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chiwhorei · 4 years

Text

pollock

paring: art major!k. tsukishima x fem!reader

genre: a dash of angst, hurt/comfort, smut, 18+ minors dni

wordcount: 3.2k

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, fingering, spitting, dacryphilia, praise, daddy kink, breeding kink, impregnating kink, soft and kinda hard dom!tsukki, sub!reader

a/n: ahhhhh!! this is my first longer fic to come out in a while and i am ~so~ excited to share this with everyone. i have been keening over the idea of art!major tsukki and i hope you all like him as much as i do! this is piece is brought to you by the hqhq monthly server collab, so please go check out everyone’s amazing writing, the masterlist can be found here!

hymn: validation by herrick & hooley, cherry hill by russ

“Your work is always technically very well executed, Tsukishima-san.” The round, bald-headed man shuffles through the photos on his desk, pieces of Tsukishima Kei’s senior project that he’s tried to fit together before his final exhibit only four months away.

“But,” the dreaded word has Tsukki restraining himself from a long eye roll, “It seems like you’re stuck. You still need one more piece for the show. What inspires you?”

You hear a resounding slam of the front door swinging open and meeting the frame again, followed by a shuffle of feet towards where you’re standing in the kitchen of your shared apartment. Tsukki’s mouth is set in a flat line, expression softening only slightly when he sees you leaning against the counter. You greet him with a warm, but cautious smile. It had been a horribly long day, grating on every thread of patience Tsukishima has. The bubbling of anxiety and frustration mixing into a sour look on his handsome face. You hate seeing your boyfriend so defeatus, much preferring the sardonic, confident air he usually holds. Both of your final years of college have been exceptionally taxing, Tsukki’s final art project being the most stressing of all. It seems like as days propel forward, closer to his due date, the less assured he is of his talents, his passions. It’s heartbreaking to see someone so brilliant struggle through a million half fleshed-out ideas and crumbled up leaves of paper.

You pull one of his hands to you, examining the stains of paint and ink across his long digits and kissing each finger softly. You wish you could get inside that big head of his and help in some way.

“Did you have a hard day at the studio, Kei?” You wrap your arms around his neck and search his eyes. He’s not always the best at talking to you, especially when he’s upset, so you don’t expect him to give you an answer. Instead, you rub his shoulders, trying to coax the tension out. He sighs deeply at the contact, hands moving to rest at the plush of your hips and gripping tightly when you work at a particularly sore spot.

“You’re too good to me, princess. Thank you” He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, and you nuzzle into him. You don’t have the answers to his current road block, you don’t pretend to. But maybe, you think, you can offer him a more carnal outlet.

“Of course, Daddy.” The name hangs in the air for a moment, any response hitching in his throat. The title is familiar after years of being together, always being both comforting and electrifying. Since the title slipped out years ago for the first time, your boyfriend feels his cool demeanor snapping like a glow stick, leaving hot lust in its wake upon it rolling past your lips.

He pulls you closed to him by your ass, inhaling sharply at the contact on his jeans. All you have on is one of Tsukki’s loose, paint stained sweaters and a thin pair of cotton panties. You brush one of your bare thighs against his crotch, and he feels the stresses of his day falling out of frame. Your body is always a buoy to pull him back from the drowning of self doubt. A perfect slice of heaven he became addicted to from the moment he spotted you across the dusty stacks.

“What inspires you?”

The question rings in his head again, but with a new perspective. Tsukki hears pieces clicking together with your lustrous body pressed against him.

“Babygirl, I think I have an idea. But I’m going to need your help.” His hands move to cup your cheeks, scanning over your features and finding a devious glint behind your soft, e/c eyes. Tsukki trails a thumb over your bottom lip lightly, admiring how you lean into the contact. Always so eager to please him, your temperament goes straight to his cock every time.

“Anything for you, daddy.” You press your forehead against his, waiting patiently for his next move. There’s astounding beauty in the glossy, temperate look in your eyes that he wants to, has to, to freeze in time.

“I have a few things to set up. Come to the office when I call you,” Tsukki pushes a stray hair from your face with a fond smile before walking away, he stops for a moment to look at you over his shoulder, “Naked.”

Your mind races as to what exactly he wants to do with you tonight as you busy yourself with peeling off your clothing. There is very little that you and your boyfriend haven’t tried at least once, but the tone in his voice has left you reeling at the possibilities.

Your eyes catch your reflection in the hallway mirror, naked body completely exposed to your own scrutinizing stare. Had it been the stress causing the image in front of you to be so unsavory? Every plane of skin promoting a different insecurity. A blasted thing a hallway mirror becomes when you’ve never truly loved what stares back. You fuss with your hair in a feeble attempt to make yourself more presentable. The question of how Tsukishima sees you always rattling around in the back of your head, especially standing completely naked and waiting in your own insecurities.

“Princess, come here.” You are pulled from your deprecating thoughts at the sound of Tsukki’s warm voice. You walk into his office, and notice he’s changed into just a pair of grey joggers. The sight of the low hanging garment making you salivate so much you almost miss your surroundings. He’s struck some kind of inspiration, you can see it in his eyes as he adjusts his easel and props up a large, blank canvas. You fiddle with your fingers as he looks up at you.

“Jackson Pollock.” You meet your boyfriend’s eyes, confused by his seemingly random statement as he parses out different colored paints into small bowls. Red, blue, green, yellow. “He poured paint on a flat surface so that he could view every angle color could create, every curve.” Tsukki muses, dipping two fingers into the bright yellow hue sitting next to him, bringing them towards his face with contemplation. “But I think this sweet little body of yours will prove a much better canvas.”

His eyes provide no sign of bluffing, but you stare back at him dumbly. Sure, he’s used you as a muse before. Studying your hands or the way your hair falls in the sketches you see hanging up by his desk behind you. You love when he wants to use your body for inspiration, but is he really going to cover you in paint?

“We both know you don’t mind getting a little messy,” He trails his wet pointer finger across your collarbone, following a line towards your chin. He tilts your head up to meet his eyes, “Open your mouth.”

Your bottom lip parts from the top, eyes following the line of spit that drops from his mouth to your tongue with a resounding put.

You swallow thickly, the feeling of his control already bending your will to meet him at every pass.

“I want you to look nice and fucked out for me, baby. I want to show my stuffy professors where my inspiration comes from. I’m going to capture how sweet and submissive my little princess is and then everyone will get to see what I get to enjoy every night.” His unmarred hand moves towards your already disastrously wet pussy. You’re drooling at even the most slight contact, bucking into his hand in a plea for more. His words, complimentative but unmistakingly domineering, have your head becoming fuzzy.

“Daddy, please. Please touch me.” Your whines are music to his ears.

“Oh princess, I plan on it. But I need you to be good for me. You don’t want to mess up all my hard work do you?” His voice is steady, authoritative but still soft around the edges in a way that makes you feel gooey.

Tsukki leads you to the stool sitting in the middle of the room, and you perch on it with his hands keeping you steady. You are his muse and medium, his subject and his canvas to use in any way desired.

Smudges of color brandish every inch of your skin, each stroke is a reminder of where your lovers hands have been. Blue and pink splatter against your stomach, a vibrant red outline on each curve of your breast and purple fingerprints against your pert nipples. Your legs wear a trail of hand prints towards your glistening cunt, wanton cunt. Each marring of paint sits beside paths of hot, opened mouth kisses.

All that is keeping you balanced on the squeaky wooden stool is Tsukishima’s strong arms holding you captive in place. Your legs had been thrown over his shoulders after painting across your upper thighs in a sea of greys and greens. As soon as Tsukki’s eyes met with your bare cunt, his mouth was quick to follow.

He’s a mess of paint now too, muscular chest and arms covered in pigment and face covered in you. He’s always insatiable, drinking you in like it’s the only source of sustenance left in the world. He knows how to work you, how to propel you towards orgasm in a way no one else has ever been able to do. Worshiping your body with langued strokes of his tongue. You let out a pitchy moan in response to his mouth, pushing you towards an end you can feel in the back of your throat.

“I bet you want to cum don’t you, baby? I can feel it. Such an eager little thing.” Tsukishima ghosts his lips across your hot cunt, blowing at your clit to make you yelp. You’re so close, too close. Dangling above bliss but not tipping over, knowing you need permission. You’ve been so good for him, he has to give you your release.

“Please, daddy. Please let me cum.” Tears wet your cheeks as you beg, holding onto Tsukki’s blond locks like an anchor. All you need is his approval, but instead of persimmon you are met with a bawdy laugh.

You really should have known he wasn’t going to let you go that easy.

Tsukki stands up, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. You’re wrecked in every way. Hair loose and disheveled, body dipped in a thin layer of sweat and thick splotches of paint. The look on your face is equal parts pathetic and fervent.

“I need you to sit pretty for daddy, I want to capture how desperately beautiful you look right now.” His words make you preen, but it’s a compliment and a warning at the same time. He wants to capture the look of sweet pain of denied orgasm to display at an art exhibit of both peers and his seniors. Sadistic in Tsukishima’s own unique way.

You should have known better, Tsukki’s patience has always been astounding. You know all he wants to do is bury himself in you, but he wants even more to make you suffer under his stare. There’s plenty of times he unleashes his frustration out on you physically, ripening your ass cheeks in bright red handprints and ensuring you can’t walk in the morning. But it’s these moments that can be even harsher, when he regards you with steely eyes and a aloof threat, that make your nerves catch fire more than a spanking ever could.

He sits down to start sketching on the large canvas in front of him, pinning you to your position with a practiced glare and playing on your desire to please him.

You sit as still as you can, listening to the scratch of pencil on vinyl in an attempt to keep calm. Your cunt is still twitching, puffy and slick propped uncomfortably atop the wooden stool. Tsukki hums along to the rhythmic music coming from his phone speaker, a playlist you know to be the one that helps him concentrate on his work. His brow furrows in concentration, pushing his glasses back in place as he stares at you again. His eyes are calculating and coldly observant, but his mouth quirks up in a surprising smile.

“My perfect baby. So stunning in every way.” His thoughts start tumbling out without his usual sarcastic filter.

“I have never wanted something more in my life than you. All of you, all the time.” A genuine regard for you in the lilt of his voice clamps down on your chest. He’s called you pretty, told you he loved you a million times before, but there’s a calm resonance in his words as his hands move across the white caves in front of him that catches in your throat. With the pressure of graduation looming over the two of you these past few months, romantics have been pushed to the side to make room for laser focus on finishing your degrees.

Your eyes well at his confessional, struck by the vulnerability so unfamiliar to him. You missed this side of your boyfriend, unlocking it incrementally through the years and finding it virtually non-existent recently. He sees your shoulders trembling slightly and tears his eyes up to your form.

“I told you to stay still.” His voice comes out harsh, but melts away when he sees fat tears rolling down your puffy cheeks.

“Y/n, are you okay? Did I upset you?” He moves to console you, the action causing another round of sobs, your body on edge in every way after both the teasing and his impromptu affirmation. Your response surprises yourself just as much as Tsukki, not realising how starved of his affection you had become.

“I’m sorry daddy, I-I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just- do you mean all that?” You lower your head in embarrassment, and Tsukishima’s heart breaks at the realization. Had he unintentionally disregarded you? Had he been ignoring you?

“Fuck baby, of course I mean it. I’m so sorry I made you doubt that.” He pulls you up into his strong hold, he lets you cry into his shoulder until your wracking sobs simmer to sniffles. He holds you tightly in an attempt at atonement. He has to do something to show you how he feels now that he knows his words have failed him. His actions have to speak in his place.

Tsukishima pulls you away slightly to meet his gaze before colliding his lips against yours. He traces his tongue in sonnets across your mouth, tasting the lingering essence of your arousal and the salt of your tears. He writes prose in the breathy gasps as you part for air, chests heaving. He has to show you what his words won’t always allow him to.

It’s bodies tangled together, covered in the colors of a man trying his best to show you how much he loves you. You had fallen to the floor at the behest of passion, Tsukki’s body covering yours, lips kissing any extension of your skin, uncaring of the paint covering both of your writhing frames.

You paw at his sweatpants as if they are the most offensive thing you’ve ever scene, Tsukki’s cock springs out to slap against the hard muscle of his abdomen. You don’t waste any time lining him up to your dripping folds, you’ve waited long enough. Hips crashing together like a fever dream, you’re wrapped in each other as if there’s nothing else in this world outside of a set of paints and four walls of a dimly lit apartment. The sun could be hurling towards the sidewalk just outside and Tsukishima, usually observant to a fault, would have no idea. All he knows is your body beneath him, clawing desperately at his back with every deep thrust, and the love poem he has written on your body. Reds across your breasts and brandishing your thighs. Greens and yellows across your neck, up your arms. Messy, sticky, covering the thin sheet Tsukki laid out to spare the hardwood.

Your panting, crying out for your daddy and consumed in the salty taste of love and lust crashing together like waves. His cock is heavy inside you, filling you up so completely. Tsukki rowes on, not daring to stop now, not with the resounding drumming of two hearts beat so perfectly together and the feeling of your clenching, velveteen walls hugging him like he’s coming home.

“I am so desperately in love with you. I want you like this, with me, forever.” He’s delirious, drunk on your body. Primal, as he stares down at you, colorful and completely conquered. He sees everything in your eyes, every baser desire, every hope for the future.

“I want to fill you up with my cum, princess. You are mine in every way. God, I want to see you swollen with my baby. Right here.” He presses against your belly, feeling his cock moving inside you from the splotches of pick and blue.

His confessional spurs you on, the emotions overwhelming. Feeling so loved, so needy, wanting everything the blonde above you is willing to give.

“Ah, Daddy! Please, please fill me up. I wa-want you to put a baby in me, I need it.” Your clenching tightly, each pump of Tsukishima’s cock better than the last.

“You are such a good girl baby, always saying exactly what I need to hear. Cum for me, princess, let me see how good I make you feel.”

His warrant is all you’ve needed this whole time, snapping to hours of tension with a sharp cry. You’re thrown into the pooling, honey-sweet feeling of release. Sinking every inch of your aching body into a blissed haze. Your walls spasm violently, tightening around him like a vice. He meets your hips with his own, knocking hip bones together like pool balls and holding himself in your heat as you milk his throbbing cock, stealing every drop of hot, while cum he has to offer.

He crumbles to the floor beside you, pulling you to his chest. Lying in a mess of paint and sweat and staggered breathing. Through the fog still resounding in your head, you hear Tsukki laughing lightly, “How’s that for inspiration?”

-Four Months Later-

You shift on your toes in anticipation, waiting for Tsukishima to release the hold he has around your eyes. You hear the bustle of people around you, the laughter and tinkling of glasses clinking together filling your ears. He kisses your temple before letting go, and you are met with a new reflection of yourself hung proudly on display. All of the places you see blemishes are drawn with vibrant purposeful color. Every curve of your form mapped out with the care only a lover could administer. Your naked form exhibited for hundreds of critiquing eyes, but there’s not a bone in your body that could feel embarrassed in this moment. As reflection so beautiful it’s unbelievable is staring back at you.

“Is this really how you see me, Kei?” You turn around to meet his eyes, his stare holds the love of epics. He would write you novels if he could, but this picture is worth a thousand words.

“Of course it is, baby,” He brings a hand to thumb at your slightly swelling belly.

“Of course it is.”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#tsukishima smut #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei smut #tsukishima kei #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #hqhq server collab #haikyuu hq #hq tsukishima

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fakeloveaskblog · 3 years

Note

I do believe it would be for the best for you to have that nice day with Janus that you'd planned to have, Logan. Like you said, you shouldn't neglect your own wellbeing, and your emotional wellbeing looks like it could use the break.

(Words: 3431)

Logan let out a sigh "You're right. Worrying nonstop for Remy won't help them either way"

Two days later Janus had a devious smile on his lips as he sat in the passanger seat of Logan's car. His boyfriend had picked him up directly from his apartement. He hadn't said where they were going.

"Let me guess. You are taking me to the woods and surround me by your league of vampires so you can go through with your monthly blood sucking ritual” Janus guessed.

"Oh no dear. That I do with Patty the first thursday of every month" Logan replied druly.

His hands were shaking slightly as he held onto the steering wheel. Every time he looked over to his boyfriend all he could see was Remy passed out with the bruise all around their neck. He could hear every word they'd yelled. His throat tightened.

Logan hit the brake and the car slid to a stop. They were near a park. It was 9 pm and the sky had started to darken.

"We can- We can walk the rest of the way yes? Some fresh air has almost never hurt anyone and the cases where it has are very fascinating" He hoped it would distract him.

“Ah yes because I am so well known for enjoying long walks!” Jan replied sarcastically “Maybe I will if it’s with you”

Logan took out a bag from the backseat. Jan took his boyfriend's free hand and leaned his cheek against his shoulder as they went into the park.

"Is that the bag you're going to hide my body in?"

"I'm afraid the bag is too small for that"

Janus let out an incredibly dramatic gasp while gripping his chest "The rudeness!! Baffling rudeness!!!"

“Yes. I took you here to surprise you with my rudeness”

They went on a path lined with trees until they got to a hill. The trees all but surronded the hill. Aside from some teenagers playing music far away they seemed to be some of the only people in the park.

Once they got to the top Logan pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek “Close your eyes” He murmured into his ear.

His cheeks immediately turned bright red “Well darling since you will now most definitely murder me I am glad your face will be the last thing I see!”

He stood in blindness for at least 3 minutes. His chest was bubbling over with excitement. He didn’t even realize he was shimmying his shoulders to happy stim.

“Alright. My honeysnake you may open your eyes” Logan’s voice was also filled with excitement.

Janus let out a small gasp as he looked. Logan had laid out a star embroidered blanket and sat with his legs crossed on it. He held out a bottle of red wine, his boyfriend’s favorite kind of course. He’d brought several different pastries. Jam drops shaped like hearts, a lemon pie, strawberry bars, 2 cupcakes one with frosting made to look like a snake and one made to look like an owl.

“Oh....” Janus was speechless for a moment before getting a smug smirk on his lips “I see that you’re going in the route of poisoning me through romantic food”

“I am estimating that you will continue with that joke all night, yes?”

“Correct”

Janus cuddled up to his side. Logan took his hand and pressed a kiss to the top of it before handing him a glass of wine. They clinked their glasses together. The stars had started to come out.

He inspected each and every dessert in an incredibly dramatic fashion before taking a strawberry bar. As soon as he took a bite his eyes went wide.

"Darling which overworked soccer mom did you rob these from???"

Logan triumphantly pointed at himself "This overworked soccer mom. I bake even more than on a regular basis when I am stressed, and I have been experiencing a lot of stress lately"

He held onto his hand harder "My boyfriend senses did go off before. Do you want to talk about it? Or shall I simply push whoever is causing you the stress down a flight of stairs?"

"Oh I wish you would throw him down many stairs" Logan mumbled to himself. ".....It is....quite alright dear. I want this night to be a sort of distraction...for now please dont ask about it"

"My lips are sealed then...but not for the food!"

They cuddled together, ate and drank while looking at the stars. There were no clouds out. No wind. It was like the universe had wanted them to have a good night.

Janus pointed at each and every star constellation he could make out and made an intentionally horrible guess on what it was so Logan could infodump. His eyes were glimmering as he explained it. He looked so beautiful Jan wanted to kiss him endleesly.

“Okay...so..Andromeda was your favorite right?” Janus asked. He had jam on his lips from the sweets (crofters obviously) “Which one is it?”

Logan leaned close to his side and laid his hand on his boyfriend’s chin to move his head to see it “Right there. It’s brightest star is alpha andromedea”

Janus nodded along “Darling what constellation do you think suits me best?”

His expression turned incredibly serious. This was a life or death answer! “Well Patty’s favorite is ursa major aka big bear but you hmmmm Lacerta is a quite obvious once since it’s a lizard...but I think Horologium fits you better"

"Honey all I heard there was you saying ancient latin to summon a demon"

"It’s a pendulum clock! It fits you since they’re mysterious and" He gazed into his boyfriends eyes "They're also very pretty to look at"

Janus let out a pff while shoving his hand in Logan’s face to make him look away "Dork" He chuckled out as his cheeks heated up.

"Oh yes that reminds me"

He pressed a quick kiss to Jan's nose before scrambling around in his bag. He took out a long yellow plush snake. It had a black hat and a red tounge sticking out.

"This was for some reason on my doorstep a few nights ago. It reminded me of you so I thought you should have it"

Janus looked at it with wide eyes "Wait"

He took out a big blue owl plushie from his bag. It had a tiny bow and square glasses. It was incredibly fluffy for an owl.

“This was by my door as well!”

“I am sure there is a logical explanation for this! I am also sure you deserve a snake present”

They switched the plushies. Janus held the snake plushie in his hands and looked down at it’s big kind eyes. He grimaced.

“Darling...I uh already have a snake at home...and it’s totally not like that owl reminds me of you and I’ve already grown attached to having it in my bed and imagining it’s you or anything...totally not”

Logan let out a breathe of relief “Oh yes! Honey I have been hugging that snake as if it’s my second lung. So I technically don’t need it but it does help me live!”

Janus hugged the owl plushie close to his chest while Logan put the snake around his neck like a scarf. Lo looked over to his boyfriend and got a small smile on his face.

“But my sweet honeysnake you can....slither into my apartement and into my arms whenever the plushie isn’t enough” He moved his hand to his boyfriend’s chin and leaned in.

Janus flinched away, for a moment there was fear in his eyes.

“I am very sorry” Logan said “I was not intending to kiss you on your lips. I am aware of your boundaries and will not do it until you tell me you’re ready. I was going for your cheek”

“Sorry” He hid his face in the owl’s soft fur so his boyfriend wouldn’t see his embarrassment “I’m sorry”

“There is no reason to apologize here but I will accept your aplogy nonetheless”

Logan gave his boyfriend some time to gather himself, he knew how easily overwhelmed he got. He munched on some of the leftover pie. Janus sunk in on himself.

“Can I tell you something?” Janus quietly asked while fiddling with the owl’s wing to keep himself calm.

“Of course hun”

“...I contacted Picani..and I have been talking to him. It-it’s only been 3 or so sessions and they’re only like 15 or 30 minutes. It’s barely anything. But I’d thought I’d tell you”

He glanced back up to Logan and was taken aback by the big goofy grin on his lips. It was so unlike him.

“Janus that’s great!” He threw his arms around him and pulled him into a hug so sudden they both nearly tumbled over “I’m so proud of you!”

It took a moment before Janus took it in. He shone up into a smile and leaned into the hug. His nose pressed against the slope of his boyfriend’s neck and the plushies got crushed between them.

"You just sounded uncannily much like Patty" Jan chuckled out.

“I can accept that!” He took his boyfriend’s hand while stimming with the other “Is the therapy helping you progress emotionally? Of course it’s alright if you haven’t yet, asking for help is well enough”

Janus leaned away from him, just a bit so Logan’s arms were still around him but they weren’t pressed against each other. He looked away to the stars and bit the inside of his cheek.

“It’s doing wonders! I don’t have tentacles sprouting out of my back anymore” He tried to joke but it didn’t sound happy “..It is helping...genuinely..It’s just....I think my family might not have been the best. THey weren’t abusive! Not anywhere close! So I am unsure if they really were bad at all, even if Picani says so”

“Oh honey” Logan said it so very softly “They don’t have to have been abusive, or mean to treat you bad. If they hurt you they hurt you. That’s all that matters”

He nodded “Right....right. May I vent about it?”

“Of course”

He moved his hand through the owl’s fur to keep him calm “My mom would comment on what I ate constantly. Anything I ate was too much for her since I already looked disgusting-”

“You don’t. Objectivly so”

“I- I know. But I still think about it every time I eat. And I worry about eating around other people, what if they think I’m gross”

“Then they’re objectivly an asshole and I will kick my knee into their chin. Including your mother!”

“Logan no!”

“Logan yes!”

Lo knew he had succeeded when Janus let up into a laugh.

“Oh it was horrible” Janus continued through the last small chuckles “Every time she forced me to go buy clothes with her I would get panic attacks from what she said about my body and I always hid it because I was afraid of what she would say. And the one time she heard me literally sobbing in a dressing room all she said was that I was overreacting and to hurry up”

Logan was very quickly forgetting that the kicking in face thing was supposed to be a joke “Mhm yes that does indeed sound astronomically horrible yes”

Janus wiped his hand over his eye as if to rub memories away “It was....I thought so much of it was normal..I didn’t know-”

“You shouldn’t have had to think like that in the first place”

“I know....I know...They made me feel so much shame...Before I even knew...Just hearing my dad talk about...people like me on the tv made me feel shame before I even fathomed the idea that I could like men”

He let up into another laugh. The kind of laugh that came when he remembered something so bad the only thing he could do to not cry was to laugh.

