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wardenparker · 3 months

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 2

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle* Mentions of sick loved ones, mutual pining, personal guilt, relationship turmoil. Summary: After only knowing Marcus for a brief time, you can already feel emotions beginning to build. Will that spell trouble for the relationship you've worked so hard to build with Sam, or will something else altogether begun to sow seeds of doubt? Notes: Once again I'm afraid I have to ask forgiveness in the edit of this chapter. I went away for a few days this week and ever since my chronic illness has been utterly kicking my ass. Hopefully I didn't miss too many errors here.

Game night will probably go down in the year's history as one of the best and most fun times that Marcus has had in a long time. He had laughed until his stomach hurt, his abs aching the next week for at least three days. He's gotten an open invitation back, but he doesn't know if that was a good thing, if he's honest with himself. His attraction to you is something that he's got to get ahold of if he's going to socialize with you more. It seems like everything about you just makes the heavens sing and the sun shine. It's crazy and he hates that, considering you are very happy in a relationship.

Eastern Market is his usual haunt on the weekend, preferring it to a generic grocery store, and he’s lost in thought enough that he doesn’t notice a familiar face at the florist’s stand across the way as he’s walking through the stalls. "Some peaches will be good." Marcus decides, looking through some of the fruits that have been trucked in from warmer states. "Peach smoothies." He decides, walking towards the gorgeous plump peaches on display.

If you were any other person in the world, it would be you who bumped into him and not the Secret Service agent contractually obligated to come along on your errands. As it is, when Agent Bailey defends you from being bumped into by the familiar figure of Marcus Pike, you’re the one who apologizes. “Oh! I’m so sorry, excuse u—Marcus?”

“Oh, hi!” Marcus shakes his head, reaching out and taking your arm. “I am so sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” He apologizes. “Was focused on getting some peaches and didn’t notice anything or anyone, obviously.” He flushes slightly, feeling that pull towards you and hating that he looks like a jerk, or maybe just thoughtless, in front of you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

"Not at all." The flowers in your hands and the canvas shopping bags on your arm aren't harmed either, and you find yourself smiling much more brightly than you were even a second ago. "No harm done to me or to Agent Bailey, not to worry. Is it errand day for you, too?"

“Trying to eat healthier.” Marcus admits, slightly upset by the prospect but he figures that just comes with getting older. “Figured the produce here would be better than in a grocery store. Are these for the inn?” He asks, looking at the flowers in your hands and immediately reaches for them. “Let me help.”

"I thought my apartment could use some brightening up." He's seen the organized chaos that you live in and you're not embarrassed by it by any means, but there is a small sting to buying your own flowers just a few days before Valentine's Day. Sam isn't a flowers guy and that's perfectly fine, but you're definitely a flowers girl. When Marcus scoops them up without a second thought and stays by your side, you can feel your cheeks heat up. "I, um—thank you.

“Of course.” He huffs, as if newly made acquaintances should always scoop up flowers from you. “You chose brilliantly. They are gorgeous. Have you already paid for them?”

"Yes, so don't even try." It's just a playful warning that comes with a waggle of your finger, but you really have a feeling that he would try to pay for them if you hadn't.

He grumbles at that slightly. “Well, okay.” It’s almost pathetic that he takes note of what kind of flowers you like and he smirks. “So which flower is your favorite in this?” He asks.

"These," you point out a geometrically fascinating flower with petals that seem to spiral endlessly. "They're called camellias. We called them Winter Roses when I was growing up, but I've always loved them." The intimacy of the question goes straight over your head, just excited to have something pretty to split amongst the small vases in your little space.

“Camellias.” Marcus repeats the flower, filing away the information even though he shouldn’t use it. “They are beautiful.”

"Not everyone has them, so I tend to get my flowers here just to make sure they're in the mix." Barely aware that you're standing in the middle of a bustling market with people trying to move all around you, you have to shake away the warmth settling in you that is definitely not due to any kind of attraction. Nope. Not even a little. Not at all. "You, um..." you gesture to the next stall, where he was originally headed when the collision happened. "Peaches?"

“Peaches? Oh right, peaches.” Marcus laughs at himself and shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry, I’m – I forgot.” He snorts. “I was thinking about fresh peach smoothies.”

"Ooooo, that sounds incredible." All of a sudden it's the best idea you've heard all day, and you grin mischievously. "It's not exactly standard, but the next time you're craving a sweet after having Indian take out? Make a peach smoothie. It's got that same vibe as a mango lassi but it's slightly sweeter, and it's the most refreshing thing ever."

“I was actually thinking about having Indian tonight.” Marcus admits with a grin. “To reward myself for eating healthier.”

"Best reward in the world." You agree easily. "I told myself I was going to cook tonight and make sure there were leftovers for another day this week, but I am teetering dangerously close to just calling for take-out as well."

"Well..." Marcus almost doesn't offer, because of the fact that you have a boyfriend, but he is truly meaning this as a friendly offer. "If we went to have Indian together, it wouldn't be as bad as ordering it as take out, would it?" He ventures, raising his brows in offer.

You should say no, You should absolutely say no. Not because the invitation is improper in any way — after all, he's a friend. But because of the way your heart bumps and skips at the offer like you hope he means it as more. He doesn't, and that is a good thing. In fact, Marcus and Sam got along fairly well at game night. But you can't help the way your cheeks burn pleasantly. "DuPont Circle?" You ask, confirming that he means he was intending to order from the same place you were. When he nods, you do too. "That sounds really nice."

"This way..." He's immensely happy you are agreeing to come to eat with him. "We can order the samosas and pakoras and not feel any guilt what so ever." He tells you, grinning at you.

"No guilt, but definitely extra time at the gym." His smile is dangerous, but apparently your self-preservation instincts aren't nearly as good as you think they are, because the only alarm bell going off in your head is the one that says Don't Let It Become a Date! which you just brush off. Surely that won't even be a possibility. It can't, because you and Sam have a good thing going. "Although, you're not masochistic enough to have my little brother as your biweekly gym buddy, so your trips are probably far less traumatic than mine," you offer with a laugh.

"Nope." Marcus chuckles. "I just torture myself by running around the Mall during my lunchbreaks instead of spending it in museums or at the food trucks." He snorts. "I just get to smell them just off the Mall."

"Have you lived in DC for three years without doing any of the food trucks out on the Mall?" That might be the most appalling thing you've ever heard in your life, and you nearly drop the peach that you had just picked up to add to your basket.

"Oh no." He laughs at that. "First six months I was here, I fucking lived off food trucks." He admits. "I was undercover and my contact checked in with me through the food trucks."

"Oh, thank God." The both of you laugh as you wipe imaginary sweat of your forehead as though it had made you nervous. "If you had never had Julia's Empanadas, I might have had to drag you down to the Mall right now."

"Then I wouldn't have room for Indian." Marcus groans, rolling his eyes at the thought of how many empanadas he would try to fit in his stomach if you went to Julia's Empanadas. "And I'm really craving Indian."

"I am too." Although, now you're going to be thinking about empanadas for ages. Maybe you'll have to try making some. "How has your week been?" Making small talk is easy with him, as you poke through the fruit bins to find peaches, apples, and pears to snack on this week.

"It's been alright." He shrugs slightly. "Depositions for a few upcoming cases. So I've had to revisit case files and work with the district attorney's office to make sure that there aren't any surprises."

"Paperwork and meetings," you nod in understanding. "I get that. Being my own boss is a hell of a lot more paperwork and meetings than I ever thought it would be."

"Ordering supplies, creating events to drum up interest. Balancing budgets." He nods. "I can imagine that it feels like it's hard to get a free moment for yourself."

The way you nod is tired but proud. Every ounce of hard work that you put into that inn is worthwhile, and you do it with straight shoulders and as much determination as you can possibly summon. "Today is my first day off in...two or three weeks? It's...a lot. But it's so worthwhile. And it means that Syd has her place, too. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"So how did you come to have the inn?" Marcus has been curious about that. "Was it always your dream? Or something you fell into?'

"I really, really liked throwing parties when I was younger." That's the easy way to start, as you both move to the line to pay for your bundles of fruit at this particular stall. "That grew up into loving to have guests over all the time. And then dreaming about running a hotel. So I took my sociology and history double major and got a job a hotel in Philly after college, putting myself through a hospitality degree while I started learning the ropes. It was a lot of years of working my way up, but eventually I got hired as the manager for the Inn at Jones Point under the old owners. They were struggling to keep up with new technology and losing clients because of it, and then..." Your eyes flick up to Marcus, almost apologizing for telling him the whole story. "We found out the reason Anita was having so much trouble learning the new technology was early-onset dementia alongside a sizeable brain tumor. I bought the inn from them when they made the decision that a comfortable end to her life was the most important thing they could do. Michael – Anita's husband – he comes around once a week for dinner and to check up on the place now that she's gone. He likes to keep an eye on it for her."

“That’s….” Marcus softens so much at the background story. “Beautiful. You are maintaining their legacy while adapting it to the new realities of time. Weathering time.”

"That farmhouse has been standing since the 1700s. We're just part of its legacy, not the other way around." The pair of you step up to be next in line, with Agent Bailey standing mere feet away managing to look imposing and nonchalant all at once. "The best part is that it could give Sydney her restaurant, and Juan a way to find himself in all the event planning. We didn't know what a team we'd be until we got going and now it's...it's just amazing."

“That’s incredible, and the fact that the place runs so smoothly is a testament to your hard work.” Marcus praises. He’s read some of the reviews and they are all positive, even the ones that had events beyond your control.

“That’s very kind of you.” Kind is an operative word for Marcus. As are sweet, funny, intelli— Nope, stop it, you’re getting dreamy again. Even the momentary distraction of having to pay for fruit is a welcome one if it gets your mind off that track.

