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fireya-x · 18 days

Text

family dinner

AO3 Link (for the full tag list) || masterlist

John asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for one night, to save himself from annoying questions from his family. Turns out, you're actually who he really wants.

[9k+ words]

cw: smut, piv sex, cowgirl, handjobs, come eating

Embossed golden script on cream white card paper - it was an invitation to his grandmothers' birthday party, alright. A subtle attempt at elegance from a woman who thought tea and a tin of biscuits solved most problems. John sighed.

He already knew the drill; his mother, every aunt and uncle, cousins and second cousins twice removed would be there, armed to the teeth with baby pictures and probing questions to make him wish he’d stayed in another country in some godforsaken warzone.

The phone ringing cut through John’s meager dinner of takeout curry, one of his favorites, when he was back in his flat for a short time leave. He picked it up and answered before checking, as he usually did, expecting it to be Laswell – but that voice wasn't Kate.

“Jonathan, my dear boy, did you receive the invitation?” His grandmother’s voice was a robust cackle for her age, a force of nature that kept her so fit at ninety.

“Just held it in my hands seconds ago, Nan.”

“Ninety years young, can you believe it?”

“Never a dull moment,” he answered, picking at the takeaway container lid.

She laughed lightly, then cleared her throat. “Listen, dear. The caterer is extra fussy. Your opinion is special to me, you know that. It’s not like I get to plan this every day”

Here it comes.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m asking you what you want, John. I have everything else planned.” Of course she did.

“It’s your birthday, Nan. I’ll eat anything,” he sighed. “Toffee pudding can’t be missing from any birthday, though.”

“Of course, that’s a must! Especially with you visiting! You’ve always loved it as a little boy. Now tell me, is your girl more a partial to fish or chicken?”

The fork clattered onto the styrofoam. John almost choked.

“You’ll be bringing someone, aren’t you?”

He should have said no. He should have clarified, for the thousandth time, that his occupation left no room for romantic walks on the beach and candlelit dinners. Maintaining relationships wasn’t something John did, especially when his job included more explosions than birthday candles on her birthday cake. And apparently, eliminating terrorists and global threats was not a suitable substitute for great-grandchildren.

But there was something in her voice. Hope? Excitement to finally see her grandson with a woman at his side? It was her 90th birthday, after all. Who knew how long John would have her still? Seeing him happy was the greatest gift he could give her, and he knew that.

John sighed. “Yes, I will bring someone.”

That she didn't squeal was unexpected, but he knew his mother was right there with her, listening to everything.

Fuck.

What was he supposed to do? Try Tinder, maybe? How hard could it be to find a woman who’d go on a date with him? But John hated every single aspect of using his phone for anything other than texting and calling — and he gave up when the app asked him too many questions about himself.

That’s when he heard footsteps outside his apartment. He remembered that beautiful, chatty neighbor of his. You'd watched his flat and watered his plants a few times when he was deployed. You’d only met briefly, but given John’s sparsely decorated way of living, he wasn’t worried you would steal anything. But his grandmother's plants were something holy to him, and you kept them alive, and that made you a trustworthy person in his book.

And he would be lying if he didn't admit he'd stolen a glance at you here and there, always hidden in a hoodie or a way-too-big raincoat that obscured your figure, and something about it intrigued him.

Before his brain could even process what his feet were doing, he stumbled to the front door and opened it, revealing you, arms full of groceries, struggling to get the key into the door.

“Need help with that?” A low, grumbling voice startled you, and you almost dropped the bag full of fruits and veggies.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

John chuckled, then took the bag from you as if it was something he'd casually do all the time. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, putting the key in the lock. You took the bag from him and wanted to escape this awkward situation with your way-too-good-looking neighbor as fast as possible. But before you could close the door, he intervened.

“Hey, uh, I have a question.” John’s hand ran through his hair, a nervous gesture that betrayed his usual confidence.

“Yes?”

“I – I kinda promised my grandma that I’d bring a girlfriend to her 90th birthday party, and, well –”

“You don’t have one?” The question came out sounding more shocked than you intended. You were certain he had women lining up for him.

“Yeah, I mean, no, I don’t.” His gaze dropped to the floor for a fleeting moment, as if suddenly embarrassed by the admission. You tilted your head, looking at him expectantly.

“So, you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend? What’s in it for me?”

“Free fancy food?” He smiled crookedly, and you were done for. How could you say no to that smile? The same smile that had been haunting your thoughts ever since he’d given you his keys to his apartment? Your heart was pounding.

“It’s a date,” you said, the words slipping out before you could overthink it. The relief that flooded his eyes made something inside you flutter.

“Thank you, I owe you one. Six p.m. on Friday, alright?”

“What should I wear?”

John wasn’t prepared for that question. And he didn’t mean to check you out – but he did. His eyes wandered from your boots, over your hips, up to your breasts – where his gaze lingered a second too long— and then to your face.

“It’s a garden dinner. I’m sure you’ll look nice in anything,” he said, the words feeling ridiculously inadequate the moment they left his lips.

“Very helpful, thanks.” He braced himself for a sarcastic retort, but you chuckled, shaking your head. “I’ll figure it out. Have a nice evening.”

You retreated to your apartment, leaning back against the closed door, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your heart was still pounding. Did John, your neighbor, ask you out? The same John who seemed so unapproachable, wrapped in that aura of intensity he always wore, who disappeared for weeks on end to go on “business trips” and returned with a deep shadow under those blue eyes?

What did he even do when he disappeared? You'd never asked. Even when he'd given you his keys so you could look after his flat while he was gone, there was nothing that gave away what exactly he did or where he went.

The small conversations you’d shared had always been just that— small nothings, polite exchanges with your friendly neighbor. Still, those infrequent encounters always sent your stomach into a nervous frenzy.

You rummaged through your closet, trying to find something that screamed “I'm a cool, collected woman who casually dates mysteriously handsome men �� without looking like you’d overdone it. A garden party could literally mean anything, especially since you knew nothing about his family. Were you supposed to pick a nice, flowing dress or stick with casual jeans and a shirt? You had no idea.

You stopped your mind from spiralling further. It wasn’t a real date. It was a fake date .

What were you thinking, agreeing to this? You were doubting your own sanity — but then you remembered the crinkled corners of his eyes when he smiled, the warmth that radiated from him when he’d helped you with your groceries – saying “no” to him wasn’t even an option. There was something about him that drew you in, a gravitational pull you couldn’t resist, even if it meant playing pretend.

The sundress you wore – he couldn’t even pinpoint the colour, something soft and warm, summery, like the sky just before dusk – hugged your curves in all the right ways, the delicate straps showcasing the elegant line of your neck and collarbone. His gaze traced the gentle swell of your breasts beneath the thin fabric, the way the skirt flowed over your hips, his mind already picturing how it would look bunched up around your waist when –

Fuck.

A wave of heat - he knew it so well, yet hadn’t felt it in what seemed like forever - crashed over him, settled deep in his gut, tightening his muscles, making his cock twitch.

He shifted uncomfortably, desperately hoping you hadn’t noticed the way his pants suddenly felt about two sizes too small.

He’d usually never been one for flowery dresses and delicate gold jewellery like the earrings that decorated your ears. They clashed with the brutal reality of his world. But on you, it was devastating. You were an innocent, oblivious creature walking straight into his hardened, cynical world without even knowing it. And somehow, against all logic and years of self-preservation, he wanted to corrupt every part of you.

His gaze snapped to the flesh of your delicate thighs that left little to his imagination, those toned legs wrapped around his waist while he pulled you closer and –

Jesus fucking Christ, get a grip.

He forced himself to look away, clenching his jaw so hard he thought he’d pull a muscle.

This was his neighbour. You , who’d watered his plants, borrowed his toolbox, offered a smile whenever you met in the hallway. The one who’d agreed to this incredibly stupid idea. You were doing him a favour, for God’s sake.

“Ready?” He shoved the word out harsher than he’d intended, the sound completely alien to even his own ears. But before you could answer, he shut his door and ushered you towards the exit. He needed air. He’d preferred an ice bath, preferably yesterday.

You didn’t mind adapting to roles and play pretend at all, but as soon as you arrived at the estate, your confidence got humbled. The house was huge, and the driveway alone was already filled with floral arrangements and all sorts of birthday wishes – an enormous ninety made out of entirely blush pink roses and lavender decorated the front yard.

The garden party was in full swing already when you two arrived. The air buzzed with the sound of laughter and chatter, clinking glasses and the distant beat of a live band. John seemed oddly out of place in between the flowers and the brightly dressed guests, like a lone wolf who had been dragged to a tea party.

But as soon as you stepped further into the event, the warm air surrounding you, the scent of freshly cut grass and citrus, the smiling faces all around you, your anxiety about the whole thing lessened.

“Don’t worry too much," John's arm brushed against yours as you navigated through the clusters of guests. He reached out to grab two drinks from a passing waiter’s tray. “The worst they could do is show you my childhood photos.”

He offered you a drink, and you took it from him, smiling. “Somehow, that’s not as reassuring as you think it is.” You earned yourself a deep chuckle that rumbled through his chest and did decidedly inappropriate things to your equilibrium.

When John took your free hand into his like it was the most normal thing in the world, you felt like this was going to be the easiest task. For a fleeting moment, it was easy to forget you were living a lie.

Until dinner.

The seating arrangements were strategically orchestrated, it seemed, to maximize family bonding - or torture, you hadn’t decided which. You found yourself sitting between John, radiating a mix of polite restraint and his usual natural intensity that set your pulse racing, and a woman with the same kind eyes as him.

“This is my mother, Eleanor,” John had introduced her earlier, her smile so warm and welcoming you’d almost forgotten you were supposed to be playing a role. She seemed almost too impressed when you'd introduced yourself, as if she couldn't quite believe he was telling the truth about having a girlfriend.

You'd prove them wrong, not for their sake, but for your own growing satisfaction at seeing John surprised.

You were no stranger to the barrage of questions about your single status and lack of a partner from your own family, so you knew how tiresome it could get. You braced yourself for a similar interrogation.

Across the table, John's grandma beamed at you with a delight that melted your heart. You understood then what this was all about for him — fulfilling his grandmother's wish to see him happy, settled.

On impulse, you reached out to grab John’s hand beside yours, your fingers threading through his, offering him a reassuring smile, pretending to bring out your best I-am-so-in-love look you could muster.

He seemed taken aback, his entire body stiffening for a split second as if your touch were an electric shock. But then he recovered quickly, his fingers tightening around yours with a gentle pressure that sent goosebumps dancing up your arm. He raised your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against your knuckles that lingered a heartbeat too long.

Your breath caught in your throat, your gaze fixated on the curve of his lips, the way his beard scraped against your skin. Your stomach did a somersault, your senses flooded with a rush of longing that was as unexpected as it was undeniably thrilling.

“So,” John's aunt leaned across the table, her voice a bit too loud, as if intended to break the spell you’d fallen under. “What do you do?”

You blinked, momentarily disoriented, your gaze reluctantly leaving John’s hand and focusing on the plate of food a server had just placed before you. Shepherd's pie. But not just any shepherd’s pie. This looked like a culinary masterpiece compared to the frozen meals you were used to eating all the time.

“I work in healthcare,” you answered, your mouth already watering at the sight of the culinary heaven before you. “I’m an ER nurse.”

“Oh, wow,” his grandma chirped from across the table, her eyes twinkling with genuine interest. Her comment, however, was quickly drowned out by his aunt's next, slightly more probing, question.

“I'm amazed you two met with such busy schedules. To be fair,” she added with a sly smile directed at John, “I'm shocked Jonathan managed to find someone at all with his occupation .”

Your fork, laden with a generous portion of creamy mashed potatoes and perfectly seasoned mince, froze halfway to your mouth. Your earlier questions about the nature of John’s job came rushing back. What exactly did he do? You knew he was often away for extended periods, you even kept his plants from dying a slow death from time to time, but his reasons had always been vague. “Business trips,” he’d called them, with a shrug and that infuriatingly handsome smile.

“Right,” you managed, forcing a light laugh as you carefully set your fork back down, your appetite momentarily forgotten. “We make it work. We talk a lot on the phone."

“You do?” His mother, ever the perceptive one, turned to John, her brows raised in what you could only describe as disbelief. “How come you always tell us you can’t contact us?”

John cleared his throat and his hand reached for his beer, his fingers wrapping around the cold glass. “Kate makes some exceptions,” he explained, his gaze fixed on the drink.

Kate? Your mind scrambled for context, your internal “John’s-Life” file coming up short. “Kate” let him make exceptions? Who was Kate, and more importantly, what kind of job required someone to ask permission to make personal phone calls? And why did you feel jealous - you had absolutely no business to feel this way.

“Who’s Kate?” You asked, reaching for your champagne flute, unable to hide the accusatory edge creeping into your voice.

“My boss . Sort of.” The golden liquid got caught halfway in your throat. First name basis with his boss? His family knew his boss? So many questions came up, and you were slowly starting to panic. You were supposed to be a believable girlfriend, but you were scared the mask was slipping away by the second.

“Oh, right, Kate. Sorry, darling. You know how my weeks have been lately. It's a wonder I can remember my own name half the time.”

“She must be happy for you, too,” his mother commented, delicately spearing a piece of fish with a precision that made you suspect years of etiquette training lay beneath her impeccably polite facade. “Finding someone special, I mean. Might even spare her some of your, shall we say, moods .” She glanced at John, her eyebrows arched as if she was sharing a private joke with the entire table, except you.

Moods? You’d always found John to be quiet, reserved, perhaps a tad intimidating at times, but never moody.

You glanced at John, who was pointedly studying his plate, the faintest hint of a flush creeping up his neck. You wouldn't have thought the man capable of embarrassment. It made him seem unexpectedly human, and somehow even more attractive.

You were about to ask for clarification when Nan seized the conversational reins. “So, darlings,” she asked, her gaze moving back and forth between you and John, her smile widening expectantly, “How long have you two known each other?”

“I think six months?” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips.

At the exact same moment, John declared, “Almost a year now,” his voice deep and steady, completely contradicting your rushed estimation.

You froze. The silence that descended upon the table was deafening.

“Has it already been that long?” you exclaimed quickly, forcing a bright smile and injecting as much wonder and mock surprise into your voice as you could muster. You prayed that your sudden rush of amnesia would be enough to distract them from the giant, elephant-sized hole you’d just blown in your story. You reached over to slightly squeeze his hand. “I suppose time flies when you’re in love.”

You snuck a peek at John, expecting to see panic, maybe even annoyance, but what you found in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. He was watching you intensely. And that smile playing at the corner of his lips? It made something dangerous and delicious twist low in your belly.

“I believe that,” John’s grandma chimed in, her voice warm with the wisdom of nine decades lived. “You two are very lovely together.”

Eleanor nodded in agreement. “She’s good for you, Jonathan. Maybe having someone special to come home to will make those long missions away a little easier.”

"Speaking of which, how’s that new posting treating you, lad? Heard it’s a bit of a hot zone, eh?” John's uncle boomed across the table.

“It has its challenges,” John replied, taking a long sip of his beer as if to fortify himself for the inevitable round of inquiries. “But it’s good to be back in the field.”

You frowned. Field? Posting? What kind of job involved working in a “field”? And what exactly made it a “hot zone?” You felt more and more confused by the conversation, it was as if they spoke an entirely different language, a language riddled with code words and shared experiences you weren’t privy to.

“That I believe,” his uncle answered, also reaching for his beer as if to toast to a shared understanding. “Bet your rank will get you far, though.”

You felt John tense beside you, his hand tightening around yours, not letting go. His family's casual acceptance of his frequent — and apparently lengthy — disappearances made you increasingly curious. You knew by now he often travelled for work, but something about the way they spoke, the underlying thread of concern laced with pride, hinted at a world you were only just starting to glimpse.

“I imagine those long stretches apart must be difficult, darling,” John's aunt commented, her gaze fixed on you with a sympathy that only deepened your bewilderment. “But I’m sure you’re used to it by now, working in a hospital and all. Those long shifts must be a challenge, too.”

You smiled, still confused about what was going on—but you also saw an opportunity. It was time to take control of the narrative, to steer this conversation into a territory you could navigate — even if it meant bending the truth further than it had already been twisted.

“Speaking of long stretches,” you interjected, shooting John a look that was equal parts challenge and playful invitation. You’d gone from wanting to bolt to wanting to play this game, see how far you could push him, how convincingly you could both lie. “Remember that road trip we took last fall? The one where we got hopelessly lost in the Scottish Highlands and ended up sleeping in the car?”

As you spoke, you noticed that everyone else at the table had dived into their food, the initial round of introductions and polite inquiries fading into a comfortable murmur of conversation. Nan beamed at you both, her fork hovering over a generous slice of shepherd’s pie, her eyes twinkling with the quiet pleasure of seeing her grandson – even a pretend version of him – happy.

Beside you, John stiffened, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of surprise and what you could only interpret as wary amusement. “Ah, yes,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, like velvet draped over steel. “Scotland. Beautiful, isn’t it, love?”

“Beautiful?” you countered, tilting your head and letting out a soft laugh that you were fairly certain sounded far more genuine than it should have. You couldn’t help but admire his quick thinking, the way he effortlessly picked up on your cue and played along. “Those winding Highland roads. They were more treacherous than romantic, if I’m being honest. I was certain you were going to drive us straight off a cliff at least a dozen times.”

His smile widened, revealing a flash of teeth that made something deep inside you melt a little. “I assure you, love, my driving is impeccable. You were simply distracted.” His gaze lingered on your face for a beat too long.

A delicious warmth flooded your cheeks. “Distracted? I seem to recall you being the one with wandering eyes," you countered, your voice dropping to a low murmur as you met his gaze head-on. You weren’t sure if the heightened awareness you felt buzzing between you was a product of the lies you were weaving or something more.

“That’s because you are quite the sight to behold, love,” he said, his voice husky, the words brushing against your senses like a caress.

You stared at him, your mind scrambling to process his words, their unexpected sincerity throwing you off balance. Had he just complemented you?

“You are—” He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering on your chest. He didn’t even try to hide it. You held your breath, waiting, as the air thrummed with a sudden, unexpected intimacy.

“Breathtaking.”

