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faegoddessog · 1 month

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Woman in Red CH 11/?

Chapter 11: Mogren Beach

Series Summary: She's a very successful woman who can't seem to find a partner that can keep up with her. He is just wanting to find someone who likes him for HIM, not his fame. Neither of them are prepared for what hits them when she walks into that coffee shop.

Chapter Warnings: Explicitly mature content, 18+ only, Unprotected PiV (play safe ya'll!), Angst, fellatio,

A/N: In this story, I make no mention of birth control or condoms or STI's. Please, darlings, please love yourself enough to protect yourself appropriately when you have sex. <3

Message me or leave in a comment if you'd like to be added or removed from my tagged list!

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Here is the Woman in Red Masterlist

Here is the link to all my posted work: My Dirty Little, and not so little Stories.

Chapter 11: Mogren Beach

Their stopover in Iceland was fun. A driver took the five of them in a limo, possibly the only one on the island, to see the Bridge Between Continents. It was an actual foot bridge that spanned a fissure between the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates. After they went to the Blue Lagoon for about four hours, Aya treated them all to facials and in-water massages and bought them all lunch. They left all noodly and relaxed. When they climbed into the limo, Stacey plopped down next to Austin and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“A girls gotta nap after that, especially if she’s gotta fly the plane.” She closed her eyes and snuggled into his chest. Austin, having little choice in the matter, just shrugged and pulled her close. Charlie sat down on his other side and he offered his arm to her as well. She smiled at him and snuggled in too, though because of her height, she leaned back more on his shoulder. His eyes felt heavy too as the car started. Aya and Shaya talked in quiet tones across from them.

When they get to the plane, Stacey’s eyes pop open. She stretches, kisses a groggy Austin hard on the mouth, then literally bounds from the car to start preflight checks.

Aya giggles and gets out as Austin rubs his eyes, Charlie plants a kiss on his cheek and gets out too.

Shaya shakes their head. “That girl is like a damn fairy, I’ll tell you what. But maybe that’s what makes her such a good pilot,” they smile at Austin. “She likes you, that’s not always the case. She’s picky. I like you too, you are a good man. But I need to tell you, I love Aya like a sister, so don’t you fuck her up.”

“It is my deepest intent not to do so,” he says seriously. “I am” he hesitates, “well let’s say I’m coming to care for her too.”

“Mmm, hmmm, just be mindful, she’s more fragile than she wants to let on.” Shaya pats his knee kindly then follows their cohort to the plane.

“What was Shaya telling you?” Aya asks, taking his hand as he finally emerges from the vehicle. “Just how much they love you,” he smiles, “everyone seems to. Love you that is.” His eyes go soft as he looks at her.

She looks at him briefly, smiling, before quickly looking down. It only takes an instant for her inner self to recognize what those words and that gaze mean. She’s seen makeshift attempts before, but only once was it true. Only once before did it pierce her heart, and it ended up tearing her soul. And she was not about to repeat that shit, nope, nope, nope. She shoves those thoughts aside and looks back at him with a smile.

Aya’s seemingly bashful glance down seems uncharacteristic of her. She is shaking her head and he could see the pink rising in her face. Weird, her self confidence is usually all encompassing, why did the mention of people loving her make her curl inward. He is about to lift her chin when she looks at him with a huge fake smile. “Let’s go”, is all she says.

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

The rest of the flight to Montenegro was uneventful. Unless you count that Stacey invited Austin into the cockpit. To be fair, he was genuinely interested, having learned to fly old B-17’s for his stint on Masters of the Air. He had a basic understanding of flight and asked relevant questions. It fucking turned her on.

“This is what autopilot was literally invented for, thank you Lawrence Sperry,” she flipped the switch and practically leapt onto him, straddling his lap as he sat in the jumpseat behind hers.

“Whoa, Stacey, we should check with Aya first, sweetheart, ” Austin said, turned on himself, but still feeling weird about all this freedom with sex.

“I told you she’d eat you alive,” said Aya from behind them. Her arms came around his neck. “You are not beholden to me Austin, fuck her if you’d like.” She leaned in to kiss his ear. ‘Good,’ she thinks, ‘let Stacey distract him.’ He grabbed her hand, holding it to his chest.

“Yes, fuck me if you’d like,” Stacey’s smile was sweet but her eyes are pure wolf. She was grinding on his hard cock as her pencil skirt rode high on her hips.

He did.

She didn’t even take her underwear off, just pulled them to the side after pulling him out of his joggers. She was fast and hard and furious, but quieter this time, not wanting to disturb Shaya in the bunks just behind the cockpit. Aya stayed and held his hand the whole time, kissing his neck, whispering how hot it was telling him to watch as her tight little slit swallowed him whole. He thrust up into her again and again. After she came, she got off him, his still hard cock bouncing.

“You got him from here, yeah Aya?” She said kissing her then settling back down to fly the plane.

“Indeed,” she pulled him off the seat as he tried to tuck himself back into his pants. He wasn’t sure he liked fucking Stacey, she kinda kept using him and leaving him hanging. Although right now it didn't matter, because Aya was coaxing him to the bedroom. Aya was kissing him. Aya was rubbing her pussy back and forth on his hand to show her how wet watching them had made her. Aya was laying back offering herself to his pleasure. Aya was gripping him, shaking with the force of her orgasm. Legs, arms and cunt wrapped around him as he spilled into her yet again. Aya was holding him to her breast and stroking his hair. Aya, all for Aya.

When they emerged, Charlie fed them. He read his script, making notes in the margins. Aya did some work on her laptop. Soon they were landing, parking and going through customs, all of them.

They piled into a big SUV, for about a half hour through the dark countryside, dotted with billboards that floated into the view of the headlights and winked out again. They went through a tunnel and shortly after, they entered what looked like a resort town and stopped at a fancy apartment building. After getting keycards from the front desk, they rode the elevator up.

“Ding” they stopped at the topmost floor.

“This is us” says Shaya, pressing her cheek to Aya, making kissing noises, then does the same to Austin.

Stacey pulled him down to her for a deep french kiss before turning on her heel and dragging her bag out into the hall. Charlie pressed her full lips to his ,”night night” she said sweetly and left.

Why they were doing this here and not in the hallway, Austin didn’t know or question. He had gotten quickly past wondering why this crew did all the things they did. Austin made to pick up his bag and follow them.

“Nope,” said Aya, pressing her keycard to the pad in the elevator. The doors closed and Austin looks at the panel of buttons then at her, confused. They were at the top, weren’t they?

She just pointed up as the elevator rose further and then opened onto a dark covered patio. She steps out, pressing her keycard to another pad on the wall.

“Sasha, turn on the lights and open the door please,” she says loudly.

The lights come on inside a wall of windows that he hadn’t even registered, the door to his left clicks open. The patio is covered in plants and potted trees, a sunning deck is off to the right. He can just make out patio furniture in the dark. The darkness of the ocean is all he can see beyond.

She beckons him in. The foyer has an inlaid mosaic on the floor, a coat closet to the left, a bedroom and bathroom directly across from the main door. A wide hallway leads to the right. It is lined with full bookshelves on its left and the glass windows looking out on the patio to the right. It opens into a beautiful modern kitchen with white cabinets and sleek lines. There is a huge black marble two level island with a sink in the middle with bar height seating across the back.

The room has a vaulted ceiling and extends into a dining space where a black topped table with white chairs sits. Past that is the living space with a huge curved white couch, a thick black rug covers most of the white stone floor and a big abstract black and white painting hangs on the wall. The floor to ceiling windows extend the whole wall to the right, broken only by a double sided gas fireplace that serviced the patio as well. The far wall across the end of the room was also nothing but windows and standing in the corner was a pearl white grand piano.

“Wow, this is lovely Aya. What made you decide to buy a place here?" he asks as he sets down his bag.

“Do you remember when you were in my work apartment that first night and I told you that I own a few buildings you couldn’t see from there?”

He just nods.

“Well, you can see one of them now,” she opens her arms.

“The whole building?” he is a little flabbergasted. He knew upscale and this building was it.

“Yup, the crew is in a three bedroom unit downstairs that I rent out as a VRBO, along with several others, but this is my Mediterranean Sanctuary, only I stay here.”

“Oh, well I’ll go see about getting a room then,” he teases, picking up his bag, “I suppose Charlie might be willing to share.”

“Ok, ok, me and my guests,” she rolls her eyes trying to cover the unnervingly possessive feeling that just sprouted from his words.

Austin chuckles as Aya goes to the fridge. It’s filled with her favorite fresh local things. She needed to give her housekeeper an extra bonus. She pours sparkling water from a big glass bottle into a stemless wine glass, offering one to Austin as well. They wander into the living space.

“Do you play?” he indicates the piano.

“I did as a kid, but my teacher kinda messed it up for me.” Aya says sitting on the wide bench and flipping the fallboard open.

“Oh no! What happened.” Austin sits next to her.

“Oh she just yelled a lot when I didn’t practice, which made stubborn little me want to practice less.” She plays a chord, the piano perfectly in tune. “ She told me I could be a concert pianist, that I was progressing so fast. But even if it could have been a passion for me, her attitude made me quit.” She plays a volley of notes that stream into Vivaldi’s Summer. She abruptly stops, looking at Austin and shrugging.

“That is horrible.” he says, laying his fingers on the keys, “I mean, she was, not your playing." He wraps his arms around her waist, planting a loving kiss on her forehead, "you just keep amazing me, at every turn.”

“C’mon, I’ll show you the rest,” she pulls away from him, her heart pressing against her chest. She doesn't want to feel this way, she tells herself.

There are double doors on the wall behind the dining table. It opens up into a huge bedroom dominated by a massive wooden four poster bed. Each corner has an ornately carved pillar. In contrast to the stark black and white of the other rooms, this room is decorated in complex reds and deep browns and light creams. There is a Moroccan flair to the decor with rich, lavish fabrics, carved wooden pieces and elaborate wall sconces. There is a rug so thick you could sink your toes completely into it, if you tried. There are two doors to the left, each ornamented above with subtle moorish arches. One to the big bathroom, the other to the walk-in closet. To the right was, shockingly, more windows with thick curtains tied to each side and billowing out in graceful curves. Situated in front of the glass is a massive clawfoot tub, big enough for two people, possibly three if one was Stacey-sized.

“This was supposed to be a three bedroom penthouse, but I insisted that they make this big master suite instead. I don’t need that many bedrooms," Aya explains as she shows him the bathroom.

“I feel like I’m on an old hollywood movie set, Casablanca or something,” he says with a smile, pulling her in close.

She supposes she could toss out that famous line, but just now she can't remember what it is. Austin is simply too close, smells too good, is too distracting. She stays in his embrace this time. Her heart pounding in her chest, swelling despite her wishes. The heart wants what the heart wants.

They decided they were tired enough to at least try to sleep, considering the local time was nearly 1:30 AM. She again offered him the spare bedroom, in case he wanted some space. Usually, she preferred it that way, needing her own space, but she was finding his company was easy. Filled with calm quiet spaces that, oddly, she didn’t feel the need to fill.

“Why would I pass up the opportunity to be fucked in my sleep?” he teases her. “No really, please fuck me in my sleep anytime you want,” he says seriously.

“Oh I don’t think I want to wait until you are asleep,” she puts her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss. A kiss that ended up with Austin seeing just how luxurious the carpet really was and just how deep he could get his toes into the pile.

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

The next day, the rising sun pierces into the room and right into their faces between the forgotten curtains. They hunker down into the sheets, both mentally cursing.

When they do get up, the sun has crept across the room. They eat a quick breakfast and set out to see Budva and walk off some of the jet lag. They walk the old town and have lunch there. They don’t see the three others at all.

“They like to do their own thing.” she comments when he asks, “Sometimes Charlie likes to hang out by the marina. She has a thing for boats. Shaya is shopping or hiking, I'd bet my life on it. Stacey is likely sleeping in so she can haunt the bars later, she likes to troll for men.” Aya says, she thinks of all the times she has joined in on those one night stands. They don’t seem as appealing as they used to.

The walk to Mogren Beach is less than 15 minutes. There are a moderate amount of people out today. They sunbathe for a while, then he drags her out to the deeper water to play and swim in the crystal clear waters.

Aya tries to keep herself in check in this public place. The water dripping and sparkling off his bare chest, and his muscles rippling, makes it tough. But more than anything, seeing him laugh makes her yearn for him. She finds it unnerving and delicious all at the same time.

At one point, she leaps on him, trying to dunk him. Caught unawares he goes under. He turns, grabs her and erupts from the water, tossing her. Her arms flail and splash as she too, goes under. She comes up sputtering and laughing. He is right there, pulling her up into his arms. Salty seawater flavors his tongue as it sweeps against her bottom lip. Her legs wrap around his waist in the water, pressing herself needily against him. They both forget entirely where they are. They both are ready to pull aside their respective suit bottoms and fuck right there, despite the universal knowledge that water is a terrible lubricant.

“Aya,” he breathes his blue eyes shimmering like the surface of the water, “I- I -”

“Ohmigawd! are you like, Austin Butler?” A young woman, barley not a teenager, is on a float raft and paddling towards them.

Austin lets out a breath, turning toward the young fan with his practiced smile. Thankful for the fact that the water was deep enough to hide his hard-on.

He is practically the archetype of humility and politeness as she gushes about his performances and flirts with him openly. He asks her name and where she is from; kind to his core. He smiles and waves his little finger-tip wave towards a couple other girls who titter and refuse to approach. Their phones are out and pointed towards the three of them. The girl asks if he would pose for the cameras. He goes to put his arm around Aya, who is patiently waiting beside him. As the girl turns, she ‘accidentally’ falls off into the water in front of him triggering the oldest of male instincts. He puts out his arms to catch her. The girl thrashes in the water, screaming that she can’t swim, then is clinging to him with her arms around his neck.

“Whoa, whoa, it’s ok, you can touch here.” He grabs her wrist and peels her arms away from him, setting her on her feet.

Aya, who has been utterly ignored in this interaction, scoffs and tries not to roll her eyes as the girl nearly cries about how he saved her life.

“No, no it was nothing, you would've been fine, it was nice to meet you,” he dismisses her, with a nod of his head and turns back to Aya. The girl grabs her raft and starts back to her friends. Half way there she is saying loudly, “Did you see that, holy fuck I could totally feel it, it was so big. Oh my god!” As though Austin and Aya can’t hear.

“You wanna go?” Aya asks, seeing Austin’s cheeks turn red.

Austin takes a big breath and nods, “Yeah, I’m sorry, we’d better. That was….” he shakes his head in disbelief.

They make their way back to the beach. Austin’s mouth is a grim line as he watches the shoreline for cameras and protectively holds Aya’s hand. He is mentally kicking himself that he let his guard down. He’d gotten so comfortable, so focused on Aya, that he had forgotten himself, quite literally. How could he be so stupid.

He stomps up to their pile of things, pulling a towel out quickly. He tosses it around her shoulders before yanking one around himself. He knows that if he’s outed here, it’ll be a matter of minutes before lenses will be focused on them. “Whoa there sailor,” says Aya holding up a hand, “we aren’t in any hurry.” She lets the unneeded towel fall off her shoulders. It was like his fun self had been doused with cold water.

“I just want to protect you,” he says, fumbling in his haste to pull her towel back up.

“Austin,” she puts her hand on his cheek, “I’ve made it this far in life, I’m not worried about some teenage shenanigans.”

“It’s not that,” he looks hard into her eyes, trying to silently make up for his lack.

“What is it then,” her voice is curious.

“It’s you,” he looks at the blue sky, trying to figure out what he even means, “I just…”

“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” Aya’s eyes narrow at him.

“What!?” his eyes flick back to hers, brows stitched together, “Why would you even think…”. He blows out an exasperated breath. He’s more upset at the idea, than at her for thinking it. “Look, can we just get back to the apartment and talk about it in private,” he snaps.

“Sure,” she says, her lips pursed. Suddenly, she is very upset. Maybe it’s his snapping at her after being so sweet to that stupid girl. Or maybe it's just his assuming she needed his protection. Silently and quickly, they gather their things and leave. He tries to take her hand, but she steps out ahead of him, out of reach. Her mind starts hamster-wheeling stupid things, dredging up those old fucking tapes again: she isn’t pretty enough, young enough, thin enough. God dammit, she thought those were dead, buried, burned! She is more mad at herself for those thoughts than anything else. Seeing a crack form in the chained iron box, buried in layers of denial and old scars, locked in the dark cell in the depths of her mental dungeon, her fear tries to wiggle its way to the surface. ‘What else might he dredge from the catacombs?’ it says. She forcibly shoves it away, but not before tears begin to sting her eyes.

Austin swears softly under his breath. He follows her retreating form. He isn’t sure what just happened or why he was snapping at her. This kind of incident, being approached by strangers, was his current life. In truth, it was rarely that bad, but maybe she couldn’t handle his fame? He rejects the thought immediately. Ridiculous, she was far too outgoing and definitely too confident for that. Was she jealous of that girl, that child? How could she be? Literally yesterday she had encouraged him, then watched as he fucked someone else. She told him it turned her on. She had said he wasn’t beholden to her. Shaya had said she was more fragile than she wanted to let on. Maybe he should let that come to the surface before he told her just how much she had affected him, just how much he wanted to be ‘beholden’ to her.

The walk back was silent, at first her steps were rapid and angry as they walked the trail between the rock cliff and the sea. It wasn’t as if she was trying to get away from him. In reality, she was actually trying to outpace her own thoughts. By the time they got to the city park, three blocks from the building, she had slowed down as though she had outwalked her initial reactions. She wipes the tears she hadn’t acknowledged yet with the back of her hand, then holds it out behind her, toward Austin, hoping he’ll take it.

Her fast pace was surprising to him, but not hard to keep up with. He stayed a pace or two behind her, letting her lead, letting her fume. He wasn’t sure where he was going at any rate. After the first five minutes he decided there had to be more to her reaction than he realized, that he would just wait and let her lead this. He knew that he was actually mad at himself for putting them in a position like that, for forgetting where they were and what could happen.

‘It’s not like we were in real danger,’ he thinks to himself. ‘There was little I could do differently, besides ignore that girl.’ He starts to talk himself off the ledge of his anger.

He really tried to not let his fame stop him from doing things, albeit with differing levels of success. But he had been dealing with this in some capacity all his life, she had not. He could’ve at least warned her or explained instead of being tight and upset. Instead he was pretending that he was just a normal nobody the whole time he was with her. It was all he wanted when he was with her, to just be a guy. Maybe, he thought as they walked in silence, just maybe that girls’ interruption was a sign that he should slow down. Fuck, what he had nearly confessed to Aya in that moment! Her pace slowed so gradually that he didn't notice it until her hand reached for him. He closes the gap instantly, threading his fingers gently with hers, grateful for the peace offering. His fingers touch the wetness on the back of her hand. He is jolted with the realization that she had been crying.

When his hand laces into hers, a breath she didn't know she was holding escapes her lungs and her shoulders release. She keeps walking, leading him in through the palm trees, rubber plants and weeping figs to a spot she knows. She slows to a stop in the shade of a tall nettle tree, surrounded by hedges.

“I’m sorry Austin,” she says, to his surprise. “I know you are not embarrassed to be seen with me.”

“Oh my god no,” his hand nearly leaps to caress her cheek, “whatever would I have to be embarrassed about, Aya? You are so beautiful, smart, adventurous, confident and totally amazing.”

“Yeah well, clearly not all the time,” she leans into his hand, “I just let some old bullshit get the better of me, that’s all. Can you forgive me?” He tilts her face up and she finally looks at him, her eyes slightly red with tears.

“There is nothing to forgive, Aya, we all have old bullshit that gets the better of us sometimes.” His plush lips press softly and briefly onto hers. “And I’m sorry too.”

Her eyebrows crease in a frown. “For what?” He can’t possibly mean for those girls, he didn’t make them do that?

“For snapping at you, for letting my guard down,” he answers looking up, “for not paying attention to what was going on around us.”

“Thank you for the apology Austin” she says simply.

“I should’ve… I don’t know…” He looks back down to her, “been better prepared or something. They aren’t usually that…invasive.” He shakes his head, still beating himself up. “And there will be photos, Aya.”

“What on earth could you have done, you can’t control other people,” she says matter of factly. “Fuck the photos. I’ve had photos taken of me before. What are we going to do, hide forever? Never go out for dinner or get groceries or go to the movies or enjoy an outing? Live like hermits?”

Groceries, dinner, movies, we, forever: these words stick sharp in his mind. These words are couple words, partner words. His heart leaps as his mind begins flashing spontaneous scenes involving those words, a potential future that sparks so much joy in him. He gives his head a little shake to bring him back to the here and now.

“You are right, I know better, they can’t dictate our lives,” he sighs, 'hopefully our life, someday’ he thinks.

She hears the slight longing in the word ‘our’. Shit, what did she start? But she suppresses on.

“I am well aware of your status and that people will recognize you. I’m sure there are measures to be taken. Let me add to your list of my supposed qualities: I’m also stubborn. I refuse to let other people’s behavior dictate to me where I go and what I do. How do you think I got where I am?”

“Yes, of course. It's just, we were having such a good track record and I got lulled into a false sense of security. I’m so sorry, I just feel I should have-” she touches his lips with her finger.

“Should’ve, would’ve could’ve,” she says softly, ignoring the pet name, “it’s done now and there is nothing to be sorry about.”

“Well I was snappy at you,” he says against her finger, pleading into her eyes.

“And I forgive you.” her hand slides to his jaw, “So stop beating yourself up over nothing. Okay?”

“Okay,” his eyes soften into hers. In the space of one breath, he sees that the very thing that might have driven a wedge between them, instead has him falling deeper.

The look in his eyes says it all. She knows exactly what is happening and try as she might, she feels it too. She should run, says her protective half, run to her penthouse and lock it behind her. Hide, run, evade, anything to stop this descent. But she is rooted to the spot like the trusty trees around her, so she falls, kicking, clawing but oh so quietly.

The walk back was meandering, quiet and hand in hand. They made a stop at a restaurant on the way, getting take-out as neither of them felt like cooking and both were famished.

They ate an early dinner on the terrace, after taking separate but quick showers. Neither of them said much more other than to comment on the food or the view.

Austin stood and picked up the plates. He was standing at the sink when Aya came in a few minutes later, wondering where he had gone. He had a sink full of bubbles and was washing dishes by hand despite the fact that the dishwasher was standing at the ready. She didn’t question it, only hoped that this dish-washer might also be ready and willing.

She comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around him and lays her cheek on his back.

“Are you tired?” she asks. It’s early evening but jet lag and the events of the day might dictate an early night.

“Not really,” he says softly, rinsing a dish in the hot stream of water.

“Me neither,” she just wants to feel close to him after their pseudo argument. Though to be honest, just touching him makes her flame.

Cleaning up was one of those things that sometimes he just found himself doing. Especially when he felt emotional or his brain felt disorderly. It was at least something he could control. He is deep in his own zen and bubbles, when he feels her hands skim his waist. It’s the first touch she’s extended, other than hand holding, since their fight. If they could call it a fight, it was more one on one combat between themselves and their own demons that happened to catch the other in the crossfire.

