#full of wonderful meals and warm fires and people who surround you with song and story

[extravagantliar]

i cannot send messages to everyone, but I have very much enjoyed this revival and am having a lot of fun. so thank you all ( and a special shout out to dc crew/kirkwall crew/history crew, which I annoy daily ). thank you, I am so glad that we collectively are here in this space together - what a gift and joy to live in the same time as you all.

[englishbreakfasttae]

Under the Mistletoe.

CMO!Taehyung x reader

 Genre : fluff 

Word count : 1.5k

A/N : this is my first fanfiction here so please be kind. I know it wasn’t anything special, just a cute little fluffy scenario I had in mind. Hope you liked it!!

You want to think that New Year’s Eve was something that you enjoyed celebrating, but that would be a blatant lie. You only attend these parties because… well… there’s free food. And a chance to meet a potential suitor for Valentine’s day. 

Maybe you are jumping a little too ahead with that. Valentine’s day? That is too far ahead, maybe you should just think about having someone to make you feel warm during this brutal winter in Seoul. Ah, the snowfall brings back memories of every romantic comedy you have watched in your lifetime of solidarity. 

But this year is different, you don’t want to waste time trying to find your knight in shining armour. After watching numerous inspirational videos, you have realised that you don’t need to find love, it will find you. Dressed in a silver slip-on complimenting you curvaceous body, your hair perfectly curled with the help of your roommate, and a dash of scarlet lipstick working as just the right kind of a cherry on top – you knock on your parent’s suburban doorstep to celebrate the end of another wonderful yet complicated year. 

“Oh, there is my baby,” your mother embraces you in a warm hug as she opens the door. “Come on in, oh and you’re-“ she checks her Rolex wristwatch, “twenty minutes late.” 

“Sorry mum, got stuck in the traffic,” you roll your eyes. Your mother has always been the uptight one, trying to nit-pick every little mistake you make in your life. 

“Anyways, I have a present for you today.” She looks quite excited about whatever she has in store for you. “But take off your coat and go greet the other guests first.” 

After discarding your overcoat on the coat hanger, you saunter inside and greet familiar faces while trying to hunt home-cooked meals. 

“I wouldn’t have that with that,” a deep sound resonates behind your back as you were about to dip a French fry in tomato sauce. You turn around to give a nasty look to whoever was trying to ruin your yummy moment. You felt like your jaw dropped on the floor and slid down to hell as you laid eyes on the most handsome man you had ever seen in your life. 

He had dark hair that was parted in the middle, giving his glorious forehead a peek. His eyebrows were thick and perfectly shaped. Could someone even have two exactly resembling eyebrows? You thought as you gaped at him. He had beautiful eyes; was it raven? Or was it a dark brown hidden by the dim lights inside the kitchen. His beautiful full lips quirk up as he notices you staring at him wide-eyed. You weren’t sure why you were so shocked, whether it was due to the interruption or the fact that some living angel (maybe the devil even) was at your disposal clad in a green sweater matched with khaki pants. 

A writer perhaps? 

“I-“ you pause, unable to form words. “are you talking about my choice of eating fries with ketchup?” 

“Yes,” he chuckles. His voice was deeper than the Pacific Ocean, yet it was so soothing to hear. He could be a musician and people would swoon over him in a heartbeat. 

“You see ketchup and fries are the perfect combinations, and that’s on period.” 

“Absolutely not. It’s like saying Dan and Blair were meant to be. They weren’t,” his eyes glimmer with mischief. “…and that’s on period.” 

His teasing made a smile creep up on your lips despite wanting to look offended. His personality was as charming as he looked, perhaps even more. All you could do was want to hear him speak more and more. 

“Hmm, Gossip Girl. I like your taste.” You toss a ketchup coated fry in your mouth and look at the handsome stranger mockingly. His grin widens as he watches you munch away the greasy goodness. 

“Thank you,” he winks at you. “We are people of taste, aren’t we?” 

“C’mon weekends with Gossip Girl and The Politician with a bowl of popcorn? The ambitious little part of me would squeal in joy!” 

“Ambitious,” he words in a low tone as if thinking out loud. “I’m Taehyung.” 

Your hand meets his extended one in a handshake. His palm was warm as a contrast to your cold ones. 

“y/n,” you breathe. “What brings you to my parent’s place?” 

“Ah, I work at Mr L/n’s firm. So, you’re the infamous y/n that everybody’s been talking about.” 

“What have they been talking about me?” 

“Just how beautiful you are.” His eyes catch some light as he tilts his head a little, strands of hair shifting sideways. “They were not wrong.” 

Your cheeks turn red and remain so throughout the evening as you two kept conversing. He didn’t miss a chance to drop flirty remarks or to tenderly put his arm across your waist to shift you as people passed by. Turns out you two had a lot more common than you thought, apart from having the polar opposite taste in ketchup and its combinations with other food items. But that shouldn’t be a deal-breaker, right? 

As time passes by the time for the countdown neared and the enthusiasm among guests escalates. Your mother enters the kitchen, where you and the handsome stranger, wait, where you and Taehyung stood and drank each other in meanwhile drinking champagne in a fancy flute. 

“y/n- oh you’ve met Taehyung,” she looks surprised. “I’ve been meaning to introduce him to you. He’s the CMO of your papa’s company. He is a sweetheart. But I’m sure you know that already. Why don’t you kids come to the main room where we’d do the countdown together.” She pulls you both to the foyer as she gives you a knowing smirk. That woman! 

You secretly like what she was doing so you don’t complain. 

Taehyung nods as you all assemble in the main room, filled with the clinking sound of glasses and dinnerware. She nudges you both near the fireplace. It was warm and cozy. You look up towards your mum and saw her wink at you. 

“Oops, you’re both standing under the mistletoe. You know what to do now.” She giggles like a teenager. 

“This isn’t even Christmas maa, why do you have a mistletoe as décor?” You are baffled. Deep inside you knew it was an evil plan arranged by your mother so that you would have to kiss someone at midnight. And that someone is Taehyung. 

That was the present she had for you, prepared with golden ribbons – all wrapped up in an exemplary manner. 

“I like them,” she crosses her arms and gives you a look. “I don’t know, you two have to follow the tradition or there might be consequences, hmm?” She sing-songs. 

You are about to protest but she gives you the last glare and then smiles at Taehyung. She left you both startled as she vanishes in the crowd. 

You stand there awkwardly not knowing what to do. Your heart rate increases as you realise what happened. Your mother knitted a plan, a master plan to invite you to a party and to hook you up with someone who works at your father’s firm. Classic mom move, you’d say. You turn towards Taehyung who looks just as flushed. He notices you staring and quickly points at the mistletoe. 

“Guess we gotta follow tradition, huh?” 

“I guess.” He makes you feel comfortable in a span of only a few seconds. 

“10” 

“9” 

“8” 

thump thump 

“6” 

Your heart was beating as if the god of thunder had possessed you. 

“4” 

Taehyung turns towards you. He places his long and tender fingers on the small of your back. Your faces are warm as the firewood makes discreet crackling sounds amidst the noisy counting of descending numbers in the room. For some reason, your ears cancel out any other sound surrounding you. All you can hear is the crackling of the fire, your brisk breathing followed by Taehyung’s ones resonating through your body. He pulls you closer and closer till you’re close enough to see tiny freckles on his face and nose. You want to caress his soft cheeks, should you? Or will it be too awkward or too straightforward? 

He gives you that heart-wrenching smile again and takes a stray lock of hair between his fingers and runs them all the way to the end, tugging it like he’s flying a kite. He looks at you with soft eyes and leans in. 

“1” 

“Happy New New year!!” 

His eyelashes elegantly dance as he closes his eyes, yours follow his command and you lean in as you taste each other – under the mistletoe, on New Year. 

Maybe you truly don’t need to find love, it will find you. 

[hobidreams]

The Early Shift | Second Taste {M}

determined to find the truth, you pay yoongi a visit at his apartment and get more than what you bargained for.

pairing: barista!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst (well, more like anger) words: 7k contains: coffee shop au, enemies to lovers, lots of banter & sarcasm, face f*cking aka oral (m), dirty talk, yoongi continues to be an ass index: first sip - second taste - last cup

“Hmm. I think we should give Yoongi a call.” This is what Sooah suggests, fifteen minutes before the end of your shift. Her full lips are downturned as she cocks a hand beneath her chin, bats you those doe eyes.

The glorious freedom you were fantasizing about disappears in an instant. “Why?”

“Maybe he got into some trouble and needs help.”

You decide she’s much nicer than you. “Or maybe, hear me out, just maybe, he’s decided to skip work today and continue being the inconsiderate jerk he is.” You have no such patience for him, but that might be because you still remember the heat of his lips nipping at yours. Or maybe it’s because the marks he left on your thighs still remain in faint traces of dark pink.

“Hmm.” Sooah doesn’t look convinced. “Still, just in case. We have his number already. It’ll just take a minute.”

You let your nails sink into your palm. “Fine. I guess there’s a .0001% chance that something actually tragic is happening.” You make for the shop’s landline, where all the employees’ numbers are saved. You fully intend on handing Sooah the phone. But when you whirl back, she’s busy taking an order, with another customer in line behind the current. “Fine,” you mutter to yourself. “I’ll do it.” You hit the call button.

There are a few long rings, by the end of which you’re certain that voicemail will pick up. You tune out, listening instead to the bop released a few months ago that Sooah insists on playing at least three times an hour over the speakers. Your foot absently taps along to the catchy beat.

Click. There’s some fumbling, and you, only half-paying attention, wait for the robotic voice. Except what you get instead is a hurried, low-toned “yeah.”

You blink in surprise, pausing as your brain processes.

“Hello?” The voice is more annoyed now.

“It’s me.” You say your name.

A sigh. “What do you want?” Translation: why the hell are you calling me?

That tone has the magic ability to spark irritation in you like no other. You’re actually thankful for your visceral reaction to it; it squashes any unnecessary nerves that might want to flutter in your stomach. “Hmm, let me think. What do you have every Monday morning? Why might your coworker be calling you?”

There’s some more rustling, perhaps a whisper of a curse that you don’t quite catch. “Uhh... I’m sick.”

“Really. Sick.” You enunciate every thick syllable. “Why didn’t you tell Mina?”

“Too sick to.” The fake cough he manages is the worst excuse you’ve ever heard. “Can I go now?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Your thumb grinds the end call button for a few seconds longer than necessary before you set the phone back into its cradle.

Sooah hands a warmed muffin over before she turns to you. “So? How is he?”

“He says he’s ‘sick’.” You make air quotes, just as the backroom door creaks open.

“Who’s sick? Yoongi?” Namjoon, who’s scheduled to take over for you, comes out looking concerned. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s completely fine.”

Sooah frowns. “Hmm, but I don’t think he’d just not show up unless something was really going on.”

“When he’s sick, he tends to forget everything and just stay in bed.” Namjoon turns to you. “You’re off soon. Do you mind just swinging by his place with some porridge?” That’s his go-to; you know because he once did the same for you when you had an awful fever. Remembering that day reminds you that you still owe him one for it. Damn it.

You scratch absently at the back of your neck. “I guess not...” You really can’t come up with a single excuse, because you don’t have any homework to do tonight nor do you have classes. Plus, if Yoongi’s truly ill, you’re not about to let him starve to death.

“Great.” Namjoon’s dimples flash as he pulls out his phone. “His place isn’t too far. Here’s the address.”

That’s how you wind up in front of Yoongi’s apartment door nearly an hour later, a tasty bowl of chicken porridge in hand. It’s a quaint building, small but cozy in its own way. Humble is the word that comes to mind as you take in the older, yellowed wallpaper, the slightly crooked number on his door. You shuffle your weight from foot to foot, feeling somewhat awkward. Like you’re intruding somewhere you shouldn’t be.

But you’re here to get the truth.

Some part of you hopes he’s actually sick. That, or he was just being a dick for the hell of it. Anything works, as long as the reason is not you.

You raise your hand and knock thrice. There is no sound, not even after the first minute passes. So, you knock again. One more minute, you tell yourself. If he doesn’t answer in one more minute, then I’m going to go home and eat all the porridge myself.

Finally, the door opens a crack. Bleary eyes with heavy purple bags behold you from beneath tangled, dilapidated blonde hair. Behind this disfigured creature that was once your coworker, all you can see is darkness even though it’s noon o’clock.

“Yoongi?” You ask, a little incredulously. “Are you okay?”

He frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you said you were sick, so...” You hold up the takeout container. “Namjoon made me check up on you.”

“I’m fine. You can go now.” He’s about to shut the door on you but you push your palm insistently against the wood.

“No way. You look like shit, Yoongi.” You sigh. “Look, I don’t want your death on my conscience, so at least let me heat this up for you. Namjoon’ll never let me live it down if I don’t.”

“Ugh…” He contemplates, but ultimately seems to recognize the combative fire in your eyes. ���Promise to leave right after.” He turns, leaving the door open for you to follow. “I hate letting people in here,” he mutters as he walks.

“Trust me, I don’t want to stay any longer than I have to either.”

You step inside, and your nose instantly wrinkles. Everything just smells kind of stale, in need of a good airing out. Empty ramen containers litter the kitchen counter while scattered papers decorate the carpet. But what’s worse is when you behold Yoongi in all his glory – stained sweatpants, ratty t-shirt, and all.

“Is your hair allergic to brushing or something? God.” You gingerly set the bag on the table, wondering if he even has clean bowls to use. You’ll find out. Curse you and your empathy. “Go take a shower or something. Please. For your own sake.”

“You’re not my mother,” Yoongi mutters, but he seems to know you’re right. He drags his shirt off, and instead of admiring his slim physique, you cringe as he tosses the top carelessly onto the already messy couch. “Don’t mess with anything while I’m gone.”

“What, afraid I’ll fuck around and make it all cleaner?” You shoot back, but he’s already disappeared into the bathroom. “Jerk. Wouldn’t want to snoop in this place anyway.” Grumbling, you rifle through the cabinets and manage to fish out a single bowl that doesn’t look too suspicious.

Despite what you said just minutes before, while the porridge spins away in the microwave, you lean against the counter and take a good look at your surroundings. It’s a studio apartment, already tiny but made even smaller by the clothes strewn around. The bulk of the mess seems to be centered around the electronic set up shoved against a wall, consisting of two huge monitors, a lit-up keyboard, and something that you’ve only seen on TV, usually for a stereotypical depiction of a DJ. What the heck is Yoongi doing with something like that?

The roar of the shower is still going, so you take a few steps towards the desk. The screen is locked, asking for a password but you’re more fascinated by this soundboard with all its knobs and controls. Does Yoongi make... music?

Your first instinct is to think that it doesn’t fit your perception of him. But then it strikes you that your perception of him is incredibly limited. You suppose you’ve never asked about his hobbies or anything about him. You feel a little guilty now. You’ve never tried to understand him, just gotten pissed off at him time and time again.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Yoongi walks out of the bathroom, towelling off his hair. Wet droplets are still rolling down his bare chest. A second wimpy towel hangs off his hips, looking seconds away from falling. He’s already glaring. “Get away from my shit before you break something.” He walks towards his bed, lifting a pair of sweatpants off the mattress.

“Please. I’m not as clumsy as you think.” You roll your eyes as you move to fetch the congee from the microwave. You set the bowl in front of him as he finds a spoon. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi mutters as he slips a spoonful into his mouth. “For checking on me too, I guess.” The bags beneath his eyes have gotten even more obvious and gaunt after the shower, as if he hasn’t slept in days. And hasn’t eaten either, judging by the way he goes at the congee as if it’s his last meal on this planet.

“Geez, you’re gonna get indigestion like that,” you say with a wince. “Do you live like this all the time?” Is this why he’s always late?

“Kind of.” Yoongi barely stops eating to breathe. “But this week is especially busy.”“With what? You should at least get some sleep...”

Yoongi’s already almost done his food, meaning your time with him is running towards its end too. “With important things.”

“Nothing’s more important than taking care of yourself.”

“God, please stop talking. Don’t you think I know that?” Yoongi squeezes his eyes together, rubbing fatigue from the corners. “But certain things have deadlines that have to be met.”

“You can’t make deadlines from the grave. Can’t you get an extension or something? What’s it even for?”

“Contest. Song writing contest. Only runs once a year.” His spoon gives a final clatter before resting against the empty bowl. “So, no. No extensions.”

So he does make music. “You should have just started earlier instead of being late, as per usual,” you tease, hoping to lighten the sour look on his face.

Bad choice. “Don’t you think I did?” Yoongi surges to his feet. His palm slams into the counter, rattling the bowl. “You don’t understand how it feels when everything just comes out shitty and not good enough!”

You face his fury, swallow it to fuel your own irritation at how absolutely careless and ridiculous he’s being. “So, you’re just going to not sleep or eat or come to work until its done?”

“That’s the plan.”

Yoongi turns away, trying to end this conversation as he heads towards his computer. You don’t let him escape, because you’ll be damned if you work your next shift alone. “Why don’t you just wait for the contest next year?”

“Well I was going to.” He swivels his head back, “but aren’t you the one who said to fight for what you believe in?” He snaps it, exasperation in his tone. Then he instantly looks away again as if he’s said something embarrassing.

That makes you stop, your jaw slackened in half-surprise, half-amusement. “Wait… You actually listen when I talk? You’re doing all this because of what I said?

“No. Shut up. Just, ugh, get out.” You wonder if he’s turned away so you can’t see the expression on his face.

Okay, now you feel a little proud that some of your words finally made their way into Min Yoongi’s thick skull. A task you once thought impossible. But that makes you a bit responsible for his predicament, doesn’t it? Plus, you’ve never seen this (perhaps a bit overly) dedicated side of him before. It fascinates you.

“Show me something you’ve made, Yoongi. I’m sure it’s not all shitty.”

He snorts as he drops into his groaning chair. “What do you know about music?”

“Well, I listen to it. A lot.” You may not be Beethoven, but you love music and consider yourself pretty well-versed in several different genres. You’re so curious: what kind of music does Yoongi write? “Seriously! Just show me something.”

Yoongi still looks unconvinced.

“Hey, I brought you food. And covered your ass at work. So you owe me one.”

“And this is what you want to use it on.”

“Yup.”

He shrugs. “Dumb choice, but I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you.” But he starts to click through folders. He ultimately pulls up a file named TRASH. Interesting choice, you think as you gingerly perch yourself on his messy bed. Yoongi fiddles with the volume knob on his speakers. Seconds later, the music begins to flow.

You’re already tapping your foot along by the time the tenth bar hits. You don’t know what you were expecting, but this is good! Like, actually good! Instead of vocals, a keyboard plays out the main tune. It’s sounds rather bare, but you assume that’s because it’s unfinished.

But wait… The melody sounds familiar.

Once you realize it, the more obvious it becomes. Yes, some elements have been changed: this version is much more R&B influenced, the song dips in slightly different ways, and the opening has synth elements that the finished piece you know lacks, but…

“Hey, isn’t this…?” You trail off when the chorus hits, and the similarities become undeniable. “We don’t talk together—” you sing, the lyrics going perfectly with the tune. It’s the very same song Sooah’s been playing relentlessly at work.

Yoongi is staring intensely at the screen with something so unfathomably sad in his eyes. He doesn’t speak.

“It’s different than the final version, but similar enough. You wrote this?” You whip out your phone from your pocket. “Wow, you’re amazing, Yoongi!” You hum the song beneath your breath as you pull up the song’s production page; you’ve looked at it before, but you never noticed Yoongi’s name under the credits. Why the hell is he still working at the café? Shouldn’t he be off writing the next big hit? Wasting talent, really.

On the page, three names appear. The singer, then the rapper. Then final name you don’t recognize and assume to be the producer. He doesn’t have an artist page yet, no image or real name revealed on the website. “You’re DJ ALEX?”

Yoongi shakes to life at the sound of your voice. He lunges out, almost breaks the knob as he forces the volume to zero. “No. I’m not.” The words feel strange in the sudden silence. Uncomfortable.

“...But this is the same song, isn’t it? ‘We Don’t Talk Together’?”

“It used to be.” He whirls towards you. “Look, you heard something I wrote. I ate the food. You can get out now. I have work to do.”

You don’t move from the bed, knowing you’re pissing him off by the tensing of his jaw. “What do you mean? Who’s this Alex guy then?”

“Just drop it.”

“Yoongi, what happened?” You push him despite the way his hands have curled into fists. “There’s no way this is a coincidence because—"

“Tch! You want to know so badly? Fine! He stole it from me, alright?” His piercing glare forces goosebumps on your skin. “We wrote it together. He took the original and deleted my copy and passed the song off as his own. Now he’s the one getting all the record deals while I can’t write shit and stuck making coffee with an annoying ass coworker. Happy? Good enough of an explanation for you?”

You shake your head. “You just let him take it?!”

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” Yoongi’s voice is dangerously guttural, as if on the verge of breaking altogether. “He blocked me. Dodged me when I went to see him. Before I knew it, he was signing contracts and the song was being produced.” Yoongi sets his fists back on the table with not much strength at all, as if he’s just so exhausted of it all. “It was half a goddamn year ago. It’s too late now.”

Before you can stop yourself, you’re standing. “No, no, you can’t just let it go like this!” Not when it puts that look into his eyes. “You can fight it! You can, uhh, report him or show some proof that you wrote it together or something!” When he doesn’t respond, you step towards him, intending to put a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon Yoongi, you’re better than this!”

He knocks your hand away as he surges to his feet too. “Shut up. Just shut. Up.” He rounds on you, fury’s fire back in his eyes, worse than you’ve ever seen it since hurt is what stokes the flames to blazing. “You don’t know anything about me. You think just because we fucked once you have some insight into who I am or what I should do?”

His words hit you like bullets as you stagger back but the bed prevents you from moving too far, caging you in. “Yoongi, no, that’s not—”

“Or what? Are you gonna tell me you came here today because you missed my cock that much?”

Thoughts seem to fly clear out of your mind at the dip in his voice. Your heart thuds in your ears as Yoongi takes a step. Then another. Breaking every boundary of personal space until his lips are aside your ear. Breath curves around your lobe, coming hot, much too hot as he growls, “didn’t get enough in that pretty little pussy of yours, did you?”

“I... Uh...”

“That’s why you’re running your mouth, huh?” He captures your bottom lip, tracing it with a calloused thumb. “When you should be choking on my cock instead.” Yoongi pulls back enough for you to see how his mouth curls into that damn smirk, and you remember. God, you remember how he stole what he wanted from your body and left you stuffed full of his pleasure. But this time, there’s a desperation behind his words that was absent before. As if right now, he’s the one that needs you despite the lewdness rolling off his tongue.

So you drop to your knees.

Yoongi’s eyes widen, then narrow with deep pleasure as he thumbs your cheek with more tenderness than you would have expected. That thought is shattered when he harshly tugs your chin up, forces you to stare into the gaze that you can only find predatory. His other hand works the waistband of his sweats, tugging it down to spring his stiff cock so violently it smacks you in the face. “Open wide, baby,” he snarls, the word not sweet but condescending, the way he enunciates the syllables.

You let your mouth unhinge, but you don’t move to engulf his dick in your heat. Instead, you drag your gaze across the few beads of pre-cum are already gathered on the tip, just waiting to be slathered all over the smooth head by your fingers. He groans when you curl your hand on his shaft, bucking his hips into your touch whether he wants to or not. He can’t control himself when you pressure his frenulum, squeezing to coax another moan from him. You love that you can drive him this wild with need, put that look on his face as if he’s seeing the bright lights of heaven behind those half-closed eyelids.

But he’s not about to let you take control.

