#I raised her and potty trained her and taught her read
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Beneath Miles of Stone - Part five - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader
Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.
TW: Bullying
Michael has a lot of stuff. A lot of heavy stuff. Despite him assuring her that he can move it all in on his own, she still wants to help.
It would be kind of a dick move if she didn’t assist with all of this. An hour in, and the apartment is already transformed from bland and empty into a hoard of pastel rainbow decor and soft white staple pieces.
She takes a break to admire the painting of a fluffy white angel cat over watercolor Van Gogh scenery. Michael comes through the door, panting, with his white, vintage microwave in tow.
“Who painted this?” She asks him.
He smiles, blushes, puts the microwave down and then his hand on his hips. “I did.”
Her eyes grow wide. “This is amazing.”
He chuckles. “Thank you.”
She likes Michael a lot already, but she’s also very jealous of him and his many talents and cool possessions. He makes her want to decorate and be creative, both skills she’s never been able to possess correctly.
She hasn’t gotten the key made yet, so she goes out and does that while he starts unpacking his things. By the time she’s done, her apartment looks astonishing. Fairy lights twinkle over gauze white curtains and a big speaker plays soft hiphop music in one corner of the living room. Her couch is full of comfy white and grey fluffy throw pillows. An incense burner releases gourmand, smoky aroma into the air.
Michael is stretched out on the couch, taking a break, watching Legally Blonde on DVD. Her small TV is now in her room and his bigger flatscreen dwarfs the stand that it was on.
She sits down beside him with two glasses of water. Before she can set hers down on the coffee table, he stops her. “Wait! Coasters!”
He digs through two boxes of stuff before he finds white marble coasters for them to set their drinks on.
She laughs at him and he grins back. “I know, I know,” he tells her, “typical trust fund kid BS.”
“You’re fine,” she tells him. “I was laughing at the coasters because the table is already a mess.”
“Listen,” he says, “this table just needs some tee ell cee . A sander and some paint would do her wonders.” He pats the wooden top.
“Can I help?” She asks, excited to take on a project with a new friend.
“Of course you can,” he assures.
She remembers him telling her that his mother is an artist. “Did your mom teach you to paint?”
He nods. “She also taught me how to make miniatures. You know, like dollhouses but for adults?”
“That’s amazing. Do you trade art with her?”
“I do,” he says, “we send things back and forth in the mail. Although my dad says it ‘ clogs up their post office box ’.”
“He’s not a fan of art?”
Michael snorts. “He hates everything except golf. Sometimes I think he hates me.”
She shakes her head. “Does he really hate you? You’re the perfect son.”
Michael sighs. “No, but he hates gay people, so it’s close enough. When I first came out to him, if my mother wouldn’t have been there, he would’ve probably shot me. He’s a real man’s man if you know what I mean..”
She nods, smiling ruefully. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean.”
Michael thinks for a moment. “We should get a dog.”
“I would love that, but it’s no pets here.” She frowns.
He raises his eyebrows and sips at his water. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
They decide it has to be a quiet dog, one from the local shelter who’s comfortable being alone at night. They look online for local pounds to read up on some potential candidates.
“Rocky. Pitbull mix. Potty trained, good with kids and other pets, sweet and loves everyone.” She shows Michael a picture of a medium sized black, stout dog with shiny grey eyes.
Michael shows her his own selection, a retired service beagle named Winnie. “Short for Winnifred,” he reads, “loves people and other pets, very polite, and hardly ever barks.”
“I love them both,” she groans, leaning back into the couch cushions.
“Same,” Michael sighs. “It’s one in the afternoon. Do you work tonight?”
“Yup.” She presses an arm over her face, blocking out the ceiling light.
“Don’t you have to sleep?” He asks.
She’s not tired at all because she slept through the night, but she agrees because Michael sounds like he needs some alone time. Plus, her DVDs and TV are in her room now, and if she can’t sleep she can watch an old horror movie again.
The problem isn’t getting to sleep, it’s staying there - waking up sweating, gasping, whining John’s name. She slaps her mouth shut, presses her face into her pillow, and prays to any deity listening that her voice wasn’t loud enough for Michael to hear. First day in the new place and his roommate has a wet dream. It would make any sane person want to revoke their rental agreement immediately.
She should be embarrassed and anxious that Michael potentially heard her, but instead she’s grinding against her sheets and thinking of tall men handcuffed to beds.
This won’t work. This isn’t working. She’s so pent up that it’s borderline painful. It’s taking over her mind. She sticks her hand into her sleep pants, past her underwear, and into a sloppy mess, tries to think about anything but John while she rubs her clit, but in doing so her brain latches onto the thought of him and pretty soon he’s the only thing on her mind. It’s like her body thinks John and pleasure are one and the same.
She tries to paint a decent fantasy of what she would like sex with him to be, but really she doesn’t give a shit as long as it’s him. And that’s what scares her. He could be absolutely celibate and she’d still crave him, and this is the worst time for her to realize that because her alarm is going off for work.
She orgasms at the cost of being ten minutes late.
The locker room lights are off when she goes to put her things away, which is unusual. Since she started, they’ve been lit around the clock. In fact, she’s not even sure where the light switch is in here because she’s never had to use it. Fumbling around in the pitch black is making her even tardier. Finally, she finds the switch and flips it. The room illuminates, and standing under the migraine-inducing glow is someone who makes headaches seem like a dream come true.
Benny grins from his seat on the bench, which he quickly abandons in favor of looming over her. Once again, the sweaty, edematous mass of him blocks her exit.
She’s too busy contemplating if anyone would hear her scream to see him hold his open palm out expectantly.
“Give it to me,” he says.
“What?” She asks, imagining in another universe she sounds angry and oppositional instead of whiny and terrified. In another universe, she can also kick his ass. Not in this one, though. In this universe, she does as Benny demands and hands him her phone so she doesn’t have to suffer through the touch of his greasy skin a second time.
He holds her phone in one hand while the other holds his own. She doesn’t bother trying to see what he’s doing because she can’t get her feet to move let alone stand on tiptoes and look over his shoulder.
This goes on for a while in which her only thought consists of asking herself if she could run to the door and make it into the populated infirmary before he can catch her. Again, this is a solution mainly dependent on her stubborn feet.
She’s not really worried about what he sees on her phone. It’s what he’s getting from it that sets her pulse careening.
He reaches out and tries to shove it into her jacket pocket, but luckily that’s when her feet decide to save her and step away from his hands. He scowls at her like she just insulted his mother.
“Fine.” Benny opens his hand and drops her phone on the stone floor. She winces when she hears the shatter, then looks back up at his pleased expression.
“Remember our trip.” He pushes past her, not enough to hurt but to make her yelp and stumble, and slams the door shut on his way out.
Her phone isn’t broken. The screen has a tiny crack in one corner but other than that it’s still perfect. She doesn’t understand why she heard it shatter, but chalks it up to losing her mind from repeated stress and unregulated sleep.
She grabs her bag from her locker and brings it with her to the nurse’s station, labeling the locker room as an unsafe and off limits space, which are becoming more bountiful by the day.
John is not her patient tonight. On her day off they must have had an influx of admissions because she’s responsible for 10 of them and the infirmary is unusually and appropriately staffed.
Her hopes of his nurse trading him are slim to none because he’s a wonderful patient and over time everyone has seemed to agree that they want him on their assignment sheet.
The other nurse’s that take and give her report always talk about what a cool, easy going guy he is and how they’re surprised that he needs that many guards with him.
“What do you think he did?” Stan, one of the day shift nurses, asks her.
“My bet’s on released a circus full of wild animals and let them trample a small town, but I could be wrong.” She taps her pen against her report sheet and laughs at her own joke.
Stan snorts. “He probably killed some rich guys.”
The other nurses like him so much that most of their theories on why John is in four point restraints with four men guarding him at all times is because he’s done something valiant that pissed someone powerful off.
That’s probably the other reason his wound looks better; not just because of her, but because if you like a patient or connect with them you’re more than likely going to give them the best care you can provide.
If she’s honest, it kind of makes her feel sick. Not because everyone has grown to like John, but because that means she’ll have less chance of being his nurse from here on out. Also, she knows it’s five-year-old mentality, but she liked him and treated him well first while the other ones had to get to know him beforehand.
Her case load is heavy. A couple IV’s, wound changes, someone with a tracheostomy. She sits down to chart, finally, at 3 AM.
One of the other nurses, Bill, calls for her across the hall.
She fights the urge to groan while standing on sore feet and walking over to his medication cart.
Bill grins at her, looking like he’s really enjoying himself. “My patient in 9 wants to see you.”
“Me?” She asks.
Bill shrugs, still looking very amused. “He says he needs to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know,” Bill tells her. “Seems that he likes your company, though.” He gives an eyebrow raise at the awkward expression crawling onto her face.
She reminds herself that this her workplace for the 80th time and that Bill’s suggestive expressions are just him messing around. Joking. That’s all. He’s joking.
John is watching the door, waiting for her. When she pops in like a mouse and scurries to his bed, He feels the urge to pet her on the head for showing up, which is strange but not unwarranted. She does act like a cute little pet. That’s not the most respectable way to think of her, but he likes it so it sticks.
His smile is wide and genuine. “How’s the roommate search?”
“Uh, I got one.” She smiles timidly, hoping he doesn’t think she’s erratic and air-headed for finding someone so fast
His eyes widen just the smallest bit. “That’s good, are they nice?”
She nods too eagerly. “He’s great. And he has great decorations.”
The key word here - at least the one his ears attune to - is he. Not because a woman and a man living together automatically entails romance or connection, but because John knows men - John is a man - and most of them turn out to be less than good.
He tries not to look mean, to keep his smile, to focus on her being here with him in the present and alive and well; If he doesn’t, rage will start talking, nefarious, whispering sin in his ear, assuring him that it wouldn’t be hard to break out of these handcuffs and make sure her roommate becomes her loyal dog for the rest of the time he spends living with her.
“If you wouldn’t have suggested it, I’d probably be homeless by next week.” She tries to sway the conversation toward optimism because she sees something in his expression that reads like he’s a little upset. He probably does think she’s a moron at this point.
Maybe it’s just good that she’s happy. He tries to shift focus onto that. The roommate can’t be that bad if she’s so upbeat.
It’s been very easy to talk to John most times, but then there are moments like this when something awkward and unsaid hangs between them and more often than not she doesn’t know what it is. Maybe he doesn’t either.
“Just be careful,” is what he decides to say.
She chuckles. “I will, don’t worry.”
He doesn’t understand what’s funny.
One of the security guards stands, stretches, yawns. He says he’s going to take a break. The other guards are asleep, so once he leaves they’ll be, essentially, alone.
“I’m gonna go to vending, John you want anything?” He asks.
John shakes his head no. “Thanks.”
The security guard nods at both her and John and walks out.
“I’m sorry if I bothered you while you were busy,” he says, apologizing with his eyes, too. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
She purses her lips, which he thinks means she’s trying not to leak an expression that will probably be embarrassing. Really, she’s trying to tame her lion heart back into its cage before it sinks its teeth into him and refuses to let go.
“I’m okay, John.” She attempts smiling. “You’re the one in the hospital bed.”
He shrugs like his stab wound and near death are just a hiccup.
She talks again. “And I’m glad you called me in. I like talking to you.”
His face is all smile now. “Likewise.”
He tells her to pull up a chair if she wants, and she steals one of the metal ones that the breaking guard left behind. She sits by his bedside and they have a conversation about the weather that turns into a discussion on harsh winters in Belarus.
“Did you grow up there?” She asks him.
He nods. “I traveled a lot.”
“So, you’re Russian?” She puts her chin in her palm and stares at him like he is the most interesting person in the world. She’s adorable like this.
“Yes. American, now.”
“Do you speak Russian?” Her eyebrows raise.
“da, ya krasivaya.” His tone automatically slides into a deep baritone when he says this.
He needs to be nerfed. Outlawed. He should not be handsome, nice, like-able, and be able to speak a different language in his perfect voice. It’s really not fair at all.
She’s too busy trying to tame her rogue thoughts to ask him what he even said. The desire to climb into his lap and straddle him crosses her mind twenty times in different ways. She blinks heavy. “You’re the coolest person I know.”
He murmurs a laugh.
They talk until the guard comes back from his break, mainly about Belarus and what it was like there and where else he has traveled. She’s not sure if she’s always had the desire to travel, but if she didn’t before she does now.
Although she has a ton of charting to catch up on, she doesn’t want to leave him. The taste of human connection is on her tongue after a couple years of abstinence and she’s becoming addicted.
When she leaves his room, it’s with inner reluctance and impressive self control.
She tells him to sleep. He promises he’ll try.
It would be easier to do her job if she wasn’t catching Benny sneering at her whenever they’re in the same space, but she gets through it, reasoning that John has it worse than her because he has to suffer through six hours with the asshole guard in his room.
#john wick fanfic#john wick fanfiction#john wick x plus size reader#john wick x reader#john wick x you#keanu reeves fanfic#keanu reeves fanfiction
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TIMING: Pre-goo
LOCATION: University of Maine Wicked’s Rest
PARTIES: Stingeky (@nightmaretist) and Stinkbhan (@banisheed)
SUMMARY: A potty poltergeist forces Ingeborg and Siobhan to bond.
Death came for all. It sat still, knocking at the doors of life, inviting bodies into its dark and cold arms. What existed beyond Death didn’t matter; it came, it asked, people gave. No one gave more to death than Siobhan Dolan, who was born in its clutches, raised under its indifference and who worshipped under its rules and chaos. Fate and Death always came together—two sides of the same weathered coin—but it was a fact of the world that some people existed beyond nature, beyond death. What did her scripture say about people like Ingeborg Endeman? Mostly, that she was a horrifying abomination and an affront of the natural order. What did Siobhan say?
“Fates, I can’t piss if you’ve spread your filth around here.” Siobhan scoffed, gesturing at the undead professor--this was probably some sort of violation of workplace principles but Siobhan didn’t care. There was only so much disgust that she could pretend she didn’t hold and discomfort that she could swallow down. She spun on her heel, uninterested in anything Ingeborg had to say. She crashed against the door, stumbling backward. She kicked at it, watching the hinges wobble but the door remained shut in place. “Okay,” she spun back around, rubbing her red nose. “Very funny. This is one of your…” Siobhan gestured vaguely. “...tricks. Open the door, Endeman.”
—
She did lack subtlety, this Siobhan Dolan. Ingeborg often thought this a complimentary trait in women (as centuries of subtlety had hardly done anything for anyone), but as the other used it to express her dislike of her, she found it unbecoming. Amusing, some days, but frustrating on most others — there was a benefit in having her undead status fly under the radar at her place of work, after all, and Siobhan could be considered a threat. Besides, there was that hint of paranoid concern she liked to deny which wondered if this woman was a hunter. (A passive one, if so, so seemingly not a problem. As of yet.)
She watched the professor of whatever-she-taught walk into the bathroom as her own lipstick was raised mid-air, ready to repaint her lips red. “Ah, and I haven’t even gone number two yet,” she said, dotting her lips with the lipstick with her eyes trained on the more pleasing person in the bathroom. Inge’s gaze released her mirror image when she heard a crashing noise, watching her colleague turn around. Half-painted lips spread into a smile, eyebrows raising in amusement and interest. “One of my tricks? What are you talking about?” She wasn’t even being facetious this time: she was not doing anything. “The door is push, not pull. Do you read?”
—
Siobhan’s eyes twitched. Her annoyance was not masked— the undead didn’t deserve decency or politeness. It was embarrassing to march herself back to the door and try all manner of directional force: push, pull, turn, caress, groan, push again. When she approached Ingeborg again, her face was red with anger. “Stop it. I don’t want to be locked in a bathroom with you; it’s not funny.” She felt like a child, complaining that some older kid was picking on her by moving her bone collection around. “I have pushed. I have pulled. Yes, I can read. No, that shade of lipstick does n-not look good on you.” The lie burned the back of her throat, searing her tongue on its pained journey out of her mouth. It was unfortunate that Ingeborg was attractive; she would have looked better decomposing but now she had robbed the world of the opportunity to have her bones. Siobhan spread her palm over her abdomen with hopes that her hand would soothe her twisting stomach; she reminded herself that the lie was worth it. “Putting makeup on a corpse doesn’t change anything,” she huffed. “Unlock the door. I want to be freed from your stink.”
—
“Oh, trust me, the displeasure is very much mutual. I’m not keeping you here, though,” she said calmly, taking in the other’s anger with some kind of amusement. If this woman was a hunter, wouldn’t she take this opportunity to bring out a knife, some salt, or cover the keyhole. (Inge’s eyes flashed to the keyhole suddenly, glad to still see it uncovered.) She continued putting on her lipstick, clicking the tube shut with the loudest noise she could produce and turning towards the other after leaving it on the sink. “Your dramatics are impressive. Are you sure you don’t wish to join us in the art department as a professor of the dramatic arts?” She did have the looks to stand on a stage, but that was hardly something that had to be said out loud. “Putting make up on a corpse changes all the same things it does for a living body, actually.” Inge moved towards the door, trying the handle while staring at the other — ready to prove that she was being ridiculous. It didn’t budge, though, and she tried once more while staring at it. “Well.” She looked at Siobhan. “What the fuck?”
—
Siobhan rolled her eyes. “No, it doesn’t. There is nothing more beautiful than a dead body— why would you put makeup on it? I want to see the discoloration, the desaturation, the gauntness.” Siobhan looked at herself in the mirror; she was beautiful but she didn’t look like a corpse. That was the tragedy of being a banshee: no livor mortis. Distracted by her own splendor, she nearly missed Ingeborg’s futile attempt to open the door. “You’re asking me?” Siobhan scoffed. “You’re the one that locked it with your undead trickery!” Siobhan waved her hands in the air as if the motion would prove her point, as if in between the waving Ingeborg would drop the act and unlock the door. The lights flickered. The bathroom groaned like a giant awoken from a nap. The lights flickered again. “I can't teach the dramatic arts.” What was acting but lying? There was a reason fae productions were often made using indentured humans. “But I’d be amazing at it if I could.” The light flicked off and when they buzzed to life again, red dripped from the mirror.
Siobhan’s nose crinkled. “I think that’s a message for you.” The oozing red text read, simply: STINKY.
—
Maybe in another world the two of them could get along. Professor Dolan was somewhat morbid, after all, with her talking of stages of decomposition as if it was nothing. Alas. “Then go find yourself a dead body? You won’t find them in the bathroom.” Ingeborg swiveled to the other, creasing her eyebrows in annoyance. “Undead trickery? I could use my undead trickery to leave this room if I wished! And I certainly would like to right about now!” She couldn’t completely, in all fairness, as it was day outside and Inge couldn’t take her body into the astral with her. And while escaping with just her spirit to leave Siobhan with a comatose body might be funny, she didn’t trust the other. “You know, I wish I could do this.” As the light flickered, she felt envious. Inge could do this in dreams, but never in the waking world. To her, this was a poor version of the dream world out there.
Inge stared at the message on the mirror, reading the word stinky with squinting eyes. “I’d sooner think it’s for you. The one who blames people is often the perpetrator of the stink.”
