You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 12: My Heart Is Beating For You Constantly

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter twelve of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 9.1K (I got really carried away)

Warnings: I'm going to label this one 18+ just in case. References to sex, Implied Sex, Heavy Making Out (not really explicit, but also not real un-detailed…), Cursing, Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, Soft Soldier Boy, Angst, Fluff.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

A/N: The song they dance to is "You Call It Madness, But I Call It Love" by Russ Columbo.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

**************************************

1984

You take a sip of wine, leaning over your coffee table to pull another photo from the Rosewood box perched on the edge. It's your birthday, your 65th birthday to be exact, of course one look in the mirror revealed that you barely looked over 30. To some women that might be a welcome thought, but given your current situation it wasn't.

It marked the fourth year since you told Ben that you were unhappy on Payback and as a supe, told him that you wanted a normal life, and four years after you'd let him talk you into staying. But this was the year. You were going to tell him that you were done, that you were moving on and getting out.

Unfortunately the only person you had to convince about letting go was yourself, because leaving meant giving up Ben. And you weren't sure that was something you could do.  You were having a hard time convincing your heart to let go of him or rather the old version of him, that only made it's appearance when it was the two of you. The memories that tied you to Ben were tight and difficult to unravel. You couldn't imagine your life without him, couldn’t see past this moment in your life.

But that's why you had to go. You knew you were in too deep. Fantasizing about a  relationship with someone who would never love you the same way you loved them, hoping in something that would never happen. And you needed to let him go, whether it be the new version of him or the boy you used to know, you needed to let Ben go.

The Rosewood box was filled with photos, old doodles, memories, and objects from your past. Usually it was stored under your bed, but tonight you had dragged it out into the living room to reminisce on your birthday. It was a tradition you started a few years ago as a way of remembering the past. Sometimes it was a welcome distraction from the way things were now and tonight you were letting it be a last supper of sorts, to indulge in the memories Ben and you had shared over the years before you told him that you were leaving.

You had no idea where you were going, but the thought excited you a little bit. Finally striking out on your own for the first time, doing something for yourself for once, it felt right.

Leaving Ben was the only thing that felt wrong. You wanted him to come with you, for him to choose you the way that you chose him that night, but you knew he wouldn't. He liked this life too much to let it go, he thrived in the spotlight, embraced everything about being a supe that you hated, and so you would let him go.

You look down at the strip of paper in your hand. It was a collection of photos from a photo booth, yellowed with age, but lined up one by one from the first baseball game Ben ever took you to, one of your favorite memories from your childhood. You were wearing the ridiculous pinstriped hat and Ben looked as handsome as he always did, smiling wide with his dark hair hanging in his face. It was hard to look at it now, hard to look at Ben and you when you were so young, and you didn't know where your lives were going to go.

Your eyes drift to the velvet case pressed into the corner of the wooden box. You had kept the ring that Howard got you, well, technically you had tried to give it back but he refused, begging you to reconsider.

Sometimes you thought about throwing it away. It was ugly, but it was a reminder. Not a reminder of Howard, you could barely remember what he looked like, but it was a reminder of the night Ben asked you to come with him. You could remember the earnest look in his eyes, how he cupped your face, and the promise he made to you. The future he promised had been filled with so much possibility, but you weren’t sure anymore. You think about the years you'd spent together and how leaving felt like the end of an era.

But it was necessary, breaking away from all of this would be good. Yes you would miss Ben, but you needed to move on. You knew that deep down. Because you wanted something more than all of this, and the night Ben asked you to come with him you thought he could give it to you, but after all these years you understood that he couldn’t and that he didn’t want to.

Someone knocks loudly on your door.

“One second.” You take the last sip of wine before standing and crossing the room to open the door. “Hey what are you doing here?”

Ben is standing in the hallway outside your apartment, looking handsome as always. He's wearing a tailored dark suit with a black tie, his hair is combed back from his face, dark stubble graces his rugged jaw and a wide smile pulls up at the ends of his lips that makes it very hard to focus on anything else. “Happy Birthday Sweetheart.” 

“I’ve had too many birthdays.” You laugh and wave a hand to brush it off. “What are you doing here, I thought you had an interview about the premiere tomorrow?”

Tomorrow night was the premiere of the third and final installment of Anti-Communist films that Ben was currently staring in. The first two had been utterly ridiculous and you knew that the one tomorrow would be just as pointless. Which you knew for a fact, because one day Ben asked you to meet him on set and you saw a scene he was filming, not to mention one time he tried to get you to run lines with him and you told him you'd rather drop dead than read Countess' lines, who took the co-star role when you refused. Ben’s offer of the co-starring role to you had been his way of appeasing you after you told him you were unhappy. When you refused, Countess had been more than willing to slide into it.  Who was still trying her upmost to get into Ben's pants, but he still completely ignored her, which gave you an unmeasurable amount of joy.

“I told them that I couldn’t miss my girl's birthday.” Ben smiles wider. “Plus I’d much rather spend tonight with you than those fucking vultures and I’ve never missed your birthday.”

Instead of the words "my girl" filling you with happiness as they had the first night Ben said it in the dancehall, they only make you frustrated. He had called you that several times over the years you'd been friends and each time it made you more and more angry. You were tired of it. Tired of Ben acting like Ben only when it was the two of you. Tired of Ben acting like he cared and like he wanted to be more than friends only to crush you the next day. Tired that he called you “my girl” and then did nothing that meant more than friends.  You loved him more than you’d loved anyone ever, took care of him, did everything you could for him, and each time when he didn’t acknowledge it, you felt like you weren’t enough. It made you feel like a kid again when you tried your upmost to please your mother only to have her be disappointed in you each time.

“That’s sweet.” Anger and frustration burns in the back of your throat, but you push it down with a tight lipped smile.

“And I got us reservations, so go get dressed.”

"What?"

"I got reservations. Come on." Ben makes a gesture with his hand.

“Oh I’m okay, I was just going to-“ You motion back at the bottle of wine, the couch, and the box of photos.

“No. I’m not going to let you sit here on your birthday. Come on. Let’s go.” Ben takes your arm and turns you around gently pushing you towards the small hallway that leads back to your bedroom with his hand on the small of your back.

You brace yourself for the warmth that follows with the brush of his fingers against you, but each time you're unprepared for how it makes you feel when he touches you.

“But I don’t have anything to wear! And if you do have a reservation, how much time do I have?” You argue, trying to come up with an excuse to avoid dinner.

As much as you wanted to go, you didn't want to sit there and pretend to be happy. You were tired of doing that, but then you raise your head to look Ben in the eye.

He's smiling down at you the same way he always has, looking like the boy who climbed in your window after flunking out of boarding school to bring you paint and your resolve wavers. You hated saying no to him.

Damn it.

“By the time you stop making excuses it will be time to go. And as sexy as those pajamas are, you can’t wear them to a restaurant.” Ben teases, tugging on the bottom oversized paint-splattered shirt you were wearing

“Fine.” You grumble, cheeks flushing bright red as you snatch the shirt from his hand. “Give me ten minutes.”

**************************************

"Shut up." Ben laughs from across the table at you. "Your mother loved me!"

His laughter is contagious, making your own release from your lips and ease the tension you are holding in your chest.

The Italian restaurant is small and filled with the soft lit of music from the band in the corner, the rich aromatic smell of food, and has the calming atmosphere of a intimate bar. When Ben parked out front, you were surprised. He usually liked the restaurants on page 6 where other heroes would be found eating and places where he could be photographed for the news, but this place was different, it was almost, special. And the way Ben was acting was unusual.

He'd walked around the car after he parked and took your hand in his, to lead you down the steps to the front door where a hostess had asked for his name. Ben had used his real name rather than Soldier Boy for a reservation and when you walked out of your bedroom wearing the dress you found at the back of your closet that you had for emergencies, you swore you saw his eyes darken as they trailed across your body making your breath catch in your chest. It was odd. Ben had taken you out for your birthday before, but tonight seemed to be filled with a palpable tension and electricity that you couldn’t place.

Then again, you were probably imagining it like always.

The restaurant was perfect, it made you forget about being a supe and the glamorous lifestyle that Ben indulged in and allowed you to pretend that you were normal. However, while you sat there together, you tried not to think about what you were going to have to tell him eventually, that you were leaving. He would ask for an answer why and you’d try to tell him the same thing you told him four years ago while avoiding screaming “because I love you, you fucking idiot” at the top of your lungs. 

But it was difficult to find a way to tell him, not when he had a soft smile on his face and every few minutes Ben would find some reason to touch you. So you allowed yourself to indulge in this, to have this last wonderful memory together before you have to tell him. And in doing so, you let yourself forget being a supe, forget everything else but Ben and you in this moment.

"Oh sure, you were her favorite." You snort into your wineglass. "She put a crucifix up over my window to keep you out. Every time you went to a new boarding school, she prayed in the living room with a rosary to God begging him to keep you far from me and she cried whenever you came back. Not to mention when you got me thrown out of boarding school she forbade me from seeing you-"

"But you couldn’t stay away." Ben sing-songs with a grin before taking a sip from his glass. "And your roommate was a fucking snitch."

"She was." You smile down at the table. "I also think she was a little jealous." You lean back in your chair, holding the wineglass in your right hand.

"Oh and why is that?" Ben's smirk widens.

"Don't make me say it-" Your eyes roll.

"Oh I want to hear you admit it." He leans towards you across the table, eyes shining with a mischievous glint that makes it suddenly hard to breathe.

“Not going to happen.”  You look around the room to distract yourself with the other couples.

All the tables around you were full of people sharing stories, holding hands, brushing feet under the table and for the first time you weren't jealous of their love. The couple next to you was practically breathing the same air, leaning towards each other with sappy looks in their eyes. You were happy for them, allowed yourself to be filled with compassion at their happiness. You remember what you said to Ben four years ago, about wanting to have someone to come home to, someone who loved you and then remember the night at the dancehall watching the elderly couple dance under the twinkling lights holding each other close and gazing deeply into one another's eyes.

You wanted someone to look at you like that, wanted someone to share you life with. You wanted that so badly, that in this moment you knew that you were making the right decision leaving because you would be closer to getting it, because the man across the table from you might be your best friend and have your heart, but he didn’t want to be more. And as much as it hurt to leave the only man you’d ever loved,  you knew it was the right thing.

Ben taps his index finger on your left hand where it rests on the table between you, drawing your eyes back to his. "Did I lose you Doll?"

"Hmm? No sorry. I was-" You smile at him. "Distracted. What were you asking?"

Ben's gaze shifts to the couple sitting to your right, the one you were watching a second ago, who are holding hands on top of the table. The man says something that makes his date laugh and lean towards him to grasp his other hand. The way he smiles at his date makes you smile. Ben's eyes slide back to yours and an odd look flashes through them that you can't identify.

"You know what I was asking." His index finger begins to brush over your knuckles in a smooth circular motion. Warmth trails with his touch, sending goosebumps dancing up your left arm.

Shock buzzes at the back of your mind, you didn't understand why he was doing that, Ben had barely had anything to drink tonight, in fact that was his first and only Whiskey. Not to mention when he showed up at your door he seemed more sober than usual. He didn't smell like reefer. So for him to touch you this much was unusual, especially when he wasn't drunk or high.

“Come on Sweetheart.” He smiles at you in a way that makes your heart ache.

"Fine. Pearl thought you were devilishly handsome and was upset that I danced with you when I had Howard-"

"Don't mention that pussy." Ben’s smirk drops into a frown and he stops moving his finger against the back of your hand.

"I don't understand why you were so jealous of him." You try not to think about how much you wish he would start moving his finger again.

"I was not jealous of that idiot." Ben rolls his eyes.

"Uh-huh. After all these years, you still can't admit it." You tease him taking another sip of wine. It was giving you a pleasant buzz that made you feel just a little bit warm and bold enough to make you brush your thumb against his where his hand sits only a few millimeters from yours.

If he was touching you, you thought that maybe it would be okay for you to touch him, maybe it was okay to pretend that he wanted to hold your hand as much as you wanted to hold his, like the couple next to you were.

"I will if you admit you were jealous of Missy Callahan." Ben's eyes trail down to your thumb before looking back up at you, waiting for your answer.

"I was not-"

Ben raises an eyebrow. “I can hear your heartbeat Doll.”

“Just as I can hear yours Darling.” You smile back at him.

“Y/n.” He chuckles.

You roll your eyes at his ridiculous smile. "Fine, I will admit that was a little jealous of her, but she was awful.  She was dumb as a rock and she was the most terrible gossip-"

"I knew it." Ben smirks.

You sit there in silence for a minute gazing at Ben, your eyebrow raised. "I'm waiting."

"Oh I'm not going to admit that I was jealous of Howard. I just wanted to hear you say the thing about Missy." Ben laughs, beginning to run his index finger against the back of your hand again. His eyes on yours, as if he's gauging your reaction.

"Bastard." You roll your eyes at him. "Did I tell you that I saw Howard?"

"What?" Ben looks surprised.

"Yeah, when I went to my brother's-" You clear your throat remembering when you saw Howard four years ago. You don’t know why he went to your brother’s funeral, but he was there, gray hair slicked back staring at you open mouthed. The last time you'd seen him was the day after he proposed, when you tried to give him back the ring and he refused, stating that he wanted you to keep it, to think about it. He never got over the break up, never dating anyone else, never married. It had been an awkward reunion, especially since he kept trying to corner you, but you evaded him expertly through the crowd. You weren't interested in making awkward small-talk about the past forty years.

Ben's hand finally slips into yours, intwining your fingers together because he understands what you’re about to say. "I'm sorry I didn't go with you, I should have."

