’s heart picking up its pace. He can’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous—maybe the opening of his first club around a year ago?—but this was so much more intense. Nothing in the world could prepare him for this, he knew.

The door swung open after he knocked, and Calum tightened his jaw at the sight of Aspen. Just by one look at her face and Calum knew she was as anxious as he was. Her eyebrows were drawn together slightly in apprehension and her dark green eyes were loud in their nervousness. It was a tense situation they found themselves in and it was obvious neither of them knew how to go about it.

“Come in,” Aspen finally spoke up after clearing her throat, stepping aside as Calum stepped into the threshold.

His gaze wandered around, the door opening right into the living room that was attached to a kitchen-slash-dining room. Smaller than anything he was used to, but he guessed it was enough for two people, especially if one of them was only a little kid. It smelt tropical in here, and Calum tried to push away the flashing reminder in his head that tropical was Aspen’s favored scent of choice. It irritated him that he still remembered that. Pictures and paintings were hung up on the wall, but Calum had no time to assess them because Aspen was speaking up once more.

“Do you, uh, want a drink or something?” she asked, fiddling with her fingers as she looked at him.

“No, I’m good.” The awkwardness between them was suffocating, neither knowing how to act around one another. He glanced around. “Where’s—”

“Mama, Mama! Can we bake cookies tonight?”

The excited little girl’s voice interrupted Calum effectively, and he felt the words dying on his tongue as the four year old came running into the living room from the hallway across. His breath caught in his throat as Luna barrelled in, thick curls flying after her as she skidded to a stop at Aspen’s legs, tugging at her pants as she looked up at her mother pleadingly. She hadn’t glanced Calum’s way yet, but he was mesmerized at first sight.

The thick hair was unmistakably inherited from him, as were the soft, chubby cheeks his mom, aunts and grandmothers loved to kiss. Her skin wasn’t fair like her mother’s, just a shade lighter than Calum’s caramel, and Aspen’s words to Luna weren’t heard by him at all but he guessed she gestured to Calum because suddenly he was staring into his daughter’s green eyes and he felt all the air rush out of him.

Oh, she was perfect.

Upon noticing Calum’s presence, Luna’s eyes widened slightly before she maneuvered herself behind Aspen’s legs, clutching onto them as she hid from Calum yet still peeked to look up at him. Calum didn’t blame her, he knew how shy kids could be, and he couldn’t wait to show her that she had no reason to hide from him.

He offered a soft smile, feeling his heart fly in his chest at the sight of her, the overwhelming notion of her being his daughter ever present as Aspen placed a hand on top of Luna’s head. “You don’t have to hide, bubba,” she said softly to her, and Calum had to swallow inaudibly at the seemingly harmless term of endearment. Only it wasn’t harmless—Aspen used to call him that when they were together, and hearing it fall from her lips for the first time in years stung slightly. But he quickly pushed it away, determined to only focus on the youngest person in the room.

“This. . .” Aspen trailed off, her gaze lifting to meet Calum’s, her smile diminishing slightly as their gaze met and she saw the accusation in his dark eyes, silently telling her that Luna would never have to be shy around him if she hadn’t just ran away. Aspen swallowed before forcing her smile to widen as she looked down at her curious daughter. And then she let the bomb drop with a deep, reluctant breath. “This is your dad.”

Calum only had to hold his breath for a moment as he waited for Luna’s reaction, but that single moment was downright terrifying. His daughter was either going to reject him or embrace him, and Calum could literally hear his heart in his ears as Aspen’s words were followed by a friendly, near hopeful smile from him.

“Really?” Luna asked after a moment, green eyes widening and her words a whisper coated with awe, looking up at Calum with all the disbelief a child her age could conjure. She moved herself a bit from behind Aspen’s legs, the shyness she displayed gradually diminishing. “You’re my dad?”

Calum’s gaze never left hers, his smile widening a bit when he heard her say that as he put the bag down and crouched to be eye level with her. He rested his arms on his knees, hoping his legs didn’t give out, and the emotions that were storming inside him prompted tears to press against his eyes as he offered a nod. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he breathed out, willing his lips not to tremble like he could feel them wanting to. “I am.”

It took a few seconds for Luna to process the meaning behind his confirmation, both of her parents watching her with bated breaths and pounding hearts and dry throats, her green eyes fixed on Calum’s brown ones. And then it was an excited burst of, “Oh, wow!” before Luna was launching herself at Calum, and he somehow managed to keep his balance as a startled laugh escaped him, feeling his shoulders sink and heart fly with relief as Luna wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him closely.

Shit, Calum felt like bursting into tears right then and there.

Instead, he closed his burning eyes and hugged her back, one hand holding the back of her head and adoring how soft her curls were, and Calum didn’t think the kind of happiness he felt in this current moment could ever be topped. Luna was holding him as tightly as she could and maybe she shared Calum’s feelings of not wanting to let go, prompting Calum to let out a deep, clearly unsteady breath as he held his daughter in his arms for the first time.

Not how he expected it to happen, but in this moment, he was nothing but grateful.

                                                                  *****

“We should name her something that means moon, like my name,” Aspen heard Luna muse from where she sat in the living room. “But I don’t know any.”

She glanced up as she stepped away from the microwave, warming up the dish she had made just a little bit earlier as her eyes landed on Luna and Calum. It was a sight she never thought she would be privy to, and it stole her breath. Their introduction had admittedly sprung tears to her eyes, and Aspen couldn’t ignore the feeling of relief flooding through her when Luna readily hugged Calum after finding out who he was. But her daughter’s happiness only intensified the guilt Aspen felt of keeping them apart, and while she knew it wasn’t entirely her fault, it still left a bitter taste in her mouth.

The two of them were sitting on the living room couch, going over names for the teddy bear Calum had brought for her that Luna instantly fell in love with. She already had a number of stuffed animals, but the bright glint in Luna’s eyes told Aspen that this one would be her favorite.

“Hmm,” Calum hummed thoughtfully, leaning back on the couch with his right arm thrown over the back, looking at Luna and the bear as they sat to his right. Aspen watched them quietly as she waited for the food to heat up, the sight something she needed to get used to. “How about. . .” Calum trailed off as he leaned forward, smiling at Luna as he suggested, “Marama?”

Luna raised her eyebrows at that before frowning in wonder. “Marama? I’ve never heard of that.”

Calum chuckled softly, facing to shift her. Despite her reservations, Aspen couldn’t help but think how adorable the sight was of Calum, strong and tall and confident, sitting next to their small, delicate little girl. It made something in Aspen’s heart tug. “It means moon in Māori.” Aspen would’ve suggested something simpler like Stella, but Calum was teaching Luna something about herself, and Aspen wasn’t going to spoil that.

The interest was evident in Luna’s tone as she tilted her head to the side, curiously questioning, “What’s Māori?”

Aspen pursed her lips, sucking in a sharp breath. Okay, so she hadn’t really gotten around to tell Luna of her heritage, how she was a mix of Greek and Italian from Aspen’s side and Scottish and Māori from her father’s. Calum glanced over at her from where he sat on the couch and she stood in the kitchen, the accusatory look in his eyes ever present whenever he looked at her, and Aspen went rigid and swallowed down her excuses at the eye contact.

Tuning out Calum’s brief, simple explanation of Luna’s heritage from his side of the family, Aspen took out the dish from the microwave and proceeded to set the table. She had opted to prepare two dishes, the first one being a butter chicken curry she learned from her Pakistani sister-in-law, Laila, since it was one of Luna’s favorite dishes. The second dish was beef and vegetable stir fry because, if memory served correctly, it was one of Calum’s favorites. She hadn’t even realized that was the reason why she was making it until the dish was done, and Aspen couldn’t help but feel betrayed by her subconscious when she realized what she had done.

“Lunch is ready,” Aspen called once everything was on the table, watching as Luna excitedly jumped up yet gently put her new teddy bear on the couch as Calum stood up as well. Aspen watched as Luna ran right into the kitchen, and raised her eyebrow as she clicked her tongue, “What do we do before we eat?”

