#Mostly the bliss shines brighter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elmundodeflor · 2 years ago

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The breeze carried the sweet perfume of warm summer evenings. Sunshine framed Marley into a picturesque scene, as if brought to life from unreachable dreams of the future. It was a nice city, overall; narrow streets tangling into eachother, markets busy and blooming with energetic buzz.

Hanji walked behind him; their gaze wide and curious, shining with the illusion of that who tastes the world for the first time. And he, ever relegated to contemplate from afar, had to look over his shoulder from time to time to make sure they wouldn't abstent-mindedly wander off path.

"C'mon, Levi!", they called, cheerful. Their voice rang bright and filled with child-like enthusiasm; an adrenaline rush that almost mixed in with the daily melodies of the sidewalk. "They're giving out free candy!"

He rolled his eyes and turned around to face them fully. They were wearing a muted-beige suit and a smile of blinding white, brighter than the marleyan sun soaring through the skies.

"Should have called bullshit on this whole in-disguise thing.", he muttered in complaint, loosening up the tie around his collar. "At this rate, we'll get to Hizuru's by midnight. And that is assuming you or none of the kids suffer from food poisoning first."

Hanji laughed, with the carefree sound of the coast winds.

"Well, hurry up, then!", they exclaimed, extending a hand out for him to take. "We still have a lot to see!"

Levi sighed, hopeless, and let them guide him across the crowded avenues; there where the food stalls sparkled of vibrant color and the air smelt of sugar. Maybe, it wasn't that bad of a thing, after all, he thought: to forget about the world's fury raining ablaze upon them, if only for a moment. To pretend they were just two people that had travelled overseas for a small piece of sweet adventure.

He looked over at them once more, and his heart raced unexpected; loud as the cars strolling down in messy routine. Hanji was smiling at the sun and summer stroked down their hair and their eyes glinted with a long-lost joy, buried deep somewhere along with the Paradis titans.

"Oh, I almost forgot about the ice cream!", they insisted, pointing to where Sasha and Jean held cones of white frozen candy; their attention like a butterfly's wings, fluttering from one spot to another. "I wanna try that too!"

How long had it been since they had last spoken in blissful excitement?

Levi smiled at the scene, fondly and tender, and his skin tingled warm with the chanting breeze: a shy laugh almost creeping up his throat, threatening to escape past his lips.

Because Hanji was still holding his hand, despite it all; fingers laced with his. And he was sure, then, as clear as the oceans roaring besides them: he never wanted to let them go.

•

The candy had been a fiasco, as he'd expected in the first place. Partly, because they were handing it out for kids only. Mostly, however, because the clown giving it away had mistaken him for one. And, truth be told, he wasn't particularly fond of being called out on his height, or better lack thereof.

Hanji had teased him about it for what seemed like the past two hours, and now, still walking along Marleyan shores, all he could do was hope for them to finally leave the whole incident behind them, if only for once.

"Please, don't be like that, Levi!", they chirped, in jolly sing-song voice; the lollipop of red and green spirals swinging high in the sugary air. "It was for free, after all!"

He rolled his eyes for what seemed the twentieth time that afternoon.

"Oh, shut up.", he scoffed. And Hanji laughed, loud and unhinged as ever. "That creep thought I was a fucking ten-year old."

"So what?", they shrugged.

Levi sighed in response. A while back, the clown had approached him upfront; all lively costume and non-so-friendly smiles. They had been waiting in line before the ice cream stall, and he had willingly taken the candy from him, just to give it to Hanji afterwards, scared as he was. He had told them he wasn't really fond of sweets, and that he wanted to get rid of the man as soon as possible, but he wasn't sure they had fallen for it completely.

"Hurry up.", he grunted: head tilted, gesturing towards himself. "We still have to get to Hizuru's."

Hanji hummed, and made the lollipop dance skillful between their fingers, oblivious of the world. It was nice to attest to their happiness, however; raw and reckless and childlike. There was something nostalgic about it, even, he thought: to see their eyes light up with the same fiery curiosity that had once burnt inside them, back when the war was still asleep, deep in its slumber. To savour their smile over again, sweet and sour, like sugar candy melting on the mouth.

“This is all because of that clown that’s following us, right...?”, they guessed, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me:”, they added; a sudden pause, followed by a quirk upturn of the lips: “You’re shitting your pants right now, aren’t you?”

Levi huffed. Hanji had taken their time to conquer the scraps of him he usually kept from the light; thorough and relentlessly, like they had long before studied the powers of the Eldian Titans. He knew, sure enough, there wasn’t much point in trying to hide away from their eyes, after all. He should have known better, too.

“I’m not.”, he lied. And it was Hanji’s turn to roll their eyes, now. The clown was not too far behind them; a bouquet of lollipops swirling colorful in one hand. Why couldn’t he simply leave them alone? His insistence made him shake uncomfortable. “I just don’t want him to catch us up, though.”

Hanji nodded. A small chuckle soared through their oh so cheerful expression.

"Well... I thought...", their gaze met his as they spoke. And there was the curse of a shadow hidden behind their joy, crossing deep across the frames of their glasses. "I thought you'd maybe want one of these...?", they pointed up towards their lollipop, doubtful. "Since we don't know when we'll be coming back here and all..."

Levi held his breath. Each of their fabricated fantasies of playing tourist in a foreign land had been wiped away in the blink of a moment, slipping like water running between his fingers. What if Paradis followed to explode, crumpled under the fires of war? What if they could never taste sweet life again, carefree as they were now? Hanji was usually never one to lie to him, he was certain. After all, he could read them like an open book; almost as expertly as they would flip through his very own pages.

And this, he could recall, was probably the first time in existence he wanted them to be wrong, though. The first time he wished for them to lie, plain and fearlessly, with every ounce of his desperate soul.

"Nonesense.", he paused, almost as if trying to convince himself badly, stubborn in his own blinding denial. He had stopped walking, as had Hanji; both now facing towards the blue in the ever-rolling seas. The clown, a bundle of vivid color, was still following after them, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was sure, then, he'd take every lollipop from him if it meant keeping Hanji's soul scratch-safe from misery. "We'll be coming back, together... once all of this is over."

They sighed, and stared back at him; wide-eyed and hopeful.

"You promise...?", they murmured; a low hush that camuflaged under the beeping of cars and rippling footsetps. Their lips twitched in what seemed a half-smile; uncomvincing, but enough to put Levi's pulse at ease, at last.

He lifted up a hand towards their face, and took out his pocket-cravat to clean up the traces of tinted sugar painting the corners of their mouth: red and green. Green and red.

"I promise, four eyes.", he concluded, as he cupped their cheek. His fingers caressed over tender, sticky skin; soft and slow and feather-light, so delicate it made their smile grow warmer, more genuine against his hand.

"Thank you, little one.", they teased; a swift peck kissed over the callouses the fabric left exposed. Then, another one. "For the candy and... for everything."

He stood still, frozen in place. And damn him, because all he could do was cowardly stare, ever relegated to contemplate from afar: his muscles numb, his cheeks aching bright red.

He didn't want to let them go. Ever again.

"Hanji, I...", he said. But they were already waking away, escaping him like the ever-flowing breeze, ahead towards were Onyankopon sheltered the kids road up.

They did have to get to Hizuru's, after all.

"Thank you for everything, too."

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smurphyse · 3 years ago

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Loki is dating a young woman who is a fantastic cook and one day he realizes his pants are a tad tight. He’s gained some weight but doesn’t have the heart to stop eating her wonderful food

Southern Belle

Word Count: 1691 words

Tags: body issues (not like anything too triggering, I don’t think), mentions of sex

I always love feedback, but like, please be nice lol

Send me more Loki prompts! <3 I love doing oneshots!

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“Here we go,” she sing-songed, carrying a large baking dish over to the table, the little hand-painted ladybugs that decorated it’s sides seeming just as excited as she.

Loki sat patiently, smiling at her as she set it down on the blue checkered tablecloth next to a tub of ice cream. She set down a few brightly colored plates, all painted with various bugs and flowers, decorated by her own hand- which were still stained with paint, he noticed fondly.

“Peach cobbler,” she grinned, shaking her shoulders in excitement, “Just like Mamaw used to make!”

She watched him closely as he took his first bite, giggling when his eyebrows knitted together in bliss. Fuck, everything she made seemed to come from Valhalla.

His girl, his Southern Belle. The two had been dating for only a few months, ever since Loki had come to San Francisco during his travels. She had been poking around an art fair, her long curls pulled up into two pigtails as she pulled out pieces to observe.

She’d been wearing a pair of dirt smeared overalls, detailed with little butterflies and flowers, obviously hand-embroidered. They were rolled up at the ankles, her neon Converse forcing his eye to her like a shining beacon in the night.

He’d been drawn to her, like a moth to the flame, unable to control himself as he pushed past the crowds to meet her. As he came face-to-face with her she glanced up at him and flashed him a megawatt smile. He’d been speechless, utterly besotted.

“Can I help you, darlin’? You look lost,” she drawled, and it took a moment for the Allspeak to translate her thick Southern accent.

“I think I’ve just been found, actually,” he chuckled, finally finding his voice.

Her smile seemed to grow brighter, the little crinkles around her eyes deepening as she flushed deeply.

Loki had offered her a coffee, and she took it. He’d been living in bliss ever since.

She’d come to San Francisco to be an artist, picking up little commissions here and there, working in various galleries and zipping from place to place to help out her fellow creators. She was constantly buzzing around, full of excitement and energy about the whole world around her, ready to take it on day by day.

She gave Loki courage, made him see the little details of this Odin-forsaken planet that he had mostly overlooked. He loathed to admit it, but she had made him love Earth, so long as she was on it.

One day he would take her to Asgard, and he would watch as she painted the skies in her excitement and ecstasy. His world would be born anew in his eyes, just from the little things she would point out, things he’d never seen.

They found time for one another whenever they could. Loki had kept himself busy working in various art fairs, finding himself a good organizer for such events. One activity that they had found pulled them together, besides the lovely rapture that was their sex, was cooking. Loki had taken it up when he arrived on Earth, mostly enjoying food closer to Asgard’s cuisines. She was from the South, whatever that meant Loki was not sure, but she insisted it meant all things ‘comfort food’.

And comfort it gave. She’d shown him Tennessee Barbeque, ‘Pop Pop’s Soaked Ribs’, a bunch of things having to do with cottage cheese, and of course, desserts.

He was settling down. Norns, if Thor could see him now. He’d likely have a joke or two to make of his unattached, emotionally distant brother finding love in such a creature as her.

Loki could hear her now, singing some country song in the shower, her deep twang echoing off the tiles and through her small apartment.

He was getting ready for the day, pulling on a deep green undershirt as he stood in his boxers. He pulled a pair of black slacks out of his little designated area of the closet and pulled them up.

As he buttoned them, he noticed they felt a bit tighter than the last time he’d worn them a few weeks ago. They had one of her art events to go to for lunch, and he’d been wearing jeans mostly when he was working at the fairs.

Turning, Loki checked out his ass in the mirror. He still looked fabulous if he had to say, but his pants were tighter.

Could this be a trick? Had Thor tracked him down and performed some spell to throw Loki off his game? It certainly would not be the first time something similar had happened.

He lifted the shirt, turning to the side as he patted his tummy, his finger pinching along his sides as he sighed heavily. He stepped closer to the mirror, pressing the back of his hand under his chin. His mouth dropped open in shock, and he glared at his reflection.

He’d gained weight.

“I wouldn’t have nothin’ if I didn’t have you,” she sang as she walked back into the bedroom in a fluffy pink towel. She came up behind him and wrapped her hands around his waist, giving him a squeeze as she placed a kiss between his shoulders.

“Hey, handsome.”

Loki scoffed, feeling quite uncomfortable suddenly. She frowned against his back, her hands squeezing his sides lightly, his love handles.

He pulled away from her with a groan, the air feeling heavy around him. He turned to look at her, her lip set in a pout on her concerned face.

“I’m not feeling very handsome today, kitten.”

“Oh,” her frown set deeper for a moment, but was quickly replaced by a mischievous smile, “Is there something I can do to make you feel handsome?”

She tucked her lip between her teeth as she sauntered back up to him, placing her hands on his chest. He smiled down at her, his heart bursting in his chest.

Loki dipped his head, catching her lips with his own. Her hands tangled into his hair as her towel fell away, and Loki took the opportunity to lift her into his arms and carry her over to the bed.

“I think I have something in mind,” he grinned, pulling her under the covers as she giggled from his touch.

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

They arrived at the event a little late. The only craft she was not talented in was the art of makeup, but luckily Loki was, and they’d had to spend a few extra minutes covering up some of the hickeys someone had left on her neck and chest.

They were at some vegan restaurant in town that doubled as an art studio. Loki would never understand it, all these hybrid businesses were too niche, they’d have a hard time lasting in this market. But, she liked going and supporting other artists and friends, enjoyed having her art displayed on the walls of local businesses, and who was he to deny her that fun?

The little buffet table was filled with all sorts of leafy greens and vegetables of all colors. It was a vibrant exhibit, accentuated greatly by her art that complimented the bright green and orange paint job of the establishment.

“How come you don’t make food like this?” he asked, waving a blackbean taquito toward her as she gazed at another artist’s work.

“I make vegetables all the time,” she shrugged, snagging the taquito out of his hand and taking a bite.

“You make vegetables with Crisco, which I believe is just butter and animal fat mixed together.”

“I thought you liked my food, honey,” her big eyes clouded with worry, and his chest crumbled in an instant.

“Oh, my sweet,” Loki sighed, snaking one of his hands around her waist, the other moving to cup her chin, “I do, it’s just-”

“Just what? You’ve been acting weird all day, Loki. What’s going on?”

He felt the heat creep across his cheeks, embarrassment flooding his every vein as he looked down at her. He hated feeling like this, vulnerable, but he wanted to be honest with her, to invest in this relationship.

“I’ve gained some weight recently… and I think it’s from your cooking.”

Her eyes widened in shock, “I haven’t noticed.”

His head cocked to the side, his lips pursing in disbelief. She noticed everything, from the ants on the sidewalk to the stars in the sky, she saw it all.

“Loki, if you want me to make healthier meals, I’m more than willing. You just seemed to like my comfort recipes so much, and I wanted to make you things you liked,” she wrapped her arms around his waist, tugging his hips tightly against hers. “I have lots of recipes in my book, darlin’.”

“I do love your cooking. I guess I just feel a little… insecure right now,” he admitted, his face starting to cramp from the blazing blush across his nose.

“I really didn’t notice anything, but,” her hands dragged back to his belly, patting it softly as she stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “Now that you mention it, I do like the little bit of cushion I’m feelin’.”

“Wow,” he chuckled, kissing her again. He covered her hands with his, giving them a soft squeeze of thanks.

Suddenly, he had an idea. He leaned in and whispered hotly against her ear, “Think you can help me work some of it off?”

“Oh,” she feigned innocence, her southern drawl coming out in full force, “what kind of exercises do you have in mind?”

“The kind that includes me, you, and a locked bathroom door fifteen feet away,” Loki smirked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m gonna be so sore in the mornin’,” she laughed as Loki dragged her to the other end of the restaurant, admiring his ass in his trousers unabashedly.

Loki pulled her into the bathroom, locking the door behind them as he lifted her onto the sink. She grinned at him, her eyes full of light as he looked at her lovingly.

His girl, his Southern Belle.

His favorite thing to eat.

#Loki #loki series #loki oneshot #loki x oc #loki x reader #if you squint #make it about you #idc #smurphyse #loki fanfic #fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki friggason

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murmuur-vanilja · 2 years ago

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Fictober 2022.1 — The rational choice

Prompt number one: "I chose you" Original fiction: independant Rating: M Warnings: death, suicide

Closing my eyes only to be met with the void. My whole body is numb, and I can’t move my limbs. It’s a sharp sensation, a somatic intuition whispering that although I don’t feel anything, if I were to stand back up, I would cry my pain out loud. What I desire is only to breathe, yet I’m dizzy and if I were to open my eyes again, I’d see the world turning round and round. Closed eyes and the void itself is shaky. Nausea is overwhelmingly taking over my thoughts, and I don’t know if I shall faint, or if I shall throw up, or if nothing is going to happen to me. I’m hazily dozing, and although I already couldn’t truly feel myself, the couch I’m resting on seems to fade out of existence as well. Closed eyes and I’m sitting in the void. I didn’t expect such strong illness to enter my insides, yet I should’ve known, for I’m the one who caused it. This isn’t quite how I was picturing it; strangely enough, I hoped I wouldn’t suffer. Of course, I would, and such desperate denial brought me to sweat in the middle of the sense of reality I’ve long lost.

Suddenly, I’m wide awake. Everything is gone, down to the latest, slightest sensation. Only darkness remains, and a bottomless pit of void. I’m not scared, however, not any more. Either it’s too late, or I’m finally in time. Opening my eyes only to be met with the light. I can’t believe I can finally see it, after all I’ve gone through, after all the failed attempts at reaching the stars. If only I could feel a thing, I’d walk toward the brighter skies, I’d reach the sun. Opened eyes and the light is brighter and brighter. In the end, I don’t need to reach for it any more. I’ve gone far enough for it to come to me on its own, and I can only feel happiness surround me, creating a thicker aura as seconds fly by – although I’m not quite sure if time still exists.

Colours blur my vision as I’m so close to the final goal. Muffled sounds are shouted left and right – mostly left, I believe. A few senses are coming back to me, and I’m in a dull pain once more. I’ve seen the light, the shining stars, but now firefighters are here to keep me down. No one has ever wanted to grant me my final happiness that I’ve been searching for so long. The door is barred for I’ve lived through this scenario too many times to count. I’ve taken precautions, I’ve made new plans, I’ve created the perfect instance of light-seeking. Even then, they’ve found out, and they’re trying to put an end to my end. My only hope is I can slow them down long enough for my bliss to peak. Footsteps growing closer to me, but even the latest colours are fading, my senses are turning off again. Firefighters are trying to “save” me, but this is no life I want. Although I can’t feel it, they’re probably trying to move my body by now. I can’t hear anything.

I’m blinded. This is what I’ve been waiting for. I can make out a shape in the middle of my death aura; I’ve taken the pills that allow you to communicate with the Gods. They’re looking at me, at last, after I’ve prayed so many times. A single sentence resounds. “I chose you.” Everything disappeared now, forever, and in my last breath, I can only murmur back a feeble, yet truly ecstatic “thank you”.

#fictober22 #fictober #prompts #1 #fictober 1 #writings #writing #my writings #art #my art #suicide #death #literature

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mochegato · 4 years ago

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Hope on Board

Chapter 2 – It’s All Fun and Games Until Someone Ends Up Pregnant

Note: PG version of smut basically this entire chapter, pretty much just kissing. If you don’t like smut you can skip this chapter.

Chapter 1

“You’re falling behind,” she smirked at him, twisting again to finish an elaborate move. She could feel the alcohol surge through her hazing her mind and dulling her inhibitions, in particular the one dictating she remember how uncoordinated she is so she doesn’t try any daring moves outside of her suit and the one that dictates she not attract any attention to herself by showing off her questionably obtained moves. Moves like the ones she was currently putting on full display.

