#'oh you want me to look besotted to the point of insanity? you want me on my knees pleading for mercy? roll the fucking tape let's gooooo'
Text
"Do you know you're described in history as the most beautiful woman that ever has or ever will be able to control men with just your beauty?"
#stargate#sg-1#stargateedit#daniel jackson#michael shanks#s1#ep13#1.13#***edits#this episode sure is an episode BUT#hoo boy did mr. shanks understand the assignment#'oh you want me to look besotted to the point of insanity? you want me on my knees pleading for mercy? roll the fucking tape let's gooooo'
243 notes
·
View notes
Note
BABYMOON/ first holiday with baby. Matty holding baby in the pool 🥹
oh my god!! yes. i'm imagining the baba being around eighteen months old (walking and kinda talking and eating solid food) when you take them abroad for the first time (although i think, like, uk city breaks with the baby when they're really little would be so cute, just weekends here and there. although god help you trying to get a pram around, say, edinburgh!). they've been teething non-stop for the past 6 months, and all three of you are a little bit stressed and emotional, and maybe you and matty are watching tv one night after the baby's gone to sleep and there's like a holiday/flight company ad (not the fucking jet2 one though i fucking HATE IT lol), and matty just turns to you and says "let's go on holiday". you don't even need convincing - even the THOUGHT of sunshine and sea air and just warmth has you feeling more relaxed already, so you book it then and there. i think you'd pick somewhere that's not too long a flight from london for you and the baby, so maybe you do two weeks in spain - malaga, perhaps? and obv baba is none the wiser, but you and matty are so excited for your first international family holiday. just like he did before they were born, matty almost goes a bit insane with the clothes shopping - he's buying cute little t-shirts and shorts and swimwear for the baby, a pair of tiny little docs sandals (cutest things on earth btw), little sunhats and baseball caps to protect their scalp in the sun (he defo cries at the tiny hats in the shops don't @ me), and even a pair of baby ray-bans that match his :')) and i think matty would totally spoil you with new clothes too! like, this is the first big thing that's happened to you all since the baby was born, and he just wants to treat and appreciate you, love of his life and mother of his child. and matty knows you so well at this point, like he's so attuned to what kind of clothes you like most and feel your best in, so everything he buys you - mostly pretty sundresses/maxi skirts and swimsuits - is something you'll absolutely love.
anyway, onto the actual holiday. the flight itself is alright - baby sleeps for part of it, then looks at a couple of picture books, and the cabin crew are BESOTTED with them - and so is the journey to your villa (i think you'd probs hire a car, just for ease with the little one). and it's incredible - very private, but in a nice area that you can walk around with the baby, which you do most days. i think you definitely go to the beach at least once - baba is NOT vibing with walking on the sand without their sandals on at first, at which you turn to matty and go "that's your genetics, definitely", but they're fine with it after you convince them to do a bit of paddling in the sea and play the game where you jump over the tiny waves. like they literally will not stop giggling and going "more, mummy!" until they're (and you're) exhausted, and then matty builds sandcastles with them while you sit and read your book, looking up sporadically and awww-ing at the sight of their curly heads bowed intently as they create their masterpiece (you take a sneaky pic, which soon becomes your lockscreen). most days, though, you just spend lazing about in the villa, playing in the garden or in the pool and just enjoying the sun - baba's a bit reluctant towards the sunscreen application process, though, and the only way they'll sit through it is if they see you putting it on matty and vice versa. naturally, matty loves this, because it means he gets to touch up his bikini-clad wife multiple times a day - and that's before the proper touching begins after baby goes to bed at night. anyway, back to daytime; truly your favourite thing about the holiday is watching matty and the baba in the pool, the two of them constantly giggling and splashing about. i think matty genuinely tries to teach the little one to swim, like has their little armbands on and some floaties, but most of the time he just holds them as he floats and walks about the pool, talking and singing and playing games. baba's favourite pool game, though, is one you're involved in too, and it came about by accident - you were standing fanning yourself at the poolside one day, and baba was like "mummy hot?", and matty just looked you up and down smirking and went "oh, mummy's hot alright", and you like rolled your eyes and matty laughed and went "come in with us and cool down" and you were like "yeah ok but don't splash me", so obviously matty held the baby and scooted over to you humming the jaws theme and splashed you and you were like "OI" and baba found the whole thing hilarious, so now you have to let the two of them splash you every time you go into the pool. but you don't mind, obvs - they're your family and you love them and you just all have the best time relaxing and having fun <3
74 notes
·
View notes
Text
the beginning of episode three....season two.....holy shit. holy fucking shit.
john LOOKING FOR ROOT??? to protect harold???????? oh my god. and then not telling him, because he doesn't want to distress him
john greeting harold by "harold," rather than "mr. finch" because he's feeling tender and he Loves harold don't talk to me i need to go scream
harold trying to be tough and say he doesn't need to talk about it, and john deflecting by being like...."no, i was gonna ask you if you wanted to get a beer" (like, sure, john. totally not a date. what the fuck. the man doesn't even drink coffee)
harold commenting on bear and john, with absolutely fucking insane eyes going "if anyone ever tries to mess with you...he'll eat 'em" normal things to say, john. totally normal. yes you are so well adjusted and not pining at all, congratulations john. one point: try not to smile like a besotted fucking assassin when you talk about murder
oh my god. john apologizing for the root picture and trying to hide it......god he loves harold so much.....he's so afraid of losing the man who saved him......AHHHH
36 notes
·
View notes
Photo
-Oh Liz, queen of my heart, I never thought a humble bloodthirsty bandit such as myself would ever be so deliriously, disgustingly happy! I can barely believe it!
-Believe it, darling!
-Nothing will ever come between us, right?
-Of course not! I’d rather die than live a single second without you!
-Agnes, about fucking time you showed up. I need a divorce.
-And I need to not be a head of the Jacoban Church™️ so I can have carnal relations with Royal Advisor Rae. Life’s a bitch.
-Right sure, gross, but my issue is solvable, just grant me a divorce, no biggie.
-YES BIGGIE, are you insane?? Marriage is a sacrament!!! The Jacoban Church™️ does not grant divorces-
-Well I’m sure you can make an exception-
-Let me finish! Does not grant divorces.. for free.
-Ah darling, there you are, practicing your bandit sword moves again huh? Here, have a new dagger in a rose sheath.
-Aw Liz, so sweet!
-I know, I’m the best. So I have some news, nothing interesting really, we just got a temporary divorce so I can marry that elf freak and annex Effenmont. I knew you’d be cool about it.
-YOU FUCKING WHAT? WE TOOK A HOLY OATH IN FRONT OF THE GLOWING MARRIAGE OFFICIANT NPC
-Well that’s a lot of religion for someone who was robbing unarmed peasants left and right!
-OH DON’T EVEN. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME
-It’s only temporary! You can be my royal mistress in the meantime!
-OH YA SURE I’LL BE YOUR MISTRESS, HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND??? TAKE A GOOD LOOK AT THIS GLORIOUS BOSOM
-Ok I am.
-LAST TIME YOU’LL BE SEEING IT, BITCH
-FINE KAYLEY, FINE, LEAVE!!! I’LL MARRY THE LAME EFFENMONTIAN AND WE’LL HAVE KIDS SO PASTY THEY’LL LITERALLY BE INVISIBLE. AND THEN YOU’LL BE SORRY
Ok Liz I know you’re in major crisis but why would she be sorry over your pasty kids?
-I DON’T KNOW. SHUT UP
-Well well, looks like someone fucked up her own undeserved happiness! Could not have happened to a worse person! :)
-I can’t even exchange insults with your wrinkly ass today, Rae, fuck off.
-Ok! :) Just letting you know the elves are here! :)
-I’m gonna chop that smirk right off your head istg.
-Salutations, Lady Elizabeth. I’d like to inform you right from the start that I have no interest in marrying you, because this quest is designed with me playing annoyingly hard to get.
-Salutations to you too, Aryan wet-dream. Let me in turn inform you that I couldn’t give less of a shit about this and I just want to get it over with so I can go cry on my throne.
-That’s not how it works! You’re supposed to be besotted with my elusive elvish beauty!
-Yea I hate to break it to you but you people are about as elusive as your ‘hidden homeland’ with the maps to its location available at every thrift store, now just marry me already and let’s get this alliance going, I’m losing valuable crying time here!
-We’re gathered here today.. didn’t I just marry you last week?
-I’m going to execute everyone in this church if you don’t get this done in under 1 minute.
-Ok then, well let me just say I’ve never seen two people more in love..
-..such sincere smiles!
-Yea definitely, I mean I can’t speak for point ears here, but I absolutely do not crave death.
-I now pronounce you married, and I pronounce Elizabeth an Empress!
-Awesome, best wedding ever, let me just find Agnes for a sec-
-Alright, divorce me.
-WHAT??
-Old age affecting your hearing? D I V O R C E M E
-This is ridiculous!
-So is your creepy non-physical affair with my advisor, don’t want that getting to your flock now do we?
-FINE, you’re divorced. AGAIN.
-Good, let me get the fuck outta here..
-Hello? Is it me you’re looking for?
STOP OMG it’s Consort Linotta aka literal younger version of piratefu, this is the most stereotypical shit ever I can’t.
-Well, Linotta, you already have ‘Consort’ in your name, and you bear an uncanny resemblance to someone very dear and not currently near to my shattered heart.. So I guess I have only one question for you..
-Feel like digging for some gold?
Boy does she ever! This was honestly suspiciously easy, we’re clearly in the Post-Bella-Dina-Caliente phase here. Also I can’t believe we’re doing this in the Jacoban cathedral of all places but you know what, might as well automatize this so we don’t have to keep changing locations-
-aka woohoo in Agnes’ bed! Absolutely over for the moral authority of the Jacoban Church™️.
-We are gathered here today, because we never left, because Empress Elizabeth’s last wedding was half an hour ago-
-Put a good spin on this or I’ll decapitate you?
-BUT the Watcher works in mysterious ways, and sometimes half an hour is more than enough to build the foundations of a strong marriage!
-I made it, hoes! The era of Royal Consort Linotta begins! And consort to an empress, not some cucky queen!
*Netflix-The Crown theme playing*
59 notes
·
View notes
Text
The One With The Soulmate
~Notes: Hiya loves! This is a one shot from my The One With The Marauders series and I’m just moving it here to Tumblr<3
.-
Send ME A Friends Episode/Storyline | A Reblog Means The World!!
.-
“You are seriously insatiable tonight,” Remus rebukes, swatting Sirius’s hand away from where he was eagerly grabbing at his arse for another round of fun, positively delicious, bloody remarkable, mind-blowing fun. God Sirius thanks every deity above that he fell in love with such a secretive, little wildcat.
“Oi, wasn’t the whole purpose of this getting married shtick so we could do that whenever we please?” Sirius harrumphs, flopping back on their bed, starfished out as he watches his ridiculously beautiful husband dropping his towel to the floor and digging through their shared drawer for a new pair of pants. He really tries his damndest to not focus on how the dying evening light filters through their room’s open window, bathing Remus in this resplendent, almost heavenly glow, turning the tips of his eyelashes as golden as his hair and caressing the dips and valleys of his lithe muscles, accentuating the smattering of freckles on his thighs and the dimples he’s got on the small of his back. God Sirius can’t take his eyes off of him for even a moment. “Because if not I reckon I can sue for false advertising.”
Remus only sniffs at him, affecting a lofty air as he pulls on the green, turtle net sweater that Sirius especially likes on him for how it brings out the amber flecks in Remus’s emerald eyes and how it hugs his physique in the exact right breath to show off how bloody good looking he is. “We did that right when you came home from the firm, and then again in the shower less than five minutes ago. Don’t tell me it was that forgettable?” He asks with a pointed hiking of the brow.
“Never my lovely little croissant,” Sirius contends hurriedly, popping up from his lounging position to snatch for Remus’s boney wrists, and dragging the shorter man down to sit in his still very naked lap. “You are the best shag and handsomest fellow and—“ Remus claps his hand over Sirius’s mouth, probably trying to come off stern, but Sirius could totally catch the way the corner of his lips begin to flinch upwards— he’s endeared and Sirius knows it.
“Enough of that bollocks, else I’ll get a cavity.”
“But my beautiful crumpet, I want to sing your praises,” Sirius pouts mockingly, kisses the tip of his nose, while one of his well built arms slings around Remus’s slender waste, with his free hand slowly crawling up his inner thigh, thwarted nearly immediately by Remus standing up in a huff.
“Like a bloody mutt.” He scolds.
“Only for you my delightfully delectable cabbage,” Sirius leers, finally standing up and taking the proffered slacks so to get ready for this little soiree Lily’s law firm is holding for their fiftieth anniversary.
“When do you reckon these awful nicknames will drop off?”
“You’re the one who said you like it when I speak French at you,” Sirius goads, smacking Remus’s pert arse as he struts into their master-bath.
“Oi, when it’s spoken in the ruddy language, and not some awful accent you’ve conjured up.” Remus counters moodily before he grabs for one of the colognes on their vanity, and Sirius only smiles privately to himself, so beyond besotted with him that it’s getting detrimental for his health, exhibit A being how he very nearly squirts his aftershave right into his eyes.
But God Remus is so worth it.
.-
The ballroom of the swanky, Mayfair hotel is dressed up in all the opulence that should be expected for a soiree made up of the throng of stuffy, stuck up solicitors that are present. Sirius is not impressed in the slightest, even if he can work the room for one of these parties as effortlessly as breathing thanks to his upbringing as the son of a Lorde and Countess; though he still hates the ambiance of it all, so much so that it makes his skin crawl to this day, but he promised to be here and at least Remus is right besides him, with Sirius’s hand in his back pocket and hazel eyes flickering to him every few minutes or so, as if attuned to Sirius and all his mercurial moods.
God he loves him.
“Alice and I have been shagging non stop,” Frank says, which works well enough to bring Sirius’s attention away from wanting to drag Remus behind the champaign fountain so to have his wicked way with him, and back to the conversation they’re all having; even if that means that instead of looking passive, Sirius is sneering over at Frank.
“Dacorum man.”
Frank apologizes, beyond glum. “We just don’t know what to do. The doctors say that we shouldn’t have this much difficulty with it, but we just checked before coming and still, nothing.”
“I’m sorry mate, that’s awful.” Remus tells him, and Dorcas nods along, but Sirius just rolls his eyes.
“We’re not even thirty yet for fuck’s sake,” he tells him. “Maybe ’s a sign for you both to stop trying to ruin your lives with a baby.”
“Shut it Sirius,” Dorcas hisses, kicking at his ankle hard enough to make him wince.
“Ouch, hey! I’m just saying, a kid’s a lot of responsibility, and commitment.”
“I’ve been with Alice since we were seventeen Black,” Frank tells him hotly . “I think I’m already properly committed.”
“Then what’s the point of the kid!”
Frank raises his brows, floundering with no words as if he just could not comprehend Sirius and all his Sirius-ness, which is fair, the only two people who’s been able to do as much turned out being his brother, (James), and his lover, (Remus)… Speaking of which…
“I’m sorry he’s acting like such an arse Frank, he doesn’t mean it.” the sandy blonde says cooly, giving Sirius one of his looks that he usually keeps designated for his more rowdy students. “Do you.”
Sirius glares at him before looking back at Frank and nodding stiffly. “Sorry mate, you and Flores would be marvelous parents, I’m just being prickish.”
“Nothing knew then,” Frank says, but it’s coupled with an amiable grin so Sirius knows he’s off the hook.
“Right, well why don’t I make it up to you by grabbing you a drink? Yeah?”
“See if they’ve got an iced white?”
“Me too Black,” Dorcas scoffs, doesn’t even bother to look at him to make the command.
“Righto,” Sirius claps Frank’s shoulder with a friendly squeeze, winking at Dorcas and glancing over at Remus before he goes. “Vodka tonic?”
“With lemon please.”
Sirius nods, still pecks him on the lips even if they’re sorta in a fight, as if Sirius could ever stay away for too long.
.-
By the grace of God, the open bar is mostly vacant, except for a familiar head of messy hair he’s considered family for over half his life.
“All right Prongs?”
James pivots around, drinks already in hand and grinning at the sight of him. “Wow, didn’t even recognize you for a tick there Pads, you don’t even have your hand plastered to Moony’s bum!.”
Sirius smirks, tossing him a covert two finger salute as he saddles up besides him and orders the round of drinks. “What can I say Prongsy, the cheeky bugger made me vow to have it there constantly, can’t just jilt my bloke like that, can I?”
James grimaces with a roll of the eyes, and Sirius’s far accustomed to that look of exasperation from him by now. “You’re a mutt.”
“Would you believe you aren’t the first person to say that to me within the last hour?”
“God save our poor Moony.”
“Oh God doesn’t have to worry, I’m taking care of him just fine.”
“Are you being gross about my best friend,” Lily asks as she struts up towards them, looking like an absolute diamond, even if her nose is wrinkled indelicately.
“Aren’t I always in your opinion?” Sirius asks cheekily, trying to balance the four drinks in his grasp before she just rolls her eyes and grabs the flutes of wine for Frank and Dorcas.
“Your impossible prat-ness aside, I actually think you being all grossly territorial over Remus tonight is actually a good thing.”
“THat’s a first,” James says, but Sirius can only glare, suspicious.
“Why’s that? Oi! Don’t tell me that absolute plonker Dearborn is here!”
“Oh God no,” Lily startles, shaking her head as if the thought was too insane to even fathom. “’S just the firm’s just hired this new bloke and I’m really quite positive that he’s Rem’s soulmate.”
“Lily! Don’t say that!” James balks, glancing over at Sirius worriedly, but he in turn only laughs at the magnitude of the statement.
“Jesus, Evans, didn’t think you believed in that ridiculous shite?”
“’S not ridiculous Sirius! And yeah, ‘course I do, like James and I are definitely soulmates.” She twists slightly so to kiss the curve of James’s jaw, making him go a bit blotchy. Poor git’s wrapped around her littlest finger.
“And what? You reckon Remus and I are just here to kill some time?”
“No, don’t be a pillock,” Lily reproves. “’s just he’s his soulmate is all.”
Okay, Sirius’s amusement has officially given way to irritation, and he twists his head so to scowl down at her as they make their way to the others. “Alright Evans, explain yourself then, yeah? Tell me how he’s Moony’s supposed soulmate.
“Well he’s French.”
“I speak French.”
“He’s got amazing, blonde hair.”
“I’ve got amazing, black hair.”
“He majored in literature just like Remus.” Lily says airily, knowing that Sirius can’t match that being an architect himself.
“Well— I read all that snotty shite Remus asks me too.” He huffs, and Lily answers with a shrug to her delicate shoulders.
“Fine then, I’m wrong. You’ve got nothing to worry bout.”
She struts off to their little lump of friends as if to cut the conversation off completely, and Sirius is perfectly find with that. She’s acting off her bloody rocker. But, if Sirius stands closer to Remus than usual for the rest of the night, or if he ends up kissing his temple whenever he feels like someone is watching them, or if he glares at one of the blokes working catering after deigning to offer Remus an empanada— Well that’s Sirius’s business and his alone. He’s not intimidated by this soulmate shite, for fuck’s sake. It’s not like he’s trying to stave off the bastard or something. He does all of that simply because Remus is his husband now, and he loves getting to show that off to all onlookers, even the ones who may or may not be Remus’s soulmate.
.-
“We’ve got dinner with Reggie and his latest girlfriend tonight,” Remus tells Sirius the following Tuesday, tossing the scarf his mother had gifted him last Christmas— with a matching one for Sirius— over his shoulder as they stroll around to the front of the Three Broomsticks for their morning coffees, hands linked and the early winter snow catching in both sets of their lashes.
And God does Sirius love the sound of that, of their schedules overlapping, becoming one almost. Loves the idea that where ever one goes the other follows. Sirius knows that they’ve both have their demons, from Sirius’s neglect and emotional abuse as a child— occasionally sprinkled with a good smack or two if his mother was particularly fuming. To Remus’s complex of never feeling like he can ever be enough, and the way Lyall had acted for years after Remus had come out to his parents as gay, coupled with his multiple hospital visits as a lad until they finally figured out his lupus diagnosis. But they’re better, so much fucking better now. Plenty of the credit going to the remarkable group of friends whom they’ve picked up along the way, but another huge chunk was finding one another, and Sirius knows it in his bones. Knows that there couldn’t be anyone else for him, and sure he knows Remus sometimes deserves more, deserves better— But he’s chosen him, he’s chosen Sirius. He loves Sirius. And it’s remarkable and unbelievable and amazing, and Sirius holds onto the sensation of it with hungry piety.
“Love? Did you hear that?”
Sirius jolts back to the moment, and smiles softly down at him, kissing the corner of Remus’s mouth in penance. “Yes, of course gorgeous. I didn’t forget, I’ll be home early and maybe we can have a lie down before leaving if you’ve finished grading those papers?”
Remus’s laugh right then is like the most splendid instrument Sirius has ever heard, light and magical and warm as a bonfire. “Try to be good and maybe.” He tells him with a cold fingered tapping of his nose before he flounces off to the main counter to order for them.
Sirius doesn’t know how long he stares after him instead of grabbing the gang’s typical seats up front, but is startled when he hear’s a choked out noise coming from behind him and sees Lily, panic faced and eyes wandering frantically.
“Oi, what’s squirming up your arse Evans.” He asks her suspiciously, thick brows furrowed.
“I didn’t know you guys would be here,” she explains so quickly that her words begin to crash into one another. “Oh bloody hell, the one time I have a late start!”
She stomps her foot and Sirius shoots her a fully fledged glower. “What is making you so damn barmy for Christ’s sake.”
Lily parts her lips, but no noise comes out, because right then someone follows her indoors, a very familiar someone if only based off of descriptions. A very tall, very blonde, very smiley looking someone.
Sirius hates him right on sight.
“I’m sorry I took so long at that shop Lily, my mother loves these, how do you say, snow globes?” The stranger says, shaking one for emphasis with Big Ben set in the center.
“Ridiculous tourist trinkets is more like it,” Sirius practically snarls, which earns him a confused look by the blonde and a tired one by Lily.
“Right then, well Sirius this’s Thomas Martin, Thomas this is Sirius Black.”
“Lupin-Black now, ta Lils.”
“Oh,” Thomas says, blue eyes blinking wearily. “Nice to meet you, ah, Sirius.” He extends his hand, and when Sirius shakes it he makes sure to feel the bloke’s bones crushing together, just so he understands who exactly he’s speaking with.
The French arse eventually pulls away, pinning Sirius with a one eyed squint as he curls and stretches his fingers.
“Oh God,” Lily groans, leading them to their spot and depositing herself onto the sofa with absolute exasperation, and Sirius only continues to glare at Thomas as he sits besides her, growing stiffer once Remus returns.
“Oh, hiya Lils,” he smiles, handing Sirius his drink before flickering his gaze to the fucking Frenchman.
“‘lo love, this’s the newest hire at the firm, Thomas. Thomas, this’s my best mate, Remus.” She introduces quickly, the fucking trader.
“Remus?” Thomas asks, dimpling down at Sirius’s fucking husband with bright eyes. And Sirius has to curl his fists so not to punch him right in the sodding face, only growing angrier when Remus chuckles and ducks his head, like he was nervous by him! Like he thought he was in fact very good looking and very charming and his damn soulmate.