Luna paused before giggling sheepishly. “Wash our hands,” she answered before turning to run into the hallway bathroom.

Aspen smiled after her, but her little grin slowly disappeared as Calum wandered into the kitchen, his boots clicking on the sleek floor. She watched as his eyes went to the table, catching the way his eyebrows drew together ever so slightly when he caught sight of the dish she specifically made for him. Without Luna serving as a middle man, the tension was back in the room, heavily, between the two twenty-six year olds, and Aspen couldn’t even bring herself to look him in the eye.

Fortunately, they didn’t have to endure the awkwardness for too long because Luna came running back in. “Mama,” she sounded as she did, looking up at her with widened, pleading eyes as Aspen quirked an eyebrow. “Can I show Daddy my room after we eat?”

Aspen’s gaze automatically flickered to Calum, and she noticed the look on his face at Luna’s words, at her calling him Daddy. She saw the way his features softened, his lips parting in sincere awe and Aspen understood how much that meant to him. Luna had easily accepted him as her father, which Aspen was admittedly relieved about even though some of the apprehension was still there, and she knew it meant everything to Calum. The way his adam’s apple was bobbing nervously in his throat and his shoulders rose slightly as he took in a breath, Aspen knew Calum was overwhelmed in the best way.

So she smiled down at Luna, pushing some of her bangs back from her forehead as she replied, “Sure, baby. You can introduce him and Marama to Hershey and Jelly Bean and all the others.”

She didn’t miss the way Calum’s eyebrows rose at that, probably wondering about the names of Luna’s other stuffed animals, as the four year old cheered happily before settling down in her chair. Calum sat down next to her and before seating herself, Aspen stood behind Luna and used the hair tie on her wrist to gather up her daughter’s thick hair and put it up in a bun so it didn’t fall into her food.

Aspen sat down in her seat, right across from Calum at the four person square table, and she tried to ignore the tightness in her throat. She was grateful that her hands didn’t appear as shaky as she felt while serving Luna her food. Aspen chewed on the inside of her lower lip. All she could do was hope this went by smoothly.

                                                                 *****

Calum had stayed for five hours. By the third, Aspen had somewhat adjusted to having him in her apartment, mostly because he stayed in Luna’s room with her for most of it. Aspen could hear her giggles and his deep chuckles as they no doubt played with Luna’s plethora of toys, and that familiar tug in her heart was ever present with every sound of her daughter’s laughter. She had just met Calum, but Luna was already so taken with him. It made Aspen feel a strange combination of relief and unease.

“Do you have to go?” Luna’s whine came, and Aspen’s eyes went from the TV across from her to the two of them walking from the hallway next to it. She turned it off, watching as Calum walked down the hall with Luna right next to him, his larger, tattooed hand holding onto her smaller one. Luna looked up at him, a pout on her her lips and green eyes wide, one of her best puppy dog looks, as they headed toward the door. Aspen wondered if Calum could resist.

It seemed as though he was having trouble doing so as he looked down at her, his smile almost sad as Aspen swallowed inaudibly. “I’m sorry, bug, but I do,” Calum apologized regretfully once they got to the door, stopping to crouch down next to her. Aspen quietly made her way over, giving them their space. Calum took Luna’s hands in his, giving her a happy, reassuring smile. “But you’re gonna be seein’ a lot of me, okay? I’ll come around whenever you want me to.”

Aspen wasn’t sure why she felt surprised at his words, but she still crossed her arms over her chest to stop herself from bristling. A grin split across Luna’s face at Calum’s words, bouncing lightly on her feet. “Tomorrow?” she asked hopefully. “It’s spaghetti Sunday. Do you like spaghetti?”

Calum laughed, his grin wide that showed the crinkles by his eyes, the kind that Aspen forced herself to look away from. She frowned at herself; why did it hurt? “I love spaghetti,” Calum responded to Luna. “But. . .” he paused and Aspen realized it’s because he was looking up at her. She saw the reluctance in his eyes and she understood why because he added, “You gotta ask your mum if it’s okay.”

Aspen’s chin lifted slightly in realization. The fact that he needed Aspen’s permission was bothering him, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Luna suddenly looked over at her, bouncing on her feet yet still holding on to Calum’s hands. “Can Daddy come tomorrow, Mama? Please, please, please?”

Oh, great. How was Aspen supposed to say no to that? She knew if she did, she’d become the bad guy in the situation. Plus, she always had trouble saying no to her little girl. So Aspen forced a smile, her arms across her chest tightening while she tried to feign some enthusiasm at the prospect of Calum’s presence in her home once again as she answered, “Sure, of course he can.”

Luna’s grin widened even more, if that was possible, and the sight of it had Aspen momentarily forgetting what she just agreed to. Her daughter smiling was her favorite sight in the world. “Yay!” Luna squealed happily, before hugging Calum. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Daddy!”

Calum lovingly kissed her temple before they pulled away. “Can’t wait, sweetheart.”

With one last grin and a clap of her hands, Luna bid Calum goodbye before she ran off, leaving the two adults by themselves. Aspen watched as Calum smiled after their little one, before it diminished once she was out of sight and he cleared his throat, pushing himself up from his knees and standing to his feet.

His stoic expression was back, not any kind of emotion showing itself on Calum’s face save for flat disinterest. He was looking at her as if she was some stranger he didn’t want to get to know, and while Aspen knew that it was her fault he was looking at her that way, it still stung. She and Calum used to look at each other with many different looks, but obvious indifference was never one of them.

“So what time should I get here tomorrow?” Calum questioned, breaking the silence with his slightly raspy voice.

Aspen rolled her lips into her mouth. A part of her didn’t want him to show up, but the stronger maternal part knew she couldn’t do that to Luna. Now that he was in her life, now that she’d accepted him so eagerly and happy, Aspen couldn’t take that away from her. “Seven is fine,” she answered.

Calum nodded, lips pushing out as he pressed his tongue to the back of his bottom teeth. He didn’t have anything planned for tomorrow, so he was definitely going to make do on his promise to Luna. Getting to know her today—her likes, dislikes, the names of her friends and her stuffed animals, realizing that she had the slightest hint of a lisp like he did—meant everything to Calum. He wanted years more. He wanted to make up for what he lost. What he was never given a chance to know.

 “She really seems to like you.” Aspen’s words pulled Calum out of his brief reverie, gaze snapping to meet hers. She looked hesitant to meet his stare, just like she had all day, not that Calum didn’t know why. She only hid his kid from her for four years. Calum’s jaw tightened as she offered the tiniest, briefest smile. “Luna’s normally a, uh, shy kid. But she wasn’t with you.”

Despite his unmoving expression, Calum felt something lighten in his chest upon hearing Aspen’s words. He wasn’t apathetic to how well he and his daughter seemed to bond in the few short hours they got to spend together; they were the best five hours of his life. Luna was funny, bright, and exceedingly adorable, and Calum was wholeheartedly in love. Who fucking knew falling in love that quickly was possible?

Calum pursed his lips, taking a breath as he merely nodded at Aspen’s words before gesturing vaguely towards the door. “Yeah, well, I’m—”

“You know we’re going to have to sit down and talk about this, right?” Aspen suddenly blurted, her words hurried as she gave Calum a pointed yet hesitant look. He pressed his lips together as Aspen uncrossed her arms, rubbing her hands nervously down her jeans. “If—If we’re going to be doing this, if you’re going to be around, we’re gonna have to talk about. . . Co-parenting.”

He wondered how difficult it must’ve been for Aspen to say that, the forcefulness and reluctance in her voice clear as day. Obviously she wasn’t too excited about having to suddenly share her daughter, but it was something she would have to get used to. His jaw clenched, realizing that she was right about the impending conversation. Calum wanted to be as involved in Luna’s life as he possibly could be, and he knew that doing so would mean having to speak to Aspen, be in her presence and get along with her.

Calum thought the universe was playing some kind of cruel joke on him—since when did he need to force himself to get along with her?

Oh, right. Since she ran the fuck out on him and hid his daughter.

