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buckyhoney-library · 3 years

Text

volume control, b.b

A/N: Hope all is well, please give me feedback about what you think about this one, I had a lot of fun writing this one!

Request: Hi, I'm not sure if your taking requests right now. But if you are, could you do a Bucky x reader smut where the reader loses her voice so Bucky tries to see how loud she can get in bed without her voice? Thank you. You're an amazing writer.

Warnings: language, 18+, overstimulation, oral (fem rec), fingering, praise kink, unprotected sex (no glove, no love)

Word Count: 2.8k

Your POV

The warm ginger flavored tea cooled the burning sensation of my throat. It seemed to be the only thing that I had tried that had calmed the feeling. Laryngitis had made an appearance this week, completely wrecking the use of my voice. Every time I tried to speak; I sound like a boy going through puberty.

The last couple of days had the worst in terms of soreness- luckily that part is over. All that seems to be left of the illness is the voice cracks and inability to talk about a whisper. It has become more annoying than anything.

Every time respond to Bucky, you could see the amount of self-control it was taking not to laugh or make a joke about the croaking.

Dressed in only black spandex and a t-shirt, I pulled myself off the couch with my empty mug in hand. The couch seemed to be my home for the past week. I had called out of work for the week. Knowing that trying to talk to clients while sounding like a pubescent boy wouldn’t be very professional.

Calling out of work had proven to be more beneficial in more ways than one. It allowed more time to be able to spend more time with my moody boyfriend and catching up on shows that I had been putting off.

Bucky called off his avengers’ duties this week and took care of me while I wrestled with the illness. Trading in his weapons for running to the store to grab more boxes of tea, throat lozenges, and a variety of ramen.

“How many of those have you been though?” Bucky questions walking past me pouring the hot water in my mug.

I pulled out a fresh box, ripping the cardboard lid open. It really did seem like we tried everything to relieve the pain. Spoons of honey, throat lozenges, saltwater, nothing helped other than tea. This means I have been drinking it like a madwoman.

“This is the second box since last night,” My voice cracking at the end. We’re making slight progress, the voice cracks getting further apart. I gesture to the bottle of honey; he grabs it from the counter handing it to me, shaking his head.

“You should probably slow down, you’re not gonna have enough for later.”

“That’s why I have you to get me more,” This time he doesn’t hold back on the laughs when he hears the faint cracks and strain. I turn back around in protest of his action, pretending to be upset at him.

In reality, it was hard to stay irritated with him when he laughs. The pureness of the sound and the smile that would take up his whole face never failed to make me smile.

He comes up from behind me, wrapping his arm around my torso. With his body pressing against mine, the coolness of the metal against my arms sent shivers down my spine. The hair on his chin tickling my shoulder, watching me as I finish pouring the honey.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing, you’re not feeling good” He mumbles, his lips nipping at the base of my neck. Moving my neck to the side, granting him more access to it.

Bucky peppering kisses along my neck and shoulder. This action causing me to giggle and buck my hips against his and gripping the edge for the counter for support. A small breathy groan leaves his mouth when my hips made contact with his.

“I’m feeling fine now,” I manage to whisper without the croaking sound. He twists my waist, forcing my body to turn and face his. I look up at his blue eyes, they were darker than normal. His facial hair grown out a bit making him look softer and cuddlier.

“You sound better,” Bucky taunted, his voice had gotten lower and his eyes looking down at the gap between our bodies.

“Does it?” As soon as I thought my voice wasn’t going to crack, the words fall out cracked and broken. Ruining the seriousness of my tone.

Bucky rolls his lips in holding back a laugh.

“So good, baby,” Bucky slides his hands underneath the bottom of my shirt.

A breathy whine escaping my lips, feeling his cool hand along the sides of my hips. His eyebrows rose at the sound,

“You sound so sexy,” His tone lowered and his eyes piercing mine. I pressed my body to him, wrapping my bare arms around his neck. His lips connecting with mine and his arms pulling me tighter, trying to eliminate any and all space between us.

I can feel his bulge forming against my pelvis- all because of a moan.

Sinking into each other, our lips matching in rhythm and pace. A raspy yelp leaving my lips as I feel a harsh smack against my right ass cheek. Completely forgetting the only thing separating it was thin spandex- Bucky’s favorite article of clothing. He says it is one of his favorite things that we have created.

He liked the way it made my ass jiggle and moved with whenever I took a step. He especially went crazy when they’re rid up when I’d grab something from the top shelf in the kitchen, exposing the bottoms of my ass. He never failed to smack it, sometimes leaving his handprint through the fabric.

Bucky’s flesh hand grabbing a fist full of ass and jiggling it himself. His release of the flesh causing me to whine again.

The bulge that was currently trapped in his basketball shorts, started to throb. If only I could take it in my mouth and relieve all the pent-up pressure.

Bucky’s lips moved away from mine but kissing alongside my jawline and down my throat. His hands now gripping my hips preparing me to jump back onto the kitchen island. I jumped, allowing him to guide me onto the cold granite.

With his lips disconnecting from the side of my neck, his eyes peering into mine. It’s as if I could read his mind, knowing exactly what he wants. All I do is nod,

“I want to hear you moan, baby,” His hands teasing the waistband of the spandex. Dipping his fingers inside, but not going far. The feeling making my cunt moisten.

Bucky’s true talent was his ability to tease. He was never in a rush, always took his time making sure that I was dripping before even daring to pull his dick out. It was like he got off on that the sight of the arousal dripping down the sides of my cunt.

“I want to see if you can still get loud,” My breath hitches, and my core tightening. My chest rises and falls heavier at the thought.

As vocal as I am in bed, Bucky never put to the test how loud I could go. He was always satisfied with how vocal I ended being. What he loved, even more, was seeing me struggle to keep quiet. Teasing my clit with his fingers till I couldn’t help but moan.

Bucky’s fingers starting in slow circles, watching me twitch and shudder. He’d dip his fingers inside gathering all the juices and using it to add pleasure. He’d moan at the sight of how visibly hard it was for me to stay silent. Some nights, he’d give me a towel or blanket to bite down on. Other nights, he’d want to see me struggle and wouldn’t give me anything to help.

The moment I would make even the tiniest of whimpers, the pleasure would be ripped from me and I would be left not being able to cum till I could prove I could do it.

Those nights he was ruthless. Edging me till I was in tears.

Every time he’d pull away, making it almost painful to stay quiet the next time.

I spread my legs giving him access to the place that was about to cause me a great deal of regret. His fingers slide inside the waistband of the shorts, bucking my hips at the contact. His fingers quickly being removed before they touched my clit.

“You fucking tease,” My voice was barely audible, his lips curl into a devilish smirk. Without any sort of permission, I removed my shirt. My breast dropped and Bucky’s eyes flickered to my bare chest, lighting up instantly. My nipples already hardening at exposure to the cold air.

Within seconds, Bucky taking one in his mouth and his hand squeezing and kneading the other harshly. Eagerly tugging on my nipple with his teeth and soothing it with his tongue. I whimpered with every tug. I could see the smile on his face when I looked down.

I wrapped my arms loosely around his head, keeping him focused on my breast. The only movement being when he’d move off the other giving attention to it. The nipping and tugging making my cunt completely soaked. I could feel it soaking through the spandex. The harsh treatment towards my breasts making the ache between my legs so strong, I thought Bucky could feel it.

Bucky took his time giving each breast a moment to be assaulted, leaving them both sore. I silently prayed that my cunt was next.

Bucky pulled away from my breasts, removing his shirt. The sight of his abdomen and dog tags, causing my pussy to throb a little harder. He places lips on my collarbone, slowly laying back on the counter and shoving the opened mail and assignment files on the floor.

The combination of the cold granite and his hand made my back arch. He placed small kisses down my stomach till he got to my naval- that’s when he started to drag his tongue down till he got to the band of my spandex. I hold my breath as he removes my shorts, finally exposing my slick cunt.

I pushed my hips into the counter motioning the need for something to relieve the throbbing.

“So pretty, baby…” Bucky murmurs sliding his middle finger down the sopping wet folds, teasing my entrance. His finger only sliding into the first knuckle, he still standing while he does so. A scratchy moan getting past my lips.

“Yes, baby, I want to hear you.” Without warning he inserts two fingers and curling them, hitting the spongey tissue. My walls start contracting.

My throat tensing as I unexpectedly whine at the feeling.

“Good girl, I know you can get louder.” Bucky eyes not leaving mine, I am now propped on my elbows and grinding my hips into his fingers. He adds his metal thumb to my clit, rubbing the bud at an agonizingly slow pace. Bucky removed his fingers from my cunt, bringing them to my lips.

I open my lips enough for his fingers to enter. I sucked the clean, tasting myself. The saliva from my mouth being used as lubrication before he slid them back inside. The circles around my clit become faster. Our eyes met and his pace quickened. My jaw-dropping from the pure pleasure of his fingers. His mouth dropping with mine and his eyes darkened as he watched my body start to jerk.

A string of curses left my mouth and my vocal cords struggling to get any sound out.

“You’re doing so good” I laid back down, feeling my limbs fall weak to the feeling of my orgasm approaching. The soreness of my throat getting tighter, but not caring.

Bucky crouched down coming eye to eye with my cunt, still fingering fucking my entrance. His thumb left my clit, but it was replaced with his lips. His tongue swirling around the bud. His facial hair scratching the sides of my legs adding more sensation down there. His fingers haven’t stopped, if anything they had gotten faster.

My eyes rolling back, not being able to properly keep them open. I groaned and gasped at the fast-approaching orgasm. There was no denying that this would wreck my voice even more than it was before, but the feeling of his tongue and fingers making the future pain bearable.

“Fuck!” I went into pure ecstasy. I jerked my hips towards his mouth, my lower half becoming incredibly sensitive. Bucky doesn’t even seem to notice my body twitching. I gripped the kitchen towel beside me,

“Bucky, I-“ I was interrupted by his fingers curling again hurling me over the edge. My throat tensing again, it felt like it was bleeding inside.

Bucky continues to attack my cunt with his tongue. His fingers leave my hole and join his other hand holding my hips down. I didn’t know how much more of the pleasure I could take.

“Such a good girl, you taste so good.” His voice muffled against my throbbing pussy as he licks the rest of the arousal up. I manage to prop myself up again, our eyes meeting again.

His mouth glistening from my juices. His eyes don’t break eye contact, staring at me as a string of spit drips onto my clit. I watched in awe of him, he licks it up flicking my cunt one last time. My body has cooled down from the brutal assault.

“You’re doing so well, princess.” He brought himself up, I see the wet spot against his briefs. He was soaked through with precum. The tip was red and swollen, looking like it was going to burst with only a few strokes.

“But I know you can do better,” I sit up completely and watch as he frees his dick. It’s glistening with his liquid, reach to take hold of it in my hand. Bucky stops my hand from doing so, guiding it around his neck. Bucky gives his cock a few strokes, before sliding it up and down my folds.

His cock twitching against them.

The harsh usage of my voice was starting to affect my ability to even get any sound out at all.

Bucky pushes slowly into me and in return, I clawed at his back. Our bodies have no room in between us anymore, my forehead pressed against his shoulder. His pace quickening. His cock stretching my walls and filling my cunt. The size of him never fails to amaze me.

With all I might, I managed to croak out a shocking volume:

“Faster, please Bucky,” He whined at the sound of my raspy plead.

His thrusts turning into pure pounding at this point. His arms tightly wrapped around my torso. With the support around my back, my head falls back at the feeling of his cock ramming into me.

“You’re doing so good taking my dick,” He peppers kisses around my throat and collarbone.

My nails digging into his skin.

My moans are loud, and the pain of my throat was masked by the intense pleasure building in my stomach. I couldn’t even think with his cock inside me. My orgasm building as his pace becomes inconsistent. He was close as well.

I was surprised he lasted this long considering how he went in, already wanting to cum. All that was coming out of my mouth were a mix of curses and moans. His eyes lighting up with every sound that fell from my lips.

“I don’t how much more I can take,” My voice was in shreds, it was painful trying to speak at this point, but I couldn’t conceal them anymore. Not with his current speed and power.

“Cum all over this dick,” With his approval, my walls start pulsating and my forehead falls back against his shoulder. I watched his dick disappear inside me while I cried in pleasure, my legs quivering at the intense pleasure.

Tears welling as the pain in my throat was becoming too much. Bucky powered through my orgasm, before his cock twitching inside me. His load bursting inside me. Bucky holds us in the same position while we are recovering from our highs. My pussy is milking every last drop of him, whimpering one last time as he pulls out.

My breathing still heavy and the piercing pain in the back of my mouth becoming more prominent. I lay back against the counter, catching my breath.

“You got so loud, baby, I’m so proud of you,” Bucky coos while grabbing the kitchen towel that I was previously using as a grip.

He glides the fabric against my cunt, whipping away his cum that was leaking out of me. I twitch with the contact with my clit. He takes my hands and pulls me back up to meet his eyes. I try to speak but wince at the pain shooting through my throat like daggers. His face instantly filling with worry.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have- “He begins to panic, but I grab his wrists,

“It’s okay,” The only volume I could speak in being below a whisper. I hop off the table picking up my discarded clothes, sliding them back on. I bend down, picking up his briefs, and hand them to him.

“It was worth it,” I chuckle. He takes the briefs from me and looks at the abandoned mug.

“I’ll just have to get you more,”

#Bucky Barnes #Sebastian Stan #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes imagine

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banqdanfnfic · 4 years

Text

which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

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yslkook · 3 years

Text

TiO (8)

mind of mine masterlist

summary: jungkook is a man of mystery and you take him on a date.

pairing: “badboy” jk x “shy/reserved” oc

warnings: cursing, alc, excessive use of pet names, a shitty relationship, unprotected sex (pls use protection, these two are being foolish) , some choking, grinding, making out, oral

word count: ~6.3k

a/n: if you want to be tagged, send an ask plz. would love to hear your thoughts. a big thank you to @cutechim for creating the texts for me lmao<33

***

Jungkook remains tight-lipped about what it was he had done over the weekend, when he had gone with Jin and Mina to a tattoo convention a few hours away. They had ended up staying the night there, and while Jungkook wanted to ask you to come with him, he wondered if it was too soon to ask. After all, you were both still enjoying each other’s company at your own sweet pace.

Eventually his little secret gets put on the back burner for the rest of the week. You were supposed to get bubble tea with him on Tuesday, but unfortunately a last minute work issue with your client and your application came up. You’d ended up working late, your eyes screaming in fatigue and went straight to bed that evening. He had understood, of course he did.

On Thursday, he was supposed to grab lunch with you at a cafe that he thought you might like, but this time it was him who had a conflict. His older sister had showed up to the tattoo parlor without any prior notice. She does this every so often, when things aren’t going well with her on again, off again shitty “boyfriend”.

Jungkook had sighed, cancelling on lunch with you to spend time with Jooyeon and comfort her with fried chicken and ice cream. You had sent an understanding thumbs up and a promise to call him later and end up having lunch with your work wife, Kira instead.

Kira who doesn’t fail to point out the glow in your cheeks and your general aura, even though it’s been nearly a week and a half since you saw Jungkook last. You roll your eyes and ignore the flames in your cheeks (and her laughter), and change the subject to your work projects. She tells you about some of the coding issues and compliance issues she’s been having with her software, and you tell her about the hours you’ve been pouring into your application for your client.

It doesn’t bother you that Jungkook hadn’t asked if you wanted to meet his sister. After all, he’d told you bits and pieces about her and her relationship. And in the last few weeks, your relationship has blossomed so beautifully. There was no reason to rush, you think. You’ll meet her hopefully under better circumstances for her.

Jungkook spends most of the evening with Jooyeon, letting her cry herself to sleep in his bed. His sister hardly ever cries like this, with sobs full of pain and hurt because of another man. But it’s been happening too much lately, too many fights and too much of Joo losing herself. It makes Jungkook see red more often than not. He knows what you’d say- that she needs him more than anything else and to not be so impulsive.

He makes sure Joo eats a warm meal before she falls asleep and he shoots you a text:

Jungkook: baby

You: hi

You: everything ok?

Jungkook: no, joo’s bf is a fkin asshole

Jungkook: she’s sleeping

Jungkook: miss u

You: im sorry baby :( can i call you?

He jumps at the chance, the sound of your voice and sight of your pretty face on video call instantly calming him. Jungkook is sure to wear a beanie to hide his surprise for you (but you don’t question it. After all, you’ve seen him in beanies plenty of times before and it’s dim in the apartment.) He moves to the couch, asking softly for you to tell him about your day. You recount every single detail from memory, shifting under your covers to tell him about how you had nearly stumbled down the stairs in front of your manager’s manager because you had missed a step.

It pulls a soft laugh from him.

“Jungkook,” You say quietly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t even know what to say,” Jungkook sighs, “She’s just… Byung-woo and her have had this on and off thing for years now. He won’t commit to her and she just refuses to see him for what he is. Like, when it’s good, it’s really good. But when it’s bad, it’s awful. I wish she’d fucking see it for herself. I don’t know what to do anymore, baby.”

“Oh, baby,” You murmur, wishing you could hug him, “All you can do is be there for her but be honest with her. She’ll come around soon, hopefully. It’s hard to see past a shitty person sometimes, when all you want is for them to love you.”

“I hope so, too,” Jungkook says, “She’d love you, you know?”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“Don’t get a big head,” Jungkook chuckles, “Maybe you can meet her someday. Under better circumstances, I mean.”

“Really? You want me to meet your older sister?” You ask softly, feeling a little flustered, “That’s serious.”

“I told you, baby,” Jungkook soothes, “I’m serious about you.”

“Yeah. Seriously crazy about me,” You giggle to yourself. You know if Jungkook was with you, he’d flick your forehead.

“It’s true,” He murmurs, “Maybe I can see you this weekend?”

“Yeah, you still have to show me what you did over the weekend! Take care of Jooyeon first,” You reply, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll drop stuff off, just tell me.”

“I will,” Jungkook promises, “Sleep well, I miss you.”

“Sleep well. I miss you.”

***

Jooyeon ends up leaving on Saturday morning after a lecture from Jungkook and with determined resolve in her eyes. You jump at the chance to take him out tonight, knowing how stressed he’s been the last few days.

You: be ready at 6:30 tn, im taking u out. and dress slutty

Jungkook doesn’t know how to interpret your text when he reads it. He considers asking Mina and Mei what this means, but ultimately leaves it alone. Replying to your message with a quick thumbs up, he busies himself with getting ready to see you (and surprising you, finally after a full week of wanting to show you what he had done.)

Once you parallel park your car (which takes far too long than you’d like to admit), you grab the small bouquet of purple roses that you had gotten for Jungkook and text him saying that you’ll be up in a few minutes.

Taehyung had caught you struggling to parallel park, and had told Jungkook with a snicker. Which earned him a punch to the arm.

There wasn’t a particular reason that you had chosen to get purple roses for him, other than the fact that they reminded you of him. You hope he likes them.

Jungkook hears a soft knock at the door, and can already envision you behind it. He hopes you like his surprise, the one he’s been teasing you for a week about. You had given no hints of what you would be wearing- you had only sent him one selfie that didn’t give much of a hint into your outfit. He has no doubt that you’ll look gorgeous, but still.

Maybe Jungkook’s nerves shouldn’t be this intense, but he can’t help it. He swings the front door open, only to be greeted by you swaying on your feet with your hands held behind your back. His heart throbs when you pull your hands apart and present him with a beautiful bouquet of purple roses.

How ironic.

“Hello,” You say with a small smile, suddenly feeling a little shy and gasping when your eyes land on his hair, “Wow. You weren’t kidding…”

His hair is tied back into a ponytail, but it’s unmistakably elegant and so violet. Two neat pieces of his newly dyed hair fall into his face effortlessly, but then your gaze reaches the piercing on his left eyebrow. Your lips remain parted in surprise and without thinking, you reach up to touch his hair. It’s still soft, as it always is.

“Come in, baby,” Jungkook says, taking the roses from you, “You must really like me, huh? Got me flowers and everything?”

“Shut up,” You mutter, cheeks heating up, “Don’t get a big head.”

Jungkook only grins wolfishly at you and winks at you, eyes unashamedly glued to your ass. You roll your eyes, and swat his shoulder as you watch him put the rose in a vase and place it in the center of the dining table.

This isn’t the first time you’ve been in his shared apartment (that he lives with Taehyung and Jimin in) but you somehow feel shy in his presence again, as if it was the first time. The first time you had been here with him had been the first time you had spent the night at his apartment several weeks ago, after a night out with your friends.

You let your gaze wander, curious eyes settling on the subtle matching of the furniture and the cleanliness of the apartment. There’s not a stray speck of dust in sight, but maybe you’re distracting yourself from addressing the pretty purple of his hair. Your mouth is dry, and you’re probably drooling a little. You wonder if Jungkook prepared for this, the same way you did (in that you had washed your car, cleaned every inch of it and gotten a new car freshener).

A faint scent of fresh laundry and lavender sits in the spaces of his home. It calms you and gives you the boost to turn your eyes to him.

“Thanks for the roses, baby,” Jungkook says, giving you a smile and starry eyes. He pulls you into his arms, your back against the counter. “Surprise. Do you like it?”

“Uh,” You mumble, brain deciding to short-circuit with the way he looks at you. His smile turns into a smirk, deciding to further render you speechless by pressing himself closer to you and cradling your neck. He’s careful not to touch your face. He doesn’t want to mess your makeup up terribly, at least not yet.

“I know you like my hair. Your face says it all, baby,” Jungkook continues and ducks his head for a quick kiss, “You’re pretty.” He does quite like this dress, light blue and dotted in small flowers with thin straps. His eyes are instantly drawn to the drawstring at the center of your chest and he quells the urge to pull at it.

Jungkook’s mouth waters when he sees the side split of the dress but you want more from him immediately, but he pulls away to your chagrin. Even with the simple kiss, the burgundy color of your lipstick stains his plump bottom lip.

You shiver. It appears that he tried to take your words via text to heart- to dress slutty. He’s wearing a loose animal print button up, with the top three buttons undone. It gives you a delectable view of his pecs, his collarbones and a hint of the tattoo on his right side. As if you weren’t already weak in the knees for him as it was, he wears a black coat and tight, leather pants.

Jungkook pulls it off, like he pulls everything off and the purple hair blends seamlessly with his look. Tonight, he’d opted for two silver hoops in each ear and a thin silver necklace to match.

Your knees are weak, they’ve been weak since you had seen him in this offensive outfit and his hair, his new piercing that was clearly an attack on your entire existence.

The purple hair. The piercing. He’ll be the death of you tonight, you know it. Your legs are wobbly, panties already probably a little wet just from seeing him and from a few of his kisses. But you can’t help it. Without thinking, you press your lips to his, drawing your tongue into his mouth eagerly. You are so hungry, so eager to devour him and drink up anything that he offers you. Jungkook tugs you closer to him lightly by your waist but-

“Seriously? Right in front of my dinner?” Comes an amused voice from behind Jungkook and you nearly screech at the familiar sound of Jimin’s voice.

“I- I didn’t-You-” You stammer, feeling your face heat up to a degree that it’s definitely never heated up to before. You hide behind Jungkook to fix your surely wrecked lipstick. You’re certain his own lips are probably comically smudged with your lipstick as well. “Sorry Jimin, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know, we’ll leave-”

Jungkook only rolls his eyes at Jimin’s wide smirk and knowing eyes. He hears you scolding Jungkook for not telling him that anyone was home, to which he promptly responds “well, you didn’t ask!”

Despite the very natural and easy flow of conversation between you and Jungkook in your car, you still feel overheated and jumpy, your fingers incessantly tapping on the steering wheel. It’s not Jungkook, it’s you and your own nerves. It’s not the first time you’ve gone out to dinner with him and it’s certainly not the first time you’ve had him in your car. If Jungkook notices, he says nothing.

“Where are we going, baby?” Jungkook asks, looking at you. You don’t meet his eyes, choosing instead to focus on the road despite being at a red light.

“Umm, that place you mentioned the other day. The one we talked about trying together,” You say softly. Jungkook can only wonder why you’re a little quiet, but he thinks he knows. You slip into your head so easily and he doesn’t mind gently tugging you out of your thought cloud and into reality with him.

“Can you help me park,” You mumble sheepishly, “I get nervous parking in such tight spaces.”

“Yeah, pull over here before it’s impossible to,” Jungkook murmurs. You nod and do so, hopping out of the driver’s seat to switch places with him. But before you can get in the passenger’s seat, Jungkook grips your wrist loosely. You look at him curiously, with wide eyes and he drops a kiss to your lips, swallowing your surprise.

“You’re so pretty,” Jungkook murmurs, “So fucking pretty, baby. I love this dress on you.” You preen at his praise, leaning forward for another kiss with a shy smile. He subtly squeezes your left tit before letting his hand travel downward.

“You look really good, Jungkook,” You murmur before he kisses you, “I-I really, really like it. A lot.”

He gently caresses your thigh from under your dress, the heat of his hand shooting straight up your core. Jungkook slips his tongue into your mouth quickly, coaxing your endearing nervousness away. As if you both aren’t pulled over to the side of the street where cars are passing you by (and surely wondering why you both were making out like this in public).

“Are we gonna be those people who have a roadside quickie,” You laugh, gently pushing his shoulder when you pull away.

“Roadside quickie? Get your mind out of the gutter,” Jungkook says but his lips twist into a wicked smirk, “But hey, if you wanna give me road head, I’m not going to complain about it-”

“Ha, you would be so lucky,” You scoff, feeling your nerves beginning to ease out of you, “C’mon, our reservation is soon. And then we can talk about road head.”

Dinner goes perfectly and after a glass of wine you feel those inexplicable nerves wash away. What did you have to be nervous for anyway? It was Jungkook- Jungkook who you’ve known for years. Your friend before any of this. He asks you about work, how your application is going-

“Your client sounds pretty demanding,” Jungkook muses, “You keeping up with it okay?”

“Yeah, but I’m not even an application engineer so I’m just learning as I go. My true roots are data and data science but I get to see all of it. Which is cool. But also time consuming, like the other evening, I had to read up on the compliance regulations. But my favorite thing is creating modeling and programs for this app, it’s really cool because it’s healthcare specific. So I’m learning about that sector as well, it’s mostly python but we’ve been doing testing with different healthcare providers in the area and they’re all responding really well to it-” You’re rambling, you know it, but your passion for your career knows no bounds and Jungkook makes no move to stop you. He only smiles at you, eyes crinkling and nose scrunching, gesturing for you to continue.

It’s funny. Not even a few months ago, you would have cut yourself off from your own rambling. In an attempt to convince yourself that the other person didn’t need to hear about it. Maybe that was Sora’s subconscious influence on you. Today, you don’t think twice about it, glowing and shimmering under the dim, blue lights of the restaurant as you tell Jungkook more about your job.

He makes your heart race and he’s sitting right in front of you. Your chin is in your hands as you listen to the pretty words slipping out of his lips. He’s so dreamy, and you struggle to not let your gaze stray from his eyes and linger on his exposed tattoos and chest. You don’t even know where to look, deciding to settle on the way his newly purple locks fall to his forehead just perfectly.

“What do you wanna eat for dessert?” You murmur, looking at the menu and cautiously allowing your foot to brush against his.

In hindsight, you should’ve seen it coming-

“You,” Jungkook says easily, as if he’s talking about the weather.

“Corny,” You roll your eyes, but nudge his foot again. You end up deciding on sharing a slice of decadent, chocolate mousse cake. Which Jungkook ends up finishing off when you satisfy your sweet tooth after a few big bites.

He leans over without a second thought, thumbing away stray cream from the corner of your mouth. Your tongue darts out to lick the tip of his thumb and he looks at you with wide eyes before grinning roguishly.

“Wanna get outta here, baby?”

“Should I take you home, Jungkook?” You ask, finding the courage somewhere in the remnants of the glass of wine currently evaporating from your system to take his hand in your lap once you’re both settled in your car.

“Do you want to take me home?” Jungkook asks with a quirked eyebrow.

“I have some wine I think you’d like at my place. I just got it,” You say a little breathlessly, “And I have to inspect something, I might need your help.” Jungkook laughs, a little derisively and you pout.

“You don’t have to bribe me with wine, baby. You know I would’ve been down regardless,” Jungkook says, squeezing your hand, “What do you need to inspect? Do you have a leak or something?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a leak alright,” You say under your breath, thinking about the growing wetness in your panties, “My man just showed up here with purple hair and an eyebrow piercing, looking like a damn model after one whole week. I have to inspect him.”

“Oh, is that so? In that case, I would love to be your lab rat. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t seen the inside of your bedroom before-”

“Who said you’d get that far?”

“I already did, baby. Did you forget?” Jungkook’s smirk widens, eyes sparkling with mischief. He gently cups your face, thumb on your chin and hovers just over your lips. You think he’s about to kiss you, so you close your eyes in anticipation of his lips on yours.

But it never comes. Instead, his breath fans over your cheeks and he lets out a low laugh. “I sure didn’t forget, and I know you didn’t either.”

You roll your eyes and swat his hand away, ignoring (but letting out a smile) when he chuckles. You decide to hold his hand for as much of the drive back home you can.

Jungkook’s hands are on your hips even as you’re fumbling with the keys to your front door. He’s a distraction, his warm heat plastered against your back and the simple act of opening your damn door feels like too much of a chore. When Jungkook’s lips glaze over the back of your neck, his fingers roaming your waist, it’s difficult for you to focus.

So Jungkook scoffs and turns the key for you. “Can’t open the door, baby?” Jungkook taunts and you level him with a glare.

“It’s not my fault you can’t keep your hands to yourself in front of my door!”

“You like it,” Jungkook says, shutting the door behind him and hugging you as you try to walk away from him to wash up. You escape his grip with a giggle and lock yourself in your bathroom, while Jungkook waits with a disgruntled pout.

When you come out, you head into the kitchen to pour out two glasses of wine and bring some snacks out. You’re not particularly hungry, though you wouldn’t mind eating and you’re sure Jungkook wouldn’t mind either.

Your train of thought is of course interrupted by the man himself and he wraps his arms around you from behind, pushing you into the counter. One might say that Jungkook is being clingy, but you know this is how he shows his affections. Through physical touch more than anything else. And you quite like it, you like the reassurance of his body close to yours. It’s what you’ve always wanted and never known that you needed.

“Missed you,” He breathes into your hair. Even if he’s been with you for the last few hours… You understand him. It feels like you’re both making up for lost time. For time that you could’ve spent together, rather than apart.

“Me too,” You murmur, “Can you take this to the couch, honey? I’ll bring the glasses and the wine.”

Jungkook hums and kisses your temple, squeezing your ass before heeding your soft demand. You sit next to him, thighs touching, and pour out a glass for both of you to enjoy. You lean against his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his bicep and turn the television on. But neither of you are really paying attention.

“Hey,” Jungkook murmurs, “I had a good time tonight, baby.”

“Don’t I know it,” You say smugly, “It’s not everyday a pretty girl takes you out for din-” He cuts your words off by pulling you into his lap, somehow not spilling even a single drop of wine in the movement. You would’ve killed him if even a hint of a wine stain appeared on your velvet couch.

You press your hand into his shoulder, the hint of his tattoo and the glint of his piercing catching your eye. You swirl your glass of wine with your other hand. “What a precarious position to be in,” You say dryly, even grinding your hips into his playfully. He gives you a look, and stills your movements with one hand on your waist. Jungkook sets his glass on the coffee table behind you and cradles your neck, pulling you down for a sharp kiss. It’s almost desperate and needy, nothing like his kisses from before.

You slip your tongue into his honeyed mouth, tasting seeds of his desperation with your tongue. But then, you remember your wine glass and pull away from his lips with a lewd smack to reach behind you and place it on the coffee table as well.

“So pretty,” Jungkook moans, pushing the straps of your dress to the side and dotting your shoulders in wine-stained kisses, “Pretty girl, my pretty baby-”

You tilt his cheek towards you for a kiss, whining into his mouth at his praise. It shoots down your spine in a delicious hum and his hands roaming the expanse of your back makes you feel warm and powerful.

The way your hips move in time with his, the way you fit into the crevices of his thighs and his chest- he just wants to give you everything. He wants to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Jungkook will give you everything, if you let him.

“And what about you?” You rasp with swollen lips and wild eyes when you finally pull away. You press your fingers into the exposed, inky part of his chest, where his shirt is unbuttoned for your eyes. “You look so fucking good all the time, but-but I told you to dress slutty and you did this for me, huh? You did this for me, bunny?”

Jungkook’s cock jumps in his tight pants and his throat goes dry. Your eyes are devious, filled with mischief and sin and he gives himself to you fully and wholly.

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods eagerly, “Yeah, I wanted to look nice for you, baby.”

“A-and your hair,” You mumble, feeling a little lovesick, “I love it, I love it, I love it-I just wanna- wanna make you feel good. Can I do that, bunny? Make you feel good?”

Jungkook nods with wide, doe eyes, wondering how the tables were turned so quickly.

“Take me to my bedroom,” You demand softly. The glasses of wine and snacks on the tray are left forgotten as Jungkook easily scoops you up in his arms. Even with your lips soft and slow against his neck, he somehow makes it to your bed.

