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elentiyawhitethorn · 2 years

Note

congrats on 550!! For whichever ship that sings to you, but maybe elorcan?

“ you were always there when i needed you. let me repay the favor. “

Secrets and Surgery

CW: language, drug use (for a surgery), mentions of blood

AN: The only elorcan I’ve written so far has been for yamtm but I’ve been wanting to do more so I’m glad I got this prompt! Thanks babe <3 Also, I currently do not have a tag list for elorcan, so maybe let me know if you want to be tagged? I can’t promise I’ll write them too frequently but I’m sure I’ll do more at some point so :)

Fluff//3285 words

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I definitely do.”

“You definitely don’t.”

“I most certainly do. Shut up and stop arguing with me.”

Elide pouted. “I feel so bad asking you.”

An eye roll was all she got in response to that.

“It’s just!” Elide sighed. “I know we’re not super close and this is a lot to ask—”

“Let me stop you write there, Lochan, before you deafen me with your little spiel about what a monster you are for asking me.” Lorcan crossed his arms. “You’re having your wisdom teeth taken out, not getting a kidney removed. All I have to do is drive you there, sit in the waiting room with my laptop and a book for a couple hours, then drive you home and make sure you’re icing your face and eating mush. I work from home so I can just have my laptop up while I sit with you, it’s not a big deal.”

“I guess not,” Elide said. “I would have asked Aelin if she’d been in town, though—”

Lorcan interrupted her yet again. “I know you would have, but she’s not, and I’m here, and I don’t mind.” He smirked. “Besides, watching you high on whatever drugs they give you will make it so worth it. Maybe I’ll get to hear some juicy secrets if you’re loopy enough.”

That. That right there. The whole what if I tell him something embarrassing while I’m hyped up on laughing gas thing was why Elide had started backtracking as soon as she’d asked Lorcan this favor. And she wasn’t concerned with sharing a humiliating story or doing a funky dance in front of him. Well, okay, maybe Elide was a little bit worried about that.

But mostly, Elide was petrified that she wouldn’t be able to hold back the fact that she had a huge crush on the man sitting before her. How would she manage a day with Lorcan, on drugs, and not let that slip?

“But still…” Elide started, desperately searching for an alternative.

“But what? Are you going to drive yourself home while high and dripping blood?”

Elide shrugged. If that was what it took, she wanted to say, but she figured voicing that opinion wouldn’t help her case.

“Listen.” Lorcan’s tone turned more serious. “You were always there when I needed you. Let me repay the favor.”

Elide blinked, entirely unprepared for him to say anything like that. She knew she’d supported him after his parents had passed away last year, but she hadn’t realized how much that had meant to Lorcan.

“Okay,” she rasped.

And all of a sudden, there was no going back.

—

“You are a baaaaaad nurse.”

Lorcan lifted his head from his book and watched as Yrene, the doctor’s assistant who had introduced herself the them prior to the surgery, rolled Elide through the doorway.

Yrene gave Elide an amused glance as she rolled the wheelchair out. “Why’s that?”

“You put my clippy thing on wrong,” she slurred, waving her fingers. “It’s crooked.”

There wasn’t anything currently on her fingers, but Lorcan assumed she was referring to the clip thing they used to monitor your heart rate. He felt a smile quirking at his lips.

“I’ll have to remember that for next time,” Yrene said, holding back a grin of her own. She made her way over to Lorcan, giving him a friendly wave.

“Did everything go well?” he asked.

“Obviously, you idiot,” Elide told him, though he’d been talking to the doctor’s assistant. “My teeth are gone, aren’t they?”

She opened her mouth wide and blood started to drip past the tissues in her mouth.

“Let’s try to keep those in there,” Yrene said, readjusting the tissues while Lorcan held back a laugh. “Everything went well,” she said next, turning her gaze to Lorcan. “Some of our patients are more affected by the drugs than others, and your friend seems pretty out of it, so I can wheel her out to your car.”

“You’re a car,” Elide muttered.

Lorcan chuckled. “Alright, that works.”

Yrene took Elide out to Lorcan’s car and he helped her get a reluctant Elide in the passenger seat. She ended up sideways and Lorcan decided he’d get her seatbelt on when he was in as well.

“Remember,” Yrene said brightly, “an ice pack for five minutes on either cheek every few hours should reduce the swelling. She needs to rinse out the gaps every night for the first week with this”—she handed Lorcan a zip-lock containing a syringe and two bottles of pills—“and those medications are antibiotics and pain meds. Soft foods only for the next forty-eight hours.”

Lorcan nodded slowly, trying to remember everything.

Yrene flashed him a sympathetic smile. “It sounds like a lot but it’s all on the sheet Elide has at home, and she’ll be able to handle everything herself after the anesthesia wears off, which should be by the time she wakes up tomorrow, if not tonight.”

That was a lot more reassuring, and Lorcan nodded genuinely this time, then thanked the woman.

Once Yrene started back toward the building with the empty wheelchair, Lorcan climbed in the driver’s seat and turned to Elide. She apparently had some semblance of lucidity in her, because she’d gotten her seatbelt on herself… or rather, gotten one leg through the belt.

Lorcan snorted. “Alright, let’s fix this.”

“Fix what, baby?”

“Baby?” Lorcan asked amusedly as he reached for the seatbelt and started maneuvering Elide’s leg back through it.

Elide hummed her agreement. “You’re so cute, like a little baby.” She reached over and pinched Lorcan’s cheek like his grandmother used to do.

He laughed, finally getting the seatbelt back to where it started and then buckling Elide in. “So I’m told by all the women.”

“I’m cute too,” Elide said.

“Mmhm,” Lorcan said, putting the car in drive.

“That wasn’t very enthusiastic!” Elide yelled.

Lorcan glanced over at her. “I think you’ve got enough enthusiasm for the both of us right now.”

She scowled, and blood shown on her tissues. “Don’t you think I’m so hot?”

Lorcan raised an eyebrow, then turned his gaze back to the road. “Of course I do,” he said, thankful that Elide was too out of it to realize he wasn’t just humoring her.

Luckily, she turned her attention to the “goopy sandwiches hanging off my face”—her cheeks—and the conversation ended.

—

Hours passed and Lorcan decided that he’d never laughed so much in his life. He was described as grumpy by many, he knew, and he couldn’t exactly argue with that sentiment, so he only surprised himself when he spent the whole afternoon and into the evening positively cackling.

Then again, he hadn’t seen anything like this before.

Aelin had begged him over the phone for videos, and damn him, Lorcan took a few. He didn’t send any, though; he wanted Elide sober enough to judge how pissed she’d be if he shared them with Aelin first.

There was one of Elide screaming singing Never Gonna Give You Up at the heavens and playing an air… banjo? Because apparently Rick Astley had been a big fan of banjos?

There was another video of Elide sprawled on the rug making a snow angel and narrating to Lorcan (and the camera) how sexy she thought Lil Nas X was but how Madonna was every hotter.

And yet another of Elide kissing every single potted plant in the room, every kitchen appliance, every piece of furniture, and telling them all how much she treasured their friendship. Lorcan had had to put an end to that after she smeared blood on the microwave.

Basically, Lorcan got zero work done and had no regrets.

“You need to ice those,” he told Elide, who was resisting him.

Elide grabbed a handful of her cheek and asked, for the fiftieth time, “What is this?”

“That’s your cheek, El. And if you don’t ice it it’s gonna stay swollen.”

“Like bubble gum?”

“Umm… kind of like bubble gum.” Lorcan reached for her cheek with the ice pack again but she swatted him away.

“I love bubble gum,” she murmured.

Elide’s ultra-hyper excitement had slowly transformed into sleepy remarks and confusing analogies over the course of the day. Now she looked like she was ready to drop.

Elide sighed and relaxed her head on the couch, and before Lorcan knew it, she was asleep.

“Thank the gods,” he muttered, placing the ice pack under her right cheek and setting a timer on his phone to switch it in five minutes.

He sat back on the couch next to her, relieved and still amused. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and Lorcan rubbed his temples, mentally cursing himself for enjoying this so much. Even in sweatpants and a Hello Kitty t-shirt she’d pulled out for the surgery, even with blood constantly dripping on the (thankfully not carpeted) floor, even laughing like a maniac, Lorcan found her adorable. And it was fucked up because she had no idea how he felt about her.

Lorcan would never mind taking care of Elide, but it stung just a little to know that he hadn’t been her first choice, to hear her say they weren’t “super close.” He’d known, of course, that taking his frustrations with being so infatuated with her out via a bad attitude and avoidance wouldn’t make her want him. But he couldn’t stop himself from wishing Elide wasn’t so opposed to the idea of him helping her out.

It must be how he acted around her that made Elide not want him taking care of her.

—

Ow. Ow. Food.

Those were the three words that first occurred to Elide as sunlight splintered her vision. One ow for her head, one for her face, and a food because she really fucking wanted some food.

“And she rises,” a voice drawled from beside her, and Elide’s gaze snapped to Lorcan’s form hunched over his laptop.

“I thought you—” Elide stopped herself because there was something in her mouth, and her words were coming out more like hm shmsh shmsh than anything. She sleepily readjusted the tissue in her mouth, then tried again.

“I thought you were going to leave last night.”

Lorcan waved her off. “I figured I’d stay and check up on you. I was tired last night so I just crashed over here. I hope that’s okay with you.”

Was Elide imagining it, or was Lorcan blushing?

No, it must just be an effect of the medication.

Elide yawned, then winced as her jaw protested the sudden movement.

Lorcan noticed and rose. “Let me get you your meds.”

He returned seconds later with two bottles and a glass of water. After an excruciating minute (a pill got stuck behind Elide’s teeth), she sat back. Before she could get Lorcan for some food, her stomach groaned, communicating the message for her.

She looked at Lorcan pleadingly.

He smirked. “What do you want?”

“Pizza. Chicken nuggets. Thai curry. And some chocolate,” Elide replied, listing off the first foods to pop into her head.

“Okay… I’ll grab some yogurt.”

Elide scowled.

Lorcan came back with a container of cherry yogurt and a spoon, and after removing the bloody tissues from her mouth, Elide started slowly, very slowly, eating.

“So, um,” she said.

Lorcan’s face transformed into a go on expression.

“How… was I yesterday?”

Lorcan coughed. “How much do you remember?”

Gods, no. Please, please, please someone say Elide hadn’t confessed her feelings.

“Not much. It’s mostly a blur.” Elide did her best to keep her voice nonchalant, and luckily the yogurt muffled any stray nerves.

“Well, you were certainly very… energetic.” Lorcan grinned.

“But did I say anything?”

“You said a lot, actually.”

Elide’s breathing sped up. “But not, like… What did I say?”

“Should I be trying to recall something specific?”

“No!” Elide winced. “I mean, I just meant if I said anything embarrassing or whatever.”

Lorcan smirked. “Oh, most definitely.”

“Like what?” she nearly screeched.

He laughed. “Just a lot of goofy shit. Sadly, no humiliating stories from your past, but still plenty of content for me to never stop making fun of you.”

A wave of relief washed through every molecule of her being. Lorcan was way too amused to have heard her tell him that she liked him.

He didn’t know.

“Do I even want to know the things I did?” Elide asked, rubbing at her temples, but feeling much more at ease.

He grinned. “That depends on how much you value shame.”

Elide sighed. “Did you take any videos?”

“Yeah, I took a few. Both for Aelin, and because I though you might want to laugh at yourself.”

Elide groaned. “Dear gods, you sent them to Aelin? I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“No, I…”

Lorcan trailed off and Elide looked up at him.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it first so I waited. If you want me to get rid of them I will.”

Elide’s mouth formed an O. Aelin would have had no qualms about sending those videos across the whole internet, but Lorcan had been considerate enough to make sure she was okay with him sending them to Aelin before he did? And if it genuinely bothered her, he would delete them?

Maybe that had a little to do with the fact that Aelin was Elide’s best friend and was allowed to take a few liberties, but she couldn’t stop the warmth that filled up her chest.

“Send them all to me; I have no memory of anything that happened yesterday. But I’ll need to watch them before I decide if Aelin can have them.”

Lorcan laughed. “Okay.” He pulled out his phone and seconds later, Elide heard a ding.

She pulled out her phone and pressed play on the first one.

Fifteen minutes later left her red and in pain. Red because this must be the most humiliating day of her life, and in pain because she couldn’t stop laughing at herself, and her jaw couldn’t take it.

“Dear gods,” Elide said between embarrassed laughs. “Did you know that some people are barely affected by the anesthesia? Why couldn’t that have been me?”

Lorcan shook his head, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Then I never would have gotten to hear about how pretty Madonna’s boobs are. Or watch you smooch a toaster.”

Elide covered her face with her hands. “I want to die.”

“Don’t worry, at least I didn’t get a recording of you trying to surgically remove your cheeks with a plastic spork.”

“Tell me you’re joking.”

Lorcan just grinned.

“That is a definite no to sending them to Aelin, and if you do I am never speaking to you again.”

Lorcan smiled but before he could say anything, another ding sounded on Elide’s phone.

Aelin: How was it??

Aelin: Call me when you’re not loopy anymore!

Elide glanced at Lorcan. “It’s Aelin. I should probably break the news that she won’t be receiving blackmail leverage on me today.”

His lips twitched and he gestured for her to call.

Elide called and put the phone against her face, then winced and set it on the couch, pressing speakerphone. She reached for her half-eaten contained of yogurt.

“Babe!” Aelin exclaimed. “You’re alive!”

“Barely,” Elide muttered, guiding a dollop of yogurt through her mouth with her tongue.

“Everything go okay?”

Elide huffed out a laugh. “Like you care. I’ve been told you were more concerned with Lorcan filming my mishaps than anything else.”

“That rat,” Aelin hissed into the phone. “He’s not going to send me any videos, is he?”

“‘Fraid not.”

“Ugh, than man is too nice to you,” Aelin complained. “You two are insufferable.”

Elide laughed. “Sorry?”

“I take it from the fact that you’re not calling me in despair that you didn’t tell Lorcan you have a crush on him while you were high? I was so hoping you would, it would have been hilarious.”

Elide froze and dread pooled in her stomach as she realized one very important fact with deadly clarity: Aelin didn’t know Lorcan was still here.

“Is that a yes? No? You did tell him and he feels the same because duh, obviously that man’s obsessed with you? What—”

Elide hung up the phone.

A whole day’s worth of being high and Elide managed not to spill the one secret she’d dreaded getting loose, and then Aelin called and there it went. She was going to be pissed with Aelin later, but right now she had bigger issues.

Lorcan was right next to Elide, but she physically couldn’t move her head, couldn’t turn to him and witness his reaction.

A moment of wretched silence passed, and then—“Elide?”

She rotated her head mechanically, meeting Lorcan’s wide eyes with terror. “I, um.”

“You like me?” Lorcan sounded shocked, and not really much of anything else. Elide didn’t know what to make of that.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” There wasn’t really any point in denying it; it was probably better to just own it.

A moment passed where Elide could feel her heart crumbling into ash, and then Lorcan… started to laugh.

Incredulous, Elide gaped at the man. “Excuse me?”

He blinked at her.

“How dare you laugh at me? I know you don’t feel the same, but you could at least give me the courtesy of being nice about it.” All traces of despair were replaced with fury at Lorcan’s audacity.

“No, El, I wasn’t—”

“Save it,” she snapped, starting to cry.

He reached for Elide’s arm. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at this.”

She shook her head in confusion and apathy, but Lorcan stopped her dead with his next words. “Of course I like you too.”

“What?”

He let out a deep breath. “Elide, you’re the sweetest, smartest, craziest person I know. And I would definitely be kissing you right now if your mouth wasn’t bleeding.”

“Oh,” she whispered.

He chuckled nervously. “Yeah.”

“Wait, really?”

Lorcan ran a hand through his hair nervously. “Elide, I thought you… you never really talk to me that much, and you made it clear I wasn’t your first option for the surgery, and I just thought you didn’t…”

“Gods. No.” Elide smiled as best she could with a tissue hanging out. “I don’t talk to you a lot because I’m shy. Surely you’ve noticed that. And I didn’t want you to be here right now because I was worried I would confess my feelings while I was all drugged up.”

A look of understanding crossed Lorcan’s features and he groaned. “I’m an idiot.”

“We’re both idiots.” Lorcan smiled at that. “Um, can I hug you?” Elide asked. “Like a surrogate kiss just until I won’t be spitting blood at you?”

A snort left Lorcan. “Of course you can hug me.”

Elide scooted over to him and he wrapped his arms around her. “Ow,” she muttered as her face met Lorcan’s shoulder.

He reddened. “Sorry,” he muttered, shifting so Elide’s head was above his shoulder.

She clung to him and laughed. “This is the least sexy time ever for this shit.”

Lorcan snorted. “I don’t know, you seemed to think you were pretty sexy yesterday.”

Elide groaned. “Don’t even tell me why you just said that, I don’t want to know what I did.”

Lorcan laughed again, and something light rose in Elide’s chest. She loved that noise: Lorcan’s raspy, deep laugh, rare and unused, which only made hearing it feel like an accomplishment, like she’d managed to make the gruff man do this amazing thing.

Little did Elide know, he’d be laughing a lot more from now on.

———

Again, let me know if you want to be tagged for elorcan content!!

#elorcan #tog #secrets and surgery #my writing

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darlingpoppet · 6 months

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[20 Question Fic Writer Tag]

Tagged by @johaerys-writes (who is always welcome to tag me in stuff whenever they want because it makes my day every time <3)

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 16 as of now. I have another fic I’m not yet allowed to publish outside of its anthology that I’d like to upload eventually, and I also have new WIP currently in the works, so the number is slowly growing!

2. What is your AO3 word count? 128,406… I’ve only been actively publishing on my AO3 account for about 2 years so I’d say it’s a pretty decent output!

3. What fandoms do you write for? Right now just two: Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan (mostly Eruri), and Patrochilles (from The Iliad/Hades/TSOA/etc. because it’s better to say the ship itself is the fandom right? lol) Although Hades in itself can perhaps be considered a separate third category because that particular spin on Greek Mythology & its interpretation of Patrochilles has particularly captured my imagination, and because I’ve written for other ships in that universe like PZA and MZT

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? In descending order: Pressed Flowers, Strain, Upon A Lazy Bed, Once More, and Closest To My Heart (the latter two are currently tied for 4th but Closest might eke ahead once this is posted haha.) I actually really love how these are a pretty good representative sample of my works: Eruri, Patrochilles (TSOA-verse & Hades-verse), PZA; some smutty, some angsty & some sweet; their ratings are all that AO3 offers: 1 G, 1 T, 1 M, & 2 E. I’m a bit sad that as of this writing Where The Dead Forget has been knocked out of the top 5 but since it’s still an ongoing WIP that’s only like 25% done, assuming its readership grows, it’ll certainly claw its way back up through the rankings lol

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I do my best to respond! I like to show my gratitude to anyone who kindly takes the time to share their thoughts, and also I love to be able to discuss the story & characters when I have the opportunity! I’ve done my best to be diligent about responding ever since I started posting Patrochilles fics but unfortunately I still have an accumulated backlog from the earlier days of posting… my inbox is sitting at an ignominious 28 “unreads” atm (although I promise I did read & savor each one! I’ll respond eventually, I promise!!)

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Pressed Flowers and Upon A Lazy Bed both have pretty bittersweet endings. Closest To My Heart has a “happy” ending that in the context of the rest of the story is in fact rather bleak, and I’ve rightfully gotten a lot of feedback that people found it pretty unsettling, haha.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Nonbiri-ya, perhaps? Or perhaps it’s Sea Of Love, if you’re a Hadesgame enjoyer who’s also familiar with the Achilles myths and the prophecies about his life

8. Do you get hate on fics? I haven’t received any so far. If anyone dislikes what I’m cooking up they’re gratefully keeping it to themselves or at least where I can’t see it, haha.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yes and this year especially I’ve been trying to get better at it! I’ve always personally enjoyed smut that’s used as a vehicle for character/relationship study, that combo of eroticism + emotion is soooo good. As for what kind it is… uhhhh I’m not sure since I’ve done everything from tender & romantic, “fade-to-black” scenes to dead dovey fetish fuel and everything in between, lol. I hope I write the kind of smut that’s hot I guess uwu

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Not really, unless you’d consider mixing & matching details of different Greek mythology retellings into a new story to be a crossover… but personally I don’t think it counts haha. Sea Of Love in some ways feels like a TSOA/Hades crossover but I think it’s more just the vibes since it was still my aim to depict Hadesgame versions of Patrochilles during their childhood

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of… hopefully not haha

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? I’ve translated several of my own fics into Japanese for doujinshi publishing purposes: The Upper Hand, Stomach & Heart, Odd One Out, and one more that isn’t on AO3 yet called LoveSick Arrows. I also translated Upon A Lazy Bed into Japanese for fun over a year ago and I’ve been meaning to post it for ages but my partner who usually betas my translations still hasn’t looked it over haha. My fic Harmony was translated into Russian and Ukrainian as part of a fandom group project. Also, I once received a request from someone who wanted to translate The Upper Hand into Russian. Not sure if it ever happened… perhaps it’s out there somewhere on ficbook, though I’m not sure where! (If anyone knows I’d love to link back to it!)

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before? No, never! I’m not sure how a writing collaboration works exactly but it might be fun to try sometime!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Oh god… I mean I would have to say it’s eruri right? Just for the sheer amount of time & the degree I’ve gone hard for this ship… all the friendships I made and the person I’ve become literally would not have been possible without it. My comparatively recent foray into writing has come at a time when that passion is in a more dormant period though. And instead I’m having a lot of fun writing with Patrochilles which I can already tell will be another all-timer for me (two years ago me would probably be surprised to know that current me is taking Classical Greek lessons because the hyperfixations cannot be controlled, amirite?) I’ve enjoyed a lot of ships but I’ve had so few genuine OTPs my whole life because once I fall in love with a ship I fall HARD. Probably the only other one that has genuinely changed my life like Eruri and Patrochilles have is Wolfstar… that one definitely comes with a lot of bittersweetness but at least I can still say I have a lot good memories attached to it <3

15. What's a WIP you'd like to finish but doubt you ever will? I wanna say “never say never” because every time I look through my WIPs and fic ideas I’m always like “oh this was so good! I should return to it!” I had always wanted to do my own “Erwin lives” fic but I’m not sure exactly if I have enough passion atm to bring something interesting or unique to that little sub-genre. Maybe someday, if I have a good enough idea. I’ve also for the longest time had a “what if Erwin joined the Military Police instead of the Survey Corps” story idea because back in the early days of the eruri fandom there were a lot of popular fanon & AUs where Erwin was an MP or ex-MP (probably popularized by Audacity?) That mini-genre pretty much died out once we learned his canon backstory but I still wanted to do one in conversation/playing with the canon, because I think that would be an interesting vehicle to explore his character motivations by considering an alternative & I think I could make a neat little political thriller out of it. Again, maybe someday. I think the only WIP I have actually talked about that’s well & truly “dead” is the Achilles POV fic I said I was writing in the notes for Upon A Lazy Bed. It was just too episodic and I could never really come up with a proper narrative through-line for it. On the bright side, much of what I had written for it and its overall thesis statement ended up getting repurposed for Where The Dead Forget, so at least it lives now as something else. There are still a couple orphan stand-alone episodes from it that I still quite like, so maybe I’ll publish them as a little TSOA-verse drabble collection or something someday.

16. What are your writing strengths? I think I’m pretty good at creating a certain tone and atmosphere. I also think I’m getting good at making my prose flow in a rhythmically pleasing way. A friend once called my writing “lyrical” & I think it was one of the kindest compliments I’ve ever gotten ;o;

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I said this in an earlier ask meme but I don’t think I’m very good at action scenes, it’s hard for me to make a sequence of actions both interesting & make sense and I don’t really enjoy writing them haha. They’re harder than sex scenes too because at least in those you can weave in a lot more emotions among the “choreography”. Also: long-form serialized storytelling does not come naturally to me at all and I’m unsure if I do a good job with things like pacing or being able to clearly see both the forest & trees. Time will tell I guess lol. On that note, I’m also a pretty slow writer. I am Not that author who gives regular weekly/monthly updates haha.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? Personally I don’t really encounter this often but when I do it’s usually demonstrating a language barrier between the characters, or something being purposely obfuscated from the reader, which I think is all fine & legit. I suppose you would see it more often between characters who are understood to not actually be speaking in the language of the fic, yeah? I was reading a novel recently that was injecting all sorts of words & phrases in the language of the setting and idk… I guess it added to the atmosphere but when I can’t understand what they’re saying even though it’s something the pov character is meant to understand then it starts to feel a bit alienating and I don’t like it, haha.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Gundam Wing, I think? LMFAO! I was 12 and I wrote some kind of AU where they all go to camp and I’m pretty sure it was pure tween cringe haha. The first fandom in which I posted more publicly was Harry Potter. The only one I really remember from back then was a James/Sirius fic I wrote when I was 16 that nowadays would be considered dd content… it’s probably lost to the sands of time but even now I still think the concept was solid uwu

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? The ones I’ve always felt pretty stoked on since posting them are Upon A Lazy Bed and Closest To My Heart… both of them because I enjoyed toying with the ideas behind them, and to me they successfully evoke the atmosphere and emotional responses I was going for. And if I can continue make my writing as pretty as I think UALB ended up being I’ll be very happy indeed! Also: I felt kind of iffy on LoveSick Arrows (the one not on AO3 yet) when I first submitted it but recently I reread it and I think it turned out way better than I gave it credit for… it might be my favorite eruri fic to date :)

Tagging @galpalpetraral @zorthania @lostcauses-noregrets @he1chouarts @goddamnchou @ladymacbethsspot & @elemmacil <3 Also belatedly tagging @sonderous-opia because I couldn’t remember what your tumblr account name was until now ;o;

#eruri #patrochilles #wolfstar #hades game #the iliad #the song of achilles #shingeki no kyojin #my fics

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theyellowroseofsodor · 10 months

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Revenge

Rated G - For everyone

Warning: Contains fluff and tickles, don’t like? Don’t read. 🤷🏽‍♀️ Also two updates in a day? I’m feeling guilty for having gone MIA.

Takes place during The Yellow Rose but didn’t have a good spot to put it. It was just fun fluff to write. Should I do more?

“Scotty, I need your help.”

Scotsman blinked a bit, having moved to a side track to rest when he was woken by a flustered looking Camille.

He yawned but smiled, “And what can I do for you, little sister?”

“It’s your brother.” Camille in her human form huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “He’s been teasing me a lot recently and he’s not being fair about it.”

Scotsman shook his boiler, “Well, that sounds like Gordon. What’s he doing, keeping things too high?”

“Hardy har har.” Camille said dryly, “I don’t need your teasing too. I need to know if you’re up to helping me with some revenge.”

Scotsman grinned, “Against Gordon? Any day.”

Camille smiled, knowing the brothers' rivalry would come in handy someday.

“So, what’s this he’s been teasing you about?” Scotsman asked again.

Camille blushed a little and looked away, “He found out a few weeks ago… after that big storm… that I was…” she mumbled the last bit.

“I'm sorry?” Scot asked her, “You’re mumbling.”

“Well it’s hard to admit to you. You might use it against me too.” Camille said.

“How about I vow here not to until after we seek revenge on Gordon?” He grinned, “Scouts honor. Whatever this is.”

“I think that’s the closest I’m going to get because there’s no way you won’t use this against me in the future.” Camille sighed, “I’m ticklish and Gordon seems to think because he’s bigger and because it’s so ‘cute’ to make me laugh that he can tickle me whenever he wants too.”

Scotsman laughed, “Is that all? I thought it was fairly common to be ticklish.”

“I feel like most people are. But most people also don’t have behemoth size boyfriends who use their height and weight advantages to torment their tiny girlfriends.” Camille huffed.

“If it’s any consolation, Camille, I’m ticklish.” Scotsman shrugged as well as he could in engine form, “Nothing to be ashamed about.”

“I guess that makes me feel a little better… But I’ve got to get even with Gordon and he’s so much bigger than me I can’t get any sort of revenge.”

“Wait a moment, wait a moment.” Scotsman got a truly devious look on his face, “Are you saying little Gordon is ticklish too?”

Camille nodded, “Oh he’s awful if you can pin him down. I know I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone, but Scot he’s driving me crazy and you’re his brother so I figured you already knew and didn’t count.”

Scot grinned, “Oh, I didn’t know. This is very valuable information. I didn’t think Gordon would be or could be ticklish. He’s so uptight.”