But it wasn’t her fault really. Dick had challenged her to a dance off. He challenged her. Then he turned out to be stupidly skilled. She had to pull out the big guns. She wasn’t about to lose to some stupidly handsome, stupidly sweet, stupidly talented… what was she saying? “I think you must’ve missed my last few moves. At best for you, we’re tied,” Dick called to her with his own smirk, grazing his fingers across the small of her back. Oh yeah, that’s right. She wasn’t going to lose.

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully before bursting into full belly laughs. He picked her up and spun her around, matching her laughter. This felt good. This felt right. This was a cosmic reward for everything it had thrust on her since she was fourteen and she never wanted it to stop. She could feel a blissful sensation radiating out from where Dick’s strong hands were gripping her hips, pulling her closer to him.

She raised her arms crossing them behind her head as she moved to the beat and turned to shoot Dick a teasing look. The bright blue of her shirt brought out her eyes and made them shine even brighter. She looked up at him with a brilliant smile and eyes shining bright. Dick froze to take in the sight, unable in his liquor induced haze to really process how he was feeling.

It made Dick feel like electricity was surging through him. Those eyes seemed to have to power to heal wounds he didn’t even know he had. He wanted to see that look every day. He wanted to be the reason for that look. He suddenly stopped dancing and cupped her face, an intense look in his eyes. He leaned down and captured her lips in a passionate, hungry kiss. Marinette froze for a moment in shock from his sudden seriousness before pulling him closer by his shirt and returning the kiss with every bit the same amount of passion.

He pulled away still looking in her eyes and holding her close. They swayed together in the middle of the crowd, bodies glued together. Clear, bright blue meeting intense, adoring blue. Lost in their own world just for them. They were knocked out of their stupor, quite literally, by the dancers around them bumping into them. They broke eye contact and looked around sheepishly just now remembering the crowd around them. She looked back at him with a wide smile and started dancing to the music again, keeping him close, trying to keep physical contact with him in some way the entire time, which he reciprocated, refusing not to have his hands touching her body somewhere.

She gave him a coquettish smirk and spun away from him, still holding his hand as she spun. Unfortunately, at the same time a dancer next to her stepped back for a dance move of their own. Her foot tangled with his and they both fell. Dick caught her easily, his previously flirty eyes now filled with concern. He pulled her close to him, cradling her to his body. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, an embarrassed flush appearing on her cheeks. She looked over to the other dancer. “Hey, you okay?”

“Eh. It happens,” he smiled and went right back to dancing.

She giggled and turned to Dick with a shrug. Dick looked unconvinced. “Maybe we can sit for a minute. Get you some water and talk?” he offered instead, his eyes conveying the worry he felt. He carried her to a table along the dancefloor to make sure she was okay.

His concern filled Marinette with an overwhelming feeling of warmth. He wasn’t just chasing a physical high, he was worried about her. She looked in his eyes and gave him an adoring smile. She cupped his face and pulled him closer to place a slow, sweet kiss on his lips. He watched her with a dazed look as she pulled away. “I’m fine,” she assured him. “Honestly, I’m a bit of a klutz to begin with and I’m drunk. I’m surprised worse hasn’t happened. This was barely anything. Accidents happen. I’m okay.” She gave him a smirk. “Come on, I want to get back to winning.”

He watched her for a few extra seconds to make sure she meant it then nodded with a smirk. “I don’t think I lose either way.”

She stood up, her chest brushing against his as she stood. “Me either,” she whispered in his ear before leading him out to the dancefloor.

He spun her around and wrapped his arms around her as they swayed to the music, pulling her tight against his body; her back pushing against his chest, her hips rubbing against his hips as they swayed to the beat. He groaned involuntarily at the sensation. She felt so right in his arms. She made his whole body vibrate in anticipation. She reached up behind her to run her hands up his neck and into his hair, scraping her nails along his scalp and pulling slightly on his hair.

He groaned and clenched his hands around her hips. She bit her lower lip and turned her head to watch him through her lashes. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her mind was racing, but no matter how much it raced, it always returned to the exhilaration she felt when his hands or his arms or his mouth touched her. She wanted to get lost in the sensation, the pleasant, soothing, tantalizing sensation that washed over her body emanating from wherever any part of Dick’s body was touching her.

The way she was looking at him stole his breath and his mind empty. He needed to be closer. He needed her against him. He needed to keep her looking at him like that. He ran his fingers along her jaw and down her neck. He buried his head in her neck, placing hot, wet kisses up her neck until his lips were brushing the shell of her ear. “Want to get out of here? Somewhere we can actually… talk?”

He felt her shudder at the sensation of his breath against her ear. She turned around to wind her arms around his neck again. She pulled him down, pressing a heated, hungry kiss to his lips. He pressed his lips harder against hers, pressing out any air between their bodies. She pulled away after a few minutes and pressed her forehead to his chest as she gasped for breath. Dick ran his hands up and down her sides, feeling every curve and plane and firm muscle. “Is that a yes?” he whispered into her hair.

She nodded into his chest and looked back up at him with sultry eyes. “I have to tell my friend where I’m going and make sure he has a plan to get home.”

He grinned, running his fingers across the small of her back. “I’ll meet you at the front door?” She nodded, not trusting her voice, and pulled him down for another searing kiss. She walked away with an tantalizing smile over her shoulder. He watched her until he couldn’t make her out in the crowd anymore and went to wait for her at the front door.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long for her to meet him. She worked her way to him, the same alluring smile still on her lips, after only a few minutes. He returned her smile with an inviting one of his own. When she reached him, he brushed her hair out of her face and wrapped an arm around her waist, giving her a squeeze before resting his hand on her hip and making their way out of the club.

Jason stared incredulously as Dick walked out of the club trailing close behind a beautiful woman. He snorted and turned to Roy, raising his voice to imitate Dick’s, “This isn’t about getting laid. It’s about hanging out together and having fun. Boy’s night.”

Roy rested his elbow on Jason’s shoulder and shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe he’s going to get laid… and in that shirt.”

Tim came up between them, knocking Roy’s elbow down and patting both of them on the shoulder. “And before either of you.” Roy’s face went slack with realization and Jason cursed.

A cab ride later during which time they were mostly well behaved with only a modicum of wandering hands, Marinette and Dick were cuddled up on Dick’s couch popping M&M’s into their mouths, the only food he had in his apartment, between sips of their drinks. Marinette giggled and focused her attention on tossing an M&M up in the air in Dick’s direction. She cheered loudly as he caught it in his mouth with a grin. “Good toss,” he commended her, squeezing her closer and pressing his nose against the side of her face.

“Thanks.” She cuddled closer with a proud smile. “I have really good hand coordination… no wait… hand eye coordination! Clearly not that drunk despite how I sound. I’m blaming that on English. I’d be fine in English… French!” She pulled away slightly to give him an adoring look, running her hands back and forth over his stomach. “Good catching.”

He chuckled and took another drink. “Thank you.”

She sighed and leaned her head against the back of the couch as he ran his fingers over her hip. She looked around the apartment, hazy eyes flitting from thing to thing without really registering any of them. Her eyes finally settled on a shirt that was thrown on the couch right behind Dick. She reached awkwardly over him, falling into him accidentally as she grabbed the shirt. She giggled when he pulled her onto his lap with a laugh. She held out the shirt to see what it was. She gave the shirt a double take. She recognized the design. She had created the design. He owned a shirt with her design on it. She started giggling uncontrollably.

He gave her a confused look. “What?”

She held it up for him to see. “Yours?”

“Yeah, I was wearing that before we left. What? Not a fan?” he asked with a pout, uncertainty in his voice.

“No, no. I love his music,” she assured him with that same secretive smile and booping him on the nose. “I take it you’re a fan of Jagged as well?”

“I am, in fact.” He gave an exaggerated nod. “I have all his albums. Every one.” He made an exaggerated sweeping motion toward his CD’s. “I love him and the artwork, especially this one.” He held the shirt up and shook it as though she might be uncertain of which design he was talking about. “It’s so creative and cool looking. You don’t even have to be a fan of Jagged to like it. I don’t know. I just really like his artist,” he rambled not noticing a dark blush settling on her cheeks.

She surged up and captured his lips in a fervent kiss. He let out a surprised huff, but quickly melted into her lips, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her closer. After a few minutes he pulled away reluctantly, panting for breath. “What was that for?” he asked breathlessly. He cupped her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Nothing.” She gave him an effervescent smile and pulled away slightly to wave her hands in an uncoordinated motion trying to dismiss his interest. She held up the shirt again with a nostalgic smile. “This is one of my favorite designs too. And, I’ve been a huge fan of his since I was a kid.”

“Right, he started in France didn’t he?” His voice was excited again. She nodded. He grinned at her and settled further into the couch, wrapping his arms around her waist and giving her a squeeze. “I like this. Tell me more about yourself. I want to know more.”

She smiled broadly at how excited he sounded. “I like this too. We’ll take turns. I want to hear more about you. Not just me. Don’t be selfish.” She gave him a mock stern look, pointing a finger in his face.

His smile beamed at her comment and gave her a curt, serious nod. “I would never. Okay. You first.” He took the shirt out of her hands and threw it over his shoulder.

She giggled at him, her eyes following the arc of the shirt as she thought about what she wanted to say. She took another gulp of her drink. “Let’s see. From France.” He nodded in confirmation and encouraged her to continue. “Paris, that’s in France. Went to university in New York, that’s in America. Really like whatever this is.” She held up her glass before finishing the rest of it. “Signed a deal with a company in Gotham and decided to move here and open a store. I’m a clothing designer.”

He nodded along as she talked, attempting to catalog each piece of information for later despite the information already melding together into nonsensical data points in his head. He looked down at her clothes. “You look amazing. Did you do it yourself?”

She gave him a radiant smile and wiggled in his lap in excitement at the compliment. “Thank you. I did. It's Nightwing themed.”

Dick choked on the drink he had just taken. He gave her a faux innocent smile. “Fan of his?”

Marinette watched him with concerned eyes for a few seconds to make sure he was okay before she answered. “Yeah. I think he’s a good… I mean…” she took a second to collect herself and look serious as she spoke as though this were an important conversation. “He has a really imprint… a really impressive leadership style. Strong… and dynamic… and compassionate.” She counted off the attributes on her fingers to accentuate her point. “The way he connects with victims… I mean they all have their own way of connecting with people,” she quickly added not wanting to insult them as though they could just know she was talking about them, like their bat senses might be tingling. She looked down and furrowed her brow. “I guess his way just resonates with me more?” She looked up at Dick to see if he was following. He was watching her with something close to awe so she took that as a sign to continue.

“And his fighting technique! The things he can do? I’ve only ever seen one other person able to move like that and she had magic to help.” She made some wild, vague motions in the air to indicate flips. “But he’s just… like that. Completely human… at least so they say… I don’t know. Do you?” She looked to him with an inquisitive stare. She continued on without letting him answer, “and can do that. I mean… wow.” She continued talking completely oblivious to the way Dick’s cheeks were flushing and his eyes darkening. “Not to mention sexy. I mean damn…” she suddenly realized she was gushing about someone else while cuddled up in Dick’s lap. She looked at the now empty glass accusatorily. “Maybe I am that drunk. I really should stop talk…”

Dick obliged her wish, stopping her with a kiss before she could finish her sentence. He cupped her face and pulled her closer, pressing into her with a bruising volley of kisses. Her kisses tasted like the liquor and chocolate they had been consuming in an enticing combination of flavor that was just her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her, hungrily returning his kisses. He reached up into her hair and pulled out the band holding it up, releasing her hair and allowing his hands to wind into her hair. He gently pulled, prompting her to lean her head back giving him better access to her neck. He trailed wet kisses down her neck.

The moan she let out sent shivers down his spine. He had caused her to make that noise. The sound was like a spell forcing his full attention on her. His mind became consumed with trying to figure out how to get her to make it again and what other sounds she could make. She shifted so she was straddling his hips and rolled her hips slightly. He groaned in response and playfully nipped at her collar bone before ghosting his nose back up her neck as he trailed his nails up and down her back and along her hips. The feeling of his rough, calloused fingers against her skin caused goosebumps to rise across her skin wherever he had touched her showing a history of his contact.

She whimpered into his hair and worked her hands down his chest splaying out her fingers as she moved them against his body. She found his shirt’s hem and reached under it to feel his skin against hers. He gasped at the sensation and reached to pull his shirt off to grant her more access. She hummed in appreciation and ran her fingers along his muscles in his chest before pressing into him to deepen the kiss.

He reached under her shirt running his finger under the band on her bra, causing her to whimper into his mouth. He started pulling off her shirt but paused, pulling away from her just enough to whisper against her lips. “Wait. Do you want to do this?”

Marinette nodded, still staring at his lips before diving in to feel his lips on hers again.

He moaned into the kiss, getting lost in the sensation of her, her lips, her tongue, her taste, her skin, the weight on his hips and chest. He fought to pull himself out of his haze, but distancing away from her slightly. “Marinette.” He hooked his finger under her chin to get her to look at him. Once she had focused on his eyes he asked again. “I want to make sure. Do you want to keep going? If you don’t we can just keep doing this or we can stop.”

Marinette’s eyes turned soft. She traced his jaw slowly and bit her lower lip. “Do you have protection?”

He nodded, “I do,” he assured her.

She smiled and pressed closer to him. “Then yes. I want to keep going. Do you?”

“Definitely, yes,” he whispered huskily, pulling her shirt off and tossing it across the room.

Chapter 3

Tags:

@dickinette-february

#maribat #Dickinette February #dickinette #platonic jasonette #Hope on Board #platonic adrienette #Knocked Up AU #prompt - chocolate

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dumbdemonslayertexts · 3 years ago

Text

random excerpts from black girl time travel kny au

Pairing: rengoku / oc

note: lots of angst mostly. forgive me for this not being y/n format i have to work up the chops to be graceful enough to write that

tagging @dudeandduchess and @adoriable and @tengens-bunny bc they sparked the greatest muse i’ve ever had to write fictions since i was like 14 literally wtf you are my queens???!?!

even with her mind working double overtime to secure her discomfort, the serenity if the rengoku estate could not be diminished. imene tried her hardest to remember any time prior to her time shift where she saw the moon so brilliantly illuminating the earth below it. each blade of grass, every stone in the garden reflected its glow; the whole of her surroundings were accented with such a pure silvery lining, giving a beauty distinctive to the night alone. it was tranquil enough for her to eventually draw a cleansing breath through her lungs, which finally released some of the staleness of doubt and second guessing that had filled her self image lately.

“you are awake still, imene-chan?”

that voice struck her in her chest, shooting sparks of heat and flutters in her stomach. and the fact that she was hearing it meant he was home. safe. and home.

“imene,” she softly insisted, making him smile as though he were being teased.

“imene.” his voice was warmer when he said her name, she would swear to it. and it stirred in her heart almost painfully with the need to hold him forever.

“i couldn’t sleep,” she shrugged off her dilemma, far more preoccupied in the happiness of seeing him, falling into those gorgeously untamed eyes and sweet smile again… “i’m happy to see you!”

“kyojuro.”

when the depth of his rich tone interjected his name, it caught her by surprise. and, true to form, he hadn’t needed her to say a word before reading her thoughts and emotions with complete accuracy.

“wh–?”

he lessened the distance between them, tucking his chin to sustain her eye contact where she sat, “imene… would you say it for me?”

the shadow of pessimism in her brain was shouting. he was easing the lines of formality as a kindness—-it was his vibrant character and nothing more. why was she so dense as to not even understand that? why did a simple name make her world feel brighter, and have her smiling to him, lovestruck?

“kyojuro.”

he smiled. with utter bliss, he smiled at her, exhaling like she’d lifted a weight from him. “ah… i prefer that, i think… don’t you?"

just like that, the playfulness was back in his voice and eyes. though, another element felt as though it had been added unto it. one she was far too daunted to even hope to name. so she changed the subject.

"how’re you feeling..?” she asked, lifting herself to stand, “you’re not hurt anywhere, are you? did you get any sleep or did you come right–”

she’d closed the remaining space between them as she fretted over him. ginger, worrying hands grazed butterfly touches up his chest, and the moment she’d made the mistake of tenderly cupping his face, his grin vanished… along with the delusion of pleasant standing she had dared hoped for with anyone there. it took so very little, but reality struck her like frozen lead.

the subtlest way she could, imene lowered her touch away from him, even as she felt stony ice fill her stomach at his reaction. she could feel how he’d stiffened just before she took her hands away. so then, at that very second with how clear things had become, finality settled into her. still, she wished he would have just lunged his blade through her gut instead; the pain would have been so much less.

“i–” kyojuro tried his best to play off the disgust, to turn the awkwardness in any other emotional direction. the poor thing even had the courtesy to look remorseful—-very convincingly, at that. god, how noble could one man be to still be kind and gentlemanly even now, trying to play off repulsion as he so obviously was? “no, i am not injured, i am feeling well! but i wished to return home as quickly as i could once i’d fulfilled my assignment. so, yes, i made the decision to return directly. i hope you haven’t been up out of worry for me.”

he was even back to beaming a smile by then, close-eyed and cheerful. she could only give half the heart in her attempt to smile back, barely nodding to acknowledge his answer. the bolt of dejection was still scalding in her chest, trying its best to well tears into her eyes.

“what is it?”

he asked after she’d broken eye contact with him for a time. imene had needed the privacy to blink down the urge to cry.

“i’m …ready to go back to oyakata-sama’s estate. but i was kind of worried of how much trouble it would be to ask if he would take me in a second time… i didn’t know if it would be rude to him,” she tried to sound as casual as she possibly could, asking softly, like it were nothing more than a passing thought over an inevitable eventuality instead of a conscious decision of hers. but from the look on kyojuro’s face, she may as well has torn a hole through him.

“has something happened?”

he was so concerned. kyojuro sounded so hurt and concerned that the prickling of tears threatened her lashes again. even with his aversion to her, she could not stand to see someone so sweet and kind be hurt. “no…”

“please, imene, if you were upset by anything that happened while i was away–”

“i wasn’t, kyojuro,” she insisted, pleading.

“are you unhappy?” he asked. and it broke her heart to hear just how willing he was to remedy whatever issue she may have experienced just by the tone of his voice, especially after just returning from a mission, “you don’t have to hesitate to tell me if I have failed to host you well.”

“you haven’t failed anything. i’m not unhappy. but I can–” dread made the words catch in her throat, but it was too late for her to retract anything now, “feel that I’m making everyone uncomfortable."

she waited for him to say something, but the flame hashira only looked at her in pained confusion, stunned and churning his brain to unravel her meaning.

"your father does not want me in your home, kyojuro. i’m a stranger to him—-in fact, I’m pretty sure he can sense that i don’t belong here,” she explained. he was faintly shaking his head, but even with the urge to protest, kyojuro could not deny that truth. “and senjuro–”

“he adores you,” kyojuro desperately interjected. her lips parted to negate it, but he continued before she could. and suddenly, there was a visible glimmering in his sunborn eyes, “he’s told me. many times, everyday we spend together. you…” his face softened from the accosted state she’d frozen it into earlier, and he paused his hurried explanations, “ease him. from our father. even though it is nowhere in your responsibility, you comfort him.”

