#one of the most quietly devastating stories i’ve ever read | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sleephyjhs · 4 years

Text

When You’re Expecting (Taehyung Headcanon)

pairing: taehyung x pregnant!reader

warnings: mention of fertility & pregnancy complications

note: i’ve been craving to write a bts x pregnancy series for a while so here we go !! if there’s a specific member you’d like to see next, shoot me an ask :)

m.list

FINDING OUT

even before finding out you were pregnant, you both had so much love for your child

there was nothing either of you could have wanted more than a baby

it was always at the forefront of your mind how much you wanted a little human of your own

it was approaching a year since you began trying seriously

a few false hopes and two miscarriages later, fertility drugs were looking to improve the chances of conceiving

the raging hormones which came with the drugs were all worth the positive test

early september - sickness had hung around your throat for days

headaches lasted longer than usual, and crying at the most mundane things had become an unwelcome habit

in the bathroom cabinet, you’d collected a small stockpile of electronic and stick pregnancy tests

one of them would eventually show positive, right?

taehyung sat on the bathroom tiles with you

waiting two minutes felt closer to waiting two months

he crossed his legs, bouncing his knees impatiently

your knees came to your chin; high hopes weighed heavily on your heart

the alarm set on his phone beeped quietly

your heartbeat rose suddenly to your throat

taehyung reached out for your hand as you turned to read the results

two blue lines - as clear as day

they became less clear as your eyes coated with thick, salty tears

he began to chuckle as his happiness trickled down his cheeks

“we did it baby! we’re gonna have a baby!” he whispered, choked up by his own anticipation

no words were left swirling in your mind

your jaw hung open as though the hinges were faulty

shakily, you lifted the electronic test to triple check

pregnant.

as you crashed into taehyung’s open arms, memories of the past loomed in your mind

it was only inevitable

a positive test was a familiar joy to you both

however this familiar joy had only ever been followed by crippling devastation

as much as you tried not to think about it, you couldn’t help but retain maternal caution

however, this time also felt different

taehyung’s spirit, your spirit - it was as though fate didn’t want to disappoint you any more

someone out there decided it was finally your time to grow a mini human to bring into the world

of course, no time was wasted in contacting the maternity clinic

seeing your baby on a screen was now a top priority

just to see their little head, maybe even hear their heartbeat

just to know they were okay

just to know you were keeping them cosy and safe, that’s all you needed

taehyung couldn’t hold his excitement

from leaving the house to reaching the hospital, his toothy grin never wiped from his cheeks

he never said anything at the time since his main focus was always on comforting you

but losing his babies near enough tore him apart

even when you tried to comfort him, taehyung restricted himself just to protect your wellbeing

of course, the worse had already crossed his mind

but it wouldn’t get the better of him

it couldn’t.

you soon learned you were already 6 weeks pregnant

the midwife had to point out where your little baby was hanging out; they were such a tiny thing after all

briefly, you took the opportunity to hear their heartbeat

it was faint over the machine, but fast

there really was a life within you.

“there’s something else, if you just look over here...” the midwife prompted, turning the monitor so you could grasp a better view

taehyung leaned slightly over your chest to peer closely at the smaller monochrome screen

with the mouse, she circled a second bean shaped figure

“the fertility drugs increase the chance of twins. looks like you guys got lucky!”

twins. you were having twins.

THE PREGNANCY

like with most pregnancies, you were advised to wait until the 12 week milestone to begin announcing your impending delivery

and even though he understood the importance of patience right now, taehyung could hardly contain his excitement

it didn’t help that a little bump had already begun to grow

keeping a secret was much more difficult when the evidence was near impossible to hide

already, taehyung spent early mornings talking to his little angels

telling them stories he seemingly made up on the spot

or even borrowing some from his own childhood

“you know they can’t hear you yet? it’s about 7 weeks until they’ll be able to, honey.”

“i know, i’m just practising for when they can.”

of course, you wouldn’t admit that you did the same when you were alone

you attended more midwife appointments than other expectant mothers might

the pair of you much preferred being on the safer side

in the car, when on a quieter, less congested road, taehyung often reached over to cradle your still-growing bump with a free hand

you slotted your fingertips between his for additional sappiness

“you two have so many people waiting for you here, hmm? many people are already so in love with you both. me and mummy included.”

on a sleepless night, you’d made a small pact with tae

it was a rash decision, but sincere nonetheless

“no matter what, they are always going to know how wanted they were. always.”

taehyung hardly needed reminding of this, but it was still a weight off your shoulders

as you tried to conceive, the pregnancy diet had already been implemented into your daily routines

however now that you were carrying two precious babies, there really would be no more ‘cheat’ days for you

no more extra half cups of coffee on slower mornings

although you usually took over the role of head chef in the house, taehyung dedicated extra effort into preparing you both healthy and yummy foods

sautéd rice with green vegetables and lean meat/tofu appeared to be his go-to

but you still opted to supervise just in case

finally being able to announce your pregnancy was another heavy weight lifted from your mind

the other members were over the moon for you both

particularly when they reminded themselves of the struggles you had experienced previously

and also remembering the utter devastation of their taehyung when he had to break it to them

all of them kept their eye out for little gifts and outfits

each week, taehyung came home with a new stack of pale rompers or neutral-tones teething toys

these babies would have the best uncles; at least that much you could be certain of

announcing your pregnancy on social media was a looming task, but one he was determined to pull off perfectly

for filler content between schedules, the members had been asked to film a 5 minute vlog of their daily life

well, what a perfect opportunity!

towards the end, taehyung made sure to include some shots of your now protruding bump overlaid with some more vintage camera settings

safe to say, that day you had broken the internet

love, congratulations and blessings poured in from every corner of the earth

a few comments complimenting how much pregnancy suited you touched you especially

self image is commonly effected by the progression of pregnancy, and you were no exception to that

although it was amazing how your body grew and made a little home for your tiny babies, it was still quite strange to see yourself changing so quickly

your favourite clothes didn’t fit around your doubled bump anymore

and your skin seemed to hate sharing nutrients with two extra people

but for the days where you struggled to love yourself, taehyung easily filled in the gaps for you

sneaking up behind you in the bathroom

(although the mirror kinda gave him away)

he’d wrap his arms around your just-moisturised bump and carefully rest his chin on your shoulder

“tell me all your worries honey.”

you gushed over how much you missed wearing your favourite jackets

and how strange it was to look at yourself in such a new and confusing way

“i know it’s normal, and i know i have to do it for them. but i guess it’s just weird - i don’t look like myself anymore”

he sighed and planted a kiss on a spot of bare skin

those small kisses still tickled you like they always had

“well, you definitely look different,”

you really hoped there was a second part to that sentence, mostly for tae’s own good

“but why does that have to be bad? not gonna lie, it actually kinda makes you hotter. maybe we should make babies more often!”

“make~?”

LABOUR AND DELIVERY

originally, you had wanted to try and stick to the natural route for as long as you could

but after a few contractions, that idea was immediately out of the window

to help steady yourself and wait out the pain, you held onto the kitchen island and swayed to your own pace

eventually, taehyung joined you

copying the same movements while timing your contractions

“they really must be desperate to come out, huh?”

“well do you think they could hurry it up a bit?!”

the pair of you had been prepared for this for over a month

the hospital bag was ready by the door with all of your essentials packed tightly inside

not forgetting the pots of instant ramen taehyung insisted he must bring in case of an emergency

just as he was readying to back out of the driveway, taehyung took a mental stock check of everything packed in the back

“do you think we have everything?”

“i love you but stop talking please.”

thankfully, he understood well that the sheer pain made you cranky

so long as he assured himself that it was ‘just the contractions’, he’d be just fine

as much as he couldn’t wait to announce he was about to become a father to everyone, he kept himself grounded when walking you to the maternity ward

one corridor in and you’d suggested that a wheelchair might be a better mode of transport

breathlessness and contractions didn’t sound like a favourable mix to you

the assessment of your fast dilation granted you an immediate spot in the labour ward

you’d picked this suite specially due to its expansive space

the option of a birthing pool was still available if you so needed it, but the mood lighting and access to aromatherapy was what attracted you to the room in the first place

a serene paradise for your angels to be born into

it was perfect

taehyung explored while you adjusted to your new surroundings

of course, it didn’t take him long to find the birthing ball

“what’s the difference between a yoga ball and a birthing ball?”

there obviously was none, but you took a few seconds to try and be smart with him

“well, sit on that and you might have a baby the size of a watermelon come out of you soon.”

taehyung cradled his torso and pulled a shocked expression, which was enough to make you giggle and cause another contraction

less than a few hours passed, and you had already attempted to scream the building down once or twice

“get these babies out of me. no i’m serious, i need them out.”

realising your deadpan expression, taehyung soon attended to you at the head of your bed

stroking your slightly sweaty head and patting a ice cold flannel on your clammy forehead

he braced himself for a crushing hand grip which came about sooner than he’d prepared for

you weren’t the biggest fan of commotion, and so being surrounded by nurses and doctors was close to being your worst nightmare

taehyung focused his voice into your ear, trying to minimise the tension coming from below your pelvis

his motivational words were broken up by short bursts of pushes

many of which were followed by a string of curse words which just slipped out

and then, there it was.

the first piercing cry belted across the room

a tear or two may have happened to slip from your eyes

finally the moment you’d waited for, nearly two years in the making, was here

the first of two, a little girl who already had a head full of the most luscious black hair

taehyung wanted to hold back his happy tears in order to show some kind of strength

but you and him both knew he’d never hold it back for long

within the space of 4 minutes, the second baby was born into the world.

but this time, there was no immediate cry

the whole world seemed to slow down in that moment as you waited

and waited

midwifes gathered around the new infant, looking for any kind of obstruction

but, soon enough, your son said his first hello to the world

#taehyung #kim taehyung #bts #bts taehyung #bts v #bangtan #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts one shot #bts drabble #bts headcanon #bts mtl #bts imagine #bts reaction #bts pregnancy #taehyung dad #taehyung x reader #taehyung x oc #taehyung pregnancy

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elfwoodfae · 3 years

Note

Ima need you to write something filthy about Harry after he discovers y/n's erotic friend fiction about the team and learn what she really thinks about him.

Love, some one anonymous and your biggest fan

“Hurtful Lies” Harrison “Harry” Wells x reader

Author’s note: HUGE thank you to @wintersire for coming through and helping me keep Harry in character and help me edit and put together this story, honestly couldn’t have done it without her. Also I know is not exactly what you asked for but I could stop myself from the angst, I truly hope you like it. I loved writing it. I cried too while doing it.

WARNING: SMUT, ANSGT.

Gif credits to the owner, I found it on google.

4.5k

“Oh Harrison,” You moaned in his ear as he held you up against the wall, your legs tangled around his waist.

“I can’t wait to be inside of you,” He whispered, his hands going up your back and ripping open the fabric of your dress. His lips found yours, his teeth catching your bottom one, tugging on it for you to open your mouth.

His hand went down the curve of your ass to the inside of your thigh, feeling the heat coming from you.

“Every night since I met you I have dreamed about this moment, I've touched myself thinking of you, I adore you, everything about you.” You proclaimed against his mouth. He kissed you fiercely in response, savoring you.

You typed furiously into your computer, not wanting to lose the inspiration you had. This was your hobby, or more or less your practice into becoming a writer, and what better way to do it than writing about the center of your affections. Harrison Wells. Or more accurately, Earth 2 Harrison Wells. You had developed a hard crush on the man, everything about him drove you crazy, his hands, his hair, his lips, his back, and oh God did you wonder what was inside those pants; maybe that’s why he always wore them so baggy.

You could almost say it was an obsession at this point. At night, when you were alone, he was who you would think of while touching yourself, moaning his name. You wanted him so bad. It's gotten to the point where you would do anything for him, as scared as that thought made you.

Taking a break from typing and stretching your fingers, you leaned back to look at the screen and read over your writing. You wondered how long you've been writing for; it seemed like no time at all. When you catch the time you let out a curse. It was almost 8. and Cisco had insisted you all go out as a team for a very deserved family dinner at Barry’s place.

Saving the document and getting up from the computer you went over to your room, getting dressed up. While you readied yourself you heard a breach opening in your living room; Cisco was here to get you.

“I will be out in a minute! Get comfy.” You called out while struggling to fix the dress to make your breasts look more appetizing. Obviously you doubted Harry would notice, but at least you could dream he would. You had chosen a short float dress with an open back and low neckline, perfect for indiscreet kisses and flirty hands.

Back in the living room Cisco was moving through the apartment to get to the kitchen, leaving Harry, who had unexpectedly come with him, alone; something you were unaware of. The screen of your computer illuminated as a email notification appeared, catching Harry’s attention. He looked over and as he was about to dismiss it something called his attention back to it.

His name was written on whatever you were working on, moving towards it slowly he started to read it over, his eyes widening with every word he read. Just as he was about to scroll down the page the clicking of your heels could be heard, making him smack the screen down to hide what he was doing.

Trying to act normal he turned around, hiding his face from you and the blush softly creeping on it.

“Oh Harry, I didn’t know you had come with Cisco,” you said, looking at his back.

“He would take too long otherwise,” he grunted, unable to look you in the eye. His gaze stayed on your neck, trying to distract himself, but that was a mistake as he could see the way the dress hugged your body from his peripheral view. Memories of what you had written came to his mind as he wondered what it would feel like to run his hands up your back and take that dress off of you.

Clearing his throat he had to turn back around, hiding his hands in the pockets of his pants to try and hide something else triggered by the thought.

You took in his appearance. You don’t think you had ever seen him this formal, and for a moment he reminded you exactly of Thawne the night of the accelerator launch; his white shirt with a blazer on top, the first buttons open to show his skin, his black pants, and his hair; a little shorter and sharper on the sides. You wondered if this is what he looked like most of the time on his Earth; before zoom, when he was less worried about everything.

Cisco came back just in time from the kitchen, hurrying all of you into a breach to make it to Barry’s on time.

After the drinks started flowing, so did the good feelings; the atmosphere was joyful, everyone was having a good time, even Harry seemed relaxed in his own way.

As the night progressed and all of you sat around the living room, Caitlin asked about your project. She knew you had been working on a few pieces for a literature portfolio you had been building.

“Well I have been working on this piece I’m really excited about.” You said, causing Harry to suddenly choke on his drink.

“You good?” Cisco nudged him.

“Yeah yeah I’m just, I’m going to get some air,” he whispered getting up with his drink and walking over to the balcony.

Maybe it was the liquid courage the alcohol provided, or the fact that fate liked to play with you, but you suddenly felt brave enough to walk after him. You excused yourself quietly before following him into the cool night air.

“Hey,” you gently touched his shoulder. “Is everything okay?” You asked him with a kind smile. The one you always saved for him.

“Yeah, yeah, it's just a little crowded in there.” He lamely excused.

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure. I’ll be leaving soon, I think I had one too many drinks, I’ll ask Cisco to breach me.” You said as you turned around, ready to leave, but right before you went through the door his hand stopped you, grabbing your arm delicately.

“I can walk you, I’m leaving too.” He said. He was regretting this as the words were leaving his mouth but it was already too late, you had smiled at him and nodded, letting him know you were getting your purse and saying your goodbyes. He didn’t know where this had come from, certainly not from his common sense as he knew he shouldn’t be giving you any hopes after what he had read in your computer, but he couldn’t help it, the alcohol in his system made him think slower and not very clearly.

The walk home was quiet, only making small talk between you both. He didn’t know why he had offered to walk you, Cisco could have breached you easily. Once you made it to your door you turned around, facing him.

“Hey,” you started, trying to find a way to phrase what you wanted to ask him. This may after all be your only chance at this.

“Do you want to come in for a drink?” You asked him with a kind smile.

He shouldn’t stay, he should have said no and leave, he wasn’t thinking clearly and the consequences would prove to be devastating.

He nodded, too afraid of speaking and his words betraying him. He followed you inside, settling in the couch while you went to get some alcohol from the kitchen.

Serving him and yourself a drink you both settle on simple conversation, laughing and every once in a while you could see the way his eyes would fall to your lips.

Finishing your drinks, silence fell over you both, neither sure of what was supposed to happen, but the tension could be felt in the air. Softly, you moved closer to him, your hand finding his thigh as you leaned over him. He was studying you, his eyes on your lips. Slowly you touched his face, your lips connecting with his in a soft kiss.

He closed his eyes, his hands moving to the back of your neck as if by instinct, his lips pressed harder to yours, his teeth grazing your bottom one, prompting you to open your mouth. He had forgotten what it felt like to kiss someone else. His hands traveled down your back, feeling the soft skin of your back exposed by the dress. You moved to his lap, removing his blazer and playing with the buttons of his white shirt.

In a silent agreement you both decided to move this to the bedroom, you got up, offering him your hand for him to take and follow you. Once inside you turned around, kissing him again as you moved backwards towards the bed. His hands moved to the zipper of your dress, opening it and letting it fall of your form. There you stood, naked in front of him, only in your panties as you bit your lip, you looked absolutely stunning in his eyes.

He knew the only way he was being able to go through with this was because of the amount of alcohol in his system, and as he moved his hands to your waist to lean you back in the bed, kissing you, his breathing started to quicken. Heat spreading from the back of his neck to his shoulders. He was loosing focus on what he was doing.

Your hands moved to his pants, unbuckling them, opening the button of them and pushing them down, but the moment your hand touched his cock he lost it, he couldn’t do it. He started to panic, images of Tess came to his mind and his mind screamed at him that this was a betrayal to her memory.

Moving away from you quickly he turned around, trying to get himself back in his pants again.

“Harry?” You softly asked him, sitting up and covering yourself with the duvet.

“Hey it’s okay,” you tried again when he didn’t reply, noticing the way his breathing had quickened and he seemed to be panicking. Understanding came over you; he was probably nervous. You assumed he hasn’t been with anyone physically since his wife passed away.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you try again, touching his arm to reassure him, but the moment your skin touches his he flinched away from you.

“Don’t touch me” he says, getting up from the bed, his breathing quickening. He hasn't felt this way since Jessie was taken; the weight on his chest getting heavier every second he remained in your bedroom. He couldn’t explain why, but this sense of panic rose the moment he saw your face fall at him flinching away from you.

“Hey calm down, it's okay. I understand if you need time,” you began but he interrupted you with a breathy scoff. He was in a panic state now; he couldn’t think clearly anymore, he knew you knew what was happening to him, and somehow that show of weakness made the whole situation worse.

“What could you possibly understand, you're just a selfish brat. I don’t need you whoring yourself to me like you did to Thawne.” He spits quickly, not looking at you. He knew that seeing your face would be his last straw.

Your own panic becomes evident in the way your breathing changes. Tears pool in your eyes, so heavy that they start to fall without your consent. The hurt, the humiliation and embarrassment you feel at his words are obvious, how did he know what had happened with Thawne?

His panic dulls once his pants are securely covering him once more, clearing his head enough to allow him to process what he just said to you. He turns toward you, that feeling building once more but for a completely different reason this time. He shouldn’t have said that, he fucked up completely now. A sharp pain tugs at him the moment he sees your face; he went too far.

“No, y/n, I am,” he begins to say, he needs to fix this before is too late, but you close your eyes, whispering a quiet “get out”. When you open your eyes again, he is still there. He tries to reach for you but you dodge him, taking the blanket with you to the bathroom.

He tries to talk to you, to apologize, but by the way he can hear your sobbing from behind the closed door he knows there is nothing he can say to fix this, at least not now.

You stayed in the bathroom, sitting on the floor behind the door with your blankets around you until you heard the front door close, proving that he had indeed left.

How could he had done that to you? You had trusted him, you had trusted Harry to be different. You had never thought he could be so cruel, but once again you had been proven wrong and were hurt by two men wearing the same face.

Harry looks for you the next day. He needs to apologize, he needs to fix this because he can’t deal with the pain and guilt he is feeling now. He storms through the lab but he can’t find you. Eventually Ramon gets there, who informs him that you didn’t come today.

Harry seems to be in a even worse mood than before, yelling at everyone and throwing things every once in a while, a behavior he had overcome in his time on this earth.

“Okay, what’s wrong with you?” Cisco questions him, finally having been able to catch him.

He hesitates, unsure if telling Ramon what happened was the best idea but with how bad he screwed up he may need all the help he can get at fixing this.

“I, I made a mistake” he whispers, facing the white board he was writing on.

“Last night I walked y/n home, and we had a couple drinks and one thing led to another,” he says, fixing his glasses as he is unsure of how to continue.

“And” Cisco pushes.

“And we kissed and then I panicked, and I,” he sighs.

“Harry its okay." Cisco tries, but Harry doesn't face him. "Look, I am sure she didn’t take it personally.” Cisco stands and reaches out to pat his shoulder, trying to help Harry, but when he touched his arm he saw exactly what Harry said; he saw what happened, the way his words had affected you. He knew Harry had a temper but he never expected for him to be capable of being so hurtful, especially to you, who had been nothing but kind and understanding to him.

“Oh no Harry, what did you do?” Cisco quickly says, fear evident in his voice.

“What?” Harry says, turning to look at him.

“How could you had say that to her? How do you even know about Thawne?” Cisco demands, anger evident in his voice.

“I panicked Ramon, I wasn’t thinking when I said it.” He removes his glasses and rubs his eyes.

“I heard Barry talking about Thawne and he mentioned that he and y/n were seeing each other.”

“That’s not the worst part Harry, we never talk about what happened not because of him but because of her too.” Cisco begins, he takes in a breath before continuing.

“Barry and y/n were closer back then, they were always together, but when Barry found out about Thawne, he also found out that y/n and him had a relationship, he instantly thought that she knew who he was and he never gave her a chance to explain,” he sighs, his eyes lost in the memories of that day.

“He was going to lock her in the pipeline with him, but Joe stopped him. Thawne had told her that she had been nothing but a distraction and a way for him to have fun, that he had never loved her. Barry was sure she had betrayed the team as well and when she was trying to explain he called her a desperate slut and accused her of not caring that he was a murderer." Cisco looks to the side, lost in the memory. "I still remember her face, the tears and how Joe had to intercept because he had crossed the line. After he locked her up, Thawne confessed that y/n was innocent, that she never knew who or what his intentions were.” Cisco proceeded explaining, making Harry only feel worse and worse by the second.

“Even when Barry apologized and she explained everything they never recovered, they never were as close as before and the team was not the same after that.” Cisco finished. God had he screwed up.

“I need to fix this Ramon,” Harry said, rubbing his forehead.

“I don’t honestly think you can do anything to fix this. I’m sorry Harry, but I think you can only give it time.” He said.

As the week progressed you had manage to avoid Harry at all costs, working on a lab far away from the cortex and completely opposite from him. You had expected to feel better by now, but his insult had only revived the memories buried in your mind, every time you looked at him now you could only see the original Wells, you could only see Thawne because the difference between both in your head had been completely erased after that night.

It took a week for Harry to finally corner you; he knew you were avoiding him, and he was trying to give you space, at least the first few days but every time you seemed to get a glance of his presence you would flee. He knew he deserved it.

When you made it home that night, after changing and settling down on the sofa you tried to relax, in all honesty the anxiety of the whole situation had made you too tense and too anxious to even be able to properly function that week.

As you switched between channels trying to distract yourself, you heard the telltale signs of a breach opening behind your couch. Cisco knew what had happened, he had hugged you as you cried that first day back after the incident.

“Cisco I am fine, I will be fine in a couple days” you added without looking back.

“It’s not Cisco” his raspy voice said, almost in a whisper and you instantly froze, not wanting to see him.

He noticed the way you tensed, how you wouldn’t turn around to see him.

“What are you doing here?” You whispered, tears threatening to fall.

“Please let me fix this, I am so sorry,” he began.

You looked at him, and as he took a step closer to you, you flinched away. He could see the fear in your eyes and that only hurt him more, he knew he deserved this, how could he blame you? He was wearing the same face as the man who once hurt you the same way he had done, in your eyes there was no difference between himself and Thawne.

He moved closer, slower this time, afraid to scare you away.

“I am so sorry,” he said again, trying to find the right words to make you understand that he hadn’t meant it.

“The other night, I, I panicked, I,” he couldn’t explain himself. Eventually he gave up and sat on the edge of the couch, giving you a wide berth. He took a deep breath.

“Her name was Tess,” he begins, closing his eyes at the tears he knows are coming.

“I know you know of her from the other one, but she was mine. My amazing, beautiful wife.” You only looked at him, allowing him to explain himself.

“When Jessie was 5, Tess got sick. We couldn’t figure out what was happening, she only lasted a couple more months.” He had removed his glasses by now, wiping the tears away from his eyes.

“After she died I became a bitter man; I was angry and broken. I couldn’t rebuild my life without her.” He continued, his eyes focus on the memories.

“That night, was, that night was the first time since her that I had allowed myself to be with someone, and the moment you touched me I panicked, my mind screaming that I was betraying her.” He finished.

You could see the pain in his eyes, the way the tears fell down his cheeks. You had never seen Harry so vulnerable.

Now you felt sorry for him; you could understand his panic.

“I know that’s not an excuse for what I said or how I treated you and I’m not asking you to forgive me but I needed to explain to you. I owed you that much.” He finished.

“Harry,” you began, trying to clean your face from your own tears.

“Harry I forgive you, I just,” you continued, looking up to clear your eyes of the tears trying to fall again.

“If you didn’t feel the same way about me as I did about you, you could have told me,” you said.

“That’s the thing, I have dreamt of you since the day I met you, I have wished to be able to move forward but I’m stuck, guilt eating me alive.” He said.

If there was ever any doubt in your mind of Harry being the same as his evil doppelgänger it was gone now. This man had suffered so much, he deserved to be happy and after finding someone who could help him he had locked himself away.

Standing up, you moved in front of where he was sitting, tangling your hands in his hair and bringing his face to your stomach, hugging him. His puppy eyes watched your every move, his hands instantly went around your waist, holding you, allowing himself to feel you.

“Harry, I know that you loved her very much, and I could never pretend or try to replace that love you had for her,” you began, trying to phrase what you wanted him to understand.

“Harry, she would want you to be happy, to keep living.” You said, rubbing your fingers softly through his hair.

“Your mind is lying to you, this is not a betrayal, you could never betray that love” you finished.

You felt him nod his head, still hugging you. His hands tightening around you. You stayed like that for a few minutes, letting him process your words.

His hand moved tangled in your shirt, pulling you down to his lap, allowing him to hug you closer, your arms went around his neck as he held you, burying his face in your hair.

“Would you give me a second chance?” He whispered against your skin, he needed to move on, to show you how much he cared for you.

“Harry, I” you began, scare that if you did he would hurt you again, you wouldn’t be able to get over that if it happened again.

“Please y/n, I need to show you how much you mean to me, please” he begged you, planting a soft kiss to the side of your neck.

“Only if you are sure you want to go through with this, to see where it could lead us” you told him, aware of the risk you were taking.

“I am” he confirmed, his hands running up your back.

Your own hands tangled again in his hair, pulling him to you, your lips connecting, softer this time, slower, he was taking his time exploring your mouth. You broke away from the kiss, looking at him while removing his glasses and putting them aside, leaning back down to kiss him.

His hand went under your shirt, caressing your back, feeling the soft skin as his kisses became hungrier. He moved his mouth across your jawline, delivering soft kisses and moving down your neck, obtaining a few sighs from you, his lips leaving a trail of open mouth kisses.

He got up slowly, tangling your legs around his waist he moved you both to your bedroom. Leaving you back down against the bed, removing his jacket before lowering himself on top of you.

This time his mind was clear, his only focus was you. To show you how much he wanted you and needed you. His hands found the hem of your shirt, looking at you for consent before removing it. He took the time to admire you, looking at every detail of your skin. He lowered himself, kissing your neck, the top of your breast as his hands ran up your waist, squeezing slightly before moving to your breast, caressing them and feeling the softness of them.

Your hands removed his shirt, aching to feel him bare against your skin. You moved your hands to his shoulders, feeling the way his muscles tensed and how they relaxed when you moved your hands down his back, his kisses trailed up back to your neck, kissing and nipping at the skin while his hand moved to caress your leg, running up your thigh to your ass, squeezing it and feeling how your body reacted to his touches.

Your hands moved to his pants, opening them but leaving them like that, giving him the option to remove them himself whenever he felt ready.

His hands found the hem of your underwear, once again he looked at you, wanting to make sure you still wanted this, you nodded while he removed them, his hand trailing back up to feel you, feel how soft you were and how wet he was making you. He groaned once his hand connected to your center, feeling the slickness covering his fingers as he moved them across your entrance, he love the way you moaned for him, throwing your head back. He buried his face in your neck at the same time his finger moved inside of you, opening you up for him. You gripped his hair as his lips sucked a mark onto your skin. Soon after another finger found its way inside of you; he was getting you ready. He curled them inside, making a long moan fall out of you as your eyes rolled back in your head. He could feel the way you pulled him in, how you squeezed him and dripped on his fingers. He moved them faster, grinding his palm onto your clit, drawing an orgasm out of you. He wanted you to come first, knowing that he wouldn’t last long.

He felt you tightening around his fingers, as you lifted yourself on your elbows, coming while moaning into his mouth.

He helped you ride out your orgasm, taking in the face you made for him, the way your eyes looked up at him half lidded and your teeth caught your lips to stop the moans from coming out. He adored the way you looked, how warm you felt against him.

He quickly pulled his pants down along with his underwear, letting his cock free. He grabbed it, feeling it throbbing in his hand, the head moist from the precum that had leaked out.

He stroked himself a few times before moving the head against your entrance. His arms trembling when he started to push in. He closed his eyes as he bottomed out, groaning against your skin as the feeling of your warmth surrounding him. He started to move slowly, lifting you to pull almost completely out before dropping you down again. He kissed your neck, biting softly at it, trying to distract himself to last a little longer. He doubted he would after so long. You felt so warm and divine around him. His pace quickened, hearing you moan while he grunted, feeling his orgasm building up. He was close, he could feel his muscles tingling and his cock ready to burst in you.

Your hands found his face, holding his cheeks to bring him to you, kissing him as he started to come inside, having to break himself from your mouth to moan into the air. That was a sigh you never wanted to forget. He moved himself to rest against your chest, hiding his face in your neck and breathing you in while your hands played with his back. He hadn’t felt this calm, this content in such a long time. He loved the peace you brought him, and he promised himself that no matter what, he would never hurt you again, he would keep you safe, he would love you and cherish you for the rest of his days if you would have him.

