#my countertops shine as bright as my skin

[ne0nthc]

[yummymitzy]

By your side

Summary: Who knew that nightmares could lead to a night of cuddles?

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

WC: 2,473

A/N: I wrote this when I was high off my ass😭

————♡————

Natasha found herself to be incredibly independent and she maintained her routine well. But she noticed that ever since the day you got settled in the compound, she grew more and more distracted. And apparently she wasn’t the only one who took notice.

She couldn’t help it, every time you passed by her, she always felt her heart rate increase as a sudden warmth encases her body. She always wondered what it was she felt about you, it was hard to distinguish.

Natasha hated that you had that effect on her, she didn’t know what was going on, she never felt this way before. She hated the fact that her heart yearned for you when you got sent on missions, and she hated she would do anything to have your smile directed towards her.

It took Natasha weeks to finally distinguish the feeling as love, but the denial built up. Love was for children, so why was this feeling so overbearing? The butterflies that fluttered in her stomach whenever she heard your laugh across the room, she’d always wish it was because of her.

————♡————

It was a late night in the compound, the soft moonlight shining through the windows. Natasha was perched on one of the kitchen stools, her head rested in between her hands while she was deep in thought. 

She was a night owl, it wasn’t something she always liked but it brought her some peace. The nightmares she had were practically burned into her eyelids every time she closed her eyes. 

That was definitely the not peaceful part of being a night owl, but other than that, she loved staring out into the night. It brought her a sense of comfort as the sounds of the city echoed in her ears, the lights of buildings far too bright but still beautiful.

But this wasn’t one of those nights, Natasha didn’t know what changed. It was another terrible experience that the red room had brought her, other than being on the table for her graduation ceremony. 

The graduation ceremony was an experience that Natasha prepared herself to talk about, knowing well enough that it had to be brung up soon. And it did, with Bruce.

But this memory, it was just inexplicable. She felt like the words were just getting stuck in her throat before they even came close to being vocalized. Not that she couldn’t explain it, but she couldn’t express it. 

Sighing, Natasha dropped one of her hands onto the cold countertop, her warm skin screaming in relief once it came in contact with it. Her finger tips tracing the marble lines with a soft touch. 

The half glass of water beside Natasha was completely forgotten as she was practically drowning in her head. Her mind slowly drifted to you, was she ever going to confess to you?

Hell, would you even want to start something with somebody like her? She was closed off with many barriers, and yet you managed to break them all down without even realizing it. You quickly grew her trust possibly ten times faster than Clint, and he was the first one she ever opened up to!

Natasha loved how you were just so kind, you were like a puppy who just got adopted. You always blew her breath away whenever you’d be the first to greet her, or when you’d silently hand her a plate of food whenever you cooked for yourself.

She wondered if that was all casual, it was just you being friendly, right? There was no way you reciprocated those feelings, you were nice to everybody, you just didn’t to leave her out? Natasha honestly prayed for that to not be the case.

She sighed once more as her other hand fell from her cheek, her head slumping slightly as a wave of exhaustion flew through her. She desperately needed sleep, but she couldn’t bare the thought of another nightmare, especially when the images were still deeply engraved in her head.

Natasha’s throat felt dry and scratchy as it felt like she had been munching on saltine crackers. Her eyes slowly drifted towards the glass of water before she reached out to it. As she was drinking the remains of the liquid, the sound of the floorboards creaking with light footsteps echoed the hall, making her ears perk up. Who else would be up at this ungodly hour?

Her eyes narrowed, trying to make out the dark figure that was approaching the area where she sat. The darkness making it especially harder for her when the only source of light was the slight glow of moonlight shining through one of the many windows. 

Natasha quietly set down the now empty glass on the counter, her mind screaming at her to stand up or do something. But her body didn’t make a move to stand up. Her eyes were trained towards the hallway as she waited for the figure to finally step into the soft glow of the night.

It was you. Every fibre of her being froze as her breath hitched, the sight of you as the moonlight kissed your face, enhancing your features. 

She quickly averted her gaze and looked down at her fingers which were still tracing the streaks of grey that splayed across the counter. 

Natasha came to the assumption that you hadn’t caught sight of her yet, as she listened to your footsteps trail past her to the cabinets that held all the glass cups. Soon enough, she heard the ringing of glass cups and water being poured into it.

Her verdant eyes slowly lifted from her fingers, before placing her sights on you. Slowly traveling up your figure from behind, huffing a quiet laugh at your choice of pajamas. 

As she was still gazing at you, Natasha slightly shifted in her seat. The quiet noise catching your attention, as your head shot up from your full glass of water before your lips even touched the rim. 

Natasha’s eyes widened a fraction before she instantly eased up. She watched as your eyes flicker around the area around you both, before they landed on her, and she swears she saw them soften at the sight of her.

“Nat?” Your voice hushed into a gentle whisper, afraid that if you spoke any louder that you would alarm her. “What’re you doing awake?”

“I could say the same about you.” She dodged, her head tilting to the left as her tone held a playful manner. 

“I was just honestly craving for some cold water. But what about you, Nat? You look really…” You paused as you pursed your lips in thought, afraid of offending the Russian woman sat in front of you.

“Exhausted. Especially when I clearly see that the glass in front of you is dry, water is long gone. How long have you been up?”

Your tone voices out your concern as your feet absentmindedly leads you to sit in the stool next to Natasha, your knees brushing together as you could feel the heat radiating off of her.

“Not long.” The words flying out of her mouth almost immediately. The action making you furrow your eyebrows as you turn your head to peer at her side profile. 

She was gorgeous, even in the dead of night, hell it made her stand out even more. The moonlight blending in with her scarlet hair, making it into a more beautiful hue. Her cute button nose and her raised cheekbones kissed under the moon.

“Mmm.. You know you could talk to me right, Nat?” 

The nickname made Natasha’s heart leap, it sounded so good when you said it, she yearned to hear more of it. Processing your words, she let out a soft sigh, her gaze floating away from her pale skin as she stared ahead of her.

“Yeah. Its just..” She drifted off, a blank look on her face as she stared into nothing. Your face contorted in concern on the other hand, your hand hovering over her shoulder before placing it, thumb rubbing tiny circles.

Natasha let out a breath, whatever it was that she was thinking about, you knew it was definitely personal. “You don’t have to talk about it right now, Nat.”

You had an idea what it could be about though, especially with the distant look you could recognize anywhere in her jade eyes. A nightmare, or at least that’s what you assume it is. 

There was a few minutes of comforting silence between the two of you, all you could hear was Natasha’s slightly labored breaths and the sound of your own heart beating in your ears.

“I have nightmares too,” Natashas head snapped towards your direction, her eyes still holding the blank look but a hint of curiosity. She wondered where you were going with this. “I never overcame them. There’s some days where they just packed a harder punch, and other days they just seem to quiet down. But they never left.”

Natasha stayed quiet, soaking in your words as she tries to understand the point you’re trying to make.

“I know you have them too, and I don’t want to push it with you and make you tell me what’s going on. That would just make me feel like a jerk.” 

The hand on Natasha’s shoulder felt heavier, she didn’t know if it was you or because she had just realized how comforting your touch was.

“I just want to let you know that you could always come to me. Even if it would be in the dead of night or not, my room will always be open to you. I deeply care about you, Nat.” 

Tears slowly welled up in Natasha’s eyes as her gaze met yours, her eyes glittering with tears making the green in her eyes pop. 

You take the chance and examine her features once more, the tip of her nose starting to flush a subtle pink along with her cheeks. 

The both of you bask in the silence once more, her eyes moving past yours to stare at your necklace, feeling overwhelmed by your gaze. You understood her, probably too much, it was always hard having to get over a nightmare you had moments prior.

You waited a few moments more before slowly reaching your hand away from her shoulder to her other one, pulling her into a soft embrace. 

Your arms gently encasing her firmly, but not firm enough to where she feels suffocated. Feeling her shoulders slump and her breathing starting to even out, you rest your head above hers, feeling her breath hit the skin of your neck. 

One of your hands reached up towards her hair, combing through her red locks, from her scalp to her ends. You stayed like this until you feel Natasha’s body slump into yours with dead weight. 

Sneaking a glance at her face, you finally noticed she was asleep. She looked so graceful when she slept, as if she never had any worries to begin with. You wondered if you’d ever get the opportunity to ask her out. Taking a deep breath, you reached under her, before lifting her up bridal style, taking her back to her room.

————♡————

You were exhausted, every limb of your body was screaming for you to just jump into your bed. You and Tony managed to save the mission before it failed, but tons of HYDRA agents jumped the both of you in return.

Finally stripped of your bloody suit, you limped your way to your bed. With each step you took, the drowsiness started becoming more overwhelming. 

You fought to keep your eyes open as you draped the comforter over yourself, your body immediately relaxing from its tensed state as you laid sprawled out on your back.

It didn’t take long for your eyes to slowly shut and your breathing eventually evening out. Before you knew it, you were asleep. 

But there was still a part of you that was conscious, even through all the exhaustion. You soon heard your door creak open and close with a small sound of the handle spinning back into place.

Quiet footsteps made their way towards your bed before it all went silent. You felt a shiver run through you as you felt eyes on you. Unbeknownst to you, those pair of eyes belonged to the specific Russian whom you gave permission to your room.  

Natasha hesitated, she was stood at the foot of your bed. It had been a week since you gave her that offer. Every day since then, her nightmares had gotten progressively worse. She had thought about going to you sooner but then would back out, afraid to be a bother.

Tonights nightmare wasn’t any different from the rest, but she managed to wake herself up before the worst came. Now here she was, next to your bed as she watched the soft rise and fall of your chest while you lay sprawled out like a starfish. 

Natasha clenched her jaw, still deep in thought. Should she really take up your offer? She could always go to the training room and let it all out there. 

She sighed, rubbing a palm over her face as her eyes start to flutter. She was too deep in thought that she hadn’t noticed how tired she really was.

Letting out another heavy sigh, Natasha took a step forward and sat on the edge of your bed, scared you’d wake up if she’d put anymore weight. 

But that thought flew out of her mind almost immediately once she felt a yawn crawling its way up her throat. Natasha gently grabbed the covers that you were buried beneath and curled up next to you.

As if sensing her presence, your arm found its way under her neck and around her back, resting on the curve of her waist and effectively pulling her closer to the warmth of your body.

Natasha’s eyes shoot open as they instantly land on you, wondering if you’d been awake the whole time. But the steady fall of your chest and the quiet snores coming from you seem to answer her question as she lays her head down on your chest.

The comforting sound of your heartbeat and breaths lulled Natasha as her eyes fluttered, but yet she still fought to stay awake, wanting to bask in the moment before she has to face you in the morning. 

Natasha shifted impossibly closer to you as her arm reached over your waist and her leg intertwined with yours. She was practically bathing in the warmth that your body gave off, as her nose nuzzled into the juncture of your neck. 

To her, it was honestly a dream to even be this close or intimate with you, especially with her infatuation. Soon enough, she was drifting off into a peaceful slumber, by your side. 

[rroseselavyyy]

play me like a violin - jhs

pairing: hoseok x female reader

warnings: smut, abs riding? c*mshot

Hoseok always thought you were beautiful. He liked the bright smile on your face that made him smile even in his darkest days. He liked talking to you, even though he knew you'd pretend not to remember him the next day. You would always come back to him, after all.

He liked it when you braided your hair with flowers. Even though he never knew their names until you told him while you smoked cigarettes on a dirty countertop, he wanted to be those flowers, just to have you close enough to fill his lungs with your scent.

For someone who couldn't be bothered to remember anything but his busy schedule, all it took was one nice encounter with you to carve your name deep into his memory.

In fact, he became deeply infatuated with you.

But he was so convinced that you were made for him that he didn't realise you were already taken. Watching you throw yourself at a man who didn't seem to treat you with respect made his blood boil. Every time he saw your eyes glistening with tears, he wanted to be the only one to dry them.

It seemed to him that on one of those nights when he wished to be loved by you, a star shining brightly in the night sky willingly sacrificed her life just to make his dream come true.

Your fights with your boyfriend had always been nasty, but when you felt you couldn't take it anymore, you didn't try to work things out. You gave him one last chance, and it wasn't long before he blew it again. You were done with falling into pieces again and again.

Fortunately, you didn't have to worry about that anymore. Hoseok was more than willing to shower you with his love until you were addicted to it. A love more passionate than any lover could give you.

All he needed was a greenlight and you could reach your happily ever after.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to do." You felt like your back was being pressed against a wall as Hoseok grabbed your thighs and kept your legs wrapped around his waist. "It's okay.." You whispered over his lips before your delicate hand found its way to his hair, pulling his face closer to yours, trying to steal a kiss from his lips one last time. "Keep going, Seokie."

He wanted to savour the moment when his nostrils filled with a hint of your scent. Everything about you made him want to be one of the things you possessed, including your sweet perfume. Perhaps then he could linger on your skin even when you were not by his side.

As you were both panting heavily, he practically threw you onto his bed. It was as if he couldn't wait to have you under him, spread out on his bed like it was the only place you belonged. His beautiful eyes never left yours as he unbuttoned his shirt.

You waited for him on your elbows as he spread your legs with his strong hands. He planted a tender kiss on your cheek as he tried to remove his trousers with trembling hands. You bit back a moan as he crawled on top of you, his chest ready to burst with excitement.

"Wanna try something new, beautiful?" Standing on his knees, Hoseok grabbed your wrists and brought your hands to his abdomen. You whimpered at the feel of his hard cock against your inner thigh. His breath hitched in his throat as if an unbearable pleasure coursed through his veins. "Maybe you'd like to get off on my abs? Would you like that, baby?"

You couldn't help but stare at the sight of his body as he waited for you to answer. "Are you okay with this?" He giggled sweetly when you refused to meet his eyes. "I would die for you if you wanted me to. Is that a proper answer?" You couldn't understand exactly when Hoseok changed your positions as you found yourself on top of him in a heartbeat. You squeezed your eyes shut at the immense pleasure you felt as your legs spread open, your pussy spread out on top of him without any barriers.

It took all his strength not to place you on his dick as you slowly rubbed your pussy against his toned muscles. He licked his lips hungrily as he watched your expression of pure pleasure. His fingers, adorned with heavy rings, brushing your sides in soothing circles as his eyes were half closed.

You were mewling his name when you felt Hoseok's hips begin to move uncontrollably to some sort of relief. "I'm yours, baby. Use me-"

Even in the heat of the moment, he moved his experienced hips gracefully, as if the two of you were dancing. You felt yourself reaching your peak as you used him for your pleasure, making a mess of his tanned skin. It was his rough kiss on your lips that brought you to your orgasm and made your body shake uncontrollably.

He made you lie under him quickly. You felt the blood rush to your cheeks at the sight of him stroking his cock feverishly. You brought your hand to his jawline and looked innocently into his eyes, as if you were trying to return his favor for giving you a mind-blowing orgasm. He cursed under his breath when he felt he couldn't hold it any longer. He tugged on his cock until he was sure he marked you with his cum.

You were both tired when he threw himself onto the bed next to you. You wrapped your arm around his waist to pull him closer as he lazily fucked his cum into your pussy with his fingers. "I'd like to take you out on a date. Is that okay?"

You giggled sweetly as his eyes searched for any emotion in yours, you kissed his cheek lovingly to kiss away his worries. "I'll consider it if you make me breakfast in the morning."

[roguerambles]

All Morning

Tekken - Jin Kazama x Reader x Hwoarang

Warnings - 18+Only.

Writer's Block still has me in a chokehold, but with Tekken 8 coming SOON, I wanted to try something short and fluffy with these two.

I've said it before, but there is a criminal lack of Tekken x Reader out there and we as a society should rectify this post-haste--

Enjoy the Rambles!

-

You awoke to the sounds of Jin and Hwoarang fighting.

This was hardly an unusual occurrence, but you had been greatly looking forward to a long, peaceful, lazy morning, and they had promised to behave. You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately trying to will yourself back into slumber--

"You are doing it wrong--"

"Outta the way!"

"Pitiful."

"What'd you say?!"

There was a loud crash as the sound of something in your kitchen smashing on the floor made you wince, and you forced your eyes open, glowering at the ceiling as Jin and Hwoarang continued to hiss at each through the thin walls of your apartment.

One morning...just one....

A thick cloud of irritation quickly rolled over you, obscuring the bright sunshine trickling through your bedroom window. Kicking the blankets off you roughly, you swung your feet off the side of the bed, grumbling under your breath as you marched towards the door.

"I swear if you two have wrecked my kitchen again—”

You shoved the door open and marched across your living room, squinting in the glare of sunlight shining through the bay windows. Jin and Hwoarang’s heads snapped towards you, their eyes wide. The were stood across from each other, a scattered bowl at their feet, their clothes….

…covered in flour.

You stared at Jin and Hwoarang, who both stared back, mutely. You were beginning to think you were still asleep.

It was Jin who spoke first, his voice a low, irritated huff as he stepped around Hwoarang, kneeling down to begin clearing up the shattered bowl on the kitchen floor. “Now look what you’ve done.” He snapped at the red haired man. Hwoarang’s expressed soured as tore his gaze away from you to glower at Jin.

“What did you say?! You sayin this is my fault—”

“Yes.”

“Why I outta--!”

“Are you two making pancakes?”

Both men fell silent once more. You stared at them, then at the cluttered countertop – eggs, mixing bowls, an unholy amount of flour and sugar and strawberry syrup—

“…it was his idea.” Hwoarang grumbled, scowling at a corner of the kitchen that had somehow gravely offended him. Jin shot Hwoarang an irritated glance, while you rubbed your eyes, blinking a few times afterwards at the scene before you.

…yes, definitely not dreaming.

“Do you two even know how to make pancakes?” You asked. Jin gestured towards the countertop, where Hwoarang’s phone sat.

“…Xiaoyu sent us instructions.”

Hwoarang snorted. “Yeah. Instructions. In between all the memes and emojis—”

“They are simple enough to follow, if Hwoarang would listen for once—”

“Eh?! You trying to fight—”

“Why are you making pancakes in the first place?”

Both men fell silent again. Jin stared somewhere above your head, while Hwoarang rubbed the back of his neck. They seemed…bashful.

You folded your arms, realisation beginning to dawn on you, a smile twitching onto your lips. “Guys….”

“We have not had a morning together in some time.” Jin said finally, beginning to look slightly sheepish. “I…thought it would be…nice.”

…God, you adored those beautiful fools.

Smiling, you stepped around the counter, leaning up to softly brush your lips against Jin’s cheek. His eyes widened slightly, the faintest tint of red on his skin. “You’re sweet.” You murmured in his ear. He chuckled slightly, his palm sliding over to your hip.

“Hey.” Hwoarang cut in, lips tugging downwards in a sharp frown, puffing like a bird whose feathers had been thoroughly ruffled. “I helped—”

“Hardly.”

“That’s it, right here, Kazama—”

You laughed, catching Hwoarang’s forearm, tugging him towards you so you could press a kiss to his jawline. He grumbled, glaring at Jin over your head, his arms slipping around your waist. You trailed your fingers over his arm, while your free hand grazed slowly up Jin’s torso.

“So, if this is all for me…” You hummed thoughtfully, and both Jin and Hwoarang paused in their bickering, their heads snapping towards you as you smiled coyly at them. “…does that mean I get to make requests?”

Both men looked at each other, then back at you. “I suppose.” Jin said, stepping closer towards you, his eyes moving over you like a slow caress.

You felt Hwoarang press into your back, his rough hands sliding around your hips, a pleased grin spreading across his handsome face. “I guess.” His voice was low in your ear, wicked promises in his tone. “What is it you want, hmmmm…?”

You already had something in mind.

-

“You are so cute when you pout, Hwoarang.”

The red head responded by glowering at you from the kitchen, aggressively stirring the large mixing bowl tucked against his arm. The toned muscle of his abdomen flexed and contracted with every movement, and he turned sharply towards the back counter, giving you an uninterrupted view of his broad shoulders, the naked expanse of his back trailing down to narrow hips, his low hanging pants snuggly accentuating his perfectly formed—

“Coffee?”