What was he doing? you thought, your heart pounding. Was he still playing the part, or was there something more simmering beneath the surface? And why did the possibility excite you?

The air thickened, the sound of his family’s conversation fading into the background as the world seemed to shrink, the space between you charged with an energy that was impossible to ignore. You weren't sure if you wanted to laugh or lean across the table and kiss him senseless.

Just as you felt yourself leaning into that dangerous impulse, Eleanor cleared her throat delicately.

You both startled, like students caught whispering in the back of the classroom. John's cheeks, you noticed with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction, were flushed a faint shade of pink. Even a man like John wasn't immune to a mother's watchful gaze.

“Those rolls are delicious, dear,” Eleanor commented, and turned to you, her tone light but her eyes sharp with amusement. “Why don't you have one?”

You reached for a roll, suddenly starving, the earlier tension dissolving into a relieved chuckle as you caught John's eyes. He winked at you, a playful glint in his blue eyes. You winked back, feeling a warmth spread through you caused by the man sitting beside you, a man who, despite your best efforts to resist, was quickly becoming more than just a convenient prop in this game of play pretend.

You'd managed to escape the clutches of the dinner table without completely blowing your cover, even when, at some points, you weren’t so sure how nobody saw right through you. But then came the real challenge — mingling. The party had moved inside the house, and you were separated from John.

You silently cursed yourself for agreeing to this whole fabricated scenario. What if you told completely different stories to his relatives? What if someone asked you about his work, for God’s sake?

Glasses of port in hand, John’s extended family seemed very determined to catch up on months’ worth of news in one evening. You did your best to smile politely at every occasion, your inner monologue continuously reminding you to simply not say anything stupid.

Suddenly, a very chipper and well-dressed woman intruded on your personal space, waving her phone in front of your face. “You must be John’s girl!” she exclaimed, and before you could even answer, she swiped through numerous photos. “Look at her – isn't she adorable!”

You leaned in, attempting to make eye contact with the child in the photos while subtly taking a step back, her perfume a bit overwhelming. “Absolutely adorable,” you agreed, putting on a wide grin, and the woman beamed. “Oh, I can’t wait to see what children you and John will bring into this world. Aren’t they the greatest thing?”

Children? Your smile faltered. You opened your mouth to respond, to stammer out some vague response about “one step at a time”, but before you could even get a word out, the woman had moved on, already excitedly showing off her offspring to the next unsuspecting relative.

Note to self: Avoid eye contact with anyone holding a baby photo, you thought, your internal panic rising. This whole “fake girlfriend” thing was rapidly becoming a high-stakes obstacle course, and you weren’t sure you were agile enough to navigate it without falling flat on your face.

You were trying to reach John, a plate of sticky toffee pudding on your plate, wanting to show off that you were going to try his favorite dessert – when a booming voice cut through the chatter, catching your attention. “There he is!” A tall, older man with curly hair approached John and shook his hand with a force that could crush granite. “That last mission you pulled off? Absolute textbook. A captain leading his own task force? The old man would be bloody proud.”

John’s posture stiffened ever so slightly. “Cheers, uncle,” he responded, raising his glass, his gaze darting towards you for the briefest of moments.

Mission? Captain? Task force?

The people around you, completely oblivious to your internal meltdown, continued chatting, casually dropping words like “deployment,” “classified,” “weapons,” and all other sorts of military jargon as if they were discussing the weather.

Suddenly, everything fell into place.

All those late-night departures, when you heard heavy footsteps echo through your shared hallway; the vague explanations about “work trips” when you met him outside your apartment; those calls he received at odd hours, his voice tight, his tone clipped, echoing through your shared walls; those calls that always seemed to coincide with a breaking news report or some global crisis. John, your sweet, infuriatingly attractive, seemingly normal neighbor – was leading a deadly task force.

Not that it was any of your business what he did. He owed you nothing.

Then why did this feel like such a blow? That he didn’t tell you beforehand, throwing you into the midst of his family who were clearly all about that life, and leaving you in the dark, making a complete idiot of yourself?

You had been looking forward to trying the famous dessert all evening, but suddenly, your appetite completely vanished. The plate that you held suddenly felt as appealing as cold porridge.

“Everything alright, love?” John approached, noticing the shift in your mood.

You forced a smile, hoping it was convincing. “Peachy,” you replied. “Just, fascinating, hearing everyone’s stories.” You stabbed the pudding with your spoon, not sure where the feelings of anger came from.

You shoved the plate into his chest, forcing him to take it from you. “I just need some air.” You turned and made your way towards his Nan’s beautiful rose garden.

He’d lied to you.

Well, maybe not lied, exactly. Maybe it was the sudden awareness of the danger that shadowed his every move, who he really was, who he was compared to you.

You had every right to feel foolish, to even agree to such a stupid idea. But betrayal? You had no idea where it came from, it seemed like an overreach for a situation that had been, from the beginning, just a constructed lie.

Stepping out into the cool of the garden, you breathed a sigh of relief. The scent of flowers seemed to calm your racing mind a little, a welcome contrast to all the voices you just escaped. You found your way to a small bench underneath an old oak tree, sinking onto the cool wood, straightening your dress doing so.

You didn’t hear John approach, but then again, stealth was probably part of his many talents. You didn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, stopping right next to you, an arm leaning on the backrest of the bench.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, frustrated by all these emotions you were feeling. “Well, the food is excellent, your grandma is adorable, and I haven’t witnessed any international incidents first-hand - yet. So that’s a win, I guess?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, a welcome contrast to the tension that had been knotting your stomach ever since you’d pieced together the things about his life. You’d grown accustomed to that sound, to the way it rumbled deep in his chest, unexpectedly gentle for a man who, apparently, spent his days navigating a world far removed from yours.

He shifted slightly, settling beside you on the bench. You felt the heat radiating off him in the cool air of the evening, an awareness that lingered even though he wasn’t touching you.

“Look,” he began, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, a gesture that was strangely endearing on a man who usually was so confident. “My life –” He gestured vaguely towards the party, the house. The unspoken explanation – “ my life is a full-blown, military-grade soap opera ” – hung in the air between you.

“You know,” you interrupted him, turning to face him. “A little heads-up about what you do would have been nice. Especially that it’s such an important thing in your family.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. It wasn’t fair to throw you into that without a warning. I guess because it’s so normal to me, I just completely forgot about it.”

“I’m a nurse, I don’t really specialize in disarming bombs or whatever it is your uncles like to do for fun.”

He laughed then, a full, hearty laugh, that made your heart flutter faster in your chest.

“It’s not funny.” You said, looking away. “And I know I have absolutely no right to feel – ” you struggled to find the right word.

“To feel –?” he prompted, leaning a little closer.

“Disappointed,” you breathed. “It’s silly, I just felt like I was left out of inside jokes during dinner. I tried so hard to not let this lie slip, but it could have been so much easier if I had known.” You took a deep breath. “So, while I was keeping your plants alive," you added, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice, "You were out there doing what exactly? Neutralizing threats? Saving the world? I missed that chapter in the ‘Good Neighbor Handbook.’”

You couldn’t help the edge that crept into your voice. At first, it had just been a fun little game, a chance to play dress-up and enjoy delicious food. But now, now it felt different. You were, suddenly, uncomfortably aware of just how much you didn’t know about the man sitting beside you.

The silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the gentle chirping of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves overhead. John stared at you, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

“You probably think I am a complete idiot,” you continued, the words tumbling out in a rush, a jumble of emotions you couldn’t quite decipher. “I'm sorry, I'm being absolutely dramatic –”

The words died on your lips as his hands shot out, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks with a touch that was both possessive and unexpectedly tender. His gaze held yours captive, those blue eyes burning with a fierce intensity that stole your breath away. And then, without a word, without warning, his mouth crashed down on yours.

His lips were hard, demanding, hungry, devouring yours as if he couldn’t get close enough, his tongue tangling with yours in a desperate, unyielding dance.

It was primal, raw, untamed. It was the kind of kiss that stripped away the pretence, obliterated the boundaries, and left you gasping for air, your mind reeling, your body aching for something you couldn’t name but craved with every fibre of your being.

Time seemed to stand still — the garden, the party, the lie — it all faded away. There was only the feel of his lips on yours, the light scrape of his beard against your skin. The taste of him was intoxicating, the heat of his body radiating off him in waves.

Eventually, he pulled back, his breath mingling with yours in the night air. His hands lingered, resting on your face, slightly tracing the lines of your jawline. His gaze was wild, eyes dark and burning into you with an intensity that made you want to melt into a puddle.

You stared back, your mind racing. This was the moment the lines blurred. There had been something there — you felt it. It was more than pretend, more than just playing a game. Desire. Interest. Even though you felt like you no longer knew this man at all, you wanted to get to know him all over again. Taste him, touch him — you blinked, trying to collect your thoughts.

“Would you prefer to leave?” John's hand, still warm from its possessive grip on your face, gently brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture both intimate and oddly reassuring.

You shook your head. “It’s your grandma's birthday. You can’t just leave because I feel uncomfortable.”

“I think we’ve both had enough of the party for one night,” he murmured, a quick smile flashing across his face. “I’m going to let her know you aren’t feeling too well. Alright?”

He leaned in again, his lips brushing against your cheek, then, with a low rumble, he whispered in your ear, “Wait here.”

In front of both your apartment doors, the silence was an awkwardly long stretch. It felt like you were both trying to understand what had just happened, unsure where to begin.

“So, um,” he started, then stopped, running a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that you found strangely endearing. “Thank you for coming.”

You nodded and smiled, “Of course. It was nice to get the dust off this dress again.”

He leaned towards you slowly, and your breath hitched. For one heart-stopping moment, you thought he might kiss you again – would he? Was what happened in the garden just an impulsive decision?

But he hesitated, the moment frozen, and there was something indecisive happening between you. But you didn’t mean to push, neither did he.

He cleared his throat and finally spoke. “Good night,” he said, his words careful, as if he were holding back from saying something else.

“Good night,” you echoed, your voice barely a whisper. The small hope that you'd taste him one more time evaporated.

You turned, your hand reaching for your door, keys almost to the lock, when strong hands grabbed you, spinning you around in a dizzying motion. Before you could even register what was happening, his lips were on yours again — silencing all those unspoken doubts and hesitations.

This was real. You felt it; your heart screamed it; the way his mouth was devouring yours, displaying a hunger and desire that shouted it from the rooftops.

Your hands tangled in his hair, holding on for dear life, as his tongue traced the seam of your lips with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. You felt the rumble of his groan against your mouth as he backed you against your apartment door, his body moulding against yours as if he was starving for the feel of you. You were breathless, lost in the heat of his touch, the way his hands roamed your back and finally settled on the curve of your ass.

You realized then that you had always dreamed of kissing this man, silently, secretly, whenever his eyes lingered on yours for a beat too long right there in the hallway. You’d always dismissed those fantasies as wishful thinking, but clearly, he’d been wanting the same.

You heard a click as the lock on your door was turned, and you felt as his hand fumbled with the doorknob behind your back – all while his lips were still on yours, occasionally wandering to kiss your jaw and giving you an opportunity to breathe. He cursed under his breath, and before you even processed what was happening, he shouldered the door open and pushed both of you back into the darkness of your apartment.

The familiar space of your home was suddenly transformed, and John's touch was the compass guiding you. He didn't release you, keeping you close to his body as if you might slip away. With a smooth movement, he shoved the door shut, tossing your keys somewhere onto the floor.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you up flush against him, the gasp that escaped your lips quickly swallowed by his next kiss. He carried you, your legs wrapped around his waist, until he reached your couch, where he gently laid you down, his body hovering over yours, his eyes devouring you, making you feel incredibly vulnerable.

The sofa dipped as he planted his knees left and right next to your legs, and he leaned to hover over you. You were both breathing hard, the only sound in the silent room. The only light illuminating you was the sliver of moonlight spilling through the window above.

“Is this still pretend?” you managed to whisper, your voice a shaky breath.

His eyes locked onto yours, the slight smirk on his face sending a thrill to your core. His hands moved to your hips, deliberately grinding them against his groin. You gasped as you felt the hardness of his arousal pressed against you, hyperaware of the thin fabric separating your most intimate parts.

“Fuck, no,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. He moved his hips again, his hands slowly but intentionally pushing up your dress.

Your skin felt like it was on fire; your head was spinning.

One of his hands moved up to the line of your dress, and with a rumble in his throat, he pulled the fabric aside, exposing the swell of your breasts to his hungry gaze.

His pupils dilated, his eyes dark and intense, as he stared at you like a starving man presented with a banquet. You'd never been so incredibly turned on, no man had ever made you feel this way— John’s simple gesture of delicately tracing the skin around your nipples made you moan so loudly you immediately threw a hand over your mouth, slightly embarrassed.

“No, let me hear it all. You sing so beautifully, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand gently moving yours away, his touch a mixture of possessiveness and unexpected tenderness.

"John,” you breathed, your voice a shaky sigh.

“This bloody dress,” he groaned. “Wanted to rip it off you the second I saw you standing at my door.” His voice was raw, unfiltered – gone was the nice, gentle neighbor; this was the Captain coming through, the darker, more commanding side of him that should have scared you, but only served to intensify the desire swirling inside you. You wanted to know all about the man he left behind as soon as he stepped into this building.

“Every fuckin' time I saw you in the hallway, those quick hellos were never enough,” he confessed, one hand tightening on your hip, the other slowly trailing down your skin beneath the hem of your dress. His touch was agonizingly slow, leaving a trail of heat in its wake that made you lose your mind. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His words were so honest, it caught you off guard completely. It must have shown on your face right then, because he smiled in return. “Never thought I’d stand a chance," he admitted. "You always seemed out of reach.”

You frowned. “Out of reach?”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Figured I’d never stand a chance against the queue of blokes lining up at your door.”

“John, what? A queue, for me?” You laughed, your disbelief genuine, gesturing towards yourself.

He sighed, sitting up, his fingers playing with the lace trim of your panties as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You’re beautiful, and tonight, I learned it’s inside and out. You're you, and that's fuckin’ wonderful."

You shook your head in disbelief. His words made your entire body tremble. He wasn’t just looking at your body; he was seeing you. And it felt extraordinary.

He watched you intently, his eyes filled with a longing that mirrored your own. “I kept thinking about what you were hiding underneath those baggy clothes,” he confessed, his voice a husky whisper, his fingers slowly sliding your panties down your legs. He felt you shy away from him a little, a smirk on his face stole your breath, as he pushed your legs apart with his calloused hands. “Like I said, so beautiful.” He whispered, his voice so rough with what you could only describe as lust. It made you shiver.

“You know,” you whispered, “The funny thing is, I thought exactly the same.”

“What do you mean?” You watched as he slowly ran a hand along your thighs. A ragged breath escaped your lungs, and you struggled to continue speaking.

“You’re incredible – there’s no way you didn’t have someone to –”

“To what?” he asked, suddenly stopping his movements, his gaze intense. “Willing to take a chance on a bloke who doesn’t know a thing about flowers or romantic dinners? Who spends more time on planes than in his own flat? Whose idea of a good time involves dodging bullets and disarming explosives?” He let out a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head.

He was being so completely honest with you, so vulnerable, it sent a sharp pang through your chest. He was seeing you – the real you, hidden beneath the baggy clothes and carefully constructed walls – and for the first time that night, you were truly seeing him . John, who looked like he could bench-press a small car, who radiated an aura of danger as naturally as he breathed.

He wasn’t some playboy who brought women home every other night, like you’d assumed. He could have any woman he wanted – and yet, here he was, his gaze tracing every inch of your naked body.

He liked you. He’d thought about you.

It felt surreal.

“Best decision I’ve made in a long time,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Asking you, I mean. Thinking I could never have you, and now –”

You held your breath, anticipation coiling in your stomach. “Now what?” you whispered.

“You’re mine.” He growled, and before your brain could even process what happened, his mouth was on your clit, kissing and sucking like he finally got to taste that delicious meal he was promised.

“Oh god–!” you moaned, your hands instinctively gripping his hair, your nails digging into his scalp. He moaned, and the vibration of it against your skin made your legs twitch uncontrollably.

John’s touch was relentless, his tongue swirling against your most sensitive flesh, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you that were unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. You arched against him, your hips bucking involuntarily, craving more of the delicious friction that was driving you to the edge of madness.

He seemed to sense your desperation, the way your body was begging for something more. He pulled back, his gaze meeting yours, his eyes dark with a possessiveness that both thrilled and terrified you. His hand replaced his tongue, fingers gently caressing your sensitive clit. “Look at you,” he murmured. “So fuckin’ hot.”

“John,” you breathed, you were speaking without any control over it.

“What do you need, love?” he asked, his voice thick with lust, his hand never ceasing its tormenting, exquisite torture against your aching core.

“I – I need –” You couldn't form the words. Your mind was blank, and your body was trembling with need that eclipsed all rational thought.

He seemed to understand, his gaze softening, a knowing smile curving his lips. He rose slightly, his hands moving towards the belt buckle, groaning as he released himself from the confines of his trousers.

He stepped out of his pants, the sound of fabric hitting the floor echoing in the sudden silence. His shirt followed shortly after, and you were captivated. His body was hard, sculpted muscle, his arousal straining against the fabric of his boxers, proof of the desire you'd awakened within him.

You watched, mesmerized, as he slowly peeled off his boxers, his gaze never leaving yours. His hand reached down, fisting himself, and your breath hitched at the sight.

“Still think you’re not attractive to me, love? Look what you’re doing to me,” he let his thumb slowly run over the head of his length, spreading the drop of pre-come that formed there, and he must have known it was teasing you, driving you mad. “Tell me what you want,” he commanded.

You opened your mouth to speak, to voice the desire that was burning through you with the force of a supernova, but the words caught in your throat. All you could manage was a whimper as your fingers were digging into the cushions, hips arching upwards, instinctively seeking out friction you craved.

You felt like if you couldn't have him, you might die.

“Uh-uh.” His hand reached forward to grab the soft flesh of your tits, one after the other, and his thumb brushed a teasing circle around your nipples, the pressure increasing just enough to make you gasp. "I said, tell me what you want.”

“You,” you confessed, the words torn from your very soul. “For God's sake, I fucking need you.”

