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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: Safety In Numbers (SpicyHoneyMustard, lemon)

Summary: Red knows how to play the game. The only problem is, not everyone gets out unscathed.

Tags: SpicyHoneyMustard, Fontcest, Fellcest, Sibling Incest, Threesome, Background Kustard, Established Relationship, Possessive Behavior, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, LEMONY GOODNESS!!, Unhealthy Relationship, Unnamed Ship

Sequel to:

Showtime

Secret Garden

A Judicious Amount of Effort

Musically Inclined

Lest You Be Judged

Solo Act

Appealing To Better Judgment

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Refuge.

That was what Toriel named the protected Monster settlement that rose up at the base of the mountain, for all the Monsters who either couldn’t or wouldn’t live in Ebott.

Red supposed if there was nothing else, they could all thank her for sparing them from whatever dumb shit Ass-gore would’ve called it, like New New Home.

Despite all the treaties and negotiations, there were plenty of Monsters still living there. Some found that once they set their feet on the grass, they were about as far away from the mountain as they cared to get. Some were plain afraid to live out amongst the Humans. And a fair few simply weren’t allowed to leave, their little laminated ID cards didn’t grant them clearance through the front gate. Monsters with LV, Monsters with an appearance that might be considered disturbing. Any Monster likely to hit a ten on the Human freak-o-meter wasn’t allowed out not yet, anyway. Made sense, really. If they scared the shit out of the Humies by going too fast, they’d be lucky if they only ended up chased back beneath the mountain and not used as potting soil.

Try telling that to the dumbfucks, though. Red kept an ear hole close to the ground for any incoming gossip and from what was coming down the line it looked like the Assholes of Asgore were using it as a recruiting point. Red suspected that they didn’t have only have the interest of one or two disgruntled folks.

Anyone with half a lick of sense should see through their bullshit, but if Red was supposed to count on any of the dipshits he knew underground having common sense, he might as well shove a bone through his own soul now and spare anyone else the trouble of dusting him.

Their real goal was to start the bloody war Asgore promised them all and if they managed it, well, it was gonna be a pretty damn short one. Magic was handy dandy, all right, but the Humans kinda outnumbered them a million to one. Hell, while they’d been down below twiddling their thumbs, the Humans figured out their own version of magic, one that was a fuckton more explosive than anything Monsters had on tap. If Red was a betting man, and he was, thanks, he knew which odds he was putting down on.

Red looked out the tinted window of the car driving him through the newly paved streets of Refuge, watching the scenery pass by. Much as he hated being chauffeured around, these days he didn’t have a whole lot of choice. Back when he was training in the guard, there was still some opportunity to skulk around. Strip away his uniform and its delta rune crest, and he was only another Monster with a shitty attitude wandering into Grillby’s for a drink.

Being Chosen took away any chance he had of wandering around unnoticed. Even if Red slipped away from Rus, his face was too well-known now and probably rated a solid six on the Humies freak-o-meter.

If he thought the chucklefucks throwing themselves at Rus’s feet begging for blessings were annoying, it was a damn sight worse when they tried that shit on him. As if he had any say in the way the Universe trundled on down the road. He wasn’t the one second in the queue to chat with the Angel, thanks, and none of the Divine had seen fit to give him their direct line.

Shame Edge didn’t let him fuck with them; a few broken fingers and a bruise or two might give them all a little peace, but eh, his bro was a spoilsport that way. His own fault for leaving the kid on his own years ago while he skulked off to join the guard, instead of sticking around to teach him what’s what. Edge’s code of morals didn’t line up so much with Red’s anymore and wasn’t that a bitch.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and shook one out, ignoring the sour look the driver gave him in the rearview mirror. They didn’t say a peep, though, kept whatever words they wanted to say locked up tight behind their tusks. Being Chosen did have a few perks other than risking his life and getting to spend plenty of quality time communing with Rus’s pussy.

Red lit the cigarette with a harsh rasp of his lighter, took a long drag of smoke and breathed it out as he leaned his skull against the cool window glass, watching the blurred landscape. The streets were lined with cheaply made carbon-copy houses, but there wasn’t a whole lotta room to complain about that. The first few months most of ‘em spent huddled in patched-up tents given to them by the reluctant Human government, miserable in the spring rain and mud that tried to suck off your shoes with every step. Far as Red was concerned, all Monsters should be damned grateful for a house to call their own and if someone wanted their place shaped like a fucking fish, they were gonna have to wait their turn.

Yeah, lots of Monsters struggled when they hit sunshine, trying to wrap their minds around everything that happened. Red wasn’t one of them. He’d been Chosen only days after his boots hit the ground, but he’d spent some time out in the mudholes, searching out threats against his freshly appointed Judge. He’d learned a few useful tricks before putting on a uniform and they sure did come in handy from time to time.

These days, Red didn’t get out as much anymore. Maybe if Rus had more Chosen than only him and Edge, he could’ve kept up with it, but it hadn’t worked out that way. The kid needed him, all of him, and that was that.

Inconvenient, yeah, but probably just as well. Kept him from having to hold the lid down on his boiling need to shiv anyone who fucking dared touch what was his. He played nice enough when it came to all the unity mumbo jumbo bullshit, the Judge was an avatar of the Angel, the Judge belonged to the people, yeah, sure, he’d toe the party line.

But when it came to laying hands on his boy there was only one other Monster with the right. He was as much Red’s as Rus was and that’d be true until the day Red shivered to dust.

So, yeah, he couldn’t do the footwork himself anymore, eh, sucks to suck. Instead, he was forced to rely on other Monsters to keep him rolling in that sweet, sweet info. He’d vetted all of them himself, checked into every detail of their lives all the way back to the day they dropped from their mama’s cooch. Every single one of them was loyal as fuck to the Angel and as willing to spy on each other as they were anyone else, and that right there helped weed out most of the trouble. Wasn’t a perfect method, but it usually worked pretty well and let Red keep his fingers hooked into a few pies. That was, whenever he could pull 'em out of Rus's desserts.

Right now, all his people were working overtime, trying to dig up some dirt on how those fuckers managed to get into the cafeteria to take a pot shot at Rus. When they finally got something concrete, Red planned to deal with it personally, and if Rus ended up giving him a Judging look over it, he didn’t much give a shit. He was Chosen for the Judge, to protect them in every way possible and if the Angel was having second thoughts about it, She could stop by and deal with it herself.

None of that had shit to do with what he was up to today.

The house his car pulled up in front of was as unremarkable as the rest, a cookie-cutter copy with different curtains and a doormat. The driveway was empty but that didn’t mean shit. He already knew they were home, had to be, because they never damn well left.

“stay here,” Red ordered the driver. He nodded silently, sodium-yellow eyes meeting Red’s in the rear-view mirror. Red got out, hopping down to the ground from the high seat with a silent grumble. He took a last drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt into the gutter. Straightening his uniform shirt was an automatic to him these days as taking his next breath. Didn’t make Red hate the fucking thing any less and he forced his hands back down as he trudged up the walkway.

He didn’t knock on the front door. Instead, he went around to the back of the house where he already knew what he would find. A turn of the corner an expansive garden was spread out before him, filled with neat rows of greenery already creeping their way out of the rich dirt.

There was a garden in every backyard in Refuge, every one of ‘em planted at the Queen’s command. Part of her plan was making sure that eventually Monsters would be as self-sufficient as possible. Couldn’t depend on the Humies to keep them in clover forever and sure they had some tech deals getting hammered out, but if there was one truth all Monsters knew, it was that G wasn’t food.

True, it wasn’t a perfect plan; some of those mandatory gardens were pretty fucking sad, brown straggly plants that might cough up a tomato or two before they kacked it. This one, though, was pristine. Red didn’t care about growing shit that couldn’t be rolled up into a blunt and knew even less about it, but even he could see the way all the plants were evenly spaced and that there wasn’t a single weed growing anywhere. Not a stray piece of grass or a single thistle dared peek out of the soil in this garden.

A Monster was kneeling in one of the plots, dressed in overalls and a funny little straw hat, a wagon next to him heaped with tools and paper bags, a small pile weeds who ignored the warning signs.

Red didn’t actually know Blue real well. When Rus talked about Blue, it was always with a wealth of fondness in his soft voice, often whispering his memories in the darkness of their bedroom whenever insomnia haunted him.

Whatever sweetness Rus remember in Blue, it was long since eroded away, torn out of him, and whether it was being Chosen, his past Judgement, or Asgore who did it didn’t much matter to the outcome.

He was one of Sans’s early Chosen, back before Red even joined the guard and the few times he’d seen Blue were when he came to assemblies to watch the trainees before they were instated as full guards. Red remembered seeing him those days; dressed to the nines in his uniform, boots polished until a person could see their reflection in them from ten steps away, every crease straight, every button fastened. Seen him a few times from a distance, too, with Sans, always a nice, respectful two steps behind him and looking as if butter wouldn’t melt between his knees. Couldn’t even picture the bastard ever getting bent over a sofa getting fucked by a desperate Judge.

(Sans was more likely to flop back and take a fucking, way back when, all sly smiles and slick pussy, knees spread wide in invitation. Whatever becoming the Judge did to him must’ve given his preferences a good topsy-turvy, ‘cause gossip in the barracks warned all the guards to be prepared for spending plenty of time on their knees)

They’d talked a few more times since then and not a single one of those chats endeared Blue to Red any more than the first.

These days Blue was pretty fucking hard to look at. His skull looked like it’d been busted apart and put back together by hands that didn’t care if the puzzle pieces didn’t fit right, parts of the bone still discolored with char. The empty left sleeve of his shirt was pinned up neatly to his shoulder and the cane leaning against his little wagon wasn’t for show. He’d survived the coup, but not by much, the only one of Sans’s chosen who didn’t die along with him, and there was a memory that Red didn’t like to take out and play with too often.

His team came in far too late, after it was all over but the vacuuming. Breaking through the barred door and walking into the leftovers of a massacre, a mass Judging, no one who’d been in the throne room came out unscathed. Blue the only one still breathing right and Sans…yeah.

Probably a wonder Blue hadn’t offed himself yet.

All that aside, it was a shame that the stick in his pelvis didn’t get yanked out along with his arm. The eye light that lit his less damaged socket was blazing sharp, and he was struggling to his feet the second Red started walking across the yard, snatching up his cane and brandishing it like a sword.

“What are you doing out here?” Blue demanded loudly. He stormed out of his garden, tracking mud across the carefully shorn grass. “You should be with Rus, he needs to be protected!”

“well, hello to you, too,” Red drawled. He stuck his hands in his pockets carelessly, rocking on his heels. “kid is fine, edge is with him.”

Blue’s dismissive scoff raked across Red’s nerves like the tines of a fork on a cheese grater. “Oh, certainly, with Edge, that’s surely impenetrable protection! Edge wasn’t even a full guard when he was Chosen!”

"might be so, but edge is the one in charge these days. you think i want out there handling that shit?" Either Blue wasn’t keeping up with the times or he was just being a prick. Either was possible, but the fact of the matter was that in public, Edge was the boss. His word was law when it came to Rus and it had a lotta spillover onto Toriel. To insinuate that he wasn’t capable of protecting the Judge was an insult about the level of hocking a juicy loogie into Red’s face and if it was anyone else, Red wouldn’t be fussed about getting the dust out of his shoelaces before he headed home. Blue caught the barest hint of a break, for Rus, but he was already fucking pushing it. Still, Red kept his voice carelessly easy, “you sound kinda worried about your bro.”

Blue shed the glove on his remaining hand and pulled a tidy bandanna out of his back pocket, mopping at the sheen of sweat on his shattered skull. “I heard about the attack, of course. Everyone has.”

“yeah?” Red raised a brow bone, reluctantly interested. “hear any useful gossip about it?”

“If I had, you would already know about it,” Blue retorted. He sighed and gestured for Red to follow him, making his staggering way up to the back porch. It was surrounded by flowering bushes, heady perfume overwhelmingly filling the air while bees flee drunkenly from blossom to blossom. Sitting on a little patio table was a carafe of lemonade, lemon slices floating amongst the ice.

Blue poured two large glasses, pushing one over to Red. He took a long drink, the tartness blotting out the nauseatingly thick reek of the flowers.

Blue took a sip from his glass, ice cubes rattling, and he dabbed away the thin stream that ran out of his cracked jaw with the bandanna. “I don’t hear most of the gossip, I’m afraid, not anymore. I’m a failed guard, the neighbors don’t exactly stop by for visits and chats.”

“You didn’t fail at shit,” Red retorted sharply. Bullshit was all that was, all because Blue managed to not die.

Red wasn’t fond of Blue, but fuck, he’d had nine toes in the dustpan when they managed to tow him back into the land of the living. He’d fucking well tried and if anyone wanted to toss in their opinion on whether they thought Blue didn’t try hard enough, they were welcome to give Red’s fat one a good ol’ suck.

Blue only let out a humorless laugh. Once, his eye lights had been a starry yellow-blue, showcasing his traits. Patience and justice, pretty good draw for a Chosen companion to the Judge. The one eye light he still had was pale and colorless now, reminiscent of Rus’s, only Blue’s was dull, doughy-blank, showing none of Rus’s vibrancy. Hard to believe anymore that these two were even brothers.

Curious that Rus’s Choosing gave him a pair of brothers with a matching trait of Determination. Made a person wonder exactly why, but neither the Angel nor the Judge were telling.

The glass in Blue’s hand rattled against his trembling fingers, the bones still yellowed and scorched. “Tell that to Sans.”

“tell him yourself,” Red lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. The cunning little device in his pocket would’ve warned Red if there was any active listening devices around, but Red hadn’t survived as long as he had without harsh lessons in watching his mouth, “i told you before, i can get you up to our rooms, no one’d ever know.”

Blue’s mouth twisted disgustedly. The movement from his jaw pulled the gaping crack over his dead socket grotesquely wider as the first real emotion winking in and out of his eye light in a flash. "And I told you, there is a reason that former Chosen aren’t allowed near the new Judge,” Blue slammed down his glass, a wave of lemonade slopping over his damaged fingers. “There's no telling how he'd react if he saw me! If he recalled I was once Chosen, he might--ugh!” Blue hunched over with a shudder of revulsion, “It's bad enough that you and your brother are servicing him."

“you questioning the judge’s choice?” Red said coolly, just this side of waspish. He didn't really give a good shit what Blue thought of it, especially considering Red’s reasons for being here to begin with, but he did wonder what Blue would think if he knew Sans popped out for a recent visit. Whispered a coupla sweet nothings while he jammed Rus’s prick East bejesus up Red’s cunt. The memory made a slick of wetness form at Red’s crotch and he shoved the memory back. Not the time and he stuffed that little reminiscence back where the one of his brother’s cock in his mouth lived, the knowledge of how it felt, soft and slick with his own come and Rus’s, carefully tucked into the furthest corner of his mind.

That tart question struck the dartboard in a bullseye. Blue faltered like he’d been jabbed right in the tailbone, sputtering out, “No, of course not, but—" He recovered, straightening his spine and that cool soldier’s expression dropped over his face, the stick in his ass jammed straight. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is the damage it could cause my brother to see me, so you can stop asking, the answer is no, it’ll always be no.”

“whatever you say,” Red shrugged, ‘cause he didn’t care, not really. Except for how desperately Rus wanted to see his fucking brother, just once, one last time. The brother he’d missed out saying goodbye to between Blue’s unconsciousness and him being Chosen. Any other Judge at least got a chance to say fare thee well and the fact that Rus lost the opportunity was just one more bar in Rus’s prison, caged in, body and soul.

Blue’s answer was about what he’d expected though, and that was fine. Another useless attempt to get him to the Embassy wasn’t Red’s real reason for coming.

“not really here about you anyway, pipsqueak,” Red said, letting the words fall lightly. “i heard papyrus is staying here with you these days.”

That little tidbit of gossip came through the vine in the wee hours last night, Red checking his phone with Rus sleeping peacefully beside him, Edge on the far side. He’d spent the rest of the night lying awake, cold fury thrumming in his soul and that was the real reason Red came all the fucking way out here for a little face to face chat. “shacking up with sans’s little brother, huh, that sure must be something.”

Papyrus was only a kid when Sans was chosen as Judge, still in striped shirts and missing his two front teeth. Biggest difference between him and Edge was the Crown gave a stipend to the families of Chosen to make up for the loss of income. Papyrus probably never had a hungry day in his life and certainly not after Sans put on the robes. His bro never had to worry if the shit wage he was earning in the guard was gonna be enough to keep a roof over his kid brother’s head or keep him in clothes when he started growing like a weed. Sans didn’t have to set aside enough for a bribe to make sure that whatever G he made actually found its way to his brother and didn’t end up lining the pocket of some greedy deliveryman.

None of that was Papyrus’s fault and sucking on a silver teat didn’t make him miss his brother any less. Kid tried the join the guard a few times and always washed out, only got to try more than once because of who his brother was. Red wondered morbidly what Blue’s stuck up, sanctimonious ass would’ve thought if Papyrus had gotten into the guard and Sans Chose him.

Now it was looking like that stick in Blue’s ass didn’t keep him from inviting Papyrus between the sheets.

Whatever color was in Blue’s skull leached away, the bone dulling to chalky white, and taking with it any hope that Blue wasn’t using that kid as a dim replacement. His gaze skittered away, hunted, skipping around the yard, looking for fuck knew what. For Sans to step out of the void with shrieking admonishments, for a stray bolt of lightning to finally strike him down and send Blue after those who went before him. There was nothing, only Red standing here holding half a glass of decent lemonade in the sunshine so many died to get.

There was nowhere else for that look to go, no escape, and finally Blue reluctantly looked at Red again. He said, raw and stiffly, “There’s nothing against the code about that.”

“no, there ain’t,” Red agreed, softly. He only met Blue’s solitary eye light evenly. Red couldn’t see into Blue’s soul but he fucking well hoped Blue felt his sins crawling their leisurely way up his spine.

Red set his lemonade down carefully before he gave into the urge to toss it glass and all right into Blue’s broken face. He turned away and started back around the house, barely off the patio when Blue called his name.

