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irrelevantwriter · 4 years ago

Text

White Flag

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, public sex, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids, slightly vulnerable Rio, declaration of feelings (sorta?)

Word Count: 4.3K

Summary: Part 5. Two months without seeing or speaking to Rio has left a significant mark and feelings finally decide to show themselves. Kinda.

A/N: I hope everyone had a good holiday or at least a chill Friday. I come bearing gifts with the next part of our favorite toxic saga. More smut for my lovely readers. But first, some plot. We jump right into it and just like our favorite non-couple, we gloss over a lot of bullshit and get right to the filth. But as a Virgo I love communication so I have to make these two stubborn assholes talk about their issues a little. At least in a vague way. Also, Rio has his read receipts on bc he is a petty king. There’s one more part after this and it's all naughty fun from here. I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

A/N dos: I’m thinking about making the next part strictly from Rio’s POV. I feel like it’ll give us a peek into what he’s thinking and a new take on the series thus far. I’m excited to explore that so let me know what you guys think!

*Read Part 1 here

*Read Part 2 here

*Read Part 3 here

*Read Part 4 here

*Read Part 6 here

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

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

“So you’re just gonna eye fuck the hot stranger at the bar all night?”

Your friend’s teasing cut through the haze, jolting you back to the dimly lit bar. The music boomed around you while people drank and danced, enjoying the Saturday night out in the same way you and your girlfriends were.

“I was not.” You insisted, though the coy smile you wore said otherwise.

The group of women scoffed and rolled their eyes, seeing right through your faux innocence.

“Besides,” You started, taking a sip of your drink as the song changed into a bass heavy melody. “He’s not even my type.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Kara interjected with a raised brow, shaking her head.

You opened your mouth in surprise, but bit back your response when the other women chimed in.

“She’s right.” Evelyn agreed, throwing her dark hair over one shoulder.

“We knew you in high school and college, remember?” Nikki threw in, pursing her lips knowingly in your direction.

“Okay, so?” You said with a poor attempt at nonchalance.

“You were all over guys like that when we were kids. Paul ended up being the black sheep of the bunch.” Kara reminded you with a laugh, Evelyn and Nikki joining in with their own drunken giggles.

“Yeah, we were convinced you’d marry a felon with tattoos and not a real estate broker who wore khakis.” Nikki quipped, causing another round of laughter and snorts.

“Okay, okay...I get it. So I had a type. I think I’ve grown out of it.” You cut in, sounding as if you were trying to convince them as much as yourself.

“Not if the hottie at the bar has anything to say about it.” Evelyn joked with a wink.

You shook your head as you took another sip of your drink, unwilling to let them see you flustered. Or that they were in fact correct. You definitely still had a thing for bad boys...bad men to be more specific.

The evening had been going smoothly so far. It was a rare girl’s night out. An event that happened only once every five years when kids were shuttled off to babysitters or their fathers, and the women were able to enjoy an adult meal with adult beverages. Schedules between four busy women didn’t often align so when they did, you all jumped at the chance to indulge in the nightlife you’d left behind in your younger years.

You’d been the one to suggest the bar. It was a swanky, sophisticated space with an air of youth. The perfect mix for your outing. You’d been here only one other time.

With Rio.

Thinking of the man made heat pool low in your stomach, despite your lingering frustrations. It’d been two months since that shit show of a night at your house. You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since. After that debacle, you blocked his number. As childish as it may have been, you were angry. Still were. And rightfully so. He’d been a complete dick. He’d chosen the most inopportune moment to make adjustments to your arrangement. He’d been careless in his deliverance, harsh even. The entire exchange had you questioning everything. And instead of analyzing the situation and communicating like adults, you’d decided to stop all interactions with him. You’d wanted to send a message. Just as he had with you.

After the argument, you’d been an anxious mess in the days leading up to the next drop. But it was all for nothing because Rio wasn’t there. And neither was the new contact he’d told you about. Instead, Mick was waiting for you and offering up no other information. And it’d been that way for two long months.

In the days since, your mind wandered to Rio often. Your body lingered on his phantom presence constantly. You replayed the conversation you’d had a million times over and each time it made deep fury spill over and mix with the lust still raging like white water rapids through your veins. You missed his touch. Missed his desire for you. Missed the way he made you feel, so supremely sexual and wanton. All things you’d been lacking in your marriage. And now they were suddenly hitting you square in the face and begging you to pay attention. Begging you to not lose the source of your sudden awakening.

You missed the toxicity of your interactions. You were two twisted souls fighting for control over a situation that belonged to neither of you. And in truth, the basis of your relationship with Rio was denial and attraction. It would continue to thrive on that as long as you both refused the obvious.

So maybe, just maybe you’d come to the bar in hopes of seeing him in order to test that theory. It was a slim chance he’d even be here, but you were just buzzed enough that you were willing to roll the dice and find out. Plus, your desire for him felt like an extension of your body at this point. You had to satiate it. Had to feed the raw passion that grew stronger each day without him. It demanded it. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. But your own hand didn’t ignite your body the same way his did, asshole or not.

“I’ll be back.” You called over the music, gesturing to the darkened hallway that predictably led to the bathrooms. Your friends nodded and went back to flirting with the handsome blue-eyed waiter.

You shot a meaningful glance in the direction of the bar. To the “hot stranger”. Whether or not he’d take the hint was on him.

You made it to the single-use bathroom easily. It wasn’t late enough for it to be crowded with the surge of a Saturday night crowd, but the place was still busy. You set your purse down on the sleek surface of the sink counter, admiring the emerald green tiles that paved the walls. The fixtures were brass and gleamed in the light of the vanity bulbs. It was a beautiful space. Carefully crafted for a magazine like Architectural Digest.

Your eyes swept over your reflection in the large mirror that sat over the sink. You made sure not a lash was out of place as you surveyed your appearance. You adjusted the low neckline of your yellow dress, the hue radiating more gold than you’d initially noticed. The silk material felt cool against your heated skin, the slit in the skirt offering some relief. The long sleeves of the garment added a sleekness to the otherwise risqué ensemble. You’d never worn the dress. But tonight seemed as good a time as any to debut it.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open made you pause, eyes watching in the mirror for who entered. You wondered if it’d be him. Wondered if he ended up following you like you’d hoped.

Your stomach knotted when Rio stepped in, closing the door and locking it with a resounding click. He was stoic. Shrouded in black and looking every bit as menacing as he truly was. A sight for your sore eyes.

You turned to face him, your chest both tightening and expanding at seeing him in the flesh. He made your heart stutter and your spine tingle, yet irritation slowly seeped into your pores, reminding you of the last interaction you’d had with him. It was a clash of sensations and feelings. It was utter chaos. And it's what you’d been missing.

Silence hung in the air as his gaze roamed your figure, appraising you hungrily. You shivered, careful to hide the gesture from his intense stare. You schooled your features and angled your chin up in confidence that you weren’t entirely sure you felt. But you weren’t going to budge. You were going to make him come to you.

He was leaning up against the door, a barely there smirk adorning his lips. His scent began to eclipse the smell of vanilla soap that permeated the air. Your eyes wanted to roll back at the familiarity of it. It was soothing. A comfort to your deprived senses.

“You miss me, mama?”

That deep rasp made your panties soak immediately. It was a question he’d asked you many times in the past, but you’d never felt it as much as you did now. Because yeah, you did fucking miss him.

You stayed silent.

He chucked at your refusal to answer. “Still mad at me?”

Again you said nothing.

He licked his lips, eyeing yours as he did. “I tried calling.”

“I blocked your number.” You finally responded, voice icy and detached.

“Damn, that’s cold.” He said with an amused shake of his head and a laugh, the sound making your nipples harden in traitorous lust.

“Why? Did you need something?” You questioned coolly, crossing your arms over your chest to hide your mounting arousal. Your thighs rubbed together, beginning to slid against each other as your arousal made itself known.

He stepped forward, heading in your direction with intent. You straightened your back, unwilling to let him get the upper hand on you. You knew what was going to happen. Knew where this was headed. So why not use it to your advantage? Why not toy with him for a change? He deserved it.

You used the added height of your heels and eased yourself onto the countertop, parting your thighs slightly so that your dress fell between them. You leaned back on your hands, the chill of the marble countertop beneath you reminding you so much of that day in your kitchen.

Rio’s steps halted momentarily as he watched you, eyes zeroed in on the juncture between your thighs that was hidden behind the silk. Your pussy practically begged for his attention. Dared him to see your need through the fabric that shielded you.

You were still upset with him. Still displeased with the way he’d chosen to handle the situation and you. But more than anything you wanted him to succumb to you. You wanted to feel that thrill of having him at your mercy. So powerful, yet so fragile in the midst of his bliss. You wanted...no, needed him to wave his white flag first.

“Tell me then,” You began, slowly easing the hem of your dress up as you spoke. “Business or personal?” You questioned, wanting to know if he’d be truthful about why he’d tried to contact you.

He resumed his path towards you with a dangerous lick of his lips, but his gaze never faltered as it took in every new stretch of skin that was revealed. He tried to reach out and touch you, but you raised a heeled foot to his abdomen and stopped him, keeping him at a distance.

“Answer me.” You breathily demanded.

His face registered your words while his eyes took in the stretch of leg that kept him away. You eased the limb back down and waited for him to comply.

He decided to play along.

“Business.”

He continued walking when you didn’t stop him, standing between your legs and trailing his fingertips along the inside of them. His movements shifted your dress up even higher onto your thighs. The sensation would’ve tickled if you weren’t already deliriously turned on.

“Liar.” You accused, already feeling his warmth radiate onto you as he edged closer. His breath mingled with yours, mint and whiskey assaulting your nose.

“So are you.” He retorted, eyes planted firmly on your parted lips. He moved in until you were sure he could do nothing else but touch his mouth to yours. And yet you still weren’t going to meet him.

“So we’re both liars?” You asked, arching a brow up at him.

“Yeah.” He nodded and swallowed, the tattoo splashed across his throat pulling your focus. You fell captive to his spell as you got lost in memories of licking and sucking the inked flesh, remembering the way he tasted on your tongue. The recollection caused your legs to widen and your back to arch into him, pushing your chest against his. God, you wanted him. You wanted him so badly that your pussy clenched around nothing, as if feeling him already deep inside you. It was a silent call to a lover. One he would never hear. But he’d feel it soon enough.

Your clit throbbed against your lace panties, aching to be assaulted by his talented fingers. With him so close you could feel just how badly you needed him inside you. It felt wrong for him not to be. Felt wrong to not have him share a pulse with you when he was this near. You were going to remedy that.

“Well then,” You whispered, leaning forward to hover over his lips. “I don’t want you to fuck me in this bathroom.”

His hands glided up your thighs while his nose skimmed along your cheek. His breath was hot against your ear as he maneuvered himself so that barely a sliver of air was left between you.

“So I won’t.” He lied in return, the words coating you like his cum had done numerous times before.

In an instant your lips were being pulled to his. His hands were suddenly everywhere and all at once, seeking out your flesh in desperation. It pleased you to know just how badly he needed you. How badly he craved you.

He slid you closer to him, letting your lace-covered lower half come into contact with his crotch. Ragged breaths and low hums filtered through the air as your bodies grinded against each other, seeking firm hands. You could feel him pressed against the zipper of his dark pants. He was hard. The notion made you moan into his mouth, scraping your nails over his scalp.

It was just like riding a bike. Except there was an added layer of intensity this time that hadn’t been there before. His touch burned hotter than usual. Your grew cunt wetter with every pass of his tongue along yours. They weren’t new sensations, but they felt different. Indescribable. Perhaps it was the public sex. Perhaps it was the underlying tension. Either way, it was remarkably explosive.

You pulled away from his insistent lips to take in air. He continued on, mouth moving over your neck and across your exposed cleavage. He nipped at the flesh, his lips sensuously soothing the area as he explored. You pushed into him in invitation, widening your legs so that he could press harder into you.

You waited for him to take the next step. Waited for him to escalate the moment into more than just heavy-petting and sloppy kisses. His hands, as if reading your mind, traveled up the skirt of your dress and found the edge of your panties. There was no hesitation or teasing in his movements as he roughly pulled them off, the elastic popping against your skin and making you cry out.

Rio licked at your neck in apology, his own hands now moving to his belt. You shifted closer to the ledge of the counter and followed the trail of heat that led to his pulsing cock. His flesh bumped against you, the feel of him hot and heavy along your soaked slit making you whimper.

Your nails dug into the fabric of his shirt as he pushed forward and sheathed himself inside of you in one hard thrust. You gasped and tightened your legs around him, your right hand in search of something solid. It landed on the mirror behind you, your palm sticking to its cool surface as you braced yourself for the inevitable.

His facial hair scratched at your skin as he buried himself into your neck. He held your hips steady as he retreated and then plunged back into your welcoming walls, stretching you with a burn that made you hiss. Your pussy massaged his length with fervor, seducing him further inside and begging him to claim you once again.

You reached for anything you could to stabilize yourself as he fucked you into the reflective glass at your back. Moans and groans intertwined as your bodies rocked against each other. The soap dispenser fell into the sink with a loud clatter as you accidentally made contact with it. The stack of towels folded neatly near the faucet became disheveled as your ass knocked them out of place with the momentum from Rio’s cock. The entire vanity shook with each intensely thorough thrust of his hips into your womb. It was animalistic. The very epitome of what bathroom sex in a bar should be.

No words were said. None were needed. Your actions led the conversation.

You squeezed your inner muscles around him, daring him to surrender before you. He twitched, his hips stuttering at the feel of you so tight and wet around him. He growled into your ear, a sure sign that he loved the gesture a little too much.

So you did it again.

“Stop that shit.” He grunted, hips picking up their pace.

“Cum.” You whispered in response, the demand disguised as a request.

“Fuck…” He groaned when you held him to you and clenched around him once more. You trapped him, giving him no choice but to experience your deliberate enticement. His fingers dug into your thighs almost painfully so, forcing you to wince.

He was close.

You reached between your bodies and massaged your clit, feeling your pussy react immediately. Sporadic tremors vibrated your walls and his cock, making both of you moan. Rio’s palm slammed into the mirror at your back as he rutted his hips harder into yours. He was rough and unforgiving, the aggression heightened by your disobedience. It had never quite been like this. There had always been a touch of softness, a soothing placation or word of encouragement. Not tonight. Not as he fucked you so hard you were sure the mirror was going to crack and rain down luminescent crystals of glass over you both.

You showed no mercy as you forced him to submit to you and your body. The precipice was there. It was within reach. You could feel that tightly wound coil ready to unravel. It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Your mind was a prisoner to your pleasure. You thought of nothing but the sweet release that you knew was waiting for you. And it was. It was waiting for you with open arms as Rio finally came, triggering your own climax as he filled you so deliciously full of himself. His entire body tensed within you as he held you firm and painted your shuttering walls.

The familiar sensation only added to your high as your limbs tensed and loosened with each wave of euphoria that washed over you. You squeezed your eyes shut and catapulted through space as your body struggled to ground itself once again. Rio had gone rigid, letting you ride out your orgasm in peace as you suffocated his cock. His cum was already leaking from your walls before you’d even finished, a trail of him decorating your swollen pussy.

Your eyes fluttered open to see him staring back at you, his lips pulled into a lazy smirk. You mirrored his expression, releasing a breathless chuckle. Your body still hummed in excitement, but this time it was punctuated by the deep satisfaction that radiated from between your thighs.

“You good?” You teased, hands resting on his chest and feeling the rapid beats of his heart beginning to slow.

He laughed, the sound low and tinged with fatigue. “Yeah.”

He licked his lips and took in your disheveled state, gaze catching a glimpse of the lace bra you wore underneath.

“Let me drive you home.” He said suddenly, his arrogance alive and well.

It was on the tip of your tongue to deny him, but you chose not to.

“Sure.”

**********

The car ride was silent.

After your impromptu coupling in the bathroom, you’d made up an excuse about not feeling well to your friends and explained you’d already called an Uber. They were hesitant to let you leave alone, but somehow you’d persuaded them to stay and not follow you. You were sure the alcohol they’d consumed had something to do with it.

With hugs and promises of texts that everyone made it home safe at the end of the night, you departed from the bar with Rio in his Mercedes. He’d been driving for about ten minutes, the air not as tense as it’d once been. He seemed content to let the quiet linger, but you weren’t.

“What happened to the new guy?” You asked, glimpsing his face to gauge his reaction. It was dark in the vehicle, but you could still make out his silhouette amongst the various street lights.

He furrowed his brow and pouted his lips, confusion reading easily across his features.

“What new guy?”

“My new contact. The one I was supposed to have.”

“Didn’t work out. Mick has it handled.” He replied simply, gaze still trained on the road in front of him.

“Okay.” You said with a nod, the dryness in your tone letting him know you didn’t quite believe him.

He wordlessly turned onto your street and came to a stop alongside your driveway, putting the SUV in park. He angled his body to face you, trapping you in his stare.

“It was never about you.”

The question must’ve shown on your face because he continued.

“The switch. It wasn’t about you.”

“Wasn’t very convincing.” You deadpanned, scoffing as you played with the zipper of your clutch.

He didn’t react right away. Instead, he watched you. Watched you in that way that let you know his thoughts were as impure as the counterfeit money he produced.

“You look good in that dress.” He complimented, chin jutting out and gesturing to the fabric that adorned your body.

His praise made warmth bloom in your chest. The kind of warmth that was usually accompanied by butterflies in your stomach.

“Thanks.” You replied evenly, not letting him see just what his words did to you. Though you had a feeling he did, despite not bearing witness to it outright.

“Better without it.” He added with a slide of his wicked tongue across his bottom lip, his teeth following. The action was purposeful. Erotic. Blatant. It was all Rio.

You didn’t respond to his flirting. You only sighed, mirroring his position as you resigned yourself to have an honest conversation with the man.

“So,” You started, forcing your fingers to still. “What is it that you want?”

He eyed you for a long moment. Long enough that you started to feel self-conscious.

“You.”

You nodded, disappointed but not shocked by his reply. The word wasn’t new. Though it was lacking the hollow cockiness that usually accompanied it.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he spoke up before you could.

“In whatever way you’ll let me have you.” He admitted.

The statement caught you off guard. He wasn’t trying to be cute or charming. He wasn’t being placating or condescending. He was being serious, the hardened intensity in his dark orbs softening to a tender resignation that you were sure matched yours.

“What about you? What do you want?” He repeated back to you, eyes narrowing as he waited.

You took a moment to observe him. Your eyes followed the arch of his brows and the sharp jut of his cheekbones. You studied the pout of his lower lip and his Adam's apple as it bobbed with his throat muscles. He was so many things to you. None of which you could put into words. You didn’t think a word had even been invented yet. It didn’t matter. You were both making your own rules. And it seemed, for once, that the both of you were on the same page and playing by the same rules.

“I want you to have me.” You confessed, meeting his gaze.

And there it was. He was resigned to having you in limited capacity. You were resigned to finally letting him have you. Two conclusions coming together at the same moment. You weren’t quite sure what that meant for you both, but it was a start.

“Goodnight.” You whispered into the darkened cab, a small smile pulling at your lips.

You didn’t wait for him to react. You turned and opened the door, exiting the vehicle. He didn’t try to stop you. You rounded the front of the car, hearing the driver’s side window slide down.

“So I’ll see you next week?” Rio asked out the open window, chin resting in his hand.

“At the drop?”

He nodded.

You shook your head and laughed, though there was no real humor behind it.

“You wanna tell me again it wasn’t about me?” You challenged, a wide grin decorating your face.

