#the ducklings in the sink inspired me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kylorengarbagedump · 14 days ago

Text

Playing Soldier: Chapter 15 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 14 here. Part 16 here.

Summary: "I came out to be attacked and I'm honestly having such a good time right now" - Miss Reader

Words: 6700

Warnings: Choking. Rough sex. Do we need to put these as warnings? Seriously I ask because I feel like with our work it's just assumed but then I realized I forgot to put them last time and

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia.

Oops we snuck a little bit of angst in there at the end. :)

Hi! Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter - honestly so relieved to be writing more porn since we missed it so bad. Also wanted to say that we genuinely appreciate the kindness, generosity, and love we receive each chapter. Like... this is such a small little fandom and to have people enjoy the story we create in it with such engagement is really really rewarding.

Love y'all so very much! See you so soon <3

You sat against the wall. Your makeshift scarf, your shoes and stockings laid at your feet. You stared at the bed.

It was difficult to imagine that you’d spent any time in camp wishing for this very sight—the sturdy frame and headboard, the downy mattress, the soft cloud of pillows and warm quilt bathed in candlelight. Once, you might have flung yourself upon it, snuggled into it like a duckling to a shepherd dog’s fur. Now, as you huddled against the wall, it seemed more and more that any movement might somehow set that terrible, four-legged beast upon you with blazing eyes and gnashing maw.

An ache had set through your hunched shoulders, your seat bones where they rooted into the floor, your knees where they curled to your chest. You barely felt any of it. Since entering the room and sinking into this spot, you hadn’t moved. Couldn’t. But within the stone mausoleum of your body, alive and thrashing itself bloody against its walls, was your mind.

A blink, and the party slammed your skull in a tangle of colors.

‘... may want to ask your permission, first.’

Another blink met lips, teeth, breath, the sheared seam of pleasure and pain.

‘William.’

Your eyes squeezed shut. Blood—soaking through linen, staining your hands. A rattled wheeze.

‘... the “bear’s den.”’

‘William, please.’

Papa—alive, alive, alive.

‘... heading northwest.’

‘Please, I want you to take me.’

‘Break for me. I want to feel you break around my cock.’

‘William—”

Across the room, the doorknob twisted. You shot to your feet.

William Tavington entered slowly, met your eyes before easing the door shut behind him. For the second time that evening, you considered the window.

He said nothing, his brow rising in expectation. You would not give him that. Instead, you dropped straight to the floor, flopped onto your side, and flipped toward the wall. As you studied the baseboards, your rodent heart beat in double-time with his footsteps.

The vibration of his boots started from the door, crossed to the bed. Behind you, a rustle of fabric. Your chest tightened. He was undressing.

Another flicker of memory: his strength under your hands, the tension against your fingers.

‘I see what you want.’

Biting back a groan, you shut your eyes. You weren’t going to look at him. You weren’t going to even speak with him. At least, that had been what you’d told him—and to some non-negligible degree, yourself. The fact that his presence inspired such a gnawing, clamoring want made you feel like you’d swallowed a baby bird, a thing with nothing but a wide yellow mouth and an empty stomach.

In any other circumstance, you would snap its neck. But this hungry, wiry hatchling of yours seemed so fragile that the thought of crushing its delicate bones made you wince.

You did not know what to do with it, what you wanted to do with it. But as you cradled it close, stared into its mouth, so desperate and vulnerable—you found yourself longing to feed it.

“I told you I would sleep on the floor,” you said to the wall.

You heard Tavington’s boots hit the wood. “You did.”

“So that’s what I’m doing.”

“I can see that.”

His clipped tone made you bristle. You spun around to face him and were struck with the sight of him seated on the bed, absent his jacket and waistcoat, unwinding the ribbon from his hair. He gazed at you, scanned your figure before he pulled the strands of his braid free, releasing them into loose waves.

You’d never seen him with his hair down before. Heat gripped your thighs. You pressed them together.

“I don’t know what right you have to be frustrated with me,” you said. “I’m doing exactly as you asked.”

“Yes.” He glimpsed you again as he shucked his stockings. “And you are woefully mistaken if you believe your affinity for discomfort is any concern of mine.” Standing, he pulled down his breeches, his hair cascading over his shoulders, and your heart tripped over its own allegro tempo.

It was clear he had no pretense about your attention. He doffed them as if he were alone in the room, revealing to you two trunks of muscle that disappeared underneath his shirt. The swell of his calves, the pretty curve of his hamstrings, the rigid outline of his quadriceps—all of it stoked your blood like fire, all of it made you want to sink your claws and teeth into his skin.

The realization made you swallow. Perhaps you were an animal.

“I…” You drew in a breath. “I’m not uncomfortable,” you said, wiggling against the hardwood. “I like the floor, actually.”

Tavington looked at you as if you’d professed a desire to eat spiders. Without another word, he grabbed his shirt by its bloodied hem and lifted it from his torso. All moisture in your mouth evaporated.

You’d never considered yourself someone who worshiped at the altar of beauty. Its disciples were vain, its tenets vapid. But seeing William Tavington nude—his shoulders and back rippling like a tiger’s, his hair a waterfall of shimmering chestnut, his ass arching into a high, firm hill of flesh—you realized how foolish you’d been.

For this man, you would become its vassal, you’d prostrate yourself along its shallow chantry and pledge yourself in eternal service.

Tavington cast a glance at you, as if he knew you were staring, and pulled back the sheets to climb into bed. Your eyes glued to him, memorized the pattern of the hair on his chest trailing to his groin, the cut in his hips that framed his stomach. You wondered how it would feel to touch him, to graze your hand along that strange skin, to introduce your mouth to every part of his body.

A yank of the covers concealed him, breaking your trance.

You frowned. “You aren’t going to snuff the candle?”

The bed shifted with a shrug of his shoulder. “You’re perfectly capable.”

“Why me? We’re both going to sleep,” you grumbled, but he said nothing in response. “Well.” You flipped back toward the wall. “Good night.”

You shut your eyes again. You could ignore the candlelight. Just like you could ignore your want.

Outside, crickets greeted the stars. The night was heavy with late August heat, its weight swathing you like a fresh hide, crushing you beneath the layers of your gown. You pressed your cheek into the cool wood of the floor. Savoring that small mercy, you willed every blazing mote of want to pass from your skin and into those inert planks, to learn from their example.

But the floor pushed back. Into your pelvis, your shoulder. You shifted your weight onto your backside. Then the tie of your skirts bit your spine, so you flipped again, finding your way onto your stomach. There, your petticoats swamped your legs, your stays pinched your belly.

Candlelight splashed shadow over the mound in the bed where Tavington laid. You rolled over to your side again, nestling your head into the crook of your elbow, causing the sleeves of your bodice to squeeze your arms.

“I thought you liked the floor,” he murmured.

“I do,” you snapped, and thumped your arm-pillow against the wood in emphasis. “Mind your business.”

A soft noise came from Tavington. It could have been a sigh. Perhaps a scoff. Either way, it irritated you.

You closed your eyes again, settled against the planks. This time, you would not move. Not even as a seam dug into your armpit. Not even as your own hip bones became pickets, gouging through your tissues and into the floor. After all, with your flesh the ruined patchwork that it already was, what were a few more bruises?

Your fingers brushed the side of your neck and met the tender evidence of his teeth. Pleasure ghosted your nerves. You jolted, your position shifting. Scowling at yourself, you focused on immobilizing your shoulders. But that only gave your hips the opportunity to tilt of their own accord to find relief, and you sat upright with a huff.

You scowled at Tavington’s back. Waited for whatever remark he was sure to make. But his shoulders merely rose and fell in a gentle tide.

A scorching heat crept up your neck. And as it reached your face, you smothered it in your palms.

What were you doing?

Certainly not fooling anyone with your self-flagellating charade. Between this stunt and your ridiculous insistence to walk home, you’d more than earned the accusation of petulance. The woman bound in a dress and curled up on the ground was one you didn’t recognize. You were tired of her presence. Tired of her punishment.

The facts were plain. That you had been with a man, and you’d liked it. That there was no reconciling your differences with him, but that hadn’t stopped you. That you could do nothing but take action, now, and there was no point in making yourself miserable.

Grumbling, you clambered onto your feet and shuffled to the empty side of the bed. You paused. Swallowed. Reached out toward it as if afraid it may bite. When it did not, you slowly rolled on top of the blankets, head on the pillow, eyes on the ceiling. Beside you, Tavington faced the wall, exhaling as you wriggled to the edge of the mattress.

His presence felt heavier than that of a man’s. It filled the room like smoke, ate the air and made you choke. Your head felt light. Your skin burned.

This man had been inside you. Hollowed you. Shattered you. And now you laid in bed next to him as if you didn’t even know his name.

You wondered if it felt as foreign for him as it felt for you. Wondered how many dozens of women slept in his bed and were made nameless in the morning light.

Had he spent this evening only wanting you? Or were you a convenience, a pleasant exploit that he’d mock in tales to his friends?

Did he have friends?

“What were you laughing about?” you heard yourself ask.

Tavington was silent for a moment. He didn’t move. “Have your hopes set on a future asylum visit?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not now.” You looked at your nails, then the ceiling. “Earlier.”

“I can’t imagine I found anything prior to this moment entertaining enough to laugh.”

“With those two women,” you said, a bit more insistent than you wanted to be. “You know what I’m referring to.”

“Ah.” Something akin to a smirk entered his tone. “What was it you said—mind your business?”

You frowned. “I think it is my business,” you said, rolling over to face his back. “You looked at me right after you laughed.”

“Did you interpret that to be an invitation?”

“No.” You suppressed an urge to poke a finger into his shoulder blade. “I interpreted it as you—you laughing at me.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “What if I was?” he asked. “Why does my opinion concern you?”

“I…” It was a fair question. Why did it matter to you at all? One thousand emotions waited like frog eggs beneath the surface of your mind, their jelly bodies stuck together, their identities undisclosed. None of them had a name. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, dear,” he said. “Armageddon is upon us. She’s admitted ignorance.”

You growled in frustration. “I just…” To speak, to birth a feeling would be to christen it and accept it into your custody. But there were too many. You would surely suffocate underneath them. “It just does.”

Tavington sighed through his nose and rolled over. A lock of his hair fell over his face. He pushed it aside. “You cannot be so foolish.”

“What?”

He stared at you. The intensity of his focus seared you, set your burning skin aflame, made you question why you still had on this damn gown and this pair of stays and this shift and all of it.

“I suppose next you’ll tell me you don’t even know why you’re here.”

“Because you forced me to be,” you replied, huffing.

Tavington did nothing but hold your gaze, daring you to continue to skate along the edges of honesty. You would rather escape your body and float into the air than continue examining your little clutch of emotional liabilities.

But despite your wishes, you remained corporeal. Your emotions remained real.

“No.” It was a half-truth. You had a hunch of why you were in this room. A hunch that only extended to Tavington himself, and a hunch you could still not bring yourself to accept regardless. “I don’t know, all right?”

“Then I’ll ask you a question. You informed me that you would neither speak to me nor lie in this bed,” he said, as if he were reading to a simpleton. “Now you have, and you do.” He paused, still staring. “Why?”

You couldn’t keep looking at him. Your eyes fell to the space between you, more vast than the oceans between where you’d each been born. Why indeed—the question alone inspired a flinch of resentment. You had given him a part of you that you hadn’t ever anticipated giving anyone. And yes, you’d liked that you’d done it, but you hated how exposed it had left you. You didn’t want anyone to gloat over your vulnerability, least of all him. And at the same time, you couldn’t wait to do it again.

“I… It’s that…” The sentence fumbled on your tongue. “We’ve been together,” you said, swirling your finger on the sheets. “Perhaps it’s one of a hundred for you, but I don’t have the privilege of experience.”

Tavington watched you, followed the pattern you drew as you spoke. His eyes wandered along the edge of your figure, leapt back to your face. He snorted.

“You poor thing,” he said.

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

He rolled onto his back, looked to the ceiling. “You’re terrified of what you want.”

“Terrified?” you said. “I’m not terrified of anything.”

“Look at you.” He glanced sideways. “Stumbling over your words.”

“I—no, I’m…” You shifted forward, trying to force your feelings free. They clung together like a congealed mass. “I don’t know what I want.”

He turned, cocked an eyebrow in dry incredulity.

“Why are we focusing on me?” You narrowed your eyes. “What do you want?”

Tavington rolled fully onto his side, propped himself up on his forearm. “No,” he said, chiding. “I think it’s quite clear what I want.” His eyes flicked to your marred throat. “To everyone.”

You swallowed, stupefied under his full attention.

“What I have already had,” he continued, voice falling into his chest, “and would have again.”

His desire raised the hair along your nape, called to you like the lightning tether between earth and sky. Your gaze flitted over his skin, the powerful curve of his shoulders, the breadth of his chest. That hungry want inside you wailed out your answer, gulped blindly toward the shadow where his body disappeared beneath the covers. Shuddering, you closed your eyes.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

You began to shake your head. Winced at your own cowardice. Peeled your eyes open.

Tavington’s gaze ensnared you.

“Do not evade this,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”

“I…” Your tongue felt encased in bark. “I…” You tried to swallow, but it lodged in your throat.

“Ah, ah,” Tavington dipped his chin, coaxed your eyes to remain on his. “I want to hear you say it.”

Time stood still in the flicker of the candle flame.

“You.” A whisper, a bolt from the heavens that flayed the truth in naked, burning shards. “I want you.”

You let out a shaking sigh. With the admission spilled to the air, you could feel yourself unbind from your casing, come squirming, needing, wanting to life. Yet still, the gap in the bed felt impermeable. You wanted him to reach across it. To rip you up by your roots and lay claim to you. But he did not move.

Tavington’s lip quirked. “Go on, then.”

Your eyes devoured him. “What?” you breathed.

“Take what you want.”

A shiver. Your hand moved, though you didn’t remember asking it to, until it found its way within an inch of his body and hung there, parted a hair's-breadth from the expanse of his breast. Hot oil pooled in your belly, dripped between your thighs. You were so, so close. Tavington watched you, gaze trained on your hand. His breath had stilled. His throat bobbed.

In the frayed threads of his restraint you recognized a craving so unsated it threatened to consume him, a craving that only you could possibly satisfy. For this, you realized, your desire did not make you weak, or vulnerable, or fragile. Because as badly as you wanted him, he wanted you, too. And that made you feel invincible.

Your fingers grazed his chest, and he tensed, a sharp breath escaping his nose. You met his eyes, swallowed, dragging across his nipple, your thumb investigating the crease under his pectoral. Tavington stared at you, into you, his lips parting as your hand drifted further, your fingers grew bolder. Underneath your touch, he was firm, his skin warm. You wanted to know all of him.

Drawing a quiet breath, you swept to his stomach, skimmed the hair there. Muscle twitched in response. You started to tremble, your neck started to sweat, and you pressed your palm into him. He was solid, like stone, pushing back just by existing. Your thumb traveled to the side, ghosted over his hip bone, and you squeezed him there, exhaling at how impervious it felt. Tavington wet his lips. His eyes wandered across your body.

Lower, lower still you moved, crawling toward the coarse patch of hair below his waist. Your heart pounded so madly you were surprised he didn't feel it against his skin. Then you brushed the edge of hair and felt the heat of his arousal. The anticipation of it made your thighs compress, made your core pulse. You stopped. You stared at your arm, stalled mid-reach beneath the sheets. Your gaze met his.

You weren’t sure what you were waiting for.

Tavington smirked, curled his hand around yours, and wrapped it around his cock.

You gasped. He shuddered. He was hard, harder than you'd even thought possible; less like flesh and more like forged iron—unyielding, pulsing with heat. Tavington tightened your grip around himself, and he hissed in pleasure, his hips bucking into your touch. Your breath escaped in a quiver; you were paralyzed, your eyes locked onto his as he guided you up, then down, allowing you feel every inch, every tiny thumping vein, every beat of his need for you.

To your surprise, the ache between your legs swelled in response. Despite the pain of your virginity’s death, your cunt was stumbling back to bed, eager and willing for a reprise. And with the way his cock felt in your hand—the silken skin sheathing the savage, pulsating desire—you would oblige it.

Another stroke, another, your breath coming faster, his eyes hazy with growing pleasure. You squeezed his shaft and felt him throb, and he groaned, jaw stiffening as he thrust into your fist.

“Knew you’d learn quickly,” he huffed.

You wanted to say something clever, but the only sounds you found were, “Uh huh.”

He released your hand, instead moving to cup the back of your head, weaving his fingers into your hair and pulling your lips to his. You whimpered, flush with heat, and his tongue slipped into your parted mouth.

Your eyes fluttered shut. You melted into the kiss, your wrist rolling, twisting as you stroked his cock. His hips moved in rhythm with you, the head pushing through your fist as if he were fucking into it. Panting, you let him lick into your mouth, let him nip your lower lip, let him tug you closer, closer, until you were just inches apart, and your body suddenly felt all too restricted by the layers of clothing swaddling it. If you weren’t so captivated, you would’ve thought to remove them.

Then you skimmed your thumb up the underside of his cock, over the head, and he groaned into you, driving into your hand until you connected with his stomach, and you promptly forgot everything that you’d ever thought about before that moment.

Tavington’s nails scraped your scalp, his mouth moving hungrily over yours. Humming with satisfaction, you stroked him again, twisted your wrist, swept over his head, this time catching a bead of fluid on the pad of your thumb.

A memory: his own thumb on your leg, the collection of your blood and his essence, his smirk as he led it between his teeth. Your heart hammered between your thighs. You broke the kiss with a breath.

His lips red and flush, he watched you, entranced as you released his cock, brought your hand to your mouth. Keeping your eyes on his, you pressed your thumb to your lips and dragged your tongue up the pad, gathering his seed into your mouth. It was warm. Salty. You shivered as you swallowed it.

The man across from you beheld you as if you’d embodied lust itself. And then, before you could display even an ounce of pride, he lunged, body caging yours to the bed. His hands ripped at your bodice, his breath uneven.

“My, my,” he muttered, “I was right.” Tavington jerked your limbs like a doll’s as he tore your clothes free. “You are a glutton.”

You were transfixed, cunt tingling with something between fear and excitement. “Yes,” you said, allowing him to lift your hips to pull your petticoats from your waist. “I am.”

Having stripped you to your shift, his hands slid up your thighs, peeling it up your body and over your shoulders until you flopped, naked and exhilarated, to the mattress. Tavington loomed above you, his hair cast like a mane around his shoulders, his gaze glittering like cracked sapphire. For a moment, he looked as if he were about to speak, but then thought better of it and lowered himself on top of you.

“Oh—” you went to say, before his mouth smothered yours.

The sensation of his chest, his stomach, his thighs; of the smooth, addicting warmth of his skin; of his hands holding you still and his cock wedged between you both—it engulfed you, and you threw yourself into it, your hands roaming his back, grabbing at every part of him they found.

Tavington’s tongue slid over yours, earning a moan, resurrecting gooseflesh. You undulated underneath him, wanting to mold your body to his. His muscles hardened, he laid his weight onto you, his cock slipping between your thighs, its mere presence making your clit twitch with longing.

With a growl, he broke the kiss and found your bruises, teeth retracing their composition. You whined, scratching down his back, and he tensed, biting harder, moaning into your throat. His hands grasped at you, learned you, sought every place where you began and ended, until one caressed the heat between your legs. A single finger slid between your folds, coating itself slick.

“William,” you whispered, before you could even think his name. At this, he nipped at your bruises, teased your sore entrance before easing that finger into your core. “Ah!”

“Hm?” He pushed in deeper, exhaling as he felt you clench around him.

“It—that…” You squirmed at the pain, uncertain if you wanted more or less. “Nothing,” you replied. “It just hurts.”

Tavington’s finger curled cruelly inside of you, his breath leaving in a quiet laugh. “No sweeter words to my ears.”

Burying his face in your neck, he pulled his finger free and raised his hips. You were unable to speak, barely able to breathe before he’d prodded your cunt with his cock and started to spear you open. You choked, your arms winding around him, clinging to him like a bird to a cliff face, the pain almost as agonizing as the first time. The sharpness of it shook you, each inch making you quake, the stretch forcing you to stifle a wail.

“Shh.” His voice surrounded you, became the only grounding force outside of what you'd captured in your enduring embrace. “I doubt you'd want Pettis to become curious about what he's missing.”

You sank your nails into his back. “Pettis would—ah—die for that particular curiosity.”

“Treat him—” Tavington tensed, groaned into your ear. “Hell—treat him like a cat, then, would you?”

“If he's anything like a cat,” you said through gritted teeth as Tavington slowly withdrew from you, “then his curiosity would end all nine of his pathetic lives and still leave him unsatisfied.”

“So ferocious,” he muttered, pausing. “And yet here you are, screaming at the end of my cock.”

You snorted. “No, I'm—”

Smirking, he slammed in to the hilt. You screamed.

The strokes started deep, each new thrust prying free the scabs of your time apart, and you closed your eyes, suspended in sensation like water. Your hands scoured his back, felt the effort of his desire, and his mouth found your throat, kissing, nibbling what it could find. Sweat built between you, his hair tumbled into your face, and you wanted to feel him, all of him, wanted to know his body like it was your own.

You bit your lip, reached below his waist, groping until you latched onto his ass. It flexed in your hands, tightened and rolled with every pump of his hips. The reality thrilled you, flooded you with need. You squeezed him, and he huffed, shifting his legs so he snapped harder, faster into you, earning a stuttered cry as you rocked with the force. Pain, pleasure—the delineation fogged. As long as he remained inside of you, they occupied the same space inside of you, too.

His hips pistoned, he panted into your neck. You could not remember what you said, if you said anything at all. You remembered coiling your legs around him, hiding your wails in his shoulder, until the pressure became too great. He nailed something deep in your core, and you strangled the urge to scream by sinking your teeth into his flesh.

Tavington reared back, slammed a palm into your throat, and as your head snapped down to the pillows, you glimpsed a bead of crimson welling from the little red crescent above his collarbone.

“If you wish to behave like an animal,” he grated, gaze empty of mercy, “then you’ll be fucked like one.”

He ripped free from you, snatched your waist, and flipped you onto your stomach as if you were made of cotton. You sobbed, head spinning faster than your heart, pillows buffeting your face. Like a ravenous wolf, he kneeled behind you and jerked your hips into the air. A pleased hum escaped him as he smoothed his hands over your ass, down your back as it arced to the bed. Then, with a grunt of relief, he split you apart again.

The next moments blurred into a fever of passion. Tavington behind you; his hands seizing your thighs; the rolling cant of his breath in desperate resolve; his hips smacking yours; the lewd slap of skin; the quake of your connecting flesh; your body bound to his, bound to bear the furious punishment of his cock.

He fucked you like he needed to, like a parched man plunging into water, like he wanted to silence a terrible, screeching piece of himself that could not stop wanting you. He groaned, growled, gasped from his chest, his cock pounding into you with no concern for your pain, its only duty to use you for every ounce of pleasure that it could fuck out of your cunt.

You had become lost to the room, liquefied under his influence. Every breath ricocheted within you, every sound escaped as a wanton babble. You scrambled for the sheets, the pillows, reached toward the headboard, seeking something, anything to ground you in the storm of bliss. Nothing worked. You spiraled, untethered.

“Oh, God,” you whimpered, more pathetic than you’d ever sounded in your life, “Oh, God—”

Tavington laughed. “He can’t help you here, dandelion.”

You whined. Your clit pulsed, swollen beyond need. In the tempest, you reached toward your cunt, found the throbbing center, and swirled your fingers over it. Ecstasy shot through you, tightened your walls around him, all of it drawing free a fractured moan.

“Yes,” Tavington snarled, “yes—”

He pitched forward, crushing you into the bed, one arm locking around your neck, the other stuffing itself under your body and between your legs. His fingers mimicked your movement, his hips crashed into yours, the position causing him to strike a spot that whited your vision. Pleasure bloomed instantly, swarmed you like a hive.

You made to cry out, to squirm, but found the sound throttled by his hold, found yourself immobilized underneath him—nothing but a hole to receive his cock, nothing but a toy he was going to make come.

“I was—” Tavington spoke between heaving, bliss-wracked breath. His arm tightened at your neck, his fingers fluttered over your needy clit. “I was mistaken.”

You wanted to respond. But your impending climax silenced any thought, any noise outside of hallowed, wordless sobs of adoration.

“I’m not your cunt’s master.” He held you tighter, fucked you deeper. “I’m its owner.”

Nothing in the world made more sense to you than this. You hooked onto his arm, tugged at it, inhaling air and exhaling nonsense. “Yes, William, yes, yes—”

“Hell,” he hissed, spitting your name. “Come off, then. On my cock.”

Your addled mind required no further instruction. His fingers found the fracture point, and you flew over the edge, contracting around him with a cry. Your cunt milked him, your nails gouged him, and you convulsed, drowning in rapture. Tavington crushed your throat, breath ragged, dragged into his own peak by your pulsing cunt. Just as you descended, he jerked free from your core, thrusting between your soft, warm thighs. Once, twice, and with a choke of bliss, he broke.