“Red?” Blue struggled for words finally asked, plaintively. “Is he happy?”

Almost Red wanted to tell Blue that they kept Rus well fucked. That his little bro looked good stuffed with cock on both ends, that he sucked dick with the expertise of a thousand G whore.

But he wasn’t about to talk about Rus like that, not even to get one up on his shitheel brother. “i like to think so. he’s a real sweetheart.”

Red made no mention of the almost desperate adoration that rose up in his soul that came from only thinking about Rus. That wasn’t for sharing time.

“Yes,” Blue said. His hoarse voice was low, subdued, “he always was. take good care of him?”

Better than you could, Red did not say. “want me to give him a message or anything?”

Blue’s melancholy faded and he shook his head immediately, "Judges are forbidden from any contact by a former Chosen or family, and I’m both. You know this.” He sounded like he was reading straight from the guard manual.

If Rus hadn’t been Chosen, he’d be here right now taking care of his piece of shit brother. Standing back helplessly while Blue fucked the old Judge’s kid brother and pretended he was someone else, and Red was a selfish enough bastard to be glad he wasn’t. “you’re right, i do. so is there?”

Blue only lifted his chin and it was a damn good thing he wasn’t a Judge, because his single eye light was loaded with resentful judgement. “No. There’s nothing I could tell him that he wouldn’t already know.”

Yeah, just as well Rus was Chosen. Blue didn’t fucking deserve to have his brother here with him.

Wasn’t a fucking thing Red could do about Papyrus; he was out of stripes and kid was gonna have to make his own bad decisions and what was Red gonna do about it anyway? Take him back home like a stray puppy he found on the streets? Tell him that he didn’t have to settle for Sans’s leftovers, remind him that it wasn’t Sans’s idea to leave any of them? That he didn’t need to live here, the two of them burying themselves into a dusty tomb that Sans wasn’t even in.

He wondered what Papyrus was getting out of it. If he was closing his sockets and played his own version of pretend.

He wondered why he even cared. Why had he come out here to Refuge, really?

“tell paps i said hi,” Red said finally, “ain’t nothing against that in the code, either.”

“I will.”

Red turned on his heel and headed back to the car before he said something he wouldn’t regret, but would hurt Rus if he ever heard about it. He lit a cigarette before they’d even pulled away from the curb and by the time they got back to the Embassy, he’d smoked his way through the entire pack.

~~*~~

When Red got back to their quarters, he was too fucking tired for the early hour of the day and faintly nauseous from too much nicotine. He closed the door carefully behind him, resetting all the alarms. His joints ached like all his frustrations seeped out of his soul and settled into them.

In their living area, Rus and Edge were sitting on opposite sofas, playing some kind of stupid card game. Rus was choosing to stay home for a few days, barring a Judgement, and that was the only reason Red felt comfortable enough to leave the two of them alone, anyway.

Kid didn’t want to endanger anyone else, perfectly reasonable response to what happened, but they couldn’t hide away in here forever. Rus needed fresh air and sunshine. He needed his meditation gardens, not the weedy looking herbs Edge grew on the narrow windowsill for his cooking.

That meant Red needed to go over the intel his contacts were sending along. Search for reoccurring names, patterns, anything that’d lead him to the end of this snake so he could chop off the head.

Needed to, yeah, but it’d have to wait. Right now, his head wasn’t exactly in the game. He’d left too much of his mind behind in Refuge, turning that chat over and over, trying to find a chink, a solution that didn’t exist.

Probably better to get settled so he didn’t miss a trick, yeah, that was the ticket. All Red wanted right now was some manufactured forgetfulness and he wanted to get started making it right now.

“welcome back,” Rus called cheerily. He only glanced at Red, pale eye lights filled with warm greeting, before turning back to the cards in his hand with a little frown.

That gave Red a chance to discreetly run a mental inventory of his honey. Rus was looking good today. There was some color back into his bones, his pristine skull glossy with health. His magic was leveling out to its normal slower upward trickle. Hell, at a glance he was damn right perky, and that made it hard not to appreciate how fucking pretty he was. His long robes were discarded in favor of a pair of soft, loose pants and a t-shirt to match, bare feet tucked under his knees and a hint of his clavicles peeking tantalizingly over the neckline, begging for a mouth to give ‘em a taste.

Just seeing Rus like that leached some of the aching tension out of Red’s soul, trading it out for relief.

It was tempting to step up right then, but Red hung back, waiting for them to finish their game. When Rus wasn't giving Judgments, what he was mostly was bored. There was only so much meditating and bonding with the spirits or whatever the shit that anyone could do. Protecting the Judge was the focus of their job, the most important thing, but it wasn’t the only one. The other part of their bit was plain taking care of Rus and that included entertainment.

Sex might be an easy way to knock out two birds with one dick, but it couldn’t be the only thing.

Their living room was lined with shelves filled to the brim with books and blu-rays, video game consoles and board games, anything to help Rus pass the day and hopefully forget that the sunshine his brother nearly died to get for their people couldn’t really be his.

“What were you off doing anyway?” Rus asked absently. His attention was mostly on the game, sockets narrowed, and across from him, Edge only waited patiently, the slightest hint of a smirk curving his mouth. Rus didn’t seem too worried about Red taking a field trip, it did happen from time to time.

His brother was probably less than pleased that Red took off without a word as to where he was going other than a hastily scrawled note of ‘back soon’, but eh, Red could take that medicine when he had to.

There was a split-second choice to be made here, whether to tell Rus the truth of where he’d gone or not. With only a couple words, Red could make sure Rus never wanted to see his brother again…and taint every past memory he clung to in the process. Almost did it anyway; Red was an old hand at cleaning up all kinds of messes, he could handle one more. The only thing that held his tongue was thinking of Rus’s grief, the choking tears streaming down his pretty face, and his memory of his brother would end up just one more thing he’d lost.

Only this time it would be Red doing the taking.

Fuck it, if the Angel wanted Rus to know about it, She could do the dirty work.

“nothing important, darlin’,” Red said smoothly, and that was true enough.

Rus didn’t notice anything amiss, but Edge gave him a narrow, suspicious look. Eh, he’d catch his bro up on things soon enough. Now wasn’t the time. For once, Edge wasn’t buttoned from his clavicles to his toes in his uniform, instead dressed in soft pants and a sweatshirt that was a hair too tight, probably from Rus’s side of the closet. Probably meant they’d spent some cuddle time on the sofa before starting up on the game or at least Red hoped so. He might watch the cameras later. Just to make sure.

His wandering thoughts were coagulating, coming back together in his skull and Red was already wondering what kind of distraction he could come up with to tug their attention from the cards when he heard it. Faintly, the familiar, hollow sound of a constant buzzing against bone.

Well, now, this was getting interesting, now wasn’t it.

“care to fill me in on the rules to this game?” Red drawled. He leaned against the sofa arm and treated himself to a more in-depth perusal of them both. Nothing unusual leapt out at him, not yet.

“it’s pretty simple,” Rus said. His cards were fanned out messily in his slim hands, a disorderly array of suits. “whoever loses a round has to wear a vibrator in the next round. winner gets to put the vibrator wherever they want.”

Huh. Rus sounded a little more disgruntled than that called for. Kid was an ace at counting cards, it was a little surprising he’d even persuaded Edge to play. “sounds fun.”

“i thought so too,” Rus said, shooting Edge a sulky look. “only edge doesn’t even work up a sweat, no matter where i put it. i’ve tried it behind his sternum, his sacrum, pubic arch. i'm about ready to toss it into his eye socket and let it rattle around in his skull for a while, see if that shakes him up.”

Edge laid the queen of spades on top of the card pile and said placidly, “My apologies for my self-control being so boring.”

Boring, huh. Red looked his brother up and down calculatingly. The little details were there if a person knew how to look. Eye lights barely hazed, the slightest hitch to his too-even breathing. He was a little worked up, but Rus wasn't lying, he still looked like an ice cube wouldn't melt in his shorts.

Meanwhile, Rus was pouting unhappily, his pretty smile turned upside down, and that just couldn’t be allowed, now could it. An idea perked up in the back of Red’s mind, ripe with possibilities, and Rus would go for it no question. Whether Edge would was dependent on how happy he wanted to make Rus, which usually fell under ‘a lot’. The odds were good, and Red never shied from a good bet.

Red leaned in and settled a wandering hand on Rus’s knee, sliding lightly up his inner thigh and snagging his attention. "how about we play another kind of game, honey."

Rus immediately looked wary, but Red wasn't offended. Couldn't blame him; Rus'd played Red’s games before, good on him for taking the lesson to heart.

"what game?" Rus asked suspiciously.

"Doesn’t anyone want to know if I want to play a new game?" Edge asked no one in particular. They ignored him.

Red rose up on his toes and laid a soft kiss on Rus’s mouth, lingering a little too long over that sweetness before he reluctantly drew back. “lemme get changed first then we'll talk. you go on ahead and finish that round.”

He strolled off, whistling cheerfully. The day was already looking up.

In their shared bedroom Red stripped out of his uniform, carelessly dropping it to the floor for Edge to bitch over later. A pair of well-worn shorts and a t-shirt was a decent match to the wardrobe choices of two brats out there, and made for easier access and cleanup. Ready Freddy, except for one thing.

Red knelt down and dug out a small box hidden underneath their bed, grabbed a little something that might come in handy right soon. He tucked it into his pocket, shoving it deep enough not to arouse (heh) suspicions.

Edge was picking up the cards when Red came back out, tucking them back into the box. The previously unseen vibrator was sitting innocently on the coffee table as if Red couldn’t see the faint traces of crimson that’d been hastily wiped away.

Red crawled up on the sofa next to Rus and held out an arm, pretended that his soul didn’t give a solid throb as Rus immediately snuggled in against him happily. The kid rolled over on his back, his skull in Red’s lap, looking up at him with bright curiosity in those pale eye lights as he said, “c’mon, red, tell me!”

That pout was back and Red took a moment to lean down and quickly kiss it away, allowing only a brief flicker of their tongues together before he pulled back. He stroked the smooth bone of Rus’s forehead lightly, soothingly, “all right, honey love, here’s the game. you got five minutes to get edge to come, however you can. if you don’t get it done in the allotted time, i get five minutes to make him come. winner gets the prize.”

As he’d guessed, Rus’s eye lights immediately blew wide, briefly tinging golden in an abrupt surge of desire. It faded quick enough, Rus struggling to hold it back, but the cat was out of the bag now, wasn’t it.

Across the way, Edge barely stifled a sharp, startled sound, but if he had an opinion about Red’s little suggestion, he kept it to himself.

The rest of Red’s words seemed to have wormed their way past that first thoughtless rush and Rus was frowning again, “that's not fair. if i lose, he'll already be all worked up for you.”

Red leaned down and gave him a light kiss in reward for figuring that out. “ah, but see, difference is, i don't get to touch him. no bone on bone for me, sweetheart, i promise.”

Mollified, Rus settled back. “what do i get if i win?”

“you get to ask a favor of me, anything at all.”

Poor kid was gonna get whiplash the way he kept flipflopping from interest to disappointment. “i can already do that.”

“yeah, but you don’t.” Red pointed out, “you never do. this one you’d earn fair and square, might make it easier if you’re spending your own dime rather than the inheritance.”

Rus nodded slowly, understanding coupled with intrigue lighting his face, “and if you win?”

“same deal, i get to ask one thing from you. anything i want.” That win or lose Rus was gonna enjoy himself thoroughly was heavily implied.

“anything,” Rus murmured, rolling the word around in his mouth, giving it a good taste, but before he could decide if he liked the flavor, another bargainer stepped up to the table.

“I have a question,” Edge said, coolly. Red glanced at his brother meaningfully, met crimson eye lights that were a match his own. Edge was sitting on the opposite sofa, his arms crossed over his chest. The line of his jaw was tense, teeth gritted together, but that wasn’t distaste or reluctance on his face, not one fucking bit. He waited to see if his bro would beg off or outright refuse. They’d teeter-tottered around into a little touchy feely a long time ago, didn’t matter so long as it helped get Rus off. They'd been ramping it up lately, but this was a horse of a different color, deliberate red on red without a buffer of honeyed gold between them.

He was counting on his brother not to disappoint.

“what’s that, bro?” Red asked.

Edge’s crimson tongue flicked out over his teeth, an almost imperceptible hint at nervousness. "What do I get if neither of you get me to come?"

Oh yeah, that was his bro.

"ah, that’s easy,” Red said lightly, “favor is all yours, little brother. from both of us."

Red looked back down at Rus and he could about see the gears turning in his mind. He was a smart kid, even smarter when you took into account all the Judges in creation playing house in the back of his mind. He was trying to work out what kind of monkey's paw bullshit Red wove into the bargain, but looked like he wasn't finding anything cause all he said was, decisively, "deal.”

“Deal,” Edge agreed softly. He stood and turned on his heel, walking out. Came back only a minute later with a couple towels over one arm, fucking neat freak. He spread them out on the sofa then shed his clothes, folding each piece neatly as he stripped it off. Edge wasn’t anywhere near as pretty as Rus, his bones were thicker with none of the delicacy that was laced into their lover’s, pocked with scars from the years before he was in the guard and the training alike. Strong bone that could take a beating and had, bearing the marks of a survivor and warm pride flowed over Red like syrup, like the honey he so often named Rus.

Edge’s joints were already lit with mana, either from the earlier vibrator or the recent chat, and a cloud of it filled his pelvic cradle, a thunderstorm of brimming desire. He settled back on the sofa, long legs stretched out, and said, mockingly sweet, “Ready when you are.”

A hasty search found lube where it was thoughtful stowed under one of the cushions and Rus drizzled it over his slim hands, rubbing them together until the slender bones were glossy and slick. “summon your cock first, give me something to work with.”

Edge tutted in disappointment, shaking his head, “Asking for a concession already?”

“everyone knows you don’t start a game without setting up the pieces first,” Rus countered, waggling his slippery fingers teasingly.

“he’s got you there, bro,” Red chuckled, amusement mingled with a peculiar sort of relief. All the nastiness of the day was flowing away, dirty water down the drain, simply by being around these two sassy shits. “don’t you think he deserves a little head start?”

Nice to see that Red wasn’t the only one who weakened under a pair of wide, pleading eye lights. Edge softened like sweet butter left on the stovetop. The swirl of his magic solidified, his cock formed between his femurs, already heavy and hard, a formidable piece of equipment that Edge usually put to good use. Rus reached out with dripping hands, only waiting when Red called out.

“hold up.” Red pulled out his phone, setting the timer, “okay, rus…go!”

Red settled back into the throw pillows to watch the show, one hand slithering down the front of his shorts, hard phalanges idle against his pubic crest where his magic was settling humidly. Wasn’t any part of the bet against him coming and Red was all ready to hit the concession stand.

Rus didn’t waste any time, both hands already curled around Edge’s shaft, spreading the slippery lube until the scarlet ectoflesh was glistening wetly. The rhythmic sound was wickedly obscene, startlingly loud over Rus’s satisfied hum.

There was no reaction at all from Edge, his eye lights barely flickered as Rus stroked him. Even when Rus frowned determinedly, kneeling between Edge’s spread legs, tongue already eagerly extended. He lapped softly at the little jewel of scarlet fluid beading at the head of Edge’s cock before sucking the length of it down with a messy slurp.

“that’s it. little brother,” Red called, smirking as Edge only hissed out a breath, keeping stubbornly still, “don’t make it too easy for him.”

It was a helluva show, to put it mildly, worth it even if by some random chance Red lost the game. Rus was pulling out all the stops, using every dirty, wicked trick he’d been taught between them about giving head and a couple made up on the spot. The long, flexible length of his tongue wrapped around the shaft, a thumb and forefinger surrounding the base, following the tight rhythm of Rus’s head. Mouth sloppy wet, golden spit sliding down his chin and wetting his hand as Rus sucked Edge in deep, his formed throat bobbing as he swallowed, formed muscles massaging the hard length. His free hand wandered wherever it could reach, seeking out places he knew were sensitive. Rus had mapped out their bodies with those shy, nimble fingers of his too many times to count, committing their every twitch to memory, and now he was tweaking cartilage, fondling up the length of Edge’s spine, teasing at his floating ribs.

All the little details put together a fine picture; Rus’s ass in the air, his clothed pelvis wriggling enticingly as he worked. Muffled whimpers were spilling into the air from him around the cock filling his mouth, garbled pleading, and Edge sure as fuck wasn’t unaffected now.

Sweat decorated his skull like glittery sequins as Edge breathed hard through his nasal cavity, his tongue caught between his jagged teeth hard enough that a thin rill of crimson was spilling down his chin. His knees jerked slightly with each bob of Rus’s head, bones clattering softly. A raw groan escaped Edge, hinting at desperation at the exact moment the timer buzzed, shifting to a pained gasp as Rus pulled off with slow deliberation, giving the head a last teasing suck.

Rus sighed in mock disappointment, wiping at his mouth fruitlessly with the back of his hand and only succeeding in smearing the mingled gold and crimson fluids. “damn it, guess i lost.”

“guess you did,” Red slid down to the floor with less grace than he would’ve liked, knees wobbly and his own arousal settled heavily into his pelvis. “have a seat, honey, watch the master at work.”

Mischief flittered over Rus’s face, far too quick for anything but a warning. He caught hold of the front of Red’s shirt and yanked him in, forcing his sex-tainted tongue down Red’s throat. The taste was one he knew all too well, honey sweetness mellowed with spice, rich and addictive.

A last delicate swipe of his tongue and Rus sashayed away, snagging one of the pillows to curl around while he settled in for his turn to watch.

Red licked the back of his teeth, catching the last of that tang before it faded completely. Yeah, Rus was gonna pay for that.

Or maybe Red needed to thank him, because Edge was watching them hotly with a riveted gaze, a thread of crimson fluid leaking from the tip of his cock to stain the towel.

He didn’t quite flinch as Red crawled up on the cushions, keeping a careful distance from his brother’s bare bones. There was a certain fraught quality to Edge’s expression, a feral wildness like he might bolt away.

“close your sockets, bro,” Red told him, gently. Which mean of course that Edge did no such thing, contrary bastard.