Ouch. Kind is such a word that lands him in the friend zone. Which is where he has to be with you, but it still hurts. No longer edgy or cool like he was when he was in his old band. “What else do you need to get?” He asks, swinging his head around at the options available.

“I’m almost done actually.” It didn’t escape you that he flinched slightly when you were trying to be grateful and at least a little complimentary, and suddenly your stomach flips in fear that he might not like spending time with you are much as it seems. Or that you’d done something wrong. “I just wanted to get some fresh bread. But…I don’t know how much more you have to do.”

“Nothing.” He promises, shooting you a grin. “The least I can do is carrying things. Since you are saving me from a night of trying to cook.”

“Never learned to cook or just never got good at it?” There is a difference, after all, and it isn’t about want. Some people find cooking to be an incredible challenge. He gives you a look when you take your parcel of fruit from the vendor and accepts it on your behalf with thanks. Like a damn gentleman, you think with a pant in your chest.

“Never really had the time or the inclination.” He admits. “It’s hard to be enthusiastic about cooking for one, you know what I mean?”

“But that’s when you get to experiment!” Maybe it’s years of being friends with Sydney, whose world revolves around her tastebuds, but cooking has always been an outlet for you. It’s one of the only things you dislike about your apartment —the teeny tiny kitchen. “You can test out new things and weird combinations, and if it’s not great then the only person who knows is you. But if it’s awesome?” You grin up at him like you’re unveiling some kind of ultimate secret. “You become a rockstar at the next office potluck.”

Marcus chuckles. “I’m a rockstar anyway.” He jokes. “I’m the one who brings in the pizza and Chinese for the late nights in the office.”

“Okay, actually, that does count for a lot.” Walking in the direction of the bakery where you get all of your sweet treats and fresh bread, you readjust your shopping bag on your arm and try to glance around the place to survey your surroundings the way Agent Bailey has been teaching you. A comprehensive knowledge of your surroundings, she calls it. “I can’t really cook for my staff much when they have Sydney’s kitchen nearby, but I leave baked goods in the break room from time to time as a thank you. They work so hard.”

“There’s nothing better than snagging a muffin or a cookie when you’re rushing around.” Marcus agrees wisely.

“Or a slice of pizza.” It sounds like he works hard to keep his team in good spirits the same way you do, and you have to commend that in someone who works in such a dour field. Even art crimes — being less violent in nature, according to what you looked up the other night out of sheer curiosity — can’t possible be all sunshine and roses.

“Exactly.” He nods. “Sometimes we have all night surveillance or going through the evidence when something is time sensitive. My teams work better when they are well fed, and know how much they are appreciated.” He shrugs slightly, “everyone could benefit from know that every now and again.”

"Sometimes the weddings we run are just...they're insane. Or last year we had an entire family reunion take over the grounds for four very long days. I can't imagine it's half as stressful as what you deal with but the days can be really long and busy in their own right." For what it's worth, at least, you do love your job. And it's obvious that Marcus feels just as passionately about what he does.

“Oof.” He winces. “I bet the staff wanted to break out a bottle of bubbly when they were checked out.” Marcus jokes, chuckling slightly. “Yeah a lot of people don’t understand that when you love your job, the long hours are worth it.”

"Yeah." A tinge of regret breaks your smile, barely twitching in the corner of your mouth, and you barely nod. He can't possibly know what kind of a nerve he's hit — hell, you barely know yourself and you're the one feeling it. It just...it stings.

“Did I say something wrong?” He asks, immediately concerned when your smile seems almost sad.

"No." You reassure him much too quickly, and flinch in your own right when he looks skeptical. "It's just...not everyone thinks what I do is as worthwhile as, say, something like what you do. A—and that makes sense. Running an inn and upholding the law are—they're not the same. I'm not saying they are. It's just...that important to me. That's all."

“Whoever believes that is wrong.” Marcus insists wholeheartedly. “Running an inn is absolutely crucial. Maybe not to everyone, but to the people who need a little escape, a retreat to relax and revive themselves, your inn is a haven to them.” He is speaking passionately because he believes it. “When I’m out of town on a case, I hope that I can book a little inn. Something more personable than a Holiday Inn, so when I come back, it’s like a little slice of home.”

“I appreciate that. Really. It’s—I guess it’s a sore spot at the moment and I didn’t realize it. That’s all.” And you are absolutely not going to allow yourself to indulge in the image of Marcus coming back to the inn for you. Your place is not his ‘ little slice of home’. Even if you’re wondering what the would feel like if it was real.

“Well, you can always gripe and complain if you need to.” He promises.

“No, that’s—that’s not it.” It’s a little embarrassing, if you’re honest, but that’s only because you’re fighting being attracted to the man beside you. Otherwise you would just be chatting to a friend. “I just…don’t get to spend as much time with Sam as he would like. That’s all. Because we both have busy jobs.”

Marcus winces. “With the job he has, it would be hard unless you didn’t work.” He murmurs quietly. “But what counts is that you make the time you do have together special.”

“That’s what I said. Making the most of our time it’s what is most important.” The topic had come up again in conversation when you and Sam had talked about next steps — through the odd avenue of discussing your commute. His house to the inn isn’t a prohibitive drive, but it will warrant either having a lot of work done on your car or getting an upgrade. Right now you have no commute whatsoever, so you’re barely using your car outside of town.

“My favorite thing to do with my ex-wife was to curl up and watch a movie.” He admits. “Or work on a crossword together.”

“Those…” You laugh quietly, almost self-consciously, and shrug with the air of someone who is just about to give up. “Are the things I do with my good friend Agent Bailey, here. Though she kicks my ass at the Times Sunday crossword every single week.”

He rolls his eyes at himself. “I know it’s an old person’s activity, but I was normally exhausted from the academy.”

“Don’t you dare besmirch the Times Crossword.” A waggles finger and disapproving tsk seems to amuse him and it makes you smile, too. “That’s a mandatory topic of conversation at my mother’s dinner table.”

“Your mother enjoys the Times Crossword?” He asks, grinning at you. “She would get along with my parents. They have two subscriptions just so they can each do their own.”

“I’m keeping that in mind for Dad’s birthday this year.” It’s a brilliant idea. They would love to make a competition of it. It would be the highlight of their week.

“My parents got it as a wedding present and they enjoyed it so much, they kept it.” He tells you, smiling fondly at the memory of the two of them arguing playfully over their crosswords.

“That’s incredibly sweet.” There is a crowd at the bakery, as to be expected, so you and Marcus step into line to wait your turn. “I love the idea of being able to share small things with your partner. They’re every bit as important as the grand gestures, if not more.”

“Sometimes the smaller gestures are the most meaningful.” He admits with a grin. “I love cherry Danishes, and so did my ex. We would find these combo boxes of assorted and she would get the cherry one.”

“Giving up your favorite Danish flavor is not small.” An attempt at lightening the already light and sweet conversation is maybe…just trying to keep your own mind off of things. But that somehow doesn’t keep you from admitting the truth before you can stop yourself. “I have yet to meet the man I would give up my lemon poppyseed muffin for.”

“That’s only because you’ve never traded for a raspberry crumble muffin.” Marcus vows, smirking at the way you look stingy, even though he knows for a fact you aren’t.

“You’re on, Pike.” The smirk on his lips spreads to yours as effortlessly as breathing. “But lemon poppyseed is pretty impossible to unseat.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever had a raspberry crumble then.” He huffs, looking offended at the idea. “But I don’t think this place has them. I get them from a little bakery near the Bureau. I’ll have to bring you one.”

“I’ll get you a lemon poppyseed from the coffeeshop I go to in Old Town.” Even as its coming out of your mouth you know it sounds like flirting, but the fact is that you just feel so naturally comfortable with him. There is nothing flirtatious about muffins, you tell yourself. Nothing at all. “We can compare notes.”

“That sounds like a plan to me.” Marcus is extremely happy that you would like to make plans with him, any plans. Even if it’s just a friendly wager. “I’ll get the raspberry crumble. I say we each get two. And if you like the other one so much, you have to give up both.”

“Deal.” You put your hand out to him, willing to make a friendly bet on almost anything. That’s gotten you and your brother in trouble before, but this is harmless.

Marcus grins as he takes your hand, imagining that lightning bolts are shooting up his hand. Winking, he laughs, “just don’t be disappointed when you break that little rule of yours for me.” He boasts.

“We’ll see.” The tone of the thing really tries for teasing, but you end up so taken aback by the electricity in shaking his hand that you fluster — which is only compounded when you end up next in line and completely forget the word for ‘sourdough’ in the process.

“I, uh, I want-“ you seem completely out of it, and the bored looking boy behind the counter seems to be getting annoyed with you. “Can we have just a second?” Marcus asks, pulling you back and allowing another couple to go ahead of the two of you. “I’ve completely forgotten what I wanted.” He takes the blame, not wanting to embarrass you.

“Bread?” You manage to supply, feeling like a world class idiot for clamming up on something so routine. If being around him is going to be this big of a problem, you need to get yourself in order.

“Yeah, bread.” He nods, wrinkling his nose slightly. “What’s that type that I like?”

At this point he could mean him or he could mean you, or he could even just be speaking in theoreticals, but you have you head in straight enough again to blow out a breath and remember yourself. “Sourdough. I forgot the damn word for sourdough.”

“Thats it.” He snaps his fingers and looks back at the boy. “Could we get some sourdough bread?”

“Sure.” The kid looks at the both of you like you’ve gone insane but turns around to bag a loaf of freshly baked bread without a second thought for his strange customers.

Marcus pays for the bread, even with you huffing beside him and guides you towards the clearing. “That wasn’t that bad.”

“Only because you saved me from sputtering like an idiot.” It’s beside the point that he is also the reason you were sputtering in the first place. That doesn’t matter. It’s the fact that you couldn’t keep it together that bothers you. “Thanks for that.”