You tore your eyes away from Hwoarang to get a new, equally pleasing eyeful of a half-naked Jin Kazama holding a fresh mug of coffee under your nose. You made an appreciative sound – not entirely because of the beverage – and accepted it with a smile, while Jin rolled his eyes slightly and headed back towards the kitchen to finish making breakfast. You settled back onto the couch, sipping from your mug as you admired the morning view of two unreasonably gorgeous, half-dressedmen making you pancakes.

“This isn’t what I was thinking of...” Hwoarang grumbled as Jin rejoined him in the kitchen. You smiled brightly and lifted your mug in salute.

“It’s what I was thinking.” You tilted your head, eyes trailing down Jin’s abdomen, shamelessly admiringly the way the sun caressed his flawlessly carved physique, the smooth roll of Hwoarang’s muscles beneath his smooth skin. “Although I confess, reality is better than my imagination…”

“Thank you.” Jin said, his tone dry as paper. His large hands closed around a jar of sugar, tugging the lid off – the muscles of his arms flexed and bulged downright indecently, and you knew you caught the hint of a smile on his lips as he caught your gaze lingering. Hwoarang scoffed, but you caught him tensing slightly as he reached into the cupboard, the muscles in his back flexing deliciously, his sharp gaze catching yours over his shoulder.

You were beginning to contemplate requesting to forget about breakfast entirely, but you reminded yourself to be patient.

The three of you had all morning, after all.

[tripthelightfandomtastic]

Blood Moon- D.R.W

This idea came from this photo I found of Vamp!Danny and the fan interaction of Danny saying, "You think I'm scary? I promise I'm not." It's finally October, babes. It's time to get spooky.

This is just a little thing I had to get off my brain while I work on a separate fic but I wanted to give y'all something for this spooky season! No smut warnings here, just clean (bloody, scary, and semi horny) Halloween fun!

Warnings: Blood, hypnosis, and major character death. (Wow, the second thing I've ever written that isn't smut!)

It was fate that brought you up to this castle. It was a song in the wind, the promise of a warm bed. After trudging through the forest, frozen to the bone from the harsh rain that has soaked your clothes and the howl of the storm that's lightning flashes so bright, it could be the middle of the day. So bright but so wrong, it could only be day light, so stark and cold, empty and full of long shadows stretching across the trees in an upside down world under your feet. Maybe this isn't the land you knew. Maybe you were turned around off the path a long time ago. With no moon or stars to guide you home, you follow the light shining through stained glass of a castle on the hill.

It's the only beacon for miles around. You practically crawl up the door, mud covering your shoes and skirts. You don't even feel human, more animalistic than anything. Reduced to only your need to survive, the need for a warm fire.

Your hand slams the elaborate iron door knocker, hands so cold they could shatter like glass. A man rips the door open. His eyes terrify you for a moment, so dark you can only describe them as black, he looks as though you've intruded. No doubt you have, God only knows what time it is. "I-I'm sorry I-I was lost and I just followed the lights to your home, I-" "Dear child, look at the state of you." The man interrupts your nonsensical speech, you look at the rags your clothes have become, "No need to apologize, please, come inside. Let me take care of you." His voice is like velvet.

You nearly fall over your own feet, exhaustion taking hold of you now that you've stopped moving for the first time in miles. The strangers hands catch you, his hands are cold, warmer than yours but cold nonetheless. You look in his eyes, a deep darkness that you can practically see your own reflection like a scrying mirror. His skin is pallid white, dark curls cascading in his face as he's lowered to your level to keep you from falling. His grip on you is tight, your heart is hammering in your chest. He almost snaps out of a trance of sorts before loosening his grip, he looks around behind you before bringing you back to your feet. "You are so weak, let's get you in some warm clothes, I'll draw you a bath."

You sink in the tub, warm water thawing your frozen muscles, a robe is laid on the loveseat across the large bathroom near a vanity. The clawfoot tub with a view from the window that overlooks the castle grounds, acres of forest at the foot of this hill, and the storm rages on outside. The echo of the drips from the water faucet ring across the white marble floors. The house is more like a sprawling castle. It's ages old and seemingly empty. The master of the house is Daniel, the man who brought you in graciously from the cold. He's a strange man but kind and gentle.

You emerge from the water to dry, putting on a very fancy white silk robe. Your clothes are gone, off somewhere most likely to be washed, or replaced entirely, you think. You take the candle that sits burning on the countertop, walking out into the hall. You pad down the hallway, searching for Daniel. You make your way to the large fireplace, warming yourself. You sigh, closing your eyes as you soak in the heat of the fire. It feels like a weight has been lifted from your chest as you relax into your new surroundings.

Two cold hands come to your arms from behind. You nearly jump, turning around in fright only to find Daniel. "Did I startle you?" He asks, grinning at the state of your unrest. You never really noticed what he was wearing earlier. A long dark red velvet coat, black breeches, and strands upon strands of pearls a top of a sheer white linen button-down shirt. He looks so breathtaking, you've never met anyone like him before, and you think you never will again. You chuckle at your reaction. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in the room." You say anxiously. "My apologies, I wanted to ask if you enjoyed your bath." His voice soft and inquiring as he assesses your silk clad form. "I certainly did. Thank you so much, I would have frozen to death out there." You graciously thank your host. Daniel smiles, "Well, I couldn't have that, such a pretty thing out alone in the dark. Who knows what could have happened to you."

You look into his eyes again, they're pitch black, but with the glimmer of the fire, they nearly seem to have a red undertone. Surely not, you think. It's just your mind playing tricks. You take a step back, "I'm sorry, I'm just- you're a little scary." You whisper, a thought that you never meant to utter. His eyes only seem to light up at your comment, not the way you expected him to react. He smirks at your words. "I'm scary? I promise I'm not." Daniel's voice like a song in your ears, the way he smiles, his gentle voice assures.

His hand comes to your cheek, you lean into his palm, eyes growing tired all of a sudden. "My dear, you must be so tired. Come." He takes you by the hand, you follow him, almost as though you were a fawn, following after its kin in the meadow.

He brings you to an elegant chaise, warm velvet under you, inviting you closer. You're so close to him, you hardly think how this man is a stranger to you, how uncomfortable you should be in this state of near undress. It's no way for a lady to behave, but he felt like a flame and you the moth. Like a moon to his celestial body, wanting to be ever closer. My God he is beautiful.

You can feel just how warm you are, a blush in your cheeks, eyes heavy as though you've consumed an entire bottle of wine. "I can see you're tired of running." His voice is soft, deep, and raspy. His hand comes to your hair, pulling you closer. You don't resist. You find a pang of fear deep inside of your heart, one you can nearly wave off, but yet it buzzes like a fly in your mind. You open your eyes to see him looking at you, his eyes scanning your form, "You are divine." He coos, his fingertips grazing your scalp, that feeling in your chest subsides.

You feel as though you're on the brink of sleep, trailing into a dream. Your eyes close, your hand weakly coming to the pearls on his chest, your fingers toying with them as you are entranced by the way he pulls you even closer until your head is resting against his shoulder. He smells like warm spices, pine, with a hint of smoke, so inviting and familiar. His hands bring you onto his lap, you can not help but comply. Your brain feels like it's melting as his hands run down your body. You want him. You want to give him everything. Anything.

His hand comes slowly up your body, and to your cheek, he brings you to face him. You can't resist. You don't want to resist. You look him in his eyes. They're a deep red, almost a cabernet red is the only way to describe them. You're utterly hypnotized by him, you should be afraid, completely terrified of him. But you want to be a part of him. Anything he has to offer, you want to take from him.

"Such a gorgeous creature." His voice dances in your mind, a drunken smile comes to your lips as he brings his hand to your jaw. His thumb is cold as he drags it along your bottom lip, it practically sets you on fire the way he touches you. "All yours." You whisper weakly. Daniel grins, sharp teeth protruding in his smile, fang like teeth you had never seen before now. You know not what this means, but it doesn't matter, not anymore anyway. "All mine." He smiles, eyes delighted as he pulls you to him in a kiss. It's magnetic, your hand tightens around the strands of pearls, as his fingers pull away your robe from your shoulder, your neck exposed as his other hand brings your hair to the side. His tongue grazes along your own, and you want nothing more than to surrender completely to him.

He kisses you one last time before looking at you, "Such a pity." He sighs. You know you should be frightened, screaming and clawing away, but you don't. You don't want to. "This world is far too cruel to beautiful things such as yourself. I'll show you a tender mercy." He rasps.

His arms are so strong they pull you to him, your neck to his lips. His teeth sinking into the artery of your neck. Your hands hold the strand of pearls, your eyes unable to stay open, as your body feels numb, warm and sleepy. You can feel your blood leaving your body, but you don't care. It's not even yours anymore, you want to give it away. To give it to him. You can feel your heart slowing, the pitterpatter turning into a distant drum.

The sound of Daniel's lips against your throat and the burning flame in your neck sounds like a lullaby as you begin to drift off to sleep. His hands feel hot on your skin, you relax into his frame, your hands slowly falling away from the now blood-soaked pearls. Like a lamb in the meadow, drawn away by a wolf.

Daniel kisses your cheek as he withdraws from your garishly bloody neck. He lays your body down against the velvet chaise. He stands above you, your eyes barely staying open to see before you, an angelic evil. Lips covered in your blood, dripping down his throat and on to the pearls you once held. "I told you there was nothing to be afraid of. Now get some rest, don't fight it, my love. Sleep well, angel." Daniel's voice fading as you give into that sweet sleep that's been pulling you in since you entered this place. His hand takes yours, he kisses the top of your hand, "Sweet dreams."

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[no-one-picked-maris]

face

Modern a/u, Aegon is a van life “influencer”; (TW: drug reference, smoking, oral (f. receiving), fingering, exhibitionism, no beta, cursing)

MINORS DNI | ; 951 words.

If he even got close to you, it would be all over and he knew it.  He smiled at you while leaning forward slightly.  It’s nearly midnight and you’re both alone, despite the steady buzz of trucks on the highway.  

“You don’t drive?” He said incredulously, his cigarette dangling from his fingers. 

“No,” you said again, feeling a little embarrassed. “I know how to drive, I just don’t do it,” you said, hunching over.  Which you’d promised yourself you absolutely wouldn’t do.  

“All right, calm down,” he murmured, patting your upper back. “Come on in,” he beckoned you inside the cramped quarters - yep. Fucking skunky. Onyx countertops smooth under your fingers, a light grease coating dulling the shine. Gross.  

“Built-in bathroom, shower?”  You asked, wiping your fingers on the nearest towel.

“You’ve seen my reels,” he said, taking another drag and blowing it out the door.  “Why do you want one of these if you ‘don’t drive’? You have to drive it all the time…hell, you don’t even camp,”  

“Something about the small space comforts me.  I guess I romanticize the simplicity.  I have this idea of your life that probably doesn’t reflect reality in anyway,”  you said.

“Who talks like that?” He said, shaking his head.  

“Me, I do, hello,” you waved and giggled in response.   

“Yeah, I guess you do.  It’s kinda cute,” he said.  You blushed at the compliment.  His tobacco wafted in the air mixing with bruce banner already there.   You played with your hair nervously, knowing you were flushed, hot and self-conscious.  Aegon remained standing against his greasy onyx countertop.  Various papers and black-stained clothing lined the passenger side of the cab, another pack of smokes in his car visor, and all the little secrets he kept from Instagram’s view.  You smiled to yourself, charmed.  He patted your upper back again, suddenly close to you.  

“Do you like it?” He asked, looking at your face intently.  You took another look around his van - the vibrant red print of his bedspread in disarray.  He laughed - his fingers began to touch your hair, gently brushing it from your face.  When his fingers tangled themselves in your hair is when his lips met yours.  Not chaste, but hungry and wanting.  Already.  His hand went between your legs and you quickly returned the favor. 

He wasn’t much taller than you, but broader.  You appreciated the soft and muscled nature of him, bright blonde hair on his pale skinned forearms.  It was rough and abundant though nearly invisible. 

“Can I please you, baby?” He asked, rocking his hips into you back and forth. Smiling against his mouth you blushed bright and red. “Let me get you off,” he said, as he pressed his hands against your thighs, impatient now. You nodded, and his lips began to trace down your neck, your chest, your stomach.  He had one singular goal, for the moment.   His fingers came between the elastic of your panties and your skin and pulled them right off.  He spread your thighs apart, exposing your sex so, so close to his mouth.  

“Look me in the eyes,” he said gently, looking up at you with his dark, sleepy gaze.  Yours met his, and his tongue drew a languid trail from your entrance to your nub; evoking a shudder. He smiled against your cunt, his tongue darting out for another taste.  Your thighs nearly collapsed against his face, gripping the cab’s door frame for support.  

“Wait, the door’s open,” you said, and his hands tightened around you.

“Yeah?” he said, and another full tongued lick from top to bottom began.  You tried to will yourself to push his head away, fearful of the semis rushing past on the highway.  Your eyes were locked together as his tongue completed its journey, encircling your nub now.  A gentle kiss.  

“Look at me, baby,” he instructed again before beginning to gently suck on your pearl; sending electric shockwaves through your center.  Your hands left the doorframe and settled themselves in his mass of blonde hair.  You could barely take a deep breath before his attention grew more earnest.  He shook his head against your cunt, sucking in a near frenzy.  You closed your eyes and threw your head back -  

His mouth continued to work your sex, his tongue entering you now.  A tease of it, a test.  You simply shook your legs against his head.   

Gods know what you let out - with each lap of his tongue the coil inside of you tightened, the water boiled over.  Sweat droplets hit your back and you kept pressing against him.  You wouldn’t be able to stop it when it started and his ragged breaths shook something loose inside of you.  Harder now, quicker now, rougher.  

“Oh, Gods,” you moaned out the open door.  He moved one hand up, and as his fingers pinched your nipple your eyes fluttered slightly.  

You giggled, covering your face with your hand.  Suddenly girlish and shy at the end of all this pleasure, vulnerable.  He began kissing between your thigh and your sex.  You finally returned his gaze, feeling calmer and more in control.  “Was that good for you?” He asked you softly, rising up and resting his body against yours. 

His fingers touched your jaw gently, “Beautiful,” he breathed right into your ear.  He ran his fingers down your side.“You're such a good girl, letting me taste you like that,"  he said.  His lips met yours and you could taste yourself on him.  

[wyn-n-tonic]

Did You Think I Had Forgotten?

Word Count: 2.6k Pairing: Santiago Garcia x f!reader (written in third person). Warnings: Unprotected PiV. Talk of murder. Allusion to pregnancy loss (not spoken about in explicit detail). Fucking at a funeral. Author's Note: This may be my favorite thing that I have written. It's right up there with Soft Cries and Sacred Oasis for me.

Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Ao3

He’s got a mean streak.

Deep beneath the calluses of his hands and the surface of his skin, it’s there; golden tan and mean as shit with hard set sable eyes. She’d be terrified if she didn't know any better, didn't know all the shades of softness that warm his cheeks in sun kissed, peach toned blooms.

Santiago Garcia, standing there with a half smile like it’s just another day. Like he’s been around for all this time and all these changes. Like he’s waiting for a hometown hero, movie star style kiss.

She’d fucking hate him if she could.

Not that loving him stopped her from chucking a half full glass of whiskey from halfway across the room. 

He looks down when it shatters at his feet, the amber liquid bleeding into the black of his pants and the shine of his shoes, and looks up at her again. “You still put ice in your whiskey, Sandy Koufax?” 

Ben’s hand fists into his shirt before he can open his mouth again, the starched, black fabric crunching in his grip as he pulls the shorter man away from the mess; the room; her. 

If they were eccentric rich people, this could be written off as performance art—The Scorned Lover and the Man Who Ripped Her Apart. The true bullshit of it all is that he didn’t even have to try. It was all so simple for him, leaving the bed and a note. His cellphone number had been disconnected before he even reached the airport. 

He didn’t even take his fucking clothes.

Back against the closed door, she closes her eyes to fight the welling tears. It’s been two—three?—years, her anger shouldn’t feel like this anymore. Shouldn’t feel so palpable and all encompassing. She got past that stage clinging onto Ben’s hand while his sister and Frankie tiptoed around packing boxes and preparing food like it was a fucking wake. They were downstairs too, she thinks to herself. All that time pretending they didn’t want to fuck each other just to show up here with three rings and an infant between them.

Embarrassment floods her suddenly, overtaking the despair and the rage. A drink. She threw a drink. She threw a glass of watered down whiskey at a mourning man’s feet. She made a spectacle out of her grief that wasn’t even for the man they’d just buried. Of course he was here.

Of course.

This was all his fault, after all.

They should change his nickname to Judge for the way he likes to sentence others into agony. 

She looks down at her feet and then up again, across at the mirror hanging on the bathroom wall that cuts her at the waist. He bought this dress one Christmas, asked her to wear it out the store after he managed to collect his words again. Took her to dinner and then asked her to keep it on a few hours later in the bright white light of their bedroom.

Maybe that smile he wore was for the same memory the dress brings her. But it’s the only black formalwear she has with an appropriate neckline. Tits out in front of old friends at the funeral of another just didn’t sit right.

Pushed forward when the door opens, she breaks her fall on the vanity countertop and swears as she looks up into the reflected eyes of the man who drove her in here.

“Fuck.” 

Who chose black anyway? If this was actually a celebration of life, they’d all be in camouflage and smudged face paint sharing anecdotes of casual racism and laughing about how it makes sense his half functional alcoholism tossed his head against the rocks on another foreign hike.

“He didn’t fall, did he?” She asks, turning towards him. “You did this, didn’t you?”

Santi shrugs. “I played a part—oh, don’t roll your eyes at me, sweetheart.” His eyebrows pinch, hand raised like he’s cutting off the chance of a response. “You fucking hated Tom.”

“So did you.”

“Yeah, but I needed him.”

“And me?”

He huffs a laugh. “That was more that you didn’t need me.”

“Fuck you, Santiago.” There’s venom in her words but they only seem to land at his feet like the shattered glass from earlier or her knees all the times before that. “You’re a piece of shit.”

A step closer, hands in his pockets, and he looks down at her with pity in his voice. “I don’t know what I missed more—your cunt or the way you like to act like one.”

“I'm so glad I burnt most of your shit.”

“Kept the house though, didn’t you?” He asks, closer still.

“It should be you in that box down there.” She regrets it before it’s halfway out of her mouth, brain already grasping to pull the words back in and down her throat. 

Santi leans forward, hands bracing himself against the counter as the tip of his nose smudges against hers. “Fuck,” he breathes. “It's hot when you talk back. Been a while since somebody could give it as good as I can dish it out.”

“Nice to know you’ve been keeping yourself busy in…” She doesn’t know where he’s been, just that he went.

“Colombia,” he finishes. “There was nobody to keep myself busy with, trust me.”

When she licks her lips, she swears she almost catches his too and swallows back the fresh saltwater sobs threatening to surface. “Why should I do that?” 

He stands straight again, palm rubbing up against the grain of his beard like he’s trying to find a respectful way to speak his thoughts. Finally, his shoulders raise and drop just as quickly again. “Nobody had an ass as great as yours”—his eyes dart down her body and back up—“good to see you’ve still got it. Did you end up having kids? Ben refuses to tell me anything.”

“Yours,” she nods, watching as his eyes open against the permanent jet lag of his life. “But don’t worry,” she continues, “he left me like you did. Guess I wasn’t good enough for either Garcia boy. Like father, like son, right?”

Light reflects off the strands of silver in the salt and pepper curls that spill between his fingers. He pushes them up and away, pulling near the roots before relaxing his grip to slide down against the grain of the half grey scruff across his cheeks and he shakes his head. “It was never that you weren’t good enough, mi vida.”

“You have no right to call me that.”

“Don't I?” He steps forward again, less space than before left between their bodies. “My decision was to value your life, your needs, over mine. I did what I thought was best for you.”

She looks up towards the art prints of ocean views hung on the wall, gently swiping at her lower lid, and takes a deep breath. “No, Santiago.”

A beat passes and then another, the tick of his gold Rolex echoing in the silence as his eyes stay on you and yours stay on a fixed point over his shoulder. 