#the flash imagines #harrison wells x y/n #earth 2 harrison wells #earth 2 harrison wells imagine #harrison harry wells smut #harrison harry wells imagine #harrison harry wells x reader #harrison harry wells fanfic #smut #angst #harrison wells fanfiction #harrison harry wells fanfiction #e2 harrison wells #harry wells x reader #harrison wells x reader fanfic #harrison wells x reader #harrison wells imagine #harrison wells x reader smut #harrison wells smut

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marvelatthetwilight · 3 years

Text

Found in Forks

A/N: A quick one. To satisfy an Emmett shaped need in this story.

Y/N’s POV

Months had passed since we had declared our love, solidifying my bond with Paul. We were inseparable. I couldn’t bear to spend time without him, and even in his company, I NEEDED to be as close to him as possible.

When the pack were discussing the threat of the newborn army I couldn’t help my nerves from making my legs shake, my foot tapping against the leg of the table. Paul reached over and squeezed my hand. He gave me a look that said it’ll be ok. I was desperate to believe that was true.

“We are meeting the Cullens in an hour to train.” Sam said after hanging up the phone to Carlisle.

I felt Paul shake with anger beside me and a growl left his lips. “Why do we need to train, we’ve hunted bloodsuckers before?” He said, whilst I curled up against him to dissipate his anger, he wrapped his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

“Carlisle said this will be different, we need to trust them right now Paul. This threat isn’t just for them, we need to protect the reservation” the pack nodded at this and Paul didn’t press any further.

Everyone split off after this, with Quil and Embry heading off on patrol, agreeing to meet in the field in an hour. I turn in my seat to look Paul in the eye. “I want to come to training.”

Paul laughs, then sees the serious look in my eye and shakes his head. “Nope, not happening. I’m not putting you at risk by taking you to the bloodsuckers. That’s ridiculous.”

I place a hand on either side of his face and look deep into his eyes.

“I need this. I need to see that you will be ok. If I see you train it’ll make me feel better, help me to visualise you winning. Please Paul.” I try my best puppy dog eyes that I know he can’t refuse and he huffs in reply.

“Fine. But you will NOT be leaving my side, promise?”

“As if I ever would.” I reply and he pulls me tight towards him, kissing my forehead.

“I love you Y/N” he looks down at me, his eyes now softer.