“We will,” Calum finally nodded, exhaling sharply through his nose as he pulled out his car keys. He didn’t know what that conversation would entail, didn’t know how they were going to go about it, and he wasn’t entirely looking forward to it. But it had to be done, he knew, so he could see Luna again. Anything to see her again. “After tomorrow.”

Aspen nodded, pursing her lips as Calum opened the door. He needed to get out of there—being around Aspen for too long was making him dizzy. Stepping out of the apartment, Calum heard the door shut behind him. No goodbye.

Why did that irritate him even though it was expected?

tags:  @crownedbyluke @gotta-try-something-new @rishlo @bitchinbabylon @calistajs @ghstofcalum @dxmncalum @letsfxckindance @unsexilexi @calumthoodsyonce @grreatgooglymoogly @therainydays4 @sadbreakfast-club @lifeakaharry @codycasperky2 @biggestslutforcalum @complete-trash-101 @kinglyhemmings @hemmomfg @friendly-neighborhood-michelle @cxddlyash @checkeredcalum @lovelettercalum @nostalgia-luke @captain-what-is-going-on @slimthicccal @kaytiebug14 @bloodytbs @miahelizaaabeth @ghostofhood @elsysoza @writing-in-riverdale @tourettesboi @angelbbycal @bbteamlove @xoforeverx @stfujace @thebodaciouscth @helplesshood @runawaywithme-xo @lietomemyvalentine @emma070900 @cosmixcalum @babygirlcashton @calumamongmen @5sos-stan4lyfe @ihatemyself21 @lipstickstainfading @crystalisinfinite @misskarynie @wrappedaroundcal @wcstethenights @michealcliffturd @akacalciumhood @clum-thomas @poppedpins @dollbitxhes @5saucewho @hearts-to-the-sky @booklove-2 @walkedhomealone @andreabjoerg @qualitylu @softboycal @early-thoughts @5saucefanfic @dher216 @all-i-want-is2b-loved-by-you @babyloniancal @xlov3quotingx @aybbblondie @rexorangecounty @flowerchild8341 @romanticalumhood @kaxseychill @babyloncalm @calistheloml @calumh-excess @egyptiangoldhood @irwinkitten @asht0ns-world @visualm3nte @xhaileyreneex @cal-pal-cuddles @invisiblexcth @soulmatecashton @gettingjillywithit @cliffordcntrl @mermaid-merrick @dannisos @cals-babylons @mysteriouslycali @calsxmas @sassy-asht0n @hoodcentral @cathartichaoss @inlovehoodx @gigglyirwin @grinchluke @bearsbitxh @thepixiedreambitch

[classysassy9791]

Happy Monday!

This little gem was finally polished with some beautiful editing. Shoutout to @hinezumi for looking this over. Thank you for making a 2 glasses of wine induced story easy on the eyes. You’re a rockstar!

Can also be found here.

Saudade

“A love that remains”

Sometimes the ending isn’t as expected, and happily ever afters aren’t always what they appear.

Word Count: 1205 Pairing: InuKag

...

The rocking chair creaked as the late afternoon sun alighted the courtyard in orange rays. A wistful sigh escaped from parted lips as jaded brown eyes gazed longingly over what remained. Years had passed - causing repairs to be made and things to be rebuilt - but in her mind’s eye, it still looked the same as it always had.

“Grandma?”

She turned to look at the little boy who had wandered outside, his eyes bright with curiosity. In his hands he held a stuffed dog that was worn well past the point of distress. She chuckled and patted her knee invitingly. “Come here.”

He quickly scampered to her side, allowing her to pick him up to sit on her lap. She gently began rocking again, the rhythmic movement sending a certain calm over her. He nestled his head beneath her chin, finding a comfortable place against her bosom.

They were quiet for a moment before the young boy in her lap piped up and broke the silence, “Can  you tell me the story?”

Just as always, there was a second in which a flood of memories would hit her, always catching her off-guard, even though their impact had shaken her for decades. This time, she welcomed the volley of recollection - the scent of the forest trees with the wind against her face; the giddy laughter of warriors long tired; the shared secrets over a campfire.

“Again?” she asked, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement.

He nodded eagerly with a hopeful expression. How could she possibly turn that down?

She wrapped her arms more securely around him, holding him close. “Once upon a time, there was a magic well…”

In hushed tones, she told the story she knew by heart: of the time-traveling priestess who fell in love with an outcast, of the monk they fought alongside whose morals were questionable at best, and of the girl whose very soul had nearly broken but somehow still managed to laugh, smile, and share secrets as if she were no worse for wear. There were mentions of great battles and triumphs, of petty arguments and feelings unspoken, and of feats performed by this group of misfits that seemed impossible.

“And then, the jewel was wished out of existence.” Her voice drew silent as her story came to a close.  

The boy looked up at her quizzically. “And they all lived happily ever after, right?”

She smiled at his question - he was simply too smart for his own good - and leaned down to nuzzle his nose with hers. “Time to wash for dinner. If your mother finds out you’ve disappeared, we’ll both be in trouble.”

He giggled, pushing away her hand as she ruffled his hair affectionately, and jumped off her lap to scamper inside. She leaned back against the rocking chair, hands now gnarled with age wrapping themselves around the worn wood. Even though decades had passed and the world had changed, the shrine she lived at had not. Secluded on the hillside, it had stood against the test of time, a little haven that remained ageless.

With a creak of bones, she stood from her favorite resting place and took a walk through the courtyard. The evening summer breeze brought her quiet company along with the buzzing of cicadas in the trees and the occasional car creeping by on the street below the shrine. She passed by the towering Goshinboku, the scar on its trunk now too high for her to reach. Her eyes gazed at it fondly, thoughts turning to a day so long ago.

“Nearly eighty years,” she mused aloud.

The first five years had been torturous - her heartache a heavy song she couldn’t stop playing.

The next ten had been fruitful - her feet reluctantly moving past her time-traveling days.

The next twenty had been wonderful - her mind only recalling those memories a few times a year.

After that…

She sighed again, tucking her gray hair that had fallen loose from her braid behind an ear. As she began walking again, she tried to recall the voices from her adventures, but found they remained hushed. The memories were fleeting and faded, the images mere colors seen through fogged lenses. But there was something…

The well house had remained shut for a long time. The wood of the door splintered as she wrapped her fingers around it, tugging it open against a groan of resistance. She knew she probably shouldn’t venture inside, the distressed sound of the wood beneath her feet undoubtedly proving it to be unsafe, but her stubbornness wouldn’t give in to the logical decision of going back to the house.

After all, she had stood before monsters and lived to tell the tale.

“Hello,” her raspy voice called down into the darkness - a place which used to connect time.

She knew no one would hear her, and her hope for that to change had vanished long ago. Even so, she found a certain comfort when she spoke to the shadows on the wall. The dampness and decay of the wood kindled a musty smell, causing her nose to wrinkle. She slowly made her way down the few stairs that bridged the raised floor leading outside to the packed dirt of the well house’s inside. Her fingers brushed over the lip of the well, tracing the grooves of the wood she had memorized long, long ago.

A hand pressed against the well, launching herself over the rim, as she was falling, falling, falling back in time…

“Inuyasha,” she murmured, his name a sweet sound to her ears. It had been so long since she had spoken it with such care.

Beautiful amber…

“Mom?”

Pulled from her hazy memories, she looked over her shoulder to the woman standing in the doorway to the well house.

An exasperated huff. “Mom, what are you doing in here? It’s dangerous,” she chastised, carefully making her way down the steps and to her side. “Let’s get you back to the house.”

“I’ve made a decision. Things are getting more dangerous by the day-”

Her daughter reached out a hand and wrapped it around hers as she lead her outside.

“I was afraid. I thought I was going to lose you. I was terrified.”

She waited as her daughter shut the door tight, sealing off the well house once more. They slowly made their way across the grounds, her shuffled gait slow and unsteady. The breeze rustled the branches high in the Goshinboku where her mind’s eye always caught a flash of red between the leaves.

