#i just want to gently coax my mind horse to come see what upset it so much so we can walk past it in peace | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goldenkirstein · 4 years ago

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She lives in daydreams with me

or alternatively, when jean and you visit Ikea

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pairing: jean x fem! reader

wc: 1.5k+

tags: fluff, modern! au, female reader, language, mentions of food.

a/n: I was inspired by this post, also I just like Ikea, I think Jean would to tbh. am i living out my own daydreams with Jean by writing this? potentially. i love him lol. Feedback and any criticism encouraged lmao.

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Your head tilted as you stared dead-on at the boy in front of you.

“Jean, what is that?”

“What are you talking about baby, this is a-” He squinted, looking at the tag, of what you assumed to be a night light?

“An-garna.” Jean looked back up at you, grinning widely.

You had come earlier to Ikea, needing to buy some storage baskets for your room, and yet here you were standing in a miniature model of a child’s room, staring at the six-foot three-man holding a children’s night light, that had...Was that panda face design on it?

“Jean, my love, my dear, we don’t have kids; why on Earth would I need a children’s night light?” The toothy grin quickly disappeared from his face, quickly replaced with a stern expression.

“Just because something is marketed towards children doesn’t mean adults can’t buy it, and anyways I was merely suggesting it, knowing how you can’t sleep after watching horror movies.” It’s more like when he can’t sleep after watching, but his ego would never let him admit that.

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend, “put it in the cart, Kirstein.” He flashed you a smile, coming over and placing a kiss on your cheek before mumbling a small thank you.

As much as you would act annoyed or unamused when it came to Jean’s antics, it was more or less a front. You loved it when he would let his guard down in public with you. He wasn’t always like this; the Jean you met years prior would be caught dead before expressing his affections in public. He would get easily flustered, blush to sport his face if anyone he knew saw him admiring and doting on his girlfriend. It wasn’t something that deeply upset you; in a way, you were able to keep a tiny part of Jean to yourself, the goofy, tender side of him that he only let out when he was with you. However, watching him become more confident in himself and expressing his love for you outranked any desires that you had to keep Jean bottled up for your gratification.

He walked in front, long legs carrying him practically miles in front of you until he turned a corner and found himself situated in a living-room model. You followed shortly after and saw that he was making himself comfortable on a charcoal-grey couch.

“Mm, come sit,” he patted gently on the cushion next to him, gesturing to you to join him on the sofa. You raised your eyebrows and let out a giggle, situating the cart near a side table before accompanying him.

“What do you wanna watch babe,” Jean tilted his head, signalling to the fake flat-screen in front of you. You thought about tormenting the boy; however, you opted to play along with him this time.

“Oooh, I don’t know, check if the new Grey’s episode is out.” He smiled at you, appreciating your willingness to get lost in this daydream with him. His smile quickly shifted into a mischievous grin as he poked your side.

“Heyyy, what the fuck was that for!” You recoiled, shrinking away from him, but before you could get far enough away from him, he pulled you back into his side. You tried squirming away from him, only for his grip on you to get stronger, and you were met with a chuckle—the noise reverberating around the tiny living room.

“Really? Greys? On a night like this?” You shifted your body, turning your head to look at the “window” covered with sheer beige curtains, overlaid with opaque maroon ones. Outside, or rather you should say the wall was painted white, so you began drumming up a scenario in your mind. That was tonight, a spring evening, stars visible in the night sky? Or a cold and snowy winter’s night? The purple tinge of the atmosphere apparent through the translucent curtains. Jean stared at you intently, wondering what you will come up with, his gaze shifting as the corners of your lips upturned; you had settled on an idea.

“Oooh yeah, it’s practically pitch black outside; I can only see the streetlights in the distance. We should really do something about that pesky tree, though. Its branches keep tapping on the window; it’s frankly quite annoying.” A rosy tinge was present on his cheeks, hazel eyes twinkling at you.

You placed a hand on his chest, your focus entirely on the love-struck boy in front of you, “You know what? We should totally watch a horror movie!” Just as you began to immerse yourself in the daydream, Jean shot up from the couch, leaving an indent where he was sitting behind.

“Alright, enough dilly-dallying, we should go home now.” He clapped his hands together, moving to grab the cart to leave the store display.

Dilly-dallying? Did he really just say dilly-dallying?

“What’s wrong, Jean-boy? This is our home! Oooh, don’t tell me you don’t wanna watch because you’re scared.” You fell back on the couch, beaming, elbows propping you up as you teased him.

“Am not. I just decided that I’m in the mood for cinnamon rolls and fro-yo.” He placed his elbow on the handles of the cart, head resting in the palm of his hand. He gave you an unimpressed look.

“Oh really? Who’s that night-light for again? I seem to have forgotten.” This time it was his turn to roll his eyes at you. Without saying anything, he placed his hands back on the cart’s handle and began to leave the “living room.”

You swung your legs over, a giggle leaving your mouth as you walked over to your boyfriend. You wrapped your arms around his middle, resting your cheek on him. “Babe, I was just joking; I didn’t mean to upset you,” you mumbled into him.

He let out a sigh and stopped in the middle of the aisle. You watched as he brought one of his hands down to grasp one of yours that had taken hold of his waist. Jean turned to face you, head tilting as a slight smirk overtook his face. “That’s what I was waiting to hear.” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before turning around to continue rolling the cart forward to his destination.

His arm extended behind him, motioning to you to hold his hand. You obliged, your palm sliding in his, fingers curling around your knuckles as his. “Whatever,” you grumbled, choosing to turn your head to observe the variety of rugs that were hanging on display. He tugged at your hand, an amused expression painting his face.

“You want those cinnamon buns or not, pretty girl?” The pet name almost made you choke. He knew what it would do to you. He would use it sparsely, only to coax a reaction out of you, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know the hold he had over you.

You whipped your head back to face him, confident to quip back at him, but it all melted when you saw the way he was looking at you; a lop-sided smirk, his tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip before capturing it between his teeth. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for what you had to say.

“Yeah, I do.” You managed to slip a few words out. He had won this one, using his charms to debilitate any assuredness you had. He brought your linked hands up to his lips, tenderly kissing the back of your hand, humming in delight.

“You know, we should come here more often, live out our domestic daydreams together.” The smells of cinnamon buns were getting stronger as you walked on.

“Sure, but you could also just move in with me.”

The tips of his ears went red, and you paused, realizing what you just said, the weight of what you just said. You had thought about asking him to move in with you, but you didn’t mean for it to slip out in the middle of a random conversation; in Ikea nonetheless. “I- You don’t have to. I was just joking. I don’t know why I said that.”

Your voice dwindled to merely a whisper as you completed your sentence. Jean stopped the cart once more. “Yes. Yes, I’ll move in with you.” His expression was earnest as he looked at you, eyes glittering with adoration as he waited for your response.

“Whoa, whoa, hold your horses cowboy. We can talk about this after you get me those cinnamon buns you promised.” you wiped any sense of embarrassment from your face as you tried to suppress your laughter, which was caused by the zealousness your boyfriend had just shown.

However, there was no doubt that your heart did grow in fondness for Jean, and you were relieved that he wasn’t off-put by your haphazard confession. He was absolutely whipped for you, and you couldn’t deny that you were head over heels in love with him either. You desired to continue to share your life with him, and moving in together would be the next step in your relationship.

“Yes, Ma’am” His voice broke you out of your thoughts as he placed his hand to his forehead to salute you. You giggled at his actions.

“Lead the way, Kirstein.”

a/n: lol, this was practically for my own self-indulgence. and i feel like this was a tad bit ooc idk. Anywayssss, I would like to mention that I'm working on a navigation page with taglists and such and thinking about requests. I wanna branch out write for more aot characters as well as jjk and hq. Again, I'm very new to this so it's gonna take some time. I would love to know ur thoughts on all of this lol.

As always, please leave a like/reblog (i love reading tags makes me happy heh) if you enjoyed this, I appreciate lots <33

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phoenixkadeu · 4 years ago

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fire and water.

the flowing waves of water, blue, and the burning flames of fire, red.

The rain had been pouring down non-stop for the last few days, thick coats made out of the best furs had been dug out from the closets and were now being worn outside on the streets, all kinds of people had their red noses tucked into the confines of their collars, hands deep in their pockets as their moving bodies struggled to keep in their natural warmth.

Asra was one lucky soul. He arrived at the club territory on top of his horse - the one that had been a generous gift from the infamous ace of hearts - a creature that was as strong as it was beautiful, a true companion. Which is why Asra did not mind paying a shiny coin to keep her safe in one of the stables, safe from the cruel elements until he was able to come back.

Heavy leather boots carried him all the way to his parents’ home, through narrow streets and under the watchful eye of neighbours behind the closed blinds of their own homes. It was odd, the whole atmosphere, it seemed like everyone preferred to be inside of their own homes away from the unforgiven the weather and as far away from the war was brewing, ignoring all the promises for a better future under the hand of some other that deemed himself more competent than the present ace of clubs.

None of that bothered him, at least not yet. A wave of calm and comfort filled him once he opened the front door, taking out his boots and setting them to the side, there were several coats hanging down on the rack, a pile of blankets on top of the couch and the young elementalist smiled to himself knowing that his parents were taking care of themselves.

Out of habit, he went to stand in front of the fireplace before crouching down, adorned fingers conjured a set of flames that soon lit up the entirety of the room, warmth slowly spreading around the house and just as he was opening his mouth to shout out the familiar question of “is anybody home?”, the front door opened again, a man walked in, drenched from head to toe and Asra wondered when it had started to rain.

“Hi, buddy,” his father greeted him in a familiar manner, his eyes wrinkling slightly alongside his smile as he shredded all the wet layers from his body, before finally making his way to his son, one calloused hand patted down Asra’s blond hair and making the young man looked up. “are you staying for dinner?” a small nod was enough to make his dad’s face light up. even more, the sentiment clear on his face as he moved to sit beside Asra in front of the fireplace, droplets dripping down from his hair but the old man seemed satisfied just to be with his son in front of a warm fire.

“You should go take a shower or you’ll get sick” the usual roughness that Asra was so known for was nowhere to be seen, only a subtle frown decorated his face, a small display of emotion. This was no simple visit, both men knew that, Asra was worried about his parents and had come all the way just to check on them, which was why it was so hard to get out in the open the next set of words.

The older man opened his eyes, knees worn out from years of work cracked audibly as he stood up, mature hands brushed his pants as he made his way to the open kitchen, just to start opening a series of cabinets and drawers, a horrible habit that often set Asra on edge.

“Somethings wrong” it wasn’t a question, Asra simply knew just by looking at his father’s behavior. The sigh that came out of his fathers mouth was hidden behind the sound of heavy rain hitting the windows and the soft crackling of the fire.

“Your mother has not been feeling well lately” he started, looked at Asra just to try and see his reaction before continuing “She did not want you to know so don’t be mad at her, alright? She is one of the few water elementalist around here and she just couldn’t turn her back on the people that needed her” he explained and Asra could feel the anger spreading across his body.

“The people can’t pay which means that no elementalist is willing to come here just for the sake of helping those in need, you know how it works, son. Your mother always liked to help, she can’t watch anyone suffer and most of our neighbours are still alive only because of her”

Asra stood up abruptly, the words said by his father preceded a bad and expected reaction. He made his way past the open kitchen in order to reach the corridor behind it, but his father pulled him back by the collar of his shirt before he could take another step, made him stumble a bit before he fully stopped on his tracks and prior to any complaints that could be voiced against that action coming from Asra, his father anticipated all of that, his usual soft tone was a bit more demanding now “you’re not going to see her with that look on your face, no need to upset her even more, Asra”

He looked at his father, mouth agape, if it was anyone else he would have told them to just fuck off, but this was one of the people who had raised him and unfortunately, one of the people who were always right about everything. So, Asra suppressed his feelings and kept his mouth shut and finally after the longest seconds of Asra’s life, his father released him, clapped him on his shoulder and spoke up again “that’s better, go on now, I’ll prepare some tea for her”

He opened the door to his parents’ bedroom quietly, carefully, even perhaps a little bit afraid of waking up his sleeping mother and as if on cue, the woman laying down on the bed, underneath heavy blankets looked up at him, tiredness evident on her gracious features which was not considered pitifully just because of the smile that was painted on her lips. “I could tell you were home, it feels warmer” one hand peaked out from underneath the blankets and he almost ran just to take it, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Her eyes closed again and Asra hated it, allowed his face to succumb to the emotion that his father had just warned him about. It did not matter, his mother could not see him with her eyes closed, but unfortunately Asra had his open and even with his damaged right eye he could see her very clearly. His energetic and kind mother was weakened, had been pushed to solve problems that were far from her responsibility, had suffered just to give out temporary solutions, had rejected her own health just to give others a few more days.