His teeth tore at your shoulder, and between your legs, you felt his cock throb as he spilled himself, again and again, into the sheets. Haunted by the ripples of fading orgasm, his hips stuttered, and in your own aftershocks, you trembled with him. Finally, you both collapsed, his weight a sweltering comfort on your tender skin.

Drool covered your chin, sweat stained you from forehead to ankle, but you had absolutely no other care in the world. In fact, you figured, you might be content to lie here forever, attached to William Tavington’s cock and perpetually free of thought.

You hummed happily, and Tavington released you, letting your head plop onto the pillows. Above you, he grunted, sat back on his heels, but you remained still. Moving was not an option for you. You were fairly certain you’d lost all of your bones somewhere in the room.

As you settled into the bed, the evidence of his climax smeared your legs. You went to wipe it free and paused, gathering it on your fingers. Curious, you brought them to your face, grinning as you observed the strings of his seed web between them. Something about it, in your half-lucid state, delighted you. You felt you’d earned it.

That earning had come at a price, too: you shifted, and seethed in discomfort. You wondered if Tavington had somehow managed to shove a mace up your cunt in the interim.

He’d left the bed at some point, and you eased around to see him at the basin, wiping himself clean with a rag. Shadow threw the musculature of his body into relief, the edges of his figure glowing with sweat. Tendrils of hair pasted to his forehead, and he cleared them off before turning to return to the bed. He stopped at the candle.

“Now you go to blow it out,” you mumbled. You caught his eyes, felt your heart skip. Realized in the moment that he snuffed it that he’d known you’d come to lie in the bed all along.

Bastard.

What did one do, in the quiet of post-coitus? You imagined that those in love might hold each other, nestle together under the blankets. But the thought of wrapping yourself around him like you were squirrels in winter made you want to throw your skin to the floor. You squirmed to the edge of the bed, staring toward the wall as he slid in next to you, sight adjusting to the night.

The sky glittered beyond the window, silver light dusting the room. Silence grew heavier with each passing moment, but you found yourself unable to speak, less able to move. To crawl underneath the covers and entrap yourself in the boundaries of his body heat would be to permit William Tavington to a level of familiarity that no one could be privy to but family itself.

How bizarre to feel this way when you’d just had him inside of you. But acts of sex, you realized, held far fewer stakes to you than acts of sincerity.

Yet the chill of your evaporating sweat, the cooling of his seed underneath you made the air feel like ice. You’d already decided that you would not be subjected to discomfort to spite only your own pride. Just as sex did not equal sincerity, sharing a bed did not equal intimacy. So you capitulated, and pulled the sheets over your body.

To your surprise, the warmth didn’t feel imprisoning at all. It actually felt rather nice.

You wondered what you would say to who you’d been in May, before you’d met Colonel William Tavington. You wondered if that woman would even understand why you’d done what you’d done. If you’d done it for any reason other than desire, she would. But in this moment, you couldn’t discern the end that justified this means.

Because, truth be told, you did desire William Tavington. And in perhaps even bolder truth, you didn’t fully, totally, completely hate this man who’d left you a ruined mess.

Though, to be fair, you hadn’t been the single victim this evening. You remembered teeth, blood daubed like ink across his skin, its message taking shape: ruined as you may be, he wasn’t the only one who could leave his mark. Of every truth you’d had to face, this one was the most palatable—he’d been yours, too.

And in, perhaps, the boldest, most naked truth of all, you found yourself curious about him.

“Do you have friends?” you asked.

A pause. “I beg your pardon?”

You frowned. “What, is the concept that foreign to you?”

“I simply find myself wondering why you even ask.”

“I regret my folly of curiosity already,” you replied, shifting further away from him.

Tavington exhaled. The mattress shifted. “One,” he said. “Perhaps.”

You snorted. “Perhaps does not imply the confidence with which I'd expect to call someone a friend.”

“Then perhaps I don’t,” he said.

“No?” Flipping over, you found him turned on his back, gazing into the empty air. “You have no one you talk to? Confide in?”

He looked at you, brow raised. “I have no need to.”

“Not even when Cornwallis is excoriating you for one thing or the other?”

At this, you spotted a true, conspiratorial smirk on his lips. “Yes,” he said, looking back to the ceiling, “you've come to learn there's a certain burden to the weight of his opinion.” His eyes narrowed in amusement. “What would you have said to him if I hadn't stopped you?”

“Well…” A grin fought its way onto your face. “I may have been about to imply his wife deliberately found a permanent way to escape the weight of his opinion.”

His smirk grew, cracked into a genuine chuckle. “He can't have wounded you so terribly.”

“That—” You held your tongue for a moment, then realized you didn’t care. “He's a blithering, myopic half-wit with the insight of a bloody olive. He has no right to lead an army.” Sneering, you added, “Probably couldn’t land a shot if the target was hung around his neck.”

Tavington stared, his expression inscrutable. If you didn't know better, you would've confused it for fascination. “Hm.” His eyes were sterling in the starlight. “You may be accurate on at least one of those accounts.”

For some reason, you felt flush. “I know that.” You averted your gaze. “Anyway. I would find taking orders from him repugnant.” With a shrug, you added, “I’m surprised you don't wash your hands of the war and have done with it.”

He frowned. “Wash my hands of it?”

“Yes,” you said, pursing your lips. “Go back home to England or whatever you call the hole the demons spawned you from.”

“Interesting you choose to speak so confidently about the short-sightedness of the general.”

You laughed. “What do you mean?”

“This war is my home,” he replied, as if it were plainer than the rising sun.

You blinked, face screwing in confusion. No friends, no home? This was hyperbole.

“You have no one you wish to see?” you asked. “No dreams of what you’ll do in days of peace?”

Tavington snorted. “I dream of nothing,” he said, “I wish for nothing.” He spoke with such finality that it stilled your tongue. He glanced at the window, back to you, before resting his head on the pillow again. “Without our victory, I have no hope or need for any of it.”

You studied his face. It was not one of a man tormented by sadness or beguiled by the romanticism of war. And this in itself utterly baffled you.

Without your family, without the ones who loved you and you loved in return, the outcome of the war was meaningless to you. Your country’s liberty held no value if Grace or Papa could not be present to witness it. Your own life hardly held value—who were you if not Grace’s protector? Who were you if not your father’s daughter?

The thought of the world without them opened a void in your chest. You had at least two people who cared if you lived or died. And you’d unwittingly mocked the man you shared a bed with about having no one. And then, to make matters worse, he’d rewarded you for it.

Apparently, even the most vicious of creatures could feel shame.

“I'm…” You held your breath, hoping the words could escape on an exhale. “William?”

He sighed. “Yes?”

“I apologize for what I said earlier.”

Tavington glanced at you, unimpressed. “The list of words you've spoken to me that would warrant an apology approaches the length of a treatise,” he replied. “You'll have to specify.”

Chewing your lip, you turned over the specificity in your mouth like marble. It felt heavy and cold on your tongue. But you needed to spit it out. “When I said, uh… That no one would care. If you lived or died.” You cleared your throat. “That was cruel.”

His brow furrowed. “That?” Scoffing, he turned to his side, his back facing you. “Why apologize for speaking truth?”

You stared. He’d said it without an ounce of self-pity or a flicker of concern. Not an edge of dispute was present in his tone. To him, it seemed, this was the simplest fact of his life—simpler, even, than his own name, and just as intrinsic to his existence.

William Tavington: the man nobody loved.

The phantom of your shame sank to your stomach. You swallowed, turning over, gazing out of the window again.

Stars mingled among a smattering of feathery clouds. Aches from your evening dulled to a hum. The beat of your heart, the cadence of your breath, the distant warmth of his body feet away from yours—you weren’t sure which of these finally lulled you to sleep.

#william tavington #colonel william tavington #colonel tavington #the patriot #jason isaacs #playing soldier #fanfiction problems #jason isaacs' big fat ass appreciators inc.

12 notes · View notes

demonsonthemoon · 10 months ago

Text

Keep Me Safe

Fandom: Les Misérables Pairing: N/A, mention of platonic Jehan/Grantaire Word Count: 3074 Rating: Gen Summary: It's Valentine's day, and Grantaire sits alone in his kitchen with a flatmate who won't leave his bedroom. But maybe he doesn't have to stay alone. Notes: Oh boy. Forgive me if this note gets a bit emotional, but it's hard not to feel anything when this fic celebrate the TENTH anniversary of me meeting the amazing @anastasiapullingteeth. Two arospec people meeting each other on Valentine's day through a Jetaire fanfic, and then staying friends for ten years after that... how freaking awesome is this? Thank you Caro for still being in my life after all this time. The moments we share are always precious to me. Thanks to you, I always look forward to February 14th, and that is no small achievement. Love you, duckling! Title from "Ibuprofen” by Bears in Trees. The song was a big inspiration for the fic and it means a lot to me, so I really recommend you listen to it!

Read it on AO3

“Dinner's ready,” Grantaire calls out across the flat. The cheese on top of the lasagna looks slightly golden and the smell of garlic bread permeates the kitchen. Grantaire is sweating from the heat of the oven, as well as from the cooking and the dishes he just did.

The table is set for two, and he hopes...

He hasn't made a point of the date. Neither of them are really into the idea of celebrating Valentine's day. Considering they're non-monogamous, that Jehan is aromantic and that they've both listened to one too many anticapitalist rants by Enjolras, the holiday doesn't hold much appeal.

But Grantaire had time on his hands today, so he cooked a nice dinner from scratch and-

“I'm busy right now, I'll eat later.” Jehan's voice carries through the closed door of his bedroom.

Grantaire sighs, tells himself he's not disappointed. He would have been happier if Jehan had joined him, but this is the outcome he expected. His thoughts don't sound very convincing even to him as he puts the bottle of red wine he bought in the cupboard under the sink. He's not going to drink a bottle of wine by himself. Not tonight. That would only make things worse.

Would be a waste to, considering how expensive the thing was. That's what he gets for falling into the trap of Valentine's day marketing.

He's barely seen Jehan for the past two days, but this isn't exactly a surprise. Grantaire isn't worried about that. He's worried about his friend's behavior the weeks before that, the ever-present melancholy, the repeated absences at friendly gatherings, the aggressive defensiveness whenever this was pointed out.

Grantaire eats the lasagna in silence, scrolling through his phone all the while. He doesn't touch the garlic bread, leaves it in the turned off oven to hopefully stay warm.

His fingers hover over the Grindr app. He wants to get out of his head. Jehan's bad mood is starting to feel like a miasma, clinging to Grantaire's edges and slowly corroding his own will. He feels tired these days. Mean. He knows that the more he tries to keep his words soft and sweet for Jehan, the more they come out biting in front of other people. This isn't what Grantaire wants. It's not who he wants to be. It's not what he wants for Jehan either, but he's running out of ways to try and help. Surely he's not the only sad fuck out there who's lonely on February 14th and desperate for something else?

He locks his phone again.

Yeah, he's lonely and slowly reaching the point of touch starvation, but he's not in the right mindset for a casual hookup. Because he doesn't want to fuck some nameless person. He wants to feel close to Jehan.

It's not unusual for them to not have sex with each other for several weeks. But they haven't shared any kind of physical intimacy in at least ten days and it's starting to get to Grantaire.

The thing is... while he enjoys being held through his breakdown, feels anchored by having arms around him even if his head is too loud to do anything but sit in silence, he knows that's not the same for Jehan. Grantaire doesn't want his friend to snap at him like he did last week. He doesn't want to push himself onto him, doesn't want Jehan to accept his affections just to get him off his back.

Jehan wouldn't do that. He wouldn't manipulate Grantaire like that, wouldn't play with his feelings. Jehan has always been clear about his wants and needs, he's never led Grantaire on. He's nice.

But wouldn't it be the nice thing to do, to go along with Grantaire's own desires? Wouldn't it be easier for everyone?

Jehan probably wouldn't do that, but can Grantaire be sure? Considering that his roommate is currently locking himself up in his room and not talking to him, can he be certain that he hasn't been making Jehan feel uncomfortable all this time, that the other man hasn't just finally reached his limit and is just too scared to admit it to Grantaire? Too nice to hurt him in turn?

Grantaire breathes. In and out. He's spiralling.

He gets up and washes his plate. He covers the dish of lasagna and puts it in the fridge. He keeps the garlic bread in the oven still, even opens the door a little. He's hoping the smell will be enough to lure Jehan out at some point in the evening at least.

Grantaire can feel his muscles tensing. He regrets having done the other dishes earlier, because now there's too much restless energy in his body and he doesn't have a physical task to do to let it out. He wants to hit something. That would relieve the pressure in his brain for a little while.

He breathes in and out.

Picks up his phone again and opens the Signal app. He could text Bahorel, see what the girl is up to. She's usually down to hit the gym even at times when their boxing club is closed. Weights and cardio aren't the same as a good friendly match, but it would be better than nothing. Bahorel is good at not asking questions.

But what if Grantaire wants someone to ask questions?

Jehan hadn't been to the last ABC meeting, nor to the night out that Joly and Bossuet had set up as an excuse to flirt with the barmaid of their favorite queer bar. Both times, Grantaire had left early, worried about his roommate. He'd come back to a silent flat and a closed door, which hadn't been more reassuring than if he had stayed out. And then he had muted the group chat in which people were sharing photos of their night out.

Maybe what he needs isn't an anonymous fuck or a work out, but something else altogether.

Maybe what he needs is to not stay alone with his fear and his lasagna.

Instead of tapping on Bahorel's contact, he opens a group chat nicknamed The High Council. It's Valentine's Day, so he knows that Enjolras isn't busy tonight. Courfeyrac and Combeferre might be – it's difficult to keep track of Courfeyrac's relationship status, and Combeferre has been making eyes at Eponine for long enough that Grantaire wouldn't be surprised if there was something going on between them that they were keeping on the down low. Still, it's worth a shot.

Got lasagna and garlic bread to exchange for company and emotional support. Deal of the century if I'm honest. Anyone wants in?

He doesn't send the message right away.

Because the truth is... He would hate it, if it was him. If he was in Jehan's place. He would hate for someone else to invite people into his space. Would hate to be looked at with pity, with sympathy. He would hate for his vulnerabilities to be exposed to others.

He would hate to be a burden to his friends.

He does hate it. He fucking hates asking for help.

But that also means that Jehan would hate the way Grantaire feels right now. He would hate to be the cause of such helplessness.

So Grantaire pushes through his instincts and hits send.

Sometimes what you want and what you need aren't the same thing. Isolating yourself to deal with your issues isn't always the kindest thing you can do.

Grantaire repeats these thoughts over and over in his mind, hoping he can force himself to believe them.

He drops his phone beside him so he doesn't stare at the text conversation. He's not sure he can fight against the urge to delete the message before anyone has a chance to see it.

He stares at the ceiling instead. It's only marginally better than staring at a screen.

Grantaire can hear soft music coming from Jehan's bedroom, but there's no movement to accompany it. Maybe Jehan is also staring at the ceiling.

Grantaire wants a glass of wine.

Grantaire wants to find a hookup who will share a joint with him before letting him fuck them and who won't ask any personal question and he wants to slam the door on his way out to make a point to Jehan.

He wants to turn the oven back on with the garlic bread still inside. Maybe then it would smell bad enough for Jehan to come out and check what's going on.

Fuck. Being a good person is exhausting.

His phone vibrates with a notification. He doesn't open it right away. Better not hope too much, lest you be disappointed. It could be anything. Maybe someone messaged him on Grindr.

He closes his eyes after a few seconds. Hard. Just enough that it hurts a little, that he can see phosphenes.

Then he checks his messages.

👼 and I are on our way, keep the lasagna warm and cheesy 👌

The text is from Courfeyrac, and a few seconds later a new bubble appears with Enjolras' name.

We've already had dinner.

Followed by another message from Courfeyrac: I said what I said.

He should feel relief but is instead filled with dread. This has to be a fucking mistake. He's just proven to his friends that he's a deadweight. Not even capable of helping his closest friend. Not capable of helping himself.

What if Jehan hates him for this? For meddling? It's not any of his fucking business, what Jehan does in his bedroom when he doesn't want company. It's not Grantaire's business if he decides not to eat.

It certainly shouldn't concern Courfeyrac and Enjolras.

Grantaire sends a thumbs up anyway.

He puts the lasagna back in the oven, turns it on on a low setting.

He knocks on Jehan's bedroom.

“Enjolras and Courfeyrac are coming over,” he says. He doesn't ask if Jehan is going to join them. Hope not and you won't be disappointed.

He doesn't get any answer.

Grantaire has opened the bottle of wine by the time Courfeyrac and Enjolras arrive. He's poured himself half a glass, and taken out two others to fill.

The table is still set for Jehan. He can just pretend that the plate is for Courfeyrac instead.

His friends know to text him instead of ringing the unsettlingly loud doorbell. Grantaire wishes they'd forgotten, because it might have woken up Jehan. The man probably isn't asleep, but still. It's not that Grantaire wants him to hurt. He just has an easier time dealing with Jehan's anger than with his silence. Anger gives him something to chew on, something to eventually act upon. Right now he has nothing.

He walks down the four flights of stairs to open the door.

“Happy Valentine's Day!” Courfeyrac exclaims as soon as the door opens. He drags Grantaire into a hug and lays a huge smack on his cheek. Enjolras rolls eir eyes at the scene.

Grantaire feels a smile tug at his lips. It's partly just a reflex, the urge to pretend, to always act like everything is fine. But there's also some genuine amusement in it, some contentment from his friend's easy affection, from the warmth in Enjolras' gaze even as ey holds emself at more of a distance.

“I would have brought some chocolate but the only one we had at the flat was Combeferre's fancy not-so-secret stash, and Enjolras refused to stop at a night shop.”

“You would have paid a prohibitive amount of money for sub-par chocolate for the sole purpose of feeding the so-called 'holiday spirit' that only serves to drive more capitalist consumption as well as reinforcing norms around monogamy and amatonormativity.”

“Yes, I would have,” Courfeyrac responds with an easy smirk, unbothered by the well-rehearsed rant. “And it would have been fun! Besides, am I really reinforcing those norms if I'm buying chocolate to cheer up my polya and arospec friends?”

Enjolras frowns at that, and Grantaire ushers the both of them inside before they start a debate in his staircase.

“Oh, it smells amazing in here,” says Courfeyrac as he immediately moves towards the kitchen.

“I put the lasagna back in the oven to warm up, you can check if it's ready. And there's garlic bread over there.” Grantaire points to the counter where the bread lies, covered in a clean kitchen towel.

“Well, don't mind me, I'll make myself right at home,” Courfeyrac responds. And he does just that, opening the oven and quickly touching the top of the lasagna to check its warmth.

It leaves Grantaire staring at Enjolras and looking for something to say.

“Want some wine?” he finally asks, before pouring two glasses at Enjolras' nod.

They both sit down at the table, while Courfeyrac lounges against the counter, nibbling on a piece of garlic bread.

Grantaire takes a sip of his own drink.

“So, is something wrong?” Enjolras asks before ey even tries the wine. Rude. This is actually a good bottle. Grantaire put thought into all of this.

He has another sip. Enjolras just stares at him.

Grantaire sighs. “Jehan isn't eating. I've barely seen him for the past two days, really. I'm worried. I don't know what to do.”

“Bread was for him, right?” Courfeyrac chimes in with his mouth still half full.

Grantaire nods.

“His favorite. You're a romantic, 'R.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well. Thought the smell might draw him out. It obviously didn't work.”

Courfeyrac shrugs. “It drew us in, though.”

Grantaire raises his eyebrows at him, but his friend doesn't elaborate, instead poking some more at the lasagna that's still in the oven.

“I noticed that Jehan wasn't at the last ABC meeting.” Enjolras says, finally sipping on eir wine. “But it's not exactly unusual for either of you to skip attendance from time to time.”

“I really don't feel up for a lecture about dedication to the cause, Enj'” replies Grantaire.

Enjolras tuts. “I'm not lecturing you. I'm just saying... this isn't unusual. Jehan gets like this sometimes. He always comes back to himself.”

Grantaire looks up at the ceiling. There might be tears pressing at the corner of his eyes, but no one will be able to prove that. The thing is... The thing is, you only need one time of someone not coming back for the world to change forever. The thing is, Grantaire knows how steep that edge is, he's walked it often enough himself. The thing is, Jehan's depression is often quieter than Grantaire's, but he suspects that the silence only serves to hide the depths of it.

“I'm just scared,” Grantaire finally admits, looking back down at his friends once he is certain that the tears will not fall. “I don't want to fail him.”

“Oh, 'R...”

Courfeyrac walks around the table in order to hug him from behind, the back of the chair probably digging into his stomach uncomfortably. It doesn't stop the embrace from being tight and warm.

“What if we hadn't been able to come tonight,” Enjolras asks in a soft tone. “Would you have thought we'd failed you?”

“What? No. You have the right to be busy. It's not your job to-”

“Just like it isn't yours to take care of Jehan.”

Grantaire feels Courfeyrac nod from where he's still holding him.

“Don't get me wrong, I'm happy that you can be here for him. Just like we're happy to be here for you. And the two are close in a way you aren't with most other people, living together and... such.”

Grantaire can't help but raise an eyebrow at that. Enjolras blushes. It's fucking adorable.

“But you're not responsible for one another even when you rely on each other. Does that make sense?”

“I guess,” Grantaire reponds, rubbing his fingers against the various permanent stains that dot their kitchen table.

“I'm glad you texted us,” Courfeyrac adds from his unrelenting hug. Not that Grantaire is fighting a lot to get out of it. It's nice to be touched. “We want to be here for you, you know? For you both. But it's hard to show up when the things you're fighting are happening in your own heads. Hard to be there for Jehan when he won't let us in.”

Grantaire nods somberly. “Won't even open his door.”

“But you did let us in. So we're here. And it won't solve everything but maybe it doesn't have to, right?”

He finally lets go at that, not even looking back as he walks back towards the oven and pulls out the lasagna.

“Now who wants a piece of this delicious-looking bad boy?”

Courfeyrac eats a huge portion of lasagna, along with some more bread. Grantaire and Enjolras share a small plate between them, almost shyly. Grantaire is almost vibrating at the idea of fighting over who gets the last bite. It's extremely lame.

They chat through the bottle of wine, Grantaire's friends keeping him up to date on all of the gossip he missed, including the fact that Combeferre and Eponine actually do have a date together today and, well, good for them.

It's almost midnight when they all hear Jehan's bedroom door open. There is the slightest pause in the conversation before Courfeyrac keeps describing the extravagant floral arrangement that Joly and Bossuet brought to their favorite barmaid. Nobody wants to acknowledge that they've noticed the noise, in case it makes Jehan retreat again.

But no, the sound of bare feet on the linoleum is faint, but it's coming in their direction.

Jehan is dressed in his pyjamas, his short bob of red hair hanging messily about his face. Grantaire can't help but look for red-rimmed eyes or the bags that indicate sleeplessness. He can't make out anything by the light of their old and shitty halogen lamps.

“Did you leave any lasagna for me? 'the least you could do after making such a ruckus that it's impossible to sleep in here.”

Jehan's smile looks tired, but it's a smile anyway. Grantaire doesn't waste a second before getting up and putting a plate of lasagna in the microwave. He puts the garlic bread in the oven for good measure. It won't be properly warm, but that's no big deal.

It will still make the flat smell like home.

#Meeni writes fics #Les Mis #Jetaire #Jehan x Grantaire #Grantaire x Jehan #Fanfic #Anastasiapullingteeth

9 notes · View notes

tydyguy · 1 year ago

Text

My decent into the unholy implications of the oily ducks

Y’all ever wonder where They get the oily ducks for the Dawn Dish Soap commercials? Like, the moment there is an oil spill, do the Dawn Dish Soap acolytes rush in their vans to the beach? Do they scourer the beach in hopes of finding a duckling they can record getting sensually massaged by a models soapy hands, applying the the miraculous properties of Dawn Dish Soap to the ducklings flesh? Or do they pay some freak real cash to taint the surface of the ducks skin, just to wash it away with the holy cleansing properties of Dawn Dish Soap.

I can't decide which is worse, Dawn Dish Soap profiting of the sufering of such powerful creatures, or is Dawn Dish Soap paying some pervert to besmurtch the feathers of a mighty duckling.

I cant sleep, every tought is filled with the unholly knowledge just out of my reach. I went outside and saw ducks shiting on the sidwalk, and I wonder. I wonder if the awe inspiring creature before me is a survivor of the heinous crimes of the once reviered Dawn Dish Soap.

I look under my sink and see the infamous Dawn Dish Soap. Do They see me? Do They know that I know? Will They finde me?

When you come into contact with pure Power, does that make you more powerful by proxy? Or do does It just highlight how pathetic you are?

I'm Scared

#Dawn Dish Soap #shower thoughts #ducks #ducks of tumblr #cute ducks #duck pics #ramblings #rambles #oil #creative writing #short fiction #short story #They have found Me #I am now one with Them #but it's okay #you will join Us soon

5 notes · View notes

oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

Text

Steamy Waters — Jungkook

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)

Wordcount: 7.7k

Genre: smut, pwp; initial fluff, but don’t let that fool you; established relationship; idol!AU

Rating: 18+

Hello my fluffy ducklings, welcome to Jeongguk’s Steamy Waters 😈

I won’t even pretend there’s a plot in this. It’s just Jk, coming home from the gym and finding excuses to shower with his gf. Set almost a month after Love Talk, Jeongguk is finally ready to take a big step in his relationship with Candy, however finding the courage for the big leap is excruciating. Candy is more than willing to reward him before asking for something in return, she simply doesn’t know how much her game will cost her.