He could deny it. He would probably try. But you knew the truth. And that was enough.

For now.

“Night.” He called, an amused upturn of his lips showing in the light of the full moon.

He turned to the street, starting the car as you walked up your driveway. His eyes followed you the whole way, ensuring you made it in safely.

You heard him drive away once you shut and locked the front door, your lungs releasing a long breath. You pulled out your cell phone and went to your blocked caller list. You selected Rio’s number and unblocked the listing, adrenaline releasing into your bloodstream as you did.

Almost immediately your screen lit up with a text.

Same time and place tomorrow?

You bit your lip, feelings akin to teenage infatuation bubbling to the surface. You hastily typed a response.

See you there.

The message was read immediately.

Rio Tags:

@tomhardydallasstarsgirl

#rio #good girls rio #rio good girls #rio x you #rio x reader #rio imagine #rio fanfiction #rio fanfic #nbc good girls #good girls nbc

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tanakavox · 4 years ago

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“Merry Christmas!”

The words echoed loudly throughout the Rose-Xiao Long household as they all felt the Christmas cheer in the air. The house had been active with laughter and cheer as everyone had participated in activities throughout the whole day, while Zwei and all of the adults had made final preparations on all of the gifts for the younger members, while secretly preparing their own gifts for one another. Zwei carefully looked over his gift for Xing one last time, making sure none of the wrapping had been torn in any way and that the ribbons were secured on it nice and tight. Rosemary couldn’t stop the smile on her face as she watched her lover carefully look over the gift for what seemed to be the thousandth time.

“I still can’t believe you, of all people, won that thing in a random raffle,” she said with an amused tone. While she said in a joking manner now, Rosemary was actually in pure disbelief mere days earlier at the fact that Zwei had managed to get his hands on the elusive console, and even more so through a raffle of all things!

“Yeah well, talk about a Christmas miracle,” Zwei scoffed, he himself still a little in disbelief that he had managed to get his hands on a honest to Brothers’ Playstation Five. He was still fretting over the wrapped gift, before his musing was interrupted by an amused Rosemary.

“Oh will you stop worrying already? Your nephew isn’t picky Zwei, I’m sure he’s going to love the gift you got him and that there’s nothing to worry about!”

Zwei glanced over at Rosemary, a skeptic look on his face, before he found his eyes drifting back down to the gift.

“I know, I know, I’m probably freaking out over nothing, I just want this to be perfect for him, you know?”

“Well, I for one think my son is going to love it, and that you’re worrying yourself over nothing Zwei.”

A new voice had proclaimed, causing Zwei and Rosemary to look over to see Yang leaning in the doorway with a smile on her face. Zwei narrowed his eyes at his older sister, before asking her, “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know that you’ve been acting like a worry wart for the past twenty minutes,” she replied with a smirk, before she walked over to Zwei and took a seat next to him. “But seriously Zwei, Xing is going to love this gift, why would you think otherwise?”

“It’s just a lingering feeling is all, you know,” Zwei said with hesitance, “I’m just worried about letting him down by getting him something that he didn’t want.”

“Trust me Zwei, Xing is going to love it and you’re worrying over nothing,” she said, before she let out a chuckle, “hell, you probably could have gotten him that old Playstation Two you had to get back from that thief and he would have been just as happy!”

Zwei stared blankly at his sister momentarily, before he felt the palm of his hand meet his face.

“Now she tells me,” he groaned out in annoyance, causing Yang only to laugh harder at her brother’s response. It was at this point that Rosemary had quietly slipped out of the room, leaving the siblings along to their discussion.

“Hey, it’s your fault for not asking what Xing wanted for Christmas little bro,” she said with a shit eating grin, “Maybe you’ll take that into consideration for next Christmas, instead of spending three days chasing down thiefs, beating up snobby couples, and scaring poor Junior into a early grave.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up will ya,” Zwei grumbled out, “Though you wouldn’t be saying that about “Poor Junior,” if you had heard what he said about Xing.”

The temperature in the room immediately dropped as Yang’s laughter was abruptly cut off. The warm smile on her face was replaced with a thin line and her lilac eyes slowly shifted red, burning with a cold, calm, rage.

“...And what did Hei Xiong have to say about my son?”

Zwei gulped at his sister's sudden shift in attitude, before he quickly related to her what Junior’s nasty comment made towards Xing. Yang slowly nodded her head up and down as she absorbed the information given to her, before quietly stating:

“...Looks like I’ll have to pay Hei Xong a visit soon.”

The tone sent a shiver down Zwei’s spine, and he could only imagine what Yang was going to do to the unfortunate information broker when she decided to make good on that next visit. Sure, Zwei was furious with Junior when he insulted his nephew, but he was only going to rough him up a little if he hadn’t either apologized or given him the information that he wanted. But compared to what his sister was going to more than likely do the man? Zwei almost felt bad for ratting the club owner out. Almost.

The temperature warmed backup considerably, and Yang’s eyes shifted back to their normal lilac before she let out an exasperated sigh. There was a moment of silence between the two of them, before Yang addressed her brother again.

“...I never got a chance to say thank you by the way.”

“Thank you? For what,” Zwei asked in confusion.

“For the fact that you went through all the effort to get Xing his gift.”

“Ah come on Yang, it wasn’t-”

“Don’t you start with that,” Yang said sternly, cutting off Zwei’s attempt to brush off her words of thanks, “You didn’t have to jump through all those hoops and spend all that time getting him this stupid thing, but you did and I’m honestly thankful for it. Not because you managed to get it for him, but because you care so much for him that you went to great lengths to make him happy, and for that, I’m grateful to you Zwei.”

Zwei then found himself in a loving embrace, as Yang closed the small distance between the two and held her brother close.

“You’re an amazing uncle, and an even better brother, and I could not be any more proud of the man you are today.”

Zwei was caught off guard at first by his sister's sudden display of affection, but slowly returned the embrace, doing his best to ignore the moisture that was building in his eyes from his sister's words of praise.

“...Thank you Yang.”

The two siblings held each other for a few more seconds, before their tender moment by tiny voices that were echoing throughout the hallway, screaming at the top of their lungs, “IT’S TIME FOR PRESENTS!”

The glee and excitement from the voices of the children(and of course, one Ruby Rose), was enough to cause Yang to chuckle at their antics, while Zwei merely rolled his eyes though there was little heat behind them. Yang got up from her seat beside Zwei, before giving him a smirk, “ready to open some christmas gifts little bro?”

Zwei eyed his gift to Xing one last time, before he returned his sister's smirk with one of his own.

“I don’t know, is Santa fat, red, and jolly? Of course I’m ready!”

A chuckle escaped Yang’s lips at her brother's cheeky response, before she lifted her brother up from his seating position with his gift in hand.

“Well then we better not keep the kids waiting then!”

Not too long after, Yang and Zwei joined the rest of their family near the Christmas tree and the gift giving had begun. As usual, quite a few gifts were exchanged between the Rose-Xiao Long’s and the Thornbushes, and this year was no exception. Ruby had received an extensive amount of custom weapon parts from Jaune and several others, while Jaune himself had received a new Pumpkins Pete’s hoodie and a set of armour from his wife. Yang had received an extensive line up of hair care products and hair devices, along with several different prosthetics arms to be used in the field(the latter gift was planned between Weiss and Ruby). Taiyang had received both a new grill for when the weather had warmed up and a new desk to replace the old one in his study, while Peach had received several sets of rare seeds for her personal greenhouse in Patch and a necklace from Tai. Zwei was gifted Cyberpunk 2077 and several other games from Jaune(called it!), while little Citrine received a Switch with several games and Lilina has received a Tablet for her to write and play games on.

Rosemary had received a similar gift to Peach’s in the form of rare seeds, but was also gifted brand new gardening tools and a pair of earrings’ from Zwei. Daisy had gotten a new drawing tablet, along with several fresh sketchpads and some new pens and pencils, while Forrest had received copies of old movies he’d been looking to add to his collection, alongside some memorabilia from movie sets of some of the more recent flicks he had seen. Aster had received gifts in the form of new medical supplies and instruments for her clinic, courtesy of Peach using both her medical and Huntress connections to fund the expense.

Finally, there was little Xing, who was quietly watching the rest of his family open their gifts while he patiently unwrapped his gifts given to him when it was his turn. He had received several different things, including clothing, toys, even a new prosthetic to replace his current one that he had outgrown. But it had finally come time to open his gift from his uncle, and Zwei couldn’t help but be nervous. Would he like it? Would he hate it? Zwei couldn’t stop the feeling of anxiety creeping through him as he worried over whether or not Xing would like his gift.

However, his worries were put to rest. Because as soon as Xing had slowly finished unwrapping his gift, he let out a small gasp and his eyes lit up at the sight of the Playstation Five that lay before him. A small smile lit up on his face, before he turned to his uncle and said:

“Thanks uncle Zwei!”

Despite Xing’s quiet nature, it was clear to see the sincerity behind his words as he thanked his Uncle for the gift he had gotten him. Zwei felt a great weight lift off his shoulder, before he returned his nephew’s smile with one of his own.

“You’re welcome Xing.”

Yang caught his eyes a moment later, shooting him a smug look that basically said, ‘I told you so,” before covering her smile as he rolled his eyes in response, though his smile stayed on his face. It looks like everything had worked out after all, and as Zwei warped his arm around Rosemary and looked upon the happy looks of his friends and family, he couldn’t help but think that this was without doubt one of the best damn Christmas’s he’s ever had.

‘A Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night…’

Edits done by @thatorigamiguy!

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chocolatecupcakesandlavender · 4 years ago

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Who I’ve Forgotten

A Bleach fic || AO3 || FFN Word count: 1.6k || Rated T Warnings: amnesia

Written for the first Bing of the @bleachbigbang Prompt: Somebody Who I Used to Know Summary: Ichigo hates lying to his family, but they’re obviously hiding things from him too... ; Heian Period AU ; Ichigo-centric ft Yuzu

“Ichi-niii~” Yuzu’s voice floated through the thin washi paper walls like a melody, breaking Ichigo’s concentration from the papers he was bent over. He could hear her footsteps approaching now.

“Shit…” he muttered under his breath as he hurriedly folded up the orihon laid across his lap. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Careful not to wrinkle the paper, he slid a pair of scrolls back into their sheathes and tucked them along with the orihon hurriedly beneath the straw of his bed.

Somehow, he managed to put everything away just as his sister began to slide open the door. Faking a yawn, Ichigo threw his arms out above his head as if he were merely stretching while he raised himself slowly upright into a sitting position.

“Good morning Ichi-nii,~” Yuzu smiled at him upon entering the room with a tray piled high with breakfast food. “Did you just wake up?”

“Yeah, just a little while ago.” Ichigo lied, smiling softly with a gentle nod in agreement.

He didn’t want to lie. Keeping secrets from his family, especially his sisters, felt so gut-wrenchingly wrong, it almost made him nauseous. But he knew his family didn’t like the way he obsessed over the missing fragments in his memory. Every time he brought it up, an air of unease fell over the whole house. The conversation would become stilted, and his family would trade less than subtle glances with each other as they spoke until he dropped the issue once more.

They were keeping secrets from him too.

“How late did I sleep?” he asked.

“Not too late.” She set the tray down across his lap and settled by his side on the mattress. “Dad and Karin-chan already left out on the boat a little while ago, but I haven’t started working on the garden yet.”

That was a lie. Ichigo could feel his throat tighten with the knowledge of it. The sun was already up and had been for a good while now. Unable to sleep, he heard them depart while the sky was still dark—before the sun had even begun to peek over the horizon. They hadn’t even bothered to ask if he felt well enough to go, and the knowledge of that stung.

Ever since he woke up from the so-called accident, he felt like nothing more than a burden upon the family. With injuries to his head, arm, and back, he was practically useless when it came to anything that required fine motor skills or being upright for an extended period. Ichigo felt as if he were going out of his mind with his newfound lack of purpose, yet hardly half a moon had passed since he woke up.

“Do you want any help?” Ichigo asked, nonetheless, picking up the chopsticks from the tray. The hand holding them trembled finely, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been before. He couldn’t eat the rice like this, but he could at least manage the pickled fish, which he set upon with gusto.

Yuzu smiled at him but shook her head. “I can manage it, Ichi-nii. You need more rest.” She reached up to brush her thumb against the dark circles under his eyes. “Are you still having those dreams?”

“I’m fine, Yuzu,” Ichigo said, letting out an exaggerated groan. He set down the chopsticks so he could wrap an arm around her, pulling her close to his side, and reached up with his free hand to ruffle her hair. “You worry about me too much!”

“Ichi-nii!” she whined in indignation. Despite this, Ichigo could feel her shaking with barely suppressed laughter as she squirmed in his embrace. “Stooooop!”

She batted at his hand until he relented. Chuckling as she pouted up at him, he could only hug her a little tighter to his side and rest his head atop hers. “You’re growing up too fast. Do you know that? Why don’t you and Karin just stay small and let me worry about you?”

“You’ve worried about us our whole lives, Ichi-nii. Protecting us, working so hard, picking up every job you could to make sure we had everything we needed…” Yuzu twisted in his arms so she could wrap her own around his torso. She pressed her face against his side, her voice growing quiet, “You almost died… Let us worry and take care of you this time.”

“Yuzu…” There was a prickle at the back of his eyes as a lump began to form in his throat. Suddenly, he felt so much more aware of all the gaps in his memories than ever before. As if the empty spaces in his mind were throbbing with the loss.

Nearly three solid years’ worth of memories—alongside an unknown amount of scattered bits and pieces—were ripped away from him in the accident. It didn’t seem like all that much—especially since, according to his family, he’d spend nearly two of those years traveling and picking up odd jobs in the nobles’ courts with only the occasional visit back home. Yet, Ichigo could hardly reconcile the meek little girl from his memories with the steady young maiden his sister had become in three short years.

Three years ago, Yuzu would be on the verge of tears at the mere idea that he could have died. She would be easy to sway and unable to lie at all. Now she was self-assured. When she spoke, her words brokered for no argument. Still sweet as honey and more cheerful and kind than anyone else he knew, it wasn’t so much that she changed. It was more like she found herself more. Became more comfortable with the person she was, and that allowed her to grow.

And he missed it…

Hugging him tighter for a moment before letting go, she made to stand, “Now I have some work to do in the garden. Finish your breakfast, and then go back to sleep. If you really want something to do, you can wash your dishes, but then straight to bed. Got it?”

Arms crossed over her chest with her chin raised, she was obviously trying her best to pretend to be stern, but the look on her face ruined the effect—her eyes blown open too wide and lip jutting out in a pout. It was the same expression she wore when they were children to guilt their dad into doing whatever she wanted.

Ichigo let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sniffle as a wide smile spread across his face. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Shoo, shoo, don’t let me keep you from your work.”

Breaking down in a brief fit of giggles, she nodded and pressed a quick kiss to the side of his forehead over the long scabbed over cut from the accident. “If the pain is too much, we still have herbs from the monks. Take them.”

“I know Yuzu. Eat, take herbs, go to sleep, heal. I will, I promise.”

“Alright…” with one last uncertain glance back, she left his room, sliding the door shut behind her.

Ichigo waited for a few moments, almost expecting her to double back for whatever reason, but once he was sure that she wouldn’t, he let out a long sigh. She was right. He was healing still, no matter how much he didn’t like that fact, he needed rest to heal and get better.

Despite that knowledge, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

Ever since he woke up from whatever accident he’d been in, sleep rarely found him. His brain was restless with the yearning for the memories that he lost. Restless with an incessant feeling burning in the back of his mind that he’d forgotten something important.

Even when he could sleep, he was always hounded by strange dreams. People, those who he knew and others he didn’t recognize and whose faces were lost to him by the time he awoke, swirled around in his head, imploring him to stop wasting time.

To remember.

And a man—always the same man—whose face he couldn’t hold on to no matter how many times he saw it, but whose voice haunted his every waking moment calling out to him, ‘I gave you everything and you left me alone, Ichigo! Why?! Why didn’t you come back to me? Didn’t you mean it when you said you wanted to be with me?!’

Every time, he wanted to ask, ‘Who are you? What do you mean, ‘be with’ you? How do I know you?!’ but he could never speak. In his dreams, he had no voice. He could only watch the flood of faces and listen to the man’s miserable cries for answers.

Something big happened in the last few years that he was missing, and his family wasn’t telling him what. That meant that he had to figure it out himself.

“Sorry Yuzu…” he scarfed down the last of his fish and soup before setting the tray aside and taking the scrolls out from under his bed once more. He would rest later.

Ichigo’s finger stroked along the wooden sheath of one of the scrolls, tracing the characters etched into the surface almost reverently.

Like the moon, I bathe

In my sun’s resplendent light,

Yearning to embrace.

-A gift from me to you, my dearest Ichigo.

It sounded like a courting poem, and it was only one of several dozens scrawled on loose washi papers tucked into the scrolls and the creases of many of the orihon. Were they from the man in his dreams? Did Ichigo ever send him any back? Did his family know? If they did, why were they acting like this man didn’t exist?

Sighing, he settled himself into a more comfortable position so he could comb through the poems and scrolls and orihon for any sort of clue that could tell him who this person was.

He would rest later. This was more important.

Ichigo needed answers… Needed to find out about this person he used to know…

#bleach #yuzu kurosaki #ichigo kurosaki #bleachbigbang #bing #bing 01 #bing: somebody who i used to know #kari writes #ichigo #fanfic #drabble #ao3 #shiroichi #yes this is shiroichi im a hoe

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shippindales · 5 years ago

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we ain’t ever getting older

HAPPY STACKSON WEEK 2020 Y’ALL I WAITED UNTIL MIDNIGHT.

This is a gift fic for @jacksonstilinskis that was born out of a post from forever ago where she said Closer was definitely a Stackson song and I said oh I’d definitely write that and then LITERALLY FOUR YEARS PASSED and here we are finally making good on that in time for @stacksonweek !

Also I realize my blog is not very friendly on the eyes (I need a revamp) so try the read more but if not I included a link as well.

Enjoy!

AO3

It was the kind of atmosphere that Stiles liked, when he needed to unwind for a bit. It wasn’t a sleazy hole in the wall type of place, nor was it too ritzy or stuffy for his tastes. Ease in the air, good ambiance with the dim lighting and low music, bartenders who got down to business and knew when you didn’t need a conversation, and a decent crowd. Not too bad, all things considered, for a hotel bar.

He nursed his gin and tonic as he pulled lightly at his tie, loosening it enough until it dangled from his neck freely while he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. Wearing a suit would never grow on him, regardless of how his partner insisted that it gave them stature and authority. Miller could blow it out his ass, being federal agents gave them all the stature and authority they needed. But damn, he’d kill for jeans and a t-shirt every once in awhile. He’d have to beg for an undercover op next.

It was his fourth night at the hotel in Denver, and the stakeout was getting stale. Miller had insisted he take a night off, even called in a reserve agent just to take his spot so that he could blow off some steam. The night was young, and Stiles figured he had a multitude of options ahead of him for where his evening could go.

That was, until raucous laughter started up from the table across the other end of the sparsely populated bar, and Stiles rolled his eyes at the group of well-dressed men that sat around it, their chatter rolling over him until he looked a little more carefully, and caught a very familiar eye.