It was selfless and stupid.

“Mumsy” he whispered, fingers caressing shapes into the back of her cold hand, gently coaxing her into opening her eyes. Similar blue eyes stared into the one’s of her son, the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes reminded her of past times, when small hands would cling to her legs, trembling lips recounting childish situations as a small Asra tried to defend himself from something he had done.

He had the same expression on his face. No matter how much time passed, she knew her son was still the same, tears for him were always a result of the anger he felt, rarely ever a product of sadness as it was to most, it should have worried her, but it never did, for her he still was -

“My sweet boy” her hand left his to caress the side of his face, thin fingers tracing his tender scars “my beautiful boy” gently and with purpose the palm of her hand found a place above Asra’s chest “I’m sure you can find it in your heart to forgive me”

And Asra did. He forgave her right there, even felt a little bit ashamed for what he was feeling, because in reality he had always been selfish, could not handle the thought of his own mother giving herself to a lost cause. Even if he could not understand it, he could forgive her, if not out of the love he felt for her at least because he knew she had always forgave him for the things he had done, even if he had never admitted to committing them.

They never talked about it, but he knew that his parents were aware of his dangerous lifestyle. Still, they trusted him, never held him back from doing what he wanted and needed to do and now for the first time he was understanding what it was like to suffer for others, to have to trust them blindly, let them do their own stuff and just hope that things would turn out alright.

“You should rest, I’m gonna spend the night here” he kissed the top of his mother’s head, pulled away just to watch her smile and before he noticed it, his father was already inside of the room, carrying a cup of tea. Sat just where Asra had been previously, cold kissed lips puckered and blew strings of air towards the cup in order to cool the tea inside of it, before passing it to his wife, hand reaching out to caress her hair as she drank it.

It was a soft image, a love that Asra had grown accustomed to seeing, one that he had one day hoped to have. Unfortunately, he felt like he was no longer destined for it, not worthy enough, but now standing with one shoulder against the door frame as he watched the silent interaction between his parents he promised that even if he had failed to protect his love, he would not fail to protect theirs.

Corruption be damned, this was all he had left.

#fire and water #drabble #self-para #ok so this is basically how the corruption of water the cold and the deal with HIM in the clubs is affecting Asra #or at least just a start of it #and also another glimpse into the family dynamics #they are very sweet #really how can asra be their son? I laugh a lot #I wanted to put a read more on this but I don't want grey and yan shouting afterwards

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jojo-reader-hell · 5 years ago

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Jonathan with a girlfriend who is absolutely spoiled, stuck up, always completely dressed up, and a daddies girl? She tries to spoil him all the time with expensive items and throws a fit and starts bawling because she doesn’t know how else to show her affection?

MY BABY 😭🥺 I needed to write something hopeful and sweet for my hubby ❤️❤️ GIVE JONATHAN LOVE.

“What say you to this color?”

Jonathan blanched, seeing that familiar dark scowl cross your face as you approached from the other side of the room. Your father was sitting placidly across the way from where you had been playing inspector, draped on a couch and smoking his pipe away from where the tailor displayed the many suits of clothing you’d commissioned for your future husband. No less than twenty full ensembles, including his wedding attire with more on the way to be delivered tomorrow. As if Jonathan didn’t already feel like a burden accepting your father’s kindness to stay at your home until the wedding, now he felt as though you were trying to dress him up like a show poodle.

“Now love…” Jonathan murmured meekly, but you didn’t hear him.

You slowly looked towards the tailor, the fabric of Jonathan’s wedding clothes between your fingers. It looked sharp and attentive on the mannequin, and from the greedy eyes of the man you hired he was already calculating in his mind how much he could swindle out of your purse.

“This is a joke to you, tailor?” You said, so lowly it was almost a whisper.

“Madam?!”

“Pray tell me sir, if you think this…” with one quick motion you ripped the sleeve of the new suit clean off and held it out, “… is a joke? A spectacle, a farce. I told you it was of the upmost importance that you use the fabrics and the stitches I recommended. Are you perhaps under the assumption that we are performing a production of ‘Twelfth Night’?! You were told this was a wedding, were you not?! SO I AM VERY PERPLEXED AS TO WHY YOU INSIST ON DRESSING MY FUTURE HUSBAND IN THIS INSULT OF A MONKEY SUIT-…!”

Oh great… There you went… When you got like this, not even Jonathan in his most commanding tone could get you to calm down.

“THE NERVE… NO, THE AUDACITY OF INSULTING HIM AFTER HE HAS GONE THROUGH SUCH A PAINFUL ORDEAL!”

He felt as though you would be so busy going over your individual trousseaus that you’d miss both the wedding and the honeymoon abroad you and your father had planned right from under him.

You hadn’t even waited for his wounds to heal or for the embers to be extinguished in what remained of the Joestar estate, no sooner had you invaded his sick room that you began to take over every aspect of Jonathan’s life. It was you that decided what he ate, what clothes he wore, what time he went to bed, he’d never felt as weak and helpless as he sank into his chair while you continued to run off at the mouth. You’d be married in a week (thanks to a bit of your prodding and encouraging he finally worked up plenty of nerve to ask you to be Mrs. Jonathan Joestar), and despite the general excitement of your household and the exorbitant costs, Jonathan was starting to feel the tiniest tinge of regret in his heart.

“Well, all I can offer you is luck for your wedding old boy.” Speedwagon had clapped him on the back, “Seems your lady wants it her way, and I hope she means well taking control.”

For some reason Robert Speedwagon’s usual talent for judging character had gone muddled. He didn’t quite know what to make of you. You tended to Jonathan like he was a child by spoiling him with gifts and trinkets, and tempting him with sweet things, all the while scolding your servants and your father with a sharp tongue, despite the fact that they all seemed eager to bend to your will. You’d been rather abrupt with Robert, turning your back to him and catering to your beloved Jojo as though the other man didn’t exist.

How many times had Jonathan scolded you about your selfishness over the course of your short courtship? Too many to count. He insisted gently at first that he didn’t need anything, your love was more than enough... Only to be blatantly ignored as you chided him for foolishness and delved for hours into the places you’d both go, and the clothes and toiletries you’d need for honeymoon in France and Italy. As of late he’d been rather curt with his tender feelings, trying to quell the resentment that had been building up.

What had he gotten himself into with you? The love you shared was hurried, as though fleeting, like a thief in the night you charmed Jonathan and easily stole your way into his heart because it was where you wanted to be. He knew it. Everyone knew your intentions for the charming specimen, and it was only a matter of time before he found himself inexplicably tied to you with a red string of fate, a chord binding the two of you for better or for worse. Call it the desire of the young to sow his wild oats, call it boys will be boys, call it the beguiling seductions of a temptress, call it whatever you please, all he knew was that this was to be his future if he cared one iota about reputation.

“For the price your crooked practice has tried to extract from me, I expect you to get it right the first time.” You growled to the tailor. “Make sure you do not make the same mistake twice.”

“Yes madam! Anything...! My apologies to your fiancé as well, I beg a thousand pardons sir.” The shriveled old man bowed out, and as you smoothed your skirts and pretended nothing had happened Jonathan stood to make his exit.

“Oh dearest! Please stay seated, if you need something presently I shall send Benson to fetch it!” Your voice rose a few octaves, and you darted towards him like a sparrow when you saw he was preparing to take his leave.

“I am quite alright, thank you.” Jonathan replied, his voice tight and low as he played off dodging your grasp as him trying to grip the arm of the chair to center himself.

He had to insist that he was fine. It would be alright. He just had to take care of some personal things before he could come back. But he instead hid away in the one place in the entire manor you wouldn’t think to look for him.

Surrounded in your own miniature museum, Jonathan sequestered himself in a bay window behind heavy drapes, and dropped his face into his hands as he began to cry his frustrated tears. This helplessness was consuming him. He could do nothing except submit to your will, and in his delusion of masculinity it hurt him and made him feel helpless and lonely. Despite his resolve to never let anyone push him around again, it only applied when his tormentor was a man apparently. What could he do? He couldn’t do anything to you except bow to your whims, already in debt in over his head and trembling at the trap laid out for him; it was a deadly combination of convention and Christian morals that dictated of a man to rise up and be counted responsible for his actions. Where could he go now? His choices of shelter were nonexistent. There was no Joestar estate to return to, at least not until you both returned from your bridal tour abroad when the workers your father hired projected its completion. Heaven help him, he even found himself pining for his lost love, feeling a heaping dose of Christian guilt whenever those thoughts crossed his mind. But there was no comfort even in emotional infidelity. Erina Pendleton refused to hurt you. During the nights she nursed him she rebuffed his reaches towards her, and only told him to treat you tenderly, to make an honest woman of you considering the nature of your close relationship, and to accept the kindness you had extended to him in the form of a place to recover. And there was no way, no chance in hell that a gentleman would betray the expectations of a lady. Even if you drove Jonathan crazy and made him wish that he had never agreed so rashly to marry you, he couldn’t go back on his word. Hadn’t he made a big to do about your engagement? Something he promised his late father pertained to you, a promise just before he went to school he assured his father the same thing he did for you: He would not force you to suffer shame or subject you to the horror of your father’s desire to marry you off to one of his rich friends to save face. If he made the choice to know you, he would take the responsibility of taking care of you as his wife.

They that dance must pay the fiddler after all. His father informed him that his late mother quoted this often. And what a shame it would be to her, if she were alive today and knew that her own son didn’t maintain the morals she wanted for him.

Surrounded by your “curios” and decorations from the Orient, Jonathan tried for many hours to steel his nerves. It took him until it was time to eat with you and your father, the hunger and promise of a feast coaxing him from his corner and to the dining hall where he sat distantly at the overly large table. He supped quietly, refusing to answer your questions as to why he was so late, and simply pretending as though nothing was happening in his mind. Sometimes he made polite conversations with your father, but any time you or the wedding were brought up he avoided the subject like the plague. Hard to do when all your father talked about was you, with the slight possibility he might throw in a morsel or two about his horses. Once in a lull where your father was prying lobster meat from the shell, Jonathan looked up from his plate that he had cleaned nearly five times to see that you barely touched anything, your shoulders withdrawn and your lips pressed tightly together. For a minute his heart twinged with anger, only to soften when he wondered if you’d even eaten anything at all. You looked so pale, and did you always have that green tint to your cheeks? Jonathan watched quietly as you told one of the many servants at your side that you just didn’t want anything right now, but in his heart he knew you weren’t starving yourself for the sake of fashion, nor was it because you were upset.

Jonathan couldn’t let the facade of his anger alienate you… It wasn’t right. Especially not in this condition where the slightest misstep could only make the situation worse. Even if you were with fault and not at all the perfect image of a lady, hadn’t he learned to see passed that to see the beautiful qualities you possessed? Hadn’t he been able to see passed the glitz and glamours you hid your true self behind? As was expected, you were favored by men for your wealth and quick wit, among the women you were hated for the ease with which you could capture a beaux with a simple beckon of your fingers.

It was odd really, among the other ladies of your pedigree you stood out, a bluejay among robins with the temperament to match; none of the ladies were safe from your sharp beak. A beautiful blonde daughter of a marquis would pale in comparison to you, even though you possessed no traditional qualities of beauty that they did. Your face was far too severe, brow perpetually pulled into a look far too sly, and your smile seemed to come at a price as well. Anyone who spent more than a few hours couldn’t fail to notice your short temperament and disdain for the delicate flowers of England. And yet when asked there was never any shortage of complements: your jewelry always sparkled the brightest against your clean skin, your hand was never empty, always clasped by a dancing partner or in fervent confessions of love, and your clothes were always of the finest French silks, fitted in ways to emphasize the assets you did have. Yet the compliments were more superficial, whereas most romantics like Jonathan wanted a Jane Eyre, you were more Blanche Ingram, all French lace and jewelry and coveting any little trinket you could get your hands on.

Yet there were hidden qualities you possessed that you only allowed Jonathan to catch a glimpse of. As much as you threw money towards your curios and your dresses and jewels, you were just as obliged to give it all away to charitable causes. He never forgot the blue coat school you showed him one day when he was itching to go outside for a bit of fresh air. The building bearing your family name was only a few hours ride away from your home, the halls as spotlessly clean and well equipped as your manor, and all the chubby cheeked little orphan girls knew you by name and ran up to kiss you and put bluebells in your hair when you told them you wouldn’t be visiting for some time. They cried at first, thinking you were abandoning them, only to squeal in delight when you told them you were getting married to the handsome man that had accompanied you. He remembered the parties he attended where he’d started to show interest. Your quick with and sharp intellect endeared you to the men, each one pushing Jonathan in your direction when they noticed your demeanor changed for the better whenever he was around. He would always remember the times you purposefully snubbed the advances of one Dio Brando, much to Jonathan’s secret delight, merely because you “did not like the look of his eyes” and that you would not forget the injustices committed against your sweet Jojo.