The feel of her hands ignites him. Normally, he doesn’t like how manipulative ‘make up’ sex feels. He’s had girlfriends that used it against him. But this didn’t feel like that, they had actually talked and each had taken responsibility.

“Mmm, why do you have something in mind?” he says, scrubbing the last dish and leaning slightly into her. He just wants the perceived distance between them to be nil again.

“Maybe after you are done here, if you are willing…” she lets the sentence hang in the air, her fingertips lightly dancing on his hips bones.

“Willing to….” he knows, but he wants to hear her say it.

"I’d like to be with you, feel your skin next to mine,” she doesn’t want to push and won’t if he isn’t up for it yet. She realizes with a sense of shock that she would be down for just cuddling. She feels depleted from the events of the day and just wants to get her brain back to a sense of normalcy, something simple and familiar.

He had the feeling, she was placing the offer down in front of him gingerly. She wasn’t trying to seduce him into it, rather she was simply stating that she was willing if he was. It's hot, hotter than if she was trying to smooth things over with sex or goad him into intimacy.

“You would, huh?” his voice slips deep as he rinses the final dish and sets it in the rack to dry. “I’d like that, maybe out there,” he nods to the terrace. He turns in her arms after drying his hands and pulls her in close. He tilts her chin up with a gentle forefinger, smelling like bubbles, “I want your skin on mine too,” he says.

Then his mouth is on hers, gently pressing a long, soft kiss. It melts her, nearly buckling her knees. She had tried, really tried, not to care if he said no. This was her usual M.O. after all. But when his hands are bunching up the hem of her dress and peeling it off her, she realizes just how worried she was that he may not want her after their conflict.

“I know how much you like being naked outside.” His smile wipes away any doubt.

The sun was just starting to go down. Every inch of Aya’s skin was bathed in golden light. The sideways slant of the sun casting shadows into the valleys of Austin’s muscular and very naked torso. His shirt was left canoodling with her dress inside. The warm evening breeze pulled her hair away from her face as she let him lead her out to the terrace. He stops, turns and pulls her in for a deeper kiss. His fingers tangle in her hair as his tongue petitions for entrance, which Aya gladly gives, sinking herself into his strong arms. They kiss for a long time, slowly getting bolder with one another until the puffing breath from their nostrils eddy against one another’s cheeks. Little moans pass between their vibrating chests.

“You know what I would like, if you are ok with it?” he asks after finally pulling away from her, voice a little tentative and his teeth playing with his bottom lip, “I want your mouth on me, please.“ He glances at the tent of his cock in his comfy linen drawstring pants. He had foregone underwear after his shower. “And uh… I don’t need to be all aggressive this time, I just want you to do what you do.” He still has a hint of guilt, feeling like he got out of control that first time.

“Austin, look at you asking for a blowjob.” she smiles, teasing only a little. “Yes, oh yes please. And for the record, again, I like it when you take control.” She locks onto his eyes as she lowers herself down to sit on the big round outdoor couch, “I want you to enjoy it knowing that I like it too. Honest, it’s hotter for me when I know I’m driving you a little crazy.”

“Really?,” his voice is husky. The sight of her in front of him is reminiscent of a devotee. It is more arousing than he wants it to be. “You like it that much? You don’t mind me…” he put his hands on either side of her head.

“Really,” she says matter of factly, placing her palm on his hand and nuzzling in reassurance, “I love the feel of my mouth being full. And of this pretty cock gliding over my tongue.” Her hand grazes his cloth-covered tip, “ I like it when you cum all over me too. “

“You don’t feel like I’m using you?” he asks, still cautious.

“No, not at all. Austin, it actually turns me on. Besides I don’t think you’d ever make me feel used. Not even when your eyes go nearly black and I can tell all you want is to drive into me over and over, because all I want is to let you. But if you aren’t going to take control, at least tell me if it feels good, that you are liking what I’m doing. Just to pet my ego a little.”

Her cheeky smirk as her fingers catch the drawstring at his hips sends electricity down his spine. She pulls the waist around his now hard cock, letting the fabric fall around his feet.

“Yes Ma’am.” he replies, gently running his fingers over her flowing blonde hair. He can’t help but marvel at her beauty. Not Hollywood perfection fake beauty, but real lived-in gorgeousness that has seen things, done things and wants more of both. The way her bountiful tits glow in the last light of day and the shadows accentuate the dip of her waist. The faint stretch marks on her hips and breasts look like tiger stripes and make her all the more sexy for her unabashed acceptance of them.

As the glory of him is revealed in the last golden rays of the day, she can’t help but think just how Adonis-like he looks. Blood rushes, tingling, to her core. God, maybe it’s the light or the angle, but either way she marvels at just how pretty his cock really is up close. He was long, maybe one and a half of her hands palm to fingertips; fingertips that don’t quite reach all the way around to her thumb when she encircles him. The prominent ridge up the underside is crisscrossed with little blue veins in his light skin, drawing her eye up to his perfectly proportioned head. His head that leans slightly to the right, blushed a rose colored pink and was adorned with a glittering clear jewel that welled at his tiny hole. It was as if it was sculpted by Michelangelo, if he had been born now and unashamed of his love for cock.

“God, you turn me on so much,” he pets her head, “I don’t think I can see straight.”

“Well for this, seeing isn’t integral,” she counters before pushing her wetted lips over his cock. Her mouth is soft at first, the tip of her tongue licking lazy circles around his tip, spreading his pre-cum in her mouth. She inhales through her nose, his velvety tip is like heaven on her tongue. She nestles his head onto the roof of her mouth. The corona of him hooked gently against the back of her teeth as the middle of her tongue caresses his underside.

“Oh I disagree,” his voice husky with desire, “watching you is fundamental to the entire pro- ah-ah-cess.” His word breaks into pieces as the vacuum of her mouth slowly increases as does the depth of his cock down her tongue.

Eyes closed, she slowly glides her mouth and hand up and down him, twisting slightly at the end. Her tongue flicks double time, working his length. After a few minutes that are peppered with his ‘Oh Yes’s and ‘just like that’s, she pulls off him with a gentle pop. Her eyes flutter open to find his own staring down at her, brows furrowed slightly and his nostrils flaring in want, in need. They both breathe in shakily. Her eyes narrow and her lip curls. The air between them pressurized with sensuality.

“Fuck, Aya,” his legs shake slightly, “how do you do that?”

“Do what, Austin,” she places a gentle kiss on his tip while lazily running her fist up and down his cock.

“Make me want you so damn much with just a look?” His fingers thread through her hair, trying not to grasp hard and just plunge into her.

She chuckles in her chest and figuring the question was rhetorical, goes back to the delicious work of sucking his cock.

He stops her before he cums, pulling out of her mouth. In one seamless motion, he lays her back on the round couch and hovers over her. Just before she tries to open her legs to him, he places his knees on either side of her thighs, trapping them together. Leaning forward on one hand, he uses the other to guide his tip up and down her labia, nestling himself between her bare, wet lips. Pushing, nudging, his way into her. Once he seats his head into her entrance, he leans on both arms. He pushes slowly, eyes rolling back in his head and groaning.

She’s actually never been fucked like his before, closed missionary, with her legs together. The extra friction on her labia is good. She runs trembling fingers along his collarbone and down his sternum as he begins to move slowly in and out of her. His pecs flex as he leans on one arm to trail lines of desire over her breasts. She inhales as his fingers skim her nipples. She gazes up at his orange backlit form, it flits through her mind that he is the most beautiful when he is about to take her with fierce passion.

Austin’s knees slide back a couple inches and he leans forward on his arms, his head and upper torso anchor as his ass and abs contract and release in concert to thrust his now glistening shaft in and out of her. Her curves under him are quickly becoming his favorite sight. Little moans escape her lips as he lowers to his elbows and presses his forehead to hers. He struggles not to declare his love, not to chant ‘I love you, I love you, I love you” out loud, over and over. He keeps his eyes shut tight. He knows if he opens them, he’ll say it and he can sense that she is not ready to hear it.

There is just enough friction, enough stimulation to her clit to drive the rack and pinion of her orgasm tighter and tighter.

“Keep going,’ she whispers, her breath hot on his face and her pussy thrumming with his cock.

“Uh huh” is all he can grunt back. Her fingers ride the grooves of his ribs as he thrusts and thrusts and thrusts. Nearly losing it into her, barely able to hold back.

Her abs contract and her legs push against the weight of his body, fingers dig into his ribs.

“Oh my god, Austin!” she freezes for a moment. The gears wind into that last tooth then release in an audible inhaled gasp just before her spine arches up and the wordless scream he has come to know so well escapes her.

Once he knows she is cumming, he lets go his hold, fucking into her with everything he has. He rides out her orgasm while simultaneously triggering his own, spilling into her with a gutural rumble that vibrates his chest.

‘This woman is a fucking dream,’ he thinks as she quivers under him.

#austin butler #austin butler smut #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fic #emotional maturity

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kauzebridgerton · 2 months

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Kauze Story.

Chapter 6: Shu.

— Shu! — I hugged him. — Do you want some chocolate too?

He didn't say anything, just placed a hand on my shoulder, as if he was hugging me too, but only with one arm.

— I don't want you hanging out with him. — Shu said in a serious tone to me. — He will certainly cause problems.

— Ha Ha, very funny. — Ren rolled his eyes. — As if you were a good example for him.

I just stared at them, I think Ren really doesn't like Shu, or maybe any Sakamaki.

— Come on Kauze. I am tired.

Shu then grabbed my arm and started pulling me away, with my free hand I waved to Ren, saying goodbye to him.

— Bye Ren!

Shu then stopped halfway, looking at me with a confused look, he sighed heavily and bent down to my height.

— I know what you did. This time I won't do anything, but I don't want you to get into trouble, especially because of other people. — Shu then stood up. — Imagine how seriously problematic if someone saw you, I would have to take responsibility.

He yawned, I shook my head in confusion and followed him, until we finally arrived in a room, there were some musical instruments, but I had no skills with them.

— Shu, I promise I'll never make a fuss again... Could you keep it a secret? Please...

— Hu~ Who knows, if you do me a favor, I promise I won't tell anyone what you did.

— Same?! So what do I have to do?!

— I haven't thought about it yet, but I will keep in mind that you are willing to do something in exchange for my silence.

— Ohh... It just can't be anything too scary... — I said worriedly, not knowing what Shu wanted made me a little uncomfortable. — Huhh...

— This is ridiculous, but don't worry, I'm not allowed to hurt you.

I sighed with relief, but there was something that made me a little curious, why was Shu always alone and sleeping? Mainly sleeping in super weird places. I sat next to him, taking a chocolate out of my pocket and eating it.

— Shu, why are you always alone?

— Because I like my own company.

— Hey! It's not worth it! You have to say something else!

— Hah, you're annoying, why don't you eat that chocolate and take a nap too? Tomorrow you have to go to your school, and Reiji won't like it if you sleep in class.

— You're right... I hope to make friends there.

—Humans are fragile, Kauze. You'd better not get involved with them.

— Hey, is that why you don't like Ren?

— Does not matter. Just listen to me and don't do anything stupid.

— Ren said that if someone was mean to me, he would defend me. Kind of like a super hero!

— You're a vampire, you can defend yourself.

— But I don't know how to use my powers... There's no one to teach me~ A very strong vampire could help me Someone like the oldest vampire~

— Stop this. You're going overboard with your talk, be thankful I'm in a good mood.

Shu was right, he was already being really nice just being with me, I shouldn't provoke him, maybe I should find another trainer. I rested my head on his arm.

— Good night Shu! I hope you have sweet dreams and you could too... Hmmm!

He then put his hand over my mouth, preventing me from finishing speaking. With his free hand, he brought his index finger to his lips.

— Stay quiet.

I nodded my head in agreement and he then removed his hand from my mouth, I smiled awkwardly, I was going to apologize, but as he asked for silence, I preferred not to say anything, I just closed my eyes and sighed, trying to fall asleep, the which was a little difficult to do when you're on the floor, I hugged Shu's arm, as if it were a huge pillow, I stayed like that for a while, until I finally fell asleep.

#kauzebridgerton #kauze bridgerton #diabolik lovers oc #diabolik lovers #shu sakamaki

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 3 months

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Rite and Wrong - a Malevolent fic

There is more than one way to care for an eldritch god.

And more than one way to prove his character - whether or not he knows he's being tested.

Part of the Surrogate series.

AO3

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Cinderella never asked for a prince. She asked for a night off and a dress.” - Kiera Cass

Preparations were underway for the Spring Rite, and Hastur wouldn’t be able to slip out this time because they were watching him like a bunch of annoying featherless hawks.

Acting like he was fragile (accurate). Which was insulting (heartfelt). And could be dangerous (revealing) if they figured out his plan.

And things were getting dangerous now. He was beginning to deal with peers less inclined to ally. A mistake could mean not coming home some morning, and his family was not ready.

He hadn’t even finished preparations for the birthday yet—birthdays, because Faroe would not leave it alone.

(And she was right, and Arthur should be celebrated.)

(And that teeny, tiny nagging pain of robbing Arthur of a proper marking ceremony years ago still lingered, but what’s done was done.)

It was fine. It was handled. Everything was okay. He would manage.

And then Dagon decided to get involved, and the whole schedule went sideways.

“Hastur!” called the Father of the Deep, the Crafter of Waves, the Golden Patriarch. “Get your ass over here and lemme see what we got to work with.”

Hastur—who had been on his way out to face another challenge—stopped and stared at him. “What?”

Dagon gestured. He was in fine form tonight; his scales glimmered strangely as though hiding glimpses of deep water, and his fins looked sharp enough to cut the very air. “C’mere. Don’t make me squid-nap you.” He chortled to himself. “Squid-nap. Heh, heh, heh.”

Hastur stared.

“C’mere,” Dagon repeated.

“I do not have time for… whatever this is,” Hastur said, hovering closer with grave caution. “I’m due in Alala’s presence this evening. If I can out-sing him, he’ll ally with me.”

Dagon huffed, eyes in shadow. “Dumb reason to ally.”

“Yes,” Hastur agreed. “However, it must be done.”

Dagon grinned. It was not a safe grin.

Hastur stopped approaching. “What do you want?” he said a little too loudly.

Wicked fast, Dagon lunged and threw his meaty arm around Hastur’s shoulders (and Hastur grunted). “You’re not running out this time.”

“Excuse me?” Hastur said, swelling, tentacles rising.

“You,” Dagon said, poking Hastur’s gold-robed chest, “are taking part in the fucking Rite this year.”

“Well, of course I am,” said Hastur huffily.

“We’re doing a practice run tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

“To get you ready. Time I’m done, you’re gonna be… how the fuck do the humans put it? The belle of the ball.”

“I don’t want to be a belle,” Hastur complained.

“Gonna ring all theirs, then,” said Dagon. “Shut up and come with me.”

“Dagon. I have an appointment.”

“And you’re gonna show up sizzling hot.”

“Dagon. They’re made of sound. They won’t give a fuck what I look like.”

“You’ll be so sexy they can hear it,” Dagon said, dragging him down the hall.

“I am perfectly capable of enamoring without help! ” Hastur said, and attempted to resist.

Dagon kept pulling.

The room warped, just slightly. Something in the wall to the left cracked. It was, in a way, scary: a reminder that while in raw power, they were matched (and Hastur was sure he could defeat him via strategy, as Dagon’s usually was hit it real hard until it stops moving ), physically, Dagon was stronger.

Well. It wasn’t worth damaging the palace over. Hastur gave up. “Can we please do this quickly?”

“Sure,” Dagon lied.

Late. He was going to be late. And of course, with impeccable timing, they ran into Faroe on their way back out.

She stopped mid-jog and gasped.

“You ought not to be up,” Hastur chided.

Faroe put her hands to her mouth and made a high-pitched happy squeal. “Dad! You look amazing!”

“I know a thing or two about a thing or two,” said Dagon wisely.

Was that Dis back there? It was. What on earth was going on? Some training thing?

He could pursue this later. “My darling, I have to go. I’m late for an appointment.”

“Yes, yes, of course, you… dad, you really look good,” Faroe said with pride, inspecting him. “I love these rings.”

“Can’t go wrong with hammered gold,” said Dagon.

Hastur sighed.

She bounced on her toes. “Can you do this for my birthday?”

Hastur relented. “Something similar, then.”

“Not too similar. Don’t wanna start a riot,” Dagon drawled as Faroe giggled.

Sigh. “I must go.”

“Is that paint, or did you recolor yourself to match the sky?” said Faroe as he headed for the door.

“Gave him the idea,” said Dagon.

“I have done it before on my own, ” Hastur said defensively, and finally got away.

There. That would be the end of it. One ally soothed, another on the horizon. Back to business. There wasn’t time for pleasure.

Of course, Faroe talked.

“He turned gold?” said Arthur.

“Not gold,” said Faroe. “Sort of a cousin of gold, dark, like… a dream of remembered gold, and polished shiny. And there were these dark shadows in his hide, not quite like words, but really close, like he’d named all the stars on his skin, and if you looked at them, you felt like you were falling into them. It was incredible!”

Sounds gross, said John.

“Oh, don't be jealous,” said Arthur. “What was all this for?”

“Uncle Dagon said, ‘Becuz he needed help gettin’ raght in the hea-ud,’” she quoted, massacring his accent.

“For the… yeah, that’s coming up, ain’t it?” said Parker. He stirred their anise and raisin belila.

Given that he skipped the last one, perhaps this is for the best. Maybe… he’s out of practice. Sunny had no face to make that a dead-pan delivery, but somehow, he managed. It must have been an inside joke because the two of them laughed.

He’s not out of practice! said John as though they’d said it about him (who was out of practice).

“Maybe we can help,” said Parker, wearing a grin like few John had ever seen.

Faroe perked up. “We could.”

“Wait a minute,” said Arthur. “What are we doing?”

“Helping him get ready for prom night, Lester,” said Parker, deadpan himself. He and Sunny laughed again.

Arthur looked so confused.

Faroe bounced. “Dress-up,” she whispered with such excitement that everyone there knew Arthur’s participation was a given.

At least, it would be. “What?” Arthur said weakly. “There is absolutely no way he’s going to let us… wait, is this even wise? What—you want us all to help him prepare for a… for…”

“More gold!” Faroe cried.

“She’s got the spirit,” grinned Parker.

I believe it will be a due service—nay, even an act of worship, should we do it well—building him back up and reminding him who he is, said Sunny loftily. Assuming we can keep from laughing.

Parker lost it again, and Sunny joined him.

“We can put things on his crown!” Faroe whispered, bouncing again.

“But,” said Arthur helplessly.

“Yeah,” said Parker. “Loved what you did last winter.”

“But,” said Arthur helplessly.

“Oh, the flower chain?” She sounded proud.

“But,” said Arthur helplessly. “She shouldn’t… know about any of this.”

An uncomfortable pause.

“Why not?” said Faroe.

Parker got it. He sighed. “She didn’t grow up in Arkham, Lester. As I see it, that’s not a bad thing. She won’t ever have the baggage you and I had to deal with. Your little girl’ll never know shame like you and me.”

Arthur reared back, unseeing eyes wide. “You’re right. Oh, gods, you’re right. Faroe, darling, you’re doing so well.”

Faroe was quite confused. “Okay, dad.”

Parker grinned like a shark. “Let’s make a plan. We’re gonna have to jump him again, but with supplies.”

“Supplies?” Arthur said helplessly.

Parker grinned. “Time for you to learn about some experiences I had that didn’t have nothing to do with being a P.I.,” he said. “I fuckin’ know what to do with a makeup brush.”

The birthday celebrations were complicated by the changes in Carcosa. Madness did not for good hospitality make.

“Fuck,” Hastur muttered alone in his war room, moving little painted names around the Carcosan map by effort of will. He couldn’t host the visitors from Celephaïs in the usual quarters, which would shift the other delegations elsewhere. The incoming merchants and sky-fire wizards probably would not benefit from going mad, either, so he’d have to put them in the—

Knock on the door?

He did not have time for this. Hastur growled, low and threatening, and opened that door with tentacles raised, ready to hurt something.

Nothing?

He looked down.

Parker Yang and Sunny stood there, both peering up at him with great attention. “Hey,” said Parker.

What the fuck? Had they ever even approached this room before? “What do you want?” Hastur said.

“You’re about… sixteen foot, I think?” said Parker.

“What?” said Hastur.

About that, yes.

“You planning on being this height for the Rite?” said Parker.

Hastur stared.

Hastur really stared.

“I am unclear as to the purpose of this inquiry,” Hastur finally said.

“Can you give me a minute and a half?” said Parker with a sharp, New-England edge that Hastur recognized from many of his cultists (and honestly enjoyed).

“Ninety seconds,” Hastur warned.

Parker scooted into the room, dodging tentacles, and clambered onto a tall side-table. He had to pull himself up to do it, a particularly smooth feat of strength that in any other circumstance would have pleased the hell out of Hastur and given him ideas.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hastur growled.

There, Parker stood, squinting. He held up his hands and made a square between index fingers and thumbs. “Right. Got it. You good?”

Yes.

“We won’t bug you again, sir. Thank you,” said Parker, smoothly hopping back down, and he just fucking left.

Hastur had questions. Hastur had concerns. And pursuing any of them would require Parker staying longer and eating more time, so Hastur relegated it all to weird human idiocy and went back to planning his daughter’s celebration.

Hastur was wise enough to account for extra nonsense before both Rite and birthday(s). It figured that part would go according to plan.

Hastur flew through the halls, billowed through the streets, demanded (and received) perfection from every stall, in every hall, through every window, out every door. Every single room had to be just right for this wild, dual time of emotion and power.

(So few birthdays with her left. So few. This would never be enough to show how much he loved her, but he would make a damned good effort.)

That damned Rite. He wouldn’t skip out, couldn’t get away with it, but if only it didn’t eat so many hours—

“Dad?” Faroe said.

“Yes, my darling?” he said, stopping his forward charge, turning to face her.

She held up a soft, gold fabric that shimmered like water. On its own, it fluttered, lighter than air. “Do you like this?”

He did. He slid his finger-tips over it with a contented sigh. “Yes. Where did you find it?”

“All the way in the back of storeroom eleven,” she chirped.

He studied it. Yes; yes, he remembered now. “My darling, this is thousands of years old.”

“The spells preserved it. I’d like you to use it, dad. For the Rite.”

This again? “I have plans for the Rite already.”

“Please?” And oh, oh, oh, she turned those big eyes on him, and it didn’t matter that she only had two (though it did that they were Arthur’s eyes ). They carried more power than spells of Outer Gods.

He hesitated.

She stuck her lower lip out just a bit.

“Overselling it,” he said, but a warm rumble undercut his displeasure.

She smiled, impish. “I know. Please, dad?”

“Clever little thing.” He chuckled. “Very well. I’ll wear it for the Rite.”

She hopped up and down. “Yay! Thank you! I’ll give it to your Dancers!” And off she ran, little boots making much less noise than they ought, her training with Dis showing even now, even here.

What a strange request.

What a strange event.

What… ever. It didn’t matter. Hastur got back to work.

Hastur paused by the piano room and shivered. Arthur was really outdoing himself in there, and before Hastur realized what he was doing, he almost joined them.