John's gaze intensified, his eyes dark, and the corner of his mouth twitched, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. He loomed over you like a predator about to claim his prey. With a growl, he leaned down, pressing his mouth on yours, and you could feel his erection pressing between your folds.

One of his hands shot out, cupping the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you captive.

“You’re going to get everything you need, love,” he breathed, and followed by his promise, he entered you in a deliberately slow movement, almost torturous. He moaned, so raw and primal, it made you clench around him, and your entire body ignited as he filled you completely. His size, his heat, the intensity of the sensation – it sent your senses into overdrive, causing you to dig your nails into his back.

“Ohhh fuck,” you moaned, your voice a breathless whisper, lost in a world of sensation he'd created with his touch.

He paused, holding himself perfectly still within you, savoring the feel of your body clenching around him and the soft moans escaping your lips.

You whimpered, arching your hips up instinctively, desperate for more, aching for him to erase every thought, every doubt, every worry, with the overwhelming pleasure that throbbed between you.

He chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down your spine, and then he moved. Slowly at first, deliberately drawing out the sensation, his hips rocking against yours, each thrust a slow, agonizingly delicious torture that had you clinging to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your nails leaving trails of fire on his skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice tight with need as he buried himself deeper. “You're so fucking tight – so fucking wet.”

But even in the haze of pleasure, a primal instinct took over. He needed more. He rolled you both over, shifting his weight so that you were straddling his lap, your legs draped over his thighs, your core aligned perfectly with his arousal. He kept his eyes locked on yours as he reached for the hem of your dress, his fingers working quickly, impatiently, to free you from the loosely hanging fabric.

“Now,” his hands found your hips, guiding you closer, his thumbs stroking the sensitive flesh. “Ride me, love.”

You looked down at him, at the raw, unfiltered hunger in his eyes, the way his chest heaved with each ragged breath, and a surge of confidence, of pure, unadulterated lust, washed over you. You began to move, supporting your weight against him by running your hands through the light fur that dusted his chest.

His hands dug deeper into your skin as you increased the pace, moving faster, harder, riding his cock wildly, completely lost in the pleasure.

Every movement sent jolts of pleasure through you. He watched you, his gaze never leaving your face, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as if he were hanging onto your every move.

“Fuck, yes,” he growled, his voice thick with approval. “Like that, love. Ride me hard.”

His words were a primal command, a challenge that sent a thrill through you, making you even bolder, even more daring. You leaned forward and kissed him, biting his lip, drawing a groan from him that resonated deep in your core.

He tasted of salt and desire, the scent of his arousal filling your senses, making you wild. His hands were guiding your movements, matching your intensity, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge of release.

With each thrust, you felt the coil of pleasure tighten inside you, building towards a crescendo that threatened to shatter you both. You moved faster, harder, your body driven by an instinct as old as time itself. His touch was a brand, marking you as his, and the possessive hunger in his eyes as you rode him, almost send you over the edge alone.

He was groaning now, his words a jumble of incoherent pleas and praises, his fingers digging into your flesh as he struggled to maintain control. You felt him tense, the muscles in his thighs and arms bunching beneath your touch, and you knew the storm was about to break.

“Don’t stop,” his voice was raw with need, his gaze burning into you as if he wanted to sear this moment into his soul. “Come for me, love. Let me feel you shatter."

And with one final, earth-shattering thrust, you did.

A shudder ripped through you, a wave of pleasure so intense it stole your breath away. Your walls clenched around him, a thousand tiny sparks of sensation exploding behind your eyelids. Your name tumbled from his lips, a breathless groan, as he held you tighter. You cried out, the sound swallowed by his eager mouth as he captured your lips in a desperate kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as wave after wave of pure bliss crashed over you, leaving you trembling, weak, utterly undone.

After you came down from your high, you watched him intently as he was also struggling on the edge of release. Driven by need and desire, you slowly let his cock slip out of you. He made a sound that sounded animalistic, a groan, low and deep in his chest, an expression of frustration. Your hand moved instantly, your fingers finding his length, circling him, stroking him with a deliberate, unhurried rhythm. Your fingertips traced a feather-light path up the underside of his shaft, lingering at the sensitive ridge just below the head before gliding back down to the base, your thumb brushing teasingly against the swollen vein that pulsed with his arousal.

His head fell back against the cushions, his eyes closed, a ragged breath escaping his lips as you continued to tease him, your touch the only cure for his aching need. You watched him, mesmerized by the play of muscle beneath your hand, the raw power he embodied even at that moment of vulnerability.

“I can't –” His fingers dug into the cushions, his body tensing as if fighting against the tide of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him.

You smiled. The power thrumming between you was intoxicating, addictive. “Can’t what, John?” you whispered, leaning in, your lips trailing a teasing path along the hard planes of his stomach. “Can’t hold back anymore?”

His answer was a strangled groan. His body went rigid, and the wave of pleasure that followed was written all over his face. His hand shot out, not to stop you, but to grip your wrist. His fingers tightened around it, his control started slipping, shattering, as his release washed over him.

You whispered small praises, and watched, fascinated, as his release spurted over your hand in hot, pulsing bursts. His hips were stuttering, his cock, hard, thick in your grasp, throbbed, and the remnants of his release felt warm against your skin. He was completely at your mercy.

You’d never felt this bold, this empowered, this reckless. Before you could overthink it, you raised your hand to your mouth and licked his come off of your fingers.

Your wish to taste him, it couldn’t get any more him than this. Salt, sweat, and something so uniquely his. It made your walls clench around nothing, sending a new wave of excitement through you.

John’s gaze snapped to yours, his eyes wide, a flicker of something dark and possessive flaring in their depths as he watched you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and reached out, his hand resting on your neck, his thumb slowly stroking along your pulse. “You’re something else, you know that, love?”

A nervous giggle escaped your lips. The sudden awareness of your actions, the intimacy of the moment, sent a wave of shyness washing over you. “I, uh,” you trailed off, averting your gaze, unable to meet the intensity burning in his eyes. Your cheeks burned, and you wanted to hide.

John’s hand shifted, his fingers tracing the curve of your jawline. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Don't shy away from me now, sweetheart,” he murmured and softly ran his thumbs over your lips. “Not after that.”

“That was –” You struggled to find the words, your thoughts were a mess. “I've never –”

“Never?” He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, the scent of him filling your senses, making you dizzy.

“Never been that bold,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to his lips, their fullness suddenly a source of endless fascination. “Or wanted someone so intensely.”

A dark smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with triumph and something that sent a delicious thrill through you. “Good,” he growled, the word a low rumble that vibrated through you. “Because you're mine now, love. And I'm not about to let you forget it.”

And then, before you could protest – not that you had any intention of doing so – his lips crashed down on yours. It wasn’t gentle. This kiss was a possession, a claiming, a wildfire consuming everything in its path. His hand shot out to grab your neck, holding you close to him.

This really wasn't pretend anymore.

#cod fanfic #ao3 fanfic #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #call of duty #fanfiction #captain price x reader #john price #captain price #captain john price x oc #x female reader #cod smut #call of duty smut #captain john price smut #18+ mdni

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multific · 2 years

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Little You-s and I-s

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary: You and Tommy deal with the changes that come with your pregnancy.

Your pregnancy changed you a lot.

You became more sensitive to smell for example.

One evening, Thomas arrived home from the bar, and as soon as you caught the smell of drinks and smoke on him, you rushed to the bathroom.

Then there was the incident when you craved fish but before you could cook it, the smell of it caught your nose and again, rushing for the toilet you went.

Thomas was incredibly happy when you told him the news, having his own family with you was always a goal of his.

What he didn't like however is just how sensitive you became and one thing that set it off easily was his cigarettes.

Thomas smoked a lot, so for him to not be able to do that in his own home was a bit challenging, but he still found ways to smoke one or two in the furthest part of the garden. Even then, sometimes the wind carried the smell right back to you.

"No smoking and no drinks!" yelled Tom at John as he pulled out a cigarette.

"What? Why?"

"My wife is pregnant, she is sensitive to the smell."

"Oooh, it got that bad huh?" asked John as you entered the room with a tray, on the tray there were some cookies and tea.

"I'll appreciate if you can hold yourself from smoking just this once John, the smell of it just..."

"No problem, thank you for the tea."

"I'll leave you to it." you smiled at your husband who nodded before he turned to John, talking about business.

When lunchtime was approaching, both John and Tom found themselves in the kitchen where you were currently chopping up some carrots and crying.

"Darling, I'm sure the carrots don't mind us eating them."

"Tell that to the headless chicken in the oven, Thomas!" you quickly said back making both men take a step back, Thomas should have known not to argue with you.

Both headed into the dining room instead.

"Is pregnancy supposed to affect a woman this much?" asked John in a hushed tone.

"I think so? I'm no expert John. Arthur has children, he might know more."

"She is glowing though. She was crying but she still looked like a Goddess."

"Can't argue with that, John. But keep your wandering eyes to yourself, she is my wife."

"Does she always cry during cooking?"

"As of late, yes. Yesterday, she made salmon, cried her heart about as she was talking about the poor little fishies the one she cooked left behind. But then this morning, she cried when she made salad. Saying the potatoes didn't deserve to die this way."

"So, she is sensitive to smell, cries when the cooks, can't get worse than that, I'd say."

"She talks back like I have never heard before."

"Okay, I was wrong it can get worse. You mean to tell me, that my lovely shy sister-in-law talks back? The one who didn't dare to tell you she didn't like the ring you gave her?" Thomas made a face at John's confession.

"She didn't like the ring?"

"No, she said she wished you would have given her something more simple. But she didn't want to tell you because she would hurt your feelings."

"Well now, with my child under her heart, she is not afraid to talk from her heart. The other day she told me I should dress better, apparently my suits make me look old. Then she wanted to dance and when I said I don't have the energy she complained that I never have when it comes to her. This is true sadly, however, the latest one... oh Johnny, my boy just before you arrived, she told me to ask you not to smoke and when I told her that you will be free to do as you please, the look. That look I know well, it's the look of someone who is about to murder. She said I either tell you to not smoke or-" Thomas stopped as he felt a shiver run down his spine, both men turned towards the door only to find you with the food in your hands on a tray.

You approached them and placed the food in front of them. The air was cold, John swore he could have cut the tension with a spoon.

"I told him he either asks you not to smoke or I will seriously question his position as the leader, as all leaders should be listened to and respected. And if he is not able to do so, then I shall take his place. So, you are not allowed to smoke John." John nodded, not even daring to look at you.

"Th-Thank you for the meal." John said.

"I know I can be a handful since I'm with child, I feel the change in myself, the doctor said it was hormones to blame, but I seriously hope you do not plan on talking our dear Johnny's ears off with my silliness, Dear Thomas. He doesn't have to know everything."

"Of course, Love. I apologize." Thomas grabbed your hand and placed a kiss on it.

John left soon after lunch and you were now washing the dishes as Tom was reading in the living room.

Once all dishes were done, you headed into the living room, a soft song playing as he was reading in his favourite armchair. He put the paper down when he saw you approach and you sat on his lap, your head on his chest as he continued to read with one hand as the other was now around you, comforting you.

"Am I really that annoying that you talk to John about it?"

"You are not annoying, Love. Odd, sometimes yes, but that isn't due to pregnancy." you giggled a little.

You were fine with 'odd'.

"I try to control it, you know?"

"Oh, God, is this the controlled version? I'm scared now for the uncontrolled one."

"It will get worse, I'm warning you because the doctor said last week that this will only grow as the baby does."

"It's alright, your body will change, I can take a few harsh words, I took bullets after all." he placed a kiss on your forehead.

"Do you want a girl or a boy?" you asked with a rather quiet voice.

"I don't really care, as long as both of you are safe and healthy."

"So you want a boy, got it." Tommy laughed you looked up at him, into his blue eyes. "I just want them to have your eyes."

"What if they don't?"

"Then we try until we have a child who does." you smiled at him as he looked at you.

"Just how many children my Missus want?"

"Oh, as many as my lovely husband would give me. We have a big house, it would be nice to have some life in it. Little you-s and I-s running around."

"I would like that. Honestly, I would like that very much. But let's see how you do after this one, then we will talk."

You hummed before you placed another kiss on his lips, letting him return to his paper as comfortable silence fell.

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ofallthingsnasty · 2 months

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pairing: sanji x f!reader tags: fat reader, mentions of feederism (but it's just a misunderstanding, nothing malicious is happening here!), food, crack treated seriously, fluff, minors dni word count: 1.4k note: months ago i had a thought about sanji getting hard watching you eat - because of his trauma, him being himself, you just being too cute while enjoying his creations- and i just needed to flesh it out a little further.

It’s entirely too obvious.

You’ve been with the Straw Hats for a few weeks now, and even though you’re still getting used to them - there is a certain habit unique to one member in particular that you have recognized by now. The cook likes to watch you eat. A lot.

It’s no secret that he likes to watch in general - not with the way he’s dancing around you and the other two women, all smiles and overly polite gestures - but you’ve noticed how peculiar he gets whenever meals are served. And really, at first you thought he was just scoping you out; knowingly smiling at him whenever he hesitantly placed a larger-than-average portion in front of you. Ah, you mused, his eyes are working, as is his brain. Giving the fat one more to eat is sensible, after all, seeing as you do need more energy to maintain your physique compared to a thinner woman. Really, you thought he was just trying to get to know you and your habits better - figuring out if you were a snacker or more of a main meal girl, seeing if you’d be too shy to eat your share in front of others or maybe even take offense when presented with more.

But after some days (weeks at most), that little scouting mission should have been successful - only he keeps watching with the same intensity as he did when you first parted your lips to spoon one of his creations in between them. And watching. And watching. (Staring?)

A curiously tilted head while you take your knife and fork to a fine cut of meat, a lingering glance while you carefully scoop the top off a late-afternoon dessert on deck, a warm smile, a trill, even, when your face lights up at omelets early in the morning.

Always waiting. Always holding his breath. Always, well, watching.

How peculiar. By now you’ve figured out that he not only observes until you comment on his cooking. It goes beyond kind words and blissful smiles, so it’s not that he wants praise - no, he keeps watching well after that obligatory “oh, this is so good, Sanji” and stays at it. It’s not to fish for compliments and it’s not to get a better glimpse at your eating habits. With both of those possibilities ruled out, it leaves very few other options - and not all of them pleasant, you realize. What if he is one of those guys who gets off on feeding you fatter and fatter; who sees you as an easy target as you are already big? It doesn’t suit him, not at all, but what do you know? You’ve never met one of them in your years of travel, just heard the same old warning every fat girl is given once she reaches a certain age.

And it weighs on your mind.

Another three meals and half a dessert and you find it sours your stomach, actually. The thought is like poison once it has crossed you; and it taints every beautiful dish he plates for you, makes them all taste hollow. You can’t leave it up to speculation, you think, you have to know - have to know what you’re working with, at the very least. Maybe it’s the pie that he’s worked on so diligently that you feel is too nice to be tainted by an aftertaste; maybe it’s the fact that you can’t possibly spend another minute having a question burning through your stomach. It doesn’t matter, because at the second half of your dessert, you purse your lips and lean over the table shared between you two, that is so conveniently bare of any other of your crew. Now or never, you think, and dig into the crinkly dough again.

“Sanji, can I ask you something?”

He doesn’t even blink as he replies, with a tone that makes you feel like he has waited all of his life just to entertain one of your sudden whimsies. “Of course, my love. Anything.”

You whole-heartedly believe that.

“Hm”, you hum, then take another mouthful of pie. To bide time. To test a hypothesis.

As always, his eyes dip down with your dessert spoon, downright glittering as he observes. You almost pity him, knowing full-well that you’ll be taking away a good chunk of carefree fun he has had with this little quirk during all this time.

You smile innocently as you swallow and let the piece of cutlery pop out of your mouth, ready for your attack.

“You watch me.” It’s not the question you asked him for, it’s a statement. Said while you stare at your reflection behind fine, silver scratches in the metal. “You like to watch me eat, don’t you?”.

When you look up, he’s gone from a healthy, rosy complexion to beet-red. Like the kid getting caught with one hand already in the cookie jar, he just stares back at you, eyes about as wide as the plate your pie had been served on. He stutters. Then reaches to loosen his tie. And stutters some more.

“I-”, he says, the first coherent word he has been able to push out, while you push in another bit of caramelized apple smothered in cream.

“It’s not like that-”

Oh, so he knows what you’re hinting at. You briefly wonder if he has had this conversation before.

“Like what?”, you smile, feeling like you should play it a little cruel all of a sudden. “Enlighten me, Sanji.”

It’s what he deserves, you think. To have to sweat a little, to have to find his way out of this conversation in a way that leaves his reputation intact.

“I’m not a freak- Really-”, he stutters, all usual grandeur gone. “I’m not- I’m not into watching you eat, if it’s what you’re implying.”

You can’t help but quirk a brow at that. Definitely has had this conversation before. When you don’t placate him - just take another bite of apple pie while he loosens his tie further to alleviate some of the embarrassment - it almost squeaks out of him.

“I swear, I can explain myself, darling!”

It’s said with so much desperation and pain it makes your eyes snap up to a beyond flustered Sanji who might just be this close to tears. Earnest. A little pathetic. Cute. And still, you don’t have it in you to release him just yet. Instead, you lean over and curl one finger underneath your chin with an aloof ‘Oh?’.

It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. His shoulders sag with actual relief, he sighs - and then he tells you all about it. About the All Blue. The Orbit. Red-Leg Zeff. The shipwreck. The hunger. The way it shaped him into what he has become today - it seems like there is more but you don’t dwell on it, don’t try to get further. You simply listen and nod and hang on every word that leaves his mouth, genuinely shocked at the suffering he has lived through.

The plate in front of you is long empty when he comes to the conclusion of his little tale and blushes like a schoolboy as he bares his soul to you, so uncharacteristically serious it makes you feel somehow special, as though this side of him is one you rarely get a glance at.

“It’s good to know my friends are fed and safe. You, too”, he mumbles, looking so small, so vulnerable. “I don't ever want you to go hungry. And as long as I am able to, you never will. I promise you that.” He says it with so much fire it makes you swallow. He truly means it, it’s not some made-up front, some poor excuse. It still leaves questions to be answered but you don’t ask them, content with letting him cheat the gallows tonight. Why don’t you watch Luffy in that way? Zoro? Why do you linger by my side the longest, not Robin’s, not Nami’s?