I decided I’ll keep using the nickname the nickname “Guk”, (see more in this post). Now, straight on to...

TRIGGER WARNINGS: unprotected sex within an established relationship (don’t do that unless YOU’RE TESTED AND CLEAN), mentions of therapy and mental health; sweaty jock!Jungkook, smitten!Jungkook who can’t express his emotions but IS WORKING ON IT, with a very supportive gf; I guess there’s a striptease, if you like... squint?; masturbation (female and male receiving); breast worship; period talk; very intimate love confession; foreplay under the shower (specifically mutual oral sex — aka 69 — while laying on the floor); predator/prey dynamics (namely she runs and he chases her, finds her as she tries to hide, drags her out and throws her over his shoulder); plenty of lube (lube is important and useful, let’s normalise using it); lots of degradation and objectification, name calling (fuckdoll, slut, cocksleeve, cockfairy), very multiple orgasms — like a lot; edging (both male and female receiving), begging, crying, slight humiliation. These two know all the possible variations to missionary sex (sorry not sorry); biting; slightest, most delicate face slapping and grabbing; spanking; tattoo fetish; cumplay, mentions of cum eating.

[Inspired by this look]

Here is my masterlist and check out my non-idols!AU (Partition update coming on Sat, Jan 23rd!!!)

Remember to vote for next prompt (link in bio)!

And now, enjoy ✨💜

————————————

The entry door smashed loudly sometime around ten p.m., followed by the thud of a bag falling to the floor, Jeongguk’s heavy steps stopping as he took of his shoes.

The moment he appeared he looked unreal, with an oversized black shirt reaching his mid thigh, the sleeves exposing his forearms and part of his tattoos, his hair falling messily in wet curls over his forehead.

“Candy, babe?” He called from the entry. “I’m home!”

“Guk?” You called from the kitchen, your head peeking around the corner. He spotted you and smiled.

“What you doing there?” He said with a smile, sauntering towards you, standing at your side and placing a hand around your waist as you stood by the stove.

You turned and stood on your tiptoes, puckering your lips and closing your eyes.

He bent down and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry I’m messy.” He said, close to your mouth.

“Are you fresh out of the gym?” You asked.

He nodded. “I haven’t even showered yet. I wanted to come home as soon as possible.” His fingers rubbed your side gently, trying not to tickle you. “I missed you a lot today.”

You smiled as you finished warming up his favourite post-workout snack. “I’ve already eaten. I thought you might be hungry.” You said, just as he stole the ladle and took a sip.

“Yum!” He commented, placing the utensil back in your hand. He stood behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I wanna hug you but I’m too sweaty.” He commented as he kneeled the tense muscles of your neck.

You shook your head. “Oh, these need to be washed,” you said, referring to your outfit. “We went to a bulgogi place today and I feel like I smell so bad.”

“You haven’t showered yet?” He asked, his hands slowing down, almost stopping.

“No… I switched on the tv and there was this interesting old interview with Miyazaki and I got caught up.” You explained with a cheery tone.

“The Japanese director and artist?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You confirmed, switching off the stove and pouring a couple ladles of noodles and broth in a bowl, adding some basic decorations on top.

He paused before wrapping an arm around your waist. “Can I hug you then?” He asked gently, almost too quietly for you to hear.

Still, there was no way you wouldn’t hear his voice. Sometimes you thought you could hear his very thoughts.

“Of course you can hug me, Guk.”

His body adhered to yours without hesitation, a low moan exiting his throat as he felt you sink even deeper into him, pressing into his body, almost trying to hide into him.

“I said I missed you.” He said shyly, waiting for you to praise him as he opened up about his emotions.

You were working through it, together, trying to make him open up more, offer you more of himself, of his feelings and fears.

“I missed you too, baby. I love you.” You spoke against his chest, taking in the clean and humid scent of his skin. He always smelled so good even after working out. Especially after working out.

Your hormones did a somersault.

“Today I felt very… restless.”

That was a very specific word for his emotional vocabulary. Lately, he was getting better and better, finding new words that fit his moods appropriately. His way of speaking was always plain, in the best meaning of the term. He is simple and transparent, always using basic words with great meaning. That seemed to be his style, pure and direct, honest.

However, he was growing a lot, even emotionally. He was slowly losing the adjective “young” that people normally put before the word “man” when trying to describe him.

He is a man. And an excellent one at that. Sure, a bit naive sometimes, and still shy, but he always showed a caring, attentive side whenever you tried to speak your needs and grievances within your relationship.

“Mh… What made you feel restless today?” You asked, repeating an exercise that your psychologist always made you do when you were a teen.

“We practiced a choreo all morning. And we always messed up the same part. There’s a very difficult transition and it’s just… so difficult to end up in the right position after the passage.” He said, huffing out loudly.

You thought about his food getting cold, still you knew that if you made him eat the conversation would quite surely stop. “Anything else, baby?” You asked, kissing his breastbone.

“We had a couple interviews this afternoon. One with a radio and another one with a talk show.” He said. “I’m glad that my English is improving. Namjoon hyung said he’s proud of me and that I did a good job.”

You heard the smile in his voice.

“Even Yoongi hyung said I did a good job. And he offered me a tangerine!” He said enthusiastically.

You rubbed his back. “We’re all proud of you, baby.” You said fondly.

“Thank you.” He replied and when you looked up at his face you saw his ears flush red.

“Time to eat, Koo.” You said, pressing your hands to the sides of his head, trying to calm down the blush.

He smiled.

He looked beautiful.

On your tiptoes, you kissed the mole under his lip, shortly before he picked you up by the waist and brought you at his eye level, your arms anchoring behind his neck as he pushed his mouth to yours. “Thank you.” He said again, that feeling in his chest getting more and more urgent.

He would say it. Just… Not now.

He had plans.

He took the bowl and a spoon in his hand, the other one staying around your back, pulling you to the table with him. First he placed down the objects and then he sat, still holding your hand, tugging at it gently and making you sit across his lap.

You giggled and adjusted yourself, your forearm moving behind him and securing you to his back.

He pecked your temple and thanked for the food quickly before digging in, slurping loudly and devouring the whole meal in eager, large spoonfuls.

“No one’s stealing your food, baby, don’t eat too fast.” You said, worried as he paused for a moment, only to take a few breaths and dig in again, finishing the bowl.

He placed down the spoon and rubbed his belly, exhaling with a satisfied grin.

You smirked. “Would you like some more?”

He shook his head no. “I wanna shower.” He said, placing the spoon in the bowl and handing both to you; but before you could protest, thinking he was asking you to tidy up, he moved one arm under your knees, the other around your shoulders, picking you up bridal style.

“Guk, for goodness’ sake!” You shrieked, trying to secure yourself with one arm, the other holding the bow.

“Trust me,” He said, “I’ve got you.” He reassured you, stopping in front of the sink and helping you place the bowl down. Next, he made you sit on the counter, “I need both hands free for this,” he said, picking up the pot and covering it with its lid before placing it back inside the fridge.

He would deal with that later.

“Come here,” he called, standing between your legs and picking you up again, his hands pressed to the back of your thighs. You pushed your nose against the soft hair of his nape. “Where are we going?” You asked, curious.

“Shower.” He said, reaching the room and placing you down near the sink in the dim light coming in from the window. He looked at the saffron gleam of the streetlights landing on the floor, cutting a thin, long stripe landing at your feet.

He took a step forward and stood in it, his black shirt immediately absorbing the light with a curious pattern of shadows that seemed to offer small outlines of the taut, solid muscles underneath.

Jeongguk stood there, fascinated with the way you looked at him, almost ready to hide his face in his hands before you traced the line of his collarbone, then up his throat, until you reached the deep darkness enshrouding his mouth.

“Would you take off your shirt?” You asked, cupping his jaw.

He nodded. “In a second.” He said, staring some more.

He would have never believed he looked at you the same way you looked at him, weren’t it for the picture that had become his new desktop wallpaper a few hours ago. Jin had sent him a picture of the night Jungkook had introduced you to the boys, a week after the two of you had reunited. In the picture, you were talking with Jimin and Taehyung, the older leaning into you as he laughed hysterically while the younger looked at you like you had hung the very stars in the sky. Sitting on the sofa, you glanced up at Jeongguk as he stood behind you with his hands on your shoulders, a large grin on his face and the warmest feeling glittering in his eyes, his ears bright as your own lips opened up in a soft smile.

And now he stood in front of you and you were gorgeous. And he felt so in love.

So desperate to touch you.

But you looked like a vision, a mirage ready to disappear like his unsteady feelings; like that ugly, lying voice could come up any moment and make his doubt you and himself, making him believe that he was incapable of understanding true love, that he had been fooled once and it was sweet like this at the beginning until all there was left was barren land and bitter dust.

He took off his shirt. You moved away the hand on his face before you got tangled up, giving him space until his naked torso was right in front of you.

“You’ve been getting skinnier.” You said, placing your hands on his pectorals. “You’ve lost weight?” You asked, cupping his face again.

“It’s why I’m exercising. It was hard to keep a routine while I was gone.” He explained, placing his hands around your wrists and pushing them down. “Am I not strong enough? Fit enough?” He asked once your hands were resting on his pectorals.

Your thumbs circled his nipples, making them harden immediately. “No, baby.” You argued, a bit disappointed. “I’m saying I wouldn’t mind if you slowed down with the gym and ate a tiny bit more.” You replied. “I love you. I don’t care about your looks, but you’re all bones and muscles. I don’t mind the flesh.” You said, pinching his belly and finding only skin between your fingers. “I’m saying I don’t want you to be so hard on yourself.” You explained before your hands travelled to the ribbon of his sweats.

“You want me to put on some weight?” He asked, incredulous.

“I just want you to be healthy and eat enough food to match your workouts, and do anything you want with your body without feeling pressured. True Army will love you with or without abs.” You raked your nails across his taut abdomen. “And I don’t care as long as I get to touch you like this. Or kiss you here.” You said, following the shape of his cock with a finger.

He smiled and blushed — which you couldn’t see, considering the dark room. What you did feel was his sex twitching and hardening some more. He moaned weakly, his head falling forward and landing on your shoulder. “You mean you care only about blowing me?” He asked, his hips pushing against your palm, his hair tickling your neck and ear, making you arch away from his sinfully messy mop of hair.

You cupped him from over his sweats, massaging him slowly, gently. “Let’s say it’s a pretty important factor in our relationship.” You joked, nuzzling your nose against his head.

“Mh...” He commented meditatively. “How important compared to your love for me?” He asked, mouthing at the underside of your jaw, chuckling and teasing it with the vibrations of his voice clad in a deep rumble and the thick, teasing accent of his dialect.

“Mh… they’re neck and neck for factor number one.” You teased back, tracing his happy trail with your index finger.

“Neck and neck, you say...” He mused, nipping at your throat harshly, making you gasp. “Let’s see what happens if I take it away from you.” He wondered as he took a step away, out of your grasp.

You tried to keep touching him until he was too far for you to reach.

“Hands to yourself, babe.” He scolded as you licked your lips, looking at him as he switched on the soft led from the shower, lowering it to a soft dark red. “Promise me you’ll keep your naughty fingers at bay.” He asked, taking one step toward you.

You nodded eagerly, “I promise. Please.” You begged, placing your palms flat on your thighs and waiting for him to come closer. Once more he stood between your legs, his hands catching your wrists and bringing your arms behind your back, indirectly making your spine arch forward and push your breasts up.

He stared unashamed at your curves, barely visible over the large cotton blouse. “Keep your hands there.” He said, his fingers starting at your buttons. “My turn.” He said, undoing enough buttons to reach the lower hem of your bra, his hands sliding into the opening and cupping your breast from the lower, outer part, pressing them together and planting his face right in the crevasse, making you laugh at the drastic way he dove in.

“You good there, Guk?”

He nodded simply. “God, if you’re listening, this is a good moment to die.” He commented gingerly. “Let my girlfriend’s tits be the last thing I see before I pass.” He went on. “Amen.”

The laughter overtook you, your whole body wiggling with giggles. “Admit it, you love my tits way more than you love me.” You said before realising that the joke didn’t work both ways: even though you had confessed your feelings, he hadn’t done so with an actual declaration yet.

“Neck and neck.” He replied, letting his feelings implicitly show with ambiguous confessions.

He drew the upper curve of each breast with small kisses while his fingers worked the buttons left. The moment he reached the last one, he undid it and raised his head, looking you in the eye for the longest, slowest seconds in the history of the universe. His lips collided with yours, pressure building and building until you separated, galaxies of feelings and sensations blooming in both of you.

His hands pushed the blouse off your shoulders, letting it slide to your wrists. Next, he moved the straps of your bra off your shoulders kissing the slope of your neck and collarbone slowly and leisurely on the left side, before turning to the other side and parting his lips, letting half an inch of his tongue hang from his mouth and trace the ridge of your collarbone, his fingers undoing the clasp of your bra. The garment slid lower, your breasts heavier now without the support of the small cage. “Are they sore?” He asked, kissing you under your ear before moving his hands to your forearms, freeing you from the shirt.

“A bit. It was hot outside today.” You paused. “And my period’s close.” You added, hoping he didn’t get embarrassed by the small statement.

He stayed silent for half a minute. “How close?” He asked, moving your arm to your front so he could remove one strap, then focusing on the other one, baring your torso completely.

“It should be… four or five days away.” You said after making a quick count.

He nodded before cupping your face and kissing your mouth. “Do you need me to stock anything in the house?” He asked, parting from your face and looking you in the eye? “Sanitary products, comfort food, anything?” He asked, his gaze so soft and caring you felt a string of your heart snap and break.

“I have those at home.” You said, combing his hair away from his face, the red light making his eyes even more intense, his lips even more tempting.

“You won’t be here on the weekend?” He asked, suddenly hesitant. “I know we met today because I called you and normally you prefer staying at your place on weekdays and coming over for the weekend; but I thought that meeting today wouldn’t mean I wouldn’t have the weekend.” He said, confused and a little bit sad. Even with the dim lights you could see the disappointed look on his face.

“I thought that since I had my per—”

“It’s not like I wouldn’t want to cuddle and sleep with you. You know I—” love you. “I don’t want only sex.” He said, frowning.

You noticed he grew increasingly upset, his teeth torturing his lower lip.

Can’t you just fucking say it, Jeon Jeongguk, for goodness’ sake! His brain snapped at him, but his heart stayed guarded and wary.

“Come here.” You said, opening your arms, and letting him barricade himself into your embrace, your chest hot against his, the late summer night making both your and his skin clammy. “I know you care about me.” You said, your hand sliding into the long locks of his nape. “I’m not used to this, Guk. You know how we did this before you left.”

“This is not before I left. This is now.” He said, his voice so insecure. “I want everything. The cuddles and the sex and the feelings and… all of it. I want to be there for you. Always.” He said, raising up, towering over you as hegave up on the protection of your arms and offered you the safety of his own. “I want you to count on me. To trust me and tell me when something’s wrong. I want to support you and protect you.” He said, more and more determined. “I want to be the one you want when you had a stressful day and you need to talk. I want your problems too, ____. I want the ugly bits too. I don’t want you to choose the parts that you think I can handle and offer those alone.” He patted your head before making you look at him. “I want everything, Candy. Every damn thing, baby. The good, the bad and the in between.” He bent to your ear and closed his eyes, leaning into you, pressing his forehead to your temple. “Will you let me be there for you, baby, please?” He asked, begging, holding the crown of your head with one hand and your waist with the other.

You nodded, almost too emotional. “Yes.” You replied simply before he pressed you to his chest, where his heart beat so loud you thought he would get a heart attack.

He placed both hands on your waist lifting you off the counter and placing you with your feet on the floor. “Take off your trousers and panties, Candy.” He spoke softly as he watched your hands slide down your sides dragging the garments all the way to your ankles before stepping out of them. He placed them in the basket with the dirty laundry.

“Your sweats,” you said, trying to reach for the waistband.

“No,” he said, getting undressed by himself.

Just like that, you stood naked in front of each other, his eyes focused on your face, your gaze laced with his.

“You're so beautiful.” He whispered, cupping the side of your neck before letting his hand skim your chest, the plumpness on your breast, the sensitive curve of your waist, his palm stopping at your hip before his fingers sunk into your flesh, his eyes following his hand with unbreakable focus.

Gently, he tugged you toward the shower, making you stop before entering. “Let me get the temperature right.” He said, opening the tap and waiting a little before the water turned warm. You stared at him as he tested the spray and dove under, small rivulets rolling down his body, following the curve of his back, drenching his hair and rolling down his cheeks as he rubbed his face with his hands.

“Come, babe.” Jeongguk said, stretching his hand toward you.

Biting your lip, you took a few steps before he moved out of the spray, hugging you before he took a small step back, your and his body both under the water. You simply pressed your mouth to the base of his throat while his hands made sure that your hair got properly wet before he could wash them.

Your hands moved down his back, from his shoulder blades to the small of his back, until you managed to reach the full roundness of his ass, massaging it slowly, comfortably.

He snickered. “Are you comfy there?” He asked, just as his hands reached your own ass and squeezed it. “Does that feel good?”

You nodded, the sound of the water drowning your small moan. “Let me.” You said, turning around and rubbing at your hair, making sure it was soaked.

His hands followed the curves of your body capturing your heavy breasts in his palms. He took a deep breath before he stretched to reach his body wash, pouring some in his palm and foaming it up before spreading it over your skin, the scent of his soap filling the space.

The lights were making it even more intimate, with the red-to-black spectrum tinging the experience in a variety of tones of eroticism. First and foremost, the mildest but most difficult of them all: intimacy.

Jeongguk placed his hands on your waist, making you turn around. You were there, with your hair pushed back, your beautiful face completely exposed to his observing stare. He couldn’t hold your gaze.

He poured more shower gel on his palm and after it turned into a small handful of bubbles he bent down and divided it between his hands, bending down and washing your legs, until he knelt, washing your feet.

“Guk.” You called shyly.

He hummed in reply, just as he took a gentler soap meant for your intimate parts. He pumped a dollop on his hand and foamed it briskly before cupping your vulva delicately, focusing on the simple, affectionate task at hand, making sure to spread your labia as you parted your legs slightly to let him have access. He rubbed the palm slowly, lightly against your skin, not sparing the back, in between your ass cheeks, waiting for the water to rinse his hands and clean you fully.

He felt ready.

His hands cupped your hips, holding tight without his fingers digging in, all the pressure focused on his palms.

He kissed your belly button.

“I love you.” He almost whispered.

You were far too lost in sensations to be sure that he had actually said what you thought you had heard.

“What?” You asked, looking down at him.

He delivered another small kiss on your tummy and looked up. “I love you, ____.” He said, before smiling timidly.

“You love me?” You asked, incredulous.

“Yes. I love you, Candy. A whole damn lot.” He said, kissing a straight line from your belly to your pubic bone, stopping there. “I wanna… Can I… Can I taste you?” He asked, waiting on his knees, removing his hands and mouth from you, letting you choose freely.

You looked at him before your mouth opened in the happiest, widest smile you had ever given him. “I love you, you know that, right?” You told him, touching his face, combing his hair back.

He nodded. “I love you too.” He said, and the more he said that, the more his body felt how right, how true it was.

“You wanna eat me out?” You asked as he nodded furiously.

You lifted a leg, ready to place it on his shoulder when he sat on his hip, then turned with his back to you, laying flat on the floor, his head away from the water spray.

Your brow furrowed before he tucked his elbows next to his torso, his hands close to his face before he grinned and wiggled his fingers in a “come forth” motion.

“Uhm…” You wondered, confused for a brief moment, trying to understand if he really meant for you to ride his face, especially since you were both still trying to understand the whole cunnilingus discourse.

“Sit on my face?” He asked, his cheeks blushing — which fortunately you couldn’t see with the current lighting, he considered.

Your eyebrows shot up. “You sure?” You asked.

“Pretty sure, yes. If you want to, of course.” He replied.

Slowly you lowered yourself to your knees, his hands circling your waist and heading up, up, until he met your breasts, before heading down again, fixing your hips right against his lips.

“I’m gonna start now, Candy.” He warned you, “you can ask me to stop whenever you want to, baby.”

“Wait!” You called. “Is it okay if I blow you?” You asked, pretty sure that it would be good for your mind space if you dedicated yourself to his pleasure, easing the mental pressure you felt whenever someone went down on you. After all, Jeongguk had been the first to make you cum during oral sex, and even with him sometimes you struggled reaching your high.

“You want to sixty-nine?” He asked, trying to comfort you by lacing his fingers with yours.

“I wanna try?” You asked. “Maybe it all works better if I’m not thinking about it too much. I could use a…distraction?” You explained, doubtful.

“Okay, let’s give this a go.” He replied, completely oblivious that the simple movements of his mouth as he spoke against your crotch were making your hole drip in wetness.

“Okay then!” You slowly lowered yourself on your elbows, his lips going on a slow side-to-side motion before he opened his mouth, his upper lip pressing against your entrance while his lower one met the sensitive nerve endings of your clit, making you moan just as his tip entered your mouth, your hand cupping his balls and sliding upwards, until you could grip him as comfortably as you could.

He released a heavy breath, the hot air meeting the raw skin of your slit. Just as his tongue made its way between your labia, you bobbed your head a couple times, making him moan loudly, which made you moan in return.

The whole situation turned into a game where the more you received, the more you gave.

As you started sucking him, creating a vacuum effect with your cheeks, his hands gripped your ass, his lips wrapping around your left labium, pumping it with his cheeks into his mouth, just past his teeth, that grazed it perfectly, alternating the softness of his lips and tongue with the hard edge of his teeth, making blood pool in the sensitive tissue. Meanwhile, on his lap, you were drooling all over him, pumping him with your fist as you started losing focus. “Guk.” You called.

He simply hummed and switched to the other side.

Yes, he was dedicated like that.

“Gu— Oh, yes, love, like that, baby, just like that.” You said as you felt his hands direct your hips in a grinding motion, your mouth returning between his legs out of sheer gratitude.

He moaned again, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure as you pushed his soft head to the back of your mouth, bobbing your head a few times before your hand started fondling his balls with your palm, twisting your wrist and using the pad of your thumb to tease the delicate spot between his balls and his anus.

He released your labium. “Candy. Fuck, baby, yeah, that a… I— I really like your finger there, baby.” He said, swallowing loudly before flicking the tip of his tongue repeatedly against your clit, spanking your ass brusquely before he gave a few strong pumps to your most sensitive spot.

You released his cock, letting it snap back to his belly and speaking against his shaft. “Please… Guk. Too good, love—” Your hips began to gyrate on him, his hands leading you, keeping your movements controlled so that he didn’t lose his grip between your legs. Holding his tongue rigid and still, he pushed the tip to the underside of your clit, dragging it up and exposing the most sensitive nerves, usually protected by the hood and way too sensitive for direct stimulation. Which is exactly why after two minutes your body stilled before starting to shake uncontrollably with effort, your whole universe silent, holding its breath before your lips opened in a high pitched, incoherent cry that announced your orgasm and predicted your reckless, ruthless movements on top of Jeongguk.

He took everything in.

Every small thing.

He kept moving his tongue even as it cramped, slapping your ass shamelessly, violently, spurring you into a wilder, more desperate pace as you — completely oblivious to your raw knees — rode him with a passion, pulling him into your mouth once more to quiet down your moans.

You felt your legs shake even more as his hips started pushing into your mouth, his long hums turning into short, deep groans and whimpers.

Just as you felt his balls tighten, you drew away, making him whine and arch his hips toward you.

“Please…” He called, his voice so, so miserable and pleading.

“You want your orgasm?” You asked, voice sultry.

You precisely knew what you wanted. And you had very clear plans on how to get it just right.

You looked right in front of you, at the small bathroom carpet laying just outside the shower, ready for you to dry your feet. Your escape route was bright and clear in front of your eyes.

“Does it feel nice?” You asked, un-straddling his face, acting as if you had each and every intention to bring him to the very edge and watch him dissolve.

“Please, Candy...” He cried, his hips undulating hypnotically.

“You wanna cum?” You cooed cutely.

He nodded eagerly. “Yeah… Please.”

You stopped. “Then come get me, bunny boy.” You grinned and stood, exiting the shower with a long step, shaking the water off your body as you rubbed your feet against the carpet a few times, before dashing for the door.

Alone, he opened his eyes and raised his head, looking around. “Candy?” He called again.

No sign.

He shook his head and stood up, his erection painful and uncomfortable as he closed the tap and walked out of the shower, drying his feet harshly as he switched off the bathroom lights and exited the room, looking around, spotting a trail of droplets on the floor.

He sneered and swore, staring at his hard on and clenching his jaw as he walked down the corridor with quick, long steps.

He found you as you tried to hide in the walk-in closet, almost sure you were unfollowed the moment you moved on all fours and tried to crawl under a lower shelf.