It’s definitely not the first time you’ve had Jungkook in your bed (or that you’ve been in his bed). It’s not the first time you’ve peeled his shirt off meticulously and licked your way down his chest, to unbutton his tight pants. It’s not the first time he’s seen you on your knees on your bed (to alleviate the strain on your knees if you were on the floor).

By now, the shock of your impatience has worn off. Jungkook frequently reminds you to slow down, that you both have nowhere to be except with each other.

It looks like his pants are glued to his legs, and while you can appreciate the visual, you want to appreciate the real thing. You groan in frustration and Jungkook does the work for you, pushing the offending fabric away and breathing a sigh of relief. You crawl closer to him, nails featherlight against his taut thighs.

He’s golden, his body taut and spilling with swirls of color in the divots of his muscles. Your mouth waters.

But Jungkook moves your hands away when you start inching closer, wanting to palm his cock. He joins you on the bed, pushing your back to the bed and hiking the skirt of your dress up to your hips. His hands are tight and warm and welcome on your hips, a flare of desire shooting down your spine and straight to your pussy. You buck your hips up towards him with a pout but he only squeezes.

“What did I tell you,” Jungkook murmurs, swatting your thigh lightly.

“You’ll have to remind me,” You breathe.

“Told you to slow down, baby,” Jungkook says, letting his fingers trail up your thighs and slip under your panties. His hand is warm in contrast to the rings on his fingers. They do little to cool your skin, though. “Impatient girl.”

“You say that like a bad thing-”

“And you talk so fucking much,” Jungkook drawls, hovering over you and dropping his weight on top of you, nudging your cheek to kiss you. You reach upwards to thread your hands through his hair but he’s quick, so much quicker than you. Jungkook pins your wrists with just one hand, and the mere action, the mere display of strength has you sighing and your pussy fluttering.

“Lift your hips,” Jungkook says thickly, and you do so immediately. It’s easy for him to pull your black lace panties off to the side. But before he does so he gives you a small smile of approval, knowing that you wore them specifically for him to see.

“I really do love this dress, baby,” He says, “Makes your tits and your ass look amazing.”

“Take it off, then. And see the goods up close,” You say, wiggling against his grip.

“I will,” Jungkook says lazily, “Don’t you worry your pretty head about it.” Without a single warning, he lifts you up easily into his lap. Your bare pussy brushes against his bare cock deliciously, your hips moving of their own accord. He stills you again, and carefully unzips your dress and pulls it off of you. His fingers on you are soft but firm, leaving your head spinning and hazy.

You haven’t even had his cock yet, and you’re about ready to combust. Jungkook pushes you on the bed, your tits bouncing with the force of your back hitting the mattress and hovers over you. You pull at his hair a little impatiently and he groans, the sound reverberating across the walls only to ring in your head. You want to hear it again, and again and again.

“Jungkook,” You whine, “Please, bunny, do something. Look at me, look at my pussy, come clean me up-”

“So needy,” Jungkook murmurs and ignores you in favor of kissing your tits, rubbing your nipples with his fingers, “‘M needy for you too, baby.”

“You’re so hard, so big,” You babble, “Please, want your cock, baby.”

Impatient. Jungkook kisses your chest, your belly, your hips and makes you cum on his tongue twice (while you tear up and cry a little bit, gripping his purple locks fiercely and holding onto his shoulder) before letting you stroke his cock. You’re about to push him on his back to blow him with determined eyes, but he stops you.

It appears he’s impatient too, and he wants to see you cream his cock before cumming all over your tits (which has become his favorite place to).

“Jungkook,” You breathe sharply, “There, baby, right there-” You cut yourself off with a groan, stilling your hips and pushing his face into your chest. Jungkook’s groans are muffled against your tits, but you feel the wetness of his lips and the warmth of his tongue over your nipples.

“Shit,” You mumble, “Feels so good-”

“So pretty, baby,” Jungkook coos, pulling away from your tits to look up at you with lust in his eyes, “I’m yours, all yours-”

You groan, bouncing on his cock even harder as a flare of possessiveness flashes across your belly. “Move back,” You say softly, “Lay down. I’m gonna ride you so good, baby.”

Jungkook barely has a chance to catch his breath before your nails are on his chest, trying to hold yourself steady as you push yourself down onto his cock, pulling a deep moan of your name from his lips. His hands are tight on your hips, watching with wide eyes- he doesn’t know where to look, what to do.

He squeezes when one of your hands drifts over his and rests on top of his hand.

“I’m yours, I’m yours,” Jungkook mumbles, “Whatever you want baby, I’m yours-”

“You talk so much,” You say hoarsely, with a wicked smile, “It’s cute.” Your free hand floats upward, resting loosely at the base of his neck. His chain is cold against his heated skin but all he can focus on is the glide of your hand over his neck.

His cock twitches inside you and your smile widens. “Is this okay?” You whisper, “This okay, bunny?”

“Harder,” Jungkook groans, “Fuck, harder, baby.”

“Like this?” You ask innocently, closing your hand around the sensitive spots of his neck. His pretty eyes flutter as he nods, a quiet moan slipping out into the air.

“You’re pretty like this,” You say softly, “Shit, you’re pretty like this…”

He lets out a choked laugh at that. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his hastily. Jungkook thrusts upward, hips meeting your ass but your hand doesn’t leave his neck. Not just yet. You breathe into his mouth, allowing him to swallow your soft whimpers.

You wet your lips with a loud smack and cradle his cheek gently. Jungkook is mesmerized by the heat in your eyes, smoldering and burning through his skin. You let your fingers glide over your clit, gathering wetness and before Jungkook can ask what you're doing-

“Open,” You mumble hoarsely, “Open, bunny.”

Pushing a finger past his chapped lips, you gasp at the sight of him below you with your fingers in his mouth.

You could cum just from watching him. His tongue swirls over your finger before sucking lightly with a pretty flush covering his cheeks. Your eyes widen, another gasp brushing over his cheeks.

“Fuck,” You mumble dreamily, “You’re so good, bunny.”

Your body is burning, jaw slack and the feeling of Jungkook’s bare cock inside of you almost too much to handle. It was wildly irresponsible- he wasn’t wearing a condom and you weren’t on birth control, and it was a conversation for later. But you can’t think, not when it feels this good, not when you’ve had a taste of his cock in this way. Besides, he always pulls out just in time. But still, you both should know better.

“Oh, Jungkook,” You whine, “‘m close, I’m so fucking close, make me cum, bunny-”

“Baby,” Jungkook rasps, “My pretty baby looks so good on my cock like this. My smart, kind, b-beautiful girl, my angel-”

Tears prick your eyes- it’s easy for you to become overwhelmed like this. You tug your hands away and thread your fingers through his, dipping your head for a kiss.

“You like that, angel? You like being mine?” Jungkook murmurs, slowing your hips so he can take over. But he knows you’re close.

“Only yours,” You mumble. Jungkook pulls you into his chest swiftly and flips you so that you’re on your back. He places your legs over his shoulders and brackets your head with his forearms, his necklace just above your nose and his hair tickling your face. But you're mesmerized by the determination and adoration in his eyes.

“Jungkook,” You murmur brokenly, “O-oh, y-yeah, baby, there, mmmf-” You squeeze his biceps with a gasp, watching his face closely. Pushing his hair behind his ears, you cradle his cheek and pull him down for a sweet, long kiss.

His fingers dance across your thighs and rub your clit in slow circles and murmuring soft words of praise in your ear. You’re vaguely aware that your body erupts in a tidal wave of flames, warming you from inside out. You don’t hear anything except for your cries of his name, you don’t see anything but him through your blurry eyes.

“Baby,” Jungkook says through clenched teeth, “O-open your mouth, baby. Fuck, baby, this pussy- I’m gonna cum, baby, fuck-”

You open your mouth with hooded eyes and your tongue lolling out and Jungkook pulls out of you abruptly with a series of curses. He’s not fast enough to get all of his cum in your mouth, some of it landing on your cheek. You swallow his cum with a dopey smile and open your arms for him to bury his face in your tits.

“Fuck, baby,” Jungkook says breathlessly, rolling off of you and pulling you into his side, “This pussy’s gonna be the death of me. Where’d you learn to ride dick like that, huh?”

“I’ll never tell,” You mumble, “Gimme a kiss.”

And so he does, tasting himself on your lips. He kisses you nice and slow, just how you both like after a night like this. Eventually he cleans you up and you do the same for him.

Under the covers with only the shared warmth between your sheets to keep you company, you rest your head on Jungkook’s bicep and look up at him. Your fingers continue tracing patterns on his chest, tracing the swirls and curves of ink as they appear.

Jungkook dips his head to nudge your nose and you softly laugh as his hair falls into your face. “What are you thinking about, baby?” He murmurs, lazily draping an arm over you. By now, you’ve realized that Jungkook is possibly the most vulnerable with you in moments like this. When you’re both bare and basking in a post-sex haze.

That’s not to say that he’s not vulnerable at other times. But it’s just different like this.

You take his hand and thread your fingers through his. His fingers are bare, as you had taken his rings off and they’re currently sitting in your jewelry dish on your dresser.

“We just,” You murmur, “We spent so long being apart. When we should’ve been together. All because I…”

“Stop,” Jungkook says firmly but gently, “Don’t do that. You’re where you’re supposed to be. We’re where we’re supposed to be.”

“But we wasted so much time not being together because of me,” You mumble forlornly, feeling your throat getting a little dry, “Because I listened to Sora and didn’t-”

“Oh, baby,” Jungkook says, pulling you in for a hug and a forehead kiss, “That’s not true at all. We’re together now, and we both had some growing to do. That’s what matters.”

“Okay,” You reply in a strained voice. You don’t quite sound like you believe him, and Jungkook makes a mental note of that. “Do you feel like… we have lost time to make up for?”

“Do you feel like that?” Jungkook counters, making your heart skip a beat, “Because I don’t. I know it’s hard, baby, but you can’t beat yourself up for that. It’s in the past, baby. Forgive yourself. There’s nothing to race against, it’s just me and you.”

“I’ll try,” You say a little meekly. Jungkook nods and pulls you in for a soft kiss, one that has your toes curling and your belly flipping. He shifts so that you’re tucked into his side, surrounded by him and his hands on your skin. He kisses you until your previous thoughts don’t feel so loud in your head, he whispers to you and pulls sweet laughs from your throat until you can detach from the strange cloud that had suddenly appeared.

He’s your safe place.

*********

MoM TAGS: @tiemeuptogoldenchains @boymeetsparadise @jungkooksseuphoria @kaepjjangiya @drumsofheaven @ppeachyttae @tae-bebe @yiyi4657 @mygscafe @beeeetsandskzreads @maichiverse @hordanhearsawhooo @anonymous2505 @dreadity @mysugarkoo @ULTRAANONYMOUSEY @moonchild1 @fan-ati--c

TAGS: @kookdbean @codeinebelle

#Jungkook x reader #Jungkook smut #Jeon jungkook x reader #Jeon jungkook smut #Jungkook x you #Jeon jungkook x you #Jungkook fluff

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wizardouxie · 3 years

Text

PANTONE 2046 C

Genre: Fluff, #ZoeAppreciationWeek

Pairing: Zouxie

Summary: The Pink Hair Origin Story (alternatively also the Blue Hair Origin Story)

Word Count: 2788

Author's Note: First day of Zoe Appreciation Week! Wanted to participate so have this not so little one shot to showcase our lovely pink haired witch <3

"Wow, the dye came out really nicely," Zoe murmurs as Douxie exits the bathroom, his hair freshly blown dry -- from its tips to the full bangs dipped in a deep yet striking blue. He smiles widely at the quiet compliment and waves over to Archie.

"How does it look Arch?" they ask, though the answer is pretty clear, if Archie's fond gaze is anything to go by. The familiar flies in to nuzzle his face.

"Dashing as ever, Douxie."

Zoe leans back into the couch with content, taking in the beautiful sight that is her best friend. She did really good. The faint buzz of adrenaline lingers on the pads of her fingers. Right, she forgot. That was her first time.

"Are. You. Crazy? I've never even dyed hair before!" the natural brown haired girl hissed. She begrudgingly wiped the bubblegum that had exploded over her lips -- a result from the initial shock when Douxie first made his request. Granted, she felt honored that they would come to her before anyone else, but still! She can't risk ruining his hair, she doesn't have experience, plus the hair salon could totally do it better and-

"I'd rather it be you than anyone else," the wizard confirmed firmly. Zoe turned to the familiar. Surely the cat who lived with this stubborn kid could knock some sense into them. Archie could only provide a shrug in response.

"They're pretty sure about this."

She groaned.

"Fine, fine! But give me a few days unless you want me to pick out the wrong dye and end up with neon green."

[ 1 Week Later ]

Zoe couldn't keep track of just how many hair channels and blogs she'd gone through. She mimicked their hand movements, using cheap wigs and mannequin heads to simulate the experience. Through it all, one voice echoed the same message: "You can't mess this up."

She bought all the necessary tools. Gloves, hair clips, bleach, foil, just to name a few. Oh, and of course the dye -- though you'll be surprised how one can forget the simplest things while getting caught up in trying to memorize everything. Blue, Douxie had asked for. But what kind of blue? Sky blue? Cobalt? Midnight? Which one? She pinched the bridge of her nose before angrily texting the wizard. It went a little something like this:

DOUX: go with whatever you think will look good! i'm fine with anything tbh :]

ZOE: i Hate you so much

DOUX: ??? WHY

ZOE: IDK SHIT ABOUT HAIR DYE HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT LOOKS GOOD

DOUX: let's talk about this in person before you electrocute your phone again

ZOE: you won't let me live that down will you

DOUX: you know me so well ;)

She shoved the phone back in her pocket. There's no way she was actually doing this for him.

She was.

"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" she asked for what would be around the 73rd time. Douxie pulled his face down with both hands.

"Ugh, the answer is still yes, love. I'm not asking you to dye the whole thing, just the front part, bangs and sides."

She rolls her eyes at the nickname and smacks the clean brush against his head. She smiles at the little 'ow' that Douxie lets out with a pout. Hm, cute.

"Alright, but don't start moping around if it doesn't come out the way you wanted it!"

"Nothing that a little magic can't fix if it gets to that point. Which I hardly believe it will."

And now here they are.

Douxie crashes on the couch with Zoe, slinging an arm over her shoulders. She raises an eyebrow at the sudden physical touch, but it's never unwelcome. Not when it comes to him.

"You know of all human creations, I gotta say, this one really takes the cake," they start and Zoe snorts.

"You say that about nearly everything."

"Can you blame me?"

She looks at them and no, she really can't. In fact, she finds herself agreeing with him. He looks... really nice. A faint blush spreads over her face; not that it is noticeable by any means -- the two of them happen to have done this dying process starting from the evening to night, so the dim lights in her home do little to highlight her features. This is still her Douxie, lovable guitarist and wizard nerd who cares about everyone. Yet there was something about the hair dye that changed things up a bit. Something good, naturally.

The two of them fall into a comfortable silence, doing whatever is usually available. Sometimes it's texting, scrolling through social media, or listening to music. Other times it's zoning off and reminiscing about the past.

Zoe decides to go for her phone, unconscious of the way her hand finds its way into Douxie's hair, carding through the locks and untangling them with nimble fingers. It's peaceful. Maybe even a little too peaceful, considering the two of them are adrenaline junkies.

"Douxie, I can hear you thinking..." she begins. It's a common way to start the conversation between them, and oftentimes she's right.

He turns around, her hand still in his hair, but enough to meet her eyes. Their own eyes look serious and her heart sinks. Were they not happy with their hair?

The answer is quite the opposite.

"You ever considered dying your hair too? Maybe we can match."

The untangling stops.

And then the tugging starts.

"Ow ow ow-"

"Hisirdoux Casperan you are a menace to society."

She does though. She considers it for weeks. Of course, Douxie doesn't push; it's her hair at the end of the day, she can do whatever she likes. But after seeing how well she did with the wizard, she kinda felt excited. She definitely can't forget the exhilaration she felt when she saw people compliment Douxie at Benoit's or at the GDT book store. Her heart started beating faster when he looked back at her with a proud smile on his face-- damn that wizard, they told the others that she did it for them, didn't they?

After a few days, a young girl in a cap comes up to her at the record store. Probably from Arcadia High, if her backpack stacked with books is any indication.

"Hi! I'm Claire. Claire Nuñez," the girl starts. Zoe raises an eyebrow in interest.

"Hey Claire. What can I get you?" she asks, raising a flask to her lips. There's no water. Damn.

"Um, it's not really a standard request, but um, I was wondering if you could dye my hair?"

Zoe chokes on her water. Dye her what?

"Kid, are you new here? This is a records store. I can give you the direction to the hair salon it's really not that far."

"No, no, no! It's just, this guy got their hair dyed and I asked if he did it himself and they said you did it for them so I came to you. It's nothing too big! Just a strand really," Claire rambles. She gestures to the invisible front of her hair, currently tucked away behind the cap, outlining it with her fingers. The hedge witch groans.

"That would be Douxie. Now, here's the thing I don't do this for just anyone. Douxie happens to be a close friend so what I did was a little gift for him. I don't even know you, so what do I get out of this?"

Claire pales.

"Uh, $20? I know a full head of hair costs way more but like I said, just a strand..."

Zoe's stomach rumbles in response. She had $5 currently in her wallet which could buy a snack at most. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Ugh, you're lucky I'm hungry. Catch me after my shift is done okay? And I only got one color on me, which is blue, you good with that? Otherwise bring your own."

"Yes of course, of course! Thank you so much."

"Yeah, yeah, now scram if you're not here to buy anything."

"Oh actually, I was wondering if you had anything Papa Skull released recently!"

Curse this girl and her good taste in music.

[ 45 minutes later; 2:00 PM ]

"Thank you for doing this by the way," Claire starts. Zoe waves it off. She doesn't really know why she agreed to this. Well kind of. She wanted to eat. But besides that, she also was curious to see if she could satisfy another "customer". Hair dying was never a profession she had properly considered and right now? It doesn't hurt to entertain a thought.

"Alright so I have the bleach, you'll need to let that set in and keep that before dying the strand you want. We can even add toner to neutralize the color post bleaching if necessary," she lists off. Claire shakes her head.

"That won't be necessary!"

The girl pulls off her cap and surely enough, there's a light blonde lock, similar to Douxie's, just a little lighter. Zoe's impressed.

"Well that definitely makes my job easier. Especially since this is my second time."

"Wait, second time?"

"You didn't know?"

"No?"

"Of course Douxie leaves that part out. You want out? I'll pay you back the $20 in four days."

"No, I trust you."

Zoe always believed that she had tough and cold demeanor. Clearly she's doing something wrong if people are finding her trustworthy just by looking at one dye job.

"Alright then, here we go! Don't say I didn't warn you," the witch replies. She wraps the cloth around Claire softly, and pulls up the bowl with the dye in it. With a gloved hand she separates the pale strands from the brown ones. The blue will definitely be more prominent here than it would be with Douxie's. Something tells her that Claire wouldn't mind.

From the looks of Claire's surprise, wonder, and delight, she definitely didn't mind.

"It. Looks. So cool! You're really good at this. Maybe you should start a hair dying salon or something," the girl rattles off. Zoe raises a hand.

"I'm already working two part time jobs so... no. But I'm glad you liked it. The blue looks really good. Stands out well."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Claire repeats, putting back her cap on. A feeling of confusion overcomes Zoe.

"Wait, why are you putting your cap back on? Don't you want to show people?"

"Duh, but um, my mom doesn't know about, uh, all this. You know, councilwoman things."

Zoe's mouth drops, the $20 bill crumpled in her hand. So that's why she didn't go to the hair salon. Nuñez is the councilwoman, so she'd know pretty much everyone in the town. And word spreads pretty fast. In summary: Claire would have gotten caught.

"See ya!"

These kids are going to land her in some serious trouble one day.

With a burger and soda in her tray, Zoe takes a seat and pulls out her phone. That Claire girl though, she's sort of inspiring. Adventurous. Not hesitant in taking chances. And you know Zoe, she absolutely loves the thrills of life. Whether it be hunting magical creatures or refining her usually unpredictable magic. The humans tend to have mellow definition of risk taking, in her opinion, but their examples are fun enough in their own way: crossing the speed limit, riding rollercoasters, anything along those lines. The brunette clicks on a familiar contact and begins typing.

ZOE: which color looks good on me

ZOE: don't ask it's for a stupid job thing

DOUX: which job?

ZOE: WHAT PART OF DON'T ASK

ZOE: hex tech, something for employee uniforms

DOUX: i was going to say pink since it brings out your eyes but if it's for uniforms i dunno, light blue?

ZOE: hm interesting

DOUX: you should just work here at the book store it's chill

ZOE: but then i'd have to deal with you

DOUX: now is that really a bad thing?

DOUX: zoe.

Light blue is definitely a no go, Zoe decides. Too much blue dye going around. But pink, hm she could work with that. It's a pretty bold color and it would compliment her eyes as well as her face in general. A win-win for her.

And as for how far she's willing to go? She decides to go all in. No tips, no ombre, just complete bubblegum hair. Of course this takes a few days to gather the guts.

'You can do it Zoe, just go for the bleach,' she thinks to herself. Her hands shake with nervousness and excitement. Frankly, hunting niffins didn't compare to the rush she's feeling right now. She closes her eyes and brings the brush to her hair.

Well, here goes nothing.

She winces as she feels the tingling sensation, but loads of videos have assured that such symptoms were normal. She continues to work at it, using the foil to make sure she doesn't bleach a part of her hair to death. It's long and strenuous, but she knows the results in the few coming weeks would be worth it.

She doesn't have to worry about Douxie finding out thankfully. Turns out these weeks are essential for Merlin's "To-Do" List. Apparently it was to find Camelot?

"The castle he means. Not the actual kingdom. That's been gone for centuries. Anyways, I'll be back once I actually find it. Dunno how I'll do it and it probably will take me and Arch a month or so, haha. Oh! And if my hirers ask you anything, it's a family emergency."

Hm, whatever. A brief thought of Merlin dying his hair neon green amuses her, before she goes back to watching more hair dye videos. They've become a little addicting nowadays. She's amazed at how often people do it. How do they keep their hair so healthy?

It's been four weeks now and Zoe's eyes stare at the pink concoction in her hand. PANTONE 2046 C. This was the shade that stole her heart in the middle of the hair dye aisle. No other color could compare in the slightest. Even the cashier who packaged her order hummed in approval.

"Nice color! Not many go for it, but it'll suit you for sure."

This time her movements are calculated, not clumsy or fear driven like it used to be. One could even say she's getting the hang of this. Her hair over time changes from platinum blonde to a dark matted pink. She lets it sit for a bit, meanwhile focusing on getting the dye out of her hands. This turns out to be harder than she thought and she sighs. Well, maybe another day.

After washing and blow drying her hair, she stands in front of the mirror. The witch staring back at her is almost unrecognizable. As if she were a new person completely. And she liked it.

The blank stare shifts into a grin and she tugs at her own locks. Goddamn. She looks really good.

And well, Douxie's reaction is priceless to say the least.

DOUX: you said to meet up at the museum where are you

DOUX: i swear if you slept in i'll send archie to knock down everything in your apartment

DOUX: ok no i won't but still it's been a month since we last saw each other come on

DOUX: wait a second

DOUX: you're joking

DOUX: IS THAT??? YOU????

DOUX: IN THE PINK

DOUX: oh fuzzbuckets you look stunning

DOUX: Hello this is Archie. You broke Douxie so could you please finish your conversation with whoever it is you're with and come pick him up? Your hair is absolutely lovely by the way.

ZOE: omfg

ZOE: can't take you guys anywhere

The witch smiles at the girls and nods over to a gaping Douxie and his cat before gracefully exiting the conversation. She approaches her friend and pushes his jaw up with her index finger.

"So I'm assuming you're digging the new look hm?" she teases.

"You have no idea," Douxie responds. A pink tint lighter than the shade of her hair blooms across Zoe's face at the expression of adoration in her best friend's eyes. The two of them have been through a lot together, seeing each other grow and change. And this time, it was a really fun and welcome one.

"I might try this again with a different color some time. You wanna join then?"

"Don't have to ask me twice."

It's crazy how all of this came from a chaotic, impulsive research project to help a friend. But honestly Zoe wouldn't have it any other way.

Maybe Douxie was right. Of all human creations, this one beats pretty much everything else.

#ZoeAppreciationWeek #zoeappreciationweek #here's my entry hehe #enjoy!#toa #tales of arcadia #zoe #hisirdoux #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #zouxie #archie #claire #claire nuñez #ophelia #ophelia nuñez

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harrysgloves · 4 years

Text

Fine Line (Chapter 9)

>>>Catch up with the Fine Line Masterlist!

word count:

story summary: Since you were kids you and Harry had always walked that fine line of friends or something more. Now, pregnant by someone else, you find yourself staying with your long time best friend after things go sour with your boyfriend of 3 years.

Singlemom!Reader x Harry Styles

chapter summary: You and Harry revisit an old childhood game.

warnings: Language // cuddling // mutual pining but they're both dumb af // no editing

a/n: Apparently, I do still write... amazing right?? Anyway, posting this from mobile so it might be a bit weird formatting and I couldn't post the word count tonight. Sorry about that guys. Hope you enjoy anyways!

As always, likes and reblogs make my little heart sing and comments make me almost faint. So, gimme that love.

>>><<<

You settled into Harry's couch for yet another night alone. The light from Judd Nelson's match he had managed to ignite with the back of his teeth lit up the television. The

luminescent bulbs dimly casted tints of blue and white lights across Harry's living room. Your eyes glued to the movie you'd seen a million times before as you curled in tighter into the soft blankets.

Harry had been busy the last few days and while you tried your best to not bitch about it, you were lonely. Gemma and Abby had their own lives thousands of miles away from you. Jesse had still not answered you back. Your mother couldn't carry on a conversation with you for more than 10 minutes without forgetting who you were. Besides work, you really had no one to hangout with and even your coworkers didn't see you outside the office.

The only glimmer of a social life you had was your unborn child that you talked to constantly and Mr. Stranger-who-hits-on-people-at-the-doctor's-office. Since your child couldn't talk back to you yet, Matt was quickly becoming your life line to a somewhat normal life.

Your phone dinged for the millionth time that night. Matt's name flashing across the top of the screen had a smile curling on your lips. Your fingers quickly slid to open your message app.

>Can't wait for nights like these, right?

The message read, a picture of Roman passed out asleep on top of Matt's chest glared from your phone screen.

<<He looks comfortable.

You shot back, your lips rolling into your mouth as you waited for the response. There was nothing wrong with some innocent flirting, right?

>He says he highly recommends you trying it.

You could feel your cheeks heat when your eyes scanned his message. You bit the inside of your cheek as you typed back, quickly deleting your first response to write a different one.

You were so out of practice when it came to flirting. You had no idea how to even do it. Even when you started dating Jesse he was the one who initiated everything. You didn't know he was hitting on you until your dorm mate at the time told you.

<<Sure he does.

>Swear. Cheeky little thing even said he'd share me being his pillow with you if you come to the park with us on Friday.

You let out a chuckle as you read his response, ready to shoot back a more feisty text when the door to Harry's house was thrown open. A very drunk Harry stumbled through the door. His eyes widened when he saw you sitting on the couch. That lopsided smile on his face as he used his dining room table to balance himself.

"Have a good night?" You asked, your phone and conversation with Matt long forgotten as Harry clammed up. His hand ran through his soft waves of brown curls as he let out a long breath.

"Weren’t supposed to drink but Mitch brought out the bottle and-"

"Hazza, it's fine. I'm glad you had a good night. You've been busy lately. You probably needed it." You quickly cut him off, not wanting him to feel bad for having a life outside of you.

After all, you were his guest. He didn't need to run his itinerary through you everyday. He had his own things and you had yours.

"Missed yeh so much this week. Sorry 've been busy." He sighed as he tried to take a step down the stairs. His hand quickly pressed to the wall to balance himself.

"You need to go to bed." You mumbled as you stood up from your warm spot on the couch. Your arm instantly under his to help further balance him.

"But I miss yeh and wanna hang out." He whined. His head laid on your shoulder as he pouted.

"We can hangout all day tomorrow, promise." You said when you pushed him lightly back up the stairs. His body clung to yours. His arm around your shoulders.

"But, I wanna hang out now." He huffed like a petulant toddler. His arms stiffened at his side almost made you lose your balance.

"Fine, well hang out now as long as you help me get to your room." You rolled your eyes at him, letting out a huff when he stopped completely in his tracks.

"Promise?"

"Fuck, Haz, yes. Just get walking before I fall." You grumbled as you pulled at his waist. His feet reluctantly slid against the hardwood floors.

"Yeh can't fall right now yeh pregnant."

"I know." You sighed as you pulled him a bit more. Your doctor would have your ass if she knew you were putting this much strain on yourself. His weight was every bit of 5 times the amount you were supposed to lift or carry but it wasn't like he could make it to bed by himself. "Which is why I need you to help me here."

His feet left the ground in much better steps than he had taken before. The words you had spoken seemed to sober him up a bit as you finally pushed the door to his room open. His tall lanky body hit the bed in a second. You sighed as the pressure from your shoulders finally let up.

"Night Haz." You said with your hand on the doorknob, foot halfway out the door when he perked back up enough to turn on his bed to look at you.

"Yeh promised, so get back 'ere." He patted the bed a few times. A signal for you to join him.

"Uh, maybe tomorrow. We shouldn't-" your words were quickly cut off by his hand around your wrist as he brought you closer to the bed.

"Yeh promised, bunny." He smiled up to you that adorable dimple popped out as you nodded your head.

Well, you did promise.

Your knees hit the plush pillow top. Your body sunk in slightly as you moved across the bed to the top. Your arms around the pillow that smelled of Harry's shampoo and cologne.

That adorable grin never left Harry's face as he watched you crawl into his bed. A shiver ran down his spine but he quickly shook that thought away. You were just his friend. Only his friend.

He reminded himself of that many times as he mimicked your position on the bed. His head on the pillow, face towards you, both your knees touched each other.

"'Member when it'd storm durin' your sleep overs with Gem and yeh always end up curled up in my bed 'cause y'hate storms and Gem sleeps like a log?" He asked as his hands tightened around the pillow. Your head nodded as a smile crept up on your face.

"Remember you stealing all the covers." You teased as he rolled his eyes at you.

"Won't steal 'em tonight. Promise." His pinky finger shot in the air, yours immediately wrapped around it, without even a second thought.

The street lights outside his window cast soft white lights into his room. Just enough that you could see the outline of his face, the tip of his nose, the long eyelashes against his cheek every time he blinked. You licked your lips as the silence swallowed you both.

How much longer could you two keep up the act of being friends? You didn't know the answer to that question. Every time you were close like this to him you could feel your resolve washing away. Especially when his lips parted slightly, his steady breathing sounded like a soft lullaby. You swallowed, your eyes darted down to his chest.

"Wanna do the thing?" He asked, his voice broke your intense stare on his lips and back to his eyes. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment at the sight of his smirk.

"Seems a bit stupid now." You mumbled as your eyes darted away from him.

How long had you been staring? How long did he notice you staring?

"Well too bad. I wanna do it."

"You're bloody drunk of course you wanna do it." You huffed as you tried to protest against this stupid game you two always played as children.

"My bed, my rules." He said as the blanket encased both of you. The little amount of light that was being let in from the street lights was completely snuffed out from his duvet. The heavy duty quilt almost made it hard to breath. The air hot and sticky, smelling of whatever alcohol Harry had been drinking that night and his cashmere cologne. Suddenly, you were cursing your 12 year old self for ever coming up with this shit.

"This is dumb, Haz." You sighed.

"'S not dumb. 'S tradition!" His voice raised to a level you hadn't heard before. You could imagine the shocked look on his face, feel it forming on his features through the thick air.

His hand came to rest on the side of your face and yours reluctantly did the same. Your cool fingers touched against his warm skin. The stubble on his jaw tickled the inside of your palm. A sharp breath sucked through his teeth as your fingers traced the curves of his cheek bones. His own hand mimicking the movement, both of you studying each other's face with nothing but touch.

"Ready?" He asked, his voice playful and full of mischief. It almost made you smile, until you remembered how fucking stupid this was.His eyes closed when his hand ran over your lips. Your eyes trained on him for a second to make sure he wouldn’t cheat like he used to when you were kids. Once satisfied with the knowledge he wasn’t going to peek your own eyes slipped close, a long breath exited your lungs as you thought of all the times you did this with him.

It had merely started out as a way for you to touch him without him knowing you wanted to be close to him. Even though he quickly caught on to the fact of why you liked this so much when you were younger, he never protested when you suggested doing it. Of course, now you knew why he didn’t argue with you.

He wanted to be close to you too.

Your lips formed into a smile as your mouth opened and closed a few times. His fingers lingering over them as they formed words silently. His eyes popped open as he glared at you. The darkness didn’t let you see his expression but your hands could feel his eyebrows pull together. Your lips rolled in your mouth to stop your obnoxious laugh.

“Yeh a brat, know that, love?” He asked a bit irritated but you could feel his facial features softening when you let out another giggle.