“Just… hold onto me a bit longer. Just a little longer.”

The night turned late as she listened to the laughter of children, her own holding conversations in-between hushing the little ones. And as the half-moon settled high in the velvet night sky, she laid her head against her pillow, the quiet of the house soothing. Her window stood open, a gentle breeze rustling her curtain, and a familiar pair of ears twitching with each breath that passed her lips.

“It’s over.”

Golden irises flecked with light. Youthfulness as she reached her hand up. A kiss pressed to her lips.

“Yeah. It’s finally over.”

[melyzard]

[Prompt from @hihosilverwings: “Jyn and a chill day with k2 and Cassian. Just minding her business, relaxing on base and musing on things. She realizes she feels at peace (first time in forever) and that startles her maybe? Maybe so much her face goes white and Cassian is like you ok????“

It’s a completely unremarkable day, the day that Jyn panics. There hasn’t been any major battles in over a month, no one she knows has died or been significantly injured, hells, there hasn’t even been a major shift in the front line for ages. Jyn spends the majority of the day in the droid bay with Cassian and Kay, working on some salvaged droid cores that someone pulled from an old Imperial base. So far they haven’t gotten much more than sparking circuit boards and broken code logs, but there’s a chance the Imps left something useful when they abandoned the old base and left their droids to rust in the silence of an otherwise empty moon.

Jyn’s hand is starting to cramp from fiddling with the delicate wires of an old protocol droid (well, really it’s only the head, because the rest of the body was too badly damaged by time and dust to be of much use), so she sits up and stretches her hands out for a few minutes. Across from her, Kay is plugged into the half-shredded chassis of an astromech, an R1 model, attempting to process the half-dead programs still running through the corroded droid core. Kay’s optics are dimmed, most of his processing power dedicated to the astromech, which makes him look like he’s taking a nap, although she knows better. Still, he hasn’t moved in about an hour and doesn’t move now, when she looks up, which is too boring to keep her attention while she stretches out.

Cassian sits next her, bent over an ancient TX model, and he’s much more interesting to watch. There’s no one else in the bay besides a couple of astromechs charging against the far wall, and with only Jyn and Kay around, and Cassian is so focused on the fiddly task of re-soldering the tactical droid’s memory core into a new, hopefully useful pattern that his normal guarded expression has dropped. Instead, he’s adopted an intent look that makes him look about five years younger than usual, his eyebrows raised, his mouth pursed slightly, and as Jyn watches, he squints with one eye down through the TX’s broken optic band and tilts his head to get a better view of whatever’s in there. It’s endearing and just a little ridiculous, and Jyn bites her lip to keep from laughing out loud and distracting him. The wall against her back is warm from her body heat, the gentle hum of the machinery around her is soothing, and Cassian is sitting between her and the door, with Kay between him and any possible threat that might walk in. It hits Jyn, suddenly and without warning, that she is safe here, safe and warm and happy, shit, when was the last time she was happy like this? When was the last time she just sat somewhere, content, with people she loved?

Onderon, the year before Saw dumped her, sitting in the ready room with the cadre cleaning weapons and swapping outrageous battle stories. Lah’mu, playing number games in her little house with Mama and Papa while outside it rained and rained and rained. And both of those times, shit, every time she’s ever felt anything even approaching this kind of peace, it had always, always ended with Jyn alone and desperate and clutching the sharp pieces of her shattered heart as they left her and left her and left –

“Hey,” Cassian is saying sharply, his face significantly closer than she expects, and Jyn jumps and realizes that she’s got her arms tight around her waist, her jaw clamped shut and her breathing is harsh, unsteady. Cassian has slid over on the bench until his leg is only a centimeter or two from hers, his hand tight on her upper arm, and he’s clearly been talking to her for awhile. He sees her focusing on him and his voice gentles, “Jyn?”

She can’t do it. It echoes in her head and sits on the tip of her tongue, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t do that, I can’t go through it again, I can’t, I can’t, it’s too much to ask.

But she can’t open her mouth, can’t say the words, because a small rational part of her that isn’t frozen doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to shove him away because then she’ll just be making it happen anyway, self fulfilling prophecy, right, and it’s all bantha shit, all just her own karking head getting screwed up because she’s just so screwed up, isn’t she?

“She appears to be in respiratory distress,” Kay’s voice sounds too loud, too grating. “Possible reasons include air-borne biochemical weapons, previously unknown head injury, or the triggering of a psychological issue.” His optics have flared back to life and he’s unplugged from the broken droid, and Jyn registers that not only has he stood up but he’s moved to stand squarely in the doorway, blocking anyone from coming in. “Recommended course of action is to put on the gas masks and report to medical.”

“Jyn,” Cassian lifts his hand from her arm, but before she can panic about that (panic more, is it possible for someone to panic more? Shite, she’s a force-damned mess), Cassian slips his arm tentatively over her shoulder and whispers, “What do you need?”

She doesn’t know, not really, so Jyn does the only thing that makes any sense. She throws her hands out like she’s drowning and he’s the safety line, grabs his shirt collar and drags him down. Cassian takes a quick, startled breath and his free hand flails a little before he manages to brace himself on her knee, but he doesn’t resist. The kiss is a little awkward, in her desperation she misses the mark slightly, so she’s off-center and he’s off-balance. But then his arm tightens around her shoulders, he twists a little on the bench so he can line up his mouth with hers, and then he gentles the kiss, slipping his hand from her shoulder to her neck and rubbing small circles there. His hand on her knee relaxes and he runs his palm up and down her thigh, a soothing motion.

Cassian breathes slowly and calmly, letting her kiss him as hard as she likes but only returning soft brushes of his tongue, not biting back or pushing hard against her mouth. It ought to irritate her, but somehow it doesn’t, and after a moment she understands why. He’s refusing to stoke her adrenaline, staying relaxed and soft, and slowly her own body recognizes the lack of tension and starts to settle. The high-pitched whine of terror in the back of her head seems to dull and fade, her heart slows again, and Cassian’s breath is sweet and calm against her cheek, his hands gentle on her neck and knee.

Jyn heaves a sigh and pulls away, resting her forehead against his and closing her eyes. It allows her to avoid looking directly at him, because what can she even say? Sorry, I just realized that I was happy and it scared the shit out of me?

She is such a mess.

Cassian doesn’t speak, thank fuck, but his hand combs lightly through her hair and he lets her lean against him, waits patiently for her to pull away. If she were brave enough to look, she knows that she would see compassion in his eyes. If she told him what she’s thinking, he would understand. Cassian has not had an overabundance of happiness in his life, either. But she doesn’t look and she doesn’t speak, because she doesn’t know how and he doesn’t need her to, anyway. Not now. Maybe later, maybe someday, but not now. Right now, he’s just here with her. Right now, they are quiet and together and safe.

Jyn sits up and swipes the discarded protocol droid head off the floor, training her eyes on it and poking determinedly at the scrambled insides. To her side, Cassian shifts away just long enough to grab the TX and pull it over so he can sit with his leg against hers, and without a word, they both go back to working. She is absurdly grateful, but doesn’t know how to tell him that anymore than she can explain what just happened, so she just leans against his side a little and passes him one of the smaller scanners when he glances around for it.

“For the record,” Kay says, clumping back from the door to reposition himself by the broken astromech, “that is not a standard recommended course of action for respiratory distress. I will send approved emergency medical procedures to both of your accounts for further reading.”

Jyn grunts, and Cassian says “thank you, Kay,” in a grave voice, but neither of them look up, and neither of them move from their semi-huddle on the bench for a long time.

[the-mountainsflame]

"Rose...?.... I'll kill th' bastards tha' did this t'ye....." (from Vira :3c)

My Muse has become possessed/corrupted. What would your Muse say to them to get them to snap out of it?

((and yet again this turned into a…thing, so, under a cut again!))

There was more yelling, through the walls.