Jeongguk smirked, the scene disgustingly hilarious to him as he grabbed your hips and pulled you out of your hiding spot.

“That’s your plan?” He asked just as you tried to wiggle out of his grip.

His fingers dug into your waist, grabbing you even harder as he dragged you away from the shelf, where you could hit your head.

“You’re ridiculous.” He said, putting you on your feet before he turned you around and hoisted you over his shoulder, spanking you unceremoniously. “Running on wobbly legs.” He spanked you again. “Leaving a pretty trail of water leading me right here.” Another spank. “I thought I had taught you better than this.” He said, offering you some mercy and biting your leg instead of smacking your ass.

Your world was very unstable as he began walking you to his bedroom. He threw you on the mattress and switched on the led light behind the headboard. Again your view became nothing but the sultriest black and red.

“You wanted to make me angry?” He asked, looking you in the eye as he climbed on top of you, spreading your legs and sitting in between before both his arms caged your head.

His chest, wet and toned, was right before your eyes, moving with the fury of a wild beast. He grabbed your chin and led your gaze upward, into his. “I said, you wanted to make me angry?” He repeated.

You nodded.

“You wanted to make me snap?” He asked again, grabbing your face, making your lips turn into a silly pout.

You nodded once more. “I am—”

“I’ll tell you what you are.” He said, getting off you, opening his drawer and taking out a towel and a plastic bottle, which he placed on the bedside table before he lifted your legs with one arm and laid the towel down with the other.

You stayed silent as he took his time.

“You are a ridiculous little fuckdoll.” He stated clearly, no lips, no stutter, no hesitation whatsoever. “You are my dumb little fuckdoll,” he went on opening the bottle and letting a heavy amount of lube draw a line from the base to the tip as he held his cock away from his belly with his thumb and forefinger running around the glans. He spread the slick liquid with his palm, sliding it up and down as he hissed. “You always need to act like a dumb brat to make me fuck you like a slut.” The moment he leaned over you and poured some lube on your cunt too, you knew you were in for a long night. He closed the lid of the bottle but kept it nearby, in case he needed more.

You were close to your period, and once you had mentioned that you had some issues getting wet because of hormones changing. He was glad you gave him that kind of notions too. He had so much to learn still.

“You want me to fuck you hard?” He asked, spreading the wetness between your legs.

You nodded wordlessly.

“Not so wordy anymore, are we?” He said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Please, Guk.” You whimpered.

“That’s my little slut. You need to be fucked, uh?” He asked again, making you beg for him.

“Jeongguk, please.” You called again, pleading for his cock inside you.

“She even says ‘please’. Aren’t you desperate?” He asked, rubbing his tip up and down your slit.

“Yes, I’m your desperate doll. I’m begging… Please—” You whimpered, opening your legs as far as they would go.

He tutted and snarled. “Oh no. You’re not my desperate doll. You’re my desperate fuckdoll.” He said with a smirk. “Say it.”

“I’m your desperate fuckdoll.” You repeated with a thin voice.

He nodded “That’s right,” he replied, rewarding you with the tip of his cock as he swore and let it stay inside you, helping you get used to it — still, he grit his teeth, his deltoids and trapezei bulging with the effort. His tattooed hand held his cock to your entrance, covered in slick, helping you as he fed you a small inch at a time.

The moment he looked up at you, you noticed the lack of harshness in his eyes. “Are you okay, Candy?” He asked just as you hissed out a ‘yes’, closing your eyes and biting your lower lip. “Can I move?” He asked again, at which you nodded energetically. He giggled. “I love you, bae.” He concluded, making you whisper a brief ‘love you’ in reply before his bad boy persona came back into play.

“So you want it hard, uh?” He asked, feeling his cock already pulsate inside you.

“Yes, hard and fast, Guk. Please. I’m your fuckdoll. Do me like your little cocksleeve, please.” You begged, whiny and weak.

“Like my cocksleeve?” He said, rolling his hips twice before he pulled out. His hand drew away from his sex and moved to your mouth, laying there gently. “Cocksleeves don’t make a sound.” He leaned towards your ear. “So you’d better stay quiet.”

Your eyes blew wide as you bit your lip and furrowed your brow, his cock sinking in your flesh so hard that the smash echoed through every single organ inside your body.

You laid there and admired him as he fucked himself inside you, biting his lower lip and releasing it slowly, letting it roll and snap forward, past his teeth. He switched his position, leaning on his hand rather than on his elbow, arching even further, spreading his legs wider, propping his weight on his knees for better leverage, using his thighs to push your legs further apart as his eyes closed, chilly droplets of water falling on your face and your chest as he hammered into you, the tendons of his neck growing taut, his veins pulsing and growing and showing even in the dim red light.

Your high was there, right there, right…

Jeongguk roared, loud and aggressive and so, so angry that he sat on his heels and gripped your hips, shoving you on his length on and on, his hips meeting your body with loud smacks as he released inside you.

“No, no no. No, please no, please—” you begged as you felt him slow down, “So… close…” You sobbed as he stopped entirely.

He placed you down on the mattress. “Oh, no...” He said with faux compassion. “Poor cocksleeve.” He said with a sadistic grin, his smirk almost demonic in the crimson light.

He caged you with his body, his arms bulky and delicious at each side of your head, several rivulets of water — or maybe sweat — sliding down his face and chest. “Cocksleeves don’t get to cum, do they?” He asked rhetorically.

You whimpered and tried to squeeze him with your inner muscles.

“Or maybe I could be generous… Offer you another round…” He wondered, kissing your lips. “Would you like that?” He asked.

“Please. So close,” you whispered, chasing his mouth with yours.

He stretched and grabbed his pillow from the headboard, sliding an arm under your hips and lifting them up, placing the pillow right under your ass. “Do you need more lube, Candy?” He checked in on you, at which you shook your head.

“I just need you inside.” You replied miserably.

He pouted and got in position, cupping your jaw and sliding his thumb in your mouth. “Take it,” he said, his right hand pushing his cock in, only barely softened. Once he sank in and gave two tentative rolls of his hips, any sort of softness disappeared.

“Like this?” He asked, his nose curled adorably and sexily at the same time as his face scrunched at the effort of slow, deep thrusts.

You purred and shook your head. “Faster, harder… please.” You moaned before he started going even slower.

He chuckled. “What do I get in exchange for it?”

You opened your eyes and bit into his arm delicately. “Please,” you pleaded again. “I’m—” A tear rolled down your face. “It’s too good, let me cum, please, I love you. I’m your fuckdoll, Guk, please let me— I’ll be so tight around you, I’ll milk your cock so good, let me cum.”

He loved when you grew wobbly-lipped and teary-eyed. He loved seeing how desperate you always were for him, how much you depended on him for your pleasure.

He collected one of your tears with his lips, “are you crying for my cock?” He asked, wicked as usual.

You shook your head yes. “More, I’m begging you, Jeongguk. I’m begging you. I’m…” In an act of pettiness, you turned completely quiet, trying to rebel against him and his oversized ego. Self-sufficiently, your hands went to your boobs, grabbing them, pinching your nipples, sometimes climbing up to your throat and pressing against it softly.

He swatted your hand away, bending his mouth to your breast, tugging and suckling at your nipple messily, just as his arm grabbed your right knee and hooked it at his elbow, pushing your leg up, the angle so irresistible that your high finally peeked from around the corner. Still you stayed silent — mouth open, but quiet.

“Candy?” He called, curious about your sudden lack of noise.

You furrowed your brow and looked at him.

He tutted at himself. “Hard and fast?” He asked again.

You didn’t react. He rolled his hips deeper, hitting the spot you loved so much. Another tear spilled from your eye, but you proudly kept your stoic approach.

He smirked and started going faster, now that he had found the spot.

A small hiccup escaped your mouth.

“There we go, Candy.” He said, finally sure of his decision as he started pounding into you with everything he had in himself. “Touch your boobs, Candy.” He suggested as he saw you grow closer and closer. “So messy for this cock, uh? Whose is the best cock, Candy?”

“Yours.” You sobbed, your hips beginning to stutter, trying to meet his thrusts but too weak and sensitive for that.

“That’s right. You love this cock, Candy, don’t you?” He asked again.

“Only yours. I do, yes, please, Guk. Jeong— Guk, please I—” Your body thrashed against his as your orgasm finally caught you and drew you under.

Jeongguk’s head dove for your breastbone, pressing there as he tried to resist your high, currently threatening to drag him with itself.

As your climax persevered, he pushed your leg over his shoulder, picking up the other one too, sinking so deep with the new angle, his mouth kissing your calf, the inner side of your knee. “Is it good enough, baby?” He asked as he saw your eyes slowly flutter open.

Fuck, his jaw line was impeccable with that angle. “It’s perfect, Guk.”

“Nice, can you take another round, love?” He asked and damn, that nickname made you say yes, yes, ten thousand times yes with no hesitation.

He pushed his thumb in your mouth, against your tongue.

“I need to touch you.” He said, watching as his finger emerged drenched from your lips, immediately bringing it to your clit.

“Can you lift your ass?” He asked right as you obeyed, the angle so deep that he slowed down specifically to make sure he could guarantee you one more orgasm before he achieved his own.

His thumb replicated the motion of his tongue earlier in the shower, teasing the tender underside of your clit just as your eyes closed—

Too intense. Too much, you thought as your breathing slowed down again, your whole body focused on your kegels.

“Give me another… Work your magic, cockfairy.” He teased as your lips parted, your eyes flashing open before slowly, messily crossing and sliding shut again, your body too confused and overwhelmed to give a verbal reaction.

Jeongguk kept going, so, so close, his hips digging deeper with tiny rolls focused on staying in, enjoying every tight squeeze you had to offer, your hands leaving your breast as you tried to slap his hand away from your clit while his teeth began teasing your calf on one side, his deep moans unstoppable even when he turned to the other side and actually nibbled on your leg, his hand persistent in his torture.

“No. Oh god! Please. No! Oh— I need to— Yeah, yes...” You hissed as Jeongguk finally crumbled against your body and delivered the last few thrusts, deep, slow, so destructive as your head tipped back, your final high too much for your body to handle.

He looked down, where your bodies joined and with a loud growl, he came apart and spilled inside you, his cock swelling intermittently for so long he almost worried at some point. But the softness of your breasts, pillowing his head, and the warmth of your breath fanning over his head, your legs sliding off his shoulders, to his waist while your arms circled his back. “I love you, Candy. So damn much. I’m so in love with you baby.” He repeated on and on, trying to make up for each slur, each degrading word and idea he had used against you.

“I love you, baby.” He repeated again. “I love every little thing of you.” He kissed your breast — even though he truly aimed at the heart beating underneath. “I don’t want just the sex. You get it now?” He asked, nuzzling his hair against your bosom.

You caressed his head fondly.

“I get it now, of course, love.” You reassured him.

“You’ll lean on me, right? You’ll count on me?” He asked insecure, afraid at how many things he still had to learn about adult, mature relationships.

“I’ll lean on you. We’ll lean on each other.” You said, kissing his forehead as he raised his head.

“We didn’t finish the shower…” He mused, pulling out of your entrance carefully, staring as his seed dripped out of you and down your thigh.

You looked at his mesmerised expression.

He bit his lip before releasing it with a snap. “Fuck, you’re dripping.” He said before looking up.

And you don’t know if it was for the hot sight of his tattooed arm flexing, for his mop of damp long curls, for his wide, taut pectorals, for his lips glistening in drool or the dark lust in his eyes as he saw the mixture of his seed and your wetness oozing from your cunt, but you decided you were far from having enough.

“Didn’t they teach you to clean after yourself?” You teased with a cocked eyebrow.

His eyes climbed all the way to your gaze, finding the silent permission he was looking for.

And he dove for your cunt like a starving wolf.

#bangtanhq #thetruthuntoldnet #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x yn

380 notes · View notes

klance-fics · 4 years ago

Text

college/university aus:

if the silence was a song

“It’s … Your show is on so late at night,” Keith tries to explain, as if Lance didn’t know this already. “I guess I was just wondering why that is.”

A crackling silence answers him, and Keith’s stomach sinks. Did Lance hang up? Keith can’t exactly blame him.

But then he hears Lance make a noise––a short huff of breath that might have been either an impatient sigh or a quiet laugh … Keith has no clue.

“That’s the reason you’re calling? To complain about my time slot?”

or, Keith starts anonymously calling Lance's college radio show and develops an unexpected crush.

it grows stronger

College campuses are a cesspool of awkward encounters. Some more unnerving than others, as Lance comes to find. He thinks it's important to note that in all those instances, Keith is there to witness them. Actually, that's unfair. Admittedly Keith happens be useful in getting him out of those situations. Affection, as it goes, grows stronger when you're constantly being "saved" by a protective rival – but mostly friend at this point.

Or 5 times Keith helped Lance out of a situation and the 1 time Lance tried to pay back the saves.

thread our way through a string of stars

Lance is a humble astrophysics student trying to conduct research, which turns out to be a bit difficult to do when he finds a strange guy sitting in his customary research spot. A strange guy looking for aliens, no less.

Lance isn't going to stand for this.

you should date me

“I can read you, Keith Kogane. You’re tired and maybe a little sad, and this mask will lift your spirits, heal your aura, align your chakras. Trust me.”

“I chrusht myou,” Keith says through his fish lips, Lance's hands warm against his squished cheeks, his heart pounding ridiculously in his chest.

Dewey Despicable

"To the toddler who left coffee stains all over the ancient myth books – have you ever heard of these fantastic things called lids? You can put them on all sorts of things; cups, Tupperware, a coffin. Which is exactly what I’ll be shutting you in if you desecrate my thesis paper’s primary sources again."

when the lights go out

Date and a Fifth: a type of party in which everyone must come with a date and a 750 ML bottle of hard alcohol (fifth). However, you must stay zip tied to your date until the two of you finish the entire bottle together.

(In which Lance needs a date, Keith needs cash, and maybe they fall in love along the way.)

Very Gay a.k.a Keith Kogane

“Can I get a name?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I’m - “ Keith pauses, if only for a moment, because he could not only get drunk over the voice that barista is graced with, but also in those eyes. Those cheekbones, lips, eyelashes. That skin, hair, nose. And woah, just woah.

Don’t fuck this up, Brain.

“I’m - uh, I’m gay.”

You’re an asshole, Brain.

[Or based on the prompt that Keith is too gay to function and he's at the mercy of a cute Cuban boy with bright blue eyes behind the counter.]

Blade of Ducklings

“Hey, babe?”

Keith hums, eyes never leaving his phone as he leans forward for his greeting kiss, something Lance provides without hesitation.

“Are you aware there’s a baby duck on your head?” Lance asks as he pulls away from his boyfriend’s cheek to stare at the small duckling on Keith’s hair, snuggled up and quacking softly.

“Yeah, turns out I have a son now.”

“Cool. Does he have a name?”

“Blade.”

“I don’t even know why I ask.”

[The one where Keith adopts a duckling my accident and comes to realization that letting your child fly away is the hardest part of being a parent.]

unmixed signals

Lance honked his horn. “Keith, get your bitch ass in my car before I run you over.”

“Sorry my dad taught me not to enter strangers’ cars.”

“You’re gonna get sick standing out here just get in.”

Keith cupped his hands around his mouth. “HELP!” he yelled. “I don’t know this man! He’s trying to kidnap me!”

In which a rainy Sunday morning brings with it some wet groceries, a valiant rescue, and some much needed romantic clarity.

Dorks

Inspired by a post on Tumblr!

Lance is the only one listening to the current presentation, and oh boy is it something to listen to. The kid has been rambling on about aliens for ten minutes and he is trying so hard not to laugh. So hard. Turns out the kid didn't even think Lance was paying attention, so when he finds out Lance was he books it. Like, as fast it takes Lance to turn his head, that kid was gone.

Keith wants to die. The Hot Guy in his bio class was actually listening to him talk about aliens. That's it. He's done. Kill him now.

Poor Shiro is just trying to keep his little brother sane.

#klance #klance fic rec #laith #vld keith #vld lance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #au: college/university #fluff #angst #humor

28 notes · View notes

lost-andfound · 5 years ago

Text

Trust Issues

Thanks to @provocative-envy for being born so this could exist (and also for being so amazingly talented, generous, and dedicated. you inspire us all.)

“You’re fine,” Cho whispers to herself in the mirror. “You’re fine.”

Except her chin wobbles. Except her eyes fill the moment she blinks and she takes a deep breath, furiously willing the tears to fucking stay in my eyes and don’t you dare ruin my perfectly-applied eyeliner—

“Oh.”

She whirls, a lone tear slipping down her cheek, to find Ginny Weasley standing sheepishly behind her, grasping a section of wine-stained dress.

“Pansy Parkinson,” Ginny says by way of explanation. “Hey, any way I could get in there for a second?”

Cho nods, hastily blotting her face and moving out of the way as Ginny takes her place by the sink. The water turns on, and Cho peers around to see what Ginny’s doing to that poor dress. Involuntarily, she lets out a gasp.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she exclaims, forgetting her embarrassment.

Ginny’s brow furrows in confusion. “What do I think I’m—”

“You can’t wash satin with hand soap!” Cho pries Ginny’s hands from the stained fabric, examining it closely. “This isn’t too bad. I can get some club soda from the bar if you just wait a moment, and the stain will be all gone, promise.” Telepathically, she flashes Ginny a please listen to me and don’t wreck this plain but admittedly gorgeous dress and wipes the remainder of the tears from under her eyes. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Ginny looks rather punch-drunk. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

Cho nods, meaning to say of course, or no problem, or something else routine, standard, just girls-helping-girls rhetoric, but it gets stuck in her throat. Her gaze lingers on Ginny’s arms, which are almost completely covered in reddish-brown freckles and some sort of gold body glitter, wiry and muscular and flex deliciously every time she moves. Pro softball player, indeed.

“Checking me out, Chang?” Ginny’s lips curve into a smile.

Cho hurries to the bar, grabs the club soda with a thank you and nearly throws it at Ginny when she walks—measuredly, calmly—back into the bathroom.

“Sorry,” Ginny says, abashed. “I’m dumb and I’m a little drunk and I joke too much and—” She gives Cho a furtive look that screams you have a dead boyfriend.

“I have a dead boyfriend,” Cho says. She doesn’t cry this time.

“Shit.” Ginny scrubs at her dress and Cho winces.

“Let me.” The wine comes out relatively easily, considering the near-abuse it’s suffered through Ginny’s softball-strong grip.

“You’re a miracle worker. Holy shit,” Ginny says, smoothing her dress over her thighs. “I feel like I owe you.”

“Please, I’m a designer. It’s what I do.” Cho smiles. “And I feel like I should thank you, too.”

Ginny cocks a brow. “Explain. I have not done one helpful thing this entire night, and it’s literally my brother’s wedding.”

Cho twists the empty club soda bottle in her hands. “I know you didn’t mention it—me crying—to be nice, and I appreciate that. It’s just… seeing everyone so happy. It’s been so long since he died; I thought I’d have no problem. I just. I needed something to distract me from the—wedding-ness of it all. So. Thanks for giving me a mission.” She shoots Ginny a tremulous smile.

Outside the bathroom, the DJ strikes up some fast pop song from the early 2000s that Cho only vaguely recognizes. Ginny gasps.

“I love this song!” She grabs Cho’s hands, and Cho only then realizes that Ginny might be more than a little drunk. Ginny’s nails are short, practical, messily painted a glowing shade of neon green that decidedly does not match her dress.

“But—” Cho tries, then gives up. It’s useless arguing with a Weasley (she knows this from first-hand experience—Ron Weasley does not compromise on perceived soccer fouls).

The moment Ginny drags her from the bathroom into the loud, overcrowded banquet hall, she almost loses her nerve. She’s never been much of a party person, and neither had Cedric—they’d preferred, rather than dancing and drinking, to watch a quiet movie and eat takeout while curled on their squashy navy-blue couch. The flash of memory nearly incapacitates her for a moment, until Ginny throws a strong arm around her shoulders and she shivers at the contact, the warm solid touch that she hasn’t felt in—

“It’s strange!” Ginny shouts over the music.

“What is?”

“We’ve both dated Harry Potter!”

“Oh!” Cho snorts. “He was a horrible kisser, wasn’t he?”

Ginny shrieks with laughter, white teeth flashing, and twirls Cho until they’re both dizzy and giggling, clutching each other to keep upright.

They dance for twenty-three more minutes. Ginny drinks two more glasses of wine, then professes that a terrible mistake and goes to sit down at one of the vacated banquet tables, plates and cake crumbs still scattered on top.

“You all right?” Cho asks, dropping into the seat next to her. Both of their shoes lie discarded under the table; they’ve got the marks to explain.

Ginny rubs her eyes, smearing her mascara, and doesn’t even seem to care. “Whoever invented alcohol,” she says, choosing her words carefully, “was a bastard.”

“And we thank them for it,” says Cho.

“Fuck.” Ginny stands unsteadily. “I feel like a suburban housewife. Let’s go outside.”

Something you must understand about rather drunk girls is that they form bonds very quickly, much like a duckling imprinting on its mother. However, in these scenarios, both girls are simultaneously the ducklings and the mothers. This can lead to drama, lifelong friendships, or friendships that seem as though they’re going to last a lifetime but only last until one of them’s en route to the hospital with alcohol poisoning.

In this case, Cho merely wants to sit outside and feel the cool night air on her face and maybe, if she’s lucky, touch Ginny’s long, thick hair and see if it smells like strawberry shampoo.

They stumble to a bench across from the entrance. Even though it’s midsummer, there’s a slight breeze that makes the night just a little too sharp.

“Fuck me,” Ginny mumbles, and closes her eyes for a long moment. When she opens them, Cho is sitting with her legs tucked under her dress, hair spilling from its careful updo. She’s watching Ginny, of course—who wouldn’t be? The moonlight touches her face just right, framing it in silver and making her eyes look dark, fathomless. She looks almost like a sculpture, albeit a quite freckly one.

“You’re beautiful,” Cho blurts, then drags her hand over the wooden slats to her left, feeling the smooth artificial wood and focusing on that, focusing on that.

Ginny says nothing, then—

“How long has it been?”

Cho’s stomach does a sort of uncomfortable twist. “Since what,” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“Since you’ve kissed anyone. Fucked anyone. Been with anyone.” Ginny’s tone is casual. Loaded. Asking.

The anger and the tears surge in tandem.

“That’s—private!” Cho hisses, thankful that the moon doesn’t cast enough light to let Ginny see her eyes filling. “I don’t even know you that well and you think you can ask me about my personal life? I confided in you and that was the information I chose to share.” She takes a deep, shuddery breath and decides to continue before she loses her nerve. “I miss him every day, okay? He’s in my fucking house, all over the couch and in the pictures and in my goddamn bed and in the music I listen to and just all of it. I can’t bring anyone there because it feels—it feels—”

“Like he’s there, always watching you,” Ginny supplies.

Cho blinks.

“My brother died, remember? I feel it when I’m playing softball. His voice in the stands.” Little lines by the corner of her mouth deepen. They’re both too drunk and too exhausted to be having this conversation. “I get it.”

Instead of words, Cho moves closer. She sniffs, giving a watery chuckle. “Sorry. I’m an asshole.”

Ginny stares at a potted plant that’s been tipped over by the door. “Someone should go clean that up.” She smiles at Cho; not one of those breezy, unflappable grins, but a real smile. A tiny one just for her.

“I want to go home with you,” Cho confesses, the air leaving her lungs in a rush, all at once. She feels surprisingly… okay with saying it. And if there’s the slightest little twinge of pain, of memory? She takes a deep breath.

Ginny nods, surprisingly solemn. It’s like she knows just how big of a step this is, and actually cares. “Okay.”

“I’m scared,” whispers Cho, and leans into Ginny’s shoulder. “I’m ready, but… I’m scared.”

“Come on,” Ginny says into her ear, warm and slightly wine-scented breath touching her neck. She pulls back and gives Cho another one of those stunning, white-teeth-and-bright-eyed grins. “If all we do is sleep, that’s okay. And I won’t break your heart. You can trust me.”

Cho nods, and Ginny takes her hand, twining their fingers together. As they ride back to Ginny’s apartment, as Ginny’s kissing her way up Cho’s thighs, as they’re laying together in a pool of warm sunlight the next morning, all tangled up and blissfully comfortable, Cho hears those words echoing in her head.

You can trust me.

And the funny thing is, Cho thinks she will.

#provocative-envy #happy birthday!!!!!!!!#I wrote this in one tim-horton's-fueled hour #cho x ginny #femslash #harry potter #ginny weasley #cho chang

191 notes · View notes

kristallioness · 5 years ago

Text

@glassmuses said: I found a secret hidden under the garden.

I found a secret hidden under the garden. (English) - Ma leidsin aia alla peidetud saladuse. (Estonian)

"Mommy, mommy!"

The 5-year-old airbender ran into the kitchen in such haste that he barely managed to slow down. Tenzin whizzed past his mother and had to grab her navy tunic in order not to crash into the wall.

"Woah, there! Be careful, sweetie!" Katara exclaimed as her son's airbending-induced running nearly swept her off her feet, literally. Once she'd regained her balance, she dipped her hands back into the bubbly water in the sink.