“Couldn’t help it.” You said through your laughs, his cheeks pushed back against your hand that was still pressed there, a smile on his face so big you could feel the dimple there.

“‘M not a tosser.” He pressed his finger booping the tip of your nose before it dragged down to your cupid’s bow. The tip of his finger lightly traced the outline of your lips.

“Your turn.” You snapped him out of his silence when your digits went to his plush lips again. The softness of them never failed to surprise you. How did he manage to have such soft lips?

You could feel your mind slowly slip from how they felt against your fingers to how they’d feel against your own. Imagining what it’d be like to have them on you again after all this time. Wondering if they’d still send that electric shock down your body. Wondering if he still tasted the same, like home.

You were rudely pulled out of your daydreams when you felt his lips curl and twist. Your mind searched through your vocabulary of his top phrases he always said to you. Your lips pouted, eyebrows furrowed as he silently mouthed the phrase again. The skin of your fingers took in all the information down your arm directly to your mind. A smile you knew he could feel came across your lips.

“Love you too, Haz.” Your eyes fluttered open right as his hand left your face and went around your waist. Clearly done with visiting your old time game when he threw the blanket from over the top of your heads. The sweet crisp air being sucked into your lungs in deep breaths.

“Wasn’t so bad.” He said as you nodded your head in agreement, a shrug from your shoulders had him rolling his eyes as he pulled you into his chest. Your head against his pillow when his hand ran small circles over your lower back, the bottom of your shirt bunched up by his hands so he could touch your skin. A sigh of relief left you at the touch you didn’t know you needed, your face buried deep into him. Your own free hand wandered under his shirt. Your skin touching against the smooth planes of his stomach up to his chest. Contentment washed over you as your body relaxed into him. Eyes closing from how good it felt to be close again.

The soft call of sleep beckoned you to its depth. Your breath slowed as your legs entangled with his. Gently slipping into a deep sleep. Arguably, the best sleep you’d had in years.

>>>

Harry woke up the next morning with a pounding in his head. A groan left his lips as the sunlight that danced in through his windows blinded him momentarily. His sleep filled eyes blinked at the intrusion. Hand against his face, swearing to himself he’d never ever let Mitch talk him into another night of drinking. The echoes of his friend's voice rang through his head. Promises of a light night was total bullshit. His body ached as he tried to get into a different, more comfortable, position. His arm refused to move as something heavy laid on top of it. His eyes fully snapped open to see you laid out beside him.

A smile creeping across his mouth as he looked at you. Your soft pouty lips pushed out as you took in deep calming breaths. The sunlight touched the peaks of your hips and breast. Glowing light radiating off your silky bare thighs. He chuckled lowly, knowing your sleep pants had been abandoned some time during the middle of the night. He guessed some things never change.

His fingers ran down your arm, up the shoulder of your sleeve. He just wanted to touch you, feel your skin under his own. He couldn’t help it. He felt like a man being possessed. His own body moving to its own accord. Inching its way in to hold you like he did almost 8 years ago.

His arm was around you, face inches away from your own. He could see your eyes fluttering back and forth behind your eyelids. Small whimpers came from you as you dreamed.

Were you dreaming about him?

He sighed, head pressed harder into the pillow. He could have laid here watching you all day. The way your breathing made your chest rise, the way you unknowingly wiggled closer to him when his arm rested over top of you, the way the golden sunlight made you look like a fucking angel in his arms.

Golden, golden, golden

As I open my eyes

Words formed in his mind as he memorized every inch of your skin. Every valley of your body, every high rise of your curves. His sight eventually landed on your stomach. A small bump was there, not a huge one, definitely one he wouldn't have noticed if he didn't have every part of your body mastered like the back of his hand. He supposed it made sense you'd start showing by now. All the research he'd done late at night said 12 weeks was usually the normal time frame.

His hand slowly moved above your bump. Hovering there for what felt like hours. He would never admit it to you but he was scared, petrified, this child would somehow drive a wedge between you two.

Chase you farther away from him when it felt like he'd just gotten you back.

It wasn't that you two weren't close when you didn't live with him, you two definitely were, but with Jesse and others around he never had you to himself. That was all he wanted, your attention. He suddenly felt like a 7 year old begging you for a moment of your time while you mindlessly played barbies for hours with his sister.

How fucking pathetic, he thought. Was he really going to be jealous of your child having your time? Or was he just jealous that it wasn't also his child?

He knew the answer as soon as his hand hit your stomach. He inhaled a sharp breath in through his teeth. His heart melted as he thought of that little baby that jumped around on the ultrasound machine. A sense of protectiveness he'd never felt before flooded his brain.

He slid gently down the bed. He held his breath as he lifted your shirt. His eyes darted up to make sure he didn't disturb you from your sleep.

"Good mornin' baby." He mumbled to your stomach, his large hands completely encased the bump.

"Yeh don't know it yet but yeh momma is my best friend so I guess that makes us best friends too." He said lowly, his callused hands moving softly against your skin made you hum in your sleep. Your body shifted slightly to get more comfortable on your back.

Harry raised to rest on his elbows. His hands still on your stomach muttering soft sweet words to your baby.

"Gonna teach yeh all kinds 'f things."

"Gonna 'ave to let yeh listen to my music 'cause yeh mom has some bad taste."

"Gonna 'ave to teach y'football too, 'cause yeh mom's got two left feet."

"Definitely gonna 'ave to teach yeh maths she's really bad at that one. Pretty sure I did all her work fo' her. Got no idea how she passed when I left."

"You know I can hear you, right?" You asked after being insulted for what seemed like an eternity. Your head popping off the pillow to glare at your friend trash talking you to your baby.

"Oi, this is a private conversation." He said with a smirk on his face as his head shot up to you. His eyes sparkling with a glint of humor as you shook your head at him. He let out a sigh as he fell back to the bed. His chin rested on the covers as your hand ran through his hair.

He'd stay like this with you for as long as you let him. He'd be happily content to let your fingers run through his hair all day if you wanted to. The soft scratching of your nails on his scalp soothing him as his eyes slipped closed.

Yes, he could stay like this forever.

"Wanna get breakfast?" You asked a bit later, his eyes lazily flicked open only to shut again. His arm flung around your waist, pulling you close to him. His nose nuzzled into your side making you giggle that soft sweet sound he loved more than anything else in this world.

"Wanna cuddle." He mumbled into the exposed part of your skin. Your shirt still lifted over your stomach from him talking to the baby.

"Harry…" You said gently. Your hands in his hair paused their movements.

You cherished these types of mornings with him. Locked them in a special place in your heart but you knew deep down you shouldn't be in situations like this with him. It would only make things more confusing for the both of you. You could already feel yourself inching closer and closer to the edge of recklessness with your heart.

At the end of the day you were still you and he was still the great Harry Styles.

How could you ever live up to the type of person he'd need in his life?

"Jus' a little while longer, yeah?" He said from below you. Not wanting to admit he knew being wrapped up in bed with you was wrong.

He liked Camille. Loved her, maybe, but she'd never compare to you. The love he had for you burned deep, like a forest fire wild out of control. He tried his best to tame it. Remind it that you had no interest in him anymore but it had a life of it's own at this point. Even through countless rejections and long years of yearning for you without reciprocation.

"Yeah, okay." You said, your hands going back to work running through his hair.

Both of you, unknowingly to the other, wondering the same thought as you laid in each other's embrace.

What would happen if you crossed that line?

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #harry #mine #FL #harries #harries writing #harry styles imagine

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liiilyevans · 4 years

Note

Harry walking on Ron and Hermione ;)

A/N: Hi Anon! Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy!

Four Times Harry Walked in on Ron and Hermione and One Time He Didn’t

Harry sighed as he walked through the Burrow’s front door. He’d been at Death Eater hearings the majority of the day, and now he just wanted to sleep. Trials weren’t as simple as he thought they should be. Of course, the world wasn’t as simple as he thought it would be either. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he would testify for Draco Malfoy.

Shaking his head, he continued into the surprisingly quiet house. He was pretty sure Mrs. Weasley and Ginny had gone to Diagon Alley to check up on George. Mr. Weasley was still at the Ministry when he left. That left Percy and Ron. Percy was probably in his room trying to figure out yet another way to apologize to his family. Harry figured Ron was still in his room sulking while he waited for Hermione to return from Australia. Ron had been moody ever since she left.

Honestly, it was the quickest turn around Harry had ever seen. Ron had been gone for several months and returned; then they were thrown into battle, only for Ron and Hermione to come out of it holding hands. If only Harry was so lucky.

Sighing, he pushed the bathroom door open and turned the shower on. After such a long day, all Harry wanted to do was shower and sleep. He turned to go up the stairs and grab some clothes, thinking about what was next for him. As he passed Ginny’s room, he sighed, wondering if her room like it was the last time he had been in it. Ginny had been on his mind too much lately, yet he could never find the right words to say to her. Something stupid always ended up coming out of his mouth.

Shaking his head, he pushed the door to Ron’s room open.

And was meant with an eyeful of Hermione’s bra.

At least, the back of it. She was straddling Ron while the redhead lay underneath her, shirtless. Harry’s heart dropped out of his chest. Hermione wasn’t supposed to be back for another week—four days at the least. Yet, here she was; setting on top of his best friend with nothing more than a pink bra and tight jeans, while Ron gaped at him, red sneaking up the sides of his neck and ears.

“Harry!” Hermione squeaked.

“Hermione!” Harry mocked, trying his best not to let his breakfast make a reappearance.

“You were supposed to be in the Death Eater trials.”

“You weren’t supposed to be back for another week.”

“Got in early.”

“Me too.”

By this time, Ron’s face had gone completely red, and Hermione had a faint blush creeping up on her face as well. Harry wanted to smack them both with a Beater’s bat. What if Mrs. Weasley had come upstairs and found them? However, he couldn’t hide from himself the fact that he was jealous that they had each other in this moment after the war. He was happy they could take comfort in each other, even if he had no one to take comfort in right now.

“I’m going back downstairs to check on my shower,” Harry muttered through grit teeth. “When I come back up, you two better be dressed.”

He slammed the door and headed back downstairs, hoping he could get some sleep soon and not have nightmares about Hermione sitting on Ron’s lap.

I.I.

Harry planned to meet George at his and Ron’s flat after George closed his shop. The three of them were going out for drinks to get George out of his flat. Honestly, it was a miracle he had agreed to come with them. He had just agreed to reopen the shop with Ron’s help.

Harry had to give Ron credit though. He’d been training as an Auror and working in George’s shop in the early mornings and late evenings. More often than not, Ron had showed up with dark circles under his eyes. He was always smiling though, happy to help his brother and train with Harry to become an Auror.

As he climbed the steps to the flat, Harry wondered what Ginny was doing tonight and if they should ask her to tag along. Since graduating from Hogwarts, Harry hadn’t seen much of her—not that he’d spent much time with her while she was in Hogwarts. Ginny was just as untouchable now as when he’d broken up with her.

Turning the knob, he entered the flat. It was darker than usual. The only light coming from between the curtains of the windows. There was only once piece of furniture in the front room and it was a couch, which happened to be housing his two best friends.

Ron was on top of Hermione with his pants just starting to be tugged off his hips. For her part, Hermione was mostly covered. Her blue dress only had a few buttons undone, but the bottom of it had ridden up from where Ron was grinding into her.

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry sputtered.

Ron jumped, nearly exposing Hermione to Harry’s line of sight. He thanked Merlin that it was dark.

“Harry,” Ron panted, as he pulled his trousers back up. “I didn’t expect you to be early.”

“Early?” Harry shot back. “I’m on time. Where the fuck is George anyway?”

“Downstairs closing,” Ron answered, still not moving from between Hermione’s legs. “He said he could close without me since I’d been working so hard.”

“So, you thought you’d come up here and have a quickie?”

“No,” Hermione objected, her distain for the word obvious in the way her lips tightened.

The door to the kitchen opened, and the kitchen light came on, exposing more of Ron and Hermione than Harry wanted to see. George appeared in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

“Having fun?” he asked drily.

Ron growled finally standing up and beginning to put his shirt on. Hermione grabbed her dress and pushed it quickly done her legs. Clearly seeing that she wasn’t wearing a bra, Harry glanced away. As Hermione began to button up the top of her dress, George snorted.

“Right then,” he said. “Let’s get going then. No birds allowed.” He offered a pointed glance at Hermione.

Well, Harry’s plan of asking Ginny to come along was ruined.

I.I.I.

Harry found Ginny, George, and Percy in the kitchen of the Burrow. Ginny looked devastating as always, her hair pulled up into a high pony that showed off her high cheek bones. Harry remembered when he was allowed to run his thumb alone those cheekbones and trace the line of her freckles. She acted annoyed when he did that, but she let him anyway. His hands drew into fists for a moment, to stop himself from reaching out and stroking her face. George would take the mickey out of him if he did that.

“What are you lot doing in here?” Harry asked.

“Waiting for Mum to get back,” George answered. “Starving we are.”

“Hardly,” Percy muttered.

He was still awkward around his family sometimes, mostly around George. Harry suspected it was due to the fact that George had nearly fought him at Fred’s funeral.

“What are you doing here?” Ginny asked. “It’s too early for super.”

“I know,” Harry said, trying to think of something cool to say other than, ‘I wanted to see if I could get you alone.’ “I got off training early. Thought I’d swing by and see if Ron was here yet.”

Idiot, he seethed inside. He prayed that his best mate wasn’t here yet; then he could spend more time with Ginny.

Ginny hummed, glancing down for a moment. “Ron’s in the front room.”

Harry nodded and slid past Ginny. The smell of her perfume made him weak in the knees. Merlin, what he wouldn’t give to have enough courage to talk to her about them, even Ron had been with Hermione for three years now, and Harry couldn’t even manage to talk to Ginny about anything that was remotely romantic. Last time he’d had a proper conversation with her, it was about Quidditch and how the Harpies were cheated out of their chance for the Cup. Annoyed he entered the sitting room and stopped dead.

Hermione was bent over Ron’s lap, her head bobbing up and done slowly. Ron, thankfully, still had his pants on, so Harry couldn’t see anything below the belt. He still had his shirt on as well, though Hermione’s hand was traveling underneath it. With his head thrown back against the couch and his eyes closed. Ron looked completely at ease.

Until his eyes opened.

“Harry,” he squeaked.

Hermione froze. Harry thought she was about to remove her mouth from Ron’s lap, but his hand came down on her head, keeping her in place.

“Really, Ron?” Harry hissed. “In your mum’s sitting room?”

Ron had the grace to blush. “Listen, Harry, just . . . don’t tell Mum.”

Throwing his hands up, Harry turned and marched back into the kitchen. George had a shit-eating grin on his face, while Ginny was biting her lip. Percy’s gaze was somewhat sympathetic.

“You knew,” Harry growled, turning to Ginny.

“I guessed.”

At this, George couldn’t hold back his laughter.

Harry was glad someone found this amusing.

I.V.

Harry couldn’t help but smile against Ginny’s lips. It’d been months since he’d seen her. She was out with the Harpies playing match after match and practice hardly left her with any free time. He, on the other hand, was busy trying to work on several different cases at once. His boss seemed to think he was good enough to solve them all at once since he was Harry bloody Potter.

Thankfully, when Harry was with Ginny, he didn’t have to think about how he was going to fix the world’s problems.

Ginny pressed her body more firmly against his as she leaned against the wall, her fingers pulling tight at the messy locks of his hair. He couldn’t get enough of her, his hands pressing into the softness of her back.

“Glad you came to that stupid Ministry function?” she asked, her lips grazing the skin of his neck.

“Yes,” he mumbled. “Never enjoyed one so much until I saw you in this dress.”

Ginny laughed.

He hadn’t wanted to be at the Ministry, but Ron had talked him into it. Harry hadn’t realized that Ginny was supposed to be there, but thanked his lucky stars that he had been able to talk to her—and get her alone. They were still in the Ministry, down some deserted hallway.

“Come on,” Ginny muttered. “I wanna get you alone, where I can get your clothes off.”

Harry groaned as he pressed against her. “Gin.”

They still weren’t together. Somehow Harry had been lucky enough to get in her pants again, but that was it. She never asked about him taking her out on a date or hanging out with him as something more than a friend. It frustrated Harry to no end, but he didn’t want to bring up a relationship if all she was looking for was fun. Merlin, he really needed to grow a pair and ask her out.

“In here,” she mumbled as she pushed open the door to a vacant room. He stumbled in after her, kissing the side of her neck. If he could just find the tie to this dress, he would be the happiest man in the world.

“What the bloody fuck!”

Harry yanked away from Ginny as she lit her wand and spun around. On a nearby counter, sat Hermione covering her breasts with Ron between her legs. Harry’s best mate was wearing nothing, but the trousers around his ankles, his freckled arse on display for both of them to see. Hermione wasn’t much better. The dress she had been wearing earlier was around her waist, covering only a small portion of her and Ron’s private bits.

“What are you doing?” Ginny laughed. “I didn’t take you for an exhibitionist, Hermione.”

She scowled and was about to say something, but Ron beat her to it.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “And what’s Harry doing with you? I thought you two weren’t together.”

“We’re not,” she answered. “And I don’t believe you’re in a position to be asking questions, Ronald. Wait till Mum hears about this.”

Ron started towards her, but Hermione tightened her legs around him to stop him from moving.

Harry finally recovered his voice. He grabbed Ginny’s arm.

“Come on, Gin.”

“Get back to work, Sparky. Make sure that girl has an orgasm!”

Ron slid into the bed next to Hermione. She’d rented out a room in Diagon Alley to live in over the summer as she looked for a permanent job. Ron had taken the liberty of spending most of his nights with her—behind his mum’s back of course.

“Ron?” she mumbled.

“Hey,” he said, snuggling up to her. Spooning Hermione was the most comforting action he could think of. All of the stress melted out of his body and dripped onto the bed, bothering him no more.

“It’s late.”

“Mum was up for a long time. Crying I think, but I couldn’t get her to admit it. She was probably missing Fred.”

Hermione turned to face him. “Is she ok?”

Ron pushed a strand of curly hair behind her ear. “Yeah, she’ll be fine. Dad came down and talked to her. They went to bed about thirty minutes ago.”

“Are you ok?” she asked. He knew she wasn’t talking about missing Fred exactly. He’d been working with George and trying to balance his job as an Auror, all while figuring out how to deal with the loss of his brother. It wasn’t an easy thing.

“Yeah, Perce has been helping with the book keeping. George and I aren’t very good at that.” He snorted. “Go figure.”

“I worry about you sometimes,” she whispered, thumb running along his jawline. She was fully awake now, and her big brown eyes were watching him with a mix of curiosity and pity.

“Don’t,” Ron said, poking her stomach. “I’m the one who should be worried about you. What’s all this nonsense I hear about you not being able to get a job because you’re ‘overqualified?’”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t matter. And only one person said that. I haven’t heard back from the other two departments yet. I’ll find something, Ron.”

“I know,” he said. “But I want you to love it.”

Hermione sighed and rolled on top of him. Ron grabbed her hips and enjoyed the view.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Nothing.”

She leaned down and kissed him. Ron let his hands slid up to cup her face and hold her there. This was his favorite part of dating her. He got to be intimate with her, and not just in a sexual way. He got to hold her hand and kiss her and cuddle with her late at night. It really was the closest he had been to anyone in his life.

She began to tug at his shirt.

“Hermione,” he muttered. “Do you really want to do this right now?”

“Yes,” she answered pulling the shirt over his head.

Ron reached for her shirt and tugged it up as well. Fuck, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

If he’d thought it once, he’d thought it a hundred times. Hermione had perfect tits. They were on the small end, but her nipples were large and pink. They stuck out beautifully when she was turned on—much like they were doing right now.

“Hermione,” he groaned, grabbing her hips and grinding up into her. She grinned at him, proud of how she made him squirm. Ron surged upward to kiss her, nipping at her bottom lip.

“Ron,” she groaned, her hands sliding up his arms and coming to rest on his shoulders.

“Hermione,” he answered. “I . . .” Words left him. He wanted to ask her to get a flat with him, but he knew that it was too soon for that. She would want to live on her own for a bit while she had a job and try to figure her life out first. Damn her independence.

“I need you to take your pants off,” he said instead. Hermione willingly complied. She moved off his lap and pushed her sleep trousers off her legs, leaving her in bright pink knickers. “You’re gorgeous.”

Ron pulled her back into his lap and pressed his lips into the edge of her collarbone. Hermione moaned, rocking her hips into his pants since he’d thrown his trousers off when he’d entered her bedroom. His hand grabbed the ends of her hair and pulled slightly. Hermione’s head rocked back, and her chest arched toward him. Without thinking, Ron leaned forward and captured a nipple between his lips.

“Ron,” she gasped. Pride thumbed through his body as she moaned his name and wiggled on his lap. He still couldn’t believe she let him do this to her.

His hand ran down her body until it reached her knickers. As his hand rested on her thigh, he let his thumb reach down and begin to rub her clit. Her bottom lip was stuck between her teeth now as she waited for him to drive her closer to the edge.

“You’re so sexy when you’re like this,” Ron said, brushing small kisses across her chest.

Hermione pulled against his grasp, and he let her hair go. The hands on his shoulders became forceful. He fell back on the bed. Hermione’s hands were on either side of his head, her hair fanning around them both, bits of it covering her eyes.

“Get your pants off.”

“I love it when you order me around.”

“Shut it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ron quickly rid himself of his pants and laid back down with his hands resting behind his head.

“Why are you so smug?” she demanded.

“I’m not,” he replied. “I just like watching you strip.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and climbed on top of him. He could feel her wetness as she rubbed herself on him. His hands ran down the bed and found her thighs. They climbed the creamy skin until they reached her center. He lined himself up with her entrance as she lifted up slightly. Then she was sinking down onto him, and Ron was trying so hard not to come inside her already.

He’d improved greatly since they’d first started this. Before, he hadn’t been able to last more than five seconds, and he’d have to finish her with his fingers and mouth, not that he didn’t enjoy that. However, when he was able to last longer and make Hermione come while he was inside of her, it was even better than before.

“Hermione,” he moaned, pressing his hips into her in an effort to get deeper.

“Ron. Yes. That’s so good.”

Ron pushed up into her again, loving the feeling of being close to her.

Sometimes, he felt like he was the more sentimental one when it came to sex. He loved watching her as she moved under or on top of him. He was the one who enjoyed the feel of her, regardless of how much pleasure he received from the position they were in. She was more analytical about it, trying to figure out what they both liked and what positions would work best for both of their pleasure. Ron was content just to be inside her.

Her hips were pushing roughly against his. Ron knew that if he didn’t help her out, he’d be the first one coming tonight.

“Hermione,” he muttered, hands sliding down her hips to her core. “I love it when you ride me.”

Hermione moaned loudly. Ron’s hand found her clit and began to message it slowly.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re like this,” he said, pressing her clit harder. “I love watching you.”

His name fell from her lips and she pressed herself against his hand, as she tightened around his cock.

“You feel so good around me.”

His hand started to add more pressure to her clit and she whimpered.

“Ron, I’m so close.”

“I know, Hermione.”

He pressed up and took one of her nipples into his mouth. Hermione moaned loudly before clenching around his cock and bringing him with her as she came down from her high.

“I needed that,” Ron muttered as Hermione lay exhausted on top of his chest.

“I know,” she said. “You’ve been stressed lately.”

“Oi, are you saying you only shagged me because I was stressed?”

“No, I shagged you because I wanted to. Sex just happens to help with stress.”

Ron grinned as his hand traced patterns on her back. He truly was the luckiest man in the world.

#anon #romione #ron wealsey #hermione granger #harry potter #ginny weasley #i had fun writing this #hope you enjoy #hp #Smut #My writing

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ilguna · 3 years

Text

Berceuse - Chapter Two

summary: you can’t protect her forever.

warnings; swearing. murder plot ?

wc; 10.1k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

It’s a good thing that Alyssum has a high pain tolerance, otherwise she’d be doing a lot more than gritting her teeth right now. The sound of the wax ripping off her skin is enough to bring tears to her eyes, even though it’s not actually taking any hair with it.

The prep team is trying to be gentle, Alyssum can tell by their movements. They’ll warn her ahead of time, tell her when they know it’s going to be particularly brutal. It wasn’t until an hour ago, did she realize that they must have worked on you when it was your Hunger Games.

It must also be why they have this look on their face, like they know Alyssum but are too afraid to bring it up. She already knows Elysia has watched her grow up, so it’s not really a surprise that these people have watched her too. Of course, Alyssum hasn’t been in the public eye for nine years, this is her first appearance in a while. It must be some form of whiplash, from seeing a toddler to a teenager.

At the beginning of the session, the prep team had taken enough time to introduce themselves and what they would be focusing on. Cleo, a blonde girl with artificial curls, focuses mainly on the smaller details; Alyssum’s nails, special effects, and clothing adjustments if they’re needed. She’s talkative but polite and curious.

Leo, the only boy with dark orange hair and freckles like stars across his cheeks, is her makeup artist. He’s got gentle fingers, and a contagious laugh. His accent is stronger than the other two’s, and he always tilts his head when he's done with a sentence. He’s managed to find a way to reshape her face so far.

And finally, there’s Beth. Naturally dark and wavy hair, pretty brown eyes. She’s the quietest, doesn’t talk unless she’s genuinely interested. She does Alyssum’s hair, scrubbing her scalp and carefully washing the soap and other products from her hair.

Alyssum can see why you like them. You don’t talk about them often, only sometimes in the boarding school, and if it’s at home, it’s always regarding parade outfits. Otherwise, it’s always in passing and never in detail.

Well, at least she can finally put a face to all the names she hears so often. It’s one thing to look forward to, to see all the people that had saved her older sister before she went into the Hunger Games. The ones that gave you a bright start and all the right pointers to help you win.

“I think we should hose her down one more time.” Cleo says, her hair is pulled up and out of her face, there’s a faint glisten of sweat across her forehead.

“And we can give her the lotion.” Beth says, giving Alyssum a reassuring smile, “Then she’ll be all done.”

Alyssum smiles back.

They took their time with the finishing touches, making sure they hadn’t missed any patches of hair, ticked everything off their list, and did any special adjustments that were required during the session. Once that’s done, and they’re sure that they’re not going to need her again, they leave to get Laurel, her stylist.

Alyssum vaguely remembers meeting Laurel, and it wasn’t during your Victory Tour when you’d won. No, she was too young to actually realize that she should be taking in her surroundings to hold to her memory. Instead, Alyssum remembers meeting Laurel during Annie’s Victory Tour, when she came to visit during the winter, at the very beginning.

She can’t seem to recall much, besides the obvious fact that Laurel was much, much taller than she was at the time. Alyssum had only been eight at the time, and back then, she was only beginning her training at the boarding school. The reality of what type of world she lives in didn’t quite set in just yet.

Alyssum ties the robe shut, per Beth’s instructions. Laurel trusts them enough to not double-check their work. Not to mention, there’s not much to go over in the first place, she’s still very young.

When the door in front of her slowly starts opening, Alyssum sits up a bit taller on the medical table she’s sitting on. It reminds her of the check ups she has every month to make sure she’s growing properly.

A tall woman with dark hair is revealed, and immediately, Alyssum knows that it’s Laurel. She can’t help herself when she gets off of the table and heads forward, arms extended for a hug.

Laurel opens only one of her arms, but squeezes Alyssum into her side tightly, a slight laugh bubbling out, “How have you been, Aly?”

“Good, if you ignore the reaping.” She smiles, allowing Laurel to direct her out of the adjacent room and into the next one.

It has a few couches, and a coffee table in the middle of them with food displayed.

“Still passing all of your classes?”

“Yes, of course. (Y/n) and Reed make it hard not to.”

Alyssum takes a seat on the couch, hands resting in her lap. It isn’t until Laurel motions to the food in front of her, does she realize that the food is for her, not for Laurel. It’s also at that moment, she remembers that she hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast this morning, which had to have been hours ago.

With no argument, Alyssum takes only the food she recognizes, not feeling adventurous. The food last night on the train was delicious, there’s no question about it. The problem is that, in less than two hours, she’ll be in front of a large crowd who already knows her name, and her entire background. The last thing that Alyssum wants is to get sick all over the chariot.

“(Y/n) requested for me to be careful with what I dress you in.” Laurel says.

“That’s probably for the best.” she pauses between bites, “Reed likes it better if I don’t show too much skin. I think it was the same way for (Y/n).”

A knowing smile crosses her stylists’ face, “Yes, that’s why we had to change her outfit. I have something that’s a little more modest for you, too.”

“He’ll like that.” Alyssum rests her plate on her knees, “What will it be?”

“A dress, we’re going for an underwater princess theme. It’ll cover your skin in the right places, all while making you look appealing to the potential sponsors in the audience.”

“Has (Y/n) seen it?”

“Yes, she’s already approved of it.”

Alyssum lets out a hum as she nods, trying to picture it to herself. It’ll probably be blue, that’s all that District Four is known for being. A vast blue ocean with violent waves, green seaweed that traps the legs, brightly-colored coral reefs that are a sore to the eye, and endless amounts of potential outfits that come from fish, alone.

A blue dress, something breezy because it represents the wind that comes from the ocean. Likely ripped, or maybe wet to give the illusion that she’s just come out of the water, and plenty of jewelry to secure the idea that she’s a princess. This idea has been done before, there’s no doubt about it, it’s Alyssum’s turn to represent the idea.

She finishes her plate, setting it onto the table, then gives Laurel a bright smile, “When do we start?”

A couple of hours later, Alyssum is standing in front of a mirror in the dressing room. The dress she’s wearing is lopsided, with one side being shorter than the other. The short side goes to her knees, the longer going to her ankles. It’s ripped, just as she thought it would be, and layered to make the dress bigger. The fabric is soft against her skin, almost ticklish.

The top half of the dress is halter--no sleeves, the support is in the neck--it’s a little tighter in the middle, but the back is open to make up for it. And then they gave her white no-show socks for her, also white, dress flats. As for jewelry, so far the only important piece seems to be on her head, the pearl crown.

Of course, she has the whole matching set; the pearl earrings, the pearl necklace, and the pearl bracelet. None of it compares to the crown, or even the diamond ring that they managed to find in the drawers.

Her makeup is mild, most of it being rainbow highlights so that the sun rays catch her face the right way. Leo insisted on light blue eyeshadow, blush, and clear lip gloss, Cleo made sure Alyssum had blue nails. As for Beth, she decided on a simple halo braid, with white ribbon woven through. There’s a few loose hairs hanging in Alyssum’s face that were promptly curled once the braid was done. And as if the ribbons weren’t enough, Cleo tucked in a few white flowers.

It isn’t until she sees Paslee at the chariots, does she realize how severely overdressed she feels. So much jewelry, flowers, and makeup. Only for Paslee to look simple, with a suit and a crown on his brow. She does notice the matching flower tucked into the suit’s pocket.

Alyssum has half the mind to glare at you for allowing this to happen. She understands that the stylists’ all have a vision, and in order to stay as a stylist, they need to go above and beyond. She just thinks it’s ridiculous, and embarrassing that she looks like a walking mannequin.

Until she takes a look around her, and realizes that she’s not the only one. She’s far from being the only girl overdressed next to their male counterparts. District One is dressed in glitter, District Two is a little more naked this year, and it’s all the same for the districts to her right.

“It looks like you’re going to get most of the attention.” Paslee says, nudging Alyssum’s arm with his elbow. He gives her a grin, trying to be polite and calm her nerves.

She doesn’t know how he’s so at ease. Everyone back home is going to see them two, everyone from the boarding school will be taking pointers on how to or not to act. It doesn’t matter if they fail or succeed, the two of them will both be examples. Their mistakes picked apart and shamed by the other victors, by the future victors.

And her brothers, and family friends, who have seen you go through this exact same situation, will be seeing all the differences and similarities. Practically experts all by themselves since they experienced it second-hand. Affected, but not directly.

Still, Alyssum manages to muster a smile to give back to Paslee, “I’ll try and save some for you.”

Paslee laughs, not minding the fact that he’s drawing attention. As soon as you and Finnick approach, dressed formally in your own ways, business begins. Laurel circles Alyssum, trying to catch any last-minute mistakes, picking at areas in the dress she realizes she doesn’t like, and tucking any fabric that needs to get out of the way.

When it comes to Pleurisy and Paslee, he just has a few curls out of place, and they fix the flower in his pocket by safely-pinning it so it doesn’t move anymore. Other than that, his shoes are still shined, and he knows better than to make any big movements in the suit, afraid that it’ll rip.

“Okay,” you breathe, “You two already know that there are cameras, so be wary of any facial expressions.”

Alyssum nods.

“Everything will come to you naturally, so don’t worry about doing the wrong or right thing.” Finnick smiles, “Just remember that whatever you do today, will be your personality for the rest of the week.”

Paslee stands a bit taller, “What about the arena?”

“Facades don’t last very long,” you say, “Remember when I showed you my games? Or what about Johanna’s?”

It dawns on him, “Wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

“Exactly.”