—
“You are a dead body, in case you have forgotten,” Siobhan sneered; Ingeborg was being purposefully obtuse, she thought, but she couldn’t help but to fall into her play a little. The situation was frustrating and so was her company. “Don’t lie to me! You undead have…” Siobhan waved her hand around in the air again. Away from her tutelage of her family, Siobhan had no way of knowing what new, perverse tricks the undead picked up. It was unlikely that forty years created a brand-new, door-locking evolution in the undead, but Siobhan wouldn’t underestimate them. Diseases often adapt, after all. The lights flickered again and the bathroom groaned. The stall doors flung wildly, flicking open and slamming shut only to burst open again—each time accompanied by a loud and shrill banging. The STINKY on the mirror seemed to ooze more. “What sort of rule is that? Clearly, I am not the purporator of the stink. I smell lovely. Smell me.” Siobhan pointed to the stalls. “Stop doing that, Endeman. The sound is annoying.” Images of maggot infested corpses swarmed Siobhan’s mind all at once, unfortunately for whomever thought the sight would terrify her, it was the sort of thing she often pictured. As the faucets started to rattle, Siobhan got another idea.
“I think this might be a poltergeist, Endeman.” Siobhan said. “It’s very tacky of you to have invited one into the toilets. You struck me as a woman of more class–albeit, disgusting class.”
—
“To you,” she sneered in return, refusing to agree with such a notion. Her body was strange, certainly, and Inge had her own mixed-bag relationship with it — but it was definitely alive. Not with something as arbitrary as human blood, nor tied to just one plane of existence: but it was alive, if only because it could be killed. “What even are you, Dolan, to judge me like this?” It was thrown in off-hand, a question she didn’t expect an answer to but wanted one for anyway.
The bathroom had to be possessed, or something close to it, and Inge felt something run up her spine — something like excitement. It wasn’t often that she was the one on the receiving end of some scaring – which wasn’t to say she was scared – and whenever she was, it was a thrill. Her eyes were wide when taking in the leaking lipstick, the flickering lights, the slamming doors and the suddenly running faucets. In her mind, pictures of dead bodies crawled around and she let out a sound of surprise. Whatever could do this had her admiration and envy, that much was certain — she wished she could manipulate reality like this. “Annoying? You have to respect the work, Dolan! It’s glorious.”
As the other dropped the word poltergeist, it did seem to fall into place. Inge turned to look at Siobhan, eyebrows raised. “Doesn’t it get exhausting, being so presumptuous? I didn’t do a thing! But you have to admire its fervor, or are you incapable of looking beyond anything when it’s supposedly dead?” The sinks were clogged up, somehow, and water splattered onto the ground. “I wonder what that makes you, Dolan, a slayer of sorts …? Or just extremely dull?”
—
What was she? Siobhan preened at the suggestion of it; she was something great and powerful and perfect and beautiful and much, much better than the filthy abomination that Ingeborg was. She opened her mouth to explain what she was, and then she thought better of it and snapped her lips shut. It wasn’t wise to be so free with her knowledge, even as her fingers twitched at her side and her jaw ached, begging to be unclenched so the one, beautiful word, could be uttered: banshee. She had every right to judge the undead, ridicule them and make it known how much Death did not agree with their existence. Siobhan looked at herself in the mirror, fixing her strands of soft brown hair as STINKY continued to dribble down.
“Glorious?” She turned to Ingeborg, scandalized. “What is the point of it? Do either of us look scared? It’s a waste of effort.” Siobhan tapped Ingeborg’s reflection in the mirror. “Now this is scary.” As water splattered on to the ground, Siobhan lifted her feet, plopping around in the water as she groaned. All of this was nothing more than an inconvenience and she was just about to pull the salt she kept on her out of her pocket when the other professor went on. Slowly, Siobhan's brown eyes widened. “Slayer?” She clutched her chest, scoffing. “Slayer?” She repeated, offended beyond regular measures. She turned her head around and scoffed everywhere she looked, gesturing and opening and shutting her mouth as she struggled to articulate her disgust with the sentiment.
“I’m a banshee,” Siobhan said, slitting clutching her chest. “A banshee! I’m Irish! I’ve got bones in my pockets!” She pulled the mandible of a mouse out of her inner jacket pocket. “By what idiotic metric would you even fathom that I was a slayer? A slayer! If I was a slayer, you’d be dead—again. I’d be beheading you right now! I would have beheaded you months ago!” Granted, she had thought about beheading her, but she thought about beheading most people that she meant—it was one of her ‘happy thoughts’. “A slayer!” She scoffed again and again and even as the bathroom started to flood, water rising up to Siobhan’s ankles. “I’ve never been so offended. I am a beautiful, superior fae and you would compare me to a disgusting, lowly human? And at that, a breed of hunter? Me?” Siobhan spun around. “I can’t–I don’t even want to look at you right now. You’ve offended me so greatly. If I wasn’t in exile I would sic pixies on you. You’re so lucky I can’t do that. You’re so fortunate.”
—
It was true, neither of them looked scared. The poltergeist must be going through some of the possibly worst frustration a fearmongering creature could go through: the one that came with failure. These were cheap tricks, too little to inspire any kind of reaction besides one of glee from Ingeborg, and Siobhan Dolan seemed hard to shake herself. Still, she carried a certain level of respect for creatures and people similar to her, so she frowned at the other’s assessment. “Maybe they’re new to this, the scaring. We should support their efforts, even if they’re not particularly effective on us. If it was a freshmen here, they’d have peed their pants right where they stood!”
She was annoyed with the water, which was not yet reaching her socks (thank God for her leather, expensive boots) but was capable of doing damage to the suede on the long term. She was more focused on Siobhan than the boots, though, wondering what her accusation of the other being a hunter would do. Either she was one, and it would lead to something annoying and potentially dangerous, or it would be offensive. To call something supernatural a hunter, after all, was a horrible thing. Inge knew that very well: when the tiny Bugbear had called her one, she had been terribly offended herself. There was no worse thing to be on this earth.
And so, Siobhan revealed herself. She was a banshee. Now that was interesting, more interesting than whatever the poltergeist was doing. Inge stared at the bone, then at the other. “I don’t know, there are some real lazy slayers out here. You sure seem to share some of their viewpoints,” she said. Her hand traveled to her neck at the mention of beheading, caressing the scar that lined her throat. “A banshee is much better, though. I can’t say I’ve met any before.” Fae were strange things, still a mystery to her even if there had been decades of experience with the supernatural. They liked their elusiveness. She would respect it, if she wasn’t so curious herself. Her lips spread into a smile, impish like the pixies Siobhan talked about. Or, at least, so she assumed. “Oh yes, I’m very fortunate to be stuck in this room with you right now where we splish splash around. And what’s this, Dolan? You’re exiled?” Now, she was just going to be mean. “Can’t be that superior, if that’s the case.”
—
“What? Like they’re a child?” Siobhan was particularly offended by the idea of thoughtfulness; her mother was never forgiving towards her sensitivity and Siobhan learned that if anyone wanted to get better at something, it needed to be done with a firm hand. No, Siobhan absolutely wasn’t going to pretend to be scared just to temper the feelings of some untalented poltergeist. “You can scare a freshman by telling them there’ll be a group project. It’s not hard to scare a freshman.” She did it all the time and only occasionally by accident.
“Shut your gob,” she hissed. She was done. The stalls kept banging and there seemed to be no end to the water rushing out of the burst pipes and Siobhan was done. She thrust the bones back into her pockets and rummaged the cavernous holes for the tiny packets of salt she kept on her; if there was anything that annoyed Siobhan without abandon, it was ghosts. She hated ghosts. “I’m still superior to you, you undead fiend; you abomination of the natural order; you disgusting, abhorrent, attractive, useless speck of wasted space. I am a banshee. I am a fae and I’m going to do something I should have done five minutes ago.” Triumphant, she pulled a fistful of tiny packets from her pocket; white paper jutting out from between her fingers. One slipped out from her grasp and plopped into the rising water, floating to the top where its black label glared at them: “salt” it read, with its own cartoon salt shaker.
Siobhan’s eyes burst into pure blackness, two pools of ink. She shoved her salt-packet filled fist towards Ingeborg. “Do you want to be useful for once?”
—
“Well yes, a new poltergeist might as well be a child! I don’t expect you to understand, but there’s a learning curve when it comes to scaring. Not your area of expertise, though, so …” Inge shrugged, waving away the rest of her sentence. Siobhan’s comment on freshmen left her with a genuine sound of amusement, though, much to her own dismay. It was funny, but to laugh at something someone who disliked her said, well … it was below her. “And yet it’s so much fun.”
Siobhan kept going on, throwing vitriolic insults that Inge wanted to let slide off her back. She succeeded mostly, but she wasn’t immune to the nagging anger that rose in her as the other went on about her supposed superiority. She looked at the other with an angry gaze, “A banished fae,” she said, as if that would undo all of her arguments. “And oh, you’re so limited if you think the natural order is so boring as not to include us undead! Nightmares are natural, lest you forget, and besides — it’s not as black and white as you might want to think it is.”
And then the banshee was pulling out salt, and worse, holding it out to her. Inge looked at the packets of salt, glad they were covered in crinkled paper, and looked up at Siobhan. Her eyes were as black as the India ink she used in some of her works, a sight that made her want to move closer to inspect it and grow inspired by it. “No.” She shook her head, curt and determined. “Get that shit away from me. Do what you’ve got to. I’ll watch.”
—
Scaring wasn’t really Siobhan’s expertise; she had been raised to fit in, draw as little attention as possible, not that she really did that or wanted to do that. In fact, her whole family talked about the importance of plainness and never once practiced it. Anyhow, scaring wasn’t her business; it was a hobby. She didn’t know what suddenly made Ingeborg and authority and then it all clumped into place like a soggy jig-saw puzzle. Undead. Salt-aversion. The sparkle on her skin as she passed a big window on a sunny day, which Siobhan had previously begrudgingly accepted as the strange glow that beautiful people sometimes had. Her insisting that nightmares were natural without any acknowledgement that she wasn’t a nightmare, she was just a thing that could cause them—completely different.
Siobhan laughed, throwing her head up to the swampy ceiling. As she quivered with amusement, a couple more packets of salt fell from her hands and plopped into the water. “You’re so boring,” she said, lowering her gaze back on Ingeborg, “so predictable. How long have you been alive? You haven’t learned any style? Any originality? You’re not even moderately useful to the natural order; at least vampires and zombies clean up. What do you do except run around like a disease?” The black of Siobhan’s pupils burst, plunging her eyes into an inky darkness. The world turned dark and Ingeborg faded into a soft white stain. When she spun around, she found a girl sitting atop the stalls, greasy hair stuck to her bloated blue cheeks and her legs kicked out like she was running an invisible marathon. Siobhan tore open the salt packets and threw them at her.
The flickering lights stopped, the stalls creaked on their hinges, wobbling with inertia, the faucets squeaked shut, and Siobhan flicked herself around, irises back to brown, scleras back to white. “You’re utterly useless, you know that?”
—
She was boring? Inge let out a similar laugh to the banshee’s, finding the entire statement so ludicrous, so ridiculous — hadn’t Siobhan been proving this entire time that she was small-minded and limited? She couldn’t understand why someone would not find the existence of undead interesting, why someone would think the mere idea of there being people out there who could move from one plane to another boring! She was anything but boring. She refused to be anything but boring. “You’re the boring one,” she retorted once her voice had ceased to bubble with that echoing laugh. Her eyes were wide with indignance. “You know nothing of my style or originality, because all you know to do is narrow your eyes and stare down a tunnel of small-mindedness!”
She had half a mind to put the banshee to sleep and give her a daydream, show her how original and unboring she could be — but she refrained as there was still that poltergeist to deal with. Besides, when she saw Siobhan’s eyes turn inky black she was enthralled, thinking the woman more beautiful than she had ever appeared before. Inge watched with a begrudging awe, wishing she could appear that way when on the earthly plane but limited so dreadfully in this existence.
Everything ceased, then, and it seemed that the inky black eyes and salt-throwing had done their job. Inge was annoyed that Siobhan had succeeded where she could not, but she tried not to show it by shrugging casually. “I don’t like getting in the way of my ilk,” she said, sparing a look at herself in the mirror. At least her lipstick looked right. “This was very enlightening, Siobhan. We should do it again.”
—
Siobhan’s insides coiled and the beginnings of a scream burned behind her ribs. She didn’t say anything; Ingeborg Endeman had earned the final word and Siobhan was left soggy and clutching mini-satchels of salt. When the professor left, somehow prettier after their ordeal than before it, Siobhan waited and then followed her out, watching her back as she claimed the hallway with her even strides. She wasn’t sure if she wanted Ingeborg to look back and see her and if she did, what would she see? Siobhan didn’t know what sort of face she was making, she’d avoided her own gaze in the stained bathroom mirror as she exited. She clutched the wall and held her breath. Finally, Ingeborg turned and disappeared and finally, Siobhan could breathe.
Ingeborg Endeman was dead, unbothered, delightfully macabre and timelessly beautiful and Siobhan hated her for it.
#that's the scene from black swan you know the one#i love inge#would die for her#also rip to the toilets#c: ingeborg#stinky#s1#writing
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†hê Ðêmðñ (the beauty of sin)
𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You're a guardian angel who's never been tasked with protecting anyone. Since you've been here since Creation, sitting around in heaven hasn't brought you any rewards. You were looking forward to the day when you'd be assigned a human to look after. When that day finally arrives, things take an unexpected turn when you are assigned to Heeseung, a demon from the underworld.
𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: heeseung x female reader
𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: angst, suggestive/smut
𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 4k
𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: profanity, smut scenes, bad boy heeseung (lol),
𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖙𝖘: click me before reading!
➳ part of the drunk & dazed series
☆ ҉ ◢▅◣
Sin is a spiritual virus that invades the whole being. It makes you morally and spiritually weak. It’s a deadly disease that infects every part of you: your body, your mind, your emotions, and your motives—absolutely everything. Nobody has the strength on their own to overcome its power.
Nobody should ever commit sin, never giving in to their worldly and sinful impulses. It's unjust and wrong. However, what is it about sin that makes it so fascinating and enjoyable?
It gave you joy to see it in his smile or the way his hands caressed your body. What a lovely thing sin is!
Even though some sins are innocent and enjoyable, sometimes regulations are supposed to be broken. Everyone, after all, is a sinner.
“WHAT!?,?” You began to sweat as you worriedly communicated your concerns to your overseer, “You must be mistaken, High Lord.”
“I understand the protocol; angels are supposed to serve as "guardian angels" to beautiful or broken souls on Earth. You know we're expected to look after them and keep an eye on them to make sure they stay on track. With all due respect, ma'am, I don't believe I'm qualified for this position; at the very least, someone of level 10 would be ideal.”
Her cream-colored wings swept her off her feet as she chuckled and waved for you to follow her. You sighed as you flutter up and away with her, trailing behind her, feeling a twitch in yours.
As you eventually caught up to her, dodging angels left and right, you apologized to random angels in your path, uncomfortably smiled at the people you bumped into with your wings.
You retracted your wings closer to you and walked uneasily beside your overseer as you carefully stepped down on the golden road.
Before you could say anything, she quietly took your hand in hers and gently kissed it, assuring you that everything would be alright. As you approached the center of the commotion, you bit your lower lip and remained silent.
Looking around at the community, it warmed your heart to see so many people, young and old, out here. Some you've known since the beginning of time, while others were born only last week. Everyone had gathered to witness the masterpiece that would emerge in an instant.
“You know Y/N I have complete faith in you that this first expedition will be a breeze,” you smiled, looking up at her with excitement and a tinge of fear in your eyes. “We wouldn't have suggested you for the job unless we knew who you really are, and you've earned it.” Don't worry, you were expecting this; now have a look.”
With her finger pointing to the stage forward, you were treated to yet another spectacular show. They're known as the "Grand Turning" in Heaven. This is where a new or seasoned angel has completed his or her training with a human or demon and earned their proper place in the community.
It could be a badge, a ribbon, or something more unique, such as the opportunity to talk with the all-powerful, our God.
Despite the fact that you were assigned to him, you were determined to get those jobs because they were the only way for you to ever get that honor. You weren't going to allow Mr. Unperfect take away that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Nobody could and will ever be able to make you fail this assignment; you were meticulously prepped. You were taught the correct and only way to do things, and now was your opportunity to shine. You were not going to be a Lucifer, cast from Heaven
“I'll do it,” you said to your supervisor, a smile on your face and confidence in your eyes. She turned to face you and hugged you passionately, rubbing your wings with a motherly devotion.
“I knew you could do it; now it's time to get you ready.”
---
When people have a near-death experience, they always remark that life flashes before their eyes. Unfortunately for angels, it's the contrary; when we're approached with a high-alert danger or warning, it's more of a gentle whisper in our ears. Normally more attentive while traveling to Earth.
The best place to be humans say.. What is with these fickle minded words?
You take a deep breath and turn to face your overseer, who is polishing her wings to ensure that they are kept in order. When having wings, a routine is taught from the beginning to keep them in a good up do. Nobody wants to look simple when you can look stunning.
She took your hand in hers and walked toward the end of the route, issuing some documents to the Pearl City Gate guards. You noticed the circular orb while glancing around.
"How can some humans believe in the world being flat, we literally have an air-like view. To me, it's definitely round.” She chuckled as she pinched your cheeks and turned your puzzled face to her.
“When you get down to earth, you'll see a lot of that, people with a lot of opinions. But what did you learn in your training?”
Standing up and smoothing your wings, you calmly shouted out the words as if they were written on the back of your palm.
“Although humans are the destroyers of their own precious planet, everyone's opinion matters, regardless of race, gender, or identity.”
“Well, not all,” you began scratching your head, “I've seen some harsh individuals in our study books, God should strike them down-“
“Um no ma'am, let us put it aside for the time being and focus on what needs to be done.” She started going over a list of laws and regulations for your descent to Earth. As you gave her a thumbs up, you were attentively listening and mentally bookmarking everything in their designated area.
I believe I have a good understanding of everything, and I think I am prepared.” She offered you a short hug before letting you go, showing her affection for you. You were going to miss her, despite the fact that it was a mutually-surface relationship.
“Last but not least, this ordeal will be different in that people will be able to see you. But if you have to use your wings, the lad is the only one who can see you. When you arrive, he will be waiting for you. My child, best of luck and may God bless you.”
You let go of her and moved toward the road's edge, gripping your bag as you turned to face her and waved farewell as you stepped over the brink.
“Wait a minute, what if-“
When you felt a push from behind, you tumbled off the ledge and spun around in the sky, where you saw a smiling face as you glanced up. They didn't tell you that you'd have to be pushed. As you plunged to Earth, you closed your eyes, terrified. Oh, how nice.
Screaming, you descended into the atmosphere, your narrowed eyes seeing glimpses of land here and there. Not letting up you let your wings cover your whole body as you plopped down onto soft green grass.
You peered out from your wings, gasping for air, and glanced up.
“Oh, Heavens”
His physique was slender, active, and well-groomed, with a trace of bad boy behavior in his scent. The first thing that struck your eye were the rips in his jeans. How could a man-made mistake seem to be so appealing? As you raised your eyes, you noticed tattoos splattered across his arms and up to his neck. His black velvet-like wings fluttering in the breeze, he raised his palm to his hair and stroked through the old curls, deconstructing the pattern they had once formed.
“Did you just pull a Lucifer or was this all planned?” he coughed as he put out his hand to you, taking a good look at you.
Stuttering in your words you quickly got up and patted yourself off and finally looked him in the eyes, noticing his dark eyes.
“Well, that wasn't supposed to happen, I hoped to fly down here and appear more Angel-like, but I think my overseer had other ideas.”