“And I love you” I smile up at him and kiss him softly on the lips.

~~~

We had made it to the agreed field, with the Cullens already standing waiting. I could see Bella who Jacob always talking about was standing there too, recognising her from school, so I’m not the only human here. I send a small wave and a smile in her direction and she waved back, surprised to see me with the pack. Edward whispers something to her and she nods in understanding.

I slide off of Paul’s back once we come to a stop, and he gestures for me to take a seat in the grass. He lays down beside me once I am seated.

I look across at the Cullens, my first opportunity to see the whole family, having only seen the “children” briefly at school before.

Your eyes land on Emmett. You remember him from school, sitting in the cafeteria with the other Cullens, and you are reminded how much he looks like your dad and your grandpa. The similarities are uncanny. Images of your dad and your grandpa flash in your head as you compare them to the cold one you see in front of you. Weird.

You glance away and see Edward staring at you, a look of realisation on his face. Paul growls from beside you and you stroke the fur around his face before leaning your head against him. “Oh be quiet Paul, he’s doing nothing wrong” you whisper to him. He huffs before turning his attention to Carlisle, who begins to address the pack.

“Welcome, Jasper has experience with the newborns, and will teach us how to defeat them.”

Paul nods slightly beside you.

“They want to know how the newborns differ from us” Edward says as he reads the packs’ minds, Paul had told you about the gifts they possessed on your way to the meeting.

“They’re a great deal stronger than us because their own human blood lingers in their tissues. Our kind is never more physically powerful than in our first several months of this life” Carlisle explains. You shudder at this thought, fearful for your friends and Paul. As if sensing this he leans towards you, and your body relaxes with the contact.

Jasper steps forward, and addresses the pack. “A newborn army doesn’t need thousands like a human army. But no human army can stand against them. Now the two most important things to remember are; first, never let them get their arms around you, they’ll crush you instantly. The second, never go for the obvious kill, they’ll be expecting that, and you will lose.”

The Cullens begin to demonstrate fighting, as Jasper narrates, advising the pack on what to do, or what not to do in some cases.

As the training comes to an end, Jared and Paul head off for patrol, Embry and Quill promising to get you back to Emily’s safely as they wait for you to finish talking to Bella.

“I’m so sorry the pack need to be involved Y/N.” Bella says quietly, an apologetic look on her face.

“The threat is a risk to everyone, including the reservation, they would help whether you ask them to or not, it’s just what they’re like.” You say with a smile as you watch Embry and Quil practise some techniques with Jasper.

“Y/N” Edward joins Bella, an arm quickly wrapped around her, pulling her close to his side.

“Edward, nice to see you again.” You were briefly lab partners a couple of years ago and you always appreciated how little he talked, no awkward small talk, unlike some of your peers. Little did you know that he also appreciated working with you, your mind was never filled with the inane gossip of your classmates.

“I don’t know if Paul has told you, but I can...hear people’s thoughts. I didn’t want to alarm you but I need to talk to you about something you thought about when you first got here” you nodded slowly, trying to remember what you had thought about.

“Erm...ok? I can’t remember what it was though?”

“It was when you were looking at Emmett, you thought he showed some similarity to some family members?” He motions for Emmett to join them.

“I’ve always thought it, but dismissed it before as it was ridiculous. He looks exactly like my dad and my grandpa, I’m sure my grandma has some photos of my grandpa when he was younger in one of her photo albums and he looks identical”.

Emmett appears at Edward’s side just as you finish talking. He frowns slightly and then asks; “where are your family from Y/N?”

“Erm...well my dad was born here in Forks but my grandpa was from Tennessee...Gatlinburg I think my grandma said.”

Emmett’s eyebrows dart up in shock and shortly after Edward’s expression changes to shocked too. Emmett walks closer, not worrying about the distracted wolves.

“What was your grandpa’s name Y/N?”

“Ernest Y/L/N”

Emmett smiles a big smile, and turns to Edward, then motions for Rosalie to join them. He squeezes Rosalie’s hand, excitement showing on his face.

“Y/N, I think your grandpa was my nephew. My older sister Mary was his mother, Mary Y/L/N. That makes me your great-great uncle!”

You laugh at this, moving forward to hug Emmett, he picks you up, wrapping his large arms around you. This draws attention from Embry and Quil, who quickly realised that Paul would destroy them if anything happened to you. They move forward quickly, as if they are going to attack before Edward steps in front of you and Emmett trying to explain.

“They’ve just discovered they’re related, it’s a hug! He isn’t attacking her.”

The wolves look at each other, then back at you as Emmett sets you back on the ground.

“I’m fine guys, just happy!”

You turn your attention back to Emmett as he speaks again, “when I died I worried about my family a lot, I was the only son, I was strong and provided for them when my dad got too old. I left them some money, but after we moved away I never found out what happened. Now I know!”

You smile at this. “My grandpa always used to tell us stories about his uncle when we were younger, he was wild, he used to say, really strong, and an amazing hunter. He said they were all devastated when you were eaten by a bear...”

Emmett looks sad at this.

“Were they ok though, how did Ernest end up here?”

“I’m not really sure, but my grandpa owned a hunting shop just outside of Forks, they were comfortable I think. My dad is a lawyer, based out of Seattle during the week, then he comes home to Forks at the weekends. My grandpa saved up to put dad through school, he was so proud of him.”

A smile returns to Emmett’s face, as he thinks about his nephew, hard working like him, providing for his family.

Rosalie walks over and wraps an arm around his waist. “So all these years of wondering, wanting to go back to Tennessee to try and find them and you’ve found your family in Forks?”

“Looks like it babe!” He ruffles your hair as he speaks and you try to swat his arm away.

“I’m so happy to meet you Y/N, I’ve spent years wondering, and now I know.” You smile at your great-great uncle, wishing you could tell your family. Edward heard this and walks to your side, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“You are welcome to our house anytime, you’re part of the family now...with...er...wolf bodyguards of course” he adds as he glances to the wolves growling behind you.

You laugh as you look at the wolves, then back at the Cullens. I’m so lucky to have found so many people to call family.

Taglist:

@volturidoll13 @clearwater-hoe @like-rain-or-confetti @teampaul @fatiguing-thoughts @wallwriterstuff @moviequeen51 @awesomebooklover17 @cncogirl18 @megzdoodle

#paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote imagine #twilight #twilight imagines #twilight x reader #Emmett Cullen

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sitp-recs · 4 years

Note

Do you know of any fics under 10k that aren’t too angsty? ❤️

Hi anon, I most certainly do! Thanks so much for sending this ask, I was super excited when I saw it because I’m always happy to celebrate short fics - they could use more appreciation! I’ve wanted to do a proper shorts reclist for a while so I indulged myself and went big, hope you don’t mind! Putting this together was quite hard - going through my bookmarks I realized that I usually go for angsty shorts 💀 so I tried my best not to include anything too extreme, I hope these are okay!

This became a lil monster with 40 recs (and I have lots more hehe) so I decided to sort them by genre - the last category includes light angst (more on the contemplative side) because I can’t help myself. Shout-out to @tackytigerfic for giving me a 2nd opinion and helping me polish this - and for being a darling in general. Happy readings!

ROMANCE/COMFORT

1. Sun Stroke by @peachpety (2020, E, 3k)

Warm, sexy and wholesome, this fic makes my heart soar with the magical beach setting, amazing friendship dynamics and the sweet get together with a delicious side of smut!

2. oxygen [Fic & Art] by @maesterchill (2020, T, 4k)

Tentative acquaintances become something more over a shared smoke at the balcony. Sexy, mature, deliciously atmospheric and full of promise - plus Healer Draco is always a treat!

3. Catch the Snitch (No, Catch My Heart) by @prolix- (2020, E, 4.5k)

Gorgeous bath fic where Harry and Draco just... take care of each other. The raw emotion packed here! Lush and vivid build up with stunning body worship, hot and intimate and breathtaking.

4. Thermodynamic Equilibrium by DorthyAnn (2017, T, 5k)

This quiet comfort fic gives our boys some well deserved healing through physical touching and late night companionship. Love the 8th year atmosphere, soothing and familiar.

5. Blue Sky Is Living Here Today by ignatiustrout (2018, G, 5k)

The loveliest kid fic you’ll see today - real characters, gentle longing, soft understanding. It’s a joy to watch dad Draco through Harry’s smitten eyes, as he realizes there’s no rush to live that love.

6. Gravity Centered by @carpemermaidtales (2019, E, 6.7k)

Possibly my favorite Quidditch fic, this has an original premise and amazing Drarry dynamics, casual and organic, sassy and familiar, with a perfect lil twist at the end!

7. Up The by @shiftylinguini (2018, E, 7.5k)

One of the funniest PWPs I’ve ever read, clever and charming with easy banter and delicious smut. A sweet and sexy glimpse into the Drarry married life! Cw Mpreg

8. And a Malfoy in a Pear Tree by lauren3210 (2015, E, 8k)

Sweet sweet coffee shop Christmas romance! Love the light and fun atmosphere, the easy banter and cute wooing while supportive Ron cheers in the background, what a treat!

9. Ice Snakes, Glow-worms and Wolverine Stew by khalulu (2015, M, 8.4k)

Khalulu writes the softest Drarry, it never fails to put a smile on my face. This has a gentle and sweet get together, with lovely slow burn, a gorgeous San Francisco setting and matchmaker Kreacher 💗

10. Life goes not backward by @shealwaysreads (2020, T, 8.8k)

This delicate comfort fic has a special way to tug at my heartstrings - a gorgeous tale about found family and the unexpected wonders of life. Gentle, magical and breathtaking in its simplicity.

HUMOUR

11. in charge by @bonesliketambourines (2020, E, 2.4k)

The ultimate brat Draco, bossy and confident and absolutely gorgeous with his long hair and impossible snark. Charming and funny, this packs so much character and domestic bliss under 3k! Perfect spoiled Draco is perfect.

12. The Morning After by birdsofshore, capitu (2015, M, 5.3k)

This is hysterical and so delightfully creative - Draco exploring Harry’s kitchen and charming a prudish appliance is the kind of cute, silly endeavor I need with my morning coffee!

13. The Spoiling of Sex From Enthusiastic Ignorance by @cibeewastaken (2020, E, 6k)

I’m impossibly enamored with Cibee’s drama queen Draco and his passionate missions! This time he’s decided to get some good diq, and the dialogue and mutual pining will make you smile from beginning to end.

14. All Tied Up by MyNameIsThunder (2020, M, 6k)

This is a secret relationship delight! Sneaking around gets so much better when dramatic Blaise is losing his shit to protect the Council of Serpents’ integrity! A+ faux-drama, super fun and sweet.

15. Luckiest Fucking Size Queen Alive by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (2016, E, 6.2k)

My favorite brand of thirsty and chaotic Draco; being inside his mind is such a crazy ride and you won’t stop laughing for a second. Amazing dialogue and insanely scorching smut as per loveglows’ usual 🤤

16. Sex Ed for Aurors by curiouslyfic (2010, M, 8.7k)

This is a Harry triumph, so fun and charming! Here he’s the one chaotic and thirsty, for a change - I’m obsessed with his internal ranting under the lust potion. Brilliant narrative and top notch characterization, a classic!

17. Ferocious Determination, Insufficient Deliberation, and a Slightly Wrong Destination by Faith Wood (2012, E, 9.5k)

Drunk Draco has never been so absurd and I LOVE it! This goes from hilarious to vulnerable and sweet in a heartbeat; pining Draco is a precious thing and Harry’s gentle persistence made my heart swell.

18. Stand Back: I'm About to Perform Archaeology by Blowfish_Diaries (2018, E, 9.7k)

This fic could definitely use more appreciation - I had a blast with Draco’s hilarious voice and their cute married banter! The plot is quite original and I love the 8th year domestic vibes.

19. The Full Monty by @magpiefngrl (2017, E, 9.8k)

The calendar fic we deserve 👏🏻 this is ultimate thirsty Draco being completely obliterated by Harry’s casual attractiveness but mostly by his kind heart and big smile. One of my favorite comfort reads, hilarious, sweet and so damn sexy, the full monty combo is here!

20. Aural Gratification by birdsofshore (2014, E, 10k)

This fic is a classic, charming and hysterical with an adorable Harry thirsting over Draco’s smooth voice. Such an original concept and engaging read, not to mention the rewarding shade of smut!

SMUT

21. Tense by Faith Wood (2013, E, 3k)

Me, reading smut for the dialogue? It’s more likely than you think 😂 this fic is hilarious and hot all at once, with perfect banter and clever dialogue, really a smut triumph!

22. Under Your Skin by @p1013 (2020, Explicit, 4k)

Great premise and the sexiest build up, ugh so much teasing and anticipation as pierced Draco takes Auror Harry’s control away 🔥kudos at the A+ twist and promising ending!

23. The Slytherin Urn by @icmezzo (2015, E, 4.6k)

This fic’s geniality slaps me in the face, what a fascinating concept! Redemption kink and magical theory walk together as Harry loses his mind over competent Draco doing some badass curse-breaking ritual.

24. Once Bitten by Frayach (2012, E, 5.6k)

Still one of the hottest things I’ve ever read, lush and raw and absolutely breathtaking. Dark and tender at once, it explores biting kink with unapologetic precision and I love that!

25. Matched Set by astolat (2016, E, 5.7k)

One of my faves by the genius astolat, this is a perfect mix of hot size kink, A+ dirty talk and a brilliant and nuanced plot showing how Harry navigates his post-war reality. A must-read!

26. Teeth by @amelior8or (2020, E, 6k)

This fic is an emotional rollercoaster and goes from light-hearted and casual to vulnerable and tender in a second. Hot and intimate feat scorching wall sex, gut-punching lines and enthusiastic consent🔥

27. Born Slippy by @dracoladon (2020, E, 8.3k)

My favorite clubbing fic ever, clever and sensual, a master class in UST including the drunk haze confusion and panty kink as a treat! I can’t even talk about this fic without blushing 😳

28. The Page Eleven Wars by fireflavored (2010, E, 8.5k)

Competitive boys fighting for dominance both in bed and at the gossip column’s first page This is peak enemies to lovers: witty banter, hot smut screaming switching rights and feisty stubborn idiots finally getting over their asses.

29. The Things They Never Say by @bixgirl1 (2017, E, 9k)

Angry porn with (many) feels, this feels like a punch to the solar plexus. The explosive Drarry chemistry gives way to something quieter and gentler and full of longing, ugh but it aches so good. Absolutely exquisite!

30. Sweet Indulgence by @the-sinking-ship (2020, E, 10k)

The title says it all; this is a lush and charming read, with chaotic but nuanced Draco pining over authoritative, edgy Harry 😳 steaming pent up tension that culminates in glorious semi-public smut, is your body ready?

CONTEMPLATIVE/SOFT ANGST

31. Sharing a Pack by sugar_screw (2016, E, 2.7k)

A fully fleshed-out love story in less than 3k, with complex characters and powerful feels. Raw, poignant and unbelievably romantic.

32. Still Life by orphan_account (2019, M, 3k)

A superb and gut-punching story where Harry realizes all the little things that make Draco so very different from him - and falls in love anyway. Powerful in its simplicity and concise elegance.

33. Harmony (Left-Handed Melody Remix) by mindabbles (2010, M, 5.8k)

Draco finds his way post-war and Harry meets him in the middle. Aching and bittersweet but also hopeful, with a delicious side of coconut cake, Harry in black robes and Romeo & Juliet as soundtrack.

34. Let Me Have You and I'll Let You Save Me by Frayach (2012, M, 6k)

Enemies to lovers deluxe version! Come and feast on this original narrative, amazingly clever, rich and detailed, telling us an unlikely but inevitable love story.

35. A Pain of Our Choosing by @lqtraintracks (2020, E, 6k)

Broken boys fucking through their issues and healing together during the post-war is so my jam! A+ LQT goodness, this fic is evocative and quietly devastating, but full of feels and hope.

36. Our Little Life by @tackytigerfic (2020, M, 7k)

I’ve screamed about this brilliant fic recently; inventive, poignant and utterly romantic, this fic shows all the ways in which Harry and Draco find each other across space and time.

37. the keys to your kingdom by thistle_verse (2016, E, 7.5k)

A beautiful love story packing an impressive amount of character, conflict and emotion. We are invited to witness as work partners Harry and Draco finally take a leap of faith and grow out of their casual arrangement.

38. Clear As Mud by scoradh (2005, M, 9.8k)

Subtle and heart-wrenching, the sharp and clever narrative creates fascinating dynamics between this brilliantly written Draco and poor oblivious Harry trying to make sense out of it. An all-time fave. Cw: infidelity (not Drarry).

39. fine i'll hold my breath / til i forget it's complicated by teatrolley (2015, E, 10k)

Fucks buddies gone wrong but make it soft so we get to watch as pining Draco patiently waits for Harry to get the memo. Sweet and intimate, with lots of late night talks and comfortable silence.

40. Tidings of Comfort series by @blamebrampton (2012, G, 10k)

Quietly cathartic and atmospheric, this fic is a poignant balm to the soul; such a beautiful tone, such lovely interactions! A must-read for those who enjoy church settings, honest talks and redeemed Draco. All-time fave.

#anon #asks #drarry reclist #short fics #fics under 10k

335 notes · View notes

fruitcoops · 4 years

Note

Could you maybe write a “73 questions with Sirius Black” Vogue one? Or something like that.

Yes! I had never seen these videos before and it was a fun challenge to write. Hope you enjoy! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

The house is large, two stories tall and painted a soft gray with white trim around the windows. Holiday lights have yet to be taken down and shine in all colors of the rainbow from the eaves as the camera crew walks up the front steps. The curtains in the window tremble for a moment, then a dog pokes her head through—she is all-black and curious, and looks quite large.

Dorcas Meadowes knocks on the front door; a moment later, it swings open and reveals Sirius Black. “Hey, guys, come on in! You can leave your shoes by the door inside.”

“Thanks, Sirius.” Dorcas kicks off her flats and follows him inside as he sets a dish towel on the end table and leans against it. “How are you today?”

“I’m doing pretty well. Morning practice was productive and I’m feeling good about our upcoming game.”

“We’re here today to ask you 73 rapid-fire questions while you lead us around. Sound good?”

“Sounds good. You can all come inside instead of freezing on the porch,” he laughs, waving them closer. The door shuts with a gentle click.

“First question: on a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?”

“Hmmm. A solid seven.”

“Do you have any pets?”

“I do!” Sirius leads them into the other room, where the dog is curled up on the couch below the window; he picks her up and gives her a kiss on the head. “This is Hattie and I love her very much.”

“Cute! If you could do a dramatic love scene in a movie with anyone, who would it be?”

Sirius sets the dog down and thinks for a second. “Aside from my fiancé, I’m going to say James Potter. We would kill it and I don’t think it would be that awkward.”

“What’s the origin of your name?”

“Pretty much my whole family has star-themed names. Sirius is the dog star from Canis Major.”

“Brightest star in the sky, too. What’s one thing people don’t know about you?”

“I’m an introvert. Lots of people assume that I’m super social because of my job, but I’m very quiet in real life.” He walks back out to the entrance and takes the towel off the table, then moves into the kitchen. It’s well-lit and painted a deep, warm red. The countertop is scattered with knickknacks and picture frames—clearly, this is a place people spend a lot of time. Hattie, who followed them in, lays down by the oven with a heavy sigh.

“What’s your wakeup ritual?”

Sirius reaches up and pulls two mugs out of the cupboard. “I wake up around seven am and make coffee while Re is in the shower, then rinse off and get dressed while he makes breakfast. It’s a good system. Want some tea?”

“Sure. What’s your bedtime ritual?”

“I don’t think I have one,” he says as he puts the kettle on and ignites a burner on the stove. “Usually we read or watch a movie, then go up to bed and talk for a while. There’s not a big routine or anything.”

“Sounds nice. What’s your favorite time of day?” Dorcas sits on the other side of the kitchen island while he takes a box of peppermint tea down.

“That’s a tough one. I like the in-between spots, like just after sunrise or dusk. Three in the afternoon is usually pretty chill as well. Does anyone else want a cup?”

There are a few murmurs behind the camera and he takes two more down. “What is one thing no one knows about you?” Dorcas asks.

He raises an eyebrow. “If I told you, everyone would know, and it wouldn’t count.”

“Fair enough. Dream country to visit?”

“Anywhere. I think I want to go to Ireland first, though.” Small wisps of steam begin curling out of the kettle, but it doesn’t whistle.

“Do you ever feel pressure to post things on social media?”

Sirius makes a face. “I used to. Eventually I just got tired of it, you know? The whole point of social media is sharing bits of your life with people and it makes me happy to show off my dog, or Re, or my friends. I post things just for fun now.”

The kettle begins to hiss and he reaches back to turn it off. “Sneakers or skates?”

“Skates.”

“Vintage or new?

“Vintage, especially for t-shirts and sweaters.”

“Who is your biggest role model?”

“Pascal Dumais.” Sirius stops pouring for a moment to look up at the camera. “If you ever get a chance to meet him, listen to what he has to say. You’ll be better for it.”

“Wise words. How do you deal with negativity? Oh, thank you.” Dorcas wraps her hands around the mug and takes a small sip while Sirius passes the other ones to the crew.

“Honestly? I don’t give a shit. It used to really bother me, but I’m happy, I have a job I love, and my family cares about me. Why should I care what people I’ve never met think of me?” He sits on the counter and rests his elbows on his knees, blowing on the hot water.

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

“My dog, Remus, and my family.” There is no hesitation in his voice.

“Not hockey?”

“I’d be devastated if I couldn’t play, sure, but it’s not the central focus of my life anymore.”

“What’s one ingredient you put in everything?”

“Does salt count?” He winces as he takes a drink. “Ugh, burned my tongue. I put salt on a lot of things because I drink so much water that it throws my balance off.”

“What is something you’re completely bored of right now?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Gossip columns and tabloids in general.”

Dorcas hums in agreement. “What’s your biggest fear in life?”

“Losing my loved ones.”

“Window or aisle seat?”

“Window. Anyone walking by always steps on my foot or hits my elbow if I’m in the aisle. Plus, I get a good view and an easy nap spot.”

“What’s your current TV obsession?”

“Avatar: The Last Airbender, which I’m watching for the third time already.” He shakes his head. “It’s just so good.”

“Favorite app?”

He takes a second to think. “Spotify.”

“Secret talent?”

Sirius looks at her over the rim over his cup. “This is going to shock you. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Hockey.”

“You’re the worst.” Despite her words, Dorcas smiles. “What the most adventurous thing you’ve done in your life?”

“Uh, probably going to Europe with some of the guys last year. We had a lot of fun, but it was crazy.”

“I can imagine it was. How would you define yourself in three words?”

“Tall, dark, and handsome.”

“And apparently not humble,” Dorcas teases. “Favorite piece of clothing?”

“Hoodies.”

“Clothing item everyone should have?”

“Hoodies.”

A door opens behind them and the camera turns; Remus walks out of the basement, covered in sweat as he wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt and holds his skates in his other hand. “Baby, have you seen…” he trails off when he sees the group of people in the kitchen. Hattie’s tail thumps on the floor. “Um. Hello.”

“Hey, Remus, how are you doing?” Dorcas asks mildly.

The camera pans out to catch both Sirius, who is laughing quietly, and Remus, who flushes pink. “I’m good. I thought you were coming at ten?”

“It’s ten-thirty, sweetheart,” Sirius says, hiding his smile in his tea.

Remus glances at the clock before giving an awkward nod and walking toward the stairs. “I guess I’ll take a shower, then. Sorry about that. Uh, carry on.”

“What’s a superpower you would want?” Dorcas asks as soon as he disappears.

Sirius shakes his head with a grin. “Uh, teleportation. That would be really cool.”

“What’s inspiring you in life right now?”

“Ah, une grande question.” He thinks, then tilts his head toward the staircase. “Moments like that. And the Stanley Cup, of course.” He reaches back and knocks on the wooden cupboard.

“What cause is closest to your heart?”

“LGBT+ rights, especially trans rights. I’m privileged enough to have a platform and I intend to be loud as hell about that.”

“Good.” Dorcas sets her almost-empty mug on the table. “What’s one thing you’d say to your teenage self?”

Sirius lets out a long breath and drums his hands on the light blue ceramic of his cup. “I would say…it gets better. It really, really does. You’re going to feel super shitty for just a little bit longer, but then I promise you will be so incredibly happy that you wake up every morning and it hits you all over again.”

Dorcas nods, and the kitchen is quiet for a moment. “What’s a book that everyone should read?”

“The Hobbit, by J.R.R Tolkien.”

“What would you like to be remembered for?”

“This is going to sound so corny, but I want to be remembered for just being a good person.”

“That’s not corny. How do you define beauty?”

“Remus Lupin.”

“That’s corny,” she laughs, making him smile. “What do you love most about your body?”

“I’m a big guy, which can be a little bit intimidating, but it means I give really great hugs. I’m sure everyone saw the video that went around a while ago.”

“Cap Cuddles?”

He snorts. “Right. You’ve got Finn O’Hara to thank for that.”

“In your opinion, what’s the best way to take a rest or decompress?”

“Being alone,” Sirius says. “There is literally nothing better than getting home and sitting down with a book or something while I can hear Re doing his own thing and Hattie’s napping. It’s one of my favorite parts of the afternoon.”

“That’s the most introverted thing you’ve ever said.” Dorcas grins and finishes her tea just as a faint beeping noise begins in another room. “What’s your favorite way to experience art?”

“Through music, for sure.” He slides off the counter and walks down the hall, leading them toward the laundry room. He gives the camera crew a look as he pulls dry clothes out of the machine and heads back to the living room. “What? Did you think I didn��t do my own laundry?”

“You lost a sock,” Dorcas informs him, picking it off the ground and laying it on top of his head.

“Thanks, D.”

“What question do people ask that you wish they wouldn’t?”

“Lots of people have asked me when I decided to be gay, which is wrong on so many levels.”

“If you could master one instrument, what would it be?”

“Guitar or piano.” He dumps the load of laundry on the couch and opens the back door, holding it for the crew as they walk out into the sunshine. Hattie weaves through their legs and disappears into the bushes along the back.

“I might have to take your dog home with me. If you had a tattoo, where would it be?”

Sirius mock-glares at her. “Let me have my girl! Um, I would love to have a tattoo somewhere on my arm.”

“This might be a hard one. Dolphins or koalas?”

“Oh, that is hard. Probably dolphins. The ocean is terrifying but those little guys are just having a blast.”

“What’s the best gift you’ve ever received?” Dorcas asks as he picks up a tennis ball and throws it across the yard. Hattie emerges from the bushes and races after it in a blur of black fur.

“An engagement ring.”

“Yeah, it was.” Remus walks into the backyard and kisses Sirius’ cheek before bending down to catch Hattie in his arms. His hair is still damp from the shower. “Hello, sweet girl!”

“Who’s your favorite musician?”

“Queen.” Sirius laughs at her surprised look. “I’m gay, what did you expect?”

“True. What’s your favorite board game?”

“Monopoly.” Remus and Hattie disappear from the frame, but the bouncing sound of the tennis ball creates some background noise and Sirius watches them for a moment with pure affection.

“Favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Least favorite color?”

“Orange.”

“Bowties or knot ties?”

He frowns. “Don’t they all have knots?”

“Smartass.”

“Yep! Uh, regular ties.”

“Bowties are superior!” Remus calls.

“Get your own questions!” Sirius laughs.

“Going off your music answers: records or CDs?”

“I don’t own a lot of records, so I’m going to have to go with CDs. I love the way vinyl sounds, though.” His eyes widen as he looks to the side. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Remus wheezes. “I didn’t need those ribs anyway.”

“For the viewers, the dog just football-tackled him into the grass,” Sirius says, and Dorcas snorts.

“Your hair is famously luscious. Blow-dry or air-dry?”

“Air dry.”

“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, but tea is nice in the evenings.”

“What’s the weirdest word in the English language?”

Sirius laughs. “There are so many. Uh, ‘jeez’ is the one that comes to mind first.”

“What about the French language?”

“Oiseaux,” he says in a crisp accent. “It means ‘birds’, and you pronounce about three of the actual letters.”

“Good to know. Do you prefer dark chocolate or milk chocolate?”

“Dark chocolate.”

“Stairs or elevators?”

“Elevators. I don’t want to walk up three floors after playing hockey for two and a half hours.”

“Summer or winter?”

Sirius bites his lip in thought as they walk around the yard, where small flowers line the fence in beds and colorful pots. “I love summer because I have actual free time to be with my friends, but winter is hockey season. I don’t know, next question.”

“What’s a dessert you don’t like?”

“I’m not a huge fan of caramel. It’s too sticky.”

“A skill you’re working on mastering?”

“Will you ban me from more interviews if I say hockey?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, I’m working on keeping plants alive, as you can probably see.” He taps the nearest flowerpot gently with his foot; it has ‘Harry’ painted across it in sloppy blue letters. “My godson made that for my birthday.”

“What’s the best thing to happen to you today?”

“This, for sure,” he says with a smile. “I haven’t seen you and Marley in ages.”

“We missed you, too. What’s the worst thing that happened to you today?”

He pouts slightly. “Burning my tongue on tea.”

“Hugs or kisses?”

“Hugs! Though I’ll accept kisses from a few very specific people.”

“Do you have a favorite smell?”

He pauses and cranes his neck to look behind the cameras. “Re?”

“Yeah?”

“What shampoo do you use?”

“Uhhh…” There’s a moment of quiet. “It’s something with lavender, I think.”

Sirius turns back to Dorcas. “Something with lavender.”

“How specific,” she laughs. “What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?”

He smiles to himself. “There was a young woman, maybe sixteen or seventeen, that came to one of the games earlier this season. I saw her standing with a puck and went over, and while I was signing it she looks at me and says, ‘you are exactly what I wish my older brother was like’. Turns out, she was bisexual and her brother wasn’t super accepting of her. That was…” He shakes his head. “That meant the world to me. I’ll never forget it.”

“You’ve definitely made a big impact on the community,” Dorcas agrees. “What’s the last piece of content you consumed that made you cry?”

“I watched ‘Soul’ the other night and almost had to pause it at one point to pull myself together.”

“Do you prefer animated movies or live-action?”

“Animated, mostly because I wasn’t allowed to watch Disney movies as a kid, so I’ve been catching up as an adult and they rock.”

“What’s your nerdiest quality?

“I love watching documentaries.”

“Sweet or savory?” The back door creaks a bit as they walk back inside and the camera catches a few frames of Hattie and Remus running around the yard together.

“Sweet.”

“In ten years, you have a daughter. What age do you let her date?”

Sirius gives Dorcas a look. “Whenever she wants to. I’m going to impose curfews and stuff, but I’m the last person on the planet to police her love life.”

“Good answer. What’s a song you can listen to on repeat?”

“Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen. Absolute banger.”

“If you could switch lives with someone for a day, who would it be?”

“Arthur Weasley,” he says after a moment. “I would love to know what it feels like to get up in the morning and know you’re about to spend another day wrangling our team. It’s a miracle he hasn’t killed us all with his clipboard.”

“How do you know you’re in love?”

“Oh.” Sirius blinks at her in surprise at the sudden topic change. “Well, for me, I think it’s just…being comfortable around someone. Being able to spend time with them without saying anything and knowing you’re safe, no matter what. It’s the best feeling in the world.”

“What are you most excited about at this time in your life?”

A slight smile crinkles his eyes. “Getting married. That’s going to be awesome.”

“Who is your go-to for having a good laugh?”

“James Potter. He’s the best, and I love him.”

“Last question,” Dorcas says, sliding her list into her pocket. “Many LGBT+ people, especially teenagers, have spoken about how you’re an inspiration. Any words for them?”

Sirius hums in thought. “First of all, thank you for being so open and welcoming. I would never have expected the sheer force of people’s love to come through like that when so many people were saying horrible things. Second, to any kids out there who need to hear it: I’m proud of you. It takes a lot to be true to yourself and even if you’re still in the closet, you’re just as valid as the rest of us. Stay proud.”

“That’s a wrap.” Dorcas gives him a quick hug that he happily returns. “Thanks for letting us crash your morning, Cap.”

“Any time. Thanks for tuning in to Lion Pride, everyone!”

263 notes · View notes

everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Magic as Always

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 71: Magic of Ordinary Days AU: 1940s, Katniss is a single pregnant girl. Desperate for her daughter not to have a child out of wedlock, Mrs Everdeen contacts a priest who in turn knows a young man who just may be willing to help. Sweet, kind and shy Peeta stayed home to take care of the family farm when his beloved brother went to war to never come back. He’s always wanted a family but rural small town life gives little chance to court. He hears of Katniss’ plight and graciously offers to marry her and raise the child as his own. He does everything he can think of to make a home for Katniss and the baby. How does Katniss take it? How does their relationship develop? Will they fall in love? [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: this chapter is rated Teens and Up

Tags: Historical!AU; WWII; 1940’s Era views on marriage, sexism, pregnancy, etc; Katniss/Marvel relationship; Non-graphic Unprotected Sex; Unplanned Pregnancy; Arrange Marriage; Miscellaneous Religious views; Grief/Mourning; Canon Characters Death; OOC!Mrs.Everdeen; Somewhat OOC!Katniss; Everlark is Endgame; Other tags to be added.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this prompt. I must confess, I’ve never seen the movie ‘The Magic of Ordinary Days’ or read the book the movie is based on. I did a quick skimming on the plot of the movie and then dug up all kinds of reviews on the book, most of my plot points come from a combination of movie and book (which apparently differ only in a few parts), besides what the prompter asked for. I just really loved this prompt, and see the potential of this story, which will be a few chapters long, cross posted to AO3 and I already have a good chunk written ;) The rating will be adjusted too, because there will be explicit Everlark smut in the following chapters. Anon, I hope I don’t disappoint you, this story will be only loosely based on the source material, and adapted to fit THG characters in the narrative, I will try to stick to the main plot points as much as I can, but I’m also taking several liberties with the story. I hope you still like it though.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Prim died on a Tuesday, after a very long, strenuous battle with poliomyelitis. My sweet little sister’s face looked as fresh as a dew drop even in death.

“Come now, Katniss,” my mother calls from the open door of the mortuary hall, where visitation took place an hour ago.

The mortician has arranged for the coffin to be taken to the cemetery and put in the ground this afternoon. There will be no graveside mourning. It’s all we could pay for, but then again the war has left everyone penniless nowadays.

A big, rotund man comes to close the coffin, and offers a curt nod.

That’s it then. The very last time I’ll ever set eyes on Primrose’s sweet face.

“Katniss,” Mother whispers, insistently. It’s probably all she can muster before breaking down in tears.

I look on at the box my sister’s body lies in, numb and heartsick. I bring my 3 middle fingers to my lips and then rise them in the air. My last salute to my beloved Little Duck. I step away from the coffin and shuffle towards mother.

Up close, I can see the deep, dark bruises under my mother’s eyes. She used to be beautiful in her youth— according to friends and old photographs— but now she just looks tired and defeated. I guess having to bury first her husband and then her 15 year old daughter, in less than a year, would have that effect on anyone.

Prim would’ve looked like our mother, with their soft blonde locks, almond shaped blue eyes and alabaster skin. She had a softer spirit though, she enjoyed music and loved animals. She always said that if she was older, she would’ve joined the Red Cross and signed up to serve as a nurse to our boys in the Pacific, like Father did… Father wasn’t a nurse though, he was a chaplain.

It’s funny to think that I inherited so much of my father, like my dark hair, gray eyes and olive skin. We both also share the same aversion to human pain and blood that moves my mother and Prim to action; but unlike Prim, my father’s calling to help the soldiers in their worst situations, passed me and went directly to my baby sister.

I sigh… Prim would’ve made a terrific army nurse, if only she hadn’t wasted in bed with that odious disease! If she had been given the chance to live, I’m sure Prim would’ve had so many boys trailing after her. She would marry at some point and have a beautiful full life.

I don’t plan on marrying and having a family. If the acute pain in my own chest wasn’t enough warning, watching my mother walk silently from the funeral home to our apartment, with her head bowed and listening to her quiet sobs at night would be enough evidence that there’s too much sorrow in losing one’s husband and children.

I think my efforts will be better spent in cultivating my mind, and getting my degree in botany, like my father always dreamed, anyway… plus, I’m not much of a looker… not like Prim at any rate.

We finally arrived at our modest home. Mother drifts ghost-like into the door, and then we both shuffle quietly into our separate bedrooms. There won’t be a meal at the table tonight, but I make sure Prim’s old tomcat gets fed and watered, and after he meows in distress at my sister’s door, I open mine, and let him strut inside my bedroom and hop into my bed. The hideous fur ball and I distrust each other, but he understands his mistress is never coming back, and he’s the last thing I have from her… so he lets me pet him and he cuddles close to my chest as I fall asleep, crying.

——————————-

