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roach-works · 5 years

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here’s a story about changelings

reposted from my old blog, which got deleted: Mary was a beautiful baby, sweet and affectionate, but by the time she’s three she’s turned difficult and strange, with fey moods and a stubborn mouth that screams and bites but never says mama. But her mother’s well-used to hard work with little thanks, and when the village gossips wag their tongues she just shrugs, and pulls her difficult child away from their precious, perfect blossoms, before the bites draw blood. Mary’s mother doesn’t drown her in a bucket of saltwater, and she doesn’t take up the silver knife the wife of the village priest leaves out for her one Sunday brunch. She gives her daughter yarn, instead, and instead of a rowan stake through her inhuman heart she gives her a child’s first loom, oak and ash. She lets her vicious, uncooperative fairy daughter entertain herself with games of her own devising, in as much peace and comfort as either of them can manage. Mary grows up strangely, as a strange child would, learning everything in all the wrong order, and biting a great deal more than she should. But she also learns to weave, and takes to it with a grand passion. Soon enough she knows more than her mother–which isn’t all that much–and is striking out into unknown territory, turning out odd new knots and weaves, patterns as complex as spiderwebs and spellrings. “Aren’t you clever,” her mother says, of her work, and leaves her to her wool and flax and whatnot. Mary’s not biting anymore, and she smiles more than she frowns, and that’s about as much, her mother figures, as anyone should hope for from their child. Mary still cries sometimes, when the other girls reject her for her strange graces, her odd slow way of talking, her restless reaching fluttering hands that have learned to spin but never to settle. The other girls call her freak, witchblood, hobgoblin. “I don’t remember girls being quite so stupid when I was that age,” her mother says, brushing Mary’s hair smooth and steady like they’ve both learned to enjoy, smooth as a skein of silk. “Time was, you knew not to insult anyone you might need to flatter later. ‘Specially when you don’t know if they’re going to grow wings or horns or whatnot. Serve ‘em all right if you ever figure out curses.” “I want to go back,” Mary says. “I want to go home, to where I came from, where there’s people like me. If I’m a fairy’s child I should be in fairyland, and no one would call me a freak.” “Aye, well, I’d miss you though,” her mother says. “And I expect there’s stupid folk everywhere, even in fairyland. Cruel folk, too. You just have to make the best of things where you are, being my child instead.” Mary learns to read well enough, in between the weaving, especially when her mother tracks down the traveling booktraders and comes home with slim, precious manuals on dyes and stains and mordants, on pigments and patterns, diagrams too arcane for her own eyes but which make her daughter’s eyes shine. “We need an herb garden,” her daughter says, hands busy, flipping from page to page, pulling on her hair, twisting in her skirt, itching for a project. “Yarrow, and madder, and woad and weld…” “Well, start digging,” her mother says. “Won’t do you a harm to get out of the house now’n then.” Mary doesn’t like dirt but she’s learned determination well enough from her mother. She digs and digs, and plants what she’s given, and the first year doesn’t turn out so well but the second’s better, and by the third a cauldron’s always simmering something over the fire, and Mary’s taking in orders from girls five years older or more, turning out vivid bolts and spools and skeins of red and gold and blue, restless fingers dancing like they’ve summoned down the rainbow. Her mother figures she probably has. “Just as well you never got the hang of curses,” she says, admiring her bright new skirts. “I like this sort of trick a lot better.” Mary smiles, rocking back and forth on her heels, fingers already fluttering to find the next project. She finally grows up tall and fair, if a bit stooped and squinty, and time and age seem to calm her unhappy mouth about as well as it does for human children. Word gets around she never lies or breaks a bargain, and if the first seems odd for a fairy’s child then the second one seems fit enough. The undyed stacks of taken orders grow taller, the dyed lots of filled orders grow brighter, the loom in the corner for Mary’s own creations grows stranger and more complex. Mary’s hands callus just like her mother’s, become as strong and tough and smooth as the oak and ash of her needles and frames, though they never fall still. “Do you ever wonder what your real daughter would be like?” the priest’s wife asks, once. Mary’s mother snorts. “She wouldn’t be worth a damn at weaving,” she says. “Lord knows I never was. No, I’ll keep what I’ve been given and thank the givers kindly. It was a fair enough trade for me. Good day, ma’am.” Mary brings her mother sweet chamomile tea, that night, and a warm shawl in all the colors of a garden, and a hairbrush. In the morning, the priest’s son comes round, with payment for his mother’s pretty new dress and a shy smile just for Mary. He thinks her hair is nice, and her hands are even nicer, vibrant in their strength and skill and endless motion. They all live happily ever after. * Here’s another story: Gregor grew fast, even for a boy, grew tall and big and healthy and began shoving his older siblings around early. He was blunt and strange and flew into rages over odd things, over the taste of his porridge or the scratch of his shirt, over the sound of rain hammering on the roof, over being touched when he didn’t expect it and sometimes even when he did. He never wore shoes if he could help it and he could tell you the number of nails in the floorboards without looking, and his favorite thing was to sit in the pantry and run his hands through the bags of dry barley and corn and oat. Considering as how he had fists like a young ox by the time he was five, his family left him to it. “He’s a changeling,” his father said to his wife, expecting an argument, but men are often the last to know anything about their children, and his wife only shrugged and nodded, like the matter was already settled, and that was that. They didn’t bind Gregor in iron and leave him in the woods for his own kind to take back. They didn’t dig him a grave and load him into it early. They worked out what made Gregor angry, in much the same way they figured out the personal constellations of emotion for each of their other sons, and when spring came, Gregor’s father taught him about sprouts, and when autumn came, Gregor’s father taught him about sheaves. Meanwhile his mother didn’t mind his quiet company around the house, the way he always knew where she’d left the kettle, or the mending, because she was forgetful and he never missed a detail. “Pity you’re not a girl, you’d never drop a stitch of knitting,” she tells Gregor, in the winter, watching him shell peas. His brothers wrestle and yell before the hearth fire, but her fairy child just works quietly, turning peas by their threes and fours into the bowl. “You know exactly how many you’ve got there, don’t you?” she says. “Six hundred and thirteen,” he says, in his quiet, precise way. His mother says “Very good,” and never says Pity you’re not human. He smiles just like one, if not for quite the same reasons. The next autumn he’s seven, a lucky number that pleases him immensely, and his father takes him along to the mill with the grain. “What you got there?” The miller asks them. “Sixty measures of Prince barley, thirty two measures of Hare’s Ear corn, and eighteen of Abernathy Blue Slate oats,” Gregor says. “Total weight is three hundred fifty pounds, or near enough. Our horse is named Madam. The wagon doesn’t have a name. I’m Gregor.” “My son,” his father says. “The changeling one.” “Bit sharper’n your others, ain’t he?” the miller says, and his father laughs. Gregor feels proud and excited and shy, and it dries up all his words, sticks them in his throat. The mill is overwhelming, but the miller is kind, and tells him the name of each and every part when he points at it, and the names of all the grain in all the bags waiting for him to get to them. “Didn’t know the fair folk were much for machinery,” the miller says. Gregor shrugs. “I like seeds,” he says, each word shelled out with careful concentration. “And names. And numbers.” “Aye, well. Suppose that’d do it. Want t’help me load up the grist?” They leave the grain with the miller, who tells Gregor’s father to bring him back ‘round when he comes to pick up the cornflour and cracked barley and rolled oats. Gregor falls asleep in the nameless wagon on the way back, and when he wakes up he goes right back to the pantry, where the rest of the seeds are left, and he runs his hands through the shifting, soothing textures and thinks about turning wheels, about windspeed and counterweights. When he’s twelve–another lucky number–he goes to live in the mill with the miller, and he never leaves, and he lives happily ever after. * Here’s another: James is a small boy who likes animals much more than people, which doesn’t bother his parents overmuch, as someone needs to watch the sheep and make the sheepdogs mind. James learns the whistles and calls along with the lambs and puppies, and by the time he’s six he’s out all day, tending to the flock. His dad gives him a knife and his mom gives him a knapsack, and the sheepdogs give him doggy kisses and the sheep don’t give him too much trouble, considering. “It’s not right for a boy to have so few complaints,” his mother says, once, when he’s about eight. “Probably ain’t right for his parents to have so few complaints about their boy, neither,” his dad says. That’s about the end of it. James’ parents aren’t very talkative, either. They live the routines of a farm, up at dawn and down by dusk, clucking softly to the chickens and calling harshly to the goats, and James grows up slow but happy. When James is eleven, he’s sent to school, because he’s going to be a man and a man should know his numbers. He gets in fights for the first time in his life, unused to peers with two legs and loud mouths and quick fists. He doesn’t like the feel of slate and chalk against his fingers, or the harsh bite of a wooden bench against his legs. He doesn’t like the rules: rules for math, rules for meals, rules for sitting down and speaking when you’re spoken to and wearing shoes all day and sitting under a low ceiling in a crowded room with no sheep or sheepdogs. Not even a puppy. But his teacher is a good woman, patient and experienced, and James isn’t the first miserable, rocking, kicking, crying lost lamb ever handed into her care. She herds the other boys away from him, when she can, and lets him sit in the corner by the door, and have a soft rag to hold his slate and chalk with, so they don’t gnaw so dryly at his fingers. James learns his numbers well enough, eventually, but he also learns with the abruptness of any lamb taking their first few steps–tottering straight into a gallop–to read. Familiar with the sort of things a strange boy needs to know, his teacher gives him myths and legends and fairytales, and steps back. James reads about Arthur and Morgana, about Hercules and Odysseus, about djinni and banshee and brownies and bargains and quests and how sometimes, something that looks human is left to try and stumble along in the humans’ world, step by uncertain step, as best they can. James never comes to enjoy writing. He learns to talk, instead, full tilt, a leaping joyous gambol, and after a time no one wants to hit him anymore. The other boys sit next to him, instead, with their mouths closed, and their hands quiet on their knees. “Let’s hear from James,” the men at the alehouse say, years later, when he’s become a man who still spends more time with sheep than anyone else, but who always comes back into town with something grand waiting for his friends on his tongue. “What’ve you got for us tonight, eh?” James finishes his pint, and stands up, and says, “Here’s a story about changelings.”

#long post #writing #fic #autism #changelings #fairies

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watermelonsugar2612 · 3 years

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'MY DREAM WEDDING'

Chapter 1: 'You're serious?"

Author's note: Heya! I’m writing a new Hinny fic, all the way from the proposal to the wedding. It will have 10-15 chapters I think! Let me know if you like it and if I should continue!! <33

It was 1 am. Harry and Ginny had just had sex. They both lay on top of each other in a heap of limbs, panting. “I love you Gin,” Harry said as he stole a soft kiss from Ginny. “Me too,” she let out a satisfied sigh. “Set the alarm, we’ll go running tomorrow. 7 am, sharp! I have practice from 9:30 and your training starts at 10,” she instructed. “Aye aye captain.” Harry replied in a lost but wonderful tone. He picked up the alarm clock and twisted a few knobs. “Mmmm… I’ve set the alarm baby,” he said as he pulled Ginny back onto the bed while she was trying to put on her robe. The half-untied robe fell off her shoulders and she lay completely naked on top of Harry. “No Harry! We just finished,” she whined in an explanatory attitude, she tried to pull away but his grip was too tight, “Harry! We have an early day tomorrow, no!” she whined even more. “Okay, I’ll let you go but we both sleep just like this tonight? Deal?” he grinned cockily. “Like this? What do you mean?” she thought for a second and her mouth rounded in shock, “Completely naked?!” she gave him a questioning look and shouted. “You heard me right! Just. like. This.” his grin spread to both his ears. “Fine!” she gave up and muttered, “prat.” Harry had heard her, he pulled her down onto his lips in a greedy kiss, full of hunger. As soon as he felt her getting lost in the kiss, he pulled away. “Not fair!” she cried. He laughed and pulled her onto the bed beside him, spooning her, one hand on her breast, the other on her thigh. She gave out a satisfied sigh. Both of them were utterly spent, every ounce of their body was ready to give in, to sleep, but somehow neither of them could give in to the temptation. They lay there silently feeling each other's presence, it was enough, they were happy, complete. “Gin, will you marry me?” Harry broke the ice. Ginny turned her head and looked into his beautiful bespectacled green eyes, in utter panic, “Gin, would you like to have another round of sex? Or Gin, do you want to organise a party at Grimmauld Place? Or Gin, do you want to go to dinner? Or Gin, do you want to go on vacation, would’ve been- acceptable! It's 3 in the morning, Harry James Potter! You want to marry me?” she blurted out. “I’m sorry Gin- I- Please don’t leave me, I was just wondering if you would- I saw a future, I’m sorry if I’m going too fast! I’m such a git we’ve only been dating for 2 years- sorry. I’ll wait for as long as you want… sorry Gin, what can I do to make it up to you?” he stammered. Ginny instantly regretted her panic, truth be told, she was waiting for him to talk about marriage, what had she done!? “Shit.” she muttered, “Harry, Bubba, I’m so sorry-” she said as she felt tears well up in both his and her eyes. She immediately engulfed him in a hug. Still tightly embraced, she said softly into his ear, “I’ll marry you, I’ve always wanted that,” she snorted softly and pulled away, “I love you,” she said into the kiss. He pulled away and looked deep into her chocolate eyes as if he was looking at her soul, “Gin, you are the most incredible, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, everything with you is so much better than it could’ve been with anyone else in the entire world. When I'm with you I- I feel complete. The passion we share, the amount we love each other, and care for each other, I don’t think it's possible to do that with anyone else. I realise, this isn’t any girl's dream proposal, hell, I don’t even have a ring for you, and we’re naked, in bed! And, 'm sorry to just blurt it out like that, but if you’re serious about marrying me, I’m the happiest man in the world.” he said. “Oh, Harry! My sweet, sweet Harry! I love you so much, I don’t think it’s possible to love anyone as much as I love you! Yes, I’m serious, I want to marry you, love!” she replied with a large smile on her pink face. “You’re serious?” he muttered again. “Yes I’m serious, and honestly, I’ve kinda imagined my boyfriend asking me to marry him after we had hot steamy sex.” she winked. “Oh, one more thing before we finally sleep, can we not tell the family until we

have rings and also can we give them a different version of the story, because if your brothers find out this is when I proposed, they might kill me.” he chuckled. They both laughed and as soon as their heads fell to the bed, both of them fell asleep, now feeling much more complete than they ever had before.

***

The alarm rang all of a sudden and Harry opened his eyes slowly, taking in the sight of the gorgeous redhead lying naked beside him on his bed. “Morning baby,” he hummed softly. “Morning to you too, Fiancee dearest,” she muttered, still half-asleep. They both laughed and Ginny gave Harry a quick and sloppy kiss. “Would you like to go running with me Ms Weasley?” Harry grinned. “Let’s see? Would you like to marry me, Mr Potter?” She tried hard not to laugh and played along. “Why, of course!” he chuckled, “Then, I shall go running with you.” she laughed and bowed down gracefully putting her hand near his mouth. He took it in his hand, gave a slight bow and brushed his lips against it. Ginny changed into an exercise set, leggings which made her arse look hot and a cropped sweatshirt, in a very light beige colour. Harry wore a pair of loose basketball shorts and a large hoodie on top. This hoodie was his, but it was generally worn by Ginny on movie nights with Harry. Both of them loved it. It was monsoon and they were worried it would rain, but they didn’t pay much attention to it. They stepped out to the pavement outside Grimmauld Place feeling a gust of cool, humid monsoon air blow in their hair. They began running, they talked and laughed. The roads were rather crowded, it was rare to see a couple so randy for each other, even after 2 years. It was visible as both of them ran, how much in love they were, stealing kisses, giving playful nudges, saying that they loved the other every 20 seconds in a way that they thought the other might forget, but the truth being said, the love they felt for each other could never lessen, forgetting was a far way forth. “Gin, do you wanna get some coffee?” Harry panted as they took a brief halt. “Hmm… yes, let’s get coffee,” she caught her breath and hummed. “Let’s go to that muggle cafe you like?” Harry smiled. Ginny nodded and they made their way to a secluded corner and apparated a little away from the cafe. It was called ‘Episode’ and it looked gorgeous. The early morning sunlight fell on its entrance which was green, full of plants. There were tables outside with umbrellas above them and there was a gazebo as well. The signboard of the cafe was covered with vines. They both took a seat in a corner outside. “So, when do you want to go ring shopping?” Harry asked expectantly, “I’m free this weekend. We have an offseason, we don’t have a game for another 3 months, today is just a meeting with our trainers to make sure we are all following our diet.” Ginny shrugged. “Done then, this weekend it is!” Harry pecked her lips as the waiter approached them from behind. “Morning to you sir, ma’am! What can I get you today?” the waiter asked politely and handed them a menu with several beverages written on it. They both glanced through and Ginny spoke up, “Good Morning! I will have a thick and frothy Hazelnut Frappuccino, with extra whipped cream.” she spoke to the waiter and winked at Harry. He grunted and spoke, “I’ll have a shot of espresso, extra hard.” he grinned back at Ginny. The waiter looked lost for words, he cleared his throat and said, “Will that be all?” They nodded and he left. “What was that about Harry?” Ginny asked in a concerned voice, “the waiter was right there!” she whispered in his ear. “Hey! You started it, and just for your information, I’m kind of turned on!” he replied in a panicky voice, saying the end of his sentence into her ear. “A secret, me too!” she whispered back and bit his earlobe softly. He shifted in his seat a bit. Their foreplay continued for a little while and they both tried not to be too conspicuous. After a few minutes, the waiter appeared with their coffee. “There you are, your coffee’s! Call for me when you’re ready to pay.” he put down their coffee and left again. Ginny seductively took a sip of her coffee and a thick layer of whipped cream settled on her upper lip. She was about to lick it off but Harry lurched forward and darted his tongue to her lip. He licked it off in one swipe and Ginny moaned. “Keep it down baby, someone might hear you,” Harry

whispered in a raspy voice in her ear. She sighed and felt a chill run down her spine. “Harry, home. I need you.” she moaned. He ignored everything else, shoved a 20-pound note on the table, which was much more than their bill, but he didn’t care. He pulled Ginny into a corner that wasn’t visible to anyone around and apparated them to 12, Grimmauld Place. They entered the kitchen, both of them completely lost in lust. Harry picked her up as if she weighed nothing and put her down on the counter. He pulled his hoodie off with urgency and she ran her hand on his perfectly toned abs which glistened with beads of sweat. He caught her lips in an urgent kiss. She pulled her top off as well, separating with Harry’s lips for a brief second. Harry moved his hand to the back of her head and pulled off her hair tie. “Quick Harry! I need you inside!” she muttered into the kiss. Harry’s hand went to Ginny’s waistband and he pulled down her pants and knickers, he slowly inserted a finger and she moaned his name. He pulled down his pants and boxers and withdrew his finger, instead, entering her with his cock a second later. They both moaned with the sensation. He completely withdrew and entered her again after a second. He thrust slowly for a few minutes. “Yes! Ah! That’s the spot! Harder!” she moaned and Harry sped up at once. He went at an unbelievable speed and he felt her contract around him, he knew she was about to come. He twisted his hips in a way that made her scream. “Cum for me Gin!” Harry said loudly. “Fuck. Harry!” she shouted into the kitchen and spilt her juices all over Harry and the kitchen floor. Harry kept thrusting, riding out her orgasm and his was triggered soon too. He didn’t stop and caught her lips in a needy kiss. Just as he was about to pull out, someone walked into their house through the chimney. Shit. It was Ginny’s brother, Harry’s best mate, Ron Weasley. Harry immediately pulled out and bent down to pick up his boxers. Luckily, Ginny was still wearing her bra, she bent down to pick up her underwear but it was too late. For both of them. “HARRY JAMES POTTER! YOU ARE A DEAD MAN!” Ron screamed. “Ron, it’s not what it looks like!” Harry said and pushed Ginny away who had engulfed him in a hug from the side as soon as they had heard someone come in through floo. “Do you realise what this looks like Potter?!” he said with widened eyes, “Merlin! Put on some clothes, you two!” he said and walked away to the living room as if calling Harry to sit and talk. “Gin-” he grunted. She laughed and pushed him away, signalling to the living room. He put on his clothes quickly. “Ron-” he tried to talk but Ron cut in, “How dare you!” he shouted, “she’s my sister Harry!” he said. “Ron, she’s my fiance and-” he tried to speak but Ron cut in again, “Fiancee?” he shrieked and stood up from the sofa. “I mean- I- I-” he stuttered and he saw Ginny walk into the room. “Yes! Fiance and he proposed after we shagged last night! Just for a count Ron, we’ve probably had sex more times this week than you have in your whole life.” she grimaced. “What-?” Harry said in a confused voice and signalled toward Ginny. Ron threw glances at both of them who stood on either side of the room. “No Ron, she’s lying, we- we- we-”he continued stuttering. “Okay, Professor Quirrell!” she grinned at Harry and continued, “Ron! It’s all in front of you! Whatcha gonna do?” she laughed. “Gin-”Harry eyed her to stop. “Oh, and if I am telling you my secrets, we’ve even shagged in your room, Ron! At the burrow!” she finished. “My room!?” Ron said with a terrified expression. Harry rolled his eyes. “Whatever Ron! That’s the truth! We’re both consenting adults, there’s nothing you can do! Plus, we’re in love.” he said. “You two are bloody minxes!” he barfed. Ginny winked at Harry. “Fine! I won’t kill you then Harry!” Ron said his eyes now moving from the ceiling to the floor. “As if you had the balls to do that Ronald!” Ginny laughed and walked toward Harry. She stood in front of him and gave him a little kiss, whispering in his ear, “That was amazing.” They both

grinned and Ron looked at them with an expression of pure disgust. “I’d trusted you, Harry! If you end up getting my sister pregnant or something, I will never forgive you!” he whined and continued, “Anyway, when did you get engaged? And when were you going to tell me and ‘Mione?” he finished. “As Gin already mentioned, I proposed last night after we shagged like, 4 times. She said yes, we are going ring shopping on Saturday and we were supposed to tell you after we got the rings and make a more acceptable story, but there you go!” Harry chuckled. “4 times?! Couldn’t you have skipped the details? Bleugh.” he muttered. “Ron! If you don’t want to get your bits hexed, then you better not tell anyone else, except ‘Mione!” Ginny cut in. Ron rolled his eyes. “I’d originally come to tell you lot that me and ‘Mione are having a hang out session tomorrow, at 8 in the evening, it’s been long since we all met, so, I’d come to invite you two. It would be good if you could go shopping today and come up with a better story before it slips out of your mouths. It’s for your good,” he said and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve taken a leave from work today too, to help ‘Mione with party prep, you should too!” Ron finished. “Well, alright, I wanna be officially engaged to you as soon as I can!” Harry said to Ginny, winked and kissed Ginny who he was still holding from around her waist. Ron gagged again. “Shut up! You just ruined the moment!” Ginny shouted and pulled away. “So? Are you going ring shopping?” Ron asked expectantly. “Hmmm… okay, I’ll call in sick,” Ginny shrugged and Harry held her tighter. “I’ll take a leave too!” Harry said and sat down on the settee with Ginny on his lap. “Where’s ‘Mione though?” Ginny said, looking at Ron. “Oh! She’s coming. She was meeting with one of her colleagues from the Ministry. She’ll floo in any minute now!” Ron replied. “Fancy some breakfast Gin? Ron?” Harry said. “Yes, please! I am starving!” Ginny grinned. “I think I’ve lost my appetite!” Ron said looking at the ever-randy couple in front of him who was now making out. Harry reluctantly pulled away and went to the kitchen. About 10 minutes later Harry walked back into the room with two plates, both with two slices of bread, each topped with a sunny side up and three strips of bacon. He handed one to Ron, “You could never lose your appetite!” he laughed and walked back to Ginny who stood up. He sat down and pulled her back on her lap. She picked up one of the pieces of bread and took it near Harry’s mouth. He took a bite and licked his lips. He did the same to Ginny and Ron looked up from his plate of food now to find Ginny licking Harry’s lips. “I think both of you are bloody capable of eating on your own!” he shouted and they heard the sound of someone coming in through the chimney. Of course, it was Hermione, Ron’s wife and Ginny and Harry’s best friend. She walked in and all of them greeted her with a pleasant hug and Ron with a kiss. They all took their places, now Hermione sat beside Ron on the large sofa in the middle of the room. They all ate and chatted, Ron told Hermione what had happened when he came here and the room filled with giggles from everyone except Ron. They talked for about an hour, “I’m going to go home, prepare for the party?” Hermione said as she got up and pulled Ron with her. They said their goodbyes and Ron and Hermione flooed away. “Now, Fiancee dearest, would you fancy making some calls to your office and mine for a holiday?” she asked, smiling. He nodded and they made their calls. “I’m going to take a shower, then we’re going to go get some rings!” Harry said as he walked into the bathroom. He took a quick shower and as soon as he stepped out, completely naked, Ginny walked in. He pulled her toward him and threw her over his shoulder. They both laughed as Harry put on his boxers. He put her down then and put on the rest of his clothes. Ginny stripped quickly and hopped into the shower. Harry tried not to look because he knew that it wouldn’t be too good if he was turned on while at the shop. He walked out and sat on

the sofa waiting for Ginny. A few minutes later, she walked out, completely naked. “Gin- you, you’re- you’re not wearing a robe or a towel?” he stuttered. “I forgot Harry! It doesn’t matter anyway, we’re going to be married soon!” she said and walked toward Harry, holding a tube of lotion in her hand. “Put this on my back,” she said normally. “But- but- Gin- I- okay-” he kept stuttering and took the tube from her. He looked away and squirted some lotion on her back. He started rubbing slowly in circular motions. “Harry! Do not tell me your awkward! We are going to be married for god’s sake! Shut up and rub it properly.” she shouted. “Yeah- yeah of course, god, I’ve done it before so many times!” he said a little more confident. “Oh my god! This reminds me of our first vacation together! In Long Island, our first trip to the US was together!” Ginny reminisced. Truth be told, Harry’s bulge was harder than ever. In long Island, they had sex inside the ocean, in the depths and it was probably one of the best Harry ever had. It really turned him on. He suppressed it and carried on, now using both of his hands to rub her back and massage her shoulders. He moved her hair and rubbed the bottom of her neck, timely whispering into her ear. Soon later Harry faced Ginny and caught her lips in a needy kiss.