“Don’t be a fucking tease.” He shoves his hips forward, sliding himself between your parted lips and onto your awaiting tongue. You taste the saltiness of arousal leaking from his swollen cock, swiping along the head to gather every last drop of sin. He stiffens even more under your touch and the slippery texture of your agile tongue; you take it all in stride, swirling saliva around while your fingers use the excess spit to work his shaft.

“Unh, your tongue feels so damn good.” Yoongi moans like his stresses are melting away with every lick you slather across his taut skin. You trace the fat vein running along the side, carving the curves into memory. Which spots make him shiver, which ones make him moan. “Fuck, almost as good as that tight cunt of yours.” Said cunt gives a pulse of wanton need and you have to squeeze your walls around air, feeling so damn empty when you know how full you could be.

Without a single regard to your wants, he continues to urge his hips forward, mercilessly plunging in thick inches of dick until the head prods at the back of your throat. You’re trying your best to breathe through your nose but he makes that impossible when he tests your gag reflex with two brutal thrusts. Only after does he bring himself back, let you suck in much-needed oxygen before you’re bobbing your head again to his groans.

Yoongi seems torn between squeezing his eyes shut and keeping them trained on you, mired to the sight of your lips stretched and wrapped so obscenely around his cock. “How much of me can you take with that filthy mouth?” It’s a challenge he issues despite his tense, sweaty thighs and the unassailable glaze in his eyes that says he’s closer to the end than he’d like to admit.

“All of it,” you say as best you can with your mouth stuffed full. You’re not afraid of him, of any attempts he’s made to scare you off. You prove so by supressing your instincts and easing him into the slick of your throat. You push on despite the protests of your body, spurred by the painful fist in your hair that keeps you speared on him. His fine pubic hair tickles your nose, smelling like soap and his natural musk that is somehow more intoxicating than it should be. You’re so close; if you strained, you could give his crotch a sloppy French kiss.

“Then take it.”

You choke when he fucks in the last few inches, forcing his bulging cock down your throat. He pulls back only to repeat the action, earning himself a fresh gag. He seems to love that lewd squelch, imprinting it in his mind along with the tears coalescing at the corners of your eyes. Spit flies everywhere as he rocks his hips like a machine made solely for this purpose, abusing your aching mouth but even that turns you on. You don’t think you’ve never been this aroused by sucking a dick but Yoongi just has that effect on you, for better or worse.

You can barely hold onto his skinny thighs as the muscles ripple beneath your grasp in name of erratic, orgasm-seeking thrusts. They make him occasionally jerk his dick but if he grazes your teeth, he doesn’t show it. Just keeps pumping like a madman, getting himself off on how you take him so well – his good girl. Your jaw aches from his girth but you don’t dare pull away; not when he’s slamming into you like you’re the only thing in his world that matters right here, right now.

Now Yoongi’s the one choking when you lift your hand, cupping the sensitive skin of his balls. His lust-drenched eyes have flown open with surprise. Then he’s grinning, impressed with your eagerness. “Just like that—god—yeah, use your tongue, fuck…!” His moans are becoming increasingly broken, interrupted by gasps when you work your throat in tandem with fingers. “I’m gonna cum down your throat, baby,” he promises. “You better drink every fucking drop.”

You suck him harder as agreement, slurping with noisy abandon as if there’s nothing you want more than his seed coating your throat. Messy spit bubbles beside your lips but there’s no stopping you, not when his knees are buckling and he’s moaning your name in a hoarse voice that should be illegal.

“C-Cummin...!” Yoongi doesn’t even get to finish the word. Two hands on the back of your head force you all the way down. His shaft pulses and the first shot of cream hits your throat, followed by several hot strands that you automatically swallow down. He’s still gasping when he pulls back, tip profusely spilling the last remnants of bliss onto the tongue you leave exposed for his viewing pleasure. Then you gulp it down while you hold his heated stare.

With something like a growl, Yoongi yanks you up off the floor, crashing his mouth on yours to tangle your rather-numbed tongue with his own. One hand is still arrested in your hair but the other finds your waist, dragging you close to his body as he brutally sucks, bruises your bottom lip. You let yourself believe he needs to feel you, that he wants you even while his cock softens and carnal lust slips away.

“Y-Yoongi,” is the only thing you can exhale when he finally lets you go. The kisses only add to the arousal pooling between your thighs, demanding attention. But Yoongi makes no moves to take care of your need.

Instead, he wipes his lips of spit with the back of his hand. “Damn. That mouth of yours is something else.” He’s still panting, clearly having left most of his sanity on your tongue.

“I know.” You’re the one smirking now, feeling rather pleased with yourself. Looking around, you find a tissue and use it to clean yourself off. Yoongi does the same, and for a moment, it all just feels normal between you two.

“Thanks. That really cleared my head.” It only takes Yoongi a minute to get his pants back on. Then he’s planted himself in his chair again. Wait. Is that it? Your smile twists, droops into a frown as you watch him pull up the complicated software with all the soundbites back onto his screen, typing away as if inspiration has struck.

“Yo—”

“Looks like you’re not the worst coworker after all.”

…Right. How could you have forgotten? That word sends you crashing down into reality like an icy bath. You stare at the side of his face, focused squarely on his screen as if you’re nothing more than a houseplant. Not even giving you the title of fuck buddy, or friends with benefits. But, then again, you’re not friends in the first place.

“You can stay if you want, but I have to keep working on this.” That just sounds like an afterthought, a consolation prize that’s more bitter than the taste of his cum still lingering in your mouth.

You’re already moving towards the bag you left near the door. “No thanks.” You pull the strap onto your shoulder, twisting the icy doorknob. “Bye, I guess.”

Yoongi doesn’t even look back.

To set the record straight – you are not a coward. You are a rational adult making rational decisions that fit into your adult schedule. Begging Namjoon to switch shifts with you for the next month is just part of your regular plans, in no way influenced by the mixed, confusing, dizzying feelings that pop their heads up like groundhogs every time Yoongi crosses into your line of sight. Or your thoughts. Or really in any way whatsoever.

Okay... Maybe you’re a little bit of a coward.

But you can’t seem to help it. He’s too distracting, now that you’ve had a second taste of his poison. A poison that, instead of stealing your life, seems to have claimed your rationality as victim instead. You experienced the consequences of this robbery for the first time on Friday morning, when Yoongi showed up on time (shocker!) for his shift. Instead of being absolutely delighted, all you could think about was that he should have slept in a bit more because of the bruised bags beneath his eyes.

Friday was the first time you’d seen him at all since that visit to his apartment four days prior. Namjoon and Hoseok had taken Yoongi’s shifts throughout the rest of the week, you assumed to give Yoongi time to finish his song. You couldn’t muster up the courage to ask Yoongi about the piece; it felt like you were prying into a world that he wanted you to stay firmly out of. You still don’t understand why you’re so interested in the first place, when you should be hating him.

The rest of that shift had been a hodgepodge of awkwardness, what with the flinching every time Yoongi brushed past your arm reaching for the syrup, then the weird high-pitched tone your voice went to when he addressed you. By the time you left work on Friday, you were determined never to repeat that again.

So here you are. Today. Monday night. Except this time, you’re not spending it knelt on a musty apartment floor, swallowing Yoongi’s anger. That’s probably a good thing, you tell yourself. You need the time and the space to sort out your own emotions. To think about why the hell you keep replaying the sadness in his eyes, then corrupting that image with the coldness of his back in that chair and—

“Hellooo? Anybody home?”

A hand abruptly appears in front of your face and you jolt back to reality, whipping your gaze to find Hoseok grinning brightly at you. “There we go. I’ve been calling your name for ages.”

“Oops, sorry Hobi. I just spaced out. What did you say?”

“I said that I’m leaving soon, silly.” Hoseok leans against the counter, playful curiosity in his expression. “What’re you thinking so hard about?”

“...Nothing important.”

“Well, guess I can’t blame you. All the downtime will do that to ya. And you’re staying for the next month?”

“That’s the plan.” A customer approaches the bar, bringing you their empty plate. “Thanks, have a good night!”

Hoseok chuckles. “I thought you had night classes. Don’t tell me you dropped out of college to avoid working with Yoongi.”

The plate you were holding clatters as you drop it, smack the porcelain against the counter. “W-Why would I want to avoid working with Yoongi?” How did he know? Oh god, did Yoongi tell him what happened?

“Because he’s always late?”

“Oh! Oh. Right. Yeah. Well, no, no, it’s not because of him…” You don’t sound convincing in the slightest, yet you have no choice but to plow on. “I’m just taking an online course this term. So why not take an easier shift because I have the time, you know?” To be fair, you were planning on taking the course anyway. It was just a matter of physically going into class or not.

“Makes sense.” Hoseok grins. “And I’ll always be on time.”

“Yup. I can always count on you, Hobi.”

He stares at his watch, watching the second hand tick the seconds away. “Aaaand I’m off. You’ll have to count on me next time because I have a hot date!”

You wiggle your eyebrows. “Hope it goes well!”

Hoseok is out like a whirlwind in the matter of minutes. Left alone in the shop, you run a hand through your hair, surveying the little café. One customer taps furiously away on their laptop. Another devours what remains of their quiche. A third jots down notes while they parse through War and Peace. You’re expecting no one else tonight, certainly not Yoongi to come bursting in like he had the last time you had a night shift. You’d better get started on cleaning.

As you wipe down the counters, remove the leftover food from the display case, the customers leave one by one. You hum a song beneath your breath, distracting yourself from any errant thoughts of a certain person that might be wanting to poke their head through. You’re not having any of that. Not today.

Time speeds by, and soon you only have thirty minutes left to go. You’re now alone in the shop, working quickly enough to ensure you’ll be finished right as your shift ends and not a second more.

Then the door chime goes off. Your head snaps up, and for a moment, for an infuriating moment, you hope it’s Yoongi.

Instead, another familiar face appears, that same, smooth, self-assured smile painted across his lips. Jiwon. This time dressed in a fitted suit, one that makes him look like he just stepped out of a magazine photoshoot. Still one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen. Still not Yoongi.

“Hi. Hi!” You correct yourself, realizing you should sound less disappointed. “Welcome.”

“Hi.” His easy smile widens as he approaches the counter, devastating with those melting chocolate eyes. “Wishing I was someone else?” He asks with a laugh as he pulls out his wallet.

Oops. Your face must have given you away earlier. “No! Of course not.” You force on a grin to match his, wiping your damp hands on your apron.

“Good. Because I was hoping for you. That you’d be working tonight.”

“Oh...” Your face automatically heats up. There’s no way he’s flirting with you, right? Him, who is so far out of your league you’re not even playing the same game. “I don’t normally work night shifts.”

“I noticed.”

“I. Um. Ahem.” You clear your throat out of sheer nerves. “What, uh, what can I get for you?”

“Just a black coffee this time, please.”

“Got it. Go ahead and tap.”

When you hand over the hot cup, Jiwon takes it leisurely. This time, there’s no denying how he lets his fingers graze past yours for that extra half-second, how his eyes hold yours with something unfathomable and exciting.

“I’m working every weeknight for the next month!” You blurt out before you can stop yourself, not even knowing what the hell you’re hoping for. Shooting your shot with this incredibly good-looking man. Making a fool of yourself, apparently. “So, uh, yeah.”

To your great relief, Jiwon nods his head. He raises his coffee like a toast. “Then I’ll see you soon. Goodnight.” The way his voice lilts around and teases the parting word remains in your mind through the rest of your shift and even after when you get home, still thinking about how he’d smiled at you like a promise.

Maybe forgetting Min Yoongi won’t be so hard after all.

The weeks come and go. Before you know it, half the month has sped by, and you’re having more fun than you ever could have expected at work. You haven’t seen hide nor hair of Yoongi, working so well with Hoseok and a newly hired college kid Jungkook that you’ve barely had the time to think about him. Sure, it’s a bit odd not to have someone to bicker with every shift, but that’s more than made up for by the presence of Jiwon.

True to his word, Jiwon comes in practically every night, with that same casual smile that makes your heart unfairly quicken and flipflop. He always asks about your day, listening intently as you rattle on about what mundane thing has occurred like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Still, he hasn’t asked for your number in all this time, nor has he offered much information about himself. So, tonight, you’ve decided, after two weeks of this flirtation, you’re going to ask him on a proper date. Tonight is Friday night, one of the busier nights. So, to compensate, you’ll be closing together with Jungkook.

With that in mind, it’s no wonder that you walk though the doors of the café feeling nervous but excited. You love working with Jungkook though, and know he’ll dispel your nerves before too long with one of those wildly hilarious stories of his various exploits. The door chimes tinkle behind you as you take note that the place is rather busy. Gross. Then you sweep your eyes to the counter, expecting to see Jungkook’s bright smile.

It’s not Jungkook handing over a green tea Frappuccino, stacked high with whip cream to a young woman. It’s Yoongi.

“Yoongi?!” You exclaim, voice carrying across the café.

He turns his head, finds your surprised eyes. “That’s me.” His voice is as dry as ever, but he’s looking better than he did two weeks ago. Much better. You try to ignore the squeeze of your heart at the casual mess of his bangs, the falsely sweet smile that still lingers on his lips from interaction with the customer.

Just a coworker, you remind yourself. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s gaze follows you as you move behind the counter. “Working.”

“Well, gee, I can see that. But you never work the night shift. You hate it.” He had said very vehemently so before, when you suggested he switch shifts if he couldn’t wake up in the morning.

“Yeah, well...” The floor suddenly becomes quite fascinating to him. “It’s just this once.”

Hoseok appears out of nowhere, his jacket already on. He swings his arm over Yoongi’s shoulder. “Nah, he doesn’t hate it! I heard him begging Jungkook to switch shifts with him a few days ago.”

“Hoseok, shut up,” Yoongi spits, spinning around pointedly to face the customer approaching the counter.

You giggle as Hoseok rolls his eyes quite dramatically behind Yoongi’s back. “You’re on your way out, Hobi?”

“Yup. Just you and Yoongi tonight.”

You nod, licking your dry lips. “Okay, got it. Have a good night!”

Yoongi may not be Jungkook, but that doesn’t mean that your plans have changed. You’re asking Jiwon out. You’re moving on from the unaddressed, oddly in-between relationship you and Yoongi have, and you’re hopefully going to have a date by the end of the night. You slip an apron on, determination in your veins.

Whatever downtime you usually have on Friday night (that you were worried would give you time to be pensive about Jiwon’s impending arrival) soon becomes a long-lost dream as the customers just start pouring in. It seems there’s a big event at the theatre across the street, causing an enormous boom in caffeine and snack needs that keep you and Yoongi on your toes, a fact which Yoongi looks especially irritated by. That might be because he looks like he has something to say to you every time you have a minute of break; but he can’t get out anything substantial past a ‘hey’ before he’s drowned out by another group of people.

It’s hours before the crowd finally dies down, leaving the shop sparse and you exhausted. As glad as you are for the break, it also means you have to face whatever Yoongi wants to say. You can’t fathom what he could possibly want, but it looks like he’s about to tell you as he turns in your direction.

“Hey.”

You take a sip of your water. “Hi.”

“Uh…” You say nothing, just stare at him. Yoongi looks decidedly uncomfortable, and you’re starting to worry he’s about to drop that he has an STD or something. “I, err, just wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” Bringing you food or sucking your dick?

Yoongi sighs, raking his hair back with a hand. “I finished my song because of you.”

“Oh. Oh.” Okay… You can’t deny it; that actually makes you pretty happy. It makes you drop the frown and walls you thought you had to put up around him, replacing it with a genuine smile. “Congrats, Yoongi! When do you hear back about the results?”

“Not for a few weeks. But without you, I think I wouldn’t have entered at all this year. I just couldn’t write anything decent after…” Yoongi cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Look. Even though the song’s still not perfect and I’m still not too happy with it, it’s done. So. Thanks.”

Your heart threatens to pound at the sincerity in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. “Anytime.”

Yoongi coughs, cutting off the moment prematurely. “Anyway, I’m gonna do inventory in the back.” You hate inventory, thinking it a mindless task that you would rather make a hundred lattes than do. You don’t know if Yoongi knows this, but you appreciate him all the same. You’re smiling faintly as you watch him disappear into the backroom.

Seconds later, the front door clatters, chime going off. You look up, customer-service smile already painted on, but it becomes that much wider when you find Jiwon’s friendly face grinning right back at you.

“Jiwon!”

“Hey! Can’t stay long today, but had to stop by for my coffee fix. And to see my favorite barista.” He winks, way too smooth for your health.

You fight the automatic flush of your cheeks. “No problem. Iced macchiato? Skim milk and light ice?”

“Yup. You get me.”

Your hands begin to tremble as you turn to make the drink, thinking about how best to ask him those difficult words. Oh god, you’ve never been good at this, but you’ll be kicking yourself forever if you never try. Do you want to go on a date? Nope. Too direct. Are you free on Saturday? Or maybe you should go with a simple do you like pasta? But what if he doesn’t? Oh gooood.

The drink is finished all too soon. You hand it to him, watching him take a sip. “Mm, you always make the best coffee.” The compliments come too easily to him, you swear.

“Haha, I try my best!” Okay. Now or never. “Oh, um, by the way…”

The door of the backroom swings open, interrupting you. Yoongi’s voice can be clearly heard over the music. “Hey, do you know where th—” He stops. His gaze rakes across the scene, taking in your silly, flustered grin, your faintly flushed cheeks. Then his eyes fall on who you’re talking to. His jaw slackens. “...Hyung?”

a/n: so uh,,, i’m sorry to end it like this again haha. what do you think is up? 👀 inbox is open; let’s chat! also the song i reference is “We Don’t Talk Together” by Heize and Giriboy, produced by Yoongi!

thank you to my beta readers: @sweetlyseokjin, @jiminspjm, @mypurplelamp, @hoseoksdior, @bigtiddiejoon 💞

and as always, a fat shoutout to my best girl @jeonshome for helping me brainstorm & hyping me up like always when i was struggling. don’t know what i’d do without you!! ♡

want to be on the tag list? the link is in my navi! (or send an ask!)

[trillian-anders]

beguiled

pairing: geralt of rivia x reader

warnings: violence, angst, smut, jealousy

word count: 3.1k

description: part 2 of 3. it’s been decades since you’ve last employed the witcher to help you dispatch of a spectre. you seek him out for him to help you with one more task and jealousy rears its ugly head. 

The room smelled of mead. Sweet and sticky. Viciously spread through the bodies until they were dripping with it. Words cooed into ears in dark corners, a hand drifting up a skirt, picking at the laces of a dress. A brawl in the middle of the room over something trivial. A misplaced footstep. A bump of a shoulder, who knows. It was not a party unless someone had a broken bone by the end. It was not a party unless at the end someone was in critical condition.

The Queen sat proudly, poised and sure, nary a hair out of place. Sipping merrily but keeping her wits. Her eyes tracing the shapes of the walls, banisters, chiseled marble. Drifting out among her subjects, her warriors, to keep herself aware of what was going on below her pedestal. Looking down at the merry drunken fighters and the pretty little maids they set their eyes on.

As much as every kingdom felt like they were different, superior, they were all the same. Cheating Kings, spoiled wedding beds, hushed trysts in the night. Drinking yourself blind after an economic win, drinking yourself half to death after barely surviving battle. If the blade were not your end, surely it would be your poisoned liver.

Geralt had seen hundreds of these parties and surely, Geralt would see a hundred more. His cup never empty, a pleasant strum in his belly and his pocket full of coin. He was satisfied with his hunt, the unpleasant beasty falling to his sword, and the Queen paid him handsomely. The gift of a free meal and a warm bed to pass the night. Now he just needed a warm body to fill it.

A scent, familiar, stirred his loins. Lilac and gooseberries. The drift of it curling around him and tugging him away from viewing the brawl from his table. He could almost taste her, Yennefer, his nose picking up her scent. It tore him from the throne room, bathing himself in it as the crisp night air met his nostrils. Cup discarded he followed the trail, far into the hedge maze before him. The twisting and turning leading him towards her. Bringing him closer and closer to the center of the maze. To the small pond and bench, a large tree cloaked in the darkness of the night. The source of the scent directly below, but it was not Yennefer.

It was you.

A cheeky grin on your face as he tried to not show his surprise. Jaw set tight. Fists clenched in a subdued anger.

“Witcher.” You grin.

“What are you doing here?” You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, gazing around at the night lilies, the pond still and silent.

“The question dear butcher,” You muse, “Is what do I want?”

“You tricked me.” A statement.

“Your affection for Yenn tricked you,” You scoff, standing, “It just helped me bring you out here,” The castle behind him still standing, lights from the throne room casting shadows on the grass. “If I knew you had such an affection for her previously,” The last time you’d met, when he ripped the Hym’s claws from your back, “I might not have gone so easily on you.” His mind flipping back decades to the feeling of his back digging into the stone floor. He would be lying if it did not cause his dick to twitch in his trousers.

“What is it that you want Mage?” He was annoyed, you could tell that very well, but he could have just left so it is something.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you last…” Stepping towards him, hands on your hips, you peer up into his face almost flush with his chest, “How would you like to make a bit of coin? I have a proposition for you.” A heated glare, it stirs in your loins and sets your belly on fire. The scent of lilacs and gooseberries evaporating from the air.

“What do you want?” It was a bite and you place your hand on his chest, letting it drift up to hold the side his neck, pressing your breasts against him. Close.

“I need you to kill a little beasty for me,” A doe eyed look, your thumb coming to brush his bottom lip, “How skilled are you at alchemy?”

Very skilled it seems. Those little black vials of swallow sat in a satchel on his hip. Something tied to Roach’s saddle quite tightly as he rode. You lead on your own horse, taking him far away from the city and deep into the dark wood surrounding it. The mare’s steady hoof beats sync, and that is the sound between you. You could feel those amber eyes boring into the back of your head, you had not half a mind to wonder what went on in his. Good fortune brought him back to you, good fortune or that shiny gold coin you had kept for decades now.

His grace and mercy.

You turn to look at him, meeting his eye, “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” You ask, “Daydreaming about someone else?” You did not expect an answer, and he did not give one. “You know, she told me about the wish.” The steady beat of hooves. “The wish you’d always find your way back to one another.” It felt bitter on your tongue. “And you made that decision after one meeting?” Bitter and sour, a bubbling in your belly. “I should be bereft that you hadn’t the same fondness of me, but then again she’s a bit more attainable. Powerful. It is attractive really. I could understand… if I wanted to.”

“All mages are powerful.” His low timbre, it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I’m sure her Elven blood helps her none.” You muse. A day’s journey it had been. A small village looms in the distance. “We should make camp.” As the sun begins to set. “I’m getting hungry.” By the river you set a fire, Geralt hunting game.

“So why do you need me to kill a drowner?” He asked, dropping a bundle of rabbits by the fire. “What do you need it for?” You furrow your brow, standing from your crouched position digging through your bag,

“I’m not paying you to ask questions Witcher.” He rolls his eyes, sitting heavily on an overturned tree, pulling the game into his lap to skin and prepare to cook. You shrug your coat back on, sitting across from him. The sound of wood crackling, he set the rabbit up on a makeshift spit.

“What happened with the King?” Of course, he would ask. The King whose son was now on the throne, the curse from the Hym gone from the town, but not forgotten. You were sure he heard tales of his own bravery there. Geralt of Rivia, whether it was fame or infamy was anyone’s guess, but if he did their dirty work for them, he could stay.

 “He died thankfully,” You sigh, “His stupid little heart gave out… his son is on the throne now.” Geralt looks across at you, a strange look on his face. “You know, for a Witcher who is supposed to be above emotion you certainly show a lot of it on your face… What?”

He shakes his head, looking back onto the roasting rabbits before saying, “For a moment I wondered how you felt about it, if you felt anything for it anymore.” The guilt. To tell the truth it comes and goes, but you say to him,

“It’s long forgotten.” Which you are sure he does not buy it, but he drops it none the less. “When was the last time you’ve seen her? Yenn?” He shifts in his seat,

“Eight years now.” You hum.