Thoughts are swirling in both of your heads, you can tell - you desperately want to say something, maybe even apologize, while he still grapples with all he has just shared. In the end, you decide against it - your suspicion was fair, you think, and Sanji isn’t exactly the definition of subtle about his little peculiarities.

Instead, you lean over to him, cleavage spilling over two folded arms, while your dominant hand grabs his. You smile at him and he returns it eagerly, one fluttering eyelash away from slipping back into his old self at the sight in front of him.

The best defense is a good offense, you wager.

“So no food in bed?”

#sanji x reader #one piece x reader #fat reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #/one piece #/sanji

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 6 months

Text

Soulmate Aus

Requested: No

Warnings: Discrimination based on tattoos and brief description of kidnapping

Ghost - His scars as tattoos

Twisted and burned flesh blooming into roses along your chest, deep cuts and gaping holes turned into pitch black stars that shone on your skin, drawing all sorts of attention that you hated to have on you. The whispers that follow after in your shadow leave you nauseous and uneasy. Marks, given to you by your soulmate. Barbed wire in a slash across your throat, stitch like markings on either side of your mouth like a permanent smile, thorny vines and skulls and knives littered throughout your body. That wasn’t even speaking to what might be on your back, too afraid to ask anyone or try and even maneuver to see it in a mirror.

Making friends was hard, making money even harder. They said you scared people, that you looked unprofessional. But you managed, you got by. Found work in the back of a butcher shop, so far removed from the customer service section that no one would ever even catch a glimpse of you. Straight to work then straight home, maybe a chat or two with one of your gruffer co-workers, those just as covered in tattoos as you were. Those who got it, who understood you in a way no one else seemed to.

It was in one of those conversations that you got invited out for drinks, something you regretted accepting as soon as the words had left your mouth. But it was too late, your friends already abuzz with excitement at you joining them. Assuring your that this joint was filled with people like yourself.

And they didn’t lie. Every glance you took of the place revealed someone who appeared to be in a similar state to yourself. A man with a black dagger going over his eye, little blood droplets making a trail like tears down to his chin. A woman with snakes peaking all around her hairline, their tails curving along her jaw and intertwining on her chin and down her neck. Most you couldn’t make out except for giant globs of black ink painting their face. It was reassuring, putting you at real ease for the first time in a long time. Relaxed enough to have a drink, then another, then another, laughing along with some corny joke the bartender was telling when a big man sat beside you, some surgical mask over the lower half of his face, the hood of his jacket over the upper half. But it revealed just enough for you to make eye contact with him when he glanced your way, feeling the world shift beneath you and crumble away.

Soap - Colorblind until you touch your soulmate

Shades of grey. White and black, sometimes you think you might be seeing colors, something just a hint different then the usual monochrome of your existence but you turn your head….and it’s nothing, just more of the same. It was fine when you were younger, when everyone your age saw things the same way. When you were, in this sense, just like everyone else. But things changed, you got older. Your classmates changed, met their people. People who became friends, family, lovers. Their closest confidants. Their soulmates.

And you were left behind, drifting further and further from the people who you, at one point, might have called your friends. Unable to escape their giggles and whispers of seeing color, the wonder in their voice when they described how vibrant everything seemed, that shift in their eyes. And then afterwards, getting to know the person that held that other half of their soul, it was almost as emotional for them all. But you, you were left without that.

For a time you could convince yourself that it could still happen, that you could find that person, that you would be able to see what your peers did. Eventually.

But time moved, it changed, and your vision stayed the same. Unable to witness the beautiful colors of the flowers that line your driveway, the shimmering scales of fish in the pet shop, the color of a soulmate’s eyes.

You gave up after a few years after secondary school. Defeated and broken down, chipped away at by your school mate’s whispers about how you still hadn’t met your soulmate, the only one in your grade that hadn’t. You convinced yourself that you didn’t have a soulmate. That you were just one soul, not intertwined with anyone.

Or maybe they were dead.

That was the thought that haunted you, no matter how much you tried to tell yourself that it was just you. That you were different. Or that maybe you just hadn’t met them yet. It would keep you up at night, nightmares of a faceless person reaching out to you, only to fall short, darkness swallowing them whole, drifting farther and farther away no matter how much you ran after it. Always just out of reach.

It was one of those nights when you decided to take a walk, shaking hands shoved into your coat pockets and neck slick with sweat, just wandering aimlessly when you bumped shoulders with some guy you hadn’t even seen til last second.

“Ey, watch where you’re-” He started, only to stop, anger leaking into worry. “Oi, you okay?”

“Piss off-” You snapped in return, whipping around to face the man, only to freeze, eyes locked onto his, both of your pupils’ widening, visions shifting. “What….what fucking color is that?” You whisper when the grey of his irises shifted to something vibrant, bordering on overwhelming.

“Been told that they’re something called blue.” He breathed.

Gaz - His name on your wrist

Gaz.

The name written on your wrist, messy chicken scratch that resembled scribbles more than actual writing. It was confused for dozens upon dozens of other names growing up, but this one. Gaz. It resounded in your skull in a way none of the other nicer or more normal sounding ones did. It rolled off your tongue, appeared in your dreams, a whisper in your ear that just wouldn’t fade away.

Gaz.

For someone with such an unusual name, he was certainly hard to find. Everywhere you went, everywhere your friends and family went, they asked if they ever heard of anybody named Gaz, only to come up with zilch. Nada. Nothing. A needle in a haystack but it seemed the needle grew legs and ran away, or maybe even just got dropped into a wormhole somewhere. It was an unhealthy and depressing thought but it was what came to mind when you became overwhelmed with it, consumed by thoughts of an elusive soulmate that you might not be finding just because you keep getting stuck on what you think his name is instead of any of the other possibilities that it could be. It was days like this that you wanted to find your soulmate just to strangle them for their shitty handwriting that would brand you for your entire life. Written on your flesh in a deep black.

Gaz.

It was during one of these times where one of your friends asked to set you up on a blind date. A cousin of theirs, good looking they’d said. Sweet guy in the military, on break for now. If nothing else, he’d make for a good shag to take your mind off of the whole soulmate ideal. It was with great reluctance that you accepted, dressed in a semi formal/semi casual outfit for a date at a place that was a few steps above a Maccy’s but nothing michelin star worthy. Not too formal, not too casual.

And the guy was nice, introducing himself as Kyle. Shook your hand and pulled out your chair for you, letting you set the pace for the date. Made you laugh, his eyes sparkling at every chuckle you couldn’t contain. He seemed too good to be true, and you agreed to a second date despite the name inked onto your wrist.

A second date led to a third led to movie nights led to slow kisses under the sheets led to moving in together led to meeting his friends, his brothers in arms. Where, for the first time, you heard them shout his callsign.

Gaz.

Hearing it from someone else was sweeter than any of the times you’d whisper it to yourself at night.

Alejandro - The first words he says to you written on your wrist

“Now what’s a beautiful thing like you doing here all alone?”

Possibly the blandest soulmate question anyone could ever have written on their arm, looping cursive that was on the edge of appearing just a little hard to leave. The question itself may be awfully common but the handwriting was not. It was something you liked about your soulmate, tracing the letter with your thumb over and over and over until you were sure you could perfectly write out every elegant letter with your eyes closed.

It was what you were doing now, scared and curled up into a ball after being kidnapped by some drug lord or other. No matter how much you tried to plead that they had the wrong person, that you didn’t even know who they were, it didn’t matter. They snatched you up all the same, tossing you in this grimy cell and leaving you on your lonesome. You were scared, terrified. You wondered if you’d die before you even had the chance to meet your soulmate, all because they nabbed the wrong person.

It felt like weeks, but surely must have only been days, before you saw another person again, hazy, on the brink of a sleep you weren’t sure you were going to wake up from. Your eyes were heavy, so much so that they almost didn’t have the power to open again when the door slammed open, the rushing of feet following, the whoosh of fabric as someone knelt beside you and pressed their fingers to your throat, checking for your pulse.

“Now what’s a beautiful thing like you doing here all alone?” A voice whispered, an arm curving under your knees and another cradling the back of your head, a warm body pressing against you, offering you the first real source of comfort you’d had since you were taken.

“I think I’m dying of thirst.” You mumble, voice a shaky slur. So out of it that you didn’t feel the man pause for a moment before gripping you tighter.

“Probably, Amor.” He says, voice more strained now. There were more sounds now, more stomping and heavy doors slamming. It was hurting your head. “But we’ll fix you right up. Get something for you to drink.” He says, his voice fading for a moment before he said “I’m Alejandro, by the way.”

You weren’t sure the babble that left your mouth before you passed out was any sort of comprehendable to him.

#cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #Alejandro Vargas #alejandro vargas x reader

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 1 year

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Hi, this is an odd question but I've got a friend who visits the same part of Wales (near Bridgend) a lot and she's noticed that the chip shops around there also tend to be merged with Chinese restaurants and I was wondering if that was a common thing in Wales or maybe just that specific area.

It's not common, per se, but it does happen. Sometimes it used to be a fish and chip shop but got sold to be a Chinese, but the new owner wisely realised they could double their clientele if they kept the fryers. It does work, though I've yet to find the kind of chips I want from a fish and chip shop on the menu in one of these places - they always seem to buy in bags of neat ready-cut chips that they then fry up and serve, and that is absolutely fine but a true fish and chip shop does the slicing and prep and so the chips are thick, fat and messy (insert your own jokes here).

You know what I mean? You get this:

When what I want is this:

Not really a problem for me, though, because if I go to a Chinese takeaway, I want the Chinese food.

And, in fact, especially not a problem for me, because Swansea has the 5th Best Chip Shop in Britain:

Hiks for the win.

Also for Chinese in Swansea there's Gigi Gao's Authentic Chinese Restaurant, over in the Marina - opened by a woman who migrated to Britain, went to a Chinese, and went 'Wtf that is not Chinese food' and so opened her own. I went there last year not long after Chinese New Year, and all the tiger decorations were still up. As we were paying our bill we were discussing how beautiful they were, and I mentioned that I think I was born under the tiger. It was Gigi herself serving us, and she whipped out her phone and double checked my birthday, and then ran off and came back with a lucky gold banknote that they'd given out for the new year; she gave it to me with the sentence "For you, Tiger Girl! It will bring you luck with money!"

And I was charmed to hell and back by this anyway (plus the food is fucking orgasmically good) but then three weeks later I was offered my now-job at almost twice the salary I was on and it got me away from the awful people I was working with so like. There's also that.

Sorry this has become extremely rambling, what were we saying?

#asks #wales!#closed for cleaning on mondays #food

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rdr2stories · 4 months

Text

"Am I somehow so terrible that the woman who birthed me no longer deserved the affection of the man whos love created me?" A rdr fanfiction.

A short fanfiction about Jack Marston.

My uncle stood next to me, the brim of his hat shielded his eyes from the sun coming down from above. He held a fishing pole in his hand, his line ended somewhere out in the middle of the river where he had thrown it. My line is only half his length, my small arms could not handle more, he had caught three fish, I had yet to catch anything. I found fishing boring, the flowers in the grass further up the shore looked pretty, they made a nice necklace to mama.

Father, I can’t help but remember that day when you asked me to fish with you, when you grabbed the bucket and the two fishing rods. You looked awkward, but happy somehow, you didn’t quite know what to do with me, I didn’t quite know what to feel. I still found fishing boring but caught a fish before you did, you were impressed and I was unsuccessful in keeping spite from my voice when I told you it was uncle who taught me. You simply replied “oh did he now?”

Uncle was never a good fisherman, yet the day he taught me he told me I was the second little boy he had taught to fish, I used to wonder why I didn’t have a cousin if that was so, but with time it simply made me realise why he hated you.

He died eight years prior to that fishing trip with you father, meaning it had been eight years since my first fishing trip. I had been just four and when I stood with the rod in my hands again I had been just twelve, it had been just eight years since uncles death, you barely talk about him, your brother, I barely remember what he looks like, but I remember what I had seen him as; my father. He brought me a comic book, and I drew him a drawing of a family, it had been him who had taken the place of the father, not you, I carried not his blood but to me he was my father.

It has been eight years, eight years since your eyes last held disgust, eight years since you last yelled at me, eight years since you decided that you wanted to be my father.

While I forgave I never forgot and I never stopped wondering. Oh father, what did I do for you to reject me? What did I do to be unworthy of your love and why was it first when you decided I fit into your life that you allowed me to be your son? Whatever could a child still growing in the womb have done to make you hate it? I am a creation of love, I shared the blood of the woman you held dear, yet that affection not only did not extent to me it was also cut off from her when she came to carry me.

Am I somehow so terrible that the woman who birthed me no longer deserved the affection of the man whos love created me?

Father, did you forget? That day on the riverbed, had you forgetten the way you used to look at me? The way you never even tried to hide your disgust but would shout it so everyone would hear, you were so ashamed by me that you chose to humiliate your son of four years in front of everyone in the area. I cried to mama that day because my child brain did not understand that you hated her just as much as you did me, that she was just as hurt by the way you shouted at her as I was by the way you looked at me.

Father, did you know I used to hide in my aunt’s skirts yet I could still hear the sound when she slapped your cheek through the fabric? I remember it even now though she has not laid her hand on you for eight years, she wanted you to accept me. I was too young to know then, but I now know what she meant when she said “I don’t care how you feel about me, but at least make an effort with the boy.” Did you yell at her for telling you to love me?

Father, did you know I don’t react to my own name? The one we share? The one given to me by my mother before you decided to give me a nickname because the idea that the two of us would share four letters made you angry? I have never once been called by our name, though it has always been a dream of mine.

When you speak to me, you speak as if your voice has never carried anything but love, I wish it was the truth, and although I am happy it doesn’t give sour comments no more I can’t help but wonder when you decided I was worth your time? Was it first when you saw someone else take the role you had taken for granted?

I know the man you called father, the man I called grandfather, never carried your blood and you never his, yet it was also him you drew on drawings and it was him you taught you to fish. We are similar in that sense and because of that I can’t help but wonder when you took me to that riverbed, did you hope you could teach me to fish?

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byunpum · 2 years

Note

Hello 😊 I have a request for reader fighting with Loak cause he had Tsireya braid shells in his hair that he took from reader

Pair: Lo'ak X human reader (siblings)

Tags: Silly fight, adorable, loak and the reader being idiots.

Warning: None.

Note: I hope this request has been well done. I didn't understand much, but I did the best I could. I don't know, if you meant that loak took the beads from the reader, and gave them to tsireya, OR that loak had beads in his hair that the reader had given to tsireya. But I'm going with the first option.

AVATAR MASTERLIST

So are you going to that reunion?" asks tsireya. You two were sitting on the beach, talking about anything. But just now she was asking you if you were going to attend a meeting that the younger metkayina were having to celebrate their becoming adults. You didn't know whether to go or not. It all depended on if your brothers were going to attend, well… if neteyam was going to attend, if he wasn't going you weren't going. Orders from your father.

Father? Siblings? You were the human daughter that jake had with a woman from the RDA base, before he became a full navi. It was a one-night stand, and your mother gave you up quickly at birth… she didn't plan on keeping you. So when the humans were sent to earth again, he left you with your father and took off. Jake of course, always looked out for you. You were his oldest daughter, you were only 8 months older than neteyam. On the other hand, Neytiri accepted you completely, she might hate humans and couldn't stand spider's presence, but you were her now partner's daughter. She was your mother, she raised you and took care of you. She had no preference for anyone, you were one of her children.

Although you were the oldest, neteyam was the one who behaved older than you. While kiri and you were next. Then there was your younger brother loak, shit you loved loak…but someday he was going to make you bald. " Well…I don't know, I have to ask neteyam" you say, as you start to braid a piece of your hair. You see how tsireya is still talking, you are watching the girl. You see her movements and gestures. But your eyes are fixed on her hair, your breathing stops when you see the set of beads you had created a few days ago.

The beads were a set of 4, a mixture of shells and pearls that you had collected with extreme care, choosing the most precious ones. You spent hours, preparing them to be the perfect size and shape. You were going to give them to Neytiri, so they were very special to you. And now they were hanging in the hair of your younger brother's lover. Tsireya sees how you are looking at her, your eyes are wide open, and from what she had learned you were turning pink. The girl follows your gaze, until she locates what you were looking at. She glances at the braid she had the beads on and then looks back at you.

"Do you like them? They're beautiful aren't they, loak gave them to me last night… he's very" tsireya falls silent, as she watches you get up furiously. You don't even say a proper goodbye to your friend and run off to your marui. It doesn't take you long to get to the marui, there was your father cutting up some fish.

"Hey beautiful…what's up? What's with that face?" asks Jake, looking up to see your behavior. You walk over to your father and sit down next to him. You literally drop you on the floor. "Dad…I'm going to kill loak" you say.

"Y/N you always want to kill loak" jake says, turning his gaze away…as he continued to cut the fish. This wasn't new between you and loak. You guys were always fighting. "He took a bead he had prepared for mom" you're yelling. "And did he break them?" asks Jake.

"No, but he gave them to tsireya…. and those beads are mine. I was the one who spent work making them" you speak, while resting your head on your dad's forearm. Jake reaches up and strokes your hair a little. "Baby…take it easy. When he gets here we'll talk to him." Jake says, trying to reassure his daughter. He knew she was very sentimental, and these things…even if they were silly to some people they affected you. He knew that everything you did always had a purpose. But you were also very temperamental.

You were trying to calm down, until you hear the laughter of aonung, neteyam and… loak. -that idiot- you think, picking yourself up off the ground and getting out of the marui. Jake says nothing and continues to prepare the fish. When you get out of the marui, you see how the 3 guys are joking on the coast near the marui. You walk quickly. Loak doesn't notice you approaching quickly, and he didn't know how upset you were. Neteyam was the only one who noticed your behavior, but it was too late. You jump on top of loak, pushing the boy into the water.

"I'm going to kill you!!!" you yell, as you are fighting with loak. "Get off me crazy!!!" loak is struggling with your hands, trying to get free from you. You might be small, but you were like an annoying chihuahua. You were not easy to beat. "You took my beads, and you give them away just because." You punch him in the face. Loak gives a cry of pain. And pulls your hair. Meanwhile neteyam was watching the situation, he was laughing next to aonung. " I bet you Y/N is going to win" says neteyam, making aonung give a laugh.