It was too loud just like everything else was and her hands went to her ears again as the furred things flattened against her skull, even though the motion left the joints in her arms and in her hands protesting, as if filled with broken glass. She had, for a while, been so drugged that it hadn’t been a bother, at least while the healers attempted to assess her condition, but that also just meant she hadn’t been able to protest as they poked and prodded and put their hands all over her and all it had taken was one missed dose—

Even with her thoughts floating and polluted by those not entirely her own, she remembered throwing the medicine away from her and biting the arm of the person that had been trying to stick her with it. They had been quick to stuff her in a room, after, and the drugs had stopped, but so had the people, outside of the few soldiers that had clearly been assigned to ensure that she had at least the most basic things. (They eventually thought to throw clothing in after her, once; what was probably one of their uniform tops, at least, the Resistance’s beige almost blending in with the floor. With the sorry state her body and especially her flexibility was in, it had taken what felt like entire bells (and more than one instance of nearly passing out) to get it on, but…it felt…alright, once she did. Her entire body was wrong but she was still just enough human to want at least her chest covered.)

(The long, thick-furred tail and her size and the way she could barely stand before her back and hips hurt too much to deal with made the other half trickier, needless to say. She hadn’t bothered with it, no matter how uncomfortable it made all of them, including herself.)

The shouting had almost died down for a moment, but when it started up again it was with such ferocity that she whined and just pressed her hands harder into her ears, though she backed off with a wince when it finally provoked her own skull into pounding terribly at her efforts. She both knew the voices and didn’t; the smaller ones held her in this room, but the tall one, on the other hand, was mad about it. Very, very mad about it. It left her picking fights with them a lot and even when they did give in and let her come see her, even when she wasn’t visibly angry, that awful hate clung to her like an ash cloud and choked the fight out of anything around her. It was something more felt than described, and it always left Rose huddled in a corner with all rational thought obliterated and scattered to the winds until the tall one left.

(Whenever she could think for longer than a few minutes at a time, she was so lost as to whether she should be grateful or guilty about her leaving. The former always flooded her after, but the latter lingered like a bad taste even after that, even if she didn’t know why.)

The yelling subsided enough that she cautiously raised her hands, though the pads on her palms and fingertips still pressed a little against the rounded furry ears flattened against her head and brushed against the dark not-quite-mane running in a long line from skull to neck to partway down her back. Sometimes it…was just like this, she dimly remembered. Sometimes the small ones got the large one to stop talking and yelling and got her to go away, and though sometimes that was just a warning for the tall one storming downstairs towards the room, there was no footstep-sound to go with the newfound silence. As the quiet continued, she finally did lower her hands back down towards the bed, but the entire length of both her arms ached, and her hands and especially her fingers protested the motion as they protested every other motion or even hint of motion, stabbed through with the bone-deep pain of not being right. A rough tongue briefly shot across her…lips or whatever counted for them, but her entire face hurt where it had turned more mountain-leopard than Roegadyn, and so she immediately regretted it and toppled forward into the sparse bedding to rest her head on it. And that just made her spine hurt and her hip along with it until she finally sprawled in a miserable line across the length of the bed.

(Her tail twitched, and even that sent a jolt up her back, but it was little compared to the rest of it.)

…There were footsteps outside now, though.

She heard a few pairs, actually, her ears flitting up in response before she could even think about it. That was, until they sat back again at the sound of one of the attending voices—a healer, from long before. The memory of their touch was unwelcome and she growled, and when her tail lashed, she paid little mind to how it still hurt.

“No.” It was one of the only words she could say right now, but even in her current state, she knew that the others sometimes left her alone more when she tried to speak instead of snarling and growling at them. It was unsteady going, and she worked her jaw for a moment before trying again, more confidently and more loudly this time. “No.”

But still, the voices and footsteps approached her door, and she bared her teeth. The sound was too dull for her to tell if she had heard them before, but she dragged herself further back along the bed away from the door. It was just ilms of distance, if that, but she felt better for at least trying to move, even if it hurt. “No!”

But when the talking abruptly stopped just outside the door at her outburst, the ensuing silence didn’t last for long. Even then, Rose only caught snippets of the words. “—bites you—not fixing it—stupid idea, frankly, she doesn’t recognize—“

“—sure will remember me—don’t know what y’r talkin’ ‘bout—“

But the argument stopped, before long. And before Rose got any more warning than the scratching of the door handle, someone slipped into the room and closed that door behind them.

She flattened her ears further and growled, even managing to cough out another no, but the wiry short-haired figure standing at the other end of the room stayed put. And at the sight of them, something undefinable stirred in the back of her mind and she just cocked her head to one side instead of…insisting on the Hyur leaving. Her eyes narrowed and her head cocked further, but bizarrely, the sight made the stranger—were they though?—grin until it practically split their face.

(Her own expression was less that of a terrified animal and more a confused, if aggressive, one. She didn’t even realize that it might be a relief to some people.)

(She knew them she knew like she knew how to breathe but from where? Who…?)

“G’ mornin’?” But it was a question more than a greeting, and their hesitation as they took a couple steps towards her hadn’t gone unnoticed. They were holding something folded and dark, and her eyes went to it immediately. They saw that, too. “Ah, I…brought ya somethin’. ‘Ere?”

They tossed it underhand and she flinched back, half-expecting it to hit her with great force, but it fluttered far too lightly and half-unfolded in the air before it landed on her foot. She managed to work her aching body so she could grab it, and her hands met cloth…

“Dunno why they didn’ think a’ a skirt,” the Hyur awkwardly added, their eyes fixed on her. They almost looked upset that her first instinct was to bring it to her face to sniff, but they continued on without noting it. “Ye ‘n Sen’re ‘bout th’ same size, yeah…?”

Sen, Sen—dark skin darker hair singing arrows—

But the fragmented impressions fled as quickly as they had appeared, and Rose just worked the already-opened skirt around her waist without thinking about it. Not that the fastening didn’t frustrate her—oh, it did, and her hands hurt more for trying—but any time the Hyur tried to get close she growled, and even once had to tell them no again. It felt good to have it on, but the way their face had fallen at her admonition left something twisting in her gut and she suddenly found she couldn’t look them in the eyes.

“Well…” They tried, and quite hard, to bounce back from it, at the very least. “Least that’s somethin’. Y’ even got it on okay.” Their voice gained a hint of more genuine confidence now, though their steps were still cautious as they approached the bed again. (Though this time, she didn’t growl or warn them off.) “Though…th’ guards said y’ looked like y’ weren’t movin’ right. So…I talked t’ someone ‘n got somethin’. Here?”

Another thing was tossed onto the end of the bed, but it was small, tiny even, and glassy, the liquid contained in it catching the light as it flew and landed. But when Rose saw it and knew what it was, she irritably kicked it with a clawed foot and immediately turned over onto the bed, even if her shoulder audibly creaked with the speed of the motion.

“Rose!”

“No.” She was not to be so easily dissuaded, and she even slid the lone pillow over the back of her head. (It would have been hilariously juvenile any other time, but now, was merely sad.) “No drug. No touching.” Was that all they were there for? To make her behave for their healers like those men had forced her to behave while their twisted magic broke her body and tore at her mind? Rose’s heart beat an uncomfortable tattoo against her ribs at the thought. “No no no.”

The silence, only punctuated by the thudding of her lashing tail, dragged out longer than she thought, and she couldn’t see their face from here in the slightest. But…

“…C’n I at least come sit?”

Their voice was so much quieter now, and Rose hesitated for quite some time before just chuffing and inching over as much as she dared, with her aching body. She barely had to wait, before their weight sunk into the area she had just vacated.

Their voice was a little more emboldened as they spoke again. “C’n I put my hand on y’r shoulder?”

Another pause, but one followed by another chuff. (She knew them from somewhere and this felt right even if the touch made her twitch before she could think about it—)

They waited a few moments, keeping their hand where it was on her shoulderblade, but spoke again. “Rose…? I’ll kill th’ bastards tha’ did this t'ye…”

The venomous intensity of it left the longer, rougher fur on the back of her neck rising. (That tone sounded so much like the tall one’s that she immediately disliked it.) Still, she shuffled over a few ilms more, until her side was just touching the Hyur. “No.” She didn’t want them to go. Things were strange around them and she wasn’t sure she liked it, but she didn’t want them to go. And she definitely didn’t want them going after the bad men because they’d do the same to them too. “No. Vrrrrr-ah stay.”