“She’s ever the flighty bird.” An unimpressed stare.

“As if you’re any different.” He jests. You shake your head, sighing contently,

“I never said I wasn’t.” He looks at you for a moment more, debating something in his head before deciding against it. The dinner eaten in silence, you lay under the stars swathed in your coat, the fire burning into embers beside you.

“You were going to leave anyway.” A whisper. “What difference did it make that I told you to leave instead?” Silence. You could hear the crickets in the distance, singing for their night.

“Go to sleep.”

…

You dipped your toes into the river, the day was warm, you had been sweating in your dress. The outer heavy layers discarded as Geralt walked the length of the river you watched him from the corner of your eye as his amber orbs searched its depths. The Drowner was nearby, that you knew. A ghoulish figure that preyed on pretty milkmaids that were bathing in the river or pulled merchants from a low hanging bridge.

They are necrophages. They drown you and then devour your corpse. And you had brought your lovely Witcher to a nest. The pesky things were severely damaging your trading routes. A little business you had cultivated for yourself, your home being not too far from here, you sold the thing that people wanted the most, a mage’s services.

Your toes in the cold water would hopefully bring them to the surface, pull one out of hiding. You dared to venture deeper, shifting your skirt higher on your hips.

“Stay. There.” He says, eyes moving over the deep depths of the lake. “You always seem to have a death wish.” He murmurs.

“None more so than you,” You muse, kicking your foot in the water. “I’m sure if I were to be swept under, you’d valiantly save me… another song for your little bard to come up with. A tale of a poor maiden and the grizzled Witcher who saved her from a watery grave.” You watched your toes wiggle against the dirt of the lake floor. “Saving her from being eaten by a drowner, so thankful that she rode your cock until morning.” You laugh. But he paused. Settled on one part of the lake’s edge.

“Get out of the water.” Spoken in a panic. You had been in the water to your knees, amusement lost as his eyes met yours, fear. For you. You quickly tread to the edge, feet meeting the harsh rock bed of the lake as you tripped out into the mud, his arm pulling you away fully.

A head bobbed to the surface. It was an ugly thing, scaly and green. A sharp fin sprouted from its back with three spikes and devilishly long talons stretching from its long fingers. You had never seen one alive before, it took your breath away. As one head bobbed, two more sprouted behind him. Three.

“It seems as though the whole nest is hungry.” You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, walking backwards to grab your own sword. Geralt was brave and mighty but a nest of drowners at once was not going to be an easy feat.

“Stay behind me.” The foul creatures trekking through the muck towards the two of you, spreading area attempting to circle. You grip the handle of your sword, the creatures coming close. A swipe of their claws at Geralt’s belly. One moving to the side to encapsulate you. You press your back to his, hand thrusting forward and sending the two beasts on your side back before swinging with your sword and severing its arm from its shoulder. A gooey black blood pouring out. Thick and viscous.

You could hear the smooth movement from behind you, Geralt’s silver sword cutting through the air with speed and precision. Two bodies lay at his feet, one at yours. There is four more. Your hand moves out again, pushing the four back as Geralt lifts his sword and buries it into another, he pushes you out of the way of one’s claws and buries his sword in its belly, grunting and swinging again.  

You huff as the last body falls, gazing over at Geralt. “You’ve got a cut.” You pant, wiping sweat from your brow.

“Very astute of you.” He glares, rinsing his sword off in the lake.

“It’s about to get cold.” You walk over to your horse, grabbing your boots off the ground, “Take their heads and let’s go.” You mount. He looks at you incredulously.

“Go where?”  

“To my home.”

…

It was simple, mostly brick, one story home. It was not what Geralt was expecting. A garden overflowing with herbs, and a cat out front, lapping water from a dish. He dropped the heads in the front garden, he’d scrape their brain matter out later to make his swallow, something he’s sure you’d be able to help him with seeing as you had all the other ingredients already growing beside your house.

“Take your boots off when you come in.” You peer at him over your shoulder. “I’ll make a bath.”

The tub was steaming as he submerged himself into it. Scalding on his skin and burning on his healing cut as he watched you from across the room, stripped down to your shift. Comfortable enough in front of him for that, or maybe you just did not care.

“Have you always wanted to live alone?” He asked, “Is that why you’re all the way out here?” Truthfully, you did live in the middle of nowhere, but living alone, that was just,

“A side effect from not being able to trust anyone.” You shrug, pulling at the laces of your shift, he gazed at the side of your breast revealed, “A mage’s life is funny, being needed by everyone yet being important to no one.” He watched as you dropped the shift entirely, stepping towards the large basin to sink yourself in across from him. “But it seems like Yenn will escape that life too,” A green monster behind your eyes, “She’s important to you.”

“The djin.” He begins, “I don’t know why that was my last wish… I just…”

“You felt like she was your destiny.” A sad smile on your lips as you leaned over and grabbed the bar of soap beside the basin. “In an instant.” It was almost cruel. But he had to wonder,

“Why are you so jealous of her?” He watched you soap up one leg. “You’re just as beautiful, just as intelligent…”

“But alone.” He watches you dip your leg back under the water, switching to the other, “It wasn’t my choice to become a mage, but it was hers. She wanted this power. She wanted to ascend.”

“And you didn’t?” He watches your head loll to the side, resting your cheek on the side of the basin.

“I thought I did once,” His leg brushes against yours, your feet going into his lap, his hands caressing your calves. “But I thought once I ascended people would have to listen to me, that men would have to listen to me, but I just became… a toy. A pretty toy for men to play with.” You rub your foot on his thigh. “I don’t hate Yenn.” You admit, “She’s a good friend.”

“But you want what she has?” You give him a soft glare.

“Don’t get cocksure. I want someone to think I’m important to them,” You admit, “Doesn’t have to be you.” But you want it to be. A strange affection you had borne for him. It was too much, too open. Too raw. He tugged on your legs, pulling you through the water and to his lap, pressing his lips against yours. The meeting electric, hardening your nipples against his chest, his wet fingers burying themselves in your hair while his mouth consumed you. A soft moan like a prayer on his lips.

Your hand drifts down between you, stroking his growing length, hardening him under your gentle assault. His hand groping your ass, grinding your clit against his pubic bone. The rhythm simple, yet effective, his tongue parting your lips as you cum against him, his hand holding your mouth to his while you squirm. His cock found your entrance and bracing his feet against the bottom of the tub he presses himself into you. That burning stretch you remember making your eyes roll.

The water sloshes over the side of the basin as your hips meet, Geralt grunts as you roll your hips to meet his, your moans swallowed by his tongue. You’re brought over once more, his hand steadying your hips to grind your clit on his pubic bone, he lets you throw your head back, letting a loud moan rip from your throat as your legs begin to shake. He picks up a brutal pace, tugging on your hair and bringing your mouth back to his as you feel him release inside of you.

“Don’t tell me to leave,” He says, “Just don’t tell me to leave.” It is spoken into the column of your throat as he works his way through the aftershocks. It was too intimate. You back away. He is lost you. You step from the tub, leaving him in the grey water.

He watches you dry yourself and refuse to meet his eye. He sighs heavily, leaning his head back against the basin.

“You wouldn’t be so alone if you didn’t push everyone away.” It spills from his mouth before he could stop it. You glare at him; he could see your eyes grow wet. Fuck.

“It wouldn’t matter either way.” You wrap the dressing gown around your body, turning your back to him. He sees you look at a coin on your vanity and watches as you run your fingers across the surface. You sigh, “You know when I was a girl,” A harsh swallow, “You saved my village from a beast I hadn’t known existed.” You picked up the coin and turned to him, walking over to the basin where he stood from the water, your eyes locked with his. “Before you left, I placed myself beside your horse, trying to get a glimpse of an actual real-life Witcher.” He watched you move the coin between your fingers. “You gave me this, I was filthy and starving, and you gave me this coin.” You held it between your thumb and pointer finger, “And I’ve used it to call upon you twice now, but you can take it with the rest of your coin and those drowner heads as payment for relieving me of another problem and you can leave right now.”

“Y/N…” You drop the coin into the tub, it sinks down to his feet and he watches you crawl into your bed, facing away from him.

“Leave.”

 .

.

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tagged //  @bookish-shristi​ @saturnki​ @jennmurawski13​ @geeksareunique​ @the-soulofdevil​ @tinmunky​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious @msgeorgiarae​

[secret-rendezvous1d]

D E C E M B E R  3 R D

REQUEST what about pornstar harry making a festive christmas special w y/n?

So.

Here we have it.

The first smutty Blogmas story for you all to read!

You all know, by know, that smut is far from my strongest forte on here. I lack something that I can’t put my finger on and I can never be as good as some of the smut writers on here; I aspire to but I never think I can reach that level of talent. 

I’m not sure where this came from, and there’s a jumble of other pieces that I’ve written in here - that have been adapted to fit the storyline, of course! - but I’m pretty proud of this and only hope that you guys like it as much as I do. It’s an impressive piece, for 5k+, for someone who doesn’t usually do smut so your feedback will mean the most to me on this Blogmas prompt.

Feedback is welcomed, as always - please let me know what you think of my pieces, send me any constructive criticism you think would help out, any ways to make my writing better, anything. It really helps me and keeps me motivated to write and we get to work as a team to make things better, for me to write and for you to read.

Enjoy. xx

 D e c e m b e r  4 t h , 2 0 1 8

“Look at you, eh?”

His lips quirked into a sheepish grin as he bashfully looked down at his loafers and let his shoulder-bag drop to the floor beside his feet. A bang echoing around the room as the leather hit the floorboards and whatever was tucked beneath the buckled flap must have been heavy, she guessed. The address that they had been sent, by their agents just a few days prior to the date, hadn’t exactly lead them both to a room that was located at the bottom of the complex; probably something to do with eagle-eyed viewers zooming in with camera phones through the window because it had happened before, in shoots that she, thankfully, hadn’t been involved in and it was something they wished to keep from happening. He looked beautifully festive for the fourth of December, dressed in a hideous Christmas jumper (with fuzzy Santa beards ironed into the wool and bobble hats knitted into the material in a consecutive manner) and a pair of grey, tweed trousers, with a Christmas pudding beanie tucked over his unruly locks. Which, in her opinion, had topped the whole outfit off.

Him as her boyfriend and her as his girlfriend?

Even though they’d known each other for less than a few months? Not really considering themselves as best buddies, who hung out all the time and arrived on each others door steps like they lived there too, but were far from being the acquaintances that they once were.

Had she thought about couple-y things including him?

Cooking together and welcoming their families into her home because his university dorm was far too small to hold everyone inside? Was he a good cook or was he the type of man who chose microwave meals over cooking from fresh? Dancing to the jingling melody of Christmas songs, singing together in the car as they drove down streets lined with homes decorated with an array of Christmas lights and fake Santa’s, and kissing under the mistletoe that he secretly carried around in his pocket? Having sex, without a camera crew to record their every move, in front of an open fire and drinking warm eggnog and hot chocolates whilst feasting on marshmallows and watching Elf?

Would he take her back to Manchester so she could meet the woman who he spoke so fondly of? Would he agree to meet her family or would he feel out of place? She didn’t think he would because he seemed up for anything that life threw at him but... would he chicken out if she suggested that? Travelling to Hyde Park on the tube, dressed in multiple layers that kept the cold out, so they could visit Winter Wonderland and surround themselves with people who loved the festive holidays? Helping him decorate his university room and getting the grand tour of where he studied when he wasn’t showing off his wonders to the camera?

Of course she had... she had done for some time know... and she loved it.

“What?” His eyes widened as he took note of the amused look that knitted her features together, “I haven’t gone overboard with the whole festive look, have I? There’s this ugly-jumper day at my university today and this was the ugliest one I had in my cupboards. Saved me having to go out and buy one from the shops,” he snorted and hid his hands underneath the sleeves that hung low and practically already covered his ring-clad fingers, “I wondered why people were giving me strange looks in the-”

“No way, Harry. You look incredible. So amazing,” YN grinned widely and tightened the silk belt around her waist, stopping the flaps from opening as she stood from the plush queen-sized mattress she had occupied whilst on her own. Leaving her phone behind, with a screen that still showed a Twitter account that she seemed deep in scrolling through, she welcomed him to the set - the empty set that was still anticipating the arrival of their agents, camera-people and the set officiants that kept the area in order and free of passersby who may have stumbled upon the wrong room - with stretched out arms to envelope him in a hug and. His lips connecting with her cheek in a soft greeting and she was pleased her face soon hid in the hollow of his neck so she could hide the blush on her cheeks. “You smell like cinnamon, too.”

“My mum sent me this aftershave that she saw in a shop back in Cheshire. Wrote me a letter, because she’s so old-fashioned and texts are too new-school for her, and she said that she thought of me when she smelt it because I’ve always loved the smell of cinnamon,” he chuckled lightly and squeezed her body to his chest. The silk kimono, that barely covered the skin of her upper thighs and, due to the white colour of it, was see-through under the right right, was smooth underneath his fingertips and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from rubbing her back. “You smell lovely, too.”

“I never said you smelt lovely,” she teased and mentally scolded herself because, as he strained away from her, his body heat had left her abruptly and she felt a chill in the air that she was sure hadn’t been there when she arrived. A playful frown pinching his features as he looked down at her. “I’m joking with you, H. You smell absolutely gorgeous.”

His laugh was like music to her ears and a smile was all she could give him.

Regrettably, he unlatched his arms from around her, because she was soft and cuddly, warm and inviting and, if he could have things his way, he would have held her until the day was over, and took a tiny step away from her. A step that left a gap that allowed him to take a twirl to take in the room.

“They’re not going to make me dress like Santa Claus or anything for this project, are they?”

“We can boycott if they make us dress in anything that looks remotely ridiculous. I’m not making myself look silly,” she gave him a wink and backed away from him. The backs of her legs coming into contact with the bed was the touch she needed in order to fall back onto the plush mattress. “I’m not dressing like an elf or a reindeer or whatever else they come up with. And, I can’t stress this one enough; and I am not fucking a Santa Claus. I draw the line at role-play.”

“I think you’d look pretty fit as an elf. A reindeer, not so much, but an elf,” he smiled smugly and lifted his hand up from his side, the tip of his thumb and the tip of his finger connecting and pinching and he pressed a kiss to where his fingers joined - a gesture that was something he’d picked up from an Italian restaurant, in Italy, on a family holiday that wasn’t that long ago - “you’d definitely look fit. I’d still fuck you.”

“To be honest, I’d probably still fuck you if you dressed like Santa. Big belly and all,” she teased, cackling towards the ceiling before turning her head to look at him, “I’m glad it’s you I’m doing this with. The best Christmas present this hellish job can ever give me.”

*

“If we could get things started, that would be great.”

A middle-aged man, with a bald-head and a soul-patch underneath his bottom lip, had spoken. Neither YN nor Harry had met him before this project, even though YN had heard of him through many other connections that came with the job. Catching the attention of everyone that was loitering in the room and passing the time with idle discussion amongst themselves, informally telling people who knew who they were, who didn’t need to be in the room whilst filming commenced, that they needed to leave the room. From across the space, and settled at a table on the other side of the bed, Harry snapped his head in YN’s direction with an excited grin forming his lips, soon disappearing, seconds later, behind the wrist of the make-up artist who was spreading powdered foundation across his cheeks. Not that he needed any makeup because he was flawless and there wasn’t a single mark, acne scar or blemish upon his olive skin.

“Let’s get things rolling now, please,” he waved his hands in the air as a bundle of people pushed through the space of the door. Looking over his shoulder, he made sure those he had asked to be part of his skeleton-crew were in the correct positions and ready to go; that the cameras were in the right place, that the lighting was set on the correct mood and had the correct tones in check and that the microphones and boom-mics were held high enough and out of shot but still close enough to capture the moans and mewls that Harry and YN would fill the room with. Nodding to himself, pleasingly, before turning on his heels. “The general basis that we have is to start with YN giving Harry a blowjob that will then roll into Harry eating YN out and then we finish off with full penetration. But feel free to go with whatever you think fits the moment; you both know how this works by now.”

The floorboards creaked underneath Harry’s weight as he carried a fold-up chair to the corridor outside the room, and YN smiled at how sweet and gentlemanly he was to those people who never really gave him a second of their day, dressed in his red boxer briefs. The waistband digging into the soft love-handles that spilled over the black elastic but perfectly showed off just how satisfyingly huge he was. Her lipgloss feeling sticky against her lips as she swiped a finger over her lips on the brisk walk to the bathroom. A chill in the air , from the small, open window, that brought a layer of goosebumps to her skin.

“Harry?”

The same man from before called out, startling him in his tracks as he let the seat rest against the cream wall. His attention fully on the soul-patch that was hard to tear his eyes from.

“Now, please, mate.”

“Yeah, of course. I was just...” his sentence drew quiet as his bare feet padded across the carpet, settling down on the edge of the bed and clasping his hands upon his thighs, “you want me here or...?”

“There is perfect. YN’s going to walk from the bathroom to start the scene. See you sitting there and then things escalate,” a hand wavered in the direction of the bathroom door and YN peeked her from behind the doorframe, waving at him with a cheek-aching smile, “starting in one minute.”

Despite his arrival into pornography, just a few months prior, Harry still hadn’t had much sexual experience to form a personality off of. Just enough experience to know what he needed to do in order to please another person and what he could expect, in terms of pleasure, from someone else. Every girl that he had ever been with - a number that he could count on one hand - hadn’t seen him as a desirable sexual partner and, apparently, had not been sucking him off in the way it should be properly done because the way that YN worked her tongue up and down his shaft, how her lips enveloped him with such an inviting warmth and how she gave his cock all the attention it deserved had left him a trembling, whimpering, squirming mess upon the bed as she dug her nails into the inside of his thighs, not even bothering to wipe the drool that clung to her cheeks and dampened the carpet between her knees and coated her breasts in thick rivulets. With YN in his life, the girls before him seemed like practice runs; their moans and begs being the pushes he needed to be a better person when it came to pleasing somebody else.

He loved seeing YN on her knees.

As she pulled down his underwear and let the loose material fall to his ankles in a heap of red cotton, her eyes looked hungry and once his cock sprung free from its restraint and slapped up against his stomach, she ogled it like a steak dinner and couldn’t dare take her eyes away from it. His tip raspberry pink and his slit twitched at the cool air, a dribble of pre-cum slipping down the side of his shaft and disappearing into the jungle of thick, unruly, dark hair that covered the base. His hand wrapping around himself, tapping her cheek with the rigid head, and his thumb swiped the clear and sticky arousal that bubbled to its escape.

One of her tiny hands sat upon his naked hip, thumb tickling over the tip of a leave belonging to the fern tattooed upon his body, whilst her other snuck around his thigh, denting the pillowy skin of his bum with tiny fingernail indents that tingled his skin. Her doe eyes looking up at him with an appetite and puckered lips were parted plenty enough for him slip a thumb between. Which she welcomed and instantaneously tasted the salty coating that covered the pad of his calloused thumb, using her tongue to lick his digit, a hum of delight vibrated his hand as she swallowed and slowly dragged her lips to his nail, pulling off with a pop.

“Have you been a bad girl this year, hm? Will I find you on Santa’s naughty list or his nice list?” Harry wondered, holding her jaw and forcing her lips to pout as she tried her hardest to grin at him, her eyelashes fluttering on her cheeks with each slow blink that she gave him, her nose scrunching as his thumb dug into the hollow of her cheek, “reckon you’ve been a nightmare, baby. An absolute nightmare. Reckless, naughty, the baddest of all bad girls, hm?”

She shook her head from left to right, only for his wrist to tense, holding her neck still.

“Deserve a proper fuck, don’t you, baby? That’s what bad girls deserve when they’ve been bad. To be properly fucked and punished until they can barely walk,” he told her, a smirk finding its way on his lips that looked menacing and dangerous, sending tingles down her spine and a jerk of electricity towards her clit, the bundle of nerves feeling warm between her thighs and no doubt leaving a damp stain upon the crotch of her knickers, “and I think sucking my cock would help you in moving naughty to nice.”

Her nimble fingers took hold of his cock and she couldn’t help but apply a little pressure to his aching and throbbing hard-on, gripping at his shaft as she kept a close eye on his face, looking for any signs that he was uncomfortable or too close to the end and needed her to back off before he spunked too early on - she had that effect on him and she ruddy well knew it. Her wrist slowly beginning to jerk him off, working him slowly and painfully close to his orgasm, her thumb brushing over his slit as he winced, bucking his hips into her fist. She scooted closer on her knees and applied kisses to the lower space of his belly, tracing his intricately-detailed tattoos with her lips, before she dragged her mouth down and around his belly-button, pressing a kiss to the patch of skin that seemed to tickle him and ignoring the thick course hair that tickled beneath her nose. Peppering the softest of kisses to his shaft and bumping over the pulsing veins and feeling just how warm his skin was, tasting remnants of dried pre-cum when itran down his length in rivulets and slowly - teasingly slowly - puffing cool air onto his wet skin.

Her tongue slipped out from between her lips and moistened her pink flesh, the colour of her mouth matching the colour of his mushroom tip, both glistening beneath the light that streaked through the window. A wince hissing through the gaps of his clenched teeth and she reciprocated by wrapping her lips around him, Her tongue flicking over the slit, craving more of his thick girth to stretch her throat, fingers toying with his balls and rolling them in her hand.

His hand never seemed to feel as good as her hand did and his jerks never did the trick nor did they seem to satisfy him enough and every squeeze and every spurt of ejaculate, that he released in thick strings of white cream, never seemed to send a spark of electricity down his veins like she could do. Her mouth felt immense as it dragged up and down shaft, her hands feeling amazing as one jerked off what she couldn’t fit in her mouth and one fondled his bollocks to bring him close to the edge, and her eyes... god, her eyes looked so perfect as they watered. Drool slicking her chin as she gagged and whined.

“Such a good girl, baby. So good for me,” he cooed raspily, fingers shaking as they stroked through her hair, his hand cupping the back of her head, “you drive me crazy.”

His toes hurt from being curled into the carpet, his thighs shook from how tense they were and his bottom lip almost drew blood as he chewed and nibbled on the flesh and cried out with euphoria - he never seemed to get used to being able to voice his pleasure because sharing a university hall with other people, with flats that had paper thin walls and allowed everyone and anyone to hear him, took away that advantage. His nostrils flared as he huffed and puffed a hoard of deep breaths, his chest rising and falling, as he gained all self control to not fall back on the bed.

“M’gon’a cum if you keep going like that,” he grunted, running his hand through his hair and tugging on his fringe, eyes squeezing shut as she pulled off of him with a slurping ‘pop’, “wan’a cum after I fucked you good and proper. Need to feel you around me.”

Their bodies seemingly in a rush to clamber upon the bed and pursue the one thing they were most eager for. Harry’s cock swinging with movement as he rested his body weight on one knee, resting on the edge of the bed, allowing space for YN to launch herself on the mattress, leading to a twist of two bodies that were panting and heaving with busy lungs. She watched him with hungry eyes as he grasped his cock in a loose fist and jerked himself once, twice, three times before it begun to swell bigger, giving himself a thick and veiny look before lining up to her slit. Tapping her folds once  before slamming forward with a quick snap of his hips, filling her up in one swift thrust, fingers digging into the pillowy flesh that bloomed over the elastic of her lace knickers (that were decorated with delicate candy-cane sweets and a striped ribbon that held a tiny, golden bell upon the knot below her navel) which, if they jingled once more and caught against the pubic hair that sprouted from his crotch region, he would tear off with on swipe of a fist. Tucking himself inside of her and instantly rocking forward on his knees as his broad hips spread her legs apart, her ankles hooking in a rather limp fashion around his middle as she completely enveloped him. His groans sounded so deep and raspy, and in the moment would always put his voice second on her list of favourite sounds, scratching inside his chest as a way for her to hear just how pleased her was to be back in a cunt that he enjoyed so much. That he preferred to sink his cock into. That he was still a little starstruck over and couldn’t believe he had become, not only the industry’s favourite, but her favourite to star alongside on multiple projects.