He froze, one hand on the door. No; no. He wasn’t thinking clearly. If he went in there now, he’d drift on that incredible music, lose time, and he had none to spare. But oh—

Arthur was singing. John was singing.

There weren’t words because that would have cheapened it, locked meaning down and limited, but their voices rose in parallel harmony to thread between chords and under rhythm, to join many parts into one moving-sliding-driving whole, and standing there, listening, Hastur hungered.

Hungered like he hadn't in a while. Hungered like he hadn't in... he wasn't sure how long.

Well.

This would be a hell of a Rite. He changed directions and went to ensure the wards preventing the celebration from spilling into the city were strong.

Alala wasn’t satisfied. Alala wanted a rematch. Alala was an ass, and Hastur spent three valuable minutes roaring and smashing a wall to get himself back under control.

Tonight was fucked. He had been going to deal with Queen Mother F’ylgija, who would be temperamental and demanding and probably insist on marrying him or trying to marry off one of her kids (who’d been busy making babies on the side and turning the Kandan plane into a fucking war zone), and he would not be doing any of that, but there wouldn’t even be time because fucking Alala needed attention first.

Hastur sliced another minute out so he could crush more stone.

“You all right in here?” Dagon drawled from what remained of the doorway.

“Fuck!” was Hastur’s reply.

Dagon nodded wisely. “Yeah,” he said. “Say. How about we split it?”

“What?” said Hastur. “I don't have time for another session of vanity.”

Dagon waved his hand and shook his head. “Naw. I meant being your fuckin’ ally. I'll take Alala tonight.”

Hastur went still.

“I ain’t good with the fiddly negotiations,” said Dagon. “Dame Dumbass F’ylgija’s all yours. But I know Alala. We sung together before, and I know for a fact I can sing him under the rug.”

“I am better at singing than you,” said Hastur because he had to say something, because this suddenly felt too much, because he couldn’t be falling behind this early in Kayne’s “season” or he’d never make it to the end.

Dagon shrugged, ego unbothered. “I'm louder. Trust me. That's what they want, not skill.”

And he could go deal with F’ylgija. But was this all right? Could he really do this?

Was it cheating?

Was it failing?

Was it failing her ?

“Lemme help, Hastur,” said Dagon quietly. “Rite’s in four days. You're too wound up to fuck right now without killing somebody, and this here Rite’s about life. Come on. Lemme help.”

“I can’t afford to lose Alala’s favor,” Hastur said. “He’s too tied to Gol-goroth already, and if Gol-goroth declares war on us the way I think he will—”

“I'll have your back,” said Dagon with a shrug. “And he comes against me, Basatan’ll join in. Crabby bastard owes me. You’ll be okay.”

He didn’t have a choice.

Dagon had moved closer. Lightly, he elbowed Hastur (and Hastur grunted). “Go on. Git.”

“Thank you,” said Hastur quietly, and took off. Appeasing F’ylgija would take all fucking night.

Three days to the Rite. F’ylgija gave in and made a blood contract with only a few overwrought demands. Good, because this close, Hastur couldn’t travel anymore, but focused on protections for his people, participating and otherwise.

Two days to the Rite. Carcosa sang with power, with desire, with the under-thrum of promised life and renewing pleasure, with the delicate and deep-felt pulse that built on itself to catch fantasies and needs and draw them toward the promised day. Hastur gathered supplies, ensuring everyone could leave satisfied after.

One day to the Rite, and Hastur discovered his personal wardrobe compromised.

Distracted, he floated into his room in a rush, and stopped so suddenly that air blasted his robes forward like a graceful underhand wave.

His demented family —found, forced, flabbergasting—stood together with paints and fabrics and a host of Dancers Faroe had commandeered. Dagon was not here, but Hastur knew he had been because of the lingering hint of fish.

“Surprise!” said Faroe.

“Surprise?” repeated Hastur as they came toward him in a not at all frightening way from which he would not retreat because this was ridiculous.

“Dad,” said Faroe firmly, holding his gaze, absolutely serious (and adorable and authoritative and queenly and cute). “We're helping you get ready tonight.”

He was completely confused. “What? Why?”

And of all people, it was Parker who answered. “These two suck at explaining, so I will. They care about you. You’re fucked up because of how it all went down with your son. They want you to heal and remember who you are, so they're making you real fucking pretty tonight so you feel cared for.”

Pampered, added Sunny.

“Loved,” said Faroe.

“Not alone,” whispered Arthur.

Worshipped, John finally said.

Hastur stared as they surrounded him, as they climbed onto step-ladders Faroe conjured (oh, he was so proud of her), as Dancers swirled around him with fabrics and hammered gold, as Parker applied makeup with a shocking grace and surety, as John shouted encouragement (or derision), as Arthur just generally urged everyone on and said it smelled good or that a fabric was nice.

Hastur forgot to even breathe.

What… was this?

“Hold still, dad,” said Faroe, lifted on Parker's shoulder like she weighed nothing, and she began threading a creation of gossamer gold and rainbow pearls through the tines of his crown.

What was this? “Stop.”

They might have obeyed (sure they would) except Faroe wouldn’t allow it. “No,” she said.

Was she truly defying him? Why was it adorable? “No?”

“No. It's been a terrible month for you, dad. Let us do this.”

“Have a fuckin’ blast,” said Parker. “We will.”

Sunny cleared his throat.

“We want to help you. Just take it, Hastur,” said Arthur, low and firm. “Look. You have humans around you now. This is how humans show they care. We step in and help you when you're weak.”

“I am not weak,” Hastur said pathetically.

You are mighty, said Sunny with wisdom and patience. And like all living things, you still occasionally benefit from aid.

They… wanted to help him? Granted, with something he fully could handle on his own, but they… wanted to help him? Not even for themselves, or for something that would matter to them in any way, but they… wanted to help him?

“Oh, shit,” said Parker.

Gloves, said John. The tears will burn you.

“The paint,” said Parker.

“It’s waterproof,” said Faroe. “Carry on.”

And he was laughing, not crying (really!), because she was adorably imperious, but there were still tears tumbling out and he wasn’t even sure why, and the urge to just gather his family all up and hold them tight was—

Arthur patted his side. “Almost there. I have to go get ready.”

“He’ll follow you soon,” said Faroe.

“No,” said Hastur, surprised at how unstable his voice was. “I will bring him. He and John must be by my side, shown as having my approval.”

“Sure, sure,” said Parker, and continued painting. “There. Good?”

Magnificent, purred Sunny.

Faroe held up a small box of glittering gold. “Last part.”

She and Parker plunged their hands into the box and began affixing dangling, jingling gold wherever it would go. And if his tears glittered more still, no one took that poorly.

Carcosa had changed in the last few months. Entire sections were uninhabitable by mortal standards, and the palace itself had been freed from simple things like ordinary angles and measurable walls… which only made this Rite much more appealing.

Madness and sex were a great combination. At least according to the ones who made others mad.

The place was packed. Between allies and drama and mysteries and poison and madness, this city had never seen such a visiting tide, hungry for gossip and gratification. The room for celebration was enormous, equipped with a piano and space for more instruments, but today, held only that one. The far wall was gone, replaced with a series of arches open to the colorful twilight.

And Hastur was slightly late.

Nobody worried about that. He wouldn’t be the Peacock King without a hell of an entrance.

Gossip flowed, a steady current, sweeping even the stoic off their feet. There were so many questions; how many humans was the King in Yellow going to collect? Rumor had it they’d all been seen coming out of his quarters more than once. What was that about?

He’d always liked humans (who didn’t?), but as cultists, as slaves, as toys—breakable and replaceable and dramatic. Then he’d gone bonkers. Apparently. And produced a half-human child and pretended to hate the moth… parent as part of his usual drama, and then—

“He’s here!” whispered the observant, and they all turned to see.

A delicate jingling, a shivering-light sound that pattered over skin and senses, came weightless from above and drew all eyes up.

Hastur floated down from the sky. Long yellow strips of shimmering fabric fluttered and billowed out around him like tendrils with minds of their own, moving in a graceful dance with the splay of his wide, dark tentacles—which were all held out and curved in the proper, full form of the yellow sign, and somehow glowed as if brushed with subtle gold dust. The jingling came from twinkling bits of gold—chain and bell—that dangled from hide and whisper-thin silk, and when he came into view, it only served to frame his beauty.

Someone had painted his skin. They’d kissed the shadows between his limbs, between the tightly-coiled power of his tentacles, hinting at gold fire within his ebony form. And in his hand, held gentle against his tulle-striped chest, was the Composer.

Numerous rumor-mongers swapped allegiance. At the back of the room, the Yithians who’d won the right to attend thanks to their victory in the Games made soft, happy clacks, and some of them hugged.

Hastur landed silently, lightly, still holding his Composer. “My guests. My people. I welcome you, ” he said, and his power wrapped around and through and in and between, and nobody even noticed when he placed Arthur at the piano, but they sure noticed when Arthur began to sing.

He didn’t do it alone. John sang with him, identical notes an octave apart, a simple pattern of nine notes climbing and falling. Then, he began to play.

John jumped into harmony below, parallel, as the tempo of Hastur’s hearts surged in Arthur’s hands. And it was so simple; a descending and surprising progression, repeated, repeated again, and repeated again, bigger and broader, not the orchestral wonder of Rites past but a persistent and weirdly holy offering, and when they ended singing an open perfect fifth, the progression played around them once last time, and the austere power of long-ago chants and a strange personal gratitude mixed to create something new, a soaring and wordless climax.

They stopped.

Silence, but for heavy breathing, rapid and needy.

Hastur lifted Arthur more tenderly than in early times and placed him within the portal to his rooms.

It was time to begin. Hastur turned—and directly behind him was a box.

No one noticed. They were already busy, and it was clear Hastur would not be alone at the front for much longer, but this box—

Large. White. Square. Secured with an enormous red ribbon tied in a bow.

It had not been there a moment before. Whatever power delivered it was above Hastur’s paygrade, and he hadn’t even felt it arrive.

There was a note.

What’s a prom without a date? - Sloppy love and kisses, K

What?

Wh… what?

He should feel fear. Terror. But the thick magic had him fully soused, and Hastur opened the box without hesitation.

It held two things: a small packet of belongings including musical instruments, secured with a simple piece of twine, and also a man.

A naked one, tied up with a single huge ribbon that matched the box’s red and ended in an enormous bow between his legs.

The man said “H-hello,” in a spooked and shaky voice.

Hastur lifted him out.

The man wasn’t any species he knew. Coal-dark skin, smooth as ice, and almost fluffy white hair like snow; horns grew from his head, and he had a long tail ending in a white puff. Lovely. Absolutely lovely.

“I’m s-sorry to intrude,” said the man, slurring, sounding as drunk as Hastur felt. “I’d happily g-get out of your hair, but I’m a bit t-tied up, as you can see!”

Soft. So soft. So incredibly soft. Hastur stroked the tail, amazed at the feel of its twitching muscle and responsive fluff. Oh. He wanted to touch all of this.

But the man was… crying?

Hastur looked at his face: beautiful, expressive, sharp-jawed and full-lipped, a deeply usable mouth. Tears slid down those high-boned cheeks, and his face was tight with terror.

Oh, no.

The man hitched. “Y-you’ll have to forgive my babbling! It’s my first time, after all!” And he tried (maybe) to nervously laugh.

Hastur was drunk, warm with rising magic and the glory of promised passion… but this fellow’s terror got through.

Hastur felt bad (and didn’t analyze why). He opened the portal again (and didn’t think about his reason), and gently placed both man and box on Arthur’s floor. Then he closed the portal and turned back to his room.

“Fuck was that?” said Dagon, who’d stalked up on him with all the speed and silence of a deep-sea predator.

“Nothing for now,” said Hastur (and did not quantify his empathy, for it was very new). He faced his peer, all but swimming in the heat of power and desire.

“Good,” said Dagon like thunder from the horizon, like storm clouds from the sea. “Don’t want any distractions tonight.” And he reached.

The fuck! said John, whose poetry recitation had gotten as far as Your eyes are the color of. It’s a guy!

“What?” said Arthur, half undressed, and raised his fists. “Where?”

He… he's tied up?

Whoever it was made the noisy kind of inhalation when the throat was tight with fear. The sound came from the floor. “Help me!”

“Oh, gods,” said Arthur, and followed the panicked sounds.

Laughter bounced around the Scriptorium like thrown knives.

“Oh my god,” Tabby groaned again. “Oh my god.”

The Keeper said nothing. Several hands covered her unseen face, but the power of her blush sent pink light leaking through the black veils. “Why?”

“Did you see his face?” Kayne said from where he rolled on the floor. “Had that little guy in storage for months now. He doesn’t even know what year it is!”

“Poor Odd,” whispered the Keeper.

“He’s fine. Better than my original plan for him. Bloodier, messier, you don’t want to know. I mean. You probably do (I was gonna skin him and dump him in Carcosa as a sort of early birthday surprise, you know), but he just… well, he’s adorable!” Kayne half-sat up, smiling, demonic, unrepentant, wicked. “Just so fucking charming! So instead, I kept him. And look! Look! Did you see Hastur? He was all—” Kayne imitated bafflement, hands curved in the question marks Hastur’s tentacles sometimes formed, then laughed again, every breath bladed, and rolled on the Keeper’s cold marble tiles.

Tabby walked away in disgust.

The Keeper sighed. At least Hastur had not done what was expected. That… spoke volumes about the changes the Lesters had wrought.

Odd, the Keeper thought, had a chance.

--------

Notes:

No prince. Only a boy in a box and a wild moral test that someone didn't even realize they passed.

#malevolent #malevolent au #malevolent fic #arthur lester #john doe #kiy malevolent #hastur malevolent #dagon #kayne malevolent #faroe lester

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cutiemochiii · 11 months

Text

Infinite

My interpretation of the thoughts going through Muichiro’s head when his brother protected him ;-;

ALL THE ANGST (I cried writing it for fucks sake), IF YOU DON’T WANT IT, THIS ONES NOT FOR YOU

credit to the artist (wish I knew who it was) for the beautiful fanart

————————————————————————

Had it really been that hot? Had the cicadas really been that loud? Couldn’t he have just laid still? So still that his skin would’ve melted into the sleeping mat, so still that his breathing would’ve just stopped. Maybe then he wouldn’t have attracted, whatever the hell it was standing beside him.

But there it was, menacing grin and outstretched claws. Just one swipe against his helpless body and he would break-

“MUICHIRO!” His eyes widened as something flew past his head, hitting the wall in a sickly squelch. Something thick, warm, and tangy sprayed across Muichiro’s face.

And then there was the scream. A scream unlike anything Muichiro had heard before. He glanced down to see his brother, crumpled beneath him, cradling whatever was left of his arm as his scream ravaged his throat. What was going on? Why couldn’t he move? Why, god, why was Yuichiro making that sound?

“IT HURTS! IT HURTS!” His wailing snapped Muichiro out of his daze. Muichiro bent down in front of his brother, chest heaving in pain as if someone had reached their hand into his ribcage and was slowly squeezing his heart until it stopped.

Muichiro supported one side of Yuichiro’s body as he limped to the corner of their home. Where else could he go? What else could he do? He was trapped. He was useless, just as his brother had always said. He was being toyed with, and could only pray that death would be swift as the creature took his sweet time approaching them.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I will not die. I will not die.