It was night and the two of you were sitting on the floor of the marui, while neytiti healed some bruises on loak's face. You are intact. "This would be 20 against 10…loak you are losing" teases neteyam. You were still upset, and you were looking at loak with angry eyes. "I know you're upset…but Y/N you shouldn't have hit loak like that. And loak stop taking Y/N's things" says neytiri, getting up from the floor. To go to you, sitting next to you and hugging you. "Honey… you'll make another set of beads later. And I will gladly use them" neytiri pulls you closer to her, to comfort you. Tuk moves closer to his brother, to pretend as if she's beating him. Kiri had to laugh, while jake carries tuk, to leave his big brother alone. Loak gives you a look, but quickly changes it when he sees how you were still upset.

After dinner, everyone gets ready for bed. You settle in next to tuk, you were pretty sleepy. As usual, ever since you came to the Metkayina clan you all slept together. Neteyam, next to him was kiri, tuk then you and next to you loak. You feel him lie down next to you. "Are you asleep?" asks loak, thumping you with his tail. "If I were asleep… would I be answering you?" you say, as you give your tail a squeeze. Loak gives a jump, but settles down to be closer to you. The boy hugs you from behind. So you're on his chest. You and Loak were always fighting, but you were inseparable…since you were little. Ever since Loak was born, you never left his side. So he hated it when you were mad at him, because everyone could be mad at him and he didn't care. But if you were upset with him…he felt like he was going to die.

"Forgive me…please" Loak whines. You continue to ignore him and pretend to sleep. "I know I shouldn't have taken your beads, but I needed something to impress tsireya" loak keeps talking. You turn away from him, to turn around and come face to face with your brother. "You didn't have to take mine… you would have asked me and I would have made you some special ones for her." You say, smacking him upside the head. Loak yelps, but laughs a little. "Forgive me?" Loak pouts. You take a deep breath, you couldn't be upset with him. "Okay… but as punishment, you'll have to help me with something" you say with a mischievous grin. "What's that?" Loak says. "You have to help me talk to aonung" you spit. Loak opens his mouth and turns quickly, to turn his back to you. " No… not that idiot" loak says, closing his eyes. "LOAKKKK" you start pushing him.

You two were quietly fighting, while neytiri and jake heard you in the distance. "What are we going to do with those two?" says neytiri, getting more comfortable on jake's chest. "Leave them, they'll be fine" jake speaks, closing his eyes and trying to ignore their little fight on the other side of the marui.

p.s Ahhh I already imagined a whole story of Y/N and the sullys. Waaaa

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harry-sussex · 1 year

Text

This was, no joke, the best moment of my entire life. I have been waiting so long for this. I never thought it would happen.

I had originally planned to volunteer with the UK branch of my job today, but when I saw the announcement, I knew I had to do this instead. I decided to get dinner at the pub, Dog and Duck, last night to look inside and try it out - I got bangers and mash and some fish (sans chips) as an appetizer, and it was legitimately so good. I also tried the Timothy Taylor’s Landlord Beer – you can see William in the photos from today right behind the tap. My server’s name was Bernie, and you can see her in some photos with William and Kate today too – tiny woman, short gray hair cut into a bob.

I set earlier alarms this morning but due to the time difference / jet lag, I didn’t make it here until 10am. I popped into a Tesco Express on the way to grab some flowers at @avidroyalfan’s advice – yellow of course, the brightest bunch I could find.

I made it over to the area around the pub and there were barricades and policemen everywhere. There was also a black Range Rover parked at the far end of Frith Street – the street they mentioned in the press release yesterday. It thought it was mildly crowded when I got there, but it didn’t even begin to compare to the crowd that had gathered closer to their arrival.

I really had trouble picking where I was going to stand – I didn’t want to be behind anyone, I just wanted to be up against the barricade, but given that the crowd was so relatively sparse on Frith Street (as opposed to right across from the pub on Dean Street) when I got there, I wasn’t sure they were going to come my way. I was also praying that I’d be on Kate’s side of the road if they came by – you guys know I love William, but if I had a chance, this once in a lifetime chance, I needed Kate. I went with my gut, a little further down the road than where the crowd at the time had started to assemble, so I could be right against the barricades. From the moment I got to the barricade, I was literally shaking, and I am not exaggerating – you can see it in one of the videos.

I passed the time talking to some lovely people – some of whom planned to be there and some of whom happened to stroll by. I met a lovely woman, Cath, who took tons of photos without me even asking – she just saw how excited I was and took the photos to send to me. Another woman named Teri did the same – just out of the kindness of their own hearts. Those are most of the photos you guys are going to see – I took a bunch while Kate was walking around, but I didn’t want to put my own camera in her face if she was standing right in front of me.

I stood for more than four hours start to finish and I do not regret it in the slightest. I thought a lot about what I was going to say to her if I had the chance – I’ve thought about it so many times over the years, but what could I really say that would summarize more than 10 years of pure admiration and adoration in 30 seconds or less? What could I – an American in London all the way from New York – possibly say to the UK’s next queen to tell her how much she’s meant to me for all these years?

There was a policeman right in front of me – his name was Thompson – who was subtly dropping hints about what was going on. He couldn’t say much but he did hint at the time we could expect them to arrive – about 12:45pm. He ended up pretty close – he told me that he got randomly assigned to the event today and that he (and basically the entire police force) would also be at the coronation. He also confirmed that they would be walking down Frith Street, where I was, though he wouldn’t hint at which of them was going to be on my side of the street.

By the time they arrived, the crowd had literally quadrupled – maybe even more. People were on the rooftops and hanging out of windows. Very few of them had flowers. Businesses let people go on their steps to get a closer view. A helicopter was circling above for security. There were policemen and RPOs everywhere. I thought William and Kate were going to drive right up to the pub but instead they walked from the far end of the street – I suppose because they took the tube. Speaking of the tube, that’s the exact line I took this morning. That’s also where the (absolutely enormous) press pack was assembled.

I could tell when they arrived, even though I couldn’t see them right away, because the roar of the crowd and the sound of dozens of cameras clicking said everything I needed to know. As I was a bit further down the street, I didn’t get the greatest view, but it didn’t matter – you could see Kate from a mile away. That jacket was bright in and of itself but she literally glows. There’s just an inherent radiance about her that cannot be explained unless you see it in real life – she’s ethereal in photos, but they don’t even begin to do her justice. She’s radiant. Also, you can see that her hair is perfect no matter how far away you are. As they turned the corner to get to the pub, I was able to crane my neck a little bit to see them get closer to the door, and I saw The Hand with my own two eyes. William placed his hand on Kate’s lower back to guide her inside – we’ve seen photos millions of times, but seeing it with my own two eyes was unreal. Completely surreal.

They spent far less time inside the pub than I would’ve thought (unless time was flying because I knew they were coming), but again, you could hear them come out the door just by virtue of the roar of the crowd. Thompson the policeman then told me that Kate was coming to my side of the street. I thought I was shaking before – nope, not even remotely compared to how I was when I heard that she was coming my way. I saw William first across the street – he went through relatively quickly but I could somewhat hear him saying “nice to meet you” over and over, shaking hands, laughing, the usual. He’s huge – I always knew he was tall but he’s massive, tall and broad. You could tell from twenty feet away - he’s huge. At one point, I literally blurted out “he’s not wearing blue!” once I saw the brown coat. He was on the side of the road that had more people, and he moved along at a solid pace - it’s definitely true that Kate is a chatter, no wonder they gave her the side of the street with fewer people. She would’ve been outside for 3 hours if she was greeting the amount of people on William’s side. He’s honestly such a good sport – he was shaking hands, standing on his tip toes and craning over the barricades to greet as many people as possible. I could very clearly see the faces of the people looking directly at him – you can tell they absolutely love him. Such genuine smiles. The pure adoration and happiness in their eyes said everything one needs to know – those people absolutely love him like their own.

When Kate turned the corner from the pub towards where I was standing, I swear to god my heart jumped right into my throat and my stomach dropped. God, she’s beautiful. Like I knew this, it isn’t news, the entire world is perfectly aware that she’s one of the most beautiful women on the face of the earth…. but she still managed to stun me anyway. She’s radiant. Absolutely gorgeous.

Somewhere along the way, as she moved down the line of people in my direction, it occurred to me that I was legitimately going to meet, or at the very least greet, Her Royal Highness The Princess of Wales, after all this time, after so many years… I am not exaggerating when I say I was physically shaking. You can see it on my face in the photos even as she approached, before she came near me – I wasn’t panicking, I was just in awe. I’ve always known she was real of course, but she’s… actually real? Do you know what I mean?

She was moving so slowly compared to William – I swear he was already 75% of the way through his side of the crowd by the time Kate got to me. That’s when I really noticed that she is just so chatty – I didn’t notice her just greeting someone and then moving on quickly. She was so engaged. Every single person I could see was like entranced by her very presence - she’s literally such a vision. It’s not just me, it’s not just us – people are completely fascinated by her.

And then.

She came closer and closer – as I was on her left, I could see the ring. It’s huge – like, it’s big on camera, but the thing is enormous. I could not believe for the life of me that she was right there. I made sure to stick the flowers out enough and stand up straight and believe me when I say I didn’t have to remind myself to smile or make eye contact – I could literally feel myself beaming (right before she got to me):

When she came over, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Before I knew it, Kate was reaching to shake my hand and saying “nice to meet you” and I literally still cannot believe it. I handed over the flowers and I said to her:

“It’s nice to meet you, I just wanted to tell you that I have admired you for so long and that I also studied Italian Renaissance art history just like you did.”

When I said that I admired her, she said “oh, thank you!” as I continued to ramble about the art. She was still holding the flowers. I cannot believe that there are so many pictures of Her Royal Highness The Princess of Wales holding bright yellow flowers that I got for her while smiling ear to ear – she handed them off before she moved onto the next person, so she is definitely smiling at me in those photos.

She then asked me if I liked studying art, and I said of course – she responded “me too!” After that, she asked me if I used it in my career, and I said no (which I don’t) but my master’s was a passion project. She then asked where I flew from (the accent, I guess) and I told her that I came from New York. She said that it was such a long way to come and that she was surprised at how many people have traveled so far for the big weekend. She touched my arm so sweetly for like the quickest second; she then said that it was going to be such a big event and that she was looking forward to joining the celebrations and that it was going to be good for everyone.

The last thing I said to her was “also, I ate in the pub last night because I heard you were coming!” and she responded with “oh that’s great, how was the food?” It was legitimately fantastic – I told her so – and she said that they would have to come back and try it when there were fewer people around.

It was then time for her to get moving so I just said “it was so nice to meet you” again and she said “nice to meet you, have a nice day!” Right before she moved on and as she was saying goodbye, she handed off the flowers and went on her way.

The whole thing lasted maybe two minutes, but I will remember it for the rest of my life. Her eyes are so green and she’s just so stunning up close and I just cannot believe she was that close to me and that we were able to talk and she is everything I have ever dreamed she would be and more. Just so sweet and gorgeous and engaged in what we were talking about – she didn’t just say “hi” and “bye,” you know? She listened to what I said and responded back without generalities… everything I ever dreamed of and more. I thought I couldn’t love her more – I do now. She has made my entire day and my entire life and I will literally never forget the vision of Her Royal Highness The Princess of Wales, Catherine Elizabeth, someone I have adored for more than a decade, standing in front of me.

I am so happy I could cry. I was stunned after - literally could not believe what just happened to me. Take a look at the video below - you can see part of our conversation and then just the pure shock at the end. My hands were literally shaking.

Once the shock wore off, I did in fact cry. They say never to meet your heroes – why not? How could you go wrong meeting someone you have idolized when that someone is Kate?

#my post #katie goes to london pt. 2 #prince william #prince of wales #kate middleton #princess of wales #I’m sorry for the shitty quality I did this from my phone in a Starbucks lol #also thank you all for being so sweet I literally could not ask for anything more #I love you all so much #Kate and Katie

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sad-scarred-sassy · 27 days

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Light me up

A Neris two-part story. @nerisweek Free Day

Summary: Nesta Archeron is given as a living sacrifice to the dragon of Velaris. The only problem is he doesn’t want anything to do with it.

Inspired by a prompt made by @writing-prompt-s on tumblr.

Notes: Happy Neris week! I wanted to make a little Neris one shot to celebrate so here it is! This is a low stakes, silly little fic about a dragon and a lost girl finding solace and understanding in one another. I hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 or keep reading below the cut.

In the mountain hill of Velaris, hidden in the shadows of an abysmal cave, lay a centuries old fire breathing dragon. He had resplendent scales of crimson and wings so big you could hear its beating from miles away. The few who had seen him and had stared at their terrified reflection through his amber eyes had proclaimed he was the biggest, most ferocious beast they had ever seen. The village feared him, venerated him, for very few knew where he came from and why, but they understood that his appeasement came at a price, and for years they earned the dragon’s graces with presents and sacrifices. That was until one fateful day when the centuries of peace came to an end, when the village decided to send the dragon of Velaris a human woman to burn.

Eris woke up that morning already with a migraine.

He stretched his great wings with a big, monstrous yawn that echoed through the whole cave. The soft light of dawn filtered through the open ceiling of the ancient place, the one he had inhabited for at least one hundred years now, a hollow mountain in the outskirts of a small town, as far away from his old home as he could have possibly gone.

Today marked the anniversary of that fateful day he had landed there, when the villagers had freaked out and had offered him goods in exchange of their lives, even though Eris had no intention of killing any of them, but in his monstrous form, he understood the fear.

He had welcomed the village’s offerings year by year– coffers of gold and rubies (when the economy allowed it), carts filled with fish or harvested goods, chickens, livestock (he had no use for) and even sculptures of his likeness. He still had those stacked somewhere, the big mighty dragon of the hill carved in stone and marble, the copper statue of the feared monster of Velaris.

He liked the arrangement, for a century he lived alone, ate alone, slept alone and knew peace. The villagers would only come once a year, leave the offering and then retreat back to their lives. Eris didn’t care for more.

Today wouldn’t be any different. He waited, with his enormous crimson wings tucked in, for the drums to start, and soon enough they did. He listened to the vibrating beat of their drums as the humans made their way to his lair. The villagers surely liked their shows, always making a big fuss about things. Couldn’t they just leave the damn thing and let him continue with his uneventful existence? His migraine was getting worse.

They were a bit more enthusiastic this time, he pondered with annoyance, as he heard soft chantings coming from the multitude. He rolled his big amber eyes at them as he heard them come.

“Purify us!” He could suddenly make out. “Sacrifice the sinner!”

“Burn the witch!” They chanted. “The Dragon will burn the witch!”

They continued on as Eris simply listened in slight curiosity. Surely it wasn’t what he thought it was. No, it couldn’t be.

He heard the humans opening the cave entrance, rolling the big slab of stone as they continued the chanting and drumming. When they opened it the yells reverberated through the whole cave, he swore sometimes he did regret not just killing them.

From his hiding place he could make out the silhouettes in the opening, the humans were energetic as they brought the offering, and he could suddenly make out a slender form being dragged from the crowd and pushed inside the cave.

“Oof” He heard a soft voice say.

“Burn the witch!” The villagers chanted.

Before Eris could even move his large body the humans had retreated and pushed the entrance closed again, leaving the creature inside his cave.

“Fuck” He heard the voice say again. It was indeed a woman. Eris watched her in utter shock and irritation.

What in the godly realms was this?

Nesta Archeron had seen better days. Well, not in a long time, if being practically homeless and so rotting poor she had to resort to hooking up with men for money counted as better days. It probably did, since now she was lying on the floor of a cold, moist cave, where an ancient dragon lived, and she was to be his next meal.

She couldn’t even say she was surprised by the turn of events. She knew that town had always hated her guts, and were always looking for an excuse to send her to rot. She didn’t think that hooking up with men from town would be the thing that’d do it, though.

Her sisters had warned her, damn them they had, they had kissed her cheek and told her to try and be nice, be likeable. Nesta’s situation wasn’t as bad as it now was when they had wed and left town, she had a house and a job, a quiet but peaceful life, even if she hadn’t had many friends.

But then she had gone and fallen in love with that Knight that everyone loved, and suddenly they all really hated her.

How could she be with someone like him? A mere peasant woman courting the Lord of Velaris’ favorite Knight. And when the pressure to be someone she wasn’t had become too much for her and she couldn’t continue it, he had turned on her like she was spoiled goods, and damn her but she wouldn’t be the one to apologize, even if by being on his bad side had utterly ruined her reputation.

At first when the villagers started spreading rumors of breaking Sir Cassian’s heart by supposedly cheating on him she didn’t care. She kept on with her sad stupid life, but the rumors worsened. Suddenly she was a witch who had charmed him in an effort to secure power for herself. It got so bad she eventually lost her job for it. It was all a downhill from there.

The struggles, the long days and nights with no food because everyone refused to even serve her, her only chance at survival being the hungry men she met at slum taverns.

She was a pariah and soon enough when the annual offering to the dragon of Velaris came to be, and they realized the economy was so bad that by taking the witch of the slums to be eaten as a sacrifice to the beast would be like killing two birds with one stone, they had jumped to the opportunity.

Nesta rubbed her eyes as she assessed the place. It was dark except for the soft light coming from the open ceiling, vines were hanging from above and crows were croaking somewhere in the dark. Other than that it was quiet, so quiet and so still. Nesta shivered, tucking the old wool around her body.

When they grabbed her from the warm bed of one of her lovers they only allowed her the dignity to wear an old worn cloak someone had thrown at her and then they were already pushing her.

She had seen Cassian looking at her when they took her, and he had done nothing to save her. Just like he had done nothing when the rumors got worse, when they called her a whore and a witch and she had to beg people to sell her food. He just looked at her and then dropped his gaze in disappointment.

Nesta couldn’t believe it. She really did it this time. She had tried so hard to fit in, had done everything she could and it still hadn’t been enough. She was still despicable Nesta, she was still useless and unlovable.

She couldn’t help the tears now forming on her eyes and she let them fall for the first time in a long time. She was going to die anyway and no one would see her cry. She just wished the dragon would finish the job already so she could finally get some peace.