He nearly spat out his drink, and the glass clattered to the bar noisily in front of him, drawing the attention of the concerned bartender and a few patrons nearby. He waved them off, dabbing at the spill that had splashed onto the front of his shirt with a bar napkin, before he looked back over, and couldn’t make eye contact anymore. He flushed scarlet, embarrassed at the extra attention, and stared at the wall before tipping the glass to his lips and downing his drink in a few solid, full gulps. He signaled for another in answer to the bartender’s unspoken inquiry as she raised an eyebrow and motioned to his glass.

An hour went by in seemingly seconds as Stiles’ thoughts raced. It was obvious he didn’t want to reconnect, or he would’ve said something. Or maybe it was just the crowd he was with, and he didn’t want to draw attention to anything. What if he’d already left? Stiles couldn’t see the group of men clearly from where he was sitting, and a few of them had been in and out, though he was pretty sure he knew which one was him... he frowned. He’d lost sight of him. A dull ache started to form in his stomach that was unrelated to the buzz from his third drink.

“You know, all the ways I pictured we might run into each other, and this wasn’t one of them,” the smooth voice purred in his ear, and Stiles sat bolt upright, spinning around to face him. Jackson fucking Whittemore, in all his three-piece suited glory, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

Stiles froze for a moment, his mouth hanging open, before Jackson’s words sunk in. He looked across the restaurant and noticed that the remainder of Jackson’s table of companions was filtering out the door, and he turned back with a sly smirk on his face. “Too shy to introduce me to your fancy buddies over there? What are you guys anyway, stock brokers?” He raised an eyebrow, looking Jackson up and down.

Jackson didn’t miss the roving eyes, though his shirt was still buttoned up tight and his tie in place, unlike Stiles. He looked the other man up and down himself, before taking a swig of his beer. “We should maybe reintroduce ourselves, considering it’s been awhile. Jackson Whittemore, Esquire.” He held out a hand to shake, a proud smile on his face that put butterflies in Stiles’ stomach.

He gripped it tightly and shook, growing goosebumps on his arm in the process, before pulling out his badge and flipping it open. “Agent Stilinski. FBI.” Jackson’s eyes widened in surprise, and Stiles smirked. “Yeah, I know, I was the hot gossip at our five-year reunion. Which you missed, by the way.” He pointed accusingly at Jackson, his finger poking him in the chest. Jackson didn’t shy away from the contact, leaning over the bar next to Stiles and resting his drink on a coaster.

“Yeah, I missed it. Law school beat the shit out of me. I don’t know why I ever decided to follow in my dad’s footsteps.” He shrugged. “But it’s been a pretty good life so far. And uh, the academy’s done good things for you.” He raised an eyebrow, admiring the way Stiles’ form had filled out since high school. And Stiles knew, he’d definitely grown into the gangly limbs and awkward proportions since he was a teenager.

Not that it hadn’t been a struggle. He’d spent his first few weeks at the academy feeling like he was going to die, but the physical training had gradually honed him into a toned, lean version of himself that he never thought he’d see in his younger years. Regardless, Jackson’s obvious attention to it had him flushing slightly.

The unspoken tension filled the air before Stiles took a deep sip of his drink, setting it down carefully. “You never kept in touch,” he pointed out. It was casual, but his tone implied something deeper. Jackson stared at him, noticed the way Stiles’ eyes wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Didn’t deserve to,” he retorted, which drew a look of surprise from Stiles. “What? I was an absolute ass in high school, dude. And probably even more of an ass in undergrad.” He shuddered. “I’ve grown up a lot. Obviously you have too. But I wanted to be... different, when I eventually got around to reconnecting with everyone, especially you.”

Especially you. And weren’t those pretty words to come from an equally pretty mouth. “Yeah, you were an ass in high school,” Stiles acknowledged, though the response from Jackson was a look of more guilt than he’d been intending to inflict. “But you made up for it.”

The implication turned back time to groping hands, shuttered up in Jackson’s bathroom during a party, mouths and limbs and hardness, heat and release— The blush was equal in both their cheeks. It wasn’t a single occurrence, they had quite the history over the last few years of high school.

“I remember,” Jackson muttered, the barest hint of a smile playing on the edges of his lips. “I didn’t know what I was doing then, though. And I was a dick to you about it. You know, when things got more... involved.”

When feelings got involved. Right.

Stiles shrugged it off. Long since passed, and long since forgotten. His attention instead turned to the earlier part of what Jackson had said. “So you know what you’re doing now?” he inquired, and his amber eyes were peering up at Jackson through those thick lashes that always set him off when they were younger, and god damn were those memories coursing through their veins and making them both feel alive, thrumming to the accelerating tattoo that their pulses set.

Jackson gripped Stiles’ tie, pulling him forward forcefully to capture his lips, ignoring the wandering eyes from the bartender and other patrons, who probably thought they were moving a little fast for a first time meet. He felt Stiles gasp quietly underneath him, the heat pooling in his gut as Stiles’ tongue flicked out gently to trace his bottom lip. They separated, breathing heavily, before Jackson pulled him by his tie a little further, to lean over in Stiles’ ear once more. “Want to find out?”

Stiles dug into his wallet, slapped a fifty on the counter and downed the rest of his drink. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, and Jackson followed him out the door before pressing him against the brick wall, humming into his mouth as their tongues danced. “Easy, tiger,” Stiles chided gently, grinning as Jackson nipped down the side of his jaw to his neck.

“Got a lot to make up for,” Jackson muttered against his skin, sucking a deep bruise into Stiles’ collarbone as he shoved the offending fabric of his dress shirt aside. His hand slipped into his pocket and came back with his car keys, clicking the remote. A black Range Rover beeped from the isolated corner of the parking lot, and Stiles looked before rolling his eyes.

“The Rover doesn’t surprise me, Mr. Porsche,” he teased, laughing as he danced away from Jackson’s needy hands and lips, making for the rear passenger side door. “Esquire over here flashing what he can afford.” There was no venom in his words, only joking praise.

“Why are you getting in the back?” Jackson asked, confusion knitting his brows.

“Because so are you,” Stiles retorted, and the mischievous grin spread across his face as he opened the door and hopped in. The grin that brought the memories surging back as Jackson hopped in the backseat from the other side, their mouths clashing urgently as Stiles tugged on Jackson’s jacket, discarding it into the front seat with little regard.

It wasn’t long until their shirts were open, and Jackson was pressing their chests flush together, relishing in the keen that came out of Stiles at the feel of skin on skin. He nipped down Stiles’ neck to drag his tongue along his clavicle, biting down sharply.

Stiles yelped, but felt himself stiffen completely, because yes, this was what he missed. The way Jackson never treated him like he was breakable, trusted him to handle it, and it was something he’d been missing for a long time. He didn’t get around much with his busy life and his federal job, and he felt like a tightly coiled spring finally given the freedom to release.

The way Jackson grabbed his hips bruisingly, like Stiles’d fall through to the center of the earth if he loosened his grip, lit something in him, and he pushed Jackson’s shirt off his shoulder, admiring the tribal tattoo design he found there. He sank his teeth into it, satisfied with the way Jackson threw his head back and moaned at the contact.

“Stiles,” he interrupted, but Stiles paid no mind, kissing his way down Jackson’s hairless chest as he pawed at his hardness through the front of his suit pants. “As much as I’d love to fuck you in my backseat, I think we need a bed.”

Stiles came up for air, after kissing down Jackson’s abdomen. He shrugged his shoulders, nipping at Jackson’s lower lip lightly. “Fine then, Whittemore. Take me home and take me to bed.”

The door slammed behind them minutes later, after Jackson had broken nearly every traffic law in the state. He yanked at Stiles’ shirt impatiently, pulling it off of his arms before their mouths were back in contact, shrugging off his own shirt as their clothing fluttered, forgotten, to the floor. Searing heat and the clash of rushed, hurried teeth filled Stiles’ consciousness, as Jackson’s hands roamed down his sides and slipped underneath his waistband, palming Stiles’ ass impatiently.

“Fucker,” Stiles growled into his mouth as he arched his back into the touch. Jackson reached down and grabbed him around the waist, hauling him up until Stiles’ legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. He threw the other man unceremoniously on the bed after shoving into the bedroom, and Stiles collapsed in a pile of limbs before turning onto his back, sighing gently. “Your mattress is comfy,” he complimented, a stupid grin slapped across his face as he shimmied out of his pants.

“My law school roommate in Boulder ditched the last month of rent. I changed the locks and stole his furniture.” Jackson’s belt whipped off lightning quick as he shoved his own pants and underwear to the floor, his cock springing free of its cloth prison. He hissed as it met the cool air, and Stiles licked his lips as they collapsed back together, hands and mouths fumbling deliciously.

After a few moments, Stiles scrambled down the bed to swallow him to the hilt in one fluid motion. Jackson hissed as Stiles’ tongue flicked out around the base of his shaft as he took him into the back of his throat. “Jesus fuck, your mouth, Stilinski. Missed it so much.”

Stiles pulled up and off of Jackson’s shaft with a wet pop, before smacking it lightly against his cheek. “Guess you’ll just have to make up for lost time then.” He ran his tongue from base to tip, swirling it around the head before delving back down, and Jackson pulled his own hair to keep from yelling to loudly at how fucking incredible it felt.

Stiles hummed around his shaft, bobbing to the base and back to the tip to swirl his tongue in the way he knew drove Jackson nuts. The humming sent deep vibrations through Jackson’s flesh and he let out a ragged, broken moan.

The taste and feel of him bombarded Stiles with memories of the first time he’d ever sucked Jackson’s dick, denial radiating through the other boy even as he’d twitched in anticipation, letting out a rough breath as Stiles finally took him in his mouth.

“Do you like it?”

“Shut up and keep going.”

Jackson was growing impatient, and he finally pulled himself out of Stiles’ mouth, reaching down to throw the other man further up on the bed, stomach down, receiving a yelp of protest which quickly died on Stiles’ lips as Jackson kissed down his back to his ass, biting sharply into his left cheek. His breath ghosted over Stiles’ hole, and okay, yes, this was a thing that they’d never done together before that Stiles was 120% on board with.

��Are you seriously going to ahhhhh fucking shit Christ Jesus,” Stiles babbled as Jackson’s tongue flicked out and laved at his rim like a man starved, both hands palming Stiles’ ass and spreading his cheeks and yeah, okay, Jackson had picked up some tricks since high school. Yup.

His sensitive hole was twitching under the ministrations of Jackson’s tongue, and Jackson hummed as he pressed his tongue inside the taut ring of muscle, eliciting a sharp sound from Stiles that he wanted more of. A finger joined his tongue, then two as Stiles relaxed under his efforts.

“God, I can’t believe I’ve never opened you up like this before,” Jackson panted. “You’re so warm and open, so good for me.” His praise was radiating through Stiles’ bones as he pressed his hips back.

“I need you,” Stiles groaned. “Need to feel you again. It’s been— god, too long, not enough, just— just do it.”

Jackson nodded, moving to obey and flicking open the bottle of lube he’d nabbed from his bedside table, spreading it over himself quickly before pressing into Stiles, slowly but persistently.

Stiles’ eyes screwed tight as he breathed in and out sharply, the burn of Jackson’s breach stretching him in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. “Fucking holy hell, forgot how thick you were,” he breathed, pressing his face into the pillow desperately as he rolled his hips back to take Jackson further.

Jackson paused, for a brief moment, to give Stiles time to adjust. That action alone sent a shock through Stiles’ body. Jackson had never been about how Stiles felt, their clandestine hookups throughout high school had always been about Jackson getting off, but this— this was different, and Stiles felt it, felt the consideration and respect.

He responded by pressing his hips back into Jackson, hissing as the burn reignited but slowly began to dissipate. “Move,” he commanded, and Jackson obeyed.

And this, this was what Jackson had missed the most. “God, the way you look spread out around my dick,” he groaned, fucking into Stiles with earnest, staring down at the way Stiles’ hole gripped his girth each time he slid out.

“Shit, Jacks,” Stiles grunted, slamming his hips backwards to meet Jackson’s thrusts, all earlier thoughts of tenderness abandoned. “God, I forgot how good you felt in me. It’s been so long. Always so fucking hard and rough with me. Fuck.”

Jackson’s hand cracked down onto Stiles’ ass, drawing a yelp and leaving an angry red handprint. He spanked him again, twice more, three more times, causing Stiles to let out a long, sharp series of moans. “Fucking take it,” Jackson bit out, pummeling into him rapidly.

Stiles’ talk devolved into senseless syllables and nonsensical babbling as he felt the pleasure coiling in his gut. “Mmmm, f-f-fuuuuck, I’m gonna— I’m close, I—”

Jackson halted, reaching down with both arms and flipping Stiles over onto his back in one smooth motion, bending his head to bite roughly on Stiles’ bottom lip as he pushed back in, holding him around his waist with his legs in the air as he jackhammered in at a punishing pace. “Want to see it,” he panted against Stiles’ lips. “Want to see you let go, see how taken apart you are when you come.”

Stiles came with a shout, spurting copiously all over his chest, his eyes screwed shut and fists tangled in the sheets. Jackson followed him over the brink, moaning loudly as he shoved to the hilt and spilled himself inside Stiles.

Collapsing on the bed next to him, they both laid for a few moments, Stiles’ head lolling over onto Jackson’s shoulder. Their breathing was still heavy, though their pulses began to slow after having finally reached their peaks.

“So,” Jackson began, running his finger through the mess on Stiles’ abdomen and popping it into his mouth before pulling it out with a pop. Stiles’ eyes followed him, blown wide and dark. “Made up for lost time?”

Stiles nodded, grinning wildly as he ran his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “It’s a start.”

A start. Jackson nodded, breaking eye contact as a smile spread across his face.

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

He traced his fingertips around Jackson’s abdominal muscles absentmindedly, leaning his head into the crook of the other man’s neck. Jackson’s eyes were lightly closed, satisfied after their round the next morning. They were resting quietly, the morning light filtering in through the taupe curtains and spilling warm rays of sunshine across their mostly still forms.

“Would things have been different?” Stiles asked quietly, prompting a soft, questioning hum from Jackson, who kept his eyes closed, but rubbed circles into Stiles’ shoulder with his thumb. “If you weren’t a dick in high school, I mean.” The implication behind it left Stiles feeling vulnerable, and he swallowed it down thickly.

“Maybe,” Jackson admitted, turning to press his lips gently into Stiles’ hair. “I can’t change who I was then. I wish it could’ve gone differently, though.” The unspoken differences echoed in the silence, and Stiles pictured what life could’ve been like, in another world.

“What about now?” he asked, voice uncertain. There was no indication that Jackson had wanted this to continue, that it was more than just a rekindling of an old flame, destined to wither and snuff out as it had before.

Jackson was silent for a moment too long before responding, and it twisted Stiles’ stomach up in knots. “What about it?”

“Is it too late?” Stiles asked. He was unable to form the words, unable to ask directly for fear of putting himself too far out there. Something about this just felt like the universe was pointing them in the right direction for once, and he needed to know now if it was never going to happen.

“Do you want it to be?” Jackson asked.

He blinked, the answer clear as day. “No.”

A small smile played at the corner of Jackson’s lips as he looked down at Stiles. “Then it’s not too late.”

The sun’s rays splayed out gently across their skin as Jackson pulled him closer.

“Good.”

#stacksonweek2020 #teen wolf #stackson #stiles stilinski #jackson whittemore #my fic

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lesdemonium · 4 years ago

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I’d Be the Choiceless Hope Chapter 13

Ship: Geraskier Word count: 36975 (total) Chapter: 13/16 Summary:

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

Julian’s mother stood up. She claimed she was prepared to stop the fae, to protect her baby, but in Julian’s darkest moments he doubted this part of the story. His mother loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had been young and weary, and even years later, she couldn’t quite get the twinge of exhaustion out of her eyes when she recalled Julian’s infancy. Even if she had been keen on protecting him, the fae was too close, too fast, too set on his plan.

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier’s mother with Jaskier’s obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the “gift” became more of a curse.

Additional tags: AngstAngst with a Happy EndingHeavy AngstUnrequited LoveNot Actually Unrequited LoveAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceCanon EraNot Canon CompliantCursed Jaskier | DandelionAlternate Universe - Ella Enchanted FusionCurse of ObedienceRape/Non-con ElementsImplied/Referenced Rape/Non-conJaskier | Dandelion Whump

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It was raining when they got to Yspaden. Downpouring, really. Jaskier was absolutely drenched, his clothes heavy with rain, completely waterlogged. All Jaskier wanted to do was find an inn and dry off, but Geralt would not be deterred. They had to find Yennefer, and they had to find her right this moment .

“You know she’s only going to be livid that we dragged water into whatever noble’s house she commandeered,” Jaskier whined.

His attempt to avoid this whole reunion was thinly veiled, he knew, but as Geralt had ignored his whinings and wheedlings over the last several weeks they had been traveling, Jaskier didn’t think there was much point in trying to keep his goal a secret. They both knew what Jaskier was trying to avoid.

“She might have left before we got here. I need to know now so we can make another plan,” Geralt answered, trudging forward through the downpour. Even Roach seemed cross with him, and Jaskier couldn’t blame her. The man with the least sense seemed to be the one dragging this expedition along.

“Oh, one can hope,” Jaskier grumbled.

She hadn’t left, much to Jaskier’s chagrin. Some asking around in the town confirmed that, yes, the sorceress was still there, set up in that grand house at the top of the hill. Jaskier’s feet dragged as they made their way toward the “grand house” and it wasn’t entirely because of the blisters forming on his poor, damp feet.

It was only a small consolation that Geralt was just as grumpy as Jaskier. The door opened to reveal a servant, and Geralt barked out a “We’re here to see Yennefer,” before he pushed his way inside. The servant’s eyes went wide and she tried, in vain, to push the two men away, but Geralt did not back down. He fixed the poor girl with an unamused expression, and her face paled as she scurried off.

“Thank you!” Jaskier called after her, then crossed his arms and glared at Geralt. “That was quite unnecessary and extremely rude, Geralt . It’s your own fault you’re in this state, after all. We could have come back when we were a little less flooded, but someone had to--”

“You wouldn’t have come otherwise,” Geralt cut him off, fixing Jaskier with a look that brokered no argument.

Jaskier held Geralt’s gaze for a long, almost uncomfortable moment. He had no argument, though. Geralt was right; Jaskier likely would have found a way to slip away and avoid this meeting. As it was, with Geralt single mindedly focused on this particular task, there was very little Jaskier could do but follow the witcher to see the sorceress.

“Well, I must admit, you looked better in Rinde. Isn’t absence supposed to make the heart grow fonder?” a lilting voice sounded from a truly impressive staircase.

Yennefer was a vision, of course. She almost seemed to float down the stairs, the train of a long dress cascading behind her. Her makeup was all sharp lines and harsh edges, and Jaskier couldn’t help but stare as she drew closer. He was sure awe colored his face, while Yennefer’s face curled in disapproval.

“Yen. It’s good to see you,” Geralt said.

Jaskier turned to look at the witcher and, Gods, he meant it. His eyes were crinkled at the edges with a smile that didn’t quite touch his lips beyond the quirking of the corners, but was evident nonetheless. Geralt had turned to face her, and he looked so… open. Like he had actually missed this sorceress, and was happy to see her again. Jaskier hated it. And then promptly hated himself for the surge of pure jealousy that coursed through him.

“I see you’ve claimed another lord’s house as your own,” Jaskier finally said, just barely managing to un-grit his teeth enough to sound unaffected.

Yennefer turned her attention to Jaskier with an eyebrow raised. She reached the end of the stairs and leaned against the bannister, and her lips curled into a smirk. “Ah, Geralt. Collecting new pets, are we? Roach at least seems to prove useful, but I’m not sure what the function of a drowned rat is.”