#hinny smut #post war hinny #harry x ginny #hp fanfic #hinny fluff #harry potter #ginny weasley #ginny potter #hinny wedding #domestic hinny #hinny au #hinny proposal

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foxanonforneon · 3 years

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I made the story with just two random lighthouse operators and @neonthewrite 's character, Chase. I used the picture above as a prompt.

Please have a good read. Likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :>

Warning: This contains catboy, fearplay, angst, mention of eating people/hard vore, and dehumanization of a person.

If you are uncomfortable with any of these things mentioned, you may pass this now.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Viewer Discretion is Advised.

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It is that time of night again, where the seaside is calm and the night is dark as burnt charcoal, with pretty stars in the sky as if it were an artist's canvas.

The seaside playing Mother Nature's music playing for anyone willing to listen was interrupted by two forms, one with a gruff exterior with a purpose in his stride, the other timidly but quickly following close behind the older man.

The two of them came out here for a purpose, the purpose needed and only could be done in the cylindrical, white tall building near the shore of the coast.

"S-Sir, are the rumours true?" the new operator's voice quivered as he got his query out. The voice soft enough that it could be mistaken for the wind.

"What?" the older man huffed with a sharp raspy voice, looked sceptically at the newcomer with a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

"I dunno what yer' talking 'bout boy, once we get to the top o' this place," he waved his hand lazily to the lighthouse, "ye' can tell me what ya mean." The operator looked at the newcomer expectantly as he presumed to walk to his desired destination.

As the younger of the two was unparalysed from the uneven gravel, both of the occupants in the vicinity felt a slight vibration from under their feet. It was barely noticeable as they stepped foot into the building.

As the seasoned lighthouse operator took his time up the winding stairs, the newcomer felt, off. Like the lighthouse suddenly dropped in temperature. Uneasy. Darker than usual in the room containing the giant flashlight. He felt a pit in his stomach with a mix of butterflies, a different contrast to the older operator, who seemed to be at ease.

As the top of the lighthouse drew closer in the operators' eye line, the newcomer felt tremors and heard the gravel underneath but brushed it off as someone having a late night dip and kept it in mind to question why were their steps so heavy, it when he calmed down and got settled.

Unfortunately, those thoughts vanished as he watched in astonishment as the elderly man took the two foldable chairs from the flashlight and plopped them down in front of it, near its sides, at an age that that would be a problem to do at that speed.

As they settled into their seats, the tremors and crunch of gravel came to a steady halt. The older man then stared at the younger one intently and curiously as to proceed with his queries.

The younger took this as his cue to speak. "Sir, did you not hear the rumors about the monster, that creeps around these parts, of the coast at this time of night?" the newcomer spoke as he looked around skitishly.

His posture hunched over fearfully as it looked like his spine was about to jump out of his skin. The older man took the information he was given into consideration. He stared at the flashlight, moonlit enough to make out its shape, as he hummed in deep thought.

"No, I don' recall any rumors 'bout a monster round these parts, guess ya coul' describe it fer me?" the older operator gestured softly to the other, so they could calm their own nerves. He leaned back and loosely crossed his arms as to indicate that he was all ears.

"I-I heard that it has very dark fur, from w-what I heard from some p-people, they say b-black or dark gray. They s-say that the monster has teeth longer than the tallest h-human being and it has claws that can reduce trees to nothing but a pile of sawdust! Very few people say it has the eyes of an apex predator!" The younger operator explained fearfully, his body quaking from fear.

"And? Do ya know wha' it does or eat fer that matter, if you want ta keep explainin'?" The seasoned operator asked as he gently cupped the newcomer's palms in his own to aid his worries about this 'monster'.

"I-I've also h-heard that it goes a-around looking for p-people that are by th-themselves and it-" the young operator quickly stopped and stared as the other got up quickly with a huff.

"You continue talkin'. I'm listenin', am jus' gonna operate these lights an' make sure people git home safely." He said as he quickly glanced back at the young operator, as he strode over to the back of the huge flashlight. "Ye might wanna wear t'e sun glass, y'er...whatever t'ey called." He said trying to identify the object with a hint of annoyance. Again, the unknown tremors started but weren't heavy enough to notice from the top of the tower.

"Oh, yeah, as I-I was saying, it m-maybe kidnaps the people t-that are by themselves, s-since I haven't seen those people a-again and the only way to get to the next t-town is by c-car or bus, some of the people gone, don't have enough money f-for that, or maybe it eat-" The younger of the two snapped his mouth shut as he covered his ears shut, a reflexive motion, from the loud ringing in his ears.

What he didn't expect, was that the seasoned operator had a cross and annoyed look on his face. His pale skin allowing his emotions to be seen in the glowing moonlight. What he really didn't expect, was the monster chasing the bright beam of light, and mostly likely causing the source of the tremors before and now, like a kitten.

As the monster continued to chase the light around like a cat on catnip, an idea popped into the young operator's head. He rushed over to the giant flashlight, shoving the seasoned operator away as gently as he could, as he used his strength to turn the beam of light towards the ocean of the cliff side.

As the older man was about to bark out an order to stop turning the flashlight, it was already too late as the blur of fur(presumed as the monster) fell off of the cliff and into the freezing ocean with a loud yowl of distress, followed by a splash, which sounded closer to cat more than anything. Making sure there was no movement from the over the cliff side, the young man turned to check on the other operator. "See sir! That was the monster I was talking about from the rumors, it is real...Holy shit, it's actually real and I stopped it!" Assuming the monster didn't know how to swim, why would it? There's plenty of people to eat on land!

He then quickly turned off the flashlight to make sure the beast didn't find its way back to land. Who knows how much damage to the nearby village it can cause.

When he held out his hand out to the shaken officer to give him a lift. Otherwise, the seasoned one didn't seem too pleased with what he had done.

"Sir...Di-d I do something wrong??" As the young operator checked over the experienced other, looking for any outward signs of damage. The younger one of the two, energy drained from a chain broken from his schedule, looked as if he were to pass out, adrenaline looking as if keeping them from doing just that.

The gruff operator took the hand's invitation, steadily but not in a way that was anything but pleased.

"No, not really." He quickly huffed as he took to a stand. "Then, sir, what have you gotten your mind? I also need to ask out of curiosity, do you have a cat or is there any in vicinity? I haven't seen any coming all the way out here." The newcomer asked pure curiosity and a sheepish smile appearing on his face. If observed carefully in the moonlight, the older man could barely make out a faint tint of pink, in the moonlight, on the other's cheek. He's embarrassed.

If the other saw his face completely, he didn't mention it.

Meanwhile faint splashes and rumbles came from the direction of the ocean as the gruff man began to answer the other's question. "Nothin', just," he paused as he turned to the direction of where the gigantic being pounced off, the scene replaying in his mind. Then derailing his train of thought, he resumed, "that damn cat is back, but no, there isn't a cat 'round here, a' least one that I know o'." He stormed off in annoyance towards to the flashlight as to get it on again with the scowl on his face directed at no one.

The younger operator gaped at the other in complete confusion and bewilderment. If there is a cat that returned, why would he go ahead and tell me there isn't one right after? "T-then sir! How is there a cat when their isn't one??? I-I don't.." he trailed off but quickly spoke up again with a high pitched squeak, "What, does he get into the garbage cans?" As he got out his question, his posture quickly changing from one of fear to uncertainty so quickly that if you blinked, you would of missed it.

The distant tremors were getting closer now, and if focused intently, they felt and sounded like footsteps. After some time, the pace slowed to a halt. As that noise stopped, another started, which could be identified as someone pawing a tuft of grass. With the sound and surface known, there must be a place where it is identified, which directs the younger operator's eyes to where the beast threw itself off.

"I'm afraid not, but aye, keep watchin' the cliff fer the cat to climb back up, I'm gonna try fix this thing." The older man barked the command as he tried getting the flashlight back on.

"What am I supposed to be watching for, si-" Before he got the question, awe and shock kept him shut and began to override his thoughts as he's trying to process what he's seeing.

The claw of the monster, dug into the dirt of the cliff and pulled itself up. Following after the first claw, was another which pulled what seemed like a head of soaked, black hair with black cat ears on top to match.

A deafening whine and deep growl slightly shook the lighthouse to its core, as the rest of the beast tried pulling itself unto the cliff.

The operator had time to process that the beast had clothes. So far, a red jacket with a gray shirt underneath, reflecting as much light as the moon allowed. Apparently, the seemingly intelligent beast, moved faster than the operator had expected from such a large being, that when it moved, his brain was trying to figure out what the blur of fur was, not if it had any human emotions of its own. His eyes widened as he saw the beast express human emotion through the growls it was making, like it was talking to itself. Frustrated. Distressed.

If the operator could open his eyes any wider, they might fall out of their sockets, as he stared in awe as more parts of the beast rose over the cliff's side. The beast looked so, humane yet the young man's mind couldn't comprehend that the beast, itself, is absolutely massive. Trying to take in details of this being all at once while it's crawling on all fours, while quickly coming closer, getting away from the edge, and flashing the water off like a dog trying its best to get dry, isn't working.

About one hundred meters from the lighthouse's base, the seasoned operator kicked the giant flashlight once more, this time turning the light on, snapping the awestruck operator out of his trance, while directing the beam unto the beast which shielded its eyes from the sudden brightness that laid upon it while it let out a whine and quickly shielded its eyes.

The flashlight shining its brightest, clearly showed what or who the young operator was looking at. "You're posed be watchin' fer the cat." The seasoned operator spoke, words slicing through the silence like a sharpened knife, as if the silence itself were butter. The other operator lightly flinched at the words spoken out of the other's mouth as he turned around to acknowledge his presence.

Noticing how calm the older man was about the monster in the vicinity, he gave the man a puzzled and skeptical look as for the man to explain himself.

The gruff man sighed, as he saw the look on the other's face, like he's been caught stealing a pie from a kitchen window and forced to apologise. Taking slow steps to inch his way beside the younger man, the older started to explain his calm attitude towards the titan so close to the lighthouse. "NOPE, as you can see, there is no cat and I know fer sure, that there is no monster nei'er. I know fer sho' that that manegy bein' on the other side of this lighthouse, ain't eaten' a single person nor has tried to, since I'm here."

As the seasoned operator paused to think, he looked at the young operator who looked to have a face that didn't show any emotion, just a blank stare.

The beast movement caught the operator's eye in the bright beam the flashlight seemed to cause. At least now the young man could make out what the beast looked like.

Curled up on the ground, the beast seemed to have a humane figure of a short, skinny man, if put at the right scale, would be smaller than his five foot, six inch frame. The beast itself slowly unfurled itself, keeping its eyes shielded and squinting towards the beam directed towards it. That didn't stop the young operator from picking up its features he hadn't seen yet.

Like its dark gray sclera around its pupil as it-...he's trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness. The beast's olive sun kissed skin, appeared to have a silky texture other than a few healing bruises visible on its body. The rest of the articles, of clothing, seemed to replicate a pair of black boxers fitting snugly around his waist and upper thighs.

As he saw before a loose, gray shirt underneath a thin, dark red sweater, reaching from the collarbone of his neck to the bottom of his waistline, covering his unmentionables. At last, the darkest but most outstanding feature of this beast was his soaked, fluffy, black tail, which seemed to convey the some emotion on this beast's face.

As those details got into the young operator's head, the beast let out a tiny(for its size), sneeze which, still shook the lighthouse. Recovering from the quick but sudden noise he made, he got on all fours as he crawled over as slowly as he could, while keeping his eye on both of the operators, intent not to scare them, especially the younger one out of the two.

Once he got close as he dared, he slowly sat on his knees to stare back at the people who watched him with awe and ease. Both at eye level, staring hesitantly, as if waiting for him to do something. Hesitantly, he returned the stare, with a look of curiosity for the newcomer then looked at the seasoned operator questioningly as if he would tell him about this new person staring at him and why he's there.

This new person quickly looked to the gigantic one staring at him curiously then to the other operator who looked slightly annoyed at the titan outside, yet the man looked so at ease.

"Hey! Quit scaring all the new workers away! We've got business to do at this time o' night!" The older operator scolded the titan as if it were a small toddler. The only thing keeping both of them separated, is the movable, giant glass screen in front of them and the beast holding back its unimaginable strength. Surprisingly, the beast didn't make any move of hostility towards the building, but he let out a low whine and a look of shame as if he didn't know his presence should have people gone running with a glimpse of his shadow.

"S-Sir, what does i- he want??" The young operator stuttered out his question in fear as the beast turned his eyes to observe his quivering frame with, corcern?

"I think he wants ya ta r'deem yer self innocent. Or somethin', I don't know.." The seasoned operator said with a light teasing in his tone as he gently pushed the new operator to the window. As the young operator got close enough to window without getting hit, the older man opened the window, pulling it from the inside, a gentle night's breeze flowing in.

The young operator glanced back at the gruff man with worry, showing clearly on his face, as he turned back to the beast watching him outside. Taking his time, he got to the edge of the open window making sure the beast didn't do, something...terrifyingly, horrendous. Instead, he was just watching the man inch forward, carefully wary of him, with curiosity and excitement.

As the frightened operator leaned out far enough to see over the beast's cat ears, his stomach dropped. He realized too late that he was being lifted up by bigger than some tree trunk sized, fingers. Which were surprisingly gentle and barely put any pressure on his back, and his waist. It wasn't as painful he thought it would be in the beast's pinched grip, he didn't leave any bruises on the his body as was he gently placed him in the middle of his cupped palm, not realising he was shrieking the whole time, until his feet touched the warm but soft surface.

Which he gradually stopped, as he tried to focus on the white noise in his head. Trying to focus on a certain noise, he turned his head to the lighthouse, presumably, where it was coming from. Looking down at the window where was at mere seconds ago, the seasoned operator was firmly waving his arm at the beast and commanded him to give the young operator back to him, but the beast deliberately ignored him to focus on the young operator in his hand.

As he mentally noted that, he tried to figure the other sound out. It not only came from underneath him, but it enveloped the entire direction his backside was facing. He quickly spun to face the direction of the sound to confirm his theory, which was correct. The noise came from the beast's throat and vibrated through its whole body, which was identified as a loud purr.

Once identifying the sound and its source, the operator's head hung from vertigo of the sudden ascent from the beast's midsection to his face. Identifying his transportation's sudden break, the operator begged, with tears in his eyes, to the beast to not put him in his dark, humid cavern, presumably his huge mouth.

Upon hearing the pleas, begs and cries, the beast let out a sharp chirp of surprise and a high pitched whine of guilt, tears almost forming at the corner of his eyes, his thoughts playing on repeat on what people thought he was, a mindless beast. A freak. A feral man-eater. A monster. He quickly brushed those thoughts away in hope of trying to calm the weeping, shaking mess of the man, that's still begging for his life, in the centre of his palm. On impulse, he quickly brought his hands to his cheek, trying to hug the operator long enough for him to calm down.

The seasoned operator kept an eye on the beast with baited breath, watching to make sure the newcomer was unharmed in the titan's clutches.

Maybe the beast was toying with him when he started purring again, but the young operator wasn't wet nor fighting for his life against a giant muscle, so he took it as a good sign to open his eyes and maybe calm down. His bloodshot red eyes cracked open, glancing around trying to identify the pitch black area with only a few beams of moonlight coming from above loose fingers. He then spread out his arms in front of him, hands being met with the resistance of skin, pushing and kneading into the unknown area of flesh in front of him.

After pushing it for sometime, the beast's pulled his hand away to bring it back down to the lighthouse's window, where the gruff operator patiently waited for his return. Halfway there, he hesitated. He then quickly brought up his hand up to bridge of nose, to, by the looks of it, nuzzle the operator in the form of an apology.

The operator seeing the beast's ears flattened on his head with the heavy regret and guilt in his eyes, was taken back how he made a titan, a being with immeasurable power, more than enough to destroy cities and end people's lives, if he wanted, apologise(without speaking) for nearly scaring him to death.

After he got his bearings together, the beast saw this and briskly put the young man back into the room, but not before giving him a sloppy, gentle lick on his side, spiking the side of his hair into the air being held by nothing but, much thicker than usual saliva.

The seasoned operator took the other into his arms, bridal style, relieved that the beast outside didn't do any lasting damage to the person sitting limply in his arms. He looked into the operator's eyes but all he could see, was no emotion. Just a blank stare off to who knows where. "Tha' was quite scary, wasn' it?" the older man asked, snapping the other out of whatever thoughts he had. He wouldn't admit it to himself but, he'd almost passed out from when those giant, gray eyes first landed on him, and the only thing keeping him awake at that time, was awestruck adrenaline.

"Yes, sir, that was, terrifying but, also, exciting, to say the least." The young man admitted, shock on his face, directed at no one. He had time to process the rollercoaster of the events that just happened to him in the span of under half an hour.

The seasoned operator walked back over to the unlit flashlight preparing himself to have a hard time turning it back on again.

While all of this is happening inside of the lighthouse, the rumbles of kneefall, were coming from the beast skirting around to get the back of the lighthouse. Most likely to get out of the workers' hair, metaphorically.

Once the young operator got up to help the seasoned one to help to get to back to work, the beast idly watched them to make sure it worked. Not for that reason only, but also to reassure himself that the younger operator is okay, keeping in mind that he caused enough trouble for himself, and he would leave when the two workers got the flashlight on.

Within seconds, it did.

So with a couple rumbles in the earth, he pushed himself to a steady stand to get himself ready to go back home. What he didn't expect, was the young operator shouting a "Hey!" at him so suddenly, it was enough for him to flinch. Whipping his head to the direction of the top of the lighthouse tower, his eye fell upto the operator with the older one in tow. Seeing this for himself, he slightly turned to have a better view, letting out a quiet chirp of question and surprise to the one addressing him.

"Uhhhhhh," the younger operator bowed his head as he got the beast's full attention, "you don't have to leave if you don't have a place to stay. You can stay here, please don't leave here forever because of me!" The younger man projected as he looked up to see shock on the beast's face in the dim moonlight.

"Do you have a home?" the younger operator asked, voice watery, scared of the answer he might receive. To his relief, the beast nodded and gave a chirp of approval but went ahead to take a quick step away, thinking that he's overstaying his arrival. Before the young man could get out of the beast's vision, he shoved a hand at the beast in the form of a handshake.

Before realising how stupid the action looked, the beast came over, slowly crouched behind the lighthouse and gently took more than half of the arm between his thumb and index finger, making sure to not add any pressure to the limbs between them. The beast appreciating the gesture nonetheless, purred the whole time, content that the operator gave him a second chance and even wanted him to stay.

As the beast let go of the arm, he gave out another short purr as he turned and left to go wherever home was. The young operator watched him go until he was just another shadow in the dark sky.

He couldn't wait until he came again because he the only monstrous thing about the legend's beast, was only his size.

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The End

@neonthebright

@nightmares06

@borrowedtimeandspace

#sfw g/t #g/t community #g/t fluff #size extremes #giant/tiny #g/t angst #g/t #giant male #giant catboy #chase lisong #giant cat boy #giant catboy!chase

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adsosfraser · 3 years

Text

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Eleven

Read on AO3

They had been so careful. On the supposedly most fertile days of her courses, they had, well they had done other things. She religiously took her vial of posies and fennel each day and used the protection provided from her twentieth-century life. For months now. Still, it wasn’t enough, and she knew the only one hundred percent assured prevention was abstinence. She felt the ghost of a flutter in her womb.

Jamie found Claire on the floor next to their bed, her cheeks stained with tracks of tears and snot crusted against the deer pelt that her face was squished into. The chamber pot full of her sickness had been shoved away from her on the wood in her dejected anger.

“Is it true Claire?”

“Can ye..” he swallowed thickly. “Yer wee herbs can ye-“

“No, that’s the last thing I want Jamie! God!” Her palms rubbed into her eye sockets. “I just wish- there wasn’t so much uncertainty. I could never survive- Jamie promise me, if it ever came down to it, you would save the child, not me.”

“Claire,“ he levelled a determined gaze at her. ”That will never happen. Ever. That I will promise ye.”

“But it might. You made me promise, should the time come, that I’d go through the stones. Of course, I was reluctant, but I did give you that promise. I followed through on it. Now you promise me.”

“Aye Claire, I’ll save the bairn, but it’ll no’ come to that.”

“I’m going to instruct you. On how to help me. No matter if it goes wrong or the delivery is perfect.”

“Ye wouldna prefer someone else? A woman?”

“You’re the only one that I would trust.” She smirked in anticipation of her next words. “And you’re the one who did this to me, you can see it through.”

“Ye seemed pretty enthusiastic, if not overly pleased the many times I did that to ye. And I seem to recall the many times ye were the one clawing at me.”

She laughed at the big goof and then sighed into his embrace, relieving her stress and worry into him.

What if the baby never even made it long enough to make its true presence known? What if Jamie did have to follow through in his presence? Would she be able to survive the birth? She’d never given birth to a live, full-term baby yet. Or, even worse, would she be a terrible mother? When her mind drifted to these thoughts, she shook her head out of the daze. Stress wasn’t good for the baby. And if she constantly worried about her child’s health, her thoughts may very well become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

It was March, and flowers and trees were slowly crawling out of their hibernation. Claire’s pregnancy felt… off from how she carried Faith. It didn’t raise alarm for her baby’s health, but she did have her suspicions.

“What is it Sassenach? Ye’re smiling so hard I fear yer lips will fall off.”

“Well, I have been a bit… bigger than usual.”

“Aye, yer round wi’ my bairn. And I’m no’ complaining one bit. Wi’ yer fine plump arse even bigger than usual.” He grasped a healthy amount of said body part and smirked.

“Well, I think I’m carrying twins.”

“Ifrinn!” All the colour drained from his face. “Two bairns? Two bairns! Sassenach!” He gripped her in his arms as joyous laughter rumbled through his chest and her feet left the floor. More words of love in his native language rumbled out and her eyes crinkled with her smile.

When she was absolutely sure it was twins, Jamie’s daily ritual of one kiss to her belly each morning and night turned into two kisses on either side of her stretched skin.

Not only did one life depend on her at once, but now two. She was terrified. Even with constant reassurance from Jamie that the bairns kicking in her stomach were braw, a twitch of doubt seeped into her mind.