“Yeah, blame that on my mum, she was big into the classics.”
Thomas’s grin widens even more and Sirius feels the pulse on his neck beginning to throb. “No, it’s very charming. My Grandfather was very, erm, focussed on those studies as well? Begged my parents to name me Enkidu. They thankfully refused.”
Remus laughs fully now, and Sirius wants to a punch a wall. It took him literal months to make Remus laugh like that— genuine and glimmering and gorgeous. “Lucky bloke. Though I do have to admit that Gilgamesh is a favorite of mine, I think I’ve read the epic twenty times over.”
“Oh mine too,” the fucking Frenchman says, stepping closer to Remus and now in front of Sirius fully, gambling bravely that Sirius wouldn’t try to cap him right here. “If you ask me however, I do believe that he and Enkidu are more than just, friends.” His eyes flicker down to Remus’s lips for a split second and when he looks back up his face is positively leering.
Sirius sees red.
“God, so nice to finally talk to someone who gets it, the professors I work under are usually so painfully heteronormative that it’s crippling.” Remus tells him, smiling kindly.
“Oh, I’m the furthest away from that, I assure you.”
He winks! He fucking winks! Sirius swears to God! He sees the bastard winking at his husband! His fucking husband! What the bloody hell does he think that platinum band on Remus’s finger matching Sirius’s own is suppose to represent! Holy shit!
“I’d love to read anything you have on the subject, most things translated to French are a bit clunky.”
He’s trying to ask him out! Right here! Right in front of Sirius! Sirius is going to strangle his snail swallowing neck! Thankfully, Lily must sense his inner turmoil because she interjects their conversation right then, asking Thomas to grab her a jasmine tea.
“Oh yes of course,” he nods congenially, rounding back on Remus before he leaves. “Would you like a pastry? On me.”
Is he trying to ask Remus to eat it off of him? What the hell! It took nearly a year of them fucking for Sirius to get Remus to bring food in the bedroom, to get to watch Remus lick the chocolate syrup off his cock. And what? Does he think he’s even got a chance so quickly!
“Oh, that’s sweet,” Remus grins and a part of Sirius dies on the inside. “But I’ll come tag along, yeah? I love talking about this stuff and Sirius absolutely hates this ancient rubbish.”
“I do not! I think these dead blokes are very interesting,” he harrumphs, heated, with pouting lips and crossed arms. But Remus only tosses back his head with uninhibited laughter in response, which makes the fucking Frenchman beam that bit brighter.
“After you,” he says with a swish of the hand.
Sirius is going to be tried for murder, and he’s not even sorry about it.
“’s okay love,” Lily reassures him, patting his head dotingly. “We’ll find you someone new.”
“I hate you Evans!”
“Don’t blame the messenger!”
Sirius is about to tell her just how much he does exactly that, but then he catches on the fucking Frenchman putting his hand over Remus’s to prevent him from sliding over his card and all the fight leaves him in an instant.
.-
Sirius ended up not even going to the on sight location for the latest project he’s heading at the firm. He instead spent the bulk of the morning and part of the afternoon grinding his teeth as Remus spoke and barbed and giggled with the fucking Frenchman, like he was enjoying himself. And it was torture, watching the way they naturally clicked and got on— Literal fucking torture.
Sirius is still fuming as they sit in front of his younger brother and his newest bird, a pretty girl named Amal, who’s just graduated from a posh, fashion institute in the north of France. And Christ it’s like he’s being bombarded with the idea of that country all day.
“God that must’ve been such a wonderful experience,” Remus says, smiling as she leans forwards with a grin, speaking louder over the chatter of the busy sushi joint they had all agreed upon.
“Oh yes, the cuisine was simply unmatched, even if I did end up missing London, being home and all. Though I’m afraid my French is seriously dwindling compared to my English and Arabic now.”
“You should ask Reggie to practice with you, I know I love it when Sirius speaks the language.” He winks right then, making Amal crow with laughter and Regulus roll his eyes fondly. But Sirius stays peeved off with his hinged jaw, absolutely seething.
“Bet my hopeless brother recites poetry to you and everything, rose in his mouth and all.”
Remus laughs and Sirius suddenly has the horrid image of the fucking Frenchman doing as much outside the window to their bedroom, and is furious all over again.
“Well Reggie, Remus here does fancy all things French, foods and wines and blokes and just the whole lot.”
“Well good, we have something in common,” Amal snickers, lacing her hand through Regulus’s own over the tabletop. Sirius and Remus haven’t held hands since the waitress brought out their drinks, and remembering as much makes Sirius take a swig of his ail, hating everything.
“Yes well, you can say it’s Remus’s soulmate, France I mean.” He says, words beginning to slur. “He’s meant for French food and wines and blokes, innit true love? You’d prefer a French bloke?”
Amal frowns and Regulus pins him with a one eyed squint, befuddled. But Sirius only gathers his wits about him when Remus clammers noisily out his chair and tugs on his arm to follow suit.
“Reg order us the specials yeah? And a round of spring rolls,” he instructs, words clipped, and a small dent peeking out between his brows, like it does when he’s especially annoyed. “C’mon Sirius we need to talk.”
“But that’d be awfully rude,” Sirius retorts, already hates the flat, fuming tone Remus is speaking with, and feels good and properly nervous for the impending argument.
“They have one another, ’s fine. Now let’s go.”
Sirius concedes and pretends it doesn’t feel like he’s being lead to the gallows.
.-
“All right prick,” Remus huffs, rounding on Sirius right after he locks the door to the single user loo. “What has gotten you in such a bloody awful mood.”
Sirius sniffs, arms crossed against his chest and his head tilted imperiously. “I’m peachy.”
“You’ve been acting like an arse ever since we had coffee with Lily,” Remus counters, reproving.
“Actually love, if you didn’t notice, Lily left about halfway through you and the blonde’s little clucking session.”
Remus furrows his brows now, pillowy lips pinched and looking lost as hell. “You’re angry because Lily left for work?”
“Oh for bloody hell Remus!” Sirius erupts, tossing his arms in the air. “I’m angry because you met your ruddy soulmate and now you’re going to ride off into the sunset with’m and read French poetry together while eating cheese and bread and talking about highbrow shit like Aeneid!”
Remus startles backwards, long lashes flapping and mouth gaped open. “Oh Christ, you’ve gone absolutely barmy. You’re mad.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I feel like I should call someone about my husband going bloody mental.”
“I repeat. Not. Helping.”
“What in hell has convinced you that this random bloke is my soulmate?” Remus asks, back to being patient as ever.
“Lily!” Sirius shouts. “She told me that you and the fucking Frenchman are soulmates! And she’s right okay! She’s bloody spot on.”
Remus rolls back his entire head now, groaning out, “You are such an idiot.”
“Real nice Moons,” Sirius frowns, doesn’t even know how to feel now, the anger seeping out of him the longer he’s standing besides Remus, leaving an awful, clawing abandonment in its wake.
“Did you ever once think to ask me what I think of the damn concept of soulmates? Hmm?” He asks, single brow hiked with pure condescension.
And oh.
Sirius is stuck for a minute there, doesn’t see an out to the question. “Well…. Erm—“
“Well if you had asked, like a normal sodding bloke! I wold’ve told you that I married you because I know your my soulmate you arse! And it isn’t because of some ridiculous notion of stardust or providence or whatever else. It’s because we grew together, and we fight for one another, and even when you’re being a complete prick or we’re arguing like mad you’re the only one I want. Only person I can ever see myself with, the only person I want to try this hard for. The only fucking person I ever want to call my husband! My partner! lover!”
“Oh.” Sirius breathes out, all his fears being strangled by the conviction embedded into Remus’s words.
And it’s like all of Sirius’s insides melt, like all the adoration and love and reverence he holds for Remus is pooling in his stomach and threatening to pour out his every orifice. And God he can’t even inhale, only scrambles to lock his hands around Remus’s cheeks and press his head against Remus’s own.
“Yeah? You really think that.”
“Hell, I thought the wedding and all would’ve made that clear.”
Sirius chuckles, only lightly, his thumb dragging beneath Remus’s eye tenderly. “God I love you, so endlessly. Please forgive me for being an idiot?”
“Yeah, I suppose I’ll keep you around,” Remus teases, bouncing on the balls of his feet to kiss Sirius’s nose and lock his arms around his neck, and the sensation of it— them knotted into one another— could never be replicated in a thousand years, not like this, not like them.
.-
Other Wolfstar One Shots | Send Me A Prompt
#WOLFSTAR#REMUS LUPIN#SIRIUS BLACK#SIRIUSXREMUS#REMUSXSIRIUS#harry potter series#spilt ink#FIC: Friends AU
93 notes
·
View notes
Note
Prompt because it fits so goooooood to Berlermo:“Who wouldn’t be angry you ate all of my cereal and faked your death for three years!”🤣🥺
Ridiculous sentence prompt + Berlermo
“Martín, please calm down."
A strangled cry escapes his throat, caught somewhere between an offended gasp and an outraged huff. The audacity, Martín thinks. He is fuming – positively foaming at the mouth – and Andrés tells him to calm down, as though he were one of his women. A hysteric.
“Please, you’re overreacting—”
“Oh, I’m overreacting?” Martín shakes his head, his lips twitching into a manic smile, a feral grimace. And alright, maybe he isn’t at his best right now. But he’s still hungover, dressed in nothing but a stained wifebeater and pajama pants, his hair a tousled mess. His dignity is practically non-existent at this point. Nothing but an afterthought, a thing of impossibility.
(It’s just another one of the things Andrés took from him the night he left. When he turned his back on Martín and reduced him to a crying, whimpering mess. A shell of himself.)
“You faked your death for two years,” Martín grinds out through clenched teeth, “and now you show up at my apartment and make my miserable existence even worse by eating all of my cereal?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Martín. Why would I want to eat your cereal?" Andrés scoffs, grimacing as though he just tasted something sour. Something disgusting. “I threw it away. It contains 98% chocolate; it can’t be good for you.”
He nods towards the sink where Martín can see two boxes of his favorite cereal clogging the drain. And somehow – impossibly – the sight opens the floodgates, and Martín bursts into laughter. It sounds off even to his own ears, a bit too high – so much so that it makes him seem insane. Unhinged.
He laughs and laughs until his face is streaked with tears, and not even the concerned look on Andrés’ face is enough to put a damper on his little episode. Fuck him, Martín thinks. This is the new him and if Andrés doesn't like what he's seeing – well, we rarely appreciate our own creations.
“How the fuck did you manage to survive without me, huh?” Martín says once he has calmed down, his tone resigned. Now that he’s allowed himself to let go, he feels empty. “You can’t just throw shit down the drain – especially not my favorite cereal. Because now, mi querido, I don’t have anything to eat.”
He draws in a deep breath, taking one-two-three seconds to consider if this is what he wants. If Andrés is what he wants.
“You owe me breakfast,” Martín says, raising his chin in what he hopes passes for confidence. He wants Andrés to regard him as an equal this time around. It's either that or nothing at all.
Something tugs at Andrés' lips, the beginning of a smile. It's hopeful and tentative, and Martín can't believe that after years – fucking years! – he still wants to reach out and trace it with his fingers, like a besotted fool.
“Ah,” Andrés sighs, a sheepish look in his eyes. “I believe I should mention that I also threw out some of your clothes.”
#la casa de papel#berlin x palermo#berlermo#Thank you for the prompt! it fits them quite perfectly#what losers huh#this is the last one for today; I'm gonna work on the rest tomorrow#thecruelarts#ask#prompt fill
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Man On Fire - Chapter 77
Harper arched her back in bliss, it was like life was being breathed into her again after a lifetime of coma, his skin rubbing against hers, it was intoxicating to feel all those muscles on his back flexing and rippling under her fingers, to say she had missed him and that cathedral of a body was an understatement. Hard and throbbing he pushed himself agaist her and there was nothing else she could or wanted to do then open her legs and welcome him back inside her warm body that had been deprived of his love and attention for way too long, “I need you inside of me” she breathed in his ear, he was being considerate with foreplay as always, but the fire was burning out of control already, it was time for the real deal, her head fell back and her mouth formed a silent ‘O’ as he slowly entered her, making her feel like she was going to burst. No matter how many times they had made love in the past, she would never get used to his gigantic size. “You ok?” he held himself up on stretched arms above her, with a mix of lust and concern in his glazed over eyes. Without a word but with a simple grin, she clasped her legs around his waist to urge him to move and push himself further and even deeper inside of her. Jared threw his head in his neck with a blissful groan. It was her whispered “come on big boy, just fuck me real hard and good” that drove him insane and his hips started a hard, slow thrusting that had her completely breathless by the time he sped things up. Slowly she was losing her mind in the best way possible, she lost all control over her speech, all she could utter were moans of painful, yet delightful pleasure, seeing her wriggle underneath him was so intoxicating even if they were doing plain missionary, her hands kneading her breasts, fingers tweaking her nipples, moaning and groaning her way up to a much needed orgasm but that orgasm would have to wait a little, first he was going to destroy that sweet pussy of hers even harder. “I fucking love you so much” he groaned at her, a rush of blood clouding his head, it had been too long, he wasn’t going to last long but it didn’t matter, they could do it again and again and again all through the night and if not tonight then there was always the rest of their lives, because he wasn’t going to let her slip away anymore. His hips pushed harder and faster, the white hot heat building up in his groin with every thrust, Harper was suddenly swept up in a whirlwind of sensations and right after him, she too screamed out her orgasm.
Fifteen minutes later they were still glued to each other, like both their bodies had morphed into one, “don't ever leave me again, I don't wanna be without you, not even for one more second” he breathed against her forehead, being the first to break the silence between them. He could see Harper's faint smile and then she exhaled so deep like she had been waiting a lifetime to exhale and that's when he saw the tears roll down, “hey, hey, what's wrong? Babe?” he cupped her face in his hands “did I say or do something wrong?”. Harper shook her head, “No..it's not you..I don't know what's wrong..” she sniffed through her tears, “you just had so much on your plate..all that pent up stress and tension..” he kissed her wet eyes. “Just let it go, we're together now and that's all that matters, I'll help you through this, I promise” he pulled her even closer to him, dotting butterfly kisses all over her tear-stained face and his heart jumped when she held on to him and released all the tears she had in her. “I've missed you so much” she breathed, “not as much as I missed you, I was so lost without you” Jared reassured her but she suddenly pulled away from him, with a look that betrayed she didn't believe him “what? What is it?” fear squeezed his throat together. “Steph..you had a call with Steph before..you say you've missed me so much, but you still hooked up with her so soon after..us..oh djeez, now I sound like a jealous bitch” she knew she was being completely irrational but she just could help it. “You have every right to say what you say, you're right, it was the old me that resurfaced after you and I..well after we split up” he kept caressing and kissing her hair to have her relax a bit, he didn't want things to escalate between them, “I'm not that man anymore, that's all I can say”. Harper squinted her eyes “how do I know that? You were that man until..what? 48 hours or so ago?” it was a valid question, “true..but hooking up with Steph was out of..spite..I wasn't myself when you left me..I lost it and fell back into old habits..” he tried to explain but she was having none of it. “Old habits? I don't know if they're really old habits, or just who Jared is? We split up because you cheated remember?” this was not going well, not well at all, “I know..and I also know there's nothing I can say to change your mind, but I'm not gonna fuck things up between us ever again, I swear, just have a little faith..”. He was right, there was nothing he could say to miraculously make his past disappear, she had decided to take the plunge and given in to her feelings for him again, so she would just have to stick with it and start believing in his good intentions. “I think I can do that..” those six little words were all it took to defuse the situation, “good girl..Steph is out of my life, I chose you and I'll always choose you, I let things cloud my vision for the last time, she's a dumb mistake that's in the past, you are everything I need for a bright future” he kissed her bottom lip to erase the tiny pout that formed on there. “Just love me Jared, that's all I can ask, just love me the way only you can” she returned his kiss and soon all the tears were washed away by another round of glorious lovemaking.
”Any news?” Jared came walking out of the bathroom with a towel riding dangerously low on his hips, “no..no news” sighing she put her phone back on the nightstand and got a bit lost in her thoughts again, “no news is good news, right?” he sat down on the bed next to her and rubbed her thigh. “I guess so..I'll call Arno later on” she started to resurface again but she wasn't completely out yet, “so what do you want to do today?” his voice was so soft and tender, “Oh..well, I was thinking of checking in with Charles, even though I still think he's the root to all this evil..you know, bringing my parents here..” she sighed, “I know, but I honestly think that he had everyone's best intentions in mind..he's pretty shook up about everything's that happened..anyway, I'll come with you, we'll face him together, alright?” he tried to kiss her doubts away, but he knew they would only disappear when she faced Charles again and talked things through with him.
He loved walking around New York with her, here he felt he could do it because he could keep a certain kind of anonymity here, NY always kept it real, in sharp contrast to the gossip and glamour of LA, of which he was reminded by the constant buzzing in his pocket from Steph blowing up his phone even after he told her he wanted nothing more to do with her. The wonderful smell of fresh baked bread greeted them as he held the door open for Harper walking into the renowned bakery/coffee bar, “I love this place” he took off his coat and sat down, grabbing her hands, “and I didn't just choose it for its' wonderful breakfast but also for another reason” he grinned and looked out the window pointing “remember?”. Harper followed his gaze and then it dawned on her “Oohhh, the place where we first met..” she swallowed hard in excitement “that was such a weird moment”. Jared sat back grinning “weird and yet so amazing and so..normal, deep in my heart I wasn't surprised to see you turn up, I guess deep down I was really hoping it'd be you”, they were interrupted to place their order, which they did but as soon as the waiter left Harper squeezed his hand. “You were hoping for Coco to show up because you had met Harper first? Or were you feeling guilty somehow that you were going to meet Coco and in the back of your mind you were hoping for Harper?” her difficult question had him frowning and thinking for a second, pondering on his answer “Honestly, I was so fond of you both, I dreaded having to give up one for the other and then I got my prayers answered when Harper Coco showed up, I was so torn, there was Coco who was so intruiging and funny and artistic and mysterious who I was so completely besotted with even though I had never seen her, I knew in the depth of my heart that no matter how she looked, I'd fallen for her hook, line and sinker..and then there was Harper who was equally artistic and genius and completely nuts, fighting off guys twice her size, very high in energy, you were like a fucking loaded gun” his grin became bigger and bigger just talking about her “and then there was the way Harper looked that had my hormones racing, girl, I was so fuckin' jealous of Sean at the time, just the fact that you both were so physically and emotionally close”.
Harper nearly choked on her coffee “Sean and I..close? What a frikkin' nightmare he turned out to be, but it's kinda cute that you were actually jealous!! I didn't know what to make of you really..you constantly blew hot and cold on me” she lathered up a croissant with butter. “Oh really? surely there must have been something you liked about me?” he was fishing for compliments now, even after all this time she hadn't put all of her cards on the table, “I thought you had the cutest bubble butt I had ever seen” she giggled, it was a treat seeing her laugh again. “I agree, that is one of my finest assets” he hiccupped “what else?”, she stopped chewing for a second “apart from the fact that you're incredibly easy on the eye, you were also prepared to be my best friend and you supported my work from day one, that meant and means the world to me, but what I love the most about you is that you're so unconventional, you're quirky and extremely ambitious and driven but you also got the biggest heart, you were always there for me when I needed and need you most”. Every single compliment she was paying him made his heart burst, “you know you may have lost your title, but your true nobility and aristocracy always comes shining through, and then I haven't mentioned your breathtaking beauty yet”. Harper shifted uncomfortably in her seat “ok, ok, enough with the compliments..we've given each other a new chance so let's not try and fuck it up again..shall we start with that?” she pushed a strawberry in her mouth, she always had a hard time dealing with compliments. “Don't say 'fuck' too much, I'm having trouble enough keeping my cool just thinking about everything that we did last night..even you eating that strawberry is almost enough to send me over the edge, I'm getting old” he wiggled in his chair to make his point clear. “Old? You? Oh honey, after two toecurling orgasms, old is not the word that instantly comes to mind” teasing him, she let another strawberry slip between her plump lips, giggling again like a school girl when she saw him squirm in his seat even more. “Anyway, we're in a public place so let's try and keep our hormones under control” there was a faint smile and a deep sigh as she came back to reality that wasn't exactly shiny and bright for her at the moment. “I wish I could cancel every point on my agenda and just disappear for a while..I just wish I could go back to that carefee time before all this” she took a sip of her hot coffee and stared at the spot where they first met, her eyes glazing over with the memory. Jared grabbed her hand and rubbed his thumb over it “I totally get that..why don't you come back with me to LA in a few days? We can pack up your stuff at your apartment and have it shipped to LA”. Harper's mouth fell open when he dropped that bomb “What? Wait..LA?” she pulled her hand back, “it's where I live, so yeah that's what I mean, LA is a lot more chill than New York, you'll move in with me and we can hide from the world for a while”. Harper's eyes became saucers “move in..with you?” she whispered in shock, “well yeah, unless you have some secret lover there that I don't know about and were planning to move in with him..of course I want you to move in with me, silly!”.
#jared leto#jared leto fanfic#jared leto fanfiction#fanfic#fic#fanfiction#30 Seconds To Mars#30 seconds to mars fanfiction#30 secondstomars fanfic#a man on fire#chapter 77#Harper and Jared#Harper Coco#caroline18mars
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
Escape with Namjoon
Pairing: boyfriend!Namjoon x female!reader
Word Count: 2.1k
Genre: fluff/soft/smut
Warning(s): smut
Hushed whistles of the wind are nearly smothered by the prominent crunching of leaves beneath your shoes while your eyes skim the towering trees whose leaves have almost entirely fallen upon the earth. Namjoon walks ahead of you, but his calloused hand remains enveloping yours while he leads the way.
“Where are we going?” You blurt for the umphteenth time in the past fifteen minutes despite the lowkey uncertainty you have for how long the pair of you have actually been walking.
“Almost there,” Namjoon promises with a swift squeeze from his large hand, him turning to smirk at you with his deepened dimples making you gulp from the unintentional tingle displaying at the pit of your stomach. Your heart nearly combusts into oblivion when he pauses to steal a quick kiss before proceeding to pace toward the surprise destination he has talked nonstop about.
One thing you will say, other than the way his slick, blonde hair covers down to the nape of his neck is he is the only individual you trust with your whole life, and this man knows how to rattle you senseless which makes him increasingly hard to resist. His frame over towers you bringing a blanket of security especially when wrapped in his arms, and you sure hope that wherever he takes you, will gift some form of privacy for the tempting daydreams you can’t seem to prevent yourself from desiring.
You then continue to think about Namjoon because when is there ever a time that you don’t think about Namjoon? Stifling a chortle, you run your thumb along the back of his hand, letting the soothing touch ease you into the excitement for whatever idea he has pulled up his sleeve.
“Annnnnd, we’re here!” His boisterous voice reverberates into the forest whilst he throws his arms out in a widespread motion.
“Oh, my word,” you gasp in awe; a small cabin, only a few feet away is huddled within a small space of trees that loom over the roof where autumn leaves decorate the sidewalk among where they rest upon the visible window panes. It’s a very secluded space where both of you can enjoy all the solitude you want.