There were many other things… The times you’d prattle on and on about your fossil collection and all the things you learned whilst collecting them, bonding over a mutual love of history and listening to his own prattling about the stone mask, asking about his hopes and dreams, mourning his father with him on nights where his injuries were too painful to ignore… Even appreciating the friendship and love of Erina Pendleton, because she made him happy during a time where you did not know him. That had to be when he’d truly fallen in love with you. Your heart was wholly good, you only wanted his happiness, whereas any other woman would have flown into a rage because he had never stopped loving another.

Jonathan was so lost in thought about you, he rose from the table without speaking once the meal was concluded, and went automatically towards his sanctuary of your own miniature museum, he didn’t hear your footsteps following eagerly after him.

“Jojo??”

Your voice sounded so innocent, so tiny and sad, that Jonathan paused his journey and allowed you to catch up to him, your jewelry and the knickknacks lining the halls in curio cabinets rattling with your steps as you ran towards him. For every one step he took, you needed to run very far, and it took a while for you to catch up. Yet you did eventually catch up to him winded and looking more pale than before. Gently, like a little girl beseeching her father, you tugged his waistcoat in the hopes that he’d turn to look at you.

“Jojo...” your voice was the tiniest whimper. “Jojo... Are you going to leave me?”

“What?!”

Hours ago before he ate he might have considered breaking the engagement out of anger, but now that he had remembered his love for you (and been fed) he couldn’t dare think of destroying you like that.

“Why would you ever think-…”

“You have that look about you Jojo. I’ve seen it so many times, the first night I saw it, you were making our engagement known to Erina. Now... I... Jojo, please... Forgive me.”

Your hands were shaking. He could see you tottering in your heels and knew immediately when he grabbed your waist to balance you that your mood had only been dictated to anger because you were poorly. Dressed like a doll and smothering in your clothes because your father demanded it of you, and here Jonathan was only making it worse.

“Why... no, I should not pretend as if I do not know the cause of your pain.” He murmured as he pulled you close into his chest. “While I will not deny your tempers vex me, I must beg your forgiveness too... my love, I’ve told you over and over so many times: I have no need for earthly possessions. Your love is all I need. I don’t want to leave you, I only beg of you to let me take care of myself. I wish you wouldn’t spoil me so.”

“B-but Jojo...”

“Shhh... my love, you’re ashen.” He murmured softly into your neck. “You need to have something my love. I can send for a meal to be brought to your room.”

He tried to lead you to your room, but you refused to budge and only tugged on his clothes again, begging him to look at you.

“But Jojo... I... my only wish is that you should want for nothing.”

“I don’t need gifts and trinkets my love.” Jonathan murmured gently. “I just need your love and understanding, and for you to always be happy with me.”

You couldn’t help but melt into tears by his words, explaining through your hiccoughing that you never wanted him to feel unloved or unwanted, citing the many wrongs done to him and the burden it left on your heart to know that while you were blissfully unaware of your future husband’s suffering, you had merely been collecting and hoarding your obsessions and waiting for a man to come and take you away. It frustrated you, you went on, because Jonathan had lost everything, and for once in your life you had the means to give him back what he lost.

“I... I know I cannot turn back the hands of time and return those you have lost...” you whimpered, your tears wetting his cravat and making his own burst forth onto your hair. “However the least I can do is give you clothes, a home, a good meal...-“

“Oh my love... I only. Need. Your. Affections. Nothing else.”

Each word he spoke was punctuated with fervent kisses to your lips, his good arm pressing you tightly against his chest as you lost yourselves to passion. He very nearly lost control there in the hall, not caring that anyone including your father might walk in and scold you both for acting in perversion. But eventually he pulled away from your enticing lips, his heart swelling and beating out the things he thought in anger, your sweetest kisses reminding him of why he asked you to be Mrs. Jonathan Joestar in the first place.

“I had wanted to show you after we took care of your clothes,” you gasped, breathless from his canoodling, “Plenty of other things came today as well, come, before you take me to my room.”

You took him gently by the good arm, directing him into a room he knew to be your nursery in childhood. It wasn’t far from the area you assured him would be your own shared chambers (your father insisted you’d remain with him for the time it took to completely restore Jonathan’s home), and when you opened the door you assured him the setup within was only for a little while.

“Just until the little creature is strong enough to make the journey back home with us Jojo.” You told him with a smile as you lead him into the room.

Seeing the bright pretty colors, as well as the miniature items and clothes, Jonathan couldn’t hold back his happiness. He glanced at you, his lips open in a smile and tears dribbling down his cheeks, and gasped in pure delight to see the items you were squirreling away inside.

“You... you did all this?” He grinned widely.

You nodded eagerly, smiling as he picked up soft swaddling clothes, ran his fingers along the supple wood of a cradle, and looked around with wide, lovesick eyes.

It was as though finally he could see the promise of happier times in these possessions, and realized that you were only trying to give him happiness in the one way that you could. In truth, he still preferred you, and the gift you would give him in a few months time.

#jojo’s bizzare adventure #jojo’s bizarre adventure phantom blood #jonathan joestar x reader #jonathan joestar #erina pendleton #shes such a bro in this story #robert eo speedwagon #he babey #jjba pb #jjba x reader #jjba reader insert #victorian era #jjba fanfiction #tw depression

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roguelioness · 5 years ago

Text

What Could Have Been

Inspired by this post and @ma-sulevin‘s addition

Her heart’s going to fly clean out of her chest any second.

It certainly feels that way. She stares blankly at the ceiling in the darkness, the last tendrils of the dream slowly unwinding from her mind, slithering back to the void. Her breath is rapid, and shaky, and she’s not surprised to feel wetness on her cheeks.

Reality comes back in inches. It’s so quiet here; the only sound is the wind playing with the trees outside their window. There’s a softness covering her, the flannel blanket that carries the familiar, soothing scent of the laundry detergent that she uses.

She pushes herself up shakily. A soft snore on her left has her turning sharply towards the source of the sound; and her heart flips over - in relief or shock, she can’t tell - when her eyes land on the sleeping form of Solas, of her husband, resting on his back with an arm carelessly covering his eyes. As she stares greedily, he snores again, and she makes a low, half-choked sound of disbelief.

He’s… here. He’s here, by her side, and not-

Her hand moves towards him, unbidden, and she touches his face. Feels the softness of his skin, traces over the freckles dotting his nose. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. When she rubs a finger against his lips, he stirs, moves his hand away from his face to blink blearily up at her.

“Vhenan?” his voice is thick with sleep, but it still sounds like him. “What’s the matter?”

His concern, even in his half-aware state, breaks open some dam within her. “Oh,” she breathes through her tears. “You’re here. You’re here.”

“Where else would I be?” She can tell he’s fully awake as he sits up next to her, his thigh pressing against hers. He’s awake, and alarmed. His brows are furrowed as he takes in her tears. “What’s wrong?”

“I had a dream-” she hiccups, then cries harder as he wraps his arm around her shoulder. “A bad one.”

He rubs her back, his warmth seeping into her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She hiccups again, sniffs in a futile attempt to clear her blocked nose. Wordlessly, Solas hands her several tissues, and she takes them gratefully. She blows her nose, once, twice, places the used tissues on her nightstand in favor of the glass of water she keeps there. The liquid soothes her throat, replenishes what she’s lost in sleep-sweat and tears.

“Better?” Solas asks. His long, slender fingers softly massage the base of her neck sending frissions of relief up to her scalp.

“Yes.” She takes in a deep breath. The dream’s coming back to her, faint echoes of the vivid, overwhelming images, but shielded as she is by Solas’ touch, she feels none of the emotions that threatened to drown her. It makes it easier to speak about- it.

“I saw you,” she murmurs, hands fidgeting in her lap. “You were dressed funny. Your face was so… blank. So expressionless,” she shivers. He gently takes one of her hands and holds it between his, silently encouraging her to continue. “You had this- this strange orb. It was pulsing with power, so much power… you gave it to a monster…” she exhales. “Some corrupted magister, I think it was. And- and the monster, he- he used it to kill so many people. He blew up the… I think it was the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It looked like it… and he just- so many people died,” her voice trembles, just a little. “And I- I had a cut on my hand,” she stares at the palm of her left hand, half-surprised to see it smooth and unblemished. “It oozed green light and it hurt so bad. And- people hated me for it, but- but they also wanted me to fight the monster. So I did… over and over… and it just… hurt.” She describes the breach, that swirling, vengeful vortex in the sky that spat out demons and death. She talks about red lyrium. “It turned normal men into hate-fueled beasts,” she mutters, blinking blankly into the darkness of the room. “They slaughtered everything for no reason. There was so much blood…” She tells him of the giant demon with too-many eyes and too-sly voice, of betrayal and deadly games played from behind masks and veneers, of ancient places lost and rediscovered and then defiled, of dragons tamed and conquered, and of monsters finally slain.

The silence that falls when she’s done feels deafening. Finally, finally, Solas shifts, pulling her between his legs, her back pressed to his chest so she’s enveloped by his arms and legs. She sighs, softly, contentedly; she feels safe, at last. He presses kisses to her temple, over and over, nuzzling his face against hers.

Something else comes to her. “You left me,” she blurts out, hastily rolling away from him. “You broke my heart, and you left me all alone. And then- and then when I finally found you, you-” she raises her left arm, looks at it. It’s whole, and entirely normal; there are no poisonous green lines snaking up the length of it, no pulsing power in the palm that will burst out in a flash of agonizing pain. “You took my arm,” she whispers, rubbing her left arm with the fingers of her right. “You- you said you were the Dread Wolf, that you were going to destroy the world, and then you amputated me and… and you abandoned me,” the words are heavy with accusation and anger. “You turned your back on me, and you just… walked away.”

He sighs. “Vhenan,” he shifts, attempting to coax her to look in his direction. “Vhenan, you cannot truly be upset with me over something you saw in the Fade.” She staunchly refuses to look at him. He sighs again, shifts till he’s within her line of sight. “No, I have never given an artifact to a corrupt magister. You would know if I had. No-” he forestalls the objection that wants to pour out of her mouth, “not everything you see in the Fade is a memory.”

She sulks, deliberately turns her head from him. Solas takes in a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. The sound is loud in the quiet of the room. “Vhe-” she jerks her head away from him again. “Vhenan, please.”

“You left me!” she hurls at him again, as though it explains everything.

“It was a dream. I would never leave you.” Slowly, as though he’s attempting to calm a skittish horse, he reaches across the distance between them. She lets him touch her, lets him turn her so she’s facing him once more. “Ar lath ma, Neria. You are my heart, my home. Leaving you would be like depriving myself of air; I would perish.”

Her eyes fill up with tears again; she sniffles. “Promise you’ll stay with me?” she sobs, flinging herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Solas holds her to him, so tight he’s almost crushing her, but she welcomes the pressure. “I promise.” He waits till the tears stop, stroking her back slowly the entire time, before suggesting they go back to sleep. She agrees, but she doesn’t get any rest.

She’s not really sure if she believes him.

----

Monday

It’s silly to let a dream haunt her so, Neria knows. She’s aware of it, but she can’t seem to stop herself from giving Solas the cold shoulder. Each time he asks her a question, she replies with one-word answers, tersely spoken. Creators bless him, he hasn’t pressed her, hasn’t demanded an explanation for her strange behavior - for it is strange, and out of character for her. Instead, he gives her gentle affection, coming back to her again and again even when she pushes him away.

She thinks she hates him more for how damn understanding he’s being.

He’s at work, and she’s got the T.V. on as she prepares dinner. It’s some trashy reality show about the heiresses of Orlais; one of them’s getting married, apparently, and to accompany the raucous laughter and the garish opulence of the yacht wedding, fireworks are set off, bursting in the sky in a shower of sparks of blue, red, and green- green, like-

Her fingers turn boneless, and the knife clatters to the floor, but she doesn’t hear it.

She’s there. Arms bound, and the sky is falling, and there are people shouting at her; her heart thunders, she’s so confused, so terrified. There are people shouting at her, strange ghostlike figures with hoods over their heads and viperous green eyes, smoke curling out of their ears and noses and mouths. They scream at her, spit at her, but she can’t hide, there’s nowhere to go, she’s being pulled forward, forward, forward- she doesn’t know what’s going on, but there are soldiers, and she’s running up a snow-covered mountain, amidst bodies charred to the bone, and- it’s horribly, horrifying, it’s wrong, so, so wrong, she knows this, she knows this, but how can she fix this, she can’t- she didn’t cause this, how is she meant to fix this, she tries to shout at the ghosts but they don’t listen, they scream at her over and over and their voices are too high and they hurt her head and her hand is throbbing now, viciously, violently-

an arc of too-green light, and more pain, so much more pain, but the ghosts are pleased-

She can’t breathe, her chest is clogged with the freezing wind and panic and terror- but she can’t stop, can’t stop, this - whatever this is - is too urgent, too important, she has to keep going, has to, it doesn’t matter that no one believes her, it doesn’t matter that everyone hates her, she has to- do- something- and there’s green high up in the sky, so wide and large and massive and it’s scary and she doesn’t want to be here she wants to run away she wants to hide she wants to-

The phone rings, and she’s jolted back to her kitchen, with the sunlight streaming in through the windows, where an advertisement for laundry detergent is playing on the television.