“Well if I could make him giggle a bit more maybe he would unwind, but he’s too big for me.” Camille complained.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you complain of his size in any other regard.” Scotsman wiggled his eyebrows.

Camille gaped, “Flying Scotsman! Don’t you be so crude!”

Scotsman laughed loudly, “I’m only teasing, little sister. But don’t you worry, we’ll figure something out about your Gordon problem.”

——

Gordon was in a relatively good mood when he arrived back home that night in Tidmouth. The express went well with no delays or issues, Scotsman was napping when he arrived and was still asleep when he left from Vicarstown so he didn’t have his bossy brother bothering him, Spencer was nowhere to be found, and Camille and him had shared a rather private lunch that ended with them snuggling together on the break room hammock with a little PDA. He had found himself growing more bold in his affections for the little tank engine. Whenever he could steal a kiss or a hug, or maybe more if he was lucky, he certainly did it. It never interfered with work, and in fact, it made his workday better.

Today she had tried getting revenge from a few nights ago, when the others opted for a movie they weren’t interested in and decided to watch their own show upstairs in his room. Alone. Little of the show was actually watched as Camille had tried, and failed again, to tickle him. She seemed bound and determined to get a true laugh from him and it never happened. It always ended with him tickling her in retaliation, earning him her beautiful melodic laugh and that cute blush that crossed her nose which then led to more intimate affection. And that led to today where she tried a surprise attack which didn’t work at all. Try as she might, he was too strong for her to win. He did find her determination and efforts attractive and cute though.

When he walked through the doors, like most nights, the different couples were all watching some show, curled up under blankets.

“Is Camille home yet?” He asked passing them from the entryway as he removed his boots and coat.

“Her and your brother are upstairs playing on the Switch.” Edward informed him.

Gordon frowned, “What’s Scotsman doing here?”

“He said something about a passenger train that was spending the night at Callan Castle and he had volunteered to bring them back to the mainland as a surprise for the tourists.” Thomas said, sharing popcorn with Percy and Emily.

Gordon groaned. Of course Scotsman would stay the night here. Sure, he was enjoying spending more time with his brother, and Camille had made it very clear that the brotherly bond that had somehow been torn needed to be patched up, but he was so excited to have Camille alone tonight. So much for that plan.

Upstairs he found the two were in the bedroom, Scot was leaning back against the bed frame, controller in hand, and Camille was at the edge of the bed, legs in pretzel style with her controller. Both were very engrossed with whatever game they were playing. So much so that they hadn’t noticed him come in.

Annoyed, Gordon cleared his throat.

Camille glanced his way with her ever loving smile but it quickly returned to the screen, “Hey babe!”

Scotsman didn’t even bother looking, “Afternoon, little brother.”

Gordon’s eye twitched, “Scot, I’m growing weary of this little brother name calling. And ‘babe’, Camille?”

Scotsman just chuckled. Camille smiled brightly, “Babe is just a more modern love nickname. You are my babe, aren’t you?” She glanced his way briefly and winked.

Gordon blushed a little but kept his composure, “I suppose so.”

“Gotta keep up with the times, little brother.” Scotsman chided playfully.

“Scotsman.” Gordon said in a warning tone.

The announcer of the video game on screen shouted GAME!

Camille groaned as Scotsman’s character appeared in the middle of the screen posing while hers clapped at the bottom of the screen. Scotsman grinned, putting his controller down and relaxing his hands behind his head.

“I win.”

“Ugh… this time. But I’ll beat you one day.” Camille said, punching at his calf playfully.

Scotsman looked over at Gordon who had decided to get dressed in the walk-in closet. He was coming out in his more comfortable clothing when he caught an impish look in his younger brother’s eyes.

“Wanna play, little brother?” Scotsman said with a competitive sneer.

Gordon scowled, “My name is Gordon! Not ‘little brother’”.

Scot grinned, “Beat me in a game and I’ll call you by your name.”

Camille glanced between the two, opting to move to the love seat in the room. If there was anything she had learned about the competitive nature of her beloved and his brother it was to get out of the way.

Gordon furrowed his brow, “What game did you have in mind?”

Scotsman set his controller on the bedside table and then knelt ready to pounce on all fours on the bed, “How about a contest of strength?”

Gordon looked his brother over confused and curious, but then broke into a grin, “You think you can take me on, Scotsman?”

“Oh, I’m banking on it, little brother.”

With that there was a flurry of motion as Gordon tackled his younger brother on the bed as the wrestling match began. Camille pulled the switch from its dock avoiding the confrontation. She smiled and shook her head at the laughs and taunts between the two brothers.

Gordon had Scotsman pinned at one point but then Scot kneed him in the rear, knocking him over with an ‘oof’. Scot laughed triumphantly, jumping at his brother who slipped out of the way and stood ready to grapple. Scot jumped up, tackling his brother against the wall. It was turning into an all out brawl.

“I’m not paying for anything that gets broken!” Camille declared as the two wrestled.

Gordon had managed to get Scotsman pinned on the ground, this time pinning down his legs as well. He grinned wide as his younger brother squirmed beneath him.

“Who’s the little brother now?” He panted.

“A little help, Camille?” Scotsman asked, trying to wriggle his way out from under his brother. He winked at her, signaling her time to attack.

Camille jumped up on Gordon’s back, wrapping her arms around his torso and digging her fingers into his underarms.

Gordon let out something that could only be described as a cross between a surprised yelp and a squawk. He let go of his grip on Scotsman and tried to pry the smaller engine off his back, but it was hard as she tickled his underarms. Anytime he reached for her, her tiny fingers darted into his pits.

“C-Camille!” He shouted, trying to keep in his laughter through gritted teeth. His cheeks were turning pink. Worse yet, Scotsman had slipped away and was now eyeing Gordon like a hawk. His worst weakness was being let out in front of his younger brother.

“What’s the matter, Gordon?” Scotsman asked with a grin, “You suddenly seem so weak.”

Gordon clamped down on his underarms, trapping the vile fingers in there, yet they were still able to wiggle a little. He was basically curled up in a ball on the floor, Camille on top of him. He was having to breathe through his nose to keep himself from turning into a giggling mess.

Scotsman took a step towards the two and Gordon flashed what he hoped were angry eyes at him.

“Don’t you dare!” Gordon tried to snarl.

“Don’t I dare to do what Gordon?” Scotsman grinned wildly.

Knowing he was cornered, Gordon did the one thing he felt he could. He risked Camille’s tickling fingers and stood up, walking backwards into a wall with a ‘thud!’

“Oof!” Camille gasped, letting go of him.

Gordon moved from her and tried to make a break for the door.

“Oh no you don’t!” Scotsman laughed, tackling his brother to the ground. The wrestling match began again, but quickly became one sided as Scotsman wriggled his fingers against Gordon’s sides causing the older brother to laugh loudly. Although Camille’s fingers tickled and could cause him to laugh, just like everything else in their relationship Scot went in full throttle and dug his fingers into him which tickled infinitely more.

“S-s-s-s-Scot!!!!!” Gordon yelled through laughter. No matter how much he moved, the laughter breaking from him weakened him and he was unable to get himself loose from his brother. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to tell himself this was a bad dream and definitely wasn’t happening.

Scotsman was laughing alongside his brother, but not nearly as loud, “Oh Gordon, if I had known you were ticklish years ago I would’ve used it to my advantage.”

Gordon tried kicking his brother off, bucking underneath him. He wondered what he had done wrong in his life to be treated like this.

“Camille! I could use some back up!”

“This is payback for all the times you’ve teased me, Gordon.” Camille said sitting on the back of his legs, teasing his thighs.

“C-c-Camille!” He called out between loud guffaws, “Please, don’t, I w- GAHAHAHAHAHA I w-won’t tease you again!”

“Oh we know thats a lie.” She laid down on his legs, holding down an ankle, though she had to dodge a few kicks and it felt at times like riding a bucking bronco, “Why so nervous dear?”

Gordon was beginning to panic at the overwhelming feeling of being tickled and where Camille was currently teasing him at his ankles. Although he was unsure if he was ticklish there, he wasn’t ready to find out. James had once kicked Edward in the hip, meaning to tease the other, and Edward had started tickling his foot causing James to react very, very loudly.

Camille spidered her fingers up and down his socked foot causing Gordon to basically scream in laughter. He tried to remove himself from underneath the two, but he was pinned and eventually, he gave up, surrendering to those awful fingers and the laughter.

Camille was the first to let up and got off of him, “Alright, Scot, I think he’s had enough.”

Scotsman sat up on Gordon’s back, releasing his older brother, ruffling his hair to spite him just a tad more, and then stood up and walked back to the bed to lay down on. Camille curled up on her boyfriend’s back as he panted through a few remaining giggles.

“I told you I would get you eventually.” She teased, pushing a few stray hairs out of his face.

Gordon could only glare at her, which was weak at best, “You… cheated…”

“I was never going to win without someone’s help.” Camille smiled, moving to lay next to him, “I only wanted to hear you laugh once. It’ll never happen again.”

“Now why don’t I believe that?” He said looking at her through tired eyes.

“Well, it’s not like I’ll have Scot over enough for it to become a regular thing.” She chuckled, “Not like I’d do that to you anyway.” She poked his nose, “If anyone in this relationship is the one that abuses the other being ticklish, it’s you, Gordon.”

He smiled, “You have a beautiful laugh and I love hearing it.” He gave her sides a quick squeeze causing her to squeak a little and then pulled her close to him, kissing her forehead. She smiled, curling up under his neck and kissed his throat softly.

“I’m still here, you two.” Scotsman called as he flipped through channels.

Gordon groaned, eyeing his bed, “You have a guest room, go use it.”

Camille laughed, “If he sleeps in there though, where am I going to sleep?”

“You’ve slept in here with me before. Why not now?” Gordon smiled.

“Did I just hear you ask her to sleep with you? Gordon, so sinful!” Scotsman teased.

Gordon scowled up at the bed, “Would you go away?”

Camille laughed again, “We’ve basically slept together since the storm. Just not really in an intimate manner.” A blush crept across her face.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Y’all so naughty.”

“Did you just say y’all?” Camille asked, sitting up and looking at Scot who grinned at her.

“I’ve been practicing.”

“Ya did good.” She laughed, climbing back up on the bed and sitting next to him, “I’m mighty proud of ya, brother.” She said laying on the accent.

“Well, thank ya kindly sister.” Scot said in an equally heavy accent.

Gordon groaned, deciding to sit on the other side of Camille, putting her in the middle, “Please stop.”

The two just laughed. Camille curled into him and snuggled under the covers just the same, “Never.”

There was a bit of silence as the three flipped through channels.

“Also, Scot, don’t think I’ll forget about tonight. I’ll be getting you back tenfold.”

Scot laughed, “If you say so, little brother.” But secretly, he was a little bit afraid.

#ttte #ttte fanfic #ttte gordon #ttte humanized #ttte oc #ttte the flying scotsman #ttte tickles #i have a problem #Gordon x OC ttte

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jungkxook · 4 years

Text

—stay. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ genre: popstar!jungkook x groupie!reader + smut / sprinkle of angst and fluff

⟶ words: 8,083

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: jungkook wasn’t always so madly in love with you but the fact that you’re sleeping with two of his band mates too makes things a tad bit complicated.

⟶ warnings: multiple smut scenes, slight dom themes, oral sex, finger sucking oops, boob fondling, hair pulling ft. jungkook’s undercut, doggy style, missionary, thigh riding, spitting, jealous kook!!, unprotected sex, kind of slight possessive themes? but also just general sweetness tbh

⟶ disclaimer: my time jungkook still has me in my feels! also, this is a repost of an old fic on an old blog.

“Stay with me?”

Jungkook asks this hopefully, of course, but he already knows the answer. It’s just that, lying there with you on the hotel room bed, there’s no other place he’d rather be ━ and there’s no one else he’d rather experience the moment with than you. Legs tangled together on top of the duvet with your fingers tracing circles onto his bare chest, Jungkook swears he’s in love with you ━ only, you’re not his to have.

“I have to go,” You pout, though your fingers continue drawing constellations on his skin, treading down his arm and over the tattoos that adorn him. You’re focusing now on the lily on his forearm, around and around, sending his head spiralling. “Promised my friends we could hang out today. Besides, don’t you have Mina or Nina━” You wave your hand in the air to dismiss the thought━ “coming over soon?”

“Who?” It takes him a moment to even remember who you’re talking about. Truthfully, he hasn’t seen that girl in well over six months but he’d never tell you that. In fact, he hasn’t been seeing anyone else other than you but he would definitely never tell you that. “Oh, yeah. Well, I think she’s coming over later tonight.”

“Well━” You trail off, and Jungkook knows it’s because you’re stalling. You want to stay, and he knows it well enough, but every question you ask him is just meant to further reassure you that it’s okay if you stay. That he wants you to. “Aren’t you busy with work today before the second show?”

Jungkook shrugs. “We still have lots of time before the day starts.”

You shake your head at him but he knows he ultimately wins out when you start to smile to yourself. You prop yourself up beside him and he has to admire momentarily how you’ve never been timid in front of him when you’re naked. His hand reaches out to brush his fingers against your cheek and you smile down at him. But then something seems to dawn on him that he can’t believe he foolishly hadn’t thought of first.

“Unless… Unless you need to see one of them soon.”

“Who?”

“Taehyung or Namjoon.” It takes all he can muster to say their names without a trace of bitterness. He lifts himself up on his elbow. “Are you still seeing them?”

You shrug innocently. Sitting up a little straighter, you brush his hand away and fidget with your hair. “Would it matter if I was?”

Yes, he wants to scream but he refrains. “No. I just━” he stops. “Just curious. Is that what you meant by work then? You have to go see Tae or something right after me? ”

“No, you prick.” He’s relieved you giggle at him, fingers poking at his chest despite the fact that he was mentally cursing himself for being a dick the minute the words left his mouth. “Believe it or not, I do have a life outside of sex. Friends, too.”

“I know, I know,” he says sheepishly. “Sorry, I━ I know. You said you wanted to go shopping downtown before the show tonight, right? One of your friends ━ Dahyun ━ goes to school in the next city over and she’s taking the day off to see you. I do listen when you talk, y’know?”

He doesn’t miss the warm smile that spreads across your face. You finally return to him, kissing him slow and steadily. In the meantime, he flips you over onto your back and then parts from you much to your dismay. He’s nestled himself between your legs in an instant, kissing up your thigh and sending shivers down your spin. Your hand flies down to twine your fingers in his hair, now much longer than usual.

“I guess I could stay a little longer, if you’d want me to,” You say.

“I do.”

He wastes no time in swiping his tongue at your folds, his mouth wrapping perfectly around you. You’re already mewling with delight. That’s all it ever is with the two of you. Sex and more sex. And while Jungkook isn’t complaining, he sure does wish he could just have more of you. Jungkook burrows a little deeper, his nose rubbing against your clit as he eats you out.

“Morning sex does sound nice,” You manage to say, breath shaking.

“Yeah,” he rasps against you. “It does, doesn’t it?”

Your thighs are already threatening to squeeze shut around his head, fingers tightening in their hold. His own hands find purchase on your waist, stretching outward to hold on to you, and nothing can break you both apart. Not even the muffled sound of rapid knocking on the front door of the too grand hotel room. At least, not the first two times. On the third time when it’s followed by the sound of Jungkook’s manager irritably calling out through the flimsy wood panel, does Jungkook groan into your cunt and poke his head upward, craning his neck to look over his shoulder as his manager’s voice carries infuriatingly loudly to you both once again.

“Get up already, will you? We’ve got several business meetings to conduct today and we haven’t got time for you to sleep off a hangover or whatever it is you’re doing━”

“Gimme ‘til noon!” Jungkook asserts gruffly. He settles himself back between your thighs, and you surely don’t miss the devious way he smirks just before burrowing his head into your heat. There’s an inaudible sound that he makes, that you and certainly his manager can distinguish as being, “I’m too busy right now.”

Busy is an understatement, pointedly made clear when his tongue delves into you, lapping at your leaking wetness as if he were terribly quenched and only you could save him. You don’t think Jungkook taking his morning to eat you out is a good enough excuse that will run over well with his manager later in the day, but it drives him away for now with only a grumbled chorus of words left in his wake. But the silence only lasts for so long. Just as Jungkook is getting comfortable once more, you speak up.

“I don’t think tardiness is a very good quality to have as a celebrity,” You ponder aloud through a heavily pleased sigh.

“Ah, or it’s exactly the thing I need,” he counters with a shit-eating grin. “Being late is a very celebrity thing, isn’t it?”

“When the fame gets to their head,” You snort. Your voice splinters off into a whimper as he tilts his chin up a little higher, lapping deeper into you.

“Then I guess I’m bad.” His voice murmurs against you, rattling you to the bone.

“You’re definitely far from bad. Everyone thinks you’re an angel.”

“Wonder if they’d think the same thing if they saw me now━” He pinches lightly at the inside of your thigh, “head between your legs, and you coming on my tongue.”

You roll your eyes, but your wittiness falls short when he tugs with his teeth at your folds. Your back arches off the bed at once, hips pressing harder against his face.

“Namjoon called last night,” You say. No, you don’t say it. You moan it and even though Jungkook knows it’s because of him and how he’s making you feel in that moment, he still hates hearing someone else’s name roll off the tip of your tongue that isn’t his. “If you must know. Said he wanted to see me in the morning━”

Jungkook grimaces. He grunts shortly, “Guess you’re gonna have to let him down.”

“I’m sure Joon will love that━”

“Don’t,” he hisses. He bites down a little harshly on the inside of your thigh but you don’t mind. When he glances up to look at you, his stare is dark and hooded. “Don’t say their names. Not now. Please.”

You almost miss the desperation in his voice, the way he almost whines his words. You don’t ask, even though you’re curious. You don’t ask, even when he eats you out that morning until he’s made sure you’re crying his name and nothing else. You don’t ask, even when fucks you slow and deep and measured and almost, dare you say, loving like he never has before, clinging onto you as if he can’t live without you. You don’t ask, even when he may get a little rough (just how you like it), as if he’s afraid you’ll leave him right then and there. You don’t even ask when he sucks not one but two hickeys on your neck, large enough for anyone to see. For Taehyung and Namjoon to see.

You never really do ask, even though you notice things have become different.

It’s not as if you haven’t always been close to one another. There are more times than not in which you both physically can’t keep your hands off of one another in public, though in the safest and simplest ways possible. It’s there, in the way you sit next to him with your legs crossed regally on the couch in the green room backstage before a set, playing with the rings on his fingers on the hand resting on your shoulder; there, in the way you sit draped across his lap, leaning into his chest, in the studio as they blur through recordings. When you give advice on composing or lyric writing, Jungkook listens. When you giggle into his ear and whisper lewd things when you probably shouldn’t in the middle of a party with important business men and other celebrities, Jungkook is captivated.

It wasn’t always supposed to be like this. Jungkook wasn’t always so madly in love with you, but he always knew there was something about you he just could not get enough of. You had chosen him first, approaching him late one night at a bar, and he was instantly head-over-heels. Even if it was mutually agreed upon ━ and oftentimes never really outwardly mentioned ━ that you could sleep around with him, Namjoon, and Taehyung, then Jungkook would have to deal with it. He would do anything, if it meant getting to see you more. At first he didn’t even mind. What was one more groupie to the ever growing list he had already accumulated? He’s never gotten feelings for any of them, so surely he thought he would be okay with you; that maybe whatever he was feeling for you would go away.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

After he asks you the question the first time, he finds himself stuck in a greedy months-long habit of asking you wistfully every time he finds you in his bed. He asks it a thousand and one times, but only ever gets one response from you. You’ll say no, that you have to leave, and sometimes you will. But sometimes ━ sometimes when he knows he wins out because he knows you let your guard down long enough to become besotted by him, a tangible mess with his every touch ━ you’ll linger just a little longer and the notion alone is enough to instill a sense of hope in Jungkook even if he knows it’s wrong.

And maybe you shouldn’t play along. Then again, he takes all your time and you devote what little you have left afterward to him anyway, pretending that you’re still seeing Taehyung and Namjoon when you’re certainly not.

Sometimes Jungkook catches you when he doesn’t mean to, or isn’t expecting to, and it’s all different moments that physically pain him. Sometimes those moments come from paying one of the guys a visit and stumbling upon you there, too.

After having not seen you for the whole day, and just before the concert begins, Jungkook is called over to Namjoon’s room within the hotel to discuss some last minute changes to the show (which Jungkook’s positive he would have heard about if he hadn’t ignored his manager early in the morning). Only Namjoon doesn’t answer the door when Jungkook arrives. There’s a crescendo of giggling on the other side of the threshold and then it’s you, and you’re standing there wearing nothing but a baggy shirt of Namjoon’s that barely covers your bum (and shorts too, he thinks, but Jungkook’s much too focused now on you in Namjoon’s shirt). Namjoon’s standing a bit further back, leaning against the wall of the hallway without a shirt on and he’s grinning at something that’s just happened.

“Took you long enough,” Namjoon calls out. “Come in, we’ll get started. I’ll just be right back━ Just hopped out of the shower━” And then he disappears into another room, most likely to find another shirt that isn’t taken by you.

“Jungkook!” You greet him so cheerfully, as if the sight of you half naked in another man’s home isn’t eating away at Jungkook. You pull him into a hug that’s so tight he can smell your familiar perfume and probably Namjoon’s lingering scent if he focuses hard enough. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jungkook says. He doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so standoffish. He hopes you don’t notice. “You’re back early.”

“Yeah. The girls had to leave but that’s okay.” You’re smiling so bright and wide that it almost hurts. “Namjoon━”

“Wanted to see you?” Jungkook finishes for you, remembering your words earlier in the day.

“Yeah━” You’re rambling on now but Jungkook isn’t listening. The pain is still lingering and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He knows it isn’t right but he can’t be bothered to care. In that moment, he realizes he’d rather be anywhere but there and he’s never felt that way before.

“Uh━ You know what?” He cringes slightly when he interrupts you. “Forgot I had to do something actually. Mina called earlier ━ said she wanted to talk or whatever.”

Your face immediately drops at the mention of the other girl and it pains him even more to know that you don’t see through his blatant lie. What’s worse is that Mina had called him the night before, but he had turned her down promptly before she could even say what she wanted.

You glance over your shoulder fleetingly as if to look for Namjoon, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your lower lip. “But I thought you needed to talk with Joon about the show?”

“Can’t, sorry. Tell Namjoon he can do whatever he wants. I don’t care. Seems like he’s got his hands full with you here anyway.”

He hates himself for it ━ he hates how petty he can be, how rude he can sound without truly meaning it ━ but before he can explain himself or apologize in a way that would probably make him look even more like an idiot, he turns his back to you. It’s the first time he’s really ever done something like that. Usually, he puts up with it ━ with you draped over Namjoon’s lap or Taehyung’s hand on your waist because usually he hadn’t always had feelings for you.

Truth be told, Jungkook doesn’t know how Namjoon or Taehyung feel about “sharing” you. He doesn’t even know how you feel about it or if you’ve noticed Jungkook’s short temper lately. He tries to contain it but he can’t and he hates how he’s become when he’s not alone with you. Lately, he’s started to think that maybe this isn’t right anymore. Maybe he shouldn’t keep meeting up with you if he’s going to feel this way all the time, and it wasn’t fair to you for him to be sulking so much. He’s not supposed to be in love. He’s supposed to be having fun.

After all, that’s what it was to you, wasn’t it?

But that night something happens.

Jungkook only notices you half an hour into the show later that night even despite the fact that you’re in the same place that you always are, standing on the side in the part of the pit closest to the stage where only family and close friends are allowed to stay. Of course you’re dancing along, just like you always do, and of course you’re watching him and the rest of the boys with starry eyes, just how he loves. You smiled wide at some point when his gaze locked with yours ━ him, drenched in sweat and nearing exhaustion, and you, face-flushed and looking as if you’re having the time of your life.

But that’s the thing about you ━ you’re not like the others. Sure, your eyes tend to drift to him more often than not and linger on him longer than necessary but you don’t just come for him. You live for the music, admire the rest of the boys that have treated him so dearly and make the group what it is.

And the way he performs ━ you wonder if he purposely exerts himself more because he wants you to only focus on him. Every rough thrust of his hips, every time he grabs at his crotch, dark and hooded eyes meets yours and you know he’s trying to tease you. Trying to make you suffer.

Later, when the concert is finished and you’re at a private room in a club with the boys to celebrate the evening and Jungkook has had one too many shots, he finds you at the bar. He sidles up from behind you, one palm sliding onto the small of your back. You know it’s him even before you look, judging by the familiar stature of his chest pressing against your body, and his usual scent. His lips press to the crook of your neck and your lips unfurl into a smile. You reach up blindly to grab at the nape of his neck as he starts to sway against you to the beat of the music, hips digging into your ass.

“I’ve been dying to be next to you all night.” He whispers this into the shell of your ear and you wonder vaguely how you’ve maintained enough self-control to not drop to your knees and suck him off then and there. Even worse is the fact that he’s still adorned in the makeup from the concert. Your fingers scratch at one of the newly shaved sides of his head, the rest of his long locks only maintain some of its original style pushed back and off his forehead, though now messily mused as it splays out on either side of his head and threatens to hide the undercut once more.

“You’re drunk,” You point out. He doesn’t seem to register the fact that you only point it out because otherwise, if he wasn’t so smashed, you aren’t quite sure he’d even be touching you the way he is now after the way he’s been acting lately.

“So are you,” Jungkook hums. “Let’s get out of here?”

And you can’t possibly say no.

He thinks it’s a shame, really, because you had looked quite pretty that night wearing a velvet red dress. Because after somehow calling a taxi and stumbling back to his dorm, he gets lost in you for a while and completely ravishes you, impatiently ripping your dress off you and pressing you against the wall, hips eagerly digging into yours until you hook your legs around his hips and he carries you off to bed to finish.

When you’re spent from your first high, Jungkook moves from your sprawled out positions on the bed and gets up, pulling on a pair of discarded sweatpants from the floor. You watch him as he combs his hair back that’s fallen into his face again, muscles in his biceps rippling as he does so. He reaches for an acoustic guitar in one corner, then sinks onto the edge of the bed. He’s not usually this quiet after a night spent together, though you don’t quite seem to notice, thinking nothing of it as he starts plucking away at the guitar with a melody in mind if only because when he’s frustrated and stuck on a lyric, he usually goes to you in seek of help in terms of finding relief. You get to your knees, crawling over to him so that you can drape your arms around his shoulders from the back.

“That’s pretty,” You sigh dreamily, nodding to the guitar and the lazy strumming he had been doing. In the distance, you realize there’s been music playing faintly the whole time from the dock where his phone is plugged in. You recognize one of the boys’ songs playing, then realize it’s Jungkook’s solo, his own voice singing beautifully back to you. Above all else, you realize all at once that he isn’t really playing anything at all, or brainstorming a new song, but plucking along absentmindedly to the melody of his own song.

He’s distracted but he tenses at your touch, then relaxes at once, melting instantly against you. “Just messing around,” he sighs.

“Nonsense,” You giggle. He glances over at you just in time to see you reach for his hand, and he watches as you play with the rings on his fingers. “There’s magic in these hands. In more ways than one.”

You press a chilling kiss against his palm, and then the tip of each of his fingers. Time seems to slow, and all he can suddenly focus on is you.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” His voice has a dull, stubborn whine to it that he can’t shake. “Have I ever told you that?”

“Once or twice,” You smirk. You busy yourself by focusing on lining the bottom of your palm with his, measuring your hand in his. He’s much bigger than you, his fingers nearly towering over yours and they’re always so snug and warm.

“Well, it’s true,” he says. “You’re the kinda girl songs are written about.”

“Unless I’m mistaken,” You say in a matter-of-fact tone, “you have written songs about me.”

He feigns a look of doubt, though a smile threatens to tug at his mouth, especially when you delicately lace your fingers with his one-by-one. “Ah, is that what you think, baby girl? Don’t let the fame get to your head.”

You laugh, dropping your head and leaning your temple against his knuckles in an attempt to hide your sheepish face. With his free hand, he sets his guitar back onto the floor and then unravels his other hand from yours. His palm is calloused and hot as it slides onto your cheek, and you nuzzle into it even despite him guiding your face back up to look at him. He can’t help himself; he leans in to kiss you, biting at your lower lip and earning a delicious moan. As his hands come to grip at your sides just over your ribs and the underside of your breasts do you crawl into his lap to straddle him. For a while, he lets himself get carried away, feeling your hands roam his chest, but then with such vivid intensity, he can only imagine Namjoon and Taehyung in the same position as him and it almost makes him want to vomit. Either that, or it’s the alcohol. Gathering his wits, he shakes his head, pulling apart from you.