He couldn’t breathe. His throat hurt, it hurt so bad he felt as if he had been breathing in endless smoke. Muichiro’s own screaming sounded distant to him. His heartbeat pounded in his head. No, he would not die.

~~~~

His body ached, covered in blood that Muichiro was pretty sure wasn’t his own. But he only had to walk a little further. Yuichiro. Even if he were to disintegrate into nothingness, it had to be beside Yuichiro. He finally dragged himself over the threshold into his home.

Muichiro would’ve teased his brother for the position he had decided to take his nap in, if the mat wasn’t covered in so much red, if the house hadn’t reeked of a bitter stench that made Muichiro want to heave. He hated red, it was the ugliest color he’d ever seen.

Muichiro didn’t realize he too had fallen to the floor, pulling himself across the wood with his shaking arms. Yuichiro was mumbling, words slurring together lazily as if he were drunk. Muichiro got close enough to hear the whispers.

God, Yuichiro was praying to god.

“God… Buddha… please.” Wasn’t he the one that had told him praying was pointless? That only the weak see value in something like that? Muichiro couldn’t bring words to his mouth, couldn’t beg his brother to stop. To stop praying like he was weak, when he was the strongest person Muichiro knew.

“At least, save my brother. He’s not like me.” Muichiro was gasping. He was gasping and it scared him, more than anything that had happened in the past few moments of his life. All of a sudden, all the air in the world wouldn’t be able to fill his lungs. They were shriveled, each word out of his brother’s mouth a needle poking through the delicate membrane.

“He’s a good boy. He wanted to help people. But I stopped him.” But he couldn’t help people. He couldn’t, right? He was fragile, he couldn’t help anyone. There was no point in being saved if there was nothing you could do in return. Even now, he prayed against Yuichiro.

Take your words back Yuichiro. Please, let me die with you. Please don’t leave me here without you. Stop me, hold me back, do what you want. Just don’t leave me to live this weak life alone.

“I am the one to blame. Let me be the only one who receives the punishment, please.”

Muichiro could not bring himself to say something to his delirious brother. How could he ask to die alone? How could he ask for punishment for Muichiro’s shortcomings? For letting his brother come to his rescue, scared and unable to move.

The rage struck him as his vision began to fade. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for that demon. True weakness was killing a child that had done nothing. True weakness was depriving his brother of his life.

Muichiro let the tears burn down his face as he sobbed. He hoped they etched themselves there as a permanent memory of what the world had dared to take from him. He took Yuichiro’s hand, slick with blood, and held tightly. He gazed at his brother’s face, Yuichiro’s eyes looking back at him, but not truly seeing. Not anymore. Not as the light was seeping out of them, his eyelids drooping closed. He looked much older than Muichiro could recall, much older than a boy his age should look.

To his bitter surprise, he realized his brother had always looked older. Ever since their mother and father had died, and he was left to take care of Muichiro. Muichiro had just refused to see it, admit it to himself. That he was pulling Yuichiro down.

Yuichiro’s voice was barely above a whisper, and Muichiro had to drag himself even closer to his pale body, laying his head in the puddle of his brother’s blood as he listened.

“The ‘Mu’ in Muichiro never stood for meaningless. The ‘Mu’ in Muichiro,” Yuichiro coughed violently.

“Stands for infinite.”

Screw Buddha. Screw whatever higher being sat atop his hill, watching this all play out and doing nothing. They were just as weak as the demon. Damn them all. Infinite he would be. Infinite in his search. Infinite in his wrath. Infinite in his pain, and hatred. Infinite in his hunt for demons. Infinite in his desire to avenge the brother that should be the one alive. Should be the one listening to Muichiro’s mindless mumbling as he died. Infinite in every lifetime, infinite in his will to fulfill his brother’s prayers himself. He would never give up. Never let them win. He would carry his brother’s life with him, infinitely.

No, he would not die. He would not allow his weakness to succumb to the sudden peace he felt. Even as his own eyesight began to darken, even as he felt a gentle presence floating above him. He would struggle, and fight. And survive. He would no longer be the weak, frail brother that couldn’t help anyone.

Yuichiro’s death would not be in vain.

————————————————————————

Author’s Note: Man, this one HURT to write. I cried so hard thinking about the anime/manga during this. My baby Mui;-;.

Anyways, in case people were wondering, my last piece was also a manga inspired rewrite. The reason why I’m doing this is because I’m trying to work on emotional writing. And, at least with this one, I’ve hit the fuckin’ feels.

I will move on to more fanfiction-based writing soon. For now, I hope you enjoy this sad little drabble and continue with me on my journey to improve as a writer. Thank you again.

#kny fanfic #kimetsu muichiro #demon slayer muichiro #demon slayer #kny muichiro #muichiro tokito #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba muichiro #yuichiro tokito #kny yuichiro #kimetsu Yuichiro #brothers #ANGST #kny angst #kimetsu no yaiba manga #my baby muichiro #babies #;-;#i cried

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gatheringfiki · 5 months

Text

The following ficlet was written by @miaulady based on this photoset.

Fili/Kili, Rating TBC

You might also be able to read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

An arrow, a ring and a dance is all it takes

---

A nightmare had been announced to him. A nightmare of three evenings without a break in between. Which meant it was going to be an ongoing nightmare.

“What did I do, Amad? What did I do to upset him so?” Kili groaned in his misery.

“It isn’t that bad,” his mother continued on with her stitching, ignoring his dramatic pose on the couch. “And you are in the right age now to look for a partner.”

He grimaced. Not that he didn’t want to be married. But he really didn’t think that one ball going three evenings long would be helpful for him to find a partner. Not when every single dwarf around his age and available had been invited. Of course the will to bear children (not bound to gender for dwarves as it was for humans) was expected, after all Kili was the prince and so at least one child was part of his future. It didn’t change that it just wasn’t possible to sort through them all and fall in love that quick, no matter what his mother claimed about their family always knowing at the first look. Something about the Durin blood in them. Kili didn’t put much believe to these words.

“He could have just told me to look about myself. Keep an eye open, you know?”

“In the elven wood? Kili, really.”

“Ahha!” Kili sat up. “I knew it. I knew I upset him somehow. That was it, wasn’t it? All I did was go on a hunt with them. Good way to keep our fragile friendship with them stable.”

“No one said that your work with the Mirkwood-”

“Greenwood,” he corrected her automatically.“Greenwood, isn’t praise worthy. But your uncle thinks and I must agree, that you are spending too much time there. Our people might think that you don’t want to be king.”

“Uncle Thorin is going to be King for a long time. There is no need to rush anything. Least of all a the birth of a child.”

“Kili,” she threw him a heavy glance. “You know that that isn’t what this is about.”

“Feels like it,” he grumbled and stood up. “Come, take a look at your prince as if he is a price winning stallion!”

“Kili!” she gasped loudly.

“Don’t bother. I am leaving to take a walk anyway,” he slammed the door shut behind him.

——-

“And?” Thorin sat down next to his sister, who was apparently trying to murder her stitching work.

“He is upset.”“How upset?”

“He said he is a price winning stallion,” she rammed the needle through the cloth and almost ripped it apart. “And then he left for a walk.”

Thorin sighed deeply and leaned back.“You should have gone about it differently,” she snapped at him. “You know how it felt for you when father did a similar thing to you.”“That was completely different!”

“Not really. I just hope it will go differently than yours. Most of the guests left crying and it took months for Balin to fix the bridges you burned. But the chances are slim. Kili is so much like you.”

“He is nothing like me!” Thorin at least hoped Kili wasn’t. For everyones sanity.“In all the parts that matter, he is,” she grumbled and stabbed her cloth again. “I bet he is hunting as we speak. Just like you were.”

——-

Fili liked to be in the outer edges of Mirkwood.

No dwarfs came here and that meant he could rest for a few minutes without being called lazy or his name being yelled through the house for some odd job.

He listened to the trees rustle in the breeze and the birds singing. Here it was peaceful.

An arrow thunked into the tree trunk he was sitting against, right next to his head and interrupted the harmony.

Fili turned his head slowly and starred at it.

Who the fuck was shooting at people who just wanted to take short nap?

He grabbed the arrow and carefully pulled it out of the bark. The length and the feathers at it’s end proved it to be a dwarven arrow and not an elven one.

Well, who ever had shot that arrow would get a piece of his mind.

When he stood up and walked into the direction of where it had to have come from he heard voices.

“No, I swear, it is horrible.”

“I think it sounds fun.”“That is because you like dancing and such big feasts. Which I understand. Your feasts are wonderful. Very elegant and fun and yet still very … let’s say manageable. This will be like the worst mass of chaos you will have ever seen.”It was an odd pair he discovered. A young dwarf, in hunting garp. And a tall elven woman in the usual uniform of the soldiers from Mirkwood.

His approach wasn’t noticed until he held the affronting arrow under the dwarfs nose.

“What have I done to deserve your ire?” he asked.

Brown eyes stared at him in surprise and maybe shock.

“What?”

“You shot at me. Why?”

“I didn’t shoot at you!”

“In that case,” Fili put the arrow back in the quiver of the hunter. “You are a terrible hunter.”

A snort came from the Elven woman and the dwarf’s mouth opened and closed in disbelief.

“I am not a bad hunter,” he settled on. “I am one of the best.”“Mmh,” Fili hummed and pursed his lips. Well, he might not get a nap in but he could have some fun here. “If this is the best,” he paused at the moment to look the hunter up and down. “Every deer in this wood breathes out in relief and thanks you for your hard work.”

He could hear how the other one clenched his teeth.

“I did not shoot at you,” the hunter repeated. “And I never miss my mark.”

“You hunt trees?” Fili raised his eyebrows. “In that case, I applaud your skill.”

“No!”

“So you were shooting without looking? Because you hit a tree. Either way you are not a good shot.”

“Bastard,” came the hissed reply.

It was so easy to rile this one up.

“How did you know?” Fili asked surprised, trying not to laugh at the shocked face. Ah, but making the proud archer believe he had just made blunder, was hilarious. He could feel the corner of his mouth twitch.

“You are making fun of me!” The archer called out and the elf next to him started to laugh, her head turning towards the sky.

“You are making it very easy,” Fili grinned and patted the hunters shoulder. “If you do shot again in this area, could you aim at me? That way I can live knowing I am save from your arrows. Just like the deer.”

An angry red blush formed on the archer cheeks and Fili decided to stop at this point. He had gotten a punishment and would probably never shoot without looking again.

“Point and I will shot.”

“What?” Fili asked surprised.“Point and I will shoot,” the hunter repeated, determination written on his face. “You pick a target and I will shoot it. For the sake of argument, let’s say you pick three targets, each one harder. And when I hit them all, you admit I am a good shot.”Fili blinked a bit confused and then shrugged. Alright, if he needed some sort of moment of success to recover his pride, Fili would not begrudge him.

“And if you do not hit them all?” The elf asked with mirth in her voice. “What does our friend get for his trouble?”

“Then,” the hunter said. “I will give him the ring I won in the last hunt.”“And apologize for the arrow,” Fili added, because why not. The dwarf had to be a good archer when he was allowed to be in the woods alone and only with one escort from the elven Guards.

“Fine with me.”

“Good,” the elf nodded. “That sounds like a fair gamble. First target, Master Dwarf.”

Fili looked around, trying to fulfil the demands of the bet. He had to pick three in total. Each one more difficult. It was just that Fili didn’t know much about archery, he had always preferred close combat.

He pointed at the direction he had come from.

“The fallen tree trunk?” the hunter snorted. “Make it harder.”

“I meant, the Mushroom growing crooked on it,” Fili smiled.

“The small one with the broken off right next to it?”

“The same.”

The hunter nodded and knocked an arrow. Not the one that had almost hit him, Fili noted.

The arrow was let go, flew and a mushroom was successfully killed.

“First hit,” the elf said. “Next target.”

Fili looked around again, this time the other direction and found a target quickly. He pointed up and the hunter followed his finger.“The birds nest?” he guessed and Fili nodded.

“It is empty in this time of year, so don’t worry about that.” And should be further away so the aiming would be harder than with the mushroom.

“How kind of you, Master Dwarf,” the elf said just as another arrow flew through the air. And a second later an empty birds nest fell to the ground.

“Second hit. Last one,” the hunter smiled. “What do you got?”

He looked around, trying to find something. What he noticed that the sun had reached the point where he had to head back if he wanted to avoid getting in trouble. This had to be finished fast.

“Over there,” he decided on a whim. “The acorn. Shoot that and I will admit defeat.”

The elf hummed, “Trully a challenge.”

Mahal, damn it, Fili thought, hopefully he could just tell the hunter he was a good archer and leave without a fuss. That way he would make it in time.

This time the aiming was done more carefully and took longer. When the arrow flew, Fili prayed it would hit.

“Missed,” the elf said. “You lost.”

“I did,” the hunter said. “I am sorry for my bad shooting and the arrow that almost hit you.” He turned to look at Fili and bowed rather stiffly.

“It’s fine,” Fili waved him off. He was not comfortable with people bowing to him. It always made him feel awkward and somehow guilty. Luckily it didn’t happen anymore on a normal day. “I am sure you didn’t mean it.”

The hunter handed his bow to the elf and pulled a silver ring from his finger, offering it to Fili.

Fili must have stared at it as if it was a poisonous spider because the hunter said: “You won. And I said I would give you this ring. It is yours.”

Fili took a step back, waving his hands in denial.

“No,” he said. “I- That- I am very pleased with the apology. That is enough.”

“I gave my word,” the hunter followed him and grabbed his left hand. “And I keep my word.”

The ring was put very gentle on his hand and there it glittered cheerfully, as if laughing at him. Fili could feel the soft leather of the glove and through it the warmth of the hunter. It felt right, his hand in the hunters. As if it belonged there.

He pulled it out of the soft hold.

The hunter frowned and opened his mouth but a commotion behind him, pulled his attention. Fili could see that it was King Thranduil on his elk, looking like out of a children’s story where the warning was to not enter the woods because of the beautiful but very deadly King there.

“King Thranduil,” the hunter said and bowed.

Fili used the opportunity that no one payed him any mind and he slipped away.

——–

Kili huffed and pulled at the fancy blue jacket again. It was too tight around his neck.

“Stop that,” his mother hit his hand and arranged the collar again the way she wanted it. “You look very handsome.”

Kili hummed but didn’t go into an answer. His mind was thinking about the blonde dwarf from yesterday.

He had just vanished when Killi had turned his back for five seconds. And Tauriel admitted to not having noticed him leaving either.

And now he had a problem. He had no name, no way to know if this dwarf even lived in Erebor or was a traveller and if they would meet again.

The words “-don’t you agree?” cut through his busy mind and rang the alarm bell that his mother wanted an answer. He tried to get his ears to replay the last minute or so. Something about the ball that would soon start and … dancing?

“Sure,” he nodded, hoping it would suffice.“Where is your head?” she put her hand on his head and patted some of the escaping hairs back down. “You just agreed to dance your shoes through each night.”

Normally he would have scrunched his nose up in disgust but his mind pulled a scene up where Kili was dancing with the blonde dwarf, and dancing through the night with him didn’t sound like a punishment but like a lot of fun.

“With the right person,” Kili shrugged quickly, trying to overplay the abnormal behaviour of his.

His mother’s mouth was hanging open, gawping at him.

“Where is this change of mind coming from? What happened on your,” she coughed. “Walk?”

“Nothing.” That had been to quick given. He flinched inwardly as he saw her eyebrows raise in doubt.

“Pull that with your uncle, it might work, but not me, your mother.”

“Just,” he pulled at his collar again and his hand was slapped away again as well. “Just met someone, that is all.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled and plucked at his sleeves. The ornamentation was excessive in his eyes. He would feel more comfortable in his hunting outfit but that would not do on a ball, not for the Prince of Erebor.

The only thing that could give him a lead to finding the blonde were his clothes. Kili could see that they were off good work, sturdy and thick, but had seen some years already. There had been stitches at certain places and it was clear the clothes were taken care off religiously. So not someone who could buy a good jacket every year.

Kili sighed, that wasn’t much to go on. Erebor was huge and many dwarfs had started to spend less money.

“Chin up,” his mother laughed. “Remember, everyone is invited. Find your mystery person you are so eager to dance with through the night. And then introduce them to me! I want to see who holds your heart.”“Holds my heart?” Kili laughed. “Isn’t that a bit early?”“Do they not?” His smiled cheekly at him. “I told you, we Durin’s know when we see our Amral, our heart.”

Kili nodded as he always did at that. This time he didn’t think that his mother was just a romantic but that there might be something to it.

He had to find the blonde. And he had three nights for it. Should be possible, not many dwarfs were blonde and even less would dare tell him that he was a bad shot.

——-

Fili put his hands on his hips, stared at the kitchen and let out a long deep breath.

Of course, he was stuck with scrubbing the pots and pans and what not while the others got to go on the ball.

He hated his step mother Runa and wondered for the uptenth time why his father had remarried, and why he then seemed to have fully forgotten Fili’s existence as his son. Grief and Runa’s words in combination had transformed his father into a different person.

Fili started to organise the pile of dirty dishes. Some, he noticed, not even from their own household. Runa had probably volunteered to help out for the royal ball and the preparations of the food. She would go on the ball, with Ulmo and Senica (already married but she wouldn’t miss a party for the world) and father would trail behind, his purse ready to pay for anything and everything, get the thanks for helping out and the wonderful work over the days, while Fili stayed back and did the work for her.

One big pot would function as a wash basin and collection place for all the cooking utensils. On the right counter where dirty pans and on the ground all the dirty pots. On the left counter he could place the cleaned up versions.

The front door was pulled shut upstairs and Fili was now fully alone.

He froze in the middle of turning on the water, staring at his hand.

The silver ring glinting on it. Shit. He had forgotten it was even there. Had any of them seen it? They couldn’t have, none of them would have let him keep something that was so visibly precious. He had been lucky to keep his old clothes and payed close attention that he wouldn’t need new ones anytime soon. How much money was on his right hand, he wondered. It was a a very subtle silver ring, a bundle of three arrows engraved in it, each different in length. Maybe a way to show that the owner had bested all dwarven, human and elven archers. The hunter had said he won the ring in the last hunt. He hadn’t looked like a noble and rich person (in Erebor these could be used as synonyms). But Fili heard that some people where so high up that they could afford to look like Fili.

The door to the kitchen banged open and Fili turned in shock, watching as and old human man walked down the stairs.

“Uhm,” Fili said. “Can I help you?” He took a step forward, ring forgotten and wondering how this old guy had come down here.

The man only looked up when he had reached the bottom of the stairs and then looked at Fili.

Thick, bushy eyebrows, just as grey as the mantle he wore, and light grey eyes that stared into his soul.

“I must have gotten lost,” the man said and smiled. “I am not as young as I once was.”

Fili pulled his stool he kept in the corner over.

“Take a seat, you look exhausted.”

“Thank you,” the man nodded and sunk down on the small stool. For Fili it had the right height for peeling potatoes and resting his feet. For the human it was comically tiny, his knees almost to his shoulders.

“You are in the living quarters,” Fili said and turned the water on to finally start scrubbing. “In a private home, actually. Where did you want to go?”

“I just wanted to take a look around. Everything is in high spirits and decorated to the nines.”

Fili nodded and decided that he should do a bit more than just give the old man a stool. He checked the cupboards and found one of the old tin mugs.“Tea?” he asked over the shoulder, already preparing one anyway.

“If it is no bother.”“Not more than I already have to do,” he gestured at the pile of dirty dishes. “A cup more won’t be my death.”

“Why is everyone so excited, do you know?”

“You don’t?” Fili stared surprised at the old man. “It is the three night ball that the King is throwing. Preparations have been going on for months.” And he had seen his father pay ungodly amounts for dresses, jewellery and professional hair dressers. Nothing else but the most expensive would do.

“Really?” hummed the old man. “And I guess these are what is left of preparation?”

“Meals have to be cooked and prepared.” Fili poured the boiling water into the mug and watched the tealeavess dance. “And when you cook there is the clean up to be done.”

“Right. But you are not in the royal kitchens here.”

“The household volunteered to help the kitchens out,” he handed the mug to the man. “Peppermint, I have nothing else.”

“It will do plenty,” the man nodded at him. “And you are the household by yourself or why are alone?”

Fili shrugged and turned off the water that was starting to run out of the pot in the basin.

“I got stuck with it. That is all.”

“So you are not going to the ball then, my boy?”

“Right,” Fili snorted. “Like this?” He gestured at his outfit. Brown pants and a grey lose shirt. “I would be the fairest of them all.”

“Surely you have some other outfit.”

“Only one for when I have to go outside. And why should I go anyway?”

“Because you want to.”

The statement surprised Fili. He wanted to go to the ball?

“Do I?” he asked and stared at the man. “That is news to me.”

“Come now,” the man took a sip of his tea and scooted closer. “You thought of it.”

“Thought, yes,” Fili heard himself admit. “But, it isn’t going to happen. So why dwell on it? And who would do all this work?” he gestured at the kitchen.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” the man waved him off and drank again. “You worry about what you would like to wear to meet your huntsman. Tell me, what do you imagine?”

Fili laughed freely at that, it was rather nice of the man to keep him company and to play this game. Only a small part in the back of his mind wondered how the old man knew of the hunter and how he had never been far from Fili’s mind.

“How about,” he thought for a moment. “a dark blue jacket with silver accents?”

“Silver,” the man hummed nodded and closed his eyes. “Good shoes, of course.”

“Of course,” Fili agreed. “Wouldn’t want to get cold feet.”

The old man snorted in good humour, “Surely, a concern to keep in mind.”

“A slim waist. Mother always said I had hips others would kill for.”

——–

Kili was going through the crowd, smilling and nodding and smiling some more.

He had met tons of people, shakes hands and said empty pleasantries. But no blonde cheeky dwarf had been under them.

The first night was already in full swing, Kili trying to avoid the many people who wanted a dance with the prince of Erebor, from the line of Durin.

And then he saw him. The blonde dwarf. From the wood. It had to be. But he looked so different. In the wood he had looked and acted confident, like he belonged there and nothing and no one could tell him what to do. Now Kili saw him pluck at the sleeves with a silver trim, selfconscious, and look around unsure of where to go. The way he eyed the big doors leading back out was oddly similar to the way a drinking man viewed the shore. Kili would not let him leave, not yet when he had found him.

“I do hope you are enjoying the ball,” he stepped right into his way, blocking the door. “I would not have a guest leave displeased.”“You??” Blue eyes wide with surprise stared at him.

“Why are you the one surprised? The prince at the royal ball isn’t very unusual.”“You are the Prince?” The question was asked with such shock that it stunned Kili as well for a moment. Everyone knew the line of Durin and how they looked. It was very rare to find a dwarf that did not recognise him from the royal blood he was born in.“Wait. You didn’t know?” he took his arm, stopping the blonde from backing away and leaving again.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t have-” his mouth fell shut with a click and he pointedly stared past Kili. He wouldn’t have done what?

“Yes?”

“Nevermind. Your ball is wonderfull, your highness.” He was still not looking directly at Kili but at something slightly above his left shoulder. And the answer was short and clipped.

“No, no,” Kili chuckled. “What would you have done differently?” Would he have fawned like all the others and now didn’t know how to rectify the situation?

“You really want to know?” Now he finally was looked at again and there it was back. Kili saw it in the eyes, the way they twinkled, just like in the woods. But this time with a certain burning character. A challenge had been offered.

“Oh, but I do,” Kili almost sneered. Hating that the blonde was falling like all the others and yet he couldn’t stop wanting to have him right here, with him.“This,” hissed the blonde and turned away sharply and, there was no better way to say it, stomped away.

Kili grinned at the back with the swinging blonde hair. From here it catched the candle light just right and made the hair shine like gold.

And then the worst thing happened. Just as Kili wanted to follow the golden haired beauty, he was stopped by a dark haired woman bowing deeply to him and introducing his two children.

When he had finally freed himself from them, the blonde was gone.

And once more, Kili had no name.

———-

Fili closed the door behind him and hurried to the kitchen.

No way, no way!

He opened the door and went down the stairs, “I am never going there again.”

The old man looked up, his arms elbow deep in the soap water. Most of the dishes sparkling clean on the left counter.

“What ever are you talking about?”