“Not at all.” He waves off your thanks. “Everyone has those moments.” He promises, smiling at you.

There is such a moment of relief when you exhale again that you have to make light of it or else you’re in danger of feeling far more grateful than is probably necessary, and that makes your chest ache in a dull and insistent kind of way. “That’s either very sweet of you or a complete placation, but either way I appreciate it.”

“No placation, I promise.” He crosses his finger over his heart and smiles at you. “Anywhere else?”

“That was the last thing for me.” Even though you have plans to have dinner with him that night you still can’t help feeling a little disappointed that the impromptu shopping trip has come to an end. “Unless you needed something else?”

“Well…” Marcus looks around, not wanting to let you leave just yet. “Maybe I could find a plant to kill?” He asks. “Something to brighten up my place?”

"Bit of a black thumb?" The excuse to not say goodbye yet is welcome, and you end up smiling more broadly than you mean to. "Let's see what we can do about that."

“More that I forget to set up someone to water my plants when I go out of town and they die miserable, thirsty deaths while I’m away.” He flashes you a guilty grin. “I’m a murderer.”

“Very rude of you to do to your plants.” The wholesome, straight-faced nod that you cry for cracks on a giggle, though, and you nod in the direction of an entirely different florist stand than the one you were at before. “What you need is a succulent.”

“That sounds a little dirty.” Marcus admits, not even realizes how flirtatious that sounds.

It does. And you didn’t mean for it to. You were just talking about the type of plant he could get. But then there’s that grin on his face and it’s so fucking puckish and * handsome* that you practically groan about how unfair the whole damn thing is. “Whoops?” You offer, obviously not apologetic in the least.

He snorts and winks at you again. “I don’t mind. Sometimes being a little dirty is a good thing.” It’s borderline inappropriate, so Marcus doesn’t say anything else.

“Sometimes it’s the fun of an otherwise boring day.” But since you’re genuinely afraid you might say too much if you go ahead with this line of thought, and since Agent Bailey is steadily avoiding your eyes like an older sister trying not to bear witness to your trouble making, you clear your throat and change the subject. “I think I snake plant would work for you. They’re really easy to care for and great for beginners or busy people.”

Marcus takes your lead and nods seriously. “I’ll take some advice. Any advice.” He shrugs slightly. “I wish I had the time for pets, but I don’t and it’s wrong to do that to them.”

“If I could have a dog, I would have a little corgi or a Yorkie in a heartbeat.” It comes with an almost wistful sigh, but you feel the same way he does. It would be cruel to the animal you’re supposed to be taking care of. “But since I have no concept of work-life balance? I have plants.”

“I’ll start with plants.” Marcus huffs. “If I can keep one alive? Maybe I’ll move on to cats? They are low maintenance.”

“Cats are fantastic. Sydney and Anna Leigh always had a couple when we were growing up and they can’t be the sweetest animals in the world.” There is a florist that specializes in succulents and potted plants further into the market and you head that way, chatting as you go. “I just always said I would want my kids to grow up with a puppy.”

“Puppy, a swing set in the yard and dinner together.” Marcus adds wistfully, having his own version of that same dream. “Every kid needs a puppy pal.”

“That’s exactly what I said.” And the knot in your stomach tells you that that isn’t a coincidence — that the future you’ve dreamt about probably lines up with the one he wants in so many different ways.

“We had my dog for nearly twenty years.” Marcus tells you. “He was my best friend and the best soul I’ve ever met.”

“I got Alex instead of a dog,” you giggle, silliness tinging the edge of his sweet nostalgia. “My little brother.”

“Isn’t a younger brother the same thing?” He asks with a grin.

“Very much so. And Alex is as much Golden Retriever as he is human.” If he were here, he’d give you so much grief for that comparison, but you stand by it. “What kind of dog did you have?”

Marcus chuckles. “A golden retriever.” He tells you without skipping a beat. “I’ve got a picture of him, wanna see?”

“Absolutely!” They say you’re either a kid person or a dog person, but you’re definitely both. Anything cute and squishy is right up your alley.

Digging out his wallet, it might be a little old fashioned to carry a physical photo of the favorite family pet, but he likes looking at it sometimes. He’s holding his dog, Hansel, in the picture. The white around the dog’s snout indicative of the older age of the golden retriever. “Here he is. Hansel.”

“What an angel!” If you could jump right through the photo and squeeze his beautiful face you would — the only problem is that you don’t know if you mean young Marcus or the dog.

“Wasn’t he?” Marcus hums happily. “He slept in my room growing up. Hated me leaving for college, although I hated being apart from him too.”

"How could you possibly leave that face? Look at him!" Yeah, it's definitely the dog that you're talking about. At least right now.

“Yeah.” He smiles down at the photo, unable to resist brushing his thumb over the canine face with happy memories flooding through him. “He was the best.”

"So would you want another Golden Retriever?" Looking between him and the photo, you think you might be able to guess the answer yourself. "Or will no other Golden ever live up to him?"

“Probably not.” Marcus shrugs. “He was from a litter of puppies at the shelter. It was just a coincidence that he was a pure Golden.” He frowns slightly. “I would want to adopt. It’s the best way to give a loving home to an animal.”

"Adopting is the only way." On that, you can firmly agree. But you point to the florist stand up ahead and touch his arm gently in an unconscious moment of casual comfort. "First, let's get you a plant to adopt."

“Yes, I would prefer adopted over nursery grown.” Marcus jokes, trying to ignore how easy it is to be with you. You can just be a friend. It’s possible and it’s possible he’s lying to himself.

"Wild, orphaned plants wandering the lonely roads with all their belongings tied up in a little bandana on a stick," you tease, conjuring the image of a cartoon orphan as best you can. To the girl behind the counter, you turn your full attention and the best conspiratorial smile you can conjure. "We're looking for something he'll have trouble killing," you confide with a chuckle. "Something like a snake plant, maybe? Or if you have a better recommendation we're all ears."

“It’s best to start them out with a plant before having pets or kids, isn’t it?” She asks with a grin, eyeing Marcus in amusement. “But he seems like the trustworthy type to me.”

"A fine, upstanding citizen if ever I saw one." The smirk you offer her is playful, and you glance up at Marcus beside you. "Plus, I'll be keeping an eye on the situation. For the good of the adoptee, of course."

“Of course.” She nods seriously, even though there is a definitely shaking to her voice, like she’s holding back laughter. “Let me show you the best options for a recovering black thumb.”

It's several minutes of back and forth with the florist who parries your playful banter well, and you end up leaving her stand with not just a lovely potted snake plant for Marcus, but an identical one for your apartment as well. "I had to!" You coo, when Marcus laughs at the little plant that you're cradling like a newborn. "It's so precious! And they're twins! I couldn't just leave it abandoned."

“Well, we have to name them.” Marcus decides. “Twin names.” He grins at you, “what do you think?”

"Luke and Leia," you joke right away, because that will always be the first pair of twins you think of in any situation. "Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum? Oh, do the creepy girls from The Shining have names?"

Considering The Shining was his first foray into horror when he was younger, it was also one of his favorites. "No, they were just called Grady Daughters one and two." He tells you. "But..." He whips out his phone. "They are Lisa and Louise Burns, in real life."

“So are the plants Grady and Burns, or Lisa and Louise?” Either way they’re exceedingly silly choices, and you’re going for it.

“Either one works for me.” Marcus laughs. “It depends on if the plants are male or female.” He jokes.

“I think we probably get to pick,” you joke right back, making a show of rolling your eyes at him even though you’re laughing.

“Hmmmmm.” He pretends to take a closer look at his plant. “I’m going to surprise you.” He decides. “My plant is female.”

“Oh, that’s no surprise to me.” The smirk you shoot back at him is probably the lightest and most carefree you r felt in ages, and just for the moment you’re not going to second guess it. You’re just going to revel in the moment. “All my plants are female.”

He snickers with you and then tilts his head. “Lisa or Louise for you?” He asks, before he answers. “I bet you want the name Louise. You’ll pretend it’s for Thelma and Louise.”

“I—how—” Staring at him in utter confusion does not help matters one bit, but you still don’t have any clue as to how he could possibly have guessed that about you after only having met you two whole times. “So?” You ask after a second, realizing you’re laughing with the absurdity.

You have the most beautiful laughs Marcus has ever heard, and he loves that he caused it. There’s a flash of guilt that comes with the thought and he decides to reel it back into the scope of reality. You are becoming a friend, nothing more. “Who wouldn’t?” He asks, still chuckling. “They were the greatest female duo in modern cinema. In my opinion.”

“They line up against Idgie and Ruth from Fried Green Tomatoes.” You’ll stand by that pairing until the day you die, but the way warmth is spreading through your chest and your fingers ache dully from wanting to reach out for him is a special, damning sort of agony. “And I will die on that hill.”

“I had completely forgotten about Idgie and Ruth.” He admits, hanging his head in shame. “Forgive me.”

“Just this once.” There is still a teasing grin on your face when your phone goes off in your pocket. Sam’s name splashed across your caller ID and guilt crawls through your veins immediately. “I’m sorry,” you apologize, glancing up at Marcus. “Just give me one second.”

Marcus catches a glimpse of the name and it’s like he’s doused with cold water. “Of course.” He murmurs politely, turning towards a little book stand to give you some privacy, beating himself up for flirting with another man’s significant other.

“Hey honey.” The second you pick up the phone with a plant in your other arm and your groceries weighing on your shoulder, that is the second you feel most self-conscious.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice comes over the line and he has a straightforward attitude, jumping into the reason for his call. “I’ve had a dinner invite tonight, some potential donors.” He tells you. “Can you make it?”

“I—” It’s not like it’s an unusual request. If he has a work event tonight then the best possible person he can have at his side is you. The idea of having dinner with Marcus had been so uplifting, and now cancelling on him makes you feel awful. But this is your boyfriend. “Yeah. Yeah, I can make it. Where and when? Is there a dress code?”