Her heart’s still racing. She picks up the knife from the floor, but she can’t seem to stop her hand from shaking.

Vhenan. Would you mind picking up dinner on your way home?

She half-expects him to refuse. It’s what she would do, were she in his place…

Of course. Is there anything you’re craving?

Damn him. How dare he?

She sinks to the floor, phone clutched to her chest, and cries. She’s not sure why.

----

Tuesday

She can’t stay home. She’s already on edge, but walking into their bedroom makes her too jittery. Makes her feel as though everything is going to come crashing down around her. Desperate for a change of scenery, she texts her best friend.

How ‘bout some coffee? My treat.

Dorian’s quick to reply, as always. Of course. How does three sound? I’ll splurge on the donuts.

They sit by the window in the farthest corner of the room - their usual table. She’s eschewed coffee in favor of some strawberry lemonade - the last thing she needs is caffeine ruining her already fitful sleep.

“So,” Dorian asks, peering at her over the rim of his cup, his moustache quivering slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean? We do this all the time.”

He quirks an elegant brow. “You look like death. You have more bags under your eyes than I take on vacation with me, and that would actually be an understatement, not an exaggeration. Something’s clearly got you all shaken up. Did you have a fight with Solas? Do I need to have words with him?”

“No, I-” her hand trembles, and some of her drink spills on her white shirt. “Dammit,” she grabs at a napkin, goes to prevent the stain from setting-

The red liquid is spreading outwards on the cloth. It’s so- red. So angry. So like-

-like blood blooming from a wound-

She’s running through walls lined with red, dark rank-smelling liquid around her feet, the scent of iron and copper in her nose and on her tongue. There’s too much red, too much, and- there’s a humming sound, loud and haunting and it’s so furious and she doesn’t know why- how dare it be angry when she’s the one who deserves to rage- always that sickening squelch before the red sprays out, she doesn’t want to do it but she does, wants to hurt them the way they’ve hurt everything around her-

Dorian calls out to her, concern ripe in her voice, and she lifts her head towards the sound, eyes not fully seeing- he was there too, running by her side, running amidst the muck and the filth and the ichor, so desperately optimistic despite the grim and the dark and the bleak

Red, red and dead everywhere- and Solas is here,, too-red and too-sad and too close to death with haunted and hopeless eyes and she can’t bear it, can’t bear it, it’s too much, there’s no hope there’s only fear and despair and she’s helpless as she watches the love of her life die spilling more red than she thought he had and it isn’t fair it isn’t right IT ISN’T RIGHT IT’S TOO MUCH SHE NEEDS TO GET OUT SHE NEEDS TO GET BACK-

“Neria!” she jolts as she’s shaken roughly. Dorian’s looking at her, unsettled but deeply worried. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Dorian-” he mouth is too dry, but the sight of her drink makes her recoil.

“Talk to me, please.”

She does. She tells him everything, then turns to look out of the window as she waits for him to tell her she’s crazy.

He doesn’t.

Instead… “I’ve had dreams like that before,” he confesses quietly. She stares at him, wide-eyed. “They can be… haunting.” There’s so much sympathy in his eyes she can’t quite bear to look at his face.

“How do I get rid of them?” she asks.

“They’ll leave, with time.” He reaches out, covers her hand with his own. “You’re not crazy, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

She’s not convinced. “Thanks, Dorian.”

----

Wednesday

Neria is being kind to herself, as Dorian suggested. The long, tapered candle gives off a pleasant, soothing scent, filling the air with vanilla and lavender. There’s a stack of magazines on the table, a cup of tea by her side, and she’s curled up on the couch with a soft wool throw tucked around her legs.

She hasn’t registered a single word she’s read.

With a deep sigh, she shifts, pulls another issue from the stack. Jostles the table as she does. The candle falls over before she can stop it. The flame touches the paper, which instantly ignites.

There’s a goddamn fire on the table; she knows she should do something, that she needs to put it out, but- she cocks her head to the side and finds herself just staring at it.

Yellow and orange and heat, so much heat it blisters and warps-

Shouting, and screaming, and panic; smoke handing thick and heavy in the air, wood charred black and glowing red, help us, save us- There’s too many of them, too many, what can she do- nothing, nothing, there’s nothing to do, she’s going to die, they’re going to die, everything is going to burn to ash and she can’t do anything- but- wait- she can, she can, she’ll do all she can so he lives- he is everything to her, she won’t lose him, she can’t lose him- it hurts, it’s anguish that shakes her bones, she doesn’t want to leave him, she doesn’t want to die, but there’s nothing else she can do-

she’s scared and terrified and petrified and she wants to curl up and cry. There’s panic in her belly and it’s desperate and gnawing and everything around her is burning, burning, it’s too hot even with all the snow and her fingers blister and her toes blister and her face blisters and she’s screaming and she’s falling and she’s burning and she’s falling-

Warm arms - not hot, but warm, and so familiar and so welcome - wrap around her. Solas’ arms are trembling as he rocks her back and forth, his lips pressed to her forehead.

“Are you okay,” he asks, his voice hoarse, when she finally pulls away from him.

Her throat feels strangely sore. “Yes,” she croaks, then remembers the fire and jerks upright. There’s nothing there; the candle’s been put out, the only victim a few pages half-burned. “You put out the fire?”

“It was a small one,” he murmurs, still unwilling to let go of her. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles.

She knows he isn’t convinced.

----

Thursday

The news feed is uninspiring. There’s a new picture up of Sera and her newest girlfriend at the beach. It’s time for a Widdle fun! the caption exclaims. Photos of Orlesian Fashion Week posted by Vivienne, with little remarks under the designers she admires. A slightly-blurry video of Cullen and his mabari pup; she can’t help but smile at their antics. She scrolls past a banner advert for Rainier’s Furnishings, and she absently makes a note to check it out; Solas could use a new desk and bookshelves for his study.

The Thedas Travels page has a slideshow of pictures. Ten Places You Must See Before You Die, it’s titled. Curious, she checks it out. Boulevard of the Seas in Antiva City, The Winter Palace in Halamshiral, The Argent Spire in Minrathous, Adamant Fortress in the Western Approach...

She stares at the picture of the large, grey-stoned bastion. An Orlesian fortress constructed by dwarves, this relic of the Divine Age stands on the very edge of the Abyssal Rift and once belonged to the Grey Wardens-

Clang of metal striking metal, scent of blood fresh in the air. Ichor on her face, in her hair, on her hands. She’s running again, chasing a ghost, frustration ripe on her tongue- the ground shatters beneath her and now she’s falling, she’s falling and plummeting and dropping and it’s endless and she lands into nightmares and terror and everything is sickly and wrong and makes her skin crawl and the sly voices lick at her ears and make her shudder and cloud her mind and sap her resolve-

but she’s grim and she’s determined and she punches ahead and she’s a leader and she has to she has to there’s no other choice- until a choice has to be made and she doesn’t want to make it but she has to but she doesn’t and she tumbles out with grief blocking every pore and loss flooding her chest but there’s too many eyes on her to falter so she can’t even cry but that’s all she wants to do is cry and apologize and weep and- what has she done what has she done

When she wakes up, she’s in bed, the covers tucked around her shoulder. Her head throbs viciously. Weakly, she sits up, and finds a cup of warm tea and several chocolate chip cookies waiting for her.

There’s also a small bottle of aspirin.

She starts to cry again.

----

Friday

It’s a bright, sunny day. There’s not a single cloud in the sky. Outside, she can hear the distant rumble of a motor as someone mows their lawn. There’s faint birdsong drifting in, and the scent of warm spices from the stove. She’s smiling and humming along to the music in the radio as she pours the batter into a greased pan.

She’s happy, and she’s in love, and she’s going to surprise Solas with his favorite cake. Life is good.

A ballad floats out through the speakers. It’s soft, and sweet, all violins and cellos, and it builds up to something deeper, something that thrums in her veins and fills her blood with desires, until her core aches and throbs-

Come, dance with me before the music stops. It rings so clearly in her head she finds herself turning, seeking him out. Her hand in his. His hand at her waist, heavy and warm. She’s floating across marble, the stars in the sky insignificant in measure to the light in his eyes. Scent of rose and jasmine thick, almost cloying. The rustle of vines as she’s pressed up against the wall, his mouth at her neck, teeth nipping, tongue soothing, fingers drifting under her dress moving slowly upwards, teasing, stroking, there but not quite where she wants him, where she needs him-

Champagne on his tongue, passion on her breath, his gaze locked on her as he pushes into her, slow, steady, filling her so perfectly till he’s hilted as deeply in her body as he is in her heart. Her gaze never leaving his as he begins to move, hips slapping against hers, the sound muffled by the low hum of conversations from below the balcony. The music hangs in the air as he guides her to peak, as he makes lovely, lewd promises against her lips, her legs wrapped around him, trapping him, demanding more, neck bared up in offering, his mouth latched to her pulse-

Close, so close, so high up- she leaps off, soars, dives off the cliff into the sea of pleasure, washes up on the shore sated and breathless- he loves her and she loves him and she wants him and he wants here and it's lovely, beautiful, magnificent-

Solas walks out of the study.

She strides towards him. Plucks the book from his hands. Pulls him down to her, slides her mouth against his.

He goes willingly with her.

----

Saturday

Elfroot, spindleweed, embrium. They’re growing well in their troughs, the leaves and stems a pleasing, soothing shade of green. She sighs when she sees that the trays in the shaded spot she’d reserved for growing deep mushrooms are empty. Still, she’s quite pleased with the crop of dawn lotus and crystal grace - she might even have enough to send over to Merrill.

She makes her way to the dragonthorn tree. It’s such a strange one, with it’s palmately lobed leaves that shine a deep, glossy green, and large orange-red berries that cluster in groups of two or three. Native to the Forbidden Oasis, it serves as a reminder of that one vacation she’d taken with Solas, just the two of them in a well-hidden paradise away from the rest of the world.

The sun glints off the swaying leaves. The wind whispers into her ear, cools the sweat that’s beaded at the nape of her neck. The scent of the earth hits her, loamy and rich-

The land is lush and verdant, more shades of green than she can count. She moves through grass softer than a dream, trails her fingers along slender, fuzzy leaves, the canopy above her dappled with sunlight. The smell of petrichor mingles with that of herbs, both known and unknown. Flowers bloom, a hundred different colors and sizes and scents. This is paradise unknown. It’s a marvel, and awe swells within her, wonder and amazement that such a place exists… so much beauty, such exquisiteness, then- flashes of gold, towers of red, hulking, misshapen, dead-eyed- pools of red, splashing up her legs, smeared across her face, running down her arm- the air changes from sweet to bitter and and she tramples all that is pretty beneath her feet as she rushes to stop greedy hands from grasping, from drinking- and she despairs that something so marvelous is despoiled, befouled, and she’s angry now, raging at those who would so pollute and defile so sacred a sanctum-

Something brushes against her arm. It’s a branch, laden with blooming red flowers, and she has, in her daze, clipped it while it was still growing.

Distressed, she takes it with her when she enters the house, places it in a vase filled with water.

The flowers are dead the next morning, withered and sadly drooping. Dry, shrivelled red petals lie scattered across the table.

She carries the ache in her chest all day.

----

Sunday

Neria watches Solas check his wallet, making sure the printout of his boarding pass is safely within. His small green carry-on suitcase is waiting by the door. He shrugs on his coat, checks the time on his watch before looking up at her. “It’s time to leave, I think. I do not expect traffic, but it’s better to be safe.”

She nods.

He crosses over to her, cups her cheek. She nuzzles against his palm. “It is only four days,” he watches her carefully. “Not years. I will be back. I promise.”

“I know,” she replies, but it rings hollow even to her own ears.

He places his luggage in the trunk, and she drives him to the airport. A strange kind of silence fills the air - it feels ominous, almost. Like the Fates are watching the two of them with bated breath. It gives her goosebumps, prickles the back of her neck.

The airport is bustling as it always is, and she parks in the short-term parking. He’s clearly surprised, but makes no comment. “I’ll walk with you,” she explains, and he accepts without question. They share an embrace before he walks away to join the line for the security check. He doesn’t look back, his focus on the screen of his phone.