“No interruptions,” Namjoon hints toward you with his tight-lipped smirk that you’ve grown to love so much, “Just like you wanted,” flashing a wink, he lightly elbows your rib cage.
“I- I don’t know what to say! How did you find this, Joon?”
“I have connections,” he shrugs, “My relative owns the cabin and he hardly ever uses it anymore. So, I asked him if I could borrow it this weekend.”
“Weekend? But I have to work this weeken-”
“No, you don’t,”
“Wha- Yes, I d-”
“No, you don’t,”
“I-”
Your question is interrupted by Namjoon with another small kiss, a distraction that makes you weak in the knees. When he pulls away, he stares at your hazy eyes while a giddy smile lingers, “A few months ago, I talked to your boss about getting this specific weekend off. This was before I discovered my relative’s cabin though. I originally planned something else, but I remembered you during that time saying you really wanted some privacy. Away from the world for a while. So,” he gestures his strong arms toward the cabin, “Here we are. This weekend. You. Me. Sheets! Covers!”
“Oh, you brute!” You smack his shoulder playfully, just for him to cup your wrists to pull you into a long embrace. Oh, how beautiful he feels, arms tightening around you while your face presses into the bundle of his jacket. He presses his thick lips to your forehead when the palm of his hand tangles into your hair, “I love you,” he whispers.
Stepping away to get a clear look of his face, how an amazing man like him happened to step foot into your life a few years ago is beyond you, and with how wonderful he makes you feel, there’s no perfect combination that compares to Namjoon and you.
“I love you; you insanely perfect, irresistible piece of work that made me walk ten miles in my new boots,”
“It was only two miles, and look your boots survived,”
“Barely,” you tease, and from the deep sound of his chuckle it is enough to make you cave. Grasping the front of his jacket, you pull him in for a kiss, his hand slipping to rest behind your neck while his tall frame leans into you. His touch is so warm compared to the fall air, especially when he continues to move his mouth with yours so slowly, so erotic- tilting his head to circle the tip of his tongue along yours before you suck at his bottom lip.
“Mmm,” he moans as he slides his other hand down your back until he pauses on your ass, squeezing harshly to the point you press further into him- the feel of his hardened being igniting the pleasurable sensation aching within your core.
“Joon,” you plea when his kisses grow aggressive.
“Oh, don’t worry, baby. I know where we’re headed,” squatting just enough to wrap his arms underneath your ass, he lifts you in the air, and even though you want to consider his safety in attempting to walk towards the cabin, you grip the long strands of his hair regardless, smothering him in more kisses while he takes careful steps in the path leading to the front door. There’s no telling how he found it with you being the distraction you’re being, but skillfully unlocking the door between your taunting gaze, he doesn’t hesitate to kick the door closed behind him before turning to lock it.
You don’t even get a second to look at your surroundings when Namjoon sets you down and scoops your hand turning to charge relentlessly to the bedroom. Instinctively, you do not refuse, and the anticipation throbbing in your heat is enough to make you forget about the décor of the tiny building, and consume all of your attention upon the enticing individual who now has you pinned against the bedroom door he roughly shuts.
Teasing. One thing that he does so well is teasing you until you can no longer take it. He loves for you to beg for him, to supplicate for him, screaming his name when you're coming down from your high. He knows how to get his revenge on you from the way you tempt him with your eyes and here he is, lips barely brushing yours while you pant, yearning for him to kiss you. Taking his index finger, he traces the very line of your jaw before soothing it over your parted lips, “Joon,” you breathe, soon spreading his fingertips upon the part of your chest that is exposed after shedding your coat moments ago. The ticklish traces are so alluring, your thong is soaked by the time he melts into your kiss. His breathing increasing from how turned on he is by just the simple effect his touch has on you. “Oh, Joon,”
Painfully and gradually, he slides his fingertips down your sides until they slip beneath the bottom of your shirt, to then sketching underneath your bra where your perk nipples become sensitive the millisecond his fingers caress them simultaneously. Ghosting your lips, he then traces with open mouth kisses until he buries his face into the crook of your neck, lightly sucking while you fumble to undo his belt before desperately tugging at his pants until they slide off his long legs. He wiggles out of them as well as his shoes- him shrugging off his own jacket while his lips refuse to leave any part of your face until you lift his shirt, breaking any contact with his mouth until it lands on the floor.
“Hey, I don’t want to be the only one naked here,” Namjoon’s palms nearly swallow your cheeks.
“Is that so,” you smirk with the suggestive cock of an eyebrow, eyes boring into his, you pad your palms upon his heated chest while you usher him to sit on the bed- his legs spread to give you room to wedge between them while your hands perform their dirty work when you step away. His eyes never leave your digits as they seductively glide down to the button of your jeans eventually disposing of the material onto the ground, your fingertips now swirl upon the patterns of your lacey thong, giving you a rush from the way Namjoon’s eyes darken with besotted lust.
Impatient, but in a good way, he helps you remove your shirt giving you access to unclip your bra, revealing your breasts to him while he moans kisses upon them. “[Y/N],” the way he says your name when he’s in this mood is like music to your ears and while his tepid skin encircles you to him, you are light-headed with how turned on you are, hardly registering the way he spins you, bouncing your back upon the mattress, wet kisses trailing from your breasts along your abdomen, your fingers dig into the backs of his shoulders. When he pauses, the tip of his nose rests upon your clit while his warm exhales are felt along your vulva. Longing for what comes next, your hips are moving, another form of pleading that you can’t seem to stop, wanting nothing more than to feel his tongue roughly flicking upon your vaginal lips while you gasp his name.
Instead, he hovers his hands on another journey to where your breasts await, basking in your whimpers from how he knows exactly how to rub your nipples in that slow, tender way that almost drives you over the edge every single time. The sudden swipe of his tongue along your entrance makes you jolt in immense ecstasy, even more so when he rapidly licks harder and harder still not unlatching his fingers from your sensitive buds. “Oh, Joon, Oh fuck, oh shit, oh Joonie- ah!” You almost come undone right then and there from how strong the feeling in your slit has become, and when his large hands then move to grip your shaking thighs, he now tongues at your clit. Not wanting to be done just yet, you force yourself to maneuver your hands upon his shoulders, urging him to move his body back to align on top of yours. Skin to skin, the feeling of forever hits you like a wave- wrapping your arms around his neck, he kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your neck, your eyelids, your nose, his lips- the smell from your heat mildly lingering from the perspired spot on his chin.
When you find the right moment, you roll him under you letting the way he groans motivate the desire that prompts your burning body to scoot to where his erection comes into view. His being twitches slightly, him close to spilling just from the thought of your mouth taking all of him in. Swallowing, you dip your head, sucking over and over while you move your fingers to intertwine with his. In between sucking, you lick at his tip to agonize how much he will want to be inside you when it’s all said and done, and as soon as you pull away, drool drenching his being, you swipe at your mouth, him hyperventilating from how bad he wants you.
His hands gripping your shoulders, he kisses you so speedily, starving for your taste before he twists you underneath him, “You ready?” He asks between breathless kisses.
“Ohhhh yes,”
No hesitation, he brings his penis to your sopping entrance before thrusting roughly into you. “Harder,” you manage to muster, “Harder!”
His blonde mullet gripped between your fingers doesn’t spring any pain to him while he focuses on the way he hastily drubs into your core, obeying your every word. “Oh shit, keep going, keep going- keep goi- ah!” The powerful sensation arises so suddenly, your heat clenches as well as your tightening limbs which leads Namjoon ejaculating into you while his hands' bundle tightly into the bedsheets on either side of you. After a moment of recovering from how sensitive you feel, you squeeze your thighs together, “Wow,” you exhale, “I get to have this all weekend?”
“Hell yeah!” Namjoon nods once, eyes scrunching from the dimpled grin he gives you before turning to crash beside you. Slipping under the bedsheets, his hand finds yours beneath the covers, bringing comfort, “What makes you think I just want this for only a weekend?”
Glancing at him, confused, “What?”
“You heard me,” he moves to place another small kiss, “I love you always and forever, [Y/N].”
#btswritingcafe#bts#kim namjoon#namjoon#namjoon x reader#namjoon x you#bts namjoon#bts kim namjoon#kim namjoon smut#namjoon smut#namjoon fluff#namjoon soft
146 notes
·
View notes
Text
How the (Quarantined) Murats broke the Internet (and Lannes).
Hello friends! I know we already have several ongoing projects with @joachimnapoleon, but we couldn’t resist unleashing this one.
It’s set in the Quarantine!AU which is itself a spin off of the Roadtrip!AU, Trifecta Universe, name it as you will :^)
Inspired by real world situation, unfortunately. Hoping this will bring to those of you who are in lockdown (same here!) some much needed levity.
****************************************************************************************
Caroline is cursing the day Napoléon enrolled her in Mme Campan's Institute; no, scrap that/rewind, she is cursing the day he met Joséphine, and consequently, Hortense, bane of her life, goody-two-shoes of the century who has inspired Napoleon with the truly visionary idea of trying to copy and paste Hortense's behaviour onto Caroline's whole self.
Now, Caroline is mature enough to admit some slight controlling tendencies. And maybe a contrarian streak - but try being the youngest sister in the Bonaparte family - you have to fight twice as hard to make yourself a place and get some respect.
Her point is, she hasn't taken to the Institute. For excellent reasons. If Hortense has made it a point of honor to excel in some subject, Caroline has systematically hated it. No use fighting for scraps after the star pupil has received the old hag's whole quota of praise, after all. Now Caroline wholeheartedly embraces whatever makes Madame Campan pinch her lips, shake her head, or sigh (as much as the snobby old lady allows herself to), treasuring every sign of disappointment the way Hortense collects gold stars. (Not to brag, but Caroline is now a master at it).
Even her marriage is a testament to that superhuman ability of hers.
Not that she didn't love Joachim anyway - she's been ridiculously besotted with the man since she was fifteen, and nothing has yet managed to abate her feelings towards the maddening, adorable goofball. But honestly, the way Mme Campan's face had fallen (oh, ever so slightly, but Caroline knows how to look) in disapproval had been the cherry on top of the delightful, curly-haired, long-legged cake.
She has relished every single one of their subsequent media appearances, and she would lie if she says she hasn't occasionally baited the press with their nationwide famous PDA. For now, Caroline admits, in spite of the "scandals" and all the choices she has made, the old witch is still standing and tutting in disapproval - like that would work. But someday, yes, oh someday she would break, and it would be all thanks to Caroline.
So - she is cursing. Because, of course, Hortense has always been committed to arts and crafts, and Caroline, therefore, has pointedly ignored them.
And now she can't sew to save her life.
Literally.
Because masks are mandatory now.
And she has four kids to protect.
And, well, she may suck as a student, but she does NOT suck as a mother. So, taking a deep breath, she watches videos, buys fabric, filters, and elastic bands, and sets herself to the task.
Two hours later, her eyes are red, her voice hoarse, her fingers raw and pricked, and she is irreparably breaking her ties with the sewing machine.
She vaguely considers calling Pauline - even if she can't sew herself (can she ?) Pauline will surely know someone who can, and at least she is kind enough not to let anyone know of Caroline's embarrassing problem.
She is still scowling fiercely when the shrieking chorus begins (the kids' usual reaction to Joachim's arrival), promptly followed by the sound of bags hitting ground and little feet running, three, two, one, impact. And Joachim's laugh.
God but that sound can still bring a smile to her face.
She wipes her eyes and straightens herself up before opening the door to the entry hall where the kids are now swarming around their father and drowning him in cuddles and kisses, stuffing their drawings under his nose and chattering excitedly.
**
Beneath the squealing, adoring, warm little pile of his children's wriggling bodies, Joachim soaks up the innocent love and its side dish of kicking little feet and shrieks in the ear. As Louise's sticky little fingers pat his cheek, he sees from the corner of his eye the door open on his wife.
His sunshine.
His glorious little dynamo.
But there's a problem, Joachim thinks frantically (what has he done now ??? nothing comes up!!), because she doesn't spark her usual energy - oh my God, she's disappointed, that's it, disappointed and SAD (WHAT I HAVE DONE ???), her walk is nothing like her usual triumphant gait (it's the COUCH), even her hair looks listless (Lannes may still let me crash, where is my sleeping bag ??). Joachim takes a deep breath and centers himself before looking at her again, and - oh. She's not angry at him.
Oh.
Then whatever has her so bothered is going to die a fiery death and if she wants, Joachim will stomp it to death (with his hooves, Achille's voice adds in his mind).
**
Famous last words, Joachim muses, hesitantly fingering the white cotton.
He has watched the video. Three times, to make sure.
He has cut the necessary length and width for six masks (his ambition for tonight is moderate).
The machine looks back at him, reminding him of a crouched feline, poised to pounce. He eyes it warily. Caroline's explanations, though thorough, had been... fast paced. Joachim has caught the general idea and in what order the different steps of the process are supposed to happen. He has minded every fold of the fabric and set aside the elastic bands.
It's... daunting. If he messes that up his family will be stuck inside forever and the house will probably catch fire spontaneously from the sheer frustration burning inside them. Murats need to be OUTSIDE (Bonapartes don't deal much better with being locked up).
He carefully selects the stitch and folds the fabric by instinct - patterns are as useless as maps, anyway - he'll go with his guts and God bless the bold.
He takes a deep breath and lines up the three layers of material - with the elastic bands properly tucked inside- under the needle, lowers the presser foot, and gently pushes on the pedal.
Oh my God.
Oh my God it's happening.
Joachim marvels at the speed the machine uses to execute its task, remembering to steer the fabric only if needed, and being careful with it ("To be honest, sweetie, I'm not even sure if it's working well, " Caroline had admitted. "I think Mama gave it to me, ugh, when I went to the Institute. " Joachim hadn't pushed because he wasn't that insane, some things were taboo in this house).
When the first side is done, he takes a moment to inspect his work before switching to the other side.
Wow.
It's... Pretty okay ?
The mask all done, Joachim holds it to his face, and stands up to find a mirror (they're everywhere in this house, and see, it's useful).
He tries it on.
It's very... white.
Time for some color, he decides.
Heh. If anyone had told him before tonight that he was going to sew a mask and like it, he would have sent them to a psychiatrist. Because, even though he'd been quick to assure Caroline he totally could do this (I've repaired my suits several times! ), his skills were limited to a temporary little tweak and quick repair when he didn't have the time to go to the tailor.
In front of the mirror, Joachim smiles beneath the mask.
This is going swimmingly.
**
Caroline grumbles when a weight hollows the mattress out.
"It's late," she mutters.
"Shhhh, " says the voice. Then, with a giddy sort of energy Caroline can only wonder at (who the hell is so alive at such an ungodly hour -oh yeah, that's right, only Joachim). "Love."
A pause.
"Sweetheart ?"
Caroline groans.
"Yeah", she forces out.
"We have seven masks!"
The proclamation wakes Caroline completely and her hand is already searching for the light switch.
"What?"
She pushes the switch and looks at Joachim's face. Blinking under the sudden flood of light, he looks …
Surprised and happy. A little bit like a dog who has just learned a new trick.
The smile on his face is infectious.
"You want to see them ?"
Caroline is already up.
In her office, the old machine sleeps and seven masks wait in a wicker basket. They're real. They look like the models Caroline vainly tried to follow. She touches them, putting one over her face. It fits. The elastics do not hurt.
They have masks.
Joachim watches her, waiting anxiously for her verdict. Her eyes shine in the mirror, and then she turns towards him, takes off the mask and sets it aside.
A purring Caroline leaps into his arms.
So much for sleep.
**
At the usual hour, Lannes, bottle and glass at the ready, flicks on Skype. He has so much to tell Murat (to be honest, he never knew before quarantine how much of a gossip he'd turn out to be, but what can you do) and even without any grand news (which is the case most of the time) it's always a highlight of his day.
The kids are lovely but sometimes you need an adult conversation, okay ?
An adult male conversation.
A bro discussion, yeah, okay.
"Murat ?" he calls.
Weird. Usually Joachim leaps onto any greeting, if he's not the first one to call.
"Yo ? Murat ?"
Nothing.
"JOACHIM MURAT" he bellows.
Finally, a harried face appears. The black curls are everywhere and the eyes seem inhabited by some unholy light.
Has Joachim started to drink without him ?
Or worse, with someone else ?
Lannes feels oddly cheated at the idea.
"Ah, yeah, okay, hello, Lannes!" says Murat, blinking. "Is it already time ?"
Already ? The day had dragged on.
"What the hell is happening," he blurts out. "Have you started drinking ?"
Murat looks weirdly offended, scrunching up his nose.
"Drink- what ? No!"
He straightens up and clears his throat.
"No, Lannes, I didn't cheat on our Skype cocktail hour with some random booze harlot, I respect you too much for that. I was just, " he lowers his voice and Lannes instinctively leans towards his screen, intrigued.
"I was busy.
- Are the kids okay ?
- Yeah, they're fine! Excellent! The spirit is undaunted, yeah!
- Joachim," Lannes slowly articulates.
Artless blue eyes look up at him.
"I was making masks, and I forgot the time, that's all!"
- Masks, " Lannes repeats in a bland tone.
- Masks," Joachim nods.
- Masks ?" What the hell, Lannes wonders, masks, like, actual masks against Coronavirus ? Masks, as in, paper masks or clown masks for the kids, right ?
- Masks, as in, mandatory masks, yeah, I'm making them, " and Lannes has stepped into an alternate dimension.
- You're making masks.
- I am.
- Masks.
- Masks, " Joachim patiently assures him.
- Making ? As in, as in SEWING them ?"
The black curls fly as Murat vehemently nods.
Holy shit.
Lannes almost busts a gut laughing.
" I could show you", Murat says with a hint of disapproval in his voice (it was weird) "but if this is the way you react I might not bother."
The laughter stops short. Murat's headmasterly tones are frankly weirding Lannes out.
Is this a prank ?
Lannes knows it's not. It's all over Murat's face. He's actually serious.
Holy shit.
"Why are you the one sewing the masks ?" he finally asks.
"Because," Murat shrugs. "I volunteered."
Lannes blinks.
"Plus, " he adds, with a smile, " Turns out I'm great at it!"
That is still to be seen, Lannes thinks, remembering, oh, way too many boasts.
"You'll see", Murat nods sagely.
"Right", Lannes croaks.
The evening goes on.
**
He made the haberdashery's day, Joachim thinks, fabric piled up in his arms.
Good for them, and good for his family.
Today, he is going to let the kids choose the fabric for their masks. Just because they are young doesn't mean they have to settle for their parents' choice, right ? He carefully picked anything that could interest or amuse the little ones.
He has turtles, an armada of kittens, various birds, flowers, geometric patterns, dots and stripes of all sorts.
"What are you doing, Papa ?"
Joachim turns to face Letitia.
"I just bought some fabric to make some masks for you all, sweetheart. Do you want to choose yours ?"
The little girl nods eagerly.
"Can I stay with you ?" she says, leaning into him.
Joachim can't resist such a request.
**
Caroline climbs up the stairs to Joachim's office where he finally set camp with the sewing machine two days ago.
She is still mesmerized by his mastery over the beast.
He has adopted a routine, and tonight, she needs proof that Joachim sewing actually happened (Pauline had laughed, and Joséphine had asked for receipts), so she's carrying her camera. She scowls inwardly, why can't anyone ever believe them ? Joachim told her about Lannes the other day - well, what is so extraordinary about it ? Being male doesn't make you genetically unable to sew, you know. Men!
Hushed voices wash over her, Letitia's flute-like voice overlapping with Joachim's warm tones.
"And then I put the fabric here," their little girl is saying.
"Uh huh," her man agrees, with the softness he saves for his children (and herself). " Perfect!"
Letitia giggles.
Caroline, readying her camera, silently enters the room. Both father and daughter are so absorbed by their task and by each other that they don't notice her presence.
Letitia sits on her father's knee, her little hands holding the fabric - a giraffe pattern - and Joachim is entirely focused on her.
Caroline starts filming.
When the giraffe-adorned mask is ready, Letitia snuggles into her father's chest and he offers her the next selection, apparently a swarm of tropical fishes.
"Your turn, Papa", says the little girl.
"Oh, you're right, princess", Joachim smiles, mock chastened. "Shall I ?"
Letitia nods determinedly. “Go on good Sir".
Joachim sews the next mask.
It's very sweet, Caroline thinks, beaming behind her camera. This is the perfect proof that she was right, not only about his sewing ability, but about her own choice years ago. I'm so going to upload this as soon as I'm out of here, she rejoices.
**
New video uploaded, by @carolinemurat, 7.54
@pauline-borghese, 8.01: oh my god it's so cute!
@pauline-borghese, 8.01: and he's doing great!! how many has joachim already sewn ?
@pauline-borghese, 8.08: sorry, just had to watch it again. (<3) This is an adorable duo and you were totally right, I should never have doubted you.
@joséphine-malmaison, 8.14: wow
@hortense-beauharnais-bonaparte, 8.14: I'm speechless.
@hortense-beauharnais-bonaparte, 8.14: In a very good way!! Congratulations to Joachim.
@joséphine-malmaison, 8.17: very sweet and actually educational! Congratulations!
@aimée-davout, 8.26: I wish Louis would do that with our little one!
@joséphine-malmaison, 8.34: Can I share this on other social medias , Caroline ?
@pauline-borghese, 8.36: was about to suggest the same! I can boost it up with my contacts. Up for it sister ?
The phone rings.
"Mama ?"
"Uh huh, he did that. He's... Yes, Mama, he actually offered, and.. Mama. Mama! Listen to me please ? Yes, I promise. Uh huh. Yes. Yes, really. Did you watch the video ? You really should, your namesake is on it too. "
Ten minutes later.
"Yes, Mama ? Is everything - oh. Oh. Well, yes, he's still sewing. Wha- yes, Mama, I won't disturb him. Of course, Mama. You.. what ? His favorite dessert ? Why... Mama we're in lockdown, he can't go to Corsica. You.. Ah, yes, of course, I'll ask him. And yes, of course, I'm feeding him! Mama!"
@aglaéauguiéney, 8.47: mind boggling.
@eleonoredenuelle, 8.49: how talented can a man be ?
@hortense-beauharnais-bonaparte, 8.53: It's actually a better tutorial than the official ones ? And so much cuter.
@hortense-beauharnais-bonaparte, 8.55: I wish I had a little girl.
@carolinemurat, to @joséphine-malmaison, @pauline-borghese, 8.58: Yes.
TBF...
#fanfiction#QuarantineAU#How the Murats broke the Internet (and Lannes)#part1#joachim murat#caroline bonaparte murat#jean lannes#and many others
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
All Was Golden in the Sky (8/27)
Magic is dying.
Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.
To New York City.
And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.
—
Rating: Mature
AN: Timeline-wise, because it’s never explicitly stated, Emma and Killian are 13 and 16 respectively when they meet. Then they’re 18 and 21 when he leaves and here we’re 21 and 24 respectively. It’s been awhile. Someday I’ll write about them being very bad at sneaking out. As always, thanks for reading and a special thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke @distant-rose and @bmbbcs4evr for being particularly wonderful. Don’t yell too loud, ok?
|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||
“You realize you’re fidgeting, right?”