It was an unexpected motion from him. Completely unexpected. She had been anticipating something a little softer, like a tap to her clit with the head of his cock, or something much sweeter from the man who had admitted, himself, that he couldn’t ever hurt a fly. The same man who was terrified to hurt her, terrified to break a limit and terrified to push between her legs because he didn’t know her. He didn’t know whether she had limits, whether she liked certain things, whether she was into specific kinks that he could put into play... they were simply just ‘fuck-colleagues’, if he had to give it a title; he wasn’t sure if they were buddies or not... they hadn’t really hung out outside of projects, they never really spoke and they used each other’s numbers as a means of contact for an upcoming session they had been asked to attend. Never to talk about favourite foods or what they were up to in a moment or whether they wanted to hang out at a local pub to mingle.

He stopped moving once he was fully situated inside her, his mouth gaped wide and his two front teeth breaking free from behind his pink lips, his chest heaving in short, sporadic and shallow breaths, tongue tensing before licking across the skin of his bottom lip, catching the top of the hump of his chin, as his eyes scrunched shut.

A sound, classed between a gasp and a strangled moan and a choked off bleat, bubbled up her throat and escaped from her parted lips and her nails dug into the expanse of his muscular back. Fingernails leaving tiny crescent-shaped indents amongst the freckles and moles and the faint scratches, causing his skin to feel bumpy and jagged, that he had gotten from somewhere (most likely received by someone whom she didn’t dare bring herself to think about). “God, Harry!”

“Fucking... christ. Fucked you plenty of times but you’re still so bloody tight ‘round me,” Harry whimpered, eyes rolling back into his skull as he released heavy puffs of breath that smelt deliciously of mint and blew her fringe from her eyes. Puckered lips looking exaggerated once he noticed her deeply-coloured eyes were disappearing behind loose tendrils falling from the messiest ponytail he’d ever seen her hair in. His hips pushing deeper - deep enough to nudge against all spots inside her and get the last inch of his prick inside. “How’s that happen, huh? Why d’yeh feel so tight?”

“You don’t fuck me enough,” she whispered - and she hated how she spoke with so much truth. She wished he was her co-star for all of her projects because he was a one of a kind bloke. The way he treated her was the way she had wished all of her co-stars would treat her; a kiss on the cheek upon arrival, a grin on his lips because he was genuinely excited to be with her, a compliment about how lovely she looked, asking her if she was okay, making sure she felt comfortable (regardless on how uncomfortable he may have been feeling) and talking to her like she wasn’t just the parking garage for his cock. “You need to fuck me more. Fuck me harder. Fuck me deeper, Harry.”

Her nails dug into the sweaty muscles of his back, leaving moon-shaped indents in his skin, as she pawed around eagerly for something to grip onto, both of her knees quaking either side of his body as he worked at a pace that had her edging closer and closer, each passing second, to her orgasm. The biggest she’d ever had out of all the people she had starred alongside, the biggest she could ever dream of having from a co-star (particularly a newcomer who wasn’t so used to be handled so boldly by a partner) and the biggest she had ever wanted, ever, in all of her career. Someone to stretch her properly, to the point where she could almost feel a burning tear at base of her cunt, and still feel satisfied by it.

“God, please…” she gulped and her voice was soft, broken in some places, and she wanted to plead with him for them to work together - but she knew it wasn’t just them in the room, they weren’t just having sex to pleasure themselves and they weren’t having sex of their free-will. It was a job and there were people out there who were waiting on something that wasn’t so emotionally fueled. He was making her feel good but was she making him feel good? “Harry, fucking hell.”

“Nice and slow, baby. Slow it down,” Harry cooed, hovering over her some more with the tiniest of grunts and mewls rolling off of his plush and swollen lips. Lips she just wanted to kiss whenever she wanted and a set of lips that she wanted nothing more than to feel touching every inch of her body whenever they were alone. She clenched around him, like she was holding onto dear life, and he felt it. Keeping him warm and snug, hugging his thick shaft like she was born to protect it. “You’re so good, baby. So good.”

She smiled and promptly wrapped her arms around his neck, tugging on his hair was he dipped low and pushed his face into the crook of her neck, right between her prominent collarbone and the warmth of the thick of her neck, arms disappearing underneath her body as he rolled them over. Feet planted on the bed and his knees bent as she stayed closer to front. Her bare chest flushed against his tattooed chest, a heavy moan erupting from within her as he bit down on her skin and started to suck like his depended on it. Feeling her fingers tense between his locks, pulling harder and harder and forcing him to suckle harder and harder, completely falling in love with the way she allowed him to bruise her. To mark her like she was his very own possession - and it hadn’t dawned on him then but it had done a few weeks later, when he saw a video of her with a guy who looked too young to be in porn, with a hickey so bold that it was impossible to cover with makeup, that he marked her. Not some strange bloke, not some cocky bastard who thought she was the fittest fuck, not some guy who hadn’t earned his place in her life... but him.

She buried her face into his neck, soon after, and it only felt right to him, as she clenched around him and kept a hold so devilishly dangerous around him, to allow her the chance to take a bite of skin between her teeth and chew and nibble until it was freakishly purple, taking a fistful of his sweat-drenched hair and pulling his head so it lulled to the left. Her lips moulding against his jawline before she flicked her tongue of her earlobe.

“Fuck me harder, Harry,” she whispered lowly, full of need and the desire to have him pound deeply into her, “so much harder, baby. I need it. I need you.”

And he happily obliged, suddenly snapping his hips up. The tops of his fuzzy thighs colliding with the flesh of her bum, the flesh jiggling under the momentum of his bollocks, as he forced every single inch of himself back inside of her with one quick slam. A drawn out whine echoing around the room from her open mouth as she reached between their bodies and nudged her fingers against her tingling clit, eyes rolling back in euphoria as he wrapped his arms around her middle and he’d her close.

“Christ!” She cried out, “yes, Harry! Keep going.”

She whined at the sensation that was building between her thighs, her stomach clenching visibly and her arms flexing as she held onto him with one arm and continued working her clit with her free hand, her entire body far from relaxed as she let out one last shaky breath, lungs rattling with the effort of the air she’d been holding in, releasing her orgasm around him as his thrusts fell into a jagged rhythm. His cock nudging deep into the pit of her stomach, pressing deliciously into the spot inside of her that forced her legs to straddle him a little tighter than they already had been, as he felt himself twitch and plead for release.

“Fucking hell, you’re so good. Feel so warm and snug around me, don’t you, baby? So good at taking all of me in like the good girl that you are,” he crooned with a voice that was raw and desperate for hydration, his hips slowly retracting away from her and pulling his cock out, one tiny centimetre by one tiny centimetre, little by little, enticing a gasp from her mouth as she rolled off of his body and stretched out beside him. She knew what was coming and she always found his endings to be the best endings; always helped when leaving the viewers wanting more. He jumped to his knees and spread them at a shoulders width apart, the sheets rustling under his skin and the mattress creaking under his body weight, fingers wrapping around his slick cock, that was covered in a slimy coating of her arousal, and jerking himself off to finish his orgasm. His eyes darting between her wet cunt and her startled eyes. “Look at me, baby. Let me see those pretty eyes watch me when I cum.”

And, if there was one thing that YN had grown to realise, over the short few months of knowing him, it’s that when Harry cums, he cums hard.

In all of her pornographic career, she’d had her fair share of unique spunkers. She had this one guy who came short and quick when he orgasmed, like she was errand upon his list of many other dutiful errands, and tasted more saltier than she preferred; she had one guy who sprayed like a fountain and had rather watery orgasms, which she hadn’t ever seen before, that dribbled down her face in quick trickles; she had another who spurted aimlessly and hadn’t any control over any specific place on her body... but she wasn’t lying when she spoke about how much he fucked like the proper bloke she had always wanted to be fucked by; and she had one guy, who she never asked back to film scenes with her, because he had been into cumming deep in her throat, and she wasn’t comfortable with him around.

But Harry... Harry was something else entirely.

When he wore a rubber, because they liked to skip that part sometimes, he managed to fill it nice and full with his release, and to the point where it leaked thick dribbles onto his fingers when he tied a knot at the opening. When he spunked after YN gave him a blowjob or wanked him off in whatever position a producer had them start off in, he liked to take control when he was close so that he could swipe the tip of his cock across her cheek and paint her skin with his creamy substance, only so he could lick it from her flushed cheekbone and give her taste when she kissed him. When they fucked so deeply and so passionately, he liked to cum on her stomach and watch it glisten under the natural lighting that entered the room, smiling at how delicious she looked when she was covered in his release, before turning into the perfect gentleman and wiping her clean when the cameras were no longer rolling. And when he took part in projects based on solo masturbation (which she was an absolute sucker for), when he didn’t have her to jerk him off as he sat back and watched her tits bounce, he managed to keep his twitching cock under control with a tight fist that still allowed him the pleasure of an unruined orgasm, leaking down his hand and onto a towel folded up to capture any spills.

She felt droplets not only land upon her pubic bone,  ut also upon stomach and there was no doubt that some had landed in her belly-button, that some had missed her body completely and dispersed in the air, that some had flicked up and she had missed it land upon her chin or upon her cheek, that some caught in the material of her knickers and that some had definitely disappeared into his fist, for use as lube to smoothly jerk himself off. Painting her so messily and pushing the tip between her folds of skin before pulling away and hunching over her. Puffs of breath fanning over her lower stomach, and just the tops of her thighs, as he looked at the spunk that pooled between her thighs.

She shivered at the feeling of his tongue swiping up her folds. His wet flesh lapping up stripes against her wet flesh and the contact, the slurping and the moans were the only sounds that could be heard amongst the quiet room. Amplified because of the microphone but sounding so soft to their ears, like they were in a bubble and it was just the two of them as they revelled in the toe-tingling aftermath. Her fingers gripped at the sheets beneath her as her toes curled up, whimpers escaping her lips because his nose was in perfect place against her twitching clit. Lips soon attaching themselves as he worked on eating her like a feast. Lapping up every ounce of spunk that dribbled from between her walls, every slick puddle of her arousal that hid in her folds, every drop of a saliva and cum mixed concoction that left a distinguished taste on his tongue that he wanted more and more of.

He pulled away and looked up at her as she stared back at him with a smile on her face and a light behind her eyes that made her look pure, and her gentle cries of pleasure bounced off the walls as she slowly uncurled her toes. His cheeks and lips, and the underside of his nose, glistened under the natural light that filtered into the room and his tongue he’d the taste of both orgasms that he was desperate to show off to her.

“Tastes really nice. Always love how good you taste, baby,” he grinned cheekily, pushing up on his knees and leaning forward, hovering above her as he pressed a deep kiss to her lips. Open-mouthed and incredibly passionate and barely jerking away when her tongue found the inside, devouring every inch of his mouth as she, too, let the taste of their mixed releases linger on her tongue. “Lovely, right?”

“Delicious.”

[likethetailofacomet]

The Broken Bits, Chapter Three:

Remember Me

A/N: Bastien joins Drake and Claire for dinner and memories play a part in answering some questions that Drake has. Annabelle is reminded of all that she left behind and all that she might still get back. 

Pairings: Bastien x Annabelle, Drake x Claire 

Word Count: 3,022

Song: Remember Me, Augustana

Will you hear me blowing in the wind? Will it give you shivers down your skin? Will you stop and stare, wonder if I'm there? Will you think about me now and then?

The rocks crunched beneath the tires of Bastien’s car as he pulled off of the dirt road and into the long, secluded driveway that lead to the cabin. Thick evergreen trunks cropped up on either side with silver stars starting to dot the sky above, and before long he was met with the sight that had at one time been a staple in his life: the warm glow of the kitchen light through the window, two figures moving inside setting a table. He pulled up alongside the blue truck that was already parked in front and turned the engine off. The Walker home would always feel like home to him as well for all the times that Jackson and Bianca had welcomed him for weeknight dinners and holiday celebrations. He stepped out into the crisp night and headed up the path to the porch, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, a bottle of bourbon in the other.

As the car door closed with a heavy metallic thud, he saw Claire look up and wave through the window, a bright smile on her face. It brought a smile to his own pewter eyes, and he raised one elbow to wave back, both hands full. As he headed up to the front door he was hit with the memory of bringing Annabelle here for the first time; something in Claire’s wistful wave had stirred something that had been dormant for years. He felt a slight tightening in his throat and he recalled the way she’d nervously clutched his arm as they’d climbed the steps.

 “What if they don’t like me, Bas?” she’d asked.

“Not possible,” he’d said with a grin before leaving a quick kiss on her cheek. “Besides, you’ve met Jackson already.”

“Yeah, just…” she bit her lower lip and looked up at him as they paused on the steps.

“Belle,” he cupped the side of her face with his hand, fingers sliding behind her earlobe. Bastien looked into her eyes and for the first time in his life, he saw something that he was undeniably sure of. “Not possible,” he said again. She’d smiled and it reaffirmed what he’d seen in her eyes; that this was it, him and Annabelle, and that this was love.

The cool breeze blew through the dark boughs of the tall pines and took the memory away as quickly as it had come to him, leaving only the lingering feeling of her fingertips in the crook of his arm. He’d been thinking about her at lot in the past few months, as he transitioned from life with the King’s Guard to simply having his life to himself. It was an adjustment he was never sure he’d actually make, but one he’d been wishing for since the day he came home to her note. The end of all the things that were keeping him from her- from giving himself to her the way she wanted and deserved. The upcoming trip that Liam had planned for the council would be the last time Bastien provided his services as head of security, and then he would be truly free go to her. Before his thoughts could reach for her, the door swung open and Drake was there to greet him.

“Bas,” he greeted him with a grin. His tie was loosened but still around his neck, the top few buttons undone, and his sleeves were pushed up around his elbows.

“Hello, Drake,” Bastien smiled back and stepped through the door into the familiar surroundings of the living room.

Claire appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on a red checkered towel before swinging it over her shoulder. “Hi, Bas!” she exclaimed, all brightness as she snuck past Drake to hug Bastien. Her thin arms came around him before he could unload either of the items he was carrying, eliciting a chuckle as she squeezed him. “It’s so good to see you,” she said as she let go, Drake’s arm coming around her waist. They looked like a family and it made Bastien extremely happy.

“Claire,” he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, his coarse stubble scratching her smooth skin. “Always a pleasure to see you.” His eyes shone warmly as he extended the bouquet of red and white Amaryllis out to her. “Congratulations, Miss Cordonian citizen.” She had finalized her paperwork earlier that day, coming home with her new passport displaying Drake’s address as her new permanent residence.

Claire beamed as she took the flowers, bringing them to her nose to inhale their scent. “Thanks Bas,” she said, looking as happy as Bastien felt.

“And this is for you, Councilman,” he handed the bottle of leathery bourbon over to Drake, his eyes locked onto the younger man’s. He watched as Drake reached out and took it, eyes scanning the label. His Adam’s apple moved in his throat as he swallowed the ball of emotion that seeing that bottle brought on.

“Is this…” he asked, fingers curling around the neck of the bottle, already knowing the answer to the question. It was the same bourbon his father always kept around the house; the same that Jackson had toasted Bastien on his first night in the King’s Guard, and the same that Bastien still toasted him back with nearly every evening.

“He’s proud of you, Drake. And so am I.” Bastien stood watching as the look on Drake’s face changed to one of appreciation.

“Thank you,” was all Drake could say as the two shook hands, Bastien clapping him on his shoulder lightly. 

Claire headed back into the kitchen to put the flowers in water and finish with dinner as Drake and Bastien moved towards the table. They sat and Bastien asked Drake how his first day on the council was, Drake excitedly recounting his day. Claire listened in, smiling to herself as she doled out portions of hearty chili with freshly baked corn bread, passing them to Bas and Drake before taking a seat in front of her own bowl. The three dug in, enjoying the warmth of the fire that crackled pleasantly behind them in the next room. Bastien caught Drake glancing over at Claire smiling through a mouthful as she talked excitedly about passing her citizenship test, and watched as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. Happy. They’re just happy, Bastien thought, finishing his meal. It was all he wanted for them.

“Claire, that was excellent,” Bastien said when they had all finished, pushing his chair back from the table. “You’re quite the chef.”

“Glad you liked it,” she said brightly, rising to collect the bowls. “Old family recipe.” She stacked Drake’s bowl on top of hers and ran her hand along his shoulder as she passed behind his chair. He reached up and gripped her fingers, bringing them to his lips for a kiss. They locked eyes for a second and Drake’s lips twitched into a small smile. Bastien passed his empty bowl to Claire who thanked him and brought the dishes and silverware to the sink. She busied herself with cleaning up and putting away leftovers, packing a container for Bastien to take home with him as well. Drake cleared his throat as she turned the water on to start the dishes.

“Bas, I…I need to ask you something,” he said, leaning his elbows on the table top.

Bastien shifted in his chair keeping his eyes focused on Drake. “Sure,” he responded. “Everything alright?”

Drake nodded, took a breath and answered, “Yeah, everything is fine I just…” he shook his head. “Bas, when I was in the hospital…after the attack…before I was awake I…” he dragged a hand through his hair as Bastien sat quietly. “I had a dream.” He looked up as Claire shut the water off, coming back to sit next to him. She reached for his hand and he gave it to her, their fingers linking. “I saw my parents, I saw Claire,” he looked over to the woman he loved, his eyes softening as they fell on her face. “I saw you, too, Bas,” he said, looking back across the table at him. “And all that made sense to me, because you’re all the most important people in my life…because there were similarities…what happened to my father… and me…and Bas I saw you get hurt, too…and there was a woman.” Bastien felt his throat tighten, felt a stale, old nagging pain shoot through his chest as his heart pounded. “At first I couldn’t remember her name…but then I heard your voice...”

“Annabelle,” Bastien heard his own voice, felt the name scrape against his tongue as it left his mouth.

Drake nodded. “She must have been important to me…but I can’t remember how or why… who was she, Bas?”

Who was she? His thoughts swam with her; the soft contour of her lips as they pressed between his shoulder blades in the middle of the night; her long graceful fingers wrapped around a charcoal pencil and smudged with dark gray smears; the tingling way her laughter would catch the breeze and float through the air. Annabelle. Her whispered, breathy I love you, Bas. Her eyes full of tears and her voice full of pleading. Her absence.

Bastien sighed and scrubbed a rough hand over his face. “She’s the woman I love, Drake…she…she was my world…she’s my world.” Bastien felt his brow furrow and his heartbeat quicken, but then a wave of warmth washed over him as another memory seized his mind.

“Belle, let’s close up out here and…” he’d come into the small living room of their apartment after cleaning up the kitchen. They were babysitting Drake and Savannah while the Walkers celebrated their anniversary. He’d expected to find Annabelle tucking the children into their sleeping bags on the couches, perhaps bargaining with Drake to close his eyes. Instead he’d come in to find her sandwiched between two sleeping faces, Savannah’s fingers clasped tightly around Annabelle’s, Drake tucked under her arm and nestled against her side, her long copper hair cascading over them like a curtain. She was asleep, too, and Bastien was hit hard with how simple and beautiful and normal and right the whole scene looked. He looked around the living room at the easel in the corner where her latest painting stood, and the two pieces of sketchbook paper she’d taped on the wall for Drake and Savannah to paint on while she worked. His eyes fell on the empty popcorn bowl that they’d all shared while watching a movie after dinner, remembering the laughter that bubbled out of the three of them. This could be mine someday, he thought to himself as he leaned over her sleeping form to brush a kiss to her lips. She stirred awake, blinking her eyes open. “Hey,” he whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Hey,” she hummed, sitting up gingerly and unwinding her arm from around Drake. “They wouldn’t fall asleep without a story,” she explained, raking her fingers through Drake’s messy locks as his mouth fell open in sleep. She stood, turning back to pull the sleeping bags up over both of them before facing Bastien again.

“Let’s get some sleep, they’ll have us up early I’m sure,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple as he laced his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. All this could be mine, he thought to himself with a smile as he flicked the light off and lead her to bed, all this will be mine, someday.

“Bas?” Drake’s voice snapped him back to the present and he felt her slip from his thoughts again. He blinked and met Drake and Claire’s eyes.

“She loved you and your sister very much, Drake.” He said, truth keeping his voice even. “We…she and I, we used to watch you two for your parents sometimes and she,” he sighed, “she loved you. It makes sense that you saw her in your dream.”

“Where is she, Bas?” Claire’s voice was a curious whisper tinted with sadness as she read the emotion he was sure was clear in his eyes.

Bastien averted his eyes as he answered. “Paris…she…I wanted to marry her…but she wouldn’t while I was captain of the guard.” He shook his head. “She had a brother who she was very close with- Andrew- he was a few years older than her…He was a police officer and he was killed on the job,” his heart ached as he recalled the first time she told him about Andrew and the way her eyes had shattered into tears at just the mention of her brother’s name. “She was afraid of losing me that way…she said she couldn’t marry me while I lived in danger…said she’d wait for me in Paris…” He trailed off, looking out the window at the night sky, wondering if the sun was up yet where she was, casting pinkish light through the slats in the blinds and dancing in her hair.

“We’re set to travel to Paris on this trip with the council,” Drake said, knowing that Bastien had agreed to come along on the trip, lending his services one last time.

The silver-eyed man nodded. “Yes,” he said simply, and something in his tone told Drake not to press the matter further. “Maybe I’ll see her again.” The thought had been the only one swirling in his head for weeks. Maybe I’ll see her again, maybe I’ll love her again, maybe she’ll be mine again. It was the only thought that mattered, the only thought that scared him, the only thought that had his entire future hinging on it.

“Maybe,” Claire said, but there was hope in her voice, and strength, and Bastien knew she was trying to encourage him. It was working; Claire Berkley had a way of making even the most hopeless things seem possible.

He left Drake’s that night with her name echoing through his heart and his mind. Annabelle. I’m coming, Belle, I remember your promise…do you remember me?

.  .  . .  .  .  .  .

“That’s very good, Celine,” Annabelle stood behind her student, watching the way she blended blues and grays on the edge of her brush to add texture and depth to the canvas in front of her. The little girl’s hair was tied back, but there was a dab of yellow paint coloring the ends of her braid, and without warning she became Savannah Walker, perched on a stepstool in front of a taped up piece of paper on the wall, her fingers covered in purple and green. The flash changed and Celine was back, her toothy grin beaming up at her teacher, as Annabelle wiped the paint from her hair with a paper towel. “You’re improving, little dove.”

Later, as they were waiting for Celine’s mother to come get her from Annabelle’s apartment, Celine wandered around looking at the paintings and photographs that covered the walls. Occasionally she’d ask a question, “did you paint this, Belle?” “where are you in this picture?” “is this your family?”- the last question caught Annabelle’s attention and she spun on her heel to see the photo from her bedside table in Celine’s hand. Bastien, Liam, Drake and Savannah with sun on their shoulders and seawater in their hair and laughter on their faces. She could still see the way they smiled at her as she looked through the camera lens, could still feel the way the ocean was crashing in her chest as she imagined someday having all of that with him.

“As close to a family as I ever had,” she answered finally, noticing that Celine was still looking at her and holding the frame. “You remind me of the girl in that picture, little dove.”  She ruffled Celine’s hair, taking the frame from her and swallowing the knot in her throat.

“Where are they now, Belle?” she looked up expectantly. Children were always full of questions, and to them, all questions should have answers.

Annabelle sighed as the doorbell chimed announcing Celine’s mother’s arrival. “They grew up and flew off,” she said, moving to press the button on the panel near the door.