The anthem begins, silencing any other thoughts. The large doors slide open, allowing light to fill the hall they stand in, revealing them to the crowded streets. This is when Laurel and Pleurisy jump into action, forcing Alyssum and Paslee onto the chariot just as District One begins to move out.

“Turn inwards a bit!” You shout over the roar, hoping they hear it.

Alyssum turns her body so that she’s more towards Paslee, than the crowd. She takes in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds while she feels her heart beat in her chest. When she breathes again, she feels slightly more relaxed, trying to ignore the impending doom feeling that’s stuck in the back of her mind.

The chariot begins moving, leaving her worries behind her. There’s no time to focus on the wobbliness of her knees, or the dryness of her mouth. She tries to suppress the smile sneaking onto her face, but the moment cheers erupt into screams, she can’t help it anymore.

Alyssum is your little sister, she has a big name to live up to. She may only be twelve, but there’s a whole list of people that are expecting great things, inside and outside of the arena. Forget everyone else here, Alyssum is underneath a microscope.

She lifts her hand and waves to the crowd of people on her left, trying to make eye contact with as many people as possible. How many of them were your sponsors? Will they sponsor her? Do any of them actually like her?

Then she hears her name screamed, head whipping in the direction, eyes searching to see a woman dressed in red. The woman hurls a blue rose at Alyssum, making her jerk to the side to catch it in time. Thankfully, all thorns have been removed from the stem, otherwise there’s no doubt that she’d be bleeding.

With the flower in hand, Alyssum holds it up for the woman to see, breaks a good portion of the stem, and then tucks it into her hair. Just as she moves on, more gifts are being thrown at her. Paslee, who’s begun to notice, can’t help but to laugh with her. It’s all so ridiculous.

Alyssum opens her mouth, leaning over to talk to Paslee, when the crowd explodes behind them. She thought that they’d been loud for her, but there’s another district that seems to have captured attention.

Paslee says something, she doesn’t catch it. Her eyes flicker upwards, looking to find some sort of indication on what’s going on. Should she be panicking or upset? All she knows is that she can’t turn around to look. It’ll just take the attention away from her, and redirect it to the other district.

She sees it on a television screen above her. Her smile slowly fades, she nudges Paslee with her elbow to get his attention. He follows her gaze, and soon, he’s no longer smiling either.

District Twelve is on fire.

Both of them, the girl and the boy, are on fire. They’re dressed in neck-to-ankle black, complete with a cape. They’re so bright, it makes the career districts forgettable. Alyssum tries not to be mad, making a genuine effort to convince herself that she should be happy for District Twelve, they’ve actually become memorable for once.

She can’t keep the thought process going on for long, though. The Hunger Games is a competition, tributes are posed against each other from the start. Those sponsors that could’ve been hers, are now possibly theirs.

District One’s chariot begins to enter the City Circle, signifying that the parade is already halfway over. All that’s left is the president’s speech, and then they’ll be on their way back to the hall that they came from in the Tribute Center.

Knowing that there’s going to be more cameras, Alyssum fixes her stance so that she’s standing taller again, forcing the smile to come back to her face. She can still hear the cheering and clapping behind her, the Capitol isn’t done with getting their fill of the Twelve tributes.

Each of the twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Circle, on the buildings nearby, Alyssum can see that every window is packed. With how close they are to the president’s mansion, it just means that these people are the most expensive. They are the ones that Alyssum should be wanting to sponsor her.

Since District Four’s chariot is already stopped, and now they’re just waiting for the others to come to a halt behind them, Alyssum looks up to the windows and gives a slight wave. Nothing hurts right now, anything she doesn’t do could set her up for failure. If she does too much, then it’s the same thing.

With the music ending flourishly, she redirects her attention to the balcony, where President Snow has stepped on to make his appearance for the speech. He gives his traditional welcome, but Alyssum’s focused on the television screen still, watching as the camera crew does their usual stop-and-go on the tributes in the chariots. She’s happy to see that she does get a few extra seconds, probably just long enough for Caesar and Claudius to comment, before moving on to the other districts.

They stay on Twelve the longest.

When the speech is finally over, the horses bring the chariots around the circle one last time for a final look, then they bring the tributes into the Tribute Center.

The chariot barely has enough time to come to a stop before the prep teams have surrounded Alyssum and Paslee, clapping their hands and squealing out praise. Alyssum tries to kindly accept what they have to say, but her eyes are on District Twelve, wanting to see who their stylist is. Only a genius pulls something like that out of thin air, and they’re brave to do it for Twelve in the first place.

The first thing that she notices is how she’s not the only one looking. Many, many other tributes around the girl and boy from Twelve are staring, and they’re not friendly looks either. This is enough for Alyssum to decide that she doesn’t need to hop on the train of hate, the other tributes already have that handled.

Just as she goes to turn away, her eyes catch Twelve’s girl--Katniss’--eyes. And it’s in those seconds, does Alyssum realize she’s got this whole thing backwards. Yes, the Hunger Games is a competition, which is the exact reason why she should be trying to get ahead at any possible chance. Even if there’s no guarantee it works, or that it might mess up future plans, it’s worth a try.

This is why Alyssum smiles, and waves long enough for Katniss to wave back. The two of them have got a lot of spotlight on them at the moment, only for different reasons. They could always bounce back and forth, desperate for the most shining airtime, or they could become allies and use it to their advantage.

Katniss gives Alyssum a shocked smile.

A hand is placed on Alyssum’s upper back, drawing her from the interaction she was having. When she looks over, she can see that it’s you, and you’re giving a curious look to where Alyssum was just staring.

“Ready to go?” you ask, once you don’t see anything.

“Yeah.” She beams.

Together, in a group, they all move to take an elevator up to their floor. On the way over, Paslee and Alyssum take a look at the careers while they can, since this is their preview to the training rooms. Of course, they saw them on television, but it’s nothing compared to seeing them in the flesh.

And from what Alyssum gathers in less than a minute, the most threatening district in their career group is going to be District Two. Just like she had figured yesterday, when she saw the reaping recaps. The girl is short but bulky, and the boy is average and strong. He’s been training his entire life, Alyssum knows it.

Elysia calls for the elevator, and holds the door so that everyone can go inside, with the exception of the stylists and prep teams. Elysia presses the button that will lead them to District Four’s apartment, in the meantime, Alyssum stares through the glass walls and watches as the ground gets further away from her.

This is her first--and probably last--time in an elevator.

In the apartment, Paslee and Alyssum suddenly have free reign until dinner. Elysia shows them their rooms again, and they’re bigger than the ones on the train. Alyssum figures that she may as well shower, not really wanting to stay in her costume until dinnertime.

She hums to herself as she picks out a comfortable evening outfit, jeans and a shirt, and gently picks up the shoes to lay by the door. The shower in the Capitol is much more complicated than the one on the train. She sets everything down on the counter, and messes with the control panel on the shower until it turns on, and it’s a respectable temperature.

The makeup runs straight down the drain, easily forgettable. She doesn’t need to wash her hair again, it’s been done plenty of times today already, so she just keeps it in the braid. The most she does is take out the flowers and toss them in a nearby trash can in the bathroom. After that, she’s left to scrub dirt and sweat from her skin, thinking how it’s such a waste of time to spend hours preparing her for just one chariot ride that doesn’t even last thirty minutes.

Just as Alyssum’s finished getting dressed, Elysia is knocking on the door to let her know that dinner’s ready. She slips on the shoes that she set beside the door, and then heads out of the room.

The first thing that Alyssum notices is how the stylists are here, which means they must be joining supper. It’s perfect, actually, because Alyssum has a question about District Twelve’s stylist, not really over how they gave Katniss and her tribute mate such a big debut.

You’re sitting at the table with Finnick, Laurel and Pleurisy, the four of you being engrossed in conversation. Elysia is nowhere to be seen, presumably retrieving Paslee. Alyssum almost feels like she’s intruding on the moment, until you’re motioning her over to join.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, giving her a side hug.

She smiles slightly, shrugging, “Good? I don’t know.”

“You’re not nervous or anything?”

Alyssum pauses long enough to realize what you’re implying. It isn’t about what she’s feeling at the moment, it’s any worries that might have come up from this morning to now. For example, the tribute parade.

“Oh, well,” Alyssum moves around the table to take an empty seat near to you, “I just wanted to know if Twelve’s stylist was new, since it’s a different approach to the district, instead of the usual coal miner stuff.”

Finnick nods, a smug look on his face when he looks at you, “I told you.”

You briefly glare, “I said I wasn’t sure because I saw her waving to the tributes, I never said you were wrong.”

“Your tone of voice did.”

“That’s--” you start.

“--not the point.” Laurel finishes smoothly, looking over Alyssum carefully, “And you’re smart for picking that up, because he is new.”

“Should we be worried about the interviews?” Paslee asks, coming down the steps with Elysia. He’s also changed into something more comfortable, taking a seat next to Alyssum.

“It’s all about personality and becoming memorable, as always.” Elysia tries.

“That’s not what I meant,” Paslee shakes his head, “I meant outfit-wise. If he pulled that out of nowhere, then what else will he be able to pull?”

If Alyssum was worried about Paslee not picking up on things earlier, she isn’t anymore. She knows that he’s older than her and all, but sometimes people skip over the small details because they don’t think it’s important.

“We’re going to try and find a way to make you guys pop too,” Pleurisy says, “We just have to change the outfits that we had originally laid out.”

“That’s comforting.” Paslee mutters, it’s hardly audible, and it looks like the others didn’t pick it up, with the exception of Alyssum.

It’s silent in the room for a long moment, allowing the tension to settle in further. Alyssum knows that all the outfits are supposed to be the stylists idea, which is the exact reason why they have so many outfits planned for the future. In a situation like this, though, planning ahead does nothing but screw you over.

Well, Pleurisy did just say they have to change the original outfits, anyway. It doesn’t hurt to try and throw out some ideas.

“What if the outfits changed pictures?” Alyssum asks Laurel.

She sits up taller, “What do you mean?”

“Um… well, like an optical illusion but if I moved my body, the scenery on the dress would change to something else because of how I was standing.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Alyssum begins to doubt the idea, maybe it wasn’t smart after all.

“Oh,” Elysia says, “Oh, I get it, like those Valentines cards that kids hand out in school.”

Laurel shifts her attention to her, “Is that what she means?”

“People hand out cards?” Paslee asks.

“It must be a Capitol thing.” Finnick tells him.

The light goes off in Pleurisy’s head too, “Lenticular! It’s called lenticular, I was just talking to Esmeray about it.”

“Do you think it’s possible to pull off?” Laurel asks, “Besides the materials, I think we could order it all tonight.”

Pleurisy is nodding quickly, “Yes, we just need to figure out the pictures--”

Paslee pats Alyssum on the back, “Quick thinking.”

Alyssum smiles, “Thank me later.”

Dinner kicks off after that, the Avoxes serving the meals one at a time. It’s just like how it was on the train, starting lightly with savory soups, and slowly moving into more of the heavier, more filling, foods. About halfway through, Alyssum decides that she’s full and would like to give her stomach time to settle before continuing.

The conversation keeps on the interview outfits for a while, Laurel and Pleurisy allow everyone to chime in and ask questions. Every now and then, they’ll actually ask for input on what the dress should look like. Like base color, where the pictures should go, what the top half of the dress should look like--it’s already decided that it should be puffed out and end above her knees.

Or with Paslee, what type of suit, if the pants should be the same material or just a plain base color. If his pictures should resemble something different or similar to Alyssum. It even goes down to the question of whether or not Alyssum and Paslee should match during the interviews, it’s common but not exactly liked by tributes.

For now, the two of them agree to it, because they haven’t found a need to say no just yet. Maybe later on, if the two of them have suddenly lost interest in an alliance and found two different groups to stick with. Alyssum has a feeling that Paslee is going to naturally drift towards the careers, which isn’t a horrible idea for him. He’s seventeen, built like the rest of them. Alyssum is still small, she’s twelve, and she’d be the youngest out of all of them.

Then again, there’s no one else to really form an alliance with. Of course, there’s always the other twelve year-old girl from Eleven, or the occasional other young tributes from the less popular distracts. That’s a whole problem by itself, though, because they’re typically not prepared for the Hunger Games, and therefore become a danger the more that time goes on.

And Alyssum can’t forget about her interaction with Katniss just a few hours ago. She’s an older sister, Alyssum saw her volunteer over the younger girl. Alyssum knows it could mean a number of things, like Katniss just wanting to protect her. But out of all the Hunger Games that Alyssum has watched, she’s never seen an older sibling volunteer over the younger one, because either way it’s a death sentence. Both of them will die.

No one is driven to volunteer that quickly just because they want to protect their younger siblings. There’s always a part of them that knows that they can win the Hunger Games. And for that exact reason alone, makes Alyssum think that Katniss can be a good ally. It’s just a matter of getting close enough to see what she knows.

Also, if Katniss does end up showing promise before the Hunger Games, the last thing that Alyssum would want is to be an enemy of some kind. Even a little bit of friendship between two tributes can go a long way. She’s seen it happen before, and it typically pays off in the end. Even if that means to sacrifice certain alliances.

After dinner, the Avoxes bring around a tall cake, painted a light shade of green. When they cut it open, candy pearls spill out the middle, clattering against the glass plate. They dish out a healthy serving for everyone to have, but with how rich the cake is, Alyssum can’t get through half of it before feeling full.

Once they’re all done at the table, they move on to watch the recap of the tribute parade. Honestly, Alyssum doesn’t like having to watch it over, it just means she gets to see the Capitol freak out over Twelve again. She’s tired of talking about them, at least until tomorrow.

The good news is that Alyssum and Paslee had been the center of attention until they had come out. If there’s anything to build off of, it would be that. But she already figured that was the case.

“It’s been a big day,” you start, looking over to Paslee and Alyssum, “I’m sure you two are exhausted.” You reach over, tucking one of the loose hanging hairs out of Alyssum’s face and behind her ear. There’s a gentle smile on your lips, “Finnick and I damn near passed out after our parade.”

Finnick places his hand on your upper back, a smile beginning on his own face, “We skipped dinner entirely.”

“Rest.” your attention diverts to Paslee, “Meet us here tomorrow morning so we can help you with the training session. The first day always means the most, the two days that follow are just as important. We’ll be here if you have any questions.”

“I’ll wake you in the morning if you don’t get up yourself.” Elysia pipes, sitting up straight.

It’s clear that they’re queueing them to go, so Alyssum doesn’t argue. She looks at Laurel, “Thank you for the tribute parade. And if you see the others, can you thank them too? I appreciate them being gentle.” she turns to you and Finnick, “Goodnight, love you.”

“Love you too.” you say, Finnick’s voice echoes yours.

Just like that, Alyssum heads up the steps, leaving Paslee to say his own goodnight. She doesn’t go into her room immediately, though. She stands in the hallway, hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans while she waits for him to catch up. When he does, he notices her and stands on the other side of the hall to make it look like he’s gone to his room.

“Do you want to try out the career group?” She asks.

“What else do you have in mind?” Paslee asks back.

Alyssum tilts her head slightly, eyes drifting from his face when she hears you and the others start speaking to each other again, “Katniss and her friend have made a pretty good impression.”

“They’re from Twelve,” he says, tone disinterested.

“(Y/n) and Finnick were fifteen and fourteen when they won together, an occurrence that the Capitol hadn’t allowed in like--thirty years!” she brings her hands out to motion, “I’m not talking about odds here, because they’ve always been wonky with my family. I’m saying we pool sponsors together if they end up showing some promise.”

Paslee doesn’t look convinced, his face twists and he’s shaking his head still. Alyssum’s only heard stories about what happened between you and Finnick during your time in the Capitol. There’s one story you tell to all the newcomers of the boarding school to give them an idea of what it’s really like. And the big lesson that normally derives from it, is that alliances don’t last.

You and Finnick had been allies until the two of you split, you to the careers and him to a group of lesser known tributes. In a way, it worked out in the end because the two of you did end up back together. The only problem is that’s not always the case.

While Alyssum was watching the tribute parade, she noticed something very specific, and it’s that out of all of the districts, only two of them were friendly to each other. And she means that she and Paslee had looked at each other, and Katniss and her friend were holding hands. Out of the other ten districts, neither of the tributes even bothered to acknowledge each other.

Alyssum may not be perfect, but she’s not stupid enough to ignore the facts. She knows that it’s not often that tributes are going to like each other, especially coming from the same district. So, why not try and create an alliance that’ll actually work? Not even Districts One and Two were talking to each other.

“Okay, well, you don’t have to like the idea,” Alyssum gives him a funny smile, “It’s just there in case it’s the better option.”

“I don’t…” Paslee trails off.

She’s backing away toward her room, eyebrows raised, “You don’t what?”

He doesn’t answer her, she goes into her room. You’ve said it many times inside of the boarding school, that only the tributes that have been drawn to go into the games can assign their fate. No one else can make these decisions for her, and dwelling on just one person can very well ruin her plan.

She gets ready for bed, changing into a pair of shorts and a shirt before curling into bed. The bed is soft and comfortable, the room cold enough to enjoy, and the blankets keeping her warm, she falls asleep in no time. Even though there are nightmares waiting in the days coming.

Elysia’s insistent knocking wakes Alyssum, she stands in the doorway, waiting patiently until Alyssum can finally comprehend what she’s saying, “First day of training, you’re not going to want to skip breakfast.”

Alyssum yawns, using the heels of her hands to rub her eyes.

“All uniforms are pre-picked by the stylists, yours should be in the closet.”

When she lifts her head, she sees a blurry image of Elysia standing at the door, one hand resting on the frame, the other on her hip. Alyssum has to blink a few times in order to see better.

“Okay, thank you.”

Elysia nods her head once, and then whirls around to leave. The door slides shut automatically, and Alyssum is left to get ready by herself. She silently makes her way around the room, throwing any blankets that might have ended up on the floor, back onto the bed.

The closet is still unnecessarily big, so it takes her a moment to scan the shelves to see which clothes Laurel had laid out for her. There’s a sports bra, a tank top and leggings all folded together on the shelf. She picks it all up, and grabs any extra items she’s going to need while getting ready.

She spends a good minute staring at the window that takes up the entire wall, not liking the idea of the people below seeing her sleeping--and changing. She groans and heads into the bathroom instead, changing into the training outfit. It’s white in most areas, the accent color being black. Her leggings are entirely black, and the shoes are a repeat of the shirt.

Alyssum takes her time trying to brush her hair, knowing that there’s going to be snarls. The blow dryers that the shower comes with were extremely good at getting it all out last night. Today, it’s Alyssum’s problem. And she ends up tying it out of her face, anyway, not wanting to be bothered by it all day.

It isn’t until she’s finished getting ready, does she realize that she’s missing something very important. She stands in the bathroom, staring at herself for a long time, going over each body part individually, thinking that she’ll catch it that way. She’s right, her eyes stop on her neck.

The necklace isn’t there.

Alyssum straightens up, the sleep completely leaving her body. Did she leave it on the train last night? You even went out of your way last night to ask to make sure she wouldn’t, and here she is. Then again, it could have happened this morning when the prep team had jumped at her for the grooming.

Did she even have it this morning?

Alyssum leaves her bedroom, going into the dining room. You’re already sitting out there with Finnick and Elysia, Paslee nowhere to be seen. He’s probably still getting ready, or searching for his training outfit, since it wasn’t in any obvious spot like Alyssum thought it would be.

“Good morning,” You hum, giving a smile to Alyssum, “How’d you sleep?”

Alyssum shrugs, “Pretty good, actually.” She takes her seat at the table, “Did you take my necklace off the train?”

Your smile widens into a grin, and Alyssum immediately knows that it’s the case, “Yes, and I already gave it to Elysia. The Gamemakers will have a look at it, and if it’s approved, Laurel will give it to you before you go back into the arena.”

“Okay,” she falls back against her chair, relieved that she’s not going to be in charge of it for the next couple of days.

“What about you?” Finnick asks Paslee, “Any tokens?”

Paslee nods a little, bringing up his wrist to show off a silver bracelet, “It belonged to Marsh. He forgot to take it into the arena with him.”

Finnick hold his hand out to take it, “Does it have any poison, knives, needles, anything that might get you in trouble?”

“No, it’s just this chain.” he drops it into Finnick’s palm.

“It should pass inspection, then.” Elysia takes it from Finnick, placing it into a pocket on the inside of her jacket.

Breakfast is then served by the Avoxes, taking away the chance to continue the conversation any further. Alyssum eats the assorted dishes, being careful to avoid foods she knows that she doesn’t like, and anything that might make her feel sick inside of the training room. Not to mention, she will be able to eat lunch in a few hours.

You and Finnick finish much faster than they do, and don’t wait for them to finish eating before Finnick begins, “You have to remember that the Hunger Games is a competition. Save your best skill for the private session with the Gamemakers, that happens in two days.”

“Your goal is to impress the Gamemakers, not the tributes around you. Everything you do inside of the gym from today to the private session will be observed and noted. You are careers, they’re expecting great things from you. And there’s no use in saying ‘no pressure’ because the pressure is on.”

Alyssum’s nodding along, so is Paslee. They understand, the two of them have spent years in the boarding school for this reason. They have trained for years, and in doing that, have found the skills that they’re good at, and honed the ones that weren’t as good, they’re prepared. Especially Paslee more than Alyssum.

“Don’t force an alliance with the careers.” you say suddenly, eyes on Alyssum, “I’m talking to you, Aly.”

“I know you are.”

“The careers don’t like tributes younger than them because the younglings are hard to control and sometimes unpredictable. I’m not saying you are, but the more you force them, the more they’re going to deny.”

“Actually, now that you say that,” Finnick looks at you, “Maybe she shouldn’t try at all.”

Alyssum sits up in her chair now, mouth falling open. She wants to object, because that’s not fair at all.

“If she’s good in the training center and scores high, the careers will target her and take her down because they know that she’s weak to some capacity. I mean, look at her and tell me you wouldn’t be able to take her down in a fight.” Finnick explains.

“Well, of course I can.”

“No, I mean look at her from a tribute perspective…” he looks back at Alyssum, the room is silent for a while.

And then you blow air out of your cheeks, “The Twelve tributes we went against.”

“Exactly.” Finnick says, happy that you’ve figured out what he was thinking about, “We were young then too.”

You hum, “She still needs sponsors.”

Elysia clears her throat, “How about you try at eighty percent and not one hundred?”

“Yes, don’t make an actual effort to be noticed.” Finnick agrees.

Alyssum nods slowly, her mouth has since closed. She’s still not exactly thrilled by the idea of hanging back, because it could cost her the training score, but then she remembers that if it doesn’t work out with the careers, she has a backup plan.

“Okay.” Alyssum smiles, “Easy peasy.”

Elysia checks her watch, “We have fifteen minutes before we have to leave. Meet me at the elevator by ten.”

She stands from the table, gives a pointed look to Alyssum and Paslee, and then leaves to the back room. You and Finnick also take this as a sign to get up, knwoing how much work has to be done before the games. And the interview outfits!

“We’ll be here when you get back.” You smile, “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Alyssum says, heading back to her room.

She brushes her teeth first, making sure that her mouth hurts by how much toothpaste she uses. After, she searches the drawers for some type of body mist that she can put on, on top of the deodorant and everything else she applied before breakfast. She doesn’t want to smell horrible by the end of the day, so she’ll do anything possible to prevent it.

She spends her remaining time trying to find tomorrow’s outfit so that she doesn’t have to search. She places it in the same spot where she found today’s clothes, and hopes that no one will come around later to move it. By the time she’s done reorganizing the closet to her liking, it’s time for her to go.

Elysia is waiting at the elevator, just as she promised she would be. It’s a minute or so later before Paslee is joining them. She presses the button, the doors shut, and the only noise that fills the silence is the sound of the elevator going down. And right when Alyssum is prepared for it to stop at the base floor, it continues.

“The gymnasium is underground.” Elysia says, as if she’s reading their minds. When the doors open again, she starts off first, “I can’t go inside of the room with you, I’ll walk you as far as possible.”

And she does, taking them halfway through the hallway before she decides that they need to show some independence. If the other tributes see her in the doorway, then it’ll be obvious that they had her walk them up. Besides, it’s not really much of a problem, they can see the door now.

“Thank you!” Alyssum shouts, waving goodbye to Elysia before they both head inside.

The doors open automatically, allowing them to get their first look at the room they’ll be training in for the next three days. Alyssum can’t help but to look at each individual station, noting what they are and which ones she’d like to visit before the day is over.

They aren’t the last to arrive, and they aren’t the first either. That’s the good news, because punctuality is important, just not enough to be the first people inside. As long as they come inside some time during the middle, then they won’t be remembered. Even though the other tributes are looking at them now. She wonders what’s on their minds.

Paslee and Alyssum are stopped a little after the doors, being told that they need to wear a mandatory number. They don’t specify why, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize that it’s because the gamemakers need a way to keep track of them. There’s going to be twenty-four tributes inside, she’s almost certain that the gamemakers just think of them all as a blur by now. So many faces, only one of them will survive.

Once the patch is placed on their backs, it’s time for them to pick a place to stand. Her eyes wander, dancing over the different Capitol personnel, glancing briefly at the gamemakers in the box above, and the tributes standing in a circle. Alyssum laces her fingers together, trying to keep level breathing.

These are her opponents. No one here right now is a friend.

She doesn’t even see District Twelve.

The only thing that matters is that the other careers are here, standing together in a group. They’ve already formed their alliance, and they seem pretty friendly for the most part. At first, they pay Alyssum and Paslee no attention, continuing their conversation, filling the air with their laughter.

It isn’t until the blonde girl from One glances, and does a double-take, do the rest of them follow.

“Smile.” Alyssum murmurs, trying to be quiet as she looks away, “If they smile back, then join them. I’ll see you later, grab me if they’re interested.”

“Good luck.” Paslee says.

“Same to you.”

She moves away from the careers, choosing to stand in the back so she isn’t up front near the Capitol trainer. Her mind begins to run, starting slowly and speeding up the more time goes on. Is this the same head trainer that you had nine years ago? What about the people standing at the stations? Or the Gamemakers?

It takes everything in her not to hyperventilate, taking deep breaths through her nose. She’s walking in your shadow, everything she does will be compared to what you had done. Reaping, tribute parade, training score, interview outfits, first day debuts in the arena. It’s beginning to make her sick to her stomach. She shouldn’t have eaten so much this morning.

Thankfully, it’s only a couple more minutes before more tributes begin to trickle in. When District Twelve finally shows up and joins the circle, the head trainer is allowed to begin. Alyssum moves forward to see her, now.

Her name is Atala, she’s tall and clearly athletic. She says that each tribute is free to move station to station as they will, but the experts standing at each station aren’t allowed to move. Tributes are also not allowed to fight each other, which is why combat experts are provided if requested. It’s preferred that all items stay in their respective boundaries, but it’s not enforced.

Once the formalities are over, Atala begins going down a list of the stations available. Starting with survival, and moving on to combat. Alyssum can hardly note the names long enough to remember them. By the time Atala’s going down the combat list, Aly’s decided that she’ll just try and go to each station at least once.

Finally, Atala releases them, allowing everyone to move. Alyssum doesn’t move from her spot so that she can see exactly where everyone goes. The Careers, and Paslee, unsurprisingly head towards the weapons. She turns her body away from that direction, although she knows that she’ll have to go over there eventually.

It just leaves all the survival skills, like fire starting.

She knows all of this already, the most she can do is a basic overview of it all. Ten minutes, at the very least, should be enough to refresh her memory. And hopefully the experts can give her new and improved ways of doing things. District Four’s boarding school is very good, you and every other victor have made sure of that. Sometimes the Capitol can pull tricks out of their asses.

So, Alyssum starts with the fires. The expert is clearly delighted, letting her sit around the ring of rocks before beginning. When they ask if Aly has any previous experience with starting fires, or any clue on how to, it’s an easy answer. She lists off three different ways, and demonstrates all three, before moving on to different ideas.

Since she clearly doesn’t need help, the expert settles for small talk. It’s polite, but they dance around questions, obviously wanting to ask them but are too afraid to go through with it. Alyssum gives up some information willingly, she just keeps the personal stuff to herself.

Once she finally grows bored, she bids the expert goodbye, moving on to the next lucky expert that gets to watch her do their job for them. It’s just as she expected, she knows all of these stations already. The most she can do is refresh her memory every couple of minutes.

Until she gives up the rotation entirely and just stands in the middle of the room, hands on her hips while she tries to make her next decision. All of her logic has secured itself on the idea of the weapons, since she hasn’t had full training with them yet. Even in the boarding school, she was only allowed to dabble in it. It was next year, and the year to follow, where she was supposed to fully begin to understand it all.

The problem is that’s where the careers are, where Paslee is. She doesn’t want to just go over there and make it seem like she wants their attention. If anything, she wants to get some practice of her own. All they do is hoard that area and intimidate anyone who thinks of going over, it’s unfair. And they’re supposed to do that all three days.

The only other option she’s seeing is actually settling on the survival stuff, but it’s pretty clear she doesn’t need to.

She takes in a deep breath, staring at the ceiling for a moment, and then begins to make her way on the far side away from the careers. Which starts her at axe practice, a top-heavy weapon that she doesn’t see herself willingly using inside of the arena. She’s not strong enough to lug a weapon like that around the entire time, something smaller--a knife--would be much easier.

The expert straightens when they see her approach, and are more than happy to begin her on basics. Immediately, Alyssum can see her mood uplift as she begins to learn new techniques, thinking that this is what she should have been doing the entire time. She spends a whole hour just testing out different sizes, and swinging them to get a feel for it.

By the time lunch rolls around, she’s learned how to wield an axe, carry heavier weapons, and only touched her toe to the water when it came to the spears. She knows how to throw spears, it’s the one skill that the victors teach at the boarding school for the younger kids, besides the knives. The smaller the items, the easier it is to work. That’s the rule.

It’s pretty obvious right off the bat that Paslee is stuck with the careers now, so she isn’t surprised when he sits with them and completely ignores her. Not a single glance has been offered her way this entire day. If he’s trying to play up an act, he’s doing a good job of it. She’s just hoping that he isn’t trying to shut her out already. She thought that he’d at least give her a chance to join the career pack.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. Alyssum gathers up a small plate of food that looks good before taking a seat at an empty table. She watches as the other tributes come into the adjacent lunch room, peeling apart her bread rolls and wondering if any of them are actually brave enough to sit with her. Not because she’s intimidating, or the sister of a victor, but because tributes don’t normally intermix--unless you’re a career.

She almost thinks that’s the case, until Katniss and her tribute counterpart are sitting at the end of her table. She shares a smile with the boy, dipping her spoon into the stew. Alliances are so delicate during the first few beginning days of the week in the Capitol, so it’s hard for her to force herself to speak to them.

“Your parade costumes were amazing,” she says, watching as Katniss looks over suddenly, eyes going over Alyssum. There’s no doubt that she’s sizing Alyssum up in some way, maybe figuring out her lifespan in the games will be. She wouldn’t be the first, and she’s not going to be the last, “I would’ve changed my mind last minute.”

The boy chuckles, “Trust me, I did.”

Katniss gives him a look, and then gives a sheepish smile, “Yeah, me too.”

Alyssum sits a bit taller, “I’m Alyssum.”

“Peeta,” the boy extends his hand, Aly moves to take it, shaking it once, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Katniss.” she holds out her hand too, but it’s not as smooth.

Alyssum’s a lot more gentle, and she ends up turning over Katniss’ hands to take a look at her nails, curious to see what her prep team had done to them. It’s just as she expected, fiery nails, flames of red and orange on a black background.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Peeta.” Alyssum let’s go of Katniss’ hand, moving back to her bowl of soup.

Conversation is light with the two of them, it gets a little awkward at times, but Peeta always manages to find a new topic to start with. No matter what, neither of them ask about you, which she’s a little surprised about. Everyone has been talking about the sister situation, so she’s sure it’s only a matter of time before the tributes are dragged in too.

As soon as lunch is over, Alyssum is the first to say goodbye to Katniss and Peeta, explaining that she wants the weapons that the careers were standing by before lunch. They understand, and she manages to take over the sword station, since the careers were dragging their feet.

She finds out early on that she’s not too shabby with a sword. She just needs a lot of practice, which she has more than enough time to do. The expert is polite, and doesn’t hide the fact that they’re surprised over her missing knowledge. Yes, she’s been excelling at survival skills, there’s no doubt that word has traveled, but it doesn’t mean she’ll be good at combat.

Either way, it’s clear that the careers grow impatient over her learning, and don’t give her anymore space. They move back in as soon as they’re ready to, making her a lot more stiff when it comes to swinging the sword. They’re so close, and she can hear their conversation, which is making her even more uncomfortable. Especially since they’re making bets on who’s going to run to the cornucopia, and making hypothetical kills with said tributes.

It all goes downhill once her name is mentioned.

Alyssum stops, sweat running down her temples as she looks over to the group. The girl from Two, the fifteen year-old who volunteered, is looking right at her with a dangerous smirk. The boy with her is also giving the same look.

Paslee glances over his shoulder. Alyssum slams the sword tip-down into the ground, knuckles turning pale from how hard she grips the other end.

“She’s only twelve, she’ll be dumb enough to run into the cornucopia,” the Two girl repeats, “And she’ll be the first I kill.”