Emma blinks, startling slightly at the hint of laughter clinging to Mary Margaret’s words and she’s met with half a smile when she glances at the reflection in the mirror. “What?”
“Fidgeting,” Mary Margaret repeats. “Twitching, even.”
“Twitching is a terrible word.”
“Yes, it is actually, which is why it would be wonderful if you could stop so I don’t actually stab you in the back of the head.”
Emma makes a less than dignified noise, lips tugged behind her teeth to try and stop herself from laughing too loudly and drawing the attention of the small contingent of maids she knows is lurking on the other side of the door. Mary Margaret had ushered them out of the room hours before, promises that she was more than capable on the tip of her tongue, but Emma had, admittedly, barely been paying attention to it.
She is absolutely, positively fidgeting. And twitching. Even if it is a terrible word.
Her muscles do not care though, an energy that’s simmered under her skin since the first message returned to the castle and she’s certain every person who’s glanced her direction in the last few days has noticed the magic that practically pours out of her at this point.
She’s light with it, a buoyancy to her that makes her feel giddy and powerful and something she’s never entirely felt before, but the feeling has grown over the last few years and he’s kept his promise.
Every single time.
The story of the brothers Jones has turned into something resembling modern day legend in Misthaven. They’re a rags to riches to officer tale that inspires the masses and makes them believe, a change to the kingdom that’s been as jarring as it’s been wonderful. They leave and return, sailing between lands and monarchs and Emma’s magic grows with every passing season and every passing certainty that he’s waiting for her as much as she’s waiting for him.
There’s no threat of the Dark One, no hint of anything except good magic and complete control and the people in the town below the castle don’t cower quite as often. There are fewer disappearances and Emma’s fingers haven’t sparked in years and the phrase age of prosperity is thrown out with an alarming amount of consistency.
There are days spent in gardens and moments in the town, smiling and nodding and they’re allowed in town now. Encouraged, even, a benevolent royal family of magic and power and an armada led by two men the entire kingdom seems besotted with.
There is, however, the pesky little problem of the kingdom’s actual sovereign.
George is very rarely seen outside his study. He sits there, hour after hour and day after day, hidden behind stacks of books and bits of research, refusing to tell anyone what he’s up to or what he’s planning and Emma knows he’s planning something.
And that’s far too small a word because part of Emma still worries and wonders and she never forgets the words of the prophecy, but then the Jewel of the Realm docks in the harbor and her feet move without her explicit permission and the arms that wrap around her seem to tighten just a bit more every single time.
Every single time.
“Emma,” Mary Margaret chides, digging the tip of her finger into the top of her shoulder. “You’re doing it again. Stop moving so much.”
She scrunches her nose, huffing softly, but that only leads to slightly slumped shoulders and Mary Margaret’s exasperated groan threatens to crack the mirror in front of them. She shouldn’t be so worried.
There’s nothing to worry about.
Not anymore.
And part of her wants that. Part of her needs that, desperately, the certainty she’d been certain she’d never have, but part of her knows that certainty is a passing thing and George can’t possibly be trusted and--
“What do you think he’s doing?” Emma asks, the question falling out of her suddenly without much thought and Mary Margaret’s eyes narrow.
“Who? Killian?”
“What? No, why would--that’s ridiculous.”
“That was terrible, you realize that, right?”
“I don’t have anything to be terrible about. There’s nothing going on with, Gods, ow --what are you doing?”
Mary Margaret winces, gritting her teeth when she hisses in a breath of surprised air. “Well, if you would stop moving so much this wouldn’t be a problem,” she mutters. “And you’re kidding me, right? You think we don’t know what you’ve been doing for...how long has it been?”
“I don’t know what you’re asking me. Since when?”
“Emma.”
She sighs again, and her shoulders are going to ache for the rest of the night. That may hinder her plans for the rest of the night. She assumes she needs her shoulders to be able to retain most of their motion if she wants to lift her arms at all.
That generally helps when dancing.
And dancing, generally, happens at a ball. Like the one happening that night. Honoring Captain and Lieutenant Jones. For their most recent voyage – months at sea for reasons even David didn’t know about and Emma wishes she weren’t so much of a pessimist.
She wishes she weren’t so scared of George.
“You’re looking awfully sure of yourself,” Emma mumbles, a quick roll of her eyes that threatens to muss the carefully lined kohl there.
“What was that I heard about objections to anything going on?”
Emma clicks her tongue. “That wasn’t what I was talking about. Not really.”
“Or it was just a very good way of ignoring my questions.”
“Well, when it’s such a sudden and unexpected interrogation--”
“--Ruby wanted to ask when they left,” Mary Margaret cuts in, and Emma’s jaw actually cracks when it drops open. “See, so...this isn’t nearly as bad as it could be.”
“You stabbed me with a hair pin.”
“Not on purpose.”
Emma scoffs again, letting her eyes flutter shut and her breathing even out. There’s nothing to be worried about. George is...it will be fine. At least for the night. She has to believe that or she’s liable to go insane.
“I don’t think anyone else knows,” Mary Margaret continues, pressing forward in a conversation Emma wishes they’d never begun. She glares at the mirror. That doesn’t do much to help. “I mean, aside from--”
“--You and Ruby.”
“Well, Ruby has an extra sense about these things.”
“Gods, Mary Margaret!”
Emma’s cheeks flame with a blush that’s not entirely unexpected, not after years and quests and that word never fails to make her laugh, Killian’s stare turning amused when the sound bubbles out of her. It makes his lips twitch and his eyebrows shift and, more often than not, he tugs her forward, letting her head burrow against the crook of his neck until she feels like she's trying to press the sound into his skin so he’ll remember it when he’s gone.
She’s a pessimist and the complete opposite. It’s confusing, even to her. Especially to her.
“And David,” Mary Margaret adds lightly, a pinch to Emma’s arm when she jumps again. “Seriously, sit still ––and Elsa did see the two of you once,” she squeezes one eye shut, mouth twisted in something that might be concentration, “that must have been more than two years ago now and--”
“--Two years,” Emma balks, voice rising on every letter.
Mary Margaret hums. And shrugs. And twists Emma’s hair without much concern to the state of her scalp. “At least. It wasn’t that long after you got him the commission.”
Emma’s eyes are going to fall out. That will also likely make it very hard to dance.
“Do you know everything?” she demands, and she swears Mary Margaret’s eyes get brighter.
“Well, you’re not very good at keeping a secret. Also you used my bird. I’m not sure where you thought you were being deceptive.”
“There’s no law against friendship.”
Mary Margaret laughs. Loudly. It’s honestly almost insulting. “No, there’s not, that’s true,” she agrees. “And there isn’t a law about falling in love with one of the kingdom’s most eligible and desirable young officers.”
“No one’s said anything about that.”
Mary Margaret doesn’t laugh that time. Her eyes widen instead, a genuine surprise that may actually be more insulting than the laugh. Emma’s going to have reapply the color to her lips. She keeps biting them. “Oh, you’re very bad at lying to me, Emma, but you’re even worse at lying to yourself,” Mary Margaret whispers.
“I--what does Elsa think she saw?”
“Years ago?” Emma nods, a mistake because another pin finds its way against her skin and she’s grateful for her magic if only because it means she’ll be able to undo all of this easier. “I think it may have been the first time he came back. They’d gone to…”
“Camelot,” Emma whispers, and she knows she’s digging herself further into this conversational hole. “They’d gone to Camelot.”
“Ah, yes. She’d been there as well, if you remember. At the docks.” Emma rolls her eyes, but Mary Margaret is in her element now and the maids have probably given up on waiting to be allowed back in the room. “And the ship docked, a glorious return, pomp and circumstance and all of those things that inspire morale and--”
“--You realize this is starting to sound a little technical,” Emma cuts in, lifting her eyebrows in something she hopes is a scathing judgment. “Where do you think you learned those terms?”
“We’re not talking about that.”
“Oh, but I would love to.”
“I’m going to magic these pins so you won’t be able to ever get them out!”
“That’s a very strange threat.”
“A fact,” Mary Margaret corrects, leaning around Emma to grab the small crown on the vanity. She waves her hand, a soft flare of light that’s almost comforting in the way Mary Margaret’s smile is comforting, and impossibly knowing, and the jewels don’t really change, but they seem to brighten slightly. “Anyway,” she mumbles. “The ceremony was over and you were nowhere to be seen. Happens quite frequently when the Lieutenant is concerned.”
Emma lifts her eyebrows.
“Elsa was looking for you, to get back here at the same time--make sure George didn’t suspect anything and she said she turned the corner to find you and the previously discussed Lieutenant occupying the same few inches of space, with him--and these are her words by the way, staring at you as if it was the only thing guiding him home. There was a light joke as well and possibly something about the sun, but David always said it should be a star for a sailor and--what?”
She swears her heart has stopped. Or disappeared entirely. It’s as if her chest is an empty chasm, a rush of emotion moving to fill it that’s entirely fear and slightly unfounded suspicions and she wishes she knew what George was doing every day.
He won’t be at the ball. She knows it.
“Emma,” Mary Margaret says, fingers wrapping around the curve of her shoulder. “That’s not--I really don’t think George knows anything and even if he did, I doubt--”
“--No, something is going on,” Emma interrupts. She jerks her head up, threatening the well-placed accoutrements and the pins and her magic is close to boiling over.
She grits her teeth, tensing her jaw to try and contain it and they need to be better. They need to...she has no idea. That’s disappointing. And frustrating. And Emma barely hears Mary Margaret the first time.
It takes her a moment to process the words, not quite a question, but a proclamation and--
“You should tell him,” Mary Margaret repeats, staring at Emma’s reflection in the mirror like it's the easiest thing in the entire world.
It probably should be.
Emma shakes her head – but the objection refuses to be voiced and the bundle of everything in the back of her throat is far too large. It blocks everything, oxygen failing to get to her lungs and the emptiness in her chest only seems to grow, like a shadow stretching across everything and everyone and she can’t remember what the word wonderful means.
“He knows anyway, Emma,” Mary Margaret adds, a certainty that refuses any argument as well. “And that’s not--it would be worth it. For you.”
“For me?”
“For everyone. That’s...isn’t that the point? Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing.”
“Magical, even,” Emma mumbles, drawing a quiet laugh out of Mary Margaret. She doesn’t mean to sigh. “Can I ask you a question? Well, two questions?”
“You could ask me three.”
“I’m not sure I have that many, honestly. I just...the first time I met Killian, my magic was--it was out of control and--”
“--I remember that day. David let you leave. He was terrified after. George wasn’t...well, he wasn’t happy that you were gone. I think there’s still a scar on David’s back. I couldn’t actually heal that one, it was…” She cuts herself off when she notices the look on Emma’s face, mouth hanging open and breathing turning ragged. “You didn’t know that,” Mary Margaret whispers and Emma shakes her head slowly. “He’d do it again, Emma. For you. He wouldn’t even think.”
The shadow retreats slightly.
“What’s your question?”
Emma exhales, which is probably the worst mistake she’s made all night. “He found me,” she says, and she’s never told anyone that. “I was...I was terrified of what I could do or had done and I was trying to stop myself from--I don’t know, I suppose it felt like if I let it happen, the magic could have just...consumed me.”
Mary Margaret tilts her head, a flicker of unease on the edge of her gaze. “And?”
“And no one moved. I was there, on the edge of the dock and no one followed me. Except him. He just walked forward and I--I think he can feel my magic.”
Mary Margaret’s right knee buckles, hands flying to the back of the chair Emma’s considering taking up residence in to try and steady herself. “Honestly? Has he said that?”
“Not in...no, it’s just a thought.”
“You don’t want to ask.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Please, don’t insult me like that,” Mary Margaret laughs, moving to perch on the edge of the vanity. She nearly knocks the empty bowl over. “He does. I know it.”
“Is that so?” Mary Margaret nods emphatically, crossing her arms lightly as if that will make her more of an authority figure. “You’re going to wrinkle your dress,” Emma points out, and she can’t help the smile when Mary Margaret rolls her whole head in response.
“You’ve got to believe, Emma. That’s...that’s the whole point.”
“Of?”
“Everything.”
It really is unfair, everything she’s putting her lungs through. Emma’s laugh is breathier than she wants though, a shake to it that might just be the audible sound of hope and how much she goddamn wants and--
“He can’t,” Mary Margaret says, answering a question Emma hasn’t actually asked yet. “David, I mean. It’s...that is so rare. That kind of magic, it could change the world.”
“And you’re sure your magic isn’t mind reading?”
“Just when it comes to you.”
Emma scoffs, lips twisted in thought and the lingering fear that George is doing something. “He really can’t? David? That’s--really?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Emma,” Mary Margaret laughs, but there’s a bit of disappointment there too and she’s got to ask him. Even if it’s terrifying.
“I know you wouldn’t.”
“Good. Now tell me what else you’re thinking.”
“You’re getting awfully demanding in your mind reading, your highness.”
Mary Margaret throws her whole head back when she laughs, the turn of the rather ostentatious door handle at the other side of the room squeaking when Ruby walks in. “Are you two not ready yet?” Ruby demands, her own gown a deep shade of red that makes Emma’s lips quirk. “Don’t,” she warns. “This was not my choice. Plus, you look far more regal than I ever could.”
‘It seems almost heavy-handed, doesn’t it?”
“Shall I repeat myself?”
“Unnecessary,” Emma says, a quick inhale and unfinished conversation and her own gown is red, long sleeves and full skirt and she’s only a little hopeful her head won’t ache because of all the pins. She genuinely despises wearing a crown.
That also feels a little heavy-handed.
Ruby laughs, eyes flitting towards Mary Margaret and maybe they should have been better at being just a bit more covert. It wasn’t---there wasn’t enough time, though, just stolen moments and far too many eyes when the moments couldn’t be theirs and--
“Is he there?”
“Who?” Ruby asks. “Killian?”
“We’ve done this part already,” Mary Margaret mutters, widening her eyes when Ruby clicks her tongue. “You mean George, don't you?”
Ruby lets out a low whistle, lips forming an almost perfect ‘o’ that makes Emma’s breath catch and her magic pulse and she can hear the music from the hall already. They’ll have to be announced soon.
She nods. “What do you think he’s doing? It’s got to be--the Dark One must be gone. He has to. He would have done something by now if he existed.”
Neither Ruby nor Mary Margaret answer. That’s not the response she was hoping for. Strictly speaking, Emma isn’t sure what response she wanted, but it wasn’t that.
“George is up to something,” Emma continues, ignoring the less-than-friendly knock on the door. The music is getting louder. “I know it. And I--well, I don’t know what it is, but everything has changed and--”
“--That isn’t a bad thing,” Mary Margaret reasons. “If George wants to hole himself up with his books and musty papers, let him. We’ve...the people trust us. They believe in the family and the voyages that we’re--”
“--You mean that the brothers Jones are taking,” Ruby interrupts. “Emma, listen to me. George is...he’s a mad man. He’s old and greedy and he got what he wanted. He got the protection he needed, didn’t he? He got you and you got more control of your magic than any of us could have ever imagined. Mary Margaret is right. Let him hide away in there. Let him read what he wants and never come out. We’re better off without him, don’t you think?”
Emma nods. “Of course I do, I just--it doesn’t make sense. Why he would want all of us for a fight that never actually happened? Where is this Dark One? And what is George looking for? Still. He’s had us for years.”
“Have you ever considered he may have gone crazy?”
“How?”
Ruby waves her hands through the air, glancing over her shoulder when the trumpets start to blare and the whole thing is even more ostentatious than the door handle. “The man collected us, Emma. He waited and he pulled people from their homes and their families and he made us into...exactly what he wanted, only to realize that what he thought he was waiting for wasn’t looming in the darkness the way he always believed. That’s more than a little embarrassing for a man whose people already despised him, don’t you think?”
She shakes her head. And she doesn’t know how she knows Ruby is wrong, just that she is, a conviction that settles in the base of her feet and grounds her and the trumpets are so annoying.
“Your highness,” a voice calls behind the door, quick and demanding and there are expectations to live up to. Even if George isn’t the one issuing them. “They’re waiting for you.”
“It’s ok to believe, Emma,” Mary Margaret says softly.
Emma isn’t sure that’s true. She worries it’s only setting her up for disappointment. And she’s even less sure what will happen if she has to face that disappointment.
The next knock makes all three of them jump.
“Alright, alright,” Emma says, a response to the man in the hall and the slightly nervous expression on Mary Margaret’s face. “Let’s go.”
This is not her first ball. This is not her first gown. Or the first fanfare that has played upon her entrance. And it never matters.
Because it never seems to get easier for Emma, a fluttering her stomach that threatens to claw its way up the back of her throat and fly out her mouth if she’s not careful, magic rushing through her in defense of the pomp and the circumstance.
The whole thing is absurd, but she supposes there are rules and she does her best to push her fears regarding George to the back of her mind when she stands at the top of the stairs, Mary Margaret and Regina on either side of her.
There are lights everywhere – candles and candelabras, chandeliers with more light reflecting off more gold and every head turns their direction when they’re announced, a sea of color and shine and Emma can’t find him. Her eyes scan the crowd, moving from jacket to uniform and back again, bouncing between gowns and tiaras and she refuses to acknowledge the way her heart plummets into her stomach. That’s ridiculous. Nothing has happened.
Someone would have told her.
They were horrible at covert.
“Where were you?” Regina sneers, Mary Margaret waving her off with a rather pitiful attempt at a smile and her eyes keep darting towards Emma. Who, in turn, barely notices.
Her head is on a swivel, a rushing in her ears that she suspects feels a bit like drowning and is entirely too dramatic. She clenches her jaw, biting down on the side of her tongue.
It doesn’t help.
She steps down the stairs with care, trying to keep her chin tilted up and her gaze from landing on anyone in particular – memories of instructions and rules and none of that works either, but then there’s a hand reaching for her and her heart flies back to where it’s supposed to be and--
“Your highness,” Liam says softly, flipping his wrist so his fingers curl up invitingly. Emma hates how wide her eyes go.
“Captain.”
“I’m afraid my brother’s been detained with the ship for a little while, it’s...well, I hope to prove a worthy substitute for at least a few dances.”
Emma’s smile is easy, glancing at the fingers that flutter slightly now. “That’s a generous offer, but I wasn’t looking for you brother.”
“Of course not, your highness. But my offer does still stand.”
“Rather pushy, aren’t you?”
“I’d like to see it as determined,” Liam amends, wrapping his hand lightly around Emma’s and they’re already moving, falling into rhythm with the others around them. She can hear Mary Margaret laughing somewhere. No one loves balls more than Mary Margaret. “Something I think my brother and I share.”
Emma doesn’t respond. She doesn’t trust herself to. Her magic does..something.
“My brother does care for you quite a bit, your highness,” Liam continues, and maybe months at sea have made him unreceptive to conversational cues.
Emma nods. It’s not dignified. It’s not particularly royal. She swears her crown is getting tighter. “I care for Lieutenant Jones as well,” she says, an admission that she hopes she won’t regret. “After everything you both have done for Misthaven and--”
“--Emma, we both know that you got him this commission. Let’s not lie to each other.”
They weren’t ever doing much more than swaying, so Emma isn’t sure if they genuinely stop – but her shoe comes dangerously close to stepping on Liam’s and this isn’t the first time they’ve spoken. There have been moments – passing nods and gracious smiles, a member of the royal family and a devoted officer – but they’ve never had much more...no discussions, no mention of what he’d done or the magic they both know Killian doesn’t have.
“I’m not sure what you’re suggesting, Liam,” she hisses, eyes going thin enough that it’s difficult to make out all the medals on his chest.
She wonders how he can stand up with so many hanging there.
Liam sighs, a quick hand moving over his face and the fingers that had been so quick to reach towards Emma pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m not suggesting anything, Emma,” he says, barely loud enough to hear over whatever the last song has turned into. “I’m telling you.”
She has to take a deep breath to keep the magic from moving out of her, pushing almost immediately to the tips of her fingers and the back of her heels and Emma twists her neck to restrain the rush of everything.
Liam’s face loses the bit of color it had.
“You’re overstepping, Captain.”
He shakes his head, gaze turning imploring and it’s more memories and déjà vu she absolutely despises and Emma needs to get out of there. Her magic is louder than the music. “I’m not,” Liam promises. “I’m--he loves you, Emma. More than...more than anything else and I know George hasn’t figured it out yet, but…”
She’s going to curse him. She needs him to finish his sentences, but it appears Liam is having his own challenges with breathing and retaining consciousness.
Emma licks her lips. She should have magiced the color there. “There’s nothing to figure out,” she says, the lie tasting bitter and hanging in the air like dead weight.
“You should practice that a bit more, princess.”
“And you should learn when to speak in turn, Captain,” she hisses. ‘Where are you going with this, exactly?”
Liam shakes his head, a heavy exhale. “George is looking for something. And I don’t--well, I’m not sure what I think about it, but I have to believe it, Emma.”
“Believe what?”
“That George is doing what’s right. That the weapon we’ve been searching for is something that will protect us from the Dark One and--”
“--That’s me,” Emma says, struggling to keep her voice low. Liam glares at her. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. That’s--that was your doing, Liam. To bring me here and bring me to George. You made sure I fit into the prophecy and nothing has happened.”
“That was for your own good.”
She isn’t quite as as tall as him – even with the heels that are beginning to scratch at the back of her feet, but Emma’s arm swings through the air and, eventually, she’ll learn how to control her instincts. As it is, her hand collides with Liam’s cheek, an almost satisfying slap of skin on skin and his quick hitch of breath.
He stumbles slightly, staring at Emma with barely contained fear. “That wasn’t even magic,” she sneers. “And I know why you did it, Liam. This whole time, I’ve--I’d do it too. I wouldn’t think, I’d…” Emma sighs, shaking her head like that will get rid of the tears that appear in the corner of her eyes. “Whatever George is doing, whatever you think he’s plotting or scheming, I...I agree with you.”
Liam’s mouth twitches. “There’s more to this than we thought, Emma. It’s twisting and turning and I can’t...none of it makes sense, not yet at least, but I have to trust that the system I’ve always believed will protect us will continue to do that.”
“That’s naive.”
“Maybe,” he admits. “But I’d do it for Killian. Every time. And I know you would too. That’s why I’m asking you to be careful. Please.”
“What is it you’re suggesting, exactly?”
“Honestly?”
“Seems foolish to do anything else, don’t you think?”
Liam nods, something that feels far too much like disappointment in the movement. “Yes, it is, but...I can’t disobey orders, your highness. And I won’t. Because it will put everything my brother and I have worked for at risk.”
“You are going in circles.”
“I’m not,” Liam sighs. He huffs, a quick click of his teeth “I’m telling you to be careful about how much you let George know. He’ll use that. Against both you and Killian. You’re right, nothing has happened with the Dark One yet, but George is taking steps still. Aside from you and aside from the prophecy. There are pieces moving here we didn’t even know were on the board, Emma.”
She doesn’t answer, again, and it’s a little petulant, again, but Emma refuses to think about that for too long, turning on her heels instead, and leaving Captain Liam Jones behind without a second glance. She weaves her way through the crowd, twisting around couples and smiles and there’s so much... everything.