Sam rattles off the address and dress code. “Thanks honey, I knew I could count on you.” He tells you before he murmurs to someone else. “Hey, I’ve got to go, I love you.” The line clicks off immediately.

“I love you too.” It’s said to the silence, and you look down at your phone for a moment before pocketing it again. Marcus has stepped away to give you privacy, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other before walking back over to him. “I’m really sorry,” you murmur, actually looking as apologetic as you feel. “Can we postpone dinner tonight?”

“Oh….yeah, of course.” He hates the way the feels rejected, but you have priorities, ones that aren’t him. “That’s no problem at all.” He nods quickly and looks around. “Well, we should probably get your things to your car, right?”

“I—I’m really sorry.” Repeating it just makes you feel worse. But both of you feel worse, unbeknownst to you, and you walk in the direction of your car with Agent Bailey her usual two steps behind. “Something came up.”

“Not a problem at all.” Marcus promises you, plastering on a smile as you turn to him at your car. “I understand. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of things come up.”

"It was really nice to run into you today." There is no word of a lie or even exaggeration in that, and you take your flowers from Marcus's arms carefully, loading it into the backseat with your other bags and Louise the snake plant.

“Yeah, it was nice seeing you. Marcus holds up his plant. “Thanks for the help.” He hums. “Hopefully I won’t kill Thelma.”

"If you do, try to make it as spectacular as possible." Offering him a half smile, you realize that you just wish you could give him a big hug, but that would be totally out of line. So instead all you can think to do is shift your weight awkwardly again before opening your car door. "I'll see you around, Marcus."

“See ya.” He nods and turns around to walk to his car. He doesn’t turn around, knowing that it would look weird if he did.

Once you’re in the car with Agent Bailey and focused on getting back home to put everything away and make a cup of coffee before you have to start getting ready for the night, you sigh softly and sit back in your seat. You can feel the curiosity of the Secret Service agent beside you and you wonder if you look as guilty as you. “That was a nice surprise.”

“Yes.” Agent Bailey hums. “Special Agent Pike was quite a surprise.”

“He’s nice,” you defend, very aware that you’re defending yourself and not him.

“He’s very nice.” She agrees. “And exactly who he says he is.” Of course a background check had been done on the agent, which she was glad of now that he had popped back up on radar. Not quite sure what to make of the interaction at the market, it’s also not her place to judge it.

"Well, that's a comfort." The drive back to Alexandria won't take long, but you twist your hands around the steering wheel a few times before pulling out into traffic. "Unfortunately, tonight will be the opposite," you tell her with a dramatic sigh that cushions the blow of having to attend an impromptu event. "Sam asked me to come to a dinner party tonight. Last minute invitation, I guess somebody had a seat they needed filled and asked him."

“I see.” Now she has to find out where you are going to be, who is on the guest least and it means overtime tonight. She doesn’t sigh, but she wants to, much preferring to go to small Indian restaurant over some political function. “I’m sure it will be a lovely evening.”

"I know you have to vet everything." The process seems exhausting, but you would never question the agent's ability to get her job done. "It's a private party at Arthur Connesby's house. The aerospace tech guy? Apparently it's a party for his wife, but everybody invited are Sam's constituents. I have a feeling they're going to spend the night trying to pitch their own interests to him, but if nothing else they might donate to his next campaign if they feel like they got to be friendly with him." It sounds like it will be a fairly boring night of overly rich old men feeling self-important, but Sam asked you to be there and that's why you're going.

“Noted.” The agent is immediately firing off a text to her support team, letting them know about the change of plans tonight.

"I know it's not what we had in mind." The night has gone from staying home and watching a movie and maybe playing cards, to dinner out, to an entire party. It's a lot of jumps in not much time. "And I appreciate you being flexible. Truly."

“It’s my job to protect you no matter what.” She reminds you softly. She enjoys you, has gotten to know you and thinks you are lovely, but you are Hummingbird to her. The First Daughter of the President of the United States and her assignment. She would guard you regardless of what you were doing because it’s her job.

"Right." You nod slightly, eyes cast back out on the road, and try not to slump even a little as you drive. It's not necessary to be everyone's best friend. You know that on a practical level. Right now your energy is better served focusing on the night ahead. "Well, I can still be grateful. So thank you. For...being professional. An very good at your job."

She knows that you are disappointed, but one of the cardinal rules of the secret service is to not be emotionally attached to your assignment. It would be too difficult to make life or death decisions. “Protecting you has been my pleasure.” She promises.

"I appreciate that." For better or for worse, the Secret Service will be a part of your life for the rest of your life. So if you can't be friends, at least you can appreciate each other. For now, though, you ought to focus. A party with your boyfriend's constituents is no place to have your mind wander.

The dinner party is exactly what you imagined it would be. Self important people, boasting about how important they are as they fawn over ‘more’ important people. Or the people who could give them access to the power they wished to have. Sam was in his element, smiling and shaking hands. Listening to ideas with a feigned interest that comes naturally to politicians.

He's charismatic enough to keep their attention but has enough of his own heart left that he does seem to care about issues being brought to him. Unfortunately for these folks, they're talking about a whole lot of things that just one man can't change on their behalf. So all he can really do is listen and express interest in whatever plight it is they have.

You have found yourself in the rather unfortunate position of being inundated by the significant others of these men, and when the party turns to mingling after dinner they somehow manage to whisk you away to the garden where you aren't sure if they're planning on trying to get you to dance with various people, or maybe join their country clubs, You really can't tell which.

“You must tell me, how is living in the White House?” One asks you, under the impression that you are still living with your mother.

“I understand it’s very comfortable.” It’s almost a relief that these women seem not to know a thing about you beside who your mother is. Your greatest fear about the whole thing was being hounded through every day of your life — so far that hasn’t been the case. But it’s been barely more than a month. There’s time. “However, I chose not to reside there.”

“Oh, what a shame.” She hums, wondering why you wouldn’t want to call the most famous house in America home. “I hear that it’s haunted.”

“That is what they say.” And according to your little sister, it’s absolutely true. But an upscale party of relatively stuffy guests like this doesn’t seem like the place to spout tales of your sister taking her homework to the Lincoln bedroom. “And it’s certainly very beautiful.”

“I would love to take a tour sometime.” She tells you, hoping that you might offer to set it up for her. An intimate tour would be amazing.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” You aren’t the sort of person who would exchange favors, so the thought that this could mean a donation for Sam’s campaign in the near future. Instead, you just know it would be something nice. “I can have something put together for you if you like?”

“That would be lovely!” She exclaimed, sending you a warm smile. “You know, you and the congressman make a beautiful couple. Possibly even presidential one day.” It’s a fishing expedition, feeling you out for your thoughts on a possible run.

"Possibly." And two weeks ago, you might have beamed at that implication. At the idea of Sam moving through his career with such gusto and motivation that he makes it all the way to the White House. But seeing what your father contends with as First Gentleman, the idea of being First Lady sounds overwhelming to you. It's even less likely that you would end up in politics yourself. "Sam takes his work very seriously, and he has high hopes for the future of our country."

“And what about you?” She asks. “You made waves, positive ones in my opinion, during your mother’s campaign about your stance on soulmates.”

"I don't have any political ambitions for myself." Of that, you can absolutely assure her. "While I'm more than happy to support the people around me, I'm very happy with my own career."

“At least until Congressman Chase makes an honest woman out of you.” She hums. “Then it’s so hard to balance your own career while supporting the ambitions of your husband.” There’s a rueful chuckle on her part. “Believe me, I know.”

"I won't be giving up my career." This is always a topic of conversation amongst significant others, you've found, and a topic that your father has contended with on multiple occasions. As your mother's career grew, he became a stay-at-home-dad and raised three kids. Because it was something he wanted to do, not because it was forced on him. And that has always been the key to you. "I own a business. So it's essentially my first child already."

“Oh?” Her brows wing up in surprise. “My apologies. I must have misunderstood.” Her eyes slide past you. “Excuse me, I must go catch Mrs. Jackson before she leaves.” She cuts off the conversation and hustles away.

It's a bit on and definitely abrupt, but the conversation wasn't very enjoyable to begin with so you smile politely and just let it roll off your back. Whatever she 'misunderstood' doesn't really concern you. Some gossip article must have speculated on the next steps of your relationship with Sam and you try not to let that kind of nonsense get to you.

“Having fun?” Sam comes up to you, his hand slipping around your waist and he presses a kiss to your cheek. “You look amazing, especially since it was so last minute.”

"You always like this dress." The first time you wore it was the nominating party after the Democratic National Convention, and then again to a fundraiser in Chicago. That was the night you met Sam, and he had remarked even then that the dress was particularly beautiful. It seemed like the logical choice for tonight based on that alone. "It's a nice party." The food was predictable but tasty, and the drinks are flowing, just like the way you expected the night to go. "Do we think there will be birthday cake?" You ask conspiratorially, looking up at him beside you with a smirk. "Is that something people still do for fancy fiftieth birthdays?"

“Cake is universal.” Sam snorts and nods. “I have it on good authority the cake is a chocolate raspberry mascarpone cream cake.” He tells you, knowing it will be an idea you carry back to Sydney.

"I know exactly what Saturday's dessert special is going to be." Somehow your best friend will turn a classic cake into something elegant and thoughtful, and you know the entire restaurant will go nuts for it. They always do, when Sydney gets to show off. "Are you having a good night? I know you had high hopes for networking tonight."

“It’s going well.” He hums happily and beams at you. “How about you? Working the other side for me?” He teases playfully, aware you don’t usually like campaigning.

"Nothing that will get me in trouble with my Mom's staff." Not that he would ever ask you to do anything like that. Sam doesn't go in for most of the entitled bullshit that other politicians do. "One request for a White House tour that I'll put through the appropriate channels. Nothing too odd."