Jaskier gaped at her and tried--and failed--to devise a response to this. He was just about to come up with something, when--

“Yen, we need your help.”

Jaskier’s mouth snapped closed. Well. It was probably for the best. His quip wasn’t very good, and it was best if Geralt saved him the embarrassment.

“Again? Is there any problem you two can fix?” Yennefer asked, rolling her eyes. There was a moment's silence, then she gestured for them to follow her. “Come this way. You can change, and dry off, then we’ll talk.”

It was hours later before they were all seated together again. Jaskier’s drenched clothes were hanging from a line in another room. Now, he wore a borrowed outfit. Even Geralt had been persuaded into changing out of his soaked through clothes. Jaskier’s eyes kept drawing back to the deep, rich red of the shirt, so unlike anything Geralt had ever worn before. Jaskier didn't like it.

He hadn’t been shown to his own room, but Jaskier was certain they’d be staying the night. Separately. In an attempt not to let himself dwell too much in how melancholy the idea of sleeping alone left him, Jaskier was silent, nursing a goblet of wine that he could hardly even enjoy.

He noticed the way Geralt kept sending him furtive looks, though, and Yennefer flitted about the room, finishing whatever tasks important, powerful sorceresses did. If Jaskier was feeling more himself, his natural curiosity would have him cataloguing her every movement. He wouldn't write a song for her, likely ever, but there was something simply fascinating about the way magic-users worked. He stared into his goblet instead.

“Yen,” Geralt finally broke the silence, his voice a warning.

The warning was lost on Yennefer, who finished her task as if she was the only one in the room, but she did then come join them at the large table. Once seated, she tapped her nails slowly on the wood, her eyebrows high on her forehead as her free hand made a sweeping gesture.

“We’re here about--” Geralt paused. His jaw worked silently, as if he was working out the words he wanted to use, and picking them with excruciating consideration. Jaskier wished he would just spit it out. “Jaskier’s curse.”

“Ah. So you finally know,” Yennefer answered, bored. “I can’t get rid of it, if that’s what you’re here to ask me about. I don’t know of a single magic-user that could counteract the work of a fae.”

Geralt nodded, his eyebrows furrowed. He leaned in closer, placing a hand on the table, then turned his gaze to Jaskier. Jaskier, however, immediately looked away. Down at the table. He wasn’t loving how they were talking about Jaskier as if he wasn’t in the room, but he found himself disinclined to insert himself into the conversation.

“We met the fae,” Geralt continued. “He said Jaskier could break the curse himself. ‘Tell your truths, and you will never be compelled to again’. Do you know what that means?”

Jaskier didn’t have to look up to feel Yennefer’s gaze turn to him. He felt hot, pinned down, and it was all he could do not to jump to his feet and flee. He would not look at her, though. Jaskier would not allow her to see past him again. Instead, Jaskier turned his head away, toward the door, fully aware he was now playing the part of a sullen teenager. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I have a feeling Jaskier knows,” Yennefer finally said.

Geralt turned his entire body to Jaskier, even shifting the chair more in his direction. There was no mistaking the fact that they were both now completely focused on Jaskier. Still, Jaskier did not look at them in return.

“While I am extremely talented in all things poetry and wordplay, I will admit that riddles are not exactly my forte. You seem to know so much more about them, why don’t you tell us?” Jaskier asked the door.

“Tell the truth, bard.”

“I don’t care for you very much,” Jaskier said, fixing Yennefer with as withering a stare as he could muster. He knew he wasn’t the scariest person in the room--in fact, he was pretty sure, to Yennefer, some of the inanimate objects were more frightening than he was--but he felt a surge of pride as she at least looked somewhat impressed with him. “I think you’re self-involved and badly mannered, and there’s very little you wouldn’t do to get more power. I am impressed by you, a little frightened, and largely in awe of your power, but I don’t care for you.”

Yennefer, to Jaskier’s surprise, laughed. Long and loud, as if she had never heard a better joke told. When she eventually settled enough to speak again, she pointed at Jaskier, a playful smile on her lips.

“You’ve gotten very good at avoiding that, haven’t you?” she asked, and she was still shaking a little with the last dregs of her laughter. “How many truths have you avoided? Hundreds, I’m sure. Clever, substituting it with one you don’t mind saying. No wonder the fae is making you work for it.”

“I’m glad you find this so amusing,” Jaskier answered, rolling his eyes. He couldn’t quite squash the small smile plaguing his face, though, and damn her for making him find some humor in all this, as well.

“You know what it means?” Geralt asked.

Ah. Jaskier finally met Geralt’s eyes, which were narrowed. His lips were pressed tight together and his skin was taut around his deep frown. Jaskier sat as tall as he could, puffing out his chest in a show of defiance, as his lips stayed pressed together. He would not--could not--reveal anything to Geralt, not now, possibly not ever. Jaskier would stay obedient for the rest of his life, if it meant he could keep Geralt.

“He knows more than he’s telling you, at least,” Yennefer cut in, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You can have your quarrel later. I have news for you. I’ve heard some interesting rumors lately.”

Geralt turned away from Jaskier as if it took a great deal of effort. His frown remained, but his eyebrows crept up his face and he tilted his head, silently urging Yennefer to continue. The way his eyes snuck furtive glances Jaskier’s way told Jaskier all he needed to know about what they would be discussing later . Maybe it wasn’t too late for Jaskier to run away.

“There are some interesting tales about a bard traveling with a witcher. One who does everything he’s told.” Jaskier and Geralt both stiffened, and any attention Geralt was still paying Jaskier had shifted completely to Yennefer. “Apparently a young noble in Lettenhove has been spinning some tales. The description passes a striking resemblance to you two.”

Jaskier let out a breath. “Fucking Adeline. I should have known she wouldn’t keep her mouth shut.”

“And the word made it to Yspaden,” Geralt said.

“I’d imagine it’s reached most, if not all, of the continent. That, and word of Nilfgaard’s latest attempt at conquest have been all anyone around here can talk about,” Yennefer answered with a nod. “It’s the only reason I’m still here. I thought you might be looking for me. You two took your time getting here though; you almost missed me.”

“We can’t all travel by portal,” Geralt quipped. If it wasn’t for the tension in his shoulders, Jaskier would have almost mistook that for a joke.

Yennefer’s answering nod was curt, and she rose to her feet. “I wouldn’t recommend staying here. The lord will be returning soon, and we didn’t leave on the best of terms. I can’t imagine any guests of mine would be much cared for, and I’m leaving now. I’d offer you a portal somewhere, but I think we’re quite imbalanced in terms of payment, currently, due to the information I just gave you.” She returned to her work, which Jaskier belatedly realized was packing up her belongings, and turned her back on the men. “I trust you can find your own way out.”

Jaskier gathered his belongings--his clothes still soaking--in a daze. He hardly registered time until they were out of the lord’s home and back out on the road.

Geralt appeared to be trapped in musings of his own. The witcher was so frequently quiet, but this silence was different , Jaskier knew, and not only because Jaskier knew him well enough to know that Geralt had questions for Jaskier.

The sun was low in the sky, now, just below the still ominous looking clouds. Everything was painted in shades of orange as Geralt led them deeper into the forest. It was dryer here, though the air was muggy enough to make Jaskier feel choked. He didn’t dare complain, not when Geralt’s shoulders held so tight. Geralt found a spot that must have suited his criteria, and without preamble, stopped and set up camp.

Jaskier tried to help, but Geralt moved with a single minded focus, to the point of once taking the bedrolls out of Jaskier’s hands and setting them on the ground himself. Fine. If Geralt insisted on handling everything, who was Jaskier to stop him? Instead, the bard sat himself upon the now laid-out bedroll and plucked out a tune on his lute.

It was nearly two hours later when Geralt finally sat down as well. He had completed every task, even the arduous one of finding enough dry wood to build a modest fire, and now their bellies were full of roasted rabbit. Jaskier knew he was being stared at long before he finally put down his lute with a sigh and met Geralt’s gaze.

“Have we finally reached the portion of the night where we use our words?” Jaskier bit out.

“You know how to break the curse.” It wasn’t a question, so Jaskier didn’t deign it with an answer. He only shrugged his shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know how to break the curse,” Jaskier corrected. “I have a guess, based on… context. The other things Lazuli said. A hunch, nothing more.”

“What is it?”

“No.”

Geralt’s eyes were suddenly fiery, and he stood in his anger. Jaskier did not shrink away. They could do this song and dance as many times as Geralt wanted, but it would never incite the reaction Geralt so clearly expected.

“So you would rather live your life a prisoner than try to fix it?” Geralt spat when his display of physical intimidation did nothing to move Jaskier.

“I have tried to fix it,” Jaskier answered, his voice tight. “I’ve been trying my whole life to deal with it, to find ways around it, to fix it. Lazuli was my last shot. Now, I’ve resigned myself to it. I’ve lasted this long, what’s the rest of my life? I’ve gotten so good at it.”

Geralt was shaking his head long before Jaskier finished speaking. “That’s not good enough, Jask. You have an idea. We should try it.”

“ We aren’t doing anything. I’m deciding that I’m done. This is the hand I was dealt, so I’m going to continue to play it.”

“So you’ve just given up hope?” Geralt said. He stepped closer to Jaskier, and Jaskier had to crane his neck to keep eye contact. “Lazuli gave you an answer, one which you apparently understood , and now you’re no longer interested in doing anything?”

“Lazuli gave me a choice ,” Jaskier answered, finally standing up so he could meet Geralt on equal ground. “He gave me a choice, and it’s one that I’m not willing to make. Tell my truth. What if I don’t want to tell my truth, Geralt? What if it isn’t fucking worth it?”

“And it’s worth this ?” Geralt’s arms flew out to his sides, gesturing broadly at something. “People know now, Jaskier. Your sister told. How long will it take before someone recognizes who you are, recognizes that they can control you, and uses that against you?”

Jaskier scoffed. “It’s not the first time that’s happened, Geralt!”

“But it would be the first time they knew , though, wouldn’t it? Really knew? Adeline was so quick to try to tell me how to control you, and she disdains witchers. Are you really naive enough to believe she wouldn't include that particular instruction when bending the ear of some noble?” Geralt’s arms crossed tightly over his chest, his mouth curled into a snarl. “You’re a lot of things, Jaskier, but I didn’t think you were stupid. ”

Anger, true anger, flared up inside Jaskier, and he shoved Geralt’s chest. It was ineffective; a human pushing a witcher did little more than bruise the human’s ego, but in terms of expressing his anger, it was effective. Geralt’s jaw jutted out and his hands clenched into fists against his torso as Jaskier stepped closer and jabbed a finger into Geralt’s collarbone.

“ Do not presume to educate me on my own sister, Geralt,” Jaskier snapped, jabbing his finger into Geralt’s collarbone a second time. “I guarantee I have far more experience navigating my life than you do.”

“Then stop playing dumb!”

“You’re afraid, then? You’re afraid that something will happen to me because someone recognizes us and then, what? You’ll feel guilty ?”

“This isn’t about my guilt! This is about your safety .”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, stepping away from Geralt and turning toward the fire. “I can protect myself, Geralt. If you wanted to be my knight in shining armor, you should have at least buffed yours up.”

Geralt took Jaskier’s shoulders, roughly turning him back so they faced each other. Geralt’s mouth was curled into a snarl and his fingers dug into Jaskier’s skin, hard enough to hurt, but Jaskier could not-- would not--make a sound to stop him.

“You’re in danger when you’re with me--”

“--I’m always in danger when I travel with a monster hunter --”

“I can protect you from monsters! I can’t protect you from humans who would do you harm! Not now--not now that they know !”

Geralt’s voice was so loud as he yelled at Jaskier, Jaskier was certain they had scared off any wildlife for miles. Even Roach was stamping her feet against the dirt impatiently, as if they were inconveniencing her. It was a good thing Geralt had already hunted their dinner.

“Then what,” Jaskier finally said, his voice soft and even and tight, as he slowly pried Geralt’s fingers off one arm, “do you expect me to do now?”

“I expect you to break your curse.” Geralt’s voice was lower, but still just as dangerous.

“No.”

There was that fire again. If Jaskier was a lesser man, one who didn’t know Geralt as well as he did, maybe it would have set Jaskier on fire. Geralt was dangerous like this, and he knew anyone else would have bent under the witcher’s ire. Jaskier did not care.

“Then you cannot travel with me anymore.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open. Of all the things he expected Geralt to say, that hadn’t even made the list. It was mostly baffling because Jaskier wasn’t sure where, exactly, Geralt’s head had gone to think that was a deal Jaskier would ever agree to. Jaskier pursed his lips and rolled his eyes.

“Those are hardly my only two options. Did you forget the part where I have just as much say, if not more , as you do in where I go? I’ve followed you on this quest for Yennefer, and now I will not be told how to handle my own curse when we’re finally about to get back on the Path. You’re ridiculous, Geralt. Absolutely ridiculous.” Jaskier scoffed again, as if this was amusing to him, and shook his head for good measure.

Geralt considered him for a long moment. Something hard set in his face, and Jaskier felt a sliver of fear raise the hair on the back of his neck. He didn’t know how to explain it, but Jaskier suddenly knew he was losing this fight.

"Jaskier, you can’t follow me. You have to stay here." There was that tone again. The one that left no room for argument.

"Like hell I do, Geralt!” Jaskier snapped. He had never been very good at heeding warnings. “You can't just-just cast me aside when I don’t do what you want. It doesn't work like that!"

Geralt sighed heavily, and looked up at the sky. He looked at the moon for a long time, his expression growing curious. When he returned to Jaskier, Jaskier could see the guilt written on his face. It looked like pain, a grimace. Jaskiers heart twitched painfully.

"Geralt, no, you can't--" Jaskier started, only to be cut off.

"Jaskier, stay here until dawn."

Jaskiers eyes went wide. He looked down at his feet and tried, he tried so hard, to move forward, to close the gap between him and Geralt. His foot lifted off the ground, but would not move further. He stamped it back down in the same exact spot, ineffectually, and leaned forward. His body went without fight, but his feet would not move. Jaskier turned his gaze back to Geralt, feeling wild, betrayed, completely powerless.

"Geralt, no! You can't! You said--you said you wouldn’t do this! You said you wouldn’t take away my choice!" Jaskier pleaded, his voice growing louder, more desperate as he continued.

Geralt shook his head and looked down at his feet. "I have to, Jaskier. It's the only way to keep you safe."

"No! Geralt, please! I wont--I’ll--I’ll be good! I’ll be so careful! Don't leave me! You can't just leave me here!"

But Geralt was already turning away. Jaskiers pleas grew more frantic, more anguished, and he tried so hard to follow his witcher, to no avail. The curse would not let him, not until dawn. Geralt packed up his belongings as fast as he could, readying Roach.

"Geralt!" Jaskiers voice broke. He didn't know when he had started crying, but his voice was hoarse with it now. The tears fell, hot and angry, down his face. "You can't do this! I trusted you! You-you whoreson! You traitor! You monster ! You promised me you'd always give me a choice!"

"Goodbye, Jaskier," Geralt said.

Had Jaskier not been screaming, pleading with his witcher, he would have noted the sorrow making Geralt’s voice thick, and maybe would have backed off. He heard it, but it only fueled his anger, his hurt. Jaskier fell to his knees--at least the curse would grant him that much--and pounded his fists on the ground.

"Come back! You can't do this to me! You promised! You promised me! I believed you!" Jaskier screamed after him.

And that was the worst part of it. Jaskier had believed Geralt; Jaskier had trusted him. Everyone took advantage eventually, once they realized what they held in their hands. Jaskier’s wasted heart had gotten itself broken again. Somehow, this was worse than the other betrayals.

All Jaskier could do now was watch. He watched Geralt and Roach retreat into the forest. His face felt hot and swollen and his throat hurt from his begging. His legs still would not move. Jaskier kneeled there as his body wracked with sobs, until there was nothing left but the tremble of his muscles. Eventually, he couldn’t even whimper, just stared at the dirt before him, the lines his clawing fingers had made.

When the sun peeked out over the horizon, Jaskier pulled himself to his feet and took a tentative step forward. He met no resistance. He met no resistance, but Geralt was gone, hours gone. Jaskier had no hope of finding him now, and Geralt would hear him from a mile away.

He didn’t know why he was surprised. Jaskier was made to be left; he had designed it that way himself

read chapter 14

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fanfiction #my writing

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snow-pitch-grimm · 5 years ago

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COC 2019 Masterlist

Hey! I thought I would put all my carry on countdown 2019 fics in one place.

1. Vows - Simon and Baz are getting married.

2. I Love Him - It’s their fifth year and Simon’s in love with Baz.

3. Little Magical Helpers - Someone’s cleaning their place and it isn’t either of them.

4. Better Than Dreams - Real Simon is better than Baz’s dreams.

5. A Little Friendship - A little snippet of Penelope and Simon’s friendship.

6. Neat - "And then I said ‘neat’! Neat! Nobody says neat anymore!“ - Baz to Dev

7. A Magical Time - Trixie takes Keris out on a date. Their first date to be exact.

8. My Baz - Simon tries out different pet names for Baz.

9. Patterns - Baz traces patterns into Simon’s skin.

10. Sun - Daphne and Malcolm watch Baz and Simon dance. Malcolm makes a simple comment but Daphne can’t stop thinking about it.

“…It’s almost like Simon is his sun…”

“…Reminds me of someone else too,”

11. Something I’ll Never Have - Baz and Simon have a fight while at Baz’s parents’ house. There are feelings.

12. Loving Takes Work (but we can do it, darling) - Snowbaz and ‘Sixteen’ by Ellie Goulding.

13. Please Love Me, Father - Baz and Malcolm have a talk then Mordelia and Malcolm also have a talk.

14. Better Than Any Fantasy - Simon finds some of Baz’s sketches of him. His reaction isn’t what Baz had expected.

15. Flowers - Baz and Simon give each other flowers

16. What if - Baz and Simon are already dating when Baz gets back to Watford after his kidnapping.

17. In Your Dreams - A spell goes wrong and Simon finds himself sharing Baz’s dreams.

18. A Little Crush - Baz’s little sister has a bit of a crush on Simon.

19. Apocalypse Averted - "Penny! Penny! The world is ending?!"

20. Unconditional Love - Baz is put under a sleeping curse.

21. Boys in Love - Simon wears a pink eyeliner while Baz paints his nails glittery black. Simon likes to make flower arrangements while Baz paints demons.

Still, it doesn’t mean they can’t match in every way that matters

22. The reluctant hero and the disaster that’s in love with them - Baz and Simon work at the Salvatore School for the gifted. They find themselves brokering peace between two students, Lizzie Saltzman and Hope Mikaelson.

23. Music - Baz plays the violin every night. The night he doesn’t, Simon gets worried. Neighbours AU.

24. A Love to Last a Lifetime - It’s Father and Daphne’s ten-year anniversary.

25. Undercover - Baz and Simon’s friends follow them on their date.

26. Friendship is Magic - After the ball, Dev, Niall and Baz talk about Simon

27. A Frosty Friendship - Priya and Mordelia are roommates. Everybody around them has a permanent headache.

28. Words of Love - Simon has a hard time voicing his love for Baz. He gets advice from an unexpected place.

29. What Could Have Been - Baz finds a spell a time travel spell in his family library. He knows he shouldn’t consider it. It’s hard to ignore the possibilities though.