To ease her worry, she thought of something that could reassure her. She traced the design onto the back of a discarded pamphlet. A pinard horn. So Jamie could hear the strong heartbeats of the babies tumbling within her belly. Fergus laboured hard on the project immediately, while his ‘milord’ was off working the lands of their croft. It was expertly crafted, even with her rudimentary designs.

Jamie manoeuvred the hollow horn over the expanse of her belly, brow furrowed in concentration. He paused over one spot and nearly fainted.

“Ah Dhia!” His eyes widened in fascination. “He’s really in there!”

“Yes, they are.” She placed her hand over his on the pinard horn and slid it across where she thought she felt the other heartbeat to be.

His hands were shaky now and he choked on his tears, almost painfully bursting with joy. “Two braw bairns. Wi’ wicked thumping hearts.”

They felt more concrete to him now, actual people instead of the imaginations of what they could be. He spoke every day to them in Gàidhlig, when Claire said they should be able to hear now.

It was bittersweet. She was carrying them for over seven months now, longer than her other children. She was constantly caught between unflagging joy and unrelenting grief. Sometimes it felt like a betrayal to be so happy. But she carried through, with her husband and son by her side, and the promise of the future tucked under her heart.

The day after Jamie’s birthday, she started labouring. Jamie commented on the decency of his children to not eclipse his day with their own arrival. It was as difficult as any other birth, but thankfully there were no complications. Claire had gripped, clawed, and screamed at her husband. She’d scream the promise to have him castrated many, many times. While she paced around the room, Jamie tried to assure her or crack jokes to lighten the atmosphere, but every word he said she turned it against him. He was silent after that, but then Claire would call out for him as each contraction ripped through her body. He stood behind her squatting form above the straw and she dug her nails into his arms as she bore down. A beautiful squalling boy was born after nine hours of labouring. William Brian Beauchamp Fraser. While she felt distraught placing the name Brian within the middle, Jamie assured her it was to not only honour his father, but now the child that they had lost, and she warmed to the idea as well. His brother met the world soon after, almost a quarter of an hour apart, looking exactly the same as the brother who beat him out of the womb. Henry Alexander Murtagh Fraser. Beautiful healthy boys, both with tufts of the same brown downy hair and slanted Fraser cat eyes.

They opted to have their sons sleep in their bed that night rather than the cribs Jamie had carved, tucked in securely between their parents. Neither of them could sleep and Claire was watching the steady rise and fall of each small chest.

“They’re real.” She whispered, brushing her pinky across William’s cheek. His lips tugged up into a smile, just like his father’s did.

“Thanks to ye Claire. Ye were braw.” He squeezed her hand, their arms hovering over their sons. “But I dinna wish to ever see ye like that again.”

“Is it wrong to feel so happy? To rejoice in my sons while-?”

“They’ll be happy fer their brothers. I ken it. And they’re watching o’er them as their angels now. Lord knows how much these lads will need it. These two will be trouble, I can feel it.” He affectionately patted their bums.

Claire finally let her exhaustion take over and curled protectively around her son as she drifted off to sleep. Jamie never slept that night, too preoccupied with the sight of his wife and the children she had blessed him with. His wife learned just how real her sons were in the middle of the night when they would scream their lungs out unceasingly until attention was paid to them. Jamie insisted she rest and recover, and leapt up at every cry to take care of it, but was instantly horrified at what he found in the cloth swaddling Willie’s bum.

Fergus was elated the next day to meet his new brothers. Jamie and Claire had already spoken many times about how the new babies wouldn’t change anything about how they felt for him, but they could still sense some worry.

“Would you like to hold your little brother Willie?” At the indication that it was true, he had a little brother, all his worries vanished.

“Oui maman.” He was so gentle with them with so much adoration in his eyes, and it made Claire cry just to see her boys together.

He traded for Henry next and Jamie pulled Claire into his lap.

It was six weeks after the birth, and Jamie and Claire were equally ravenous. Both the babies had finally fallen asleep together, being unusually generous to their parents.

“I need my wife.” He crawled over her.

“You still want me? After seeing all that…?” Her confidence has waned slightly. She was still pudgy around the middle and there were new scars lining her belly. There was also the fact that he had seen her sweating, cursing, and wailing like a cow on their bedroom floor before the fire, and had taken multiple peeks down there to check her progress. It was apparent, however, that he wanted her desperately despite of and maybe even because of that fact.

“I could never stop wanting ye Sassenach.” He peppered kisses across her abdomen and paid special attention to the fading purple streaks on her skin. The burns on her stomach had long since faded and were barely even noticeable unless one were to look very closely, as her husband was now. She let her knees fall to the side and a moan escaped her lips when he ducked further down.

“Now, as much as I love yer wee noises mo nighean donn, ye’ll have to be quiet tonight.” He covered her mouth with his, silencing the cries that he brought out of her body.

When they both had finished, laying boneless on the sheets, Jamie pulled Claire’s back close to his chest and she curled back into him. Henry began to cry, waking his brother as well and throwing them both into fits of hungry wails. Jamie silently walked over, wrapping his kilt loosely across his hips and placed a baby in each of his arms. The sight made Claire want to ravish him with a sudden ferocity, even though they had just joined together moments ago. But, her babies’ hunger won over and she placed one on each breast. Jamie watched fascinated, as he always did. The babies hungrily gulped down their meal and then slumped against their mom, tired from weeks of growing, crying, and eating. Their tiny fists laid on top of her skin and Jamie slowly adjusted himself to hold Henry. He fell asleep, Henry’s body rising and falling with each of his father’s breaths. Willie stirred again, inquisitively staring up into his mother’s eyes. Claire stroked Henry’s cheek eliciting the same smile she loved so much, and then reached for Jamie’s as well.

“God, I love you, Jamie. So much.” Her attention shifted down to the babe on her breast. “You have such a wonderful father, don’t you Willie?” She spoke down to her captive audience. “And I love you.” She kissed his small nose, then leaned over for Henry’s “And you.” She pulled on Jamie’s bottom lip. “And God how I love you.”

#jamie fraser #jamie x claire #claire beauchamp #outlander fanfiction #craigh na dun #fergus fraser #william fraser #henry fraser #canon divergence #adsofraser writing #claire fraser #jamie and claire fraser deserved to raise bairns together #outlander fanfic

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what-the--curtains · 3 years

Text

Alliance

Chapter 2 – The Decision

(Mando x f!reader)

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Summary: The child taken, his ship destroyed the only one who can help him? A woman he sold into slavery several months earlier.

Notes: Wow wow wow! Thank all for the likes im glad ive gained some interest lets hope I can keep it! Comment or message to be added to the tagged list!

Tw: mentions of dubcon/sex, depictions of violence and coarse language

Tagged list: @crazycookiecrumbles

Word count: 3.7k

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7 months later

Mandos POV

Using all his wits and a touch of charm the Mandalorian had managed to make his way to a nearby town. Once there he’d likely be able to hitch a ride or win some kind of ship in a game of cards. He didn’t need a good one, just something to get him to Navarro. He makes his way to a more upscale bar, hoping its clients would be more lucrative with their belongings. Scanning the gambling hall he chooses his target carefully, opting for a rich looking idiot who had been trying to impress the man next to him since the Mandalorian had walked in. He takes his seat at the round wooden table amongst a variety of lavishly dressed characters. He had to find the child as soon as possible. If he wasn’t with the empire yet there’s no doubt he would be soon.

“Deal me in” He says, taking a seat between an Iktotchi and an Ortolan.

“Not so fast, what's your buy in?” the dealer asks.

“How about that helmet?” The Ortolan pipes up.

“No.”

“The creature then?” the Falleen across the table ponders reaching out to touch Anya, who had been at his side when Grogu was taken and has refused to leave it since.

“No” he says, batting her hand away and tapping on his shoulder piece “Will this do?” The dealer nods and they begin. In the second hand he ends up winning a ship from his target who was seemingly unbothered by the loss as he nonchalantly tosses Mando the keys, before leaving the table.

Twirling the key on his index finger he makes his way to the bar, hoping to gain some insight on how to go about finding Grogu.

“Quite a game, didn’t know Mandalorians played cards.” The older humanoid bartender stated, shining off a glass. With no response he speaks up again. “Can I help you with something , give me something to tell the kids if I helped out a Mandalorian.”

“If someone was looking to find something lost where would he go?”

“You have any idea what this thing is?”

“Yes.”

“Any idea where it is?”

“No.”

“Tell you what, there was a woman, from a forest planet somewhere on the outer rim. Hair as white as snow, an old language on her body, a face that’s hard to forget. She helped me find my youngest after she was taken by smugglers.”

“Vryssa?” The Mandalorian says slowly, causing Anya to perk up.

“Aye that’s the place. You’ve been?” the barkeep ponders.

“Thank you, here” he says handing over a portion of the credits won in his game of cards to the speechless keeper.

Exiting the bar shaking his head in disbelief, of course the one person who could help him track the kid was someone with a personal vendetta against him. At least he knew who he had to find and where to start looking. Opening the doors to his new ship he gives it a quick once over. It was roomier than the razor crest, but not by much, too fancy for his liking in all honesty. Nicer amenities though and a decent sized bed which Anya had made her way onto, it would be a better place for when he gets the kid back. It had an armoury, but nothing in it, at least not yet. He closes it and makes his way up to the ship's cockpit. Decent enough system, more of a flashy ride than a functional one, made for a decently skilled pilot by the looks of it. Locking in the coordinates for Coruscant he begins his search.

For two weeks he attends black markets around the galaxy until one day he sees him, the man who had bought you. He follows him cornering him in a nearby alleyway.

“What do you want Mando?” The Kel Dor responds.

“I’m looking for a woman.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“She was bought by you a few months ago. Not jogging your memory? White hair, eternal blood.”

“Oh. Her difficult one, had to break her in a bit.” The choice of words was less than favourable to the Mandalorian, but in favor of time he brushed by it.

“What happened to her?”

“ Sold her.”

“ To who?” He says getting impatient

“Gladiatorial ring on Geonosis , she was a big hit, sold her for twice what I had paid, moved into the big arenas quickly. I’ll take you if you want.”

“No, give me the coordinates.” Mando says

“Should be easy enough for you to get her. She's been broken in well, nice and obedient if you know…” He knocks the guy out before he can finish the sentence.

R-16, Geonosis, Outer Rim Territories

Stepping out of the ship it doesn’t take long for him to figure out where you are. Large projections of posters with you line the street, apparently you were fighting today. The sounds of the arena increase as he gets closer, as does the crowd of people awaiting the show.

“A Mandalorian, you here to see the fight? Gonna be a good one. Fan favourite tonight the huntress.” A native geonosian exclaims.

“Is she the girl in the picture? The white haired one?”

“ Yes, and if you like what you see I’m sure a piece of that armour will get you a night with her, I’ve heard the trainer sells her off after fights.” The Mandalorian nods and heads off “How much for a ticket” he ask the seller,

“100 credits”

“For a fight?”

“For today’s fight? Yes.” Begrudgingly he pays the fee and enters into the dome. It is enormous, the revenue it brings in must be astronomical he thinks as he takes his seat.

Your POV

It hadn’t been an easy few months, but you were still alive. The handlers knew if they bled you all at once the value would decrease, and after having you fight and win over the fans, keeping you alive became more economically sound than killing you. Your most recent trainer, an older Duras named San Korliks, had gotten you into a slightly more dubious but very lucrative business. Turns out the rich love nothing more than spending the night with a victor. Between the fights and the suitors you’d have enough saved to live comfortably once you were out. Yes you were close to buying your freedom, 12 fights and a few more rich idiots and you’d be out of here. You’d find a planet with plenty of sand and water and settle down living out the rest of your days in peace. You could hear the crowd cheering from your cell, San would be here for you shortly. You stand up smoothing out the red tunic that had seen better days. It was shorter than you’d like and impractical for fighting, but your handler was right sex sells and it had kept you alive thus far. You move to the drawer of the cell, though tightly watched it was decently large and relatively comfortable. More wins meant better quarters. You pull out the gold plated armour clipping the chest plate, arm bands and shin guards into place before lacing up your worn down brown leather boots. Moving over to the small mirror you dip your hand into a bowl of burgundy paint smearing it down your face and onto your neck then around your well defined biceps. You're admiring your work when you hear a knock on your cell door.

“C’mon darling let’s give them a show” San says, he was nicer than your previous trainers, probably as you were bringing in the big bucks. You walk over to the cell door, he opens it and guides you to the enormous door that would soon open up to the arena.

“Try to let a little blood get spilled tonight, we need to sell some.” You nod, cracking your neck and stretching out your arms. “I also have some suitors lined up, high payers.”

“How many more till I’m out?” you question.

“ Just a few more darling, promise.” He says squeezing your shoulder. You hear the crowd chanting in the background as San leaves. You grab the spear left out for you, tossing it from hand to hand to gage its weight. You bounce up and down on your toes shaking out your body and calming your mind and preparing for whatever they were planning on throwing at you tonight. You repeat the number of days until you're free in your head. You could do this, you’d done it a hundred times now. Not that the killing gets any easier, but in order to survive you had to forgo morality. The doors open and the crowd erupts in applause as you enter waving to the adoring fans.

Mando’s POV

The loud speaker blares out over the crowd “ Tonight a special event, the huntress will take on not one, not two, but four opponents! Now to make it a fair fight, only one will be allowed to challenge at a time, but we have a lovely admixture of beasts and an extra special surprise for you all. The return of another fan favorite. Hang onto your seats folks, this is going to be a night you won’t soon forget” Four versus one, Mando thinks, as he watches you enter the arena, the odds definitely weren’t in your favour. He was prepared to jump in and get you out himself if he had too, you were his only chance at finding the kid after all. He hears a rumble of applause as a door across from you opens revealing a Rancor. He watches you closely, noticing how unphased you seemed by it. In no less than a minute he sees the spear fly from your hand hitting the creature right in its jugular killing it instantly. Not bad, he thinks, but it was just a Rangor, yes they were big, but they weren’t known for being strategic fighters. You pull the spear out of its neck, the crowd cheers seemingly alerting you to the presence of the Nexu that had appeared from the door behind you. It leaps towards you and he watches intently as you tuck and roll out of the way, spear still in hand, thrilling the crowd even more.

He wonders how much of the fight is a performance and how much of it was real. You and the Nexu circle each other, seeing you plant your feet he finds himself curious as to what your next move will be. You kick the dirt up causing the creature to charge again, as it leaps you take a knee lifting the top of the spear up, slicing the creature open causing its guts to fall down on you earning more zealous applause from the arena. He sees you stand up lifting your arms to get the crowd chanting, more showmanship. “What can you tell me about her?” he asks the couple sitting next to him. “Never lost a fight, and she’s beautiful, you need anything else?” They reply. He sees you wiping the creature's guts off your face when a door opens and a Terentatek appears, where the hell did they find one of those things the Mandalorian thinks. He sees your shoulders deflate, more so in annoyance, than fear based on the look on your face. It’s obvious you weren’t expecting a creature so large. After a few dodges and spear swipes the creature has you cornered, he sees you look side to side searching for an out, but there isn’t one, at least none he can see. Its mouth descends on you, seemingly engulfing you whole. The crowd is silent, it’s only then he notices he’s out of his seat. When had that happened? A glimmer suddenly appears from the creature's head as it gets brighter; he sees the spear had sliced through the Terentateks thick hide. The creature collapses and the skin on its head separates as you appear victorious. He sits back down observing you closely as you walk back towards the door from whence you came. The announcer's voice starts up again.

“Now for an extras special treat we’ve brought a fan favourite out of retirement, the demon slayer!” Just then the door opens and a Deveronian in head to toe black armour emerges wasting no time in launching his attack. He throws a dagger which catches you in the arm, the crowd erupts, the sight of your blood enticing them. He watches you intently as you bend over retrieving the knife off the floor and tossing it to the audience. Your opponent’s armour was thick, with very few openings in it. The crowd was getting excited, noticing that you had lost the spear to the Deveronian who had thrown it behind him.

You were the more skilled fighter, but the demon slayer was larger and stronger. He watches you try to make a pass. He thinks you’re in the clear but the opponent grabs you by the hair pulling you back into him as he brandishes another knife bringing it up to your throat. You bite down on his hand giving you just enough time to wrestle the knife from him no doubt slicing your hands open in the process. He doubts that this part of the fight was showmanship, both you and your competitor were evenly matched. It was anyone’s game. Your stunt had given you enough time to retrieve your spear. Just as he thinks you’ve gotten the upper hand he sees a mace extend out from one of the slayer’s sleeves, it sparks with electricity. If it so much as hit you, that would be it. The Mandalorian can feel his heart pounding finding himself wrapped up in the atmosphere of the arena as the creature approaches you swinging the mace. It wraps around your spear, the crowd is silent, they think it's all over, but looking at a nearby screen Mando makes out what appears to be a small smile on your face.

The mace wraps the spear and you pull back on it, hard, drawing the Deveronian in closer. As the electricity hits your arm you release the force from the pulling causing the spear to plunge up in-between the opening between the Devaronians chest plate and helmet killing him instantly. He sees you drop to your knees catching the falling opponent whispering something before laying him down on the floor. The crowd erupts in cheers, flowers and money are thrown to the ground, before picking it up he sees you circle back to each opponent kneeling on the ground for a few seconds before rising and moving on to the next.

“C’mon Mando” the people beside him say “blood auctions this way”. He follows them, but half the auditorium seemingly had the same idea and he was too far back to reach you. He sees you standing with your trainer as the blood spilled during the fight was sold to the highest bidder, the crowd intermittently grabbing at you. You’re quickly shuffled out the room. The Mandalorian exits through a back door, as he does he sees your trainer speaking to a Sephi. He hangs back, close enough to hear the conversation, but far enough away so as not to be noticed.

“Room 801. She’ll be ready for you in a half hour.”

“Perfect, makers, where will I go when she’s free? No one has ever compared to her” the client laughs.

“She’s not leaving, at least not for a while. Far too good for business at the moment. Hope’s what keeps her keen though. I oblige in her fantasies, so she can oblige yours ” The Duro gives the man the key and heads back into the arena. The man exits the alley bumping into the Mandalorian.

“Watch it Mando.” The Sephi says, pushing by him. As he pushes by, Mando snatches the key and makes his way up to room 801.

Your POV

“Hey San, how'd the rest of the auction go?” you ask, wiping off as much slime as you could in the small sink. “Good. I’ve put your cut in the bank for when you’re out. We have a client room 801, penthouse, he knows you apparently.”

“Half the galaxy knows me” you murmur “Do we have to tonight?” you ask, wanting to get out of your gear and go to sleep.

“C’mon he’s rich and not bad looking.”

“Fine” you sigh, not like you had a choice anyways. He chains your hands together and leads you up to the penthouse suite, at least you’d get to sleep in a large bed, maybe get a shower with decent water pressure. He unchains you and ushers you into the room, closing and locking the door behind you. You rub your wrists and crack you back stretching out your arms, you hear a cough. Weird, you think, clients were usually brought up after you’d had time to settle in. “I'm sorry I wasn’t expecting...” you say in your sweetest voice turning around. The tone is quickly dropped. The client was none other than the very person who had landed you in this situation.

“YOU” you shout, not thinking twice before charging at him, slipping a knife out from one of your arm bands and lunging for the Mandalorians neck. He grabs your wrists before they can make contact with him, bending them back causing you to drop the knife on the floor. He tries to restrain you causing you to panic accidentally using the force to throw him back against the wall. He crashed into the wall landing on the floor with a soft thud probably wondering what the hell’s just hit him. His hands quickly shoot up in the air, as you pick up the knife again pointing it at him.

“If you think for one second I’m going to sleep with you, you have another thing coming you stupid tin can, you’re lucky ...” you start but he cuts you off

“That’s not why I’m here.” He says quickly.

“ What?” you say, lowering your knife, but not your guard.

“ I’m here for your help.”

“ YOU want MY help? Makers you’re funny, you know I didn’t know Mandalorians could tell jokes.” you say sitting down on the bed across from him as he cautiously stands up, hands still in the air.

“I’m here to get you out” He offers.

“Why? what do you want from me?” you question

“Your help, the child he was taken I...” he pauses, you feel the sadness emanating off him, but you hold the knife true. “I need to find him before the others do, they’ll kill him.”

“Well should have thought about that before you lost him.” you say snarkily. Standing up you make your way to the door.

“Please, I can get you out of here.” He starts, you turn on your heel.

“Newsflash, I’m making my own way out of here just…”

“ ...a few more fights” he finishes for you. you look at him confused. “There never letting you out of here I heard your trainer he’s not letting you go. Something about being too good for business.” Was he telling you the truth? With the helmet covering his face it was hard to tell. From what your grandmother had told you, Mandalorians rarely lied, and deep down something was telling you to trust him.

“Bastard” you mutter moving away from the door. “Well i'll find my own way out.”

“Please” he says, taking a step towards you, causing you to lift the knife up again. “You wasted your money coming here, leave.”

“I didn’t pay”

“What?” you respond and he looks over to you . “You’re not the client?”

“No” he says dryly, as if the answer was obvious. The tension is cut by a sudden knock at the door.

“Shit, you have to hide” you say dropping the knife and pushing the Mandalorian in the direction of the bed.

“Where should I hide behind a curtain?” he deadpans

“I am not in the mood for jokes right now, get under the bed” you say lifting up the bed skirt.

“No”

“Yes” you say pointing ferociously under the bed.

“No”

“Fine, but you have to go somewhere or we're both screwed.” You say turning around to get the door. As you open it you start “look I can explain.”

“ Explain what?” The Sephi asks, pushing past you taking a seat on the bed. “You’re performance out there was almost as enticing as you” you turn back to close the door looking around the room in an attempt to locate the beskar clad man. “We’ve met before, remember?” he asked, as if you would.

“Hard to forget such a lovely night.” You lie, sitting down next to him realizing you were going to have to talk your way out of this one. “Listen, tonight’s been rough, and I want to be at my peak performance for you, we can reschedule for another night” you say stroking his cheek. The Sephi grabs your wrist, harshly. “ No, I paid for it now so I’ll get it now” . Just then you hear a blaster go off and the guy drops. The Mandalorian appears from behind the curtain

“Seriously.” you say, “I was going to deal with him”

“And I wasn’t going to sit and watch it happen,” he responds re-holstering the blaster.

“They’ll use this to keep me here forever” you say, more sad than angry.

“They were doing that anyway” the modulated voice says. “Come with me” he says reaching his arm out, “now or never”.

Standing up, you push past his hand and walk over to the dead client laying on the floor. Kneeling down you rummage around for his wallet before throwing it to the Mandalorian.

“Let’s get out of here” you say

“Here” he says, taking off his cape and offering it to you. You wrap it around yourself.

“I look like a goddamn Jawa” you say, making note of how long it looks on you.

“Come on before your handaler comes back” he says. The two of you make a swift exit, creeping through the back alleys until you reach his newly acquired ship.

#the mandolarian #mando x you #mando x reader #din dijarin x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x reader #din dijarin x reader #Star Wars #star wars #Alliance #Chapter 2

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aria-writes · 3 years

Text

The Fine Art(s) of Seduction

{Because I am way too proud of this title to let anyone have even a slight chance of missing it.}

“And you’re SURE this will work?” Tegan swallowed thickly and gave his friend an appraising look as he hunched over slightly, suddenly feeling self-conscious about his above-average height.

Tyler nodded confidently and slapped him on the back, grinning, the perfect picture of assured nonchalance and an extreme contrast as he stood next to his bespectacled best bud. “Totally. Chicks dig this kind of… stuff.” He shot one finger gun at Tegan as he elbowed him and clicked his tongue.

“Now come on, just like I demonstrated.”

Tegan tossed a pen to the ground, shakily leaned over to retrieve it by way of bending from the waist with his knees locked, and snapped back upright. A good number of his joints cracked along.

“AHA!” Tadashi threw the door open so forcefully it hit the opposite door with a loud bang as he barreled into the classroom, phonN in recording mode and pad of detention slips at the ready.

“I KNEW... it…” he trailed off, slowly backing up into the wall as his mistake sank in. He had intended to make a clean, swift getaway, but misjudged where the doorway was behind him. The only thing he could do now was to cut his losses and hope all three of them would forget the incident soon enough.