“Why?” Edge said suspiciously. His gaze flicked down Red’s body helplessly to where his dick was pushing out the front of his shorts, then away, then back to Red’s face, the color blooming his cheekbones lovelier than any flower in Refuge.

Thoughts like that weren’t gonna help Red win the game and he shoved it aside, adding it to his growing collection of ‘ain’t thinking about it’.

“because i fucking told you to,” Red retorted, “that’s why. now play the game right.”

“I don’t recall following orders being in the rules,” Edge grumbled, but this time he did as he was told.

Red waited until he was sure those sockets were closed tight, not the faintest hint of crimson showing. Then he reached into his pocket for his special toy surprise.

This particular prize wasn't from their normal toybox since Rus didn't have a lot of interest in his cock. That might be changing, he'd give it a thought some other time. The toy was made of a gelatinous material was only slightly softer than ectoflesh, formed into a hollow sheath that was lined with small bumps and curving grooves designed stimulate, drag out every drop of pleasure possible, willingly or otherwise.

The expected cries of cheating didn’t come and Red flicked a glance at Rus to find him watching with wide, rapturous sockets, face flushed golden bright. One arm was wrapped so tightly around the pillow the fabric threatened to burst and his other hand pressed between his legs overtop his pants, fingers digging in helplessly as if he could stop his cunt from forming by sheer, physical will.

The audience was waiting, the timer was set. Time to get this game started. Red scooped up the depleted bottle of lube and squirted a dollop into the sheath and with one motion, deftly slid it down on his brother’s dick.

The reaction was gratifying. Edge’s hips lurched up wildly, his sockets flying open, hands curled into claws that very nearly latched onto Red’s skull before they abruptly diverted and clenched into the sofa cushions.

"You said no touching!" Edge hissed, crimson eye lights flashing as he trembled with outrage. His sharpened fingertips dug into the cushions, tearing through the fabric down to the memory foam.

“i ain't touching you a bit, baby brother,” Red crooned, and tightened his fist around the sheath, giving it a quick, vigorous stroke. Those bumps had to be digging in, massaging their way up and down with each rub.

Edge gasped wetly, squeezing his sockets shut, "Don't call me that!"

The other sofa creaked and Red slanted a glance at Rus who was halfway to his feet, reaching out weakly and conflicting emotions tangled across his face. “red, stop," Rus said, trembling but firm. "not if he doesn't want it."

Red only chuckled darkly, dragging his clenched fist down achingly slow, then up abruptly again, "oh, don’t you worry, honey, he wants it. don't you?"

Edge said nothing, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he struggled to keep his pelvis still while Red jerked him off through the thin barrier of the sheath. Looked like the trap might need a little more bait.

Red leaned in closer, careful not to so much as graze his brother’s strong, scarred bones, and whispered, low and harsh, "you remember the first time you fucked him? the way he was spread out under you, begging you to take him?”

This time his brother’s breath creaked out like the hinge of an old door as Red kept it up, murmuring breathily close to his auditory canal, “remember pushing your cock into that pretty virgin pussy? how it was already dripping with my come, how tight he was around your cock? kinda like this, yeah, remember him cryin' cause he needed it so much? how scared he was, showing us his soul? sweet thing all dripping wet, he needed it so bad, the mess he made, oh, that honey magic and silver, practically squirting over himself the second you touched his clit, remember that? you remember how he looked when he came?"

He kept up the relentless pace with every low word, letting the memory warm him. There was a certain charm to clumsy eagerness, inexperienced hands searching unknowingly for all the places that felt best. Not that Red missed it exactly, but he sure didn’t mind bringing that memory out to play with from time to time.

Edge was struggling, heaving, his eye lights narrowed to pinpricks as he stared blindly up at the ceiling.

Almost there, almost, and Red leaned in close enough for Edge to feel the heat of his breath, a bare whisper too low for Rus to possibly hear him, "member the first time he said he loved us?"

That did the trick. Edge let out a wretched sound like a sob, bones rattling as he came, filling the sheath to overflowing with his seed. Red could feel the surging heat of it through the thin plastic, smelled the rich spice even as the blare of the alarm came from his phone.

Game, set, match.

Red pulled off, tossing the dripping sheath to the coffee table to join the vibrator already there. Edge only lay weakly in his defeat, pelvis smeared with come, the rest of his bones dabbled with sweat. Red left him there to wallow in his filth, prowling over to Rus.

Who scrabbled back into the corner of the sofa, his sockets so wide it looked like his eye lights were gonna pop loose and fizzle out on the carpet. He fumbled for the phone gracelessly, somehow managing to turn off the warbling timer without dropping it on the floor even as Red raked a look over him. Taking in the heated glow of his joints, the honey-tint to his eye lights, the wet patch seeping through his pants, leaving a darkened stain that clung visibly to his pussy lips.

Yeah, Red had his number now. Looked like their honey had a lil' voyeurism kink going on. That was a new toy Red was looking forward to playing with, fuck yes. But for now, he had a problem of his own going on in his pants and Rus’s magic was crackling hotly in the air, searing lightning searching for the ground

"lay back, sugar," Red slipped off his shorts, briefly fisting his own cock, groaning at the feel of his own hard fingers.

Rus did it instantly, squirming as he worked his pants down his legs and kicked them off even as he asked doubtfully, "this is what you want as a favor?"

"nope, this is mine by right.” Red jerked Rus down until his pelvis was at the edge of the sofa, long legs dangling to the floor. He shuffled forward, lining his cock up with Rus’s eagerly clenching entrance, smearing his cock with golden wetness. “i'll let you know about the favor."

Then he shoved into that wet pussy, groaning at the soaking, tight heat around him as Rus’s wail filled the room.

So fucking gorgeous, watching Rus whimper and flail as Red fucked him. Pretty as Rus was on his knees, Red liked him better on his back. Liked watching that lovely face scrunch up every time Red fucked into him, honeyed tears welling up, streaming down the rounded curves of his cheekbones as that sassy mouth dropped open and his tongue curled behind his teeth.

In the down under, he got to watch his dick moving in the soft, golden magic that filled Rus's pelvis. His cunt was a slippery, plush delight, that first thrust inside always bordered on too tight until his walls loosened up a little, Rus whimpering out little cries as Red forced his cock in, past the rippling clench to fill him up.

And fuck him for how hot that was. Red knew Rus could take a fist all the way up to the elbow into his pussy, a cock wasn't no big thing, (heh), but the feel of it, fuck, like taking his virginity all over again. Red braced his heels against the coffee table and pumped harder, watched the length of his shaft slide in, pussy lips spreading wide around it, parting to give him a nice look at Rus's swollen clit. Red reached down to trace around it teasingly with a careful, sharp-tipped finger and Rus let out a frantic whine.

"you want somethin’, sweetheart?" Red panted out.

"i want to come!" Sweet desperation poured from him, fuck, talk about no stamina. Then again, Rus was like a little energizer bunny of orgasms, he could keep going and going, popping off one after another. Wasn’t no reason to hold him back now.

One hard drag of Red’s thumb over his clit and Rus was arching, his legs going tight around Red’s hips, holding him in deep as he convulsed. A fresh rush of wetness flooding his pussy, smoothing out the ride.

Rus sagged back against the cushions, hiccoughing soft little cries as Red kept it up. His own orgasm was swelling in him, tantalizingly close. Next to him, the sofa suddenly dipped with added weight and maybe Red couldn’t lean up high enough to give Rus’s pleading mouth a kiss, but that was fine, cause Edge was there to do it for him, his brother’s crimson tongue moving sinuously against Rus's golden one, fuck, yeah.

"come on down here, bro,” Red growled, flicking his thumb over Rus’s swollen clit again, “got something better for you to work with."

His brother shifted downward instantly, tilting his head in to lick at that sensitive nub. His crimson tongue was long, prehensile, dipping in between Rus’s femurs. Not his normal one, either, this one forked at the tip, all the better to work against Rus's clit, circling it from both sides, yeah, his fucking clever brother. Sometimes it wandered too low, one of the tips occasionally grazed against Red's cock, slyly pushing into Rus’s cunt and catching Red off-guard with a brief firework of sensation.

Red could taste his own sweat, sharp and faintly bitter, tried not to jerk as that tongue lashed against him again. He didn’t want Edge the same way he did Rus, he didn’t, but oh, you kid—

Fuck it, he couldn’t hold out anymore.

Red let go with a groan, pulling out to come in hot streaks over Rus's pelvis, and, oh, yeah, his bro's face. Edge flinched, closing his sockets and didn't stop, licking Rus through another orgasm even as a glossy spurt of come striped across his tongue, the fluid a shade of crimson darker than the ectoflesh.

With a deeply satisfied sigh, Red shuffled over enough to flop on the sofa even as Rus trembled and writhed through his shuddering ecstasy. He watched through narrowed sockets as Edge sat up, blinking too fast and his tremulous expression was loaded with conflicting signals. Almost, Red reached out, his sense still blurrily pleased, struck with the idea of rubbing his come in, smearing it across his brother’s scarred bones, marking him—

He reeled back, snorting aloud at his own stupidity. Yeah, yeah, his brother and no one else’s. He’d lived that schtick his whole life, no reason to complicate it now.

Looking at it sideways, the mess of his come was dripping down Edge’s skull in a way that made Red think hilariously of strawberry syrup on cheesecake.

Well, it could be a sweet treat for someone to eat, now couldn’t it.

"whoopsie, looks like i messed him up," Red drawled, elbowing Rus lightly. "you gonna clean him up, sugar skull?"

Rus stirred at the pet name, sockets fluttering open, then going wide as he took in the sights. He swallowed audibly, husking out, "yeah i can…i can do that if…if you want?"

Like Edge was even capable of turning that down. A short, sharp nod and Edge sat obediently still, let Rus lave at his face, greedily licking up the spatters while Red watched the crimson smearing the deeper gold of his tongue avidly. The sudden flood of fresh arousal was startling, almost unwelcome.

Almost.

The way he figured it, Edge would only stand that for so long before he hauled them all off to their massive shower. The three of them standing together beneath the generous spray, the water pouring down on them about two degrees lower than the temperature of lava, exactly how Rus liked it. The probability of blowjobs or fucking was high and so was the chance of a nap afterword, Rus snuggled up against him blissfully well-fucked, his brother on the other side. A preciously rare gift from the Angel to make up for the slagging shithole of Red’s life before.

He'd guarantee that Rus would mumble out a sleepy ‘I love you’ for them both before drifting off and right about then, Red wanted that more than anything in the fucking world. Those three words, Rus, and Edge.

His, all his in a way no one’d ever been his entire life. Not even Sans.

Red didn’t have a fucking clue what game they were playing anymore. Didn’t matter, either. All he knew was that the fates were sore losers and that he didn’t give a shit.

He was playing to win.

-fin

Next Chapter

#fontcest #keelywolfe #underfell papyrus #underfell sans #underswap papyrus #underswap #underfell #lemony goodness #papcest #spicyhoney #honeymustard #spicyhoneymustard #bodyguard au

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creative-frequency · 5 years ago

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Cal Kestis x Reader: DEAR STAR SYSTEM Ch. 03

Word count: 2945 Pairing: Cal Kestis x Female Reader Summary/Contains: First visit to Zeffo. Who am I kidding it’s just straight to lovers at this point. Let’s forget the friends first part. Mild angst, (partial) canon-rewrite. Notes: I struggled with the last scene, writing it over and over and editing it so many times but I think it finally (hopefully) conveys what I want now. Tagged some people either cause you asked for it or cause I thought you’d enjoy this. Lmk if you want to be tagged or not!

Previous Chapter

My Writing Masterlist

DEAR STAR SYSTEM // 03

“Ah, Zeffo. My favorite place,” Greez says dreamily and relaxes in his pilot’s chair.

The Mantis takes off from Bogano soil and you sit down, pretending to be focused on the map hovering on the holotable. Cal sits on the other side, equally preoccupied. You try not to look at him while knowing, feeling, that he’s definitely taking glances at you. BD-1 hops over to the holotable to have a better look at the planet you’re heading to.

Before you can think of anything to say to Cal, Greez has a story to tell.

“When this is all over, I think it’ll be a time to settle down, you know?” he continues, “Fall in love, start a family.” He sounds like Zeffo is exactly the planet he wants to spend his retirement days on.

You bite your lip and see how confused Cal is trying to make sense of the Latero. Greez is in one of those moods again.

“Love? You?” Cere voices out in bafflement.

“Yeah? You think a guy like me doesn’t know love?” Greez retorts slightly dejected.

“I bet you’re going to tell me,” Cere says, smiling.

You have to hide your grin behind your hand. Cere hasn’t had the pleasure of hearing about Greez’s adventures because she didn’t join you on that cantina trip on Tatooine. Cal gets up to lean to the cockpit doorway to hear better and even BD-1 turns around to listen and tilts his head.

Greez told you the story before after one too many and some bad situational judgment. There was someone he called the Baroness. You know it’s a fake name since she is still in politics. Wouldn’t have been much work in your previous occupation to dig out who the lady was, but you respect Greez’s privacy – despite your burning curiosity.

As Greez described it, they were deeply in love but eventually her career came between them, driving the lovers apart. Greez played it out as his wanderlust getting in the way but it wasn’t difficult to guess what the reason was really. You also suspect she played an important role in his decision to, if not quit, then at least gamble less. But those were thoughts you would take with you to the grave.

“Let me tell ya. It’s the best, but a lot of work. It needs admiration, devotion, attraction, and respect,” Greez explains with a straight face.

Cal turns to silently ask you is he being serious, but you shake your head fervently.

Cere is surprised by the pilot’s words. “Greez, that’s actually very insightful.”

“Yeah, well. It comes with experience. You can’t look this good and not steal a few hearts.” He must look impossibly complacent. Probably the same as when Cere complements his cooking.

“I bet,” Cere chuckles.

Cal turns to shoot another confused look at you, unsure whether to laugh or offer his sympathies to Greez. He points at the pilot with his thumb and mouths “what’s with him?” to you.

Deeming it best to just bite your lip harder, you tap the seat next to you. Hopefully the pilot will stop talking and focus on flying. It’s best if Greez doesn’t realize you’re pulling faces behind his back, or hear the Jedi questioning his mental well-being.

Cal smiles at your invitational gesture and an unexpected delight splashes inside you.

Before he sits down – closer than you anticipated – you scan him with an inconspicuous measuring look. He seems to be holding up alright considering all things. If stories about Greez’s love life are what get him to relax, so be it.

“Is he always so…” Cal starts quietly but can’t find the word he’s looking for. BD-1 tilts his head. Luckily Greez can’t see the droid on the sofa, again.

“Yes,” you still reply deftly.

You both chuckle as silently as humanely possible, shoulders shaking. You end up realizing you’re staring at Cal’s face, tracing the freckles with your eyes and how they move with his inaudible laughter. It’s the umpteenth time you catch yourself doing that and your quickened pulse gets harder to ignore.

Greez informs you to sit down because you’re about to make the jump to hyperspace. It throws you off enough to calm down. He seems to be done with talking about his love life, for now.

“Have you ever been to Zeffo before?” Cal asks.

You clear your throat to get rid of the last ripples of the tender sensation in your stomach. In the back of your mind you pin the feelings on the jump into hyperspace.

“I haven’t actually. Have you?”

“Nope.” Cal leans back and you follow his line of sight to the holomap of Zeffo.

The hologram of the planet is mostly covered in deep blue and dark green. The white-covered heaps signal snow-tipped mountains and while you’re definitely not a fan of snow, you haven’t seen it in a long time. Zeffo is apparently known for its strong winds and as testimony to that, several huge cloud vortexes cover the map. For once, you’re glad that you don’t have to fly.

“You must be always visiting new places,” Cal says and there’s a hint of jealousy in his voice. BD-1 makes a comforting boop. Cal has been stuck on Bracca for years – partly because of his own decision, but in terms of Imperial presence and living conditions, it wouldn’t have been his first choice.

“Sadly, not so much,” you sigh, “Turns out, that in order to listen to Imperial transmissions, one must stay relative close to the Imps…”

“That’s… understandable. I’m glad you found me. Solid timing,” Cal mumbles and casts his gaze down. The small droid nudges his side.

“I’m actually from Coruscant,” you blurt out to prevent the awkward mood. “Probably wasn’t born there but it was my home for a long time.”

“Oh?” Cal blinks surprised. “Do you have any family?”

“No, well, besides the one I left behind.” You shrug to signal it wasn’t a big deal. It isn’t anymore. Just the factual outcome of your choice to go with Cere.

Cal doesn’t ask anything more and you mentally reprimand yourself for opening your mouth in the first place.

After Greez’s majestic landing on Zeffo despite the strong winds, there is a short dialogue between the Mantis crew on how to proceed. Cere is concerned but knows that time is of the essence. Greez vows he won’t set a foot outside the ship. You sigh and hope that everything will go alright. The storms are interfering with the ship comms and while it’s worrying, there is no time to waste. The Empire might be at your heels without you knowing it.

Cal runs a hand impatiently through his hair. The faster he goes out there, the sooner you can leave. He cannot afford to wait for the comms to start working again.

“I’ll search for signs of Cordova in the meantime,” he says, already turned to leave.

Cere nods. “Good, I’ll be in touch once I crack this.”

Cal heads out into the wind. You pace after him to see the snowy scenery. It’s been a while since you were anywhere with so much winter. And there isn’t even much by the galaxy’s standards. It’s common knowledge that there are planets covered in ice and snow but so far you’ve managed to avoid them. You’re not so eager to get out there with Cal anymore.

“Cal?” you call out as he stays to look around too. You landed on a seemingly abandoned settlement in the eye of the storm.

“Yeah?” He turns to you with a curious look and BD-1 peeps from over his shoulder.

To shield yourself from the weather, you hug your cardigan and hide your hands between your arms and sides. The air is brisk and cold. Cal is wearing a woolen poncho over his clothes and you didn’t think anyone could look good in a poncho. Must be a Jedi thing.

“Be careful out there. You’ll be alone until Cere fixes the communications.” You glance at the lightsaber resting by his thigh and the brave small droid on his back.