30. The Sound of Laughter - Baz and Simon have matching presents for each other.

#simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #carry on fanfic #snowbaz #snowbaz fanfic #carry on fanfiction #carry on fic #penelope bunce #daphne grimm #mordelia grimm #malcolm grimm

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shianhygge-imagines · 6 years ago

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Silver Rose [Vergil/Reader] {Devil May Cry} Imposter

AN: The gif above is not of Gilver, but it’s sexy and cool (I mean his fucking stance is everything).

For the purposes of Silver Rose, I will go along with the idea that Gilver was created by Mundus to mess with Dante, and that he existed around two or so years before the first game... but only appeared after the events of “Gifts.”

Warning: Long Chapter

|Masterlist Link| |First Chapter| |Prev. Ch.| --- |Next Ch.|

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“I need eight fireballs to Jonny’s group, Y/N.” Shei announced, plopping the worn serving tray down onto the bar top. “And your boyfriend said to get yourself a drink. He’s paying.”

“Eight fireballs, on the way.” You confirmed, pulling out eight shot glasses and filling them up. “And for the last time, Tony’s my brother-in-law, not my boyfriend.” You corrected with a frown at your coworker.

Although you’d gotten stronger the more you went out on demon hunting gigs with Dante, it didn’t prove to be a skill that allowed for an agreeable living situation. Normal demon hunting gigs paid decently, but with the pay being split between two people, it wasn’t enough, especially when Dante wouldn’t accept payment. Dante couldn’t hold a normal day-to-day job, so you’d resolved to be the responsible one and got a job at Bobby’s Cellar. It was Dante’s usual haunt where he’d go by Tony Redgrave and get mercenary work, but the people knew you just as well. Which led you to your current predicament.

Shei raised her hands in a sign of surrender… or was it a shrug… either way, she winked and stuck her tongue out, “C’mon, Y/N, you mean you’ve never thought about leaving your absent husband for his hot brother? You know he has a thing for you.”

Your face didn’t change a single bit as you responded, sliding the full tray over to Shei. “My husband is missing, not absent.” Lies. “And I’ve never thought about dating Tony. Not that there’s anything wrong with him, it’s just that I don’t want to use him… do you get what I mean?”

Your coworker leveled a serious stare at you as she took the tray of drinks. “It’s not considered using him if you both like each other.”

Watching as Shei walked away with a sway in her hips, you sighed, muttering to yourself. “But I don’t like him like that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with moving on.” A cool voice startled you, eyes darting immediately up and to the left where the newcomer sat at the bar, his arms folded on the counter as he leaned towards you.

The man was peculiar in the way he looked, sporting a green suit of all things and wrapped in enough bandages where only his startling blue eyes showed. Quirking an eyebrow at him, you spoke before thinking. “A newcomer… Well then, welcome to Bobby’s Cellar. Are you here for a job, a drink, or information?”

“Hmmm let’s start with information, my dear. Do you know every single person that enters this establishment?” the man’s sharp blue eyes seemed to pierce through you ominously, as if he were threatening you to tell the truth. You wanted to scoff, knowing that you could probably take the guy in a fight if you had to. Something was off about him… something demonic, but it wasn’t strong enough for you to raise the alarm with Dante.

“Depends.” You drawled, making a gin and tonic and sliding it towards the man in bandages, “I know everyone who has established themselves, whether they be an information broker, mercenary, or just someone who needs a drink every now and then. That’s on the house, by the way.”

If the man’s face was uncovered, you had no doubt that his brows would be raised in interest if the slight lilt to his smooth voice was anything to go by. “Establish themselves? How does one do that?” He lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip after nodding his head in thanks.

A grimace appeared on you face at the mention of the initiation ceremony that went on in Bobby’s Cellar. Setting a glass down, you raised a sluggish hand to point towards the rowdiest table located at the back of the bar where Dante and Jonny’s group sat. “You talk to Tony and Jonny… and they issue a challenge. If you do well enough, you get invited into their little group of misfits. Once that happens, you’ll get a better shot at the better sources of info and jobs.”

The man finished off the drink before getting up, giving you an appraising stare. “Thank you…”

“Y/N.” You supplied, not really seeing the harm in giving him your name.

“Thank you, Y/N. I’m Gilver. It was a pleasure speaking with you.” The man was already across the room by the time you’d managed to process his name.

“Gilver…” you muttered, staring after the mysterious newcomer with narrowed eyes. He held a katana in his left hand, and from the back he looked too familiar. “Gilver… why does that sound so familiar?”

Gilver... G-I-L-V-E-R....

G-I-L.... V-E-R...

V-E-R-G-I-L

Your face seemed to scrunch up at the anagram, eyes still staring at Gilver’s back. “That is the shittiest pseudonym ever.” You commented, hardly impressed with the revelation that you’d just made.

Naturally, your heart jumped to the conclusion that your husband was back, and that he hadn’t been taken by an evil force like you’d concluded when the armored figure stopped visiting... but your mind and instinct urged you not to assume... to observe and withhold judgement until all the facts were taken into account. The height and stature of the mysterious newcomer was right, as was his choice of weapon and the color of his eyes... but the more you observed Gilver interact with Dante and Jonny’s group, the more you began to realize that Gilver was not your husband, but was something demonic in nature.

Taking up Dante’s previous offer to make a drink for yourself, you pour a glass of whiskey and took a large gulp, face set in a grimace as you resumed your work. You didn’t like it when someone tried to screw with you... more so when it came to Vergil.

“Y/N?” Shei pulled you from your thoughts with a heavy sigh, “They’re at it again... Doing that stupid initiation ceremony on the new guy.”

From across the bar, you could see both Dante and Gilver looking at you expectantly, one with a shit-eating smirk, and the other with a curious glint in his eyes. A bemused expression appeared on your face as you looked away, shaking your head in amusement from what was bound to happen. “I hope the new guy can hold his liquor.” Which, if you were right, and Gilver was a fake Vergil... would mean that he’d be a woeful lightweight.

“The guy looks tough... I think he’ll give Tony a run for his money.” Shei laughed before winking, “New guy’s been watching you though. You gonna tap that?”

You gave a short laugh as you shook your head, setting a bottle of pure absinthe on the tray with two shot glasses. “What is with you and my love life, Shei?”

“Unless you wanna head back to my place, someone’s gotta make sure you get laid, Y/N.” Your coworker winked flirtatiously at you and turned to do her job.

You howled in laughter, “My god, Shei!”

She turned to briefly blow you a kiss, “You know you want me!”

“Just go do you’re job!”

And oh boy did Shei do her job. Calling one round after another in an odd display of competition, she served both Dante and Gilver their round of shots, the two men sitting across from one another as they drank. After three shots, Dante didn’t look much different than he would drinking a beer. Gilver, on the other hand, looked close to being drunk. It was subtle, but you noticed the way he had to sit a little straighter to prevent from slouching.

Another three rounds later, Dante was starting to grin in a daze, though was by all means not drunk. Gilver though... was probably about to collapse in an unconscious heap. You’d long since clocked out for the night to keep watch over the initiation ceremony, knowing that Jonny and his boys often mugged the newcomer if they passed out.

Thump

You winced when Gilver fell forward, slumped unconscious on top of the table. Gilver was definitely a clone of Vergil, you confirmed, strolling over to the table and stopping Jonny’s men from robbing the unconscious man blind. “I’ll take it from here, boys. Your drinks are already paid, so there’s no reason to rob the guy now.”

“Y/N... what are you doing?” Dante asked, getting up from his seat when you knelt by Gilver’s side to prop him up. The man’s katana was already strapped to your back, though not before your were able to observe that it was a cheap imitation of the Yamato.

“Getting this mess to a safe place.” You announced, bracing yourself as you lifted the unconscious man into your arms, your demon strength being put to good use as you strolled out of the bar. “Don’t wait up!”

Years ago, Dante would have never let you run off with a stranger. But now that he knew you were capable of defending yourself against any threat, he trusted you to keep yourself safe. Though to his credit, you wondered if Dante only let you leave with Gilver in your arms because he thought it was funny that you would be carrying the man like a bride. You admit the image would have amused you.

Gilver didn’t stir the entire time trip down the street to an admittedly nice hotel. He didn’t stir when you’d rented a room for the night while earning strange looks from the hotel staff and snide remarks from the hotel’s other clients. He didn’t so much as make a peep when you’d dumped him onto the bed, positioning him so that he didn’t choke on his own vomit.

Gilver did stir when you’d taken his shoes off, but he didn’t wake. He didn’t make much noise when you’d tossed his katana onto the bed with him either.

“If you’re anything like Vergil, you’ll wake only when you’re ready to.” You muttered before picking up the hotel’s phone, calling in an order of tea and cake. Your husband was a heavy sleeper when he was passed out from exhaustion. Nothing would be able to wake him up... except maybe violence, but you didn’t want to pick a fight in a hotel.

The tea and cake arrived not long after you settled into the hotel room’s couch.

Leaning back after having your fill, you closed your eyes, fully intending to nap as you waited for Gilver to wake.

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

There was a faint clinking sound from the table, alerting you to the sudden presence on the couch and rousing you from your nap. Opening your eyes, you noticed that a green suit jacket was thrown over your form, and that Gilver sat opposite of you on the couch, his piercing blue eyes staring at you in curiosity.

“How are you feeling?” You asked, moving to sit up from your reclined position, trying to act as casual as possible.

“Are you always this trusting?” Gilver shot back, his expression hidden behind the bandages although you could see the mirth within his eyes.

“I don’t trust you.” He still hadn’t answered your question.

Gilver shrugged, his eyes not turning away from you. “And yet you took care of me. I assumed that you had already grasped my identity.”

You scoffed at his statement, meeting his eyes, accusing. “Did you think that I was foolish enough not to recognize an anagram of my own husband’s name? Who are you, Gilver? Because you are certainly not Vergil.”

At your demand, Gilver hummed in amusement before leaning forward, closing the distance between your two faces in an act of intimidation. He snatched your hands and slowly raised them, placing them on either side of his bandaged face. “Are you so sure, my dearest?” It was a dare as he kept his blue eyes locked with yours.

You hesitated, your hands trembling the slightest as Gilver held them in place. It was an act of intimidation on Gilver’s part, but you needed to know if you were correct in assuming that it was not Vergil sitting before you. Your hands moved to trace the outline of Gilver’s jaw before grasping the bandages and pulling. The bandages fell in a cascade of white as they unraveled to reveal a face so familiar that a sob managed to escape you. Gilver was almost identical to your husband, but upon revealing his face, you noticed that his eyes seemed to flit between crimson red and sapphire blue. An illusion to hide the true color of his eyes.

You could help yourself as your hand rose to cup his face in the palm of your hand, caressing his cheek with your thumb. And like Vergil, Gilver was unable to resist letting out a hum of content. “You were created to look exactly like Vergil.”

Gilver’s eyes remained closed. “Yes.”

“So that you can be used against me.” You realized, drawing your hands away from the man before you.

“Hm... not just you. Dante as well.” Gilver confirmed, opening his crimson eyes to stare at your face below his. “And why not? I am, as you said, identical to Vergil. Why not let me be the husband that you want?”

“You’re not him.”

“But I can be.”

“You’re only saying that to better serve your master.” You grit your teeth at the thought of replacing Vergil with this... puppet.

“Smart girl.” Gilver grinned at how you didn’t give in to emotional weakness. “Mundus created me to weaken Dante... and to seduce you. Don’t you miss Vergil? Don’t you want him back?”

“Of course I miss him.” You growled, shoving Gilver away and standing up so that you could assert your presence over him, “And I could never replace him.”

“You wouldn’t know the difference if you allowed me, Y/N.” Gilver called out to you as you stormed past him to the door.

You froze by the door, a question nagging you from the back of your brain. When you turned to look at Gilver, he was already standing in front of you, probably hoping to stop you from leaving. “If you are like Vergil, then let me ask you this, Gilver. Are you content with just being this? A puppet for Mundus to control?”

“I was created by Mundus for the express purpose of hurting you and Dante, I’m not a person.” Gilver replied blandly, idly playing with a strand of your hair.

“... but do you want to be?” You asked, eyes searching his own before stepping out the door.

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

After that night, Gilver became a near constant presence at Bobby’s Cellar. Every night you worked, you would find Gilver seated at the bar, sometimes teasing you, sometimes attempting to seduce you. Most of the time, however, you found that he worked to earn the trust of the cellar patrons, buying drinks for people or even bringing in new jobs. You knew that he was up to no good, but left the fun to Dante, going along for the ride.

Rather gradually, you noticed that Gilver was slowly acting less and less like Vergil, adopting a rather playful persona towards you, but a cruel and cold demeanor towards others. He also stopped offering to replace Vergil, and instead started to suggest that you leave Vergil to be with him. Perhaps what you’d said that first night had made him think a little.

Though... perhaps not enough because he still seemed intent on continuing to follow whatever Mundus’s plan was.

Still... despite yourself, you’d started to consider Gilver a friend.

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

Upon Dante’s suggestion, you’d taken a break from working at Bobby’s Cellar and retreated to your home in Redgrave City just for a week. He’d insisted that you deserved a break after working so hard to keep up with the rent and utilities at Devil May Cry. But you’d noticed the ever growing presence of demons because of Gilver, and you knew that whatever peaceful time you had with Gilver’s teasing friendship, was about to come to an end.

It was a clear night when Gilver appeared in your kitchen, bandages unraveled and torn, and blood seeping through the green suit his wore. His katana was gone as he stumbled and gasped out your name in pain. “Y-Y/N!’

Dropping the knife that you’d been using to cut vegetables for dinner, you practically flew across the room to kneel by Gilver’s side. You’d recognize the wounds on Gilver’s body anywhere... “You picked a fight with Dante...”

Gilver gave a hollow, bitter laugh as his body lost the energy to prop himself up, collapsing into your arms. “And lost...”

“I... I need to get a first aid kit.” You muttered, eyes wide at the number of wounds you needed to patch up. “You’ll be fine once I’m done with you. I just...”

You made a move to leave, but Gilver’s hand quickly shot up to stop you. “No... it’s too late for that... just... stay... please. Look at me, Y/N.”

Your eyes started to burn just from looking at the number of open wounds, but you allowed your eyes to rise, meeting Gilver’s crimson red as he smirked weakly. “You’re going to die if I don’t do something, Gilver.”

“I’m going to die whether you do something or not, Y/N. Just... stay by my side. That’s all I’m asking.”

You could only nod, speechless that you were going to lose a friend. You bit your lip as you tried not to cry, just giving in and holding Gilver to you, resting his head against your shoulder as the light started to leave his eyes.

“Hey, Y/N? Look at me for a moment.” Your burning eyes rose to meet his crimson ones despite the tears nearly blocking your view. “I should have listened to you.”

“You still can! Let me help you!” You snapped, the tears finally falling free.

“Heh. No thanks.” Gilver gasped out, raising a hand to wipe the tears away. “It’s not a bad way to go... In the arms of a beautiful woman.”

“Now’s not the time to be flirting with me!” You growled, moving to sit up so that you could move Gilver, panicking when his body began to slowly turn to ash.

“It’s always a good time to flirt with the woman you love.” Your breathing hitched when Gilver used last of his strength to lean up, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips and pulling away with an uncharacteristic smile. “When you see Vergil, let him know that he’s so lucky that you love him. Or I would have swept you off your feet. Goodbye, Y/N-”

“Goodbye, Gilver.” You sobbed, managing to get the words out before he burst into ashes dissolving and disappearing. No trace of his existence. Not even of the blood that previous stained your clothes.

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

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

#shianhygge #shian imagines #devil may cry #devil may cry imagines #dmc #dmc imagines #vergil x reader #vergil #vergil sparda #gilver #gilver x reader #dante #dante sparda #mentions of mundus

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westallenfun · 7 years ago

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Fanfic - I Want Everything With You - 1/1

Westallen Secret Santa gift from @sophisticatedloserchick for @latebarryallen

Note for Latebarryallen: When I got the message that said I was going to be Latebarryallen’s Secret Santa this year I was both excited and terrified. Excited because I consider her a close friend here on Tumblr. I’ve had the privilege to be someone who beta’s her amazing work she blesses our fandom with. Terrified because I admire her so much as a writer and I wanted to give her a fic she would love. Hopefully I did just that <3

Merry Christmas love! I wish you nothing but happiness and good things in the coming year.

Prompt: What happens when two of the world’s most well known celebrities try to meet up for a simple coffee date?

Rating: PG

Word Count: 2256

A/N: Requested by @latebarryallen who wanted a fic that included: rom-com, celebrities, coffee shop

The minute Iris stepped into the coffee shop she wondered if later she would regret it.

The interior of the coffee shop was decorated with green and red tinsel and lights strung up on the walls. Christmas music played softly in the background. The place was packed even at this time of night. Christmas shoppers taking breaks to drink tall sugary caffeinated drinks with shopping bags surrounding them on the floor. She noticed a few couples out on dates smiling at each other over their cups of coffee.

Iris normally would of loved to get a cup of candy-cane hot chocolate then sit by the window to watch the snow fall. But the reason she was at this particular coffee shop was not to relax.

Iris scanned the tables and chairs until her eyes landed on the familiar tall and slim figure of Barry Allen. Iris smiled at his attempts to look inconspicuous. The woolen hat pulled down over his auburn hair. Today he forgoed his contacts instead to have black rimmed glasses and his face was partially buried in a book. He even slouched in his chair to hide his height. Not the most polished disguise Iris had seen but good enough for no one in this coffee shop to realize Barry Allen the top selling artist on the Billboard charts was among them.

Iris slowly made her way over to his table. She kept her own head down and did her best not to draw any attention to herself. The last thing either of them needed was to have a wave of fans descending on them.

Quickly and quietly Iris slipped into the chair opposite of Barry. Her heart strangely pounding as if she’d barely escaped a dangerous situation. The risk the two of them were taking to be meeting like this out in public hitting her hard. She felt incredibly vulnerable.

But then Barry dropped his book down to smile at her and all her fears seemed to disappear.

“Hey you,” Barry said softly as he shut his book.

“Hi,” Iris couldn’t help but smile shyly back at him. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Total coincidence,” Barry smiled in that way that made the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way Iris loved. “We did not plan or prepare for this at all.”

Iris rolled her eyes adjusting her own clever disguise of a thick woolen hat and a fluffy scarf that covered half her face. She had to take every precaution to disguise her identity. Being one of the world’s most famous and recognized actresses demanded she take such precautions.

“We’re crazy for doing this,” Iris half scolded and half laughed. “My security team is going to kill me when they realize I’ve snuck away.”

“Nothing wrong with living a little dangerously,” Barry reminded her. “Well if I’m living dangerously then I’m going to need coffee,” Iris shot him a look that brokered no arguments. Not that she needed to. Barry readily got up to fulfill her command. He’d always been like that. Kind and willing to do what he could to help others. Iris had a feeling it was his sweet nature that made him more popular than most in his field.

Minutes later both of them were sipping coffee, Barry with his plain black and Iris with her candy-cane mocha, stealing shy looks between sips of their drinks.

Iris felt like she was back in high school again. Before she had become famous. Before her every movement was analyzed and dissected by the public. Back to a time where nothing was more thrilling than going on a date with a cute boy. This is how being with Barry made her feel. Young and carefree in a way she hadn’t felt in years. It was exhilarating but also very dangerous.

“How was your day?” Barry asked casually like they were a normal every day people going out for coffee.

“Got some Christmas shopping done,” Iris took a long sup of her mocha before continuing. “Maybe got something for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Barry’s eyes lit up like he was a little boy. “What did you get me?”