He said, "Ah," with a bored expression on his face.
“My name is Heeseung, and if you don't mind, I assume you don't.” I guess my name is well-known in Heaven. You're probably the fifth Angel who has appeared in the last year to “assist me.” What a load of bullshit; you can't hide what's already there, you know.”
He made a pouty look as he smirked closer to you before covering his hand with his mouth and saying, “oh forgive me, I suppose I have a potty mouth.”
Panicking at this new light, you smiled and coughed loudly and suddenly, “Before you say anything else, I'd want to inform you that I'm not like those angels we don't talk about. I have a holy standard that I adhere to.
He rushed to your face, rolling his eyes at your innocence, and murmured to you, "well see about that little Ms. Purity."
As you moved back and shook your head, spurring out prayers, you tugged the strings of your bag close to you, seeming irritated. Looking up, you noticed him hovering in mid-air with his arms crossed, waiting for you.
“Whether you're coming or not, I'm in the mood for a cup of coffee. Allow me to go fetch you one so that this whole ordeal between us may be over soon and we can both return to our respective worlds.”
You instantly snap open your wings and shot up into the sky, scoffing at his rudeness, and dash by him, racing to the left.
“It's this way, dummy,” he cackled as he immediately shot out. Embarrassed and annoyed, you flipped over to his side and flew alongside him, praying to the Lord for peace as your rage subsided.
“Lord, so help me”
---
“So, what's on the agenda, Ms. Purity? There are a lot of things I'd want to do with you. You know, if you just ditch this whole act, we might be able to have some fun. He winked at you as he sipped his drink while peering across the table.
You shook your head and chuckled, gagging at his remark, "You must get all the girls, you appear really, what's the word, competent" I'm astonished since I assumed everyone down under was inept.”
He smirked and crossed his legs as he lay startled in his chair, cocking his head to the side. It's not that you were trying to be mean; it's just what you were taught. There are no hard feelings.
“Well, as much as I'd like to keep this delightful little date going, I have a commitment to fulfill. You know, duty calls.” You quickly got up and hurried after him, confused as to where he was going, as he shot up in the air and chuckled, waving farewell to you.
“Wait, Heeseung, you can't just go away like that. We need to figure out how I'm going to find you. You're being impolite by getting up and leaving.” You made yourself look insane since you didn't realize no one could see him. You wouldn't want to be labeled as one of these Earthlings.
You beckoned him down, mentally terrified, “Please can you just come down for a damn second.” Your jaw dropped as you hurriedly covered your mouth. Heeseung's jaw dropped when he appeared in front of you, stunned.
“Gasp, I'm hearing a term I'm sure they don't say in Heaven. Hmm, I suppose the Earth changes people.” He went closer to your ear, his warm arm bouncing on your skin as he giggled, his lips inches away from yours.
“I've already entered my phone number into your phone; you do understand what a phone is, right?” Doesn't matter, I have to get somewhere, and you can locate me later. Okay, I'll see you later.” He swept up in the air and rushed over to the bridge as he vanished into the horizon, rushing out in a haste once more.
You sat back in the coffee chair, wiped your brow, and focused mentally and spiritually, pleading with the Lord for help and forgiveness. You had a feeling this mission was going to be a disaster.
Whining, you threw your hands in the air and sat face down on the table, groaning as you realized this trek. It's no surprise that these honors are well-deserved; it takes a lot of effort.
You cautiously lifted your head and faced the barista after hearing a soft tap on your table. She smiled at you as she set down a piece of paper. You scowled as you inspected the weird set of paper.
“What a jerk, he didn't just leave me to pay for both drinks.” With a shake of your head, you reached inside your bag and drew out a wallet. Your overseer informed you that many people like flaunting and spending their money, so she provided some for you just in case.
As you cleaned up, you began to mentally map out your route through town, mentally picturing the locations and navigating your way home. As you walked over to the cashier, you handed her some money and thanked her before heading out the door.
At the very least, you landed in a fantastic location. It was in the heart of South Korea, and the city was called Seoul, a wonderful metropolis to be sure. You were taught to master specific languages for specific tasks, so communicating wasn't a problem. Despite the fact that you were new in a strange place, you were determined to make the most of it. The first step was to return home and examine the situation.
How to manage Lee Heeseung.
Arriving at your small abode was an adventure in itself; it didn't take long for you to connect your GPS and get going. It was actually fairly pleasant and provided a change of scenery to enjoy. It's not quite Heaven, but it's still lovely. When you finally arrive at your destination, you look up to see a little, charming apartment in front of you.
They really went all out for you, and it's very much in your style. You'd felt right at home as soon as you stepped inside, as it was more modern and sophisticated.
To be honest, you had no idea what you were doing, but it felt good to have your own little place to do anything you wanted. You could get used to this, no wonder why humans never leave their house. Who would want to leave when you have everything here. Food, entertainment, and a BALCONY!!
As you finished exploring the apartment and basked in its magnificence, you laughed to yourself as you made your way to the couch, sinking into its coziness as sleep took over your mind and body.
*Crunch, thud, bang*
As you lurched forward, you flew up your wings in defense mode, trying to understand what you'd heard.
“Who's there? I have a weapon, and I'm not afraid to use it.”
When you hear a familiar giggle, you look up and see the attractive intruder. Walking over to you and snatching the pillow from your grasp he took your hand and pulled you over to the island where he had prepared some food.
As you took it all in, you smelt familiar scents and smiled, completely forgetting about it until you were reminded again.
“Wait, what are you doing in my apartment, and how did you get in?”
He began to remove some pots and pans from the stove while he placed some food on a platter, saying, "I have my methods."
“I'm not sure what you eat up there in Heaven, but I'm guessing it's all healthy and nutritious food.” You laughed and shook your hand in disbelief while shaking your head.
“I don’t think out of all places we would be eating so strictly. It's basically whatever you can get your hands on.. It's guaranteed to be better food than what you'll find in Hell.”
Pulling the dish away from him, you began to pick at the fries, popping one into your mouth and savoring the flavor, “not bad.”
He bowed in front of you, wiped the sweets from his brow, and returned to sit next to you, grabbing a dish and feeding himself some. As the night progressed, you told him the rundown for the next three months.
“So, despite the fact that you're definitely one of the worst jerks I've ever encountered. For this to function, we'll need to create certain ground rules.” Aiming a finger between you and him. “I'm not sure whether you've ever had to do anything for anyone else in your life, but it's all about serving people around here, and that's why I accepted this assignment. Even if you don't want to help yourself, I want to help you.”
As Heeseung shuffled around in his chair, avoiding eye contact with you, the atmosphere became tense.
“Harsh, but keep going.”
Smiling you continued as you tried to wrap your head around this complex creature.
“I understand that we are supposed to protect and guide you to do good, but it appears that we have progressed far beyond that, and we need to start at the source of your problem, which is most likely your heart or mind. What's going on in both?
As his words danced across your lips, he smirked and drew you closer to him.
“Now there's a secret.”
Smirking as your face felt warm, you cocked your head to the side and touched his shoulder before getting up and setting your dish in the sink, cleaning up as piercing eyes stabbed your back.
“I understand what you're thinking, and I've got it all under control.”
He approached you and said, "If you say so," as he put his head against your ear.
2 months later
Everything was certainly out of hand, and he was to blame. Your strategy not only failed, but it was only a matter of time until your overseer found out. And you didn’t want to end up like the last guy tossed from Heaven.
It wasn't all that bad, but who were you kidding, it was a disaster. It wasn't a major shift; rather, it was a series of modest changes. Things like accidentally cursing or hanging out with him at ungodly hours. You convinced yourself that everything was OK.
He drew you into your room and sat you down while hovering over you, gently caressing your body and kissing you.
You smiled and drew him closer to you, wrapping your legs around his waist and bringing him down on you, closing the distance between you.
Heeseung has been on a mission to damage your "innocent demeanor" for the past two weeks. He intended to show you that it was all a charade and that no one is actually perfect. Despite not knowing what he was going to do, you were up for the challenge. That core part of you didn't take long to succumb to his immoral impulses.
What was the problem as long as you were both happy?
“Heeseung,” you say as he draws you closer to him and unclasps your bra with his free hand. As you slowly rise to assist him, you toss the material to the ground and reach for his sweatpants.
“Someone a little needy, but we are not doing that today. Today is all about pampering my lovely angel. Is it all right?”
Nodding your head, you keep an eye on him as he goes between your legs, halting at the bottom as he eyes your breast and grasps softly as your body adjusts.
“Hurry up,” you grumble as you stare at his sinister grin. As you moan, he places gentle lips along your folds, leaning down to your core. As you twitch under his touch, his finger makes a fast dive between your folds, inciting dampness.
As you whine from the pressure, your eyes flutter shut as he switches his finger out with his tongue, softly licking up your surface.
“mm, close,” you exclaim, your lips wide open as he notices your clit, tongue flicking lustfully against it. As he presses harder on your sensitive region, he laughs as you break apart under his power.
“Oh God, right there.”
“Please don't involve Him in this.” He hits a place as your high comes crashing down on you, chuckling at your reaction. Heeseung is holding you down and watching you quiver wildly as you release juice, which causes him to swallow it before wiping his mouth. As you fall onto his body, overwhelmed and still sensitive to the sensation, he pulls you up.
He lays your exhausted body next to his and wipes any excess arousal from his mouth before kissing your lips.
You both lay in a comfortable stillness for the remainder of the night, your breathing slowly returning to normal as you sign into his arms.
“Perhaps you're right; we're all just horny, messed-up creatures; I mean, even though what we're doing is completely wrong, it was fun to break the rules. My entire life has been focused on doing the right thing and being this upstanding angel. It's fun to deviate from the norm.” As Heeseung witnessed you erupt in rage, you became agitated.
“You’re cute when you’re mad, also I told you.” You both chuckled as you pushed him to the side before coming to a halt in the middle of your conversation, looking concerned at him.
“However, I leave tomorrow and I don't think I'll be ready to see you off, and this was not in my plan.”
“Shhh, I figured it out; just stick to my plan and we'll both come out on top.”
You sat closer to him, nodding your head and clasping your hand in his as you allowed sleep to take over your body.
As you may know, angels and humans have quite distinct punishments; some humans are never punished for their wrongdoings, whereas angels' actions are usually discovered one way or another.
And you were terrified that they would find out. The person who fell from the edge was not the same person who was returning back and everyone was going to know it. Just not right now, you had to maintain your composure as you approached your overseer.
As you were greeted with the overseer and some guards, you held Heeseung by his chains and whispered something into his ear.
“I see you were having a good time?” You shook your head and looked down, worried. You looked up at her with sad eyes.
“Yes, High Lord, I am aware of my error and what needs to be done in order to be purified once more. I accept complete responsibility for this assignment, but I crack him first, and we have all the secrets we need.”
As he observed you return to the opposite side with the overseer, Heeseung's gaze shifted up in fright. Fearing for his life, he flailed his wings in an attempt to flee.
“What the hell, Y/N, I thought we were on the same team.” How could you betray me in such a way?” You walked over to his trembling body and pushed him down so you were above him, laughing loudly. You patted his shoulder as you cackled.
“And they said angels could be trustworthy. I know what I'm worth, and it has nothing to do with you. Heseeung, please accept my apologies. Get him out of here.” The guards grabbed his chains and dragged him to a chamber across the room from you.
As she began to compliment you on your efforts, the supervisor wrapped her arm around your shoulder.
“I'm proud of you, Y/N, even though you used some terrible techniques. I knew you'd be able to pull it off.”
You grinned joyously and thanked her for her faith in you as you looked up at her face. You cast another peek at Heeseung as she stepped forward, and he winked at you. Smirking before he disappeared into the room you chuckled at his behavior.
Everything was going swimmingly, and no one had a clue. I suppose taking over Heaven would be a simple task; if you can blow up the inside, everything will fall apart on its own.
"How could you hide this from all of us?" "Oh God, you underestimated me."
The Beauty of Sin.
☆ ҉ ◢▅◣
➳ Navigate to the Maze
#enhypen#enhypen writers#enhypen series#enhypen angst#enhypen suggestive#enhypen smut#lee heeseung#heeseung#enhypen heeseung#enhypen lee heeseung#enhypen reactions#en-#kpop au#enhypen au#enhypen x reader#enhypen x female reader#enhypen x y/n#enhypen masterlist#babytaes works
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doing these prompts! today is “watching the sunset/rise” & it’s dedicated @menjiiii bc they couldn’t make it to the watch party last night & were missed!
read the whole series!
Dean holds his niece for the first time as the sun sets against the river the hospital looks out over. She’s pink all over and her big eyes are a soft blue-grey but Sam says they’ll probably get darker as she gets older. A crop of brown hair sticks straight up from her head and over all she looks a little like one of those troll dolls that Sam had when he was a kid. Dean loves her so much he’s afraid to hold her, afraid he’s going to crack open from it.
Sam is half-sitting in a chair, half-sprawled over Eileen in her bed and they’re both asleep. Dean turns from the sunset to look at them, to look at Sam, Eileen’s hand tangled in Sam’s hair. He was just four when Sam was born but he can remember being sat in a chair, being told to hold his arms out. He cradled the tiniest version of his brother in his arms. There’s a picture of it, somewhere, Dean small and with lighter hair almost to his shoulders, Sam in his arms and both of them staring at each other with matched awe.
Dean was there for Sam’s first steps and potty-training and bottles to solid food. Dean taught him to brush his teeth and tie his shoes and, in the parking lot of a motel with a bike that was not obtained legally, ride a two-wheeler. He taught Sam to shoot and talk to girls, how to recognize the difference between a werewolf and a rougarou and how to drive. Things that Dean mostly taught himself how to do, and Dean isn’t quite up-to-date on his daddy issues but fuck it, he was Sam’s father. He raised that kid and now here they are. He’s holding Sam’s child.
She’ll never have to learn how to shoot and the only witches she’ll know will be in story books and Disney movies. She’ll never have to stay in a motel, or dig into the dirt of a crossroads.
“Are you all right?”
Dean looks up and realizes that he’s been crying. Just soft tears, finding their way down his unshaven face. Cas is looking at him with that never-ending stare but there’s the lilt of a smile starting.
“Yeah,” Dean rasps. “I’m all right. Just remembering-” He sighs a little and jerks his chin toward Sam, still asleep. “Changed his diapers, you know. And now here he is with - here she is...” He tips his face and sees that Jo is quiet in his arms, asleep, the bow of her mouth suckling subconsciously.
Cas comes closer and reaches up, runs a delicate finger over the baby’s soft cheek. “It’s...strange. I know the science of it, the biology of it. But still it seems rather-”
“Don’t say miraculous,” Dean warns, humor in his voice.
Cas smiles at him and - okay, miraculous. “No, I -- Well, yes. I was going to say miraculous. But, not in the way of heavens and Gods. In the way that...” He smiles again, interrupts himself to meet Dean’s eyes. “In the way that I sat across from a man, once, in a park full of children that he had saved, defying orders from angels. And I thought, never in all of history, could my father have created this man, he is his own making. Miraculous.”
Dean doesn’t know what to say to that so he just closes his eyes and nods. Cas steps closer, he feels it, and their foreheads hover close. “Do you wanna hold her?” he asks gently.
Cas kisses him softly before answering, hand cupping his cheek so lightly, the same way he just touched Jo. “If you wouldn’t mind giving her up.”
Dean shakes his head and they shuffle closer, pass the baby carefully. She fusses just a little as her weight shifts but once her head is nuzzled into Cas’s chest she calms. “Joanne is a good name,” he says, eyes on Jo. “Joanne Maura.”
“Yeah,” Dean answers but he’s not listening, he’s looking at Cas. Looking at the tilt of his chin, the mess of his hair, the shadows under his eyes and the way he holds Jo, tucking her close and protected. “We could-- If you wanted to. We could find a way. Kids, I mean.”
Cas props his head just enough to catch Dean in his sight. His smile is warm and content. “We can talk about it,” he says and that’s the best answer, at this point, because Dean doesn’t honestly know how he feels about it, about having kids. With all he’s seen, and they have Jack, they have Claire and Alex and Patience and Kaia. They have Krissy and Josephine and now, here, in their arms, they have Jo. It’s enough to know that Cas will talk about it, they’ll talk about it and figure it out together.
“Oh,” Cas says softly and he shifts a little. Dean leans in to see that Jo has woken up, eyes huge and looking up at Cas. Something softens on Cas’s face, then something brightens. Dean watches, tenderly, as Cas’s eyes go glassy with tears.
Miraculous.
tags under the cut, as always pls let me know if you wanna be removed or added!
@prayedtoyou • @folklorecastiel • @good-things-do-happen-dean • @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you • @nesnej • @bianca29753 • @spaceshipkat • @601218764 • @nickelkit • @dizzypinwheel • @epple-benene • @kayrosebee • @feraladoration • @queenvee08 • @destielangst • @destiel-is--real • @brazencas • @destielle • @flowersforcas • @50shadesofsubtext • @multifandomagic • @fluffiestlou
#spncreatorsdaily#deancas#deancas fanfic#deancas fanfiction#destiel#destiel fanfic#destiel fanfiction#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#dean winchester#castiel#sam winchester#saileen#my stuff#soft summer series
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The Crown, The Sword, and The Gay
Knight's Mistake
A/N: y'all some people actually cared so i decided to share this chapter which is def shorter but hope y'all enjoy and remember to stay alert there could be clues as to what happens next anywhere
(also let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!)
First | Previous| Next
words: 1601
summary: Roman’s in the tower and he is now alone with his new knight in shinning armor
pairings: eventual prinxiety, eventual intrulogical, eventual moceit
warnings: some potty language (not much), stress, anxiety, pretentious character, violence (near the end), talking down to someone, blatant sexism
(let me know if there's any other)
“Your majesty…” Trent opened the door for Roman, he didn't react at all. He kept looking out the carriage window. Ruth asked Trent to give them a minute and he nodded looking complacent but, she saw from the corner of her eye his smile drop and his eyes roll...she’d have to look into that later, for now…
”Roman, I truly do hate to bring you back to reality but-” Roman seemed to sober up at her voice “I know, I know.” They both got out of the carriage, Trent at the ready with Roman’s possessions. Ruth and Roman gave each other a goodbye. “I'll be back in the morning. I hope by that time with Remy..” Roman chuckled
“And I swear if I see you reading that damn book-” “No! I promise I'll read something else this time” Roman knew Ruth was just joking “You are such a bad liar- I thought I taught you better!” Their little moment was rudely interrupted by Trent’s over exaggerated coughing.
Roman turned around almost forgetting Trent was there. “Sorry for the interruption, Your majes-” Roman interrupts Trent “No, please, call me Roman” The knight gave a tight nod and gestured towards the tower which Roman purposely ignored. Roman gave Ruth a hug, afterwards Trent helped her to the carriage.
Roman watched his only way out leave with his nurse. Trent was getting tired of being ignored. He grabbed Roman’s arm, not forcefully, the Prince was his only way of proving to the King how much potential he had. He had heard how ingenious the heir could be, he had outwitted several knight before, it was obvious the royal hadn't done it to embarrass the knights but, the other trainees always made fun of those who were fooled by the young prince.
Trent did not intend to be one of them.
Roman quickly twisted his hand off “his” knight’s grasp, he just started walking forward without saying another word, not even looking to where he was going. From an outsider perspective it might look as if he had memorized the path to such a degree he could get to his destination with his eyes closed, they would be right.