“I- I’d never heard my mom say anything about it so I tried coming out to her” He chuckled “It didn’t go well! I used a youtube video because I couldn’t physically say the word gay. And then she outed me to my dad behind my back and never told me! I found out through my aunt!”

Logan was moving away from a knee kick and instead thinking of bringing a baseball bat.

“And- And I should have known because right after when- we were on vacation and my dad- I was 14 I think maybe it’s blurry- I-I saw two men hold hands in public and I’d never- I felt so happy- I wanted to run up to them- I couldn’t stop staring and then..and then my dad moved his arm around my shoulders and pointed at them and he looked into my eyes and his voice was so steady” Janus’ eyes had stopped moving, they were staring out into thin air as if he could see it happening again “He told me that what the men were doing was wrong. That We didn’t like that. That it was disgusting. And then he forced me to walk away”

Janus’ hand was shaking as he gripped onto the plushie to keep himself present. Logan gently took one of his hands and pressed a kiss to it.

“You shouldn’t have had to hear that, ever”

“It feels so good to finally tell someone” He sighed “Aside from Picani I’ve held that to myself for so so long....It’s...It’s been so many years. Shouldn’t I be over this. The shame has gotten a bit better...but it’s still there”

“Honey, For how long have you lived without being in contact with those...those wretched humans made out of boiled together pieces of maggot bones?” Logan asked in a straightforward tone.

“Around 14 months? I think? It’s all so blurry. Me before and after meeting you totally don’t feel like 2 different people or anything”

“Mhm. How many times have you gone to therapy?”

“3 times”

“No human being can be expected to recover from several years of trauma, because it is trauma, in such a short amount of time. Especially with such a small amount of professional help” Logan said in a very agressive but somehow also loving voice while smacking his hand to the top of his boyfriend’s head to pat him.

Janus looked at him. He looked at the way he was trying so hard to comfort him in his own lovely way. Looked around at the stars lighting up their date. Looked at the leftover food his boyfriend had spent time to make just to share between them, because he never saw him as disgusnting no matter what he ate.

He let up into a smile before leaning forward so his and Logan’s foreheads were pressing against each other. He intertwined their fingers. He felt his boyfriend’s breathe against his nose.

Oh he was so alive. He was holding hands with his boyfriend and he was so alive.

“I love you” Janus murmured out.

Logan shone up into a soft smile “I love you too”

He cupped Janus’ cheeks and leaned even closer. Their eyes met so perfectly. Logan could see the stars mirroring in his boyfriend’s eyes, like a small galaxy.

“And honey- Janus, you’re not perfect because none of us are and you shouldn’t feel the need to be perfect, but there is not a goddamn part of you you should ever feel ashamed of”

A warm feeling filled Janus’ chest. He leaned forward and kissed Logan.

His boyfriend’s lips were so soft against his, he closed his eyes and melted into the kiss. For a moment he didn’t even realize what he’d done, all he could think about was Logan’s warm hands against his cheeks and his lips that tasted like strawberries and coffee.

BUT OH BOY THEN JANUS REALIZED WHAT THE FUCK HE WAS DOING.

He practically flung away from Logan just as suddenly as he’d kissed him. His chest was rapidly heaving up and down as he gasped for breathe. He clasped his hand over his mouth.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t- I’m sorry- I should have asked you before- Sorry”

Logan was tracing his fingers over his lips, as if he could barely even believe what had just happened “Honey dear sweetheart beloved you” He let out a small happy sound “I think I’ve made it quite clear I was Very ready for you kissing me whenever you wanted to”

“Oh- Oh okay. Phew”

“Your lips taste like crofters! This is amazing! A scientific miracle! I have to study your lips! In multiple ways!!”

Janus let up into a light laugh “Darling there was crofters in the jam drops you made. Of course I taste like crofters”

“hmm. Seems logical. Your lips are still from here on out classified as a scientific miracle either way”

“Can we...” Janus was full on grinning as he nervously asked “Can we kiss again? Please?”

Logan didn’t answer. He simply squeezed his boyfriend’s cheeks and kissed him. And kissed him. And kissed him.

He kissed so hard they both tumbled over. Janus fell down on his back and Logan used his arms to not fall down on top of him. They looked at each other for a moment, cheeks flushed, lips red, eyes wide, and smiled.

Janus tugged at his boyfriend’s tie to pull him into another kiss. His hand was in his hair, the other on his lower back. His thigh was somewhere pressed against Logan’s ribs. All he could focus on was the feeling of his lips. It felt like electricity was going up and down through his body at hyper speed.

This wasn’t exactly Logan’s first rodeo so he noticed very quickly when Janus opened his eyes and started looking unsure. He quickly moved away and laid himself down beside him. His arm was laid out across his boyfriend’s chest and their hands were still intertwined.

“Sorry. This is totally not at all a lot to take in” Janus panted out “I only need a second and a spa bath to process it”

“That is alright dear” Logan was still grinning. His cheeks started to hurt from it. He let up into happy flaps “I have been waiting for this for approximately 12 months and I will have you know it was very worth the wait. You are a natural my love. The first time I kissed Patty I fell off a swing and broke my glasses immediately afterwards”

Janus giggled at his story. He clasped his mouth shut. The giggles sounded so unlike him. They were so light and loud, but he couldn’t stop giggling. It was like millions of small butterflies were finally leaving his stomach and were transforming right into giggles.

They laughed together, their bodies pressed close together, as they looked up at the night sky. The tree tops outlined the galaxy above them.

“Darling it was a great night to take me star-gayzing” Janus chuckled out.

Logan stared at him as if he’d just thrown a watermelon into his eye “Was that a pun I heard?! I automatically despise you!”

“You love me! You said it!!” He giggled back.

“How do I keep ending up with pun makers. This is highly ridicolous!"

"Muhahaha. It is all in the plan deary!” Janus moved his arms around mysteriously “The great evil pun plan!"

“I’ll kiss you until you tell me all about it”

“Hard bargain, but I’ll surely manage”

Logan pouted while moving to press a kiss to his boyfriends collar bones. He kept littering kisses to his neck and cheek and nose until kissing him on the lips again.

He wished they weren’t in a public space so he could kiss his wonderful thighs, his stomach rolls, his shoulders, every stretch mark on his chest. So he could give him all the love he'd daydreamed about.

Janus looked at him with a sneaky grin and red cheeks "Would it be acceptable to try with tounge now?"

"Incredibly acceptabe"

He gently moved Janus so he sat on top of his hips. His hands were leaned on either side of Logan’s face.

"Are you sure I’m not too heavy?" Janus mumbled out.

"Honey Patty is about the same size as you. I am Very used to having my pelvic crushed. In multiple ways"

Janus nodded and let up into a nervous smile. Logan moved his boyfriend’s head close and parced his lips. His hand rested against his cheek.

"You're beautiful. You're so incredibly beautiful" Logan murmured before brining him in for another kiss.

#mini fic #for anyone finding this in the tags i promise after the read more its just pure romance #you dont need any context #loceit #janus sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #its past 2 am and my eyes are blurry from tired so sorry for any grammar mistakes

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writeblrfantasy · 3 years

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i am thrilled to present to you another short from acogs: khyris mi'hail, or khyris the beloved in my conlang!

i'm especially happy with this one, but i say that about all of them, don't I? this one is inspired by the story behind the hanging gardens of babylon, how the king had them built for his homesick wife.

like most of my shorts, you don't need to know acogs to understand this <3 enjoy!! word count about 5k

“Everybody wake up, c’mon, everybody up!” The sound of pans banging together accompanies Major Malika’s shouts.

Khyris has been awake for an hour already, but he still groans at the thought of leaving his warm cot. The other corporals in the tent with him grumble and swear at the major with more colorful language than Khyris would dare risk.

Khyris sticks his head out of his blankets, bracing against the freezing winter air and squinting into the bright morning light of the tent. A few bastards who wake with the sun are sitting on the floor drinking coffee, the smell of which finally draws Khyris out of his warm cave.

“We were afraid you were dead,” says Eric, mumbling like he’s half dead himself. “You don’t move at all.”

“Nice to know you’re watching me sleep,” Khyris retorts, pulling on his three extra layers to fight back the biting chill. “Give me some of that.” Coffee in his system makes him feel a little more human, enough to make him realize there’s a group huddled around the morning campfire just outside.

Khyris joins them, coffee in hand, and finds them all staring at a map. “What’s going on?”

“Big news today,” Aeron says, grinning, full of energy no matter the time. “The queen’s visiting.”

Khyris almost spills his coffee. “What? Why? That man couldn’t lift a sword to save his life, what does he want with us?”

“Stow your hatred for a moment, my dear Khyris. He’s here to pick a spouse.”

Khyris stares, then laughs. “For a moment I thought you were serious.”

The other’s smiles slowly fade. Delia stares into her coffee like it holds the answers of the world—or more accurately, an escape from Khyris.

“You are serious. Sweet Cai.” Khyris buries his head in his hands. “Explain.”

“He’s here exactly because he can’t lift a sword to save his life. He wants someone who can. Solid strategy, I think.”

Khyris shakes his head. “He has hundreds of willing options back at court, the experienced soldiers paid too well to be out on the field. Why doesn’t he pick from them and leave us alone?”

“He doesn’t want a lazy court soldier. He wants a fieldman. Someone he knows he can trust with his life.”

“So he wants a bodyguard for a spouse, is what you’re saying. I thought he already had a team of those.” Khyris looks around. “Do you think Major Malika would notice if I disappeared for a week or two? Tell her I was indisposed. I was longing for home. Let me be a deserter, anything but having to see that bastard’s face.”

“Why are you so against him?” Aeron asks.

“Because he doesn’t give a damn about any of us. He just throws money at us, gives us more orders to build more cities, and every year checks in to see how we’re doing. He’d rather entertain the fools and artists of his court than pay mind to us.”

“So you don’t want to see him, but you’re mad he hasn’t come yet? Make up your mind, man!”

Khyris sighs. “I just don’t think you all should be kissing his ass, is all. He should be appreciating what we do for him. We just finished building him al-Hasa, he should be grateful.”

“We’re not kissing—” Aeron breaks off into a devious grin Khyris has seen before, and it’s never ended anywhere good. “You like him, and you’re mad he doesn’t like you back?”

Whistles and laughter go around the fire. “What?” Khyris sputters. “This is the queen we’re talking about, not some barmaid. You lot are ridiculous.”

Apparently happy with being labeled ridiculous, what Khyris thought were friends begin singing, “Khyris the Angrily Smitten” in an off key parody of a song he can’t remember.

“You sound like you’re drunk and it’s only sunrise,” he says in disgust, burying himself in coffee, his only friend this morning.

Later that day, he’s in the middle of a group training session and managed to forget about the queen’s newest joke. The stress of the major’s shouts during exercises in the middle of winter doesn’t leave much room for Khyris to think about anything else, though Aeron finds a way around it as always. Aeron’s only here to support his family’s farm—cooperation doesn’t matter much to him as long as he still gets paid.

In the middle of another round of hot yet cold push-ups, Major Malika calls for a sudden stop. “His Majesty is here,” she snaps. “I want to see some salutes, hear some respect. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Major,” they chorus, lining up to watch His Majesty Amoun’s brown and gold carriage pull up to the campsite. Khyris’ left hand goes to the side of his head like all the others, trying to keep his eyes in line as the carriage stops in a cloud of dust. The door opens with a click, and out steps a shadow cloaked in black, unusual for Kadar. Khyris’ eyes drift despite himself.

Khyris forgot how young the queen is, and how attractive, despite his own dissenting opinions. A dark, neat sheaf of hair and mustache frame a smiling face. His long winter cloak shows hints of Kadar yellow in ribbons and pins, but otherwise everything from the fur to his shoes is black.

“Welcome, Your Majesty,” Malika says with a deep bow.

“Thank you, Major. I’m delighted to be here.” Queen Amoun approaches the line of soldiers with his coat sweeping out behind him, just short enough not to get dirty on the sand. The soldiers drop their salutes as Amoun slowly walks in front of them like he’s inspecting them. Khyris fights not to close his eyes and disappear into a safer, less ridiculous world. He has many choice words for the queen, but keeps them all wisely to himself.

Amount is just passing Aeron and Delia, about to pass a stiff Khyris, when he stops and looks him up and down. “What’s your name?” Amoun asks.

Khyris swallows, cursing Cai in every way. He can feel Aeron’s traitorous, poorly smothered grin on his profile. “Khyris, Your Majesty.”

“Khyris,” Amoun repeats, slowly, like the sly tongue of a snake. He grins. “What a beautiful name.”

What to say to that?

Amoun solves the problem for him. “I look forward to seeing your face during my trials, Khyris.”

Khyris’ mind races, thinking of the Cairic Trials of Taru. They are Kadars, dammit, not Cairic. But, if the queen wanted to find a spouse who could defend him, there is not a much better way than that. “Trials, Your Majesty?”

Amoun laughs, a gentle, warm sound. “Wipe that fear off your face. I am not referring to the Trials of Taru, as thrilling and testing as they are. The trials I have created are much simpler, and will be much more to your taste, if that quiver on your back means anything.” He takes a step back so more soldiers can hear him.

“I wish we had a forest to do this, but alas, we are not in the north or in Tel Cairis. As you can see, there are three targets there.” Amoun gestures grandly to the three red targets being set up several hundred paces away, in the middle of the desert. “Whoever can perfectly hit the three targets”—he pauses for effect— “will get a private dinner with me.”

Khyris struggles not to laugh.

“The trials begin immediately, for all of you,” Amoun says. “You are soldiers, I’m sure you’re used to quick thinking and quicker requests. Come on, now.”

Khyris shuffles into a single file line with the others, Aeron at his back. “Not a word,” he hisses.

“Not a word,” Aeron echoes, but Khyris can hear his grin. Worst of all, he begins humming that awful song, Khyris the Angrily Smitten. He actively wishes for death even as he’s pulling his bow off his back and nocking an arrow into it.

Fail Amoun’s stupid target challenge. The easiest task in the world. He’ll be officially taken out of consideration, free to go back to the idiots at the campfire in the morning.

His focus drifts in and out while waiting for the other soldiers to shoot, even if they’ve never touched a bow before. Evidently Amoun believes miracles are possible. He seems like the type.

Amoun stands to the side of the line drawn in the sand where the archers must stay and shoot, his presence undoubtedly helping no one. Ever since he was a child, Khyris couldn’t stand people watching him practice or hunt. He savored the quiet of the northern forests where he grew up, savored the peace and focus in his heart while he hunted his family’s dinner. To have anyone else watching him, waiting, judging if he shot wrong, would ruin that sacred peace.

He sighs and shifts his weight impatiently.

“Relax, would you? You’re the best archer here, I have more reason for nerves than you do,” Delia says from somewhere behind him.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Khyris says. “I’m afraid I’ll do well.”

Someone scoffs ahead of him. He doesn’t keep his dislike of the queen private, but the way Amoun looks back toward the sound makes Khyris flush. Please don’t notice me, don’t notice me, look away.

“Then miss and make a fool of yourself,” Delia says. “You’ll be known as the army’s best worst archer, but not the queen’s spouse, a title I wouldn’t mind having. It’ll be a steady source of income for my family, at least.”

Khyris smiles. He and Delia became friends because of their similar situation. Aeron barged his way into their lives with no possibility of leaving. “I’ll be in the front row at your wedding.”

“I’d prefer your blessing on my bow.”

Khyris watches sorry swordsman after swordsman point their bows at the targets only for their arrows to land somewhere far off in another direction. Major Malika barks at them that they’ve failed, which is not an unusual thing for her to say, but they’ve never had to perform in front of the queen before.

People who have never touched a bow in their life still stutter and apologize for wildly missing. That’s the effect the queen’s presence has—not that it affects Khyris, of course. He glances sympathetically at the losers and thinks, I’ll be joining you in a minute.

At last, it’s his turn. Major Malika orders him forward with her usual grit, but Amoun is smiling with his big brown eyes and it’s every bit as unnerving as Khyris predicted.

“Let’s see what you got,” he says quietly, where only Khyris can hear. Khyris grits his teeth, mentally ordering him to shut up and let him focus.

Why is he trying?

Because it’d kill him to miss, he decides. He hasn’t missed since he was eleven, and he won’t start now. He has too much pride in his finest skill to be a laughingstock. Major Malika would know he wasn’t trying and would make him try again. He’s too good an archer for his own good.

He closes his eyes, trying to ignore Amoun’s presence, and lets the bow do the work.

The first arrow hits. He doesn’t stop to check. His focus is on the second target, and a minute shift of his position readies him for the next shot. Khyris disregards all other sound but the grip of his fingers adjusting on the bow, the whoosh as the arrow flies free. He can’t quite block out the gasp Amoun makes, but shaking it off is easy.

The wind begins picking up just slightly, hardly noticeable to anyone else, but Khyris knows the song of the bow like his own skin, and it’s not what he needs.

You’ve done well, says the voice in his head. No one will believe you purposefully failed if you miss. You will be free, and your dignity will be intact.

The other archers shot in quick succession, too eager or humiliated to wait. Khyris knows he’s already taken longer than anyone else, but he waits another few seconds before nocking another arrow and letting it fly.

Khyris opens his eyes to find his arrows in the center of all three red targets. He sighs in relief.

Relief for what?

All is deadly quiet, and then some idiot begins cheering. Khyris shuts his eyes again.

Aeron. Of course it’s Aeron.

Soon, everyone is cheering or clapping, Amoun loudest of all. Khyris flushes hot, looking around for him, who’s grinning like someone just handed him all the wealth of Kadar.

Khyris goes over to him and wraps him a hug, drawing laughter and ‘aw’s from the onlookers. It’s just an excuse to whisper, “I hate you to the skin of your bones,” in Aeron’s ear, who just laughs louder.

Khyris stands in front of a little pond where some fool spilled water outside Amoun’s tent, turning left and right to inspect his outfit. It’s the only fine thing he has, provided by the army, meant for rare banquets at the palace.

It’s a velvet jacket in Kadar yellow decorated with the few gold medals he has to his name, one for exceptional scouting, another for bringing down the largest hog anyone had ever seen, large enough to feed the whole camp for an evening.

The yellow tent flap opens and Khyris quickly snaps to a stiff position, relaxing when Amoun gestures for him to. “Khyris,” he says with a warm smile. “Thank you for joining me.”

You didn’t leave me much of a choice, Khyris thinks, though even he’s not bold enough to say that to the queen’s face. He’s wearing a thin golden circlet with soft brown gems embedded, the crown of Kadar. Khyris has never been close enough to see it; it sparkles in the evening sunlight.

He’s never been close enough to see the queen’s face like this—the kindness deep within earthy eyes, his short, well-trimmed beard and mustache, the single lock of black hair hanging down on his forehead. His black cloak doesn’t have a smattering of dust, and the long fur hairs poking out of the collar make Khyris ache for the crude fur coat he made himself the last time he was home—these velvet jackets don’t do much in the way of warmth.

Amoun even smells like the forests of the north, Khyris’ home, with a hint of soft incense.

“Please, come in.” Amoun steps aside to let Khyris slip past him. He takes a quick look around. Amoun’s tent is nicer than any camp tent he’s ever been in, a colorful carpet covering the sand, a table of golden wood with two chairs set up in the middle, a white curtain hiding what’s presumably a bed in the corner. Even the lanterns, burning with blessed warmth, are polished and new compared to the grimy ones in the tent Khyris shares with five others.

“Sit,” Amoun says softly, latching the tent flap closed to keep out the abhorrent wind. Khyris sits, happy to be out of the cold with a plate of hot food in front of him, if nothing else. The faster he can fail this and get it over with, the better.

Amoun sits opposite him and unclasps his cloak, revealing a finely woven black waistcoat over a long sleeved yellow shirt.

“Ah, so His Majesty is capable of wearing color,” Khyris says before he can think about it. He refuses to go back on it, even as Amoun looks at him in surprise. Khyris won’t be the timid little soldier afraid to even look at his queen. He respects himself more than that.

“I admit my dress is rather unconventional for Kadar,” Amoun says, slipping into a relieving smile. He picks up a white teapot and pours them both steaming cups. From the smell, it’s coffee—in the evening? Another oddity. “It’s one of many reasons for people to distrust me—or worse, dislike me.” He smiles again over the rim of his cup.

Khyris is holding his for warmth until he remembers that he’s not in the tent waking up to Aeron jabbering in his ear, he has manners. He quickly puts it back on the table. All the manners he learned from his father and his one visit to court suddenly leave him. Hopefully his country boy ignorance doesn’t show too much.

No, he wants it to show, doesn’t he? He wants Amoun to be disgusted with his choice and let him go.

Khyris grips the handle of the coffee cup again but after a few seconds of indecision, leaves it on the table.

“I do hope you’ll enjoy this meal,” Amoun says, oblivious to Khyris’ inner turmoil and the fact that this is the best meal Khyris will ever have in the field in the middle of winter. “Have you ever been to a palace banquet? Forgive me for not remembering your face—you all look the same in those jackets.” He shovels a forkful of something into his mouth—wait, what are they eating?

Khyris gathers himself and picks up his knife, reminding himself to breathe. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he says after what’s probably too long of a pause. “I have been to a palace banquet once, shortly after I joined your army.” He focuses on cutting what he now discerns to be lamb, a delicacy they don’t get out here at the building sites, laying on a bed but of golden rice. It’s hot and warms him to the bone, but it’s not as spicy as the kind his father used to make.

Amoun laughs, speaking with a full mouth. “Let’s not pretend it’s my army. Cai knows I don’t pay enough attention to it. Oh, forgive me”—he smiles sheepishly— “when I’m alone with someone, especially here instead of the palace, I forget my manners. My upbringing is coming back to haunt me. Perhaps that’s another reason people detest me.”

Khyris pauses. Suddenly the food is vastly less interesting than Amoun. “You grew up humble, Majesty?”

“Please, call me Amoun. I am here to court you.”

The reminder makes Khyris bring his eyes back to his plate. Make him throw you out.

“Yes,” Amoun continues, “I came from the forests of the north. My parents were well off, and I have no siblings, but it was not a glamorous childhood by any means. Not compared to what I’m used to now.”

Khyris chews slowly, hyperaware of everything. “I also came from the forests of the north, M—Amoun.”

“Really?” Amoun’s silver clatters against his plate. “I knew I chose well. Where exactly were you raised?”

Khyris tells him about the cabin his mother built, four young siblings and a father too crippled to hunt, a mother too overworked to cook, the privilege Khyris considered hunting.

He loses track of time as Amoun talks about those same forests, hiding from great imaginary beasts that were only the howls of the wind in the trees as a child, the warmth of the curry Amoun’s mother made—the same one Khyris’ mother made for his birthday.

Khyris has never met someone who grew up in the north forests before, and he soon finds he can’t keep the smile off his face.

Before Khyris knows it, they’ve both finished their meals and wine has replaced the coffee. No attendants come in to bring them dessert, Amoun only gets up and accepts plates from them through the tent flap.

Khyris doesn’t have to leave his chair the whole time—he feels like the queen here, dipping a spoon into the bowl of warmth honey cake soaked through with cream. Amoun asks him about his friends, his family, laughs at every story of his siblings, goes somber when Khyris tells him why he joined the army.

Amoun makes him feel like everything he has to say is worth something to him, that his nods aren’t the polite, diplomatic ones he’s no doubt used to putting on. Khyris is only too happy to return the favor and admire the reflection of the lamplight in Amoun’s eyes.

And then it’s ending. The wine has faded from Khyris’ system, and the warmth of Amoun’s hand as he helps Khyris to his feet is bittersweet. He doesn’t know when he stopped trying to make Amoun dislike him, if he was ever trying at all, but now he’s foolishly praying that Amoun will ask him back.

“Thank you for such a wonderful evening, Khyris,” Amoun says, smiling like the witches of legend are said to do—so strong, so beautiful, they make it impossible to look away. Khyris’ limbs seem to draw closer of their own accord before he realizes and quickly puts distance between them.