“Are they gonna fly home?” Celine clutched the painting she’d done that day.

“Maybe,” Annabelle looked at her contemplatively before her eyes darted out the window. She wondered where they all were now, wondered if they remembered her, if she was written in their hearts like they were in hers.

Celine smiled. “I hope so, Belle.”

“Me too, little dove,” Annabelle tapped Celine on the nose and gave her a smile. “Me too. Now, your mom is waiting. I’ll see you next week, okay?” The girl nodded, smiling wide to show off her missing teeth as she said goodbye and headed out into the hallway to meet her mother. Annabelle waved to the woman and watched as the little girl linked hands with her mother and they walked away chatting excitedly about Celine’s masterpiece.

“I want to give mine to Mommy and Papa!” Savannah announced proudly as Belle stood behind her at the bathroom sink, rubbing her hands together under the water. The white porcelain swirled with wisps of violet as the paint ran from Savannah’s fingertips and down the drain.

“They’ll love it, Savvy,” Belle assured her, shutting the faucet and wiping her hands off with a towel before turning to see if Drake needed help. She knew he wouldn’t, preferring to do everything for himself, the independent little apple. She felt Bastien’s eyes watching her as she helped the kids clean up, and she liked the way it felt. We could have this, someday. We will have this, she thought.

She closed the door and returned to her quiet apartment. Do you remember me, Bas? Do you remember the promises you wanted to make- the ones I didn’t let you keep? I remember. She felt a tear slip past her eyelashes as she allowed herself, just this once, to hope that he was coming for her. Remember me, she pleaded, please, remember me.

.  .  .  .  .  .  

Tagging: @ooo-barff-ooo @sleepwalkingelite @zaffrenotes @brightpinkpeppercorn @mind-reader1 @jovialyouthmusic @endlessly-searching-for-you @notoriouscs @endlesstaylormckenzie @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @akrenich @nekkidmolerat @indiacater @thequeenofcronuts @the-everlasting-dream @the-whiskeywife @roonarific @stopforamoment @mfackenthal @mkatschoicesblog @drakewalkerisreal @jlouise88 @drakesensworld @gibbles82 @iplaydrake @speedyoperarascalparty @bobasheebaby @carabeth

[antiquechampagne]

Mixed Media - Ch1 - Deja Vu

Watching the way the dining room light danced on the surface of the diamonds facets, Rita idly spun her wedding ring around her finger with her right hand. She was having a hard time concentrating on her son’s prattling; something about another kid in his first grade class. Her stomach lurched.

“Isn’t that funny, mom?” Jackson asked, turning to her.

Snapping back to reality, all Rita could manage was, “Oh… yeah. Sure.”

“Are you feeling alright?” Declan put his fork full of spaghetti down.

Rita had to ruminate for a moment on her husband’s question. She had felt off most of the day, but it was only at dinner that her stomach had really began to bother her. As she concentrated on her body, she could sense the beginnings of a migraine starting to burrow its way into her brain.

“I’m sorry, hon,” Rita rubbed her temples. “I haven’t felt good most of the day.”

“Why don’t you take it easy on the couch with your tea? We can handle the rest of dinner, can’t we, chap?”

“Sure.” Jackson nodded. Rita rose from the table and headed to the living room. “I hope you feel better, mom.”

“Thanks, guys.” She patted his shoulder. “I hope so too.”

Rita spent the next half an hour listening to the distant clink of silverware, the tea doing nothing for her turbulent state of health. Next, she heard the sink in the kitchen and laughter as her family cleaned up after their meal. Soon after, Declan leaned through the doorway to check on her.

“The TV isn’t on? You must really be sick if you aren’t even gaming. Guess that means you won’t be writing tonight either.”

Rita shook her head. Even if she had felt up to it, she had been suffering for writers block for over a week. Sitting at a computer was not in her cards tonight.

“Maybe it was the sweet rolls Tracey brought in.” She frowned. “My stomach is flopping around like a fish.”

“Why don’t you go to bed? You look like hell. I’ll take Jack up to the park for an hour or so before bed. It should keep us out of your hair and knock him out.”

Rita really wanted to refuse, to try to help Declan out with their nighttime routine, but she knew better. She was no help in the state she was in.

Trailed by her husband, Rita slipped into bed. Declan placed a glass of water and her cellphone on the nightstand, just in case she needed to get ahold of them at the park.

“Feel better, Love.” He said as the door closed behind him, leaving her in the dark. She only allowed herself to relax once she heard the front door close, the whole house silent in her family’s absence. Slowly, Rita drifted off to an uneasy sleep.

Rita woke from the blackness, her body jostling side to side. A cool breeze chilled her face. Thinking she might have left a window open, Rita slowly opened her eyes. It took a few blinks to register the tall green conifer trees passing by, breaking up a hazy sky. The rough wooden seat dug into her legs through her thin pajama pants. She tried to wipe her face, only to find her hands bound together. Why could she hear the clopping of horse hooves?

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.”

Rita’s eyes focused on the man across from her. He looked to be clothed in something from a renaissance festival, with long blond braided hair and bushy facial hair. The last remnants of her headache retreated from her mind.

“You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.”

Rita groaned, cutting off the grumbling thief. “You have got to be kidding me. That’s it… No more 6-hour Skyrim streams on a work night. This dream has great resolution though.”

A soldier clothed in red armor shouted back at the group. “Shut up back there!” he ordered.

The thief, shivering in his rags, turn to the man sitting next to Rita. “And what’s wrong with him?”

Before the chatty prisoner could answer, Rita cut in.

“Don’t worry, I got this…” She pointed as best she could to each man as she talked. “Your name is Lokir, a horse thief from Rorikstead. He’s Ralof, a Stormcloak soldier from Riverwood, that guy next to me is the big shot himself, Ulfric Stormcloak.” The three men stared at her, sitting there in front of them rolling her eyes. She shrugged. “If you are going to be in a meme-dream, you might as well shake things up a bit. Am I right? Do you even have any idea how many times I have restarted my character in this game?”

Lokir broke out of his trance first. “Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?”

Rita jumped in again. “Helgen. Here’s a free tip, Lokir. If you don’t run, maybe you'll live past the tutorial.”

“Well then, what village are you from, stranger?” a confused Ralof asked.

“Indianapolis.”

“Never heard of such a place.”

“I’m not from around here.”

Ralof waxed poetic, the gravity of his words worn thin on Rita's ears. “A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.”

The cart rounded the bottom of the hill, steadily rolling through the rocky walls of Helgen.

A guard called out. "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"

Rita had heard these words so many times before; she ignored most of them. Instead focusing on the world around her. She could smell the cooking fires of the barracks and homes they passed mixing with the smell of the animals. Birds sang, their songs echoing off the masonry and high mountain peaks above their heads. The bounce of the cart rolling over the cobblestones was making her back ache. As they pulled up to the small square in front of Helgen's main tower, Rita was transfixed momentarily at the detail of the thatched roofs that surrounded her.

The cart began to slow.

Rita was brought by to the present by the thief's shaking voice. "Why are we stopping?"

"Why do you think?' Ralof answered. "End of the line." The cart came to an abrupt stop. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

"I wonder why there isn't ambient music. It's so weird without it." Rita shook her head.

Lokir pleaded with the soldier to no avail. "No! Wait! We're not rebels!" Each of them were roughly shooed out of the cart.

"Face your death with some courage, thief." Rolaf admonished.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" Lokir's nerves were shot. He shifted his weight back and forth on his feat, itching for any opening.

An Imperial Commander in front of them barked out an order. "Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time!"

Next, she leaned over to Ralof, "Empire loves their damn lists, am I right?" Ralof cocked an eyebrow down at her.

An Imperial with a list read out the first name. "Ulfric Stormcloak, jarl of Windhelm." Ulfric strode defiantly across the cobbles.

Ralof stood proudly, watching his commander go."It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfic!"

The roll call continued. Ralof was next to be called forward. Rita knew who was next. Rita leaned close to Lokir.

"Dude, Lokir... don't run. They’re just going to shoot you." She could tell he wasn't listening. He looked like a rabbit cornered and scared, eye wide and breathing fast.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Faster than Rita had remembered, he bolted across the courtyard.

"HALT!" the Captain commanded.

Full of adrenaline and terror, Lokir taunted back, "You're not going to kill me!"

Rita rolled her eyes as the order was issued for the archers to stop Lokir's escape.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The Imperial Captain scanned the crowd, daring each of them to test the aim of those under her command.

The Imperial soldier with the checklist looked Rita up and down as he checked his list.

"Wait. You there. Step forward. Who are you?"

Rita left the line. "Well, I don't look much like a Khajiit this time, do I?"

"Enough with the funny business. Where do you hail from?"

"I don't think you have where I am from on any map around here."

"You are trying my patience, prisoner."

Rita raced through the possibilities. "I guess I would be a Breton, I suppose?"

"Name."

"Rita Edwards."

He turned to his commander. "Captain. What should we do? She's not on the list."

"Forget the list. She goes to the block."

Rita followed as the Captain instructed, straining her ears, filtering out those who spoke around her. A shape caught her eye. The soldier nearest the wall had a sword strapped to his belt, but something about it stuck out to her. It took a moment for her to realize it was the wrong kind of sword. The hilt and pommel glinted gold in the sun, the blade straight. It was a Chinese officer sword.

"That shouldn't be there..." Rita didn't have time to contemplate it as a distant roar echoed off the mountains. She could hardly repress a smile.

"What was that?" the soldier asked.

The boring dialog droned on. Rita looked to the sky, catching glimpses through the trees and buildings of a foreboding shape nearing the town. She was so distracted she didn't notice her name being called. A soldier roughly shoved her forward, towards the chopping block, the stone already bloodied from the prisoner before her. She hesitated. Being this close to so much blood turned her stomach worse than her dinner had. A coppery-sweet scent wafted to her nose as she was shoved to her knees.

"Can't we just skip this part?" This was entirely too real for her. A pair of meaty hands pressed her head to the stone, soaking the side of her face in still-warm blood.

"Come on, Alduin..." Rita muttered under her breath as the headsman raised his axe.

Right on cue, a giant dragon landed on the top of the tower. Screams and shouts filled Rita's ears. Fire rained down, setting the town a blaze, scattering people in every direction. All this Rita had expected... what she didn't understand was why the wrong dragon had attacked Helgen. Alduin wasn't calling down meteor showers or unleashing an unrelenting force. Instead, a blight-heralding archdemon sat above them breathing down fire, resplendent with its corrupt leathery purple-black skin. It was the wrong dragon.

"What the fuck, Todd?!"

[eyoricka]

dreamy vacation

Summary: This is prompt 4 “When we laugh into the microphone and sing with our sunglasses on, to our favorite song” (Nothings gonna hurt you baby by Cigarettes After Sex) 

Words: 2400

Warnings: none

You finally managed to get vacation for more than a week and at the same time as your boyfriend. You had been dating for years now and that was the first time that it happened. You were so happy that it was hard for you to contain your joy even during inconvenient moment such as professional meetings. Theseus was really better at hiding his excitement but as soon as he got home he would checked at the luggage, read books about what you could do, counted down to you the days before your departure. When the D day came Theseus woke you up with a huge grin like a little kid and you reflected his expression. You insisted to take a breakfast, Theseus argued that it was a loss of time and you shook gently your head in a no, insisting that it was important and you had plenty of time now. Plus your portkey was ready at eleven and not before. He accepted the plate of eggs and hash browns and ate quickly which made you chuckled. After a last check at everything you left your house with a smile plastered on your face. you couldn’t help but walk quickly to the portkey even if your baggage were heavy.

As you arrived at the hotel you admired your surroundings. The sun was warmer than in London however it wasn’t too hot either. A perfect weather for a perfect place for perfect vacations.  You checked the time and decided to grab a lunch. The groom advised you to go to a local restaurant to enjoy a real Casado. You noted the address and tried to not get lost around San Jose. After the delicious meal Theseus asked you what you wanted to visit first and you thought. You were hesitating between the visit of the Mercado Central to taste a real coffee, the Museo nacional de Costa Rica or the national theater to see a play. After some moment of indecision you decided to visit the Mercado Central and go to the museum the following day and watch a play on the evening. Theseus agreed with your plan and the two days in the capital were really interesting and instructive.

After those two days Theseus apparated you both to a small cottage in the village next to the natural park of Manuel Antonio. It was said that it was the smallest but best park to explore the locale fauna. Theseus was really fond of magical creatures however he was still astonished by the diversity of normal animals. And you, since your childhood, loved animals so much, you were a huge fan of Newt’s work and had worked under his supervision when you were younger, that is how you had met Theseus. Since when you arrived you were a bit tired you decided to take a day of at the Playa Espadilla Sur. From where you were laying on the sand you notice the savage path that led to the tropical forest. You had taken a book with you and you were focused on the action when you felt warm hand on you back massaging you. you let out a hum of satisfaction and heard Theseus chuckled. “I bet you forgot to put some sunscreen on” your giggle was the only answer he needed since he continued to massage you. he took your book away and you frowned however it was soon replaced by a smile when he kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your shoulders and finally your lips. As he deepened the kiss you noticed that he had let your book and you discreetly grabbed it with one hand while the other was playing with his curls. You then broke the embrace and managed to find your page. Theseus stared at you with a playful smile “Is a book more interesting than your marvelous boyfriend?” You laughed before replied “I was about to discover if Leon would become the second lover of Emma, that a crucial moment! And by the way I would say that you are marvelous. Average in the best case.” Theseus fake-pouted but he stopped as soon as you brushed some curls away from his forehead, he couldn’t resist when you were doing that.

You woke up really early to avoid the other tourists and truly enjoyed the calm nature in the park. You groaned a bit complaining that it was too much to have to wake at that time during holydays. Theseus told you to say a bit more in bed and he would cook the breakfast. A part of you wanted to stand up and avoid the upcoming catastrophe of Theseus trying to cook something else than pasta and rice. Since the last evening he was determined to master the cooking of grilled plantain bananas and you anticipated the result. However you were too tired to prevent that mess and you let him try the recipe as you fall back to sleep. The second time you woke up an agreeable smell was shrouding the house and you walked to the kitchen to find a plate full of plantain bananas, patacones (fried plantain bananas) and a warm cup of coffee. You looked at him weirdly and he sent you a proud smile saying “you see I know how to cook, stop underestimated me”.  you sat and he pushed the plate before you. you carefully took a bit of the bananas and it actually tasted very good. “did you really cook that alone?” “Duh, who do you think I am?” “The guy who almost put the house on fire while trying to do a sunny side up eggs.” He rolled his eyes but didn’t add a word. As you helped him to clean the kitchen you opened the fridge and found a box full of patacones and grilled bananas with a note in Spanish. It was signed by the chef of the restaurant you went the previous day and explained how to reheat the food. You busted into a roar of laughter when you saw Theseus guilty face as he noticed you read the paper. “Nice try, next time hide the evidence, would be useful to not get caught, didn’t you learn that in your auror training?” he kissed you to shut you up and when he broke the embrace he said “high time to leave to visit the park, get ready!” You quickly did as he asked you and you walked excitedly to the forest. Everything was beautiful, so pure like primal state of the nature, like nothing had changed since the creation of the earth. You were in an awe, you heard Theseus joked “it seems that this place is full of you” as he showed you some sloths. You stuck your tongue out and prepared to reply something but then you noticed some armadillo. You were lost in your contemplation. After a while like that, the auror grabbed your hand and you continued to walk. There were colorful parrots, howler monkeys, iguanas, pelicans… it was like the Garden of Eden. A living dream.

After few reposing days you decided to go to the Turrialba volcano considering that all the locals told you that the view was absolutely magnificent. You spent few hours at the national park next to the volcano. You were wearing warm clothes to prevent you from the coldness at the peak of the volcano. The walk to the peak of it was supposed to last four hours, you had decided to leave at ten am, do a break for a nice pick nick and then walk two hours again to be on the top around two pm. The first two hours went well and the lunch was rather good. You enjoyed the fresh air and walking hands in hands with Theseus, it was a perfect moment. However after the lunch as you were happily walking, you tripped on the floor and let out a scream of pain. Your boyfriend rushed to you and asked you if you were okay. You nodded but winced when you stood up, you realized that you would certainly have a bruise. Theseus didn’t seem to be fully convinced by your words when you said you were okay. As you continued to walk he regularly stopped to check if you were really okay. It was a bit annoying but you found it cute, he really cared about you and that made your heart melted. Ten minutes before arriving to the top you had an idea. You looked at your boyfriend with puppy eyes and asked with a voice you knew he couldn’t resist to “I am a bit tired of walking, can I have a piggy back?” he remained silent pretending that he was thinking but judging the look on his face you were sure that he already had made his decision. He nodded and let you install yourself conformably. He carried you to the top and he giggled a bit when he felt your fingers played with the back of his hair, or the kisses you left on his neck. As you arrived at the top he let you down and you enjoyed the view, it was truly wonderful, you never imagined that a country could have such beautiful landscape, it was so different from England, more preserved, no one touched it for the moment, you wished it would stay like that forever. You couldn’t help but exclaimed “That the most beautiful view I’ve ever seen!!” “oh really I thought that the most beautiful view you’ve ever seen was me leaving the shower with only a towel wrapped around me.” You playfully rolled your eyes at him and punched his arm. He rose an eyebrow at you and a smirk grew on his lips. That was a bad sign and you wondered what he was going to do. He didn’t let you a lot of time to think as he tickled you. you begged him to stop but he acted like he was hearing you. “Please… Theseus, have mercy!” you shrieked between two laughter. “Maybe I will have some but you have to prove me that you deserve my mercy” you refrained a snarky comment and instead went for a “But babe you know I was joking, you are obviously the most beautiful view of this world, nothing can compare your beauty, not even that landscape or the seven wonders.” He eventually stopped and replied “You see when you want, you can say the truth even if you certainly did too much with the seven wonders.” After that you both stayed silent for while just enjoying the moment before finally heading back to your hotel.

You spent the last few days in a cute cottage on the beach of Penca. The sand was white, there were coconut trees, the sea was azure, it was like a painting. There were many people either and you felt a bit like two explorers discovering a retired island. Since there were few surfers and you told how this sport was sexy to your opinion Theseus decided to impress you and took some classes with the surfers already there. it was truly funny to see him trying to keep his balance on the board and miserably failed each time. you had rarely laughed some much during an afternoon. As he realized that he was not impressing you and rather ridiculous he thanked the guys and jogged towards you with an upset face. he didn’t have the habit to fail, he was one of the most brilliant wizard of his generation and he couldn’t admit that a simple board on waves was resisting to him. he grumped and complained all the rest of the evening saying that it was a stupid sport, not interesting…  After a while he stopped his rambling and insisted to go for a swim with you. the water was crystal clear and as you were swimming you could see the sand, your feet… you were lost in your contemplation when you felt a splash of water on your skin. You faced Theseus and he splashed you even more. You replied to his war declaration and splashed him even more. From afar you certainly looked like two children or young people living their teenage dream and honestly that is how you felt. He grabbed you by the waist and threw you in the water. As you were falling in the water you managed to grip him by the arms and he fell too. As you emerged from the water you ran to the beach and he followed you running too. He was faster than you and joined you rapidly. He wrapped his arms around your waist spun your around to hug you.

The rest of your holidays flew away quickly and as you were back in London you cherished those moments of your life. The years went on and your boyfriend became your husband and then the father of your children. You grew old together and never stopped loving each other. You were both with your grandchildren talking about your best memories and naturally you both recounted those vacations and when they asked you your best memory of that day you began to tell the story of how you learn to snorkel and the beautiful water creatures you had swum with. Theseus hesitated a while, he said that he couldn’t only pick one memory but after some insistence he said “ Y/N do you remember our last night in that beach bar when we laugh into the microphone and sing with our sunglasses on, to our favorite song? I am sure that the moment I realized I could never live without you and I needed you forever in my life, that the moment I decided that I had to marry you and never let you go. I think it is one of my favorite moment of my life and I am happy to have live it with you, I am happy that I had a life full of happy moments with you. I loved you, I love you and I will never stop loving you.” “I love you too Theseus”. You kissed him and he kissed you back and you stop giggling when you heard your grandchildren screamed “gross!”

[quagmireisadora]

For the 30 day prompt challenge, could you make a fic out of 'In my loneliness, the last image of you, was so beautiful' (Taemin- Solider) onho please?

A/N: Based on this song

Jinki drinks.

There is nothing to do in a place like this besides drinking. Day and night mind their own business, chasing after one another, but Jinki doesn’t let their meaninglessness bother him anymore. 

When he first landed here he’d thought it would help to make a routine out of it, to wake up at first light and to tuck himself in as soon as the horizon is gilted orange. At first, he’d been optimistic about the turn of events–building himself a shack, extending it piece by piece until it grew into a full-blown home; proactively making tools to fish and hunt and reach the tallest fruit in the tallest trees. At first he had hope of being found if he burned enough fires and scribbled enough signs in the sand. 

But the truth of it is that he is alone on this island, and no one will ever find him. So what does it matter how he spends his days? What difference does it make how he dies? 

So Jinki drinks.

He drinks until he wakes up under the charring afternoon light, his skin crackling like cooked meat and his eyes burning with salt. He drinks to forget the last meal he ate, the last dream he had, the last breeze that soothed his burnt flesh. He drinks to forget who he is, and why is here, and how long he has before he is no more. He drinks to forget, and when the effects wear off, he curses his mind for remembering everything clearly.

It was a small boat, with only two people on it. 

It was a luxury liner, really, and when Jonghyun invited him for a short trip around the southern islands, Jinki couldn’t refuse. He hadn’t been surprised to find the inside lined with all sorts of alcohol–old wines and expensive scotch and exotic rum. Jonghyun was an enthusiast, but hardly ever drank. “I like the shape of the bottles more than the taste of the contents,” he’d revealed another one of his funny quirks one night over dinner and a beer whose name neither could pronounce.

The trip had been largely uneventful. They’d taken off of a private dockyard in Jeolla-do, driving there from the city and leaving the car in a parking garage for the next three days. Jinki had commented on how lucky they’d been to pick the best day of the year to go out to sea. Once out on the sapphire waves, they’d fished for a while, intending to barbecue when they returned. They’d lain on the deck under moonlight, cracking open a can each and laughing at terrible memories from high school. They’d sped around some of the smaller islands along the coast of Yeosu-si, Jonghyun pointing out the names of each green dot in the distance as he steered them around the area. 

It was only when they’d decided to turn around that the weather had turned, as well. Turned against them, bashing into their sides and swinging them to and fro, like a child carelessly waving its dolls. They’d tried to look for land in the storm, and they’d found it. But the surrounding ring of rocks had roughly thrown the vessel around, capsizing it and everything on it.

When Jinki first came to, he screamed his lungs raw until he accepted that Jonghyun would not answer because he could not hear. 

He has lost count of how long he has been here. It is definitely more than a year, but also definitely less than five. He has no mirror but the sun leaches life from him everyday. He may have aged beyond recognition, or he may have burnt into another person. So even if they were to stumble upon him on a rescue boat, after all this time, and take him home, Minho wouldn’t recognize him.

So Jinki drinks. 

The heap of bottles that remains from their journey is a reminder that Jinki was alive once - had a home to return to once, had a family once, had a hand his own puffy palm would fit in once. They are a reminder of soft pillows and warm blankets and sweet utterances of goodnight. They are a reminder of freshly cut grass, and the shade of azaleas, and Minho’s noisy cooking in the kitchen. They are a reminder of heavy books, of solid chairs, of sincere promises to make his favorite side dishes just the way his mom did. Those wretched bottles are all that remains to assure him that he was a husband and a father and son, and he loved and cared for - was loved and cared for in return. 