Alyssum straightens, “Who says you’ll even be able to get your beefy hands on me?” her eyes wander down, face twisting, “Or that you’ll run fast enough.”

Two girl squints her eyes, starting forward. Alyssum keeps her stance, raising her chin a little when the girl comes close. Two girl is taller than she is, and she’s a lot bigger too. Alyssum knows exactly what you’d say to her right now, and it’s that she’s picking a fight she can’t win, one that’ll bite her in the ass later on.

However, Alyssum is part of the Gallows family, and she’ll dig her own grave if it means to defend the name.

“Say it again.”

“You heard me the first time.” Alyssum snaps, hand tightening around the sword, “If you can’t take the heat, don’t play with fire.”

The girl goes to open her mouth, but she’s stopped when Atala appears, clearly here to mediate.

“What’s going on?”

“Friendly banter.” Alyssum smiles, and then looks at Two girl, eyebrows raised, “She was just telling me how she’s going to kill me during the bloodbath. And I was just about to tell her that I’ll kill her in her sleep just like how my older sister killed Allio during her Hunger Games.”

Two girl jerks, Atala steps in-between before there’s an actual conflict. Alyssum dumps her sword in the bin by the station.

“That’s enough, stay away from each other.” Atala warns.

“If you’re going to get territorial again in the future,” Aly starts, beginning to move toward the door, going to leave early, “you might as well piss on the floor, bitch.”

Two jerks again, it takes two experts to hold her back this time. Alyssum doesn’t turn around after she leaves. It isn’t until she steps into the hallway, does she realize how jittery she is. The amount of adrenaline that must have been going through her body… for a second she had herself convinced that she was going to swing the sword. And she would have, if it had gotten any uglier.

She punches the elevator button, shaking her hands while she waits. She needs to tell you and Finnick before Paslee does, just so he doesn’t get the details fucked up. He might try to cut corners to save the relationship between you two and him, since being on good terms with mentors is an important factor.

The elevator ride is short, and so is the walk to the apartment. By the time she gets inside, she feels considerably better, no longer as shaky, and her body has lost the heat factor. When she walks inside, she’s able to see that Finnick and Elysia are standing together, talking.

Their conversation falters when they both see Alyssum.

Elysia immediately checks her watch, confused, “You aren’t supposed to be back for another hour and a half.”

All it takes is Finnick looking over her once to realize that something isn’t right, “What happened?”

“Got in a fight with one of the careers, and Paslee didn’t do anything to prevent it.”

Elysia’s eyes widen, hurrying over, “Did they touch you? How much trouble are you in?”

“Atala stopped it before we got physical, but I said something after she told us to stop so…”

“Tell me the entire story.” Finnick says.

Alyssum does, trying to be as transparent as possible, but it gets difficult at the end, especially when she starts telling Finnick about the conversation the careers were having right before. He slowly starts getting more angry, Elysia is more stressed than anything. It isn’t until the story is over, does Alyssum get the idea that the situation is worse than she thought it was.

“Well,” Finnick sighs, looking up to the ceiling, “You definitely left an impression.”

“Not the one you wanted me to, though.” Aly frowns, “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, placing his hands on the back of his neck, “You have nothing to be sorry for, I’m hoping the Gamemakers at least watched. That might do some good for your score.”

“Where’s (Y/n)?” Alyssum asks.

“Sleeping, but I guess we should wake her up.” Finnick bites the inside of his cheek.

“I’ll stay out here in case Paslee shows up.” Elysia says, “Make sure he doesn’t go far.”

“Thanks,” Finnick nods, and then jerks his head for Alyssum to follow him, “Do you have an alliance, at least?”

“I sat with Katniss and Peeta during lunch, they’re pretty nice. Didn’t talk to them much.”

“That’s good, try not to make any more enemies, okay?”

Alyssum gives him a funny smile, “No promises.”

BERCEUSE IS A SPIN-OFF //MASTERLIST//

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years

Text

365 Days: Part 2 (Feysand)

I feel like this should be beyond obvious at this point, but black lives matter. As a white person, I understand that I’ll never fully comprehend the struggle black individuals face on a daily basis. I stand with them, protesters, and activists as a lifetime ally. “Don’t be mad they’re rioting, be happy you don’t have to.” -- If you are not a supporter of the BLM movement, go ahead an unfollow me. I couldn’t care less.

OKAY. Sorry this is a day late! This part kind of has it all (humor, fluff, some slightly kinky smut) so I don’t know how to describe it. I also hate it, but whatever. Part 3 (last part) out Friday!

Part 1

________________________________________________________________

Day 1, 7:13 AM

~Feyre~

Something warm laid across her cheek, and Feyre peeked an eye open, only to groan at who she saw staring down at her. “If you make a habit of waking me up at the ass crack of dawn, I can already tell you you won’t live through our year of marriage, Rhysand.”

He smiled. “You have to get up. We're taking wedding pictures.”

She didn’t see the point. They’d signed the marriage license last night. How he’d procured one in less than an hour, she didn’t even want to know.

“Why the hell would we do that?”

“Because I’m a public figure, and the newspaper asked for a quote on our marriage.” She groaned. “Now get your cute ass downstairs.”

She glanced at him speculatively but stayed firmly planted in the bed. “What’s downstairs?”

“Someone to help get you ready. Not that I don’t appreciate the bed head. Up.”

Feyre shook her head. “Ask me again in two hours.” She glanced at the clock. “Make it three.”

Her husband pinched the bridge of his nose, but stood back up. She closed her eyes, happy she’d won their first argument.

Only to be proven wrong a moment later as the demon spawn flung back her blankets, grabbed her waist, and threw her over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down,” she shrieked, beating the back of his toned legs with a fist.

Rhysand, calm as always, smoothly responded, “If I put you down, you’ll just get back in the bed.”

“No, I won’t,” she lied.

Even though she couldn’t see his face, she’d bet anything he rolled his eyes. He walked out his/her/their bedroom door and down the stairs, his casual gait suggesting nothing out of the order.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly to whoever was waiting.

Feyre peeked around his ass to see four complete strangers, varying levels of amusement on their faces. “Um, hi.”

She was placed on a salon-like chair.

Which was odd, considering they were in the middle of the living room.

Rhysand pointed at two hulking figures sitting on the couch. “These are my friends Cassian and Azriel. You’ve met.”

The smugness in his voice, combined with the shit-eating grins of the men he was referring to, had her snapping back, “Oh yes, my kidnappers. Sorry I didn’t immediately recognize you. I had a sack over my head last time we met.”

“I’m Cassian.” The larger of the two smiled. “I’m the one you tried to gut with a butter knife.”

“I’ll have to practice my aim.”

Cassian looked at the man standing next to her and winked. “I like her.”

The other man on the couch, Azriel, sighed and shook his head, resigned.

Rhys just rolled his eyes and continued his introductions. “The two normal people here,” he gestured to a very brightly-dressed pair, “are here to do your hair and makeup and whatever else.”

He gave her a light kiss on the forehead, then spoke to his fellow criminals. “We have shit to do. Come on.”

“Are you off to do illegal activities, my dear husband?”

“Don’t worry, Feyre darling. You won’t be without eye candy for too long.”

He laughed at the look on her face, then wisely jogged out the door before she could throw something at him.

She turned to the people left staring at her with wide eyes and repressed a groan. “Let’s get this over with.”

~Rhysand~

Two hours after he’d left, Rhys came back to the house, showered, and changed into a tux. Then he went to his backyard where the photographer had set up.

“Where’s Feyre?” he asked the man as he messed around with lighting balloons.

The photographer gave him a knowing smile. “I want to get a picture of your reaction when you first see her.”

He was about to respond when the backdoor of the house opened and she walked out.

She was wearing a classic gown with long sleeves and a deep neckline, but that wasn’t what drew his attention. Her hair was up, and she had a veil trailing behind her. The sunlight made the white of her dress almost glow.

If she’d been beautiful before, now she was...

There were no words for how she looked.

Fucking radiant was a start.

She walked across the lawn to him and smiled, and he couldn’t keep the matching grin off his face if he tried.

Rhysand heard the faint snap snap snap of the camera and finally understood what the photographer had meant.

He’d wanted to capture the moment the city’s Son of Satan was practically brought to his knees by a single woman.

And Rhys didn’t even care.

Feyre finally drew close enough that he could see the details of her face. Even though he had a million more romantic things running through his brain, he murmured, “Who’s the eye candy now?”

“You are,” she said, as if it were obvious. “You look like sex on a spoon.”

His mouth dropped open, but before he could respond, the photographer butted into their moment. “Okay, I want you two to act like I’m not even here. We’re aiming for three or four really good shots, so just be natural, and I’ll let you know if anything has to change.”

They both nodded absently, still staring at each other. Rhys reached down to grab her hand, finger flicking the ring on her finger.

“I can’t believe our marriage is making the paper, and I didn’t even get a real proposal,” she teased.

It was true.

He’d put the ring on her bedside table the night before, too much of a simpering coward to give her the ring in person, too nervous about what’d she say. It had been his mother’s, and he’d once sworn to never let another soul have it.

“I didn’t want to risk your wrath and wake you up.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled.

Almost on its own accord, one of his hands reached out to cup her cheek. He didn’t know if Feyre was acting or something else, but she leaned into his touch, a hand coming to rest against his chest.

“Beautiful, just beautiful,” the photographer cooed.

“You are,” he told his wife. “You’re beautiful.”

She smiled.

“Annoying as hell, but beautiful.”

She shoved his shoulder and turned away, but he grabbed her wrist to spin her back, and decided to risk his life.

He kissed her.

Hands locked around her waist, lips crashing into hers, Rhysand kissed her like he’d been dying to since he’d seen her asleep in his shirt.

And she really, really kissed him back.

Feyre’s hands wound around his neck, and he lifted her up a little to get a better angle. Her lips opened to let his tongue in, and he had no other thoughts in his head besides the woman in his arms.

The photographer coughed pointedly.

They ignored him.

Until Rhys finally relented and set her back on the ground, both of them panting for air.

“Sorry,” she told the blushing man, but he waved her off and insisted it happened all the time.

The thing was, it didn’t.

Rhysand had kissed plenty of women in his lifetime, but none of them had made his entire body start simmering like that.

Her blue eyes watched him speculatively as he slipped the ring off her finger, dropped down to one knee, and smiled. “Feyre darling, will you marry me?”

Despite already being legally married, she bent over and kissed him, then stole the ring back. “I’ll take it into consideration.”

Day 9, 8:04 PM

~Feyre~

Feyre had to admit that while the house outside the city had a charm and wholesome quality she’d come to admire, being trapped here had started to drive her slightly insane.

Especially since Rhysand had been been on a business trip the entire week, so she’d been here by herself.

After a tense phone call with her sisters--where Nesta had cackled and called her Satan’s nephew--and getting ahead in her textbooks, she was out of things to do. So she spent most of her time being a nosy little snob and going through her husband’s stuff.

Apparently, the Son of Satan had a very serious addiction to wine, if the cellar in the basement was any indication.

But other than that--and a mysterious letter from a woman named Amren--he had no trinkets, pictures of family, or any other worthwhile gossip.

The word “boredom” hardly covered it.

Once upon a time, Feyre wouldn’t have minded a couple days like this. When law school was in session, she didn’t have a spare moment and enjoyed when she got to do nothing.

She didn’t bother lying to herself about why it was driving her insane now.

She missed Rhysand.

After only a couple days of marriage, he’d wormed his way into her heart and made her start to rely on teasing him, seeing that devilish smirk, making him laugh. The nightly texts he sent her weren’t enough to satisfy her insane need to talk to him. He’d told her he was coming back later tonight, and she was practically coming out of her skin with excitement.

She was an idiot, basically.

This marriage wasn’t supposed to involve actual feelings. It was a publicity save. And despite giving her a hotter-than-hell kiss during their photo shoot, he hadn’t so much as touched her since.

Feyre had the distinct feeling he was waiting for her to make the first move.

Which, again, she normally wouldn’t mind. But something about Rhysand... she knew once she started down that path, she wouldn’t be able to stop.

So she slept in his bed, wore his t-shirts, and avoided thinking about how his mouth had felt against hers.

And how he’d tasted like chocolate and watermelon and-

Cutting that thought off, she resolved herself to be cool and calm and collected when he came back. She needed to nip the feelings she’d started to develop for him in the bud.

But then the front door banged open, and Feyre instantly disregarded every promise she’d made to herself and raced down the stairs, yelling like a banshee.

She saw Rhysand standing in the doorway in his usual Johnny Cash uniform and didn’t hesitate before yelling, “You’re home!”

And throwing herself on him.

He dropped whatever he was holding and laughed as she wrapped herself around him like a koala.

“Are you alright, love?”

She nodded against his neck. “I’m fine. Ignore me. I’ve just been so bored. This place is way too fucking quiet when you’re not here. I think I’m going insane.”

“I believe you.”

“Asshole.”

He laughed, then did as she’d said and ignored her presence, crossing the living room to the kitchen.

Rhys bent to look through the fridge, and she tightened her hold on him.

“We have no food, also,” she told him helpfully.

“I see that. If you put some pants on, we can go into the city for dinner.”

She laughed. Along with wearing his shirts, she’d taken to stealing a pair of boxers to sleep in.

Feyre dropped to the floor, and he smirked down at her. “I was gone for five days, and that’s the greeting I got. Next time I’m staying away for six.”

She swung a hand and punched his shoulder, which probably hurt her more than him, and told him, “You’re so very funny, Rhysand. Please feed me.”

Her husband gave her a shooing motion. “You might want to put on something besides my boxers, then.”

She took his advice.

About an hour later, she sat in front of him, watching as he adamantly tried to avoid looking at her.

She’d chosen a dark green dress--unremarkable except for the low neckline and short skirt--black heels, and simple makeup.

“Are you alright, Rhysand? You look like you’re having a stroke.”

Those violet eyes slid to hers. “I’m fine, thank you for asking. I like that dress.”

“I can tell.”

He looked at the ceiling. “When we get home, I’m going to replace your entire wardrobe with burlap sacks.”

Feyre shrugged, then decided to take a chance. “You’d still stare at me.”

His eyes met hers, and when he spoke, it was practically a purr. “Am I supposed to deny, Feyre darling, how attractive I find you?”

The waiter arrived before she had to respond. She made a mental note to leave him a huge tip.

As they ate their meal, she was overly aware of how many people stared at them. The whispers that surrounded them.

She was about to ask how he dealt with it when a chair was slid up next to her, a heavy-set man settling in. “Hello, Rhysand. I need to talk to you.”

The man was dressed in dark clothes, covered in tattoos, and had the promise of violence written across his every movement. He practically had the words drug dealer floating above his over-sized head.

“Dante.” The warm look she’d come to recognize in her husband’s eyes was nowhere to be found. “Whatever it is, it can wait. Leave.”

“I promise you, it can’t,” the man said boldly, continuing to ignore her presence entirely. “A shipment’s gone missing.”

Feyre watched, stomach twisting, as Rhysand leaned forward and smiled cruelly. “Would you like to join it? I don’t discuss business in front of my wife.”

My wife.

Despite the more than tense surroundings, Feyre felt a spark run through her at the words.

“Then the bitch can leave. I need to talk to you.”

There was a slight pause, then everything changed so quickly she didn’t have time to process it. One minute she was watching the man’s face twist with impatience, the next there was a gun pressed against his ruddy forehead.

A gun that practically looked like an extension of Rhysand’s arm.

Her husband was standing, entire body stiff with anger. The look on his face was inhuman. And promised a slow, slow death as he looked towards the man on the recieving end.

“Refer to her as Feyre Asterra, or lose your fucking tongue.”

The restaurant was dead quiet, everyone holding their breath and waiting to see what happened. No one dared move a muscle.

Except Dante, who nodded stiffly.

“Now apologize.”

The way he said it, the command in his voice... a thrill sparked through Feyre, and she bit her lip to keep the gasp in.

What was wrong with her? Where fear should’ve taken root, there was raw, untapped excitement whirling inside her. Rhysand’s entire body was lined with power and dominance and rage, and it made her breath come quicker as she watched.

Dante looked at her, the hatred clear. “I’m sorry,” he spat, then looked back at Rhys.

Rhysand tilted his head, a king holding court. Another cruel smile. “Beg me.”

Something inside Feyre twisted at his words.

Beg me.

The man’s jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth, but he still said. “Please, Rhysand. I’ve worked for you for five years. I’m sorry.”

There was a pause, and she wouldn’t be surprised if someone passed out in anticipation. Then Rhys made a soft tsk sound.

“You no longer work for me. You’re no longer welcome in this city. If I see you after tonight, I won’t be as forgiving.”

The man opened his mouth to oppose, thought better of it, and sulked to the restaurant of the exit.

In that moment, Feyre knew why people called him the Son of Satan. Knew because, as calm as ever, he turned to their waiter and said, “Check, please.”

~ nsfw warning ~

Rhysand stood in front of the fireplace in their room, silent as the dead.

He hadn’t said a single word on the way home, and she could tell whatever had happened at dinner had been the tip of the iceberg. Something had gone wrong.

She replayed the meal over and over in her head, trying to figure it out, but only seemed to be able to remember one thing.

Beg me.

Something had snapped inside her tonight, and she couldn’t keep herself still. Seeing him like that, seeing the power he had over people...

Slipping off the bed, Feyre walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Her hands were spread on his taut stomach, but he gripped her wrists and took them off. When he spoke, his voice was rough and low. “I can’t do this right now. I’m not... I’m trying to keep my promise to you.”

Stay good with me. It felt like she’d said that a lifetime ago.

Rhys turned around, drank whatever was in his glass, and looked down at her. There was violence and anger and animalistic rage in his gaze.

It did little to calm the roar in her veins.

“Break your promise.”

A muscle in his jaw flickered, but he kept his hands to himself.

She wanted him so bad she could hardly stand. Her hands found their way to his chest, needing to touch him. “Please.”

Suddenly, she was pressed against the mantle near the fire, heat scorching up her leg. His glass fell to the floor as his hands pressed against her shoulders.

He’d barely touched her, and she was breathing like she’d run a mile.

A hand came to trace her bottom lip, then he was kissing her, and she finally let out a sigh.

The day of their wedding pictures, his kiss had been decadent and exploring. But that was when he was happy.

When Rhys was pissed off, he kissed her in a raw, aggressive sort of way that made her lose her mind. A hand pulled her hair, making her tilt her head back, and he deepened the kiss.

She’d just started to unbutton his shirt when he lifted her by the back of the thighs, then dropped them both to the floor and pinned her underneath him.

Rhys braced himself over her trapping her arms above her head. She thought about the first time they’d been like this, and the look in his eye said he was doing the exact same thing.

“I wanted you so bad that night,” he told her, voice rough.

She arched her back, chest pressed against his, and he gave her a wolf’s smile.

“Did you want me, too?” he asked, lips and teeth on her collarbone.

Feyre nodded.

His mouth drifted down to her chest, and his teeth scraped her nipple through her dress. Rhys looked up at her, more monster than man in his eyes, and asked, “Were you wet for me, Feyre?”

Okay. Maybe it had been a mistake to encourage being together right now.

Only one way to find out.

She nodded again, and his eyes went dark.

A hand remained pinning her wrists, the other drifting up her thigh. His fingers grazed the lace of her panties, then slipped inside.

He ran a finger up her core, and she shifted beneath him.

“Stay still,” he ordered, the command in his voice making her freeze.

His finger slipped inside her, and he nudged the neck of her dress down to take a breast in his mouth. He made a humming sound in appreciation as he moved, then added another finger.

Feyre moaned, pushing uselessly against the grip on her hands. It was too much. He was too much. She wouldn’t survive this.

But she couldn’t force herself to stop.

She’d been right. Now that she’d started, a shower of bullets wouldn’t make her leave this room.

His stubble scraped the valley between her breasts, and then they were kissing, a deep, wet slide of tongues and lips and teeth. He kissed her in time to the movement of his hand, and Feyre groaned into his mouth.

“I need more,” she panted onto his skin.

Rhysand’s teeth closed softly on her shoulder, and then he was looking down at her. His eyes were so dark they were like the nighttime sky, and then he said the words she didn’t know she’d been craving.

“Beg me.”

She whimpered underneath him, shifting restlessly.

A small, knowing smile was on his face, and she would’ve punched it off if she hadn’t been so attracted to it.

“Please. Please.”

His hand was on her jaw, and he pressed a wet kiss to her lips. “Good girl.”

Lord help me.

He made quick work pulling her clothes off, then leaned back on his knees, surveying her head to toe.

She repaid the favor.

She didn’t know when his shirt had fallen open, but she sure as shit wasn’t complaining.

His chest was covered in tattoos, the dark swirls running across his pecs and shoulders, all the way to his fingertips. The tattoos, the dangerous look in his eyes... Feyre lost a bit of her sanity as she leaned up to drag her mouth up his stomach.

Flicking open his belt, Rhys pushed her back down. Then his pants were pulled down, and he was spreading her thighs and settling in between them before she got a proper look.

“Again.” He looked half crazed with anger and lust.

She nipped at his bottom lip. “Please.”

He was pushed inside her, deep and slow and steady. He groaned in her ear, and the sound threatened what remained of her.

Then he gripped her hips, lifted slightly, and began to move.

Holy gods.

Feyre didn’t know what language she was speaking in, but it wasn’t English. She was murmuring incoherent somethings, not able to string together proper thoughts.

She moved in rhythm with him as he picked up speed, and even though they were spread out on the ground, Feyre felt like a freaking queen.

He was taking his time, listening and learning what she liked, and she could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge.

Soon she was so loud it was a miracle they didn’t have close neighbors.

But as soon as she felt release start to come, he paused his movements.

The sound that came out of Feyre’s mouth was close to a snarl.

Rhysand smiled, gripping her chin. “Do you want to come, Feyre darling?”

If she wasn’t practically immobile, she’d strangle him. “You’re such an insufferable bastard, Rhysand Asterra. Yes.”

“And what do people say when they want something?”

She bit his lip in frustration, but said, “Please, you pri-”

His hips slammed into hers, a moan cutting her off as release crashed into her. Muscles twitching, face pinched in concentration, he followed her lead, collapsing on top of her.

They laid there together, both breathing heavily, until she started losing air. He rolled off her and looked over her with male satisfaction.

There was still a little tension from earlier, but his usual brightness and light was back. It was impossible not to smile at the happiness coursing through her veins.

Then he opened that smart mouth. “Let’s take a moment to remember when you said you could go two years without sleeping with me.”

“In my defense,” she panted back, “I hadn’t seen you in action before.”

He looked adorably shocked. “So threatening to shoot people is hot to you?”

“When it’s because of me, yeah.” She flicked his bicep, unable to help it. “I almost jumped you right then and there.”

He started kissing her neck, grinning against her skin. “I might have to hunt him down, then.”

She laughed, hands playing in his thick hair. Feyre pulled him back on top of her, a deliciously heavy dead weight. “I think I might have to update my pros and cons list.”

Rhysand laughed, and Feyre doubted a year of looking at that smile would be enough.

Hell, a lifetime might not be enough.

She didn’t let the thought linger.

“Do you think there’s some innocent people around for you to threaten?”

A kiss to her temple. “I’ll hire someone if I have to.”

________________________________________________________________

Part 3

@a-bit-of-a-cactus @bamchickawowow @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @rapunzel1523 @negativenesta @burritowithfeels @exciting @sis-it-dont-add-up @mockingjayusa @aelin-is-my-heart @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @awesomelena555 @thekeytohappiness-is-you @keshavomit

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #feysand smut #feysand fanfiction #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acofas #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of frost and starlight #a court of wings and ruin #acotar fanfiction

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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From The Ground Up, Chapter One (Rosnali) - Tanawrites

A/N: I’m so happy to be back in the swing of writing again and especially for this ship! I’m not sure how long a ride we’re in for here but I do know none of it would be possible without @chaoticnachokitten who is always the best brainstorming partner.

Summary: It wasn’t ever a choice between figure skating or Rosé; Denali knew she belonged on the ice and Rosé knew it too. So she left and didn’t ever look back. Five years passed and as medals, sponsorships, the Olympics all slipped from her grasp, Denali wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

or, what happens when an ex-professional figure skater returns to her hometown and navigates her way through the grief and uncertainty of her career and considers the road not taken.

read on ao3 here!

The first thing she noticed was the snow.

It had been years since Denali had been home to see the town square covered in a thick layer of white and the sight brought a sour taste to her mouth.

It used to be her favourite time of year when she was younger, before she knew any better. As well as hot cocoa and snowball fights, the first time she ever skated was wearing blue mittens, a knit beanie and watching her breath puff out in front of her in a white cloud of condensation.

For a long time, winter and skating went hand-in-hand for Denali. Every year it was a countdown for snow, waiting until the lake behind her house froze over and became her own personal rink.

It wasn’t until much later when the local ice arena took precedence as classes and daily training moulded her into a professional skate, that Denali realized snow didn’t count for much at all. Hot cocoa didn’t particularly fit into her strict macro-diet and regardless of the weather outside, it was always cold at the rink. The cold lost its magic and the holidays soon followed suit, when Denali prioritised training and competitions over flying home.

That only made it more ironic to her that it was snowing for her reluctant homecoming; the picturesque winterscape of a town that greeted her more mocking than nostalgic.

It wasn’t as comforting as Denali thought it would be, how familiar the town was. The main street was as if nothing had changed, if for a few new storefronts. She knew from her few visits home that if she didn’t look too closely, it looked exactly as it did when she left, further cementing that she was the only factor that had changed. That she was the piece that didn’t fit anymore, not the other way around.

The reminder of why she was home for her first Christmas in years was too much to unpack on the day she moved back to the small town she’d left behind, Denali shied away from any intrusive thoughts and took a detour from the main road.

Following the instructions from her speaker, Denali eventually pulled her car into an unfamiliar driveway, to a house she’d only seen before in pictures and cut the engine.

The front yard was unrecognisable under the snow but the driveway and small path had been shovelled recently, a silent sign her father had been by. The ‘welcome' mat was definitely all her mom though and Denali exhaled a sigh of relief.

She wasn’t sure if her parents were going to respect her request to arrive alone and without fuss so she was grateful to see they’d left her to her own devices, in their own way.

As excited as they were to have their only child back home, a few streets away was a vast improvement than a two-hour drive to the city, Denali couldn’t bring herself to match their enthusiasm. It was less of a joyous homecoming as it was striking out and crawling home, with no need for fanfare.

Her parents had been great but after months of doctors appointments and rehab, Denali felt stifled.

And no doubt, that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

Her parents and her coach had shielded her from the worst of the media while she recovered but the tabloids had nothing on small town gossip, as ruthless as it was rapid. Everyone would know she had moved back by the afternoon, if they didn’t already from when she’d signed her name on the lease and mailed it back weeks ago.

The house was nothing remarkable externally. It was in a newer part of town, an expansion of mostly apartment blocks and small houses, that took place after she’d already moved to the city. It was more modern than her parent’s house but still older compared to the studio loft she’d left behind.

But it was new and entirely her own and held no reminders of the life she’d had to leave behind, which is exactly what Denali needed.

There was a flyer from the moving company who had already been and gone, and she found the key under the mat as well to let herself in.

It was strange, seeing all her furniture in a house she’d never set foot in before but she shook the feeling and wandered between the boxes that were left haphazardly in the rooms that corresponded with her scrawled handwriting.

You’ll feel better when you can see your things, she told herself and set in to unpacking.

Despite the mountains of boxes, Denali got through the kitchen and the living room with ease.

Plates, mugs and cutlery were easy, methodical to find a place for. It was mindless but it kept her hands busy to stretch up on her tiptoes to reach the tallest cupboards and sort tupperware.

Putting away her books and photos required a little more attention, alphabetizing by author and lingering a little too long on the frames of her with her face pressed up against her coach or with the team of skaters she had trained with.

She stubbornly left the pictures on display, to prove a point to herself mostly, adjusting their positions on the side table more than necessary before she moved on. At least they were happy memories.

By the time she was tossing a throw blanket and cushions on the couch, she’d almost forgotten the vague reminder of where she was supposed to be right now. She’d gotten into a groove of unpacking, leaving traces of herself through the house, more than just furniture or decor.

Music played through her headphones as she pushed open the door to the only bedroom in the house, ignoring how tempting her bed looked even unmade.

She was more exhausted than she cared to admit to even herself.

Her knee felt stiff from kneeling in front of boxes for hours and leaving the key behind to her apartment felt a lot less like saying goodbye to the city and a lot like giving up on something she wasn’t ready to, something that was beyond her control. She was pushing through the exhaustion and discomfort, motivated that the more her the new house felt, the easier it would be.

She was eager to get through the brute of the unpacking anyway, knowing she was expected at dinner with her parents that night as a trade-off for her seclusion today and if she admitted to not having much done, tomorrow she’d have both her mom and dad knocking on her door to help.

She reached for the closest box, slicing through the tape and ripping it open. It had only been labeled with her name in somebody else’s neat handwriting and as her eyes caught the glint of the blades dance as it caught the overhead light, she realized why.

Her hands froze over the box, hovering uselessly for a few moments before she flinched back, like she’d been burned.

In her haste, she dropped the pair of scissors she’d used to open the box and bent to pick them up, mumbling a curse to herself under her breath.

Her skates.

Packed neatly on top of her collection of trophies and medallions and even a few sports magazines she’d been featured in, were her current pair of skates. The laces of both skates were tied in a neat bow, guards covering the silver blades.

Somebody else had packed this box, that much she knew. She’d merely shrugged when her mom asked her what she wanted to do with all this stuff and hadn’t waited around to see how that was interpreted.

As she looked at the flawless white leather, she couldn’t help but be bitter. They looked exactly as she remembered, they were perfect and she was pissed. There was no indication that anything had ever happened, completely untarnished. Nothing like the uneven scar across her knee that she’d been promised would fade with time.

Before she could stop herself, Denali reached for the box again, idly toying with the laces.

It had been nearly a year now since the last time she’d worn them.

She’d been a favourite going into the competition and aside from a few pre-competition jitters, Denali was quietly confident.

She knew her routine like the back of her hand and even though it was the qualifying competition, she hadn’t been worried.

She felt that way right up until it happened. She’d been landing her jumps, she was completely on beat with the music, everything was happening the way it was supposed to.

Until it wasn’t.

The last thing anybody was expecting, least of all Denali, was her skate to skim across the ice erratically, beyond her control, her misplaced landing ending with an ear-splitting pop.

Everything had gone silent after that.

She could feel her chest heaving, struggling to catch the breath that was knocked out of her from the impact of hitting the ice but she couldn’t hear a thing.

Not her own sobs, not the all too familiar song she’d practised to for months still playing over the speakers or the gasps of the crowd. Not even the EMTs as they spoke to her while carefully lifting her onto a stretcher, her knee bent awkwardly and swollen through her tights.

In the days following, when doctors approached her with “irreversible damage” and “career-ending injury” which was endlessly repeated by her parents, her coach and worst of all, the media, Denali wished for the silence again.

Now fully recovered, or as recovered as she could ever be, her dreams of gold medals and the Olympics nothing but a faint memory, Denali wanted to scream. She settled for throwing the box into the closet with a loud thump and an even louder slam of the bedroom door as she stormed out.

She grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter and was pulling out of the driveway again a few minutes later.

She didn’t know where she was going, definitely not to see her parents but anywhere but here sounded like a good option so she drove.

She drove around town twice before pulling up in the parking lot of the one place she’d purposely avoided on her drive in this morning.

The rink.

The first time Denali skated at the ice arena, she was seven.

After spending years skating on the lake, she begged for proper lessons at the ice rink.

Her eager hands pushed away her father’s helpful grip, demanding to tie the laces of the rental skates herself. They were scuffed and very obviously well-worn before she had insisted on them, instead of her own skates from home.

She’d bounced in excitement waiting by the boards for her turn, the skates feeling comfortable and familiar on her feet which couldn’t be said about the rest of the group in the beginners class.

She had stepped out with shaky balance as she adjusted to the shift onto the ice, shoulders squared in a silent dare that anybody attempt to steady her, her parents or an overly eager instructor who was a few feet away.

It took her two laps around the rink and a near fall before she let go of the barrier, unused to the ice being quite so smooth.

For a few moments, her hand had hovered over the rail, uncertain. When she didn’t falter, she started to laugh. Whole-hearted giggles as she gained speed, her confidence grew when she drifted further away from the perimeter of the rink, arms spread out beside her to keep her balance.

It felt like flying.

At the time, she didn’t notice all the eyes on her. The instructor watched on dubiously, her parents equally as surprised but mostly proud and the group of kids her own age an equal mix of jealousy and wide-eyed awe.

She was seven and she had no idea that this was how she would spend the next fifteen years of her life.

Or, that it would eventually become her downfall.

The outside of the arena, while it remained unchanged since Denali was there last, wasn’t as inviting as she remembered.

In fact, the dull brick building was lacking…something.

Maybe it was just her, and she knew exactly what she was lacking.

She passed by a bored teenager at the front counter who merely waved Denali through, without offering her any rental skates or asking for an admission fee. It was midday in the middle of the week so she hadn’t expected anybody to be on the ice but she didn’t expect it to be that easy.