Tyler grinned and waved at him. Well, more towards the phone than Tadashi. “Hi! I’m Wyler Tilliams, and you’re watching Did—”

“...Oh. I thought Axel or Ellie was in here with you. Doing stuff. Against the rules.” Tadashi mumbled sheepishly, slinking back out the door. It was a weak excuse, but it was far too late to recover. He resolved within himself to be absolutely certain next time, and not let his love of laying down the school bylaws get in the way of sound judgement and good sense.

Tyler watched him go, then turned to Tegan and shrugged nonchalantly. “Meh, there was a good chance of you hitting your head on a ceiling fan that way, anyway.”

Tegan dropped down into a chair, eyes wide. “What?!”

“No time to waste, onto the next one! Strategy B!” Tyler ran over to him and grabbed him by the arm.

Tegan hastily pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand. “But what–”

Tyler shoved a finger right in his face. “DO NOT QUESTION THE PROCESS!”

Tegan bit back a sarcastic comment and sighed. He meant well, but once Tyler was in full Determined Art Kid Mode™, there was no stopping him.

“Come on, come on, we gotta go go go!”

Tegan barely had time to react as Tyler pulled him to his feet and propelled him forwards by pushing him from behind.

“I do not have a speed setting this high!”

~~~~

Viktoria walked out of the main building, swinging her purse back and forth as she walked. She scanned her surroundings for any of her friends. Confirmation output.

There were Tyler and Tegan, over in the corner by one of those circular flowerbeds surrounded by a wall of overlapping stone bricks. She felt her pace slow, the toes of her shoes scuffing on gravel.

Something was different. Off.

They weren’t talking to each other, or laughing, or even nudging each other as you’d expect. They were just standing there, motionless. Calmly. Unobtrusively, even.

Tegan seemed upset? Should she go see what was up, try to comfort him? Or maybe he just wanted space more than anything. No, he was just squinting. Why would he be…

What happened to his glasses?

Viktoria observed the two of them for a bit, but they didn’t even acknowledge her presence. Tyler in particular seemed to stare right through her. She shuddered and continued walking past, then made a wide circle back and dropped behind the other side of the wall once she was sure they were no longer watching her. Being small at least came with a few perks.

Tyler cleared his throat, picking up right where he had left off without missing a beat. “ And then once you drop that line, you lean in all smooth-like, and best case scenario they’re also leaning in—”

“Like this?” Tegan interrupted, his tone quizzical.

Viktoria dared a glance and slowly raised her head and shoulders, startling at the sound of them yelping in unison. She quickly pushed the stems of a clump of orange tulips to the side and was rewarded by the unmistakable sight of TnT dropping to the ground in pain, accompanied by the sound of two dull thumps.

She shoved a fist against her mouth to muffle any potential noises of ausement, but enough air escaped to be audible. Oh no.

Tegan groaned like a water buffalo in heat and rolled over so he was lying facedown on the pavement. “That’s it, Tyler. I’m tapping out for today. Romance is overrated anyway, I have my waifu body pillows to love me.” He gathered his legs up underneath himself and painstakingly got up, then trudged in the direction of the dorms.

Viktoria hit the deck as Tyler slowly rounded the flowerbed and squeezed her eyes shut, willing for him to not see her.

“MISSION FAILED!” Tyler yelled right above her head, and Viktoria shoved her fist against her mouth for the second time that afternoon.

She sat up on her heels quickly and was about to retort when she noticed just how agitated Tyler looked.

“I can’t believe you saw all that!” Tyler squatted down to get on her level. “I am disgruntled! Not that I wouldn't’ve done the exact same thing had I been in your situation, but that is not the point-”

Viktoria plucked a leaf from her hair and let it drop. “Tadpole probably did too.”

Tyler steadied himself with one hand on the dirt. “Who what now?”

“Tadpole… Tadashi.” Viktoria motioned vaguely upwards. “The new security system? Yanno, he has direct access to the security feeds that the cameras are recording, and...”

Tyler groaned as if the news caused him physical pain and let his head hang down, forehead nearly brushing the ground as his free hand moved to his knee. “Wonderful.”

He straightened up and grinned brightly. “Well, hey, now that you know, I guess you gotta confess now!”

Viktoria blinked once. “No.”

Tyler threw his hands up in the air in frustration and annoyance. “Oh come on! Why not? What possible reason could you still have after all that?”

Viktoria took a strand of her own hair and began twisting it between her two palms. “Because if he’s been rehearsing, then that can only logically mean he wants to be the one to make the first move, on his own timetable. Yes? No?”

“Yes, but—” Tyler started. “But I— Ugh!” He slapped his hand against his forehead and slowly ran it down his face with a weary sigh. “You two deserve each other. Ay caramba.”

Viktoria stood, then offered her hands to Tyler, who accepted them after a brief pause and one more vexed glare. “Impossible. Both of you. I expect some sort of compensation in both of your living wills.”

“Yeah, okay.” VIktoria quietly watched with appraising eyes as he dusted off the shoulders of her jacket.

“You know, he’s really lucky to have you.”

Tyler turned towards the direction of the dormitories and shrugged halfheartedly. “Meh. I guess I’m entertaining, I guess.”

He laughed as he pulled open the door. “I said ‘I guess’ twice in that sentence.”

Viktoria turned around and walked backwards through the doorway, then grabbed him by the shoulders as he followed her in. “Hey. Do not sell yourself short.”

Tyler crossed his arms and made a show of noticeably scanning her up and down. “You’re right, that’s your job.”

Viktoria made a strangling motion with her hands, eyes filling with a murderous rage.

“TYLER WILLIAMS YOU ARE D-E-A-D DEAD—”

Tyler maneuvered past her and started running down the hall for dear life, shrieking. “AAAAIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Tag list: @arlingtonssweetheart @sloth707

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years

Note

Hello, i really really like your writing so i thought i could request an alfie one shot with 15 angst prompt and 4 humour prompt? It's absolutely okay if you don't want to write it, thank you anyway! (Could u also add me to you taglist? I wouldn't like to miss out any other of your masterpieces :))

Awe omg thank you! I’m so glad you like them! :)

Here you go love!

Wakeup Call:

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Slight fluff, Alcoholism, Swearing.

Word Count: 1,287

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Reader

Summary: Y/n comes to Alfie’s rescue after he has a little too much to drink one morning.

Requested by: @inglourious-imagines

“Hello?” You said, putting the phone up to your ear, anxious about who would be calling at 7:30 in the morning.

“Hello, am I speaking with Y/N Solomons?” The man asked.

“Yes. What’s wrong now?” You asked, knowing his mouth was probably getting him in trouble once again.

“You need to get your man in line. He’s acting a fool again calling the workers scum and lashing out at everyone. If you don’t come quick, I fear they’ll try to walk out again.” The man sighed as he waited for your response.

You rolled your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose as worry came over you. He was drunk again and you knew it.

“Alright, I’ll be there soon. Thank you for calling.” You said before hanging up.

You got dressed, quickly putting on one of Alfie’s shirts and tucking it into your slacks, and then putting on your winter boots and coat before heading out the door. You started the car, your hands shaking as you drove through the cold wintery morning, the roads icing over in various spots.

“Fucking christ!” You muttered under your breath as you parked and quickly ran into the shop, moving past the bakers and various on-edge workers. Your hands thawed slowly as you made your way up the stairs and into his office, not even bothering to knock.

He slowly turned in his chair and brushed his hands through his hair as you stood across from him, arms crossed and a disapproving look on your face.

“There you are beautiful! Aye! You came strollin’ in here nearly makin’ me take ya right here!” He said struggling to get up to make his way over to you. You rolled your eyes at his drunken comments before he engulfed you in a hug, reeking of whiskey.

You cringed and hugged him back, but soon shoved your way out of his embrace.

“What? Did I do summin?” He said slurring his words.

You sighed and rested against his desk.

“Alfie.” You said sternly.

“Whiskey? at 8 in the morning?” You asked smirking, pointing at the almost empty bottle on his desk. He followed your finger and stared at the bottle.

“Oh that? Yeah that’s what that is...damn good if you wanna try some love. Really. I usually save it ya know for business, but not today. Not today no...” He said mumbling.

“Sweetheart we talked about this before. You can’t get drunk so often, it’s making you bad at your business. Bad at handling your men and the others who work for ya...” You said walking closer too him, taking the shot glass out of his hand and placing it on the table.

“Wait wait wait, Y/n. You know full well I can handle my business an’ my men. Why did you say that? You’re really breakin’ my heart now.” He said raising his finger up as he talked.

“Look, I’m not here to insult you love. It’s just that you need to dial it back on the drinking for your workers okay? You’re turning them away with all your yelling.” You said stroking his arm lightly.

He walked away suddenly, grabbing his shot glass and staggering as he made his way to his office window, overlooking the rest of his business complex. You watched him, knowing he could go one of two ways. You saw him get angry when drunk but it was never towards you, so like today, you were the only one able to calm him down. Other times he was more loud and funny, letting his guard down that he held up so often. But today it was the former drunk Alfie. And his new assistant just so happened to come in without knocking, setting him off.

On better days he always tolerated you doing it because he loved you, but to anyone else he’d give them a look and say something along the lines of “Now what you’re going to do mate, is you’re gonna turn back ‘round an’ go out that door an’ come back an’ knock like a respectable fookin’ man you hear me?” but today was not that day.

He stormed towards the young man, yelling at him incoherently before slamming the shot glass on the floor, glass shards flying everywhere making the dark wood flooring look as if it was sparkling in the dimly lit room.

“Alfie! Stop! He just needed your help. See I told you!” You yelled, mouthing an “I’m sorry” to the young man and ushering him out. He was most likely coming to ask about a new shipment but that all left his poor mind as he shakily ran down the stairs and back to his work.

Alfie looked around at his mess and growled lowly as he grabbed the bottle off his desk.

“Alf-” You started to say before being cut off by him yelling and towering over you.

“You think it’s easy for me innit? Just telling them all what to do, where to go, hell I feel like a fookin’ babysitter! This shit helps me, so sorry if I want to take the edge off. I have enough of a time dealing with em’ an’ the blinders.” He said looking down at you.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you saw the man you loved so dearly turn into a monster, yelling at new people, throwing things, and yelling at you which he never did. You knew that recently the blinders have been putting him on edge with some of their business, but you didn’t know that he was stressed out this bad. He never showed it when he got home. You stepped towards him raising your voice more than you have in a long while.

“You think you can keep this up but you can’t!”

You looked as Alfie’s face softened as he saw you crying, he took a step back and looked at the bottle of whiskey on his desk painfully, realizing what stress seeing him in his current state caused you. In silence he walked into the nearby restroom and stared at the brown liquid as he poured it down the drain. You calmed down and slowly walked in, putting your arms around his waist from behind as he breathed slowly, looking at his drunken reflection in the mirror.

“You know I love you right?” You asked.

“I know, I put that ring on your finger didn’t I?” He said. You chuckled as he turned around, looking down at you and wiping a stray tear from your face as you still embraced him.

“That whiskey is no more alright? I know you were just trying to help. I’ll admit I’ve been a little...angry. It’s just...hard.” He said.

“I know. But I’m here. Next time you’re ‘round the stuff you give me a call aye?” I’ll talk you down. You know I will.” You said lifting yourself up to kiss him.

“What’ya say we pick up on my offer from earlier or summin’?” He said.

“Oh about taking me here in your office huh? I’m surprised you remembered.” You asked, smirking up at him.

“I always remember. Now let’s get to it. Might sober me up what’ya say?” He asked.

“Alright, but you have to lock the door this time. No more intruders...” You said winking. He went to grab your hips, pulling you closer to him before you stopped him.

“We also need to clean the glass up, can’t have us both hurting ourselves now can we?” You said, releasing his hands from your waist as you grabbed the broom nearby.

He sighed, but slowly joined you in cleaning up, eager to get you all to himself after an eventful morning.

Tag List:

@inglourious-imagines, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @wowjeena, @tsolomons, @ta-ka-shi-ma

#inglourious-imagines #katiesrequests #peakyprompts #peakypromptslist #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders oneshots #alfie solomons #alfie x reader #alfie x y/n #katieswiplist

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clareguilty · 4 years

Text

Little Bear Time

Charles Smith/Reader (Reader is neutral) Rating: Explicit | No Warnings Word Count: ~2200

Your back was beginning to ache already, despite it not even being noon yet. You grimaced as you grabbed another fish from the bucket and began cutting into it. It was bloody, smelly work, but it had to be done. Javier had left before sunrise and returned a few hours later with a few basses for the pot. He had grinned as he plopped the bucket at your feet. “You should have come with me, osito. They were biting like crazy!”

You had shaken your head. “I’m not much of a fisherman, and I’m even less of one in the morning.”

Javier had been able to help you for all of five minutes before Dutch called to him. He was all apologies as he left you to the work, off to see what van der Linde needed. You stared into the dead eyes of the fish you were filleting. He didn’t have any wisdom for you.

Up to your elbows in fish scales and bones, surrounded by knives, anyone should have known better than to give you trouble.

Micah Bell was not anyone.

“Hey there, Tiny!” he crowed, leaning on a barrel and grabbing an apple off the side of the wagon. The loud crunch of the fruit made your eye twitch.

“Bell. What can I do for you?” you sighed.

“Just came to see what’s cooking. Looks like you’re very busy.”

“Yes, Micah. I am busy.” You ripped a fillet clean from the skin and slammed it on the table. “Looks like you’ve got a lot of free time on your hands.” You traded your smaller knife for something larger, with a little more cleaving power.

“Aw naw,” Micah drawled. “I’ve got a lot going on. Plans in the works for Dutch. You know how it is.” He took another bite of his apple, unbothered.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how it is.” You brought your cleaver down, chopping off the head of the bass you had just finished. Micah’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t move. You dumped all of your scraps into the bin.

“You know what I think?” Micah smoothed his mustache. You didn��t want to know what Micah thought, but you knew you were about to get an earful anyway. “I think you need to learn how to take it easy, Tiny. Even better, I think I could be just the one to show you a good time. Much better than that boulder you usually hang out with. What do you say?”

You grimaced. Micah was all but leering at you, eyebrow raised. “I have a name,” you said.

“You still need to grow into it,” Micah shrugged. “Quit being such a runt, and I’ll quit calling you Tiny. Now, what do you say? You ditch that dullard Smith and go out riding with me some time?”

“Who’s a dullard?” a low voice chimed in. Charles rounded the wagon, a sack of feed hoisted over his shoulder. Micah dropped his apple.

“Micah here was just offering to show me how to ‘take it easy,’” you raised your eyebrows at him.

Charles dropped the feed sack. You and Micah both jumped at the loud sound. “Is that so?” He brushed his hands off. “Does that sound like something you’re interested in, Little Bear?”

You gestured to the pile of fish meat in front of you. “As you can see, Charles, I’m a little busy.”

“Oh, so he can call you ‘little bear’ but I can’t call you ‘tiny’? Wha-” Micah was interrupted by Charles grabbing the front of his shirt with both hands, lifting him to his toes.

“Look, Bell,” Charles growled, leaning in close. “I think it would be best if you kept to yourself for a little while. Why don’t you go and ‘take it easy’ somewhere else?” He released Micah with a scoff, dropping him into the damp dirt. You watched him scurry away with his tail between his legs.

“Thank you,” you smiled softly at Charles. You wanted to kiss him, but you were covered in fish guts.

“He’s gonna get himself hurt.” Charles pried your fingers from the handle of the knife. You didn’t even notice how white your knuckles had been.

He nudged you a few steps aside with his hip, grabbing the next fish and making a quick cut. “Let me help.”

Between the two of you, you made quick work of the fish. Charles even showed you some new ways to salt them and rub them down with fat and spices. You knew they would smell delicious over the fire.

You washed up in the stream and, realizing you were out of view of the camp, decided to sit in the shade for just a little bit. Charles undid the first few buttons of his shirt and settled in next to you. You tried to keep your gaze from lingering on the few inches of exposed skin.

“Would you ever go with Micah?” Charles asked out of nowhere. He was watching you with furrowed brows.

“Go where?” you asked, caught off guard. “Actually, I wouldn’t go anywhere with him. He’s too much trouble no matter what it is.” You shook your head at the mere thought.

Charles hummed in consideration.

“Are you… jealous?” you asked, incredulous.

“Not particularly, no,” Charles answered. “I guess I’m just worried that I’m not enough for you. You could be with someone else.”

“Of course I could be with someone else,” you rolled your eyes, “but I don’t want to. You make me happy.” You scooted closer so you could lean into Charles’ side. You finally gave in and let your fingers trail over his bare chest. “I’ve got to say, watching you threaten Micah earlier, it did something to me. I like knowing that you’re looking out for me.”

“I was trying to save him from getting gutted by you. You looked close to stabbing him, and I don’t think Dutch would have liked that very much.” He ran a hand over your hair.

“He called you a dullard,” you frowned.

“I’ve been called worse,” Charles chuckled. “But I appreciate you standing up for me, Little Bear.”

"Want to go out tonight? Find a nice spot with a good view of the water?" You pressed in even closer, nuzzling your cheek to his shoulder. You could feel the low rumble in his chest as he considered the offer.

"Just the two of us?" he asked. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Just the two of us." You threw one of your legs over his thighs, pressing your lips to the stubble on his jaw.

The smell of spices drifted to where you were resting. This fish was nearly done cooking. "We should leave right after we eat," Charles squeezed your hips lightly.

You ate with Tilly and Javier, laughing along as Javier recounted a wild job he had been on with John. Charles pulled you into his lap once you cleared your plates, already excited about your evening together. Javier teased you when he found out you were leaving camp.

"What? You don't feel like getting it on right under everyone's noses? Take a page out of MacGuire's book! He certainly doesn't mind if everyone knows what he's up to."

You laughed and rolled your eyes. "Feeling left out, Escuella?"

Javier grinned, all teeth and charm. "Is that an invitation, osito?" He backed down as soon as the words had left his lips, and you could only imagine the look Charles must have given him. "Ay, brother, I was just teasing." He raised his hands in surrender.

You frowned at Charles, disapproval in your gaze. "Sorry, Javier. We had a bout with Micah earlier, and he's still cooling off."

Charles was still tense beneath you, so you pressed a kiss to his temple. "What do you say we head out?" you offered. He squeezed your hip and you knew he wanted nothing more.

You quickly gathered your things and led Peanut over to where Charles was brushing Taima. "Good to go," you kissed the corner of his mouth.

The two of you rode out in easy silence. You could see Charles thinking, but you knew he would talk if he wanted.

The spot you picked was up the hill from the lake shore, out of sight from the road. You pitched a tent and built a fire, setting out your bedrolls before collapsing into each other's embrace. The sun was beginning to set, casting the sky in brilliant oranges and reds and purples. The lake was inky black with fiery ripples dancing over its surface.

“I need you,” Charles whispered. He pressed you into the ground. His weight was a comfort, settling over you completely. Lips brushed over your skin. Your hands trailed over his chest, feeling the broadness of him.

“What do you need?” You raised a suggestive eyebrow.

“Anything you’ll give me.”

You smiled at the answer. He could be so silly sometimes.

He continued to take his fill of you, working you out of your clothes as he ground his hips to yours and marked the skin across your chest. It was breathtaking. Every touch lit over your skin. Raced through you. Charles hadn’t been able to have you like this in so long.

“Can you prep me?” you asked, a breathless whisper.

His eyes lit up, as though you were giving him the world. Large hands pressed your thighs apart. You bit back a moan when he pressed a finger into you, slowly, carefully. “You’re gorgeous.”

It was as gentle and meticulous as everything Charles did. You were desperate and whining long before he was done, ready to take him right then.

“Please, Charles,” you gasped, “I want to ride you.”

He stilled. “You can’t just say things like that.” His voice was low, nearly broken.

“I need it,” you rocked your hips, sinking farther on his fingers.

He pulled back as if he had been struck, pulling his shirt over his head and working at the fasten of his pants. You pushed yourself up to your elbows and then your knees and reached for Charles as he set his clothes aside. He pulled you into his arms, expertly managing to kiss you while also arranging the two of you perfectly. You straddled his hips.

“I don’t deserve you,” he stared up at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Silly bear,” you tickled him lightly. He retaliated, and the two of you fell into a fit of laughter and light fingers. Once you felt the mood had lightened enough you wrapped your fingers around Charles’ cock and kissed him deeply. A low moan escaped him.

Lifting your hips, you sank onto his cock. It was a stretch, and you didn’t get very far. “Ah,” you gasped. “You always feel so good.”

Charles gripped the quilt beneath you, gritting his teeth as he tried to keep still. You wiggled your hips a little, sinking down another half an inch. “So big…” you moaned and leaned forward to brace yourself better.

It was so much. Almost too much. The stretch, the fullness. Charles couldn’t keep from bucking just a little beneath you, and you cried out. He laced his fingers with yours, whispering apologies as you shook and whimpered.

Your hips met his. A few moments of stillness. Charles panted against your skin, you could feel his heart thudding. “Can I move?” He asked.

You nodded, trying to rock your own hips against him. He responded by bucking up into you, hands flying to your thighs to hold you tightly to him. Your nails raked over his chest, it was just too much. You and Charles hardly ever got the chance to have each other like this. But now, he was all yours, and you let yourself come apart on his cock.

Charles reached down to stroke you gently as he continued to rock his hips. You did your best to grind down against him, trying to bring him with you as you hurtled towards release. You wouldn't last long, not with his cock buried in you and his fingers stroking you slow and determined.

“Charles,” you panted, “I love you. I love you. I never want to be parted from you.” You hardly even realized what you were saying, just that he needed to know.

“I know,” he gasped. His fingers increased their pace and you came so hard and so suddenly that you nearly toppled over. Large hands steadied you as you shook, making a mess over Charles’s stomach and clenching around his cock.

“Oh, my love -- I’m close,” he groaned. “Can I?”

“Please,” you begged. You were already fucked out and nearing overstimulation, but you needed to feel Charles come.

He pulled you against his chest and carefully rolled so that you were on your back. A few powerful thrusts and you felt him finish inside you, a growl escaping his lips. You fell limp against the quilt, Charles nearly collapsing on top of you as well.

The sun had dipped below the mountain peaks, and the sky was now a wonderful indigo. Charles moved just enough to wipe you both clean before curling into your back, holding you close to him.

“You mean everything to me,” he said softly.

“You’re all I could ever want,” you whispered back, drifting off to the sound of the wind rushing over the meadows.

#smut #lemons #Charles Smith #charles smith/reader #charles smith x reader #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #little bear #little bear time

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dc-superhero · 4 years

Text

Red and Blue - blue beetle x reader

The team are both surprised and suspicious when a young girl turns up with a scarf just like Jaime's and the Reach. But Jaime is just star struck, not to mention Scarab is pestering him over you.

"It’s a simple mission. Well split up into two groups. M'gann, Superboy, Bart, L'gann Boy and myself in one group, Nightwing, Blue Beetle, Wondergirl and Robin in the other."

Aqualad looked round at the members present in the meeting, some were busy either dealing with their own problems or helping their mentors whilst others had to deal with issues from their own lives. He was fine with the group assembled though, all experienced and practical fighters, well maybe except Impulse.

In return the group nodded, resdy to suit up for the mission and head out.

"This is so crash, an undercover covert mission, ninjas and a cool tropical island. Not gonna be feeling the mode today, woo !"

As the others dissembled to board the Bio-ship and rests themselves for the mission, Impulse dashed over to his best bud Blue Beetle chatting away at a hundred miles a minute. Unlike the others these covert missions were new to him, he’d only arrived about two weeks ago and found everything to be just as exciting and crash as people in the future told him, like Nathaniel or his parents. He couldn’t get over the fact he was here, especially with friends like Jaime.

"Sshshh Ese, my head hurts so a little quieter please."

Jaime grumbled at the now Moder speedster who looked a little sadder from finding out Jaime wasn’t as excited as him. Seeing this the Blue Beetle warrior decided to try and push past his raging headache from lack of sleep, too much coffee and finals coming up.

"It’s pretty cool I guess. Ninjas are crash."

Bart's smile instantly lifted into a big grin as he started his rambling once again about "covert missions are crash", "the past is so awesome" and "I really love chicken wizzies, do you have any ?". Pain radiated through his head, put he ignored it to both to stop his friend from getting disheartened and also to help him concentrate better on the mission at hand.

———————————