“I will. You should head back inside.” He sees you shivering. BD-1 boops in agreement.

“Oh. I was just about to offer to go with you,” you jest and smirk.

Cal’s brows rise. “Really?”

“Mmmaybe some other time or planet. Somewhere warm,” you chuckle and stop your teeth from clattering. The wind bites all the way through to your skin. “I’ll go help Cere. Take care… Cal.”

“Fwoo woo!” BD-1 wishes you good luck.

Cal watches you until the ship doors close. The corners of his lips persistently stay turned upward.

“Beep-boo boooop.”

“W-what?” Cal yelps at the droid’s cheeky suggestion, “No, I don’t.”

“Beep-bo.”

“Okay, just a little. It’s nice to have a friendly face around.”

BD-1 titters and shakes. Cal scoffs. The wind feels colder with you gone inside so he would best get moving.

After the eye of the storm, you manage to find a moment of peace. Cal and Cere have agreed on the next step of the quest to rebuild the Jedi Order. Everyone is somewhat relaxed, bellies full and eyelids drooping. Greez sits on the pilot’s seat in the cockpit, talking with Cere in low voice about whether to land on a large meteor so you all can rest. You’re trying to repair an electrosword on the workstation in the back and Cal leans on the railing next to you, watching as you work with a constant confused frown on your features.

He doesn’t know how to bring up his proficiency in tinkering and fixing things. BD-1 boops and chirps on the table, dancing around the spare parts you’ve gathered. You wish you could understand his commentary better but you’re not exactly fluent in Binary.

“So where did you get that?” Cal asks and tries to not look too much or eagerly over your shoulder.

“Hm? I bought it in the Corellian Sector.” You pause. “On Nar Shaddaa.”

Cal cocks an eyebrow. He didn’t take you for the type to hang out in places like that. BD tilts his head.

You place the obstinately broken electrosword on the table and turn to look at Cal with a serious expression. “There’s a black market for lightsabers. Among other things. I… Sorry, you probably don’t want to talk about that.” Your voice fades. How do you always end up saying the wrong thing with him?

Cal frowns lightly but his eyes stay on yours now that you’re facing him. “It’s okay,” he replies.

Cere sold the kyber crystal from her lightsaber on Nar Shaddaa. She asked you to act as the intermediary to avoid suspicion. The buyer, a delegate to some Hutt crime lord, apparently thought it hilarious to give you a broken electrosword into the bargain.

“Sorry,” you say again. That aching tender feeling is gaining foothold again and it’s getting annoying.

“Do you mind if I give that a try?” Cal nods towards the electrosword and straightens up from the railing.

“Be my guest.”

BD agrees heartily and from what you can understand, he thinks Cal is good at repairing things. You smile at the small droid and give room for Cal by the worktable.

The moment he touches the object, Cal visibly flinches. He squeezes his eyes closed as if under a migraine attack and his fingers spasm. Before you can properly realize something is wrong, the seizure stops and he lets the air out of his lungs in one heavy breath. Your heart is running rampant inside your ribcage.

You grab his arm to turn him towards you. He has gone pale.

“Cal? Cal? Are you okay?” you ask fervently, looking for signs of distress on his body.

Cal’s gaze swims before he can focus and bring a thin smile to his lips.

“Uh, yeah. I’m good. My bad,” he says and grimaces. You let go, slowly. He holds the electrosword up to inspect it better, acting perfectly normal again.

“Be-boop?” BD sounds concerned.

“I’m okay, BD. Really,” Cal assures the droid.

“What just happened?” you press, still a bit shaken.

Cal sees no point in hiding it. “I’m, well, psychometric. When I touch something, I may sense what’s happened to it.”

Your hands fly into the air and you stutter to find the words in a flush of anger, unable to believe that he would be so careless and reckless. “And you just touched an electrosword that’s been Force knows where,” you retort, not amused. You really want to give him an earful.

“Uh, yeah. Someone broke it on Nar Shaddaa.” Cal turns the electrosword around and finds a dent near the tip. “They didn’t last for long without it.” He talks in an even tone but the embarrassment shines through. His ears feel hot and he thinks you must consider him an idiot now.

You bite back the feral talking-to Cal is about to get and sigh. “That’s just horrible.”

Cal stays silent for a moment.

“At least I know you weren’t the one who broke it.” He smiles and you just stare the upward curve, baffled and blinking.

“Your boundless optimism is terrifying,” you assert and step closer to see better what he is doing to the electrosword. “Is there any hope to fixing it?”

Cal chuckles. “What did you just say about my boundless optimism? Yeah. I think so.”

You poke your elbow to his ribs and try to hold back a wavering grin. BD chirps at you.

Cal works with the electrosword as you watch from next to him, arms almost brushing together when he moves. Cal seems genuinely happy to be tinkering and you’ve completely forgotten your original intention of following the repairs to see how he does it. The new objective is to determine how often is too often to glance at his smiling face.

Cal finds it harder and harder to focus. You’re emitting warmth next to him and he is constantly overly conscious of every accident of your arms touching. The more he thinks about it, the more frequent the accidents get until you can stand it no longer and take half a step away. You’re trying to be discreet about it but you both notice the light step as well as if you had just jumped from the ship to avoid touching him.

In any case, it doesn’t help. The heavy mood only amplifies as it bounces back and forth between you and there has to be something you can say or do. Now.

“How does it work then? Can you touch any object and see its past?” you ask finally when your pulse has calmed down from the scare of Cal’s psychometry surprise seizure.

Cal has to collect his thoughts before answering. “Well, all things give off an emanation but that… concentration of the Force has to be strong enough for me to read.” He pauses and straightens up to look at you. “It’s… uhh, it’s hard to explain really.” It’s challenging to finish the thought since you’re still standing way too close and making him stutter in the process.

He looks unbelievably adorable and you throw all caution to the wind. He deserves to feel so abashed after the heart attack he gave you.

“So this…” You lightly take Cal’s free hand and press it against your chest between your collar bones. “Gives you nothing?”

His fingertips touch your neck, slightly calloused and unsure. Maybe even shaking. A rush of red rises to his cheeks and chills run down your spine.

“It doesn’t work on living beings,” Cal mumbles and looks away, utterly flustered.

A slightly snide, teasing smile rises to your lips. He seems so flummoxed. “I meant the necklace.”

His fingers curl around the small pearl and his brow furrows slightly. The touch is cool, careful in staying appropriate and almost makes you regret your impetuous flirting attempt. Your lousy shot at doing something to the heavy atmosphere, while getting back at him is backfiring. The fond and tender feeling just grows from the spot he brushed on your neck.

Cal closes his eyes and deftly ignores the warmth you radiate. He makes sure his fingers don’t touch your skin anymore. They’re tingling enough already. He focuses only on the Force.

Your necklace doesn’t spark any specific emotions. In truth, it feels somewhat indifferent to Cal in relation you. He sees it through a mirror, through your eyes and small wave of complacency, your emotion of complacency, fills him for a moment. It’s soothingly simple. He is relieved to notice how the borrowed feeling sways the flush on his cheeks and clears his head.

“It’s quite new. You bought it ‘cause you thought it was pretty,” Cal says softly. He lets go of the necklace and his hand drops. He backs away, taking purchase from the workstation.

You give him a crooked half-smile. “Makes me sound so vain,” you murmur.

He smiles back at you. “It is pretty–”

BD-1 decides to shower you with the blue scanning beam and you both swing around to look at the abrupt interruption, sternly reminded by the droid’s presence.

“Beeop! Beeop!” He chirps and jumps around the electrosword that still lies broken on the table – a kind notion to continue what you were supposed to do before the whole flirting charade began.

And not a moment later Cere appears on the doorway to ask are you two hungry. You can’t help but wonder did BD interrupt you on purpose while something strongly related to shame burns in your throat and makes it hard to face Cal’s gaze.

Next Chapter

Tagging: @sherniwrites @lucianhuntress @singlebecauseofthechocobros @sevansheart @owldearest @stellar-trinity @bd1babey @winchestergirl907 @thuutthuutbilly @rilakkyungsoo @lizbid33 @twistnet @fangirl-inthe-us @campmccarran @grandadmiral

#cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #jedi fallen order #swjfo #swjfo fanfiction #star wars #cere junda #greez dritus #bd-1 #my writings #dear star system

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scgdoeswhat · 5 years ago

Text

The First Solstice – Beckett x Clarette

Summary: Beckett and Clarette celebrate their first holiday season under the same roof.

Rating: T

Words: 3065

Author’s Notes: Happy Holidays!!! Complete and unadulterated fluff that takes place post Penderghast. That is all 😂

Hope you all enjoy! Beckett doesn’t belong to me (unfortunately), but the story does. No Beta used.

Sorry if the “Read More” link isn’t working. It’s Tumblr’s fault, not mine!

Tag list: @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @grungeisntmything @friendlylilshipper @felmasri @numberonepoetryexpert @hellomynameisdevi @beckettbaguette @siegrrun @choicesthatplayyou @retroangxl @askdana @50shadesofraleigh @darley1101 @kamybelen-blog @herdecisions @artchoicesreblog @teenytinymagician @choicesfannatalie @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @abigailpoe @flyawayboo @brightpinkpeppercorn @gardeningourmet @harringtons-honey @manateemilk @queenodysseia @thatcatlady0716 @divergentofhogwarts @pottershat @topsyturvy-dream @choicesyouplayandmore @zeniamiii @never-neverland @drakewalkerfantasy @syltti78 @elementalistshoe @maxwellsquidsuit @sleepingpillcorporation @tabithacarlisle @ludextruction @pbmychoices @wickedgypsymoon @mistychoices @izzycheeese @lady-kato @fluffy-marshmallow-heart @adrian-rainess @walkerismychoice @thefirstcourtesan @drakesensworld @laceandlula @rhymesmenagerie @shainaa00 @princessstellaris @itsbrindleybinch @donutsgirl36 @liamzigmichael4ever @mckenzie-powell @sunflowergirl05 @justendlesssummerfeels @friedherringclodthing @choicesarehard @desiree-0816 @elanorwaverley @aworldoffandoms @mrsbriarmarlcaster @star-adorned @wiselight @cloacasexual @thequeenofcronuts @slytherclawwarrior @mslarimone

Please let me know if you want to be tagged/removed on future fics and I’ll tag anyone I may have missed in the comments. Thank you!

The early morning sun rose in the distance, the rays of light casting an ethereal glow over the fresh snow that had fallen overnight. Across the landscape, fat, fluffy cardinals and blue jays flittered to and fro; the little balls of red and blue adding to the dots of greenery that were peeping out of the blank canvas of white powder just beyond the large bay window.

Beckett hummed to himself in a hushed tone, putting the finishing touches on the first of his many gifts to Clarette. His eyes darted about the spread he had made himself, satisfied with the final product. With a point of his finger, he enchanted the decorations and candles to light when she entered the living area later that morning. He padded back to their bedroom, peeling his clothes off by the bedside to keep the facade of him being asleep the whole time.

Crawling back into bed, Beckett smiled to himself as he kept his movements silent with the aid of some quick air magick to mask any sounds. He looked down at Clarette with tenderness, his gaze roving over his sleeping girlfriend's figure that was burrowed under the blankets. Her dark, luscious hair was spread out in contrast to the pale blue of the pillow, her lips slightly parted in her deep slumber. As he slid under the covers, it was automatic for Clarette to turn towards the heat of his body, her arm wrapping around his torso while her head nestled onto his chest. He brushed her hair back and kissed the top of her head, his other arm holding her close, caressing the soft skin of her bare back with the lightest of touches.

He closed his eyes in an attempt to get a few more minutes of sleep, knowing full well that Clarette was going to wake up uncharacteristically early on this special day, even though they had both fallen asleep only a few hours prior. The corner of his mouth lifted with the memories they had created earlier that night, the specialness of sharing their first Solstice while living together under the same roof fresh in his mind.

The evening had started out innocent enough as they headed to the LeFleur household earlier that day. What he was going to wear to her family’s place never crossed his mind, assuming a blazer and tie would suffice. He was about to throw on a crisp button-down shirt when he saw Clarette walk out in one of the ugliest sweaters he had ever laid eyes on. The red sweater had a lone reindeer on the front, its antlers bedazzled with rhinestones, with a geometric design of white snowflakes covering the rest of the jumper. The only saving grace of her entire outfit was the pair of skintight leggings she paired them with.

Beckett’s jaw fell agape in horror. “What in the world are you wearing?”

“Beckett, your face!” His reaction brought her to tears of laughter, her almond eyes crinkling in amusement. “Did I forget to tell you? It’s my ugly Christmas sweater! And you might as well save the suit and tie for your parents’ dinner tomorrow. Tonight, we’re doing Christmas LeFleur style.”

Quirking an eyebrow in response, he removed his shirt, placing it back on the hanger. He stood shirtless in front of their closet, mulling over what to wear now that his original outfit had been dashed. “What, then, constitutes a ‘LeFleur style’ Christmas?”

“Well, for starters,” she sauntered over to him, placing her hands on his chest before sliding them up his muscular frame and around his neck. “There’s no need for a fancy schmancy blazer. I mean, we’re a family who wears onesies for Christmas, remember? A sweater’s fine,” she giggled. “Though I’ll tell you what. If it wasn’t the holidays, I’d suggest we just stay home because I’d much rather see you in this state of undress any day of the week.”

Going up on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips against his in a slow, seductive manner, smiling when he moaned into her mouth. She unwound her arms and pulled back with one final peck, watching his eyes open slowly, the hazel grey hues now tinged with desire. “Except that it is the holidays, so you need to finish getting ready. And as much as I appreciate your exquisite physique, I don’t think the rest of my family would appreciate you showing up without a shirt.”

Taking a quick look through the closet, her fingers rummaged through the hangers before landing on a charcoal, cashmere, V-neck sweater. She handed him the piece of clothing before she walked out of the room, tapping his toned ass with the back of her hand for good measure.

He shook his head with a grin on his face as he heard her laughing to herself down the hall. She was absolutely ridiculous, and he loved her for it.

A couple of hours later, Beckett and Clarette walked hand in hand up the driveway towards a modest, one-story, ranch style home in the middle of suburbia. The surrounding neighborhood houses all had simple lights and decorations strung up along their roofs, the neighborhood giving off a different and distinct feel compared to the affluent community he grew up in. While he knew they had different upbringings, this was the first real opportunity to experience her life before Penderghast and before him. He exhaled deeply, letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding as they approached the front door.

Taking the keys out of her purse, Clarette stopped before ascending the front steps. He took the step up, only to notice she had paused in her gait, causing him to halt and rejoin her on the bottom rung.

“Is everything alright?” He held her gloved hand, clutching it for support.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. I heard that breath you let out, you know. And don't even try to deny it.” A crease of worry lined her forehead as she glanced up at him.

“I’m afraid I might be overthinking things again. How do you know me so well?” Wrapping his arms around her, he squeezed her in the ridiculous puffer coat that she wore over the ugly reindeer sweater.

“Because I always have. I just know you.” She hugged him back, breathing in his scent.

“I suppose I might be slightly nervous, this being the first Solstice that your family has invited me to,” he confessed.

“You have no reason to be. You've already met my entire family and they love you. Even Atlas does, although she'd never admit it.”

“I know you're right, but I can't help but seek your family's approval at all turns.”

She tilted her head up at him, cupping his jaw. “And you already have it. They want what's best for me and you're it.”

He beamed, her words relieving some of the pressure that he had placed on himself. Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “How did I get so lucky with you?” He murmured before grazing his lips over hers once more.

She responded with fervor, her hand sliding from his jaw to the base of his head, the other gripping the soft cashmere of his sweater underneath his black pea coat. “How about we call it even and say we both got lucky.”

Stepping back, she smoothed the fabric down his chest, straightening his sweater out while taking the opportunity to feel his hard body underneath her fingertips. “By the way, I really love this on you. It brings out your eyes and just so you know, I'm going to be imagining tearing it off of you all night long until we get home later.”

Laughing, his eyes lit up with desire before looking down at the mocking reindeer on the front of her sweater, its obnoxious, bejeweled eyes glittering back at him. “And I can't wait to tear that hideous thing off you either.”

As if on cue, the door opened, revealing a reindeer-onesie-wearing Atlas just in time to catch Beckett's words. Her smile turned upside down and her eyes darted between the happy couple, glaring at the pair. She stepped aside, letting them into the house.

“I was going to say I've missed having you around the place for the holidays, but Harrington just reminded me why I don't. I was going to ask what took you so long, but I think I already know the answer. And no, I don’t want any details.”

Clarette hung her and Beckett's coats up, glomping her sister with lightning quick speed before the fair-haired twin could dodge her advances. “I've missed you too, sister! And don’t worry, we weren’t late because we weren’t having sex, if that’s what you were implying!”

Beckett coughed, clearing his throat. “Clarette, must you verbalize that? What if your parents heard you?!”

Atlas squirmed out of her touch, scowling at them both. She shook her head before her mask broke and a hint of a smile appeared. “Sometimes I really hate you, you know that.”

“What did your sister do now?” An amused voice echoed from inside the house, the footsteps getting louder as they approached the entryway. Their biological mother came into view, donning an apron and looking like an advertisement for ‘Better Homes & Gardens’ instead of being the almighty Sun Source.

Theia hugged her Sun-Att daughter hard, rocking her back and forth in the embrace, keeping in line with actions of the affectionate mother she had become. “Clarette! It's like I never see you anymore once you moved out!”

Clarette rolled her eyes, grinning as she hugged her mother with the same gusto. “What are you talking about? I just saw you two days ago!”

“But it's different when I was used to seeing you every day for past Solstice breaks!” She let her go, turning to Beckett with a stern expression, the ancient Sun Source power radiating from her mortal form, “And you, Beckett Harrington, I hope you've been treating Clarette well.”

“Yes, yes of course, I have, I - ” he stammered, “- always! With the utmost respect!”

Theia broke out into laughter, gathering Beckett into a hug. “You should've seen your face! Clarette is right, you are fun to tease!”

Beckett sputtered, his ears turning pink as he returned the hug for a moment before taking his place back at Clarette's side. “Well, at least now I know the teasing is hereditary,” he joked, an easy smile coming to him.

