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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years

Note

vampire smut?

Is this what you were imagining it would be? God probably not. It's what my brain went with though

CW: Blood sucking, mildly dubious consent, questionable power dynamics, menstruation, and most importantly: Vampire!Rhys going down on Feyre during her period (yes, you heard me right and we should get it out of the way now). If you don't like blood or if that premise sounds unappealing to you, then don't click the "read more".

Beta'd by @separatist-apologist who, when Feyre wasn't certain where to sit, wisely suggested Rhysand's face as an option. 😌

Read on AO3

Words Count: 6.3k

There were three rules that must be followed in the home of Viscount Rhysand.

One: All staff were forbidden from looking at his lordship directly. Any address needed to be spoken towards the floor, head bowed in his presence.

Little could be said for those who disobeyed this order, for they had never returned to speak on what they saw upon glimpsing the Viscount’s face. It was rumored that he was horribly deformed, but in Feyre’s short time at the castle she had only seen cuts of a strong jaw, of smooth lips, of raven hair. Her ever-wandering mind liked to believe that perhaps the Lord was simply too beautiful to be observed in full, and looking at him would be too much like an Icarus approaching the sun. Sometimes, she felt tempted to look up from his polished boots, just to see if she was right.

Two: All windows were to stay nailed shut, and all drapes pulled over them lest any light creep through the boards. As far as she knew, no one had ever been brave even to ask why the Viscount craved darkness the way he did. All Feyre knew was that inside the castle, days blended into nights. In those rare moments she had a chance to step outside the grounds, she was often surprised to find the stars when she had been so certain it was the middle of the day.

Feyre didn’t mind the endless candlelight. There was something thoughtful about the way the flames flickered, so equal in restlessness to her own heart that she found a kinship in them. After so many years of watching sun and moon pour through the holes in her family’s thatched roof, it was a relief to see neither of them. To have the comfort of candlelight and mortar—strong and sturdy, dependable in a way no home ever had been to her.

It was why she forgave the third and strangest rule of the castle: All female staff were forbidden from leaving their quarters during their monthly bleed.

She had only been working at the castle for a week the morning she woke to blood on her sheets. It was a relief to see, as it always was. Feyre had visited with a farmboy in the last month and she could hardly afford to have a child now. Certainly not before she’d collected her first round of wages from the Viscount, which were set to be distributed the following week.

From what she could discern, the Viscount was generous with his staff. They were fed well, housed in servants quarters that were not overly cramped, paid a generous wage. But despite his generosity, and despite the rule being set by the Viscount himself, Feyre did not believe that any man would compensate her to take a week from work while she bled.

Feyre needed the money—not for herself, but for her father. He was sickly, bedridden in the cottage where she had lived with her sisters. Only Elain remained to look after him, administering what she could of the herbs and flowers she grew in their garden. She was no expert by any means, and it was why Feyre and Nesta had taken whatever jobs they could secure in the hopes of earning enough money to buy their father’s medicine.

A week unpaid could mean a week off her father’s life. And Feyre simply couldn’t risk it.

Grateful she had been one of the first to rise, Feyre gathered the sullied sheets and snuck calmly to the scullery so she could bury it among the rest of the household linens set to be boiled that morning. She stole a rag on her way out, hoping it would be enough to absorb the worst of her bleeding as she went through her day. The day it arrived was always the worst, but she supposed so long as nothing seeped through her clothes the Viscount and her fellow servants would be none the wiser.

She carried on perfectly fine as the rest of the staff rose and began preparing for the master to take his breakfast. Laundry-maids hurried past the cooks already lighting the stoves, and a weight lifted off Feyre’s chest in the form of a rushed breath as she watched one of the maids bundle the sheets together and plunge them into boiling water—taking no notice of the sudden coppery tint to the water. Feyre supposed they were used to dirty fabrics and the water changing color was hardly a concern.

Feeling lighter, she joined the other housemaids in cleaning the dining room. Cleaning the grates and fireplaces was as unpleasant as any other job, she supposed, and she was mostly grateful that she was not one of the maids in charge of lugging hot water up to the Viscount. Feyre had never seen the lord lose his temper at the staff—in truth he was usually irreverent and mild mannered. But by the way the other servants scrambled to appease him, fretting over even extra droplets of sauce on his plates, she wondered how often that irreverence passed into cruelty.

It was a feast beyond what any single man could eat in a day let alone in a meal. Especially this man, whose appetite seemed none existent for all the food that was carried back into the kitchen once he was finished. Not that Feyre complained—anything that he didn’t touch was given to the servants, and the lord’s food was more divine than the nightly watered-down stew that had sustained her family growing up.

Once the dining room was prepared for his arrival and the fireplace cleaned and lit, Feyre ventured back into the kitchen to see if there were any errant chores to be done. Hoping, perhaps foolishly, that the strict Housekeeper would notice her picking up extra work and see fit to offer a promotion.

She hissed as a scalding plate was pressed immediately into her palm.

The Housekeeper’s face was pinched, forehead creased in what Feyre could only imagine was the natural wear from years of stress. Her panic-struck eyes left no room for objection as she urged, “Bring this to his Lordship—go on!”

Feyre practically stumbled forward from the force of the Housekeeper’s guiding palm on her back. The hot porcelain stung her skin, and Feyre could feel the blisters that were forming as she followed the rest of staff out the kitchen, swallowing her wince as she channeled all of her focus into keeping the plate from shaking. Difficult to do, given that her fingers were turning numb from the pain.

“Head down!” The maid beside her whispered, backed by enough terror that Feyre’s chin immediately snapped to the floor.

They were not to look at the Viscount. Which made serving food to him particularly difficult. She could see the legs of the wooden chairs, and stepped close enough until the edge of the table came into vision. He likely sat at the head, several seats away, and as long as she placed it at a spot within reach—

“You there.”

She froze. The room was full of staff and yet, somehow, she knew precisely who that deep, velvet voice was addressing.

“With the roast chicken,” he clarified, humor lightening some of the timbre in his voice.

Feyre didn’t dare glance up from her plate. If anything, she bowed her head lower.

“Come here.”

He said it as carelessly as a puppeteer pulling on a string, tugging her closer to that lulling voice until she was once again staring at polished boots. It was all she had ever seen of the Viscount—just once a week before, on the day she and the other new members of staff had been introduced to him.

Or rather, introduced to his feet.

She listened to him inhale deeply, with that same flair for the dramatic that he seemed to possess despite living on his own.

“Smells delicious,” he purred. The hair along her arms and neck stood on end. “Tell me more about it.”

Feyre didn’t know the first thing about the plate she carried. “It’s… roast chicken, milord.”

“And who is the woman carrying my meal?”

The question seemed laced with intrigue, and Feyre might have felt bashful about it if she wasn’t being made to stare at his feet in front of all the other servants. All she felt was hot, humiliated anger.

“Feyre Archeron, milord.” After a moment’s hesitation, she bowed awkwardly, still holding that scalding plate of chicken. She was willing to get on her knees before him if it meant she could put it down.

“Feyre,” he repeated, rolling the word on his tongue like he was assessing its taste. “Thank you for bringing this to me.”

A broad, golden brown hand came into view as the Viscount reached for the plate, taking it from her with nary a flinch despite its temperature. Whorls of ink peeked through the Viscount’s silver-trimmed sleeve, which softened some of her irritation into curiosity. She had never seen a noble man with ink on his skin and the revelation begged her to look up in search of where that tattoo traveled. Was it on his face, and that’s why they were discouraged from looking at him? Did he wear it with shame?

The Viscount clicked his tongue as he set the plate on the table before him. Feyre immediately stiffened. Should she have placed it for him? Had she lingered too long?

“Let me see your hands, Feyre.”

They were shaking, fueling her reluctance as she turned her palms upwards and extended them in offering to Lord Rhysand. Her eyes were still fixed on the floor, her heart as untamed as a spooked stallion. The inability to gauge his expression was a terrifying thing. She could not assess his intention, so she braced herself for the worst. She had been struck by her masters before him, and Feyre could not envision him being any more twisted than the Beron of Spring.

Cool, silken hands slid beneath her own, easing the burden of holding them steady as Rhysand lifted them higher—closer to his face, she imagined.

“Shameful,” he breathed. The soft pad of his thumb traced delicately around the welted skin and Feyre, who had rarely felt a tender touch in her life, couldn’t resist shivering. “I would sooner take my food cold than have my staff burned. Allow me to make this up to you, Lady Archeron.”

Feyre nearly laughed. She was rarely called Miss let alone ever given a noblewoman’s title. But she dare not correct him. “It is not necessary, Lord.”

“Nonsense.”

That single word, so authoritative she went still. He still held her hands in his own, still moved his thumb slowly across her palm.

“Leave us,” he said to the rest of the staff. Feyre listened helplessly to the sounds of them scurrying away, wishing beyond any rational measure that one of them would stay. Just to ensure that the Viscount didn’t ask them away so he could do something awful to her.

The doors to the dining hall shut regardless of her wishes.

And Feyre was alone with the Viscount.

She jumped as she felt a pair of lips brush over the welts on her hands, as soft as if she’d pressed them to a rose petal. Part of her expected that mouth to keep traveling over her skin, and a strange part of her felt disappointed when the Viscount released her hands.

“Have a seat.”

He did not specify which seat. If she was feeling more contemptuous, she might have claimed the opposite head of the table. But in that moment Feyre valued her job more than her stubborn pride, so she slid obediently into the seat beside him, keeping her gaze fixed on the red tablecloth all the while.

“Tell me Feyre darling, are you hungry?”

“No, Lord,” she said before even taking the time to consider it.

“Liar,” he crooned, so sweetly that it could be mistaken for approval. “Have some chicken.”

Every word he spoke was so smooth, so final that Feyre was having difficulty navigating it. She would not—could not disobey an order from the master of the house, especially as she became aware of the wetness between her thighs. Blood. Hopefully contained to her underthings so that the evidence of her disobedience wouldn’t be left on the chair, but it was condemning nonetheless.

If she needed to eat a bit of chicken to flatter the Viscount, then far be it from Feyre to refuse a well cooked meal. But… there was no place setting before her. No silverware save for the set laid out before Lord Rhysand. Her mind searched for a way to remedy this, contemplating how best to appease the lord as he filled the quiet with the sounds of a knife gliding gently against porcelain.

If she stood up to fetch a place setting for herself, would he be pleased? Sit or eat, she could not fathom which order should hold more weight.

Rhysand answered the question for her when those lovely brown hands extended a fork towards her with a piece of chicken speared on its end. She stared at it, mouth parting open in surprise as she tried to assess its meaning.

He couldn’t truly intend to…

“Open your mouth wider,” he urged. “Let me take care of you while those pretty hands rest.”

Feyre was skeptical of any man who was suddenly moved to this level of kindness for his servants. And yet she parted her lips for him, allowing the Viscount to gently guide the fork into her mouth. For once she was grateful for the excuse not to look at him, feeling her cheeks burn beneath his gaze as she carefully chewed and swallowed.

She felt him lean closer until she could smell the sea salt and citrus on his clothes. He so rarely left the castle that it made her wonder when he had last even been to the sea. Perhaps a piece of it lived inside him—a lasting imprint like the way she could still smell the smoke of a fire on any cold winter’s night. She and her sisters used to sleep close enough to the hearth that they would wake to ash smudged on their cheeks in the morning. Feyre wasn’t certain she would ever fully wash that scent away.

“How is it?”

There was a sincerity to the question that caught her off guard. “Divine, my Lord”

That earned a soft laugh, so rich and dense that it sunk in the air, skirting down her spine in the process.

When he offered another piece to her, she summoned enough courage to ask, “Will you not be eating, Lord?”

“I find my appetite diverted,” was his answer. Feyre wondered what he would be staring at if she turned her head towards him. Her lips, she thought, feeling them tingle as he leaned closer. She shut her eyes, terrified that she might accidentally catch a glimpse of him at this proximity. His breath danced across her cheekbone. “Chicken won’t be enough to satisfy me.”

“Will anything?”

She did not know why she asked, why she suddenly wanted to know.

“Are you offering, Lady Archeron?”

Feyre thought that depended very much on what he was after. She was not naive enough to think he had isolated her in this room to feed her with his own hand because he was kind. He did not have a wife or keep a mistress, and perhaps it was because he enjoyed the convenience of his female staff. They were certainly easier to part with, should he get bored.

She chewed her lip, wondering if it was more dangerous to accept or reject his advances. Both ran her the risk of losing her job, though if she indulged him perhaps she could keep him interested long enough to see her father properly medicated.

And with his low voice and soft, large hands… she could envision him being better company than the farmboy.

“Open,” he whispered, and once more she obeyed. His freehand fell on her knee, gliding along her thigh as he squeezed in a way that begged the same. Open.

There was only one problem.

Thankfully, Feyre knew exactly what would distract a man’s attention. “If you’d like me to open my mouth for you, my Lord, you may find me better suited on my knees.”

The hand snaking up her thigh froze. She had never been so bold with anyone before, certainly never someone so high above her status. And for a horrifying moment, she worried she’d gone too far.

Except he laughed as though she had taken him pleasantly by surprise. “It sounds as though you’re still hungry, Feyre. Is the chicken not satisfying you, either?”

Feyre was certain that any other man would have jumped at the offer to put her on her knees, yet Lord Rhysand began tugging the fabric of her skirt upwards so that he could snake a hand beneath them. She immediately clenched her knees shut, terrified of how he would react should he discover she had broken one of his rules.

“None of that,” Rhys chided, bundling her skirts in her lap so that her knees were now exposed to him. Feyre sucked in a breath as he pushed them apart. “I’ve fed you, and now it’s only fair that you return the favor.”

“I…”

“Smell delicious?” He offered, taking a deep inhale of the air as though he were in front of a rosebush. “More appetizing than anything that’s been served to me in months?”

His hand was pushing further now, threatening to push her skirt over her hips and—oh gods. Lord Rhysand paused as his fingers brushed over the slick, sticky substance that coated her inner thighs.

Feyre stared, mortified, as he pulled his hands away to assess the blood on his fingers.

“Feyre darling.” His voice had gone rough. “Look at me.”

She refused, certain it was a trick so that she’d disobey another of his rules.

“Look at me.”

It was as though her body moved of its own volition, once again a puppet tugged by his strings. Her eyes traveled up from the blood that stained his golden brown skin, following the sleeve of a fine black jacket as it cut over large biceps, strong shoulders, and a broad chest. She dared to look higher, starting at where his collarbones peeked out of the loosely buttoned jacket, graced with those same tattoos that she’d spotted around his forearm.

His face was not tattooed, nor horribly deformed. Instead he had smooth, flawless skin and hair the color of a raven’s feathers. His eyes, though. His eyes were not a color that Feyre had ever seen before, a blue so deep that it was violet, even as it flickered in the candlelight.

There was a stillness about him that made her hesitate to speak—made her contemplate standing from her chair and darting towards the door.

And a smile was playing on his full, sensuous lips. Wide enough that she could see a row of perfectly white teeth, graced by two sharp fangs that made her heart stop.

“I have three very simple rules in this household,” he said, the threat of his words not matched by the lover’s purr that caressed every muscle and bone and nerve in her body. “The last one—why do you think it was created?”

Feyre watched him press his fingers together, seemingly fascinated by the way the blood stuck to his skin.

When Feyre did not answer, Lord Rhysand grinned in a way that made his sharp teeth glint in the firelight. “It was made to keep you safe, Feyre. Can you guess from what?”

Either to give her a hint, or simply to taunt her, Rhysand raised his fingers to his lips and swiped his tongue along the stained digits.

“From you,” she said weakly.

The veins beneath his eyes became darker, more pronounced, as he licked the blood off his hands. Feyre understood why they were forbidden from looking at him, when doing so made it so apparent that he was not human.

“And can I be blamed if something happens to my servants, should they so blatantly disregard those rules? Don’t you think they should be punished for disobeying me?”

“Are you going to kill me?” She whispered, pressing her hand protectively to her throat.

He laughed under his breath. “Kill you?” He shook his head.

Faster than her eyes could track, Rhysand cleared the table with a wide sweep of his arms. She winced against the sound of shattered glass as the contents went crashing to the floor. Within an instant, the Viscount had yanked her from the seat to place her on the table before him.

“Sweet, little human.” Those words glided over her skin as smoothly as the hands that returned to her thighs, spreading her legs open. “The only thing I want is a taste.”

“A taste,” she repeated, understanding what he was after as he thumbed appreciatively at the blood stains along her inner thigh… and not quite believing it. She had grown up with two older sisters. Feyre was used to the blood, but it was a subject matter that was hushed, especially around men. No man would even think to touch her during her cycle, certainly not the way that Lord Rhysand intended to.

And yet, he was staring at her parted thighs as though he had never seen anything more ravishing.

“My Lord—”

“Rhysand,” he corrected, just before he yanked the blood soaked lace so hard that it ripped in his hands. He tossed the torn fabric and the rag she had stolen from the kitchen to the side, ignoring the wet slap as they hit the white marble floor below. Those violet eyes were nothing short of predatory as he stared up at her through long lashes. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Rhys-ah—”

She couldn’t have finished speaking his name if she tried. Every word and rational thought fled her tongue’s grasp as Rhysand bowed his head between her legs. He latched his mouth against her lips in an imitation of a kiss that felt so sinful it would leave even the Dark Gods blushing.

The Viscount moaned at her taste, and Feyre felt envious he had the capacity to do so. Air lodged in her throat, preventing any sound from escaping despite how her mouth parted with forbidden pleasure. She fell back onto the table, no longer in control of her own body. All it wanted was to get closer to him, to arch into his touch.

That’s it, said a lulling voice in her mind. Give yourself to me.

Feyre could not understand it, but she could feel him in her mind, his presence just as tangible as the tongue that explored her cunt. Like hands stroking through her hair, his mental presence soothed at the primal part of her instincts that insisted she flee. There was no danger here. She felt… safe.

That’s right. You’re safe with me, darling.

His fingers pressed harder into her thighs, pulling her hips off the table until her lower body was elevated, hung by the legs slung over his shoulders. He held her like she weighed nothing, and feasted on her like he hadn’t had a proper meal in months. After seeing how often the food they cooked him was returned to the kitchen, he likely hadn’t.

He stroked the broad flat of his tongue upwards until he came to the sensitive bundle of nerves. Feyre whimpered as he sucked at it, her hips urging him as best as she could with the way her body was suspended.

Pretty, needy creature. His voice was ripe with satisfaction and he pressed a teasing kiss to her clit before descending back down—towards the source of the blood.

“Please,” she breathed, not wanting to lose the pleasant sensation. She needed more than this slow exploration of his tongue, focused away from where she truly needed it.

Please? Those violet eyes were glazed with vacant hunger as they flickered down to her face. She could only imagine what he saw. A woman half buried in her skirts, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. And it was a monster—not a man—who stared back, tongue buried inside her. You will have to be more specific. Please what?

“I need…” she searched for how to direct him, unused to verbalizing any part of this process.

But the Viscount already knew. And he smirked in a way that showed his fangs, still tongue-deep in her cunt as he readjusted his hold so he could press his thumb to her clit. You need me to touch this, sweet one?

“Yes,” she breathed, only to immediately cry out as his thumb flicked the sensitive nub. Hard.

His laughter was a dark rumble through her mind. You didn’t specify how. Do I need to remind you this is a punishment for disobeying me? Another flick, as if to emphasize his point. Feyre whined, the dull pain from his ministrations making her ache all the more.

It was at that point his tongue gilded against a cluster of nerves that had her seeing stars. She gasped, bucking closer, only for the Viscount to retreat from that spot and administer another cruel tap to her clit.

“Please,” she said again, tears pricking at her eyes.

What will you give me in exchange?

It was a baffling question. What could someone like her even offer him, besides the very blood he was gorging himself on. She was a poor human, utterly useless—

Lord Rhysand growled, so furious in nature that her heart stilled.

I’ll ask you again, Lady Archeron. His tongue returned to that sensitive spot, laving her with an attention that had her keening. What will you give me in exchange?

“Anything you want!” She gasped, near hysterical as he pulled away again. Her pride crumbled, reduced only to the need that ravaged her to the point of madness. “Please, milord. Please, please, please.”

So pretty when you plead for me, he cooed. Anything I want?

“Yes.”

Something shifted as she said it. Not just in Rhysand, though his efforts became more earnest, but in the air itself. The world became sharper, better defined, the pleasure at her thighs more demanding.

Then come for me, Feyre. His thumb returned to rub circles into her clit—more gentle, more coaxing. Let my good wife come on my tongue.

She was screaming before the words could even register. Her hands scrambled backward for purchase, digging into the red tablecloth as the world came undone. It had never felt like this. Pain and pleasure intermingled, her body feeling numb and too hot and too… too everything.

The Viscount lowered her slowly back onto the table. Chin covered and dripping with her blood, he looked as though he should have come straight from a nightmare. But after she chased every fractured piece of her soul back into her body, and sat up to look into his weary eyes, she thought he was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

He tentatively reached forward to grip her chin, flashing those sharp teeth with his grin. “My markings look beautiful on you, darling.”

With a frown, Feyre followed his gaze to the whorls of ink that now graced her arms from fingertip to elbow, identical to the one she had glimpsed beneath his sleeve. “You… marked me?”

Wife, he had said only moments ago. Anything, she had promised.

The hands on her chin tilted her face back up, until she was met with proud violet eyes. “You’re mine.”

She winced as something sharp sliced through her cheek. Her own teeth, she found after a short investigation with her tongue. Her canines were sharper now, more elongated like Rhsyand’s.

Feyre raised a hand to her mouth, prodding at the sharp teeth in disbelief. “What did you do to me?”

“I made you my wife,” he said happily. “Once we complete the ceremony, that is.”

Already dreading the answer, she dared to ask, “What ceremony?”

Lord Rhysand looked delighted by the question. Broad hands found her thighs, pulling her once more to the edge of the table so he could lean over her. “It would be much easier to demonstrate.”

His lips found her neck, smearing blood over her skin as he kissed down her throat before he licked up the trail to clear it away. He hummed at the taste, sucking at her throat with the same fervor he had used between her legs.

There was something about the way he touched her, like he was so utterly enthralled, that made his attention addictive. It was wrong—so horribly wrong—to be covered in her own blood like this, or to be arching into his touch like she was encouraging it. But his lips on her neck were like the sweetest wine that had ever dropped on her tongue. And when his sharp teeth scraped over her neck it was excitement, not terror, that thrummed her veins.

His lips curled into a smile from where they imprinted their shape into her neck. Sweet thing. Did you like that?

He scraped his fangs against her again, and Feyre’s pulse quickened, making her breath hitch.

You want me to bite your pretty neck?

Gods, she should have said no. It should have been an obvious, instinctual response.

Instead she craned her neck, allowing him to tease her with his sharp teeth until her head began spinning. “Will it hurt?”

Only for a second. His hands, meanwhile, began tugging at the front of her dress, ripping the fabric apart until she was laid exposed in strips of her clothing. Then you’ll be in complete bliss.

Bliss. If it was even a fraction of what she had felt at the mercy of his tongue, then she was willing to endure a bit of pain. A thumb and finger plucked at one of her erect nipples, rubbing it tauntingly so that Feyre squirmed in his grip, pushing her neck harder against his poised teeth.

They both groaned.

Feyre wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer so she could find some measure of relief in grinding her slick cunt against his clothed erection. She thought it was terribly unfair that she was naked while he remained in full dress.

Poor thing, he said, sliding his teeth over her throat in a way that sent shivers cascading down her spine. Do you need me to fuck you with something other than my tongue?

He pressed down hard on her nipple, eliciting a low, debauched whine from Feyre as she struggled to keep her head above the overwhelming sensations of his cruel fingers, his teasing mouth, and the stiff cock he ground into her.

Ask me nicely, wife, and I’ll give you whatever you desire.

Even the smooth voice in her mind was beginning to sound breathless. She felt a strange thrill to think the Viscount was just as desperate as she was .

“What will it cost me?”

Rhysand’s laugh was little more than a rasp as he began unlacing his trousers. You’re learning. The fabric fell open, allowing his thick, heavy cock to spring loose. Feyre’s eyes widened as she stared at it, suddenly terrified it wouldn’t fit despite how wet she was.

Likely hearing her thoughts, the Viscount smirked and took his cock into a large fist. Her throat went dry as she watched him run two slow pumps over its length. Then he guided himself to her cunt, coating his shaft in the mix of blood and arousal as he let his swollen head rub teasingly against her clit.

I want another taste, he murmured, snaking his tongue along her pulse. I want to bite your neck while I have my cock inside you.

“Yes,” she whispered, bucking her hips. “Please, my lord. Fuck me.”

His head notched against her entrance. “As my lady wishes,” he rasped, before pushing inside of her with a single, hard thrust.

The noise he pulled from her was that of an animal, not a human woman. The sound tore from her throat, entirely unbidden, as he stretched her open.

Bigger than the farmboy? He asked, punctuating the question with another cruel thrust. It robbed the air from her lungs as he forged deeper, demanding every inch of room her body could provide. Feyre could only whine her response. He was bigger—so much bigger—than anything that had ever been inside of her.

That’s right, he cooed with another merciless snap of his hips. Only I can satisfy you, Feyre. Keep your needy cunt full.

Feyre could only steal her breath in those moments he pulled away, before it was once again banished by the push of his thick cock, splitting her apart, each heavy stroke reforging her into a different woman than the one who had woken up that morning.

You’ll be a different creature entirely, he agreed, the rasp of his voice just as sinful as his thrusting hips. My bride. My equal.

She nodded, having trouble thinking past the decadent drag of his cock as it hit that same spot his tongue had found earlier. Feyre gasped, her fingers finding his hair to yank him closer, to try to find something to keep her tethered.

The Viscount groaned as his mouth was pushed harder against her neck, and she sensed him lose his restraint moments before she cried out in pain.

Shh, be still for me, wife. His hands held her down, keeping her from flailing away as she whimpered against the sharp pain flooding her neck.

The world seemed to slip underwater. She could still feel Rhysand’s tongue lapping against the blood that spilled from her wound, could hear him moaning at the taste as his thrusts became heavier. But those senses became duller, drowned by the intense wave of pleasure that throbbed from her neck, flooding through her body until it collided with the pressure building in her core.

It was an excruciating ecstasy—too much, but not enough. She needed him to take everything, even if he gave her nothing in return.

I’ll give you everything, he promised, voice a velvet seduction that dragged her over the edge. That’s it darling, come for me.

Her walls fluttered, tightening around his cock in a grip that had both of them crying out. Her vision blurred, and she hardly registered the way he’d stopped sucking at her throat until she found her face buried in the crook of his neck. Long fingers cradled the back of her head, urging her lips against his cool skin.

Bite me, he gasped. Please.

Feyre brushed her canines along his neck, delighting in the way he moaned. She wanted to speak, but her lips betrayed her, capable of expelling only sharp, quick gasps. But she could still feel that dark presence in her mind, wrapped around her like a soothing blanket. It was to that darkness she hummed, What will you give me?

His response was choked. Anything—please, my lady.

Anything?

Rhysand was panting, his thrusts becoming erratic. Yes.

So Feyre sunk her teeth into his neck, finding she could pierce this skin with alarming ease. The blood that burst into her mouth was not coppery like she had expected, the once metallic taste now as indulgent as a fine wine that she wanted to roll her tongue over.

The Viscount’s hips stuttered and he came with a long, indecent groan while she sucked clumsily at his neck.

Do you like the way I taste?

He sounded drunk on pleasure, and perhaps so was Feyre by the way she giggled, pulling away to look him in the eyes. Rhysand captured her mouth in a messy kiss, tongue tangling with her own so he could taste himself on her lips.

She sighed into the kiss, feeling her body come down from the joint high. As their kiss became slower, more passionate, she felt a bone heavy weariness begin to set in. Like her arms and legs were suddenly made of lead, weighing her to the table. The Viscount broke away from her lips with reluctance.

Tired? He pulled out of her with a kiss on her forehead. Without his grip to keep her upright, Feyre slumped back onto the table, her body strength failing her entirely. His laugh was soft, near reverent. That’s to be expected.

The world was swimming in and out of focus, becoming a distant hum of sensation. There was Lord Rhysand relacing his trousers in the corner of her eye, the sound of glass crunching beneath his boots, the feeling of being covered in something warm that smelled of sea salt and citrus. Then an arm slid beneath her legs and another beneath her shoulders, and she was being lifted.

Had someone blown out all the candles in the corridor, or had she lost her vision? In either case, Feyre couldn’t find the energy to worry. It was much easier to dose against the large chest she was bundled against. If she listened closely enough, she could pretend his footsteps were a heartbeat and that he was just an ordinary man—but then she thought that sounded terribly boring.

Before long she was nestled into a bed of silken sheets, with the Viscount hovering over her to delicately place pillows beneath her neck. He pulled the blankets to her chin, tucking her with a care that was almost laughable considering the roughness with which he had been thrusting into her only minutes prior.

She wanted to snap that she was not a child with a fever, but found the energy for speaking, even with her mind, escaped her. Instead she sighed into the comfort of the luxurious bed, submitting to the heavy weight of her body.

Sleep, wife, he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. And when you rise, I will bring the world to your feet.

#ACoFD readers don't look at me #actually no one look at me #We're going to pretend this was anonymously published #feysand #feysand smut #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #not even going to DARE to put this in the general tag #but maybe like #vampire #vampire smut #for the girlies who read Twilight and wondered what Edward got up to once a month

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weirdthoughtsandideas · 8 months

Text

Have you ever wondered what went down at Blake South College during season 3? How did the dynamic change by having Michel there?

And most importantly, what were Jim and Yam up to as they were secretly/not-so secretly dating?

I also tried establishing how an eventual P.E lesson would be, because we never see them take that and I figure they would.

Also, I tackled a bit how the friends like to push each other to date boys, even though it is with good intentions. And make them kinda realize it and hopefully stop.

Read on ao3 or under the cut:

Jim and Yam sat at their desk, trying to focus on the lesson. Emphasis on trying.

Their eyes were on Michel. They knew he was in love with Luna, and he was so obvious about it. Luna had absolutely no idea, so they just found it funny to see if she ever reacted to his clear flirting attempts. This far, she had not.

“Michel?” the teacher called, “Do you know the answer to this question?”

Michel stared at the board, question marks practically floating around his head. “Uh… I don’t know…”

“You don’t know?”

“No…”

“Does anyone else know?”

Michel looked down on the desk, ashamed for not knowing. It was similar to how Luna looked down on her desk just 2 years prior. They were practically the same person!

But Luna wasn’t like she was 2 years prior anymore. While Jim and Yam themselves ducked, cause they had to admit they did not know either, Luna raised her hand.

“I know it!”

The teacher beamed. “Can you get up and show me?”

Luna did. As she finished writing, she gave a smile to the class.

“That was the correct answer! Good job, Luna. You may be seated.”

“Wow!” Michel exclaimed as class was dismissed. “I didn’t know you were such a genius, Luna.”

“No, I am not,” Luna admitted. “Trust me when I say that I am just as confused as you a majority of the time. I just happened to know that particular question, and it’s whenever I do know that I try to compensate for all the times I don’t.”

“She was just like you some years ago,” Jim said, comforting Michel by patting his arm.

“I was even worse!” Luna sighed, “I didn’t understand anything. It was like a new language to me. I was on the edge of failing all the time. But after getting used to it… now I guess I have mediocre grades.”

Everyone laughed.

“Mediocre grades are better than failing,” Michel said.

“But you’d want the best score in the school, like Nina!” Yam said, staring at Nina.

Nina chuckled, “School is just easy for me.”

“And Nina has helped school get a little easier for me, too,” Luna admitted. “Seriously, without her I am not sure if I’d even still be in school.”

“Oh, the next class is in like 20 minutes!” Jim said.

The next class was P.E, which meant that they needed some time to change into their gym outfits. Just like Blake had normal school uniforms, they also had uniforms for gym class. None of them had that good grades in P.E, not even Nina, although she still had the best grade of them even in this class, but as they roller skated so much, they weren’t all too weak either.

The teacher told them to practice throwing balls to each other in groups. So, Luna, Nina, Jim, Yam and Michel were in a group. They all threw the ball to each other, but they soon noticed something.

“Why are you only throwing the ball to Luna?” Jim asked Michel.

“I’m not!” he argued. He then threw the ball to Nina. Jim and Yam exchanged looks.

Nina passed the ball to Yam, who passed it to Jim, who passed it to Luna. Luna then passed it back to Jim, Jim passed it to Yam, and then Yam passed it to Michel.

“You two are just passing it to each other, too!” he argued.

“They always do,” Luna said, smirking. Jim and Yam nervously smiled.

Michel once again passed to Luna, but he threw the ball really weirdly, making not even a person with the best catching ability be able to catch it.

“What was that?” Luna giggled.

“I just threw it.”

“That was a really weird throw!”

“I threw like normal!”

“No, you threw like this!” Luna mimicked his throwing and the ball ended up bouncing on his arm. “Ow!” he exclaimed, but had a huge grin. He then threw the ball back at her. The two laughed, now throwing the ball back at each other.

“Aww!” Jim and Yam exclaimed. Nina looked at them and raised both of her eyebrows. All three girls saw what was going on.

After class was over, they were back in the changing room.

“So, what do you think about Michel?” Jim asked Luna.

Luna was brushing her hair. “He’s funny and sweet!”

“And you haven’t noticed how he looks at you?”

“And how he talks to you?” Yam added.

Luna sighed. “Girls, we’re just friends.”

“Just friends, but maybe there’s something more?” Yam wiggled her eyebrows. ”Don’t you want that?”

Luna put down her brush and gave them a look.

“Alright… Yam, how’s it going with Ramiro?”

“What?”

“I’ve seen how you look at each other. Clearly, it’s not gonna be far until you’re dating again.”

Yam stood up. She stared at Luna, about to say something. Then she sighed and walked out of the changing room.

“Yam, wait!” Jim called.

“If they keep pushing me that I have feelings for a boy then I’ll do the same for them,” Luna argued. Nina didn’t know what to say.

”Yam…” Jim catched her breath as she got up to Yam. ”Yam, are you ok?”

”I am…” Yam admitted. ”I… you know, Luna’s right.”

”About Ramiro?”

”No! She has a point in how we always just… push each other to get closer to boys. We always have.”

”We’re supportive of our friends,” Jim said.

”I know. But we always have to remember how it is to be the one people are pushing on to date someone else. That’s how I even ended up dating Ramiro in the first place! Because everyone wanted me to! And I thought, sure, let’s do it. But then when we dated I just wanted to find a reason to break up… and when we tried dating once again, the same thing happened again. And maybe I was harsher than necessary on him… but he just reminded me of how people wanted me to go in a certain direction, how people wanted me to date certain people.. how people wanted me to date boys.”

Jim opened her jaw, about to say something, but found herself to be speechless. She just stared at Yam for a brief moment, before putting a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry if I ever pressured you to date him. I thought you two were so good together. And he liked you.”

“Yeah. He liked me. But did I like him like that?”

It wasn’t a question for Jim to answer, Yam asked it for herself. And she soon had an answer.

“No. No, I didn’t. I just thought I did, I thought I… that it was a phase, or that I was confused, and when I started dating Ramiro it would go away, but it didn’t… and then I tried to date him again, and this time it felt just as wrong.”

“I know.” Jim grabbed her hands. She tucked a bit of hair behind Yam’s ear. Then she stood on her toes and kissed her on the lips. Yam smiled.

They met up with Luna and Nina eating lunch.

“Hey, Luna…” Yam said, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s ok!” Luna exclaimed, smiling. She was not one to hold grudges, except if it was about a certain boy who fell off her fence, but he’s not present right now.