“Thank you,” Khyris says, a shadow clouding over his heart as he turns toward the tent flap that Amoun holds open.

“Would you like to go out with me again?” Amoun asks as Khyris is about to leave. He stares in hopeful disbelief. “It’s perfectly alright if you don’t. I would never force you into anything you would not want—I have heard the stories your companions tell. Khyris the Angrily Smitten.” Amoun’s lips curve into a smile with an unescapable hint of pain. “I think the angry part is more prevalent. You are one of the ones who would detest me at court.”

Khyris is again mad at Aeron, for an entirely different reason. Has this whole magical evening gone to shit?

“Majesty—Amoun”—he takes a deep breath— “I—I was wrong about you. I would like to go out with you again. It is possible for minds to change.” He laces his own fingers behind his back, arms held taught in the stiff jacket.

Amoun’s answering grin is brighter than the sun.

Amoun has to go back to Ramia, of course, and Khyris back to the city building corporal’s lifestyle, but they spend every chance they could get together, alone, in a welcome relief from life for both of them. Aeron and Delia have been nothing but evil about it, but it’s no less than Khyris would expect.

His and Amoun’s second outing comes mere weeks after their first, when Khyris thought he might go mad from anticipation. Would their next meeting be just as perfect as their first? He frets, despite Aeron’s relentless teasing about the fact that so recently, he’d despise himself for fretting about this.

He made the mistake of addressing the queen as Amoun in Delia and Aeron’s presence. At the risk of his own sanity, he’s been careful to censor himself since, though Aeron probably sees right through it.

Their second date is every bit as good as the first and more. Amoun invites Khyris to the camp where he’s staying, visiting another battalion of soldiers in the north. Khyris was happy to go just to escape Aeron’s teasing, but the smile Amoun gives him upon arrival did things to him he didn’t know were possible. After a few days together and the blistering kiss Amoun gives him when they part, Khyris knows his mind is made up.

It should not come as a surprise when Amoun proposes only a few months later. The whole purpose of Amoun’s visit, after all, was to find a spouse to court.

He’s not just falling for the queen of Kadar for all the perks of being his lover. when Amoun first announced this challenge, Khyris thought the steady income for his family would be the only reason he’d ever agree if miraculously chosen.

As soppy and awful as it sounds, as much as he’s becoming the very lovestruck fool he loved to hate, he enjoys Amoun for him, not for his money or his power or his safety. His company. His smile. His mix of ease and nerves, how he both seems to know exactly what he’s doing and has no clue at all.

Now, he’s in Ramia again for the first time in four years in the part of it he never thought he’d get to visit in his lifetime: the queen’s private palace apartments. Amoun is looking at him the warmth of the sun in those eyes and asking if Khyris will be his forever. What can Khyris say but yes?

Khyris might hang around court more often than he ever thought he would, but he still can’t bear to leave the army. He sees past the humor in Aeron’s voice when he asks, “Don’t forget about your fellow corporals when you’re the queen’s husband, alright?” Khyris spends half of the days leading up to wedding with the soldiers, working hard and crashing harder just like he did before, and the other half in some kind of paradise of luxury with Amoun.

He invites Aeron and Delia to the palace when he visits—he’s learned, as the queen’s betrothed, there’s little he can’t get away with, including sudden leave for any soldier he likes. Seeing the raw awe on Aeron’s face makes his own adjustment a little easier to bear.

He and Amoun decline to get tattoos of betrothal—that’s a Cairic tradition at heart, and the queen of Kadar couldn’t be seen with that, especially since they’re trying to move away from Tel Cairis’ traditions.

Being suddenly waited on and served food even better than the stuff in Amoun’s tent on their first date is nice, but jarring. He’s so used to the humble life, getting everything himself, being independent. The army only enforced that, even when he gained friends.

Now the clothes he wears puts his yellow dinner jacket to shame, and every bit of building has been made by hundreds of men compared to a few. He can only wonder how Amoun adjusted.

Amoun is a sweetheart, empathetic and sensitive. Unfortunately, this means Khyris can’t keep a secret around him, and he quickly notices Khyris’ discomfort.

“Mi’hail, please,” he implores one night, because of course he’d be the type to use old fashioned terms of endearment like that. “Tell me what I can do to make this place feel as much as your home as it is mine. All I desire is to make you happy.”

Khyris sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. His cheek is pillows on the silk nightshirt covering his arm, so light and soft and decadent you can hardly call it a shirt. His feet are made warm by the sheets of Amoun’s bed, the warm orange glow of candlelight turning Amoun’s skin the most beautiful gold.

This is not the first time Amoun has asked, but Khyris always tells him not to bother, he’s busy enough, he’s done enough already. “If we are to be married,” Amoun tries, “it cannot be on unequal footing. I will not have you be a sacrifice to be with me. You grew up with so little—let me repay you now.”

“Oh, and you grew up in luxury?” Khyris counters.

“Stop trying to switch the subject.” Amoun sits up against the cushioned headboard. “Tell me, or I will not leave it alone.”

Khyris knows how capable he is of that. He manages a small smile.

“A garden,” he settles on at last, thinking of the northern forests, how he loved the trees but always wished for a more glamorous, well-tended grove. “Remind me of the north, where we are from. Give me a version of our forests that’s neater, that shows the nicest parts without all the ugly ones.” He sighs, already picturing it, almost able to smell the richness of the tree sap if he concentrates. “With a fountain,” he adds. “Is that too much?”

Amoun’s eyes are shining. “Not at all. I will do it, mi’hail.”

Amoun builds him a garden. He commissions a fountain. He brings the forests of the north to Ramia.

Khyris underestimates him once again.

It takes so long and takes up so much space, Khyris is eventually banned entirely from the west side of the palace in case he catches a glimpse of Amoun’s hard work. All he knows is that Amoun is always beaming and giddy with excitement and anticipation of Khyris’ reaction.

The damn thing takes so long to build, Khyris doesn’t get to see it till three weeks after their wedding, when they get back from their trip alone to the forests of the north.

When everything is finally done to Amoun’s liking, Amoun can’t let go of his hand as he leads him out to see it. He even makes Khyris close his eyes, an incredible trust exercise. When Khyris is allowed to open them, his jaw falls open.

He’d been prepared by the sound of flowing water, but nothing could truly brace him for this. From the top of the steps leading inside where they stand, Khyris can see the whole thing: the fountain of himself holding his bow, quiver at his back, free hand reaching up to fix his hair. “Wh—how did you get a statue of me commissioned without needing me there?”

Amount just grins.

None of the trees are old enough to provide shade yet, but stone beds with soil inside house several young, green trees that will grow up to be the great sprawling ones of the north. The floor is stone, not dirt, and it’s much nicer and cleaner to look at than the leafy forest floor. The smell of the trees is absent, but it’s more than made up for with the greenery tucked into every spot, the rare pops of pink flowers from the east. Everything is well tended and trimmed, from the hedges to the plants to the shape of the trees.

Each layer up to the palace entrance is covered in some of potted plant, and an artificial river runs around every bit of it to feed them, the channel carved into the stone.

Khyris can’t fathom how he imported everything and how it’s stayed so fresh—the wont of a queen, he supposes.

“The gardens of Khyris,” Amoun says quietly at his back, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to pull him closer.

After another minute of silence, he laughs nervously. “Speechless, mi’hail?”

“Uh, yes.” Khyris turns his head to kiss him. “I don’t know how to thank you. it’s absolutely gorgeous. I—seriously, all of this is for me?”

“I would be happy to ban the public if you asked,” Amoun confirms. “Does it take you back to the north forests as it does for me?”

“You know it does. It’s perfect in every way.”

Amoun walks him down the steps to the garden itself, showing him every carefully chosen detail. Khyris is happy to stand with him near the fountain, enough for the sound of the rushing water to lull him into a sense of calm. He wonders how he could’ve ever hated Amoun.

“Khyris the Angrily Smitten, they called you all those months ago,” Amoun murmurs. Khyris’ ears burn hot.

“I find it endearing,” Amoun confesses, “but I know you find it rather—embarrassing. I’d like to call you something else.” His fingers curl around Khyris’ neck, soft and warm. “Khyris mi’hail? Khyris the Beloved?”

Khyris fights the smile threatening to break out and fails. “Better than Khyris the Great, or something awful like that.”

Amoun laughs. “I am great enough for both of us,” he says, and pulls Khyris to the sound of the water mingling with the wind. An earthly heaven without Cai.

shorts taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @lunarmoment @missingpeace

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses @47crayons @wickerring

#writing #writeblr #my writing #my short story #my wip #fantasy #fantasy writeblr #lila's wips: acogs #lila's short stories

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medicus-mortem · 2 years

Text

@ikkaku-of-heart asked: How the massive black dog got on the ship was anyone's guess. Ikkaku probably snuck him in for a visit. But now Neptune had plodded into Law's office, a basket in his mouth full of Bepo-shaped onigiri and a massive yellow, heart-printed bow around his neck. He was delivering lunch on behalf of the engineer, as she knew Law would be busy trying to finish up paperwork before the party.

Placing the basket at the captain's feet, Neptune resisted the urge to snag one of the fish-filled rice balls he smelled and instead lay on his back, giving a big doggy grin and demanding belly rubs. This human needed a short break. Pets were good at relieving stress. Neptune knew this very well. And if the man didn't eat, Ikkaku had already given him permission to knock him to the floor and slobber all over him as punishment.

Pupper Ask!

Law writes away at his documents, filling in needed data and making sure everything is neat. Well, neat enough for him to read. No one else is actually looking at this stuff. As he works a figure plods into his room, the captain noticing the entrance out of the corner of his eye. Law grunts in acknowledgement but instead of any request he gets a gentle thud and low bark. He straightens, head turning to see a very familiar massive black dog sitting and slobbering on his floor.

Brow furrows instantly, the doctor knowing just how dirty and filled with bacteria a dog can be. For a moment he is about to tell Neptune to get out and take Ikkaku with him, but then he notices the basket and the food hidden beneath a protective cloth. What’s worse is the way Neptune rolls over, looking up at him with expectant and adorable big eyes. Law turns away, grumbling in his throat before he drops his pen and gets to his feet. He steps over to the dog, kneeling beside the basket.

A glance beneath the cloth shows him the delicious looking onigiri and Law sighs. He can see what Ikkaku is doing. His hand moves to that exposed belly, giving a rub and a scratch to the happy dog.

“Your human is a devious thing,” Law says, tone flat. “And you’re a gross, slobbery health risk. Yes, you are. ... Ikkaku will have to sanitise this entire ship tomorrow.”

#ikkaku of heart #Boring Question // Answered Ask #As Planned // IC #[what a good and smart dog]

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hlcreators · 4 years

Photo

AUTHOR REC: haztobegood / @haztobegood

Don’t forget show some love by leaving kudos and comments!

to be so... (228)

Sex was the agreement; Harry’s heart was collateral.

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A Seed from the Cherished Tree A Cloud from the Mighty Summit A Flower from the Perpetual Volcano A Pearl from the Perceptive Lake A Love across the Faery Realms

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The Trials were dangerous, deadly even. But for Harry, Louis would risk it all.

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“You know, I don’t think spankings are going to cut it tonight. Not only did you disobey me, but I had to watch you all day, knowing what you were up to.” Harry’s jaw drops as he realizes that Louis had known all along. He’d walked himself right into the trap. He’d tripped the wire. He groans. This punishment was going to be so much more than he could anticipate.

Ex Cathedra (4.4k)

Harry nodded. “Yeah, but if the Church doesn’t accept me, how am I supposed to worship God?”

“Remember what Father Paul said?” Louis asked. “He said that while the church is a building where we gather to worship, your faith is your Church and no one can take that away from you. And besides, we do have a church.”

Written for Prompt #127: The misgiving that the Catholic Church might turn out to be right about everything after all.

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Thirty seven love bites might be their new record, but then again, last night’s game had gone exceptionally well. Harry presses the pad of his thumb into one of the more prominent bruises along his collarbone, the pain grounding him as he recalls the events of the previous night.

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Niall lets out a loud laugh, “Hey, listen to this. You know how elections are Tuesday? It says the Babeland on the edge of campus is giving out free toys to the first 100 people that show their ‘I Voted’ sticker.”

“How patriotic.” Louis laughs. “Maybe I should go.”

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Written for Prompt #231: The amazement at how much hot air people manage to produce.

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“I’m never gonna finish fixing this car. It’s taking so long and I am so sick of it. Why can’t it just be fixed already?” Louis grumbles. Harry puts a comforting hand on Louis’ arm.

“Now that’s not true. Look how far you’ve come already. You’ll finish this car, even if it’s not as soon as you were hoping for.”

“But I’m not good enough at all this mechanical shit and every time I take two steps forward something throws me three steps back.” Louis drops his head into his crossed arms on the table, shrinking into the sudden surge of self doubt.

“I know it’s hard, but you’re smart. You’ll figure it out. You just need a good break from the car for a bit and then you’ll be back at it, alright?” Harry rubs his back soothingly.

Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong as Louis is fixing up his vintage Aston Martin V8 Vantage.

Written for Prompt #27. The thrill at the awesome sound of the eight-cylinder motor.

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Niall drags Louis to a Tarot reading after a night out. Louis does not believe in fortune telling.

#writer appreciation week #1dsource #hljournal #fics #author rec

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writing-the-end · 3 years

Text

LoL Chapter 27- Hermits

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Its not often the hermits get a chance to all be together. And while they know battles lie ahead of them, they take this moment to enjoy being a family again.

______________________________________

Etho appears beside TFC, causing the mineral mage to sputter out the coffee he was sipping. “I caught sight of xB a few islands down!”

The hermits murmur with excitement and follow Etho to the shoreline. Sure enough, xB is hauling Hypno and Beef onto the warm sand. Hypno thumps his hand against his head, an attempt to escape his clogged ears which only fails for him. “Can’t we take a sky turtle next time?”

“But it’s more fun to swim!” xB chuckles, and with a flick of his finned ears and his grey tail he runs to hug the hermits. “It’s so good to be back, guys! I can’t remember the last time all of us were on the island together.”

“You guys said something about taking back Lairyon?” Beef raises an eyebrow, looking over at Doc. “This isn’t your rebellious phase coming back, is it?”

“We’ll explain everything on the way. TFC has a lot to tell.” Etho wraps his arms around Hypno and xB, before disappearing into their shared shadow.

The kipling laughs, shaking his head and looking around the island. “Some things never change. I see you haven’t fixed the hole in False’s forge either.”

The hermits laugh, the entire group filled with life as they return to the guild hall. Joe and Cleo regale the missing hermits with the story of their victory at the Chimaera’s Championship. Their battles and challenges in the arena, facing off against the best guilds and winning the cup. They also tell Hypno, xB, and Beef about the heist, the discovery.

“Why am I not surprised?” Hypno hums, tapping his fingers against the wood of the table that he sits down at. TFC pats the boys on the head, grabbing at Beef’s face and tapping his finger on a scar he sees. Beef shrinks away, concerned for a second, but the guildmaster only chuckles in response.

“I can’t wait to hear that story. It’s good to have you guys back.” TFC pats him on the back. “Treat you to a pint of beer next time we go to town.”

“Let’s hear about this big job you’ve got planned for us first.” xB raises an eyebrow. In response, TFC rolls out his map.

The paper has changed since they first decided to go after Dolios and his creepy crystals. If there’s one thing an outlaw guild knows how to do, it’s to find new jobs through the grapevine. “Dolios has these tales silenced. I’ve heard of at least six other guilds being attacked or wiped out by unknown magic. Unfortunately, we’re too late to help them.” Team ZIT glance at one another, but focus on the here and now. “But there are places we can make a difference, as well as get information and better ourselves as a group.”

TFC motions to the Evernight forest. “An old friend of mine said there has been stories of familiars and companion animals going missing. No trace of where they went, except for a few patches of charred grass.”

“Charred, or drained?” Mumbo muses. To anyone, that sounds like the signs of a dragon ravaging Foresta, but after Mumbo’s duel with a draconic mage he knows dragons aren’t that dastardly. Nothing is as dastardly as Dolios.

TFC grins, the newest member and the guildmaster sharing a knowing glint. “There’s also Shellor- which, I believe one of our hermits here knows quite intimately.” Etho gives a two fingered salute, rocking on the back legs of his chair until they fall out from under him, dumping him on the floor. Doc, Beef, and BDubs laugh at him. “There’s a few spies who’ve seen things Dolios has done, but the hard part will be earning their trust.”

“Hmm, yeah. I don’t think I really left Shellor on a good note.” Etho grimaces.

“That’ll be you, Keralis, and Grian’s problem. Meanwhile, we also need some help in the magical beings department. And if there’s one group that has mysterious, arcane magic on lock, it’s-”

“The fae!” Stress slams down her hands, a bright smile on her face. Iskall jolts upright and nearly hits the table again on the way down. “But where will we go? The fjords? The mountains? Heartbreak Trench?”

“The flowerfruit fields. While you’re there, you and BDubs can gather ingredients that we’ve been running low on.” TFC glances at the map, running a finger over the lime green patch on the map. “We do have two confirmed crystal sightings, as well as Gildara. Edenswell seems to be falling ill to dark magic, and there’s reasonable belief that Dolios isn’t getting these massive rocks from nowhere- he’s using gems from the mines.”

Heads peek over one another in an attempt to see the map. The charcoal diamonds and swirls. Gildara still sits untouched, and every hermit looks at one another. Do any of them want to return to the beginning of this all? Even to put an end to the dark magic plaguing the land, the memories of what they saw, what they experienced, still remain.

Except for those that weren’t there. “I don’t think I’d mind checking out this hokey little town you guys keep talking about.” Beef grins, glancing over at Hypno and Wels. “We’ll have that place brimming with flaxen fields and green gardens all over again.”

TFC grins, dipping his head in thanks to the returning hermits. He leans back, looking at the filled guild hall. “It’s been so long since we’ve all been together. If only it were on good terms.”

“It feels good to return home.” xB ruffles his hair with a scaled hand, looking around for a second, then returning to speaking. “Even if it’s just for a short time, we should enjoy everyone being together again.”

“What I’m hearing is we need to have our signature hermit celebrations.” Tango’s face splits into a devious smile. All around him, other hermits get a similar smirk on their face. Before TFC can agree to the idea, the hermits are gone. Cleo rushes to her wrecked pirate ship, hefting kegs of ale with the aid of Stress. Wels commandeers False’s forge to begin baking his favorite sweets, while Mumbo, Grian, and Iskall work together to fix the pennants, lanterns, and flags that decorate the guild hall in a myriad of colors.

Tango snaps his fingers, and a small flame dances at his fingertips, jumping from his nails to the wicks of the lanterns. He ducks out of the way just in time to avoid being smacked in the face by a massive fish, tossed from the sea by xB and grabbed by Grian midair. The whirlpool mage disappears back underwater, back to hunting in the realm he was born in.

The sun begins to inch towards the western horizon, turning the sky ablaze in a mosaic of pinks, oranges, yellows, and reds. A blue flag flutters against the ancient oak tree, catching on a branch. BDubs reaches out from his seat near the food platters, hardly even glancing away from the fresh baked goods, and with a flick of his wrist the branch bends away and the flag flies free again.

False appears beside Wels, grabbing a brownie from the hot pan and sticking her tongue out at him as she passes. When Wels objects she’s quick to retort. “You used my forge. It’s rental payment, paladin.”

Beef sets out plates, which are promptly ignored once Impulse and Zedaph have finished cooking the tuna xB caught. Music swells from a music box the creation of Ren, with the help of Mumbo, the upbeat songs written and composed with Joe and requests from the other hermits for their favorite tunes.

The music thrums against the low roar of talking, the sound only broken by the common lilt of laughter. Hermits tell their stories, whether they be heard for the thousandth time or a new tale to tell. Beef causes Hypno to flush as he recounts the prank he pulled on the dream mage. Hypno turns bright red, quiet voice cracking over the tale. “I smelled like centaur shit for a week! It was awful, I’ll tell you that.”

A raucous laugh erupts from that table, overshadowing the story of Mumbo’s duel to xB. “I swear on my life, I thought she was gonna swallow me whole. Or burn me like coal.” Mumbo shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever want to go up against a draconic mage ever again in my life.”

“I’m surprised a kipling, a draconic mage, and a desert wizard were one team. That’s a strange group. I don’t think I’ve even met each of the others.” xB takes a bite of his fish, marinated in fresh fruits that Cub plucked from nearby islands. “But I’m sure that kipling gave you guys a run for your money. That magic she had… it’s rare beyond imagination. In kipling legend, it means a legendary hero is about to arise.”

“He definitely kicked Ren’s ass. I don’t think I ever saw so much water moved at once.” Mumbo shakes his head, and stuffs a red jelly tart into his mouth.

Keralis stands, tossing his woven hat from the brown curls of his hair, and inviting himself onto the open floor. “I love this song! Come on, my wonderful friends, let’s dance!”

The setting sun casts a golden glow, bouncing off verdant leaves, twisting along the waves of the Ashioll sea. Laughter and music dance in the gilded light, playing in the curls of Zedaph’s hair as he joins Keralis. The two bumble around, drunk from Cleo’s ale but enjoying themselves immensely.

Only one hermit wasn’t taking part in the festivities. Atop the canopy that protects the guild hall below, Xisuma watches as the stars appear in the sky. For a few moments in the day, the void and the sun share the space above. And he always thinks of the one person he knows he should forget by now. But he would’ve loved this, even if he’s constantly worrying about being caught doing something wrong.

“Hey X, you gonna mope up there all day or join us?” Jevin grins below, one hand placed on his hip and the other waving Xisuma down. “Just because you’re a void mage doesn’t mean you have to a-void everything!”

Xisuma rolls his eyes, but smiles beneath his mask. “After that terrible pun, how can I say no?”

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tellywoodtrash · 4 years

Text

immj2 13.10.20 lb

askjdshkfjdhkfkjdhfkj vansh being told the number of things that went wrong in the 24ish hours he wasn't in this house of horrors and his face is like THIS IS EXACTLY WHY I DON'T LEAVE YOU FUCKING DUMBASSES ALONE

lol, like i said in the firsttttttttt lb, vansh is taking this news realllllllll chill. he's not mad at riddhima at allllllllll for keeping all this from him.

saasuji, chachi, and aryan adding some shuddh desi ghee in this aag. can't blame them. riddhima IS a colossal pain in the ass.

lmao one more bomb thrown on vansh, ki sejal bhi kidnap hui hai aur yahin kahin hai. yaaaaaar, i never thought i'd feel this bad for Ghar Ka Bada Beta after shivaay, but this man is truly having to deal with The Most.

accusation after accusation thrown left and right, and vansh is literally like

man, idk why kabir does any of this devious planning and effort. with allllllll this dumbfuckery, it's just a matter of time before the raisinghanias go extinct from SHEER STUPIDITY. he should just bide his time and let them wipe themselves out. should take like, 3 months, tops.

VANSH HAS A BOMB OF HIS OWNNNNNNNNN: “SEJAL MERE PAAS HAI.” WHUT??!!?!?!?

lmao the panic on allllllllllll these fools' faces hearing that vansh has sejal. dadi and siya are the only oblivious and unbothered ones here.

hahahahahaha vansh turns around and sees YET another fucker who's out to test him and is like MOTHERF....... AB TU KAUN HAI BEYYYYY

vansh playing march 24th waale modiji and is like NONE OF YOU FUCKERS LEAVING THE HOUSE FROM NOW ON. NO ONE. EVER.

dang this growly vansh aint the smiley simp from the last 2-3 eps. i'm intrigued.

he promises everyyyyyything's gonna come out in a bit. yissssssssssssssss *grabs my popcorn from the rasoda*

vanshhhhhhhh OUT!

my queschun is ki does mishra know he's fully being made to shady shit by kabir or not!?!?!??!?

mishra not picking phone. he dedddddddddddd, lol. #RIPMishra

KABIR WTF DON'T BE PULLING THE DUDE'S WIFE AROUND LIKE THIS. OH GOD THEY'RE FULLY GONNA GET MURDERED TODAY.

ainvayi ka nakli fikar and some chugli against vansh.

REJECTED. honestly, she's really asking to be murdered, lol. sis, you can't be playing both parties like this.

lol kabir is meeeeeeee, so sick and tired of heterosexual ppl in love.

blah blah blah find out what he knows.

lmao everyoneeeeeeeeee is panickkkkkk.