So, in the grand scheme of all that everything, reaching out to grab a bottle of wine on her rather quick exit from the ballroom seems almost reasonable. Almost. And the air is crisp when she finally makes it to the garden, a destination she didn’t realize she was heading for until she’s already standing in the middle of it, shadows falling across the ground under her feet and the color of the flowers around her isn’t quite as bright as it usually is.
She also refuses to think about that.
She may be the most immature Savior in the history of any realm. That doesn’t bode very well for the future of this realm.
Emma sighs, licking her lips and waving her hand, a soft pop from the bottle when the cork moves. The liquid tickles the back of her throat when she takes a drink – no glass in sight and a distinct lack of pomp or circumstance.
She can still hear the music, dim notes and the quiet shuffle of people who don’t have the fate of the world resting squarely on their shoulders or the distinct inability of hiding a relationship that is far bigger than the word suggests. Emma should tell him. She should--
“I believe it’s often advisable for the crown princess to have a partner when she starts dancing.”
Emma spins, dropping the bottle, and she’s only a little embarrassed by how loudly her breath catches. He’s in uniform – sword belt hanging around his waist, with crisp folds and stark-colored fabric that makes the blue in his eyes look that much sharper, but that one bit of hair falls close to his brows when he tilts his head slightly and Emma takes a bit of pride in whatever his expression does as soon as he looks at her.
“Your highness,” Killian mutters, reaching forward to catch her hand and Emma rolls her eyes when his lips ghost over her knuckles. “Sorry I’m late.”
“And not nearly as funny as you think you are.”
He hums, mouth still pressed against her skin. “It’s not exactly an overwhelming show of emotion at my gallant return, love.”
“Presumptuous too.”
“Hopeful. There’s a difference.”
Emma nods, mouth twisted into something she hopes is vaguely teasing and a little sarcastic and the puddle at her feet is getting progressively larger. She’s genuinely not sure which one of them moves first – and it genuinely does not matter – but Emma tilts her head up and Killian ducks his head down and it’s all lips and tongues and mouths, heady and needy and probably some other word that rhymes because prophecy always seems to rhyme and this all has always felt a little prophetic.
In a way that simply felt normal.
She inhales sharply, a quick breath through her nose that seems to help her surge further up, heels popping out of her shoes and both arms slung around Killian’s neck. He chuckles at the enthusiasm and Emma will probably make fun of him for that at some point, but in the moment she’s simply concerned with touching as much of him as she possibly can and working on getting that one, specific noise she can sometimes cause when she scratches her nails through his hair just right and--
He groans. Into her mouth.
Emma laughs.
“Swan,” Killian chides, but there’s not much frustration in the sound of her own name. He’s smiling again. Or still. The second one is a little nicer.
“Here,” Emma mumbles, and it’s her turn to make ridiculous noises as soon as Killian pulls away from her. She’s not entirely prepared for the force of his stare though, intent and longing and the thumb that traces across the curve of her cheek feels like it’s leaving sparks in its wake.
That’s probably her magic.
They’ll get to that part eventually.
Probably after the kissing.
“Aye,” Killian says, an agreement that also sounds a bit like wonder and Emma’s magic jumps again. So do his eyebrows. “I’m glad. I--”
“--I missed you,” she cuts in, far too loud and far too quickly and the whole thing dissolves into kissing again almost immediately.
Oxygen, however, is a requirement – even for those with magical abilities – and Emma’s shoulders are shaking by the time they pull apart, Killian’s forehead resting on hers while his fingers trace aimless patterns on her back. “If I say good, is that going to inspire another rather pointed opinion from you?”
“Were you hoping I missed you, Lieutenant?”
“Only so much as I missed you, love,” he says, not quite able to keep a straight face and Emma might actually gag. “You’re ruining the moment, Swan.”
“Ah, right, right, I’m sorry.”
She laughs at the scandalized look on his face – all wide eyes and a slightly scrunched nose and he’s so much older than he was when he followed her to the docks, but sometimes, sometimes, when he comes back to her and there’s this, the moments and the feelings, Emma wonders if any time has passed at all and if they’re not exactly the same people they were then. A scared little girl with far too much power and the boy who believed in her.
More than anything.
She hopes he knows how much she believes right back.
More than anything.
Gods, she should tell him.
“I really am sorry I’m late,” Killian says, and his fingers must have minds of their own. Emma’s back arches slightly, an immediate response that leaves her cursing her dress and her corset and they’ll have to return to the ball for at least a few moments. “We docked and the men always seem to forget everything there is to be done as soon as they can see a port and Liam had to get back to the castle and--”
“--Wait, Liam had to get back to the castle?”
Killian’s eyes narrow at the tone of Emma’s voice and he’s always been impossibly good at reading her. It’s frustrating. It’s not. “Aye,” he nods. “We got word from--what’s that one underling’s name?”
“I don’t think he’s an underling.”
“Yes, he is. Always bowing and scraping and he’d clean George’s boots with his tongue if he was asked.”
“A lovely picture,” Emma says. Her legs are starting to ache, still pressed up on her toes, but Killian’s eyes flutter shut when she moves her fingers through his hair and she hadn’t been lying. She’d missed him. “And his name is August. I can’t believe you don’t remember that.”
“What a ridiculous name.”
“You’re getting distracted.”
“Aye, did I mention you look incredible?”
Emma’s teeth find her lower lip without much thought to the destruction she’s wreaking on the color there, and Killian’s smile shifts slightly, a smirk and a flash of blue and she shakes her head. “Not as such, no,” she whispers. “Although I’d imagine the rather illicit kissing was a fairly good start.”
“Start?”
“Were you not intending to dance with me, Lieutenant?”
He kisses her – not quite as determined as it had been a few moments before, softer, calmer, like he’s taking care on each movement and committing them to memory. “Were you drinking wine?”
“Distracted,” she repeats, tugging lightly on the lapel of his jacket. “Liam met with George?”
“Aye. Not for long, I don’t think, the old man rarely comes out of that room anymore, but the underling claimed it was important and instructions for the next voyage and--”
Emma falls back on her heels. Her right foot misses her shoe entirely, landing on grass and dirt, distinctly un-royal and entirely disappointed, the shadow on the edge of her vision flickering back to life. “There’s time still, Swan,” Killian says, but Emma hears the words for what they are, an empty promise and stolen moments. “Weeks from now.”
“Where?” Killian makes a noise in the back of his throat, confusion in the pinch between his eyebrows. “Where?” Emma says again. “Did George say where? And why?”
“Have you ever heard of Neverland?”
She can’t fall anymore. Her feet are already on the ground and the arm wrapped tightly around her waist makes it all but impossible for Emma to actually move, but her heart doesn’t care and feels as if it drops directly into the puddle.
Where it promptly drowns.
In wine. And absolute, all-encompassing fear.
“What could George want in Neverland?” Emma breathes. “That’s...those stories are terrible, an island filled with more terrors than one place is supposed to have and--”
“--It will be fine, Emma.”
“Don’t lie like that. Not to me. Please.”
“I’m not.”
She glares. “Does David know?”
“I don’t think so,” Killian says, a quiet admission it’s clear he doesn’t want to make. “This isn’t--George didn’t give him specifics, just that there’s a weapon there he believes could defeat the Dark One and…”
He stops when he notices Emma shaking her head, breathing as heavily as if she’d just run out of the ballroom again. “How did you know I was out here?” she asks.
“I couldn’t find you. I was...I was trying to get here as quickly as I could and you weren’t here.”
“Were you worried, Lieutenant?”
Flirting probably shouldn’t have much place in this conversation, but Emma needs something normal and that’s normal and easy and she loves him with every single inch of her and every bit of magic that rushes through her veins. Currently. She doesn’t want him to leave.
She made sure he could.
“I’ve spent a considerable amount of time over the last few months considering what color gown you’d wear, your highness.”
“And?”
“And it’s better,” he promises, lips dragging across her jaw and close to the shell of her ear, a nip of teeth that makes her breath catch again. “Gods, Emma, I--”
“--Hold on to me,” Emma whispers. She’s only done it a few times, and the prospect of closing her eyes in the garden and opening them in her bedroom is more than a little daunting, but Emma can feel the heat of her magic pulse through her and they leave a broken bottle in their wake.
Killian gasps as soon as they land, fingers turning vice-like as if that’ll help remind him that it happened and--
Emma’s not entirely prepared for whatever noise he makes, some kind of growl that just sounds a bit like the audible version of want and the color of her gown, but everything seems to settle as soon as his mouth crashes against hers. The crown falls from her hair, a soft thump on plush carpet and all those fine things Liam promised years ago, but Emma has never quite gotten used to them and she knows she leaves a scuff mark on the wall when she kicks her shoes off.
She laughs at the sound, Killian’s lips quirking up against hers. “You’re going to give a man a complex if you keep laughing while I’m trying to seduce you, love.”
“Oh, is that what you’re doing?”
“Was that not obvious?” She laughs again. Free and easy, worries hanging in the back of her brain, but just a bit quieter than normal. Her magic is far too loud anyway. “Swan,” Killian mutters, the word sounding half like a reprimand and half like a question. His fingers are moving again, drifting over the laces on the back of her dress and the curve of her shoulder, thumb brushing against the back of her wrist.
Emma’s far too preoccupied with her own movements to respond immediately, finding the buckle of his sword belt and the hem of his shirt, pushing his jacket on the floor with an enthusiasm that doesn’t really surprise her that much.
He smirks.
“You are frustrating,” she mumbles, but it’s another decidedly uninsulting insult and Killian arches an eyebrow.
“That so?”
“Yes. Why are there so many parts to this uniform?”
“I believe you’re the only one who could do anything about that, love.”
“I’ll issue a proclamation.”
He bites lightly at her lip, drawing some kind of sound out of Emma that she knows she’s never made before. But then her dress is just a hint looser and her lungs appreciate that for the half a moment she gives them to recover. They appreciate it less when she moves again, another kiss and whatever he’s learned to do with his tongue in the last few years, quick swipes that make the fire in the pit of Emma’s stomach turn into some kind of all encompassing inferno of emotion and magic and she knows those two things are tied together.
Intrinsically.
“Take this off,” she mutters, tugging at the shirt again.
“Aye aye, ma’am.”
She swats at his arm, but he catches her around the wrist, eyeing her with amusement and she can’t think straight when he kisses her hand. The shirt gets thrown somewhere.
And, honestly, she almost should have expected it, the words falling out of her like bubbles out of a broken bottle, determined to be spoken and heard and felt. In the very center of everything. “I love you,” Emma whispers, one shoulder out of her dress and strands of hair falling across her forehead and the force of Killian’s answering smile will be branded on every inch of her memory forever.
No matter what. She’s certain.
He doesn’t respond immediately, but that might have to do with her fingers dragging across the expanse of skin in front of her and it’s a strange moment to feel powerful. The moment does not care. The moment lingers and settles and her magic roars in what might actually be victory.
“I love you too.”
She gets out of her dress eventually, stumbling towards a bed that’s always felt far too big, but, with Killian’s chest under her and his fingers tracing across the curve of her hip, feels like home in a way that Emma hopes isn’t quite that sentimental.
She’s still a bit of a pessimist.
And she has no idea what time it is, but it must be hours later, expectations and royal requirements forgotten in I love you mumbled over and over, pressed into every bit of skin his lips could find. She lets her eyes close, an easy comfort to it all that also feels like home.
And them. Collectively.
As if two people could, simply, be home.
Emma’s mind wanders, jumping from thought to thought and flashing from hope to maybe, a foggy picture of a future that suddenly feels a bit possible.
“You’re thinking so loudly, I’m a little surprised the walls haven’t started to rattle as well,” Kilian murmurs, and Emma doesn’t open her eyes. She knows he’s smiling anyway.
“And you’re rather pleased with yourself.”
“Am I?” She hums, letting her cheek move against him when she nods. His chest shifts under her, a shaky inhale that makes Emma laugh and smile and she keeps doing both of those things. Her magic does...something.
It doesn’t rattle the walls, but it might move its way through her, a low rumble of power that rushes through her and Killian’s fingers still.
“How did you know where I was?” Emma asks again. “Honestly?”
“Do you think I wasn’t telling you the truth?”
“I think you’re deflecting something and I…” She lifts her head up, met with half a smile and a bit of trust and she’s known the whole time. “Can you feel it? Me, I mean?”
“You?”
“You’re being difficult on purpose,” Emma accuses, but she can see the muscles in Killian’s throat shift when he swallows. He takes another deep breath.
“I don’t--that shouldn’t be possible, Emma. And it’s--”
“--Finish your sentence, please.”
He chuckles softly, sliding further down the small mountain of pillows on her bed, and the kiss that lands on her temple is almost tender, a reverence to it that she can’t quite wrap her mind around. As if she deserves that. He starts pulling the pins out of her hair, measured movements and even breathing and Emma counts the seconds.
She gets to fourteen before he answers.
“The very first time I saw you, I knew exactly who you were,” Killian starts. “And I knew what you were capable of. I’d heard the prophecy, knew what Liam had done, knew how it had...it tormented him, Swan. I know why he did it too. To protect me and everything that I’m not.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re interrupting the story, love,” he says, another quiet laugh that sounds a little hollow. “If George had known, he would have taken Liam too and I would have been alone. And it’s not--part of me won’t ever forgive him for doing that to you, but...I saw you and it was--” He exhales, letting his lips move across her forehead and Emma tries not to move. “Liam rarely used his magic when we were growing up, too afraid of what it would attract. I only really remember it happening a few times, but once it had snowed and I was freezing. He tried to help me warm up.”
“Did it work?”
“Aye, it did. And it was the safest I’ve ever felt. Like I was home and protected, but that feeling went away eventually. It didn’t linger in the very center of me, didn’t take up root or grow and--Emma, I saw you and it felt like that. Like home and a warmth I’ve never been able to shake and I wouldn’t want to. It’s like…”
“Everything,” Emma breathes, and Kilian nods slowly.
“Aye, like absolutely everything.”
They’re quiet for a moment, both of them content to loiter in admissions and emotions and--"How many pins are in your hair?” Killian asks, Emma’s smile stretching across her face so quickly the muscles in her cheeks ache.
“Far too many. You don’t have to do that, you know. I can…” She waves a hand, but Killian is already shaking his head and she doesn’t want him to anyway.
“Will you mercilessly mock me if I tell you that I’d like to?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Aye, I figured,” he nods, one side of his mouth tugged up. The blue in his eyes is distracting. “I love you, have I mentioned that?”
“A few times.”
“Ah, not nearly enough.”
“Sentimental.”
“Also true.”
“Not even an argument, huh?” Emma asks, shifting so she can drag her hand up the side of his ribs, magic pulsing under her. She fully expects the look she gets. And she’s not surprised how good they are at this. It’s still nice to have it confirmed though.
“You'll find, love,’ Killian mutters, turning so he’s on his side and there’s far too much of him pressed against Emma, “that you’ll rarely get an argument out of me when there’s so much else here to distract me.”
They didn’t have to worry about her thoughts and the walls. Her laugh is loud enough to do damage to the entire castle. “Impertinent, Lieutenant.”
“And you’re doing that on purpose.”
“Maybe.”
His eyebrows jump, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth when he moves again, pressing Emma’s shoulders into the pillows and the blankets and she can’t come up with many words after that.
Ruby finds them. Groaning and cursing, a hand over her eyes when she swings open the door.
“Gods help us,” she sighs, and Emma pinches Killian’s side when he has the gall to laugh. “Your brother is looking for you, Lieutenant,” Ruby continues. “I think he waited what he believed an appropriate amount of time, but is now considering alerting the guard to your absence.”
“Idiot,” Killian grumbles. Emma laughs that time.
Ruby still hasn’t moved her hand.
“Yes, something like that,” she agrees. “And I’d suggest moving rather quickly because I’ve also seen David asking Mary Margaret where the princess disappeared to last night.”
Emma rolls her eyes towards the ceiling. “You’re no help at all.”
“That’s ungrateful. I haven’t even gotten to my slightly overprotective speech.”
“Ruby!”
She doesn’t move her hand. Her smile is obvious anyway. “Have you two stopped beating around the metaphorical bushes, then? I’d assume so since I nearly tripped over a large sword when I walked in, but--”
“--Yes,” Emma cuts in sharply, and Killian’s gaze snaps to hers. “I’m...well, this is good. We’re happy. Right?”
“Were you looking for confirmation, darling?” he asks, Ruby not doing much to quiet her sigh.
“Good,” she calls. “I’m leaving now, but I’d give you approximately five minutes before the heroic Captain stars to take drastic steps.”
The door slams behind her. And Emma spends at least two minutes kissing Killian, mind latching onto the word darling with an almost alarming grip, but then he’s gone and the door closes again and she tries not to worry.
It doesn’t work.
They sail out less than a week later.
“I love you,” she says, tucked into a corner of the castle with one hand on his jacket and the other curled around the belt loop of his pants.
He kisses away the tears that fall on her cheeks.
“Every single time, Emma.”
She nods, trying to feel confident and it will be fine. It has to be fine.
It’s not fine.
The bird that lands on Mary Margaret’s windowsill arrives a few weeks into autumn, leaves falling and endings everywhere Emma looks and--
“They were attacked,” Mary Margaret whispers, voice so quiet Emma doesn’t even demand how she can figure that out from a goddamn bird. She’s having trouble retaining consciousness. “It was...he says it was bad and he’s not--”
“--Survivors, Mary Margaret,” Emma snaps. David appears to have turned into a statue in the far corner of the room. “Were there survivors?”
“And who was it?” David adds. There goes the statue theory.
Mary Margaret glances at the bird, soft chirps as it bounces on her arm. Emma counts seconds. She tries to breathe. Three in and three out. More seconds. More chirps. David moves, an arm wrapping around her shoulders and she doesn’t think before she turns into him.
It takes forever.
It’s not nearly long enough.
“The Dark One,” Mary Margaret says, voice catching. David’s arm tightens. That’s probably for the best. Emma’s knees don’t seem all that interested in functioning anymore. “He--yes, yes, I know your name is Joshua--”
“--Mary Margaret!” Emma’s voice jumps, and the bed frame behind her rattles ominously. As do the paintings on the wall and the sword hanging from David’s waist.
She squeezes her eyes closed, nose scrunched tightly like that will keep the tears from spilling over and it doesn’t, but Emma’s whole body feels like it’s crumbling and the hand that lands on her cheek is soft. “Emma,” Mary Margaret says, soft and imploring. “Emma, look at me. It’s--Joshua…”
“It’s a bird, Mary Margaret.”
“Yes, and he’s gone now, but he brought the message here because the rumors were swirling. It’s been...it must have happened weeks ago, Emma. Red skies in the morning and a fight and…” Emma opens her eyes. She’ll regret that, eventually. Mary Margaret is crying. “The Dark One found them in Neverland. They were looking for something, but I don’t know if they ever found it. It...I don’t think it mattered to the Dark One anyway. He just--”
She doesn’t really hear the rest of the words, Mary Margaret’s voice going fuzzy and Emma’s vision going spotty, but one word hangs in front of her as clearly as if it’s been painted there.
“Dead,” Mary Margaret says. “The Dark One killed them.”
Tag List:
@kmomof4
@shireness-says
@profdanglaisstuff
@captainsjedi
@thejollyroger-writer
@winterbaby89
@melsbels
@tiganasummertree
@jennjenn615
@idristardis
@cssns
#cs ff#captain swan#cs fic#cs#captain swan ff#all was golden in the sky#that stupid witch fic#in which george seriously continues to be the worst
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
Simple Things : Chapter Thirteen
Excerpt -
Yet here she was, strolling through the Schönbrunn Palace Gardens, her hand safely tucked in the palm of the man who had promised to come whisk her away for the evening. Tom had informed her that he had planned on wooing her that night.
Tag list: @winterisakiller, @devikafernando, @scorpionchild81, @messy-insomniac-bookgirl, @smutsausage, @hiddlesbitch1 @noplacelikehome77 @wolfsmom1 @meh1217 @dina-bln @lilaeye39 @tinchentitri @fairlightswiftly @nonsensicalobsessions @wolfsmom1 @stmeiou @ink-and-starlight @givemecocoaa @profkmoriarty13 @nikkalia @massivelemon @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @argo-shila @emoietmoi @redfoxwritesstuff @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @raining-litter @theoneanna @coppercorn-and-cauldron @turniptitaness @shadyskit @memoriesat30 @antyc67 @just-the-hiddles @sheris532 @marggot4
Author’s Notes/Warnings: tags will follow later on
Anyway thank you in advance for feedback - would love to know what you think…Also on
AO3 through this link
Masterlist available through here
Bonus: click here for the pinterest moodboard (always updated)
Chapter Thirteen : Vienna
1.
Charlotte did her best to keep her facial features under control. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her mind focused on something else, anything else, fearing she just might break out in a besotted smile if she didn’t. And this was not the time nor the place to do just that.
From inside the hotel lobby Charlotte had a clearly view of see Tom waiting on her. As she neared the sliding doors she noticed him standing tall next to a taxi. A taxi?
To her delight he’d caught her walking up to him and his lips curved into a content smile, his one eyebrow slowly lifted disclosing his (though slightly anxious) excitement. Well, that didn’t help things at all. And Charlotte was surprised at the amount of willpower she needed to prevent herself from just running up to him and falling apart in his arms.
No, no, she would be cool about this, she reminded herself as she walked through the hotel’s entrance and steady on closer to Tom. So very sophisticated and ladida, acting as if nothing could ever knock her of her feet. Not his admiring gaze (there goes my heart), not the smile that reached up into his eyes (hello good sir) and certainly not the softest kiss on her cheek that might have lingered on a tad bit too long.
Charlotte pressed her fingertips into his arms as Tom’s cologne dizzied her. Oh how badly did she want to slightly tilt her head and brush her lips up against his. But she shouldn’t, she couldn't. They needed to be discreet.
She gladly allowed him to escort her into the awaiting taxi. And when he’d urged the driver to head on, she wanted to remark in all honesty how completely silly and unnecessary this was. Her hotel was smackdown in the center of Vienna. Everything was within walking range….
But then it dawned on her. Just a ride around the block. Just enough time to put his lips on hers.
“Good heavens darling, this day went on for too long....”
2.
It felt a bit strange to her, strange it that funky out-of-your-body-type of experience. Was this her life? Was this her reality? Wasn't she supposed to be networking, making connection for future endeavours, mingling with the in-crowd? Stretching her mind in academic discussion about legal competence and end-of-life care?
Yet here she was, strolling through the Schönbrunn Palace Gardens, her hand safely tucked in the palm of the man who had promised to come whisk her away for the evening. Tom had informed her that he had planned on wooing her that night. She'd chuckled in absolute delight as he laid out his plans. Things had evolved so fast up until that point he now solemnly believed he needed to slow down the process. More than that really; he wanted to go back a few steps and make a start the way things he found should start. He wanted to pull back from the hussle and bussle of everything and just take his (and her) time. Together. But discreetly. Always so very discreet.
The Palace Gardens were a great place to start. The courtyard was mind blowingly big, enormously outstretched. It held so many types of flowers, and all shrubberies were tweaked to perfection. It was simply perfect and with the maze and all, nothing short of a fairy tale. The crown of it all however was the Gloriette, a pavillion type of building with grand windows. It had been designed to glorify Habsburg power and the “Just War” (a war that would be carried out of "necessity" and lead to peace).