“No, it’s… well, the reason I got so upset about you asking me about Ramiro… it’s because I got reminded of…”

“Your breakup? Yeah, I’m sorry… I was just joking around, I don’t actually think-”

“No yeah, it’s fine. It was just that I remembered how annoying it was that people always… with good intentions of course, but still… pushed me to date him. And I realize I do the same thing with you and Michel. And I shouldn’t assume that you like him just because he’s all hot for you-”

“Yam.” Luna stood up. “It’s okay. And… I’m sorry if you felt annoyed.”

“It’s often people find something annoying, not realizing they do it to other people,” Nina said. “It’s just life.”

“And I’m not gonna assume you like a boy if I notice that he likes you ever again,” Luna said.

“We will try to do the same,” Jim said, “At least I will…” They all let out chuckles.

“Actually, it’s good that you won’t assume I like any boys,” Yam said.

“How come?” Nina asked.

Yam grabbed Jim’s hand. “Well, I’ve known this for… a long time, but I’ve either thought it was a phase, or that I was confused, but… I’m… a lesbian.”

“And we’re dating!” Jim chimed in.

Luna and Nina gasped.

“Of course!” Luna exclaimed, “That’s so… obvious! I mean, I thought everyone liked both boys and girls…”, She got an eyebrow raise from everyone after saying that, “... but I should’ve seen that you two… aww!” She ran up and gave them hugs.

“I didn’t see it,” Nina admitted. “This was a surprise! But that’s great, girls!”

The next day, Jim and Yam arrived at Blake holding hands. Meeting up with Nina, Luna and Michel, they decided to just go for it.

“Hi, girls!” Nina greeted them.

“Hii!” Yam said, and then she twirled Jim around and gave her a kiss.

“Ooh, so you will have tongue fights in the hallways from now on?” Luna asked with a grin.

“I wish I could do that with someone,” Michel commented. “Don’t you want that?”

Luna shrugged. “Maybe not in school…”

#jamweek #jim x yam #soy luna

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wisecrackingeric-2 · 1 year

Text

Let Me Show You How

Leon Kennedy/Luis Sera

Tags/Warnings: None, just Leon being an idiot and Luis flirting with him

Summary: Part 1 of 2, second part is up on my page under the tag ‘ericswriting’

Set in an AU where Luis doesn’t die during Re4 and instead joins Leon on his mission, the two of them are tasked with breaking into a rich man’s mansion and blend in with the crowd. Only problem, Leon’s disguise is a dress. And he doesn’t know how to do makeup

But Luis does

AN: This is just part 1 of 2!! The sequels up on my page under the tag ‘ericswriting’ !! Also go check it out on my AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/47596723

this fic is based off of my beloved friend @Mostlyghostly42’s amazing artwork of Leon and Luis you can find here and on their Instagram page!!!!! Please please go check them out!! This fic was also based loosely off of that image of the girl on top of her “friend” doing her makeup and it’s very clearly homoerotic. Y’all know the one

—

“Have I told you yet that this is stupid?”

“Sí, Mi amigo, many-a times in the last hour, actually”

Leon S. Kennedy, US government special agent and B.O.W annihilation header, was leaning awkwardly in between a door and several stacked boxes, desperately trying to fit the collar of his newfound dress up his shoulders, but with no luck.

Every time Leon tried to pull at the back of his dress to bring the trim closer up his chest, the solid corset around his waist underneath the many- many- layers of fabric refused to budge. No matter how hard Leon tried to hold himself or his shoulders, the neckline continued to slip down his chest, revealing what he could only really describe as an awkward amount of cleavage.

It didint help that with every attempt, his bunched-up skirt ruffles that Leon was holding onto with his spare hand seemed to similarly slip out of his grasp the second he moved his body around, even in the most subtlest of movements. Leon couldn’t tell if it was the fabric of the dress, or his sweaty palms. Probably both.

“That neckline isn’t supposed to sit right up at your neck, y’know,”

Luis’ voice had a painfully teasing edge to it. “It’s supposed to sit juuuust on top of your chest”

Leon broke his focus for just a second to see his partner in crime fixing himself up in front of the mirror, with more than enough space to himself to spare, unlike Leon, still stuck in between the door and the boxes.

Luis Sera had managed to sneak the two of them into what could only be described as a dressing room of sorts- with mirrors lining the back wall and boxes full of old silverware and jewellery.

The room was dusty, and a singled yellowed lamp hung overhead. The only door out was this heavy iron thing, and given that the room itself wasn’t actually very large; Leon felt uncharacteristically claustrophobic. But it was hard to remain cool and collected (and more importantly, concentrated) when you had Luis-Prince-Charming-Sera hanging around you like a crow.

“Oh, what? So I’m just supposed to just leave all this hanging out?” Leon dropped all the fabric he was holding to gesture obviously to his cleavage. Leon adorned an extremely elaborate red dress, covered head-to-toe in small adornments and splashes of colour here and there. Tiny details dotted the front of the corset, with the trimmings on the dress being a complimentary shade of blue. Underneath it all were, to his dismay, even more layers, trailing up his arms and hands and ended with the most humanly inconvenient ruffles. Yet somehow, Leon’s shoulders and chest were left completely bare, save for the dramatic chocker with a definitely not obvious large ruby stitched into the middle.

How Luis convinced him to go along with this was beyond him. That was just the charm of Luis Sera, he supposed.

After saving the charming man from a stab to the back-literally- Luis hesitantly agreed to working with the US Government as compensation for his crimes. On one condition; he got to work alongside Leon Kennedy.

Why he actively chose to stay with him, Leon has no idea.

It made his chest flutter when he heard the news, leaving him unable to think about anything else for the rest of the day. But Leon was never gonna admit that. It’s not like it was a big deal, anyways. It’s not like it made Leon wanna smile every time he thought about it.

But he very quickly (jokingly, of coarse) regretted that decision when the D.S.O told the two of them that they were tasked with infiltrating into a rich man’s party- the president of a high-end company that once upon a time worked alongside Umbrella- to find his stash of vials containing DNA for a B.O.W prototype. How these kinds of people kept finding new and innovative ways to create giant society-threatening very illegal bio weapons was beyond Leon.

But at least Luis seemed to be enjoying the job. A little too much, in fact. Because somehow, someway, by some insane logic (and charm), he had convinced Leon to wear an extremely elaborate matching dress to ‘fit in’ with the fine wealthy at the party. But Leon was quickly beginning to regret agreeing.

“This is idiotic, Luis!” Leon threw his hands in the air in defeat. “Nobody’s even gonna be convinced by this! I’m not a dress expert but I’m pretty sure this isn’t even a modern-day gown! This is, like, something from the 1700’s, right? Where did you even find this, anyways?” Leon continued to huff his concerns as he crossed his arms against his chest and pouted against the boxes. His heels were making it hard for him to stand up straight and look at least somewhat presentable. Not that this was the time to.

“And what’re you even wearing?”

Luis hadn’t fully revealed his outfit to Leon yet, keeping his back turned to him as he intently styled his long locks in the mirror, paying no mind to Leon’s ‘suffering’.

Finally, though, after what felt like an eternity of silence, he turned around to reveal his full outfit to Leon. A striking red and black suit, with a long, draping tailcoat and pointed lapels, sported by a pair of high-waisted black pants. The entire outfit seemed to frame his body perfectly, and Leon tried his best not to stare at the nearly fully open white collared shirt he wore underneath.

Luis rested his hand against his chin, eyeing Leon up and down, examining his dress for the first time. Leon didint know where to look, not wanting to make direct eye contact. He hated how Luis made him feel. Face hot, shy; he did his best not to show him. Lest Leon give the man a confidence boost.

Running a hand through his seemingly perfectly styled locks, Luis rested his weight against one leg, “Hmmm. You’re right, Dulcinea, something is missing”

Luis gave his head a small tilt, and Leon wanted to go insane. Still doing his best to avoid eye contact, suddenly painfully aware of how the dress sat against his skin. Luis’ eyes examining him left Leon’s brain on dial-up mode for a solid few seconds before he could construct a witty response. “Dulcinea? No more Sancho? So who’re you supposed to be, Don Quixote?”

Luis gave a toothy smile,

“Ah, so you’ve picked up on the theme finally, eh?”

“I thought Don Quixote was supposed to be a bumbling fool with a basin on his head.”

Luis bit his bottom lip to keep down a chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Oh, sure, but we can have a bit of fun with it though, can’t we, cariño?” He began to step closer. “After all, it is a fancy party” Leon was suddenly very aware of the way his boots clacked against the stone floor. He tried his best to keep his composure as Luis leaned in a little closer. Was he going crazy, or was the man batting his eyelashes at him? Whatever. He could feel his face heat up. Whatever.

Leon gave out a scoff of disapproval.

“It doesn’t matter anyways. Nobodys gonna be convinced by this outfit” he repeated again, this time in a low mumble. The blonde awkwardly hunched his shoulders and let his arms fall to his side. Without the bravo of his combat-style clothing, he felt extremely awkward. The other man wasn’t helping either.

Luis stepped back again. Straightening up and tapping his chin with his index finger, letting out a little tsk-tsk of disapproval with his tongue, shaking his head ever so slightly, still eyeing up Leon up and down.

“Not with that attitude they won’t. Give me a minute, yankee, I have an idea”

Leon let out a sigh of relief as Luis turned to walk back towards his satchel that was leaning against the row of mirrors. He shuffled around the items inside, mumbling something in Spanish the other man couldn’t quite catch.

Leon took the time to catch a breath and assess his situation, leaning back into a familiar pattern of thinking and strategising- one he had relied on for years.

Ok. Just outside this dressing room door is the fire exit that leads straight to the entrance. We can sneak through there, make some chit-chat with the other rich snobs, and if we’re lucky, find the man we’re looking for and see if we can get him to slip any information that we could use. Then, we can excuse ourselves- maybe I could get Luis to pretend to be drunk or sick- and see if we can find any hidden entrances to a downstairs basement super top-secret laboratory. Rich bastards always have something like that. Then we-“

“Ahem”

Leon was snapped out of his thought process when Luis fake-coughed to get his attention. He was suddenly much closer than before. Easily at an arms length. When did Luis get over here without Leon noticing?

“Uh- y-yeah, sorry, w-what?”

Leon mentally cursed himself for stuttering.

Luis tried and failed to conceal his grin. Biting his tongue without saying anything, the Spaniard lifted his hand up to reveal what appeared to be a brand of lipstick, held delicately between his fingers like a cigarette. He flipped it around in his fingers a little, as if to tease Leon. And it worked. Because Leon pressed himself further up against the door, eyes widening.

“W-What are you doing-“ Leon was immediately on edge, but Luis just playfully rolled his eyes and huffed. “Dios mío, relajate, Querido, it’s only lipstick”

Leon was still suspicious, going back and fourth between Luis and the lipstick he held so eloquently between his fingers, rolling them around like it was nothing. He wasn’t even looking as he flipped them between each finger. He’d never admit it, not in a million years, but Leon could watch him do tricks with that lighter of his all day long.

“So… do you want me to put it on? Or….”

“Have you ever applied lipstick to yourself, Chico?”

Leon opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out when he realised Luis was right. And of coarse, Luis just had to give a righteous grin, proving that he’d won the debate. Leon wanted to hate that grin so badly, but he could never get himself to.

Despite everything he does, Leon could never get himself to dislike anything about Luis.

He couldn’t get himself to not be infatuated, either.

Luis unscrewed the cap of the lipstick, revealing a dark, reddish-pink colour. As he began to lean forward, it suddenly hit Leon what was about to happen. He held his breath against his own will, heart thrumming against his chest as all he could do was stare right back into Luis’ grey eyes. He couldn’t help but notice how some of his eyelashes were going white. They were especially long, too. And pretty. Like the rest of him.

“Open your mouth”

Leon almost choked on air at the sudden request. It took a good few seconds for his brain to process what Luis had just said (and how…. Not inappropriate it was in this context)

Yet Luis kept a stoic face. He stared up at Leon through his long eyelashes, his hand hovering just in front of his face.

Leon, reluctantly and hesitantly, did as he was told and opened his mouth, slightly, letting Luis lean forward and begin to apply the lipstick.

Leon could feel Luis’ warm breath against his neck. It made Leon’s chest tighten and his breathing quicken.

When Luis bought a hand up to steady the other mans’ chin, being oh-so delicate, barely even a ghost of a touch- Leon felt like he was gonna pass out then and there. While Luis was intently focused on fixing his lips up, Leon couldn’t break his stare. He never got to look at the other mans face this close-up, and it made him wish he could take a picture so he could take in every little detail and store it in his memory permanently. His tiny moles and scratches, the way his nose was shaped, the slight resting smile he always had, his pretty eyes.. Oh god. Leon was in for it now. His brain wondered what Luis’ lips would be like to apply lipstick on.

After what felt like both half a second and an entire eternity, Luis finally stepped back to examine his work. Leon suddenly felt disappointed at the loss of contact between the two- he wasn’t sure if he was hoping for something… more to happen or not. Leon couldn’t control whatever facial expression he had on, he just prayed it didint match what was in his head.

Tilting his head to the left a little, Luis smiled softly at his handiwork. With a little hum, he stated; “There, Dulcinea. Now you’ll be the jewel of the ball”

Leon couldn’t even bring himself to come up with a witty response. Just a very quiet, mumbled “thanks”.

“Oh, and ah, one last thing”

Luis took out a hair pin from the back of his hair that Leon didint even realise he had in, and before he could say anything, Luis wrapped his arms around his shoulders and leaned in against him once again. Leon’s breath hitched, now definitely aware of how loud his heart was beating. He could only pray Luis couldn’t feel it.

The Spaniard leaned his head against the crook of his shoulder, his beard scratching

his neck and his hair tickling Leon’s chin. He tried everything in his power to keep composed, but to no avail. His mind felt like it was going a million miles per hour. The party outside the door began to roar as more people flooded in, but everything felt muffled to Leon. Was Luis aware of how he was making Leon feel? How vulnerable he was letting himself be, and how, to be frank, he’d never felt like this for another man before?

Luis slowly leaned back. Looking up at Leon through his eyelashes, and with a small smile, he gave him a knowing wink. ‘Oh, that bastard,’ Leon thought to himself, ‘he knows what he’s doing to me’

Luis clapped his hands together, smiling to himself; “there ya go, yankee. That should fix the cleavage problem you had. But I, for one, didint mind it in the slightest”

Leon looked down at the neckline of his dress to discover that Luis had expertly pinned the back up to bring the trim up higher, so he was less exposed. Leon did, in fact, feel a lot more comfortable. He was grateful for Luis’ help, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t not gonna get one final say.

“Oh, so you get to have your entire chest out for the world to see?”

Luis laughed, a bright, loud chuckle that was infectious enough to make the stoic Leon smirk. It was true, though; all his scars, from top surgery to fixing himself up from the Plaga were out just for the world to see.

But Leon, for one, didint mind it in the slightest.

“C’mon then, Señor,”

Luis bowed slightly and extended his hand to Leon, which he gladly took

“Let’s go wreck this party, Sí?”

Leon smiled

“I’d be honoured to go fuck up some rich bastards up with you”

Luis smiled back,

“Then, Dulcinea, it’s a date”

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hopeswriting · 2 years

Text

EVENT: KHR Rare Pair Week 2022

PROMPT: Day 8 - Accidental Baby Acquisition

PAIRING: Mammon | Viper & Belphegor

SUMMARY:

Mammon goes to the bathroom for like, a second, and comes back to their table to a child calling himself a prince eating the food they ordered for themself.

They’re not happy about it.

RATING: G

AUTHOR: @hopeswriting

TAG WARNINGS: Swearing, Light Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Murderer, Blood

WORD COUNT: 4489

LINKS: Ao3 & Ff.net

[Plain text:

EVENT: KHR Rare Pair Week 2022

PROMPT: Day 8 - Accidental Baby Acquisition

PAIRING: Mammon | Viper & Belphegor

SUMMARY:

Mammon goes to the bathroom for like, a second, and comes back to their table to a child calling himself a prince eating the food they ordered for themself.

They’re not happy about it.

RATING: G

AUTHOR: @hopeswriting

TAG WARNINGS: Swearing, Light Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Murderer, Blood

WORD COUNT: 4489

LINKS: Ao3 & Ff.net /End PT]

Mammon has dealt with many complex, deadly, high stakes and time-sensitive situations before, all at the same time more often than not too, and they’re proud to say they’ve always come out on top of them flawlessly. So when they come out of the bathroom to find their table has been invaded by a child sitting in their seat and eating their food, a fairly low stakes and all around easily dealt with situation?

Of course, the first very intelligent words out of their mouth are, “What the fuck?”

No, but really, what the fuck? Where the hell did that brat come from? The hell is he covered in blood for, and is that a real tiara on top of his head? And most importantly, is he planning to pay for the food himself? Because Mammon sure as hell won’t pay for the food they didn’t even get to eat.

“Peasant,” the brat says, turning his head to them, presumably looking at them too from under the bangs covering his eyes, not stopping eating, and oh, Mammon did not just hear him call them that, “this is cheap. The prince followed you because you looked like money, but this tastes like dirt and will hurt my stomach later. Buy the prince the best this restaurant has.”

Mammon did not just hear him say all that.

First of all, they better look like money, and smell like money, and taste like money, and feel like money when they always work so hard to get their hands on money, and they’re willing to give the brat points for that accurate judgment of their person.

Second of all, the nerve of that little shit. He’s literally wolfing down their food, so much for the manners of a so-called prince—but no, he actually is a prince, meaning the tiara on his head is also the real thing, right?

That’s probably because he was starving now that Mammon looks at him more closely, his skin pale and his body too thin under his bloodied, dirty and worn-out clothes. So what, is he coming straight from the streets?

He comes from less than ideal circumstances at the very least all prince he is, but it’s his problem. He’s eating the food he clearly hasn’t the means to pay for, unless he’s not too attached to his tiara, except he’s going to give it to Mammon as compensation for eating their food whether he is or not, and his unpaid bill will just have to be between him and the restaurant.

“Whose child is it?” they ask the restaurant at large, displeased. Because the fact they let him in even while he looks like he does is one thing, as this is a mafia-run establishment, but that they let him sit at their table and start eating their food, no matter what bullshit he may have told them to get there? Here goes their tip, no matter how many might say it was always going to be a cheap one anyway.

“I mean, he’s sat at your table, isn’t he?” someone from a nearby table says, and Mammon wants to gut him open right there and then.

“You think you’re funny?”

The brat snickers, but the man not so much. And he clearly thought he was funny, but he has the common sense to realize they’re not in the mood to joke around, tensing and flinching back before ducking his head, hunching over himself.

“Peasant,” the brat calls out again, craning his neck to look them in the eye. Or where Mammon makes him think their eyes are anyway, not having been in the mood to deal with their cursed form today. The brat shakes their now empty from their strawberry milk glass at them, and oh, he just did not. “More food and drink, hurry it up.”

Mammon huffs, and almost even laughs. It seems the brat thinks they can’t or won’t kill him, when they very much can and will and want to, that little shit. Yes, even if he’s—what, five years old? No, eight apparently, but it’s not like they care whichever it is. “How are you going to pay me back for what you already ate?”

The brat laughs. “The prince can eat whatever he wants for free.”

Yeah, he wishes. “And I’m free to claim any of your valuable belongings for myself as compensation.” Yes, they’re trying to rob an eight years old child of his tiara, so much more expensive than the food he just ate without planning to pay for it, so what of it? They live in a cruel world, and they’ve never been a nice person.

The brat laughs again, but there’s an unmistakable threat in his voice this time, and he’s suddenly holding on a silver, jagged knife. “You can’t have it. Only a prince like me can wear this crown.”

So he’s that kind of little shit. Of course he is. Not necessarily mafia, but clearly dealing in much the same shady, illegal, reprehensible things the mafia does either way.

Not that all that dry blood on him didn’t already tell them that, and yes, Mammon is focusing on that because the last thing they need is for pissed off mafiosi or the police to burst into the restaurant, and misunderstand because the brat’s sitting at their table eating their food, and talking to them like they’ve been his servant all his life.

They sigh. They’re hungry and exhausted and woke up in a bad mood, and they’re so not dealing with that right now.

They’ve literally just gone to the bathroom for like, a second. A second, and now this? That little shit of a brat?

Yeah, no, just no. Not today, or ever if they can have it their way, and they will, even if they’ll mourn that shiny and so, so expensive tiara.

They mist themself away.

Someone’s been trying to force open their door for the last five minutes, and they know he’ll just keep trying until Mammon has to make an effort to not kill him. They very reluctantly open the door, and Belphegor stands behind it, because of course it’s him.

Mammon has no idea how he keeps finding them, all by himself too because the prince hasn’t any princely means or contacts to fall back on, but they need to figure it out ASAP so they can make it stop. They’ve changed residence four times already in the last two months, and it’s bad for their businesses and reputation in various ways.

“Peasant,” Belphegor greets them, beaming, because he likes their game of hide-and-seek, especially when he keeps winning. Mammon absentmindedly takes note of how he’s covered in blood, and they have no idea either why he likes it so much he has still to show up in a clean, proper state. “Found you.”

He promptly tries to cut them open with his knives, but they go right through them.

Mammon sighs, leaving him to it, not moving an inch. They hold back on their laughter too, because even if he sometimes aims at their real body out of sheer luck and they have to phase it so his knives will cut through them like water, he’s mostly slashing air, their cursed form hidden by the illusion of their adult body.

Belphegor doesn’t try for long, not one to waste his efforts on hopeless tasks, stepping back and putting his knives away. He doesn’t look put on by his failed attempt though, instead looking more happy than before. He laughs. “You’re strong.”

Mammon holds back on another sigh. Maybe if they’d have let him “win” that first time, they’d be rid of him already. Then again, they weren’t about to let themself lose against an eight years old child, not even by just pretending to.

Not that Belphegor isn’t strong for his age, because he is. He’s a genius even, and will grow to become quite the annoying little terror running around, but he’s still only a brat.

“How do you keep finding me?”

“Of course I do, I’m a prince.”

“How come you haven’t been arrested or killed yet?” How hard can it be, really? He is but an eight years old child at the end of the day.

Belphegor actually scoffs, that little shit. “Princes don’t get arrested or killed.”

“Only because you keep killing them first. Aren’t you getting bored of it?”

He shrugs, unrepentant, and then even laughs. “The prince enjoys his fun.” He’s easily entertained is what he doesn’t say, and apparently isn’t going to get tired or bored of it any time soon, unfortunately for Mammon if he plans to keep showing up at their door. “Let me in, the prince needs a bath and food. Get to it, peasant.” He doesn’t wait for their permission to come in, and though of course Mammon could very easily stop him, they don’t.

They could very easily kill him and get rid of him for good, but what kind of low-ranked, shameful, pathetic mafiosi kill a child that isn’t more than a mild annoyance just to prove they can? Even if the child in question is very good at being a mild annoyance?

Most importantly, what kind of high-ranked mafiosi, the literal best of the best, can’t find another way to deal with an eight years old child who’s nothing more than a mild annoyance without straight-up killing them?

No, their reputation and businesses would take a big hit from that, and they can’t have that. They’ll just have to find something else to get rid of him. Which they will, because it’s not like they’re being paid to babysit him, and there’s some lines you just have to stand by firmly.

“Drop your bloodied clothes with my non-bloodied ones in my laundry basket again, and I’ll drown you in your bath.” Because of course the little shit only takes baths, as if he’s the one paying the bills or helping with them in any way.

Belphegor laughs, walking to the bathroom, having learned from that time he waited for hours for Mammon to draw his bath for him. Mammon lets themself snort at the thought. Yeah, because that was ever going to happen.

Bel lies face down in a random, dirty alley, bodies around him and covered in blood, as usual.

Mammon sighs. They still don’t know why they just keep running into each other, even when, clearly, Bel wasn’t looking for them, too busy dying in the streets. They’ve just felt like taking the long way home, losing potential enemies tailing them while they were at it which is always good in their book, but here they are now all of a sudden.

They fly down next to his face, and sure enough the brat has some kind of fever, his face sweaty and red and twisted in pain, his breathing labored. Mammon wrinkles their nose as they lift his bloodied shirt with the tip of their fingers, and wrinkles it even more at the smell of what can only be a nasty, infected wound somewhere on his back, but it’s hard to pinpoint where exactly through all the blood.

They let go of his shirt, flying a bit away, not that surprised. The surprising thing is that it had yet to happen, really. Bel probably doesn’t even know how to deal with a scratch by himself, all prince he’s been all his life. Not that it’s any of Mammon’s concerns.

He only reaped what he sewed, and they should just get on their way now, have every right to, even. Bel has nothing to do with them, and he’s sure as hell not their responsibility, nor do they care about him or if he lives or dies. It actually works out perfectly for them, because now they’ll be rid of him for good, and it won’t reflect badly on them because they wouldn’t have had anything to do with it.

Yeah, they should just go now.

They don’t, for some weird, inexplicable reason.

They transform themself in their adult body to carry him to their home, treat his injuries and settle him in their bed. They stay awake by his side through the night, checking on his fever and injuries, making sure he’ll make it through the night.

Bel regains consciousness sometime near the crack of dawn, not moving an inch for a confused beat before smiling. “Mammy.”

Mammon scowls. “Don’t call me that.” They really shouldn’t have given him their name. Why did they give him their name, actually?

Bel’s smile falls from his lips as he raises a weak hand to touch the bangs covering his eyes.

Mammon scoffs. “Unlike a certain someone I know who’s always trying to peak under my hood, I couldn’t care less, you little shit.”

Bel laughs, but raises his hand higher up his hair instead of dropping it back. "The prince will know soon."

Mammon gestures with their head at the tiara next to his pillow. "Right there."

Bel grabs it in his hand without a word, though his shoulders visibly sag. He marks a pause then during which Mammon thinks he might have fallen back asleep, but he's pursing his lips in the way he does when something confuses him.

Ah, right. It’s the first time he sees them in their cursed form.

Mammon waits for him to say something, and not anything that’ll make them want to maim him if he knows what’s good for him, but Bel just laughs again. “You’re cute.” Mammon clicks their tongue, displeased, even if they actually feel incredulous. Of course they’ve heard that a lot before, but in Bel’s mouth it’s just that, cute, and they’re not sure what to make of that. “The prince likes it,” Bel says before they can say anything. “Princes shouldn’t ever be look down upon.”

Mammon scoffs again, but it might actually have been more of a snort. “Of course this is your takeaway from this.”

Bel tries to laugh again, but only manages a huff of laughter, starting to fall back asleep. Meanwhile Mammon is… unsettled.

This is not the way they thought that particular conversation would go, not that they thought Bel would annoy them long enough for that conversation to even happen to begin with. And they usually don’t like to hear about how anyone likes that cursed, wretched form of theirs, shouldn’t like it even now, but in Bel’s mouth...

Whatever they feel now isn’t unpleasant, and would even make them comfortable staying in their cursed form in his presence if they allow it, but they aren’t about to do that.

That little shit. That brat. When the hell did he even get Mammon to a point where they’re nursing him back to health? They’re not even being paid for it, and sure as hell not by Bel!

“Don’t think I’m not meticulously keeping track of your tab, fully intending to cash on it sooner than later. And this one will cost you a lot, brat.”

“Princes don’t pay for anything,” Bel mumbles sleepily, barely loud enough for Mammon to hear him.

“Princes apparently don’t know how to treat their own wounds either. What kind of genius are you supposed to be?”

Bel grins as best he can in his half-dead, half-asleep state. “Why should I? You’ll take care of them for me.”

Mammon should have plenty to say to that, but they find themself at a loss of words, find they can’t deny it. They are taking care of his wounds for him in this very moment, aren’t they?

Oh, for fuck’s sake. They went to the bathroom for a second, and now this?

They don’t like this one bit.

“Mammy, the prince’s hungry!” Bel calls out, sauntering out of their bedroom like he owns the place.

Mammon’s taking a bit of a break in the living room, or was anyway, reading the newspapers. They don’t even bother looking away from the one they’re currently reading. “Starve and drop dead, then. Better yet, get the hell out of my house if you feel better enough to annoy me.”

“The prince demands food,” Bel says again, walking to the couch.

He reaches out to them with his arms, but Mammon sharply catches his eye. “Don’t.”

Bel stops, but he looks considering, challenging. A tense beat passes between them, but then he lowers his arms, ultimately choosing to be smart about it and stay alive.

Mammon might have stayed in their cursed form around him since that night, but it doesn’t mean they’ll ever allow anyone to carry them like they’re an actual toddler.

Bel laughs. “I angered Mammy,” he says in a sing-song tone. He then flops face down on the floor, and Mammon doesn’t even have a carpet on it.

They raise their eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Starving and dropping dead. Feed the prince if you want him to get up.”

Mammon snorts. “You think this isn’t an improvement for me? Just stay still and quiet right where you are.”

“These clothes are cheap, Mammy. Fitting for peasants, not a prince like me. They itch my skin, go buy me better ones.”

“Cry me a river.”

“I knew there was something weird about you,” he suddenly says, catching their eye, looking proud like he just uncovered a particularly well-kept secret. “You feel weird.”

What, so he could tell all along? It’s not really surprising seeing as he should become Active any day now, though it is a bit impressive, because Mammon isn’t just any Mist by the longest shot.

That he can feel it though?

Mammon reaches out with a bit of their flames, their newspapers completely forgotten. They poke at Bel, tasting the waters, making sure his flames won’t instinctively lash out, but Bel just laughs, wiggling as if he’s being tickled, letting their flames in.

Mammon finds his flames quickly, just there behind the last threshold separating his subconscious from his conscious realm, waiting to break through. He has Storm flames, and Mammon’s utterly unsurprised by it.

They poke carefully at them with their flames, testing the waters once again, looking for a clue on what exactly they should be looking for. They take on a firmer approach when it gives them nothing, letting their flames mingle a bit with his.

“It’s warm,” Bel says, still laughing and wiggling, maybe trying to scratch the sensation he’s not physically feeling. “How do you do that? How can the prince do it too?”

His flames instinctively press against theirs eagerly, entangling themselves further and deeper with theirs, wrapping themselves around theirs.

Mammon’s flames let them.

Mammon’s flames reciprocate just as eagerly, protectively holding onto his flames, wrapping themselves around them—

Mammon abruptly wrenches them away from Bel’s, calling them back to them and burying them deep in their core, out of reach. Blinding ragefear blacks out their vision, and they fear to see Bel dead when they come back to themself.

He isn’t, has even been left unscathed, but his sight only makes them see more red, makes them choke on—

They don’t even have the words for it, but couldn’t find them in their state even if they did.

Bel and them are bonded. That’s why they always keep running into each other, why Bel has such an easy time finding them even when they don’t want to be found, why Mammon always ends up stumbling upon him even when Bel isn’t looking for them, instinctively wanting to check up on him.

They’re bonded, and absolute dread threatens to drown them in the deepest waters, but they turn it into wrath instead.

No, no, not ever again. It’s been decades but it always feels like it happened yesterday, always feels like it just happened, and Mammon won’t ever take the risk of it ever happening to them again.

They reach into their core, into their flames, angry at themself too for letting that happen. Of course they’ve heard of flames reaching out to each other’s upon first meeting on the instinctual knowledge they’ll be able to bond together as long as they’ll be allowed and nurtured to, but when and why when they should have known better, when they do know better, and how could they possibly have not noticed it right then and there—

No, it doesn’t matter, and will not matter ever again real soon.

They hunt down the red in their indigo, sinking their claws deep into it, and they’re not kind or careful, and don’t plan to be anything but thorough. They were careless and let themself be bonded again, however superficial it still is, but they will not, ever, let themself be the one being discarded away again.

“Mammy?”

Mammon’s breath catches in their throat. Bel has never sounded like that before.

They look at him, actually seeing him when they’ve been looking at him without really seeing him. He’s on his knees, one hand clutched on his chest, his lips pursed tightly, his features tensed, confusion and worry and fear all in the same expression.

Bel’s never looked like that before either.

“What is it?”

Mammon could have laughed. They only realize now they’ve stood up on the couch, only realize now how tight their fists are, how hard they grit their teeth together, how thick and threatening their flames are in the air, even if still invisible.

What is it?

They couldn’t even begin to explain to him what this is, not when just the knowledge of what it is is always too much for them to keep waking up each day, even when they make a point to keep waking up each day anyway.

But he doesn’t need to know. Mammon has still a firm, deep hold on the part of his flames mingled with theirs, and they just have to rip them away from theirs now.

They should.

They will.

It won’t even mean anything in the long run for either of them. It will hurt, but their bond is still in the early stages so it won’t leave any lasting damages, won’t hurt any more than a good beating with a bit of prejudice would.

The pain will still likely trigger Bel’s flames, and it will leave an unfortunate lasting impression on the first time he was able to light his flames, but he’ll get over it. He’ll live. He’ll even still be able to bond with other people like everyone else.

Mammon will rip his flames away from theirs, they will.

They sink their claws deeper into them, making sure they’ll get all of it out of them.

They don’t.

They let his flames go, calling theirs back to them. They breathe out slowly and deeply then, uncurling their fists one finger at a time.

They don’t want Bel’s first experience with bonding to be that. Don’t want to be the one making it be that.

Mammon doesn’t want to ever become the type of person who’d do what has been done to them to someone else, let alone to a clueless, eight years old child.

Let alone to Bel, even if it means they might become the one being hurt again.

Mammon flops down on the couch, leaning their back against it, feeling drained. Drained, but surprisingly not defeated, and whatever they’re feeling instead, it’s not unpleasant.

“Mammy?” Bel calls out again, and sounds a bit more like his usual self. “Does the prince need to kill someone?”

Mammon snorts, but they find they mean it, and then genuinely laughs. “The day I’ll need a brat like you to kill someone for me will be the day I’ll retire so I’ll never have to show my face around again.”

“You can’t afford me anyway,” Bel says, grinning. He drops his hand from his chest, but stays on his knees, keeps his focus steady on them, still tentative, because he’s always been a little shit of a smart, perceptive, genius brat. And certainly Mammon can’t say they won’t lash out again should they be set off again even by the littlest thing.

“I call dibs.”

Bel wrinkles his nose. “On what?”

“Your tiara once you actually drop dead. You can barely afford my services even with that, you brat.”

Bel laughs, the last of his tension seeping away from his body. He lies face down against the floor again. “Princes don’t die, Mammy, don’t you know?”

“Don’t you ever jinx my peace and sanity like that ever again.”

Bel bursts out laughing, and Mammon watches him, wondering when their life has come to that.

No, they actually know when, and they’re still petty about Bel eating their food without even paying them back the money they ended up not paying for.

That little shit. That brat. And Mammon is still not being paid for any of it.

God, they really should have just stayed in their bed that day, but then again...

Yeah, whatever.

Mammon opens the door to Bel, covered in blood, as usual. An older boy stands next to him, short silver hair and grey eyes, less covered in blood and less banged up than Bel, but not any more presentable, and it’s less usual.

“This little shit is your brat?” he asks, glossing right over their cursed form and the fact they’re flying, and Mammon gives him points for it.

“You did that to him?” they ask, a purposeful, obvious edge in their voice, not looking back at Bel and his injuries.

Not that Bel himself seems to have a problem with that, but when isn’t he ever happy and pleased with himself when he gets to cover himself in blood, even when he loses? Which they know he did, because Superbi Squalo, new Sword Emperor after he beat Tyr, the previous one, fair and square, simply isn’t a foe Bel can deal with yet.

“Yeah, and he did this to me,” Squalo says, gesturing at himself up and down dismissively. “Big deal, get over it.” He grabs Bel by the back of his shirt, pulling him to his side then pushing him in front of him. “Your brat will become Varia from now on, get over it too.”

“Absolutely not,” Mammon says sharply before they even truly register what he just said.

Is he insane?