It initially struck her as odd but she continued through regardless, tightening her thin jacket across her torso. In her haste she’d forgotten her coat and she was already feeling the cold from the ice before she could even see it.

She continued down the hallway, familiar signs and posters lining the way. In the years since she’d trained here, she swore none of them had been updated. The pricing signs, the motivational posters all remained, fraying at the edges the same way they had for a decade.

That was why her own smiling face brought her to a complete stop.

At the end of the hallway, were two side-by-side framed images of her. One was as a child, in her first ever competition in this very rink with a small gold trophy in her hands. The other was more recent, only a few years ago, from the other side of the country. She held a bouquet and stood on the top of the podium, a gold medallion around her neck. There was a plaque that Denali didn’t bother to read but she got the gist.

And now she understood why she’d been let in so easily.

She knew her mom would have definitely provided both photos and before her accident, Denali had no problem being a hometown hero. Being in the limelight whenever she managed a trip home had been welcome, it was a lot easier to be known as a nationally acclaimed athlete who couldn’t get home for the holidays than someone who’d had everything, then lost it all.

Denali breathed out a sigh as she rounded the corner to the rink, comforted at least by the fact that she was alone.

The ice was smooth, like it had been resurfaced only recently and Denali could do nothing but stare as she rested her arms on the boards and leaned forward.

The gleaming white ice wasn’t just pristine. It was tempting.

She’d been cleared for weeks now. Her surgery was considered a success, she had officially made a full recovery. A long, painstaking recovery of regaining the confidence to even stand with any weight on the leg that had collapsed under her and months of rest before that. It was a full recovery nonetheless, unfortunately “full recovery” from a torn ACL didn’t allow for the demands of a professional figure skater.

Laps around the ice didn’t entertain her nearly as much as they did when she was younger so Denali had resigned herself to the fact that she hadn’t just retired from her career, she had retired from the rink completely.

She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to bring herself to put a pair of skates on again, even if she tried.

The ice called to her, it always had but it was more than that.

The competition did too. The more she skated, the more she loved it. The better she got, the harder she worked.

Denali knew early on that she had it. The drive, the ability and the talent but more than any of that, she had the want. She wanted to be the best and to do that, she had to beat the best.

It hadn’t come without sacrifices as well. She never went to her high school prom, she didn’t even walk at her own graduation. She’d given up the majority of her freedom for the entirety of her high school years for the benefit of her sport. She kissed her family goodbye a week after receiving her diploma in the mail, the city closer to her coaches and the airport.

But she didn’t look back.

It was never even a choice for her, never an option between A and B. By the time conversations shifted to Worlds and the Grand Prix and sponsorship deals, Denali knew she wanted to take the gold.

Returning to this rink, knowing that none of that was hers anymore, felt like a cruel twist of fate. She could practically taste the win, and could almost feel the cool touch of the medal against her chest before it disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Her initial rage had faded, re-learning how to walk had forced it, simmered down to a heavy grief.

It wasn’t as easy to bear, the blind rage at least had a release. The shatter of her phone against the brick wall of the hospital, the endurance she pushed herself to test during rehab, a guttural scream when she was finally able to straighten her leg again amongst the happy cheers of her nurses.

The grief crept in slowly, mourning not only her career but her entire life. Skating had woven its way into every crevice of Denali’s everyday and its missing presence was distinct. It wasn’t just about figuring out what she was going to do now, it was figuring out who she was without skating.

Before she did something stupid, like rent a pair of skates or tear the picture of herself down off the wall, Denali turned to leave, figuring it had been enough reminiscing (torture) for one day.

Without even taking a step forward, Denali froze. The sight of someone a few feet in front of her drew her out of her thoughts, apparently too deep in her head to have heard any footsteps behind her.

She didn’t need to do a double-take, she knew who was standing in front of her.

All long legs, a wide smile and auburn hair that Denali had helped dye a pale pink too many times to count, she knew exactly who it was.

“Rosie?”

#rpdr fanfiction #denali foxx #rosé #rosnali #lesbian au #eventual angst #from the ground up #tanawrites #concrit welcome #s13

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queen-scribbles · 4 years

Text

Ours

Here we go, only three years overdue, canon version of Tel finding out he’s a dad. :D

---

Elara was fidgeting.

It was an unusual enough sight it almost stopped Tel in his tracks. Elara Dorne--well, Airen--didn’t fidget. No matter how pleasant or unpleasant or boring the circumstances, she was the model of poise and professionalism. And she definitely. Did not. Fidget.

Except, apparently, for now. Her fingers picked at the small metallic object she held as she sat on the couch in their quarters, and she looked a hairsbreadth from bouncing her knee as well. Which meant whatever was on her mind was likely something beyond serious and should be treated accordingly.

So he swallowed any jokes he been planning and plopped down on the couch next to her. “You wanted to talk, Els?”

“I did.” She nodded, her attention still on the object in her hands. She turned it over and over, picking at the edges.

“Must be important,” Tel hinted gently when she didn’t continue.

A wry smile pulled at one side of her mouth. “It is. Dearest...” Elara bit her lip as the words petered out, then shook her head slightly and started over. “I have... something important to discuss with you; a topic I’ve been wanting to broach since... since Iokath. With our schedules it’s proven difficult to find a good time, so I’m doing it now, whether or not it’s good, and I apologize for any meetings you may miss as a result.”

“I’m all ears,” Tel promised, reaching over to give her knee a comforting squeeze. “You’re way more important to me than any meeting.”

She mustered a smile at that, then leaned forward and placed the object she’d been fiddling with on the low table in front of the couch. It was a small holoprojector, etched with a simple design, the type made to be portable and store images long term. A brush of Elara’s thumb over the controls brought it to life.

Tel examined the pale blue image when it appeared. It was a young girl--maybe seven?--with dark hair that hung almost to her waist. She was smiling impishly, and even as a holo there was no hiding the twinkle of mischievous charm in her eyes. Her hands were clasped behind her back as if trying to keep something secret just a few moments longer.

“Cute kid,” Tel said, glancing at Elara and wondering which potential direction this was going to go.

“She is,” Elara confirmed with a faint smile. “Her name is Kaira.” She reached over and laced her fingers between his. “She’s ours.”

It took half a second for her meaning to hit, and Tel flinched, grip tightening around her hand, when it did. The air seemed to freeze in his lungs for a moment as he stared at the holo.

“She...” he finally managed through the punched-in-the-gut feeling. “...Yours-and-mine ours?”

She nodded and squeezed his hand. “Are you alright, Tel?”

“Sweetheart, I’m...” A dad. I’m a dad. He gave a breathless laugh. “I’m great. A little stunned, but elated.” He freed his hand to drag her into a hug, still staring at the holo of his daughter. He had a daughter. “Weighing the pros and cons of punching Arcann in the teeth for making me miss... her, but otherwise...” A thought occurred and he frowned ever so slightly. “Did Jorgan know?”

He might be having words with the man if he had and didn’t say anything.

Elara shook her head and sat back to meet his eyes, her posture noticeably less tense. “She must have been conceived just before the Expedition was... lost” --her voice faltered for just a moment-- “and I didn’t discover I was pregnant until after the Supreme Chancellor had relieved me of my Havoc command. Jorgan and I didn’t keep in touch much past the first month or two, while he was helping me attempt to get the position back.” She smiled. “He probably wondered why I wasn’t fighting for it harder, truth be told. But between my condition and Chancellor Saresh’s obvious obstinance, it quickly became evident that was not a worthwhile fight.”

“So working for Malcolm...”

“Was actually rather perfect,” Elara confirmed the unfinished question with a nod. “I was still involved, still doing my part, but in a more administrative capacity than field work. It allowed me to... look for you and prepare for raising a child alone.”

He winced. “Sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Considering you were frozen in carbonite half a galaxy away at that point, I think I can safely say it wasn’t your fault, dearest,” she said lightly.

“And we’re back to me punching Arcann in the face,” Tel muttered, tugging her in for another hug.

“That wouldn’t really help anything at this point, darling,” Elara remonstrated, though her lips quirked toward a smile.

“Would make me feel a hell of a lot better,” he grumbled. “But I guess it wouldn’t set the best example, would it? For... Kaira.” It made him grin a little just saying her name.

She giggled faintly, the sound muffled by his shirt. “No, it wouldn’t.”

Tel rested his chin against the top of her head and gave an exaggerated huff of resignation. “Oh, fine, I won’t punch the reformed tyrant for makin’ me miss my daughter growin’ up.” He hesitated a beat, gaze back on the holo. “Els? What’s she like?”

Elara was quiet for a moment, her fingers curling into his shirt, but he could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke. “She’s... wonderful. Challenging at times, but worth every moment she’s made me want to pull my hair out. She has your smile, a fact I’ve both loved and hated depending on the day.”

He hugged her closer wordlessly, shifting so the corner of the couch would offer some support.

Elara took a deep breath. “She was a good baby, for which I’m grateful. Could likely sleep through a bombing run.”

“Els.” He didn’t want to dwell on the odds that theory had been tested, knowing what the Eternal Empire had done to Coruscant.

“We’re fine. Nothing ever came close enough,” she promised, before carrying on. “She’s extremely curious, very smart-”

“She gets that from you,” Tel muttered, which earned a quiet chuckle from his wife.

“I wouldn’t sell yourself so short, dearest. You’re not a stupid man,” she said teasingly, her fingers tracing light patterns against his collarbone.

“I was smart enough to marry you,” Tel conceded. “So I guess I’m not a total lost cause.”

“There you go, Kaira gets her smarts from both of us,” Elara laughed softly.

But more from you. Tel kept the thought to himself. “If anyone could raise a smart, amazing kid by themselves, it would be you,” he said instead.

“There you go putting me on a pedestal again,” Elara said, playful chiding in her tone.

“Again implies a point where you came down from the pedestal,” Tel rejoined.He kissed the top of her head. “You’re there for life, sweetheart.”

“Ah.” There was a smile in her voice. “Well, before you go counting up more honors for me,Tel; I did not raise her entirely on my own. I had friends who helped, and Aleksei did as well, when he could.”

“Okay, that one’s a bit of a surprise,” Tel admitted. “I thought your brother was in Republic custody?”

“He was. A ‘person of concern’, I believe was the classification; same as I once was. And then he made some valuable contributions at great personal risk in fighting the second Zakuulan assault on Coruscant, which earned him some greater freedoms. Such as lending the Republic his technical expertise and assisting me with Kaira.”

“‘Great personal risk’?” Tel repeated, having noticed how her voice caught on the phrase.

Elara gave a shaky sigh. “Let’s just say you are no longer the only person I care about who has gotten himself blown up in the course of being noble. It wasn’t quite bad enough to require cybernetics, but there was scarring. And a limp.”

Tel blew out a breath and rubbed her back. “I’m glad he’s okay, Els.”

“As am I. After recovering, he was tasked with something computer-related that kept him on Coruscant, so he could help sometimes with Kaira. A lot, actually.” She smiled again. “They’ve grown quite close. She calls him Uncle Lesky, even now that she can say his name correctly.”

Tel smiled, his brow furrowing slightly in thought. “Oh, yeah, she must be, what, six or seven by now?”

Elara stilled for a moment, then reluctantly slid from their hug so she could look at him. “That’s part of why I felt it so urgent to tell you; she’ll be six next week. I assumed you would want to meet her before then. So we could celebrate as a family.”

Yes. “I dunno Els,” he deadpanned with a faint smirk. “Depends on what you’ve told her about me.”

Elara matched his smirk. “Oh, you know, as we discussed; you’re brave, handsome, charming. How you took the stuffy Imperial no one liked and made me the happiest woman in the galaxy, every day we were together. That you always stood up for those who couldn’t protect themselves, and helped those who could stand their ground. That you have a ridiculous sweet tooth she apparently inherited along with your kindness. That you like to steal the blankets,” she continued playfully, leaning in to steal a kiss. “And that you always know how to make me laugh.” She paused, sighed. “How much you would love her.”

“And the fact I was declared KIA? That come up yet?” he asked dryly.

Her brow furrowed briefly, and Tel caught the flicker of pain that danced through her brown eyes. “It did, when she was three. I told her some people believed you died fighting something very dangerous to protect the galaxy, but they were wrong. You were still alive, fighting to keep us safe.” She looked him in the eye. “Because that’s what I believed, with all my heart. She accepted it--what’s the saying about mother knows best?--and it didn’t come up again. Then the Republic learned of your Alliance, and I could show her you were alive and” --she smiled drolly-- “fighting bad guys to keep us safe. I suspect she’d be very excited to hear she can finally meet you.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” Tel grinned, kissing the tip of Elara’s nose. “She with your brother right now?”

Elara nodded. “She is. Whenever I’m off-planet.”

“Then hell yes, see how fast you can get ‘em out here.” He kissed her again. “I know Aleksei might not be able to stay long if he has a job to get back to, but I’d like the chance to ‘meet’ him without transparisteel and a Republic watchdog in the picture.”

A soft, giddy laugh escaped her. “I’ll get right on that. As soon as I steal you for myself just a bit longer,” she amended, leaning back into his space and bracing a hand against the arm of the couch to kiss him.

Tel grinned slyly, cupping her face with one hand and running his thumb along her cheekbone. “Seventy three minutes?”

Elara smiled back mischievously and carded her fingers through his hair until her hand rested at the back of his head. “If you think we can manage that long...”

He closed the distance to capture her lips in a kiss. “Sweetheart, I’d like to see them try and stop us.”

----

They got forty seven minutes, which was frankly longer than either of them had really expected, before Tel’s comm started trilling. And so, with much grumbling about “no rest for the wicked”, he got himself together and headed off to see what the Alliance needed, leaving Elara to work out getting their daughter to Odessen.

She slipped the holo in his pocket as he headed out the door. “In case you want to show her off.”

And show her off he did; to Theron, Lana, Vette, Senya--anyone at all who commented on the grin he couldn’t seem to wipe off his face. He did his best not to be distracted from the Important Alliance Business that required his attention, but a man had his limits.

He slipped a hand in his pocket to curl around the cool metal as he tried to focus on Aygo’s briefing about ship deployments rather than what was (hopefully) coming soon, and smiled to himself.

I can’t wait to meet you, Kaira.

--------------------------------

(I was originally gonna take this through Tel actually getting to meet Kaira, but that part’s getting crazy long and I need to work on other stuff that has actual deadlines, so it’ll have to wait.)

#queens fic #telcontar airen #elara dorne #telara #otp: 73 minutes #i love them i love them I LOVE THEM

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scribomaniac · 4 years

Text

One Step Ahead Ch 9: Family Matters

“Now it’s your turn to listen,” Aelin told him, her eyes burning into him like blue fire. “Come with me and I’ll explain everything.”

Rowan stared down at the ring in his hands, trying to determine if she was telling the truth. He couldn’t detect a trace of a lie in her voice, but she’d be good at lying. She’d have to be, in their line of work. The ring felt cool against his skin. Clean too. If there was a poison on this ring, it had rubbed off long ago or was near untraceable.

None of this made sense to him. His mistress was many things, but kin killer? And those tears she had cried for him earlier . . . those had seemed so real to him. Still believing Arobynn of someone similar to be behind all of this, Rowan resolved himself to see it through. If He could gain more information then he’d figure out who was responsible. And if he could do that, if he could reunite Maeve with her long lost great niece—the only family she had left—then he’d be Maeve’s champion, a hero.

Something inside Rowan’s chest fluttered at the prospect. A hero, just like she always thought him to be . . .

“Okay,” Rowan nodded, his green eyes trained onto her blue. “I’ll hear you out.”

Tension unfolded from Aelin’s shoulders like ice breaking off a glacier. Flexing her hands, breaking them out of their curled form, the assassin nodded and said, “Let’s go.”

Silently, the two packed up their camp and returned to the car. Aelin drove her way through a dark and narrow path with only the towering trees of Oakwald to accompany them. After several minutes where not a word was spoken between them, the forest opened up and a great manor came into view. The manor was grand, to be sure, but time had taken its toll on the building. In some parts the roof was coming apart, showing holes into the interior, and in others the glass of the windows looked so unclean they were pitch black. All the foliage which must have at one point in time been beautiful and cared for had overgrown and begun to creep up the brick walls, swallowing the manor one leaf at a time.

“Where are we?” Rowan asked when Aelin turned off the car.

“Somewhere safe. Now come on. They’re waiting for us.”

The inside of the manor wasn’t much better off than the outside. The entry hall and rooms beside it were dark and cold. Cobwebs grew a plenty and Rowan knows he heard some critter moving down the hall. But as they walked further into the home, Aelin led him to a door outlined with a warm light.

Adarlan’s Assassin gave the door a series of knocks, a code signaling to those on the other side that they were in safe company. A double knock returned Aelin’s and then it opened to reveal a young man with dark hair and piercing brown eyes and a scar tearing through his eyebrows and running down his cheek. His eyes flashed from Aelin to Rowan. His distrust of the Cleaner was obviously apparent in the way his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed, but he still moved aside to let them in.

Inside the room was much better kept than the rest of the house. There was a fire burning in a grand fireplace, an expensive, but worn, rug on the floor, and several comfortable looking couches and chairs. Most of which were already filled. Carefully taking in his surroundings, Rowan was surprised to find, once again, Dorian Havilliard and Chaol Westfall. He blinked at them slowly, trying—and failing—to think of some way to link the two of them and Aelin together.

Unsurprisingly, Aedion was lounging across the room. He was so slumped down in his seat it almost looked like he could slide off at any moment. Rowan wouldn’t be fooled though. If necessary, Aedion was ready to spring into action the microsecond he was needed. The white haired man wondered where the rest of his gang were. Since he didn’t see their bikes on his way in, he assumed they were guarding the manor and keeping watch for any unwanted visitors. Prowling in the dark like a pack of rabid wolves.

Next to the leader of The Bane sat the Faliq girl, which was curious. Her sharp eyes were trained on him, watching his every move. Remembering what she said earlier, about never missing her mark, he made himself a mental note not to keep his back towards her.

There were three other people in the room. The first was the young man who opened the door for them. He stood by the fire, behind a winged back chair which seated a frail old man. Rowan assumed this was the owner of the house.

And finally, sitting across from the fire on a sad looking fainting couch, a pillow clutched in his arms, was Athril Dearst.

Shooting Aelin a look, one that said—what the actual fuck are you playing at—Rowan found himself standing so close to her that he could easily spot the ring of gold within the blue of her eyes.

Staring right back at him, her determined gaze answered him, What I have to.

Explain, Rowan demanded, not looking away even when he heard Athril stand.

Sighing, Aelin nodded. She looked over Rowan’s shoulder at Athril and said, “You start—you’re the one that set this all into motion, after all.”

Athril nodded. He looked at Rowan, then away, and then, as if he’d found a bit of courage deep within himself, locked eyes with Rowan and began, “Right. Well, I’m not sure if you know this, but it’s an election year.”

He waited for the Cleaner to nod.

“The polls weren’t looking great. There wasn’t a lot of public interest and when that happens it could go either way come Election Day. My campaign manager and I thought it’d be best to find something, a cause, to bring the people together and catch their attention.” The Wendlyn District Attorney cleared his throat, “So I decided to look into cold cases, and there was one that caught my eye. It was out of my district, but Terrasen’s D.A., welcomed me in with open arms and agreed we could share in any of the spoils closing such a notorious case would bring.”

Rowan caught Aelin’s eye and she nodded, confirming he meant her family’s murder.

“So I put pressure on the police to reopen the case, which led to,” Athril trailed off, looking towards Westfall to pick up the story.

Sitting up straighter, Chaol looked at the room with wide eyes. He looked alarmed by the prospect that he’d have to address the room. “I found it,” he got out, “the ring. It,” he looked towards Faliq who nodded encouragingly to him which was . . . interesting, “had fallen into a vent beside his night table.” Westfall shrugged, “I guess no one looked there the first time around.”

Aelin snorted, “More like they were bribed not to.”

Rowan nodded at that, though who had bribed the police all those years ago, he was still unsure.

“That’s how we got involved,” Havilliard spoke up, clapping his friend on his shoulder. Westfall sighed quietly before relaxing back into his seat. “Chaol brought the ring to light and the news traveled up the channels and into my ears so we,” the prince of Rifthold’s lips split into a sly grin, one that hinted at something deeper, something hidden beneath the surface, “began exchanging conspiracy theories.”

“We thought for sure the ring belonged to Adarlan’s Assassin,” Westfall sat up again, his confidence growing, it seemed, now that he’d had time to think about what he wanted to say. “We thought this was the missing piece needed to finally pin it on her, but we quickly realized we were wrong.”

“How?” Rowan asked. The only way he’d been able to rule out the possibility of it being Aelin was because he knew her age and that the time line couldn’t match up. For anyone who didn’t know the famed assassin wasn’t even twenty, it’d be a natural assumption to make.

Both Westfall and Havilliard turned to look at Faliq. The young woman shrugged, “They were talking about it in my bakery, so I set them straight.”

A beat passed, and when Rowan kept his green eyes locked on the dark haired woman, she continued, “I’d already met Aelin at that point—knew her as Celeana, I mean—and knew she couldn’t have made that kill.”

Rowan nodded, though he had a few more questions, like why would Westfall and Havilliard take a random baker for her word, and how did she prove it to them? He still didn’t know how the sons of two powerful men had become friends with such a notorious member of the Underworld, but he had a feeling that information would come to light soon enough.

“Once Nesryn told me about the ring, I knew I had to act fast,” Aelin told him, her hip cocked and her hand resting on it as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “If I knew, that mean Maeve knew too, or would know soon enough.”

Following her train of thought, the white haired male said, “So you stole it before she could.” Aelin gave him a wide smile, one that showed off an awful lot of teeth and was surely meant to set him on edge. However, all it did for him was send a spark down his spine.

Still, this didn’t explain everything. Cocking his head at her, he silently asked, And this group? How’d this all happen?

For once, Aelin answered him aloud, “After our meetup in the bakery, I got Dorian, Chaol, and Nesryn to convince Athril to come here.”

Which was smart, considering Maeve would more than likely take him out to ensure no one kept sniffing around the Galathynius case. But no, Rowan reminded himself. Maeve wasn’t responsible for this. Nothing anyone had said had properly condemned his mistress. He needed more information if he was going to convince Aelin properly.

“I have to say,” Athril sat back down on the couch, grabbing for the pillow, “having these two,” he jerked his thumb at Havilliard and Westfall, “pick me up was a wise choice. I thought she,” know his thumb was aimed at Faliq, “had come to carve out my lungs.”

“That’s just her face,” Westfall said quietly, earning him a pillow to the face courtesy of Faliq. “What? It’s true!”

“Anyway,” Aelin said pointedly, giving Westfall a very tired look, “once we had the ring, we sent it out for testing.”

Rowan hummed, pulling the ring out from his pocket. “You said it was poisoned.”

“The interior, to be specific,” Athril pulled a briefcase out from underneath the couch and took some papers out. “There were only trace amounts left by the time we found it. The rest was absorbed into Orlon’s skin. Based on what Dr. Towers said, it wouldn’t have taken long for the poison to do its job.”

“What’s the name of the poison?” Rowan looked back over to Aelin, “If we know the name and the ingredients that could help us find the real killer.”

Aelin raised a delicate brow. Really buzzard? Her expression asked. Still trying to defend your mistress?

“It doesn’t have a name yet,” Westfall, of all people, told him. Rowan would have thought his participation in this conversation had ended, and yet he continued on as if he himself was the expert on the poison. “It’s an unknown. We have a breakdown of the ingredients though,” he nodded at Athril, who stood and handed Rowan several pages worth of data. “They’re very rare, which is good, and should help us narrow down the suspects. In fact, it already has.”

“Have you ever been to Valg, Rowan?” Aelin asked, moving over to stand before the fire and warm her hands. The hairs on the back of Rowan’s neck stood up, knowing that Aelin ever acted nonchalantly like this when she was at her most dangerous, when she had something up her sleeve.

Rowan hadn’t ever been to Valg. There was no reason for him to, considering what a crap hole the place was. It was full of empty buildings, the hollowed out husks of addict-addled bodies, and rusted over pipes. There was only one reason people ever went there and that was to die.

With her back to him, Aelin continued, “It’s a horrible place, run by three brothers who care nothing for it besides whatever money the junkyards and desperate bring in. But it does have an interesting collection of foliage that are renowned for their toxicity.” Turning around to face him again, Aelin’s face looked like it had been cut from marble, betraying none of the emotions Rowan was sure were raging through her.

“Why are you telling me this?” It was nothing new to the Cleaner. The King brothers, Orcus, Mantyx, and Erawan, were well known by the world for their brutal business practices and known in the Underworld for their vast supply of drugs and poisons.

“I’m telling you this,” Aelin said slowly, taking in a deep, slow breath, “because all of the ingredients in the poison originate from Valg and because of Maeve’s connection with it.”

Rowan frowned, trying to connect the dots and finding he couldn’t. There was no connection between Maeve and Valg. Silently, Rowan told her so.

Shoulders dropping back, Aelin stood up straighter. Rowan felt as if a stone dropped into his stomach, knowing he was about to be proven wrong.

“Maeve was married before, did you know?” Aelin cocked her head to the side, almost inquisitively. “It was only for a year or so, but it was legal. Apparently it ended in fire and brimstone, but I’m sure Maeve wouldn’t call it a complete loss.”

Athril handed him another piece of paper. It was a copy of a marriage certificate.

“Look at the names, Rowan.”

He did, and what he found there took the air right out of his lungs. Orcus King. Maeve had been married to Orcus King. Orcus King, the mastermind behind all the poisons produced in Valg. If Maeve had been married to him, had gained knowledge of his formulas and ingredients, then it’d be easy for her to . . .

“I need some air,” Rowan shoved the papers back into Athril’s hands and stormed out of the manor. There was a chill to the night, a welcomed sensation to combat his burning skin. He was going to be sick. Maeve was vicious, he always knew that—she didn’t become a mob boss by being nice, he knew that—but this was her family. Family was everything and she just—if Aelin was right then she just threw that all away.

Rowan closed his eyes and found a pair of chestnut eyes staring back at him. The wind carried the sound of a laugh, warm and infectious and familiar. Bile rose up Rowan’s throat. He’d give anything to just—and Maeve had thrown—he was going to be sick.

“Rowan,” Aelin’s voice broke through Rowan’s thoughts, through the laughter and the bile, and brought him back down into himself.

Dragging a hand down his face, Rowan turned to look at Adarlan’s Assassin. Standing before him now, Aelin looked so small and vulnerable, but she was looking at him as if he looked the same.

Opening her mouth, Aelin was about to say something else but Rowan cut her off, “I’m in. Whatever you need me to do.” He swallowed down the last remnants of the bile and resolved himself, “I’m in.”

#one step ahead #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #athril #dorian havilliard #chaol westfall #nesryn faliq #ren allsbrook #aedion ashryver #rowan x aelin

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undeadimmortality · 4 years

Text

Unexpected Part 2

Not really chapters, just super long parts to the story.

Hey, smut ahead!!! I’m bad at writing smut so felt right, but might delete later, idkidk. Fluff too! Is alcohol consumption a warning??

Weeks turned to months, and things started to change for the better, as well as the worst. Your time in the bunker was great. You were getting pretty close to Sam and Dean, even Castiel at times, but he always kept a mental distance. After a lot of late night talks, you had opened up about your past and they had opened up about theirs too. You could tell the boys took to caring about you, and you cared about them deeply. Even with everything that had started this relationship, you’d never had anyone who cared for you a single day in your life until you got to know Sam and Dean. Even in the short time of knowing them, you knew they were great men, and would genuinely try to keep you alive if they could.

There were demon omens coming from a town close to the bunker, and the boys decided to check it out. Leaving Castiel to look over you, while they were away for a day or two. This was the first time they’d decided to act on any sort of hunt since they found you, figuring it’d be safer to keep a low profile until they figure out this Lucifer issue. But, with demons possibly this close to the bunker, finding out why they were there was the safest bet.

They’d been gone the whole day, and after no replies to your texts you started to worry. A glass of whiskey in one hand and your cell in the other, Castiel watched as you paced back and forth for a good hour, deep in thought.

“Maybe you should check on them, Cass. They aren’t texting back.” You walked over to the angel, and sat next to him, opening your texts again.

“We have a plan in place, (y/n). It’s safer if I stay here with you.” Castiel said.

“You still don’t trust me?” It was more of a statement, rather than a question.

Castiel turned his body toward you and placed his hand on your shaking knee. “On the contrary (y/n). I want to keep you safe. If I left, and something happened to you, I could never forgive myself.” You stared deeply into Cass’s eyes and saw emotion there that you hadn’t caught before. You knew Castiel was indifferent toward you, and trusting at least, but maybe you had more of an impact on the Angel than you wanted to admit to yourself.

You sighed and stood to fill you now empty glass of liquor.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed, I know we’ve been building up a friendship Cass, I’m just worried.” You talked as you fill your glass and walked back over to the Angel. “I’ve just never had people who were ever in any sort of danger because of me, especially you and the boys, who I’ve grown to care for. I don’t know how you do it. They’re constantly putting themselves in danger. I would’ve had a heart attack at this point if I were you.” The leather couch squeaked as you sat next to Cass.

He chuckled, “Angel’s can’t have heart attacks, but I understand your meaning” He smiled at you. The only light in the room were candles you had lit. The bunker was quiet aside from some music playing quietly.

You laughed at his response, returning the smile. The soft light of the bouncing flames gave a soft glow to Castiels face. His tan skin and almost matching caramel brown hair looked soft. Those ocean blue eyes of his vessel did weird things to your stomach as you stared into them. His light pink lips were stretched in to a soft, genuine smile and slightly met his eyes. You were sure you could both hear your heart rate picking up.

Castiel POV

Castiel watched (y/n) as she studied his face. It seemed as though she was seeing him in new eyes for the first time. Not just the Angel, but the vessel, the human side of Cass. Cass had died, been human, and lived in Jimmy’s vessel for years, but he hasn’t been Jimmy for a long-time. He was Castiel now.

Castiel studied (y/n) as a pink blush lit up her pale cheeks, and she looked down in to her drink, lips piercing in deep thought. He’d studied her enough now to know her common emotions. Her deep in thought brought on pieced lips, sometimes a light bite to her low lip, and a small crease between her eyes when her brows furrowed. Her happy, meant a bright smile that reached the eyes, a slight squint to her lids, and sparkle in her irises. When she wasn’t looking, he would catch himself staring. (y/n) was beautiful, it was plain as day. She had long, dark red hair that contrasted her soft pale skin. Her pale blue eyes matched his by just a shade paler. Her light pink lips held a feminine shape, the bottom lip slightly thicker than the top.

The guilt he felt for the way he treated her was unbearable, and little did she know, he felt the need to make up for it for as long as he lived.

When they held her captive, all he noticed was the evil that hid inside of her human soul. A bright red glow in her irises that was more evident when she was chained up. Her hatred, fear, and pain protected the rest of her that he has come to observe and see. With still no real knowledge on her or her power, all he had was his observations. Her soul was made up like a human one, but it was vastly different. A human soul usually had a colorful aura that radiated around the vessel, but (y/n)’s was much bigger. Almost the size of an Angel’s aura that radiated their grace. Her Aura could cover the whole country if you were to put it in a human perspective. A bright red glow that radiated a powerful energy. Her soul held all the makings of a human soul, but hers was torn and battered, like it was being ripped apart by the power that lay untouched at the core. It scared Castiel to no avail, she was nothing he had ever seen in the millennia he had spent between heaven and Earth. Yet he was drawn to her intensity. He’d seen the love and kindness she showed him and the brothers. Her little acts of kindness, like cooking, or tidying up after the boys every night before bed. Humming to the music as she folded their clothes. She put love and purpose into her actions. And in return was slowly stealing Castiels heart if he had one. He’d known love and intimacy in his experiences on Earth, but his pull toward (y/n) was leagues more intense. It scared Castiel, but his courage and excitement overpowered everything. He wasn’t going to let her go.

(y/n) cleared her throat and brought Castiel from his thoughts, now realizing he had been staring at her. Her cheeks were a shade pinker than before, and she looked up at Cass like she was waiting for him to break the silence.

Embarrassment covered his features, and all her managed was a “Sorry”, before (y/n)’s phone started to ring and broke the silence.

YOUR POV

You jumped at the sudden noise that broke your weird moment with Castiel. Deans name popped up, and you answered it on the first ring.

“Dean?” You asked, standing up quickly.

“Yeah it’s me, me and Sammy are alright, we’re heading back to the bunker now, it’s not safe to stay here tonight, I’ll explain when we get back. There better be beer left when I get back!”

“Okay, I’ll wait up. Also a found the bottle of whiskey you stashed, so your beers safe!” you joked, causing a line of slurs from the brute.

“They’re on their way back.” You sat back down, gulping down the last sip of your second drink. The alcohol wasn’t taking tonight, even with the call from Dean, a pit in your stomach started to grow, and left you feeling very uneasy.

“That’s good news” Cass said, “Allow me” He reached for your empty glass, and you handed it to him and watched as he made his way over to the whiskey bottle on the table.