As if on cue, she heard a rumbling, heavy scraping on the rocky floor reverberating through the whole cave, and then there he was, huge amber eyes looking at her through slit pupils like a cat’s. Nesta’s whole body shook as she saw the horns as big as her whole body, the teeth, the gleaming blood-red scaled body and the huge mighty wings tucked behind his back.

With a voice she could only describe as demonic, he said: “You have five seconds to run, human”

Humans were very stupid apparently.

Eris stood there in front of the thin woman in all his mighty beastly form and instead of running, or screaming, or even begging for mercy, eyes the color of a stormy sky met his with unfaltering determination.

Had she not understood him? He knew his voice was rusty for lack of use but he still got the message out. Maybe she was a foreigner.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you not hear me human? Run!” He roared, the sound making the whole cave shake. The only thing that moved was her long hair from the force of his breath, he noticed.

Then, she finally fisted her hands as he noticed the tears streaming from her eyes, and the woman stood up.

“I can hear you, dragon. I’m here to be eaten by you as a lame excuse of offering from the humans, so please grant me the honor and light me up on fire or maybe even rip my head off my shoulders, I don’t care. Just do it!”

Eris’ head was pounding now. He really wished he would have just killed those humans all those years ago.

Eris simply huffed an exasperated breath as he stared her down. Her feeble form was covered in a simple grey cloak that was obviously not hers, her long light brown hair was messy and cascading down her back and those flame-like eyes were still digging into his. He hadn’t been this close to a woman in so many years, it felt utterly strange.

“I have no use for human women, especially witches, as they called you” He bluffed. He wanted this day to be over already.

“Then just kill me and be done with it” She insisted. Eris narrowed his eyes at her boldness.

“What is this insistence on getting killed, do you really want to die, woman? The crows would be the ones to eat your body as I have no taste for it”

“I already told you what I want” She affirmed.

“I have no intention of killing you, but I will if you don’t stop messing with my morning” Eris turned to retreat further into the cave. “Go back to your village, human, tell them I do not want you”

As he moved he heard a soft bitter laugh that made him pause.

“Not even the fucking dragon wants me for anything” She said to herself. “Please just spare me having to crawl back to that place and be burned at the stake with those idiots watching me like I’m a show. Just kill me” She said, and Eris watched as she dropped her head.

He could not believe what was happening.

“Don’t be dramatic, just tell them I am content with last year’s offering, and won’t require anything else, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Now, don’t let me lose my temper, go” With his snout he pointed at a small opening on the cave.

“I can’t go back”

“Go, I said”

“Please-“

“GO!” He roared again, and this time he watched as the woman hugged her arms around her body, as silent tears dragged dirt from her face and she pressed her lips together, her eyes shocked and wide. Monster, he was a monster, he reminded himself, he shouldn’t feel any remorse.

He turned to go deeper into the cave then, and a few moments later he finally heard her leave.

Eris lay on the ground, determined to have a good two day long nap and forget all about that incident. But the crows were too loud, and the dripping of water from stalagmites too bothersome, the grey from the sky too poignant. An hour, two hours, five had passed and still he could not find peace.

Was the woman in earnest when she said they would burn her at the stake? Eris tried to ignore the nauseating feeling that thought evoked in him, he snuggled into his wing, it was none of his business. If she died or lived, it was none of his business.

Then make it your business . A soft voice in the back of his mind said.

No, I am at peace here, no one bothers me, no one tries to murder me, it is not my business!

Eris affirmed his thought, the woman dying should not bother him, she was a stranger to him, a witch according to the villagers, she probably deserved what she had coming anyway.

Did you? The voice sounded inside his head again. The images of torches following him to his house in the night appeared in his mind, the shouts calling him a freak, his mother’s screams. No .

With a groan Eris, the mighty dragon of Velaris, stood up from his comfortable chosen napping area and with a few flaps of his colossal wingspan, flew out of his lair for the first time in one hundred years.

Nesta wasn’t surprised as much as she wanted to be. She wanted to be surprised that the moment she stepped out of that cave, four men snatched her and when she tried to explain had immediately told her she would be burned at the stake for cowardice as well as practicing of witchcraft. She had simply rolled her eyes.

They had tied her up and had placed her in the middle of the town’s park to be burned just like she predicted, as a show.

So now there she was, hands and legs tied around a big pole right atop an array of logs and dried hay. Her bare feel ached, her hands were numb. The town began to gather around her, dozens upon dozens of eyes staring at her pathetic self. She just wanted it to be over.

“Nesta Archeron” Said the executioner over the loud drums of the crowd, she didn’t even look at him as she placed Cassian’s eyes looking at her from the far edge of the crowd, his significant height making him unmistakable. “You are to be burned at the stake in the name of God, for the crimes of cowardice and witchcraft…” Nesta stopped listening, the dizzying drums continuing, the world blurring as she finally accepted her fate, to be burned slowly, painfully, in front of all these people, in front of the one she once thought loved her. She wanted to vomit. She wished the dragon had granted her the mercy.

Somehow she realized the executioner had grabbed a torch and was now approaching the pyre at the base of her feet, she focused on the dancing flames on the torch, how they moved freely, just like she did when she danced, unaware that their dancing would kill her, painfully, slowly.

The executioner stood right in front of her pyre and she closed her eyes, one silent tear falling down her cheek. She waited for the heat to come, for the fire to roar and consume her, but it never came.

Instead she heard a boom on the ground, and a loud, ferocious roar coming from behind her.

She saw the executioner’s face drain of color entirely as he dropped the torch at his feet and looked like he may die of fear staring at something behind her. The dragon.

The whole crowd scrambled to get out, people pushing each other to get away from the sheer fury of the beast still roaring at them like some type of demon that had materialized.

Nesta was absolutely petrified as she saw him walk past her, still tied to the pole, while he paced, each step reverberating through her body, scaring the shit out of the whole village.

Then, she saw his enormous head turn towards her, monstrous body turning to her and she finally thought she would die. At least, she conceded, it would be by a dragon’s fire.

But when he opened his magnificent jaw, the fire did not come, she felt him move towards her slowly, hooking one of his sharp teeth to the ropes on her hands and freeing her. Nesta gaped at him.

“Wh-what?” She could not understand.

“Free yourself” The dragon spoke. Nesta didn’t think twice as she removed the remaining ropes from her feet and torso, then just as she wobbly stepped out, she felt a tug from her waist, and suddenly the ground was no longer beneath her, in fact it was getting smaller, and the whole village fell from her as she realized the dragon had taken hold of her and they were now flying.

Nesta screamed.

“Could you not? That is awful for my headache” The dragon grumbled, confusing her out of her fear.

Nesta focused all of her attention on her breathing as she tried not to scream with every look down, with every sinking feeling in her stomach. When they finally landed inside of the cave again, she was so stiff in the dragon’s claw that she had to take a moment to stand, and even then her knees were still trembling.

When everything came back to her, she fell to her knees and sobbed.

“Lady” She heard the beast say. Nesta only cried harder. “Lady could you please stop crying?”

“You-you saved me” She sobbed in shock and disbelief. Her heart was going to beat out of her chest.

“One could say that” She heard him say. “Now please stop crying, I could take you somewhere else, where do you wish to be?”

“I don’t have anywhere to be” She continued crying, now looking up at the dragon’s enormous face, she couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with a beast and that she would have been dead if it wasn’t for him. It was fitting, she thought, as she felt just as much a monster as he looked. “My sisters they’re“ She began but couldn’t stop the freaking sobs. “They’re better off without me” She felt the tears streaming down her face. “I don’t have anywhere, I am a monster, just leave me here to rot in this cave. You’ve done enough”

Nesta curled into herself, trying to warm her body out of the shaking sensation of her sobs.

There was a long pause and then she heard a loud burning sound, like a flame consuming paper, and when she looked up she didn’t find a dragon’s eyes looking at her, but a man’s.

Nesta pushed herself and landed on her ass when she saw the tall, naked man with flaming red hair staring her down. She noticed his amber eyes first, his nakedness second, and his horns and claws third. He moved slowly towards one corner of the cave to retrieve a cloak she hadn’t seen before, covering his magnificently muscular body from her sight. His hands and feet were reddish even though it looked like normal skin, his face was gorgeous and angular, his black horns cutting through the strands of crimson hair that cascaded down his body all the way to his hips. When he turned to her, she realized she had been staring, absolutely agape.

“I don’t appreciate being stared at, but at least I got my point across” He said, his voice like silk coursing through her body. “You say you’re a monster, well, then there’s two of us”

“You’re the dragon, the dragon is a man ?” She spoke mainly to herself.

“I’m Eris, and yes I’m a dragon” He walked casually towards her and held his broad, clawed hand for her to take. She hesitated before she placed her palm inside of his warm hold and he pulled her up. The force almost made her crush onto his strong front, but she steadied herself with a gasp.

“I-“ She was still looking at him absolutely dumbfounded, scared, but mainly enthralled by this new discovery. “I thought you were just-“

“A beast? You wound me, didn’t you see the horns? Of course I’m a beast still” He said somehow a bit self-deprecatingly. “Now, lady, stop wasting my time, what is your name?”

“Nesta” She could not stop staring at his sharp, beautiful face. “Nesta Archeron”

“Well, Nesta. I don’t see any horns or claws on you, so I wonder why you think you’re a monster” He smiled slightly, sharp canines greeting her as he did so. She noticed an array of freckles on his nose.

“I-“ she pondered. “You have freckles”

That took him by surprise. “What of it?”

“Well, I’ve never seen a monster with freckles”

“This must be your lucky day” He turned around and left her standing there. “You said you wanted me to leave you here to rot, but I wouldn’t appreciate the smell of all that, so why don’t I offer you an alternative?” He said as he walked further down the darkness of the cave.

She followed him hesitantly.

“What alternative?”

“Well, I take you as a prisoner, what do you think?”

“Are you asking me to be a willing prisoner?” She asked as she saw him light up a long corridor with just a flick of his wrist. Magic, he also had magic.

“Mmhm” He said as he continued on. “Be my prisoner and live here, do whatever you want but stay out of my business and I would too, you’d be free to leave whenever you liked though, as long as you don’t tell anyone about it”

“About what?”

He stopped, dropped a small sigh as if resigning himself to whatever he was about to say and then straightened.

“This” He said, moving to let her see the small passage, she looked beyond the gap and found an enormous cave alight with flames and a huge tree with glowing orange leaves in the middle.

She gasped at the view.

“Exactly” He said. “I found this place centuries ago, and decided to have it all to myself” He crossed his arms and admired it. “The only way you are leaving this place alive is if you vow to never speak of it” He said in a seemingly threatening way, but Nesta wasn’t scared anymore, she was in awe.

“I can’t believe you’re asking me to marry you” She said not looking at him.

“What? No I’m not” He said. “I’m saying you’ll be my prisoner”

“Willing prisoner that will take a vow and can leave whenever she pleases, sounds like marriage to me” She said and found his shocked expression almost funny.

“Not marriage. Imprisonment. Gosh, humans are so strange” He corrected, rubbing his temples with his hands. She remembered he had mentioned a headache.

She stepped towards the dragon-man slowly, then placed her middle finger onto his temple making him jump and flinch away slightly.

“What are you-“

“Stay still, you said you had a headache?” She said, feeling out the cold flame power surging from inside of her.

“Yes… why-“

She let her cooling power seep through her fingers, letting its essence cool his temple. He let out a sigh of relief.

“What are you doing? How?” He frowned, voice breathy, clearly relieved of the pain.

“They weren’t completely lying when they said I’m a witch, in a way I am. I’m just… repaying you for saving my life today” She said, dropping her hand as Eris stared at her dumbfounded.

“Don’t mention it” He mumbled, seemingly unsure of how to proceed. She felt almost as lost as he looked, still confused and shocked by everything that had happened in such a short amount of time.

“Why did you?” She felt the need to ask.

“What?”

“Save me”

“You’re being dramatic”

“I almost died” She added with a frown.

He sighed. “Well, I simply would have liked if someone had done that for me. Is that enough of an answer for you, lady?” He rolled his eyes and she narrowed hers.

“You can just call me Nesta” She said, crossing her hands over her chest. “If I’m to be your wife”

“Prisoner”

“Sure”

He sighed again. “Follow me” He said, and Nesta did.

#neris #dragon!eris #witch!nesta #neris au #neris week 2024 #nesta archeron x eris vanserra #nesta x eris #neris fanfiction #nesta archeron #eris vanserra #eris has horns and claws #yes #monster! eris #Ill upload part 2 tomorrow!

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svu-ncis-criminalminds · 10 months

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Learning to Trust, Part 5

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Words: 1757

Series Summary: Things with your boss were becoming complicated, but they became even more complicated when an Unsub sought you out and began targeting you. Can a relationship that hasn't even officially begun survive this?

Garcia set up a mobile system in the conference room so that she could verify and cross reference as you tried your best to piece together everything you could remember about the woman. Reid sat on one side of you, listening intently, and occasionally interrupting to ask a qualifying question. Emily was writing things on the board that stuck out more so than other details.

Rossi was still trying to find more on Hiálmar - combing through some books that were so old their pages were yellow and crumbling. Reid would have read it faster but Rossi had a hunch. You couldn’t shake the familiarity of it still.

“Ana was there before me,” You confirmed when Reid cut in, asking if you had gone to school together, “She was older then I was, maybe 21 or 22 when I first met her.” You could see her face like she was in the room with you now. Pale skin and bright blue eyes, long blonde hair she nearly always kept in a tight french braid. She had a strong brow and jaw. She never smiled, not with her lips, almost like such a display was beneath her. But she did smile with her eyes, and over the years you had missed that.

“She was my friend,” Your voice was slightly strained as you spoke before you cleared it, looking away from Reid and Garcia. Your eyes landed on Aaron instead. He had been relatively quiet since you’d found Paul’s body and your last message from whoever was doing this - and it was beginning to eat at you.

Aaron met your eye and held your gaze for a moment, his eyes were slightly probing. He was checking on you. You offered him a tight smile and he nodded slightly. Much was said for two people who spoke no words.

“Is Ana her real name?” Garcia asked, “Is there a last name?”

“Lundgren,” Your voice felt foreign on your tongue. Aaron moved around the outskirts of the room towards Rossi, glancing down at the man’s current work - attempting to give you the impression of privacy as you spilled your guts on the floor. “That’s her real name.” You knew that.

The smell of bread filled the small studio of the cabin. You were currently assimilated into an organization that was holed up in a fishing village in the North. Ana’s gentle singing filled the room as you laid on the sofa, staring at the woodgrain of the ceiling. For a moment life was peaceful here with your friend.

The singing quieted and Ana approached you, placing the bread on the table, already sliced and steaming, along with a small bowl of homemade butter.

“You’re a gem,” You smiled, lazily reaching for a peace, “You love this shit don’t you?” Homesteading, as she called it. You grew up in a city, this was a new lifestyle for you.

“I do,” Her eyes crinkled and you smiled, unable to help it. “My ma did a lot of this when I was a girl,” She told you, eyes glistening at the memory. You two had become close friends during the months you spent with the organization. Little contact was held with the rest of your team, some monitoring from afar, some elsewhere in the organization.

But that didn’t mean you talked about your families. “Sarah,” She spoke, garnering your attention again. Sarah. The name you’d given yourself when you joined the NIS - someone else entirely. “Do you ever worry?” She asked and you considered the question. Of course you worried.

“Sure,” You agreed, biting into the bread to give yourself another moment to think, “Worry about plenty of things - are you worried?”

“Sometimes I think,” She stopped. You knew what she was about to say. Not really - but you knew it was something you shouldn’t know - something you didn’t want to know. When joining this team you had all had to take an oath to leave your personal lives behind. You were no longer sons or daughters, friends, brothers, sisters. You were a team who was set to do a task and to do that task as efficiently as possible, there was no room for anything like that. In order to look humanity in the eye so closely - you were told to abandon your own.

“I know,” You agreed, smiling tightly, “Me too,”

“My name is really Ana.” She looked at you, her eyes dull and watery. You didn’t like this Ana. “My last name, it’s Lundgren.” You palms felt sweaty, why was she telling you this, she shouldn’t be telling you this, “If I die you tell my ma, okay?”

“Her mother’s name is Ulla. She’s passed but might help you track her down.” You pulled yourself from the memory, looking at Garcia who looked at you gently. “Ana is bottom of my list for suspect,” You told Garcia, like you were trying to reassure her, reassure yourself.

“Then why are we starting with her?” Morgan asked.

“Of those left, she probably knows me best,” You explained, “And,” you paused, “I’m worried she’s most likely to be the next target, if we can track her down, maybe…” you didn’t need to finish, he understood. Preventative.

It was late when Garcia got a tentative contact number, half past one. She had an address as well, a family friend in Southern Pennsylvania.

“I will call the local PD and request a wellness check,” Hotch stepped forward and you stood to meet him.

“No, if we freak her and she goes into hiding no one will ever find her,” You assured him, “Let me try and call her first,” He looked at you seriously, and you could tell he didn’t think it was a good idea, “Please,”

“Call. Once, if she doesn’t answer, leave a voicemail and I am calling the local PD. Then everyone,” He looked to you pointedly, “Is getting some rest.” He had his no business Hotch voice on, and a glare to match. In another world under different circumstances you’d be fawning over the handsome display, you may even argue to rile him up a bit more. But right now you were tired - emotionally - physically - and he was right. You hoped he was right.

You dialed the number from a secure line and hit call before placing the phone to your ear and counting the rings. One. Two. Three - voicemail.

“I’ve been sent to voicemail,” You told the room.

“Sent?” Garcia asked, typing furiously at her computer.

“Please leave a message after the beep,” The robot told her before a ‘beep’ emitted from the phone, you were silent for a moment before you swallowed and spoke.

“Hey,” You breathed, “It’s me, call me back at this number - please - we - Kod röd, fara sång i soldat.” Another beat of silence and you hung up before looking at Aaron, “You can call the local PD. If she listens to that message she’ll call me back - if she doesn’t.” You shrugged slightly before turning and walking from the room. Not bothering to say anything to your team as you went - though you could feel their eyes, those pitying looks - on your back as you walked towards the elevator. You hit the down button, and someone stopped beside you. You knew who it was. You waited for the elevator in silence before stepping in together - he hit the button for the floor of the parking garage and you rode the elevator together in silence.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron finally spoke and you looked at him surprised for a moment.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” You reminded him.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be sorry it’s happening,” He reminded you, and your lips threatened to tug into a smile momentarily.