It was weird that Ben wasn’t with you, but it was also weird because you tried to comfort your sister in law and her son and his family, but it felt forced. Ben was the only person who understood what it was like for everyone to age around you while you stayed the same. Standing there to celebrate the life of your brother while you, yourself couldn't die completely or even age felt awkward. You found yourself longing for Ben when you were away, wishing that he was there to hold your hand or try to deflect some of the awkward conversations, none of which were focused on your brother and were all about you being a supe. You hated how much you depended on him.

After the funeral you had stayed in Philadelphia an extra week to help your family and when Ben called to see how you were you broke down on the phone. Ben had showed up within the next hour at your hotel and sat with you while you cried. It was one of your favorite memories, because Ben held you gently against him, whispering "It's okay Sweetheart, I've got you" while you pressed your face into his shirt, letting the smell of whiskey and his cologne soak into your skin. It was so unlike him and it made you believe that Ben wanted more, but then he never acknowledged it, like always.

"Ben it's okay, you were there when it mattered. And you went to both of my parent's funerals. Surprising because my mother would have hated that you were there. Always said you were going to ruin my life." You meant for it to be a joke, but the look in Ben's eyes shifts to something more vulnerable for a millisecond before it hardens again.

"Did I?" He asks quietly. Ben looks down at where he was holding your hand, his thumb beginning to move over the smooth skin on the back.

The question catches you off guard. It was the very question that you had been considering the past few days before you finally decided to leave all of this and your best friend. But the truth was you didn't believe that Ben ruined your life, you blamed yourself, blamed yourself for loving your best friend, blamed yourself for loving someone who didn’t love you the same way.

And it wasn’t that you hated your life, it was different than what you would have planned for yourself, but you liked parts of it. Not to mention you would have hated it more if you had said no to Ben and married Howard. If anything, Ben had saved you and you were thankful for that.

Of course the way he's looking at you and holding your hand is making it difficult for you to consider leaving. It seemed like every time you tried, Ben would do something like this- take you out to dinner or act like he wanted you and only you, and then you would reconsider. Four years ago it had been him holding you after your brother’s funeral and now it was this.

"Ben." You sigh, squeezing his hand and putting as much love into your gaze as you can. "No. You didn't. If anything you freed me. I didn't want to be with Howard and I was too afraid to say it until you asked me to come with you.”

“He could have given you a life though. You said that’s what you wanted.” For a second you think you see Ben’s eyes flick to the couple on your right with his words.

Your mind stutters to a halt in surprise. He remembered what we talked about four years ago? After he almost killed Noir?

“Um-" You clear your throat to recover. "And if you remember that conversation, you should also remember I said I didn’t want that life with Howard.”

“Yes, but you said you wanted to marry someone.” The ends of his lip twitches, but he doesn’t smile. “Still waiting on that wedding invite.” His thumb is stroking long smooth patterns on the back of your hand, making your throat tight and making it impossible to think.

“I’m sure you’ll get it any day now. Legend is happy that I finally said yes.”

“I should have known. Y’all looked pretty cozy at that party two weeks ago.” Ben laughs. “So if you’re engaged to him, does that mean you don’t want your birthday present?”

“I’ve said it once and I’ve said it again, I’m too old for birthdays.”

“Then why did you come out with me?”

“Oh I’m just going to write this off as old friends having dinner. That or a kidnapping. You practically dragged me to the car.”

“Be thankful I let you change.” Ben replies.

“I don’t know, I think I would have really made a statement with my paint splattered shirt and sweatpants."

You’d chosen the dress you were wearing at random. It was a dark green, the same color as Ben’s supe suit, off your right shoulder cinched around your waist and fell elegantly to your ankles. It was one of your favorites, something you believed accentuated your body effortlessly.

"They were something. Though I think that you-" Ben pauses, dropping his eyes to where he's still holding your hand, before looking back up at you. "Um-"

"What?" You smile.

He clears his throat, a soft smile on his face. "I think you look beautiful now too."

Your next words dry up in your mouth, there's not a shred of joking or teasing in Ben's eyes. Ben had said it before, but with a mischievous glint in his eyes, but now there is only sincerity. And it makes your heart jolt out of rhythm.

He said too. That means that he thought I looked beautiful before when I was-

"Thank you." You flush red and squeeze his hand. "I don't think you look too bad yourself, you know, for a old man." You add that last part because you don’t know what to say when he's looking at you like that.

Ben's smile slips into a frown. "You should be nicer to me, I got you a birthday present."

“See, you keep saying that, but I haven’t seen it.”

“I thought you didn’t want it.” The mischievous glint is back in his eye.

“I could be persuaded.” You smirk.

Ben releases your hand and reaches into his coat pocket to pull out a long navy blue velvet box wrapped in a thick silver bow before sliding it across the white tablecloth.

“You get me another paintbrush?” You smirk running a fingertip over the velvet top to examine it while acutely missing the feeling of his hand grasped in yours.

“Something like that.”

“Did you steal it?” You pick up the box and wave it for emphasis, remembering all the times Ben stole little things from the stores that lined Downtown Philadelphia and the box he had hidden under his bed filled with random trinkets.

You never understood why he did that. Ben's family was almost as wealthy as yours and although his father didn't approve of anything Ben was doing, he never cut him off.

“Maybe.” He shrugs and leans on the table towards you, his eyes filled with excitement.

“With how much money they pay you for those ridiculous films you shouldn’t be stealing anything.”

“I’m sure if you sold your artwork instead of shoving it in the closet you’d be just as wealthy as me.”

“Yes, but my grand plan is to have you pay for everything so I can continue to use you and I can’t do that if I’m rich."

“You can use me anytime sweetheart.” Ben winks.

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes at him, but can't stop the blush that stains your cheeks at his insinuation.

Everything about tonight felt just like old times, the way he joked with you and the way you couldn't stop smiling, but at the same time, something else nagged at the back of your mind. The handholding was new, as were the compliments and deeper conversation, especially because Ben wasn't drunk or high, and yet he was being gentler than usual, almost soft. And that was something Ben never was, at least not in public.

You tried not to be frustrated with the turn of events and just enjoy the moment, but deep down you wanted to know.

Was Ben doing this because he cared? Or was he doing this because he sensed I was unhappy and that I was leaving and he thought this was the only way to keep me around?

“Come on, open it.”

“Fine.” You smile down at the box and slowly slide off the bow. “Please tell me you have photos of you trying to tie this bow. Preferably while you were wearing your supe suit.”

“I already destroyed the evidence.”

 “Figures.” You sigh. “Would have been a nice birthday present.”

“I think this is better, but given the pace you’re going at I’ll still be sitting here waiting for you to open it at your next birthday.” Ben takes a drink from his glass.

“Which I won’t be celebrating.”

"Oh you're going to. I’ll make sure.” 

You roll your eyes at him, before finally opening the velvet box and your next joke is forgotten as you struggle to catch your breath. You were expecting something art related. Ben always got you brushes, paints, colored pencils, and any other art supply-like gift, because he knew that you liked those things but not tonight. Because for your 65th birthday Ben decided to get you something that took your breath away.

Nestled in black velvet is a pearl necklace, elegant, beautiful, catching in the fluttering warm light of the restaurant as the band in the corner continues to play a jazzy tune that makes you remember the records your father would listen to while he smoked before bedtime.

“Ben-“ You begin to say, but you can’t finish your sentence, you're too surprised to say anything else.

Not once in all the years you’d been friends had Ben bought you jewelry. Shopping for his birthday was harder, his last one you had gotten him a pair of silver cufflinks that he was currently wearing, but each time you bought him something like that it didn't feel like you were revealing too much about how you felt and it never felt like a gift you would give someone who was more than your friend. But now, staring down at the necklace that Ben bought you feels, intimate almost romantic.

“I remembered how upset you were when you lost the one your dad got you.” Ben says slowly, his eyes on you. “I know it’s not the same one, but the lady in the store said it was the most like the ones they made when we were younger and I thought-“ He rubs the back of his neck. “Um- I thought you’d like it.”

You smile, still unable to speak, fighting the happy tears that build behind your eyes. You had lost the necklace your father got you a few months ago and you tore your entire apartment apart to find it. Ben had walked right into the middle of the chaos and found you a sobbing mess.

Your father had bought it for you on your 23rd birthday. It was your first birthday as a supe and your first one away from home. Your father had it delivered to you with a vase of fresh cut lavender, because you couldn’t go home and he couldn’t get away.  It was one of the last things you had from him, besides the antique watch perched on your wrist.

“I can’t believe you remembered that.” You swallow the ball of emotion lodged in your throat.

“I do listen to you.”

You look up and raise an eyebrow.

“Sometimes.” His soft smile makes you feel light headed and makes you wish all over again that you had the courage to tell Ben the three little words that you'd always wanted to.

“I don’t know what to say-“

“Too much? Because I can take it back and buy you a paintbrush-“ Ben starts to reach for the box, but you catch his hand against the table tangling your fingertips together.

“No. It's perfect. Thank you Ben.”

He looks relieved by your answer. “You’re welcome.”

The soft sounds of conversation swell around you mixing with the tinkling of utensils against plates and the music that pours from the band in the corner where a singer dressed in a long red sequined gown sings a familiar song. But you can't stop admiring the necklace nestled in the fabric, your hand still clasped in Ben's on top of the table.

Ben finally breaks the silence. “Do you want me to help you put it on?”

You blink for a minute to comprehend what he was asking, raising your eyes to his genuine smile. "Please.”

Ben stands from his chair and comes around behind you as you gently twist your hair out of the way, so he has access to your neck. His rough fingertips brush against the smooth skin of your neck sending a shiver down your spine that you hope Ben misses because how would you explain that? When he secures it at the back of your neck you look down at the pearls, holding them between your thumb and forefinger.

"They're beautiful." You whisper, before looking back up at him.

"Yes, beautiful." He responds, but Ben isn't looking at your necklace, his eyes are locked on your face.

What is going on?

"Ben-" You begin to say, attempting for the first time to ask him why he does this, acts different around you, gives you hope and then takes it all away, but he interrupts you.

"Come on." His hand falls on yours and he pulls you up out of your chair, weaving through the other tables to stand in front of the band in the corner. His right hand finds the small of your back, while his left gently holds your right in the air.

"What are you doing?" You ask.

"Isn't it obvious?" Ben smiles. "We're dancing."

"No one else is dancing." You look around the room at the couples sitting quietly together enjoying their meals, who have begun to watch Ben and you sway to the music.

He leans forward to whisper into the curve of your ear. "Then let's show them how it's done Sweetheart."

You can't help but laugh at him, enjoying the way that he feels pressed against you, how it makes you feel alive in the best way, how you feel safe in his arms. Being here, swaying to the last few notes of the song with him made you reconsider leaving again. Ben was the only person who knew you completely, inside and out, the only person who seemed to understand you. Choosing to leave him would be like choosing to leave home, because after everything you'd been through, Ben was home.

As soon as the song ends, the one that follows is familiar, a tune that sparks a memory at the back of your mind. You raise your eyes to Ben's. His are crinkled with his smile, a mischievous glint behind them.

"Ben, did you tell them to play-"

"Yeah. I told them to play our song." He whispers, holding you tighter against him.

The memory of the night you first danced warms against your skin. You remembered it well. It was the night that you almost told him you loved him, the same thing you were considering right now. You couldn't believe that he remembered the song you danced to. You smile at the memory of that night, when Ben punched Howard in the face and it gave you a sickening amount of joy.

“What are you smiling at?” Ben asks you.

“I still can’t believe you hit him.” You shake your head with a laugh.

"He hurt you. And I didn't like that he made me stop dancing with my girl."

You sigh before you can stop yourself the phrase immediately making the laughter dissipate and making the warm feeling at his touch fade. Tonight Ben was again making you think that he wanted to be more, and worst of all it was making it harder to leave. Because what if this was him trying to tell you the only way he knew how? What if this was him finally admitting that he loved you and you just left?

"What?” He frowns down at you.

“I don’t know why you keep calling me that.”

"What?"

"Your 'girl'." You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the frustration from making you say more.

 “You don't think you are?"

“What do you think it means? To me it means being in a relationship with someone. We have been friends for over fifty years and you have never once said that you wanted to be more-"

"I did try to propose.” Ben jokes, not understanding that you’re upset.

"Really? That was your proposal?" You scoff rolling your eyes. "A joke while you were sitting on my shitty couch drunk off your ass while trying to apologize for almost killing Noir and telling me that you hate when I get in your way?  Forgive me for imagining some big gesture and for not swooning."

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Oh please-“

“I’m fucking serious.” He shrugs.

“What?” You look him in the eye to look for the teasing glint, but it's not there, Ben looks serious.

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.” Ben’s eyes lock with yours. “I also didn’t apologize for almost killing him. And I do hate when you get in my way." 

"Yes, I figured that given how angry you looked." You roll your eyes, glancing to look at the couples around you again, but this time the happiness you felt for them is gone. The jealousy is back coupled with the frustration of Ben acting like Ben and then pulling a complete 180 the next day and making you question everything. Because you wanted to exist in the moments that he was still Ben and you didn’t want to leave him, but you did want to leave Soldier Boy. The problem was right now all you saw was Ben and you hated that you couldn’t enjoy it because you knew it would end. Someone would piss him off or he’d get drunk or high or go down the rabbit hole with some other woman and Ben would be gone.

You didn’t understand how he could go from hot to cold so quickly.

“But I didn’t lie when I said I’d never hurt you.” Ben's voice rumbles up through where his chest is pressed against yours.

You want to say that you believe him, but after the past forty years you weren’t sure anymore. And that thought hurt more than anything else. You didn’t know your best friend anymore, and it scared you.

Your eyes are leveled on Ben’s chest, by now he’s stopped swaying you to the music. You know what will happen when you look up into his eyes, he'll make a joke or say something like the last forty years never happened and you'll crumble like always. You can feel his breath against your face, the warmth of his body transferring through his chest and soaking into yours.