"What's the matter?"

"I found a secret hidden under the garden. You gotta come see it!"

"Sorry, sweetie, but I can't right now. I'm washing the dishes."

"But maybe it won't be there when you finish. C'mon!" the young airbender declared and grasped his mother's hand. She dropped a dirty plate into the sink with a splash and was forced to follow her son, who dragged her into the hallway of the temple.

"Woah! Okay-okay, I guess we're going outside then.."

Katara shook the remnants of the soap off her hands and waterbended them dry as they dashed outside. Tenzin scampered towards the pond, coming to a halt next to the bridge in front of their house. He raised a finger to his lips.

"Shh!.. We have to be very quiet, otherwise we'll scare them away."

"We'll scare who away? What is it that you wanna show me so badly?" she wondered in a hushed tone.

Tenzin showed the way as he easily crossed the pond with a gust of airbending that carried him over. He landed on the huge stones that circled the pond on the other side, knelt down and crawled underneath one of the bushes. A moment later, he crawled back out and waved a hand to his mother, beckoning her to join him.

Katara stepped across the pond equally as silently, by waterbending icy stepping stones beneath her feet with each step she took. Once she'd made it across, she also got down on all fours and, together with her son, they crawled closer to the bush and pushed some of the branches aside to reveal the secret. She gasped.

"Oh wow!"

There it was, a fresh family of three ring-tailed winged lemurs - a mother with two identical babies, who'd probably been born merely a few hours ago. They were close to her body, protected by the long tail she'd curled up around them for warmth. She stared back at the uninvited guests with her striking orange eyes in suspicion.

"How did you find them?" Katara wondered, her mouth still agape and eyes just as wide as the mama lemur's.

"I heard some unusual screeches in the morning, and later, there was this weird chirping coming from these bushes. So I decided to have a closer look."

The waterbender stroked her son's back and gave him a kiss on his bald head.

"I'm so proud of you, Tenzin! This is an amazing discovery. We have to show this to daddy once he gets back from the city."

"I know! I read that twin lemur babies are born in only 1 out of 10 cases. Do you know how rare they are? Plus, they're so cute!"

Tenzin attempted to pet them, but the mother lemur hissed at him and swung her paw at his hand, leaving a small scratch on the back.

"Ow! Mommy, she hurt me!"

Katara giggled as she waterbended some water from the pond to heal the minuscule scar.

"No, sweetie. She was trying to protect her babies. That's what all mothers do. If a stranger wanted to lay hands on you, or Kya and Bumi, I'd probably slice their hands off, too."

Tenzin didn't fully get his mother's dark humour, but he did feel better when she healed his boo-boo. Katara wiped away the tears from the corners of his light greyish blue eyes and kissed him on the cheek.

"Let's give her some privacy, okay? She's been through a lot today. And she needs some bonding time with her babies."

"Good idea, mommy."

----------x----------

"Emme, emme!"

5-aastane õhutaltsutaja jooksis sellise kiiruga kööki, et suutis vaevu hoo maha võtta. Tenzin vuhises oma emast mööda ja pidi tema meresinisest tuunikast kinni haarama, et mitte seinaga kokku põrgata.

"Oot, seal! Ole ettevaatlik, kullake!" Katara hüüatas, kui tema poja õhutaltsutamise poolt põhjustatud jooksmine teda peaaegu sõna otseses mõttes jalust niitis. Kui ta oli oma tasakaalu tagasi saanud, kastis ta käed taas kraanikaussi mullitavasse vette.

"Mis viga?"

"Ma leidsin aia alla peidetud saladuse. Sa pead seda vaatama tulema!"

"Vabandust, kullake, aga ma ei saa praegu. Ma pesen nõusid."

"Aga võib-olla pole see enam seal, kui sa lõpetad. Tule!" kuulutas noor õhutaltsutaja ning haaras oma ema käest. Viimane pillas sulpsti ühe musta taldriku kraanikaussi ja oli sunnitud järgnema oma pojale, kes lohistas ta templi koridori.

"Oot! Olgu-olgu, eks me siis lähme vist õue.."

Katara raputas seebijäänused käte küljest maha ja veetaltsutas need kuivaks, kui nad õue tormasid. Tenzin lippas tiigi suunas, jäädes seisma nende maja ees oleva silla kõrval. Ta tõstis sõrme huultele.

"Kuss!.. Me peame olema hästi tasa, muidu hirmutame nad minema."

"Kelle me ära hirmutame? Mis asi see on, mida sa nii kangesti mulle näidata tahad?" imestas ema vaiksel toonil.

Tenzin näitas teed, kui ta ületas tiigi kergesti ühe õhutaltsutamise iiliga, mis ta üle kandis. Ta maandus teisel poolel tiiki ümbritsevatele suurtele kividele, laskus põlvili maha ning roomas ühe põõsa alla. Hetk hiljem roomas poiss välja tagasi ja viipas käega emale, kutsudes teda endaga liituma.

Katara astus üle tiigi sama vaikselt, veetaltsutades igal võetud sammul oma jalge alla jäiseid astumiskive. Kui ta oli selle ületanud, laskus ta samuti neljakäpukile ja roomas koos oma pojaga põõsale lähemale ning nad lükkasid mõningad oksad kõrvale, et saladus paljastada. Ta ahhetas.

"Oo, vau!"

Seal see oli, kolmest rõngassabalisest lendavast leemurist koosnev värske pere - ema koos kahe identse beebiga, kes olid tõenäoliselt sündinud vaid mõni tund tagasi. Pojad olid tema keha lähedal, kaitstud tema pika saba poolt, mille ta sooja pakkumiseks nende ümber kerra oli tõmmanud. Ta vahtis oma silmatorkavate oranžide silmadega kutsumata külalisi kahtlustavalt.

"Kuidas sa nad leidsid?" tundis Katara huvi, suu endiselt ammuli ja silmad täpselt sama suured kui emaleemuril.

"Ma kuulsin hommikul mingeid ebaharilikke kriiskeid ja hiljem kostis nendest põõsastest sellist veidrat siutsumist. Niisiis otsustasin ma asja lähemalt uurida."

Veetaltsutaja silitas oma poja selga ja andis tema kiilakale peale musi.

"Ma olen su üle nii uhke, Tenzin! See on hämmastav avastus. Me peame seda issile näitama, siis kui ta linnast tagasi jõuab."

"Ma tean! Ma lugesin, et kaksikutest leemuripojad sünnivad ainult ühel juhul kümnest. Kas sa tead, kui haruldased nad on? Lisaks on nad nii armsad!"

Tenzin üritas neid paitada, kuid emaleemur sisises tema peale ja äsas oma käpaga tema kätt, jättes väikese kriimustuse käeseljale.

"Ai! Emme, ta tegi mulle haiget!"

Katara kihistas naerda, kui ta veetaltsutas tiigist pisut vett, et ravitseda seda tibatillukest haava jälge.

"Ei, kullake. Ta üritas oma poegasid kaitsta. Kõik emad teevad seda. Kui keegi võõras tahaks sulle või Kya'le ja Bumi'le käed külge panna, siis ma lõiguksin ilmselt tal ka käed otsast."

Tenzin ei saanud oma ema mustast huumorist täielikult aru, aga ta tundis end paremini, kui ta oli tema aia terveks ravinud. Katara pühkis ära pisarad tema heledate hallikassiniste silmade nurkadest ja suudles teda põsele.

"Anname talle veidi privaatsust, eks? Ta on täna palju läbi elanud. Ja ta vajab oma poegadega sideme loomiseks natuke aega."

"Hea mõte, emme."

Author's note: My first thoughts circled around the word 'garden' and I immediately thought of the lovely pond in front of Aang and Katara's home on Air Temple Island. Next, I had to figure out what secret would be hidden there, and who'd find it. Being eager (and somewhat obligated) to learn new things about his culture and the world, young Tenzin seemed like the perfect fit. I've been watching "The Durrells" BBC series lately, so the idea of having him show off his knowledge about animals to his mother might've been inspired by that. Did you notice the reference to a scene in the original series? (It's from "Zuko Alone", where Ursa comforted Zuko after the mama turtle duck bit his ankle to defend her ducklings.)

#uyld #glassmuses #shards of Kristal

6 notes · View notes

planetoban · 5 years ago

Text

Savin’s Answers from Twitter, Part 3!

Well, looks like it’s been nearly 2 years since the last SAfT post... sorry about that! Time really got away from me on this one. Due to the backlog, this post covers tweets from October 2017 through April 2018

As always, tweets are in order from most to least recent, and answers may not 100% true/canon since things may change during production of the sequel. Text is unedited save for formatting; in a few places I added [comments] for context.

Part 1 | Part 2

Also: If you’re going to ask Savin something, please be respectful and appropriate. He’s a person just like you and me.

@fictionjustis: Out of curiosity can a Nourasian and human have a child together? Also can humans conceive children with other humanoid species in the galaxy?

@EiffelSavin: I don't think any such birth have been recorded in the Oban universe, at least yet. But humans and Nourasians having a very similar DNA, it should be theoretically possible. There have been quite a few fanarts on that topics already 🙂

(x)

@PudgyDragonLair: Also how big is the Arrow in comparison to Molly like actually height and length?‏

@EiffelSavin: From my original notes: Whizzing Arrow 1 - length 8m, height 7m, weight 10t Whizzing Arrow 2 - length 10m, height 7m, weight 14t to be compared with the final designs

(x)

@PudgyDragonLair: hey Savin I'm not sure if this would be considered a spoiler or not but how Long are Nourasian life spans in comparison to humans and other alien species?

@EiffelSavin: I'm not sure anymore. I'd have to find my old notes... But if Nourasians approximately live the same number of "years" as humans, they are "Nourasian years" which are much longer than our "Earth years" due to the longer distance between Nourasia and its sun. May be 2 or 3 times+

(x)

@JPLangley_: Something I've been wanting to ask is how was Eva able to get away with not following the gender-specific dress code at Stern? Did faculty just give up trying to discipline her since she nor Don didn't care?

@EiffelSavin: I think my justification for that was that Stern's school rules only stated that wearing the school uniform was compulsory, without specifically mentioning that the short dress was for girls and the long pants for boys. Also they had bigger issues with Eva than just her uniform.

(x)

@PudgyDragonLair: what was the Arrows original purpose before Don and the Goverment took it ? Me and my friend rewatched OSR and we noticed alot of things that would be atypical for a Star Racer (key among them a gun turrent ). Was the Arrow made to be some kind of stealth ship?

@PudgyDragonLair: It has capabilities to check Molly vitals and mental state while she s racing, as well as the hyperdldrives which I doubt would be allowed in racing circuits, and a remote access to the gun torrent, and hand off access shoukd the pilot be unable to man it.

@EiffelSavin: You got a point there. For better or worse army funding helps develop new technologies that are later reintroduced into civilian life/products. The "prototypes" Miguel had been working were not your typical star-racer and aimed at a different market...

(x)

[continued from thread below]

@Helloworld1012: And the fact that Eva was a beautiful young girl certainly didn’t hurt

@EiffelSavin: Yes but more than that the fact that she's not your typical girly girl beauty. A long haired bimbo would not have awoken Aikka's interest.

(x)

@ILOVE659709491: Is there any chance one of the reasons Eva was so quick to trust & befriend Aikka was because the prince’s personality was similar to her father’s personality before Maya’s death? Both were reserved,well cultured & gentlemanly but kind + both had a passion for racing

@EiffelSavin: Freud would like the implications no doubt, but I think the relationship with Aikka is more simple and direct. He's good looking, a prince, well mannered. She's feels rejected - especially by her dad - a bit of an "Ugly Duckling" and he takes an interest in her.

@ILOVE659709491: I’m curious though why was Aikka interested in Eva ?

@EiffelSavin: Just as he's the opposite of what she's known, she's a total opposite for him: tough, outspoken, pure - and touching. The noble girls he's met in Nourasia's palaces were not like that!

(x)

@JPLangley_: Also, unrelated question, but if the second season of Oban does ever make it to the public, will it explore what happened to Thunderbolt and Jordan after the events of OSR?

@EiffelSavin: Can't guarantee both...

(x)

@JPLangley_: Did Spirit originally have wings, and him transforming into a bird was a second thought?

@EiffelSavin: The concept was always that he would transform into his own ship but judging by Thomas's drawing I guess we tried more classic wings first.

(x)

@Helloworld1012: Stern boarding school prided itself on disciplining their students what did they mean by discipline? Also, considering DW’s personality before Maya’s death seems to have a anime rich kid with controlling parents background vibe to it, what social class was DW born to

@EiffelSavin: In my view, Don Wei comes from a modest background. Being a self made man he can be very demanding, expecting from others to obey the rules he's imposed on himself in order to succeed. Maya and young Eva soothed him up, but that went away after Maya's death

@Helloworld1012: Yeah but everything else about him doesn’t seem like he’s a self made man. Or just a selfmade man. It got to me, he’s still young when Maya died & also it’s possible that he could have grown up rich & still be a self made man because his parents gave up on him.‏

@EiffelSavin: That could also be possible yes I put him out there, but you're totally untitled to make him yours now ! 🙂

(x)

@ardaozcan98: Did you get any inspiration from B-2 Spirit aircraft while designing Spirit in OSR or is the resemblence just a coincidence?

@EiffelSavin: Interesting. I came up with the name without being aware of the connection & I don't think the plane was ever a reference for the design, but we should ask @thomasintokyo and @Brunetstanilas too. As you can see below (2002 rough by Thomas) Spirit went through a lot of phases

@Thomasintokyo: Never heard of this plane. That’s a coincidence!

(x)

@emaf_CntCmnd: I wonder if you have known who works for BANDAI VISUAL and helps to release Japanese ver. of BD like Mr.Takanashi Minoru. (I wish he were still alive.)‏

@EiffelSavin: Mr. Takanashi disappearance came as a terrible shock. But we're working on establishing new connections with Bandaï.

(x)

@ardaozcan98: Do you consider producing comic books or novels instead or alongside with the sequel. There are lots of unknowns and potential for backstories of the galaxy and species i think. And books may be cheaper or easier to create. Loved the original art-book.

@EiffelSavin: That's not a bad idea. Any talented manga-comic book artists interested around here ? 🙂

(x)

@Valeria_Lacava: Could you do something for the italian rights? Jetix closed and it's impossible to find online the episodes in italian

@EiffelSavin: STW doesn't own those rights but we'll try to negotiate them if Disney agrees and if this can be done within the bluray budget.

(x)

@Helloworld1012: How was Don Wei able to pay the financial cost to form a race team with Maya and make her a champion? Race teams cost a fortune, but sponsorship was unlikely since DW stated & the timeline shows Maya was the first person he was a manager to, so he had no credibility.

@EiffelSavin: Mostly true but not completely true. If things were always so then I would never have been able to produce Oban Star-Racers, having no hard cash of my own, and having never produced nor directed an entire series before 🙂

(x)

@dragbax: Do you have any idea how big of an impact this show had on me as a kid??? Plz don't disappoint me of backing down or handle it poorly... My heart can't handle that. Especially how Samurai Jack was treated with its last season. :(

@EiffelSavin: It may still be a long road ahead, especially since we don't intend to sell out, but I can promise we'll do our best!

(x)

@Helloworld1012: I’m curious did Don Wei stop caring about Eva after Maya died? I mean he did abandon her just for resembling her mother & tried to forget she even existed for 10 years and would have CONTINUED to do so Had Eva not done anything about it, so did he stop caring?‏

@EiffelSavin: He tried to forget so well that he almost completely did

@Helloworld1012: Wait, doesn’t that basically mean that yes Don Wei did stop caring about Eva once her mother died?‏

@EiffelSavin: Yes basically (what an awful dad!). Seeing Eva reminded him too much of Maya and of his guilt. He couldn't bare it and walked away, at least until he was ready to face her again.

(x)

@n0sichan: I hope subtitles for disabled peope will be available this time.

@EiffelSavin: If we have enough presales yes

(x)

@MattGiusti: What is your thought process when it comes to animating characters speaking?Do you need to keep in mind how other languages will line up to the animation?Or do you do everything with one language in mind and alter the script accordingly later on?

@EiffelSavin: One concentrates on one main language. On Oban i wrote all scripts directly in English and the lip sink was based on those. But then i spent a whole month in front of an editing machine rewriting french dialogues that matched that lipsink

(x)

@McKhendon: How do you accomplish 16:9 without losing parts of the picture?

@EiffelSavin: You're bound to loose part of the picture but if you address the process creatively you can produce new strong images by selecting shot by shot what u keep & what you discard

@SonicMrgame2017: The show was made on 16.9?

@EiffelSavin: No, in 4/3. It was still the transition period between the 2 formats at the time and our investors required 4/3. The remastered 16/9 version was done this year, reframing the original master shot by shot under my supervision.

(x)

@ardaozcan98: All the dubs would be really nice especially for children.

@EiffelSavin: We'll see if something can be done but it sounds complicated. Sav The World doesn't own the rights of these other versions.

(x)

@Wnika457: Is it possible that the online game wil be reopened? That would be awesome, I remember playing it when I was a kid :)

@EiffelSavin: That would be cool but we don't have the rights nor even a copy. But there'll be other games if we manage to pull through the sequel project

(x)

@RadekFalhar: I just found out you are making Saya no Uta adaptation. I really hope you don't think the abortion that is the US manga is in any way related to the VN.

@EiffelSavin: The US comic probably had good intentions but turned Saya into smthng very different & sometimes opposite to what it is. The adaptation I work on also take liberties with the original material, but I try to remain very faithful to its spirit & to the mindset of the characters

(x)

@lilacwondercat: Is there really a sequel in the works? I am such a huge fan, please say it's true!

@EiffelSavin: It's true but still a long to go. Creation takes time and the financing is the most pressing issue...

@lilacwondercat: Is there anything die hard fans can do to help?

@EiffelSavin: Most certainly though I can't think of anything precise right now. Helping spreading the word about the bluray is one though. The more people buy it, the stronger we can be when talking to potential financial partners.

(x)

@Ekana_Stone: Does Blu-ray have the English dub, I would assume so

@EiffelSavin: Yes, French and English language are guaranteed. We would like to add Japanese too but there are question of rights we must try to sort out.

(x)

@fictionjustis: Considering the fact that Oban star racers indeed had Japanese influence, I’m curious did u base Maya’s character design on a character from sailor moon, ( The 1990s version not the 2010s version) a well known anime & manga?

@EiffelSavin: Maya's character design clearly has anime influences but it was developed organically, drawing after drawing. It was not influenced by one show in particular.

(x)

@Zeether77: Would love to see this on Blu-ray here, but not cropped to widescreen...does Shout Factory still have the rights?

@EiffelSavin: DVD & Bluray rights have reverted to us

@Zeether77: Would the BD release be a limited time thing? I just got a player but I don't think I could commit to a preorder sadly

@EiffelSavin: Can't confirm right now

(x)

@ILOVE659709491: I’m trying to figure out what it is exactly because he [Savin] could be saying that the wei surname was meant to be Chinese or DW was Chinese but I just can’t figure out what it is, & unfortunately for some reason it has been driving me crazy yesterday so what is it in that question?‏

@EiffelSavin: Don Wei is of Chinese origin or at least his family is

(x)

@sergeigaponov: #obanstarracers Could you write a list of countries in which you can send blu-ray Oban: Star Racers?

@EiffelSavin: Too early to confirm but my guess would be in all countries.

(x)

@Nick_Kharin: How much can Blu-ray boxset will cost (approximately or the maximum price)? I’m very excited about the news about the project.

@EiffelSavin: Still evaluating.

(x)

@Adultito: Will the Blu Ray have the Japanese audio and the original OP+ED

@EiffelSavin: Japanese audio we'll try. There could be pbs of rights. French and English at the minimum.

@Adultito: speaking of Japanese audio, will there be the original OP "Chance to Shine" (shown in most international broadcasts) on the English dub because the US broadcast (as well as the Shout Factory DVDs) used "Never Say Never"

@EiffelSavin: We have the rights to all the original songs and tracks but not to "Never Say Never" which was produced by the US broadcaster of Oban. So we would use "Chance to Shine" for the opening.

(x)

@Maj0r_Crisis: Will we ever see a release of the cancelled second volume of the Original Soundtrack?

@EiffelSavin: If we have enough preorders, one of our plans is to add most of or even all of Iwazaki Taku's 80 original tracks as a bonus to the bluray edition

(x)

@delicatedowner: I wish you good fortune on making the blu-ray release a reality (will your company self-publish the BDs like with Ankama and their Wafku sets?).

@EiffelSavin: We may self publish too but could go the kickstaryer way. Unlike us Ankama is a rich company!

@delicatedowner: Even Ankama went the Kickstarter way. And it backfired on them. I hope you'll do a better job.

@EiffelSavin: We'll see. But if you meant "selfpublish" as in "creating the design packaging etc" ourselves, yes that would be the plan. We have some good people we can work with.

(x)

@nothisiswindii: Do you think you guys should make a 4:3 aspect ratio version of the Blu-ray? A lot of studios tend to simply "zoom in" their old shows to fake a 16:9 ratio, and they end up losing a lot of detail on the top and bottom as a result.

@EiffelSavin: Probably but it's something we'll discuss with all those who register with the Oban Bluray project when the times comes. In all cases, I can guarantee the 16/9 remaster is not a "zoom in". We took care of things on a shot by shot basis (see the video on http://obanstarracers.com )

@docsane: I'm curious: why was Oban not originally shot 16:9? I thought it was unusual at the time to still see an animation being released 4:3.

@EiffelSavin: Oban was signed just at the time when productions were beginning to shift from 4/3 to 16/9. But our financial partners asked for 4/3 so we produced and delivered 4/3.

(x)

@harpnote: The new site looks slick! I am sad the forums are no longer up. It was a good time there.

@EiffelSavin: We have the copies. We may put them back online but already have our hands full right now

(x)

@MattGiusti: Will [OSR] HD be exclusively a blue ray release? Or can one buy a digital version online?

@EiffelSavin: The first goal is the bluray release.

(x)

@ILOVE659709491: Considering Wei is a Chinese surname & with the exception of his temper DW’s manners and taste indicate a certain upbringing is there a possibilty that Don is the son of a high class family in Asia and he moved to America or Europe because of his passion for racing?

‏@EiffelSavin: In spite of the obvious connection with Japanese anime, Wei is a Chinese name indeed and it was meant that way.

(x)

@sergeigaponov: There are no such scenes [dramatic scenes in children’s shows], because people are interested in toilet humor. The time has already passed when people cried over such scenes. There are few people who are crying. I hope in the #second #season of the drama will be more, because #Eva has matured.

@EiffelSavin: If it 's only up to me I'll say definitely yes and in all cases that what we want to aim for. This said, I have a feeling traditional broadcasters are targeting younger and younger audiences and aim even more for comedy than before.

(x)

@ILOVE659709491: Considering Maya was DW's first champion, DW stated her charm was her recklessness, That Maya seemed to be more dominant in the relationship, & considering DW's and Maya's personalities in the past is it possible Maya introduced Don to the racing world?

@EiffelSavin: Interesting thought. But I'd say no. Don Wei was born to be a race manager.

(x)

@lbigreyhound: Any idea when and where it [the HD remaster] will be available?

@EiffelSavin: The new HD master will be used in future broadcasts of OSR, at least one of whitch is planned for 2018. When we go ahead with our plans for a bluray relase, we may use it as well, or else chose to stick with the original 4/3 format.

(x)

@ILOVE659709491: so I’m curious, what inspired the idea for OSR I’m super excited for the sequel but I am curious on what inspired the idea for OSR 2 Since it’s been over a decade since OSR?

@EiffelSavin: The 10 year anniversary of the first release brought the original artistic team together. We all thought it would be nice to look back at the world we created.

(x)

[Not sure who he’s replying to here, but the question seems to be about Maya’s race with Spirit]

@EiffelSavin: If I remember correctly there just wasn't enough time and she gestured Spirit to stand out of arm's way.

(x)

@RedVioletPanda: Why is the Holy of Dol, well, holy? In the artbook, there is a mention of elemental magic of the Nourasians, what is that exactly?

@EiffelSavin: Nourasian are close to nature. Magic and the use of natural ressources more than makes up for the lack of technology. As for elemental magic its source of power is nature itself.

(x)

[Again, not sure who he’s replying to]

@EiffelSavin: We continue to work on dvlpmnt but it's a costly project & bringing the right financial partners together is the long and uncertain part...

(x)

#oban star racers #sav the world #sav! the world #type:text #type:staff

8 notes · View notes

izaswritings · 6 years ago

Text

Title: the problem with politics

Synopsis: Rapunzel has been crowned Queen and Varian has finally been pardoned. Some people have objections to this. Or, as Cassandra would say, “Some people need a kick in the—”

Notes: I wrote this in an exhausted daze in the middle of the night during a very tiring vacation. In other words…. Please be gentle if it’s not up to snuff?? 😅

Also, disclaimer— I know nothing about politics, I just wanted to try my hand at humor and happiness for once. Also, does this count as fluff?? I’m kind of counting this as fluff. It’s for Fluff week.