“Interesting.” Sam looks thoughtful. “Who asked for that?”

"Shelly D'Amario." The wife of District Attorney-turned-Superior Court Judge Raymond D'Amario was one of the few people you had recognized from press coverage of events supporting your mother's campaign. Her husband's politics were lined up with most moderate Democrats, and he tended to hand down verdicts with thoughtful conclusions at the end of each case. He's one of those people you wouldn't have minded at all sitting at this dinner party with, but unfortunately the Judge was not able to attend.

“Oh.” Sam nods. “I was at another dinner with her and the judge just the other night.” He tells you. “Picking his brain about Constitutional law.”

“She was very nice.” Though instinct takes over, and you chew on your bottom lip for a second before going on. “Did you guys talk…about me at all? About us, I mean? At your dinner?”

“Well, naturally you came up.” Sam admits with a slight frown, wondering if Shelly had somehow insulted you. “Not everyone is dating the daughter of the current sitting President. But I didn’t share any private details about you.” He promises. “Or your family.”

“I know you wouldn’t do that.” If he was the sort of person who went around sharing personal details with anyone and everyone, you wouldn’t have been able to trust him. Especially not under the condition you met in. Campaigns are cutthroat. “She just…said something that kind of confused me, that’s all.”

“What confused you?” He asks, trying to recall the exact details of the dinner with the judge and his wife.

Without wanting to imply that he might have said anything, you still glance around you to make sure that Agent Bailey is the only one close enough by to overhear you. “She seemed to be under the impression that I would be quitting my job if we ever have a family. And when I said that wasn’t the case, she said she must have ‘misunderstood’ something and walked away immediately.”

Understand dawns in his eyes and Sam shifts slightly. “Well, that’s not something we’ve talked about just yet.” He reminds you. “That’s a conversation we need to have.”

"Right." You couldn't agree more. "Which is why I was confused that she seemed to have heard an opinion about it somewhere before. But it was probably just some gossip article."

He hesitates and then decides to come clean, you don’t like liars. “I might have voice my hopes for our future.” He admits. “It’s not so unexpected, is it?” He asks. “I’ll be spending a lot of time at different events and I will want you by my side.”

"Sam..." There's disappointment in your voice that you don't bother to hide. Of course he's absolutely entitled to talk about hopes, as he puts it, but you can't believe that he would ever think you would give up the inn. "I own the place, honey. It's not like taking a smaller role in an office or shifting to part time somewhere."

“Yes, you own it.” Sam stresses. “But you can have someone else manage it.”

"But I don't want to have someone else manage it." It's really like you can't believe your ears. Sam has never voiced anything like this before within the dynamic of your relationship and he knows very well how proud you are of your work at the inn and how much it means to you.

By the set of your jaw and the frown on your face, Sam knows that he can’t argue the point right now. He shakes his head, smiling at you and taking your hand. “You’re right. I—I wasn’t thinking about how much you love your inn.” He admits softly. “Let’s just forget about it, hm?”

"O—okay." There he is again. Your understanding, supportive Sam smiling at you and taking the stress out of the situation. The man you started dating almost a year ago. Dependable. "Okay."

“Good.” He pats your hand gently and leans in to kiss you softly. “But I do still want to talk about moving in together.”

"After our date on Tuesday?" The Valentine's night you had settled on together is dinner at a small, family-owned restaurant in his hometown followed by a fundraiser screening of short films made by local high schoolers looking to update their school's resources with the proceeds. Community-oriented is the theme of the night.

“That sounds appropriate.” He agrees with a nod. “For now, let’s just enjoy the rest of the evening.” He looks towards your secret service agent. “Will you be allowed to come to my place tonight?”

"I think that can be arranged." The invitation means you'll be sleeping over at his place twice this week, which is definitely more than you've been able to do lately and maybe that's a good thing. Maybe you just need to refocus yourself. And stop thinking about Marcus, for fuck's sake. You slip your arm around Sam's waist and lean into his side. "I just have to let Bailey know. Her relief agent will have to be told to go to your place instead of mine."

"Of course." Even though it irritates him, he nods. Understanding that you cannot help it right now. After your mother's term, perhaps you will decline protection.

"I know it isn't perfect." He's bristled about lack of privacy before, and though you can't say that you really blame him? There's nothing you can do about it. Secret Service protect for the President's immediate family is mandatory. And hell, you have a Secret Service agent in your apartment every night. At least when you stay with Sam, your agent usually stays in the living room or their car like a stakeout. It's typically left up to them. But still, you do understand the objection. "I'm sorry. It is what it is."

"I know." He sighs softly, hating that the evening has been sidetracked from what he imagined. "I understand. I just don't like them be so close when we are alone." He admits.

"I know." The last five minutes have become increasingly uncomfortable, but you still stick close to Sam and continue smiling, aware that eyes at the party might be on you just like they are anytime you go anywhere outside of your little haven at the inn. "But better that, than someone breaking into your house."

He doesn't point out that he has a security system and his townhouse is in a gate community. There's no point and it would just further cause an discussion that is best left for the relative privacy of his bedroom - with a secret service agent parked outside in his living room. He sighs. "Shall we get more wine?" He asks, trying to change the subject.

"Sure." There are people starting to dance to the music being piped through outdoor speakers, but you're not really in a dancing mood. There's too much swirling around in your mind to be light on your feet. "Wine sounds like a good plan."

Sam leads you over to the bar, ever the gentleman and stands beside you to look at the drink selections. "They have a nice pinot grigio." He murmurs softly.

"Is that what you want too?" The bar is open, of course, but the catering company has allowed the bartender to put out a small and discreet tip jar for the reasonably large party tonight, and you have a few more bills in your purse that you're happy to add to the jar.

"I think I'm going to stick with the pinot noir." He tells you, holding up his almost empty glass.

You order both glasses without hesitation and tip the very pleasant bartender, handing Sam his glass after it's put on the bar top. Just something nice to get the night back on track. At least as far as the two of you go.

"So I think that we should drink our wine and then dance." Sam suggests. It would be a good visual and romantic as a bonus. He's not calculating, but he does understand that optics are important in politics. It's a good opportunity to romance you and look good for the discreet photographers that are roaming around.

"And at some point, eat cake." Trying to lighten the mood a little is really your go-to for diffusing tension in any situation, and the air around the two of you feels a little thick, so you offer him a big smile instead of getting serious again.

"Eating cake is always a good way to spend a night." Sam agrees, smiling back at you.

"Morning." You haul yourself into the restaurant's kitchen the next morning when you arrive bright and early for your eight-a.m. start time looking vaguely less drowsy than usual. The other member of your Secret Service detail — Agent Sisson — has music taste more in line with yours and you'd listened to Duran Duran on your way back to town this morning. That and a cup of strong coffee means that you're feeling okay but definitely in need of breakfast.

“Wellllllll,” Sydney’s grin is bright as she eyes you. “I see the walk of shame has taken on a festive air.” She teases, laughing as she moves over to pour you a cup of coffee. “I take it last night went well?”

“I have enough time to go upstairs and change before work,” you grumble, though you’re smiling and accept the cup of coffee gratefully. “Usual boring party, but I bring you home a new cake flavor combination to try, and it was nice to see Sam.”

She snorts. “Nice to see Sam.” She mimics. “It’s like you ran into him in the store.” She huffs at you. “This is your boyfriend. The man you love.”

“And that’s why it’s nice to see him more than just one measly night a week.” Given that you have a few minutes, you hop up on a stool at the counter beside her work station and groan in appreciation at the slice of sweet Italian brioche and carefully cut piece of frittata she plates up for you without hesitation. “Oh my god, thank you. All I’ve had so far is coffee. We overslept and both had to run out to get to work on time.”

“Overslept…” she rolls her eyes and rubs her stomach. “I wish I could remember what that was like.” She grumbles. “This one is giving me heartburn all the time and keeping my sleep short.”

“They just really want to make sure you remember they’re there,” you tease, picking up a forkful of frittata and not even caring what’s inside. Everything Syd makes it incredible. “Twenty-seven whole more weeks of this, Mama. Get excited!”

“I am, I promise. But the kid can let me sleep in a little, right?” She huffs playfully. “So how was the dinner? You came back from the market in a hurry so I didn’t get to talk to you. Did you forget about this or was it last minute?”

“It was last minute. He got a spontaneous invitation to a potential supporter’s wife’s birthday party.” Oh my god, spinach and artichoke frittata, so fucking good. “She got the gift of bragging rights that a Congressman and the First Daughter came to her party, and a very nice bottle of champagne.”

“Sounds like a ton of fun.” Sydney likes hobnobbing even less than you do, preferring to be on the service side of fancy events. “So you ate mildly bland catered food and drank way too much wine?”

“Exactly. Which is why this tastes even more incredible than usual.” You point at your plate even while scooping up another bite. “So did you and Juanito ever decide what you’re doing tomorrow? I know you scheduled yourself for the dinner rush, but you’ve got to do something.”

“My husband is amazing.” She promises, beaming in delight. “He actually got us reservations at St. Regis for the Valentine’s Day Afternoon Tea.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet! It’s so utterly romantic I could barf.” The momentary flash of jealousy is nothing, and you’re genuinely happy that they’ll be able to get out and do something. They work so incredibly hard and never complain for a second. “It’s perfect, Syd. I want a full report.”

“I’m excited.” She admits, biting her lip and fiddling with her practical silicone wedding band that she wears in the kitchen. “I’ve also been promised a very relaxing massage and a few orgasms.”

“All things which you deserve very much.” You raise your coffee cup in salute to her and grin.

“At the very least.” She huffs, her own grin one of pure happiness. “I am growing Badillo’s baby.” She reminds you, as if it isn’t common knowledge at this point. She’s so proud of being with her soulmate and she cock her head at you curiously. “Have you given any more thought to that tattoo?” She pries gently.