Mother and I walk slowly through the busy streets of town, mostly ignoring the bustle and disarray around us. People shout, cars honk horns, a baby cries in the distance, and the few young men rush back and forth in the busy sidewalks, like they’re being lashed by invisible whips.

“We should stop by the grocer and see if we can pick up some eggs.” Says my mother, pulling her “Sugar Book” out of her handbag.

Because of the war, everything is being rationed, from sugar to shoes.

I could care less about food and clothing, though. But I still go into the shop, dutifully.

I’m so immersed in my own thoughts, I don’t see the lanky man walking towards me with his arms full of vittles.

We collide. The man’s groceries fly up in every direction, raining over me, as I sit on my rump on the floor.

My mother is nowhere to be seen. Typical.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!” Says the man, pulling a packet of oatmeal from the floor, while extending his other hand to help me up.

“No… it’s alright, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, let’s agree that we’re both klutzes, and leave it at that?” The man offers.

I’m on my feet, dusting my skirt off and righting my blouse, “Sure, let’s do that.” I scowl at the skew state of my clothes and finally look up at the man.

He’s smiling down at me, and I must admit, his smile is dazzling. He’s got short brown hair, greenish-brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles over his nose. He also towers above me.

“My stars! If it isn’t Katniss Everdeen!” The young man says, unexpectedly excited.

I blink owlishly at him, and try to place his face, but I’m horrible at remembering people. Or their names.

“Marvel Quaid,” he offers genially, unfazed by my lack of response, “we went to grade school together?” He prompts, “My pa used to sell luxury goods in District One?”

“Oh, I think it’s coming back now,” I say smiling for the first time in what feels like months. “You used to throw sticks, pretending they were spears or something,” I tell him, showing that indeed, I do remember him.

Marvel scrunches his nose, “Javelins, actually. I was pretending I threw javelins. I saw a fellow doing it for the Olympics in a film, and then he won a medal for it. I thought to myself that making a victory lap with the good old American flag flapping after oneself looked like fun; well, I wanted to be a victor too!” He chuckles, then deflates. “But as everything, those dreams are gone now, crushed to dust under the weight of the war.”

As is the norm, once the war gets brought up, gloominess settles on, dampening the cheeriest of spirits.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m all too familiar with the sentiment.”

Marvel nods, grimly.

“We lost Father in France.” I’m not sure why I said it. “We put my sister in the ground last week, too.” I avert my eyes.

“Aww, geez, Kit… that’s truly awful. I’m so sorry for your loss,”

I’m mildly surprised I don’t immediately recoil at his little pet name. I guess the fact that he doesn’t sound condescending while delivering his condolences, helps.

“Oh, well, as my father would’ve said, at least their toils in this world are over. They can finally rest in peace.”

After a moment of heavy silence, Marvel shares, “I’m being shipped out tomorrow morning.”

I scowl, “Oh,” I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how he’d manage to evade the draft for this long? Marvel is my age, 19 going on 20… boys get sent to the front lines at 18. “I… I could write to you… if you wanted?” I offer shyly.

Isn’t that what young women are being told to do, in order to keep our boys’ morale from plummeting?

Marvel grins, showing slightly crooked teeth, “That would be swell, Kit!” He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs, “I should go back to my shopping, before they miss me at home. Lord knows when will I have the chance of doing something as mundane as picking up my mother’s weekly grocery allowance.”

These days it is not only uncommon seeing men doing grocery runs, but simply seeing young, able-body men around, period. All of our boys are either in Europe or the Pacific, fighting to keep the devastation of the World war from reaching our shores.

“Well, for what is worth, I hope you get to return home safely… you know, so you can do all the boring tasks your mother tells you to do. And when I say safe, I mean, I hope you don’t run anymore into spaced out girls, like me,” I smirk.

“Oh, Kit, if only you knew how much I’ve enjoyed our accidental skirmish. It’s like a gift from above, seeing you after all these years. Your smile and the color of your eyes will forever be branded in my mind, to give me a reason to fight. To have a dream,”

I’m momentarily floored by Marvel’s florid little speech. Nobody has ever said anything nearly as sweet and gallant as that to me, and for a moment, I forget all about my dead sister and father, the war, and my own sorrow.

I avert my eyes, bashfully, as he finishes picking up his vittles off the floor.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I lean over to pick up a can of milk, and put it on top of his pile.

“I only speak the truth,” he smiles brightly.

My mother chooses to interrupt at the exact moment I bat my lashes at him, “Katniss, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you by the counter.” She shakes her head.

Marvel wobbles on his feet, rearranging his load, and then greets my mother, warmly, “Mrs. Everdeen, how nice to see you again,”

My mother eyes him, unimpressed. “Good afternoon, young man,” she answers.

“Ma’am… pardon my forwardness, but, would it be too troublesome to ask Miss Katniss to accompany a soldier about to be shipped out, to supper in the town?”

My mother narrows her eyes, distrust dripping from her voice as she speaks, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. My daughter and I are in mourning, you see,”

“Oh, this won’t be an untoward celebration of any kind, ma’am. With the war raging on, we’re all in mourning. All I ask for is one last night of normalcy, a chance to reconnect with an old grade-school mate,” he smiles, hopefully, “For old times sake?”

I’m watching my mother’s face closely, with bated breath.

“Very well,” Mother sighs, “You may ask Katniss out to dinner. But have her home by 9 sharp!”

I don’t hesitate to step up and give him directions to my apartment building in District 12.

I spend the rest of my day giddy and nervous, pressing my best Sunday suit, the gray one with the matching jacket, and polishing my only pair of leather shoes. There isn’t much I can do about my hair… the thing can’t be fashioned into the favored waves, not even putting it in curlers overnight, so I let it be.

I briefly wonder if this was all Prim’s doing? Meeting Marvel and mother’s somewhat easy aquiciscent. Prim hated seeing me sad, and constantly talked about how she’d love to help me get ready for dates with a beau. She couldn’t wait to be of courting age and date a strapping, young man herself… but of course, that would never happen for her, but she would probably still want to see me have those things.

Maybe Marvel is right, and our serendipitous encounter is a gift from above, to heal our wounds… at least for the night.

————————-

Marvel arrives at my house in his father’s car at 5:45. Riding is now such a luxury, with gasoline being rationed and all. He takes me to a quaint little dinner in the middle of town. We share malts, a greasy burger, and a small portion of fries and onion rings.

We talk about baseball:

“You’d look good in a baseball uniform, Kit! Can you still run as fast as you did in school?”

I laugh. “I’m not much for sports,” I demure, “but I’ve heard playing in one of the new teams pays alright. Anyway, I’m gonna be starting my second year of college soon. I put my studies on hold while Prim was at her worst, but now that it’s only just me and mother… I’m anxious to go back to study.”

“Wow, beautiful and smart!”

We talk about cars:

“I loved driving… but Mother sold our car when my sister took a turn for the worse. She didn’t want to at first, saying that Father saved up to buy it, and it held sentimental value to her, but I had to push to sell it. We needed the money and gas was a nightmare to come by, anyway,”

“The only reason we still have ours,” says Marvel, “is because Pa is too stubborn to let go of the things that still made him feel wealthy.” He scowls, “He’s trying to get into the ice business now, since it’s pretty much the only thing one where the raw material is plenty and relatively cheap, and there’s guarantee that people will buy the product… everyone still needs ice for their ice boxes, right?”

No one can afford luxuries anymore with every penny going out to support our boys in the battlefields.

We talk about many other subjects: his sister’s wedding; my father’s unit getting pinned and killed by Germans… We didn’t get a body to bury, but I got a medal on his behalf as his eldest child.

Marvel lets me sniffle against his chest, and then kisses my lips slowly.

I’ve never been kissed on the lips, and I feel my face heat up.

“Would you… like to take a drive with me, Kit?”

We drive all the way to the city limit. It’s exhilarating to be in a car again, and sitting at the overlook, at twilight, alone with a handsome boy, feels positively forbidden!

I’ve never done anything remotely injudicious all my life, and this whole moment feels… magical… exciting!

Tentatively, I initiated our next kiss, but he takes over in a rush of caresses and flitting touches.

“Beautiful, graceful, Kit. You have no match!”

“Marvel…” I kiss him again, not knowing how to answer his sentiments with words.

His hands are restless, groping my shoulders and elbows. “I wished he had more time! I would’ve loved to marry you before departing. I would’ve show you so much passion and love!”

“You still can show me, Marvel… you absolutely can!”

It’s all the permission he needs to dive into a frenzy. He doesn’t stop until the deed is done, and we’re a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs in the back seat of the car, only partially clothed.

A deep feeling of lethargy pours over me. My muscles are sore and heavy, and wished I could fall asleep in here.

“I intend on coming back to marry you, Katniss,” Marvel says, stretching his lanky, long legs to zip up his pants.

I sit up and start finger-combing my ruined hair, hoping my mother won’t notice the strands are extra frizzy. “Um… I guess we should after this,” I say shyly, gesturing between us.

“You could still go to college while I’m away,” he offers with magnanimity.

“You… wouldn’t mind that?” I ask incredulous, college women are so rare, unless they’re trying to become nurses or teachers. Most girls start courting right after high school and get married in the span of one to two years, and their husbands don’t normally encourage an education beyond what their wives came into the marriage with; so to hear Marvel say that wouldn’t mi d me stay in college is just about the greatest thing possible!

“My darling, Kit, I don’t want you to be one of those girls pining and wasting away for her beau. I’ll be busy at war, it’ll be unfair to keep you from occupying your own time while you wait fir my return. Go to college, my clever girl!”

I smile indulgently at him, leaning closer to slip his necktie around the collar of his shirt, “You are truly a generous, loving man,” I say.

Marvel beams, circling my waist with his arms pulling me against his body. “It’s all inspired by you, sugar plum!”

I giggle, kissing his cheek, “I’ll write to you every day!” I promise.

“That’s nice… but just so you know, I might not be able to write back right away. It’ll be a while before I get settled enough to write. But you’ll be in my thoughts every minute of every day, and that’s the honest truth! I’m serious about marrying you when I return, Kit,” he kisses me again. And then, he looks at his watch, sighing. “It’s 8:32. We should get on going, gotta keep in my future mother-in-law’s good graces!”

We share a carefree laugh, and finish tidying ourselves up to drive back to my house.

He walks me to the door, takes me in his arms, and kisses me passionately before promising he’d be back to officially ask for my hand in marriage, and for my part, I swear I’ll write to him every day until he returns home safe and sound.

But neither of us keeps our promises in the end, although I tried.

————————-

Three weeks go by and I keep my word of writing daily letters. I receive no word in return from Marvel, but think nothing of it… Europe is far and traveling by sea is tedious and time consuming; Marvel will get in touch once he’s settled down.

Another week goes by, still without news from my would-be fiancé. I still don’t worry. I’ve been busy with university, and the few other girls attending school with me keep me busy, but my heavier workload is starting to get to me.

I’m usually so tired and moody after school that socializing with my classmates becomes a chore. I barely eat supper before I’m passing out in bed, and my letters to Marvel start to get shorter and simpler with every passing day.

I skip writing one afternoon altogether, and take a long nap. Buttercup— Prim’s ugly cat— perches on my bed like a sentinel to watch me sleep. I believe he’s worried about me… stupid, clingy cat thinks I’m sick.

But the feline’s intuition proves right, because just two days later, I shoot out of bed and run into the washroom to spill every last ounce of last night supper into the toilet. I must’ve caught a bug or something!

I feel queasy and lightheaded every morning after. My appetite wanes and it seems my delicate stomach can only tolerate pears, and broth.

I visit the post office to place out my letters to Marvel almost everyday; Every time I come, the nice old mailman comments on how sweet it is to see all the young-uns holding romance strong. Marvel has yet to respond to one of my letters, so I just smile tightly and demure.

I’ve been thinking though; the longer I go without news of my supposed future husband, and despite the whirlwind night of romance with him, I start questioning my actions, my promises. I never wanted to marry before, and suddenly I was okay getting a hasty, unofficial engagement with a virtual stranger, I barely remember from grade school… maybe it’s better if Marvel never writes.

My plans on earning a college degree and finding a well paying job will go unencumbered— I’m aware women in prominent working professions are as rare as snow in July, but women’s presence in the working forces keep growing as industries need laborers to keep up producing while the men fight in the war. Educated women are almost becoming less rare.

At the two month mark since I last saw Marvel, I become weepier than usual… is to be expected in my opinion; Prim’s been gone for a little over two months and she was the only person I knew I loved. But now I’m worrying about my health on top of everything.

One morning, while I’m kneeling on the cold, hard floor in front of the toilet, feeling miserable and tired, my mother calls my name from the open door.

“Katniss, I think it’s time to get a test.” She states evenly, and then enters the room to fetch a damp washcloth to wipe my face clean. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid you may be with child,” she sighs.

I squirm. “No,” I gasp. “I— I can’t be with child. I just can’t!” But the thought has crossed my mind a few times already. “It’s not supposed to be this way!”

“I know, child,” My mother pats my head, “there’s only one way to know. Get dressed for the day, I will call the most discreet physician I know, and have him pay us a visit.”

————————-

Doctor Aurelius— a physician my mother has helped deliver babies and treat maladies with— confirms the pregnancy with a grim face.

I sit at my kitchen table numb and despondent. My mother writes a check to the doctor for his services, while talking in no so hush tones in the other room. I listen to their whole conversation, as if submerged in water.

“I blame myself for this, doctor. I should have kept a closer eye on her,”

“Don’t blame yourself Ms. Everdeen, it’s that war business bringing out all sorts of evil into the world! It’s unfortunate the rise of these cases in our community. Young ladies— from good families!— engaging in acts ought to be saved for marriage. Youth do things without thinking, guided by fear. Our boys fear they may not return from that senseless, awful war, and settle down properly, and I don’t blame them one little bit.”

“The only solace I have right now, is that my poor husband is not here to see the shame that’s fallen over our family,”

“I understand the sentiment, ma’am. There’s no telling how Preacher Everdeen would’ve taken this blow. But I’m sure things will work out as soon as young Katniss hears from the father…”

I dissolve into silent tears then. My mother escorts the doctor to the door and then there’s silence.

My pinky finger curls into the soft fabric of the table cloth, and I try to ignore the urge to vomit boiling in my stomach. There’s one thought circling mi mind: my college days are over.

——————————-

“Ah! Miss Everdeen, I have something for you.” Says the mailman as soon as I reach the desk. He smiles, but rather sadly, like he’s about to give me bad news.

I’ve come to the post office with urgent letters every day for 6 days, and he’s never looked at me this way.

The old man digs around for a moment and almost reluctantly, passes a parcel tied up in twine. An envelope is attached to the top of the parcel, and with a sinking feeling, I realized it’s a stack of my own letters.

“It came in today, miss.” Says the man, voice laced with pity. “Sorry for your loss.” He says.

At first I don’t understand what he could possibly mean by that; he’s offered his sympathies fir my dead father and sister already; it makes absolutely no sense to repeat himself randomly after so long.

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks.

I gasp, and press the parcel to my chest. “Oh no! Marvel!” I whisper. I give the man a hasty wave, thanking him, and rush out of the post office like mad.

Tears run down my cheeks, while I dash home, imagining the worst. “Poor, Marvel!” Is all I can think.

“Katniss, what’s wrong?” My mother calls, alarmed, when I rush to my bedroom, sobbing. She follows me in, and watches me tear into the envelope at the top of the stack.

I frown in confusion when I’m met with handwritten, chicken-scratch scrawl, instead of a formal missive typed in official US military stationary.

My scowl deepens as my eyes rove over the flowery vocabulary, and then I screech, “What?!”

“Katniss, what’s going on?”

I ignore my mother when she approaches to read over my shoulder; I step around her, shaking the piece of paper in my hands and stand by the window, as if sunlight will make the words change their meaning.

I smooth the creases and folds on the page over, and read out loud, “Dearest Kit, sorry it took so long to write, it’s been a wild time since we arrived and finding time to correspond with everyone back home it’s been hard.

“At times, your letters have been the sole source of light and hope in the darkness of this conflict. Is for that reason, and with a heavy heart, that I must come clean to you now. I truly meant it when I swore to come back and make you my wife, but as the Good Book says, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and love has sprouted out the most unlikely place! Kit, I’ve fallen in love and married a lovely gal here in England…”

I stop reading. He goes on talking about the why and how, but I sincerely don’t care.

“That good for nothing, virtue dasher, future crushing… liar!” My mother bleats to the ceiling, raising her palms over her head, dramatically.

I’m angry too, of course. I feel used and disposed of like a dirty rag, but my mother’s reaction is borderline hilarious. Except, it isn’t.

I’m pregnant, unmarried, and soon— once my still flat stomach starts rounding— I’ll be socially ostracized for my condition. My only saving grace was the promise of marriage that bastard Marvel had given me. But that’s gone now.

“I knew that boy was bad news the second I laid eyes on him! He never even introduced himself to me, the little weasel! This is my fault. My fault! I should’ve never allowed you to run amok with the likes of him…”

“Mother, will you please?” I nearly growl, gesturing at the open bedroom door.

She stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, before pursing her lips in disapproval, and stalking out of the room muttering her aggravation under her breath.

I sink into my bed with Marvel’s stupid letter crumpling in my fist. A single, hot, angry tear rolls down my face, and for the first time since finding out of its existence, I hug my midsection and address my child, “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess. I know you didn’t ask for a mother like me, but I’m all you got now, little one. I promise we will be alright… I’ll try not to let you down.”

———————-

My mother has been unbearable for the last two days. She cries in her room worse than when Prim died, and when she sees me, she starts lamenting my poor choice, like I’m not even standing there… as if I don’t feel discouraged enough.

I keep myself busy with my education. I will need to earn this diploma now more than ever before, and I need to do as much as I can before the baby arrives and my studies get put on hold.

In the meantime, I scout the newspapers for possible work options to sustain me and my mother. Our savings keep diminishing and the small stipend my mother got from the Army since my father passed away is becoming more insufficient by the day.

There’s a knock on the front door, and I push out my chair unhappy by the interruption.

“Afternoon Miss Katniss! Would you let your mother know she’s got a telephone call down in the lobby?” Says the building’s doorkeeper.

“Of course, thank you. She’ll be right down!”

Telephones are yet another luxury we had to give up when moved to this small place after losing my father.

I go back to my job hunt, and my mother descends to the lobby, quickly.

She returns after only 10 minutes, almost running through the door, excitedly calling my name. Tears wet her face, but her smile is so blinding, even without knowing what sort of news she’s heard to cause her such joy, I stand from the table with nervous anticipation.

“Oh, Katniss! Katniss my dear daughter, you’re saved!” She exclaims, hugging me tightly.

I’m confused. I step away from her embrace, “What do you mean?”

“It’s the best thing possible ever, I tell you! The Lord has answered all of my prayers!”

“This is all so exciting and all, mother, but… could you please share this great news already?”

My mother cups my face in her hands, and beams at me, “You need to pack your things, darling! Your father’s good friend, Reverend Undersee, has found a husband, and you are to wed, in three days time!”

—————————

Reverend Undersee and his daughter, Madge, meet me and my mother at the rinky dink bus station, in the equally tiny town my mother has banished me to.

“Katniss! How long has it been?” Says Madge, hugging me enthusiastically.

I bite my tongue to keep the acidic retort of “not long enough!” to leave my mouth.

“Welcome to Panem,” says the reverend, soberly, shaking my mother’s hand in greeting.

“Thank you, revered. We appreciate your hospitality and your understanding,” my mother responds, then gives me a pointed look and a wordless command.

I nod and mutter, “Thank you, sir. Madge,”

I scowl at a crack in the pavement, not feeling an iota of gratefulness for this charade!

Any man agreeing to this questionable union has to either be desperate, or be hiding terrible, ulterior motives to go along with all of this. Nobody in their right mind would willingly marry a girl pregnant with another man’s baby, and be happy about it… unless that’s the reason!

I shudder at the thought.

But it is a very real possibility that my intended is a simpleton, who can’t find a wife otherwise… or worse! It could be a man very advanced in age, looking for a supple, young body to leech off. Gross!

My mother had been too excited about the news that a man offered to marry me (as if I asked for, or even wanted a husband!) to bother to ask his name.

Reverend Undersee coughs daintily, clears his throat, and starts, like he’s giving a lecture at the university. “It is our Christian duty to lend a helping hand to widows and orphans in their time of needs. Same way it’s our duty to keep the memory and honor of an old friend from being dragged into the mud.”

I wince at the harsh words, and let my face fall lower, if that’s even possible.

“Well, it’s a good thing that we are all recipients of the abundant grace of the Lord, which covers multitude of faults, and it’s never hard to reach,” a deep, velvety, masculine voice cuts into my embarrassment.

I lift my eyes from the ground, to find a man striding confidently in our direction. He smiles kindly at me, his eyes fixed on my own, like I’m the only person still standing in the station.

He finally cedes our staring contest, to take in the rest of the group.

A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, because I recognize him from years past when my family used to visit this town, and I’m afraid I know exactly why he’s here.

“Good afternoon, all. I apologize for my tardiness, I had a last second detail to take care of before leaving the house,” he nods in our general direction, taking his hat off; a riot of ashy blonde curls falls onto his forehead, before bending forward to shake my mother’s hand, “I’m Peeta Mellark, at your service, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, mister Mellark,” says my mother, her lips twitch tersely, “Widow Everdeen, and this here is my daughter Katniss… your bride.”

Peeta Mellark’s baby blue eyes slip back to mine, and the left side corner of lips curls into a shy, earnest smile. “Welcome to Panem, Katniss, I’ll sure do my best, so you’d like it here.”

#alliswell21 #prompt 71 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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albertasunrise · 3 years

Text

Realised Too Late - Part 1

Summary: You’ve been best friends with Frankie since high school and you’ve harboured a secret that whole time that has eaten you alive. You’re in love with him. You know he only sees you as Arce (Maple), the nickname he gave you on your first day. You're just his Canadian friend, never anything more. When his life takes a series of different turns, however, you're there to support him through it but how long can you do that before it just hurts too much?

Warnings: Drug abuse, alcohol, depression, overdose, language, Angst, Smut 18+

Pairings: Frankie Morales x Reader - Ben Miller x Reader

Notes: There are some tough subjects in this one so if you're easily triggered by warnings above, don't read. This will be in three parts.

He was a shell of the man you’d known as kids, the army having stripped him of his soul and leaving him limp and boneless. You hadn’t been surprised when he’d turned to drugs for relief, he was an addict. As kids, he was addicted to exercise, constantly dragging you on hikes or to swimming events that left him buzzing after. During his time in the army, he was addicted to danger, unable to just sit on the sidelines when his brothers were out there risking their lives. When he’d retired he’d struggled. He was evicted from his flat after his last job, the neighbours complaining about the noise, the screaming as he was plagued by nightmares of the things he’d seen and done, they didn’t care he was ex-military. Or that his girlfriend had left him. So you had taken him in, held him at night as he sobbed and did everything you could to help him get better.

At first, you’d not realised that the change in him was because of the coke. He’d been happy, positive, bubbly. He’d returned to the Frankie you once knew. You’d been over the moon at his progress, happy that you’d pushed him to attend counselling and he’d sold it to you so well, made you believe he was going but he wasn’t. No, he was driving to a bar where he had a beer, sniffed some coke in the bathroom and left, returning to you with a new story to sell his lie.

You’d found the bag of powder whilst doing the washing. You’d known instantly what it was and you’d broken down immediately, unable to believe that he’d do that stuff after what he knew. What it had done to your family. He’d found you sobbing on the floor, clutching your stomach and he’d dropped to your side in an instant, pulling you into his arms.

‘Arce, what’s wrong?’ He’d pleaded and your tears had stopped almost immediately, sorrow replaced with pure burning anger that you’d never felt before.

‘You lied to me.’ You’d growled, pushing away ‘You haven’t been going to counselling have you?’

‘I have.’

‘If you continue to lie to me I swear I will kick the shit out of you.’ You'd spat, getting to your feet with that bag clutched tightly in your hand ‘This is the real reason you’ve been -happier- isn’t it Francisco?’ You continued, holding out your hand and revealing the bag that sat on your palm ‘How could you?’ You’d sobbed ‘After what I’ve been through… How could you resort to this as a fix?’

Frankie had knelt there gobsmacked, unsure of what to do or say to you. He'd not even thought about you when he’d been offered the substance the first time, he’d just focused on the fact he’d been told it would help… and it had.

‘Arce I’m so sorry.’ He’d sobbed ‘I just needed the pain to stop. He’d told me it would stop and it did.’

‘But Frankie. This shit ruins lives.’ You said, your tone changing to one with more sympathy ‘Look what it did to my family.’

Your brother had gotten hooked on the stuff after his relationship had fallen apart. His wife had left him, taking the baby with her and he’d lost it. Turning to drink and drugs to dull the pain. He’d managed to hide it well, no one ever suspecting him. One fateful day however the truth had been revealed most tragically. It had been your birthday and Frankie had organised a surprise party for you at his. Your brother had been tasked to pick up and bring your parents over but he’d taken just a little too much before getting behind the wheel. They had never stood a chance. His car was t-boned by a truck when he’d jumped a red light, everyone dying on impact. When you’d arrived at Frankie’s you’d been over the moon to see his place decorated with balloons and streamers, your friends all stood there waiting for you but his face had ripped that happiness away. He’d walked up to you, everyone else remaining where they were and he placed a hand on each arm, bracing you for what was to come and as the words left his mouth you'd passed out, falling limply into his arms.

He’d supported you through it all. The funeral. Sorting through your parent's stuff. You’d considered selling their house but he’d convinced you not to.

‘Don’t you want your kids to grow up here?’ He’d said ‘You have a story about every inch of this house. Don’t sell those stories to someone else.’

So you’d kept it. Moved in and worked on modernising it without ripping out its soul, keeping the memory of your family alive within its walls.

‘You need to stop this Frankie.’ You’d stated, snatching the powder out of sight ‘I will help you but you have to promise me no more lies.’ You’d continued, noting the relief that had flooded his expression ‘You lie to me Frankie and that’s it. You’re out.’

‘Of course.’ He’d replied, nodding hastily as his tears tracked down his cheeks ‘No more lies… I promise.’

He’d kept his promise. He actually attended counselling, his shrink calling each time to confirm he’d visited. He wasn’t aware that they did it, you’d asked them to keep it between the two of you but you’d needed some sort of confirmation that he really was trying to help himself. The nightmares had returned but after a while, they became less frequent along with the panic attacks at loud sounds. He was doing so much better and you were so proud of him. He’d then started to attend AA meetings, finding them useful. You’d gone along to the first few with him on his request but as his confidence had grown he started attending alone and that’s how he’d met her.

Lucy.

She was nice enough. She’d been hooked on coke too after leaving the army so they’d connected in a way that a lot of the other members never could. Their romance had been fast-paced and it killed you. You were happy he had someone, of course, you were… You were just devastated that it wasn’t you.

‘So Lucy’s having a few friends over on Friday. She wondered if you wanted to join?’ He asked as he sipped at his coffee ‘She’s desperate to get to know you.’

‘You talk about me with her?’ You asked, raising your brows as little in surprise.

‘Of course, I do.’ He replied, giving your a bemused expression ‘You’re my best friend. Why wouldn’t I?’

You shrugged, sipping at your coffee as you looked at anything but him, desperate to hide your heartbreak from him. He didn’t notice, just continued to speak as he supped at his black coffee, oblivious to your pain.

‘So will you come?’ He asked with hopeful eyes.

‘Sure.’ You reply, praying something comes up that means you can’t go.

Nothing does.

‘So you’re the famous Arce?’ She asked, shaking your hand when Frankie brought you over.

‘That I am.’ You replied, smiling sheepishly at her.

‘Frankie’s told me all about you.’ She stated, giving you a warm smile ‘You’ve been quite a friend to him.’ She stated ‘Especially with his coke addiction. Most people who have been through what you have would have run a mile. He’s lucky to have you.’

You give her a small nod but inside you’re screaming. She thanks you for coming and apologises for having to go, food needs to be checked. As soon as she leaves you turn and walk to the door, tears streaming down your cheeks.

‘Hey whoah! Where are you going? What’s the matter?’ Asked Frankie as he grabbed your shoulders and stopped you in your tracks ‘Why are you crying?’

‘Fuck you, Frankie.’ Was your reply before you shrugged out of his grip and left, ignoring him as he called after you.

You ignored his calls and texts as you laid there curled up on your couch, praying that he'd choose to stay with her that night but you didn’t get such luck. He walked through the door a little after 1 in the morning, toeing off his shoes and hanging his coat and cap up before stepping quietly into the house. He heard your silent cries and found you curled up on the couch, an empty bottle of wine laying on the floor in front of you.

‘Lucy was really upset that you left.’ He stated, his tone angry ‘That was really rude.’

‘Get out.’ Was your reply, barely above a whisper.

‘What the fuck is your problem?’ he growled, his patience spent ‘She was nothing but nice to you and then you just fucking leave.’

‘She isn't the reason I left.’ You spat, venom dripping from every word as you sat up and glared at him ‘You’re the reason I left.’

‘Me?’ He questioned, pointing at his chest ‘The fuck did I do?’

‘You had no right to tell her.’ You growled ‘You had no right…’ You trailed off, feeling more tears threatening to spill.

‘Tell her what?’

‘You know what Frankie.’ You yelled, scrapping a hand over your tear-stained face ‘There are a handful of people that know the truth about how they died. I choose who I tell, not you.’

‘Arce-.’

‘I’m going to bed.’ You interrupted, getting up from the couch and heading upstairs, leaving a guilty Frankie in your wake.

He didn’t come home for a few days after that evening. You assumed he was trying to give you some space but you didn’t care, you were just too hurt. When he did come back you saw something different in him, something had changed and not for the better. He was withdrawn, quiet. Spending more time in his room or under the hood of his truck than anywhere else and you found yourself worrying about him despite the anger you still felt towards him.

‘Frank, what’s going on with you?’

‘Surprised you care.’ He snarled, pushing his food around his plate with his fork.

‘Fuck you, Francisco. Of course, I care.’ You spat, slapping the table with your hand and making him jump.

You weren’t expecting him to cry.

‘She’s pregnant.’ He said, taking you by surprise.

‘And you’re not happy? You’ve always wanted kids… what changed?’ You asked, your confusion evident.

‘I do want kids.’ He replied, lip trembling ‘She doesn’t.’ He continued ‘She’s booked herself in for a termination next week.’

‘What?’ Your heart shatters ‘Did she even consult you?’

He simply shook his head and you felt your anger bubbling beneath the surface again.

‘I was over the moon when she told me.’ He affirmed, pushing his place away and leaning back in his chair ‘I practically sobbed with joy but then she told me that she was terminating it. Said she’d never wanted kids and that it was the best thing. No kid deserves two junkie parents.’

‘But you’re clean… Aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’ He replied, slightly exasperated ‘And I would do everything in my power to remain clean for that kid.’ He paused, sniffing as he wiped away his tears ‘I begged her to reconsider but she refused. Said that if I couldn’t support her decision then she didn’t want to be with me.’

‘Frank-.’

‘I thought this was it.’ He stated ‘I thought I’d finally found someone I could be myself with, raise kids with.’ His works sting more than he’ll ever know ‘I didn’t think after… After them that I’d ever get a chance to be a dad. I guess I never will.’

You have to push your pain to one side and comfort him. He and his ex had been expecting, he’d been so excited but after Santi had dragged him on a job in South America that had resulted in the death of his commanding officer and them all leaving empty-handed, he’d returned to learn that she’d lost it and left him. You were sure that had contributed towards his downward spiral into drugs, little did you know, he’d had a problem before that. He’d hidden it so well for so long.

‘Frankie I know you’re destined to be a dad.’ You said softly, taking your hands in his ‘You’ll find the right woman one day.’

‘I haven't left her.’ He said suddenly ‘I love Lucy. I just need some time to grieve the baby.’

‘Frank-.’

‘I love her Arce.’ He stated ‘We can work past this.’

You leave at that.

You cried yourself to sleep when he’d moved in with her. You’d helped him pack, drove boxes over to her in your car but you’d hadn’t stayed when they invited you in, unable to bear being around him a moment longer. After that, you ignored his attempts to contact you. Didn’t answer the door when he came knocking. You just let yourself fall into a dark depression, one you didn't think you’d ever recover from and you didn’t expect Benny to be the one that pulled you out of it.

‘What’s going on sweetheart?’ He asked, holding you as you sob into his chest.

‘I’m just so alone.’ You sobbed ‘I’m the plain friend that everyone relies on but no one loves. God, I’ve not been asked on a date in years. My life is a mess and now Frank’s gone and I’m all on my own.’

‘You’re gorgeous babe.’ He said, placing a soft kiss on the crown of your head ‘Anyone would be lucky to have you on their arm.’

‘You don’t need to be nice to me Benny.’ You chuckle, pulling away from his now tear-stained chest to look at him ‘I know I’m not desirable. I never have been.’

Ben looked at you with a troubled expression, unable to believe that someone so beautiful could be so neglected and feel so unappreciated. He’d had a thing for you since Frankie had first introduced you to them all but he’d never acted on it. You were Frank’s best friend after all. You were off-limits.

‘You’re one of the most beautiful women I know.’ He stated, tucking some of your stray hair behind your ear ‘You deserve the world.’

You stared at each other for a moment, your eyes dropped to his lips and his gaze followed suit. The air shifted as he cupped your cheek with his large hand, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek as your eyes locked with each others' again. Then he leaned in and he kissed you, smiling when you gasped in surprise.

It was soft at first, chaste but as you shifted closer to him, legs straddling his lap, he deepened it and you moaned as your tongues dance. It was then a blur of touches, moans and the removal of clothes but the next moment you were truly aware of was him sheathing himself inside of you, kissing you sweetly as you gasped at the stretch.

‘You okay?’ He asked softly, blue eyes searching for anything that told him you didn’t want this but you simply nodded and pulled him into a hungry kiss.

‘Move please.’ You begged ‘Fuck me, Benny…. Please.’

That's all the permission he needed and he started to cant his hips, pushing himself as deep as he could go before withdrawing and slamming back. His pace was slow at first, unhurried, but as your moans grew filthier and filthier he sped up his thrusts, hitting that sweet spot with every movement.

‘Fuck I’m gonna cum.’ You whined, nails digging into the muscles on his back and it spurred him on ‘Fuck…’

‘Let go.’ He growled against the shell of your ear and you did.

You screamed as he made you cum hard, dragging him right along with you and after a few more thrusts to prolong your high’s he collapsed on the couch beside you, kissing you languidly as he stroked your cheek.

‘Let me take you out.’ He said, bumping your nose with his.

‘Okay.’ You replied, grinning at him as you kissed him again and wrapped your hand around his length, pumping him lazily ‘But first, we’re doing that again.’