These days the Gloriette houses a café and an observation deck which provides panoramic views of the city but unfortunately it was already closed by the time Tom and Charlotte passed through.
Charlotte sighed at the sight of so much splendour and, without realising, held on tighter to Tom’s arm. He chuckled warmly and shared his admiration with Charlotte before urging her to tell him more about her current plans… There were so many questions, so many things he wanted to learn about her.
He led her to a cosy little Italian place near the river. Highly recommended by Ben and Sophie, who described it as a nice and quite yet authentic restaurant where they would surely be able to enjoy a ridiculously good pasta in all privacy. Tom didn’t need to hear about this place twice and made reservations - himself - as soon as possible.
Ben and Sophie were clearly very reliable advisors. That became quite clear when Tom sat down on the patio of said restaurant. With Charlotte across the table, toasting with a glass of red wine, the evening was already all he had hoped it to be. They wined and dined, they talked so easily, with a fair amount of flirt that was steady on growing stronger through the course of their meal. His hand searched out hers at the table and squeezed it gently while he quietly proposed they would take their dessert elsewhere. Charlotte lifted a brow under a playful chuckle and flirtily added he’d made her quite curious now… about that dessert...
3.
Never in a million years would Charlotte have guessed there would be some last minute running involved after that incredibly delicious meal. She’d spontaneously declared Tom insane, loudly questioning what he was up to as she rushed after him towards to some sort of house by the river.
But Tom would not be Tom if he hadn’t prepared the evening. He was enamoured with her and he felt happier than he had felt in a long time. But he hadn’t walked the parcours to all of this like he usually would and he nervously and desperately wanted to make up for that. He want a night of perfection, a night of romance, an evening out in which we could prove to her that he - personally - made an effort. Just for her. And that he had gladly ruled out any other intrusions beyond themselves. That part was a tricky bit though. But he happily went for it. For her.
And that’s why he felt they needed to catch the very last riverboat that night. The absolute last one that was to depart that evening in fact; because the summer sun was about to set. With this last boat ride
Charlotte had giggled and merely shook her head as they boarded. Yet she couldn’t resist but to quietly and playfully reprimand Tom with, “I’m here. With you. That is all that matters. To me, that is.”
He’d nodded in understanding, but under a bashful smile, gladly guided her to the back of the pleasure boat; out on the terrace on those wooden benches. Tom mindfully draped one of the fleece blankets over Charlotte’s legs as dusk had now started to set in. Charlotte exhaled blissfully at his thoughtful gesture. And when Tom put his arm around her shoulders, she allowed herself to relax and lean closer to him. There were absolutely no paparazzi here. Nor other spying eyes. Everybody’s attention was clearly turning on the scenery outside of the boat, not inside.
“I know darling,” he finally replied to her, “and I apologise for rushing you, but… I want, or I need, tonight to be perfect. I just want this to be ‘us’. Nobody else.”
“Us... ,” Charlotte’s lips curved into a smile, “I like the sound of that.”
She chuckled some more as she flicked her fingers against the baseball cap he’s put on during their mad dash for the boat. It was an nice attempt for anonymity, but she hated the thing. Tom looked back at her sternly, but his eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Steady now, love…”
Charlotte tittered before setting her sights back onto the beautiful scenery as the boat glided across the Danube river. It was quite here, serene even. No crowds, no traffic, only the sound of water lapping the hull of the boat. She admired the Austrian architecture, but her breath got caught when she could very clearly now see the sun setting against the horizon. And Vienna’s city lights came to life.
A small shiver ran across her back and she felt his arm pull her in closer. Charlotte slid out her seat a bit and allowed herself to shamelessly lean against his strong chest. His familiar cologne immediately soothed her and she sighed while admitting to him the scenery was simply beautiful.
Tom smiled to himself and looked down at her lovingly before he ever-so-sweetly placed a longing kiss on her lips which she most definitely did not reject. Charlotte gladly molded herself to his position and gratefully returned the kiss she did expect to be receiving in public.
Two days ago, they had spent their afternoon in London talking in earnest over lunch, and then lounging in his living room afterwards. They had taken their time with discovering the other, with kissing and feeling, with lounging and talking. But they hadn’t slept together again since Edinburgh, and right now this somehow - and very acutely - only added to the longing.
A small whimper escaped from her Charlotte’s mouth and Tom pulled back with a slight curse under his breath when he realised the boat tour wouldn’t be over for another 20 minutes…
While their kiss softly but surely deepened, his hand snuck lower and under the blanket where it caressed one of her legs and the upwards before softly bit surely clasping her inner thigh. Charlotte squirmed in her seat uneasily, locking her eyes with him surprised.
“I thought you were all about discreet,” she mumbled with an eyebrow raised in delight.
“Oh but I am darling,” he whispered into her ear while he adoringly massaged her thigh.
“B-b-beg to differ…” she stuttered, a slight blush rising to her cheeks..
His crystal blue eyes met her chocolate brown ones.
“So happy. Here. With you,”
4.
Charlotte wasn’t entirely sure how they had managed to make it safely from the boat back to the hotel room and franky at that time she couldn’t care less about it. Because Tom’s lips were leaving a deliciously enthralling trail of kisses down her neck. Leaving a path of gentle nips from the column of her neck down to her clavicle, Charlotte dropped her head back in surrender and blissfully gasped his namen.”
Tom groaned appreciatively as he sweetly pressed his lips onto her almost bare shoulder. Charlotte’s hands ran over his shoulders and then over his neck and up into his hair. She curled her fingers and softly tugged at his curls in an implicit attempt for him to place his lips onto hers. Words were a bit of a struggle for her now that arousal had started to cloud her mind.
Their mouths very quickly came crashing back together again. The word frantic came to mind. When they pulled back their gasps for air were slightly mingled with idiotic chuckles.
“It’s been too long,” Tom whispered, resting his forehead against hers.
“Mmm, I agree,” Charlotte breathed.
“Give me a second, will you,” he chuckled, “else I fear I won’t last long…”
She loved how he gently stroked her long hair while seemingly grounding himself for a moment. His eyes were closed and she distinctly heard him taking a deep breath in and out. And while she contemplated on following his example but failed to do so as her heart was still savagely beating within her chest. She did manage to close her eyes while he slid his hands over her body, carefully tracing her curves. But slowly this time. He wanted to take his time. That was obvious.
She felt his hands slid down over her waist, over the swell of her hips and down her thighs. While his mouth slowly claimed hers again. His tongue slowly gliding against hers, tasting of wine of the promise of a wonderful night. His fingertips rimmed the seam of her dress and trailed upwards over her thighs while Charlotte’s agile fingers patiently yet deftly unbuttoned his shirt. Her hands slid under the light fabric, firmly splayed out against his toned chest, up to his shoulders where she proceeded to push the piece of clothing off.
And in return she gladly lifted her hands over her head so he could lift her summery dress up over her head as well.
He murmurs something she couldn’t hear and probably wasn’t meant to hear. She would ask in normal circumstances ask but then his hands reached out the the curves of her breasts where they stroked and teased and readied the path his lips and tongue were so eager to follow.
Words not important now.
It was only a matter of seconds before the last pieces of clothing found their way to the floor and Charlotte slowly laid down on the luxurious hotel bed. Desperate for any kind of friction now, she was ever so delighted when Tom skilfully undulated his toned body over hers. A slight moan got caught in her throat when his teeth softly sank into her lower lip and she raked her fingernails playfully over his lower back in retaliation. He shivered in response, muttering she was a “bad girl,” before ravenously continuing his teasings.
When his fingers trailed down to her apex of her legs, she flinched and her head lulled back. A muffled whimper escaped her lips, much to Tom’s pleasure … And with even more adoration for her then before he bent down lower and decidedly ran his tongue over her little bundle of nerves.
Charlotte proceeded to gasp, this time not so slightly anymore. Her hands clutched onto the sheets in all her might while Tom teased on, adding pressure with his thumb before steadily spoiling her on. A little peak disclosed to him how beautiful she truly was, all pretences stripped away, blushing feverishly and moaning delightful things in response to him.
He took pride into bringing her to a climax and enjoyed witnessing her fall to pieces, knowing it was his doing.. Truth be told, it wasn’t a moment too soon for him though. With a speed and ease he anxiously chased after his own release that came much to soon to his liking. He needed to learn to pace himself again, he reprimanded himself jokingly.
They rolled into each other’s embrace easily, lovingly, catching their breaths in unison.
“Good heavens,” Tom joked, “you’ve ruined me!”
“How’s that?’’ Charlotte frowned under a laugh.
“I don’t last that long with you. Christ”
Charlotte lost herself in a fit of giggles.
“Seriously,” he continued, “I want a rematch later on.”
“Later on?” she teased, “oh my, do you think you can manage that?”
“Hey!” he shot back, “why did you think I insisted on picking up these?” he winked devilishly to the cake boxes he’d picked up at Café Prückel on their hasty flee from the boat to the hotel.
But Charlotte happily delved in though. Both skimpily covered with a hotel sheet, they savoured the stupendous cakes with vigour, and stealing a morsel from the other’s cake with their plastic forks.
“Could get used to this,” Charlotte confessed with a smile.
“Mmmm, yeah,” Tom blissfully agreed, “I admit,” he added while munching on, “this one is the best ever though.”
He fed her another piece of his Sachertorte and jokingly pulled away when she wanted to take a bite. Charlotte cursed him under a loud giggle.
But it was true. The cake was extremely good. And it was also true that Charlotte could get used to this just as well. Easily so...
40 notes
·
View notes
Link
Chapter 13 is up! We’re nearing the close of this fic. Just a bit left to go. I’m going to miss writing this one.
Chapter 13
Simon
No one’s in the kitchen by the time we get downstairs. I can hear the little ‘uns voices down the hall.
Baz rummages around in the refrigerator then pulls out a few sealed containers of food.
It’s a bit surreal watching Baz make me a roast beef sandwich in the Pitch Manor kitchen. Not a sight I ever expected to see but it’s certainly a welcome one.
He’s put all sorts of left-overs on my plate. His has considerably less food on it than mine.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
He points at his plate. “I am eating.”
I frown. “Not much.”
Baz frowns back at me then reaches over to dump a little more chestnut stuffing on his plate.
“That’s it?”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m saving room for dessert.”
“That sweet tooth of yours.”
“I happen to be partial to trifle.”
“I’d not say no to some of that sticky toffee pudding.” Mrs. Grimm’s sticky toffee pudding was heavenly.
“Then you’d be out of luck.”
“What? It’s not all finished, is it? I swear there was some on the platter when we cleared the dishes last night.”
The tips of his ears flush. He’s not meeting my eyes. “Baz?”
“Oh, shut up, you nightmare. I came down and polished it off after you went to bed.” He gives me a pointed look. “The first time you went to bed.”
“You jammy bastard. I was looking forward to some more of that.”
“You can have trifle.”
It’s ridiculous really, that we’re bickering about sweets. I can’t help but grin. We sound like we used to, back when we roomed together, squabbling familiarly but with none of the bitterness.
I love it.
We sit at the kitchen table, side by side, legs rubbing and arms bumping. It’s cozy. It’s domestic.
It’s fucking perfect.
And that’s when the ache in my chest at the thought of him leaving in a week hits me again. I can’t help it. It gets me every time. I’ve put up a good front, but five months does sound daunting when you think about it.
I suppose we’ve been apart five years so what’s five months compared to that?
It helps to think of it that way, if only a little.
Baz and I demolish what’s left of the trifle, both leaning over the dish, spoons dueling for the best bites.
I carry the dishes to the sink and do the washing up while Baz dries. I’m going to think back on this moment when I’m alone in my flat, and that thought is almost unbearable.
“So. Shall we search out the hellions and devote the afternoon to board games or is there something else you’d rather do?” Baz is leaning against the counter, one eyebrow arched in question.
I can think of an entire list of things I’d like to do with him and none of them involve the kind of games he’s talking about.
Baz clears his throat and flushes again. “I meant down here. We should at least put in an appearance?”
My face flames in response. “Yeah, uh, yes, of course.” How bad can games with his siblings be?
Horrifically bad, it turns out. These children are all as insanely competitive as Baz, even Magnus, and he’s only seven.
They thrash me at Scrabble. I thought it would be better if we split into teams. That was my first mistake. Mordelia paired up with Acantha, Baz with Magnus, and Ophelia got me. I’m sure she regrets it. She’s the only reason we even got one triple word score. The disgust on her face when all I could eke out on the last go-around was “BAT” is uncannily similar to the look Baz used to sport whenever he’d walk by my clothes hamper at school (I run hot) (can’t be helped if my laundry gets a little ripe) (I still tend to wait until I’m down to the dregs of my closet before I do the wash).
He’s not sneering at me this time though. He’s fucking smirking at the board as he adds a “WOM” to my word and seals his victory in the game. Wanker.
Scrabble over, they drag me into a game of Lord of the Rings Trivial Pursuit which ends up being even more of a bloodbath for me, as we’re all on our own for this one.
It’s not like I haven’t seen the movies. I have. I like them well enough but there’s no way I know what bloody color hood Faramir placed on Gollum’s sodding head by the Forbidden Pool. It’s all rot.
I lose again. Even Magnus does better than I do.
I feel the touch of Baz’s hand on my arm. He’s rubbing my forearm, stroking up and down gently. It’s soothing. I like it. He can keep doing that all day, as far as I’m concerned.
“Had enough of the minions?” Baz says it softly, for my ears only. Said minions are all crouched in a corner of the room, quarrelling over which game to torture me with next.
They rise in triumph, Magnus brandishing a Monopoly box at us.
Bloody hell. Anything but that.
I’m on my feet in an instant. Baz stifles a snort but stands up with me, fingers searching mine out. He shakes his head at his siblings. “You can play amongst yourselves for a bit, you horrors. I’m going to give Simon a tour of the house.”
“More likely a tour of your tonsils,” Mordelia says, just loud enough for us to hear. She gives Baz a wicked grin and then winks at me. She’s incorrigible, truly. This girl is going to give Fiona a run for her money before long.
It’s a terrifying thought.
Baz gives her a withering look. “And what would you know about that?”
“Looked like you were giving it a go last night.” She smirks right back at him and Baz wisely chooses to beat a hasty retreat, before the younger ones get involved in this conversation.
We escape to the hallway. “Are you really giving me a tour of the house?”
“Do you truly want one?”
“Well, Mordelia’s option is quite tempting but I am curious about this Gothic mansion of yours.”
“I told you, it’s Victorian.”
I grin at him. “I know.”
“Nightmare.” He pulls me along the hallway.
Baz’s house is fucking absurd. There’s a gallery filled to the brim with portraits of deceased Pitch relatives. It’s a little unsettling having a whole room of them sneering at me.
There’s a green room and a red room (Baz’s lurid bedroom isn’t even the actual “red room”) (You should see that one) (it’s straight out of a horror movie). Then there’s Fiona’s room but Baz says it’s just a shrine to dark wave music and manky 80’s posters.
It is.
Mine’s the blue room so we skip that and head to the library. It’s massive. Heavy, dark furniture, large windows, a fireplace at the far end, and shelves and shelves of books. Leather bound books. Ancient looking tomes. I’d not be surprised to find an original copy of the fucking Magna Carta in here.
We don’t find that but we do find Mr. Grimm. He’s seated in an armchair at the back of the room, near the fire, reading a book. Baz gets his widows peak from him.
“Ah, Basilton. Simon.” Mr. Grimm gives us a nod.
“Just giving Simon a tour of the house, Father.”
“You’ve shown him the dungeon then?”
My eyes widen. I hadn’t quite expected the house to be that cliché, but it is Pitch Manor. I suppose they could have a dungeon here. The idea makes the hair on my neck stand up.
Baz gives his father a rather feral smile. “Thought I’d save that for the end.”
I look from one to the other.
Mr. Grimm doesn’t last long. His lips curve up. “Simon, you should see your face.”
Baz is laughing too.
“What?” I’m still looking back and forth between them, not sure of the joke.
Baz huffs at me. “You absolute numpty, there is no dungeon. It’s just a wine cellar, a storage area, and a fair amount of dust and spiders.”
Mr. Grimm still looks amused. “We were just having you on, Simon. No dungeons here.” He darts a glance at Baz and smooths his features. “But I make no promises about the estate in Scotland.”
I swear he winks, but it’s so fast I’m not sure it actually happened.
I’ve got no idea what to think. “You’ve got an estate in Scotland?” is what manages to come out of my mouth.
“Yes. It’s been in my family for generations.” Mr. Grimm nods in my direction. “We go there in the summers.” His eyes dart to Baz and they hold each other’s gaze for a long moment, Mr. Grimm’s aspect taking on that fond look I’ve glimpsed on Baz lately. “You should bring Simon, when you come home for your summer holiday, Basilton.”
I can feel Baz shift position next to me, see the relaxing of his posture. He fingers brush against mine. “Sounds like a splendid idea.”
Baz
I do end up snogging Simon in the wine cellar. It’s cold but it’s also far more private than any other place in the house. Far less chance of Mordelia sneaking up on us here.
I’ve got him pushed up against one of the stone walls, hands on his hips. We’re pressed together and the heat of him seeps through his clothes to warm me.
It’s doing quite a bit more to me than simply warming me up. I shift position, angling my hips slightly away from him.
One of Simon’s hands is in my hair and the other has slipped between the buttons of my shirt, to trace patterns of searing heat against my skin, just like this morning. I don’t want him to stop.
Eventually we do stop, because breathing is an unfortunate necessity.
I press my forehead to his. “I don’t want you to go.”
His eyes close. “I don’t want to go. But I’ve got to get back for work tomorrow.”
“You could stay tonight. I’ll drive you in the morning.” How can I sound so fucking needy?
Simon’s remarkable blue eyes meet mine. He pulls back to smirk at me. “I’d never be on time, if I stayed here with you.”
He’s probably right about that. I’d likely find every excuse to delay.
“You’ll come up to London later this week, yeah?”
“You couldn’t keep me away.” Fucking hell. The things that come out of my mouth when I’m with Simon. I’ve got no filter with him. I’ll be turning into fucking Fiona next, except spouting besotted romantic nonsense instead of bitter sarcasm and robust swearing.
“What’s the time, Baz?”
I pull back far enough to check my watch. “It’s almost six.”
Simon shakes his head. “I should head home. I’ve got wash to do before tomorrow and a day of activities to plan.”
His hands come to rest on my face as he tips his head up to kiss me. It’s a long few moments before we move apart again.
“You alright driving me home?”
“I told you I would. It’s that much more time I get to spend with you. Every moment counts.” It’s done. It’s over. Whatever filter I had left has been definitively annihilated by the all-consuming blaze of affection I have for this boy. I’m a disgrace to the Pitch name.
I don’t care.
I thought I’d lost him forever five years ago.
I don’t intend on losing him again.
Simon
It takes longer than I expected to say goodbye to Baz’s family. Mrs. Grimm hugs me and tells me she hopes I can visit again. Mr. Grimm gives me a firm handshake and reiterates his invitation for the summer.
Acantha and Ophelia give me hugs of their own, while Magnus demands a piggy-back ride down the long hallway upstairs before he’ll allow me out of his sight.
I oblige and end up red-faced and puffing by the time I get back downstairs. Baz just smirks at me, the prat.
There is one more farewell it seems. Mordelia tugs at my sleeve as we walk past her toward the front door.
I stop. She’s got her hands on her hips and she’s glaring at me. She’s literally a mini-Fiona. She leans forward and pokes one finger at my chest. “Don’t be a knobhead.”
“Mordelia, language.” Mrs. Grimm snaps.
Mordelia rolls her eyes. “Fine.” Her eyes meet mine. “You know what I mean, Snow.”
I think I do.
For all her put-on indifference she cares about Baz deeply. They’ve got a way of communicating in this family—a way that cloaks their affection with sharp commentary, bitter sarcasm and vague insinuations. They know how to read each other, under that veneer.
My work with sullen youngsters has given me a bit of insight on the undercurrent of deep emotion that can be concealed by such language. My recent time with Baz has made me rethink many of our past interactions.
I nod at her. “I’ll do my best.” I lean a little closer, words for her ears only. “It means that much to me too, you know.”
Her eyes widen. She nods back and the mask slips into place once again. I’m far more knowledgeable about that too, in hindsight.
I had years of seeing Baz do just that.
Baz
The closer we get to Simon’s flat the dodgier the neighbourhood looks. There’s a parking spot open just past his building and I pull into it. I wasn’t sure what I expected when we got here but I most certainly am not just dropping him off. I want a look around this place.
There’s a boarded-up shop just across the street, graffiti spray painted onto the brick and boards. As we walk to his building I take in the sight of rubbish piled up and around the bins. There’s a shape that scurries into the shadows as we approach that I am fairly certain is a rat.
One of the lights by the door to the building is burnt out.
“I’m on the third floor. Bit of a trek up the stairs.” Simon grins back at me as he bounds up the steps. “Can you manage that these days, Baz, with your desk job?”
There’s a challenge in his eyes. I may sit at a desk all day but I’m still in peak physical condition.
“I don’t think I was the one huffing and puffing while giving a small boy a short piggy back ride earlier today, Simon.”
“Whatever you say.” Then he races up the steps without another look back.
This is unacceptable. “You cheat!” I’m flying up the steps behind him.
He beats me, of course. He’s leaning against the door to what must be his flat when I reach the third floor.
“Cheat.”
“Plodder.”
“Oh, shut up.”
Simon’s grinning as he unlocks the door. “You still can’t stand losing. Not even at the smallest things.”
“I didn’t lose. You cheated.”
I follow him into his flat. It’s dark and wretched. There are too few windows and the room is small, the paint on the walls a dingy grey.
Walls which are empty. No posters. No pictures. I take in the lumpy sofa, the single scuffed up coffee table, the slightly crooked floor lamp.
Simon flushes. “It’s not much, I know. Penny and I had a nicer flat but I couldn’t keep up with the rent without a roommate.” He jams his hands in his pockets. “I’d only ever lived in the care homes, with you at Watford, and then Penny. Thought it was time I lived on my own for a bit.” He shrugs. “It’s all I could really afford right now.”
It’s such a familiar motion, one that I remember well. Shrugs are a form of conversation for Simon. This one tugs at my heart.
“Show me the rest of it then, since I’m here.”
There isn’t much to see. A tiny kitchen, barely room for the sink, refrigerator, and a chipped two burner and stove combination. A small microwave takes up most of the counterspace. The bathroom is miniscule. I’m not sure the door could close if someone was sat on the toilet.
His bedroom is the only place that actually looks inhabited. There’s a bright comforter on the rumpled bed. An obligatory Liverpool poster marking his football club affiliation is tacked up on the wall. Stacks of papers and books litter the small desk.
And photographs.
Simon and Bunce. Simon and Wellbelove. All three of them and a dark-haired, dark-eyed man with such perfectly even teeth that he can only be Bunce’s American fiancé.
I stop at a Watford photo. It’s the class picture we took right before the Leavers Ball. We’re all kitted out in our best, the girls in dresses, the boys all in suits.
I’m there in the back. On the far left. Just next to Dev and Niall.