“I think I should write━” He fumbles uselessly with his words. “Namjoon’s gonna kill me if I don’t finish these songs━”

You arch your chest against his, warm and soft and palpable, and your hips dig into his a little more roughly, rubbing against his straining erection. You can be heard whining sluggishly as you kiss the underside of his jaw, “But I want you inside me, Kook.”

His breath hitches in his throat, but he can’t think straight anymore. Is the scent he smelling even you anymore, or just a mix of Namjoon and Taehyung? And when you tell him he’s the only one who can ever make you feel the way he does, do you tell that to them too?

His silence is answer enough, and is what ultimately forces you to look up at him. You’re met with an empty expression, then your own countenance is contorting. You sit back on his lap.

“I don’t understand you anymore, Jungkook,” You say. There it is, he laments to himself. The familiar pang to his chest, the dreaded realization that maybe he’s fucked this whole thing up forever. “It’s like sometimes you can’t get enough of me, touching me here and there and just before shows when you’re supposed to be on in ten minutes, telling me that no one will care if you’re late. Then sometimes it’s like you won’t even look at me. Like you can’t get me off of you fast enough; like you can’t even touch me anymore.”

Jungkook avoids your stare, which he knows is exactly the sort of thing he shouldn’t do. But you already have your answer. You clamber off of his lap at once to slide back onto the bed and he wants nothing more than to pull you back but he knows he shouldn’t. Now, you seem flustered, or maybe just disheartened. Your arms come to cross over your bare chest, as if to hide yourself.

“You don’t want to touch me anymore,” You say dryly.

It’s not a question so much as it is a statement. Either way, he shakes his head. Rubbing a tired hand over his face, he mumbles, “Maybe you should go.”

You clamp your mouth shut. “You’re not serious, Jungkook.”

He still doesn’t dare to meet your gaze, his jaw set hard in place.

“You’re kicking me out? Now? Now?”

“I’m not. I’m just━ Not in the mood tonight.”

“What a liar,” You gasp. “I had your stupid boner poking my ass the entire time we were at the club, and you sure as hell spent the better part of the night fucking me.”

He can’t quite tell if you’re mad. Your tone dances a fine line between incredulousness and amusement, though he assumes it all boils down to disappointment in the end anyway. You refuse to move, though, pushing yourself onto your knees beside him.

“Tell me the truth, Jungkook,” You plead carefully. “Something’s wrong. Has been for a while, and I want to know what it is.”

He takes a deep breath and finally meets your stare and, god, you look irresistible. Your lips are bruised red from him biting and sucking at them, and your exposed chest is too tempting, beckoning him to touch you. His mind is a whirlwind of emotions ━ plus, he’s just a little bit tipsy, and so he blames it on that for caving into you so easily.

He grimaces. “I’m jealous, all right?”

You don’t respond at first, and he decides he wants to curl up into a hole and die. Then, you snort, which isn’t exactly the sort of reaction he was expecting to hear from you, and suddenly you don’t seem so angry at him anymore. “I knew that. Was wondering when you’d tell me, though.”

“You what?”

“Well, it’s not that hard to see. You’re always giving Namjoon and Taehyung death glares when I’m around.”

“I didn’t think I was that obvious.” He says this sheepishly, and at least you giggle at him. “I just━ I’m selfish. I want you to myself.”

“I’m not a thing to have,” You retort.

“I know,” he says, and then groans the words again. “Fuck, I know. I’m sorry. I know you’re not a thing to have, and you’re not mine to have but, god, I hate it that they know everything about what it feels like to be with you.”

Gently, he grabs at your waist, tugging you onto his lap, rough hands spreading your thighs to sit perfectly on him once more. Then, with his hands planted on your hips, does he guide you back and forth on him slowly. He reaches out to brush his fingers along your bare arms, then across your collarbones, and down to your breasts. He leans down as if to kiss the valley between them, but his mouth never really does meet your skin; instead, his lips graze faintly against you.

“That they know your body.” He brushes his nose against your chest as he lifts his head. His mouth ghosts across your breasts, almost catching your nipples in his mouth, his breath warm and tingly against the sensitive flesh, just to tease you. His hand follows his lips, grasping firmly at the underside of your breast, his thumb flicking over the perked bud. “Have touched it where I’ve touched it.”

Your own hands flail out to grasp at his shoulders, your breath hitching in your throat. “Why? Why do you hate it so much? That’s all I want to know.”

“Because they don’t even know how lucky they are,” he mutters. “Because you probably do all sorts of things for them and they just think you’re another groupie. Because they aren’t in love with you.”

“You’re in love with me?” Your face is hot now, your body trembling. His hands are still on your chest when he starts kissing your throat.

“Yeah. I am.”

“What if I told you I’m in love with you too?”

“Well, you are fucking my band mates. I think that makes things a tad bit complicated.”

“You’re such an idiot.” You’re certain if he wasn’t making you feel like heaven in that moment, you would have snapped the words. Instead, you’re already shamelessly grinding your hips against his even without his guidance. “I called it off with them a while ago, actually. They were okay with it, too. Said they felt something was different. You’re the only one in my life, Jungkook.”

Jungkook stops suddenly. He pulls his head back to gawk at you and is greeted to your hooded eyes watching him. “You━ What? What about this morning when you said Namjoon wanted to see you?”

“I lied,” You admit timidly.

“And when you were in his room━”

“We never did anything,” You promise. “I just wanted to see a reaction from you. Honestly, so did Taehyung and Namjoon. I mean, Namjoon purposely told me to come to his room to see if you’d be jealous. And I think I went along with it because I really just want to know that when you ask me to stay with you, in your bed, do you really mean it? I just…” You trail off, biting at your lower lip, asking him apprehensively, “What about you and that Mina girl?”

“I haven’t seen her or talked to her in months,” he says earnestly.

“Of course not.” You say this in a breathless laughing manner, as if it’s just now dawning on you. Then, you reach up to cradle his head in your hands, grasping at either side of his face. When you speak next, your voice is an ardent whisper. “I want to be with you, Kook. Like really, really be with you. I didn’t know how to tell you because we were so used to just having sex and nothing more and I figured if that’s all I could get with you, then I’d learn to live with it even if it’d kill me to hear you hooking up with other girls.”

Jungkook blinks. He takes a moment to comprehend what’s happening, but then he’s feeling that tension in his chest loosen and he’s just so relieved.

“There’s only you,” he says. “Has been for a while.”

You smile, so big and soft and pretty, and he kisses you just to bask in the moment. Suddenly, he’s just overwhelmed with love for you and almost doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Maybe I should get you jealous more often,” You muse pensively. “It’s kinda hot.”

“It’s mean,” he pouts. Then, his demeanour changes and he’s smirking wolfishly. “Besides, they can’t fuck you like I can, can they?”

“N-No,” You croak feebly. “It’s always been you, Jungkook. Even with them. I’d never tell them but… you’re all I could think about even when I was with them. Imagining you touching me instead of them. Imagining it was you when they laid with me.”

This seems to grab his attention, having him groaning into your neck. “What’d I say? Gonna be the death of me.”

You shiver at the sound of his hoarse voice. You whisper aloud, “The feeling is mutual.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so stupid lately,” he says. “Let me make it up to you. Do you want that, baby girl? But first you gotta show me you mean it. That you’re mine.”

As he tongues a pattern against your throat, you muster a nod. You wonder if it’s obvious how badly you want him in that moment, with the way your hips continue to grind against his.

“I want you to fuck yourself on my thigh,” he murmurs against you. “Can you do that for me?”

The thought entices you and has you scrambling to nod your head again. His large hands come to grab at your ass, shifting you until you’re seated on one of his legs. Your eyes never stray from his as you start to grind against his thigh, the rough material of his sweatpants rubbing at your core. Slow and steady, he guides you back and forth, watching as your pretty mouth pops open into a silent gasp.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he coos. “God, you look so pretty. And you’re all mine. Touch yourself for me.”

“Where?” You ask breathlessly.

“All over. Anywhere you want me.”

You whimper at the thought, imagining the feeling of his rough hands on your body. You start at your chest, grasping at your own breasts, squeezing at your perked nipples. You pinch them until they’re hard under your fingertips, kneading the soft flesh of your breasts with your palm as you try to picture Jungkook doing the same. Then, you slide one hand down the front of your stomach, past your navel. He watches as you dip lower and lower before finally reaching between your legs, fingers rubbing small circles against your clit. The mingling feelings of you rutting your hips against his thigh and the way you touch yourself under his burning stare has you writhing on his lap within seconds.

“Oh, Jungkook━” Your eyes clamp shut, brows knitting in concentration. “Wanna feel you so bad━”

“Uh uh,” he tuts at once. Grabbing at your chin, he yanks your head back up in his direction and taps his thumb against your jaw. “Keep your eyes on me. I want to see how I make you feel.”

“But it feels so good,” You whine. Still, you listen, prying your eyes open just slightly enough to meet his stare again. Now, you’ve started to grind a little harder on him, rubbing at your heat a little faster. “Please, Jungkook━”

“Cum for me first,” he coos, his tone gentle despite his obvious demands. “Then I’ll do whatever you want. You can do that for me, right?”

You muster a nod, eyes threatening to flutter shut again but you refrain. He moves one of his arms to wrap around your waist, his large hard encompassing almost all of your back as he pushes you closer to him and the action alone is enough to make you hum with delight.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” he says. “The things they could never do for you.”

He doesn’t say Taehyung’s or Namjoon’s names for you to understand and, truthfully, you’re glad he doesn’t. Your mind is much too focused on Jungkook to care about anyone else.

“I want you━” You cry out suddenly, biting at your lip. “I want you to touch me, anywhere. I want you to use me, and make me yours. I want you in me. I just need your dick, Jungkook, please. You always make me feel so good. Please, please touch me━”

His jaw sets hard in place as he continues to watch you, fingers itching to please you however which way you want, but he waits. He knows you’re close to your high when you start whimpering and moaning his name, your hand falling from your chest as your other hand rubs harder at your clit the faster you ride his thigh. He flexes his muscle beneath your core, and the simple action is enough to have your head spinning. As you reach your high, his hand that is still wrapped around your chin slides upward and his two forefingers poke into your mouth. Instantly, you’re sucking against them, tongue laving at his digits desperately as you imagine his cock in your mouth, in your cunt, stretching you wide.

“God, you’re such a good girl,” he grunts. “Keep your eyes on me.”

As you unravel in his arms, body twitching into his chest, his arm tightens its hold around your back and envelopes you in his warmth so much to the point where it feels as if you begin to melt against him. You grab at his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper into your mouth until you almost gag, muffled moans meeting his ear as you climax. When you’re spent, your pace on his thigh slows to a steady occasional gyrating of your hips as you suck and lav at his fingertips.

“That’s it, baby girl,” Jungkook hums, his free hand stroking your back as you calm your nerves. When you’ve regained most of your wit, you pop Jungkook’s fingers from your mouth and he takes the liberty of guiding his palm down your chin to your throat to your breasts. “You’re doing so well for me. Bet you never listened as well to them as you do with me. Will you get on your hands and knees for me?”

You scramble to obey, crawling off his lap and onto all fours on the bed. You crane your neck to watch as he gets to his knees behind you, shoving the material of his sweatpants down to his knees in haste. He’s already impossibly hard, grasped in his knuckles, precum leaking from the head of his dick. He wastes no time in pushing himself into you, and though he’s stretched you wide hours ago, the same feeling of him slipping in snug to your heat does wonders on your body still.

“Mm, Jungkook!” You cry out as he buries himself balls deep into you, coaxed so easily by your slick arousal. He sputters at the sensation, palms pawing at your navel as he yanks you further down his cock. “F-Fuck━ You feel so good━”

“Show me,” he gasps, pulling his hips out once and rutting into you so vigorously you feel it shudder throughout your whole body. Then, he’s thrusting into you at a rhythmic fast pace that has you clenching so tight around him, his head spins some more. “Let me hear you. I wanna see how I make you feel. Let me see how you belong to me.”

He tugs at your elbows, yanking you up off the bed, and you clumsily follow suit, pressing your back flushed against his chest.

“I’m all yours, Jungkook,” You whine. “I want you to wreck me so bad. Only you know how to wreck me so bad.”

“Yeah?” he taunts. “Only me? Gonna prove it?”

“Please, Jungkook━ Harder, please━ I’ll do anything you want!”

He quickens his pace and slams his hips up into yours harshly. It has you moaning with delight, nearly slipping from his grasp, but he holds you tighter in place. He reaches round to grab at your chin again, twisting your head in a careful yet prompt manner so that you’re looking over your shoulder at him with your flustered gawking expression.

“Open up.” He taps at your mouth and you do as you’re told. Almost instantly, he pulls your chin closer until your mouth is hovering over his, and spits. It’s a wordless command and gesture, as if to further prompt you to prove your point. You welcome it entirely, swallowing his own saliva completely. What doesn’t make it into your mouth, dribbles down your chin and onto your throat. Then you’re chasing his mouth, hearing him hum approvingly, “That’s it, baby.”

You almost miss his lips the first time from the way he’s being so feral now as his hips continue to slam against yours. You’re fortunate when he guides your chin, still pinched between his fingers, in a much too tender manner for the crude moment that has your heart swooning despite all the hysteria. A hot open-mouthed kiss which is still entirely sloppy as your tongues ravish mid-air, and his teeth nip and suck on your lower lip any chance he can get.

“Gonna tell them how well I fuck you?” he asks breathlessly. You bite at his lip this time, tugging at it hard. “Let them know you’re all mine? Fuck━”

“Mhm!” You rasp. “Oh, Jungkook━”

By now, his pace is relentless. You threaten to ricochet from his grip with each rut of his hips, knees wobbling beneath you. He hand falls from your chin finally to grab at your breasts, replacing your earlier efforts, pinching at your nipples, squeeze at your soft flesh. He lavs wet kisses along your jawline, your neck, and shoulder. Your own head leans back onto his shoulder, a hand reaching out to grasp at his hair. Your fingers first scratch at the shaved sides, then thread through his hair, yanking at it tightly enough to have him grunting in delight.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna━” You whimper. “I’m gonna━”

But you don’t finish your thought. It doesn’t matter anyway. Jungkook already knows you’re close to your high with the way you start to clench around him. You pull even tighter at his hair, a pleasant burn evoking a hiss from his throat. His hips move even faster than before, desperate to try and carry you to your high. So riddled from your first orgasm not long ago and the one before that, you’re quick to crumble beneath him once more. Twisting and turning, you cry out his name in a repeated mantra, like music to his ears. When the scorching heat between your thighs and blinding your eyes subsides enough for you to be somewhat coherent again, you meekly find your voice.

“Tell me I’m yours,” You beg despairingly, voice barely a ragged panting whisper. The aftershock of your orgasm still shakes through your body that the way you’re clutching at his hair now is only so that you can still have some sort of hold on reality still. “Please, please. Tell me. I wanna be yours so bad. You already have me, just wanna hear it from you. Tell me you want me as much as I want you. Please, Jungkook━”

A nerve flutters in Jungkook’s heart. And his dick. He marvels momentarily at the idea of how he wants to continue to wreck you and simultaneously love you all over and grows impatient. Without warning, and with much difficulty, he pulls out of you. Before you can register what’s happening or miss the warmth of his cock in your heat, he pushes you onto the bed and flips you around so that you’re on your back. Then, hovering over you close enough so that he can hook one of your legs over his shoulder, he pushes himself back into you.

“You’re all I want,” he says, smoothing his mouth over yours once more. He moans against your lips, then rests his forehead against yours as he squeezes his eyes shut. “God, I’m so fucking in love with you. You make it so hard to think sometimes. Everything about you drives me wild.”

His pace isn’t as harsh as before, though he’s careless as he abandons all form in an attempt to ride out your high and reach his own. Each thrust he makes jolts you back and forth on the bed, the sensitivity between your thighs a mild burn that starts to crescendo as you gasp each time his cock slides back into you. You reach out tiredly to grab at his face with soft motions despite not bothering to move him from where he still rests with his forehead. One large palm of his comes to grasp at your side, pushing you further into the mattress as he hammers into you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum━” He moans. “Gonna let me fill you up, baby? Gonna let me make your cunt mine?”

“Yes, please,” You rasp. “Wanna feel it so bad.”

It’s different this time despite knowing the sensation well enough from all those times before. Every event since then has been a build up to this, and when he finally releases into you, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. The last few sluggish ruts of his hips make the both of you whimper and whine, mewling with delight the longer he cums in your heat.

Then, he slumps against your chest and the room falls silent once more safe for the sound of your mingled panting. He burrows his face into the crook of your neck and your fingers rake through his sweaty hair in a soothing manner until that too ceases after a few silent moments.

“Not falling asleep on me now, are you?” he asks after the thrill of both your highs have subsided. He lifts his head to look at you and finds that you are, in fact, beginning to doze off.

“No,” You lie. You pry one eye open to look at him as you bite back a sheepish snicker. He pulls out of you at long last, and the lack of warmth has you immediately protesting. You reach out blindly for him before he can move too far. “Come back here. I want to cuddle you.” Then, letting your surroundings register once more, you realize suddenly that music has still been playing all this time. Most specifically, Jungkook’s solo which has been left on a loop. You meet his curious gaze in the dark and deadpan, “Did you seriously just fuck me to your song?”

“It’s not fucking when we were making love,” he wriggles his brows suggestively. You wonder how he’s always so quick to go from one extreme to the other. Whereas five minutes ago, you wanted nothing more than to have him demolish you with his dick, now he’s just his usual lovable idiotic self that you want to kiss all over. He’s not wrong though, you discern. The song isn’t a bad one either, and the thought of him having sex with you to his own music is undescriably hot anyway.

“You can’t say you were making love to me when you just took me raw.” Amongst other things, you think to yourself, but you’re certain he’s well aware of that. His snickers warm your heart to no end and you can’t help yourself when you lean forward to kiss him.

“I can and I will because I love you,” he says proudly. Then, as if tasting the words on his tongue and favouring the sound of it, hums more pensively again, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Jungkook.”

And this time he knows you mean it because, in the morning, when you both wake up feeling sore and marked all over by one another (so that Namjoon and Taehyung can know), you’re still curled up into Jungkook’s chest. You’re half asleep, your nose nuzzling against the crook of his neck and making him smile. You’re only roused awake by the feather-light strokes his fingers make as they rub small circles into your back.

“Stay with me?” Jungkook asks this hopefully, of course, but he already knows the answer. This time, he even knows it’ll be different.

He sees your sleepy smile widen when he kisses your temple sweetly, and decides quickly that he likes this, right there and now, as it is, and especially when he hears you whisper finally, “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

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muffinlance · 3 years

Note

Muffin, did tou change the chapter count on As the world should be? :0

Yeah, I sneakily marked As the World Should Be as completed when I realized that A) it's in a good spot to be finished as a standalone short, and B) I am really not gonna get back to it for a long long time. I may yet return to it, but for all intents and purposes it's done.

But since you Definitely Asked, here's the start of what would have been the second chapter:

2. Negotiations

Ozai had once entertained the possibility of bonding with his son. They were both second born. Both destined to be overshadowed by the child before them, simply due to poor luck and a tragically low infant mortality rate among the upper class.

Azula was the perfect heir; eager, obedient, a firebending prodigy, blooming within the court from the first time she realized she could threaten a servant with fire and face no reprimand.

It was easy for the subtler talents of a second born to be overlooked. For the quiet work of a political mind to appear subservient to their older, flashier sibling.

From when his son was first old enough to be worth the investment, Ozai made certain to set aside time to spend with the boy.

%%%

The guard lemur announced Zuko's presence with a loud chittering call and then sat itself on his shoulder like one of the palace lizard-dogs detaining a target, ready to maul on command. Zuko stopped walking and tried to ignore its gigantic eyes watching his every move, its head nearly pressed against his. He would really prefer not to lose half his face.

"Avatar. I've come to open negotiations. As we—" the lemur started tugging at his crown, but Zuko's hands were too full to brush it away. "—As we discussed."

"Come on over! Have you had dinner yet? And it's all right to just call me Aang."

"Nu-uh," the nonbender said. "Pause. What are you carrying, and what are they doing here?"

"Writing supplies?" Zuko said, raising his portable writing desk a little higher, and catching the bag of paper and inks before it could slide off.

Which left the issue of Mai and Ty Lee standing behind him.

"We're chaperoning!" Ty Lee said.

"Wouldn't want anything to impinge upon his Highness' honor," Mai said.

Zuko flushed. And accepted the Avatar—Avatar Aang's—invitation to join them at their fire. He even accepted a bowl of… something that was rice-based… to be polite. He set the bowl on the edge of his desk, and arranged a stack of papers and ink pot and readied his quill. Which the guard lemur confiscated with its tiny paws. ...He readied another one.

"I think it would be prudent to begin with our opening terms," he said. "What do you want?"

"The war to end," Avatar Aang said.

Zuko diligently wrote this under the column titled Demands of the Avatar and His Associates from the Nations of Water and Earth as Regarding the Avatar's Surrender (First Draft).

"More specifically," the nonbender said, "for the war to end without the Fire Nation ruling the world. Troop withdrawals, that navy of yours needs to stay out of our waters, reparations for rebuilding, war criminal trials that aren't a complete farce, in fact, why don't you just turn them over to us for judging—"

"A firebending teacher for Twinkletoes," the earthbender said. "One who isn't going to fry him. And you guys can't keep squatting on Earth Kingdom land."

"My mother's necklace back," the waterbender growled under her breath.

He diligently added all these to the list.

"What does the Fire Nation want?" Avatar Aang asked, when they were done saying things almost faster than he could write.

Zuko started putting marks next to the things that made sense. "We want the war to end too, obviously," he said, and ignored the general Water Tribe reaction to 'obviously'. "Troop withdrawals and land and sea border treaties would be a part of that, and if there are war criminals than of course they'll be brought to justice—"

" 'If'?" the nonbender squawked.

"Zuko," Mai said. "You're not supposed to tell them what we'll agree to. You're supposed to talk their terms down. By using your own."

"Oh. Right." He sat up a little straighter, and started writing under the Fire Nation's column. "We'll need Avatar Aang's surrender, or at least his reclusion from any hostile actions, both now and in the future. His bending instructors should probably be with him, so he can learn to… actually be the Avatar. And so they don't do anything political on his behalf. And, uh. I'm not sure about reparations, aren't those… usually for the side that loses?"

(There was additional squawking, and some growling from the waterbender.)

"But we will want trade deals. Which can certainly include supplies for rebuilding."

And had to include food, because the Fire Nation's population had lived for a hundred years outside the borders of their island, they didn't all fit there anymore. There was a reason they had to keep expanding the colonies' borders.

This seemed like a good place to leave their initial negotiation rounds. Before any war crimes could be inflicted against his person. Also, he should probably consult with father before making any formal promises.

%%%

Enclosed please find a copy of Avatar Aang's initial demands prior to surrender. There is a significant amount of common ground—

Ozai was very aware of his brother sitting across from him, sipping tea.

"Who knew your son would be such a diplomat!" Iroh smiled. "Ah, but obviously you did. I admit I had my doubts when you sent such an inexperienced combatant into the field, brother, but clearly I lacked the foresight to see that this was your plan all along!"

"Indeed," Azula smiled, with no fewer teeth. "Quite ingenious, father."

Firstborns. How Ozai loathed them.

#I'm actually disgruntled with myself for not finishing #because the title doesn't make complete sense until the end #it's such a good title guys #so good Sokka will SCREAM #as the world should be #avatar the last airbender #atla

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thetaoofzoe · 3 years

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Fic: Syverson the Protector pt 5

* Syverson The Protector - Part I (pairing Syverson x YOU)

* Syverson the Protector - Part II (pairing Syverson x YOU)

* Syverson the Protector - Part III (pairing Syverson x YOU)

* Syverson the Protector - Part IV (pairing Syverson x YOU)

Author note: Finally part 5! Thank you so much for hanging in with me through this delightful journey and I hope that this part quenches your desire.

Summary: Henry has invited you to spend a few weeks at his cabin in the mountains and of course you agree. 💖NEW💖

Rating for this part: Sex, fluff, discussion of trauma (minor) Everyone has a good time and Aika is there too :)

I’ve picked ‘Henry’ as Syverson’s first name and he’s grown his hair out :D

Must be read in order, no part can stand alone.

Word count: 7500

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

‘Well,’ said your nurse as she watched you sort and pack your belongings. ‘If you want him to know how you feel, you have to tell him.’

She folded her arms and leaned against the narrow door frame to your hospital room. You glanced up at her.

‘I’m not twelve, Barb,’ you scoffed, nevertheless feeling pleased with her observation.

‘Well you were the one asking me to pass notes to him like you were in school.’

You raised your brows in surprise and then pointed an accusatory finger at her. You had resorted to note passing because you couldn’t see Henry face to face and communicate with him like an adult. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but you made it work.

‘You, Nurse Barb,’ you started, about to say something caustic and then relented, deciding to be sweet. ‘Did a great job passing notes, and I thank you.’

You flipped closed your small travel case and crossed the hospital room to grab at one of the slowly deflating helium ‘Get Well’ balloons which still listed lazily around the silver weight that held it in place. With a small pair of scissors, you cut the ribbon tether and lanced the mylar in an inconspicuous place. Pressing the balloon to your chest, you squeezed out the remainder of the helium air mix and added the now flat balloon to the pile of other flattened balloons.

‘So? Then what are you going to do about it?’ Barb continued to press. ‘Leave and regret never having said anything?’’

You stopped compacting the pile of deflated balloons and turned to look at her.

This whole budding romance thing between two war torn lovers must have been the most exciting thing that had ever happened to the nurse, you thought pleasantly. It was certainly exciting to you. So, you cut her some slack.

‘I just happen to know that he’s outside in the pool area right now. And, you have some time before your flight.’

The look on her face was both encouraging and infuriating.

Smiling, you walked to the door and patted Barb’s shoulder.

‘All right. I’ll go.’

She waggled her brows, turned and walked with you down the narrow corridor and then through the half-empty dayroom. She stopped at the double glass doors that led to the pool area and used her weight to press open one side.

‘I can’t tell if you’re a really good matchmaker or a really bad matchmaker,’ you said absently.

She shrugged.

‘Good luck, and don’t be too hard on him.’

‘I won’t. Well, I probably won’t. Well...I can’t promise.’

She chuckled and quickly gave you a one-armed hug.

‘I’ll have them bring your bags to the car when it turns up. There are a few people going to the airport with you. So if I don’t see you… keep in touch, ok?’

You nodded and walked through the open door.

The pool area, as they called it, was really just a collection of beach umbrellas shading colourful inflatable kiddie pools, some blowup flamingos, and an odd assortment of mismatched lawn chairs. There were several men camped out around most of the medium sized pools, with their feet in the water and enjoying each other’s company. You spotted Henry right off the bat, as he was the only one still in a wheelchair and paused a moment to watch him laugh at something the man next to him had just said. You were loath to interrupt them.

I’ll just leave a note, you thought, turning your back to the men in order to return to the day room. He won’t mind. I’ll leave a note and my business card so he won’t feel pressured to say anything to my face.

A little lost in thought, you lingered there for a moment, with your hand on the door handle when your thoughts were interrupted by a chorus of teasing male voices calling out your name, accompanied by whistles and several coquettish sounding ‘yoo-hoo!’s.

A wave of heat rushed into your face and you hunched your shoulders in a self-conscious cringe.

Jesus Christ you hated military men sometimes.

But you had been caught and you had no other choice but to turn around and face them.

One of the men kicked out the empty lawn chair closest to Syverson and waved you over. Taking the invitation, you drew the chair close to the circle, lightly rested your hand on Henry’s shoulder and sat down next to him. It was good to see him looking so well.

‘I read your new article,’ said the man, and by deciphering his medical wristband you learned he was called Solensky. ‘That was a damn brave thing you did.’

You shook your head and looked at Syverson, hoping that he didn’t think you were trying to steal glory.

‘I didn’t write it to showcase what I did. I had to tell people what really happened. How heroic the men were. And my partner. The sacrifices that they all made. What I did wasn’t important.’

‘Saving my life wasn’t important?’

Syverson sounded a little bit hurt and turning to him you were at a loss to read his suddenly cloudy expression.