After arriving at the top of the tower, he went towards the nearest shelf and took out the only book with any color that wasn't brown or gray, he sat by the window but instead of rereading his favorite book, Trent spoke up trying to make conversation.
“So, I heard Hugo had been your knight before I” dropping Romans possessions as he spoke. Roman looked up pretty confused, he wasn't used to talkative Knights, he usually had to fight stories out of Hugo.
“Well yes, there was a time where Hugo was planning to retire but all the knights that applied to be my babysitters, to upgrade rank of course, were very easily fooled” Trent ignored almost everything he had said just waiting out until it was his turn to talk “Yeah, yeah.. Did you know Hugo actually taught me for a while?”
Trent obviously expected curiosity, which he got. “Really? Hugo has never spoken of you, I've asked him about his life for so long, I could write a whole book about his life.” Trent looked a little annoyed at that “He did indeed teach me for a while not for long though, it was back in Meadowfort…” making an obvious pause expecting Roman to ask for more details about Hugo’s home, he was a very private person
… What he did not expect on the other hand was Roman to start monologuing about what Hugo had told him about the place.
“Oh, Meadowfort!” He jumped up starting to look through a trunk, until he pulled out a drawing “Gosh, I remember Hugo telling me so much about his home” Trent didn't really know what to say, he looked at the drawing that Roman had laid on the desk, and it was Meadowfort.
He only had a foggy memory of what the place looked like, last time he had been there he was a child. “Hugo went back a few years ago, he got an artist to make me this painting of his hometown. I had completely forgotten about it till you mentioned it!” Roman rambled admiring the drawing.
Trent, still trying to impress Roman, spoke up. “Yes! That's um... his street, his house was…” he trailed off looking around the drawing, actively trying to remember which was Hugo’s house, before his memory could be refreshed the Royal next to him beat him to it, “...I believe it was this one, Hugo always told me what a perfect view he got from his bedroom window.” He was very hesitant as he felt he was interrupting his new knight too much.
Trent agreed with that sentiment. He was incredibly annoyed with the prince. Trent tried to impress him by other means but, Roman proved to know a lot about Hugo’s life. So he headed towards the big shelf and picked up one of the philosophy books he recognized.
“Ah! ‘Philosophy Without A Goal’, an amazing piece of literature... though, I certainly don't agree with all it’s ideals” he again expected a reaction of awe towards his knowledge on a type of book mostly used to teach royalty but he got none of it
“Oh yeah, I think I remember a bit of that book. I wasn't really interested in the topic and my professor was very considerate, he always included some adventure or fantasy book when it was time to practice reading, after my parents found out he got fired...always felt bad about that.” Roman spoke while eyeing the red book that sat abandoned by the window.
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After several attempts of trying to impress the prince with the amount of knowledge he had but, being out done by the monarch, Trent gave up. “It’s getting late, i'm going to head to bed...where exactly am I going to sleep?” Roman stood up and quickly headed for the door “There's a room we passed while heading up-” Roman, hand on the door handle, was going to show Trent where he was going to sleep but, the knight panicked thinking this might be the prince trying to trick him.
“No!” He ran towards the door and slammed it, startling Roman “I can find it myself- thank you though, your majesty” Roman was very confused and still a little shocked at the outburst “Um...sure, if you have any questions about anything let me know, i’ve spent half my life here.” there was something bitter tracing his voice, not that Trent noticed nor cared so, he excused himself.
Trent actually found the room pretty easily, he was unsure how he had missed it before. He was unbelievably annoyed once he realized he'd have to be in the tower with the royal for an undisclosed amount of time, why couldn't the prince shut his mouth from time to time, on the other hand, he could handle it as long as he could cut a few extra steps and effort to actually get to a position of power.
Though life isn't always ideal.
(In this case, he definitely had it coming)
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Roman woke up to raised voices, in his half-asleep self he couldn't make out what they were saying but he did recognize Ruth’s voice and how much anger she laced her words with.
He stood from his bed concerned for his nurse and who might be on the other end of her venom, she only really had patience for those she cared about. He hurriedly put a robe on and headed out his room. He found Trent and Ruth arguing, his nurse was absolutely fuming, and in a lack of better words “ready to kill a bitch”.
As Roman finally realized they were arguing, he tried to listen as to what they were fighting about. “The King gave me direct orders to not let anyone who wasn't of importance in, that obviously doesn't include a random servant bringing the Prince some tea. Trent emphasized on the word King, as if to prove he was somehow above Ruth.
“Look hun, I get it you think you’re hot stuff because ‘the king chose you to babysit the prince and that's going to help your career’ or whatever, just let me in to see how my baby is doing...ok?” Ruth sounded tired but Roman could hear the murderous edge to her tone.
“Did they not teach you to not to talk that way towards a man?” Trent apparently heard the tone she was obviously trying to hide and he also didn't have a will to live, Roman was about to say something but, Trent spoke before he could.
“Just leave the food and head back, you sure as hell aren't strong enough to get by me.” Roman genuinely thought Ruth was going to go off on Trent and go on a screaming match. However, he did not expect his nurse to, in a blink of an eye, have Trent on the floor, one of her hands on his back and her other hand extending Trent’s right arm while putting a foot on his left arm, basically having this trained knight in an armlock.
Roman was confused and impressed but, mostly too tired to analyze what was happening in front of him so, when a random purple haired knight showed up holding a piece of paper and made eye contact with him, looking extremely concerned and confused, he just shrugged and yawned as if, his nurse didn’t have the his assigned knight in an armlock.
taglist:
@meowthefluffy
#roman sanders#ts roman#ts sanders sides#virgil sanders#sanders sides patton#ts virgil#prinxiety fic#prinxiety#roman angst
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Naegiri Week Day 5 - Touch
Here’s Day 5 - Touch! It’s my yearly obligatory “involves pregnancy in some way” fic. I would categorize this as a mild hurt/comfort, so thankfully, I think there are no warnings to issue. I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think!
Fun fact: I wrote this entire one-shot in Comic Sans.
___________________________
Two minutes.
Makoto just had to wait two minutes.
When did two minutes get to be so long?!
Heartbeat resting rather uncomfortably in this throat, he glanced longingly over at Kyoko. He’d hoped that she might be able to grant him some semblance of comfort, but even she looked as nervous as he was. Her whole torso stiffened; her eyes fixed intently on her own hands. One finger traced patterns along the bare skin, for once not seeming to mind the texture. Hands that looked like overcooked hamburger meat, Makoto thought. Hands that belonged to the woman he loved. Hands that belonged to the mother of his child. Children, his mind corrected. They weren’t sure which it would be yet. That’s what they were waiting on, after all. Quietly, they prayed for a positive pregnancy test.
He uncrossed his legs, leaning forward slightly to stare at the floor. Off-white bathroom tile, he remarked to himself, as if it were anything extraordinary. It’s something he and Kyoko picked out together when their house was first being built. He remembered how much time they’d spent thinking over simple things like that, wondering what would be best. Times like that seemed miles away now, but he guessed that some parts never changed. After all, they were still sitting there, thinking too hard about what was to come next for them. He hoped Kyoko wouldn’t be too upset this time if they got another negative. The last time she’d been sorely disappointed, but the time before that, she held onto her determined attitude. The time before that… well, there had been so many times that they all blended together.
It was funny. They had such an easy time having their first. Their little angel, a baby girl they’d called Hope, had been a complete accident. He could have laughed at how reckless they’d been; they were only a few years into being intimate with one another. Neither of them expected to get pregnant out of nowhere like that, and they were nervous about being good parents… but Hope was the best thing that ever happened to them (no joke intended). In fact, she was the catalyst for the decision to have another. Back when they first got engaged, Kyoko told him that she only wanted one child, for the sake of giving an heir to the Kirigiri family. If they enjoyed having the one, she said she might consider having another, but it seemed so outside of the realm of possibility then. When she told him that, Makoto expected to only have one child.
What a funny turn of events it was for Kyoko to curl up in bed with him so many months ago, her head leaning on his shoulder. One look at her face and he could tell that she wanted something. Not just anything, either. It was something she wanted rather desperately. The batting of her eyelashes at him was proof enough.
“Can I help you, Kyoko?” He remembered giggling, nudging her head with his own. In his lap was a self-help book he’d been reading as of late, meant to teach the meeker population how to put their foot down. It had been a birthday gift from Toko, as well as a bit of a jab. Perhaps a bit of unknown foreshadowing, even. “You’ve been sitting there giving me sweet eyes for the last few minutes.”
If she had any remorse about being found out, she didn’t show it. She simply kept on enticing him with her fluttering lashes and soft smile. “I guess I was just thinking about how far we’ve come, and how lucky we are.”
Makoto nodded. “We are really lucky.”
“Yes, we are. After all of those years of pain, we finally get to experience a healing world. We have well-paying and engaging careers, the most considerate friends anyone could ask for, a cozy home, the best kind of love from each other, and the most flawless little girl this world has ever seen…” Makoto couldn’t help but recall how silvery her tone was. When it was all rich and saccharine like that, it felt like listening to liquid caramel. He could listen to her talk like that all day.
“It’s comforting to see how much has fallen into place for us, isn’t it?”
She took her turn to nod, wearing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. If he hadn’t noticed her reluctance before, he certainly would have then. “Yes, it is. Even with all of this happiness, though, I find there is something more I long for.”
The most he could think to do in that situation was blink in surprise, turning his head to look at her. As much as he trusted her, he would have to confess that a seed of worry buried itself in the pit of his stomach at the sound of those words. For all he knew then, she could have been asking to get a new pet, to open up their relationship, to start following a new religion, anything! The anxiety of it all made him start to nibble his lip a bit, but he tried to maintain his composure for her sake. “And what is that?”
His wife seemed to curl in on herself ever so slightly, and a deep shade of rose dusted itself across her cheeks and nose all of the sudden. Though he turned his face to meet her eyes, she’d just as quickly turned away to stare at her empty lap. “I… I… well, I…”
“Yeah?” He supplied encouragingly, raising his eyebrows.
“I… I want another baby.”
“You… You do?” Excitement cut into him like a knife through a spongy cake. His heart began to thunder in his chest; a smile begged to form on his lips. While he anticipated having the one baby, he secretly wished that Kyoko would change her mind. More than anything, Makoto wanted to have a big, happy family with his wife. He’d have been happy with just the three of them, but he wanted his daughter to have the experience of growing up with a sibling, like he did.
“Is that okay?” Kyoko asked in a small voice, the rouge colour in her face darkening.
“Of course it is! I’d love to have another baby!”
That day seemed like such a long time ago. Something like four months later, they found themselves in their current position: sitting together waiting for a positive pregnancy test, the announcement that would tell them that their dreams were going to come to life. All he could do was stare anxiously at Kyoko, who continued to trace swirled patterns on the palms of her hands. She had had to remove her gloves to take the test, fearing getting urine on them, and had yet to put them back on. Honestly, he hoped she wouldn’t. Right now, he just wanted to hold her hand.
He uncrossed his legs and wiggled closer to her, hope that she might take the hint rising in his chest. These two minutes would be some of the most agonizing of their day, even worse than overseeing Hope’s failed attempts at potty training. It made the most sense to go through these next moments together, sitting as close as possible. Without thinking, he leaned his head on her shoulder. The corners of her mouth twitched upward at the action, but she refused to give him a full smile.
“I suppose you can tell how nervous I am, can’t you?”
Reaching up to brush a strand of her long hair behind her ear, he chuckled. “I think it would be more of a concern if I couldn’t tell you were nervous after all this time. You’re almost trembling.”
She ducked her head down, as if she were ashamed. Makoto didn’t know what for. Everybody had the potential to get nervous, even world-class detectives. Especially world-class detectives! World-class detectives who were trying to be moms for a second time even more so. “God, am I? I hadn’t noticed.”
“It’s only a little, but I’m pretty observant. You taught me how to do that.”
Her index finger began to reverse the spiral it had just finished tracing, still holding most of her attention. Did these little finger movements give her some sense of comfort? He’d never noticed before. She’d certainly used them to soothe him before, but did she enjoy them too? It was hard to know whether he should be happy that he could still learn new things about her, or disappointed that he still had yet to become observant enough. He’d always thought her love language was less about touch, and more about words of affirmation. “I suppose I did.”
“Kyoko, honey… are you okay?” His eyebrows lowered, and all of the sudden he realized how sweaty his palms were becoming. In the midst of all of his happy reminiscing, somewhere in the back of his mind, his nervousness caught up to him.
His wife swallowed thickly; her fingers motions drawing to a halt. “I’m trying to be,” it didn’t have to be expelled, but he could see the sigh brewing within her, “I don’t know what I will do if this pregnancy test is negative.”
Makoto shrugged. “What’s the big deal if it is? Most couples take a year to six months to conceive. We’re only four months in, so it’s not like we’re falling behind or anything.”
Kyoko didn’t answer. She just kept staring at her hands, probably thinking that it was easier than looking him in the eye. Two years ago was the last time he saw her this nervous, and it was over their first baby. In some ways, he supposed he should have expected it. Anything baby-related tended to throw her for a loop. In spite of that, he still couldn’t help but feel as if this seemed a little weird. Having to watch her in such a state made him itch to take hold of her hand.
“Is there something else bothering you?”
“I’m just…” she swallowed, “I want it to work this time. I know that we can keep trying, but… Every time the test comes back negative, I worry that something’s wrong.”
“Do you think Hope was a fluke, or something?”
She sighed. “I do worry about it sometimes. You and I never expected to get pregnant so soon, and it was almost completely by accident. If I hadn’t pushed you to um… you know…”
Makoto’s face burned the colour of a cinnamon heart. There were several points in which it might be a good idea to recall the night they’d accidentally conceived; this was not one of them. He gulped, and tried to push the thoughts of the way she looked that night out of his mind. “You think we might not have had her?”
She groaned, shoving her head into her hands. “What bothers me is that I have no certainty of whether or not that is true. You know just as well as I do that I have been loaded up on poison expelling medications with all kinds of unusual side effects.”
The blush in Makoto’s cheeks deepened, and he had to fight off the urge to utter the words: “Yeah, like cancelling out the effects of birth control”. At the time of Hope’s birth, that had been their magic secret to having children.
“We don’t know for sure that that’s having any effect though, Kyoko.” His hand found its way to hers almost effortlessly, his thumb stroking the back of it. “It’s so easy to get worked up about the chances, but we don’t know anything for sure. You’ve said yourself half a million times that life is unpredictable. There’s still a good chance that we’ll pick up that pregnancy test and it’ll be positive!”
The detective slowly lifted her head. “And if it isn’t?”
“We’ll keep trying, then,” he flashed her the sweetest smile he could muster, “We’re both too stubborn to give up so easily. You can’t get the reward without putting in the effort, right?”
A grin crossed her own lips. “I suppose not. Would you… truly be willing to keep trying?” Finally, she lifted her head to fully meet his gaze, her eyes sparkling with a sense of longing. “No matter how long it may take for me to become pregnant?”
“Of course.” As weird as it may have seemed to others, he considered it to be rather special that he could be the one to comfort her in trying times. There were a scarce few souls who got the privilege of seeing the detective at her low points, and thus, many of their friends were never able to comfort Kyoko when she felt poorly. Makoto, on the other hand, got to look after her every day. Just getting to see her gradually win back that smile won him relief stronger than jumping into a chilled pool on a sweltering summer afternoon. On a list of his favourite things, he’d most certainly put Kyoko’s smile. He was honoured to get to protect it every day of his life.
Gently, she slipped her hand out from underneath his. At first, he worried that she might try to pull away, but the sensation of her fingers wiggling to intertwine his own made that concern ebb away. “Thank you for saying that,” at last, her voice regained its usual calmness, “Now, what do you say we see if fate is on our side today? I believe two minutes have passed.”
Makoto could have jumped for joy. His concern for his wife had him so wrapped up, he hardly noticed the drifting minutes. The test that would confirm the first sign of their second bundle of hope could be found sitting at the ready on the countertop. “You wanna look at it together? Count of three kind of thing?”
She giggled. “Definitely. On the count of three, we can both stand up.”
“Bet I can stand up faster than you!” He teased, poking her tongue out at her from between his lips.
It did earn him a laugh, but also a nudge with her shoulder. The decision to not release the other’s hand seemed to be unspoken. “Oh, hush and just start counting!”
“Alright. Here we go.” Deep breath. Another deep breath for good measure. Alright. Go time. “One…”
Kyoko squeezed her eyes shut and took in a big gulp of air like a child bobbing under the water for the first time. Fighting off the chuckle that brewed in his chest at that image was hard. Whatever she needed to do to get through this, he would allow her. Heaven knew he would probably need his own coping strategies to deal with his excitement. “Two…”
Makoto’s entire body tingled. His fingertips got the worst of it, yet tiny twinges of tingles danced all over him. Only his stomach received respite from it, and even then, it took on the form of a myriad of twirling maple keys all fluttering down in a storm.
“Three.”
An eye witness would not have been able to tell which half of the couple shot to their feet faster. It was a soccer game too close to call. Within seconds, Makoto and Kyoko sprung to their feet and were staring at the test on the counter. A black countertop, for the sake of contrasting their white tile floors. The little white pregnancy test stuck out upon it like the strawberry slice on top of a piece of shortcake.
One pink line, the test read.
Not pregnant.
It didn’t take looking at or saying anything to Kyoko to sense her disappointment. The air around here simply grew more somber to match her disappointment. He half-expected to feel her hand withdraw from his own. To have them retreat back into their shell of loneliness, just as she would do once this was over. Only… they didn’t. Her fingers stayed interlaced with his own.
“I… I’m sorry,” it was the only thing he could think to say after he’d spent so much time comforting her, “I thought that maybe, we might-”
She cut him off. “There is no need to apologize.” The strength in her timbre caught him by surprise. Expectation led him to believe that she would have a dash of brokenness as she spoke. That not happening caused his heart to skip a beat. When he turned to look at her, the beat skipping happened again, for he realized she wore a soft grin. “We can keep trying. We could be successful next time.”
“You’re… Y-You’re not upset?”
She shook her head and squeezed his hand. “How could I be? I’ve got you right here.”
#naegiri2020#danganronpa#naegiri#danganronpa 21#kyoko kirigiri#makoto naegi#makoto x kyoko#naegi x kirigiri#kyouko kirigiri#naegi makoto#kirigiri kyoko
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Furball Mania
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Prompts: “I may have accidentally sort of adopted five cats” & „Oh, are you ticklish?“
Warnings: fluff, kittens, kitten dad Bucky, pregnancy talk, IVF being oversimplified, Jiji from Kiki’s Delivery Service being misgendered cause I don’t care.
A/N: This is for @hopingforbarnes‘ writing challenge. Congrats again!
He couldn‘t just leave them there. The poor little souls. Put into a small box and left to starve in the outskirts of New York City. He didn‘t have the heart to leave them there. Five little furballs, two white, two black and a grey one.
„Poor little babies.“ He mumbled, before picking up the box and picking each one up to check for injuries.
A little meow of protest was emitting from the tiny body he had just picked up. The baby viciously tried to bite his flesh hand and made him chuckle.
„I see, you‘re healthy, little guy.“ He put the white kitten back with the others and picked up the box that had a little „For Free“ standing on it.
You weren‘t at home right now. The perfect opportunity to get them checked and maybe adopted out. Well, maybe he already had grown fond of them, maybe he wanted to keep them all. But he knew you were well read on how to care for kittens and had your opinions on shelters in the area.