He’s got a mean streak and he’s stroking it with every breath between them. He’ll push until it’s satisfied, masking it with a warm, honeyed citrus scent and a deft tongue until every barrier breaks for him to take what he wants.

And then he leaves for others to pick up the pieces of the destruction that he left.

“No what, sweetheart?” He finally asks.

“No,” She repeats, turning to face him again. “You did what was best for you, Santiago. Just as you’ve always done. Because the only two people in this world that you have ever served is whatever grey faced man who sits in the oval office and—“

“I know what you’re gonna say,” he interrupts. “Don’t paint me like this, don’t make me the bad guy. I loved you.” His head drops towards her shoulder, turned towards her still and he presses his nose into her hair, breath ghosting across the shell of her ear. “I love you.” 

She laughs, arms hugging closer around her body. “You've got a funny way of showing it.” 

“You want me to tell you I’m sorry?” 

Her head shakes and she turns to face him, warmed over by the liquid coal in his eyes. “I don’t think you’re capable of it.” 

Santiago’s lips turn upward as thick, dark eyebrows rise to the challenge. “I am, baby,” he says. “I didn't know—“

“How could you have? Your phone disconnected and every goddamn email bounced right back to me.”

“I adore you,” he continues. “I always have.” He tucks his palm beneath her jawline, gun callused thumb sweeping across the pout of her lips. 

She wants to hate him but she can’t; not when this simple touch feels like the first warmth she’s had in years. Leaning into it against her will, she feels the levees break as a half choked sob claws its way out of her chest. 

He doesn’t even ask. Doesn’t even wait because his body is operating on pure instinct to push comfort onto her distress. It’s why he left before the sun rose. All he wants to do is keep her away from the bad things, especially when they begin and end with him.

He hates even more that she doesn’t even fight it, doesn’t push him away when it’s what he deserves. Because despite all her words, she’s just as in love with him as she was the night before he left.

Mouth opening beneath his, her body molds easily to his form as if she’s done this every day without interruption.

Nothing’s hurried about their touches, no urgency in the way they grab for one another, and neither of them forgot how to make the other melt.

“Santi, Santi,” she pushes back against his chest as his hands make their way beneath her skirt. “Stop.”

“Is there somebody else?” He asks.

“There was Ben,” she tells him rolling her lips in attempt to smooth out the splotched color he wears now too. “It wasn’t serious, I-I—“ 

“You needed somebody warm and sweet and just as broken by me as you.”

“Well…” When he puts it like that. “Yeah.”

Santiago nods, lips pressing back into the apple of her cheek. “That's exactly what he said when he told me. Mi vida”—he shifts his stance between her legs, pressing his hips against hers—“mi alma, I want to come home. I know you don’t believe me.” She doesn’t. “But I need you to.” But she does. “Leaving you, losing Tom…” He inhales deep, trembling lips and soft eyes fighting to betray an otherwise usually cool demeanor. “It could be me in that box down there; and God knows I fucking deserve it, baby. But all I thought about on the side of that mountain as I dodged bullets was you. I thought about what my life would look like if I hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning, if I’d stayed there in our bed and made you my wife like I wanted to. You were in my mind and it put Tom’s all over the fucking rocks.”

“Yet, they said he fell.”

He laughs. “Yeah, well…shot in the head for being a murderer and a thief doesn’t look too good in an obituary.”

“Santi—“

Again, he kisses her. Harder this time and with both hands gripping her hips, he leverages the press of his own to lift her up onto the counter. “It could’ve been me, baby,” he whispers into her, tears buried somewhere deep in his words. “It could’ve been me and I never would’ve seen you again.” Fingers hook into the waistband of her panties and pull. “Never would’ve told you I love you again. I hate myself, sweetheart. I know you never will but I-I”—the strangled pain of relief cuts his words as his zipper goes next—“Let me hold that anger for you, baby.

Vulnerability is his weakness, he yields to it every time. Hard stuff, he can do. He’s stood face to face with war criminals but this scares the shit out of him. She scares the shit out of him. He walked away time and time again from one night stands until she came along and called him a pussy for it. He never did have the balls to actually say goodbye.

He strokes himself in the space between her legs, chests heaving against each other beneath the fluorescent light.

“You gonna fuck me or what, Garcia?”

“Just waiting for you to tell me that I can, my love.”

She barely even says yes before he pushes himself inside of her, bottoming out quickly from the excitement of it all. Before he can even crack a joke, or swear, about the ease with which she takes him, her fingers wrap around the base of his skull. “Muscle memory,” she whispers, pulling him down to squeeze even more distance from between them.

Sex with Santiago has never been just sex. Never something to just get out of the way. To pass the time. Never too mean or soft; rough all around because he was too but tender all the same. Even the quickies ran with that formula, that same slow grind racing against the clock like a well calculated mission. Not this time, though.

This time he’s sloppy, pace stuttering as he tries to catch his breath but he can’t between all the shit flying out of his mouth. How wet. How hard. How many nights he’s sat up thinking about this moment. The way they sound together. The way they smell together. 

He’s coming before he knows it, a grief filled groan right into the crook of her neck. This isn’t how he wanted it. This isn’t how it should’ve been done. He shouldn’t be leaking out of her onto a dead man’s bathroom counter top but here the fuck they are.

Heat blankets her cheeks and she covers her eyes against his stare, bottom lip tucked firmly between her teeth as he pulls himself from between her legs. He says something about grabbing tissue but she’s crying before he can even turn around to find it.

“Shh, shh.” Santiago takes her hand in both of his and kisses the back of it. "Baby, what is it?”

“It's you,” she says. “It's us.” Her head shakes. “It's everything and how fucked this all is. And all of it because you couldn’t open your goddamn mouth to have a conversation in the first place.” 

“I know. I’m sorry, baby.”

She tries to pull her hand back from him but he only turns it upward to continue kissing at her palm, nuzzling against the marks of her own lipstick he leaves as if trying to make up for all the touch he lost.

“Did you see Benny’s sister and Frankie finally got together? A whole baby and everything.”

Everything lights up behind his eyes again as he smiles and nods. “They named her after me,” he says proudly. “She’s one person I haven’t let down and”—he shakes his head—“you don’t understand how close I came to ruining her little life too.”

“But you didn’t.”

They stay there for what feels like hours, small touches to prove reality traded back and forth as the noise that soundtracks their own conversation downstairs dissipates down to nothing.

“We should go.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you really burn most my shit?”

She’s halfway to the door, hand already reaching out to pull at the handle, and turns. “Come home and find out.” 

[meowzfordayz]

as you wish

Nanami Kento x Reader

Word Count: ~600

CW: none

When you tell Kento you want to host a party—cornering him in the hallway between the bedroom and bathroom, mouth stubbornly set, nose almost touching his shirt—he barely bats an eyelash before nodding slightly, gentle thumb catching the edge of your jaw, tone carefully enamored, “As you wish.”

A quiet huff vibrates along the invisible thread linking your body to his, skeptical eyebrow quirked, “As I wish?”

Nodding again, he presses the entirety of his palm to your cheek, breath held as you stand frozen, “When you accepted my invitation to live with me, this space became yours as much as it was already mine.”

Swallowing an undignified squeak, you spin abruptly, toes scrunched in your fluffy socks.

“Well okay then!” pouting faintly.

“Well okay then,” he murmurs, adoring smile following your twirl and exit as you stalk toward the kitchen.

—

A tidy stack of plates, rows of glasses, and a tray of shining silverware lay on one end of the dining table; a variety of liquors, bitters, and an assortment of fresh fruits—cutting board, recently sharpened knife, and filled ice bucket included—displayed on the other end. The entryway’s rug rests flat and freshly vacuumed, crystal fishbowl brimming with caramel and strawberry candies sitting atop the nearly empty three tiered shoe rack. Throw blankets and embroidered pillows decorate the living room’s couches, crackle glazed coasters, flickering candles, and an impressive charcuterie board making up the coffee table’s centerpiece.

“What if nobody comes?” you slump, wooden countertop warm on your bare forearms, languid heat from the oven seeping through to your thighs and shins.

“Trust me,” a low voice interrupts your panic, hands delicate on your hips, “Everybody will come,” gripping tenderly, guiding your flushed skin away from the oven, “After all,” click as the oven light turns on, familiar figure squatting to peer through the soot smudged window, “I baked bread for the occasion,” teasing fingertips brushing behind your knee, fond chuckle caressing the base of your spine as you stumble, “Not to mention, nobody would forego the opportunity to observe Nanami Kento in his natural habitat.”

—

Affection clings from his chest to your back, his sturdiness cradling your cheerfully drunken frame as you hiccup, legs dangling off his lap, bright eyes illuminating his soul.

“Is everyone having fun?” you mumble, head tilt accompanied by the dopiest of grins.

Gazing upward, he meets the amused stare of Gojo Satoru—who promptly gives him a thumbs up, a plump grape covering aforementioned thumb—and sighs, pulse quickening as you sink into the fleeting sound, tugging his arms tighter around your waist, your own sigh entwining with his.

“Absolutely,” he exhales slowly, “We might have to refill the grapes soon.”

“Don’t leave me,” you whine, eyes dimming, raising his wrist to your lips.

“Kiss me,” he rasps, composure melted under the forwardness of your movement, the knot in his stomach Ignite my soul.

“But the grapes?” you gasp.

“Whatever,” he scowls, strong forearm keeping you in place.

You giggle Don’t leave you? love soft and moist as you fulfill his wish How could I? resigned to his fate as your couch cushion for the remainder of the evening I could never.

—

“Can you even feel your feet anymore?” Satoru snorts, gesturing vaguely at your sleeping form sprawled across Kento.

“No.”

“There are no more grapes.”

“Hm.”

“Great party, delicious bread,” Satoru winks.

“Okay.”

“Seriously though, the grapes are gone.”

“I love you,” he whispers.

“What was that, Nanamin?”

I love you.

“Nanamiiin.”

I love you.

“Fine! I don’t like grapes anyway!”

I love you.

[laspocelliere]

Day Five: Stamp

“See something that tempts you then?”

The merchant’s eyes were bright and cheerful as he stood before his latest potential customer, her eyes lowered over a set of mismatched glassware and goblets that he’d gathered up at the corner of his booth, advertised as going in sets for a fraction of their original price. She wasn’t familiar to him, but that wasn’t unusual; since the liberation of Ala Mhigo, the streets had been flooded with hundreds of people on the daily, trying to make sense of their lives now that they’d been freed from the shackles of Garlean rule. Even here, out in their small village near the salt flats, travellers weren’t uncommon, trying to buy and sell and set up their new lives away from the memories of the last few decades.

There was something about this woman, though. Her eyes, maybe, or the way she held herself. Surely she’d passed through before.

“That’s pure rock salt there,” he said proudly, eyeing her up as her delicate hands picked up a small goblet, elegant in its simplicity. “We’re famous for the salt flats o’course, but there’s merchants who’ll trade with us from their own sources, looking for different mineral types. Ain’t nothing in the world like ours.”

She seemed distracted, turning the goblet over in her hands. On its underside, there was a small makers’ stamp; intricate lines intersected in a complicated pattern that couldn’t have been easy to recreate. 

“Now that’s a new one,” he mused aloud, leaning over his countertop to get a better look at what she held. “I inherited a lot from my brother’s place, you see, so this must have been something that he’d bartered for over the years. Couldn’t tell you where that mark comes from I’m afraid.”

“It’s Gelmorran.” Her voice was quiet, but certain. Her eyes were guarded but no less sharp, studying the mark like it held something far beyond an artisan’s signature.

The silence that followed stretched far further than what was pleasantly comfortable. 

“So…interested, then?” The merchant tried to catch the woman’s gaze; something about her had gone still and cold, and it made some animal instinct under his skin itch and fuss.

She was quiet for a moment more, before she set the goblet back down on the table. “No. Not in the slightest.”

She was gone before he could even register what had happened. The goblet sat, innocuous and unfamiliar, where she’d left it, shining faintly in the late afternoon sun.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Why You?

CW: PTSD, panic attack, hallucination, traumatized whumpee, escaped whumpee, some referenced gore from the past

Death Valley

For @amonthofwhump day 8; holiday haunting

-

Wichita, Kansas, 2012

A man who had once gone by Finn Schneider sat in a diner just before midnight, sipping weak but scalding hot coffee and waiting for his breakfast plate to be ready. The diner held a scattering of people other than him - a group of five drunk kids who couldn’t be more than teenagers, giggling to each other, a boy and girl shooting each other lingering looks that told the man that they would probably be kissing before the night was out. 

The girl had stolen the boy’s hat five minutes ago and currently wore it with the bright and shining smile of the triumphant. The boy slid her sidelong smiles. 

How long did it take him to realize what it meant when girls stole his sweater, his coat, his hat? He couldn’t remember, really. At some point, though, he understood that it was the same as a sign waved in the air, interest made clear without words. 

There were a couple of truckers meeting for what passed for dinner at midnight, too. They’d nodded to him when they came in, thinking he must be one of them. He figured it was the eating-at-midnight, the loneliness, the heavy canvas coat he wore against the frigid chill of wind outside. 

Noah had given it to him, congratulated him on your first Carhartt, now you’ll fit right in behind the wheel with me, and he’d worn it ever since. Noah was off on a different job, and it was up to the man - who currently called himself Henry Schmidtgall - to try and fit in by himself. Mostly, that meant saying as little as possible to hide his accent and wearing these heavy coats and gloves and a thick hat.

He was on his way from his last job in Illinois, near Chicago, headed up to Montana. There were some people he’d pick up in Colorado, three or four, and then he’d head north for the border and hope they made it before the snows fell.

Meanwhile, he sat in a diner in Kansas freezing his ass off. The chill air from outside made its way through the big glass windows, and he looked out to see absolutely nothing beyond the bright streetlights flooding the small parking lot. Not that there was much to see.

He hated driving through this part of the country. 

There were no trees to stop the wind, for one, no real hills to slow it down. It blew across the fields and plains and cut like a knife. Half the time he thought if he forgot to wear gloves it would slice his skin right open. This time of year, there wasn’t even corn to rustle.

The waitress stopped over to refill his coffee, and he smiled at her, distant and unfocused. Over the tinny speakers, country music played, low enough to mostly escape notice, occasionally breaking into his thoughts as the singers wailed a particularly emotional line. The booth squeaked a little when he shifted, but he ignored it. 

One of the teenagers threw her head back, letting out a bright burst of laughter that traveled through the diner like a gunshot. Everyone tensed a little, then went back to their soft conversations or - in Finn’s case - to staring at nothing.

Two waitresses argued over politics by the countertop, the cook occasionally chiming in while bacon sizzled and eggs fried in a saucepan to one side. The man who used to be Finn Schneider barely listened to them. He didn’t know anything about American politics and he didn’t care, either.

The bell over the door jingled as it opened, a merry little sound, and he looked up on pure instinct.

Then he froze.

His hands clamped down around the cheap ceramic coffee mug until the heat burned his palms, and still he held on. The chill was no longer on the outside of him, but boiling up from within, traveling up his throat and turning into the softest whimper. 

Luckily, that came just as the chorus of the song hit its crescendo, and the tiny noise he’d made was smothered by she was the one that got away, the one that wrecked my heart…

Hesitating just inside the door was a woman in her midtwenties with black hair that flowed loose down her back like water, blown around by the freezing wind. She had a cell phone up to her ear, wearing tight black jeans that flared out over heavy boots, a thick sweater and the same kind of coat the man who used to be Finn Schneider was wearing over that. 

Finn saw her in profile, left side only, her aquiline nose and light brown skin, one green eye - he was sure it would be green, although he couldn’t see from here - and full lips. She laughed, to whoever she was talking to. “Yeah, I’ll call you when I get back on the road,” She said, her eyes scanning over the booths and tables, taking in the sparsely populated little place. “Yeah, I try my best to be. Mmhmm. Love you, too.”

She shifted, shoving the phone into her pocket.

Finn stared at her, years falling away. If she turned her head, he knew she’d be missing one eye. The right side of her head would be bashed in, crushed bone and brain and so much blood. If she turned, he’d see one green eye ringed in a little line of brown, just the one, an empty marble in a broken face.

He never did quite understand what had happened to the other eye.

He last saw her on Robert’s living room floor, a dead body dragged along on a trash bag with her hair a terrible halo clumped with blood and gray matter. He’d listened to the awful, final sound of her body thumping down the basement stairs, disappearing into the dark. Then he’d seen Robert bring up the barrel with little left inside but bones he’d bury somewhere in the wilderness while hunting for new victims.

What had her name been?

Robert had shown him the driver’s license, made him hold it and smear his fingerprints all over the thing. A smiling, pretty woman’s face with long black hair. Nicole Chumani. Age 24, address somewhere in North Dakota.

Robert had commanded Finn to read every detail out so he couldn’t look away from it. Hair, black. Weight, one hundred forty-five pounds, height, five feet six inches…

Only when Finn had broken down into tears inside his cage, Robert disgusted by his emotions, had he taken the license back and driven her body away to be dumped with all the others. She’d been in California, Robert had said cheerfully, to visit a friend who came out here. She’d been to California to have a nice visit, and she’d had one, and then she’d run into Robert at a rest stop at 3 AM when he was hunting.

And then-

She’d been buried in the woods, with the others Robert didn’t keep in his basement. Somewhere in the woods, somewhere along a highway in Wyoming, somewhere no one was ever looking for them.

And here she was, now.

When Finn glanced down at the floor, he could see the blood dripping and puddling there beneath her feet, bits of gray matter floating in it. Bone, like shards of glass, the slight curve of a skull.

“Just you, sweetheart?” The older waitress called out, a woman in her fifties maybe. The dead woman smiled, giving a nod in affirmation. “Sit wherever you like, it’s too late for anybody to be all that picky.”

She laughed in response, and Finn blinked, watching her back as she walked to a booth, pausing just before it. Bloodied footsteps trailed behind her. His heart stilled as he waited for her turn around - to see that bashed-in face, to throw up all over the table and to have only coffee inside of him to lose - and then it began to beat again. The heavy thump of it knocked the air from his lungs.

She turned his way as she sat down and he realized it wasn’t Nicole Chumani at all. 

There wasn’t any blood on the floor. 

No bone or brain.

He blinked, rapidly, and shook himself like a dog shaking off water. 

She didn’t even look like Nicole Chumani, and her eyes were clearly far too dark to be green. Her hair was too long, although didn’t he read once that hair keeps growing for a while after you die? Her face wasn’t broken at all, wasn’t bashed in and destroyed by Robert’s hammer blows. She had two perfect dark eyes. 

She glanced over and caught him looking at her - staring - and Finn immediately looked back down at his coffee. The next time he chanced a look, she had her phone in her hands, and he knew what she was doing.

He knew.

She was taking a photo of him, maybe, or just describing him in a text to someone she trusted. Guy staring at me, creepy asshole.

It was only-

She’d just looked like-

He almost asked. Do you remember Nicole Chumani? She went missing in 2003? But of course she wouldn’t, they probably had never heard of each other. How many people lived in the States, that he should assume any one person would know about any other? This woman would have been a teenager when Robert dragged a body across the floor in front of Finn’s face.

It would have been fine, if he had died, and Nicole Chumani had been the one who lived. She would probably have done a better job with her life than he’d done with his. 

A plate was set down with a clatter in front of him and he jumped, heart in his throat, eyes jerking up to see-

The waitress, blinking with surprise. “You all right, hon?”

Finn swallowed, once, twice, three times. “I-... yes, thank you.” If he kept his sentences brutally short, he could mostly cover up his accent. Noah told him to, that he needed to not seem like someone who didn’t belong here, but it was hard when he belonged nowhere at all. When he shouldn’t even be alive. When he should have been buried in the basement with the rest. “More coffee, please?”

She nodded, bustling away. His stomach flipped at the smell of the cooked eggs and bacon in front of him, the toast with its little cups of butter and jam. He wasn’t hungry any longer, but he made himself spread the butter anyway, take a bite of crunchy browned bread and salty fat. 

The waitress poured his coffee back up to the top, then glanced up at a clock that hung on the wall near the door. “Merry Christmas,” She said, with a solemn thoughtfulness.

“Wh-... what?” Finn blinked.