“him liking me is just going to strain things between the two of them even more,” she shook her head, trying physically to mash the stress out of her temples, “that can’t be worth it, i don’t know how long I’ll even be in this time!”

“you would be surprised at its worth, imene."

her conscience screamed at her to look at him, and she refused for as long as she could… just for knowing how gutting it would be to do. decency prevailed over her to finally grant him enough to at least meet his eyes, though. and the way his soul cried out to her through them left her destroyed.

"i’m so sorry to have made you uncomfortable in my home. you needn’t worry about speaking with oyakata-sama, that is my responsibility, i will take care of it.”

he was resigned and sullen. It was almost impossible to tell with how genuinely he retained a positive outlook despite anything, but imene could see the sadness shining in his fiery stare, even with how radiant his grin was. she could also note how the sure grip of his sword had lessened to self-soothing strokes with his thumb at its hilt. “In the morning, I’ll make the arrangements for you. …I hope you believe me, imene, about senjuro. It’s been some time since he’s had …a loving woman around him. he isn’t likely to remember our mother well. what you’ve given with your presence is precious to him. priceless, I would say.”

he gave her an elegiac curve of his lips, and the water blurring her sight conquered her at last, dripping tears so heavy they fell straight to the ground, without a trace left on her cheeks.

“as for our father… he has been this way for a while. it is him. or, it’s what he has become, not a result of your being here. his callousness falls onto senjuro and myself normally, but I suppose you provided a new outlet for it …” he sighed, “it doesn’t excuse my negligence, but i will speak to him, you have my word.”

when she swept her eyes free of more accumulating tears, she felt kyojuro’s palms encircling her arms. it was a touch she had been desiring from the moment these feelings for him had begun to surface, yet when she felt it, she recoiled as if she were burned.

“imene,” he begged quietly. she still tried to keep her tone even.

“but you, kyojuro.”

confusion seeped into the misery soaking his expression, and his brow curled again to search for some hidden meaning in her words. his hands were away from her, though, the instant she showed discomfort.

“you’re the most uncomfortable around me of the three of you. you’re disgusted when i come close to touching you, you can’t even stand to be near me, in the same room, you’re always double checking to see if i’m up to something down every hall and in every room, and around your brother—-i can’t stay here and make you feel like that in your own home! especially when you’re out saving people and risking your life constantly! why would you even want me here if i make you so ill at ease—why would you want to come home to that kind of feeling after all you do!”

she hated how much heat she could feel under her skin–behind her eyes, in her cheeks and nose, at her ears. even more, she hated the pinched and congested whine her emotive state rendered her voice to, like some indignant child. it was humiliating to say aloud to him—-to verbalize just how awfully her self-regard had been eaten away, and to at last face it herself. now her cheeks and chin lay adorned with sheening wet streaks. she couldn’t hide any of it any longer. stillness followed after. not a word spoken, only the amplification of her breaths rattling and struggling to calm against rengoku’s measured silence.

when she could bear to raise her head again, imene could see him in what looked to be a deep epiphany. a terrible one. like his actions had only know processed into awareness for him, and had left him reflecting in horror.

“imene.”

he lifted his eyes enough for her to come into view, and his own lashes were starry now, blacker with the moisture accumulating at their base, in spite of the soft grin he wore, “i’m afraid i have to correct you. you said i haven’t failed in caring for you well. but i have done exactly that.

"would you come and sit with me,” he propositioned when she said no more. he’d expected nothing less when she could only look away from him with clenched, leaking eyes, so clearly pained that it ripped his heart to shreds. kyojuro was patient to await her answer, and held out his arm for her when she surprisingly accepted. imene had assumed that they would both share the space on the engawa she’d taken before his return. instead, he lead them to a more secluded area of the estate’s garden, on a stone bench that provided ample view of the night time, and allowed an unstifled breeze to cool them both that she greatly appreciated.

“i must apologize.”

“you did already.”

kyojuro glanced over his shoulder, hearing her delicate assurance. it surged through him, littering his skin in goosebumps.

out of consideration of how small their shared seat would be, he had crowded himself at the corner by her side. it allowed them both room for their legs, considering how widely his sat apart, but he could admit there there was a high element of shame that made it more difficult to face her. “yes, and it is not at all adequate for how i’ve hurt you.”

every time he spoke, sounding like he cared, she could do nothing but weep more. somehow, in spite of everything, his sympathy hurt more than anything else. and made her feel horrible for not being acceptable. “you can’t help how you feel, rengoku-s–”

“kyojuro."

his eyes met hers with stone solid conviction that she couldn’t understand. for someone who disliked her so palpably, he was intent on establishing friendly casualness between them that gave her a migraine trying to comprehend. his next words went far enough to bring a knot to her brow. "you’re right, i can’t. but to have acted on those feelings so poorly is shameful."

"acted on them poorly?”

“you were manifested in oyakata-sama’s estate. a refugee he deemed to have been brought here for divine reason. he is our leader in this fight we have undertaken against evil. he is the head of our organization, to be honored and respected.”

“it seemed that way,” her faint voice commented.

“yes. for that reason, and more i can’t explain now. understand, if my master says to me that you are precious, to be cared for, i wouldn’t ever dishonor that, nor you.”

now he’d given her her own shocking epiphany. it was slow to unravel itself with how meticulously he explained, frustratingly peeling away with the more he revealed to her in this less than receptive state that her mortification left her in.

“i wished to fulfill the role of your caretaker as best as i could. but as a hashira, i am frequently called away for extensive periods,” he gradually began to turn himself round, now diagonally beside her rather than perpendicular, “you are out of my direct sight for so long that i force you to tolerate my overcompensating once i return. i want you adjusted well, to not be overwhelmed or confused, or grieved with being alone. i wished to watch over you closely in case you were to need me.”

“oh…”

“and your nearness…” he began again, “imene, you were brought here under my protection. not only for me to oversee your healing wounds, but for your safe keeping all together. you are my charge. but i took this upon myself before knowing you—-i was not prepared for you to be so gentle and loving, and to possess warmth that i have not felt in so many years. you emanate affection–your spirit could even bring out playfulness in tokito-san. and your strength is one i have only seen in one other in my life."

she wanted to cry again, now. and was well on her way, hearing this perfect man speak of her so glowingly. out of nowhere.

"your peculiar beauty was something i was prepared to disregard. i am from a family of uncommon features; i willed myself to overlook the uniqueness of your eyes as many do mine, and to not be stricken with the comeliness of your hair, or with the beauty of your delicate complexion—-one i have never seen, and that i now will never forget. i convinced myself of it only being the allure of one sent from the heavens. i was mistaken, and then overcome."

"you—-” her voice broke, weighted with the sobs fighting to bubble out of her chest, “i don’t understand…”

“you are the most beautiful woman i have ever set eyes on, imene. my dreams could not even create anyone nearly as bewitching. and i swore to ignore it, until you showed yourself equally as beautiful in your soul.”

▷▷ part 2

#kimetsu no yaiba #kny imagines #kny rengoku #kny kyojuro #rengoku kyoujurou #rengoku kyōjurō #kyojuro rengoku #demon slayer #demon slayer rengoku #demon slayer kyojuro #demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba

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divinityoswin · 4 years ago

Text

chocolate bar

Commission for: @ask-wbp-b @mushroomgrenade ❤

➵ my commissions are open!

summary: Snapshots of B’s relationship with Roger, told through chocolate.

wordcount: 2024

characters: Roger & B (OC)

Warnings: mild mentions of character death

It’s a day like any other, and yet somehow the captain of the Roger pirates is as exhilarated as ever. True, B hadn’t exactly had the time to know Gol D. Roger (not Gold Roger, he had made very clear when introducing himself to her for the first time - it didn’t help that when she tried to say she knew already, her fingers glitched) but her knowledge of the future provides insight into the future King’s personality.

He is like a child, almost, in that joyful way he views the world. Yet there’s something much older and wiser within him, something that calls for allies. For every battle won, Roger celebrates their victory - and also their lives. And they’d only won two battles since B had joined them.

A week has come and gone since Whitebeard gave her his blessing to go sail with Roger, and in that time she’s made friends with most of the crew. Shanks and Rayleigh were the most welcoming at the time, the latter going as far as to give her a tour of the crew and introduce her to all her new shipmates personally. Roger, of course, was warm too, but it was hard to talk to him, much less reach him, what with all the commotion happening all. The damn. Time.

B sits underneath the mast, relishing in the rare moment of serenity in the Oro Jackson with a cup of tea by her side and notepads on the other. There is absolutely nothing that could ruin this moment.

“Hey, B!”

Nothing at all.

“B-eeeeeee!”

She refuses to look at the intruder - one because they had just interrupted a very relaxing moment, and two because they’d been getting a resounding headache overtime from the excessive partying.

The intruder huffs, and from the corner of her eye she sees a pink sleeve with a hand resting on a hip. Her gaze follows up, frowning, and wondering why that voice is so familiar - and then it hits her.

“Roger!” she exclaims. He’s never singled her out like this before. Not even when she begged Pops to let her go with him. “Oh, I thought you were an insect.”

Roger frowns. “What does that mean?”

“Annoying,” she says, poking her tongue out playfully.

It’s almost surreal to her, that she can banter with Roger like this. She expects him to shout out a quick “hey!” of defiance, but is caught off-guard when he throws his head back and laughs. That hearty, deep rumble that somehow sounds like the ocean’s tides echoes throughout the deck, and although she’s used to it by now, the power it wielded was still unfathomable. Roger’s laughter slowly turns into chuckles, until finally it stops, and he wipes at the corner of his eyes.

“You guys always say that, but you’re the ones following me!” Roger says. “Maybe I ain’t so annoying after all, hm?” He smirks and nudges B with his elbow.

The fact that he includes her in his crew already doesn’t slip past her. She tilts her head, staring at her new captain with interest. “Did you need something?”

“Nope,” he replies, grinning. “Just checking up on you. We haven’t had much of a chance to talk yet.”

“You’re always surrounded by adoring fans,” B says.

He feigns a sigh. “It’s tough being so famous. Marines are always after my autograph.”

The pair glance at each other and hold back laughter - try to, that is. It doesn’t take long for the two to erupt into giggles, before they begin guffawking and holding in their stomachs. Roger is the first to recover. B takes a little while longer, mostly because she couldn’t believe the absurdity of the situation. When she finally stops, she looks up to him.

Roger is smiling, brighter than even the sun, and she feels as though they could conquer the world together.

Suddenly she understands why so many people were attracted to him. His personality was like a magnet, drawing people in and sticking them to him. He isn’t nearly the demon others made him out to be, yet at the same time that power is so terrifying that she understands why.

Mihawk was right.

“So,” Roger begins, “you feeling good about this ship?”

She looks around. “I mean. It’s nice? I’m not much of a shipwright, but I like the wood.”

“Tom’ll be glad to hear that!” Roger laughs. “But that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?”

Roger sits down next to her, his legs crossed and his hands resting on his thighs. He looks to be deep in thought. “I meant - the crew. You feeling alright? It’s a whole new crew for you,” he says.

Ah. Now that makes sense. Her now-captain is worried for her wellbeing, making sure she’s getting along well with everyone. Ensuring that his newest member didn’t feel left out. A soft giggle passes over B’s lips at the prospect that anyone of Roger’s crew would be unwelcoming. Even the teenage Buggy had been nothing but warm to her since her arrival on the ship (though, with Buggy he tried to be tough and scary - keyword being tried).

“It’s a wonderful crew,” she says, “with a wonderful captain.”

Roger’s grin grows even wider, as if that were physically possible. He shines brighter than the sun. “A wonderful captain, eh? Now that’s a compliment from a gorgeous lady!”

B doesn’t bother hiding her blush. Roger would somehow sense it, anyway - he always does have a sixth sense for that kind of thing. So, instead, she leans against him playfully, feeling the salty ocean breeze across her face as she looks up. Roger smells of berries and the sea itself, she muses.

“I brought you a gift,” he says. “Just a small welcoming present. Don’t feel the need to pay me back.”

In her hands sits a box, placed there by the future Pirate King himself. It’s a light box, simple, plain - a tangled mess she assumes is supposed to be a bowtie is tied on the front.

“Rayleigh did that,” Roger lies.

Curious, she removes the bow and opens the box.

Chocolates. Dozens of them littered inside - it’s not exactly a pre-brought box, and she notices a couple of them are half-eaten, but the sentiment is enough for her. Smiling, she picks up a piece (not one of the half-eaten ones, she doesn’t want to know whose fault that was) and plops it into her mouth.

The chocolate instantly melts inside, the sweet sensation - with a hint of salt from the ocean breeze - bringing pure bliss to her mouth. B savoured the taste, having not tasted some since - when was the last time she had some? Whitebeard didn’t usually have it on his ship, so there was a very real possibility it was before then. She is at least grateful it’s milk chocolate too - not too sweet, and not too bitter. She swallows, and grins.

“You know the best way to a girl’s heart is by chocolates, huh?” B says, munching down on another one.

Roger shrugs. “If anyone tells you I only got you them so I could snitch them off you, they’re lying,” he says, but in a playful manner, so B assumes he’s joking around.

“Oh? And just who ate half of these already?”

“I told you, Rayleigh.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” Roger whistles, averting his eyes from B. B sets the box of chocolates down and leans over to his field of vision. He looks the other way, and B leans the other way. Finally, he looks up, seemingly intently focused on the clouds, and B kicks him in the shin because he’s only looking where B cannot go, and he knows B is not tall enough for that, and - oh, dear God, B just kicked the future King of the Pirates. The captain of the Roger Pirates. Roger himself.

He’s hissing in pain, hopping on one leg and holding his other knee close to his chest as he rubs it. For a moment, B’s confused - honestly, she didn’t hit him that hard, did she?

But he’s glancing over at her expectantly every-so-often, pausing in-between moans of pain, as if he’s expecting her to do something. Like nurse him.

B rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” she says, and begins her walk towards the kitchen to get an ice pack. Not for Roger, of course.

* * *

They’d found themselves soaring high up into the sky, much higher than anything they’d ever seen before - not even Reverse Mountain, according to those who were there back when they traversed up it - could compare to the sheer height of Skypiea. The Oro Jackson had survived the knock-up stream (with, thankfully, no one hurt) and the citizens greeted them with curiosity and wonder.

Now, they’re scattered over Angel Beach, sipping on pumpkin smoothies and enjoying the brief period of relaxation that has been bestowed upon them. The Roger Pirates almost feel right at home here. Almost.

B sips on her smoothie - it’s okay, she thinks, she doesn’t dislike it. But she doesn’t particularly love it either. Pumpkin isn’t exactly a tropical drink. It doesn’t fit the mood right. Sighing, she leans back on the lounge chair until she was laying on her back, staring at the cloudless sky.

If memory serves her correctly - which, honestly, had been somewhat of a struggle as time passed - this is the time that Roger carves his name into the Poneglyph. Which means that their journey had reached somewhat of a halfway point. That, eventually, Roger would… well. The thought sours her mood completely, leaving her brooding away from the rest of the crew and glitching ever-so-slightly. If the others notice, they don’t say a word - save for Shanks, who wants to know if B would like to watch him drop a crab down Buggy’s shorts. She denies, and he runs off, looking mildly concerned for her.

A sigh passes through her lips.

“Beli for your thoughts?” The voice of her captain surprises her, almost causing her to drop her smoothie. “Wait - don’t tell me. I don’t wanna hear spoilers.”

“I almost dropped my smoothie,” B says, turning to give Roger an unamused glance.

“Ah, but you didn’t!” Roger replies, sipping on his own drink - a conasshu, one of the locals had called it. He looks a bit ridiculous, with a hibiscus planted in his hair, his open shirt stitched together with a tropical flora pattern, and swimming shorts to top the look all off. Even his sandals scream tourist. “Shanks told me you were looking a bit down - everyone did, really.”

“Oh.”

There’s an awkward silence that passes between them. B finishes off the last of her drink, the slurping sound seeming like thunder in her head. Then, white noise. Even when Roger yells something to Buggy, distracting the poor boy for a brief moment.

Buggy yelps in pain.

Almost instantly, the silence is broken, broken by Roger’s laughter and his absolute joy in the scene in front of him, and B forgets about everything, and laughs too.

“By the way, present for you,” Roger says, handing over a piece of chocolate. “We found some on Jaya. Thought you’d appreciate it.”

B takes it and frowns.

“Someone’s taken a bite out of it,” she says.

“Yeah, I told Rayleigh not to, but you know how he is.” Roger grins, placing his hands on his hips and shining brighter than even the sun - a difficult thing to do this high up in the atmosphere. “Always stealing food, that damn first mate.”

“Rayleigh, huh,” B repeats. She takes a bit out of the chocolate - it’s a bit too bitter for her tastes, but it’s fine.

Roger gasps. “Indirect kiss!”

“Oh, shut up.”

* * *

The bell rings. Once, twice, thrice - then, there’s the muffled jeers, the cries of joy that are distant and oh-so-cruel.

B sits by herself, alone at a bar, and downs another glass of whiskey. She doesn’t know where the rest of the crew are now. Maybe they’ve scattered all over the place. Maybe some of them have settled down.

A half-melted, half-eaten chocolate, still wrapped in foil, sits in her pocket.

#one piece fanfiction #one piece scenario #gol d. roger #gold roger #b one piece #mushroomgrenade #one piece commission #commission #writing commission

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blossom-hwa · 4 years ago

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Heliophilia - JEONGIN

I wrote this thinking the entire time of Jeongin’s smile :)

Unbeleafable prompt: jumping in a leaf pile

Pairing: Jeongin x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, school!au

Triggers: some cursing

Word Count: 1.5k

Heliophilia: the desire to stay in the sun, love of sunlight

For old times’ sake, you and Jeongin play in the leaves once more.

Unbeleafable Masterlist | Stray Kids Drabbles Masterlist

There was a time when you loved raking the leaves in fall, a time when life was simpler and consisted of four main things – sleep, eat, work, and play. Now, life can still pretty much be divided into those four groups, but there are a lot more intricacies. Eating is less for joy and more for health (blah). Sleep time has decreased. And work and play have more or less molded together into one blob that you don’t really know what to make sense of.

Exhibit A: raking the god damn leaves.

You trudge outside, shivering at the cold of the fall breeze mixed with the faint sunshine above. The scene is beautiful, really – red and orange leaves covering the grass, the sun shining warmly down and making them glow gold in the afternoon light. For a moment, it feels like you’ve been thrown back in time as memories come rushing back of the days you and your best friend, Jeongin, used to play in the leaves.

A small smile rises on your face at the thought of Jeongin’s pretty grin. So you might have a crush on your best friend. What of it?

“Y/N!”

Speak of the fucking devil.

Jeongin, smiling widely with those fox eyes of his that you’ve grown not just to like, but to love, waves to you from the street. “Wanna come with me to the park?”

You groan. “I’d love to, but Mom wants me to rake the leaves,” you complain, gesturing to the expanse of leaf-covered grass all around you. “Maybe next week?”

He pouts, which doesn’t do good things to your heart. Lips pursed, he surveys the scene, then brightens. “I could help!”