Under the sound of his motorbike and tiny meows he made his way to your shared apartment.
After counting them again he carried the box up the stairs, opened the door and set the box down on the countertop of the kitchen isle.
„Um.“ He looked around for more fitting things to put them in. His eyes fell onto the cabinet holding your swimming pool stuff. He got out the little kids pool and three of your throw blankets and created a little makeshift playpen.
Under more protesting meows he put the five little furballs into their new space and opened the laptop while sitting down next to them.
„Kittens need warmth.“ He muttered and got up to get the little space heater you had for when he wasn‘t at home.
„They need to be taught grooming. The best way to to do that is with a toothbrush.“ He read quietly and got up again.
He picked up the grey one and started brushing over its fur, getting tiny little purrs vibrating his metal hand.
„What do I give you to eat and how do you know if you‘re a boy or a girl?“ He muttered and got a tiny meow back, as if the tiny thing said, „You got this.“
„Hey Friday?“ His phone lit up, „How do I know how old a kitten is?“
The AI explained the little details for guessing a kittens age and he determined that the babies must be around 5 to 6 weeks.
„Oh, I know from your new mommy that you can eat wet food now.“ He said to a black kitten he held up to his face.
He got up...again, filled a shallow plate with water, put it into the playpen and went to the neighbor.
„Oh, hello young man.“ Miss Blume was a cute old lady in her 70s, „What can I do for you?“
„I just found some little kittens abandoned on the street and since you have a cat I wanted to ask if I could borrow a bit of wet food until I can go out and buy it for them.“ He scratched his back. He might be 100+ but he still felt like a little boy in front of the elderly.
„Of course, one second.“ She vanished for a bit before coming back with a few little cans of wet food and handed them over.
„Thank you, Miss Blume. You are a lifesaver.“ He smiled at her.
„No problem, just knock if you need anything else.“ She smiled before closing the door.
He‘d have to buy the lady some new cat food and flowers, but at least he could try and feed the kittens now.
Coming back into the living room he saw two of them walking around the rug and picked them both up again.
„No breaking out of the baby prison, okay?“ He looked at both of them and got one meow back.
The following hour was spent feeding them carefully, laughing at their ridiculous faces full of food stains and then cleaning said food from their faces.
„Friday? How can I determine what sex these kitten have?“ He yelled over to the phone and got an in-depth explanation. And she also gave an explanation on how to help them pee and poo if they still needed it, while she was at it. A sigh left him, but he was a dad now, wasn‘t he. He would have to train them to go potty. Another sigh before he started determining their gender.
The grey kitten was a girl, he decided to name her Shadow.
The black kittens were a boy and a girl, he named them Jiji and Void.
The white kittens also were a girl and a boy, those two got the names Alpine & Cloud.
„Shadow, Jiji, Void, Alpine and Cloud.“ He mumbled and looked at them proudly. Until he heard a key outside of the apartment door and panicked.
„Please be nice kitties and don‘t be chaotic.“ He pleaded before picking up two of them.
Your footsteps got louder until you stood in the door with a raised eyebrow.
“I may have accidentally sort of adopted five cats,“ he immediately commented and made you laugh.
You put down your bag and threw the shoes away before sitting down in front of him, seeing his apologizing smile.
„Already fed them?“ He nodded with a super proud smile.
One of the white kittens tried to walk towards you in a wobbly manner and lots of meows.
„Hello, who are you, baby?“ You cooed.
„That‘s Alpine, well, could also be Cloud.“ He mumbled and you grinned at him.
„I need all the names!“ You giggled excited.
„That‘s Shadow, she‘s a shy girl. This is Jiji, a girl. Obviously named her after your favorite movie cat. And that one is Void, a good boy. Alpine is a girl and Cloud is a boy.“ He smiled a little nervous.
„I love them.“ You smiled at them and grabbed the toothbrush laying around to groom little Cloud.
„Cloud because Claude. I get it. Idiot.“ You rolled your eyes and saw him get a paw on the nose with a big grin.
„Do you like your new mommy, Alpine?“ he cooed and your heart melted like ice cream in the sun.
A little meow came back at him and you heard the tiny purr. He looked so happy and at ease. How could you not keep them?
Hours of sitting with the kittens and a pee incident later you laid on the rug with him.
He got a light pinch into his side from you and giggled, „Oh, you‘re ticklish? Since when is that a thing?“ You grinned and attacked him.
„S-Stop.“ He grabbed you closer, still giggling.
Your face was right there, right above him, a sight he‘ll never grow tired of.
„If we had babies they would each have one cat.“ You contemplated and saw the sparkle in his eyes.
„Do you...want babies?“ He angled his head all cute and innocent.
„I don‘t know. It‘s definitely something I‘m thinking about.“ You smiled down at him and he mirrored it.
„How many?“ „I always thought one, but now that I think of it...we could handle three.“
„As a bigger sibling. You don‘t handle three children, you minimize chaos.“ His nose crinkled with a big smile.
„I‘m sure we could have three at once if we IVF it and I‘m healthy enough.“ You continued spitballing.
„You sound pretty serious about it.“ He bit his lip to hold back all the happiness threatening to burst from him.
„I mean, you took very good care of these fur babies. I‘m sure you‘d be equally as good with human babies.“ You leaned down for a kiss.
„And we could move into a big house and live the suburban life.“ He was all warm inside.
„And have cute nurseries.“ „Maybe some goats if the property is big enough.“ „You and your goats.“ „Hey, they are lovely animals!“
„We can have all the babies you want, darling.“ His hands wandered down your sides.
„Well, let‘s research the hell out of it tomorrow.“ You leaned down for a kiss before attacking him with tickles again.
A/N: If you want to look at cute kittens and help them out, check out @kittenxlady on Instagram.
#mine#text#hopingforbarnes250writtingchallenge#hopingforbarnes250writingchallenge#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#james buchanan barnes#bucky barnes x y/n#james barnes#bucky x you#bucky x reader#bucky x y/n#the winter soldier#captain america#mcu#marvel#marvel cinematic universe#bucky fanfic#alpine barnes#alpine#alpine the cat#kittens#biker!bucky#dad!bucky#pregnancy tw
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Blood petals.
Chapter 22: High (on Felix felicis) <part 2>
Getting back his Sundays with Weasley was a relief. He missed him so much.
They chose not to play chess that day so they could catch up on everything. They absolutely prohibited anyone from joining them (something that Granger and his best friends understood, but Potter did not).
It was warm outside. This was probably Draco’s favorite time of the year, when it wasn’t too hot or too cold and everything smelled nice. He was sitting with Weasley near the lake, enjoying some peace after this awful months.
“Did Harry told you that he can’t play the last game of the season?” Draco frowned at him. “Yeah, it sucks. Snape put his detention on the same day at the same hour.”
“Detention?” Weasley, then, looked at him, confused.
“Yes, detention. For the curse, ferret. You were there.” Draco said ‘Oh...’ in a low voice. “Ginny was super pissed, she thought that maybe you suggested it to him, since he is your godfather and-“
Draco lost his cool at that.
“I fucking didn’t. Yes, I was mad. Yes, I ignored the golden boy and stayed here but I’m not petty. This was Severus idea. I can talk to him tomorrow if you want.”
Ron shook his head softly, looking at the lake.
“I don’t think Snape is asking too much. Harry could have been expeled for what he did.” He sighed. “And Harry wouldn’t want you to talk to him either. He kind of had a discussion with Ginny at the burrow. She said that he was acting like he didn’t care about the cup; and Harry said that he clearly wanted to play, but he actually had other worries in his life that weren’t quidditch.” Draco gasped dramatically.
“Never let Mr. Potter hear that. He would never recover from the heartbreak.” Weasley chuckled and looked at him with kind eyes.
“I missed you, ferret.”
“I missed you too, weasel.” He said smiling at the redhead”
———————
The exams were near and Draco couldn’t help but to think that it was all so <cite>useless</cite>. He wanted to read something that would give them an advantage at war, not fucking history of magic. And yes, dark magic is bad but... How were they supposed to defend themselves with the eight offensives spells that were taught at school?
Draco didn’t care if he died, he was dying anyways, but the golden trio needed training (like high level auror training). And the sooner they got it, the better.
Because his friends liked to pretend that they were normal teenagers even though they weren’t, Draco found himself studying at the library with his two best friends and two thirds of the golden trio.
They had asked Severus and McGonagall for a special permit to study all together at the library. Draco was surprised that they had let them. Almost no one could leave their houses after curfew since the begging of the year... But McGonagall seemed to be happy with the request; said that it was good that they were taking care of their studies, and that she cherished Inter-house unity. Severus couldn’t complain after that.
Potter apparently had better things to do than study. The blond boy wished he had came up with an excuse too.
“Draco, at least pretend that you are reading the book.” Said Granger, and Pansy chuckled.
“I think that it’s a-“ He began to say but he was interrupted.
“A waste of time. Yes, Dragon. We know.” Draco glared at him.
“Come on, ferret. Even I’m making an effort. Oh! I know.” Said the redhead as he grabbed his potions book. “If you don’t want to study you can help me with potions. I don’t understand a bloody thing ,and you don’t even read instructions when you brew.”
So he ended up helping the weasel. Or teaching him would be a better term, because he didn’t seem to know even the basic stuff of the subject. Maybe an hour had passed, it was getting really late and he wanted Hermione to call it a night. It had to be her bloody decision, because she had declared herself the leader of their little study group.
Then they heard someone else enter the library. Draco looked alarmed at the door for a second until he recognized Potter.
The boy was rather energetic, he walked towards them with a smile on his face. The weasel widened his eyes.
“And...?” The redhead asked, anxious.
“Done and with time to spare. I thought that I could join you and study for a while.”
There was something rather strange about the boy. His voice was different somehow... The daffodils didn’t even moved when he talked, it was like they didn’t recognize him either.
“Of course, Harry!” Answered Granger with a smile and Draco almost groaned because now they would be there all night.
Then the boy walked around the table to where Weasley and him were.
“Ron can you move a little so I have a place to sit, please?” Draco frowned at that.
First of all: the table was huge and Potter could sit in all the other free places. And second of all: what was going on with him? He was never that polite.The shocking part was that Weasley didn’t even complain, he just moved to the left and let the green-eyed boy sit between them.
“Potter, he was sitting there because I was helping him with potions.” Draco said with an annoyed tone. The boy didn’t seem to notice, he just grabbed the book and passed it to the blond boy.
“Well, I need help too.” He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
And Draco wanted to know why he was acting so weird. He looked at Granger and Weasley for an explanation, but the other two just had this amused expression on their faces.
“Since when? You’ve been on top of the class since the beginning of the year, Potty.” He said and snorted.
“Are we friends?” The boy asked suddenly. Draco widened his eyes and stared at him. What the fuck?. “Because I think we are, but you never call me Harry. And you call all your friends by their names or by a cute nickname. I don’t have a cute nickname: Potty is the one you use when you want to make fun of me.”
The blond boy was frozen in place. He really couldn’t understand what was happening. The flowers seemed to wake up at that, hearing Potter’s rant about the ways that Draco called him.
“Is Potter high?” Pansy asked raising one eyebrow. Blaise looked quite entertained as well.
“Not exactly.” Hermione responded, trying not to laugh.
“Come on, ferret! Harry asked you a question.” He said with a smug tone. Fucking weasel. At this point, Draco was already blushing.
“Yes, we are friends. Stop acting weird.” Draco said as he passed the pages of the potions book.
“Great.” The boy smiled at him brightly. “Does that mean that you are going to call me Harry or do I get a cute nickname?”
And Draco thought that he was going to die from the embarrassment and the fucking flowers slamming themselves against the walls of his lungs. The only good thing was that Potter was acting so weird that he didn’t even have the concentration to cough. But his face was really red, he felt the heat all over his cheeks and ears. Draco decided to play it safe.
“What, Potter? Do you want me to call you ‘darling’, too?”
He thought that it would be enough for the conversation to be drop entirely, but he was mistaken.
“That would be nice, yes.” Answered the green-eyed boy, and everyone bursted into laughter. Draco blushed terribly.
“If I agree to call you by your stupid name, would you drop this?” And the boy nodded enthusiastically. “Fine, Harry. Salazar, It’s unnatural.”
“I don’t think so, Draco” said the boy with a smile on his face.
When he turned to see the rest of his friends, everyone had this smug look on their eyes. Draco wanted to punch them.
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in custody battle au, does it all come to a head at some point? can boa do anything to keep taemin forever?
A lot of seemingly little incidents have been documented throughout Taemin’s life. The neglect, the lashing out, the school issues, the violent tantrums, the counseling sessions. It’s also documented how much Taemin flourishes while he’s in Boa’s care, and how he always regresses so much almost immediately once he’s in the care of one of his biological parents. Even his speech patterns regress a bit, his school performance absolutely diminishes, his emotional control is absolutely terrible whenever he’s with his mother or father.
Boa keeps very detailed documents of everything. She hates watching Taemin struggle and hurt. She only wants he best for him, even if he isn’t her biological child. She’s raised this boy more than either of his actual parents had. She potty trained him, taught him to read, to write, helped him master the art of tying his shoelaces and putting on his school uniform by himself. Taemin is her son in all the ways that really matter.
When Taemin is seven, she finally manages to get full custody of him. All of these little incidents, plus the recommendation from his counselor, convinced the lawyers of Taemin’s biological parents to give up custody of him. Said it was better than going through a trial that could lead to possible jail time.
His parents end up getting very limited and supervised visitation, but Taemin is under the sole custody of Boa. When she tells him as much, in words that a seven year old can understand, she can see how relieved he is. He cries, and she’s sure it’s only because he just has so many emotions bubbling over, and he clings to her and hugs her.
“I wanna stay with you,” Taemin cries, twisting his fingers in her shirt.
“And you’re going to,” she assures him, hugging him tight. “You’re gonna stay with Mama and brothers from now on. Forever. I promise.”
“I don’t have to stay with Mommy and Daddy anymore?” he whispers, and Boa can hear the fear that laces each word.
“No, not anymore,” Boa says. “Mama is adopting you. We’re gonna go to the courthouse tomorrow and a judge is going to look at all our papers and say, ‘Taemin gets to live with his Mama forever now.’ Okay?”
Taemin is quiet for a while. He still clings to Boa, but he’s not crying. Just thinking.
“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” Taemin whispers. “Please?”
He’s looking up at her, pleading. She just smiles and rubs her fingers through his hair.
“You can sleep in my bed,” she agrees. “Do you want to go get ready for bed?”
Taemin nods quickly, and he tumbles out of Boa’s lap to go rummage for his pajamas in his dresser.
“The faster we go to sleep, the faster you can adopt me,” Taemin says, bouncing on his toes. Then he turns back to Boa and asks, “Right?”
“That’s right,” she laughs. “Get your jammies on and brush your teeth, and we can go to bed.”
He wiggles and dances around the entire time, looking much happier. He gives his brothers big hugs and kisses before bed, and he even crawls up into Kibum’s bed to plop down next to him and smirk at him.
“Mama’s adoptin’ me tomorrow,” Taemin taunts, wiggling around and pushing his face very close to Kibum’s. “That means I get to bug you forever and ever!”
“Oh joy,” Kibum says in a very monotone voice. He is happy though. He’s wanted Taemin to live with them all the time since he was little.
Taemin sticks his tongue out and giggles, and Kibum laughs back just a little bit before Boa picks Taemin up to bring him to bed.
The entire family is very happy Taemin is being adopted by Boa.
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Once upon a time, 2:25 pm to be exact, the Tooth Fairy walked into the dental office for her appointment. #45d had gone mad ever since the crown.
The bullfrog at the reception desk was luxuriating in a coffee mug of water that read, “I HEART you, warts and all.” A bejeweled tiara rocked on its lumpy head as it licked an envelope with a long swipe of a sticky tongue.
“Name?” the bullfrog asked, slurping an unfortunate fly.
“Beatrice Wiggleloose.”
The receptionist's throat swelled. “Ah, the Tooth Fairy. You’ve got a 2:30.”
Beatrice chuckled. “That’s funny.”
“What’s funny?”
“Two-thirty.”
“What?”
“Two-thirty. Tooth-hurty. I guess you get that a lot."
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Any change in insurance?”
“No. Still HappilyEverAfter Deductible.”
The receptionist tongued a keyboard, leaving a smudge of fly on the space bar. “Doctor will see you shortly.”
Beatrice found a tuffet in the waiting room near the magazine rack and flipped through a pictorial in Prince Charming. The bridal issue.
She frowned at the puffed sleeves and trains seven-dwarves long. Fairytale weddings had become so gauche.
The make-believe world had lost itself, true love giving way to glitz. Gone were white horses, pumpkin carriages, mice coachmen. Now paparazzi swarmed idling stretch limos pumping exhaust into the glade. With the right litigation attorney, Happily Ever After lasted about two-and-a-half years. Storybook life was fading like calligraphy ink, losing its magic. Cinderella fashion spreads. Unicorns for Squatty Potty.
And now this. A tooth fairy with a dental plan. Just because she’d agreed to a gold crown to try and save her last baby tooth.
A favorite, her sweet tooth. The one that did a little dance over English Toffee, and adored Charotte Russe. Without it, hot fudge might never again send her into fits of ecstasy. Life without it seemed impossible, so she’d done all she could to save it, hence the crown.
The results had been catastrophic. The baby tooth assumed the crown meant he was King and became an infant terrible, creating havoc throughout her mouth, pushing others aside, overreaching boundaries and shifting the entire mandibular to the right. Beatrice touched her tender jaw. Make that extreme right.
Baby King was ruining the once-perfect alignment of her teeth. Even her beatific smile had become crooked.
A man in surgical scrubs stuck his head through a connecting door. Dr. Drilly. "Hi, Beatrice, I hear you’re having trouble with the crown.”
“Trouble is putting it mildly.”
“Okay, let's take a look.”
Beatrice followed his hindquarters, an Appaloosa, into a cubicle. The examination chair had a booster seat. Just right.
"I’ve been kicking myself for not asking this before. What happens to all the teeth?" Drilly asked.
Beatrice tucked her glasses into her diaphanous change pocket as a trio of orbiting pixies the size of crabapples strung a bib around her neck. They wore teensy surgical masks.
“I'm afraid not what it used to be," she said. "Once upon a time they were magic-wanded into stardust. Then, novelty chattering-teeth. Nowadays, they're ground into talcum powder. Occasionally I get a nibble on eBay. Witches, mostly, looking for spell ingredients.”
“Talcum powder? Like for a baby’s behind?”
“Funny, right? What goes around really does come around, I guess.”
The pixies fluttered about her mouth, shining tiny lamps, wielding little mirrors, twirling dental picks like batons.
“Open wide,” said Drilly.
The pixies flitted unnervingly close, riffling nose hairs and tickling her upper lip. King Baby Tooth was in full rant, his painful oratory echoing off the roof of her mouth.
“Without me, this mouth is a periodontal swamp. I alone can keep you straight. I am the whitest and the most stable. Plaque will disappear like a miracle. It will be so beautiful."
“Oh my, that is a problem.”
The pixie with the mirror tilted up so Beatrice could see inside. #45d was staring at her with mean little cavity eyes, its gold crown shining brightly. A nasty crack of a mouth was moving nonstop.
“He never shuts up. Believe me, it's no wisdom tooth. And it's more than I can take.”
“This is my fault, Beatrice, I forgot the molar of the story.”