You opened your mouth to protest.

‘I-- I didn’t mean that you… of course you are important. I just did what I had to.’

You held his incredulous gaze and continued, ‘you know that, Henry.’

Didn’t he believe you?

‘He don’t mean it like that,’ said Solensky. ‘He means that, you doing what you did, was important. Even if you don’t think it was.’

Henry obviously agreed with the man’s assessment, for a smile lifted the corner of his mouth and you cut a relieved and fondly exasperated look at him. Sitting back in the creaky lawn chair you kicked your feet out in front of you and rested them against the cushy rounded pool edge.

‘Thank you,’ you said finally and nodded to Solensky. ‘I had hoped to get it finished and published before I left.’

It felt good to hear some praise from the men you were trying to uplift.

‘You leaving soon?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Today. In a few hours in fact.’

You turned to face Henry again.

‘I wanted to say goodbye before I did.’

His face remained unreadable and you feared that you had upset him in some way.

The door to the dayroom opened and Barb called to you.

‘The car is here early. They have to do more stops, so you’ll have to leave now, I’m sorry.’

You shot Syverson a panicked look.

Now? But you didn’t say all you wanted to say. You didn’t have time!

‘Ok,’ Henry said finally. ‘You don’t want to keep them waiting or they’re gonna have you walking home.’

He pressed himself up and out of the wheelchair and breathing a little hard from the exertion, he faced you when you stood as well.

‘I’m in your debt. Whenever you need me, for whatever reason, I want you to call on me. It don’t matter, you got that?’

‘I got it,’ you answered, feeling a deep pang of agony and regret in your gut. Leaving was harder than you had expected.

Henry smiled then and curving his arms around you, he pulled you against his sun warmed body.

And what torture it was for him to hold you like that!

You put your head on his chest and embraced him in return. And, when you lifted your teary eyes, he leaned in and kissed your forehead. But that wasn’t good enough. Not nearly enough and you squeezed him when his lips met yours.

‘Ok… ok,’ you giggled, feeling hot faced and aroused. ‘You gotta stop that or I won’t be able to leave.’

He didn’t release you.

‘You can stay and come home with me,’ he said, moving in for another kiss.

You ducked your head and stepped out of his embrace.

‘If you behave, maybe I will.’

Barb cleared her throat, a signal that you were out of time, and kissing him quickly, you turned to leave.

‘Barb’ll give you my card. It’ll have my info on it.’

‘I will?’ she asked, glaring at you and then at him. ‘Boy, I’ll be glad when you leave and I can stop all of this note ferrying back and forth.’

‘See ya,’ said Henry.

‘Soon,’ you promised and went through the day room doors.

It had been six months. Six months of convalescing at home, writing columns and binge watching all of the television shows you missed while you were deployed. It had also been a pleasant six months of regular correspondence with Henry, which culminated in him asking you to come to the mountains with him for a few weeks. He had a little cabin in Montana which he had been renovating and now that Aika was finished with her mandatory quarantine in the States, he was going to go there and relax.

A few weeks in the fresh mountain air was just what you needed and once you agreed, he made and paid for your travel arrangements.

It was refreshingly cool when you shuffled into the noise and chaos of the airport arrival terminal on your way to the baggage claim. However, you walked a little more leisurely than the hustling crowd, taking in the sights and idly people watching. As a journalist, although you had trekked through more airports than you cared to count, the peculiar culture of tiny, and expensive indoor pseudo-cities like this was still so compelling. It wouldn’t be strange to see a bleary eyed man chowing down on a stacked burger and swilling his third bourbon on the rocks at 6:30 in the morning. Or seeing a grown woman tucked into an awkward corner, and clutching her carry-on bag protectively in front of her as she tried to catch some sleep during an unexpected flight delay.

You had been both of those people at one point or another in your travels. But there was another reason why you were strolling and taking your time examining the mass produced keychains and tee shirts proclaiming the name of the state you were in. You were nervous and your heart banged painfully against your ribs. You could feel it galloping and straining against its internal tethers and you had to stop occasionally and pretend to look at overpriced pizza slices in order to catch your breath.

You were nervous about seeing him again. That sweet, unfairly handsome Captain Henry Syverson.

The thought of him made you smile but you pressed it into a straight neutral line in the event someone was watching. You didn’t want to seem crazy, grinning down at a display case of heat-lamp warmed slices of cheese pizza.

When you finally reached baggage claim, a man, dressed in a dark suit and white shirt was waiting for you. He stood with the rest of the chauffeurs looking bored and holding an open tablet on which your name stood out in bold block letters on the screen. You walked expectantly up to him and he smiled and greeted you by name.

‘How was your trip?’ he asked, as he walked with you to the baggage carousel.

‘It was fine, thank you.’

And the two of you stood side by side watching the conveyor belt start to move and roll out the luggage.

‘Which one is yours?’ he asked, moving closer to the belt, ready to snag your bag as it tumbled by.

‘The red one, with the white stripe. It has the camera shaped luggage tag.’

He nodded and when that red bag came by, he grabbed it by the side handle. He then put it down, pulled up the telescoped handle and indicated that you follow him to the parking lot. Outside, the cool air woke you from your flight induced stupor and you took in a long cleansing breath.

‘First time in Montana?’ he asked, grinning as he watched you stretch your arms and back.

‘Just tired,’ you said. ‘Long flight.’

He opened the door to the glossy black SUV and helped you step up into the high spotless interior. Through the back window you watched him stow your suitcase in the trunk and followed him with your eyes until he climbed into the truck.

‘So,’ he said and fiddled with his tablet. ‘It’s going to take a little while to get to the destination. Is it warm enough for you? Too warm? There are snacks in the centre console and water under the seat. Do you mind if I have the radio on?’

The questions seemed rehearsed and you assured him that everything was fine before you sat back into the plush leather seats and he drove off.

Taking out your mobile, you switched it off of airplane mode and it immediately pinged that you had a message.

Making sure you landed safely.

You smiled and replied that you had done just that and were already on your way.

I’ll be waiting. I hope you’re hungry.

The driver was right. It took two and a half hours to get to the cabin and the last mile or so was on a dirt road so pitted and bumpy that you weren’t sure you were going to come out of the ride in one piece.

But it was all made better when you spotted Henry standing with Aika on the broad porch of a gorgeous mountain cabin. When he said that he wanted you to spend time with him at the cabin, you immediately pictured it to be a one or two room Little House on the Prairie type place. Which was absolutely fine with you, as you wouldn’t be there to admire the decor. However, you were not expecting the beautiful structure that stood proudly amongst the trees.

The driver slowed, made an awkward k-turn in the dirt and deposited you directly in front of the tall man approaching the truck.

The sight of Henry made you feel weak and proud to show the driver that you had been chosen by a superior specimen. Henry briefly spoke to the driver through his open window and the trunk popped open. With hands clasped in your lap, you waited. Henry grabbed your suitcase, slammed shut the trunk and then opened your door. He positively beamed at you and when you took his outstretched hand, you felt like a princess being rescued from a high tower.

When the SUV made its way back down the dirt road and the two of you were finally alone, you were faced with one of two decisions.

One: behave in your usual awkward way and shake his hand or pat his shoulder and thank him for letting you come and visit.

Two: press into his arms and give him the biggest hello I fucking missed you, kiss he’d ever received.

With some internal dismay, you found yourself leaning towards option one. You didn’t want to lead him to the wrong impression about you and slowly you extended your hand.

A look of surprise drifted across his face, but he was apparently willing to follow your lead. Before he could take that hand, you had a change of heart and instead ran straight at him and clamped your arms about his waist.

‘Hey, baby,’ he murmured, kissing the top of your head and enveloping you in his strong arms.

Oh God, you thought. I’m gonna start crying.

Tears pricked your eyes and before you could stop yourself, you heaved with a desperate sob.

‘What’s the matter?!’ he asked, sounding alarmed with the sudden change in your attitude.

You clutched him tighter and put your face against him.

‘I’m… I’m so happy to see you standing right here,’ you gasped.

The last time you’d seen him in the flesh, he had still been mostly confined to a wheelchair, still healing from his terrible wounds and unable to look after himself. But there he was now, strong and whole and so warm in your arms that you felt an overwhelming sense of affection for him.

Henry held you tighter and you felt infinitely safe in his embrace. Everything was right with the world.

‘I thought about the moment I could do this,’ he said, gently stroking your back. ‘And now I made you cry.’

‘I’m just so happy to see you well,’ you said, pulling back and looking at his wryly smiling face. ‘And not hooked up to wires and IVs.’

‘Ok,’ he drawled. ‘Me too. In that case…’

He curved one hand about your cheek and lifting your face, he kissed you. It took a few more moments of cuddling before you eventually stopped trembling and having an existential crisis. He drew back, bent down and picked up your bag.

‘You hungry?’ he asked, slipping his hand down to your lower back and guiding you to the glorious cabin.

‘Famished!’ you announced and stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

The dog on the porch sat up and wriggled with pleasure, her thick furry tail whapping excitedly on the wooden boards.

Henry dragged his fingers through the thick brown and black scruff and scratched her angular head. The dog bowed and flattened her ears softly and approached you. You put both hands on her head and massaged her fluffy ears.

‘I remember you,’ you said to the dog who continued to eagerly lick at your hands.

‘This place is different than where she’s from, but she loves it.’

Then to Aika he said, ‘stay on the porch.’

And the dog promptly flopped down on the cushiony bed made from folded quilts and began her surveillance of the surrounding tranquil woods.

Henry opened the cabin door and ushered you in.

The inside was just as spectacular as the outside and your mouth came open with surprise.

‘I know you did all of this, didn’t you. It’s so… beautiful.’

‘I had help,’ he answered modestly. ‘It’s been a work in progress for years. Still got some things to do, but it’s liveable.’

Liveable, you scoffed silently. That was an understatement. The place was an obviously handcrafted masterpiece. From the matte blonde wood flooring and the warm caramel panelling, it was a masculine tribute to a rustic lifestyle. The appliances were new, but understatedly retro and wood burning. The main living room was broad and comfortable with soft couches and homespun appointments. You followed Henry down a narrow hallway to the left. Off of that hallway was a short staircase that led to the upper floor.

‘There’s a guest bedroom down there,’ he said pointing to the door at the end of the corridor and the master is upstairs.’

He gestured that you go up the stairs and you complied. Opening the door at the top of the stairs, you found yourself walking into a bright warm room with a large bed facing a broad clean window that overlooked the trees and the lake behind the cabin. It smelt of pine and you wondered if he picked that scent because he thought you might like it. You did like it.

Henry put your bag on the floor by the bed.

‘This is your room.’

He rested a hand on the glossy dresser top which had been pushed against the far wall.

‘You can put your stuff in here, or hang them up in the closet.’

He opened the door next to the dresser to show you the empty closet space.

‘Bathroom’s over here.’

He crossed the room, opened the second door and you poked your head in, pleased to see a full bath and tub.

That tub might come in handy for sexytimes.

Once the tour was completed you smiled at him, but left the question of where he was going to stay to burn on the tip of your tongue.

It didn’t stay there long for Henry beat you to it.

‘I’ll be downstairs… in the guest room.’

There was hesitation in his voice and he trailed off seeming suddenly shy and awkward.

Was he as nervous about your visit as you were?

He didn’t look at you as he put a hand against the back of his head, which you knew was an unconscious self-soothing gesture. But you didn’t want to put him out of his misery just yet. You were enjoying it too much.

‘If… when you need me,’ he finished.

The implication of needing him, at night, hung heavily in the air and trailing a finger up his bare forearm, you squashed a smile.

‘And you’ll be downstairs…’ you said, keeping your voice serious and your expression neutral. ‘If… I mean when I need you. You’ll be downstairs? In the guest bedroom? Downstairs?’

He looked at you a moment, his own expression a mild mix of confusion and then that sweet slow bloom of understanding in his eyes. You saw the exact moment that he realised you were teasing him and you couldn’t help laughing.

‘C’mon you,’ you said, slipping your hand into his. ‘I’m starving.’

***

Once downstairs, he packed a big red-topped cooler with vegetables and potatoes and steaks that had been marinating overnight, as well as cutlery, plates and other sundry items. Carrying only a chilled six pack of bottled lager, you followed him down the winding gravel path to the lake. There was a rustic firepit down there flanked by two dark wood adirondack chairs and a picnic table.

You wondered if he made all of that himself and then chuckled. Of course he did.

You watched him dump the cooler next to the grated firepit and go to grab a few already split logs from a nearby pile. Clutching the thin cardboard handle of the sixpack in both hands you felt unbearably girly and unwilling to admit that watching him start a fire with a small pile of tinder and a magnesium firestick, aroused the fuck out of you. It didn’t help that his jeans stretched nicely across his thighs when he crouched lower and gently blew onto the young flame before quickly adding additional fuel until the fire was stable enough to tent the logs over it.

Henry rose and dusted his hands against the seat of his jeans and you cleared your throat.

‘That was sexy,’ you said and laughed at your own audacity.

He glanced at you over his shoulder, clearly appreciative of your praise, but instead of addressing it, he pointed to the short pier.

‘Do you see the green nylon sack over there?’

You looked and nodded.

‘Take the bottles and put ‘em in the sack and lower it into the water. That’ll keep ‘em cold.’

Feeling helpful, you did as you were told. When you returned a few minutes later, you hoisted yourself up onto the top of the picnic table and rested your feet on the bench seat.

‘Do you want some help?’ you asked after a moment.

‘Nope,’ he answered, and cast another amused look at you over his shoulder. ‘You just sit there and be pretty for me, ok?’

You preened, and lightly patted your face. It was as pretty as you were going to get.

‘I think I can do that. Sure.’

And you sat there thinking about having children with him. You imagined taking them on camping trips and teaching them all of the survival skills they needed to fend for themselves in the event the zombie apocalypse drove your family into the woods. So you asked him if he was prepared for the apocalypse and sat there rapt as he explained his six point plan and how he had been planning and storing for the last three years.

When dinner was ready, the two of you ate at the picnic table and drank most of the beer and discussed the pros and cons of wasting ammo to achieve a head shot as opposed to just disabling the zombie so that you could escape it.

‘Yeah, but you are the one who’s gonna get the successful headshots. I’m just out there swinging a rake or something.’

‘Can get you a katana if you like.’

You laughed and swigged your beer. Pointing the mouth of the bottle at him you scoffed.

‘A katana?? I’d more likely slice myself up before I’d do any damage to a zombie.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Henry replied easily and stood up to stoke the fire.

He helped himself to another few spoonfuls of vegetables, which when offered, you declined.

‘A little training and some practice, you’d be fine.’

‘You have a lot of misplaced faith in me, sir,’ you teased him.

Henry was quick to answer.

‘You’re wrong. You already proved to be capable, ingenious and tougher than you think. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.’

Your chest tightened at the traumatic memory and you stared down at your empty bottle. The helpless tears started to threaten again.

But biting them back, you reached across the table and put your hand over his. Henry took it, curved your fingers over his and brought your hand to his lips.

Henry’s open emotion made you feel just as raw and vulnerable as you had that fateful day. The day that entwined your lives together forever.

You reached for him with your other hand and stroked his cheek, trailing your fingers through his beard which continued to amaze you with how soft it was to touch. He captured your other hand and kissed that one as well and then held them both. And when he smiled, you smiled in return. It was all right now.

It was starting to get dark and across the lake, you could see the setting sun disappearing behind the mountains. Henry got up and began clearing the table.

‘ Go and sit by the fire,’ he instructed you when you tried to help.

If he wanted to do all of the work, who were you to stop him. You slid onto the cool chair and drew your knees up and to the side to get comfortable just as Aika came trotting out of the woods. She went immediately to you and put her slobbery chin on your thigh. You rubbed her furry head until she was tired of the attention and went to beg scraps from Henry.

‘Coffee?’ he asked a moment later and lifted an old battered tin percolator to show you that he meant coffee and not anything else.

‘I could have one, sure.’

You had got used to black coffee during your time on the front and really never bothered to change it when you went back to civilian life. The cup he gave you was hot and tasted fresh with a hint of vanilla.

‘Vanilla,’ you said and he chuckled, seating himself in the chair next to you.

‘I ah… I got used to it over there, now I can’t drink any other kind.’

You didn’t mind it. Not at all and the two of you sat in companionable silence.

‘It’s a beautiful place, Henry. A beautiful cabin. I am amazed that you did all of this.’

‘My friends helped. This is their place when they want it too.’

Aika flopped down on the space between the chairs and Henry reached down to pat her head.

‘Are you glad I’m here?’ you asked finally, admittedly fishing a little for compliments.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m very glad you’re here.’

You were going to say something else but a yawn caught you off guard. Now that you were full and content and safe, sleepiness began to creep in around the corners.

‘You had a long flight,’ Henry offered as explanation, holding out his hand to take your cup. ‘If you want to go on in to sleep, I’ll take care of things here out here.’

‘No! No, I don’t want to leave. I’m not too sleepy.’

‘Awright,’ he chuckled and leaned back into the chair.

Aika yawned then and you did the same. You put the cup on the flat arm of the chair and closed your eyes. You had never felt so happy and before you knew it, you had drifted off. When you woke with a start later, it was dark and the fire had been extinguished. A glimmer of faint stars reflected by the lake was your only anchor point that confirmed where you were.

But it was the type of dark that could only be achieved when there was no light pollution from nearby cities and you felt a twinge of panic.

‘Henry?’ you called sitting up.

He wasn’t in the chair next to you and Aika was gone.

Shit! What if the killer was still out there?

You heard footsteps approaching on the gravel path.

‘I’m here.’

His voice was warm and steady.

There was no moon and standing, you blindly searched in front of you as he came closer. He put his hand around you, resting it low on your back then pulled you to him. At his touch, a jolt of welcomed pleasure spread out from your core.

‘Why are you out here lurking in the dark?’ you giggled softly, pressing your hands flat on his chest.

‘Making sure nothing carries you off,’ he replied just as quietly and gave you a squeeze.

Henry was clearly feeling for the edges of your boundaries and you deeply appreciated that about him. He hadn’t forced your hand and he was eagerly playing by your rules.

‘I’m glad to have my big strong protector to save me from the monsters. Are you… gonna take me inside now?’

‘Yeah. C’mon.’

God, his voice was so unbearably soft and alluring and you knew that if you weren’t careful, you would find yourself beneath him in his bed tonight.

You had to be careful, so once inside the cabin, you kissed him and bade him goodnight. Admittedly, that probably wasn’t how he expected the evening to end but you knew you were going to make the wait worth his while.

After showering thoroughly, you changed your clothes and sat down on the edge of the soft bed. The cabin was quiet except for the normal sounds of the woods coming in through the open window and the sounds of Henry moving around downstairs.

I could get used to this.

After a moment you heard the shower running downstairs and you immediately worried that you hadn’t left enough hot water for him. Stretching out on top of the quilt you listened and imagined his naked body, his wet, soapy naked body and a tingle raced up your thighs and pooled insistent heat in your groin. You bit your lip and pushed your hand between your legs. You held your hand there, still and unmoving and listened until everything had fallen silent on the lower floor.

You breathed quietly, in and out and in and out again and relaxed, drawing your hand away and tucking it across your midsection.

Sleep, you thought. It was all going to be more rational in the morning.

Bright sunlight and sweet bird songs greeted you the next morning. After washing up, you followed the scent of coffee and breakfast downstairs.

The front room was empty, but there was food and a still steaming coffee pot on the stove. The sound of Aika barking outside led you to the door and then out onto the porch. Henry stood at the bottom of the steps holding a red ball which he launched into the air for the dog to chase. He turned when you came to stand next to him.

‘Morning,’ he grinned and kissed you when you lifted your face to ask for it.

‘Hi. How did you sleep?’

‘Yeah, good, good. You?’

You stretched in the warm morning sunlight and fondly watched Aika race back to you. She dropped the ball and danced away, to wait for the next missile. Henry obliged and the dog took off again.

‘It was better than I expected,’ you admitted happily. ‘It usually takes me a couple of nights before I can get comfortable in a new place.’

He nodded and took a drink from his flowered cup.

‘Good. Hungry?’

‘I love that you’re always feeding me,’ you said joyfully. ‘Can we eat down by the lake?’

‘Anything you want, baby,’ he agreed.

The air by the lake was warm and fresh and a few metres out on the water was a group of ducks having a morning swim. Basking in the sun with a hearty meal and an intriguing and funny man was the most indulgent thing you could have possibly done. And you held onto the moment for as long as it presented itself.

You even agreed to a short easy hike after breakfast and in a sun drenched meadow you lay in the sweet smelling grass and talked about nothing in particular.

The day passed in uneventful bliss and again, Henry prepared dinner over the fire and afterwards the two of you sat side by side on the top porch step to watch some unexpected fireworks in the eastern sky.

During a lull in the colourful explosions, you went inside to grab a seat cushion.

When you came onto the porch, you were careful not to kick the cup at Henry’s side. Instead you picked up your own cup and gesturing for him to make room, you tossed down the cushion and sat on the step right between his knees. A little smile blossomed on your face, a response to the feeling of peace spreading through you, and you leaned back against Henry using his thighs as arm rests.

‘I like this,’ you said quietly and relaxed into the warm hands gently kneading your shoulders.

‘Yeah.’

The sound of him, low and husky behind you, filled you with pleasure. You pressed harder between his open legs and he went still. This was the moment of truth. Your heart thrummed with anticipation against your ribs and when he relaxed, so did you.

A beat of silence drifted between you and then he spoke.

‘You wanna go inside with me?’

There was a loud scratching sound of your nails raking along his jeans, evidence of your involuntary reaction to his clear invitation.

‘Yes. I-- want to.’

The breath he let out was audible.

‘C’mon then.’

Henry pushed himself up from the step and effortlessly lifted you in the process. It was like floating on air, reckless yet safe in his strong arms and when your feet finally hit the porch, you were loath to be released. You turned around to face him and slid your arms about his neck. The force of his kiss surprised you, and you clung tighter to him, opening your mouth to take all of him in. Henry pulled you against him and walked backwards towards the cabin door.

You cried out with delight when he crouched and swept you up into his arms. Just like the charming prince he touted himself to be.

‘I love this,’ you murmured, nipping at his lower lip and then suckling it between your own. ‘Why don’t you fuck me in your bed.’

‘Fuck,’ he groaned and clutched you to his chest. ‘You’re gonna drive me crazy, baby.’

‘I promise I’ll drive you crazy.’

Henry didn’t waste time in carrying you to the small bedroom at the end of the hall.

His room was clean, and quiet. Not as fancy as the master bedroom, but it was enough with its bed and bureau and the small adjoining shower. Aika, who had been napping on the floor at the foot of the bed perked up and cautiously thumped her tail as if wondering why the hell the two humans were making so much noise.

‘Aika,’ said Henry desperately. ‘Out!’

With a groan of a petulant child, the dog heaved herself up and reluctantly left the room. Henry booted the door shut behind her and then set you down onto your feet. There was enough gloaming light coming in through the windows for you to see him grin.

He cupped your face between his hands and kissed you gently, thoroughly and then let his fingers trail down over your shoulders, your arms and then across your waist where he curled his fingers beneath the hem of your baggy tee shirt. Instinctively you raised your arms when he lifted the shirt up and over your head. He tossed the shirt onto the chair in the corner. He then turned you around and unhooked your bra which was also tossed to join the shirt. And still keeping your back to him, he kissed your shoulder and then the other and then kissed the space between them. The light scratch of his beard on such an unexpectedly tender place made you shiver and your nipples harden. He hummed quietly, a sound of absolute satisfaction and he nipped you lightly where your shoulder sloped down to your collarbone. You sighed voluptuously and leaned into his muscular chest, turning your upper body slightly and reaching back to smooth your hand over his head.

Henry slipped his hands up from your waist and cupped your bare breasts and kissed you deeply as if trying to drink in every bit of you. You felt utterly possessed, and helpless in the face of his overwhelmingly masculine sexual power. You would give him everything, anything and all he had to do was ask.

He slid his hands down your belly again and into the elastic waistband of your shorts. He eased them over your hips and chased your curves to the warm, velvety space between your legs. Highly aware of his two thick fingers beginning to work into your wetness you arched and moaned breathlessly, your voice rising sweetly into the warmth of the room. A dark knowing chuckle rumbled behind you and Henry dragged his tongue across your lower lip.

All of your attention narrowed to that single delicious focal point of those deft fingers stroking your quivering clit and sliding deeper inside you.

‘I want you,’ Henry murmured and the demand behind his words made you shudder. ‘I want you so bad.’

Yes, you thought. I want you. The moment I met you, I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you.

You turned in his arms and a wave of lust crashed over you at the sight of him. He slipped those two previous busy fingers into his mouth and sucked off your juice. You crooked a finger at him, beckoning him closer as you backed towards the bed. Henry whipped off his shirt and took his time unbuckling his belt and shoving down his jeans until he could stand beautifully naked before you, his thick beautiful cock hard and standing at the ready.

You were ready for him indeed. Henry closed the space between you and grabbing you about the waist, he hoisted you up and sprawled you messily across the bed. You sat up, reached for him and dragged him down atop you. He was heavy, and pressed you steadily into the soft sheets and you never wanted to escape him. Henry kissed you hard, punishingly, muffling your sudden cry of pleasure with his mouth. You hugged and kissed him and swore under your breath, eager for the soft velvety feel of his blood-hot cock sliding up along your inner thigh.

‘Come inside me, Henry.’

It was all the invitation he needed.

The newness of him sliding into you hurt just a little, a small but welcomed reminder of what it meant when two lovers finally joined. Henry stilled then, and breathed quietly, as if fighting his urge to cum. You stroked his shoulders and kissed his face, encouraging him to focus only on you. He lifted his head and held your gaze as he rocked up into you again, then again, slowly and deliberately, stoking that fire smouldering between the two of you. You arched against him, vaguely aware of your own lusty sounds and Henry increased the intensity of his thrusts and in turn heightened the ferocity of your pleasure.

Henry lit your fuse and it consumed you. It crackled over your sensitive flesh and along every nerve ending and you responded eagerly to every slow drag of his cock in and out of you. He made you feel alive, more alive than ever before and at the moment of your orgasm you closed your eyes and let his name escape your lips, offering it up as a prayer, as praise. As thanks.

You held onto him when he finally completed the circuit and poured himself inside you.

It took several moments of panting beneath him before Henry moved off of you and you immediately felt the loss. So you lay there, sweat cooling on your skin and basking in the warm feelings of well being. When your senses returned, you got up and went to the bathroom for a quick pee and wash up and when you returned, the bed was turned down and you crawled gratefully beneath the soft sheets.

‘That was fucking amazing,’ you murmured to the man next to you. ‘That was the best sex I have ever had.’

Henry chuckled and sounded pleased.

‘Yeah. I waited a long time for you.’

‘Oh yeah? The moment I put my hand in yours outside of the barracks, you what? Wanted to carry me off to fuck me?’

He grunted.

‘Yeah! Something like that. I would’ve at least got your name first, /then/ put you over my shoulder and carried you off.’

You smiled to yourself and imagined the scene and how shocked the men would have been to watch their stoic captain haul off the journalist for a little fun. You closed your eyes, only intending to get more comfortable to continue the conversation. However, again sleep had other ideas.

Light burst behind your eyelids and the sound of shouting male voices filled your ears. You struggled to open your eyes, but something was holding them sealed shut. Another explosion and then the sound of rocks raining down all around you. I’m on fire, you thought, desperately trying to claw your way out of burning clothes. Your hands were already seared into talons of fused flesh and bone and there was nothing you could do to stop the pain. Sand blasted your vulnerable flesh and you opened your mouth to scream, only to be choked by tiny merciless shards of hot glass. You continued to scream and scream barely aware of the hands on your arms and the voice calling you name. It was Henry and he was shaking you out of your nightmare.

‘You’re all right, baby. You’re all right,’ he murmured pulling you against him. ‘It’s just a nightmare. You’re all right now. I’m here.’

As the dream melted away, you curled up into his arms and burst into tears. Henry gentled you until you quieted and even beyond that until eventually you were able to speak.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry…’

‘Don’t be sorry, baby,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t be. I’m here. I’ll protect you.’

You lifted your tear wet face and kissed him. Then again and again, rolling onto your back and pulling him with you.

‘Make love to me, Henry. Please. Make love to me.’

‘I’ll take care of you,’ he promised.

And you trusted him to do just that.

The morning rain kept the two of you inside the snug cabin and in bed where you took your time exploring and delighting in the mystery of each other.