It slams into her then.

There’s rubble and dirt and ruins of ruins and she’s bloodied and bruised and aching in places she shouldn’t ache, but she wanders around, desperate, despairing; he’s not there- she’s terrified, her skin feels frozen not with the cold but with the lack of his warmth, his essence- he’s not there, she can’t tell where he’s gone, she’s alone- he’s gone, and left her alone, and the loneliness steals her breath and leaves her gasping and her heart bursts into razored shards that pierce through her soul and she can’t breathe, where is he, where is he- she is victorious, triumphant, she should be happy, she can sense it, but instead she’s filled with dread and heartache and there’s a gaping hole in her chest and she’s empty, so empty, and she- she can’t-

“Solas!” she bursts out, loud enough to catch the attention of everyone around her. Her husband turns towards her, a quizzical look on his face. “Don’t go. Please.” There’s a desperate don’t leave me that’s hanging in the air over them.

For a moment, they stare at each other. She doesn’t dare to breathe.

Solas makes the slightest, most imperceptible nod. It’s enough of a response, and all the air in her lungs whooshes out of her. He picks his way through the crowd, and makes his way to her side.

Tension, that she hadn’t known existed, flows out of her. Neria’s shoulders slump with relief. She feels as though they’ve passed some unknowable test.

“You’ll stay?” she questions, hardly daring to believe.

“I will always be where you are, vhenan.” He takes hold of her hands. “Shall we go home?”

She doesn’t care that he’ll miss his meeting. Doesn’t care that everyone’s looking at them. Doesn’t care that she’s been acting so strange and aloof and afraid all week.

Because it doesn’t matter, not any more.

He stayed, when she asked him to. And that’s all she needed.

The last of the dream dissipates from her consciousness, leaving only the certainty of his love in its wake.

“Ar lath ma.” She smiles up at him, bright and beatific, rises up on her toes to kiss him. “Let’s go home.”

#roguelioness writes #solavellan #alternate universe #(literally)#solas x lavellan #solas x neria lavellan #my writing #this... got away from me #what could have been

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randomoranges · 4 years ago

Text

prince au part 65

They headed back towards the castle in relative silence and the closer they got to the building, the more the previous tension dissipated. Étienne didn’t blame Edward for what had happened a few moments earlier and by the time they reached the castle door, it felt as though things had returned to normal.

“You know, if you want, I could teach you the fighting style from my home,” Edward started, scuffing the ground with his boot as he looked away shyly. “There are different ways to fighting and even if you might not be good at one, you might find you’re better at another...”

Étienne looked at him, surprised, but then a small smile bloomed on his face, “That – that would be – I wouldn’t mind trying.” Calvin would need some coaxing, but Étienne would take care of that.

“Excellent. Let me know when you’d like to begin. No rush, of course, but I’m pretty sure I can get you dancing on uneven surfaces as well, perhaps even Sir Calvin would be inclined to join us.”

They looked at each other for a moment and then exchanged a laugh, as if participating in a private joke.

“Perhaps, but if we want that to happen, I need to find him, so if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.”

Edward nodded and wished him a pleasant rest of day as Étienne headed in the opposite direction.

He had a fair idea as to where Calvin might be hiding. There were a few places he liked to hide in when he was cross or feeling down and so Étienne headed towards the stables. For as long as he could remember, Calvin had always had an affinity for horses and had found comfort in taking care of them. He’d often hid in the stables, when something had been bothering him and Étienne figured it was the best place to start.

When he got there, the door was slightly ajar and a lamp had been lit. There were boot tracks on the floor that led to the far end stall and just as he had suspected, Calvin was there.

The back stall was reserved for Pony, Calvin’s very first horse, gifted to him on his birth by the king himself. Pony and Calvin had been born during the same autumn and even though Calvin had been too small to properly appreciate the gift, by the time he was able to walk, he was instantly fascinated by her. She was the first horse he rode, had taken her on many ventures, and had taken great care of her over the years.

And, when he needed it the most, he always went to her, for a moment of quiet reprieve.

“There you are,” Étienne said softly once he got to the enclosure.

Calvin, who had been brushing Pony and had his back to him, turned, a little surprised to see him. The look quickly passed and was replaced by something guarded and a little wounded.

“Have you come to dismiss me of my duties, your grace?”

Étienne grimaced at the moniker and did his best to ignore it. Calvin was upset; it would be no use throwing more oil to the fire. “I came here to talk. To you. As your friend. If you’re up to it.” If Calvin needed more time and space then he would honour such a request, but Étienne also knew that it was always best to solve these things quickly with Calvin before they festered.

“What’s there to say?” Calvin asked after a lapsed moment of anguished silence. “He was right. Had that been a real battle, he would have skewered me and then made easy work of you. I let him get the best of me and it could have cost us all our lives. I don’t deserve my title or my rank.”

Étienne sighed and walked over to his lover, gently taking the brush out of his hands. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Cal, we all make mistakes, regardless of our positions. Do you really believe that your father never made a mistake? Hasn’t he told us countless of tales of his past mistakes? Both during training and battles? And yet he’s still in charge of the soldiers, my father still lived to be king. I don’t blame you for what happened out there and I don’t think you’re a failure or should be stripped of your titles.” He tried to step between Pony’s flank and Calvin, but his lover remained obtuse about it and so the prince tried to get him to at least look at him.

“If anything this can serve as a lesson – so next time it won’t happen. Darling, please, don’t beat yourself up over this – it was just a little joust. No one got hurt.” He reached up for Calvin’s cheek and caressed it softly.

Finally, Calvin turned towards him with a pout and crossed his arms over his chest, “I got hurt.” He finally said and Étienne was about to say that even if his pride had been hurt, he could always best Edward at their rematch, or something of the likes that would cheer him up, but Calvin cut him off, “My thigh hurts. I fell on it when I tripped.”

Étienne did the best to bite back his laugh at the petulant look on his lover’s face, but failed. Calvin only continued to pout as Étienne got on his tippy toes and wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him down to his level, “You silly, wonderful man, I love you, you know?”

Calvin flushed, a brilliant shade of pink that only made the prince laugh once more, before he pecked his lips, “Will you come back with me to the castle? We can have a quiet rest of day and I can kiss your thigh better, if you wish.” The flush on Calvin’s face grew even brighter and the prince laughed, as he twined their hands together.

Étienne let Calvin finish up with Pony and wish her a pleasant evening, before he returned to Étienne’s side and the two of them returned to the castle together.

PREVIOUS: LXIV

CURRENT: LXV

NEXT: LXVI

#pc: montreal #pc: calgary #calvin BRISEBOIS LOL #calvin something #étienne maisonneuve #au #ficlet #3 sentence fic meme thing #prince au #pc: edmonton #edward murphy

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pretty-rad-arson-dad · 5 years ago

Text

Controlling Shock

Okay, so a few warnings for this one: It’s kinda fucked up, so if your sensitive to the topic of torture, even if it’s not intense torture, I recommend you not read this, or take caution while reading this. If you are also disgusted by yanderes or obsessive behavior, I also suggest caution.

Another thing, this was written some time before the release of The Fourth Closet, so this is not only old (Hence the somewhat cringy writing) but also some things won’t exactly add up. (Wording it like this as to avoid spoilers for anyone who hasn’t read it and desires to do so, cause it’s a pretty big fucking spoiler). This was also my first time writing something like... This, so it might not be the best.

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

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"William? Are you home?"

Henry stood outside his business partner's two-story house, sighing impatiently. William had told Henry to meet him here at 10:50 AM and he had been waiting out here for thirty minutes now.

Perhaps I could open the door?

Henry shrugged and figured he'd give it a try. The brunette placed his hand on the knob and turned it. Much to his surprise, the door actually opened.

Well, surely William wouldn't mind?

Taking a deep breath, Henry stepped inside the house and gently shut the door behind him.

"William? Are you home?"

Still no response.

Henry sighed and walked down the hall and peaked his head into the living room. Surprisingly empty. Usually Michael would be sitting there watching his weird vampire soap operas but now there was no sign of him.

Henry made his way into the kitchen, thinking that perhaps William had gotten so caught up in today's newspaper that he had completely drowned out the rest of the world.

But he wasn't in there either.

Henry checked everywhere. Everywhere except one room that he hadn't ever gone in.

William's study.

Henry opened the door to the study, only to be greeted with a large room that lacked of people. He nearly turned around and left, but there was an itching curiosity that took hold of him and it was telling him to look around. Henry tried reasoning with himself that it was just a study and that there wouldn't be anything interesting in there, but that small and curious part of him urged him to go on in.

So he did.

Henry entered the study and cautiously walked around. It was pretty decently sized and loaded with books of all kinds. Henry looked curiously at these. There were some on anatomy, robotics and others on history, even recognized some Shakespeare. Henry couldn't help but chuckle as he recognized some of the books he himself had gifted William back when they were younger. Amongst these was One Thousand and One Nights and The Phantom of the Opera.

Henry chuckled some more as he thought back to their high school years. While Henry had been more of the bookish and creative type, William had a thing for dramatics and entertaining people, hence why he was part of the theater group. William had played the role of the Phantom for his first school performance. He played the role quite well and later admitted to Henry that he had never read the book. So, as a graduation gift, Henry had bought it for him.

Henry smiled and shook his head at the thought. He remembered how ecstatic William had been about the gift.

Henry removed his hand from the book's spine and turned towards a desk that was located in the back center of room. He walked towards it and looked down at the contents that lay out upon it. Sketches and designs for possible animatronics. Henry picked them up to examine them a little closer.

They were oddly designed in both appearance and in features. Voice replication? Storage compartment? Scent lure?

Henry thought about it for a few moments, confused as to why William would find these to be useful features for robots, but ultimately decided that they actually were practical. They could use the scent and audio to help sooth an upset child who was feeling scared or had been separated from their parents. And the storage compartment could be useful for storing the spare parts for that particular animatronic.

What a brilliant mind Afton has, Henry thought to himself. He set down the sketches and looked at a few of the other things on William's desk. He also had a few pieces of merchandise from their first location, a bobble head of Albert Einstein and a journal.

Henry's eyes settled on the journal.

He cocked his head to the side as he looked at it. There was an lock on it, suggesting that this was a private journal at that it was for William's eyes only, but the lock was undone and hanging openly off its clasp. Henry thought for a moment about perhaps looking at the journal, but part of him was saying that this was a bad idea and could ruin the friendship that he and his business partner had. The other part of him was giddy with excitement at finding something in this seemingly boring room that was perhaps interesting after all. As the man thought, he didn't realize that he had already picked up the journal and opened it. Or maybe he did and his itching of curiosity had increased enough that he no longer cared.

Henry started to read the pages.

At first, they were actually rather boring and slightly silly, full of mundane things and dumb discussions the two of them have had. Henry wasn't sure why but it surprised him to see his own name in there. They were best friends, after all. But there was also something else in there that shocked him and made him smile a little. The amount of innocent admiration for him that William had poured into those pages. William would go on for pages about how great he believed Henry was and how happy he was that the two of them were friends.

'For the first time I believe I've finally found someone who I can be myself around. Someone who understands me and someone I can look up to!'

Henry continued reading, realizing some things he had never known about them or their lives. He couldn't help but smile.

Until he reached a certain date. The date of the car crash that had nearly taken his best friend's life.

August 1, 1982.

It was from this point on in the journal that Henry noticed a change in William's entries. They seemed less cheerful and seemed to focus more on his failed marriage, Michael's rebellious behavior and just bad things in general. Up until January 1st of 1983.

The entries shifted from William's own family to Henry's. This would've been fine if it was expressing concern or showing innocent adorance. But this was different.

William was speaking about his family in disturbing detail. Cursing the name of Henry's now ex-wife, a strange envy of his late daughter Charlotte and a weirdly loving admiration towards his also dead son, Sammy. There was some stuff about Henry himself as well. But, just when Henry didn't think he could be more confused, he found Afton's disgusting confession.

He had been the one who had abducted Sammy.

Henry nearly gagged as he read about how he had tortured his poor son to death. It was in great detail.

Now any normal person would've thrown the book down and got the hell out of there, but Henry wanted answers.

So he kept reading, completely unaware that it would get horrifyingly worse.

Henry felt himself get more and more nauseated as he read on about how he murdered Charlotte in the alleyway and left her there. And then eventually... The five children that had gone missing in 1985. But what terrified Henry the most was the things that would come after these morbid and in-depth accounts of murder.

Obsessive writings about Henry.

The man would ramble on about how much he cared about Henry and talk about how he had followed him and stolen a few personal things from him so he could keep them as reminders of "all their time spent together." There was also talk of the dead children being "their family."