Beatrice winced. Just when she thought things couldn't get more painful. "Okay, I'll bite. What's the molar of the story?"
“Never let a baby think he's a king.”
With a swish of the tail, Drilly put a hoof on the chair for leverage, clacking silver tongs. “Okay, let's do this."
The pixies stretched her lips and cranked her mouth open with what looked like an itty-bitty car jack. The tongs latched onto the tooth.
“You ready?” he asked.
Beatrice never understood how a dentist expected a patient to talk with a mouthful of pixies. “Noh-voh-cay?”
“Oh right. Almost forgot. Numby!”
A refrigerator-sized ogre draped in a bloody leather smock entered brandishing a sledgehammer.
“The left kneecap ought to do it,” said Drilly. The ogre raised the hammer.
“What the hell?" Beatrice shrieked.
“Dentistry 101. Numby breaks your kneecap while I yank the tooth. You won’t feel the tooth a bit, I promise.”
The ogre tightened his grip, bringing the hammer down with a blood-bubbling bellow and enough force to snap drawbridge chains.
Beatrice sat up, tangled in sweat-soaked gossamer bed sheets. Holy Molar.
Remembering, she lifted her pillow. Her smiling baby tooth beamed up at her. Sans crown. It had all been a nightmare.
“Morning Sunshine,” said the tooth. “What were you expecting, a quarter?”
Of course Beatrice knew there was no other Tooth Fairy to leave a quarter for her, but it was still vital she believe. That was the whole deal. She had to believe.
Before long, Beatrice’s mouth felt normal again. Cuspids, bicuspids, incisors, molars, upper and lower chewing together in unified mastication. She felt sorry that Baby Tooth was no longer with the others and tried to make it up by offering him a gold crown. He respectfully declined, saying that albeit extracted, he was still one with the other teeth. Also, that a crown was a symbol of absolute authority and authoritarianism was a drag, a real nightmare.
And that is the story of how Baby Tooth, with his youthful, uprooted perspective and biting sense of humor, taught Beatrice to embrace positive change and they lived progressively ever after.
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Te Amo Mucho
Idol: Jisoo (BlackPink)
Prompt: Can u do a scenario with Jisoo where the reader starts speaking in Spanish out of nowhere and she gets all in the mood? Love ur writings btw!!! <3
Writer: Admin Kiwi
A/N: Okay I speak very minimal Spanish and even then I wouldn’t know how to spell or what the correct grammar is so.... I wasn’t able to use real Spanish (because I also didn’t want to use shitty online translators) Basically “Spanish” will be English <in brackets> other than the few phrases I know. I hope you all still enjoy though!
♡ Tip Jar♡
Jisoo loved when you spoke Spanish. She wasn’t sure why, but something about the accent and the way you sounded when you spoke it made her feel some sort of way, stomach twisting in the most wonderful way. If you knew about it, you hadn’t brought it up yet, but she was pretty sure she’d made it obvious in the way she was always quick to drag you off to the bedroom if she could whenever you spoke it.
Today, she was on your couch reading a book, relaxing after the two of you had gone out on a date, when you started to speak it. You were on the phone with someone, a friend probably, and she was pretty sure there was nothing sexy about that phone call. In fact, you’d taught her a small amount of Spanish, and she was pretty sure that you were saying something about potty training a dog. But even though she knew it was nothing to be turned on about, she could still feel her stomach twisting with excitement as she listened to you speak, biting her lip.
Once you hung up the phone, she turned around, trying to act nonchalant despite the blush on her cheeks as she raised her eyebrows and sent you a little smile. “Who was that?”
“A friend of mine. She just got a new puppy and it’s giving her a lot of trouble. It’s a cute little thing, though.” Grinning, you walked over to the couch and plopped down beside her. “Soiled carpet is the price you pay for having a cute puppy.”
“That’s true.” She cleared her throat a bit and looked down at the book, but all the words on the page were swimming in her vision, and she couldn’t concentrate.
“<Poor thing>.”
“What?” She looked up, throat and mouth suddenly dry. You just gave her a smile and shrugged your shoulders.
“I just said I pity her.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. <It must be so hard>.”
Squinting at you, she closed her book. She was pretty sure that you were teasing her now, knowing about her weakness, but she didn’t know yet.
“Sí. I guess.”
“Oh, trying to speak Spanish now? <That’s good, you can get turned on alone>.” You raised your eyebrows, looking smug, and she huffed, shoving your shoulder. This was not helping the feeling beginning to grow in her stomach.
“Okay, now I know you’re playing with me!”
“Mm, you think so? What gives you that idea, mi vida?”
The pet name made her wonderfully dizzy, but she tried not to let it show, even if she knew that you were going to see right through her anyway. “It’s that dumb grin on your face. You always get it when you’re teasing me.”
“Oh really? <Have I been found out>?” You laughed, reaching down to take her hand. “<You’re cute>.”
“I understood that! Don’t tease me!”
“Awe, <I like seeing you flustered though>.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I know you’re teasing me. I don’t understand, but I know it.”
“You’re right,” you said with another laugh, leaning in to kiss her cheek, and she flushed. She couldn’t take much more of this. “But I can’t help it. You’re just so cute.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.” You dropped her hand to wrap your arms around her, and she felt her heart beat begin to speed up in anticipation. “You love it.”
She couldn’t help the smile that spread to her lips as she gave up, climbing into your lap and throwing everything to the wind. “I do. But I get tired of being teased without anything happening.”
“Fair,” you said, a mischievous grin on your lips. “I’ll stop teasing if you can tell me something in Spanish.”
Biting her lip, she thought for a moment, before leaning forward to whisper into your ear. “Te amo mucho.” Leaning back, she raised her eyebrows, a little grin of her own on her lips. “Was that good enough?” Without hesitating, you pulled her in, hand caressing her jawline and kissing her passionately, pulling away only long enough to whisper your answer against her lips as her hands found their way inside your shirt, promising a long night to come.
“Te amo también.”
#blackpink#jisoo#femifics#blackpink jisoo#blackpink scenarios#jisoo scenarios#blackpink jisoo scenarios#girl group scenarios#kpop scenario#girl groups#kpop girl groups
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The Home We Built Together, part 18
Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9| Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17
Writer’s note: This is a monster of a chapter! The longest for this fic so far. It gave me a bit of difficulty, but for the most part, it came out the way I’d hoped! Thank you to everyone who has been keeping up with this fic! You guys are great <3
It was difficult to find comfort when you were constantly on alert for dragon raids or enemy attacks. Astrid learned at a tender age that this was how life as a Viking played out, and she adapted as only one with a fighting spirit could.
She couldn’t fathom that true comfort could be ultimately achieved. But there she was, cuddled up next to Hiccup, feeling the most comfortable she’d ever felt in her life. Like the treacherous world around them was only a faded notion.
When she stirred the next morning, Astrid was disappointed to discover Hiccup was already out of bed. She climbed down the stairs, rubbing sleep from her eyes and donning her nightgown, to find no sign of her husband. She frowned trying to ignore the sharp twinge in her chest.
Waiting for her on the kitchen table was a note beside a plate of cakes from the bakery, still warm and savory-smelling. Astrid picked up the note scrolled on the back of a discarded sketch:
Sorry I had to leave early. More catching up to do at the forge. See you at training!
Astrid sighed. At least he was trying to be responsible again, but why did it have to be at the cost of spending the morning together after such an intimate breakthrough the night before? She picked up a cake and stuffed it in her mouth.
***
The Zippleback was proving to be a difficult dragon to handle, but honestly, all the dragons so far had been a challenge for this bunch. Astrid’s fingers clinched around the axe handle, prepared to jump in and save Hiccup once again. What happened next shocked her.
Hiccup had driven the Zippleback into its cage with no weapon, shut the door, and casually turned around as if he’d just let a pet out to go potty. She’d been too stunned to speak up at first, but after he hurried off to Thor-knows-where, she took off to catch up with him.
Oh, he wasn’t getting away that easy! Hiccup could run off and fool everyone else, but Astrid wasn’t buying it. She dashed after her twig of a husband, ready to do whatever it took to get answers.
She caught a flash of him running toward the forge and hastened through an alley of huts to cut him off. She jumped out from between two huts, dragging Hiccup into the alley and slamming his back against a wall.
“Ahh!” Hiccup cried out, eyes screwed shut and teeth clinched. He opened his eyes, surprised. “What are you doing, Astrid?”
“Spill,” Astrid commanded. She stepped back and crossed arms over her chest.
Hiccup rubbed the back of his head, where it most likely collided with the wooden wall. “Spill what?”
“You can fool the others with your ridiculous excuse, but I want to know the truth. How did you get that dragon back in its cage?”
“I did what Gobber said to do.”
Astrid planted a hand on either side of on the wall, caging Hiccup in. In another situation, this would have been a nice position to steal a kiss. But kissing was the last thing on her mind.
“Waving your arms at it scared it back into the cage?”
Hiccup’s eyes shifted to the side for a brief second. “Yeah…” he dragged out.
The longer he sustained the lie, the more ire boiled in Astrid’s blood. She was about to yell at him when a whiff of a strange smell alerted her senses. She leaned down, sniffing his vest. She scrunched her nose as she straightened up.
Usually Hiccup smelled of smoke and ash, but not this- “Why do you smell like eel?”
Hiccup’s mouth open. “Uh…”
“I know you don’t like eel, so why do you smell like one?” When he didn’t answer, Astrid pushed a palm into his chest. “Well?”
“Okay, okay. I’ve been studying dragons a lot more lately and found out that they’re afraid of eels. Are you going to tell Gobber?”
Astrid narrowed her eyes at Hiccup’s pleading face. She could tell Gobber about the cheating in training, but everyone had been so impressed by her small husband’s achievement. She didn’t want to take that from him. Not after a lifetime of criticism. “No, I won’t.” She sighed, pondering the irony of the situation. “All that weapons training I’ve taught you and you use an eel to fight a dragon.”
“You know me—”
“The sad part is, it doesn’t seem strange for you to pull something like this.”
Hiccup grinned. “See?”
Astrid clinched her fists and growled. “It’s a good thing I like you.” She eyed him, wondering how this unconventional boy could break down the hardcore approach of how a Viking should act. That cute little gap-tooth grin of his may have played a part in it.
***
The next couple of weeks brought a few more suspicious incidents. Hiccup lulled a Deadly Nadder to sleep, coaxed a Terrible Terror back into its cage, and reduced a Gronckle into a scaly puddle of contentment – all without any force. The rest of the recruits were blindly impressed by his tricks, and even Gobber proclaimed Hiccup had a “way with the beasts.”
Astrid knew better. Every time Hiccup managed to pacify a dragon in training, she’d approach him in privacy and weed out the truth. Hiccup claimed all these tricks were from his research.
“And just where are you researching all of this from?”
“The Book of Dragons,” was Hiccup’s reply, looking her directly in the eyes.
Astrid could tell there was something off about his demeanor. His behavior was weirder than usual. Along with the suspicious activity from dragon training, Hiccup disappeared a lot. He was gone most mornings, leaving breakfast for her on the kitchen table or simmering in a pot above the firepit. He barely ate lunch with her anymore.
His excuse every time was he had to catch up on work at the forge.
Astrid asked Gobber if they’d been swamped lately, but he said the workload was low since the latest expedition had left a week ago. Three ships had sailed out that early morning in another attempt to locate the Dragons Nest. Stoick had stopped by to bid his son and daughter-in-law a farewell before shipping out. He was pleased that maybe for the next campaign they’d both be at his side. Hiccup had seemed shook by the idea, but Astrid found it a great honor to fight alongside her Chief one day.
Besides the explanations for dragon training and ducking out on meals with her, there were other things that rose Astrid’s suspicion. Like the fishy smell on his clothes. She found herself sniffing his tunic one evening after he’d changed into his nightshirt. He’d never smelled of fish before, but his green tunic held a lingering fishy odor, along with another smell that she wasn’t quite sure what it was. It was almost like the smell of seafoam and moisture.
After Hiccup managed to make the Zippleback chase its tail during training (which everyone had a good laugh over), Astrid was convinced that these tricks could not possibly be in the Book of Dragons.
The next morning, alone since Hiccup left early once again, she read through the Book, taking in every detail on every page until her eyes stung and the cake pile was crumbs.
Her heart thumped in anger as she slammed the book closed. Not one page in the entire book mentioned the tricks Hiccup had been using. Not one page! She slammed her clinched fists on the tabletop, rattling the plate nearby. He’d lied to her and now she was going to get the truth. Even if it meant forcing it out of him.
***
Astrid stormed over to the forge, ready to extract the truth from her husband, but when she arrived, there was no sign of Hiccup.
“Where is he?” she asked Gobber as he held a sword over hot coals.
“Gone. Around this time every day for the last two weeks.”
Indignation burned in her chest and lit up her cheeks. He was not only missing lunch with her, but skipping out on work in the afternoons too?
“Where has he been going?”
“To Hel if I know, lass.” Gobber shrugged before setting the sword on the anvil to hammer out. He raised his voice over the twangy beating on the metal. “I’m not his wife! You are!”
Astrid crossed her arms, seething. There was only one excuse that came to mind for all the lies and sneaking off and lack of time spent with her…
Hiccup had to be training with someone else in secret! But who was training him?
Astrid knew just about everyone on Berk, and no one had ever confronted dragons the way that Hiccup was doing in the arena.
That evening, she couldn’t look at him without anger roiling up. She’d decided to follow him the next day and confront him when the truth was finally revealed. She retired to bed early, but sleep evaded her, especially after the mattress sunk with Hiccup’s weight.
Her back was to him and her eyes stared forward in the dark as she felt him shift to face her. His hand reached out, hovering over her waist just like it used to in the first few weeks of their marriage. He was unsure whether he had permission to touch her after she’d made her mood clear that evening. He didn’t ask what was wrong and that made her seethe inwardly even more.
For some reason, even with her ire hanging like a heavy mantle on her shoulders, she couldn’t help the sharp ache that reverberated through her when he dropped his hand and turned his back to her.
***
It was ridiculous to spy on her husband, but she had to know what he was up to. There were too many lies. Too many excuses. Too many secrets.
Hiccup bid Gobber goodbye and rushed off toward the forest. Astrid tried her best to be stealthy without losing sight of him, but it seemed Hiccup knew his way through the trees better than she did. She lost him at a tree that had been broken in half, its splintered form poking into the air like long spikes.
Astrid had no time to investigate the scene. Her footsteps picked up speed as she tried to catch up to Hiccup, but it was no use. He’d disappeared into the thick of the brush.
She growled in frustration and stomped her boot. How did that little weasel elude her so easily? Did he know she was following him?
She trekked a little further, finding no sign of Hiccup. She was about to return to the village and try again another day when a black object streaked through the sky above her.
Astrid ducked, her breath catching in her throat and heart taking speed. She squinted not believing what she saw. The silhouette matched the Night Fury drawing in Hiccup’s sketchbook. As it tilted just slightly, she swore she spied a head full of auburn hair atop the black dragon. She blinked thinking she was seeing things.
The dragon glided out of sight. When she felt it was safely far enough away, she dashed off in the direction of the village. She had to tell the Chief about the most deadliest dragon casually flying about their island. She had to save her village from the destruction that was bound to come.
She leapt onto a fallen log and was about to jump off the other side, but her feet never hit the ground. Her yelp ripped through the trees as the forest floor drew farther away from her. Her heart pounded as loudly as her screams, and her insides were free falling even though she was rising in the air.
Astrid looked up to find a black claw wrapped firmly around her forearm. That claw was attached to a dragon she’d never seen before. It glanced down at her, its large green eyes observing her.
“Freya, Frig, this isn’t - AHHHHHH!” she rambled frantically as the ground sped by from a frightening height.
The supposed Night Fury was most likely taking her to its nest to make her into a magnificent feast. She’d fight with all her might to the bitter end, even if it meant jabbing relentlessly at the inside of the dragon’s belly after it swallowed her.
For a split second, the crazy notion that breaking free and falling hundreds of feet would be less painful. But the beast had a tight grip on her and wasn’t about to let go.
It suddenly descended into a cove surrounded by rocky cliffs and a crystal-clear lake set in the middle. The dragon dropped her from several feet before landing. Astrid fell to the soft grass with one final scream of horror. She jumped to her feet, swaying from the turbulence of being whisked through the air. She unsheathed her axe and let out a warrior’s cry, prepared to do as much damage as possible.
“Astrid, STOP!”
At the unexpected sound of Hiccup’s voice, Astrid halted in mid-attack stance. Her body was practically vibrating from shock and adrenaline, and she stared at Hiccup for a good five seconds to register if he were even real.
Hiccup stood between her and the black dragon, both hands held up as if keeping her and the dragon at bay. He was surprisingly succeeding on both ends.
Her wide eyes flicked from Hiccup to the dragon. It bared its teeth at her, its ears flattened to its head, and a low hiss emitted from its open mouth. She gripped her axe tighter. Her breath shuttered. The dragon was ready to attack at any second, and the only thing keeping it from that intent was her skinny, little husband.
“Its okay,” Hiccup addressed the dragon before directing back to her, “Astrid, put down the axe. You’re spooking him.”
“I’m spooking him?” Astrid looked at Hiccup like he’d lost his mind. “Who is him?”
He gestured to her then the dragon. “Astrid, Toothless. Toothless, Astrid.”
The dragon hissed louder, the sound sending a cold shiver up Astrid’s spine.
“This is my mate,” Hiccup told the dragon. He motioned at her then to himself before lacing his fingers together, “My together forever.”
At those words, the dragon’s eyes widened, his mouth full of sharp teeth closed, and he sat back on his haunches, watching her curiously.
“There we go, bud.” Hiccup patted the dragon’s head affectionately as if they were friends. They probably were, judging from this whole insane situation. “Astrid, you can put the axe down. Toothless won’t hurt you.”
“I’d rather not, Hiccup,” she replied with a sense of apprehension in her voice.
The dragon let out a low rumble as its eyes narrowed at her once more. Hiccup quietly reassured the dragon everything was all right.
He stepped slowly up to her, keeping his calming gaze on her face the entire time. He grasped the axe handle and lightly pulled. When Astrid didn’t let go, Hiccup said softly, “It’s okay, Astrid.”
Astrid felt as if she were watching herself from a distance as her grip on the axe loosened and Hiccup took it gently from her. She didn’t take her eyes off the dragon watching them.
A smiling Hiccup popped his head into her peripheral vision. “See? We can all be friends.”
All the anger and frustration she’d been storing inside her the past two weeks suddenly exploded in a mass of jabs. “Hiccup, what in Thor’s name are you thinking?!” she yelled, smacking her husband’s thin frame with balled fists. “This was your secret the whole time! You weren’t training with someone else or getting tips from the Book of Dragons! You have a pet dragon!”
The dragon snarled, moving back into a defensive position.
“It’s okay, bud!” Hiccup hunched over from her blows. “She’s not hurting me. OW! Why would you do that?!”
Astrid had snatched his hand, bending it backwards at the wrist. “That’s for all the lies!”
“Astrid,” Hiccup said through gritted teeth as he recovered from her thrashing. “Please, give me a chance to explain.”
Astrid kept her fists balled at her sides, turning up her chin in defiance. “I’m not listening to anything you have to say!”
“Then I won’t speak,” Hiccup hopped onto the dragon and offered his hand, his stupid face sincere and hopeful, “just let me show you.”