‘Does it still hurt?’ you asked, pulling back the sheets and stroking your fingers along the thick jagged scar that cut across his lower belly.

Henry looked down at where you were touching him and shook his head.

‘No. Not anymore.’

You fell silent, listening to the rasp of your dry fingers gliding across his skin. Henry curled an arm about you when you put your head on his shoulder.

‘You never went to talk to someone about it, did you.’

It wasn’t a question and as much as you wanted to feign ignorance, you couldn’t shut down your immediate and visceral reaction to his observation.

No. You had buried yourself in work the moment you got back to the States and didn’t want to think about the trauma that had befallen you. What was the point? It was over, wasn’t it?

Henry felt your body tense and he rubbed your back.

‘That’s why you’re still having nightmares.’

Your voice was small when you spoke, hoping to be heard against the lashing rain.

‘I thought I could handle it.’

He chuckled.

‘I know. I thought I could handle it too. They don’t let us go home without group therapy. I fucking hate it, but I do it, because it works.’

You stopped the back and forth motion of your hand and just rested it on his scar. It was the thing that drew you together, the thing that reminded him of you.

Henry turned his head and kissed your forehead.

‘You’re so strong. And you’re carrying this weight. But you gotta let it go, baby.’

‘I know. I… dream about you dying in the explosion and then burning to death. I can’t stop it. I can’t help you.’

Henry held you close.

‘You’re alive and I’m alive. I’m right here with you. You don’t have to worry when you’re with me.’

You slept against his chest for most of the day and dreamed, not of violence in a desolate place but of a bright new future.

-end part 5 you naughty little things. I love you ;D Please consider helping me to broaden my audience by reblogging this fic and sharing. Thank you.

Tag list: @lightsidecalling @omgkatinka @igotkatiepowers @the-soot-sprite @harrysthiccthighss @little-green-love @foxyjwls007 @angreav @maizyistrash @liquorlaughslove @supernaturallymarvellous @laketaj24 @october505 @inlovewithhisblueeyes @foodieforthoughts @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @singeramg @sapphirescrolls @brandycranby @zealoushound @eldarwen333 @beck07990 @lunedelorient @henrythickcavill @kalesrebellion @angrythingstarlight @lavitabella87 @kebabgirl67 @hail-horror-queen

#henry cavill #captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #man of steel #geralt #the witcher #reader insert

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miracleonice87 · 3 years

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Cape Cod Confessions - Kevin Hayes

a/n: this one hit me outta nowhere and I blame my Philly loves @broadstbroskis and @princessphilly for enabling me 😉😘 (jk you know I adore you.) writing this one actually made writing feel fun again. I'm grateful for that. also hey, I'm writing for Kevin Hayes now! keep that in mind for the next prompt list lol.

warnings: I think just swearing. also heads up, this is an OC. I like them and I ain't sorry.

word count: 4.4K+

_____

The familiar scene in the yard of Kate’s parents’ summer home on Cape Cod would normally fill her with contentment and peace, as all her family and closest, lifelong friends were gathered together in celebration. Her brother was marrying his college sweetheart in twenty-four hours, and Kate had every reason to be happy.

Today, though, after not being part of such an occasion for many months due to work obligations back in Seattle, Kate felt strange pangs of guilt and discomfort. Days like today made her wonder why she had ever left Boston in the first place.

And seeing her childhood best friend Kevin manning the grill, his nieces and nephews hanging from his long limbs as he promised them he would play with them as soon as the food was finished, made her wonder why she had ever left him in the first place.

How she had ever left him in the first place.

Kate was still lost in her own thoughts when, from across the lawn, she heard a shrill scream, followed by an ecstatic, “Auntie Kate!”

Her goddaughter Neila’s voice was unmistakable, and Kate set her purse on the grass just in time to catch Neila on her running jump, all the way from her Uncle Kevin straight into Kate’s arms. Pure joy flooded Kate’s soul as she caught Neila, giggling, and held the little girl to her chest.

“My beautiful Nene!” Kate exclaimed, kissing her cheek. “I missed you!”

Neila pulled back, pushing her hair away from her face. “I missed you, too,” she said sincerely before throwing her arms around Kate’s neck again.

A moment later, Neila wriggled out of Kate’s hold and turned toward the crowd of family and friends on the patio.

“Auntie Kate is here!” Neila announced, eliciting chuckles from the adults. Except for one — Kevin, whose eyes had already been glued to Kate since his niece’s initial squeal upon discovering her arrival. He’d turned his back on the grill to find his niece holding onto Kate’s hands and hopping backwards in an effort to pull her to join the party on the patio.

Kevin looked on as Kate threw her head back in laughter, and he felt the sort of distinct happiness that he only found when Kate was near. He couldn’t stop staring, mesmerized by how radiant she looked in her lilac sundress, with her curls thrown over her shoulders… that is, he couldn’t stop staring until his brother clapped him hard on the shoulder.

“Steaks are gonna burn, Kev,” Jimmy said loudly in order to bring Kevin back down to earth. Kevin simply nodded and turned back to the grill. Jimmy’s eyes traveled to where Kate stood reuniting with her immediate family, and a soft smile found his lips.

“She looks beautiful, no?” Jimmy spoke into Kevin’s ear, more softly this time. He was always more than willing to publicly embarrass his little brother when it came to an array of subjects. But Kate wasn’t one of them. Jimmy wouldn’t dare.

Kevin only nodded, again. Jimmy squeezed his shoulder, then scooped up his little son in his arms and headed to see his old friend.

Kate’s parents, her older brother Patrick, and his fiancée Joelle had just finished taking turns greeting her with hugs when, over her brother’s shoulder, she spotted Jimmy carrying Beau.

“Baby Beau!” Kate gasped, holding out her hands as Beau smiled and reached out for her. “Who let you get this big?!” she questioned as she took him in her arms. He simply giggled and laid his head on her shoulder.

“Hello, Kathleen Paige,” Jimmy greeted, using her full name as he had for Kate’s entire life, no matter how much she had hated the Irish moniker as a young kid.

“Hi, J,” she replied fondly, leaning in so that he could wrap her in a hug and plant a kiss to her forehead. “Your boy is getting way too big,” she told him, tickling Beau’s belly and making him laugh.

“Tell me about it,” Jimmy said. “How are you? You look great.”

Kate glanced downward, tucking some hair behind her ear.

“Thanks. I’m okay,” she replied uncharacteristically dryly, switching Beau to her other arm. “It’s good to be home,” she added without elaboration.

Jimmy nodded in understanding.

“It’s good to have you home,” he agreed, then tilted his head toward the house. “Kristen’s inside. She can’t wait to see you.”

Kate beamed at the mention of Jimmy’s wife, one of her closest friends for years now.

“I can’t wait, either,” she said, just as Beau reached back toward his dad, making them both laugh. “Here, take your mini me. I’m gonna go finish my rounds,” she told him as her eyes flickered in search of the younger Hayes brother.

Jimmy retrieved his son and smirked down at her, his own eyes dancing.

“You do that,” he encouraged, teasing in his tone.

Kate rolled her eyes, but, just as Jimmy had anticipated, she headed straight toward the barbecue next, passing at least a dozen other people who had been waiting to see her.

“Hey, grill master,” she said, her hand gently coming to rest on Kevin’s back.

Her touch took him by surprise, and he nearly fumbled the tongs in his hands as he turned to greet her, his tall frame towering over hers.

“Hey, Katie girl,” he spoke, and Kate realized just how much she had missed that voice speaking those very words. She could only grin like an idiot.

Kevin pulled Kate in, his arms crushing her against his chest, and she hugged his waist as she felt his heartbeat against her ear.

“Missed you,” she said simply.

“Missed you, too, Kate,” Kevin said, his voice rumbling against her cheek. She pulled back to look up at him with a relieved sigh as he grinned at her.

And in that moment, she finally felt some of the contentment and peace she’d been searching for.

_____

Hours later, after the cookout lunch and the rehearsal dinner, when the attention-commanding nieces and nephews had long been put to bed, Kevin found Kate where he’d always found her on summer nights at the Cape — down at the boathouse, her feet dangling above the water, her short stature prohibiting them from actually being submerged.

“Fancy meetin’ you here,” he found himself saying — immediately followed by an internal monologue of, God, Kevin, why are you so fucking lame?

Despite his pathetic attempt at humor, Kate still smiled up at him.

“I knew you’d find me eventually,” she replied, letting her gaze drift back across the water.

Kevin hummed in response as he set down the pair of beers he’d brought and took a seat on the dock beside her.

“I’m surprised you’re not with the girls,” Kevin said. “They’re up there poppin’ bottles in the kitchen.��

She laughed softly at the thought. “Nah, just needed some time to think,” she told him.

Kevin nodded, knowing not to press any further if Kate wasn’t feeling forthcoming.

“Well, I come bearing beers,” he said, offering her one of the bottles.

With a grateful sigh, she murmured a “thank you,” and accepted the cold beverage. And that was just another item that fell somewhere in the middle of the long list of reasons why Kevin adored her — because she never needed champagne or an apple martini or a Mai Tai. A beer that matched his always suited her just fine.

Kevin was smiling at the thought, and when Kate caught him, he quickly saved face by lifting his bottle in the air.

“A toast,” he announced. “To Pat and Joelle.”

She nodded, lifting her beer toward his. “To Pat and Joelle,” she echoed, clinking the neck of her bottle against his. “Cheers.”

Kate took a long pull, looking back across the cape, and after a few silent moments, Kevin casually reached for her ankles and swept her legs atop his lap, his free hand resting on her shin. It certainly wasn’t anything unusual — anyone who knew Kate and Kevin and their relationship knew that they had always been affectionate with one another. (So much so, in fact, that on many occasions, Jimmy had muttered, “Jesus Christ, just fuck already.”) But it had been so long since he had initiated such a gesture that Kate would have been lying if she said her breath didn’t catch in her throat a little.

She sniffed and made work of picking at the label on her bottle, trying to act as cool and collected as possible.

“You look great, Katie,” Kevin eventually piped up, interrupting the silence and making Kate feel somehow more nervous and more at ease all at once. She tucked her chin to her chest with a breathy chuckle. “I mean it,” he added earnestly. “I should’ve said it before, but… anyway, just wanted to tell you now.”

She tilted her head up to look at him, and Kevin had to remind himself to breathe as she shot him her famous pursed-lipped smile, pushed to one side of her mouth.

“Thanks, Kev,” Kate said softly. “You do, too.”

“How’s work?” he asked, assuming that he’d be posing a simple, run-of-the-mill question, one that might lighten the mood and give his heart rate a chance to slow a bit.

But Kate snorted, lowering her bottle from her lips after a swig. “What work?” she asked cynically.

Kevin’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he asked, confused.

She cleared her throat, turning to face the full moon instead of him. “The magazine shut down,” she finally admitted. “It’s been almost a month now, I guess.”

And for once in his life, Kevin was speechless.

Kate had started working for the small, independently-owned Pacific Northwest tourism magazine five years ago — the publication was the whole reason she’d moved to Seattle in the first place. She was so proud of her photography that was featured in each issue, and so was Kevin — though Kate didn’t know it, he had subscribed to the magazine after her first photo was featured in an issue early in her time on staff. And since the monthly magazines were mailed to his place in Philly and not in Dorchester, he realized that he would have had no way of knowing about the shutdown if it weren’t for Kate directly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Kevin asked gently, concern evident in his tone.

She shrugged. “Not something I really felt like talking about this weekend,” she replied, rubbing her hands along her upper arms to warm them from the cool ocean breeze. “Not necessarily something I was all that proud of.”

Kevin’s heart sank. “But it isn’t your fault, Kate,” he said, squeezing her calves. “You didn’t have any control over the magazine going under.”

She heaved a sigh. “I know, but…” she began, tipping her head back wearily, “it just feels like everything’s crashing down around me in Seattle. Half a dozen of my friends have moved away in the last year, my freelance clients are dwindling seemingly by the day because everybody and their mother think they can be their own photographer, and now the magazine’s gone. It just feels like I’m failing at everything, Kev. Failing at life.”

“Hey,” Kevin said firmly — immediately. He nudged her chin with his thumb so that she was looking straight at him, those sea blue eyes of his suddenly the only thing she could focus on, as all of her self-doubt was washed away, even before he continued to speak. “You are not failing. You’re 28 years old. This is just a part of growing up, Kate,” he assured. “This shit happens to everyone. Remember when I got shipped to Winnipeg and then to Philly so quick? I went through the same shit. I felt like nobody wanted me, like I couldn’t do anything right. But it got better. It always does, Katie. Especially for people with as good a heart as you.”

Kate sniffled, wiping at a lone stray tear with her knuckle.

“Thanks, Kev,” she said softly, followed by a few more quiet sniffles. “You’re the best. Reasons why I love you,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Kevin’s brows lifted and his eyes widened as he looked at her, wondering if he’d just heard her correctly.

As with the physical touch, it had always been this way with Kate and Kevin when it came to their long-simmering feelings for one another. One of them would slip up and say some shit like “I love you” or “you’re so hot” or “come home with me,” and then try to play it off or walk it back, while the other person was left reeling, unsure of whether or not the other had truly meant what they’d said.

“I mean, you know, like I—”

“I love you, too, Kate,” Kevin said without hesitation, not walking anything back, interrupting Kate’s hopeless stuttering.

She glanced at him, taking a few chugging sips of her beer, and shook her head.

“No, you don’t,” she asserted flatly. “You’ve had a lot to drink. So have I. It’s a wedding weekend and we’re—”

“No, Kate,” Kevin insisted. “I mean it. I-I love you.”

And Kate suddenly felt really dizzy, like, really dizzy, and not because of the alcohol or the day she’d spent in the sweltering July sun. Dizzy like her best friend since diapers had just fully admitted that he love loved her in a manner far more sincere and more convincing than all those other times before.

“I… I gotta go to bed, Kev. Big day tomorrow,” Kate said abruptly. She drew a deep breath, swung her legs out from beneath Kevin’s hold, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before pushing herself up from the dock and heading for the steps. “‘Night.”

_____

“You did what?!” Jimmy asked on the golf course the next morning, coughing as he nearly choked, not because of his cigar smoke, but due to pure shock upon hearing his brother’s declaration.

“I told her I loved her,” Kevin said. “And she told me I was just drunk, and I told her I wasn’t, and then she went back to the house.”

“I think I need to lie down,” said Keith Yandle, Kate and Kevin’s mutual lifelong family friend, as he dramatically took a seat in the golf cart.

Jimmy stood slack-jawed in front of Kevin, waiting for more.

“And?!” he finally prompted.

Kevin shrugged. “And I haven’t talked to her all morning,” he said, earning groans from Jimmy, Keith, and Noel Acciari, another longtime member of the crew. “But I don’t regret it. And I’m bringing it up again tonight.”

“At her brother’s wedding? What, are you nuts?” Jimmy accused.

“No, that’s perfect,” Keith bellowed. “You know how girls get about weddings. All gooey and shit. Just get her a couple drinks at the reception. She’ll cop to loving your sorry ass, too. We all know she does. This has only been about three decades in the making.”

Kevin hated to admit it, but Keith was right, and he knew that Jimmy knew it, too, as Jimmy stood with his hands on his hips, sighing as he exhaled cigar smoke.

“Alright, fine,” Jimmy said, putting his hands up and rounding the golf cart to take the driver’s seat. “That’s not your worst idea ever, Yands. And you know what, Kev? I’m proud of ya. I wasn’t sure ya had it in ya.”

Kevin let out a singular chuckle and adjusted his golf hat.

“Neither was I.”

_____

“He said what?!” Kristen said loudly from the makeup chair as Kevin’s sister Justine squealed in the hair chair next to Kate’s.

“He told me he loved me,” Kate replied incredulously, still not convinced that last night was anything more than some fever dream. “Like, actually loved me. And I didn’t say it back. Because I’m an asshole.”

“No, you’re not,” Kristen assured firmly as Justine waved Kate off. “He caught you off guard, that’s all. You’ll have plenty of time this weekend to make it up to him,” she said, waggling her eyebrows.

Justine flung out an arm and squeezed Kate’s elbow.

“Wait, are you gonna say it back?” she asked in a sharp whisper.

Kate just pursed her lips, smiling crookedly.

_____

“Jesus fuck,” Kevin muttered as Kate walked into the narthex of the church to be lined up for the walk down the aisle. Noel elbowed him in the ribs.

“We’re in a church, bud,” Noel muttered. “You’re gonna get struck down, and I’m gonna be standing next to you when it happens.”

Kevin barely heard him as he watched Kate approach her brother, who let out a “wow” at her appearance and pulled her in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Wow was putting it lightly. Her hair was left long and curled, save for a few pieces pinned back from her face, and she donned an elegant, v-neck, pale blue bridesmaid dress that appeared to have been designed just for her. Her makeup, though simple, was flawless, accentuating her strong features, making her hazel eyes, in particular, impossible not to notice.

Kevin had never seen Kate look more stunning in all his life. And that was saying something.

Kate turned toward the groomsmen next, her eyes immediately locking with Kevin’s, despite Jimmy’s wolf whistle and Noel’s “damn, Katie.”

She shot them both an eyeroll before refocusing on Kevin.

“Hi,” she said dumbly.

“Hi,” Kevin repeated. “You look beautiful, Kate. Perfect.”

There was that pushed-to-one-side, pouted-lip smile that made Kevin’s pulse race.

“Thanks, Kev,” she replied. “You look really handsome.”

Kevin gave her a grateful smile, then took a step closer to her.

“Can we talk later?” he asked, softly enough that he hoped no one else could hear and then subsequently give him shit for asking such a middle school question. His breath against her ear sent shivers through Kate, and his low tone made her mouth go dry.

She nodded, looking up at him doe-eyed and unable to form a single word. He nodded, too, and before she knew it, he was reaching for her hand, brushing a soft kiss against the top of it, and giving it a quick squeeze.

Kate didn’t have a chance to overanalyze his actions because the wedding planner quickly marched through the group, announcing that Patrick and his groomsmen needed to make their way to the altar for the start of the ceremony. Kate stepped forward to pull her older brother in for one last hug and a few whispered sentiments, then she smiled shyly at Kevin, smoothing her hand over his lapel as she passed, unaware of the knowing smile that Jimmy and Kristen shared watching the two of them.

_____

Back at her parents’ house for the reception, Kate was well on her way to a hangover for her flight back to Seattle tomorrow. Naturally, she’d been seated next to Kevin at the head table, and though the two of them hadn’t yet found time for an actual conversation, they each knew it was coming, which only increased the number of trips they’d both already made to the open bar.

After the meal, Pat and Joelle were invited to the dance floor in the middle of the yard, beneath twinkling string lights and the glow of the moon, and the strains of “Marry Me” by Train came over the sound system, filling the salty air with the peaceful guitar melody.

Kate’s jaw dropped just slightly, but enough for Kevin to take notice.

“That asshole,” she whispered.

Kevin held back a laugh at her reaction to this significant, romantic moment in her brother’s life.

“What?” he asked quietly.

“This is my wedding song,” she told Kevin incredulously, putting her hand to her chest. “I’ve said that since I was, like, in middle school. He knows that.”

Kevin wasn’t sure if it was the drinks or how breathtaking Kate looked or the feelings he’d long been pushing down finally bubbling over, now that he had let his little confession slip last night, but he suddenly heard himself say, “We can use it, too. Nobody’ll remember by then.”

Kate stiffened in her chair and snapped her head toward him.

“What?” it was her turn to whisper.

“Oh, come on, Kate,” Kevin said, sipping his whiskey casually. “Let’s not kid ourselves. That’ll be us up there someday.”

And there was that goddamn smile of hers again — Kevin knew she was trying so hard not to pull a full-on, megawatt grin, which was fine by him because he was perfectly happy with this version. Preferred it, actually.

She cleared her throat and shook her head.

“Don’t hold your breath, Kev,” Kate replied lightheartedly. But her tone was… less than convincing, some might say. Even less convincing was the way she almost imperceptibly leaned closer toward Kevin, whose arm rested loosely around the back of her chair.

And at that, Kevin smiled into his glass.

_____

Somehow, even in the midst of her own brother’s lively wedding reception, Kate still found her way to the boathouse. Kevin hadn’t even bothered to look for her elsewhere — once he noticed that she’d disappeared from the dance floor, he grabbed two Boston Lagers from the bar and headed for the dock.

She smirked when she heard his footsteps.

“Want some company?” he asked on his way down the wooden steps.

“Only if it’s you,” she replied, the flirtation evident in her tone.

Kevin smiled, pleased with that answer, and took his familiar spot next to her.

“Nice day, huh?” he asked, again pulling her legs across his lap before nudging the second beer into her hand.

“Really was,” Kate replied, clinking her bottle against Kevin’s for yet another toast.

They sat wordlessly for a few minutes, staring out at the water, listening to the laughs and chatter and music from the party up in the yard.

Eventually, Kevin cleared his throat, drawing Kate’s attention.

“Listen, Kate, about last night,” he began, but Kate’s anxiety spurred her to interrupt.

“No, it’s okay, Kev,” she said, shaking her head quickly. “You don’t have to explain—”

“No, I do,” Kevin insisted. “I-I don’t know if you’re getting it.”

She frowned. “Getting what?”

Kevin opened his mouth, looking into her eyes, then closed it again with a humorless chuckle.

“I meant it,” he finally said. “I said I loved you. And I meant it.”

Kate couldn’t break from his gaze despite the flipping sensation in her stomach, and despite the warmth creeping up her neck. The intensity of his stare was foreign to her — she was so used to happy, joking, jovial Kev, who never took anything too seriously. Even his earlier comment about their supposed future wedding reception had been tinged with sarcasm.

There was no ounce of him that was kidding now. That much Kate could see.

“You’re perfect for me, Kate,” Kevin continued. “You always have been.”

She blinked, tucking her loose waves behind her ear.

“Kev, I—”

“Wait, wait,” he laughed to himself, shaking his head before taking a long pull from his beer. “Listen, you gotta let me finish, because it took me this long to get this far. Okay?”

She nodded. He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on hers.

“I love you, Kate,” Kevin said. “I love you in the worst way. The most real way. Not just some fleeting, fling-type shit. I mean, I want it all with you. Everything. The whole fuckin’ thing. Ring, wedding, babies in little ‘13’ jerseys. Nice house, a dog. Picket fuckin’ fence. I want what our parents have. And our siblings. You’re the only person I wanna share that with. Ever.”

Kate was crying now, blissfully unfazed that her mascara tears might stain her pretty makeup. Though, they didn’t, because before they could, Kevin’s thumbs had wiped them away, and after rubbing his fingers together, he smoothed his thumbs along her cheekbones.

“And I’ve always known it,” he continued. “But it took you going away and coming back for me to work up the balls to say it.”

Kate hadn’t flinched this whole time, Kevin noticed. In fact, her eyes grew brighter and her soft smile a bit more noticeable with each word he had spoken. But she had yet to utter a word. He studied her in anticipation.

“You gotta say something, Katie girl,” he said nervously. “I’m dyin’ here.”

But there was little left for her to say, she realized, and so instead, she leaned in, cupped Kevin’s neatly-bearded cheeks in her hands, and kissed him like she had never kissed a single soul before. And Kevin kissed her back, his relief evident in his tender touch, in the way he exhaled softly against her mouth.

As soon as Kate pulled her lips from his, hers curled into a breathless smile, and she leaned her forehead against his.

“I love you, too, Kevin Hayes,” she whispered, her fingers combing through the hair at the back of his head. “I’ve loved you since forever.”

“Be with me,” Kevin blurted, as if he actually needed to. “Like, officially. I wanna do this with you.”

She nuzzled her nose against his and circled her arms around his neck.

“Oh, we’re doin’ this,” Kate told him, beaming. She pressed a kiss between his brows and whispered, “Can’t get rid of me now.”

_____

Three summers later, in her parents’ yard on the Cape, Kate twirled around the dance floor to “Marry Me” by Train with a tall, reddish-brown-haired, blue-eyed boy from Dorchester, the very one she had loved since she was a little girl, long before she even fully understood what love was.

But now, Kate knew exactly what love was, because she knew Kevin.

Her newly dubbed husband leaned down to speak softly into her ear as her song continued to play.

“Remember that night we finally got together, when Pat and Joelle had their first dance here?” Kevin asked. “And I told you, ‘someday it’ll be us up there,’ and you told me not to hold my breath?”

Kate hid her face in his chest and felt her face warm, chuckling bashfully. Her recoiling only caused Kevin to hold her tighter and press a kiss to the top of her head. His thumb and forefinger found her chin and angled her face toward his.

“I’m glad I held my breath, Katie girl,” he said, his voice low.

Kate nodded, her eyes damp with unfallen tears. “I’m glad you did, too, Kev,” she said.

#kevin hayes #my writing #kevin hayes fanfiction #kevin hayes fanfic #kevin hayes fic #hockey fanfiction #hockey art #nhl fanfictin #nhl writing #k. hayes #k hayes

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unchartedcloud · 2 years

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Okay, first off, I am a huge fan. I have absolutely fallen in love with your writing and have read legitimately all of it. I’m not the most interactive fan, but I’m branching out here because, again, I cannot get enough of your work. The serotonin levels I get make my brain go brrrrr.

That said, idk if you guys like to get suggestions/ideas for new chapters, but I have one idea that I would kill to read in your style bc I think you guys write possibly the best domestic Clexa I’ve seen, and I think this would be absolutely mint.

For the modern Clexa AU, a chapter where Lexa isn’t feeling well and Clarke takes care of her while Lexa stresses bc she’s not used to being cared for. You guys seem to have alluded to the fact that she had a rough childhood already, so I think maybe her feeling awful because of her period would be interesting. Maybe she’s extra tense about it bc she was always chided for showing weakness like that? Idk, I’m spitballing. If it’s before the break up, maybe have it so Clarke comes for one of their normal flings and then, when she realizes Lexa is struggling, instead spends the night taking care of her. A little sign that their rules are starting to break about keeping it casual. If it’s after, maybe she notices Lexa struggling in a meeting and Clarke is the only person able to convince Lexa to leave work and take care of herself. In my head I see them arguing over it and Lexa only caving when Clarke calls her “baby” or something similar (maybe for the first time).

I’m sorry for the rant lmao, I’m just obsessed with yalls work and need more vulnerable/flustered Lexa fluff.

Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this, and to write what you do. You genuinely have fans and I hope this doesn’t make you feel like you have to rush.

When I tell you I could not SLEEP last night because I was too busy brainstorming different versions of this scene. Maybe our fics make your brain go brrrrr but that's precisely what this idea has been doing to mine for the last ohhhhh 48 hours or so.

We don't necessarily take requests, insofar as we're not in a place to guarantee any kind of timely turn around, but suggestions and ideas are always, 100% welcome. Please send them. They're a super quick way to get the creative juices flowing, and interaction from folks who like our stuff is a surefire dose of dopamine - so thank you for reaching out! And please please please don't ever apologize, we live for this shit.

(Tabby edit: we certainly take requests, we just can’t promise we’ll actually do the thing or do the thing in a timely manner — but getting a request from a reader makes the odds of us writing it about 200x better :P)

Brain rot (and spoilers?!? maybe??) under the cut.

EDIT: link to the fic here, fic is rated E.

Full disclosure: I haven’t had a chance to work this out with Tabby yet, which I emphasize because she always finds a way to take my humdrum ideas and add a twist to make them ten times better (cough cough grilled cheese cough cough) BUT I think my favorite version of this so far is a post-break up situation. I like the meeting setting, I like Lexa refusing to slow down until Clarke pulls the Power of the Petname on her. (There are so many things to love about this pairing, but seeing Lexa's world-shaping will bend to Clarke's affection is one of my absolute favorites. I'm sure that doesn't show in any of our fics at all.)

I'm seeing it as a pale, somewhat spacey, just visibly (to Clarke) unwell Lexa sitting in Arkadia's offices for one of their regular meetings, trying to force herself through her day while patently avoiding the Looks Clarke is trying to give her. She gets up to use the restroom and Clarke follows a few minutes later to check in, leading to Lexa stubbornly insisting she's alright to a Clarke who can see through her like wet tissue paper. They bicker, the temperature rising, until Clarke (who always has a Doctor Mode tm, even in a universe where Abby isn't a medical professional) goes to touch her forehead to see if she has a fever, and Lexa - who is a) very unused to touch in most situations, b) very unused to the idea of being taken care of, and c) is now extremely overstimulated - recoils and snaps at her. Enter that fun moment of realization as her overreaction breaks the tension, and though she stubbornly sees out the rest of the Arkadia meeting, Clarke catches her quietly calling Elena to cancel the rest of her appointments for the day.