“Yes and no…” It’s much more yes than no, if you’re honest with yourself, but the fact is that it’s probably not good to think about it as much as you have. It’s like a never-ending loop in your mind and you absolutely can’t shake it. “I just don’t know what good it would do to bring it up. Or who I would even bring it up to.”

“You know who you should bring it up to.” She huffs.

“Who?” You challenge, feeling like you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place without doing so much as being awake this morning. “My boyfriend of almost a year who asked me to move in with him and wants to start planning our future? Or the guy I barely know who invited me to dinner yesterday when I ran into him at Eastern Market and looked so hurt when I had to ask him to reschedule that I still feel like I kicked the world’s cutest puppy?” Clearly it’s been on your mind, and Syd is really the one person you can talk to about any of it. But admitting that you’ve been thinking about Marcus feels like cheating and you have always despised cheaters deeply. Being cheated on will do that to a person.

“You ran into Marcus?” Her eyes widen with the new information and she immediately sets down her spoon and walks around the counter to hug you. “Oh honey, talk to me. What happened?” She asks softly. While she might be pushing you to at least ask if you might be soulmates, she doesn’t want you to be upset.

“It wasn’t a big deal…we ran into each other and we finished our shopping together.” It’s such a relief to have a space to talk about it, and yet you know you’re blowing it out of proportion in your head. It was just a coincidence that you ran into him. Not fate. “We were both talking about wanting Indian for dinner so he asked if I wanted to go to the restaurant with him. We were just going to hang out. Then Sam called.”

“And of course you said yes to Sam.” Sydney doesn’t exactly approve of the way Sam seems to think that you wait for his call and will drop everything to accommodate him, but she doesn’t say anything. “How did Marcus take the change of plans?”

“He said he understood and that it was fine.” Which is, technically, what happened. So when you shift your eyes away from hers, Sydney makes a noise and you cave. “He seemed disappointed,” you admit, throwing up your hands. “But I’m probably just projecting that.”

“Anyone would be disappointed to not spend time with you.” Sydney defends immediately, always the best cheerleader for you. “Maybe text him and reschedule?” She suggests. “Friends have dinner, it’s not cheating. You aren’t going out on a date.”

“I know it’s not cheating.” Syd knows better than anyone why you hate liars and cheaters. “I texted him on my way in this morning to reschedule, but I don’t…I don’t know if he’ll respond. He was probably just being polite asking in the first place.”

“I doubt that.” Sydney had seen the covert looks that each one of them had given the other when they weren’t looking during game night. Both of them were curious and she is interested to know about that hummingbird tattoo, it’s not common, despite what you might say.

“Then it’s because I’m best friends with his friend’s soulmate,” you reason instead.

“No, it’s because Juan said that Marcus was trying to be polite but that he was interested in you.” Sydney tells you.

You feel the blood drain from your face shamefully fast, and your eyes dart up to meet your best friend’s. “He said that?”

“Yes.” She isn’t going to lie to you, Juan had told her that. “But, he also said that Marcus respects relationships and he’s not the type of man to make a move on you if you’re in a relationship.” She knows how you feel about that kind of thing and she agrees with you.

“Well…I mean…that’s good? Isn’t it? That just means he’s respectful.” Still , you find yourself sitting on the idea that Marcus likes you and being halfway between mortified and grinning. It feels ultimately childish and yet like your chest is filling full of something very much like joy.

“According to Juan, Marcus Pike is the best man, the best person that he’s ever known.” Sydney acknowledges with a nod, deciding not to comment on your giddy expression. “Even though he was busy with training at the academy, he was always helping with housework or running errands to take care of things.” She shrugs. “His ex-wife was a med student. So I guess she’s a doctor now.”

“It’s just a coincidence.” This mantra of yours is going to get old quick, but you have a partner. A long term one, even. One that until a week or so ago, you had thought you had a future with. Now that resolve is waning and you don’t really know how you started to question yourself so easily.

Sensing that you’ve dug your heels in, she backs off, giving a small shrug. “I’m sure it is.” She hums. “So what are your Valentine’s Day plans with Sam?” She asks. “Did he plan something romantic?”

“We’re going to dinner and then a community fundraiser in his district.” It doesn’t sound romantic, you will admit that, but anything too luxurious you did can be perceived in a very wrong way by the general public if it gets out. A Congressman and the First Daughter going to a spa getaway or the symphony would be seen as being out of touch with the people. “He…wants to talk about the future.”

“And you don’t sound like it’s a conversation that you are eager to have.” She sits down, her own herbal tea in front of her and she frowns slightly.

“I’m…not sure, honestly.” Without hesitation and without filter, the explanation about your conversation with Judge D’Amario’s wife and what Sam said at dinner with them comes tumbling out of your mouth and you can’t help but cringe to yourself when you get it all out in the open air. “Am I overreacting? Please tell me I’m overreacting.”

Sydney winces and gives you a small shrug. “He has known from the beginning that you aren’t the type to want to be a typical politician’s spouse and give up your career.” She reminds you. “Remember that night out in Alexandria? Where we were bar hopping? I had a very frank conversation with him about that.”

“You did?” Your forehead scrunches as you take a sip of coffee. “Then why would he think I would be willing to have someone else manage the inn?”

“I don’t know if I can answer that.” She admits quietly. “But I think he gave them his true ideal. You quitting and being by his side for all his accomplishments.”

“It’s not that I’m not proud of him.” Some would argue that that is what it signals, but you and Sydney are not those types of people. “He’s doing such good work, and I do want to have kids and a house and all that domestic stuff. I just…I don’t want to give up working. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life standing behind a podium waving politely. I’m—I want to be me, not an extension of my partner.”

“I know that.” She reaches out and takes your hand. “But does Sam? Really? I think that he can convince you that it’s what you want.” She huffs. “I know he’s a good guy, but is he the right guy?”

“Not everybody finds perfect,” you remind her quietly, knowing that that is exactly what she has with Juan. Their version of perfect is about support, respect, and unending silliness, and you’ve always craved the same. But there aren’t many men in the world like Juan. Not many at all.

“That doesn’t mean you need to settle.” She tells you, squeezing your hand gently. “If you are happy, I’m happy. All I want is for you to be happy.”

“To be honest?” Closing your eyes for a second to swallow a sigh, the best you can do is shake your head. “I didn’t think I was settling. But now I can’t help but wonder…”

“Then you owe it to yourself, and to Sam, to make sure before you commit any further.” She suggests, knowing that you would feel horrible about divorcing later on.

“How?” It’s an honest question, since the situation is tangled up in guesses and implied maybes. “Break up with Sam because Marcus might be my soulmate? What happens if I’m wrong and I regret the whole thing? Sam would never take me back and I would deserve it.”

“Ask Marcus to show you the tattoo.” She hums. “That’s not cheating. It would be no different than seeing him in swimming trunks.”

“If he ever responds to me.” Which you sort of doubt. You sort of did just drop plans with him the second your boyfriend called. But you are the kind of person who makes your relationship a priority. You always have been.

“And if he doesn’t….” She shrugs. “You just deal with that.” She frowns. “But I would be upset if you had done the same to me.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t have a right to be upset with me.” Marcus has a right to feel however he feels. He’s human, after all. “This whole thing is just so out of left field. Especially after spending all of last year talking about freedom of affection and being happy with a partner who isn’t your soulmate.”

“Except you had never potentially met your soulmate.” She pauses and shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter, if you don’t want to pursue it, don’t. Juan won’t say anything and I’ll just encourage him to hang out with Marcus on a guys night.”

“I don’t know,” you admit honestly, poking at the remains of your breakfast with a frown. “First let’s see if he speaks to me again. I gotta go change my clothes for work.” A heavy blanket of tension works on you that wasn’t there when you came home, and you drag yourself off the stool with a swallowed sigh. “Thanks for breakfast, honey.”

“I’m sorry.” She murmurs, wishing for a moment that Juan hadn’t run into Marcus. Hadn’t mentioned a tattoo that was throwing you into a spin. “I’m here whenever you need.”

“Thank you.” Coming around the counter, you wrap your arms around her tightly and inhale, trying to remember your yoga and let the stress roll off your shoulders and not carry it into the work day. “And I’m always here for you. No matter what.”

“I know.” She grins into your shoulder. “You’re my best friend, bitch.” She teases. “I will go to war for you, bury bodies and not even think twice.”

"No hesitation." You link your pinkies together, the same way you have since you were little kids. "I really have to go change now. But thanks for listening to me ramble and fret."

“Anytime.” She scoffs, waving away your thanks. “You’ve listened to me plenty.” Lately it’s been about being a good mother and not completely wrecking Baby Badillo, but she understands the need to just vent. You’re there for one another, both of you, through thick and thin.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #soulmate au #First Daughter reader #Juan Badillo #Graceland #Juan Badillo x f!OC #Juan Badillo x OC #love triangle

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oliversrarebooks · 9 months

Text

The Rare Bookseller Part 19: Oliver's Price Tag

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Captivity, mind control

The hallway outside of the preparation room was bustling with activity, vampires leading around thralls in varying states of dress and consciousness. One vampire was carrying a young, thin woman who was fast asleep; another pulled along a woman who was babbling utter nonsense and giggling as though she was drunk; one enthralled man was stumbling along like a sleepwalker. Oliver took in the sights passively, too entranced himself, letting the distressing sights slide off of him without thought.

He was at least peripherally aware of how heads were turning as he walked by. He was actually starting to believe what everyone had been telling him, that he was the main attraction at this auction, based on the looks of obvious desire in the vampires' eyes.

Even through his fog, he couldn't help but be interested in the sight of a creature with almost-but-not-quite human proportions, shimmering skin, and two shining violet wings like an oversized butterfly. The wings flapped at a hummingbird's speed as the dazed-looking creature struggled against iron chains.