Jinki drinks because no matter how many seas he fights, how many breaths he holds, how many miles he dreams; it doesn’t matter how much hope he pretends to have. There is no hope. “Lost at sea”, is what the police report will call him and Jonghyun. Minho will trawl along the coast of the entire nation, looking out to sea for any sign of a returning yacht, but there is no hope. Their kids will spend birthdays asking after appa, spend weekends wondering why he hasn’t come home yet, why he hasn’t come home in a long time. There is no hope. He digs lines on the nearest tree bark, cuts his hand on a sharp piece of shell, binds the wound with a leaf, goes back inside his shack and lies down on the floor as his empty stomach feels even emptier than it did before he ate. There is no hope. In a few days he will be too weak to walk, and when crawling fails him, he will no longer move. Perhaps many years later they will find him curled in a ball here, feel awe that someone could live even in a remote place like this island. Perhaps they will see the empty bottles on the beach and feel pity for him, perhaps they will see his empty home and wish they’d come sooner. 

Jinki drinks because what can he do but drink?

The sand digs into his side. The salt razes his breath. The hay of his hut droops downwards. Outside, high tide crashes on the rocks. Minho’s fingertips smooth over his forehead, brush his hair back and place a reverent kiss on his temple. His breath fogs on Jinki’s cheek and leaves it feeling moist. He quietly sheds a tear for himself.

Some distance to the east, a search boat blares its horn.

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

Mistletoe - Eomer

An Advent Calendar of Fics!

I’ve been watching the extended editions all weekend, so I’m right in the mood for this fic. I’ve been working on this for hours, whoops!

Pairing: Eomer x Reader Synopsis: Eowyn leaves the reader and Eomer alone so that they may reacquaint themselves. Word Count: 2,726

Songs that inspired this fic: Something There // This is My Idea // Across the Stars

The air was cold, and as you approached the steps of Edoras, you could not wait to get in front of a warm fire with your friend, Eowyn. Now that the war was over, and life had returned to normal, you decided to come visit her before her wedding to Lord Faramir. 

At the gate, a Rohirrim guard let you into the halls of Meduseld, and took your horse. You waited patiently, staring at the empty throne. When last you had been in Rohan, King Theoden sat upon the throne; now his seat was filled by Eomer, Eowyn’s older brother. 

It was hard for you to imagine Eomer ruling from the throne. When you last saw him, he was still picking on you and Eowyn, and cared more about fighting than anything else. It had been years since then, but it was hard to imagine Eomer as a man, and not as the twelve year old boy who chased you around the fields surrounding Rohan. 

“Y/N? Oh, it really is you!” Eowyn broke you from your travel down memory lane, and the young blonde woman came rushing into the room. You smiled and she hugged you tightly. 

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you,” she said. “It’s so nice to see you back in Rohan.”

“You’ll have to get used to Gondor soon enough.” She laughed, and flipped her hair behind her shoulders. In that brief moment, two men started walking towards the throne from across the room. Eowyn turned, and together you looked and saw Faramir and Eomer, with the latter sitting down upon the throne. 

“Come,” Eowyn said, leading you towards the king. Faramir hugged you in greeting, and when you turned to Eomer, he took in a deep breath. It seemed that his kingship had yet to fit him. 

“My lord,” you said, falling to one knee. Eomer laughed and stood up.

“Please, there’s no need, Y/N. I still remember those days when I would fight with you and Eowyn. We are even.” You laughed and looked up at his kind eyes. “Welcome back to Rohan.”

“Thank you.” Eowyn wrapped her arms around yours, and smiled at her older brother. 

“You seem to have business here, I’ll just get Y/N warmed up before a fire.” He nodded at her, and Faramir looked lovingly at her as she dragged you away. 

“You seem very happy, my friend,” you said, sitting down on the chaise lounge chair with Eowyn. She smiled, and hid her face behind her hand. 

“I only wish you could share in my happiness.”

“What do you mean? I am very happy. I’m here with you.” She laughed and shook her head. 

“That’s not what I mean. I want you to be as happy as I am with Faramir.” You blushed slightly and looked over at the fire. “You know, I used to think that someday you would end up with my brother.”

“You’re joking,” you said, laughing out loud.

“I’m not. There was always a spark between you two, even when we were kids.”

“Eowyn, I only knew Eomer as a kid. I don’t know him as the King of Rohan.”

“Well, he hasn’t changed much. He still loves his horse, his men, and bossing me around.”

“He does that because he also loves you.”

“I suppose you’re right. But it wouldn’t be awful for the two of you to get to know each other again.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Great, I’ll arrange it then,” she said, smiling a little too eagerly.

“Is that why you invited me here?” you asked. She tried to fight off her smile, but couldn’t, and ended up laughing.

“I did miss you, Y/N.”

That next morning, Eowyn’s full plan came into play. You sat at a breakfast table with she, Faramir, and Eomer. Ever few moments, Eowyn stole a glance to Faramir, who looked at her with a smile. 

“Eomer,” Eowyn said, breaking the silence. “Isn’t Y/N’s dress lovely?” Eomer looked up from his food, and glanced at you. You blushed slightly, and glared at Eowyn.

“Yes.”

“I would like to have one like it, I think. For the wedding. Y/N tells me that these dresses take a long time to be made.”

“Do they?” he asked, barely paying attention.

“Yes. And with the weather getting worse, I would like to get my order in as soon as possible.”

“As you should.” Eomer continued to stare down at the bowl in front of him, and Eowyn’s smile was stretching across her face.

“I’m so glad you agree. Faramir and I will be traveling to Gondor today.”

“You’ll what?!” you and Eomer asked at the same time.

“But I only just got here,” you said, glaring at Eowyn slightly.

“I know. But I really want to get this dress. You understand, don’t you?” The men looked over at the two of you, and you knew you couldn’t refuse.

“Of course. I could show you right where it is-”

“No, please, stay here,” she said, still smiling at you. “Eomer can make sure you feel welcomed, can’t you brother?”

“Well, I do have some things to attend to, Eowyn. Perhaps it might be better if she went with you.”

“Oh please. She can entertain herself for a few hours or so. Just show her around Rohan.” You and Eomer exchanged a brief look, and then turned back to Eowyn. 

“I suppose.”

“Great. Then it’s settled. We’ll leave right now.”

“Right now, my lady?” Faramir asked.

“Yes. Are you not ready?”

“No, of course.”

“Then we shall be on our way,” she said, standing. “Will you both see us out?”

“Of course,” you said, standing. The four of you walked out into the freezing cold weather, where Eowyn and Faramir’s horses were waiting. “I see you’ve been planning this for quite some time.”

“It’ll be fine, my dear old friend, it’ll be nice for the two of you to have some bonding time.”

“I’m sure,” you said, smiling forcefully up at her as she mounted her horse.

“I shall send word to you once we arrive,” Eowyn said, looking to her brother.

“Travel safe.”

“Keep her in good company.”

“I shall,” he said, kissing her hand. “Faramir shall do the same for you, I hope.” She smiled at her fiance and nodded.

“He will.” He looked at her with a smile, and they rode off together. As the left Edoras, Eomer looked over at you, and laughed painfully. 

“They did this on purpose.”

“They most certainly did,” you said, shaking your head. 

“I do not wish to be rude, but I do have some things to take care of. I could join you for dinner tonight?”

“That will be fine, my lord.”

“Eomer, please,” he said. You nodded and he let out a breath. “My people are at your service. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, my lady.”

“Y/N.” He nodded and a true smile crept upon his face. 

“I shall see you tonight, Y/N.”

“My lady?” A knock came from your door, and you told the lady in waiting to come in. She was a young girl with fiery red hair, which made her stand out very much in the thralls of Rohan women.

“Hello.”

“I’m here to assist you. Lady Eowyn said you might need help with a dress?” You looked down at the one you were wearing and shrugged. 

“I’m not sure I need it.”

“She picked out a few for you to look at.” She beckoned for someone down the hall, and another two women came in, carrying dresses in the most extravagant fabrics and colors.

“Naturally. I assume that she told you not to take no for an answer either?” The lady smiled and looked down at her toes. “Do as you must.”

As you made your way back to the golden hall, you were wearing a finer dress that you had worn before. You felt a little foolish, knowing that Eomer would be wearing exactly what he was wearing this morning, but there was no stopping Eowyn when she set her mind to a task. 

Eomer was talking to Gamling when you came in, but glanced up at you when he heard your steps. He did a double take, and turned away from the map that he and Gamling were studying. 

“Hello.”

“Hi,” you said, walking into the room. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, no,” Eomer said, glancing back at the older man who was walking away. “I just lost track of time.”

“That’s alright.” He led you over to the table, and pulled out a chair for you. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said as he sat down across from you. A dinner had been set for the two of you, and you had a feeling that Eowyn had something to do with the elegance of the meal. 

“It’s strange to see you sit in the throne. In all of my life I never pictured that you would be the one who ruled Rohan.”

“No?” he asked, looking over at you inquisitively. 

“I of course assumed Theodred would be king, and if not, I assumed Eowyn would wiggle her way into there at some point.” Eomer laughed heartily and you smiled.

“Well, try as she might, the throne is mine.”

“And do you like being king?” He sighed and looked at you for a while as he thought.

“It’s not something I like, but something I must do. I’m not used to leading more than a few hundred men, save an entire realm.”

“Well your people seem to think you’re doing a fine job,” you said. He smiled and glanced down at the food in front of him. 

“I appreciate that, but I don’t know if I will ever be as good a leader as my uncle.”

“Well you have your time to find out.”

“And you?” he asked, smiling at you slightly. “Do you like where you are?”

“Being a lady in the household of King Elessar is wonderful, but it’s not where I pictured myself either.”

“And where did you imagine yourself?”

“Somewhere where my voice mattered.”

“Aragorn takes your opinion very seriously.”

“As much as he appreciates my opinion, my words don’t weigh much in terms of a king’s.” Eomer frowned and you shook your head. “I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“You shouldn’t worry about the impact you are making on your people’s lives.”

“A king must.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you said, taking a drink of your goblet. Eomer chuckled and took a drink of his.

Two days hence, Eomer called you into the throne room to show you the letter that Eowyn had sent. In it she detailed that they had arrived in Gondor, and had ordered the dress, but the weather seemed just too bad, and she would have to wait until it was finished to return.

“In it, she signs, ‘I hope you are getting along splendidly,’“ Eomer said, looking up at you playfully. You laughed and took the note from his hands, smiling at the kind, but eager words of Eowyn. 

“So she’ll be home by the end of the week,” you said, pulling your braid over your shoulder. 

“Yes.”

“Then we must make sure we are getting along splendidly in that time.” You laughed and Eomer stood from his throne. “Care for a walk, my lady?”

“Y/N is fine,” you said, taking his outstretched arm. 

“I know.” You picked up the train of your dress, and walked with him down the hall. 

“Where are we going?”

“I enjoy your company, I thought you might come with me to a meeting with my men. I would like to have your input.”

“You would?” you asked, looking up at him. He met your gaze and nodded.

“Absolutely.” You blushed slightly and looked at your destination.

“What are you meeting about?”

“Defenses and things.” You laughed.

“I would love to be of assistance.” He opened the door to a room a little off the throne room, and nearly all of the men of his company stood in the door. You clenched a little, and he pulled you into the room.

“I want you here. I want to hear what you have to say,” he whispered. “I have brought the Lady Y/N to provide council on our meeting. I take great heed in her words, as should you.”

“It’s snowing beautifully out,” you said, walking into the throne room. Eomer looked up from his papers and smiled at you.

“Is it?”

“Yes,” you said, moving to one of the windows. The snow was falling down softly, but in big flakes. “We should go for a ride.”

“I agree.” You looked back at him, not expecting that immediate response, and he was already standing. “Although the snow is pretty thick, you should probably ride with me.”

“Should I?” you asked with a smirk, walking closer to him. 

“Yes,” he said, more confidently now. You smiled and met his eye. 

“Okay. Let’s go for a ride.”

Eomer led his horse to the steps of Meduseld, and smiled at you as you walked down the steps. He mounted first, and then took your hand and helped you sit in front of him. You positioned your dress carefully before taking off.

Eomer’s strong arms were around you, holding the reigns of his steed. When Eowyn returned tomorrow, you would not tell her that you imagined what it would be like to always have those arms around you. 

You both knew that Eowyn and Faramir would be returning tomorrow, and although you would be overjoyed to see your friend, you had enjoyed getting to know each other. Asking Eomer to go on this ride with you only meant that you could spend a little more time together before Eowyn stuck her nose into things as she usually did.

When Eomer reached the edge of the forest, he stopped his horse, and jumped down. He grabbed onto your waist, and you tried to keep the gasp held within as he brought you down. He held out his arm and you took it again.

“Eowyn will be returning home tomorrow,” he said. 

“Yes. Are you glad?”

“I always wish to see my sister, but-”

“But?” you asked, looking up at him as you moved through the snowy forest. 

“But I have enjoyed our time together as well.”

“As have I. It’s nice to spend time without your sister arranging everything.”

“Without her, though, we may never have had this time.”

“Well, she always said we were destined to be.”

“She did?” he asked, looking down at you. You blushed, and looked down at the snow.

“She did.”

“And what do you think?” he asked, coming to a stop. You thought of what to say, and looked up at the trees, hoping to stall. When you did, you noticed something very peculiar. “Y/N?”

“Look, on that branch,” you said quietly, pointing up at the blooming green, and white berries of the mistletoe hanging above your heads.

“Mistletoe,” Eomer said, laughing softly.

“You know what you’re supposed to do when you are underneath the mistletoe?”

“I am familiar,” he said, stepping an inch closer to you. You took in a breath, and looked into his eyes. “I wish Eowyn could stay away forever, and that we could have this time.”

“Our own world away from real life,” you said, putting your hands on his arms. “It’s too much to ask for.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, cupping your cheek in his hand. “I think we could make it like this all the time.”

“Can we?” you asked, barely breathing. He nodded just slightly before leaning in to kiss you. You gripped his arms tighter, and couldn’t help but smile as you kissed him. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, and you twirled his hair in your finger.

“Do you think you might come back, once Eowyn and Faramir have married?”

“I think you would have to try really hard to stop me.” He laughed and shook his head.

“I wouldn’t try at all.” You smiled and kissed him softly once more. 

“When Eowyn returns, let’s not tell her about all of this.”

“You have my word, as long as you promise to return.” You smiled and laced your hands in his. 

“And you have mine.”

[italicwatches]

Laid-Back Camp - Episode 12

Alright, the last hurrah. One last camping trip with these girls. Let’s see how it goes. It’s Laid-Back Camp, episode 12! Here we GO!

-We begin…In a possible future. Rin’s camping ways have continued, and she’s taken more after her grandfather, with a cool motorcycle and sweet boots. She arrives to a campsite to find the others already waiting for her. Chiaki’s become the new Toba-sensei, treating all camping trips as an excuse to get her booze on…Well, I said the others, but Nadeshiko is a ways out still. In this fantasy, Nadeshiko didn’t just keep camping…She now owns a camping gear company, bringing American styled equipment to Japan. Also, Aoi still hasn’t lost her fang…

-And Nadeshiko arrives…On…

-Good.

-Fucking.

-God.

-She’s in the flying tent from the opening.

-So obviously this is our title-card shot. As much as I love all the other shots of the girls all grown up…I mean, come on.

-And this is all Nadeshiko’s idea of what it’ll be like when they’re all grown up. Which explains a lot. And Rin’s gotten back with stuff! Yayyyyy.

-Opening! So here’s the magic question for you: In Nadeshiko’s possible-future, did she imagine herself and Rin being married?

-Episode 12: Mount Fuji and the Laid-Back Camp Girls

-So doggo has to go. He’s picked up by Ena’s family to go back home to warm bed, while the others scrub their dishes and ask the question of who’s gonna take advantage of the actual baths first. Well, Toba-sensei is out.

-In the end, Aoi, Ena and Chiaki end up in the bath, in an actual proper hot bath no less. Which leaves Rin and Nadeshiko to stay warm around the fire, and they end up asking Toba-sensei if she doesn’t mind being out here all alone instead of with her lover…

-…That was her sister she was with, you dorks. Anyways, all of this gender and romance confusion has Nadeshiko so off-tilt that she ends up outright asking Chiaki if she’s a girl or not when the others get back. Do you want to die?

-So round two of the baths, chatting with Toba-sensei. Who has a camping history not entirely dissimilar to Rin’s, though hers is more group-oriented. Her dad was a huge outdoorsy type when she was a kid, so the whole family would practically be out every weekend in the summers. Her sister picked up the bug full-force, and she tags along.

-Also speaking of camping, Rin still doesn’t know what that thing she saw in the darkness was. It was your teacher. Aaanyways, by the time they get back from the bath, everyone’s done their hair up in a Shimarin Bun. Nadeshiko is surrounded by Shimarins and it’s wonderful! Rin is quietly a bit mad at that name.

-So Nadeshiko has enough hair that she gets the true Shimarin treatment: Having Ena do something ridiculous to her head. Which she doesn’t see until they take a selfie together. Alas, Nadeshiko. But now they’ve kind of used up their tasks, but it’s too early to sleep…

-So Chiaki has a treat. You know outdoor film festivals, and vintage American drive-ins, and all that? (GOD I wish I could justify using that shot of Anime To the Future) Well Chiaki just signed up for a data plan and streaming services for her tablet! It’s not quite a grand projector, but they can just dive deep until they forget what time is!

-Eventually they’re all tapped out…Until everyone else is asleep, and it’s just Nadeshiko and Rin with their heads poking out of Rin’s tent way off on their own, looking up at the stars. They end up talking about all the shows and stuff they watched, and possible journeys, and New Year’s plans, and just…just talking. I’m not sure if Rin will do these big group trips very often, but I think it’s clear she’ll be doing a lot of these little trips with Nadeshiko.

-And they doze right off, as quiet comes over the campsites…And all is peaceful…

-Until the first alarm goes off. It’s 5 AM Christmas day, and Rin wakes up next to Nadeshiko, just the two of them. I’m not saying they’re a few months at most away from one of them suddenly realizing “FUCK we’re a couple when did that happen crap crap crap what’s the anniversary is it the day we met WHAT DO I GET HER”, but it was aliens.

-Also Nadeshiko you promised to make breakfast so get out of that mummy bag and make with the grub.

-Of course, Rin ends up helping…And by the time the others gather, it’s a truly traditional meal. Some grilled salmon, a miso soup, rice, even natto. Exactly what a certain hungover teacher needs to clear her head. And as they all get their grub on…The sun tips over the horizon, and it is just magic. That first light, when your eyes have adjusted to the pre-dawn, is so overwhelming, and just…Amazing.

-Of course, then comes the end of the trip. The loading of gear, the packing up of campsites. Daily coming to pick various folks up, and of course, one last photo of them all together before they scatter.

-Cut to a new day at the bookstore. Rin’s just hanging out behind the counter…And she’s thinking she wants to go somewhere for New Year’s…Which is when Ena shows up, buying a magazine on winter camping.

-Over at school, Chiaki leads the crew on a full cleanup of their club room! …That took like two minutes. Until they get Rin or Ena to actually sign on, it’s the cramped storage room for another semester. And tragically, they’re both working through the New Year’s holiday, so they can’t even go camping together…Well, except for Nadeshiko, who can’t find work.

-Cue Rin texting with a PLAN. Ena got a temp job printing and delivering new year’s cards and they need more warm bodies. It’s only a week or two of work, but Nadeshiko’s super excited at getting some cash to turn into camping gear.

-And at last, the credits song plays, as we montage over a quiet calm for all involved with the sun low in the sky. Rin’s scooter dutifully parked by her humble home. Ena’s doggo wrapped up snug in his doggo bed. Nadeshiko’s sister after another road trip to a picturesque sight. Rin’s grampa watching the sun set from his latest campsite. Nadeshiko’s folks coming home with groceries. Toba-sensei’s sister setting up camp, and she herself wrapping up a day of teaching.

-And in that little storage hall, a few more photos added to Nadeshiko’s wall…Including the one magical shot that started the series, of them all together…

-Aftercredits! And not a skit, either. It’s post-New Years, the back end of winter turning into spring, and Nadeshiko’s pedaling her humble little bike, with its rack and her bag both full of kit, to a certain campground…It’s a hard ride, but she finally makes it, checks in, and finds herself nearly alone at a pristine lake. The very place where she met Rin, damn near the exact same spot, as she dutifully puts together her setup. Her tent, her little table…And her own little treat, the gas lantern she saw in the shop that day. It’s a perfect, gorgeous setup…

-When Rin texts asking if she’s working. She’s actually out on the road, and just got to her campsite! And thus they get talking, both of them out camping solo, as Nadeshiko hides where she’s gone, until she sends the photo…And Rin’s comes in…And she’s not even a hundred feet back. They both had the same idea and came to the same place. These adorable precious girls.

And that’s a wrap.

I…Damn, this one somehow feels way heavier than it should. The show’s just so warm and comfy that I don’t want to leave it. But there’s no more left(unless they do a second season COME ON YOU COWARDS), and thus there’s no choice.

I mean, except for the fact that I obviously have already made bookmarks for the manga to chew on.

It is no mistake that this show caused a lot of people to want to go camping. This was…Damn, this was real close to perfect for me, and quite frankly the only things that would’ve made it better would be trading some archetypes around to pander to my specific tastes, rather than actually doing anything objectively higher quality.

And that fucking ending. That last shot. That was just…Pretend your favorite meme image of a chef’s kiss is here, because that was perfect.

So what’s coming up now that we did that? A hard pivot to the exact opposite of this warm comfy slice-of-life stuff, and also me trying blatantly to build my presence Tumblr-side with a big-pop. You’ll see. Wait for it!

[makemyownwonderland-blog]

Smokey Morning [Logan x plus sized!Reader]

A/N: I wanted a cute Logan fic, so I wrote one. I did a bunch of backstory and set up before the actual fluff, which starts below the cut. I also wrote this from the perspective of a bigger girl, which I am; but tried to do my best to not describe the reader’s physical attributes.

Word Count: 1194

Warnings: mention of body issues, light smut, cheesy-ness.

Summary: Just a cute little morning between two wonderful little Canadians, one being Wolverine.

The cool breeze wafted through the open kitchen window, making the small home smell like wood smoke. The steam from the mug of warm coffee in your hands was dancing with the light wind, swirling around and enticing you to take a sip of the liquid. Setting the mug down on the counter, you pulled the loose-fitting flannel tighter around your body and began to button up the front so that the shirt was no longer hanging open. One benefit to your boyfriend being massive was that his shirts always made you feel small and delicate whenever you wore them. Even though you were certainly not small, the way his clothes engulfed you made you feel tiny like the models in magazines.

Outside the sky was coated in shades of grey; the exact same as it had been for weeks now as the province you called home burned. The fires weren’t close enough to your house to cause alarm, but you saw and felt their effects nonetheless. The downside to living in the dense forest was that you risked the chance of fires claiming your home as their own. But the isolation and peace of living in the mountains while being surrounded by nature was far too appealing to the both of you; so here you stayed.

You poured yourself another cup of coffee before getting out the necessary ingredients for breakfast; bacon and waffles. It was the same meal that you and your boyfriend had eaten for your first date. Measuring out the baking powder into the bowl of flour you smiled remembering said date. You had been meaning to go out for dinner for weeks but work kept interfering for both of you. One morning, after a particularly long night you asked if he wanted to accompany you to your favourite diner to have breakfast. As you were mixing the wet ingredients into the large bowl of dry ingredients you could hear the bacon beginning to sizzle as the smell mixed with the already smoky air. Spooning a ladle full of batter into the hot waffle iron you heard the creak of floorboards signaling that your boyfriend was awake.

“Smells delicious doll,” the gruff voice came from the doorway on your left.