Of course, Clarke doesn't trust Lexa as far as she can throw her when it comes to stopping work, so she heads to Lexa's apartment after work. she now has a key of her own it's fine. Commence domesticity and hurt/comfort.

I should be doing work, but instead I'm losing it over this idea.

I can make no promises that a version of this will ever see the light of day - and if it does, it'll probably be so far in the future you'll have forgotten you sent this, lmao. (though you will, of course, be credited) But I am positively buzzing about this and am about to go bother Tabby about it again. Might even have just the right title for it...

The idea of having fans is so beyond me, but we remain incredibly grateful for all of y'all who a) read our stuff and b) let us know that you've found it meaningful in some way. That's what makes all the work worth it!

The best domestic clexa. I am cry omg

#clexa #clexa fanfic #modern au #new rules #clarke griffin #lexa woods #commander lexa #my fic #asks #that-asthmatic-queer

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gloryofluv · 3 years

Text

Outfoxed: A Not So Happy Accident

I was going to create a headcanon for this prompt. However, it sounds waaaaay too much fun not to write as a fic. So, as per usual, Rena decided she was going to make herself known and now demands an introduction to her story.

F!MC x Multi

Rated: Mature

Summary: Rena was evaluating her place. Not among demons, or angels, or even magic. No, she was evaluating her place with herself. How not to be helpless for a human in a Devildom that never seemed to just have one regular day.

So, on her path to such a journey of self-discovery, she entrusted the neighborhood ancient sorcerer. (BTW He hates it when you call him ancient and Rena does to get a rise out of him!) How does one simple thing as evaluating her demon pacts cause this mess?

She's now... well, she's now a demon. Who knows how long? Who even knows why??? Well, this was going to be something her and Solomon work on. On top of all the newness of being a demon and learning that rules definitely don't stay the same despite your species or the temporary state of affairs.

The Incident:

Through the course of time through the Devildom, there was really no other human as reliable as Solomon. The sorcerer may have been an odd one, but he certainly knew magic. The pair were sitting in his room just as it was, every other Saturday.

Today was vital for Rena mostly due to the fact that Solomon was going to do some experiments with her demonic pacts. This was quite a bit of trust she was placing on the sorcerer—a milestone for her.

The woman shifted and scratched her nails through her auburn hair before twirling a lengthy lock around her fingertips while reading. It seemed quite intricate what he wanted to do. Testing the actual property of how attuned her pacts were with her magic.

“It’s all a process, I assure you,” Solomon hummed as he slowly stirred a spoon in the small cauldron.

“Sol, it’s not that I don’t trust you,” she murmured.

“But you don’t,” Solomon sighed. “I promise this won’t hurt you. We can’t get into the actual foundation of ritualistic magic if you don’t understand the capacity for your pacts.”

Rena shifted in her yoga pants and pulled down her green t-shirt before sighing. “No, I get that part. I understand the fundamentals of what the incantation is. I also see that it requires the subject to be completely willing. What happens if I don’t know if I am?”

Solomon twitched his nose as his ashen eyes met her form. “Are you? Rena, this is important. If you have any doubts, we shouldn’t do this. I’ve been instructing you for the entire week on what this experiment will do.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m one-hundred percent consenting to this,” Rena voiced with a single nod.

“You’re not just doing this to appease me, are you?” He questioned and set down the spoon on the table.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Excellent, then there’s no problem,” Solomon smiled and pointed to the chair. “Bring the book; the mixture is ready. Remember, it will help enlighten the passive magic from the pacts. You told the brothers about a possible tingle, correct?”

She scooped up the volume and agreed. “I also let them know that it’s just me tapping into that magic. A check-up.”

“Perfect,” he murmured and grabbed the ladle.

Rena ran her hands over her neck as she sat down. The book was peeled open to the page, and Solomon was scooping the solution into a goblet. Why a goblet? Why couldn’t the sorcerer use an ordinary glass? Magic was always so ancient, and it made the young woman’s lip curl as she observed. Such an old and foreign concept that was endearing after his several years of life.

Solomon tilted his head and offered it to her. “What has you amused?”

“You, Sol. You always amuse me,” she replied before taking the silver to her lips.

It tasted like rancid mugwort with a shot of whiskey. The liquid heated over Rena’s tongue and slid down her throat with a bite she wasn’t prepared for. The coughing that followed the serving of this solution didn’t startle the sorcerer, nor did he invade her space. All Solomon did was offer a glass of water.

Rena gulped it down and released a groan while scrunching her nose. “Why can’t we ever drink a cocktail or an ale? Why does it always taste like something similar to sewage?”

“Well, I never claimed anything I brew tastes wonderful, Rena,” he chuckled and thumbed the pages in front of her. “We should begin immediately.”

She breathed in and rolled her neck. “Okay.”

Solomon took his thumb and spoke the incantation before pressing it to her forehead. The tingling through her fingers and toes was as he described—even the quickening of her heartbeat as it pattered in her chest. However, there was something else that he didn’t note.

A sharp tug at her navel made her feel nauseous and caused the muscles in Rena’s abdomen to twitch. She started to count backward from one-hundred as a way to cope with the discomfort, but the longer she attempted to ignore it, the sharper it became.

She wanted to stop. This didn’t feel right. This wasn’t what he told her. Rena lost her tranquil concentration as Solomon finished the incantation. His finger pulled from her skin right before the woman launched to the ground and stifled a sound that neared agony.

“Rena, what’s wrong,” Solomon huffed as he slid to the floor next to her.

Her mouth and fingertips felt on fire as her breath caught in her throat. “I’m burning,” she cried as tears welled in her eyes.

“What?” he snapped. “Everything was accurate. What do you mean? Rena, tell me what’s hurting!”

She howled and raised to her knees, running her hands over her face. Her whole body felt like it was boiling in a giant vat of oil. “Solomon!” she screamed and saw white race through her eyes.

Just for the record. One does not simply grow extra limbs or oddities in a snap. It’s a horrible process of your magical composition changing, and those oddities in question come from inside to the surface. Horns. A shift in ears. A tail. It all has to grow from somewhere.

Clothing tears, whether that be from the subject or the growths. The skin bleeds from the oddities. The restructuring of one form to another is a difficult and painful process, but once it’s done, the person in question flops to the ground unceremoniously. Rena had this experience first hand and wouldn’t wish it on her most loathsome enemy.

“Fuck,” she hissed through panting and tears.

“Solomon, oh my, what happened?” Simeon’s voice entered the room.

“I, honestly, Simeon, it was. I don’t know how this could have happened!” Solomon’s voice sounded coarse and the furthest away from his usual calm demeanor.

A cool hand touched her bare back. “Rena, are you alright?”

She caught her breath and dug her sharp nails into the wooden floor. “I think, I need water,” she croaked.

Shuffling and then the hand traveled to her shoulder. “Let’s get you sat up, but be careful.”

Be careful? Rena was assisted in sitting and winced. Her eyes felt sensitive to the light in the room. It seemed so dim earlier, but now everything glared with color. “What happened?”

Solomon offered her the glass and scowled. “Rena, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t fully comprehend what caused it.”

She brought the glass to her lips, and something tickled her leg, causing her to jump. A matted pillow? Rena reached out and tugged the item, causing a sharp pain to run up her spine. The glass fell from her hand and splashed water everywhere near her.

“What the,” she huffed, and the matted pillow flicked and curled over her lap. “I have a fucking tail!” she cried.

Simeon ducked down, and his brow was tight. “Yes, you do. You also have a new set of sensitive ears, so don’t hurt them quite yet,” he murmured.

She narrowed her eyes and snarled at Solomon. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he huffed and gestured to her. “I explained everything to the fullest this week. This was supposed to be routine. It wasn’t supposed to turn you into…” he trailed off.

Rena jolted from her seat on the floor and paced over to the mirror he had on the wall. Oh, for the love of fucking demons… “I’m a,” she breathed as her breath became shallow.

“A fox,” Simeon sighed.

“A demon,” Solomon corrected him. “She is a demon.”

Rena wiped the blood from her forehead and scowled. The horns curled sweetly in a small curve around her eyes. The large matted ears. Lifting her sweat-coated hair, she noted her human-like ears were missing. How the hell was she going to explain this to anyone .

“Lucifer, we have a bit of a situation,” Simeon’s voice bounced in the room. “Solomon and I are bringing Rena home immediately, and I suggest you meet us there.”

“This is temporary, right?” Rena asked.

Solomon appeared behind her reflection. “I think so? I have to do some research on how this was even possible.”

Rena grimaced and scrubbed her sensitive eyes. “This is going to be a shitshow.”

“Likely, but let’s just hope Lucifer doesn’t flay me before I find a cure to your new conflict.”

“Hopefully,” Rena grumbled and covered her bra with folded arms. “Can you help me get some clothing? I don’t really want to walk around like this.”

Simeon cleared his throat. “I have a sweater that might cover the tear in your leggings as well as keep you modest, Rena. I’ll be right back, and we’ll leave.”

Solomon turned Rena toward him and took a cool cloth to her face, wiping away the clotted blood. “I will work tirelessly on this, I promise.”

“I know, Sol,” she sighed.

So. She was a demon for however long. What the fuck was that going to be like? How the hell was she going to cope with this new experience? One thing was positive; Lucifer was going to be furious. Great.

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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 3 years

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Episode Spotlight: M*A*S*H, Season 1, Episode 17: Sometimes You Hear the Bullet

Frank Burns throws his back out and applies for a Purple Heart. Meanwhile, Hawkeye Pierce meets, and later operates on, an old friend and struggles with the decision of whether or not to send an underaged soldier home.

More than halfway through season 1, M*A*S*H wasn’t exactly killing in the ratings. The show wasn’t quite sure of itself yet, with tons of recurring characters that would end up dropped and other characters not yet added to the main cast. Airing at eight o’clock on Sunday nights, M*A*S*H was, at this stage in the game, a relatively normal sitcom, albeit one with a bit sharper sense of humor.

That all changed with Sometimes You Hear the Bullet.

I’ll show you what I mean.

The episode starts humorously enough: Major Frank Burns throws his back out during a rendezvous with Major Houlihan. He is placed into traction, where he applies for a Purple Heart for his ‘injury’. Meanwhile, Hawkeye is visited by an old friend and kindred irreverent spirit: Corporal Tommy Gillis, a journalist who signed up for the front lines as he writes his book: You Never Hear the Bullet, a book meant to be written from a soldier’s point of view, instead of a reporter’s.

A helicopter full of wounded arrive at the unit, and Gillis returns to his post.

Among the wounded is a young man with a burst appendix, a Private Wendell Petersen, who is very anxious to get back to the front lines. Hawkeye tells him that he has to rest for a few days before returning to his unit. This doesn’t stop Wendell from attempting to steal an army jeep to try to get back, afraid that he was going to be sent home.

After talking with him, Hawkeye figures out the truth: Wendell Petersen is actually Walter Peterson, and he’s not even sixteen years old.

It turns out that Walter posed as his brother, Wendell, and entered the war to impress his girlfriend back home by returning with a medal. He begs Hawkeye to keep his secret, and, after returning him to his bed, Hawkeye agrees.

Shortly, more wounded arrive, and among them is Tommy Gillis. Hawkeye operates on him, but even his best is not enough, and he dies on the operating table after telling Hawkeye that he did hear the bullet. Hawkeye tries to revive him, but Colonel Henry Blake orders him to move on to save another life.

Afterwards, Hawkeye breaks down crying.

“Henry, I know why I’m crying now. Tommy was my friend, and I watched him die, and I’m crying. I’ve watched guys die almost every day. Why didn’t I ever cry for them?”

“Because you’re a doctor.”

Hawkeye asks what that means, and Henry answers with one of the greatest lines in the show’s history.

“I don’t know. If I had the answer, I’d be at the Mayo Clinic. Does this place look like the Mayo Clinic? Look, all I know is what they taught me at command school. There are certain rules about a war. And rule number one is young men die. And rule number two is, doctors can’t change rule number one.”

Right then and there, Hawkeye decides to change rule number one in some small way, and calls the MPs on Private Wendell, really Walter, outing the fact that he’s underage. Walter, outraged, tells Hawkeye that he’ll never forgive Hawkeye for the rest of his life.

Hawkeye replies: “Let’s hope it’s a long and healthy hate.”

In one final scene (one that’s usually cut from syndication), Henry Blake begins to present Frank with his Purple Heart, only to find it replaced with a purple earring, while outside, Hawkeye pins the Purple Heart on Walter to make up for turning him in, sending him home, but home a hero.

The end.

Sometimes You Hear the Bullet is considered one of M*A*S*H’s best episodes for a reason. This is an early episode, one that is regarded as a tone and trend setter for the rest of the series in terms of both storyline balance (one or two serious plotlines, one humorous), and content itself, one of the first episodes to sit down and truly explore the characters within this tragic situation. At this moment, M*A*S*H ceased being a comedy show and became a dramedy, with one of the most memorable moments and exchanges in the show’s long history.

While this episode may seem like a standard half-hour of television, at the time, especially for this show, it was something different. It was no longer a slapstick grittier Hogan’s Heroesque irreverent comedy about soldiers, it was a show about a group of people stuck in the middle of a war, with death all around them. And no matter how good Hawkeye, or any of the doctors, are at their jobs, they’ll never be able to save everyone.

It’s sobering, but it’s a truth that the show had, for the first time, truly explored, and it’s that initial exploration, that glimmer of what this show was going to become, that puts this episode under so much recognition: Sometimes You Hear the Bullet was the warning sign, the first moment that the writers got a handle on the show that would become a classic.

Of course, it has it’s problems.

Not tonal ones, at least, not exactly. Throughout its entire run, M*A*S*H often had two or three plots going, one serious, one humorous. This is a smart strategy: balance out the dark with the light, giving each episode a more even feeling instead of being too much one or the other. Although the show would get darker and more serious as time went on, the writers never abandoned this plan, allowing M*A*S*H to remain a consistent dramedy throughout the show’s run, keeping the audience laughing and crying at the same time.

In the case of Sometimes You Hear the Bullet, the ‘funny’ subplot is obvious: Frank Burns and his Purple Heart. The other two storylines are the serious ones: Hawkeye’s friend, as well as the underaged soldier. However, in most cases, as in this one, these plotlines inevitably intersect, and it’s here that this particular episode might cause a few problems.

I mentioned that the final scene in the episode is typically cut from syndication: the sequence where Frank’s purple heart is stolen and given to the underaged soldier, instead. While this scene may not, at first, seem inherently out of place within the context of the rest of the episode, swinging from comedy to drama within a minute, there are those who believe that this scene unintentionally undermines the rest of the episode, or the main thrust established a few moments earlier.

And those people aren’t exactly wrong.

I certainly agree that the episode would have been stronger had it ended with the soldier’s final interaction with Hawkeye been proclaiming his hatred, only for Hawkeye to soberly respond that he hopes it’s a long and healthy hate. Changing that to this new ending, where Hawkeye sends him home with a medal, seems almost out of character for Hawkeye, taking away some of the sincerity and severity of the message just a moment earlier. The idea that this soldier could bring himself to forgive Hawkeye so soon, before realizing what exactly he’d been saved from, seems a little disingenuous after the weight previously given to this subplot.

In later episodes, it’s possible, even probable that this episode wouldn’t have ended tied in such a neat bow. But that’s one of the things that’s so interesting about this episode.

Sometimes You Hear the Bullet isn’t the first episode of ‘true’ M*A*S*H as it would be remembered in the future, but it is the first episode where M*A*S*H comes into its own themes, looking hard at war, and the toll it takes not only on the soldiers, but on the surgeons, as well. Before this, for the most part, ‘characters’, friends of the cast, did not die on the operating table. Not when Hawkeye could save him.

But I’m going to quote Hawkeye from another season 1 M*A*S*H episode, Yankee Doodle Doctor, as I think that it sums up this the point of this episode pretty well:

“Three hours ago, this man was in a battle. Two hours ago, we operated on him. He’s got a 50-50 chance. We win some, we lose some. That’s what it’s all about. No promises. No guaranteed survival. No saints in surgical garb. Our willingness, our experience, our technique are not enough. Guns, and bombs, and anti-personnel mines have more power to take life than we have to preserve it. Not a very happy ending for a movie. But then, no war is a movie.”

That right there is the point of Sometimes You Hear the Bullet, to the point where the doomed Tommy Gillis even references the film tropes of a young, fresh-faced kid hearing the bullet that kills him. This is the message that Hawkeye must grapple with: he cannot save everyone.

No matter how much he knows, how good he is, he can never save everyone. No guaranteed survival.

It’s sobering, but it’s the truth. And it’s what makes this episode so memorable.

M*A*S*H at this point was still mostly a comedy, a series full of jokes and the occasional serious moment, and it would continue to be so for another few years. But it was this episode, episode seventeen of the first season, that signaled to audiences that this show could be more than that. It could make you laugh, sure, but it could make you cry, and it wasn’t that surprising: this was war.

In short: by itself, is Sometimes You Hear the Bullet one of the greatest episodes of television, or even M*A*S*H, ever written? Maybe. Maybe not. But what it is, without much doubt, is the first sign of maturity in a show that had a lot of growing up to do.

Whether the shift was instantaneous or not, the fact is, Sometimes You Hear the Bullet was a game changer in the show’s history, the first break in format that truly showed audiences what they could expect in the years ahead.

On top of that? It’s just a good episode.

The plot balance is decent, without too much mood-whiplash that could so easily occur in a war dramedy. The characters, decently familiar to audiences by now, all work off of each other just as well as ever, funny, interesting, and heartfelt in turn. It’s an example of early M*A*S*H at it’s best, overshadowing many first season episodes with a level of depth previously mostly unexplored, delivering on every scene and remaining mostly genuine. It’s an engaging episode, full of memorable moments that are thoughtful and earnest, making this episode a standout, a moment in television history, and an unmissable installment for avid watchers of M*A*SH, and television fans in general.

Don’t forget that the comment box is always open for anything from suggestions and discussion ideas to questions and conversations! Thank you guys so much for reading, and I hope to see you guys in the next article.

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ladynestaarcheron · 3 years

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Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Three

ao3 - masterpost

happy friday! here's chapter three, a little long, and dramatiqué so enjoy:)

canon fixes this week: 1) gwyn mentions the priestess who counsels them. nesta was never offered counseling. bullshit. 2) gwyn says they never talk about each other because they've all been through a lot. mm. okay. i went to a girls' school. you don't just not talk about anyone because they've been through a lot. it doesn't have to be cruel gossip, but you definitely still talk. and if someone is a bitch to you, then yeah, it's gossip.

---

When Nesta had first been brought into Prythian, right here into the House of Wind, she had often thought to herself that her life could not possibly get any worse. She was a faerie now, a monster, and Elain was wasting away before her eyes, and Feyre was off to no-one-would-tell-her-where doing no-one-would-tell-her-what. And every other day, Cassian would come by and interrupt her fear and anxiety to irritate her beyond belief.

‍And then the war happened, and the impossible happened. Her life did get worse.

‍And now she is here again, and it is...different. Sometimes worse. Sometimes better. Sometimes neither. But it's different this time.

‍This time, she doesn't have to be worried about her sisters. They're the ones who are worried about her. She isn't scared of her own reflection anymore--not comfortable in this immortal skin, but used to it nonetheless. And most striking...Cassian doesn't seek her out.

‍He doesn't sit with her for breakfast, though the healer, Daphne does come up every morning to check up on her (unnecessary. She is miserable and in pain, but stable). She hears him during the day, making rounds around the House, or doing something up on the roof, but she doesn't see him while the sun is out. He meets her once for dinner, to watch her take her mock liquor, and then once again when she hurls out her insides in the middle of the night.

‍And then the week is over, and he is gone.

‍Feyre is there to greet her for breakfast.

‍"I hear you slept the night!" she says, enthusiastic.

‍Nesta doesn't answer.

‍"You've detoxed," Feyre says. "I...I'm really proud of you. I know that was a long five days. Elain's proud of you, too. She sends her love."

‍Nesta nods slightly. She sits down at her usual spot at the head of the table, the chair dragging itself out to meet her.

‍Feyre notices. "Kind of creepy, isn't it? The magic all on its own?"

‍"I don't mind it," Nesta says.

‍On the contrary. The first morning she had awoken here, she had desperately wanted to bathe. But she stumbled into the bathroom and her body had seized up as she imagined herself sinking in the tub. Sinking...drowning...getting pulled under and never getting out. Perhaps it was being back here, but she had asked the House for some buckets, and reverted to her old practice of washing herself.

‍She had fully intended to accept her fate, coming to terms with the fact that while she was in the House, forcing herself to sit in the tub would be far too difficult, and she'd have to suffer through being covered in her own sick for a week, but on the second morning, the House had gifted her with an out.

‍The tub, ridiculously wide and deep--to accommodate wings, she realizes now--was still there, but hanging from the ceiling, almost like a chandelier, was a faucet. The House had turned on the water for her; she hadn't known what it was. The water came out like rain, with dozens of tiny streams instead of one the size of a fist, like in the bath. And she could...stand under it.

‍Nesta still isn't quite sure how much the House can hear, or if it cares. But she takes extra care to say please and thank you now, for things she wouldn't have bothered before.

‍"Well, at any rate," Feyre says, pulling her back to the present. "You'll be starting at the library today. Are you ready?"

‍Nesta shrugs.

‍"Do you want me to walk you down?"

‍No. Maybe. No. "Do...are girls normally escorted in?" she asks carefully.

‍"No," Feyre admits. "Normally...they're just brought here right after...but it's allowed. I mean, whatever's more comfortable for you."

‍She doesn't know what to say, so she deflects. "Did Elain not want to escort me?"

‍"She just didn't want to come by until you specifically asked for her."

‍"Why did you come, then?" She's blunt, but she only realizes how it sounds until after it comes out. She isn't trying to be cruel, though.

‍Feyre doesn't bristle. "I wanted to see you. And update you on the Illyrian situation."

‍"The rebels?"

‍"They're doing a good job of keeping their meetings secret," Feyre admits. "But don't worry. We're better."

‍"I'm not worried," Nesta says, and she honestly means it. She remembers the war well. Remembers Cassian's skill, precision, deadliness...no one compares. If he's defending her, there's no cause for concern. Except him, of course. "What is it?"

‍"They know you're at the House." Their spies in Velaris had probably noticed Cassian flying about, had marked Elain moving her things out of her apartment in the city...Nesta isn't scared of any Illyrians tracking her down while she's here, but the idea of some wretch skulking after her sisters in the dark....

‍Feyre continues, "And we do know they want to make a move. But they can't, Nesta. I promise you're safe here."

‍Nesta keeps her voice impassive, almost bored, when she says, "He's gone, though?"

‍Feyre knows whom she means. "Cassian? Well, we're still keeping the House secure...you might hear him or Rhys or Az checking the wards a few times a day, but that's it. No one in the House any longer. Just as you'd prefer it."

‍Nesta blinks. She hadn't realized this threat was real enough to warrant the three of them visiting the House multiple times a day. Perhaps...perhaps there is reason to worry. Or fear.

‍Because she certainly will be afraid...if it happens like last time. Strange faerie males breaking down her door, ripping her out of bed. By her hair, by her arms. Grabbing at her, pinching her. Elain screaming from her room down the hall.

‍"So, you'll go down yourself, then?" Feyre asks, dragging her back to the present.

‍Nesta blinks again, shoving that horrible night out of her mind. "Yes," she says, and because she doesn't want to give herself another moment to slide into that place again, rises to do just that.

Feyre had escorted her down to these doors once before, and they had descended the levels to find Hybern. This time, she is alone, and there are two priestesses waiting for her when she enters.

‍One clearly defers to the other, and she stands behind her. Her hood is set atop her head, and her brown face is pretty aside from some light scarring on either cheek. She smiles and says, "Welcome, Nesta."

‍Nesta cannot tell if the higher priestess smiles or not, for her hood covers her face. But truth be told, even if she were entirely naked, Nesta would only look at her hands, for they are wrecked beyond comprehension. Fingers at wrong angles and parts missing and--

‍"Hello," Nesta blurts out, because it's the only thing she can think to say and she doesn't want to stare. She hates when people stare at her. Her cheeks flame; she's not cut out for this. She can't be around these females.

‍The high priestess lifts her head slightly, enough for Nesta to see that she is, indeed, smiling. A parchment and fountain pen--and quite a good-quality one, she notes--appear out of thin air, making her jump slightly, and in a neat script write out:

‍Welcome, Nesta. I am Clotho, high priestess of the library. This is Thalia, one of our senior priestesses. She'll be showing you the library today. I hope you find it to your liking. I'll see you later today.

‍"Oh," Nesta says, not quite knowing what to reply. "Thank you," she adds, figuring that's as good as anything.

‍Clotho raises her head once more to offer her another smile and then sweeps away, parchment and pen disappearing after her.

‍"Shall we begin our tour, then, Nesta?" Thalia asks. She waits for Nesta to nod before beginning her descent down the spiralling levels of the library.

‍Thalia explains about the different sections of the library, and points out different offices for the other senior priestesses and what their specialties are. They meet some females here and there, and she introduces them, but luckily no one sticks around for a chat. Already Nesta can feel her pulse quickening, sick at the idea of having to be with all these people all the time. She is immensely grateful for her sisters for keeping her alone in the House during the nights, at least.

‍When they reach the fifth level, Nesta stops in her tracks. Thalia looks at her, patient and unhurried.

‍"Is it--back?" Nesta asks, unable to keep the fear out of her voice.

‍Thalia smiles. "Bryaxis has never harmed any of us and is no cause for alarm," she says gently. "But no, it is not returned."

‍No cause for alarm? Cassian was scared of that thing.

‍But if it's not here...fine.

‍"Where's your office?" Nesta says, grasping for a subject so she doesn't have to see the look on Cassian's face when he found her running out of the library in her mind's eye.

‍"Level six," she replies. "Come, let's go there now."

‍Thalia's office is clearly very separate from the library, as it has the least amount of books of any room here. Which is still substantially more than what Nesta guesses the average room in Velaris has, with one wall made up of fully stacked floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and some on the desk in the corner and one on the coffee table in the small sitting area.

‍"Come sit, please, Nesta," Thalia says, choosing a couch for herself. "Well,"she says, when Nesta is settled in an armchair, "what are your first impressions of the library?"

‍"I've been here before."

‍Thalia smiles. "So you have. But you're a bit better informed on our particular brand this time around, aren't you?"

‍Nesta nods.

‍"Well, allow me to explain further. I am the priestess who counsels the females who choose to join us."

‍"Counseling?" she repeats, her heart speeding up. So she's supposed to just tell this female everything about herself? Is that what her sisters expect her to do?

‍"I know that's a loaded word, but I promise it isn't as scary as it sounds."

‍How can she be so cavalier about this? All smiles and twinkling eyes.

‍"We can have sessions as often or as rarely as you'd please. If you'd like, you never have to come to another meeting with me again after this, or any of the classes or sessions my colleagues direct. Except, of course, for our weekly check-in."

‍"What's the weekly check-in?" Nesta asks, because the priestess won't say anything otherwise.

‍"We do one mandatory group session a week where we all check-in with each other. Everyone attends. No one has to speak, but we all attend."

‍All right. Fine. She can do that. Sitting in a room one a week, silent. Listening to other miserable girls talk about their problems.

‍Could be worse, she tries to tell herself.

‍"So what exactly...does life at the library entail?"

‍"Our institution exists for the purpose of preserving and furthering knowledge on every topic we can get our hands on," Thalia says, "but we also serve to help females heal from various traumas. Because everyone is different, there's no one correct way to go about this journey. But a very broad number of sessions and exercises are available to you, and you are welcome and encouraged to try any of them. In addition to these, you will also be invited to work in the library. First you can start with menial tasks, and when you've got your bearings you can be given a more specific assignment.

‍"But the real question, Nesta," the priestess continues, and Nesta startles when she breaks her generic explanation to address her by name, "is what you want life at the library to entail."

‍She clenches her fists at her side, trying to draw the blood away from her cheeks. "What?"

‍"What would you say your goals are?"

‍Her throat tightens. Goals? Nesta hasn't had a goal in...probably since she stopped taking magic lessons with Amren. And for her life, well....

‍"Why don't we start with what urged you to make the decision to come here?"