But what finally made Henry decide he needed to leave was his own name scribbled all over a lot good portion of the sheets along with a few other unsettling things .

But most importantly, how William loved him.

Henry slammed the book closed and made a wreching sound. His heart was racing and his head was spinning. He felt like he was gonna puke.

I need to get the fuck out of here and call the fucking cops!

But one thing Henry wasn't expecting was someone showing up. And he certainly wasn't expecting the heavy object hitting him in the head.

The next thing Henry remembered was waking up. His head was pulsing with a dull ache and he couldn't move. With some coaxing, he managed to open his eyes and look around. He was in a dark room and his arms and legs were bound to a chair.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Henry shouted. His voice came out horse and raspy.

"Shhhhhhhh. You'll hurt your throat." a familiar voice said. Henry looked around in a panic and the person chuckled. "Oh Henry~. You seem scared~."

"W-William, let me go!"

Chuckling, the English man came forward from the shadows. "You know, part of me prefers you unconscious." he said. "You look so peaceful like that. Not trying to fight or scream." William gripped Henry's chin harshly and leaned down to his eye level. "However, if you were unconscious, I wouldn't be able to look into those beautiful eyes of yours." he mumbled. His face was uncomfortably close. Henry could feel William's breath against his face.

William cracked a toothy smile and moved his lips up to Henry's ear.

"I can hear your heart beat, darling~" he breathed in the man's ear. Henry squirmed and tried to lean away, but William's firm and almost painful grip on his chin held him in place. "It's a shame that you decided to snoop about." William sighed. "But I'm not mad, Hen—"

"JUST LET ME GO!"

William pulled away, chuckling as he let go of Henry's chin. "Oh Henry~. You know I can't do that~." he purred. "You know too much~."

"William please! I promise I won't tell anyone!"

William shook his head as he walked away from Henry. "I know you're lying, darling. I know you better than anyone."

William grabbed some clamps off a nearby table.

"W-William, what are you—"

William grinned and sparked the clamps. Henry's eyes widened in terror.

"I'm going to have fun~."William slowly sauntered towards Henry, savoring the horrified expression in the brunette's eyes. He could feel his heart racing with excitement. A sadistic smile spread across William's face as he spoke in a low and playful tone.

"It's time for your controlled shock~."

Before Henry could let out a protest, William had attached the clamps to him. Henry threw back his head and screamed in agony as the electricity pulsed throughout his entire body. William pulled them away and looked at Henry, still smiling.

"Are those tears I see~?" William asked in a low purr. "Let me just—"

The scrawny man began to lick Henry's face. "Mmm so salty~." Henry let out a sob as William pulled away.

"W-WILLIAM PLEASE! YOU NEED HELP YOU NEED—" William cut him off.

"NO!" he shouted, clutching the clamps tightly in his hands. "I'm sick of having to hide these feelings, Henry! I love you! I love you more than anything and anyone!"

"THIS ISN'T LOVE!" Henry screamed. "THIS IS JUST SICK! YOU'RE SI—"

William gritted his teeth and shocked Henry again, causing him to let out another pained scream. This surge was even worse than the last.

"No... You're the one who's sick, Henry. But don't worry. I'm going to cure you~!" William said, tears running down his face, his twisted smile returning. "And once you're cured, we can be happy together~!"

The clamps were withdrawn a second time, allowing Henry some time to gasp and sob. He looked up at William, his expression pleading for mercy despite it being hopeless.

"You're eyes truly speak of life~." William purred. "They're the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen~."

Henry squeezed his eyes shut and looked away, causing William to let out a low growl. "Look at me, Henry." When Henry didn't comply, William shocked him again, causing Henry's eyes to fly open and roll back. He began to convulse and drool.

This pain... This pain was the worst.

William removed the clamps and set them down before grabbing a fist full of Henry's hair and pulling his head up.

"Look at you... Even more defenseless and weak than usual~." he purred, licking the drool off of Henry's face. "I've been wanting to get you like this for quite some time now~."

William's licks quickly became soft kisses. Henry's head hung limply and his eyes were glazed and empty. He could barely process any of William's words. His body felt weak and he could hear his heart pulsing in his head.

But he was wide awake.

"Hmm... It seems I may have turned the voltage up too high..." William hummed, studying Henry's expression. "However, that means I get to spend some more quality time with you without the struggling and screaming~."

William gently ran his hands across Henry's chest, feeling him. "Your so well defined~." he purred, worshipfully caressing the man's belly. He looked down at Henry's crotch before looking back up at his drained face. "But I wonder what it must be like down there~."

Henry let out a groan of disapproval at the idea William was possibly presenting. He'd be screaming if he could.

"No. I must restrain myself." William mumbled to himself, casting down his eyes. "Now isn't the time. That will be later." He looked back up at Henry before giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Michael should be home any minute, love. I'll prepare something and bring it down for you." he whispered, pecking Henry's cheek before getting up and leaving.

William quickly made his way up the stairs and locked the basement door behind him.

"Dad, I'm home!" Michael called, walking up to him. William said a quick hello before making his way to the kitchen.

"How was the trip?" William asked, turning on the stove.

"It was okay." Michael replied.

William made a noise of acknowledge as he grabbed a pot and filled it with water before putting it on the stove.

"Don't you think it's a little too early for eating dinner?" Michael asked.

"I'm hungry and didn't eat lunch." William said, grabbing a box of spaghetti and opening it.

"You really need to eat." Michael mumbled.

William hummed as he watched the pot

"Seriously, dad, what will you do when I move out?" Michael asked.

"You make it sound as if I don't eat unless you remind me to." William said, pouring in the noodles once the water began to boil.

"Well sometimes that really is the case." Michael replied. "Anyways, I'm gonna go catch up on The Immortal and the Restless, so I'll be in the living room if you need me."

William smiled and nodded as Michael walked out. But he wasn't smiling for his son. He could care less about him.

All that mattered was the roboticist in his basement.

#Willry #Helliam #yandere #fanfic #Henry makes an oopsie and finds out his friend is insane

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imagine-loki · 5 years ago

Text

Yes Mistress

TITLE: Yes Mistress CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 29 AUTHOR: angryolwet ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine after a heated argument with Thor, Loki turns himself into a woman out of spite. RATING: Mature/Explicit NOTES/WARNINGS: NSFW, This is a F/F BDSM relationship. If that’s not your cup of tea, don’t drink it. The events in this fic take place before the first Thor movie.

I AM SO SORRY THIS CHAPTER TOO SO LONG TO UPDATE!!! I meant to post at my usual time but I got very sick at the end of last month and ended up with vertigo for a few weeks as well. If any of you have ever had it, you know reading a computer screen is the last thing you want to do. Not unless you’ve got a bucket handy.

*****Trigger Warnings!!! This chapter deals with descriptions of child abuse and shitty parenting, (not Odin’s for once) and those parts are contained within the asterisks below.*****

You don’t super need to read that part for the chapter to make sense if it’s a sensitive subject for you, but it will give you an insight into Sanna’s family dynamics and those will play into the overall arc of this fic. Yes, there is an arc. And a plot. Despite my best efforts.

Kanelbullar - twisted cinnamon buns

Also on AO3

Slowly, Sanna came back. She felt the softness of the blanket and the sensation of someone stroking her face before her eyes opened.

“Can you hear me Pet?” Loki asked softly.

“Yes Mistress,” Sanna answered dreamily, smiling up at her.

“My good girl. Our meal has arrived. Do you think you can sit up for me?”

Sanna eased herself up and shivered as the blanket slipped down. She pulled it back up and looked at her Mistress.

“It’s alright Pet. You can bring the blanket with you. It’s time to eat.”

Loki got off the bed and stood up, holding out a hand. Sanna took it, wobbling a little when she stood. Loki held her until she was steady, rubbing her back in small circles as they left the bedchamber.

“Thank you Mistress,” Sanna said as she wrapped the blanket more tightly around herself.

“You’ll be warm soon Pet,” Loki tucked a loose tendril of hair behind Sanna’s ear. “You used up a good deal of energy during your edging. Eating will help.”

“Um, Mistress? Before we eat I need to–” Sanna broke off, poking a hand out from the blanket and pointing across the sitting room.

“Of course, Pet.”

Sanna headed towards the bathing room to use it’s facilities while Loki sat on the divan to inspect the contents of the covered dishes on the table. She had just started cutting slices off a rolled joint of spit roasted mutton when Sanna came back out, wrapping the blanket snugly around herself again.

“That was quick,” Loki remarked when she sat down next to her.

“I was inspired, Mistress. The bathing room is rather cool, even with the shielding up.” She rubbed her hands together in an attempt to warm them.

Loki reached out and took her Pet’s hands in hers.

“You are chilled,” she began to rub Sanna’s hands between her own. “Shall I light the fire? I never notice the cold myself, though I’ve heard Thor whine about it enough. You’d think we were on campaign in Jotunheim instead of camping in the forests on a hunt.”

The image of Prince Thor covered in snow and icicles made Sanna giggle.

“I’m alright Mistress. Truly.” Sanna took back her now warm hands and started making up her Mistress’s plate, cutting slices of bread for both of them. “I believe you are right and I just need to eat something. And it has been raining on and off since midday,” she looked out at the damp night and shivered a little under the blanket. “The weather can’t seem to decide if we’re in spring or summer.” The gentle afternoon showers of Garth’s prediction had given way to a cold, soaking rain once the sun had set.

Loki made a face. “All too soon it will be summer and nothing but heat, heat, and more heat.” She loathed the thought of summer, but it did give her an idea. “One day, we should go riding to one of the shaded pools that hide deep in the royal forest. Mmm�� Stripping down and diving into fresh, cool water. Tell me Pet, can you ride? Or swim?”

Sanna paused from buttering the bread she’d just cut and turned to her Mistress.

“Hmm. Do you know, I don’t think I've ever been on a horse in my life. Although I do have a vague memory of trying to ride a goat once when I was very small. I remember being frustrated because it wouldn’t hold still long enough for me to get on…” Sanna paused, fiddling with the butter knife. “No. I’m sure I haven’t. We didn’t use them on the farm and none of the neighbors were horse breeders. We did have a rather old and rather surly grey pony that Old Frederick would use to pull the cart when he went up to the manor house for supplies. He was the only person in this realm that animal tolerated, it would bite everyone else that came near.” She resumed her task.

“And I could swim as a child, Dagna saw to that. I haven’t had much chance to since I left our house to serve Lady Audney. There was a wide, slow moving river not far from our farm. I used to go and sit in the shelter of a large tree on it’s banks whenever–” Sanna broke off.

“Whenever what Pet?” Loki paused and looked over. She could see her Pet was upset by the memory.

Sanna chose her next words carefully and blew out a breath.

“Whenever I’d run out of the house. It seemed like everyday I’d be scolded by our mother for one thing or another. Mostly for not getting my chores done properly. She would never let anyone be idle,” she paused and swallowed. Composing herself.

*****

Her mind was flooded with the memories of repeating tasks over and over again until they were done to her mother’s satisfaction. One particular memory –one she’d tried very hard to forget– came suddenly to mind. A memory of scrubbing the stone floor of their house one winter for almost the entire day. It was just before Yule. Her mother had been perpetually unsatisfied with her efforts, even ‘accidentally’ spilling things on the floor for her to clean up. Sanna’s back had ached. Her knees were bruised and her knuckles had cracked and bled. Her hands were numb from the water that had gone cold and she kept dropping the big scrubbing brush, making it clatter on the stones and drawing her mother’s attention to her.

When Dagna had come in from tending the animals outside and saw what had been going on, she’d been furious. Sanna would never forget the sound of her sister slapping their mother’s face and the horrible words they screamed at each other. Sanna had never heard her sister raise her voice in anger to anyone before. She had hidden under the table, curled on her side to make herself as small as possible until the row was over. The bucket she’d been using to scrub the floor had been knocked over near her at one point, but she’d been too afraid to move. She’d stayed still as the freezing water soaked her dress and hair. Wet, cold, and filthy. Hands pressed to her ears, sobbing, trying to drown out the noise. She still hated the sound of angry shouts and raised voices to this day.

Eventually their mother had left the house to go tell their father about what her sister had done and said. While she was gone, Dagna had coaxed Sanna into coming out from under the table. She’d filled the big bathing tub by the fire with warm water and and had helped her get into it, washing her gently and rubbing her sore back. Then her sister had helped to get her into a clean night dress and wrapped her in a blanket. Dagna applied a salve to the cracks on Sanna’s hands before feeding her and putting her to bed.

The whole time Sanna had been terrified and started at every sound, thinking it was their mother returning. She knew her sister must have been punished terribly for striking their mother– it was all Sanna’s fault– but she couldn’t remember how or what had happened for nearly the rest of that winter. At the end of the following spring Sanna had left the house to work for Lady Audney.