Santa Larisco Island 20:18 July

With one team covering the ground and another circling the perimeter of the island, the mission started off smoothly. The two sons of Batman were more skilled than the bets ninjas on the island and easily snuck past their defences, hacking the mia frame of the eco outer within the temple-like base. With the defences now down, Kaldur signalled his team to go in, the mind-link set up among them by M'gann.

"Okay Robin, Nightwing start downloading the information on The Light and it's partners. Everybody else it’s your mission to take in the wanted criminals here who have escaped Belle Rev. Icicle jnr, Shimmer and Bane are reported to be here on the island."

A series of "on it"s and "yes" rattled through their leader's mind as the others made their way across the island. Well except for one person. Jaime Reyes couldn’t explain 2hag it was but something was drawing him to turn away from Wondegirl and Eobin and to explore further into the jungle. It was stupid, probably his mind going a little nuts from sleep deprivation but those thoughts were swept away when Scarab spoke up.

"I sense it too, Jaime Reyes, there’s some energy source coming from that grove. You must get closer so I can scan for what it is."

In his usual commanding voice Scarab's words were th last push that sent Jaime off to explore what was letting off the strange energy. Distracted by the computer and coding, both Nightwing and Robin didn’t notice whilst Wondergirl began to fly off to aid Spuerboy against Icicle jnr.

Wing ready, he took off flying low just over the treetops scanning the ground with keen eyes until he noticed light red waves pulsing out from below the trees. Like a heart beat the pulses would expand and then contract, in this nearly crimson colour.

"The energy is from another scarab, Jaime Reyes. You must investaigte now. If it is another scary you just terminate them !"

Jaime rolled his eyes at his Scarab's usual persistence of "terminating", which he threw in way too much. Only the other day when Bart has invited him over to the Allen's house has the Scarab insisted they "terminate" Iris and Barry's twins for sticking gum in his hair.

"I’m not going to terminate them!"

Annoyed and now suffering from a full-blown migraine, Jaime snapped at his scrab but did begin to descend from the treetops.

As he neared the ground he saw that the source of the energy was a young girl, clothes half burnt off from where he could see as she was rolled into a small ball facing away from him. However he did manage to see a long red gash travelling down the exposed area of her back. Inwardly he cringed at how much blood was coursing out of it. Whoever this girl was she needed medical trade,not and stat.

"The Scarab user is injured Jaime. Finish her now whilst she’s out."

Jaime swore he could almost hear Scarab's inner evil chuckle.

"No. There will be no terminating. She’s hurt. Even if she’s a scarab user she’s clearly injured."

Cautiously, he approached you, kneeling down next to your form. Your (h/c) hair was covering your face, and it was clear that the front of you was much more exposed than the back of you. Clearly, you’d been shot at, around the chest area with something that could disintegrate rather than a piercing bullet.

"Chica, whoever you are, wake up. I promise I-"

Just as Jaime reached his hand out to brush your hair from you face, trying his best to be cautious and act harmless, you suddenly and swiftly sat up, grabbing the hand reaching four you and twisting his arm. Jaime let out a shriek of pain, Scarab telling him "I told you so", as his sonic canon activate on his free arm, raising it fire at you.

However to both his horror and surprise, he was met with another sonic blaster, but red in contrast to his blew. The pair of you remained there, kneeled and sat on the floor, arms raised to fire at each other whilst your other froze on his. Eyes wide, and mouth a small "O" shape, Jaime imagined your look of surprise mirrored his.

Sure he’d known beforehand that you had a Scarab, but it still took him by surprise to see another one like him.

You on the other hand were having a far worse time. Pain pulsed from your legs, arms, back. You name it, it hurt. Even your pinky toes radiated with pain. To make it worse here you were, on some random forest floor, unable to remember how you got here with a sonic blaster obnoxiously pushed up into your face. This day was shit.

"What happened to me?" Brain a jumbled mess you tried to remember what had happen3d as your eyes never left those of the boy in forms of you. Under other circumstances you might have found him cute.

"Upon escaping the Reach we suffered a blast too the chest from Black Beetle's Ion canon. We are lucky to be alive right now (y/n)."

"Ohhhh"

This time you let out an audible response which surprised Jaime a little as you seemed to break a way from your death stare at him.

Upon doing this his eyes travelled away from stare and then did he realise something. Something he probably should’ve noticed sooner. So,etching that Scarab would remind him of many times in e future to come.

You were naked around the front, exposing well your middle, and other parts north of their.

"Gahhh! I’m sorry..."

Like an arrow he shoot uo from where he was kneeling next to you and scurried further away, hands covering his eyes.

"Jaime Reyes to not cover your eyes when the enemy is about. You won’t be able to terminate them."

Jaime felt his face go red as he turned to face you a little, peeking from in between his fingers.

"Oh my god !"

Letting out a squeal, you instantly folded your arms over your chest, quickly turning away from the boy as you felt your face blossom into a colour so red it matched your beetle. Turns out you were half naked, high your Scarab decided not to tell you.

"You creep, coming near me like that when I’m like this ! I don’t care if you’re another beetle user, I’m going to kill you..., well when I get a shirt on I will!"

Frustrated, angered and afraid you screeched at the boy, the Blue beetle user, as he gave you a sheepish look before starting to talk into what you guessed was an earpiece of some kind.

"Blue Beetle, come in Kaldur.....yeah I’m on the south side....you guys fly the Bio-ship. I found something you’ll want to see."

By the way he spoke you guessed he was addressing others, maybe a team ? A cold gust of air sucked you out of your thoughts as your arms covering your chest tightened a little, a feeble attempt to generate a little bit of warmth. Stuck outside in the middle of the night with your clothes torn to pieces, you were definitely starting to feel the cold.

"Jaime Reyes the other scarab user is cold. The female will develop hypothermia. As you don’t want to terminate her, I suggest warming her up."

Jaime eyed your shivering body, to which you glared back in return as you didn’t take to his wondering gaze kindly. Sure the others were on the way but you looked freezing and it would be embarrassing to meet a whole group of people without something covering your upper half properly.

"Ay I guess you’re right."

Sighing, Jaime retracted his blue better form, the suit disappearing to reveal him in his civvies. Eyes wide you watched as the blue beetle revealed himself to be a quite attractive young man, around your age with jet black hair and dark warm eyes. Warm. Oh you wished you were warm, as another shiver rattled your injured and tired body.

"Take caution (y/n), the blue beetle is still a threat."

Your scarab's calm but bristled voice washed through your mind and you knew she had a point. However when Jaime started to unzip his hoodie, leaving him in a T-shirt and offering his source of warmth to you, you threw caution to the wind.

"Here, use this."

Still cautious, he approached you, making sure to look you directly in the eyes.....no wondering glances. In return yiu looked up at him, wary at first until a small smile formed on your face.

"Thank you....."

You trailed off, not knowing his name.

"Jaime Reyes."

He knew it was dumb to tell a stranger, potentially a threat his secret identity, but he found himself trusting you, just a little bit. Perhaps it was because you had something in common. The shared dilemma of having an alien creature stuck on your back.

"Well thank you Jaime Reyes."

You took the hoodie with a smile and quickly put it on, zipping it up and allowing warmth to flood you. Warmth from Jaime wearing it....

A small blush adorned your cheeks as you realised the strange boy, who for one had seen half of you naked had given you his hoodie that was coated in a nice boyish smell like mint and pine leaves and cinnamon.

"Your hormone levels are spiking (y/n), it appears you are attracted to the one who calls himself Jaime Reyes."

At your scarabs words, your blush darkened and you jerked upright like an arrow. Jaime raised an eyebrow at your reaction, seeing your blush and strange behaviour.

"Maybe the female scarab user has a fever."

Scarab's words made sense, and Jaime nodded to himself. That sounded about right, your red face and jerky actions definitely made it seem like you were sick. You certainly felt a little sick, still a little chilly even with Jaime's hoodie and your injuries were worsening the longer you went without attending to them.

The large cut across your back ached and you could almost feel the cool chill of the blood surrounding it, you probably looked very beaten and bloody. Blood loss, nausea and fatigue started to set in, your body had fought for so long and finally now you believed you were saved, or at least were going to be taken off that damn island.

"Your losing too much blood (Y/n), you need medical attention now, or you’ll pass out."

Scarab's warning words almost sounded sympathetic as they resonated through your head. Now that you thought about it you did feel sleepy, so so sleepy....

Eyes falling shut your body and mind finally gave up fighting, giving into the peaceful lull of slumber. Seeing your collapsing body, Jaime rushes forwards catching you before you hit the ground in his arms. The quite small breaths leaving your lips reassured him that you were dead but rather sleeping and he let out a sigh of relief.

"She’s not dead, thank god. Migraine, mid terms and a dead girl to top it all off, sounds like a crappy day."

Up close now he could see the damage done to you, blood spotting your shredded shirt as your wide gashes still dripped with blood.

"Jaime the female has fainted. Her blood levels are low and she appears malnourished. Medical attention is needed immediately."

Surprisingly, Scarab was choosing to help you and your own Scarab out, not willing to let another one of his species die or at least their host.

"I know, I know. The others are almost here. She’ll be fine.....your safe now (y/n)."

Still sleeping, a tiny smile formed on your lips, almost as if you could hear Jaime's comforting words.

———————————-

Might make a part two, let me know if you want one and what I should write next !

#blue beetle x reader #jaime reyes x reader #young justice #young justice imagine #x reader

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tard1sgays · 3 years

Text

Just A Scratch

Jamie's feeling down due to an injury he got fighting the Cybermen, so the Doctor and Zoe find an easy way to cheer him up.

on ao3.

"Ouch!"

"I did tell you not to move," the Doctor huffed, tugging aggressively at Jamie's hair with a comb.

Jamie couldn't sit still despite the Doctor's words; he never knew having your hair brushed could be so painful, "Aye well if yer' keep tugging at it so hard I'm gonnae flinch! Ouch!"

The Doctor tugged at a knot in Jamie's curly wisps, shaking his head at the boy's childishness, "Maybe if you hadn't been so thoughtless..."

"Hey now just a minute, I saved yer' life!" Jamie retorted, feeling somewhat betrayed, "If it were nae for me you'd be just a few wee ashes right now, floating 'round Cyberman territory," he pulled his head back away from the Doctor, pouting like a duck.

The Doctor shook his head again and leant down next to Jamie's ear, "You know very well I had it all under control."

"Aye but ya' said that last time and look what happened tae' the poor ol' professor!"

"Ah well yes that was rather unfortunate, but that I couldn't prevent," the Doctor groaned slightly, placing the comb down on the table and running his fingers through Jamie's hair to feel for any more knots. He'd always liked Jamie's hair, it was so soft and bounced lightly whenever he moved.

Jamie sighed and looked down at the bruises on his legs, "I guess I was a wee bit hasty..."

He sulked in the chair, going to fold his arms and whined when he realised he couldn't, "Ay for goodness sake! Doctor how long do I have to keep the blasted thing on for?"

"Well Jamie it's a cast, solid plaster. That'll be left on for quite some time I'm afraid."

Jamie's face saddened.

"You only have yourself to blame," said the Doctor, as he kissed Jamie softly on the cheek, smiling at him sweetly.

"I don' like it though,'' Jamie replied, standing up and brushing the strands of hair off his kilt. He was getting rather fed up of having a broken arm, it made him feel so useless. He couldn't do much on his own, and the Doctor had to help him with even the most basic of things like washing his hair and getting dressed. It was dreadful, and getting rather tiresome too.

He didn't regret it though, jumping in to save the Doctor like that, even if he did have a bone broken clean in half by a rather large and powerful Cyberman. After all, he'd never forgive himself if something happened to the Doctor.

"Oh, I have an idea!" The Doctor suddenly remarked, his face brightening up as if a beam of light had just hit him. He frantically looked around the room, his eyes searching for something.

"Doctor, what are yer' doing?"

"I won't be a moment Jamie," the Doctor said hastily, as he rushed out of the room unexpectedly, flustering Jamie slightly.

"What's he up to this time...?" Jamie grumbled to himself, sitting back down and sinking deeply into the brown worn cushions of the chair.

After a few minutes of boorishly waiting, the Doctor suddenly popped his head round the door frame, smiling vibrantly at Jamie, "What's your favourite colour?"

"Eh?" Jamie replied, confused.

"Oh never mind, we'll just bring them all in," he stuttered, as he and Zoe walked in clumsily, arms filled with dozens of brightly coloured felt tip pens and small tubes of glue and glitter. They lay them down on a small coffee table, pens rolling off onto the floor with a clack noise.

"Doctor, you could've at least brought a better table," Zoe huffed as she picked up all the pens hurriedly, whilst the Doctor made a small barricade with the glue tubes to keep them contained.

"What on earth is all of this?" Jamie asked, eyeing his two friends with a rather baffled look on his face.

"Can't you see Jamie?"

"Aye I can see just grand, doesn't mean I kno' what yer' doing."

"We're going to decorate your cast!" Zoe cheered, grinning like a cheshire cat from ear to ear. Oh how she loved crafty things, and it'd been so long since she last did something as fun as this. She was ecstatic, even more so than the Doctor, who was currently fiddling with a stuck pen lid like a child.

Jamie however, was still rather kerfuffled.

His eyes were scanning the pens and glitter rather aggressively, before letting out a barely audible "Huh?"

"What's wrong Jamie?" The Doctor asked, finally plucking off the pen lid and reaching over ready to doodle on Jamie's cast.

"I still don' understand."

The Doctor and Zoe exchanged glances, "Understand what?"

"Well, yer' going to draw on ma' arm thingy aren't ya'?"

The two nodded.

"Are yer' sure you can do that though? I mean, won't it cause an uh, what's it called... An infectious?"

The Doctor chuckled, "No Jamie, it won't cause an infection. It's perfectly safe!" He assured Jamie, as he drew a small heart on the edge of the plaster, "And also very fun."

Jamie took one look at the heart doodle, and suddenly his face lit up with delight, "Pass me a pen, I wan' a go!"

The Doctor passed him a blue pen, and Jamie bit the lid off before scribbling little drawings of

monsters and objects all over his cast. This was the happiest he'd been since he busted his arm, and it warmed the Doctor's hearts so very much to see his lover bright and bubbly again. Who knew that all it would take to cheer Jamie up was a few pens & some glitter?

"Aye, that's better!" Jamie simpered, looking pleased with himself before twisting his arm to show the Doctor his new drawing, "Ta da! What'd ya' think?"

The Doctor couldn't help but let out a small giggle at Jamie's sweet child-like drawing.

There was a TARDIS, or should I say more of a wobbly blue rectangle in the background, with a small dwarf (Zoe) standing next to it, and in front of that were two carefully drawn almost people.

One of the Doctor, and one of Jamie, holding hands with big smiles on their faces.

Zoe looked over at the drawing, tilting her head to try and see it better, "Where am I on the drawing?"

"Ay it's obvious, yer' there," Jamie furrowed his eyebrows, pointing at the small human-like blob by the TARDIS.

"That can't be me, that's a gnome!"

"Actually, it's a dwarf."

"Jamie McCrimmon!" Zoe shouted, annoyed at being portrayed in such a ridiculous way.

"Ay come on now lassy, it's fairly accurate considering my artistic skills," Jamie sniggered, nudging Zoe playfully, but Zoe wasn't having it.

"Oh Doctor can't you tell him to not be so harsh!"

But of course unsurprisingly, even the Doctor couldn't hold back his laughter, "Well Zoe, I think it's pretty accurate too if I'm honest..!"

The Doctor rested his head on Jamie's shoulder, as they both laughed at the dwarf Zoe drawing like children at a funfair.

"I swear you can both be such, such... Such men at times! And so childish too!" Zoe grunted, glaring at the two idiots before leaving the room and shutting the door aggressively behind her.

But Jamie and the Doctor were still laughing, and they only stopped because their stomach and faces were starting to ache.

The Doctor wiped a small tear from his eye after finally calming himself down, and smiled so lovingly at Jamie, "feeling better?"

"Aye, much better," he responded, kissing the Doctor softly on the cheek, "Thank you."

The Doctor pulled him in for a gentle hug, resting his chin on the top of Jamie's head, "Just remember, if you ever feel even just a little bit down, I promise you there's always a way both Zoe and I can help, okay?"

Jamie nuzzled his head into the Doctor's chest, listening to his two hearts beat. He wasn't sure why, but he always found listening to the Doctor's hearts so comforting, "Aye, I kno'."

They sat there comfortably in silence for some time, just enjoying each other's company and warmth, not uttering even a breath, but then Jamie piped up, "Hey Doctor, d'ya think we should apologise to Zoe?"

The Doctor shifted his head to look at Jamie, "No no, she'll be fine, we've certainly done much worse before, not that that's something to brag about."

"Aye, s'pose ya' right."

They sat it in silence for a few more minutes.

"...D'ya think we'd get away with annoying her some more then?" Jamie smirked, almost sheepishly.

The Doctor looked at Jamie with a rather, unrecognisable expression. Jamie couldn't tell what he was thinking, and he wasn't sure if he liked it.

"Well, I suppose just a little bit more teasing won't do anymore harm now will it," the Doctor grinned in a kind of impish-like way, readjusting his disheveled fringe before stretching his arms and standing up. He held his hand out to Jamie, and Jamie knew that look all too well, "Come along now Jamie," the Doctor spoke, a dark but mischievous tone, "We've got work to do."

End.

#my writing #fanfic #doctor who #second doctor #jamie mccrimmon #zoe heriot #classic doctor who #classic who #patrick troughton #frazer hines #wendy padbury #dw #dr who #60's #ao3

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leapyearkisses · 3 years

Text

O Captain, My Captain 2/2 - (m/m) Salem/Faughn

Part two of the soldier setting.

Lil’ bit of mess. Hair brushing. Yearning. Etc.

---

The bar was dim and full of smoke from the spitting of the fire in the grate. Despite the proprietor’s efforts to shield against the storm, it was raining down the chimney, and the logs were hissing like hecklers at a bad variety show. The haze collected in the ceiling joists with the smoke from the soldiers’ cigarettes. It was crowded and loud inside and stank of wet wool and spilled ale. Could definitely have smelled of worse, though; Salem wasn’t complaining. He tapped his lips against his empty mug, gaze lingering in the shadowed corner of the room.

“Another round for you, sir?”

He looked up, saw Maisie Harpe looking down her nose at him, serving tray under her arm. Her expression was condescending. Salem remembered it fondly.

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’” he said, but pushed his mug toward her. “I’m still the same as I was.”

Maisie sniffed dismissively, picking it up. “Gone off and joined the war. Too good for a potter’s life. You think you’re going to come out the other end of it?” Her blonde curls shimmered around her round face with a flash of lightning. “Pa says it’s like watching sausages get made.”

“Hold your tongue, girl!” John Hadditch, the blacksmith of Yens Hollow, came up behind her and shooed her off. “Bad luck talking of that over beer. Go and bring us something better than this swill your Pa’s set aside for soldiers.” He sat down across from Salem and lifted his wooden leg around the bench with a grunt. “She still wants you to be pullin’ her pigtails, Sammy.” He chuckled.

Salem cleared his throat, hiding a smile. “She’s got better prospects than me.”

“Aye, maybe an officer? I heard they’re keeping the brass nice and polished at Maven Broadmoor’s place.” John leaned in. “You got a roof over your head, Sam, or are you out with the poor suckers in the mud?”

“Well, I’m not really brass. Maybe copper,” Salem said, accepting a new tankard from Maisie. “Mrs. Broadmoor is letting me sleep in the horse loft with the other lieutenants. Better than the back pasture.” He tapped his fingers on the table. When Maisie had walked away to another group, he leaned in. “I need to know if it’s safe to talk.”

“Not in here,” said John, taking a long draught of beer. “Come to my shop on the morrow, or I’ll come down to the farm if the bloody sky hasn’t fallen.” Thunder shook the double-paned windows. “My leg’s not as it used to be, though, and riding is a trial.”

“We can come to you.” Salem had been given a small company of men solely for this purpose of meeting with the trustworthy locals… or at least those they hoped were trustworthy. “On the morrow, if, as you say, we’re all still here.”

—

It was still raining when he finished the night, snapping the neck of his raincoat closed at the door, as if that would help. Maisie Harpe moved in the fallen darkness of the banked fire, turning out the oil lamps on the walls and drawing blankets over the men who had passed out at their benches from either drunkenness or exhaustion. Salem kept his tongue to himself, just tipped his hat to her on his way out.

His horse was none too keen to be drawn out of the stable, digging her heels in while he tacked her up. “I know,” he murmured, securing the saddle girth. “But you’ll be home soon enough.”

The streets were the same as he remembered them, and he rode confidently toward the edge of town even in the storm. He’d gone to school here as a boy, every morning hitching a ride on a wagon into town from the neighboring village. His father had been a cooper, building barrels for beer, whiskey, fish, pickles… whatever the fur traders needed, and then when that started drying up, whatever anyone else needed. His mother had been a potter. Technically, he still owned the house and the workshops, but he’d given the plot to a cousin to manage. He wondered absently, focused on the echoing of his horse’s hooves on the cobbles, whether he should go by the place while he was stationed here. Surely no one would begrudge him the chance to see family. …Although they weren’t close.

His mare moved faster on the dirt roads despite the muddy furrows, picking up her pace going out to the farmlands. Salem hunched against the rain. Water was running down his neck and his face, and an ill-timed breath sent a drip up his nose, too. He ducked to the side with a loud sneeze. “Hruuscht!” His horse laid her ears back.

“Sorry, girl.” He wiped his face on his wet sleeve and sighed. It was very late, but he thought, maybe, he should try to meet with the Captain before he went to sleep. To update him on the idea of meeting with Hadditch tomorrow, to tell him what Salem had overheard while drinking, …to inspect the state of him. Salem sighed.

—

There was a lamp still burning at the Broadmoor farm. Salem put his horse away and then slogged up to the main house, shivering on the back stoop. Martha, the maid, let him in to the kitchen and took his jacket, scolding him for coming back so late. She probably thought him a souse. He let her chide him as she brought him a towel and a heel of bread. He ate it after she’d returned to her bed, then left his boots on the hearth, hoping that the fire would dry them somewhat, before going upstairs. He trod carefully. Major General Wallace was staying here as well, and he was said to be a rough character when untimely roused.

Light flickered beneath the door of the yellow bedroom. Salem tapped lightly against the paneling and waited for an acknowledgement.

“Yes?” The Captain’s voice was hoarse. “I don’t need another of your bitter infusions, Doctor.” He coughed. “I’ve had more than enough of them.”

“It’s Lieutenant Desidero, sir.”

“Come in.”

Salem stepped into the room. The Captain had a candle burning and was writing at the desk, quill scratching over the parchment at a steady pace that was uninterrupted by Salem’s visit. Captain Faughn was wearing his hair down for once. It spilled down his back like blood, the same shade, tangled and damp with rain or sweat. Hardly regulation, Salem could hear in his mind, the voice of his long-ago trainer barking away in memory. His gaze followed the length of it to the Captain’s trim waist. He was in his shirtsleeves.

“I have a report,” he forced himself to say. “A short one. I went to the village tavern tonight.”

“Tell me about it,” said Faughn, without looking up.

So Salem did, describing the state of the place, the bearing of the owner, Maisie Harpe, the blacksmith. He talked about the bar’s stable, which had a new roof, and the men who had worked on it and dined there that night. The church had burned two years ago and been rebuilt a little bigger, with a new back room, by the same men. Men from trapper families with nothing to trap anymore, back in town since a few months ago.

Faughn listened to the report without commenting, though he did lay his quill down sometime in the middle. By the candlelight, his eyes were heavy-lidded and thoughtful. His cheeks were flushed high with fever.

“Nice job,” he said when Salem had finished, rubbing his hands together. “I knew I was right to trust this to you. If all goes well here, I will be sure to give you a commendation.” He sniffed hard and Salem heard a liquid shift of congestion in his sinuses. “Is there anything else?”

Salem swallowed. “Your hair, sir?”

“My hair?” Faughn frowned.

“I’d like to brush it for you.”

—

The Captain’s comb was made of whale ivory. Salem sat on the bed behind him and drew the fine teeth carefully down through the Captain’s hair, trying to untangle it without pain. The Captain’s hair was soft despite the rigors of the war. Salem supposed he must keep it oiled under his hat, or some other way protected from the elements. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” he asked.

Faughn had made a small noise, but now he lifted a hand to dismiss concerns. “No. No, you’re fine.” His fingers were slender and strong, but he curled them now under his nose. “I’m going to hh-”

Salem slipped the comb free as the Captain bent forward, crushing his nose to his knuckles.

“Nkktsch! Ngktschx!” His breath caught again. “Hah- hahktschiu!” Moisture shone against the smooth curve of Faughn’s nostrils in the candlelight. He sniffed thickly and reached to the bedside table for a handkerchief.

“Bless you,” murmured Salem, gaze lingering. He looked away when the Captain raised an eyebrow. “How are you feeling?”

Faughn cleared his throat, low and irritated. “I do wish people would stop asking me that.” He dabbed at his nose but seemed hesitant to blow. The corners of his dark eyes creased in uncertainty.