This fic a sequel to another fic of mine, which you read either here or here! You don’t have to read it to understand this fic, but it does set up some background.

AO3 Link for this fic is here.

“I just have a few concerns,” says the minister, meaning, I have issues with every choice you have ever made.

“I see,” says Rapunzel, meaning, I regret ever letting you enter my kingdom, you long-winded old coot.

The minister smiles, unsuspecting of her insult. Eugene, sitting beside Rapunzel and looking quite dashing in his crown and kingly outfit, coughs awkwardly into one hand to hide a smile. He always has known her too well.

Rapunzel does not react. She sits there and smiles as pretty as she can, just as her mother taught her, and resists the urge to jump out the window. She’s great at spontaneous dynamic exits, she’d catch herself no problem, and it would, quite honestly, be hilarious.

Across the room, Cassandra catches Rapunzel’s eye and slowly shakes her head. No jumping out of windows, Raps, that’s what that means. Rapunzel scowls back and reluctantly looks back at the minister. He’s one of many, a leader of some far-off country Rapunzel can’t even remember the name of, and she has been sitting here for hours in a meeting she thought would take only a few minutes.

“First,” says the minister, in what promises to be a very long list of everything this old man thinks Rapunzel is doing wrong, “there is the matter of your choice in… company.”

“Hmm,” says Rapunzel, slouching in her chair.

“Not that I would object to a Queen’s decision! But ah, there are some… concerns, Your Highness, on what would inspire you to pardon a known criminal?”

It’s rather hilarious how quickly the kingdom has forgotten Rapunzel’s roots. Her husband—and their Prince Consort, technically nearly a king—was once a thief, her royal baker and pianist and many others in her court are former thugs of the Snuggly Duckling pub, and Rapunzel herself caused quite a stir way back when with her absolute refusal to wear shoes. Really, they should have seen this coming.

Also, known criminal? Who is this man kidding? Half the reason Varian was such an effective informant was that the only people that still remembered his crimes were the guards. And the royal family, admittedly; but this man is neither of those things.

Varian, standing to the left of her, who thus far has been absently fiddling with a new vial of some green concoction, must be thinking something similar, because he snorts and nearly drops the vial on Rudiger. The raccoon chitters at him and jumps up to his shoulders, and the minister gives them a sharp look, before ignoring them entirely, not giving Varian or Rudiger a second glance.

…Which, now that Rapunzel thinks about it, is another mark against the minister. So much for ‘known criminal,’ has the man even realized the criminal in question is standing right across from him?

Seriously. Rapunzel’s been dealing with these people for weeks. She’s already given her long-winded explanations, her stories and her reasoning, and yet the number of complaining royals seems to have only increased. Why, why do they just keep coming? It’s not like Varian attacked their kingdom!

“Very concerning,” Rapunzel agrees pleasantly, trying not to sound too eager to leave. Her fingers tap restlessly against her leg. “I’ll take those suggestions under advisement. If there is nothing else…?”

Cassandra, familiar with the former King’s favorite phrase, chokes on her breath, nearly dropping her halberd. Behind her throne, Rapunzel can hear Varian snicker.

If they give her away, Rapunzel is banning them both from the castle. She has dealt with too many of these people. If they subject her to another hour of this… Well! Drastic measures must be taken.

However, thank the Sun and Moon, the minister seems unaware of their mockery. His smile is slimy but genuinely pleased, and Rapunzel resists the urge to wrinkle her nose at him.

“Well, if you insist,” says the minister, sounding… far too high-and-mighty, actually, oh dear. Rapunzel turns her attention back to him, feeling a bit desperate, her heart sinking. “I do have a few other recommendations for how your castle should be running. First of all—" And here, he looks pointedly at Pascal, perched on Rapunzel’s head, before eyeing Rudiger up on Varian’s shoulders. “—this isn’t exactly a zoo, Your Highness.”

Rapunzel goes absolutely still. Beside her, Eugene sighs openly, clasping a hand over his face. Varian clutches Rudiger to his chest and gives the man a dirty look. Even Cassandra looks offended, one hand rising to pat Owl on the head.

Pascal, turned yellow-white with shock at the audacity, gives a little gasp.

Rapunzel closes her eyes, inhaling deeply. Then she exhales slow and careful, and fixes the man with her best smile. “Quite right,” she says, her gaze boring into him. The minister starts to look at bit nervous. Rapunzel keeps on smiling. Her teeth are grit. “This is no zoo, it’s a castle. Therefore, sir, I implore you to treat these animals with respect, and assume they are here for a reason. Unlike yourself.”

The minister looks startled, and then offended, opening his mouth again. Eugene flies up to his feet before a word can pass through his lips. “Well!” he says loudly, grandly, one hand flung out to the sky. “That was positively riveting! Thank you, kind sir, for your marvelous advice. So helpful! But, alas, it is time for lunch. Can’t ignore the bell.” He grabs Rapunzel’s arm, smile wide and bright and a little desperate. “Ta-ta, see you later! Or never! Or whichever works, really! Come along dear, I think the steak is calling for me.”

He tugs into her into a half-way spin and drags her bodily down the hall and out of the throne room. As if following an unspoken cue, Cassandra and Varian tag along behind them. Cassandra is grinning. Varian is petting Rudiger and muttering under his breath.

Rapunzel closes her eyes and shakes her head, trying to reorient herself. Oh, darn it. She hadn't meant to lose her temper. Still... at least it got her out of that room, at any rate. She doesn't think she could've lasted another hour.

“So,” Rapunzel says dryly, once the throne room is out of sight, in lieu of thanks. “Steak can talk now?”

Eugene blinks down at her and then flashes a winning smile. His arm comes around and squeezes her shoulder. “Well, now, you never know! Maybe Varian used the kitchen for his alchemy.”

“Um, objection,” Varian says, jogging slightly to catch up to them, before slowing down to walk at their heels. He crosses his arms, chin tilted up in false offense. “That is sloppy. I am never sloppy.”

“Anymore,” says Cassandra, slyly.

“Do you know what flynnolium does to steak?” Varian asks her. “I mean, even for me— sloppy.”

Cassandra raises an eyebrow at that, looking curious. “What does flynnolium do to steak?”

Varian brightens, pushing back his goggles up further on his head and starting to grin. “Well—”

“I do not know,” Eugene says, speaking loudly over them. “I do not know, and I hope I never find out, because wow that is a terrifying thought.”

“Ah, spoilsport,” Varian mutters, but drops the subject without further prompting. Behind Eugene’s back, noticeable only in the corner of Rapunzel’s eye, Cassandra nudges at Varian's shoulder. She points between Varian and herself and then towards the direction of the royal kitchens, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Varian gives her an ok-sign back in return.

Rapunzel has a feeling she is going to receive a report on what happens when raw meat interacts with deadly chemical very, very soon, no matter what Eugene wishes. She hides a smile behind her hand and looks ahead, feigning innocence. If Cassandra and Varian want to make things go boom in the castle kitchens, Rapunzel isn’t going to stop them. She confesses to being bit curious herself, honestly.

Besides. Maybe it will give those old coots something else to gossip about. It’s been nearly a month, after all—they’ll have to move on from Varian’s pardon eventually. Maybe this is just the nudge they need.

Rapunzel loops her arm with Eugene’s, grinning outright at the idea, ignoring his concerned expression. “What was that you said back there? Lunch? Lunch sounds amazing.” She peers over her shoulder at a guilty-looking Cassandra and Varian and winks. “Shall we head for the kitchens?”

Cassandra grins back with all her teeth. Varian bounces once on his heels and mouths, Explosions. So many explosions, at her with an expression akin to a kid in a candy store.

Don’t get caught, Rapunzel mouths back, and Varian gives her a little salute.

When she turns back to Eugene, his face is downturned but his eyes are resigned. “For the love of—" He sighs, suddenly and loudly, and shakes his head. "Oh, well. It’s past time we had new gossip in here anyways. The pardon was getting pretty stale.”

There are no ministers here, no nobles or guards or anyone Rapunzel needs to pretend around. She is surrounded by her friends and family, surrounded by those she loves. Her greatest threat now is dealing with annoying dignitaries, rather than evil sorcerers, and Rapunzel—Rapunzel couldn’t be happier.

She takes Eugene’s hand, throws back her head, and laughs. “To the kitchens!”

#tts #rta #tangled the series #rapunzel’s tangled adventure #varian #rapunzel #eugene fitzherbert #cassandra #varian tts #cassandra tts #iza fanfic #fic: daybreak of the victor

174 notes · View notes

snidgetsafan · 6 years ago

Text

The Curse of the Black Roger: Chapter 1

Rating: G

Summary:

“You should start believing in ghost stories, Miss Swan – because you’re in one.”

When young Princess Emma found a pirate necklace on the baby rescued from the sea, she never expected years later to be swept into an adventure worthy of her favorite novels.

And she certainly never expected someone like the legendary Captain Hook.A

“Pirates of the Carribean” AU

Notes: Here is my offering for the CSSNS! Thanks to @amorecolorfulmoniker, whose pic set inspired this fic. Thanks to my betas, @gingerchangeling and @shireness-says who acted as a sounding board, a crying shoulder and grammar enforcers where needed. Thanks also to @slow-smiles, who created amazing art for this fic! Wonderful banner by @wingedlioness

On AO3.

Previous chapters: Prologue

The last thing she saw before the fog swallowed the vision was its flag, a white grinning skull on a black background. Pirates! Emma thought wildly, pressing herself to the window. But the ship had already disappeared, as if it had never existed.

Emma startled awake, her eyes jerking open. A dream, it had only been a dream, even if it had been a long time since she had experienced that particular one. When she was younger, it taunted her almost every night. It followed what had happened the day they had found Henry, right after her mother left the cabin. The day’s emotions had finally caught up to her, and she had imagined a ghostly pirate ship in the fog.

She had run to warn her mother and Captain Cassidy, who had taken her seriously until she had started describing the ship. Her mother had gently explained to her that it was impossible for such a ship to exist, and that even if it did, someone else would have seen it, while the Captain called off the orders he had just given. Ignoring her protests, her mother had taken her back to the cabin, and had made her lie down while she watched over Emma and stroked her hair like when she was little. The familiar movement had soon lulled her to sleep, and she hadn’t woken up until they had docked in Misthaven.

She had soon convinced herself that she must have indeed imagined the pirate ship, and had put it to the back of her mind once she had gone back to the castle, her daily lessons and making sure Henry was well taken care of soon taking most of her time and energy. However, at night, she had always been plagued by the same dream, which always ended the same way, with the ghostly apparition fading back into the mist.

Emma drew back the drapes surrounding her bed, and sat up, her toes sinking into the plush carpet covering the floor. She walked towards her dressing table, which sat against the far wall next to the window, sat down on the seat in front of the mirror, and opened the left drawer. Pushing all her ribbons aside, she pushed on a bump on the bottom, and with a click, opened a little compartment on the side of the table, which she gently pried open.

The only thing inside the compartment was the medallion, its gleam dulled by a thick layer of dust, as she hadn't taken it out in years. She gingerly picked it up and rubbed its engraved surface with her thumb. Emma studied the jewel carefully, noticing it now fit in the palm of her hand, where before her little hand had had issues closing around it. It was heavy, with a little jump ring welded at the top so it could be put on a chain. Both sides were identical, stamped to show a grinning skull in their center, surrounded by two concentric bands. Curly symbols filled the innermost circle. Young Emma had thought they were writing but had been unable to translate them, even though they resembled writings from Agrabah, and she hadn’t wanted to show them to any of the scholars who often visited the extensive Misthaven library, not wanting to spark any uncomfortable questions. The outer circle was decorated with eight triangles spaced evenly around the circumference of the coin, and the princess was always reminded of the cardinal points when she saw them, big and ornate alternating with small and simple. The ring through which the chain passed was positioned at the point of the ornate triangle that stood just above the skull, pointing straight to the wearer’s face.

Now that she looked, the ring appeared to have been added later, the gold used for it looking slightly different. It was pretty, if one liked that sort of thing. When she was younger, she liked to imagine herself as a pirate queen, with the medallion swinging around her neck while she fought legendary battles. Now, older, she no longer entertained such flights of fancy. She had attended too many pirate trials in recent years and heard too many tales of barbarity from their victims to continue romanticizing that kind of life.

As Henry grew up, she had often wondered if she should reveal what she had found in the blanket on that fateful day. As she became older, she realized her belief that Henry would be treated anything like a pirate had been ridiculous. He had been a baby, after all. However, she chose not to say anything, not wanting to burden him with the truth of his heritage. Maybe when he was older, she would tell him. Right now he was Henry Swan who, when his chores and lessons were done, followed her and (more surprisingly) Captain Cassidy when he was ashore.

On a whim, she lifted her eyes to the mirror, and put the chain around her neck. The medallion laid atop her nightgown, resting atop her cleavage and contrasting with the white cloth. It didn’t look bad on her. She only had a few seconds to admire herself before someone knocked on her door, and her father's voice asked her “Emma, are you awake? Are you decent?”

The young woman scrambled to hide the evidence of her activities, while shouting, “Just one minute, Papa!” She slammed the drawer and the compartment shut, and hurried to her dressing gown, which was hung on a hook between her bed and her wardrobe. Hastily putting it on, her nervousness made her fumble with the ties, while her father continued to knock, cheerfully calling out to her.

“You can come in,” Emma said, finally having wrangled her dressing gown into submission. Just before her father opened the door, a gleam caught her eye in the mirror. Looking down, she saw that in her panic, she had forgotten to put the medallion back in the compartment. As the handle turned, she grabbed it and stuffed it down her nightgown. The cold metal against her skin made her wiggle, just as her father entered, followed by her two maids, Daisy and Julia, who were both holding boxes topped with bows.

King Robert advanced towards her, smiling softly. Cupping her cheeks with his hands, he kissed her forehead, as he had done since she could remember. Drawing back, he looked at her, still smiling. “How's my duckling this morning?” he asked her softly, still holding her face.

“I'm fine, Papa,” Emma answered, just as softly, which made her father's smile widen deepening the wrinkles at the corner of his blue eyes.

“That's wonderful. I have something for you,” he said, motioning for the two maids to step closer.

Looking curiously at her father, she approached Julia, who was holding the largest box. Gently pulling the lid off, she gasped when she saw what was inside. A green silk gown, trimmed and embroidered in gold, was folded inside. Dropping the lid carelessly on the floor, she lifted the dress, admiring it before turning towards her mirror, putting it in front of her to see how it looked. Her father appeared behind her reflection, still smiling, his thumbs tucked into his belt. Looking at him, she smiled.” Thank you, Papa, it's gorgeous.”

“I knew you would like it. The fabric reminded me of your eyes, as soon as I saw it.”

“What have I done to deserve such a gift? My birthday is not for a few weeks yet,” Emma inquired in a teasing tone, turning toward the King, who ushered her towards her maids, who were now waiting by the privacy screen in the corner.

“I know, but I couldn't wait that long to give it to you. Can't a father give a present to his daughter for no reason at all?”

At this, Emma narrowed her eyes, while Daisy untied her dressing gown and Julia opened another box, this one containing a corset. While his first sentence had sounded genuine, the second one had caused a prickle at the back of her skull. Since she could remember, Emma had been able to tell when someone was lying to her, as when someone did, she felt a tingle on the back of her head. This prickle had not been as strong as when someone outright lied to her, but it was subtler, as if…

“You're hiding something from me,” Emma accused, peeping at her father over the side of the screen. “You're not telling me something, you know I can tell. What is really going on, Papa?”

The last thing she saw before Daisy pulled her back so Julia could put the corset around her waist was her father sighing and closing his eyes in exasperation. As Daisy started lacing her in, her father started talking, “I have decided to reward Captain Cassidy for his capture of the pirate last week. He has done tremendous work lately and has made Misthaven proud. As such, he is being promoted to Commodore this afternoon.” The King paused for an instant, and Emma closed her eyes, knowing what was coming, as her maid finished pulling the laces through the corset's eyelets. “Captain, or should I say Commodore Cassidy is a fine man, and you have been friendly for years now. Maybe you -”

“Papa, while I appreciate the Captain’s valor, there is absolutely - oh gods - nothing between us, I assure you,” Emma said, gasping in the middle of her sentence as her maid started tightening the corset.

“I know darling, I know. But I just wanted you to make a good impression, just in case.”

“The only impression I'm worried about right now is the one this corset is making on my spleen,” Emma said, glaring at her maid, who shrugged, never stopping in her task.

“I hear it's the latest fashion in the White Kingdom. The Queen herself wears this kind of… thing, apparently.”

“Well, the Queen must not need to breathe, then. This thing is pure torture,” Emma grumbled, as Daisy finished her task, tsking quietly about the complicated fastenings.

“Oh Emma, do stop complaining. You just need to get used to wearing it, and you'll see. You'll be just fine. Anyway, I'm leaving you in the care of your maids now, the council is waiting for me. The ceremony starts in two hours, please be on time with David,” concluded the King, before leaving Emma's rooms.

A while later, Emma slowly went down the stairs near the Great Hall, mindful of her skirts, and her spine stiff. Her brother was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps, pacing the floor, lost in thoughts.

“Careful there, you're going to wear a groove in the carpet, and Granny will have your hide,” the princess said, smiling. David swirled around, clearly not having heard her approach. As this was highly unusual for him, Emma took a closer look at his face. His brow was furrowed, and he kept rubbing his chin, just like he did when he was a child and could not figure something out in one of their classes.

“Huh? Oh yeah, yeah, Granny, sure,” he said distractedly, before rubbing his chin again. “You look lovely, by the way,” he finished with an absent-minded wave of his hand towards her outfit.

“Okay, that's enough. What's going on?” Before her brother could try to deny the obvious, she quickly added, “And don't tell me it's nothing, I know it's not.”

“It's not …..nothing, obviously, it's just a little...” at his sister's glare, he raised his hand, silently asking for her to let him continue, “it's just… I have this weird feeling. This morning I couldn't find my silver clasp, the dragon one Papa got me, and it looks like some of my things were moved. I'm also pretty sure I had locked the door before I went to the village yesterday, but this morning it wasn't.”

“Do you think a thief came into your room?”

“No, I don't know. My signet ring is more valuable than the clasp, and yet it's still there, despite being clearly visible on my desk. The guards said they saw no one. It makes no sense, but I can't shake this feeling that something is wrong.”

Emma snorted, amused. “Your clasp is probably buried somewhere under the mess you call your rooms. Honestly, David, I don't know how you can find anything in there, it's positively dismal.”

The prince huffed at that, used to his sister's ribbing. “It may look messy, but I know where everything is, I have a system.”

“Well, every system has it faults. Seems like it's time to -”

“David! Emma!”

Both royals turned towards the sound, Emma more slowly than David as she tried to maneuver in her skirts, as a young boy came running towards them, his brown eyes shining excitedly. He skidded to a stop right in front of them, putting his hands on his knees as he got his breath back.

“I'm so glad I found you before the ceremony! You'll never guess what just happened!”

Brother and sister looked at each other, twin expressions of amusement and curiosity on their faces. Turning once again towards the boy, Emma shifted uncomfortably in her outfit, as David asked him, “I don't know, what is it, Henry? Has the King finally come to his senses and decided to replace the council with Granny?”

“No, silly! I've done it! Captain Cassidy has accepted to take me on as his cabin boy! I'm going to sail with him!” Henry said, bouncing excitedly.

Hearing this, Emma furrowed her brow. Henry had been talking for months about wanting to join the Navy, but Emma had not paid it much credibility, thinking that eleven years old was way too young to serve on a ship, and that, like his other fancies, this too would pass. The truth was, she was not ready to see him go. She had taken care of him since he had been brought to the castle, and she didn't want to see her little charge leave the nest, so to speak. Plus, there was of course the added worry of Henry's true origins. The medallion suddenly felt heavier under her dress, as she hadn't had the occasion to remove it without one of her maids seeing it.

While she had been worrying, David had been congratulating Henry, who had then turned expectantly towards her, waiting for her reaction. She snapped out of her thoughts when she saw his face fall slightly at her continued silence. Smiling at him, she tried to bend to his level, but found herself stopped in her movement by her unyielding corset digging into her ribs. She winced and stood back up, contenting herself with putting her hand on his shoulder, while the other rubbed her side.

“I'm happy for you, Henry, I really am. Although… don't you think it's a little early to start serving? You're young, you could wait a little, enjoy your childhood-”

“I know I'm younger than most, but I'm ready, Emma. I've been studying, and Captain Cassidy has been letting me do some chores on the Pride when I was with him. Also, don't forget I've been working for years already, I've been running errands since I was six.”