(The name was more a half-growl than a word, but she had still tried and she squeezed her eyes shut as she was immediately assaulted with her own confusion. Vira Vira Vira why did she know that how did she know that why did she want them to stay—?)

(But they had been kind where most were distant or too pushy. They knew her, didn’t they? She remembered flickers, just flickers, of bare skin in dim camplight and lips on hers and it made her head hurt fit to split but she grabbed at more more even as it fled from her focus once more.)

There was silence, though, out of the Hyur again. The fingertips on her shoulder trembled, and she momentarily worried that she had said something wrong. But their fingers curled lightly under their palm as they rested it more fully on her back—more easily, too, even if their voice was small as they spoke back. “‘Kay. I…I c’n do tha’. F’r now.”

(It was the best she could ask for, then.)

@lynxden

[kpopfanfictrash]

Addewid (XIV)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Kai (Jongin)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 4,313

Genre: Fey!AU + Series

Summary: “You cannot appeal to my better nature, for I have none. I am not human, little one.”

You’ve always known you were different. You’re able to see them, after all, able to see the Others. You’ve also always ignored them. Until the day comes where you’re forced to make a choice - one that throws your world into chaos. And sends you down a path you might never return from.

Her heels echo on marble, and she tilts her head. “Disappointing,” she muses, looking at Kai. “I am disappointed, as this trial was not the girl’s sentencing at all. It was your own, dear Prince. You have failed me. I did so want a happy ending,” she sighs, gaze fraught with emotion. “Truly, I did.”

What’s odd about all this is – I don’t think she’s lying. The way Maeve looks at Kai now, gaze hollow and wanting, this is how you look at ones you love. How you look when your child turns away from you, when your love rips your heart still-beating from your chest.

Her gaze moves to mine. “The sentence has changed. Prince Kai will receive punishment for the both of you. Tomorrow,” she clips, then whirls away into darkness.

Part XIV - The Dream

Maeve reappears on the dais.

I barely understand what’s happening, as I’m wrenched upwards to stand. Kai remains motionless beside me, Maeve holding him still in the grasp of her magic. My arms are yanked behind my back, new cuffs attached as Maeve continues to stare at Kai.

“Prince,” she murmurs, waiting until he looks up. Kai’s muscles strain, bunched beneath his tunic – almost as though even now, he’s struggling to escape. “Do not try and leave,” Maeve warns. “Once you are in your cell, you are not to exit unless Kyungsoo releases you. From this moment on, you will not disobey Kyungsoo’s orders. Kyungsoo,” Maeve’s gaze shifts sideways. “If Y/N tries to escape, you will hurt the Prince.”

I freeze at her order. I didn’t think it was possible, to feel such hatred for one individual. My anger is a living thing, it breathes and beats independent of my body. It tinges my thoughts, turns them bleak and crumbling. It snakes through my veins, breaking me into something emptier than before.

I wish I were powerful, so I could fight. Wish I were stronger, so I could win. I want to see the look on her face, when Maeve realizes I’m the one who beat her. A chill travels my spine, knowing I should not find pleasure in such an idea.

“Y/N,” Kyungsoo interrupts, fingers soft gripping my elbow. “Kai. Come with me.”

Haltingly, as though fighting the urge to obey, Kai stands. He moves one leg before the other, still looking at Maeve, staring steadily back. Kai’s jaw tightens. When he turns, it’s as though Kyungsoo’s order has finally won out and when he looks at me, his gaze softens. 

“Come,” Kyungsoo demands. He turns, bringing me with. Nodding at the two closest guards, who fall into step beside him.

“Lock them in the dungeon,” Maeve instructs, almost bored.

Kyungsoo hesitates, then nods as we leave the room.

The way down is shorter than the way up. Perhaps it feels this way because of Kai’s healing, which took away all my previous ailments. No longer does the poison run in my veins, no longer does it taint my thoughts, dilute the castle around me. As we descend the stairs to the dungeon, I can feel the air around me dampen and chill.

I don’t try to escape. Maeve’s warning hangs over me, her command to hurt Kai at the front of my mind. This is my fault. If I hadn’t offered to take my father’s place, it I hadn’t answered the door when Sehun came, if I hadn’t done a million, tiny things, Kai would be safe right now. We’re here, he’s in danger because of me.

At the entrance to the dungeons, Kyungsoo comes to a halt. “Wait,” he instructs, looking at the Fey. “Kai, Y/N – follow me.”

I nod, following him down the hall. When I fall into step behind him, Kai’s thumb brushes my own. It’s quick, barely more than a graze but it gives me strength. I look back, meeting his gaze. At the end of the row Kyungsoo unlocks a single cell, pushing open the grate and nodding for me to walk past.

Kyungsoo’s hand catches my wrist when I enter, unlocking the handcuffs from behind my back. “I’ll have to replace these tomorrow,” he tells me, already apologetic.

I nod, turning away. “I know.”

Kyungsoo looks at Kai. “Go on. Why do you think I told the other guards to stay put?” His voice drops to a whisper. “I cannot fight her Majesty on the commands she gave, but at least I can offer you time together.”

After a pause, Kai moves, stepping forward to embrace Kyungsoo. “Thank you,” he mutters, before releasing him. “Did she mention what will happen tomorrow?” he asks, though he doesn’t seem to expect an answer.

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “No. I don’t think she trusts me to remain silent. She suspects the reason I offered to stay with her last night, I believe that’s why she placed you on Trial.”

“Then,” Kai exhales, bowing his head, “I am sorry. Sorry, for what I have brought you, my friend.”

Kyungsoo merely smiles. “Don’t apologize. The choices I have made in the past forty-eight hours have been some of the proudest of my life.”

Kai looks up, nods. When Kyungsoo turns to go, I meet his gaze. Trying to convey silent gratitude, since I know anything I say will not be enough. Kyungsoo smiles back at me, his eyes sad. He knows what this night means – as do I. It might mean our last.

When Kyungsoo disappears, the sound of his footsteps fade up the staircase and Kai crosses the room. “Y/N,” he sighs, hands finding my body. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, into my hair. “This is my fault.”

“Yours?” I mutter, shaking my head. “How?”  

“I should have known Maeve wouldn’t spare you.” Kai pulls back. “Should have known she’d never let us go.”

“When did you ask that?” I say to him, slightly dazed.

“This morning.” Kai lowers himself to the floor, pulls me down with him. “She called me to her, I went. Maeve wanted me to see Kyungsoo. I,” Kai takes a shuddering breath. “I asked what your sentence would be.”

My fingers brush the back of his hand, offering comfort. Kai’s pain is clear, his eyelids flutter as he tries to block out the memory – but can’t. “What did she say?” I ask softly.

“She had not decided. She said she couldn’t let this pass, not when your treason was announced to the court – not when they already think you guilty.”

“But,” I nearly laugh, incredulous. “She did that! Maeve is the one who announced my treason to the court.”

“I know,” Kai nods. “That’s what I said, but she just smiled. Maeve asked what I wanted. I asked her to spare you,” Kai murmurs, seeming lost. “I asked this of her, and she agreed. Or – I thought she did.”

“She lied,” I mutter.

Kai’s mouth twists. “In a way she did,” he acknowledges. “She said she would not hurt you, is how she phrased it. I was foolish of me to believe she meant more than physical pain.”

“Damn fairies,” I mutter, leaning against the wall.

To my surprise, Kai chuckles. I turn to look at him, somewhat alarmed when I see tears forming at his eyes. “Kai,” I touch his arm. “Kai?” 

He opens his eyes suddenly. “She won’t hurt you,” he repeats, quieter. “I won’t let her. These past few months have meant more than my entire previous existence. She won’t take that away.”