Salem traced his fingers over the comb, thumb pressed along the smooth edge from end to end. The bedroom was warm from the farmhouse’s central fireplace. Heat blossomed also in his belly. He looked at his nail, snagged earlier on his horse’s reins, instead of at the Captain. He could hear from the Captain’s breathing that he would sneeze again. “My apologies.”

“Ngktschiu!” Wet again, but this time enveloped by the folds of the handkerchief. Salem could imagine how it might feel instead against his skin. His arousal swelled. Faughn groaned softly, a private sound. Salem rose to his feet.

“I will report to you again tomorrow night,” he said, placing the comb on the clothes chest by the foot of the bed. He could feel himself blushing. Part of him wanted the Captain to turn and see it, too, but most of him knew to keep it close and hidden. “Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Desidero.”

Salem closed the door behind him and then stood for a long moment in the empty hallway, listening to the rain.

#lyk writes #snz #first lieutenant salem desidero #captain gwalchmai faughn #salemai #*stares adoringly at faughn*#I haven't reread this in ages #it's tender isn't it #hmmmmmm should i write a third part

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ohmightydevviepuu · 4 years

Text

writer’s month prompts

prompt eleven: light (today’s prompt suggested by @profdanglaisstuff)

full collection on AO3

They had one rule--no daylight--and she’d just broken it.

Fuck.

Emma Swan rolled over, the sheet slipping away from her in the bed that wasn’t hers, sunlight streaming in through the open curtains.

Fucking hell.

No daylight. It was supposed to be simple--no rules, no strings, no limits, just the two of them giving in to what they wanted and what they needed with no expectations and no daylight and his side of the bed was empty but it was too much to hope that she was alone in the apartment because he lived here, for fuck’s sake.

That wasn’t even her biggest problem.

No, her biggest problem was that after she’d gotten up to clean up and use the bathroom--ignoring the toothbrush there that was hers or the hairbrush she’d left on the vanity--instead of pulling her jeans back on to go she’d climbed right back into the king-sized piece of cloud he called a mattress and rolled over onto her stomach and felt his arm around the back of her waist and his nose against her shoulder as he pressed scratchy little kisses there, the stubble of his beard tickling her. And instead of getting up--or at least going in for another round--she’d turned and looked at him with his deep blue eyes and the way they stared at her and she’d kissed him.

She’d kissed him and she hadn’t made out with someone like that since she was a teenager, god, just lying there and feeling the other person against her as the kisses went from sweet to sexy and back again, her heart pounding as his eyelashes brushed against her cheeks and she felt the softness of his hair in her fingers and then she’d fallen asleep in his arms.

“Goodnight, love,” he’d whispered into her ear and she’d snuggled in closer.

This. Was. A. Problem.

Ruby was going to be insufferable, all kinds of “I told you so” and “You and Killian Jones are not going to be able to be just fuck buddies”; Emma’s protests of “I don’t even like him” being dismissed with a knowing grin and “mm-hmmm”.

She didn’t like him. She didn’t. She--he--

--And their history wasn’t exactly great, was it, they’d been going at it like cats and dogs since he’d shown up with David one night at the bar and she’d actually punched him once.

He’d deserved it.

Sexual tension--no, fuck literally all of that.

Only she already had, and now she was here. In the daylight. With a disgruntled moan Emma hauled herself up from the bed and looked for her jeans on the floor, her jeans and her clothes and her underwear, her stupid black lace bra that was her favorite because it was comfortable and she liked it under her white tank top and not because he liked it under her white tank top. She pulled her clothes on and brushed her hair (with her hairbrush) and brushed her teeth (with her toothbrush) and peeked out the cracked-open bedroom door like an absolute asshole, one eye lined up along the crack only to see him staring right back at her with that stupid, stupid grin he had, his eyes twinkling in the goddamn daylight, a cup of coffee already in front of him and a mug set out for her, and if he said something ridiculous like “good morning, sunshine” she would punch him again.

“Hi,” was all he said, but his smile didn’t fade and the twinkle in his eyes got brighter, like he was happy to see her. The mug wasn’t empty, either; it was full of coffee mixed with exactly the amount of milk and sugar she liked, which was basically “just enough coffee to let the sugar dissolve”.

Since when did Killian Jones know how she took her coffee?

“Um,” she said, very eloquently. “So...should we talk?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Emma, just take the coffee and go already--

“I’d like that,” he said, his face softening and not going immediately for his “that’s not going to be a pleasant conversation” frown. “Go on a date with me.”

“I--what?”

He shrugged. “We tried just fucking each other, and I’d like to--”

“Well, we just needed to get it out of our systems!”

“Did it work?” The look he gave her, that was also A Problem. “Am I out of your system?”

It was a staring contest and she broke first because damn him.

“Right,” he said, “So I would like to propose a new arrangement, one where we spend time together.”

Emma said, “We do spend--”

“In the daylight, love,” he said, gesturing with his coffee cup. “Doing things other than fucking. Not that I have any opposition to that, just to be clear.”

“Of course you don’t,” Emma muttered. “Since when does Killian Jones date?”

His eyes weren’t twinkling, they were deadly serious when he said, “Since I met you.”

Oh.

“Being with you, it’s like being a part of something,” he said. “And you feel it too, I know how deeply you care about things, about the people in your life, your friends, your family--”

“You?”

“Aye, me,” he said. “And I, you. Can’t you see a future here, Emma? A happy one?”

She could. That was part of the Problem.

“I care,” she said softly. It was hardly more than a whisper and she said it mostly to her coffee cup. “Of course I care.”

“Emma, please,” he said, his eyes still serious and his voice very low. “Go on a date with me.” He put his mug down and stepped toward her, very slowly. He took the mug from her hands and put it on the counter and pulled her hands into his and looked into her eyes through his eyelashes, his stupid long eyelashes and put his forehead against hers and said, “Please.”

It was the ‘please’ that got her.

“Okay,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning into him.

“Okay,” he said. “Good.”

full list of prompts

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @katie-dub @shireness-says @kmomof4 @mariakov81 @carpedzem @stahlop @captain-emmajones @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @lfh1226-linda @scientificapricot @karl0ta @withaheartfulloflove @idristardis @gingerchangeling @justanotherwannabeclassic

#cs fic #writersmonth2020 #idiots in love is the best trope

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 4 years

Text

in the arms of the ocean- one

A/N: It’s a perfect day for sailing aboard the Dawn Treader- another in a spectacularly long line of perfect days, in fact, which is good news because the reason for this particular voyage is of extreme importance.

Word count: 4,929

Warnings: Caspian’s flawless hair

Present Day

Caspian stood near the bow, hands flat against the carved wooden railing while the breeze skipped over the ocean. Clear skies and gently rolling waves were all his sharp eyes could see for leagues. It was another fine day for sailing; not a cloud in sight to cast a shadow nor a salty chill in the air to seep into the bones of the crew. We’ve been fortunate so far, he mused, hoping that the same good fortune and fair weather they’d had up until now would last for the remainder of the journey. But even if the sea turned a cold, choppy gray, or the wind whipped water across the deck, it would be hard to dampen his spirits. Not where we’re going. Not when the reason is to... He smiled at the cerulean expanse before him as he heard the sound of boot soles against the boards behind him. What’s she up to now, I wonder?

“Your majesty?” A frustrated huff and exasperated sigh from Drinian told him it was something good this time, and he fought the urge to chuckle as he turned to face his friend.

“Yes, Captain?” He crossed his arms over his chest, lips pressed together and eyebrows raised.

Drinian’s clear blue eyes flicked up towards the mast before coming back to level with Caspian’s. “It’s...well, she’s-“ Caspian felt himself grin around the sound of your name as he said it, the other man nodding. “I can’t get her to come down.” Again? “Again.”

Bringing his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare, Caspian followed the massive beam upwards. The rich purple sails were full and fat, the intricately embroidered golden lions seeming to dance with the breeze. His smirk grew wider and his eyes continued to climb higher until they fell upon your bare feet, dangling from between the rungs of the crow’s nest. Breaking out in a full grin, he dropped his hand back to his side and faced Drinian again. “She likes it up there,” he said. The other man only frowned sternly causing the King’s smile to falter slightly. “It is the best view.”

“Aye, your majesty, that it is,” he agreed. “And the most dangerous.”

Caspian knew that this was true. Of course there were railings to hold onto. There were even ropes that could be used to tie oneself to the mast in case a lookout was needed in stormy or windy conditions. But she doesn’t use them. He sighed, knowing that Drinian’s concern was coming from the right place, but also that you likely didn’t want to hear it. “I’ll talk to her.” He promised. Again.

Drinian’s frown relaxed, the creases in his sun tanned forehead smoothing back out. “I only want her to be safe,” he said solemnly. I know you do. There were few in the Kingdom of Narnia that Caspian trusted as much as the man standing in front of him, and none that he trusted more when it came to your safety. “With all due respect, if she’s to be the Queen of Narnia,” She is. “She needs to be more careful.”

Caspian agreed. Aside from serving his people as best as he could, there was nothing in all of Narnia - or anywhere else for that matter- that meant more to him than you, and despite the fact that your daring sense of adventure was one of the things that first drew him to you, he knew that Drinian had a point. Not that Kings and Queens can’t have grand adventures; his own experiences with the Kings and Queens of old proved that they could. But there was a right time to take such risks, and perhaps this voyage in particular, with such a celebratory and joyful purpose, wasn’t the right time. He sighed again, smile still lingering even though he could already hear your stubborn response. He clapped Drinian on the shoulder, thanking him for his diligence in regards to keeping you and that of all those aboard the Dawn Treader safe.

The salty man had a soft spot for you and the happiness that you brought to his King, but he also had an authoritative reputation to uphold among the crew. Nodding at the conclusion of his discussion with Caspian, Drinian returned to his duties as captain, hurrying away towards where Takos and Timmin were about to start one of their famously physical debates regarding which of them were stronger. “Great blundering buffoons!” The exasperated captain muttered under his breath as he strode towards the hulking Minotaur brothers.

Caspian shook his head and laughed to himself as he watched Drinian scold the creatures, both of them nearly double the man’s size in any direction. They mean well, and they’ve both proven themselves. They’re just... he looked back up, squinting at your tiny form against the bright blue sky and sighed again, a warmth spreading in his chest, spirited. Which seemed to be a prerequisite for gaining a spot in the Dawn Treader’s crew. Aside from the pair of brothers, two other sailors had joined the ranks of long time crewmen like Rhince and Rynelf; Grivez, a quiet but driven young Telmarine who looked up to Caspian and had worked hard to ensure his placement with the crew. He learned more quickly than any greenhorn Caspian had ever sailed with, catching his sea legs much more easily than the young King had on his first venture out at sea. With nimble fingers that made fast work of knots and rigging, and an eagerness to learn more everyday, Grivez was sure to become a permanent fixture.

The other new member, Caspian realized as he made his way towards the mast, he hadn’t seen in quite some time. That’s not unusual for him. Not only was he the smallest crewman, but he was also the bravest and busiest, always scurrying off to complete daring and integral tasks. I’m sure he’ll turn up soon with much to report. Brushing his palms off on his trousers, Caspian readied himself to climb, reaching for a rung to hoist himself up with before finding a foothold. Heights didn’t bother him, and he was more than confident that he had the strength necessary to scale the central beam that held up the largest of the sails and the round platform of the crow’s nest. But he still climbed with caution, making it to the top rungs much more slowly than he knew you had reached the pinnacle of the grandest ship to grace the seas. Fearless. She’s fearless and confident and… He paused just a few feet from the opening in the bottom of the platform, where the ladder led up and into the basket from where your legs dangled freely. His lips widened, pushing his cheeks up into his eyes and rounding them with his smile as your voice hit his ear. Confident and competent and...

“It really is incredible, isn’t it? The sea?”

Caspian knew how much you loved the sea, how much of your heart he’d have to share with the waves and the wind and the open water. But he didn’t mind, because if he were to have it his way, he would spend more time at sea than sitting on his throne. Your love of the endless blue depths and your willingness to forgo the gowns and gilding of the palace for the boards and oars of the Dawn Treader only endeared you more to him. Who is she talking to though?He didn’t need to wonder for very long though, as a second voice joined yours.

“It truly is, M’lady!” I should have known. The question of who you were chatting with had also answered the riddle of where the other new crew member had gone. “Incredible and full of potential for adventure!” Just like his uncle, that one. Caspian had always been very fond of Reepicheep, the noblest and bravest of mice and men, and though he tried to remind himself not to be sad, for his friend had chosen to journey past the edges of Narnia and on to Aslan’s country, he had missed his company and was all too happy when Reep’s nephew Cheepimeek had joined the crew.

Caspian quietly climbed the last few rungs until he could peek up and over the ledge, still hidden below the base of the crow’s nest. Eyes and forehead above the boards, he broke into a grin as he caught sight of the two of you sitting casually with your backs turned to the mast. Look at them. Though you and the brave little Mouse next to you had been engaged in conversation, neither of you had bothered to pull your awed gazes from the majestic view in favor of eye contact. Before meeting you, Reep had been the only soul that Caspian had known to enjoy the ocean and the freedoms and challenges it offered even more than he did. But in the last year, you and Meek had proven to be of the same ilk, unsurprisingly becoming fast friends.

You laughed, the sound hitting Caspian’s ear and filling his chest with the warmth of the sun. “You’ve always got your sights set on your next grand adventure, don’t you Meek?”

You were leaning forward with your legs hanging between the wooden rails, the tail of your blousy shirt untucked from the waistband of your deep purple trousers. A pair of abandoned boots lay slumped in a heap of soft leather behind you, Meek’s needle-thin sword propped up against the cuff of one of them. Your hair hung in a loose braid over your shoulder, and as the reflection of the sun’s light bounced off the water and back up at you, Caspian caught the tell-tale glint of the only piece of adornment he’d never seen you without; a small golden starfish hairpin with a trail of pearls dangling from it. It had been your mother’s, you’d told him once as he ran his fingertips over the smooth opalescent pearl drops. He’d seen you in stunning beaded and embroidered gowns cut from material woven with silver and gold. He’d danced with you as you dripped amethysts and rubies and sapphires, your hair arranged in intricate braids and twists and curls and your lips and cheeks rouged. But as beautiful as you looked when you dressed for courtly functions, seeing you like this, all windswept and wild, made his heart race a little faster, made him take his bottom lip between his teeth, made his fingers curl inwards against his palm. She doesn’t need any of that, this is who she is.

Though he’d filled his mind with countless more memories and moments since then, Caspian’s memory hurtled back to the day that he met you, as it often did when he saw how at ease you were when you got to cast off the expectations you carried back at Cair Paravel.

.. .. .. .. .. ..

1 Year Ago

Though the storm that had caused them to harbor along the shoreline of a strange, unknown island had raged angrily all night long, Caspian’s eyes opened the next morning to bright yellow sunlight streaming in through the thick glass panes of his cabin windows. Sitting up, he realized that the violent tossing of the waves beneath the hull had ceased, slowing to a pleasant and gentle rocking. He raised a hand to comb his long hair back and out of his eyes, all of the soreness that battling the storm had brought him gone now after only a few hours of sleep. How is that..? Confused and half wondering if he weren’t still asleep and dreaming, Caspian swung his legs over the side of the bed and made his way over to the window. Opening it only revealed a rippling expanse of crystalline water and a sky so clear it was absurd to think that it had ever been marred by a single shadow, let alone the pewter toned and rain soaked clouds that blotted out the light. It was as though it were more likely that the storm had been a figment of his imagination than the island appearing out of the storm’s spray.

I’ve never seen the sky clear so quickly after a storm like that. Pushing the window open further, he stuck his head out, craning his neck up and down, side to side to examine as much of his new surroundings as possible. Then again, I’ve never seen a storm like that. From what he could see of the ship from his window, it looked as though aside from the shredded sails, that the Dawn Treader had fared much better than he’d feared.

Dressing quickly in a fresh pair of light brown trousers and a loose-fitting maroon shirt under a leather vest, he fastened buckles and stuffed his stocking clad feet into a pair of tall boots. Sheathing his sword at his belt and pulling the top half of his hair back with a strip of black material, he left his cabin in search of Drinian and Rhince. We need to prepare a party to go ashore, look for supplies, mend the sails and…

“Your Majesty.”

He stopped short of walking smack into Rynelf, one of the longest tenured members of his crew, and with more experience with the wiles of the water in his little finger than most sailors had in their entire bodies. But he looks, Caspian regarded the deep furrows in the man’s brow and the uneasy way that his stony eyes darted from here to there. He looks nervous. Why? Pushing it from his mind and taking it upon himself to clear the man of his worry, Caspian nodded and greeted him by name.

“Good morning, Rynelf.”

“And to you, your majesty,” the man nodded back, dipping his head low enough that Caspian was left looking at the bald patch in the nest of peppery gray curls that sat atop it.

Raising one eyebrow, Caspian placed a hand on Rynelf’s shoulder and he snapped his gaze back up to meet the King’s. “Are you alright?” He’d thought for certain that he had checked with every member of the crew after they’d dropped anchor, ensuring that no one had been injured too badly as ropes and rigging swung and the pitching of the waves had turned the level floorboards into treacherous terrain. Did I miss something? Was he hurt? His eyes raked over the older man before him in search of any obvious signs of injury, and while he found several gnarled scars on Rynelf’s forearms, hands and face, he saw no fresh wounds, no bruising or bleeding.

“Aye, I’m alright, your majesty,” he answered, “I’ve just... “ His eyes danced all around again, flitting from the deck to the hatch that lead to the sailor’s quarters and finally up at the ruined remnants of the Dawn Treader’s once proud sails. What is it? Caspian’s eyes narrowed as Rynelf decided how to continue. “Your majesty, forgive me but in all of my years on these seas I’ve never known a storm to have no eye, nor an island to shift into being from an empty plot of ocean.” Well, I haven’t either but- “I’ve an uneasy feeling is all, your majesty, and I’d be remiss if I hadn’t told you. I know you’re planning to go ashore.” Yes, I have to, we need- “Just take extra care, my King.” Once more his eyes circled their surroundings, as though searching for the invisible source of his unease and coming up short. “Things are changing with the winds and we are in an unfamiliar place.”

It was strange to see the man so stricken with concern. He’d seen so much it was difficult to imagine something catching him off guard or causing him to outwardly display worry. Removing his hand from Rynelf’s shoulder, Caspian assured him that he would take caution as he went ashore. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to find Drinian and Rhince.”

He took his leave of the old man in search of his captain and first mate, and within the hour a party of 6 crewmen were ready to lower the rowboats and accompany their King to the white sand of the mysterious island. Oars in hand, Caspian rowed along with his men, his eyes widening with every stroke that cut through the glimmering water. As they traveled closer to shore, the full beauty of the island became clear. Oh, it’s… But he didn’t have the word for what he was seeing; trees as tall as the lower spires of Cair Paravel’s massive citadel, with wide fronds in brilliant shades ranging from emerald to chartreuse, some of their branches adorned with flowers and fruits in colors Caspian wasn’t sure there were names for. Shells and smooth stones littered the coast, more washing up with every breaking wave, and they glinted in radiant jewel tones. Even the air seemed to taste sweeter, more like it did high in the mountains than it should down here, level with the salty sea. It’s beautiful.

The silence of the men behind him as their oars slipped through the calm water told him that they were just as stunned by the island. He continued to scan the shore for any sign of civilization, but if the island was inhabited, the dense foliage was hiding it’s citizens well. At least from this side. The island didn’t appear to be very large, but the shape of it made it nearly impossible to see much at once, so there was no way of knowing if there was an entire port city built on another coast. Once they reached the shallow lip of the island, 7 pairs of boots splashed into the water, 7 pairs of hands gripping the sides of the rowboat to pull it up onto the sand, and 7 mouths were left gaping at the sight before them.

Once they’d reached the soft, pale sand, Drinian started splitting the group off into pairs, assigning them different directions to search for food, fresh water, and any supplies that might prove useful in getting the ship back in sailing shape. Two men headed East, two men headed straight into the foliage, and Drinian, Caspian and a sailor named Ropen took the West side, following the curved shape of the island. They kept close to the shore but always kept an eye on the forest, but though Caspian knew that he should feel some apprehension about being in a strange place, every step he took only made him feel more safe and comforted.

All at once, just as the island itself had appeared, the three men stopped walking as the mast beams of three ships in various states of construction and repair came into view, a small wooden house attached to a shipyard building just a few yards up the beach. There didn’t seem to be any other visible dwellings or businesses. Not quite a port city but…

“What do you make of this, Your Majesty?” Drinian’s question came from over Caspian’s left shoulder, not concerned, just curious and cautious.

Caspian brought a hand up behind his neck and squeezed, thinking. It seemed odd that this would be the only sign of civilization- if there were no other inhabitants, who did those ships belong to? “I think we should take a look.” He removed the hand from his neck and gestures towards the ships. “Even if the shipyard is abandoned, there may be things that we can use for our repairs.”

Drinian nodded, and the three of them made their way closer. When they reached the docks and the adjacent building, Ropen and Drinian each circled the structures from opposite sides. Caspian made his way out onto the dock between two large schooners, one hand on the hilt of his sword though it was completely out of habit- he felt less and less threatened with every step he took, the memory of the previous night’s storm seeming to fade the longer he stayed on the island. He admired the gorgeous carvings and impeccable craftsmanship in the fat bellies of the ships, and before he realized what he was doing, he was boarding the one closest to him, running his hand over the smooth railings as he made his way towards the bow.

“Who may I ask are you, sir?” A female voice called from above, laced with just a hint of annoyance that mixed with amused curiosity. Despite the benign nature of the question, the sudden question startled him. Who said that? His hand closed around the grip of his sword as he crouched a few inches lower and searched for the source of the voice. As though in answer to his unasked question, the voice called again, this time tinted with laughter. “I’m up here.” Caspian straightened up and turned towards the central mast, eyes traveling up and up and up until he spotted your form waving down to him. “Interesting that you feel the need to protect yourself,” You smirked, one hand on your hip and the other reaching to grab onto the netting hanging from where you stood, and in one fell swoop, you swung yourself down with such speed and agility that Caspian worried he might have to catch you else you’d end up as a splattered mess on the ship’s pristine deck. But you landed gracefully just a few steps from him, your bare feet hitting the deck with catlike silence. No one on my crew can do that. I can’t do that, how did she... “When it’s my ship you’ve boarded without permission and not the other way around.” You raised one eyebrow, and it got lost in the unruly tendrils that bordered your forehead. “Now,” you smiled, but resumed your stance from above, one hand on your hip. “Who are you, and what are you doing on my ship?”

“I’m…” Caspian looked over his shoulder to where Drinian and Ropen where jogging down the dock, a third man shuffling along after them.

You clicked your tongue as you followed his line of sight. “Your men?” You asked.

“Yes, I-”

You sighed. “They’ve woken my father.” You turned back to Caspian, taking another step and looking at him fully for the first time. “And you’ve trespassed.” You crossed your arms, but Caspian thought he saw a softening in your eyes, and even though your questioning was somewhat prickly, he could tell that you were more curious than anything. Though you were dressed plainly in an old white shirt tucked hastily into well-fitting pants, he caught the bright glint of a gilded pin securing your hair in a braid over one shoulder. “So tell me, who are you and why are you here?”

The older man that followed Drinian and Ropen called out a name- your name- waving his arms. “Calm yourself, daughter,” he called, huffing from the short jog down to the docks. “Unless you mean to threaten our King?”

Your mouth dropped open and a breath slipped out, and the shocked expression on your sure face, though it lasted only a split second, was one that Caspian was sure he’d remember for the rest of his days.

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

Present Day

Still standing on the ladder, everything below his nose still hidden from view, Caspian smiled recalling that look of shock on your face and how he hadn’t known it then but it had been the first of many looks that you’d give him that would etch themselves into his heart.