"Faefolk," said Miss Florence, noticing his interest. "A vampire delicacy, and one of the few things here that rivals you in value."

Faefolk! So vampires weren't the only creatures from story that really existed. He'd love to get a closer look, or talk to one, but he certainly wasn't going to get a chance right now. He followed his leash through the twisting passages of the auction house in a merciful blur, walking upstairs and emerging into a far more sumptuous area.

Here, the polished wood floors were neat enough to see his reflection in, and the walls were lined with oil paintings and curios full of ornaments and curiosities. Miss Florence led him into a kind of sitting room with richly upholstered chairs and carved mahogany furnishings, the narrow window covered by a dark velvet curtain. Miss Lily, now wearing a fashionable silk gown and diamond jewelry, and looking far more awake and put together, rose to meet them.

She beamed with pleasure upon seeing Oliver. "Yes, indeed," she said. "Absolutely ideal. An excellent job, Florence."

"It's my pleasure," she said, handing over Oliver's leash. "I only wish I could have sampled the goods myself."

"That's a taste of blood that would cost you."

"What are they starting him at?"

"Last I heard, nine thousand."

Even in his dazed state, Oliver nearly choked. Nine thousand, for him? That was more than a house, more than his net worth, more than an entire fleet of cars.

Surely no one would pay that much for him. It was impossible. What would become of him if he didn't sell, if he was a disappointment...?

"Are you having thoughts again, dear?" said Miss Lily. "Quiet your mind." She took him by the chin and gazed into his eyes. "Be nice and drowsy and docile for me. Vampires will love to watch you submit. It feels so good to obey me, doesn't it? You will obey, won't you?"

"Yes, sir," he said, feeling his eyelids droop under Miss Lily's hypnosis.

"You want to show the vampires how well you can obey, how helpful and pleasant you are, how utterly docile and subservient you can be." She swayed back and forth, and Oliver swayed with her, captivated in her eyes. "It's what you want more than anything. Allow just enough of your mind to go to sleep, now, Oliver dear, so that you can be the best possible thrall."

He nodded, hypnotized once more. "Yes, sir, I'll be docile for the vampires."

"He's an unusual one, isn't he?" Miss Florence remarked.

"He loves to submit, and he's so easy to entrance, but keeps slipping out of it when you're not paying attention. Too many thoughts in his brain. A problem for the buyer, I suppose. Speaking of which..."

Miss Florence took her leave as the first customer entered, an unremarkable looking man in an ill-fitting suit. "Hello, hello," he said to Miss Lily. "Getting an early start looking at the merchandise. So this here's the centerpiece, yes?"

Oliver, not sure what was appropriate, took a small bow, Miss Lily's command to be docile echoing. "Pleased to meet you, sir," he said.

"Oh, he talks!" said the man in surprise. "Tell me, do you cook and clean too?"

"I can clean, sir, and I know some basic cookery. I'm... I'm eager to serve."

"What a charming thrall, and such excellent-smelling blood. I can see why he commands such a high price," he said. "Of course I'd have to clear this kind of purchase with my partners, but we are in the market for this sort of thing, so... Hm. I suppose I don't have to decide now, especially since I haven't seen what else is on offer." He left the room, deep in thought.

"Well done," Miss Lily whispered in his ear, and he felt a surge of pride and pleasure.

He was doing well at this -- making himself presentable to vampires who wanted to purchase him and feed from his blood. As his brow furrowed, the smallest hint of discomfort tugging at him, Miss Lily patted his hair.

"Oh, would you look at this!" The next vampire to enter the room had a bright pink dress with an exaggerated bustle, white silk gloves up to her elbows, and long hair down to her waist. "Isn't he just adorable?"

"...Pleased to meet you, sir," said Oliver.

"Aww, so stiff and formal!" She drew close and ruffled his hair, and Oliver could feel a powerful aura radiating from her, blanking his mind.

"Aren't you normally in the market for pets, Lady Jessica? This one's trained as a servant," Miss Lily chimed in.

"Well, that's not a problem, darling. Redoing a human's mind is always a fun weekend project. Besides, he looks like a pet. Don't you, boy?"

"...Yes, sir," he quietly agreed. Her very presence was making him feel so...

"If I bought you, boy, you'd be so spoiled. I'd dress you up in just the cutest outfits and you could sleep at the foot of my bed. I'd take you on walks and everything. What do you say to that?"

...draining his ability to think, that's what she was doing. "...Thank you," he said, having difficulty following the conversation.

"Show me what a cute little pet you can be, boy. Get on all fours and beg."

Oliver sank to his knees in a daze, putting up two hands in a crude imitation of a puppy.

"Oh, my, you look adorable!" Lady Jessica laughed. "I simply must bid on this one. Don't tell anyone else though, will you, love? They'll only drive the price up."

"I wouldn't dream of disclosing our patrons' intent to other patrons," said Miss Lily.

She was petting Oliver's head as you would do to a dog. "I do wish you'd allow us to sample the blood, though, at least for the high value patrons. Just a few drops to swish in the mouth would be enough. I was at an auction in Paris where every piece of merchandise had these miniature crystal shot glasses of their blood arranged next to them. It was so delightfully elegant."

"An innovation which hasn't made its way across the pond, I suppose."

"No, and what a pity. Something to keep in mind. Perhaps I'll take it up with Colette over lunch sometime." She finally stepped away from Oliver. "I do think I'm going to go look at the faefolk next! Mine expired two months ago, sadly, so I'm in need of something fresh and new."

"As you please, Lady Jessica," said Miss Lily.

Once she exited, Oliver was able to clear his head and allow his faculties to partially return. He truly did not like how Lady Jessica made him feel, and as eager as he was to obey, he couldn't quite accept the idea of being an intelligence-drained imitation dog for the rest of his life. He took a deep breath to try and steady himself.

The door to the room opened again, and this time, it was a mop of messy hair and familiar sharp blue eyes. "Is this the thrall you've insisted I take a look at, Lily?" said a deep but soft voice. "I've told you a hundred times that I'm just not ready for -- Oliver? Oliver, is that you?"

Oliver dared to look up. "Good evening, Lord Alexander."

Part 18 >> Masterlist >> Part 20

Thanks for reading this story about Oliver being auctioned off.

Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumpt @amusedmuralist @snakebites-and-ink @sl33py-pup @diamond-blade @ivycloak @ladyjaye13 @irregular-book

#whump #whump writing #whumpee #mind control #vampire #vampire whumper #captivity #rare bookseller #oliver #lily #jessica

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nancypullen · 2 years

Text

Monday, the 11th

It’s a quiet morning here on our patch. The cats have found sunbeams and I’m curled up on the sofa with a book. Yesterday I was thrilled to see that hummingbirds have found our yard. I don’t see a lot of bees, and I miss that, but I’m guessing that being surrounded by farms might explain their absence. If I were a bee would I hang out in my garden or at the big lavender farm just down the road? Easy answer. I’ll have to do some research and make my yard more enticing. My zinnias are blooming like crazy and that’s what attracted the hummers. I was making lunch when I spotted the first one, bouncing bloom to bloom. Another came right up and checked out the potted flowers on the back porch. I love these little visitors.

Just a peek through the screen. Would you believe that I finally have a little spot set up where I can start making some things again? I’ve really missed creating things with pretty paper and pictures of dead folks. I recently came across this gal and I think she’s got something to say. I’ll figure it out.

It may turn into something about a thick-headed true love that can’t even get the twelve days of Christmas right. No, it’s not a portrait in a parrot tree! That’s the only way I’ll sing it from now on. As you can see, things are getting close to abby-normal around here. Cats are sleeping in sunbeams, hummingbirds are dancing among the flowers, and I’m back to making silly jokes. Life is good. I’ll leave you here so I can go make up some sort of nonsense and put it on paper. I’ve decided that it’s going to be a fun day. Stay safe, stay well, stay silly. XOXO, Nancy

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Text

Pleasant Surprise (Indruck Superhero AU)

A little fic I’ve had bouncing around my head for awhile, set in the universe of “The Thrilling Adventures of the Green Knight.” It takes place after that story, and after the events of the small fics “Aww, Rats” and “Back in Time”. You can read it as a standalone, but it does contain some spoilers for main fic.

“You know how you always say communication is important in a relationship?” Indrid drums his fingers on the arm of the couch.

Dr. Mwangi nods, the chain on her glasses glinting in the soothing lights of her office.

“I...there is something I am not sure how to communicate to Duck. I, it’s something I’ve been dishonest about. I” Indrid takes a deep breath, “I lied about the date of my birthday.”

Dr. Mwangi doesn’t so much as cock an eyebrow, much like she managed not to gasp in horror when he told her what his training regime involved when he was learning to be a villain. Indrid’s going theory is that this self-control is his therapist's super power.

“Do you want to spend part of our session today figuring out how you’d like to talk with him about this?”

Indrid fidgets with his glasses, “Yes, please.”

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

Duck comes home to one of his favorite scenes; Indrid sitting with his easel in front of the rat run. His boyfriend decided he needed to cultivate his artistic streak, so that one part of his life would not involve superheroing or villainy in any capacity. From the look of it, he’s still on the theme of inserting the rats into still-lifes of different styles.

Duck loves watching him paint, in a way at once connected to and completely different from the attraction he feels observing the other man train in the hideout or dig himself into engineering a new invention. There’s the same cleverness in his hands, the same concentration lining his face. But there’s an innocence that’s absent other places, a kind of happiness that only exists in activities untouched by his past.

“Hello, chivalrous one.” Indrid murmurs as Duck comes to drape his arms over his sweater clad shoulders.

“Hey sugar. I like the new paintin’--is that Dr. Harris Bonkers?”