She clasped her hands, an action she did to control herself when she could feel her Sun energy spiking with joy. “In all seriousness, I'm glad you were able to join us, Beckett. I do have one question for you, though, before we all go help with the cookies in the back.”

“Yes?”

Clarette jostled when she saw the shit eating grin creep onto her mother's face. “Mom…”

“So... when are you going to pop the question?”

“MOM. OH MY GOD!”

Beckett could feel the red color his cheeks and he never had the chance to reply as Clarette grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the kitchen.

The rest of the evening went swimmingly, with lots of love, laughs, and a frightening number of cookies and egg rolls being consumed. They arrived back at their townhouse a bit before midnight, where Clarette still had a warm buzz going after too many glasses of spiked eggnog.

The tree in the corner glowed under the sparkling lights that were draped on the branches, the dimmed room illuminated by the soft, silver sheen of the tinsel. Presents wrapped in foil, paper and tissue were piled under the greenery, the scent of fresh pine, cinnamon, and allspice filling the area.

They sat on the sofa, watching the flames of the fire dance and leap from across the room, the heat warming them up from the cold outside. The fireplace crackled in the comforting silence; the sound was a soothing melody as they reflected on their first holiday living together so far. This night and the morning to come was a nice respite from all their familial obligations through the Solstice season.

Beckett raised his arm, allowing Clarette to snuggle into his warmth and he rubbed her back as she nestled into his nook. She traced imaginary patterns on his sweater, only stopping when he laced his fingers with hers, kissing the back of her hand before stroking it with his thumb.

“Thanks for coming tonight. It really meant a lot to me and I am so sorry she put you on the spot like that, I had no idea she was going to go there.” She buried her face into the crook of his neck, still reeling from the embarrassment of earlier.

“The question that your mother asked me?” He kissed the top of her head, a low chuckle rumbling from him. “There's nothing to apologize for. It is something we have discussed in the past, is it not?”

Raising her head, she looked into the depths of his eyes. “Yeah, it is, but I don't want you to feel pressured into asking just because societal norms tell you to do it. I'm not going anywhere.”

He hummed in agreement, noticing the sincerity in which she spoke those words. “You're the only thing in the world that I don't feel pressure from. And when I do ask the question, I want it to be as perfect as possible because that's what you deserve.”

She sat up, running a hand through his hair before studying his face. The fire may have been reflecting in the gloss of his eyes, but it was an internal heat that she recognized as she cupped his warm cheeks between her palms. She brought his lips to hers, faintly tasting the gingerbread they had from earlier.

Tangling his hand into her dark mass of hair, he pulled her onto his lap and she straddled him, her knees on the outside of his hips as she pressed herself against his hard body. He groaned at the contact, his head falling back while she rubbed herself on him. Straightening up, he ran his hands down the curves of her body, this time making her sigh in pleasure as he attached his mouth to her neck, kissing and nibbling her skin before he captured her mouth once again.

With a smirk, he pulled off the atrocious sweater, the night air causing goosebumps to raise on her skin. “Finally,” he chuckled, his hands and mouth covering the newly exposed expanse of flesh. She undulated under his touch, ripping off his top as she had earlier promised, running her hands over his strong, taut frame.

They ended up making love on the couch, and twice more in bed, which brought him back to this exact moment, except he now felt Clarette stirring in his arms. He heard the deep, contented sigh that signaled him she was waking, and he closed his eyes feigning sleep.

She kissed his chest, right over his heart, before trailing her lips up with the softest of touches, culminating with a slow, lingering kiss. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

He responded after a moment, a moan originating from deep within his throat as he wrapped an arm around her, holding her tight. “Hmmm, you're up early.”

She propped herself above him, her arms on either side of his head, leaning down to give him a quick, smattering of pecks on his face. “It's our first Christmas together. Do you know what that means?”

“Tell me.” His hands rested on her waist as she hovered above him.

“It means presents!”

He gave her a lazy grin, his thumbs rubbing minute circles against the supple skin of her hips. “I don't know if anything could top the present you gave me last night.”

Giggling, she bent down, their mouths meeting. “I'd have to agree, that was a great gift, but I'm talking about things you unwrap and stuff!”

Pulling her close for more, he laughed in between kisses. “I don't want to get technical, but I'm relatively sure we both did some unwrapping last night.”

“You're ridiculous,” she tittered, before placing a final kiss on his lips. “And I love you for it.” Bounding off the bed, she threw her fluffy robe over her nude body, securing it closed with a knot around her waist. “I'll make some coffee while you get up?”

“Certainly. Give me a second.” He put the shirt and pajama pants that he had removed not even 20 minutes ago back on, proud of himself that Clarette had no clue what he had been up to that morning. Walking down the hallway, the smile on his face grew as he heard her exclamation from the breakfast nook. As he entered the dining area, he was greeted with her running towards him.

Clarette threw her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist as he hoisted her up with no effort. She peppered kisses all over him, the smile on her face worth its weight in gold.

“When did you have time to do all this? And how?” She gestured to the dining table, which was chock full of waffles with fresh strawberries and whipped cream, plates with sizzling bacon and eggs, and two steaming mugs of peppermint mocha. “Not only were you asleep, but you said you can't cook!”

He led her to the table, pulling her chair out before sitting next to her. Holding her hand, he ghosted his lips over her knuckles. “I was thinking, wouldn't it be nice to start our own traditions? So, I taught myself how to make your favorite breakfast. I hope everything turned out to your specifications.”

Clarette placed her free hand on his cheek, gleaming at him in wonder. Their eyes never left each other as he placed a sweet kiss to her palm.

“It's absolutely perfect,” she whispered, never taking her eyes off him.

Leaning in towards each other, their eyes fluttered shut as they shared a soft kiss full of hope, promise and love.

“Merry Christmas, Clarette.” Beckett rested his forehead against hers, both relishing the peace and serenity of this moment, as well as the deep connection they shared.

“Merry Christmas, Beckett. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#beckett harrington #beckett x mc #the elementalists #beckett harrington x mc #beckett harrington fanfic #beckett x clarette #atlas ernhardt #playchoices #choices #te theia #the elementalists fanfic #beckett harrington fanfiction #choices fanfiction #playchoices fanfic #the elementalists winters past #scg writes

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smolgreenboi · 5 years ago

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CHARACTER SHEET

repost. do not reblog.

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

FULL NAME. garfield mark logan NICKNAME / ALIAS. b, bb, gar, grass stain, salad head (vic only), LGM, etc GENDER. cis male (though able to alter sex by/when shifting) HEIGHT. 5′ to 5′5 (age dependent) AGE. 13-18 (verse dependent) ZODIAC. pisces (with feral aries energy) LANGUAGES. english, can understand spoken swahili & hausa (cannot read or write it) as well as use basic terminology from both, reads and understands animal body language & other vocalization or forms of communication & is capable of mimicking it

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

HAIR COLOR. dark forest green (previously dark, earthy brown) EYE COLOR. mossy green (previously wet earth with amber specks) SKIN TONE. vibrant grass green (previously olive or gold) BODY TYPE. lean muscle and nimble. gymnast build. stronger than he looks. ACCENT. neutral american (can sometimes adopt swahili accent when pronouncing specific words his foster mothers taught him while living with them in africa). VOICE. a bit high-pitched, frequently squeaking or cracking during early teen years. speaks quickly and with increasing volume when excited or highly energetic. tendency to draw out words or use ‘uh’s and ‘um’s when trying to organize his thoughts at the same time. stammers and/or stutters and gets tongue tied while experiencing extreme emotion (positive OR negative). voice can become distorted before and after a shift depending on current emotional state and the form chosen, but only for a few seconds. DOMINANT HAND. ambidextrous & swaps ‘default’ hand depending on what’s convenient POSTURE. situational & company dependent. gar’s day-to-day posture is attentive, but relaxed. not always ‘good’ but always evident he’s very aware of his surroundings and is prepared to move quickly if needed. when in company of ‘superiors’ or those he respects, admires, or wants to impress, he stands very straight (almost stiff) and keeps his eyes low. SCARS. bite scar on upper right bicep. multiple needle-induced scars around bite scar as well as around his left shoulder. TATTOOS. none (will get one on his left arm the year he turns 20 to cover a scar) BIRTHMARKS. small ‘blob’ on his inner knee, though difficult to notice due to skin pigmentation. MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). he’s green, my dude. and beyond that he prefers to keep pointed ears, a slightly widened nose, and sharper canines/fangs even in his human form. at night, he’ll include tapetum lucidum in his eyes, which lets him see better in the dark and causes his eyes to ‘glow’ when reflecting light.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 !

PLACE OF BIRTH. unknown city, new york HOMETOWN. ???? (midway, michigan) BIRTH WEIGHT. ??? BIRTH HEIGHT. ??? MANNER OF BIRTH. ??? FIRST WORDS. mooma (’mama’) SIBLINGS. none, biologically. considers kori his big sister. PARENTS. mark & marie logan PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT. both of gar’s parents were present and involved when he was very young. after he contracted sakutia and they were able to mutate the virus, allowing gar to co-exist with it, they grew much more distant. gar was often isolated to certain rooms of their research center, partially for his own protection and partially because his parents didn’t know what to do with him once he started exhibiting the abilities sakutia had granted him. a scientist working with the logans, dr. samuel register, would often try pressuring them into exploring the possibilities that came with their son and, while at first resistant, mark began to bend. marie remained protective, determined to find a way to give gar some semblance of normalcy. gar remembers his parents with a blend of emotions he can’t quite explain or give names to, the only exception being guilt that he wasn’t able to save them.

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 !

OCCUPATION. superhero/vigilante. will eventually become a wildlife educator & conservationist, working with various organizations and rehabilitation. CURRENT RESIDENCE. jump city, california CLOSE FRIENDS. victor, kori, raven, dick RELATIONSHIP STATUS. single. FINANCIAL STATUS. his inheritance has him more than covered (but this is a secret). DRIVER’S LICENSE. he don’t got one lmfao, he got legs and wings bay-beeee CRIMINAL RECORD. theft, breaking/entering, destruction of property (pre-hero work). VICES. various forms of escapism. desperate need of company, often regardless of how dangerous or toxic it may be (will make excuses for the other party or claim it’s not that bad ; refuses to be alone). general refusal to seek or accept medical help for any injury.

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. demisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. bi / pan-romantic PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | SWITCH. PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | SWITCH. LIBIDO. low (on a 1-10 scale, probably a 3). TURN ONS. returning his bad jokes with an even worse (or better) one. a contagious laugh. warm hands. the way someone lights up when they’re excited over something they care about. pun-game on point. intelligence. sleeves rolled up to the forearms. genuine acceptance. kindness toward animals. upbeat attitude.

TURN OFFS. lack of empathy. ignoring him. belittlement. LOVE LANGUAGE. sending memes. quality time, taking turns choosing activities. various forms of physical contact, be it hand- holding, leaning into you, propping his legs over yours, etc. special nicknames for you and only you (gets irritable if other people try to use them). allowing himself to show signs of sadness or depression around you. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. initially friendly and welcoming, though this can 180 immediately depending on how it’s received or how he observes you treating others. highly protective of friends and those considered family, to the fault of being blindly willing to “throw himself away” if that’s what it takes. puts friends/family first, always. doesn’t give a shit what genetics say, you choose your family (trigon’s a dad? news to me). crushes fast and hard, but it takes a bit longer for romance or sexual feelings to actually root themselves.

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. pride . waving through a window . what’s up, danger? HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. video games, dancing / choreography, free-running & parkour, climbing anything he can, exploring/being outside, swimming, sun-bathing, flying. MENTAL ILLNESSES. complex PTSD. depression. situational anxiety. PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. infected with a mutated strain of the sakutia virus. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. right-brained. PHOBIAS. being alone. hospitals/medical staff/scientists. needles. SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. low to medium, depending on his company (ie: confidence is higher when around his own team & friends, but significantly lower when in steve/mento’s presence or around someone he might be crushing on or trying to impress) . VULNERABILITIES. mentions of his biological parents. bringing up past “screw-ups” or mistakes. tara (especially how he spoke to her the night of her betrayal, though this is information he hasn’t shared with anyone). his fear of himself and his own “potential”. (post-series) accidentally killing madame rouge. his refusal to wind up alone.

tagged by stolen from: @humanitysbridge

tagging: @gctjinxd, @nvertoolate, @demon-sorciere, @ring-of-azar, @fastestboyalive, @kywht, @floraluniversal —————YOU if you’re reading this (tag me so i can peep) !

#;describe yourself (yoooooooo)#;a garbage can. but it's pretty cute. ( SPECIFIC HEADCANON )#long post for ts #[ holy shit this was fun but BOY HOWDY IT TOOK A WHILE ]

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sincereiyleah · 5 years ago

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Is This Seat Taken?

A/N: Because the scenario kept bugging me, thanks to @/millennial-mess (sorry! I don’t know if they want to be tagged or not!) I decided to write a little ficlet about Carisi not being able to sit in Barba’s seat at the bar. I decided against posting it up on my ao3 account because it’s really short, but I’m trying to promise myself to post something up there regarding barisi before Friday comes. Anyways, enjoy!

Warnings: Rated Teen audience and up, nothing too disheartening.

When Carisi hears a sudden and confident click of high heels walking towards him, his pen momentarily stops, however, he’s able to complete his thought by the time the footsteps stop and the body is right next to him. A familiar smell of perfume bombards his nose and Carisi smiles, without taking his eyes off his legal pad he asks, “Would it be redundant to ask how you found me, Captain?”

The new title falling off his tongue as easily as his own, Carisi was surprised how natural the switch from Lieutenant to Captain was for him, just how he was surprised about his own switch from Detective to A.D.A.

There’s a bemused chuckle, the Captain sits next to him and Carisi finally places his pen down and shifts towards the one and only, Olivia Benson.

“Spare me,” she says, her eyes filled with playfulness and Carisi is instantly enthralled with her light humor. However, the moment is gone and the ever-observant detective leaned her head to the side, her eyes darting towards an item in the low lit bar. “You’re not in his seat.”

In hindsight, Carisi should have seen this coming, she was a trained detective of more than twenty years, but still, Liv said it in such a motherly type of way; hidden with undertones.

“Yeah, no, no I’m not,” Carisi manages to stumble out, he glances over at the empty seat and a legal pad like his own appears with a man hunched over it, scribbling quickly as the two fingers of scotch he was working on finally drained dry.

The vision disappeared.

The Captain only hummed, perhaps she was expecting him to elaborate on his conscience thought of sitting beside a particular former A.D.A’s seat but Carisi doesn’t have the answer himself.

“It’ll get tough,” she said instead, Carisi’s eyes drift back over to her, she has that docile kind of smile, kind but sad, knowing something that others don’t.

“I know, Liv,” although practiced, Carisi is still new to this job, it isn’t like the transitioning to a detective, he had his experience from uni days, he had something to lean back to and familiarize himself with. This A.D.A business, this territory, it feels foreign and aches of familiarity and all he has to lean back to are his memories of a certain A.D.A who reluctantly showed him the ropes. That and Carmen, who Carisi was lucky to have. “I may have changed jobs, but it isn’t easier by a long shot,” his hands deftly go and grab a beer that’s been idling beside his paperwork and drinks, the cool liquid turning lukewarm in his mouth.

“Well if there is anyone who can overcome it is you, Carisi,” that smile with only fondness returns, “I can still remember where you went around the precinct sputtering your legalities to anyone who would listen.”

They share a laugh, his earlier days where he wasn’t as bright but he had the spirit, that’s what brought him here, his will.

“I’m proud of where I am, but I can’t help but feel like I’m trespassing on familiar grounds,” the smile that Carisi sports fall flat and when he looks back over to the empty seat filling the empty air with only a reappearance of a two-finger scotch and a brief flash of green, he bites his lower lip and picks up his pen again. “I want to build, but I don’t think I can tear down what’s already there.”

“Then don’t,” was her simplistic reply but Carisi should know Liv is everything but simple. Nonetheless, she pushes herself up from the seat and regards him once more, “I have to get back home to Noah,” she explains.

“Of course, thanks for the chat, Captain,” Carisi forces his eyes onto hers, those brown eyes always contemplating.

A hand is placed on his shoulder, “Give him a call, Carisi, I’m positive he’s thrilled.”

And she leaves. Carisi watches her go with the comment playing on a loop in his head, he knows the ghost that haunts this job for him, but he’s unwilling to say his name in fears that he will reappear.

It’s been six months since he became the new A.D.A and the job had become more ingrained into Carisi, it’s been smooth so far, but Carisi is wary because in this business smooth can end quickly.

Carisi is also surprised at how many late nights he spends at the low lit bar now, always sitting next to the empty chair which always seems to remain empty during his stay.

But it’s been two months and Carisi still hasn’t called like Liv suggested, Carisi mainly doesn’t know what to say and everything he wants to say he can’t. So he ignores the lingering ghost the best he can.

The case the squad caught isn’t a particularly rough one, Carisi just has to be cautious of a loophole the defense may exploit and so far he’s had a winning streak and he doesn’t want to mar it. Therefore, when a pair of footsteps, confident in its strides, makes its way towards the empty seat, Carisi fails to notice.

The detective that’s still in him dies a little at his carelessness.

But it isn’t until he feels the warmth of another body coming in close contact with him does Carisi’s pen stop. His eyes don’t leave his legal pad, mostly out of fear, but in his peripherals, he could see the bartender serve a drink to the new companion almost as in rote.

“Should I ask?” Carisi finally says, blue eyes unwilling to turn.

“Carmen still has her loyalties, remember to give her a raise.”

Carisi doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry, the voice, he hasn’t heard in almost two years fills his ears and all the memories he had in his arsenal to lean against when a case gets tough all merged together.

“Duly noted. Two years without a peep from you, I’m surprised to see your brief return,” it’s a bit more bitter than Carisi had wanted.

“I’m sorry,” Carisi blinks and his head finally lifts up and turns, that empty seat filling the empty air is not so empty anymore.

Rafael Barba sits there, scotch already in hands and from the looks of it, has been staring at Carisi since he got there.