Emma blinked, surprised at all the arguments he gave her. Then one thing he had said came back to her, and her eyes narrowed.“Captain Cassidy has been letting me do some chores on the Pride...” So that's what they had been doing when they went down to the docks. And here, when she had shared her concerns with him and David a few weeks ago, Cassidy had told her he agreed with her, while he had been going behind her back this whole time! She would need to have some words with Commodore Cassidy, and soon.

~~~~~~~

The hot summer sun shone through the stained-glass windows of the Great Hall, casting colorful reflections on the marble floor. Emma stood on the raised dais in the center of the room to her father's left while Gauthier, the Master of Ceremonies, droned on about the recent achievements of the Royal Navy. Every minute felt like an eternity to the princess, who was sweltering in her fashionable, but weather-inappropriate gown. Her little fan did nothing to refresh her, as it only sent warm air her way. She could feel a trickle of sweat running down her nape, hidden by the elaborate curls that composed her updo, which went down until it was soaked up by her shift. She shifted on her feet, feeling out of breath even though she hadn't moved in what felt like hours, but was closer to thirty minutes.

Once the Master of Ceremony was finished, her father stepped forward, while the heavy wooden doors were opened to let through the officers who were to be promoted today. Cassidy, as the highest ranking, would be last. The procession went on, as each man went through a guard of honor, had his personal achievements listed before his stripes were removed and replaced with those of his new rank.

What was usually merely boring for Emma was pure torture right now, as the sun now shone directly on her, increasing her discomfort ten-fold. Another squirm on her part earned her a quick glare from David, who knew how much these ceremonies bored her, and thought that was all her fidgeting was.

Finally, as Emma's vision started to swim, Cassidy's name was called, and he strode through the doors, his head held high, his spine straight. When he stood in front of the King after bowing deeply to him, his tall frame dwarfed Gauthier’s next to him, who was reciting his many achievements, ending with the capture of a pirate whose name Emma did not catch through the pounding of her blood and the ringing in her ears, as she was hit with a dizzy spell at that moment. Thankfully, her father did not dither, and quickly changed the new Commodore's stripes, before gifting him with a new sword, as was customary.

After a round of applause, which Emma joined a second too late, her reflexes slowed by the heat, the ceremony thankfully ended with everyone rushing to congratulate the newly promoted officers. Before she could even take one step towards the balcony to take a breath of fresh air, her father came towards her, Cassidy in tow.

“Emma, here you are,” the King said, “Wasn’t the ceremony beautiful? Gauthier surpassed himself, don’t you think?”

Emma smiled and nodded, fanning herself furiously. The King, seeing her agitation, and misinterpreting the reasons behind it, looked between her and Cassidy, before smiling at the officer. “Commodore, the weather today is lovely, and I hear it is very nice out on the balcony. Why don’t you take the Princess for a walk there, for a moment, while it is quiet and empty?” Robert asked, not so subtly winking at his daughter at his last words.

The princess flushed, feeling mortified at her father’s conspicuousness. However, since this would allow her to get some fresh air with no further delay, as well as a moment to discuss the Henry situation with Cassidy, she nodded again to her father, and, without waiting, she started towards the balcony doors, concentrating on walking in a straight line. After only a few steps, she sensed the Commodore on her left, who offered her his arm. She took it, and leaned on it more heavily than she maybe should have, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

Once they had reached the doors, the Commodore released her arm to open the door and let her slip outside first. Emma hurried to do so, and sighed in relief as a cool breeze caressed her face. Taking a few steps towards the railing, staying in the cooler shadows, she looked over the scenery for a few moments, waiting for the dizziness to abate. The view was really breathtaking from here, the balcony overlooking the estuary in the middle of which the castle was standing. The sound of the waves crashing on the cliff just beneath her soothed Emma, as they had always done.

After a few moments, she turned towards her silent companion, who was waiting patiently, his arms clasped behind his back, the feather in his hat ruffled by the breeze the only movement she could see. She had known the man for eleven years now, her mother, and then her father, having taken a shine to him and inviting him to the castle whenever he was ashore. While he was closer to David, having been his commanding officer during his stint in the Navy two years earlier, Emma had come to know and respect him, even if she thought he could be a little condescending at times.

And there was the matter of Henry’s appointment as his cabin boy.

She began, “Commodore, there is a matter I would like to discuss with you, one that has come to my attention quite recently,” she saw the officer’s eyes widen in alarm. She continued, even though she was puzzled to see him sigh in relief when he understood what she wanted to talk about. What had he thought she meant? “I saw Henry this morning, who told me about his becoming your cabin boy. I was quite surprised, you should know, as, considering our last conversation on the subject, I had assumed we were in agreement on the fact he is far too young to assume such a role.” She had to stop here to take a big breath, feeling winded.

Cassidy seized the opportunity to speak, taking a step towards her, “Your Highness, I assure you, we are in agreement. Eleven is indeed far too young to start serving. However, your father, seeing the interest Henry has shown recently in sailing, has decided to grant his wish.”

“An interest which you have fed by secretly giving him lessons on your ship!” Emma said, pointing her finger accusingly at him.

“I did not give him lessons secretly, as you put it, Your Highness,” Cassidy answered stiffly, crossing his arms, “I merely answered his questions and showed him a few basic things, just as you were shown at the same age. Had you taken any interest in what we did, instead of trying to pass his interest for sailing as a mere “fancy”, then perhaps this appointment would not have come as such a surprise to you.”

Emma fumed. “How dare y- I have taken care of Henry since I found him. I have helped raise him, I have taken care of his education, I have listened to him, played with him, talked with him for the last eleven years. I have loved him. And, because you have deigned to give him him a little attention here and there in the last few months, you presume to know him better than I do?”

The officer’s blue eyes flashed, and he advanced until he was standing a few feet away. “I do care about Henry, I always have. Yes, we have spent more time together lately. He is a bright boy, and very curious. Since he is determined on joining the Navy, I would rather he stays with me, where I can keep an eye on him, rather than under anyone else, who might not be as careful. If you disagree with this, I advise you to take it up directly with your father, Princess. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

And with this, he took two steps back, bowed perfunctorily before turning smartly on his heel and going back inside the Great Hall.

Emma found herself breathing heavily, both from anger and from the heat. The brief respite she had gotten a few minutes earlier had ended when the midday sun had rounded the corner and had started beating down on the balcony. The breeze had also abated, leaving her to feel as if she was suffocating in the blasted corset. Once again, and not for the first time of the day, she cursed the White Kingdom’s Queen and her apparent masochism.

Feeling dizzy, she staggered back to the railing, leaning heavily on it, trying to catch the faintest wisp of wind. A few moments later, she heard steps behind her, before her father’s voice sounded.

“Princess Emma of Misthaven, what did you do? The Commodore came almost storming out of the Great Hall, and didn’t even stay for his own celebration! He almost bowled over the Duchess of Wildfell! She’s seventy two!”

Emma opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out. Her father, oblivious in his agitation, continued, “I know things have been difficult lately, since your mother’s passing. But you are a princess Emma, and you have to maintain a good image with your subjects, especially those you are going to see often, like the Commodore. Now, I don’t know what happened just now, but I expect you to make amends, do you hear me?”

“I- I need help,” stuttered Emma, who had been feeling worse and worse as black dots appeared in her vision.

“Now, don’t beat yourself up, duckling, you are a wonderful young woman, I’m sure you’ll manage just fine on your own. You know, the Commodore may be a little peremptory but he is a good man. I’m sure if-”

But Emma heard no more as she lost consciousness, falling over the railing towards the crashing waves below.

Chapter 2

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added!): @hollyethecurious, @shireness-says, @gingerchangeling, @slow-smiles

#cssns #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #snidget writes #tcotbr

41 notes · View notes

royallyanxious · 7 years ago

Note

Okay so you can make angst out of the lucky prompt (which HURT i loved it), could you make fluff out of the agony prompt?

Okay, it took me longer than I expected but I did it! Here is it! Fluffy fic made out of agony prompt! Just to prove that I (kind of) write fluffy things too! At least i tried...

Special thanks to my inspiration and muse @quietlypondering

genre: fluffy Roman

word count: 1168

tw: nudity, mention of blood (this is fluff I swear!)

Agony

This day had been much more tiringthan Roman expected it to be. Everything was hurting him, his head was poundingand he was pretty sure that at least one of these stains covering his normallywhite uniform would not wash off easily.

He sighed and lied down on thegrass. The air in the realm smelt like rain and sweat. That was a good battle.He was tired but after all- proud and happy. The grass was tickling his earsand the wind was gently stroking his sweaty hair. All the stars pinned to thedark, navy sky were blinking at him in perfect union, seemingly congratulatinghim his success. There were days when Roman was tempted to stay here forever.Fighting dragons, saving princes, princesses and small dogs, enjoying thenature and living him dreamt life.

Roman closed his eyes taking a deepbreath. The freedom was filling up his lungs, the victory was running throughhis bones and muscles. Nothing was interrupting the peace and quiet that Romanwas experiencing at this exact moment. He opened his eyes slowly, with no rush.It was a perfect moment to come back to reality. The stars were shiningtempting him with every blink and for a split of a second he felt an urge tostay a little bit longer. To enjoy the time, the peaceful glory just for onemore minute. He smiled to himself and shook his head. Everything had to come toan end. He knew his responsibilities way too well. He may be a prince here buthe spending too much time in his realm would be too dangerous for Thomas.Besides coming back home had its perks too.

Two blinks of an eye later Romanwas back in his room, lying on his bed, instead of the covered with soft grasshill. He got up and stretched out his arms, letting the tiredness along withendorphins embrace him once again. Not even trying to surpass a massive yawn,Roman got up of his bed, lazily opening up the golden buttons of his uniformand letting the sash slip down his shoulders.

He entered the bathroom, sloppilythrowing the clothes on the floor. The tiles felt cold under his bare feet,gently pushing the last pieces of his mind out of his realm. He leaned againstthe wall, watching the water fill the bathtub.

“You know what they say… Medival isfascinating until you realise there’s no running water…” he mumbled to himself,suddenly recalling what Logan said few evening before when Roman came back homeexceptionally tired, covered with all types of leaves and brining on hisclothes enough mud to fill all the flowerpots in the house.

Gloriously naked he opened the box,trying to figure out what bath bomb should he use today. He frowned noticingthat at least one ball was missing. Few weeks ago was the first time he noticedthat the other sides were sometimes sneaking to his room when he was gone tosteal his precious bath bombs. Ever since then he was always making sure toorder few more, just to have some spare ones, in case either Virgil, Patton orLogan were in need but too shy to admit. Roman hummed to himself. He was almostsure that it was Virgil this time, basing on the fact that the missing bathbomb was purple.

After few moments of hesitationRoman finally choose the golden, sparkling one. That would be the base of hisbath today.

He turned around putting the bathbomb aside and moved over to the shelf where he kept all of his bubble baths.Some may say he was exaggerating but taking a bath was like a holy ceremony tohim. He didn’t fight off all these monsters, to take a shower like a peasant,after all. Roman carefully opened up one of the bottles and took in a deepbreath. Roses. Exactly what he needed today.

In the meantime the bath was halflyfilled up with water and Roman, still humming softly, turned off the goldentap, leaving only a small, hot stream running. With a joy of little child helet the bath bomb fall into the water, with excitement watching it bubble anddissolve. He quickly looked over his shoulder making sure that the door isclosed before he carefully poked the dissolving ball. It fizzed under his touchand he laughed softly. Small bubbles were tickling his fingers, bringingpleasant sensation. The water was slowly starting sparkle with little, goldenspecks.

With sweeping gesture Roman pouredway too much bubble bath into the bath tub, just under the sink, in attempt tomake the soon-to-appear foam gain the soft shade of gold.

The air quickly filled with thescent of roses and Roman carefully stepped into the tub, letting the warmth andsmoothness caress his skin. He turned off the tap and leaned his head againstthe wall. All day full of sweat and metallic blood on his tongue was worth thisone moment. He reached for his little rubber duck with small crown on the topof its head. A quiet squeak broke the silence and Roman chuckled, putting thetoy into the waves of the golden foam.

“Oh, I know little prince. It wasan agony to be away from you for so long.” he smiled to the duckling, using hissugar-cotton voice.

Roman took a deep breath and blewair on the duckling, revealing it’s crown and sash, watching small patches offoam dance in the air. Unable to stop himself he reached out his hand, lettingthe tiny glittering cloud rest on the top of his finger. He brought it closerto his eyes, watching small bubble disappear with silent “pops”.

Sliding down the bathtub, he restedhis chin on the chest, leaving only his nose and eyes above the surface. Thewater smelt even better than earlier. The scent of roses was mixing with thememory of the forest and sky-night, slowly becoming a feeling more than anactual scent. Once again glancing at the door, Roman took in a little bit ofthe foam and put it on the top of his head. And then another hand-full of foamand another, until all his brown hair was covered with it, as if he was wearingbig, fluffy crown. Unable to hold the laugh he chuckled into the water. Hismouth filled with the taste of slightly chemical liquid and he straightened upa little bit, still giggling happily. The bubbly crown was slowly popping onhis head, disappearing like a fragile, soft dream, filling his ears withburbling sound which reminded him of a lost waterfall in the middle of ajungle. His lips formed into a wide smile and once again, he leaned his headagainst the wall, resting his arms on the sides of the tub and closing hiseyes.

After all it had been a very goodday.

Fin.

GENERALTAG LIST: @depressed-alone @changeling-ash @dear-lover-dearest @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms @calmingthoughtsinyourhead @zo-geeky @fandomfreak-19 @thegnatnat @inha-led @tree4life25 @panic-at-theeverywhere @reallyanextrovertipromise @shit-happens-bitchachos @pastel-patton123 @pinkeasteregg @greymane902 @princeyssash @ilovemygaydad @musicphanpie-b@all-these-trees-stealing-mah-o2 @birosezz @winged-outlaw @anxious-fander-talian-bean@lizaelsparrow @moonstonefox12 @pastelnerd101 somecrappyclone mysticalstrawberryface @ninjago2020 donteatmyassghostie toriwithacamera moxiety--sanders101 confinesofpersonalknowledge xxladystarlightxx wheeitsvee a-very-optimistic-realist @whatwashernameagain @punk-and-flowers @softprxnce @fluidityandgiggles @poisonedapples

137 notes · View notes

almaasi · 7 years ago

Text

reaction post typed while watching SPN 13x22 “Exodus”

“WATCH THIS SHOW” they said. “IT’LL BE FUN” they said. cue me being very stressed out for two hours straight

02:38pm

am i looking forward to this, with absolute confidence that nothing terrible and unfortunate will happen because it’s the deadly duo writing this and it’s near the end of the season and last episode was the whiplashiest of whiplashes? NOPE

am i gonna watch it anyway? .......yeah

hopes: nobody we care about dies

02:43

I DID NOT WANT THIS RECAP

SAMMY DID NOT DESERVE THAT

but also i still haven’t seen a captioned giftset of the moment cas said to dean “dean, he’s gone, we can’t save him”

‘cause wow as far as destiel moments go, that’s a heck of a lot of trust for dean, and a heck of a lot of concern and care on cas’ part

02:46

lucifer: your name is jack

jack: and yours is lucifer

i don’t even know why i laughed but i did??? i don’t think that was meant to be funny

02:48

lucifer: don’t you think that’s his choice?

cas: no

the abusive dad vs protective family saga continues

also i just realised for MONTHS/years? i’ve been using the 24-hour clock on my laptop and didn’t even notice how much i didn’t like it until just now, and i just changed it, and AAH THIS IS BETTER IT SAYS 02:49 INSTEAD OF 14:49 AND I DON’T ACCIDENTALLY TYPE 4:49 WHEN WRITING THESE POSTS

actually in terms of abusive parents vs protective families (expanding on what i said last week), i kinda feel like right now the writers are kinda toning down how bad it can be. lucifer’s so chill about this, kinda, and i’ve known families whose estranged parent is almost a perfect match for lucifer’s behaviour here:

they’ll offer the kid an incredible gift without telling the other parent(s), something the kid can’t refuse because of how badly they want/need it, and the parents can’t refuse without being the bad guy(s), and the whole family then becomes eternally indebted to the abusive parent and is obliged to give them money/time/rights with their child, with the threat of violence, property destroyed, access to said property removed, or instigated legal proceedings if they refuse.

plus the kid is often too young or innocent to understand, they just see an extra parent who gives them nice things, and for a kid from a broken home with not enough to go around, they don’t see the downside, and they maybe never see the threat their parents are under. or they’re physically or mentally abused by their parent(s), but think it’s okay because the parent(s) “apologises” or bribes them with nice things. or if the protective parent(s) try and keep them away from the abusive parent, the kid sees themselves as being deprived of that parent’s love

long story short, people can be shitty, and lucifer probably has the potential to be much worse than just standing around and having a casual discussion

i feel like the extended winchester family verbally defending jack is not gonna be enough, and lucifer’s gonna wanna take back sam, and destroy more while he’s at it

like an “if i can’t have it, nobody can have it” sort of thing

03:03

eyyy felicia day is in the credits

03:04

hug!!!!!!!!!!!

nawww the lil tiny nuzzle dean does with his chin before pulling away

03:07

YEAH MARY YOU PUNCH THE DEVIL IN THE FACE

!!!

AGAIN!!!

cas kinda looked like he was expecting that

03:09

i was busy admiring how mary’s hair was perfectly curly

and then by the next shot it was all limp and sad

if the weather was humid i guess it melted the curl between takes

but also MARY WHAT THE HELL

YOU DON’T WANNA ABANDON ALL THE PEOPLE IN THE AU

BUT WHAT ABOUT YOUR SMOL NEEDY HERO CHILDREN

??????

i mean i get it bUT ALSO NO I DON’T

also my face is >:| because they cut to cas and lucifer in the middle of mary and dean having a super important conversation

usually it’s not jarring but THAT WAS JARRING

eehh the deadly duo trademark is all over this

03:15

sam: mom doesn’t wanna leave these people.

sam: ...

sam: so let’s take ‘em with us

YEAH NOW THAT’S A PLAN

MUCH BETTER

take charlie and bobby too okay please

..........aw man now i said that, i get the terrible feeling that one or both of them is gonna go out in a blaze of glory instead, or stay on the sinking ship for no good reason other than because the writers don’t know what else to do with them

edit: i mean there’s still next episode.... (best case, they all survive and get storylines next season)

03:20

see all the stuff lucifer is telling jack is true, and it does remove the blame from the CONCEPT of lucifer

but the personality is lucifer is BAD AND ABUSIVE

like you don’t have to commit horrible crimes to be a bad person to be around

he corrupts the will of others, he tortures them emotionally, he manipulates them

none of those things are first-degree murder, or the great oppression of the entire human race, but they are Bad Things For A Father To Be

03:23

lucifer: i have done bad things, but i just want the opportunity to get better. doesn’t everybody? don’t you?

i actually feel sick ‘cause this is sooooooo very very dangerous

cas was right, talking to lucifer is bad

yeah, he says all the right things. anyone could give him the benefit of the doubt, and perhaps say sure, lucifer’s changed ‘cause he has a kid now, but he PROVED in bringing sam back to life that he hasn’t changed

and not just because of the “i’mma bring jack a gift he can’t refuse thing”, but the “i’mma kill sam again if he doesn’t agree to this” thing

lucifer is a manipulative, blackmailing, flaming trash baby and jack needs better. lucifer might treat jack himself with genuine love, but he’ll destroy everyone and everything around him in doing so

03:28

also? i relate so hard to the fact dean, sam, and cas all see and know the real lucifer, and lucifer’s putting on a show for jack

i think the people i’ve personally felt the least safe around in the past, especially growing up, are the people who are perfectly sweet when you’re in company and then become bullies as soon as the adults/parents/protectors are out of earshot

and there’s no way to prove to your protectors that you’re being hurt because all they see is “a nice person” or “ohh they’re such a sweetie”

i mean it’s the other way around for team free will and jack, where tfw see the real thing and jack sees the perfect angel but yeah

03:42

ketch: take the b&o railroad......straight to hell

good line tbh

03:43

angel to ketch: i’ve sent for an expert in these matters

probably gonna be other ketch

03:44

WHOA DARK CAS

WAY BETTER

he has a twitchy hamster face

where does misha get these ideas

i kinda wanna draw whiskers on dark!cas ???

03:46

THE FACT DEAN CAN GIVE CAS INSTRUCTIONS JUST BY FLUTTERING HIS EYELASHES

and the way he moves his eyes is so soft and gentle and subtle too

it makes my heart feel a thing tbh

even though cas is torturing someone

ugh nonverbal communication is so sexy

03:52

DARK CAS IS GERMAN ?????

and there’s........something misha-like in his smile?? that’s weird

03:54

I AM INTENSELY UNCOMFORTABLE

his two different eyes are cool though

maybe it’s just a trick of the light, or a very subtle contact lens

03:55

fuck yeah that coat

but why is he german, other than clearly being a nazi-inspired character

is it just me or is this legitimately the scariest of all misha’s characters

i want to run away and hide

actually i kinda wanna cry

03:59

that’s better

GOOD CAS, PLZ DESTROY NAZI CAS

04:02

ketch: “well helloo~”

ketch: “are you... actually saving me? about bloody time”

gayyyyyyyy

biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

also maybe definitely a destiel parallel from that time cas beat dean up to stop him saying yes to micheal

04:05

um?????

that smile when real!cas dragged the blade down dark!cas throat ?????

04:08

jack’s like LET ME DO THE THING EVERYONE’S BEEN TRYING TO DO FOR MONTHS/YEARS

IN ONE HOUR

04:11

fuck yeah mary

lookin all swish at the back of the war bus

04:12

????????????????????

??????????????????????????????????

hOW DID THEY GET THE BUS THROUGH THE TUNNEL THAT HAD THE VAMPIRES IN

DID THEY TAKE THE MOUNTAIN ROUTE THAT WOULD’VE TAKEN SEVERAL DAYS???

WHAT???????????????????

04:16

MY HEART IS POUNDING

C’MON EVERYONE YOU CAN DO IT!!!!

04:17

mary, bobby, ketch, charlie, jack are safe!!!! SAVE EVERYONE!!! QUICK QUICK

NOBODY LEFT BEHIND PLEASE

except lucifer maybe

except that would probably be bad in the long run

CAS IS SAFE

YAH C;MON!!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH I’M SO STRESSED RN

fuckin feel like i’m trying to pull ducklings one by one through a fence before a dog gets them FUCK

/sobs to self

04:19

I;M GONBA HEVA FUCKING HEART ATACK FUHF

04:20

WHY IS IT ALWAYS THE BLACK GUY

DO THESE WRITERS LIKE.. HAVE A FETISH FOR DEAD BLACK PEOPLE

WHAT THE FUCK IS THEIR PROBLEM

AND THE CAMERA ALWAYS LINGERS MORE WHEN IT’S THESE WRITERS I’M PRETTY SURE??? someone do a test, go find all the dead black people and check which writers/editors/directors leave the camera lingering for longest

istg these writers do it more often and for longer

04:24

aw MAAAAN :C

dean’s “gaBE nO” though. :c :c :c

04:26

everyone except gabe :c :c :c

(and no lucifer...........like i said, great now, baaaaaad in the long run)

04:29

nobody mentions cas but he’s still there, looking all pretty and being a good, wholesome bean

04:30

SEE? BAD

VERY BAD

04:33pm

it ends

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh man that was

........a lot

overall a good ‘un but STILL VERY STRESSFUL

i need a nice calming shower after that, i smell like !!!!!anxiety!!!!

9/10, loses a point JUST BECAUSE OF HOW STRESSFUL IT WAS TO WATCH. THIS WAS NOT FUN AT ALL

BUT STILL GOOD??

I DUNNO MAN I JUST WANT A SHOW WITH THESE EXACT CHARACTERS JUST HANGING AROUND AND BEING NICE TO EACH OTHER AND FALLING IN LOVE AND HEALING EACH OTHER EMOTIONALLY AND PHYSICALLY AND BAKING CAKES AND RAISING CHILDREN

to be fair though, my endless almost-what-i-wanted-but-not-quite dissatisfaction with this show keeps driving me to write 81+ fanfics where nice things happen

win-win????

but this show would still be better with dean/cas cuddles let’s be real

#Elmie watches things #13x22 #exodus #season 13 #spn spoilers #deadly duo #post of postiness

46 notes · View notes

queen-of-the-merry-men · 8 years ago

Text

Dear Mama {A WWTS Flashforward}

So mother’s day is coming up and I want to write something for DimplesQueen. but I also really want to do something for MaidenDimples set in the WWTS verse Even though I love Regina and Roland, I don’t want to erase Marian as his mother. So here’s a short flash forward about a year of so in their future, sort of inspired by @athiefandhisqueen‘s prompt to me where Roland calls Regina his mom. Might turn into a two-shot.

Summary: Robin and Regina start to worry when Roland starts praying to Marian. Roland starts to wonder about Regina’s place in his life.

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

It is a truth universally accepted among all parents that small children often do strange things. Things that hold to no reason or rhyme that a mature, fully-adult brain could ever hope to understand. Robin had long since accepted this with Roland. Over the years had son had gone through countless phases of inexplicable behavior – jumping off furniture, pretending to be different animals at odd times, there’d even been a whole month where he refused to eat anything yellow – but each phase was just that, a phase. And Robin had always been able to approach them with a sense of humor but this time he didn’t find things so easy to shrug off.

For the past year or so Roland had begun to pray. Every few days or so before bed Robin would come to tuck him in a night and find his son on his knees, his hands folded atop of his bed, whispering his hopes to someone above. While Robin himself wasn’t particularly religious – and he certainly hadn’t taught his son to be – it wasn’t so much the praying that worried him as much as who he prayed to.

For the fourth night that week Robin had looked in on his son only to hear him praying to his mother, Marian. He couldn’t help it. Every time he heard his son whisper “Dear Mama” he felt his heart clench. yet he never spoke to Roland about it. He wasn’t even sure what he’d say.

Instead he tucked his son into bed, put him to sleep and went to his own room. He walks in to find Regina already in bed reading glasses on, book in hand, comfortably tucked into the blankets. It’d been weeks since she and Henry moved back in but his heart still leapt every time he remember that he can fall asleep as well as wake up next to her every day. As soon as he walks in she takes one look at his face and sympathetically sighs.

“Was he praying again?” she asked.

Robin nodded his head. “He wants her to help keep the baby ducks at the park safe.”

She couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on her face. They’d been feeding baby ducks at the park earlier that morning. He’d been so protective of the little ducklings and their mama. “That’s sweet.”

“Maybe… until the ducks get run over,” mumbled Robin as he climbed into bed next to her.

Regina sighed as she set down her book and slipped off her reading glasses. She turned to Robin with serious eyes. “Why does this bother you so much Robin?” she asked. “Why do his prayers make you so...uneasy?”

Robin sunk down into the sheets with a groan but offered no tangible response so she pressed on.

“Is it about the god thing?”

“No,” he immediately refutes. He is not concerned about Roland believing in God. Robin had been an atheist for decades now but he’d never once tried to sway Roland in any direction regarding his faith. He figured his son would come to his own conclusions when it came to his faith. He just didn’t expect for him to come to one so soon. Or to latch on to something so complex.

“It’s just that he started doing this when we were all in such a bad place,” he softly points out.

His tone goes heavy and he can see Regina biting her lip as they both think back to that hard time so many months ago, when Cora had been meddling in their lives. She’d put them through so much, but they’d come out stronger in the end. At least that’s what he thought.

“Roland was so upset during all of it and I was alright with him praying that one night because I thought it would help give him hope and maybe take away some of his stress,” he explained, “but now… I don’t know. It’s making me worry that maybe he’s not feeling secure anymore. Like he’s not over everything that happened.”

He still remembers how stunned he was the first night when his son had asked if he would pray with him. And how that shock had doubled when he’d started praying to his own mother. He’d prayed for his mother to help make things happy again. Things went back to normal and he’d hoped it would be a one-time thing but Roland had never stopped. He still prayed to Marian and a part of him feared it was because he no longer trusted his father to hold things together anymore.