“Y/n, please look at me.” He releases your hand and cups your cheek to tilt you head upwards to him. The one still planted on your back slides down to your waist, tightening around you as you lock eyes with him. “You know that I’d never hurt you. Right?”

Ben's eyes lock on yours, the love and care reflected in the irises makes your body burn. He's never looked at you like that, looked at you like you were the only woman in the world and deep down it makes you want to pull him close and whisper the three little words you've wanted to say for fifty seven years.

You focus on Ben's words to shake it off, it was the same thing he’d said four years ago, but this time the air between you is charged with electricity.

And you can’t take it anymore.

“Why?” You whisper.

It catches him off guard. “What?”

“Why are you different with me? When the cameras stop rolling, when the team goes home, when it’s just the two of us, you’re different." You stop to catch your breath.  "Ben, I’ve known you for fifty seven years. And in the last forty you’ve changed. But not around me, not when it’s just the two of us. You show up at my apartment in the middle of the night, we talk, we laugh about the past, you sleep in my bed, you call me 'your girl'-”

“You’ve known me longer than anyone else-” His hand is still cupping your cheek now, thumb gently brushing against the smooth skin making your throat tight.

“But even before all this, when we were still in Philadelphia. You were always around me, showing up, taking me out to do things in the city. Ben, we both know how you are. I watched you chase after whatever caught your eye and even now-“ You shake your head frustrated. “But you never act that way with me.”

Ben is quiet for a minute, his eyes searching yours, soft green in the fluttering lights above your heads. “Because you’re different y/n. You’ve always been different.”

“But that doesn’t tell me why Ben. We’ve been doing this for so long and I want-“ You sigh frustrated with yourself because you can’t say it, can’t say that you want him. “I mean I’m not sure if I can-“ You were going to say that you weren’t sure you could do this anymore, that you wished he would let you go, wished that you could walk away, and wished that he would stop giving you hope that the two of you could be something more because you couldn’t do it.

But the words are stopped when his lips meet yours.

You inhale sharply in surprise, before your entire body melts against his, deepening the kiss as you drag your hands up into his dark hair, while your mind goes blissfully blank. Ben’s mouth is firm but tender against yours, moving in a slow dance that makes warm tingles trail down your spine. The hand that was on your cheek, joins the other on your waist. His hand tightens on your hip as your song continues to play while the other presses against the small of your back to secure you against him. The solidness of his chest is familiar, molding against your curves in the best way as if he was made for you and you were made for him. You feel his thumb begin to circle slowly against the fabric on your hipbone and suddenly you remember the night he helped you loosen your corset and all you wanted was him. You never thought it would feel like this.

When you finally pull away for air, Ben doesn’t let you go far, he leans his forehead against yours, the look in his eyes is surprisingly vulnerable, as if he thinks you’re going to push him away.

“I-“ He begins, his green eyes are wide almost afraid.

Why?

You raise your hands to gently cup his strong jaw, searching his eyes with a smile to confirm you aren't going anywhere, before pulling him back to you for another kiss that makes your toes curl in the tight shoes you forced them into an hour ago. Ben sighs into your mouth, a soft sound that surprises you. You had seen him kiss other people before. Ben was anything but gentle, but now you believed that he reserved that gentleness just for you and it made you feel like you were going to melt into a puddle.

When you pull back again, Ben’s forehead is still against yours, his eyes bright and unmoving from your face. For a moment neither of you speaks, too afraid to break the silence.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours Sweetheart?” Ben asks, the deep rumble of his voice working up through where your chest is pressed against his. His expression is gentle, and he brings up one of the hands that was on your waist to trace the pillow of your lips with his thumb.

And before you lose your nerve your smile curves into a smirk.  “Took you long enough Benjamin.”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes at you.

“Make me.” You mutter against his thumb.

And then he’s kissing you again, moving his lips in tandem with yours while your heart flutters and dances. And you never want it to end, because he's kissing you like he never wants to let you go and you're kissing him like you don't want him to.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Ben mutters against your lips with a smile, his deep eyes catching yours. "Don't be jealous of Missy Callahan. She's nothing compared to you, never has been, never will be."

Your heart warms, cheeks blushing with his words, because even after all these years, Ben still knew exactly what to say. You hold his face reverently, admiring the familiar dips and curves, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "Don't be jealous of Howard. He meant nothing to me. No one means as much to me as you do Ben."  You whisper back before you kiss him and allow yourself to fall again, hoping that this time he’ll catch you.

*************************************

“Did you want something to drink?” You ask Ben, gesturing with your free hand towards the kitchen.

Standing in your apartment feels different post kiss. It feels like this all represents something bigger now. The apartment, him coming upstairs even though he has spent most of the nights here since you bought it and of course the way he’s looking at you, how he’s been unable to stop looking at you since he kissed you.

“Are you going to get it for me?” Ben is still holding your hand, had held it the entire car ride, only releasing it when he got out to open the door for you and then took it again as you walked up to your apartment. His thumb is moving across the back in a soothing motion that makes you want to curl up in the warmth that trails behind like a cat in the sun.

“I’m sure you remember where it is”

“Mhmm.” Ben is eyeing you again, the green in his eyes darkening in a way that makes your throat tight.

You’re not sure who moves first, all you know is that someone closes the distance between you, and you lose yourself in him. Your curves melt against the hard muscles of Ben’s chest and arms as he pulls you into him, his hands  gripping your waist so tight that you know there might be bruises but you don’t care.

Your hands trail up his muscular chest to tangle in his hair, pulling at the darkened strands and forcing his mouth harder against yours.

He tastes like whiskey and smoke, night and day, and all those bittersweet moments you’ve shared over the years you’ve known him. There is no semblance of Soldier Boy left behind, it’s just Ben and you and it's everything you wanted for so long. The kiss is charged with so much emotion and tension you feel something inside you snap and warmth floods your body in its wake. Ben moans into your mouth, his hands coming down to sweep low over your curves and ignites a fire in the pit of your stomach that you’ve never felt before.

There had been others try to do exactly this. Other heroes you politely declined because you didn’t feel anything for them. You remember the kisses with Howard, passionless, boring, but being here with Ben was like nothing you’d ever imagined. The subtle scratch of his scruff against your cheeks makes you lose all feeling in your legs, his strong embrace makes goosebumps burn against your skin, and the sounds he’s making against your lips makes your heart seize in your chest.

He backs you up and you both fall on the couch in a tangle of limbs, his body caging you beneath him while his fingertips boldly trail against your body, finding places that make you moan into his mouth.

You can feel his smirk against your lips and you’ve never felt more sexy in your life. Ben’s moans against every piece of skin he can get his lips against make you blush crimson and echo his cries with soft sounds that make him grip you tighter. His hands are everywhere, coaxing along your curves, discovering places that you didn’t know could be sensitive and that make you gasp and arch against him as he continues to kiss you.

Everything about this feels right, feels perfect, as if you were both made for this exact moment. The subtle drag of his hands against you, the firm assertive way he holds you beneath him, how your body responds to his touch, and the way your heart continues to swell in your chest, frantically beating as if it wishes to break free. You forget about all the other women he's ever been with, all the others he's probably held close, nothing else exists at this moment, nothing else exists except him and you here on this couch. His lips ghost to your neck as he sucks a mark into the column of your throat and you realize he's saying your name over and over the way that no one ever has.

There’s a loud ripping noise and you understand that Ben ripped off the bottom half of your dress, the tattered remains just barely brushing against your thighs. But you can’t be angry with him for that, not when everything he’s doing feels perfect.

Ben’s hands slowly begin to push up the bottom of your now ruined dress and you come back down from your high, feeling the gentle press of his fingers against your thigh as they begin to move upwards.

“Ben-" You breathe.

You hate how breathy your voice sounds, but the new sensations running through your body are almost too overwhelming for you to gain control of. If you weren't both as indestructible as you were you would be afraid of the possibility of killing Ben.

He moans into your neck, working his hand up further to a place that makes your grip his shoulders tight and you leave bruises of your own, because you’re the only person strong enough to bruise him, to leave marks against his almost invulnerable skin. And it makes a shudder go down his spine.

"Ben wait-"

He stops, looking down at you with wide eyes, pupils dilated in a way that almost sends you back into a frenzy with him. "What's wrong?" He is also out of breath, chest rising and falling fast. You can hear his heart beat thundering in his chest, beating in tandem with yours.

“Before we do this I just want to tell you that I’ve never-" You bite your lip nervously. "I've never done this before.”

“This?” He looks confused, withdrawing his hand from under your ruined dress.

“Well- you know." You gesture between the two of you. "This.”

"You've never had sex with anyone before?"

"No." You flush bright red wondering if that's a deal breaker for him. If he wanted someone more experienced. "I’m sorry."

He sits there for a minute, staring down at you. "Why are you apologizing?” Ben’s hand brushes your hair away from your face in a gentle gesture, so different than the heavy caresses of his hands against your curves he did earlier.

“I don’t know.” You whisper embarrassed. “I just- everyone else has and I’m pretty sure you have with millions of people.”

“Well not millions.”

“But still.” You suddenly think that this was a giant mistake, that you should just go to your room in shame. You drop your eyes to his chest embarrassed.

His hands are stroking along your waist, toying with the frayed edges of your dress. “Y/n.” He whispers.

“What?” You mumble.

Ben raises his hand to cup your cheek, turning your gaze back on him. The way he’s looking at you causes a hot jolt of energy to race down your spine and makes you wish that you were more confident or knew what you were doing.

 He’d been with hundreds of women all kinds of women and what had I been doing all these years? Nothing and no one. I’m not really sure if I understood the mechanics OF sex- but oh how I wished. My head was just getting in the way of everything else as usual.

“I will admit that I have slept with a lot of women.” Ben sighs. “But it’s okay. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to-“

“I want to.”

 “Are you sure? I don’t know if I’m the best person for this-“ And for a moment you think he looks almost worried.

Why would he think that?

“I’m sure. I want it to be you. I’ve always wanted it to be you.” You breathe, running your hands through his hair, your cheeks flushing bright red with your confession, afraid that you’re saying too much, giving too much away as to how much he means to you.

“Really?” Ben smiles in a way that makes your breath catch.

You nod.

“I can’t promise it won’t hurt.” The darkness in his eyes shifts to something else and for a moment it’s difficult for you to form a sentence. He leans his forehead against yours, searching your eyes.  “I don’t want to hurt you.” Ben whispers it like a secret.

“You’re not going to hurt me. I trust you Ben.” You whisper, knotting you hands in his hair.

“You do?”

You nod your head. “And I’m pretty sure that I’m just as capable of hurting you-“

“Maybe.” The look in his eyes is back, blazing through his green irises in a way that makes your throat swell closed. He bends over to whisper against the curve of your ear. “Then again, I kinda like that Sweetheart.” His lips brush just behind your right ear, making a shiver go down your spine. Ben smiles at your reaction before he dips down to kiss you, but it’s different, the kiss is soft, trusting, and not the previous manic haze of desire it was previously. “ I know you think it’s a big deal, but I like that I’m your first. Because it means that no other man has touched you, made you feel any of the things that I’m going to do to you, and that I’ll never have to share you with anyone else.” His grip on your waist tightens possessively. “That you’ll be completely and utterly mine and no one else can do a damn thing.”

You inhale and try not to faint from the darkened look in his eyes. “Well when you put it that way-“

“Come on.” Ben stands from the couch.

Before you can get up to follow he picks you up like you weigh nothing causing you to automatically wrap your thighs around his waist as he kisses you feverishly again, wiping your mind of anything and everything but him.

“What are you doing?” You breathe, entangling your hands at the nape of his neck to secure yourself.

“I’m not going to let your first time be on some shitty couch.” He mutters against your lips while adjusting his grip under your legs

And with that he takes you down the hall and kicks your bedroom door closed behind you.

********************************************

A/N: Well it finally happened. Unfortunately this is also when all hell breaks loose…

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303 @deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs @bughill126, @simplyfixated @sleepjam, @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts,@onlyangel-444 @lov3vivian @mxltifxnd0m @mayafatimakhan

Part V

Word count: 3000+

Warnings: none

Autumn themed divider by tsunami-of-tears

Part IV | Part VI

You woke up carefully tucked under warm covers in the bed even though you were certain you fell asleep on your usual spot. Soft light of the early morning filtered through the open curtains, changing every glass surface into kaleidoscope of colours. Maids drew curtains every evening, but you liked to watch the night sky and count stars, so after maids left for night, you always opened them again. Seeing those blinking lights, you didn't feel so lonely.

When your eyes got used to brightness, a clear blue sky without a single cloud greeted you, accompanied by colourful leaves dancing in a gentle breeze. For a while you just lay there and watched the show. It was comforting. Your thoughts were wandering until they stopped at a certain one.

Sighing heavily you rolled to the other side. You didn't want to get up. Maybe if you said that you didn't feel well, they would let you be. Just imagining that you would have to go to the garden today as well, made you feel sick. You were sure that you were supposed to take a walk and not to train for marathon. The other day you had to run for hours after the maids, so as not to get lost in this great labyrinth of corridors and winding paths. You didn't even have a chance to look around or stop to catch a breath. In the evening you were so tired that you fell asleep as soon as maids were gone.

With a groan you sat up, your entire body protested in pain. Whether you wanted or not, you had to get up. It was your husband's order. You couldn't ignore it, if you wanted him to notice you more in the future.

As soon as you limped to the vanity and with hiss took a seat, someone knocked. The doors opened and two maids walked in.

"Good morning, my Lady. How did you sleep?"

Astonished you looked up. Those were clearly not the maids who had been taking care of you until now. They were always very reserved and talked with you only when it was necessary.

"We are new here, madame. I'm Ellen."

"And I'm Irene. We are so happy to be able to serve you."