‘You’re bringing your girlfriend to guys night?’ Questioned Will as he sipped from his beer.

‘I’m crazy about her boys.’ He replied, smiling like a loon as he thought about you.

You’d fucked twice more that night before you’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, the sex that following morning being the best of all. That evening he took you to dinner and then again the day after that and you quickly fell into a relationship that had you feeling happier than you'd ever been. You’d both decided to keep it a secret at first, just take each day as it came but after being together for 4 months you decided that it was time to reveal to the boys but you were scared of how Frankie would react. The two of you hadn’t spoken much after he’d moved out.

‘Fine but if you’re bringing your squeeze then Fish should bring Lucy. Not fair for the poor girl to sit with three guys all night.’

‘Fish? Think Lu would come?’ Asked Benny, eyes wide and eager.

‘Don’t see why not.’ He replied with a shrug ‘She’s wanted to come out with us for ages so…’

‘Great then that's settled.’ Replied Ben, beaming as he sipped his beer.

He just hoped Lu’s presence would take away from the fact his girlfriend was you.

You sat in the booth, clinging to Ben’s hand for dear life. Your heart was pulsing in your throat, hands shaking as you watched the door for the others to arrive. Will had texted to say he’d be about an hour late but Frankie had confirmed he was running on time. You'd both decided to arrive a little early to get a round in, a little liquid courage you'd supposed. When Frankie walked in, Lucy behind him you felt your stomach twist in knots.

‘Sorry, we’re a little late.’ He said, not looking up as he shoved his keys in his pocket ‘Traffic was crazy…' He trailed off as he looked up, seeing you at Ben’s side ‘What are you doing here? Where's your girlfriend Ben?’

Ben simply put his arm around your shoulders, smiling at Frankie nervously and giving your hand under the table a squeeze.

‘You two?’ He question, motioning between you both with his pointer finger ‘You two are together?’

‘Yes.’ You replied simply, unable to hide the wobble in your voice.

‘Are you fucking serious?’

‘Fish-.’

‘My best friend Ben… Really?’

‘I’m crazy about her man.’ He stated ‘We kept it quiet because we were scared to tell you but we’ve been dating for coming up to five months so we felt it was time you knew.’

‘I managed to get away early. Boss was… wha-‘ Will’s mouth dropped open when he saw his brother’s arm around your shoulders ‘You two?’

‘Yes us two.’ Growled Ben ‘We’ve been dating for almost five months, things are amazing and we thought it was time to make it public.’ He finished, rolling his eyes.

Frankie was glued to the spot, hands shaking as he stared at Ben’s arm around you and h.e felt something he’d not experienced before with you. Jealousy... and he wanted nothing more than to rip Ben off of you and pull you into his arms.

‘Babe?’ Piped up Lucy as she tugged on his sleeve ‘You want a beer?’

‘Uh - Yeah…’ He replied, shaking his head before slipping down onto the bench beside him ‘Thanks, baby.’

She gave him a sweet peck on the cheek and made her way to the bar, leaving him to return to staring at you and Ben.

‘Well, I for one am over the moon for you both.’ Said Will, grinning ‘You look really good together.’

‘Going to make beautiful babies.’ Ben joked and Frankie felt his stomach drop, noting the glint in your eyes as you beamed at the younger Miller.

‘Bit soon isn’t it?’ Boomed Will, letting out a breath chuckle.

‘Nothing wrong with thinking about the future.’ You stated, sticking your tongue out at Will before turning your head towards Ben and kissing him sweetly.

Frankie wanted to leave. He didn't want to stay here and watch you kiss his friend but he knew he had no right to be jealous. He was with Lucy. He'd picked her.

‘Of all the people you could date, why her?’ Yelled Frank, feeling his anger overflowing ‘Why her Ben?’

‘Why does it matter?’ He shouted back.

‘She’s my best friend!’

‘Who you’ve barely seen since you moved out!’ Spat Ben ‘She was so fucking depressed man. You’d left and she felt so alone. Did you ever show her that you appreciated what she did for you when you lived with her? Tell her she was beautiful? Tell her what she meant to you? Because she thinks she is the plain friend, doomed to be alone.’ Ben paused, scrubbing his hand over his face as he glanced at the restroom door ‘I have been into her for years. I held off because I knew she was your best friend but I couldn’t hold back any longer. She’s amazing and I’m falling hopelessly in love with her Fish. She deserves the world and I intend to give that to her.’

Frankie stood there with his mouth agape. He’d realised at that moment how selfish he’d been. He’d never made you feel appreciated, loved. He’d ignored your pain and now he knew that fact his mind was replayed the moments it had slipped out. He’d been so blind to it but now it was too late. He was too late.

Frankie Morales was in love with you… and he’d lost you to Ben.

When they'd returned to the table, Frankie had remained fairly silent as he desperately tried to quieten the anguish in his heart. He wished he'd never realised what he felt, he wished he'd remained ignorant of it but he knew he didn't really love Lucy. He never had.

Your heart raced with a mixture of nerve and excitement as Ben fucked you against the wall of the locker room. You could have been caught at any moment but you'd found yourself begging him for it before he’d lifted you by the back of your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist, pushing your underwear to the side and slipping his throbbing length into your heat, silencing your moans with his mouth.

‘You gotta be quiet for me baby.’ He whispered, lust blown eyes locked with yours ‘Fuck you’re so beautiful.’ He panted as he rocked his hips, hitting that spot perfectly with each thrust of his strong hips.

‘F-fuck.’ You moaned, biting your bottom lip to stifle the filth that wanted to slip from your lips.

You could feel yourself fast approaching your orgasm and you latched onto his shoulders as your forehead fell against his, eyes remaining fixed on him

‘I love you.’ You whispered, smiling at the grin that swept across his face.

‘Fuck… I love you too baby.’ He replied, increasing his pace as he desperately tried to make you cum before him.

…

Frankie stepped into the locker room but stopped in his tracks when he heard it. Laboured breathing, stifled moans and he peeked around one of the lockers to see Ben fucking you against the wall. Your forehead was resting against his, mouth hanging open, knuckles white as you gripped onto his shoulders.

Then he heard it.

‘I love you.’

‘Fuck… I love you too baby.’

He managed to drag himself away after that, ears just catching your moans as you climaxed and he felt his heart break. Seeing you with him like that being the final nail in the coffin for him.

…

You couldn’t hold back the pleasured sob that escaped your lips as he made you cum, his release following straight behind yours and you kissed his deeply as you clutched onto him tightly, willing your heart to slow.

‘Fuck that was hot,’ Chuckled Ben as he lowered you to your feet ‘Good thing the boys didn’t arrive early.’

‘Would you have stopped?’ You question as you gave him a devilish grin.

‘Not sure I’d be capable of stopping.’ He replied ‘You feel too good.’

‘Mmm good answer.’ You replied as you pulled up your panties and kissed him sweetly ‘Love you.’ You said against his lips ‘Feels good to tell you that.’

‘Feels good to hear it.’ He replied, kissing the tip of your nose.

‘Look who I found making a run for it.’ Stated Will as he emerged from behind the lockers, arm slung around Frankie’s shoulders.

‘Where were you going?’ Asked Ben as he sat on one of the benches in the centre of the room and started to wrap his hands ready for the fight.

‘I uh…’ His eyes locked with yours and you saw something in them that makes your stomach twist Did he see us?

‘I don’t feel well.’ He stated, lifting his cap to adjust his hair underneath.

‘Nothing a beer can't fix.’ Will stated, pulling Frankie towards him and started to head to the ring ‘Meet you guys in there.’

You nod, watching as he led Fish away and then you turned to Ben with a mortified expression.

‘What?’ He asked upon seeing it.

‘I think he saw us.’ You replied plainly, hands shaking as you studied Ben’s reaction.

‘Fuck.’

You were dragged away from Ben’s lips by a knock at the door, the younger Miller groaning as you got off of his lap and padded across the room to your front door, taken aback by who you found standing there.

‘Lucy?’

‘Is Frankie here?’ She asked, her tone a little panicked.

You took her in. She looked unwell, a familiar gloss coating her eyes and you knew she was high.

‘No.’ You replied plainly, unable to hide your distaste at the state she was in ‘Why?’

‘We broke up a few weeks ago.’ She started, taking both you and Ben by surprise as he came up behind you ‘We’ve been texting the past few days. He was sad about something, has been sad for a few months now. He was supposed to come by today to grab the last of his things but he never showed. I tried calling but he isn’t answering. I’m worried about him. Thought maybe he’d come here.’

‘Where has he been living since he moved out?’ Ben asked, snaking his arm around your waist and giving you a friendly squeeze.

‘He found a flat.’

‘What's the address?’ He asked, grabbing the sticky notes and pen from your side table and noting it down as Lucy said it ‘Right. We’ll let you know if we hear from him. Go home and wait. He may still turn up. We’ll go check his apartment.’

Lucy nodded, her whole body trembling from a mixture of worry and need for her next fix. You recognised it, seen Frankie go through it and you felt a flicker of sympathy for her. She did really care about him. Ben called her a cab and saw her off before you both jumped into his truck and headed to the address she had given you, leg bouncing nervously as a terrible feeling washed over you. Your stomach dropped when you arrived, his door wide open and you'd both sprinted inside to find him seizing on the floor as someone, you assumed a neighbour, was on the phone to the emergency services beside him.

‘Frankie.’ You screamed as you fell to his side, cradling his face as his body was rocked with convulsions but Ben was glued to the spot in total shock. You felt sick as you watched his face, eyes rolling back as his seizure seemed to intensify and then it seemed to stop as abruptly as it had started and you sobbed as you rested your forehead against his.

‘Hold on please.’ You begged ‘Help’s coming. Just hold on.’ His breathing becoming more and more laboured.

You were pulled away by Ben as Frankie was then swarmed by medics, the neighbour who’d been there when you'd arrived coming to stand at your side.

‘I heard a scream, like none other I’d heard before, and then a crash.’ She started ‘He’s a nice boy. Gave me a spare key after he managed to lock himself out one night shortly after moving in. I let myself in and he was just laying there…. Then he started to fit and I-.’

‘You did really well... Miss?’

‘Roberts.’ She replied.

‘Well, Miss Roberts. We can’t thank you enough.’ Said Benny as he gave her a friendly smile.

‘Please keep me updated.’ She begged ‘Here’s my number.’ She said as she handed him a card ‘I won’t rest easy until I know he’s okay.’

‘We will.’ He replied, noting you following the gurney out the door ‘I promise.’ He shouted over his shoulder as he followed, leaping into the ambulance and sitting at your side.

The next few hours were a blur. Will arrived at the hospital around half an hour after you and Ben had and now the three of your sat waiting patiently for news. Ben held you tightly, stroking your hair as you clutched to him for dear life. Lips moving in silent prayer.

‘What happened?’ Asked Will, looking at his brother.

‘Lucy turned up asking if we’d seen Fish.’ He started, placing a soft kiss on the crown of your head ‘They broke up like a month ago apparently. He’s been living in town. She gave us his address and when we turned up his neighbour was kneeling beside him as he was having a fucking seizure.’

‘Do you think?’

Ben just widened his eyes, not wanting you to know what he thought. He didn’t think it was right for you to hear it from him if his suspicions were right.

‘Who’s here for Mr Morales?’

‘We are.’ Replied Will as the three of you stood.

‘Is he?’

‘He’s alive.’ He started and you all breathed a sigh of relief ‘But he's lucky to be.’

You all looked up at him with concern and waited for him to elaborate.

‘He overdosed on Morphine.’ He stated and your hand flew up to your mouth ‘It looks to be deliberate. He took enough to cause death. He knew what he was doing.’

‘No Frankie wouldn’t do that.’ You sobbed ‘He wouldn’t try and kill himself.’

'Shhhh.' Hushed Ben as he pulled you into him, stroking your hair in an attempt to soothe you.

‘He went into respiratory distress shortly after arriving but we managed to bring him back. He’s resting now and I’m confident that he’s going to recover. However we recommend that he be sectioned, his files show that he suffers from PTSD and that he’s a recovering cocaine addict. We fear he’s a danger to himself.’

‘No.’ Growled Ben ‘We’ll take care of him.’

‘Ben…’ Will scorned.

‘We’re not having him sectioned.’ He spat ‘We’ll take care of him won’t we baby?’

You nodded without hesitation.

You were allowed to see him a little while later and he’d been awake when you'd arrived but the pain in his eyes had made your stomach twist in knots. The way he’d looked at you made you feel sick to the stomach and you’d almost left, unable to bear seeing him like this.

‘Why Frankie?’ You managed to ask after a short period of silence, taking a seat beside his bed and taking his hand in yours.

‘I couldn’t do it anymore.’ He replied, choking on a sob that fell from his lips.

‘Do what?’

‘I realised too late.’

‘Frankie, what are you talking about?’ You pushed, brows furrowed in confusion.

‘I realised too late and now you love him.’

Your stomach dropped and you withdrew your hand.

‘I’m in love with you Arce.’ He declared ‘It hurts knowing you’re with him. That you love him.'

‘What are you saying Francisco?’ You grumbled ‘Are you telling me you tried to kill yourself because I’m with Ben?’

He didn’t say a word but you could read it in the look he was giving you.

‘Arce-.’

‘No, fuck you, Frankie.’ You spat, clutching your stomach as your sobs overthrew you ‘I’ve been in love with you since high school. I've borne the pain of loving someone that didn’t love me back for over a decade. It fucking hurt but never did I tried to take my own life because I couldn’t have you.’ You paused and his mouth dropped ‘Not even when you told me that when you met Lucy you'd found someone you could "be yourself around"... Those words cut me to the bone but I pushed past it and supported you. Ben is wonderful to me. He loves me. Makes me feel like a goddess. So the fact you "realised" you were in love with me after Ben and I got together… Well, that’s just shit Frankie because I love Ben. I’m finally happy after so long. This...’ You point at him and the hospital room around him ‘What you did was fucking selfish. I don’t- I can’t-.’

‘Arca.’

‘I need to leave.’ You sobbed as you got to your feet and sprinted from the room, not even stopping when Ben called your name.

You couldn’t stay here a moment longer. Not after he'd told you, you were the reason he tried to take his own life. He'd gone too far now.

Frankie moved in with the Miller brother for a little while after leaving the hospital. You’d avoided him, but you hadn’t told Ben what he’d said in the hospital. He’d tried to call, send several texts but you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to speak to him. He'd destroyed whatever had been left of your friendship the moment he'd swallowed those pills.

‘Fish’s really worried about you baby.’ He said softly, brushing his nose against yours ‘Baby he’s a mess. He's desperate to speak to you.’

‘I can’t.’ You replied.

‘Why the fuck not?’ Growled Ben, head shooting back ‘You two have been friends forever. He almost died baby. He needs his friends.’

‘Ask him why he did it.’ You growled, eyes darkening ‘Ask him why and then you’ll understand why I can’t speak to him.’

So that’s exactly what Ben did and Fish had been honest in answering him, leaving Ben in an impossible position.

‘The fuck you mean you’re in love with her?’ He yelled, instantly regretting raising his voice when Fish flinched ‘Is this why you freaked when you found out?’

‘No… Yes…. Sort of.’ He grumbled as he scraped a hand over his face ‘I didn’t realise until I saw your arm around her that I was… and always had been in love with her.’

Ben collapsed onto the couch, his stomach dropping.

‘She said she’d loved me since high school. I’d been blind to it until she had told me and then it had become so painfully obvious.’ He paused, eyes locking with Bens ‘But I’ve lost her to you now. She loves you.’ He hiccups ‘She deserves to be with a guy like you.’

‘Fish…’

‘Ben please.’ He begged, raising his hand to silence him ‘I know what I did was selfish but I was in a hole so deep I saw no way out. Now I’ve lost her completely.’ He threw his head into his hands and sobbed ‘I’ve fucked everything up so badly.’

From that day Ben made it his mission to repair your broken friendship. He had eventually managed to sit the two of you down, making you the both of you talk and after the two of you finally got the truth out there you were able to start to repair the tattered remains of your relationship the two of you had once treasured so much. You’d offered to let him move in again, something that Ben had actually suggested one evening over dinner. Things had been a little awkward at first, especially on the nights when Ben stayed over but as the days faded into weeks. Weeks into months. You found that you were able to fall back into the routine you'd had before, with Ben being an added extra. You'd blinked and a year had passed, your relationship with the younger Miller getting stronger and stronger. He'd moved in with you soon after the anniversary, something that Frankie appeared to take well but little did you know it was eating him alive under the surface. The selfish part of him had hoped that by the two of you living together again, that he'd have a chance to woo you but you were too in love with Ben. He'd never stood a chance. So as the months went on, Ben became more permanent and as time went on you both talked of the future, of what you both so desperately wanted.

‘I’m going to miss you.’ Ben panted against your lips as he thrust himself deep into your heat, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from you as you arched your back to urge him deeper ‘Fuck I’m going to miss you so much.’

‘I’ll miss you too.’ You whined ‘Fuck… Ben.’ You pleaded as your hands grasped at his toned ass ‘Harder… please.’

He did as you asked, increasing his pace and you moaned loudly before throwing your head back in a silent scream. It didn’t take long for him to make you cum for the third time since you'd started, growling against the shell of your ear as you bit down on his shoulder to muffle your scream.

‘Fuck baby.’ He grunted, thrusting half a dozen more times before filling you with his cum. ‘Pillow.’ He said and you grabbed one for him, raising your hips so he could slide it under.

‘You think it’ll take?’ You asked, smiling at him warmly.

‘God I hope so.’ He said as he placed a kiss on your stomach ‘Can’t wait to see you round with my baby in your belly.’

‘You’re cute.’ You giggled, pulling him into a kiss ‘Do you have to go?’

‘You know I do baby.’ He said softly, kissing you softly ‘But I promise I will be back here as soon as I can. Fish’ll take good care of you whilst I’m gone.’

‘Three weeks is such a long time.’

‘I know but think about it this way… When I come back, we can do a test and hopefully.’ He pauses to kiss you sweetly ‘It will tell us we’re going to have a family.’

‘Well, when you put it that way.’ You grinned ‘Perhaps we should do it at least once more… Just to be sure.‘

‘God yes.’ He growled as he kissed you deeply again, feeling himself growing hard again.

‘I read that doggy is an excellent position for conceiving.’ You stated, looking at him seductively 'Allows for deeper penetration.'

‘God I love you.’ He growled as he flipped you onto your front, kissing up your spine as you got onto your hands and knees.

‘Put a baby in me, Benny.’ You begged, wiggling your ass a little as you grinned at him over your shoulder.

‘Would be my pleasure.’ He purred as he pushed himself into your heat again, groaning in unison with you.

The pace he set this time was mind-numbing, the sound of his hips slapping against you only making you more aroused. His hands gripped your hips tightly as he pounded into you and you felt the coil inside you start to tighten, threatening to snap at any moment.

‘Touch yourself.’ He ordered and you shivered at the pleasure his command brought you and slipped your hand down your body and began to rub the bundle of nerves between your thighs, crying out as he started to hit your sweet spot over and over.

‘Fuck baby I’m close.’ He whined, gripping you tighter as he sped up again.

‘So am I.’ you replied breathlessly.

‘Good.’ He growled, pounding into you mercilessly and then you cum together before collapsing on the bed with him still very much inside of you.

Pulling out of you he arranged the pillow underneath your belly so your hips were raised, hoping gravity would help the process along.

‘God I can’t wait to have a baby with you.’ He panted as he laid down beside you, stroking your cheek affectionately.

You beamed at him, taking his hand in yours as you came down from your high. You prayed his seed would take, that he would return to the best news in the world. You’d both decided to keep it a secret, for now, wanting to surprise them all but little did you know that Frankie now knew. He’d walked past your door just as you’d asked Ben to put a baby in you and his heart had shattered.

He’d never get you now.

Part 2

#frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales x you #francisco morales fanfiction #francisco morales #francisco ‘catfish’ Morales #frankie ‘catfish’ morales #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier x you #ben miller x reader #ben miller x you #triple frontier #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #fanfiction #frankie morales x reader

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 3 years

Text

In keeping with Christmas, I’d like to share a piece I've been fine tuning for one of my long running WIPs (The One That Got Away). As I haven’t reached this point in the story yet (dunno when I will), posting this is pure self-indulgence. But it pleases me (when I have much to be blue about this Christmas weekend)--and perhaps a few of you might appreciate it too. It features an OFC and an AU male character (with a rather familiar name) And thank you in advance, if you take the time to read it.

Here be pining, angst, forbidden romance--and Love. Love that will stand any test it’s put to, even if the Lovers (in soul only, as this piece begins) cannot be together. These events take place at a Holiday party for the cast and crew of a recently closed production of The Taming of the Shrew. A week before Christmas.

She was sitting at the bar, relaxed and laughing in the warm glow of the multi-colored fairy lights, truly enjoying herself for a change. Only a week until Christmas, and this was the first time all month that she’d felt an iota of her usual holiday spirit. She hadn’t been able to muster the will to decorate her flat this year; no tree graced her rooms with its fine collection of Victorian style ornaments. Not even a fresh evergreen wreath bedecked her door. The evening seemed to her a turning point of sorts; that the depression that dogged her every day and left her too often sleep-deprived at morning light, might be ready to release its hold upon her.

She’d been chatting with her erstwhile director, Peter Davies--already a sheet to the wind with holiday cheer--as she savored her second champagne margarita, amused at how much easier Davies was to get along with when the spirits moved in him. He’d made a jest silly enough to make her laugh aloud, before he had collected his drink and moved along, and she was still chuckling to herself as a too familiar figure slid into the space Davies had just vacated, leaning on the edge of the bar as he placed his order. Thrown off kilter by his presence, Virgilia’s quiet laughter died on her lips. “Wha...what are you doing here,” she blurted out gracelessly, as her mouth went suddenly dry and all the mirth of the evening melted away.

He gave her that small, quiet smile—the one with the power to destroy her, even after the months that lay between their past hopes and present misery, “Hello, Virgilia.” His voice was low and kind, as simple and as devastating as those many times when he’d spoken to her of their future together and called her by the sweetest endearments she’d ever known. Her first impulse was to beg him to hold her and never let her go again—but she knew she could not allow her heart to have its way.

Instead, she drew a deep breath and looked him up and down, noting the changes since she’d seen him last. The glory of auburn curls he’d worn as her Petruchio was shorn away, leaving behind a close-cropped cut. It made him look older, but no less striking, somehow starkly highlighting his trademark masculine beauty. He appeared to be a good fifteen pounds lighter, if not a bit more; and though he was leaner, she found her breath still caught at the breadth of his shoulders, while remembering the sinewy strength of his arms. But he looked tired. Worn, as though fret with a weighty problem--so that her heart immediately yearned to take that burden from him, even knowing it was impossible.

“You’ve lost weight,” she observed quietly, though she could not add that it was weight enough to bring even greater definition to the spectacular bone structure of his face. Her palm ached to rest possessively against his jawline, her lips to feather delicate kisses along his cheekbone before claiming their rightful place upon his perfect lips. His plush, perfect, unparalleled lips, that were--as ever--an invitation to her most sinful wishes, now rendered forever unfulfillable.

He nodded, his eyes watching her brightly, studying her as closely as she was studying him. “It’s for a role I’ve got coming up…after the, uh…after the New Year.”

After the wedding, her inner voice finished for him, when your married life begins.

“Of course,” she nearly whispered, recalling that he’d told her about that upcoming project for the BBC. “I should’ve remembered that.” Ben was watching her expectantly, as though at a loss for words himself, and thus counting on her to fill the awkward silence between them. “Where’s, um...where’s your better half?”

His eyes flared slightly as he ran two fingers across his lips, and Virgilia felt as though she caught his thought before he answered. Sitting right here, achingly close and yet out of reach, was what his probing, mercurial eyes seemed to say. His actual reply was far simpler. “Viola? She’s already at her parents’ place for the holiday.” He sounded almost apologetic. “I’m heading up tomorrow or the next day to join them. I, uh...I had a thing I needed to stay in the City for--and then this party, of course...”

“God, no...you wouldn’t want to miss this. Although I would’ve thought you’d have your hands full, getting ready for...the big day.” Her voice oozed sarcasm, and she quickly sought to drown it by swallowing her drink in a long draught.

He closed his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh, before giving an answer far gentler than she deserved. “Truth is, I couldn’t pass up this chance to see you, Virgilia. Especially since the...fiasco...the night of The Evening Standard Awards.”

“Right.” Tears prickled at Virgilia’s eyes, recalling Viola’s foolish tirade at the after party. Ben had insisted upon sharing the credit for his win for Best Actor that night, singling out his leading lady in his acceptance speech, for the lion’s share of his success. Virgilia had been overwhelmed with gratitude, while the few stitches she had managed to her broken heart unraveled in the light of his honest, loving regard, expressed so publicly.

“I wanted to apologize for how Viola behaved that night,” he confessed. “You didn’t deserve a jot of her scorn and derision.”

“Really, Ben? I rather think I did.”

“Not a jot of it,” he repeated, “And believe me, I made damn sure she knew that. And that it’ll never happen again.”

“Thank you--though it wasn’t necessary,” Virgilia told him bravely, “It’s well past now, anyway.” She had to look away from the intensity of his crystalline gaze, for it was reawakening all those old, forbidden feelings she’d worked so hard to lock away in a tiny corner of her heart. “But you...you didn’t come here tonight just because…because you thought I might be here?” she managed as she traced a single finger around the rim of her glass, “Because I’m only here…’cuz I didn’t think you would be.”

Benedict hung his head a moment, and Vicki thought that she had never seen him look at such a loss for words—even on the night he’d had to tell her the news that had forever changed her world. Both their worlds. When he looked to her again, his astonishing eyes plead for her understanding, “Vicki, please…I wanted…no…let me be honest…I needed to. I needed to see you…”

Her retort was acerbic, though she instantly regretted it. “Really? So close to the…to the…” Virgilia sat a little straighter, widening her eyes and waggling her head just a bit, avoiding that one word that would crush her spirit if spoken directly, “...festivities...planned for New Year’s Eve?”

Again, the shame he felt was as clear as the crystal blue of his pale eyes. “I know. I know I deserve that. But I couldn’t stay away.” He dared moving closer into her space, and Vicki felt weak with wanting to move into his arms. For the safety and the shelter that only he could ever give her, but which was now as forsaken to her as the dreams they had once shared. “I miss you so much, darling. It’s a constant ache,” he went on, patting the center of his chest, “It never goes away. And I know I deserve that too, for how I’ve hurt you—but I just…couldn’t stay away.”

“Oh god,” she sighed, pressing her palm against her forehead, needing to sort through the mix of emotions swirling inside her. Joy at seeing him again, after all the weeks that had passed. Irritation at his presumption, that he dared to seek her out this way. Love, as pure and deep and hopeless as she’d felt on that bitter night when they had parted. Despair, grown even more keen from reopening the wound that had forever scarred her heart. Vicki knew she should turn him away--or walk away herself—but her soul denied her will.

Surely he read her now as well as he did then, for he offered her a sad, wee smile—sheepish, boyish, utterly endearing—and murmured back, “My darling, can’t you bear my company for just a little while?”

“As if I’ve ever had the strength to tell you no,” she scoffed, soft enough for their ears alone. Vicki moved in close, tilting her face to gaze up at him, compelled by the perpetual gravity between them. “Just a drink, perhaps,” she whispered, “In honor of the season.”

_______________________________________________

Somehow, they ended up at a small booth in a dim, quiet corner of the pub, nursing that single set of drinks, overcoming their initial awkwardness and miraculously falling back into the natural ease that had been theirs from the beginning. They stuck to small talk to begin with--carefully avoiding the topic that hung like the Sword of Damocles above their heads, ready to disrupt this brief escape from unhappy reality. That they found cause to laugh together was a minor miracle; that they found themselves drawn close enough to touch was no surprise. Soon enough they sat thigh by thigh, and when Benedict finally reached for her hand, Vicki gave it willingly, allowing him to lace his fingers through her own, the warmth and familiarity of his skin against hers reawakening all the desire that each had tried to put behind them.

Chuckling warmly, Benedict gave her hand a gentle squeeze, “She was pretty chuffed about that magazine spread, alright…gave me the silent treatment for three days.” His expression softened and he cupped her hand in both of his. “It was worth it, love,” he admitted quietly, “I’d do the same in a heartbeat, just to have you at my side like that again.” He raised her hand and left a lingering kiss against her knuckles. “I miss you more than I ever imagined I could bear, darling.”

Vicki blinked several times, unable to muster the will to remove her hand from his grasp. “Please, Benedict, don’t…don’t do this. I’ve spent every waking moment since that night trying my damnedest to get you out of my system,” she confessed, “Every. Waking. Moment. And now you undo me with a single glance…with a solitary kiss.” Despite her words, she had unfurled her hand, laying her palm against his cheek, allowing him to move his face slightly—just enough to press an open-mouthed kiss on the base of her thumb. She closed her eyes, moaning softly. “Really…I’m not strong enough, my darling…my dearest…if…” Vicki panted shallowly, “…if you still have any feelings for me, have mercy now and let me go.”

“I need you, Vicki. Like air to breathe.” His naked plea, filled with pent up longing, was undeniable. “If it was a choice I was free to make, I’d sooner cut out my heart, than let you go.”

“Ben, please—I can’t…” she panted weakly, “…you know I can’t think clearly when you get this close…”

He stroked along her jaw, gently drawing her face even closer. “Yet somehow my mind grows clearer and clearer,” he asserted, “And I know I can’t walk away from you again. I know that I never, never should have let you go to begin with.”

Vicki whimpered softly, unable to resist his lead, defenseless as he brushed his lips against her cheek. She closed her eyes, letting her fear dissolve, the tension that had held her at bay draining away as well. “Darling,” he murmured against her ear, “You remain my first thought every morning, and all that I am thinking of as I fall asleep each night. Please…please tell me it’s the same for you…”

She gave a surprised little gasp as he began to nuzzle beneath her ear, warming her skin with his breath, weakening her all the more. “Oh, Ben…god help me…of course…of course it is.” She laid her hand on the back of his neck and smoothed her fingertips into his hair. “You’re all I can think of in the dark…in the quiet of my flat. It’s…oh, sweet jesus…,” her breath caught as his lips traced her skin. “…it’s a never ending ache in the center of my chest. Inescapable. With…,” Vicki gave a deep sigh, “…with every breath I take.” Tears of mixed pain and relief wet her cheeks, moving him to pull away enough to look at her.

He swept his thumb upon the tears on one cheek and kissed them from the other, then took her face in both his hands. “I’m so sorry, Virgilia—I’ve been the worst sort of fool.” Benedict leaned his forehead on hers, matching her breath for breath, breathing her in. His voice broke, filled with the same regret and grief that colored hers, “I should have claimed you in front of the whole world all those months ago. I should have shouted out loud everything you are to me…”

“Ohhhhh, god…” she breathed, barely able to shake her head ‘no’, gripping the lapel of his sport coat in her free hand, against her own volition. “I’m more the fool, darling. I should have let you…,” she admitted, her lips a whisper from his, “I should’ve…I just should have let you…” Then he was kissing her, mercifully silencing her resistance, and tenderly absolving her of regret.

This kiss was different than any they had ever exchanged; as deep and as patient as eternity, dismissing every painful moment of their separation, it was declaration that love endured despite their insurmountable situation. They barely broke from it to catch their breath, and Benedict’s lips were still laid against hers when he asked her simply, “Darling, please. Let me…let me take you home tonight.”

This time—after so many times denying that very request—Virgilia simply nodded ‘yes’.

______________________________________________

Even knowing that some at the party may have seen them together, they did their best to be discreet, departing several minutes apart. Vicki made sure to wish Happy Christmas to several people on her way out, acting her part well, behaving casual and merry, though her heart was tugging her hard towards the sidewalk outside. She took her time bundling into her scarf and coat and gloves, giving Benedict the time he needed to pull his car a block up the street; thankfully her heels kept her from running pell-mell to meet him, for she couldn’t have managed the patience otherwise.

Benedict took her hand the moment after she buckled her safety belt, and they were quickly on their way uptown to Chelsea. He drove one-handed, soon raising her gloved hand to kiss her knuckles absentmindedly, then holding it against his chest. Vicki watched his profile by the light of the streetlamps they passed, thunderstruck by his every detail, memorizing him moment by moment—recognizing that she would cling to the golden memories of their tryst tonight, in order to survive the future that awaited them in the aftermath.

Once in her flat, she threw the bolt, shutting out the winter-cold world in favor of the world that would belong to them alone. Benedict had already hung his coat and cap on the wall rack, and he stood behind her to slide her coat from her shoulders, nuzzling against her hair as he did so. Vicki turned and moved into his arms once he’d hung her coat up as well. He kissed her softly for a moment, and she laid her palm against his cheek. His eyes were moist, the fine smile lines beside them making her smile up at him. “I need you to know that I didn’t plan this…I didn’t even dare to hope it…”

“I know, darling,” she told him sagely, “I know you wouldn’t. But thank god, we’ve come to it, all the same.”

“My ever wise, my ever patient Virgilia…my love for you will never fade,” he promised.

“I know that too, darling.” She rose up on her toes to whisper against his ear, “Now love me true, Benedict. Love me like there’s no tomorrow. Because tonight is all we’ll ever have.” Her body thrummed with all the desire she’d denied and delayed since summer’s fairest days, “Love me, my darling…and leave me with no regrets.”

_____________________________________________

To be continued...one of these days. The last two chapters are written, but I’ve yet to finish all the in-between. Chapters 1-18 of The One That Got Away can be found on AO3.

#my writing #a self-indulgent post because it's #Christmastime #Christmas #pining #angst #forbidden love #love #OFC #AU male character #The One Who Got Away #The Taming of the Shrew #Petruchio #Katherina Minola

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suckmykawaiidesu · 4 years

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Compilation of Nessian Moments: ‘A Court of Wings and Ruin ’ Edition

Hello loves! ♥️

I recently asked for a compilation list of Nessian moments and there doesn’t seems to be one so I decided to hurriedly put one together before the release of “A Court of Silver Flames”. I have probably missed some scenes but these are the ones that I came across during my re-read. I will be making a post for each book and will link them once available:

A Court of Mist and Fury

ACOMAF Target Exclusive Story uploaded by bookofademigod

A Court of Frost and Starlight

Sneak Peak at the end of A Court of Frost and Starlight

A Court of Wings and Ruin

Chapter 15

Nesta had been beautiful as a human woman. As High Fae, she was devastating. From the utter stillness with which Cassian stood beside me, I wondered if he thought the same thing. She was in a pewter-colored gown, its make simple, yet the material fine. Her hair was braided over the crown of her head, accentuating her long, pale neck—a neck Cassian’s eyes darted to, then quickly away from, as she sized us up and said to me, “You’re back.” With her hair styled like that, it hid the pointed ears. But there was nothing to hide the ethereal grace as she took one step. As her focus again returned to Cassian and she added,

“What do you want?”

But Cassian sauntered over to Nesta, a half smile spreading across his face. She stood stiffly while he picked up the book, read the title, and chuckled. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a romance reader.” She gave him a withering glare. “And, again, why are you here?” She snatched her book from Cassian, who allowed her to do so, but remained standing beside her. Watching every breath, every blink. “Elain’s mate is here,” I said. And it was the wrong thing to utter in Nesta’s presence. She went white with rage. “He is no such thing to her,” she snarled, advancing on me enough that Rhys slid a shield into place between us. As if he, too, had glimpsed that mighty power in her eyes that day in Hybern. And did not know how it would manifest.