“I can’t tell you,” Iris scolded. “Only naughty boys ask what they got for Christmas.”

“Well you already know I’m a very naughty boy,” Barry gave her a sly grin. “Didn’t I prove that last weekend?”

Iris cheeks heated up at the memory.

Barry had been doing a concert at Star City, the last stop on his very popular world tour. To celebrate, and because she missed him since he’d been on the road for three months, Iris decided to surprise him. She waited for him at his hotel room which she filled with tealight candles and with her wearing next to nothing. By Barry’s very enthusiastic reaction she guessed he missed her as much as she missed him. They’d spent all night in that hotel room indulging in each other’s bodies. Iris had quickly found out that Barry’s the quiet heart of a poet persona the whole world knew him as was not the same Barry she was in bed with. The morning after they spent cuddling wasn’t too bad either.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Iris said in a hushed voice. “This could all end so badly.”

Barry’s expression dropped briefly before his hand reached out to grab hers. Out of instinct from knowing they were sitting in public Iris withdrew her hand quickly before he could grab it. Iris felt instantly bad but Barry gave her a understanding look.

“Do you remember when we first met?” Barry asked with a smile.

“Yes. How can I forget you accidentally dropping a glass of champagne on Eddie Thawne?” Iris laughed.

Their first meeting had been almost a year ago today. Iris had been bored out of her mind at an Oscar’s after party. At that point of the night all she wanted to do was go home. Her head was pounding with a headache from all the pins holding the tight twists of hair in place. Her dress was so tight that she found it hard to breathe and move. Her mood made even worse by the fact she lost in the category for best actress. For the entire night she had to keep up being a gracious to every person she talked to.

All she wanted to do was go home, get out of this constricting dress, take a long shower before drowning her sorrows in pizza and ice cream. But of course as luck would have it Eddie Thawne, who did win the best actor award the bastard, had cornered her to listen to him humble-brag about his acting method. Iris stood there barely listening while wondering if she faked to get out of this conversation if Eddie would even notice.

Then as if the powers above heard her prayers a rather clumsy man bumped into Eddie and spilling his entire drink onto him. The incident might of ruined Eddie’s night but it saved Iris’s. Because it turned out the clumsy stranger was the very cute and very talented singer-songwriter Barry Allen. All it took was one look into those pretty green eyes and for him to give her that crooked grin for Iris to be hooked.

Now nearly a year later of secret dating they were for the very first time out in public together.

“I remember looking at you from across the room.” Barry’s voice went softer as he brought up memories for both of them. “I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Even if you did look bored to death talking to Eddie Thawne.”

Iris attempted to hide her laughter but failed which only made Barry smile wider.

“I thought to myself ‘I’d be lucky if I could just get her to talk to me'” Barry continued.

“Well you ended up doing way more than that,” Iris smiled slyly before sipping her hot cocoa.

“Yes well…that’s true,” Barry stuttered while turning bright red.

It always amused Iris the effect she had on him. To the world Barry Allen was this untouchable rock star. A man with a voice like an angel and the heart of a poet. The several times Iris had seen him perform she thought him magnetic. Always together and composed even in a stadium filled with screaming fans. Yet all Iris had to do was tease him to turn him into a stuttering mess.

“What I’m trying to say,” Barry said after collecting himself. “Is that at the start I thought just getting to talk to you would be enough for me. But now I realized it isn’t.”

Iris felt her heart drop to her stomach. She didn’t like where this was going. She didn’t like how Barry sounded like he was about to break up with her.

“Which is why I invited you to this coffee shop today,” Barry continued. “Because this is what normal people in love do. They go on coffee dates.”

Iris felt instantly relieved that Barry wasn’t breaking up with her but the real meaning of his statement hit her hard.

“But we’re not a normal couple,” Iris said in a bitter sweet way. “Or normal people.”

“No we’re not,” Barry agreed. “But that’s not going to stop me from trying to make sure we have everything.”

It was in that moment that Iris realized she had well and truly fallen in love with Barry.

Not that she would say it out loud. She knew Barry wanted them to go public as a couple. To let the whole world know they were in love. But Iris was afraid to let the rest of the world in. Afraid what fans and reporters and critics would do to their relationship. Iris worried the reason they were so happy was because they shielded their relationship from reality.

Iris was fine with keeping things private before Barry told her that it wasn’t enough. She now realized it wasn’t enough for her either.

All the things she wanted to say was interrupted by the angry beeping of her phone.

“That’s Diggle my bodyguard,” Iris winced as she read the strongly worded text messages. “He’s realized that I snuck out of my hotel room.”

“You better head back then,” Barry said a bit deflated. “I kept you out long enough.”

Iris felt horrible as they gathered up their coats and got out of their chairs.

She now watched Barry walk ahead of her, almost at the door out of the coffee shop, and this irrational fear she was about to lose him struck her.

“Barry wait,” Iris called out. “Stop please.”

Barry turned to look at her in confusion. His green eyes staring right through her. Iris found herself freezing not knowing way to say. Barry was the writer out of the two of them. He could so perfectly put his feelings into words. Iris has always been a woman of action.

She then saw the sprig of mistletoe above the coffee shop door.

Iris rushed towards Barry. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she went up to her tiptoes. Barry looked at her startled. His eyes going wide and the tips of his ears going red.

“Ir-Iris what?” Barry stuttered. “What are you doing?”

Iris didn’t bother answering with words. Instead she titled her head to press her lips to his. Barry stood there stunned before responding to the movement of her lips. Soon both forgot they were standing in a public place as plain as day kissing each. Instead they got lost in each other. Barry’s fingers threaded through her hair, moving down to cradle her face. Iris let out a soft gasp when he nipped down on her lower lip before deepening the kiss. Eventually they needed air as they pulled apart and Iris looked up at a rather dazed Barry.

Iris laughed under her breath before pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I want it all with you too,” Iris said against his lips.

Iris could feel Barry’s lips pull into a smile when she went to kiss him again.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Next day pictures of world famous actress Iris West and musician Barry Allen kissing at a coffee shop were plastered across the internet and on the cover of every gossip magazine. Iris’s phone had been ringing non stop all morning. Calls from her team, the studio and reporters wanting to know the details of this secret relationship. Everyone wanted to know about the newest power couple in Hollywood.

Iris ignored all of it. Instead she spent her Christmas in bed wrapped up in Barry’s arms. The rest of the world might know their secret but Iris wasn’t going to give up the private world she shared with Barry just yet.

#westallen secret santa #westallen #the flash #barry allen #Iris West #Grant Gustin #Candice Patton #Iris West-Allen #submission

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imagine-loki · 8 years ago

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A Warrior’s Life

TITLE: A Warrior’s Life

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Thirty-Four AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Viking Loki coming to your village, raiding, and pillaging, before deciding there is something about you that intrigues him and deciding to take you back to Asgard with him. There, you are forced to learn a new life and language, and though you hate what has happened to you, you learn that Loki is not as bad as you think.

RATING: Mature

So another son, you must be very pleased brother, you have my congratulations and your son, my best wishes.” Loki smiled genuinely raising his chalice to his brother before drinking.

Thor raised his also before taking a mouthful himself. “Thank you Loki, I saw on the day of our return how much you still yearn for a child with Maebh, I find myself asking the gods often to bless you both with one soon.”

Loki was slightly taken back at Thor’s appeals to the gods on his behalf. “Thank you brother.” He did not trust himself to say anymore lest he reveal truth of Maebh’s condition. “Have you decided on a name for the boy yet?”

“Indeed I have not. I hated this with Helga and Thodin also. Helga I suggested as it was Sif’s sister who died in childhood; I thought it would be nice to remember her in that manner. As for Thodin, that was simply amalgamating mine and fathers names, hardly very original, I don’t know what to call this poor child.” The older prince admitted.

“You will think of something.” Loki smiled warmly. “Any news in the village, I am afraid that I have seldom ventured far from home since our return. We want for very little so we do not feel the need to come to town too often; I am ashamed to say my son is more versed in the goings on of Asgard these past few weeks than I.”

Thor chuckled at Loki’s comment for a moment before finishing the contents of his chalice and looking to Loki in all seriousness; Loki sensed his brother’s change in demeanour and looked at Thor expectantly. “New land boundaries are being drawn up.” He began. “You are to be brought closer to town, your lands are to be expanded to include the fishing hamlet and all the land between there and mine is to be given with you also, as well as the means to pay for more staff.” Thor informed him. “Since the journey to Midgard was such a success; the treasure we brought home with us and in turn, the vast size of Maebh’s dowry.”

“But…but most of the land you speak of is Baldr’s.” Loki said in disbelief.

“Word came from Vanaheim earlier yesterday, he has ascended to Valhalla. Maebh was right; he did not make the spring. His son has accepted father’s offer to go to Midgard and take position there. As a result all the aforementioned land here, including Baldr’s home is yours.” Thor smiled.

“It is a great honour, but one at the cost of a good warrior.” Loki acknowledged, and Thor nodded in agreement. “When will this be made public?”

“Soon, I assume father will make mention of it just after the naming ceremony. You have earned this Loki.” Thor clapped his brothers’ shoulder. “So loyal and hard working, even when father showed you no favours.” Loki smiled at Thor’s recognition. “It also leads me to my next point. I am now in Baldr’s position of command.” Loki nodded, he knew that would be the case, it was hardly news. “I am making you my second in command.” Loki’s eyes widened disbelievingly. “Why so shocked brother, you are a good warrior, a great diplomat, a quick mind, you were of great assistance to me in Vanaheim, and you are one of the very few people I can truly trust, even if you share the name of the God of Lies.”

“I do not know what to say Thor; I will do my upmost to not leave you down.” Loki swore.

“That is all I could ever ask brother. So at the earliest convenience, I would have you and your family move into Baldr’s old home as it is only ten minutes from here, far closer for you if I require you, and who knows, in time close for Maebh were she to need mother and Sif.”

Loki nodded. “Yes, it is probably best to begin as soon as possible.” He thought of Maebh and the stress of moving home on her and the baby, he agreed the sooner the better.

Thor cleared his throat, unsure as to the reason behind Loki’s look of absentmindedness. “There is one more thing.” Loki looked to Thor. “It would also be best to move soon as we will have to go to Svartalfheim in a month; father wants to see if we can broker a peace deal there.”

Loki’s mouth dropped. “Thor that is pure and utter madness, Malekith will kill us as soon as look at us.” “His aides have been, he is dying, and his son is to be king soon. Ásvaldr, he is a better man than his father.” Loki relaxed ever so slightly, he had heard of the son, a smart and calm man, adverse to war, but not against it when essential, a formidable ally if needed. “How long will we be gone?”

“A month, maybe two I would imagine.” Thor noticed Loki’s grimace and concern. “What brother? We have been gone far longer than that before.”

“I know, but what of Sif and the new child, our duties here, if I am to move my family before I leave, it leaves far too great a load for Maebh to organise in my absence.”

“Brother, take no offence, but I think you are underestimating your wife greatly.” Thor chuckled. “Maebh is a capable woman, she is more than able to organise a home.” Doubt filled Loki’s face and Thor caught it. “Why would she not be able to brother?” Loki remained silently thinking. “Well it is not as though she will be heavy with child and ready to birth, even if she were to get with child it would still just be the first few weeks, she would simply be …” Thor cut off his sentence as he studied his younger brother’s face. “Loki?” the raven haired prince looked to his brother almost guiltily. “Loki, Maebh is with child now isn’t she? Do not attempt to lie to me, your demeanour and the way she avoided my embrace is more proof, and you seem no longer envious of my newest child, making me think it so.” Loki remained silent. “How long?”

“Since Midgard apparently, though she only revealed it to me when we arrived home. She is already showing and could birth before our return home if we are delayed any bit.”

“Loki. Brother, I…I need you by my side if this is to be successful.” Thor’s usually thunderous voice almost seemed small; he understood the gravity of what he was asking of Loki.

The younger prince sighed. “Mother will be more than willing to assist her in anyway she can, especially with the new home being so close to the village, and Sif too.”

“Indeed, and which such motivation to get home, your tolerance of lies and bluffs will be low and in turn aid in our negotiations.” Thor smiled heartily as he clapped Loki’s shoulder; Loki returned the smile with a chuckle. “Brother, I cannot express my delight in your news, our family is blessed by the gods.” Thor embraced Loki so tightly he was almost certain his brother was going to crush him.

“Indeed, I can honestly say that this is by far the greatest year of my life. I cannot remember such happiness.” He grinned after Thor released him.

“How is Maebh about it?”

“Anxious, scared, happy, most every emotion really, as is to be expected.” Loki replied truthfully. “I honestly never thought I could love her anymore than I did, but the moment I saw her swelling with my child, I knew I was wrong. She is even more beautiful now.”

Thor laughed at his brother. “I never knew you to be so sentimental Loki; she has truly changed you, for the better. Do you think she will be angered by you going to Svartalfheim?”

“More scared than angry I would assume. Perhaps were I to tell her that she is to come to and fill her with dread at the prospect of a boat journey, she will be less so when she is to realise she is to remain here.”

“Brother, that is beyond cruel, though I doubt she will ever willingly get on a boat again, although her chronic illness on her last journey was no doubt as a result of the child.” Thor took a moment to think. “Are you sure it was Midgard and not Vanaheim in which the child came to be?” Loki nodded, and Thor laughed thunderously, confusing him. “Well I know I am named after a fertility god, but I never knew that I could have such gifts. At least something good came from you two destroying that table.”

“You seem so sure that that was the only time I lay with my wife there.”

“Is it not? You both were seldom out of the company of the rest of us.”

“I think it must have been.” Loki conceded. “Come to think of it, that was the first time since our marriage consummation that we were somewhat reckless, and she became with child.” Loki noted.

Thor erupted in fresh laughter. “And you brother, thought yourself unable to sire. I have little fear of your line if such is true, she will carry many a child for you if you do not take care.”

#loki #other #father #submission #Submitted fic #chapter 34 #Wolfpawn #a warrior's life #viking au #raiding #invading #village #pillaging #intriguing

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ryesnatcher · 8 years ago

Text

La Fée Verte - Part 1

Summary: Whilst investigating the deaths of four women in Virginia, the team uncovers the wild, thrusting, and vibrant underworld of a nightclub which seems to be the missing key to solving their investigation. Meanwhile Spencer falls for the main act.

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

A/N: I started writing this after watching Moulin Rouge on repeat for three days so it’s inspired by that, it’s also a slow burner and the first fanfic I’ve ever wrote so I know it’s not the best so constructive feedback is appreciated.

Also shout out to Giselle for being the sweetest whilst I wrote this!

“La Fee Verte” Spencer reads the words etched from the frosted glass, squinting slightly as he tries to see inside.

“Huh?” Morgan asks, turning to face his partner.

“The Green Fairy.”

“Like on our vics keychains? What do you bet they all came here?”

It had been sheer luck that had led them here. A receipt found stuck in the corner of Chrissy Gadot’s (victim number 4’s) bag. It had been this discovery that had led the authorities to call for the team. With four bodies on their hands and only a cheap green metal fairy hanging from the vics keys to connect them, the receipt had been the break they so desperately needed.

“Actually-”

“We’re closed” The voice of a small girl cuts him off. The two agents reaching for their badges as she peeks through the door.

“I’m doctor Reid and this is agent Morgan, we’re with the FBI” Spencer starts, noticing as the girl instantly shifts backwards, tightening her grip on the door. “Chrissy Gadot worked here, when was she last working here?”

“Chrissy? She was last here Tuesday..” She nods, her grip on the door loosening. “Is she okay? Can’t be good if FBI are looking after her.”

“I’m afraid we found her body this morning.” Morgan speaks firmly but with a gentle touch, already comforting the young girl. “Who’s your employer?”

“Harry Crane. He’s not here though. The show starts at eight” She looks behind her at an unseen noise.

“Do you mind if we ask you some questions ma’am?”

She shakes her head, swallowing dryly and leaning closer towards them. “Eight o'clock” She gives them a final nod before shutting the door and leaving the trail of her silhouette to disappear from the frosted glass.

Morgan sighs. “Guess we’re coming back tonight”

By eight o’clock, Spencer and Morgan had once again pulled up outside of the sickly green building. The once empty streets now littered with lines of men all dressed in their Sunday best. The large windows emitting lights of pink and yellow whilst silhouettes of girls danced and drank within each white frame.

And it had taken less than a moment for the agents to be welcomed inside, a tall man in a jewelled waistcoat and a seemingly mute voice had taken a single look to their badges and gestured for them to follow after him. And with little choice, the agents obliged. Following him through the foyer, where already the chatter of excitement spilled out from the open doors, thousands of voices clamouring over the band and the laughter growing easier as the alcohol begins its rounds.

Bringing them inside the hall it was clear to them both that it had once been a theatre, where the stalls had once sat was now a dance floor filled with scratched up wood and surrounded by packs of men all formed from bankers and brokers, bachelor's eager to spend a penny. It seemed as though men from all wakes of life had crawled from their corner of the earth to celebrate under the domed ceilings of La Fee Verte. And those that didn’t stand, sat in velvet soaked booths, watching the girls that served as much of the background as they did the fleeting centres of attention. Draping themselves over balconies and each other. Dressed in every fantasy that could be thought of, scenes set away from the heart of the show pandering to the wants of the guests. Girls in mermaids tails sat in oversized oyster shells, contortionists on stools, women holding onto one another as they dance on pedestals, live snakes in the hands of others.

It was a whirlwind of tantric excitement, every corner you looked you would be greeted with a new sight, a new distraction. Everything as loud and bold as the ornate fixings themselves. The stage and floor overlooked by the band, controlled by every note they struck. And for a brief moment they brought silence, the men crowding in excitement as the first few notes are played and the once empty dance floor is invaded by the fierce movements of the dancers, and the men are once again alive. Each costume as individual as the girls themselves, heavy skirts lifting and falling, high kicks and splits against the polished wood floors. Flashes of stripes and fishnet, ruffles and garter belts. Each movement growing faster and faster, the room spinning with their movements as their voices collide in a salacious harmony.

The jewelled man leading them on the outskirts of the chaos, away from the violent and mesmerising fluidity of the dancers, waving for both men to follow him up the stairs, leading them past the band and into a dark and poorly decorated room backstage. Mirrors lining the walls, and stood in front of a dresser was Harry, his dark eyes looking up to inspect the intrusion. The jewelled man, who Harry revealed to be named Wonderful, speaking for the first time to introduce them. “The police are a popular presence but FBI? Must be a special occasion. That badge doesn’t get you a discount on admission though boys.” Greasy and large, Harry turns around, the confidence in his voice going beyond the definition of arrogance. “We’re -” Spencer begins, ignoring the soft laugh of Harry.

“Yes yes, you’re here because four of my girls are dead. It’s tragic. However I do not like my time being wasted so, I know nothing, I’ve seen nothing, and apart from the royal boxes, we don’t keep records of our patrons. Are we done?”

“All four girls worked here?”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Chrissy was one of the new dancers. The other three weren’t exactly big acts. Understudies and performers that worked up in circle and on the balconies.”

“Can customers access all these areas?”

“Depends on their ticket. If you pay for a ticket for stalls, you have access to the floor show and the balconies. But circle ticket holders are restricted to the circle and balconies. We have bouncers on every entrance all night to prevent patrons mixing.” He clasps his hands together, looking between the two with a slight sneer “Now. f you don’t mind gentlemen, I have a show to get on with. If you’re staying you’ll need a warrant or a ticket and I suspect we’re a little out of your price range.” Rubbing his hands together he strides between them, his shoulders brushing both agents as he leaves. Wonderful giving them an apologetic smile as he holds the door open for them.