@martabm90 @chiefhiccstrid @lauracalabresi
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Rising From The Ashes (Ch. 2)
Summary: When her husband died, Emma wasn’t sure that she could ever move on. He left her with a broken heart and a baby who was only three-months old. It’s enough to take most people down, to make them not want to keep going, but Emma Swan isn’t most people. She’s stronger than she has any right to be. And after years of heartache, she’s found ways to move on…one of those being in Neal’s best friend, Killian Jones. As she’s always known, however, things are more complicated than they ever seem to be.
Rating: Mature (who was I kidding thinking it would be teen?)
A/N: WOW, you guys! I was not expecting such a reaction from you all. Like, at all. It’s been blowing my mind, and I hope you guys like where this story is going. All I can really say is to be patient. There are a lot of moving factors, and it might take awhile to understand them all :D
Found on AO3: Beginning | Current
Found on Tumblr: 1 | 2
Tag list: @resident-of-storybrooke @resident-of-storybrooke @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @ekr032-blog-blog @mayquita @bmbbcs4evr @wellhellotragic @kmomof4@jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld
Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! It’s not a problem at all!
*Double “-/-” break means a flashback
Sergeant Neal Cassidy, presumed dead since 2011 and officially declared as deceased as of May 2018, has been found alive. The details around his presumed death are still unclear. It’s assumed that he was held as a captive in Iraq near the end of the Iraqi War and never listed on the known registrar of war criminals, so he was not released in the agreement the United States had with Iraq to trade war criminals. After Delta Force raided an al-Qaeda compound last month and found Sergeant Cassidy, he has been in an undisclosed German hospital recovering. In recent days, he has been moved to a hospital in Maine where his wife Emma Swan and son Henry Cassidy reside. He is also welcomed home by former Naval Captain and close friend Killian Jones. We cannot speak for the world, but this is a feel-good story that we’re sure brings joy to even the darkest of hearts. It’s a family reunited from death. What could be more heartwarming than that?
-/-
“Ms. Swan, Captain Jones,” Dr. Vibuthi greets them, reaching over and shaking their hands before settling down in her chair while he and Emma sit in their seats across from her. The office is oddly bright, colorful paintings adorning the walls with the odd educational diploma mixed in. Every doctor’s office he’s ever been in is sterile, dull, but this is likely because he’s only ever been in an exam room. It’s not like it matters what the office looks like, not in the grand scheme of things, but he needs something to focus on besides the vomit that continuously threatens to leave his body.
“Killian?”
“Huh?” he asks, turning to Emma who is looking at him with eyes full of concern.
“Did you hear the doctor? She asked if you were okay.”
Oh. He didn’t hear her at all. He didn’t know anyone had said anything since she greeted them. How much did he zone out? It’s only been a few seconds, hasn’t it?
He might not be okay.
“I’m fine, love,” he assures Emma before looking at Dr. Vibuthi. “I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed is all.”
“That’s completely understandable with what you all have been through. Miracles like this are wonderful, but they do come with a certain amount of shock.”
Miracles. Shock. Surprise. He’s already tired of hearing those words. It’s been two weeks.
“They do,” he grits, his fingers fidgeting across his thigh until Emma reaches over and places her palm over his knuckles, the smallest of touches already making him feel infinitely better. “So, can you tell us how he is? How Neal is?”
She looks down at her files while he interlaces Emma’s fingers with his, needing the connection and support, knowing that she needs it too. “So Mr. Cassidy is a rare case. He hasn’t given us a lot to go on, is always insisting that he’s fine, but we’re running as many psych tests as we can just to make sure.”
“Yeah, that’s what they told us when we talked to General Neller on Tuesday,” Emma explains, her hand tensing in his. “But he said you could tell us how Neal actually is? Is he hurt? Is he malnourished? Does he have PTSD? What tests have you run on him? I just feel like for two weeks we’ve known he was alive after thinking he was dead for almost a decade, and yet no one will fucking tell us anything other than they’re running tests.”
With every single bone in his body aching, wishing to know more, wishing that he could understand what the hell has been happening, he also knows that in all the ways he wants to be weak, Emma needs him to be strong. She’s strong enough herself, likely the strongest person he’s ever met, but she’s gone through hell more times in her life than anyone ever should. Right now is simply another round of walking through the flames and hoping not to be burned to ashes.
The first few days after the news was released that Neal had been found alive had been an adrenaline rush of trying to understand what the hell was going on, how it could be going on. He and Emma were convinced that it was a false report, that it wasn’t him, especially since no one had bothered to notify Emma. The first fucking thing they should have done was notify Emma that Neal was alive. It should have never made it to the news, not without her knowledge.
Their house had been a mess. When Emma collapsed, the plate she dropped shattered and glass cut into her skin. So with a numb girlfriend, a terrified son, and a wailing daughter shocked by all of the commotion, he’d had to get the glass shards out of her legs and clean her up. Henry had made the decision to call David, which is what they taught him to do in situations like this (not that there had ever been a situation like that before), and David had quickly come over and helped them take care of the kids while Killian called every military contact he could think of to try to find out what was going on.
And they’ve basically been in a loop of looking for information ever since.
With crying. A hell of a lot of crying, sobbing really. He doesn’t think he even knew that the human body was capable of producing that many tears.
This is the closest they’ve gotten to any information, though. They’re in the same building as Neal, even if they have no idea what happened to him, how he’s alive, where he’s been. They know nothing other than that he was found in some undisclosed compound.
So the compound. They know about the compound. That’s it.
Well, they know that he’s alive.
How the fuck is Neal alive? And why is he not outrageously happy about it?
His best friend is alive, back from the dead, and it’s been the worst two weeks of his life. How damn selfish is that? He should be elated, feel like his life is back and all of the tragedy of the past eight years is gone, but it’s complicated. Life always is, but your best friend coming back from the dead only to find out that you’ve slept with his wife isn’t exactly ideal.
He shudders at the thought because while he and Emma have slept together, it wasn’t just to scratch an itch. They love each other, have for over four years now, and he’s never felt guiltier about it than he does right now. One shouldn’t feel guilty for being in love, and yet all he wants to do is drown himself in a bottle of rum…and in Emma.
They never meant to fall for each other. He doesn’t think anyone ever does, but it just happened. They were both grieving, and as the two people closest to Neal, they’d leaned on each other. For years it had been the purest of friendships, two people mourning over something they never could have imagined happening to them, and he’d spent more of his time helping her raise Henry than anything else. But somewhere along the way – between diapers and potty training, breast pumps and cooked meals, late nights and early mornings – he’d developed feelings for her.
He’d never despised himself more than the moment he realized his heart fluttered at the smell of her hair or the way her lips felt when she kissed his cheek in greeting. It was wrong. He couldn’t have feelings for Emma. He wouldn’t just be hurting Neal’s memory, but he’d be hurting Emma, too. She was, still is, the strongest woman he’d ever known, but she’d also been through hell. Who was he to complicate her life?
-/-
-/-
“Alright, Jones,” Emma sighs, handing him a glass of wine before she plops down on the sofa next to him, crossing her legs up on the couch, “I am kid free. I have wine. I have HBO. We are about to have the night of our lives.”
He chuckles underneath his breath before taking a sip of his wine and placing it on the side table so that he can grab the giant fleece blanket Emma has and pull it up over them. “When the hell did we become so boring that wine and HBO means having one of the nights of our lives?”
“I also have Chinese takeout.”
“Touché, love. That makes all the difference.”
“Exactly. And I have a three and a half year old. I only get to watch something with cursing when it’s past eight, and usually I’m so tired that I fall asleep on the couch.”
“I know. I’m usually the one that has to make sure you don’t hurt your neck by sleeping on the couch.”
“Oh yes, my hero.” Emma dramatically rolls her eyes even as the corners of her lips tick up on the side. God, that smile. He loves that smile, and he hates himself for loving it. He’s pretty much decided that he’s going to suffer for the rest of his life loving that smile, and honestly, he’d be okay suffering that way. If Emma’s smiling, it means she’s happy, and she deserves nothing more than to be happy. That’s all he wants for her. “But I’m not doing that tonight, okay? We’re going to catch up on Game of Thrones and stay up far past midnight.”
“You’ve never even seen an episode.”
“And thus, the catching up.”
“Whatever you want, love.”
They get caught up in the show, even if he’s seen it as well as reading the books, but watching Emma’s reactions to learning everything is priceless. She gasps and groans in all of the right places, laughing in several inappropriate ones, and she spends far too long coming up with theories that are so far off base that he has a difficult time not saying anything to correct her. He’s not sure if it really is the fact that she has the weight of the world off of her shoulders for one night, Henry spending the night with Mary Margaret so he can spend time with Leo, or if it’s the two glasses of wine she’s had.
It’s probably both.
The wine is likely heightening things. She’s not much of a drinker, hasn’t been in recent years at least, wasn’t old enough for too long before Henry was born to develop a real tolerance. He’s not saying Emma is a lightweight, but he’s also saying that Emma is a lightweight. And it’s not like he can say much, his drinking having toned down ever since he started helping Emma out with Henry. Time and time again he wanted to drink when Henry wouldn’t stop crying or even when Emma wouldn’t, but he wanted to be there for them.
Besides, until a few months ago, he was still in the Navy, and he’d get calls at all hours of the day. No one really wants a drunk Captain, whether he’s at sea or not. He wasn’t spending much time out at sea in the past few years anyways.
“He’s cute,” Emma sighs, Rob Stark on screen.
“Dark hair and blue eyes your type, Swan?” he teases, nudging his shoulder into his. “Not to mention British.”
“Most definitely. That’s an attractive combination. If I were to – oh,” she laughs, her lips gaping open before they close. She slaps his shoulder, the force far too strong to be playful. “You’re an asshole. You know I wasn’t talking about you.”
“You most definitely were. I am literally the definition of your type.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Emma says, moving her hair over her cheeks to hide the blush he saw a minute ago, “you wish, Jones.”
I do, he thinks, something inside of his stomach twisting before he makes it stop, makes it twist in an unpleasant way. He can’t. He can’t do this. He can’t flirt with her. But the words keep falling off of his lips. It’s like he can’t stop himself, especially when he falls back on flirting whenever he’s trying to hide something. People always discount flirting, teasing. They don’t take it seriously, so he can say the things he wants. He can hide how he feels without really hiding it.
It’s what he has to do.
“What is your type?” Emma asks, shocking him out of his thoughts. She’s not watching the screen anymore. She’s watching him, her beautiful green eyes looking directly into his. His skin his buzzing, his entire body really, and he begins to wonder how much he’s actually had to drink tonight.
“Swan, you don’t care about that.”
“I do,” she promises, twisting her body and placing her hand on his forearm. His skin practically ignites with her touch, and he wonders if he can burn from both her touch and his guilt. “I’ve known you for, like, seven years, and I think I know everything about you except for your ideal woman.”
“I don’t have an ideal woman.”
“Oh come on, don’t lie to me like that. I know how men work. You like someone with big boobs and a good ass. It’s not that complicated. It’s disappointing for humankind as a whole, but it’s not that complicated.”
He groans, reaching up to rub his hand over his face before grabbing his glass and taking a large gulp. How the hell is he supposed to answer this question?
“Aye, love, I can say that you lot all have various assets that make you appealing, but, you know, once you’re out of the phase where all you can do is fall into bed with each other, you do have to have things in common, things to talk about. I like to be able to laugh, to have a good time, but values are important, you know?”
“You mean, good form and all that?”
He laughs, shaking his head back and forth. She’s never going to let it go that he believes in good form. He’s been a military man for too long, been taught too much chivalry from his mother, and even though Emma accepts when he opens doors for her or when he pulls out her chair before they eat, she always murmurs something teasing about good form.
Like flirting and innuendos for him, he thinks that’s how she protects herself too. She didn’t have anyone to help her out, to do nice things for her, until she was fifteen and adopted by Ruth Nolan, and even though she’s now twenty-six, he thinks some of those things linger. He knows they do. Scars made when we’re young tend to linger.
“Aye, good form, darling. But I’m serious. Yes, obviously I enjoy how a woman looks, but I do like someone who understands me, you know?”
“Yeah,” Emma sighs, scooting closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder, “I get it. I want that too, someone who understands me. It’s been…awhile.”
He wraps his arm around her shoulder, tugging her closer before kissing her temple. “I understand you, love.”
“Yeah, yeah you do.”
The rest of the night seems to fly by, and before he knows it, it’s two in the morning and he and Emma have gone through another bottle of wine. At least, he thinks it was one bottle of wine. It might have been two. Honestly, he doesn’t know anything except for the fact that Emma is currently straddling his lap with her hands in his hair and her lips on his.
Everything about it is glorious, the sensations overwhelming him. She’s soft, so damn soft, and every inch of her skin is warm. Her lips are warm too. And her tongue. Actually, everything about Emma from her lips and her skin to her compassion is warm. God, he loves her, and he’s not entirely convinced that this isn’t a dream. It has to be a dream because she is kissing him like her entire life depends on it.
She is kissing him, and he is giving as good as he’s getting, sucking on her upper lip and making her whimper, the sound shooting straight to his groin. She’s pressed hotly over his length, rolling her hips into his, and every coherent thought he has is gone the more she grinds against him, the more that her tongue tangles with his in a slick, pleasurable dance.
But the moment her hands begin to tug on his shirt, begin to try to undress him, he has to stop them. He can’t do this. They can’t do this. And they really cannot do this while drunk. It’s wrong. It’s one of the best moments of his life, but it’s wrong.
“Emma,” he breathes, panting really, “we can’t.”
“Why not?” she whines, resting her forehead against his, her breath ghosting over his swollen lips.
“You know why, love.”
Her eyes flutter closed before she’s moving off of him, her steps wobbling a bit. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning when we take Henry to Kaleb’s birthday party, okay?”
“Goodnight, Swan.”
God, what has he done?
-/-
-/-
But then there was that night, that glorious night where they’d let the alcohol get to them, where they’d let their inhibitions down, but it was wrong. There was the alcohol. There was Neal. There were far too many reasons why they shouldn’t have done it, but they still did, even if the both of them ignored it for weeks afterward. It wasn’t talked about. It wasn’t referenced. For awhile, he wondered if Emma even remembered.
God, he had both hoped that she didn’t remember and also that she did. It felt like he was living in one of the most complex, torturous little loops of time imaginable.
He obviously had no idea how wrong he was.
Because over four years, three houses, two states, and one new baby later, they were as happy as can be.
And now everything has become complicated.
As if it wasn’t before.
He thinks he’d go back to the complex, tortuous time loop any day over this.
Because he’s a bloody wanker.
“Ms. Swan,” Dr. Vibuthi calmly begins, obviously used to dealing with upset people if how she’s reacting to Emma’s myriad of questions is any indication, “I cannot begin to understand the ordeal you have been through, but I ask you to be patient with me.”
Emma nods her head, her throat bobbing up and down while she bites her quivering bottom lip. God, what he would give to take away all of her pain. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just…I need some kind of information. Something more solid.”
“That I can give you. Mr. Cassidy is healthy. He’s not malnourished, he doesn’t have any diseases. From what we can tell, he had several broken bones over the last few years and has several healed scars that you’ll likely see and that may shock you. But there’s nothing currently physically wrong with him.”
Killian sighs, releasing the breath he was holding. In the moments where his mind has been clear lately, he’s thought about Neal being tortured. He had to be. There’s likely no way around it, but he’s never wanted to be the one to bring it up. So while from what Dr. Vibuthi has said, he’s sure Neal was tortured at one point, he doesn’t seem to have been lately.
At least physically.
None of it makes any sense.
He cannot come up with any possible explanation for what’s happened. If he could be a fly on the wall in the debriefing that he knows Neal is going to have to do with the CIA, he would. There’s so much he wants to know, even more than just what Neal has been through, but he has a feeling that he won’t be allowed to know any of it. And as close as he and Neal were before, he would bet that they will never be that close again, not with everything that’s happened.
“But what about mentally?” Killian begins, squeezing Emma’s hand. “Can you tell us how he is mentally? What his mindset is?”
“Unfortunately not quite yet. He won’t talk about what happened in much detail, but we are running all of the evaluations that we can as I said. We have our own and the military also has several that they’ve asked us to run since Neal has expressed interest in remaining in the service. All he truly talks about, however, is getting back to Emma and Henry.”
“Oh God,” Emma gasps, letting go of his hand so she can cover her mouth with both of her hands, her entire body shaking.
Why the hell would he want to return to the service? Killian has been retired for five years, and he didn’t even leave in bad circumstances. He simply wanted to be around for Emma and Henry more, wanted to live life. He can’t imagine being held hostage for eight years and wanting to return to the very thing that basically took his life away.
“So can we see him?” Killian soldiers on, reaching over and rubbing his hand up and down Emma’s back, stuffing all of his thoughts down and focusing on what’s important right now. “That’s why we’re here, right?”
“Yes, you can see him, but for a limited time. We don’t want to overwhelm him. And afterward I’d like to set up an appointment with both of you about his treatment here and when he leaves. Unfortunately, you all have a long road ahead of you.”
-/-
“Are you ready, love?”
“No, but we need to go in. I’ll just freak myself out more if we don’t do it.”
“Aye. It’s just…it’s going to be okay, Emma,” he promises, dipping his head down to quickly brush his lips over hers. He hasn’t done that nearly as much as he should lately, a distance between the two of them building, one that he’s likely been putting there himself. What else is he supposed to do when his girlfriend’s husband is back? But still, he loves her, supports her, and he won’t let her think otherwise, not now. “I love you.”
She smiles, but it’s weak, sad even. It’s not Emma. “I love you too.”
With that, Emma pushes down on the handle and pulls open the door, walking inside on a visibly shaky step as he follows behind her. Neal is sitting in the hospital bed in gray sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking healthier than he did the last time Killian saw him. He’s obviously older, the difference between thirty and thirty-eight hard to miss, but he looks stronger somehow.
It’s…jarring.
It’s also jarring to see him in person. He’s real. He’s actually alive. Killian knew it to be true, but this is real, physical proof. It makes everything almost surreal.
“Ems,” Neal laughs, a bright smile forming on his lips that causes the lines around his face to wrinkle. He doesn’t say anything else, hopping up from the bed and rushing toward Emma, immediately cupping her cheeks and crushing his lips into hers.
That may be the most jarring thing of all.
He’s seen Emma kiss Neal, something he saw plenty of times before, but it was never when Emma was the woman he loves, never in a situation like this.
He’s never seen Emma kiss Neal when he knows exactly how Emma’s lips feel.
Was he allowed to feel jealous? Is that okay? He knows that he can’t just make his emotions disappear, that he can’t stop loving her, that he won’t stop loving her, but there’s no guidelines for this. As far as he knows, nothing like this has ever happened. There’s no one to follow or help tell him what to do.
What is he supposed to do when the love of his life’s husband shows up from the dead? What is he supposed to do when his best friend is experiencing some kind of miracle second chance in life and Killian has all of the power to break Neal’s world apart when it’s all finally coming back together?
What is he supposed to do if he has to not love the woman who he intended on marrying? The woman who has an engagement ring in the pocket of his old Naval uniform only because he knows she won’t look there. To the mother of his child…to the mother of his children.
He wants to say that he’ll step back, that he’ll let them mend their fences, but he can’t do that. He and Emma have a life together. They have Henry. They have Ada, who Neal doesn’t know about yet, which is a bag of bag of worms he doesn’t know how to handle.