They bowed with wide smiles. You gaped at them, eyes wide. You weren't sure how to respond to such friendly greeting.

"I-.. It's nice to meet you," you blushed.

Their smiles only grow wider and they immediately got to work.

"You are so pale, madame. Are you sure you feel well? Should we send for healer?" Ellen asked as she carefully combed your tangled hair.

"That won't be necessary. I think I'm fine," you answered shyly.

Irene emerged from the closet with comfortably looking shoes that matched with the dress that they helped you to get in. "Hopefully the walk on fresh air will make you feel better, madame," she smiled kindly. "The weather is really nice today, it certainly will be a warm day."

It was hardly thirty minutes since they appeared, yet you already felt so good in their company that you dared to do a small talk with them. You were sure that the thing you were about to suggest, wasn't common and at home you would be severally punished for even thinking about it, but you felt uneasy every time these two lovely girls called you madame. There was also a chance that they would laughed you out. Nonetheless, you wanted to give it a try. You gathered courage, took a deep breath and let the words out before you could change your mind.

"You can call me Y/N," you whispered almost inaudibly.

Their eyes widened so much that they threatened to fall to the floor and roll away. "Are you sure we can, madame? Won't you mind it?"

You shook your head and they squealed happily in unison. They started chirping merrily about anything that came to their minds, trying to engage you in conversation even more than before. You, on the other hand, peeked at them curiously whenever you had an opportunity.

They both looked young, around your age, but they could be already century or two old. Ellen had dark brown hair that in waves fell to her shoulders and heart shaped face with soft green eyes. Irene was a bit taller than her friend, with light reddish brown hair combed into a ponytail, big brown eyes and a few freckles on her nose. They both were real beauties and seemed to be kind-hearted and cheerful.

Unlike the previous maids, they weren't in hurry once you left the chambers and made sure you get to know your surroundings and learn way back to your bedroom. Slowly walking down the hallways, they pointed out in different directions, naming and showing you the rooms and ballrooms that you passed by. It helped a great deal and you didn't feel so lost in this enormous castle anymore, even though you doubted you would remember it all on the first try.

As the huge glass double doors to the garden came to view, soldiers guarding there, friendly winked at girls, moved from their stances and opened them wide for you. The brisk air filled your lungs and cooled down your hot faces. Inside of the castle was nicely warm, but as you were walking around it became too hot and you almost started sweating. However now, you were grateful for the extra layer in form of cardigan that maids found for you.

"What a beautiful day," Ellen chirped with arms spread wide. "It's so nice to be outside and not have to worry that someone gets mad at me for that."

"And the smell," Irene sighed taking a deep breath. They seemed to be happy that they could get out of the castle. "I have aunt in Spring. Air there is sweet and full of scents of all kinds of flowers that bloom there, but nothing beats the smell of Autumn."

Imitating Irene you stopped and inhaled deeply. You didn't have time to notice it before, but the air was really fresh here, the earthy scent with pinch of sweetness calling you out. Maybe it wasn't a punishment after all.

"Hmm," Ellen pouted. "You are so lucky that you can travel to other courts. I'd love to see the world, too."

Stepping onto a narrow path between the flower beds, loose strands of your hair danced in the gentle breeze that brought a familiar scent of apples. With a hope you looked around finding nothing just flowers, trees and bushes, and your two maids discussing which Court they would like to visit and why. Shaking head at your naivity you looked up at the windows of the castle with a sad smile.

'Which one could be his,' you wondered. It'd been weeks since you saw him for the last time. If he didn't carry you to the bed every night, you would think that he even wasn't here.

You turned back to your companions who patiently waited for you with knowing smiles. You didn't even notice that they stopped talking. Caught in the act, you blushed fiercely, but they didn't tease you, only gave you a sympathetic look.

Irene and Ellen weren't in hurry like the other maids. They matched their steps with yours, letting you look around as long as you wanted, often stopping you to show you something they found.

"Y/N, look here," Ellen called you and pushed away the twigs of the bush. There was a bunch of delicate flowers blooming on long leafless stems in shades of pink and white. They were so lovely, sparkling as if dusted with glitter powder. Irene came closer, too.

"I didn't know that we have some nerines here, too. They are blooming mainly in southern garden."

"I discovered them by chance last week. I was looking for my favourite hair clip that I dropped somewhere around here. I haven't found it though," Ellen pouted sadly.

"Nerines?" you asked, studying the flowers and committing them to your memory.

"Yes. Do you have them in your Court, too?" Ellen was curious.

"I'm not sure," you flushed. "I wasn't allowed to go out."

"Oh," they both said in unison and looked at each other with raised brows. You tried to ignore their reaction. It was already quite embarrassing to admit your lack of knowledge about.. well, everything. They nodded as if they had just agreed on something even though they didn't say a single word. With kind smiles they turned back to you.

"They are also known as cliff lilies," Irene said and caressed one petal with a finger. "Every flower has some meaning. These, for example, symbolise connection, joy, freedom and security."

"And the affection," Ellen added with laugh. "The flowers are beautiful, but otherwise useless. It's pity."

"Useless? Why?"

"You know. Some plants or their parts can be used in medicine or cooking. However, this one is good only for decoration."

"I see," you bit your lower lip.

Useless.

Good only as a decoration.

You were called useless your entire life. And the worst was that it was true. You knew nothing about the world, you were lucky to at least be able to read. You were taught how to behave, how to serve to male, not how to live or actually do something useful. Your father raised you to be a decoration of a husband, a porcelain doll with nice face to be showed off and then destroyed behind the closed door. In a way you were alike. Only difference was that you could never be as beautiful and magical as this flower.

You smiled to yourself and stood up, leaving the beautiful nerines behind. Maybe your reasons weren't right, but it became your favourite flower. A tiny florets with layers of delicate, ruffled petals and radiant colours immediately caught your eye.

"What are these called?" you pointed at them.

"Those are marigolds," Irene answered in an enthusiastic voice. "My favourite."

"They are your favourite only because they remind you of a male you like. Even his hair colour is similar to these," Ellen teased her laughing and Irene stuck her tongue out at her, but she laughed, too. You watched them amused.

"Well, what if even so? I like them mainly because they represent power, strength and light inside of a person," Irene countered.

Ellen giggled. "Are you describing him or the flower? And don't forget about feeling of despaired love," she sang. "He is too important to notice you."

"Hush," Irene blushed. "I know he will never think of me in a romantic way, but girl can dream."

That day you learned a lot of new things and had so much fun. Your maids who you already liked dearly, taught you names, meanings and uses of flowers that bloomed in the garden and in the end you spent entire morning outside. When you returned for lunch, you were tired, but in a good way and not because you had to run.

The following morning you woke up with a bright smile and it grew even bigger when you found a pink nerine on a pillow next to you.

Joy and security.

That's what you had been experiencing since coming here. And you felt that all only thanks to your husband, Eris. You couldn't be more grateful. You'd never thought that marriage could give you this much of a freedom and allow you to experience new and especially nice things. You used to think that it would be just another horrible prison for you, one you would have to suffer in for the rest of your life. Just like your mother.

Your heart flipped as you remembered that this fairy-like flower symbolised also affection. You wondered whether Eris had left it here for you because of what it symbolised or just because he heard that you liked the flower. Whatever was the reason behind this surprising present, now you wanted to get to know him and spend time with him even more.

You carefully picked up the flower and nuzzled it to you chest right over the heart, tears stinging your eyes. This gesture however insignificant for others, meant a world to you. Now you missed only one thing - the person who gave it to you - and you would be completely happy.

Maids beamed when they found you playing with the flower later that morning and immediately knew exactly where it came from. Ellen gently picked on you with kind smile while Irene disappeared for a moment and returned with a small crystal vase for your treasure. You placed it on a coffee table between ottomans where you could keep an eye on it.

The delicate petals sparkled in the golden rays of sun as if they were enchanted by magic. It was such an spectacle that the three of you just sat there in complete silence watching it for a good hour.

After another interesting and very instructive walk, you were excited when servants appeared with the lunch on silver trays. You were so hungry that you ate more than ever before.

After the meal was over, Ellen had to leave to take care of something, so you were left alone with Irene. She was trying to teach you how to embroider some simple pattern when a knock sounded on the doors. Irene peeked out and blushing, backed back to the room. On the threshold stood Killian with wide grin and a package tucked under his arm.

Small flames danced in his amber eyes as he watched Irene to shyly smile at him, holding the doors opened.

"Hey, dove," he cooed as he walked past her and winked at her flirtatiously.

Irene flushed even more fiercely. It looked like she was about to pass out any moment now.

"Hey, sweet sister. How do you do these days? I hope you didn't miss me too much," he greeted you merrily and bent down to hug you and peck your cheek. You almost fell off your feet in surprise.

"I'm fine," you stuttered. "Thank you for asking. And you?"

"Your husband keeps me busy, you know, but it could be worse," he laughed and gestured to you to sit down. Then he took a seat next to you, his knee touching yours. You slightly jumped up, shocked. Unaccustomed to such closeness, you sat a little further, making a gap between you. He smiled at you apologetically, but didn't say anything.

"So," he dragged out the word, "what are your little strolls like? Do you enjoy it?"

"I have to admit I like it very much. The garden is full of interesting flowers," your gaze flew to Irene who couldn't take her eyes off of Killian with dreamy expression plastered to her face. You couldn't suppress it and had to chuckle. Now it was clear who she was in love with.

Killian's eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Good to know you are enjoying it. I'm sure all the flowers are green with envy when they see such beauties like you two," he winked at Irene and she giggled like a little girl.

You couldn't help the laughter that bubbled to the surface and tried to stifle it with a hand. Your brother-in-law raised brows at you, but then he joined you. Hearing that rich, contagious sound, you started to laugh even more. His expression softened.

"I'm very pleased to see that your new company has a good influence on you and you are finally opening up," he leaned closer to whisper to you, his hand brushed over yours. "Your smile is the best reward for all my hard work."

"I guess that now, when you have seen at least a bit of your new home, you are fascinated with its beauty," he joked, but he couldn't be more accurate.

There was something about Killian and his easygoing, good nature that made you feel at ease and so you dared to tease him back a bit.

"You are right. I'm absolutely captivated."

He gaped at you, mouth slightly opened. It took him a few seconds to collect himself and then his trademark smile was back. "Well.. Was that a joke just now? Dove, did you hear it too? She joked with me! Mother's tits, I can't believe my ears! Eris won't believe me either when I tell him you joked with me." His eyes filled with pride.

You blushed but smiled nonetheless.

"Now that you are finally peeking out of that damn shell, I'd even more love to stay longer and chat with you, but unfortunately, I can't. Eris will kill me for real if I'm again late for meeting. I was supposed to only drop by to deliver you this and return. It's from him," he winked, handed you a parcel that he brought and he was already at doors.

Before he left, Killian quickly whispered something to Irene. She giggled and nodded. At threshold he turned for a second to wave you with a beaming smile and he was gone.

Even though the parcel was small it was quite heavy. Your fingers trembled as you untied the bow and carefully opened the paper. You'd never received a present.

Inside was a new looking book bound in leather. You took it out and read the title. Almanac of Plants of Autumn Court. You flipped through it frantically, noticing all the beautiful, detailed drawings on every page.

You gasped in surprise, your eyes lined with silver. With trembling hands you took the book and pressed it to your chest, allowing the tears to roll down your cheeks. How did he know that you would like to learn more about the flowers in the garden? How could he know you so well? Your heart squeezed painfully, its sound louder than any other one and even than your own thoughts. If you knew where to look for him, you would immediately run there to thank him.

At that moment you decided that you would stay up no matter what and wait for him to come to check on you that night. You wanted to see him more than anything else.

I know that Zuko will still disappoint us a little more, but just hate seeing him suffer 😭😭

right down the line: zuko x firebender!reader (part 8)

You grew up close to the Royal Family due to your father's position as a General, but you ran away from home after the agni kai against your best friend, Zuko. Now, you've joined the Gaang and plan on doing your part in ending the 100-year war.

Part 7 Part 9

hellooo now that I have a pinned masterlist I'm only going to add the last & next part to these... hope that's okay! this one took a min... it's around 4075 words... i wanted to write something longer for y'all... I'm super excited for the next part... i keep re-reading my part 1 and I'm just like wait we've come... a long way from then... i promise more zuko x reader in the future but for now... these characters are not mine and i do not own them! hope u enjoy hehe rmr to like reblog or comment if u do & let me know if you'd like to be on the tag list :3 enjoy reading!

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

I’m walking across the swamp we landed upon a few days ago. Shades of moss encompass me. I can’t see the sun from where I’m standing. The trees that are larger than life cover the sky. For miles and miles on end, I can only see emerald and pine.

The swamp gives you an eerie feeling that begins in your stomach. Your cells know there are other beings here that aren’t human. They aren’t evil, but they’re not like you and me. I’m completely alone.

In the far distance, I see a figure. It’s a boy. He’s surrounded by age-old trees.

“Hey!” I call out, itching for the comfort of another human being.

The individual turns, beckoning me to walk toward him.

As I step closer and closer, I realize it’s Zuko. He cut off his ponytail and his entire head is covered in short new growth. My heart flutters, I like him like this.

“Zuko, are you here alone?” I ask him.

“No.” Such a short answer was uncharacteristic of him. He usually tells me everything he’s feeling, even if it’s about what he ate for breakfast.

Behind me, I hear a sinister giggle. I know exactly who it is.

I turn, and she’s standing in front of me. Azula.

“Get her!” She instructs. I turn around to Zuko, vanished. When I face Azula again, he’s standing next to her and they’re both ready to chase after me.

I dash in their opposite direction, dodging a swarm of vines in my way. I step in muddy puddles and over roots that came out of the ground. Briefly, I look back as I’m running and they’re both coming after me. Any sign of familiarity gone from Zuko’s face. I’m just another enemy.