Regina grabs his hand and lets out a deep breath. She understood Robin’s fears. She carried similar ones about Henry and how that time had affected him. It’d been months since everything with Cora but she still worried about how those days had affected their boys. If there were truly as healed as they appeared to be.

“I get why you’re worried,” she said, comfortingly running her hand up his arm. “But I don’t think that’s the reason he prays to her.”

“Why then?” asked Robin, desperately.

“Honestly?” She nervously presses her lips together before answering him. “I think he’s just trying to know her, in his own way.”

She softly squeezes his hand, trying to comfort him before broaching a topic that she knew still saddened them both.

“Robin, he was only three months old when Marian died,” she gently pointed out. “He can’t remember her voice, or her touch. He has no memories. And I think… with all the changes this past year, it’s starting to bother him a little.”

Her gaze drops down to her left hand where her engagement ring sits on her finger sparkling with every slight movement.

“I love Roland with all my heart,” she says, “but maybe realizing that I’m going to be his stepmother… makes him want to know his real mother instead.”

“Hey,” drawled Robin, straightening up in bed. “You’re not just a stepmother, you know that.”

“I do,” she agrees, “but I’m still not Marian, I’m not his mama, I can’t replace her and he knows it. I practically told him as much.”

“What?” said Robin, narrowing his eyes at her.

She lets out a deep breath and runs her fingers through her hair before sitting up next to him. “Okay… I’ve never told you this but do you remember that night when I was moving out and the storm hit?”

Robin nods his head. Of course, he remembered that night. It was the night he’d decided to tell her how he felt. The night he’d realized how much he’d wanted their family. He’d never forget that night.

“Well, after we all went to sleep Roland woke up afraid because of the storm and he climbed into my sleeping bag with me,” she continued. “And as I comforted him we talked about Marian and how you’d explained that she was in heaven and he asked if she would ever come back for him.”

She still remembered the look in his brown eyes when he’d asked her. So wide and confused, searching for answers. They’d sent her heart racing.

Robin eyes widened at her confession and he stutters in surprise. “Well… what did you say?”

“I told him that… once you go to heaven you can’t come back.” She pauses. “I didn’t want to leave him with false hope.”

“I know,” said Robin, his tone gentle. “I wouldn’t have done any differently.”

Regina nods, swallowing hard before continuing.

“But then he asked me if since his Mama wasn’t here anymore did that mean that I was his mama now,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “And I said… no.”

“Oh my god,” breathes Robin. Shock ran over his blue eyes. He couldn’t believe she’d kept this to herself for so long.

“I said that no matter what his mama was his mama, no one else,” she said. “I said that a piece of her still lives in him and because of that she’d always be with him.”

“Regina…”

She continues to speak over him.

“It was before we were together,” she explains. “I was still struggling with my feelings for you and when he asked… I felt like a thief[14] , like I was stealing both of you from her and I just… my heart cracked. I never thought...”

The words dripped from her mouth as she confessed her feelings to him. Ever since she’d heard about Roland’s prayers she hadn’t been able to get that moment out of her head. She wondered if the reason he prayed to Marian was because of that night. Perhaps he was reaching out to the mother he lost because he thought it was his only way to have a maternal relationship.

“Oh, Regina,” whispered Robin, bringing a hand to her cheek. “You said… exactly the right thing to him.”

“Really?” she asks, her eyes still shining with tears.

“Yes,” he assures her nodding his head. He pulls her closer into his side. “I love you. And I love our family. It’s more than I could’ve dreamed of and I can’t wait to make it official to the world. But as beautiful as our family is I don’t think we can erase the fact that in order to get here we’ve had to lose people that we loved and so did our boys.”

Daniel and Marian.

Their names run through her head and sadness trickles into her heart. As happy as she was with Robin she’d never want to erase either of them from her past.

“You didn’t want Roland to forget Marian any more than I want Henry to forget Daniel,” he said. “The fact that you want to honor that makes me love you all the more for it.”

Relief runs through her at his words and she sinks into his side. “Thank you,” she mumbles. “And despite my tears on the matter I think Roland’s prayers are a good thing.”

“You do?”

She nods, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Robin, I used to think that he’d never have a relationship with her because she was gone but maybe this is his way of having one. A way for him to keep her close and form a bond. Something of her that’s all his and no one else’s.”

It was nice thought but it wasn’t enough to quell his concerns.

“But what if…”

“What if what?”

“What if something doesn’t work out?” he says. “What if those baby ducks actually do get run over? Or something else he prays for doesn’t work out for him? What if… what if he stops believing in her?”

“He won’t,” she says, her voice solid with certainty. “We won’t let him. And neither would she.”

She looks up at him. “Robin for most of my life I never had faith in anything. No one ever taught me how to. But I do have faith in Marian. I believe that she is watching over him. I know it in my soul. Don’t you?”

Robin sighs. Honestly speaking he’d never considered himself a man of faith. At a young age he’d discovered that his own prayers tended to go unheeded and if you asked him what he believed in he couldn’t give you a straight answer but still he hadn’t forgotten that stormy night. The dream he’d had and how she’d come to him, letting him know that it was time to let go. It hadn’t been his mind or his imagination. He knew it. He couldn’t explain it but he knew it. It’d been Marian. That much he was sure of.

“I do,” he answers.

“Then how could you ever think that she’d let him down,” says Regina.

Robin remains silent.

“If it turns out to be a problem, then we’ll worry,” she promises. “But for right now, I think it’s best we let him have this.”

“Okay,” agrees Robin with a nod of his head. “For now.”

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

Alone in his room Roland couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in bed with too much on his mind. Finally when he could stand it anymore he ripped off his covers and kneeled on the floor in his SpongeBob pajamas, folding his hands over his mattress for the second time that night.

“Dear Mama,” he whispered into his hands, “I can’t sleep because I need to talk to you.”

He pauses before continuing. “I want to talk because I kept a secret and I’m afraid you won’t like it.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to gather his courage. “My secret is… that sometimes I really wish that Regina could be my mama. I know she told me that you’re still my mama even when you’re in heaven but… sometimes I want a mama that’s down here.”

He pauses for a moment, afraid that he’s hurt his mama’s feelings.

“Regina said that you’re the only mama that I can have but I have a friend at school. His name is Andrew and he has two mamas. He says that he calls one of them Mama and the one them Mom. So… would it be alright if I kept you as my mama but asked Regina to be my mom? If I asked her... would you be mad at me?”

He waits, listening to the silence in his room for some sign of her but there’s nothing. So he tries again.

“If I asked her… would you be happy?”

He goes silent, listening for her but he doesn’t hear anything. Instead he feels something spread through his heart. Warm and happy, it almost feels like a hug. He smiles into the darkness, knowing that it’s her.

“Thank you, Mama,” he whispers.

#oq ff #regina mills #robin hood #dimples queen #roland hood #maiden dimples #maiden queen #hood-mills family #outlawmaiden #maid marian #mother's day

49 notes · View notes

calpatine · 7 years ago

Text

Accidentally in Love

A Comedy of Errors in Exothermic Reactions

Pairing: Cullen/f!Trevelyan Rating: SFW this chapter, but warnings for a liberal application of swear words. Summary: Modern AU, inspired by too much Real Genius and too many romcoms. Evelyn Trevelyan, a PhD candidate and all-around science nerd, meets Cullen Rutherford, a civil engineering major on the GI Bill, when he shows up for her tutoring session. If Evie didn't have bad luck, she'd have no luck at all. Notes: So the reason why I do not write fic is because fic is HARD and I am LAZY. But I do get things done eventually! Thanks for sticking around, I appreciate it. Chapter artwork here by the incomparable @feylen, who is an infinite delight.

(Previous Chapter) (AO3)

Chapter 2: Good to Be Alive (Hallelujah)

Evelyn had made it halfway through her first lecture Friday morning before she had the horrified realization that while she'd given Cullen her number, she'd completely neglected to ask for his -- and that was, of course, a complete catastrophe. At the break, she immediately pushed her way into the hallway and called Varric.

He picked up right before it went to voicemail. "God's balls, do you know what time it is?"

Unfortunately for him, she had no time for any whining that wasn't hers. "Varric, you have to help me."

"Are you literally on fire?" She heard a rustling noise that may or may not have been Varric making rude gestures at the phone. "Because unless you are literally on fire, I don't have to do anything at eight thirty in the fucking morning." She was almost positive he was indeed making rude gestures at the phone.

She tapped her fingers on the railing in front of her. "You have Cullen's number, right? Of course you have Cullen's number. You have everyone's number. You have to give it to me."

"Well, princess, I believe you will find that to be false."

"Wait, what?" Evelyn pulled the phone away from her ear long enough to stare at the display and make sure she hadn't called someone else by mistake because surely the real Varric would never let her down like this. "Why not?"

"He has your number, right?"

"Yeah?"

"And you're doing dinner tomorrow?"

"Yeah." She switched ears, flipping the phone around just to have something to do with her hands, and heard him sigh.

"That means if I give you his number now, you will spend the next thirty hours sending him increasingly unhinged and ridiculous texts while you try to psych yourself out of hooking up with a dude who seems nice and would probably be pretty good for you."

Evelyn was quiet for a moment and let that sink in. "Not all thirty," she finally said. "I'd sleep somewhere in there."

"Princess. Breathe. Calm the hell down. Don't you have lab today? Go to lab, forget about this for now."

The sheer sterility of the hallway mocked her with a blank canvas of everything that could possibly go wrong. "But what if --"

"No. Stop. Go bang some atoms together, and maybe if you ask really nicely someone tall, blond, and curly will bang your atoms together later on."

"Varric!" She burst into laughter so sudden and unexpected that a passerby was startled into asking if she was all right and had to be shooed away. "That's horrible!"

"There, see? Isn't that much better?"

"Actually yes, yes it is," Evelyn said after a moment, pleased to discover that this was totally true. She still wanted that number, but she felt much less like a raving freak about it. "You're a good friend, Varric."

"It's my job to save you from yourself, princess. Now go do your thing and do not ever, ever call me before ten o'clock ever again."

She couldn't resist a final jab. "What if I'm literally on fire?"

"Unless you're literally on fire."

"Thanks, man. Love you."

"Back atcha, princess."

Evelyn swiped the call off and slid the phone back into her pocket, then did her best to make it to the lab without worrying about big brown eyes and how catastrophically poorly their dinner date could possibly go. She'd already done everything but spill something directly on him, so surely that was the worst possible thing that could happen and since that wasn't entirely that bad, she could totally stop worrying.

That logic was actually successful for quite some time, even through her lab work, dinner, and an evening curled up with a draft of her dissertation notes. It took some personal convincing to not needle Varric again the next morning, but she buried herself in work even though it would totally have been worth it to call him at eight again. In fact, she was focused enough on her research that when the default message chime on her phone went off around lunchtime she was startled into frowning at the unknown number. Evelyn had carefully selected different chimes for every member of her social circle so default usually meant random solicitation, but when she swiped the phone on she had to stare at the text for a few moments.

H = E + p V

If that was an ad, it was the strangest one she'd ever seen. In fact, it looked less like some kind of scam and more like the formula for enthalpy, and why some unknown number would be texting her thermodynamic functions --

Her train of thought fragmented into a bubbling, delighted laugh, and she immediately added the new contact and thumbed out a reply.thrmodymnics! obvs thinkin of me :D

It was some time before a reply buzzed back, but when she read the message she understood why. Working on coursework on break, was reading through your notes and wanted to say hello. I'm really looking forward to seeing you tonight. Absolutely perfect spelling and grammar in a text message, and she'd seen his phone; that thing was a flip phone, for god's sake, so ancient it didn't even have a real keyboard and probably took him a million years to type on it. It was a little thing, but definitely flattering.

Also, he was looking forward to seeing her again, which was more than just flattering. me 2! hahahahahahaaah varic can suck it :D :D she sent back. Limiting herself to only two emoticons was a triumph of will, but Evelyn still stared hard at her phone for what seemed like forever to resist the urge to send even more.

The cheerful Cullen-assigned chime rang again just before Evelyn was about to snap and send a series of smileyfaces of varying hues and expressions just to break the tension. Sorry, I have to go back to work. Is it still good for me to come by around seven?

def look 4wrd 2 it she sent back, and then immediately set her phone aside before she could go off on one of the unhinged tangents Varric warned her against. She eyed the clock; seven meant she had time to change her clothes at least four times and do her makeup twice. It was always best to approach second-guessing one's self logically and with decent limits.

That was where her roommate found her at t-minus fifteen minutes amidst the wreckage of her closet. "Holy mighty fuck, have we been robbed?"

"No," Evelyn said miserably. "I have a date."

Sera's eyes narrowed. "You look like shite. Do I gotta stab somebody or something to get you out of it?"

Evelyn shook her head. "No! No, it's not that. It's just... I couldn't decide where to make reservations for, and then I thought maybe dropping right into a place that needed reservations wasn't the best idea for a first date even though you know how I feel about candles and wine." She shrugged, a weak flick of a movement that echoed her utter defeat. "But without knowing where I was taking him I couldn't get dressed, and then I ripped up my closet thinking I'd find something and that would decide me on dinner, and now I'm babbling in my underwear and he will be here any minute and my life is endless tragedy."

"Just go down there with your tits hanging out and you'll have him eating out of your hand, yeah?" For Sera, the world was very simple. Evelyn, however, responded with an affected side-eye that had Sera throwing up her hands in disgust. "Oh, for fuck's sake." She waded through the pile of clothing detritus and flung her choices into Evelyn's lap. "These jeans make your arse look amazing; keep the top three buttons on the shirt open for some acceptable tit action. Order in some decent pizza, mainline Netflix, and light your own fucking candles. God, Evie."

Evelyn's sense of relief was a physical thing. "Oh my god, you're brilliant."

Sera just rolled her eyes and skipped down the stairs to her basement apartment, muttering under her breath about smart people with no goddamned sense.

A quick shimmy into the directed jeans, some eyeliner, and a call to Fino's for an extra-large pepperoni later, the doorbell rang and the only thing that saved Evelyn from skidding around the corner and into the wall in her haste was actually having remembered to fasten the straps on her shoes. She swung the door open a little too forcefully, still in the process of catching her breath, and almost sagged against the jam. "Hey," she said, trying for exaggerated calm.

Cullen had brought flowers. He was in a tie, again, and carrying flowers, a bouquet of daffodils and carnations. "Hi," he said with that quirked half-smile that made her breath catch, and she giggled like an over-shy idiot before covering her mouth to try and keep it together as he held the flowers out to her. "Thanks for not screaming this time."

Evelyn took the flowers and held the door open, gesturing for him to come in. "These are beautiful. You're not going to let me live that one down, are you?"

"Would you, if you were me?" He grinned at her, flashing a dimple and, to Evelyn's mind, playing dirty. "It was pretty memorable."

She made a disappointed noise as she wandered into the kitchen, Cullen following behind like a particularly tall and well-built duckling as she stretched on tiptoes to get a vase off the top shelf. "'Memorable' is not precisely what a girl dreams a cute boy is going to call her, you know."

Cullen reached over her shoulder and pulled it down easily, presenting it with a flourish. "You surely don't prefer forgettable? But I could come up with an entire host of adjectives if you'd like." She looked up and could have sworn that he was blushing, and he was definitely doing that thing with his hair again. "I've been thinking about it. A little. Maybe. Just these past couple of days or so."

"I'm terrible with adjectives, so you can help me out over dinner." Evelyn carried the vase, now festooned with flowers, out to the dining table and placed it carefully and precisely in the center alongside a steaming pizza box. "And I hope you are cool with Fino's pepperoni because as of twenty minutes ago I didn't even have pants on."

"Fino's delivers? That's amazing! I will never buy groceries again. And you know, I'm going to keep talking about how amazing Fino's is because it is much too soon for me to think about you not wearing pants." It was definite: Cullen was blushing, and as Evelyn turned to lay out plates on the table she saw his eyes keep snapping away from her to stare fixedly at the ceiling. Well, at least Sera had been right about the jeans.

"They don't actually deliver," Evelyn said with a grin. "But I just give them Varric's name and they fall all over themselves. It's amazing. I make a damn fine pizza, but I only just came up with this idea and that isn't enough time for the dough to rise. Have a seat."

Cullen slid into the same chair he'd claimed for poker night, and Evelyn fetched Varric's shiraz bribe and a pair of glasses. When she started to pour, he shook his head. "Oh, no thank you. I don't drink."

She stared for a minute and then very slowly slid both glasses in front of her own plate. "Don't you work in a bar?"

"I work at the door, not behind the actual bar." He cleared his throat and helped himself to pizza. "For what it's worth, that's only one job. I also do some training at the gym on campus and volunteer at the VA twice a week alongside the monthly reservist duties."

"The VA? You're a vet?"

He grinned at her, nothing more than a quirk of that scarred lip, and Evelyn felt her stomach drop. "Really? That's the part you focus on?"

Evelyn saluted him with her wine glass. "I need to think about your biceps probably much the same way you need to think about my pants. The vet thing is way safer, trust me."

With a smiling nod, he conceded her point. "I joined the army right out of high school, and did three tours in Afghanistan."

Well, that answered one of Evelyn's mathematical puzzles. "And that's why you're not a teeny little freshman in Chem 101."

"That's why I'm not a teeny little freshman in Chem 101." He shrugged. "Well, I was never really teeny, even when I was little."

"Three tours, though?" She cocked her head a little, looking him over. "Jesus."

Cullen shrugged. "It was always something I wanted to do, even as a kid. Protecting people, serving the country -- it was a dream. And I kept going back because I still believed in that, even when it didn't turn out the way I expected." he kept his eyes down on his plate, only occasionally flicking his gaze up over her head, past her shoulder -- anywhere but her face. "What about you?"

Evelyn allowed the subject change because even she knew better than to pry at something so obviously uncomfortable on a first date. "Oh, I blew up part of the cellar when I was six and I haven't been out of the interesting classes in school since," she said with an airy wave, like massive explosions were no big deal. "Eventually I'll finish up my dissertation and have to decide what I want to be when I grow up, but until then chemistry tutoring is serving me pretty well."

They continued on in that vein through dinner, covering all the bases of small talk: he was in Civil Engineering, and she was in Theoretical Physics; they both had three siblings, though she had two brothers and him two sisters; his family still enjoyed tangible physical correspondence and sent letters once a week, and she had her mother's ringtone set to the Imperial March.

Cullen threw back his head and laughed, that dimple flashing again and the briefly uncomfortable moment was long gone like it'd never been. "Oh come on, she can't be that bad."

Evelyn made a face, turning down the corners of her mouth. "I'm not saying Talky Tina would trip her down the stairs or anything, but even Varric is scared of her."

He froze, and for a nanosecond she was afraid she'd said something inadvertently horrible. "Evie, did you just make a Twilight Zone reference?"

Her jaw dropped. "Did you just get my Twilight Zone reference?"

"Of course! Living Doll, Telly Savalas." His grin was boyish and infectious, and Evelyn thought it was so glorious the only thing missing was its own swellingly triumphant musical score. "Man, I haven't seen those since they were airing them on PBS when I was a kid."

Oh, there was no way Evelyn was going to let that go, not when Netflix was available. "You're kidding. Come on, get your pizza, we're moving this to the living room and we are going to get our Rod Serling on." Evelyn exchanged her bottle of shiraz for two bottles of water and the living room remote, and they settled on the couch side-by-side to start up their old-school marathon. "Time Enough At Last is my favorite," she murmured as though imparting some profound and precious secret.

"Time Enough At Last is everyone's favorite," Cullen said, laughing, and she chucked him in the shoulder.

Hours flew by as they bonded over 1960s visions of the future, taking turns pointing out unrecognizably young actors in early roles and swapping childhood PBS memories. They had gradually shifted closer over the evening until their thighs were pressed together and every nerve ending on that side of Evelyn's body felt like they were on overdrive.

He had a way of looking directly at her while they were talking as though even the most inconsequential bullshit was interesting and important and the feeling of his regard was a weighty thing that felt not unlike a liquor buzz. It was so easy to meet his eyes and drown in that unfairly long-lashed gaze that she didn't even realize she'd been staring at him until he broke off mid-sentence to furrow his eyebrows at her. "What?"

Evelyn wanted desperately to play this cool. Her coolness was vital and paramount because Varric had an actual literal notebook of all of the ways her coolness had inevitably failed her in past relationships and this was too awesome to fuck up. Unfortunately, her small mental voice of social self-preservation was entirely silent, and so what came out of her mouth was the complete and unvarnished truth: "I would really like to kiss you right now."

Cullen's grin made her blood pound, holding as it did equal parts relief and trepidation. "Oh, thank god." Then his hand slid to the back of her neck, tangled in her hair, and pulled her close for a kiss that fuzzed out every last neuron.

Evelyn wasn't entirely sure when, exactly, she'd made the move to straddle his lap on the sofa, her hips bracketing his and kisses progressing to moaned featherings along his jaw; nor, really was she entirely aware of when she'd started unbuttoning her shirt, with his broad hands on her waist and thumbs stroking the bared skin over her hipbones, though it was probably about the same time his tie had come loose. She was, however, completely aware of when everything came to a screeching halt: when her roommate decided to surface from the depths of her studio and declare, brightly, "Well thank fuck you wore the pretty bra."

She and Cullen jumped apart like guilty teenagers, his sharp move to the right tangling up with hers to the left and sending her sliding gracelessly to the floor. "My god, are you all right?" He reached down for her, expression utterly mortified and the tips of his ears singed red. With an aborted laugh that he shifted to a throat clearing, he gave her hand a gentle tug. "So, uh, you have a roommate?"

Evelyn held her shirt closed with one hand and pulled herself up with the other, eyes screwed tightly shut. "Is she gone?" she stage-whispered. "Yes, I have a roommate, because I am a sucker who hates living alone. Tell me she's gone, or this is a horrible nightmare that I will wake up from at any second." She cracked one eye open and grinned at him. "Well. Not the kissing part. That was more dreamy than nightmarey."

"I'm in the kitchen and I'm seeing nothing," Sera sang back with a brassy cackle and a clatter of glassware. "And now I am leaving, so you can go back to slobbering!"

Cullen glanced at the clock over the television and ruffled his hand through his hair with a sigh, embarrassed amusement still stark on his face. "I don't mean to compromise your dignity and flee the scene of our crime, but I do have to be at work in four hours."

Evelyn rebuttoned her shirt with still-fumbly fingers, not even caring that the right side was jumped up a buttonhole. "You're fine. My dignity fled years ago, just ask Varric." She paused, reached for his hand, and gave it a squeeze. "Or, actually, don't. Let me keep some of my mystique."

They walked down the hallway to the foyer hand in hand, and it was interesting to feel comfortable, safe, and also like her blood was on fire. She didn't want to open the door, but couldn't think of a respectable way to suggest he stay, preferably in her bedroom and preferably with that tie on the floor or employed in a vastly more interesting way. "Cullen," Evelyn started hesitantly. "This is going to sound a little strange, but do you own a tuxedo?"

He was quiet for a long minute. "Something like. Why?"

Evelyn tightened her grip on his hand for a moment, then released it. "I need you to be my date at a wedding, but it's white tie and it's also total bullshit."

"Of course," Cullen said immediately, not even batting an eye at her claim of bullshit. "When?"

"Um." She winced. "Next weekend?"

"Are you serious?" he asked, staring at her with raised eyebrows.

"Deadly," Evelyn said, and couldn't keep every hint of dread out of her voice. "Varric already refused to go with me. I can't go alone or my mother will try and hook me up with someone and I am the most not interested in that."

Cullen cleared his throat and looked away for a moment, running a hand sheepishly through his mussed hair. "To be honest I find I'm not really interested in that either. Who's getting married?"

"My elder sister," she said, so pleased by even the most minor strains of reciprocal jealousy that she had to firmly hold the reins of her id before it did something stupid like ask him if he liked her liked her.

Cullen frowned, and Evelyn had another second to mentally catalog the differences between their respective familial feelings. "And you're not in the wedding?"

"Oh good god, no." She shuddered, mouth curled in exaggerated distaste. Were Sera still upstairs, Evelyn probably would have made a gagging noise to go with it just to make her laugh. "There's a week of parties with twee little cucumber sandwiches and Great Aunt Muffy and second cousins in fancy hats and I couldn't spend that much time away from the lab, so they let me off the hook for the pre-wedding crap. Just ceremony and reception, next Saturday night."

"You don't seriously have a Great Aunt Muffy," he said with a laugh. "Evie, no one seriously has a Great Aunt Muffy."

She shook her head. "No, I totally, totally do, but she's a blue-haired terror and I can't talk about her or you'll say no. I know it's last-minute and you have eleven million jobs but please say you'll come. I will personally..." Evelyn broke off, wracking her brain for something she could do to make this work. "...Get Varric to bribe someone to cover your shifts," was the best she could come up with. His loosened tie and that little triangle of skin at his throat were completely melting her brain. "Or -- whatever you need. I can't face this without someone sane and excruciatingly handsome with me."

His eyebrows flew up again in time with his deepening dimple in a self-satisfied grin. "You know you just said that out loud."

"Of course I did. I'm desperate." Evelyn shrugged, and it was her turn to look sheepish. "Look, I'll be real: it's probably going to suck, and I'm sure it's technically too soon to subject you to my family at all, let alone my family in white tie, but I promise I will make it up to you."

Cullen reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, trailing his fingertips along her cheekbone with a tantalizing gentleness that made her shiver. "I'll call in some favors. All day Saturday?" When she nodded, he leaned down and kissed her forehead like a blessing. "Please believe me when I say I am happy to spend any and all time with you."

She grabbed his tie and pulled him down for a searing kiss that might as well have made time stop entirely, and when they finally broke apart they were both having trouble catching their breath. "I had a really nice time tonight, Cullen," Evelyn said with a quiet earnestness that right before that exact moment she was pretty sure she didn't even possess. "Thank you for coming." A split-second after the words left her mouth she froze and tripped over her own tongue. "Over. Thank you for coming over. To my house. For dinner."

When he laughed, his entire face lit up and Evelyn decided then and there that it would be one of her life's missions to flip that switch whenever she could. "I knew what you meant," he murmured, and kissed her lightly in a sweet goodbye. "I'll see you Thursday?"

"Yes, Thursday," Evelyn said. "I promise not to stalk you before then, but I will probably text you eighty billion times. You have my permission to ignore me, I've seen your phone."

Cullen grinned down at her and Evelyn fought the urge to preen like a cat. "I'll see what I can do. Sleep well, Evie."

Evelyn gave up trying to play it cool and blew him a kiss like a dork as he turned to wave at the end of her drive. Oh yeah, she was definitely going to sleep well, with the best dreams.

#Cullen Rutherford #Inquisitor Trevelyan #dragon age fanfiction #Cullen x Trevelyan #au: college #au: modern #Cal writes stuff

9 notes · View notes