“You,” Fili pointed at him accusingly. “You with your,” he stopped and gestured at his new outfit. “Magic hands. Not that I don’t appreciat your help,” he added quickly. “You did an amazing job with these pots.” Fili picked one up he remembered had burned fat in it. Nothing of that showed, it was gleaming.

“Thank you, an olf friend of mine showed me a trick or two.”

“You have magic,” Fili put the pot down. “Why don’t you just do the” He copied the flimsy hand gesture the man had did before to change Fili’s clothes without any warning earlier that night. “thing and be done with it.”

“Ah, well,” the man coughed slightly. “It is a bit awkward but…”

Fili felt something change on him. The clothes, that had just seconds earlier, hugged him like a glove, were now lose on him again. When he looked down, he was wearing his old clothes.

“It is only for a certain amount of time?”

“Three o’clock, precisely.”

“You couldn’t have told me that before sending me off?!”“There was no time left to lose,” the man dried his hands off and grinned at Fili. “It was almost midnight already when you finally agreed to head out in it.”

“I had my reasons,” Fili crossed his arms. And now he had one more reason to add.

The hunter was the prince. He wanted to die, sink into the earth Mahal had created him from and never return.

“Right,” the old man took his place on the stool again, together with the sill steaming mug of peppermint tea (magic again, Fili thought) and then he gestured at the few remaining dishes. “I would start if I were you.”Fili grumbled and before he plunged his hands into the soap water, he remembered to take off the silver ring and placed it in his pocket.

“Now,” the old man sighed deeply. “For whatever reason should you not return there tomorrow night?”

“I can’t.”

“Let’s say you can. For the sake of argument.”“He is the prince,” Fili glared at the man. The intimidating effect was probably lessened immensely by the bubbles climbing up his arms. “He is the prince and I am - This.”

“A son of a Lord.”

“Now,” Fili grabbed a pot and started to scrub it, imagining it to be the old mans face. “How would you come to that stupid conclusion?”“I knew your lovely mother, the Lady Adelina.”

Fili stopped and looked at the man in surprise.

“You did?” his voice was so quiet he might as well not have spoken.”“Wonderful woman,” the man lifted his tea. “Always helpful and kind. Her laugh was a bit clunky but who cares about that when it is a true one.”

Fili looked down at the pot.

“She was wonderful,” he agreed.

“And she left a wonderful son,” the man said. “Now, why should it stop you from going to the ball just because your hunter is a prince?”

Fili shook his head and started to scrub again.

“A huntsman I could see myself with. A prince?” he scoffed. “A Prince doesn’t marry the scullery boy.”

——–

“And remember to dust the books,” his stepmother Runa said fixing the overlay of her skirts. “The prince talked with Ulmo yesterday and we have high hopes.”

More like high expectations, Fili thought, but nodded dutifully. The lists of tasks for the night was already three hours long.

“And the dishes from the royal kitchen should arrive in a few minutes.”

Wonderful, he would not get any rest at all. But that also meant he had no time to think about the hunter who was the prince. Or was it the other way around?

“Ah, Ulmo!” she clasped her hands in delight. “What a picture, I just knew orange is your colour. And it will go so nice with the dark blue of the royal family.”

Fili grimaced and quickly tidied his face back to neutral. But it was too late, she had seen it and the slap rang through the room.

“Into the kitchen with you,” she hissed at him. “And don’t you dare leave a spot on those dishes. I want them all cleaned and polished.”

“And polished,” echoed Ulmo with a snigger.

Fili closed the door of the kitchen and sank down on the stairs, hugging his knees.

Even if he wanted to go again, there was no way to get the tasks done in time.

He thought he had some time to rest, a few minutes to be in this gloom mood, but the kitchen door opened and an avalanche of pots and pans flew through the door and crashed into the kitchen.

If Fili would have not sat on the stairs, going down sideways the wall, but been in his usual place, they would have hit him.

He let several minutes pass by in the silence. But no one came to check if Fili was unhurt or even alive.

His hand wandered to his cheek, it still stung and felt warm. Tears started to form in his eyes and he hated himself for it. Crying wouldn’t change his life or get the work done. And someone had to do it.

He sniffed and wiped his eyes and nose on his shirt.

Right. He had a long list of things to get down through the night before Runa returned and she would punish him if even one was left undone.

He started to sort the pile of dishes and heard the door upstairs close just like the night before.

When Fili had sorted all the dishes he decided to start with the extra tasks Runa had told him about. They would be checked first thing after her return, giving him some precious extra minutes for the dishes.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the door to the kitchen opened and the old man smiled down at him.

“Well, my boy, ready for the second night?”

“I have more tasks,” Fili gestured at the kitchen. “Cleaning and dusting upstairs.”

“I can cover it for you again. Do you have ideas for another outfit?”

Fili shrugged, “Do I need a different one? Isn’t it all the same ball just in three nights?”

“A good point, a good point,” the man gestured to him to come upstairs and Fili did. “But might I just suggestion a small change in it?”“What?”“Instead of silver, gold.”“Gold?” Fili asked. “Isn’t that … excessive?”

“Three o’clock and it is all back to the old clothes. Money is not an issue,” the old man reminded him.

“Right. An illusion,” Fili mumbled and picked up the books that had been strewn around for some reason. “I am not going anyway.” But it sounded weak even for him.

Why not go? His life was a nightmare by now and the ball was a welcome escape from it. An illusion of the life he could have had, just like the clothes.

“That was a weak lie.”

Fili started to place the books in the shelf and felt his clothes shift again to the more fitting ones. True to his words, the ornamentation was no longer silver but gold. And it looked very subtle and reserved.

Apparently it was settled that he would go to the second night of the ball.

———–

Kili stretched his head to see over the heads, trying to spot the golden hair again. He had been here last night, surely he would come again.

“Stretch anymore and you can join the snakebirds at the lake.”

Kili turned his head slowly at the voice. He knew who it belonged to.

“Hello, again,” he grinned. “I see you returned.”

“I did,” came the quiet reply. “What is it you wish of me?”

“Wish of you?” Kili shook his head. “Nothing. Except your company. Any maybe a dance. Or two.”

“I am afraid my talent in dancing is as good as your archery.”

“So we dance two dances perfectly and just not do the third one,” Kil took the blonde’s hand and pulled him to the dance floor. People cleared the way for them, each one looking at the first partner Kili had chosen for a dance in curiosity and envy.

“Wait,” the blonde hissed behind him. “I really don’t know how to-”

“I will lead,” Kili turned and pulled the blonde close. “All you have to do is follow along. Which might be a challenge for someone so pig headed as you are.” He flinched as a foot stomped down on his.“My point still stands,” Kili laughed and then listened to the music to find the right rhythm.

He moved them both over the dance floor and the blonde followed each of his movements, almost docile. He could feel the uncertainty and the tension in the way he was holding himself.

“Relax, it is just me.”

“Says the prince,” mumbled the blonde and shook his head right afterwards. “Let’s not think of that, okay?”

“You brought it up,” Kili pointed out and saw his mother smiling widely next to his uncle, who was looking at them with a frown. “But yes,” he agreed, remembering his promise that he would introduce his mother to the blonde. “Let’s not talk about it.”

“Right.”

Kili twirled him, watched the way his hair moved and pulled him close again. He had never had so much fun while dancing. Even the occasional times where his feet were stepped upon was not putting a damper on his mood. The quiet and cute “Sorry”s that followed each time were actually improving the whole experience.

When the first dance ended, he lead the blonde to the side, where his mother was already waiting. The tension that had slowly left the blonde during dancing was there again in a second, worse than before.

“Mother,” Kili smiled. “If I may introduce you to…” he looked at the blonde who was blinking in shock at Dis and then in utter disbelief at Kili.

“Your name,” Kili said.

“Kili,” his mother hit him lightly with her fan. “That is hardly proper manners.”

“How is it my fault he never told me his name?”

“You never asked for it,” the blonde said.

“I am asking now,” Kili lifted his eyebrows, hoping it would have the same effect it had on him when his mother did it.

“And I don’t feel like giving it to you. Not yet.” The blonde turned to his mother again and bowed in perfect form. “An honour, Lady Dis. It is a wonderful ball and,” this time a glance was given to Kili. “I am sure all thanks to your organisation.”

“I am the prince and so the host of this ball,” huffed Kili. “Officially, at least.” The ‘Not Yet’ was spooking around in his head, turning round after round of what the reason could be to not reveal his name.

“It is not my fault you do not look nor act like a prince.”“Well, you are certainly not acting like noble either!” He could see his mother smile behind her now opened fan.“I have an excuse, you do not.”

Damn, when the blonde lifted his eyebrows it had the same effect as if his mother did it.

“And that would be?” he snitched back.

“I wasn’t raised right. You, on the other hand, have a lovely mother that is trying her best.” The blonde nodded at his mother.

“Oh, thank you,” she blinked her eyes at the blonde.

“Don’t encourage him, Amad!”

“You are clearly beyond all help. I am amazed that you got this far with him, Lady Dis.”

His mother’s laughter was ringing out like cheerful bells and heads turned to see what was so amusing.

Kili could not decide if it was a good thing that this meeting had happened or not.

“Tell me, Young Dwarf,” his mother put a comforting hand on the blondes arm. “Have we met before? You look so familiar.”

The blonde’s face started to become pale and Kili frowned at the spot on the cheek that was forming.

“We have not, your highness. I never had the pleasure until now.”

That was a handprint, Kili was sure.

“Anyway,” Kili grabbed the blondes hand and turned him so his mother wouldn’t spot it. “You owe me another dance. Two, remember?”

“Only two?” his mother called behind them. “I thought you wanted to dance the night through!”

Kili ignored her and pulled the blonde across the whole room, until he found a corner where few people stood about and shadows were plenty.

“Who hit you?” he pushed the blonde into one of shadows.

“What?” The blonde had looked around and was no focusing again on him.

“There is a handprint on your cheek,” Kili repeated. “Who hit you?”

“No one,” the blonde pushed him away, surprising Kili with his strength. “And if someone did, it is none of your business. I am leaving. You will have to find someone to dance the night through with, your Highness.” The bow was more of a headnod and Kili stared at the retreating back.

He noticed the clock hanging on the wall. It was almost three in the morning.

How had the time passed so fast?

“Wait!” Kili called and tried to follow the blonde but lost him in the end.

————–

Fili hurried down the stairs to the kitchen. His clothes had changed back to normal just as he had turned the first corner.

That had been close. If Kili hadn’t pulled them into that corner, Fili wouldn’t have noticed that his time had run out. Five minutes were far too short of a time to get out of the huge ballroom but he had managed.

“Ah, you have returned,” the old man handed him a sponge. “You can tell me all about tonight, while we finish this up.”

“I can’t go again.”

“How about you start with what happened this night?”

———

“I saw you!” Ulmo poked Fili in his chest. “You went to the ball, you little rat.”

“I did not,” Fili lied. “How could I have gone there and completed all of the tasks at the same time?”

“Who knows,” Ulmo growled. “But I saw you talk with Lady Dis.”

“He did what?” Runa gasped and stepped between them, her eyes glinting at Fili.

He swallowed, damn it.

“I was not there,” he repeated. “And I did not speak to the Lady.”

“I would hope not,” she faned herself with her hand. It was far less elegant then what Lady Dis had done. “Remember, you are a nobody. Just because your mother knew her does not mean anything. She wasn’t much anyway.”

Fili felt anger rise in him. She could run her mouth about him, slap him and pile tasks on him. But his mother was off the table.

“She was more than you could ever become,” he hissed at her. “No matter how much money you spent, you will never reach her.”

The slap echoed through the room and Fili could heard a quiet gasp behind him.

Runa’s eyes became big, “Oh, Oh no,” she said in a soft voice. “My hand slipped.”“Slipped?”

His father, Fili noted. But his mind was becoming blank, fuzzy. He knew this, it was a way for him to cope with his world, with the work and the pain. Don’t think and you get through it.“Slipped? You slapped my son, Runa! And that was clearly not the first time either.”

Fili went to the kitchen door and closed it shut behind him.

The kitchen was his room. And in it, he had some spots where not even Runa could reach into with her grubby hands, trying to erase all of his mother’s memory.

He kneeled down in one of the darkest corner, heard the argument upstairs and ignored it. His father would crumble under Runa, like he had done in the beginning where all this had started. A single slap that he had seen would not change anything, it would only make Runa more careful when he was around and more ruthless when he wasn’t.

Fili pulled one of the stones out of the wall and stuck is hand in the whole, pulling out a small blue box. The key for it was around his neck on a string and he made sure to not let anyone see it. He opened the box and placed the silver ring, that he had still in his pocket, inside with the other small items he had saved over the years. A tiny portray of his mother, one of her hair clamps and a fabric peace of her favourite dress. It was not much and the ring was definitely the most expensive item in the box. But each one had the same worth for Fili. He could not be without any of them. Each one bound to a memory and a dream.

He heard the kitchen door open and quickly covered the box and himself in the dark shadow. He did not want to be seen, his box could not be taken away from him.

Something thudded down the stairs and the door closed again, followed by the bolts snapping shut. He was locked away again in the kitchen, like so many times before.

Filli looked around and only noticed now the many dirty dishes piling on the counter, almost toppling over. He locked the box and pushed it back into the dark hole.

The dream of the ring was over and the dirty reality was back.

—–

Kili was pacing and looking at the crowd that was staring back.

It might have been a mistake to have made the announcement that he had found his love. But he knew, with all that he was, that he could not be without the blonde. It just put them all now in the awkward position that the ball could not continue until Kili’s chosen partner came to his side. And because Kili had no name, it turned into people coming forward and asking if it was them only to be turned away. Some even came more than once, Kili noticed. Especially the dwarf in an orange outfit, with his mother (Kili’s guess was as good as any) hovering over behind him, her hands wringing a tissue.

Kili tried not to sigh as he waved them away again and a young dwarfen woman stepped past them and right up to Kili with a confidence that did not fit into the situation.

“Your highness,” she bowed and Kili could here the mother of the orange dwarf hiss a name but he could hear it. Saneca? Seneca? He did not care.

“It is not you,” he said at her and looked again to the doors.

“I know that,” she smiled and lifted her head slightly, revealing a marriage braid. “My name is Senica, your highness, and I know where your intended is.”

“You do?” Kili stepped forward and helped her out of the bow.

The crowd started to murmur and Kili shouted “No, it is not her, would you people calm down?!”

“I do,” she smiled but her voice was wavering. “His name is Fili. And I am afraid that many wrong things have been done over the years.”

Fili, his name was Fili. What a lovely name! And so similar and close to his own!

Kili looked closely at Senica, something was odd about her. She was not as confident as he had first thought. She was afraid. Not of him but of something.

“Where is he?” Kili asked. “What happened?”

“I-” she started and her eyes were darting around. She wasn’t afraid, she was terrified. “I think it would be best if you brought Captain Dwalin along.”

“At your service, My Lady,” Dwalin appeared out of nowhere.

“Mahal, Dwalin!” Kili cursed. “Don’t do that.” How could someone so decked out in armour and weapons be so silent on his feet?

“I am no Lady,” she said, her eyes cast to the floor. “But I wish to at least right some wrongs.”

“You said that many wrong things have been done over the years.”

“This night worse than any other,” she nodded.

“Worse?” Dwalin said.

“And this has to do with my intended?” Kili asked and again she nodded.

“I can lead you there,” she whispered.

“Your highness,” the woman who had hissed her name earlier stepped to their group, grabbing Senica’s arm. “You have to excuse my daughter. Since her pregancy she has had some … issues, if you understand.”

“I do,” his mothers voice rang out behind him loud, clear and cold as ice. “I do understand, Lady Runa, that you are terrifying her. Let go of her, this instance.”

“Pregnant?” Kili asked her. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” came the reply but he barely heard it.

“Let her go,” Dwalin repeated. “Or I will arrest you.”“Arrest me?” Lady Runa asked shocked. “Whatever for?”

“For resisting arrest,” said Dwalin with grim determination.

The hand was removed but with a sour face.

“Come her, good woman,” his mother gestured for Senica to come to her and she did. “Here, have some water. Now, you tell my son and Captain Dwalin where to go, while we two will rest here with everyone else. And where are you going, Lady Runa?” she called out. “I did not dismiss you or your son. You will stay right here, where I can lay my eyes on you.”

A sentence that normally was a compliment turned into a threat in his mothers mouth. Senica seemed to relax at it a bit though. Maybe a terrifying person on your side cancelled out the terrifying person that wasn’t.

Kili stepped over to her and leaned closer, “You can just whisper it. I know Erebor like my childhood room.”

“He is in the kitchen of our house,” she whispered. “It is in the living quarters, third section, number thirteen. And-” she stopped and again the fear entered her eyes and words. “there- He- It- He didn’t do it,” she whispered. “I will swear it in court if you so wish.”

“Do what?” Dis asked but Kili didn’t care.

He had an address!

I am coming, Fili, he thought, Hold on, I am coming!

——–

Fili was kneeling on the floor of the kitchen.

The dirty dishes behind him forgotten, just like the blood soaking through his pants.

He craddled his father in his arms, humming the lullaby his mother sung him when he had been little. He was growing colder and stiffer by the minute.

When Fili had noticed his father, lying limp at the bottom of the stais, his head covered in blood, he had tried to stop the bleeding. Only to find the pulse missing. There was nothing to be done. So he sung softly to him, wishing for once that he would cry but no tears came.

His father had finally noticed what Runa was like, tried to protect Fili for the last time and payed with his life.

The door snapped open and someone rushed down the stairs. Fili didn’t care. He knew the way it looked, he would be blamed for the murder and if he wasn’t Runa would turn it on him in one way or another.

“Well, we know what she meant when she said he didn’t do it. Ow!”

“Tact, Dwalin, you always lack it.”

He knew the last voice.

Fili looked up and into the face of Kili, standing on the stairs to the kitchen, a bigger dwarf behind him.

“You found me,” Fili whispered. “I don’t think I can dance tonight.”

“Of course not,” Kili jumped the last steps and kneeled next to him. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I came in here to be alone. I did hear the door ope, something falling down and then close again. I only noticed Adad later in passing.” Fili saw Kili reach for his hands and felt their warmth when they covered his.

“I am so sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have gone to the ball,” Fili could feel the tears coming forward. “It made her angry. And I know how she is when she is angry. But,” at this point the tears were falling down his face and onto his father. “I couldn’t not go. I wanted to see you, talk with you. And I didn’t think, that–” he sobbed and pulled his father closer. “I didn’t think.”

“Dwalin?”“Yes, Sir?”

“Arrest Lady Runa for murder.”

“Gladly, Sir.”

The footsteps went up the stairs and away.

“Come, Fili.” Kili went through his hair. “Let us carry him upstairs.”

“You know my name?”

“Senica came forward,” Kili smiled. “It is a wonderful name.”“Father picked it,” Fili sniffed. “Said it would be good luck. Much that did for him.”

“I think,” Kili lifted his father out of his arm. “You made his life better and he loved you. Why else would he have gone against his second wife if not out of his love for the son who brought him luck?”

#submission #Gathering 12 Days 2023 #Fili/Kili #FiKi #Durincest #the Hobbit

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 years

Note

can i get a steve x male reader fluff with sentence 11 from the 3rd prompt list and could it be steve taking care of his sick boyfriend?

A/n: lil reminder that I’m still taking platonic/romantic requests for Eddie, Steve and Robin. ❤️ also Dustin is just a family friend of reader, not relative.

Prompt: 11. “why are you so warm?” From this list.

“Y/n/n! Got word from Henderson, are you-“ Steve’s voice cut off abruptly when he hurriedly opened the door to your room to find your form buried beneath several askew layers of blankets and duvet, it greatly obscured his ability to look upon your sickly, sweat laced face but he knew you weren’t feeling all too hot. “Stevie!” You muffled and weak voice called out from the pile in joy; only for it to be short lived as a ragged, phlegm infused cough ripped from your throat; leaving an unpleasant burn in it’s aftermath. “Rest your voice handsome, Nurse Steve is here to take care of you.” Your boyfriend joked as he brought himself to kneel at the side of your bed, bringing a hand up to your head briefly and pulling it away just as fast when he felt the heat being emitted from your forehead alone, hissing. “Why are so you warm?!”

“Why am I so warm?! Maybe because I’m fucking sick, it’s not like I’m hiding it! You know I’m shit at hiding these types of things!” You replied, immediately cringing at the tenderness of your throat that last coughing fit had you in as you attempted to reach for the cough drops you had kept at your bedside desk for these situations. Only to knock the small box onto it’s side with your fingers; you sigh in dismay and tried to sit yourself up only for Steve to push you back down, causing you to look at him curiously, “allow me.” He says virtuously as he picked up the box and popped one of the cough drops into your hand, smiling sympathetically as you placed it into your mouth.

“Feeling any better?” Steve asked, hating how he couldn’t do much to aid you other then sit by your side, give you whatever helps you in the moment and be forced to wait it out. He silently thanked Dustin for being a nosy bastard and overhearing his mother and your parent/guardian’s conversation and notifying him soon after via the walkie talkie he has thrusted into his chest. Otherwise he wouldn’t have had the time to go to the nearest convenient store and pick up a few of your favourite junk foods; even renting some of yours and his favourite movies from work he had shoved into the plastic bag that was then shoved into the passenger seat of his car. “No.” You said meekly, wanting nothing more then to push away some of the blankets from your body but didn’t want to risk the inevitability of you putting them back over your being from the sudden sensation of being unbearably cold all of a sudden. You raised your hands, “hold me? Please.”

Steve didn’t need to be told twice as he tucked himself into your bed, shuffling your positions so that his back was pressed against the headboard and you were pressed against his chest, eyes closing in both exhaustion and comfort as you buried your head into Steve’s neck. “I brought you your favourite before I came here.” His voice was soft and gentle as though to avoid triggering a headache within you as his hands rub your back and side respectively; “really?” You peaked your head at him, staring into his eyes with your weary ones as he just jutted his head to the plastic bag slumped on its lonesome on the floor by your bed. “Yeah, I thought we could use a junk food movie day to ourselves or we can take a power nap, it’s your choice.”

You found yourself melting into Steve’s embrace as a fond smiled graced your lips as you internally fawned over his kind and considerate side of himself that you’ve seen time and time again. Yet it never failed to make your swoon every time as it was a reminder that this was the man you’ve come to love and adore more then ever. He never treated you as though you were fragile but he was never rough with you either; he was a perfect balance of both and you made sure to make it your job to remind him of how much he does for others and yourself while also reminding him that setting boundaries isn’t something he should be ashamed of doing. After all he was only a human with limitations and it hurt you to see him burn himself out before he could even truly start. You had to force him into taking time for himself like the time you had to rip him away from work after receiving an urgent call from Robin, who informed you of Steve’s early symptoms of sickness.

“I think we can both use a nap, after all you make a great body warmer.” You teased, sniffling slightly as you made yourself comfortable against his chest once more as Steve moved a hand over to your bedside table to grab the medicine bottle your guardian/parent had brought and popping open the cap and pouring the thick substance into the accompanying spoon. “While I wouldn’t deny joining you, you have to fist take your medicine, nurse Harrington’s orders.” You groan in disdain, moving your head away from the medicine,“Steve it tastes like shit.” “Too bad so sad, look just take the medicine, it’ll help you feel better in no time.” Steve replied, trying to move so he could get a good shot at shoving the spoon into your mouth but unfortunately you were making it difficult for him. “No. It doesn’t taste nice.” You spoke childishly, refusing stubbornly to move an inch as Steve’s hand comes to grasp your jaw. “What’re you a child? All medicine doesn’t taste nice. Now stop being so difficult and take the damn medicine.”

“No!” Steve thought Henderson was bad when he was sick but you took the cake by far, oh well, he had all day in getting you to take the damn medicine.

A/n: okay that was kinda rushed but I couldn’t think of how to end it and it probably deviated from the actual request. Oops.

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x male reader #Steve Harrington fic #Steve Harrington Drabble

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uselessmicrowave · 11 months

Note

hihello could I possibly have a match up please? Continuity: MTMTE (Lost Light crew?) and/or TFP (Decepticons)

Appearance: very long curly hair! very soft, very bouncy, very thick, like a sheep!, skinny as a stick and physically weak, have a baby face and I hate it so much because I feel like no one takes me seriously-..don't know if any of this matters or helps-?