‍Blinking twice, Nesta says, "My sisters."

‍"Did you come to appease them, or another reason, or a mix of both?"

‍Perhaps it's something in the female's tone, that genuine curiosity, that puts Nesta the slightest bit at ease.

‍"For them, mostly. But...a little bit for me." It sounds stupid when she says it, but Thalia does scoff or roll her eyes--of course not. And that's enough for her to continue, unprompted, "I want to live again."

‍Without missing a beat, Thalia leans over and picks up the book from the table and takes out a pen from the pocket of her robe. "Why don't we figure out how you can do that, then?"

Perhaps it was because of the topic of conversation--Nesta hates talking about herself--but she didn't remember sober conversations being so...difficult.

‍Thalia had coaxed Nesta into telling her the things she most wanted to happen. She had congratulated her on her sobriety--almost a full week, Nesta's mind bit with mock enthusiasm--and encouraged her to take her success there as indication that she is capable of working towards everything else she desires.

‍But so far Nesta is only sober because she lives in a house completely inaccessible to the outside world--unless she wants to hike down ten thousand steps, or ask Rhysand to carry her down--and there is no alcohol inside of it. She can't possibly manage any of her other goals in the real world.

‍"Why not?" Thalia had asked. "And who says this isn't the real world?"

‍That was fair. So Nesta shrugged, and after a painstaking few hours, they had a list of things Nesta wanted to do for now, comprised of a sentence Nesta worded and then Thalia's additions.

Not drift off inside her own head for undetermined amounts of time -> determine triggers.

Not always feel like she needs alcohol -> find productive coping mechanisms.

Be able to talk to Elain and Feyre normally -> determine what is stopping her since all three of them want the same thing.

Start reading again.

The fourth one Thalia had been very pleased to hear, and she had left as Nesta said it.

"I'd be happy to give you some recommendations, if you'd like," she'd said.

"There are romances in the House," she said. She had spotted some on the shelves in her room that hadn't been there last time. And who knew when the next time she was going to have sex was? Who knew if she'd ever have sex again? So she'd better find a good novel.

She didn't tell the priestess that, of course.

So after a morning of that, and a quiet lunch of one slice of toast by herself in the House--not much, but more than she'd expected to have. The detoxing must've given her the slightest bit of appetite again--Nesta descends down to the library again to begin her new job of shelving books.

The work isn't so bad. Dusty, and tedious, but it's good enough at distracting her from herself, because she doesn't know the library well enough for it to be mindless. After a few hours of this, a strong bell rings out--the call to prayer. The priestess all make their way to the same place, leaving Nesta alone in the library for half an hour, then they are back. No one asks her why she didn't join. No one asks her anything at all the whole day, until a second, softer bell rings out, and the priestesses begin to leave for dinner, and she back up to the House, and Clotho waits for her at the door.

Hello, Nesta, she charms her pen to write for her. How was your first day?

"All right," she says. It was. It was...fine. Not terrible.

Thalia tells me she's very impressed with your progress.

Nesta blinks. She hasn't done anything.

Clotho huffs a small sound of amusement, swaying her hood slightly. It can generally take a long while for someone to share with Thalia as much as you did.

I noticed you seemed interested in the Wats books.

At this, Nesta blushed slightly. Children's books, tall tales. "I hadn't realized I was being watched."

Clotho only waits.

"Yes," she says eventually. "I...like stories."

One of our senior priestesses is giving a series of lectures on the history of children's literature. There's one tomorrow. Perhaps you'd like to join.

The pink tinge in Nesta's cheeks hasn't fully faded. "Maybe."

Was there something else you wanted to say, Nesta?

Is it that obvious? Nesta's always thought she's good at keeping her thoughts off her face, but Clotho and Thalia seem to see right through her.

"I still don't understand how this is supposed to work," she admits.

Clotho lifts her head to show her another smile. I'm afraid "this" will require some patience. We want to find the right path for you. In the meantime, however, you are welcome to join sessions or lectures, and I will figure out an assignment for you within the coming weeks.

You have nothing to worry about, Nesta, Clotho adds. You're going to do so well. You're stronger than you think you are.

She has to say that to everyone, Nesta supposes, but she nods anyway, and turns to go up into the House.

Dinner is as quiet as lunch was, and Nesta manages to stomach another slice of toast and even some raw celery. Anything hot or rich, Nesta finds, is too much for her to bear, and she can't keep down. Even buttering her toast is too much for her. The House doesn't seem to grow impatient with her as she uncertainly, almost shyly, asks it for new foods. Just to see if she can smell them without growing nauseated. Small steps. Perhaps one day she'll be able to eat normally again.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps she'll be this wretched, vile, pathetic thing--

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

It's not an uncommon occurrence, for Cassian's deep voice to echo in her mind, but it's been some time since they've felt so...comforting.

Your sisters love you. I can't for the life of me understand why, but they do. Yes, that had spun around in her mind for months. And most nights, sometimes even with another male's arms around her...I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta. I will find you in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.

He hadn't meant it. Or...he had in the moment and then without the looming threat, he had changed his mind. Or she had done something...

But this is real.

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

It feels real. It feels honest and true and tonight, it is enough to drive out other thoughts, enough to spur her into choosing a book to start, enough to make her forget that she wanted the fifth thing on that list to be Not be so awful and disgusting and useless and pathetic because if he think she's not, then she's not.

It's enough to make her think she's doing the right thing, and enough to make her do it again tomorrow.

The next day, no one seeks Nesta out for a session. Some of the senior librarians say hello to her, but she is mostly left to her own devices and continues shelving books on her own. She does so all morning, and she expects to do so all afternoon, but around two, a priestess approaches her and asks her if she wants to join her lecture circuit on the history of children's literature. There's no real reason not to go, so Nesta agrees.

‍The room is smaller than the ones Father had once described to her were at higher institutes on the continent. It's the right size for the dozen or so priestesses already sitting in a semi-circle, facing a black board where a charmed piece of chalk already begins to write.

‍Nesta sits in an empty seat on the edge of the semi-circle, next to a copper-haired priestess, with her hood hanging at her shoulders. Actually, Nesta muses to herself as she studies the girl out of the corner of her eye, she might not even be a priestess at all. She isn't wearing that necklace they all have on their foreheads. It's nice to think that there's someone else here who doesn't worship that thing.

‍The lecture is interesting, if a bit confusing at times. Nesta is largely unfamiliar with children's stories over the Wall--there had been no magical quests or enchanted objects in her childhood. The witches and sorcerers and faeries had always been the villains.

‍But it's nice. To learn something new, to hear it from someone who is clearly passionate about it.

‍When the lecture is over, the priestess--Calliope--talks to her while the other girls file out.

‍"To your liking?" she asks, blunt.

‍"Yes," Nesta answers.

‍"Thalia said you might like some recommendations. What are you interested in?"

‍"Anything good. Romances."

‍"Are you well-versed in fae classics?"

‍"No," Nesta says. She's fairly well versed in human classics, though.

‍"I'll get you started. I'll have a pile ready for you by the end of the day."

‍"I...thank you," she says.

‍The priestess nods once and turns on her heel to leave.

‍Nesta blinks. She didn't realize priestesses could be...not so like Thalia or Clotho and maybe more...like her. Back when she was like herself, at least. She shakes herself a little and walks out of the room, too.

‍"What did Calliope say to you?" asks a clear, pretty voice from behind.

‍Nesta turns. The ginger possibly-not-priestess.

‍"Excuse me?"

‍"What did Calliope say to you?" she repeats, taking a step closer.

‍Tensing slightly, Nesta says, "She asked me if I liked her lecture."

‍"Well?"

‍Hands now fisted at her sides, Nesta says, "I beg your pardon?"

‍"Well, did you like it?"

‍"I did," Nesta says shortly.

‍"Do you think you'll be assigned to her?"

‍"I..."

‍"You haven't been assigned yet. I mean, you're new, so that's not unusual, but since you don't live with us and you're only coming now we wondered if you were going to be assigned earlier."

‍Nesta raises an eyebrow. "We?"

‍The girl offers her a sheepish grin. "It's not every day we get someone new. We...the other girls and I...we were just a little curious."

‍"Hm."

‍"Well, do you think you want to be assigned to her? I'm Gwyenth Berdara, by the way, I'm another student here."

‍"Nesta."

‍"I know. You're the High Lady's sister and you slew the King of Hybern."

‍Nesta freezes slightly, for a moment. Then she says, "I didn't. I stabbed him."

‍"Oh," Gwyneth says, teal eyes widening. "Well...they call you kingslayer. Not kingstabber. It's a better nickname," she adds, when Nesta doesn't say anything. "As far as nicknames go. Mine's Gwyn, by the way. Or what everyone calls me. Not as suave as kingslayer, but what can you do?"

‍Gwyneth Berdara...talks more than Morrigan.

‍"Sorry," Gwyn says, laughing a little. "We're not supposed to overwhelm you. I just...wanted to talk to you."

‍"Were you told not to overwhelm me?" Were those Feyre's orders, she wonders.

‍"Just anyone new. But...some girls don't talk for weeks, and you've already come to a lecture on your second day. And you talked to Thalia for a long time yesterday."

‍"I hadn't realized I was being studied."

‍Gwyn laughs. "This library's smaller than you think. So, you liked the lecture? Do you think you'll come to the next one?"

‍"Probably." What else is there to do?

‍"I like Calliope's circuits. She's always doing something interesting, if you like books. Do you like books?"

‍"I do."

‍"Well. Then you'll probably like her circuits."

‍They are both silent for a few moments, before Nesta realizes it is probably her turn to initiate conversation. "How long have you been here?"

‍"Two years, about." She is quiet for a beat, before she adds, "Lord Azriel and Lady Morrigan brought me here."

‍Nesta blanches. She's never heard them referred to with their titles before.

‍"Do you like staying at the House of Wind?"

‍"I...it's all right. Yes," she decides. "I like it." Why not? It gave her a standing bath. It keeps the fireplaces empty and uses some other form of magic, she thinks, to heat her room.

‍"Oh," Gwyn says, and Nesta thinks she deflates a bit. "I thought you might prefer to stay in our dorms."

‍"I'm not very religious." That's polite. Nesta actively hates their god. Or whatever the cauldron is supposed to be. Demon, more like.

‍"Oh," Gwyn says, blinking in surprise. "Oh. Well. That's all right. If you...ever change your mind. And you want to stay in our dormitories, I could help you find a room."

‍"Thank you," Nesta says.

‍Again, they are both quiet. Perhaps neither of them has had a friendly conversation in a while.

‍With a jolt, Nesta realizes--this has been a friendly conversation.

‍Nesta tries to grasp at something to say, something friendly. Has she been friendly? Or has she been cold this entire time? No, if the girl has been talking to her all the while, she must have been friendly. It's not as though Nesta's never been friendly in her life. She's had friends before. Clare and Joyly and Heather. She knows how. Even if none of them had thought her a good enough friend to bother trying to talk to her after she had distanced herself, after Tomas, after Feyre--

‍"I have to be getting back to my priestess. We're researching dimensions and other worlds. But I'll see you, Nesta." With a small wave, Gwyn bounds away.

‍"See you," she calls after her.

‍That...that's good, isn't it? Probably something Elain and Feyre would be pleased to hear. Maybe she should tell them. Invite them up for dinner.

‍Or is it too pathetic? One cordial conversation isn't anything to write home about. But maybe they'd like to know she's doing better; pathetic as her version of better is.

‍I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

‍Maybe...maybe she should.

‍She'll just write them a letter, she decides. No, that's too formal. But sending them up is too dramatic...but if they want to come see her--

‍Nesta pinches herself. Hard. Enough till she's only focussing on the pain, so these incessant, stupid thoughts are driven out of her head.

‍Just go back to shelving books, she tells herself. Just put away the books and don't think about anything else.

‍Her mind does stray, though, and she wonders if any of the minuscule steps she takes in the right direction are worth the spiralling she has to go through after.

Despite her echoing anxieties, her physical weakness, and sheer exhaustion of being herself, Nesta does manage to get through the weekend--Feyre does not visit, but she and Elain both send up letters, decorated with little paintings and pressed flowers--and to the weekly check-in on Sunday. She doesn't know what to expect, but Gwyneth Berdara is there in the large hall, where they all sit in a circle, and waves her over.

‍"Good morning," she says.

‍"Good morning," Nesta answers.

‍"First weekly check-in."

‍"Yes."

‍"You don't have to say anything, if you don't want to. I didn't for months. Ten months, actually."

‍She certainly does talk a lot now, though.

‍"I didn't realize there were so many females here," Nesta says, looking around. Dozens of girls...probably more than fifty, plus the twelve higher priestesses. Gwyn is the only one who doesn't wear the necklace on her forehead.

‍"A lot don't wander so much. Some don't come out of their rooms except for this."

‍"Oh," Nesta says. So it's...good, then. That she can still go places. Talk to people. Maybe she really isn't as hopeless as she thinks.

‍Not that these females are hopeless. That's not what she thinks. Oh, that's a horrible thing to think, especially after what they've been through--

‍"That's Merrill," Gwyn says, pointing at a senior priestess. "I'm assigned to her."

‍Carefully, Nesta says, "Maybe I'll be assigned to her, too."

‍"Ooh, you better hope not. Merrill's the worst." Gwyn shudders.

‍"What?" Nesta asks. "Aren't they all supposed to be nice?"

‍Gwyn scoffs. "Says who? Are you nice?"

‍"I...guess not," Nesta says. "But I'm not a senior priestess."

‍"All right, that wasn't nice," Gwyn admits. "Sorry. You're right. She should probably be nicer. She should definitely be nicer...and you're all right."

‍"I'm not nice." She has never been nice.

‍Gwyn shrugs. "Well, I like you anyway."

‍Nesta's heart stutters. "Er--why don't you ask Clotho to reassign you?" she asks, pulse pounding in her ears.

‍Gwyn crosses her arms. "I can stick it out."

‍Is that what she looks like, Nesta wonders, to other people?

‍She should tell her something. This Gwyn. Tell her to switch priestesses. Or...tell Merrill to be nicer. Or tell Clotho to tell Merrill to be nicer. Or maybe she can do it for her.

‍"Good morning, everyone," Thalia starts, and Nesta's eyes snap to her. "Let's begin, shall we?"

‍The weekly check-in is mercifully not as terrible as Nesta imagined. There's no announcement of her presence, though she can feel plenty of people stealing glances ("It's not every day we get a Lady of the court in here," Gwyn whispers to her. "Especially not the kingslayer."). Thalia announces changes in the schedule for the week, and one of the other senior priestesses gives a short lecture on her specialty, and then Thalia asks who'd like to begin the circle.

‍The circle, Nesta learns, is the worst of it. Everyone goes around in a circle and introduces themselves by name and says whatever they want. True to Thalia's word, though, no one has to talk, and no one says anything horrible. It's mostly banal, like I worked really hard on a paper last week or I sent my mother a letter and she still hasn't replied and I'm feeling anxious or I don't have anything to say today, but I hope everyone has a good week.

‍And then it is her turn, and who-knows-how-many pairs of eyes are locked on her and she just...can't. She can't. What are they thinking? Gwyn says they call her kingslayer, so they must know what happened.. Are they thinking about how she couldn't save her father? How she killed one thousand Illyrian soldiers? How about how she drowned herself in alcohol, how the mark of its loss is still clearly etched in the bruises under her eyes, the dullness of her hair, the sallowness of her skin. How ugly she is, how she never deserved anything better than that slew of nameless males who didn't care about her, how she just fails at everything she tries--

‍"My name is Gwyn. I had a good week."

‍The next girl speaks, and the eyes are--finally--off Nesta.

‍Gwyn touches her shoulder. "Don't worry about it," she says in a hushed voice. "At least you didn't cry."

‍Nesta manages a small smile. It might look more like a grimace, but Gwyn gives her a grin.

‍"It's really not half as embarrassing as you think," she whispers. "Everyone here is way more concerned with what others think of them...until you realize no one's thinking about that."

‍Maybe she's just saying that.

‍But...maybe she can just believe it. Just for now.

‍The weekly check-in ends, and the week passes by.

‍Nesta doesn't get assigned to a priestess, but she still--she thinks--makes progress. She may be making a friend, as Gwyn seeks her out a few more times. Sometimes just to say hello, sometimes to ask her if she wants to join her for a lecture or a session. She generally goes. She likes the jewellery making, finding that working with her hands keeps her focused enough that she can't think about herself. All the lectures, actually, Nesta finds interesting, as there's just so much she doesn't know about this world.

‍On Tuesday, she writes a letter to her sisters, telling them she's doing all right, and perhaps they can come visit over the weekend.

‍On Wednesday, she feels hungry and restless--hungry and restless. So she has two slices of bread with soup and she doesn't even feel sick, and she goes for a walk afterwards, on the track circling the outside of the House.

‍On Thursday, she brushes her hair in the morning, and almost none of it is ripped out with the brush. She makes Gwyn laugh with something she says about a lecture they disagreed on. Thalia tells her she thinks she has some ideas for coping mechanisms she wants her to try. She goes for another walk in the evening, even jogging a bit as the House hurries her along with flashing faelights.

‍"What is it?" she says, as she enters the door, gasping slightly. Goodness, she's never been so out of shape in her life. That was barely a run.

‍But the House isn't done yet, flashing more lights, leading her into her bedroom.

‍"Oh...do you...are we playing a game?"

‍The House swings her door--impatiently?--to get her inside, and when she is, it swings shut behind her and disappears into a wall.

‍"Hey!" Nesta says. "What are you--"

‍A tea cart appears in front of her. Nesta can smell the lemon and honey from the kettle as it rolls towards her. One of the armchairs pulls out.

‍"Are we having a tea party?" Nesta asks.

‍As if in answer, a book appears on the coffee table.

‍"Do you want me to read to you?" Nesta asks.

‍The curtains pull shut and her faelights flicker on.

‍"I'll take that as a yes," she says, and sits down to entertain the House. She gives a small huff of a laugh. "You had to finish my walk early, did you?"

There's no way around it: Cassian has never been more pathetic in his life than he is with this female.

‍Whether it's circling her estate, thinking of insults to throw at her, or circling her apartment, imagining himself tossing out the male with her that night and confessing everything to her, or circling the House to sneak a peek of her through one of the Windows...all right, so it's mostly all the same move. Gods, when had he become so predictable?

‍Pathetic, nonetheless.

‍The worst part of it is, he doesn't even try and convince himself to stop anymore. Not when Elain shrieks one morning and says Nesta's invited her and Feyre up for lunch on Saturday. Not when he sees her go out for a walk Wednesday evening--a walk, with a bit more meat on her bones, and a shine to her hair and--he might be too far to tell, but it looks like--life in her eyes.

‍Not joy. Not...excitement. Not even contentment. But life. And that's...so much more than what had been last week.

‍He wonders if it might've consoled her to know that he was just as miserable as she was. More so, even. Because he felt all the pain she did and he also felt his own pain of seeing her that way. Of knowing that fierce, cunning, determined, wildly brave, unnaturally beautiful female was...struggling. So, so hard.

‍Sleeping a level above her each night, and thinking only of her...and knowing she's not thinking of him. Of course not. It was stupid and selfish and stupid again, but...it's true.

‍And her getting better is not for him he tells himself, as he watches her go on a walk for a second evening in a row.

‍(Not that he's watching her. He's checking the wards. It's not as though he knew she'd be out. He didn't. It just happened.)

‍Not for you, he says to himself. Feyre had been clear. This is for checking the wards; to make sure she's safe. And the extra weight on her is not for him to better imagine holding onto something as he presses her against himself; it's so she's healthy. So she doesn't wither and waste away. She is not imagining a stroll through the Night Court botanical gardens with him right now; she's just getting fresh air.

‍Time to go. Wards are checked, alarms are set, so it's time to go.

‍He doesn't let himself steal another glance--not for you--as he turns to fly away.

‍He should go to the ends of the city. Shake this off him, put his head on straight. This is pathetic. This is just sad. Maybe he should go out with Mor. He did this for her, didn't she? For five hundred odd years. She can do this for him. Maybe he can even meet someone, just for a night, just a distraction--

‍But Nesta is all he sees when he closes his eyes. The beautiful woman she once was, the sickly female she is now, and guilt and revulsion rock him to his core at the very thought of someone else...

‍Pathetic, since she doesn't want him, and probably never will. No, not probably, just never.

‍Three clear bells ring out in the distance, and self-pity and misery snap out of Cassian as blinding fear takes their place.

‍The alarms.

‍Nesta.

‍He is on his way, flying faster than he ever has in his life, before he even registers it. And for the first time, he wishes he were like Rhys or Az and could winnow--prays one of them is already there, or both of them, to fight off whoever it is, to keep her safe--oh gods--oh, she's so scared, she's terrified, she's afraid for her life--and the priestesses--

‍Rhys and Az are already there, inside the House, and there are half a dozen. Illyrians. Illyrians.

‍So they were right. He hadn't wanted to believe it. Doesn't want to believe it. That they would ever...that they would dare...

‍Cassian can't think, just has to move, get them out, kill--

‍"No," Rhys snarls at him.

‍Dimly, Cassian knows why. They're plotting a rebellion. To take over their court, and to give Nesta over to their enemy. Direct attacks against the royal bloodline. They need to be interrogated. They can't be killed.

‍But they can't live. They're going to hurt Nesta; they can't be allowed to live.

‍INCAPACITATE, Rhys barks to his mind.

‍Fine. He will. But he doesn't have to make it clean.

‍He does it quick, though. Nesta's scared. She's probably hiding somewhere, scared for her life. He needs to do it quickly for her.

‍They're fair warriors, but no match for the three of them. It's not close to being a fair fight. It's only a few minutes before he and Az have knocked out the six of them--Az letting him do the brunt of it--and Rhys drags back another two who had gone off to find Nesta.

‍"Easy," Rhys snaps at him.

‍"Calm down or go," Az adds. "Nesta's in her room. She's safe."

‍"You'll scare her."

‍"I won't," Cassian says, growling.

‍Rhys unceremoniously drops the two Illyrians on the floor next to the six others. "Well, you've already destroyed her living room," he says drily, "and you're covered in blood."

‍"Not mine." Not enough.

‍"Calm down," Rhys says, and this time it's an order.

‍Cassian takes a deep breath. "She's in her room?"

‍"I can bring Feyre up--"

‍"Bring her, but I want to see her. She needs to see me." The words come out of their own accord, but neither of his brothers corrects him.

‍"We'll both go," Rhys says. "Az...take care of this."

‍Az nods once, and they go down the stairs.

‍Nesta's scent grows stronger as they descend. Not much fear that he can detect, though. None of the bitterness of adrenaline. Just that sweet, gutting floral, mixed with traces from books she's always buried in. And, he realizes pleasantly, no alcohol.

‍When they get to her floor, Nesta's bedroom door is missing. In place is a wall. Before he can hurl himself at it to break it down, it morphs back into a door, and Rhys is there, knocking, again before Cassian can move.

‍"Nesta?" he calls out. "It's safe."

‍Cassian can hear her shuffling around before she comes to open the door.

‍He fights to keep upright and still as her eyes meet his, widening more than he's ever seen.

‍"What happened to you?" she asks, voice stronger and clearer than he's heard in a long time. Beautiful, lyrical, even if she does sound appalled. "Did you come from a battlefield?"

‍"How did you get the door to change into a wall?" Rhys asks her. "That was clever. Was that your magic?"

‍Nesta blinks at him. "No...the House was playing a game."

‍"You play games with the House?" Cassian says softly.

‍She turns to him again.

‍Yes, look at me, look at me, look at me, Nesta Nesta Nesta--

‍"I...we're friendly." She tinges pink.

‍"You're friends with the House?" Rhys says, blankly.

‍She reddens still--yes.

‍"Why are you covered in blood?" she says again.

‍"You...don't know what happened?" Rhys asks carefully.

‍Nesta rolls her eyes--oh, gods, how he's missed seeing her irritated. Oh, maybe she'll turn red again. "Obviously not."

‍"The important thing to remember is that you're safe," Rhys says, his voice patient and gentle.

‍Nesta shoots him a sharp look, fully aware he's never taken that tone with her.

‍"What is it? What's happened?"

‍Oh, brilliant--now she's scared.

‍Cassian takes a step closer. "The House was breached," he says to her, and her face pales. "But that's what the alarms are for. They worked. And we all got here, and we've got them. Now we're going to figure out who else is working with them. We're going to keep you safe."

‍Nesta looks up. "I was safe. I am, I mean. The House...I didn't even hear anything. It just told me to come into my room and gave me some tea and asked me to read to it."

‍"It asked you to read to it?"

‍"I thought it was a game." Nesta moves past them, walking upstairs. She gasps slightly when she reaches the main floor and sees the state of the living room.

‍Cassian ignored the pointed look Rhys gives him. "I can clean it up." Thank the Mother Az has already gotten the eight of them out.

‍But the House already appears to be doing so itself. It even moves some furniture around, away from a wall that's been badly damaged.

‍Nesta sucks in a breath as she walks towards it and crouches down on the floor. "Oh...did they hurt you?" she says, quietly to...to the House. "I'm sorry. I...thank you for keeping me safe. I'll...I can fix this for you. I'll get you something to fix it." She puts her palm on the cracks and craters, as if stroking the hurt.

‍You will not, Cassian tells himself sternly, be jealous of a house.

‍Pathetic. Just...pathetic.

‍"Your sisters will want to see you," Rhys says. "Maybe you should spend the night at our home."

‍"No," Nesta says, not turning from the wall. "I'm staying here. Oh!" She leaps up, whipping around, face white again. "Is--are--the library, was it--"

‍"The library is fine," Rhys says smoothly. "The priestess are all fine. They wouldn't have even heard any of this."

‍Nesta breathes a sigh of relief. "All right," she says. "That's...that's good. All right."

‍"Are you sure you don't want to come down, Nesta?" Rhys asks, voice kind again.

‍"Yes," she says. "But Elain and Feyre can come up if they want to," she adds. "I'm all right, though. Really. I know I'm safe here." She touches the wall again.

‍Nevermind that it's he who's covered in blood, who fought them off for her. It's the walls she's grateful to, the walls she reads to and plays games with--

‍Shut up, idiot, shut up.

‍"We'll go bring them up, then. Unless...would you like one of us to stay with you?"

‍"I'm really fine."

‍"All right. Well...we'll be back in a few minutes."

‍Nesta nods and turns around to put her hands on the wall again, to talk to the House.

‍Rhys, the bastard, takes notes and gives him a grin as they step off the veranda and fly down to the riverfront manor together.

‍"I was jealous a lot before Feyre told me she loved me, but never--"

‍"Shut up," he snarls, and Rhys has the audacity to laugh.

‍He doesn't mind so much. Nesta's safe and...she's doing better and eating and going on walks and she has a friend.

‍Even if it is just a house.

#acosf fic #nessian fic #i know this feels more like a nesta/house of wind fic #but there will be nessian eventually i promise #also yayyyy gwyn!!!

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vs-redemption · 3 years

Note

Hey! Well since today is halloween , can i request a Dabi,Twice,Toga or Tomura (your choice) where thier s/o wanted to watch a very gore/scary horror movie with them but never got scared?

From Cindy: Thanks for request anon! I bumped this one up to the top of the priority list so that I could get it out as close to Halloween as possible! I chose to write Toga instead of Shigaraki just because I’ve never written for her and wanted to give it a shot. If you still want one with Shiggy, don’t hesitate to send in another request!

Dabi, Twice, and Toga x Reader - Watching a scary movie together

Dabi

One of the things Dabi enjoyed most about dating you was that you had zero connections with the League of Villains and were completely uninvolved in his extracurricular criminal activities. Those things were still important to him, of course, but after spending most of his time burning unworthy allies alive in alleyways, unleashing nomus into cities full of innocent people, and plotting ways to bring about the destruction of the country’s corrupted society in general, it was nice to have someone he could go to and take a break from the violence and just relax with.

You had never judged him for his goals or the morally questionable ways he went about achieving them, but you yourself had never expressed even the tiniest desire to participate. You agreed with him about some of the injustices present in the whole hero/villain system, but from what Dabi could tell, there wasn’t a single vengeful or violent bone in your body. Because of this, it was pretty amusing to him when you came up to him on Halloween, asking him to watch a scary movie with you. He lets out a dry laugh, imagining that you had one of the PG classics in mind. Imagine his surprise when he plopped down on the couch next to you and saw you pull up the title of the most brutal and bloody slasher movie available on the TV.