Without taking your eyes from the ocean, you lowered your hand down so that Meek could climb into your palm to scurry up your arm, perching on your shoulder. “The world is too wide and wonderful, M’lady,” he answered, “to not want to see it all.”

“Well,” you sighed as Caspian finally pulled himself up through the floor of the crow’s nest. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you saw him and smiled, then turned towards your shoulder to face your small friend. “I’m glad we’ll get to see it together, Cheepimeek the Bold.”

Pulling himself up through the opening at last, Caspian joined your conversation. “And I am glad that I’ll get to see it with both of you.”

“Your majesty!” Cheepimeek ran down your arm and bent into a low bow.

“Hello, Meek, I should have known I’d find you two together.”

Cheepimeek blushed and fiddled with his tail, though Caspian could tell that he wasn’t embarrassed or frightened that he’d be in trouble. “Ah, yes, well, M’lady is excellent company.” She is. “And I do enjoy the view.” Caspian nodded with a smile. “But I’m certain that there’s work to be done elsewhere.” He scooped up his tiny rapier and sheathed it in the belt at his furry waist. “I take my leave, your majesty, M’lady.” With another bow, Cheepimeek scurried down the netting and out of sight leaving just the two of you and the vast expanse of ocean.

You turned to greet him with your stunning smile, crooked and imperfect and all for him. “I wondered when you’d be joining us, my King.”

A dizzy, warm feeling filled him every time you addressed him as your King. It was how most of his subjects addressed him, but there was a difference when it came from you. I am yours. “Oh?” He lifted one eyebrow questioningly as he came to sit beside you.

You laughed, turning towards him and wrinkling your nose. “Mmhmm. I saw you speaking with Drinian.” Now it was his turn to laugh. “I know how he feels about my…”

“Adventurous streak?” Caspian supplied with a smirk and you nodded. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer, making sure not to be too bold in broad daylight. You sighed and laid your head against his shoulder, your soft hair tickling the skin above the opening in his shirt. “You would save me the lectures from Drinian if you’d considered listening to them once in a while.” He teased, pulling another small laugh from you. He inhaled deeply through his nose and turned to press a quick, light kiss to your temple, the modest display of affection stirring much less modest thoughts that were quickly quelled when he reminded himself of why he was up here. Suddenly the tone of his voice changed. “You know he’s only concerned for your safety.”

You looked into his eyes and brought your fingers up to push a stubborn lock of your hair back behind the starfish pin. “I know, Caspian.” Unlike most, you had taken to calling him simply by his name much more naturally, and unlike anyone you made it sound like a song. “But there’s no reason to worry, you know that.”

Close to you I’ll always be, to keep you safe upon the sea.

They weren’t quite a memory, and they certainly were not a dream. They were words that had proven themselves to be true your entire life- you had always been safe no matter where you sailed, how high you climbed, or how harsh the storms became. Every ship that you’d ever woven a sail for had been gifted the same protection. You couldn’t explain it, and Caspian knew that some things in this world had no explanation. But he couldn’t bank on the ghost of a phrase, not when it came to the woman he loved, the woman that he planned to marry and have as his Queen.

He spoke your name and swallowed. “I know.” He nodded and you rested your head back on his shoulder, the hand he had around your waist coming up to trace the pointed edges of the pin in your hair. “But you’re my Queen.” He felt you shiver next to him. Not yet, not technically but… But for all it mattered your heart had already been crowned as his. “And I can’t lose you. Narnia can’t lose you.” He pressed another swift kiss to your warm skin. “They don’t know it yet, but you’re going to be the best Queen our people have ever had. And that means that they need you to stay safe. I need you to stay safe.”

You let out another sigh and gently wound your arm behind him, mirroring his hold on you. “Well,” you said, “if my King demands it.”

Caspian smiled, knowing that you knew full and well that he’d never demand anything from you. “He does.”

Before you could answer, there was a call from below that drew both of your attention. “Land ho!” Takos called triumphantly, followed closely by a second call from Timmin, not to be outdone by his brother.

The stunning sight of lush greenery and bright flora in the shape of an island loomed on the horizon, and the excitement made your eyes widen, the conversation you’d just been having flying to the rear of your mind as you turned to him, giddy with happiness. “Land ho, Caspian.” You stood, reaching for his hand and pulling him to his feet with more strength than an outsider would think you were capable of. “Home.”

He smiled and brushed his fingers over the curve of your cheek. “Home.” He nodded, your excitement contagious and chasing the conversation from his mind, too. “Should we go see if your father is in?”

You bit your bottom lip and smiled around it, then bent down to scoop up your discarded boots, slinging them over your shoulder. “Come on, my King. Let’s go and tell him the good news.”

Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tags! Thank you as always for reading :)

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @malionnes @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @pheedraws @russobill @thesumofmychoices @beautifuldesastre @fific7 @dearmarii @tartiflvtte

#in the arms of the ocean #itAotO #King Caspian #king caspian x #king caspian narnia #king caspian x you #king caspian x reader #the chronicles of narnia fanfiction #voyage of the dawn treader #cheepimeek!#the juices are FINALLY flowing and who am i to say no to a king?#no one that's who

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wistfulcynic · 4 years

Text

The Bend of the Arc (2/ 4)

SUMMARY: Emma Swan hates Killian Jones at first sight. He's everything she despises in a man: arrogant, provocative, and a known criminal associate of the city’s most notorious gangster. She’s determined to put him behind bars, until a shocking event forces them together and Emma discovers that there’s a lot more to Killian than meets the eye.

So, the enthusiastic response to part one of this story has been amazing but also completely terrifying. I have no idea if this second part will live up to that or not. I AM VERY INSECURE ABOUT THIS AND DO NOT LIKE IT. Nevertheless I thought I’d post this part sooner rather than later so at least we’ll KNOW.

A profuseness of thanks to @thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu and @katie-dub for attempting to soothe these insecurities.

Rating: M (language and eventual smut) Words: 9.2k (of 30k total) Tags: Modern AU, enemies to lovers, bounty hunter!Emma, criminal!Killian, smut, bedsharing

Part One | On AO3

PART TWO:

The car was silent as it moved through the dark city streets. Killian kept his eyes on the road while Emma stared out the window at the neon signs and streetlights smudged into watery blurs by the tears she kept having to blink back. It was a weighty silence, heavy with tension, but she felt no itchy discomfort or urge to fill it as she often did whenever she found herself alone with people she didn’t know well. She supposed this should surprise her, but she had no energy left for surprise. Now that the adrenaline was draining out of her she felt exhausted, and deeply, achingly sad.

She blinked again as more tears welled, fighting to keep them contained, not wanting to show any weakness in front of Killian. But they were too strong and she was too tired. They dripped down her cheeks and off her chin and she choked on a sob—then something soft brushed against her arm and she glanced over to see Killian holding out a handkerchief.

“Go ahead and cry,” he said.

Emma wiped her face with her palms. “I don’t need—”

“Yes you do. You’re human and you witnessed something terrible. Cry.” He shook the handkerchief at her.

She sobbed again and snatched it from his fingers, buried her face in it and let the tears pour out. Her mind kept replaying, over and over, the scene in the gallery—the blade sinking into Felix’s chest, the awful sound it made and the hiss of satisfaction from the elegant man—Robert Gold—as he pushed it in to the hilt. She cried until her tears dried up and her sobs were hollow gasps, and then she leaned her head against the window with the sodden handkerchief still covering her eyes.

The car stopped and she removed the handkerchief, squeezing her eyes shut then blinking rapidly to clear them. They were at the marina. That made sense, Emma thought. Killian’s boat was his pride and joy—a sailing yacht, sleek and elegant and above all, fast. The perfect vessel for making a quick getaway. Killian got out of the car and she did the same, turning to head in the direction of his mooring.

“It’s this way, Swan,” he said, and she turned to see him pointing at a mooring directly ahead of them.

“But your—”

“We’re not taking mine. Come, quickly now.”

She followed him to another boat, still in the yacht class but far smaller than his, and without sails. She stopped in front of it as he began to untie it from its mooring.

“This isn’t yours,” she stated.

“Aye, I believe we’ve established that.”

“So you’re stealing it.”

“Not precisely.”

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “We’re taking a boat that isn’t yours and definitely isn’t mine, how is that not stealing?”

“Bloody hell,” Killian snarled as he tossed the lines up onto the boat’s deck, “you are the most infuriating creature.” He rounded on her with a menacing glower but she held her ground, arms still crossed, glaring back until he sighed and pressed his fingers to his eyes. “This boat belongs to an employee of mine,” he said. “We’re borrowing it. He’ll get it back in due course, and in one piece too as long as you bloody cooperate. We need to be as far away as possible before Gold realises I’m the one who helped you get away, and that means we need to leave now.”

“But—”

“Swan,” he enunciated through clenched teeth. “Get. On. The. Bloody. Boat.”

Emma released her breath in a hiss but did as he asked, stalking up to the deck and standing stiffly as he made the preparations to launch, his every action economical and precise. Well practiced. This may not be his boat but he knew it well, and she tried to let that reassure her.

Soon they were leaving the marina and heading for the open water. Emma watched Killian at the helm, steering the boat with tension in his shoulders and a frown between his eyes, but as they moved further and further from the shore with nothing untoward occurring he began visibly to relax. About twenty minutes after their departure, by Emma’s estimation, he turned to her with what was almost a smile.

“We’ll be on the water for several hours,” he said. “You should get some rest.”

She wanted to protest, didn’t want to let him out of her sight for a moment. But exhaustion weighed heavily on her body and mind, and the wind off the sea was cuttingly cold. “Where?” she asked.

He indicated a small door just to the left of the helm. “Down there. There’s a sleeping berth in the stern, with pillows and blankets in the drawer beneath it.”

She nodded, hesitating just a moment longer before opening the door to reveal a narrow set of stairs. Slipping off her shoes, she climbed down them and stumbled towards the rear of the boat where she found the sleeping berth, pillows and blankets just where Killian had said they would be. After a brief moment of wishing she had something to wear besides her evening gown she wrapped a thick woollen blanket around herself, curled up on the narrow bed and fell asleep.

“Swan. Swan!”

“Huh? Wha—”

“You have to wake up now, love. Hurry.”

Emma blinked hazily through the thick fog of sleep clouding her brain. Where was she? She rubbed her eyes and forced herself to focus. Wherever she was it was dimly lit, but there was a spicy scent in the air that she remembered and that voice—oh. Right.

She sat bolt upright as the memories came rushing back.

“Ah, there you are,” said Killian. “Good. Come with me, and bring that blanket.”

Emma opened her mouth to argue, then caught the look on his face and shut it again. Her mind felt clearer, she realised, sharper than it had before her nap, the horror at what she’d witnessed less acute—and the reality of the situation and the danger they were in struck her like a blow. Her life was linked to Killian’s now, her survival dependent on him, and if she argued and second-guessed him all the time they were going to get nowhere fast. She nodded her agreement and he huffed a sigh of relief, turning to head back up on deck. She grabbed the blanket and her shoes and followed him.

The boat was moored on a tiny pier in what to her surprise appeared to be not the ocean at all but a lake, a wide, calm one surrounded by tall trees with taller mountains rising up behind them. Aside from the pier, there was no sign of any human presence, no cabins or boat houses, not even a tent. The air was cool and misty, and with such a heavy stillness Emma almost fancied she could touch it.

Killian disembarked and she followed again, down the pier to where another, far smaller boat was tied. A basic motorboat, Emma observed, and not a new one, with an outboard motor and a single bench seat. Not suitable for long distances. Wherever they were headed, they must be close to it.

Killian reached into the motorboat and removed two waterproof jackets and life vests. “Put these on,” he said, handing one of each to Emma. She did, and he donned the others, putting them on over the tuxedo he still wore. When the jackets were zipped and the life vests secured, Killian stepped one foot into the boat and held out his hand. Emma scowled but took it without protest, shivering at the contact, and allowed him to help her into the boat. She settled down onto one side of the bench and Killian passed her the blanket.

“You’ll want to tuck this around your legs. We don’t have too far to go but it’ll be at least an hour and very cold.”

She nodded and did as he suggested, wrapping it securely around herself and digging her icy toes into the wool as Killian started the motor. Emma jumped in alarm at the noise, ear-splittingly loud in the soft, dense quiet. He sat next to her on the bench and took the rudder, piloting the boat in a wide arc that took them into the centre of the lake then veering left. It looked at first as though they were heading for the shore, but as they approached Emma could see the narrow mouth of a river peeking out between the trees. Killian steered them into it, navigating carefully between the banks until the river widened to a more comfortable size. They continued steadily along it for some time, the only view of water and trees and the sky beginning to lighten above them.

Emma had a million questions: where they were and how they had ended up there, where they were going and what would happen when they arrived, how Killian had known where to find her in that gallery and how he seemed to know what she’d witnessed there. Why he was going to so much trouble to help her. But she asked none of them. There would be time for that later, plenty of it, she sensed, and right now the cool calm of the morning and the strange peace that had settled between them, even the hum of the boat’s motor, was soothing, and she didn’t wish to ruin it.

The river widened steadily until it opened into another lake, this one long and slender and curved at one end. Killian took them around the curve and when they cleared it she could see a small pier with no boats moored but a dark green Jeep parked on the shore behind it.

He pulled the boat up to the pier and cut the engine, then looped a coil of rope around a piling to secure it. Bracing one leg against the pier, he held out his hand again and this time she didn’t hesitate to take it, or to lean on him for support as she climbed out. Killian released her hand quickly but remained close behind her as they approached the Jeep. He opened the unlocked rear door and tossed his life vest and waterproof jacket into the back. Emma did the same, shivering in the chilly air.

“Keep the blanket,” Killian said. “We’ve a bit of a drive yet.”

Keys were waiting beneath the visor on the driver's side and as soon as they were settled Killian brought the Jeep roaring to life and drove straight into the forest, steering them through a near-invisible gap in the trees Emma clung to the door handle and her calm as he navigated them over the rough terrain. They followed no path she could see, nothing but the faintest tire tracks barely visible on the forest floor ahead—though if she hadn’t been looking carefully Emma doubted she’d have spotted them.

Killian knew where he was going, though, that much was obvious. He’d known from the beginning. Every step of their escape had been meticulously planned and smoothly executed, which added at least another half dozen questions to her list.

Their way began to twist upward, climbing into the mountains. The Jeep jolted over rocks and fallen branches as it sped along a course that was far from straight and at times seemed actually to double back on itself, confusing Emma’s already tired mind and hopelessly scrambling her sense of direction. The sun was up by that time—she could see daylight through the leaves—but the canopy of trees was too thick to make out its location in the sky.

After thirty-seven minutes according to the clock on the Jeep’s dash, they turned into a clearing where a small cabin stood dwarfed amongst some of the tallest trees Emma had ever seen. Their height and the elevation of their lowest branches gave the impression of airy space within the clearing yet she doubted it could easily be seen from above—the trees’ thick canopy of leaves would appear solid, though enough sunlight filtered through to make it bright and relatively warm. The cabin sat at its centre, a small wooden structure with generous windows and a stone chimney and on its tiny porch a single chair, and when she got out of the Jeep Emma spotted what looked like a fire pit around the back of it.

Killian went onto the porch and opened the door. Emma frowned, surprised that it was unlocked, but once inside he pressed his thumb against a small screen in the wall, nearly invisible, and a panel slid open to reveal another, larger screen. Killian stood still as it scanned his face then when the display switched to a keypad, he typed in a very long code. When it was entered a red light on the inside of the panel flashed green, and Killian closed it over the screen once more.

“Hell of a security system,” observed Emma.

“We’ll be safe here.”

She followed him into a cosy, sparsely furnished room. A stone fireplace took up most of one wall, with a stack of logs beside it and a single armchair positioned at the perfect angle to catch the warmth of the flames. Next to the chair a table sat, with a reading lamp atop it. There was no sofa, but an old sea chest was pushed up beneath one of the windows, covered in pillows and a throw blanket to form a window seat. Tucked into the corner to her right was a well-equipped kitchen area with two doors beyond it—bedroom and bathroom, Emma presumed. Everything was austerely tasteful and looked expensive, which came as no surprise to her; Killian was a man who appreciated his creature comforts. What did surprise her were the books. Shelves and shelves of them, lining one entire wall from floor to ceiling. Emma would have suspected them of being for display, or even fake—the shelves could hide a secret escape passage, for example, she’d seen crazier things that day—except that they weren’t leather-bound or elegant, they were ordinary books. Hardbacks and paperbacks, some old and others much newer, lined up tidily but also plainly there to be read.

She turned to Killian with a sceptical look. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that this is actually your cabin.”

“It is, in fact,” he replied.

“Huh.”

“That surprises you?”

She shrugged. “You don’t exactly seem like the outdoorsy type.”

“I’m not. But despite the adage that the best place to hide a pin is amongst other pins, sometimes alone in the wilderness is the safest place to be.”

“Uh huh. Interesting that an innocent man like you would need a safe place at all,” she retorted. “Seeing as how you’re so completely innocent and all.”

“Yes, yes, point taken, love,” he said with a smirk and an exaggerated sigh. “But my innocence or lack thereof aside, my line of work remains dangerous and my associates highly untrustworthy. There’s always someone out to hurt me and no telling when they might find the opportunity to do so. I’m very good at what I do, but I’d be a fool not to prepare for contingencies.”

“You could just get a different line of work.”

He laughed. “Ah, Swan, things are very simple in your world, aren’t they?”

“Why make them complicated when they don’t need to be?”

“That is indeed the question.”

He went through one of the doors and emerged a minute later with an armload of clothing. “I’m afraid I wasn’t planning for visitors, so you’ll have to make do with my clothes,” he said. “The bathroom’s through there.”

The room he indicated turned out to be a surprisingly generous space given the size of the rest of the cabin, enough to accommodate a claw-foot tub with a shower head above it and a circular rail hung with a curtain. The sink was a deep pedestal flanked by tall shelves, and the toilet nestled in the corner.

Emma stripped off her dress, wincing at the state of it—dirty and wrinkled and stretched in odd ways—and draped it over the shower rail with a sigh of relief. She was never very comfortable in clothes like that, and the soft garments Killian had given her were an extremely welcome change. They included a plain white t-shirt and flannel pajama pants in grey and blue plaid, and a thick, fleecy charcoal grey sweatshirt that swallowed her up. Emma sighed, snuggling into it. Despite the blanket she felt like she’d been cold for forever, and the huge, toasty sweatshirt felt amazing.

He’d also given her a pair of thick socks, a toothbrush, and a washcloth. Emma sat on the edge of the tub to pull the socks on, sighing again at the warmth, then brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face with the washcloth, removing as much of her smudged makeup as she could. She found a comb on a shelf next to the sink and carefully combed the worst of the tangles from her hair, wishing she could pull it into a ponytail or braid, but she doubted Killian’s provisions extended to rubber bands or hair clips.

Still, she felt immensely better, warmer and less grimy, and very, very sleepy. Leaving the bathroom she found Killian in the kitchen, dressed in pajama bottoms similar to hers though his shirt was a blue henley. The clothes made him look softer, more approachable, and she had to remind herself that he was still the man she’d spent the past year loathing and that all the cabins and henleys and daring rescues in the world would never change that. She couldn’t allow them to.

He turned around and smiled at her, and held out a steaming mug. She took it, sniffing warily.

“What’s this?”

“Hot milk, with honey and a little rum.”

“Really?” She wrinkled her nose.

“Aye, an odd combination I grant you, but soothing. It’ll help you sleep.”

“I don’t think I’ll need any help on that front,” she said, stifling a yawn as though to prove the point.

“Quite understandable, you’ve had a hell of a day. Drink it anyway.” He nodded approvingly when she did, and when her eyebrows rose in surprise at the pleasantly sweet, creamy flavour. “You can take it into the bedroom if you like,” he said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

It took her a second to register his words and then she nearly spit out her drink. “You’ll be—but—you don’t mean—”

He watched her calmly, one eyebrow quirked, clearly expecting this exact reaction. “It’s a small cabin, Swan, intended for one person. We’re going to be here for some time, weeks perhaps. I do not intend to spend those weeks sleeping in an armchair or God forbid the floor. We’ll share the bed. It’s the only way.”

“Oh, well isn’t that fucking convenient,” she spat, even as lust coiled low in her belly.

“Not really. I prefer to sleep alone.”

“That’s sure as hell not what you implied before!”

“Sleep, Swan, not sex.” Emma blinked at this, accustomed to smirky quips and innuendoes from him. “For that of course I like to have a partner.”

She wished there was some argument she could make, some reason she could think of why he had to sleep as far away from her as possible, but the direct, straightforward way he spoke and looked at her underlined the truth of his claim. That and his obvious exhaustion, the dark smudges under the eyes he was fighting to keep open.

Still she hesitated, biting her lip as she scrambled for an alternative. Maybe she could take the chair, she thought, or—Killian sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Look,” he said. “I realise I’ve given you compelling cause to believe otherwise, but I really have no interest in pursuing women who find me repugnant. I swear to you on every scrap of honour I have left that I only wish to get some sleep, and you should too. Can we do that, Emma? Please?”

That please, and the use of her name, the sound of it in his voice, did funny things to Emma’s insides. It was a genuine plea from an honest place, and she couldn’t refuse it.

“Okay,” she said.

He smiled, the first true smile she’d seen from him. It made him look boyish and almost sweet, and the funny feeling in her chest twisted painfully.

“You go on in,” he said. “I’ll be there in a minute. And finish your milk.”

She smiled in return—she couldn’t help it—and retreated into the bedroom, sipping her milk. The bed was a decent size at least, laid with fluffy pillows and a thick comforter that she snuggled beneath with a hum of delight, yawning hugely and just managing to set her empty cup on the table next to her pillows before burrowing deep into them and pulling the comforter up to her chin, and by the time Killian slid into bed next to her she was sound asleep.

When she woke again the pillow beside her was empty, though she could see the indent where Killian’s head had rested and smell the faint traces of spice. Light shone through the bedroom’s tall window, dappled by the trees and angled in a way that suggested late afternoon. Emma listened carefully but heard nothing at all; the silence was so complete it was eerie.

She got out of bed somewhat reluctantly. It was warm beneath the comforter and the air in the room was cool, though the thick socks she wore protected her feet from the bare floorboards and made no noise as she crept across them to the door. She eased it open until she could see Killian, sitting in the armchair in front of a small but lively fire, still dressed in the clothes he’d slept in. A plate with half a sandwich and some apple slices sat on the table next to him, and in his lap lay a thick book. As she watched he reached for the plate and took an apple slice, munching it as he turned a page.

Emma pushed the door open completely and went through it, approaching him cautiously. “Um,” she said, and he looked up with a somewhat tentative smile.

“Swan. How did you sleep?”

“Pretty well,” she replied, moving further into the room. “I feel rested. I mean, I’m still—I still—” Her heart still ached with sorrow for Felix and clenched in fear when she thought of Gold, but trying to articulate either feeling had her throat closing up in protest. She wanted to talk about it but also she really didn’t.

His expression shifted to one of such gentle understanding it left her blinking in astonishment. “Aye,” he said. “The mind is like any other organ, damage to it will take time to heal. Don’t try to force it.”

She nodded gratefully just as her stomach chose that moment to growl, long and rumbly and very loud. “Oh my God,” she groaned, pressing a hand to her belly and another over her eyes. He laughed.

“Canapés were a long time ago,” he said. “What would you like to eat?”

“Um, a sandwich is fine, if that’s what you’re having.”

“Have whatever you like, I’ve got plenty of everything. We’re decently stocked to last a few months, if necessary. There’s bread and cheese and some lunch meat, and tins of tuna. Eggs, some bacon, soup. Apples and oranges, potatoes, meat in the freezer. Plenty of milk. What would you like?”

“Would it be okay if I made myself a grilled cheese?”