Is Bel?

The last thing they all need is for Bel to grow up in a place where his deranged self will be left loose in all its glory in the worst of ways, God forbid.

“Yes, I will,” Bel says, grinning, because of course he does. He elbows Squalo in the guts to make him let go of his shirt, and then ignores his pained cursing. “It sounds like I’ll enjoy it if the peasant shark is to be believed. Mammy, the prince demands you come along with him.”

Mammon pinches the bridge of their nose, closing their eyes, then takes a deep, deep, long breath.

They went to the bathroom for a fucking second, goddammit all.

They couldn’t ever be paid enough for all this bullshit.

Not much to say about this one except that it was a lot of fun to write lol.

Hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading!

[Plain text: “Not much to say about this one except that it was a lot of fun to write lol.

Hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading!” in bold. /End PT]

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #khr fanfic #khrrarepairweek2022 #khr viper | mammon #khr belphegor #mammon & belphegor #viper & belphegor #wip khr #wip khr one shots #wip khr prompts #khrrarepairweek #hope's writing #mine

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phoebeprufrock · 2 years

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Chapter 8: Something Is Rotten In The State Of Denmark

Pairing: F/M, Midge/Lenny (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel) Rating, Chapter(s), WC: Rated M, Chapter 8/22 is 3.7K Tags: #Romance #Medium-speed burn #Mild Hurt/Comfort #Fluff #Humor #Canon-adjacent Warnings: #canon-typical drinking and smoking #mentions of drug use #Palladinos-typical chaos #Susie-typical swearing #self-indulgent descriptions of Europe Chapter summary: Unpleasant traveling occurs, Midge and Lenny have a conversation, and a lot of food is discussed. Previous chapter | Chapter 1

Read on AO3 or see commentary and author notes after the break.

This chapter marks the beginning of the angstier part of the story, Midge and Lenny have a lot of stuff to work through and they haven't really faced any of it yet... But rest assured, it won't veer into particularly more angsty than the show has been so far, and it will still be funny (though that's mostly dependent on my writing, lol). They're off to London next chapter, and it's something a little bit different - but I've had a really great time writing it, so I hope you'll like it too.

Here's a picture of the Nyhavn harbor (where they have gløgg on their first night) in 1958:

And today, so you can see the colorful houses:

The first picture - the only one I could find of the time - is taken a bit further down from where the bars are, so the second one is closer to where they actually are. It's a truly beautiful place, and it's the most photographed place in the city for a reason. I had to put them somewhere nice to compensate for the Rostock-Gedser ferry, which is the absolutely worst place I've ever been in and unfortunately also the most convenient way to go from Germany to Denmark without taking a plane.

Onto my food rant!

Danish(es?): Okay, technically, they do have danish pastries in Denmark, but a) it’s not what they’re called; b) they’re fairly different from what you’d get in the US when you ask for a Danish (why you would even put cream cheese on puff pastry is beyond me…); and most importantly c) clueless Midge is my favorite Midge.

Frikadeller: the burger/meatball they’re eating is called frikadeller. It’s not strictly a street food, though most hot dog vendors also have them, and it’s genuinely delicious and the healthy kind of greasy.

Gløgg: listen, gløgg/mulled wine in general is a very polarizing subject, but I am firmly in the camp that the best one is the Danish one (don’t @ me Germans). The spice blend is exceptional, and getting to eat the boozy nuts and raisins at the bottom is an excellent treat.

Smørrebrød: alright, I’ll just say it: smørrebrød is disgusting. it’s not just that danish bread is gross and frankly, shouldn’t count as bread (it’s a moist patty of grains?! It’s brown and has like, four different consistencies?! THAT'S NOT BREAD), but there’s not a single topping that’s acceptable food. There’s like a weird fried fish thing that’s not too evil, but then all the sauces are either sour or generally gross. 0/10, would not recommend unless you've lost your taste buds.

Roast duck: my Danish friend’s mom made it for me once and it was the absolutely most delicious thing I’ve ever had. I’m talking crunchy skin, layers of nice melt-in-your-mouth fat, and tender, savory meat that goes perfectly with that sweet berry sauce. To this day I have no clue what kind of berry Danes put in their sauce - or rather, I have no idea what they're called. All I know is, they're red and I've never seen them outside of Scandinavia. It’s a shame traditional Danish restaurant in Copenhagen are all ridiculously expensive or bad, because their dinner food is really, really, really good.

Bonus, a pic of the famous Malmö windmill:

I have no idea why it's there, but everyone always goes, "Oh, a windmill!" like it's the most incredible thing they've ever seen. Although it's probably because it's just sitting there in the middle of a city park.

As always, thank you for reading, and I'll see you in London!

#phoebesupdates #midge x lenny #tmmm fanfiction #The Comics Are Coming!

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ibijau · 3 years

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Xue Yang’s Master pt 2 / On AO3

Xue Yang and the wounded boy he rescued make a deal

By the time morning came, Xue Yang was exhausted, but he was alive.

So was the rich kid, sadly.

Not just alive, but his fever had fallen a little. He was also less pale, and seemed to be breathing a little less slowly. When Xue Yang knelt next to the bed and took his wrist to check his pulse, the rich kid opened his eyes and stared at him again.

“Thank you,” he said weakly, which made things rather awkward for Xue Yang who had just figured that he would really have to kill the older boy himself after all. “Thank you, I’ll… I’ll repay you.”

He certainly was going to repay Xue Yang. That sword and the gold guan were going to change his life for good. At the same time, Xue Yang was a little curious what the older boy thought he could offer, in these circumstances.

“Repay me how?” he asked. “Do you have money?”

The rich kid frowned. Through a great effort, he managed to check inside his sleeves, producing only a very small pouch and an elegant fan that would probably be enough for Xue Yang to buy another servant, when he had his farm, or at the very least a strong pair of oxen.

“Money,” the rich kid rasped. “I think… no, I think it’s empty. I spent it all… unreasonable again. But I can… Are you interested in cultivation? I can teach you.”

In spite of himself, Xue Yang perked up at the suggestion. He wasn’t stupid, he knew only very few people had the right disposition to really learn cultivation, and most of those were already born in sects that practiced it. It wasn’t for poor people, cultivation, unless those rich folks took pity of you… or unless they needed new servants for cheap. Everyone knew that Chang Ci’an treated the disciples that didn’t share his blood as little better than slaves, and he wasn’t the only one like that.

Still, Xue Yang had always dreamed that someday, he might make Chang Ci’an pay for his lost finger, and he knew that the only way something like that could happen was if he were to become a cultivator as well… or to have enough money and power to hire one to do the job for him. Sects might be righteous, but rogue cultivators were more bribable, everyone knew that. But if he could save himself the expense by eliminating the middleman…

“You don’t really look like a cultivator,” Xue Yang pointed out, mostly to tease. “And if you’re one, you’re a bad one, getting almost killed and all. Doesn’t sound like you’d make a very good teacher.”

Again, the rich kid frowned. This time, he put a hand on his stomach, a little under where his navel would be.

“Ah… I’m good enough for a golden core, at least,” he sighed. “I… I can’t make you an immortal, that’s certain. But… but if you have the basics down, then a real sect could take you on. They… most of them, they like when part of the job has been done for them.”

“Are you part of a sect?”

The rich kid pinched his lips, staring at Xue Yang for a moment before slowly nodding.

“Can you get me into your sect?” Xue Yang asked. “Then I’d get a proper shizun right away, it’d be better.”

“Not… Not an option. It’s… they’re gone. Everyone's gone, I think.”

“Killed by the Wen?” Xue Yang guessed. He didn’t know a lot about the details of that Sunshot Campaign, nor did anyone who wasn’t a cultivator, but he’d heard rumours that the Wen had slaughtered some of the other sects and that had started it all. But to his surprise, the rich kid shook his head, wincing at his own movement.

“I am a Wen,” he confessed in a low voice. “I… I’m Wen Chao. I have to be.”

Xue Yang looked at the rich kid with wide shocked eyes. Even he knew the name Wen Chao, the second son of Wen Ruohan. Some people said Wen Chao was the one who’d caused the war to start by attacking another sect that had had more allies than he’d realised. More importantly, some people, a lot of people, said that Wen Chao had died about halfway through the war, or even earlier than that.

“You don’t seem too sure of yourself,” Xue Yang remarked with what he thought was great tact.

The alleged Wen Chao blinked a few times, looking worried.

“I’m… I have to be… it makes sense, it’s the only thing that… Everything is so… I can’t make sense of things, but this, it makes sense, it’s the only thing… I have to be, I have to… my head hurts. Can, Can I have something to drink?”

There was a well behind the little house, from which Xue Yang was able to draw water. It didn't smell of anything, and he couldn't see any bugs in it, so it had to be clean enough. The rich kid eagerly drank some, and then passed out again, his fever having returned somewhat.

Xue Yang hesitated. He looked at that sword he'd taken from the older boy, already stained with blood, then at the other boy's face, and sighed. It was a risk, trusting that rich kid, and one he probably shouldn't have taken, not when murder was such a clean and easy option, but…

But even Xue Yang had dreams, and he just couldn’t pass this slim chance of becoming a cultivator.

Although he had little experience taking care of others, Xue Yang did his best in the days that followed. He made sure the rich kid drank plenty, to compensate for what his fever made him sweat, and made him eat a little whenever he woke up, so he'd have strength to heal. For an ordinary person it probably wouldn't have been enough, but cultivators were different. After four days, the rich kid no longer had a fever and although he remained weak, he started being able to sit up and talk.

"Thank you for taking care of me," he told Xue Yang when he was well enough to chat.

Xue Yang, sitting cross-legged next to the bed, shrugged.

"I just did it because you said you'd teach me cultivation. You better not back down on that."

The rich kid pinched his lips, his eyes glancing to the sword that never left Xue Yang now. He then smiled quite peacefully.

"I'll teach you everything I know," the rich kid promised. "But if you're not made for it, it won't do you any good. Give me your hand a moment, so I can check."

Without hesitation, Xue Yang gave his left hand, the right one firmly on the sword's hilt. The rich kid glanced over his missing finger without comment, and inspected his wrist a moment before gently sending some energy through Xue Yang's body. He then gasped in surprise.

"Oh, you'll be good at this if you put in the effort! With a student like you, even I should manage to be a teacher."

He sounded relieved, sincerely so, as if he'd been worried about his capacity to keep his promise. Of course, it was probably just because he realised that Xue Yang, while younger and not a cultivator, wasn't above trying to kill him if he weren't useful enough.

"What's your name?" the rich kid asked.

"I'm Xue Yang. What's yours?"

"I'm Wen Chao. But a disciple should call his master shizun, right? Not that I'm asking you to!" Wen Chao quickly added, glancing at the sword again. "Call me whatever you like, I guess."

“Are you really Wen Chao?” Xue Yang asked. “I’d heard both of Wen Ruohan’s sons had died.”

Wen Chao frowned, his face darkening as he gave that question more consideration than anyone should have done upon being asked to confirm their identity. If he was merely lying, then he wasn’t very good at it.

“Everything is a little confused right now,” Wen Chao admitted, closing his eyes with a pained grimace. “I can’t… I can’t be sure. But I remember… it makes sense. I am from an affluent cultivation family, I know that, know it for sure. I’m a second son, and not… not very favoured by my family. They think… no, they know that my older brother is miles above me in terms of skills. He’s the one everyone likes, with good reasons. And there’s that sword… it’s a Wen sword, I know it is and I had it in hand after… after…”

He paused and licked his lips, closing his eyes tighter while hunching his shoulders.

“It’s the only weapon I had on me, after he attacked me,” he whispered. “That man… I don’t know who, but he hated me, wanted me dead. I know that. Almost did. Almost killed me. It was… I don’t know how I escaped. And I… I think it was about the war.”

Wen Chao reopened his eyes, gazing into the distance.

“Yes, it was about the war,” he said, shivering. “I just know that. I had to die, so the victory could be complete. He needed me gone. So I’m a rich second son of the Wen sect, whose survival could compromise the success of the Sunshot Campaign… who else could I be but Wen Chao?”

Feeling a reaction might be expected of him, Xue Yang shrugged. He didn’t know a lot about the sons of Wen Ruohan, aside from the sort of things that everyone knew. They were spoiled, and they were cruel, one had died at the hands of the terrifying Nie Mingjue who’d put his head on display, the other had… disappeared. Just vanished. There hadn’t even been a body to show off, apparently, because it had been too badly damaged.

All things considered, that was a very odd thing, wasn’t it?

Xue Yang looked carefully at his new teacher. He could well have been a Wen. He did have a northern look to him, so it wasn’t so far-fetched for him to be from that sect. And with all that gold on him… it made some amount of sense. Enough to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least until his memory returned.

“Fine then, shizun,” Xue Yang said. “I guess you’ve got to know better than me. Now, give me a lesson in cultivation. Or are you too tired?”

Wen Chao, who had opened his mouth to protest, quickly closed it again and shook his head with a thin smile.

“No, I’m sure I can handle at least a little.”

Xue Yang grinned, and prepared to listen attentively.

His teacher had better be good and his own progress had better be fast, because between the two of them, Xue Yang was the one with a sword now.

#nie huaisang #xue yang #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #nhs is wc au

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maydaymadier · 3 years

Text

Time

[Disclaimer: I’m currently slightly more than halfway through the c2 finale and I’m going to try and avoid spoilers since well, there’s still like 3hrs of content to get spoiled on. Will likely crosspost to my ao3]

“Time, it takes time, not days or weeks or years. Time.”

Caleb Widogast was right, though to be precise it takes 100 consecutive days of inscribing a teleportation circle in the same place to make it permanent. Nicodranas was the first teleportation circle Essek Thelyss finished. 100 days of pounding sun and coastal heat felt fitting to start his time. He had his trepidations about better acquainting himself with Yussa, less so with Ms. Lavorre. The Nein asked why he needed to make a teleportation circle in Nicodranas, they already had access to Tidepeak Tower’s. ‘Yes, however, we will not have to give anyone advance notice to use our own.’

Jester made something of a habit of bringing him a new parasol or sunhat each time she visited, even brought him tinted glasses she found once. If he knew she was coming he’d make sure to wear one of them.

Each time he ran out of chalk he’d wrap himself in illusion and teleport himself to Zadash. Meanwhile, the stores in his towers grew dust-laden, his absence from the Dynasty more suspicious, and he bought his chalk from Enchanter Sol. The Mighty Nein were a family, regardless of any distance, and he had the means to make distance mean nothing. So Essek Thelyss carried on. And on the hundredth day, he stepped into a circle in Nicodranas and stepped out in the Blooming Grove.

He was invited in for tea, as expected, and accepted as was polite. The next day he found the spot behind the temple where the grass had been flattened by the circle delivering him and started his next hundred days. He ‘compensated’ for his intrusion with his floating meditative guard each night. Caduceus seemed to pick up on what he was doing faster than Jester had, by a thin margin. The remaining Clay children would poke their noses in once and a while, curious about their drow visitor they’d only met briefly before but they remembered him helping garden after Ikithon set the temple ablaze. They would offer him a plate at meals, he insisted on using his own rations in a strange dance of hospitality and being a polite guest.

At one point, after finishing the day’s circle he considered venturing through the Savalirwood to Glory Run Road, find Mollymauk’s grave. But it felt disrespectful to Kingsley somehow in a way he couldn’t articulate. If he were to be more dramatic it felt like an invasion of privacy to the rest of the Nein as a whole, intruding on a moment on a place where they were unknowing adversaries. So he kept inscribing circles in the grass and sometimes he found fresh chalk in his component pouch. On occasion, Caduceus found saplings and cuttings of Xorhasian plants on his windowsill.

On the hundredth day he stepped into the circle in the Blooming Grove and came out under Caduceus’s tree in the Xorhaus. He was far more careful with this one. The Xorhaus was sparsely used, bordering on abandoned at this point, more than ready for the Nein to inhabit it once again. Beauregard, oft accompanied by Yasha, used it the most for when they visited Rosohna on Cobalt Soul business. The Bright Queen had been more than amenable to working with the Soul once she knew they were dismantling the organization that had stolen the beacons.

Though it took three days before Beau realized he was working on making a circle on the roof, pruning away his extra time by trying to tame the garden, clad in his rose-patterned gardening gloves, what with his lackluster previous experience. She offered to go bring him chalk from his towers, anything else he might need that he’d left behind when he was posted in Eiselcross. He accepted the offer, to eschew suspicion, asking for some simple components that filled any wizard’s pouch. Sooner than later, soon enough Beau couldn’t knock the truth out of him (not that she needed to do that or would, he was growing increasingly susceptible to disappointed stares from his friends) he stepped into the circle in Rosohna and stepped out in Rexxentrum.

His skin crawled and felt like it would slough off with each passing day. He wasn’t so bold at this point to attempt and make a circle on Soltryce’s grounds but he did take pleasure in chipping away the next hundred days in the courtyard of Trent Ikithon’s now abandoned tower. It was a joy, absolutely cathartic tearing apart what little remained hidden away of the bastard’s stores. The most valuable and precious artifacts and components were hidden in ways only an archmage would even know about or know how to unlock. Malicious clumsiness might have gotten him to break an important, now inert, magical tool or two as he rummaged through the tower for chalk.

Though one day, he noticed an owl perched in a tree, watch him for an hour, disappear for a few minutes, reappear, so on and so forth for the whole day. He had a good idea who the owl was but she never watched him again after that. If she wanted to know what he was doing here, fine. It wasn’t like either could rat out the other without drawing unwanted attention to them both. So on the hundredth day, what little remained of Trent Ikithon’s personal study even more thoroughly destroyed, he stepped into the circle in Rosohna and stepped out.

Essek chipped away at the for now final circle under the watchful light of Pelor. Passively, the part of him that absorbed every ounce of knowledge, regardless if he cared or not, wondered what the connection may be between whatever the Luxon is and the Dawnfather. Just a fun little thought experiment to occupy him while he worked through the next hundred days.

By the end of Brussendar, with Highsummer fast approaching, he’d decided that he ought to have brought at least one of Jester’s hats. Though more importantly he’d decided that the thought was silly and any connection between the two deities must be entirely aesthetic. Nothing he didn’t already know but what else can a wizard do but overthink?

It wasn’t the same level of festivities he’d heard about with Harvest’s Close but Highsummer seemed to be the close second in Blumenthal. He sat, disguised in the shade of an oak probably as old as he was and simply watched from afar. Somewhere in the crowd, he saw a flash of copper. Tried not to think to much of it. Red hair seemed slightly more common in this corner of the empire. He caught the sweeping arc of a long, striped scarf being tossed over a shoulder. A leather coat dusting at the ground (though he had looked so good in purple).

Caleb Widogast stepped out of the crowd and sat under the oak with him, “I suppose a criminal always returns to the scene of the crime.” “I suppose I have,” Essek stared at his feet. Caleb offered him some sort of sweet roll wrapped in paper, “I was not talking about you.” He ignored the comment, “How long has it been? Since we last spoke.” “Four hundred and eighty-six days. About a year and a half to be informal,” he just set down the roll next to his hand when he didn’t move to take it. “I keep thinking one day it will have been enough time.” “Looking for the specific number will drive you mad. Are you just going to keep making circles across Wildemount until you feel that you’ve atoned?” Essek took the roll but only held it, “I know that I cannot make up for everything. What are you doing here, anyways?” “I have been trying to convince myself to visit. Maybe try to pay my respects if I can stomach it. The others had already told me what you were doing, but Astrid told me where you were going. Figured now was good a time as any,” his expression darkened, the reality beyond the afterglow of a hard-won victory whispering into both their ears. “I-,” Essek started. “Did you know I was from here before you picked it or did you just want to taunt Rexxentrum by hiding in their breadbasket for a while?” Caleb stared him down. “I knew.” “Alright then.” “I hope I have not intruded in some way by coming here.” “I suppose we were both curious about the echo. It’s right up your alley, prodigious dunamancer and whatnot,” Caleb glanced back up at the revelers before turning his attention back to him “I would not discount your own skill, you’ve picked up dunamancy quite quickly and with a level of skill I have rarely seen.” Maybe they can just talk about magic. “Danke.” There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation.

“When do you think-?” Essek tried asking. “I don’t. I will not pretend to know when enough time will have passed for the past not to hurt us anymore, Essek. And counting it in teleportation circles will not make it go any faster,” he said, though with the crushing sadness to his eyes of a man who wished he were wrong. “I am trying to make it easier for us to see each other,” he said with easy authority. “It is much easier to see each other when we don’t run off to the four corners,” Caleb added on with a tired chuckle. “What are you implying?” Something caught between excitement and unease hit him. “I can stay. Help you finish the circle here, we can leave, make another. As many circles as we want. We can have the continent at our fingertips. Maybe even go back to what remains of Aeor in Eiselcross. Devexian couldn’t have been the only mechanical inhabitant. For all we know there is a city of automatons underneath the ice now,” Caleb got more excited and dreamy as he went on, the unbridled excitement of a mage faced with knowledge. “That sounds...nice...,” Essek trailed off, trying to sound as neutral as he could manage. “Do you want that, Essek?”

It felt like the word was tearing its way out of him, “Yes.”

#my post #critical role #mighty nein #cr fic #cr fanfic #essek thelyss #shadowgast #just a sprinkling of shadowgast there at the end #post-canon #Essek is Coping

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pynches · 3 years

Text

through the years we will be together (if the fates allow)

a/n this is a gift for @mletart for @pynchpromptweek Secret Santa! I hope you like it! summary: The Lynch brothers do Christmas caroling together to uphold the brotherly bond after their parents passed away. It so happens to be that Adam lives at the church they frequent at. The Myth of the Brothers Lynch become a reality when Adam finally meets the middle one.

word count: 2571

ao3 Adam had never seen them, he had tried many times to catch as much as a glimpse but his job at Boyd’s lined up with the mass times and he was always a little too late. Once, he thought he saw the edge of a BMW turn around the corner but he had waved that off. “Good boys” as the attendees had said, didn’t drive cars that were shark-nosed, all edges and brute force.

“They sing like angels,” one old lady told Adam. She attended church often, burning a candle sometimes. Adam wondered who she had lost, if she was the only one left standing. He almost wanted to ask if the angel metaphor was blasphemy but he held it in at the last moment and politely listened instead, the key to his apartment still in hand. “Especially the middle one.”

“Ronan,” Adam said helpfully, nodding his head in recognition. He had been so mystified by the brothers that he had absorbed every bit of information about them like a sponge, trying to piece everything together and create clear images of them.

He never quite succeeded.

“You must come to mass,” the lady said, her watery eyes looking up at Adam hopefully and Adam had politely declined though it cost him great hardship to do so.

“I’m not religious,” Adam said apologetically and stayed to listen to the lady’s story about the grandson she never really saw because he went to study abroad before Adam finally went up the stairs and let himself into his apartment.

The Brother’s Lynch, now a tangible subject in his mind, took residency in his thoughts for the remainder of the day, the week, until it was Sunday again and Adam was home for once.

Boyd had called Adam to him a few days before, telling him that he had to take some vacation days or he would breach the contract he had signed the year before. It so happened that one of those vacation days was that Sunday, since it wouldn’t be too busy at the shop that day anyway.

And thus, Adam was at the window on Sunday, peering through the slightly cracked glass to try and catch the eye of the brothers.

He watched as the shark-nosed BMW appeared again, followed by a much more boring car, parking next to the BMW. The first guy that got out was one that looked like he was the poster child for bad behaviour. Shaved head, tattoos that curled up from his shoulders and around his neck, peeking just above the black suit he was wearing, the tie artfully undone.

Next came another guy out of the more boring car, a displeased frown already set in his eyebrows. He wore a gray suit, everything perfectly in place. Adam wondered if the perfection was compensating for something.

Then, the last guy, which Adam expected was Ronan, the one with the nice voice, the “very kind boy” as one of the old ladies had whispered to him. Golden curls, a sweet smile on his face, an excited jump in his step as he entered the church.

Adam didn’t go down but he snuck out of his apartment and sat on the stairs, hoping to catch one of their voices. He wanted to learn the magic behind the sound, understand why everyone, including him, had been mesmerised by the brothers.

He didn’t hear a single one stand out, all of them combining too much to notice the ‘angelic’ ones the woman had told him about. Adam wished he still had his other ear in use, thinking that perhaps he would be blessed with the heavenly voices of the brothers if his father hadn’t beaten the hearing out of it.

Disappointedly, he stood again and moved upstairs to his little apartment, sitting down to study as he had done a hundred nights before and would continue to do so until the very end.

It wasn’t a half-hour later when he heard a single voice, moving below in the heart of the church, the voice echoing off the wall. Adam quietly tiptoed down and peeked around the corner. He was too entranced by the voice at first to notice the person singing. The musical notes and the quiet timber of it made Adam wonder if the church was built for the sound instead of God. But then he saw the figure and his heart momentarily stopped.

Shaved head, eyes sunken into his head, was he sleeping enough? Perhaps he was an insomniac as Adam was as well, by choice or not was the question. The suit jacket had been shrugged off and laid over one of the benches. His dress shirt had been rolled up his arms, exposing the boy’s pale forearms, scarred and vulnerable looking. Adam could distinctively see two hooks etched into the sides of his neck, the black ink a stark contrast against the whiteness of his skin.

This must be the youngest one Adam thought. He wanted to go up, introduce himself but he was too scared to. The boy was not only taller than him but significantly stronger too. Adam didn’t exactly feel fear but he didn’t want to take any chances either.

He barely noticed the singing had stopped before the boy was in front of him and Adam’s heart stilled in his chest. “Who the fuck are you?” Adam was asked who immediately went into defensive mode.

“I live here,” Adam said with an annoyed pull of his lips. He wondered why the ladies had said they were ‘good boys’. This one seemed anything but.

The boy’s mouth opened and closed, the spell on his hardened eyes momentarily broken and he looked so much younger immediately. “Oh, I didn’t know.”

Adam swallowed and nodded before his everlasting need for approval reared its ugly head. “Adam Parrish,” he said, knowing how ridiculous his name sounded in a church of all things. The boy, Matthew, Adam presumed, seemed to realise as well and smirked a little. Adam wished he didn’t find it as attractive as he did.

“Ronan Lynch,” the boy replied and…

Oh.

“You’re not Matthew?” Adam asked and he immediately realised how stupid he sounded. He also realised his hand was still in Ronan’s, pleasantly warm under his soft skin.

“That would be my baby brother,” Ronan answered and cocked his head. Adam didn’t dare to tell him that it made him look like a confused puppy. “Why would you think I was Matthew?”

And here Adam was, standing in front of the most dangerous-looking boy with the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, tongue-tied and all. “The ladies who come here told me Ronan was the nicest of the brothers and well…”

“Matthew looks like a golden retriever personified,” Ronan helpfully added. “We’re all aware.”

Adam bit his lip and finally released Ronan’s hand. It took him everything to not immediately start running. He would have if he didn’t also want to tell Ronan how nice his voice was and, more importantly, leave a good impression for whatever reason that might be.

“Your voice…” Adam started and cleared his throat. “It’s really nice.”

He walked away after that, hating himself for coming up with ‘nice’ of all things. As if that wasn’t the lamest thing he could have said to the hottest person he had ever met in his short and sheltered life. You didn’t often find people like him in little Henrietta, Virginia and Adam blew it completely.

Adam could hear the soft laughter of Ronan echo against the walls again, following him up into his room. It was a quiet and surprising thing, fleeting like the birds’ wings on Ronan’s neck.

Adam dreamt about Ronan that night. Perhaps he truly wasn’t real but just a myth his mind had helpfully added a face to. But it couldn’t be, Ronan’s hand had felt so real in his own, warm and soft, the comforting touch of a mystical stranger.

Adam looked out the next day but Ronan was gone. It wasn’t a surprise, he didn’t think people that drove such cars actually slept in churches but he still felt a deep sense of disappointment that nobody was waiting for him downstairs, singing a beautiful song in greeting.

Adam got back to work the next Sunday and though he rushed back to catch a glimpse of the brothers, or, well, Ronan, it was to no avail. They were gone, carrying their voices with them.

The days flew by, the weather got worse. Adam was cold more often than not and in those freezing days where he could only pace up and down his small apartment to gain some warmth, he remembered the touch of Ronan’s hands, their palms pressed together, Ronan’s finger lightly touching his racing pulse.

“They have a habit of Christmas caroling,” one of the ladies, Dorothy, apparently, had told him with a wink as if she knew Adam had been looking out for them. “They do it every year, it keeps the brotherly bond alive.”

Adam thought Christmas caroling only happened in cheesy Christmas movies but he had thanked her and kept Dorothy’s words to heart. He made sure to finish all of his homework before sitting down on his bed on Christmas eve, eyeing the door with nervous anticipation. He belatedly thought of the possibility they would only carol at the door of the church, not of his apartment. Still, he held the hope that Ronan would remember their conversation and attempt to sing for him.

Though Adam had hope, he didn’t actually expect a knock on his door. He turned the doorknob with a shaky hand, his stomach fluttering with nerves.

Before him stood three brothers.

Declan, his expression stoic, his suit black this time with a tie that looked as if it was made by someone artistic, snowflakes and Christmas trees decorating the red and green background. The tie greatly contrasted what Adam had thought was his personality. Maybe he wasn’t as boring as he portrayed himself to be.

Matthew, all golden curls and happy smiles as he sang, his head bobbing a little with every note, his eyes squinted to feel the music more. He was as he seemed, cheerfulness evident in every word he sang.

And then there was Ronan. He was dressed in all black, not quite right for Christmas eve but it fit him, Adam could tell even though he didn’t truly know him. The scar on his lip pulled a little when he sang, the sole focus point of Adam’s sight until he suddenly remembered he had been staring at Ronan’s lips with fascination and looked up again. His eyes met Ronan’s pale blue ones. It reminded him of the ice he always wished he could skate on but never could afford.

Ronan smiled while he sang, he could tell from the crinkles around his eyes. Adam couldn’t help but smile back and applaud a little when they were done.

“You deserve every praise you get,” Adam told the brothers. Declan nodded in appreciation and squeezed Ronan’s shoulder.

“He really is nice,” he said, smirking a little as Ronan’s cheeks turned red, his expression affronted that his brother dared to expose him like that. “Ronan forced us to sing for you.”

This time it was Adam’s time to blush, unable to meet Ronan’s eyes so they fell on Matthew instead who looked ecstatic. “I think you’ll make a lovely brother in law.”

“Matthew!” Ronan yelled and Matthew laughed as he dragged Declan down to ‘give them some privacy’.

Adam finally looked up to Ronan again and tugged a little on the sleeve of his suit jacket so he met his eyes again. “I’m glad you came here.”

“You are?” Ronan asked, sounding as if he expected Adam to slam his door in his face. Adam could sense the hope in Ronan’s eyes and, hell, it was Christmas Eve . This was the night for miracles and taking chances, for spending time with loved ones that Adam didn’t have but if he played it right, he could have exactly that next Christmas.

Adam thus nodded and ran inside to get a pen, writing his phone number on the palm of Ronan’s hand, the light blue almost the colour of the veins that ran underneath his skin. “I want to get to know you better, maybe you become less of a myth in my head.”

Ronan’s laugh sounded like bells and Adam couldn’t help but grin back, strangely proud that he made the boy with the wonderful voice laugh like that.

“I don’t use my phone a lot,” Ronan confessed but protectively curled his fingers around the phone number anyway and Adam knew he was going to call him.

“See it as a Christmas present to me,” Adam replied and Ronan’s lips pulled in a smirk, leaning closer to him as he spoke his next words.

“And what is my present then?”

Adam rolled his eyes, somewhere between exasperated and amused, knowing that he would be walking that fine line more often with Ronan. “A date?”

Ronan’s cheeks flushed a little again and he nodded. Adam cheered inwardly. “Deal,” he replied as if they were in some kind of business meeting. He briefly frowned, having realised that himself too.

Adam wanted to tease that he was more like his brother than he was probably willing to admit but he kept his mouth shut to ensure he would still go on that date.

“Deal,” he replied softly instead and watched as Ronan finally turned to leave, looking back one last time at him before going back into the cold. Adam watched Ronan push Declan and ruffle Matthew’s hair before getting into the shark-nosed BMW and driving off, the pristine snow still lingering to its exterior.

The myth of the Lynch Brothers didn’t end there but next Christmas, Adam was in on it too. He didn’t carol, it was something for the brothers alone. Instead, he comfortably sat on the worn couch of the Barns, sipping hot chocolate with Chainsaw, Ronan’s raven, her beak comfortably pressed into his neck, waiting for the brothers to return.

With them, the Lynches brought warmth and joy, a liveliness that Adam had missed in those years alone. It wasn’t before long that they came barrelling through the door, Ronan curling up next to him, one arm around the back of his shoulders as they retold where they had been caroling, how the old ladies of the church wished Adam a happy Christmas.

And Adam did have a happy Christmas, more so than he ever experienced before. He was surrounded by people he cared for more than anything and finally understood what the true Christmas spirit was about. Love, joy, and most importantly, spending time with your family, be it born or found.

#pynch #pynch fic #pynch fanfic #pynch fanfiction #trc #the raven cycle #trc fanfic #the raven cycle fanfiction #adam parrish #ronan lynch #pynchpromptweek #declan lynch #matthew lynch #mine

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fandom-blackhole · 3 years

Text

Hayloft- Ezra x Reader

AN: hahahahahahah hello.....So I know that have have shit I was supposed to write but life has taken every bit of creativity from me so I’m not sure if I’ll ever actually write those. So I am sorry if you have been waiting forever for me to post a story. I’ve also made the decision to close my requests indefinitely unless I change my mind because I just don’t do well with them, sorry. BUT, I struck gold and got the idea for this fic and before I lost the inspo I wrote like a mad man all yesterday! So I do hope you enjoy! And yes, I did get the idea while listening to Hayloft by Mother Mother

Also this is going to be a two part story, I am currently working on the second part and it should be posted tomorrow morning most likely. And I made a playlist, if you’d like to listen to it (I am open to song suggestions to be added!)

Ao3 Link

Masterlist

Words: 3.1k (this a beast for me lol)

Warnings?: not really, AFAB reader, mentions of a stroke, Ezra’s charm (that needs a warning), bad poetry formatting (sorry tumblr destroyed how I had it in my Doc)

The itchy scratchy feeling of the hay digging through my nightwear was worth every uncomfortable second if it meant I could continue to sit here and listen to the man across from me, with his eyes that held galaxies and voice the carried the lilt of the most wonderful song, with that unplaceable accent. He was worth being tired in the morning from staying up all night up here in the loft of my family’s small barn. He was worth all the sneaking around and small meaningful glances sent each other’s way when no one else was paying attention, the brushing of hands when handing something to the other. I wouldn’t change anything about this unless it meant the small glances or the gentle brushing against each other didn’t have to be hidden from the others, if it meant that I could just be with the hypnotic man across from me with his hair as dark as the freshly tilled ground at the being of a harvest minus that one soft looking patch as white as a newly hatched chick’s down and a smile so crooked and white that it felt almost as if he was casting a spell over my very heart and soul. He was worth the pain of picking hay from my hair and clothes in the morning when I have to sneak back into the farmhouse, while already missing the touch of his rough and calloused but gentle hand. It was all worth every bit as long as he helped me forget everything just for the time being.

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Living on K-5 was rather simple. The planet was neither big nor small and it was known for its fertile soil that could grow just about any plant whether it was native to the world or not and once one harvest season had finished the other started as the weather always was spring-like with perfect growing conditions. Not many came to stay and those who did worked their entire life in planets many fields of harvest. To the few that actually knew the name of the forgettable planet called it the bread box of the known universe. Though the planet was known to very few people throughout space, the planet’s harvests could be found on just about any other planet or moon feeding just about everyone.