“Hey, you sure you want to watch something like this?” Dabi had to believe you’d gone to that movie on accident. “How about something a little more family friendly?” He raises his eyebrows when you whirl around to face him with a cute scowl as if he’d offended you.

“It’s Halloween, Dabi.” You say it as if that was all the reason you needed to back your decision. You turn back to the TV and press the play button on the remote. Dabi shrugs his shoulders and makes himself comfortable as the opening credits begin to play. Once you figured out how bad the movie actually was, he was sure you’d turn it off and switch to a different one. His bewilderment grew in intensity as the characters got hacked to pieces one by one with not a sound or twitch from you. By the end of the movie he’d gone from total shock to strangely proud. Who knew the love of his life would have such an iron stomach?

Twice

Twice had been looking forward to Halloween ever since Shigaraki had informed the League of Villains that they’d all be free from doing any nefarious activities that day. It wasn’t that he cared much for the spooky holiday, but it was rare for him to get a day off from his villain duties. Naturally, his plan was to spend the entire day with you, his imagination conjuring up adorable images of carving pumpkins together and making popcorn balls to pass out to the neighborhood trick-or-treaters. Thankfully, he could wear a mask when answering the door so nobody would recognize him as a member of the League of Villains.

When the day of October 31st finally arrived, Twice showed up at your place with bags full of Halloween candy and a bunch of other random things he’d managed to swipe from a nearby grocery store. He had told you that he would do anything you wanted today, so he wanted to be prepared. Needless to say, he hadn’t been ready at all for you to announce that you’d rented the new horror film that had come out recently. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the rating and read the description.

“Isn’t this too scary?” He asks you, the concerned look on his face was obvious even with the mask he wore over his head.

“No, I don’t think so,” you shake your head while grabbing a blanket so that you could both snuggle up together. “It’s perfect to get us into the Halloween spirit.”

“I just don’t want you to get nightmares,” he says sweetly before his clashing personality spoke up, “You’re going to cry for your mommy!”

“I’ll be fine.” You reassure him with a kiss on the cheek before pulling him over to the couch. “There’s no way I can get scared as long as you hold my hand.” The sweet words made Twice feel a little better, but he still had some reservations. If watching a movie like this would make you happy though, he wouldn’t protest anymore.

Somehow, all his worries had backfired on him. The film you’d chosen was full of jump scares that seemed to catch him off guard no matter how much he tried to prepare for them. What made it worse was the little snicker you let out each and every time he gasped and clenched his hand tighter around yours.

“How come this movie isn’t affecting you at all?” he whispers during an especially tense scene where the music really exaggerated the suspense. “You crazy or something?” You let out a small laugh and lean closer into his side.

“One of us has to be the brave one,” you tease while patting him affectionately on the leg. He knows you’re joking but puts a hand dramatically over his heart to act wounded anyway. The smile his antics bring to your face cheers him up, and he knows he’d watch a million more scary movies as long as it meant spending time with you.

Toga

“Happy Halloween!” Toga attacks you with a hug as soon as you open the door to let her in. Your front room fills with the sound of your laughter as she peppers your face with kisses. She was always super affectionate, especially if you hadn’t see each other in a while. Her role in the League of Villains kept her pretty busy, so you both cherished these rare occasions that allowed you to spend time together.

“Happy Halloween,” you reply happily once she gives you a moment to catch your breath. “I can hardly believe we have the whole night to ourselves!”

“I know!” Toga skips into your kitchen, going right for the block of knives you kept on the counter. She pulls out the biggest one. “I have so many ideas! Do you think we could make a jack-o-lantern with Mr. Stainy’s face on it?” Even though carving out the details of the hero killer’s face seemed a little above either of your skill levels, gutting and butchering a pumpkin sounded right up Toga’s alley.

“We can certainly try,” you say, causing your girlfriend to smile happily and cuddle the knife she was holding to her chest. It had taken you a while to get used to her quirky behavior, but now it hardly registered in your mind when she did anything unconventional like that.

“Hey,” you call her attention after a second. “Before we carve pumpkins, I was thinking we could watch a movie.” You tell her the title and a manic grin spreads across her face. Before you can even blink, she’s standing right in front of you.

“I’ve heard of that movie,” she hums while tilting her head curiously. “Isn’t it really super bloody and gory?” You nod your head in confirmation while wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

“You like blood and gore,” you say knowingly. “That’s why I picked it.” Toga taps the flat end of the knife she was still holding against your shoulder as she thinks over your words.

“You’d really watch something like that for me?” she asks almost shyly. You nod your head again and she lets out a delightful sounding laugh.

“Okay!” She pulls out of your embrace so she can bounce excitedly on the balls of her feet. “But if you get sick, you can’t blame me!”

“I’ll be fine,” you assure her before running to grab pillows and blankets from your room to make the sofa more comfortable.

As the movie starts, Toga is both surprised and impressed when you keep your promise. The brutal action from the movie doesn’t appear to bother you at all. In fact, you seemed just as enthralled by it as she was. By the middle of the movie, both of you are cheering and rooting for the killer as he hunts down and slaughters each of his victims. When the ending credits begin to roll, you both agree that you’d have to arrange for more horror movie nights in the future.

#Dabi x reader #Toga x reader #Himiko toga x reader #Twice x reader #Jin bubaigawara x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #Dabi #Himiko Toga #jin bubaigawara #Bnha twice #bnha #mna #Cindy's Writing

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hopelesshawks · 3 years

Text

History of Us Part 27- Inheritance

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Masterlist Kofi

You check the time and notice you still have a little while before your alarm will go off for school. Even your father can’t spoil your mood as you put your phone back down on your nightstand and then carefully curl back into Shoto’s waiting arms. With the way you two had been so entangled while you slept, it’s a miracle you hadn’t woken him up when you went to check your phone. You still can’t quite believe what happened the day before. You can feel your face heating up just at the thought of you two’s first kiss again. You refuse to let your father sour the memory as you instead let your eyes trace over Shoto’s beautiful face. He looks so peaceful sleeping next to you and it makes you feel warm inside that you get to see him this way. You watch him for a moment until he starts to stir. “(Y/n)-chan,” he mutters, voice sleep laden and eyelids still shut. Your heart flutters at the use of the nickname. “Yea Sho-chan?” you ask quietly. “You’re glowing again,” he informs you, a soft smile playing on his lips. You groan and start to pull away from him but he just reels you back in before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Don’t pull away, it’s cute,” he assures you. “You’re really gonna ruin my reputation at this rate,” you sigh even as you nuzzle closer against him. “I‘ll gladly help you bully Sero to regain your reputation,” he offers, causing you to snort into his chest. “Don’t be jealous, I only like you idiot,” you chuckle. “I know, but hearing you say it is nice,” Shoto admits. You can’t help but laugh in response.

Eventually your alarm goes off and the two of you are forced to separate. “I’ll see you in class,” Shoto promises before he slips out of your room to go back to his own. You take the time to compose yourself and try and get your quirk back in check. You’d prefer not to be glowing all day. It takes a stupid amount of time for you to finally get the light radiating from you to stop and by then you have to rush through getting dressed and into your uniform. You take the now familiar route to the 3A classroom and most of your classmates have already arrived by the time you get there. Your eyes scan for the room for Shoto but just as you spot him Mina, Hagakure, Jiro, and Uraraka come rushing up and crowding into your space with barely concealed excitement and curiosity. Momo isn’t far behind fretting slightly at them to give you some space. “Is it true?” Mina asks excitedly. “Are you and Todoroki dating?” Hagakure follows up. You send a slightly nervous glance his direction but the smile he gives you in response is enough assurance for you to answer “Yea, I guess so.” You jump, eyes widening almost comically large when the other girls immediately squeal with delight. You’re sure you’re about to be interrogated until you feel a large presence come up behind you. “The bell for class to begin is about to ring,” Aizawa informs you and the others. You all quickly rush to your seats before giving Aizawa unrepentant grins.

You’d managed to dodge it during lunch but after classes while hanging out in the lounge you’d been subjected to a full interrogation about the how and when of you and Shoto’s brand new relationship. Ordinarily any kind of intense questioning would’ve set you off, you’ve been drilled about your father and your loyalties one too many times for it not to. But with Shoto’s arm wrapped around your shoulders and a room full of genuine friends, for the first time in a long time you feel your anger take a back seat. It’s peaceful and for awhile you can forget about your father. You can forget that the vast majority of the hero community still doesn’t trust you. You can forget every burden that’s weighed heavily on your shoulders since that fateful day your father took you into work with him.

If only the peace could last.

The tv had only been on as background noise to the lively conversations being had. In fact you had forgotten about it being on entirely. But then a breaking news bulletin interrupts whatever program had been playing and Midoriya hesitantly asks “Uhh, Todoroki? Isn’t that your house?” Both you and Shoto immediately snap your eyes to the tv where, sure enough, aerial footage of your neighborhood is being displayed. The Todoroki household is engulfed in blue flames and you don’t need the reporters to tell you that Dabi is likely the culprit. “Go call your mom,” you tell Shoto breathlessly, panic racing up your spine as he nods and leaves the room to do just that. You can tell he’s panicking just as much as you are but you’re rooted to your spot on the couch. “How did Dabi even know where they live?” Kirishima asks incredulously and your stomach turns over because you know exactly how he did. You feel utterly nauseous as you realize you’d led your father right to Shoto’s home and now the the very people who’d welcomed you back with open arms were paying the price. You can’t bare to watch anymore so you swiftly stand to go find Shoto as your classmates continue to watch on. You find him just as he’s sighing out in relief. “Ok good, I’m glad everyone’s ok. I’ll check back in later,” he says before hanging up the phone. “Sho?” you ask cautiously and he immediately turns to you looking exhausted but relieved. “They’re all ok. Natsu was at school, Fuyumi was at work, and my mom was grocery shopping. None of them were there when it happened,” he assures you. “Oh thank god,” you gasp as you hurry to close the distance between the two of you. You pull Shoto into a hug and hold him tightly, secretly hoping that reassuring him will help assuage the guilt burning rampant within you. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket but you don’t dare check it. You have a feeling you already know what it’s going to say.

A/N: This was a MONSTER to write, I was genuinely worried I wouldn’t finish it in time for a second tbh. We’re shifting into what will probably be the final arc of this series and certainly the most intense one. I know you’re all probably feeling a lot of emotions rn but can we take a second to appreciate that reader made Shoto her lock screen?

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso @sunaispretty @shot0stea @todoplusultra @oliviasslut @lapysllazuly @immah0e4fictionalmen @cinnamonruts

#hopelesshou #todoroki smau #todoroki x fem!reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki x y/n #shoto smau #shoto x fem!reader #shoto x reader #shoto x y/n #shoto todoroki

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bonktime · 3 years

Text

Weather the Storm

Chapter One - Taken Aback

Ezra (Prospect) x f!reader (no y/n) 1861 Lighthouse au

Written in the third person, so I guess you could say Ezra x OC? but she isn’t physically described or named at any point

Rated: E (just the whole story)

Prologue - Lay of the Land // Masterlist // Chapter Two: Hand Over Fist

Ezra travelled with the tides, let the sea carry him where it willed and never stayed long. The lighthouse keeper was the opposite. Where he moved she stood firm, defying the waves and the tide as if carved from the cliff herself. They’re drawn together, but opposing forces so strong are always destined to cause a storm.

Summary: In search of a place to stay Ezra meets the Lighthouse Keeper. Stuck together for the night by the tide she must quickly work out whether she can trust him enough to let him stay.

Warnings: Language, a lil violence, an even liler bit of sexual tension, some victorian sexism (smut will come)

Wordcount: 3700

Note: Thanks to @danniburgh who I throw ideas at left right and centre to figure stuff out! Turns out I can’t write short things? Either way I’m glad I decided to chapter this so I didn’t go totally bananas. Next one should be up in a week! Prepare for yearning.

~~~~~~~~~

Spring was doing what spring always did by the sea. Vehemently refusing to start. Sometimes a crack in the clouds let a beat of sun through warming the lighthouse keeper's skin and for just a second teased what could be. But as ever, it shyly retreated back behind the grey.

Unable to rest until dawn broke and tinted the sky pink, she had slept through most of the day. When she finally shook off the exhaustion from work the night before, there had been just enough blue in the sky to make a sailor a pair of trousers, enough to entice her into moving. So, she had thrown on her chemise for some illusion of modesty, not that anyone could see her, and gone for a swim.

Bracing was one word for it, fucking baltic was more appropriate. There was nothing quite like it. The way it made her heart pound, made her gasp as she swam, circling the small island, it made her feel alive. There was always a risk of a current pulling her out, a risk she knew all too well. But she knew the water, knew every dip and whirlpool well enough to recognise when they should be avoided. Keeping an eye on the sun she let the incoming tide tug her gently back to the shoreline. In only a few hours she'd have to ascend the steps and light the light.

From her position in the water, she spotted a figure, wading across the causeway, getting pulled to and fro by the tug of the tides, but determinedly heading for the island. She'd let the captain of The Mistress know her room was available a couple days ago and he hadn't sent trouble her way so far. Even so a jolt of unease struck at the thought of being trapped with the stranger until the sea went out. The little rowing boat wouldn't be much good with the storm that was now threatening to roll in. Cursing quietly to herself and suddenly very grateful she’d thrown on even a thin layer, she struck out towards him.

Clambering inelegantly back into the rocks she stood to watch him. He hadn't seen her yet, too focused on keeping his possessions dry, giving her the opportunity to take him in. From this distance she couldn't see his features but his broad shoulders and lean body were a good sign he had experience with trying work, and she could make out a bright shock of white in the crown of his hair. That was more curious, she wondered if he'd been born with it or if he'd suffered such a fright, it'd left a mark. That seemed like a rude thing to ask on a first meeting so she brushed the question aside and headed towards him, carefully stepping over the rock pools and avoiding slipping on the seaweed.

⧫⧫⧫

The first thing Ezra noticed about the woman heading towards him was the fact she appeared to only be wearing her undergarments. The next was that she was soaking wet from stem to stern. Had he been a better man, he might have looked away. Instead, he blatantly stared, the liquid made the cloth cling to her body, damn near rendering it transparent. As she got close, he watched a droplet make its way down her throat, following it with his eyes, he swallowed thickly.

Up close she could see his coat was clearly well made and had probably been expensive but it was old and in desperate need of being rewaxed. Perhaps it had been a gift? Hopefully it had not been stolen. The thin scar curving across his cheek would probably give fair warning to most, but his eyes were soft and wide. He just spelt trouble for her.

"Shut your gob, the wind'll change and you'll get stuck like that."

At that Ezra closed his mouth quickly and pulled himself together, finally focusing on her face. She was waiting for him to speak, clearly sizing him up "Could you possibly direct me towards the lighthouse keeper?"

She noted his strange accent but couldn't stop rolling her eyes, no one ever expected her. "That depends on who's asking"

"Captain Williams suggested I could find respite here whilst I work his ship."

She frowned at him, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Ezra, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I humbly apologise if I interrupted your swim.” again Ezra felt himself be judged, but apparently, she deemed him enough for now and nodded.

"Come on then or we'll both catch cold" she turned to climb the steps to the cottages with him following behind.

The small kitchen was warm, heated by a small arger, she moved a kettle onto its plate and tossed in a log. With a deep sigh she turned to him, biting the inside of her cheek to stop grinning at his bemused expression. "I'm going to dress; you should get out of your wet clothes too. Don't let the kettle boil dry, I'll make a cuppa, then we can talk." With that she left him dripping in the rough wooden floor.

Ezra decided then that whatever she was, she certainly wasn't grey. But she wasn't colour either, she was something else entirely. Something he couldn't recognise. It stirred something in him, an urge to uncover what lay beneath, like cracking a rock and discovering a beautiful gem. Naturally, it stirred something in his trousers too, but, he reckoned, seeing any woman wet and nearly naked would do that. Ignoring it, he tugged off his boots and trews and pulled on his spares before going to lean on the oven to warm up, feet still bare.

Just as the kettle boiled and he was closing the hot plate she reappeared, rolling her sleeves of her dark blue woolen dress up to the elbow and hanging her soaked chemise over the arger before stretching up to pull a teapot and cups out of a cupboard next to a little window.

"This is quite a place you have here, and what a view.” He looked out the window, reaching up to the wind chime made from sea glass, worn matte from the sand that hung there. He touched the smoothed edges of the glass, it felt rough on his fingers. “I'll wager it’s quite something to awaken and be able to see water on all sides without feeling the rocking of a ship beneath you." As far as Ezra could tell, it was as if he wasn't there. The woman moved around him locating loose tea and milk as if completing a ritual, never one to be discouraged from talking he continued, "Course once you get used to it, I imagine you barely notice it. But for me, having been on the waves themselves for the past weeks, it will be quite an adjustment." He looked at the two cups. "Is your husband not joining us?"

She didn't turn around, "He will not."

"Your father then? Although I am surprised a lovely thing like yourself is not betrothed. Promised perhaps?"

"No." He wasn't sure which question she had answered at first, it dawned slowly that it had in fact been both. He nearly smacked himself in the forehead.

"You wouldn't happen to be the keeper, would you?"

She turned to him then, eyebrows raised "I think perhaps you worked it out the fastest, I once strung a poor young man along for a week before he realised, I lit the light."

Ezra wasn't really one to be shocked by much, and after her appearance on the rocks this wasn't too much of a revelation, so now with her full attention he continued to talk.

"I'd wonder it doesn't get lonely though, on this rock all by oneself would be mighty isolating. Almost no one around for company except the sea and the rocks. Perhaps that's why you rent the room? That or your expenses are far higher than I'd expect" he forced himself to stop as she placed the tea and a biscuit tin on the little table and turned back to glare at him

"Why are you here?" That made him blink, halting his thread of thoughts

"I'm here to rent a room. Did I not make that explicit? I do apologise"

She waved him off "No. I know why you're here. Why are you in this place? Work sure, but work can be found anywhere, especially on the water. Work less dangerous, with better weather. Were you bored and thought it romantic?" She was stepping towards him "Are you desperate?” A step. “Do you like taking risks?" Another step "Are you running from something?" She was right in front of him then, looking up at his face "So, I'll ask again. Why are you here?" For a split-second Ezra felt frozen in her gaze but then she reached around him as grabbed his soggy trousers, turning away to hang them alongside her chemise on the airer.

He blinked and shook himself. "I wanted to see it, to work it. The dead sea. Conquer it in my own way.To continue my own adventure somewhere new." She hummed in response picking up her cup and watching him. "And what of you? All alone on this rock. Seems you're a risk taker yourself. Most people would frown upon a woman welcoming a single man into her home, it implies things. Not to mention anything could happen to you,” He couldn't help himself, his voice lowered, unable to back down from the challenge she'd given him. The implication of his crimes. “Anything at all and no one around to save you."

In a split second she'd moved, pulling a blade, he hadn't even thought to look for, out from a sheath under her apron and had it pressed against his jugular.

"A bit of risk? You needn't worry for me." her steady hand pressed firmly enough the knife nicked into his flesh "But you? You know no one here. If you die no one will notice, no one will care. No one will even think to look for your body, let alone find it." He couldn’t hold back the grin as she stepped back, inspecting the drop of blood on the blade, cup of tea still in hand. "5 shillings a week for the room and food, first payment up front, the rest when you're paid."

Well, this was surprising. Such a spark, truly tough enough to stand against an ocean. "Sounds perfect."

Finally, she cracked the smallest smile and Ezra felt as if the sun had found a fissure in the clouds. "I'll make food, I'm working tonight so it'll be breakfast for me and dinner for you, then you can settle in. When do you start on The Mistress?"

"Two days' time, should be quite an experience." He thought of the heavy clouds.

"Well make sure you don't wake me in the morning tomorrow or your stay will be very short." She wiped the drop of blood off the knife and stowed it away again. Ezra wondered what else was hidden under that apron and why he hadn’t even thought she might have the sense to be armed. He chastised himself.

"Do you man the light alone? It seems prudent you don’t have to remain awake every night."

"5 days to three, I take an extra shift, the other keeper has a house in the mainland so he spends all the time he can there. I expect it won't be long until you're sick of the sight of me."

"Oh, I doubt that, not when you're so full of surprises. Why do you rent the room, with an extra shift surely you don't need the money?”

"I don't get paid that shift," Ezra waited for her to elaborate but she didn’t. "I" she let out a laugh "Mostly I rent the room so I can buy books, something to do whilst I work. Plus, I like the company. Get to meet new people from all over for a few months and I still get to have the whole winter to myself. It's lonely as you said, sure, but I like being alone. I'm good at it."

There was a wildness in Ezra that she couldn't seem to pinpoint. Something about the reckless grin when she's threatened him, the fearlessness. It was what compelled her to let him stay. It drew her in like the pull of the moon. To welcome in such a force of nature, made her doubt her own judgment.

"I'll expect you to help plant and harvest the vegetables when the time comes." As she spoke, she moved around the kitchen throwing together the meal as quickly as she could before the sun began to dip.

Supper was simple, just a stottie with a couple eggs and vegetables. She'll have to go into town soon and see if she could get some meat cuts. But he didn't complain. Just talked continuously, complimented her cooking whilst watching her every move not unlike one might watch an animal in a zoo. It was a little unsettling and it made her feel very glad she was going to be awake all night, not letting herself be vulnerable to him at least for a few more hours.

"Will I need to be expecting guests? Women? Men? Either way I'd rather be warned beforehand." Her upfront way of talking made Ezra chuckle.

"I cannot be sure yet but I'll endeavour to let you know should I be taken by someone. And what of you? Must I prepare for being kept awake in the night by men, women or otherwise?"

She just shrugged, "I doubt it, I'm not the most popular around here at the best of times"

"That wouldn't have anything to do with your working and welcoming in strangers, would it? Are the people here so closed minded?" He smirked at the notion of the scandal that probably followed her.

"Not all of them, just those with power. I am at odds with the vicar because I sleep most Sundays and keep defying the lord's will for me"

"How cruel of you." His tone was laced in so much sarcasm it made her relax a little. At least she wouldn't have to face his judgement and sly glares for a summer.

Still, it was very strange for a woman to hold this job. “I am compelled to ask if you have ever been married?”

A look crossed her face, of pain, and of something else he didn't know. Just there for a flash and then swept away, like writing in the sand. She ignored the question. “Pay up and I'll show you your room, you can get settled and sleep off your journey. I'll imagine you're tired.”

He handed her the coins and followed her through the door and up the rickety staircase. There were two doors, one slightly ajar. The glimpse inside revealed just the end of a bed and a bookshelf but all too quickly, she opened the other door and ushered him in. Inside was cosy, or possibly just small. The bed was heavily laden with blankets which appeared to be handmade, it sat opposite a chest of drawers and a chair.

She crouched to light the fire, “Hopefully you won't need it all season but you definitely will tonight. I don't know how hardy you are against the cold.”

“Not as hardy as you I'd expect. I had the blessing of spending most of the winter months far south, so far south ice couldn't possibly be conceived”

The flame sparked in front of her, flickering around the room. "The sun is setting; I'll leave you to it. If there's an emergency I'll be in the tower. Try to stay quiet tomorrow. I'd like to actually get some sleep."

He opened his mouth to respond but she was already out the door, with a huff he sat down on the bed and opened his satchel to begin unpacking. When he was done, he stripped down, folded his clothes and placed them on the chair and curled underneath the blankets. The orange glow of the fire lit the room as the crash of the waves lulled him to sleep far quicker than usual.

⧫⧫⧫

It turned out the storm's threats had been for naught. The sky didn't break and the rain didn't come. Instead, after winding up the rotation system she enjoyed the peace and quiet, sitting back with a book only needing to move every hour to fill the sock over the paraffin with air. She was reading an old favourite, ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Mr Bennett reminded her of her father, all quick wit and dry humour. It made her laugh even as her heart ached for the loss. He used to say she was too much like Elizabeth for her own good. Hot headed and stubborn and determined, perhaps if he saw her now, he'd disagree. Be made sad by how the world had wearied her, wonder when her ability to find easy joy had gotten misplaced. But it had been dragged out to sea along with him, never to be found.

The night passed quietly and slowly. But every quiet night was a relief, to be bored, by this sea, was a blessing.

⧫⧫⧫

He awoke early, before the sun had even considered peeking over the horizon and stretched. Looking out of the window he saw the ocean was black, just the flash of the lighthouse illuminating it every few seconds. Tugging on his shirt he placed another log on the fire and picked up his leather-bound journal, an intimate document of his travels, reading the last page. Written on the boat in the cold it didn't give the most flattering depiction of the view of the village from the water. He chuckled to himself, light beginning to peek through the thin curtain as he continued to write his tale, it had its highlights. The appearance of the lighthouse keeper was one, approaching nearly naked and wet from the waves made quite the first impression. He wondered vaguely if even his ridiculous vocabulary could do it justice. The spark, the last stand against the sea, that damn near see-through chemise- he sighed to himself, that was going to haunt him.

The front door slammed shut and he heard a short curse, cut off by the sound of the keeper running up the stairs. Incurably curious, he put the journal aside and headed onto the small landing, dressed only in his long cream shirt. She had already disappeared into her room but as he stepped out, he stood directly onto a wet patch on the floor. Looking down he spotted the wet footprints. Clearly, she had striven to swim before he awoke for some discretion.

Unfortunately for her, Ezra's self-control had always run a little thin and there was no stopping him knocking on her door. It cracked open a little, her head poking out, body held to the side hidden behind the door. He grinned as her eyes widened for a second at his state of undress.

"What do you want? I'll make food in a minute"

Her statement was so concise he almost laughed. As if he had any real excuse to bother her. "It appears I have the day to myself, and with your need to rest I find myself in dire need of stimulation," an eyebrow rose at that, "Perchance could I borrow a novel? You implied ownership of quite the collection."

She pursed her lips at him and shut the door. He blinked, not expecting her just to brush him off and stood dumbstruck for a second. It was not often he was so rudely ignored. And then, even more to his surprise the door cracked open and a hand appeared. A hand clasping a book. He continued to blink at it.

"Do you want it or not? You're letting in a terrible draft." So, he took it and the door shut again. Totally baffled, he returned to his room looking at the cover. ‘Pride and Prejudice’, an old favourite.

A short while later a shout alerted Ezra to food and he chatted happily to the keeper who again appeared to be ignoring him as she hunted for bowels and pulled a dish out from the arger where it had been heating.

"I haven't had the pleasure of Jane Austen's writing for quite some time. Not since my book was cruelly stolen from me, along with several other possessions and my bag, just as I arrived in the beautiful port of Genova in northern Italy. Quite a place." He let himself trail off, expecting her to shut down his monologue or continue to ignore him.

Instead, she handed him his food, some fish pie, and sat down. "What's Genova like? I haven't been."

His face cracked into an easy grin as she watched, clearly thrilled to have her participation in the conversation even a little and he continued to talk until she yawned heavily and sloped away to sleep.

⧫⧫⧫

His day was quiet. He read, walked round the island, was delighted to see seals flopping around on the rocks, and wrote. Despite his best efforts, the lighthouse keeper seemed insistent on making herself a central character, even if she'd only been around for a few pages. Something about the woman watching the sea had captured his imagination. He wondered how she came to man the light, why she was alone, why she took him in. She had seemed far too clever to let him stay. Of all people, she should have had the sense to turn him away. Naturally, he was glad she hadn't but even so it was strange. He thought on all the trouble he'd found himself in, often of his own creation. She could very possibly become the worst of it.

⧫⧫⧫

Upstairs she tossed and turned. No idea why she'd let him stay. Maybe the loneliness had finally taken her sense. That evening, they ate together again. He talked seemingly endlessly but smoothly evaded her pointed questions about where he got his accent and why he really wanted to work the North Sea. It was amicable, but also impersonal, both still trying to gage the other well, before they could become totally comfortable. As she left to work, she told him to stay safe on the sea.

When day broke and she descended the stairs, he was gone. She hoped he'd survive.

~~~~~~

Glossary

Taken Aback: A boat facing the wind directly so no sails can catch the wind, basically just a bad pun

Enough blue in the sky to make a sailor a pair of trousers: A teeny tiny amount of blue

Baltic: Geordie phrase meaning freezing cold, I dunno where it comes from, baltic sea maybe?

From stem to stern: from top to bottom of a ship

Arger: Cast iron oven, in this age it would have had a fire in the bottom with two ovens, a hot one above and a cooler to the side along with a stove/hot plate on top.

Stottie: Geordie bread bun

~~~~~

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