“Innie, I can’t ask you to do that,” you start. Plus, having you near me probably won’t do good things to my heart. “Don’t you have better things to do than sweat unnecessarily?”

“I mean, I can’t exactly leave my best friend to be bored out of her mind, raking leaves,” he retorts. “The least I can do is help her suffer a bit less because I’m a decent human being.”

You snort, staunchly ignoring the flutter in your chest. “The last time you threatened to pour milk down Jisung’s shirt says otherwise.”

“Well, he deserved it.” Jeongin lets himself into your front yard. “The rakes are still where they used to be, right?”

With a sigh, you nod. “Shed in the back.”

A few hours of sweat and complaints later, all of the leaves are in piles. The ground looks very barren, a lot less like the picture-perfect scene that filled the yard just before you got started. You lean on your rake, glaring at the stupid piles of red and orange. “Fucking finally,” you groan, wiping a bead of sweat off of your face.

“Yeah,” Jeongin echoes, looking at the leaves with a sort of distant expression on his face.

Your eyebrows furrow. “Something wrong?” you ask, plopping down on the now bare grass. Jeongin sits next to you, a pensive look in his eyes.

“I don’t know. Not really, I guess.” He turns to you with an uncharacteristically solemn look on his face. “Remember when we used to play around in the leaves?”

“Yeah.” You blow a strand of hair out of your face. “Was kind of thinking about that just before you showed up. Those were the good times.”

Jeongin hums in reply, the smile gone from his face. “It just feels like we’ve grown up really fast,” he finally says. “Now we’re raking the leaves like it’s a chore instead of something to enjoy. It’s just… weird.”

You let your head fall onto his shoulder. This, at least, is normal. You aren’t giving away any of your feelings with this movement. “Well, that’s growing up, I guess.” Your gaze flits over the neat piles of leaves. “Play becomes work, and work becomes life.”

And best friends become crushes.

“That’s so depressing.” Jeongin makes a face.

“So is life,” you snap back.

“Doesn’t have to be,” he retorts, a glimmer of mischief coming back into his eyes. He looks over at the piles of leaves, then back at you.

Oh, God. You know exactly what he’s thinking and it isn’t great.

You groan. “It’s going to be a bitch to clean everything up again,” you warn.

“And? We still have a couple hours before sundown,” Jeongin replies. A hint of the melancholy comes back into his eyes, but the smile stays on his face. “For old times?”

A wry grin curls the corners of your lips. Can’t ever say no to him, can you? “For old times.” You stand, reaching down to give Jeongin a hand up. “Count of three?”

He nods. “One, two…”

You launch yourself into the air.

The crunch of leaves beneath your body feels like something out of a dream, a dream of warmth and smiles and peace. You don’t know when you started but you’re laughing now, reveling in the heat of the sunlight on your skin and the sound of Jeongin’s loud giggles right next to you. It’s so stupid, so childish, so dumb to be doing this – if Jeongin’s brother saw you, he’d snort and take pictures for blackmail – and yet you feel happy. Purely, blissfully happy, in a way you haven’t felt in… well, what feels like forever.

You’re covered in crushed leaves, bits of orange and red and faded green littering your hair and sticking to your clothes. Jeongin has fared no better – if anything, he’s covered in more leaves than you, having sunk farther into the pile – but he’s radiant. His smile looks brighter than the sun itself.

You suddenly have the overwhelming urge to kiss him.

He must notice you staring, laughter gone, because he sits up in the pile, coughing as the last of the giggles escape him. “Had fun?” he asks quietly, still beaming.

“Y-yeah.” You nod once, twice. “Yeah.”

It’s his turn to furrow his eyebrows now, expression turning concerned. “Something wrong?” He jumps out of the flattened pile and pulls you out too, worried eyes gazing into yours. “Are you hurt?”

He’s close. Really close. You can almost feel the warmth radiating off his skin.

“No, not hurt,” you finally manage. “But, uh, can I try something?”

Jeongin blinks as you internally smack yourself in the face for even saying anything. Fuck. “Sure?” he says, an uncertain note in his voice.

Staring at his face, hair still laced with red and gold, cheeks still flushed with warmth from exertion, the urge to kiss your best friend turned crush rises in your chest once again. You bite your lip.

Well, you’re never going to figure things out if you don’t take a shot first.

So you rise up on your toes – when did Jeongin get this tall? – and press a short kiss on his lips.

Jeongin’s lips taste of joy and light and warmth, the embodiment of an autumn afternoon under the golden sun. You want to kiss him again and again, card your fingers through his dark hair and pluck the red and orange leaves out of the strands. You want to hold his cheeks between your hands and taste the joy on his lips once more.

You don’t, though. Instead, when he doesn’t say anything, you look down, feeling heat crawl up your cheeks. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I just…”

But Jeongin interrupts you. “Can you do that again?” he whispers.

Your head whips up. “Again?” you repeat, incredulous. “You want me to kiss you again?”

He doesn’t dignify you with a response, just cups your face between his large hands and presses a kiss of his own to your lips.

The taste of sunshine fills your body once more and you gasp into the kiss, arms rising to wrap around his neck as you pull your best friend closer. It’s bliss, pure bliss – you never knew a kiss could feel so warm. So loved.

You have to break away for air, a moment where neither you nor Jeongin have the guts to look each other in the eye. Eventually, you cough. “That was nice.”

And oh, God, you really want to slap yourself in the face for that. You kiss your best friend of several years twice in the space of two minutes and all you say is “that was nice?” What the fuck does Jeongin even see in you?

But now he’s smiling at you, eyes crinkled into that wide grin you’ve always loved to see on his face. “It was,” he agrees shyly, pink dusting his cheeks. You want to coo at the sight.

“So, um, what now?” You shuffle your feet. “Are we dating? Are you my boyfriend? Do you not want labels? Uh…”

“Labels are okay.” Jeongin pulls a leaf out of your hair, smiling softly. “I think I’d like to be your boyfriend.”

“You would?” You raise an eyebrow. “You should know that I’m a high-maintenance human being.”

He snorts. “Yeah, after being your best friend for over ten years, I think I’d know that.” The wry smirk on his face turns gentle. “But yeah, I would. If you want to be my girlfriend.”

“This is so awkward,” you whisper, mostly to yourself even though you know Jeongin can hear everything. “I can… I can be your girlfriend.”

It’s awkward. It’s stupid. This whole thing is about as far from a romantic confession as you can get, but it’s somehow so characteristic of yours and Jeongin’s chaotic friendship anyway that you can’t imagine it turning out any other way.

And hey, at least the next kiss, warm with golden sunlight and cooled with the pleasant autumn breeze, is about as perfect as a kiss could get.

#starryktown #inkidz #unbeleafable bingo #stray kids #skz #stray kids jeongin #jeongin #stray kids scenarios #stray kids Jeongin scenarios #skz scenarios #fluff #school!au #drabble #heliophilia #scriptura-delirus

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justkindaoverhereobsessing · 4 years ago

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For Once in My Life

Cooking together with wine, music, and only half dressed... life in Paris, reunited at last, isn't half bad.

Friend drabble series part four, for @saraluvstiva!

___________________

“We should do something on Friday night, Ziva,” Tony suggests out of the blue one day.

“Why this Friday specifically? Do we have an anniversary that I have forgotten?” Ziva wants to know. They have a lot of them, because they don’t take anything for granted these days. They like to memorialize the day they met, the day Ziva came home for good, the day Ziva was liberated from Somalia, the day they moved from their old flat to a bigger one. Then, of course, there are the usual excuses to celebrate: birthdays, their wedding anniversary, any and all major holidays—French, American, and Israeli.

Basically, they find it absolutely necessary to honor this second (third, fourth) chance at happiness whenever they can.

“Not that I can think of. It’s just that Tali’s going to be sleeping over at Violette’s house then, and we so rarely get to do things just the two of us.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Their eyes meet, and they share feral grins that make it very clear just what they’re both thinking. They are who they are

What they’re both thinking is sex somewhere other than behind the closed door of their bedroom. Somewhere exciting. Somewhere they can spice it up.

Somewhere like the living room sofa.

___________________

They do exactly as they planned, and it’s glorious.

Afterwards, they lounge lazily on the sofa, tangled comfortably together to avoid falling off, and they talk about nothing important. The pull to have real adult conversation—which honestly just means swearing—is entirely too strong, and for once, they don’t even turn on a movie. They just chat, and hold onto one another, and salute these happy days.

Eventually, Tony’s stomach growls loudly enough that Ziva can feel its vibrations, though, and she laughs. “There is a bear inside of you and he is not happy,” she says in amusement. “Perhaps we should feed him.”

She carefully sits up, thinking idly that they really need a larger sofa. They’re not quite as young or quite as nimble as they used to be.

“I think the bear wants your famous spaghetti,” Tony agrees, trying as always to coax her into cooking his favorite things.

He usually succeeds.

“The bear may have it, if the bear helps. Up you get, Tony.”

“Alright, alright.” With a groan, Tony sits up, but he’s less successful than Ziva at balancing, and he falls to the floor with a yelp.

Ziva, giggling, leaves him there, grabbing an item or two of clothing to put on as she heads for the kitchen.

___________________

By the time they start cooking, they have almost an entire outfit on between them. Tony ends up in his own pants, bare-chested and ready to wield a pasta strainer when necessary. Ziva ends up in Tony’s misbuttoned shirt, bare-legged and with too-long sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

Ziva starts to delegate tasks; Tony is decent at following directions but is, at best, an unimaginative chef with a tendency to spend so much time sampling his projects that he gets distracted and burns them. She sets him chopping up vegetables to begin with. “You’re like a drill sergeant,” he complains teasingly. “All work and no play.”

“I am not certain we should play when you have a knife in hand, Tony,” she replies, smirking. “You are not as proficient as I am.” It’s little more than a taunt, a challenge—she knows exactly how to motivate him.

“We’ll see about that.”

Of course, it hasn’t been five minutes before he gets distracted by the way her breasts look in his shirt and he narrowly avoids cutting his own finger.

Then, snorting, Ziva decides to downgrade his status from sous chef to… waiter. “You cannot be trusted,” she informs him, but she pats his chest in consolation after confiscating the knife. “Maybe you can open some wine for us and put on music while I finish the carrots.”

Tony mutters something under his breath about how he’s not quite as much of a clown as she thinks he is, but he’s hiding a smile, and he kisses her temple before ambling off to choose a bottle. By the time he’s back, Ziva is nearly done with the chopping.

“Ever thought about being a chef?” Tony asks curiously, pulling two wine glasses from the top shelf of a cabinet and opening the wine to be poured. “You’re really good at it.”

“Ah, well, not every hobby is well-suited to be a career, but thank you.” The smile she sends his way is easy, brilliant, relaxed—like all her smiles are these days.

Tony thinks all the time about how dazzlingly Ziva’s sun shines now that the clouds are gone; she’s a brighter light than perhaps anyone else he knows except Tali, who certainly inherited it from Ziva anyway.

He hands her a glass of wine and holds up his own. “Cheers,” he begins, “to wine, and your spaghetti, and jazz, and all the dancing we’re about to do, and most importantly… cheers to you, my brilliant but terrifying wife.” She is, after all, still holding a potential murder weapon.

Ziva laughs and clinks his glass. “Cheers,” she agrees, and after she takes a sip, she sets down the knife and leans in to kiss him.

The kiss tastes like pinot noir and kid-free Friday nights and all the bliss of a normal life.

___________________

By the time the sauce is simmering and the noodles are boiling, Tony and Ziva have had two and a half glasses of wine each, and they’re both in distinctly pleasant moods.

They’ve been listening to Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits, getting increasingly into dancing around the kitchen with each song and each sip of red. Tony sends Ziva into a fit of hysterical laughter when he steals the sauce spoon and uses it as a microphone, not caring at all that he’s splattering bits of tomato all around as he spins and sings.

(They can clean the kitchen later, and besides, they’re very used to messes, raising an enthusiastic six-year-old as they are.)

Tony puts the spoon back in the sauce and snatches Ziva’s hand, spinning her into his chest and initiating a dance that she just can’t say no to. He’s in such a good mood—if she wasn’t already feeling so nice herself, it would be infectious anyway. As it is, she laughs helplessly, feeling hopelessly smitten as they swing dance.

“For once I can say,” Tony sings, “this is mine, you can't take it!” He dips Ziva backwards and her hair almost ends up in the spaghetti. (They might need a bigger kitchen but that couldn’t be of less consequence now.)

“As long as I know I have love we can make it,” Ziva sings back, kissing her husband between lines to distract him so she can tickle his sides and make his dance moves falter with laughter.

He bounces back quickly, though, spinning them faster as they chuckle together. “For once in my life, I’ve got someone,” he sings, louder. “Yeah, for once in my life, I found someone…”

“For once in my life, I’ve got someone who needs me!” They finish together at a forte, ending with a kiss that’s mostly just giggling into each other’s lips.

The neighbors will complain tomorrow about the mildly obnoxious noise, but with bellies full of spaghetti and hearts full of music and love, Tony and Ziva won’t care a bit.

#ncis #ncis fanfiction #tiva #tony dinozzo #ziva david #cynthia writes stuff too #this one's for sara #thank you for your constant support and enthusiasm friend! <3 #enjoy the domestic fluff!#the prompt came from sof #thanks for always throwing ideas at me sof lol #love my friiiiiiends <3 #friend drabble series

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thatnerdnextdoor24 · 5 years ago

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on love’s light wings

I'm stuck on quarantine and I hate online lessons. Also, I've had this quote stuck in my head all day. Yes, I know that it's actually "With love's light wings." But I like "on" more, okay? Shakespeare would let me take some liberties. It's fine. Now enjoy the soft gays.

ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The idea of waking up, in a lover’s embrace, had always seemed so romantical and impossibly far away. It sounded like something straight out of one of Tessa's favorite novels. Something that had always had an attractive appeal to Kit. But he knew that if he tried to reach it, to search for it, he would be sorely hurt and disappointed. That was, until it hadn't been. Until the day when Kit had finally dared, he took a leap of faith and found that there was, indeed, someone to catch him.

Ty.

He had caught him. Easily, with a grace and romance, only a Shadowhunter Centurion could have. That seemed so long ago. Lifetimes ago. Yes, the Kit that did not believe in a lover's embrace, was a very different Kit. Because the Kit the now, was in such an embrace. In fact, he found himself in it often. Despite that, Kit still feared that he might one day lose it. So he would find himself studying the scene before him.

The sun would leak through the curtains. Casting a golden glow across their apartment bedroom. Their legs had tangled together, the sheets bundled around them. Ty's dark curls spilled across the pillows. His eyebrow, usually quirked or furrowed in curiosity, would be relaxed. His arm draped around Kit’s middle. Ty's face would gleam in the morning light. He seemed so, impossibly still. So beautiful. Like youth and beauty in a single frame. Like one of the statues in the Institute's garden. Ethereal. Eternal.

Kit would let his hand trace Ty's collar bone, his shoulder, down his bicep. He took no small amount of pride and satisfaction in his boyfriend's lack of clothing. He could have laid there forever. Ty made a small noise, (he did that in his sleep a lot) and nuzzled his face closer to Kit's. A smile drifted across his face, he closed his eyes in an attempt to fall back asleep to the sound of Ty breathing. Then the cat started. That damn cat. Clawing at the door and meowing constantly. Kit had lived with the cat long enough to know that it wouldn’t go away until fed. Ty murmured in his sleep, he was always a heavier sleepier than Kit.

With a sigh, Kit crawled out of bed. Careful not to disturb Ty. Irene, it seemed, didn’t have such notions, because she just meowed louder. Kit rushed to throw on some underwear and a T-shirt, and hustled out the door. “I hear ya.” He hissed at Irene, using his foot to keep her from rushing into the bedroom. Their LA apartment was small. The bedroom door leading right out into the livingroom and the adjourned kitchen. The light flooded from the big window overlooking the city. Everything was quiet, as if the world hadn’t quite woken up either. Kit drifted past the couch and into the kitchen, Irene at his heels.

Irene was a smart cat, he had to give her that. She had recently been registered as a service animal, and she was good at it. She could tell when Ty was about to have an attack. She knew how to help him through them. Irene wasn’t half bad at tracking demons either. It was very difficult for Kit to stay annoyed or mad at Irene. Especially when she had helped Kit a few times as well. Both in the demon hunting aspect, and in getting through panic attacks.

Besides, Ty always felt better when Irene was around, especially when Kit or Julian weren’t with him. Living in the middle of the second most populated city in the US never helped Ty’s autism. Kit had once asked if he’d ever want to move to somewhere quiet, but Ty had simply said that LA was home. So that was the end of that.

Irene jumped gracefully onto the kitchen counter. Waiting patiently. “Oh, so you’re going to be all nice and quiet, huh? Now that you’ve got me awake.” Kit mused. Irene tilted her head innocently. A chuckle escaped Kit, he reached out and gave the cat a gentle scratch behind the ears. She let out a soft purr.

He made quick work of getting her food. It was something he did every Sunday morning, the movements now a natural reflex. He filled the blue food bowl and set it down. Irene descended the counter in a single bound. “Happy now?” He asked, and he could’ve sworn she scoffed as she devoured her breakfast. Kit rolled his eyes and glanced at the oven clock. It read; 9:07. Ty revolved his life around a strict schedule. But Sunday’s were different. There was still a schedule, but there was only one thing on it. At 10 am, they would go to the Institute and eat Julian’s pancakes with the rest of the Blackthorns. They would linger and leave around noon, and then, it was just them. Just Ty and Kit, to do as they pleased.

Sometimes they’d go to lunch and a movie. Sometimes they wandered the mall, or downtown. Sometimes they went to the library, or sometimes they just went home. Sundays were always Kit's favorite day of the week. Kit was about to head back to the bedroom to awaken his sleeping beauty, when a pair of arms snaked around his waist. “Good morning.” Ty hummed, his face buried in the crook of Kit’s neck. Kit leaned against Ty’s chest, “I thought you were asleep.” He whispered. Ty shrugged, “It was cold without you.” His arms tightening around Kit as if to emphasize. Kit’s chest rumbled a laugh. Ty was right. It was warmer now. He turned in his lover's embrace to wrap his own arms around his love’s neck.

“On love's light wings.” He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his boyfriend's lips. Ty smiled against him. It was something that Kit said often to Ty, and it always lit his face up in a smile. The old Kit would have never said something so soft and lovely, but this Kit did. Kit had found it when he’d read Romeo and Juliet one boring summer day at Cirenworth Hall, years ago. It had spoken to Kit. Lept off the pages and stuck in his head all day. The perfect way to describe it he’d thought, and it was a strange thought. The Kit at that time, that younger, angrier Kit, didn’t think about love often. But he had loved his new family.

He loved the way Mina would sometimes stop crying when he scooped her up. It made his heart swell when she went from tears to giggles because of him. He loved the way Tessa’s voice changed when she read a story. How invested and serious she took story time each night. He would sit on the floor while she cradled Mina and sat in the rocking chair. Softly rocking and reading the girl to sleep. He loved the way Jem taught him. He taught him everything. From languages and history, math and science, to fighting and tumbling, climbing and tracking. He taught it all with a gentle hand and firm but simple instructions.