The farmers of K-5 were known to have bigger families on the premise of needing hands to work the land for food of their own and for money. The farmers also knew that most of their children would leave the planet and look for better elsewhere, and would hope beyond hope that at least one of their children would settle on the sad planet and continue working their farm. Though if luck would have it there might come a ship every so often with people willing to lend hands and work the land if they were compensated well enough. Most that came were floaters looking for something to do in between prospecting jobs, others were looking for a quiet place to finally settle after a long life.

My father had been one of 12 brothers and he was the only one to stay and take over the meager farmer his father and his father’s father had set up on a small corner of the planet. My father never really talked about his siblings, only ever calling them stupid for leaving the haven that was K-5 for a world they had no place to be in. My mother had been brought here by her mother, who had been a floater. They had made acquaintances with a farmer a town or so over and had lived there as farmhands as that family’s children started dwindling as they left. I have been told that my mother had a fire to her that no other on the planet had, that she was a woman of grace and humility, which is rare in space these days, something I was told I inherited though I’m not so sure I believe. We were a small family, I had two older brothers, twins identical in only their looks. Joshua, a dreamer as my father put it spitefully saying he inherited that from our mother, while his brother Anthony took after our father with his pessimistic view of everything including the world outside of our farm and K-5. I always counted Joshua lucky, he was able to sneak out of our small farmhouse late one night only leaving a note on my bedside table saying goodbye as he left one of the few ships to land on our soil. Father always resented me much like he did Joshua for multiple reasons, one of them being that it was the reason mother had passed, as Anthony informed me one night when asked, another reason being that I supposedly looked like a carbon copy of her, as I was told by the few farmers that remembered her, and lastly and most importantly was my fascination with the outside world. He hated that “Joshua did nothing but fill your head with fantasies.” He hated that because of our small family we needed all the farmhands we could get and that I would always sit with them listening to anything they would tell me, though few would say much as the floaters tended to be a quiet breed, preferring to keep to themselves.

In our town, the floaters and drifters were usually pointed to our farm when looking for work and usually met with my father before I ever had a chance to meet them, most ignoring me throughout their short stay, anyway. If we were lucky we would get one or two by the time harvesting or planting time had come around and they were always roomed in Joshua’s old room, now cramped from shoving multiple cots into the room rather than one small bed. The room was furthest from mine, which made it hard to sneak into to and talk with those who were willing to feed my curiosities. Having been caught and reprimanded enough times by both father and Anthony I had to learn how to be light-footed and sneak around unseen, though I believe that after awhile Anthony has given up on trying to ‘knock some sense’ into me and just doesn’t try anymore.

Life was the same for me day in and day out nothing much changing other than the faces and names of the floaters staying on our humble farm. Excitement in our corner of space was far and few between, leading me to seek it out through any means possible, and more often than not it was the few books I was able to get my hands on them being rare as they were, were exceptionally hard to find new stories. Though luck would have it, I was able to get my hands on three battered books whose covers were so worn and dirtied over the years that any image or words depicted were hardly seen. Of everything on my solemn planet, these were what kept me sane, even if I had read and reread each dozens of times. Though their covers were faded, the titles were imprinted in my mind. I treasured my well-loved copies of Pride and Prejudice, The Hobbit, and Frankenstein and kept them close to my heart while also hiding them from my father for fear of how he’d react to them. Though I love every book I owned, it was the newest in my collection that meant the most to me, for it was the first thing that brought the man I long for and I together, a rather small but thick copy of a collection of poems and stories written by Edgar Allen Poe.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Waking up on Saturdays were the only time when I didn’t mind having to roll out of bed and deal with the early hour chill. Saturdays were the days that I got sent to town to collect groceries and odds and ends for the farm from the weekend markets. Father learned early on that I had the same touch as my mother when I came to finding the best bargains and deals, so he began sending me in his stead while he and Anthony ran other errands or helped the current farmhands do morning chores.

This Saturday wasn’t much different, upon waking and changing into the day’s clothes, I pulled my hair out of my face before stepping out of my room to head to the kitchen to find the list of what was needed on the counter along with the money needed. As usual, I went through my Saturday routine of making a thermos of coffee before pocketing the money and grabbing my bag. I slip my thermos into the side pocket of the bag as I slip the strap over my shoulder, before grabbing the list and scanning the contents as I walked to where my boots were stored next to the door. While glancing through the list, I started to slide my boots on before stopping. In a small section at the bottom were a few items that were reserved only for the few saturdays that the supply ship stopped in our area of the planet, which was very rare if ever. The supply ships were sent to the planet every couple of months with limited supplies and it landed in certain areas to sell what ever cargo it had brought, only to leave when empty. Only the ships usually were emptied after the first two or three stops and this area was usually one of the last stops, making the ships rare and highly sought after in the area. So the fact that our area was finally getting a ship after almost a year and a half without one was a huge deal. A rather large part of me hoped that there would be floaters on the ship willing to be hired out for farm work, especially since the lack of a ship has made my small family have to tend our meager fame with only the three of us because of the lack of farmhands.

Upon arrival, the town was already bustling with life. Quickening my pace, I went to the center of the town where the new supplies always were held, and upon arriving I made quick work of crossing off everything on the list in hopes of having time to browse for myself. Luck seemed to have shown mercy down on me today as everyone I talked to was fair in prices and after crossing the last item off the long list I still had enough money to buy something for myself and give father change without him being any wiser. Smiling I chatted with a few townspeople and other farmers as I browsed the market, and as I came to the last stall I had yet to look in the market. Having near given up and about to turn from the stall, my eye caught something that had fallen from the makeshift table. Upon picking it up I nearly cried with joy having found what I could only hope to be the next tattered book to add to my collection. Flipping the book over in my hands and flipping through the pages my smile grew as I called the seller over. We haggled the price for a couple of minutes before he accepted my offer with a murmur and taking the money and while turning to begin my journey back to the farm I heard my name being called a couple of stalls over. Looking up, I smiled politely when I noticed it was Mrs.Robertson, taking a deep breath and sighing it back out before making my way slowly over to where she stood.

Mrs.Robertson was a stout woman that had a smile that never seemed to leave her face. She was a lovely woman whose lemon pound cake was well-known amongst the area’s farmers and always had a warm cup of tea and an open ear for whoever walked through her kitchen door, even after her stroke that took all mobility in her left arm. While I have always enjoyed her company, especially as a child when I was longing for a mother figure, recently talking with her always ended with her trying to push her oldest son and I together. Her oldest and youngest sons were the only two of her five children to stay on the planet, and while her youngest had already married and had a couple of children, her oldest didn’t seem to have interest in doing the same, even if she swears that he infatuated with me. Father continuously tells me that he thinks the marriage would be a good idea, even as I tell him it wouldn’t work between the two of us.

So as I walk over to her and give her a hug in greeting I prepare myself for another attempt at matchmaking. Instead after parting from the one-handed hug, she had given me she motioned over her shoulder to a man who was standing there with a crooked smile that seemed to hold every last bit of charm left in the universe, and Mrs. Robertson, without missing a beat spoke up, “I was just explaining to this lovely newcomer that your father is always looking for new people to help with the farm and was just about to point him in your farm’s direction when I noticed you,” as Mrs.Robertson continued to rattle on I took the chance to glance back to the man behind her, only to find that his woefully dark eyes were still watching me with more mirth than I had seen in years. Looking back to Mrs.Robertson quickly hoping that no redness would grace my cheeks, though I knew it was there anyway. She quickly stepped aside and motioned to me introducing me before the man, if at all possible, smiled wider and stuck out his hand introducing himself as Ezra. As I stuck out my hand to shake his I opened my mouth to give him a polite reply only to be shocked into silence when instead of shaking my offered hand he raised it to his shining smile and graced the back of my hand with a kiss. Now I was absolutely certain that there was red dancing across my cheeks, if not my ears as well. Not able to take returning the gaze the man, I know knew to be Ezra, seemed to be piercing my very soul with I turned to Mrs.Robertson, thanking her and wishing her well before turning to Ezra who was still watching me and giving him a shy smile and tilting my head in a motion as to say ‘follow me’.

Ezra seemed to be quiet as we walked throughout the town head back towards the farm, though that might have been because the small talk and greetings that were being thrown my way from those from the area that I was friendly with. When we finally broke from the town and the only sound was the dwindling chatter of the market and buzzing of the local wildlife. Though I was startled to a stop from the previous silence by the man as he spoke melodically and seemingly wit purpose,

“In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed; But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast On things around him, with a ray Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream, that holy dream, While all the world was chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro’ storm and night, So trembled from afar― What could there be more purely bright In Truth’s day-star?”

Having turned to face the man confused, but noticing he was looking towards the sky with a smile, though one smaller than the one he was sporting when you both had made your introductions with each other, this one seeming more blissful rather than purposefully charming. It was only now though that I noticed the absence of his right arm as his left was moved to his face to shield his eyes from the ever glowing sun. Turning his head back to look at me, his smiled widened again before noticing my slight confusion.

“Sorry flower but I couldn’t help but to notice the collection of stories and poems in your hand there, and thought to quote a poem by our dear morose friend Poe. I find his works to be a tad too depressing for my likes but somethings just stick with your very person,” Ezra drawled before sticking his hand out, “May I?”

Unable to really respond as I was still in slight shock I was only able to nod and pass the book over. Where upon gracing his fingers Ezra was able to skillfully thrumb through the book, mumbling quietly to himself with a smile, “It has been quite sometime since I have been able to visit our friend Poe here or any of my other long dead friends I’m afraid,” he paused for only a moment sticking the tip of his tongue between his lips before giving a small quiet winning cry, “ Ah hah! Here you go, ‘A Dream’ by the one and only Edgar Allan Poe.”

Handing the book back with it open on a specific page and there it was, the poem in which he had just quoted in full. Smiling down at the page, before looking back at him with a somewhat astonished look I dog eared the page before sliding it into the bottom of my bag, “No one else around here really reads anymore. At this point I thought I was the last one in the universe to do so. It….it would be nice to actually talk about reading with someone, though regretfully I just met Poe today so we are not quite as well acquainted as you two seem to be,” looking back up with a smirk and remembering my thermos I grab it out of my bag before lifting it up in offering. “Coffee? Its not quite hot anymore but it is probably still warm.”

With his ever wide smile, Ezra stepped up next to me as I slid my bag back into place and gave a small polite nod, “I would love to do nothing more than share what I am sure is the perfect brew with you, darling flower.”

(If you want to be tagged in part two, let me know in my inbox! Also if enough people are interested I am thinking about opening my inbox to talk and expand on this world I’ve created? Anyways I hope you enjoyed! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are always appreciated!! Much love and Happy 2021!)

(Also if you figured out what I based the planet I created off of please tell me, I’d like to see obvious I made it lol. And if you’d like a hint it’s in the USA)

#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra (prospect) x you #Pedro Pascal #Prospect #ezra x female reader #the second part may have a little spice #considering the song i based this off of #but not alot bc i have found I suck at smut #but it might be hinted at or briefly described?#anyway i am kinda happy to be back writing wise #ive missed this

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hodakcangetit · 4 years

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down where the devil delights part 3: A Deal in the Depths- a Hodak/reader fic

Fic Summary: Reader is an Angel with the Townsend Agency assigned to gather intel at a gala that’s covering for black market trades. You arrive the night before and is looking to blow off some tension. You may get more than you bargain for when you encounter Hodak in the hotel bar and find he has a similar idea in mind.

Chapter summary: You and Hodak find yourselves trapped in a vault, what will you do while you wait for help to arrive?

Part: 3/?

Word Count: 10,781

Rated: for this chapter- M for lemons and profanity

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 | Read on Ao3

tagging: @krapivaaa-universe and @dantakuart (if anyone wants to be tagged with future updates of hodak fic, just let me know!)

Author’s Note: i’m so sorry it’s been so long. I’d wanted to get this up much sooner but my workload and personal life have been absolutely insanely busy and i’ve barely had any time to myself for months. Thank the Angels that the movie is out on digital now so I can watch whenever I want and not whenever i can find enough time to drive an hour to and back to the only theater within driving distance still playing it.

Alright, enough rambling, back to the fun in the vault!

You were still in his arms. Hodak looked down at you in a way that was equal parts suggestive and curious and it was too much. You made to take a step back and nearly stumbled as you had momentarily forgotten about your injured leg. His hands, still on your arms, held you fast, an almost amused look on his face.

You closed your eyes against the brief flare of pain and took a breath, adjusting your balance to compensate for your tender knee.

You looked back up to meet his gaze, “I’ve got it.”

His hands didn’t move as he continued to study you.

“Really,” you insisted, firm and sure, “you can let go now.”

He looked dubious but, ever so slowly, he released his grip and his arms trailed down yours to rest by his sides before he took a step back.

There was a large, sturdy metal counter near the middle of the vault jutting out from one wall. You imagined it was there so various parties could inspect their merchandise before or after storing it in the myriad of safes that made up the walls of the vault. This counter was the only horizontal surface besides the floor and you limped over to it. It wasn’t a massive injury and you knew that, if the need arose, you could sprint a short distance or even disguise the limp but there was no point in using such energy now.

You hopped up on the counter and scooted so your back was resting against the wall and your bad leg was stretched across the surface but, most importantly, you were still facing Hodak. Given all you had seen him do today, it was unwise to fully turn your back to him anytime soon.

He hadn’t moved since stepping away from you. His eyes meeting yours with amusement as if the two of you weren’t stuck in a vault with a deadly nerve agent right outside. No, it would take more than this to get under his skin. You almost had to remind a small part of yourself to not see that as a challenge. You took a breath. This was going to be a very, very long day. You had to remember that this man was dangerous and deadly and that underestimating him would get you killed.

First things first though, you had to see how impenetrable this vault was. You gave an experimental triple tap to your angel wings at the back of your neck. If your comms had a clear satellite link, you would hear a short tone as it connected you to Bosley.

There was nothing. Great. Just great. This was going to get more complicated. You’d been trained in a variety of ways to boost the signal, but, given your current situation and the limited tools at your disposal, you knew you couldn’t do it alone.

There was no point in beating around the bush and you certainly weren’t going to get out of here any sooner by sitting there crafting the perfect business-like opening line. So instead you went with, “I need your phone.”

He raised an eyebrow, both questioning the almost demand and also in slight surprise that you had broken the silence so soon. He didn’t say any of that, of course, but you’d gotten pretty good at reading him.

You almost rolled your eyes. You had no interest in playing games right now. You held out your hand. “Do you want to get out of here?”

This earned you a dubious expression with a slight mischievous tilt to his lips as he took in your form again in that very flattering dress.

“Oh my god,” you sighed, leaning your head back and staring at the ceiling, your hand still extended, “do you specifically want to get out of here without dying from sarin exposure in any kind of timely manner?”

You felt the cool pressure of his phone in your hand without having heard him move towards you. Damned silent assassin.

“Thank you,” you said gruffly, before pulling your own slim phone from your discreet dress pocket.

He studied you, a skeptic look alight in his eyes as he then eyed the walls and then back to the phones in your hands pointedly as if to say that the walls and security of the vault were definitely too thick to get a signal out.

“I know they’ve got no signal on their own, genius. I’m getting creative.” You muttered without looking up.

You navigated through your phone for the correct latent app and then set it on your lap and opened up the back of his phone without ceremony and set about picking things apart to reveal the circuitry.

You heard the slightest unhappy tsk from him so you replied shortly, “Deal with it. You can buy a new one when we get out of here.”

After a bit of tinkering with first his phone and then yours with the help of a hairpin, you got them connected and improvised into a signal booster. You reached back and triple tapped your wings again and heard the blessed sound of the connecting tone.

“Can you hear me Bosley?” you asked and caught sight of Hodak’s head turning out of the corner of your eye in response to the name. You couldn’t tell if he knew the name or not but as you had your hands full at the moment, you just filed the reaction away for later.

“Well enough,�� you heard a familiar comforting British accent, though it was a little tinny with the macgyvered connection. “Did something happen, angel?”

“You could say that. First things first, you have to evacuate at least the bottom few floors of the hotel. I got intercepted by a drug lord at the vault and he broke the sarin canister. The basement and the vault room are definitely contaminated but I was unable to track if it spread beyond this level.”

“Good lord,” Bosley said quickly, “are you safe?”

Your mouth quirked in the slightest smile. You both obviously had other priorities right now but you liked that that was his first question.

“Yes Bosley, I’m safe; but that leads me to the second problem: my exit was blocked so I had to get inside the vault to avoid the sarin.” You paused, then added, no point in avoiding it. “And I’m not alone.”

You heard light chuckling, “You certainly know how to get yourself into the most interesting situations. Is your company friendly or hostile?”

You looked over to Hodak, grateful that he couldn’t hear Bosley, trying to decide how to answer, “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

Another chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll have the situation well in hand by the time I finally get you out of there but I’ll bring reinforcements just in case.”

You sighed, “That sounds like it’s going to take a while.”

“Indeed,” he answered, “between evacuating the hotel, navigating the various parties entrenched there, containing the sarin and sterilizing the area, I anticipate it taking several hours.”

“Best case scenario?”

“At best, at least 4 hours. Though I anticipate something closer to 5 or 6.” He said and you could almost hear him bustling about as he got down to business.

You closed your eyes. You knew these things took time but that was still a bit longer than you wanted to spend alone with an assassin you’d shagged.

“Understood,” was all you said, trying to be professional.

“Hang in there Y/N. I shan’t be long,” Bosley said as encouragingly as he could, “And if you get bored, maybe you can see about laying hands on the suitcase nuke and disarming it.”

“Very comforting, Boz, thanks for that. I’ll do what I can,” You said, resigned to your fate.

“See you soon, angel,” he said fondly then added, almost like an afterthought. “Stay safe.”

You smiled then replied, “I will. See you soon.”

And with that, you heard the click of the line going dead. You set the phones on the counter beside you and closed your eyes briefly, trying to come up with a game plan for the next 4 or more hours.

“Of course you’re a fucking Angel.” Hodak finally said, speaking to you for only the second time that day.

You turned and looked at him with a satisfied expression at getting him to talk, “Yes, and you’re a fucking assassin. Care to comment on that development?”

He crossed his arms, giving you a petulant tight-lipped smile before looking away.

This time you did roll your eyes. What was the point in his mime routine when you two had already seen each other naked?

“Nothing?” you asked, already exhausted at the thought of a four hour long one-sided conversation. “No denial? What about a rebuttal or maybe some good, old-fashioned gloating? I’ve got it. You could go big with a supervillain monologue about finally getting me right where you want me.”

That at least got you a grin of appreciation for the fairly obvious innuendo.

You sighed. It wasn’t hopeless, it was just frustrating. He probably got off on frustrating people by holding all the control and never speaking but you weren’t going to accept that if you were both going to be stuck in here for hours.

You tried another tack. You’d encountered your fair share of assassins and spies and the thing you’d learned is that most of them had a type of code. It wasn’t always morally sound and very often had nothing to do with ethics and more to do with greed and personal gain but it was there. You’d worked or talked your way out of a number of dangerous encounters with various hostile parties by figuring out their own personal code or rules and either needling them about it or exploiting it.

Some would only kill people they were being paid to kill or if it was easier. In those cases, your best bet was to make it more difficult to kill you or more worth their while to let you live. Sometimes it was just a matter of alleviating their rage or revenge if you weren’t their target. Other times you just had to either get out of their way or take them out but this would certainly be an unusual case.

By your count, Hodak could have killed you a minimum of six different ways today alone. And yet, for whatever reason, he hadn’t. Obviously, the two of you had had a real go at taking the other out before the drug lord came along but since then Hodak had saved you twice and you couldn’t figure out why. The two of you were very likely after the same things which made you competition and yet he hadn’t just stood aside and let you be eliminated when he could have. It made no fucking sense and that rankled at you.

If he was trying to use or manipulate you, you wanted to know and, as he was unlikely to tell you on his own, you were just going to have to poke the dragon.

“No? Not your style?” You asked, blatantly teasing him. “What’s it gonna be then, just save time and energy and kill me once my back is turned?”

You heard a disapproving sigh and then, “Where would be the fun in that?”

You gave him an eye twinkling smile at the small victory, “he speaks!”

It was a shallow victory as it was handed to you but you took your amusement where you could before getting back to business. “So what’s the deal here? You came in with the Serbians and you took out the arms dealer. Don’t tell me the cartel is looking to get into nuclear weapons. That seems a tad extreme of them to me.”

He stared at you for a long minute as if he was contemplating keeping his silence but you stared him down in return as if trying to wordlessly communicate to him that you were exceptionally stubborn and weren’t going to let this go. He must have got the message because he actually answered, “The Serbians weren’t but their competition was. I was tasked to make sure they didn’t get their hands on it.”

“By any means necessary, I take it,” you replied and he gave you a nod in return. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if I defuse it then?”

He waved his hand in the exact direction of the vault it was stored in. You both had clearly done your homework.

You scooted to the edge of the counter again and carefully hopped down. You took care this time and eyed Hodak suspiciously almost as if daring him to try to help you. He was smart though and stayed where he was, clearly amused by the look you gave him. That was fine as long as he didn’t hold any ridiculous notions of you being helpless or any kind of damsel. It had already smarted at your pride that he’d saved you twice when you didn’t even know why.

You held out your hand to him for the second time since being locked in here, “Keys please.”

Thankfully he didn’t try to play dumb with you. You both knew he’d swiped the access codes and keys from the arms dealer and you were glad he didn’t try to insult your intelligence by pretending he didn’t. Instead he pulled the appropriate fob out of his pocket and handed it to you. As unconventional and nearly grudging a partnership as you two were currently experiencing, you had to admit you both had gotten very good very quickly at reading and understanding the other. If he weren’t an assassin you might be tempted to suggest future team ups. Unfortunately, the way things currently stood, it didn’t look likely.

You made quick work of the lock and then you were swinging the door open and pulling the suitcase out and back over to the counter. When you pulled out the little kit you’d strapped to your thigh, you earned a naughty smile from Hodak. There had been no reason to see what his reaction was but you enjoyed gauging his response. He was a distraction- no doubt about it; but considering how completely off the rails this mission already was, there wasn’t much harm in perhaps being slow to right your dress and cover your uninjured leg. After seeing his appreciative gaze, you refocused and hopped back onto the counter to get wrist-deep in launch mechanisms and tricky false wires.

To Hodak’s credit, he let you immerse yourself in the mechanics, staying perfectly still in your periphery and just watching you work your magic. Disarming or disengaging a nuke wasn’t an exact science and some would argue you could disconnect the starting mechanism but not really do so much about the whole nuclear weapon part of it but you didn’t need fancy right now. If you could keep it from starting or talking to any other system until it could be dealt with by the experts at the Townsend Agency, that would be enough.

You weren’t sure exactly how long it took, maybe half an hour but probably more. The work was certainly engrossing. You liked having a task to focus on, things to keep your hands busy. Hodak didn’t seem to have that problem though. You weren’t sure he had even moved the whole time, instead just leaning against the vault wall and watching you. It was maybe a little unnerving the first few minutes but as you’d settled into the disarming, you’d gotten used to it.

But now that you’d finished your task, you almost resented your proficiency. You’d hoped it would have taken you longer but it’s not like you were about to dawdle in disengaging a nuclear weapon just because you didn’t want to be alone with an assassin and have nothing else to do. Your main task done, you went about cleaning up the discarded bits of the bomb and packed the nuke itself back in it’s case. Then, for lack of anything better to do, you gingerly hopped down from the counter and put the deactivated bomb in the far corner. Once that was done, you straightened up and turned back around, unsure what to do with yourself now.

“How long until your cavalry arrives?” He asked coolly.

You faced him properly, trying to resist showing surprise. He was not an idle chat sort of guy and this almost seemed superfluous. Like he was asking to make conversation or something but that didn’t track with all that you’d surmised about him so far.

You settled for giving him the slightest of suspicious squints when you answered, “At least 3 more hours.”

He just nodded like you’d only confirmed his suspicions. Why did everything with this man have to feel like some sort of game or contest? Like you had to keep your guard up or you’d lose something even if you didn’t know what it was. Your exhaustion from earlier seemed to creep back into your bones.

The whole situation made you uncomfortable in a way you couldn’t name. While most of that discomfort was purely mental or emotional, a degree of that discomfort did stem from your injuries. You wanted to pummel the goon who’d hurt you but then you remembered that he was dead and there was little point to that now. So while you wanted to just stand there on the opposite side of the vault from Hodak and stay as stoic and unmoving as a statue, your body didn’t leave you much choice. Grudgingly and as smoothly as possible, you limped back to the counter and hopped back on, unable to hold in a slight hiss of pain at the way the movement jostled your knee as you maneuvered it up.

“Do you want me to take a look at that for you?” Hodak asked.

He was still standing against the wall, as if being very intentional about not making a move in your direction but his question was still heavy in the air.

You tried once again to repress expressing your shock and suspicion. You were relatively certain that you had dislocated your knee and it would need to be popped back into place but you weren’t sure giving Hodak permission to put his hands on you was the best idea. Given that he was a proficient assassin and you were injured, you were perhaps even more suspicious of his motives because he was asking for that permission in the first place. It was a nice and polite thing to do and those were two words that did not come to mind when it came to Hodak. He was clever and precise and dangerous and exacting- he was not nice. He was not a gentleman so why bother with niceties?

“Why would you want to? Why help me at all? You could have killed me six ways today but you didn’t.” It was like you’d issued a challenge, and maybe not the wisest one, but for a cold-blooded killer, he was not behaving like one and you wouldn’t be able to get easy until you knew why.

Slowly, he took a step closer and it took everything you had to remain still, to not flinch. You were skilled and capable and you would not let yourself be intimidated or to be seen as such.

“Ten ways actually, but who’s counting?” He answered without any amount of pleasure or satisfaction or teasing that you might have expected. He said it like he might say that it was raining outside. “Do you want my help or not?”

You should say no. You should try to keep as much distance between the two of you as possible. You should not say another word to him in the vault and just bear the pain stoically like the badass you are. But your knee hurt so much and a part of you was curious. It may have been the pain talking but you were starting to seriously consider his offer. Yes, he very well could walk right over and murder you if you said yes, but then again, he could do that anyway at any time. You couldn’t help but think that being certain you were about to face harm was a very unpleasant way to spend four or so hours. If he was going to kill you or maim you or whatever else you feared, you might as well get it over with and end the suspense.

You were almost certain you would regret this later but for now you just threw your hand up and said, “Sure. Go for it.”

He looked almost surprised at the speed of your acquiescence but was quick to act. He strode confidently and smoothly to stand beside you. Even though you could feel goosebumps forming, you made yourself stay still and tried to affect an unconcerned air. You knew it was a losing battle but, even injured, you refused to cow before him or seem weak.

You adjusted the skirt of the dress so that the slit exposed from your mid thigh down but everything above it was covered. Even if he’d seen everything there was to see already, you didn’t necessarily want to invite this situation to become more intimate than it needed to be. He stepped even closer as he fixed his full attention on your knee, which, now that you were really looking at it, you could see it was swelling and pinkish, as well as slightly protruding out the wrong way.

He extended his hand, about to touch the swollen skin when, at the last moment, he stopped and looked at you. You nodded, better to get this over with. You could almost describe the way his hand probed the injury as gentle, but perhaps clinical was more accurate. He put only the amount of pressure needed to evaluate. It would be easy for him to prod and hurt and take advantage, but he didn’t. When he did press, he looked up to see your reaction, clearly using your response as a diagnostic tool. Finally, he removed his hands and looked at you properly.

“It’s definitely dislocated,” he said, which, yes, you had already suspected.

“Can you set it?” you asked before you could second guess yourself any further.

He paused for the briefest moment, not like he didn’t know if he could but more that he wasn’t sure what to make of your about-face from resisting his help to asking for it. But, honestly, if he was going to play at being helpful and not murderous, at least you could get your knee popped back into place out of it. You’d still have to see the doctors at the Townsend Agency and you’d be off your feet for awhile for recovery but this would help get you through the day, provided you survived it, of course.

For the first time since you’d met him the day before, he hesitated. It was brief and perhaps you had only caught that slight reaction because you’d been watching him so closely but it was a second of pause. The only answer for it to immediately come to your mind didn’t completely fit with everything else you’d seen in him but it felt right.

“I know it’ll hurt,” you said in response to that pause, “it’ll be easier if we just get it over with.”

He didn’t acknowledge this or even admit that’s why he hesitated, he just moved on as if he hadn’t slowed and shifted to stand at the end of the counter where he could grip your ankle and your calf. Laymen wouldn’t know how to do this right without possibly tearing it or injuring it more but someone couldn’t be as accomplished in knowing the best ways to kill or injure someone like Hodak was without some deep knowledge of the human body.

He met your eyes for a second to make sure you were braced properly and then, with a masterful twist of his fingers, you could feel your knee slide back into place. It was painful, of course it was, but it was better than the continued strain of being misaligned. You couldn’t help but to breathe heavily against the pain but you could already tell he’d done an expert job.

“Thank you,” You rasped. The exertion of your breathing unfortunately only served to highlight the soreness of your throat where the thug had tried choking you earlier. You brought your fingers up to the site in response to the flare of pain.

His eyes hadn’t left you since resetting your leg. You could have almost sworn you could see traces of concern as he watched you.

“Can I?” he asked, pointing to where your hands rested over the forming bruises.

You held his gaze for another minute, as if willing to understand why before relenting.

In answer, you lifted your chin to better display the affected area. Since it was difficult to watch him with your head in this position, you opted to look at the ceiling instead as you felt his oh-so-talented hands trace along the skin of your neck. All the while you were acutely aware of how easily he could end your life with the slightest twitch. It took everything within you to not flinch or push him away.

Just as quickly as they’d come, you felt his hands drop away and you lowered your head to hold his gaze once more. The look he had fixed on you was nothing short of intense but you held it evenly.

“You’ll live,” was all he said in regards to your neck but his word choice was weighted with double meaning and you both knew it.

“Why?” you asked, unable to stop yourself.

There was that questioning eyebrow raise again at your response.

“Why haven’t you killed me?” You elaborated. It was possibly tempting fate to ask such a question because it could just inspire him to realize it’s easier to go ahead and kill you but you felt that wasn’t the case. You needed to know. You couldn’t spend another minute, let alone another few hours alone with the deadliest man you’ve ever met and not know why you were even still breathing when, by all rights, this devil of a man should have killed you.

He studied you, and for once, it was hard to read the flickers of emotion pulsing in his eyes. You sensed he was testing your resolve, though perhaps he was testing his own, as he weighed the options of what he could or should tell you. You had no reason to expect he might but you hoped he just might surprise you further and tell you the truth.

Finally, he sighed, and his resolve seemed to strengthen before he finally said, “Because it would be a waste.”

You blinked, you weren’t sure what you had expected but it hadn’t been that. And as you studied him, it felt like it might even be true but that didn’t mean you were entirely sure what he meant when he said it. You had no idea what to make of such a statement and as such you were at a loss on how to reply.

Then he surprised you further by choosing to elaborate. “You’re very good at what you do. If I hadn’t suspected you might be involved with something after last night, I might not have noticed the signs of your trade.”

“The signs of my trade?” You asked.

“You’re very skilled at wheedling out information without the person even seeming to realize what they’ve given away. You ask just enough, steer the conversation in the exact direction that will lead your mark to telling you what you want without raising their suspicions.” He said it all matter-of-factly, as if your actions and your methods were the subject of a textbook he had read.

It had taken you years of training and improvising to perfect your method and you were almost a little miffed that he’d so easily read you. It felt like you were a magician and he was an audience member who came up on stage to reveal how you did all your tricks. You’d known he was good at reading you but it felt a little exposing to know the depths to which he’d understood you.

You paused as you thought over his answer when something he said niggled at you, “Wait, what do you mean you suspected I was into something last night?”

You thought over the breadth of your encounter with him for anything that might have given you away last night. If he had seen your wings last night he might have had a suspicion but he hadn’t seemed to have known you were an Angel until your call with Bosley today. You hadn’t let him into your immaculate suite and it’s not like you had a nametag on last night that advertised you were a spy.

“You were so focused on what you want. I recognized something in the way you read the room before you landed on me.” For someone who talked very little, he almost seemed to take a kind of pleasure in your reaction to his answer. He stopped, then added, almost as an afterthought, “and let’s just say that nice, normal girls don’t go to bed with me.”

You worked hard to remain still and affect an air of being unaffected despite how his words twisted inside of you. His latter words seemed to resonate with some dark truth within you that you had no interest in confronting so you pushed it aside and focused on his former statement as you tried to weave a cohesive answer to the question you had asked.

“I still don’t understand. If you recognized I was an operative, and by your account, a good one with a similar mission to your own, why not take out the competition? How would that be a waste?”

He smiled like he took a kind of pleasure in seeing the gears of your mind turn, “Maybe I like a challenge.”

You scowled at that. That wasn’t it and you both knew it. There were plenty of ways to make things more challenging without letting the competition live. He was an extremely talented operative in his own right but what he suggested implied a cockiness that didn’t feel like it completely explained it. He was the type to have every contingency planned for. But if you were as skilled as he was saying you were, there’s no way he could plan for every action that you could make. He wouldn’t be able to guarantee success with certainty if you were left on the board and thus, his answer made no sense.

“Bull shit,” you countered.

“Fair enough,” he said with his predatory grin. He seemed to enjoy the fact that you’d seen through him, almost as if you were proving his point. “I was hoping to recruit you.”

You didn’t detect any artifice but that seemed to only surprise you more.

“Wait, what?” you spluttered. “Are you telling me that you were going to use not murdering me as some kind of recruitment pitch?”

“Something like that.”

“What is it that you’ve seen about me that makes you think i would want to work for the Serbian cartel?”

“I’m not with the Serbian cartel,” he answered simply. You were about to call bullshit again when he elaborated, “I’m a freelancer. I don’t do full time contracts or employers. The Serbians hired me for this one job but I have no loyalty to them or they to me.”

It made a kind of sense. He didn’t seem like the type to stay in one place, let alone with one cartel for long.

“You’re still a freelance assassin,” you pointed out. “What is it about me that makes you think I would want to become one too?”

“Nothing. You’re a professional goody-two-shoes.” he answered, “but can you honestly say you always feel like you belong with Townsend? That your place lies amongst Angels? Don’t you ever want to stretch your wings and see what working without limits could be like?”

He had inched ever so closer as he spoke, coming to stand with his face inches from yours and you had to admit, it was one hell of a pitch. He certainly knew how to use every tool in his belt including his not inconsiderable physical presence.

You knew it gave away more than you liked but you couldn’t help the way your breath hitched at the question. He had an effect on you and he knew it. He’d said you were good at reading and manipulating people, but he was certainly skilled all on his own; although there was always a chance that his skills affected you particularly. It was almost like there was some kind of reciprocal resonance between you two but you weren’t certain that was a good thing.

Rather than waiting til you could come up with some coherent refusal or rebuttal to his question when you weren’t even 100% sure he was wrong, he kept going, stepping closer by another tantalizing inch, “Just think of what you could do without any rules in your way. Isn’t it possible that the Angels are holding you back?”

You tried to think straight but it was very hard given your proximity but you couldn’t seem to be able to bring yourself to move away. You hated that he wasn’t completely wrong. You’d joined the Agency in the first place because you’d seen people get hurt by the system and wanted to help them in ways that domestic law enforcement couldn’t. And compared to the police or standard government agencies, there was much less bureaucratic nonsense and red tape. And yet, you still felt restricted. There were all sorts of procedures you had to follow and paperwork to file and endless, mindless surveillance to triple verify everything.