“You were one of the people who should have known of my departure,” Rafael says, the rim of his glass holding his green eyes’ interest until they finally snap up and lock with Carisi’s blues, “personally.”

Carisi sighs, “I could have called- I wanted to but...,” his voice falls flat and he breaks the stare. “I guess I hadn’t forgiven you yet.”

“I haven’t either. The way I left, with only saying goodbye to Liv, Rita, and Mami, I don’t expect to be welcomed so quickly,” there’s a sad tug of his lips, he has a pout and it’s adorable. Rafael’s eyes glance down at the legal pad and there’s a small smile that appears, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I missed your insistent questions, looks like you got it all figured out,” Rafael caught his eyes, “Counselor.”

The flush that imprisons Carisi’s cheeks is embarrassing and a sputtering laugh tries to cover it, “I didn’t think I’d live long enough to hear that.”

“It’s well deserved, Carisi.”

“Sonny,” he quickly corrects.

Rafael raises his eyebrow.

“We’re not colleagues anymore, we haven’t been in a long time,” the answer seems to suffice, “besides, I have you to thank, Rafael.”

“No you don’t,” was the quick and curt response, “only yourself. You became A.D.A by yourself, acknowledge that.”

Carisi is momentarily stunned, but he nods his head nevertheless, “I-uh,” and for lack of better communication on his end, “why are you here, Rafael?”

“I see you still have that detective inside you.”

“I don’t think he’s ever going to leave.”

“I didn’t say I wanted him to.”

“Stop deflecting.”

“Because,” Rafael blinks and takes another sip of his scotch, “someone I did consider a friend should know that even though I don’t deserve their forgiveness, I’m proud of what they have done with themselves,” Rafael's lips tug again and now it’s into a smile, genuine, “and who they turned out to be. There’s no one better for this job.”

“There was you.”

The words fall quick before Carisi can think about them. Rafael is silent for a moment.

“There was. Now it’s you.”

“Why are you here?”

“I just told-“

“No you didn’t, why are you here on a Friday night, close to twelve am, trying to make good with an old-time friend who stole your job?”

“You didn’t steal anything, Carisi-“

“Sonny.”

“You didn’t steal anything, I left on my own volition, I’m excited that you finally got the job.”

“Finally?”

“You were my first recommendation to the DA’s office, good to know they actually valued my opinion.”

Carisi shook his head, there were too many emotions in there creating a headache.

“Why are you here, Rafael?”

“To give you that personal talk I should have given you two years ago.”

“Why now?”

“I see that you’ve settled nicely into your lawyer status-“

“Rafael.”

“Florida’s men are crazy and the city called back to me, I only learned of your status two weeks ago.”

“Who told you?”

“The papers.”

Carisi throws an eyebrow up and his gaze sharpens.

“Manhattan A.D.A Dominick Carisi Jr. wins the trial against sex trafficker.”

Carisi rolls his eyes, it was his third big case since becoming SVU’s ADA and Carisi had worked his ass off to ensure life for that man.

“Liv didn’t tell you?”

“No. She didn’t. I asked and she said I should have called you if I wanted to know so bad.”

“Is there anything else you want to know?”

“Excuse me?”

“Anything else you want to know about me since you’ve been gone?”

It’s a brief silence.

“Yes. But not here.”

Carisi blinks and it takes a moment, but Rafael looks over to him, the two interlocking eyes.

“What are you saying, Counselor?”

“Something I should have said two years ago: can I buy you a drink, A.D.A Carisi?”

Carisi smiles, he closes his legal pad, “Yes you can.”

#barisi #ficlet #leah writes?#sonny carisi #Rafael Barba #fluff

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jpat82 · 6 years ago

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Have Yourself A Merry Little Deadpool

I was going to wait till I started my twelve days before posting this but when inspiration hits.

"I really can't stay." Wade exclaimed as he ducked under the assailants arm, twisting as he went, shooting him with his own gun. Baby it's cold outside.

"I gotta go away." He said in a song song voice as he pulled the katana from his back, slicing the next man in half as he whipped around. Baby it's cold outside.

"This evening has been." He continued on, pulling his own gun from his hip and shooting upward, a body fell through the ceiling. Been hoping you'd drop in.

"Hang on!" He stopped dead in his tracks as a guy lunged at him from the down the hall. Deadpool leveled the gun without looking and the shot rangout, the man charging lurched as he fell to the floor. Wade turned his head to thin air. "That song was pulled from the radio.. it's been flagged as inappropriate content."

He shrugged as he skipped through the warehouse, he twirled Bae in his hand before throwing into a man who was continuing to fire at him, catching him dead center of his face.

"Rudolph the Red nose bad guy." Wade started, confidently striding up and pulling it out of his face. "Oh dear, that was pulled as well. Not kid appropriate either."

With the house full of baddies all I wanted to do was get home to my girl. It's Christmas time and all, and even though she isn't big on the holiday I'd still like to surprise her. But these bad guys seriously keep coming at me like Santa's toy shop full of elves. Mean little elves with guns and knives, Guessing their of the naughty list this year.

“Jingle bells, X-men smells, deadpool has an egg," Wade sang at the top of his lungs, slicing the katana across the man he had just kicked in the groin as he turned. He skipped backwards tilting his head, watching as the the prone man bled from his backside. “Oh dear was that your rear, and that's how Wade Wilson got away."

——

You looked over at the tiny tree, colorful lights strung up on it. The pitiful sight reminded you more of a Charlie Browns Christmas tree then the actual thing but Wade has insisted on having one. Since he had moved in, more or less against your will, he had put up the tree, a strand of lights haphazardly strung randomly across the wall. It resembled male genitalia but he said it wasn't cause it would be flagged and taken down. Whatever that meant.

You set your coffee mug down on the table and curled yourself into the couch. You had wrapped up the day hours ago, taking care of the two people you had been given. Wade on the other hand only had one name on his list and yet had not managed to make it home. Not that you worried about him, being that he was impossible to kill had it’s perks. Flipping on tv you set it to frosty the snowman, might as well enjoy the few things of the upcoming holiday that would bring back childhood nostalgia.

A bit into the cartoon the door burst one and so did the merc with a mouth, dressed in his usual red and black, bullet hole ridden, ensemble. However he was wearing a fake white beard over his crimson mask and had a Santa hat atop his head.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year.” He exclaimed, kicking the door shut behind him. “Tell me, little girl, have you been good this year?”

“Afraid not Santa.” You chuckled softly while shaking your head at his antics. “And you?”

“That’s perfect, I’ve haven’t been a good girl either.” He told you, pulling the mask from his head. “Do you how hard it is to find a ‘holiday’ song that’s no longer offensive?”

“Wade.” You sighed, as he came over to you. He leaned down and you brought your hand up stopping him from pursuing a kiss. “Go shower. You’re covered in blood and sweat.”

“Just one?” He asked, pouting his lips out.

“Nope, go shower, I’ll make us some eggnog and start up a different movie.” You giggled, Wade rolled his eyes and head back to the bathroom.

Pulling yourself from the couch and you went into the kitchen, opening the fridge to retrieve the drink. You could hear the shower start, and you still chuckled to yourself as crossed back over to the couch. It had been a whirlwind of a year since meeting the man most knew as Deadpool. And as hard as you tried to ignore his advances it didn’t work. Sighing heavily you flipped the channel to Home Alone just as the shower stopped.

Wade came back out, black electrical tape on his scar covered chest over his nipples. The t-shirt he was carrying was slung over his shoulder, you blinked several times as he walked into the kitchen.

“Wilson, normally I don’t do this, and I’m probably going to get a crazy ass answer but..” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “Why is there tape over your nipples?”

“It’s the new community guide lines. I don’t want them confusing them for female-presenting nipples.” He retorted walking over and settling down next you on the couch, his shirt was on now. He set the plate of cookies of the comic book covered coffee table.

“What?” You asked snapping your head over at him.

“Uh, on tumblr. Got to make sure everything is safe and Kosher.” He smiled. “However.”

Wade flicking his eyes down at his couch, you had been more distracted by the black tape you had failed to notice the mistletoe hanging from his waist conveniently placed. Pulling the throw pillow out from behind you you hit him with it.

“And How is that okay?” You laughed, as he caught you by the wrist and pull you into him.

“Tumblrs a funny little hellsite.” He whispered kissing the bridge of your nose.

“Whatever you say Wade.” You sighed, getting comfortable while laying up against him.

“See I told you guys she’d come around.” Wade told the wall.

“Nope, still not indulging in fantasies that people can look into our lives.” You replied, snuggling deeper as he pulled the throw blanket from the back of the couch.

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones on tv. She’s is my girl afterall, a little hellcat full of piss and vinegar but not to me. Alas my tumblr peeps, hope you have yourselves a merry little dea.. Christmas.

Permanent tag-

@kitkatkl @octobermermaid @ajosieface @instantnoodlese @crystlblu @coffeebooksandfandom @the-wayward-robot @lokilvrr @shynara51 @fourtyninekirbygamzeegirl @loislp @ifyousayyouloveme @savedbyimagination @bubblycypres87 @devilbat

#deadpool #deadpool one shot #wade wilson one shot #deadpool x reader #deadpool x you #wade wilson x you #wade wilson x reader #christmas #lets make fun of tumblr #mygirl

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sundaynightnovels · 5 years ago

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11/11/11

i’ve been tagged by the ever-so-amazing @kidsarentallwrite , so thank you! love seeing your answers as always hahaha and am always thankful that you remember me for these games <3 1. Go to song when you need to get into the mood to write? sad songs. usually my favourite jay chou song, or some really sad hua chenyu pieces. but yea, always sad mandopop. and then i write a funny scene right HAHAHAHA ok no not always (my recent snippet was following a sad hcy song and it is ... hm. is it sad? i don’t know.) 2. Dream director for a film/television adaption? taikaaaa yoooooo!!! shout out to my best boy i can’t wait to watch jojo rabbit! edgar wright in the lines of the cornetto trilogy &/ scott pilgrim like man the cornetto trilogy was l i f e stephen chow for the most ridiculous nonsensical situational comedy that takes place in my wip (i’m thinking the fish scene, yall know that elusive fish scene that i always name-drop but never go into specifics about - gimme that in the style of kungfu hustle’s strongest woman!) 3. If you ever saw your WIP go to stage, is more likely to be a play or a musical? musical. it’d be a very boring play since nothing happens, and it’s ridiculous enough for the characters to break out in random musical numbers and still be valid. on immediate thought i can imagine teng wailing into the night singing a song about a forlorn love while zhen throws a shoe at him and jun sings a bad back-up harmony and ren is just there in the corner, rubbing at his temples and shou will act the part of the audience on stage and cheer and throw flowers and wail equally loudly in tears of absolute astonishment and delight yes. 4. Favourite thing you’ve written? eh. in my wip, or in general???? honestly i can’t think of anything. sometimes when i’m re-reading my writing / drabbles / whatever, in hindsight im like ‘whoa i wrote that??’ and then i re-read it AGAIN and im like ‘ew, i wrote that?’ and the cycle repeats x100 my favourite thing from my wip so far though, i think i have an actual scene for that. it’s this scene after all of them listens to this story. they are really affected by it, though none of them show it, and the next day shou just goes wandering around the streets and has this sorta experience and it’s written a little vague, a little dazed and confused but also really... hm. kinda magical-ish and surreal and i think it was written pretty ... nicely. yea. HAHA. (maybe i’ll let you read it someday *winks* HAHAHAHAHA) 5. Top five authors, go! ME. jk hahahahahaha. do i mean just kidding or do i mean jkr? who knows?? okay in all seriousness i love leigh bardugo, i love marie lu, ofc i love my man rick riordan and my childhood hero roald dahl. the last one’s for grabs, who wants to throw their name into the hat? 6. Biggest influences to your writing? idk, a lot of things. music and musical scenery (as in, yknow, certain visualisations you get when listening to songs & its mood and atmosphere etc. also i was watching pavarotti the other day for work, yknow the film about italian opera tenor luciano pavarotti? and in that film they mentioned something pretty interesting, in that in italian opera they first write down the lyrics, and then only after do they compose music to go with the lyrics so that each music strand is as evocative of the feeling of the word as possible, and i think that’s really cool) humour, definitely. most of my OCs came about from a line of dialogue that i just needed them to say. yes they are all manifestations of words. isn’t that all characters? but really. mostly just a sort of feeling. can’t really describe it. that’s why i have a hell of a difficult time getting inspirations huh? 7. What do you use more, first/second/third person? when i was younger i used to do first person, but now i can’t stand to do first person hahaha it’s just a little odd for me i need my third-person. sometimes i can’t really bear to read first-person either, at least since i’ve grown older. i don’t really know why, can’t pinpoint it. some first-persons are really good though. 8. What social media would your OCs have? uhhhh i’m not a big social media person, so i don’t really know. i’ve stopped using instagram since the beginning of this year, and it’s odd because people never remember that i don’t use instagram. it’s like a thing that everyone assumes that everyone has and uses, i guess -- it just can’t stick in their minds that i’m not anymore. just an interesting observation 9. Why do you write the genre you write? the more important question is, what is my genre? HAHAHA. okay i don’t know, i just like writing character and character interactions and i love introspective pieces (even though mine, arguably, isn’t particularly introspective since no one wants to think in that, tsk, typical humans) 10. Team Edward or Team Jacob? when i read the books i was a 100% team jacob, until he went and imprint on a newborn baby and i was like ew bro what’s wrong with you so i’m team no-one now. both sides are creepy, unfortunately. 11. What’s your guilty pleasure movie? no guilty pleasures! not ashamed of letting people know what films i enjoy watching HAHA i am a very conventional film-viewer and i like commercial stuff with mass appeal. sue me. like even though i’m writing film reviews for my internship right now and you’d assume i’d be all art-house and stuff, but like, no that stuff takes up too much brain energy i like fun, mass-appeal commercial stuff that forces you to engage in it and use your brain, whether during / after the film. that’s why parasite is fking amazing and it’s my favourite film of this year. if you haven’t watched it, WHY THE HELL NOT? tagging a few peeps at @coffehousecreations @bahay-kubo @insearchof-solace @kaigods @aslanwrites @bookenders @mvcreates @tenacious-scripturient @inexorableblob @focusdumbass questions under ‘read more’!

1. why did you choose writing as a medium instead of other artistic endeavours? 2. what language(s) would you love your wip to be translated into, and why? 3. how would you describe your own writing? 4. who do you look up to the most in the writeblr community, be it their energy or personality or writing? 5. give yourself three compliments in terms of your own writing ability! you deserve it! 6. how much does real-world events translate into your writing? 7. what is your all-time favourite film? 8. how would you rate your writeblr experience as of now? how has it differed from your prior expectations? 9. what trope / inspired scene do you want to put in your wip, but haven’t? 10. give us a summary of one of your earliest wips! 11. what do you enjoy reading most from another person’s writing? bonus question (for, ahem, personal reasons): have you watched parasite? why / why not? what do you think of it?

#writeblr #writeblr community #writing tag game #personal #my wip #my writing #writers on tumblr #nice people!

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haila-wetyios · 5 years ago

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Raiding

Since it became a pretty long post, Imma just throw this under a Read More. It’s not about current tumblr drama fashion. So no popcorn scene for you peeps. Just my experience as a whole and to finally let go of a few feelings that kept weighting on me for a good while until my current team took me in.

The first time I ever advertised on a PF that I was seeking a raid team, was during the final months of ARR. I was a complete scaredy cat, anxious of whether I'd be good enough to work on a team that required more coordination than pugs to get things such as extreme primals or savage raids done. Off I go as a SMN main, panicked as my raid leader of that team joined my party for a brief interview. Afterwards though, during our first joint team efforts for HW content (Ravanna and Bismark extreme at that time) I discovered that I wasn't as bad as I thought. On the contrary, I was too perceptive of everything to the point I would rush to do mechanics assigned to our newbie healer who after several explanations would still not do the thing. Despite my huge insecurities of probably not doing the relevant rotations down to the last skill, my ego started to rise a bit when parsers started to take more and more of conversations between static members. And although I would never ask about my numbers directly, I would celebrate in silence when reading the overall party dps the moment I realized mine had been at the top even with a ninja and a dragoon in the party. That should have been a flag to me now that I look back for being a caster that was doing more damage than the melee. But I didn't know any better, and stayed with my group regardless throughout the entirety of gordias savage. Every week would be the same pummeling against the horrifying Faust dps check, then the first turn's boss, then the second turn until we finally hit the wall of jigglyman and disbanded. I didn't have much complains, despite how tiring it was, I had long since given up on those clears and instead turned each night into 'training to see how long I can last the moment shit hits the fan in any given fight'. And boy did I get a ton of experience down that lane.

The next times I started looking into content once more, I could only play the part of a sub for any group of people I trusted due to life and time issues. But I still took pride in being that one stable sub that could support any group on any extreme primal through HW. I still lament that I was never able to go through Midas and Alexander savage when they were relevant and merely watched from the sidelines.

Then SB came up, and I merely stood aside once more for the first Tier with Exdeath. Except this time, the frustrations of not having been there while I watched all my friends start doing EX's and savage content had finally gotten to me. And lo' and behold, suddenly I was back on square 1, trembling in fear while waiting on my PF announcement that I was looking for a group for Sigma (Kefka times). Nearly died the moment I had two people with interesting names join in my party and just grab me on the spot. I had no idea what I was getting into, they mentioned they just needed a caster slot for the new rag tag group they had built, but at least I had a team! Then the first day of raid came up, and right off the bat I was terrified at the fact that our raid leader was missing, being replaced just for that moment with the FC leader instead. Turns out my entire group save for the ninja, were a raiding FC with multiple groups going in through the week. And what was the first comment of the night pray tell? Well "No one should be here with X ilvl gear." Who was it aimed at? Well, to the only potato that for the first time was slightly outdated in 2 pieces of gear for not being active before the patch dropped. That was the moment that marked my spiraling down a rabbit hole that I wish I could let go of easily but still has a tight grip on me to this day.