They can’t hide a child, and bile rises in his throat at the fact that his little girl is going to be a reason for friction. Ada is one of the lights of his life, and she’s done not a thing wrong, so similar to Henry who’s been unusually quiet since he found out his father is alive.
It’s all fucked up, and he just doesn’t know what to do. He wants to hold his family and never let go, but he’s likely going to have to let go. He can’t do it, but he may have to.
It’s going to break him.
His best friend is alive, and he can barely be happy about it.
Neal finally pulls back from Emma, leaning his head against Emma’s forehead in a move that nearly breaks Killian. That’s what he and Emma do. That’s…theirs. His legs practically collapse underneath him, but he refuses to let that happen. He absolutely refuses.
Then Neal turns to him, his eyes staring directly into Killian’s. “Jones,” he sighs, “nice to see you, man. Can you believe this?”
He can’t.
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Name: Verdona Levin
Age: 17
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Bisexual
Birthday (Zodiac): January 16; Capricorn
Species: 50% Human, 25% Osmosian, 25% Anodite
Ethnicity: White / Alien?
Native Language(s): English
Nationality: American
Appearance Info
Height: 5'9"
Skin tone: Light
Eye shape/color: Round; Green
Hair style/color: Long Wavy; Black
Outfit style: Oversized Sweaters and Jeans
Accessories: Charms
Markings (birthmarks, scars, etc): N/A
Alignment Info
Hero/Villian/Civilian: Hero
Rank: Vanguard League (Supernatural Department)
Powers/Abilities:
Natural Powers (By Mother)
-Mana Manipulation
-Mana Absorption
-Mana Detection
-Memory Manipulation
-Clairvoyance
-Teleportation
-Portal Creation
-Telepathy
-Telekinesis
Anodite Powers (By Mother)
-Anodite transformation
-Astral Projection
-Magic
-Flight
-Size Alteration
Matter Absorption (By Father)
Fighting Style:
-Taekwondo (Taught by Mother)
- Jujutsu (Yaught by Mother)
Weapons:
-Spell Book
Personality:
Verdona is very nonchalant, she tends to be very relax and reserve with people. She's kind and can be motherly to some of the other members, making sure they're fine if not then she would offer her healing. She enjoys music, it's something that puts her in a good mood. She's not nesessarily quiet but she's also not very talkative. She's the type that needs to be spoken too, however she has her moments when she gives a remark. She can be somewhat sarcastic but it's something that makes other laugh. She's very helpful and is a good ear, listening to other people's problems and helping them out.
Backstory:
Born in Bellwood her parents had always given her a nice life. Making sure to not let their jobs or plumbing take up too much of their time. She was raised to be skilled in fighting, so when she's older she can help people like they did. Kevin, her father, had taught her how to use her osmosian powers in ways of defense and even offense. He gave her an insight to the good places to brokers. Her mother however taught her the ways of magic and being Anodite, even gave her lessons in some martial arts.
Having these skills made Verdona a nice assest to a team, so she had asked about maybe joining the Vanguard League. Her mother was glad she would be wanting to join heroes, her father didn't seem to care. He was a villain and a hero, very hard to pick a side. But he was happy that she's doing something she wants. She teleported to Townsville and had search but managed to find the Vanguard League, where she met Damian. Son to Danny Fenton and Valerie. She had grown a crush on him. However she kept it professional and asked to join. After showing all of what she had the League had seen her as a valuable member for the team and she was accepted.
She was excited and even transferred to the local school. Of course she teleports to the school and League whenever needed, she just needed a reason to be somewhere new. Plus she got to see Damian more. She was growing a liking to him and even wondered if she had a chance with him.
Relatives:
- Gwendolyn Tennyson Levin (Mother)
- Kevin Ethan Levin (Father)
- Ken Tennyson (Uncle)
- Ben Tennyson (First Cousin Once Removed)
- Max Tennyson (Great Grandfather)
- Verdona (Great Grandmother)
- Frank Tennyson (Maternal Grandfather)
- Natalie Tennyson (Maternal Grandmother)
- Mrs. Levin (Paternal Grandmother)
- Zed (Pet)
Relationships:
Her parents and her get along well. Gwen and Kevin have their moments when they argue about the way one another trained Verdona but in the end they have seen that she's grown to be a wonderful daughter and fighter. She gets along well with her father being daddy's little girl, however she also gets along well with her mother. They are supportive and helpful with Verdona's future.
Damian is the leader of the Supernatural Department she's in. She had grown a liking to him after their first encounter. Something about his scaredy-cat personailty made her smile. She just wanted to be there to help and protect him. In fact in battle she tends to be very protective of him and the team. She stays by his side and listens to his commands, and sometimes at school she can't help but ogle him from her locker.
As for Envie, the two seem to get along well. However they have their moments when they engage in a sarcasm battle that some people in the team wonder if they're fighting or just casually having fun. It's usually the latter.
Vivian is someone Verdona has a hard time getting along with. Mainly due to her being unable to withstand Vivi's obnoxious and loud personality. Verdona tries to avoid her as best as she can but being in the same team it tends to get difficult.
Small Stories w/ Characters:
DAMIAN
As she saw Damian walk by she nervously waved a hand at him, hoping to get his attention without scaring him. He stopped in his track and looked up at her.
"Hey Damian, I don't mean to hold you up long, but... I was just hoping if you'd like to read this in your free time." She smiled and cautiously handed a small black journal to him, his hands took it curiously and opened it, skimming through it's content.
"What is it?" He asks, but quickly realizes that it appears to be a journal filled with poems.
"Just some poetry, I heard that you liked poetry so I wanted to show you some of my stuff. Maaaybe you can let me know if they're any good? I want to go to a poetry slam but I'm just too afraid that my work is ... well childs work."
Damian smiles and gladly takes the book, he looks up at her eyes, "Thanks, I'll give it a read and let you know what I think about them tomorrow." With that he walked off, leaving Verdona to respond to his dissappearing body.
"Awesome! Thank you-" she pauses, "Wait tomorrow morning?!" He was gone and she was nervous, was he planning on reading them all in one night? She creates a portal sending herself home, hoping for tomorrow to come sooner.
Next Morning
She walks around a room in the league where she ran into Damian the day before. She impatiently fiddled with her scarf before seeing him phase through a wall into the room.
"Ah there you are," Damian spoke softly and she responded in the same manner.
"So? What'd ya think?"
He thought for a second and reassured her with a smile, "It's good. I think these would be perfect for a poetry slam."
She blushed, taking her journal back she hugged it in her crossed arms and smiled at him, "You think so?... Hey maybe if you aren't busy, you'd like to join me friday for the slam?"
He smiled, "Sure, Just text me the details and I will meet you there." She nodded, and with that he left again. She excitedly texted the details right away and walked out of the room her book still in her arms as she internally squealed with joy.
VIVIAN
It had been a while and Vivi hadn't stopped talking, she was talking to another member in the group and they didn't seem to mind her constant blabbering. However Verdona was starting to get a bit irritated, and with the potty mouth Vivi has Verdona found herself finally speaking up.
"I know this space is free for members to socialize and relax but do you think you could maybe tone down the profanity?" She dodn't want to come off as a goodie goodie but she just wasn't a fan of profanity, mainly due to her high intelligence she found slang to sometimes be unnessecary.
"Oh shit sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt yer quiet time," she reponded, only to turn back and continue her conversation. Her profanity had lessen but that only lasted less than a minute before she continued to do it again. Not on purpose, just out of habit.
Verdona groaned, she just wanted to be in this room and enjoy some poetry reading with Damian, but he was running late and she was running out of patience.
"We have a language filled with so many words that can replace that vulgar slang street talk of yours," she said slamming her book shut.
"Why are ya bitching so much? I have the right to use any words I want, freedom of speech look it up."
Her hands became fists and she stood up from her seat,"For your information I am fully aware of the Amendments-"
"Well are you fully aware you got a stick up your ass that needs to be taken out?"
Without another word Verdona gave up and grabbed her book and walked out, Damian had just walked in but quickly followed after her.
Vivi sat there, a bit confused,"What's her problem?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Welp that's it for my entry oof took forever
But I'm glad with the outcome, I love both of my new children and if neither wins I wont even be mad, I just love them too much xD
Sorry if any character is OOC, if I need to change things just let me know!
Bio Template (C) MintQuetzal
Vivian (C) ppgzmlpfimlover
Verse, Opal, Damian, Vivian, Serena, Kandi (C) PrincessCallyie
Art, Junji, and Verdona (C) @japanda-draws
Any other character belongs to their rightful show and creator
She will be in @ej-cappy-universe 's GRS series: The Neighbors.
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The Happiest Helpmeet #23-A GUESTPOST
Well HELLO EVERYONE! Mama asked us to write a blog post about our responsibilities to our home and the importance of hard work so HERE WE GO!
As the eldest daughters in our household we have a lot of responsibilities. Mama and Daddy said that the more we do around the house now, the less we have to get used to once we’re married and we can’t help but agree! Our parents gradually got us accustomed to doing more around the house as we grew up.
The first and most IMPORTANT job daughters in our family are given is CHILD CARE. We loved playing with dolls as children so it was a logical progression to caring for our younger siblings. As children we mostly kept the littles busy so Mama could get cooking and housework done. As teens we take a more ACTIVE role in raising them.
Mama takes care of the babies from birth to toddler but after that we are in charge or bathing, entertaining and training them. As per Mama’s instructions we teach the family toddlers their potty, movement, communication skills. We also make a point of building some thinking skill but not too much as Mama says that too much thinking and imagination lead to REBELLIOUS children! Besides, we don’t want boys playing with DOLLS!
As the children in our care get older, they don’t need our help as much day to day things but we still try to be available to lend an ear or to give a hug after a nightmare. We encourage our younger siblings to study character traits like RESPONSIBILITY, MANNERS and EMOTIONAL CONTROL.
The second chore we girls do around the house is LAUNDRY. With so many people in the house laundry is always piling up! Since we are oftern so busy taking care of children and working on our studies, Raylene has really stepped up and taken over most of the laundry duties around the house. She is such a blessing and a hardworker!
Even though Mama, our MASTER CHEF, does most of the cooking for the family each teen daughter gets one day per week to dazzle everybody with our cooking skills. It’s a huge part of our home economics grade!
Which brings us to our schooling curriculum! We attend our local homeschool co-op with the rest of our siblings and neighbours. We study cooking, baking, handiness (though not exceeding level 4 as we don’t want to make our future husbands feel INFERIOR!) writing, parenting, bible study, and music. Elective, or optional classes include gardening, gourmet cooking, painting and woodworking. Some of these extra skills are useful for growing food or bringing in extra money to supplement our future husband’s income.
Finally, we have a duty to our Daddy’s ministry, to lead by GODLY example to the rest of the congregation as well as the unsaved who haven’t joined us yet! This responsibility can take many forms, from serving food at church functions to appearing in Daddy’s online sermons and prayer streams to sharing our testimony on Mama’s blog. Most recently we accompanied our parents and some siblings to San Myshuno to protest a proposed law that will mandate SECULAR SCIENCE classes in all schools, even church-run institutions! I don’t know why they’d want to do that! The bible offers all the answers to all the unsearchable questions we could possibly have! Science is for those who weren’t properly taught FAITH.
Some counter-protesters arrived and started yelling at us! It was SO SCARY! Some of them wore weird hair colours and tattoos and piercings! I’m sure they were only a moment away from VIOLENCE! I couldn’t really tell what they were saying because they were yelling SO LOUDLY but I make out that they wanted us to stop talking about our RELIGION. Clearly these wicked ones didn’t want us preaching the TRUTH.
Thankfully Daddy called us all to PRAYER and I felt the reassuring presence of the LORD and I know more than anything that we’re right and GOD is on our side.
After the protest we headed back home, Rayvin got a little distracted by a street food vendor and lagged behind to order some Pho. (Phoo? Phu?) Daddy was not happy with her wandering off and disciplined her for her sin of slothfulness.
Thank you Mama for letting us write this post! Godbless!
-Raychel and Rayvin (but mostly Raychel ;))
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Day 4 - Uncle Kankuro
some kank&yodo silliness, bc I will never get tired of writing these two interacting nor will I ever get tired of pointedly ignoring canon and supplanting my own fics in its place
(ao3 version)
---
Day 4 - Uncle Kankuro
---
Yodo had been sitting quietly in the living room since he got home, lying on her stomach in the middle of the floor, idly flicking through an old novel.
She was up to something. She was definitely up to something.
Not that her reading was unusual, or her ignoring his presence as he flopped down in his lounge chair with a mumbled ‘hey brat’, but there was just something too… perfect about the scene, like she was acting bored and aloof, instead of just being bored and aloof as she normally was and, as many painful, embarrassing experiences had taught him, when in doubt, always assume she was up to something.
So, all that remained was to figure out whatever nasty little scheme she’d put into play this time, hopefully before he fell right into it.
Frowning, he stretched one of his long legs forward to prod at his niece’s foot.
She immediately kicked him back.
Not ready to accept defeat just yet, he nudged her again, big toe seeking out that ticklish spot right in the middle of her sole, he didn’t quite manage to get it before she brought her other foot into the game, trapping his awkwardly between her ankles. He snorted and easily pulled himself free, retreating back to his chair as he thought up a new tactic.
Yodo was still refusing to even turn her head in his direction, still pretending to be completely engrossed in her book; he could easily use that to his advantage though.
With stealth instilled in him over decades of hard training, Kankuro slowly, silently raised himself out of his chair, stepped just close enough that she wouldn’t notice him, balanced himself on one leg and gently smacked his foot in her face.
“GAH! You fu-!”
Letting out a scandalised gasp as he smooshed his foot against her nose, he called over his shoulder, “Gaara, quick, get in here, Yodo was about to curse again!”
The girl’s skinny little rat-claw fingers finally managed to pry him away, shoving at him until he toppled to the floor in a cackling heap. Finally free from his onslaught, she spluttered and rubbed harshly at her face. “Ugh, I was gonna say fungal infection ooze, ya donkey-pit!”
“Y’know,” he managed to say between laughs, “I think that swapping ‘ass’ and ‘hole’ with synonyms still counts as a swear.”
Her glare was sharp enough to cut glass, apparently she’d been taking notes from her father.
“Relax kid, I’m not actually gonna tell on you-” because he had no doubt Gaara would blame his potty mouth “-but I am gonna need you to tell me what horrifying prank you’ve got cooking this time.”
She rolled her eyes, fussed her hair back into its artfully dishevelled style and returned to her book. “Ain’t got nothin’ cooking,” she said.
“Riiight, and I’m the greatest Hokage who ever lived.”
“You wish,” she snorted, flashing him a quick, toothy grin, “Aunt Sakura’s way cooler than you are, talk to me when you’ve punched a god.”
His face dropped into an expression of blank horror as he pondered what the ramifications of the next generation growing up around such impossibly terrifying powerhouses might be. Damn, I’m getting old, he thought, before sitting himself upright and staring at Yodo once more. Ok she wasn’t gonna tell him what she’d done, that was fine, he could figure it out, no problem.
If she wasn’t bothered about moving from her spot, then that meant that, a) she didn’t need to do anything herself to put her scheme into motion and b) the trap was somewhere in this room – no way would she want to miss out on her victim’s reaction.
Disguising the movement behind a yawn, he scanned his eyes across the lounge, looking for anything wrong, any signs of disturbance at all.
Nothing unusual about the TV or the kids’ game consoles, Gaara had cleaned the floor this morning, so no dust-tracks to speak of, some books had been moved on the shelves, but given that she was currently reading one that could easily be put down to her choosing something to read – he mentally filed it away anyway, just in case – table looked untouched, chairs were exactly as he remembered, damnit, he couldn’t pick out anything, but she was just lying on the floor, legs idly kicking at the air as she flipped another page, cheek puffing up where she was resting it on her hand, exuding an aura that just screamed ‘trouble’.
Maybe that was her plan, deliberately act all suspiciously innocent until he was seeing traps in every shadow, almost pranking himself with his own paranoia! It was an advanced technique, but she was a quick learner and had a serious devious streak, he had no doubt she’d be capable of it… or maybe that’s just what she wanted him to think.
Damn it all.
Just as he was standing up to leave – because he had better things to do, definitely not because he was being outsmarted by a snotty little brat – Yodo had the audacity to snicker into her book, flashing one of her too-toothy grins up at him.
Oh, he was not going to take that; her book was yanked away in under a second, pulled effortlessly into his hand by a chakra thread.
“Oi, I was just gettin’ to a good bit!” she snapped, growling and jumping up to swipe at it.
He held his arm above his head, grinning wide as he said, “What’re you gonna do about it kid?” Before she could leap on him like she was clearly planning, he planted his hand right on her face, gently pushing her back even as she kept pushing forward. “C’mon, do you even want it ba-ACK! What- did you just lick me, brat?!”
While he was rapidly removing his hand from her slobbery maw and rubbing it harshly on his shirt, she managed to clamber onto his back and was just centimetres away from reclaiming her stolen property.
Still shuddering at the dampness on his skin, he tried to claw her off – carefully avoiding going anywhere near her mouth again – flailing limbs and clawing fingers grasping at the corners of the book. In all the confusion, he wasn’t sure who managed to send it flying into the air, but, following its path, he suddenly couldn’t care less, even as Yodo leapt from his shoulder and landed on it with a cry of triumph.
He was much too busy staring at the unnatural shadows hidden away in the ceiling’s air vent; normally they would allow for the cool air captured from the wind towers dotting the building’s roof to flow into the house, offering relief from the burning sun, but he was only just noticing that it was a little less draughty in here than it should be.
“Uh-oh.”
Flashing a quick, victorious grin at his niece, he casually leapt to the ceiling – chakra-coating a hand and his feet to stick in place – and reaching into the dark pit to discover what she’d hidden away there.
When he pulled out a cluster of familiar, disembodied puppet limbs, he had to stare at them for a good long minute just trying to process everything.
Seriously? She was gonna try and scare him with this? He regularly fell asleep cuddling a puppet head that Temari had once described as ‘the physical manifestation of all humanities sins’ and often found random arms and legs in his dresser when he was looking for clothes, even with the element of surprise, he was literally incapable of being scared by it.
He looked down to deride Yodo for her weak attempt, but she wasn’t there, book lying abandoned on the carpet. Frowning, he turned to find her, but was met with a blank stare.
“…What are you doing?” Gaara asked, tone suggesting that he’d had a very long day at work and would very much like to not have to navigate his brother’s eccentricities today if at all possible. Beside him, Yodo was rocking on her heels, hands clasped behind her back.
“Uncle said he wanted to play a prank on you, he was gonna make all that stuff fall on you when you sat down on the couch.”
Oh shi-
The smirk on his niece’s face was positively devious; he wasn’t sure whether to be horrified, or proud.
But he definitely knew how to feel about his little brother’s expression; the years had not dulled his death glare in the slightest. “Kankuro, what is the meaning of this?”
“N-no, Gaara you don’t understand, she set me up!”
That girl had the ‘cute pout of innocence’ act mastered. He’d taught her well – perhaps a little too well – but… he hadn’t taught her everything.
Revenge was gonna be sweet.
---
#ictoan writes#kankuroweek#kankuro#yodo#naruto#sand fam is best fam#yup i'm just like five weeks behind now and i'm gonna be ten more by the time the weekend's over#we're just gonna have to deal with that#on a positive note this was a blast to write and canon what canon i ain't heard of no canon#i'm sorry we don't use that word in this house#in this house we're /happy/
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