Suddenly, I’m sliding down a long tree root covered in moss. At the end of the make-shift slide, I bump into another person in blue—

I gasp as I wake up from my deep slumber. Immediately, I sit up to notice if anyone’s woken up. We sleep in a row for protection during the night: Aang, Katara, me, and to my right, Sokka.

Aang and Katara are deep asleep in their respective sleeping bags, but I can’t say the same for the boy in blue.

“Are you okay?” A sleepy Sokka grumbles.

“Bad dream.” I tell him and he sits up while rubbing his eyes. Sokka never has his hair down, only when floating across the river or when the day is over. But in these tiny moments, I stare longer than I usually do. I look up to avoid the rush of blood coming to my cheeks.

The sky is that shade of periwinkle it makes when the sun is begging to come up, right on the horizon. I figure we’ll get up soon anyways.

“What was it about?” Sokka pokes.

I decide to trust him with it. It’s been long enough now. I’m no longer in the sienna trees with Jet, hiding my identity, fears, and trauma. I can talk about these things. “The swamp, and what I saw.”

Last week or so, we had been riding on Appa to travel to other Earth Kingdoms in hopes of finding Aang a new earth-bending teacher. The air-bison slowly started to travel downward when we were above the mysterious swamp, causing us to crash and lose our furry friends in the process.

While trying to find each other again, every last one of us saw a vision. Katara encountered her mother, Aang chased after an unknown little girl, and Sokka saw Yue. I kept my vision to myself, not knowing how it’d land on him after our last discussion about he-who-shall-not-be-named.

“What was your vision?” He’s awake now, but his eyes are still puffy as he slowly returns to his usual self.

A light wind grazes our faces, chilling them from the heat of sleeping. Typically, I don’t have anyone to talk to in the morning. Under the day-break fog, it’s just me and the nightmare I woke up from. “It was Zuko,” I pause, awaiting his reaction but it’s blank, “and Azula. They were chasing me, like they both turned on me.”

“Well, they did, didn’t they?” He’s still sour.

“I guess so. This time it felt like they teamed up.” Sokka thinks about his reply, not wanting to be too pessimistic in a moment where I’m finally trusting him with my feelings. Before he says anything, I continue. “I’m sorry… about Zuko and how I reacted.”

He sighs. “I don’t like seeing you like that and he caused it. I hate him, he’s—”

“Annoying.”

“Very!” He goes on, “And you’re my friend. I’ll always want to protect you.”

It’s only now, sitting side-by-side enjoying the morning dust, that I’m able to see what drew me to Sokka in the first place. Why he’s been upset about this particular topic. He’s noble and benevolent. Something in me always knew he was kind beyond his years. And I’ve been treating him like dirt.

“Friends?” I question.

“I mean—yeah, that’s what we are,” He coughs, “right?”

We stare into each other’s eyes for a second. I’m always amazed by what I see in his. The stone and arctic hues swirling around begging to be noticed.  

I turn to face the sunrise. “Right.” A soft laugh escapes my lips.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you ever going to stop using your swords? You’re a fire-bender, you don’t need them.”

“It’s a habit from my Freedom Fighter days, I think. I don’t want to stop using them. They’re a part of me now.” It’s true. Sometimes I find myself using my swords in situations where bending would’ve been more helpful. But it’s always fun to return to them for a bit.

A delicate smile slowly grows on Sokka’s face. “Fire-bending’s overrated.”

“I agree.” I grin to punctuate my response and for a moment, it’s just the two of us. Constantly traveling in a group of four doesn’t allow for many opportunities like these. In the silence, we fix any damage our time at the Northern Water Tribe might’ve done to us. It’s weeks ago now and we can get back on track to… wherever we were before.

“Good morning, guys.” A groggy Katara awakes, popping Sokka and I’s bubble. We turn our attention to her. I wish we could’ve kept going, my mind tells me.

We reply in unison. “Morning.”

Lastly, Aang wakes up and we get to our daily routine: Aang shaving his head, Katara tying two strands behind her head, Sokka tying his wolf's tail, and me separating my hair into two braids. We head straight toward another Earth Kingdom town. The hunt to find the Avatar’s earth-bending teacher is still going and he’s being picky.

We end up at Gaoling, a village with no Fire Nation influence.

“It can’t be just anyone.” Aang goes on. We’re walking through the main central market of the village. There’s rows and rows of booths set up selling fruits, cabbages, items weary travelers may need. They go on and on, offering anything someone passing by could want. The square seems like a maze, but every Earth Kingdom village does to me. I’ve never seen so much green in one place. That’s probably how they feel about the red. “Bumi told me to find someone who listens.”

“Oooo!” Sokka squeals, leaving us behind for a green purse he spots at a stand.

Katara crosses her arms. “At least you know it’s not Sokka.” The boy in blue sticks his tongue out at his sister while walking toward his newfound treasure. I follow him to stay close while Aang and Katara catch up to us.

The bag is really a satchel, and you can tell it’s produced by the Earth Kingdom. Its stitching is refined and repetitive, a dark green pattern of squares tying all the edges together. There’s a golden emblem in the middle, working as the latch to hold the bag closed. Sokka takes a closer look. “Do you think I should get it?” His eyes never leaving the bag.

I shrug my shoulders in amusement. “How much is it?”

He inspects it further. “It’s pricey… but I do like it.”

By now, Katara and Aang have joined the conversation. She pokes her own fun into this. “Get it, you deserve something nice.” The hint of sarcasm riding right over her brother’s head. Aang sits down on the floor, bored with the back and forth of it all.

“I do, don’t I?” Sokka answers earnestly to her sarcasm. “But no, it’s too expensive… I shouldn’t.” His shoulders drop and he lets the bag get comfortable on the stand once again.

“Then don’t.” Katara says and we all nod at each other, signaling that we’re done here, and we should keep walking.

But before we’re too far, Sokka dashes back to the booth. “Never mind. I’m going to get it!” He states for no one, but he smiles to himself, giddy about his impending purchase.

As we stand and wait for Sokka to finish paying, a villager approaches Aang with a flyer. “Psst!” He whispers. “You kids like earth-bending?” I grasp onto my sword in immediate suspicion. “Then, check out Master Yu’s earth-bending academy!” He hands Aang the paper and goes on about his day, most likely to give more future earth-benders the advertisement. I let my sword rest against my hip once again.

When traveling with the Avatar, you can’t be too careful.

The opportunity, however, excites the last air-bender. “There’s a coupon on the back!” He flips it over and shows Katara and I. “The first lesson is free.”

A moment of consideration passes by.

“Who knows? Master Yu could be exactly the earth-bending teacher you’re looking for.” Katara replies.  

“Doesn’t hurt to give it a try.” I add.

Once Sokka’s done with his purchase, bag gladly in his hands, we head over to the academy.

The siblings and I sit outside on a stone bench by the exit, waiting for Aang to finish his lesson.  

Soon enough, Aang walks out of the academy defeated. “He’s not the one.” His eyes are glued to the floor. When Katara, Sokka, and I are gloomy, it’s never a downer on the day. But when Aang isn’t his usual optimistic self, everyone feels it and we’ve decided it’s our most unproductive.

Before we let the disappointment hang over us, two earth-bending students walk past us, talking as they head back into town. “I think the Boulder is going to win back the belt at Earth Rumble 6.”

“He’s going to have to fight the best earth-benders in the world before getting to the champ, no way!” The other boy replies.

With another chance of finding a teacher dropping in our laps, Aang perks up and walks up to the teenagers. “Excuse me! Where is this earth-bending tournament?” He says in all his giddiness.

“It’s on the island of noneya—nonya business!” The students of Master Yu burst into a fit of laughter as they continued walking away. Unfortunately, so does Sokka.

His laughter booms through the trees of Gaoling. “That’s a good one!”

I lightly hit him on the arm, reminding him of what’s important here. “Hey! Don’t make fun of him!”

Katara walks up to a defeated Aang and soothes him with a pat on his back. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle this.”

“Hey, wait up!” Is the last thing she says before turning the corner.

A few seconds later, she returns with the good news. “We’re going to Earth Rumble 6!”

“How did you get them to tell you?” Aang tilts his head in confusion. The boys weren’t that nice to him.

Katara mischievously blushes. “Oh, a girl has her ways.”

☆

Later that day and well into the evening, we arrive at the mountain hosting the earth-bending tournament.

We head inside toward our freshly purchased seats and look at the stadium in front of us. Stairs made from silver stone serving as bleachers for the audience surround the middle stage—a rectangular base with the Earth Kingdom emblem in the middle. The room is vast from the inside, you almost forget you’re inside a mountain.

“Hey! Front row seats. I wonder why no one else is sitting here.” Nothing gets past Sokka. On a comedic cue, a giant heavy rock hits the seats right next to ours.

I look around the room and notice: no one’s sitting in the first couple of rows throughout the stadium. “I think that’s why.”

I sit between Aang and Sokka, eager to watch the match. Watching competitive bending is one of life’s few gifts to enjoy. You can learn something for yourself or watch closely how to take down your competitor but most of all, it’s just fun. Briefly, I consider what non-benders think about this type of entertainment.

A man with long black slick hair rises from the middle of the ring, announcing himself as host. He’s dressed in the iconic Earth Kingdom green, clearly the leader of this operation. His demanding deep voice echoes throughout the room. “Welcome to Earth Rumble 6! I am Xin Fu!”

Katara, uninterested in the brutal sport, stares at her nails. “This is just going to be a bunch of guys chucking rocks at each other, isn’t it?”

Sokka grins a toothy smile at her. “That’s what I paid for.”

I guess non-benders can enjoy this too.

Xin Fu continues exciting the crowd, explaining the rules to any newcomers. Kick your opponent off the ring, and you win. When he’s finished, he leaps onto his podium and the bell rings. “Round one! The Boulder versus the Big Bad Hippo!”

The two players step onto the ring and this is when my adrenaline begins to rush.

The first throw by the Boulder barely makes the Hippo flinch. I can see him chew the rock in his mouth from here. Then, Hippo jumps in a constant beat to make the ground of the ring rock back and forth. The Boulder almost gets knocked out of balance before he makes a comeback, throwing another slab of rock at the Hippo to distract him.

The Boulder picks up the earth the Hippo is standing on, straining as he does so, and chucks him off the stage for good.

“The Boulder wins!” Xin Fu announces, and the crowd goes wild, including me and Sokka.

Earth-bending is another element completely different from what I know. While the flame of fire-bending has a heartbeat of life, it doesn’t have the mass of earth-bending. I require breath control and precision, earth-bending requires inner and outer immense strength.

“What about the Boulder?” Katara asks.

Aang shakes his head. “I don’t know, Bumi said I need a teacher who listens to the Earth. He just listens to his big muscles. What do you guys think, Y/N, Sokka?”

“Ha Ha! Whoo!” Sokka stands up from his seat to shout. We’re both clapping and whistling at the first win of the night.

“YEAH!” I cheer. Katara and Aang look almost surprised at my energy. “What? I like things.”

“So wrestling is the one thing you don’t brood about?” Sokka jokes, prompting laughter from the rest of them.

I join them in on the fun. “How could you brood about this?”

Xin Fu announces the next match. “The Boulder versus Fire Nation man!”

Playfully, Sokka nudges my side with his elbow. “Oooo, watch out Y/N!” An Earth Kingdom citizen dressed in red clothing waving a Fire Nation flag enters the ring. The entire crowd boos, including the boy who has a crush on me.  

“Hey!” I nudge him back.

“Sorry!” He holds his hands up, “Except you!” It’s almost sincere until he turns around and joins in on the boos again. I can’t blame him.

Fire Nation man starts to sing, rather terribly, the infamous anthem of my birthplace. “Fire Lord / My flame burns for thee…” and this just makes the hisses and hoots get louder.

I get in a pitch of laughter, unable to stop. It’s healing to watch an entire room dislike the common enemy.

Sokka throws a rock at the player and yells, “Go back to the Fire Nation!” He turns to me again, “Except you.” And winks. He never misses an opportunity to flirt.

I join him in standing up, too excited to see how the Boulder takes this guy down.

The Boulder lowers Fire Nation Man into the ground using his bending, efficiently trapping him in a hole. Then, he lifts himself up with a tall tower of rock, jumps, and by landing on his knees, chucks his enemy out of his trap. Fire Nation Man bursts into the air and starts flying toward our direction. He lands on the first rock that nearly took us out in the beginning.

This makes Sokka and I go wild. Chants of Yeah and Whoo’s come from us two as we cheer on the show. Aang and Katara are still contemplating on any player’s ability to teach him how to earth-bend.

We watch the Boulder take every single opponent out, one-by-one.

“If not him, then who else?” Sokka yells above the noise from the crowd.

Agreeing with Sokka, I say, “He’s beat everyone!”

The Avatar is unimpressed by the show. “Not the champ.” Immovable in his stance about the Boulder.

“Now,” Xin Fu interrupts our conversation, “the moment you have all been waiting for—your reigning winner: The Blind Bandit!”

The announcement of the champion silences us for a minute as we take her in. It contrasts with the rumble coming from the stands.

The Blind Bandit is a little girl. She can’t be older than twelve. The women standing by her, ready to hold her championship belt as she fights, highlight the fact even more.

“It’s a kid.” I break the tension.

“She can’t really be blind.” Katara gasps. “How would she bend?”

Aang is speechless. His eyes are trained on the girl we’re all taken aback by. “I think she is.”

Sokka, oblivious to anything but the Boulder, joins the crowd in their cheers. “I think she is… going down!”

Boulder steps onto the ring and I share looks of worry with Katara and Aang. Are we really watching a grown earth-bender take on a little blind girl?

I sit and pull Sokka down with me. He takes this chance to hold onto my hand, not letting go as we watch in anticipation of the match. Whether you’re in support of the champion or in shock of the next challenge, you’re eager.