“Of course. Whatever’s in the kitchen, feel free to use it.”

Emma located some thick-sliced bread in a wooden bin and a block of real cheese in the fridge, and a slab of butter in a dish on the countertop. She scowled as she sliced the cheese as thinly as she could manage and spread butter on the bread. It was all undoubtedly better than the thin white bread and processed cheese she usually ate, but grilled cheese was about comfort, not quality. She wanted some damn junk food.

She strongly suspected that Killian Jones did not do junk food.

The resulting sandwich was good, though, very good she had to admit, even if it wasn’t precisely what she was craving. She hummed in enjoyment as she took a bite, salty and crunchy and oozing with cheese.

“You don’t have to stand over the stove, love.” Killian’s voice was amused. “You can sit here.”

“No, it’s okay.” Emma put her sandwich on a plate and carried it over to the window seat, sitting down and curling her legs beneath her. “I’m okay here.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

They ate in silence for a moment before she spoke.

“So how do you know Graham?”

A flash of genuine surprise crossed Killian’s face, and for a moment he was speechless. Emma licked a drop of cheese off her thumb with a small smirk.

“Er, he was my police contact when I was—”

She waved this away. “Yeah, yeah, your contact when you were undercover, but how do you know him?”

He looked at her warily. “What do you mean?”

“Oh come on,” she mocked, “you don’t think you’re the only one who knows how to read a tell?” When he didn’t reply, she gave an exaggerated sigh. “Graham trusts you. Despite knowing who you are and the things you’ve done he trusts you completely. The most upright cop I’ve ever known just takes it on faith that you’re telling the whole truth and that bringing down Pan was for the good of society and not just to benefit you, or to clear a path for you to take over crime in the city. So I have to ask myself why that is. What could possibly lead to that kind of trust between a cop and a gangster?”

Killian’s expression was still wary, but with the tiniest glimmer of admiration in his eye.

“And what was your conclusion?” he asked.

“Well, fortunately men are simple creatures and so the answer is pretty obvious.”

“Indeed?”

“Mmm hmm.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Do enlighten me.”

Emma watched him intently as she replied. “You were kids together.”

“Were we?” His expression didn’t change but Emma’s livelihood relied on pinpoint observation and she did not miss the tiny twitch of his eyelid that confirmed her conclusion. She suppressed the urge to do a fist-pump.

“Yep,” she said, not a little smugly. “Or maybe not kids, but still pretty young. I know Graham was kind of a loner growing up, so maybe you were his first friend. You shared some sort of very intense masculine bonding experience and even now, decades later, you still feel that bond, despite what you both have become. Stop me if any of this is incorrect.”

The corner of Killian’s mouth twitched as he tried to suppress a grin. “Graham says you’re the best at what you do,” he remarked wryly. “I can see why.”

Emma polished off the last of her sandwich and licked her fingers, then set the plate aside and leaned back against the windowsill with a triumphant smirk. “So what was it?” she asked. “Boy Scout camp? First orgy?”

“We were in the navy together.”

That wiped the smirk clean off her face. “You were in the navy?”

“I was,” he said with a smirk of his own. “Her Majesty’s Royal one.”

“But isn’t Graham Irish? What was he doing in the British Navy?”

“Northern Ireland, love. Part of the UK. Whether they like it or not, as I remind Graham as often as I can.”

“Huh.” Killian’s expression was amused but his eyes were cool and shuttered. She sensed he was deflecting, trying to distract her. “So what happened with you two?” she persisted.

He huffed a small sigh. “Is there a purpose to this interrogation, Swan?”

“Just trying to get to the bottom of you.”

“Why would you do that, when the surface of me is far more pleasant?” he asked, lowering his voice to a purr.

As innuendoes went it was a weak attempt, particularly from him, and Emma could see that his heart wasn’t in it. She could also see she wouldn’t get anything more out of him today. Which was fine. She could wait.

“So you think,” she retorted and picked up her plate, carrying it back to the kitchen. She felt his eyes on her back as she went, but when she’d rinsed the plate and put it in the rack to dry she turned to find his attention focused on his book.

He looked so different here, she thought, taking advantage of the opportunity to study him. It wasn’t just the casual clothes or the halfhearted innuendo—his whole demeanour had changed. Like he’d shed a layer of himself, or maybe a layer that was not himself. Emma knew better than most what it was to wear armour—that solid steel she kept between her heart and those who sought to harm it—and she did not care for the creeping suspicion that she and Killian might have this in common. That he might in fact be not be quite what she’d thought he was.

She didn’t care for it. But she couldn’t ignore it.

They passed the rest of the day in relative peace. Killian continued to read and Emma, after a quick exploration of the cabin revealed there was no television, decided she might as well join him. She spent a long time going through his bookshelves—he had an amazing range of books, both fiction and non, in every genre she could imagine. Including, Emma discovered with a triumphant cry and a pounce, romances.

“You read romance novels?” she exclaimed, waving the paperback with its illustration of a man and woman, embracing on what appeared to be the deck of a pirate ship, beneath Killian’s nose. “You?”

His lip curled in an almost-smile. “Why does that surprise you? You’ve spent nearly an hour perusing my shelves, you surely noticed that I read just about anything.”

“Sure, but this?”

“And why not that?”

“Well,” Emma hedged, feeling uncomfortably as though her attack had become an ambush, “because it’s dumb.”

“Oh? Dumb how?” He gave her a polite, attentive look edged with challenge, and she scowled.

“Dumb as in ridiculous,” she declared. “Cheesy and overblown and unrealistic, and seriously nobody looks like that!” She stabbed the cover with her finger.

“It’s fantasy, Swan. There are no wizards or dragons or aliens either, and yet books about all of them remain wildly popular. And besides”—he leaned towards her with a smirk and a glint in his eye that made her belly twist and tighten—“those books feature quite a lot of sex, written by women. What better way to learn what a woman likes than to read the fantasies she writes for herself and others like her?”

“Huh,” said Emma, frowning at the book to distract herself from the flare of heat his words ignited. "I guess—I’ve never thought about it that way before.”

“That one there is one of my favourites,” Killian informed her. “The chap is quite dashing. Pirate, you know. Miscreant.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she snorted. “You should give it a try.”

It was an unmistakable dare, and though she tried to tell herself not to let him goad her in such an obvious way, one she couldn’t resist.

“I will,” she declared, and took the book back to the window seat, making herself comfortable with the pillows and blanket and beginning to read.

“Do you want some dinner, Swan?”

“Huh?” Emma jumped at Killian’s voice and looked up at him with a scowl. She’d been in the midst of a high-seas battle, all clashing swords and bursts of cannon fire and the heroine backed into a corner by the rival pirate captain, in danger of kidnap or worse unless she could fight him off with the cutlass she’d only just learned to use. Emma was rooting for her, and extremely displeased by the interruption. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you’d like some dinner.” Killian’s eyes twinkled with a knowing glint she did not care for. “I’m making some for myself. Just soup, but it’s a good one. You’re welcome to share.”

“Oh. Um. Yeah, thanks. Do you need help?”

“No, I’ve got it.” He grinned at her. “You go back to your book.”

By the time he returned with a large mug emanating delicious-smelling steam and a plate of buttered toast, Emma’s heroine had fought her way free of the rival captain’s clutches and been reunited with her lover—whom she had realised in the terror of the battle she could not live without—and they were making their way back to her home. The pirate was determined to return his lady to her family—for her own good, he said, a pirate’s life was far too dangerous for her—but Emma suspected that before the end of the book the lady would find a way to change his mind. There were still more than a hundred pages left in which to do it.

Reluctantly she set the book aside and accepted the mug and plate, along with a metal baking tray Killian offered her with a slightly sheepish look.

“It’s the best I can do for a table,” he said. “You’ve probably noticed this cabin isn’t exactly equipped for two.”

Emma sat cross-legged with the tray balanced on her knees and managed to eat a spoonful of soup without spilling. It was delicious—spicy but not excessively so, with beans and corn and shredded chicken in a thick tomatoey broth. She hummed as she dug her spoon back in for a second mouthful.

Killian resumed his place in the armchair—the table next to him was big enough to hold his mug and plate easily, Emma noted—and they munched in silence for several minutes.

Outside the window the sunlight was just beginning to dwindle into a cool twilight of blue and pastel pink, though the clock on Killian’s oven read 9:53. They must be quite far north, Emma thought, which called to mind another of her many unanswered questions.

“Where are we?” she asked abruptly.

Killian carefully swallowed his mouthful of soup and set the mug down before replying. “Canada,” he said.

“Canada?” Emma stared at him.

“That’s what I said.”

“But—I don’t have my passport.”

“No.”

“So how did we get over the border?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you really want the answer to that, love?”

“I—no.” Emma sighed. “I guess I don’t.”

“Wise.”

He began to eat again but she frowned into her mug, mind churning. “But how will I get back home?” she asked after a moment’s pause. “We are—you are planning to go back, right?”

“Of course.”

“So…” she made an sweeping gesture with her hand. “What’s your plan, then? Assuming you have one?”

“I do.” He spooned up the last of his soup, set his mug on his table and turned to her with a grim set to his jaw.

“Perhaps it is time we discussed this. All of it, I mean. What you saw and what it means and where I come in.” He met her eyes and his own were intense, full of an empathy that shouldn’t feel so right from him. “If you think you’re ready?”

Emma shivered as her memories of the night before returned, along with the ache and chill of fear. The quiet cosiness of the cabin and the escape of her book had dispelled them temporarily—and maybe also deliberately, she thought in a flash of comprehension. She’d needed that respite. But now—

“Yeah,” she said, with a deep breath and a nod. “I think I can be.”

Killian let out a long breath of his own and sat back in his chair. “Do you know who Robert Gold is?” he asked.

Emma shrugged. “Kind of? The papers always call him a philanthropist, whatever that means.”

“It’s meant to mean someone who donates great sums of money to multiple causes. Out of a sense of civic duty in the classic definition of the word, but in the case of Gold it means someone who donates just enough to just the right concerns to give people cause to turn a blind eye to his other financial interests.”

She frowned. “What other interests?”

“Art theft, forgery, and money laundering, among others,” he replied grimly.

“But—I thought all of Pan’s associates got arrested.”

“They did. Gold didn’t work for Pan.”

“So who does he work for?”

“No one. Himself.”

“What this whole time? While Pan was in power?”

“Pan never completely stomped out other criminal concerns, so long as they didn’t interfere with his own interests,” Killian explained. “Gold’s field was separate enough that the two of them rarely crossed paths, though...” he frowned, almost to himself.

“Though what?”

“I’m not sure really. It’s nothing I could ever put my finger on but I always had the impression that there was another layer to their relationship, one neither wished to discuss or have made public. At any rate they took pains to keep out of each other’s way. And then Pan went down.”

“And Gold—did what, exactly?”

“As of right now? Not much that he wasn’t doing before. But he’s laying the groundwork, building foundations for expansion. I was there when Pan did the same. Hell, I helped him do it. And now Gold is preparing to make a move for everything Pan once had.” He gave her a small smile, ironic with a bitter, razor edge. “You were right you know, Emma, to believe that someone would try to step into the breach when Pan went down. Your only mistake was thinking that someone would be me.”

Something stabbed at Emma, something that felt uncomfortably like remorse. She tried to shake it off but found she couldn’t—it settled in her chest and twisted there, heavy and sharp. “So, um, Gold has been what, just biding his time all these years?” she asked. “Waiting until Pan was gone so he could take over?”

“Not precisely.” Killian ran a hand over his chin, scratching at the scruff on it. “He’s been involved in the game for a long time, since before Pan came to this country. But he was content to stay in his lane, as it were. Pan had little interest in high-end crime so Gold could conduct his affairs without any conflict of turf. But now with Pan and his whole organisation gone, Gold saw an opportunity he couldn’t resist.”

“And from the sounds of it, you knew this would happen.” She gave him a probing look. “Did you?”

“Aye,” he conceded. “I suspected it might. Which was why I kept my eye on Felix.”

“On Felix?” The ache in Emma’s heart throbbed again.

“Indeed.”

“But why? He wasn’t anyone, just a—a lowlife—” she broke off with a little choking sob. Felix may not have been anyone important but he’d been a person and now he was murdered and—she jumped as a warm hand covered hers and looked up into Killian’s eyes, so blue and far too full of understanding.

He sat next to her on the sea chest and eased his arm around her, gently coaxing her head onto his shoulder. Emma held herself stiff for a moment then melted, unable to resist the comfort he was offering.

“Felix was a lowlife, just as you say,” he murmured, the low timbre of his voice soothing in her ear. “One who wasn’t even on Pan’s payroll, which is why he wasn’t implicated in the RICO case. But he did do the odd job for Pan, in exchange for drugs and some other privileges. He wasn’t a bright lad, and Pan held an odd sort of thrall over him.” He paused, his fingers tracing nonsense patterns on Emma’s shoulder, relaxing her further. “Anyway, Gold believes just as you do, that my role in Pan’s downfall was self-serving. He thinks that I held back records from the police, information on how Pan ran his businesses which I could then use to set myself up as the next kingpin in the city. He wanted Felix, as the only other person with ties to Pan who was still walking free, to obtain those records. Felix came to me and asked for them directly.”

Emma snorted. “Seriously?”

“I told you he wasn’t bright. I told him that they don’t exist.”

“Hmmm,” said Emma. “And do they?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

He stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

Emma sat up so she could see his face. It wore a dark expression that made her shiver. “I can tell when someone is lying to me,” she said. “It’s a gift, like a—a superpower. And right now it’s telling me that you are lying. Not entirely, but there’s something you’re holding back.”

“I turned over every scrap of information I had on Pan to the police, and I have not engaged in any new illegal activity since he was arrested,” he said, his voice flat and cool. “That is not a lie.”

“It’s not the whole truth, either. What aren’t you saying?”

Killian released her and stood, raking a hand through his hair. “Nothing that’s any of your concern.”

“How the hell do you expect me to trust you when you lie to me?” Emma snapped, irritated at how keenly she felt the loss of his warmth and support.

“How do you expect me to trust you when I saved your bloody life and you’re still trying to put me in jail?” he snarled. “It goes both ways, darling. I took a huge risk by moving overtly against Gold, and by bringing you here of all places. The very least you could do in return is stop looking at me like all you can see is the price on my head!”

“There isn’t a price on your head anymore, you saw to that!” she cried.

“Yes I did. Which was also a risk. I earned my pardon in ways you couldn’t even begin to fathom, and now I’ve put all that in jeopardy because I couldn’t bear to—” He broke off on a hiss, tugging at his hair again.

“To what?” Emma sneered. “What could you not bear?”

He turned to face her, angry and sincere and reckless. “To see you dead,” he said bluntly. “I couldn’t bear that, however bloody infuriating you can be.”

She caught her breath. “But you didn’t know—how could you have known my life was even in danger?”

“Because I’m the one who brought you into this.”

His voice was quiet, ragged with remorse and utterly truthful, but Emma shook her head. “I was chasing the bounty on Felix, it was nothing to do with—”

“I wanted to get Felix off the streets,” he interrupted her. “For his own safety. Once I learned what Gold wanted from him and that Felix would never be able to deliver it, I knew it was only a matter of time before Felix’s body turned up in an alley somewhere, dead of a single stab wound to the heart.”

She caught her breath and he raised an eyebrow, grim and knowing. “Gold’s signature move. I take it that’s what you witnessed?”

She nodded. “Gold—he asked Felix if he had it, and said don’t disappoint me, you won’t like the consequences. Then Felix said he couldn’t get it because ‘Jones said’ but Gold interrupted him, and said ‘don’t talk to me about Killian Jones.’ Then he held up his cane and Felix—he obviously knew what that meant for him.”

Killian’s mouth was a tight line, a muscle leaping in his jaw. “I’m so bloody sorry, Swan,” he growled. “I just wanted Felix out of Gold’s reach. He wasn’t worth much but I felt responsible for him, the way he was left at such a loss with Pan gone. Many of his failings were not his fault.”

“But why did you need me for that?”

“Don’t forget I’ve seen you in action, love, I know what you’re capable of,” he said with a poor attempt at a smile. “I knew you could infiltrate Gold’s party and that you’d make quick work of Felix once you were there. So I asked Graham to dig up what he could on Felix—I knew there had to be something—and then put you on his trail. The idea was for you to bring him in so the police could hold him until Gold lost interest. That way he’d be safe from Gold in a non-suspicious way that couldn’t be traced back to me.”

“That’s—actually not a bad plan.”

“Oh, aye. Except that it was a spectacular failure.”

“That’s not your fault, Killian—”

“It is,” he insisted, clenching his hands into fists. “I should have pointed you in his direction the moment I saw you, but instead I got caught up in—” his mouth twisted. “Well… you know.”

In sparring with her, Emma thought. In the ridiculous game they’d been playing just twenty-four hours ago, though it felt like years. “Yeah,” she sighed. “I do.”

“As soon as I saw Felix leave the party I knew what was likely to happen,” continued Killian, pacing up and down the short length of the room. “He didn’t have the records and Gold does not take kindly to being thwarted. His fate was sealed but there was still chance I could save you. I tried to get to you before you left to follow him but I was across the room and the crowd was too thick, I couldn’t move fast enough. So I got my car and got you out of the gallery, then followed my escape plan to bring us here.”

Emma’s heart was racing again. “How did you know where I’d be?” she asked quietly.

“Gold always holds meetings in that gallery, particularly ones he thinks will end as that one did. The room is well sealed and noise insulated and the carpet is made of pre-cut squares, like tiles. Easy to pick up and replace with fresh ones if they get stained.”

“So basically a perfect murder room.” Her voice sounded foreign to her ears, like it belonged to someone else.

His was rough. “Basically.”

“But—” Emma forced herself to breathe steadily, and to remember that she was safe. “What if—what if I hadn’t been near the door? What if Gold had caught me?” She looked up at Killian. “He almost fucking did.”

Killian’s jaw was tight again, the muscle flexing in it as he approached her cautiously. “I could only hope I got there in time,” he rasped. “There were far too many things I had to trust to luck. But what other choice was there? Do nothing and you would surely have been killed. Do something and you still may have been, but.. well, I had to try.” He swallowed hard. “I’m just glad that it worked.”

“Yeah.” Emma shuddered, thinking about how close it had come to not working. She hugged herself, sinking her fingernails into the soft fleece of his sweatshirt. “So what happens now?” she asked. “You said you have a plan?”

“Aye.” Slowly he sat next to her and she let him, let him pull her close again and tuck her head onto his shoulder. She sighed as some of her tension ebbed away and her body relaxed against his. “First we have to contact Graham,” he said. “I sent him a message when I woke up, telling him what I thought you had seen and that I would keep you safe. By now Gold certainly knows who you are and that I was the one who helped you get away. He’ll have people searching for both of us; it’s not safe to go back to the city until he’s neutralised.”

“Neutralised,” she repeated. “Fuck. What’s that gonna take?”

“Possibly not as much effort as you think. Gold is slick, but he’s not used to being the focus of attention. He gets away with things because for the right incentives people, the police included, are content to look the other way. It’s all a game for Gold, one he’s been playing for so long he believes he’s untouchable.” Emma shivered and his arm tightened around her. “But with Pan gone he’s gotten arrogant, and arrogant means careless. Graham’s been investigating him for a while and he’s got enough evidence to pursue the case. We just have to sit tight until he’s ready to make an arrest—he wants to be sure everything is airtight first. Which means”—he cleared his throat—“that you are going to need to tell him exactly what you saw. Can you do that, Swan?”

“I—” Emma took a deep breath, full of Killian's scent and the heat of his skin. His nearness shouldn’t comfort her so much but it did, and right now she would take any comfort she could get. “Yes,” she said firmly. “I want to do it.”

She felt his grin though she couldn’t see it, felt his cheek flex against the top of her head. “You’re a tough lass,” he said. “I admired that about you from the start.”

Graham answered his phone on the first ring. “Detective Humbert,” he said gruffly.

“Graham.” Emma couldn’t believe how good it felt to hear a familiar voice.

“Emma!” he cried. “How are you? Are you okay? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She flexed her fingers around the phone Killian had given her—a satellite phone he’d said, the size and heft of a cell phone circa 1989.

“Where are you?” Graham demanded.

She was in the bedroom, curled up on the bed with the door tightly shut. But that wasn’t what Graham was asking. “Uh, I don’t quite know. Killian said Canada, but that doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”

“Killian.” Graham spat the name with a venom that surprised her.

“Yeah,” she said, frowning. “He’s—well, less awful than I thought. He saved my life.”

“And he hasn’t—” Graham cleared his throat “—done anything to you?”

“Like what?”

“Like—tried anything.”

Emma felt a surge of indignation on Killian’s behalf. “Okay, one, that’s a hell of a thing to say about your friend—”

“Who said he’s my friend—”

“And two, no, he’s not laid a finger on me since we got here.” Except to comfort her, but that wasn’t something Graham needed to know about. Nor did he need to know that the change in Killian’s behaviour, the complete disappearance of any innuendo or provocation, left her feeling oddly disgruntled and unsure what to think. She hadn’t wanted it in the first place so she should be glad it was gone, but its absence had changed their dynamic in a way that had her feeling a bit off balance.

“—did he say he’s my friend?” Graham was almost shouting. “Emma?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Graham, it doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “Whether you’re friends with Killian or not, that’s not important. I’m fine, he’s fine, and we both want to go home, so can we talk about how to make that happen?”

Graham took a deep breath, and when he spoke again his voice was calm and professional. “Yes we can. Tell me what you witnessed at Gold’s mansion.”

Emma took a breath of her own, wrapped her arms around her knees and began to speak.

When she hung up the phone she returned to the living room to find Killian leaning against the stone mantel above the fireplace, staring into the flames. He looked up sharply when she entered. “How was it?” he demanded. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “A bit bruised, but yeah, I’m okay.” She gave him a faint smile. “I’m okay. I’ll be oka—”

He hesitated for the briefest moment then strode across the room and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s okay not to be okay, you know,” he said softly. “If you’re not.”

“I—” Emma’s voice caught on a sob and she buried her face in his chest.

“Shhh, love, it’s all right,” he murmured. She felt his hand stroke her hair and the lightest press of his lips on the side of her head. Closing her fist on a handful of his shirt, she breathed in shuddering heaves as her tears continued to fall.

“I feel like I can’t stop crying,” she whispered. “Why can’t I? I never cry.”

“Because you’re a human being with a soul,” he replied, with an edge to his voice she hadn’t heard in it before. “You’re not a monster like Gold or—others of his kind.”

Or me, he was going to say, she realised. He thought he and Gold were the same.

“You like to think you’re tough, Emma,” Killian continued. “And you are. Tough and brave and bloody fearless. But beneath that armour you wear you have a soft and caring heart and that’s worth more than all the rest of it combined. You must never, ever let your heart grow hard. That’s not toughness, it’s death.”

She had no idea how to respond to that, or the ache of self-loathing she heard in his voice. So she said nothing, pressing closer to him as his hand moved down her hair in soothing strokes.

“Cry as much as you need,” he murmured. “Let yourself feel what you’re feeling. It’s the only way to heal.”

She clung to him, sobbing into his shirt until her tears were spent and she was exhausted, with a pounding ache behind her eyes. When at last she sniffed and straightened up, Killian let her go without hesitation.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she smiled wryly. “But my head hurts.”

“I can help with that, at least.” He went to the bathroom and returned a moment later with a bottle of Tylenol, which he handed to her then moved to the kitchen to fill a glass with water. “Take some of those and drink the whole glass,” he instructed. “Then go to bed and try to get some sleep.”

“Thanks.” Emma turned towards the bedroom then stopped and looked back. He was still standing there, watching her. “Are you—are you coming?”

He smiled. “Later. You go now.”

“Okay.” She turned to go again then immediately swivelled back. “And thanks, Killian,” she said. “For everything.”

His smile widened into the boyish one that made her chest feel tight, and too small to contain the leap of her heart. “You’re welcome, love,” he said. “Sleep well.”

Emma went to the bedroom and shut the door behind her, leaning back and letting her head fall against it with a soft thunk. “Do not do this, you idiot,” she whispered to herself. “Do not go there. Not again.”

@thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu @kmomof4 @mariakov81 @katie-dub @spartanguard @darkcolinodonorgasm @courtorderedcake @squidvisious @cluttermind @teamhook @lfh1226-linda @shireness-says @stahlop

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan #sharing a bed #enemies to lovers #the bend of the arc #profdanglaisstuff

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