Smiling brightly at him you let your eyes graze over his body. He was wearing dark red and black plaid flannel pyjama pants and was shirtless; his chiseled muscles on full display. Your e/c eyes followed the scattered dark hair from below his navel up to his well-defined pecs.

“Like what you see?” he smirked, raising an eyebrow with a smug look plastered on his face.

“Yeah, I do actually,” you grinned, flipping the bacon in the frying pan.

You didn't have to look at him to know that the smirk on handsome his face was still present. He meandered over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. Heat radiated off of him and you instantly felt secure and loved, smiling you lean back into his broad chest. His hands slid lower and caressed your thighs, fingers making small indents in the soft flesh. His head fell to the crook of your neck and he placed a warm kiss just below your ear.

“Good,” he whispered before letting go and pouring himself a mug of coffee.

“You’re such an ass,” you chuckled, opening the waffle iron to remove the first waffle.

“And you love me, so what does that say about you?” came his smartass reply.

Shaking your head as you quietly chuckled at his comment, you took out the butter and maple syrup to top the waffle with.

“That I have poor taste in men?”

“Lucky me,” he grinned, gripping your hips and pulling you close to him.

You wrapped your arms loosely around his neck and stared up at him lovingly, being enamoured with his hazel eyes that looked at you with more love than you could’ve imagined one person was capable of. You loved moments like these, where he was vulnerable and allowed his emotions to be visible to you. Usually he was reserved, preferring to keep his feelings concealed. He would like people to believe he had no emotions that could be seen as soft; that way they had no control over him. However, with you he felt comfortable. He felt safe. He allowed you to break a hole through the solid walls he had built up around himself.

“I love you Logan,” you sighed, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“I know,”

“Fuck you too,” you laughed.

“Maybe later doll,” he smiled while winking.

You stood at the sink, hands submerged in the warm soapy water while you washed the dishes from breakfast. Logan sat on the slightly weathered couch and gazed at you. Fuck did he love you. He loved the way you looked wearing his flannels, especially when you wore them with a pair of your underwear. In his mind there was nothing sexier, other than you being completely naked; sprawled across the bed and panting while begging for him. He loved reminding you how sexy you are; especially when you were down on yourself.

There had been times when he walked into your shared room to see you laying on the bed, crying. The noise ripped his heart in half and he wanted to do anything he could to fix it. The first time, he didn’t know that the person who had hurt you and made you cry was yourself; that you belittled yourself into the sobbing mess that was in his arms. He worshipped you that night, ensuring you that everything you hated about yourself was loved by him. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers sinking into the skin and telling you how sexy they were; who gave a damn if you didn’t have a thigh gap? His stubble tickled your stomach as he gently kissed the stretch marks littering your skin, whispering how beautiful and badass you are; these are your battle scars, wear them with pride. He loved you for everything you were and he wanted you to know that.

He smiled to himself as he heard you start to hum absentmindedly. No particular song, just quietly humming whatever tune you made up in your head as you went along.

“C’mere gorgeous,” he smiled, patting the top of his thigh.

Returning his smile you sauntered towards him with a light swing in your hips. You straddled his lap so that you were facing him, pulling the hem of the shirt up slightly so you had the room to do so. You loosely draped your arms around his neck while Logan’s hands gripped your hips; holding you close to him. You leaned forward and kissed him, which he eagerly returned. Pulling back slightly you rested your forehead against his.

“I love you, Y/N,” he breathed, his warm breath fanning across your face.

“I know,” you giggled.

This earned a grumble from the man along with a playful swat on butt, which made you pull back and increase your laughter. Your laugh was contagious and made Logan snicker along with you, knowing he had that comment coming.

[alchemistc]

The Price 2/?

Summary: Killian Jones has no desire to return to Misthaven, but his captain and his crew are tied to the kingdom in a way he has never understood, and they consider it a duty to be there for the Choosing. Once every fifteen years, the witch in her high tower chooses a man or woman among them and whisks them away, in payment for all she has done to save this kingdom, and to most it is considered a blessing to be chosen. All Killian wants is for the Choosing to be finished and The Jewel to return to sea, and to forget once again all that Misthaven has taken from him. 

tagging @kmomof4

Chapter One

Chapter Two

When Killian had been a young boy, he’d found himself often at odds with the world around him. Or at least, that was how Liam told it.

He was too young to remember it all, or even most of it, really, but to Killian Jones, the world had been the tavern, and the town surrounding them, the sea before them, but it had been more. His mother had called him fantastical, whimsical, when he brought home strange flowers she’d never seen before, and told her stories of faeries and goblins and beasts with kind eyes.

The rest of the village hadn’t been quite as kind.

He’d been so young he could barely remember their faces, but the taunts, the jeers, the whispers of the mad Jones boy they never bothered to keep silent when he wandered by, those memories remained.

He remembered only one instance of true danger, in all that time. The beasties and ghouls he’d weaved stories of were long gone to his memory, but this one moment in time stayed etched in his mind.

It had been a terribly warm day, but his mother had been insistent on cooking a hearty meal, and so the fire in the stove drove the heat in their cottage to a near unbearable level, and as Killian shifted, he’d felt the drip of sweat down the back of his neck.

Mother and father were speaking in quiet voices, too quiet for Killian to pick up on the words, only the tone of the conversation - an unhappy one, and Killian hoped for his brothers speedy return from his errands in town if only to help keep the peace. He much preferred when father was gone.

The book was far more advanced than Killian was truly prepared for - words he’d never seen popping out here and there, phrases that held no meaning to him, a full story of things he couldn’t begin to understand, but still he struggled through the letters one by one, wishing father weren’t there so that he could ask mother what the words meant, flinching every once in a while when the voices across the room from him became momentarily loud and clipped before returning to a whisper.

They’d spent the afternoon thus, tense and uncomfortable, the heat barely tolerable, the tension stifling, the book straining Killian’s eyes as he struggled to let it take him far away from the entire situation.

He’d just skittered to a halt over the word ‘rapscallion’ when his fathers voice rose above the din, and he’d looked up blearily only to feel the room spinning around him, and father stalking towards the sill where the flowers he’d presented so eagerly only that morning sat.

“What in gods name are these doing here?”

“Brennan, please, they’re just a few flowers.”

He’d turned to look at her with an expression so incredulous Killian had felt like cowering, but something dark and eerie had settled behind his fathers gaze, something that made Killian creep forward, away from the book, to stand between his mother and the demon lurking in the shadows behind eyes so much like his own.

“Did he bring you these?”

There was accusation in his voice, and at the time it had been nothing but fuel to fire Killian’s dislike of the man who visited them only just often enough to call this place home, but looking back, he was certain his father hadn’t meant Killian himself.

“I brought them!”

He barely came to his fathers hip, then, and it had felt like the bravest three words he’d ever spoken. Brennan had leveled him with a dark look.

“Did she tell you to say that, boy?”

There was a dark anger in his voice, but Killian had been too angry to care, indignation at being called a liar making him stand taller, his whole head tilted up to stare right back.

“I found them. I found them in the forest, and I brought them home for mother.”

But Brennan Jones had turned his focus away from him already, spinning to his wife. “Haven’t you the sense to tell the boy what he’s wandered across and burn it in the fire? Or did I truly marry a damn fool?”

His mother, usually so timid in her interactions with Brennan, tilted her chin and stuck him with a look that would have cowered Killian. “It’s a silly superstition. They’re harmless.”

But Killian wasn’t so sure. The room was still hot, but he felt light headed and queasy, now, the room spinning where he stood, and no amount of muggy air could explain the strange shadows leaping under his fathers skin.

“Harmless? It’s killed plenty an idiot before, darling, don’t think you’re somehow above it.”

Killian had felt an anger wash over him like nothing before, or for a long time after, and mother and father had begun to shout at each other, loud, angry voices jumping back and forth over Killian’s head. The room began to spin more wildly, and Killian had felt like screaming.

He would have, too, a righteous tantrum coming on, but mother had clutched the edge of a chair, the color draining from her face, just as the door swung open and Liam entered.

Sunlight and cool air drifted in on a breeze, and Killian had blinked, breathing it in.

He’d dashed across the room before his brother could say a word, snatched the flowers from their cup of water, and torn towards the door, hefting them with all the might of his six years, beyond the hedges and into the twilight.

It was only years later that Killian had discovered the plant again, though this one took on a different form, a different name. The flowers had been nightshade, a plant that had supposedly been eradicated from Misthaven in the Purge, hundreds of years before. In other realms, in slightly different arrangements, it had been called dreamshade.

When he’d learned of its uses - in brothels that used the plant to spice their drinks, in taverns half a world away where sailors whispered of the poisonous effects of the plant on a blade - he’d understood with perfect clarity exactly what he’d done. What he’d brought upon them.

Darkness.

Death.

------

He finds Liam bent low over a table, staring wistfully at the stew before him, as though trying to decide if it was worth it to raise his head to eat.

Killian claps him soundly on the back, grinning at his brother when all he receives in response is a low groan. It is a rare occasion to see his brother pulled so low by drink, and he enjoys it for a moment longer before waving over one of the bar maids. She smiles curiously at him, something familiar about her, but nothing Killian can easily remember, and so when she walks away to gather up a meal for him he tosses the feeling aside.

“How are you faring this fine morning, Captain?”

“Fuck you,” comes the mumbled response.

Killian clutches a hand to his heart, delighted. “Such language, and from a gentleman!”

His brother merely groans.

This, Killian decides, is a rare treat, and he means to fully enjoy it. With some prodding, he eventually manages to force a few spoonfuls of broth on his brother, and eats his own bowl in relative quiet, punctuating it every now and then with a far-too-cheery exclamation that makes Liam wince. It’s a fine stew, one of the few things Killian truly enjoys about his time ashore - Eucrates Cookson was the worst cook ever to enter a galley, and he is always grateful to eat a meal that doesn’t taste of black smoke and char.

“Where did you wander off to last night, little brother?”

Killian supposes he deserves the dig for the torture he’d been enjoying through their meal.

“Away.”

“Yes, I noticed.”

“Did you? You were enjoying swindling your former crewmates out of pointless trinkets all night. I hardly thought you’d notice.”

Liam sighs, lowering his head to a hand held up from the table by his elbow. He rubs slowly at his temples. “By the time we’d finished the song, you were long gone.”

Needing no reminders of it, he attempts to steer the conversation back to the curious case of his honorable brother conning old friends, but to no avail.

“You should be more careful to hide your disdain, brother. The Swan is important, to these people. Our people.”

“Your people, mayhap.”

His brother levels him with a look. It is an old argument, and one neither desires a rehash of.

“I went for a walk. Wandered the beach. Drank up the rum and fell asleep.” He pauses, wondering if he ought to tell Liam about the strange dream. In the end, he decides against it - far better to put the memory of it aside for good.

“There’s been no word.”

Liam has lived through more than one Choosing, and knows the standard for the event, but Killian only knows that at some point within the day, the Swan will come to her decision, and some man or woman of Misthaven will be taken away to the castle far up in the hills where she resides. He’s never bothered to spend much time learning about the particulars.

“We should bring the barrels ashore when we’re done here. We’re much more likely to get a good price on them today, while everyone thinks their life is about to change.”

His brother gives him a beleaguered glance, but Killian feels no guilt for suggesting they take advantage of the buyers in the bay. There is a small, petty part of him that wants to punish these people for putting their faith in the Swan.

“I’ve already spoken to Murtagh. We’ve agreed upon a payment. His men will offload them tomorrow, and after that he’ll have our next destination for us.”

Killian bites down on the disappointment - Murtagh is known to choose routes and destinations that provide the greatest profit - at the greatest risk to whomever he sends to retrieve his wares. The crew always finds a way to make themselves believe it is an sign of their own skill - Killian often spends his time thinking up inventive ways to tell the man to fuck off and just hire some pirates to do the job.

“And what, exactly, am I meant to do with my day then?”

“Join in the merriment, Killian. Enjoy yourself, for a change. Perhaps you could, if I may be so bold, have a little fun.”

Of the two of them, Liam was the one that commanded respect, the man to whom they looked to for hard decisions, but he was also the one more likely to tell a horrible joke, to break out in laughter, to grin behind the wheel of the ship as they caught a strong wind. Killian was far more prone to bouts of melancholy, and he preferred a scowl to a shrug, a smirk to a smile. Fun was hardly his main concern. His main concern was keeping his brother alive and well, and the crew after that.

“I’m going back to the ship,” he tells Liam, and Liam merely sighs.

“I thought you might.” His brother studies him carefully for a moment. “If you’re going to be there, you might as well do an inventory. We can resupply in the morning while we wait for Murtagh’s orders.”

He nods, standing, readying himself to leave, but something makes him pause, and as he passes by Liam he claps him on the shoulder, catching his brothers gaze, hoping somewhere in there he’s able to understand the apology in Killian’s eyes.

Liam clasps his arm near the elbow, nodding swiftly.

Later, he’ll wish he’d said more. Spent more time teasing his brother, laughing over his discomfort. He’ll wish he’d decided not to board the ship, that instead of wandering off the night before he’d stayed and joined in with the other men ashore. Later, he’ll wonder if isolating himself might have been the wrong decision, if spending more time with his crew and his brother might have prevented an undesired outcome.

But that would be later. Now, he takes fast, eager strides down the length of the dock, and boards the ship, happily adjusting to the nearly indiscernible sway of the deck, and gathers up a log from the desk in the captain’s cabin.

He starts from the hold and works his way up to the deck, taking note of how low they’ve run on fresh water during their last trip, jotting down a reminder to talk to Liam about it before they embark. The creaking of the ship, the groan of the boards beneath his feet, the steady sound of the calm water surrounding him, all those things are a welcome respite, and he slips peacefully into a quiet rhythm, losing an hour or so before he makes it back into the sunlight above deck.

He’s humming, quietly to himself, a sea shanty they’ve all sung a time or two, to frighten off a long storm, to pray for a strong wind, remembering the first time he’d sailed as Liam’s first mate - how happy he’d been, how proud to see them both alive and well, how he’d known, at that very moment, that the both of them were meant for great things.

It hadn’t turned out quite that way, in the end, but they lived their lives as free men, beholden to nothing and no one but the man paying for their services, and that was good enough for Killian.

The breeze was light, airy and fragrant, and Killian lifts his head to catch the scent, only to nearly reel back a moment later - it is a smell he is familiar with, flowery and bright, and one that has no place so far out from the mainland.

He whips around at the sound of footsteps behind him, and blinks, trying to make sense of what he is seeing. There is a figure, there, suspended halfway between here and somewhere else, and as the image shimmers in and out of focus, it seems to him as though it were made up entirely of petals, full flowers blooming in the sunlight and fading back to buds, then pulsing back to life once more, the rhythm steady as his own heartbeat, until finally the source of it emerges like a shadow peeling itself up off the side of the mast.

Killian stands his ground, unwilling to show fear despite his distaste of magic, and the woman who’d shimmered into existence tilts her head to take him in, annoyance in her own expression.

The gesture is horribly familiar, and Killian tries to ignore the memory of the siren the night before as she takes a few steps towards him, the heels of her strange boots echoing unpleasantly along the deck.

He’s never seen the Swan before, but he knows without having to ask that this is she. She seems almost to float, and though she’d appeared out of shadow and dust she seems more solid to him than anything he’s seen before, more real than any bit of his life has ever been.

He hates it, and her, more than ever.

Killian stares, taking in the neat line of her jaw and the shimmering texture of her skin, pale but nearly glittering in the bright light of the sun; her hair nearly white, pulled back and away from her face, bringing her profile into sharp relief - the high cut of her cheeks, the sharp edge of her nose, the curl of her lip, and he has but a moment of confusion before he realizes what, exactly, is happening.

The bells from the church begin to toll - the one nearest the shore, first, and then farther up the hill, another - the fort far atop the cliffs begin their own refrain, and Killian knows that all across the land more will follow suit.

The Swan has chosen.

A beat, and then she sighs, staring at him with that same disapproving frown she’s worn since she appeared, as though she hasn’t just charged into his life and ripped his existence apart at the seams. “You may be the first idiot in a hundred years to draw your weapon against me; you’ve had the audacity to do it twice in less than a full day.” There is nothing admiring about the way she says it, but nothing threatening either, as though she finds the idea little more than a gnat to swat at.

It takes Killian a moment to realize what she means, but the understanding brings him no comfort.

“The creature in the water. That was you.”

She hums, low in her throat, but it is not a pleasant sound. “Not a dream, unfortunately.”

He wants to scream, to rail at the heavens, to shimmer out of existence just as she’d entered it. Instead he straightens, tucking the sword in his hand back into his belt. Raising his head and pulling his shoulders back, he tries at an unconcerned air. “What happens now?”

She tosses an impatient look his way, as though she expects him to know the proper protocol for being spirited away by a powerful witch, away from his family and the only home he’s ever known. Finally, she flicks her hand carelessly through the air.

“I will allow you time to say your goodbyes, and gather anything you cannot bear to be parted with.”

He will not give her the satisfaction of letting her know that the only thing he cannot bear to part with is the only thing she will be taking from him.

He has never considered this possibility. In all of his moaning and groaning, all of his attempts to fight their return to Misthaven, never in any of his arguments had he considered that he might be the one the Swan chose. And now, faced with it, he has gone a bit numb.

“And then?”

There is something in her gaze that makes him think he should feel like a ridiculous fool for asking the question, but he stares her down, unwilling to play the terror-struck man, or the idiot. “And then we leave.”

It is only now, as he considers how he will say his goodbyes to his brother, to this ship, to the sea - it is only now that he truly gives a thought for what the Swan must do with those she chooses. He’s only ever had a vague notion that they dusted her tables and perhaps served her meals, and he wonders now, why she is being vague in return. There is no one else to overhear them, and he will be in her service for the next fifteen years. Surely it would be easier on her just to tell him right away.

Perhaps it’s so terrible she thinks he’ll make a run for it, or try to strike her down. Both are unlikely - she’s one of the most powerful sorceresses this world has ever seen, and if he attempted either she would surely put a stop to it.

“If you’re quite done thinking of ways to run me through, we are on a schedule.”

Killian forces himself not to react, staring at her carefully, trying to discern if she is just a good judge of facial expressions, or if she’d used some sort of magic to invade his mind.

“Both,” she tells him, straight faced and impatient. “Now, this brother of yours, let us find him so that you can -.”

“No.”

She stops dead in her tracks, having stalked half the distance between the two of them, and eyes him with sudden interest. “No?”

“It’s better if I don’t say goodbye.”

He cannot stand the idea of it - of making this real. Perhaps, if he writes a letter - she snorts at that, and Killian turns a hard glare on her that seems to amuse her - perhaps if he leaves Liam a note, it will be enough.

Fifteen years, after all, is hardly a lifetime.

He ignores the woman entirely as he walks past her, and makes his way up the stairs to the hatch of the captain’s quarters.

The room is quiet, and Killian tries to close off his mind, unwilling to share these final moments with the woman just outside it. Without knowing whether or not he is successful, he takes his time wandering the space - eyeing the books on the shelf near the windows, neat and orderly, running his fingers across the finely carved chest tucked into one of the walls behind the ladder, drinking in the sight of his brothers small, tight script, so unlike Killian’s own, on one of the logs laid out on his desk. Killian replaces the inventory list beside it.

Outside the window, ships are anchored in the harbor, the sun beating down on them, the ocean swaying below them, and Killian wonders when he will see anything like this again.

It is a sobering thought, and he turns back to the desk, pulling out a sheaf of clean parchment from one of the drawers, reaching for an inkwell and quill.

When he is done, he stares at the words laid out in a flourish on the page, so at odds with how confined he feels in this moment, his last breath of freedom.

He lays a sand dollar across it, swallowing against the memory of it - a gift he’d given to Liam the first time they’d been allowed ashore by Captain Silver. It makes a sick sort of sense, leaving that behind as his goodbye, really.

When he returns to the deck she’s still there, leaning against the side of the ship, eyes taking in the bay curiously. She doesn’t turn to look at him right away, and for some reason, this irritates him. He makes a disapproving noise, low in his throat, tempted to reach for his sword again just to see what she’ll do.

“I assumed you’d want a moment,” she tells him, gesturing vaguely at the ship, still not looking at him.

“I’ve said my goodbyes,” is all that he will give her, and she sighs, then, turning to him finally, the reflection of sunlight off the water bathing her in light that should warm her features. It didn’t.

“This will feel strange.” He means to ask her what, exactly, she is speaking of, but in one breath he is staring past her shoulder out to sea while she grasps at his arm, and the next he is gasping for breath, his stomach churning, the wood beneath him turned to stone as he tumbles knee-first into it, and a swirling cloud of unnatural smoke drifting away from them both.

He clutches at the wall beside him while she gives him an impatient look, dragging himself to a crouching position and still attempting to catch his breath.

“You can find your rooms one flight up the stairs, and the kitchens down two. I will expect you in the library this evening. Do try to make yourself presentable, by then.” And with that she turns away from him, her steps echoing through the chamber she’d magicked them off to.

“Wait-.” It comes out more a wheeze than anything else, and Killian forces himself to stand, pulling air into his lungs. “That’s it?”

She huffs, swivelling on her heel to hold his gaze. “Usually my guests like to take their time parting ways with their life. We have departed...unexpectedly early.”

Taking another deep breath, he sends her a glare that would have scared a normal person half to death, but only makes her set her mouth in a fine line. “Oh, have I made a mess of your schedule? How inconvenient of me.”

She grimaces, and Killian takes a very small amount of pleasure in the way her steps echo more loudly as she spins around and walks away from him, this time.

It takes him another few minutes to catch his breath, the pressure against his chest slowly easing, and he vows never to allow her the pleasure of transporting him around like that again. After a time, leaning against the wall becomes unnecessary, and he pushes away from it, searching for the stairwell the Swan must have taken, eyes adjusting to the chamber lit by lanterns glowing without flame.

There is an archway, to his left, which seems the best option, and he is halfway there when the sunlight hits his face.

He turns toward it, instead, wanting to catch a glimpse of all that still lives and breathes below him.

He’d have been better off staying in the musty shadows of the place. The tower he is in rests high above the rest of the castle, and as he looks out over meadows and forests, he feels a chill rising within him.

Below him lie valleys and hills, the forest encroaching on one side and a lake lying undisturbed on the other, green for miles and miles in every direction he can see from this viewpoint. He cannot catch even a glimpse of the sea, so far off in the distance it must be.

Still feeling ill, and far more tired than the day should have made him, he turns away from the window without another glance, and heads toward the shadowy alcove he hopes leads to the stairs.

Liam,

I am sure you will find comfort in knowing where I have gone, though I shall not. I have lived too long under your shadow, it seems, and must now make my way as the object of Misthaven gossip for a time. There is a certain irony in it, I suppose, and over time I may even grow to find it amusing.

Do not be worried, I have no delusions of shaming you by refusing this ‘gift’ I have been given.

Turk will make a fine First Mate, though he may be more lenient with the men than I have been in the past. Perhaps that is for the best.

Take care, Liam, for I shall expect to see you unchanged when I am free. I have taken the liberty of borrowing mothers ring - though I know how dearly you treasure it, I could not think of any other thing I would like more to have with me.

I would have followed you to the ends of the earth, brother.

Killian

------

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for Thursday, november 26 of 2020 with Proverbs 26 and Psalm 26, accompanied by Psalm 66 for the 66th day of Autumn, and Psalm 31 for day 331 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 3rd revolution this year)

[Psalm 26]

A song of David.

Declare my innocence, O Eternal One!

I have walked blamelessly down this path.

I placed my trust in the Eternal and have yet to stumble.

Put me on trial and examine me, O Eternal One!

Search me through and through—from my deepest longings to every thought that crosses my mind.

Your unfailing love is always before me;

I have journeyed down Your path of truth.