I’m not looking at the camera though. This isn’t the same photo I have, where I’m exuding boredom, one eyebrow up in disdain.
In this one I’m looking across and down, towards the ruddy-faced, smiling vision of Simon in the front row, flanked by Bunce and Wellbelove.
He’s not looking at the camera either. He’s got an arm around each of the girls, but he’s looking over his shoulder at something, only part of his face visible.
I think he’s looking at me.
Shame wells up, threatening to choke me. I was such a fucking wanker. I could have had … I don’t rightly know what I could have had, but looking at this photograph makes me realize once again what an utter arse I was. How I could have made things better—for Simon, for me, for just about everyone in our class who had to deal with our animosity—but I was too fucking full of myself to do anything but sneer and snarl at the person I cared for most.
The person who might have cared for me too.
Simon’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder. “Baz?”
I swallow and blink at the picture. “I’ve … I’ve not seen this one before.”
Simon tilts his head and regards it. “Yeah, Dr. Wellbelove took that one. Agatha gave it to me. I’ve got the official school one somewhere around here, but I like this one better. It’s more candid. He snapped it just before Mrs. Possibelf shouted at us to face forward and stop messing around.” He grins at me. “This is more how we actually were, I think, than the prats we all look like in the other shot.” He nudges my shoulder. “Except for you, you look like a prat in all of them.”
His eyes meet mine and the grin fades. “You all right, Baz?”
“I’m fine.” I’m not, not really. I hate the neighborhood, I despise this manky flat of his, I feel wretched at the thought of him coming home to this grey place, to spend his nights alone here.
But most of all I hate the person I was in this photograph. The person who couldn’t be true to his feelings. The person who couldn’t find it in himself to be the least bit kind to the roommate he was foolishly, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with.
“Hey.” Simon’s turning me to face him. “What’re you thinking about? You’ve got this pinched, pissed off look and it’s worrying me.” He tentatively reaches a hand up to stroke my hair. “I’ve never liked that look on you. It doesn’t suit.”
I drop my gaze to the floor. I’m desperate to pull the mask back up, smooth my features, toss my head and look down my nose at him to convince him I’m fine.
This is your second chance, arsehole, I tell myself. Whatever you think you should do is probably the wrong answer.
I reach up to clasp his hand. I close my eyes. “It just reminded me of what an arsehole I was back then, that’s all.” I force myself to open my eyes and meet his gaze. “I don’t like remembering that, how I was to you.” Fuck it all. I’m done for as it is. I may as well keep going. “It makes me realize how lucky I am now and how close I came to fucking this up for all time.”
Simon’s fingers tighten in my hair. “But you didn’t fuck it up for all time, now did you?” His other hand comes up to brush my cheek. “You were a right arse. But I was too.”
He sighs. “I didn’t really understand how I felt about you until a few days ago. It came on me, like a ton of bricks, at Ebb’s. But the thoughts I had about you there, the things I noticed about you? None of those were new. I’d had them before.” He tilts his head at the photo. “I’d not let myself think about it. Back then. Took ‘til now to figure it all out.” Simon gives me a tentative smile. “You always said I was thick, Baz, and in this case you’ve the right of it. I was thick. About this. About us.” He steps closer. “Not anymore.”
The words wrench out of me. “I’m sorry.”
“Fuck, Baz, if we’re going to start apologizing about every little thing we did to each other at Watford we’ll be here all night. It’s done. We’ve talked about it already. You were a wanker and I was a shit. We likely still are. And that’s ok.”
His thumb brushes over my cheekbone. “All that matters now is going forward, yeah? We’ve been shit to each other.” Simon’s brilliant grin is back. “Now we get to see how things are when we’re not.” His lips crash into mine, and I’m pulling him toward me, hands gripping his hips, fingers digging into him. The touch of him is electric, like sparks lighting at every point of contact.
My tongue traces his lips, slips between his parted ones to meet his, and I feel like I’ve had too much to drink; the feel, the scent, the touch of him, intoxicating me. I want to pull him closer, I want to fold him into my embrace, I want to throw back my head and laugh at the sheer joy of him.
I want to keep on kissing Simon forever.
Simon
We’re at my door now. Baz’s hands are running up and down my back. I’ve got my hands sunk into his hair because I can’t get enough of touching it. It’s soft and thick and it smells so good. I tug on his bottom lip with my teeth and he pulls me closer, until there is no space between us.
This is the longest goodbye I’ve ever experienced but I’m still not ready to let Baz go.
I need to. It’s late. He’s got a long drive back and I’ve got an early morning. The thought runs through my head to ask him to stay, but I push it away. I can’t ask Baz to spend the night. He’s just got back to his family, I can’t monopolize him like that.
I’m fairly certain I didn’t change the sheets before I left and almost sure the other set is crumpled up in my hamper. The bathroom’s nasty too. Can’t even remember when I cleaned it last.
There’s nothing for us to eat for breakfast.
I’m also not convinced it’s a good idea for him to have left the Jaguar parked outside for even this long, let alone overnight.
This is a shit neighborhood and a shit flat and I need to get Baz on his way home. I tear myself away from the warmth of his mouth.
“Hey. It’s late. I shouldn’t have kept you this long.”
“I don’t want to go.”
It’s so odd to hear him say things like that. I mean, he has, all these days, but it still brings me up short to hear him be so honest, so open about his feelings. I know it’s not easy for him, never has been I’m sure, but the fact that he’s trying says so much to me, means so much to me.
“I know. I don’t want you to go either but you’ve got a long drive and I’m a bit anxious about the Jag being parked out there.” I grimace. “It’s not unheard of for cars to get broken into around here.”
His expression becomes stern. “That isn’t making me feel any better about leaving, Simon.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m fine. Everyone knows me around here. I’m not fussed about it.”
“You may not be, but I am.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve lived here for over six months, Baz. It’s fine. Promise.” I poke him in the chest. “This is how most of London lives, you know. Not everyone has mansions with galleries and courtyards and dungeons.” I’m grinning at him now.
“There are no dungeons, I told you that.”
“Stop being so literal. You know what I mean, you posh twat.” I bring his face close to mine and kiss him on the nose. “Come on, now. Off with you. Text me what day is good for you this week. Any day is good for me.”
“I’ll call. Tomorrow.”
“I can’t answer between 9 and 4. I’ll be at the home and can’t talk while I’m there. But feel free to text, if that works.”
He nods, hands sliding down to grip both of mine tightly. “I’ll see you this week, then.”
I let go of one of his hands and open the door. I push him a bit, still holding his other hand in mine. “Go on then. Text me when you get home, so I know you’re alright, yeah?”
Baz kisses me one more time, open mouth and deep, like he’s inhaling the very sensation of me. When he does step back his eyes are a dark, turbulent grey, pupils wide. “I miss you already, you nightmare.” It’s said so tenderly, the insult at the end such an endearment in his voice now.
“I’ll miss you too, you tosser.” I say it back just as fondly.
Baz looks over his shoulder as he goes down the steps. I close the door when I can’t see him anymore.
And then, because I’m an absolute disaster, I dart across the room to the window, so I can watch him walk to his car. It seems to be alright. He lifts his head and gazes up at my building. I don’t know if he can see me, silhouetted in the narrow window, but I wave anyway.
His hand comes up, then he slides into the driver’s seat, and I watch his car drive away.
Baz
I know what I want to do when I come back up to see Simon. I know exactly how we’re going to spend the time.
And it damn well won’t end with us at his flat, I can tell you that.
48 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! idk if you're still taking prompts but can you do one where klaus and caroline are coworker's who are always getting into heated screaming matches during team meetings and everyone who works with them is just used to it, but the new girl is like wtf??? and then later finds out that they're actually married and don't hate each other?? thanks!! your writing gives me life
Obviously I could not resist fluff day! For Step Two of @klarolineshippersclub 12KCXmas event!
With Friends Like These
The office is deserted – its 7 PM on a Friday – so Caroline’sstartled by the sound she hears coming from the hall. It’s a staccato series oftaps. Heels, eating up the distance quickly, and she rolls her chair back,grabbing her phone from the corner of the desk just in case someone’s bleeding.
She’s about to go and see what’s happening, when Kat barrelsin. Her eyes are wide with what Caroline suspects is glee, her hair a wildwindblown mass of curls. Her jackets only half buttoned and she tosses asideher purse, rushing towards Caroline. “You will not believe what I just heard!”
Caroline lets herself be shaken, taking another confusedlook at Kat’s dishevelment. “Did you run from the bar? Thought you were goingto try to seduce the new guy.”
Katherine looks offended. “Try? Please. Mason’s a sure bet.He’ll keep until next week.”
“Wow,” Caroline drawls. “Something came up that’s kept youfrom guaranteed sex? Must be big.”
Katherine lets go of her, tossing her hair over her shoulderand letting out an irritated huff. “Yeah, yeah, mock me. We don’t all get to scheduleregular freaky married sex.”
It takes a fair amount of willpower not to tear her eyesaway and Caroline lifts her chin stubbornly. Katherine might know far too many details about her and Klaus’ sex life butthat was only because Caroline gets a little over share-y when tequila’sinvolved in a girl’s night out. Klaus is shameless enough not to care, evenwhen Kat’s comments get overly pointed. If anything, he leans into it, lets hishands linger and does his best to make Caroline blush. Caroline is working onbuilding up the same aplomb in the face of Kat’s suggestive smirks and taunts.
“You seem to do just fine in the freaky sex department,” shesnipes back.
Katherine grins, slow and very pleased with herself. “Ireally do.”
Caroline groans, walking over to the couch that lines onewall of her office. “I do not want to have this conversation with you.”
Her dry spell is hours away from ending and she’s really looking forward to it.
Klaus has been gone for ten days, dealing with inspectionsfor the new hotel the company is opening in London. Caroline’s team is busy puttingtogether room concepts so she hadn’t been able to justify taking the time awayto accompany him.
She likes phone sex as much as the next girl whose husbandhas a hot accent but it got old after a few days. She misses having a warm bodyto roll into at night; the way he wakes he scrapes his morning beard againsther shoulder when she grumbles about the alarm.
“Someone’s cranky!” Katherine sings. She circles Caroline’sdesk, helping herself to the bourbon that’s stashed in the lowest drawer. “Mynews might not help you.”
Oh joy.
Caroline slouches low, letting her legs flop ratherungracefully, “And yet, you rushed all the way back here to tell me about it?”
“It’s just too hilarious. I couldn’t not.”
Katherine’s sense of humor is a weird thing, an acquiredtaste, so Caroline braces herself. “Alright, hit me.”
“Uh uh. Let me set the scene.”
“And people say I’m dramatic.”
Kat ignores the complaint, lifting the bottle high. “There Iam, in the ladies room…”
“Taking off your panties so you could stuff them in Mason’spocket?”
“Please. Like you’ve never used that move.”
Caroline could honestly say she hadn’t (Klaus likes toremove her lingerie himself) but Katherine’s already continuing her tale. Sheperches on the edge of Caroline’s desk, wiggling in an effort to getcomfortable.
So it’s not going to be a short story. Caroline presses herlips together, holding in a sigh, glancing at the clock. She’s supposed to grabKlaus from the airport at eleven and she’d planned go home and change intosomething easier to remove beforehand. Hopefully Katherine can resist the urgeto embellish too extensively.
“I’m minding my own business, about to flush, when I hear afamiliar name.”
“Yours?”
“Nope, yours. Preceded and followed by some very colorfuldescriptors.” She pauses expectantly, eagerly watching for Caroline’s reaction.
Only to be disappointed when Caroline shrugs, emitting onlya dismissive, “Somehow I’ll survive.” The last time she’d really been overlyconcerned with other people liking her she’d owned pom poms.
Katherine, however, isn’t finished.
“Really? Even when I tell you that our little bathroomgossiper had very complimentary things to say about your hubs?”
Her hands curl into the couch’s cushions, a teeny flare ofjealousy flaring bright.
She’s an only child and she gets a little possessive, okay?Klaus is into it. He’s also no stranger to getting growly and shooting murdereyes and staking a claim and, since he’s got a bajillion siblings, he doesn’t evenhave the same justification for being bad at sharing.
Those incidents usually result in an immediate need forprivacy (or the reasonable facsimile found behind a locked office door or thebackseat of a car). The next day they’ll sleep in, there will be hickies on herthighs and scratches on his back, and they’ll eat dessert for breakfast.
Honestly, Caroline kind of loves that particular ritual,knows very well that Klaus does too.
“Not everyone thinks Klaus is awful,” Caroline points out.
“Because most people are dumb and lack my excellent taste.”
Caroline eyes the bottle, seriously considering chugging abit and just calling a cab when it’s time to collect Klaus. She really doesn’twant to be drunk for their reunion but, if Kat doesn’t hurry up and get to apoint, it might be her best option. “I love you so I’m going to ignore the factthat you kinda just called me dumb.”
Katherine scoffs, “You’re not dumb, just dickmatized.”
It’s probably a good thing she’s not drinking because shewould have choked. Caroline’s laugh sputters out, grows in volume, and she hasto cover her mouth when it becomes hard to control herself. Her eyes water alittle as she finally manages to stop giggling, “Yeah, I’m totally tellingKlaus that you said that. He’ll take it as a compliment.”
“Literally the only nice thing I’ll ever say about him isthat you’re far more bearable and less uptight than you used to be. I creditthe regular orgasms.”
She and Katherine had been hired at about the same time and,in the beginning, hadn’t gotten along overly well. Kat now headed The MikaelsonGroup’s marketing team, was a wizard at luring in celebs and influencers andmaking their hotels a coveted destination. Caroline had worked her way up torun a design team. It’s how she’d met Klaus (and they’d butted heads too in theearly days) coordinating with him and his architect minions.
“I, too, am a big fan,” Caroline admits. “Though, honestly,you should really give cuddling a try. Totally relaxing.”
“Ew, pass.”
It’s an argument they’ve had before.
“Anyway,” Katherine says, so loudly that Carolineinstinctively glances towards the door. “Back to my story. Greta Martin thinksyou should stop being a total bitch to Klaus in meetings. Oh, and she’s alsoplanning on banging him.”
Caroline sits up, now outraged. “I am not…”
Katherine cuts her off, “You have been a little snippy thisweek.”
Only because Klaus has been baiting her.
“That’s just how we are. He pokes, I prod. He’s annoyinglysmug, all ‘oh, aren’t I the cleverest?’ and I like to knock him down.”
“Verbal foreplay is your thing,” Katherine says, adding aknowing nod.
She throws her hands up, collapsing back again. “Exactly! Mymarriage is freaking great and if that…”
Again, she doesn’t get to work up to a proper rant. Superannoying.
“That’s the best part!” Katherine crows. “She has no ideayou and Klaus are married! Talk about dumb people.”
Well, that’s mollifying. Slightly. Caroline will just haveto make things clear. Plans begin to form. She discards the racier ones (unlessGreta proves to be unwilling to take a hint). She twists her wedding bandabsently, “How has she not noted the rings?”
“Forget the rings. How she hasn’t noted Klaus’ doofybesotted face whenever you walk into a room is the bigger issue. Maybe sheneeds glasses?”
Maybe Caroline will get her assistant to shoot Greta anemail detailing the company’s excellent insurance coverage on Monday.
She hears the bottle clink and she shakes off her mentallists, shooting Katherine a glare. “You know, it would have been easy for youto clear up her misconceptions in that bathroom.”
Kat’s brows rise and she shoots Caroline a look like she’ssaid something totally insane. “And deprive myself of prime workplace drama?Please. You know how bored I get on Wednesdays when I have to sit in those dumblegal meetings.”
Caroline’s displeasure must read on her face because Kattosses her a bright smile, leaning forward and offering the bottle. Her toneturns placating, “Oh, relax, Cupcake. It’s harmless. You’ll probably forget allabout this little snafu over the weekend.”
Caroline’s does have big plans.
“Maybe,” she allows grudgingly. She stands, straighteningher pencil skirt. “Speaking of, I should go home and make myself pretty.”
“You’re going to do that gross airport make out thing, aren’tyou?”
Caroline smiles, not trying to hide the slightly mockingedge to it. “Usually, yeah. But Elijah’s not a guy who tolerates a scene.”
She relishes the freezing of Katherine’s body, the wideningof her dark eyes. Her hand flexes, looking for the bottle that had recentlybeen clutched there.
Caroline withholds it, setting it down and out of reach.
She’s not entirely sure what had gone down at the Christmasparty last year (Katherine was way better at keeping secrets no matter how muchliquor was applied) but she knows Kat’s red lip had been rubbed off and Elijah’svest had been buttoned incorrectly when she and Klaus had met the odd couple atthe elevator bank.
Kat had twitched a little at the mention of Elijah’s nameever since.
She adopts her sweetest expression, “Maybe the legalmeetings will be more exciting when Elijah’s leading them in person, hmm?”
Katherine’s mouth opens. Closes. She wiggles her toes to gether heels back in place before hopping off the desk. “I need to…”
She doesn’t finish her sentence, stalking out of the office.Caroline watches her go, both satisfied and bursting with curiosity. A speechlessKatherine Pierce? Caroline never thought she’d see the day.
She makes a mental note to tell Klaus, to wheedle until heagrees to pump Elijah for info. She didn’t often get bored at work, not whenshe could just pop into Klaus’ office and poke around in his projects. But hehad another trip on his calendar next month.
She won’t turn down a little in office entertainment whilehe’s gone.
76 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fic Rec List July 2017
R & R (Risk and Ruination)
fishingclocks
Summary:
On the floor by Yuuri’s bed, there is a forlorn little beep, as Yuuri receives his fifteenth unanswered notification of the morning.
One of them from his fiance.
One of them reading ‘YUURI!! TAKE THE DAY OFF!!! YOU’VE BEEN WORKING HARD AND I LOVE YOU BYE’ followed by a copious amount of varying heart emojis.
Going ignored, the screen goes dark.
Of Office Blunders
BunniesofDoom
Summary:
Yuuri accidentally sends a picture to his boss that he really shouldn’t have sent. AU.
“OOC MY ASS!”
preciousbunnynoiz
Summary:
Yuuri secretly writes fanfiction, including Victor Nikiforov/Katsuki Yuuri fanfiction and some asshole keeps telling him he writes too OOC.
Yuuri hates him so much
I’m Pretty Much Fucked
monstersinthecosmos
Summary:
Quick drabble about getting ready to have company over. :)
If you can’t take the heat…
mtothedestiel
Summary:
Stay tuned, coming up next it’s Top Chef: International! Join thirteen chefs from around the globe as they battle it out for glory and prizes in the one and only New York City (and share all their innermost thoughts along the way!) Who will emerge victorious, and who will burn out?? Heartwarming triumphs, devastating eliminations, and even ~forbidden romance~ are all coming your way on this showstopping season of Top Chef!
To Worship and Be Worshipped
Unforth
Summary:
Tumblr ficlet written to the prompt: Yuuri as god/deity of some sort and Victor as a completely besotted worshipper
Déjà Vu
KasumiChou
Summary:
“Are you planning to sleep all day?”
A voice questioned with a soft chuckle. A chuckle that set his heart alight.
Victor lay there for a moment, a feeling of déjà vu overtaking him.
Warning: Major Character Death
Soul Loop
Cherry101
Summary:
It was almost funny, how easily it was to watch the day restart.
At this point… it was even common. Every few weeks, there would be a day that would repeat itself. Once, twice, three times, and then everything would go back to normal.
Otabek knew what it was, but he didn’t know what to do about it.
All The Beauties In His Hands
WinterSky101
Summary:
The wedding of Jean-Jacques Leroy and Isabella Yang is the wedding of the century.
Load Paper Tray 1
esutonia
Summary:
Perhaps, Victor realized, they were all gifted in their own ways. The way that Victor could charm the ancient, malfunctioning Xerox into producing perfect packets was perhaps the same way that Yuuri could print carts of brochures but not once refill the paper trays.
Soulmates/Office AU: Everyone has a little magic in them, but soulmates’ powers complete each other. Soulmates don’t know they’re meant for each other, until they figure out how their powers fit together. Victor and Yuuri work for the same company, and end up together with the help of a particularly old, obnoxious Xerox.
we have at least eleven minutes
spicyyuuri
Summary:
just a quickie between gala performances. no big deal, right?
nsfw victuuri week ♔ day two ♔ clothes
Ache
Val_Creative
Summary:
She misses everything about Minako. Hasetsu isn’t the same — too quiet, too empty of joy and laughter.
rouge my knees and roll my stockings down
alykapedia
Summary:
“It’s just that only whores wear the knot in front,” Yuuri says, stepping in close to breathe in Viktor’s intoxicating scent before peering up at him through lowered lashes and affecting an accent he’s heard during one of his and Phichit’s ill-advised jaunts to Covent Garden. “Did you want me to be your whore, milord?”
(Or: A morning well-spent with Lord Nikiforov and his expensive whore.)
At First Bite
opalish
Summary:
“Phichit,” Yuuri said slowly, noting that the hamsters currently had fangs. Tiny, needle-sharp fangs. “Did you name your hamsters Spikester, Hamsticula, and Edward Cullen II because they actually drink the blood of the innocent?”
“Oh, you caught that?” Phichit asked with a winning smile.
The Track
YuriPirozhki (AceOfSpace)
Summary:
JJ liked to think that one day, he could realise his goal of skating flawlessly to a program and song that he’d put together by himself. That would be the day when he’d be more than just Jean-Jacques Leroy, the son of ice dancing’s power couple. He’d be JJ Leroy: Record breaker, history maker, and one of a kind. He was convinced that his new guitar would help him to get there.
places to go, sights to see
Mayarene Rose (Paradise_of_Mary_Jane)
Summary:
This is what Yuuri knows: There is a giant green monster blob, a man with a blue box, and a planet called Barcelona. Also there’s time travel.
(“Time and Relative Dimension in Space,” the Doctor had proudly explained which made absolutely no sense. But then, nothing in the past hour had made any kind of sense so Yuuri’s willing to go with it.
It’s probably not a dream. Probably.)
Boof? Boof.
JMonCheri
Summary:
Makkachin tells us on how Viktuuri sexy times go down.
WARNING: EXTREMELY explicit. Don’t read unless you want to nut your intestines out.
Soft Things
airspaniel
Summary:
Yuri dresses up, with a little help.
Always Looking Out for You
TripCreates
Summary:
Mari walks over to the closet to start getting things out. She reaches for a box up on a shelf and she begins to pull it toward her. Once it slides off the edge, some sheets of paper slip off the shelf from underneath the box and drift to the floor.
Mari laughs as she sees the familiar Viktor posters land on the floor. “I was wondering where those went.”
~~~
Or Mari helps Yuuri pack up his room as he gets ready to move to St. Petersburg to be with Viktor.
love is blind(folded)
hamartiawrites
Summary:
It’s the day of Viktor and Yuuri’s wedding.
Everything looks perfect. The decorations are perfect, every single visitor looks stunning, and Phichit is certain Yuuri will look absolutely breathtaking when those big doors at the end of the hall open.
There’s just one problem, and unfortunately, it’s a big one.
The groom, Viktor Nikiforov? The five time world champion? The Living Legend? The most decorated men’s figure skater in history?
Yeah, he looks downright ridiculous.