“It’s after midnight, hon. Merry Christmas.”

“Oh… ah, Merry Christmas, thank you.” He caught himself before he could say danke. 

She walked back over to her argument over the President with the other two, and Finn ate some bacon with a tongue that did not taste it, with teeth that were barely aware as they chewed. He could feel the woman in the other booth looking at him, still. Wondering why he had stared at her like that.

There was nothing he could have said to ease her mind, now that she was worried over him. No way to say, look, I’m sorry, but you look just like a corpse I once knew-

He had to stifle a giggle, put a hand over his mouth. Hysterical fear threatened the edges of his vision, settled like a weight against his back, ringed him like the bars of his cage. 

He didn’t dare look her way again. Not only because he knew what he looked like, but because he was terrified that if he did, she would be missing half her face again. She would point at him, glaring with her one baleful remaining eye, and ask with a mouthful of missing bashed-up teeth and cracking broken cheekbone what made you so goddamn special? Why did you get to live and I had to die?

And he’d have to say, I don’t know.

He fled into the night a few minutes later, his meal barely touched and a twenty dollar bill left on the table. 

The man who used to be Finn Schneider was in Dodge City before he stopped feeling the weight of one single eye on his back. 

-

@finder-of-rings  @endless-whump @arlinthesnep  @thefancydoughnut  @newandfiguringitout  @doveotions  @pretty-face-breaker  @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow  @boxboysandotherwhump  @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump  @whump-tr0pes  @whumptywhumpdump  @whumpiary  @orchidscript  @nonsensical-whump  @outofangband  @eatyourdamnpears  @hackles-up  @grizzlie70  @mylifeisonthebookshelf  @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp

@whumperfully @pigeonwhumps  @squishablesunbeam  @darkthingshappen @whumper-soot  @pumpkin-spice-whump @pardonmekreature  @d-cs @honey-is-mesi @whump-queen @sowhumpful

[nessieart]

IRIDESCENT GREENS

CHAPTER ONE

Summary: Revna was a little girl when she traveled to Midgard with her grandfather. Though, she can’t remember why. Pairings: ??? x Original Character WC: 2.8K AN: just getting this out of my draft box!!

Previous

Tønsberg, Norway. 1803. Two weeks later.

The young couple that took Raven in – the little girl could only remember that name – had tried to search the nearby villages for any signs of her parents. To no avail, and the couple were losing hope on ever finding them. Who would just leave a sweet, innocent girl to defend herself in the middle of nowhere?

The couple, Jan and his wife Ailin, had two children of their own. Two sons, the older Filip, was around Raven's age, 10, or so it appeared. The youngest, Lòni, was 6.

Said children were outside playing while the couple spoke quietly in their cabin. It was a decent sized home for the little family, one large room with a big fireplace, a wooden countertop lined one wall, a basin for water on the other, and a big table separating the space in the center. Two rooms off to the side of the front door led into bedrooms, one for Jan and Ailin, and the other for their boys, and now Raven.

“What if we never find her parents? Or any relative for that matter, Jan?” Ailin worried her hands together, pinching the skin to distract her from the laughter outside. “That poor girl out there has no one in the entire world. What are we supposed to tell her?”

Jan furrowed his brows, his dirty blond hair falling over his forehead when he bent his head down and blew out a breath of frustration. “I don’t know, love, but we can’t send her out there on her own,” he looked out the window and could see his boys running through the tall grass trying to catch up with Raven, her long dark hair shining in the sun. Jan looked at his wife. They both worried for her, “What if… what if we take her to see Amma?”

Ailin’s eyes grew wide, her hazel eyes shining with worry, “You know what people say about her, Jan. Do you think it’s best we take her to some- some…seið-kona, magic-woman?” She paces away from him and back again, “They say she takes the souls of children to stay alive. I won’t take our children and Raven to see that witch,” she hisses out the end of her sentence.

Jan thought about it for a while, looking out through the window to see his sons rolling in the grass with the little girl. Her eyes didn’t seem as sad today as they had been since they took her in. The light wasn't bright, but it was better than the dull stormy green they were the first few days they knew her.

When Raven arrived at their home, she quickly took a liking to the boys. She was good at helping Ailin with housework and better at distracting the boys with yard work by making it a game. Jan and Ailin noticed the girl was full of mischief, always playing small tricks and jokes with Filip and Lòni. The boys loved it, and they seemed to grow attached to Raven in such a short time.

Jan nodded, and looked at his wife, "she can stay - she should stay here," he held up his hand to stop his wife from any objection, "Kurt said I can take extra work down at the docks. It wouldn't be an issue."

***

A month has gone by, and Raven has woven herself into the hearts of her new adoptive family. Jan and Ailin never planned on having more children, but with the abrupt arrival of the little girl, they couldn't find themselves happier with the new addition.

Raven was a smart girl, for seemingly having no memory of who she was or where she came from. She knew things someone two or three times her age would know. What type of plants help with illness, others for tea, or what herbs are best used for sores and open wounds. Many times did the boys' scraps and cuts heal twice as fast whenever Raven prepared a salve.

She had said she 'just knew', when asked about it. Something in the recesses of her mind giving her muscle memory for healing or taking care of someone. Maybe wherever her home was, she too had siblings or relatives that were prone to injury.

It was a cool autumn evening, Raven was gathering herbs and plants near the forest edge. Filip and Lòni played off to the side, running around tree trunks and branches, waiting for her to finish. While Raven was tying the last bundle of herbs together, she heard a pained shout not too far from her.

She looked around, standing up straight with brows drawn together, "Filip? What was that?" She called to him, and a few moments later, he came scrambling out of the treeline, breath heaving and tears staining his face.

"Raven! Raven, please!" Filips frantic cries reach her before he does, "There's a beast in the woods! It-it has Lòni trapped under some roots!" He grabs her by the hand and begins to pull her along, basket of plants left and forgotten.

"What do you mean, a beast? Filip, please slow down!" Raven struggled to keep her feet under her as she was being pulled behind Filip, breath huffing out as they ran through the woods. Not a moment later, they come around a large tree to see an extremely large beast indeed. Hooves beating down into the earth, sending mud and moss flying with each scrape. The muscles rippled under thick fur as it snorted and shook its massive antlered head.

“Elgr,” whispered Filip, his voice laced with fear as he gripped Raven's hand even tighter. “I have never seen one so close to the village,” he tells her. He then points to a mass of tangled roots that act like a cage, half covered in moss and dirt, and a giant boulder tangled in the mess. In the back of the cage-like roots was a small figure, clutching at his knees and face buried in his arms as his sobs and sniffles echoed through the clearing.

The giant Elgr, elk, reared back and beat his massive antlers against the roots, scraping and shaking the moss and dirt free. Some parts of the roots came free as it brought its head back up. Standing at its full height, it seemed to tower over even the highest tree. Raven crept closer on silent feet as she came out from behind the tree, Filip trying to hold her back, but his fingers slipped from hers. He hisses out her name, trying not to draw attention to themselves.

Raven could see scaring across the beast's haunches and shoulder blades. Thick fur cut through to show skin with healed over deep wounds. What looked like spears and arrowhead wounds, some places across its back still had arrows sticking out of it, but it seemed the wounds had healed over, no longer causing pain. The massive antlers upon the beast's head were long and sharp like sword edges, its black fur deep like a starless night sky only marred by the scars upon its body. The heavy hooves beat against the earth again, and Raven swore she could feel it deep in her bones. The elgr thrusts its antlers against the roots again, tearing away more moss and dirt trying to get to Loni.

Without another thought, Raven ran forward and put herself between the roots and the massive beast in front of her. It let loose a loud bellow, it shook the very ground they stood on. Lòni let out a sob as he looked up. He saw Raven with her arms held wide, her hair free from her braids as it flowed long down her back in the wind. Lòni and Filip stared in awe. They swore she seemed just as large as the beast in front of her. She seemed immovable, set in her determination to protect the young boy she thought of as a brother.

ᛒᛖ ᚷᛟᚾᛖ, ᚷᚱᛖᚨᛏ ᛒᛖᚨᛋᛏ. ᛚᛖᚨᚡᛖ ᛏᚺᛁᛋ ᚺᚢᛗᚨᚾ ᛒᛖ.

The words flowed out of her without a second thought, they sounded ancient and magical falling from her lips, the boys had no idea what she said, but they noticed the elgr raised its head to his full height and his breath fogged out of him in a giant snort.

Raven’s brows were set in determination as she stared down the beast in the eyes, her own eyes shining with unshod tears. She wasn’t going to let this creature cause any more harm to Lòni, or Filip, or anyone else, for that matter. The beast took a step toward her, his massive face lowering to look her in the eyes better. His eyes flashed with recognition for a moment, his eyes scanning her face before he sniffed at her, and a big exhale brushed the rest of her hair from her face.

Guds datter. Du snakker på gammelt språk. The giant’s voice echoed in the clearing and in her head. Raven dropped her arms and brought a hand to the elgr’s snout. He closed his eyes as she ran a hand up to his giant forehead and back down to his nose. A long exhale left the creature.

“Lòni, come out and follow your brother home,” Raven spoke over her shoulder to the boy. Her voice left no room for arguments, and Loni crawled out from his safe haven in the roots and ran to his brother. They embraced and looked back at Raven. “I will be fine,” she smiled at them. A blueish green glow lit up her eyes and surrounded her in waves of sparkles.

The boys stared at her for a moment, their feet stuck in place as Raven quietly spoke with the massive beast as if they were old friends. In a language, neither of them understood, but they felt the power in the words, the magic in them. With one final look, they left and made their way back home.

Daughter of Gods, you said. What did you mean? Raven spoke in that old tongue she had no idea she knew, but once she spoke it, she couldn't stop.

You are no mere mortal, Child. The elgr answered. You may look like the humans, but you are not one of them. It has been long since my kin has seen one such as you.

Do you know where I am from, elgr?

Frode- he tells her. My name, little one, is Frode. And I do not know where you hail from. Only that you are not of this world. Frode turns his head and nudges Raven to follow, so she does. She places a hand on his leg. She is just above his knee when he stands to full height.

Frode leads her deep into the woods, the canopy high and blocking out any sun from entering, whatever light does filter through. It's barely enough to light the way. Raven clings on to more fur as they delve deeper into the wood. He bends his large head down to her and tilts an antler to scoop her up in it. Raven fits perfectly in the smooth part of his massive antlers, and he can move at a quicker pace now that he doesn't need to wait for her small legs to keep up.

***

They traveled for a while, Raven drifting off into a light sleep as Frode carried them to wherever the destination was. It must have been dusk when Raven was jostled awake, the giant creature shaking his head to wake the girl.

We have arrived. He had said, lowering his head so Raven could slide off and onto the ground. She looked around the clearing, keeping a hand on Frode as they walked closer to the tall wooden building. The house was tall and angular, dark wood seemingly reaching up towards the sky the closer Raven walked towards the house.

A plume of smoke billowing steadily out of the chimney made the house even more ominous as she stepped up on the porch, and when she raised her fist to knock, she looked over her shoulder to Frode. He was still at the path that led back the way they came, his head bowed once to tell her to continue. Without further hesitation, Raven rapped her knuckles on the rough hardwood of the front door. She waited on baited breath for an answer, a noise of shuffling, or acknowledgment of her being there.

The door opened, creaking quietly on its hinges, Raven stepping into the cottage on hesitant feet, her shoulders pulled tight up to her ears as she walked further in the entryway. The house was warm and inviting, a clear contrast to the outside of the rickety building. A few boots were piled in the corner by the door, mud caked into the soles of well-worn boots. Above them were knitted shawls and sweaters, hung up on a makeshift coat rack, and a few wide brimmed hats took up the other spots.

Down the hall, there was a warm glow spilling onto the floor, like waves lapping at the shore, and Raven made her way further into the house. When she reached the doorframe the light was coming from, she could see a fireplace with the embers casting a light glow around the room. Candles lit on the counter and tabletops, a few dozen herbs in bundles drying overhead on one side of the ceiling, and the other had hanging dried meat. The room smelled of burning wood and wildflowers, roasted meat, and sweet cider. A large rippled paned glass window was on the right side of the room, the moonlight from outside pouring into the space and filling it with a serene light.

There was an older woman with her back facing Raven, her silver hair pulled back in braids that fell down her back. As she stood, she spoke into the space, “Come, child, come closer.” Her voice was honey sweet and accented, like Raven’s. The little girl walked further into the kitchen, her eyes scanning the room as she approached the older woman.

"Who are you?" Raven said with more confidence than she felt.

The older woman smiled. She was pretty, Raven thought. Now that she could see the woman more clearly, she wasn't as old as she appeared, maybe mid-30s. Her hair was more straw colored than the silver, and it appeared to be in the moonlight. Her eyes were a deep and dark green, her skin fair. She was tall, taller than the people who lived in her small village.

"The people around here call me Amma," her eyes sparkled in the candlelight as she studied Raven.

"My name is Raven," she supplied, "I have heard the children talk about a witch in the woods. Is that you?"

Amma laughed, light and airy, and she placed a delicate hand on Raven's shoulder. "Oh, my dear, I am so much more than that."

It felt like all Raven's worries and problems faded away at the touch of her hand.

"What brings you all the way out to me, little bird?" Amma ushered her to sit at the table, and she sat across from her.

Raven shook her head slightly, a fog rolling in around her mind. Her brows creased, "I-I was…looking for someone." Her voice lifted at the end, almost like a question. Now that Raven thought about it or tried to, she couldn't remember why she came into the woods.

Amma took the girl's hand, and as she did, the Runes that were long since forgotten on the inside of her wrists lit up. Amma hummed in amusement, “Oh, my my. Someone doesn’t want you getting out now, do they?” Raven's brows furrowed as she looked down at her wrists. She never noticed them before, or did she?

“Do you know where I am from, Amma? I have been looking for my parents, but I have been lost,” Raven twisted her wrist a little, the rune shimmering in the candlelight.

Amma thought for a long moment, eyes searching the little girl up and down. She hummed in thought and waved her hand in the air. A shimmer of greenish gold glow came from her hands as she did. “I might have a notion of where you are from, little bird, but it may take some time. To make sure, you see?” Raven nodded slowly, the Runes on her wrist glowed again. “In the meantime,” Amma continued, releasing the girl's hand, “why don’t you stay here? I could use the help around the house and garden,” she smiled sweetly and folded her hands on the table.

Raven was nodding her head yes before Amma finished her sentence, “I would love to stay, Amma, thank you.”

The woman let out an airy laugh, saccharine, and hollow, “My little bird, you can call me Amora.”

[indouloureux]

There is something about mechanice!eddie coming home all greased up and dirty bending you over your coffee table and just having his way with you

how dare you </3

18+ mdni. cw: piv, unprotected sex, manhandling, mommy (/mama) kink, daddy kink. maybe u guys r married. fem!reader

you know better than to wear tight jeans and a pair of panties on a friday night.

somehow, eddie's busier on fridays. therefore he comes home slightly irritated, and he'll bend you over wherever he first sees you — over the washing machine when you were taking out the laundry, on the couch when you were drinking tea, in the bathroom bent over the sink just right after you brushed your teeth, or even at the front porch where you'd been patiently waiting for him; he'd fuck you on that couch, but only when he's certain that everyone in the park was asleep.

when his van parks outside the trailer, there's that loud but faint slam of his cardoor. you're leaning against the tiled countertop with a cigarette in your hand, skirt hanging loosely around your hips, feeling the ends tickle the swell of your ass as you anticipate the figure of eddie come through that door.

it opens, the lanky figure of your beloved coming through the entrance with grimy hands and grease painting his alabaster arms. his head hangs in a loose bun behind his head, and albeit his long sigh tells you he's tired, he's got a bright smile on his face when his eyes settle on you.

"my wife!" he beams, opening his arms. "my spouse, the light of my life, the glue to my walls, the candle to my flame. my rock, my life, my love, my angel, my—"

"hi, baby," you take his face in your hands, his settling over your waist, and eddie wrinkles his nose at you as he leans down for a kiss so innocent his chastity's about to get absolutely ruined in a few seconds. "you smell,"

"i know," he pouts. "and i'm tired," eddie leans closer, his nose kissing yours with the ghost of his kiss lingering on your twitching lips that grazes his mouth, "and i'm hungry—"

eddie's hand roams down to the dip of your spine, running back and forth until he slips it down cheekily above your skirt, thumb hooking on the waistband, palm pressing against the covered fat flesh of your ass that he lightly squeezes with just the tip of his fingers. you giggle, finger tracing the grease across his jawline.

what once was honey beneath the sun turns almost stygian with his pupils blown in starvation, eyes glossing, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. your eyebrows wiggle teasingly, rubbing the gilded band of your ring on his skin that makes him shiver the slightest.

"—and i'm very horny," he murmurs, low voice to a growl. you gasp, faux violation, running your hands down to his chest and fixing his collar as you say,

"you're always horny," he snorts and you roll your eyes. "but luckily for you, dinner's served, daddy,"

eddie's mouth parts and as you expected, he's roughly pushing your front against the countertop, bending you over with a hand on your shoulder and the other flipping your skirt over. he audibly groans at the sight of your bare, dripping pussy; the slick that shines in the soft skin of your thighs, the blushing folds and the engorged clit of your pretty little sex makes his cock jump.

"christ," he tuts, unbuckling his jeans with one hand. you lean down, forearms on the counter, head tilting to get a better view of him unzipping his pants and pulling them down along with his underwear, tucking them just below his ass. "mind if i just fuck you now, honey? can't— fuck, can't handle it any longer,"

"'s alright," you lick your lips. "that's why i didn't wear any panties,"

"shit, mama," with a hand down your spine, he's tugging on his thick cock, slapping the shaft between your folds. you gasp, jolting with your abdomen hitting the sides of the countertop. "you're gonna be the death of me,"

he pushes himself in easily, burying himself to hilt with no predicament whatsoever. your moans entwine, your walls being stretched open, cunt snug on his dick that he's gripping on your waist for dear life.

your shirt turns grey with the grime from his skin, the musk of grease and gasoline strong but if you lean closer, there's that boyish smell of his aftershave and your shampoo that he loves so much (says he uses it so it's like you're with him while he's at work).

eddie keeps hitting that spot, hand keeping you pressed against the counter, moans that ricochet with his in the small trailer. he cups his hand beneath your chin, pulling you up. "missed this fucking pussy," he pants. "you were prepared, weren't you, baby? kept your panties off for daddy so he'd bend you anytime he wanted? still as slutty as the first time i met you, honey."

your tight grip on his hair's a vice to his scalp but he loves it, your back on his chest, cock bent as he pistons it inside you. you mewl, his hand coming down to rub your clit in quick circles as your juices rub over his thighs.

he circles his other hand around your neck, gripping you close. your limbs weaken, submitting to him and just lets him have his way with you. eddie doesn't stop his thrusts, not even when the wind begins to leave his lungs; your gummy walls clench on his dick, his balls slapping against your ass, clit throbbing with his cruel rubs.

"fuck, eddie," you tilt your head, open mouth beside his, swallowing his breaths as your eyes slam shut. eddie's half-lidded gaze pierces through your closed eyes, giving you a lazy kiss on your bottom lip. "god– didn't think being away from you for almost seven hours would make me miss you this much."

"just miss?" he taunts, pulling out until the thick head stays inside before he slams himself in with a loud squelch. "not horny? didn't miss my cock, mama?"

"babe– ah, ngh, you know i do," you're breathing heavily, chest heaving the same pace eddie makes; fast and unforgiving. "you know i do. missed your cock– missed your mouth. missed- i missed y-you..."

he knows you're nearing the edge, with the way your words falter and answer him instead with prolonged moans and high-pitched whimpers that renders your mind a puddle that he continues stepping on. your climax blows itself to a bubble, simply waiting to be popped.

"missed you more," eddie kisses your cheekbone. "gonna cum, okay? gonna- gonna fill this pretty princess pussy with my cum, get you all swollen just for daddy, 'kay?"

he places you down on the counter again, tits pressed against your chest, cheek against the cold tile. eddie fucks you faster, your hair in a tie around his hand, his tangled curls fallen down his shoulders as his hair tie hangs by the ends from his incessant thrusting.

you gush on his cock not a minute later, the wet sound heightening its volume when he pushes his spent in deep inside your walls, mixing with yours. eddie keeps himself inside you, flattening down your poor skirt, feeling his cum drip down your thighs and he spreads your ass cheeks apart.