Personality: I’m generally a very quiet and reserved person, especially during first impressions! I’m kind of a shy and anxious lurking shadow who assumes the worst until I get a good enough feel of a person, you know? Then I'm comfortable popping in!

I tend to gravitate towards being "Designated Parent Friend" or "Big Sibling Friend?" I love being able to make others feel better about themselves or to help them out. Maybe it’s because of some rough stuff in my past, but I never want anyone to feel similar to the ways I have. If you hurt someone I care about, I am never going like you. I’m kind of..soft? I cry very easily, be it happy or sad, and it frustrates me! I’m not a soft and squishy person! ..okay yes I am but I’m also trying super hard to be the shoulder people can lean on if they need me! Growing a backbone is a work in progress, and sometimes I come off too harsh or mean when I actually use it.. A friend once described me like glass; it’s fragile, but a broken piece can still really mess you up, you know? Glass-ness aside, my sense of humor is honestly very dry and sarcastic and you probably wouldn’t expect it out of me! I can get kind of angry over petty things and sort of clingy, but I’ll be fine after some time to let it all pass.

I like playing videogames, drawing and writing, and reading tarot! I like doing things alone, really, but I love the company of others when they want me to join in. Because it does indeed get lonely being alone sometimes!

I have some really gross depression bouts and lots of anxiety disorders that I do my best to juggle, but, sometimes I just have to shut down for a bit and..sleep.

Values: Someone who can make me smile when I’m really having a hard time! I guess that sounds a little silly, but even something small to distract me from my thoughts is huge. Loyalty also? Admittedly I get kind of jealous and clingy when people I like hang around others too much..especially if I don’t like those others. I also really like um..acts of service I guess it is? Little things matter to me most!

NOPES: People who takes themselves too seriously. Disinterest/poking fun at in my hobbies..or insecurities. Being completely babied/not letting me try to grow. Making assumptions based on appearance or first impressions alone. Is this enough to work with? I just realized how much I wrote I'm so sorry- but um thanks again, you stay hydrated too! ♥

This is definitely enough to work with, thank you anon! I’ll be pairing you with MTMTE Swerve and TFP Breakdown!

Swerve

Your quietness in the very beginning of your relationship is probably a good thing because it gives him space to ramble.

He relates to you about the baby face appearance and your glass-ness, having some of the same experiences as you do seem to warm you up to him.

He loves your hair, he face-plants into love if you ask him to help you style or take care of it.

He thinks it’s so cool with the tarot card thing? He doesn’t know how it works but is totally supportive!

Swerve loves playing Earth video games with you, he prefers multiplayer games like animal crossing (new horizons) or even smash bros, but nothing too competitive.

You two will, without a doubt, eventually go on a double date with Tailgate and Cyclonus.

Swerve has his fair share of anxiety and he’ll take naps with you when you shut down.

If you drink alcohol, he will find a way to get some liquors that are safe to consume for you.

He has a snack supply under the bar for you but he doesn’t want you to think he’s babying you. He only reveals this to you when you admit you’re hungry.

Breakdown

This hunk is also very quiet towards the beginning of your relationship, which makes for a couple awkward moments

He’s also the ‘parent friend,’ so he’ll make jokes about having vehicon kids.

Your dry sarcastic sense of humor reminds him of Knockout, so you and the lead medic will interact a lot.

He, much like you, doesn’t like it when someone makes fun of appearance, hobbies, ect.. Not afraid to yell at a random vehicon that poked at your insecurities.

He tries his best not to baby you, but you’re just so very cute. He tries not to mention it but the baby fat on your face practically makes him have heart optics.

You’ll sit on his shoulder while he’s restocking medical kits or shelfs, that way he won’t get lonely. Breakdown loves it if you ask questions about the medical tools.

Your drawing and writing fascinates him. What kind of things are important enough for you to make art or write about it?

He’s definitely all for a stress nap with you, especially if you want to lay on his chassis.

Breakdown also values loyalty, but he won’t be spark broken if you decide to spend your time with Knockout instead of him. As long as you’re having fun.

This ^ hc above? Total lie. He’ll just say that to you, the poor bot won’t really have anyone to spend time with if you and KO are busy.

#tfp #tfp x reader #micro matchups #transformers prime #breakdown #tfp breakdown #tfp breakdown x reader #breakdown x reader #mtmte #mtmte x reader #mtmte swerve #swerve #swerve x reader #mtmte swerve x reader

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chloe-spade · 2 years

Text

We Know Better -TWST

----

Lilia Smiles as he rest Silver in his crib.

It has only been a few weeks after he took Silver in, and one thing he can say that it was an delightful experience.

Of course, the Tree Golems had told Lilia of intrusive knights that try to intrude, but the Thorn Fairy made it clear that every intruder must be dealt with.

That meant ghag Lilia had to told her about his involvement, to being at the party to the kidnapping even to threatening the king to never go to Blair Valley.

The Thorn Fairy was reasonable and let the human child live after she cursed him. She granted permission for Lilia to raise Silver and gave herself grandmother rights at the spot.

"You must've been tired,hmm?" Lilia chuckles to himself. "I can't blame you, you were laughing and giggling like crazy yesterday."

Lilia gets up and leaves the room to let the baby rest.

He smiles and started to clean around the room, so when people walked by, they didn't tripped from all the old toys that was scattered across the floor.

"Lilia?" Asked the young prince Malleus, walking over to his parental figure.

"Hmm? Yes, Lord Malleus?" Lilia smiled.

"Grandmother said you adopted a child, is that true?" Malleus asked, his face turned to a sulk.

"It is true. Are you perhaps jealous, Malleus?" Lilia joked, putting the toys away. "Of a mere child, no less?"

"I am not jealous," Malleus huffs, "it's just that people of talked and I wanted to see for myself before going back to my studies."

"Ah, unfortunately, Silver is taking a peaceful nap, but you may see him when he awakens."

"Master Lilia," said a guard by the door, "The Mistress is requesting you."

"I'll be right there," Lilia smiled and looks over at Malleus,"May you please watch over the room for me? Get me when Silver wakes up?"

Malleus, who didn't know anything about human children, nodded as he knew Lilia would be back for a few minutes.

"Thank you," Lilia smiles and leaves with the guard.

Malleus gulped to himself as he took a book and begins to read.

He knew Silver was a human, and was taken by Lilia, but nothing beyond that. But he knew from the guards that Lilia adored the child like a mother would, cherishing and talking about him.

It was like with Malleus, he recalled. He didn't like that he was in fact jealous of a mere child, but one who's has done nothing to him. He didn't want to admit it either way.

After what seemed like an hour, a cry startled Malleus from his state and looks into the room.

Silver was crying like any mortal child would, probably wandering where Lilia has been.

He carefully holds Silver and begins to rock him softly.

His cries slowly died down and looks up at Malleus with curious eyes, cheeks stained with tears.

Malleus smiles and holds the child close.

----

Hello little baby, you're a little prince just like me

Bet you're thinking maybe it's a pretty cool thing to be

But soon you'll see that everyone expects a lot from you

They'll say that there are things a prince should and shouldn't do

----

Silver watched as Malleus began to use his magic to create stars around his head.

He begins to laugh, holding Malleus's finger.

----

But you and me, we, we know better

----

Malleus smiles and holds Silver close again, completely unaware that Lilia and the Mistress watched with knowing smiles.

*5 years later*

Silver jumped on his bed and Malleus watched with a delightful smile.

"Careful now, Silver," Malleus chuckles, "I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"I won't," he said softly, looking at Malleus, "I'm not a baby."

Malleus laughed and grabbed Silver immediately. "I know that, but you're very fragile."

Silver huffs a little bit. "No I'm not."

They sit down on the floor.

"Oh? You're not?"

Silver shakes his head. "Not when I have you around! And when father finally trains me, I'll protect you like you do me."

Malleus smiles and raise his hands. "Secret Handshake?"

Silver nods.

----

1, 2, 3 together, clap together, snap together

You and me together, knees together, freeze together

Up or down together, princes crown together

Always be together, you and me

1, 2, 3 together, clap together, snap together

You and me together, knees together, freeze together

Up or down together, princes crown together

Always be together, you and me

---

"Lord Malleus, Silver!" Cried Lilia, "time for lunch,"

Malleus, hands intertwined with Silver, walked over to the dinning area and sitting at the table.

"Good things it's not Lilia's food," Malleus whispered, causing Silver to laugh.

"You two! Sit up straight," called an advisor, fixing their postures.

"No fair.." mumbled Silver.

Malleus chuckles. "Let me tell you something.."

---

They say a prince is full of charm and grace

They say he always knows her place

They say a princes wears tight and itchy clothes ("Oh!')

They say he never laughs and snorts milk out his nose ("Like me?!")

---

A mischievous grin showed on the prince's face as one of the many nannies of the castle.

---

They say he's calm, they say he's kind

They say he never speaks his mind or freezes nanny's big behind

----

Silver gasped and giggles at Malleus's small prank.

----

But you and me, we, we know better

----

The Nanny gasped and turned over to the boys, her rage increasing, "You boys are in so much trouble, when I'm gonna tell your father...!" He stomps away, still yelling.

Silver look over at Malleus. "How come you can do that and I can't?"

Malleus shrugs. "I don't know, I wish you could though..."

*6 years later*

"Good job, Silver," praised Lilia, as Silver practiced with a wooden sword and training dummy.

"Ha!" Mocked Sebek, "he's not as great as I am."

Silver rolled his eyes as he continued to train. But after a while, he found himself by the garden, messing with his sword, lying by a tree.

"Is something bothering you?" Tuned in Malleus, sitting by him, "You looked down."

"It's just Sebek's taunting again," Silver sighs, "I don't know why, but I seem to be his primary target of teasing. And he's younger than me."

"That's how young children seem to be. Please don't fret,"

"I'm trying,"

Malleus looks over and smiles.

----

They say a prince is super duper sweet

He doesn't fight; He doesn't sweat

And you never see her eat

They say a prince doesn't climb and scrape their knee

They say a prince wouldn't freeze their tutor's tea

They say he's poised

They say he's fair

They never mentions underwear!

Or longs to see the world out there..

But you and me, we, have big ideas of our own

For the distant someday when we're grown

----

Malleus smiles as Silver looks up at the clouds.

"What about the future..?" He mumbled.

"Well.."

----

When I'm King

And I'm your right hand

You'll get to travel

Throughout the land

I'll tell them of my brother and the magic things he can do

We'll take care of our people and they will love

Me and you

No one can tell us what a prince should be

As long as we're together, you and me

----

Malleus smiles as he starts to hear Silver's snores.

"Sleepy as always, hmm? Don't worry...as long as I'm alive, you will be safe under my protection," He whispered, letting Silver rest on him, "and that is a promise until the day I die."

Silver smiles like he did as a baby, making Malleus's heart melt like he did years ago.

"..It's a promise."

#twisted wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #songfic #original work

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1sthisevenre4l · 6 months

Text

God its just idk what maybe it's just today but I wanna kill myself so fucking bad I'm so tired of this it's the same shit everyday nothings getting better and I want to hurt I want to bleed out and be writhing in pain because I deserve it I don't deserve a life at all I wanna hurt and be fragile and ill in the hospital fed by applejuice and fucking morphine I wanna take a long ass nap I wanna take enough to hurt me or get me close to death I wanna feel like sweet release before I take a breath and it all comes back cuz they pump me up with narcan. I need to feel something anything, pain I deserve pain so much pain I put myself in bad situations in hopes I'll get hurt. I don't deserve anything I'm such a shit person nothing is real anyways. everyone probably wants me to die anyways. I'm fucking losing my shit and I'm such a horrible person. I'm so so so done I'm losing a grip of everything and sinking into a deep pit of nothingness and impending doom. who am I what am I what is this what's happening what's going on in my fucking head. please help me.

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valyrou · 1 year

Note

Hello, may i request for a BSD romantic/platonic matchup ? (Whatever inspires you the most ! :'D)

About me :

I use any pronouns, mostly she/her , he/him and they/them, any is fine with me ! (Me genderfluid ig zjzu) I am pansexual and so i don't mind the gender i'm being matched with, i'm also asexual

As long as you don't pair me with mori i'll be okay

I kin some characters, you don't have to know them or make researches about them but i'll name them just in case that can help

So yes firstly i kin Dazai from bsd -

and i kin reki from sk8 the infinity

And 707 from mystic messenger

I'm requesting matchups because i'm curious

I like :

Chocolate : It's some type of comfort food for me and something that is kinda apart of me now as when i was younger i was known for the crazy quiet kid obsessed with chocolate

Chips aswell, there was a period in my life where i did weird experiments with chips. I can tell you do not put chips in the microwave they're not gonna be any tastier... My best friend wants to ban me from the kitchen since this chips-experimental small phase of my life. Which is good for me since we plan to live together with some other friends and that would mean i wouldn't be the one carrying the burden of cooking, cheers !

My bed ; I'm a very lazy person and somedays all i'll want to do is laze around in this heaven of mine. Somedays the world is too heavy for me to even get out of this magnificient bed that i dearly love. #Tryingnottoturnsleepingasacopingmechanismasitshouldn'tbe

Skateboarding ; I also might not be this much of a lazy person as i get urges to go outside and skateboard, sometimes i'll fall my ass off and that's completely fine, sometimes i'll completely get hurt but that's okay, it's apart of skateboarding ! More excuses for me to laze around? As long as i have the freedom to skate around a bit and i only ever get stopped when i'm hurt.. Teehee

Sleeping ; Sleep is precious to me, if i'm staying up or thinking about not sleeping much, bully me to sleep please. Even a few minutes is important. Else without sleep i go crazy and i might end up feeling down for a whole week just because s l e e p

Hugs : And i will struggle to admit that because of my ego. But please hug me🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 we can take naps hugging 😌

Comfort : please even though i run away from that please

Joking around and laughing : being serious is nice and all but i like joking

Pranking : though i do it rarely so that i can get my friends by surprise i'm always proud when they fall in my rare and small traps. Eheh 😎

Music : because, like, m u s i c

Being a daddy (not nsfw it's a joke zizkzkzk)

The color purple (i'm obsessed with it)

And bright colors (mostly red & yellow)

Any colors actually (brown and blue are slay too)

But mostly purple

And red

Stars : looking at the stars in the night sky is awesome. In fact my room's wallpapers are stars and i put some effects to feel like i'm in space at night. Nice.

Otome games 🥺🥺 >_<

Calls

Friends

Once again, hugs please

I dislike :

Dazai's suicide attempts : they'll make me sad and remind me of a lot of bad memories i can't even count - i could get triggered but that'd be rare i think 🤔

Stress : frick stress

Authority : you don't tell me what to do 🙄💅

School : if i ever go to school again, don't lose time and just put me in a mental hospital smh

Uncaring people : i'm sensitive plz don't break my fragile heart and please show that u care abt what i say 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺💔💔

Death : i want to live infinitely with the people i care about😔😔😔😔😔😔

Chips cooked by microwave

Chips in a chocolate bread sandwich

Chips on yogurt

Too much seriousness

Too much activity

Having to look good ; too much of a chore for me smh let me dress with the first clothes i come across

Personality traits :

I'm so lazy it became a personality trait

Funny, i make my friends laugh and I make myself laugh so idk

Caring, though i might seem distant sometimes, probably because i'm feeling too lazy/overwhelmed to show my care. RIP.

Quiet sometimes, Loud the other times

Sincere , yas i'm honest as hell and if you bother me i'll say it, which happens rarely but it's good to know i guess-

Maybe not a personality trait but i seem either happy to other people

Thinking mess : i think a lot and zone out a lot even while walking and talking. Could get lost bc of that tbh

Considerate ; teehee 😌

Kind ; teehee🥺

Bright, wait didn't i already say that-

I'm an understanding person

I'm either energetic or dead, but i bring good vibes okay

What i look like :

5'4 tall

Short dark brown hair that i like to cut bc i don't wanna brush my hair so i hate when it's not cut

Dark brown eyes

I mostly wear a purple or black outfit i guess?

Hobbies :

Writing fanfictions about my friends because it's funny

Making videos because i don't know

Skateboarding because i love the freedom feeling

Staying in bed because frick the concept of an active life

Read some books bc like books are slay

Watch videos

Talk to people through discord mostly

Thinking and let my thoughts wander as i scroll through tumblr and youtube

Backread discord messages, funny and comforting ones teehee

MBTI :

I thought i was an INFP for 2 years

Turned out i'm actually an ENTP

But my extrovert and thinking percentages are very middle middle

So you could say XNXP but i'm 90% sure i'm an ENTP

It just means i may sometimes act like an INFP, INTP or ENFP

I don't know why but when i'm at my lowest i act more like an INFP

I don't know why either but it's very rare to be introvert and thinking at the same time so my INTP phases are very rare

I don't know why i'm more like an ENFP or ENTP when i'm in the best times of my life

But anyways i'm ENTP you know some details now, if that can help

I think i'm done ! I hope i didn't say too much and that was enough for you, if you're not inspired or don't want to do this , it's completely fine ! Please take care and i hope you have a great day or night ^^

A/n: I don’t believe you are lazy BECAUSE YOU WROTE A WHOLE PARAGRAPH???? I‘m joking lolol anyways

You seem so nice and sweet like be my friend????

Also it’s a little short so i feel sooooo bad but I hope you enjoy anyways :))

I had to think abt this one quite a bit but I think I‘m gonna pair you with…..

RANPO!!!

You are kind of similar yet different

I imagine you both going off to do silly things because NO ONE TELLS YOU WHAT TO DO

Ranpo also needs hugs like??? Cuddle this genius please

The only person he would share his chocolate with tbh

Also you kin reki, Dazai AND my babygirl 707??? What do they all have in common???? They all have a „happy“ and fun side, yet they also have a quiet and dreadful one to them. They all have a partner that is calming or just „quiet“, be it langa or Mc.

Your fun and entertaining side also has a quiet one to it, so your s/o Ranpo will be your other piece to that cliché trope

Cuddles on the sofa

Also you‘d be friends with Poe and Atsushi especially

Your kind and caring traits are no barrier to anyone so anyone could be your Friend (except Mori, you‘ll probably set him on fire)

Kunikida wouldn’t know what to do with you

You and Ranpo are a silly couple idc

Ranpo will ask Poe if he could write a story for you and him to solve together (kinda escape room date vibes)

Teases you a lot but in a cute way if you don’t get the answer to a riddle

Also I believe that Ranpo wouldn’t engage in sexy times, just because he doesn’t find the whole „making baby’s and stuff“ things interesting so no problemo

Will give you his cape sometimes if you ask with a pretty please

If it rains he will pull you close and cover the both of you in his cape while smiling like an idiot

#Bsd #Bsd imagines #Bsd Headcanons #bsd matchup #Bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs imagines #bungou stray dogs x reader #Bungou stray dogs matchup #Ranpo #ranpo edogawa #ranpo x you #ranpo x reader #bsd ranpo #bsd x y/n #bsd x reader

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midnight-transcendance · 2 years

Text

glimpses of the future (part 1)

word count: 899 a series of connected kuroken omegaverse one-shots

"how's my beautiful future husband faring?"

smiling tiredly up at the man who walked into the apartment, kenma rubbed his stomach gently. "he was woken up from his nap from your son."

"tadashi, you mom needs his rest, okay?" he stooped to peck kenma's forehead and walked into a room. "let me get changed, and i'll get started on dinner."

"oh, i can do that, tetsurou," kenma called after him. "you took a long workday; you must be tired."

a response came a few moments later once kuroo reemerged from the room, a t-shirt and sweatpants on instead of a suit. "nonsense. you can't be moving around too much when you're pregnant, especially when carrying twins. besides, i like doing things for you."

kenma sighed from his place on the couch. "i'm not as fragile as you think i am. i never have been."

"or maybe that's what you think because i never let you get hurt," kuroo reasoned. he had his usual cocky grin on his face, the one that kenma loved and hated all at once.

"sure, babe. okay."

the pregnant man wasn't all that bothered. ever since they'd started dating in high school, kuroo never allowed kenma to do household chores when they were together, which was always. now that they were in an apartment together less than a year later, they were no different. besides, kenma loved kuroo's cooking.

once kuroo left the meat to simmer, he turned to face kenma, who had moved to sit on a barstool at the kitchen island. they looked at each other fondly before the taller man spoke. "you know, this apartment might not be big enough to have little ones running around."

"this is literally a half step down from a penthouse, tetsurou. i think we'll be fine. besides, i think you mean little one. akira's calmer than you when you're sleeping. tadashi's going to be the one coloring the walls. he takes after you, after all."

"i love these two so much, though. i might want more." kuroo winked before flipping the meat, smiling when he saw the crunchy but juicy top.

kenma, however, scowled. "look, if you want more kids, you'll have to knock up someone else for them. after these two, i'm done."

"but, babe--" kuroo started.

"nope. i'm carrying these two, and that's it. do you know how much pain my back is in? and i still have to actually give birth to them!"

kuroo circled the kitchen counter and hugged his boyfriend from behind. he leaned down to whisper in his ear, "but don't you love the idea of me filling you up with my kids? doesn't the idea of me leaving you full to the brim please you?"

a shiver went up kenma's spine. kuroo know what effects his voice had on him. "don't start."

butterfly kisses were trailed from kenma's neck to his ear before kuroo shifted the barstool to place a kiss on his forehead. "you know you love it."

"i also know you're burning the food."

***

"how do you feel, babe? only a few weeks left."

"i'm ready for them to come out. look at me!" kenma put his phone on the bed to pat his stomach. "i'm fat! and tadashi isn't making this any easier!"

a laugh bubbled from kuroo. "you're not fat, you're pregnant."

kenma accommodated himself so that his back was flat against the bed and stuffed a pillow under his head to keep it supported. he grabbed kuroo's hand and placed it on the round of his belly.

"help me find them."

"it's 6 am. i don't think they're awake." despite his words, kuroo dutifully ran his hand over his boyfriend's stomach. he smiled, knowing his children were in there.

"trust me, tadashi's awake. akira is, too, but he's playing video games instead of running miles."

"just like when we were kids." kuroo's grin grew bigger, and he shuffled himself closer to kenma so he could spoon him. "god, i love you so much."

a deep purr ran through kenma, and unlike when he was a child, he let it sound as loud and as long as it did naturally. soon, he could feel a softer rumble inside of him. the omega slid his hand over to the spot and tapped lightly. "good morning, akira."

kuroo placed his hand next to kenma's, trying to feel his baby's response. a shy tap came from inside the pregnant man, almost copying the pattern he'd tapped. kenma purred even louder and snuggled into kuroo, trying to bring the family as close as physically possible.

a stronger, quicker tapping came from the other side of kenma's belly, and he laughed, moving his hand over. "i'm sorry, tadashi. good morning to you as well."

the tapping stopped, and kenma eventually stopped purring, though he could feel the echo inside him continue for a while longer. kuroo kissed kenma on his forehead and twice on his belly before getting out of bed. kenma sat up but stayed where he was.

"hey, tetsurou?"

"what's up?" kuroo called from their bathroom.

"is the bag ready to go?"

the older's head popped out, a toothbrush held firmly between his teeth and cheeks. "bag? oh, that bag. yeah, why? shit, are they coming?"

kenma shook his head. "no, just a feeling."

"okay," kuroo responded uncertainly, "but tell me the second you start feeling any pain."

***

#kuroken #kozume kenma #kuroo tetsuro #oneshot #haikyuu #fanfic #part one #part 1 #tbc #to be continued #fluff #gay #omegaverse #wattpad #ao3 #suggestive #mpreg

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hihimissamericanbi · 2 years

Text

The Watcher and the Dancer

Rating: T

Pairing: F/F

Relationship: James/Sirius

Wordcount: 9,857k

Summary: Walburga was still talking too loudly, unaware her eldest daughter had paused her Fall Out Boy playlist minutes ago, but Siri did nothing to disabuse her. She wanted to exist in a few more moments of precious liminality, fraught with fragile expectation: the “before” of a summer vacation, dreaming of memories caressed like worn sea glass before having to go and actually break the bottles that make them.

AKA: Dreamy sapphic summer crush fic set in New England in the aughts with a side of sister feels

Notes: Hi! Hello! I am old and don't know how to use Tumblr at all but decided to try to post this here while I wait to join AO3? For context: Wolfstar is OTP but I wrote this with OCs originally (like not as a marauders fic), then decided it could work as Prongsfoot so I made some tweaks and here we are. Fem Siri and Jamie because it's my fic and I said so. Based on my experiences so please be nice? Also kind of my love letter to Maine. Promise to write Wolfstar and Jegulus in the future, as it should be (actually, very big believer in Jegulily, might do that first...)