I try not to think about his hand in mine, so public and sure of itself. I try not to think about what it would feel like if we held hands more often.

I know when it’s time to let go, I’m not going to like it.

The Blind Bandit taunts the Boulder, calling him a scared little girl. She even sounds young. But I love her already, she’s bold and strong-minded. She can win this, I assure myself. She is the champion, right?

The Boulder replies to her taunts, ego bruised by the young bender’s winning title and hurtful truths. “It’s on!”

As he launches his heavy attack on her, she stands still. In a few seconds, she holds out her hands, palms out, and positions her feet in a swift movement. Then, she digs her right foot into the ground, bending a line of rocks toward Boulder’s feet, spreading his legs into a split.

The muscle man whimpers in pain. This is our first indication that the Boulder is about to lose.

She uses three fingers to bend three vertical rocks that knock into the Boulder’s side and out of the stage. The bell rings. She wins.

The four of us sit there with our mouths wide open, unable to process what happened.

Aang finishes before the rest of us, his mind set on a new teacher: The Blind Bandit. “It’s her.” He speaks. No one replies, but no one needs to. We know.

While Sokka’s disappointed in his favorite player’s loss, Katara asks the question we all want the answer to. “How did she do that?”

Aang replies, his tone much happier than it has been in a while. “She waited and listened.”

☆

Sokka’s shining Aang’s Earth Rumble 6’s championship belt under the night sky. It’s another token of our travels now. We’re on Appa’s saddle, ready to move on to another Earth Kingdom village.

Meeting the Blind Bandit—or Toph only brought us back to square one. Her father couldn’t believe his dainty, helpless little daughter was one of the best earth-benders around. He refused to let her teach Aang. It was frustrating, he saw her ability for himself. But we digress. There’s nothing we can do about it now.

I glare at Sokka. “Your belt matches your purse.” He shoots a playful look at me, and we smile at each other. I prefer us like this.

Katara and Aang make their way on top of Appa and get ready to depart. Before we’re off the ground, I hear footsteps. Slowly, she comes up the hill.

The smile returns to Aang’s face as he sees her too. “Toph!”

When’s she’s close enough to Appa, the Blind Bandit explains. “My dad changed his mind. He said I was free to travel the world.”

If I was anyone else, maybe someone whose father changed his mind the way Toph is lying about right now, I would’ve believed her. The three of them glance at me to see if I do. And I don’t.

We all know it’s a lie, but we don’t care. Toph was the little girl Aang saw in the swamp, and she has always been destined to be here with us.

Sokka looks up from his—Toph’s belt with a satisfied look on his face. “Well, we should get out of here before he changes his mind again.”

☆

It might’ve not been what his uncle wanted, but Zuko couldn’t help but feel like it was time to be alone. Maybe it’s some sort of teenage phase, he told himself. But either way, it had to be done.

He starved, he thirsted, he met an impoverished family living in a dry wasteland. They graciously took him in and shared the little they had. After feeding and housing him for a few days, he helped in return. Zuko protected the family from the corrupt soldiers who were supposed to serve the Earth Kingdom but only served themselves.

It did nothing for his Fire Nation identity. The family still rejected him in the end. He was Prince Zuko, son of Ursula and Ozai, heir to the throne, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The lingering questions came back.

Did he want to go back home when this is all over? Would it be the same, knowing his destiny is woven with the war-makers? Could he go back and be quiet the way his father wanted him to be?

Zuko wished he could talk to Y/N at this very moment. They could lay on the grass and watch the clouds move by as he's doing now. She would know what to say. It would be what they’re both thinking, but only one can follow through on it and it’s not him. If she didn’t, he’d still prefer to have her here next to him anyway.

She’s working with the Avatar now, officially a fugitive of the Fire Nation like him and his uncle. But it’s different. Zuko hadn’t made a decision yet.

He could still go back. He could be happy with it. It could be enough. He would have his Father and Azula and finally be a part of the family he’s always wanted to have.

What he learned from the poor family would stick with him forever, though. He knew it. He’d go back to those crimson sheets and patient servants and the rejection would still burn into his brain as he tried to fall asleep.

Zuko wouldn’t forget the way the little boy’s admiration for him changed from elixir to venom.

Disgusted is one way to describe the feeling toward himself.

Determined to make it right, another. Whatever it means.

Without reaching a full conclusion or clear solution, Zuko took a deep breath and pushed it all away.

For now, he’d track Azula and see if she’s any closer to the Avatar than he was.

For now, that would keep him busy.

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

tag list <3: @camilleverreault @staygoldsquatchling02 @yunloyal

Houndtooth | ⇦ Chapter 8

Ghost x f!Reader - tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, abduction, bodyguard, forced cooperation, smut

18+ mdni - cw: physical violence - 4.8k words

𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐭

Your hunter isn’t as subtle as he thinks he is.  

He’s not subtle, when his blackened lids droop heavy over his burrowing glare, shifting from disdain to a dark hunger; potent enough to taste, hot and salty. When he adjusts his position in his seat, mammoth thighs spread in egotism, as he bucks his pelvis and leans back to find greater comfort while he indulges in the sight of you. When he sucks his teeth in feigned contempt at your proposition, masquerading as a stoic hunter only interested in the kill – and not the kind that plays with his food.  

The atmosphere between his body and yours has suddenly become heavy. Warm and dense. Weighed down by some mutual cognisance, the sudden awareness that you can read the animal instinct that runs through his mind, and he yours. You feel it in your chest. 

It was a quick and sore distraction, at least, from the revelation of your husband’s true nature. You knew of his tendencies, you caught wind of his exploits. Had some vague understanding that it was illegal, that it operated in the shadows – but you had convinced yourself his money was plucked from deserving pockets. That his industry only stained white collars.  

You’ve been blind. Too focused on the only little world he granted you, your glittering snowglobe, uncaring and uninterested in what he had to do to afford you. But, to give yourself grace, what could you have done?  

Your husband was a smart man. Shrewd. Cunning. There were no feminine wiles you could have employed, no means to mould nor manipulate him, beyond a request for a newer sports-car or a softer mink coat. There was a prescribed window within which you could operate, only a few strings you could pull. To venture outside would have been to seek dire punishment.  

And now he’s dead. Not smart enough to avoid that, was he?  

Whatever love you once felt for him, whatever twisted desperation you had mistaken as affection, has soured into bile. Any fond memory now mutated into some depraved reproduction, ugly and horrid.  

Now, you’re forced to face whatever pitiful life might await you. You’re forced to wonder whether or not he wrote you into his will, left anything in your name for you to survive on – and after his tirade of bitter abuses leading up to his unceremonious death, you sincerely doubt it.  

What is there left for you? 

You truly, truly, have nothing. Not even the faint optimism that you have at least experienced love and luxury in your short and bitter life. All has been tainted. Nothing sacred remains.  

So what now is there left to do but to entertain your abductors? To oblige whatever use they have for you? The only alternative is to give up and await your execution. If it gets to that, you hope it’s quick.  

Not ready to die yet, though, you decide to entertain him.  

“What use, then,” you utter, barely louder than a whisper.  

He leers at you through the shadowed pits of his mask. Dark eyes sharper than piercing bullets, they fire at you, warm the areas of your body that they linger on. Clouded and distant, plainly distracted. 

You know what he’s distracted by. You could see, feel him undressing you through his glare alone. 

He bounces his knee, crosses his arms. Impatient, is he?  

Maybe he just needs you to offer one more time. Give him one more excuse.  

Why are you considering it so heavily? 

“Do you want to go home, Mia?” There’s a thickness in his tone. Not a sincere offer. You foretell a catch.  

The image slithers back to you of that convulsing sentry, choking on his own foaming blood, pleading wordlessly for you to put him down. Just as vivid and squelching as when you had been confronted by it in the bowels of your mansion.  

“There’s too much blood to clean up,” you breathe, staring absently into the floor. 

“To England,” he clarifies through his jaw, “back to Nottingham.” 

Your heart skips. Rush of air escapes your lungs. He notices, quickly, he tilts his head as though to analyse your reaction.  

“You’d like that, eh?”  

Tongue is too heavy. Thoughts indecipherable. Fly through your mind in a blinding, strobing picture show. You hadn’t been home since you were a teenager. Can’t even remember the name of the street you lived on, wouldn’t want to if you could.  

“I…” you hesitate, “I don’t have a passport.” 

“We can get you a passport.” 

Through teeth. “How.” 

“Doesn’t matter how,” he grumbles, a slight roll of his eyes. “We can.” 

You bite the gummy inside of your lip, hoping you split the flesh; suckling at it for some comfort, maybe to pacify yourself for a moment of jittery contemplation. 

“For what,” you ask eventually, voice shaky. 

Fingers interwoven apathetically; he seems to ponder for a moment before he speaks.  

“You’re an asset,” he grunts, tone cold. “A valuable one.”   

You clench your jaw. “What, is it Victor’s money you want?” 

He almost chuckles at that, a huff of disdain. “No. I want the man who helped him get it.”  

“Who?” 

He pauses, tense and fuming, leans forward.  

“Vladimir Makarov.”  

Him again.  

The blood in your swollen head drains out through your neck at his mention. Fills your lungs, thick and dark, plugs your trachea and prevents you from sucking down another breath.  

Ever-observant, he sees that, too. “Familiar, is he?” 

A slow nod is the only answer you muster.  

“How familiar?”  

“Enough,” you croak.  

He squints, dissatisfied. Leans back in his seat. “Gonna need more than that.”  

“You already know who he is. You already know what he does.” You spit, but the quiver in your voice betrays you.  

“There's only so much intel we can get by drone or spy,” he disputes, a severity woven through his words. You can see his fuse burning short. “You know him personally, don’t you?”  

A second to breathe. Two. His questioning, his presence, is suffocating. You stare knives into the floor, wrestling with an amorphous terror that you fail to conceal behind your cracking veneer of bravery.  

He shifts forward slowly, a prowl. Hunting. “Don’t you?”  

“I don’t... I don’t know him well,” you breathe. “He worked with Victor. That’s all I know.”  

“Careful, Mia,” he murmurs, bitter and aggravated. “Don’t lie to me.” 

 You swallow quietly. “He, um. He visited the house a lot.”  

“For what.”  

“Victor would have him over for, for meetings. Not just Vladimir, other men too. But he, uh, he made himself at home. I think he worked more closely with Victor than the others, though. Victor didn’t like him.”  

“They didn’t get on?”  

Cautiously shaking your head, you keep your eyes glued to him. “They were professional. I don’t... I don’t know the details. Victor never said so, um, but I could tell. He would always be in a shittier mood when they had to work together.”  

Riley licks his teeth, crosses his arms as he chews on his next question. “What about you,” he grumbles. “What did you think of him.”  

“He...” you hesitate, glower darting away from him, you stare into the fluorescent bar above him. “I didn’t like him either.”  

“You spoken to him?”  

He must be able to see your shakiness, your jittery disposition, as you bite words out like they’re too thick to fit in your mouth, burn your tongue. “I avoided it.”  

“But you did.”  

An anxious sigh escapes you. “Yes.”  

“Civil?”  

“I was polite,” you murmured. “I was always polite. I had to be.”  

“What’d he think of you?”  

You chew your tongue. Pick at your fingernails almost viciously enough to draw blood. “I don’t think he thought of me at all.”  

Again, he bounces his knee. Fuse burns shorter. “Am I going to have to show you what happens when you lie, Mia?”  

“No–” you squeak, hands landing flat on your knees as if you had been called to attention. “I – I’m sorry. I... he, uh. As far as I could tell he didn’t dislike me. He – he would’ve... he would’ve made it known if he disliked me.”  

“How so?”  

“He has a... a short temper.”  

“He would’ve hurt you?” 

Your jaw tightens, stare at him not breaking. “What do you want me to do,” you utter through your teeth. “Why are you asking me about him.”  

He tilts his head, as though in thought. “I want a quid pro quo.”  

“What’s the quo,” you shiver. 

“You’re going to host your husband’s wake,” he insists, stern as if reminding you that you have no say in your fate. “And you’re going to invite him. All of them.”  

You fall silent. Fall still. Heart thunders in your chest, it aches hot with exertion. You shake your head cautiously, a reflex. “No.”  

Refusal hurtles from your throat with an intensity that startles you; by turn a plea and an avowal.  

“No?” He snarls, a quirk of his head – you’re yet unsure if you had surprised him or infuriated him.  

“No – I – I can’t,” you stammer, vigorously shaking your head in dispute. “I can’t.”  

He scoffs. “You don’t have a choice.”  

Hands grip the edge of the mattress you sit on, bunching the foam in claws, white knuckles, you hyperventilate so vigorously that you feel yourself spinning. “I can’t. They – you don’t understand. They’re–” 

“You know what’ll happen to you,” He growls, suddenly seethingly aggravated. “If you don’t cooperate.” 

Through sore tears you scowl, lips curling, betraying the thunderstorm of turmoil behind them – terror, anguish, fury.  

“There is nothing, nothing you can do to me that could be worse than what they will do. Nothing,” you seethe, enervated voice shaky and pitiful. “They... without Victor, they’ll...” 

“Think you’ll be spared anything here?”  

Through a laboured breath, flared nostrils, a tear trickles into the corner of your mouth, salty on your tongue. “You’re not the one I’m scared of.”  

“That’s a mistake,” he fumes, as he stands up from his seat – stalks towards you slow. Threatening. “I don’t keep prisoners, Mia. If you’re not useful, you’re deadweight.”  

Looking down on you menacingly, he hangs his burly arms by his side. They twitch, he stretches out his fingers before clenching them into fists; a warning. A reminder of how they can hurt you. “I’ll kill you myself.”  

Steadfast, you don’t shift as you glare up at him; boring into those dark eyes, pools of black tar in the darkness cast by his shadow.  