But her Mistress didn’t need to know any of that. Or that her mother’s 'scolding’ was usually accompanied by a blow of some kind. Sanna’s pride and her fear would never let her tell her sister, let alone her Mistress. She’d promised herself all those years ago that she would stay silent and do better, no matter what. Never to complain and create more trouble. She wasn’t about to break that promise now. And besides, it was over and done with and would probably just upset her Mistress.

*****

“When it became too much, too heavy to bear, I would run out of the house. No matter what direction I ran in, I always seemed to end up by the big tree near the river. Eventually Dagna would come and find me. Once my tears were dry, she’d take me back. Sometimes we’d go swimming in the river first if it was warm enough. She wanted me to know what to do in case I got too close to the bank and fell in.”

Loki’s face was unreadable as she said solemnly, “I would so very much like to meet your sister one day. It seems she was the only source of happiness or tenderness in your childhood.”

“Oh no Mistress! Not the only source. Our father was quite kind, when he could spare time for us. The farm keeps him very busy, though I now suspect some of that work is to keep him out of the house and away from mother. In the summer he would take us fishing at the river– I mean Dagna and me, Mother hated the river– and we’d laugh and scream and splash each other once the three of us were done hauling in the nets.” Sanna smiled at the memory. “We’d walk home smiling and laughing, soaking wet with that day’s catch.”

She was eager to tell happier memories, she’d had no one to tell them to since she’d left Lady Audney. Marit was sweet, but she had no interest in any form of rural life and had quickly changed the subject whenever Sanna had mentioned her time in the country side.

“I remember one time, Father took me with him on a trip to a neighboring farm. The man kept bees and we went to collect a big crock of honey in exchange for some of our hay. I must have been very young. Probably around the same time I tried to ride the goat. Father lifted me up into his lap and kept me from falling off as he drove us over there and back. He even let me have a spoonful of honey on the way home and made me promise not to tell Mother.”

Sanna looked at her Mistress from under her lashes. “That’s where my taste for it comes from. It’s always been a sweet, secret treat.”

“Mmm… Perhaps I should keep a small jar of it here and let you lick it off me as a reward for your obedience?” Loki purred.

Her Pet blushed a bright red and squirmed on the divan while whispering, “I wouldn’t object if you offered it in any form, Mistress.”

Loki had finished cutting up the meat and divided it between their plates.

“Good to know. Open.” Loki popped a piece of the mutton into Sanna’s mouth.

“Mmm… This is almost as good as Dagna’s. She uses garlic in the dredge.”

“Alright. Now I must meet your sister.”

They both burst into laughter. Once the plates were ready, Loki pulled Sanna over to straddle her lap and tucked the blanket around her. Holding up a bite of meat to her Pet’s lips, Loki asked absently, “Perhaps I shall have Brynhild create a robe for you? Would you like one Pet? In gold and sapphire blue silk, I think? Jewel tones seem to suit you.”

Chewing and swallowing the meat gave Sanna time to think. She offered her Mistress one of the roasted vegetables pieces from her plate and said, “I will wear anything you wish me to, Mistress. I’ve never had one before.”

“I suspect there are a lot of things you’ve never had before, and I mean to give them to you.” Loki promised solemnly, making her Pet blush and duck her head.

“Now Pet, tell me.” Loki held up more food to Sanna’s mouth. “How was your day?”

They fed each other. Sanna spoke of meeting Garth and being reminded of how much she loved planting things and watching them grow. How far she had gotten through the play her Mistress had recommended and what she thought of it thus far. Her initial nerves at being summoned to tea with the Allmother and her relief and joy at finding her Mistress’s mother to be kind and attentive. Loki listen to it all with rapt attention, asking questions and laughing where it was appropriate until the meal was finished.

_________________________________________________________

“So you got on well with my mother then, Pet? Not frightened of her anymore?” Loki teased popping the last bite of her kanelbullar into her mouth and licking her sticky fingers before wiping them on a damp cloth.

Sanna, slightly indignant, finished her own and sucked at her fingers as she replied, “Well, she is the queen after all. And I wouldn’t say I was afraid of her so much as afraid of disappointing her.”

She wiped them off and stood up, gathering up the used plates and cutlery before refilling her Mistress’s goblet and her own with wine and getting comfortable again. She leaned against her Mistress and tucked her feet up under the blanket on the divan. Sanna wasn’t chilled any longer, but the material was soft and felt wonderful against her skin. Loki wrapped her arm around her Pet, pulling the girl close and put her own feet up on the table, long pale legs exposed. She used her seidr to send the uneaten food and dirty plates back to the kitchen. They sat in a comfortable silence, sipping wine.

After a moment or two, Sanna spoke. “The Allmother is so kind. I confess, I do want her to like me. Oh did I tell you, I mentioned to her that I had a wish to improve my stitching and she’s promised to have one of her handmaidens teach me. And I’m to come to tea with her again in a three days, if you can spare me that is.” Sanna looked at her Mistress with pleading eyes.

Loki sighed and toyed with a tendril of her Pet’s hair that had escaped it’s plait, wrapping it around her fingers. “Oh, I suppose I can get by without you for one afternoon.”

Sanna leaned up and kissed Loki’s cheek and settled back down against her. “Thank you, Mistress.”

The comfortable silence resumed.

After a few more minutes had passe, in which Sanna had nearly been lulled into sleep by the good food, strong wine, and the calming presence of her Mistress, she glanced up and saw her Mistress with her head tilted back and her eyes shut.

“Are you tired?” she inquired.

Loki opened her eyes and looked at her. “Hmm? No Pet, not really. But my head does ache slightly. I think I read for too long and sat too still in the Archive today. My body is no longer used hours of inactivity. As a child I could sit and read for hours without noticing the time pass. Now, what was once a joy has become a chore and I’m already starting to resent it.”

“Perhaps you’re striving to achieve too much too fast Mistress? You have years before you are expected to take on your new role. There’s no need to push yourself so hard.” Sanna chided gently.

“Oh, that’s not what I was doing Pet. After I spoke with the Allmother, a new idea came into my head and I put away all of my work to start a new project. It concerns a school of seidr I’ve woefully never bothered to learn. Tell me Pet, did Lady Audney ever speak to you of her role at court?”

“Lady Audney?” Sanna started at the sudden change of topics. “Well, no. Not really. She taught me courtesy and what would be expected of me as a handmaiden to a Lady of the court. She rarely talked of her life before. I think it reminded her of her son, the one she’d lost, and that always gave her pain. She couldn’t bear to hear his name said aloud and never used it herself. She’d just say 'my son’, and even then it was usually in reference to something he’d done as a child, never as a man grown. I can’t recall her ever speaking of Lord Morten. We got supplies once a fortnight from the manor and I know they were from him.”

“Do you know what happened to him Pet? The son that died, I mean.” Loki asked.

“I know he was killed in a terrible accident. That’s all anyone would say. But what does Lady Audney have to do with divination?”

“Quite a lot according to my mother. She wasn’t a seeress herself, but she could inspire and strengthen visions in others who were. Do you recall yesterday, when we went into my storage area downstairs and you found my old cradle? Do you remember what were you thinking of when you touched it?”

Sanna reached out and set her now empty goblet on the table and sat up, turning to face her Mistress. Loki did the same, stretching her arm across the back of the divan.

“Well I– I don’t know. I was thinking of a lot of things then. Mostly what you must have looked like as a baby–” Sanna broke off and flushed a dull pink.

“What else Pet? I know you’re holding something back. I can tell by the blush on your face,” Loki prodded her.

Sanna tugged the blanket back around her shoulders, as if trying to armor herself against her embarrassment. “I… I was thinking,” her blush got deeper and stretched from her hairline down to her chest. “I was thinking about… what it would be like… to… to have a baby. Your baby Mistress.” She ducked her head and bit her lip at her guilty admission.

Loki removed her hand from the back of the divan and lifted Sanna’s chin to look at her. She took both of her Pet’s hands in her own.

“What exactly Pet? Being pregnant or nursing or rocking it in the cradle? What image formed in your mind?” Loki pushed again. “It’s important.”

Sanna heaved a sigh. “I think it was mostly just what our baby would look like and rocking it to sleep.”

“No image of nursing it at your breast?”

“No. Why? What is so important about this?” She was embarrassed and uncomfortable at the unending questions.

“I had a vision while we were down there. When I turned and saw you touching the cradle I staggered for a moment, do you remember?” At Sanna’s nod she continued, “I didn’t say anything then, because I wasn’t sure what had happened. I’ve never had visions before, or any aptitude for divination so I’ve never studied it, but I know now that I had a vision of you.”

“Me?” Sanna squeaked. She was dumbfounded, her eyes were large as she stared at her Mistress.

“Yes Pet. You were in your little room and sitting in the chair I sent up here. I saw you from the doorway. The cradle was at your feet but it had been freshly polished. The room had been painted and was filled with the things needed to care for an infant. You were nursing a black haired babe at your breast. You looked older than you do now. I heard you humming a soft melody and saw you smile at the child. It was the same smile you had on your face while touching the cradle. That’s why I asked what you were thinking of.”

Sanna was speechless and kept staring. The blush had left her face and she had gone very pale.

“I’ve only just started to research the subject and I still have much to learn, but I believe you may have the same ability as Lady Audney. You might be the reason for the vision, not just the subject of it.”

“Me? What? No! I don’t– How? How can I–” Sanna sputtered. She was dumbfounded. Had all the reading today somehow damaged her Mistress’s mind?

Loki continued on as if her Pet hadn’t spoken.

“I used my seidr on you, the first night you slept beside me. Do you remember a dream of us sitting under a tree beside a river? My telling you to raise your skirts? You woke in the middle of the night and I found you freezing yourself in the bathing pool. I used a spell to enter your dreams.”

Sanna’s blush came rushing back at the memory of the dream and what had followed it. Of her Mistress pleasuring her in the safe place of her childhood. She wasn’t sure whether to be angry or ask her to do it again… But her Mistress was still talking.

“…and that’s why I had to know what you were thinking of. If the same images were in your mind and mine, it might have been a hold over from that spell, or some accident of my seidr and not truly a vision at all–”

“Wait! Just, just wait a moment! Please?” Sanna pulled her hands from Loki’s grasp and put them to her own head. “Does this mean I am going to have your child at some point in the future?”

“I– Honestly? I don’t know. I think what I saw was a vision of a possible future, not necessarily the future we will have. Probably. Like I said, I haven’t ever properly studied the subject. And it’s not something I can walk up to the Allmother, or any other seer, and just ask. Not even as a hypothetical question.”

Sanna slumped back against the divan, her mind whirling. Abilities she might have and hadn’t known existed. A possible baby in her future– well she wanted that… didn’t she? It was too much to take in. Her head throbbed.

“Mistress, can we please talk about something else? Anything else?” Sanna pleaded and rubbed at her temples. Loki’s hands replaced her and she sent a tiny burst of seidr through her Pet’s head, soothing it as Frigga had done for her earlier in the Archive.

“Of course Pet. Would you like me to distract you from your thoughts?” Loki had moved the book of plays her Pet had been reading off the table when the servant had brought in their meal. It was sitting next to her, half tucked under one of the cushions on the divan. She pulled it out and held it up. “Shall I read to you?”

“I thought you’d had enough of that for today?” Sanna was beginning to feel like herself again, and her instinct of caring for her Mistress was making her feel less stupefied.

“Well, there is one other thing I can think of.” Loki shot a lecherous smile at her Pet and offered a hand to her. Sanna didn’t hesitate to take it.

#Loki #Lover #Angst #Submitted fic #submission #yes mistress #angryowlet #chapter 29

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innerpostmentality · 6 years ago

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A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words - Date with a Pool Table

This is my submission for the Choices Fandom Game: A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words.

I was given my picture by my friend and writer extraordinaire @darley1101 I elected The Royal Romance for the book, the pairing is Drake x Stephanie (MC) Word Count is around 2800 Rating is Erotica, sorry younglings this one is a bit on the hot sauce side. All rights to these characters belong to Pixelberry Studios we thank them for their inspiration.