When you’d joined, Charlie had said that they valued individuality and appreciated what made each angel different and yet there were times when you felt like the other angels looked down on you if you did things your own way. They called you reckless and bullheaded and ambitious. They acted like something was wrong with you if you wanted more or if you wanted to live by your own means rather than what the Townsend Agency thought was fair. All of the Angels enjoyed the Closet and the various toys of the trade but you wanted more than to just borrow and stay in the Agency’s outposts and safehouses. You wanted something tangible you could call your own. You wanted more than to just be another Angel in the crowd, with nothing but the satisfaction of a job well done to keep you warm at night. And you resented those who made you feel less for that want. You were not afflicted by greed or gluttony, you just wanted more and you refused to be made to feel inferior for that.

You’d tried so hard over the years to keep that all inside, to tamp yourself down into the shape of the perfect ambitionless Angel but somehow you never quite fit. And yet, not everyone expected that of you. Bosley had always seen you as you were and never tried to make you someone you weren’t. He would help you feel like you belonged, that he actually understood who you were. It was one of the reasons why you worked well together. He made you feel like you were one of the best because of all of those qualities, not in spite of them. And if you went off book he’d cover for you or look the other way and never made you feel like less because you weren’t a cookie cutter Angel.

So even if you could accept the idea of possibly leaving the Agency, you couldn’t leave Bosley. He was both your mentor and your friend and after all you had done together, you couldn’t leave him so easily. He deserved more loyalty than that.

Decided, you squared your shoulders and took in a deep breath before looking back into Hodak’s waiting gaze.

He smirked, “so that’s a no?”

You almost rolled your eyes, the two of you were entirely too good at interpreting each other.

“What can I say?” You shrugged your shoulders, trying to keep your tone light, as if he hadn’t just made you question your whole path. “Some people inspire more loyalty than the Serbian cartel.”

“Some people might actually deserve that kind of loyalty,” he allowed. You tried hard to quell the feeling that he’d already deduced it was Bosley from your call earlier.

He was still standing so close and all of your nerves lit up when his hand, which had been resting on the countertop beside your leg, slowly edged up to ghost along the exposed skin of your thigh.

Your breathing hitched and you made a concerted effort to not move away. Instead you fixed your gaze on him and asked, "what are you doing?"

“By your count we have around three hours before we get out of here. Do you have a better suggestion for how we can occupy ourselves?” He teased, his hand slowly rising higher up your leg.

Technically speaking this was a dangerous proposition. First and foremost this was a bad idea because he was a calculating and murderous hired gun with dubious morals and it would not be a good idea to encourage this sort of behavior. Secondly you shouldn’t do this because Bosley was very good and there was every chance he could get the work done in a shorter amount of time and it would be extremely embarrassing to be caught in flagrante by your mentor and friend as well as whatever reinforcements he’d managed to muster up if they managed to get to you sooner than estimated. Thirdly, while unlikely, it was possible that some other party could try to retrieve their merchandise from the vault and thus delay Bosley’s team so as to beat them to the punch. And fourth, his hands were easing back the material of your dress ever so slowly as they climbed higher and higher and what were you thinking again?

You closed your eyes at his dirty tactics and tried to think rationally about the situation. But as many reasons as there were not to indulge Hodak’s naughty intentions, there was perhaps a good one to go along with it. Last night you’d had some of the best sex of your life and after everything you had observed about him since then, you knew he could top his own performance if you gave him another shot. And considering it was extremely likely that he would be in the custody of the Townsend Agency and pretty much off the market for future sexual encounters after today, this might be your last opportunity to indulge with him. It was perhaps not your finest work of deductive reasoning but your logic was being severely impaired by the work of his clever fingers.

“What the hell,” you finally sighed before grabbing onto his neck and pulling him into you.

You could feel him smile into your kiss and you wanted to be mad at him but it was very hard to summon up any shred of disapproval with his mouth on yours. There was a great big chance you were going to regret this later but, right now, right here in this vault with his hands on you and your future together looking nonexistent, you shoved all regret as far away from you as you could. If this was going to happen, you wanted to enjoy it as much as you could without any preemptive guilt getting in your way.

He was holding onto the back of your head with one hand while his other was raising the hem of your skirt up even further. It really was easier to just give in. You sent a silent prayer to whoever would listen that no one would rescue you ahead of schedule and then gave yourself permission to just enjoy however long this ended up lasting.

You both let your hands wander as you savored the moment. The sexual tension between the two of you had been simmering all day and it felt good to finally let it boil over and give in. Before too long, his mouth was on your neck again, giving delicious attention to your unbruised side and you were closing your eyes and leaning your head back. He didn’t linger there though, which surprised you but you weren’t going to complain when he moved his attentions down your bare shoulder and arm.

With your eyes closed, it became a sort of fun game to guess where he would go next. You thought that he might try undoing your halter to bring your breasts into play but his actual goals were far more scintillating when you felt him grab hold of your hips and pull them gently enough not to jostle your knee but firm enough so that you were now centered on the counter close to the edge. You kept your injured leg extended but positioned yourself so as to accommodate his direction. You had an inkling of what he intended and you were more than happy to help.

You opened your eyes and looked to see him down on his knees before you and felt butterflies in your stomach at the sight. Your good leg still dangled from the counter in front of him and you soon felt one hand wrap around your bare ankle before tracing up your leg. His fingers danced up to the soft skin of your thighs, taking the material of your skirt with him. Your own hands came down to help him hike the dress up around your waist and out of his way. And then his hands were at your panties. In response, you grabbed hold of his shoulders and used his support to raise up enough for him to pull your underwear out from under you. With some agile bending of your uninjured leg, your panties were now mostly off and left to hang on the thigh of your hurt leg above your knee.

Your barriers out of the way, you moved your other leg up on the counter, spreading your legs for him. The look on his face was deeply appreciative and, Lord help you, that look turned you on even more. Hodak’s ever-capable hands were at your thighs now, both to keep them open and as an anchor for himself, as he leaned in. Just the feel of his breath on your most sensitive skin was enough to send a slight tremor through you. His hands on your thighs ever so subtly increased pressure in response. He had you right where he wanted and he wasn’t about to let you go anywhere.

He came in even closer and let out a breath intentionally this time and looked up to see your response. It took everything within you to not grab the back of his head and bury his face in your folds but you resisted, if only just barely. You’d begun to suspect that he had a bit of a control kink and last night that had manifested in such intense pleasure for you that you were willing to relinquish the reins to him for a good cause. And a mind-blowing orgasm made the top of your list of good causes at this moment, you just had to be patient.

There was another pleased grin from him before his mouth became occupied with more important tasks. He was careful but intent as his tongue began to probe your entrance before delving deeper. He was moving so slow, taking his time tasting you and exploring your folds with a teasing pace. He had only just started and you were already beginning to lose it. Your hands itched to pull him closer again but you settled for letting them rest at your knees where the tips of your thumbs brushed up against the tips of his fingers where they were spread across your thighs. His fingertips began to move ever so slightly against yours, the feather-light touch on your thigh only adding another vexing layer of sensation to the highs you were already feeling.

Just as you’d settled into his gentle probing, his tongue went even deeper and stronger than he had yet. You felt yourself twitch at the change in speed. His hands on your thighs pressed down even more insistently this time to keep you in place.

He seemed to have this innate sense of just how to move to drive you mad and he was enjoying every tortuous minute. As the tip of his tongue explored and dove, he made sure to rub the sides up against your labia. He knew how to get the most out of every move he made. Then, like before, just when you were settling into this pattern, his mouth found your clitoris and you couldn’t help the sigh of satisfaction that escaped you. You hadn’t fully realized it before now, but you had been waiting for his devilish mouth to find your clit since the moment you’d met in the bar last night.

As his tongue began to swirl around your sensitive nub, what brain power you had left knew that it was well worth the wait. Lord almighty, that man knew what to do with a clit. He was methodical as his teeth just barely grazed your clit and then again as you groaned in response. He looped his tongue around your clitoris a few more times before he began to suck on it. You couldn’t help but throw your head back as you felt that coil in your core getting tighter and tighter the more he worked.

You took back all your reservations from earlier. Bosley could come in right now and it would still be worth it. There were few things in your opinion as attractive as a man who knew how to perfrom cunninglingus well and it turned out that Hodak was an absolute master, though that didn’t surprise you at all.

The more you moaned, the more he swirled and sucked until finally your orgasm had you shooting your hands behind you to support you as your back arched and you screamed out your pleasure. The arching of your back served to only press you further into him and he took full advantage, continuing to suck and lap at your folds as you rode out our orgasm. Still coming down, your breath heaving, you looked down to see him give your swollen clit one last swipe before licking his lips with the most satisfied smile on his face, but damn him, he had more than earned that satisfaction.

Then he rose to his feet in one fluid motion and his glorious tattooed hands were at your neck, careful of where you were bruised, but confident all the same as he pulled you into a hungry kiss as if he hadn’t just had himself a whole damn meal from your cunt. You could taste yourself in the kiss but that did nothing to deter you. Your own hands came up and rested on top of his, holding him closer.

You should have been happy to just kiss him as long as you were able, but somehow, you were far from sated. You needed more of him. To that end, your hands trailed from his down his arms and then down his sides and then to his crotch where you found his length straining against his pants. You were more than happy to free him and made quick work of his fly and boxer flap. There was the slightest hitch from Hodak as your fingers finally found him and the two of you mutually pulled apart, breathing heavily as you prepared for round two. You gave his hard dick one meaningful stroke before moving back to more helpfully position yourself for the next phase.

Taking your direction surprisingly well, his hands were down from your neck and helping you. His hands went from your neck to your knees and before settling on holding onto your waist. There was something erotic about how precisely he avoided your injured areas. You knew that if he wanted to, he could do far worse than a dislocated knee and some bruises but his touch was a feather where you needed it to be and yet gripping in all the right places. It was one of the hundreds of things that was so attractive about him and every time you remembered his skill, the more aroused you became.

Taking full advantage of that, Hodak rubbed his cock across your length, slicking it with your juices. Then he was pushing into you and you both let out a breath as you adjusted. Unlike last time, he gave you both a chance to feel each other fully before he began to move again. You were not particularly religious and some would call this feeling blasphemous but there was a beat as you felt all of him inside you, his hands holding you by the waist, your own hands on his shoulders, as your chest was pressed against his that felt almost holy. As much as you wanted to see what new heights of pleasure he could take you to, you were not eager to leave this feeling or this experience behind you.

But, as all moments do, it ended. What followed was somehow even better though. He was slower this time and despite the fact that you were both still mostly clothed, this felt more intimate than last night. And then he found his rhythm, his grip on your waist even tighter as he thrust into you. You mentally cursed the thug who had dislocated your knee because it was keeping you from getting truly aerobic as you were normally able to but you both more than made do as you moved your hips in time with his. The slick sounds of your bodies coming together and your combined panting echoed around the vault as the pair of you moved even faster.

Even though you’d already had one earth-shattering orgasm, you had to war against your own instincts to speed up and chase your second. But, for right now anyway, you had plenty of time and you just wanted to savor it. One of his hands came up to caress your breast through your dress. The tips of his fingers, teasing the exposed skin of your cleavage window. His hips never slowed, continuing to pound into you with smooth sure strokes even as his eyes held yours.

Some guys would never look at you while having sex and most of those weren’t worth a thought for another go, but not Hodak. Last night, you had thought that there was something intrinsically sexy about being his sole focus and that still rang true. You held his gaze steadily even as he continued to drive into you with increasing fervor.

You could see it in his eyes when he was nearing the edge and, methodical and clever as he was, Hodak was maneuvering you there at the same time. You let your hips rock more forcefully now to help him, feeling like you could come from the sound of his grunting alone but you held off. The tension was almost too much but you wanted to hold out just a little bit longer so he could come first this time and then, with a shudder and a groan from him, he finally crested that hill and you let yourself go as you both came together. It was every bit as satisfying as you’d hoped.

You’d both stayed still after that, you felt yourself lean forward against his chest and he seemed to almost relax against you as the pair of you took a moment to come down from such a high. All good things come to an end, however and you felt him extricate himself from you as he let go and moved away. You pulled the skirt of your dress back down but left your underwear where it was for now.

In sharp contrast to just a few minutes ago, you suddenly couldn’t look at him. You were so afraid, after being so close and so very much on the same page, that somehow, after the lust has cleared from his brain, that he would be behind his walls again. You didn’t want to look into his eyes and see a smug stranger staring back. Instead, you pivoted your hips and scooted back so that your back could rest against the wall, your legs were straight in front of you on the counter. You saw him fasten his pants from the corner of your eye before he sat down on the ground beside you, his back against the wall of safes. He closed his eyes, clearly spent, but you could tell he wasn’t sleeping and knew he wouldn’t.

You closed your eyes as well, trying to hold onto the bliss from the previous moment and not linger on your now swirling doubts as you considered the future. There were no solutions to any of the problems now occurring to you and things were looking much bleaker than they were two days ago.

Rather than brood on yours and Hodak’s lack of a future, you let out a deep breath and just tried to focus on listening to his breathing as it returned to normal.

You were both quiet for a time after coming down. It was companionable though. There was nothing particularly worth saying just then and he obviously felt no need to fill it with useless chatter. While his silence was perhaps a little frustrating earlier, you respected it more now.

It was a very odd experience you were having with Hodak. It felt like, in the course of a day he had seen you clearer than anyone else you’d ever been with. He’d understood you so clearly and yet, the way you saw it, this was all it would ever be for the two of you. One night in his hotel room and one day stuck in a vault together. The thought made you sad but, despite his alluring offer, you still couldn’t leave Bosley.

You’d heard several Angels over the years cite Charlie as the reason they were alive or their saving grace, but it had never been about Charlie for you. It was Bosley who had found you and believed in you and given you a new chance. If it wasn’t for John Bosley and all he’d done for you, you might consider running away with Hodak now. The whole thing was absurd. If you’d been asked last night if you could imagine doing such a thing, you would have laughed and said no way but now so much had changed. It wasn’t just how well he got you, it was also that you got him. He was so reserved and controlled and yet you could understand what he was saying even when he didn’t say a word. There was something so satisfying in being seen for who you really are and being able to see to the core of them as well.

Some lonely part of you wanted to know more. Wanted to soak up as much of him while you still could. You had the inane desire to ask him everything you could think of but that was stupid. He knew as well as you that this was likely it and he’d be taken into custody and you two would be back on separate paths. What possible benefit could he see in telling you all about him? There was none, so you just grasped on the next possible topic he might be willing to share with you.

“When we get out of here,” you started for lack of a better idea, “do you think the Serbians will come looking for you?”

“No,” he answered almost immediately.

That surprised you. “You don’t think they’ll want to know if you held up your end of the deal?”

“They won’t have to wonder.” he answered simply before he thought better and continued, “They contracted me. It’s a fact that I did.”

You looked down at him with a bemused expression, “Cocky, aren’t we?”

He gave you a dirty grin in reply because you both knew the answer to that in vivid detail.

“You have a point,” you continued, enjoying the easy banter. “You were contracted to make sure their competition didn’t get their hands on the nuke and they definitely won’t.”

“Thank you for your help with that by the way,” he replied cheekily.

You snorted, “Yeah, sure. You’re welcome.”

And there was that cocky grin again. If it weren’t for your knee, you’d be down there wiping it off his face. But instead you were up on the counter, alone with your thoughts.

“But seriously, you don’t think they’re going to want to check in with you or anything? Pay you?” you asked, though utterly unsure what the standard operating procedure for serbians cartels and their hired guns was.

“No. they paid me up front, we have no need to contact each other again. ” if you couldn’t read him so well you don’t think you would have heard just the slightest trace of sadness in his voice.

It was sad, you couldn’t help but think, but there was no point in saying it. He would have no use for that kind of sentiment.

He obviously wasn’t the type to feel loneliness from that kind of arrangement, but you did. You couldn’t imagine how isolating it would feel to have no one out there who had your back like Bosley had yours. As grateful as you were that Bosley was coming to get you, the thought worried you. No matter how much you thought about it, you had no way of knowing what Hodak would do once Bosley had contained the sarin and opened the safe.

It was a fact that if Hodak had wanted to kill you, he would have. Given how easily Hodak had gotten into the vault, you were reasonably sure that given time and proper motivation, Hodak could find his way out of here on his own. But, if that assumption was true, you couldn’t figure out what he was still doing here. You had expected him to knock you out and make his escape now that you two had finished fucking. And yet, he was still sitting in here with you and you couldn’t figure out why.

What would he do to Bosley and anyone else who came to your aid? Would his strange fascination with you be enough to protect Bosley? You really couldn’t say. You doubted it but were unable to see another option. It worried you. You didn’t want anything to happen to Bosley but, as you were less than fighting form, you weren’t sure you could take Hodak out at this point and you weren’t even sure you wanted to. What a quandary you had found yourself in.

Another two hours passed with another round of satisfying sex, a spattering of conversation and companionable silence. And then, much sooner than Bosley had estimated, you heard a familiar knock pattern at the door. You double checked that you’d replaced your underwear earlier and that you weren’t too obviously sex-rumpled as the massive steel door opened. You found your eyes darting between the door and Hodak, as if expecting him to pounce on whoever came in. To your surprise, Hodak remained where he stood, leaning against the wall- the picture of nonchalance.

And then there was Bosley, flanked by two of your fellow Angels each with guns at the ready, whom, upon taking in the scene, had their guns pointed at Hodak. The assassin looked at the pair as though he thought the threat was adorable and felt no fear at their presence.

Bosley had given Hodak a cursory glance before taking you in, an expression equal parts concern and amusement crossing his older face, “You seem to have gotten into quite the mess this time, Y/N.”

You smiled back fondly, boy was he ever right. You then stood, wincing at the pain in standing on your bad leg again. Bosley, eagle-eyed as ever, caught the reaction, “What’s wrong?”

“Dislocated my knee,” you answered, your gaze flickering back to Hodak, “we popped it back into place.”

Bosley just nodded, before looking around the vault again, “and the nuke?”

“Disabled,” you tilted your head in the direction of the briefcase on the floor in the back corner.

“Good girl,” Bosley said warmly, pride lighting up his features. Bosleys weren’t supposed to have favorites but you’d long suspected that you were one of his. Then he was back to business, “Alright, we’ll get that nuke cleared by our experts and get you checked out.”

He stepped toward you now but was instinctively keeping out of Hodak’s reach. It almost seemed as though he was making a point to not address the assassin elephant in the room as he extended his arm to help steady you. You made to follow his lead but you couldn’t help but look back to Hodak, who was studying Bosley with that familiar intense, meticulous air to him. You wanted to ask Boz about what would happen to him, wanted so much for things to be different but couldn’t figure out how to word any of it without sounding foolish.

Bosley seemed to understand you anyway and said, “we’ll be taking Mr. Hodak into custody and get him sorted. Now, let’s go get you taken care of.”

You had no idea how one would begin sorting a man like Hodak, but you believed in Bosley. Despite your unease at the whole situation, you trusted Bosley could handle it. You took Bosley’s arm then, wanting to feel even an ounce of his surety right then and allowed Bosley to begin leading you out as the two Angels came forward with cuffs to secure Hodak. Hodak still hadn’t moved and didn’t seem concerned at the slightest. Like the two women were servers at a restaurant and had just given him a menu instead of being extremely capable lady spies with restraints.

Just as you and Bosley had reached the door to the vault, you looked back at Hodak.

He smirked confidently at you, before saying once more, not a trace of worry in his demeanor, “Be seeing you.”

You felt a ghost of a smile at your lips before you answered, despite having no real grasp on what he could mean by that, “Until then.”

And then you continued your limping progress away from the most complicated and sexy man you had ever met.

It wasn’t until that night, when you were in your bed at the safe house, your knee in a splint, and pain meds working their way through your veins did you remember: You had never told Bosley Hodak’s name.

END NOTE: hee hee. I hope you guys like it! And...as you might suspect, I have a few more ideas that would follow this. I can’t guarantee anything quickly but I’m not done with our dear Mr. Hodak yet.

I’m just trying to decide if I want to make them further chapters for this fic or leave these three chapters as one fic, and just add future endeavors as separate oneshots in the same collection. What do y’all want? One continuous fic or a collection?

And what did you think of this conclusion? I tried a sort of blend of smut like the first chapter and plot like the second for this chapter and I’m personally pleased with how it turned out, but please let me know what y’all think and if you’d have any interest for more!

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6

#hodak #mr hodak #Jonathan Tucker #charlie's angels 2019 #down where the devil delights #charlie's angels #charlie's angels fic #hodak fic

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scribbles97 · 4 years

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Left Behind -- Chapter 17

In which Lucy gets caught out, Hugh Creighton-Ward is a flirt, and Scott is just Scott...

PART 1 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / Chapter 18 / Chapter 19 / Chapter 20 / Chapter 21

Read on Ao3

Before she could reach the lab, her phone vibrated in her pocket, making her hesitate with a frown. Anyone who would call her direct number was there on the island. In terms of Tracy Industries and International Rescue, all calls would be diverted through to her desk in the lounge and answered by whomever was around at the time.

She couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows as she looked at the caller ID.

“Well this is unexpected.” She smiled, pausing in the hallway to lean against the wall.

Hugh chuckled across the line, “I can call another time but I think you’ll appreciate what I have to say.”

She tutted at him, “Now, Hugh, I never said that it was unwelcome.”

“Ahh, so you look forward to my calling?”

Heat had risen in her cheeks at the tone of his voice, low in implication.

“You certainly always have something important to say,” She smiled, “So what’s going on today?”

Footsteps sounded further down the corridor, making her look up to check who it was. As Hiram and Kyrano rounded the corner, she waved slightly and gestured to the phone pressed to her ear.

“I have some news regarding your friend Gaat that I thought you might like to hear.” Hugh told her, voice softening.

Automatically, she stood straighter, eyes going to the brother of the man he had just mentioned,

“If it’s that he’s recruited an apprentice to help him build a new Zero-X, you’re late to the party Hugh. Kyrano told me just that this morning.”

Hugh scoffed, “Lucy, darling, your news is correct, yes, but it’s also old.”

She frowned, dropping her eyes from Kyrano, “Old?”

“Darling,” Hugh sighed, “My intel says that the Zero-X mark two is ready to launch. Gaat is just waiting to complete the programming on it. As far as I can tell, he has a functioning T-Drive.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she swallowed, “That sounds dangerous.”

“Very.”

“Lucy?” Kyrano interrupted, “What is it?”

She waved him off with a shake of her head, “Hugh, how sure are you?”

“I’ve seen photos of it myself, Luce. Parker has a friend that got recruited by Gaat, I trust my source.”

She cursed with a sigh, “Hugh, you can’t tell anyone this,”

“I sense a but?”

Glancing to Kyrano, she pursed her lips, “Hugh.”

“You have my word Lucy, you should know I’m a man of my word.”

Hugh was someone she could trust, if she asked him to keep quiet she knew he would. He had been there for her through thick and thin over the last four years. Supporting her through her grief and depression, Hugh had been the shoulder she had needed.

“Kyrano found new footage,” She murmured, “The last launch was successful, the Zero-X didn’t explode Hugh, it launched. We believe that there’s a possibility, a slim possibility, that Jeff could be out there.”

“What?”

She turned at the second voice, eyes widening at the figure of her eldest standing at the far end of the hall. Cursing she shook her head, looking to Kyrano and Brains and back again to Scott.

“Shit.” She uttered, “Hugh, I’ll call you back.”

“I want details Lucy.” He stated, “What’s the plan here?”

“Later.” She growled, “Scott just overheard our conversation.”

The sound of realisation across the line said perfectly that Hugh understood what she meant.

“Right,” He sighed, “I’ll talk to you later then.”

Even though he couldn’t see her, she nodded, “It’ll be tonight.” She promised.

The line cut and she looked to Scott and then to Kyrano, “You two get up to the lounge and make some excuses for us, dinner arrived twenty minutes ago and if you don’t hurry up Virgil and Gordon will have eaten it on you.”

Both began to walk without a word being said, ducking past her and then Scott with a quiet nod of acknowledgement.

Scott was practically screaming at her with his eyes, arms folded across his chest as he waited for answers.

Rubbing her face, Lucy sighed and pointed further down the hallway, “Lab, now.”

Scott nodded, gesturing for her to go first, “After you.”

“Look,” She started with a sigh as they walked, “I only found out this morning, okay? I wanted some form of confirmation before I said anything to you boys.”

Scott scoffed alongside her, “So the pizza was to ease your guilty conscience.”

“No!” She exclaimed, spinning to face him as they reached the lab door, “How dare you even think that!”

He shrugged, “Well how else does it look? You’re keeping a big secret from us about Dad and want to soften the bl--”

“It’s nothing like that!” She snapped at him, punching in the code for the door and holding it for him to step through, “Ask your Aunt, we agreed on a pizza night when John called last week to day he’d be home. I only found out about the Zero-X this morning when Kyrano got here.”

“And who else knows?” Scott asked, leaning against one of the work benchest with his arms still folded as she closed the door behind her slightly harder than necessary.

“Nobody.”

“Apart from Hugh Creighton-Ward, Kyrano and Brains?”

“Well considering all three of them came to me regarding the Zero-X, yes. They know.”

She shook her head as she looked him up and down, he wasn’t her teenage boy anymore, nor a rookie in their team. Scott had taken lead as commander of their team around the time Virgil had joined as an operative, giving Lucy the time she needed for the business and other admin work. There were times when he still looked to her or his aunt for guidance, but he was good at what he did, a born leader much like his father had been.

Much like his father was.

Maybe he held authority as team leader, but she was still the head of the organisation. Most importantly, she was still his mother, and protecting her boys from being hurt was one of her priorities.

“I didn’t want to not tell you.” She uttered, looking away, “You should know by now I don’t like keeping secrets from you boys.”

“Then why?” Scott rolled his shoulders, “Why bother keeping the secret Mom? Dad could be alive and we could be out there looking for him!”

“Could.” She emphasised, “We don’t know for sure yet Scott. It’s a tiny chance that he is maybe out there.”

Cold clenched around her chest as she said the words, sensible thoughts stamping down the swelling of hope that had been lingering all afternoon. She needed to be realistic, otherwise it wouldn’t just be the boys that ended up getting hurt.

“Well we need to do something and find out! Thunderbird Three is--”

“It would take centuries for Thunderbird Three to get anywhere near where he might be.” She shook her head, “This is why I didn’t want to tell you yet. Stop for a minute and think Scott.”

His sigh was heavy as he looked down with pursed lips, nodding slightly in acknowledgement of what she was saying. It was perhaps his biggest flaw as a commander, act first think later wasn’t always the best course of action, not on a rescue and not in looking for his father. She knew that he would learn with time and guidance, but for now he still needed the reminder sometimes to just slow down.

Taking a holoprojector from the desk, she set it down on the workbench next to where he was perched, bringing up the new footage Kyrano and Hiram had shown her earlier. Scott was biting his lip as she talked through what she knew, clearly eager to ask questions, get more answers, but knowing that he should wait until she had told him everything before he did.

“Is there a way to get a signal out there to find out?” He murmured, as she finished, reaching out to zoom in on the predicted area where the Zero-X may have ended up, “Surely if he’s out there, he’d figure out a way to contact us? It’s Dad.”

Lucy nodded, reaching across to rub his back, “I’ve made the task of finding a way to get some communication out there a priority for Hiram.” Pursing her lips she shook her head, “We’ve considered hijacking the Calypso research ship to help.”

Scott snorted, a grin breaking through his frown as he looked to her, “Is that legal?”

She shrugged, “If Gaat does have a functioning T-Drive and I can get hold of the plans I’ll build them a brand new ship and fund a new trip as compensation.”

If it meant finding Jeff, she knew she would go further than that if necessary.

“And how are we going to get our hands on Gaat’s T-drive?” Scott murmured, “Because last I looked, IR wasn’t in the business of stealing.”

Shaking her head, Lucy sighed, “I’m still working that out. Most likely Hugh will be my way in.”

“Mom?” He frowned, reaching up to hold her shoulder, “You’re not doing this on your own.”

Looking up to him, she raised an eyebrow. Grown man or not, she refused to lead him into the pits of danger and to a man that had potentially killed his father.

“I need you to stay here and stay safe,” She told him, “I need my commander to keep the team in order.”

His frown spoke volumes, the blue of his eyes widening as he shook his head, distaste scrunching his features, “Don’t talk like that, it sounds like you’re not going to come back.”

She hadn’t considered the possibility, but refused to acknowledge it. Nothing Gaat could do would stop her from coming home to her boys, she was going to make sure of it.

Shaking her head at him, she smiled slightly in assurance, “I don’t even have a plan yet, but of course I’m going to come back.”

Scott shook his head as he pulled her into his side, “Good, because I’m not telling Alan that he can’t fly Thunderbird Three yet.”

She had to laugh, knowing that Scott had such a soft spot for his youngest brother, he would instantly cave and let him into the rocket. Wrapping her arms around him she nodded with a smile, “Don’t worry, leave that to me kiddo.”

Pulling away she reached to her phone in her pocket, “I’d best call Hugh and see what he’s saying.”

Scott frowned at her, “And what about dinner?”

If she were honest she hadn’t been overly hungry with the new information that had come to light, the chips had only been something to keep everyone else from nagging her about eating.

“I’ll come up and get a sandwich later or something.”

It seemed to be enough to convince him as he nodded and turned towards the door, “I’ll give you a shout if any calls come in.”

She thanked him as he left before hopping up to sit on the workbench. As the phone dialed she flicked through the papers that had been left scattered, schematics and calculations that went far over her head filled the pages.

“Kyrano sent me the clips,” Hugh answered, “I can see why you’ve got to the conclusion you have.”

Sighing, she shook her head, “Hiram is working on sending out a signal, something about bouncing it off of the Calypso and on to the Oort Cloud.”

“Sounds promising,” Hugh agreed softly, “But what are we going to do about Gaat and his new Zero-X?”

Running a hand through her hair, Lucy rolled her eyes. Hugh would no doubt already have a suggestion and would simply be waiting for her to ask. There would have been an idea formulating in his head from the moment he found out about the ship, and she knew all the details would have been checked and confirmed before he had even called her the first time.

“You mean you don’t have some grand plan ready to share with me?”

He chuckled across the line, “Well, I am rather glad you asked darling.”

#thunderbirds are go #Thunderbirds 2015 #Thunderbirds Au #Lucy AU #Scott Tracy #Lucille Tracy #Kyrano #Brains Hackenbacker #Hugh Creighton-Ward #scribbles writes #Left Behind Part 2

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vespertineflora · 4 years

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aight we can all have some nice lighthearted smut, as a treat ;)