I hesitate, unsure how to phrase my next question. I don’t understand what happened, back in the throne room. Don’t understand how or why I’m alive.  “Kai,” I toy with my skirts. “How did you save me?”

He quiets. “Today?”

“Yes,” I look up. “How did you heal me of poison, how did you break my cuffs? You kept Maeve back with magic – but how?”

Kai hesitates. “I think she wanted that,” he murmurs. “Maeve was careful, when she phrased her commands. I was told not to speak during sentencing. I was told that if I interfered, it would be taken out on you. Maeve did not actually order me anything. She wanted me to be tested,” Kai admits. “Wanted to know how I felt, to see if I would disobey in order to protect you. That’s what my Trial was.” 

Kai leans his head against the wall. “And now,” he laughs, somewhat bitterly. “I’ve doomed us both. But then,” he opens his eyes, gaze pleading. “What could I do? She would have killed you.”

“Maybe you should have let her,” I say bluntly.

Faster than I can see, Kai moves. His hands touch my face and I blink, surprised by his proximity. Kai hovers over me, knees bent to either side of my body. “Never say that,” he whispers. “I love you. Before now,” his lips tilt, forehead bending to mine. “Before you, I was only half-alive. Even in Summer, even as Seelie – the only person I loved was myself. I was cold, hardened and proud. Partly due to my upbringing,” Kai allows. “But mostly because I was selfish.”

When his thumbs find my cheeks, I stare up at him. “You’re not selfish.”

“No,” Kai shakes his head, exhaling. “You are not selfish. You stood in your father’s bookstore, you protected his life with your own. When you called me similar,” he breathes, suddenly unsteady. “I didn’t understand. That night in my study, I was terrified. Scared, because you thought me redeemable.”

“Why?” I murmur back at him. “Why is that such a terrible thing?”

“Because,” Kai’s expression falters. “If you found me redeemable – perhaps it meant that I was.”

My thumb strokes his wrist, delicate and sure. “You are,” I tell him.

Kai closes his eyes, smile soft. “Ridiculous, that you think this. I took you from home, I forced you to stay. I am your jailer, your warden. I kill, I,” Kai breaks off, drawing in breath. “You are too good, too pure. You of all people, should not see the good in me.”

Gently, I lift a hand. Kai is dressed entirely in black, a military-style jacket over loose trousers. It’s dirty, scuffed with dust and wear. A reminder of him protecting me, of the moment he threw himself between me and Maeve.

“My father wrote that Anthology,” I whisper. “He knew the risks but did it anyways. If it hadn’t been you who cam, someone else would have and I doubt they would have accepted my bargain. I didn’t want my father to die alone – which may have been rash, may have been foolish – but you respected my rash and foolish wishes. You allowed me take his place.”

“Stupid,” Kai mutters, looking up. “I should have just ignored you.”

I manage to smile, fingertips tracing his cheekbones. “You didn’t, though. You listened. When I kept trying to run, you saved me. When I ignored you entirely, you protected me, hid me from Maeve. I asked why you would do this,” I exhale, remembering. “I asked myself this over and over, and the thing I kept coming back to was that you cared.”

Kai’s gaze flickers, staring back. “Of course I did.”

I nod. “That’s what I saw. I saw that despite the situation, despite your collar,” my fingertips trace over this, “despite the woman who owned you and the things she ordered you to do – you wanted to help.”

“I had to,” Kai returns, gaze pleading.

“You didn’t,” I say to him gently.

He looks down, oddly hesitant. “When I first saw you, you reminded me of her,” Kai confesses.

“Your sister?”

Kai nods. “The stubbornness of your chin, how reckless you were – how brave,” he admits, swallowing. “You were brave, loved your father so deeply. It’s why I stopped.”

“Jongin,” I pause. “I – what do I call you now?”

He smiles. “What do you want to call me?”

“I’m used to Kai,” I admit. “Your true name is Jongin. Then there are those who call you Prince, Enforcer,” I slide my hands around the curve of his waist. “I’ve heard you called traitor, along with other – less savory – names.”

Kai’s breath hitches. “Well, Jongin isn’t my full true name.”

My hands stop as I arch a brow. “No?”

Kai seems amused by my reaction. “My true name,” he hesitates, then leans forward. 

He whispers, speaking for so long I nearly lose track. When he’s done, he pulls back. Staring at me, his dark eyes wide and scared.

I look back. “That’s,” I blink, exhaling. “A lot of names.”

Kai chuckles, still uncertain. “One’s true name is difficult to find. I only know mine because of a quest I went on, when I was young and foolish.” Kai settles onto his knees, weight resting atop mine. “There’s a creature called the Serpent, which lurks in t he deep Other. If you catch him, he will answer one truth. I caught him,” Kai’s lips curls, triumphant. “I asked him what my name is. You see, your true name is not the one given to you at birth. It is you, in the simplest terms. It’s everything you are, everything you could be. Many cannot bear to hear the sound. To know your true self, to see your darkest parts – it’s a daunting task.”

I stare back, trying to imagine. “That’s the only way to find out your true name?” I muse, turning this over in my mind.

Kai shrugs. “It’s how I did. Now that you know, though,” he murmurs. “You know what I am.”

I nod, thinking this over. Kai’s true name is dark. It’s haunted, unforgiving but at the center burns a light so bright, it’s dazzling. “I love you,” I inform, tightening my grip. “All of you. Maybe more, now that I know.”

Kai inhales, the noise timid. “Then you understand,” he bends his head, “why I won’t let her hurt you. Before, I didn’t understand what I was. Worse,” he mutters, “I didn’t want to understand. You changed that.” Kai winds hands through my hair, lifting my face to his. “I don’t want to return. I don’t want to go back to what I was. A killer, whose blackened soul was not their own. Y/N,” he inhales. “I will do anything, to stay.”

“But,” I protest, and Kai interrupts.

“You don’t understand,” he murmurs, curling fingers through my hair. “You keep thinking you’ve hurt me, that this is somehow your fault. The truth is though, the only reason I care at all is because you woke me up.”

I still, considering. Letting his words filter my thoughts, rearrange themselves around waht I know. It feels right, somehow. His chest rises and falls against mine, breathing me in. “What now,” I ask. “Kai.”

He smiles. “Yes, say my name like that. I’ve grown fond of you lightening my darkness. Kai has meant such horror to me for so long – I enjoy listening to you change that.”

“Kai,” I smile, a gesture which slowly disappears. “From the way Kyungsoo spoke, it didn’t sound like we have much time.”

His gaze darkens. “I don’t know what will happen,” Kai sighs. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. There’s a quote,” he hesitates, reaching for a far-off  memory. “From a human author, I don’t remember the name – Dickens, Dackens? He had a character in one of his books who was tragically in love with the heroine.”

“Dickens,” I correct, smiling. “Go on, though – Dackens is nice, too.”

Kai makes a face. “Insulting me, at a time like now.” When I laugh, he smiles. “The character’s name was Sydney. His love wasn’t returned by the heroine, she feel in love with another. In the end, Sydney decides to give his own life so that they both might live. When Sydney is taken away, he muses, ‘It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest I go to, than I have ever known.’” Kai falls silent, thinking this.

At last I nudge him and ask, “Why did you think of this now?”

“Because,” he sits on the floor. Pulls me to him, so I curl against his side. “I have lived a selfish life. A violent life, one filled with unhappiness. It is only after meeting you, I knew hope. I knew unselfishness. It is only after, that I lived and if it means I must die by your side – it is a far better fate than living on without you.”

He says this quietly, matter-of-fact and I wish my words were as eloquent as his. Wish I could explain how I love him, but I’m afraid I’ll fall short. Taking his hand, I bring it close to my heart. “I’m yours,” I say simply. “I don’t know when my heart ceased to belong only to me, but it did and it does.”

“Mine as well,” Kai says softly.

He pulls me into him and we sit like that for a while. Breath rising and falling, the world continuing around us. “What will we do?” I ask, well aware of the fear rising to the surface.