(Or the time where Phichit thought Viktor wanted to hurt Yuuri when all Viktor wanted to do was hurt himself with Yuuri’s beauty.)
My Favorite Shape
thoughtsappear
Summary:
Isabella has never doubted Yuri Plisetsky’s animal magnetism.
Firebird
LavenderProse
Summary:
“It’s almost like a marriage proposal,” Viktoria says, and the thing is—the thing is, if Viktoria wanted it to be, Yuri would make it one. If Viktoria had asked, “Is that a marriage proposal?” Yuri would have unhesitatingly said yes. She would have lowered herself onto a knee before Viktoria in Fukuoka Airport, the officially certified least romantic place in the world, and said Viktoria Konstantinovna Nikiforova, please—please—
(Yuri doesn’t know if Viktoria will stay. She wants her to. She wants her to want to. But she doesn’t want to be the only thing holding Viktoria here. Life for Yuri Katsuki is, as always, Hard.)
Cherry
sophiahelix
Summary:
Now Mila turns to look at her, blue eyes open and bright. She offers the cigarette back, pinched between two fingertips lacquered red as her lips, and quirks a smile, sarcastic and knowing. “You mean you don’t support your brother no matter what?”
“Hmph,” Mari snorts, and takes the cigarette back.
Situation Status: Possibly Awesome
ineptshieldmaid
Summary:
It’s early in the season, his first year competing in the Grand Prix as a senior, and Kenji is in a Situation.
We’ll Always Have Paris
Teuthida
Summary:
Lilia recognized her, of course.
The Struggles of Living with Viktor Nikiforov
Minipandacakes
Summary:
Yuuri had imagined life with Viktor in St. Petersburg as being a perfect blur of snuggles and laughter and kisses. And while he was right, he wasn’t quite prepared for the frustration that comes right along with the happiness when you first make a home with your partner. This one-shot is made up of a trio of short stories I couldn’t resist writing out. Enjoy!~
Blades of a Ballet Dancer
Katrinova
Summary:
When word gets out that Yuuri helped create his record breaking routine Yuri On Ice, the world wants to know if he thinks he could do solo work. Yuuri says no, everyone else disagrees. Obviously, everyone else is a traitor.
Part of Yuuri Week 2017
Day 4- [Theme: On Ice]
Strut For Me
Katrinova
Summary:
“Darling, as your coach and choreographer it is also my job to make sure you get the exposure you deserve!” Or, there were aspects of being a world champion figure skater Yuuri was not prepared for. At all.
Part of Yuuri Week 2017
Day 5- [Theme: Eros]
Tweet tweet - Yuuri Week Day 7
hazelandglasz
Summary:
In which Yuuri should never be left alone with a full bottle of vodka and a fully charged phone
[Player] is Suffering From Thirst. [Player] is Well Again.
counterheist
Summary:
“Tell him you’re a blacksmith, Yuuri, tell him you’re good with your hands.”
“…but I’m not a blacksmith?” Phichit is a blacksmith. Yuuri used to make saddles and gaze longingly at daguerreotypes of men wearing the newest shirt collar designs. Now he gazes longingly at Russian immigrants. Maybe he’ll see Nikiforov wearing a new shirt at the next Fort. Maybe he’ll drown at a river crossing first.
Who’s to say?
Crop Top Distraction
nerdlife4eva
Summary:
When Yuuri, Phichit, Victor, and Yurio take a vacation to an all-inclusive resort, Victor’s and Yurio’s fans begin to monopolize their time. Even though Yuuri is understanding, he easily goes along with Phichit’s plan to regain Victor’s attention. These dorks fall in pools over each other. Yuuri is in a crop top, Phichit is in a crop top. Victor is lucky to be alive.
This is part of YuuriWeek and the amazing art is thanks to my insanely talented friend Magical-Mistral please go give this artist some love and watch for our future collabs!!
not in service
PuggleFiclets (Pugglemuggle)
Summary:
“You know what they say…” Yuri replies. “If you crack the ice once, you better be ready to shatter the whole motherfucking pond.”
In a dictatorship dominated by the International Skating Union, Yuri was bound to end up in prison sooner or later. He isn’t planning to stay there, though. No—Yuri’s got bigger plans.
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Gonna Walk - Thursday
Previous Days
Thursday
Anna absolutely did not fancy Kristoff. She had absolutely never noticed the way he pushed his shirt sleeves up on warm days, or the way he ran his hands through his hair when he was annoyed. She’d never asked him to help her with a heavy box of books so she could watch him pick it up. She hadn’t suggested they drive to the Lake District together because she wanted to spend time with him.
And she was definitely not pretending to be asleep so she could watch him get out of the bed and stretch.
-----
Thursday. The fourth day of this.
Although the sun was shining - well, it was shining two miles up, but at least the rain had stopped - the previous day trapped in the house had not done much for Kristoff’s temper. He’d managed to get a little time alone, then Anna had come in to play silly jokes on her cousin. Having to be close to her, while knowing it was all a game to her, was getting to be more than he could take.
Which was probably why he baulked when she started suggesting things they could do at breakfast.
“I was thinking, we should talk more about things we’ve done? Like places we’ve been to together? Like we could say we went rollerskating -”
“Or we could just eat, and then I’ll go out for a walk.”
“Oh, it won’t take much -”
“Why does it have to take anything? I wish I’d never started this, I really do. Maybe I should just tell them all the truth.”
“But you promised. Kristoff, you promised -”
“I promised for five minutes! Then, I promised for one night. It’s been three nights and this is still going on and it’s insane, Anna. We’re not convincing anybody -”
“Yes we are. Grandma said -”
“Okay, we’re convincing one old lady. But. I’m not doing this any more. I’m going home.”
“Everyone will think we broke up -”
“I don’t care. This is all your problem, why are you making it my problem.”
“You can’t break up with me in the middle of a family holiday, who does that -”
“People who aren’t together in the first place? Will you please just think about this objectively for a minute and realise how crazy it is?”
Well, he had her there. “I’m sorry,” was all she could say. Kristoff huffed.
“I’m going out today,” he said. “For a walk. A long one. I’ll be back - when I’m back.”
“...oh.”
He picked up his things and went to leave the room. Anna was standing still, watching him, her eyes big and sad.
“Don’t,” he said. “Just don’t, okay? I’m not the one who started this.”
-----
Anna waited upstairs until her was gone, until everyone else had probably finish breakfast and gone about their day. She didn’t think Kristoff was serious about leaving. He certainly hadn’t taken his car, or the rest of his things, so most likely he had just gone for a walk and would be back that evening.
Eventually she went downstairs and into the kitchen by herself. She made some toast and a cup of tea, and sat there staring at it.
“Anna? Is everything okay?” It was Chloe, and she sat down next to Anna with an expression of concern on her face.
“Yeah, I…” Anna sighed. Maybe she’d better tell part of the truth, just in case. “Kris and I had a row. I - I don’t know. Then he left and said he was going walking today.”
Chloe nodded. “Other people’s families can be a bit much.”
“I guess.”
“He’ll be back later, though?”
“I guess. I don’t know.” Anna was surprised to find that her eyes were genuinely prickling with tears. She was clearly a better actress than she thought.
Chloe bit her lip. “Anna, can I say something?”
“Sure?”
“I get the impression he's not normally very demonstrative?”
“I suppose not.”
“And you're so keen to show him off, he's having to put on this performance -”
Anna froze.
“- but it makes him feel awkward, and you know everyone and he doesn't. I expect he just needed some time alone.”
Anna sighed. “You're probably right.”
“But, Anna.” Chloe leant over and put her hand on her cousin’s. “He’s crazy about you. Everyone can see it.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. The way he looks at you, Anna. He's besotted.”
Anna squeezed Chloe’s hand. “Thanks.”
“So you don't need to, for example, make him have loud sex with you where Stephanie can hear to make her believe it.”
“I -” Anna looked up, caught Chloe’s eye and blushed. “I would not do that,” she said. “That would be - very childish.”
They grinned at each other. Chloe said “So cheer up, buttercup,” squeezed her hand again, and got up.
-----
The fresh air and the silence didn’t actually help all that much. The hills were still beautiful, and it was nice to properly stretch his legs, but Kristoff’s thoughts kept returning to Anna. Had he upset her? Would she still be angry when he got back?
He made himself stay out all day, and was walking slowly along the lane back to the house when he saw two people climbing over the stile onto the footpath ahead of him. It was John and Chloe, carrying some large paper bags.
“Kristoff!” John said cheerfully. “Just heading back, eh? Glad to see it, we were just wondering how we were going to keep yours warm.”
“We walked down to the chippy in the village,” Chloe said.
“Got you cod and chips, hope that’s okay,” John added.
“Yes, of course,” Kristoff replied. “How much do I -“
“Oh, don’t be silly. You’re our guest.”
Kristoff walked back along with them, chatting, the half-mile more to the house. He got the impression John didn’t know he and Anna had argued, but Chloe did.
They arrived at the house and everyone joined them in the kitchen.
“I think Anna’s still out the back,” Caroline said, as she got out plates and cutlery. “Will someone go and fetch her?”
“I’ll go,” Kristoff said, “I’ve still got my boots on.”
“Thank you - she just went out the back door and along the path a bit, I think.”
Kristoff left the house, wondering what Anna was doing. Reading? But no, after a turn in the path he found her, standing behind a little wooden easel, painting the landscape with watercolours. A bag of paints and pencils and sketchbooks was lying at her feet. She didn’t notice him in her concentration, and he stood and watched her for a minute. Her painting was very good. He hadn’t known she could paint - well, he’d seen her displays on the boards at the school, and now he thought about it they were always very well done. But this was something else.
After a minute he coughed. “Anna?”
“Hmm?” She turned and smiled at him. “Oh! Hi.”
“Um, dinner’s ready. Well, John and Chloe fetched fish and chips. I met them as I was walking back.”
“Oh, right. I’d better pack up.” She started putting her things away.
“But you’ve not finished.”
“I took a photo, I’ll finish it another time.”
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said.
“No, I’m sorry. I know this has been difficult for you. I wouldn’t blame you if you did leave.”
“It hasn’t been so bad.”
“Really?” Anna shouldered her bag.
“Yeah, I mean - all of your family have been so nice, and…”
Anna took his hand, then tugged on it until he leant down, and kissed him on the lips. As she pulled away, she suddenly looked embarrassed, and said “I don’t know why I did that, there’s no one here to see.”
She picked up her painting. “I’d better carry this carefully,” she said, “It’s not dry. Can you bring the easel, please?”
“Did you bring all this with you?” Kristoff said, picking it up.
“Yes? Why did you think I had two cases? We’re only here five days.”
“I did wonder.”
“So you can stick another night?” Anna asked when they reached the house.
“Yes. I guess. If I must.”
“Kristoff -” she said, then stopped.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
-----
After dinner, John disappeared out to his car and returned with a couple of bottles of homemade wine. Its arrival was greeted with cheers, and Anna told Kristoff gleefully about how she and her cousins (not her sister, apparently) used to try and sneak it when they were in their late teens. “It’s very strong,” she said. “Don’t let me have too much.”
“Shall I tell him about the time you -” Stephanie started.
“No, you shall not.”
“So, how did you two get together,” Caroline said once (small) glasses had been poured.
“Oh, I’d wanted to ask her out for a while,” Kristoff said. “But she had a boyfriend, and then when they broke up I thought I’d better leave it a while but I was too slow and then she had a boyfriend again, then the same thing happened the next time, so it took a year or so before she was actually single and I worked myself up to making my move.”
Anna laughed. “You didn’t tell me that. You’re making it sound like you had to take a ticket and wait your turn.”
Kristoff shrugged. “As long as no one else is waiting,” he said, “Because I plan to make them wait a good long while.”
Anna smiled at him, and hid her face behind her glass. Kristoff was sitting in one of the armchairs; Anna had been sitting on the arm, but now he held out a hand to her and pulled her onto his lap. She settled into his shoulder, his hand on her hip. He kissed the top of her head, and felt her relax right into him.
----
“Let’s leave the kids to finish the bottle,” John said. “Goodnight, everyone.”
“Goodnight.”
Once the older people were gone, Stephanie went round and shared the rest of the wine between their four glasses, then held up the empty bottle. “Now we can play spin the bottle,” she said.
“We’ve only got one man,” Chloe pointed out. “We could all just kiss him in turn, to save time,” and she started giggling.
“No, he’s mine,” Anna said, and turned in her seat to kiss Kristoff full on the lips. He kissed her back, until eventually she pulled away, laughing. He couldn’t tell exactly how tipsy she was, but then he wasn’t sure how much he’d drunk, either; it was hard to taste the alcohol in whatever he was drinking. He just knew he felt warm and content and wonderfully happy to have a pretty girl sitting on his knee and kissing him.
“You’re so lucky,” Chloe said. “Where do I find one like that? Does he have a brother?”
Anna hesitated.
“No,” Kristoff said. “‘Fraid not. Just a sister.”
“That’ll do.”
“She’s married.”
“Bum. You guys should get married,” Chloe continued. “Have lots of lovely ginger babies.”
“Take her glass away, she’s had enough,” Anna said. “And I’m not ginger, my hair is strawberry blonde.”
“Ginger,” Stephanie said. “Don’t you think, Kristoff?”
He leant back a bit to look at Anna’s hair. “Can I get away with just saying it’s a very beautiful colour?”
“No,” the women all chorused.
“Definitely strawberry blonde, then.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Kiss-arse,” Stephanie said. She was sitting on the floor, with her back to the sofa.
“You’re just jealous,” Anna said.
“Little bit,” Stephanie said. “Still a bit shocked you managed to find such a nice one. Some of your previous ones were shockers.”
“You never met any of ‘em.”
“I heard some stories.”
“From who? Whom. Is that right?”
“From Chloe. You tell her stuff you don’t tell me. Then she tells me. So. Anyway. Like the guy who kept trying to chat up Elsa, while you were in the room…”
“Oh, god,” Anna said.
“When we all know Elsa’s a lesbian,” Stephanie said.
“We don’t know that,” Chloe said.
“Okay, when we all suspect. Have you met Elsa?” Stephanie said to Kristoff.
“No. Not yet.”
“She’s ver’...I’unno.”
“Tall,” Anna said, then started laughing.
“She’s not very tall. Taller than you, Anna,” Stephanie said. “But most people are. Elsa’s very….aloof. Some men think that’s a challenge. Anyway. I was telling Kristoff about all your exes. Like the one who stole your -”
Anna was still giggling. “Stop, stop, enough,” she said. “He doesn’t want to hear all this. Oh god.”
“Stole your what?” Kristoff said.
“Virginity,” Chloe said. She was lying full-length on the sofa.
“No one stole that,” Anna said. “I gave it up willingly, I had no use for it.”
“Who to?” Stephanie said.
Anna squinted. “I think his name was Adam? No, Aidan.” Then she started giggling again, and soon all three women were in fits. “It was -” Anna tried to say through her laughter, “It was very special and meaningful -”
“Kristoff,” Stephanie said, “Kristoff, tell us how you lost your virginity.”
“Stephanie!” Chloe said. “You can’t ask people that.”
“I think I just did.”
“I’m saving it for my wedding night,” Kristoff said, and that set all the women off laughing again.
“We should go to bed,” Anna said, once she’d recovered. “Gotta long drive tomorrow. Gonna be hungover. Woops.”
“Blame Dad,” Chloe said. “What does he even put in this stuff.”
“Fruit,” Stephanie said. “It’s good for you.”
-----
Kristoff eventually hauled Anna to her feet to take her to bed. At the foot of the stairs she wrapped herself around him, kissing him, and he had to almost lift her up step by step. Stephanie rolled her eyes at them and hissed “Get a room,” when he pressed Anna against the landing wall for more kisses, so he forced himself away, took her hand and dragged her into the bedroom.
He kicked the door shut behind them and let himself be pulled towards the bed. Anna was giggling as she tugged him down next to her, and she immediately fastened her arms round his neck and kissed him again.
“Anna,” Kristoff said, pulling away and laughing. “Anna, you can stop, no one can see us.”
“Don’t wanna stop,” she said, pressing kisses to his jaw and cheek. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently put her away from him. She grumbled, but rolled onto her back.
“Why’d you have to be such a good kisser?” she said. “That’s the problem.”
“I’m sorry. It’s a curse.”
“If you weren’t a good kisser, wouldn’t wanna keep kissin’ you.”
“Mmm. You’re not bad yourself.”
“I think I like kissing you,” Anna said dreamily.
“I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
“Maybe. An’ I think…” she hesitated, then continued with more urgency - “I think I’m goin’ to be sick.”
“What?”
“I mean it, I mean it, I’m going to be sick -” She leapt up and sprinted out of the room. Kristoff followed her just in time to see her heaving dramatically over the toilet. He followed her into the bathroom, shut the door, and knelt behind her to pull her hair back over her shoulders as she threw up.
After a couple of minutes, she leant back against Kristoff’s chest. “I think I’m done.”
“Okay.”
There was a tap on the door. Kristoff said “Hello?”
“Is everything alright in there?” he heard Caroline say.
“Yes. Anna had a bit too much to drink but she’s okay.”
“Don’t tell her that,” Anna said.
“We’ll be fine, thank you,” Kristoff said. “I’ll put her to bed.”
“Okay. Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight.”
Anna stood, flushed the toilet and went to the sink to splash water on her face. “I’m fine now. I’m always fine after I throw up.”
“Good.”
She swilled out her mouth with some water, found a stray tube of toothpaste by the sink and rubbed some on her gums. “I’m good. I’m good. Let’s go.”
She clung to his arm as they went back through to the bedroom, then found her pyjamas and started undressing. Kristoff turned his back as quickly as he could, but she didn’t seem to notice, just carried on with what she was doing, then climbed into the bed. Thinking that she was going straight to sleep, he changed quickly and got in next to her.
“Kris?” Anna said.
“Yes?”
“Do you have something?”
“What?”
“Like, a condom, do you have one?”
“What?”
She rolled over towards him and pulled on his arm.
“No, Anna, we are not going to have sex tonight.”
“Oh. Is it because I threw up?”
“We weren’t going to anyway.”
“Oh….okay.”
She went silent again, and Kristoff turned away and tried to go to sleep. But not for long.
“Is it because I’m drunk?”
He sighed. “Yes. I mean, not just that. But you ARE drunk and you need to go to sleep.”
“Okay. Do you have one, though?”
“Why?”
“In case we want to do it tomorrow.”
“We’re going home tomorrow.”
“Oh, oh, right. And you won’t be my boyfriend any more.”
“Anna, I’m not your boyfriend anyway.”
“Oh. Oh yeah.”
She went silent again, and he waited to see if she was finished.
“I am ginger, aren’t I. I know it. It’s okay.”
“Anna, please go to sleep.”
Kristoff didn’t feel drunk any more, but he must have still been a little tipsy at least because he found himself lifting his arm and saying “Come here.” Anna shuffled over and snuggled up with her head on his shoulder. “G’night,” she said.
“Goodnight.”
91 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi! any xfactor au's? thanks x
Hii! Enjoy:
Just Ask Me To by TellMeThisIsNotLove:
Summary: “You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers.
“Of course I’m telling the truth!” Harry doesn’t even care that he sounds exasperated.
“Oh my god.” Louis grabs the wall behind him as if looking for support. His body slides down against it until he’s sitting crouched on the floor.
He mumbles something but Harry can’t really figure out what it is. He crouches down, and looks desperately at the breaking boy in front of him.
“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers. “You were not supposed to–”
“I was not supposed to do what? Tell me please,” Harry urges, taking Louis’ hands gently in his.
nonstop earthquake dreams of you by lumineres:
Summary: And there’s heat behind it, blazing, plasmatic, like stars crashing together, like an explosion in space, like a supernova, like a black hole–everything else sucked out of existence. There’s no bed and there’s no pillow and they’re not lying down, just floating somewhere, somehow, and there’s no room and there’s no X Factor house and there’s no Niall snuffling or Liam’s deep, even breathing and there’s no wind or traffic outside and there’s no hum of the heating unit and it’s all just Louis. All encompassingly Louis.
or, harry falls hard and finds louis already at the bottom
give you my fever by beautlouis:
Summary: And he’s wanted it even more since he met Louis, it’s driven him insane, he spends 90% of his life turned on because of Louis and he’s had no relief at all. He’ll wake up at night too hot and itchy, with Louis warm and sweet smelling next to him, and unable to do anything but wank unsuccessfully, with no release.
“I can try,” Louis says, close enough that Harry’s eyes cross a little trying to look at him. “I want to, I’ve never been with anybody, like, I’ve snogged people, lots of people, but I’ve never—touched anyone.” He clears his throat. “I’d touch you, Hazza.”
Harry’s breathing picks up. “Yes.” He doesn’t think there was a question but he’s a little overwhelmed. “Yes,” he repeats, dizzy.
*x-factor era. harry’s never had an orgasm before, louis gives him his first
You Drive Me Crazy ( I Just Can’t Sleep) by objectlesson:
Summary: The first time Louis ends up in Harry’s bed is a total accident.
Grenadine Sunshine by objectlesson:
Summary: Harry’s only sixteen, it shows right now, and Louis wants…he wants so many things. He wants to taste the faint, sugary ghost of lip gloss, he wants to cup Harry’s face between his palms and swipe the shimmery wet shadows from beneath his eyes. He wants to show him everything he knows, even though he doesn’t know anything about this, about kissing boys or flirting with them or doing their makeup or even showing them it’s okay to want to wear makeup in the first place. Still, Louis just wants, wants and wants and wants. It’s what Harry does to him.
Learning Curve by theprincessed:
Summary: Harry’s first time with Louis whilst they’re still in the X Factor house.
the fear you won’t fall by orphan_account:
Summary: He’s getting to the point where every time he cracks a joke, he’s looking out of the corner of his eye to see if Louis finds it funny. He tries to keep a mental catalogue of every polo he wears that Louis reaches out and touches. He wants Louis to keep a mental catalogue too.
Harry’s journey in realizing that Louis may be just as besotted over him as he is over Louis. X Factor Era, naturally.
Taste of a Poison Paradise by objectlesson:
Summary: Louis notices Harry’s mouth right away.
Completely, and Absolutely by iwillpaintasongforlou:
Summary: Louis is so completely and absolutely NOT gay that the fact that anyone thinks Harry is his soulmate is just being ridiculous. Including himself. He just thinks they’re mates that are two parts of the same soul, and that’s not weird at all. Okay?
Or, the one in which Louis spends the entirety of X Factor so deep in denial that he doesn’t realize he’s gay until he’s already 3000% gone for the dimpled mess in his arms.
give your all to me and i’ll give my all to you by anabsolution:
Summary: X Factor era. Harry and Louis have a lot of first times together in the X Factor house. Louis discovers Harry has a lot of Things. Harry discovers Louis has a lot of Feelings.
#asks#anon#larry#larry fics#larry fic rec#canon compliant#canon au#canon compliant fics#canon#reality#reality au#larry stylinson#larry stylinson fics#x factor era#x factor#x factor au#baby boyfriends
98 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
perulovers
Peru Lovers
lipserviceobsessed
Lip Service Obsessed
rainstorm-reverie
we built these things for breaking down.
midnightminuten-blog
Midnight Heartache
soylentorange
SoylentOrange: Made of Sexy