Rating: Explicit Summary: As soon as Wei Wuxian learns the Cloud Recesses has hot springs, he insists his husband take him, but knowing Wei Wuxian, his intentions go far beyond just taking a relaxing soak. (7k, expect an underwater blowjob and sex, see AO3 for tags and notes)

~~~

“I still can’t believe you never told me there were hot springs in the Cloud Recesses,” Wei Wuxian said with a little huff. There was no heat in his voice at all, but how could there be? It was a cool night, he was walking along a forest path with his husband (sneaking out past curfew actually), to visit the springs he’d learned about the day before, and he was quite pleased at the situation, even if he wished he’d known about this months ago.

“You didn’t ask,” Lan Wangji replied simply.

Which... was a fair enough response, Wei Wuxian supposed. Lan Wangji’s personality, after all, was the type that if he wasn’t asked, he wasn’t likely to say anything, and Wei Wuxian had never even thought to ask.

“You’re right,” Wei Wuxian admitted, before continuing in a teasing tone, “but you could have saved me the embarrassment of not knowing. I had to be corrected by Jingyi, of all people. Do you know what it’s like to be corrected by Jingyi?”

Wei Wuxian had been out with the juniors the day before, lurking through the back mountains to see what trouble they could stir up--which ended up being quite a bit. After disturbing several monster nests, and getting knocked around more than any of them would like to admit, they headed back, a bit worse for the wear, and he’d heard Jingyi say to the other juniors that they should go to the hot springs after dinner.

Of course, after spending a few teenage months here, and now living here with Lan Wangji on and off for the better part of the last nine months, Wei Wuxian was only aware of the meditative cold springs he’d known Lan Wangji to visit from time to time, and he’d asked Jingyi if that was what he’d meant... only to get quite a look in return, an expression that clearly said, “how do you not know this?” before Jingyi repeated that he did indeed mean hot springs, which the other junior disciples all backed up.

This led to Wei Wuxian asking Lan Wangji about it later, being floored to find out that it was true, which in turn led to Wei Wuxian’s insistence that they go as soon as possible.

Lan Wangji shot him a disapproving look at the question, and Wei Wuxian laughed, grabbing onto Lan Wangji’s arm. “Stop, stop, you know I’m kidding,” he assured. He found it sweet how protective Lan Wangji could be of the junior disciples--though it was fair to say Wei Wuxian felt protective of them too. Jingyi just made it too easy and too fun to tease him sometimes. He continued on, still joking, “Jingyi is very smart and I love him as much as I love any of our children.”

Lan Wangji just sighed softly, mostly used to Wei Wuxian’s humor by this point, and continued leading them towards the hot springs. It wasn’t a place he went very often, honestly, as it was a place used mostly for relaxing and light socializing, which was never something he’d played a major part in. The cold springs, meant solely for meditation and healing, and which were far less popular than the hot springs, had always been his preference. But if Wei Wuxian wanted to see the hot springs, Lan Wangji had no reason not to take him there.

He had specifically decided it was something to break curfew for though. He couldn’t say for sure that Wei Wuxian had ulterior motives, but... he did almost always have ulterior motives, and Lan Wangji would rather not run the risk of being discovered. Although, even if this trip was meant to be entirely innocent, Lan Wangji would still rather enjoy the privacy of knowing that nearly everyone would be asleep at this point. And hopefully, whoever was patrolling tonight would... keep their distance.

It didn’t take long to reach the hot springs themselves, a grouping of a handful of pools of various sizes, all separated from one another by natural rock formations and some added fencing. Lan Wangji led Wei Wuxian to one the smaller pools, one of the ones designated specifically for senior sect members, closed the gate behind them once they were inside, and lit the handful of lanterns around the sides of the area, casting a warm yellow light over the surface of the pool and compensating for the barely visible sliver of moon in the sky above them.

By the time the fifth lantern was lit, Wei Wuxian was already, eagerly, mostly undressed. His sash and robes had been tossed to lay over a rock, and he was barely maintaining his balance while in a hurry to tug his boots off. Lan Wangji shook his head and took it upon himself to fold Wei Wuxian’s clothes up properly for him, while Wei Wuxian slid out of his pants and moved towards the water.

Wei Wuxian let out a soft sigh as soon as his foot broke the surface, the hot water a perfect relief from the crisp night air, and it didn’t take long for him to descend fully into the spring. At its deepest point, the water came up to about the bottom of his rib cage, and without hesitating, Wei Wuxian let himself sink down into it. Another rush of breath escaped him as his head bobbed above the water and he turned back to look at Lan Wangji, who was in the process of disrobing.

A grin spreading over his lips, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but watch. It didn’t seem to matter how many times, or how often Lan Wangji undressed in front of him, Wei Wuxian always wanted to watch, as much as he could. He loved his husband’s body, the firm lines of muscle beneath the pale skin, as beautiful as if he really were a statue carved from jade. He loved trailing his eyes down over his chest and arms, his hips, his cock, his thighs, and calves, eyes never quite sure where to stay, and knowing that all of it was on display for him to look. And though the brand on Lan Wangji’s chest and the whip scars that littered Lan Wangji’s skin had initially filled him with more guilt than he could bear... Lan Wangji had made it clear months ago that his regret wasn’t in the scars, but in not being willing to risk them sooner, before it was too late, and that he didn't want Wei Wuxian to guilty over them. Since then, Wei Wuxian had been choosing to see them as... reminders of Lan Wangji’s devotion to him, rather than something to feel culpable for.

Tonight... Wei Wuxian knew exactly where he wanted his eyes to linger as Lan Wangji folded up his own clothes and laid them near Wei Wuxian’s.

If Lan Wangji noticed his staring (Wei Wuxian doubted he hadn’t), he didn’t react to it, taking his time and moving at his standard pace, which means Wei Wuxian got quite a lot of staring in before Lan Wangji stepped into the spring, submerging his lower half beneath the glossy surface of the water.

Instead of moving towards him, Lan Wangji moved to the long wall of the spring, where a bench was carved into the rock beneath the water, and he took a seat, the water coming up to cover just the bottom most portion of his chest. He gave Wei Wuxian a little look that Wei Wuxian almost immediately interpreted as a request for him to come closer, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t possibly deny him.

He drifted over towards Lan Wangji, turning to sit beside him on the submerged stone ledge, and Lan Wangji’s arm naturally stretched behind him, resting on the edge of the spring and against Wei Wuxian’s upper back.

Wei Wuxian let out a slow sigh as he settled back against Lan Wangji’s arm and chest, letting his neck go loose to flop his head back against Lan Wangji’s shoulder. He did take a few minutes to enjoy the hot spring, but he could hardly call it relaxing, as his thoughts were very much fixated on his husband sitting naked beside him, and exactly what he wanted to do to him, and more importantly, have done by him.

His hand slid over to Lan Wangji’s thigh after a moment and started to teasingly work itself up his legs towards his intended location, but before it had arrived, Lan Wangji was saying his name in a particular tone, “Wei Ying.”

It wasn’t a scolding or warning tone, really--Wei Wuxian was good enough at recognizing when he was being told no, and this wasn’t it. This tone was just... resigned, as if Lan Wangji was disappointed in himself for not being willing to admit to himself all along why Wei Wuxian really wanted to visit the hot springs.

Wei Wuxian grinned a little, turning his head to press a kiss to the corner of Lan Wangji’s jaw as he replied back, “Lan Zhan~”

When Lan Wangji shook his head, it took on an air of defeat, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help laughing. He turned easily beneath the water, half-weightless, to drape his legs over Lan Wangji’s lap, and his arms followed suit to encircle Lan Wangji’s neck as he nuzzled in close.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes, tilting his jaw just slightly as Wei Wuxian’s mouth pressed to the skin, letting him do as he pleased. Lan Wangji was usually the one using his mouth on Wei Wuxian’s neck, but he couldn’t say he didn’t like this too. Wei Wuxian’s lips were warm and a little wet as he pressed kisses to the skin, until eventually his tongue was flicked against his neck at the end of each soft kiss--after teasing for a bit, Wei Wuxian chose a spot down near Lan Wangji’s collar bone to latch his mouth on and start sucking and teething lightly.

Lan Wangji took a slow breath in and out, though his control could only go so far. Having Wei Wuxian naked and in his lap, having Wei Wuxian’s mouth on his skin--particularly when he grazed his teeth--was quick to cause a reaction in him. His breathing picked up the tiniest bit, barely noticeable, though the much more obvious difference... was one Wei Wuxian would have no choice but to be aware of as it started to press up against the thigh that was on top of it.

He certainly took his time in teasing the spot, and after a few minutes, the wet kisses trailed back up his neck until Wei Wuxian’s mouth had found his ear and decided to nibble on that instead.

“Er-gege~” Wei Wuxian teased in that cutesy little voice, the pet name and tone doing nothing to help suppress the heat that was slowly rising beneath his skin. He felt Wei Wuxian wiggling his hips purposefully in his lap, as he continued, “Someone’s already quite excited, aren’t they?”

All Lan Wangji did was take another slow breath, his face mostly neutral, but that was all he needed to do for Wei Wuxian to start laughing.

“Mm, well, what kind of husband would I be to just leave you like this? How about this,” Wei Wuxian hummed in a soft seductive voice near his ear, nipping at the lobe again. “I spent so much time swimming in the lakes around Lotus Pier growing up, you know... Have I ever shown you how long I can hold my breath?”

“You haven’t,” Lan Wangji replied simply, already having a clear picture of what Wei Wuxian was planning with just that one question.

“Let me change that then,” Wei Wuxian replied. He moved slowly off of Lan Wangji’s lap and his hand was quick to move back into its previous position beneath the water. Lan Wangji’s body stiffened slightly and his cock stiffened considerably as Wei Wuxian’s hand wrapped around it.

His strokes were teasingly slow as his mouth made another journey south, kissing and licking along Lan Wangji’s jawline, down his neck, dragging his tongue over Lan Wangji’s adam’s apple and then down to the hollow of his throat--times like this were always the greatest test of Lan Wangji’s self-control. The two halves of his brain struggled for dominance, one desperate to end the teasing, to just flip Wei Wuxian around and take him as quickly as possible, while the other half of him wanted to let Wei Wuxian tease him, enjoying when his husband touched him in the ways he wanted. It was always a struggle, and Lan Wangji often felt it was easier to get through the mental battle if he just didn’t move at all--because any movement at all might make him lose his tightly enforced restraint.

He did open his eyes though as Wei Wuxian’s lip pressed over his sternum, making sure to watch as Wei Wuxian gave him a final grin before letting his head slip beneath the surface of the water.

Just a second later, Wei Wuxian’s lips pressed to the head of his cock before he quickly took him into his mouth, which was somehow even hotter than the water of the hot springs. Immediately, he felt the swirl of Wei Wuxian’s tongue around the head, felt him lapping at him as hungrily as he might lap at a swiftly melting bowl of frozen dessert. Lan Wangji’s hand gripped the edge of the pool (not daring to touch Wei Wuxian just now so that Wei Wuxian would have absolute control over when he’d need to come up), and he let out a rough breath, the velvety texture of Wei Wuxian’s skillful tongue quite a bit to take in, even before he felt Wei Wuxian suckling on it.

Lan Wangji hadn’t been counting (or hadn’t been capable of it), but it seemed like a shockingly long time before Wei Wuxian came up for air--and when he did, his head popped above the water just long enough to take two breaths in and out, his hand continuing to stroke in his mouth’s absence, before he was submerging himself again.

He took the head into his mouth once more, gave it another swirl of his tongue before quickly taking it in deeper. Lan Wangji felt Wei Wuxian’s lips pressed firmly around the shaft, felt the head of his cock brushing against the roof of Wei Wuxian’s mouth, and almost his throat as Wei Wuxian’s head bobbed, causing steady ripples across the surface of the water... and then after a moment, he was up for air, then back down again, his hand stroking a little faster... this time his mouth focused on sucking onto the sensitive spot beneath the head of his cock; his lips latched on, he suckled lightly and prodded the tip of his tongue against it, because such light touches were all that were needed for a spot with so much sensitivity.

Though no one could have told what was happening by the only slight crease in Lan Wangji’s brow on his otherwise calm face, his ears and neck were pink and his breathing had become quite ragged.

Wei Wuxian appeared above the water once more, then back down, this time holding no punches, after just a brief pause to prod the tip of his tongue lightly to the tip of Lan Wangji’s cock, he quickly took Lan Wangji deeply into his throat, swallowing all but a tiny fraction of the shaft--a task that still left Lan Wangji in shock, even months later, considering he was aware enough of his size and how he compared to most, and just how much it was to take all at once.

His thoughts didn’t get very far though as the tight bit of Wei Wuxian’s throat suddenly squeezed around the head of Lan Wangji’s cock. His breathing huffed in a surprised and rather undignified way, body somehow going tighter as Wei Wuxian did it again, and again, the rhythmic swallowing motion around his cock all but driving him crazy, before he gasped a sharp warning, “Wei Ying.”

Though Lan Wangji was afraid that might not be enough, Wei Wuxian must have heard the thrum of his voice above the water, because his mouth quickly pulled back along the shaft, suckling firmly around the head for but a few seconds, before Lan Wangji sucked in a sharp breath and came with a softly strained exhale.

Somehow, Wei Wuxian managed to stay under a few extra seconds with his mouth still working on Lan Wangji’s cock, as if making sure to suck him dry, before his head bobbed to the surface of the water once more, giving Lan Wangji a grin that could easily be described as wicked.

Some days, Lan Wangji still couldn’t believe this was the man he fell in love with. There were any number of intelligent, handsome, talented, well-mannered, reasonable people he could have fallen for, and this was the only one that had ever stirred his heart and left a mark on his soul. This was the one he’d chosen to exclusively love for the rest of his life.

Lan Wangji didn’t regret it, not one bit. He just couldn’t say he understood it.

It finally felt safe to let go of the stone edge he’d been gripping and his hand trailed down to Wei Wuxian’s chin, slowly guiding it up, pulling him out of the water and back into his lap. He pulled Wei Wuxian close for a kiss as he pushed back some of the wet hair sticking to Wei Wuxian’s face. Their lips pressed together, on and off for a few seconds as they both took a few steadying breaths, before Wei Wuxian’s lips parted and Lan Wangji’s tongue slipped past them. The kiss was lightly salty, lightly bitter, though whether that was his own taste on Wei Wuxian’s lips, the minerals from the hot springs, or both, he couldn’t say.

Wei Wuxian hummed against Lan Wangji’s mouth as he settled his ass on Lan Wangji’s thighs, wrapped his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck as he trailed stray droplets of water in his hair and across his skin. He shivered at the cool air against his skin now that he was back above the water, and he was a little light-headed from the effort to stay under for so long, and from his own arousal at performing for Lan Wangji.

He edged his hips forward, his own erection brushing up against the firm skin of Lan Wangji’s stomach, sucking in a soft breath through his nose just to have a little contact as Lan Wangji’s tongue dipped deep between his lips. His arms wrapped tighter around Lan Wangji’s neck, and Lan Wangji’s hands didn’t take much time at all to start roaming. A minute later, Wei Wuxian felt Lan Wangji’s fingers at his chest, where his thumb started rubbing circles around his nipple, flicking back and forth across it leisurely, while the other hand moved down to Wei Wuxian’s hip and thigh, kneading along the flesh with his strong hand.

Wei Wuxian moaned softly. He was already warm from the spring, it was hard to tell where the heat from the water ended and the heat from the arousal began, and he couldn’t say he was bothered enough to find out, just letting the warmth settle around his brain like the buzz from a good liquor as he let Lan Wangji’s tongue invade his mouth and his hands explore his body.

The hand on his nipple eventually starting to twist and tug, drawing out quicker, shorter breaths, the soft pulls sending ripples of arousal through him; it wasn’t long at all before he was squirming gently in Lan Wangji’s lap, could feel Lan Wangji’s cock rising eagerly to the occasion beneath him once more.

Wei Wuxian broke away from the kiss after a minute to capitalize on his chance to explore Lan Wangji’s neck with his mouth once more. There were still a good dozen hickeys of various stages of healing on his own neck, so Lan Wangji’s instinctual need to mark him was surely sated enough that it gave Wei Wuxian a chance to leave a few of his own. Though it wasn’t something he did frequently, it was something he liked, though he was usually careful to restrict his own mark-making to areas that would be hidden below the line of Lan Wangji’s clothing, since Lan Wangji actually had important official duties from time to time, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Lan Wangji’s reputation.

This time though... there wasn’t anything really important coming up as far as Wei Wuxian knew, so his mouth latched onto a spot a little bit below Lan Wangji’s ear as he started sucking and grazing his teeth over the patch of skin. It caused him a particular bit of delight as he heard Lan Wangji’s breath hitching for him again. He was always so greedy for any reaction he could drag out of Lan Wangji, any break in his composure, even when it was something so small as a raised eyebrow or a hitched breath. He loved making Lan Wangji lose control--he loved that Lan Wangji could let himself lose control around him.

His teasing drove Lan Wangji’s actions forward. Wei Wuxian was feeling nearly satisfied with the current mark he was making when the hand on his thigh slid back towards his ass instead, and in one smooth motion Lan Wangji’s fingers were pressed between his cheeks... though it seemed Lan Wangji had decided to do some of his own teasing as his fingertips rubbed the length of the space up and down a few times, while each casual drift past his entrance made Wei Wuxian suck in soft breath against Lan Wangji’s neck.

Wei Wuxian’s mouth slid down a few inches, starting a new mark, and Lan Wangji’s fingertips slowly traced their way back to Wei Wuxian’s entrance. Wei Wuxian moaned softly as he felt them pressing circles around it, kneading up and down, Lan Wangji dragging the length of his slender fingers across it, even applying a bit of pressure with a fingertip, but not pressing inside.

Wei Wuxian arched his hips back impatiently into Lan Wangji’s fingers, the anticipation and need slowly creeping up his spine the longer Lan Wangji teased. He bit down a little harder on Lan Wangji’s neck before releasing the skin and just pressing his face there instead, he panted softly and said with a pout, “Lan Zhan, you tease.”

Lan Wangji huffed out a soft breath, a sound that, by now, Wei Wuxian unmistakably recognized as a laugh. It was such a rare, wonderful sound from Lan Wangji that Wei Wuxian felt a dazed grin spreading over his lips, and when he turned his head to glance up, he could see the slight curve of a smile at the corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth.

Immediately, Wei Wuxian lifted his head and pressed a quick, sloppy kiss to Lan Wangji’s mouth, a soft laugh shaking his chest, before he pulled back to ask with fake accusation, “Hey, what’s so funny?”

What was funny was Wei Wuxian having the audacity to accuse anyone else of teasing-related crimes, they were both well aware of that. Lan Wangji didn’t need to say anything for them to both know it, but he kissed Wei Wuxian softly, his fingers still rubbing across Wei Wuxian’s entrance without penetrating, and replied, “You.”

“Me?” Wei Wuxian replied dramatically. He would have outright laughed if he wasn’t feeling so desperate, but as it was, he was still grinning brightly as he mumbled against Lan Wangji’s lips. “How dare you. Here I am in your lap, eager and ready for you, and I can’t even call you a tease without getting laughed at.”

“That’s correct,” Lan Wangji agreed--at which point Wei Wuxian did let out a breathless laugh, before again, fruitlessly attempting to press down against Lan Wangji’s fingers, which then slid down further to the perineum, rubbing his fingers firmly into the spot and sending a strong wave of pleasure crashing into him.

“Lan Zhan,” he whined, gripping Lan Wangji tighter, before deciding to bite Lan Wangji again, as if it were some sort of retaliation instead of just cause for more amusement.

“Perhaps I misunderstood,” Lan Wangji said, the mirth evident in his voice as he pressed a kiss to the side of Wei Wuxian’s head. His voice near Wei Wuxian’s ear, he instructed in a low purr, “Tell me what you want.”

Though Wei Wuxian was bold enough to say whatever it was he wanted to say, there was still something thrilling in being ordered to say it, and he felt a little chill run down his spine as he requested, slightly breathlessly, “Put your fingers inside.”

Lan Wangji didn’t say anything in reply, but just a second later, his fingers dragged across the skin on their way back up to Wei Wuxian’s entrance and started to gently prod inside.

Wei Wuxian sucked in a breath at the stretch, let it out with a moan of relief and delight. Having been beneath the water for so long, Lan Wangji’s fingers felt warmer than usual, which was a strange, but welcome sensation... though he noticed that after Lan Wangji’s fingers were about halfway in, they stopped, and Wei Wuxian was almost frustrated until he realized with a pained laugh what Lan Wangji was doing.

“Thrust them,” Wei Wuxian said next, and of course, Lan Wangji’s fingers started thrusting, a nice smooth in and out motion. Wei Wuxian let his body relax, eyes closing as he let his face rest in the crook of Lan Wangji’s neck as he just... enjoyed the sensation, the soft stretch, the heat of the water against his rim, and the heat that rose off of the water towards his chest and face. There was something almost soothing about Lan Wangji’s fingers moving in him like this, like it’s where they were meant to be. It was a thought that Wei Wuxian often found himself thinking whenever Lan Wangji was inside of him, whether it was his tongue or fingers or cock, it just felt like Lan Wangji belonged there, and it was a deeply satisfying feeling.

Eventually, his hips started to rock in Lan Wangji’s lap as the desperation began to climb, began demanding more--though it seemed Lan Wangji wasn’t just going to give it to him this time. But Wei Wuxian already understood the game they were playing, and though he felt a little bit of heat on his cheeks needing to ask for it, he said, “Deeper.”

Immediately, Lan Wangji’s fingers pressed in more firmly, then continued thrusting like they had before, until, Wei Wuxian said, “faster,” at which the pace of them picked up a little more.

Wei Wuxian’s breath was quickening, little by little, his hips rocking a little faster in time to the thrusts. It was a sweet torture to feel the pleasure building so slowly, to fight the urgent urges and hold them back as long as he could when it just felt so good to be fucked by Lan Wangji’s fingers.

“Add another finger,” Wei Wuxian said next, feeling his cheeks get a bit warmer, then, “open me up.” With as much as he gladly talked about Lan Wangji fucking him with any degree of detail, he couldn’t exactly pinpoint why this was flustering him, except that Lan Wangji had never made him do it before, walk him through each step of the process of fingering him.

Lan Wangji’s fingers withdrew just enough to make room to nudge the third finger in, before he pushed them just as deeply inside, a few slow thrusts before Lan Wangji was resuming the previous pace, and Wei Wuxian was rocking his hips quicker, sending ripples across the surface of the spring and making it lap softly against the rock edges.

As Lan Wangji moved onto the next instruction, Wei Wuxian felt his fingers spreading apart--and he gasped as he felt the burst of hot spring water slipping inside the opening, his hips bucking a little. Lan Wangji’s fingers thrust a few more times, pressing in deeper, before pulling them apart and stretching Wei Wuxian open again, the heat of the water inside sudden and delightful.

By the time Lan Wangji had repeated the motion a few times, Wei Wuxian was dizzy as he gasped for air, and his cock was starting to ache with the need of his arousal.

“Enough, enough,” he gasped, pressing his face harder into Lan Wangji’s skin, as if it could give him the relief he sought, “I want your cock inside, please, I can’t take any more.”

Wei Wuxian felt Lan Wangji’s fingers pulling out of him then, and he took a deep breath, sitting up, raising his hips as he felt Lan Wangji adjusting his cock beneath him, helped him pressed the head to Wei Wuxian’s entrance, and Wei Wuxian lowered his hips enough to gently press the head inside as he sucked in a breath.

But no sooner was the head inside than Lan Wangji’s hands had found his hips and tugged Wei Wuxian sharply down into his lap as Wei Wuxian let out a soft cry at the spike of arousal from Lan Wangji’s cock piercing him so suddenly.

His mouth navigated quickly back to Lan Wangji’s mouth, as he clenched and released around the shaft a few times, making himself shiver each time with the size of it. Wei Wuxian had spent quite some time in the early months of their relationship, marveling over the shape and thickness of Lan Wangji’s cock, and marveling equally over how it could even fit inside of him. Between art and just growing up surrounded by other teens, Wei Wuxian had seen a fair share of cocks, and Lan Wangji’s was by far the most impressive--though, to be fair, Wei Wuxian was biased.

Lan Wangji’s tongue pressed quickly between Wei Wuxian’s lips. Wei Wuxian’s body already seemed to fit his cock so snugly inside, like two pieces made to be joined together, and when Wei Wuxian clenched tightly around him like he was doing now, or like he did during orgasm, it was enough to make Lan Wangji feel wild, the pressure and the heat stoking his arousal like the coals beneath a bonfire. His breathing was going ragged again as his hands tightened on Wei Wuxian’s hips, and he kissed Wei Wuxian deeply, as if that alone could keep his mind in one piece.

When Wei Wuxian’s hips finally started to move, rocking in his lap, he left out a firm breath through his nose as the arousal climbed quickly up his spine. Keeping still and letting Wei Wuxian do as he pleased was in some ways like trying to hold back a tidal wave, like it was too tremendous a task, even with as much control as Lan Wangji had. The heat and friction of his cock moving inside of Wei Wuxian’s tight heat chipped away little by little at his self-restraint, wanting nothing more than to adjust them into some position that would allow him to fuck Wei Wuxian with abandon, fuck him until he was begging to come, then begging to come again. Wei Wuxian’s voice was never more beautiful than when he was moaning and crying out for him, calling his name with desperation and arousal.

Lan Wangji managed to hold back for a few minutes, before his tightly dammed self-control started to crack and he had to do something--his hands tightened a bit more on Wei Wuxian’s hips and he started to increase the pace of Wei Wuxian’s thrusts, lifting him a bit off of his cock, before bringing his body down swiftly back into his lap. Wei Wuxian’s moans picked up and Lan Wangji swallowed every one of them, feeling Wei Wuxian’s arms tightening around him.

As soon as Lan Wangji’s hands started moving him, Wei Wuxian quickly went along with the new pace. He’d been aroused ever since he’d taken Lan Wangji’s cock into his mouth, so as far as he was concerned, his orgasm was long overdue. He moaned around Lan Wangji’s tongue, breaths coming sharp and quick through his nose as Lan Wangji’s hands gripped him tighter and his cock filled him again and again, a distinct burst of pleasure shooting through him every time Lan Wangji tugged him roughly down onto his lap and his cock filled him completely.

His moans climbed in pitch as the splashing of the water in the pool grew louder with their increased movements, as the pressure of the arousal built up--until it finally boiled over and Wei Wuxian released a sharp cry into Lan Wangji’s mouth, his hole clenching hard around Lan Wangji’s cock as Lan Wangji continued to fuck him through the wave of his orgasm.

No sooner had it passed than Lan Wangji was quite suddenly pulling Wei Wuxian off his cock, the emptiness unexpected and unwelcome, though in one swift notion, Lan Wangji had turned them--Wei Wuxian’s knees were on the stone bench where Lan Wangji’s had been sitting, his arms holding him on the ground outside of the pool, and Lan Wangji was behind him, hands on his hips.

Wei Wuxian already knew what was coming, but as Lan Wangji’s cock pierced him promptly, he still let out a surprised shout, letting his chest and face press to the cool stone outside of the spring. Lan Wangji’s hips started thrusting immediately, and Wei Wuxian was quickly left shuddering with a flood of overstimulation, Lan Wangji’s cock angled more pointedly towards the most sensitive spot inside in this position.

His breaths came as sharp and fast as Lan Wangji’s cock driving into him, each exhale tainted with a desperate sound despite Wei Wuxian making some attempt to keep his voice down at least a bit, considering some passing patrol might hear them--though the idea of being discovered bent over and getting fucked so thoroughly by his husband added a rush of excitement to something that was already exhilarating.

He loved it when Lan Wangji lost control like this, when his physical need to fuck Wei Wuxian recklessly overwrote everyone of his long-enforced sensibilities. Wei Wuxian drove Lan Wangji to it more often than not, he adored it, his senses all abuzz when Lan Wangji would take him roughly, desperately, as if there was nothing more he could possibly need in that moment than to fuck him senseless. Though the intimate stimulation right after an orgasm had once been overwhelming, Wei Wuxian had come to look forward to it, to need it--one orgasm hardly satisfied him anymore and he felt lucky that Lan Wangji’s endurance could easily carry him through two or three before he would reach his own.

Though he let this hole relax as Lan Wangji’s hips snapped faster, their bodies colliding with a loud splash of water, the rest of him quivered at the tense cascade of pleasure at each of Lan Wangji’s thrusts. Wei Wuxian quickly buried his face against his elbow to muffle the stream of his climbing cries. His hips arched back into Lan Wangji’s hands, needing, needing...

Lan Wangji let out a soft, guttural noise as Wei Wuxian felt the explosive heat of him spilling inside, and Lan Wangji’s hips slammed in deep, grinding forcefully against Wei Wuxian’s ass, until just a moment later, the torrent of pleasure and tension tormenting Wei Wuxian snapped, and he came again, moaning loudly against his skin.

Both their chests heaving, Lan Wangji’s grip on Wei Wuxian’s hips finally loosened. He slid his cock out and slowly leaned over Wei Wuxian’s back to wrap his arms around his chest and waist. He held him tenderly to his chest as he maneuvered them again, turning back around to sit on the bench once more, allowing Wei Wuxian to settle in his lap and leaning back against the wall to let them both recover.

Before either of them could so much as catch their breath, however, they were interrupted by a sharp knock on the gate and a younger voice asking, “I-is someone in there?”

Lan Wangji felt his heart freeze in his chest for a second--it wasn’t panic that he felt, but something akin to it, shock, or perhaps a strong displeasure. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten this was possible. They were outside, after all, and though the hot springs weren’t that close to the sleeping quarters, there were always a few disciples on patrol at night to prevent the breaking of curfew.

He took some small respite in thinking that the timing could have been worse, at least. Better now than two minutes ago.

While Lan Wangji was still considering his response, Wei Wuxian--who had started shaking with silent laughter almost immediately after the question--jumped in to relieve Lan Wangji of the duty.

“Lan Jingyi, is that you?” Wei Wuxian called back--and now that Lan Wangji thought about it, it did sound like Jingyi. The junior disciples all took turns as part of the patrol, and Lan Wangji hadn’t known that he’d be on duty for tonight.

Jingyi’s voice stuttered on the other side of the gate, but his reply wasn’t important as Wei Wuxian continued, “It’s just Hanguang-Jun and me. He had a very long day grading classwork, so we wanted to come have a soak before bed.”

“Then what was all that noise?” Jingyi replied quickly and suspiciously, though based on his tone, it was a question he wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t for his poor brain-to-mouth filter and the fact that it was Wei Wuxian’s voice he heard, because by now all the juniors had learned to have a certain bit of skepticism at anything Wei Wuxian told them.

Lan Wangji’s arms wrapped around Wei Wuxian a little bit tighter; he was shaking so hard with the efforts to suppress his laughter that Lan Wangji was half-afraid he would shake himself apart.

“We were....” Wei Wuxian had to take a breath to force out the words without laughing, “having a splash fight. All my fault, I started it.” He crumpled instantly after that, turning to bury his face against Lan Wangji, nearly about to burst from his efforts.

“We’ll be leaving shortly,” Lan Wangji finally managed to reply.

Upon actually hearing Lan Wangji’s voice, Jingyi seemed to straighten right out as he replied in a proper tone, “Y-yes, Hanguang-Jun! Sorry!”

His footsteps retreated quickly from the area, and as soon as they were out of earshot, Wei Wuxian lost it. He clung to Lan Wangji and buried his face against him as his laughter overflowed, going so far as to kick his legs wildly under the water in his utter glee.

After taking a grounding breath, even Lan Wangji couldn’t help but smile slightly, mostly because he really did not know what to do with his husband.

“Did you hear that?” Wei Wuxian finally managed through the tail end of his laughter, lifting his head to look at Lan Wangji and wiping away tears. “How quick his tone changed once you spoke? He didn’t believe me when I said you were here.”

Lan Wangji shook his head faintly. “He didn’t believe anything you said.”

“Yeah, that was bad,” Wei Wuxian admitted, settling bit by bit. He shifted in Lan Wangji’s lap just enough so that he could lay his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “I couldn’t think of anything else, and I figured a bad lie was better than the truth. Oh well. At least it was Jingyi and not Sizhui.”

Lan Wangji couldn’t help but think Wei Wuxian might as well have told the truth for how obvious it was what they were doing. He also didn’t have the heart to say that he’d be shocked if the news didn’t spread to all the junior disciples with the way teenagers talked, even in spite of their rules against gossiping, particularly because this was Jingyi. Lan Wangji could understand why Wei Wuxian might not want Sizhui to have discovered them, but if he had, their secret might have remained safe. Sizhui either would have known not to come to the gate, or would have been too embarrassed to tell anyone about what he’d discovered.

After taking another slow breath, Lan Wangji leaned in to press a kiss to Wei Wuxian’s head, then settled back against the side of the spring. He closed his eyes and let himself relax for a bit, particularly as he felt Wei Wuxian relaxing in his lap. They had been discovered and there was nothing to be done about it now, so there was no point in stressing about it. If there were to be consequences, they would deal with them as they came. Lan Wangji had anticipated this might have been Wei Wuxian’s plan, after all, and he’d still escorted him out here. He’d accepted the risks and was willing to accept the consequences.

The two of them stayed that way for a little while longer, relaxed in the waters of the hot springs as Lan Wangji embraced Wei Wuxian, until eventually they’d recovered and felt ready to retire to the Jingshi for the night.

The next day, Lan Wangji couldn’t help but notice most of the junior disciples, Sizhui in particular, avoiding his gaze, and he didn’t have to ask to know that his assumption about the news spreading had come true. He also couldn't help but notice the few times their eyes would linger on the marks Wei Wuxian had left behind on his neck, though as soon as they were caught, their gaze flickered away with embarrassment.

It wasn’t something Lan Wangji cared enough about to look into, so he could never say who or how many people found out just what happened in the hot springs, and though Lan Qiren never approached him, his knowledge of the evening became evident as soon as Lan Wangji heard the hot springs would be closed for a week... for “cleaning.”

#wangxian #wangxian fanfic #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #the untamed fanfic #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #vesper posts #wrote a thing

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mimiplaysgames · 4 years

Text

A Powerful Enough Dream (Ch. 5)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua (eventually) Rating: T Word Count: 7,179

Summary: Aqua has to move. She has to find Ven, she has to leave friends behind, she has to rescue Terra... and most importantly, she needs answers when it comes to Xemnas. There’s a lot of disappointments to come.

Read on AO3

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Game I

Even though she's slowly improving, Aqua can't help but feel that the hours are unkinder than usual.

She avoids being alone with Lea - not because of him, but because of anything else he knows. Minutes tick by before she realizes she's obsessing about the things he has said last night, only to obsess more.

Sometimes, she forgets where she is until she runs into something or gets smacked - quite literally this time, with a strong aroma and a flaky texture, like pollen.

"Look," Sora commands, his eyes hidden behind a pot of bright red daisies as he shoves them into Aqua's face. "Look how nice they are!"

He says that about every new delivery of red daisies, as though each time he's just as surprised and grateful.

The dining room in this great bright morning is absolutely filled with flowers. Sora can't even catch smell his gifts, his symptoms completely stuffing his nose to oblivion (his words, not Aqua's).

Tables near Riku are adorned with bushes of lilacs, and a pile of Thank You cards keep growing. Aqua has taken to reading them for him because the poison still gives him headaches.

Aqua receives gifts as well: blue star-shaped bellflowers that blanket the tabletops behind her like a textured ocean.

Only one table is free from floral invasion - the one the three of them are using, each with thick blankets wrapped around their shoulders, and personal mugs full of steaming tea.

Word is a parade is being organized for later that night, to celebrate the end of Kefka's reign. It's rushed, planned with marching bands and dancers and confetti but not much else. Rumor has it Noctis and Garnet are expected to walk the parade, but Aqua can't imagine that either of them would want that kind of attention.

Organizers have asked the Keyblade wielders to walk, but Donald apparently has denied the request on their behalf - they're still too sick.

A hotel employee, dressed very casually because no one is in the mood to take life seriously for the time being, brings yet another pot of flowers.

These are orange lilies, their shade growing darker at the tips. Sora takes the card dug into the pot and reads: "For Terra. From Noctis, Garnet, and Rydia."

He smiles, and drags the pot towards Aqua. "This will go with your stack." If there's a particular reason why Sora assumes they should go to Aqua, she pretends not to notice.

It's a beautiful gesture. Really, it is. A little piece of Terra, his intentions and his service earthed neatly into a pot that she can keep in memory. It makes her wonder for a slight second if he has a shirt around here that she can wear to sleep, but there's no one she would ever dare ask for it.

"Do you like them?" Sora asks, an impish grin on his face. He's teasing her. It's something Ven would do.

"Why are you asking?"

He sniggers. "They'd look much better with the blue flowers anyway. What's it called," Sora mutters, his chin in his hand. "Complementary colors?"

"Don't mind him," Riku says.

Sora backhands Riku's shoulder. "Yes, do mind me."

"He means well though."

"I mean well." Sora nods too quickly, and it makes him grab his head in pain.

"They're beautiful," Aqua says, bringing the pot closer instead of placing them by the rest of her flowers. It's not the same as hugging Terra, but it will have to do.

If Terra was here, he'd know what to say about Xemnas. He'd tell her that some people simply just don't get along no matter what, that it doesn't mean that either of them are bad.

Maybe Lea is really that choosy with who he hangs out with.

But something still doesn't sit right with her.

It's silent, and she forgets that she's losing herself to thoughts in the presence of other people. She figures she can't help it considering how long she's been alone. What do people say for small talk?

"It's weird." Riku breaks the silence, fingers in his hair like he's massaging the headache away. "Sitting here without anticipating Kefka's arrival."

"That's the way it should be," Sora says.

"Yeah…" Riku eyes Aqua nervously, and there's no way to tell what's on his mind. "You were... incredible. It's amazing what you can do with a Keyblade with proper focus."

That's right. They are self-trained.

"You both do so well on your own," Aqua says. And she means it, what with Riku's sharp tactics and Sora's gift of bringing his friends together to gather his power.

"Right…" Riku looks down at the table, and this time Sora's noticing. "It's interesting."

It almost sounds accusatory. "What is?" Aqua asks.

"The way you used Kefka's swords. Darkness to defeat darkness-"

"I don't use darkness," Aqua says shortly.

Her insistence, a sharp tongue meant to put a stop to anyone who questions her, keeps Riku tight-lipped. It even makes Sora do a double-take toward his best friend… and she wonders if he's suspicious too.