Kit loved all these things. They made his heart lift and soar. Made him feel ten feet tall, as if he could take on anything and come out on top. Yes, ‘loves light wings’, that was it. That was what made him feel like that, what picked him off his feet and sent him to the highest places. Love had always sounded so heavy to him. Like a burden or a weight, holding him down, a chain keeping him in place. But that wasn’t it at all. Love was light. Love was fragile. Love was blissful and sweet. Love was warm and soft. He didn’t know this, not until a night when the stars were bright. When he and Ty had sat on the roof of the Institute.

After he had spilled his guts in a less than graceful, but much clearer, confession. Things were oddly comfortable, yet Kit didn’t know where they would go from there. Or what he should do. In the end, it had been Ty, who leaned over and asked to kiss him. The world had stopped spinning, just for a moment. Then he had kissed him, and it spun again. Faster, wilder, clearer than before. Kit had kissed people before, sure. Many times, with mostly girls. They had never felt quite right. No matter how much he had cared. But this, this had been more than right. It was meant to be. That line had come back to him. When they had pulled apart, a little breathless, Ty’s eyes shining brighter than any moon or star. Kit’s heart leaping into his throat.

“On love’s light wings...” He’d whispered, without thinking. Ty tilted his head, his headphones had slipped around his neck. “Romeo?” he asked. Kit’s face flushed. “Yeah, I-uh-I understand it now. I didn’t before. But now I do.” He had stumbled, expecting to be teased. But Ty would never, he knew that now. His face had split into a smile. A dazzling, beautiful smile. That knocked the breath out of Kit, and he could feel those wings of love. Light, and gentle. They wrapped around him and lifted him up. They held him, re-molded him. Shaped him into someone new, someone he had forgotten was there.

In his mind, there had been the Kit before, the Kit that was angry, who hated his father and wanted his mother back. Who didn’t know who he was, who had loved, but never loved in return. Then there was the Kit who was still young, and confused. But who had loved. But was then broken. Then he was back at that angry Kit. Yet slowly, he had begun to change. Becoming a Kit who learned to let go of that anger. Who finally, laid his parents to rest in the back of his heart. And in this particular moment, he became a Kit who had finally found himself. Who loved and was loved back. This was the Kit, who had grown up.

Now, Ty was kissing him in their kitchen. When he pulled back, he gave Kit a curious look. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, his hair still messy from sleep, the dark waves falling into his face. Kit brushed them away. “That I love you.” A boyish grin on his face. Ty pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I love you too,” He said. “And we should take a shower.” He let go of Kit, giving him a smirk over his shoulder as he entered the bathroom, leaving the door cracked open. Kit leaned against the kitchen counter, still grinning softly. He stood there for a few minutes before the words and smirk registered in his head. His cheeks heated. Irene licked her paw at his feet, giving him a strangely judging look. “Don’t look at me like that.” He muttered, and followed his boyfriend.

This Kit, he decided, had it a lot better, and liked it better, than the old one.

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wingedquill · 4 years ago

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a love that makes you shiver

@geraltwhumpweek

Title: a love that makes you shiver

Ships: Geralt/Jaskier

Prompt Day: Day 4, Betrayal

Medium: Netflix

Warnings: Hypothermia and Frostbite, Evil!Jaskier, Unhappy Ending, Emotional Abuse/Manipulation

Word Count: 2,606

Author’s Note: This is the first in what will become a series of one-shots by me and @bamf-jaskier. Watch this space on AO3! Also, I’ve been neglecting to post the past few days’ ficlets on tumblr, so my apologies for that.

The first thing Geralt notices is the cold.

He still feels a bit floaty, when he wakes, like he’s still half-dreaming, and the sound around him is muffled and hazy. But he instantly feels the chill, creeping over his skin and burrowing down to his bones. His lungs stutter in his chest, seizing against the frigid air, and he curls his heavy limbs in closer to himself, trying to preserve his body heat.

A soft, familiar laugh filters through the haze.

“You know,” a voice says lightly, conversationally. “That was the first thing you told me about witchers. That you can’t stand the cold.”

Geralt’s eyes flutter open.

Snow. Trees. Jaskier, smiling down at him like he always does when he wakes up before Geralt. Jaskier, smiling down at him from the other side of a set of heavy-looking bars.

That last detail is what kicks Geralt into panicked motion. He shoves himself up on shaking arms, hissing as his fingers slip across the cold snow, and staggers to his feet. Jaskier watches him with….amusement? Pity? Indifference? Geralt can’t tell. He can’t readhim.

He only knows it can’t be Jaskier.

He spins around in a slow circle, confirming that the bars surround him on all sides, a metal cage in the middle of the snowy woods.

“The perfect prison, don’t you think?” not-Jaskier continues, his eyes shining bright blue against the blur of white around them.

“W-what-“ Geralt starts, and clamps down on his chattering teeth.

“What did I do? Spiked your food last night, dragged you here when you passed out. Well, contacted my associates and had them drag you here. But same difference really.” He waves his hand carelessly. “You won’t be meeting any of my associates anyway. I’m the one assigned to you.”

Assigned to him? What in the seven hells did that mean?

“What did you do with Jaskier?” Geralt snarls. He stalks forward as he speaks, reaching out to grab the bars. As soon as he makes contact, his fingers burn, sharper and brighter and worse than the pain caused by the cold. He yelps and lets go, looking down at his hands to see blisters forming on his fingers.

“That one took you a while to tell me,” not-Jaskier says. “The silver sensitivity. You were so ashamedof it, so convinced it would make me leave you. So sure it would make me see you as a monster.”

He laughs at that, a sharp, unamused sound that Geralt has never heard come out of Jaskier’s throat before, and never wants to hear again. Rage floods him, rage that a doppler would dare steal his love’s face, his voice, his laugh. Dare twist them in this way.

“But darling, I’ve always thought you were a monster,” not-Jaskier says, stepping closer to the bars. “And nothing you did could’ve made me leave you.”

“Shut the fuck up and tell me what you did with Jaskier.”

Not-Jaskier tilts his head, smiling still.

“You think I’m a doppler,” he says. “Oh, that’s rich. What, you don’t think your little songbird has the capacity to hurt you?”

Geralt growls in his throat, low and warning.

“Scary. I’d be terrified, if I were in that cage with you.”

It’s the same sort of insult Geralt has heard Jaskier lob at countless posturing drunks in countless shitty taverns, rolling his eyes as someone tried to drag him into a fight. Dopplers know everything about a person, he reminds himself. That’s what makes them so dangerous.

“But I’m not,” not-Jaskier says. Another step forward. “And I’m not a doppler, either.”

He reaches out and wraps his hand around one of the silver bars. Geralt waits, expecting to hear a sizzle of burning flesh, a scream, a curse as not-Jaskier’s skin melted away to reveal the snow white flesh of a doppler.

Nothing.

“See?” not-Jaskier—or—or—no—says, letting go of the bar to show Geralt his uninjured, unmelted hand. “A hundred percent human.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt chokes. Because this is Jaskier. This is his lover, standing outside a fucking cagethat he’s locked Geralt in, studying Geralt like he’s a particularly interesting beast. “Jaskier, what—why—why the fuck are you doing this?”

Jaskier sighs.

“I wish I didn’t have to, dear heart,” he says.

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

Jaskier clucks disapprovingly, moving away from the bars.

“Vulgar as always,” he sighs. “No appreciation for more elegant language. That’s one of things I hope changes about you.”

“What.”

“Why am I doing this?” Jaskier sighs, sweeping his arms to indicate the cage, the woods around them. “I’m saving you from yourself, my love. That has always been the goal. Saving all you poor, monstrous witchers from yourselves.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see,” Jaskier says. “Everything will make sense in just a little while longer. I just need you to hold on a little bit more, can you do that for me?”

“Do I have a godsdamned choice?”

“Not really,” Jaskier laughs. “Good point.”

Geralt sinks to the ground. His head is spinning. Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years of walking the path with Jaskier by his side and he—he locked Geralt up and watched as he froze and called him a monster. He doesn’t know which one of those things hurts the most.

“Don’t worry, dear monster,” Jaskier says, kneeling down in the snow on the other side. The smirk has slid off his face, and there’s sadness in his eyes, like he actually cares about what’s going through Geralt’s head. “I still love you. That’s why I’m doing this. I swear you’ll understand. I swear you’ll thank me.”

“When I get out of here,” Geralt growls. “I’m putting a sword through your heart. Silver.”

Jaskier sighs. He sounds almost disappointed.

“You’ll understand,” he says, getting to his feet. “You’ll understand very soon.”

Geralt doesn’t dignify it with an answer. He just curls up on his side with his back to Jaskier, tucking his hands under his armpits to keep them warm.

“I’ll be back soon,” Jaskier says.

The snow crunches under his feet as he leaves, and when Geralt can’t hear his footsteps anymore, he finally lets the tears fall. They trace hot lines over his frozen face, burning and burning and burning like silver, like frost, like the broken heart beating coal-hot and heavy in his chest. A sob bursts out of his throat and he bites down on his fist, shoulders shaking, trying to muffle any other traitorous noises.

You can cry around me,Jaskier said once, when Geralt was trying to battle back tears over yet another innocent he’d failed to save. It’s okay. You don’t have to be invincible.

Had he laughed to himself later? Congratulated himself on getting the monster to cry for him? On putting yet another crack in Geralt’s armor?

Stop crying, he tells himself as more tears stream over his face. Stop crying, stop crying, stop—

But it’s his lover of ten years, his best friend of twenty, he’s known Jaskier for twenty five fucking years. So he doesn’t stop crying for a very long time. And when he does, he doesn’t feel the relief that usually comes after tears, the relaxed feeling in his chest, the clean peace that comes with letting go of something heavy. He just feels exhausted, and numb, and still so fucking sad.

The numbness might come from the cold admittedly. He flexes his fingers, wincing when they’re slow to bend to his command. If he stays out here much longer, he’s going to get frostbite.

Jaskier would probably like that.

Gods.

He battles off another round of tears and sits back up, shivers running up and down his body as he does so. He needs to keep moving, keep his blood pumping, if he wants to survive this. He doesn’t know why Jaskier would have locked him in here if not to kill him from hypothermia, and Geralt isn’t giving him the fucking satisfaction.

He turns around, facing the front of the cage, where Jaskier had been. His footsteps are already mostly filled in with snow. Hanging on a tree branch some ten feet from the cage, an ornate silver key twirls in the freezing wind. It’s a delicate thing. A pretty thing. The thing that would set Geralt free, dangling just out of his reach.

Jaskier is taunting him.

He can’t hold back the tears at that realization.

***

His hands are freezing.

His hands are burning.

His hands are fucking dying.

***

By the time Jaskier comes back, the air has frozen in Geralt’s throat and he can barely move his fingers. They’ve gone all whitish-blue at the tips, a sure sign of frostbite setting in. Dread coils in Geralt’s throat as he stares at them, as he desperately tries to curl his hand into a fist. It listens to him, but slowly, clumsily.

Fuck. Fuck it all to hell.

“Oooo, that doesn’t look good,” Jaskier says as he walks up to the cage. It’s exactly the same sentence, exactly the same tone, that he had used upon seeing dozens of injuries, before grabbing bandages or a potion and setting to work patching Geralt up.

Don’t cry, Geralt tells himself as he lifts his chin and glares at Jaskier. Don’t you dare cry.

“Well, look on the bright side,” Jaskier says cheerily. “It’ll disincentivize you from picking up a sword again, which is excellent.”

“Is it?” Geralt snarls. Because Jaskier is ripping away Geralt’s life purpose, snatching up his ability to swing a sword and then acting like it’s a good thing, and Geralt still doesn’t know why he’s doing it.

“It is,” Jaskier says. “And don’t worry. When it’s all over, I’ll take care of you, dear heart. You won’t need to lift a finger.”

Geralt stares at him.

“You think we’ll just fall into happy domestic bliss when this is over? After you’ve fucking crippled me for life?”

“Yes,” Jaskier says, like there’s no other possible option. Like Geralt coming home with him is an immutable fact.

“What, you gonna chain me to your fucking bed?” Even as Geralt says it, fear creeps into his throat. He wouldn’t put it past this new Jaskier to do just that.

“No!” Jaskier gasps. “No, no, of course not. After this, after allof this, you’ll be free to go. Go do whatever you want. I just think…I think you’ll want to stay with me, once you understand. I hope you’ll want to stay with me.”

“Then you’re fucking mad.”

“Maybe I am,” Jaskier says. “I wasn’t supposed to fall for you, after all. You were just a mission. A…trial run, if you will. But I love you, Geralt, despite the monster running your life. And I hope that you’ll love me back, properly this time, once you’re free of it.”

There’s so much wrong with that, Geralt doesn’t even know where to start. But his heart takes the reins.

“Properly?” he asks. “Jaskier, I’ve loved you for years, I thought I could love you forever, I don’t understand why—”

“Pretty words,” Jaskier sighs, and there’s regret in his eyes. “But you don’t understand them yet. You don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

“What do you mean?” He hates how fucking small he sounds.

“You don’t feel love. It’s a scientific fact. A sad one for sure, but…oh dear heart, don’t look at me like that.”

The tears are burning on his cheeks again. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Jaskier. Jaskier thinks he doesn’t feel love. This whole time, through Geralt’s shaky declaration, through kisses traded under stars, through dancing together on the coast, through their fucking handfasting ceremony, Jaskier has thought that he doesn’t feel love.

He thinks he might be drowning.

“You’ll feel it soon enough,” Jaskier says. “And then everything will be okay.”

He places a jug on the ground near the bars. It’s small enough that Geralt could grab it and pull it through.

“Drink this,” he says. “Just drink this, and I’ll let you go, okay? And then you can love me, or not, you can stay with me, or not. But you’ll be free. And that’s all I care about, alright? That’s all I’ve ever cared about.”

***

Geralt stares at the jug for a very long time.

Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to drink it. He doesn’t know what the fuck Jaskier wants to do to him, but he knows it can’t be good.

But the numbness in his hands is getting worse and worse, and if he doesn’t get someplace warm soon, he knows he’s going to lose them.

And no matter what this does, it can’t be worse than that.

So he drinks.

***

It hurts.

***

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he wakes up. But the world is muffled again, muffled and painful and cold.

There’s someone leaning over him.

“Open your eyes, dear heart, that’s it, come on.”

Jaskier.

Geralt opens his eyes with a growl, fully intending to reach up and strangle him. But his arms aren’t listening to him—none of his body is listening to him, it’s all loose-limbed and weak like a newborn kitten—so he barely manages to lift them off the ground before they flop back down.

The world is wrong.

It’s fuzzy and dim, and when he tries to expand his pupils to take in more light it doesn’t work. What kind of drug had Jaskier given him?

Jaskier gasps. He looks delighted, like he’s watching a baby bird emerge from its shell.

“It worked,” he says. “Oh, sweet Melitele it worked, I knew that getting you weak from the cold would be enough.”

“What did you do?” Geralt says. Each word is a battle to get out from his throat.

“I should’ve brought a mirror,” Jaskier mutters. “But that’s alright, you’ll see soon enough. Oh, I have so much to show you, so much to teach you.”

He babbles excitedly to himself as he hoists Geralt to his feet. The world spins around him, but miraculously, Geralt manages to hold on to consciousness. Manages to match Jaskier step for shaky step as they walk out of the cage.

“We’ll go to the coast again and you’ll be able to appreciate how beautiful the ocean is, and we can redo our handfasting ceremony, now that you’ll actually mean the vows, and—”

Geralt throws an elbow against Jaskier’s ribs. It’s weak, but Jaskier still lets go of him. Probably out of surprise more than anything else. Geralt sways on his feet but stays standing.

“You…” Jaskier blinks. His eyes are turning red. “You still don’t love me?”

“I always fucking loved you,” Geralt says. Don’t cry. “Until you locked me in a cage.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t fucking understandJaskier, I don’t understand why someone who claims to love me would do something like that.”

“I see.” Jaskier takes a deep, shaky breath. “I see. Well. Go on, then.”

Geralt takes a slow step away. Another. Another.

Hands don’t close around his throat. A blow doesn’t come down on his head.

“I’ll wait for you,” Jaskier says behind him. “When you see. I’ll take you back. I swear.”

Another step.

Don’t cry until you’re safe.

Another.

Jaskier starts sobbing behind him, but Geralt doesn’t look back.

***

The first thing he does, when he gets to an inn with a surprisingly friendly innkeeper, is to look in a mirror.

You’ll see soon enough.

Brown eyes, human eyes, stare back at him.

#geraltwhumpweek #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #My writing

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inviouswriting · 4 years ago

Text

Heat touch

Aymeric x Kiya.

This is pure smut.

Kiya had only teased him a little, she is visiting Aymeric in his office. She figured he’d need some good spirits after toiling away in there for so long. So she snuck in, and when his eyes fell on her after glaring at the door. She saw his stress instantly melt away.

Aymeric even got up and raced to see her, grabbing her tight into his arms. A sight that relieves him is her. She had returned from a treasure hunt, and he had her sit down near him to learn all the details of the her earnings.

They laced their hands together, and Kiya sees how brightly he beams at her how his eyes seem to shine brighter when he’s with her. Kiya smiles even more when he touches her hair, it had grown a bit again from the last time she cut it. Kiya leans her head on his palm. Aymeric lowers his eyes on her, and he has this look of innocence almost to him. A look that has no doubt been a reason Kiya fell in love with him. He holds most of his emotions in his eyes, and Kiya can see so easily how much he loves her.

Aymeric brings her ring up to his lips to press a kiss over it. He eyes her as she blushes and tries to tug her hand back from the affection, he is unperturbed and tugs her closer, spreading kisses along her arm up her shoulder till he kisses over the corners of her lips.

Kiya feels lost with each kiss he presses, her face flushed red and her wriggling in his grasp because of his affection. Aymeric tilts her head towards him and before he could place a kiss on her lips, she turns her head away, and he scoffs as he kisses her cheek again. He tries again, and she turns her head, another scoff. He almost gets a kiss, till she blows a raspberry at him. He is taken aback by her refusal of his kisses. Kiya has her head turned away again and looking at him out of the corner of her eye. He sees the playful gleam in her green eyes.

Aymeric places his hands on both sides of her head and tilts her to his, before she can tilt or turn away he seals a full kiss to her. Kiya feels herself melting into this kiss, warmth floods her veins despite the light chill in the room. She allows herself to be tugged into his arms again, her kneeling more on his lap to reach him.

The kiss they share is full and leaves both of them breathless by the time they part from it. Kiya leans in for another kiss, and he meets her. He tilts her head back as he deepens this kiss full. Kiya feels his hands slip along her back pressing her to him. Aymeric feels hands slip into the back of his hair, nails are light as they scratch through his hair and down the nape of his neck. This makes him shiver visibly from that touch. It also does something else to him. He is blushing as he looks to the side after parting from the kiss. Kiya does it again, but deliberately trails her nails along his right ear watching as his face reddens more and he rubs his ear into his shoulder.

“Kiya.. if you do that....”

“What will happen?” Kiya chances it, and repeats her fingers scritching through his hair on his left side. She sees his eyes close in bliss even tilting his head into her hand.