“I’ve got a bad feeling, Cass. Like something bad’s about to happen.” You started, watching him walk back.

“We’re warded here, this is the safest place for you.” He handed you the glass, and sat down turning toward you again.

“It’s not that, it’s not for me, it’s like I have this feeling of dread. Like…He’s close…” You took another sip, cursing your nerves for keeping you more sober than usual after three glasses of whiskey. “I want you to promise me something” You looked up and met Cass’s eyes. “If he get’s to me and I can’t do it myself, I need you to do it.” You didn’t need to explain further, the dread that covered Castiels features said it all.

Cass took your empty hand, and covered it in both of his. “He will never get his hands on you as long as I live. I will protect you (y/n), as long as I’m alive.” Castiel said.

“I know, that’s what I’m afraid of. You and the boys, if you died trying to save me-“ You stopped, tears glossing over your eyes.

“It won’t come to that. Everything will be fine.” Castiel smiled, but you could tell he was trying to convince himself as well. You leaned your head on the Angels shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around your back, in hopes of soothing you. You stayed like that for a while, and only broke away when you heard the bunker door open and shut.

Dean and Sam spent the next hour going over the details of their trip. With the fear of tipping Lucifer off, they decided to keep their distance, and basically got that the demons were close to finding (y/n).

“The wards on the bunker most likely helped to an extent, but with no knowledge on the Child of Cain, were pretty sure they’re still able to track her, however faint a signal they get, we think they’re still getting something.

“No….”You whimpered. Standing up and pacing back and forth. “I have to run! If they are this close, I can lead them away form here! What other options do we have?”

“Not this one! You ‘re staying, end of story.” Dean growled.

“You we’re ready to kill me.” Tears starting to prick at the corners of your eyes. “Maybe…”

“Not happening” Sam glared at you, “We’ll figure something out we always do. You’re part of our family now (y/n), and we protect our own. There has to be something we missed. If (y/n)’s power is “sleeping” as Cass put it, maybe there’s a way to wake it.” Sam thought, glancing towards Cass for an answer.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start. Besides I’ve seen her power. I can feel it. It isn't just apart of her, it’s at the very core of her human soul…Her soul’s already tarnished and flayed, there’s a very little chance she’d survive her power waking up, or worse, turning (y/n) in to something worse than Lucifer. It’s not just power Sam, it’s holds the mark of Cain, there’s no telling what would happen.” Castiel explained, deep in thought.

“My soul…it’s broken?” This was the first you’ve heard of this.

Castiel casts you a pitiful look. “Not broken (y/n), it’s still intact, but your power is at the source of your human soul, and it’s ripped and torn to shreds. The only thing holding it together is you. If you let that power out, I truly don’t know what would happen to you. I’m sorry”

Silence swept through the room, and you paced some more chugging down the third glass of liquor and went to pour a fourth. The only option you could see that got rid of the Devil once and for all, and left the boys and Castiel alive, was somehow finding a way to unleash your power on the Lucifer. If Castiel was right about how strong you truly wore, you were confident you could give the Devil a taste of his own medicine. The only options you saw were, continuing to run, and let the Devil run loose to kill more innocent people, kill yourself and still allow Lucifer to live, or kill the Devil yourself and take yourself down in the process. The choice was easy.

A few weeks went by, but with the wards holding strong, the Demons were only a town closer to the bunker and Castiel had secretly planted some false signals to keep them off your trail for as long as possible.

“It’s late” You stopped in your tracks, as his voice filled the silence. You’d seen a lot less of him lately, as he was out more and more trying to lead the Demons astray.

“Couldn’t sleep” You continued to walk through the library, running your fingertips over the spines of the dusty old books, a glass of whiskey in the other hand.

The tension in the bunker was almost overwhelming. After trying to flee a few different times, to no success. The boys came and went, looking for answers to anything that could give you the upper hand in the inevitable war that would soon unfold. You hadn’t been outside of the bunker in months, and it was taking it’s toll. The bunker that once held a state of content, not felt claustrophobic. You felt helpless being forced to stay here, while others put their lives at risk to help you.

You made your way over to the table, and popped the the cap off the liquor, and filled you glass halfway.

“(y/n).” His voice was soft and pleading. He placed a hand on your shoulder, and gently turned you to face him.

He looked tired, same as you. His demeaner slightly slouched from trying his hardest to lure the demons as far away from you as he could , no doubt.

“Have you heard from the Sam and Dean? They didn’t check in tonight.” You asked, bringing the glass to your lips.

“They’re fine, they’re about a day out with more research about The Mark of Cain. Sam’s hopeful about this research.”

“That’s good.” You’re eye’s only left Cass’s when you took another sip of you drink. And then back up.

Castiel grabbed the glass from your hand, and you let him. He set it on the table behind you, and with the same hand he pushed a few stray strands of hair behind your ear and cupped your check. You breathing hitched and his fingers sent sparks through your veins. His hand was soft and warm, and you reached up to cup yours over his, turning your head to place a kiss in his palm.

You’re feelings for the angel had grown immensely since the night you two had a moment on the couch, but both of you were never this forward about your affections with everything else going on. You were falling deeply in love with the feathered man, but as the Child of Cain, you never knew why he returned your affections.

You turned back forward, eyes meeting Cass’ and he swept his thumb over your bottom lip. His eyes were giving away his desperation for you. After moments of silence that seems to last an eternity, Cass leaned forward, painfully slow, eyes never leaving yours, before both your eyes fluttered shut as his lips pressed against yours.

Both of you were unaware of the fate that was unfolding tonight.

The kiss sent shivers through your body, his lips were so warm and so soft. It was light at first; passionate and innocent, but a need for you unleashed inside of Castiel, and his hand moved through your hair to the back of your head, and lightly pulled your head to the side, so he could deepen the kiss. A small moan escaped you lips and you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer. You could feel his arousal press against your stomach.

Castiel was the first to break, as he swiftly gripped both your thighs, lifted you up, and carried you over to the couch. He sat down, and placed both your legs on either side of his and ran his hands up your sides, then your back, never braking eye contact. Your breath hitched as he gently pulled you in you in for another kiss, allowing your hands to roam freely over his chest. You arousal started to build, and a small grind of your hips along his arousal earned you a moan from Castiel that lit your spark.

His smell and taste mixed with yours was intoxicating. He smelt of fresh air mixed with a sweet musk, and his taste along with yours, and the lingering whiskey left your head in the clouds.

His kiss was getting sloppy, and your arousal was at it’s peak. As you started to unbutton his shirt, Castiel waved his hand and all your clothes were off, leaving his arousal to press against your sex. He broke from the kiss, your breathing becoming labored with lust, and held both sides of your faces, fingers tangled I your hair.

“Are you sure?” He asked, searching for the answer in your eyes.

“I want this, Cass.” You reached up and cupped his cheek. “I want you.”

Castiel reached down and gripped your hips, lifting your up, allowing him to line up with your entrance. His pulled you down slowly, his member stretching you to the point of pure bliss. The feeling was more intense than anything you’d both had ever felt. Castiels eyes squeezed shut, his mouth hanging open, a small moan escaping your lips, as he filled you up and stopped when you reached his hilt. The pleasure was so intense it took you a moment to get your bearings before your body ached for more friction. You started off slow, lifting up, and sinking back down on to Castiel. A knot in your stomach started to build, closer and closer, as you started to build up speed. You moans matching his, his grace shining brightly through his irises and yours shined through yours. A bright red, but not evil. You, as a being was shining through, two divine beings both human and supernatural, sharing this moment in pure bliss. Love radiating off your naked bodies.

As swiftly as before, Castiel lifted you up and placed you on your back, never breaking rhythm, he met your eyes, then lips, and then a string of kisses, down your neck, earning his name that spilled from your lips. His rhythm gaining speed, and becoming more frantic, and you both built to your releases. You name and a slur of phrases left his lips. His name escaping yours, as your moans grew louder and longer, giving him the know that you were close. One more thrust, and all the tension released, pure bliss exploded from the inside out, bringing you to heaven. You tightness clenched around Castiel, and your release brought him to the peak of his, both of your meeting eachother on the other side of bliss. The moment only last seconds but felt like they lasted years. Sooner than you wanted, you came back down, reality taking you back in its clutch. Castiel sank down next you, your breathing and heartbeat breaking the silence.

You looked up toward Castiel, him already looking down at you, a content smile gracing your eyes. You wanted to and tell him, but the moment didn’t need words, he already knew, and you knew he felt the same way. You graced him a your own smile and lifted his hand to place a small kiss in his palm. You both laid together, happily content being in each others arms, Castiel had waved his hand once more, and both of you were cleaned up and clothed. The night was late, and the candle flames were dying out, bringing the room close to darkness. Everything around you was perfectly set, and your worries would have to wait until tomorrow as your lids drew heavy and sleep soon took over as you lay in Castiels arms.

#castiel x reader #castiel fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction #castiel #supernatural imagine

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carnal-lnstinct · 4 years

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Conton City Lockdown

Summary: Time patrollers have returned from missions carrying an unknown disease and infecting others denizens of Conton City with it, forcing Trunks and Supreme Kai of Time to shut down most operations and training around the City and drastically limit missions for a while until they can get everything under control. Everyone is instructed to stay inside their assigned domiciles until further notice. "Who knows what that could do to the timeline if Patrollers pass it on during a mission?!" Supreme Kai of Time urges Conton. The Conton City Hero has also been quarantined with her current Master, Goku much to both their dismay as there was still so much training left. What other shenanigans can the two saiyans get themselves into while being all cooped up.

Word Count: 6,013 (Chapter 3) AO3 Rating: Explicit / Mature Warning: nsfw ( smut, explicit language ) A/N: I actually booted up Xenoverse 2 again to get a bit more idea what to do with this chapter. I tell myself I don't want long chapters since this is a short one-shot, but I couldn't bring myself to pass on the details here. Hope its worth it!

Chapter 3

Days were really starting to feel blended together now. With Conton city running on 24 hour daylight, the week's time that passed felt like one extremely long day. By the grace of the technological advancements here were you able to track the time and days. That and the daily scheduled check in from the robotic clerks of Conton. The second most physical presence you were able to get now.

You finally awoke on the sofa feeling lighter than you remember when falling asleep. The heavier figure of the wild haired man was nowhere to be found around you. You opened your eyes to find you were alone in the living room, no immediate sounds being made until the faint hints of water sloshing around behind a door hit your ears. Relieved to still sense the passive ki of your fighting master, it wasn't completely gratifying to wake up without him. Again. For two people sleeping together, you and Goku never actually slept together. All the times he fell asleep before you, you left him to his peace and went to your bedroom alone along with him never failing to make an effort of relocating you to your room when you would fall asleep around him or are left barely lucid from your rumps. It all comes to you foggy, but you know he does it with such care and tenderness, the way he places you in your bed and tucking the blanket around you before departing to his designated sleeping space. This time though, you insisted he not to do that. Even going so far as commandeering the couch he slept on. You wanted to stay with him for the whole night at least once. Having stretched yourself out along the sofa messily decorated with a spare blanket and pillow, you patted your chest invitingly with your persistent charm knowing he could not deny it. You left him no choice but to crawl onto you and rest his head against your breasts. You still remember the length of his arms stretching around you to snuggle to his comfort, his torso between your legs and how comically his feet hung off the edge of the chair. And the weight of all his muscles on you. He seemed to become heavier the longer you stayed that way until you drifted off like a weighted blanket you never knew you needed. A brief moment where you slightly stirred from your sleep was content to still feel him wrapped around you and shifted against the weight of him for more, needing more of him around you and drifted off once again with a hand lost in his hair and another hanging around his shoulders.

It would appear he couldn't wait to get this "new day" started, the saiyan male already washing up and would be expecting breakfast to follow soon after. Come to think of it, you haven't taken a decent bath yourself since the day before yesterday and you slowly remember why.

Yesterday with little convincing, you talked Goku into following you outside to the rooftop area of your building for just a small, quick spar to keep the muscles loose. No transforming, no ki blasts, no charging your energy. Just a small practice of physical skill and technique, something that barely counted as a work out between trained saiyans such as yourselves. But something was better than nothing. It was almost eerie how quiet the large city was with only the sound of the robotic clerks working away at various tasks,but the way the sun hit you skin roused you up for the risk. Sadly it didn't take long for the small training session to draw one of their attention. The robotic voice calmly urging the both of you to go back inside per its protocol, however was immediately cut off by the sharp pierce of the familiar, old yell from your former mentor.

"Have you lost your marbles!?" The Elder Kai's vocals startling you and rattling the machine itself, shouting from the robot's speakers. "We are in a state of emergency! How dare you of all people not heed the warnings of your elders! How reckless!! Shameful!! Get your tuckus back inside or I will suspend you from any Quests! Permanently!"

Usually the old man's berating didn't phase you by much, but the thought of never going on a time patrol again wracked your core as a chilling fact of his power. Well, not his power but what the Supreme Kai of Time would do if or when she found out. You wasted no time teleporting out of there the moment you recover from your shock, leaving the confused Goku behind who immediately followed after your ki once he detected you back inside. The poor robotic clerk left to heal from the voice rattling it.

Suffice to say, getting caught really shook you up more than you could have expected. More than fighting the powered up Mira or even an angry Beerus. And though you hoped it wouldn't, it did get to the Supreme Kai of Time whose lecturing stung worse. She sounded more understanding and approached the situation more openly than the old man but the guilt certainly sat in your chest all the same. Back inside your living quarters, the conversation between you and the two Kais over your communicator ends with you being reminded of the current danger and the lack of grasp on their ends to plan a counterattack accordingly. Isolation wasn't the best option, but it was all they had so far that kept the strange disease from passing around, even sharing worry of it being anything like the virus that had attacked Goku across the timelines. Supreme Kai of Time made a passing thought that they would be in need of you very soon as well, rousing hope in you again. The Kais didn't waste time questioning Goku's presence either as he watched over your shoulder through the whole thing. You immediately answered vaguely, leaving it as him simply stopping by to train, a true fact a week ago, but since he was already here you could stand the company and he was eager to help where needed as well. That had set the tone for the rest of the day, prompting your dispirited heart to submit to whatever comfort the larger saiyan gave you by simply being there. Even just a cuddle to sleep.

With all of that flooding back into your mind, you sighed and figured it was time you prepared for the day as well, holding out hope you would be summoned to the Time Nest and anxious that maybe you would be left waiting longer as punishment. Heading into your bedroom to choose some comfy clothes to change into after your bath, an old duffel bag catches your eye as you went through your closet. It's familiar, of course, but its contents are a mystery. You hadn't used this bag since you first entered the Time Patrol Academy. Inside, you find an old scouter, your first scouter, and the old, blue bodysuit you used to wear under your armor. Made of the familiar saiyan-grade material. A nostalgic glance between the two items rushes you with a feeling of worry all over again from the Kais words replaying in your head. But Supreme Kai of Time did say soon.. You can only continue to try to remain optimistic.

Until then...an idea pops into your head, that scoundrel grin rising into your features.

Goku is settled into the tub that fit his entire body better than the small couch he was had been resting on for the week, the hot water and space around him gives such a relief to his body. He gave a light stretch before submerging himself further, knees rising out of the water but a knock at the door catches his attention.

"Oh Kakarot." He hears your voice a few moments later and turns his head toward the unlocked door. "Are you hiding from me in there?" Your tone is playful and calm, but he doesn't think twice about it.

"Not at all, did ya need something?" He answers, unaware of what was awaiting him beyond the door. You press the button sliding the door open, the bathroom light revealing your form to the half submerged saiyan. Your tail is slowly swaying behind you as you stand there with a hand on your cocked hips and the other braced on the doorway to give you an imposing and suggestive stance. Wrapped around your upper body is the blue suit alone, clinging tightly to your curves and purposely left raised around your thighs to expose them more where they connected to your ass. You purposely left yourself bare underneath the whole thing. Your feet and hands were fitted into the old white boots and matching large white gloves. And of course, the scouter is affixed to your ear to complete the look.

"Hey, Earth man." You greet him in your most sultry tone while attempting to come off as a threat, loosely wrapping your tail around your hips. "I'm here to conquer you..and then take your magical balls all for myself. What are you going to do about it, huh?" Goku's eyes lift, mesmerized by the appearance of you but not for the reason you had hoped for. "Oh, wow you have one of those power reading thingies. You look like Vegeta when he first came to Earth." He pointed at you, naivety on full display.

'That was hardly a compliment', you thought, the permanent scowl on the Prince's face flashing through your mind.

You try to play that off and raise your head to increase your look of intimidation and to keep the focus on your goal, giving him a sly smirk as you pressed the scouter button to activate it. The equipment pings and starts to reads his passive energy. "That's right, Kakarot. I'm a saiyan, after all. And according to my scouter...You're gonna be a howling mess after I pound you into the ground. Begging me to finish you off. What d'ya have to say to that?" You tease, giving him an expected look to pick up on.

Goku sits up in the water and leans against the edge of the tub as he tilts his head at you, blinking. "I think your scouter is broken, you know it's going to take a lot more training before you're able to beat me." You visibly cringe at his answer.

"--I KNOW!" You shot back, nerve scratched. Immediately you curse under your breath having openly admitted that. "I'm trying to flirt with you, ya dolt! I've been trying for 2 days now!" You huff and throw your hands up in defeat. "Forget it! Just hurry up so I can take a bath!" You storm out of the doorway snatching the scouter from your ear. As the door closes behind you, the sound of Goku calling after you to wait grows quiet as you go back into your bedroom. Throwing the scouter onto the bed you start muttering to yourself as you return to your previous task of looking for something to settle around the house again. You start to hear the bathroom door open and the heavy steps coming up fast, the dripping wet Saiyan making his way into the room with his right hand holding the towel closed around his waist.

"H-hey! I'm sorry! I-I didn't realize-!" He stutters nervously over his words as you shoot him a glare, silencing him.

"Save it! We've been at this for a week already and you still don't get it. I could wear a sign that read 'Hey Kakarot! Shove your dick inside me until I pass out again' and you would still be dense to what it means!"

"P-Please just hear me out. You know as well as I do this is all still new to me. I don't mean to make you mad but c-can you really be that surprised about i-"

"I CAN, YOU JACKASS!" You yell, stomping your way over to him as he stumbles back against the wall and you shake a gloved fist at him. "How many more times we have to do it before it gets through your thick head?! You'd pick up on me going to the kitchen for any reason at all if it got you food better than me spreading my legs in your face! GET WITH IT, KAKAROT!" You growl, your energy peaking visibly as the clear aura wrapped around you, blowing your wild saiyan hair into a frenzy. You're not as frustrated at this vicious cycle you keep going through with him and flirting, trying to play subtle and coy in getting his attention. No, it was more of everything else going on around you two.

"Easy! I will, I promise!" The larger saiyan pleaded mercy for your calm to return, a single hand up in defense of you as he felt all the more vulnerable dripping wet and barely holding the towel around his hips. Regaining your wits at his demeanor, you realized what you were doing and backed down. Your ki settles back down to your base level.

"No..." You sigh heavily, giving his wet chest a ginger pat over to better show you're harmlessness. "You're doing fine. Just..." You didn't want to come off as a bully, especially to one of the strongest warrior you know while he's naked. You begin to feel you may be shoving him out of his comfort zone despite how well received your advances do tend to go with him. Whatever this is between you two, something you still need to address. "Never mind. I'm just.. frustrated with everything else going on and I'm unfairly taking it out on you." You admit, placing your hands on your hips and turning away as you pouted with lightly dusted cheeks. "I-I'm big enough to admit that.. Just thought.. Maybe I needed a distraction from it all for a bit, but that's not your problem. I-I'm...S-sorry..."

Goku recovers, reading your change in energy beyond you lowering your power level. Better than he has picked up on most things around you lately, but to be fair he has been improving on noticing some things beyond that of a direct kiss to the lips or an obvious frown he couldn't fix with his ever encouraging words. He too remembers the old man's lecture of you basically almost being out of the job for what you two did outside and the following disapproval of the Supreme Kai of Time pretty much offering the same consequence should you go off without order again. All of that for just a little training? He gets why, but for all you've done they could have been less harsh. It's not easy for saiyans to sit still for too long. It clicks that he should know--does know-- you a little better now in this small time together than he has in all of the time you spent training from the day he first took you on as his pupil. Your job as a time patroller has been your life for a long time now, to not do it or anything that has to do with it was like taking away your reason for fighting. For training, to become stronger. All of his efforts to one day make a powerful and tough opponent out of you to challenge for real would be for nothing. Even now you back down from him and apologize in your own way for yelling at him. That was a first. Admittedly, he admires that unyielding fire in you. Goku finally understands that you don't feel good, but you're trying to. He should have realized by the sudden appearance of you in the saiyan costume that you were up to something to lift your spirit and tag him along for the fun. What kind of Training Master had he been to not realize his pupil was so deeply troubled? He...He's going to fix it.

"You're right." The larger saiyan nods, you glance over your shoulder to look at him. "I must be foolish to not see it sooner... Right, then." He laugh softly, quickly he adjusts the towel around his waist with a small knot and places his hands on the sides of his face giving an overly dramatic look of terror. "Oooh nooo! It is a saiyan from another planet coming to destroy me!"

Your brow quirks at this sudden display and you turn around to find him dropping down on his knees with his head lowered, bowing down to you in this animated fashion to accent his downright hammy performance. "Please don't destroy my planet, oh evil one! Take me instead!"

Unbelievable. You snort and break into a laugh. "Kakarot, no. You don't have to do this. It's okay."

"Oh yeah?" He lifts his head up with a wink and leaps up, putting space between you both and takes on his fighting stance. "Because I am not Kakarot! I am Goku, the saiyan from earth and defender of its people! I will defeat you, evil saiyan!" He smirks, immediately transforming into his super saiyan form. The aura washing over the room and leaves the pale gold color of hair and azure eyes "glaring" back at you.

You blink at him, body stirred by the sudden appearance of his super saiyan form. Lifting your hands from your hips you slowly take a fighting stance of your own. "Goku, 'defender of earth' huh?" You repeat grinning as well, the similar shade of blue replacing the black hue of your eyes as the golden glow burst out around your body. "Not when I'm done with you. I'm going to put you on your back, Earth boy."

"Not if I put you on yours first."

You didn't expect that, but you would be lying if you said it didn't immediately excite you. The space around you is small but you waste no time jumping forward with a ready fist to punch at him. He blocks you with his forearm and as you come at him again with your off hand, punch denied again by a raised knee.

You're both holding back, but the loose items around you are rattling on their surfaces from the force of your moves alone. You continue going at him, picking up the pace with your half-hearted punches. Goku remaining ever elusive to your increasing speed, movements blurring to the naked eye. Your hands collide together, feet braced on the floor as you pushed against each other in this playful display of strength. Fingers laced, the electric blue of your eyes boring into one another as sparks of rogue energy began to race in between your hold and around each of your knuckles. It was amazing how you were both barely giving any effort worth bragging about but still managed to produced such energy, this vortex of power appearing around you and the vibrations shaking the entire place. You can start to feel energy tingling, grow erratic between your palms, this making you both quickly draw back before it escalated into something more wild and destructive to your room.

You could only look at each other through the gap of empty space between you now as the feeling of that energy still tingles against your skin but starting to fade. A silent exchange between your stares and your smile fades, Goku withdrawing from his fighting pose to stand at his tallest. Together, you let go of you super saiyan forms to return to base level, your breath trembles on exhale at the release of power. Goku treads across the floor to you and you come to meet him without hesitation, colliding together once more but in a furious exchange of kisses and hands pulling anywhere they can grab. You left no space between you with hands settling around his torso to hold him closer and his cradling your head in his large hands, leaving little chance for you to catch your breath. His skin already felt dry against your grip, most likely from the rising heat of his body upon transforming and you can smell the fragrant soap emanating from it's surface. The rough hands you would normally find around the small of your back by now clung to the back of your exposed thighs as you were lifted up in a single, effortless motion, propping your legs around his waist. This demeanor of his is different. Where you normally the lead, you find yourself following his actions, your legs looping at the ankles around him without thought.

Suddenly the wall is slam against your back, your hands pulled from his waist and held back by each side of your head. You gasp in a deep breath, chest continuing to heave for air as your surprised eyes looked up into the larger male's darker, commanding gaze. You feel your heart going wild in your chest, feeling smaller than you were under his eyes. "Promise to stop terrorizing my planet ...and I won't let you suffer." Goku brusque "warning" leaves your jaw hanging, only a resigned whimper betraying you when he pressed closer to you. "Got it?"

You collect your thoughts and swallow, raising your head to give the impression of looking down your nose at him. "Make me." you dared, managing to smirk again. "I can take anything you throw at me, earthling." You try to sound tough, but you hoped he would do just that. Anything. Once more your body betrays you as your thighs twitch around his hips in excitement for what's to come now.

He smirks back at you, "I figured you'd say that." You feel your back leave the wall but your hands still bound by his larger pair, more and more your lower body grows enticed to this authoritative motion. In no means were you so much weaker you couldn't shake yourself free of him, more so you were eager to see where he intends to go with this. You almost didn't want to fight back. Even his energy feels different to you. It is nothing like the passive ki you sensed when he was in the bath tub. Your eyes never leave his and you feel your collective weight fall into the mattress of your bed. Goku releases your hands finally and trace over the skin tight material down to your sides where he proceeds to mercilessly tickle at you beneath him. He has you trapped, your legs still around him and his body so close to you limiting any means to escape it.

You let out a holler of laughs, twisting violently beneath him and pulling whatever your hands could grab that would help you pull yourself free. "Ka- Kakarot I'll k-kill you...f-for this!" You managed to shriek out between your fits of uncontrolled laughter.

"You should have accepted surrender!" Goku teases, giving you a shit-eating grin. Your legs fall from his hips as you dig your booted heels against the bed to try to push away to no avail. He continues his assault, hands too strong and too quick to beat away. The most you could manage to do was twist around to your stomach and attempt to crawl while batting your tail at him.

"C'mon, say 'uncle'!"

"You a-ass! Th-This isn't f-fair!" You body continued to convulse at the tickling and your words just seemed to grow more broken up in your cackles.

"Say it!"

"S-STOP!"

"I'll only stop if you say it!"

"F-Fine! UNCLE! U-UNCLE!"

The saiyan male liberates you from his attack, leaving you to lie there a panting, grinning shame. How could you not expect this from him? This big goof. "I'm sorry, it was too good a chance I couldn't pass it up!" He giggles at you from a benevolent place before that switch appeared to go off in his head again and that good-natured innocent saiyan you knew disappeared into a sinful gaze. "Now let's get serious." As if you weren't feeling limp enough, a pressure bears down around your tail, eyes shooting wide at the sharpness that overcame your entire body. Goku lets up on his grip at the base of your tail just enough to divert any pain, leaving only the lack of control of your limbs. He is all too familiar with what a tight grip could do and he doesn't want you to hurt, just doesn't want you trying to wiggle away again. "Guess you're not as big a conqueror as you thought. You haven't even trained your tail." He coos, patronizing you for your weakness. "Guess you're nothin' but a big bully."

"A-Are you out of your mind?! Let go!" You gripe at him, though left silenced with a small whimper when he gives a light tug and raises your hips to settle your lower body on your knees. With what strength left in your body holding you there, he lets up his grip again. Goku runs a finger of his free hand along the stretched fabric clinging to you where it contours to your warmth, clit twitching on contact. His stroking circles between your entrance and your sensitive button making you bite your lip at the long awaited contact but jerk your head back to look at him trying to focus on the fact he has your tail in his grasp. "H-hey! Do you hear me?!" You see his eyes lift to yours and his lips curve into an almost devilish countenance, turning his gaze to his finger's handiwork and the saturated line of moisture growing in its pattern.

"You said you could take anything I throw at you, right?" He asks continuing to toy with you, switching from his finger to his thumb as he narrowed his motion to your clothed clit. Your entire lower body jerks back against it, wanting to follow the motion but trying to hold control until he withdraws his limb when he realizes your resolve. "What was that you were saying earlier? You were going to put me on my back?" His husky voice goads you on. Knowing full well there wasn't much left you could do with your tail in his trained hand and your drenched button twitching from stimulation, you almost consider taking your words back in this game. You watch him shift behind you, carefully positioned on his own knees between your legs and hear his towel fall loose and land beside your head, earning your eyes. In place of his fingers now, you feel the head of his erect cock press against your clit, exciting it all the more through the fabric. You mewl at the contact, dropping your head into the mess of sheets of pillows and pushing your hips back against him for more. You can feel you insides practically opening up for him, ready to take him in if not for your damned suit! Goku laughs a little, "You just say when you're ready to give up and I'll end your suffering." How can he still sound so in control teasing you like this?! He must have been sizing you up for this the moment he triggered his super saiyan form, conniving every step and reading your responses for the proper approach. Let it never be said Goku's wiles were not up to par with getting what he wanted, especially when he was confident he was going to come out on top.

God Damn it, Kakarot.

The not so subtle rubs of him against your entrance but denied by your clothes taunted you further. He knows exactly what he's doing when he's into it, a lesson you would not have thought you would come to regret if he was going to tease you like this. You try to tell your body you can endure more of this, but your insides are begging to be filled with him.

"Well?"

"....I'll...yield..." You relinquish your pride to your greedy, depraved core. You don't think you have ever been more turned on by him then you were right now. You regain control of your muscles once you feel all the pressure lift from your tail and it dangles at your side. A sigh of relief, you attempt to speak and lift yourself. "Kakarot, yo-", A keen shriek shoots from your throat when you feel the fabric pulled aside, exposing your moist privates, and how easily the head of his cock found its way inside, opening you up for the rest of him. Your entire core rattles with delight at the penetration. You should have known it was too good to be true. He was caving alongside you the whole time, waiting for your blessing to take you. Goku lets out a decadent groan as his length twitches feverish from the snug caress of your insides welcoming him, drawing himself in and out as he lets his control slip away.

"Took you long enough." He chokes back, stretching the fabric further away from your hole, his other hand guiding your hips back to suit his cock.

"J-Just shut up!" You still attempted to sound tough, though your voice was muffled by the sheet you had bitten down on as the pleasure ignited inside you. It already felt like you were edging towards your orgasm, you had to attempt to calm your overexcited nerves enough to enjoy the full ride. How easily your body accepted his length this time left you almost breathless. Already you can feel his hips bouncing off your ass, driving your lower body back with just one of his hands to meet his thrusts. There was no holding it back now considering how much he stirred you up. Your insides squeeze him all at once as a strained, euphoric squeal falls out of your throat. His rhythm slows in response, groaning as your twitchy insides only seem to pull him in to the hilt and grow all the more hotter around him. You hold yourself against him as the head of his cock nudges at your deep spot, rubbing together in your languid movements.

The strong hands of the saiyan reaches over to your frame and draws you up to hold you into the contour of his muscles, your back resting against his chest as you readjust your legs to accommodate the position. Goku wastes no time pulling the stretchy fabric down your shoulder, kissing the revealed skin to his content. With the lightest twist of your torso, you turn to meet his lips, reaching behind his head and taking a handful of his hair. He begins to quicken the grind of his hips into you again, a steady flow of deep thrusts in this new position you immediately rock yourself into.

"That all you got?" You prod, coherent enough to still provoke this "punishment" worthy of planetary invasion. Though intense and more gripping than ones before, you've endure much more than a single orgasm from him. There was more to go before all the fight is taken out of either of you. You feel his lips spread into a grin against yours, clearly taking the bait.

"I can go all out." He shamelessly declares, a fact you're both aware of, thrive on. You were creating a debauched monster and you intended to delight in every minute of it. Every moment he wraps you in his large arms and bears down on you to drive inch after inch into your core until it hurts, every curt and tactless word that falls out of his mouth inevitably reminding you of this carnal delicacy of a man who finds new ways to please you, every kiss..and beyond kissing. That alone stirred your arousal right back up. He wrestles control of your hips from you with both hands and begins plunging his cock against your spot again with enough momentum to knock you back into the sheets below. Each of your hands grip at the back of his head to anchor yourself from falling over, taking every bit of this lewd assault on your body with wanton sobs. "D-Don't..Don't stop!" You urged, attempting to bounce yourself back into his movements. Goku braces his forehead against the top of your skull, switching from holding your frame in his hands to wrapping his arms around your build and continuing to drive into you, rocking your entire body with a sharp and ungraceful cadence you could only interpret as his own orgasm creeping in. Your hold on his head grows stronger as your pleasure builds back up to the edge so soon, voice trembling. He lets out a tremulous groan behind you as he stills his hips inside you with a rough shove, hot cum gushing against the wild spasms of your insides. Deliriously you both ride out the shared euphoria until you sink further into his hold, these strong arms the only thing holding you up at the moment.

The larger saiyan leans against you, encouraging you to lie forward as his body follows, catching himself on his own hands and letting you slide off his expended cock before rolling over beside you. Your face is lost in a small bundle of sheets and pillows, body still quivering from it's ecstasy. You managed to turn your head towards him with a small gasp for air, the rise and fall of his chest as he draws for air making him look like he was worn out but you knew better. You extend a hand to touch face, turning his head to look at you. When your eyes meet you see a smile start to form in his features, that kindness returning to his eyes. At least until you narrow your eyes on him and slap your hand down across his cheek with the strength you could find from your exertion. Goku lets out a yelp of "Ows" and holds the reddening side of his face, downright confused as he looks back at you.