“If you bring that male anywhere near her, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Cassian crooned, trailing her at a casual pace as she stopped perhaps five feet from me. He lifted a brow as she whirled on him. “You won’t join me for practice, so you sure as hell aren’t going to hold your own in a fight. You won’t talk about your powers, so you certainly aren’t going to be able to wield them. And you—” “Shut your mouth,” she snapped, every inch the conquering empress. “I told you to stay the hell away from me, and if you—” “You come between a male and his mate, Nesta Archeron, and you’re going to learn about the consequences the hard way.” Nesta’s nostrils flared. Cassian only gave her a crooked grin.

Nesta only shook her head, turning toward the chair and her book. “I don’t care. Do what you want.” A stinging dismissal, if not admission that she still trusted me enough to consider Elain’s needs first. Rhys jerked his chin at Cassian in a silent order to leave, and as I followed them, I said softly, “I’m sorry, Nesta.” She didn’t answer as she sat stiffly in her chair, picked up her book, and dutifully ignored us. A blow to the face would have been better. When I looked ahead, I found Cassian staring back at Nesta as well. I wondered why no one had yet mentioned what now shone in Cassian’s eyes as he gazed at my sister. The sorrow. And the longing

Chapter 16 I cringed. “I guarantee Nesta is now guarding Elain. I think she might honestly kill him if he so much as tries to touch her.” “Not without training she won’t,” Cassian grumbled, tucking in his wings as he claimed the seat beside Mor that Azriel had vacated. The shadowsinger didn’t so much as look at it. No, Azriel just walked to the wall beside Cassian and leaned against the wood paneling. But Rhys and the others remained quiet enough that I knew to proceed carefully as I asked Cassian, “Nesta spoke as if you’ve been up at the House … often. You’ve offered to train her?” Cassian’s hazel eyes shuttered as he crossed a booted ankle over another, stretching his muscled legs before him. “I go up there every other day. It’s good exercise for my wings.” Those wings shifted in emphasis. Not a scratch marred them. “And?” “And what you saw in the library is a pleasanter version of the conversation we always have.” Mor’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying her best not to say anything. Azriel was trying his best to shoot a warning stare at Mor to remind her to indeed keep her mouth shut. As if they’d already discussed this. Many times. “I don’t blame her,” Cassian said, shrugging despite his words. “She was—violated. Her body stopped belonging wholly to her.” His jaw clenched. Even Amren didn’t dare say anything. “And I am going to peel the King of Hybern’s skin off his bones the next time I see him.”

Chapter 17 Not that there was much finery to bother with. I’d opted for my Illyrian leather pants and a loose, white shirt—and a pair of embroidered slippers that Cassian kept snorting at as we flew. When he did so for the third time in two minutes, I pinched his arm and said, “It’s hot. Those boots are stuffy.” His brows rose, the portrait of innocence. “I didn’t say anything.” “You grunted. Again.” “I’ve been living with Mor for five hundred years. I’ve learned the hard way not to question shoe choices.” He smirked. “However stupid they may be.” “It’s dinner. Unless there’s some battle planned afterward?” “Your sister will be there—I’d say that’s battle aplenty.” I casually studied his face, noting how hard he worked to keep his features neutral, to keep his gaze fixed anywhere but on my own. Rhys flew nearby, far enough to remain out of earshot as I said, “Would you use her to see if she can somehow fix the wall?” Hazel eyes shot to me, fierce and clear. “Yes. Not only for our sakes, but … she needs to get out of the House. She needs to …” Cassian’s wings kept up a steady booming beat, the new sections only detectable by their lack of scarring. “She’ll destroy herself if she stays cooped up in there.” My chest tightened. “Do …” I thought through my words. “The day she was changed, she … I felt something different with her.” I fought against the tensing in my muscles as I recalled those moments. The screaming and the blood and the nausea as I watched my sisters taken against their will, as I could do nothing, as we— I swallowed down the fear, the guilt. “It was like … everything she was, that steel and fire … It became magnified. Cataclysmic. Like … looking at a house cat and suddenly finding a panther standing there instead.” I shook my head, as if it would clear away the memory of the predator, the rage simmering in those blue-gray eyes. “I will never forget those moments,” Cassian said quietly, scenting or sensing the memories wreaking havoc on me. “As long as I live.” “Have you seen any glimpse of it since?” “Nothing.” The House loomed, golden lights at the walls of windows and doorways beckoning us closer. “But I can feel it—sometimes.” He added a bit ruefully, “Usually when she’s pissed at me. Which is … most of the time.” “Why?” They’d always been at each other’s throats, but this … yes, the dynamic between them had been different earlier. Sharper. Cassian shook his dark hair out of his eyes, slightly longer than the last time I’d seen it. “I don’t think Nesta will ever forgive me for what happened in Hybern. To her—but mostly to Elain.” “Your wings were shredded. You were barely alive.” For that was guilt—ravaging and poisonous—in each of Cassian’s words. What the others had been fighting against in the loft. “You were in no position to save anyone.” “I made her a promise.” The wind ruffled Cassian’s hair as he squinted at the sky. “And when it mattered, I didn’t keep it.” I still dreamed of him trying to crawl toward her, reaching for her even in the semiunconscious state the pain and blood loss had thrown him into. As Rhysand had once done for me during those last moments with Amarantha. Perhaps only a few wing beats separated us from the broad landing veranda, but I asked, “Why do you bother, Cassian?” His hazel eyes shuttered as we smoothly landed. And I thought he wouldn’t answer, especially not as we heard the others already in the dining room beyond the veranda, especially not when Rhys gracefully landed beside us and strode in ahead with a wink. But Cassian said quietly as we headed for the dining room, “Because I can’t stay away.”

Chapter 17 His focus shifted behind me before he replied—and Lucien shut his mouth. His metal eye whirred softly. I followed his glance, and tried not to tense as Nesta stepped into the room. Yes, devastating was a good word for how lovely she’d become as High Fae. And in a long-sleeved, dark blue gown that clung to her curves before falling gracefully to the ground in a spill of fabric … Cassian looked like someone had punched him in the gut.

Chapter 19 Something drew Cassian’s attention behind me. And even as his body remained casual, a predatory gleam flickered in his eyes. I didn’t need to turn to know who was standing there. “Care to join?” Cassian purred. Nesta said, “It doesn’t look like you’re exercising anything other than your mouths.” I looked over my shoulder. My sister was in a dress of pale blue that turned her skin golden, her hair swept up, her back a stiff column. I scrambled to say something, to apologize, but … not in front of him. She wouldn’t want this conversation in front of Cassian. Cassian extended a wrapped hand, his fingers curling in a come-hither motion. “Scared?” I wisely kept my mouth shut as Nesta stepped from the open doorway into the blinding light of the courtyard. “Why should I be scared of an oversized bat who likes to throw temper tantrums?” I choked, and Cassian shot me a warning glare, daring me to laugh. But I felt for that bond in my mind, lowering my mental shields enough to say to Rhysand, wherever he was in the city, Please come spare me from Cassian and Nesta’s bickering. A heartbeat later, Rhys crooned, Regretting becoming High Lady? I savored that voice—that humor. But I shoved that simmering panic down again as I countered, Is this part of my duties? A sensual, dark laugh. Why do you think I was so desperate for a partner? I’ve had almost five centuries to deal with this alone. It’s only fair you have to endure it now. Cassian was saying to Nesta, “Seems like you’re a little on edge, Nesta. And you left so abruptly last night … Any way I can help ease that tension?”

Chapter 22 The Carver purred to Cassian, “If I tell you a secret, warrior-heart, what will you give me?” Neither of us spoke. Carefully—we’d have to phrase and do this so carefully. The Carver stroked the shard of bone in his palm, attention fixed upon a stone-faced Cassian. “What if I tell you what the rock and darkness and sea beyond whispered to me, Lord of Bloodshed? How they shuddered in fear, on that island across the sea. How they trembled when she emerged. She took something—something precious. She ripped it out with her teeth.” Cassian’s golden-brown face had drained of color, his wings tucking in tight. “What did you wake that day in Hybern, Prince of Bastards?” My blood went cold. “What came out was not what went in.” A rasping laugh as the Carver laid the shard of bone on the ground beside him. “How lovely she is—new as a fawn and yet ancient as the sea. How she calls to you. A queen, as my sister once was. Terrible and proud; beautiful as a winter sunrise.” Rhys had warned me of the inmates’ capacity to lie, to sell anything, to get free. “Nesta,” the Bone Carver murmured. “Nes-ta.” I squeezed Cassian’s hand. Enough. It was enough of this teasing and taunting. But he didn’t look at me. “How the wind moans her name. Can you hear it, too? Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.” I wasn’t sure Cassian was breathing. “What did she do, drowning in the ageless dark? What did she take?” It was the bite in the last word that snapped my tether of restraint. “If you wish to find out, perhaps you should stop talking long enough for us to explain.” My voice seemed to shake Cassian free of whatever trance he’d been in. His breathing surged, tight and fast, and he scanned my face—apology in his eyes.

Chapter 23 “Would you be frightened of her, if Nesta was—Death? Or if her power came from it?” Cassian was quiet for a long moment. He said at last, “I’m a warrior. I’ve walked beside Death my entire life. I would be more afraid for her, to have that power. But not afraid of her.” He considered, and added after a heartbeat, “Nothing about Nesta could frighten me.”

Chaper 24 Mercifully, or perhaps not, Nesta’s retching filled the silence. Cassian gaped at Rhys. “What did you do?” “I asked him the same thing,” I said, crossing my arms. “He said he ‘went fast.’ ” Nesta vomited again—then silence. Cassian sighed at the ceiling. “She’ll never fly again.” The doorknob twisted, and we tried—or at least Cassian and I did—not to seem like we’d been listening to her. Nesta’s face was still greenish-pale, but … Her eyes burned. There was no way of describing that burning—and even painting it might have failed. Her eyes remained the same blue-gray as my own. And yet … Molten ore was all I could think of. Quicksilver set aflame. She advanced a step toward us. All her attention fixed on Rhys. Cassian casually stepped in her path, wings folded in tight. Feet braced apart on the carpet. A fighting stance—casual, but … his Siphons glimmered. “Do you know,” Cassian drawled to her, “that the last time I got into a brawl in this house, I was kicked out for a month?” Nesta’s burning gaze slid to him, still outraged—but hinted with incredulity. He just went on, “It was Amren’s fault, of course, but no one believed me. And no one dared banish her.” She blinked slowly. But the burning, molten gaze became mortal. Or as mortal as one of us could be. Until Lucien breathed, “What are you?” Cassian didn’t seem to dare take his focus off Nesta.

Chapter 27 Cassian had stationed himself by the doorway, I realized, to be closer to Nesta. To grab her if Amren decided she didn’t particularly care for where this conversation was headed. Or for any of the furniture in this room. Precisely why Rhys now placed himself on Amren’s other side—to draw her attention away from me, and Mor behind us, every muscle in her lithe body on alert. Cassian was staring at Nesta—hard enough that my sister at last twisted toward him. Met his gaze. His head tilted—slightly. A silent order.

Cassian casually slid Nesta behind him, his fingers snagging in the skirts of her black gown. As if to reassure himself that she wasn’t in Amren’s direct path. Nesta only rose onto her toes to peer over his shoulder.

Chapter 30 Both males went a bit still. But Azriel sketched a bow—while Cassian stalked for the dining table, reached right over Nesta’s shoulder, and grabbed a muffin from its little basket. “Morning, Nesta,” he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. “Elain.”

Cassian finished the muffin, licking his fingers. I could have sworn Nesta watched the entire thing with a sidelong glance. He grinned at her as if he knew it, too. “Ready for some flying, Nes?” “Don’t call me that.” The wrong thing to say, from the way Cassian’s eyes lit up. I chose that moment to winnow to the skies above the House, chuckling as wind carried me through the world. Some sisterly payback, I supposed. For Nesta’s general attitude. Mercifully, no one saw my slightly better crash landing on the veranda, and by the time Cassian’s dark figure appeared in the sky, Nesta’s hair bright as bronze in the morning sun, I’d brushed off the dirt and dust from my leathers. My sister’s face was wind-flushed as Cassian gently set her down. Then she strode for the glass doors without a single look back. “You’re welcome,” Cassian called after her, more than a bite to his voice. His hands clenched and slackened at his sides—as if he were trying to loosen the feel of her from his palms.

Chapter 31 In the terrible silence, Cassian hauled me out—toward the dim center of the pit. Nesta was standing there, arms around herself, eyes wide. Cassian only stretched out an arm for her. As if in a trance, she walked right to his side. His arms tightened around both of us, Siphons flaring, gilding the darkness with bloodred light.

Chapter 32 I wondered what had happened in those initial moments, when he’d found my sister. As if he’d read my thoughts, Rhys sent the image to me, no doubt courtesy of Cassian. Panic—and rage. That was all he knew as he shot down into the heart of the pit, spearing for that ancient darkness that had once shaken him to his very marrow. Nesta was there—and Feyre. It was the former he saw first, stumbling out of the dark, wide-eyed, her fear a tang that whetted his rage into something so sharp he could barely think, barely breathe— She let out a small, animal sound—like some wounded stag—as she saw him. As he landed so hard his knees popped. He said nothing as Nesta launched herself toward him, her dress filthy and disheveled, her arms stretching for him. He opened his own for her, unable to stop his approach, his reaching— She gripped his leathers instead. “ Feyre,” she rasped, pointing behind her with a free hand, shaking him solidly with the other. Strength—such untapped strength in that slim, beautiful body. “Hybern.” That was all he needed to hear. He drew his sword—then Rhys was arrowing for them, his power like a gods-damned volcanic eruption. Cassian charged ahead into the gloom, following the screaming—

Chapter 39 But Nesta was glancing between us all, her back still stiff, mouth a thin line. “Where is he?” “Who?” Rhys crooned. “Cassian.” I didn’t think I’d ever heard his name from her lips. Cassian had always been him or that one. And Nesta had been … pacing in the foyer. As if she was worried. I opened my mouth, but Mor beat me to it. “He’s busy.” I’d never heard her voice so … sharp. Icy. Nesta held Mor’s stare. Her jaw tightened, then relaxed, then tightened—as if fighting some battle to keep questions in. Mor didn’t drop her gaze. Mor had never seemed ruffled by mention of Cassian’s past lovers. Perhaps because they’d never meant much—not in the ways that counted. But if the Illyrian warrior no longer stood as a physical and emotional buffer between her and Azriel … And worse, if the person who caused that vacancy was Nesta … Mor said flatly, “When he gets back, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth.” My heart leaped into a furious beat, my arms slack at my sides at the insult, the threat. But Rhys said, “Mor.” She slowly—so slowly—looked at him. There was nothing but uncompromising will in Rhys’s face. “We now leave for the meeting in three days. Send out dispatches to the other High Lords to inform them. And I’m done debating where to meet. Pick a place and be done with it.” She stared him down for a heartbeat, then dragged her gaze back to my sister. Nesta’s face had not altered, the coldness limning it unbending. She was so still she seemed to barely be breathing. But she did not balk. She did not avert her eyes from the Morrigan. Mor vanished with hardly a blink. Nesta only turned and headed for the sitting room, where I noticed books had been laid on the low-lying table before the hearth.

Behind us, Amren murmured to Nesta, “Cassian has gone to war many times, girl. He isn’t general of Rhys’s forces for nothing. This battle was a skirmish compared to what lies ahead. He’s likely visiting the families of the fallen as we speak. He’ll be back before the meeting.” Nesta said, “I don’t care.”

Chapter 42 Nesta only lifted her chin. “I …” I’d never seen her stumble for words. “I do not want to be remembered as a coward.” “No one would say that,” I offered quietly. “I would.” Nesta surveyed us all, her gaze jumping past Cassian. Not to slight him, but… avoid answering the look he was giving her. Approval—more. “It was some distant thing,” she said. “War. Battle. It … it’s not anymore. I will help, if I can. If it means …telling them what happened.”

Mor sagged a bit, jewelry glinting with the movement, and went to take Cassian’s arm. But he’d at last approached Nesta. And as the world began to turn to shadows and wind, I saw Cassian tower over my sister, saw her chin lift defiantly, and heard him growl, “Hello, Nesta.” Rhys seemed to halt his winnowing as my sister said, “So you’re alive.” Cassian bared his teeth in a feral grin, wings flaring slightly. “Were you hoping otherwise?” Mor was watching—watching so closely, every muscle tense. She again reached for his arm, but Cassian angled out of reach, not tearing his eyes from Nesta’s blazing gaze. Nesta blurted, “You didn’t come to—” She stopped herself. The world seemed to go utterly still at that interrupted sentence, nothing and no one more so than Cassian. He scanned her face as if furiously reading some battle report. Mor just watched as Cassian took Nesta’s slim hand in his own, interlacing their fingers. As he folded in his wings and blindly reached his other hand back toward Mor in a silent order to transport them. Cassian’s eyes did not leave Nesta’s; nor did hers leave his. There was no warmth, no tenderness on either of their faces. Only that raging intensity, that blend of contempt and understanding and fire. Rhys began to winnow us again, and just as the dark wind swept in, I heard Cassian say to Nesta, his voice low and rough, “The next time, Emissary, I’ll come say hello.”

Chapter 44 “You’re insane,” I breathed to Tamlin as Varian bared his teeth. “Do you hear what you’re saying?” I pointed toward Nesta. “Hybern turned my sisters into Fae—after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!” “Perhaps Ianthe’s mind was already in Rhysand’s thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You’re a good actress—I’m sure the trait runs in the family.” Nesta let out a low laugh. “If you want someone to blame for all of this,” she said to Tamlin, “perhaps you should first look in the mirror.” Tamlin snarled at her. Cassian snarled right back, “Watch it.” Tamlin looked between my sister and Cassian—his gaze lingering on Cassian’s wings, tucked in behind him. Snorted. “Seems like other preferences run in the Archeron family, too.”

Chapter 45 Rhys lifted a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?” “I have not yet decided.” Eris went so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for our own covert alliance, I couldn’t tell. “Armies take time to raise,” Cassian said. “You don’t have the luxury of sitting on your ass. You need to rally your soldiers now.” Beron only sneered. “I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.” My heartbeat was so wild I could hear it in every corner of my body, feel it pounding in my arms, my gut. But it was nothing compared to the wrath on Cassian’s face—or the icy rage on Azriel’s and Rhys’s. And the disgust on Mor’s. “That bastard,” Nesta said with utter coolness, though her eyes began to burn, “may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.” She didn’t so much as look at Cassian as she said it. But he stared at her—as if he’d never seen her before.

Chapter 47 Helion paused his debating the wall to survey her carefully, as he had done earlier. Spell-Cleaver. That was his title. She surveyed him with her usual disdain. But Helion gave her the same bow he’d offered me—though his smile was edged with enough sensuality that even my heart raced a bit. No wonder the Lady of Autumn hadn’t stood a chance. “I don’t think we were introduced properly earlier,” he crooned to Nesta. “I’m—” “I don’t care,” Nesta said with a snap of her wrist, striding right past him and up to my side. “I’d like a word,” she said. “Now.” Cassian was biting his knuckle to keep from laughing—at the utter surprise and shock on Helion’s face. It wasn’t every day, I supposed, that anyone of either sex dismissed him so thoroughly. I threw the High Lord a semi-apologetic glance and led my sister out of the room. “What is it?” I asked when Nesta and I had entered her bedroom, the space bedecked in pink silk and gold, accents of ivory scattered throughout. The lavishness of it indeed put our various homes to shame. “We need to leave,” Nesta said. “Right now.” Every sense went on alert. “Why?” “It feels wrong. Something feels wrong.” I studied her, the clear sky beyond the towering, drape-framed windows. “Rhys and the others would sense it. You’re likely just picking up on all the power gathered here.” “Something is wrong,” Nesta insisted. “I’m not doubting you feel that way but … If none of the others are picking it up—” “I am not like the others.” Her throat bobbed. “We need to leave.” “I can send you back to Velaris, but we have things to discuss here—” “I don’t care about me, I—” The door opened, and Cassian stalked in, face grave. The sight of the wings, the Illyrian armor in this opulent, pink-filled room planted itself in my mind, the painting already taking form, as he said, “What’s wrong.” He studied every inch of her. As if there were nothing and no one else here, anywhere. But I said, “She senses something is off—says we need to leave right away.” I waited for the dismissal, but Cassian angled his head. “What, precisely, feels wrong?” Nesta stiffened, mouth pursing as she weighed his tone. “It feels like there’s this …dread. This sense that … that I forgot something but can’t remember what.” Cassian stared at her for a moment longer. “I’ll tell Rhys.” And he did.

Chapter 48 Nesta let out a breathy, sharp noise and surged from her chair. I lunged for her, nearly tripping over the skirts of my dress as she staggered back, a hand clutching at her chest. Another step would have taken her stumbling into the reflection pool, but Mor sprang forward, gripping her. “What’s wrong?” Mor demanded, holding my sister upright as her face contorted in what looked to be—pain. Confusion and pain. Sweat beaded on Nesta’s brow, though her face went deathly pale. “Something …” The word was cut off by a low groan. She sagged, and Mor caught her fully, scanning Nesta’s face. Cassian was instantly there, his hand at her back, teeth bared at the invisible threat.

Chapter 49 Nesta smoothed a hand down her dark dress. “What do I do now?” A purpose, I realized. Assigning her the task of finding a way to repair the holes in the wall … it had given my sister what perhaps our human lives had never granted her: a bearing. “You come with us—to Graysen’s estate, and then travel with the army. If you’re connected with the Cauldron, then we’ll need you close. Need you to tell us if it’s being wielded again.” Not quite a mission, but Nesta nodded all the same. Right as Cassian clapped Rhys on the shoulder and prowled toward us. He paused a foot away, and frowned. “Dresses aren’t good for flying, ladies.” Nesta didn’t reply. He lifted a brow. “No barking and biting today?” But Nesta didn’t rise to meet him, her face still drained and sallow. “I’ve never worn pants,” was all she said. I could have sworn concern flashed across Cassian’s features. But he brushed it aside and drawled, “I have no doubt you’d start a riot if you did.” No reaction. Had the Cauldron— Cassian stepped in Nesta’s path when she tried to walk past him. Put a tan, callused hand on her forehead. She shook off the touch, but he gripped her wrist, forcing her to meet his stare. “Any one of those human pricks makes a move to hurt you,” he breathed, “and you kill them.” He wouldn’t be coming—no, he’d be mustering the full might of the Illyrian legions. Azriel would be joining us, though. Cassian pressed one of his knives into Nesta’s hand. “Ash can kill you now,” he said with lethal quiet as she stared down at the blade. “A scratch can make you queasy enough to be vulnerable. Remember where the exits are in every room, every fence and courtyard— mark them when you go in, and mark how many men are around you. Mark where Rhys and the others are. Don’t forget that you’re stronger and faster. Aim for the soft parts,” he added, folding her fingers around the hilt. “And if someone gets you into a hold …” My sister said nothing as Cassian showed her the sensitive areas on a man. Not just the groin, but the inside of the foot, pinching the thigh, using her elbow like a weapon. When he finished, he stepped back, his hazel eyes churning with some emotion I couldn’t place. Nesta surveyed the fine dagger in her hand. Then lifted her head to look at him. “I told you to come to training,” Cassian said with a cocky grin, and strode off. I studied Nesta, the dagger, her quiet, still face. “Don’t even start,” she warned me, and headed for the stairs.

Chapter 51 On and on they went, until Devlon looked over Rhys’s shoulder—to where we stood. A scowl at Mor. A frown at me—wisely subdued. Then he noticed Nesta. “What is that,” Devlon asked. Nesta merely stared at him, one hand clamping the edges of her gray cloak together at her chest. One of the other camp-lords made some sign against evil. “That,” Cassian said too quietly, “is none of your concern.” “Is she a witch.” I opened my mouth, but Nesta said flatly, “Yes.” And I watched as nine full-grown, weathered Illyrian warlords flinched. “She may act like one sometimes,” Cassian clarified, “but no—she is High Fae.” “She is no more High Fae than we are,” Devlon countered.

Chapter 56 But Nesta had jolted to her feet, staring at Cassian, at the helmet he had tucked into the crook of his arm, the weapons still poking above his shoulder, in need of cleaning. His dark hair hung limp with sweat, his face was mud-splattered where even the helmet had not kept it out. But she surveyed his seven Siphons, the dim red stones. And then she said, “You’re hurt.” Rhys snapped to attention at that. Cassian’s face was grim—his eyes glassy. “It’s fine.” Even the words were laced with exhaustion. But she reached for his arm—his shield arm. Cassian seemed to hesitate, but offered it to her, tapping the Siphon atop his palm. The armor slid back a fraction over his forearm, revealing— “You know better than to walk around with an injury,” Rhys said a bit tensely. “I was busy,” Cassian said, not taking his focus off Nesta as she studied the swollen wrist. How she’d detected it through the armor … She must have read it in his eyes, his stance. I hadn’t realized she’d been observing the Illyrian general enough to notice his tells. “And it’ll be fixed by morning,” Cassian added, daring Rhys to say otherwise. But Nesta’s pale fingers gently probed his golden-brown skin, and he hissed through his teeth. “How do I fix it?” she asked. Her hair had been tied in a loose knot atop her head earlier in the day, and in the hours that we’d worked to ready and distribute supplies to the healers, through the heat and humidity, stray tendrils had come free to curl about her temple, her nape. Faint color had stained her cheeks from the sun, and her forearms, bare beneath the sleeves she’d rolled up, were flecked with mud. Cassian slowly sat on the log where she’d been perched a moment before, groaning softly—as if even that movement taxed him. “Icing it usually helps, but wrapping it will just lock it in place long enough for the sprain to repair itself—” She reached for the basket of bandages she’d been preparing, then for the pitcher at her feet. I was too tired to do anything other than watch as she washed his wrist, his hand, her own fingers gentle. Too tired to ask if she possessed the magic to heal it herself. Cassian seemed too weary to speak as well while she wrapped bandages around his wrist, only grunting to confirm if it was too tight or too loose, if it helped at all. But he watched her— didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration. And when she’d tied it neatly, his wrist wrapped in white, when Nesta made to pull back, Cassian gripped her fingers in his good hand. She lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. Nesta did not yank her hand away. Did not open her mouth for some barbed retort. She only stared and stared at him, at the breadth of his shoulders, even more powerful in that beautiful black armor, at the strong column of his tan neck above it, his wings. And then at his hazel eyes, still riveted to her face. Cassian brushed a thumb down the back of her hand. Nesta opened her mouth at last, and I braced myself— “You’re hurt?” At the sound of Mor’s voice, Cassian snatched his hand back and pivoted toward Mor with a lazy smile. “Nothing for you to cry over, don’t worry.” Nesta dragged her stare from his face—down to her now-empty hand, her fingers still curled as if his palm lay there. Cassian didn’t look at Nesta as she rose, snatching up the pitcher, and muttered something about getting more water from inside the tent. Cassian and Mor fell into their banter, laughing and taunting each other about the battle and the ones ahead. Nesta didn’t come back out again for some time.

Chapter 56

Nesta did not flinch at the clash and din of battle. She only stared toward one blackarmored figure, leading the lines, his occasional order to push or to hold that flank barking across the battle.

Chapter 57 Nesta laid a hand against her bare, rain-slick throat. Cassian began another assault on a Hybern captain—slower this time than he’d been. Now. I had to go now—quickly. I took a step away from the outlook. My sister narrowed her brows at me. “You’re leaving?” “I’ll be back soon,” was all I said. I didn’t dare wonder how much of our army would be left when I did. By the time I strode away, Nesta had already faced the battle once more, rain plastering her hair to her head. Resuming her unending vigil of the general battling on the valley floor below.

Chapter 61 I squinted at the watery light—the very last before true dark. When my vision adjusted… Nesta stood by the nearest tent, an empty water bucket between her feet. Her hair a damp mess atop her mud-flecked head. Watching us emerge, grim-faced— “He’s fine. Healed and awake,” I said quickly. Nesta’s shoulders sagged a bit. She’d saved me the trouble of hunting her down to ask her about tracking the Cauldron. Better to do it now, with some privacy. Especially before Amren arrived. But Mor said coldly, “Shouldn’t you be refilling that bucket?” Nesta went stiff. Sized up Mor. But Mor didn’t flinch from that look. After a moment, Nesta picked up her bucket, mud caked up to her shins, and continued on, steps squelching.

Chapter 62 Nesta still didn’t move. She could not use the bathtub, she’d told me. Because the memories it dragged up— Cassian said to her, “Nothing can harm you here.” He sucked in a breath, groaning softly, and rose to his feet. Azriel tried to stop him, but Cassian brushed him off and strode for my sister’s side. He braced a hand on the desk when he at last stopped. “Nothing can harm you,” he repeated. Nesta was still looking at him when she finally shut her eyes. I shifted, and the angle allowed me to see what I hadn’t detected before. Nesta stood before the map, a fist of bones and stones clenched over it. Cassian remained at her side—his other hand on her lower back. And I marveled at the touch she allowed—marveled at it as much as I did the mudsplattered hand she held out. The concentration that settled over her face. Her eyes shifted beneath their lids, as if scanning the world. “I don’t see anything.” “Go deeper,” Amren urged. “Find that tether between you.” She stiffened, but Cassian stepped closer, and she settled again. A minute went by. Then another. A muscle twitched on Nesta’s brow. Her hand bobbed. Her breath then came fast and hard, her lips curling back as she panted through her teeth. “Nesta,” Cassian warned.

Chapter 63 Cassian chuckled hoarsely, and looked to Nesta, who remained pale and quiet. What she’d seen, what I’d seen in her mind… The size of that army… “Eat or bed?” Cassian had asked Nesta, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he’d meant it as some invitation. I debated telling him he was in no shape. Nesta only said, “Bed.” And there was certainly no invitation in the exhausted reply.

Chapter 64 “We’ll get her back,” Cassian rasped from where he perched on the rolled arm of the chaise longue across the small sitting area, watching her carefully. Rhys, Amren, and Mor were meeting with the other High Lords, informing them what had been done. Seeing if they knew anything. Had any way of helping. Nesta lowered her hands, lifting her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lips thin. “No, you will not.” She pointed to the map on the table. “I saw that army. Its size, who is in it. I saw it, and there is no chance of any of you getting into its heart. Even you,” she added when Cassian opened his mouth again. “Especially not when you’re injured.”

Chapter 66 “Good,” Cassian said, glancing at Nesta. “If I end my life defending those who need it most, then I will consider it a death well spent.” Lord Devlon, for once, nodded his approval. I wondered if Cassian noticed it—if he cared. His face revealed nothing, not as his focus remained wholly on my sister.

Chapter 69 During the brief midday break in a large meadow, Nesta and I climbed inside one of the supply caravan’s covered wagons to change into Illyrian fighting leathers. When we emerged, Nesta even buckled a knife at her side. Cassian had insisted, yet he’d admitted that since she was untrained, she was just as likely to hurt herself as she was to hurt someone else.

Chapter 70 Nesta pushed herself onto her elbows, hair shaking free of her braid, lips bloodless. She heaved into the grass. Rhys’s magic shot out of him, arcing around our entire army, his breathing a wet rasp— Nesta’s hands grappled into the grass as she lifted her head, scanning the horizon. Like she could see right to where the Cauldron was now about to be unleashed. Rhys’s power flowed and flowed out of him, bracing for impact. Azriel’s Siphons flashed, a sprawling shield of cobalt locking over Rhysand’s, his breathing just as heavy as my mate’s— And then Nesta began screaming. Not in pain. But a name. Over and over. “CASSIAN.” Amren reached for her, but Nesta roared, “CASSIAN!” She scrambled to her feet, as if she’d leap into the skies. Her body lurched, and she went down, heaving again. A figure shot from the Illyrian ranks, spearing for us, flapping hard, red Siphons blazing— Nesta moaned, writhing on the ground. The earth seemed to shudder in response. No—not in response to her. In terror of the thing that erupted from Hybern’s army. I understood why the king had claimed those rocky foothills. Not to make us charge uphill if we should push them so far. But to position the Cauldron. For it was from the rocky outcropping that a battering ram of death-white light hurled for our army. Just about level with the Illyrian legion in the sky—as the Attor’s legion dropped to the earth, and ducked for cover. Leaving the Illyrians exposed. Cassian was halfway to us when the Cauldron’s blast hit the Illyrian forces. I saw him scream—but heard nothing. The force of that power… It shredded Azriel’s shield. Then Rhysand’s. And then shredded any Siphon-made ones. It hollowed out my ears and seared my face. And where a thousand soldiers had been a heartbeat before… Ashes rained down upon our foot soldiers. Nesta had known. She gaped up at me, terror and agony on her face, then scanned the sky for Cassian, who flapped in place, as if torn between coming for us and charging back to the scattering Illyrian and Peregryn ranks. She’d known where that blast was about to hit. Cassian had been right in the center of it. Or would have been, if she hadn’t called him away. Rhys was looking at her like he knew, too. Like he didn’t know whether to scold her for the guilt Cassian would no doubt feel, or thank her for saving him. Nesta’s body went stiff again, a low moan breaking from her. I felt Rhys cast out his power—a silent warning signal. The other High Lords raised shields this time, backing the one he rallied. But the Cauldron did not hit the same spot twice. And Hybern was willing to incinerate part of his own army if it meant wiping out a strength of ours. Cassian was again hurtling for us, for Nesta sprawled on the ground, as the light and unholy heat of the Cauldron were unleashed again.

Nesta had her brow in the grass as Cassian landed so hard the ground shuddered. He was reaching for her as he panted, “What is it, what—” “It’s gone quiet again,” Nesta breathed, letting Cassian haul her into a sitting position as he scanned her face. Devastation and rage lay in his own. Did he know? That she had screamed for him, knowing he’d come… That she’d done it to save him? Rhys only ordered him, “Get back in line. The soldiers need you there.” Cassian bared his teeth. “What the hell can we do against that?”

Chapter 72 Rhys made to shoot me back down to the ground, where Amren and Elain were still waiting. Nesta said, “Wait.” Rhys obeyed. Nesta stared toward that armada, toward our father fighting in it. “Use me. As bait.” I blinked at the same moment Cassian said, “No.” Nesta ignored him. “The king is probably waiting beside that Cauldron. Even if you get there, you’ll have him to contend with. Draw him out. Draw him far away. To me.” “How,” Rhys said softly. “It goes both ways,” Nesta murmured, as if my mate’s words moments before had triggered the idea. “He doesn’t know how much I took. And if … if I make it seem like I’m about to use his power … He’ll come running. Just to kill me.” “He will kill you,” Cassian snarled. Her hand clenched on his arm. “That’s—that’s where you come in.” To guard her. Protect her. To lay a trap for the king. “No,” Rhys said. Nesta snorted. “You’re not my High Lord. I may do as I wish. And since he’ll sense that you’re with me… You need to go far away, too.” Rhys said to Cassian, “I’m not letting you throw your life away for this.” I was inclined to agree. Cassian surveyed the depleted Illyrian lines, now holding strong as Azriel rallied them. “Az has control of the lines.” “I said no,” Rhys snapped. I’d never heard him use that tone with Cassian, with any of them. Cassian said steadily, “It’s the only shot we have of a diversion. Luring him away from that Cauldron.” His hands tightened on Nesta. “You gave everything, Rhys. You went through that hell for us, for fifty years.” He’d never addressed it—not fully. “You think I don’t know what happened? I know, Rhys. We all do. And we know you did it to save us, spare us.” He shook his head, sunlight glinting off that dark, winged helmet. “Let us return the favor. Let us repay the debt.” “There is no debt to repay.” Rhys’s voice broke. The sound of it cracked my heart. Cassian’s own voice broke as he said, “I never got to repay your mother—for her kindness. Let me do it this way. Let me buy you time.” “I can’t.” I wasn’t sure if in the entire history of Illyria, there had ever been such a discussion. “You can,” Cassian said gently. “You can, Rhys.” He gave a lazy grin. “Save some of the glory for the rest of us.” “Cassian—” But Cassian asked Nesta, “Do you have what you need?” Nesta nodded. “Amren showed me enough. What to do to rally the power to me.” And if Amren and I could control the Cauldron between us… That distraction they’d offer … Nesta looked down to Elain—our sister monitoring the bloodbath ahead. Then to me. She said quietly, “Tell Father—thank you.” She wrapped her arms tightly around Cassian, those gray-blue eyes bright, then they were gone.