“You’re playing with fire, my love.” He playfully warns her, burying his face into her chest. He enjoys the feeling of her fingers running through his hair even massaging spots till he looks at her lovingly and with more of a sheepish grin. She wondered why he is blushing so much. She lowers herself onto his lap and jolts up staring at him.

“You will have to forgive me... it felt a little too good.” She sees the way he is blushing more, as if it is the first time they have been intimate. Her fingers smooth down to the back of his neck, and with fine nails she draws little figure eights along his neck. She can feel him through his leather and the silk of his robes. Even his eyes have taken on a heated feel to the icy blues.

“I should take care of you.” Kiya purrs into his right ear. She grounds herself slightly against him, and earns an impatient grunt out of him for teasing him.

“I agree.” His hands begin to slip under the hem of her top then freeze when a knock resounds itself in his office. Aymeric groans slightly at the idea of someone bothering him now. Now when he is pent up from other things, and his relief is sitting on his lap.

“Just a moment.” His voice is calm and he sees Kiya look at him knowing he can’t get out of his responsibilities. He remembers Kiya snuck in, and sees her slip off his lap and fit in the space just under his desk. He checks himself for any imperfections, hair and no marks on his skin from her teasings. He scoots himself a little further into his desk to keep from the rise in front from being seen.

“Come in.” Aymeric adjusts his legs so he doesn’t kick his wife by accident, but gives her complete access to himself. Aymeric sees it is another house lord come to talk his ears off about some matter.

“Pleasure to see you, Ser Aymeric. thank you for seeing me on this unannounced meeting.”

“It is what I am here to do.” Aymeric feels a hand on his thigh, and he moves his knee to wiggle Kiya’s hand off his thigh. Her hand drops off, and he inwardly feels relief, keeping a poker face as he listens to the house lord talk. Inwardly he hopes Kiya will behave long enough for him.

Mercy she did not have. Kiya sees a challenge, and she dances her fingers just over the bulge. She gets nudged by his foot, and a hand slipping down to still her hand from teasing him. She kisses the back of his hand and nips his fingers.

Aymeric gives his advice and he and the lord reach small agreements. As Aymeric spoke, he kept his voice in check even when his beloved had palmed him through his pants. He faked a moan as a yawn which was a good indicator for the lord to take his leave. Then the man took it upon himself to ask about his personal life, in his marriage.

Kiya manages to open the front of his pants, tugging his cock free of the confines of his pants. Aymeric raises a leg to nudge her back, but bashes his knee on the lip of the desk. He couldn’t cross his legs like he normally would, or lean forward without it being uncomfortable. He glances at his hands and grips his own together when he feels his wife’s mouth along the shaft. his eyes clouding over brief in bliss.

“Are you feeling well?”

“Ah.. I’ve been feeling a bit lonely without my wife is all.” He moves his hands from on top of the desk to underneath it. His hands going to Kiya’s head and pulls her closer. She had been prepared for this and lowers her head and relaxes her jaw to accommodate him shoving himself into her mouth so deep.

“Must be hard being married to the warrior of light. Her being gone alot. How do you manage?” Kiya nibbles just at the delicate skin that covers the tip, and carefully on her pull back she rubs her tongue along where the glands peek out. She feels Aymeric’s hands grip unintentionally hard in her hair when he guides her mouth back onto him. Doing anything to feel more of her mouth on him.

“I trust that she’ll return, and wait eager with open arms. I trust her, and know she is doing her part in alot.” He has said this so much it is automatic in response. He is keeping himself from moaning out, keeping himself from thrusting into the warm heat that surrounds his tip when she focuses her teasing there. He keeps from panting, keeping his voice from cracking under the pleasure. A scandal waiting to get out that he and his wife do alot more than just talk in his office.

Kiya was careful about where her tail waves, as she lowers her head on his lap. Aymeric’s legs jolt with each sweep of her tongue, he was holding himself back and making himself more sensitive to her tongue as it moves against the skin to tease along the underside of his erection.

“I didn’t mean any offense to it, it just must be hard to be away from each other so long at times, and not knowing the outcomes of some fights.”

“Please, I rather not focus on that right now. Is that all you wished to come talk to me about? I do have more paperwork to get through.” He sighs bemused, mostly to add a hiss in his voice at how his wife focuses her attention on just the tip, he felt like he could cum right there in her mouth. Kiya could feel the twitching under her tongue and swallows him down to where her lips meet his pants.

Another jolt out of him, and Aymeric rocks his hips subtle, his fingers in her hair grip tighter again as he tries to keep from spilling, or making faces he’d regret. He feels Kiya suck a little harder and he spills into her mouth, with a faked yawn again.

The lord shakes his head slightly, remembering he should leave.

“When you see your wife, send her my best regards.”

“I shall do so.” Aymeric sighs in relief once the door was closed. He scoots back in his seat, and stares down at his wife as she pulls off his cock and looks up at him with a wide grin.

“You are going to cause a scandal one of these days.” He warns, but wasn’t prepared for Kiya to tease him with a visual of her sticking her slightly coated tongue out at him.

“You seemed so bored talking to him. Had do to something to please you.”

“You could have waited a little bit longer.”

“I could have, however, I kind of enjoy seeing you squirm in your seat for a change.” Kiya is dragged out from underneath his desk at this, and with his hands, he pins her to the top of his desk.

“Is that so? I think I rather make you squirm though. Forgive me though for my selfishness for now. I want you.” He lowers down on top of her, lips claiming hers in a full kiss, he never minds his own taste, just as she doesn’t mind hers. She returns his kiss and tugs at his robes, slipping her hands down to tug the front up. Aymeric swats her hands away to do it himself.

Kiya feels and hears a tearing in her leggings, Aymeric pulling at the seam of the crotch till it gave from his pulling. Kiya feels the panty she is wearing tugged to the side and fingers pressing into her.

“You’re wet. Did sucking on me turn you on that much?” Aymeric lowers his head to the side of her face and begins to kiss her neck. Kiya feels nibbles and sucks on her neck. She feels his fingers delve deeper till two of them pumped into her.

“Ah! It did! Your fingers!” Kiya rolls her hips with his hand.

“What about them?” Aymeric curls his fingers and begins to thrust his hand up towards a spot. He knows he prods it right when her legs quiver like his did earlier.

“They’re teasing me..”

“Like how you did me.” He retorts to her, and Kiya feels a shade of embarrassment at the sounds his fingers make when he pushes them into her. She covers her face, and Aymeric emits a laugh.

“Look at me.” She feels him sit upright, and Kiya uncovers her face, and looks as Aymeric kneels between her legs. Using his fingers he spreads her open to his eyes,Kiya watches him as he kisses the tiny nub then proceeds to please her as she did to him.

His teasing only lasted long enough to make her squirm a bit, he raises one of her legs, and positions her at the edge of his desk as he pushes into her. Kiya is surprised at how lower his self control was, but how powerful his thrusts are. She is rocked against the desk underneath her.

Aymeric loses himself to moans and groans now. Kiya hearing his voice in soft pleasant hisses as he thrusts wild into her. His wife underneath him feels every movement he makes against her, from his punishing long thrusts to his short and quick ones.

Aymeric pulls from her quickly to flip his beloved onto her front, and angles her hips up as he thrusts back into her rough. He holds her waist as he moves against her. Kiya cries out in pure bliss from each movement into her, the desk beneath her is grabbed at till her nails dig into the wood leaving gouges like previous encounters they’ve done.

Kiya feels Aymeric lean over the top of her, and presses his face into her neck. Aymeric thrusts wild and hugs her to him as he keeps her hips up. Kiya cries out even louder and Aymeric places an arm in front of her for her to muffle her voice into his arm. He grimaces as she bites through the leather guard but presses more to her to keep her voice muffled.

Aymeric feels her peak, in the way she grips him tight and shudders underneath. Kiya moans out against his arm and rides out her pleasure, Aymeric works his own to completion spilling into his love below him. He leans over her and places kiss after kiss on her neck.

Kiya pants as she calms down from her high, and shivers when she feels his hands ghost up her arms. He pulls her with him to the floor, he had to have her once more in his office. Till he has to carry her home.

#aymeric #ser aymeric #ffxiv aymeric #aymeric de borel #Kiya Shinikami #aymeric x kiya

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theonceoverthinker · 5 years ago

Text

Comfortable (Fair Game)

Summary: Things worked out in Atlas and Mantle, better than anyone could have reasonably expected them to. Who’d have thought? Now, the extended group sets out after saving one day to save the next one and the one after that. And with a moment’s peace in between those days, Qrow and Clover finally let themselves get comfortable.

AO3 Fanfiction.net

A/N: So like the summary warns (While a background element of the fic itself), this fic is almost certainly an AU for the 0% likelihood that everything is going to work out perfectly in the Atlas/Mantle arc -- the communication tower will be back up, everyone will be warned about Salem and then protected, and then everyone will then go to inform the rest of the world.

Tagging @merilinlokk and @lady-branwen!

Seriously, this thing is so sappy. I can't believe it. I am grossed out by this abomination of cuteness!

Enjoy.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Atlas has a gorgeous line of aircrafts. Aircrafts are behemoths of steel most every other place in Remnant, but in Atlas, where they are an indispensable part of life, something about them is simply different from those in the regions below. Perhaps it’s a reflection of Atlas’ gilded lives -- or at least formerly gilded lives.

Things are changing. So many things have changed already. Atlas and Mantle exist under new leadership, and now are readying themselves to aid in the fight against Salem. The communication’s tower is up and running. There’s a new Winter Maiden.

And now, just as life changes, their extended group must change as well. There are other regions to visit, to warn about Salem, and to assist in facing off against the Grimm that will haunt them in the wake of that knowledge. Much assistance will be required -- enough to warrant the strongest assets of the Atlesian military to join the extended fight beyond Atlas’ borders.

Despite their higher spirits, everyone’s a little mixed at the idea of leaving Atlas. For the Ace Ops, Atlas is not just a workplace...it’s home. For the kids, it was somewhere stable. Clover can only imagine how much they’ve missed having someplace like that to stay. From what Qrow tells him, constant travel has been something of a norm for them since they faced the Fall of Beacon.

But at least this time, their accommodations are more comfortable. The plane they’re taking is about as nice as Atlesian arcrafts come. It’s no four-star hotel, but it’s close.

Clover’s happy to see that the kids seem content with the accommodations as they board it.

He’s also happy to see his team content with the accommodations as they board it.

But mostly, so strongly to him that it’s almost embarrassing, he’s happy to see Qrow content with the accommodations as he boards it.

Clover makes sure he’s right by Qrow’s side to get his reaction up close, and Qrow’s smile -- as always -- does not disappoint. It’s as warm as a fireplace after a snowstorm and more beautiful than a hyacinth in bloom.

And fortunately for Clover, he’s been seeing it more and more frequently over the past few months they’ve spent together.

Clover’s always known he’s been blessed with a personality that could win just about anyone over, but experiencing Qrow warming up to him, opening up to him, enjoying his presence and their partnership...it’s been something so different than he ever expected.

He’s unashamed to admit that he loves it with all that he is.

They board the plane together, and Clover gestures to Qrow two unoccupied seats towards the center of the plane.

There’s been no secret made about the length of this flight. The trip from here to Vacuo is sixteen hours.

That’s sixteen hours they’ll be side-by-side, and while this plane is luxurious, that luxury comes at the cost of seats. There’s just barely enough for all of them, and the plane’s available seats are filling up fast.

Committing to a spot now means committing to spending a whole day by the side of whoever one ended up next to.

Clover knows Qrow knows this.

And he still chose to sit next to Clover without an ounce of hesitation.

A smile crosses Clover’s face, and he’s undeniably thrilled.

However, there’s more to it than that, and funnily enough, that more would seem like less to the naked eye -- comfort.

Comfort, yes. That just about describes everything about them, and it might just be the part of this thing they have that Clover loves more than anything else.

While the armrest between them offers a generous amount of space, his and Qrow’s shoulders touch as they get settled into their seats. Still, neither of them blush, nor look away. No, the touch is casual -- it’s comfortable.

‘Comfortable’ -- oh, how Clover’s grown to love that word.

As the plane takes off, Clover relaxes at the thought of the next sixteen comfortable hours they’ll share together.

()()()()()()()()()()

In the unlikely event Qrow was ever forced to spend the rest of his days aboard an airplane -- not exactly his ideal retirement plan, mind you, but at least it doesn’t involve being digested by a Grimm -- he can think of a lot worse people to choose to sit next to for all of those remaining years than Clover Ebi.

So when the prospect of a mere sixteen hour flight by his side approaches them, Qrow has no qualms accepting the invitation.

As a matter of fact, a qualm is just about the last thing Qrow Branwen has with anything having to do with Clover Ebi.

Clover is comfortable -- yes, ‘comfortable’ is the best word to describe him. For as serious as he is when it comes to his job, he is also as carefree as Harbinger is sharp. A lesser mind would attribute that quality to his semblance and the cockiness that it may cause, but Qrow takes pride in being the exact opposite of a lesser mind. He knows that carefreeness Clover has is more than just the result of luck -- it’s who Clover is -- plain and simple. Qrow sees it in Clover’s eyes, his brow, and his smile, a smile that isn’t innocent, but informed, yet still optimistic, and that makes its successes that much more interesting to witness.

Qrow spends a lot of time looking at that smile, and even more time thinking about it.

And now, he has that smile all to himself for sixteen hours.

Not to mention, if there’s one thing Atlas can be counted on, it’s that it has amazing planes. Their seats feel like they’re made of the very clouds they’re flying through, the craft is fully stocked with seemingly every snack under the sun as well as a nice variety of sodas, and they have screens to project their scrolls onto for a handsfree experience.

So not only will he have access to Clover’s smile, he and Clover will also be given plenty of good reasons TO smile.

It’s going to be a great flight.

()()()()()()()()()()

Clover swears that at some point, the plane flew up beyond the limits of the very sky itself and is now gliding straight across heaven.

Sure, that theory is rather hyperbolic, but with how nice of a time he’s having, he wouldn’t be surprised if it proved to be the case.

Rays of light amber shine inside the plane. Qrow, while not directly in its way, is bathed in it all the same.

The sun makes everything about him pop -- as if he didn’t already do that well enough on his own. His smile is so much brighter, the speckles in his eyes are clearer, and his teeth almost sparkle in the light. Even the crumbs from the pretzels he ate earlier are illuminated, and Clover -- ever the neat freak his team well knows him to be -- finds too endearing for words.

The setting sun gives Clover little time to take it in, so he does fully under the guise of simple conversation.

He can be quite the clever devil when he wants to be.

That would probably be a bad thing if he didn’t care for the topic, but he does. Clover considers himself a caring guy, but Qrow manages to make even the most seemingly boring, annoying, or weird topics come alive. While Clover’s not at all into video games, if Qrow’s talking about them, suddenly, he doesn’t mind thinking about them for a half hour or so.

The past few hours have passed in a relaxed state of bliss. Conversations tend to flow between them as naturally as a river, and the long flight together hasn’t changed that. There’s plenty of moments of silence too, or just moments that pass where they do things on their own, but it never feels out of place. It’s just them...being who they are.

Clover likes who they are.

It’s not long before the sun completely sets. The dark sky is contrasted by the warm lights from within the plane, and it feels as if they’re safely put in a nice, cozy cabin on a harsh winter’s night.

However, before long, that changes too.

Their arrival in Vacuo will be early. Everyone aboard the craft knows that, and as yawns start to surface after their early wake up to prepare for their initial departure, it starts to sink in that calling it a night sooner rather than later is in all of their best interests.

Clover can already see people settling in for some sleep. He gets a peek at his teammates, and he can just barely hold back a chuckle.

Harriet’s lounging in her seat with her left arm spread out over the armrest and her eyes shut, with Vine holed up in the corner beside the window and his seatmate, halfway to slumber town himself. Marrow meanwhile has contorted himself so that his tail is curving over his body while Elm pushes his back against her own as to sleep more cozily.

Of all the descriptors Clover as ever used or considered using in regards to his team, the term ‘adorable’ has never once come to mind. However, those brief glances at his fellow fighters changes that perspective in an instant.

He has a sneaking suspicion that a certain group of kids from Beacon have a hand to play in the change.

Honestly, the Ace Ops as a whole have become so much closer over the weeks that unorthodox group has been in their presence.

Those kids...and Qrow...who knew they would be what the world needed the most right about now?

And more importantly, who knows what they’ll do next? Clover believes that whatever it is will be something good, and he’s happy to be along for the ride.

Well, whatever the case, he does agree nonetheless that it’s just about time to turn it in for the night.

()()()()()()()()()()

Sixteen hours never seemed too big of a number for Qrow, and passing that time with Clover has made it seem even more paltry than that.

Things are always easy like that for Qrow and Clover -- at least when they’re together, that is. Clover has this aura about him -- not a luck-based aura, but...a different kind of aura, separate from the pressures of semblances and more of a resemblance of his core personality. That aura makes the air feel just a bit sweeter and the urge to keep his guard up seem so much more distant than it should be.

Being around Clover...it makes Qrow just feel safe.

He knows it’s unwise. After all, they have a relic in their possession. It’s just a matter of time until a flying Grimm attacks them, or Hazel will show up on a hot air balloon or something or both at the same time, ready, willing, and able to blow them out of the sky.

Well, at least Tyrian’s not among their enemies’ numbers anymore.

Still, despite the danger that lurks behind each and every one of Remnant’s four corners, Clover’s sheer presence somehow wills his relaxation into existence. It’s nice having someone around like that, and it’s even nicer that that person is Clover.

Qrow’s never been much of a talker -- in truth, he’s not even that much of a talker with Clover -- but Clover and he are able to ebb and flow through the balance of conversation and alone time with such ease. There always seems to be something new for the two of them to discuss, and at the same time, they can exchange a comfortable silence with not a single bit of awkwardness, and no time has made that more apparent than today.

Most of the conversation’s been surrounding Vacuo. Qrow wants Clover to know what he’s in for once they hit the harsh sands below it. Clover seems so assured that he can handle the rough climate, but he’s never been there before. Nonetheless, Clover’s confidence -- as it is often one to do -- leaves Qrow believing he can weather whatever Vacuo has in store for him.

...That said, is it bad that Qrow also wants to see the look on Clover’s face when he realizes they need to regularly traverse the desert on foot?

Probably, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a hilarious mental image to have dance around in his head.

Still, even if he has a hard time at first, Qrow knows Clover will get it in no time.

And he looks forward to that smile of triumph when even the cruelest of wastelands falls prey to Clover Ebi’s relentless optimism.

The shattered moon is the only light the outside world provides them that remains in the wake of the deceased day. And just like that very outside world, it’s not long after the sun abandons it that the occupants of their aircraft abandon their overhead lights.

It makes sense. After all, they’re supposed to be landing early tomorrow, and they left Atlas Academy pretty early this morning just to make their flight. Everyone could use a little shut eye.

Some arrive sooner to that proverbial party than others.

Qrow hears Ruby and Nora snoring from both the front and back of the aircraft, respectively.

He’s traveled with them for months, but it never ceases to amaze him just how loudly those two brats in particular seem to -- not even just sleep, but just do...everything.

Other snores -- less loud than his niece and her friend’s -- speckle the night with bits of sound, as the plane lets itself darken.