“Thank you,” You sighed and he nodded his head, “I’m sorry,” It was his turn to look surprised.

“For what?”

“Bringing this to the team.” The elevator doors opened and you stepped out into the dark - nearly empty parking garage.

“No,” His word was firm and final, he stopped to face you, a hand going to your elbow and squeezing. “You’re not going to blame yourself for this - not if I have anything to do about it.” You stood there for a moment before your eyes began to burn.

“It is my fault,” You told him, almost feeling an anger bubbling within you, what did he know? He didn’t know what you saw, what you did, what your nightmares replayed over and over, “These people - for years Aaron they were my world for good or bad.” He looked sad, his hand tightening on your arm and tugging you slightly closer as a stray tear threatened to escape.

“You were a child who was recruited into a government organization, you were used.” His words feld sharp and you flitched. Aaron saw and the fact that anyone - at any moment could come down that elevator and stumble upon the pair - didn’t matter anymore. The man pulled you forward fully, guiding you into a hug, wrapping firm arms around you and holding you tightly to his chest. You broke. The tears fell forward dampening his dress shirt as you sobbed into his chest. Sobbed hard. Sobbed for your childhood, sobbed for the girl you were, sobbed for the years you lost. Sobbed for you now - having to deal with this all again. And when you had no more tears left you hiccupped into the man’s chest - catching your breath.

The whole time Aaron had stood firm and strong and held you in his arms allowing you to get it all out. He had one arm wrapped tightly around you, keeping you to him, and the other hand rubbed reassuring circles in your back the entire time, even as you calmed yourself down.

But now you didn’t move to step back. You smelled his cologne, masking his sweat and the scent of coffee. Now you were embarrassed. For breaking down so dramatically and in front of Aaron Hotchner nonetheless. If you stepped back now, you’d have to face him.

“Are you alright,” He whispered and his chest rumbled in front of you.

“Yes,” You whispered, finally pulled back from him, but his arm remained around you, not letting you go far, “No, well, better.” You laughed, “Sorry, thank you I needed that.” He smiled gently and nodded.

“Never apologize to me for crying, alright? You’re allowed to.” You nodded. You believed him - for the first time someone had given you permission to feel vulnerable around them, and you believed him.

Tag List

@ivebeenthearchersstuff, @emalynvtgtgfhvgg , @flashyflash23-blog

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #cm x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch #hotchner #hotch x reader #hotchner x reader

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onetimetwotimesthreetimess · 7 months

Note

prompt request: older malec 😬 (second chance romance veryyy much accepted )

I know you’re fishing for that BTLIO happy ending that you’re never getting from me nsnsbsmsksskjs

_________

High school reunions are kind of overhyped, in his opinion.

It’s a frivolous attempt by one at pretending that their teenage years were not as miserable as they remember it to be.

Magnus’s quite over it, if he’s being honest.

He never wants to meet most of the people from his high school ever again.

But he’s back in his town after 10 years and Catarina forces him to attend the event.

“Magnus, this is a great way to show up all those assholes that made you miserable.”

“Show up how?” He asks.

Catarina raises an eyebrow at him and he relents.

“Fine. I guess my million dollar worth could be a way.”

“You think?”

He sighs. “But is that it? Financial success? Is that all that matters in this world?”

Catarina side eyes him, “Wow, this town really brings out the angsty teenager in you.”

Magnus rolls his eyes at her. “I just don’t like these people. And I don’t think showing my wealth is a way to prove that I’m better than them.”

“But you are better than them.”

His face breaks into a smile. “And that’s why I love you, my dear.”

His teenage years in this town were to quite simply put it—a nightmare.

They were filled with homophobia, racism and everything in between.

Magnus remembers nothing but being sad in most of them.

Most of them. Not all of them.

Some of them were good memories. The best ones of his life.

He knows those memories had nothing to do with this school or the town but something else.

Something angelic.

Someone angelic.

He puts on his most flamboyant and dramatic outfit, now that no one can hurt him with words about how he chooses to dress up like.

Magnus puts on a purple sheer shirt, with a deep, very deep v neck cut. Half of his chest was visible, with seven necklaces laded on it.

There’s one small necklace still on his neck, it doesn’t match his outfit but it was given by his mom , fixed by his Rafael, he doesn’t know how and he kind of misses them both terribly today.

It’s something about this town.

At least one of them, he’ll get to see again after two days. Rafael wanted to come with him but too but Magnus didn’t want to bring him here. There’s too much sadness here. And he always wants to keep his baby away from all that sadness.

Two hours later, they reach their high school. The event is happening in the gymnasium, even ten years later.

With huge letters, the banner reads- “Class of 2012”.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Magnus goes around the room, meeting people he’s forgotten by now. Some he remembers like yesterday.

“Magnus,” A beautiful woman with curly hair approaches him. “Magnus Bane?”

Magnus thinks for a second before his eyes widen in surprise—good surprise. “Maia?”

“It’s been so long,” she smiles and pulls him in a hug.

“Too long.”

“You disappeared from here.”

“I didn’t disappear,” he says, not without a flair. “I just made a grand exit.”

They both know he’s kind of lying. Magnus had disappeared. More accurately, he’d run away.

It had been too hard. Breathing had become too hard.

If he’d stayed here a minute longer with all the painful memories, Magnus would have died.

Leaving this town had saved him.

He meets a few other people after that. It’s not half as horrible as he’d expected.

“Magnus?”

He recalls that voice as clear as a day. He turns to find the most beautiful woman in front of him.

She was always beautiful but right now, she looks a hundred times prettier. He also knows that it’s nothing to do with her physical appearance but everything to do with the huge smile on her face.

The visible happiness.

She’s never looked freer.

None of the Lightwood siblings ever did.

“Isabelle?”

She jumps in her arms, still with all the love and joy like they’re sixteen again.

Like the little girl who used to help him climb up her house so that they could play housie at night.

Or after a particularly horrible night when they needed some cheering up—thanks to the Lightwood parents.

If it wasn’t for the warm hug, he would have been scared to hug her back. But there’s no such feeling anymore as he wraps his arms around her tightly.

“Oh, darling,” he breathes. “It’s so nice to see you.”

“You too,” Isabelle says happily and he knows she means it.

Isabelle was a two years younger than them so technically she shouldn’t be here. There’s only one reason for her to be here and considering that Simon is lurking not five steps away, with a giddy smile on his face, he has to be right.

“You being here, I can only assume you are still with Sherman,” he grins, the old joke falling easily from his lips.

“I do.”

“Hello, Magnus,” Simon waves excitedly.

They talk for a while but Magnus is a bit distracted throughout.

“He’s here, you know,” Isabelle says.

His brows furrows, “Who?”

Isabelle rolls his eyes. “You know who.”

He does.

Magnus didn’t want to come to the reunion for the following reasons:

1. He dislikes most of these people.

2. He ran away ten years ago and it’s weird to explain to everyone why that happened.

3. Alexander Gideon Lightwood.

The first two reasons ignite a strange anxiety in him. But the last one, it stirs up feelings and emotions he’s tried to kept hidden for years.

If Magnus tries to open the Pandora’s box, he might never be able to shut it down.

“I—I don’t know if—” he stutters, slightly annoyed but not surprised that Alec lightwood can still bring out the teenager in him, “I don’t know if he’d want to see me.”

Isabelle gives him a small smile. “It’s been ten years, Magnus. I think it would be okay.”

He wonders if she knows. If she knows why he did what he did.

Out of all his friends, he had only ever confided in Catarina and Clary at the time.

“Okay.”

He roams around the room, trying to find the man. Then he spots him. It’s not difficult. Even though the last time Magnus saw him was a decade ago, when they were teenagers, still not fully grown into their bodies, still with a bit of acne and awkward smiles on their faces.

But Magnus knows. He knows the man standing in front of him, with his back to Magnus’s face, in a navy blue sweatshirt, amidst a crowd of people fully dressed up in tuxedos and dresses has to be none other than Alec Lightwood.

He musters up all the strength he can, but the air closes up around him, his feet freeze on spot and he finds himself unable to move or speak.

All he can recall is the last time he was infront of Alec.

The last, horrible, horrible words he had hurled at the man who was his entire world.

But it’s been ten years and if anyone deserves an apology or hundred from Magnus, it’s him.

So, he shoves inside his pain, the guilt and everything he’s feeling right now and has been for the past two decades and opens his mouth.

“Alexander?”

It’s the easiest thing in the world to notice the man’s body tense up at the name. There’s a full few seconds of absolutely no movement before Alec moves—oh, so slowly.

His heart stutters inside his chest, rapidly beating inside.

From the ages of twelve to seventeen, Magnus had only felt two emotions in the world. Pain, at everything happening inside his house and love—for Alec.

His life had space for nothing else at the time.

Then slowly, and then very instantly, only pain had remained as he had pushed all the love away.

“Magnus?”

He’s still as beautiful as ever; Magnus thinks. But somehow more so. There’s that teenage shyness missing from his face, replaced with the handsomeness of a grown man.

Alec looks breathtaking, with his wild hair, dark and gorgeous. His eyes, as blue and shiny as ever.

A hundred emotions flicks over his face and it breaks his heart to realise that he understands none of them, having lost the privilege to read Alec years ago.

Then, his face settles on a small smile. A tight lipped one. Not Alec’s real one.

Alec’s real smile, that’s something one can never forget.

It’s a special privilege, to be able to see Alec Lightwood smile.

“Hi,” he says, carefully, not knowing the kind of reaction he will get.

If Alec tells him to fuck off and never show his face again, he would understand.

He would deserve it.

He had broken Alec’s heart in the worst of ways.

But Alec doesn’t yell, doesn’t tell him to fuck off. He smiles. Only if a bit careful.

“It’s been a minute since I have seen you.”

He chuckles, “Yeah. Been a minute.”

There’s a few minutes of silence afterwards. He doesn’t want what he’s supposed to say. What either of them could say after the shitshow everything was the last time they saw each other.

They stand awkwardly before it gets too difficult for Alec and he excuses himself. “I think someone is calling me.”

Magnus sighs dejectedly as Alec leaves, his heart breaking inside his chest.

This is why Magnus didn’t want to come back to this stupid, fucking town ever again. It brings nothing but pain and disappointment.

Catarina has asked him through the years if he regrets his decision. And the answer is always a resounding no.

He needed to choose someone at the time, and he chose Alec.

No one will ever know though and he’s quite okay with that choice.

Alec and he cross paths a couple of times in the next two hours but they don’t talk, Alec still avoids him like the plague. Or just because there’s nothing to talk.

He’s a little angry at Alec; if he’s being honest.

It’s not right, he knows. But he wants Alec to be angry at him right now, yell or shout about why he did what he did. But Alec does none of those things and it hurts more than he would like to accept.

Maybe, for Alec, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

It was just a break up after all.

People break up all the time.

They weren’t special.

Even the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth because he knows with everything inside of him tjay to him, it meant everything.

Alec Lightwood was everything.

“So, guess what we’re about to do now?” One of the organisers, Michelle announces.

“Leave?” He mutters, only loud enough for Catarina to hear; who chuckles in response.

“Shut up. You love a party.”

“Not this one.”

“Remember when we all put a time capsule under that big tree in the campus?” Michelle screams. “We’re about to open them.”

Oh.

The time capsule.

He recalls early senior year, everyone giggling and laughing, putting their hopes, future plans into the time capsule.

He remembers his ambitions. Plans. He had a lot at the beginning of senior year.

By the end of senior year, he had none left. Not a whole lot of hope either.

“What did you put in your time capsule?” Catarina asks.

He frowns, trying to recall. “I don’t really remember. You?”

Catarina thinks for a moment before her eyes widen in embarrassment, “Oh god. I put something very embarrassing.”

Magnus chuckles, “What?”

“You’re never finding out, Bane.”

There’s too much chatter then, everyone discussing their capsules, asking about others. For a second, it feels like he’s back to being seventeen again.

“Come on, let’s find out.”

“I don’t wanna,” he whines but then he sees Isabelle, Jace, Simon and Clary all run in the direction, dragging a grumpy Alec and he follows.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

“Ask Clary out. Go Pro,” Jace’s time capsule notes and he hurrayed, kissing Clary on the mouth.

Clary finds a photo of all six of them, huddling on top of each other and they all warm up inside at the memory.

They had all been at Magnus’s house that day, the one in the photo.

They all tear up a little.

Isabelle finds a small bottle of alcohol that she had stolen from her dad, pulling a chuckle out of everyone as she chugs it in one go. “No regrets,” she screams.

“Simon?”

Simon finds a small picture of him and his dad. “I lose things all the time. I didn’t want to lose this picture.”

Isabelle pulls him in for a hug and kisses his temple.

A little excitement simmering up, Magnus opens his box. There’s a single note inside, and when he reads it, his heart breaks for the thousandth time.

“What do you have Magnus?”

His voice breaks, “Excuse me,” and runs away from there.

Tears stream down his face as he runs towards the terrace. It’s an isolated spot, entry restricted to students but long back, Magnus and his friends have found out a way to break that lock. Almost a decade, and the lock is still not fixed.

He sits on the ledge and cries his heart out.

It angers him so much, being here. It’s like suddenly he’s transported back to ten years ago, with his fragile teenage heart.

After a while, he doesn’t know how long, there’s footsteps on the terrace.

“Hi.”

He chuckles dryly. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Comfort me. I’m just having a moment.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

They stay silent but Magnus has been never been a fan of silence so he asks, “How did you know I was here?”

It’s a stupid question, really. But atleast it’s a question. Atleast they’ll talk.

Because Magnus doesn’t know how long he can go on without Alec talking to him.

Ten years was too long.

“So,” he drags his words, “What was in your time capsule?”

“A list,” Alec chuckles, but it’s weak.

He knows that as well. They had written put their time capsules together. Right next to each other. But they hadn’t shown each other what they had written.

“Stop peaking,” Magnus recalls Alec squealing as he tried to peek into Alec’s list.

“Come on, show me.”

“No.”

Magnus had dragged his finger along Alec’s neck then, as he got closer and purred against his ear, “Please darling. It’s me.”

Alec’s body had shivered under his touch. “Stop. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“And what would that be?” He grinned.

He had tried some more but Alec had not shown him.

That day, it had felt impossible that there would come a day when they would actually get to open that. Ten years had felt too long at the time.

Right now, he can’t even recall where the past ten years went.

“You want to see it?” Alec suggests.

Magnus’s eyes widen. “You will show me?”

“Why not?” Alec shrugs. “We’ve got nothing to lose.”

The words sting, burning a red and angry feeling inside of him but he tries not to show it at the surface. “Okay.”

Alec passes a piece of paper to him.

Magnus takes a deep breath and turns it.

Alec’s scrawny handwriting brings out a smile out of him.

1. Leave Idris.

2. Come out to everyone.

3. Become an archery player.

4. Get Max and Izzy and Jace out of his parents control.

5. Marry Magnus.

A choked sob leaves Magnus’s mouth. And still, he can find in himself to be incredibly proud that Alec was able to fulfil four out of the five things.

“Four out of five isn’t bad,” he tries to keep lightness in his voice but fails miserably.

“I guess,” Alec says, his voice tight.

Before anyone says another word, Magnus takes out the piece of paper from his pocket and passes it to Alec.

He avoids his gaze as Alec reads the words.

Magnus’s list wasn’t really a list. It contains of only one thing and Magnus couldn’t even fulfil that.

There’s just words that he knows will mock him for an eternity.

Mama is sick. But don’t worry, stay with Alec. He will make everything okay. He will make you okay.

A hurt noise leaves Alec’s mouth this time and he feels his own heart splintering. He wants to hug the man and tell him that he’s sorry. That it wasn’t his fault. That he’s good. But he does none of that.

“Magnus—“ Alec says brokenly.

He knows what Alec is asking. Magnus didn’t plan to ever tell anyone—especially Alec about this but he is tired—so tired of the pain, of the weight of the secret paining him for a decade.

For all the love he doesn’t know what to do with.

For their hopeful teenaged selves that believed nothing could come between them but something—Magnus, did.

“You needed to leave.”

“What?”

“If you had stayed in Idris, you would have died. You were dying here under the weight of your parents expectations and you needed to leave this town. I could not be another thing between you and your freedom,” he says hurriedly, the air around him closing.

“Magnus, what are you talking—?”

“You had that scholarship in your hand, Alexander,” Magnus breathes harshly, almost gasping. “I couldn’t let you stay for me.”

“Your mom was dying, Magnus,” Alec says harshly, and the words hurt but they’re true. “Of course I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay for you.”

“I couldn’t let that happen,” he admits. “You had a whole life, a whole career ahead of you. I couldn’t stop you.”

“You didn’t have to ask. I would have done anyways,” Alec all but screams and it feels almost cathartic, that the other man is finally screaming.

He’s positive Alec hasn’t screamed in a decade.

“You think I don’t know that?” Magnus exhales. “That’s why I had to do what I did.”

There’s silence then. Just their loud breathing audible.

Before Alec speaks, as tired and pained as he feels, “You broke my heart, Magnus.”

Tears stream down his face and he wipes them off harshly. “I’m sorry.”

“All I did was love you,” Alec whispers. “And then I didn’t understand.”

“I did not want you to understand, Alexander. For that, I am incredibly sorry.”

They stay silent then. Not knowing what to do with all of this.

At least now, Alec has all the answers.

He thinks it’s time for him to leave. He told Alec everything there was to know. Now he needs to leave this town and these people again.

It’s the most unexpected and magical thing in the world when Alec speaks after a few minutes, “You want to go for a walk?”

————————————————-

As they talk; Magnus will find out about Max, Alec’s three year old son. Alec will show him a picture and it would be the cutest kid in the world.

Five years later, Magnus will make sure that Alec crosses off the fifth thing off his list too.

And in his vows, he thanks Alec for making him okay.