"You use darkness too," Sora gently says to Riku, as if to normalize the conversation.

"It's not the same," Riku says and immediately bites his lip. The rest he compensates: "I walk the road to dawn. Take the darkness and turn it into light to guide my way. But…"

It's enough to make Aqua's nostrils flare out. It's not true about her...

"She- You manipulated a part of Kefka and used it against itself. That's different from what I do." Riku switches course, giving her an encouraging smile. "It is inspiring though. I've never seen anything like it."

Aqua doesn't know what he's trying to imply. Or rather, she doesn't care to face it. "I…"

"Have been in the Realm of Darkness for a long time," Sora says with compassionate eyes. "And you're a Master. The way you sliced Kefka's head clean off with your Keyblade-" He finishes with a swoosh from his lips and a finger across his neck.

Riku chuckles. "I've always thought that anyone capable of making even a dent on Kefka should be called a Keyblade Master."

Sora contorts a smile like he's struggling to contain it. "Doesn't make you look good at all, does it, Riku?"

Aqua gasps. He's so young. "You're a Master?"

He nods once - to the side actually, like he's shy about it, when he normally presents himself with such confidence.

"Riku was meant for it," Sora cuts in, waving his hands like he's giving an entrance to the stars. "Destined to be Keyblade Master."

"Congratulations, Master Riku," Aqua says.

He hums, rubbing his forearm. "’Riku' is fine."

It's no wonder Sora loves teasing him. Riku makes it easy.

"That makes you the youngest Keyblade Master ever," Aqua says. It's funny watching Riku fight away his blushing. "You even beat me to it."

Sora is loving it, snorting into his hand.

"Age is really nothing." Riku dismisses her with a wave of her hand.

"I beg to differ. I've only studied it my entire life, but if you want to say you know more about this than I do-"

"That's not-" This time, Riku's cheeks really are red. "I didn't mean-"

Aqua clears her throat, and for a moment, Riku's silence is pregnant and anxious. She lets it build up much to his suffering, before saying, "I'm messing with you."

Sora holds a fist to his mouth to sustain his laughter, but it seeps out like the accidents of a trumpet.

Which is also a terrible idea, now that he can't control his coughing to the point where he almost plops onto the table out of exhaustion.

"Master to Master," Aqua says, seriously this time, and it catches Riku's attention. "I would appreciate if you respect the fact that I don't need a guardian."

He eyes her, most likely thinking back to last night when he conveniently left out crucial details just to keep her out of a dangerous fight. He clears his throat. "I thought that maybe Terra would have been worried if you were in that much danger."

"That would have been true." She goes back to the orange lilies, rubbing a petal with her thumb. "But he also would have trusted me to take care of myself."

"Right." He thinks hard, nodding, then nodding some more. "I won't do it again."

She wears an appreciative smile. "So your Keyblades…" she starts. There's so much ground to cover.

Traditionally, a wielder would be bequeathed. Their Keyblade would materialize when they're older, when they're on the brink of deciding who they want to be and what they want to strive for. In the case of Sora and Riku…

"Riku," she calls, her hand outstretched to him at the table. "I remember." Barely. "Terra chose you. I felt it. Your light burst into rays after he bequeathed you."

There's a small smile on Riku's lips and he doesn't have to say anything in order to tell her that he wears that memory with pride.

"But Sora," she continues. If he hasn't been bequeathed then… Well, if one Keyblade is the extension of the entirety of one's personal ambitions, dreams, bonds, heartaches, and identities, then... "How do you have two of them?"

It's so unfitting to watch his smile falter. To watch him fight with it. He's different than Lea in the sense that Lea acknowledges whatever flashes in his mind. Afterwards he puts on a mask, like he's two different people at once.

But Sora struggles to do the same. Sora buries it.

"I bet the other one belongs to Roxas," he says, hands behind his head. Riku agrees.

"I don't understand."

"My Nobody…" His eyes shiver. "I hate that word. Roxas is his own person, and calling him that-"

Riku places a hand on his shoulder, and it keeps Sora from digging deeper into such thoughts.

Whatever trials Sora went through in order to produce a Nobody must be an amazing story. He would have turned into a Heartless, succumbed to darkness for even a fraction of a second. Which is something Aqua would have never even considered for someone like Sora - he's so jovial, so loving, so willing to put others ahead of himself.

Maybe that's the reason. Everybody stretches themselves too much, and everybody hurts sometimes.

Sora leans forward, a hand to his chest. "I have Roxas' heart with me. That's why I have two Keyblades."

Again, Riku scuffles. "Did you know Terra can do the same?" he asks Aqua.

Terra with his Earthshaker and a nameless silver Keyblade. Considering how she saw Sora with two with her very own eyes, suddenly it's not hard to imagine.

If Terra is going through the same, then he's much stronger than she ever realized, having to carry a parasite inside.

Aqua chooses to think it's admirable, bearing on such a burden. She imagines somewhere where Sora can't touch, this Roxas person has to be incredibly sad not being able to taste life on his own. It makes her think of Ven, who also isn't able to share the flowers with her.

She's sure that Sora must have the same conviction she has to save them both.

"Sora," she starts. His name is starting to sound like sunshine. "I meant to bequeath you myself."

His eyes go wide, his lips small like a mouse's, like he's never considered he was meant for the honor. "... Seriously?"

"Yes." She chuckles. "You remember meeting me?"

"Vaguely."

"I remember it more," Riku says.

"I saw how bright your light was," Aqua says. "You were destined for it, too."

Sora is dumbstruck, eyes scanning the table for nothing to find. She's sure he's just forgotten to thank her since he's normally polite. Something tells her he's probably been told the complete opposite, judging by how much he's sinking into disbelief.

Riku is the one smiling more about that revelation.

"Thank you," Sora finally says, beaming like his self-esteem isn't in junk heaps.

"I really wanted to take you in," she says. "But… I was worried. By the time I met the both of you, I was sure I was going to have to fight Terra, even though I didn't want to. I was forced to put a stop to what was happening to us."

She tears up. It burns less than last night.

"I wanted to spare you both from the same," she whispers, seeing these grown-up boys with stronger jaws and shallower cheeks. "I didn't want the Keyblade to split the two of you like it did to us."

Sora cackles into laughter. It's contagious enough to affect Riku who quietly joins him in whatever inside joke she's not part of. "Too late."

"The good old days." Riku leans on his elbow and hides his face behind his hand. "You were a piece of work, Sora."

"You're one to talk," Sora scoffs, arms crossing at the surface of the table so he can lie his head down. "You were really obnoxious."

Riku melts into a grin then quickly composes himself, shrugging with one shoulder. "That's fair."

It could have been so different for them. Whatever their story is, it's null and void by now.

That's not honest, whatever happened has made Sora and Riku who they are today: strongly bonded, cracking jokes with a rhythm, powerful wielders who can rely on each other.

It could have been Terra and Aqua. It makes her feel silly, worrying so much because she thought there was a point where he couldn't be helped anymore.

She should have trusted more instead of assuming whatever path he was on was destructive to himself and everyone else.

But if it has worked out for Riku and Sora, who sit in front of her like they only have happy memories, then it may still work out for her and Terra.

She has to believe that.

The sound of squeaky wheels marches up to the table, and Rydia takes a cart with vials of elixir on the top shelf and stacks of colorful board games underneath. It's nice to see her walk around without dragging her feet or leaning on that old wizard's staff. Her slow recovery bodes well for all of them.

"You all look heavenly," she says, giving them each a personal vial which they are expected to drink in full.

"That's such a lie," Sora says, leaning over. "You're the one who looks almost normal."

She grimaces. "Not according to everyone in town… They say that once Kefka has gotten you, it will stay with you forever."

"Then buy him a clown nose," Riku points to Sora, which earns him a jab in the ribs.

"What exactly does that mean?" Aqua asks, more serious that she'd like to admit.

There's an invasive suspicion that refuses to vacate the back of her mind: that darkness has found a way into her heart, and that it may mean it will always linger there. What would the Master think?

Rydia bends over to caress her shoulder. "Nothing to worry about. It's something the townsfolk say to have a reason to stay scared. They want to deny anything and everything that would threaten them further."

Is that why Rydia's smile doesn't reach her eyes? Are they alienating her?

Rydia doesn't answer the questions in Aqua's mind, and instead pulls out the stack games, some in different languages, and lets them choose one.

"You want a rematch?" Riku asks.

"Absolutely not," Rydia says with a wink. "I still want to gloat about my win."

The stack is the typical clash of colors, a desperate way to claw at children's attention. Aqua is lucky. Having a Master that traveled through different universes meant she had the privilege to play with things that would otherwise never arrive at a child's door.

And there is one she does recognize.

"Command Board," she says, pulling it out from underneath the rest.

"Good choice," Sora says, even though he's likely never played it before.

"We used to grow up playing this." She chuckles to herself, remembering all the times she accused Terra of cheating. How Ven got a little too proud if he happened to win.

"It's a three-player game," Rydia says with a small nod. She's the odd fourth in the group, and maybe Aqua is a little sensitive to the idea of her not belonging, but Rydia waves like she's not bothered by it. "I hope you make new memories with it. It'll help with the poison."

"Huh?" Sora mutters.

Rydia may know better, but she probably should have been more blunt: to say that Aqua should keep her chin up and stay optimistic in spite of trying times. Aqua doesn't understand why the people around her are so concerned about her state of mind - does coming from the Realm of Darkness creep them out that much?

If what they say about Kefka's poison is just a jest, then Aqua truly doesn't have anything to worry about.

"How do you play?" Sora asks, and Aqua realizes she's been silent too long, once again.

Riku watches her with intent, and she challenges his gaze enough to get him to look somewhere else.

"Ah," she breathes. "The rules are complicated but you'll learn along the way."

She lifts the lid. This board isn't the same one she used to play with, but the rules are similar so she'll take it as a grand new adventure. There's some cards missing, but the dice are definitely all present.

Playing with Sora and Riku is like playing with friendly ghosts.

There's Sora with all his enthusiasm, already going too far in plotting strategies for events he can't predict are going to happen (so far he has a fifty-fifty success rate). He's so much like Ven, who's cunning enough to make all the right assumptions, and threw down more cards than he cared about moving his piece through the board. Ven loved to tag-team and then betray, pitting Terra and Aqua against each other so they wouldn't go after him.

Riku is a little more reserved and careful. He reads his cards like he's studying a textbook, and he catches the both of them by surprise when he considers card combinations she's never tried before. He's like Terra, slow and sneaky. Terra had terrible poker face, usually bringing his cards right against his nose to hide what he's thinking. And that's only if he wasn't throwing glances at Aqua with a smirk on his face. He used to say that it's to predict what she's going to do next. Nowadays, Aqua thinks it's so much more than that.

Yet Riku and Sora are different. They are a nice homage to childish days, a breath of fresh nostalgia. They are innocent in the game, but not yet to the point where they have to consider tricking Aqua, and this gives her an advantage.

It's as colorful in Traverse Town as the spots on the board. It may hide dreary secrets behind the night lights, mixed with its enviously gorgeous architecture, but there's a pleasant space here. A spot to hide away from sins.

It's not really a home, yet. But it's close enough.

~*~*~*~*~

The streets are louder than ever when night comes. It's the fourth parade in a row, which Aqua watches from her bedroom window. The horns are thunderous, drums banging to the pace of the march where dancers hand balloons to children and throw candy at everyone else.

It may be the fourth but Noctis is still uncomfortable, hands hiding in his pockets instead of waving to the crowds. He only calms when Garnet joins him on such an embarrassment, all the way through to the end. If she's not smiling at people, she's looking at the cobblestones under her feet.

Aqua is on the highest floor of the hotel but she can still hear Donald's scratchy whining down below whenever Sora bursts out of the hotel doors. They're all doing so much better by now, but he still treats them as delicate.

By now, Sora doesn't have a guttural cough anymore.

By now, the electric bell in the clock tower has been deactivated, under Noctis' orders.

By now, Lea knocks on Aqua's door with a mug already prepared with sleeping weed. For as much as Lea acts like he enjoys hanging out with people, he certainly spends a lot of time alone, avoiding the crowds. Like water, like fire.

"You forgot your tea," he says, and sets the mug on her bedside table. "Three cheers for health, dreams, and vanquishing Heartless. Now drink it."

Other nights, Aqua's usually more willing to drink. Tonight, she walks briskly to pick up Terra's Wayfinder, massaging it in her hand while Lea makes himself comfortable with a chair in between his legs.

She could avoid it, but she's terrible about this sort of thing. Eventually, Lea will read exactly how anxious she is.

"Does it smell funny?" He's already doing it.

There's a growing list of questions ever since Lea made it clear that he and Xemnas don't get along. There shouldn't be, and Aqua wants to be mature enough to cast them aside.

"I don't have friends from the darkness," she says.

Yet it still bothers her.

Lea looks around the room, from one corner to another, from the carpet to the ceiling. "That doesn't answer my question.

That she's made a friend in the darkness.

She holds the Wayfinder close to her heart. "What does Xemnas do?"

"Still on that, huh." Lea scoffs. She's expected him to maybe grunt in shock, or give her a grim response. "You really want to know?"

No.

"I don't know." She blinks several times, like she's just been awakened. "He… he was supposed to find me. He promised he'd get me out."

"Out of the Realm of Darkness?" Lea whistles, crossing his arms over the backrest and resting his chin on his fist. "There's nothing much to tell about Xemnas. It's not a good story, so just drink your tea, it'll make you feel better."

How can it be, she wonders. She remembers the very first time she's ever heard his voice.

Somewhere deep where mirrors talked back and had a mind of their own.

And she had asked:

"Is this… the last apparition before it takes me over?"

And he had said:

"No."

"...No?"

"You wanted an answer to your question. It is no."

Since then, whenever she struggled with painful loneliness, he gave her peaceful solitude.

Lea's voice reminds her that she's nowhere deep anymore. "If you want to know what happened to him, you should ask Riku and Sora." Then he laughs, shaking his head with disgust like he's embarrassed he's told a terrible joke. "Nevermind. Don't tell Sora, he'd be pretty upset if he heard."

"Why would-" She takes a sharp inhale. "Why-"

Something about it clicks. If those boys were involved, then Lea is right: it's a truth she'd never want to hear.

But Aqua is sometimes too brave for her own good, even in the face of regret.

Lea looks at her hard. "You should really count your blessings."

He takes too much time to find the right words, and she wants to slap him to get on with it since what is so difficult about this information?

After deliberation, he says, "He's Xehanort's Nobody."

It isn't what she expected. It isn't even her worst nightmare, yet Aqua cripples down to the floor, nearly hurling over the carpet, shutting her mouth with her hands. The parade outside sings and dances by itself, a different life altogether than what's living in her own room.

"Hey," Lea objects, his hands up in surrender. "It's not that shameful to be a Nobody."

"He isn't."

"Oh, he is." He stands up, coming over her shoulder to make sure she's not losing herself. "Devilishly handsome, stone-faced, cold-hearted, greedy, obnoxious - all the makings of a cockroach."

"How could I have fallen for it?" she snaps, even though she doesn't mean to take it out on Lea.

When she sobers after giving him a cold stare, she understands. It's not just her. Terra fell for it too, right after the most important failure of his life that left him utterly broken-hearted.

Aqua was broken-hearted, as well.

Lea's emerald green eyes spark. He smirks, bending down on his knees to join her. "I see that you're smart enough to know the answer to that question, so I don't have to waste my breath." He takes the mug and cups it. "This is the third damn time I'm telling you to drink your tea. Or else I'll hire you a mother."

She is absent-minded when she takes the mug, only aware enough that it doesn't tip over and spill. "Does that make me a terrible Master? That I let him in?"

"Nah." Lea waves his hand over like he's swatting a fly. "If I was alone that much, I wouldn't care either. And that's saying something."

"I really felt like I needed him." She sighs. She's supposed to be smarter than this, to notice when people take advantage of her. And it makes her angry. "When I see him again-"

"Stop right there." He clicks his tongue and waves a finger at her. "There's no need to look for him. You won't get any answers, and it won't make you happy."

Lea then pats her on the shoulder hard enough to knock her off her stupor.

She once told Xemnas how grateful she was for his companionship. Aqua doesn't know whether to grieve over something that never existed, or start a war. "What else is left?" she asks.

"With Xemnas?" He scratches his head, already on his way towards the door. "Nothing. He's Nobody. A blip in a tiny part of your past and not much more."

When he opens her door, Duchess and her kittens are already clawing to come in. "Well, excuse me." He lifts one leg let them in, then turns an about-face to bid her good night. "Aqua, for crying out loud, drink it." He shuts it.

Aqua sits on the carpet, Duchess climbing onto her lap. She purrs. It's enough to remind Aqua that she has some cat food stashed away, so she neglects her tea to prepare it for them.

"Terra," she says to his Wayfinder, the last of the cat bowl filled, "I swear I'm going to bring us all back together and keep us protected."

Vulnerable - that's the word she feels strongest, being exposed to Xehanort like that when she thought she was immune to him.

Terra once told her he was stupid many years ago, and now the joke's on her.

The melody from his music box melts away the embarrassment for now.

"I'm so sorry," she says, "for judging you the way I did."

The tea is now lukewarm, but along with the leftover elixir that waits on her bedside table, she expects - she demands of her body - to heal completely by tomorrow.

~*~*~*~*~

Aqua still doesn't feel so well, but she's fine enough. Minor headaches to and fro, some nausea left in the morning, and heaping of grumpiness. She asks Riku and Sora if they're well enough to join her, and they're bored enough to jump the bandwagon as quickly as possible. Good.

After four nights in a row partying, Traverse Town is ready to hunker down and begin rebuilding. The hotel is once again filled with the bustle of workers, and Noctis is always followed by a crowd of people waiting for their assignments, just an ordinary day for him.

Cid of course is always nagging him.

"We got the hospital to clean out in the west," Cid would bark.

"I know, I have it on my list," Noctis would snark back.

"What about the third district?"

"I'm getting on that."

"Sewers are a mess, the Heartless-"

"I know."

"The clock tower needs-"

"I know."

"Kid, I don't know what to do with ya!"

Goodbyes are quick. Rydia makes absolutely certain that Aqua promises she'll take care of herself. Originally, Rydia objected to their leave, but compensates by giving them extra elixirs just in case. She inspects their faces to make sure they have proper color, before demanding hugs.

Noctis thanks Sora and Riku specifically for their work in vanquishing Heartless and Nobodies. Maybe one day, he'll be reunited with his friends. That once they're back, he'll take them to see what else is out there, as soon as his work is finished.

Aqua doesn't know what to say to him. Tradition says that reckless travel in between worlds is forbidden. Upsets the balance of the multiverse, brings oblivion and destruction, etc etc.

And yet, Traverse Town is the exact opposite of everything she knows. Aqua wonders if the Master was ever aware of its existence.

Lea pulls her aside for his temporary farewell - he has business to take care of, and his own personal gummi ship sits only one, so there's no use tagging along. But he's still mulish about his belief that Aqua is in need of a loving, doting mother to take care of areas that she's neglecting, and somehow he must deem himself perfect for the role.

His advice: Mind your vegetables.

Second, Drink water.

He has trouble thinking of a third one, and he settles for Don't get a concussion. Aqua doesn't consider this to be something most mothers would say to their children.

Finally, he tells her, Don't get pregnant. And that's enough wisdom for the day.

Just like that, he's gone. He moves like he has someplace to go, just like everyone else around here, leaving messes and tripping over them, splitting up until lunch break, telling their wives and children that they'll be back later in the day.

There's just one person who is still.

The rabbit-woman from the other night, sitting on a lounge chair by the wall opposite, fine curtains and exquisite vases notwithstanding.

She watches Aqua diligently like a hunter, with an expression that's hard to describe. Aqua interprets it as condescension. Suspicion, distrust, and there's a sense that this rabbit-woman sees through Aqua, as if reading her insides, her mind, her heart.

The rabbit-woman is scantily dressed, showing more dark skin that anything else, with hair as white as clouds, and it makes Aqua blush.

"Our heroine of fine quality," she hears a voice say behind her. The well-dressed man strides with confidence, rebuttoning his cuffs. He smells like he has just bathed in soap and cologne. This close, the embroidery on his vest looks like it was sewn with gold thread. "That was quite a show you've given us that night."

Aqua is still flustered by the rabbit-woman, and she stammers. This isn't like her. "I- Excuse me, um, who is asking exactly?"

"Balthier," he says like she's supposed to know. "I see Fran has made her acquaintance as well."

Aqua clears her throat.

"Balthier," Garnet calls out, floating over on her dainty feet, with excitement in her voice and a grand smile on her face. It suits her better than despair. "I believe you are intimidating our guest."

"I trust it isn't my disposition." The way he's speaking - he's flirting with her.

Garnet takes a moment to study him. "I imagine pirates have their way."

"Well, I am no ruffian."

"Pirates?" Aqua asks. "You don't strike me as one."

"I'm a sky pirate," Balthier says as though he's offended. "I suppose I should have greeted you with an 'Ahoy, matey' and doubtless you'd be convinced."

"Sky pirates," Aqua whispers. It makes sense. Now she knows where she's seen Fran before - or rather people like Fran. Viera, that's the word to describe their race of people. All the way in the corner of the empty space that splits the worlds apart is a cluster of stars that form their very own galaxy. The Master has theorized it is because the threads that should have cut after the great Keyblade War are still strung together.

Montressor - that's the name of one of the stars there. They have been there before… maybe seventeen years ago by this point? The Master had supervised them on a mission there.

Aqua doesn't say anything about it - it's no good to trust pirates.

"Then where did you learn water magic?" she asks Balthier. "It's rare."

Balthier has a smug look on his face. "I have acquired some runes."

Or stolen them. Either way, it's definitely a lie. He turns over his shoulder to meet with his partner.

"What say you, Fran?" He takes a seat on one of the shorter dressers right by her side. "Where shall the stars take us next?"

Fran takes one more stare at Aqua before replying, "The sun will set." Her accent rolls and purrs, though it's subtle. "And we will meet it."

Balthier has no option but to take what he gets. "Lovely. Carry onward, then."

They move too, in opposite directions as everyone else.

There must be something on Aqua's face, because Garnet reads it and says, "Fran is a special member of our community." It's a wonder how she can trust pirates so easily.

"What does she do?"

"She senses the darkness in others, even in our worlds. That is exactly how they have saved me." Garnet holds a crystal hanging from her neck. "And she has been an asset to us every since."

It's unsettling for Aqua, but she's fine the way she is. Kefka's poison will not turn her into a Heartless.

Without warning, Garnet takes both her hands and holds them in between. "Have no fear. You are quite capable, and stronger than anyone I have ever met."

Aqua hasn't been feeling that way the last couple of days. "Thank you," she says with a smile.

Garnet returns it, a sparkle in her eyes. "He is a treasure, Aqua."

"Uh, who?"

"Terra, of course." Why does everyone have to put her on the spot? "He brought you to us."

There's so much heat in Aqua's cheeks, she's sure she's red in the face. "Ah, thank you." It sounds more like a question that anything else, a slip in the cracks of her otherwise serious demeanor.

"Before I forget." Garnet lets go of her, and searches a knapsack hanging from her shoulder. "Terra purchased this for Ventus."

A fancy silver whistle, adorned with red gemstones. "It is enchanted," Garnet says, "its calls meant only for the one who is needed. Be sure to give it to him?"

"Of course." That is so much like Terra, leaving them random things he feels they need.

At least that's his usual self. It's hard to imagine what he was thinking when he went off on his own and never came back to the Land of Departure. Aqua had suspected he stopped caring about them.

But he never did, and that's the point.

"And be sure to give Leon and Lightning our love," Garnet says. "We owe them our lives for all the help they've granted us."

Not like Aqua knows who they are.

~*~*~*~*~

Riku takes the helm of Sora's gummi ship since his own has been sliced in two by a lunatic clown. He says it's because it's safer if he drives, but Aqua suspects he trusts Sora wholeheartedly, more than he lets on.

He just won't admit he likes to be in control.

The gummi ship is comfortable and large, lights blinking in a language Aqua does not understand. She never imagined that engineers could create technology that allows people to travel between worlds without the guidance of a Keyblade. The Master would surely disapprove of this.

She takes the empty seat behind Sora, and finishes making herself comfortable when Donald walks in. Apparently she has taken his chair, counting on the way he's mumbling and gurgling to himself. With the scratchiness of his voice, it's impossible to tell what he's saying to her.

Sora understands him, giving Aqua a shake of his head as if saying not to worry. Maybe Donald is usually this grumpy. "He said no, again?" he asks Donald.

"He said no again." Donald takes the seat next to Aqua, Goofy trailing closely behind with a pep to his step.

"What's going on?" Riku is busy turning on the engine, but he listens closely.

"Balthier won't take our munny to find a Door to Darkness," Sora says. "Dangerous business, he says, if there's nothing to gain from it or no one to save from a world that's about to fall."

Riku scoffs. "I guess that makes sense? It's funny to see him that concerned."

"Why? He's pretty cool."

"You say that about every pirate."

"He's a pirate that flies. That's better than anything."

"How is he able to travel to other worlds?" Aqua asks. "He shouldn't be able to do that in the first place."

Riku grimaces, trapping a laugh. "Sora, you don't know this story."

Sora hops in his seat. "Tell me."

"Mickey and I," Riku starts, and it already catches Donald and Goofy's attention. "Traveled to Montressor… I don't remember why we were there, but Balthier caught us red-handed landing in that world. He chased us using his sky ship, all over the stars of that world. It's humongous."

"Are you serious?" Sora is near laughing, and Donald grunts.

"And he caught us."

"Ha."

"Tied us up, and demanded to know how we even got there.

"Well, obviously you're fine. He's cool, like I said."

"We gave him spare gummi parts, then he let us go. Simple as that."

Sora slaps his knee. "That's awesome."

"Hmph!" Donald nearly slaps his own waist in fury, like scolding them with his hands on his hips won't catch up to how angry he is. "That was dangerous for the King!"

Goofy laughs - it's a hearty one, like there's reason to be happy. "They got out just fine."

Suddenly Donald hangs his head. "We left the King in the Realm of Darkness."

Ooh, sadness on Goofy is enough to make Aqua tear up - he's so animated, so contorted with grief, and he takes his hat off like he's honoring a funeral. "If only his Majesty let us go with him."

Riku is quiet, and Sora sighs.

"It was Mickey's choice," Riku says calmly, "like I've said before. He wields powerful magic, and he has Terra with him."

Goofy keeps quiet.

Donald, however, fires up. "If anything happens to the King, Terra knows what I am capable of."

"Now, now," Goofy says, putting his hat back on and counting on his fingers. "Terra is kind, and generous, and helpful-"

"He's trouble." Donald crosses his arms.

Sora snorts. "Don't worry about them Aqua, they're always like that. Terra is awesome." He spins over his seat to give her a reassuring smile. "Where to first?"

Riku turns over his shoulder, too. "I hope to Master Yen Sid's?" He takes one look at Aqua and gets his answer. "You're going to be as difficult as Terra, aren't you? Fine."

Ven is far more important than anything. There's really nothing she has to say to Yen Sid, and for some reason… she doesn't want anything he has to offer. She's the only one that knows about Ven, so there isn't anything new he could tell her.

"I need to go to the Land of Departure."

Sora and Riku exchange looks. It's clear they've heard of it before. "Terra asked for the same."

Aqua hesitates. "And?"

Riku turns on a device which whirrs and spits and beeps like it's scanning. He gives another look over to Sora, this time more grim.

"The pathway is blocked," he says simply.

"I'm sorry, what are you saying?" Aqua leans over, holding Sora's chair to keep herself steady.

"We can only travel through highways in between worlds. Nothing like what you're able to with your armor and glider," Riku explains with melancholy to his voice. But he wouldn't know either - he'd never be able to comprehend how sick she's getting right now. "Why it's blocked can mean ten different things, but usually we find it in our scanner."

The Land of Departure has changed dramatically, that much is true. Darkness has ruled its skies for years, the castle has been disfigured, so maybe something is off. What if it got worse? What if it was attacked?

… What if it fell?

"Ven is there," she blurts out, shivering. She doesn't mean to say it. He's only safe if she's the only one who knows, but… "I have to get there. I can't leave him behind-"

Sora grabs her wrist. His smile is… angelic almost, like she doesn't have to explain herself.

"Ventus is fine," Sora says, even though he has no way of knowing. "I don't believe that you'd ever be reckless with him, so I know he's okay."

She stirs. There's a warmth in her chest that caresses her stomach. Sora is right. If she listens, her heart knows that Ven is fine. She doesn't know how Sora could feel the same way since they don't know each other, but he has a gift. She's always sensed it.

Riku takes turns glancing at each of them. "What's with you all of a sudden?" he asks Sora.

Sora lets her go and situates back in his seat. "What do you mean?"

Goofy chuckles that warm swelling of his. "Somethin's different about ya."

"What?"

"You're just different around Terra and Aqua," Riku says too quickly. "You're very needy for their attention."

Sora interlaces his fingers behind his head, leaning into his chair. "And you're just jealous."

"Yen Sid's, then?" Riku tries again. He throws another glance at Aqua to test the waters and she sighs.

If she had her own Keyblade, her own armor, she could find the Land of Departure by herself and do what she has to do.

Yet the Master would have respected her for visiting his old friend, and accept the wisdom given. After all, she's a Master too, and she has responsibilities.

Making Ven wait isn't worth any of them, though.

Does she have a choice? In order to get to Ven, she absolutely needs her armor, and can make do with the Master's Defender. Maybe Yen Sid could be useful in giving her direction.

… Aqua still isn't sure she wants to listen to someone who lazily sat with his outdated books while she waited for someone to save her. It's not very noble of him at all.

"Okay then," she says unenthusiastically.

"Finally!" Sora shoots a fist in the air while Riku revs the engine. "I'm ready to go. You know, once we get Terra back, he needs to teach us how to make armor like that. It's the coolest thing."

"Sounds like a great idea," Riku says.

"It is," Aqua says softly. She's wasting time traveling the opposite direction.

Leaving what she really wants behind for yet another day. Traverse Town shrinks as they fly up, and she hopes the next time she comes here, it's prettier.

A/N: This chapter makes references to Treasure Planet (2002).

#terraqua #aqua #riku #sora #lea #kh fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfiction #all the final fantasy characters #and my crippling lack of self-esteem #and deadly social anxiety #have fun #my fic

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holeinotomemind · 5 years

Text

Lucien: Punishment

WARNING: Smut, kink, bondage, chains, reads like a dub-con

Also posted on AO3: Here

Summary: I woke up naked, chained and blindfolded by Lucien. He was upset about something I did. If I want him to end my punishment, I must figure out what it was.

Lucien's version and part 1 of 4 of a planned punishment themed story.

Words: 4651

Waking up was difficult, as my mind was foggy and it refused to clear. My mouth felt dry and my back was sore. The bed felt different than usual, maybe even a bit lumpy. A fleeting thought about the bed appeared, but my groggy mind was unable to hold on to it. Perhaps I should get a drink, it will help me clear my head, but it felt like far too much effort to get up.

My eyes fluttered open, but instead of being greeted by the light shining in from outside my windows, all I could see was darkness. Did I sleep through the day? Was it night time already?

No. Even if it was night time, this was still too dark. Loveland City was known for its night view, the skyline filled with skyscrapers and buildings that keep their colorful lights on throughout the night. I had even produced a special report on how this affects the environment and residents of the city as a whole.

My heart started racing, anxious at the odd lack of light. I needed to move, needed to get out. Something is not right. Maybe it was just a blackout? I tried to rationalize it, but it seems too dark even for a blackout. I sat up quickly, needing to figure this out. And that’s when I heard it.

Clinks echoed.

In that instant, the fog cleared my mind completely. It wasn’t that the room was abnormally dark. I could feel it now, there was something soft pressing against my eyes and wrapping around to the back of my head. It was obstructing my vision.

I was blindfolded.

I could also feel the same softness around each of my wrists and my ankles. The ones at my wrists were a bit heavy, and when I tried to move them, the clinking sounds echoed again. I reached one hand over to touch the material circling my opposite wrist. It felt like leather... and something else. Something cold and metallic.

A chain.

My breath caught, heart pumped impossibly fast, alarmed at the possibility of what was happening. I raised my hands, seemingly loosely bound together, to take off the blindfold and froze when I heard a familiar voice.

“Ah, you are awake. Good morning.” That deep, smooth, honey-dripped voice. A voice I could recognize under any circumstances. “Looks like you had a good sleep.”

“Lucien?” I called out his name as I heard his approaching footsteps. “What’s going on?”

Calming down a bit knowing he was here with me, I moved again to pull the blindfold off, but felt his large warm hands stopping me.

“Don’t take them off.” He ordered. I could hear restraint in his voice, something I had not heard for a long time since we were officially an item.

“What’s going on, Lucien?” I asked again, this time, whispering. “Are we in danger?”

I remember Lucien picking me up after work last night, and we went back to his place to watch a movie. And then… and then nothing. I must have fallen asleep like I often do when I was with Lucien. It was a very busy week, so I was tired and looking forward to rejuvenating during the weekend. Did something happen to us while I was asleep?

“No. We are not in danger.”

As my mind tried to process why he emphasized the word “we,” his hands pull mine over my head by the leather cuffs and my back arched until my shoulders hit a wall with a soft thud. I could hear the chains jangling loudly beside my ears and then, there was a click.

“Lucien, why are you doing this?” I demanded in a panicked voice when I realized he had secured my hands to the wall behind me, and no matter how hard I yanked at them, my arms could not get free.

“Good question.” He said slowly as he ran a knuckle softly across my cheek. This time, his magnetic voice was so sweet that I felt like I just gorged on a whole box of chocolate all by myself. I shuddered.

I yanked my arms harder, struggling, trying to get out of my restraints, but all I was able to do was make the metal of the chains clang louder in my ears.

“You shouldn’t struggle like that.” He gently put his hands over my cuffed wrists. “I’ve made sure to use the comfortable ones, but if you yank on them too hard, the leather cuffs may still mar your delicate skin.”

“Please,” my voice shaking slightly at the implications of his words, “you’re scaring me, Lucien.”

“Oh? You are afraid of me now?” He was much closer to me now. I heard him whispering in my left ear and smelled the vague scent of his cologne and a hint of alcohol. Had he been drinking? I wanted to ask, but he continued. “Would you like to escape? Run away from me?”

My body trembled. I opened my mouth, but couldn’t formulate a response.

He traced a finger over my quivering lower lip, wiping away a small droplet of blood from the dry cracks. “But it’s too late. I have given you many chances before, but you have chosen to stay, have you not?”

Lucien pushed his index finger past my lips and began caressing my tongue. I could taste my own blood, but most of all, I could taste him. Reflectively, I lightly sucked on his fingertip. I heard his soft snort before he inserted a second finger in my mouth, this time a little rougher, thrusting them in and out of my mouth.

Despite being restrained by him, I could already feel my body react. Being aroused to his touch was like a Pavlovian response by my body, despite my mind’s reluctance.

By the time he withdrew his fingers, they were well coated with my saliva. I could feel his wet fingers tracing down my delicate jaw to my collarbone. As his fingers dipped lower, I belatedly realized that I was already naked. I must have been too panicked at the sudden situation before to notice.

“Your nipples,” he began again. “They are hard already.” His now slick fingers made small circles around one of them, then I felt a sudden sting.

I yelped. He had pinched it just hard enough for me to feel the pain but not truly hurt me.

“You are very sensitive today.”

I could feel my cheeks heating up at his comment. It must have been because I was blindfolded and robbed of my sight, so all of my other senses have heightened to compensate.

Lowering his head, he took my hardened nipple into his mouth and sucked hard. The borderline painful sensation had me gasping out loud. He chuckled at my reaction, and the small vibration of his lips caused by it sent a small current through my body. I called out his name.

I could hear a slight pop when he released his mouth, he blew softly at my now wet nipple before moving on to the other side, and I shuddered. Between my legs, I could feel myself dampening. I rubbed my thighs together, relishing on the slight friction at my most sensitive area.

The bed shifted a little and Lucien moved to let my arms down. I felt a slight tug on my scalp as he grabbed a fistful of my hair, angling my head towards him, his lips met mine. His kiss was slow but deep as his tongue caressed every inch inside my mouth. I moan against his mouth, and my hands reached up to his chest, grabbing on to his shirt. The chains clanged again at my every movement, reminding me I was still bound and very much at his mercy.

When he ended the kiss, I was breathless, panting, my scalp stinging from the grip he still had on my hair. And then I heard it.

The sound of a zipper opening.

My mind suddenly cleared, no longer focused the arousal I’d previously felt. Although Lucien had always been controlling in bed, whenever he wanted to try something different, he would always coax me into agreeing to it. But this was different. What he did today, chaining and blindfolding me, he had never talked about doing before. Something didn’t feel right about this.

“Wait,” I said, trying to halt him. “Lucien, please untie me. We need to talk. Why are you doing this to me?”

“Hmmm… Why, indeed.” His voice sounded deeper than before, and his grip on my hair tightened. “Shall I give you a hint?”

I nodded.

“When I went to your place on Monday, there was something under your bed.” His voice was so chilling and emotionless it made me shudder. “Something that should not belong there.”

Under my bed? Why was he looking under my bed? I was puzzled but decided to ask the more important question instead.

“Monday?” Taken aback at what he revealed, I asked. “Wasn’t that four days ago?”

If something happened at the beginning of the week, why was he bringing it up only now?

“Yes… Well, five now.” As if he could read my mind, he continued. “It is now Saturday morning, and you have the whole weekend off. No one will be suspicious if you don’t return their calls.”

“The… whole weekend?” Does that mean he was upset with me for the entire work week before he acted on it and he didn’t show any of it this entire time? And more importantly, did he plan on doing this since then?

I felt a chill down my spine at the thought of him meticulously planning all this for half of the week and all the while I didn’t have an inkling of it even though we see each other every day.

“Yes.” He paused. “So have you figured out why I am doing this now?”

I stopped to think for a moment but shook my head.