Wonderful leads them back out into the corridor, following it back out into the main hall where the ravenous cheers still called out.

“Our unsub most likely meets the girls here. We know that he’s keeping them for three days, and there’s a week between each abduction so he’s most likely using that time to learn their schedule, could be coming back here to see her.” Morgan suggests, Spencer nodding in agreement as they begin pushing their way through the crowds.

“Wait here” Wonderful turns to them, his voice sincere as he holds both hands out before disappearing into the crowd, leaving both agents slightly confused as they look to one another. Using their new found time to look through the crowd, but nobody standing out. Even to them all the men seemed as desperate and eager as the last.

Then all at once, the obscene and carnal music comes to a stop. The warm lights gone and a darkness spreading into the corners as a single spotlight steals their focus. Stood at the highest point of the stage, shrouded by the spotlight. No words or sounds escaping her but already she had the attention and adoration of the crowd. Stepping forward, the click of her heel echoed around the hall, the desperation in the onlookers as they begged for more. Her corseted bodysuit, sparkled, the green diamante catching in the spotlight, the tulle train grazing her calf, the fabric catching slightly on her white stockings.

As she begins singing, the band holds back. Allowing her voice to fill the room by itself, pausing after every line to move closer to the audience, fixing her eyes on nobody but everybody seeing that the look was for them. Her movements as graceful as they are demure, “... But I prefer a man who lives…” Pausing once more as she reaches the flat of the dance floor, Spencer swearing that for a moment her eyes met his. “...and gives expensive. Jewels.” The band springs to life as she begins her routine. Twirling and stepping, the crowd moving with her, men with fistfuls of money and gifts, saps with flowers and earnest smiles bending to her song. Performers around her dressed in clown suits and waistcoats made of jewels lifting her up as the song demands, ensuring that the desperate hands that reached for her never wander too far.

“You came!” The voice of a young girl startles them both, Morgan smiling as he recognises her as the girl from before, Wonderful stood beside her as she grins excitedly. “I see you’ve already met Y/N” She laughs, nodding towards the girl playfully ignoring the reaching hands as she sings. “She’s our Green Fairy. I thought that you might want to speak to her. She’s the one who got me and Chrissy a job here. But she knows Harry better than anyone, if he knows something, she’ll know.”

“Do you think we could speak to her?” Morgan asks, nudging Spencer slightly as his attention remained a little too focused on the shaking curves of Y/N’s dress, his cheeks flushing.

“I’ve already set up a meeting, just you and Y/N, totally alone.” Gesturing to her heavy sunset skirt with its embroidered parisian skyline she shakes her head. “I’ve still got the show to do so wonderful will take you to her.”

“Thank you, uh?” Morgan prompts, the girl shaking her head in realisation.

“Oh sorry, Trixie” She introduces, giving them a parting smile her hand waving above the crowds as she disappears.

Before long, both Reid and Morgan were stood, awkwardly and a little uncomfortably inside of Y/N’s room, it wasn’t large by any means, with a large heart shaped bed taking up at least a third of the room, the other two thirds dedicated to props for entertaining, small tables with champagne and bottles of absinthe gathering dust, a piano, untuned and untouched sat in the corner, a divider with clothes hung over artfully giving the pretence of intimacy. Even a balcony overlooking the dance floor far below. “Do all the girls have rooms like this?” Morgan asks, gesturing to the room.

Wonderful, stood in the doorway replies first with a nod “Only the dancers. We do have rooms for our other performers but only dancers get their own. None are as extravagant as this”

“Did Chrissy have one?” Morgan asks. “Think you could show me?” He follows Wonderful to the door, looking back and winking to the rather lost looking Spencer.

Now alone, he takes the opportunity to look around. Opening drawers and sifting through them, unsurprisingly only finding changes of clothes and make-up, the odd phone charger and a small notebook, but as he reaches for it the click of the door makes him jump back, trying to push the drawer back in as it jams in the process.

“Looking for something?” Y/N speaks softly, shutting the door, dragging a hand up her thigh and keeping her gaze fixed on the young doctor as she walks slowly towards him, no regard for personal space as she shuts the drawer herself and turning towards the small table.

“I wasn’t… I was just.” He points to the drawer, shaking his head as he stammers. “I’m uh Doctor Reid.”

“You look a little young to be a doctor.” She raises an eyebrow, lifting the bottle of champagne from the ice and tilting her head. “Champagne, Doctor?” She reaches for one of the faux crystal glasses. Each move she made was calculated, Spencer could see it in the way she didn’t leave him time to answer, the routine in her fluidity. For him it made it easier to suppress the flush in his cheeks. Reminding himself this was her job.

“Uh no thank you. I have a few questions if you don’t mind.” “Oh?” The bottle of champagne clatters into the ice as Y/N puts it back with just a little bit too much force. Composing herself in less than a second.

Y/N dealt with all people from all walks of life. Before she was the star of Harry’s show, she had been only a dancer, she had learnt how to adjust each smile for every type of man. The perfect laugh for every person. She knew that the aggressive man needed a womans touch to put him in his place. The hero needed a woman to save. It was a simple switch. And the man before her was no different. She’d noticed the flush, the stutter, how he fixed his gaze to the wall behind her. Nervous men weren’t her usual clientele. But she wasn’t unfamiliar. They either needed a gentle touch or a firm hand. It was a simple matter of figuring which.

“Perhaps then we would be more comfortable sat down?” She takes a few steps back, gently taking his hand and keeping her eyes locked on his as she pulls him after her, leading him towards the bed.

“Trixie said that you got Chrissy her job here…”

“You want to talk about Chrissy?” She replies, dropping his hand and shifting uncomfortably. “I got her an audition. Look if you’re looking for a job I can -”

“No no I’m a federal agent. We think whoever hurt her may have met her here.” Spencer speaks quickly and Y/N’s eyes grow wide as she suddenly understands the situation.

“Oh God. I’m so sorry, Wonderful didn’t mention that you were here on business business.” Y/N shakes her head, slightly embarrassed. Trying to rectify the situation by sitting down on the edge of the bed, Spencer watching her for a moment and sitting beside her, Y/N facing him as she speaks. “What did you want to know?”

Spencer begins with his questions, Y/N answering them honestly and without much consideration, both relaxing as they go on.

“Do you know if Chrissy had a boyfriend or anyone in her life?”

“I don’t think so. Most girls here don’t have relationships, it’s not in our contracts but it’s generally frowned upon. It always leads to trouble and it can cost you your job if Harry finds out.”

“What about any customers who had a special interest in her?”

“There was this one guy she told me about. Small, blond curly hair. He didn’t like it when she drank. But I haven’t seen him in stalls all week.”

“Would she have a record of his name?” “Unless she kept a personal record or he paid with a credit card, no.” She shrugs, moving away from him and over to the bottle of champagne, pouring herself a glass. Spencer refusing to acknowledge his slight disappointment in the empty space beside him. Watching as she leans against the small table, trying to keep his gaze away from the lace tops of her stockings and the way they curved around the soft skin of her thighs. Y/N downing her first glass of champagne, Spencer growing suddenly aware of the dryness in his throat.

“You look like you need a drink, doctor.” Y/N asks, smirking slightly as she pours champagne into the spare glass and holding it out towards him. His dark eyes flickering in consideration, and for the first time that night feeling the slight touch of relief as she became a step closer, considering every time she so much as stepped closer to him, a doe eyed look would flicker across those same dark eyes, and even now she could see him evaluating the situation. “You don't have to be so serious Doctor, I'm not trying to catch you off guard” She speaks coolly despite it being a lie.

He shakes his head at the drink, Y/N pouting but shrugging with a flounce as she sips from it instead. “I can’t drink when I’m working.”

“It’s a pity” She laughs gently, not taking her eyes from him. Even as the door clicks open and Morgan hovers in the doorway, glancing between the two and smirking as Spencer stands up all too fast.

“You ready?” He asks, Spencer nodding and walking over to the door, glancing back to Y/N and giving her a half wave.

“Be seeing you again, Doctor”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #reid x reader #criminal minds writing #drunk enough i no longer care

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zevakritpel · 8 years ago

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Hell-Bent: Chapter 2--Come on and SLAM, and Welcome to the JAM

Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke

Pairing: Aokise, MomoRiko, Kagakuro, MuroMura, more???

u can find this on AO3 lol

Summary: Adult AU, Criminal Underworld AU. Where Kagami Taiga is a young heir suddenly targeted by 6 rather dangerous members of the criminal underworld (each with their own set of personal troubles), and Kuroko is a bodyguard with a dark past.

Warning: Violence, Strong language, a lil dark and angsty sometimes

[Friday. 20:01. Best Friends]

Oh. This dream again.

The one where he's still a child, sprinting as hard as he can on his small feet. He doesn't know why he's running or where he's going to, only that he can't stop.

So bright, so bright.

He's moving all alone in this blank white space.

.....no. Little by little, the others join him, running alongside him in a flurry of bright colours and childlike laughter that paint the surrounding emptiness. None of them can stop, but it's okay since no one can stop them, either.

It's okay. Since they're together.

They reach out to link hands, tiny fingers stained carmine red.

Bleeding and broken, but it's okay. It doesn't matter, since it doesn't hurt.

It does hurt, but it's fine.

It's fine.

They don't let go, even as the light fades, even as the darkness envelops them.

They don't stop running. Even as they break and crumble.

It hurts. It hurts.

Where is everyone?

Where is...

"Dai-chan! I brought food."

Momoi's voice pulls Aomine out of his dream: she is perhaps the only person who can enter his room unannounced and survive the experience unscathed. Without waiting for a reply, she climbs on top of Aomine's back and plops herself down, rustling through the plastic grocery bag on her lap.

"Did you think over the letter?"

"Uggggghh..................ya know, Satsuki..."

Aomine grumbles sleepily, disoriented from having his sleep disturbed so unceremoniously. This damn woman never lets him rest...

"Yesterday you said 'job offer', but this just a fucking mandatory summons, yeah?"

"Yesterday? That was two days ago, Dai-chan..."

Momoi shifts her position on Aomine's back. Aomine can't see her face, but he knows she's almost definitely wearing a criticizing expression.

"Whatever. Get your ass off me, you're heavy- MMMPH."

Not sure what he expected: Momoi uncrosses her legs to shove Aomine's face into a pillow with her foot. After a brief struggle, Aomine reaches back to swat Momoi's ankle out of the way, then pushes her off himself. He sits up next to her, resting his back against the wall.

"So? You're going to do it, right?"

"Not like any of us have much of a choice..." Aomine yawns openly, stretching his neck to the side and massaging a knot out of it with his left hand.

"But why's he makin' the call to the 'Miracles' after all this time? It's been like four years, so why now?"

Momoi is quiet for a few moments, her head lowered so her hair hides her expression. Before Aomine can ask what she's thinking, she giggles.

"Does it make a difference? Both the challenge and the reward are too good for you-...for us to pass up."

Hmmm? Aomine can tell there's more than Satsuki's letting on. He's not sure if it's bothering her, but from the tone of her voice, there's something she wants to say reeeal bad.

"How's offing some rich brat considered a challenge..."

"He's not just any rich brat, Dai-chan, he's the heir to the Kagami Empire, hidden from the public until this year. Do some research for once?"

Research...that's what he has Momoi for.

"Besides...yesterday, a personal guard was hired to Kagami Jr. in addition to his other shields. It was like his security personnel had been informed of the call to the 'Miracles', so of course I looked into it."

"And?"

Momoi brushes a lock of her hair behind her ear and turns to face Aomine, her eyes large and gleaming.

"It's Kuroko."

There it is.

"....Tetsu?!"

Momoi nods in affirmation, then narrows her eyes slightly as she mutters, almost to herself:

"That Aida woman must have hired him without realizing his full strength or involvement in all of this..."

The incredulity relaxes from Aomine's face as the young gun considers the meaning of this startling revelation.

So Tetsu's playing this game on the opposing side...?

Of course he is.

"That's quite the statement he's making. Is Tetsu planning on challenging us all?"

Momoi's lips curl into a soft smile, but her peachy pink eyes are glowing much more intently than Aomine has seen in a long time. She's still gonna hold back on speaking her mind, but it's fine. Aomine can pretty much guess what she wants out of this huge chore of a job.

Aomine can't say he's looking forward to this inevitable reunion, but it's not like he has anything better to do, anyways. And Momoi's all fired up as well, so..

"Oh, that's right!"

The information broker claps her hands excitedly and holds up her plastic bag.

"I thought we could celebrate the start of the new game together! Let me use your kitchen, I'll fix us up some-"

".....no that's okay, Satsuki. Let's just go out. My treat."

No amount of Momoi's pouting can convince Aomine to suffer himself through her cooking, so after a ten minute struggle, they both head out to the nearest steakhouse.

Halfway towards the restaurant, a thought suddenly hits Aomine like a punch in the gut.

"Geh."

"Uwaaah, why are you making such an ugly face?"

"No, I just realized...if Tetsu is involved, then that damn skank is going to be unbearable."

Momoi raises her eyebrows and opens her mouth to make a retort, then thinks better of it, and waits for Aomine to finish muttering.

"Ugh, I already have a headache. You know he's still carrying that fucking cross around like a scar...pisses me off."

"..........Dai-chan still isn't being honest with himself, how sad."

"Huh? Stop talking shit, Satsuki."

[ Friday 21:12 'That Damn Skank' ]

For someone who just learned some of the best news of his life some hours ago, Kise is not in a very good mood.

"You're not eating, Ryouta. Is the food not to your taste?"

Mr. C asks this innocently, gesturing towards Kise's untouched lobster bisque as if he isn't fully aware that the young model's lack of appetite stems from his own company...

Kise responds with a cold, sullen glare. There are plenty things the young model would rather be doing with his Friday night (e.g. literally anything else), but right now he has no choice but to indulge this persistent bastard in his annoying conditions.

"Ooh, unfriendly as ever, I see."

Kise doesn't gain a shred of benefit from acting 'friendly' with this human hemorrhoid.

Seriously. Dealing with most people in this world is a huge pain, so even sitting through a late dinner like this with C is a trial.

However, as there's no one in the weapons trafficking business that's quite as reliable under such short notice, and Kise's circumstances are a bit urgent, well...he'll just have to endure this 'date' before conducting business.

At least the restaurant is nice. Tasteful decor, gracious staff, and an exceptional menu selection--Kise's not so testy that he can't appreciate this.

C grins and takes a small sip of pinot blanc, never taking his mocking gaze off Kise for a second. Kise doesn't bother averting his eyes either.

Eat shit, old man.

"Your fans would cry if they found out about this hostile personality of yours."

No doubt.

But who isn't two-faced and deceptive these days....heh.

Kise continues to ignore the illicit arms dealer leering at him from the other side of the table, devoting his attention instead to the phone in his hand, which has buzzed several times with new messages.

[M-san: You have a shoot early tomorrow morning, so make sur.....

K: Just hurry up, you trashy airhead. I'll be waiti.....

<3 <3 P-chan <3 <3 : I'm looking forward to our next appointment ^_^]

C isn't just unperturbed by Kise's blatantly rude behaviour, he's enjoying it fully. He slices off another small bite of his steak, chewing carefully before piping up again with:

"Quite the popular one, aren't you... Was that your manager? A client from your other job, or perhaps one of your many patrons?"

All three, actually.

Kise slips his phone back into his pocket and crosses his legs. He rests his hands on his knees, under the table, resisting the urge to play with his cross pendant.

"Always so busy, never settling down to one particular owner. Are you sure that's profitable for someone like you? After all, I've heard around that you're something of a collector's item--"

"I'm sure you know that's none of your fucking business," Kise replies coolly, his first words since he got to the restaurant. He would chastise himself for breaking his silence, but several lines have already been crossed, so...

"You've got ten more minutes to waste my time. Don't push it."

C pushes it anyways. After another fifteen minutes of one-sided banter, he finally sets his cutlery down with a clink and wipes his ungodly mouth with a cloth napkin.

"Well, thank you again for the lovely company. I enjoyed myself, as always."

C slides an expensive paper shopping bag over, looking for all the world like a sugar daddy gifting his young model paramour a new toy. To be fair, this image is a great cover for an illegal arms trade off, but it still pisses Kise off.

"I'll forward you the rest of the money tonight."

Kise accepts the bag, looking inside briefly to confirm its contents. He can't take it out for obvious reasons (though their table position is conveniently placed in a more private part of the restaurant), but he's dealt with C enough to trust him for a fair trade.

"Oh, no need. I'm more than happy to accept...more exciting forms of payment from you, Ryouta."

NOT!! A!! CHANCE!! IN!! HELL!!

The model slaps down five thousand yen to pay for his uneaten soup, then casts C one last icy glare before striding out of the building and into the chill night air.

AaaaaaaaaAAAAAAH.

What a fucking pain... That sadistic lech knows way too much, far more than Kise is comfortable with. 'Collector's item', who told him about that, anyways? Jesus, so in this city, even a useless gun-selling pervert is well- connected enough to be privy to decades-old trivia.

...And would it kill him to stop trying to get into Kise's pants??

Ugh. No. It was worth it...all of it: now that Kise's equipped, he's almost completely ready.

The downtown streets are still humming with life, all bright sparkling lights and chatter and car fumes. This ambiance soothes Kise; with each step he takes, the tension from the previous exchange relaxes.

It's okay now. He can focus all his thoughts on this newest game.

Just wait a little longer....

~Kurokocchi~

[Friday. 22:03. Blooming Romance].

"Master Taiga--"

"Can you cut it with the 'master' stuff, it feels sarcastic coming from you."

".......Taig-......Kagami-kun, then."

"What."

"I'll be frank: can you hit me?"

"HUH?!"

"You're obviously well above average when it comes to physical prowess, but I need to test your strength."

"The fuck are you talking about, I'm not just going to randomly punch you."

"Would you feel better if I initiated?"

"Wait, wha- BASTARD, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING"

"Oh, I'm impressed you managed to dodge that. In that case, I won't hold back."

"KUROKO!! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU"

"Please don't back away, Maste-...Kagami-kun, this is for your own well-being."

"STO- WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU."

[Friday. 23:17. Nanodayo.]

Oh my god, Shin-chan...

Any misgivings Takao may have had about tailing Midorima all the way out to this sketchy ass bar have dissolved now that he gets to behold the beautiful sight before his famed 'hawk' eyes.

Look at him. Does he think wearing dark sunglasses in a dimly lit room is going to make him less noticeable or something? How can he even see, did he wear contacts-....No... holy shit, he's actually wearing prescription shades.

Takao silently congratulates himself for going through with this. Shin-chan has been acting so obviously suspicious these past few days that, but made it so hilariously easy to follow him, that there was really no choice in the matter.

Peeking behind a stray menu, the assassin watches with mounting amusement as Midorima sets a troll doll on his table--must be today's lucky item for Cancers-- and sits back a chair with unnatural stiffness. He's causing a lot of people around him to watch him with shifty-eyes.

So conspicuous.

He must be waiting for someone: Shin-chan isn't the type to frequent these types of places on his own time. He's so out of his element that it's almost sad...almost.

A server saunters up to Midorima and presumably asks if he'd like something to drink, causing the sniper to stare at her blankly for a few moments. Takao, flexing his lip-reading ability, watches Midorima first push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, then reply curtly with: "Oolong Highball".

PFFFF. How FANCY. Knowing Shin-chan, he probably wanted to order a water, but felt bad for the server's efforts. He's not actually going to drink it, is he...?