WHY DOES HE KEEP TAKING HIS BLOODY MASK OFFFFFFFF

AND DESTROYING PROPERTY AND MAKING NOISE TO DRAW MORE ATTENTION TO THE ROOM. KABIR, SATYAAANAAASH, I THOUGHT YOU WERE THE SMART ONE HERE.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP.

lolololololololololllllllll mummy ki haalat kharaab.

kabir using his half brain cell and not panicking out of control. good.

god bless this vapid praani. idhar sab ki hawa tight hai aur isko apni hairstyle ki padi hai. he's like an evil rudra from IB.

chachi is relatably stress-eating carbs. my most potent coping mechanism.

aryan is like, chillllllll this is mauke pe chauka type situation.

ASDLFKDSLKFJDLSKFJDLSJFLDSKJFL VANSH WHY ARE YOU LIKE THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS HE LAMINATED IT AND EVERYTHING HAHAHAHAHHAHA GODDDDDDD I LOVE HIS PETTY ASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

chalo inn madam ki baari ab, phat ke haath mein aane ki.

helllllllllllllllo, sir. immediate aankhon ko thandak now that he changed out of that red suit.

damn, my aankhein not the only thing thandiiiiiii in this room. temp just dropped to -20 with how chilly he's being to her.

SIS HAS WIPED HER SWEATY UPPER LIP SO MANY TIMES KI FREEFUND KI MOOCHON KI WAXING HO GAYI HAI FRICTION SE. BEHEN POWDER THAT SHIT AND STOP TOUCHING IT; YOU'RE GIVING THE WHOLE GAME AWAY. JESUS. ISKO SPY BANAAKE BHEJA HAI?!?!?! ISKO?????? 🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️

lol does he look like he gives a rat’s ass about sejal and your ramkathaa??????

DUDE STOP RAMBLING. JESUS. YOU'RE SOFA KING BAD AT THIS.

speaking of bad sofas, wth is up with the RIDICULOUSLY high backed chairs in this house, they look fucking insane.

vansh willing her to STFU with his eyes is honestly me.

“maine apni pasand badal li, riddhima.” yiiiiiiiiikes. he's not just talking about cologne, is he???

but also, you deserve much better than this twit, so good for you, my man. you deserve to be with someone who at least has six (6) brain cells.

dhat tere ki. he still seems into her. bloody heterosexuality. hum sabko le doobegi.

“itni nervous kyun ho tum aaj?”

NERVOUSNESS JAAYE BHAAD MEIN; I WOULD FUCKING NEVER LET ANYONE TOUCH MY FACE WITH THEIR BLOODY HANDKERCHIEF EXCUSE ME SIR THIS SKIN TAKES A LOT OF MAINTENANCE I CANNOT HAVE YOU DABBING AT IT WITH YOUR FILTHY POCKET CLOTH AND RISKING BREAKOUTS I MUST INSIST YOU REASSURE AND COMFORT ME FROM 2 FEET AWAY THANK YOU

riddhima trying valiantly to bluff her way through this conversation but vansh is like me on online shopping sites after filling my cart full of stuff: NOT BUYING IT.

literally me any time someone touches my face. internally screaming and thinking about how i’ll have to go dab tea tree oil all over to preemptively stop a breakout.

uhhhhhhhhhhh, she didn't say anything about wanting to know what sejal said to you????? mind-reading is very rude and an invasion of privacy, vansh!!!!!

4 pm, kab bajenge bloody 4, out with it alreadyyyyyyyyy.

lol that tinnnnnnnnny smirk of his as he leaves.

no but forreal, imagine living with this dramaticass man who promises big shows at a given time, like honestly i would be so fucking annoyed. at least shivaay never planned his big living room all-family conferences and made ppl WAITTTTTTTTT for it.

mummy is like kabir plsssssssssssss gtfo.

riddhima is useless as ever and has no info. big surprise.

AEDKLSJFLDSKJLFSKJFLKSDJL HE SNUCK UP ON HER

mummy always been knowing that riddhima is a fucking nikammi.

ok notttttttttt cooool my man. phone is private shit.

off kardiya shaaaani ne.

lol kiskoooooooo pappu bana rahi ho behen, this man knows everyyyyyyyyything.

was that HIS phone he just picked up and left? usmein recording kar raha tha toh??????

honestly can you even blame vansh for being such a shakki shakeel, his house is filllllllllled with fucking snakes.

THIS FOOL JUST BE WALKING AROUND USING ALL THE MAIN DOORS AND SHIT WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU MANNNNNNNNN

asjdkasjdkajshkdsj and the prize for most valiant effort at hide and seek goes to.................

peripheral vision naam ki bhi koi cheez hoti hai, bhai. use karle.

4 BAJ GAYE LEKIN PARTY ABHI BAAKI HAI, ABHI TOH PARTY SHURU HUI HAIIIIIIIIIIIIIII 🥳🥳🥳

hahahahahhahahaha what the fuck his ass actually has a fulllllllllblown sirens blowing at 4 pm. like not a small tinkly alarm too, this is like those sirens they have blaring at big factories and shit.

riddhima dressed in that promo waali sari where nothing good happens so............ good luck sis.

(but also this is the sari anika wore when they fucked in laal ishq so maybeeeeeeeeee good times are incoming???)

HE ACTUALLY TURNED AROUND AND TOOK HIS PLACE, FOR MAXIMUMMMMMMM EFFECT. THIS MAN AND HIS FLAIR FOR THE DRAMATIC. I LOVE IT.

“yeh sab kya ho raha hai vansh??”

“chaar baj gaye, dadi.”

yes. totally a satisfactory explanation for this shit. thanks vansh. but you COULD have mentioned in your notes ki 4 baje ko jo hona tha, was a scheduled fire drill.

ANY HIGH TENSION SITUATION MAKES ME WANNA PEE REAL BAD, AND GIRLS, MY BLADDER IS REAL HURTY RN.

also lord, this one’s base makeup is too yellow toned too. just look at the contrast between his face and his ear.

askdlajlkdjlasjdlasjlkj he sat right on THAT table.

“toh bataao mujhe: kya hua, kyun hua, aur kaise hua.”

.............. like.... who are you talking to? and what exactly are you referring to? you want me to like start from the big bang and the creation of the universe and evolution and all that jazz, ya like, from this morning when i woke up?

(it’s stupid shit like this i would ask that would get me fully murdered in a sitch like this. damn my smartassery, it’s gonna get me killed.)

lol aryan is up first. we love to see it. OUT WITH IT, YOU WEASELLY LITTLE SHIT.

noooooooooooooo, he didn't even let him properly stew and sweat over it. ouff vansh, kuch toh dramatic pause dete.

“afwaa phaili hai ki meri nazar baaz se tez hai..........”

why all the guys on colors these days gotta be baaz and cheel and god knows what else?!?!!?

OH DAAAAAAAAAAAAMNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

OH HELLLLLLLLLLLLLL HE DID USE HIS PERIPHERAL VISION AFTER ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL GOOOOOOD JOBBBBBBBBB VANSHHHHHHHHHHH

KABIR TU TOH GAYAAAAAAAAAA #RIPKABIR

akjsadkjhskjdhkjskask ngl i am fucking thrilled by this development

riddhima and mummy having simultaneous heart attacks though. lol idc, die bitches.

lmao kabir looking reallllllllllll ulta-chor-kotwaal-ko-daante for someone who got caught hiding inside a table.

DANG, I ACTUALLY CANNOT WAIT FOR THE NEXT EP????????? SHIT. THIS STUPID SHOW HOOKED ME IN SOOOOOOOOO EASY. 😫😫😫

#ishq mein marjawan 2 #immj2 #immj2 lbs #episode liveblogs

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goodfortune-au · 3 years

Text

Good Fortune (Soulmate AU) Chapter 11: All Alone

She took a bath that night, deciding she was in very dire need of something, anything relaxing to take her mind off the discovery. Her mind races with thoughts as she peels off her clothes, standing naked in the bathroom as she turns the faucet on. The sound of it is therapeutic, a soothing balm to her battered mind as she watches its journey into the basin, loud and boisterous but conversely soothing in its torrent. She’s itching to get in and warm her aching bones, placate her anxiety, but she decides to let it fill for a little longer. She deliberates for a moment, and then adds a liberal splash of lavender-scented bubble bath under the running faucet. When it’s three quarters of the way full she shuts it off, and in the silence of the room all she can hear is the water dripping from the entrance of the spigot accompanied by her racing thoughts. She delicately submerges one foot, savoring the heat that envelops her skin, that spreads throughout her entire body with a titillating shiver. Her other leg follows suit and she finally sits down within the modest confines of the porcelain, the water shifting rhythmically around her naked curves before settling into still tranquility. The steam of the bath is filling the room like a calming, ethereal mist, lulling her into peaceful and steady repose as she allows the stress in her bones to melt away in the water.

As much as Angel didn’t want to admit it, this, all of this, was getting to her. She didn’t know what it meant, to tell the truth. She didn’t truly understand the implications, because all of it was too much for her. She goes over it all in her head, starting with the ghost from the transmission on Channel 27, before the gifts had started. She thinks about how the gifts had shown up not long after that, that she had interpreted them as having been from something protecting her from the ghost or, worse yet, the thing behind the disappearances. She thinks about the concert and about Halloween, about the mysterious figure that had kept trying to help her, how their eyes had been like distant stars calling to her from far away. She thinks of her dreams about Pennywise, and how his eyes had been near the same as those distant stars. All the times she’d been low only to find that her guardian angel was there with her, leaving her gifts in her time of need so she’d know she wasn’t alone. She thinks about the monster that attacked Patrick, that must have taken the shopkeeper of Secondhand Rose. That… Must have taken Georgie too. And she thinks about the doll, that she’d known was a gift intended just for her. She’d known it, she’d felt it. So just what was it doing here? What was it doing here after she’d had that run-in with the shopkeeper, who’d disappeared not long after she’d left the store? What did it all mean?

Some part of her knew what it all meant, or at least she thought she did. She didn’t want to even consider it. Her mind is awash with feelings she can’t escape, feelings of shame, of guilt, despair. She hadn’t wanted to consider it before when the shopkeeper had gone missing, and she wanted even less to consider it now. The implication that… The implication, that her guardian angel… Oh god, she didn’t want to even think of it. What was she supposed to do, how was she supposed to feel, being courted by something potentially responsible for all the disappearances, the deaths, the grim atmosphere perpetually plaguing the town? How was she supposed to deal with that? How’s she supposed to deal with the guilt of being involved with something that made the shopkeeper disappear, and Patrick, and so many others? Georgie… Georgie too... It’s even worse that she’s bonded with them, has grown to love and to trust them, depending on them to bring her solace in her every time of need. If it really was true, she was something of an accomplice, she had empowered them in what they had done, what they will surely continue to do. The worst part of it being that she had no way to speak to them, to know for sure what their identity was, to have any way to know for certain whether or not her suspicions were correct. It was all simply up to speculation, and Angel was the furthest from an effective investigator that a person could possibly be. She didn’t know what to think.

As she stares at the yellow light fixtures above her bathroom sink, her mind starts to wander someplace else, to another train of thought. She needed to stop, needed to stop being so paranoid. She was thinking too hard about all of this. The doll was clearly intended for her by her guardian angel. She’d known it the moment she’d laid eyes on it. She’d felt it. The shopkeeper had gotten in the way of that, but there was absolutely no way to know that they were responsible for the disappearance, or for Patrick’s, or Georgie’s for that matter. She wants so badly to believe that her guardian angel was just that, a guardian protecting her from the menacing nature of Derry, even if she didn’t quite understand their motives in having chosen her. She’d spent so long getting to know this thing, whatever or whoever it was, and she didn’t get the sense that they meant her or anyone else harm. They were sweet, they were thoughtful, they clearly cared about her happiness. How could she sully their good reputation with a few bad thoughts and feelings? How could she? She feels her mind slowing as she continues to rationalize it all, as she feels all the dread seeping away from her in the water, and the yellow lights above the sink are more striking by the second, almost searing, almost blinding. For some reason, she feels like she’s getting sleepy, though she can’t bear the thought of moving now, can’t summon the energy to lift herself from the tub. Her eyes are starting to glaze over; her limbs feel like dead weights in the water, and despite her meek mental objection she starts to drift away into lavender dreams…

Her eyes open when she feels something behind her. The tub feels much bigger, impossibly so, big enough to accommodate someone else and she figures she must be dreaming. The lights above the sink are now the same as they ever were, dim and unassuming and she feels like she’s sitting in something’s lap. There’s the delicious feeling of something like silk pressed up against her naked back and she shivers when it shifts behind her. It tucks a wet lock of hair behind her ear and leans in close.

“Hello, Angel.” It whispers huskily. She knows that voice, it’s him.

“P-Pennywise?” She asks, her voice small.

“Ding-ding-ding, my sweet. When I saw you here I couldn’t resist. You looked so beautiful in here, like a lovely little water nymph…”

She’s speechless and he laughs. It echoes.

“What’s the matter, pet? Are you not pleased to see me?”

“N-no!” She exclaims, flustered. “I just… I didn’t expect-”

“Didn’t expect to find me here? Yes, well, us clowns are full of surprises.” He says. She can hear the twinkle in his eye. “Now you… You’re something else… Look at you, my dear, entirely predictable.” He cups her face from behind, one playful hand on either side of her face. “So cute, so red you are, and you can’t even see my face. Don’t tell me…” He says, leaning in again. “...You’ve got a little crush on ol’ Pennywise?”

She squeaks and he looses a fit of impish giggles. He doesn’t even give her a chance to deny it.

“Yes, yes, I knew it! Pennywise can tell, oh yes he can! Can tell it by your pretty red face, all your cute little noises. Tell me, my sweet, would you like it if I… Did this?”

His hand slides down from her cheek and trails lower, and lower… It dances down her neck, down the curve of her collarbone, and finally settles just above her breast.

“Would you, hmm?” It trails just a little lower, and she whines. “Hmm? Oh, look at you, you can’t even speak. Tell me, pretty girl. Tell me what you want.”

His hand ghosts over her breast, his finger swirling delicately around the tender bud of her nipple. It hardens under his touch.

“Puh-please… I…” She’s weak, can hardly muster the strength. Where had all her composure gone? She was usually much more eloquent than this. But here with him, like this, all she could seem to manage were a few whimpered words.

He cups her breast, massaging it gently with his hand. “Is this what you want?” He breathes into her ear. She throws her head over his shoulder with a mewl.

“Y-yes…” She whines. “Yes...Please…”

He grins. His hand travels lower, over her stomach, caressing her curves. “Is this...What you want? Do you want me… Here?” He tickles her tummy mischievously and she bursts out in laughter.

“Yuh-yes!” She squeals. “Yes!” He laughs with her too, and then he’s silent. His hand is moving again.

“...Is this what you want?”

His hand has gone lower, lower, lower, trailing over the delicate flesh of her thighs and lingering there for a moment before moving again. It finally finds a place in the tender spot between her legs and her breath hitches in her throat. He fondles her down there, one devious finger trailing up and down the lips of her pussy, slowly, deliciously… And then… And then, it dips inside ever so slightly…

She arches her spine, throwing her head back again as a breathy moan escapes her throat.

“P-Pennywise!”

“Is this what you want, my dear?” That finger is moving deeper inside, the rest of his hand resting gently on her mound. She’s squirming in his hold, bucking her hips up into his hand ever so slightly, unconsciously spreading her legs in the tub as far as she was able as he simply continues his ministrations. A second finger has delved inside, rubbing at her clit, and the first simply carries on in its exploration. “Tell me, sweetness…Do you want Pennywise… Here?”

She freezes up when his finger brushes up against it. He tap tap taps on her clit and then, at long last… His finger dips inside.

She wakes up. She jerks suddenly, sitting upright as the water in the tub jostles around her. The sound of the faucet drip drip dripping into the tub is there to ground her, an amiable dialogue to bring her back into reality. It echoes faintly in the silence of the room. Her face is still scarlet even as she towels off and retires to her bedroom, even as she warily regards the doll while she’s getting into her pajamas, that is, a big baggy t-shirt and a pair of panties. When she crawls into bed that night, she’s shaking; not out of fear but, rather, titillation. That dream had been the best one yet by a thousand miles and she still can’t believe everything that had happened, everything she had felt. Forget dreams about Pennywise, she’d… Never had a dream like that before, period. Angel had never been fortunate enough to have wet dreams. Her brain was particularly cruel to her in that regard, choosing to deny her something that would have made sexual frustration of the past much more bearable. But now, just like everything else, things were changing, and for why she had no idea. But that didn’t matter, not at this moment, when she could still feel the lingering sensation of his touch on her skin. She lays in bed, stewing in it all, burning with desire and then she can’t take it anymore. She reaches into her bedside table drawer and extracts something to help soothe, to help scratch the itch that so desperately needed to be scratched. She’d bought it some weeks ago during Christmas, and had only used it once prior to this. But now… Now, she needed to.

She peels her panties from her legs and falls back onto her bed, spreading her thighs as she does so. Breathless, she wastes no time; she positions it between her legs, rubbing it up and down the wetness of her slit and pushing it firmly into the tightness within. When she finally pushes in the tip she hisses in pure, unabated pleasure, pulling it back out and pushing in again, deeper this time. With each movement of the toy she’s rocking into it with her hips, pushing it deeper and deeper with every simulated thrust, until she’s finally worked it all the way in to the hilt. She turns the dial on the end, and delicious vibrations start to work their way through her body until she’s gasping, breathless, panting. And as she f*cks herself on the toy, Pennywise can see, can hear her crying out for him in ecstasy. He can see her, touching herself, letting one hand wander over the most sensitive parts of her body, cupping her own breast, throwing an arm over her face as she squeaks and shudders and shivers in absolute pleasure. Can see, even as she readjusts herself, positioning the toy over her pile of pillows and riding it, the way she arches her back and moans into the emptiness of the room. Rolling her hips with slow, deep, deliberate thrusts, she makes delicate, fragile sounds and keeps her hands firmly on the mattress.

“P-Pennywise…” She mutters under her breath. She continues, even as the vibration of the toy sends dim frissons of pleasure tingling through her loins. Continues, even as those frissons of pleasure build and bubble in her gut until they are ever-present in her mind, until all she can think about is this one simple end. She moves her hips faster now, and her noises grow increasingly more insistent, more frantic. She doesn’t notice the eyes trained on her, never leaving her form. She doesn’t notice the deep rumbling that underscores her own noises, the way the ground beneath Derry seems to tremor with something powerful and beastly. She doesn’t notice any of it, too caught up in her own world of carnal self-indulgence.

“Pennywise, P-Pennywise…! I- Oh god, oh f*ck…” It’s faster and faster. She’s riding the toy with reckless abandon now, bouncing on it, consumed in the way it makes her feel, the way the thought of him touching her makes her feel. All she can see in her mind’s eye is him. All she can see is the two of them together, their bodies pressed together, drinking in each other’s lust and longing. It spurs her on, drives her toward that ultimate end, and she couldn’t stop now even if she’d wanted to. All she can do is keep riding, keep fantasizing, keep thinking of him. She falls forward onto her chest and keeps humping the pillow, caught in a relentless rhythm now, chasing that sweet, sweet bliss that was so close within her grasp until it’s inescapable. It's coming, she can feel it, and as she passes the point of no return she seizes up.

“P-PENNYWIIIISE!” She squeals, letting her orgasm roll over her in deliciously sinful waves. She manages a few more weak thrusts and then she collapses forward into her bed, burying her face into the pillows beneath her.

“P-P-Pennywise… Pennywise…” She mumbles brokenly. The night is still and listening.

Once she’d gotten herself cleaned up and drifted off to sleep, it had been the most peaceful sleep Angel had had in a very long time. She hadn’t dreamt after that, but after something so ridiculously indulgent as the bath she could hardly be disappointed about it when she woke up the next morning. She doesn’t so much roll out of bed as she buoyantly hops out, and as she gets ready for work that morning she has to stop herself grinning ear to ear, fighting back the blush that’s staining her cheeks, that wonderfully lewd feeling blossoming between her legs whenever she recalled the sound of his voice rasping in her ear. She regards the knit doll staring at her from her clown shelf with a cock of her head, thinking on it in silence, and sighs as she picks it up and studies it in her hands. It really was quite adorable. She couldn’t very well resent such a thoughtful offering, and she’d paid for it in the end, after all. She studies its googly eyes and the red yarn hair peeking out of the white cap atop its head, and she starts to smile as she hugs it to her chest. Her. It was a her. She simply felt it in her guts, and she’d even thought of a name. When she places her back on the shelf along with the other clowns, she pauses for a moment as she looks over them, and she’s about to shut the closet door but then she stops. No. She picks her up again and, after a moment of deliberation, turns and deposits her against the center pillow on her bed. She carefully tucks in the doll and pulls her arms out to rest over the covers. Pepper. Her name was Pepper.

Work that day was painless. Angel took her duties in stride, attending to the shelves and putting back returns with relative, quick-footed ease. Quite a few people needed help with book selections that day but she wasn’t fazed by it; she would direct them to where they needed to go and then she would return to what she was doing, passing the hours quickly as she let herself get swallowed up by thoughts of Pennywise and the dream she’d had last night. Thoughts about what he had done, what he would have continued to do if she hadn’t woken up burn in her mind, consuming her like a tepid fever. As she continues her shift she has to stop herself from zoning out too much, knowing better than to invoke the wrath of the looming librarian who always seemed to be one step ahead of her. When she was on break, however, she would go into full-on daydream mode, sighing contentedly with elbows propped on her knees as she let the pictures in her head play out like the most breathtaking movie in existence.

It had been such a long time since she’d had a crush of this magnitude. To be completely and totally frank, she didn’t think she’d ever had a crush of this magnitude period. She’d had fixations on fictional characters in the past (one of the earliest and most memorable being a blue-skinned space prince from an old cartoon about a giant robot), but even they hadn’t been so enchanting to her that she spent this much time thinking about them. Pennywise seemed to be on her mind in some capacity twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Always wandering into the forefront of her mind at the most inopportune times, taking the most precedence in her thoughts whenever he did and distracting her from whatever she happened to be doing at the time. One day when she was grocery shopping she dropped a jar of pickles on the floor simply because she saw someone with near the same color hair. It was a little embarrassing, but Angel could hardly fault herself for coping in the only ways she knew how during these difficult times. She lived in a small town by herself, surrounded by people who either ignored her or had it out for her, she felt excruciatingly lonely, people were dropping like flies around her and there was a very distinct possibility that whoever was making these people disappear was after her, maybe even the kids too. She needed distractions, even if those distractions were copious and unhealthy. It was the only thing keeping her sane.

When she goes home, she’s still in good spirits. The commute is pleasant, and she finds a gift from her guardian angel, the disembodied head of a doll lying in a curb next to a manhole cover at the corner of Jackson and Witcham. Anyone else would have looked on this offering with frozen, abject horror, but not Angel. Angel picks it up with a smile, replacing it with a ticket stub from one of her very first concerts (Bad Brains in 1981, which her parents had somewhat reluctantly driven her to on their way back from a trip after she’d begged them) and idly continues on her way back. When she greets Mayor Jello after she steps through the threshold of the front door, she picks him up and nuzzles him, only stopping to let him down when he fights to break free of her arms. Dinner that night was leftovers from the day before. Angel goes to bed that night stewing in some kind of excitement, vainly hoping that her little hallucination in the bathtub was a signifier of some kind that the dreams had returned. She hadn’t been so lucky after New Years, but who knows, right? She’s still reliving it, still caught in the web of its influence, and it takes her some time to finally drift off to sleep…

She wakes up, groggy and disoriented, and her alarm is particularly jarring on this morning in particular. No Pennywise dream. Par for the course, but something else was strange. She hadn’t had any dreams at all. None. Nada, zip, zilch. It had been quite a while since that happened, and she finds it utterly strange and a little disarming. Nevertheless, she gets dressed and goes about her day. Back to normal, she supposed. Except normal, as it turned out, was turning out to be not so normal. As the days wore on, as January came and went and became February, Angel had continued this strange and unusual pattern. Sleep was a featureless black void from the moment her eyes fluttered shut to the moment they opened again to the sound of her morning alarm and even as she slept in on the weekend. Angel didn’t quite know what to make of it at first, but then something else caught her attention. Slowly but surely, the gifts from her guardian angel were dwindling into nothing. She didn’t notice so much the first week or so; it was not often she found gifts every single day, after all. Usually she would find one every one to two days. She was truthfully thankful for the gaps between gifts, because it gave her time to find something new to offer in return. But now the gaps were just… Getting bigger. The first week she’d only found about three at most. The second, only two. The third she’d only found one gift, and she hadn’t felt that familiar warmth at all when she did.