I felt like crap, I fought my best and did research on how to be a better caster. Other than the FC leader's comment, no one berated me or spoke about me on a negative light. But it still left a mark in which I kept trying to prove myself and be useful. Suddenly I would find myself cursing at my skills. Hating how no matter how hard I tried with everything, I would never be able to even pass the goddamned Stone, Sky and Sea for savage raids. But we were still getting things done. Two new savage turns down in a single week of release? That felt incredible and also bittersweet. Because any time that my party members celebrated their purples and golds in fflogs, I would be in a corner, self destructing with greys. I kept trying and trying, until my coping mechanism ended up being "I'm just a fill in. But if I'm just this, I'm damn going to do a job stable enough to have a place here." Then things started turning out easier to deal with. I had noticed the goofiness of a lot of the members despite the numbers that dictated their runs, I gave up on my grey numbers and focused on getting their asses up if someone made a mistake. To support the healers as much as possible with mana shift and such. I started putting my experience of keeping the party alive to more use while I slowly tried to recover the confidence I had lost when starting the tier. Granted, they didn't care for the group as much as I did. No amount of hanging out after raid times or helping was enough for the few in charge to announce when we were done raiding after months of being together. They just stopped one day until their FC leader asked me if I was aware of the 'disbanding'.

Then it was time to switch gears, for the first time I thought my work had bore fruit when I was recruited into the FC leader's group instead, and all was well.... Until it wasn't, we kept having to replace members left and right, specially healers and tanks. Progress was slow, sometimes we’d clear Chaos and Midgarsormr, and others it would be a mess depending on the random team comp we had for the week. Things should have been better by the time we made it to Omega, half the party had cleared with their mains after all. Except that it was the point where everything went south in the background.

We had gained a good White Mage, who would complain about random jibber jabber every now and then, but that was fine, no biggie. Then they brought in their former co-healer from their previous static, a Scholar, and all was supposed to be fine. But then something happened that slowly started to wear us all out. For some reason, we suddenly were struggling some more with Midgarsormr, and then Omega.... Boy, even if we had previously cleared, suddenly the three days with 3 hours of raid time each went on on that goddamned turn, and then the final 15 min would go for Omega Male and Female and the reason was hard to tell at first, we were doing the same old after all. It wasn’t until nearly a month of wiping that probably the group had started to realize what was wrong. Our Scholar wasn’t exactly pulling his full weight.

This is what caused probably something that I should have seen coming and that stuck with me for a long while until now that I found this draft I worked on when the wound became fresh again from just thinking about it. It’s just frustrating, sad to a degree and I brought part of it on myself for trying so hard to be useful to no one. What happened? Well, the leader didn’t want to get involved into any drama by only kicking the Scholar because they were friends with the White Mage, so a disbanding was supposed to be the better way to end things. Except the leader decided to do it in a different and up to date still a very shitty fashion.

Right after we’d finished the last raiding night for the week, he posted an announcement about how people, aka his FC members were tired of constantly bashing their heads against Omega with little success and so they were gonna reform. By kicking the only outsiders of the static team. The White Mage, the Scholar, and me. There was no further explanation, no messages to me, nothing. I was just tossed like that after +6 months of knowing this FC and having raided and hung out with a good chunk of their members. I’d sacrificed so much for them. My time, my confidence to a degree, I had been a slave to their parsers more than a few occasions each time I heard them celebrating or complaining about their numbers. All because I wanted to feel like I could stand on the same levels as them. And I did to a good degree. I reached a point where I knew that my abilities weren’t as bad as the greys on my numbers showed me. But it meant nothing to any of them in the end. No message from the leader that up to that point had kept communication with me for raid times and other stuff. No reaction from the peeps I’d raided the most with.

The most ironic part that I still respect? The only person to apologize, the only one that actually took the time to send me a message after the whole group ‘disbanded’ was the dragoon that I had only ever heard speak about their golden parses and nothing else on discord. We hadn’t even talked up until then. But he still cared more than the people that had known me for longer in that group. Granted, I did get to throw at least a cent in the raid channel about what I thought before getting kicked, so he probably wanted to come out clean on that.

I am glad to no avail that I will never have to see them again, because the server splits sent them to a different data center. But it still left a deep mark on me when it came to XIV. I stopped logging in to do any content for a while, focused more on screenshots, on shady flower lady times until I could learn to love the game again. It probably took longer than I would have liked because all of this happened at the exact time that my friends from my crew had dived into raiding at a deeper level. I got to see them celebrate clearing the final omega. Then server transferring to be with their static before the great split or quitting. And then with Shadowbringers hearing “We’re not looking for a dps caster slot.” Each time anyone needed a fill in for their group.

All this left me at an odd spot, being the veteran that keeps up groups or dungeons on normal modes, but having a hard time trying to get back into my niches in the game. My way of getting through raid had been to think of myself as being replaceable or worthless, but still trying to keep my hope that I’m actually valuable. Getting through all of it alone is not the solution now that I can let go of that bitterness of not being appreciated even as a person. I just happened to get a random chance to try out filling in for a group for a friend. But it wasn’t that what helped me the most both to be back on raids and to have finally built back my confidence. They probably didn’t think that I would check, but I’m the curious kind. Specially when you join a discord that has brief mentions of you on the recent chat. And seeing them mention me, and then vouching over my skills as a player, and how I was their first friend in the server? Well, despite having trouble expressing any feelings myself most of the time, when I get to think of it, you have no idea how much it meant to me.

I managed to get back on what I like and enjoy most of what I do after deciding to take another leap of faith and join this group despite my stigma. Granted, mentions of parses and all will always be there. But not letting them define you, and believing in what you can and can’t do in content, I think is the best choice you can make to have a healthy experience and enjoy yourself as much as possible.

#personal #FFXIV #Raiding can be fun or leave a bad mark on you depending on how you go about it #long post #When I first wrote this it looked more like a rant so off it went to drafts #But its really just my experience overall now that I re read it and added two more cents in it

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thebeethathums · 6 years ago

Text

An Adventure - 2

Bilbo Baggins x Reader

A/N: I think this could be considered filler because nothing happens... Except for Gandalf sass. He is a true sass master. A few lines towards the end are taken directly from the movie so credit to the Hobbit peeps.

You were laying on the back of your large black point dun gelding, using his neck as a backrest so you could look up at the sky when Bilbo caught up to the company. A wide smile spread across your face and you slipped from your high perch to greet him with a question, “You’ve decided to join us?”

He nodded, still trying to catch his breath, and you swept him into a hug as you exclaimed, “Fantastic!”

He was unsure of how to respond to your sudden affection but it didn’t matter as you quickly released him to give a wicked grin to the company of dwarves behind you, “Pay up!”

There were a number of coins tossed in your direction as Gandalf chuckled and Bilbo gawked, “You wagered on whether or not I would come?”

You offered him a grin and a wink, “I had faith you would join us before the day was out and they did not.”

Thorin waved a hand, “Give him a pony.”

He protested that he could walk and you offered, “Blossom could easily carry us both if you’d like to ride with me, Mr. Baggins.”

He shook his head and found himself lifted onto a shaggy pony as you shrugged “Suit yourself.”

The company was already moving out, leaving you and Blossom behind but certainly not for long as you gracefully swung yourself back to where you had been and then set off at a trot to place yourself next Bilbo with Gandalf on his other side.

Gandalf offered you a smile before looking to Bilbo, “(F/n) and I never doubted you for a second, my dear fellow.”

He looked from Gandalf to you and you grinned at him from your place balanced cross-legged on Blossom’s back, he wondered how you ended up with this company and was about to ask you when Bofur called your name. You shouted back, “Coming!” before urging your horse forward to see what he wanted and, more importantly, steal his hat.

Bilbo watched you go with curiosity-filled eyes and Gandalf noticed, “She’s quite something, wouldn’t you agree?”

Bilbo nodded, “You have something to do with her being here don’t you?”

Gandalf smiled as you leapt to stand up on the back of your horse to keep the hat on your head away from its owner, “(F/n) is here because I am here, as an apprentice should be.”

Bilbo turned to look at the wizard, “Apprentice?”

Gandalf gave a secretive smile as he nodded, “Like you, there is far more to her than meets the eye.”

Bilbo’s eyes found you again, you had paused your antics, still standing balanced on Blossom’s back, to look out over the horizon with a thoughtful look on your face. You plopped the hat back on Bofur’s head as you sank to sit cross-legged again with a grin and Bilbo wondered what you were thinking.

It wasn’t until they stopped for the night that he got to speak to you again. He was sneaking his pony, Myrtle, an apple when a soft giggle erupted behind him, he turned to find you, your face lit by the silvery light of the moon. You pressed a finger to your lips and handed him a carrot before returning to your task: braiding Blossom’s soft black mane from atop the rock he was standing by.

He gave Myrtle the carrot and then hopped up to sit next to you, admiring the complex network of braids you had created before turning to admire something entirely different. The light of the moon suited you, making your features more striking and catching in your hair to give you a sort of halo.

Letting the braid you were working on fall from your hands, you turned to offer him a soft smile, quietly inquiring, “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head, “What about you?”

You sighed happily, “I like the night. The stars and the moon. It seems such a waste to sleep through something so beautiful.”

He looked up at the large round full moon, “I suppose you’re right.”

He caught you giving a small yawn before you folded your arms behind your head to look up at the sky, tugging at his sleeve for him to join you. When he did, you began pointing out constellations in the night sky to him, telling him the tales behind each one, as he listened and asked questions every so often.

He had nearly fallen asleep to the soft sound of your voice when a shrieking from below had you both bolting up from your place on the rock. You went in the opposite direction of him as he bounced toward the fire and you went to the furthest pony, eyes scanning the space beyond it for any sign of orcs as you fingered the hilt of one of your concealed daggers.

You hushed the ponies, pulling them closer to your group and your and Gandalf's two large horses before returning to the fire in time to hear Fili and Kili trying to scare Bilbo. They saw your approach, a smirk crossing Kili’s face, and he nudged his brother just as you placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, causing him to jump, and then leaned to whisper, “Don’t let them scare you. We are prepared for the worst should it arise.”

Fili and Kili would have been disappointed that you didn’t use your stealth to spook him if they weren’t already being scolded by Thorin and Gandalf called to you, “(F/n).”

You removed your hand from Bilbo’s shoulder to look to your mentor, silently communicating with him as he gave you a concerned look and you gave him a reassuring but wary nod. This topic hit a little close to home. Bilbo watched the exchange with curiosity and you slunk away toward Blossom as Balin began to tell the story of Thorin Oakenshield and the battle of Moria.

You watched Bilbo and the others listen from your place spread out on Blossom’s wide bare back, your keen ears alert for any foreign sound. You liked the dwarves and you wanted them to succeed, they deserved a home. That was your last thought before you unwittingly drifted off to sleep.

The next day was rainy and despite grumbling from the dwarves, your spirits were unbelievably high. Gandalf gave a small knowing smile as you let the rain completely soak you with a series of secretive giggles, hopping off Blossom to disappear into the wooded area nearby only to pop up a bit later to throw yourself back on his back.

It wasn’t until you were good and drenched and slightly exhausted from your little excursions that you threw your cloak over your shoulders and urged Blossom to catch up to Gandalf and Bilbo. The hobbit jumped when a heavy but warm weight hit his shoulders and was about to look up when his vision was obscured by a hood that very effectively blocked out the rain being pulled up over his head.

He lifted his eyes and found you leaning precariously over to look at him with a grin, wet locks clinging to your cheeks, “You looked rather cold, Bilbo. I hope you don’t mind.”

He offered you a smile, tugging your extra cloak tight around himself, “Not at all. Thank you, (F/n).”

You let out a pleased hum, holding your hand out to let the rain gather in it as Gandalf refused a dwarves request to end it, “It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done.”

You let out a smooth and musical laugh, “Without rain nothing grows, Dori. It is life-bringing weather. Enjoy it.”

Gandalf chuckled before adding, “If you wish to change the weather of the world you should find yourself another wizard.”

Bilbo raised a curious eyebrow at this, “Are there any?”

“Any what?”

“Other wizards.”

Gandalf nodded and set into naming the other four wizards of the five that exist ending with Radagast the Brown. You grinned widely, “Radagast is a fantastic wizard. A little odd I’ll give you that but I like him all the same.”

Gandalf nodded, “Of course you do, my dear girl. You share his affinity for the forest and its inhabitants.”

You chuckled, looking to Bilbo, “Yes but I much prefer the company of others to that of animals when given a choice.”

Gandalf gave you a small smirk, “That, my dear, is why you are my apprentice and not his.”

Bilbo looked up at you from under his hood, he knew he had a friend in you but you were still shrouded in so much mystery, so much for him to still discover, and he found himself welcoming the challenge.

Tags <3:

@xxdragonagequeenxx

@bewareofmyinside

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aintnouseofpretending · 6 years ago

Text

And I'll run in the rain till I'm breathless. (Roger Taylor x Reader)

» Kinda impossible for me to stop writing @[email protected] are two exams, this month and next month, so I have been studying non-stop and jfc I’m burning the hell out. I really wanna write something, so here it is!

Summary: Y/n is part of the underground rock community in London. One day Brian introduces her to Roger and they quickly became a friend. But that doesn't last long; after giving Roger space supposedly reserved for her best friend—y/n get to finally see Roger's true face behind his cool looks.

Pairing: Mr T (Roger Taylor) x Reader.

Warning: Fluff at the end. Maybe a wee bit of angst? Profanity; a lot of profanity (cursing too much ain’t cool, peeps). Smoking (it’s bad for ya).

Word count: 4917.

Inspired by: Fool in the Rain by Led Zeppelin.

Dedicated to and perma-tag: @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark, my new friend that’s instantly clicked with me. <4 <4

Another note: This means what happened currently. Italic means memories in the past. Roger can be either actual Roger from any era the readers like or Ben Hardy’s Roger.

+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+

It’s foolish to think anything is going to work out with another man when your heart lies elsewhere. You wish to cry for him, but you can’t. There’s no reason for it. You don’t feel anything. Despite being his best friend for years, you see Loui as nothing more than a brother. A brother that doesn’t mine slapping you for being honest with him. After you’re accused to almost stood him up when you simply get the address wrong, he stopped you mid dumping him with a slap so true you feel like you’re still dreaming down in the rain. You finally snapped from the mind-bending action you thought he will never do, and quickly take shelter under the bus stop.

“Well. It’s going on three years.” You whispered to yourself. “If he was to do that to me, maybe I would do the same with what Loui did to me.”

Or maybe not. The only one time you hit someone was because you’re already so damn mad, and you’re too drunk to think straight. And it was an accident too, you only try to get him off; because he’s helping you to get up even after you say you can stand on your own. At least that time your feelings for him is still atom level it almost didn’t exist. Perhaps your old self when you start seeing his bad side would never think you’d be like now. Missing him. Somehow. You’ll do the dishes for him, but only two times before you start yelling at him. Like always.

You chuckled in silent as you wipe the water running down your hair. You wonder where he is now. Ever since you date Loui, you had a big fight and you moved out. You heard a couple of things from Brian, but they’re not so important, seeing the nature of the man. That makes you laugh again. He probably already exceed thousandths girlfriend. Maybe he’ll laugh too when his housemate told him to put a sock on the door.

“What’s so funny?”

You looked at a guy sheltering next to you. He’s also drenched. You shrugged.

“I don’t really know, mate. You got housemate still? Do they tell you to raise the flag when you’re shagging a gal? I used to be that housemate. I don’t know why I even bother to tell him. Good times...”

+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+

"I should've not introduced you to him." The man sighed deeply. You could only stare sharply. So bloody sharply that the brunette refuses to look at you until you stopped.

"What makes you think that? I have been painfully average in college anyways." It hurts to say that to the tall Astrophysics boy you have been crushing for so long. But sass is like honey in your blood. You can't help but get addicted.

"Cut your fucking sarcasm for once. It never helps your situation."

"Correct. But it makes it better." Now it's Brian's turn trying to kill you with his eyes. "What am I supposed to do then, Bri? Tried to fucking evict him? Emphasis on "tried"! That arsehole have me kicked out and shunned by my ex-bandmates! I fucking know I sucked at bass and guitar! But they're—."

"Breath..."

You didn't realize you almost throw your coffee cup at him. It still got half of hot coffee in it, and it makes Brian looks perfectly petrified with both of his hands up as if he ask you not to shoot.

"Sorry..."

"I'll talk to Roger. Again..."

The two of you knows it. It'll make no bloody difference; you can't even remember how many times you almost get Roger kicked by the landlady. But Mrs Marianne eventually falls victim to Roger's seduction and as he turned her against you. The last time you could convince her how horribly low maintenance her blonde tenant was, Roger played, hope-fucking-fully, his last trump card and get you voted by your own bandmates, from the band you fucking founded. His sugary victory has you wish you were bald so there'll be no hair you can pull out of frustration. Although the incident this time was that not only he ate your food and didn’t even try to do the dishes, he also blasts his music when you have clearly stated you’re going to study.

At least the silver lining to all this was that every time Roger KO'd you, Brian will give you his time—most likely out of guilt—disguise it as helping you to study. But, 1) his teaching and tips actually help you, and 2) the two of you did studies in the end. So you're not sure whether the lanky guitarist was just so bloody kind, or there could be something else that can be of use for you. That's why you can't really blame him for Roger's case; were you not taking interest with the man with his curly hair, perhaps it'll be long enough for you to secure the space at the house for your best friend—as you originally planned and supposed to do, instead of giving it to the satan-spawn.

A sound of a phone vibrating makes the two of you jumped out of your concentration. Lucky it was Brian's phone. If it was yours, the two of you would've been dead from the damn loud rock music ringtone.

"Your mum?"

"Ha, ha..." He mocked whilst he checked the caller. "Oh, my girlfriend. I'll be back in a minute."

As the man stands up and goes outside to answer the call, and you simply sat there. Your world suddenly destroyed. Almost feels like the café starts crumbling before your eyes, but you can do nothing to stop it. Only to witness and stunned like a helpless heroine in her love story. The warm rustic atmosphere from the café-around-the-corner. A romantic scene, perfect for a date and be with your love. Not so many people around so you can enjoy, now apparently, your heartbroken. You’re not going back here anytime soon, that’s for sure.