Chapter 74 Nesta surged to her feet, staggering across the clearing, blood at her mouth from where he’d hit her, and threw herself to her knees before Cassian. “Get up,” she sobbed, hauling at his shoulder. “Get up.” He tried—and failed. “You’re too heavy,” she pleaded, but still tried to raise him, fingers scrabbling in his black, bloodied armor. “I can’t—he’s coming—” “Go,” Cassian groaned. Her power had stopped hurling the king across the forest. He now stalked toward them, brushing off splinters and leaves from his jacket—taking his time. Knowing she would not leave. Savoring the awaiting slaughter. Nesta gritted her teeth, trying to haul Cassian up once more. A broken sound of pain ripped from him. “Go! ” he barked at her. “I can’t,” she breathed, voice breaking. “I can’t.” The same words Rhys had given him. Cassian grunted in pain, but lifted his bloodied hands—to cup her face. “I have no regrets in my life, but this.” His voice shook with every word. “That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.” She didn’t stop him as he leaned up and kissed her—lightly. As much as he could manage. Cassian said softly, brushing away the tear that streaked down her face, “I will find you again in the next world—the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.” The King of Hybern stepped into that clearing, dark power wafting from his fingertips. And even the Cauldron seemed to pause in surprise—surprise or some … feeling as Nesta looked at the king with death twining around his hands, then down at Cassian. And covered Cassian’s body with her own. Cassian went still— then his hand slid over her back. Together. They’d go together. I will offer you a bargain, I said to the Cauldron. I will offer you my soul. Save them. “Romantic,” the king said, “but ill-advised.” Nesta did not move from where she shielded Cassian’s body.

Chapter 80 My sister had barely spoken, barely eaten these past few days. Had not visited Cassian in his healing bed. Still had not talked to me about what had happened.

- END -

#a court of wings and ruin #acowar #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #a court of silver flames #acosf #feyre archeron #rhysand #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #a court of mist and fury #acomaf #a court of frost and starlight #acofas

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tngrace · 3 years

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The Day the World Rocked on its Axis

This is probably the most personal thing I've ever written. There is so much personal background in it, and it felt so good to write even if I hurt Carlos. There may be a part 2 sometime later; still not sure.

Thank you @moviegeek03 for reading this for me and all your encouragement. 💙

Read on A03;

masterlist;

It Started at ACC series

Carlos was halfway through his rookie year on the force when his world was rocked. He and TK were going strong; life was good. He’d just come off a twelve hour shift, TK having gotten home right before him. He was just slipping into that really deep state when his phone started ringing. He was tempted to ignore it, but after one call hung up, it started ringing once more. He groans as he rolls over and grabs it. The name on the screen has him answering quickly.

“Hola primo. Qué está mal?” ** Carlos asks worriedly. It’s not like his cousin to be calling him in the middle of the night.

It’s so quiet for the longest Carlos is afraid the call has dropped. “Carlos, it’s Tonio.”

Carlos sits straight up so fast it rouses TK. Carlos sucks in a breath before asking what’s wrong once more. TK can hear the panic in his voice which wakes him even more. He sits up beside Carlos and lets his hand drift to Carlos’s back to rub soothingly.

“There…. There’s been a wreck. We… we need you.”

“Where?” Miguel went quiet on him once more, and Carlos could feel the panic coursing through him. “Miguel where? Tell me where and I’ll be there.”

“They’re going to take him to St. David’s South. They… they gotta get to them and get them out,” he manages to get out.

“What do you mean?” Carlos questions gently as he gets up and starts dressing in the first thing he sees.

“They… they were riding up around Pilot Knob. One of his friends called me. He got in the car with someone else, someone he didn’t know that well, but wanted to see what the car could do. The guy lost control, went off the road, hit a tree head on. You know how hard it is to get up there. They were towards the top, but they’re saying it’s bad, Carlitos.”

“Ok. Ok i’m on my way. If they get him out before I get there, I'll meet you at the hospital. It’s going to be ok.”

Carlos grabbed his badge just to be safe as he finishes dressing and gets off the phone with his cousin. He turns to tell TK what’s going on, but he finds his boyfriend already dressed and standing beside him. Carlos does his best not to cry right then. “Come on,” TK says gently, seeing Carlos try to hold back his emotions. Carlos squeezes TK’s hand as they lock up and get in the camaro. Carlos drives, just because he knows where he’s going. He’s speeding and he knows it, but he can’t help it. Miguel and Antonio were the closest thing he had to brothers all his life. They’ve always been close, always shared everything. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if one of them is gone. TK holds his hand the entire drive to the mountain; he wants to ask questions, wants to help, but he stays silent knowing Carlos will tell him when he’s ready.

“That was my cousin Miguel on the phone,” he finally says when they’re about halfway there. “His younger brother Antonio was in a wreck. They… they’ve always been like my brothers. They’re my best friends,” he chokes off. TK squeezes his hand harder.

“I’m here. Whatever you need,” TK tells him when Carlos can’t go on. Carlos squeezes back as he keeps driving. They head up the mountain, and they’re not far behind an ambulance. They’re stopped about halfway up the mountain and told the road is closed. Carlos flashes his badge and tells the officer it’s his family. “I’m sorry sir. I’m gonna advise y’all head back down.” The look in his eyes, TK knows; it’s not going to be good.

“I’d rather not. I’d like to get to my family,” Carlos demands; the officer relents and lets them through. Carlos gets the car in park, and jumps out faster than TK can stop him. He rushes to his aunt and uncle and cousin’s side. EMTs are down the side of the mountain working, and Carlos is holding his breath. TK slowly joins his side, offering his support. They’re close enough to other officer’s to hear the call over the radio that it’s a recovery op now. TK feels Carlos go rigid beside him. “Carlos?” he whispers, but Carlos doesn’t respond. His body is taunt with anxiety as he turns to his family before another officer can deliver the news. “Tia, Tio….” his aunt and uncle look at him with wide eyes as he takes a deep breath to keep it together. “Come on,” he says as gently as possible trying to steer them back towards their cars.

Miguel looks at Carlos with tear-filled eyes, and Carlos just gives him a nod. The most devastated no he’s ever heard leaves his cousin's lips as he tries to break for the side of the hill where the rescue team is working. Carlos reacts on instinct; he reaches out and grabs Miguel, wrapping him up in his arms and holding him tight. He talks to him in Spanish as TK is left to keep Carlos’s aunt and uncle back. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs to them as Carlos does his best to comfort Miguel. It takes a while, but Carlos is eventually able to steer Miguel away from the hillside. He guides him and his aunt and uncle to their truck. He gives TK the keys to the camaro; “Follow us?” he asks him softly as Miguel helps his distraught parents into the truck.

“Of course,” TK promises, giving Carlos a soft kiss and a tight hug.

Carlos gets in the truck on autopilot; he heads for the hospital knowing they’ll take Antonio there regardless. The only sound in the truck the whole way is the cries of his aunt. They end up staying at the hospital until the morning; they finally got official confirmation of death about seven am, and Carlos had to dissuade his aunt and uncle from seeing his cousin. He knew they wanted to, hell he wanted, but he knew now was not the time, not fresh from the wreck. Carlos drives them back to the ranch to his own parents. The rest of the family shows up before lunch; tears are shed, hugs are given, stories are told quietly, and the whole time Carlos is stoic, emotions carefully concealed. TK stays with him the whole time, refusing to leave. Carlos appreciates it more than he can express.

The next few days are hard. There’s arrangements to be made, most of the family takes up residence at the ranch, his aunt and uncle staying with his parents. Miguel needs him more than anything, and Carlos does his best to be there every minute for him. He holds himself together every day, and at night when TK is asleep, he lets a few silent tears fall until he gets a few restless hours of sleep.

He calls in a favor to his training officer the day they make arrangements after seeing Antonio at the funeral home. He knows the news has gotten out that he’s taken personal days for the funeral, but he has to know what the accident report says after hearing all the funeral home completed for an open casket service. Luckily his TO is a friend of his dad’s, and despite advising Carlos against reading it, he sends the full unedited accident report to Carlos’s email. The day before the funeral, TK had to work so he could be off for the funeral, and Carlos waits until then to open the email. Carlos promised him that he would be fine, and TK made him promise to call if he wasn’t. Carlos of course didn’t call, but TK wasn’t surprised. He reads over the report more times than he should’ve. The accompanying pictures are the hardest thing he’s ever looked at, but they tell the story more than the report. The images are ingrained in his brain, and he knows his aunt and uncle will have the option to receive copies of all this. He wants to do his best to dissuade them from getting it. No one should have to see the gruesome scene he just studied; the car in the tree, the way the seats were displaced one on top of the other, the blood splatter and the lifeless bodies encased within. It was too much, but he had to know.

TK didn’t know Carlos had requested the report or that he’d even looked at it. So he was surprised to get home that night and find Carlos curled up in the corner of the shower sobbing. “Oh babe.” It came out almost as a whine, his pain for Carlos evident. He dropped his bag, kicking off his shoes, and climbing straight into the shower with Carlos. He sank to the ground pulling Carlos into his arms. “It’s ok. I’ve got you. You’re safe,” he whispers over and over, rocking side to side as he cradled Carlos to him. It took several minutes and several stuttering hiccuping breaths before Carlos started to calm down. TK had no idea how long he’d been like that before he got home, but the water was still mostly warm so he figured it couldn’t have been too long.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos whispered as he pulled back and scrubbed at his face.

“No. No. You have nothing to apologize for. You needed this.” TK lets his hand card through Carlos’s wet curls. “You’ve been so strong for everyone else. You need to let yourself grieve too.”

Carlos gives him a short nod as he scrubs harder at his face. He knows TK is right, but he also hates that TK has to see him like this. “Hey. It’s ok to hurt and feel what you’re feeling. It’s ok to let me see that too. I’m here for you. I love you and nothing is going to change that,” TK reiterates as he pulls Carlos’s hands away from his face. He pulls Carlos close once more as Carlos loses it again. He can’t seem to stop the tears. He’s not sure how life is supposed to go on without one of his best friends, without the first person he came out to, without one of the few people who support him no matter what. TK barely holds back his own tears as Carlos sobs his heart out in his arms.

When the water turns cold, TK eases Carlos up and helps him out of the shower. His tears have dried, but he’s clinging to TK like he’s the only thing holding him up. TK gets a towel around him as he strips his wet clothes before wrapping a towel around himself. “Come on. I got ya,” TK says quietly as he dries Carlos off before leading him to bed. He gets him tucked in before drying himself. Once he makes sure the house is all locked up, he climbs in bed pulling Carlos in as close as possible.

Carlos has worn himself out, but before he falls asleep he whispers; “I read the report. I requested it and got it. I just… I had to know.”

“Oh babe,” TK whimpers as he tightens his hold on Carlos. “Oh Carlos. It’s ok,” TK whispers over and over not really knowing what to say to that. He knows that had to be hard; he knows Carlos probably shouldn’t have seen it, but he knows if he’d been in Carlos’s shoes, he’d want to know too. It’s not long after that little confession that Carlos drifts off from exhaustion. TK is thankful he took tomorrow off to go with him; he knows the coming days, months, years even are going to be hard, but he will be there for it all. Whatever Carlos needs, TK is going to be there.

** “Hello cousin. What is wrong?”

#tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tk x carlos #it started at acc series #tarlos college years #tarlos college au #writers life #family member death #car accidents

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crash-hawk · 3 years

Text

Crash, crash, burn, let it all burn, this hurricane’s chasing us all underground...

Since I recently re-released Three to read in its entirety on Tumblr, I thought I would do the same for the first chapter of the follow-up fic Hurricane: a series of short stories set in the Passerine-inspired Kaleidoscope AU, focusing on the intersections and parallels between the series’ Hermit cast and their DSMP neighbors. Chapter 1 is a direct follow-up to Three, taking place literally hours later, so it’s recommended that you read that one first!

Hurricane is a work in progress, with three chapters completed so far. The rest can be read on Archive of Our Own HERE.

(For a look at what’s going down in this AU’s version of Third Life, check out @lunarblazes‘ devastating Give Me Back My Heart, You Wingless Thing and @exactlymypoint‘s stellar To Stars and Void He Will Return.)

The morning after’s always a bitch.

crash, crash, burn

No matter how many times that you told me you wanted to leave

No matter how many breaths that you took, you still couldn’t breathe

No matter how many nights that you’d lie wide awake to the sound of the poison rain

Where did you go? Where did you go? Where did you go...?

- Thirty Seconds to Mars, “Hurricane”

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A strange hush falls over the island in the hours just before dawn. The moon sinks into the water, unnaturally bright against stars that seem pale and faded and unreal, and seems to take all sound and life with it; the ocean is a vast expanse of smooth glass that barely seems to lap at the shore.

The Queen of the Hunt notices, and it disturbs her.

She does not live with the others in the main village. She makes her home in a vast cavern on the far side of the island, beneath a quaint red-roofed house that’s more decoy than domicile. The house is for the young ones and the new ones, who don’t need to know what she truly is (although every once and again one will come seeking her specifically, usually one who’s seen her in the Starborn’s tournaments, and if they show promise and she has nothing better to do she will take them on.)

She does not live with the others, but she’s aware of the visitors who’d come to their shore the day before. She knows them well, one of them most of all. Her own dark mirror; sometimes her twin and sometimes a stranger, sometimes an ally and more often an enemy. His presence here, in this place meant specifically to keep him out, infuriates her, because she knows it for what it is: both an implicit threat and a deliberate insult on the part of the one who’d brought him along. The thought of marching into the village and demanding that the interlopers state their intent was tempting, the thought of demanding that they leave even more so. But she and her shadow have always been flint and steel, and with each hour that passes the island feels more and more like dry kindling. The Huntress tells herself that no matter what happens, she will not be the one to strike the spark.

She wanders along the northern shoreline, not knowing why, not knowing where she’s going or what she’s looking for. It feels like she’s waiting for something, some coin to drop, some axe to fall.

And then it does.

The land around her has grown sere and scrubby, gnarled oaks making way for the flat-crowned acacia trees local to the northwestern point of the island. A huge mountain, ridged and buttressed like a castle, bulks to the sky, black against the dim, faded stars. She can see lights glowing softly from the windows of the homes her friends have built there.

A scream suddenly bursts from one of the windows.

It shatters the night into a thousand fragments, echoing from stone and tree and water, freezing the Huntress down to the bone because she recognizes it, would know the voice anywhere. That’s Etho screaming, screaming and screaming in terror and agony and something else, something that sounds dangerously close to madness--the Huntress has heard enough screams in her life to know.

She’s running before she’s even aware of it, her bow materializing in her hand from thin air, as dawn crawls over the eastern horizon behind her in a silent white line.

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

Something’s wrong.

It pulses through Pearl’s mind in an insistent feedback loop, crowding out thought as they make their way back down the shore toward the village. George rambles on at her side, the most he’s spoken since she can remember, the most he’s spoken in millennia, she thinks, ever since the old forests were a new thing too huge with potential for her to govern alone. There are other siblings, of course, other gods of life and change and growth, but he is one of the youngest, and the most sensitive. So she smiles and tries her best to listen as he talks and talks and talks, about his woods and his dreams and his nightmares and waking up choking on ash, about his animal friends and the valley he made bloom in honor of one that he lost, about the unlikely friendships she still doesn’t understand, treasure hunts and near misses and the universe saying I’m going to be the best thing that ever happened to you.

“Granted, they’re both idiots, Sapnap especially,” he says, smiling. “But…”

“But they’re your idiots,” Pearl finishes with an answering smile. She can’t help it, she’s all too familiar with the phenomenon. And yet the maddening refrain continues: something’s wrong. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong.

To the east, dawn paints the sky in fragile seashell colors, washing out stars already strangely faint. They’re close, now; Pearl can see the massive, irregular shadow of Scar’s ore pile and the dim violet glow from Grian’s observatory. There are few lights lit, and even though she knows that logically everyone’s probably still asleep, it still sits wrongly. Even at this distance, the village feels shuttered, empty, dead.

“It’s so quiet,” George murmurs. Pearl turns to him, seeing anxiety in his eyes, in the way his arms wrap around himself. He feels it too.

“Some of them should be up by now,” Pearl says absently. “Bdubs at least, he’s staying at Impulse’s house this week and he’s always up and out with the sun, I don’t--”

“I think they’re all still there,” George interrupts, pointing down the beach, to where the the last embers of the campfire still glow dully in the early morning gloom. “It looks like they all fell asleep there.”

Pearl looks, and fear washes over her like ice water.

They’re arranged around the campfire in a ring, the way they gather almost every night if the weather permits. Twenty-some people, it looks like, almost the entire village. Some are still mostly upright, slumped against each other or against the logs of driftwood. Others lie sprawled awkwardly in the sand or curled up tight against the wind. Only one remains alert, prodding idly at the embers as they roast something on a stick.

Footsteps crunch in the sand behind them, making her jump, but she doesn’t turn around. They don’t look like they’re sleeping. Their poses are too awkward, too uncomfortable, as if they’d all been struck by the same bolt of lightning and simply lay as they fell. They look--

“There you are,” complains the approaching voice, all smoke and grit. “I’ve been looking for you all godsdamned night.”

“Sapnap--”

Pearl breaks into a run.

George shouts something after her, but she doesn’t hear it. She runs for the campfire, her cloak and hood flying out behind her, heart pounding in her head and chest and throat.

The one still awake looks up as she skids to a halt in the sand, smiling. “Morning,” he greets. “Breakfast? There’s fish enough for four.”

Pearl ignores him. Up close, she can see that the younger ones do seem to be asleep, piled up on each other in awkward configurations and snoring quietly, but the others...the others…

“What have you done,” she gasps, before she’s even aware of what she means to say.

“What do you mean, what have I done,” Dream asks, blinking. His voice and expression are the picture of bafflement, but his eyes are amused, glittering jade in the light of the rising sun. “I was making breakfast. They’re asleep.”

Impulse still sits next to Dream, slumped over the half-finished clock in his lap, head bowed. Beside him, Bdubs is face down in the sand. She can’t tell if they’re breathing or not. Across the campfire Scar lies curled on his side, arms crossed loosely in front of his face as if to ward off a blow. And beside him--

“Grian!”

For a terrible, terrible moment, Pearl is certain that he’s dead. He lies sprawled on his back, limbs bent awkwardly, boneless and loose as if he’d fallen out of the sky. His wings are invisible, still cloaked, and that’s wrong, Grian can’t hide his wings unless he’s conscious enough to think about it--

She drops to her knees beside him, laying one hand on his chest, the other cupping his cheek. She feels him draw in a breath and sobs, vision blurring with relief. So slow, though, a full minute going by before he draws another, and he’s so cold. Grian isn’t supposed to be cold. Grian is quicksilver and solar flares and lightning in a bottle, rambling speech and manic laughter and too-warm hugs. His fire is gone, his wings are gone. Grian is gone. What lies on the beach beneath her hands is nothing more than a placeholder. A shell. And she knows as certain as moonrise that if she were to go to the others, to lay her hands on their hearts, she would feel the same.

“What have you done?!” she repeats, pale eyes returning to Dream’s.

Dream simply looks back at her, impassive, the unnerving smile still on his face. “Nothing they didn’t ask for.”

“They would never ask for this,” she hisses, standing slowly. She can feel rage beginning to gather in her core, flowing down into her limbs like white fire.

“Dream?” she hears George ask from behind her, quick footsteps shuffling through the sand. “What happened?”

For a heartbeat, she sees the Green God’s expression flicker, a split second of something that might have been surprise or nerves or fear. She doesn’t know, and doesn’t care. Her rage is an incandescent, living thing, as though she’d swallowed a piece of the sun.

“I told her,” he says. “They’re asleep. Dreaming. They asked for a story, and I told one. I might’ve...gotten a bit carried away, but they haven’t been harmed, George. At all. They’ll wake soon enough--”

“They are not asleep!” Pearl cries, and suddenly there’s a spear in her hand, the curved head glittering silver in the misty sunlight. “Do you take me for an idiot? You’ve left their bodies here scattered like so many empty seashells, thinking I couldn’t tell the difference. They’re not here! What have you done to them, you lying bastard?”

In the space between heartbeats a white-cloaked shadow suddenly appears at her side, obsidian blade leveled inches from her neck. “Put it down,” the War God snarls. “Now.”

“No,” she says, not even bothering to look at him.

“You’d break guest right?” Dream asks, still smiling congenially, stepping forward so Pearl’s spearhead rests just below his collarbone. “Your little commune holds that sacred, doesn’t it? You’d run me through in the sight of the sun, in front of your ‘brother’? Well, go on, then. I’m right here. I won’t even dodge. Your place, your rule.”

“Pearl, Sapnap, stop,” she hears George cry, dismayed. “Dream, what the hell’s gotten into you??”

Pearl’s hands tighten around the polished ashwood haft of the spear. The rage in her is burning agony. And yet she can’t move.

The Green God smiles, his eyes the color of acid and chlorine and radiation. “I know you,” he whispers. “I’ve known you since you were formed. You’re not cut out for this role. You don’t have it in you.”

There’s a sudden ‘twang’ and a puff of sand as an arrow strikes deeply into the beach a bare millimeter from Dream’s ankle. Another grazes Sapnap’s cheekbone a second later, drawing a thin line of blood.

“You’re no guests of mine,” a woman’s voice calls from a point above and behind them. “And I do.”

The War God’s sword jerks away from her neck, and Pearl’s paralysis breaks. She whirls, her spear falling from shaking, nerveless fingers, to see False, Lady of War, Queen of the Hunt, standing atop a wave-beaten spar of rock, longbow nocked and drawn. Nor is she alone: beside her stand Iskall of the Mountains, his stone sword carved with runes and shimmering with enchantment, and Wels, Guardian of the Gates of Hell, in full dark armor and wielding a battleaxe the color of smoke.

“You,” Sapnap spits, black eyes narrowed and full of venom.

“Me,” False agrees.

“What the hell,” Iskall thunders, fire glinting in his eye, “did you do to Etho.”

Dream rolls his eyes. “Stars, Void, and In-Between, how many of you are there?”

“More than you’d believe,” Wels answers. “This is our place. Our home. And I think it’s high time you returned to yours.”

“You’ve outstayed your welcome,” the Huntress states flatly, her normally blue eyes as black as Sapnap’s as they drill into Dream. “I suggest that you and both of your friends get in your boat and leave. Right now.”

“Mm,” Dream looks up at the sky for a moment, as if thinking. “And if I don’t care to leave just yet? I never got to read the ending to that story I was telling last night, and your student body was so excited to hear it.” He glances over at the sleeping apprentices, and Pearl feels a stomach-clenching rush of fear and revulsion at the implicit threat. “Besides. You know you can’t kill me. You know it better than probably anyone else here.”

False laughs.

Dream’s forehead furrows, and Pearl is gratified to see that awful smile slip just a notch. “Care to share the punchline?”

“Oh, that’s true enough,” False admits. “You’re right, it won’t be my arrow that brings you down, though I must admit I’d greatly enjoy the trying. It’s just funny to me, how confident you are, considering where you stand.” She smiles, a tight, icy little smile that makes Pearl shiver in spite of herself, as she glances back at the village.

No, Pearl realizes, not at the village: at the rickety, towering sculpture in the center of it...and the yawning sinkhole beneath.

Dream’s smile falls off of his face so quickly Pearl can almost hear it thump into the sand. George stands beside him, looking confused and utterly miserable, hands twisting together. Pearl hates Dream almost as much for putting that expression back on his face as she does for the motionless bodies at her feet.

“What in the hell are you talking about,” Sapnap snarls, scowling in confusion.

“Shall I call him, Dream?” False continues softly, still smiling. “How about it? We’ve all got time, after all, while we wait for our friends to wake. I’m sure he’d be very interested in your stories. He’s a much more courteous guest than you are.”

“He won’t come,” Dream protests, but he doesn’t sound so confident anymore. “He’s busy, and lazy, and thousands of leagues away besides. He’s got a new playmate, and they’re enjoying themselves too much with their little empire down in the Southern snows to bother with you.” The smile returns to Dream’s face as if it never left, but there’s no mistaking the undercurrent of fear in his voice, the obvious way he’s trying to convince himself of what he’s saying. “And why should he answer to you at all, hiding away with your own little playmates on your nowhere island? You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” the Huntress asks, dark eyes glittering.

A tense silence settles over the beach. No one moves. Even the waves seem to hold their breath, waiting to see which way the scales will dip.

“Why?” Pearl finally asks, her voice breaking. “What did we ever do to you?”

“Like I told you, they’ll be awake soon,” Dream says with a shrug. “Ask them.”

“Leave,” False reiterates, her smile gone, her voice cold. “All three of you. And don’t come back.”

“Very well, as my Queen commands,” Dream answers, sketching a mocking bow. “George, Sapnap, let’s go.” He turns to Pearl with a smile, green fire dancing in his eyes. "Until next time, my dear." And with that, he walks away, moving off towards the docks.

Pearl recoils, skin crawling with loathing and a creeping, nameless dread. “George, wait,” she entreats, sorrow and desperation thick in her voice. “You don’t have to go with them.”

George looks back and forth, from her, to False and Wels and Iskall with their weapons drawn, to his two friends, and then back to Pearl. “They’re my friends,” he murmurs helplessly.

He turns, walking off down the beach after Dream. A sob escapes Pearl’s throat.

Of the three of them, Sapnap lingers the longest, staring up at the three on the rocks with his sword still drawn.

“He’ll betray you, you know,” False says quietly.

“Stop talking about things you haven’t the least idea about,” Sapnap grits.

“He will, though. He’ll betray you the way the scorpion betrays the frog in the old tales, because it’s his nature. And because you have something he doesn’t, a capacity he doesn’t understand and never will, no matter how badly he wants it. I know, because you and I are the same. You’ve already begun to discover that capacity, as bumbling and resistant and stupid as you are. When you finally figure out the rest, he won’t be able to stand it. He’ll turn on you, and he’ll hurt you.”

“Whatever you say,” he mutters dismissively, but he sounds unsure of himself. At last, he sheaths his sword, stalking off after the others. Pearl wonders if either of them will remember this incident two days from now, if they'll be allowed to remember it.

When they’re finally gone, their boat nothing more than a hazy speck on the water, Pearl collapses to the sand. She pulls Grian into her lap and holds him, not letting go even as Impulse comes to with a strangled scream, clutching at his abdomen and hurling the half-finished clock into the waves with a cry; as Bdubs scrambles wild-eyed to the water after it, his legs shaking like those of a newborn colt; as Scar begins to cough and gasp and struggle to fill lungs that don’t seem to remember how to breathe; as the apprentices stir, looking around with dazed and uncomprehending eyes.

It’s only when Grian finally wakes, silent and gasping and threatening to shake himself to pieces in her arms, his pupils shrunk to the size of pinpricks, that Pearl finally, finally allows herself to cry.

#Hermitcraft #Hermitcraft Season 8 #Third Life SMP #Dream SMP #Passerine #Fanfiction #PearlescentMoon #c!Dream #GeorgeNotFound #Sapnap #FalseSymmetry #Iskall #Welsknight #Grian #GoodTimesWithScar #ImpulseSV #BDoubleO100 #Kaleidoscope AU

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sitp-recs · 4 years

Note

You mentioned a top five in the ask about only reading 1 fic for the rest of your life so if you are willing I would love the five fics you would want to read for the rest of your life.

Oh anon, I am ever so willing! Can’t deny yet another chance to gush over my favorite reads, even if some of these authors probably can’t stand seeing my name on their notifications anymore 😂 making short lists is a nightmare for me but this was an interesting exercise in self-restraint lol so here you go, these would be my top 5 6 picks, in no particular order:

1. The Boy Who Only Lived Twice (E, 54k) by @letteredlettered: unspeakable partners being badass together plus delicious identity porn, is that Liv’s personal heaven?? This fic is quietly devastating and delivers all I’ll ever need in terms of tropey goodness. The plot is genius and intricate with A+ characterization, perfect pacing, scorching hot smut and an exquisite and bittersweet emotional payoff. I’m always in awe to realize this was written back in 2012. I’ve read it so many times in the past few years and always get the same thrill going through my favorite scenes!

2. Little Compton Street (E, 65k) by @writcraft: a powerful and generous labor of love, both for Drarry and for the Queer scene. Writ crafted (hehe see what I did there) such a fascinating and special universe, vibrant and full of history and hope, that resists and comes alive as Harry and Draco fall in love. I’ve rarely felt this immersed in a story, I literally self-sabotaged my reading because I didn’t want it to end! The atmosphere just sucks you in and leaves you transformed once you’re finished. A magical and thought-provoking experience.

3. Here's The Pencil, Make It Work (M, 49k) by ignatiustrout: full disclosure, I’ve never been particularly attached to Harry as a character, but this fic made me see him in a whole new light and I felt deeply connected to his self-discovery journey, which was transformative for me. His character arc is breathtaking and I loved learning about this new, vibrant, free and unapologetic Draco through his eyes. Perfect slow burn, delicate and lovely, with gorgeous imagery (clubbing and smoking and coffee shops!) and the kind of hurt/comfort approach that gives me a lump in the throat every time I think about it.

4. Far From the Tree (E, 112k) by aideomai: now this is a perfect fic. This author makes even the most complicated concept seem so simple with their superior storytelling. I’ve read this fic recently and I’m still not over the genius of it; the intricate plot, the phenomenal character arcs, the perfect balance of bittersweetness and horny teenage love, the way it explores outer elements without losing the focus on Harry and Draco’s evolving relationship. Their falling in love literally brought tears to my eyes. It’s all very sophisticated, heartfelt, organic, with impressive worldbuilding and fabulous emotional payoff. A truly majestic ride!

5. Running on Air (T, 75k) by @tinyhistory: to this day this remains the most immersive and evocative story I’ve ever read. Thinking about it brings so much nostalgia; I remember the emotional rollercoaster I went through back in 2015, when I was going through a completely different moment in my life. It’s a wonderful feeling to find something that touches and transforms you so deeply over the years; this brought melancholia and self-reflection and I can’t praise enough the compelling narrative, nuanced characters, the sense of loneliness and sorrow permeating the story. I love love love introspective fics and I’m sure I’m not alone when I say this will always be a one-of-a-kind fandom classic!

6. Waiting by an Open Door (E, 29k) by @femmequixotic and @noeeon: no list of mine is complete without my favorite Femme fic, my favorite comfort fic, my favorite smut sequence! If Here’s the Pencil changed my relationship with Harry, this fic is my ultimate Draco POV. His redemption arc is powerful, quiet and mesmerizing, and his longing for Harry made my heart tremble with aching. Hands down one of the most beautiful, organic and realistic slow burns I’ve seen and the get together is... mindblowingly gentle and satisfying, I don’t even have words to translate how emotional it makes me feel. I’ve read this fic more times than I care to admit and I fall a bit more in love with these two every time I do!

#anon #asks #faves #can you see how my commentary grows longer as I go 💀#can’t be succinct to save my life WHY #Drarry

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nicollekidman · 3 years

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Hi the same anon again. Sorry for the repeat messaging but I refuse to actively engage in this batshit fandom and you’re actually managing to be normal about stuff, and I’ve been thinking about contrasting interpretations of Alina. Because in my initial read through I accepted her ending, and felt that it fit her character. And I always see people say that it’d have fit her character to remain in power. And I honestly think that dissonance ultimately comes down to the weakness (or strengeth depending on how you want to look at it) of Alina as a defined character in the books. Like she definitely has some sort of personality but her motivations feel all over the place. Because if you go in with the understanding that the Darkling and Nikolai and the people of ravka were all putting pressure on her to be good and pure and saintly and a font of power and an equal in every measure except in will and a figurehead and so on and so forth and the belief that by crossing the line and perverting her power by using merzost, they became a burden, it makes Sense that she’d give up her powers and quietly run an orphanage with Mal because Mal was the only one to see her through all of it and stick around (even if he was a bit of an ass abt it sometimes) and that she’d leave behind her name because the people of Ravka Did need their sun saint and it’d be cruel to rip their faith from them like that. But if you go in with the understanding that wanted this power and that the Darkling was offering her a way (abort twisted way) to more and that she could’ve done it her own, much better way, it becomes a different story

i really should be working instead of answering this skdfjgh but i think it's kind of like...... are you looking at alina through the lens of what all these men are offering her/see her as, or are you more into her POV about these relationships. and really it's exactly what deah said, that you "ship" her with who would fit what you want alina to be, because so much of her is left unfulfilled in Possibilities. but i also think i felt like she was a pretty consistent and interesting character for me from the drop, the only complaint i had was how much she and mal mooned over each other but that made sense to me!

because personally for me as i was reading, her connection to mal feels very much like her connection to keramzin and childhood and simple times - she likes who she is around him (good, uncomplicated, half of a pair) but she also...... was starved and weak during her childhood and saw mal as shelter. PLUS what no one ever talks about (jk i only know three people who even blog about this) is that...... mal was an amplifier too!!!!! leigh brushes over that complication and what it means for their feelings/free will WAY too quick. i think mal sees in alina what he wants her to be and she thinks she should want that too. but if you see alina's journey as a girl who wants peace and belonging and stability, ending up powerless and married off in the forrest makes sense. but for me, mal feels like the past, and not the future.

i think the darkling sees more of alina's Self than he typically gets credit for, and that's where a lot of alina's fear comes from, PLUS i also do NOT buy the ending justification that the power was never hers to take and that giving it up for the good of the country was somehow not a complete devastating loss for her. for me, the darkling has a clear agenda in HOW she uses her power, but he does ultimately see alina in a way no one else is able or willing to do.... she is a grisha and her power makes her whole - she spends the whole trilogy pushing against the darkling as Villain while having a singular vision of exactly the same thing as he does (morozova, power, them together). neither of them have any use of the Sankta outside of how it helps their separate agendas, and both have valid reasons for staying away from each other, and neither can. i just think if you take an orphan who has been weak and appetiteless her whole life, then give her the power to summon the sun and a whole heap of desires she's never felt before, that's going to unleash a whole new path that deserves to be explored. and even if alina wanted to go back to her old life, the LOSS should've been felt.

once i finish soc i want to go into inej/the sol koroleva more because i think if the books had lingered past the final confrontation with the darkling, alina's position as saint would've been the number one most impactful element of her life, especially as she outlived everyone who knew her and thus became even more enshrined in mythos and belief.

ANYWAYS! i think i just view alina fundamentally as someone who willingly shut away a huge part of herself in the darkness for the majority of her life so she could be warm and protected and simple, and once she embraced the power, there was no going back for her. idk how you can look inside yourself and say "sorry i kept you waiting" and then give that all up and not feel the emptiness. i think canonically she would've been happiest dying with the darkling, but barring that, i think she'd always have a hunger and a desire for More, whether it be off on a ship exploring more of the maps she used to fill out, or ruling grisha and pushing her powers to see what could be done with small science (and merzost). i'm interested in the darkling as his own character and being outside of alina (which i can't say for any of the others) but if we're using different ships as a way to illustrate our ideal paths for alina.... i would just want her to look forward and not back, without having to burn part of herself away.