“It’s hard to prepare for the unknown,” Kai considers. “Maeve likes spectacle. She likes to put on a show, so whatever the sentence is – it won’t be private. She’ll want as many people as possible to see, to know disobeying her is a fate worse than death.”

A chill crosses my spine. “Do you think she’ll kill you?”

“No.” Kai shakes his head. “I don’t know what she’ll do, but death is far too easy. Maeve’s punishments aren’t so quick. Whatever she has planned though, I think she intends for you to watch.”

I close my eyes, nauseous at the thought. “No.”

“I will be okay,” Kai wraps both hands around my waist. “Whatever she does, whatever she tries – know it won’t matter. I love you, I will protect you.”

“You don’t need to protect me,” I look up. “I can take care of myself.”

“Oh,” Kai brushes a lock away from my face, smiles faintly. “I know. I taught you myself.” When I groan, he smiles. “What I mean is – Maeve wants to hurt you because of me. I can’t allow that to happen.”

I nod. “I hope you know, this goes both ways. I will protect you as well.”

Kai smiles. “I know,” he brushes a kiss against my temple.

I lift my face closer. “If I wanted to find out my true name,” I murmur, opening my eyes. “I need to visit this person – this Serpent?”

Kai arches a brow. “Most go their whole lives without knowing – your true name is dangerous. If you really want to know, though,” he nods, “I will help you find out. After we leave, after we survive.”

I lean into his chest. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Addewid?” he quirks, amused.

“No,” I intertwine my fingers around his. “Just a dream I have.”

When I look up, Kai is no longer smiling. He searches my expression, gaze soft. “I want to dream with you,” he whispers, bending. “I already dream of you.”

When he kisses me, it’s not a question but a promise. Kai’s lips open against mine and he pulls me to him, filling the spaces between us. His hands slide from my hair to my waist, lifting me onto his lap. I exhale, curving around him. Craving more of his touch, his warmth. He slides his mouth down my neck, scraping teeth against skin.

“I just want to be with you,” I murmur, closing my eyes.

He nods, “Whatever you want,” Kai sounds hoarse, though his eyes are shining. “Whatever you ask.”

“I’m yours,” I tell him.

“I’m yours,” he agrees.

I don’t know what time Kyungsoo reenters our cell. He walks in quietly, purposefully – like he seems to act with everything that he does. Kyungsoo’s gaze is dark, steady when he says, “It’s time.”

I swallow, nodding as I push to my feet. Kai stands before me, one hand entwined with mine. My dress is dirty, torn from the floor and last night. I’m sure my face is equally as unattractive. Kai seems tired as well, though he still looks ethereal. Hair falls forward into his eyes, disheveled and limp.

Kyungsoo extends a hand, reattaching the cuffs to my wrists. I allow this, watching Kai while Kyungsoo works. He stares back, lips tight with worry. His emotions are so obvious to me now – it’s strange, I once thought him unfeeling. In the beginning I did, in those first few weeks I thought him a monster.

Maybe it was me, though. Maybe I was the stubborn one, too blind to see him for what he truly is. I see him now.

When he’s done, Kyungsoo leads up the stairs and exists down a long hall. Three guards flank on either side, more than the amount which accompanied us down to the dungeons. I wonder what Maeve thinks will happen, wonder what she thinks we could do. Where would we go? So long as Kai wears her collar, Maeve is in control and we can never be free.

My legs tremble and despite Kai at my side, I’m scared. Terrified, for both him and myself. I don’t let this show, though. Don’t let her see, when we enter the hall.

It’s the same space as the ballroom, although it’s laid out differently. There’s the dais above, but the tables are gone. The throne gone as well, just Maeve standing looking down from above. She’s dressed in all black, but no longer a dress. Closer to the fighting leathers in Kai’s memory, than anything.

The entire room is filled. A sunken pit sits at the center, around which stand the entire Unseelie court. A chaotic mess of shapes, nightmares and monsters. Some yell, others hiss. I’m spit at once or twice and though I flinch, I try and remain silent. Kai is livid, I feel his anger like a living thing. Wherever his gaze sweeps, the Unseelie step backwards. Even bound, even cuffed – Kai is feared.

When we reach the front, Kyungsoo steps forward. He stops before Maeve, lowering himself until one knee touches the ground. “Majesty,” he intones. “The prisoners.”

“Indeed.” Maeve lifts her hands, waits until absolute silence. Only the crackling of flames, ice-blue pillars which rise on either side. “Welcome, members of the Unseelie Court.”

The crowd roars; a solid, writhing wall of night.

Maeve’s eyes gleam in the torchlight. “We are here to right the evil which has wronged us. To condemn this disgrace known as disloyalty,” she sneers. “A quality I cannot tolerate in my subjects.”

There’s a soft hiss throughout the crowd, seeming to come from the floor itself. It wraps around me, renders me frozen. I wish I could think of something to say, to do. I try to come up with a way out, but my mind remains a perfect blank.

Maeve stares at Kai, unflinching. “Unseelie,” she murmurs. “What is the price of treason?”

Rage expels from the crowd, hoards of voices which demand torture, anger and pain. My skin crawls with the force of it and I tell myself to remain still, despite my legs which quake beneath me.

“Yes,” Maeve murmurs. “The punishment for treason is a life. What to do though, when the life in question already belongs to you?”

There’s no answer, the crowd falling silent. Maeve steps forward, stopping just before the dais. Kai and I are surrounded below, guards on either side. At our backs stand the Unseelie, another inescapable path. 

“The gauntlet,” Maeve muses, sending exaltation through the room.

I taste savage joy from the audience, raw excitement in the air. “What’s the gauntlet?” I turn to Kai, but he doesn’t answer. Instead he’s gone white with fear, looking up at the Queen.

“The gauntlet,” Maeve’s voice rings out. “Is an obstacle passed by only the fiercest of warriors. Our dear Prince Kai,” she allows time for laughter in the audience, “is obliged to face any beast of my choosing – he will fight them in the ring.”

I turn to stare at the sunken pit. The room spins before me, dancing with the dread of what’s to come.

“If he wins,” Maeve declares, eyes blazing. “He will remain in my guard, his human will escape punishment. Should he lose,” she tilts her head. “Your dear human will lose that which she loves most.”

“I,” Kai stills, furious. “What do you mean?”

Maeve does not flinch. “Well,” the dark behind her shimmers, “I merely asked myself – what would be most fitting, for the thing which has ripped out my heart? What should he lose, in return?”

The room falls silent, no one knowing the answer.

“He deserves pain,” Maeve nods, almost to herself. “But what kind? You, my Prince, have already lost what you hold dear. Your lovely, dead sister. But,” she looks to me, her gaze hardening, “what about her?”

When our eyes meet, I stare at her in shock. Horror floods my body, and I realize then that Kai was right – this is about hurting Kai, but Maeve will do so through me.

“Death is not good enough for you,” Maeve allows. “Death is only a moment. I want the two of you to suffer for much, much longer.”

Behind her, shadows begin to coalesce. I squint, unable to see beyond the two shapes which emerge in the distance. When the one closest becomes visible, I recoil. I step backwards when I recognize Oh Sehun. He doesn’t seem to notice me though, too focused on the task at hand –  dragging a nameless shape across the stage. A man, I realize, wearing a black hood. He thrashes mightily, hands tied firmly behind his back. I notice that he wears similar handcuffs to mine.

Sehun stops then, shoving the man down to his knees. He stays like that, chest rising and falling from the ground. He looks out over the crowd, though I know he can’t see. I can’t look away though, can’t stop staring because – those pants. I know those pants.

I know that shirt, too. Know, because I bought them.

Sehun reaches down to remove the bag from the man’s head.

“D-dad?” I choke out, seized with disbelief.

When I try to move, hands encircle my arms. Their grip like iron, yanking me backwards. Dimly, I notice Kai is being similarly restrained. He’s moving his lips but nothing emerges, or maybe it does and I just can’t hear. I can’t understand him, everything is faded but my father, who looks at me with wordless apology.

“Pass the gauntlet,” Maeve’s voice rings out above. “Or be responsible for the death of her father.”

[Master List]