My life is not wasted among liars;

my days are not spent among cheaters.

I despise every crowd intent on evil;

I do not commune with the wicked.

I wash my hands in the fountain of innocence

so that I might join the gathering that surrounds Your altar, O Eternal One.

From my soul, I will join the songs of thanksgiving;

I will sing and proclaim Your wonder and mystery.

Your house, home to Your glory, O Eternal One, radiates its light.

I am fixed on this place and long to be nowhere else.

When Your wrath pursues those who oppose You,

those swift to sin and thirsty for blood,

spare my soul and grant me life.

These men hold deceit in their left hands,

and in their right hands, bribery and lies.

But God, I have walked blamelessly down this path,

and this is my plea for redemption.

This is my cry for Your mercy.

Here I stand secure and confident

before all the people; I will praise the Eternal.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 26 (The Voice)

[Proverbs 26]

It is totally out of place to promote and honor a fool,

just like it’s out of place to have snow in the summer

and rain at harvest time.

An undeserved curse will be powerless to harm you.

It may flutter over you like a bird,

but it will find no place to land.

Guide a horse with a whip,

direct a donkey with a bridle,

and lead a rebellious fool with a beating on his backside!

Don’t respond to the words of a fool with more foolish words,

or you will become as foolish as he is!

Instead, if you’re asked a silly question,

answer it with words of wisdom

so the fool doesn’t think he’s so clever.

If you choose a fool to represent you,

you’re asking for trouble.

It will be as bad for you as cutting off your own feet!

You can never trust the words of a fool,

just like a crippled man can’t trust his legs to support him.

Give honor to a fool and watch it backfire—

like a stone tied to a slingshot.

The statements of a fool will hurt others

like a thorn bush brandished by a drunk.

Like a reckless archer shooting arrows at random

is the impatient employer

who hires just any fool who comes along—

someone’s going to get hurt!

Fools are famous for repeating their errors,

like dogs are known to return to their vomit.

There’s only one thing worse than a fool,

and that’s the smug, conceited man

always in love with his own opinions.

[Don’t Be Lazy]

The lazy loafer says,

“I can’t go out and look for a job—

there may be a lion out there roaming wild in the streets!”

As a door is hinged to the wall,

so the lazy man keeps turning over, hinged to his bed!

There are some people so lazy

they won’t even work to feed themselves.

A self-righteous person is convinced he’s smarter

than seven wise counselors who tell him the truth.

It’s better to grab a mad dog by its ears

than to meddle and interfere in a quarrel

that’s none of your business.

[Watch Your Words]

The one who is caught lying to his friend

and says, “I didn’t mean it, I was only joking,”

can be compared to a madman

randomly shooting off deadly weapons.

It takes fuel to have a fire—

a fire dies down when you run out of fuel.

So quarrels disappear when the gossip ends.

Add fuel to the fire and the blaze goes on.

So add an argumentative man to the mix

and you’ll keep strife alive.

Gossip is so delicious, and how we love to swallow it!

For slander is easily absorbed into our innermost being.

Smooth talk can hide a corrupt heart

just like a pretty glaze covers a cheap clay pot.

Kind words can be a cover to conceal hatred of others,

for hypocrisy loves to hide behind flattery.

So don’t be drawn in by the hypocrite,

for his gracious speech is a charade,

nothing but a masquerade covering his hatred and evil on parade.

Don’t worry—he can’t keep the mask on for long.

One day his hypocrisy will be exposed before all the world.

Go ahead, set a trap for others—

and then watch as it snaps back on you!

Start a landslide and you’ll be the one who gets crushed.

Hatred is the root of slander

and insecurity the root of flattery.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 26 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 66]

All together now—applause for God!

Sing songs to the tune of his glory,

set glory to the rhythms of his praise.

Say of God, “We’ve never seen anything like him!”

When your enemies see you in action,

they slink off like scolded dogs.

The whole earth falls to its knees—

it worships you, sings to you,

can’t stop enjoying your name and fame.

Take a good look at God’s wonders—

they’ll take your breath away.

He converted sea to dry land;

travelers crossed the river on foot.

Now isn’t that cause for a song?

Ever sovereign in his high tower, he keeps

his eye on the godless nations.

Rebels don’t dare

raise a finger against him.

Bless our God, O peoples!

Give him a thunderous welcome!

Didn’t he set us on the road to life?

Didn’t he keep us out of the ditch?

He trained us first,

passed us like silver through refining fires,

Brought us into hardscrabble country,

pushed us to our very limit,

Road-tested us inside and out,

took us to hell and back;

Finally he brought us

to this well-watered place.

I’m bringing my prizes and presents to your house.

I’m doing what I said I’d do,

What I solemnly swore I’d do

that day when I was in so much trouble:

The choicest cuts of meat

for the sacrificial meal;

Even the fragrance

of roasted lamb is like a meal!

Or make it an ox

garnished with goat meat!

All believers, come here and listen,

let me tell you what God did for me.

I called out to him with my mouth,

my tongue shaped the sounds of music.

If I had been cozy with evil,

the Lord would never have listened.

But he most surely did listen,

he came on the double when he heard my prayer.

Blessed be God: he didn’t turn a deaf ear,

he stayed with me, loyal in his love.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 66 (The Message)

[Psalm 31]

A David Psalm

I run to you, God; I run for dear life.

Don’t let me down!

Take me seriously this time!

Get down on my level and listen,

and please—no procrastination!

Your granite cave a hiding place,

your high cliff aerie a place of safety.

You’re my cave to hide in,

my cliff to climb.

Be my safe leader,

be my true mountain guide.

Free me from hidden traps;

I want to hide in you.

I’ve put my life in your hands.

You won’t drop me,

you’ll never let me down.

I hate all this silly religion,

but you, God, I trust.

I’m leaping and singing in the circle of your love;

you saw my pain,

you disarmed my tormentors,

You didn’t leave me in their clutches

but gave me room to breathe.

Be kind to me, God—

I’m in deep, deep trouble again.

I’ve cried my eyes out;

I feel hollow inside.

My life leaks away, groan by groan;

my years fade out in sighs.

My troubles have worn me out,

turned my bones to powder.

To my enemies I’m a monster;

I’m ridiculed by the neighbors.

My friends are horrified;

they cross the street to avoid me.

They want to blot me from memory,

forget me like a corpse in a grave,

discard me like a broken dish in the trash.

The street-talk gossip has me

“criminally insane”!

Behind locked doors they plot

how to ruin me for good.

Desperate, I throw myself on you:

you are my God!

Hour by hour I place my days in your hand,

safe from the hands out to get me.

Warm me, your servant, with a smile;

save me because you love me.

Don’t embarrass me by not showing up;

I’ve given you plenty of notice.

Embarrass the wicked, stand them up,

leave them stupidly shaking their heads

as they drift down to hell.

Gag those loudmouthed liars

who heckle me, your follower,

with jeers and catcalls.

What a stack of blessing you have piled up

for those who worship you,

Ready and waiting for all who run to you

to escape an unkind world.

You hide them safely away

from the opposition.

As you slam the door on those oily, mocking faces,

you silence the poisonous gossip.

Blessed God!

His love is the wonder of the world.

Trapped by a siege, I panicked.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” I said.

But you heard me say it,

you heard and listened.

Love God, all you saints;

God takes care of all who stay close to him,

But he pays back in full

those arrogant enough to go it alone.

Be brave. Be strong. Don’t give up.

Expect God to get here soon.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 31 (The Message)

[goximbolove-blog]

Top 10 Hotels in Bhutan

Unless you are from a select few countries such as India, travel to Bhutan is expensive and not easily undertaken. However, its rich culture, unspoiled scenery, and fresh mountain air make it very worthwhile. The number of people visiting Bhutan is increasing every year, reflective of growing interest in the country as a tourism destination. Here’s what you need to know about the top 10 hotels of Butan before you plan your trip:

Tara Phendeyling:

                             This hotel in Thimpu is located in a very prominent location, which is just 2km away from the Thimpu City. Tara Phendeyling is the place with friendly services. The hotel is designed in a contemporary Bhutanese architecture with all modern amenities to bring comfort and homely stay for valued guests. The services are all tailored to meet the requirement of individual guest. Tara Restaurant is an authentic vegetarian restaurant where they offer a wide range of multi-cuisine vegetarian menu. They also serve wide ranges of wines and liquors from all around the world. Cocktail and fusion is their art with sophisticated music to suit your drink occasion, besides the chef also prepares mouthwatering snacks and tandoori grilled items to accompany the beautiful drinks.

 You would get Deluxe King, Tara Suite and Deluxe Queen room here with all modern amenities. You can also unwind and de-stress yourself in the Tara Spa or the recreational gym/steam/sauna. For more details and booking please contact info@taraphendeyling.com.

 TashiNamgay:

                        As you prepare to land at the Paro International Airport, the eye TashiNamgay Resort opposite Bhutan’s only international airport to greet you with warmth and serenity that you hope to achieve on your visit. The resort is among the lush foliage and green lawns. They have the amalgamation of traditional Bhutanese and modern architecture. Room options are Exclusive Suite, Junior Suites, Deluxe Cottages, and Deluxe Room. The rooms are equipped with all modern features like floor heating system. Mini-bar, TV, High-speed internet, hot pot etc. you can also get a great view of Paro Dzong from your room. They have a multi-cuisine restaurant “Dine & Wine” which has an all-day dining feature and exclusive daily buffet for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. A la carte options offer the best of continental, Bhutanese and Indian cuisine. Adjacent to the main dining, TashiNamgay offers a friendly and exciting pub experience at Zee Bar. A variety of international beverages as well as local beers and spirits are served in cozy settings.

 Thori Resort:

                  Thori Resort is a place for appreciating life's simple pleasures. This small resort showcases Bhutan's GNH philosophy and creates a genuinely-Bhutanese experience for travelers in search of happiness. Thori means heaven in Dzongkha. True to its name, Thori offers you a little piece of heaven. Surrounded by nature and away from the hustle and bustle of the city, you can be assured that your stay will be peaceful and tranquil. Thori is an ideal location for your next meeting or retreat. Just 12 minutes drive from the heart of Thimphu, they offer a warm, cozy and inviting atmosphere to help you relax and get your work done at the same time.

 For meetings, they provide:

Meeting Hall [48’ x 16.5’ ft] that can accommodate up to 50 people

Wireless Internet

Basic Meeting Equipment

Meals (Lunch, Refreshments, Dinner)

For Corporate Retreats, they provide:

Up to twelve comfortable and luxurious rooms

Meeting hall [48’ x 16.5’ ft] that can accommodate up to 50 people

Wireless internet

Basic meeting equipment

Meals (breakfast, lunch, refreshments, dinner)

Evening entertainment (bonfire, music, dance, etc.)

Day hikes and picnics

Any other business needs

At Thori you can enjoy a variety of flavors that are carefully taste-tested and put on the menu so you can enjoy heavenly food! They offer a large selection of Bhutanese and Indian cuisine on the menu and a select variety of pan-Asian and international cuisine on order.

Namseling Boutique Hotel:

                                             NAMSELING meaning, "The Grand Place of God of Wealth," is a newly established luxury boutique hotel located in the heart of Thimphu with easy access to all main places attractions of the capital. The exterior and interiors are designed tastefully with a blend of traditional Bhutanese and contemporary. All 24 rooms are elegantly designed to make your stay as enjoyable and harmonious as possible in choosing the right colors to promote complete well-being for all the valuable clients, lacquered-wooden furniture, blackout Venetian curtains, velvet cushions, and throws, walk-in showers with rainfall shower-heads, Wifi connection and meticulously hand-painted artwork on the walls with all modern amenities. The indoor and outdoor dining offers a wide range of cuisine the lounge bar serves a huge variety of beverages and snacks with entertainment and our 150 seater conference room is available for meetings/events. To ensure maximum security and comfort, every room has a digital lock system, smoke detectors, fire extinguisher, CCTV and underfloor heating system in all public areas.

Zingkham Cottages:

                                   Zhingkham basically translating into "Paradise" is a place where you can experience the peace and serenity with songs of the birds filling the cottage atmosphere and the sound of the NabiRongchu stream teetering your mood away from the commotions and the hassles of Thimphu City.

Blended in the natural landscape and ecology, Zhingkham Cottages provides you with the perfect place to relax after a heavy tour of the city during the daytime.

Located on the other side of the hill of Thimphu's landmark place "The Buddha point", from Zhingkham cottages, our guests can enjoy the full panoramic view of the Buddha point from dawn to dusk.

Provisioned with 14 rooms blended in traditional architecture and modern comfort, Zhingkham cottages provides our guests with the desired comfort, peace and serenity.

At the sunset pavilion restaurant Multi cuisine menu, Bhutanese, Indian, Chinese, Thai, and Continental is served by our professional staff with warmth and care. The restaurant is open from 6am-11pm. Selected cocktails and authentic drinks are available at the bar. Point of sale to facilitate payment is also available at the restaurant.

Perfect place for business travelers, tourists, families, and friends who are looking for a quiet place. Seven lodges set amidst the mountains, with the panoramic view of pristine environment and valleys. Take away an authentic Bhutanese experience with warm and homely services.

 Bhutan Silver Pine:

                                 While you are visiting the pristine land of Bhutan and exploring the craziest things about the small yet wonderful country, you will need an accommodation that is worthy of spending the leisure or relaxation time of your tour. Bhutan Silverpine Resort greets you welcome to experience the ultimate luxurious stay in the deluxe rooms and suite which make your time and money worthy to spend with them. It is located just next to the Thimphu Welcome Gate, overlooking the beautiful valley of Thimphu. Each and every room in the hotel is equipped with well-designed furniture, decorative walls, TV etc. Room service is available for 24 hours of each day of a week. The restaurant offers such delicious cuisine and liquor of different flavors that your mouth will be filled with water right after smelling them. And you won’t want to miss the body and hair care therapies in our SPA. Besides, all our basic and additional amenities are going to please you.  Skilled and efficient hotel staffs are working day and night in Bhutan Silverpine Resort to provide you with all the things that make your stay comfortable in our resort. Experts are managing all the works in such proper and clean way that you will be amazed to experience such a nice way of hospitality and customer service. Massage specialists in our SPA use everything to make you fit and fine with herbal oil, lotions, scented candles, and every other necessary thing. All these facilities are arranged to provide you with the ultimate comfort that you desire and deserve. Their prime concern is only to serve you in all the possible way and to make your holiday tour in Bhutan a memorable one.

 The resort offers 25 deluxe rooms and 1 suite with all the modern facilities and luxury, yet with a touch of traditional ambiance. You will not face any feeling of discomfort as whatever you want in your relaxation time, is right inside the rooms. Well-mannered staffs are serving you day and night all that is necessary to present the hotel as an ultimate pleasing accommodation. Visitors can cook by them if they wish; we offer such kitchen and all necessary stuff for that you can even enjoy cooking while on a holiday trip. Moreover, Doctor will also be present if you are having a bad health issue or whenever you need. All you have to do is to inform us by making a call.

 Le Meridien:

                  Located in the heart of the capital city, Thimphu, the Le MéridienThimphu invites the discerning guest to engage and discover the legendary 'Land of the Thunder Dragon', Bhutan. Their 78 spaciously appointed guest rooms & suites are culturally inspired, yet decidedly chic and contemporary. With cosmopolitan surroundings amidst the bustling commercial streets of the city center and a convenient location to many of the city's myriad attractions, the Le MéridienThimphu is a compelling choice for hosting business meetings, and the perfect jumpstart to that long-awaited leisurely holiday.

Rooms are:

Classic Room

Deluxe Room

Junior Suite

Royal Suite

A culinary delight awaits discerning guests when they dine at the Le MeridienThimphu. Offering two restaurants - an all-day dining venue and a specialty restaurant - as well as a bar, discover a plethora of gastronomic delights, tantalizing cocktails, and culinary goodies prepared and served with chic flair.

 Amodhara:

                   Hotel Amodhara is a peaceful retreat located right on the outskirt of the bustling city, where you can relax and revitalize your senses as well as stay in proximity to the facilities and entertainments that the city has to offer. Their management and staff are dedicated to providing the guests with an atmosphere where they can feel right at home while at their stay in the land of happiness.

Located on one side at walking distance is the Royal Textile Museum along with its craft shops and further down you enter the city center providing facilities and various entertainments and attractions. Yet on the other side lies the golf course with a much calmer environment for a light stroll heading towards the Tashichhoedzong.

 Endowed with the best views of the serene environment including a view of the Buddha statue in the distance, as well as the busy streetscape in the valley surrounded by hills, one can enjoy both facets of the cultural and environmental landscape of the city. Resonating from humble backgrounds like the city itself is a motto of simplicity and hospitality along which lines we strive to provide the best of services and welcome our guests as part of our family.

 Rooms are furnished with wooden flooring and furniture, with spacious toilets fully equipped with bathtubs and showers (hot & cold). Each room offers views overlooking the city landscapes, allowing very good natural light into the rooms.

 ROOM AMENITIES

·         FREE WIFI

·         LED TV

·         COMFORTABLE MATTRESSES AND BEDDING

·         EXTRA BEDS ON REQUEST(CHARGES EXTRA*)

·         SOFA SETS, CUPBOARDS & FURNITURE

·         LAUNDRY SERVICES

·         TEA/COFFEE MAKER

·         PHONE

· WAKE-UP CALL

·         HEATER

·         FRIDGE IN DELUXE ROOM

There are a total of 32 rooms, ranging from a standard single/double bedroom to deluxe rooms. You can also enjoy discounts and complimentary offers on their rack rates.

DELUXE ROOMS (KINGSIZE)

STANDARD ROOMS (SINGLE/DOUBLE)

The hotel provides a variety of services including a multi-cuisine Restaurant, Bar and a Conference Hall. The restaurant serves multi-cuisine dishes every day ranging from continental dishes to Chinese and Indian dishes, as well as our own traditional Bhutanese dishes. There are fixed menus for the buffet but also provide a la carte services. For a quenching your thirst after a long day or to simply while away the evenings, our Bar offers beverages both international brands as well as local drinks.

 The Conference Hall at the basement floor is a multi-purpose space, fully equipped with projectors and audio-visual technology. Its flexibility allows for spaces to be divided into groups of all sizes

Stay with us for best deals and offers Goximbo.com

[alittleloveandlight-blog]

I found an old journal...one of many...I have so many. Fascinates me how I can stroll down memory lane in such a way that every page takes me back to a specific place in time. 

October 25,2014

THE FAULT IN OUR STARS...(watched this movie feeling every emotion conveyed as if it were my own story being told). Clearly it wasn’t but I related in a way that though my physical condition is not what keeps me from experiencing and holding on to love, the wall of fear that surrounds my heart will keep me from ever having a love worth fighting for. I literally feel sick-soul sick-I feel sadness and loss deep in my bones right now. Deep in the bottom of my gut. The idea of experiencing a once in a lifetime love and then losing it with only memories to hold on to-tragic. Closing your eyes, hoping that if you take away one of your senses the others will be strong enough to recall the feeling of their skin on yours. I want to fall apart right now. “Pain level 10″ saved for something like that. A pain that demands to be felt. That’s it. That’s all that life is and ever will be; Love and Pain. You will never truly know one without the other. To know a love like that makes all the pain in the world worth it. Makes it able to bare. Oh, to feel again. To break and mend, to crack and heal, to come apart at the seams only to stand whole once more and sew love again. That happens for me once I realize that even the broken pieces are beautiful; they are all part of the final story. Each one with it’s significant place on my journey. A journey of collecting pieces. Leaving some behind, gathering others from lovers I encounter in nights of lust without that love, and changing some pieces to fit as I grow. As I go, some get more complex and some soften their edges. I have the ability to choose. Although in this life I can’t always choose the pieces I am given, I do have a choice in my perception and how I place each one. I can choose how I look at things. I can choose to focus on what I don’t have or I can find gratitude for even the smallest of things. It will take courage to break apart the walls around my heart, of this I am certain.The hope I find is that in doing so, those broken pieces will find new life in building a platform for TRUE LOVE to stand firm on. That day and that kind of love will come as simple moments string together the beauty that continues to open my heart. For me, the simple things are where true beauty is found. The moments when the light within me connects with the light within another. The twinkling on petals of wildflowers as the evening sunlight falls on a field. The moment the morning sun rises above the Smokey Mountains and reveals what looks to be heaven just above.This is a moment that speaks peace to my soul. Looking out into the midday sun from the window seat on a plane. This sight looks to be where the heavens meet our sky...again a deep exhale. Moments when my children say the most off the wall things and I burst into laughter..and there we go cracking up until we can’t breathe again (those moments are the best). Grateful to share their lives with them :) Music that causes my body to sway without conscious effort. The crisp “ahhhhh” after guzzling down a glass of ice cold water, sweat on my brow, shirt sticking to my back and hands covered in dirt after hours spent caring for the yard. A butterfly, anywhere. The many sounds of the river remind me that I am but one vessel containing a fraction of the energy that makes up the collective conscious of God. Sounds of a river’s’ strength as the current roars through the banks where I stand, it’s steady presence and healing power heard in the constant peaceful flow as I lay on a rock in the middle of it’s stream, the sound of stillness as I sit floating in a john boat just before dawn. The sound of leaves under my feet and the crisp feeling of an Autumn breeze chills my body making me aware of the moment. All these things bring me out of my mind and back into my body, grounded in gratitude for my human experience. Simple things like my toes in the sand of east coast beaches. The childlike feeling I get when my feet are in the sand under a swing set in the park. My toes in the grass in the rain. The ground under my feet, hot, warm, or freezing- just to be barefoot...the energy from the Earth grounds me. The night sky fifty miles from the nearest city....full of awe and wonder. Valleys with streams and wild life and land untouched by man. Freedom. Guitar, soulful voices, and the singer songwriters who tell their truth even when their voice shakes. Warm slippers. Sitting with a friend who just needs someone to listen. Being able to just listen. This is where love is found. Beautiful kisses- the kind that make the world around you disappear. Homemade chocolate chips- eating the dough out of the bowl no matter how many times people have said I shouldn’t. Silly jokes-” What do you call a deer with no eyes?” “ no eye deer”..courtesy of Ryley Davis 8 yrs old..my little :) Dreams- asleep and awake. Clouds on sunny days, clouds on rainy days. REALLY good coffee. A worship song that brings me to my knees. A call from my Daddy just to say hello and he loves me. The ability to stay friends. Real talk. Real laughter that comes from the belly and catches like wild fire. Lessons learned. Scars that remind me that I am still alive. Moments where God can be felt through every fiber of my being. Cherry pie. Breath- deep breaths, short stuttering breaths that come when I cross the path of someone that takes my breath away.Butterflies, anywhere :) When someone’s light shines so bright from within that you can see it from across the room. Weddings. New life- babies, new flowers, the sense of a new day when you felt lost the night before. Funny things that make me laugh to myself. Laughing at myself. Waking to find that I had fallen asleep praying on my knees. My elders telling stories of what life was like “back then...” Learning things about my family from when they were young..adventures they went on, music my parents like, and stories of the fun times they had with friends. Talking to my sister. Falling in love with my babies. Moments when I get ti give freely. A looooong hot shower. A really good meal..the kind I close my eyes to eat because I savory and enjoy every single bite.Pink flowers in my room. Wearing my grandmothers jewelry. Good hair days! A pair of jeans that fit just right..what a beautiful thing! Red lips. Road trips. Loud music. Dancing when the feeling hits me no matter where I am. Festivals. Fishing. The feeling of healing that a tattoo brings- the world fades- Singing out loud even though I’m off key... The spoken word, the written word, the ability to use words to express feelings today. Today I feel and I feel abundantly. 

“Be faithful in small things, because it is in them that your strength lies”

-Mother Teresa