Angel had found herself growing more in tune to things around town whether she liked it or not, and this, whatever it was, felt like an omen. She couldn’t help herself from feeling those bad, bad feelings, from thinking such bad, bad thoughts, and with the growing absence of her guardian angel she was starting to feel very much unsafe around town now. Whenever she left the house she felt the distinct sense that she wasn’t alone, that she was being watched, and it wasn’t at all pleasant or comforting like it had been before. She was starting to withdraw, she was becoming a recluse, avoiding leaving the house whenever it was physically possible. It was true she wasn’t much for the outdoors before this, but she at least had the confidence to be able to walk over to the local pharmacy and go home with a couple bags full of groceries. Now, she simply didn’t want to chance it. The kids hadn’t stopped by in a while; had been busy with school, and she couldn’t very well blame them for getting caught up in their studies or other such adolescent happenings as it were. No, it was simply Angel by herself, and this was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in the sense that she didn’t need to put on an act for anybody, but a curse in the sense that she was just so afraid. She was left alone with her own thoughts, and it's not as though she wasn’t already left to her own thoughts on a regular basis, but now that her guardian angel seems to have shuffled off all of a sudden, all she could do was frantically wonder what had happened so suddenly. What had she done, if anything at all, to ward them off?

It’s all she could think about for days going into weeks. What if her guardian angel really had abandoned her? It’s a terrible thought, and one she can hardly stomach. Had they stopped liking her gifts? Were they jealous of her feelings for Pennywise? Did they think she was spurning them for him? Did the monster possibly get the last laugh over them, and now they were no more? All she can feel is fear and guilt. Fear for herself, fear for the children, fear on behalf of her guardian angel, fear that there was nothing to stop the monster from taking her now that they were out of the picture. Guilt for her inadequacy, guilt for her feelings about Pennywise, guilt for some instinctual feeling in her gut that she can’t truly put words to. She is lost and scared and now more than ever she dreads living alone, but still she wouldn’t dare to communicate that to her family. Even if she’d somehow mustered the nerve, how would she even begin to explain why she suddenly wanted to jump ship on this whole thing? She needed to be strong, she needed to commit, even if it was hard. Even if it was getting harder to sleep at night, harder and harder to pretend that she was holding everything together.

Still no dreams. Angel had given up again on that whole business by now and was now concerned mostly with the continued absence of her guardian. Things were… Just so cold now. Before, even when things had been at their worst, there was still the warmth of being, of feeling protected, that she could cherish and hold onto. But now that they were gone, she just felt like she was always trekking through an unforgiving frozen tundra, always sinking knee deep into frigid snow with each step. She wished now more than ever that she could feel that heat, like a warm blanket about her shoulders, keeping her safe and shielded from all that would possibly do her harm but it wasn’t there. There was only the cold, dead nothing, and she didn’t know how she was supposed to cope with it on top of everything else. Everything else, everything that had been eating away at her; Georgie’s disappearance, the death of Patrick, the shopkeeper from Secondhand Rose… Her depression and mood swings, her body issues… Her loneliness… It was all still there, and it was crushing her into the ground.

Her loneliness was especially prominent lately, that’s why Pennywise had become so important to her. It was a very particular and very agonizing pain, and it was one he could alleviate so effortlessly. Whether he did so in dreams or through her TV screen didn’t matter; she just wanted to see him, because seeing him made her forget it all, even if just for a short while. There was something about him that was so innately comforting to her and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. In a sense, he gave her the same warm feeling that her guardian angel did, and that was remarkable, for she had no way to truly describe the sensation she would feel when she would find those beloved offerings, of knowing in some cosmic way that they were meant just for her. She could hardly question it though, not now. Now, here, in all this uncertainty, in all this fear and apprehension, she desperately craved that warmth in any way that it would come to her, so she gave herself to her most recent obsession in any and every way possible. Would think of him at night while she shivered under the covers and tried to fall asleep, would draw and paint him during the day when there was nothing else to fill the hours; imagined him escorting her to wherever she needed to go when she left the house. She clung to those ever-cherished blocks when the Derry Children’s Hour would come on and she could see him again in the flesh or, as close to in the flesh as he could possibly be anyway. She’d keep her eyes rooted to the television screen, no longer in the doe-eyed adoration of before but rather, in pure need. She needed him, now more than ever.

February was chugging along at a snail’s pace, and every day was uncertain to Angel now. She felt so insecure and so vulnerable that she’d started carrying Pepper around with her wherever she went; wore her pearl heart around the clock, even every night when she crawled into bed and took Pepper with her under the covers. She hoped, she prayed that the protection of her guardian angel didn’t end with their mere presence, and that their gifts were somehow imbued with that security, that they would keep her safe from the monster, from whatever was snatching people up from the town. It was taking everything she had not to cry her eyes out on a daily basis, from calling out of work or even quitting her job, packing up and leaving Derry behind forever. It seemed rash, it seemed unreasonable, but she couldn’t help herself from entertaining these trains of thought nonetheless. The only thing that stopped her was the thought of crawling back to her family, of admitting that she couldn’t handle things on her own like she’d said she could. And though she didn’t want to think about it too hard lest she get her hopes up for nothing, she had the faintest sliver of hope that her guardian angel was still around somehow, was still looking out for her even if she couldn’t feel their presence.

He was watching her throughout all of this. He had never truly stopped watching her, not since the bath. Truth be told, it had been hard to restrain himself during that last dream. He wanted to take her, take her right then and there, in every conceivable sense of the word. He wanted to shove her wet, dripping body up against the plaster wall and make her wail with absolute pleasure, take her back with him to the sewers beneath Derry where she would become his now and forever. But he couldn’t. That wasn’t it, wasn’t the time. He needed to still himself, needed to be patient. It was so close within his grasp that he could feel it, but all the same he needed to keep his composure and continue to dangle the carrot as it were. She was eating right out of the palm of his hand, had been ever since the gifts had started, ever since he’d started appearing on that silly little television show. All his efforts to draw her in were slowly but surely bearing fruit, and it was only a matter of time before the inevitable harvest. It was so close… He salivates at the thought of holding her, of touching her, feeling her fragile skin beneath his merciful claws. No, he wouldn’t hurt her, would never hurt her unless she wanted him to, unless she begged for it. He would always treat her with kindness and consideration, because he knew she would do the same for him.

He watched as she struggled with everything she didn’t understand, everything she didn’t know, watched as she struggled with the morality of possibly developing feelings for a monster. He found it adorable, all of her confusion, her belief that her guardian angel was a force different altogether than that of the eater of worlds, the way some small part of her wondered if they might be one and the same nonetheless. He loved how unsure and uncertain she was of it all, loved how she kept second-guessing everything she was discovering, the way that she would rationalize everything that didn’t quite sit right in an effort to soothe her own battered conscience. It made her all the more vulnerable to his manipulations and he could see the path ahead, could see her morality slowly but surely degrading as a result of him tweaking her strings. He watched as he ceased his attentions, how she had grown to feel defenseless and abandoned in the apparent absence of her protector. He watched as she grew more fearful and reclusive as a result, deciding to flex the might of his dreadful influence on the town now in an effort to shut her off more from the world, all so she would feel unsafe. Watched as she leaned headfirst into her little crush, trying to bury her head in the sand so it all wouldn’t feel so terrible and frightening. Though he loved her and wanted only her happiness, he knew this was necessary to bring them together. It would all be worth it in the end. It was almost time.

Angel could not be less prepared to cope with the arrival of Valentine’s Day, her least favorite holiday of them all by far. It had always been a bitter occasion; even in elementary school, before she’d fully understood the depth or scope of romantic feelings she’d grown up spurned by the majority of her classmates, and things had only worsened as she grew into an adolescent and the kids got colder, more cruel. The growing rumors didn't help matters either. It was true, she had a liking for the aesthetic of the holiday but that was really as far as it went for her. Beyond that, she either couldn’t care less or she would count the seconds until the day was finally over. Most of the time, it was the latter. As much as Angel hated to admit it, this was a vulnerable day for her, with all her insecurities and problems with self worth tending to peak at their highest during this juncture in the year. They would reach an apex, in critical danger of bubbling over, and this was a time that Angel would dive headfirst into her worst coping mechanisms. She would eat her feelings until she felt nothing but numb, and then she would try her best to just forget it. That is, until the next year rolled around.

Seeing Derry all decked out in hearts was a pleasant sight if irritating, and Angel is at least thankfully safe from the emotional peril of the holiday in the confines of the library, where she spends most of the day simply throwing herself into her routine as much as humanly possible. Once her shift is over she takes the quickest route home, still terrified and paranoid as a result of her protector’s recent disappearance, and practically kicks in the door as she rushes inside and slams it behind her. Mayor Jello has been pensive lately, soaking in his owner’s bad vibes, and is often absent from the living room now when she comes in. She doesn’t particularly notice. Once the adrenaline from the walk home has worn off she’s left tired and lethargic, and all she wants to do now is get undressed and watch TV. Once she’s set everything down she strips off her pants right there in the living room (not like there was anyone around that could see her anyway) and peels off her bra from underneath her silk sweater. She discards both articles of clothing into the basket in her room and finally settles into the crook of the couch with the remote. Turning it on, she surveys the channels.

Angel was able to forget it all for a couple hours, finding that today was actually a rather good day in terms of what was available to watch on TV. She’d gone to Channel 27 first and unfortunately hadn’t found anything, so she flipped through the other channels instead. She actually managed to catch an entire episode of the Golden Girls this time rather than stumbling on it in the last five minutes of its runtime, and after that she found a late afternoon block of Family Feud that had just started. Overall impressive considering the track record of Derry’s typical broadcast range. She lingers on that channel for a great while, wasting away the hours and trying to distract herself from dwelling on the godforsaken holiday she dreaded so much. When the Family Feud block comes to an end it transitions into a series of re-runs for a show about a seasoned police officer-turned-attorney and his plucky younger sidekick. Angel had never been too particularly fond of this program so she picks up the remote and sifts through the channels again. It would seem Derry had returned to its routine predictability, offering little more than its usual catalog of tired news broadcasts and sports reruns now. She sighs, thumbing through the list of channels with half-hearted indifference until she cycles back around again. She looks at the clock. It’s later. Maybe… She flips forward on the remote, counting the channels until she gets to 27, and the familiar sight of the quirky town set she’s grown to know and love flickers into view on the screen. It appears to have just started or, at the very least, she seemed to have caught it right after commercial break. Yes!

“Hello, and welcome back to the Derry Children’s Hour!”

She can tell that it’s a recent broadcast, because the set is all decked out with hearts and balloons. It was clearly a Valentine’s Day special of some kind. She’s filled with hope as she watches the hostess speak, wanting more than anything to see him, here in her time of most desperate need. He’s absent for the time being and it's simply the hostess engaging happily with the children and the children engaging back in turn. She asks the children if they know what they’re celebrating today, and they all answer the obvious question in perfect unison. She smiles brightly and continues the conversation, and Angel starts to find herself the slightest bit irritated. He was almost assuredly present for pretty much every conceivable special occasion on the show, so she had almost no doubt in her mind that he would be here. She just needed to wait for her to stop talking and introduce him. Just needed to wait, and be patient. For god’s sake, Angel, it’s just a TV show. It seemed an eternity passed of her simply shooting the breeze with the children, and she’s about to tune out completely, but then-

“Say hello to our special guest, kids! He’s back to tell us all about today’s big topic!”

Her heart skips a beat. He pops up from behind the bleachers as he always does, and she swoons, drunk with delight as she watches him dance into view. He introduces himself to the kids, and the camera fixes on his face as he begins to speak. Angel doesn’t blink. She doesn’t breathe.

“Now, as you know,” He begins. “Today’s big topic is love. Tell me kids, do you love anyone? Your friends, your family? Tell ol' Pennywise- who makes you feel special?"

The kids speak in scattered discordance, all giving their own answer to his question at the same time.

"Wonderful, wonderful! He's so happy to hear it! The world is filled with love, you know. Even ol' Pennywise feels it..." He pantomimes a beating heart over his chest. "Riiiiiight here."

"You love someone too, Pennywise?" A girl in pigtails asks, leaning forward in apparent interest. "Who?"

He pauses and points to himself quizzically. The kids nod their heads enthusiastically. "Oh, me? Someone very special, kids. Very special."

"Who is it?"

"Yeah, who?"

She swallows hard, her eyes glued to the screen, her heart pounding restlessly in her chest.

"A very special person indeed, Pennywise has. Someone meant just for him. Have you ever had anyone like that, kids? Someone who you know that makes you super happy inside, just thinking about them? Someone who, when you think of a smile on their face, you can't help smiling too?"

Some agree, some shake their heads.

"Oh, well, you'll all find someone kids! Every one of you! My special person, see, she doesn't know yet just how special she is. She's out there waiting for me, right now."

"She is?"

"Yes, yes indeed! And Pennywise is so happy when he thinks of her, and he can't wait to be with her, more than anything."

She’s staring at him bashfully from behind a pillow now, her face beet red. All she can think about is… The thought of being that special person, of being the person he speaks about so fondly. It’s a fantasy she can’t help but indulge, the pang of something familiar sending butterflies fluttering in her stomach again as she stares unblinkingly at the screen. She feels so warm as she watches him continue, talking about just how beautiful she was, the person in question, how many talents she had (cooking, making art and playing music, as he listed off the top of his head), how it was almost time for him to be with her. She can’t stop herself from imagining herself in that position, projecting herself onto the person he describes and finding that she fit almost every descriptor to some varying degree. All of it, well...

Except for the beautiful part maybe.

"How long will she have to wait Pennywise?"

"It's not long now, kids." He says with a warm smile. His eyes are dazzlingly blue, and there's a lighthearted twinkle in them. "Pennywise just has to be patient a little bit longer, has to wait for the right moment."

"There's a right moment?"

"Oh yes. It's important to know when that is, kids, it makes a world of difference. Have to think, have to see, feel. You have to trust your instincts, that feeling down, deep doooowwwwn in your gut."

"You think so?"

"I know so, kids."

The host then comes in to announce a commercial break and the clown says his cordial goodbye to all the children.

"Now don't worry, kids. Pennywise will be back, real real soon, okay?" He tells them. His eyes flicker toward the center of the screen, and he winks, blowing a playful kiss.

“Promise promise.”

The show cuts out and she can do nothing but stare, slackjawed and enchanted at the screen. She’s still caught in the throes of the fantasy, like a fly caught in gossamer strands of spider silk, caught up in thoughts of him taking her in his arms, telling her how lovely and special and talented she was; praising her, validating her, loving her. Thoughts of her being with him, being his special person… She replays the broadcast in her mind, replays everything that he said and her memory harkens back to the dream she’d had in the bath, the way he had spoken to her and everything that he had done to make her feel just that, special. She buries her face in the pillow and muffles a squeak, letting that wanton tingle gently wash over her body again at the thought of it. She lays on the couch for quite some time, having turned off the TV now. She didn’t care about the rest of it. She’d gotten what she’d wanted, she’d gotten to see him, and on a day where she truly needed him. It was all that she wanted.

The euphoria is still fresh and vivid in her mind, but as time goes on it starts to wear and suddenly before she can process her emotions she’s blinking back tears in her eyes. And then, those tears roll down her cheeks, and when she drags herself off the couch and into her bedroom she’s weeping. When she numbly crawls into bed she’s sobbing inconsolably, and she can hardly breathe as she cries into her pillows. She wants the dreams back, she wants to feel like she can be with him. Anything was better than nothing. She just… Wanted to see him… She hugs her mound of pillows in desperation, clinging to them for dear life as she dampens them with her misery. She imagines him there, holding her, consoling her, comforting her as she bawls her eyes out. She wanted to feel loved, she wanted to feel safe, she wanted to feel anything but this. Her sobbing is momentarily placated when she finally falls asleep, thinking of him all the while in the hopes of finding him in her dreams. There is nothing but black, and she stirs uncomfortably in her sleep as the hours pass. She doesn’t feel him, she doesn’t see him. Doesn’t see anything. She wanders through the blank ether for an impossible amount of time, and then, when her eyes flutter open again in the darkness, she finds herself turned away from her pillows. No dream, no sign of him anywhere, not even in the vacant recesses of her thoughts. With a helpless whimper, she’s about to loose a frustrated scream in the darkness but she’s rendered mute, petrified by the sensation of something drawing its way up the skin of her thigh from behind. Something leans down to snuffle into the pulse of her throat, and from there it plants soft, wet kisses from her neck all the way up to her cheek. There’s hot breath as he whispers in her ear, and she shivers at the sound of his voice.

“I’m here now, my darling.”

#pennywise #daddywise #chapter eleven #all alone #it 2017 #it chapter one #pennywise x oc #pennywise x angel #good fortune #smut #oh boy here we go

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flyaway-33 · 5 years

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Yesterday pt. 4

“Rog. Come home with me.”

Come home with me. Roger sucked in a gulp of air as he processed those words. Come home with me. It wouldn’t work, no way. His mom would be suspicious, his father would be beyond angry, his sister would be devastated. They’d all known about his upcoming month-long winter break as long as he’d been away at school, they were planning on him being home all month, and what would he tell them? ‘Oh sorry, I don’t want to come home so I’m going to play house with my fuck buddy for the month’? There was no way. There was also the impossibly stressful scenario of meeting and spending time with your family. Adults usually loved him but would they somehow find out about your arrangement? Would they see through Roger’s well manicured facade that he wasn’t completely head over heels for you? Because he was. They definitely wouldn’t love him then. He felt the familiar swell of anxiety in his chest as he mulled over the possibilities. He wanted so badly to go home with you, so badly the thought alone hurt. But he was so, so scared.

You felt him tense in your arms at your words and you didn’t understand. Didn’t he want an escape? You stayed silent, picking up the rhythm of rubbing his arms soothingly as he sat in painful silence. It was hard for you to stop your racing thoughts and take in the weight of what had just told you, how hard it must have been for him to let you in to this most closed off secret of his.

He was abused.

It hurt to think about it. You wanted— no, needed to keep him safe.

“Roger?” You cautiously moved beneath him to get him to look at you and in his big blue eyes you could see panic. “Tell me what’s on your mind.” Your voice was low, quiet, and soothing. He noticeably relaxed.

“I, uh…” he met your eyes before averting his to his hands where his fingers were fraying a small hole in his shirt, making it grow as he fidgeted. He knew there was no point hiding any of his thoughts from you now. “I don’t want to disappoint anyone. They all expect me to come home.”

“Then just come for a few weeks, even a few days, okay? You can go home for Christmas and New Year’s. Tell them you’re visiting a friend and that you’ll be home for the holidays. You’re an adult, they can’t really make a huge fuss about it, can they?”

“You’re underestimating them,” he sighed, but continued hastily when he saw the concern in your eyes, “I mean my sister— she’s dramatic as hell, she’ll act like I abandoned her if I don’t come back when I said I would. Ma would just be sad, and dad would be mad at me for upsetting them.”

Their family dynamic confused you to no end so you just shook your head. “Well my family is dying to meet you, Rog, so if using that as an excuse would help, you wouldn’t be lying. I’ve told my mom and sister all about you.”

He gave you a confused and incredulous look and you knew where his mind was going.

“Not everything, you dork,” You laughed playfully swatting at him.

Roger’s big, blue orbs met yours, clouded with doubt and anxiety, but you could see his resolve crumbling. “Well okay, guess it won’t hurt to try,” he sighed, moving out of your arms so that he could reach the phone on the wall. “I guess I’ll tell them I’m visiting your family then.” There was a hopeful, beautiful smile growing on his plump lips. You had won, he would be safe even if just for a few days longer. “Hello, Ma?” She had picked up. “I’m well, yes finals went okay, I think… Actually, about that, my friend, Y/N wants me to come meet her family and stay for a bit before I head home, you know Surrey is on the way… Yes I know I said I’d be home but she says her mother wants to meet me, and… Yes, Ma, she’s a girl, Y/N, the girl I’ve told you about… No ma’am, we’re just best friends.” He glanced at you, his cheeks coloring in embarrassment, but you smiled in encouragement. “I’m not sure how long yet but I promise I’ll be home for the holidays… Okay, I promise I’ll call, I always do. I love you, too. Bye bye.”

“Well?” You asked, smiling as you had already inferred the answer.

“She was reluctant, but, I’ll be coming home with you.” The joy on his face was palpable and you heart swelled with overwhelming relief and joy, knowing you could keep him with you, keep him safe.

“Oh, excellent!” You shouted, clapping your hands. “Oh, Roggie you’re going to love my family! I have a dog, Libby, and my little sister will adore you, my little brother will idolize you, you must teach him to drum.”

“Woah woah, slow down.” Roger sighed, his smile fading as he placed his hands on your shoulders to calm you. “They have to meet me first, I don’t want you to get your hopes up thinking this will be some kind of fairy tale…” He looked down at the floor then, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. There was no way he could explain why he was all of a sudden so self conscious, because he truly was overjoyed that he was able to come home with you, but his nervousness was making him feel sick. He didn’t want anything to change between the two of you, and meeting your family almost certainly meant change. “What if they hate me?” He voiced his thoughts, big doe eyes coming back up to meet yours. “What if they forbid me to see you again?”

“But what if they love you, darling?” You hummed as you placed your hand on his soft, warm cheek, running your thumb over a stray tear that was slowly sliding down.

*****

Finals ended and you and Roger both felt pretty good about them. The two of you would have the results in the mail by the new year. You packed up your rooms and piled all your stuff into the front of your ’63 VW beetle with Roger’s drums taking up the back seat. It was just about an hour drive with traffic to your home in Surrey and you were buzzing with excitement to finally introduce Roger to your family. He seemed pretty excited too, which made you feel a bit better as you hated seeing him upset or anxious. You were relieved that you were bringing him somewhere safe where he would be loved and accepted.

The plan the two of you had developed was that he would be staying at your house until the 23rd of December and then would travel back to his own home in Cornwall via train. But for now, it was your family the two of you had to deal with. They were going to be obnoxious about you bringing a boy home. No matter how much the two of you were going to deny being together you knew your family would sense that something was up. They were going to tease and annoy you for the entire two weeks until Christmas, but it was worth it to be with him.

Roger was practically bouncing with excitement in the passenger seat of your car as you pulled on to the highway that would take you home. He’d been chattering nonstop about how excited he was to meet your family, most notably your dog, which made you laugh fondly. In his anxious excitement he was flipping madly through the radio stations trying desperately to find something good to listen to before giving up entirely and switching off your radio.

“Hey!” You protested.

“No I have an idea! Clap along.” He began to create a rhythm by first clapping twice then patting his legs twice and repeating.

“Rog, I’m driving.”

“Fine then just sing along.” Then he gave a devious smile and began to sing. Immediately the beat began to make sense and you knew it was what he, a percussionist, heard when he listened to the song in question.

“In the town where I was born, Lived a man who sailed to sea” he sang merrily, waggling his eyebrows at you with a goofy grin, his hair sticking up messily in all directions making him look like a little boy. Yellow Submarine, another Beatles favorite of yours, never failed to put you in a good mood.

“And he told us of his life, In the land of submarines” you joined, and you could hold back the huge smile that formed on your face as he continued and the two of you switched singing each couplet and together sang the chorus. He was so much fun, no one else could make a boring old car ride as interesting as Roger, and no one could enjoy singing too-loud a cappella in said car with you like he could.

“They had to have been on copious amounts of drugs,” you laughed after the two of you had faded into a fit of laughter in the middle of the second verse.

“Well, duh. Have you heard Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds?”

“Ah, good old LSD.” You fell into another fit of laughter and the rest of the car ride seemed to fly by with the two of you singing like idiots. Roger was a blast and you felt closer to him than ever, if that were even possible.