"'m not done with you yet, baby," he leans down, chest crushing you as he kisses your temple. "i've gotta put my tongue to good use. need to fill your cute little holes, yeah?"

[annesthaeticc]

Hold On, We're Going Home | Benedict Cumberbatch x Fem!Reader

Hold On, We're Going Home | Benedict Cumberbatch x Fem!Reader

| a song fic; Hold On, We're Going Home by Drake and Majid Jordan (listen to the song here)

| RATED 18+. contains fluff, and smut (porn with plot, p in v sex, dirty talking, creampie)

| 4,800 words

| After an exhausting night of attending an awards ceremony, Benedict is nothing but happy to take you home and spend the rest of the night with you and only you.

| NOTE : hey! how're you doing? hope ur having a great day/night! this has to be the longest one shot fic i've written so far, i hope you enjoy the long-ish read! and it has been a while since i wrote a song fic, feels so good to go back to my roots! lemme know ur thoughts about this one! comments, hearts, REBLOGS make my day! <3

The twinkling lights of the city looked so faraway, yet so bright. Everytime he blinked his eyes, it became blurred, like tiny multi-colored bubbles flashing. He tapped his finger absentmindedly against the rim of his whiskey glass, thinking if he should take another sip. His eyes started to focus on his reflection on the glass window, shifting to his dapper vision. He watched himself on the glass, thinking how he looked good. Must be the effect of the alcohol, he thought. He then sipped the last of the contents of his glass, then settled it on the marble countertop nearby. 

The pacing started. His leather shoes started to create a path to and fro, back and forth on the carpeted floor. He balled his fist, then opened it, like he was squeezing an imaginary stress ball. His fingers itched to touch his hair, wanting to run his fingers on it nervously. But he figured Don wouldn’t be too pleased if he saw him already disheveled. He knew his stylist put a lot of effort on getting his curls together, and he’d rather not mess it up. He started to take deep breaths in time of his pacing. He prayed the air conditioning was cold enough to dry the sweat that was starting to form on his eyebrow. 

Finally, he internally sighed as he heard the door click open. Then you stepped into the room and instantly, his nervousness faded. He was then filled with awe with you. 

You looked so beautiful, and he was so damn glad he was marrying you. 

You were like a dark sky adorned with shining little stars, you glowed even more when you saw your man looking so dapper and sexy in his white suit. You approached him, tethering in your heels. Hands sought out to touch him and he instantly offered his hands to you, You held on to his arms, then looked up at him. 

“Wow,” he said, barely a whisper. His voice might’ve caught in his throat, so he cleared it and smoothed his hands on yours, just to make sure he’s still alive and you were still real. 

“What do you think?” you asked before starting to tie his bowtie. 

“I think we should stay in tonight.” he said, drawing you closer to him. 

“Hmm, tempting. But no can do, mister. Car is already waiting downstairs.” 

“I really don’t care if I win it or not, I want to stay here,” he pouted. 

“Me too, my love. But sadly, we need to. Plus we can’t disappoint Wanda and Tim now, can’t we?” you heard him sigh. He ducked his head and leant his head on your shoulder. Despite you wearing four inch heels, he still needs to bow down a bit so that your heights could meet. 

“What if I don’t win?” he asked, the words trailing down your bare skin. 

“It’s okay. It’s all fine. What matters most is that you gave your best and you’re my winner.” 

“Would you still marry me even if I don’t take the little guy home?” 

“Of course I would. Besides, you’ve got a little guy in me, that’s enough for now, is it?” you smiled and rubbed his back in an effort to comfort him and yourself. 

Benedict stood up straighter and beamed at your wording. Just the slightest implication, the littlest whisper of the word that you’re finally expecting makes him smile like a loon. Instinctively, he touched the teeny tiny bump that was starting to rise on your skin, that was temporarily hidden by your black dress. 

“My god, I really want to kiss you right now,” he sighed defeatedly, yet he still moved closer to you. 

“Nope. Not allowed, it’s matte.” you chuckled. 

Instead, he sought out the pulse point on your neck, and there he planted a kiss. Then, he brought up your intertwined hands and kissed the finger where your engagement ring is nestled. 

“I love you, win or lose, I’m all for you.” you said in all earnest. 

“I love you too.” 

“Now let’s get this done so we can go home early.” he smiled then led you out of the hotel suite. 

Hand in hand, you walked through the carpeted corridor with his assistant and his stylist in tow. His security called for an elevator and you all followed suit. His assistant, Emily buzzed through the usual red carpet routine and the procedures and program of the awards ceremony. You intently listened while remaining silent, you nodded and hummed when she needed affirmation. 

Ben, however, was jittery. His hands moved too much and you could just feel the tension he’s feeling. You rubbed his back affectionately, trying to help him calm down. 

“Love, what if you take a drink? Water? Whiskey perhaps?” you suggested. 

“I really want some more whiskey right now,” he chuckled and took your hand. 

“Okay, we’ll have Dominic get you a flask, does that sound good?”  

“Yeah.” he exhaled. 

You tapped Dominic and asked him to get your love a flask of whiskey in the hotel bar once the elevator lands on the ground floor. He nodded and he did so once the elevator stopped. As you all waited for Dominic by the lobby, Benedict couldn’t help but feel a little bit calm. You always stood close to him, almost never leaving his space. He figured it might be because his nerves needed calming down, but then he realized, maybe you were nervous too. It’s for him, as much as it is for you. 

Benedict was all aware that you aren’t used to this. This isn't your line of work and it's completely normal to be nervous. You were more used to the bright lights of hospital rooms, rather than the bright and flashing lights of media attention. He looked at you, and caught you in a moment of anxiety. He knows you as much as you know him. And right now, you need him as much as he needs you. 

"You okay?" he whispered in your ear. 

"I am, though I think I need a quick trip to the bathroom before we go," you sighed. Pregnancy was all to blame. 

"I'll come with you." he flashed you a smile and excused you two. 

"Do you have your lipstick with you?" he asked as you two neared the ladies' room. 

"Ben… " you warned him. 

"Just asking. Besides, isn't that what your pocket is for?" he chuckled. You playfully swatted his arm then left him for the stalls. 

You quickly did your business and left the restroom. You found him leaning against the marble wall, looking so casual. You grabbed your phone from your pocket and snapped a quick picture of him. He was looking away from the camera, and he looked so beautiful. 

"You look really handsome here." you gushed as you showed him the picture. 

"Damn right I do, I even look handsome while waiting for my pregnant fiance outside the ladies room." he laughed and held your hand. 

The two of you quickly made it back to his team and Emily confirmed that it was time to go. Ben helped you drape your shawl on your bare shoulders, making sure you weren't cold. He made you walk in front of him and behind Dominic so that you would be shielded away from grabby fans or paparazzis. 

Soon, you were all driving off to the venue. The traffic slowed and became congested, you figured you were already in the parade of cars by the carpet. 

The car ride wasn't so quiet. You started to crack a joke to ease off the tension. Benedict fought you for being the funniest. You just had to give it to him. He makes you so damn happy even in the most unusual of events. You had to make sure your mascara was waterproof as he had you in tears, laughing like a little kid at his latest joke. 

Emily, Don, and Dominic were also laughing, and by the time the car stopped by the carpet, you were all smiling. Dominic discreetly passed him his flask and he took a quick swig before stepping out of the car. 

As he closed the car door behind him, the screams started to get loud and pierce his ears. He made a quick move to open your door and he helped you out of the car. You thanked him and held onto his hand, while your other hand gathered your dress. 

Among the loud screaming of his name, was yours. Fans alternatively chanted your names as the two of you smiled and waved. The walk on the carpet was so slow, and Ben was worried you might get distressed or tired, given your condition. 

"You alright my love?" he asked you as photographers started to direct your focuses. 

"Yeah," you breathed, if a little shaky. He noticed this and excused you and himself from the press to meet with Emily. 

"Need to stay hydrated," you chuckled as Em gave you a drink. Ben rubbed your back soothingly and you instantly relaxed. 

He guided you back to the carpet and drew you close to his side as you two posed for photos. 

"Have I told you how beautiful you look?" he said under his breath, only you two could hear. 

"Not in so many words, if I recall correctly, you only said 'wow'," you joked. 

"Shame on me, not properly complimenting my beautiful fiance," he chuckled and you laughed. 

"Yeah, shame on you, Mr. C." you giggled as the two of you walked away from the carpet. It was now time for interviews. 

He was beckoned over by E!'s host and he stepped on the platform. Briefly answering their questions. 

"Now we see you've got a beautiful lady beside you," the host said and you heard it. 

"That's my fiance, Y/N." he proudly smiled and gestured at you. You gave the camera a wave and a smile. 

"Rumors are going around that you two are expecting, any comments on that?" 

"It's against my will to share anything private but I'm really happy and proud to say that yes we are," he laughed. They offered their congratulations to him and to you. 

"That must be a dream come true for you!" they said. 

"It is, but it is infinitely better with the fact that I'm doing this with her, that I'm with her," he said. You heard him pour his heart out in a public interview. Knowing him, he wouldn't want to give up any private information about you as a couple, as an impending family, but his words made you blossom. Your cheeks burned red as he gave you a quick glance. 

"Will wedding bells soon be ringing?" 

"Hopefully yes. But I don't know, you guys will just have to find out how soon." he said with a smile. With that, the interview concluded. He marched down and met with you. He planted a kiss on your temple, then linked your hands together. 

"I didn't spill too many beans, didn't I?" he asked. 

"It was great, Ben. You're allowed to say something about me, or something about us. Just watch it though, or you might share something to them that they're not supposed to know," 

"Like what?" he smirked. 

"I don't know, maybe you'll say that I'm actually a great cook that's why you're marrying me,"

"Is that a bad thing?" he chuckled. 

"Could be, especially if MasterChef decides to hire me as a judge," you said. A laugh vibrated through him and you couldn't help but join along. 

Wanda and Tim came into your view, and you rushed to give them each a hug. 

"My darling girl, look at you!" Wanda grinned at you and you blushed. 

Benedict moved in to give them a hug and they gave him their warmest congratulations on the awards nomination and the news of pregnancy. 

"How far?" Tim asked you. 

"Two months." 

"Why didn't you call me?" Wanda glared at Ben. 

"We just found out the other day mum, I'm sorry," 

"You should be!" she huffed and you stifled a grin. 

Emily then turned up from the side and ushered you inside the slowly growing crowded auditorium. Sadly, you had to part with Wanda and Tim as you two were seated upfront. You and Ben promised to catch them at the end of the show. 

The auditorium was starting to become full of celebrities, all looking glam and dashing. The man beside you however, was the only one you had eyes for. You mingled with others but the two of you always, always gravitated to each other. A distance would be kept but only for a moment. 

Then Keira arrived. She was glowing, her baby bump looking glorious. 

"Congratulations!" she gasped. 

"Thank you so much. And wow, you look really amazing!" you said. The stream of pleasantries never seems to end with Keira. She's such an amazing friend. Fortunately, you two are seated next to each other. 

The ceremony finally started and the pomp and pageantry commenced. You had to take a deep breath in and exhale through your nose just to convince yourself that you could go through 3+ hours of sitting and clapping. 

"Can I get you a drink?" your fiance asked you. You laughed with your pursed lips. He looked at you with brows furrowed. 

"What's so funny?"

"Don't go around asking people that question, they might think you're a waiter," you pointed at his white suit and black bowtie. 

"Shut up you, now come on, iced tea?" he offered. Your laughs didn't stop until he gave you a glass. 

"Just wait till we get home, I don't think you'll be making jokes about my suit then," 

"Lucky me, I guess." you winked at him and he kissed your cheeks as the lights dimmed. 

Thank god for commercials. Almost every time there's a commercial, you excuse yourself for a trip to the bathroom. Benedict was all too happy to go with you, til you finally figured out why. 

"I saw that," you smirked at him as he sneakily put out his half cigarette. 

"I know I promised there would be no more—"

"But I know you're nervous and anxious to get home. So it's all fine," you reassured him.

"Now come on, rockstar. You're about to present a category." this time you were the one to give him a kiss. 

"Wait, hold on," he slipped his fingers in his breast pocket and retrieved his flask. He took a swift swig then patted it back to his suit pocket. 

He helped you to your seat just in time for another category announcement. After that, he left and the next you saw him, he was onstage, presenting an award. 

Ben had hidden the nerves well in his smooth velvet voice. His eyes scanned the whole room, but he only found yours. He only had his eyes for you. He winked at you before announcing the winner. 

"How'd I do?" he asked as he sat down next to you. You enveloped his hand in yours and beamed at him. 

"Amazing."

Few more minutes passed, and the best actor nominations were about to be announced. You could feel him tense up and you felt it too. 

"I don't think I can do this," he sighed heavily. 

"Yes you can, love. I'm right here." you reassuringly said. His right hand took your left, where your engagement ring shines. You squeezed his hand and smiled. 

"I love you. And I'm so proud of you," you said. You watched his eyes become teary and it was enough for you at that moment. 

Benedict Cumberbatch. The Imitation Game. The presenter said. 

His name spoken so loud, so clear, in such a large place made him shyly smile. And the people were cheering, clapping. But his focus shifted to you; you were clapping and your smile was genuine. He now knows that he is the luckiest man in the world. He felt so big, so elated. Because you, just you, being proud and happy for him and with him at that certain moment, was special enough. 

He silently wished he could bottle the moment up. Especially the look on you: eyes wide in pride, smile so warm, and your hand that nestles your promise to him, was applauding him. 

You took his hand in anticipation and ran your thumb in circles. The winner was announced and you politely clapped. Though a smile was painted on his pretty face, you could feel his disappointment. 

"No matter, you're still my winner. We could have a drink or two or more later, then have drunken sex, how does that sound?" you offered. He gave you a tight-lipped smile and rubbed your back affectionately. 

"Darling we can't have drunken sex, you're not allowed to drink," 

"But—"

"Actually I think I need to sober up. We're going to make love all night long and I'm going to put another baby in you, how does that sound?" he whispered in your ear and the fine hairs on your back stood up. 

"Win-win situation. I like how you think, Cumberbatch." you said, your voice low. 

Soon enough, you found yourselves clapping along the crowd, cheering and congratulating the night’s winners. A new tension has fallen over the two of you, it was like a veil, a bubble that separated you from the rest of the majority. You could feel his hands all over you, ghosting on your skin, and you seem to do the very same. You want him so close to you, with nothing in between and around. 

He felt like dancing. He felt his body was alight with new energy. One that doesn’t equate to having an award, or any kind of a bloody award. He was going home with you, and that’s all he could ever want and ever need. 

“I know you’re tired but would you like to attend the afterparty?” he asked as you stood amongst the crowd that was heading to Vanity Fair’s afterparty. 

“Would love to,” you happily sighed. 

“You sure? I know those heels are killing you,”

“Come on Cumberbatch, before I change my mind.” you giggled and led him through the throng of people. 

Flashing colored lights welcomed you as you stepped into the room. People were piled by the bar, ordering drinks and chatting. The DJ had cranked up some fine tunes and there were also people on the dancefloor. Not giving a damn if their designer dresses are stepped on. 

He did what he had promised to you, avoiding alcohol and only drank water to recover himself from the amount of whiskey he had drunk throughout the ceremony. Hand in hand, he waltzed through the dancefloor, and a giggle escaped your lips when he had dipped you. After a few moves, you sat down and he lifted your heeled feet to his lap, trying to ease the pain. 

But then a beat started to thump through the room. A beat you know so well. Quickly, onto your feet, you pulled your bewildered fiance and let him back to the dance floor. You pulled him close and started to lip sync the lyrics. As soon as he recognized the melody, he smiled and held your waist close to him. 

“I want your hot loving emotion, endlessly.” you whispered so close to his lips. 

“‘Cause you’re a good girl, and you know it.” his voice rumbled and you could feel it. The vibration of the bass, and his dark smooth voice. 

Drake has nothing on him. You smirked to yourself. 

“Just hold on, we’re going home,” you sang. 

“Just hold on, we’re going home.” he sang the last lyric and you finally pulled him down, meeting his lips for a kiss. 

“Take me home.” you whispered and held on to him.

Ben watched the building fly past his window. The car was moving at a speed, the driver was all too happy to step on the pedal. Ben leant back on the leather seat and exhaled, he closed his eyes and your perfume filled his nose. You were wearing his suit jacket and nestled into him. You cuddled up to him immediately the second the car door locked shut. The drive would’ve been short if Ben directed the driver to drop you off at the hotel, but no, he chose to head home. 

Win or lose, I’m all for you. I’m so proud of you. 

Your voice in his head replayed the words over and over. A smile crept on his lips. He really is the luckiest man. He couldn’t imagine himself going through it all with another woman, or worse, alone. He would’ve been a mess. He would’ve gone home drunk, woken up sick of alcohol poisoning and self-pity. But now, he has you, and he’d rather have you forever than anything. You were worth more than any silver or gold, nor any long standing ovation or recognition. 

“I love you.” he whispered into your hair, you heard it and snuggled closer to him. 

The drive didn’t take much longer. The car soon pulled up in the driveway of his property. He almost carried you into the house, as you leant heavily into him. 

“Come on, let’s go upstairs,” he exhaled, then gave into carrying you upstairs. Once he crossed your shared room, he gently laid you down on the bed. He moved down and peeled down the straps of your Blahniks, you hummed in relief and closed your eyes. You felt him leave the bed and move around the room. You blinked them open only to find him on the other side of the room unbuttoning his shirt. 

“What are you doing?” you gasped and sat up. 

“Getting ready for bed?” 

“What? Didn’t you say we’re going to make love all night?” 

“But love, you’re tired,” he sighed and scooted to the edge of the bed, his shirt hanging open. 

“I’m not!”

“But you were already asleep, I had to carry you upstairs,” 

“I was just faking it, so you would carry me,” you said with a wicked smile on your lips. 

“Why you—” you squealed as he pulled you down to the edge of the by your legs. He wrapped your legs around his waist and that made you gasp. You felt him getting hard against the fabric of his trousers. He leaned down and captured your lips into a kiss. 

Hands started to roam and touch, igniting sparks of arousal and need. His hands, his skillful touch started its path downwards. He cupped your core through the fabric of your dress, and you hissed in sudden contact.

“As much as I love this dress on you, I want it off of you.” he grumbled. You directed him where the zipper was and his fingers started to fumble.

“What the—” he groaned in frustration. You giggled and he looked at you with danger in his eyes.

“You know what, I’ll just buy you a new one,” he said and you heard the fabric tear open. Your gasp in surprise was soon wiped away by his fierce kiss. You rid yourself of the remaining fabric, then laid back down just wearing your lace thong.

He was starting to remove his suit but you stopped him. “It’s going to stay on,” you said and dipped your hand into his trousers. His pretty lips curved into a beautiful ‘o’ and he leaned back his head slightly.

What a sight to behold.

His lips came down on you again, this time with the intention of tasting your skin. He left wet open kisses all over your neck and your chest, paying special attention to the spot where he felt your racing heartbeat. You moaned and writhed underneath him, your nails lightly scratching his back.

His fingers followed his lips. Your hips bucked as he swiftly pulled down your thong, dipped down his head and gave your core a long lick. Looking into your eyes, he tasted and lavished on the taste of your wetness. He then slipped a finger, then started to massage that spot that made you wild. You tangled your fingers into his hair, pulling him to where you wanted him to be. He groaned and closed his eyes.

“Ben, fuck,” you moaned as he hit that spot over and over.

“Come on baby. I want you to cum on my tongue.”

So close. So deliciously close. One last flick of masterful tongue, he had you coming. A gush of wetness flooded through you, he made you squirt.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled.

He backed away and slipped out his finger in fear of making you oversensitive. When you’ve calmed down a bit, he lightly kissed your wet pussy, and tapped it with his hand. You drew in a sharp breath as you felt your legs shake.