So wear me like a locket around your throat, I’ll weigh you down, I’ll watch you choke, you look so good in bl—

Siri paused her pink iPod mini as she felt the rental car slowly swing off the paved road and decelerate onto a bumpy dirt path, dusty granite crunching beneath tires while low-hanging birch boughs screeched against the windows.

“Alright everyone, electronics away, we are almost there!” Walburga yelled unnaturally loud from the front. Siri winced but didn’t say anything. Leaning against a pillow on the window opposite her, Regina blinked her eyes open and frowned. Red patches flushed high on her pale, nap-creased cheeks as she wiped a bit of dried drool from her chin with the heel of her palm. Siri snorted. Regina flicked her off, holding her hand down low so their mom couldn’t see in the rearview.

Siri rolled her eyes and returned her gaze to the window, where the trees were thinning to make way for one of the strangest views she had ever seen.

Life-sized gingerbread cottages, painted pale gumdrop colors and trimmed with lacey eves reminiscent of piped frosting, lined the street one after the other like tin soldiers in an old-fashioned Christmas movie. They stood sentry to welcome the Black family forward, Range Rover groaning as it crested the pebbled hill, Dorothy stepping from her black-and-white world into a sugar-bright alternate universe. Just beyond the houses, the Penobscot Bay shimmered blue and magical; it winked at Siri between each latticed cornice and Victorian spire as the car trundled bravely onward, following the gray-gravel road deeper and deeper into the Azure City.

“Welcome to Bayville, girls. Your father and I trust you both will be on your best behavior, and that you will remember you are young ladies. We are taking you on this very nice, very expensive vacation; we expect you to act accordingly.”

Walburga was still talking too loudly, unaware her eldest daughter had paused her Fall Out Boy playlist minutes ago, but Siri did nothing to disabuse her. She wanted to exist in a few more moments of precious liminality, fraught with fragile expectation: the “before” of a summer vacation, dreaming of memories caressed like worn sea glass before having to go and actually break the bottles that make them.

“Do I hear a ‘Yes, ma’am?’”

Siri physically startled at the warning tone in her mother’s voice. She and her sister chorused the required reply automatically.

The car squelched to a halt alongside one of the cookie-cutter dollhouses, patchy green grass muffling under tire treads. Siri took her headphones off and reached for her seatbelt; chipped silver nail polish flashed in the afternoon sun as she unclipped the buckle, and she made a mental note to redo her nails tonight before her mother saw.

She took a deep breath and opened the car door.

And oh, the smell; it wasn’t like anything she had ever experienced. It wasn’t just briny ocean and wet grass and fallen pine. It wasn’t just heady florals and baked limestone and fecund soil. This scent was far greater than the sum of its parts: stirred up in a summer-sun cauldron and poured out across the coast, it smelled like familiar laughter and promises to be kept.

It filled Siri’s nose and lungs only after it filled her heart.

It would be remembered for the rest of her life.

After claiming the upstairs room to the front of the little house, with a window box full of geraniums peeking from behind billowing white curtains, Siri found herself wandering down the main road, away from her father’s loud complaints about a lack of cell service for his Blackberry and her mother’s backhanded comments regarding the cleanliness of the cottage. She wanted to be long gone by the time either of them decided to turn their attention to her.

Regina tagged along. Siri ignored her.

Less than a quarter of a mile later, the knot of strange little cottages leftover from a different century opened into a semicircle, proudly overlooking a sailboat polka-dotted bay where sapphire waters faithfully reflected the cloud-clear sky.

The Black sisters stood on Bayville Beach, such as it was, only about 30 yards wide and covered in rocky pebbles turning to treacherous boulders. Primary-colored canoes and kayaks were tied up along the mouth like obedient Labradors, waiting for their masters to take them for a swim. A dock rose to the right and jutted out into the water; a cerulean-painted covering sat square in the middle of the old wooden planks. To the right of that, a tiny yacht club perched on the cusp of the ocean, triangular emblem flown modestly above the slated roof. Behind the sisters, a sloping center lawn with a few ancient oak trees and wrought-iron park benches guided vacationers down towards the water, verdant arms swept wide, beckoning, those cotton candy cottages lining the edges like flagstones.

With a toss of her dark wavy hair, frizzing fast in the ocean breeze despite the John Frieda serums and mousses with which she had diligently coated the strands, Siri hopped up onto one of the bigger rocks along the beach and picked her way across the shore. She held her arms aloft for balance, paying special care not to slip. Tiny crabs skuttled within sunken tidepools; salted kelp rocked back and forth with the waves. The fabled Maine sun caught on the edges of everything, lighting up the cove like a glittery disco. She could hear Regina whining warnings from the safety of dry land. Siri ignored her.

When Siri got as far as she could before the shoreline sheared off into untamed wilderness, she turned carefully, Rainbow flip flops catching on the occasional barnacle, and made her way back to her little sister. She was almost to the beach before she looked up.

On the path behind Regina, appearing from behind the blue structure in the middle of the dock, were a group of teenagers making their way up the grassy hill. They were in various states of swimwear; boys with baggy trunks and loose tee shirts, dampened in places by saltwater clinging to not-fully-dried skin, girls largely in cutoff jean shorts and bikini tops. All had beach towels around their necks and were laughing loudly.

Regina whipped her head around at the commotion and stared. Siri felt her cheeks flush; she was perched precariously on a boulder several feet from land, suddenly faced with a bunch of unknown peers. From behind Regina’s mop of raven curls, longer and fluffier than her own, Siri locked eyes with the tallest of the pack, a pretty girl who looked about Siri’s age, black hair piled high in a messy bun.

The girl flashed a criminally blinding grin and waved. Siri startled and snapped her eyes away.

The sudden movement caused Siri to lose her footing. She scraped her ankle on the rough granite as she stumbled ungracefully off the rock into the shallow water.

Regina laughed. Siri ignored her.

Two days later, and Siri was bored. The rain arrived in Bayville almost as soon as her family had, crowding out the finnicky northern sun with dull clouds and a frustratingly steady drizzle. There was only so much War and Go Fish a rising junior could play with her eighth grade sister before one became a sore loser (eighth grader) and the other got hangry (take a wild guess). So now, Siri was sitting on the front porch, stomach growling, watching the rain muddy up the gravel while pretending to do her summer reading. Huckleberry Finn. It was brutal.

Siri perked up at the tell-tale crunch of a car about to pass slowly in front of their rented cottage; honestly, she was like a dog left home alone, staring out at the street, desperate for any stimulation. The car in question pulled into view from the left, heading in the direction of town. It was a beat-up black SUV, rap music thumping over the drone of the rain. As Siri watched, a pretty face with a mess of black hair and oversized glasses appeared in the front passenger window. The face saw Siri and did a double take, craning her neck to keep Siri in her vision as the car went by.

“Young lady, what do you think you are you doing?” Walburga stuck her immaculately coiffed head out of the screen door. Her pink lipstick shone lurid in the overcast light. “Come inside before your hair is ruined.”

Siri blinked, closed her mouth. “Yes, momma.”

For the next three days, the pretty girl with the wild hair could be seen passing the cottage on a morning run. For the next three days, Siri sat on the porch to eat her breakfast, Huckleberry Finn laying uselessly on the side table.

Jamie Potter, Siri would soon learn, was the owner of the pretty face and the blinding smile and the morning runs that happened to take her past the Blacks’ cottage.

Almost a week into their stay, Siri was once again sitting on the front porch, sipping her coffee and pretending to read. The sun had mercifully returned; she and Regina had spent some time exploring, wearing swimsuits underneath shorts and tee shirts, venturing to the beach or the dock or the little corner store out by Route 1, faded sign reading “Cote’s Old-Fashioned Ice Cream and Burgers” hung reverently against Nantucket red siding. They had seen the group of teenagers here and there, sunbathing on the dock and flirting shamelessly with the college-aged lifeguard, or gearing up outside the yacht club for a sail, or playing basketball on the courts near the central lawn after dinner. The tall, pretty girl seemed to always be in the very middle, laughing the loudest, touching the most. Like she was the sun their little social circle revolved around. Siri had watched the group hungrily, desperate to be included but far too terrified to make any moves. Regina, meanwhile, was too caught up in having her big sister all to herself to much care about hanging around even more moony high schoolers.

Siri took another gulp of coffee and watched the morning sun catch on the graveled hill, flecks of mica sparkling beneath lingering dew. She imagined a dark ponytail swinging into view from over the crest, followed by long, powerful legs, propelling their body impressively up the incline. Then, she wasn’t imagining it; she was watching it.

Only this time, the powerful legs slowed and the girl trotted to a walk, breathing hard. A hand reached up under the hem of her tee shirt, stopping at the waistband of rolled Soffe shorts to pause the iPod Shuffle clipped there, flashing a sliver of tan skin in the process; her other hand tugged out her headphones.

Siri immediately looked down and picked up her book, not wanting to embarrass herself by inviting any sort of acknowledgement of her existence. She could feel her face turning red and her pulse picking up.

“Hey!”

Siri continued to pretend to read. There was no way this girl was actually calling to Siri.

“Hey!!”

Siri looked up with a start. Fuck. The girl was leaning over the railing of the porch, grinning right at her. It wasn’t entirely innocent, somehow.

“Hey,” Siri choked out. How were this girl’s teeth so white?

“You’re new this year, right?”

Siri’s vision was tunnelling; she was having a hard time processing the girl’s words. She wished she would stop blushing.

“Sorry?”

The girl seemed to smile even more at Siri’s confusion. It made her deep rosy flush from exercise pop beneath her complexion.

“It’s just, we’ve been seeing you around, but no one knows who you are—”

No no no no no people have been noticing her?!

“—and you haven’t come said hi.”

Siri was going to die, simply pass away from embarrassment. “Um, no, yeah, I mean, we haven’t been here before…um, so…” Siri barely remembered to smile. It probably looked more like a grimace.

“Exactly!” The girl’s eyes narrowed playfully. They were dark brown and incredibly expressive. “I would definitely remember if I had seen you before.”

Siri wasn’t sure what that meant, but the girl didn’t pause long enough for her to work it out.

“Don’t you want to hang out with us?” The girl craned her neck and leaned farther over the railing, peering into Siri’s lap where her book split open, still on page 10. Siri could pick up the fruity scent of her deodorant. The girl’s eyes flicked back up to Siri’s. “Or do you want to sit and read…"

“…Huckleberry Finn.”

“Yikes.” The girl’s teasing smile was replaced with a look of horror.

“I know.” Siri felt her mouth relax a little, a small quirk of her lips.

The girl shook her head, like a buck huffing in annoyance, bordering aggression. She cracked her knuckles, continued. “…Or do you want to sit and read books by dead white guys on your porch all summer.” It wasn’t said like a question.

“Um. Okay?”

“Okay what?” She was bouncing up and down on her toes, hunched over the porch railing. Sunkissed shoulders poking up from rolled tee shirt sleeves. Deep-sea dark eyes boring into dawning-sky gray.

“I—” This girl was very disorienting. “Sure. Let’s hang out.”

The girl’s face split back into a grin, like that was its natural state. Though her cheeks were made round and even more rosy by the smile, her eyes didn’t crinkle with it the way most people’s do, Siri thought.

“I’m Jamie.”

They stayed sharp and honed.

Siri’s summer looked very different after that. Following her introduction, Jamie Potter had promptly asked for Siri’s cell phone number (written on Jamie’s inner forearm with a sharpie Siri found in the little kitchen) and told her “they were having a dock day, after sailing,” whatever that meant. But Siri had agreed to meet outside the yacht club at 1pm that afternoon, promising to bring snacks and a moderately-behaved thirteen-year-old.

“Dock days,” as it turned out, consisted of spreading towels on the far side of the dock, behind the little blue gazebo (every square inch of which, upon closer inspection, was covered in scrawled names, dates, hearts and the like: a living history of summer lovin’), and eating chips and salsa while soaking up temporal sunbeams and wearing as little clothing as possible. Flirting was a prerequisite, Siri had gathered from her week-long observations from afar, but there wasn’t much of anyone she felt the need to devote such attention to. She was thrilled just being included, happy to sit quietly on her hibiscus-printed towel and follow Jamie’s cues, laughing at the right places and inserting a quick one-liner here and there where she felt confident enough to deliver.

The group ranged in age, which gave Regina a few peers to talk to while Siri fell into Jamie’s orbit. Jamie was a year older than Siri and had her childhood best friends Remus and Peter staying with her (“Their families ship them off to Maine with us every summer. They are a pain in my ass—ow! hey—but I love them.”). Then there were the twins, Gillian and Fabian, also a year older than Siri, then Tuney and her little cousin Lucy, who were a couple years younger. Tuney’s older sister, Lily, was away at some competitive chemistry program for the summer, and apparently things were much more subdued this year without her around to get everyone into trouble.

“The definition of chaotic evil,” Jamie had explained with a twinkle in her eye and a faraway grin tugging her lips. Siri was glad Lily wasn’t here this season, but she wasn’t sure why. Probably just because she didn’t like getting into trouble—at least anywhere her mother might find out.

Siri soon learned the ins and outs of the little group that pulsed the beating heart of the magical seaside village. Most had been coming here every summer since they were little, growing up on bowline knots and July sparklers and Gifford’s blueberry ice cream. They had a hearty skepticism for “renters,” as they called them: part-time vacationers who came and went without getting much involved in the community. When Siri had asked why they had befriended her, since she was a “renter,” the boys had looked away sheepishly and Jamie had scoffed. “Please,” she had said, bumping her bare shoulder into Siri’s, “Like my idiot brothers-from-another-mother would ever forgive me if I didn’t introduce you.” Remus and Peter had turned bright red and then shoved a cackling Jamie, whereas Fabian had met Siri’s gaze, unashamed, and smirked. Siri hadn’t known how to react, besides blush furiously. Were they making fun of her? She felt rather exposed. Regina had squeezed her hand protectively. Siri had squeezed it back.

By this point, Siri had already analyzed everyone’s physical shapes and quirks in comparison to her own, a foible of adolescence she couldn’t wait to grow out of. She tanned easily and had a flat stomach, badges of pride for any teenager under the tyranny of Laguna Beach and Abercrombie, but she was self-conscious about her small chest, wide hips and unshapely legs. Jamie was a star athlete back home in Massachusetts, championing in soccer and tennis, and was lean and strong, everywhere. Siri envied the way she filled out her bikini top during the day and her low-rise jeans at night.

Siri’s hair was rather untamable (“Mia Thermopolis hair”, the other cheerleaders called it), especially in the humid sea air, and never dried soft and silky like the most popular girls’ seemed to. Jamie’s hair was a paragon of that effortlessly messy look: never frizzy, but piece-y and wavy, jet-black with shots of caramel laced through from days in the sun, it reached passed her shoulder blades even when pulled into a high ponytail. Siri would discover she loved playing with it, braiding its dampened ends while Jamie lay on her stomach on the dock, water droplets sliding down the soft skin of her back, or gently brushing it out after a day of sailing, working through the knots with careful fingers.

Then there was Siri’s face. People commented on Siri’s face a lot. She generally refused to leave the house without makeup on, and had even packed waterproof formulas for this vacation. None of the other girls in Bayville seemed to wear makeup.

Siri wondered how they still looked so pretty.

She wondered why Fabian was looking at her like that.

Dock days turned into movie nights and lunches at Cote’s, which turned into card games on front porches and excursions to the Coffee Pot in town for “Potts” sandwiches, a play on Jamie’s last name that seemed to have existed longer than some of their younger siblings had been alive. Siri couldn’t believe that not only had she been included in this tight-knit group who were so wary of outsiders, but that their central star paid so much attention to her. Jamie, as the leader, was the one who texted Siri when plans for an adventure were being made to ensure sure she didn’t get left out. She always spread her towel next to Siri’s, yellow stripes beside pink and orange flowers, and was the first to whisper jokes and confidences into her ear. She made sure to get an extra side of ketchup in addition to her mayonnaise—“Mayonnaise is white people’s greatest invention, I’m telling you,” she would say, while mixing in pinches of extremely hot spices she kept tucked away in her bag for such occasions—when she ordered fries, in case Siri wanted some, and punched the boys wordlessly when they inevitably crossed the line (which was about seven times a day).

They took Fabian’s battered SUV inland to go blueberry picking, blasting Panic! At the Disco and Kelly Clarkson and singing along with the windows down. Despite their parents’ explicit instructions to collect more than they ate, they spent most of their time horsing around in that green-and-gold field, sated with fruit, laughing freely and dreaming loudly beneath a buttercup sun and bluebird sky.

Predictably, Fabian got bored and started throwing blueberries at Siri. Jamie got irrationally irate every time he did so, eventually turning it into a competition to pelt him with as many blueberries as possible in return. Somehow that turned into an argument over who was taller; Fabian was also athletic and played lacrosse, but was on the shorter side for a guy. Jamie insisted they go back-to-back and demanded Siri be the judge. Siri felt uncomfortable for some reason, but acquiesced. Jamie’s sparked eyes stayed trained on Siri the entire time, something plaintive behind them. When Siri objectively announced Fabian was taller, the plaintive glint hardened sharp and heavy. Neither girl smiled when Fabian whooped with victory.

Siri sat next to Gillian on the ride home.

Evenings in Bayville took on a completely different tone, exchanging sun-soaked shimmer and the smell of No-Ad sunscreen for the heliotrope haze of dusk, citronella wafting heavy on the night air. Those summer nights weren’t just dark and twinkling, they were laden with potential energy, the silver ball perched at the top of a physics experiment, a penalty shot lined up against a tied score and less than a minute left.

One navy night, Jamie had taken Siri by the hand, identical sailor knot bracelets scratching against each other’s wrists, and dragged her to her mom’s porch. This was an important ritual in Bayville: hopping from porch to porch after the sun sets to receive parental praise and affection and, if you were lucky, leftover lobster meat or a fresh-baked whoopie pie. This was the first time Siri had been included.

Mrs. Potter was sitting in a rocking chair, reading glasses perched on her nose and a cup of chai on the little table beside her, paperback novel splayed open in her hands. A generous lilac bush off the corner of the cottage steadily pulsed out its sweet perfume, writing itself into Siri’s memory like a madeleine on the tongue.

“Hi Mommy!” Jamie rushed up the steps and then swooped down to give her mother a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Mrs. Potter didn’t even have time to respond before Jamie gestured proudly to Siri.

“Mommy, this is Siri!” Jamie stepped back with that Cheshire grin, the one where her eyes stayed sharp, vibrating with excitement as she directed her mother’s gaze.

“My goodness, she is beautiful, isn’t she,” Mrs. Potter commented, surveying calmly. She was smaller than her daughter, with a weather-worn face typical of New England parents, dark hair shot with gray. Siri could tell, however, where Jamie got her eyes: Mrs. Potter’s were piercing and narrowed in an eerily familiar fashion. The breeze picked up; lingering sea-salted air blended dizzyingly with the evening florals and spiced tea.

Siri stammered through her blush. “Oh! Um, thank you… it’s nice to meet you.” She really wasn’t sure what she did to deserve getting double-teamed by the Potter Stare.

“Ugh, Mom, I told the boys to stop being gross about her!” Jamie whined.

“I didn’t hear it from the boys,” Mrs. Potter replied, still calm, still piercing. “There are whoopie pies inside on the counter. Help yourselves, girls.”

For some reason, Jamie flushed almost as deeply as Siri.

One rainy afternoon, Jamie and Siri perched across from each other on Siri’s bed, beat-up Vera Bradley toiletries bag sitting between them on top of the multi-colored patchwork quilt. Tuney and Lucy were in town at the movies with their families; Gillian was back home at a women’s lacrosse camp for the week. Regina had whined to be included, but Siri had kicked her out unceremoniously.

The two friends were meticulously stroking colored paint onto their toes: crimson red for Siri and metallic gold for Jamie. Siri’s mother would kill them if she saw they were using nail polish on the bed without a towel, but hey, Siri’s a rebel.

“Can I ask you something?” Jamie ventured without removing her focus from the task at hand—er—foot.

Siri’s breath caught a little at the change in tone. Just moments ago, they had been talking about their respective AP Lit reading lists and decrying the lack of women authors. “Sure,” she replied, keeping her voice light.

Jamie eyed the concealers and eyeliners spilling from Siri’s bag. “Why do you always wear makeup? I mean, it’s Bayville.”

Siri bristled automatically. She got teased a lot back home, either for wearing too much makeup or not enough. Always, it came back to her face, and the expectation Siri accepted unquestioningly that she owed the world perfection, and she better not dare present their judgement-day eyes with anything less than that.

She continued applying the blood-red paint to her toes, not looking up. “I mean, everyone wears makeup in Georgia,” she began defensively. “And I cheer, and I’ve done pageants—"

“Shut up!” Jamie interrupted, jaw dropped, pedicure abandoned, gold bottle of polish eagerly twisted shut and tossed carelessly onto the bed. “You’re a beauty queen?!”

Siri chanced a glance upwards. Jamie looked like Christmas had come early. It was not the reaction Siri usually got from other girls when that bit of information got pried from her.

“I mean… I never won or anything,” Siri shrugged, looking away, out the rain-splattered window. The nail polish brush in her hand hovered precariously over her left foot, threatening to drip red all over her careful paint job. “But yeah, I’ve done some of that, and like, modeling, for like department stores and stuff…” The geraniums bedded in their little window boxes outside were getting absolutely pummeled by the downpour.

“Do you like wearing makeup every day?”

When Siri returned her gaze to the room it caught on Jamie’s fish-hook stare, already angling to snag her. Siri didn’t look away.

“I like feeling pretty.”

Jamie held her gaze. “That’s not the same thing.”

Siri searched Jamie’s face for the inevitable cruelty that always slipped in front of jealousy like a vicious guard dog, brutally defending young girls against the pain of insecurity, the fear of rejection, of abandonment. Siri had wielded it thoughtlessly as much as she had been hurt by it, time and again.

But in Jamie’s brown eyes there was no trace of green, only curiosity, and maybe something a little softer? A little… safer? Jamie blinked, tilted her head and let a tiny smile crease the corner of her marble-carved mouth, encouraging Siri.

Siri sighed and dropped her eyes back down, finally closing the bottle of nail polish. She wouldn’t be able to say this next part if she was looking directly into the face of the prettiest girl she had ever seen. “I don’t like how I look without make-up. Sometimes, it’s… it’s all I can think about. How I look.” Siri had never confessed this to anyone before, this shameful, vain secret. “I wish I could be like you… you don’t need make up.”

The next thing Siri knew, warm, soft hands were gently but firmly holding the sides of her face, tilting her jaw up, making her breath catch with the sudden contact. She kept her gaze downcast until the last second, and when it finally did rise it was swallowed immediately by entire galaxies.

Jamie and her swirling orb eyes were maybe a few inches away from Siri’s, staring intently. She spoke with conviction.

“You don’t owe the world shit.”

Siri couldn’t rollerblade. Normally, that wasn’t much of an issue for her. It only became one when Jamie, accomplished athlete with a doe-like grace and the stubbornness of a young buck to match, found out.

So, on a Friday evening around the summer solstice, Siri agreed to let Jamie teach her. In exchange, she had bargained for minimum one hour with Jamie’s stunning face all to herself and her Vera Bradley makeup bag. Siri was chief makeup artist on the cheerleading bus for a reason; it was a creative outlet, painting on shadows and colors and creases to create a work of art you can smile and blink and laugh through. Putting makeup on others allowed Siri to embrace the artistry of it, rather than fight against the compulsivity that overshadowed her own complicated experience.

Jamie had arrived at the Blacks’ cottage around 6pm, just after an early dinner, and followed Siri up to her room where she could work her magic. Siri had been glad her parents were out for the night—she had heard enough off-color comments from her mother about “that Potter family” over the last few weeks and didn’t want to put Jamie at risk of hearing any of it. Regina, the better hairstylist of the two sisters, had been permitted to give Jamie two long French braids that showed off the subtle variations in her thick dark hair, shiny onyx strands rippled with chocolate and auburn.

Now, Siri was starting to regret her actions; the dramatic smokey eye she had indulged in creating electrified Jamie’s laser-beam gaze to the point of distraction.

It made it all the more difficult to stay upright on two thin rows of wheels.

“Jamie!” Siri squealed with a jolt of adrenaline, windmilling her arms out as she lurched forward, gaze ripped from Jamie’s face to the fast-approaching ground. The taller girl cackled but caught her with one hand all the same. Siri clutched at it like a lifeline, heart still pounding.

Their hands stayed clasped. Siri’s heartbeat stayed elevated.