#shadow and bone #i really should finish grishaverse and rewatch the show before i keep talking out of my ass but #alina is so dear to me and she's SO bursting with life and humor and darkness and power and Want that it pains me to think she's meant #to just lose all of that and be happy #long post //#i think i see more in canon alina than most people do skdjhgjgjf also it might be an age thing of when you first read them? bc the mal plot

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darylandbethfanforever9 · 3 years

Text

Devil’s Backbone

Chapter 5

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+

Warnings: Smut, violence, past flashbacks of sexual assault, descriptions o torture, racial hate and forced abortion. Not Tony Stark friendly.

Relationships: Bucky/OC, Steve/Natasha, Billy/Wanda/Grant, past Clint/Laura, eventual Clint/Yelena and Frank/Karen.

Summary: In the aftermath of the Blip, Bucky struggled to find his place among the world and the Avengers. However, when he is sent on a mission to Madripoor to investigate a young woman, he starts to realize that maybe his past isn’t too far behind him. Co-Written with WalkingPotterGirl14

Nat was acting weird. Clint usually was a very noticeable guy. He may be the man that never misses, but he was also the man that could read people like a book. And right now, Nat was acting very much not like herself, even with her usual stoic face.

He felt like she was hiding something from him and Laura, which made him conflicted. He knew Natasha's past with the Red Room was horrific, but she was keeping something secret, and had been on the phone to a woman last night. She usually never went on calls late at night. Sighing, he texted Laura to let her know that he was alright and that the kids were settling into school. After Tony had exposed their location to Thaddeus Ross, he'd had to move them to the outskirts of New York. He frowned when he saw Natasha in the conference room, running the facial recognition software. The tech had been created by Pym Industries and X-Con Security Consultants, as Stark Industries' facial recognition software was for more expensive and didn't always work. "What are you doing, Nat?" he asked quietly. Natasha ignored him as he entered the room. She was reading a file that was in Russian. "Trying to find out who this mysterious woman is, Clint. Steve isn't exactly talking to me right now, so I have to do this on my own," she answered harshly, causing him to grimace at her answer. Steve and Natasha's relationship had become strained after she had survived Voromir and revealed that she had been pregnant. Then she had suddenly broken up with Steve, devastating the man. He knew how much Steve loved Natasha. He'd been a shell of himself after Natasha had supposedly died. The man was far more guarded now and simply kept things civil with Natasha. "You should have told him, Nat. He loves you and it clearly shows in the way that he looks at you," he argued firmly, trying to understand why Natasha was acting this way. Natasha refused to acknowledge Clint's words. She knew Steve loved her, but she just didn't feel like she wanted children. She was upset that she had miscarried, but she hadn't been sad in the same manner as Steve had been.

Ana had gotten ready for Sharon's art gallery. She had decided to wear a red dress for tonight made with red satin and had a V-neck. It would partially show the faded burns on her chest, but no one would hardly notice them. She didn't like thinking about the burns, or the agony they had caused. It was better to just forget about it. She finished applying her makeup, adding some eyeliner and grabbed her handbag. She had put a knife in there, along with her cell phone and lipstick, before heading out. The car was waiting for her outside the building, and with a quiet smile, it drove her across High Town to where Sharon lived.

Bucky had left Sharon’s after a little but to head back and get ready for the real art show tonight. While he did, he had memorized everything for the mission, including his backstory and the reason as to why he was in Madripoor, looking at himself in the mirror. He'd showered, and let some slight stubble grow on his face for tonight. He was wearing a black blazer, black trousers, and a black shirt. He nodded to himself as he left the bedroom and said goodbye to Alpine. The cat meowed at him affectionately, before going to sit on the bottom of the cat bed. He'd made sure that no one would be able to break into the house, using the security system to its best advantage for heading out. He left his place after making sure he had everything that he needed, including his gun, a knife, and keys. He walked to the motorcycle, getting on, and quietly drove to Sharon's house.

The party was in full swing when Ana arrived at the house. She smiled at Conrad, who had already arrived and was with his girlfriend. He raised a glass to her from the corner as she approached. Sharon was showing a client some beautiful paintings as she wandered around, admiring the art gallery. She was about to ask Sharon about a Van Gough painting when a strange silence fell over the room as most eyes headed towards the door. Curiously, she turned around to see a young man with short dark brown hair, dressed in clothes that made it clear he was part of the Russian Mafia. Her brow raises in surprise. His eyes though were what caught her attention. They were a dark grey, like a wolf's eyes. She couldn't shake off the feeling…that they had met before but where? No, no way. She hadn't met anyone like that. Or at least…her memory sucked. "Everyone, this is one of my clients who has come from Moscow, Russian. His name is Yakov Surkov," Sharon said calmly, introducing the man, who nods. Ana got the sense that this man was dangerous. "He's a Russian mobster," Conrad whispers to her discreetly as they turned back around. "He doesn't do the usual Mafia stuff, but he sells weapons to resistance groups who fight dictators." She raised an eyebrow at his words, watching the man intently as he walked up to the bar to get a drink. She wasn't surprised when he ordered a Ruskova vodka to drink. The party returned to normal quickly after, with many people returning to what they had been doing. She excused herself from Conrad, whispering that one of the paintings he was looking at would be hers to which he laughed, and sat at the bar contently. She enjoys her glass of red wine, when she got the sense that someone was watching her. She glances up and feels herself smile when her eyes dance across the room at Yakov, who had been looking directly at her. Without breaking contact, he downs his drink before standing, walking over to her. Ah, a man of confidence, she could see. However, as he moved closer, a weird sense of peace settled over her. Conrad had told her who he was, what he did, but coming over to her, she didn't feel fear. In fact, his eyes almost felt familiar. It was such a strange sensation. But even so, she didn't let it show on her face. "You came over her nice and quick," she remarks, her brow raising. "Almost like you're on a mission." "What can I say? When I see something, I like, I know what I want." Okay, now that brought some colour to her cheeks. He was smooth. "For a Russian man, your English is very good." "I've been around them enough in the past for me to know. Takes some practice but you learn to work with it well." He reaches out and holds her hand, bringing it to his lips in a kiss. "Yakov Survok." Oof, he was pulling out all the stops. She couldn't remember the last time she had been treated with such respect from a single man. Surely not of this year, that's for sure. However, she still had her smarts ahead of her, and knew that it wouldn't be too brilliant if she gave out her regular name. So, she instead smiles and states back another name. "Maria Kapitonova. It's a pleasure to meet you." He lowers her hand again, smiling. "A pleasure to meet you as well." He glances around and gestures to this. "You been going to this for some time? I've never seen you around." "You've been here before?" "Couple of occasions," Yakov states quietly. "Usually for business reasons, but I've been to Sharon's a couple of times, trying to find the right piece for back home. However, I recently decided to move here all together." Ah, so he was in the area? Good to know. "To be honest, I haven't been here that often," she states lightly. "I only just recently showed up in the city…had some high friends in some good places so they got me into this big shindig. Sharon is a nice woman…smart one too." "That she is," he agrees before raising an eyebrow at her. "So, you're new to Madripoor?" "I am, yes." "Well, obviously you do know the city…isn't necessarily safe." Ana chuckles a bit. "Trust me, I know. But I think it was exactly what I needed. A change of scenery. Last place I was in was far too cold." The man snickers a bit. "I've heard that the summers in Madripoor are beautiful. I look forward to it." She looks back at him. "Then why did you move here?"

"As you said. A change of scenery," he agrees lightly. "It can be quite cold in Russia too." Ana smiles a bit and nods. "That is true…I've been there as well. All over the world. It's almost like people, in a way." At his furrowed brow, she continues. "Every person has warm and cold parts in a way. When you're close to someone, you get to see their warm parts, but if you anger them, the cold parts emerge, as vicious as ever. But even in the cold you can find warmth sometimes, and coldness withing the warmth – if that makes any sense." She found herself chuckling at the end. "I'm sorry. Maybe the wine is getting to me." Yakov chuckles before shaking his head. "No, I…I get it, really." He glances at the ground. "God knows I've had my fair share encounter with warm and cold places within me." Ana could see a bit of a fight in his eyes, glancing at the ground. He clearly had some sort of past, and for a moment, she forgets that they were practically strangers and reaches out, squeezing his arm. It causes him to look up. "We all do. That's the beauty of people. They're complex and wonderful in every way. If you're not willing to accept all parts of someone, then why even try?" That causes him to smile as well, although this one was smaller. "That is true…a beautiful statement for a beautiful woman." Ana rolls her eyes. "Now you're just saying that." "I mean it," he argues back, but there was a certain twinkling in his eyes that had her smiling. She takes the last sip of her wine, standing. "Well…thank you, Yakov." She clears her throat, remembering that she wasn't here to flirt with men. She needed to focus on actually getting the art she needed. "I have to use the restroom, but after that I plan to peruse the art here. Do you want to join me?" "I'd love to," he answers back with a smile. "Good," she responds back, offering her own grin before turning around, grabbing her purse, and heading to the restroom. Jeez, she hadn't felt something like that in…God knows how long. She wondered what Yakov had to offer her. Maybe being friends with a mafia man would benefit her greatly.

God-fucking-damn, she was gorgeous. As soon as Bucky had arrived back at Sharon's place for this whole party she was throwing for the art, she had directed him directly to where the mystery woman she knew was sitting at the bar. And while Bucky of course followed up on her and began to talk to her, trying to learn her name – Maria, of all things, but he knew that was most likely a front – and all about her for his own case, he couldn't deny the beauty that she had.

She had the most beautiful eyes that he had ever seen, a light grey that he compared to opals. She had wavy dark brown hair that was almost black but had a mahogany colour. She was tall, but barely reached his height. The red silk dress flattered her figure and emphasized the curves she had. He noticed a few men were watching her as she left for the restroom, her hair glowing in the disco lights. She was most certainly a looker, that was for sure. "Enjoying the party, Yakov?" a voice asked with amusement. He turned around to see Sharon had come over to the bar, and had ordered herself a Piña colada, eying the drink that he was drinking. "It's enjoyable, Miss Carter. And I just met the delightful Maria Kapitonova. She's a charming young woman," he answered smoothly as he saw a young woman with blonde curly hair enter the art gallery and go to the restroom. "That she is. She's friendly with Conrad Mack, the Smiling Tiger, Melissa Gold who is known as Songbird and two hackers called Polina Astakhova and Evan Drake. She's making a name for herself in this city - plus she's laid down some ground rules for everyone," Sharon said impressed. After a moment however, she turns him around, looking at him carefully. "Be careful, Bucky. She's not like most of the people who live here but she's dangerous. She's killed at least three folks who didn't abide by the new rules," she said warningly. Before he could reply, Maria returned from the restroom, her bag in her hands. "I'd love to see the new art collection you've acquired. Sharon, I heard from Conrad and Melissa that you have some art nouveau pieces?" Maria asked curiously. She'd loved the art nouveau art and architecture. Bucky takes her up on that. "I'd like to see this art collection as well, Sharon. I have a deep fondness for Art Deco, and Art Nouveau style," Bucky added, genuinely interested. Sharon smiled, as she showed them the collection upstairs, moving along gracefully through the halls until they arrived where it was. Bucky admired the paintings on the wall, knowing fully well that these paintings and sculptures were the real deal. Most of the paintings and sculptures in the museums and art galleries, including the Louvre, were elaborate fakes. "I'll take those and some of your Asian Art collection as well, Sharon," he answered smoothly, handing her a wad of cash in Russian ruble. She smiled at him as she took it. "You have great taste," she mutters to him, to which he chuckles. Both of them saw Maria admiring the one of the paintings on the wall, before she turns to Sharon. "I'd like to buy this and a few other pieces," she said softly. Sharon smiled and arranged to have them sent to her house, as well as Bucky's place.

The party continued going on in their absence. Bucky noticed that some people were smoking marijuana. He didn't have a problem with people taking it. He knew Leah smoked the painkiller to help relive her back pain she'd gotten from a car accident during the Decimation. It had nearly paralyzed her. He glanced up at the grandfather clock to see the time and was astonished to see it was 2:30 AM in the morning. He saw a young woman with silver hair that had pink highlights at the front, and she came over to greet Maria. So she was using an alias to keep her real identity a secret? On that he didn't blame her. If Thaddeus Ross found out that there was another survivor of the Red Room aside from Natasha and Yelena, then things would get ugly. He would check in with Steve, Sam, and Wanda along with the others tomorrow. He went to say goodbye to Sharon and Maria, and found them talking to Conrad Mack, his girlfriend Jeannette and Melissa. "You heading off, Yakov?" Conrad asked amused. The Russian mobster had a cat that he was fiercely protective of. God help the idiot who tried to hurt it. They'd have the White Wolf hunting them down, like John Wick. "Tired from the flight. The party was wonderful Sharon. And it was lovely to meet you, Maria," he said smoothly, kissing Sharon on the left cheek. She flushed, chuckling a bit. Deep down Bucky hoped Sam wouldn't get upset about that. He knew there was something brewing between the two. He smiled at Maria, shaking her hand. He could smell her perfume from where he was. It smelt of lilies, red roses, and cherry blossoms. "I hope to see you again, Yakov," Maria said softly. He smiled at her as he watched her go inside and got onto his bike before taking off.

Steve, Sam, Wanda, Clint and T'Challa were in the conference room with Fury looking over the photos. They had been taken by Bucky when he had been at Sharon's art gallery. "Ok, so I've identified most of the guests at the party. Conrad Mack also known as the Smiling Tiger, was there with his fiancé, Jeanette Deveraux. Now, believe it or not, his criminal record isn't that bad. He sells marijuana to people on low incomes, and he is an arms dealer, but he sells weapons to Algeria, where there is a civil war going on due to the former prime minister coming back and trying to make a dictatorship," Amy explained patiently. "What about the chick with the gorgeous breasts and pink highlights? Did our Manchurian Candidate I.D. her as well?" Tony asked rudely, causing most of the team to stare at him in disgust at his cruel jibe towards Bucky. "Stark, don't call Bucky that. It's insensitive and unkind," Sam said firmly, before Steve could speak in defense of his friend. Tony had becoming very unkind towards Bucky since he had joined the Avengers. Tony started laughing at Sam's words, an expression of disbelief, contempt and disgust on his face. "Oh I'm sorry, Wilson - or wait is it Captain America? You think I shouldn't be unkind and insensitive to the bastard who strangled my mother to death and is the reason the team broke up?!" he shouted angrily, slamming his fist on the table. The piece of furniture rattled violently, and Peter squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "It wasn't Bucky's fault, Mr. Stark. He is as much as a victim of HYDRA as were your parents," T'Challa said compassionately, but firmly to the man. "I don't care. He killed my goddamn mother! Because of Barnes and the man who I call father, I lost my mother, and Rogers had the nerve not to tell me!" Tony raged, his face turning red with anger. "When could I tell you, Tony?" Steve asks. "I didn't know if Zola was telling the truth at the bunker, and everything was a mess. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, sooner. Truly, I am. But you wouldn't answer my calls after retiring from the Avengers and the Accords happened," he reasoned calmly, trying to keep his temper. "Barnes should be rotting in the Raft or be fucking dead. He's a murdering, sociopathic bastard who ruined my life! He's the reason why Morgan doesn't have a grandmother!" Steve's hands turn to fists, but he refuses to yell. He wouldn't stoop so low as to lose his temper. So instead, he stands, aiming at him. "You don't think that Bucky feels that every day? You don't think he hasn't apologized and tried to make amends with every damn person he's hurt in the past? If anything, you don't even have the right to talk, because you've had so many people that you have hurt in the past as well. Do you deserve to be rotting away?" "You want to know everything I've done for this organization? For this country? I know that we've hurt others and we've tried to redeem that by singing the Accords and trying to make things right! Barnes was a literal psychopath that, just because we choose to believe what the Wakandans did, he's out there right now just living when he could snap at any moment!" T'Challa raises an eyebrow. "Are you questioning the power of Wakandan technology?"

Tony sighs and raises a hand to T'Challa. "I have nothing against you or your power, your highness. Your tech is great. My issue is with the current former assassin that is on the streets!"

"Will you two sit down!" Fury snaps angrily, causing the two of them to let out a puff of anger before doing so. "I know that you two don't get along but for the love of God get your damn selves together, because if don't figure out what is going on, then we might have another fucking breach." He angrily waves his hand. "Tony, the rest of your team head out and do a bit more research on Madripoor. Steve, called up Barnes and get more info. And when we get back, you two act like fucking adults."

"Yes, sir," was a collective muttered response.

Steve saw Tony glare at him before getting up, heading out with the others. Steve goes to talk to him but feels someone reach out to him, and he turns to see Wanda, shaking her head.

"It's not worth it," she says softly.

Steve sighs before running a hand along the back of his head, and turning around. "You're right." He looks to Sam and Wanda, who then he nods towards the meeting room. "Let's go call up Bucky."

#bucky barnes fanfiction #dark bucky barnes/oc #eventual dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes/original female character #steve rogers/natasha romanoff

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atths--twice · 3 years

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Chapter Seven

Fox was up at dawn the next morning, packing the last of his items, staring out the window and out to the Nile. No more would they have the luxury of beds, fancy dinners, cool places to seek out for a reprieve.

And he could not have been happier at the prospect of living rough.

A knock sounded at his door, surprising him, believing himself to be the only person who could possibly be awake at that early hour. When he opened it, he found Dana, looking happy, but slightly nervous.

“Good morning,” he said with a smile.

“Hello. I know it’s early, but…” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Would you like to have breakfast? Just you and I, before the others wake to join us?” She smiled and, as always seemed to happen, it caused his stomach to flip.

“I would love to have breakfast with you,” he answered and she nodded. “Let me get my jacket and we can go downstairs.”

It was slightly cooler in the mornings, and he also had something for Dana tucked inside the inner pocket. He had wanted to give it to her on Christmas, but mistakes being made, he was unable to do so. As they would now be alone, possibly for the last time in a while, he knew the timing was perfect.

Closing his door and locking it, he fell in step beside her. She was quiet but seemed to be giving off the same excited energy he himself was feeling. He looked at her appreciatively, the simple yet attractive style in which she dressed always pleasing to behold.

She did not have overly fashionable clothes, but she did not seem to care or desire them. And yet for he, who had grown up with women of all ages dressed in the latest fashions and the best jewels, her simple dress drew him to her even more. Her beauty was held in the simplicity of dress, her manners, and her intelligence.

And her eyes, which spoke to him, even when her mouth did not.

“Have you everything ready?” he asked and she nodded.

“Yes. I packed and repacked last night. Kept thinking I’d forgotten something. Or could rearrange things and find room to add one more thing.”

“Are you needing something?”

“Not at all. I have everything I need,” she assured him with a smile. “It was simply in case I needed or, more accurately, wanted it.” He laughed softly and nodded in understanding.

The dining room was nearly empty, most of the patrons still sleeping. Suggesting a table on the veranda, she accepted and they sat down. She smiled and he smiled back before the waiter walked up to ask them what they wanted to eat.

After he had walked away, he began to reach into his jacket pocket when she let out a deep breath and turned those blue eyes onto him. They were serious and he drew his hand back, folding them in his lap.

“I want to talk about… to tell you why I came here. You’ve never asked and I’ve never volunteered the information, but I want you to know.” She drew in a breath, licked her lips, and closed her eyes briefly. Opening them, she smiled softly and he waited, not wanting to hurry her.

Coffees and sweet biscuits were set on the table and for a few minutes their attention was diverted. When she had taken a few sips of coffee, she nodded and exhaled.

“I… my family is from Maryland, as I told you, and two houses down from us was a family with three children. We all grew up together, though they were slightly older than me. The youngest boy, Matthew…” At this, she trailed off as her hand went to her throat and he knew what she was going to say. He wanted to stop her, tell her it was not necessary, but she had said she wanted him to know, so he would listen.

“Matthew was two years older than me and I…” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head and wiping at her eyes. He swallowed, hating to see her hurting, but knowing there was nothing he could do to help her. “I tagged along with all of them, equally hating and loving him. He treated me like an annoying little sister, but then brought me flowers or held my hand when I had fallen and scraped my knee. He had a way about him. I was in love with him for most of my life.” She smiled at him with tears in her eyes and she sniffled, dabbing her eyes with a napkin.

“He… he never encouraged it, or expected it, showing attention to other girls which broke my heart. But one summer, I stayed with my grandparents and came home in September before school started. I had changed and he noticed, his attention no longer given to other girls, only me. I was fourteen, he was sixteen, and a far off war had recently been declared. Our lives, though not yet consumed by it, soon would be.” She took a second, drinking more of her coffee, not meeting his eyes.

“We were still the same, but different. I had our lives planned in my mind: engaged once I was eighteen, married by nineteen or twenty, a family not far off. I was so happy.” She let out such a shuddering breath, Fox reached for her hand, not caring what others thought or if she would object. She clung to his hand, still not meeting his eyes, tears on her cheeks.

“Though America had not officially entered the war, we all knew it was imminent. It weighed upon everyone. The Lusitania…” She shook her head and closed her eyes. He knew what she was thinking and it made his stomach turn. Opening her eyes, she exhaled quietly. “When Matthew turned eighteen, in August of 1916, he enlisted in the military. He was so proud, ready to fight the Germans and stomp them out. I was terrified.”

“Dana,” Fox said, as she began to cry quietly, but she shook her head, determined to see her story through.

“When… when war was declared… he was so happy. Oh, that makes him sound… I didn’t mean-”

“I understand,” he whispered and she nodded, her head down.

“He left not long after for training and then to England. He asked me to promise to wait for him. It was the easiest promise I ever made.” She blew her nose in the napkin and wiped her eyes. “He arrived in England in June of 1917 and was killed in October of the same year.” She covered her face and cried and he swallowed down the large lump in his throat, turning his head to give them both a chance to compose themselves.

When he had, he looked at her, seeing her tears were subsiding as she took deep calming breaths. Uncovering her face, she looked at him, tears clinging to her lashes.

“My life was planned. I only wanted a husband and a family. And I lost it all. My life ended when his did. My heart was broken.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It was… I can’t describe it. I…” She wiped her eyes and shook her head. “I was devastated. Then angry. Then devastated again. My brother came home, wounded but alive, and I hated him for it. My sister’s husband had not fought, a childhood illness of scarlet fever keeping him from doing so. I hated him too. I hated all of them, until I found an old book of mine, one Matthew and used to read together, about the gods and goddesses of Egypt, planning one day to see them together. That’s when I read about Kha’ari. When my heart was broken, I found her.”

He took a drink and tried to dislodge the lump which once again sat there, as she cried softly for a second.

“My path was clear, I needed to come here, to find her temple. My parents didn’t want me to leave, my father was adamant that I stay, wanting to keep an eye on me, but I was still angry, still hurting. I had to leave. I came here with my aunt and uncle, two people who knew to keep quiet about subjects and let me grieve. They helped set me up at my flat and get me the job at the museum in a training program. They left me and for the first time I felt like I could breathe. When I discovered there was not a temple dedicated to Kha’ari, I was broken again. I did my work, but felt empty for quite a while. But when King Tutankhamun was discovered, I once again felt hopeful. Felt that spark within me ignite, just as it did for you.”

She smiled and he stared at her, once again amazed by her, and by women in general. Women who suffer and hurt, yet carry on every day without giving any indication of their pain.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again and she frowned. “I had no idea.”

“I hadn’t told you, how could you have known?” she asked softly.

“I kissed you. I… should not have done that, not when you…”

“Fox…”

“I took liberties and you’re… grieving… you’re hurting.”

“No, Fox,” she said, softly still. “No. Well, not exactly. I did grieve. I suppose I always will, but it’s… mellowed. It’s evened out. I’m not hurting anymore. Not the way I was. I have a new path now. It’s this… and after this… I don’t know. But, my grief and pain are no longer the same.”

“That’s why you want to find it. To thank her,” he stated, as it all finally made sense and she smiled.

“When I first arrived and did not find it here, when all I had wanted was to offer up my pain to her and have it taken from me, I wanted it for different reasons. But now, five years have passed since the worst day of my life, and yes, I want to thank her.”

He stared at her and felt a new desire grow within him. If it took years, he would work to find that temple for her, to present to her the opportunity to give her proper thanks.

If she asked him for the moon, he would attempt to try, wanting nothing more than to see her happy.

____________________

They were quiet after her story, but a comfortable quiet that did not feel strained. He kept feeling he should reciprocate with his own story, but it did not feel like the right moment. That had not been what drove her to speak, so he remained silent.

“The dress your mother sent two years ago,” he said, her eyes raising to his in question, as the puzzle pieces he knew of her life began to fall into place.

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “She sent it with a note hoping it would be something I would wear ‘out with a young man.’ I never found an occasion worthy of it, until recently anyway.” She smiled and he nodded.

“Or the young man, I suppose,” he joked and she held his gaze, saying nothing as she then looked away.

Clearing his throat, finding double meaning in her answer, or lack thereof, he once again reached toward his jacket pocket and took out the gift he had purchased for her a few days past, placing it onto the table. Pushing it toward her, he watched her looking at it.

“I noticed that your journal was nearly full as you wrote in it recently. I knew you needed a new one, and I had planned on making it a Christmas gift, but…” He pulled his hands back and she smiled as she looked at the dark, rich brown of the leather.

“Thank you. I was in need of a new journal… oh, Fox…” she breathed and then gasped as she opened the journal and saw what he had added to it.

Every night before he had gone to sleep, he sketched copies of his sketches from his own journal into hers. The first three pages were dedicated to the sketches of what they had seen and what had caught his eye.

“This is beautiful. Oh, the details of this one… Fox. This is from Karnak. I remember turning around and you weren’t there. I came back and you were sketching this one.” She looked up at him and he smiled with a nod. “Thank you, this is an amazing gift. One I will treasure always.”

He nodded, saying nothing, her story weighing heavily on his mind as they finished their meal. He was thoughtful as they left the veranda and for the first time, her words did not reach his ears as they walked and she spoke to him. His mind was full and he needed time to think of all he had learned.

The arrival of the men was a welcome distraction, their excitement driving away the heaviness of the morning. They were all laughing and talking, Pierre both writing and signing.

Their trunks were brought down and added to the wagons, a third one procured for all of the extra bits they had not accounted for, the others too full to hold any more.

They had to ferry across the river one wagon at a time, the weight of all too heavy to sustain them if they did not. Once they were all together, they set off. Akl drove one wagon, his boys the others, with everyone else on horseback, using borrowed horses which would be brought back when they were settled.

It would take nearly three full days to reach their final destination, needing to stop and camp for two nights. The weather was perfect, the sky cloudless, the company easy. No one could have asked for a better start.

By the time they stopped for the day, they were sore and tired. Akl’s sons began to prepare a fire as he set about making them dinner.

The three men insisted they had bedrolls and were not in need of a tent for two nights, so long as the fire was warm, they would be quite fine.

Fox insisted they put up the smaller tent for Dana, and though she refused, not wanting to be of any trouble, with the help of Sobek and Atum it was quickly erected and her bed made up. As she stepped inside to have a look at it, she brushed Fox’s arm, her eyes thanking him.

They ate and sat around the fire talking, getting to know one another better.

John, 28, was from Kansas, the middle of six boys, and the son of a very tough man to please. He was cruel at times, enticing his sons to squabble and fight one another, believing it made them stronger. No weak sons for him, thank you.

“Although it doesn’t excuse me,” John said, as he looked at Dana. “It’s part of why I was willing to leave when we first met. My father’s voice in my ear telling me a man should never be led by a woman. That I was weak if I allowed it.”

“I understand. I do,” Dana said softly, but she shook her head. “It doesn’t mean that it’s right, however. To be diminished because of my sex… to be thought as less than another, it is unfair.”

Pierre clapped his hands at this, nodding vigorously and tapping his chest. He signed something to John, who nodded and signed back with a rueful smile.

“Yes, it is unfair and I apologize again, to you both. For my thoughts were somewhat similar when I met Pierre, though it was wrong of me.” He nodded at his friend again. “It’s hard. To get that voice out of your head, even after all this time. I haven’t seen my father in nearly ten years. I left home when I was eighteen, moving from place to place doing odd jobs and never went back. I got into a lot of scraps and some of them… I’m surprised I survived. Surprised I survived that, more than I survived the war. But I did and I learned from them, though not enough it seems. I apologize to you once again, Miss Scully.” He bowed his head to her and she smiled kindly at him.

“For the last time,” she stated softly and he grinned as he met her eyes, his forgiveness granted.

Charles, 30, was from London, very near Fox’s family, though they had never met. He had two younger sisters, both now married and in the country somewhere.

“I’ve been away from home for a long time myself. After the war, I couldn’t go back. I was different and the thought of home did not hold the same appeal. My mother had passed while I was in Belgium, the letter from my sister reaching me nearly a month after it happened. I… I read it and put it in my pocket, took one breath, and was back to the fight. I had no time to think about it, to dwell and remember her. I felt nothing because I would not allow myself to do so. I was twenty three, in the middle of a bloody war, and it was I, not my mother who survived.” He shook his head and wiped at his eyes quickly. Pierre clapped him on the back gently and Charles nodded.

“When the war was over, I couldn’t go home. Not even for my sisters. I had to leave, to go anywhere. Anywhere hot. I’d spent nights freezing without a fire and I could not abide a cold London winter. I had to go somewhere warm. I traveled through Africa, visiting many of its countries. I like it here, this continent suits me.” Dana smiled at him and he nodded. Pierre rubbed his back again and looked at Dana and then John.

“Right,” John said. “Charles and I know Pierre’s story, having heard it before, but Charles is not as fluent in sign language as I am, so I’ll be translating for him.” Pierre smiled at Dana again and she smiled back. He began to speak with his hands and John spoke his words quietly.

“I am twenty five, from Bordeaux. My parents have a vineyard there and I have two brothers. An older and a younger. I don’t remember ever being able to speak, though my parents said I did. I fell when I was two and was in the hospital for a long time, though I have no memory of it. I was brought to Paris by train and had surgeries done as my brain was swollen. I survived them, though it was a long time in the hospital, again something I do not remember much of, but from it, I was left unable to speak. I eventually attended schools for the deaf and the mute where I learned sign language. My parents thankfully did not lose their vineyard, as my injuries and costs thereafter were expensive, but it thrived. I will never be in charge of it, my…” Here Pierre paused his hands and took a deep breath. “My younger brother will, my older brother having died in the war.”

It was now Charles’s turn to offer support, his hand on Pierre’s shoulder. Pierre nodded and then shook his head, his hands once again moving quickly.

“I came to Italy four years ago, a doctor there claiming he could treat and cure muteness. I…” Again he paused, his hands lying in his lap. The fire crackled and they all jumped, laughing in embarrassment. Pierre smiled and began again. “I was in love with a young woman and I wanted to be able to speak to her. To speak the words I love you and not just write them. But the treatment was not what I believed it would be. It was…” He swallowed and wiped at his eyes. “Terrible. Just… terrible. I won’t go into more detail.”

“And you never went back to her?” Dana asked softly. Fox looked at her and saw tears on her cheeks as she stared at Pierre. “You didn’t go home?” He shook his head and looked down at his lap, his hands moving, but his gaze not meeting hers.

“No,” John said for him, his voice very quiet. “I was and still am ashamed. Of my imperfections and my cowardice to face her with them.”

“Oh…” Dana breathed and she began to cry softly. Pierre looked up at her and then stood to his feet, walking close to her. He handed her a handkerchief and she took it, grasping his hand. “I’m so sorry. If she loved you, she saw past what you consider imperfections. I know she did.” He shook his head and shrugged, sitting back down as the rest of them were silent.

Dana, after her tears subsided, told them about herself and Matthew. Fox was thankful to her for telling him privately that morning, the shock and pain at hearing her pain would have been hard to hear in front of strangers. He would have been unable to hide his feelings and desire to comfort her.

When she had finished, Pierre was sitting beside her, holding her hand. Their stories were somewhat similar, thus they seemed to find comfort with one another.

All eyes turned to Fox and he cleared his throat. He had never told Dana his whole story and as he relayed it now, of being stabbed and shot, his multiple illnesses both during and after the war, she rose from her seat and sat close to him, taking his large hand in her small one. She would squeeze it when he paused, needing a second to compose himself, the panic rising within him. When he was done, she remained next to him, now holding his hand in both of hers.

“Bloody hell,” Charles said, shaking his head. “We’re all quite a broken bloody mess, aren’t we?” They all laughed, Dana wiping her eyes as she did, still holding onto Fox’s hand with the other.

“I’d say so,” John said almost bitterly. “And with that, I think I’m going to call it a night.”

They all agreed and stood to make their beds ready. Fox walked Dana to her tent and she stopped at the door before going inside. She searched his face and he smiled, not wanting her to worry. She took his hand and squeezed gently.

“Goodnight, Fox,” she whispered.

“And to you, Dana.”

One more squeeze and she let go of his hand, stepping inside the tent. He waited for a second and then rejoined the men around the fire.

He lay on his back looking up at the stars, the sand cool beneath his fingers, and he thought of what Charles said; they were all a broken mess, each in their own way. He turned onto his side and stared at Dana’s tent, hoping she was asleep or at least near to it.

A snore from Akl, around his own smaller fire with his sons, came from his left. The other men seemed to be asleep already also. He closed his eyes, his thoughts once again on Dana, hoping she was able to find peace as she slept.

#The X-Files #XF Fanfic #Alternate Universe #Historical AU #Egypt #On The Road To Discovery #Nearly There

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