“That’s okay.” His voice back to the chilling tone. “You can have as much time as you want to think about it.”

I was about to say something more when the hand he was using to grip my hair increased its pressure and was now pushing my head down. And then, I felt the tip of his hot hard length pressed against my mouth.

Surprised at the suddenness in how it changed from talking to this, I pursed my lips closed, and my hands pushed at his trousered thighs, attempting to move away from him. Noticing my intention, his hand clenched my hair even tighter to keep me in place. He gripped my jaw with his other hand and increased the pressure of his fingers just enough to make my jaw slack and my mouth open.

Lucien gently pushed the tip of his erection into my mouth, and I had no choice but to open it wider to accommodate him. He was rarely this forceful in his attitude. Persistent perhaps, but not forceful. Instinct told me that I should not fight him on this. I wasn’t sure what else he would do if I did.

Raising my hands to wrap my fingers around the base of his cock, I flicked my tongue over the tip of his length and started to suck on it gently. I stroked his length as I took him, inch by inch, further into my mouth and I heard him let out a pleasured sigh. He loosened his grip on my hair, but his other hand remained at my jaw.

“Is this how I taught you?” His voice still chilling even though I could hear that he was breathing heavily. “How will you be able to please any man with this?”

I frowned at his scolding. Something was off in what he said, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. But this wasn’t the right time to be thinking about that. I had to concentrate. Sucking harder, I swirled my tongue around his length. He let out a groan, and I took it as encouragement.

I took his entire length in and then slowly retreated, sucking hard, gently grazing the underside with just a little bit of teeth. I could feel his body shudder, so I repeated the action over and over again until with one yell, he released his hot sticky liquid inside my mouth.

He softened inside my mouth after releasing but made no move to pull away from me. Confused, I did not dare to move an inch until I felt him stroking my throat. Only when I involuntarily swallowed every drop of his load did he withdraw from my mouth.

“Good girl.” He praised, brushing his knuckles against my cheek.

The sound of him closing his zipper indicated he probably wasn’t planning on entering me soon. I sat on my knees, unsure of what to do next. I wanted to press him about the reason why he was upset with me and about the thing that was under my bed, but it seemed like he was in no mood in making this easy.

His took hold of my wrists, and I heard the cuffs unlock, but before I was able to let out a sigh of relief, he pulled my right hand towards my ankle and once again, I heard a click. He did the same with my other hand. Click.

He pushed me back onto the bed, and this time, I found myself in the most embarrassing of positions. Arms lied on either side of my body, and my wrists cuffed to my ankles, I had no choice but to keep my knees bent, legs spread wide apart and my drenched sex completely exposed to him.

“Lucien,” I panicked at the humiliating new position. “I’m sorry for whatever that was under my bed, so, please… just release me? This is too embarrassing.”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” His finger traced up and down along my inner thigh as he chuckled. “You look lovely like this. Like a beautiful pinned butterfly.”

At once, I recalled the story he told me before, about the artist and the butterfly. I never heard the ending as I fell asleep before he finished, but I remembered that the artist had captured the beautiful creature, caging it in fear of losing it.

Was that what he was trying to do? Cage me?

“Besides,” he continued, voice once again in that chilling tone, “you still haven’t figured out why I’m doing this, have you?”

I shook my head no. This week had been such a hectic one that I barely had the time to do the laundry, let alone tidy up the house and look under the bed. What could possibly be there to get Lucien all upset?

“Can’t you just tell me what it was?”

“What would be the fun in that if I do?” The hand that was previously tracing my thigh moved to cup my sex, then in a mock surprised voice, he said, “Oh. You bad girl. How did you get so wet? I haven’t even done anything yet. Or did you just liked the taste of me this much?”

He parted my slick folds and slipped a long slender digit inside me with ease as if to demonstrate how ready I was for him. His finger moved in and out of me as I bit my lower lip in an attempt to stifle my moans. But Lucien never liked it when I tried to keep my voice down, and as if punishing me for trying to do so, he added a second finger and then a third.

I was no longer able to control my voice, and every time he curls his fingers inside me, stroking that most sensitive spot, my hips buckled. Tension kept building in me, and I felt like I was like a tight string ready to snap. I was close.

And then, everything stopped.

“L-Lucien!” I whimpered his name in frustration as he withdrew his fingers from my needy core.

“Oh, how forgetful of me. I promised my co-worker that I would finish compiling the research document and send it to him this morning.” He exclaimed as if nothing happened. The weight on the bed shifted, and I heard his distancing footsteps.

“You’re not going to just leave me like this are you?” I asked in horror. He can’t do this, can he? He can’t just get me to the brink of release and then just leave.

“No. I won’t be leaving you like this.” He chuckled. “I’ll be working over at my desk, so I’ll be watching you like this.”

“But Lucien, you can’t--” I started to protest.

“I won’t be able to work with you chattering though.” He walked back to me and whispered in his deep voice, “Should I gag you?”

I shut my mouth immediately, shaking my head no. I don’t want to be gagged.

“Good. Perhaps you can take this time while I work to think about what is it that you have done.” He stroked my face before walking away. The hand that he used was the same one he had thrusting in me just a minute ago, and I swore he did it on purpose so that I can smell my own arousal on my face.

Several minutes later, I heard him pull out a chair, and then he started typing on the keyboard.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. Is he really leaving me like this to do work?

My sex throbbed, burning in need for him, to be filled by him and yet there was nothing I can do. I tried to rub my thighs together for some relief, but with my ankles tied to my wrists, my legs spread, I could barely close them let alone rub them to cause the friction I so desperately needed to feel. I wiggle my hips around, hoping for something to brush my dripping sex against something, but it soon proved impossible with the position I was in.

I whimpered in frustration.

Lucien reacted by chuckling at me but did nothing else to help.

It felt like forever before my desire subsided that I could finally think straight and Lucien seemed to finally remembered that his naked girlfriend was still tied up on the bed. He walked towards me, and I felt the bed dip as he climbed on.

“So, do you have an answer yet?” He asked.

In the frustration of my throbbing desire not being satisfied, I was unable to think straight at all, let alone figure out the answer to the reason for my punishment. And yes, I realized now without a doubt that he was punishing me for something.

“Did I stand you up on a date?” I had no clue what the reason was, but I had an inkling that he wouldn’t let this go until he got an answer. So I took a stab in the dark and prayed for it to be right.

Without warning, I felt a sudden pinch on my nipple and yelped.

“Wrong answer.” He trailed his hand over my stomach and towards my sex again, reigniting my desire.

This time, he played with my clit, making small circles with just the right amount of pressure then he would flick at it before repeating the process over and over again. The mixed pleasure and pain had me thrashing my head side to side, and my hips buckling uncontrollably.

And then everything stopped again.

I opened my mouth begging for him to give me the release I was so desperate for, but he refused. “This is not how it works.”

I whimpered, frustrated as he went back to his computer to work.

Lucien had the patience of a true devil, and he repeated the process over and over again that I lost count how many times I was brought to the brink of my climax just to be left hanging as he went back to typing on his keyboard.

Some times, he would even tease me with his own erection, rubbing it against my dripping folds and sensitive clit, only to finish himself off with my hand and releasing his load on my stomach before walking away.

I felt like I would go crazy if this continued. I wracked my brain, trying to figure out the answer he was looking for but failed every time. It wasn’t because I stood him up, wasn’t because I forgot to do something I promised to do, wasn’t because I spent time with Kiro, who was the only male friend I saw in the last two weeks outside of work, and it wasn’t because I fell asleep on the couch one too many times.

My guesses got increasingly ridiculous as I got more desperate that I started listing out small insignificant things that I did in the last two weeks until I got a positive response when I yelled out “Laundry” as he was about to return to his desk once again.

“Ah, it seems like you may be starting to remember.” His voice chilled even though I was getting close to the answer he wanted.

I thought hard about my laundry, about what in my laundry could have set off Lucien. And then, it dawned on me.

“The boxers!” I rasped out.

The room was suddenly so quiet it was eerie. And then, he climbed back on the bed between my wide spread legs.

“Yes, the boxers.” He sneered. I had never heard his voice this menacing before. If I wasn’t terrified before this, I was now.

“Lucien, you’ve mistaken! The boxers were--” I tried to explain but was suddenly cut off when his hand covered my mouth, gripping my chin with his long fingers.

“Shhh… you’ve got the correct answer. Now, you can have your reward.”

I heard the sound of his belt buckle, then his zipper before I felt his hard length naked against my drenched sex. I knew I should be protesting about his hand over my mouth, but I was too desperate for him to be inside me that I simply didn’t care.

He pushed his full length inside me with one powerful thrust, and I came apart. My muscles convulsed around his cock, and my back arched as energy exploded within me. My screams of release would have been so loud if he hadn’t had his hand over my mouth.

Perhaps it was due to being taken to the brink and denied release so many times before when I finally was allowed to climax, it was the most powerful one I had ever experienced. I was left breathless and boneless that I could barely move a finger.

But Lucien wasn’t done with me.

He began to pull back, only to slowly enter me again, moving in and out of me at an excruciatingly slow pace. Having just came down from an intense climax, I appreciated the slow pace at first, but soon it was no longer enough. I yearned for him to move faster and harder in me and when he seemed to insist on keeping this pace, I ground my hips against him in an attempt to make him lose that infuriating control of his.

“Remember who is inside you right now. Remember who is giving you this intense pleasure.” He bent down to whisper in my ear.

Perhaps my plan on making him lose control worked or perhaps he had enough of torturing me, Lucien picked up his pace and began thrusting his hips in a much faster, more powerful rhythm.

He released my mouth, seemingly no longer caring if I would say something he didn’t want to hear and probably knowing that nothing coherent could come out of my mouth at this point.

I screamed his name as electricity coursed through my body once again, my back bowed and my sex clenched, milking his length inside me. In the haze of my climax, I could hear the wet slapping of our flesh mixed with the clinking sound of metals. I felt Lucien thrusting into me in short deep strokes. And then, he plunged himself deep inside me, releasing himself as he called my name.

He stayed inside me for a long time before he withdrew from me. I felt him get off the bed and heard clothes rustling before he returned to my side. Metals clanged again and I realized that he was releasing me from the wrist and ankle cuffs.

Exhausted and unable to move, I allowed him to wrap me in his arms as we lay on the bed. He took off my blindfold, so I was able to see again.

I looked around the room curiously but didn’t recognize the place.

“Lucien,” I called his name and got a non-committal sound as a reply. “Where are we?”

I felt his muscles froze and remained silent for so long that I thought he wasn’t going to answer. “This is a room in the basement of my old private lab that I don’t use anymore.”

A room in a basement with no windows that has a bed and somewhere to hook chains and handcuffs to, that sounded more like a dungeon than anything else to me.

I shivered at the thought but decided not to comment or ask further questions. I had long learned that with Lucien, some questions are better left unasked.

However, there was something else that needed to be addressed.

“About those boxers--” I started, bracing myself on my elbows so that I could look him directly in the eyes, but got immediately cut off by him again.

“If there is another man...” He said in a painful tone, holding my shoulder in an almost agonzing grip. “If you truly want to leave, I’ll let you go.”

He said he will let me go, but the look in his eyes that made me suspect otherwise. Perhaps he would let me go, because he always wanted to do the right thing when it comes to my well-being. However, I suspected that deep inside he might have wanted to lock me up just like that artist did with his butterfly.

I sighed.

“There was no other man. And you need to let me finish.” I said in a stern voice. “You remember I was telling you about this pervert that was stealing underwear of single female residents in our building a couple of weeks ago?”

He thought for a moment and nodded.

“Well, it just so happens that my company was filming an ad for boxers and we got a bunch of them from the client as gifts and research materials. So I took one home and hung it out with the rest of my laundry, hoping it will trick the pervert into thinking that a guy is living with me and would leave my underwear alone. I must have dropped it when I brought my dried laundry inside, and that was probably how it got under my bed.”

God, I couldn’t believe how stupid this misunderstanding was.

He had a shocked expression on his face, no doubt having the same thoughts about the level of ridiculousness of the situation.

“There was no other man.” I repeated, wanting to glare at him, but a yawn took over and destroyed my plans. He opened his mouth with a rare panic in his eyes and I immediately knew he was going to apologize, but I cut him off. “Shhh… I know. You can make it up to me tomorrow.”

I settled back beside him and closed my eyes, tired and exhausted from his treatment of me and the climaxes he gave me today.

I was about to fall asleep when I heard him ask, “Why didn’t you use the safe word?”

I scoff sleepily. “I felt safe enough with you.”

#mlqc #mlqc lucien #lucien #mr love queen's choice #fanfic #smut #love and producer #mr love lucien #戀與製作人 #evol x love

173 notes · View notes

sun-spark · 4 years

Text

One Last Night Before The End

One Last Night Before The End - Numb3rs Fic

Welp, y’all said you like Numb3rs, so have a new fic! Ao3

Title: One Last Night Before The End

Rating: Gen. Audiences

Pairing: David Sinclair/ Colby Granger

Characters: David Sinclair, Colby Granger. Mentioned: Don Eppes, Michael Kirkland, Dwayne Carter, The Team.

Warnings: None

Episode Spoilers: s03e24 The Janus List (Directly); s04e01 Trust Metric (Indirectly)

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Fluff, Angst, Asexual/Demisexual Colby Granger, Bisexual David Sinclair, Missing Scene,

Summary: Missing Scene: The Janus List - Colby knows his name is on that list, and he knows that Kirkland’s plan is for him to go to prison with Dwayne, and for all this to happen he has to lose his family and more importantly his partner. He knows what’s coming will break him, and David, so he asks Don to give them the night, makes up an excuse, and spends the last night they have savoring their time together, even if his partner doesn’t know it.(Emotional) Hurt/Comfort: Colby can’t keep his emotions in check, but he can’t tell David the truth. David comforts him anyway. Angst: You’ve seen the episode, yes?

Ao3 Link, Here , if you prefer.

Enjoy!

“Don.” The man in question looked up from the too bitter and just shy of cold coffee his was pouring at the sound of his name and saw Colby leaning in the room, hanging onto the doorframe. “What’s up Colby. When did you get back?”

Colby didn’t react to the second question, hiding the pang it sent through his chest. He’d just come from a discussion with Kirkland, but Don didn’t need to know that. “Little bit ago, the lead didn’t go anywhere. As to what’s up, not much, we don’t have anything new at the moment and we’re still waiting on some info to come in.” There was something off about him but Don couldn’t place it, so he set it aside to deal with later. “Alright, then what is it?” Colby shifted slightly and Don hid a grin with his drink. It was the same shift the man always made when he wanted to be frank but was trying not to come off as an ass challenging authority, it was an adjustment made to compensate for the years in the military. “Listen, man, David hasn’t slept in two days, and I haven’t either, can I please force him to go home and rest?”

He didn’t hide the grin this time. “Yeah alright, just make sure you two princesses are back here in the morning after your beauty rest.” Colby rolled his eyes at the teasing and nodded his thanks as he went.

David was at his desk in their shared cubicle and he looked up as Colby neared, he offered a greeting as he turned back to his files. “Hey Granger, we got anything new on the bugs yet?”

Colby ignored the painful clenching in his chest and shook his head with a neutral expression as he settled on the edge of his partner’s desk easily enough and to the observer, it seemed casual. “No, not yet. Listen, Don wants us to head home, get some rest, and come back in the morning.”

David absentmindedly offered an “Uh-huh.”, already shifting through the next layers of papers. “David, you hear me, man?” No visible response was offered, so he poked him in the shoulder. “Yeah, Granger, just let me finish going through these files, alright?” He looked at the stack and sighed internally. Judging by the size of it, David’s ‘look through’ would take at least another hour.

“David.” Something in Colby’s tone, something too low and too flat, made the man look up and he frowned at what he saw. Colby seemed normal enough to the world, but David knew him better. To his partner the man looked worn down to his limit, he was normally bright and chipper even in the most dire of circumstance, but right now his eyes were dim, betraying something emotionally wrong, enough so that David was concerned. He set the files aside and stood. “Yeah, let’s go home.”

It didn’t take them long to get back to David’s place, there hadn’t been any question that they would stay together tonight as they did most nights, and David’s was closer. Colby’s car pulled in just a moment after David’s jeep and the senior agent let out a deep breath and let his shoulders fall, finally feeling the weight of stress he’d been ignoring ever since Charlie faced off with a bomber and he and his partner had scaled a bridge to be face to face with said explosives.

Once they’d gotten inside they shed their outer layers – shoes by the door and jackets on the hook. Their keys were tossed on the side table with their phones. Suddenly feeling too closed in and wanting to have fewer restrictions David started undoing his tie, Colby, being the rebellious little twit he was, and hating them, rarely wore one. Gentle arms wrapped around David’s middle as Colby laid his head on his shoulder quietly, almost timidly. David responded by resting his head against Colby’s while he finished removing and folding his tie so he could set it down. “You alright Colb?” Task done, he turned in his partner’s arms and returned the embrace. “You’re oddly quiet, Mr.-always-has-a-snarky-comment.” Despite the teasing comment, David’s tone was quiet – They were both tired and he was genuinely concerned at how off his partner’s mood seemed. The so brief you could have missed it tightening of Colby’s arms around him almost desperately didn’t ease that concern at all, but Colby pulled away and offered a small smile. “Yeah, just not feeling great. Tired.”

David frowned but didn’t push the issue. Colby would talk to him when he was ready, or David would push him when there was a problem, but for now, neither of those moments had arrived. “Alright then.”

He stepped around Colby and headed for the kitchen, calling over his shoulder as he went: “Have you eaten yet?” He offered a sheepish grin around the kitchen archway’s frame before ducking duck around to make tea. “I kind of lost track of you for a few hours.”

Colby swallowed past the block in his throat and tried very, very hard not to break down right that moment. He couldn’t tell David where he had been for those hours, about his meeting with Kirkland, he couldn’t tell him those things any more than he could tell him about the past five years. Oh, how he wished he could.

“No. No, I haven’t.” He forced some form of his normal self to shine through, refusing to ruin what may well be the last night they had…even if David didn’t know it. So, with a small grin and a forced lightheadedness to his tone, he stepped into the kitchen and leaned against the counter by his partner. “And judging by that question, I’m guessing you spent most of the day working through the case. Did you even have lunch, David?”

The teasing in his tone came through and David rolled his eyes, pushing him playfully and too gently to be called a shove. “Yes Mom, I did.” Colby swayed with the nonexistent momentum of the nudge while chuckling, holding his hands up at his sides mockingly in surrender. “Alright, alright, no need to get violent!” David was suddenly in his space and Colby laughed in earnest as his partner mumbled “I’ll show you violent.” before proceeding to tickle his sides and lay a few dozen kisses along his jaw and neck.

Colby pushed at his shoulders without any real force but enough to be felt, play fighting with him and laughing as he arched his neck, notably in no way that made it harder for David to access. “Uncle! Uncle!” The hands at his sides stop their torment and laid flat, holding him gently as David’s head fell to his shoulder, the man’s frame shaking with quiet laughter. After a moment David raised his head and rested his forehead against Colby’s, the two pausing there with their eyes closed, enjoying the peace and each other while they caught their breath.

“D’you feel like cooking, or y’want to order something?” Colby hummed in response to the question murmured against his cheek, and shook his head ever so slightly as not to displace David. “Order something.” He answered quietly. David gave a small nod and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back and turning away to grab their takeout menus by the microwave.

“The usual Chinese?”

Colby could have thrown up from the sudden sour twisting in his stomach, and he was glad his partner’s back was to him so the sick look on his face didn’t give him away. Swallowing heavily and willing the bile to go back down his esophagus, he took a deep breath and tried to maintain a steady tone as he choked out an answer. “Rather not.”

It must have sounded relatively normal to David because the man did not turn around with concern nor questions, merely shuffled through the small collection of pamphlets with an absentminded nod. “Alright. You don’t like Italian, so there’s Thai, Ethiopian, or the Greek place we haven’t tried?” He looked up at Colby questioningly and the man breathed a sigh of relief when nothing more than drawn brows followed, apparently, his inner turmoil wasn’t written across his face. “Thai?”

David nodded and set the other pamphlets down. “You want your usual Colb?” Colby nodded, the tension slowly running out of his shoulders at the normalcy. “Sounds good.” David nodded one last time and picked up the phone, gesturing to the hallway with it while he dialed. “Why don’t you go get changed while I order?”

Glad for the escape and the time to compose himself Colby nodded and pushed away from the counter, heading for the archway. David grabbed him gently as he went by with an arm around his waist and pulled him close, moving his arm up so he could cup the side of Colby’s head with his hand, pressing their temples together in a brief embrace before letting him go. Colby offered a small smile as he went, saying nothing as the phone rang.

He let the smile fall as he walked down the hallway to David’s, honestly their, bedroom, shutting the door behind him quietly. He stood there for a moment, slumped back against the door, and for a handful of seconds, allowed the turmoil in his chest to consume him. Grief, Pain, Nausea, Tears, Dread, Anger, Fear, Resentment, Sorrow, and Love so all-encompassing it hurt, it along with the crushing knowledge that he would soon lose that love.

It was only a matter of days, and he knew it. Kirkland had told him that the only conceivable plan that could work was if he was arrested and placed in prison with Dwayne for however long it took for Dwayne’s contacts to make plans to get them out. Hopefully - and damn it Colby was going to learn to hate that word – Hopefully, it didn’t take too long, maybe a few weeks or months. Months. In a prison. In a hellhole that would be worse than normal given his ‘past’ as a Fed. He could live with that, but he didn’t have to like it.

Five years. Five years he had been living through paranoia, threats, injuries, cutting contact with his family, and never-ending isolation just to get this scumbag: The Mole in the DOJ. He could appreciate the complexities of governments, and the reality that none of them were clean nor deserved real loyalty, but then again he wasn’t doing this out of loyalty to a government. No, he was doing this for two reasons: One – He owed a life debt to Dwayne Carter, and playing this game, giving him a chance at getting out alive and free, was the only way he could repay him. And two – The information the Mole was after would get people killed, dozens if not hundreds of innocent people, not just soldiers but also civilians, killed. That was why he was still going through with this, why he had been dreading something like this for five years.

He hated this, and he hated Dwayne for getting him into this. If he was truthful, he hated himself too, for what his actions, necessary or not, were going to do to the people he had come to love, his found family. He had asked Kirkland, begged him, to be allowed to tell just one of them, to tell his partner what was coming. He’d pleaded to be allowed to confide in the man, to give him the comfort he owed him for what was coming. Even if it was just to tell him something vague, not even the truth of the last five years, but anything at all to explain what was going to happen. But he couldn’t, and he’d known that already. Still, he’d had to try, to hope against hope that maybe the answer would be yes, because he knew that when the false information dropped it would tear his partner’s heart out and gut his family. He knew that beyond questioning the man he’d worked with as a partner for three years, David was going to question the person he’d lived with as his partner in home and heart, and Colby wasn’t going to be there to reassure him that that man was real, that that love and trust was real.

He wasn’t sure if he would be able to mend the damage, even if the lie was kept for only a week, and he knew it would be longer. If he backed out, he’d owe a life debt still, and hundreds of people could be killed because of his unwillingness to do this. It was too late anyway, his name was on that list and he knew it was only a matter of time until they found it.

He wanted to collapse and sob, or throw up so this feeling wasn’t contained to his stomach anymore, he wanted to scream in frustration and anger and helplessness, he wanted….he wanted to lie to himself and pretend this wasn’t happening because he knew he couldn’t stop it. But he’d be lucky if he got another night with his partner and lover, and he didn’t want to destroy what was likely the last they would have by failing to contain the turmoil inside himself. So, he pushed away from the door, gathered his pajamas, changed into them, folded his day clothes and placed them on the dresser, and valiantly ignored the clock ticking away the seconds of this night in the back of his mind.

He sat on the bed and scrubbed a hand over his face, attempting to wipe it, and any tears that may have escaped, away. He’d composed himself just in time too, as he heard the doorknob turn and looked up to see David stepping into the room with a gentle smile directed at him. “Hey.”

He grinned a bit crookedly back at him, “Hey yourself.”

David shook his head with a gentle snort and let the door fall shut behind him as he made his way towards the dresser. “Food’s ordered, should be about fifteen minutes if their track record holds. In the meantime, I’m going to get changed.”

“Okay.” He didn’t say more as he laid back on the bed and crossed an arm over his eyes, leaving the other thrown out to his side. He was sure most people would have watched, and most people would have been lucky to be allowed, but being Demi/Asexual as he was, that didn’t really do it for him. True his partner was beautiful, and normally Colby would gladly watch and appreciate that beauty, but tired and stressed as he was, he was content to simply bask in his partner’s presence.

He didn’t open his eyes, or rather peek one eye out from under his arm, until he felt David nudging him gently, standing between his knees. He peered up at him lazily and David grinned, holding out his hands for Colby to take, once he had his partner pulled him into a sitting position and settled his hands on his shoulders. It was a tad awkward on Colby’s neck to look up at the man, but they were far enough apart it didn’t hurt, so he settled there comfortably, loosely stringing his arms around David’s waist and humming happily when he felt a hand petting through his hair. “You’re a bit worn out Colby?”

He dropped his head forward onto the man’s stomach, mindful to be gentle and not to hurt his partner, and gave a small grunt in response. David didn’t push him and Colby took a moment to take a few deep, calming breaths before answering fully. “Yeah, I don’t feel great. I just want to eat, do nothing, and spend the night together.”

David bent over and he felt a firm kiss press against the top of his head, a gesture of comfort before he stood straight again. “Then that’s what we’ll do, okay? We’ll eat and then we’ll lay down.” He hummed and took a steadying breath before pulling back and peering up at his partner through slightly unfocused eyes. “Sounds good.”

It was at that moment that the doorbell rang and David treated him with a parting kiss to his forehead before going to answer it. Force of habit made him listen for any commotion or sounds of distress, but all he heard was the all too common sounds of their food being delivered and the small talk David was having with the person who brought it. He sighed quietly and pulled himself to his feet, determined to set it, all of it, as out of mind as he could and focus on his partner for the next few hours. Wandering into the kitchen he found said partner already splitting the food they ordered onto a pair of plates and grinned, rolling his eyes.

“You could have come get me to help.” He said it teasingly, already moving to grab a pair of cups and fill them with tea. David returned the grin over his shoulder, “Not a difficult job Colby.” Colby just shook his head, both of them knowing that wasn’t the point, and dropped a kiss on David’s shoulder with a quiet “Thank you.” as he carried the drinks towards the living room. He settled on the couch and David carried their plates in a moment later, setting them on the coffee table and setting himself next to Colby.

“Do you want to watch something?” Colby shrugged in response. “You choose.” David eyed him a bit oddly at the lack of banter over their shows and which ones were worth watching and which weren’t, but stood and walked over to the TV set without a word. Kindly, he chose something he knew they would both enjoy rather than one of his own favorites that Colby would not have. He sat back down and enjoyed the sight of Colby’s grin as the theme for the old Star Trek show started playing. Colby settled into his side and nudged his shoulder with his nose, a common affectionate gesture for him, gaze remaining on the old show. He grinned while he grabbed his plate, pulling his legs under himself and leaning into David’s side. “This has got to be one of the goofiest shows ever made.”

David smiled. “It is. But it is the reason we have Next Gen, Enterprise, and the reboots, among all the other series and movies.” He took a bite of his food. “Plus, it’s not that bad.” Colby snorted but didn’t comment.

Dinner took them about as long as the episode did, and by the time it had ended David was at least slightly confident that his partner was a bit happier, but even then he could still see the edges of something pulling at the man. He debated asking if he wanted to watch another show, but judging by the way Colby was pressing into his side while trying not to disrupt him, he figured it would be better to get them into bed. It wasn’t unusual for Colby to press close to David, in fact, he often deferred to physical affection before verbal as it came more naturally to him, but this was different. The force with which Colby was pressing into him, while not painful, was more than normal, he almost wanted to call it desperate when one took into account the way Colby was hugging himself and the general muted state he’d been in all evening. So, he set his cup down next to their stacked plates and turned towards his partner.

“Bed?”

Colby gave him a small, lazy smile. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

David nodded and leaned his head forward to nudge Colby’s nose with his own, eliciting the single soft, breath filled laugh he was hoping for. “Why don’t you go get settled? I’ll put the dishes in the sink and we can deal with them in the morning.”

Two lazy arms looped around his neck in a light hug as Colby dropped his head, nudging at David’s neck. “Okay.” Placing a light kiss there, he unwound himself as easily as he’d settled and disappeared into the bedroom. David followed him after cleaning up and checking the lock on the door, finding his partner sitting in bed and absently staring at the wall with an expression that seemed blank but betrayed something darker underneath. He stopped just before the bed, watching his partner his with concern.

“Colby? Are you alright?”

The blonde looked up at him with a furrowed brow and sad eyes. Quietly, almost sadly he answered: “I don’t want to lie to you David.”

David frowned, worry coloring his features. “Then don’t Baby.”

Colby’s eyes fell shut and a pained expression crossed his face. He ducked his head, swallowing hard against the pain lodged there. Finally, he settled on the most honest answer he could give, but nowhere near the answer he wanted to give. “No. I’m not alright, and I don’t think I’m going to be alright for a while.” Hazel eyes that shifted from honey brown to sea glass green met his own, betraying the weight of something David couldn’t name. “But I don’t want you to worry about me, and I don’t want to upset or hurt you.” He sighed, shoulder’s slumping as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose for a moment. Sensing he wasn’t finished, David didn’t say anything, and sure enough, those sea glass eyes met his own a second later. “I just want to lay in this bed, curled up with my partner, and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

It didn’t negate his concern, but if holding his partner and comforting him would help whatever was going on in his head or out there in the world that David didn’t know about… “Okay.”

He kissed him as he climbed on the bed, settling on his side of their shared space on his back but still turned towards his partner. Colby followed him easily, turning with him and laying down next to him. David broke away long enough to pull the blankets up to their waists, laying back down and opening his arms to the other. He’d been right about the desperation behind Colby’s earlier pressing into his side, if the way Colby’s legs immediately tangled tightly with his own, his chest flush to David’s side, arms wrapped firmly around his stomach, and his head tucked close under David’s chin were anything to judge by.

David, his range of motion effectively limited, began rubbing soothing lines up and down Colby’s spine, carding his fingers through his hair with the other hand. He would have stayed there, unknowing of what was wrong but happy to provide comfort, but then he felt a warm dampness seeping through his thin T-shirt.

“Colby…?” He questioned softly, not wanting to jar the man. The answer was an immediate tensing of Colby’s arms and legs squeezing him gently but tightly while the man pressed into him with his whole body.

David’s stomach twisted a bit. It was highly unusual for Colby to cry, and David could count on less than two hands how many times he’d seen it. The man tended to grit his teeth and bury everything under a cloying layer of ‘what needs to be done, needs to be done and everything else doesn’t matter’, including the effect it had on him. That he was nearly silent and still even now when only a few moments worth of tears had soaked through David’s shirt to his skin was both telling and worrying.

He ran his fingers through Colby’s hair a few more times before gently cupping the side of his jaw and carefully urging him to look up. Colby’s head tilted up and their eyes met, David nearly winced. Though there were relatively few tears running down Colby’s face, his eyes were telling. They turned completely brown when he was angry, bright sea glass green when he was happy or excited, and every shade in between for every little event and emotion throughout the days. But most unfairly, they only turned to this particular shade, the shade of green found not in sea glass but in the deep waters and algae blooms, when sorrow had engulfed the man’s heart. It was a beautiful color, among the most entrancing Colby’s eyes would turn, mesmerizing and endless, but David’s heart hurt to see it.

He used his thumb to wipe away the tears on Colby’s cheek gently. “What is it, Baby?” He uttered softly, desperately wanting to know what was hurting his lover so he could help, or at least comfort him properly, but afraid of speaking too loudly or too harshly for fear of pushing him away.

Colby’s eyes fell shut as a few new tears fell. He shook his head slowly. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He whispered, more than loud enough to be heard. Swallowing past his tears he told the truth, this one that he could. “I can’t talk about it.” His voice choked off at the end and he dropped his forehead to David’s chest, rocking his head back and forth lightly.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to Colb.” David would have let it drop there and spent the remaining waking hours comforting the man, but his partner raised his head and met his eyes with an alarming level of intensity and gentleness that should not be mixing. Though it was little more than a whisper, quiet, slow and timid, the near panic lancing through it made David feel as if he had been punched in the gut. “I need you to know that I love you.”

They said it often enough in the privacy of their homes, away from prying eyes and listening ears, but this was not so much a declaration as it was a desperate plea to be heard. David just didn’t know why. He knew Colby loved him, surely Colby realized that?

Colby had laid further down the bed than David, the easier to wrap his entire body around his partner, but he wasn’t so far down that it was any great difficulty for David to bow his head and kiss him, gentle and just shy of desperate. He didn’t go far when he pulled away, merely enough to look at him. “I know, Colb. I’m not gonna forget that.”

A low, sad whine escaped from Colby’s throat and David pressed the hand resting in his hair against his scalp just a little more firmly, trying to ground him. Though he kept his tone gentle and his voice soft, he made sure the next words out of his mouth were firm. “I know you love me, Colby, I haven’t doubted that. And I love you too, Baby, that’s not going to change.”

A sad smile played over Colby’s features as his tear-filled eyes refused to meet David’s. “Maybe…” It was a whisper but David heard it. He sighed quietly and carded his hand through Colby’s hair a few times, he then hooked the side of his thumb under the man’s jaw and gently raised his head to face him before turning that hand to cup the man’s jaw and cheek. Colby shifted against him in response and raised the arm he’d had across David’s stomach to cup his hand around the back of his neck, fingers absentmindedly stroking the smooth dark skin there.

David offered him a smile and turned his head to press a light kiss to the wrist now hovering next to his jaw. The action earned him a small upturn at the corner of Colby’s mouth and that was good enough. He turned back to Colby and met his eyes, making sure he held his attention. “Whatever’s going on, we’ll get through it, Colby, I promise.”

The man gave him a sad, tearful, but genuine smile. “I hope so.”

They didn’t talk further on whatever it might be – David unknowing but only seeing his partner’s pain, and Colby knowing but unable to say anything and fearing the pain he was going to both cause and feel. Perhaps both feeling the inevitable coming, no matter their understanding of it or lack thereof, they stayed awake as long as they could, long past the faded twilight of L.A. and into the night hours. Colby, despite being Demi/Ace did enjoy his partner physically, but they weren’t in a particularly playful mood, and so did nothing particularly fun. Instead, they passed the time trading gentle kisses, affectionate caresses, and soft words of love and reassurance. David more than willing to provide comfort and affection to his partner, reassuring him that everything would be alright, and Colby returning that affection desperately and begging whatever beings resided in the heavens that those reassurance would be true.

Colby Granger was arrested the next day. And while he sat across from his former boss and friend and confessed a crime he didn’t really commit, he felt himself die inside. He couldn’t look David Sinclair in the eye as the man’s world shattered, nor could he stand up and gather him into his arms and promise him it would be okay, just like they said. He couldn’t let anyone see as his own heart shattered and stopped beating, and he wasn’t allowed to loose the scream of agony stuck in his throat or the let the tears pressing at his eyes fall – He could only sit there and play the part he was given. He watched helplessly as his family fell apart and lied, ironically for the first time in three years he really, truly lied.

He died sitting in that chair. Without a family waiting for him, a home to come back to, without his partner… what did he have? Nothing. He was once again just a soldier, doing his duty, damn the consequences for him.

He only hoped that at some point in the following weeks or months that his partner would see the truth in what he had told him their last night, and he would, sometimes, in the cramped darkness of his prison cell, allow himself to dream of being allowed to come home.

#numb3rs #colby granger/david sinclair #numb3rs fic #colby granger #david sinclair #angst/fluff #angst/comfort #hurt/comfrot #emotional hurt/comfort #ao3 #cross pollinated posting #the janus list

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