They had found a bit of paved road, out closer to Route 1, and slowly made their way along the empty stretch before them, rolling farther from the safety of the familiar cottages with their slamming screen doors and sneaky garden gates, venturing onwards as the sun sank fast into an approaching dusk.

Both girls were clad in denim miniskirts; Siri’s was dark wash and kept riding up her hips as she maneuvered along the asphalt in a pair of old skates borrowed from Jamie. She had to keep tugging at it from underneath an oversized gray college-branded hoodie, so large it threatened to swallow her petite frame all together. Jamie’s mini was a light wash and fitted tightly to show off her strong thighs and butt. Paired with white and yellow layered tank tops that she filled out so enviously well, Jamie Potter looked like nothing less than Roller Derby Barbie. When Siri had told her so, Jamie had almost skated into a tree.

“We’re close to Cote’s,” Jamie commented after a stretch of not-quite-comfortable silence. Siri was grateful for the interruption; she got along better with Jamie than anyone else in Bayville, but one-on-one hang outs with her were becoming threaded with something unsettling, an uncomfortable crack of buzzed-out current that kept Siri’s body tipped on the edge of fight-or-flight. “Want to get an ice cream?”

There was something in the way she said it that made Siri look over at her friend in the fading twilight. Jamie’s eyes were practically glowing, the whites phosphorescent against her dark irises and the looming forest shadows, but there was still enough light to see her cheeks were darkened. Siri didn’t think she had put that much blush on her; she hadn’t wanted to pull focus from her eye makeup. Furthermore, in a way that didn’t usually accompany casual suggestions of ice cream, Jamie’s eyebrows were oddly drawn together. Siri wanted to reach out and smooth them, trail her fingers down her cheek, maybe hold her jaw tenderly and—

Oh.

Shit.

Siri gulped.

When they rolled up to Cote’s, however, the two girls were not alone. Fabian, Remus, Peter, and a couple more boys Siri didn’t recognize were sitting at one of the picnic tables out front, eating burgers and fries and making a general ruckus. It was late enough that a street lamp had flickered on, bathing the scene in artificial light. It made the faces of the boys glow eerily, joker grins and flinted eyes.

Every pair landed on Siri and Jamie and stayed there. Grins growing wider.

“Oh shit, look who it is!” Fabian was the first to crow. Remus groaned, no doubt annoyed by the unwelcomed intrusion of the two girls.

The two new boys made no pretense about continuing to stare openly.

Jamie’s grip on Siri’s hand tightened briefly before dropping.

“I was just teaching Siri how to skate. She’s never tried.” Jamie sounded uncharacteristically defensive. Territorial, even.

“What happened to your face?” Remus deadpanned. Fabian snickered.

Jamie drew herself to her full height, even taller than usual with the roller skates, and looked down her nose at the entire table. “She did my makeup. I love it.”

“It looks like you got punched,” Peter offered.

Fabian chimed in, “Why do you even wear that stuff? Girls look better without makeup, anyway.”

Siri and Jamie let that comment hang in the air for a beat or two. Watched Fabian squirm a bit.

“Gross,” Siri pronounced, once she had determined their point had been made. Jamie cracked her knuckles.

“Anyway, we were just here to get some ice cream. Come on, Siri.” Jamie made to grab her hand again and stomp them both into the tiny store, skates and all, when Fabian grabbed Siri’s other hand.

“No, Siri, stay with us. Potts’ll get your ice cream, right Potts?” He grinned up at Jamie, laying on the charm. A strange, fiery look passed between them before they turned to the girl in question.

Siri, not wanting to draw out—whatever that was—quickly agreed, pulling herself free of their grips. “Yeah, you go, I’ll wait out here.”

But at Siri’s response, Jamie’s face immediately clouded over into something downright murderous. Her eyes flashed as she turned and clomped into the store. A beat passed before Remus hopped up and announced he wanted some ice cream, too, and dragged Peter along with him. Fabian called to get him a cookie dough. Remus flipped him off without turning around or loosening his grip on Peter.

Siri carefully lowered herself to perch on the spot vacated by Remus, next to Fabian. She had her back facing away from the table along with the two random boys and was angled towards the door of the shop. She picked at a hangnail. Fiddled with a coil of long hair, dried curly after a day of dock jumping. Hoped her stupid fucking red cheeks could pass as exertion from roller skating.

She felt Fabian scooch closer. He muscled a tricep into her shoulder blade to get her attention. When she turned to look, he was leaning in, face close.

“Uh, these are my buddies from home, Benji and Caradoc.” Drew gestured to each boy across the table. “Guys, this is Siri.” He was hunched over and not quite making eye contact. He fidgeted with a few cold fries.

The weird energy pushing uncomfortably around them had Siri too agitated to remember to smile, but she did at least adjust her body to face the boys. They were built similarly to Fabian and both sported flowing locks peeking out beneath baseball hats.

Siri was outnumbered three to one by lax bros. She looked around for Satan, wondering why he wasn’t present to welcome her to what was clearly hell itself.

The boys still hadn’t stopped looking at her.

“Shit, dude, you weren’t kidding about this place,” one of the boys—Caradoc, maybe?—smirked cryptically. The other boy snorted, nudged the first.

Fabian’s eyes widened and he threw a soggy fry across the table. “Shut the fuck up,” he mumbled.

They were all saved by the tinkling of the shop door as Jamie, Remus and Peter returned, ice creams dripping from their hands. Siri scrutinized Jamie for a sign of what might be going on, but the taller girl kept her eyes averted and mouth set in a determined, hard line. Remus appeared frustrated, Peter nervous.

“Thanks, Jamie.” Siri spoke sincerely, trying to catch her friend’s eye, as a cone piled high with fruit-flecked ice cream was deposited emotionlessly into her hand.

“Welcome.” Jamie replied. She grabbed a stool from the outdoor counter, carried it over, placed it across from Siri and Fabian so the three of them formed a triangle of sorts, and threw herself onto it with her legs splayed despite her skirt. Somehow, she held onto her strawberry ice cream effortlessly throughout the process—rollerblades be dammed.

Remus, meanwhile, leaned on the end of the picnic table next to Fabian and handed off the requested cookie dough cone. He began eating his own chocolate ice cream quietly. Peter skulked behind him and slurped a milkshake.

“What flavor did you get?” Fabian asked Siri, low like he was only talking to her.

“Black cherry.” Siri spoke loudly as if it were a group conversation. “Jamie knows it’s my favorite.” She punctuated the statement with a smile in her friend’s direction, rolling over, a submissive flash of soft white tummy.

Siri’s tail went between her legs when it wasn’t returned; Jamie’s stare was trained on Fabian.

“Wanna try mine?” Fabian proffered his cone to Siri. She could hear more snickering from Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum behind her.

Siri whipped her head around. “Oh! Uh—”

“Come on, it’s good.” Fabian cracked a shit-eating grin. “My cone needs to be tasted.” All four boys, minus Remus, were snorting heartily.

But before Siri could vocalize the acerbic reply forming in the back of her throat, Jamie suddenly leaned forward off her stool and licked Fabian’s cone herself, tongue wide and pink against the creamy vanilla. Her eyes met Siri’s as she flicked the tip of her tongue up at the crest of the cone, cream dripping down into her mouth, before pulling the clever appendage back behind her teeth, swallowing, and finishing off with a final swipe of her full lips.

Oh.

Shit.

“There.” Jamie concluded, sitting back. Siri’s mind was blank. “Your cone has been tasted. No one else needs to be subjected to it. Besides,” —a cocky wink to Siri, a shrug to the boys— “it could have been bigger.”

Everyone, even Remus, howled with laughter; it was peak “that’s what she said” era.

Everyone except Siri.

“Truth.”

Siri and Jamie were laying on a blanket in the grass, flat on their backs, looking up at the stars. After they had finished their ice cream, Fabian had given the girls a lift back to Bayville. He had offered Siri shotgun but Jamie had complained her long legs meant she needed the front seat more. Eager to please and wanting to get back into Jamie’s good graces, unsure why she had even fallen out of them in the first place—must be an only child thing—Siri had acquiesced and sat in the back with the rest of the boys. To her relief, it seemed to have worked. Jamie was back to her usual loud, joking self as soon as Fabian had dropped them off.

They had stopped at the Blacks’ cottage to change out of their skates and grab a blanket—hot-blooded Jamie refusing to borrow a sweatshirt—before wandering down to the central lawn ostensibly to stargaze but really to giggle and gossip. It hadn’t taken long to strike up a round of Truth or Dare; Siri had just selected truth.

“What’s your number?” Jamie asked in the direction of the North Star.

Siri turned her head, traced her eyes over Jamie’s profile outlined in the moonlight. Her nose was elegant, fit perfectly to her face, her top lip pouting prettily just beneath it.

“Zero,” Siri answered after a beat. Unashamed, but also unsure.

Jamie turned her head as well, brow furrowed almost in offense, eyes deep and searching of Siri’s face.

“You can tell me.”

Siri smiled with only half her mouth, derisive. “Trust me, I would.”

Jamie’s gaze refused to let up. Siri could feel heat prickling along her hips, under her arms. “I…yeah, there hasn’t been anyone worth it, I guess.” Her pulse was throbbing harder the longer Jamie looked at her like that.

“What about you?” Siri asked, looking for relief: Jamie’s stare was like an exacting silver needle, threading the two of them together without mercy, sewing them closer and closer.

Jamie made a strange face; a little sad, a little hopeful. “Just one. My ex-boyfriend. Sophomore year.”

Siri took a breath, to work out how she felt about that. “Did you love him?” Siri decided she hoped she loved him. Hoped he loved her, more like. Jamie deserved love, all of it.

That needle-eye stare punctured the night with quiet catching sounds as it stitch, stitch, stitched away, pricking spindled fingers with gift and curse alike as Jamie Potter thought hard before answering.

“In a way, yeah, I think so.” She turned back to the stars, pulling but not snapping the immortal threads. “I definitely thought I did.”

Siri didn’t respond, but redirected her gaze skyward as well. The two girls simply breathed together, laying side by side, woven and watching as the earth turned. Nature was serenading them ardently, crickets and frogs awake and amorous, calling for mates. The gentle lapping of the bay against well-worn rocks and weathered boats and steadfast pilings and rooted banks beat in time to steady stolen hearts; the rustle of oak leaves in the trees above, caught dizzy in a midnight breeze, blew secrets in and out of seashelled ears.

Siri felt like Ariel, floating in a blue lagoon. Just missing a crooning crab.

Then, to the moon: “Was it good?”

“It hurt,” Jamie replied, also to the moon. “But I wanted to do it. I just, haven’t really wanted to… since then.”

The wind picked up and Siri looked over in time to watch Jamie shiver. Goosebumps erupted all down her toned arms and chest, across the gleaming tops of her breasts gently swollen against the moonlight. Siri allowed her eyes to continue trailing downwards, clock the evidence of Jamie’s chill even through her bra and layered tops.

Siri turned and sat up, pulled off her own sweatshirt with crossed arms, pink Abercrombie polo getting caught up a bit in her effort. When her vision reappeared from the tangle of cloth and curls, Jamie was staring at her.

“Here.” Siri tossed the sweatshirt, still warm with her body heat, into Jamie’s lap. Jamie didn’t move. Siri raised her eyebrows. “I know you’re cold, Potts, I just watched you shiver.”

Jamie didn’t smile, but sat up slack-jawed and put on the sweatshirt without protesting. That’s a first, Siri thought.

“Your turn.” Siri said once Jamie was bundled up. She missed the sight of her smooth shoulders, her sculpted clavicle, and okay, yes, her tits in those tank tops, but there was something pleasant about seeing Jamie in Siri’s clothes that made it worth it. Plus, in their new semi-seated positions Jamie had her long legs stretched unendingly in front of her, ankles crossed, as she leaned back on her hands. The top of her shin bone seemed to fucking glow, radioactive in the mirror-blue night. Siri’s legs were curved under her as she sat slightly hunched toward Jamie, close to the bend of her waist. “Truth or dare.”

Jamie surprised Siri by picking truth.

“Ok…” Siri’s eyes flicked to Jamie’s perfect mouth. She took a risk. “What’s the deal between you and Fabian?”

Siri was braced to get told off, or for Jamie to dissolve in girlish denial. Instead, she was serious, considering carefully before replying. “He used to have a crush on me.” She twisted her neck, popping the joints. Looked out towards the water. “Followed me around all last summer, like a lost puppy.”

Siri snorted at the image. “Did you like him back?”

Jamie pulled her mouth to the side, lifted a shoulder. “Not really.”

Siri thought of the boys back home, a few in particular… always lurking around hall corners and by lockers and on sidelines. She could relate.

“So what’s different this year?” Siri pressed, slightly afraid of the answer.

Jamie leveled Siri with a look, ancient amber sparked with starlight. “Well, you’re here.”

Ah, fuck.

Siri sighed, looked away. Forced herself to ask, “Are you jealous?”

“Maybe a little,” Jamie whispered.

Siri’s heart sank like the Heart of the fucking Ocean. She turned her head fully away from Jamie, looking over her shoulder at the dark trees and shadowed cottages in the distance. Most of their lights were out.

“Well I don’t really like him, like that, so,” Siri mumbled into the darkness, giving Jamie the green light. At least now it was out in the open. Maybe now they could go back to being normal friends.

Well, normal-ish, for Siri.

Jamie, however, perked up, excited. “Yeah? You don’t?” She shuffled forward, angling her face to try and catch Siri’s avoidant eye.

To Siri’s horror, she felt heat press into her sinuses, her throat, her eyes shimmering and shaking, threatening to spill at any moment. She really didn’t like Drew, so why did she care so much if Jamie did?

You know why, Inner Siri whispered.

Go to hell, Denial Siri muttered back.

She took a shaky breath in, forced her emotions back down—stomped on them with gusto, really. “It’s your turn to ask. Go.”

“Truth or dare.” The pleased smile in Jamie’s voice carried, although Siri still hadn’t turned back around to face her. Hearing it in this context felt like falling from a stunt; a deeply unpleasant drop in your stomach followed by getting the wind brutally knocked out of you.

Siri sighed again. “Truth.” She had learned long ago never to pick dare. At any rate, she found people fascinating, their secrets, their fears, their dreams: learning those intimacies and sharing them back helped her love deeper, love specific, when she chose to. Like right now, Inner Siri noted, smug. Shut the fuck up, Denial Siri replied, pissed.

“What about just kissing? How many guys have you kissed?”

Siri should have known Jamie wasn’t going to let the general topic go. She groaned and rolled her head back, exasperated, before finally lolling it around to glare at Jamie, whose braids were still holding her thick hair tight away from her face, fine baby hairs whisping in front of her ears and over her brow. Dark eyes rimmed in charcoal smoke glinted with intent: mischief, and something else Siri couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Siri inhaled, nostrils flaring. This one was less fun to talk about.

“None.”

Jamie’s jaw dropped. But her eyes. They positively lit up, bright and keen.

“None?!”

Siri shook her head. Thought, again, of the simpering boys back home, of Fabian and his friends from earlier. Sure, those guys were hot, but the thought of trusting them enough to hold her, touch her. It just didn’t make sense.

“I’ve only kissed two guys,” Jamie quickly offered. There was something unspoken behind her teeth. “My ex, and a random boy at the 8th grade dance.”

That seemed odd to Siri. Jamie was friendly, popular. Confident. Girls like that had no trouble kissing for fun.

“Okay then.” Jamie sounded like she had decided something, God help us all. She angled her body, taking Siri’s silence as some sort of invitation, and gave her an uncommonly brilliant demonstration of the Potter Stare paired with her signature smile.

“I dare you to kiss me.”

Siri gaped; blood coursed through her ears. No, no, no this wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t like that—a pity kiss, or, or an experiment or something silly to giggle about—

“It’s not your turn!” Siri sputtered. “And… I didn’t pick dare! I never pick dare.”

Jamie was leaning towards Siri, head tilted down so she could quite literally bat her thick, darkened eyelashes up at her. “Don’t you want to kiss me?” she pouted, smiling. Cheeky. Siri felt a shiver ignite down her helpless spine.

The problem was, Jamie had no idea how badly she did.

Siri was powerfully reminded of the first time they met. “Don’t you want to hang out with us?” She was so sure, so confident. Easy. Everything Siri was not.

Now, Jamie’s face had turned on a dime from flirty to focused. It was a little terrifying.

Because behind that carefree ease and sunlight smile, Siri knew, there was a deep and raw hunger. An ache to be needed. To be seen, and delighted in, just as she tries so hard to see and delight in everyone else around her.

Siri saw Jamie.

“I… I don’t.” Siri swallowed, tore her eyes away. “I don’t want it to be a dare.” She was grateful for the darkness, knowing that for once her berry-red face was getting some camouflage.

Jamie, meanwhile, changed tack. Siri could still feel the intensity of her gaze, but she also felt her sit up a little, square herself, blend her characteristic curiosity into that swirling stare.

“What about not guys?” Jamie asked evenly.

Siri frowned, mirrored Jamie’s body language, met her eyes once again. “What?”

She repeated, patient. Dead serious. “How many not-guys have you kissed?”

Was Jamie asking what Siri thought she was asking? Siri was silent, could only stare, searching her face for clues.

It had gotten closer to her own, somehow.

Stitch, stitch, stitch.

Jamie took a deep breath, eyes locked on Siri. “I’ve kissed… a few not-boys,” she confessed.

Did Siri imagine it, or did Jamie’s eyes flit down to Siri’s mouth when she said it?

Then, slowly, unbelievably, Jamie reached out a warm hand. Siri’s breath hitched and something flipped pleasantly low behind her tailbone as with the backs of her knuckles, Jamie tenderly brushed a lock of hair from Siri’s forehead, fingers turning and tracing down her cheek, so impossibly soft and delicate. Ice and fire whooshed simultaneously along Siri’s face where the tips of Jamie’s nails caressed her skin; Siri’s eyes fluttered shut. She leaned into the touch.

“I don’t want it to be a dare, either,” Jamie whispered, honey-glazed, low. Assured.

Siri’s heart stopped. She opened her eyes.

And Jamie’s were dancing, burning waves of desire, a whirlpool and Siri was drowning. Jamie’s fingers slid from Siri’s cheek to grip deep within her hair, hold her firmly around her jaw and neck.

She was so close now there was hardly any space left between them. Siri’s lips parted with soft pants. She could feel Jamie’s breath on her tongue, creamy and sweet.

“Siri, I—” Jamie murmured against Siri’s open mouth, nosing into her. “I want to.” She gripped the other side of Siri’s face, fierce, desperate. “I want you.”

Siri closed the distance.

And it was… Fireworks? A revelation? Angels singing Handel’s chorus in four-part harmony?

It was so easy. So easy to revel in the feel of Jamie’s lips on her own, to slowly open her mouth for her, willingly, taste her, gently. So fucking soft and warm and wet and sweet, a delightful echo of the ice cream she had so lustfully watched Jamie lick away at earlier, sugared vanilla and tangy fruit, filling up her mouth and tongue.

Jamie expertly maneuvered Siri’s face sideways with knowing hands still holding her neck, sending Siri’s stomach swooping down to her toes (though it felt more like a well-executed tumbling pass than a dropped stunt), and deepened the kiss.

It was incredibly sexy.

Jamie’s tongue was down her throat and butterflies were rioting through her body and congregating between her legs and in her pelvis and Siri pushed in, gripped the front of that damn sweatshirt, wanting more. She felt their teeth bump and their movements fall out of sync, but then Jamie merely giggled into her, the corners of her mouth pulling with her smile and pushing that fucking tongue out of her mouth just that little bit to meet her own outside their lips.

So they did that for a minute. Just took turns carefully, slowly pushing each other’s tongues back and forth, fingers dancing over smooth cheeks and warm necks and warmer waists, peppering in soft licks and nips to bottom lips, growing plumper and redder by the minute. Siri was pretty sure she was remembering to swallow, because nothing felt too sloppy, just really fucking hot.

So hot that she somehow ended up straddled on top of Jamie, skirt hiked up by those confident hands dangerously high on her thighs, rolling her hips hungrily, even aggressively, against Jamie’s body and feeling her so fucking soft underneath her.

She wasn’t sure who came up for air first. It might have been Siri, but only because Jamie tugged deliciously at the roots of Siri’s curls, forcing her head back and making her moan out to the stars and the moon above while Jamie collapsed against her throat.

“Holy fucking shit, Siri.” Jamie panted after a beat, looking up into her face, wild-eyed. Shocked.

“Sorry! Jamie, sorry, I—too much?” Siri struggled to catch her breath. She wasn’t sure how, in the span of twenty minutes, she had gone from never having a first kiss to rutting into the hottest girl alive in a semi-public area. Her underwear felt uncomfortably wet.

She didn’t hate it.

“Jesus Christ, no,” Jamie breathed through a maniacal grin. And Siri saw then that the shock was really pride.

Smug, cocky, balls-a-swinging pride.

And under that, a deep and radiant and joy-filled relief.

Siri figured it was probably reflected incandescently on her own face.

Inner Siri agreed.

She was sprawled on her tummy in bed, heart still pleasantly in her throat and head very much still on the lawn under the stars, when the unmistakable feeling of being watched prickled across Siri’s already-sensitive skin. Sure enough, she rolled over to find a familiarly slender shadow quietly darkening the small crack in her bedroom doorway, belied only by the faintest creak of old floorboards beneath socked feet.

“You’re back,” the shadow said.

Shortly after midnight, Jamie had walked Siri home, hand protectively around her shoulders and Siri nuzzled happily into Jamie’s chest, arms encircling her waist like a needy koala, enveloping each other in the smell of hair and skin and laundry soap as they had stumbled up the hill. Siri had taken care not to wake her family when she crept back inside the cottage, parting kisses stolen behind blind-eye hedges after giggled insistences to keep it, I like seeing it on you.

“Obviously,” Siri whispered, waiting.

Wordlessly, Regina pushed Siri’s bedroom door open enough for her to slip inside and pad over to the bed. The wrought iron frame groaned, unnaturally loud in the still of the night, as she wiggled beneath the covers next to her sister.

Regina’s copious curls spilled across the pillow, taking up half the bed with untamable tendrils and tickling Siri’s nose and neck. Siri pushed them away, pressed her icy toes under Regina’s calves.

Their breathing evened as they settled next to each other, Siri on her back, looking up at the moonlight cast in scattered shapes across the ceiling, Regina on her side with her head tucked in like a burrowed kitten.

“How was it?” Regina whispered into the covers.

“Good.” Siri replied, guarded. The butterflies she had been enjoying were flying right up her throat and out her mouth with each exhale, leaving just plain nerves in their wake. She wasn’t sure what Regina would say about, well, everything.

“I talked to Remus, after y’all came back from Cote’s.”

Siri glanced down at her sister. “Oh?” Remus wasn’t particularly intimidating, but he was a boy several years older than Regina, and Siri didn’t think they had had any direct conversations before.

“He said it got a little… awkward,” Regina tried delicately.

Siri sighed. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

Regina’s eyes opened and batted up to look at Siri, eyebrows and lashes dark on her pale face. She looked impossibly young, tender, like a fawn waiting patiently for its mother in the wooded thicket. “And that someone likes you.”

Siri thought of Fabian, and Remus, seated next to each other on the picnic bench, their reactions when she had rolled up. Fabian’s immature behavior. She groaned.

“Yeah… I figured.” Honestly why did it always come back to a freaking guy? Was this really what it was always going to be like?

“So… did something happen?” Regina pressed.

Siri never lied to her sister, so she didn’t say anything.

Regina could read her like a book anyway.

“Did you guys kiss?”

Siri breathed out, barely a whisper. “Yes.” Her lips quivered. “But it’s not with… it wasn’t who you think.”

And all the emotions and the overwhelming bigness of just, everything, came crashing back, and the tears Siri had stomped down earlier finally spilled hot down her cheeks.

Regina was calm, steady. Blinked her fawn eyes gently.

“Was it Jamie?” She had always possessed a wisdom beyond her young years.

Siri turned a tear-streaked face to her sister. Cried a little harder. Nodded.

Regina shrugged. “Remus said he and Peter were pretty fed up with how she was acting. Wanted her to just go for it already. He asked me if I thought you liked her back.”

“Really?” Siri smiled, watery, hopeful. “What did you say?”

Despite her sensitivity, Regina was still a sassy little shit. She rolled her eyes. “Duh.”

And there, in the soft quiet night with silver moonbeams carrying dreams and desire back and forth across a star-strewn bay, Regina hugged her.

Siri hugged her back.

On the easternmost tip of the country, dashing up 95 or lazing along Route 1, over tiny suspension bridges and past sleepy lobstering towns and through fields alive with black-eyed susans and purple clover and Miss Rumphius’s famous lupine,

down dusty country roads that crunch under car tires and kick dust behind sneakers,

between paper-white birch trees and evergreen pine lined with split-rail fences and wild rose bushes hiding monarchs and honeybees,

tucked among rocky, cragged coastline where red quartz cliffs break squally sprays over pebbled stones warmed gray by the sun,

following the call of seagulls and dinghy bells and misplaced rhotic consonants within winter-gruff voices (ayuh),

where the smells of white bar soap and mineral-crusted pipes and salt, salt, salt mingle with those of lilac and bug spray and ozone,

there lies a fairytale village on a wishful blue bay.

And if you make pilgrimage to its venerable wooden dock, last stop before plunging into ocean deep,

and perhaps rest on its cerulean-bright benches, look out in wonder at how blues so blue can exist, and whites so white, and greens so green, and breathe what feels like nothing, the air so crystal clean,

and sigh and turn your head, look north, you might see

written in black sharpie, bubble letters marking permanently chip-worn paint,

the initials JFP + SOB.

And somewhere to the left of that, your curious eyes tracing, find that same sharpie and youthful handwriting among the various inking and carving,

SOB + RAB

#marauders #prongsfoot #sirius x james #twatd #sirius and regulus

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