He and Clover lock eyes just before turning to see their comrades as they fall to the lull of sleep.

Diagonal from their seats, they spot something that almost makes Qrow’s heart skip a beat.

‘Cute’ really isn’t Qrow’s scene. He may hang around with people considered to be cute by both others and admittedly himself, but Qrow doesn’t go looking for cute things, nor pay them any more attention than anything else that only mildly interests him with few exceptions.

But seeing Yang and Blake, cuddling up against each other with a shared blanket that continues melding forms that are already bound by touched foreheads, yeah, that’s cute.

Nah, not cute. Downright ‘precious’ would be the better way to describe the sight before him.

Clover seems to think so too. He can feel the tension in Clover’s forearm release from up against him, but also not pull back.

Qrow can’t even blame him. He’s halfway tempted to take a picture and send it to Ruby because he knows she’d kill him if she found out he held something like this back from her.

But he doesn’t. This is Yang and Blake’s moment, not theirs, even if it is cute.

They’re good kids. They deserve some happiness like that.

He and Clover take a final look at the lovebirds before turning back to each other, softly smiling.

Clover hums his agreement to their silent conversation in a relaxed, yet still jovial tone.

Then...Clover does something unexpected. He leans down briefly, rifling around the bottom of his seat. Moments later, he surfaces, but with a dark blue plush, cylindrical bundle in his hands. The name of the aircraft is embroidered onto the cloth exterior.

Well, it wouldn’t be an airplane ride without a complimentary blanket, now would it?

Clover pops open a button and holds the blanket between them, his offer obvious despite that offer being given no voice.

There’s a hidden implication to the gesture, especially given what they just saw between his niece and Blake.

A sudden case of convenient amnesia overtakes Qrow -- or rather, Qrow takes on -- regarding the fact that he has also been provided with his own blanket, one that rests right beside where Clover found his, and that he’d be able to access just as easily as Clover was.

Oops. How silly of him.

Qrow, with a shrug and a chuckle nods his acceptance.

Without a word needing to be exchanged between them, Clover and Qrow spread the blanket over themselves and get comfortable.

Clover positively radiates warmth. It would make for a sweltering scenario if the shared body heat was balmy rather than cozy.

Qrow and Clover are sharing a blanket.

No, Qrow is not completely beside himself with a delight he never thought it was possible for him to house.

...That’s the veneer he aims to put on, at least.

In truth though, for as happy as he is with the arrangement, it’s not enough to hitch his breath, nor make his heartbeat race. Things may have been like that at some point between them, but right now, Qrow can’t remember -- he doesn’t want to.

What they have now, it’s comfortable -- literally, at this second, just as much as it is figuratively -- and Qrow wouldn’t trade it for the world.

As the final minutes of their day slink by, they watch something on each of their TV’s. Still, Qrow isn’t paying attention to anything except how nice this all feels and just how alluring the prospect of a nap is right now. He suspects Clover feels the same. Their eyelids begin to grow heavy, and that weight only gets increases more and more by the second. Hardly ten minutes pass after the blanket is spread before Clover and Qrow quietly fall asleep.

()()()()()()()()()()

Yang’s uncle, whether he’ll ever admit it or not -- something Yang thinks is about as likely as Salem deciding to sprout confetti all across Remnant instead of Grimm -- is too cute for words.

She’s seen plenty of instances of his cuteness throughout her childhood -- mostly through funny faces and even funnier stories made to entertain while simultaneously distracting her and Ruby. In her adolescence, instances were less prevalent, coming out only through the occasional glimpse of awkwardness, goofiness, or unashamed bouts of affection.

But any absence of signs that she’s ever experienced in her life of her uncle Qrow’s cuteness are more than made up for by the sheer sight of Qrow cuddling underneath a blanket with Clover Ebi.

It’s an adorable sight to wake up to -- not quite as adorable as the sleeping Blake that first greets Yang’s eyes when she wakes from their nap, but still more than enough to make her smile nonetheless.

Yang doesn’t stay awake for long. At times like this, Blake’s presence soothes her like nothing else, and the pull of sleep is a mighty one to ward off under such circumstances. However, upon prying her eyes away from Blake to stretch, she gets to see a bit of her uncle’s snuggly nap, and it does a good job holding its own in the battle of cuteness.

All is calm, but all the same, while the nightmares that Yang knows make her uncle Qrow reel in his sleep are clearly not present, Qrow’s head ends up shifting all the same, eventually leaning onto Clover’s shoulder where it at last is calmed. And Clover’s head, taken off its balance, gently sandwiches Qrow’s head into the crook of his neck. Yang sees Qrow’s left arm slip towards the bottom of the small of Clover’s back, and Clover’s hand is visible through the indent it makes, falling to Qrow’s right thigh, practically on his waist. Both sport easy smiles.

Despite the fact that there are so many fights left unresolved and so many monsters that will likely soon come for all of them, Cover and Qrow both look as though they’ve never been as safe as they are whilst held in each other’s arms.

And in the entire time Yang’s known both of them, they’ve never looked this comfortable before.

Well, perhaps she’s wrong about that. Everything about them is comfortable from the outside looking in, and has been since the day they were first partnered up. It’s something that goes beyond their complementary semblances, too. Actually, yeah -- if Yang were to put it into words, she’d say that they just fit so...comfortably together. There’s no better way to describe them than that, but all the same, it’s the right word for them.

Yang’s not a betting girl, but she’ll say that if Qrow or Clover were each allowed to pick a single moment could be made to last forever, there’s a good chance at least one of them would pick this one.

She’s happy for them. Clover’s a good guy -- cool-headed, but cocky, spunky, but earnest, and strong willed, but not incapable of change to help the world improve. Yang likes him and as a plus, he and Qrow fight well together.

They’re good men. They deserve some happiness like that.

And speaking of some due happiness, a slight stir from Blake settles Yang back into their prior pose, and moments later, she falls asleep again.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Clover’s woken up in aircrafts before.

If he had to call one thing about them his favorite, it would be the pale sunset that shine through the windows. Just like the sunset from the previous day, it creates a gorgeous glow over the plane’s occupants that makes for a wonderful way to start the day.

And with both that sunset and Qrow Branwen by his side, Clover wouldn’t be surprised if this turned out to be the best day ever.

As if he and Qrow didn’t match each other perfectly enough already, they wake up at practically the same time, too. Less than a minute after Clover eyes open, Qrow’s eyes meet his gaze. It’s so serene -- Clover feels as though he could meet it forever.

In a move that honestly surprises Clover, Qrow doesn’t do anything to move away from him. They’re so close -- there’s no way that hasn’t resonated with Qrow the same way it has for Clover.

As a matter of fact, he doesn’t even rush to create the small excuse for distance they had prior to their rest either. The touch lingers in the warmth of the blanket and their shared body heat.

No one else is awake yet. Neither he nor Qrow are looking around, but he gets the sense that they can both just feel it.

A certain moment from the night before rings a bell, of two people nestled under a blanket together, holding each other tightly.

It’s just them -- resting together, resting comfortably.

Clover’s pretty sure there’s not one tangible thing in all of Remnant or beyond that he wants more.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Qrow hasn’t slept as well as he has over the past few hours in a long, long time. His usual bout of nightmares let him be, and because of that, not once did his consciousness stir out of its state of slumber all evening.

It’s a good feeling -- it’s a really good feeling.

He has to strain himself to will the strength needed to open his eyes into existence -- a Herculean task that he feels should grant him a round of applause for its completion.

And when he does, he’s rewarded for his efforts by one hell of a sight.

Clover’s eyes have always stuck out to Qrow as bold -- then again, so do his own -- but two inches at most from his face, despite their singular color, they’re as vibrant as a rainbow.

Neither of them speak, as if their proximity to each other leaves them speechless.

But no -- this isn’t them being speechless. Qrow knows what that’s like, but he can tell that if he ever gains a desire to end this, he could whenever he wants to.

And he doesn’t.

Instead, tender smiles are exchanged, acting in place of any verbal language as a wish for a good morning.

Verbal or not, the wish feels well granted right about now.

They’re both so close together right now, with much of their bodies already pressed against the other about as snugly as the situation can allow.

With that thought, another slams into him, one that should leave him agape and shocked, but doesn’t.

So Qrow let’s the thought exist, entertaining it like silly putty in his hands.

If they were so inclined to kiss, such a thing would be almost too easy to pass up right now.

And neither of them are running away. They’ve both fought their demons -- emotional and literal -- and won.

Some easiness is definitely called for.

So Qrow leans in, and Clover follows him as if their minds and thoughts were one.

It’s little more than a shift for them as their lips touch for the first time.

The kiss between them feels...weightless. Yeah, that’s how Qrow would best put it. With that weightlessness comes a sense of finally and fully letting go. It’s a letting go of his inhibitions, a letting go of his guard, and a letting go of anything that he hasn’t already readily offered Clover.

There’s not much of the latter...but that’s what makes the kiss as good as it is.

Qrow’s hand moves from the small of Clover’s back up to the space between his shoulders. Clover’s moves from Qrow’s thigh around the corner of his form, fully ensnaring his waist.

It’s a quiet kiss, at least to the outside world. But between them, a fondness in the form of a question that had been upfront about its presence, but never ultimately asked is at last not only asked, but answered. That answer turns out to be better than Qrow could’ve ever imagined.

They breathe each other in more and more for every moment the kiss goes on, and that leaves them both with a lot of the other’s scents dancing through their noses.

The kiss comes to an end as a flight attendant passes by, offering them coffee. Even as they softly break apart though to tell them their drink preferences, one of each of their hands find their way to the other’s.

Another kiss is not exchanged that morning, but those hands stay casually bound until the plane lands in a small mushroom cloud of sand.

Vacuo is for certain going to be a challenge for the group, one that will not be gentle with its trials and tribulations as the weather, Grimm, and Salem’s goons alike put their patience, strength, and sanity through the absolute tightest wringer.

However, Qrow’s not worried, or at least not as worried as he would be alone. As long as Clover stands beside him, no matter the pain that may follow, a part of him will always be allowed to be comfortable.

#fair game #rwby #clover ebi #qrow branwen #qrover #lucky charms #luck birds #my fanfiction

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alltheworldsinmyhead · 5 years ago

Photo

FLORIAN THE FOOL

ao3

Time flies and it does not wait for anyone. But theirs are years well-lives, so Gendry supposes it's all right, in the end // Gendry gets to watch his Arya grow old with him. It feels like a blessing.

gendry’s pov of the white fawn

Clearing the air, I breathed in the smoke

Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down

Maybe I've stormed out of every single room in this town

Threw out our cloaks and our daggers because it's morning now

It's brighter now

I once believed love would be burnin' red

But it's golden

Like daylight

- Daylight, Taylor Swift

***

Sometimes, when it’s raining outside and the kids are deep asleep, curled on top of one another like a litter of pups, Gendry takes Arya’s hand and they dance slowly in the middle of the room, swaddled in darkness. Nothing fancy – mostly, they just sway side-to-side, her cheek leaning on his chest and his chin resting on the top of her head.

It’s very quiet between them.

This always reminds him of kneeling on the cold, soft mud in front her, underneath Raventree, when they were told to ask gods to bless their marriage. He did not believe in gods then and he does not believe in them now; Old or New or Red, they don’t seem to listen to mortals’ wishes at all. But despite that, he bowed his head dutifully and, against everything, did ask for one thing and one thing only-

Let me love this woman right, please. Just let me love her like she is supposed to be loved.

It is a prayer, but it’s also more than that; it is a promise.

Arya, with her hair chopped short and desperate eyes, trying to convince him she is a boy.

Arya, bow in her hands, swift and nimble on her feet, running through the woods like a fawn.

Arya in yellow silks and with flowers on her head, so young and so fucking gorgeous it hurt. Arya, saying she is his, claiming him as hers.

Arya hovering above him, her eyes shining in the dark.

Arya on her back, face all red, hair stuck to her forehead and crying in pain, her hand clasping his so hard that bruises form on his fingers.

Arya, ankle-deep in cold, cold river, holding Ben under his armpits and lowering him into the water and raising him up over and over again as he wiggles in her grip, giggling.

Let me love her like she deserves to be loved.

Jory only falls asleep if someone sings to him and it takes them way too much time to figure it out, probably because none of them have any fucking idea what they’re even doing and so the thought of ever trying lullabies have somehow never occurred to either.

But one yet another sleepless night, Arya, more tired than sane really, lays their screaming, screeching baby on the bed between them and begins to rub comforting circles on his belly with her eyes closed as she opens her mouth.

Six maids in a pool

They're of noble blood

One Fool, but great, on the shore

He'd seen that flower full of love

"She'll be in my garden" - he'd sworn

And then there is a sudden silence, blissful silence except for Arya’s low, rough voice and the sound of crickets outside as Jory’s eyelids flutter and shut. Soon enough, he’s deep asleep, clutching Gendry’s index finger with one of his tiny fists.

They stay frozen, afraid to move, to even breathe, in case the baby will wake up, but it does not happen and Gendry slowly tears his gaze away from Jory, so relieved and overjoyed, about to just pull Arya against his chest and kiss her senseless-

But Arya looks down, still like a lake, tears rolling down her cheeks one by one.

‘’Arry.’’ – he whispers hopeless, at loss of what to do. His heart beats so loudly in his chest that he’s sure she must hear it.

‘’It was- it was Sansa’s favorite.’’ – she lets out with a shaky breath, hunching over and hiding her face in her hands. – ‘’Florian The Fool and Jonquil.’’

Slowly, so, so slowly, Gendry grabs her wrists and lowers her hands down and cups her face, wiping tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. She’s so skinny, so sad lately, worn to the bone.

‘’It’s just so hard now.’’ – she admits quietly.

He’s about to say I know, but bites on his tongue before those words escape from his mouth. No, he doesn’t. He does not know much really. He leaves on the first light and comes home late, and Arya stays, day and night, hissing in pain every time she nurses and lulling crying Jory in her arms for hours, over and over again. The girl who wanted adventure and thrill, stuck in one place like a caged bird.

Staring into Arya’s weary, gleam-less gray eyes, Gendry really, truly hates himself for the first time in his life.

He does not know how to make it better. So, instead, he does the only thing that comes into his mind; he kisses her forehead and tells her that she can go to sleep and he will watch Jory. This night and all the other nights. And he will learn all the songs under the sun, if that’s what their baby wants. Behold, Gendry The Fool.

This earns him a smile. Small and barely-there.. but it’s a beginning.

In the morning light, she is a statue carved out of marble.

Sitting on the threshold, barefoot and with her hair loose, she looks so fragile. Bird-boned. If she was a metal, she would require goldsmith’s nimble fingers to form, not brute strength of a blacksmith.

And yet, she hears his footsteps, she turns around to look at him and moves a little to the left to make place for him. And, when he sits down, she rests her head on his shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do and he wraps his arm around her-

And yet, despite all, they just fit. They work.

She places his hand on her swollen belly so he could feel their babe kicking underneath his fingers, oh gods, he never wants to move from this threshold ever again. He tries to imagine sitting here with another woman, sharing his life with another woman and it just leaves a foul taste in his mouth.

He is hers. Simple as that.

Duncan is so small in Gendry’s hands, barely bigger than a loaf of bread and looking so delicate. Born a moon too early, he came out of Arya’s womb pale and unmoving and Gendry has never been more afraid in his life than in those few seconds stretched into infinity, looking into Arya’s wide wild eyes and waiting for their second son to take his first breath and start to cry. He’s fine now, maybe still a bit too light, but that’s okay – Gendry can keep him safe and warm in his arms as long as it takes for his to gain strength on his own, as long as he needs it. Even if it’s forever. It doesn’t matter.

Jory is so curious about his baby brother that it’s almost comical. He peaks at Duncan napping on Arya’s breast and then gently, very gently, pats his chubby cheek.

‘’Soft.’’ – he grins up at Arya and she laughs.

‘’Yeah, babies are like that. All soft and nice. Do you want to give him a kiss?’’

Jory seems to be thinking about it for a while, a tiny wrinkle appearing between his brows from concentration. It smoothes down when he leans to press a peck on Duncan’s dark head.

‘’Love him.’’ – he babbles with a toothy smile and Gendry can swear that there actual tears in Arya’s eyes, no matter that she would deny it.

‘’Wish I could give ‘em a name.’’ – he says quietly, watching as older boys snore in unison, both of them holding each of Ollie’s tiny fists.

Arya reaches out above their sleeping children and puts her little hand on his cheek. Her eyes are shining in the darkness like twin stars and yes, indeed, Gendry wishes for a name other than Waters more than he has ever wished for anything, but that’s not the only thing he desires. He wishes for a featherbed for Arya; for her to be less tired; for her hands to remain soft. He can’t give her comfort the same way he can’t offer any of the three sons he has with a noble-born woman anything more than a hut on the hill, a few goats and a small workshop in the Maidenpool.

‘’They have a father who loves them, a father who they can be proud of. That’s more important than any name could ever be.’’

Gendry thinks it’s very lady-like of her to say so. But, after all, she gave up her name for him, so maybe he could trust her on this matter.

Sometimes he dreams of Arya in Winterfell; Arya all highborn in Northern furs, a silver crown on her dark hair and cheeks painted pink from frost. He dreams of wolves surrounding her, howling for her in the woods, bowing their heads for her when she passes through the pack of them as if she was their queen.

Wolf dreams, she tells him shortly one time when he wakes up in the morning to find her sitting in the bed still deep asleep and biting on her lip hard enough that it bleeds, her hands all scratched by her own nails. He doesn’t ask for more explanation. It’s scary enough, to think what she might have become, how high she might have risen had she not she chosen him.

Beric arrives one evening, seated on a fine black mare that makes boys gasp in awe and nervously elbow each other until Jory asks very politely – let it never be said that Gendry raises his son as wildlings, thank you very much – if they can maybe, just maybe, feed her an apple. As horse happily munches, absolutely not paying any attention to three little creatures combing her tail and patting her sides, Arya hoists baby Ben on her hip and talks with Beric outside as Gendry goes to fetch cheese and milk.

On his way back, he stops on the threshold and grins involuntarily. Gods, his wife is just so fucking pretty, more beautiful with every passing year. No one would call her a dirty boyish urchin now, with her long dark locks cascading down her back and a blush on her sweet face. She sways delicately, side-to-side, as the child in her arms dozes off, his head resting on her shoulder.

Gendry very briefly wonders if he could possibly persuade her to have yet another babe. A daughter this time, a little Arya, gifted with her mother’s effortless grace and devious gleam in grey eyes. From their sons, Ollie is the only one brown-headed and also the only one alike to Arya in any physical regard; Jory and Duncan are both copies of him, taller than they should be at their age and growing out of every pair of shoes more rapidly than Gendry can supply them.

‘’Your brother would take you. All of you.’’

Beric’s voice is like a cold shower, briefly, just before it turns into a cold fury brewing in Gendry’s gut.

‘’Why would I ever take my sons to Winterfell?’’

‘’They could have a future there.’’

Gendry doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. If Lord Beric All-Mighty Dondarrion wants to say that he cannot damn support for his own family, he can fucken say it to his face. But he remains inside the house, hidden in shadows and frozen in place. Listening.