Ben saw this and chuckled darkly, he gathered your legs and ran his hands on your bare, smooth skin. Soothing you, helping you come down. He wrapped your legs around his waist once more, and this time you freed him from the confines of tight trousers. You circled his shaft and he involuntarily bucked into your warm hand.

“I know I promised you that we’d be making love but I want you right now, hard and fast,” he panted against your lips.

“Yes, please,” you begged.

With eyes full of love, he gazed into you as he carefully entered you. You sighed and sought out his arm, holding on tightly. As you began to get used to his size, he started to move in you, deeply. He pulled out, only his head staying in you, then slammed back in, your hips flushed. You screamed in surprise and he had mistaken it for pain.

"You okay?" he asked, his breath shallow.

"Again, please," you pleaded. He smirked and did it again. Once buried deep inside you, he moved his head down to kiss you.

"You're so deep inside me," you sighed into his lips.

"Am I?" while still inside you, he rolled his hips into a circle and you arched your back in pleasure.

"Do you like that, darling? Me buried so deep inside you,"

"Yeah, ah—" you cried out when he did it again.

Ben started to move, he thrusted in and out of you, making sure his cock kisses that spot inside you. He loved to see you writhing and squirming under his pace, eyes rolling back and lips agape in pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel so good." he exhaled as he felt you tighten around him, signalling another orgasm from you.

"Ben, I'm gonna cum," you screamed, digging your nails into his arm.

"That's it baby, let me hear you scream as you cum on my cock," he whispered into your ear, his voice harsh.

A cry broke out from your lungs as the violent waves of pleasure rushed throughout your body. He soon followed, your orgasm causing his orgasm to rip through him. You pulled him down to you, wanting to feel him and his weight above you.

He began to move away but you protested. "Love, I just need to get rid of these clothes." he kissed you.

Ben made quick work of getting rid of his clothes and preparing a wet towel for you. You were on the edge of falling asleep when he joined you in bed. He wiped your skin with the towel, taking extra care on your sensitive spot between your legs.

"I think you made me pregnant again," you hummed.

"I should hope so," he chuckled and settled beside you after turning off the lights.

"Be careful what you wish for. I think we can only handle one right now."

"Thank you," he said after a beat of silence.

"For what?"

"For being here. With me. Beside me."

"It's hard to do these things alone," you quoted the lyric from the song you two were dancing to earlier.

"If it's your duty to love me and protect me, then my duty to you is just the same. I love you and I promise to always be here for you. We'll always go through it together." you said and planted a kiss on his chest, at the very top of his heartbeat.

He leaned down and gave you one last kiss for the night, he whispered "I love you." into your lips before finally letting himself fall into sleep.

Benedict slept easily that night as he was well aware of the fact that he was lucky to find his match (you), and did his greatest achievement (get down on one knee and promise to marry you, and start a family with you). He had all his heart's desires and it couldn't have any more worth than a little golden statue.

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[luckyspacerabbit]

The Bonds of Water

Shoutout to all the lovely people (@isayashai, @dickeybbqpit, @pancake-angst) who gave me feedback on my work, without whom I would not have had the juice to finish this ;_; <3

Summary: A soft drabble about Dan Hyun admiring Thane in the shower.

Pairing: f!shrios

Genre: fluff ; comfort

Words: ~2.6k

Warnings: nonsexual nudity :3

AO3 Link

She watched him shower.

Cold countertop leeched the bottom of Dan Hyun’s bare thighs as she stared, a head tilted to rest on raised shoulders. Shuddering pipes strained against the Normandy walls and groaned soft under the sound of cleansing water.

Water, so pure, in the form of icy droplets that pattered against a pristine glass box. Thane stood bare and unyielding beneath the jettison. His eyes closed to the building pressure, a serene expression laying over the rest of his features even while his body accepted the water’s pelting caress.

It had to be cold. The humidity strained his lungs otherwise.

She waited, then, sitting on the other side of the glass. Her fingers gripped the edge of the warship’s metal, and fingers occasionally slipped from perspiration into a mercury-colored sink. Feet hung still, but her body surged with admiration.

Dan Hyun had seen others shower before: Witnessed the soft-bellied flesh of soldiers discarding their clothing and stepping into pale yellow locker room stalls. Through rough lips and gnashed teeth, they sucked the air for help. The water had bitten their lily soft skin, freezing to the bone.

But when water touched Thane, no gasp broke in the shower’s cage. No yelp, withdraw, or swallow. His lips remained relaxed when cryo cold streams spilled over his head, seaweed striped shoulders fixed without fear. Strength exuded from his planted feet, roots that had no intention of losing their place.

Her fingers twitched with interest while the Drell massaged soap deep into the crevices of his skin– his flexing arms were a benefit of deft fingers disciplined in the art of cleanliness. The garden-like lattice of soft scales formed a mold of vibrant, breathing pattern she had begun to commit to memory.

It was softest over his belly and forearms, where she took rest during the stillest moments of space travel. Harder on the exterior runs of his elbows and arms reserved for unfortunate attackers.

His silhouette reminded Dan Hyun of something greater than a man. Jutting elbows protruded to a sharp form when his fingers smoothed over his scalp. Water split around the extrusion to create a waterfall from his curves and edges. Her tongue couldn’t grasp it– but her body did. The feeling sprouted goosebumps on her like she had been hit by mist, and his graceful neck craned up. He shifted the onslaught for her.

She breathed, quiet.

No. That wasn’t right: the fanciful idea that Thane chose to perform these micro behaviors under the spotlight of her gaze.

If Dan Hyun believed that, she would have to believe that the ocean had control over its rising and falling waves, or picked when its turns would convulse to moodiness, rather than admitting its place at the mercy of the moon’s pull above.

Performances, though, like the trussed-up costumes of clothes and titles, had no place in a private moment.

Without the burden of dress, Dan Hyun witnessed boldness spring from Thane in bright, rare flashes. Expressions of red violence, pink valiance, reaching outstretched for the sun shining on the tranquil waters of his constitution.

Thane’s pink cuts of skin wicked fire up his throat, a bundle of passion, yes… but vulnerability as well. His beauty was exposed for everyone to see– and everyone to harm.

Sharp, yet delicate, with scars that slashed his body only half as many times as he had cut down another.

Slight discolorations loomed large under the dancing beads coating his scales. Few were thin, fine as the tip of a knife, dragging leisurely from the bottom of his left chest to the beginnings of the red ribboned divots that lacerated his torso. One sloped silently from the peak of his throat frills to his muscled collar bone, baby breath pale over its vibrant stalk. There was even a pink thread nestled in the ridges of his velvet red throat.

Many more twisted unclean paths through his body, gnarls luring Dan Hyun’s mind away from the brilliance of his passion and washing her into vulnerable sea shores. At the sight of his scarred knee her palm surrounded her own. A short nailed thumb brushed over the cap in lulling strokes as if by doing so she could smooth out the pale ridged tendrils left by the shrapnel of a long gone bullet.

Ache never bruised her so deeply as it did when she ached for Thane.

Dan Hyun knew the sags and tautness like she knew where the trickles of water would curve over his emerald-scaled hips. So well, that she could close her eyes and mold his shape into creation between her palms.

She tried now, taking her gaze away to sink to dark. Her hands hovered in front of her barely clothed body with a twisted tongue, anticipating Thane beneath her touch.

If she concentrated, she could feel his canyon divots against plush belly, velvety frills indenting into her neck. Her calf would raise to wrap around his hips— here, her skin tingled with imagined scales checkering into her. A transference of markings.

Of him.

A soft trill pried her eyes open and drew them to the subject of her fancy.

It was possible he felt her remove her watch. A hazel pupil had appeared in the slit of his solemn green, orbiting to hers. Under his half-lidded stare, Dan Hyun remained still. The teeming deep sea swayed in his gaze, the tips of currents licking at the corners of her eyes and asking where she might go.

She wasn’t ready to go anywhere.

Her smile softened the crests of his waves and smoothed his taut frills into rest.

Only then could Thane resume his wash.

“Are you alright in there?”

Hazel eyes returned, the rag at his chest slowing.

“The water pressure is more intense than that in the crews’ showers, but here I have the benefit of privacy.” He smiled. “Of a sort, that is.”

“I would have thought the harsh water would feel good on your scales. Exfoliation is very important in reptilian species.”

His chuckle was barely perceptible above the roar of the water. “Your knowledge is correct. Friction is helpful in keeping the skin fresh and allows for a stronger grip. It’s one of our natural advantages when it comes to combat.”

“Combat isn’t the only use for your body.”

Water battered against the glass barrier. His quiet lingered, savoring the soft chastisement she had laid upon him.

“True. I’m discovering more uses every day.” A pop resounded in the shower when he flicked open an unmarked bottle. Muscles, bulging and wide from the effortless carry of his Viper, flexed with his squeeze.

Dan Hyun touched her throat. Creamy liquid coated his hands before he dragged it to the red ribboned skin beneath his soft jaw.

She couldn’t stop herself and the words fell from her tongue. “You’re beautiful.”

Her heart skipped a beat when lathering hands hitched, but it was nothing compared to the full stop she endured when his stare encompassed hers. This stare was different, after all. Gone were emerald waters and a turquoise sea. Deep black had taken residence in his irises, a cool, lonely, empty abyss.

“You’re the first to confess this to me.”

“No…” she blinked. Her feet swung a bit more, spurred by a tickle of defiance. “I don’t believe that.”

“You’re one of the few I have ever bared my body towards. It is broken, scarred, and weathering. It grows worse with every passing year.”

The trail of his fingers over his chest was no accident.

“It is a decrepit thing.”

A small hop was all it took for Dan Hyun’s twisting feet to plant firm on the even ground. The remaining distance between them was small, the bathroom, an already cramped luxury. In a moment, her reflection appeared on the glass barrier. Her naked body was transparent gold atop Thane’s image.

The overlay made her swallow, ears hot with the consciousness of her state.

“How can you say that about your body,” she whispered.

Her fingertip pressed against the glass, swaying slightly before anchoring to the mirage of his hips just on the other side. Her eyes, like stardust, fell with it. “Once, you told me, ‘We are all made of body and soul. When we are disconnected from our soul, we fall victim to our worst instincts. Our fears.’”

“The body is a vessel for the soul,” he restated, his emptiness encompassing her. “It’s the physical extension for the metaphysical.” Droplets slipped down the curves of high cheeks. “It serves a purpose.”

“But it is more than just a purpose.”

Thane’s head tilted, shifting the flow of water with him.

“You claim to know my beliefs more intimately than me?”

“No,” Dan Hyun’s fingers fanned open against the glass. “…No. I claim…” Her tongue twisted now, chest growing tense. Confidence waned in sagging shoulders and quick eyes searched desperately for reason.

Her stare found it first, punctuating her notice with an intake of breath

“Your stripes. The way they cradle your body is unique from any other person. It’s a gift from the people who came before you. Protection when you would need it most when they couldn’t be the ones there for you. And… your spines. They flow from where someone once kissed the back of your head, praying for you to be safe.

Your scales are layered like armor over your back, and soft on your wrists. You were made to scar, with thousands of little platelets in your bloodstream ready to mend.”

Her fingers closed, one by one, a fist now over the glass.

“Your body is not decrepit. It is nourishing you.”

“Can’t you hear what I’m trying to tell you? Can you feel it?”

Then silence reigned, as loud and tumultuous as the water Thane stood under, when he posed a question in return she had not expected.

“Can you?”

Two words.

Two, confused, rattling, earth-shattering words.

And in an instant, the portrait she had been admiring of her lover peeled back to reveal a shattered mirror of herself.

In the glass shower door, twin stones, weathered by tears, stunned her with an aggressive plea. They shouted silence at her on a face encompassed by falsities– hot iron pressed hair frying natural straightness, thick cream to hide away the neon cracks that quaked her cheeks. The natural spots that once marked her as strange fell into crevices of red pinched skin, the breather she wore on missions uncaring for the skin that tore beneath.

Gone was Thane’s image for all she could see was her.

Her war-torn body. Her shoddy attempts at mending.

Her step back was instinctive, a horror-filled touch to her mouth shaming what she had dared utter.

At least Thane had the strength to acknowledge his pain– she could not even face hers.

“I’m sorry–” she whispered, fingers rising to cradle her face protectively. What a shameful thing she had done. What a foolish instinct to throw diamond speared rocks when you yourself had a body made of glass.

A tight squeak stemmed water’s flow and her reflection disappeared from view. In its place, pristine emerald returned, the warm cradle of the purest night sky pulling her worried eyes to its encompassing hold.

Cold, freezing water touched her before he did, a pour extending from his arms that cloaked her in a bitten embrace. It became a second skin, sliding and slipping to seal her to the body that settled around her.

She did not scream.

Nor did she yelp, gasp, or withdraw.

A breathing pulse was all that could be heard, coupled with the quiet droplets of water that tipped from her and Thane’s joined bodies.

Because, at the end of it all, Dan Hyun too knew the freeze of the water. Despite how she declined its temperamental friendship, she had never succeeded in making it a stranger. Its icey tendrils were familiar, its onslaught as comforting as it was painful. She had felt the beat of a storm at her head and stood strong against raging currents. When she drowned she whispered to herself that the pain meant she was living.

“It is easy to point out the weaknesses in others– the flaws in their bodies become accentuated under the burdens of a different life. ” Thane’s hand tucked over her hair, cheek coming to rest atop her scalp. Streams trickled over her head and her hands cupped the river that flowed from his shoulder blades.

“You are remarkable, Siha. I watch your eyes scour over me but with no knife or surgeon's needle in hand. You come bearing the brush of your will to cover my skin in salve.” A black nail traced over her cheek, streaking the gentle concealer she had applied. A golden glow stung his green fingers in a fit of latent anger that cried out at discovery.

Her hand instantly overtook his, pressing his soft scales deep into her skin to avoid the exposition of any more cracks.

“It wasn’t my place. I’m sorry.”

“It was.”

Water dripped to her lip when she met his stare.

Breathtaking and curled, Thane’s head tilted to the side. Fluttering frills knew more than they let on. She felt shrunken yet magnified when he looked at her with crescent eyes. The intimacy in his stare dug past Dan Hyun’s skin, seeping deeper than the strain of her muscles and wetting the ground of her bones.

He was looking at her.

Truly looking.

“A common human phrase: ‘It takes one to know one.’” His chest rose with breath, sparkle crawling over him in the low bathroom light. “I did not understand this when I first heard it. How could I, when I had never been known?”

“You must have.”

“I have had my cries heard. I have been watched with interest and scrutiny alike. But I have not been known.”

Dan Hyun’s tongue lay heavy in her mouth. “I know you,” she whispered as if to herself.

“And I…” his slick cheek met an equally slick hand, forehead sealing to hers. “Know you.”

For all that he said, it was his movement into her that she recalled most.

His touch weaved what he had said through her body. In the incremental grip of her fingers, she memorized his scales, stroked his scars, and pressed deep, deep into his flesh. Dan Hyun sealed him into her and used their coat of water to preserve them into eternity.

Icey puddles accepted her feet when she stepped into the shower. Silence hung on her lips, but her guiding touch to Thane’s back said far more than she ever could.

Watching beads form again on the showerhead, Dan Hyun couldn’t help but slip back to the simple idea of water.

It is water that unites, nurtures, and expands.

When one body of water touches another, it is destined to accept one another’s inquisitive caress to merge into one final form. It takes touch– the most fortunate slip of destiny in where two individual beings collide and find recognition in another. It does not matter where one has been, or what they have done. Water from the ocean is no different at heart than water from rainfall.

But it consumes.

And it drowns.

And when Dan Hyun felt the first wave of freezing water wash away the cream on her face– when her hair fell straight and the ethereal glow of her scars bathed the dark shower in panes of gold– she felt weak.

Until Thane’s arms wrapped around her waist. His resilience strengthened her in one surge, air filling her lungs when she tipped her head back to rest on his cool shoulders. Her head lolled, soft beneath the pound, and came to a stop at their reflection in the glass door.

She watched them shower.

[timextoxhajima]

Nevertheless: Wishful Thinking [2]

[completed] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

synopsis: why would the college flirt want anything to do with the innocent heartbreaker? a [somewhat] nevertheless au featuring tbz's eric son young jae

genre [per chapter]: SMUT *this series is a smut series so* please don't read if you're uncomfy. if you're underaged and you still wanna read, i'm not stopping you. i don't care because that's your responsibility to know what's fiction and what's not.

word count: 3.1k, half of which is definitely filth

taglist: @from-xero @taeyongandfree @ten-gift @louvyves @sweetutopia @yyyereum @jung-breadshop

{this is a work of fiction}

it's one of those days that you look at a person and wonder "how did i get into this mess?"

eric's got his back plastered to the lockers, leg perched and his heel hooked onto one of the padlocks as he talks to his friends. he glances about and catches your gaze, the innocent glimmer in his eyes suddenly replaced with a predatorial glare.

everytime he sees you, he sees an opportunity - an opportunity to ruin the only other heartbreaker in school.

which he's already done once.

the sight of him cues the chills down your spine; flashes from some nights before zipping through your head like a fast-forwarded video.

eric brushes his hair out of his eyes, exposing his forehead. with a tiny smirk and his tongue poking the inside of his cheek, he looks down at his phone.

as his fingers fly across the screen and he hits send, yours vibrates in your pocket.

eric son: one night not enough?

you look back up and see him send one more message before shoving it into his pocket.

another message dings across your screen.

eric son: all you have to do is ask, princess

you look up from your phone screen to see eric moving off in his group of friends, giving you one last wink at that before he turns around.

the warmth emitting from your phone heats up in your palm when you tighten your grip around it, frustrated with yourself and frustrated with how easily he's got you wrapped around his finger.

"whew!" a sharp sigh exclaims from behind you, and you immediately attempt to erase the agitation off your face. turning to face your new company, you slide your phone back into your pocket.

"where were you?"

yujeong huffs and rests her weight on her hips, stretching to a side while yawning. "dealing with some girls sobbing over jung wooseok graduating. what about you?"

"what do you mean 'what about me'?" you turn to frown at her, arms crossing over your chest. "I've been here the entire time waiting for you."

"you think i didn't know where you disappeared off to? at wooseok's party?"

your heart stops.

she begins walking, and you follow quietly.

"i know you went home without telling me."

oh.

your lips part to heave a sigh of relief, but you stop yourself and feign surprise instead. "oh!"

"'oh', she says," yujeong rolls her eyes. "you could've at least told me."

yes, because i'd want you to know that i rejected wooseok AND got ruined by eric sohn in the same night.

"sorry," you suck your lips in between your teeth and cling to her arm. "i wasn't feeling well."

"pity," yujeong sniffles. "someone found cum stains on the floor outside wooseok's garage. you should've seen it for yourself."

"huh," you blink, refusing to turn to her. "what were we expecting from wooseok's graduation party?"

"point taken," yujeong shrugs, and you slide off her to comb through your ponytail. "anyway, someone told me you finally got down to talking to eric last night at the party. how did that go?"

"um," the name triggers a fight-or-flight response in you, but you can't have yujeong see right through that.

"yeah, i mean... if you're the 'innocent heartbreaker' and he's the 'vicious' one, then that must've been one hell of a conversation!"

"huh!" with your brows raised, you look at her with wide, surprised eyes. "who the hell coined that?"

"i'on't know, like, everybody?" yujeong frowns, finally turning into the cafeteria. "besides, you never really liked him... nor spoken to him. so it must've been a surprise to anyone to see you talking to him."

the crowd in the cafeteria stirs to life as more people follow in behind you and yujeong, the lunch crowd beginning to create a ruckus in the enclosed space.

"we just... you know, bumped into each other."

"I've always wondered how you guys never bumped into each other before the party," yujeong yawns again, pulling you aside to a table and sitting the both of you down. "i didn't think your dance crew was so well separated."

"we deal with different genres," you sit and rest your forearms on the table. "no reason to mix our teams."

"anyway, i heard new leadership positions are out today so keep a lookout for that."

"oh?" you turn to her. "what about you? did you get anything in baseball?"

"no shit, sherlock. you're looking at the new captain."

"oh!" with a bright squeal, you stand and throw your arms around her. "I'm so proud of you!"