"Ow, geez! What was that for?!"

"You grab my tail again... I'm pulling a new one out of you through your throat." You huff, lifting yourself up enough to crawl over and lie across his chest. "Warn me before you do that next time."

"Y-Yeah.." He agrees, laughing as he continued to rub his cheek.

"U-Umm...Guys?" A voice emanates by your feet. You and Goku both look at each other in mirrored confusion before looking down to where the voice came from. By your feet you see only the old scouter barely hanging from the edge of the bed. A couple of voices come through, all turning your face a ghostly white as you stared at it wide-eyed. That's right, you never turned the scouter off. It was old but it was the exact some one you wore at the time Elder Kai scouted you for that special mission. The very one you synced with the systems of the Time Nest so the Kais, Trunks and His partner could communicate with you while out on a mission. You're pretty sure your heart just stopped in your chest.

"T-...Trunks?!" You answer hesitantly. The half saiyan responds in a tone similar to yours, wishing he could hide away from the things he heard but its clear now that you were all aware of each other now and everything that transpired between the communicators since you pressed that power button.

"I-I didn't mean to interrupt! J-Just thought you should know Supreme Kai of Time requests for you. Uh, whenever she and my partner can revive the Elder Kai," Trunks manages to report, ever embarrassed. Somewhere in the Time Nest lay the fainted elder kai with a heated face and a drip of blood hanging from his nose., Supreme Kai of Time and the former Toki Toki city hero doing their best to bring the elder back to consciousness.

Your brain is still trying to process what this was going to mean for you, but Goku began to laugh sheepishly, holding a hand to his head. "Well this is gonna be awkward, isn't it?"

#goku x reader #goku imagine #goku dbz #goku dbs #xenoverse 2 #Dragon Ball Z #dragon ball super #My writing

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be-dazzled · 4 years

Text

Sore Loser

Pairing: Mirajane Strauss, Laxus Dreyar Series: PAINtball Series GRUVIA version (It Won’t Hurt)

Writer’s Corner: So, this was a really cute, just passing series while we are stuck with a bad case of writer’s block. So far, I only have two chaps for this series but who knows inspiration might strike. Maybe the girls win again? Hehe. Enjoy!

---

Mirajane Strauss was a kind-hearted, easy-going, all-smiles woman. In other words, she was just a little ball of sunshine who got along with everyone. Until, you throw her into the battle field. Then, welcome to the dark side.

“Laxus!” cried Natsu. “Take your girlfriend away!”

“You pussies!” The woman shrieked, running havoc at the Fairytail Paintball Playground.

Despite winning this year’s ‘Boys vs. Girls Paintball Game’, the guys had to crouch behind the makeshift barrels, hiding from the crazy woman running the paintball gun at anyone in sight. It didn’t matter that the guys won. Mira felt cheated. So, she conveniently ignored their cries of surrender and open-fired at them.

Watching his five-foot-three-inch girlfriend go psycho at the guys like some kind of avenging warrior, it kind of made Laxus feel proud. His little goody two shoes making all those sons of bitches cry, putting fear in their trembling hearts. To top it all off, she was spewing cusswords at all the guys, some of whom were twice her size. Laxus was grateful he had to serve as mediator in this year’s game. Otherwise, he’d be hiding behind the barrels too.

“TAKE YOUR CRAZY GIRLFRIEND HOME!”

Loke demanded, covering that sensitive part targeted by Laxus’ psycho girlfriend, writhing on the ground in pain because he made the mistake of walking up to the fuming monster.

“Or no one in here will have kids. Ever!”

If he wasn’t burying his head on the ground in pain, Laxus was sure he’d find tears rolling down the Casanova’s religiously moisturized cheeks. But the biggest flirt of the century was right. If Laxus wouldn’t put an end to it, he’d be there the rest of the day watching the guys get their balls served to them. Laxus had better things to do, such as claiming his prize a.k.a the Dark Side Mirajane shooting the paintball gun indiscriminately. So, he walked up to the other half of the monster duo, wrestled the paintball gun out of her hands and hefted the hostile Mirajane over his shoulder.

“That’s enough, Mira.” said Laxus, patting her cute butt as Mirajane wildly wiggled over his shoulder for freedom.

“Not until I give them a piece of my mind!” refused Mira, throwing a fist at the guys behind the barrel. “You wimps! Why are you hiding now?!”

Laxus audibly sighed. “I think you’ve given them enough.”

The woman stopped struggling from his hold as Laxus carried her back to his car but she focused all energy calling the guys names. “Cry babies!” yelled she. “You don’t have balls! Hah. You don’t even deserve one!”

Laxus bit down a laugh. The woman was heartless. He reminded himself never to get on her bad side, ever. He realized the guys have finally discovered him taking care of their ‘problem’ since they started coming out of hiding and shouting back at his angry warrior.

“Well, what now? You sore loser!” He could place that voice everywhere. The same voice begging him to take out the avenging girlfriend – Natsu.

“We beat you this time!”

“Oh yeah?” retaliated she. “Put me down, Laxus. I’ll show them what ‘beat up’ supposed to mean.” Mira turned to him, propping a hand over his shoulder, ready to climb down him to smack someone. “Those spineless bastards.”

Laxus tightened his hold over her, slapping her butt this time to get her to keep quiet.

Didn’t work.

“Wait ‘til I get down from here you insolent bastards! I’m going to kick your balls up to your–”

That’s when the screaming started again. He didn’t need to look back to know what was happening. Chose not to. Because the cries gave him a clear picture of what was coming down in that battle field - a bloodbath. Some begged for their lives, some screeched in pain, and some just lauded the sacrifices of their fallen comrades.

“Yeah, that’s it Erza!” Laxus’ little monster cheered on. Whistling and yeah-ing at the other half of their monster duo.

Laxus shook his head. He was just a few steps away from where he parked his car. His friends called for him, pleading for his help. As much as he wanted to take care of the redhead too, he got his hands full of one sore loser.

“Give them heeeell!”

…

“Are you still pouting?”

“No.”

Obviously, she still was. But Laxus kept his silence as he pulled and led Mirajane into the lobby of his building.

“That freaking bastard!” She erupted after stepping into the elevator. “What a sly bastard. I didn’t even think Gray’s capable of that.” She spewed, crossing her arms underneath her chest. “What a sly bastard.” She mused, her brows meeting in the middle, eyes boring a hole at the steel doors.

“You would have done the same.” His voice was low and easy to miss except that Mira easily caught on to it.

“What?” She stared at him with disbelief. “What the… how could you even… hah. I can’t believe you’ll take their side.”

He wasn’t actually taking anyone’s side. Laxus was stating facts. But just like that, all of Mira’s anger was directed at him.

“Unbelievable.” She shook her head, hardening her jaw at his betrayal. Then, an outraged gasp bounced around the closed box. “So that’s why you get to have me as prize?” Mira concluded. “But you didn’t even join in the game.” Even if Mirajane’s height only reached his shoulders, she still stared up to him as if they were equals. Laxus loved that about his woman.

Laxus turned to face her, that accusing little thing glaring at him with questioning eyes. He bridged the gap between them, his purposeful strides intimidating her into taking steps back until there was no room to step back to. “Well, baby…” He planted both arms on either side of her head, resting his body against hers. “I saved those crybabies from this crazy woman shooting at them,” his lips hovered over her parting ones. Laxus pleasingly watched as his almost-kiss melted that angry expression on her face.

And oh how much she was anticipating that kiss.

With triumph in his voice, Laxus leaned into her ear. Slowly, he whispered, “Mine to do,” and he spoke the next words in that way he knew did things to her. “Whatever. I. Want.”

Mirajane jumped at the sound of the elevator ding. She marched out of that really, really cramp and really, really hot elevator before she forgot all about her anger and his betrayal. When did it get so hot in there? She asked herself as her feet brought her to his unit. All the while, fanning her reddened cheeks with her own hands.

A few minutes later, Mira was standing in the middle of Laxus’ apartment, confusedly staring at that golden, she dared call bikini, Laxus presented to her.

“You want me to wear that?” She questioned, expecting him to change his answer.

“Yes.” But of course Laxus has made up his mind. Handing her again the garments, this time more insistently, he reminded, “Don’t forget the hair too.” He totally ignored the way she narrowed her eyes at him and plopped to the couch to wait for Mira to get changed.

When it looked like he wasn’t going to cave in, Mira gave up and started for his bathroom.

“Fvck Gray.” She cursed under her breath.

“No, no, no, babe. You know I get jealous when you say some other guy’s name after fvck.”

Mira stopped and turned around.

“That wasn’t what I meant.” She quickly denied. But with a teasing smirk, Laxus waved her to move along and get changed into that sexy costume. It cost him a fortune but Mirajane in a Princess Leia golden bikini? Totally worth it.

One secret fantasy all the guys his age had was about to come to life and Laxus couldn’t wait to get his hands on it. He didn’t have to wait long as Mirajane materialized before his appreciative eyes, clad in the whole ensemble: copper brassiere, red loincloth, gold-plated arm-wrap, and last but definitely got the gears going was the gold-plated collar around her neck. And as Laxus demanded, Mira had her long silver hair parted in the middle and pulled into rolled buns on either side of her head. She watched the movie with him, albeit reluctantly. Mira had a faint idea what she was supposed to look like.

Laxus’ own Princess Leia. All the nerds at their parents’ basement must have died of jealousy.

Laxus ran his tongue over his lips like a predator about to devour his prey. Mirajane didn’t miss that, the way he bit his lip and how he was seemingly undressing her with his deep brown eyes. She felt her stomach knotted with the hot gaze that drank her in and she tried to ignore her own lust that flooded her body.

Undeniably and quite clearly turned on, Laxus walked up to Mirajane, holding her blue eyes captive. He stopped in front of her, mere inches away that the cups of her brassiere brushed against his hard chest. He had that half smile, that smirk that told Mira he owned her. At that moment, she thought that he might be right because Mira could hardly keep herself standing with that undeniable electricity bouncing between them. And when Laxus ran his fingers over her exposed skin, she felt the static surged through her veins. A light touch with an explosive effect.

“Your skin is so beautiful.” He said in a low rumble, only taking his eyes off of her to see where he was touching. “I wouldn’t want to ruin it.”

Mira didn’t understand what he was driving at until she watched him take out a rope from behind the couch and a camera. One thought crossed her mind and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. But her heart was pounding loudly than it did earlier than when they were inside the elevator.

“Laxus… what are you…”

“Oh, this?” He dangled the rope in front of Mira’s stunned blue eyes. “Just a little payback, my slave.”

“P-payback?”

Mira matched Laxus’ measured strides with a step back but he was quick to catch on.

“Remember when you enjoyed hitting me with that whip of yours?”

Vividly.

Last year, when the girls bagged their second win and Mirajane got Laxus as her prize, the sweet and innocent girlfriend had the opportunity to show another side of her that not even Laxus has seen before – dark and domineering – who secretly enjoyed a little bondage and discipline, dominance and submission. She not only made him wear a crop top which read ‘Mira’s Little B*tch’ but Dominant Mira introduced him to a whole new world. He would be lying if he said the bondage and the whips didn’t scare him at first. It freaked him out how this alter ego enjoyed inflicting both pain and pleasure, something his Mirajane would never take delight in. The girl couldn’t even kill a bug! Or so he thought. But later, he seemed to have understood. He, a proud man, suffered through her dominance and now, Laxus was ready to give Mirajane a taste of her own medicine.

Well, sort of.

“Now, give me your hands.” ordered he, to which Mirajane complied.

Laxus watched her intently while he bound her wrists with the rope. Mira couldn’t handle the heat; she shifted her gaze and stared at her hands being wrapped together.

“Just remember my safe word–”

“–Bunnies. Your safe word is ‘bunnies’.” finished Laxus as he finally tied one end of the rope. Then, he took a step back to take a look at his masterpiece. Laxus took in her perfection, nodding satisfyingly to himself before he took a photo to memorialize this moment.

“Laxus!” complained Mira, dazed at the bright flash that almost blinded her.

But the master took his time waiting for the photo to develop and dry out. “Just a little remembrance.” said he. He looked at the Polaroid of slave Mirajane and frowned. Unfortunately, pictures couldn’t capture the perfection that was in front of him. Slave Mirajane was even better than any dream he had of this moment. But on those nights that he’d like to look back fondly on this very moment and Mirajane wasn’t around to do an encore, those photos would serve as substitute, albeit poorly.

“Now,” he threw the camera and the photos behind him, landing on the cushion of the couch, “let me remind you of who I am.” He grabbed the other end of the rope and wrapped it around his hand as he bridged the gap between them. “I’m the master, you’re the slave. That means I can do whatever I want.” Then, he pulled hard on the rope, jerking Mirajane towards him. He stole a quick peck from a surprised Mira and reminded her once more, “Whatever. I. Want.”

His deep brown eyes were full of promises – hot and wicked. Mira understood her role and, as an obedient slave, she averted her eyes away from him, cheeks turning hot and rosy.

“Yes, Master.” She consented with a small voice.

“Good girl.”

Holding on the rope, Laxus led his slave into his bedroom where a whole night of dominance and submission awaited them.

#miraxus #laxus x mirajane #be-dazzled #laxus dreyar #mirajane strauss #laxus x mira #lamira #miraxus drabble #miraxus short

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golden-deer-dear · 5 years

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What We Deserve, Claude x Byleth Fluff

Summary: Claude and Byleth are intent on breaking down the walls between Almyra and Fódlan, and they're starting with their wedding.

A series of snapshots of their wedding day.

Notes: My entry for the @claudlethweek prompt, which was traditions. Hope you guys enjoy!

Read on AO3.

What We Deserve

"I want to spend the night with my wife!" Claude whined as he draped himself over a fainting couch. He had spent most of the day running from Lorenz, but his friend had finally caught up with him and dragged Claude into a large chamber covered in maps and tapestries depicting battles fought long ago. Claude guessed this was the room in which Holst usually held his war councils, and was cleared out just for this special occasion. (Ever since Byleth and Claude had asked Holst to take over the Locket for the ceremony, Holst had taken his duty as host very seriously.)

"She is not your wife until tomorrow," Lorenz pointed out while pouring himself a glass of wine. He completely ignored the melodramatic pout Claude shot his way, refusing even to look at the newly crowned Almyran king sprawled out over a plush couch like a spoiled child.

“Well, spending all night in prayer to the goddess doesn’t sound like much fun either,” Claude said, continuing to sulk.

Lorenz and Sylvain both laughed, making Claude feel like he was missing out on the joke. Even Felix was fighting back a smile when he looked up at them all. “Technically what we’re supposed to be doing,” Sylvain said as he popped the cork out of another bottle of wine. “Not that anyone ever really does that.” He poured a much too generous amount of wine into a goblet and handed it to Claude. “Drink up, buddy.”

Claude’s pout fell away, replaced by a much more interested gleam in his eyes. “So this is what you do instead?” he asked as he took the offered cup. “Get drunk and eat too much?”

Raphael laughed, already piling a ridiculous amount of food onto his plate. “It’s a celebration! What better way to tell the goddess you’re thankful for all the good things in your life than by actually showing her?”

Claude raised his cup in a salute. “Well said, Raph.”

“Yeah!” Raphael cheered through a mouth full of food. “Besides, we’ve got a ton of food! It’d be a shame to let it go to waste! And there’ll be more tomorrow too!”

“Yes,” Lorenz drawled, staring at the large man with a bit of endearment, but mostly disgust. “We’ll be attending feasts for the next week, what with how you and the Professor have agreed to honor each culture of your respective cultures.”

“You don’t think we deserve it after all this?” Claude asked lightly, taking a sip of wine.

Lorenz sighed a bit melodramatically, his shoulders slumping to add to the act. “I suppose we do.”

“We’re really happy for you, Claude,” Ignatz added, looking like he wasn’t sure where he should be at the moment. “You and the Professor have done so much for us, we wish you the best.”

“Well said,” Sylvain agreed, raising his glass. “While I am saddened that it will not be me waiting for our beloved Professor before the altar tomorrow, I could not have lost to a better man.”

“Careful now,” Claude said as he leaned back into the couch, raising his cup to his lips to hide the grimace of annoyance that crossed his face. “Keep talking like that, and those words might find their way back to Ingrid.”

Sylvain blanched, while Felix outright laughed. “Ah well, to you and the Professor!” Sylvain managed to finish before tipping his glass back. Despite the nature of the first part of the toast, the other men in the room drank as well, Lorenz shaking his head at their first Blue Lion transfer.

“You got all that?”

Claude turned to look as Cyril opened the door to the large chamber the men had taken over. Someone, Claude suspected was Ashe, walked through with a tray ladden so high with food there was no way he could see over it. “Ah, yes, thank you, Cyril.” Yep, definitely Ashe.

“Here, let me help ya!” Without waiting for an answer, and despite Ashe’s previous assurance, Raphael swept the tray out of Ashe’s hands, leaving the poor boy blinking in shocked confusion, before depositing it on the table with the rest of the food they had already acquired.

Claude’s mouth watered as the scent of onion and saffron floated on the air. “That smells amazing.”

“I hope it tastes good,” Ashe said nervously. “I got the recipe from one of the women that came with your mother.”

Claude looked at the tray, smiling widely at the sight. “Are they cakes?” Lorenz asked.

“A rice cake,” Claude clarified. “It’s got chicken and yogurt in it too. One of my favorites when I was a kid. I haven’t had it in....a really long time.”

“My mom used to make those,” Cyril said softly, his eyes lighting up with happy memories.

The Fódlan born nobles looked at the cakes suspiciously. Ignatz, Raphael, and Cyril were quick to dig in. Claude launched off the couch toward the tray. “Hey! Save some for me!”

And so, Claude spent the night before his wedding feasting and drinking with some of his closest friends. When Sylvain challenged him to a game of chess, Claude showed him no mercy. The only thing that would have made it better was if Byleth had been allowed to join them.

Spring was well under way, but this far up in the mountains there was still a nip in the air. Byleth enjoyed it, content as a light wind blew around them. Holst had cleared out an outdoor section of the keep for her and ‘her ladies’ (as he had taken to calling them). He and Seteth were around somewhere, patrolling to keep unwanted visitors away from the small bridal party. (Although, Flayn had proven to be the most terrifying option to run into. Her disarming smiles made whomever she aimed them at feel as if they had disappointed the goddess herself.)

“All right, so we have options,” Hilda said, uncharacteristically serious. She set a large box in front of Byleth, who simply stared back at her.

Leonie snorted from her position next to Odette, helping Claude’s mother check over some substance called henna. Hilda ignored her and opened the box, revealing golden jewelry. Byleth leaned forward to study them, seeing that all contained little details that were Hilda’s signature trademarks.

“Did you make all of these for me?”

Hilda flushed lightly. “I just brought a selection of my latest designs,” she said too quickly. “I figured we would let you choose first, and then the rest of us could choose something so we matched.”

“That was sweet of you,” Marianne said in her soft voice, making Hilda flush even deeper. Byleth shared a look with Leonie, and they quickly moved to hide their laughter.

“Ooooh, these are so pretty!” Annette squealed, leaning over Byleth’s shoulder to get a better look.

“Oh, this necklace is beautiful.” Dorothea joined them, pulling out a rose shaped pendant made of tiny rubies and emeralds.

“It is,” Byleth agreed. “But I think that would look better on Leonie than on me.”

“Me?” Leonie almost shrieked. Odette clicked her tongue when the other woman almost spilled the henna in her shock. “I don’t really do jewelry, so I’m good.”

“But Lorenz would certainly like it,” Hilda pointed out, her turn to look smug as Leonie went bright red.

Odette was silent as she joined them, setting up her bowls and brushes in front of Byleth. She took Byleth’s hand in her own and began to work as the girls continued to talk. “Do not choose a necklace for yourself,” she instructed. “I brought something for you to wear as well.”

Hilda latched onto those words and immediately focused her attention on Claude’s mother. “I would love to see it!”

Odette smiled, still focused on Byleth’s hands as she began to apply the henna, but said, “Mercedes, please bring over the box in my belongings inlaid with the golden sun.”

“Oh, certainly.” It did not take Mercedes long to find the specified box and bring it over to the group. When Odette nodded, she opened it, all of the women gathered around gasping at the beauty of the choker laying on black velvet. Mercedes took it from the box and placed it around Byleth’s neck. The large emerald resting against her throat caught the noonday light, reminding her of her fiance's eyes.

“We are bringing the wine!” Petra’s loud announcement broke through the silence that had settled over the group, and everyone relaxed back into their easy chatting as she and Ingrid poured everyone a glass.

“Petra! You should braid the Professor’s hair!” Dorothea suggested happily.

“Yes! That would be amazing!” Hilda agreed readily.

Petra smiled at Byleth hesitantly. “That would be wonderful,” Byleth said, answering Petra’s unspoken question. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Petra shook her head and took a place behind Byleth. “I do not be minding.”

“Oooh, you’re going to be so pretty!” Annette squealed again. Byleth was finding out that wedding apparently made the younger woman a bit giddy.

“Claude’s going to cry when he sees you,” Hilda said with a smirk.

“All right, I finished it.”

Byleth turned to Lysithea. The young woman had gone off earlier that morning, and no one had been able to find her since. Now it seemed she had returned, brandishing...a flower crown? She blushed at Byleth’s questioning look. “I know you are dressing in Almyran tradition, and Claude is doing the same with Fódlan fashions, but this isn’t exactly something for Claude.”

Seeing that Byleth was still confused, Mercedes continued the explanation. “The youngest member of the bridal party makes a crown of lilies for the bride to wear. It is supposed to represent her devotion to the goddess.”

Byleth raised her eyebrows, and turned back to Lysithea. “It doesn’t have to mean that. I mean, you practically are the goddess, but I just thought…” The young woman trailed off, uncharacteristically unsure of herself.

“I like it,” Byleth said simply. “Petra, can we integrate it into your design?”

“Yes, of course.”

For the first time in a long time, Byleth felt truly relaxed. Her former students...no, her friends, chatted around her, helping her choose the finishing touches for her outfit tomorrow. Tomorrow. Byleth smiled softly and touched the emerald at her throat, thinking of just what all this was for. Tomorrow she would marry Claude.

Odette noticed, squeezing Byleth’s hand gently. “You really love my son, don’t you?” Her question went unheard by the others. Dorothea had roped them into helping her convince Ingrid to wear makeup for the ceremony.

Byleth’s smile grew wider, unable to hide her happiness. “Yes.”

“Good. He needs a woman like you.”

Byleth frowned in concern, until she heard the noise again. With a sigh, she went to the window and waited. “That took you longer than usual,” Byleth said as Claude dragged himself into the room. He rolled gracelessly, crashing onto the floor. A moment later he held something up, giving a triumphant cry.

“Yeah, well I was carrying something.” Claude indicated the covered tray in his hands. “I brought you some food.”

“Are you drunk?” Byleth asked, watching as Claude got himself to his feet.

He held his fingers very close together in front of his face. “A little bit.”

Byleth laughed softly and shook her head. “Claude, you know we’re not supposed to see each other until the ceremony.”

“I know!” Claude whined like a wounded puppy. “But to be fair, it’s too dark in here for me to actually see you. And Ashe made tahchin, and I really wanted you to try it.”

“You’ll have to feed it to me,” Byleth said. There was the hint of a tease in her voice, one which Claude would usually catch onto easily, but this time it seemed to fly right over his head. “Your mother will kill me if I mess up her work.” She wiggled her fingers at him, but it really was too dark for him to make out the details of her henna.

“I can do that.” Claude crashed into a chair, pulling Byleth into his lap. He removed the cover of the tray and picked up some of the food, trying to aim for Byleth’s mouth. He missed completely, smashing it against her cheek.

“Claude!” Byleth laughed, trying to brush the rice from her cheek.

Claude joined in her laughter, burying his face against her shoulder. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her. Byleth could feel him relax against her back. “Stars, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Claude,” Byleth answered back, brushing Claude’s unruly hair back out of his face. She kissed his forehead, content to simply snuggle against the man she had chosen as her own. They fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

Lorenz waking them up with a shriek about decorum was rather amusing. And honestly, Byleth could not think of a more perfect way to start off her wedding day.

Byleth’s breath caught in her throat as she peeked around the corner, managing to catch a glimpse of Claude. He was so handsome she felt she needed to remind herself how to pull air into her lungs.

She watched as he adjusted the sleeve of his tunic, its light gold color matching her dress. The surcoat he wore over it was a soft green, a few shades darker than Byleth’s eyes, and a darker gold. It was emblazoned with the Crest of Flames on the left side, right above his heart, and the Crest of Riegan on the right. The surcoat draped a few inches below his knees, almost meeting his polished black boots. There was only an inch or so of the tight black leggings he worn on beneath, and Byleth felt herself flush slightly upon thinking of seeing him in just those leggings later.

Seteth said something to him, which Claude responded to with a laugh and that charming smile of his. His gloved hands rested on his belt, both inlaid with gems mapping out constellations in the night sky. His gloves showed ones from Fódlan, while the belt depicted those seen in Almyra.

Claude bent his head forward, that troublesome lock of hair falling forward into his face. He brushed it back, only for it to fall forward immediately. But then the music started, and Claude did not seem very interested in his hair any longer.

“Are you ready?” Alios asked her as the other members of the wedding party began to line up.

Byleth took his offered hand and nodded. Alois immediately began to tear up. “I wish your father could see you. He would be so proud,” Alois said, his voice quivering.

“I wish he was here too.” Byleth breathed deeply, her chest aching for a moment as she thought of Jeralt. “But, I know he would not have entrusted this task to anyone else besides you.”

Alois was full on openly weeping now. Byleth patted his hand and watched as Hilda linked arms with Marianne. Petra and Dorothea did the same, as did Sylvain and Ingrid, Felix and Annette, Ashe and Mercedes, Raphael and Ignatz, Lysithea and Cyril, and finally Lorenz and Leonie.

They entered the room before her, lining up on their respective sides. Claude had claimed Petra and Hilda to stand behind him, while Byleth had insisted that Raphael join her. Lorenz and Marianne looked very proud as they took their places as man and maid of honor.

And then all eyes turned back, eager for a sight of her.

Claude’s jaw dropped as Byleth was led into the room. They were separated by a crowd of well wishers, but his entire world shrank to her. She was always beautiful, but right now she simply stole his breath away.

Her dress was a light gold, decorated with tiny diamonds that made her gleam when she moved. He had never before seen her in Almyran fashion, but there was something about the short sleeved top and flared skirts that suited her. As Alois escorted her down the aisle toward him, those skirts, upon which were embroidered golden wyverns, the very symbol of Almyran royalty, flared around Byleth.

She held her head high, her eyes shining with joy as she looked at him, just as unable to tear her eyes away from him. Her hair was pulled back and braided, no doubt Petra’s work with how elegant the design. The red veil was sheer enough that Claude could see every detail beneath. Someone had woven together a crown of white Fódlan lilies and set it upon her head as well.

As she drew closer, Claude could hear the tinkling of her jewelry. Bracelets of gold hung from her wrists, and it sounded like she wore some on her ankles as well, hidden by the layers of skirts. There was a choker around her neck made of heavy gold and emeralds, the very one he knew his mother wore on her wedding day.

With tears on his cheeks, Alois guided Byleth’s hand to Claude’s. His heart skipped a beat as he held her lightly, pulling her closer to him. He could clearly see the whirls of henna on her arms now. There were stars woven into the designs on her fingers, while he noticed a sun and crescent moon on the back of her hands, rotating around a mandala.

“You look like you stepped out of my dreams,” Claude whispered to her, blinking rapidly at the sudden urge to cry. He chuckled to himself. Only Byleth would have him weeping with joy.

Byleth blushed, but held his gaze. “Putting that golden tongue to use a little early,” she teased.

Seteth cleared his throat, reminding Claude that there were other people besides the two of them in the world. The ceremony began, but Claude went through it in a daze. He said his vows, promising himself to Byleth, and intertwined their fingers when their hands were bound together with a thick piece of forest green silk. It was with wide smiles on their faces that they tore off chunks of bread to feed to one another, and worked as a team to take a drink from a goblet full of sweet wine.

They were finally allowed to exchange rings. Byleth sighed softly in relief as Claude’s ring was once more placed on her hand, holding it close to her chest and gracing him with the sweetest smile. Claude was grateful that he had been allowed to slide the ring on her first, because he needed Byleth to take his hand for him, guiding her mother’s resized ring onto his finger.

And then Seteth officially declared them husband and wife. He did not even get the entirety of his sentence out before Claude was sweeping Byleth into a kiss so passionate it was right out of a romance novel.

The room erupted into cheers around them, but Claude simply held Byleth tight, never wanting to let her go ever again.

“Are you ready?”

Byleth looked at Claude’s offered hand uncertainly. Their guests were fed, and their friends had given their speeches. Even Felix had offered a few words of encouragement. But now there was dancing. Dancing in the middle of a crowd was fine, but they would be no other couples this time. All eyes would be on them.

Claude, seeing her hesitation, offered her a gentle smile as well, one she had only ever seen when he looked at her. “Do you trust me?”

Byleth slid her hand in his and allowed Claude to pull her from her seat. “Of course I do.”

“Then trust I won’t lead you wrong, my love.”

He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close. There was a brief moment, a breath of time, where the world stood still as she stared into Claude’s eyes, and everything else fell away. The music started, and Byleth no longer cared that anyone was watching them.

The dance steps were a Fódlan waltz, but done to an Almyran tune. It meant that she and Claude were probably dancing the fastest waltz in history. They were practically flying across the dance floor, and Byleth laughed as Claude spun her around.

By the time the song was over, Byleth did not want to stop.

There was one tradition Claude was not having anything to do with. It happened to be the one tradition both Fódlan and Almyra shared. When it came time for the bride and groom to leave the festivities, Claude insisted upon escorting Byleth himself by himself.

Usually there would be a whole host of their closest friends following behind, who would help the couple out of their finery. It was intended as a blessing to their union, but there was a darkness that settled over him when Claude thought of anyone else getting to see Byleth like that.

Their bed would be more than blessed. He did not need help in that area.

So Claude shooed them all away with gentle but firm insistence, all of them laughing knowingly as he told them to go back to the party. Byleth slid her hand in his and leaned against his side, content as they began the journey to the chambers prepared for them.

“I didn’t want them to see you like that either,” she said softly.

And yet again, Byleth managed to make his brain forget how to work. Claude stopped in mid step to stare down at her. Byleth looked back at him questioningly, concern creeping into her eyes. Claude bent down to pick her up, throwing Byleth over his shoulder. She let out a small gasp of surprise, before it turned into that melodious laughter he loved so much.

“Claude, what are you doing?”

“I’m about to show my lovely wife the time of her life.”

Claude carried Byleth all the way to their rooms like that, his wandering hands caressing her bottom. He did not set her down until they reached their bed, and Byleth was quick to pull him down to join her.

Byleth woke to sunlight streaming in through the windows. Claude’s warmth was a comfort beside her. It was not the first time she had woken up next to him, most definitely not the first time they had spent the night in each other’s arms, but something about waking up as his wife made her heart swell. He had entrusted her long ago with his dreams, but now he had told the entire world.

She reached out, gently brushing back that unruly bit of hair she loved to play with. Claude frowned and muttered something inaudible, attempting to bury his face in the pillow. Byleth chuckled softly, Claude’s eyes opening slightly at the noise. “I must have really worn you out last night,” she teased.

Claude’s frown deepened, and Byleth could see the start of a scheme forming in those emerald eyes. “Is that what you think?”

“Certainly seems that way.” Byleth rolled onto her back and stretched, feeling his eyes on her the entire time. She moved to slide out of the bed, but Claude’s arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back.

“I might have to take it as an insult then that you’re so energetic this morning then,” he murmured, sitting up to place a trail of kisses down her back.

“Well the answer to that is obvious.” Byleth sighed contentedly and leaned back in her husband’s embrace, enjoying the way his hands explored her. He had already mapped every inch of her body, but he never seemed content. He always seemed to need to redraw those maps, committing the feel of her to memory.

“Oh? Are you going to share this hidden knowledge with me?” Claude laid her back down, leaning over her as he began to work his way down her body. She shivered in anticipation as his lips journeyed across her stomach.

“I’m happy,” Byleth said simply.

Claude paused, fully positioned between her legs. Byleth caught the deep blush on his cheeks before he dove down, using her thighs to hide his embarrassment. “You know,” Claude murmured against her skin, “sometimes I wonder if you know what you do to me.”

“I do.” Byleth reached down, gently running her fingers through his hair. Claude laid his cheek against her leg and stared back up at her. If anyone saw that look in his eyes, they would have no doubt of his love for her, but Byleth preferred that look to be something for her alone. “But you’re just as aware when you do the same to me. And you enjoy it either way.”

Claude smirked and dipped his head back between her thighs, but not before leaving her with, “And I shall for the rest of our lives.”

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #claudeth #claude x byleth #claudeleth #my fic #fanfic #one shot #claude von riegan #byleth

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