When meeting your parents Roger was the perfect gentleman. He stood straight, looked them in the eye and gave your father a firm handshake with a glowing smile. Libby, your family’s golden retriever puppy wouldn’t leave him alone, your 15 year old sister was practically drooling over him, and your 11 year old little brother was infatuated with Roger’s stories about his band back home and how they’d won several music competitions. After a dinner filled with the most family-friendly stories from college he even helped your mother clean up the kitchen. Everyone retired to the family room to listen to the radio for a bit and get to know your “best friend” Roger more. He was an absolute smash hit with them, especially when he got to talking to your dad about music and they gushed over Hendrix for nearly an hour. They had nearly the same tastes and your father regarded Roger as a “smart kid” before he got up to get ready for bed, signaling the younger children to do the same. Your mother, however, eyed you suspiciously.

“Y/N, sweetheart, what are the, uhm, sleeping arrangements for this visit?” Your mother asked, looking slightly perturbed.

“Oh mum, I figured Rog and I could share my room.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor, ma’am.” Roger interjected quickly as her eyes went wide.

“No! Nonsense, Y/N, do you think I’m a bloody idiot?” Your mum cried.

“Mum, we’ll keep the door open! All night, wide open. I don’t want to shun Rog to the bloody couch! He’s my best friend and he is a guest, he deserves proper arrangements.”

Your mother was fuming but you could see her resolve crumbling in her sleepy state. “Fine. But you two are not to be behind any closed doors alone together, do you understand?” She was glaring more at Roger than you.

Poor Roger looked terrified with his already large, blue eyes opened much wider than normal and his complexion ghostly white from pure fear. He nodded vigorously, trying to regain his composure. “Yes ma’am, of course, ma’am.”

“Alright.” She sighed, satisfied with the fear of God she’d just put into this shabby looking, odd, hippy boy you’d brought home. “Don’t take me for a fool. Deny all you want but I know something’s going on between the two of you.” With that she stood and swiftly followed where your father and siblings had disappeared to the second story of the house just minutes earlier.

“Jesus,” you sighed, turning to Rog whose cheeks had gone from white to scarlet in embarrassment. “I’m sorry about that. I warned you.”

“Yeah, well, coulda been worse I reckon,” he shrugged, beginning to relax. “At least we can stay together. Otherwise, they’re all quite lovely.”

You sent up a small prayer the two of you wouldn’t get yourselves murdered by your parents during his stay and smiled softly as you stood to lead him up the stairs to your room.

A/N: First of all, I am so sorry this took so long and I am so sorry that it is short and uninteresting. I did not plan on how much overtime I have had to work this summer and it is brutal. my life is an actual shit show at the moment but i’m alive! Also, I am so sorry to the one or two other people who wanted to be tagged in this. I thought I had tagged my answers to your asks but I can’t find them, this time I will keep an actual list in my notes :(

but otherwise my “taglist” only consists of the lovely @luvborhap for now.

Ask, message, or comment if you’d like to be tagged! it would make my day! I promise I'll write you down and not forget this time! and as always I accept constructive criticisms and all friendly comments. Thanks for reading, loves! :)

#roger x reader #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor fic #roger taylor #Queen #queen fic #yesterday fic

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katie-dub · 5 years

Text

When You Wish Upon A Star

Summary: Emma Swan is sick and tired of her meddling friends plotting to make her and her best friend Killian a Thing. It’s obnoxious, and unwanted, and maybe it reminds her that she and Killian aren’t already a Thing. And besides, mistletoe is such a cliche.

But maybe Killian’s doing some plotting of his own to bring a little magic into her world.

Hey there @welllpthisishappening as it’s become tradition now to say this, I’m not your secret anything, which is probably just as well as I’m pretty sure we’re not even in the twelve days of Christmas anymore. But hey, January can be bleak and a little vaguely festive Christmas-adjacent cheer never goes amiss.

Unbeta’d, because you deserve nice things, even if they have spelling mistakes in.

AO3

Can't come today, too sick. Emma hits send, flings her phone aside and buries her head under the covers. She has no intention of leaving her bed today. A thought strikes her and she reluctantly creeps out of the warmth. It takes her a few minutes to find her phone again, hidden as it is in the folds of her thick, fluffy duvet. Sorry, she adds, wincing at how lame the afterthought is.

“Bah Humbug, now that's too strong! 'Cause it is my favourite holiday.” Emma’s so startled by the music blasting out of her phone that she drops it. Despite knowing that no one is around to see her fumble, she blushes at her own clumsiness, and stares at the photo of Killian grinning up at her on the screen.

She's tempted to ignore it, but she literally just texted him, and she can't think of a good reason not to answer. She picks up her phone and answers it, taking a deep breath to steel herself for his questions.

“Glad you decided not to ignore me, Swan.”

“I wasn't ignoring you!” she protests, and can hear the disbelief in his pointed silence. “Well, I didn't ignore you at least, that's got to count for something, right?”

She's not sure it's really possible to hear someone arch their brow, but she swears she does. “Hmmm,” is all he says, and waits just a little too long to continue for it to be truly comfortable. “Are you going to tell me why you're really cancelling on today?”

“I told you, I'm sick.” She definitely hears those eyebrows creep up his forehead this time. “I am!”

“You never cancel on Potterfest, no matter how sick you are. You once sat in an inflatable kiddie pool, hugging a bowl, vomiting intermittently, rather than admit that you were too hungover for Potterfest. You said that ‘it's the most wonderful day of the year and only hospitalisation would keep you away.’”

She meant it at the time too - the tradition of marathoning Harry Potter at the start of December was one that her and her friends had been doing for nine years. Ever since Neal had dumped her and tried unsuccessfully to frame her for his crime and Killian had declared that Harry Potter was the only one who could fix the pain. Several movies, innumerable alcoholic beverages and a nap or two later, she was no longer stressing about the break up.

Probably because she had fallen in love with Killian Jones while they watched Harry, Ron and Hermione age on screen. It was sometime around Harry’s first wet kiss under the mistletoe that she realised she was wondering more what Christmas kisses with Killian would feel like than worrying about her ex. He had wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close, wordlessly offering support in case the festive romantic moment should upset her, and she just knew he was it for her. She still wonders about mistletoe kisses from him. Not that she’ll ever tell him that.

They don’t always watch all of the movies, some years they only have time for one, but this year Potterfest is a weekend-long affair and they’re going to watch every last one. Or her friends are at least, because she’s a massive coward.

Killian’s voice turns a little strained, the only indication that he's maybe starting to worry about her. “You're not in hospital are you? I know it's my turn to host, but if you are, I'll be there.”

It's official: she's an asshole. Not only is she trying to weasel out of her friends’ annual tradition, but also she's got Killian to panic about her.

“Woah, chill out there Fear, I'm not in hospital. It's just..” she trails off, too embarrassed to continue.

“Come on, Emma, you can tell me anything,” he pleads.

She never can resist when he calls her Emma, he's so sincere and it just does things to her. Things she doesn't like to think about, because they're just friends and that's what they should stay.

“I overheard Ruby and Mary Margaret… plotting…”

“I knew it! No one's that nice outside of a Disney movie! So what are they plotting? Kidnap? World domination? To steal Christmas?”

“Thank you for taking this really seriously,” Emma deadpans.

“I'm sorry, I'm listening, I promise. Now what was our dear sweet Mary M plotting with the big bad Ruby?”

“Mistletoe traps.”

“Is that meant to mean something to me?”

Emma sighs deeply. “They were talking about catching us out with mistletoe. So that we would make out at last or something.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” There's an awkward silence. She hates it. The silence between them is never awkward, she'd rather sit in silence with Killian than talk to basically anyone else in the world. And now Mary Margaret and Ruby have gone and ruined it with their meddling and their mistletoe and it wouldn't hurt so much if she didn't want it so bad.

“Don't worry, I promise not to kiss you Emma.” Killian says. She's not sure if bitterness actually colours his words, or if she's just projecting, because this is the opposite of what she really wants. “Not without permission at least.”

That shouldn't make her heart skip a beat and her stomach do some kind of jump for joy, but dammit, it really really does.

“You wish,” she blusters, hoping that she's not giving too much away.

He ignores the slight, he's good like that. “Now that you know you don't have to worry about festive greenery, will you come over?”

She bites her lip, she wants to say yes, but, “what if they have something else up their sleeves?”

“Like what exactly?”

“I don't know… Something Hallmark-worthy with blind dates and Secret Santa and sharing a bed.”

“Hey! There’s no sleeping at Potterfest! You’re going to be awake for every minute of those glorious movies.”

“You snored on my shoulder last year.”

“Blasphemy! I would never!”

“You did and there’s the photos to prove it, give it up, Pinocchio.”

“Napping in between films, may be allowed,” Killian grumbles, conceding defeat. “But there will be absolutely no need for you to come anywhere near my bed, however devious Mary M may be beneath her innocent demeanour and pseudo Snow White face. You can sleep on the couch or in a sleeping bag on the floor just like every other year. We’re not that old yet, Swan. Honestly I don't know whether to laugh or be offended at the suggestion that we are.”

She laughs herself at that. “I don't know about that, aren't you like 300?”

“And yet I've retained my youthful glow and ability to sleep anywhere.”

“Oh really?”

“I thought you weren't interested in sleeping together?”

“See you had to go and be all logical and now I feel like even more of an asshole than I did before.”

“Just get your arse over here now and we'll forget all about this.”

Dammit, she can't argue with that. It's more than she deserves. Besides, she's already wearing her Griffyndor jumper, she knew that he'd talk her round.

***

She doesn't bother knocking when she gets to Killian's, just lets herself in like she owns the place. That's another thing she doesn't think much about. Or, more accurately, tries not to - for someone who didn't have a home for so long, it's more than a little overwhelming to find herself with two.

She’s halfway down the corridor that leads to his living room before she notices the decorations and her eyes widen in delight and awe. There’s fairy light-studded garland, fake candles and, the door in front of her has been decorated with cardboard so that it resembles a grand, ancient door. Most impressive and intriguing of all, four large hourglasses filled with what she assumes are chocolates wrapped in bright colours, green, blue, red and gold respectively.

She’s in the Hogwarts entrance hall.

She’s ecstatic.

She races down the corridor and flings open the door to see what Killian’s done to the living room. And is faced with a wall of sheets that stops her short.

The sheets part and Ruby’s face peeks out between them. “Come on in, Em!” Ruby calls out, grinning her wolfish grin, “you’ve got to see what Killian’s done!”

Ruby disappears again and Emma ducks down to follow her. It’s a little awkward for her to wriggle her way in, so she waits until she’s fully through to see what’s going on.

She gasps.

It’s a blanket fort and the Hogwarts great hall all rolled into one. Emma never would’ve thought that those two things could go together, until this moment right now.

The floor is squishy, covered by duvets, pillows and sleeping bags in four lines of colour - green, red, blue and yellow. There are bowls of popcorn, Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and chocolate frogs all along the lines, and plastic goblets studded around. She knows immediately that they’re set up like this to mimic the house tables. It’s a little touch, but it really sells the look Killian’s going for.

They are surrounded by a mishmash of sheets and blankets. Fabric Christmas trees have been pinned along both walls - apparently at strategic points to hide the joins.

Best of all, the blankets above them are navy blue with swirling stars across them, to mimic the night’s sky, just like the “real” Hogwarts. The only light in the room comes from the fairy lights that have been strung up to the makeshift ceiling and the electric candles that dangle down from fish wire, giving the illusion that they are actually floating.

Emma’s forgotten how to speak. This is the best thing that anyone has ever made, she’s sure of it.

“I knew she’d like it, but I didn’t think she’d forget how to speak,” Ruby’s voice breaks into her reverie.

“Shhhhh, leave her be!” Mary Margaret scolds.

Emma starts and looks around again - this time looking at her friends instead of the decorations. She’s the last one there, undoubtedly thanks to her freak out earlier (that she absolutely has not forgotten, despite Killian declaring that they should). Ruby is lounging beside the entrance to the great hall fort with her head in Elsa’s lap. Mary Margaret and David are curled up together inside a sleeping bag. Emma’s nose wrinkles as it occurs to her what they could get up to in there without the rest of them noticing, it’s practically like thinking about her parents having sex. Will and Belle are snuggling into a pile of pillows. And Killian is … nowhere to be seen. Huh.

“He’s just bringing the drinks in,” says Elsa, answering a question that Emma’s sure she didn’t actually ask out loud.

“We’re all right here though, nice of you to finally join us, and hello to you too!” calls out Will, earning himself a none too subtle dig in the ribs from Belle.

Emma waves awkwardly, feeling the combined force of all her friends’ gazes on her. “Hi, this is … uh … wow.”

“I was aiming for magical, but wow will do,” Killian says, as he crawls into the fort clutching bottles of water and coke. He appeared from an entrance opposite Emma that seems to have entirely vanished now that he’s inside the fort. It really is like Hogwarts in here, Emma thinks grinning at Killian as he shuffles over to her.

“This is amazing,” Emma says, beaming at him when he finally makes it to her side. He scratches behind his ear, a small smile on his face at her words. “But where’s the TV? We can’t really watch the movies without it.”

Killian’s eyebrows wiggle at her. “Oh ye of little faith,” he tuts, “anything’s possible if you believe in magic.” He pulls a remote out of his pocket and presses a button. A projector starts up, turning one wall of their fort into a giant cinema screen.

“Nice work Inspector Gadget,” Emma says with a grin.

“Shouldn’t you switch up your references for something more seasonally appropriate?”

“Does Inspector Gadget have a festive equivalent?”

“Ummm…” Killian pauses, deep in thought, “well Eleven kind of was in the Christmas special with the Scrooge guy.”

“Christmas Eve on a rooftop, saw a chimney, my whole brain just went... what the hell.” Emma attempts an English accent as she quotes Matt Smith, just to see Killian laugh. He looks good when he laughs.

He clears his throat and nods seriously. “Exactly.”

“That’s a garbled reference,” Emma says, “they’re meant to be short and snappy like Buffy.”

“And you’re meant to be turning on the bloody movie Killian you wanker!” cuts in Will.

“Fuck off,” is all he says in reply, but he turns the film on all the same, and Emma snuggles into his side. Purely for comfort of course.

***

The first attempt to get them to kiss under the mistletoe came in the form of Ruby throwing some of it towards them. Emma leans her head against Killian's shoulder, effectively ducking out of its path, without appearing to have noticed it at all. It flies uselessly into the blankets behind them.

“Dammit,” Ruby mutters under breath, apparently believing that they were oblivious to her seasonal matchmaking attempt.

“See, Swan? Nothing to worry about,” Killian murmurs into her ear, giving her goosebumps. “Are you cold?” He wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her closer to his side before she can reply. It's nice.

***

They stay that way for the whole of The Sorcerer's Stone, Killian's just so warm and comfy that it's just makes sense. She only begrudgingly moves when he has to leave to get lunch from the kitchen. She follows him to help instead of staying to hear her friends’ thoughts on their seating arrangements.

That's when the next trap strikes.

Mary Margaret isn't even subtle about it, just leaps at them, mistletoe in hand, and thrusts it over their heads. Emma groans at her.

“Well what do you say, Swan?”

She looks up, startled by Killian's words, but sees the twinkle in his eye, cheeky grin on his face and the ever so slight incline of his head towards Mary Margaret and she just knows what he's thinking.

They lean in, Mary Margaret does a squeal of victory and glee, and they both quickly move to plant sloppy wet kisses on her cheeks.

Emma tries not to laugh at her friend's crestfallen and slightly slobbery face as Killian pats her on the shoulder. “Nevermind, Mary M,” he says, “it was a noble attempt.”

He busies himself with collecting up the lunch he'd already prepared, roast beef sandwiches, what looks like pumpkin pasties and more.

“You been slaving away like a house elf?” Emma asks, deeply impressed by the effort he's gone to.

“Nothing but the finest British cuisine should accompany Harry Potter,” he explains pompously, then ruins it all with his trademark awkward wink that Emma loves. To tease him for that is. Although right now it would be rude to, what with all the effort he's gone to, so she just scoops up some plates and follows him back to Fort Hogwarts, leaving Mary Margaret still wondering where her crafty plan went wrong.

***

It's not until the chamber of secrets has been opened, the prisoner of Azkaban freed and they're tucking into shepherd's pie that the next stage in Operation Meddle in Emma and Killian's Platonic Relationship strikes.

“Hey Killian, are you doing anything next Sunday?” Mary Margaret asks.

He turns to Emma at once. “Am I?” he asks. She shrugs as if she doesn't know that he's totally free, except she had been thinking of asking him to do something disgustingly festive with her, so she kind of wants to say no. She also wants Elsa to stop eyeing her meaningfully though, so she keeps her mouth shut.

“Nope, I'm free, what you thinking?”

“My friend Ashley is coming to town and we're all having a dinner, I'd love for you to meet her,” Mary Margaret gushes. She throws Emma an apologetic look. “Sorry, it's kind of a couples thing, I wouldn't want you to feel awkward.”

I manage just fine the rest of the time, she thinks more than a little bitterly. She knows exactly what her friend is doing, and maybe she doesn't like the thought of this dinner, but that's because she'll be the only one left out. But Ruby is giving her a challenging smirk, practically daring her to protest, and she bites her lip and shrugs instead.

“Surely you have a handsome friend [squirreled] away that you can introduce our Swan to? It hardly seems fair for her to be the only one without a partner at this time of year,” Killian protests.

“What about Sean?” David suggests.

“Sean's very sweet,” Belle pipes up.

“Excellent!” beams Killian, a hint of a challenge in his eye. “We'll have this lovely dinner together and we'll all have found ourselves with someone to warm our bed at night come Christmas.”

The thought of Killian pulling her into his side pops into Emma's head. She stabs her shepherd's pie ferociously and tries to forget about the set up they're obviously walking right into.

***

“I thought you were meant to protect me from awkward blind dates, not force one on me,” Emma hisses at Killian when she joins him at the sink to rinse the dirty dishes.

“The obvious intention behind it is to make each other jealous, what better way to show their dirty tricks don't work than by embracing the dates wholeheartedly?”

“But I don't want to embrace Sean!” Emma says, stomping her foot and throwing her hands up in disgust. She know she's acting like a teenager, but dammit, she doesn't want to play these games. She doesn't want anything but -

“Don't worry, I'll still be available for cuddles after.” His voice is matter of fact and he doesn't look at her, just calmly rinses the plates and loads the dishwasher. Like he hasn't said something monumental.

“Well, I mean - that's just - just beside the point” Emma sputters out. Like she's not the one missing the point. But now she feels awkward and Killian's pretty much dealt with the dishes so instead of think about that too hard she escapes back to Fort Hogwarts.

She's already lying in her spot before she notices that there's fucking mistletoe hanging right above her. Ruby is smirking at her triumphantly, Elsa has a look somewhere between apologetic and “it's for your own good you know” and Mary Margaret looks eager and excited. (Belle and Will are too busy making out to give her any kind of look and David looks embarrassed, but she considers them all guilty by association.)

That's when the rage strikes.

Of course she likes Killian, loves him even. There's no denying that he's her person or whatever you want to call it. (True Love, Mary Margaret would say like the Disney Princess Killian always accuses her of being.) But they're good, they're comfortable, no one has to break up with anyone and while kisses would be nice she doesn't need them. She's a strong, independent woman and if she wants to be single her friends should just stay the fuck out of it, however much they mean well, it's not their call.

Her heart's drumming as loud as all twelve drummers in that Christmas song, and there's a lump of coal forming in her throat. It's Seasonal Anger Disorder at its finest. Tis the season after all. She's practically shaking with fury by the time she notices that Killian's only gone and sat right next to her and that means they've been caught in that mistletoe trap.

“What are you doing?” she grits out through clenched teeth.

He jumps at her words, looking almost comically alarmed. “Ummm… I'm sitting down. This is my spot, my whole living room in fact…” He breaks off and scratches behind his ear.

He's uncomfortable, she's made him uncomfortable in his own home and she's so mad at herself for being so, so, Emma, about this all that she bites out her next words. “Well now we're stuck beneath the mistletoe!”

He looks up, and scrubs his hand over his face in frustration. He sighs.

“Why don't we just get it over with?” he says sounding tired and resigned to his fate.

Tears prick at her eyes. No. This isn't how she wants to kiss him. She glares down at the blankets and pillows. All that anger is turning to tears and she hates it and she hates this.

“Traitor,” she mutters trying to sound cool and detached.

“Hey,” Killian says and hooks a finger under her chin, tilting her face up to his. “It's ok, Emma, nothing you don't want, remember?” And he smiles and leans in, kisses her softly on the forehead and wraps his arms around her.

It's crazy but that sweet, chaste kiss does more for her than all the last five hookups she's had combined.

Her anger melts away and she just sinks into his warmth. He's got her. He always knows just what to do. That's why she loves him so much.

“Booooooo!” Ruby's loud cry breaks through their happy haze.

“Fuck off, Ruby” they say in unison.

“Kiss your girlfriend like a good girl and stop interfering,” Killian says. “I'm putting the next film on.”

And really what more is there to say?

***

The girls have the common sense to not try and spring anymore traps that night. Not involving parasitic plants at least. But while they're drying their eyes after Cederic dies Mary Margaret goes and brings up the dreaded words - Secret Santa. They're so predictable Emma could cry.

She doesn't even try to hide her eye roll when, in a move that would shock no one, her paper says Killian.

“It's all right, Swan, I got the perfect gift for you already picked,” Killian whispers in her ear.

“No cheating at Secret Santa!” Mary Margaret tuts with a twinkle in her eye.

“Hello pot, meet lump of coal,” Emma retorts.

“The name suits you,” Ruby deadpans.

“Are you saying I've got a heart of stone?”

“Don't be offended,” Killian butts in, “she's calling you a naughty girl.” The way he says that really shouldn't do things to her. And yet…

“No, she's calling you dirty,” Will pipes up, leaning forward and taken a sudden and very keen interest in the conversation. “Tell us, Emma, why would Ruby know how dirty you are?”

“One time she sees me post-run and pre-shower and suddenly I'm pegged as dirty. That's just rude.”

“Don't spoil my fun here! Did she help you shower, she did right?” Will's face is gleeful, while Belle is digging her elbow into his side and David looks ready to throttle him if he says another word.

“See what you started here?” Emma says to Ruby with an exaggerated sigh.

“Merry Christmas ya filthy animal,” Ruby replies with a wink.

“Bah humbug.”

“So Order of the Phoenix?” Killian interrupts.

“Hey wait, I don't think we're done taking the piss out of Emma,” Will whines.

“Her Scrooge is showing,” Killian says seriously, “let's appease her with Harry Potter before she starts getting grinchy.”

“But -”

“Don't test me Will, I'll go full Grinch. Don't forget I've heard your singing and have the scarred ear drums to prove it. It'll never make my heart grow several sizes and you'll be stuck without decorations, presents, roast beast.” Emma glares at Will meaningfully.

“Bloody hell, you really are a bad Santa, fine Jones, bring on the boy wizard.”

***

She honestly thought that the mistletoe nonsense was over long before they decided they needed sleep before the Harry Potter marathon could continue. But Mary Margaret surprises her with both a gift and her dogged pursuit of seasonal lip locking.

Mary Margaret passes over a perfectly wrapped present complete with tasteful bow. She tears into it gleefully and scowls when she sees what's inside: red pyjamas printed with white and sparkly silver mistletoe everywhere. “Oh you shouldn't have,” she says flatly.

“Tis the season!” Mary Margaret chirps.

“For oral apparently,” Emma says eyeing the mistletoe festooned crotch warily.

“Let's hope Mary M isn't the only person in a giving mood. Christmas is a loving, honest and charitable time, after all!” Ruby calls out.

“Are you seriously quoting Muppets Christmas Carol to call me a charity case?”

“Just your sex life.”

“I hate you all.”

***

She doesn't wear the pyjamas, she does, however, end up sharing a bed with Killian. Along with the rest of the gang. And by bed, she means floor in Fort Hogwarts. It's surprisingly comfy and with everyone else there it's undeniably completely platonic. Except that when she wakes up in the morning he has his arms around her and she's snuggling into his chest and it feels safe and right and intimate. It feels like love. And that's not scary, it's just good.

It's how she always feels with Killian, but waking up with him like this, just makes that feeling bigger somehow, overwhelming in the best kind of way. She could have that always. Couldn't she?

She shuffles a little, stretching out the beginnings of a cramp in her foot. His grip tightens, “go back to sleep, Swan” he mumbles into her hair.

That one little gesture is so small, but somehow it's everything. He's everything.