“Then kill me,” you croak. “I’d be better off dead.”  

Ghost lights himself a cigarette the second he barges out of your cell, catching glimpse of you through the miniscule steel-mesh window in the door. You lie down on the deteriorated mattress, curl up, face the wall like you can hide there.  

Better off dead.  

Maybe you’re right.  

He’s well aware of what fate will befall you if he doesn’t put a bullet in your head. Even honourable soldiers will inevitably seek the warmth and comfort they can take from you. Will use you to sate their hunger after weeks, months, of fighting in the barren snow and washing off the indelible blood.  

You think you’re safer here, cooped up in a locked cell, out of reach; than back in the anarchy of your Russian circle of warlords. Here you’re surrounded by the gun-wielding puppets of powerful governments. But their laws won’t protect you. Not here. Nothing will.  

He’ll give you time to think it over. Let you come to your senses.  

Because he’d prefer not to kill you. Not out of any particular compassion, he tells himself, not because he would find it difficult to do so. No, instead, because he had been the one to suggest your abduction at all. The others would have left you amongst the strewed corpses of your guards. Would’ve shot you dead if you screamed too loud. That likely would’ve been the more altruistic approach, but Ghost knew you were not an innocent bystander. Knew you’d serve a valuable purpose.  

Now your value is running thin.  

Yet as he saunters down the empty hallway, to the beating echoes of his boots on vinyl-coated concrete, the image of you persists in tormenting him. The glint of your lips, the sheen of your cheeks, damp with fear and sweat. The strain of the fine tendons in your neck as you draw in your careful breaths. The lilt of your depleted voice, hoarse, pleading.  

Still he stares ahead as if he can see you there, standing winsomely in the tunnel; still he glowers at you with a ravening appetite, far beyond his control. 

Could you read his mind?  

He had seen you shift edgily. Lips part in apprehension. Knees press together. Fingernails dig into your thighs and inflict little red moons in their wake.  

Could you feel his hunger?  

He hopes you couldn’t. Hopes you can’t. Hates you for having any sway on him, for coaxing out whatever fucking animal sits behind his teeth and leers at you so shamelessly. Hates himself for losing his grip.  

Swirling the bitter smoke in his empty mouth, letting it pour from his nostrils, he marches to the gear room to grab his Goretex snow jacket. Needs to get some air. Needs the winter dawn to cool the burning heat that swells in the back of his neck.  

He’s out there for an hour. Silently thankful nobody bothers him, as he tucks himself against a wall near the back of the maze-like concrete compound. He sucks down three Russian cigarettes in his solitude, exerting every effort to focus on the war, the objectives, the strategies, the orders – and not you.  

After a long while, once the encroaching sun licks the sky a deep shade of lilac from behind the black horizon, he eventually cools off. Whatever flare had overwhelmed him finally settling into a simmer he can for now keep a handle on.  

So he heads to the Captain.  

Not sure yet what he’ll report to him. Admit that he has failed to convince you? That the very thought of you has infected him like some encephalitic disease, eating away at his mind from the inside out? 

He pushes down the rattling door handle and storms into Price’s makeshift office without knocking. Ghost doesn’t knock. He enters with impatience.  

“Fuck – Simon,” Price barks, startled by the Lieutenant’s arrival. He stands at his desk, leaning over a fraying map. “Y’really are a fuckin’ ghost, eh?”  

“She refused,” Ghost declares in a growl, curt and frustrated.  

“’Course she did,” the Captain dismisses uninterestedly, turning to lean on the edge of the desk.  

Crossing arms over his chest, Ghost licks his teeth. “She’ll change her mind,” he shrugs. “Give ‘er a couple days o’ this place, she’ll change it.”  

“We don’t have days, Simon.”  

“Then what’s your suggestion.”  

Price lets out a crude chuckle. “Graves had a couple.”  

Ghost grits his teeth. “What?”  

“Y’know the yanks,” the Captain snorts, “definitely their area of expertise.”  

“The fuck are you talking about.”  

“He said he could convince her,” he shrugs.  

Jaw clenches to the point of ache. “You know what that fuckin’ means, don’t you.”  

Price curls his lips into a thin line under the shadow of his beard. The same sort of expression that always betrays his own reluctance to do what he calls the dirty work. To the Captain it’s rational. Any cruelty is allowed when the ends justify the means. Pretends he’s too moral for filth even when he finds such humour in it. No, he can orchestrate the savagery, shift the pawns around on the board, so long as he needn’t witness it.   

“Frankly, Simon, I don’t give a shit what it means,” he grumbles, “if we get a spy out of her, doesn’t matter to me what it takes.” 

“Not like you to abide rape and torture, captain,” Ghost seethes, venom slick and pointed in his throat. 

“Mh, well, you made sure we had no other option when you shot her fucking husband.”  

“Piss off. He wasn’t gonna give us anything and you know it.” 

“You got cocky, Simon, that’s what happened,” the Captain chides, irritation flushing warm in his once jovial cheeks. “Happy to pull the trigger on our VIP but haven’t got the balls to beat some sense into his goddamn hooker.”  

“She knows shit all about the Konnis,” Ghost protested, rage only burning hotter. “Torturing her is a waste of time.”  

“Fuck’s gotten into you?” Price spits, “This sort of business is your M.O.”  

“My M.O. is getting the fuckin’ job done without collateral. Graves is a dog. He’ll only make a fuckin’ mess.”  

Price rolls his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Then go clean it up.”  

Ghost straightens his back, knuckles straining, fists trembling. “He’s got her now?”  

“Yes, Jesus. We’re on a fucking deadline, remember?”  

“Fuck’s sake,” Ghost snarls, immediately swivelling on his boot and ramming open the door with his forearm.  

“You’d better have a backup plan, Simon.” Price barks after him, but his hoarse command is cut short but the deafening bang of the slamming door.   

~

Cement melts beneath his boots as he thunders through the intestines of the compound. Wool of his balaclava traps the steam that he exhales with each ragged breath.  

Stalks like a wolf. Dark red of shuddering blood pulses thick and hot into his vision; encroaches his periphery until the remaining pinpricks of acute sight turn to crosshairs. Knows his target, can smell him from here.  

Can hear him, too. Hears that blustering, cocksure laughter reverberating through the clinical halls, muffled by the thick door that keeps you trapped at his leisure.  

Ghost’s fury is rational. It always is. There’s always some detached, intellectual justification for his explosive reaction to whatever it is, slight or significant, that inflames him. This time, it’s imprudence. Stupidity. Arrogance. The stupid fucking privateer will lay ruin the meticulously considered strategy Ghost has been weaving since he caught you.  

There won’t be even a dream of coerced espionage if you’re covered in bruises and bleeding from flesh wounds and violated orifices. If you’re too shaken to even utter a sensical word to the very men you’ll be wringing information from.  

But Graves has no sense of subtlety. Blindly follows his depraved impulse like a spoiled little boy. The kind of disturbed kid that picked the legs off insects, would throw kittens into firepits just to hear them howl. He’d happily drop nuclear bombs on an entire city if it meant a confirmed kill of a single target. Ghost finds himself sordidly repulsed that Price is growing desperate enough to give the fucking dog a bone. To embolden him by allowing him to experiment with your suffering.  

Can hear your noises now, too.  

Not quite screaming, broken cries as though holes had been torn in your throat. Sore and wet. He sees the door to your cell, painted muted teal and chipping around the handle, scratches where keys had cut through the varnish.  

His handgun now nestled in his palm, didn’t consciously notice that he had pulled it from where he had left it tucked in the back of his trousers. Par for the course that the dumb fuck had left the door unlocked. Done Ghost the favour of letting him hurl his boot into the door and kicking it open in a single blow.  

You let out an anguished squeal following the thunderous whack of the door, as it flies open and slams into the cinderblock wall. Not the crashing door that made you scream, though – instead, the closed fist that had just been thrown into your cheek, narrowly missing your eye. Loud and vicious enough to be heard amongst the commotion, the tender crack of bone hitting bone.  

His flaming eyes land on you. 

In the centre of the cell, the arches of your bare feet graze the floor as you’re hung by a fist around your hair; held in a ponytail tight against your scalp, you dangle from it. Too close to the ground to stand on your own feet, too high to kneel. The red welts of your scratches scour the forearm of the man that suspends you, where you’ve tried to hold yourself up to spare your scalp from being torn from your skull like Velcro.  

It’s not Graves that dangles you. Too tall. No, instead, it’s one of his shadows. A myrmidon, muscle to no doubt prevent you from kicking the Commander in the fucking head again. Too much of a pussy to be by himself in the same room as you. Even as he tortures you. Pathetic fuck.  

The bootlicker that carries you is expendable. Disposable. Not Ghost’s comrade. It’s instinct as Ghost raises his gun. It’s reflex as he pulls the trigger, iron sights unconsciously aligned with the skull of the mercenary in black. He seizes before he drops, hot blood spitting in a geyser from the hole that the single bullet tore through his forehead.  

You tumble down with him, erupt out a bonechilling scream of terror as you hold your arms over your head to protect yourself. You scurry, slipping in the blood as you attempt to crawl to the corner of the cell. Only then does he notice your cruel nudity, the rags of your soft negligée left in pink confetti where it had evidently been cut from you.  

Ghost’s fury is quickly redirected to the Commander, then, who merely gawks in the moments it takes him to register the sudden series of events that had erupted before him. The consequences of his actions.  

“What the fuck!” He roars, gesturing with open palms in confused horror at the twitching corpse of his henchman.  

Ghost points the end of his gun at him, jutting it; not to aim, but to emphasise his anger. “You’re a reckless fucking idiot, you know that?”   

“Jesus – what the fuck is wrong with you?” Graves rages, shaking out the fist he had used to pummel you, before wiping his forehead as though he had overexerted himself. “I was following your captain’s orders.”  

“Yeah? Did the captain order you to fuckin’ strip her?”  

“Oh fuck off, you know the playbook, Riley,” he barks, a furious vein bulging in his forehead as he spits out his curses. “You’re not some champion of morality because you leave her fucking clothes on.”  

Therein lies the opportunity that Ghost savours so fondly. One that has him foaming at the mouth. An excuse. An excuse to lunge at the American mercenary, to hurl the butt of his handgun into the side of his head with a crack. Graves narrowly dodges the worst of the blow, instead the metal leaves a brutal scrape in his forehead.  

So Ghost follows it with a launch of his calloused fist into his cheekbone, an uppercut under his ribs, a roundhouse into his ear. God, he missed it. Sure, he’s thrown a punch or two in his uniform, wearing those padded gloves, impeded by a bulky helmet and a painfully cumbersome tactical vest. But why bother, how can one justify old-fashioned combat when they’re holding a heaving automatic rifle? 

It’s this he missed. Back to square one. He likes it raw. Meat hitting meat. Bone hitting bone. Bare, bruised knuckles pulverising rippling skin pulled tight over flesh, over and over, over and over. Thud. Thud. Thud.  

Gun cast aside, he doesn’t care where it had vanished to. Nothing but a red blur as the two men entangled into a bloody, fuming knot on the floor of the cell. A flurry of fists and elbows and boots; Graves landed his fare share, no dismissing that MARSOC training. But he didn’t have the decades of resilience that Ghost had built, layer by layer, fractured bone by fractured bone. No, Ghost can eat strikes to the head like fucking pudding.  

One final blow to Graves’s pig head ricochets the back of his skull off the solid floor with a whack, and he is swiftly decommissioned. Splutters blood from between his teeth and blinks vaguely at the ceiling. Ghost could keep going, fantasises about it – he’d find an abundance of pleasure in beating him to death. But, unfortunately, they need the Commander and his army of over-armed shadows. And, despite how much he yearned to, killing him over the abuse of a single prisoner would be, frankly – humiliating. An overreaction. A reflection of his lack of control.  

But Ghost has control. Tightens his leash, fastens his muzzle, as he pushes himself to stand with an aching hand on his knee. Maintains a violent glower down his nose at the American on the floor, who takes his time to recover. The beaten man grimaces, holding the back of his fist to his nose, smearing the dark blood that had poured from it.  

“Fuckin’ asshole,” he grunts; Ghost fights the urge to throw a kick into his ribcage.  

But instead he rolls his head to relieve the tension, hears the vertebrae in his neck crack with the stretch. With a clench of his jaw, a wipe of his brow, he returns his menacing glare to the American. Through a growl, he orders; “Get out.”  

Watches in huffing silence as he takes his time to stand, using the wall to get himself up and leaving a bloody print on the white paint. Once up, though, he does his best to conceal his injury. Elbows past Ghost as he marches towards the cell door, hurling it open and storming into the hall.  

“Oi–” Ghost barks, as he lurches towards the corpse of the shadow bundled in the centre of the cell. Hoists it up, heavy and dense, he heaves it over his shoulder. Feels the hot blood poor from its bullet hole down his back. “Don’t forget this.”  

With a crude throw he tosses the cadaver into the hallway – it skids across the linoleum, leaving slippery smears of blood along the speckled blue vinyl before it bumps into the furthest wall.  

He grunts as he slams the heavy door, it crashes closed with an obnoxiously loud bang; before he’s left in the throbbing, hot silence. He takes a second to collect himself, to soften his ravaging breathing, to let the blood and sweat dry on his burning skin.  

As he turns, though, he notices the black pile of wool on the floor, amongst the splatters of blood and black skids of rubber bootsoles.  

His mask. Must’ve lost it in the fight.  

And then he hears a click, and a quiet, squeaking breath – from you. In the frenzy he had almost forgotten you were there, a spectator to all of it, the catalyst of his savagery. There you are. Back pressed up against the walls, knees tucked tightly to your bare chest.  

In your velvet hands sits his gun.  