"don't be sappy," yujeong uses her finger to push your forehead away from her. "but thanks."

the stale air of the practice room guts you first, since you associate nothing else with this place except sweat tears and a couple of ankle twists.

the air conditioner whirs to life when you turn on the main control switch of the studio.

usually, you weren't the first one here and so you were more than surprised when you were. placing your bag down and fiddling with the sound system, you plug it into your phone turn up the jazz music since it's supposed to calm you down. the thought of the night before was far too aggressive and violent for you to stomach.

it's okay, you think. the rest will come soon and practise will ensue.

it's alright.

then the door clicks and you look up in the mirror to see eric in the reflection.

the thought zips through your neurons: something's wrong.

he shouldn't be here.

you look back down at your phone and feel your insides twitch at the sight of him. "this isn't your training slot."

"and you don't need to be here," eric smirks, drawing a frown across your face as you look up.

"what do you mean?"

eric smiles at you in the mirror, closing the door and locking it behind him.

now you finally turn around, watching as he strides to you with his hands in his back pockets.

"i cancelled practice."

"what do you mean you cancelled practice?"

"well," then he pauses just about a foot away from you, waves of uneasiness already flooding into your private space as you lean back against the countertop. "you're looking at the new captain."

you scoff, shaking your head in disapproval.

"so the first move you made after becoming captain was to cancel training? very mature of you," with a huff and a smirk of disbelief, you pull out your phone, the jazz music abruptly stopping as you reach down for your bag.

"aren't you gonna congratulate me?"

you glare at him through your lashes as you lift your bag, but he's looking at you with wide, puppy eyes instead.

"congratulations," the wry, insincere remark draws a smile across his face.

"where are you going?"

"home. where else?" you swing your bag over your shoulder and take a step around him.

but of course, he stops you by grabbing your arm and holding you back to the countertop where you were previously leaning on. you yank your arm out of his grip but he finds your waist and hoists you up onto the countertop, the cold surface brushing up your skirt.

goosebumps erupt all over your exposed rear, including the skin on your arms for him to see.

"dance practice is cancelled but that doesn't mean you can't stay and accompany me."

"wait-" the whimper hums through you when his hands find your rear under the material, cupping your flesh in his hot palms. dipping his lips into your jaw, he begins planting soft kisses, deliberately making each and every one of them audible by your ears.

huffing and panting out of frustration, you squirm under him, unable to move due to the pressure he's exerting on your hips.

"it's only the two of us, princess," he whispers into your ear, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand and your lips pull apart in a wince. "and what are you doing... wearing a skirt to dance practice?"

his hands are everywhere.

he's running them up and down your calves and thighs and gently pulling them further and further apart so he can slot himself between your knees.

on top of that, you were staring at your reflections in the mirror across the studio.

"i have an extra pair of leggings in my bag, for gods' sake."

eric chuckles devilishly, reeling backwards to look you in the eye.

"and what were you waiting for before you'd change into them?"

"for training to start?"

eric blinks, running his fingers through his hair again. resting his hands on the countertop's edge by your thighs, he leans in closer to you, eyes slightly hooded and searching yours as if looking for something.

"i heard you rejected wooseok."

the name drives a puncture through a lung, and the guilt surges through you again when you remember whose house it was that you let eric ruin you outside.

"that's none of your business."

a sly smirk stretches his lips apart, and he lifts his finger to pick at the buttons on your shirt. annoyance brings your hand up to his mischief and you grab his hand, holding it in place as you attempt to close your legs.

but he grabs your wrist with his free hand and pries it off his own, taking both your hands and sliding them over the rim of his joggers.

"for someone who's been dubbed the 'innocent heartbreaker', you're kind of feisty."

then he uses your fingers like puppets and pulls apart the drawstrings, loosening the material's hold around his pelvis.

"you wanna know what i think?"

"no."

"i think..." eric throws your arms over his shoulders and pulls you in closer, chest pressed against his with his lips brushing across the arch of your ear. "this 'innocent heartbreaker' image of yours? fake."

he pulls away, a disgustingly innocent smile wide across his face. it makes his eyes shine, and he's got an arrogant glimmer in his pupils as he reaches for your right knee, trailing a single finger up to your inner thigh.

"i think you use it to bait people into thinking that you're just a cute, pretty little girl..."

and he stops and harshly grips your thighs to yank you forward, just enough for most of your butt to remain on the countertop but your crotch to be over the edge.

"but in reality, you're just itching for someone to put you in your place."

he hears the gulp that's forced down your throat, and his hands come up to your jaw to hold your face still.

"isn't that right, princess?"

your mouth is dry.

your lips are dry.

and you open your mouth in a bid to hurl a string of vulgarities at him for coming at your title all too daringly, only for him to drop his hand to your throat and shove his lips between yours.

the pressure around your neck forces a groan up your throat, hands flying up to his shoulders to push him away (it was an attempt).

he releases your neck, lowering his hands to fiddle with your shirt's buttons while he attaches his lips to your jaw. using his nose to tilt your head to the side, you hear him take in your scent with a prolonged inhale.

eyes stuck to the ceiling lights, you're unsure whether the lights were blinding you, or you were just seeing stars.

the cool air finally kisses and blankets your chest when the top few buttons come undone, and before you can respond to the shivers that run through your body, eric's hands slide in between your thighs again.

the sudden, sensitive contact jolts your entire body, so eric anchors you down by grabbing your neck again.

"I'm sure you don't want the school to know that the 'innocent heartbreaker' isn't so innocent now, do you?"

he scoffs at the gulp he can feel in his grip and raises both brows when he pushes your underwear off your core. your pride flushes away when he finds nothing short of what he expected.

"oh, my," his tongue flies out and darts over his canine teeth, eyes locked onto yours as he presses his thumb onto your swollen need. "oh, princess... just ask."

your thighs are aching to close, but his hips are keeping them apart.

your hands are clawing into his arm, but it seems to be fuelling his pride even more.

he leans into you again, placing careful kisses along your collar bone and your jaw whilst resting his palms flat against the countertop.

"i'll give you the chance to watch yourself, hmm?"

and with that he trails his kisses down into your chest, hands sliding from the countertop and onto your thighs to hold them apart.

riling up the cotton of your skirt, his breath hits your core first, then the uneven texture of his tongue brushes across you.

he presses a kiss to your sensitivity first, then plunges his tongue into you. a sharp groan thrums through you, shivers drawing up your spine like sinful whispers.

his hair comes tangled between your fingers, thighs hung over his shoulders as eric moans and hums into you, the vibrations driving you over some edge you had forgotten even existed.

your hips buckle and jerk when he begins flicking his tongue against you, and your blurred vision lands on your reflection in the mirror.

eric son kneeling under you, with his head between your legs.

very quickly, your attention is torn away from the reflection and back down at him when he slides two fingers into you. focusing his tongue on your nub now, he begins pumping his fingers with ease and with a smirk plastered across his face.

you don't realise the mewls and whimpers you're giving him until he breaks off from your under, standing back up and pressing his lips to yours with his fingers still playing with you.

then he pulls away, and removes his fingers, bringing them up between your noses and flips his hand, allowing your neediness to glisten under the lighting.

"enjoying this, aren't you?" and with that smile on his face, he slides his fingers into his mouth, whirling his tongue all over his skin.

the lewd sight makes you cringe and writhe before him, so eric picks you up by your rear and walks the both of you to the mirror, turning you around to face yourself in the reflection.

oh.

no.

"wait-"

"'wait'?" eric bites on his bottom lip, taking your right hand and pressing them into the mirror. "oh, princess... i can wait all day, but can you?"

the question tears through you in waves, your head turning back to the mirror and your eyes watching the fog coat around your fingers in the mirror.

his fingers are interlaced with yours, his palm over yours as he pulls his joggers off with his free hand. smirking and looking up at you, he stops to push your underwear off your core, then slides himself between your folds instead of into you.

the frustration builds up, erupting through your throat in the form of a groan mixed with a mewl, earning a sadistic chuckle from him.

he pulls your left wrist down to your lower back, keeping the other plastered to the mirror as he gently and slowly, teases you, sliding over you.

your heart and stomach are plunging with every slide he gives you, the throbbing down below driving you absolutely nuts.

it's making you tear up, and you cry out in agony as your fist clenches over your lower back.

he leans forward, careful to keep his lips in contact with your lobe as he whispers the words,

"your body's mine, princess."

and with a subtle lean-back, and one swift push, he bottoms out, burying himself entirely inside you.

your chest puffs as you suck in the harshest breath in your life, and your entire body shivers upon the fill.

"look at yourself," his husky voice is low and dangerous in your ear. you swallow your saliva, walls clenching around him as your legs begin to tremble.

he slides out, and pushes back in slowly, careful to make you live through every second and every inch of him as he does it.

'it' meaning drilling the sinful bliss through you.

so he picks up his pace every time he bottoms out, ensuring that your legs wouldn't give out under you.

but soon, the lewd noises of slapping and muffled moaning drowns out your thoughts, your eyes now tearing as you look down at the wooden flooring. multiple whimpers and mewls try to escape your throat but you suck your lips in between your teeth, every thrust jerking you forward.

"good girl," eric reminds you, taking the hand that was previously plastered to the mirror and gathering both your wrists on your lower back.

it forces you to straighten up, back arched away from his chest as he holds you close to the mirror, the bottom half of your ponytail messy over your unbuttoned top.

in the mirror, your skirt was blocking the view where he was fucking all senses out from you.

it was the messy, whored-out look on your face; the marks on your collarbone and the bouncing of your hair with your arms held behind you that made your knees weak.

eric leans over into your neck, locking eyes with you through the reflection as he kisses your jaw.

by some miracle, his hip buckles at an angle, and something explodes inside you. his free arm circles your waist in a bid to keep you upright atop your knees failing you, thighs flexing and trembling against his.

your body nearly goes limp under his hold, and he pulls out just in time to release on the flesh of your rear.

he huffs, sighing and blinking away his own climax. eric releases your wrists and pulls your underwear over your soreness now, still holding onto your waist to keep you from falling over.

eric smiles at you in the mirror when he catches your tired gaze, brushing the little strands of hair out of your eyes.

his palm runs from your waist and up your chest, gently pushing your head back onto his shoulder. nose delving into your jaw again, he side-eyes you in the mirror, pressing his lips onto your neck.

"wear your hair up more often, you look more..."

"fuckable."

he takes your jaw and turns it to face him now, eyes glued to yours as he scans your face.

"oh, by the way... congratulations on becoming vice-captain."

[thomaslightwood]

Tale of Knights and Secrets, part I || sequel to the Thomastair Royal AU

part i | part ii | part iii |

AO3 | masterlist

Thomastair Royal AU: Tale of the Prince and the Servant (this can be skipped if you really want to)

This is a really special gift (that took really really long time) for a really really REALLY special person - @wheelershara SUN, IT TOOK ME SOME TIME BUT HERE YOU GO, BESTIE! I hope you like it <3

•

~ Present ~

Alastair could feel the wind on his face. Smell the sea. Feel the subtle splashes of the water on his skin.

He looked next to him and Thomas smiled at him. Then looked at the sea and laughed, smiling with closed eyes. He was beautiful.

Alastair looked at the bright blue sky and smiled, closing his eyes too. Simple happiness. Simple things. He didn’t need more.

Then he fell backwards, darkness covered him and the dream broke.

Alastair slowly opened his eyes, giving himself time to adjust to the light. He sighed.

He was still in prison.

•

~ Past ~

Thomas smiled as Alastair was scowling at the cat, who was meowing at them.

“Such a greedy and insolent creature,” he said with a dark expression and threw a piece of bread at it. The cat meowed happily and began to eat its new food.

This was the third time they have seen the cat. And they knew it was the same because of the white almost heart shaped mark on its face.

Thomas had named it Bee. Alastair had named it annoying.

Alastair caught him looking at him and rolled his eyes. Thomas grinned.

“Anyway,” he said, looking at the papers in his hand. “Any luck?”

“Actually,” Thomas said. “Yes. I saw an ad for… this tavern,” after he found it he handed it to Alastair. His eyes moved on the paper as he took it, an excitement slowly building up.

“That’s great!” Alastair looked at him with shining eyes. “Let’s go there.”

In less than an hour they were at the tavern. A small place with a friendly owner with warm brown eyes who was missing two fingers on his left hand and every time told a different story on how it happened.

“Hello, fellas,” he greeted them as they entered. He was behind the bar, cleaning the countertop. It was still noon so the place was empty. There was only a little girl sitting on a table, playing with a few cards. “You here about the job, yes?”

“That’s right,” Thomas said. Alastair nodded. They approached him and sat on the chairs in front of the bar. The girl said something to the owner in a language Thomas didn’t recognize. The man replied something shortly and turned to them with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, lads, my granddaughter is a little sick today, ” he said. “I need to check on her.”

“Don’t worry,” Thomas said. “We are in no hurry.”

The man came from around the counter. He kneed in front of her, telling her something with a gentle smile. The little girl seemed pale and unhealthy but she smiled at her grandfather and nodded.

Alastair turned to him. “Do you think we can-”

The sound of numerous steps coming closer and closer distracted Thomas. They both turned to the door, Alastair stopped talking. The owner also frowned at it. They heard shouts. A few seconds later a man stormed into the tavern and slammed the doors closed after himself. He was holding a sword. Alastair and Thomas jumped from their seats. The owner hid the girl behind his body.

“No one move!” he screamed, his pale eyes frantically looking around. He was talking with an accent that revealed he was not from here. He was skinny and sweaty, his hair was blonde and dirty. The hand holding the sword was trembling. “No one move,” he repeated, even though none of them did anything.

His breathing was hard, his eyes frantic.

“Fella,” the owner said, his voice calm. “What do you want?”

“Keep quiet, old man,” he snapped. “No one moves and we all will leave this place in one piece.”

He slowly passed by Thomas and Alastair, suspiciously looking at Thomas. He had decided he’s the biggest threat. He came behind the bar, glancing at Thomas once in a while. He was searching, probably for money.

Thomas tried to look for something he could use as a weapon. He crossed eyes with Alastair. He could see he was thinking something similar.

“If we jump at him together,” he whispered, so quietly Thomas could barely hear him. “We can overpower him.”

“Okay,” Thomas said, barely a murmur. “I’ll take his left side-”

At that moment the owner appeared, holding a sword himself and jumped at the thief. But the stranger was faster. He turned just in time to meet his sword with the old man’s. He quickly disarmеd him.

“What are you doing, oldster?!” he shouted at him. “Do you want to get hurt? To get killed?! Why would you do that?!” Thomas thought he’s on the edge of tears.

While the blonde man continued to scream at the owner Thomas slowly, very slowly, moved towards the sword on the floor. Three, two steps… Thomas grabbed the sword.

The man turned to him, his eyes wild. Thomas stepped forward, a calmness he hasn’t felt in years washed over him. Metal met metal. Desperation filled the thief’s face. After a few moves he could see Thomas was no stranger to sword fighting.

It didn’t take long. The man was good. Surprisingly good, considering his trembling. But Thomas was better.

Seconds later the blonde's sword hit the floor. A few guards stormed into the tavern.

“That’s him!” a female guard shouted. Two others headed towards him and grabbed his arms, yanking him towards the door. After he was outside, the female guard turned to them. “Is everyone alright?”

“Yes,” the owner said. He was hugging his granddaughter who was trembling. He kissed the top of her head and looked at Thomas, an awe in his eyes. “This young man saved us! When this awful man tried to rob my tavern and threatened me, he bravely stepped in and disarmed him!”

The guard turned to him and with a hint of embarrassment he realized he’s still in combat position. He relaxed and carefully left the sword on the counter. He smiled sheepishly. “Just the right timing. Nothing so heroic.”

The guard smiled. “Come to the royal garden some time. The guards train there. We’ll see if you’re that good and if we can do something about it,” she said. She turned to the owner, nodding respectfully. “Uncle, call us if you have any trouble.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” he said, still a little shaken up but smiling.

The guard left and the old man turned to them. “Still want the job, young men?”

Thomas hesitated what to say but Alastair stepped in. “Yes.”

“Excellent!” He smiled wider and gently put the little girl on a chair, whispering something to her. He looked at them again. “Let’s start then!”

•

The rest of the day Thomas and Alastair couldn’t find time to talk. The owner, whose name they found out is Armin, was training them all afternoon until the evening.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “After sunset. We will open then.”

They said their goodbyes and left the tavern. The little girl waved at them. They didn’t exchange a single word but it seems she liked them.

Alastair had so many questions. He couldn’t wait to get home so he and Thomas could talk. He could tell Thomas’ moves with the sword weren’t ordinary. There was skill and familiarity. An old habit. There was grace and confidence that Alastair had never seen before in him. His lover had more secrets than Alastair imagined.

They arrived at the small building where they rented a room from a sulky woman with strict rules. Alastair didn’t mind. It kept the building clean and quiet.

When they entered their room, Thomas took a deep breath and turned to him. “I can explain.”

Alastair blinked. He almost smiled but resisted because of how worried Thomas looked. “I’m not mad.”

Thomas relaxed a bit. “Really?”

“No,” this time he couldn’t help himself and grinned. “I mean, my lover is an awesome sword fighter, saved us all from some asshole, was super hot while doing it and on top of that is adorably unaware how much effect it has on me.”

Thomas shook his head, embarrassment written all over it.

“Why would I be mad?” he continued. “Oh, yes! Because this same lover obviously hid something huge from me that was important to him.” Thomas’ expression slowly returned to the worried one, “But you know what? I’m not mad as I probably should be because I’m a reasonable man who doesn't want to worry his lover even more.”

There was a small smile on Thomas’ lips. “Lies,” he said. “You just think it’s hot.”

“This certainly helps,” Alastair admitted.

They watched each other for a few seconds and broke into smiles. Thomas looked away, rubbing the back of the neck and Alastair watched him with amusement. He stepped closer to him and gently took his hands in his. He kissed Thomas’ knuckles and just held them.

“Really, Tom,” he whispered. “What was that?”

Thomas signed. “Let's change first, okay?”

In the next twenty minutes they showered and changed to more comfortable clothes they wore only at home.

Alastair occasionally looked at Thomas. He looked troubled and absent. Alastair felt a little bad. Maybe he could leave it be. If Thomas looked so anxious, was it worth it going through this conversation? But he rejected the thought. Sometimes hard conversations were needed. He needed to know what was going on Thomas' head. He had to know about his past.

Thomas sat on the bed, crossed legs, each foot under the opposite knee. Alastair took a chair from the table and faced him, leaning on the backrest.

Thomas was looking at the floor. He laughed nervously. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Tell me how you learned to fight,” Alastair suggested softly.

Thomas looked at the window then. And he began.

“Once, I was a knight,” Thomas said. “When I was seventeen I graduated on top of the class - one of the first three. I wanted to serve the royal family and become a knight like my father. He’s the captain of an elite guard that serves and protects the royal family. There was nothing more I wanted than to become a knight and be Christopher’s bodyguard. He’s one of my best friends and my cousin, godson of the king.”

Alastair noticed how he’s talking in past tense. “What changed?” he whispered.

Thomas took a deep breath.

“We were out to celebrate my little cousin’s birthday,” he said, quietly. “Only family and a few close friends were there. But in the middle of it, we were attacked. We tried to protect the ones who couldn’t fight - the birthday boy, Alexander, who was only three years old, Christopher, my mother, a few other guests. And of course Queen Charlotte and King Henry. It happened in such a way that my big sister and I were partners in the battle. She didn’t have the same training as me but as children of the guard’s captain we knew how to hold a sword from a young age. It was chaos. She… Barbara was stabbed. In an attempt to protect her fiancé, Oliver, who died from his wounds a few hours later. One another guest, Jesse, was also slayed, trying to protect his sister, Grace.”

Thomas took a deep, shaking breath. Alastair wanted to hug him but knew the story wasn’t finished. Thomas continued.

“We never found out who was behind the attack. Months of investigation and none of us found even the slightest lead that could provide answers. We have only rumours,” Alastair could see how frustrated and bitter Thomas was over this. He silently took Thomas' hand in his and squeezed. Thomas squeezed in return. “After this… I felt like a failure. Everyone was sad or angry, or both. I couldn’t look at a sword because it reminded me of her. Everything hurted. I felt like an open wound.”