She's aware of her heart in a way she's never been before. Perhaps Killian just made it grow three sizes, or filled it with fairy lights, Christmas spirit and maybe an extra helping of love. She just knows he's it, he's her favourite and it's time to tell him that.

“I will always find you,” David says clearly still dreaming, his voice muffled by sleep or pillows, and she jumps in surprise. It's an unpleasant reminder that everyone's there, and they'll undoubtedly rub Emma's face in how right they were about her and Killian. Perhaps she'll just wait until they've gone to kiss him.

At that thought she reluctantly wriggles out of his arms, unwilling to let everyone else see them wrapped up in each other. He groans unhappily, the noise tugging at her heart such that she almost twists back into him, but he stays asleep and that's probably just as well. She feels cold without his embrace to warm her, and she needs coffee. She awkwardly crawls and stumbles her way out of Fort Hogwarts and into the kitchen, miraculously not waking anyone, even though she's sure she stepped on Will at one point.

She's slurping on her first coffee when Killian appears at her side. “Guess who made cinnamon rolls for breakfast?”

She turns to him, incredulous. “I thought we were only eating the finest British cuisine this weekend? I didn't know you Brits were into cinnamon rolls.. Isn't it all… I don't know, deep fried tea and bacon for breakfast?”

He wraps his hand around hers and pulls her coffee to his lips, it says something to how tired and befuddled she is by the whole exchange that she lets him. He takes a large gulp and licks his lips while she carefully watches him, far too fascinated by the movement of his tongue to have ever claimed that they were just friends.

She half expects a cheeky quip or his trademark clumsy wink, but he shrugs and scratches behind his ear instead and she doesn't know when they took a detour into awkward but she wonders if it's somehow her fault, if she killed the moment or something. “Aye, well, obviously deep fried grease was my first choice, but cinnamon rolls are your favourite.”

“You're my favourite,” she blurts out without thinking. He grins at her, and she knows that they're definitely back on track. His eyes are twinkling brighter than the shiniest Christmas tree and she realises she's actually fine with saying more than she meant to. She wonders how much brighter he'll glow when she tells him about all these feelings she's got. Properly. Something tells her that Santa won't need Rudolph to guide his sleigh to Killian's house after that, no matter how foggy it is.

“Do I smell coffee?” Belle interrupts and both of them startle at her words.

“Yeah, there's a pot, should be enough for all of us.” Emma says, still smiling, because Killian's still smiling and she doesn't mind the intrusion when she knows the moment’s going to be continued.

“God bless us, every one!” Belle says, diving for the coffee.

Emma doesn't stop smiling, but she does stop gazing at Killian, even if it's an effort. Later, she tells herself because now it's time for cinnamon and caffeine and for good to conquer evil in Fort Hogwarts.

***

She's confused when she spots the final mistletoe trap of Potterfest. It's just her and Killian left so who would've put it there? Unless… She looks at Killian thoughtfully then back to the mistletoe.

“Huh,” she says.

He follows her eyes. “There's no one around, we don't have to,” he says.

“Yeah, but, perhaps a little festivity is in order?”

He arches a brow at her. “Are you sure, Swan?”

“What, think you can't handle it?”

“Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it,” he retorts with a smirk and he's definitely goading her into it, but she's so ready to take the leap that she doesn't even care.

She yanks him to her, desperate to kiss him at last, she’s been waiting forever at least.

It’s so much better than she ever hoped.

That first moment is pure passion, lips pressed together hot and hard. As the fires burns brighter they melt into each other, totally consumed by the feeling.

If she’d known that he could kiss like this she’s sure she would’ve jumped on him sooner.

He’s the perfect combination of passionate and sweet. His lips are hard against hers. He’s tangling his fingers into her hair to hold her close. He’s crushing her against him like he’s aching to feel every part of her at once.

She knows that she needs to breathe, but why waste time on that when they can do this? How will she ever be able to stop kissing him?

When the need for oxygen becomes too strong she pulls her lips back from his, but lingers close, still feeling his breath on her face. Their foreheads touch and she opens her eyes, shaken to the core by the kiss.

She’s sure he feels the same. Eyes still closed and cheeks flushed, he’s panting, struggling to catch his breath enough to say “that was -”

“I love you.”

His eyes fly open at once, looking straight into hers with sheer delight. “Yeah?”

“Interesting answer,” she laughs. She’s as light as a feather. She's as happy as an angel. She’s as merry as a caroller with a belly full of sherry.

“I mean, obviously I love you too, I just never thought you’d be the one to say it first.”

“That’s fair, but can we do that kissing thing again? We need to make up for several year’s worth of lost time.”

He answers with a kiss.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs christmas #katie dub writes

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moody-by-nature · 5 years

Text

Rescue Me | Chapter Twenty-Two

AN: Hey all, sorry for the weird format of this chapter, I’m away from my laptop but didn’t want to make you all want any longer than necessary. I hope you enjoy the new chapter! Xx

Andrea's eyes lifted slowly, sleepily gazing out the bedroom window. Laying flat on her tummy, she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Normally she would wake up in Jared's embrace.

Turning her head to the left, she chuckled quietly seeing Jared sound asleep in the same position. His head was half-buried under the pillow, but she could hear a faint snore. Pride surged through her veins thinking their night of really hot sex had thoroughly worn him out.

Pushing up on to her hands and knees, Andrea eased off the bed, her muscles screaming at her in protest. Jared's flannel shirt from the night before caught her eye, reaching for it, she slipped her arms into it and walked into the living area.

As she sat down, her fingers grasped the thick card-stock menu laying on the coffee table. After deciding what she wanted to order for their breakfast, Andrea phoned the front desk and placed their order.

She read through multiple notifications, wishing her a happy birthday, upcoming events and quickly scrolled through social media. Her eyes cast down her body at the remnants of colorful wax against her light olive skin.

A devious smirk played at her lips as she opened the camera. Positioning herself so the morning light pouring into the quiet room from the terrace danced on her skin perfectly and snapped a photo to save for when moody Jared surfaced.

Sneaking back into the bedroom, Andrea pulled a her fluffy robe from the closet, slipping it on and tying it closed. A smile crept over her face as she watched Jared's sleeping form briefly before heading back out of their room.

After the food was delivered, Andrea removed her robe. Pushing the cart into the bedroom, she uncovered the food and gently sat next to Jared.

Tickling her fingers softly up his sides, Andrea peppered butterfly kisses across Jared's shoulders.

"Wake up, sleepyhead, breakfast is here."

When Jared didn't move, Andrea carefully crawled over him, lying on her side to face him. Gently nudging his shoulder, she lifted her hand to push the pillow off his head.

"Hey, handsome," she said softly, kissing his muscular arm, "are you hungry?"

Just as she pushed the pillow away and lifted her eyes, Jared was staring back at her. The devilish grin on his face made her tummy flip, distracting her just long enough for Jared to pounce.

Pushing her onto her back, Jared hovered over her body. Slowly lowering his mouth to hers, his breath, warm on her lips. Their eyes locked, "I am hungry, baby. Hungry for you." He muttered, seizing her lips with his.

"Our pancakes are getting cold." Andrea muttered against his lips as she bit into Jared's bottom lip and grinned hearing him hiss.

"Mmm, pancakes." Planting another kiss on her lips, Jared sat up, reaching over to pull the food cart closer. Surveying the assorted fruits, jams, and syrup; Jared picked up a butter knife, slicing into the peanut butter and swiping it over a plate of pancakes.

Andrea smiled watching him. Her heart swelling at the realization that he paid more attention to her quirks than she realized.

"For you, my love." Jared said sweetly, offering her the plate he had prepared.

"Thanks, babe." Andrea smiled, kissing him sweetly.

Andie watched Jared shove bite after bite into his mouth; her mouth watering at the sight of his tongue darting across his lower lip to collect the syrup at the corner of his mouth.

Jared lifted his eyes from his plate and caught Andrea staring. His gaze fell down her body to her partially exposed breasts, still sprinkled with colorful wax. He felt a pull low in his tummy as memories from last night whirled through his mind.

Dragging his fork through the remaining puddle of syrup, he lifted his hand, quickly bringing it toward Andrea's chest, smearing the sticky goop all over her skin.

"Oops. Let me clean that up." Jared mumbled, tossing his plate on the table, latching his mouth to Andreas breast.

Andrea moaned, reaching up, pulling Jared flush against her, she wrapped her slender legs around his waist and fell back into her pillow.

+++

Back in Los Angeles, the next two weeks flew by. Andrea was so happy to be back in her own home she lovingly referred to as her treehouse. Standing at the kitchen island, placing her dinner plate in the sink and decided to pour herself a glass of wine to enjoy when she heard a knock on her balcony door.

A smile instantly graced her face knowing it was her handsome boyfriend. However, when she glanced up, her eyes fell on a visibly stressed Jared. His body language screamed trouble, his shoulders stiff, his jaw rigid.

Rushing to open the door, she opened her arms hugging him tightly. "What is it babe?" She asked worriedly, pulling back just enough to look up into Jared's concerned eyes. Andrea gently smoothed his furrowed eyebrows with her thumb and cupped his cheek, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"It's Shannon." Jared answered softly.

"Is he okay?"

"Physically, yes. I've just been downtown and bailed him out of jail." Defeat registering in his tone.

"Sit, I'll be right back." Andrea stated, motioning to the small outdoor sofa on her wooden balcony. Turning back into her home, she grabbed a blanket, and two waters, dumping the wine down the drain before joining Jared.

Sitting next to him, Andrea leaned forward setting their water down. Lighting the candles on the small table, she covered their legs with the blanket and settled in, knowing he would talk when he was ready; she grabbed his hand, absentmindedly rubbing his arm and waited patiently.

"He isn't allowed to leave the country." Jared started, "What the fuck am I supposed to do without him on tour? He's my best friend!" he exclaimed, "I can't cancel the tour, we leave in two days! But the thought of performing all of those shows without him... Andie," Jared turned towards her, his ocean eyes full of questions and uncertainty. "What do I do without him? He's my big brother."

Andrea wrapped her arms around Jared, pulling him close. Her heart ached for him, for Shannon, who she loved like a big brother. Aching to be closer, Jared slid his hands down her body, gripping her hips, pulling her into his lap. He lay his head on her chest, burrowing into her as far as he could.

Without Shannon, typically the only person he turned to was their mother. He felt a new connection to the beautiful woman sitting in his lap. The way she didn't push him to talk, she just patiently waited for him to open up to her. As he sat there snuggled into her, he didn't know what he'd done to deserve someone so perfect for him, so sweet; but he was thankful and planned to make sure she knew he felt lucky she was his to love.

"You can do this J. I know you probably don't want to, and it won't be easy, but you can." Andrea squeezed him even further against her body, rubbing her hand down his back as she kissed the top of his head. She knew he was strong and kept his walls up high just as she did; so the fact that he came to her meant a great deal to her.

"Tell me what you need from me, babe." Andrea asked, sitting back on Jared's lap far enough to look down on to his face. She pushed his long hair behind his ears and smiled.

Jared's big eyes stared up in to hers, "I have an idea. I want to make something to represent Shannon while he's away but I need some things."

"Give me a list and I'll get them for you."

+++

"That turned out really cool, boss man!" Shayla said as she entered Jared's dressing room. Andrea stood next to him with the gold crown Chloe had sent along, his dark aviators in her hand and a bottle of his favorite water tucked in her elbow.

Jared smoothed the white lab coat over his shoulders, turning the small lapels out to reveal Shannon's signature lightening bolt S drawn repeatedly down the left lapel in yellow. The sides, sleeves and back of the lab coat were sporadically covered Jared's 'Bart art' doodles.

"Thanks, Shayla." He replied shortly. Taking the crown from Andrea, he placed it on his head and then took the cap off his water, chugging half the bottle.

Shayla exchanged a knowing look with Andrea as she left the room. Jared sighed heavily, "Fuck, I need to apologize to her for being short."

"She knows you're stressed out, J." Andrea replied, wrapping her arms around his chest and laying her head on his back. Jared brought her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

Walking down the venues hallway, Andrea watched in awe as Jared's demeanor completely change. Gone was the man missing his big brother. Now he stood with the perfect showman's mask, ready to entertain his adoring family, The Echelon.

The backstage area was bustling. Crew members checking things over for the hundredth time. Tomo stretching, Stevie already pumped up and jumping around like a wild man; the sight making Andrea giggle.

"Okay, babe, go do your thing! I'm going to go help Shay corral the kids for side of stage." Leaning in, she spoke softly into his ear, "I like you a lot."

"Like me a lot?" A confused look flashed across his face for a moment until it connected. She was trying to tell him 'I love you' while in mixed company. Jared smiled and booped her nose.

“I like you too, Ace.” He winked.

Watching from the side of the stage, Andreas eyes kept drifting from her boyfriend to where Shannon’s kit should be. The stage looked so big without his presence. Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled her cell phone out and sent Shannon a text.

“We miss you Bear. How are you holding up?”

“Miss you too, Dee. How’s he holding up?”

“He’s typical Jared, brave faced to most.”

“I’ll do better this time, I promise.”

“Just keep fighting Shan. Fight for yourself. We’ve got your back. Last song is coming up, I’ve gotta go. Love you, Bear!”

+++

Two days later, two shows without Shannon down, and too many more to go; Jared sat on the edge of their hotel bed watching Andie get dressed. It was a much needed day off and all he wanted to do was spend the day with his girl.

He watched her fasten her bra and turn toward him, walking up to the bed. Jared picked up the dress she intended to wear, pulling it behind his back.

“I can’t go out in public like this, give me my dress, punk!”

Grabbing her hips, Jared pulled her between his legs and placed random kisses across her rib cage. He wanted to ravage her beautiful body, to spend the entire day in bed having his way with her; but that would have to wait, he had another idea.

“How does a picnic sound? I bet if we ask the front desk there’s a beautiful place nearby that’s hopefully semi-private we could go.” Jared nipped at her right hip waiting for her response, “Or, we could stay right here in this room and I could worship you like the Queen that you are.”

Andrea moaned at his words, looking down her body, her hand coming to rest on the vein under his left eye, smoothing it gently.

“As your Queen,” she smirked, “I choose both. A picnic sounds lovely and then, kind Sir, I want to come back here so you can do whatever you’d like to me. And I, to you.” Wiggling her eyebrows, she pulled At Jared until he stood, kissing him sweetly.

“Meet me in the lobby, Andie. I’m going to talk to the front desk.” Jared said, bringing his lips to Andrea’s forehead. He stepped around her, giving her butt a firm swat before he left, laughing at the squeak he provoked.

They walked hand in hand down the cobblestone streets, coming to an open field. Purple wildflowers blanketed the lush vivid green grass. Andrea subconsciously clutched her necklace making Jared smile as he watched her reaction to the view before them.

Smoothing the blanket on to the grass under a tree, Jared crossed his legs, lifting an arm into the air to help Andrea sit down. Gathering her long dress into her left hand, she grabbed Jared’s hand, gracefully sitting next to him.

After they finished eating, Jared turned his head to stare at Andrea. Her eyes cast ahead of her, a blissful look on her stunning face as her arms rested on her bent knees. Her skin glowing against the white dress she wore, reflecting the golden hues of the evening sun; he smiled, feeling overwhelmed with contentment.

Leaning over, leaving little kisses her up her arm, he mapped a trail to her shoulder. Pushing her cocoa hair from her shoulder, continuing to her neck.

Andrea lay back on the blanket pulling Jared with her. His lips instantly found hers, their kiss so sweet, deepening as she opened her mouth to accept Jared’s eager tongue. Her fingers weaving into his long hair, pulling him as close as she could.

“Andrea,” Jared paused sitting up, Andrea following his lead. Looking into her eyes he knew for sure this was it. This was the moment. Pushing a loose tendril behind her left ear, his eyes cast over her face as she smiled. That smile took his breath away, he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Will you marry me?”

The gasp escaping her lips nearly inaudible as she drew her hand to her heart. Her eyes bore into his as Jared reached for her hand.

“I love you. I want you to be mine in every possible way.” His voice strong and sure.

Taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart, it was as if her life flashed before her eyes. How drastically her world was changed the day she met the man sitting before her. Andrea struggled to recall what life was like before him, how colorful and full life has been since meeting him.

“YES! A million times yes. I love you so much. Yes!” The words rushed out of her mouth as she tackled him, kissing him fiercely.

“Let’s get married right now. What do you say?” Jared asked

“Now? In Italy? We won’t be here long enough to get approved. That surely takes weeks for processing.”

“We could do things our way and get married right here, right now.”

“Jared, did you hit your head when I knocked you over? We don’t have anyone to marry us. A license to make it legal. Any witnesses...” she stated with a shrug of her shoulders.

Jared laughed, digging through the bag they brought along unearthing a post it note and a pen.

“Andie... baby, we can do all that when we get home.” He began writing on the small pad of paper as Andrea watched him curiously. When he was finished, he handed her the fuchsia colored square.

“Say yes today + everyday from now on to loving each other; even through hard times. I am yours + you are mine. Forever.” Her eyes welling with tears at the simplicity of what he wrote, his name scribbled at the bottom along with the date.

Andrea grabbed the pen, signing her name under his with no hesitation. Jared leaned forward, capturing her lips with his.

Tag list: @nikkitasevoli @lostinletoland @spillinginkwithlove @conceptuallyloud @branded-with-a-j @callmeasyoulove

Please let me know if you wish to be added/removed from the tag list!

#jared leto fanfiction #jared leto #rescue me

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mbq-butwithart · 6 years

Text

Sakura had a slight feeling- no, she was pretty sure everyone else knew something that she didn’t.

At first she ignored the obvious signs, chalking it up to her imagination. But soon, she was certain everyone was acting weird.

Ino kept elbowing her and giving her saucy winks and giggling behind her hand. Kiba kept shooting her devious grins and wished her an ‘interesting night’. Tenten avoided her eyes and questions, smiling secretively. Naruto and Sasuke were nowhere to be found.

Honestly, she’s had it up to here with their cryptic nonsense. She got enough of that from Sasuke, Kakashi and Neji and that was already too much.

Speaking of a cryptic Kakashi, earlier while she was being annoyed by Tenten’s refusal on explaining her downright confusing behaviour he appeared suddenly. He pressed a copy of his favourite series into her hands, saying that it might be useful later on.

What?

She considered burning it, but on a probably stupid whim, she kept it and tucked it into her basket. She had rose this morning with the idea of bullying her teammates in enjoying the day with her on a picnic, but Kakashi rattled off a nonsensical excuse and disappeared, which left Naruto and Sasuke, who were MIA.

The basket was heavy with food. She had been extra careful in preparing this food, so it was neither burnt or tasteless. The least her teammates could do was appreciate her efforts and eat it. But they were missing. And no one would tell her anything.

In hindsight, she probably should’ve stayed in bed, or at least downed another cup of coffee.

She was passing through the streets when she spotted Neji.

“Hey, Neji-san!” She yelled, waving her free hand.

At the sound of her voice, he turned and waited until she stumbled up to him.

“Ah, Sakura-san. I was looking for you.”

“Really?” She smiled. Here was a person without any silliness in him, he would surely tell her if he had seen her bonehead teammates.

“Yes, I was given something to deliver to you.”

While he searched in the pouch by his side, Sakura posed her question. “You haven’t by chance seen Naruto or Sasuke today, have you?” She inquired hopefully.

Neji was silent as he pulled out a small slip of paper and handed it to her. She took it, albeit confusedly.

“This will help you.” And he turned and strode down the street, quickly and gracefully. The pinkette glared at the brunette’s back. He had given her an answer, but not the one she wanted. At least he didn’t giggle.

Curiosity won over and she carefully placed her picnic basket down and opened the small piece of paper.

In neat handwriting that looks suspiciously like Shikamaru’s, the note said:

‘I take life, I give life, I house life.’

Pink eyebrows rose in disbelief. A riddle. A riddle! A riddle?

She should’ve definitely stayed in bed. Today was getting ridiculous. A picnic while watching the sun set was becoming to look like an impossibility. She rolled her eyes. Oh what the hell. She apparently didn’t have anything better to do anyway.

Time to put her big brain to work. Three possibilities sprung to mind immediately. The perks of being smart.

One, was a god. But do gods house life? Plus there weren’t any statues or temples in Konoha. Nothing to represent a god. Strike.

The second possibility a hospital, where babies were born and people died. Some people had to stay there too. But hospitals didn’t ‘give’ or ‘take’ lives. Just saved them or failed to save them. Strike. Which striked out medics as well. The terms didn’t apply. They helped life into the world, and yes sometimes they had to take people off life support machines, but they didn’t house life.

The last option looked at it a little less obviously. What was life? What gave life? Could be chakra, but chakra was too broad a subject, and she would never figure out where the next clue was. Every living thing had chakra. What was she gonna do? Check every person and tree?

The answer hit her then. Of course, a tree. A tree took in water, which was important for life, and it gave off oxygen, which also was important for life, and it was a habitat for wildlife.

It took life to sustain itself, then gave off life as a bi-product, and it housed many creatures.

But which tree? Konoha was quite literally in a forest. It must be their favourite tree. The big cherry blossom at the top of the small hill behind their training grounds. Where they relaxed after sparring. Where she had planned to have her picnic.

When she was there, Sakura walked the distance around the trunk, then looked up in its branches. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Shino there, watching her. They had obviously chosen the ones who could keep secrets to dole out the riddles.

He hopped down and handed the paper he held, before leaving with a quiet ‘good luck’. She thanked him. It wasn’t his fault the rest of team seven were infuriating. She could still be polite.

She was gonna break their little necks when she got to them.

She opened the riddle with more haste.

Choji’s writing. It smelt like potato chips.

‘What makes stressed turn back?’

Sakura’s clear green eyes narrowed. The sentence was confusing, but the bad grammar must’ve been intentional.

What got rid of stress?

Sakura’s answer was work until her mind comes off the problem, but that was most likely not the answer. Ino was sort of typical. What did she do?

Rant, eat sweets, complain, then go solve the problem by force.

Sweets. Stressed turn back. Oh, stressed backwards was desserts.

Sakura giggled. This was easy.

Many places sold sweets, but only one shop held the word ‘desserts’ in their name. Sakura skipped all the way there, glad to be making some progress. Shikamaru was there, looking bored out of his mind. She patted him on the back while he slunk off. This process repeated. She solved the riddle, she met someone and received the next.

Naruto’s handwriting was on the paper the lazy genius handed her. It wasn’t even a riddle. ‘This place sells the r- food EVER!’Answer, Ichiraku. The riddles kept getting easier and easier from there.

Hinata. Ino’s handwriting. ‘My pollen brings all the bees to the yard.’ Answer,Flowers: Yamanaka shop. Hinata ran off giggling with a smirking Kiba before she had a chance to interrogate her.

Ino. Hinata’s handwriting. ‘Toughest material on earth, but pretty enough to melt hearts. Outshines the stars, reflects love.’ Answer: Diamonds: Jewelry shops. Ino handed her a bouquet with a small smile.

Sakura clutched the red tipped yellow roses, orange roses, honeysuckle, daises and daffodils to her chest.

Friendship turned to love, passionate enthusiasm, bonds of love, hope, new beginning.

Her heart sped up along with her pace.

Tsunade of all people, stood at the entrance of the jewelry shop. She handed her student a brown paper bag with instructions not to open until she was at home. Sakura placed the bouquet and the bag carefully in her picnic basket. All Tsunade said was ‘I approve’ before handing Sakura her riddle.

Sasuke’s handwriting. ‘Here, gratitude I gave, mistakes were made.’ Answer: The bench he left her unconscious on. Her heart skipped. She could tell this little hunt was drawing to a close.

On that cold unforgiving bench, sat her masked former (but forever, in her heart) sensei. His smile was visible underneath his mask even as the day came to a close and the sun retreated, giving way to a midnight blue sky.

He clasped her free hand with his larger ones and neatly slipped the paper he held into it.

“I’m happy for you.” He said, and then he was gone. Leaving her with her heart hesitant but hoping against hope. She glanced at the flowers once more, reminded herself of their symbolism and smoothed out the paper Kakashi gave her..

‘Come home, Sakura.’ was written. Her hands shook as she dropped the paper in her basket and followed the route she knew so well she could follow it blindfolded. The streets that were full of her friends were only occupied by civilians who paid her no mind except to greet her or glance curiously at the flowers in the basket.

What was only under two minutes felt like hours until she arrived at her apartment.