Writer Tags: @speedyoperarascalparty @ao719 @leelee10898 @riseandshinelittleblossom @zaffrenotes @drakewalkerwhipped @stopforamoment @annekebbphotography @lizeboredom @boneandfur @mind-reader1 @jovialyouthmusic @ooo-barff-ooo @bobasheebaby @ownworldresident @hopefulmoonobject @sleepwalkingelite @likethetailofacomet @silviasutton1989 @blackcatkita @blackcoffee85 @kennaxval @andy-loves-corgis @callmetippytumbles @iplaydrake @the-everlasting-dream @brightpinkpeppercorn @agent-bossypants @tornbetween2loves @dcbbw @jlouise88 @choicesbyjade @breaumonts @thehonorarybeaumont @pixelsandkink @innerpostmentality @katedrakeohd @darley1101 @carabeth @sirbeepsalot @strangerofbraidwood Readers: @cocomaxley @mfackenthal @moneyfordiamonds @romanticatheart-posts @choicesarehard @gibbles82 @wannabemc2 My permatags: @gardeningourmet @furiousherringoperatortoad

Stephanie was trying to keep from being upset. She knew that Drake sometimes got a little lost on the calendar and didn’t remember birthdays and anniversaries. He could tell you the date, October third. He just didn’t realize it was already October. But she was a little disappointed when it was nearly noon and she hadn’t even received a Happy Anniversary card on their first anniversary. He brought her tea in bed that morning, kissing her sweetly and telling her that he loved her as he always did. And she knew he did love her. It was just this morning she wanted a “Happy Anniversary Love”. And a rose. Well a “Happy Anniversary Love, a rose, and a card. Maybe earrings. A “Happy Anniversary Love”, a rose and a card and some earrings and that would make it perfect. She didn’t realize she was actually pouting as she stared at the book she’d been trying to read not seeing the words.

Drake stopped in the doorway as he was heading up to take a shower after working with the horses all morning. His wife, always breathtakingly beautiful to him was sitting in the library with a book on planning edible flower gardens in her lap with a faraway look and her bottom lip stuck out, he felt his heart turn over. Heat spread through him as he contemplated her perfect mouth and thought about sucking that bottom lip in his mouth and exploring it with his tongue. He grinned, “Love is there anything you need before I go grab a shower?” “I guess not.” There was a sulky note there that she didn’t quite manage to hide. He went over and knelt before her looking up into her sapphire eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He kissed her sweetly barely stroking her pouty lip with his tongue. Then pulled back looking in her eyes. She looked at him and burst into tears. “It’s just…” she shook her head. “It’s not important.” He stood up and bent over scooping her up in his arms and walking over to his big recliner and sitting down with her in his lap. “It obviously is important because my Beauty, the love of my life is upset.” He cradled her to his chest planting kisses on her head and temple. “What’s wrong?” His deep voice was gentle and coaxing. Tears ran down her cheeks and she swiped at them in annoyance. “Do you know what today is?” He thought about it a long minute then his eyes got wide. “Oh Baby… I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry. I love you so much. I’ve just been so fixated on Royal Grace being about to foal. I lost track of the date.” He kissed her then slowly stroking her cheeks gently with his thumbs. “Happy Anniversary, my Love. I think I have to take you out to make up for being the idiot that made you cry. Actually…” he stood up and carried her up the stairs to their room before he put her down. He kissed her again getting lost in the deep blue pools of her eyes. He cleared his throat. “Actually we have plans.” Stephanie shook her head. “Drake Walker you didn’t even know what day it was before I asked you. How could we possibly have plans?” Her fingers were exploring the perfection of her husband’s strong shoulders. She loved it when he carried her. Her upset was quickly being replaced by passion as she felt the warmth radiating off his strong body pressed against her. He kissed her forehead and smiled as she started unbuttoning his shirt. “Well I may not have known what today was before you asked. But I know our anniversary is October third. So I made plans.” His voice caught as she kissed the base of his throat and slipped her hands inside his open shirt to roll her thumbs over his nipples. “Ummm.” She was licking his nipple, “What sort of plans?” He felt her low murmur in his testicles as his whole body became a focus of desire. “Stephanie,” Her name was pulled from deep in him, “I..” Soft, dexterous fingers were stroking down the taut muscles of his stomach. Her mouth was on his, gently coaxing, inviting him. Moaning his growing need he whispered a bit haplessly, “I was going to shower…” “Okay.” Her fingers were busy unbuckling his belt. Her tongue was dancing with his as he reached around to unzip the little sun dress she was wearing. Discovering what she wasn’t wearing… anything under her dress. She stepped back and looked in his passion blown eyes. Then slipped the sun dress off her shoulders and let it pool on the floor at her feet leaving her nude before him. She smiled slowly as she saw him swallow. Then turned giving him one last come hither lift of her brow over her shoulder and walked slowly to their bathroom and turned on the shower leaving the door open for him. Drake couldn’t get undressed fast enough. Boots.. he had to get his boots off before he could get his pants off. He loved boots. At the moment as he searched for the boot jack he hated them. He finally found it in the closet and extracted himself from the boots. He slipped his pants and boxers off in the closet and went into the bathroom. He saw her clearly through the glass door of the shower, water sluicing down the perfection of her body. She turned and smiled then held the door closed when he reached for it and pressed her wet nakedness to the door flattening her breasts against the glass. She looked in his eyes and reached down between her legs spreading her nether folds apart exposing her swollen bud which she stroked slowly. He gasped, his cock twitching with his need a pearly drop appearing at the very tip. He grasped himself and stroked down his length and pressed the pearl at the tip to the cool glass thrusting against it, “Knock, Knock, Love. Please let me in.” His voice was rough with his need. “Oh? Who’s there?” She grinned playfully and very deliberately dropped her bottle of body wash. She let go of the door knob and turned around to press her bottom against the glass and pick up the body wash. Instantly Drake opened the door and stepped in pressing his hardness between her legs. “Can I help you?” He held his hardness in the valley of her folds thrusting through them against her sensitive nub. “Mummm yes, I think you can Mister Walker” When he pulled back she tilted her pelvis so his next thrust planted him firmly in her tight slick channel. He held her hips tight against him for a moment sighing with the pleasure of their joining, reveling in that exquisite moment of union with the woman he loved beyond measure. She looked over her shoulder at him smiling and started shifting her weight from one foot to the other contracting around him, urging him to move. He groaned holding her gaze, “Darling…” he gasped reaching around to stroke her bud even as his thrusts were stroking her perfectly, winding the coil of teetering bliss deep within her. “Love..” they were panting in unison, her legs trembling as he took her over the edge of ecstasy. He felt her walls tighten around him fluttering in her release driving him to join her in sheer bliss he cried out her name even as he flooded her with his seed. He held her tightly to him murmuring in her ear, “Happy Anniversary, Love” She chuckled. “I thought you said you needed a shower?” He smirked. “I do. I needed to make love to you first… obviously. Naughty girl.” Grinning she stepped away from him and grabbed her soap. He grabbed it away from her reading it before she could slather him with it. “A fruity, floral bouquet of strawberry and gardenias?” He lifted a brow at her. “You want me to smell like a fruity floral bouquet of strawberry and gardenias?” She giggled “Well there wouldn’t be much doubt that you were mine.” Drake growled and kissed her. “There’s never any doubt at all that I’m yours.” He reached over and grabbed his unscented soap and started lathering himself up. “Hey! That’s my job!” Stephanie protested. And he chuckled handing her the soap. She soaped his back and shoulders and delicately his face. Then knelt to carefully wash all his most private areas smiling as he sighed in pleasure at her gentle ministrations. She loved washing him and having him wash her in turn. Even without the sex that more often than not accompanied their shared showers she savored the intimacy. Loved toweling each other dry. The clean scent and the damp heat mingling between them. She washed carefully between his toes before she stood up declaring him clean and handing him her bottle of body wash. He grinned as he washed her playing with the lather as he made a foamy bikini on her. By the time they were rinsed off Drake had a raging erection again. She smirked lifting her brow at him. “You want me to help you with that Honey?” “Yes. But no. We don’t have time.” He swatted her bottom playfully then went to get dressed. “What should I wear?” Stephanie smiled calling from her closet as she slipped on the black silk lace crotch-less teddy she’d found a few weeks ago thinking it would be a perfect anniversary surprise for her Marshmallow. “Casual? Comfortable? You always look amazing Love.” Drake was in his closet getting dressed electing dress shoes over boots for the evening. She shook her head and slipped on a little black lace backless skater dress and some matching strappy heels. She nodded and smiled at her reflection swiping on some lip gloss and a little mascara before going out to join Drake. She smiled and shook her head taking in his new jeans and fresh pressed denim shirt and denim jacket. That was her Marshmallow. She walked up to him raking him with her eyes. His jaw dropped as he took her in and then she was kissing him. He held her as she kissed him savoring this beauty who lit up his world. He took her hand and kissed the back then took her out to his truck opening the door.

She smiled at him. “So where are we going Marshmallow?” He glanced at her smiling softly. “We’ve got a date with a pool table.” “Pool?” She looked at him thinking that she really was overdressed for a pool hall. She looked at her husband he was focused on the road but occasionally would steal glances at her. “So what’s the rush?” She reached over and stroked her hand gently up his thigh. He lifted his brow as her finger traced his crotch. Then grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. Thirty minutes later when they pulled into the airport she looked puzzled at him. “The airport?” He helped her out of the truck and gave his keys to a valet as they went in. He led her though to the private planes gate and there on the tarmac was Liam’s jet. He grinned tugging her out on the tarmac and up into the jet. Champagne was waiting for them and there was a present and a card sitting in her seat. Tears were running down her cheeks as she sat down holding the card and box. “You did remember.” Drake smiled and stroked her tears away looking in her eyes. “Of course. You are my life. I love you. I’m sorry I made you wait. I wanted to surprise you, not make you cry.” She sniffed. “Can I open these?” He smiled and nodded. “Of course.” She opened the card. It was actually a letter: Happy Anniversary Beautiful Wife, Thank you for the most wonderful year of my life. You taught me so much about myself and love this year. I never knew that I could feel so much before. I never believed so much in the possibilities for joy in my life as I do now. And that is all because of you, Stephanie. Your unceasing belief in me. In us. Your love, and care, and stubborn commitment to us. You humble me. You lift me. I don’t know how I lived so long without you. I don’t really remember who I even was before you came and rescued me from the cold place I used to think the world was. I love you; and I know I don’t tell you enough. But I do. Every moment of every day. So happy anniversary and I hope we have a hundred more together. But for this one I’m taking you back to the first time I really thought we were going to make love. We didn’t then. I’m hoping I’ll have better luck this time. All my love,

Drake

Tears were running down her cheeks as she kissed him murmuring how much she loved him.

He kissed her back swiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, looking lovingly in her eyes.

“Hey, maybe you should open your present. It could be a big box of face tissues. Apparently I’m scoring perfectly in making you cry today. I’m sorry.”

She smiled. “It’s not a box of tissues.”

“Well no. But it made you smile.”

She stroked his cheek smiling in his warm chestnut eyes. “You make me smile. I love you so much.” She tore into the wrapping and found two hand made ceramic coffee mugs with heart shaped handles that were divided like the zig zag of a broken heart, one black, one white with scenes of famous sights of Paris hand painted on them as well as hearts and words of love. When fitted together Paris was spelled out on one side Je t’aime on the back side of the mugs. “Drake did you make these?”

He blushed and nodded, “I had help. Hana helped. Her work is the stuff that doesn’t look like a kid did it.”

She burst into tears and he pulled her into his lap and held her managing to get a handkerchief out to hand her. After a few minutes cuddling in his lap she nuzzled his neck. “So we’re going to Paris?”

“Is that okay? Last time we were there it was the engagement tour. And I didn’t get to spend nearly enough time with you. So I thought maybe we could start at that pool table we spent the evening teasing one another at. You know I still dream about that night?” He traced his thumb over her lips looking at them with a soft smile. “I lost so much sleep wanting you so badly I was hurting. When I took off my shirt and you missed the shot… It was the first time I began to hope that maybe there was something there, more than friendship.”

She nipped his thumb gently, “It was always more than friendship, Drake.” She kissed him slowly, smiling and stroking his cheek.

“Well yes. But I knew you came for Liam. And he’s like my brother. I was trying to be fair. And he’s the king.” He shook his head and looked in her eyes. “I still can’t believe you picked me over Liam.”

“It was easy, Drake. I love you both. But I knew that I was actually in love with you. That wasn’t your fault. That was just fate.” She smiled. “Hey, I’ve got something for you too. But it’s in my purse.”

She rolled out of his lap going back to her seat and digging in her purse a moment she pulled out an oblong wrapped box and handed it to him.

Tears were shining in her eyes again as he took the box and shook it gently. He looked a little puzzled. “A fountain pen?”

She smiled, “Is that what you really want?”

He looked up at her with a soft smile. “Only if you gave it to me for our anniversary.”

“Open it.” She knelt before him watching him intently as he tore the paper off the box. It was an oblong velvet box like a bracelet would come in but when he opened it his eyes got wide and he looked at her his face suffused with utter joy.

He stood up and scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to the rear of the plane where there was a bedroom. The little white stick with the + sign forgotten on the floor.

#trr fanfic #choices trr #a picture is worth a thousand words #drake walker #drake x mc

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