“I decided to leave. I took the money I had been saving over the years, left a note saying they don’t need to worry about me or search for me. I couldn’t live like that anymore. This place became a house of ghosts and sorrows. It has been a few years since then. I send them letters now and then, to let them know I'm alive and well.”

Thomas shrugged. He looked at Alastair and blinked a few times to chase the tears away.

Alastair stood up. Thomas took a shaky breath and Alastair sat next to him, hugging him. Thomas buried his face in Alastair’s neck.

“Alas,” he whispered with a hoarse voice.

“I’m here,” Alastair said, kissing the top of his head. “I’ll never leave your side.”

They ended up lying in the bed. With his head on Alastair’s chest, he could tell when Thomas dozed off. His sleep was restless, a frown on his face. Alastair gently stroked his hair, wishing he could do more.

Alastair fell asleep many hours later, Thomas’ tale echoing in his mind.

•

“What a chilly evening,” Armin said cheerfully as Thomas, Alastair and a few other people walked around, working. Alastair had never thought there was so much work in a tavern. Armin had shown them the basics the other day but he was still unprepared for all the little tasks that had to be done. The table had to be cleaned from the dust, the alcohol should be put out of the basement, the glasses had to be washed up, the food products checked out - the list was endless.

They were the newbies. As they came, Armin introduced them to the rest of the staff and put them to work.

Alastair was watching Thomas with the corner of his eye. He was at the bar, talking with a girl from the other employees. She laughed at something he said and shook her head with a smile.

Alastair was glad to see his lover smiling. After last night he was worried Thomas would be haunted by bad memories or regret he told Alastair his story.

“Yo!” a brunet guy threw an apron at him. Alastair caught it. “We’re the waiters for the first shift. I’ll be teaching you.”

Time moves fast when you’re busy. The tavern had more clients than he expected. Apparently it had been closed for a while because Armin had to travel for the wedding of one of his sons. He found out the only family he had in the city were his daughter, her husband and their child, the little girl.

Alastair was fascinated by all the stories and gossip he heard. Even as his shift as a waiter was over and he took Thomas’ place in the bar, he heard so much. The most curious thing for him was the whispered gossip about two pretty girls, new in town, who were searching for something. Or somebody. Alastair could tell they didn’t care that much but did it for the sake of the gossip.

Alastair looked at Thomas who was just starting his own shift as a waiter. Their eyes met and Thomas grinned. Alastair smiled in return.

•

“Our turn, big guy,” said a short girl while putting an apron on. Thomas already had one. He turned his gaze away from Alastair to look at her. “Get one of these,” she said, grabbing a pencil and a small notebook. “There aren’t many people now. The hours of the morning are lazy during the weekdays.”

Thomas came to realize she wasn’t wrong. There were a few regular clients that came to chat with Armin more than anything. It was nice. Thomas hated crowds so he loved the quiet, slow atmosphere.

His shift was almost over so he started to collect and wash the dishes. Almost half of the staff had already left and Alastair and Thomas were almost done for the night too.

Thomas was cleaning a table when he accidentally stumbled upon someone.

“I’m so sorry, I-” Thomas stopped mid sentence. Widened pale grey eyes were staring back at him, as surprised as him.

“Grace?” he whispered.

“Thomas,” she uttered. She put her hand in front of her month. Then she jumped and hugged him, her hands surprisingly strong. He wrapped his arms around her and memories washed over him. Tears filled his eyes.

When they let go of each other Grace wiped away the tears rolling down her face. She laughed.

“Good gods! We have a lot to talk about. A lot.”

“We have,” Thomas smiled. “We really have.”

He looked at Armin who was talking with someone at the bar. Alastair was watching them with a questioning look.

“I’m working right now,” Thomas said. “How about we meet after ten minutes? My shift is almost over.”

“You work in a tavern?” Grace said with astonishment.

Thomas snorted. “Not the worst job I have had.”

Grace looked at him, really looked. “We have so, so much to talk about indeed.”

•

With glossy eyes but a big smile on his face Thomas approached Alastair on the bar.

“What’s going on?” he asked. He didn't know what to think as he watched how Thomas and the girl hugged like they were old friends.

“This… this is Grace,” Thomas said, sounding like he couldn't believe it himself. “Do you remember when I mentioned her?”

Alastair nodded. The girl whose brother got killed in the same attack as Thomas’ sister.

“We have never been that close but she’s one of Christopher’s best friends,” he said. “It was so good to see her...” Alastair smiled at Thomas’ warm expression. He could tell he had missed her. “We agreed we’ll talk after I’m done with work.”

“You probably have a lot to catch up on,” Alastair said, smiling. He added, unsure. “I can wait for you if...”

“Actually,” Thomas said. “I… Do you want to come with me?” he smiled sheepishly. “I want the people that are important to me to know each other.”

Alastair’s smile was big when he answered. “I would love to.”

They said goodbye to Armin and the few members of the staff that were left for the morning shift. Thomas was searching for Grace in the room but she was nowhere to be seen. They left the tavern. The morning was warm with a cool breeze that made the weather feel a little more chill than it actually was. The sun hasn’t risen yet.

Alastair spotted the girl - Grace - not far away from the tavern, looking at the sky. She was wearing a hat this time that was hiding her hair under it. She looked at them and Thomas smiled.

They approached her, half hidden in the shadows. She looked suspiciously at Alastair.

“Grace,” Thomas said. He looked at Alastair with shining eyes. “Meet Alastair Carstairs, the love of my life,” Alastair’s chest felt warm inside. Without realizing, a smile appeared on his face. “And Alastair, meet Grace Cartraight, a good friend of mine.”

Grace gave Alastair a startled look.

“Wow. You didn’t waste time in the big world, did you, Tom?”

Thomas laughed softly. “I even don’t know where to begin.”

Grace smiled as well. “Do you wanna go somewhere we can talk?”

They ended up in Thomas and Alastair’s place. Grace’s flat was too far away and they didn’t want to go to another tavern.

Grace gave him curious glances once in a while. He was doing the same. Thomas was oblivious to how they were observing each other. Grace was rather short but everyone looked short next to Thomas. Her hair was pale blonde, almost white. She wasn’t frowning but wasn’t smiling either. She listened. And she was smart. Probably smarter than most people realized.

Alastair made tea for the three of them before he sat with them on the kitchen table. Thomas just finished the story of one of his journeys after he left the palace. Alastair has heard it before but he liked how Thomas was telling stories.

“Anyway,” Thomas said, shaking his head as Grace laughed. “Enough about me. Tell me about yourself,” a tension creeped in his face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, I’m happy to see you but… why are you here, Grace?”

Her smile faded. She opened her mouth but hesitated. She gave Alastair a quick glance. Thomas saw it.

He took Alastair’s hand in his.

“Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it in front of him,” he held her gaze. “Anything.”

Grace slowly nodded. She took a deep breath.

“Thomas,” she said quietly. “Things in the palace aren’t too good. Haven’t been for a while.”

Alastair could almost feel how Thomas’ body tensed next to him. “What do you mean? Is everyone okay?”

Grace shook her head. “No, I mean, yes, everyone is fine, but,” she nervously looked around, like someone could overhear them in the empty apartment. “We got information that leads us to believe there is a traitor among us… and whoever was responsible for the attack four years ago, is planning on trying again.”

“What?” Thomas all but jumped out of his chair. “No,” he shook his head. “I can’t...”

Grace looked pained. “I know it’s shocking. And quite unbelievable. But...” she leaned towards them. “Thomas, there had been rumours. Rumours all over the queendom about a mysterious someone who sells something that “gives you a new life” and can “give you a new home”. A few months before the first attack our spies heard about them but no one paid attention. But recently exactly the same thing has been going on around. It’s too specific not to notice.”

Grace took a breath and took a sip from her tea. She gently put it back on the table but didn’t let go of the cup.

“The queen is not taking any chances,” she continued. “Extremely small circle of people know about this. The Lightwoods are aware. After Gabriel almost died and Barbara’s death… Charlotte decided they had the right to be aware. I know because of Jesse,” her knuckles had gone white from gripping the cup. “Not even Matthew and Benji know. Oh, and Kamala knows too, after what happened to her trying to defend Anna. She’s here with me actually.”

“Wait, I can understand Benji but why not tell Matthew? He’s their son. Does that mean Charles knows?” Thomas said, vibrating with anxious energy. “And Kamala is here with you?”

Grace made a face. “I know you have questions…”

“You bet!”

“...but let’s take it one by one,” Grace said, exhaling. “First: Charles has no idea about any of this. He’s on a diplomatic mission in another country for nine months. He’ll not be home until the end of the year. Kamala and I are here to investigate, of a sort. The queen sent us to find the source of the seller. But… at this point is just a suspicion with too little facts to support it,” she looked tired as she said it. “This city is our last try before we go home,” she grinned at them. “But then I stumbled into you.”

Thomas tried to return the smile but Alastair could see his worry. He was silent for a while.

“You didn’t say anything about Benji and Matthew,” he said quietly.

Grace signed. “Matthew went on a trip a few weeks ago, the same time Kamala and I did. He won’t be back for a while. And Benji… Charlotte decided he shouldn’t know.”

“Why?” Thomas sounded genuinely surprised. “He practically grew up training to be a guard and then a knight. And he was there three years ago. He fought like the rest of us.”

Grace shrugged. “Not everyone that was there knows about this, Tom. The queen is very careful who knows about this and if there is even the slightest chance you may be the traitor...”

“Guilty until proven innocent,” Thomas said bitterly.

“Something like that,” Grace said. “It's a high risk even telling you this. But… I know Charlotte would let you know about it,” but even as she said it she gave Alastair a wary look. Thomas squeezed his hand under the table.

“I must go,” she said and got up, putting on her hat. They also got up, following her to the door.

“Can we see each other again soon?” Thomas said. “And Kamala?”

Grace smiled, “I was going to suggest the same. How about we come for lunch?”

Thomas turned to Alastair with a questioning look. He nodded.

“Okay then,” he smiled, turning back to Grace. “Lunch it is.”

As the door closed after Grace, anxiety creeped over Thomas' face. Alastair could almost see the hundreds of thoughts circling in Thomas’ head.

“Thomas,” Alastair said. “Breath.”

“I’m sorry, I...” Thomas took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

He gently took his hand and led him to sit on the bed. “You’re not fine. And it’s understandable why.”

“My family… Gods, Alastair. What if something bad happens again and I’m not there to help? What if someone dies? What if-”

“Tom,” Alastair cupped his face, still standing in front of him. He looked him in the eyes. “One breath after another, okay? Breath with me. Yes, yes. Good. Very good.”

Alastair tried his best to sound calm and his voice to be even. Thomas listened to him, following the instructions. With one last breath he opened his eyes and tried to smile at his lover. Alastair carefully let him go. “Better?”

Thomas nodded. He got up and started walking around the small room, rubbing his face. The worst was prevented but it couldn’t take the worry away.

No matter that most people thought about Thomas as an expressive person therefore easy to read, Alastair knew better. He knew Thomas would hide the pain away, trying to protect the others from it. He may be bleeding to death but he'd smile and suggest having a cup of tea. At the same time he wouldn’t lie if asked. Or at least if Alastair asked.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said.

Thomas ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just… anxious. I can’t believe what’s happening. ”

“You want to go help them,” Alastair said.

“I…” Thomas made a face. He stopped walking. “Of course I do. But I would never drag you into my family's problems.”

“Don't speak nonsense,” Alastair got up as well and looked him in the eyes. “We’re going. Your business is my business.”

Thomas' eyes watered. He cupped Alastair's face and kissed him, gently pulling him closer.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he whispered against his lips.

“Probably saved a kingdom in a past life,” Alastair said with a smile. Thomas laughed softly and kissed Alastair’s nose. His lover looked at him then, serious. “I’m not going to back off because problems appear in front of us, Thomas. Hell, I ran away with you. I can’t scare me off that easily.”

Thomas smiled again, shaking his head. “You’re awesome, you know that?”

“It doesn’t hurt being reminded,” Alastair said with a sly smile and pulled Thomas for another kiss.

•

Kamala was as beautiful as Thomas remembered her. Her laugh was warm but sharp and her brown eyes were shining with kindness and mischief. When Thomas left they both were almost children. She looked more mature now. There was new quietness in her. He couldn’t help but notice how little she moved her left arm. Her injury from that day.

Her eyes were more careful now as she watched around. But they softened as her gaze laid on Thomas.

“Tom,” she sighed as they hugged. It was a long hug but Thomas didn’t mind. Perhaps it was something they both needed. She was close with Anna and the best friend of Eugenia so he definitely had spent more time with her.

Both girls reminded him of home. He introduced her to Alastair and Thomas thought they liked each other immediately. Kamala had that effect on people.

“So,” she said after she took a sip from her tea. “I heard you found out about our situation.”

“Yes, I did,” Thomas sighed.

Kamala and Grace looked at each other.

“We want you to come with us,” Grace said straightforwardly. “We need all the allies we can get. And… the Lightwoods would be out of their minds to see you.”

“We know,” Kamala quickly. “That you already have a life here and don’t-”

“I’ll come.”

“...to leave but- what?”

“I’ll come,” Thomas repeated. “Well,” he smiled. “We will come.”

Kamala blinked at him. She hesitated. “Tom...”

“I know who you are!” Grace said suddenly. Everyone looked at her, startled. Her eyes were on Alastair. “Your name… I have heard it before but couldn’t recall where from. But I do now. You’re Prince Esfandiyār Jahanshah.”

Kamala’s eyes widened. Alastair looked a little uncomfortable.

“I use this name mostly for more formal situations and with relatives but yes, that’s me. So?”

“Oh gods,” Kamala said, stunned. “You’re that prince who ran away with his lover? This is Benji’s favorite tale.”

Grace turned to Thomas, hit by the same realization.

“You’re that lover?”

Thomas smiled, embarrassed but a little amused. “Guilty.”

“Wow,” Kamala said and then laughed. “I want to hear the story. All of it.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “We have more urgent tasks,” she said. And then added. “But same.”

Alastair laughed a little. Thomas loved to hear his laugh.

“I think,” he said. “We should come up with a plan of what to do.”

“Agreed,” Grace said. “It will look suspicious if you two just pop up in the court.”

“In many ways,” added Kamala. She looked at Alastair. “Hmm. Perhaps we can use your royal identity somehow.”

Alastair frowned. “If Queen Charlotte is that picky who to trust, is it really a good idea for some foreign prince to knock on her door?”

“If we do it right,” Kamala said. “She will welcome you. She doesn’t want anyone to think anything is wrong.”

“And if we come incognito… as a “distraction” for the queen...” Thomas said.

“The real culprit will show themself,” Grace finished. “No one will pay special attention to us.”

“That’s a shitty plan,” Alastair announced.

“It’s not perfect,” Grace agreed. “But if they think everyone is too busy being careful around some foreign prince… that they don’t look at them anymore... it would be easier to catch them making a mistake.”

“So basically, I’ll be the bait?” Alastair arched an eyebrow.

“No,” Kamala said. “We all will be.”

•

“Are you sure this is safe?” Alastair said, suspiciously eyeing the liquid.

“Of course not,” Grace said, no trace of worry in her voice. “We just spent lots of money on a leery potion. And the woman did say it may have side effects.”

Thomas was smelling it. “It doesn’t smell bad. Just strange. Like apples and gasoline.”

“Guys...”

“Relax, Prince Charming,” Kamala said. “We’ll drink it, not you.”

“That’s exactly why I’m worried.”

“We’re wasting time,” Grace said. “No point in reassuring each other how everything will be alright. We do it or we don’t - no one in the palace should recognize us,” then she lifted the small bottle to her lips and drank. Thomas made a face and did the same. Kamala followed.

“I don’t feel different.” Grace said, touching her face.

“Me neither,” Kamala said. “Maybe it takes time...”

Kamala, Grace and Thomas were looking at each other curiously and then with almost comically surprised expressions when they saw the two unfamiliar faces in front of them, blinking at each other.

Alastair watched the three strangers in his apartment.

“Damn,” he stared at them, dazed. “Damn.”

•

Kamala’s words were echoing in his head. Don’t show you know something is wrong. This is just a random queendom you stopped by for help.

Queen Charlotte looked at him more curiously than hostilly. Alastair decided this was a good sign. He tried his best to look embarrassed.

“Your Majesty,” he bowed low. “Please forgive me for my interruption of your day. I hope you don’t think I’m too unmannered for invading your beautiful queendom like that. I am in desperate need of help.”

Queen Charlotte wasn't a tall woman. She wasn’t wearing expensive jews except the crown on her head that was simple but majestic. Her brown eyes were intelligent and serious but not unkind. She smiled at him, waving a hand at one servant.

“Please, bring some tea for our guests. Even an uninvited stranger deserves hospitality.”

Alastair bowed again. “I’m in awe of your generosity, Your Majesty.”

He looked at her again and secretly took a breath before speaking again. This was the most crucial part.

“I am prince Esfandiyār Jahanshah from a monarchy part of the Eastern empire. I also go by Alastair Carstairs. I’m travelling with my companions,” he waved at Thomas, Kamala and Grace, standing behind him - looking like completely different people - who were still bowing. “I feel silly but we got lost. It’s just the four of us and we have had no royal guardians or contact with our families for weeks. Even months. We were robbed and had no choice but to ask for help. We couldn’t risk revealing our identities to strangers, afraid they may use it against my family. We know around this part of the continent you and a few others have friendly relationships with my land.”

Alastair cringed inside. The next words should not sound as cheeky as it was in his head. Or pathetic.

“I realize I am asking a lot… And I wouldn’t blame you if you refuse. But is it possible to accept us in your palace for a few weeks until a letter reaches my family? I hope I’m not abusing your hospitality.”

The queen was watching him - them - for a few seconds. Alastair was sweating. Worry twisted his insides.

“Please, sit,” Charlotte said. They did as asked, facing her. Alastair was tempted to look at Thomas, to check on him but he couldn’t risk it.

“Prince Esfandiyār,” she started. Then stopped. “Am I pronouncing it right?”

Alastair nodded. But even if she didn’t, Alastair probably wouldn’t correct her anyway. Most monarchs didn’t like to be corrected.

“You realize what sudden and odd request you’re asking of me,” she continued. “I appreciate that. I can’t let just any random prince or princess stay in my palace without any notice.”

No, Alastair thought. Panic was rising in him.

“However,” Charlotte said. “I believe it won’t be a problem to stay here under a name different from Jahanshah. It’s quite a known name, as you are aware.”

Alastair released a deep breath in relief.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he bowed his head. “I’ll stay here as Alastair Carstairs. I hope it won’t be too much trouble for you. You have my endless graduate.”

Charlotte smiled at him. She stood up. The rest did as well.

“You will be escorted to your rooms. I guess you want to be next to each other?”

“If this is possible,” Alastair bowed his head in obeyance. “My companions are very dear to me and for months we had slept next to each other.”

The queen smiled unexpectedly warmly. “Then you are a lucky man, Prince Alastair.”

“Absolutely true,” Alastair agreed sincerely.

At this moment the servant came back with their tea. She put on the table, serving firstly at the Queen, then the rest of them.

“Thank you, Martha,” Charlotte said. Alastair was surprised she knew the servant's girl name. Most royals didn't bother. “Would you ask a guard to call for the Lightwoods? Apologize for the trouble at this time but it's urgent.”

The girl bowed low. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

As she left the room, Charlotte turned to them again. “I hope you are not offended by the heavy guard you'll have here. It's the good old caution that helps one survive.”

“I expect nothing less,” he smiled to show he didn't mind. He had to look at easy. If he was just a Prince looking for help then he had nothing to hide.

A sharp knock on the door interrupted their conversation.

“Come in,” Charlotte said before drinking from her cup.

The Lightwoods entered the room.

•

To be continued...

Words: 6 030

Four months of writing, three weeks of editing, HERE IT IS FINALLY

And if you're fan of 19 Days... I hope you caught the reference hehe

Next part coming Thursday and the third one - Sunday