You barely wrap your fingers around the handle, instead holding it like it’s a small animal, like you might coo at it to pacify it. It’s as if you hadn’t noticed him, your dripping eyes fixated keenly on the cold metal, balanced in your shaky grip.   

He can’t explain, nor justify, nor understand his confidence that you won’t aim the weapon at him. Instead, he concernedly anticipates that you might turn it on yourself. He steps towards you, languid but assertive, until he is standing over you.  

Holds out a careful hand, gestures with his fingers. “Give me the gun.”  

Your head raises only slightly, level with his knees, you stare blankly with a pained grimace as if you had forgotten who he was. Not as though you knew him at all, did you?  

But your red eyes trail up his figure, meticulously inspecting, until they eventually land on his face.  

And your features soften.  

That worried strain, the tense muscles of your face ease, brows curling into some sort of pitying daze. He can’t read anything beyond that, can’t tell what you might be thinking as your eyes flit between his features like you’re scanning him, hunting for some realisation or deeper understanding.  

But you won’t find anything, little thing. There’s nothing there.  

His face is just as hardened and scarred, just as obscuring, just as frightening as the skull-painted mask that has long annexed his jaded identity.  

You blink at him, one of your pretty eyes nearly swallowed by the mauve swell resulting from a fist to the socket. You reach upward, gun in hand, you present it to him. Clever girl.  

He takes it, tucks it into the back of his trousers. Chews on words he feels compelled to say to you, they’re dense and swollen in his mouth. Thank you. I’m sorry. Let me get you some clothes.  

But he swallows them. Goes to pluck his mask off the floor, flicking off the dust, before he tugs it over his head. Adjusts the thick wool over his nose, tucks it under his jaw.  

Your stare returns to the floor. You wrap your arms around your shins.  

“I’ll get you some water,” he grunts, short and murmuring, as he turns towards the door and leaves in bitter silence. 

He locks it behind him.  

“I’m in love with you!” Series

Alhaitham x reader Summary — Alhaitham has never been one for social interactions - in fact, neither of you knew each other in the first place. His pride never allowed anyone to befriend him fully. Until you decide to confess your love to him bluntly one morning, ultimately changing his perspective about you. TW : angst-comfort, unrequited love, strangers to enemies to lovers, smut, aged-up characters MINORS DNI word count : 2k

pt. 4 - "Oh? Does that make you feel a certain way?"

pt. one | pt. two | pt. three

"Oh? Does that make you feel a certain way?"

You can feel Alhaitham's breathe against you as he whispers into your ear. You sigh shakily, trying to not seem as affected as you were.

'Damn this attractive piece of shit.'

After the two of you kissed, shit had basically hit the fan. The two of you acted like nothing happened until Alhaitham shoved you into a utility closet on the campus and made out with you. Don't get yourself wrong, you loved it. In fact, part of you wanted more like a greedy bastard.

And that's exactly what you got, actually.

Sitting in your lecture next to Alhaitham, trying to focus. It was two months until both of you graduated. You absolutely needed to lock the fuck in.

You cover your mouth, trying not to moan. Feeling his fingers pushing your panties to the side under your skirt, your eyes rolled as you breathed out.

But this little shit wasn't making it easy to concentrate.

"Be quiet now. You wouldn't want everyone to see how much of a slut you are." Alhaitham's rough voice echoes in your head as he touches your clit. You quickly try to close your legs, cursing lightly.

Luckily the two of you were towards the back of the class, not many eyes on the both of you. Except for the professors.

"A-Alhaitham..." Trying to scold him quietly, knowing full well you couldn't stay still little to nothing be quiet. Trying to clench your thighs, Alhaitham’s strong grip won’t let you. You were royally screwed- at least you hoped you would be after this lecture…

Rubbing your clit lightly you shut your eyes, hunching over the table a little, biting your sleeve. ‘Fuck he’s too good at this.’

You pant a bit, trying to stay as composed as possible. But oh how hard it was when he touched you right there.

You gasp and close your thighs tightly.

“Alright class dismissed!” The professor suddenly exclaimed, everyone rushing out. Well except for the two of you. Jumping a little in your seat, Alhaitham sneaks his hand back, licking them a bit. Your face flushes at his actions.

You adjust your panties and gather your stuff. Alhaitham smirks the whole time, watching as you try to fix your panties subtly. He snickers. In his mind, he couldn't get enough of you. It was almost like he could put everything on the line for you, it was intoxicating.

Once presented well, you walk off without even waiting for Alhaitham; a blush still lingers on your face. Of course, Alhaitham takes a few long strides and he's already caught up to you, reaching for your shoulder.

"What's got you all riled up, pretty?" he teases, already knowing why. You huff in response and roll your eyes. "I can't believe you."

He scoffs, eyebrows pinched together. "Me? I just did what you wanted." Alhaitham never understood why you couldn't see how much he wanted you. To fuck your brains out, and have you let him have his way with you.

But maybe that gave him a fuckboy vibe.

"Listen smart-ass." You stop in a secluded corner of the hallway, ensuring the two of you have some privacy. "I don't know why suddenly you have an interest in me, but I'm not here to play games... or be one for you." Looking up at him, you try to make things as easy as possible for him. You bite your lip, nervous.

"Oh, is that what you think of me?" Alhaitham laughs; laughs at the fact that he's tried so hard to be nicer and more supportive of you, but it was all for nothing. He bends down to get on your level, staring at how you're nibbling on your lips. Alhaitham takes his hand and puts it against your bottom lip, making you stop biting it. Your breath hitches as he touches you.

"I thought I had gained a bit more of a reputation with you than just that... I guess I was wrong." He goes closer to your ear whispering, "Or maybe I wasn't with the way you kissed me in the alleyway..."

He then kisses your neck lightly, "Or maybe in the utility closet..."

You bite your lip trying to control your breathing. You look around, trying to make sure nobody could see what he was doing. 'fuck.'

"Or how about in the lecture room earlier..." Alhaitham takes his hand and hitches your skirt up a little. Pushing his fingers into the plush of your thighs, rubbing them a little. You sigh a little at the feeling.

Gods, this man knows exactly what to do to get you so wet.

Then abruptly, Alhaitham pulls away. Acting as if he didn't lewdly touch you. "But maybe I'm wrong, right sweetheart?" His smirk worked its way onto his face as he ran his fingers through his silver hair.

"Text me when you're done having an attitude." Alhaitham then walks off monotone voice back in place.

Feeling the wetness in-between your legs you curse.

'This little shit has me around his fingers.'

The last month of this school year was almost here. Everyone already had made plans on what they wanted to do afterward for the summer. And some were just waiting to get out of school, trying to get out as fast as possible.

But for Alhaitham, summer break was a time when he could solely focus on his research and studies. Some say that he still took classes during summer break, always being an academic overachiever. But as the weeks went on with you by his side, the more he started thinking.

He would rather die than admit it, but he thought about possible dates he could take you on, the things he could buy for you, and how much time he'd have to just be around you. Some might say he's whipped, like Kaveh, but he believes he's just found a profound amount of care in you.

A month had passed since the little lecture room incident... and hallway incident. In that month, the both of you had spent some 'extra' time together. And by extra, it means frequent dinners together, making out at Alhaitham's house while Kaveh was gone, and casual gifts given between the two.

You, on the other hand, had plans for the summer. Since some were moving farther away or to a new school, you figured you’d have a huge get-together. Like a getaway of some sort. Minor issues like expenses and transportation weren’t a huge thing on your priority list. But convincing Alhaitham to join definitely was.

“Alhaitham!” 

He darted his eyes towards the noise, knowing full well who it was. He continued walking, not even giving a glance to the person who was clearly trying to gain his attention. 

“Alhaitham!!” The voice yelled again, running towards the silver-haired man. People were staring at this point at the obscure scene. 

Alhaitham still paid no mind, still walking towards his destination. Footsteps approaching, huffing. 

“Ugh! Why are you so stubborn!” Kaveh suddenly appears right next to Alhaitham, keeping up with his pace. Alhaitham’s eyes not even giving him the time of day, going inside the library. 

He truly didn’t want to go through this again. His irritation spiked just as the blonde continued to follow him. For the past week, the blonde had been borderline harassing him to go to this getaway. And although it seemed tempting, he just couldn’t pass up an opportunity to focus solely on his studies. Why would he waste time when he could be doing so much more productive? 

“Listen, I know you don’t want to come-”

“Then why are you still here? Do you just waste air to pass the time?” Alhaitham quipped back quickly, already finding a table partial to his liking. Kaveh huffed again, eyebrows twitching in annoyance. Kaveh hadn’t told Alhaitham that it was your idea, that you had asked him to convince the arrogant researcher to join. But it was proving more difficult than he had thought. 

“The only thing that's passing is my patience with you! Can’t you just do this one thing, not for me but for the others? It’ll be fun, in fact, I doubt they’d really care if you brought your studies with you.” 

“No. It’s a waste of energy to bring all my things when I can just do it here.” Haitham said blankly. Another groan emerges from the blonde. 

“What, a little sun too much to handle for you?” A sudden voice says from in front of the pair. 

Alhaitham looks up and sees you and your slick smile. ‘There’s the arrogant shit.’ Noticing the necklace he had gifted you wrapped around your pretty neck. “Nothing I can’t handle, I just have priorities unlike most of you.” He raises an eyebrow at you, smirking. 

You scoff and sit in front of the both of them. “Then make this one of those priorities. This might be the last time you see some of them before they end up at another study.” You lean on your hand, fluttering your eyes. He laughs a little at your convincing. “And you’re going?” He asks, knowing full well he probably would end up going if you were.

“I’m the one planning this so naturally I am.” You wink at him, not noticing how the blonde eyes both of you and your banter. “We’re taking a trip to Mondstat, maybe going by the beach and such. I have a couple of friends there I wanted to visit anyway."

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. 'Friends?' Mondstat, a place he had only visited once, and it was due to a study. Nothing more, nothing less. But he no doubt knew it was beautiful and the people were kind. "Alright, only if I can bring a little of my studies though."

Kaveh scoffs, "Oh so you'll go when she asks but not me." He rolls his eyes at the idea. "Kaveh, you had been chasing me down for the week begging me like a dog. She at least said it nicely." You laugh at Alhaitham's words while Kaveh sits up to argue.

"THAT'S NOT FAIR-"

"Holy shit, look how good those hashbrowns look!" Candace exclaims, going up to a vendor hurriedly. All eight of you had finally made it to Mondstat buzzing with excitement. Well, except Alhaitham and Layla.

"Mmm... When are we getting to the hotel? I'm so tired..." Layla's eyes droop, trying to carry her luggage when Cyno suddenly takes it for her.

"We're going there now, it should only be about 3 minutes away." You say, leading the way to the hotel while carrying your things. The group murmurs amongst themselves as they follow, Dehya trying to get Candace away from the vendor, Cyno trying to keep Layla awake, and Kaveh and Tighnari pointing out things as we pass them.

Then Alhaitham, grabs your bag from your hands. "Focus on leading the way. You've almost tripped over at least three times now."

I roll my eyes as my face heats up from embarrassment. "Thanks." I mumble as I keep looking at the directions. Once finally arrived, rooms were distributed. Each room could only hold two people, so four rooms in total.

Cyno with Tighnari. Kaveh with Alhaitham. Candace with Dehya. And you with Layla. She had passed out the moment she laid on her bed. Everyone wanted to go explore the little town of Mondstat before sleeping, while Alhaitham just wanted to unpack.

Knocking on his door, he opens it. Hair a little messy. 'Cute.'

"I was wondering if you needed help unpacking at all. I finished mine after the others left." You had said, fumbling with your skirt a little. "I don't need help but you can come in if you want." He pushes the door open more, smirking a little at your fumbling. "Unless you're scared."

Your eyes snap to his. "Why would I be scared?" You huff, walking through the door. The door shuts behind you, and you look up at him.

He looms over you, arm against the wall behind you, smirking, grinning like you had just fallen into his trap.

"No reason, sweetheart."

pt. five here | "I'm in love with you!" Series M!list

notes : it’s been a couple months but it’s finally here! I can’t promise I’ll be consistent but I CAN promise that the series definitely isn’t over (: preparing for college is hard but finding time to write is even harder. Thank you hunnies for the continued support, again just comment or dm if you’re wanting to be a part of the tag list!

tag list :

@sn1perz @cheezzyshhh @cuppy20 @thatanimewriter @kittywagun @ichorstainedskin @tigerpriestess @k1xn4a @aphxdea @marchsfreakshow @monamourbladie-mb @monamourbladie @mumeimei @dainsleif-when-playable @boomie-123 @whiskey-19 @annoyingprofessorroadmaker-blog @rlcno

2024 © chocolatetittymilk : do not repost or translate my works anywhere. do not copy or use my works in any site.

READY OR KNOT : TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto is so unsettlingly beautiful, you’re certain he has to be an omega. That is, until a chance encounter with a pushy alpha reveals you were incredibly mistaken—and the surprises don’t stop there. Shouto's suddenly mystifying behavior adds another layer of complexity to an already confusing inter-agency investigation. It would be so much easier to figure things out—and suppress your growing feelings—if only Shouto would stop being so strangely attentive to you... TAGS/WARNINGS: pro hero au, fem + afab reader, omegaverse, alpha shouto, beta reader, misunderstandings, courting behavior, slightly case fic-y, undertones of sexual violence (not between main pairing), aged-up characters, eventual smut, 18+ minors please dni! NOTES: Why yes this is a full-length fic inspired by my Shouto is too pretty to be an alpha except whoops he is drabble from a while back. It sort of grew its own legs and an unexpected case fic angle, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!! LENGTH: est. 24k+, STATUS: ONGOING

CHAPTERS:

part i

part ii

part iii (coming soon)

part iv (coming soon)

part v (coming soon)

part vi (coming soon)

part vii (coming soon)

READ ON AO3