Arya laughs, both softly and bitterly somehow.

‘’What kind of future? Bein’ treated as bastards, even though they’re not? Bein’ treated as baseborn and worse for that, even tho they don’t deserve it? ‘’

‘’Your brother has no heirs, he could use three healthy, strong boys. Do you want your ancestral seat in the hands of some other house? For Starks to die out?’’

Gendry’s fist clench. That’s a low blow and Beric bloody knows it, probably that’s why he does not look Arya in the eyes.

He never let it go. He rode with smallfolk, wined and dined and shat with them, but he never forgave himself for letting highborn girl under his care to be defiled by a bastard blacksmith, knight or not.

Nearly killed me when I refused to ride North with them, sulked through the wedding and acted all high and honorable, and now he tries to take a wife from her husband and children from their father.

‘’Rickon married Shireen Baratheon; if Bran will die childless, Rick’s second son will hold Winterfell. If not, Sansa’s child will. Heard she has a boy now.’’

‘’It’s your sons’ right.’’ Beric’s voice turns sharp. ‘’Hope you know what you’re depriving them of.’’

There is silence ringing in Gendry’s ears for a moment. He inhales, deeply, and is just about to move, to bash Lightning Lord’s skull in, when-

‘’Oh, I know full well.”

Ours is the fury. For the first time, he thinks Arya would make a fine Lady Baratheon; there is so much anger radiating from her that he half-expects for the sky to part and send down thunderbolts.

‘’I deprive them of ever watching their father killed in a godsdamned game of thrones. No one will chop Gendry’s head off for a secret. No one will betray me and slit my throat. ‘’ she states, her voice unwavering. - ‘’If I die on them, it will be in childbirth. If Gendry does, it will be from the plague. These are honest deaths, the ones that don’t scar. Don’t teach me how to love my own children, Beric, or how to take care of them. I gave them the freedom to be who they want to be. And if I will ever bear a daughter, she will be freer than I ever was.’’

Guilt, heavy like a stone, punches him in the gut.

All those years and I’m still underestimating you, love.

Beric gifts them their fine black mare when he leaves the next morning, against their protests. Gendry wants to sell her – it’s suspicious for people like them to have a horse like that – but boys plead and plead for hours and Arya glances at the mare fondly, and Gendry is reminded how she used to ride faster than wind, hair unbound and no saddle needed. Freedom incarnate.

His wife calls the horse Wintersong.

Alysanne is born nine moons later.

Against his stupid, silent wishes, their children grow up quicker than a blink. He longs for bare feet and joyous shrieks, for mud fights and hurts that could be healed by kisses. What he gets now is to see them all go their own way and seven hells, it hurts so much.

Benjen is the first one to go, stolen away at just nine by Lord fucking Dayne, to squire for him and then to be knighted. And Gendry knows, somewhere in the more rational part of him, that this is a good thing, that Ben would be happy doing what he was so clearly made to do. Ned is an honorable man and he will take good care of the boy, and one day Ben will be a great knight. They would sing songs of him. Still, this knowledge does nothing to soothe his sorrows. Bloody Starfall is too far away to travel and, as he hugs Ben’s scrawny frame, the realization that it might be the last time he does that takes his breath away.

I will never see him practicing with wooden swords in the woods again. I won’t see as he grows up.

Is there ever a bitter moment for a father, he thinks, clutching Alysanne’s hand as she waves her brother goodbye. – then when he gives his child away and they are not his anymore?

The first night after his son’s departure, Arya weeps from dusk till dawn, clinging to him in desperation until exhaustion pulls her under. Next morning she’s calm and collected again, moving on as if nothing happened, but this is the first time that Gendry looks at his wife and thinks she’s getting older.

Jory’s next; always the responsible one, he quietly and slowly explains to them one afternoon how he will finish his apprenticeship soon and would like to stay in Maidenpool and marry his carpentry master’s youngest daughter. Gendry knows the girl – pretty lass named Joy, fox-like and with hair kissed by the fire. He had no idea that Jory fancies her thou, although it is possible he might be the only one oblivious, as Arya doesn’t even try to look surprised.

(Stupid. – she tells him in the evening, shaking her head. – During the fair last year all he did was look at her, all moony, too afraid to ask her to dance. Didn’t you notice that?

Well. He didn’t.

Arya sighs heavily, resting her head on her hand and glancing at him from underneath her lashes.

Remind me why I married you?

He leans down, resting his forehead against hers. His hand sneaks underneath her skirts to rest on her bare tight and he watches as grin blooms on her face.

Don’t complain, m’lady.)

Duncan doesn’t ever really leave, which Gendry cherishes. Even as a kid, Duncan loved coming over to forge the most, begged Gendry to teach him blacksmithing ever since he was maybe six. As a man grown, his second son is his mirror copy; his body made to hammer metal into obedience and temper it into strength. He’s good at that, very good in fact. Steel sang for Gendry for most of his life – and it sings for Duncan too, even more beautifully. Girls from the whole town come over to watch him work and even Gendry is not as blind as not to see that the boy enjoys their attention.

He would be lying if he said it does not worry him, the thoughts of his own father and bastards swimming in his head until one day Duncan sets the hammer down and turns to him, blushing like a maiden.

‘’Dad.’’

‘’Hmm?’’

‘’Well. There is this girl- we, I mean, she… you know…‘’

Ha. There is always a girl.

‘’Are you going to marry her?’’

Duncan’s ears turn red.

‘’Yes.’’

Gendry stays quiet for a moment, before deciding that it certain things just don’t matter as much as he used to think they do.

Slowly, he eases his scowl into a smile.

‘’Congratulations, then.’’

Olllie… Ollie is a burden too heavy to bear.

(Arya screamed for hours, howled like a wolf with the limp body of their son clutched to her chest. No words, just raw ache of a wounded animal, not letting anyone come near. Alys hid in the cupboard, curled in a little ball with her hands pressed to her ears and crying in terror until Jory carried her away, hushing Duncan and Ben out.

Spring fever has a smell, sweet and disgusting. It always comes too late, when there is nothing that can be done anymore, clinging to hair and skin for weeks. No one can wash it off. In a way, Arya was right – death from plague never really scars. The wound that it leaves simply doesn’t ever close.

Ollie was so small, gasping for breath. He still had all his milk teeth, he still loved for Gendry to toss him up in the air, he still would ask Arya to tell him stories every evening and kiss his forehead goodnight.

So small.)

Sometimes he wonders – if they lived in a castle, maybe a maester could heal him, maybe he still would be alive. He wonders if Arya wonders about it too, but decides to keep silent.

They don’t talk about Ollie, none of them.

Alys runs away two moons before her five and tenth name day, surprising no one. Gendry guesses he got his wish; she is her mother’s daughter, truly. He watches, sad and resigned, as his wife tries and fails to hide her quiet glee as she reads him the letter Alys left. He just hears some phrases, here and there: mummer’s troupe, tightrope, adventure, being an acrobat and a boy, there is always a fucking boy.

And just like that, there is two of them again.

When they were younger, they used to be more desperate for each other, more hungry. Gendry supposes it makes sense - he was less sure of her then. Not in a way he doubted she loved him, he always knew she loved him, cared for him. It was more like he was living without ever exhaling, holding his breath and waiting until someone will take her away from him, because surely someone will?

Lady Arya, the Northern Princess on his lap, her eyes shut closed and mouth opened in pleasure, moaning his name and digging her nails in his shoulders.

It was just too good to be true.

He was so careful, not to get used to any of it. From his experience, Gods delight in taking things mortals take for granted. And his family already feels fragile enough; no matter how solid the walls are, they built them on quicksand. Everything is perishable and he can never forget that. But the older he gets, more and more of this burning anxiety disappears from his bones, evaporating in the thin early-morning mist outside when he wakes up in her warm arms and she sleeps like breast milk and dreams.

He still memorizes as much as he can though. Just in case one day memories would be the only thing he has left.

The identical shade of blue of his sons’ eyes. Alys’ breathy laughter. And Arya, Arya, Arya.

Years made her sweeter, softer. When they were freshly married, she used to order him around in bed, half-starved for his touch and half-ashamed for being so needy. They would go hard and fast, his fingers leaving bruises on her hips and her teeth leaving bite marks on his neck. He would be lying if he said he did not enjoy that, but now it’s even better. -now, when they make love, it’s slow and gentle, and everything they never thought they could be. She unravels underneath him, letting him pleasure her and worship her until she’s boneless and pliant, laughing breathlessly when his beard scratches her belly. She used to be slim and skinny, his wolf maiden, taut like a bowstring about to break, with lean muscles dancing underneath her pale skin. Now, there are traces of their children all over her body. They are written in the silver threads in her hair and in a blue spider web of veins on her breasts and faint marks on her belly where it stretched to accommodate growing babies, each of them.

It makes him stupid every time, looking at all those. Stupid and drunk on a feeling he does not even know how to describe.

Time flies and he can never get enough of her, of how it feels to be buried in her, of her hair in between his fingers and her nose bumping his and the way she bites on her lips when she peaks. The taste of her, the sight of her, the sound of her – she drives him mad and he sometimes wonders if he was put on this Earth just for this one purpose, to love this woman until he dies.

Because Gendry loves his lady Arya, like a fool and with all of him. This one thing never changes, even when they grow older and softer and weaker, and their hearts beat slower than they used to. Even when she is no longer dark-haired and he is no longer strong like an ox.

He can no longer carry her through the door, but he can still hold her hand as they watch the sunrise together. And maybe she does not water dance anymore, but, when she brushes her lips against his knuckles, this wicked gleam still burns in her eyes.

He loves her. The best he can. And as it seems to be enough for her - well, he trusts her enough to find solace in that.

#gendrya #gendry x arya #gendrya fanfiction #gendrya fic #gendrya au #got fanfiction #asoiaf fanficiton

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thesurielships · 5 years ago

Text

New Girl meets The Court of Dreams (a Feysand fanfic)

Hello, this is my first fanfic, and it’s still rough around the edges, so proceed with care. Yesterday, I suddenly had this idea of Feyre moving in with Rhys, Cassian and Azriel in a New Girl type of setting, and she would have to go get her clothes from Tamlin’s place. The story hasn’t reached that far yet, but I might go on with it if inspiration hits. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy the feysand fluff.

Part I, Part II, Part III

Rhysand had never thought he’d see the day Feyre Archeron rode with him in his car.

That’s right.

Feyre, as in Feyre Cursebreaker Archeron, as in the girl he’d been pining over for years, was now sitting in his car, looking out the window, her nervousness apparent in her restless hands and the bottom lip she’d been chewing on for the past half hour.

He had been utterly shocked when she had run up to him earlier, panting and breathless, and asked him for a ride. At first he thought she’d meant another kind of ride, one he was totally willing to give her ten times a day, seven days a week. He somehow managed not to make a complete fool of himself, and here they were.

He didn’t realize he was staring at her until he veered off his lane and a car honked angrily. Snap out of it, he thought. She can totally tell you like her.

But Feyre only had one thing on her mind, and it wasn’t the gorgeous guy sitting next to her. No, she was thinking of how she would get her clothes back from her now ex Tamlin’s house. She had fled the house the previous night after a particularly ugly fight with the controlling asshole, and had only texted him: “I left. Thank you for helping me when I needed you. Please don’t come looking for me. I am not coming back.”

Now she had no clothes, no home, and most importantly, no phone charger.

She slumped in her seat, sighing.

“Tonight is the winter solstice.” Rhys said, quietly.

Feyre smiled wryly. “Longest night of the year.”

“The stars shine their brightest tonight.”

She looked at him then, his profile flickering in the light of the passing streetlights. He glanced at her, and when his eyes met hers, her breath caught.

Your eyes shine brighter than the stars, she wanted to say. She blushed, and looked away.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “For the ride.”

He chuckled. “You’ve thanked me three times already.”

“Still-“

“But,” he interrupted, smirking. “If you still feel bad, you can always thank me in other ways, Feyre darling.”

She scowled. “In your dreams, prick.”

“You do seem to make quite a regular appearance in those.”

Feyre’s heart skipped a beat. Dangerous territory, she chided herself. It was soon, way too soon after Tamlin. It had only been a day, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from retorting: “As you seem to have difficulty not staring at me day and night, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Am I supposed to deny,” he drawled, eyes sparkling, “that I find you attractive?”

“You’ve never said it.”

He sighed. “I’ve never had a chance to. Aren’t you dating that flower boy?”

She snorted at the ridiculous nickname. Steroid Tamlin was anything but a flower boy. “Not anymore.”

Rhys’s eyebrows rose. “Should I be sorry?”

Feyre slumped again in her seat, dejected. “Don’t. I’d rather be homeless than live with that controlling asshole.”

“Wait,” Rhys said, eyes wide, and she savored how the light reflected in them. “You’re homeless?”

“Temporarily, I hope. But yes, I suppose I am.”

“Then where am I taking you?”

“A cybercafé. Open 24/7. Should work for tonight.”

He made an abrupt U-turn, eliciting a cacophony of honks all around them. She yelped. “Where are you going?”

“As it happens, one of my roommates just moved out last week. We still haven’t found a suitable replacement.”

Feyre’s heart started beating loudly. “Oh no, Rhysand, I don’t want to abuse of your kindness…”

“This is not charity, Feyre darling. My roommates and I have a screening process to judge potential rommates. You’ll have to go through that first.”

She opened her mouth to argue but was stopped short by an explosion of light in the corner of her eye.

A shooting star.

“A wish for a wish?” Rhysand’s voice was soft, tentative.

“I’m fairly sure that’s not how wishes work, Rhysand. Doesn’t telling a wish ruin it?”

“Only you can decide what gets in the way of your dreams, Feyre darling.”

“Poetic, but no.”

“Fine,” he sighed, aggravated. “I’ll go first.” He paused long enough for her to see his eyes go soft and his smile grow wistful. She waited for what he would say with such trepidation that she was caught completely off guard by the absurdity of his wish.

“I wish you’d stop calling me Rhysand.”

She huffed out an incredulous laugh. “Isn’t that your name?”

“My friends call me Rhys.” He crinkled his nose. Adorable. No.

She tapped her chin. “I’ll consider it, if you stop calling me darling, you shameless flirt.”

He smirked. “No way, Feyre darling.”

If she was honest with herself, she rather liked the endearment, so she let him off easy, looking out the window to hide the smile tugging at her lips.

“You still owe me a wish.”

She looked back at him then, and drank in the sight of his profile shining ethereal in the starlight, his eyes a deep, sensuous violet that was rapidly turning into her favorite color.

“I want to paint you,” she finally said, barely more than a whisper, afraid to break the moment.

To her surprise, he did not smirk, and he did not preen. Instead, he graced her with the most beautiful smile she had ever seen, his eyes shining so bright she could’ve sworn they had stolen all the stars in the sky.

“Stars eternal,” she whispered, still entranced. Her heart was beating a tattoo in her chest, and she longed to run a hand along his sharp jawline, brush a finger against his lips…

“I love it when you look at me like that.”

She blinked, blushing furiously.

“Like… like what?” she stuttered.

“Like I’m the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.”

She scowled, her cheeks ablaze. “You arrogant prick.”

He pulled over then, parking perfectly in the midst of the busy street.

She frowned. “Are we there already?” She looked at her surroundings. They were in the middle of the financial district of Manhattan, and all she could see in every direction were office buildings.

He shook his head, and motioned for her to stay still. He got out of the car, went over to her side, and opened her door with a flourish.

“After you, my lady.”

She shook her head, laughing. Rhysand was already hearing wedding bells. He knew she had just broken up with Flower Boy, and he probably shouldn’t rush her, but when she smiled at him like that, he just couldn’t help himself.

He bowed and offered her his arm, and she put her hand in the crook of his elbow, laughing at his goofiness. He guided her through throngs of people, to his favorite restaurant in town. It was a hole-in-the-wall kind of affaire, and he had stumbled upon it one drunken night with his inner circle, only to find the best food he had ever tasted. They even had it on speed dial back at their flat.

“Velaris,” Feyre whispered in wonder.

They went inside, and everybody seemed to know Rhysand. He was greeted by every single one of the staff, and the chef came personally to take their order. Feyre was taken aback. She wasn’t used to seeing the outgoing, friendly side of Rhys. He was mostly known as the college bad boy, and he was generally cold and closed off. Tonight, however, the smile never left his face. It was genuine and open and so warm it made her fuzzy inside. She blinked and suddenly realized that Rhys and the chef were both staring at her expectantly.

“Uh,” she fumbled, flipping rapidly through the menu, the options a blur in her eyes. “Surprise me?” she finished weakly.

The chef smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

Rhysand was tapping a steady beat into the table, trying to hide how nervous he was. Feyre was here, with him, in Velaris, his favorite place in the world. He couldn’t help but marvel at how she fit in just right. She was already a favorite among the staff, he guessed from the three water pitchers, one bottle of wine and numerous plates of appetizers already on the table, if only because they thought she was his date. If only.

“Nice place,” Feyre said, breaking his train of thought just as it took a self-deprecating turn. “Really cozy.”

“Wine?” He asked.

“Sure.”

He poured them each a healthy dose of the amber liquid. She took her glass and clinked it against his. “To the people who look at the stars and wish, Rhys.”

He smiled, even as his heart broke a little. “To the stars who listen, and the dreams that are answered.”

Their dinner came then, and he watched, utterly fascinated, as she first took a tentative bite of her food, then moaned with delight. Her blue eyes lit up and she looked so blissful that he just knew he would never forget that moment.

Feyre had never had such food before-warm and rich and savory and spicy. She was so enraptured by this life changing experience that she did not notice as Rhys polished off his own plate and went ahead to the counter to pay the tab.

He came back to find her lying contentedly in her seat, a hand on her belly and a sated smile on her face. He wished he was the one to put that smile on her face, having satisfied different cravings.

“Am I going to have to carry you out of here, Feyre darling?”

She blinked drowsily, and her smile turned sheepish.

“I might settle for being rolled out of here. I don’t think you could carry me when I just ate my body weight in the most delicious food I’ve ever had.”

“Is that a challenge?” He ran a predatory stare along her body, leaving tingles in its wake.

She smirked. “Is it?”

Then immediately regretted it as he carried her so fast she almost puked all over his chest.

“Easy!” she yelped, clutching his shoulders.

“You’re looking a little green, Feyre darling.”

“And whose fault is that?”

He chuckled and made his way toward the door.

“Wait. What about the tab?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Rhys.”

“Consider it a welcome dinner to our flat.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I thought I still had to pass through the screening process.”

He clucked his tongue. “Are you always so stubborn, Feyre darling, or is it the palpable sexual tension between us that’s making you testy?”

She rolled her eyes, but she knew she was fighting a losing battle. So she resolved to put money in his back pocket later when he wasn’t looking, and instead snuggled deeper into his chest.

On their way home, she finally let sleep claim her. By the time they got to the flat, she was so far gone that she didn’t feel Rhys as he carried her up to his room and tucked her snuggly into his bed, and she didn’t hear the “sweet dreams, Feyre darling” he whispered as he brushed a kiss against her forehead. And sweet were her citrus scented dreams of star-kissed oceans.

-> Next chapter

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