Takao does a quick scan of the room, making sure no one new has entered. Looks like Takao's meet up still hasn't arrived. Good, good.

The server ends up asking for Takao's order as well, so he quietly ask for a Caesar, while still hiding behind the menu, and continues to watch Midorima look oh so incredibly awkward. He's lucky this joint is so busy at this time of night, otherwise he'd really be standing out.

As he waits for his drink, Midorima rests his bandaged fingers on the table top, right next to that god-awful doll. Takao is faced with the real questions: where did he even find that thing...like, did he go out and buy it today, or did he always have something that weird in his possession...???

The lady comes back with the drinks and, for one fleeting, heart-stopping second, Takao is sure that Midorima looked directly his way. But judging from his lack of reaction, he still hasn't noticed. Takao takes a few cautious sips of his Caesar while keeping his gaze fully on Midorima. The important part is coming up right now....

After several minutes of hesitation, Midorima finally takes the glass into his hands. Slowly, slowly raises it to his lips. Takes a cautious sip. Slowly, slowly lowers the glass and pushes it a little too far away from himself. All the while, the sniper is keeping up a stoic face, but Takao's trained eye can tell how he really feels.

The assassin is so busy choking back his own laughter, he's almost startled by the sudden presence that moves past him, an average-looking middle aged man that sits right across from Midorima. He seems to have a slip of paper in his hands...?

That must be the meet-up. Well, fun's over: Takao has no intention of actually snooping in on Shin-chan's ~secret plans~. He quickly drains the rest of his drink, leaves some money on the table, then discreetly sees himself out.

The assassin shoves his hands into his coat pockets and strolls his way down the dark street. For about a couple minutes, at least, until his honed survival instinct kicks in and he whips his head around to see:

"Shin-chan....?"

Midorima is standing at the entrance of the bar, holding a bottle firmly in his left hand.

"Hahaha, oh, no I wasn't-OK OK OK"

Takao takes off as soon as he comprehends the situation, but it's futile: Midorima never misses.

The bottle inevitably clips Takao's foot and brings him down onto the pavement.

"WAHA T_T "

This gives Midorima enough time to cover the thirty meter distance and grab his partner by the scruff of the shirt, pulling him up.

"Relax, Shin-cha--!! Ahh, okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I was worried about you, but I left as soon as that guy came to see you."

The sniper glares for a few moments (or Takao assumes he's glaring: he's still wearing the sunglasses), then releases Takao with a long sigh.

"It's unpleasant to have my personal life invaded."

Takao laughs sheepishly, but still pats Midorima on the back with his usual enthusiasm.

"You're right, you're right. that was my bad. But hey,"

Here, Takao stands on his toes so he can drape his arm over Midorima's shoulders and bring him down to a more reasonable level.

"I don't know what's been going on lately, but if you ever need any help, don't hesitate to ask me, 'kay?"

"................................................tha-......HMPH. Don't be ridiculous. Why would I need to-"

"Okay, okay. I get it, you just let me know when you need me. Come on, I'll buy you red bean soup as an apology."

Takao debates asking about the troll doll, but decides there are some things better left unknown.

[Friday. 23:24. Poker Face Part I]

"Well, well, now that I look closely...you're quite the pretty one, aren't ya?"

The gunman sneers menacingly, sidling up uncomfortably close to Himuro. He smoothes his ash-coloured hair back with one hand, and uses the other to grab Himuro's chin and turn his head roughly to face his own.

"Then why are ya hiding your face? Let's see here..."

He flicks his tongue over his lips before twisting them into a sadistic smirk, as he runs his hand up Himuro's cheek. Without hesitation, he brushes back the dark bangs covering Himuro's left eye.

"Haizaki...Shougo, was it?" Tatsuya replies without flinching, deadpan as always.

Haizaki's mouth twitches a little and he takes a step back, clicking his tongue with annoyance. His previously shit-eating expression has turned into quite the impressive scowl.

He readjusts the collar of his black shirt before snapping:

"Huh. So what the fuck's a walking Ichimatsu doll doing here??"

Himuro has been likened to a 'lifeless doll' more times than he can count, but this is definitely a first.

He straightens out his own clothes and brushes them off.

"I wasn't looking for you, but I guess you'll do. I have a couple questions..."

[Saturday. 02:11. Poker Face Part II ]

Himuro is dead tired by the time he makes it back to the apartment. After ensuring all seven locks on the door are secure, he stumbles through the kitchen, down the hall, and finally makes it to the bedroom.

In the past twelve hours, it doesn't look like Atsushi's left the house at all, but at least he's moved himself onto a proper bed. An improvement from the kitchen floor, in any case.

Too exhausted to undress or worry about sleeping space, Himuro brushes the pile of candy wrappers off the sheets and flops himself down next to Murasakibara's sleeping form. He grabs the only pillow that isn't currently being crushed by his partner, and buries his face into it.

In the end, he still hasn't found out what he really wants to know. About Taiga and the Miracles....well, it's not really any of his business, is it? It's not, but he can't deny he wants to get involved for his own personal reasons.

A problem for the morning; for now, he sleeps.

............or not.

Without warning, Murasakibara's giant arm reaches out over Himuro's shoulders and turns his body towards himself, pulling him into his chest. Dangerously close.

Wh-wh.-whaA?!

"Atsushi...?"

As startled and confused as Himuro is, right now he's mostly struggling to think of something aside from the feeling of Murasakibara's long fingers pressed between his shoulder blades, or the fact that his face is mere centimeters away from Atsushi's chest.

"Muro-chin.....you went out...?"

"M-..mmm. I just got back."

So warm...

"You smell like Haizaki."

Of course he can tell; he might be a lethargic mess, but nothing gets past 'the Reaper'.

Himuro finds he's been holding his breath, so he exhales slowly before responding:

"Yeah, I met him by accident today, while I was trying to figure some stuff out. He wasn't very helpful, though."

..If the fresh bruise forming on Himuro's ribcage is anything to go by; damn, that Haizaki bastard packs a hard punch. Though he did end up revealing some interesting information later on, Himuro is starting to wonder if he should've talked to him in the first place.

It's difficult to gauge Murasakibara's reaction when he can't even see his face.

"Should I..not have?"

Perhaps it's just Himuro's imagination , but it feels as though Murasakibara's hold on him tightens a little.

As much as Himuro would love to relax in the arms of his precious Atsushi, the feat is too much. He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for an answer to his question. He can feel the blood rushing to his face (because of the warmth! It's so hot in here, haha, that's why!!), so he's glad at least his face is hidden.

After a long, long pause, Murasakibara finally mumbles:

"Muro-chin is really troubled by that Kagami kid, riiiight? .....I have to find him anyways, so don't.......go off.....on your............................................."

"Atsushi??"

Did he just.... in the middle of that crucial response.........

....fall asleep mid-sentence?!?

[Saturday. 04:01. *Mozart's Lacrimosa Plays in the Background Ominously*]

Akashi starts by unbuttoning his shirt, slipping the fabric off his shoulders and letting it fall onto floor.

Next: his pants, which prove slightly more difficult to remove with only one hand. Then his underwear (silk boxers, naturally) and socks (black dress socks). He leaves all his clothes in a pile on the ground and, finally, leaves his pocket watch by the bathroom sink.

Akashi's feet pad silently against cold tile as he steps into the shower. He sets the water to a cool temperature and lets it roll off his skin, washing away the blood from his hands and face. His head is bowed, and he watches the diluted red colour swirl and disappear down the drain.

After he's made sure to cleanse his body thoroughly, Akashi shuts the water off and heads towards the bath. The porcelain tub is already brimming with hot water, ready to go.

He tests the temperature with his foot once, twice, before stepping in and immersing himself in the dizzying warmth. He rests like that, with his wrists elegantly poised at either edge of the bath.

So.

Now that all the pieces are on the board, the long wait is finally coming to an end. It's been four years since they all left Hell, and now...it's time to meet again.

So close.

Akashi shuts his eyes for a moment and, even if it's only for a short time, he sleeps for the first time in weeks.

Notes (from AO3):

Lmao sorry this took me longer to update, though I guess that's approximately the rate I'll be doing things from now on. (Kise was giving me grief and i'm still not 100% sold on the outcome but iT'S FINE I GUESS)

also Fun fact #1: Riko's informants are Mitobe and Koganei lmao. Idk if I'll put them in the actual fic, but just fyi all their report meetings are like

Riko: did you get the information on Satsuki Momoi like I asked?

Koganei: >:3C i'll let Mitobe handle this one

Mitobe: "...................................."

Koganei: and there u have it

Riko: ...just give me the fucking file.

Fun Fact #2: Akashi was using scented bathsalts because in my heart he's a dainty mafia princess

#knb fanfic #kagami taiga #kuroko tetsuya #kagakuro #momoi satsuki #aida riko #momoriko #aomine daiki #kise ryota #aokise #himuro tatsuya #murasakibara atsushi #muromura #akashi seijuro #midorima shintarou #takao kazunari #haizaki shougo #i keep posting these here to draw in readers but i have 0 followers so it's not going great but it's still kinda fun

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mrsmarymorstan · 8 years ago

Text

Bed Time Stories

So I was listening to “Thud!” from the Discworld series and my heart absolutely melted at the scene where Vimes reads to Young Sam. I then sent a WhatsApp message to @cersei-the-truth-bombardier telling her as such, and then proceeded to go to a Fígrid AU which then turned into mild angst which turned into me sending Cersei figrid drabbles at 9am my time whilst she was fast asleep. I’ve tidied it up and put it on here for you all to enjoy as well.

Rune stones were more than just talismans. They were oaths, promises put down in unbreakable, everlasting stone. Once accepted they could not be returned and you had to fulfill the promise or else face the consequences. Fìli held a runestone in his pocket at all times. It said "amkubê" which meant 6:00pm, every day, landslide or gold rush. It more often than not also meant running, panicking and a few insulted noblemen. "I don't see why their nanny can't do it! What's the point in having one if you don't use them." Huffed Lord Flòki. "If he'd have just seen sense married an actual dwarf he'd not be in this mess." Added Lady Unna snidely. However Crowned Prince Fìli had already fled the room. There were more important things in life than mining rights and clan disputes. "Now come on you dirty little badgers and settle down before your father gets here!" "Too late, he's already here!" Said Eikin smugly, twisting round mid jump. His sister, Éolist, let out a war cry and hurled herself towards her father. Fìli gave out a theatrical winded noise. "Ambushed in my own Kingdom!" He cried, securing his grasp around Éolist as she pretended to fight him off. It was a game he remembered playing with his own father. Her brother went back to bouncing on the bed, this time out of excitement. The blankets were a complete mess and the general chatter suggested that bedtime was all but canceled.

"Eikin, Éolist,” warned their nanny, a raging fire burning in her eyes now “if you don't behave I will make certain that there will be no story tonight at all, or any night there after!” "No, Dara, it’s fine! Leave them to me. I'm their father, I've got this." Dara gave out an unconvinced noise but left them to it nonetheless. Despite her words she’d never actually stop Fìli from reading to them. She knew how much it all meant to them, especially to Lady Sigrid. "Come on you two," Fìli sighed, dropping Éolist onto the bed where she promptly pulled on her brother's ankles to drag him down with her "You should be nicer to Dara, she's the one who has to run everything around here." "Yeah, but you're the Crowned Prince. So really we just need to be nice to you." "No we don't! We need to be nice to Uncle Thorin because he's the King." Fìli let out a noise of dramatic hurt "Well! If you would rather have Uncle Thorin here I can go get Uncle--" "Nooo!" Chorused the twins, reaching out to grab him by the sleeve. "We're sorry! We'll be good!" "We promise! Please stay, please!" "Well alright then." Sighed Fìli, flopping down into his chair again, trying his best to hide his smile at their triumphant cheers. "So what story do you want to hear, the three little goats? The Raven and the mining stone? Snow Beard and the seven elves?" "The princess and the dwarf!" They said in unison. "Again?" he asked, raising a weary eyebrow. That story always took it out of him. So many years on, and it was still mingled with same pain and happiness. He wanted all his children to know it, the twins most of all, but it didn't make it any easier for him. "Yep! It's our favourite." grinned Éolist "Plus you can never do the voices right for the 3 goats; Uncle Kìli can though." "But we don't want him we want you!" Added Eikin quickly, ignoring his sister before she could get them into anymore trouble. "Alright fine, but you better keep quiet during it." The pair of them nodded, and crawled closer to listen. "Well, as you are both aware," he began "every dwarf knows the story of Smaug the terrible and how a band of silly dwarves, and one brave hobbit, set out to defeat him and reclaim their home." Fìli always made certain to include Bilbo in the story. Without him they would all have died a hundred times over. "Some even tell the story of Elven Siren's seduction of the innocent Dwarf Prince," "That one's rubbish though," whispered Éolist "everyone knows Auntie Tauriel's the one who got seduced." "But, the one they often miss off," Fìli continued, ignoring his daughter's very accurate statement "is the story of the young princess and the simple dwarf who fell in love with her." The kids squished closer towards him, Eikin clambering into his lap whilst Éolist snuggled deeper into his arms. They curled up close to his warmth, and their large blue eyes made Fìli's heart melt just as it had when they'd first opened them. He took a breath, and continued on with their story. "The princess was not always a princess you see. Whilst she was brave, and kind, and beautiful and all the other qualities a princess should be;” Éolist gave a snort of laughter at that but didn’t interrupt any further “the girl was in actual fact, the daughter of a bargeman. Her mother had died very young and so she had to play mother to her two siblings. But the princess did not mind, for she loved her family more than anything else. "Her family were very poor though, and as such her father had to take up some less than legal practices. One day he returned to their house with 13 dwarves and one hobbit. They gave her quite the shock when they climbed up out of the princess' toilet! "Yet still she showed them kindness, handing out warm blankets and clean clothes. She even made them tea, though some were not as grateful as they should have been. “Later that night, the dwarves snuck out the house to try and steal some weapons to get to the mountain, but were caught in the act and almost arrested! But they promised the town that if they helped the dwarves get to the mountain, then they would reward them with piles of silver and gold. "The Bargeman warned them all about what their task would involve, but the silly dwarves ignored him. "What some of them didn't know, though, was that one of the dwarves them had been injured on the journey by a poisoned wound from an orc's arrow. His leader refused to let him come with them to the mountain, but the dwarf's brother had made a promise not to leave him. They went looking for help but the only home that would take them in was that of the princess. "She set about trying to fix is wound as best she could, using every skill she knew. When the orcs came she tried her best to protect her little sister, just as the dwarf tried to protect his brother. When the elves came and saved the dwarves, the Princess got back to helping them. Slowly the dwarf's brother got better! In that moment of peace the dwarf and the princess talked about their lives and about each other. They had a lot more in common than one might think at first.

When the dragon came down from the mountain they all escaped in a boat together, the princess making sure they all had hats and scarves to keep them warm. She did not waver, even though her father was missing and she was about to lose be everything that she'd ever known. Their house, filled with all the memories of her mother, would be burnt to cinders. By the will of the Valar they'd somehow all survived. It was even the princess' own father and brother who worked together to kill the dragon, bringing an end to his terror in a way the dwarves had never managed. "Later by the shore the dwarves set out to find out if their own family had survived. The dwarf tried to return the princess' scarf however she refused it, claiming that he could return it to her later once all things were settled. "All the meanwhile though, the orcs had been planning their next attack and so as soon the princess and the dwarf were thrown together they were torn apart. There was a battle you see, as everyone tried to defend the mountain from the attacking orcs. It was not the kind of battle you hear about in legends where the good survive and the evil die, for this was a real battle and that meant blood. Elves, men and dwarves all gave their lives so as the mountain would remain a stronghold to keep people safe in the future.”

When he became a father himself, Fìli had sworn to never glorify the battle. He knew now that they were not glorious or noble, they were filled with pain and suffering. Battles were best avoided, if they could be. That way you understood why you were fighting the ones you needed to.

“The dwarf had thought himself to have died on the battlefield when he’d taken a sword to the chest, yet a voice inside him kept him fighting and when he awoke it was to the princess' melody. She'd been caring for him. Cleaning his dressings and keeping infection at bay, all the while singing a gentle tune. “Once more, the dwarf tried to return her scarf but again, she refused; it was winter, and he would still have use for it. The dwarf argued back that she would need it too, but she insisted on calling it a gift. The dwarf cherished it more than any gift he'd had before. “He healed and slowly life returned to the mountain. The men had set up a new home and the two nations began to broker a lasting peace. The dwarf and the princess wrote many letters to one another in that time, and slowly grew to know each other more deeply than they'd have ever thought possible. They shared their hopes, their worries and the nightmares that still plagued them of the horrendous sights they'd seen. If you were to read those letters you would see the deep love they bore. “However, this was apparently not so clear to them themselves. A dwarf and a man was not a relationship people had heard of before. Indeed, it was not until the subject of marriage was raised that they even realised what they were feeling. You see, for men, finding a spouse is not about discovering your One and sharing that love with the rest of the world; it was a business contract, especially true amongst royals whose marriages were often used to seal political alliances. “The dwarf understood this. Or at least he attempted to. However he could not stand the fact that she was to be married to someone she had not even met. He tried to be respectful, however his fear that she would be unhappy ate away at him morning, noon and night. “He ended up going down to the city to speak to her. He wanted to be sure that she was happy to be married in this way. She smiled and she claimed excitement over her wedding preparations but the dwarf could see that it was faking it all. “He told her this. That he could not stand by and watch the princess marry for anything other than love. “In surprised fury, she asked him who else she could marry? Who else would give her people all they needed? If she married then it would mean her siblings could avoid the same fate. Plus it wasn't as though there was someone else waiting for her! “But the dwarf realised that there was. He didn't know how to say it though. So instead he respected her wishes and left her alone.

“The day of the finally wedding ticked around. The dwarf felt powerless to stop it. There could be nothing else anyone could do. “He still went to the wedding though, for even if she did not return his feelings then he could at least remain her friend. To everyone's surprise though the wedding was stopped in mid ceremony! Not by the princess as you might think, but by her groom! He told the room that he could not marry the princess because it would not be fair on her to be married to someone who could never love her the way she deserved. He would not allow his own heart's desires to be ignored anymore. He fled the building, leaving everyone in total uproar. "The dwarf was in a fuming rage that anyone could possibly hurt his beloved in this way! He went to find her, thinking her to be in tears but instead she was laughing. "The dwarf asked her why, and she confessed that she'd considered doing the exact same thing; except her groom had got there first. "The dwarf was confused. Who could it be she was in love with? "The princess laughed and told him he really was sillier than any dwarf in the land and kissed him. It was the kind of kiss you hear about in fairy tales. A kiss of true love that makes all the world come to a stand still. “Though many would try and stop them from being together, they never let it bother them. The pair of them married, and never were they happier than when they were together. And despite what many might have said, their love made the kingdom stronger, and so they lived happily ever after, till the end of their days." There was silence for a moment. Fìli involuntarily pulled his children closer to him, feeling suddenly desperate to never let them go. "I miss Mam." came a small voice at last. "Me too my little Colt. Me too." "I wish she could tell us the story instead, Frerin said she was really good at bed time stories." "Kendra said she was much better at telling your story than you ever were." Fìli gave a small chuckle, willing himself not to cry. It wasn't fair that they did not know their mother. They were only twenty-four when she'd died. The healers had said it was her heart. Sudden attacks like that were not unexpected at her age. But sixty was no age for a dwarf.

#figrid #the hobbit #my fic #morstan writes fic

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