————-

#aahh I love me a good second chance #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood

61 notes · View notes

angelasscribbles · 2 months

Text

What Happened in Vegas

Series: None, this is a one-shot and you can find those here.

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Riley x Liam x Drake

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: mature themes I guess

Word Count: 1,796

A/N: Credit/blame goes to @aussiegurl1234 for putting this in my head with the simple statement that the Vegas fling should have been a threesome. To be clear: There is no smut here, this isn't set in Vegas, but rather the aftermath and results of what happened.

My other stuff: Master List.

Liam's head guard entered the council chambers to whisper in the king's ear. "Sorry to interrupt, but the Duchess of Valtoria is asking to see you. She says it's important."

Riley was on the short list of people that had unrestricted access to him at all times. "Thank you, Alec." He nodded to dismiss the guard, then turned back to the council members. "Are we about done here?"

"Well, there was one last item—" The Earl of Dunwick pointed to the line item on the agenda about a proposed construction project and a lake full of some protected fish.

"Anything that can't wait until next week?"

"Well…. The project management company has been waiting for an answer for six months already…"

"So, what's one more week?" Liam grinned. "Meeting adjourned!"

The king of Cordonia damn near skipped through the halls to the private sitting room where the woman who made his heart beat was waiting.

His smile faltered when he found Drake waiting with her.

He had hoped Riley was there to spend some quality time with him. He didn't see her near as often as he would have preferred. Ever since the advent of her marriage to his best friend, their trysts had diminished. Not ended mind you, but it wasn't like it had been during the social season when they had been sneaking off every chance they got to the hedge maze, the rooftop, or an empty guest room.

Then the coronation debacle had happened and everything had gone sidewise.

He had hoped to be able to repair their relationship during the engagement tour and he had, to some extent.

Riley had told him up front when she started sleeping with Drake, but somehow, every time she reminded him of her new relationship, the two of them ended up in bed together. "I'm with Drake now, remember?" Always ended with her screaming his name.

Pushing his disappointment aside, he embraced and kissed her on the lips before turning to acknowledge Drake's presence. Greetings were exchanged, then he directed his attention back to Riley. "Not that I'm complaining, in any way, I am always happy to see you, but why are you here?"

Riley cut straight to the chase. "I think I'm pregnant. My period is late, and I can't remember if I had it last month or not." Life had been busy since assuming the mantle of Duchess and starting married life with Drake.

Liam did some quick backward math. His eyebrows shot up as he looked from her to Drake and back again. "Vegas?"

"Vegas," she nodded.

"So…whose is it?"

Riley threw her arms up in the air. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Of course it fucking matters, Riley!"

"Not to me it doesn't," Drake broke in. He moved closer so he could wrap both arms around his wife. Nuzzling into the side of her neck, he told her, "I love you either way."

"I didn't say I wouldn't still love her!" Liam exploded. "Don't put words in my mouth!"

"Oh, calm down," Riley admonished. "I don't even know if I'm pregnant yet. I thought you should both be here when I take the test, given that there's no way to know which one of you knocked me up."

Liam took a deep breath and tugged at his tie as mentally collected himself. An out of wedlock heir to the throne would be a scandal of epic proportions, but the thought was not entirely unwelcomed. "Right. Thank you for that. If this child is mine, I want to be involved every step of the way."

Riley gave him an affectionate smile. "See? I knew that, and that's why we're here, Right, babe?"

"Right." Drake released her and stepped back. "Are we sure it happened in Vegas? Because if it happened on our wedding night or during the honeymoon—"

"Or in the weeks leading up to the wedding?" Liam interjected. He had spent quite a bit of time helping the new duchess settle into her role. He had also helped her out of her clothes more often than not after a long day of diplomatic lessons.

Riley waved him off. "I had a period just before Vegas, that I remember. So if the baby is yours, it almost had to have happened in Vegas. After all, you were both inside me that night. When you weren't inside each other, that is." Her hand went to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Drake's eyes met Liam's over the top of her head. Both men froze for a second as both faces flushed red, then both sets of eyes dropped quickly to the floor.

The night in Vegas had been wild, but they had never discussed it after the fact. Liam was out as bisexual, but it had been Drake's first and only experience with a man.

Drake was well aware of his wife's extracurricular activities with his best friend. He had no issues with it. In fact, images of Liam and Riley together fueled more of his fantasies than he liked to admit.

"Okay, I'm going to pee on this stick now!" She brandished it in front of them like a kid with a magic wand before disappearing into the attached bathroom.

The men made awkward small talk as they waited, both of them breathing out a sigh of relief when she returned, alleviating the danger of them having to address the elephant in the room, at least for the moment.

"Now we wait," she chirped. "Could one of you set a timer for two minutes?"

Liam had his phone out first. "Done!"

It was the longest two minutes of his life. He paced the floor, deep in thought as Riley and Drake sat on the settee, making plans for the weekend, laughing and touching each other frequently.

The timer dinged and all three heads snapped up. Three sets of eyes flitted from one person to the other to the bathroom door.

Riley stood and went to retrieve the answer to their question. She returned from the bathroom to both men's gazes locked on her with anticipation.

"The moment of truth…" she glanced down at the stick in her hand, feeling disappointment wash through her in place of the relief she had expected to feel. "It's negative. I'm not pregnant."

Drake's brows furrowed as he moved closer to her. "Are you okay? I thought that's the result you wanted, but you look sad."

Liam backed away from them. "I… just need a moment to process…"

He resumed his pacing as he grappled with an onslaught of mixed emotions.

No scandal, no awkward questions, no figuring out how to juggle schedules between three adults and two homes… but also no heir, no biological tie to the woman he loved, and no relief from the unrelenting pressure to marry and produce offspring. He stopped pacing and spun to face Drake. "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"What did I say earlier?"

"That you didn't care whose baby it was."

"Right. Yeah…." Drake's eyes tracked from Liam to Riley and back again. "Why? There is no baby—"

"What if there were?"

Drake blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…." He crossed the room quickly and took Riley's hands in his. "Have a baby with me, Riley! On purpose!"

Giddiness bubbled up inside of her at the prospect. But he couldn't be serious, could he? "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Do you want to see me married to someone else?"

Riley's gaze slid to Drake as she considered if her answer would hurt him. But they had promised each other unrelenting honesty, no matter what. She returned her attention to Liam and shook her head.

"Then give me an heir so I don't have to marry…. Anyone, ever!"

"Is that even a thing that we can do?"

"Yes! It's not totally without precedence. I simply have to acknowledge the child and publicly legitimize him or her. Which I will!" He dropped down on one knee. "I know you're already married, but consider this an official proposal to be my royal consort. Openly. Move back to the palace. Take your rightful place by my side!"

Drake's throat cleared. "Um… hello? What are you doing?"

"Sorry!" Liam scrambled to his feet. "I may have gotten carried away there, but I'm serious. Do you honestly like living in Valtoria?"

"Not really," Drake admitted, "But I'd live in Antarctica if that's where my wife was."

"Then you're open to moving back home?"

A spark of jealousy flared through him, followed almost immediately by a pang of longing.

There was no doubt that he was in love with his wife. Helplessly, hopelessly, head over heels in love with her. But the night in Vegas had opened a door he had been avoiding peaking behind for his entire life, leaving him questioning the nature of his feelings for his best friend.

His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "I… what exactly are you proposing? That my wife shacks up with you? Where does that leave me?"

"I'm sorry if I wasn't clear. I meant both of you."

Drake's entire body stilled as his mind raced to interpret Liam's meaning. "Both of us…. what?”

Liam shrugged. "Whatever you want, whatever you'll allow. I want you both to move in. We've already agreed to this situation we find ourselves in with Riley. We can continue as we are, with her splitting time between our bedrooms or…"

"Or?" Drake struggled to keep the note of hopefulness out of his voice, sure that everyone in the room could hear the pounding of his heart.

With a smirk, Liam moved closer to him. "Or you and I can continue what we started in Vegas and see where it goes."

Blood rushed to his face, heating his cheeks as he nodded, then looked away.

"Great!" Liam turned back to Riley. "You don't have to answer right now if you're not ready. Take your time and—"

"Yes! I'll do it! We'll move in, I'll be your consort, we can have a baby! As long as Drake is okay with all of it, that is."

"I'm okay with it."

Liam felt a rush of happiness crash over him. "Can you stay tonight? I'd like to start working on that baby right away."

"Oh, I don't know if—"

"It's okay," Drake assured her. "If you want to stay, I can go pack some of our clothes and—"

"Actually," Liam interrupted, "I was hoping you could join us."

Drake's eyes widened, slid down Liam's body, then closed as he drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

The trajectory of his life was about to change. And he couldn't wait to see where it would take him.

#trr #the royal romance #the royal romance fanfic #trr au #trr poly #liam rys #drake walker #choices #angelasscribbles #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choices stories you play

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statustemporary · 5 months

Text

take my hand, take a breath

SUMMARY: Viscount Bridgerton was stubborn, frustrating, got in his own way more often than not, and there was a melancholy about his person most times when she saw him, but she gave him more leeway than she did nearly all of the rest of the Ton.

Except when conversing with her charge before an introduction, a conversation that is decidedly not their first.

Or Lady Danbury notices Kate has given them the slip during the Conservatory Ball and she finds her charge having a conversation with the viscount in the garden.

RATING: General Audiences

WORD COUNT: 1,760 words

TAGS: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Conservatory Ball AU, First Dance, no beta we die like edmund bridgerton

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: ahhh not only is this the most i've written since like october??? but this is also my first work for bridgerton. kanthony brainrot has never left me so time to put it to paper. anyway this was inspired by one of my 87 different fanfic prompts i've been posting to tumblr (on @myficprompts) in hopes others will write it but i got impatient on this one and figured i'd just do it myself. (would love to see someone take on the original prompt though! please!!!!! thanks!!!)

***

Despite the way they have butted heads since their introduction, Lady Danbury had a begrudging respect for Miss Sharma. Her obstinance in the face of harsh truths was admirable to a degree. Frustrating, to be certain. Ill-mannered, to some extent. Yet the firm set of her shoulders, straight back, and words infused with a note of smugness proved she would be a formidable gatekeeper for her sister’s suitors.

If only the miss would not write herself off so young. Old maid by the Ton’s standards, unfortunately, but by her own, she had a full life still ahead of her.

Miss Sharma may have rejected her suggestion of a match but the curious way in which she admired Viscount Anthony Bridgerton also proved that the walls fortified around her young heart were not impenetrable.

Which meant that Miss Sharma’s disappearance in the midst of her sister’s first dance raised alarm.

As much as she had written herself off, she was still under Lady Danbury’s protection. Personal declarations of not being on the marriage mart did not make her unsusceptible to being compromised or other scandal. A thought that she would have hoped Miss Sharma to consider before wandering off but as Lady Danbury learned earlier, there was still much for her to learn about the Ton.

The dowager parted ways from a nervous Lady Mary with nothing more than a quip about watching her thirst before she moved about the room. The music covered the sound of her cane clacking against the wood floor and gave Lady Danbury the ability to slink along the walls of the conservatory.

Her stop at the set of windows near the entrance door proved most fruitful. She heard the faint sounds of gentlemen departing for the smoking room and, just before she continued her search, she spied her own charge stepping into close proximity to the viscount.

In view of the ballroom and still a respectable distance to not cause scandal, Lady Danbury did not appreciate the familiar nature in which the two conversed, especially as they had not been introduced. Huffing, she made her way to the entry garden.

“…as deficient as your horsemanship. I shall bid you goodnight.”

Lady Danbury came around the hedge at the same moment as Miss Sharma, their bodies nearly colliding.

“Miss Sharma,” she drawled, resting both hands on the head of her cane. She scrutinized the young woman, her eyes traveling to the flustered man who gaped at them like a fish out of water. “Viscount Bridgerton. How curious to find you both out here. Together.”

“My apologies, Lady Danbury – ” Viscount Bridgerton attempted to speak before Miss Sharma cut in suddenly, louder.

“I simply needed air. I did not realize I had to alert you of my need for a break.” She smiled, thin-lipped and with a hint of frustration – at the viscount, at her, at the situation – before bowing her head to Lady Danbury.

“Yes, well, seeing as you are under my protection,” Lady Danbury said, a warning glance to Viscount Bridgerton as he looked equal parts fearful and thrilled at the information, “I fear I did not stress the seriousness of some of the Ton’s etiquette specificities. It is of the utmost importance that they are understood, to lessen any troubles of your sister making a good match. Understood?”

Miss Sharma bit her tongue, her eyes darting to the side to the silent viscount behind her. “Of course, Lady Danbury,” she forced out.

“Lady Danbury, if I may – ”

Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the boy she’d known since he was in leading strings. A boy no longer if the title of Rake he’d worn without care for years meant anything. She always had a soft spot for the Bridgerton family. Her own connection aside, to find a love match such as the one between Edmund and Violet, a love match that proved fruitful until the eighth viscount’s death, was a rarity in the Ton. The strength of the family bonded by that love match showed in the closeness of the children and the genuine love and affection they showered upon each other. Even when she’d watch the children squabble and fight, it was never with the nasty cold demeanor of the rest of the Ton.

Then to watch as Anthony took on the role of viscount, father, and provider before heading to university had softened her more. Lady Danbury admired the way he took care of his family and how he not only kept them afloat following his father’s death but ensured that they thrived. He was stubborn, frustrating, got in his own way more often than not, and there was a melancholy about his person most times when she saw him, but she gave him more leeway than she did nearly all of the rest of the Ton.

Except when conversing with her charge before an introduction, a conversation that is decidedly not their first. She did, after all, recall Miss Sharma’s slip of the tongue on the edge of the dance floor.

“You have done quite enough, Viscount Bridgerton.”

Her glare silenced the viscount as his mouth thinned and his brows furrowed in displeasure.

“Lady Danbury, I must go see to my sister – ”

“Your sister is being looked after by your mother, Miss Sharma. Perhaps you should let those of us seasoned within the Ton take over from here.”

Miss Sharma pressed her lips together for a moment before she responded. “With all due respect, as I mentioned earlier, I was the one to prepare my sister for her debut and I really should be helping to vet the quality of her dance partners…”

The young woman’s words never made it to Lady Danbury’s ears as her eyes were too busy taking in the scene before her. They flickered between Miss Sharma and Viscount Bridgerton with a quick and startling realization.

Cut from the same cloth, they stood before her as the eldest siblings of their families, the caretakers and providers, with strong shoulders upon which the heavy burdens of their families laid. The protectors who cannot see the wood for the trees in regards to the marriage mart.

Equals.

“Hm,” Lady Danbury cut Miss Sharma off. “A dance is a brilliant idea.”

“My lady?” Miss Sharma asked, blinking her eyes in confusion.

“Pardon me?” Viscount Bridgerton asked behind her.

Lady Danbury hit her cane against the ground. Even without the sound of its impact, the two before her stood just a hair taller. She raised her voice as the doors to the ballroom opened. “How wonderful of Viscount Bridgerton to ask for your next dance. Splendid indeed!”

Miss Sharma huffed. “He absolutely did nothing of the sort. He cannot even dance.”

Viscount Bridgerton rolled his eyes. “Now you object to my dancing abilities?”

“I saw how you nearly trampled the young miss on your last dance.”

A smug grin worked its way onto his face as he stepped closer. “So you admit to eavesdropping and watching me now?”

“As I said, it is not eavesdropping if you speak loud enough for the entire party to hear!”

Lady Danbury cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows expectantly at the two in front of her. She swung out her cane, hitting their shins and watching in satisfaction as the two stepped apart though neither were entirely pleased.

“Yes, a dance will be a nice way to tidy this situation up. Afterall,” she said, lowering her voice, “it would not do well for others to know of your conversations and familiarity prior to an introduction. And I will require to know just how familiar you are with each other.”

Miss Sharma laughed off the suggestion. “That will not be necessary, Lady Danbury. I do not host any of the, what was it,” she turned to the viscount for a moment with a saccharine smile before facing Lady Danbury once more. “Ah, yes, impeccable qualities that Viscount Bridgerton is in search of in a wife.”

This time, the huff came from the viscount’s mouth. “That is completely unfair and you know it, Miss Sharma,” he said, a teasing lilt endearing to his voice as he said her name, negating the frustration that colored it prior. He cleared his throat before she could respond and grinned at Lady Danbury much like the cat that ate the canary. “However, you are right, Lady Danbury. A dance is a wonderful idea to mitigate any chance of scandal.”

She watched in amusement as Viscount Bridgerton’s grin widened when he turned to Miss Sharma. He lifted his hand and held it out to her, waiting for a moment.

“Miss Sharma, may I have this dance?”

Despite his proud swagger, the viscount’s request came out soft and like a whisper. His eyes crinkled and his gaze warmed, melting the arrogance that so often moved him forward. For a moment, Lady Danbury felt as if she was witnessing Edmund charming Violet all over again.

Miss Sharma’s breath hitched in the back of her throat at the intimacy that laced his words and she swallowed before quietly answering her agreement. Her hand shook, though Lady Danbury assumed she was the only one to notice, as she lifted it to place in the viscount’s.

Lady Danbury hummed in satisfaction as she allowed the two to enter the ballroom before her, Viscount Bridgerton’s perfect posture only lending to the peacocking he did as he led Miss Sharma to the dance floor. If she knew the viscount as well as she believed to, his peacocking, was less of a matter of besting Miss Sharma at their undisclosed challenge and more at having her on his arm, contrary to what he was currently telling himself. The way their eyes never strayed from one another as they readied themselves only proved her point.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Violet’s jaw drop minutely before their eyes met.

Did he willingly ask…? Her oldest friend seemed to ask. Lady Danbury nodded with a smug smile. The viscount who saw finding a wife more of a duty and chore than a chance for happiness, bewitched by a so-called spinster.

The music started and the two moved in perfect harmony. Their connection was palpable and they enchanted the room as they seemed to float through each step. Only when they began to whisper amongst themselves, a mix of bickering and flirting, did Lady Danbury notice the queen’s arrival at her side.

“What an interesting season this will be,” Queen Charlotte murmured, her smile pleased and mischievous.

“Interesting, indeed.”

#temporarystatus #my writing #my fics #kanthony #kanthony au #bridgerton #bridgerton au #kanthony fanfic #kanthony ff #bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #i love them and couldn't help myself

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