"Hey, sorry about that. Chrissie just found out about your fight with Roger and she's very worried about you. She told me to tell you this; you can bunk with us in case Roger is being Roger again."

Brian's sudden presence as he sits down finally snaps you out of your post-apocalyptic perception of the world.

"Chrissie? Chrissie Mullen? She's your girlfriend?"

"Ah, that reminds me, I always forgot to tell you, Loui is her friend."

"I know that! We are friends too for quite a while—."

So that's why Brian always feels so fucking guilty. It's the one-thing-lead-to-another bullshit; Loui talked about how you're quick to eye him to be your housemate. Being Chrissie's friend—Brian's future girlfriend,—he's around Roger when he showed off your loyalty as his best friend, only to have the lights of hope immediately extinguished by the bastard of a drummer on exactly the next fucking week. Brian bloody knew. But he's not a god to see the impending doom.

"Ha. That's funny." Your eyes stare blankly at him for a solid three seconds before your hands start packing your things in your backpack as fast as lightning. But it's no longer the fact that Brian was already taken by none other than your friend, funny enough, you used to crush on too, but the pang of pain in the bottom of your stomach was now caused by his lack of reaction seeing you bursting out of the café. That's the only reason left you needed to change the reason to go to the music club. Now it's to drink.

...

You wish to laugh at the situation like you always do the almost fifty times it happens. But this time, the girl’s scream can’t even faze you as your mind trying to make what is going on. It is clear as day what is going on. The currently naked woman trying to get her clothes whilst Roger looked frustrated but not helping his date.

“Sock on the door, ya cunt.” It’s hard to hide your slur, but currently, nothing can make you care enough. “At least tell me ya be shagging a gal. How many times was this fucking thing have to—.”

When you run to the bathroom to throw up, his girl ran out of the house. An impossible scenario for two young and wild girls to leave him behind in a hurry just like that. Even more impossible to see you getting so drunk you throw up. Not after he almost get you to bed him the one time you’re drunk when he’s also in the house; which makes you swear to Brian or Loui or your close friends to never let go you go home when you drunk.

“You... Alright?”

“Do I look alright, young boy?” You didn’t even try to cover your face knowing full well Roger always throws his briefs at you when you call him that. So you’re not surprised when Roger is too shocked to find you in that state.

“Just leave me the fuck alone and wreck this house like you always do.”

You don’t expect him to care. At least you wish he didn’t, or he might prank the shit out of you, and you might be too shitfaced to not restrain yourself from murdering him on spot this time. Hell, you’re too fucking drunk to see that he already did the wrecking the house part; one thing you’ll thank him for instead, because being too angry at him whilst cleaning the house will surely make you forget tomorrow.

+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+

“Ha. Annoying housemates after another. Just fucking avert your eyes, my sex life is none of yer’ business.” The man starts smoking, he offered you one, but you shake your head. “That one gal is the only one that lasts longer living with me. She’s still the champion in many different things too.”

“I bet she also hates you smoking near her.” You stated quite sharply. He inhaled deeply and exhale it away before he throws the cig on the pavement as he stepped on it.

“Miss that about her too.”

“No, you didn’t. You still smoked.”

“Just like her, you don’t know me quite well.”

“Well, you’re not helping much.”

“Because you only see what you want to see. You ignore everything else.”

Maybe that’s true. In the beginning, you hate your blonde housemate so much for many different reasons. Perhaps way too much that you can’t see him changing his attitudes towards you? But you have to be completely honest, if he does that when he’s not bringing home his bassist friend—that makes your housemate actually looks like the Satan himself, you’ll absolutely notice it much faster and sooner.

+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+

Something is happening with Roger. Ever since that day, he’s less of a bitch than he used to. He still doesn’t do dishes, or clean the fucking bathroom, or still refusing to throw trash away along with himself. He doesn’t pull a prank on you or insults you as much. He doesn’t blast his stereo, he even turning it down when you kick at his door when you need to study. He hardly brings some shag home anymore. Instead, that cute brunette is the frequent guest. And of course, you’re not complaining at all. The nostalgic peacefulness almost makes you so fucking drunk, Roger will take pity on you and left you a half-opened snack like when you discover the daddy long leg of your crush is already taken.

“Huh, y/n, did you see my lunch set? You eat them?”

Roger’s yell doesn’t make you jump despite it successfully breaks your concentration.

“You ate yours this morning.” You reminded him as you continue looking for riffs. “You can eat mine. I have toasts for lunch.”

“Thanks—?”

“Yeah, piss off.”

And he did leave you alone. Quietly heating and eating the lunch set and boil some water. Except, he can’t stop staring at you as he does all that.

“You’re very good.” Roger’s friend that you just learn the name as John, commented. He sat right in front of you as he put a mug of hot coffee on your side of the table.

“Oh, I know. But apparently not good enough.” You stare at the mug to which he nodded. “Thanks so much about the coffee.”

“Roger made that, not me. And no. It is very good. How long have you played?”

“Since fifteen. And tell that to Jukebox, maybe they’ll listen to you.”

“You used to be in Jukebox?”

“You’re still salty about them?” Roger joins the two of you. But as he sits right next to you, you immediately grab your amp, your music sheets, and goes to your room for some privacy. As expected; Roger found it offensive.

“What the hell did I do?”

“Everything. And Jukebox. You give out bad vibe my muse fucked off. By the way, John, I still got some cheese on toast in the fridge if you want.”

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

“What about me? I just made you that coffee.” He whines mockingly, almost makes you throw your music sheets at him. But instead, you slammed your bedroom door. “Wait, I’m serious. I’m still hungry.”

“You have fucking legs, Roger! Get them yourself! And whilst you’re at that, why don’t you drink the coffee and all our fucking foods?”

You hear a muted conversation as you write some notes down a bit later. It sounded more like an argument, but there’s a loud; “Fine! You don’t even have to thank me!” followed by the sound of plates and glass clunking. If it is indeed Roger that does the dishes, you promised yourself to listen to him and not thanking him. That’s his responsibility, you have done yours, and it’s not even that much. But the harder you try to ignore that, the more you can’t help that maybe Roger is turning to the better, and not because John is getting on his nerve as much as you did, but the drummer can’t do much about it.

+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+

“You’re right. But you have to understand it from my point of view. Ever since my housemate starts to live with me, he has done nothing but annoys me. And at that point, after plenty of fights, I want nothing but for either of us to move out.”

“Yeah, alright. I realised that a bit late. But still, ouch?” He laughs, hands automatically reach for a new cig before he notices what he’s doing. Your stare makes him put the smoke pack back inside his trousers. “Eventually the gal and I stop trying to murder each other.”

It’s still pouring out there with a zero sign it’ll stop anytime soon. Even though you wear layers of clothes, London is still a merciless place when it comes to weather. Despite that, recalling your sweet memories helps you warm up from the inside.

“Calm before the storm.” You break the silence, in which he quietly appreciate. “But maybe the most important part. After that, there’s no more filter on how we feel about each other.”

“I have to argue that my housemate and I are too much of childish bastards.”

This time it’s you that’s laughing. He’s right. Roger is growing softer and actually act like how a normal person should, especially to their housemate that give him a chance to live there in the first place. That’s when you can finally see he’s not just an arsehole rockstar wanna-be that’s a twat backstage. He is a twat backstage in a literal sense, but that’s something else entirely.

+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+

It’s hard to convince Loui who gets jealous easily that Roger was just a housemate. Much harder to hide the fact that you and Loui are dating, whilst he tries to convince his fellow Jukebox bandmates that you’re framed by the blonde from Queen. Undoing the childish plan that successfully kills your motivation to ever join or create a new band. When Loui is to get you involved again in the band because of his utter distaste towards the new bassist—who prefers to play over contributing in the creation of new albums, you’re too busy juggling your relationship, college, and Roger.

What’s with Roger? It’s clear he doesn’t know you’re already with someone else. Not that it'll stop him. But he doesn’t stop treating you like someone not only he wants to shag, but also date long-term. That’s how he hooked Dominique. Their bad breakup—that later you find—was the necessary fuel for him to chose and have you kicked out from Jukebox because you pissed him off at the wrong time. If Loui knows, there might be a fist fight between the two. You don’t hate Roger that much anymore to be able to see him lose miserably against the former boxer.

“Here to see us, love?” There he is. Approaching you like a snake ready to eat its prey.

“Jukebox actually. Don’t call me that.”

“Why? They kicked you out.”

“Because of you. But let me elaborate; I’m here for Loui.”

“Ah. Your gay best friend.” He nodded almost jokingly. “Still, please do enjoy our performance. I’ll even dedicate a song for you.”

“Don’t.”

“Can’t stop me. Just you see, you’ll finally fall in love with me.”

You really wish that was only a joke. That it’s just a simple word. But it didn’t. You don’t know what happened to you. When Queen is the first one to perform at the music festival in London, they bewitched you. Roger didn’t even lie about dedicating a song to you. As he stated it; “This is for my girl and housemate. Sorry to get you kicked out of Jukebox; you deserve a better chance in a better band. We’ll be waiting for your application, love.”

All three of his bandmates knows who that message was directed, but they simply laugh it off, thinking no one would believe that. Although what you feel right now is bloody far from the cheery and cheeky mood that Queen radiates. You feel like your heart stopped. A storm is about to ensue and you try to run towards Jukebox’s dressing room, only to bump with the right man half-way through.

“What the fuck was that?! You say he’s just your housemate!”

“Let’s talk somewhere else, dear.”

“No! I need a word with that man if what you say is true!”

“Do you want to get Jukebox’s approval or not?! Knocking Roger’s down his drummer set will have Jukebox kill you!”

The man with light-brown curly hair finally controls his breath as he stares at you. When his emotion subsides, he drags you to the storage room.

“Move out.”

“I’ll tell Roger that you and I are dating.”

“No, you can’t. Jukebox still despises you, and that son of a bitch will leak our fucking secret like it was his own sex tape, just to bring us down and to get you. He fucking admits it in front of the audience he got you dropped out the band! You’re my fucking girlfriend! You think I’ll let him near you after all he has done to you?!”

You’re trying to rack your brain and defend Roger. What is it to defend? He is the arsehole that makes you hates him the day he set foot in that house. He did get you kicked out the band you fucking found with Loui, how, you don’t know—maybe because of Elise, Dorian’s girlfriend, that he shag that day. He almost gets you evicted too many times because Mrs Marrianne believed in his lies more than your truths. But that’s not what makes you speechless. It’s the fact that you think to defend him at all. He has been much kinder than he was before, and he has been flirting with you non-stop. How come that’s enough to get you chose him over Loui, your best friend and now boyfriend?

“Move out. I’ll find a place to live far from London for us. Alright? I will not wreak havoc. But him saying that he gets you kicked out from the band will help me change our bandmates mind about you. Things will get better once you’re away from that bastard.”

"You're right. I'll get myself ready and start packing. I don't know what"s got into me."

Loui hugged you tight as he kisses your hair. Despite hugging him back, you still can't get Roger out of your mind. More specifically, why you can't and why he's still ticking you off even though he's no longer act like an arsehole to you. The man is handsome, but you have long grown immune to his antics. Maybe because he has been getting on your nerve so much all this time that he left a mark? Would that mark matters, though? You'll move out and eventually forgets about him right?

That's how it's supposed to go. For everything to finally be right and normal. And it is, at first; the band finally listen to Loui defending you and decide to reconcile after the concert. It was all fine and dandy until one of the crew knock on Jukebox's dressing room door to reveal that Roger is looking for you.

"Hey, arsehole. Get something to say to y/n after what you did to her? Apologies?" Dorian start first, most likely because he has been personally involved without his knowledge and consent by Roger in his plan getting you voted out.

"Oh absolutely. But I'm here for more than that. That lady is booked by us, and she's expected to join us... Hmm, preferably in twenty minutes?"

"My girlfriend is not going anywhere, Taylor." You quickly stepped in between Loui and Roger. "Kindly piss off and never show your face again."

"Girlfriend? I think you're mistaken, mate—."

"No, he's not." You cut him off. The atmosphere grows heavier by the minute. The tension makes everyone suffocates. And Roger silence, even just for a couple seconds, is escalating everyone's heartbeat.

"What? Isn't the answer is obvious? Just breaks up with him."

"Yeah, mate. Stop embarrassing yourself and date the boy that makes your life miserable." Jake's adding fuel to the fire, clearly amused by the hostile situation. "Lose all your senses. Get dumped once he's bored, you know, like Dom."

The drummer's blue eyes instantly catch the figure that has spoken the name he knew well.

"What's your problem, mate?"

"No. What's your problem?" You stopped Loui for moving towards Roger. "Y/n, let go."

"Fight, fight, fight."

"Shut the fuck up, Jake." You commanded whilst you push Loui away. "Don't start anything that'll cause trouble to all of us, Rog."

Roger squint at you before turned around and walked away. Foolish to think the confrontation was the finish line. It's simply the beginning of the end. Roger confronts you again at your house which almost turned into a fist fight with Loui that's insisting to go home with you. If not for the house party Roger throws without your permission, you might rethink your decision to move out and to continue your rather toxic relationship with Loui. The bad move from Roger is enough reason for you to side with Loui instead and declare that you'll move out.

Unfortunately, the war doesn't end there. You can't simply pack your things and move out when neither you nor Loui has found a place to live yet. And the process that took longer than what you anticipated was the chance Roger's practically abuse to persuade you to change your mind. And you might if he stopped his routine bringing home new girls to bang. Although the waves are getting calmer, sign for the battle to finally end, he finally shows his human side that melts your cold attitude towards him; getting you close enough to him and finally see the seriousness of his intention on making you his.

But it's too late, you think. You've committed from the start that you have chosen Loui. Last month you moved your things was when Roger is getting desperate. He refuses to give up, to the point that he plead guilty over his shit attitude and how much he regretted it. You wish it was a lie until John told you that Roger is getting too blue and how it affects their band activities.

"I can't. I'm already with Loui."

"Okay. Then make it clear to him that you're not changing your mind."

"John, I have tried saying turning him down many times. Emphasis on tried. Rog says he's not giving up. And to be honest, it's getting harder for me."

"Then I'll talk to him. Again..."

It's finally time for you to leave. Roger is there at home, still not letting go. It's so fucking cliché it left a bad taste in your mouth on how the situation was set up; Loui waiting for you at his car, looking grumpy, whilst Roger was by the front door, pleading. It’s like a goddamn romance film tropes you hated with a passion, and you got no fucking clue what to do.

"Things still could change. There's no such thing as too late." Roger says, almost whispering.

"Give it up, Taylor. You're a bloody rockstar, plenty of shags are lining backstage." Loui snarled as he reaches for your hand. "Let's go, dear."

"Y/n?" The blonde ignored your boyfriend.

The way he called your name almost breaks you. But you still believed whatever you're feeling for him was nothing. That it'll simply pass. There are no words. The wordless goodbye where you can't even look at him without contemplating the hell you've been through and whether you're making the right choice.

From then on, you only see him from afar. Queen is growing in popularity and continue showing up in the local music channels. Jukebox eventually breaks up without your contribution even get the chance to be published. You and Loui moved a couple more times before settling back in London, already past the incident with Roger. And eventually, your last date with Loui after three years of on and off.

+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+

"I wonder how my housemate is doing." You continue. But more because you're fed up that the rain refuses to bloody end than breaking the awkward silence. “Would he forgive me if I apologize to him? That I regretted the day I stepped out of that house? That I can’t stop thinking about him and how much I miss that wanker? That I lie to both him and myself about my feelings? Do you think he will forgive me?”

There was a long silence, and Roger is trying hard to not take a side glance at you. But you see it, a pink growing on both of his cheeks. It’s obvious that he wants to be considered thinking about whether he should forgive you, but you know he will, and is finding a way to reap as many benefits as he can when you’re on the palm of his hand.

“Well? As the said housemate, what do you think?”

“Hmm? What are you thinking?” Cheeky smile growing on his lips as he finally returns your stare. “These three years I changed, you know. Harder to impress me now. You see, I’m a rockstar.”

You aren’t going to give him any chance at all. You just go for it and kiss him. You can tell he’s half-expecting it, but it still caught him off guard. He cupped your cheeks and deepen the kiss as you grab his hips. It’s a bit impossible to execute what you’re planning to do when he drowns you and showing off his kissing skill. And being the greedy man that he is, it’s too clear he also misses you as his hands roam your body like he owns it. Too bad for the both of you, you have made up your mind as you push him out the shelter and get him drenched again.

“You bitch!”

“I know you like chasing more than being chased, Rog. Catch me if and I’ll allow you to do whatever you want!” You yell as you run in the rain. His wide naughty smile as he’s getting ready to sprint makes your heart jump. You feel like screaming from the excitement, but you will not give him a challenge with that big of a prize. Except you have to stumble at something and almost fall.

“Whoa there, you alright?” He grabs your hand and waist. “Even the world will not let you run away from me anymore, y/n. Just give it up.”

You try to struggle your way out, but he won’t let you and instead, he hugs you so tightly whilst he kisses your neck and shoulder.

“Alright, alright! You won!” You laughed, he still refuses to loosen his hug. “I love you, Rog.”

The F-bomb finally does it. He turned you to face him, the two of your eyes locked that you wish lasts forever. His blue eyes’ dilated. His warm breath despite the cold weather calmed you. He grabs your cheeks, his smile grows no matter how hard he tries to hold it back.

“I love you more, y/n. You have no fucking idea.”

“Hmm, maybe a couple of ideas.”

He finally let his grin shows before he kisses you again. This time, a bit more intimately, the one that makes your heart and body ablaze. Even if he might drift away, it’ll be you that’ll refuse to let him go that easily.

End.

#queen band fan fiction #Bohemian Rhapsody Fan fiction #Queen fan fiction #Roger Taylor x Reader #queen band #Bohemian Rhapsody Film #Queen #BoRhap Fan Fiction #BoRhap #Fluff #A bit of angst #Slow burn romance #One-shot #Roger Taylor #Brian May #John Deacon #Joe Mazzello #Ben Hardy #Gwilym Lee

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