She moved away from her parents’ house to here, where everything was purely her. Her green bedspread, white furniture, bright red rug, secondhand couch that used to be white, her mahogany desk, her bookshelf and her endless pile of scrolls and books.

Until it wasn’t just her. Their invading was subtle, Naruto left a bloodied shirt that she washed and he never retrieved it, Sasuke brought lunch over and left his plate there. Then they started to crash on her couch, or on her bed when she was away on missions. And then suddenly she found herself picking up cup ramen at the store and polishing Sasuke’s kunai in her spare time.

It wasn’t just green, white and red anymore. Suddenly there was black, orange, navy blue, crimson and a myriad of colours that made up them. And she knew that if any attempts to separate these colours were made scars would be left behind.

Her hand hovered over her doorknob. She could turn around and stay at Ino’s, she’d understand. They’d all understand. But that would erect a wall she would lament over all her life there would be what ifs that would eat her from the inside out until she was as hollow as a dead tree.

The cold metal sent shocks down her arm when her palm closed around it. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Inside was dark, but she didn’t flick on the lights. She knew this small space inside out. She headed straight to her bedroom without even putting down the basket. Just as her fingers were about to touch the brass metal of the doorknob, she caught her reflection in a full length mirror. Her eyes trailed from her open toed sandals up to her almost knee length blue-green sundress to her simple silver necklace up to her face.

Her face which was only graced by lipgloss but held so much hope and fear and hesitance and anticipation and love.

She turned away before she started wasting time staring at someone she saw everyday but looked so different with that emotion reflected on her face from her heart.

She could sense them and they could sense her, hesitating. She had better go in before they start worrying and doubting themselves.

She closed her eyes, and opened the door.

Their scent accompanied their chakra signatures. She breathed the air in deeply and adrenaline replaced her blood.

Her eyes fluttered before she opened them fully and she drank in the sight before her.

Sasuke, pale and cool and perfect like the moon.

Naruto, sunkissed and warm and vibrant like the summer’s sun.

Sat on her green bedspread with their fingers intertwined.

And their other hands reached out towards her.

She exhaled.

She didn’t move backward, and she didn’t move forward.

She froze, unsure, as the moon and the sun looked at her as if she was their world.

Sasuke looked indifferent, except his eyes followed her every move, took in every detail. Naruto’s smile held confidence but he unconsciously bit his lip and his hand tightened around Sasuke’s for comfort.

They were just as nervous as she was. She let out a breathy laugh that sounded more like a puff of breath.

Tears slipped down her face and before the first drop dripped off her chin, they were there by her side. Sasuke took the basket and set it down. He took up the bouquet and passed the paper bag to Naruto. Sakura watched them without a word.

Naruto almost tore open the bag and took out a small velvet box. Her heart stopped.

Sasuke plucked a cherry blossom flower that she didn’t notice from the assortment of flowers and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers lingered as they combed through her hair.

Naruto carefully opened the box, and in it was a delicate silver ring with three gemstones; emerald, sapphire, onyx. To remind her of their eyes.

The necklace around her neck was removed, and the ring was slipped down the chain.

A question was in their eyes as Naruto held it around her neck, hesitating to clasp it.

Sakura laughed again, this time hearty and loud. She wrapped her arms around their torsos and crushed them to her in an almost rib cracking hug. She was dimly aware of the necklace being clasped and being carried to her bed.

They laid there laughing, fingers intertwined, stealing kisses and hugging. Them three. As it was meant to be.

#sasusakunaru #it's obvious i'm not a poet #nor a good riddler #shameless self indulging #first time writing a poly #it's weird but a good weird #This is so CHEESY though!#naruto #sakura #sasuke #rookie12

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q-is-a-letter · 6 years

Text

Prologue

So... this doesn’t have a real title yet. But it will next chapter!

Short summary: “Human” au where Genji’s a weredragon, Zenyatta’s a telekinetic. After being separated in childhood under mysterious circumstances, the two best friends unexpectedly reunite in college. This time with 100% more “being a disappointment to their families”. And they definitely don’t start crushing on each other. Definitely.

I don’t write very often, so this is a bit different than what I’m used to doing!

The young Shimada sat slouched in the seat outside the principal’s office, arms crossed, pouting over being punished for his latest 10-year-old crimes. He ran his tongue over his sharp teeth, or at least the few that had grown in. Perhaps losing his dull baby teeth to be replaced with sharp adult ones shouldn’t have been such a big deal to him, but it was another sign he was starting to grow into a weredragon. He already knew that would be the power he’d have, since the gene ran in his family, but his powers starting to manifest was no less exciting. Someday, he would be old enough to shift into his dragon form entirely. Then he could soar into the skies and dazzle people with shiny scales and cause even more havoc than he already did as a tiny humanoid. He had recently gotten the ability to breathe small puffs of fire, which of course he had already taken advantage of.

Which led to his current situation. Waiting for the principal’s assistant to call his name. This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten in trouble, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. Not when everything fun also happened to be everything that got him punished.

He drummed his fingers on his knees, looking around for anything to occupy his attention. There was another kid waiting--one of the last people he expected to see here. He didn’t know the kid’s name, but he knew his reputation. Or rather, lack thereof. While the kid certainly wasn’t the teacher’s pet type or the high and mighty Star Student, the teachers did like him. He was quiet, got good grades, and didn’t stir up any trouble. He was kind and genuine with nearly everyone, he must have had plenty of friends. Though he was never seen hanging out with anyone.

Now, he was sitting up straight in his wheelchair, nervously pulling on the sleeve of his yellow shirt that was much too big on his lanky frame. The dragon had never paid much attention to this kid, what with how shy he was, but now he could occupy his time with getting to know him. He always was a social one.

“Yo,” he muttered as he leaned back and put his hands behind his head. The other kid turned to look at him and he took note of how piercing blue his eyes were, especially in contrast with his darker skin. They would have been intimidating were it not for being paired with a genuine smile and bouncy, curly black hair.

“Hello!” he answered in a voice that was surprisingly cheery for how nervous he looked.

“Why are you here?”

The dragon’s blunt question seemed to take him a back for a moment, but the smile soon returned, though now more of a smirk. “I got bored during a test… so I made everybody’s papers float all around.”

The dragon looked at him for a second then snorted. “You can move things with your mind?”

The kid gave a grin that was as sweet and innocent as his reputation, but with something impish hidden just beneath the surface. He pushed his hair off of his forehead to reveal nine faint dots. A telekinetic. People had told the dragon about that type. That they were frighteningly powerful, and some could even control people’s minds. The dragon always asked why everyone seemed so scared of them, but always got the same infuriating answer. “You’ll learn when you’re older.” But everyone would still tell him to stay away from their kind. Good thing he never did as he was told.

“Cool…” the dragon breathed, grinning.

The telekinetic seemed to bask in the compliment as his hand returned to his lap. “Why are you here?”

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair in what he hoped was a cool, casual way. “Set the teacher’s desk on fire.” He blew a small puff of fire for emphasis.

The telekinetic stared wide eyed for a moment before bursting into snorting, ungraceful laughter. The dragon glanced over at him with a crooked, boyish grin. His overly relaxed façade become more genuine as he made the other kid laugh.

“Why?” he asked, leaning towards the dragon a little. There was an unmistakable sparkle in his blue eyes that spelled mischief and danger.

“I just wanted to,” he said. And lied. He wasn’t about to say the real reason was to get out of the fact that he didn’t do his homework. Not when he just found out that one of the most hard working students in the school was actually cool.

Before their conversation could continue, the principal’s assistant opened the door and grumbled in her voice that showed her age more than the wrinkles, “Zenyatta.”

The telekinetic nervously started to wheel towards the office. The dragon almost felt bad for him, with how he was biting his lip with his eyes glued to his lap. Normally, he would have laughed at someone being so nervous about something so mundane to him. But something about Zenyatta intrigued him, and he couldn’t bring himself to.

“Hey… Zenyatta?” He spoke up without fully meaning to. All eyes were suddenly on him and his usual bravado was nowhere to be found. Still, if he was anything it was stubborn. “Do you wanna hang out at recess tomorrow?”

Zenyatta smiled and sat up a little taller. “Sure!”

The principal’s assistant narrowed her eyes and looked from one child to the other. As Zenyatta wheeled into the office, the dragon overheard her say, “Be careful who you make friends with, Zenyatta. That girl is a bad influence.” The dragon took it as a compliment and grinned ear to ear.

The next day on the playground, for better or for worse, the two hit it off. The young dragon found Zenyatta sitting under a tree letting a caterpillar he’d befriended crawl on his hand. He noted the fact that Zenyatta’s wheelchair was next to him, without him in it. Always a showoff, he decided to get Zenyatta’s attention by swinging upside down in front of him with his legs hooked around a branch.

“Oh hi!” Zenyatta jumped, clearly a little surprised. The dragon took pride in being able to successfully use his Cool Ninja Skills.

“Yo!” He let go of the branch, hoping to impress his new friend further by doing a cool flip and sticking the landing. But quickly realized his mistake as he crash unceremoniously to the ground, sticks and leaves tumbling with him. His pride was too hurt by his failed trick to realize he’d instead succeeded in making Zenyatta laugh. The little dragon grumbled and sat up as he brushed leaves and dirt out of his hair.

“What’re you doing over here all alone?” he asked, glancing back at the crowded playground behind them. Zenyatta shrugged in response.

“I like being by myself. Other kids think I’m kinda weird anyway… so I make new friends!” He proudly held out the caterpillar. The other examined it then looked back up at Zenyatta.

“Why do you wanna be by yourself all the time?”

Zenyatta looked over his shoulder at the loud, busy playground behind him, then turned back to watch the caterpillar on his hand. “People are stressful.”

The dragon paused for a moment then let out a loud, snorting laugh. “I don’t understand you. But you’re kinda cool.” With that, he sat down hard next to Zenyatta, stirring up dirt around them.

It started as the dragon hounding Zenyatta with questions, “What’s it like moving things with your mind?” “How do you go up and down stairs in a wheelchair?” “How’d those dots get on your head?” All of which Zenyatta answered patiently. But eventually this turned into something closer to an actual conversation.

It was all rather easy going until Zenyatta asked the dragon what his name is. He knew it was inevitable, but he, as always, decided not to think about.

“Oh my uh… my name!” He looked sheepish for just a moment before regaining his confidence. “I just go by a bunch of nicknames. My real name is stupid.”

Zenyatta giggled. “Well then what name do I call you?”

He thought for a moment before a devious grin spread across his face.

“Sparrow!” he announced proudly, crossing his arms.

“Sparrow? That’s a cool nickname! Where’d you get it?”

“My family,” he shrugged, “they say it’s cause I’m ‘small and weak’,” he raised his voice to a high mocking tone, with air quotes for extra emphasis, “but if I use it for myself, I can make it mean whatever I want!”

Zenyatta chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so! You’re funny.” Sparrow beamed at the compliment. “So what does it mean for you?”

Sparrow paused again before admitting, “I dunno. Something cool!” He punched his palm.

They continued talking for the rest of recess about tv shows, teachers they didn’t like, families. Though neither seemed too willing to share much about the latter. Sparrow, as a diversion from that topic, decided to show off some of his coolest tricks such as Look How Fast I Can Climb Up The Spiral Thing or Watch Me Jump To The Furthest Monkey Bar I Can Reach. Zenyatta cheered, and laughed at Sparrow’s cheesy poses, and decided not to mention the incident the whole school heard about. When Sparrow sprained his wrist trying to break his monkey bar jumping record.

The two became fast friends, to the grief of all their teachers. If Sparrow was trouble before, it was doubled by the fact that he now had a telekinetic accomplice. And Zenyatta, always the quiet and obedient student, began to show a more rebellious side. Though that’s not to say their friendship was entirely negative. Zenyatta knew when to reel Sparrow in when he was about to take their pranks too far, and was probably one of his few genuine friends who saw him as more than the hilarious class clown. And, in turn, Sparrow helped Zenyatta feel a little less lonely. While he was still far from popular, and probably didn’t have all that many friends, the fact that he talked to anyone was a surprise. While he stayed towards the top of his class grade wise, he was no longer the straight A student he used to be. If you asked his teachers, Sparrow was the worst thing that ever happened to him. If you asked Zenyatta, he would give a very different story.

And so they remained friends for the rest of the school year. They spent as much time together as they could without Sparrow introducing his family to his new best friend. And when his friend moved away suddenly and mysteriously just before the summer, Sparrow was inconsolable, and, to his family, near intolerable.

#overwatch #genyatta #genji #zenyatta

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 6 years

Text

The Fireworks

This story was originally written and posted for my Fluffy Fridays Collection, but I thought I’d bring it back for the holiday. Enjoy!

Rating: T

Words: ~2500

CS Genre: Feuding Neighbors AU

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Come on David, you can’t be serious!” Emma growled as her brother, the sheriff, eased her back with a gentle hand to the arm.

“Yeah, Emma,” he said grimly, “I can.”

As if to emphasize the point, he slammed the jail cell door closed behind her.

Behind her and her jackass next door neighbor.

“Now, mate,” said jackass drawled, stepping forward. “Are you sure this is the best idea. You know your sister and I don’t particularly see eye to eye.”

David smiled humorlessly. “Understatement of the year after what you two have done over the last few days. But you’ve been disturbing the peace and driving everyone around you crazy, so yeah. I think a night in jail is definitely in order. You two’ll either find a way to work things out or you’ll kill each other. Either way the rest of us might get a little peace and quiet.”

~~36 Hours Before…~~

Killian settled into his bed with a contented sigh, reveling in the soft pillow. The hum of the ceiling fan lulled him until his eyes gently closed. It had been a long day, and he was in for another one tomorrow.

Storybrooke had big plans for its 4th of July celebration on Saturday. There were plans to shoot fireworks from a boat out on the harbor and set the whole thing to patriotic music. As the town’s harbormaster, Killian had a big role to play in getting everything set up. It was exhausting, and he wanted nothing more than to get a good night’s sleep before he waded into the madness all over again—ridiculously early tomorrow morning.

Boom! Crackle!

Killian jumped at the sudden noise, and then heard a frightened yelp and the click of paws against his wooden floor, as his 75 pound Rottweiler mix sprinted into his room, jumped on his bed and plopped square on his chest.

As Killian removed the panting, shaking, terrified canine baby from his person, his eyes narrowed. He’d bet his last paycheck he knew precisely the cause of the disturbance.

“Sh, Smee,” he said, stroking his dog’s black and caramel colored coat. “There’s nothing to worry about. It’s just…”

Another boom, this one loud enough to shake his house. Smee scrambled down and tried to wedge himself under Killian’s bed.

Killian pushed himself to his feet and strode purposely toward his door, not even bothering to put on a shirt. There was only one person who could be responsible.

Swan.

She’d moved into the house next to him about eight months ago, all long blonde hair and prickly exterior. Never had he met someone so exquisitely beautiful—or so maddeningly frustrating. The day after she’d moved in, he’d knocked on her door, friendly smile and “welcome to the neighborhood” bottle of rum at the ready.

He’d prepared a genial, friendly speech about how he was pleased to meet her and glad the house was finally occupied again and how she shouldn’t hesitate to ask if he could be of any assistance, but then she’d opened the door, and all rational thought had fled. Nothing could have prepared him for the utter perfection that was Emma Swan.

So, rather than his careful, well thought out neighborly speech, what came out of his mouth was something along the lines of “Hey beautiful. I think you and I need to get to know each other much, much better.”

Needless to say, she’d slammed the door in his face. Then she’d opened it again, swiped the rum from his hand, gave him a glare that could curdle milk, and slammed the door for the second time that morning.

Things had only gone downhill from there.

From that moment on, it would seem they were sworn enemies. Oh he’d tried to apologize, explain, but approaching her had been like trying to approach a rabid porcupine.

So he’d stopped trying to apologize and started in to do his best to completely piss her off, flirting outrageously with her whenever they came in contact. She was utterly glorious when she was angry.

She’d returned the favor with various acts of bad neighborliness—raking her leaves straight into his yard (he’d retaliated by raking the whole lot up and putting it in a messy pile at her front door) or parking her yellow bug smack dab in front of his mailbox—earning him the ire of Leroy, their bad-tempered postman (he’d retaliated by parking his own car at the end of her driveway), and all manner of other, deliberate acts of aggression.

And tonight, it would appear she’d decided to shoot off fireworks at 10:30 pm. Well, he wasn’t going to stand for it anymore. Enough was enough.

Righteous indignation intact, he stormed from his front door and marched right up to the exasperating woman who was preparing to apply a lighter to another bottle rocket, a preteen boy looking on with excitement.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he’d shouted.

Emma jumped and then glared. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m setting off fireworks. There’s a little thing called Independence Day coming up, and Henry and I wanted to celebrate.”

“Yeah?” he’d growled, “well can’t you celebrate at a reasonable hour? Some of us are trying to get some bloody sleep, so how about you cease and desist immediately.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not happening, buddy,” she said in a hard voice. “So how about you take your un-patriotic ass off my lawn and go get that sleep you’re so desperate for.”

He’d opened his mouth, preparing for a stinging reply, but then thought better of it as a brilliant, devious plan came to mind. She wanted to disturb his sleep and scare his dog half to death? Fine. Two could play at that game. Miss patriotic over there was about to find out that payback was a bitch.

~~6 ½ hours later…~~

Emma was happily fast asleep when it happened. A canon boomed and suddenly classical music, at roughly the decibel level of a jet, filled her peaceful bedroom. She shot up in bed, hand going immediately to her heart, and then her eyes narrowed.

Killian.

No one else would even think of pulling something like this.

She got to her feet, threw on some sweats and stormed from the house, prepared to give the son of a bitch a piece of her mind he would never forget.

Killian Jones was the bane of her existence; had been ever since that first morning he’d knocked on her door and immediately set in to hitting on her. Obviously thought he was God’s gift to women; that she should just swoon at his feet in ecstasy that he’d deigned to talk to her.

Yeah, not happening.

She didn’t care how ridiculously hot he was. And yes, with his piercing blue eyes, messy black hair, and perpetual scruff…well, hot didn’t even begin to cover it. And when he’d stormed over to her house last night, naked to the waist and she’d gotten her first glimpse of that ripped, hair smattered chest….well, maybe it did things to her.

Ugh! What was she doing? She wasn’t some teenager who couldn’t keep her hormones in check. She was a full grown woman who was going to give a world-class jerk the verbal beating he so richly deserved!

Killian Jones sat on his porch swing, cup of coffee in hand, smug grin in place.

“Morning, Swan,” he said genially. “Looks like it’s going to be a lovely day, aye?”

She took his porch steps two at a time, walked over to the stereo system he’d moved to sit beside him—the stereo system who’s speakers were turned conspicuously toward her house—and punched the “stop” button with a viciousness that would have made a fairy tale villain proud. “Cut the crap, Jones. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

His grin spread maddeningly further. “Just enjoying the morning,” he drawled. “After all, as patriotic as you are, I’d assumed you’d enjoy ‘The 1812 Overture’. Quite a good rendition this. Did you know they used real canons in the finale?”

Emma’s hand ached with the need to punch the smug bastard in the face. “It’s freaking five o’clock in the morning! I was asleep.”

Suddenly a glint of temper entered his eyes. “Aye? Well darling, now you know how it feels.”

And that was all it took. Emma took a deep breath and started in on the long list of all the things she hated about Killian Jones.

~~Present Day~~

Emma plopped down on one of the prison cell cots and turned resolutely from the man standing on the far side of the cell. After the cataclysmic shouting match this morning, one of their other neighbors had evidently called the cops. David had shown up, taken one, assessing look at the situation, and thrown both of their asses in jail.

And now she was going to be stuck with Killian freaking Jones until tomorrow morning!

Talk about cruel and unusual punishment! This was going to be the longest night of her life.

For long minutes they both sat there, each on their respective bunks, seething and glaring daggers in each other’s general direction. Finally he let out a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, and turned suddenly repentant eyes in her direction.

“Look love,” he began.

“Not your love, Jones,” she said automatically.

He charged on, ignoring the interruption. “Perhaps your brother is right. Things might be…tumultuous between us, but we are neighbors. We need to find a way to live together in peace. I apologize for blaring music at you at an ungodly hour this morning. Bad form, that.”

He was apologizing? Actually apologizing? Taking responsibility for something he’d done and wishing to make amends? Of all the things she’d expected to come from his mouth that was not it.

“Um,” she said in confusion, “thanks for that.”

He reclined his head in acknowledgement. “I let my temper get the better of me. I’ve been under a bit of stress at work lately, and when you set off your fireworks late last night—disturbing my sleep and scaring my dog witless—well, I suppose I snapped.”

Sudden guilt clawed at Emma. She supposed if she was being completely honest…she hadn’t handled last night’s altercation as well as she might have. And, okay, maybe if she was further being honest, he wasn’t a complete pain in the ass all the time. There was that time last winter when he’d come over and shoveled her driveway after a particularly nasty blizzard….and there was that time she’d been sick and he’d run down to the local diner and bought her some chicken soup.

And, well, okay, maybe he had some justification for being angry after all the crap she’d done to him. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who needed to make an apology.

“Yeah,” she said, picking at a loose string on her cot and refusing to look over at him. “I guess I should apologize too. For the fireworks. I didn’t think about them bothering anyone, but, well, I didn’t exactly handle our conversation last night well.”

She felt the cot sag beside her, and looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen in her life. Killian extended one hand, friendly smile firmly in place. “Apology accepted. Truce?”

She hesitated for another moment, and then gripped his offered hand. A jolt of electricity passed between them at the touch, and Emma gasped, dropped his hand like it was a live wire, and turned startled green eyes his direction. What she saw in the depths of his eyes was something she’d never expected. Kindness, understanding, friendship.

Emma’d had a rough life; always abandoned, always forgotten, always passed over. It wasn’t until David’s mom, Ruth, adopted her at the age of seventeen that she finally found someone she could really trust. Still, trust came hard. Her default position was still to expect the worst.

So it shocked her to her very core when she suddenly had the urge to confide in the man sitting beside her—the man she’d hated from the very beginning.

“Look,” she said, once again glancing away from him. “That boy that was with me last night...”

He nodded, urging her to go on. “That’s my…that’s my son. Got knocked up really young; still a kid really, sixteen-and-a-half. And when I told the father…well, he freaked out. Walked out on us, and I’ve never seen him since.”

Killian took her hand, and to her shock, she had no desire to pull away.

“I gave Henry up when he was born, trying to give him his best chance, you know? What did I know about being a mother? I’d never even had one to speak of.”

“I can’t begin to imagine how difficult that must have been for you,” Killian whispered. She looked up at him, nodded, and gave his hand a quick squeeze.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Tore me apart. I’ve been looking for him for years, and finally found him; here in this town. The adoptive mom didn’t want me to have anything to do with him; almost took out a restraining order on me, and well, last night was the first time she agreed to let me have contact with him. Real contact. Henry loves fireworks, so…” Emma shrugged.

Killian was silent for a long time, and finally she looked up at him. The compassion in his eyes was almost her undoing. “I’m sorry for overreacting, love.”

She shrugged again. “Not your fault; not really. You couldn’t have known. And...well, I guess my default is to be defensive. My experience…people don’t stay. They don’t do nice things for you, at least without expecting things in return. Their all out to screw you over.”

“Emma, you deserve far, far better than that.”

Something about the sincerity of his voice, the emotion behind his simple statement, finally made her snap. Surging forward, she weaved her hand through the soft hair at the nape of his neck and slammed her lips against his.

He responded instantly, giving as good as he got, deepening the kiss, making small noises in the back of his throat that drove her wild. In the history of kisses, she was sure there had never been one quite so potent, so all consuming.

When they finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his and felt his deep chuckle against her hand, resting on his chest. “Love, that was…”

“Mind-blowing, explosive,” she finished. She leaned back and grinned at him. “Jones, I thought you were against fireworks, but that..”

He laughed again. “Well, there are fireworks and then there are fireworks.”

She laughed with him, and couldn’t resist going in for round two—the kiss far softer and more gentle this time.

“Killian,” she finally said, breathlessly. “I think we kind of started out on the wrong foot. How about we start over and this time try to not, you know, attempt to kill each other every other day?”

Killian grinned. “Sounds good to me, love.” He extended his hand once more. “Hi, I’m Killian Jones. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

#cs ff #cs au ff #cs fourth of july au #cs feuding neighbors au #my fanfiction

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