“Indeed.” Indrid turns his head, his grin as bright as the streetlights flickering to life outside, “The fuzzy medical practitioner in the style of Seurat. I foresee Aubrey liking it as a Christmas gift, and I wanted to do it while the inspiration was still fresh.”

“Bet she’ll get a kick outta it.” Duck kisses the top of his head, then starts removing his work clothes, “you had dinner? Thought I might reheat some pizza.”

“I ordered us dinner, it should arrive within ten to fifteen minutes, depending on whether this is the broken stoplight timeline.” Indrid sets his brushes aside, stands so he can follow Duck down the hall to the bedroom.

“Thanks for doin’ that.”

“There is, ah, something I wish to discuss before it arrives.”

Duck turns and his heart twinges. Back when Indrid was his nemesis, Duck learned to read his emotions, a skill that eluded everyone else. He can tell when Indrid is nervous and, most often, when Indrid is nervous and doing everything he can to hide it.

“What’s on your mind?” He takes a soft step towards the other man, who goes very still as he summons his next words.

“Do you remember what I told you about my birthday?”

“That it was in the spring and you’d let me know when we were gettin close to it. Wait, fuck, you never did, not this year or last year. Then again, last year was when the White Star boys kept tryin to fuck everythin up, think a lot of stuff got missed. Do you, uh, wanna do a birthday observed or somethin? Could even get a little goofy and do a half-birthday.”

Indrid shakes his head vehemently, “No. That is not it. I, I ah, I lied. My birthday is not in spring. And before you ask ‘when is it,’ the answer is I have no idea. We never celebrated birthdays. I only know my age because my father unleashed my brother and myself upon the world some time after I, or rather we, turned eighteen.” Indrid tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweater, “that is all I wish to say.”

It would be easy to giggle at his serious tone.

Duck pulls Indrid into a hug, “Thanks for tellin me. Do you want help tryin to work out when it really is?”

“I...I do not know. I was simply tired of such a small lie weighing me down.”

“Okay. You wanna cuddle until dinner?”

“Of cour--oh damn it all.” Indrid steps back, pulling off his sweater, “Baron Thorne is going to try and hold an entire dormitory of students hostage in forty-five minutes.”

“More than a two hero job?”

Indrid tips his head back, then replies, “it’ll go best with for. I shall alert Barclay and Aubrey.”

“Roger. I’ll get the car.”

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

Duck’s researching potential plants for Dani to modify into non-lethal weapons when the secure elevator dings open and Agent Stern hurries out, looking a kind of excited he hasn’t seen since Barclay’s parents landed their ship to meet their son’s new boyfriend.

“Gettin the feelin you got good news for me.”

“I do.” Joe pulls out his datapad, “I went through the files we confiscated from Abbadon to find the one on Indrid. It did indeed have his birth date, and you are not going to believe what it is.”

Duck looks at the little boxes of letters and numbers beneath the photo of a much younger Indrid with a much crueler smile.

“No fuckin way.”

“I know right?” Joe grins, “ I think he’ll get a kick out of that.”

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

“My birthday is on Halloween?”

“Yeah!” Duck looks so happy that for a moment the emotion carries Indrid as well.

“That is rather fitting. It’s always been my favorite holiday.” He can see it now; little orange lights, a black tablecloth, some cake.

“And it’s three weeks away, so we still got time to plan somethin to mark the day. I was thinkin we could have it Friday, since Halloween is a Saturday and I know at least Barclay and Dani got things they do every Halloween. How’s that sound?”

He isn’t sure. Something circles up from the deep, animal part of his mind, but he can’t name it and so does his best to ignore it.

“It sounds wonderful.”

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

Indrid cannot escape. Everywhere he turns there are birthdays; on the T.V, in the restaurants he and Duck go to, on cards and balloons when he’s getting groceries

It’s your big day!

“You don’t turn thirteen everyday”

To my son, on his eighteenth birthday

“To my brother, my favorite partner in crime”

“This week on ‘My Neighbor’s a Werewolf,’ Jamie throws Max a surprise party, and gets a big surprise of his own.”

When that one flickers across the screen, Indrid clicks the T.V off with a little hiss. He’s tense, feels like the embodiment of the moment a knife-tip meets skin; resistance and resignation in the instant before it all comes pouring out.

“You got a cake preference?” Duck rests his hand on the couch near Indrid’s shoulder, tone light as he continues, “know you like really sweet stuff, I could get mom’s hummingbird cake recipe from Jane-”

“Whatever you think best.” Indrid flexes and coils his fingers.

“‘Drid, it’s your party, you get to mark the occasion however you want.

“And what if I do not wish to mark it at all?”

“Uh…” Duck clears his throat, “uh, that’s fine too.”

Indrid turns his head to see the expression he knew would be there.

“That upsets you.”

“N-uh, fuck, I uh, it don’t uh-”

“Duck, please do me the courtesy of not drawing out the lie.”

Ducks shoulders sag, “Guess I’m a little disappointed. I, uh, I was havin fun plannin it with you. Thought I could make up for all the times you didn’t have one.”

“Well, you can’t.” Indrid snaps, stands more dramatically than he means to. He just wants this to be over, wants to stop seeing the memories he thought he’d properly laid to rest, “you cannot make up for what I saw, what was done to me, what I did.”

“I-”

Indrid holds up his hand, “I know you see it as your job to remove all traces of my tragic past that you can.”

“Hold the fuck on.” Duck shakes his head, “Is that what you think I’m doin? ‘Drid, it’s just a party. If you don’t want it you don’t want it, but don’t fuckin pretend this is some indicator of us as a pair.”

“Oh but it is.” Indrid feels his lips curl into an old smile, “you get to play the nice, normal hero making everything better, while all I am is someone to pity, broken long before you ever met me!”

Duck goes still, and in his visions he sees the rats finishing skittering to the far side of Ratopia. It’s at this moment he realizes he’s been yelling.

“I…I am going to bed. Goodnight.” He hurries down the hall, only bothering to change his pants before crawling under the covers. In most futures, Duck follows him and demands they finish their argument, leading to a far larger fight. But the hero doesn’t come. This gives Indrid time to get his breathing and heart rate back to normal, to try and work out why the thought of his loved ones gathering to celebrate his birth makes him want to disappear into the night.

He’s not quite asleep when Duck comes in. He’s not quite ready to apologize. As he’s contemplating his options, his boyfriend slips under the sheet and lays in such a way that his right hand is inches from Indrid’s own.

Without opening his eyes, Indrid slides his fingers across Duck’s palm. Duck shifts to interlink their fingers, and closes his hand.

Indrid wakes up five hours later in two discrete stages. The first is coming out of the nightmare, of his body registering the need to move, to hide, before his brain is fully back to the present. The second is waking up enough to wonder why he always hides in the closet after these dreams; he didn’t have a closet growing up.

He creeps into the living room, hoping he hasn’t woken Duck. He has woken Chicken, who decides it’s close enough to her breakfast time to yowl at him until he feeds her. While she crunches her cat food, he opens one of the doors to Ratopia. The mischief is mostly asleep, but at the sound Void rouses from his spot atop Mallard and scurries over to Indrid’s hands.

“You forgive so easily.” Indrid murmurs, cupping him in one hand and closing the cage with the other, “or perhaps you just forget with much greater skill than I.”

He knows when Duck is behind him. Without turning, he sets Void on his shoulder and says, “I think I know why I have been so unpleasant tonight. I...I have only ever marked two changes in age; being old enough to face the trials of my order and being sent out to cut down those who dared oppose us. My ‘birthday’ is a harbinger of suffering and death. And I, I know that is not the real truth, but it is the one my body believes, the one my mind has been bracing for without me fully understanding that’s what it is doing. I did not mean to take that fear out on you.”

“‘Drid” Duck’s voice is scratchy with sleep, but when Indrid turns his eyes are alert, “I’m so fuckin sorry. It, uh, it didn’t occur to me that your birthday would be wrapped up so tightly with the shit you went through as a kid. I never meant to push you into somethin you didn’t want.”

“But I do want it!” Indrid shoves his hands into his hair, “I want to have dinner with our friends, to get gifts, to enjoy a thing that millions of people partake in every day. And I am so, so very angry that I cannot, that instead I am dealing with all of this.” He gestures vaguely to himself, then looks at Duck, his body registering safe as the hero joins him by the rat run. When Duck opens his arms, Indrid nestles into them without hesitation.

“Whatever you decide on, that’s what we’ll do.”

Indrid hums, snickers when Void clambers onto Duck to tickle his cheek with his whiskers. After the shadows of the past recede in the warmth of Duck’s embrace, Indrid whispers, “I would like to have the party. I would like to help you plan it. But I...I would like a few of the details to still be surprises for me. It might be nice for my birthday to bring me a pleasant one for once.”

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

“Oooh, this looks so cool!” Aubrey sets a gift on the table as she admires the mothman string lights, banners, and balloons, “dang, Duck, didn’t know you had a decorator streak.”

“Don’t get a chance to flex it much. And it’s kinda easy when the theme is so specific.”

“I’m trying to compliment you, doofus.” Aubrey playfully whacks his arm, then squeals, “honey, look, rats in hats!”

“Awww” Dani joins her to regard the mischief in their tiny party hats (only Mallard is still wearing his, the others in various states of tossing them about), “Indrid, did you make these?”

“Indeed, though Barclay made these.” He slides the enclosure open and sets five rat-sized cupcakes on the floor, “which is wonderful, because I did not want them to feel left out. They’re getting them earlier than the rest of us because Barclay is looking for ways to keep me out of the kitchen.”

“It’s your birthday, that means letting someone else cook!” Barclay calls from the kitchen.

“But I modified the blender and the mixer to be self-operating!”

“Wait, what?” Is all they hear before Barclay is drowned out by whirring.

“Should we help him?” Dani says through their laughter.

“He’s a professional, he’ll be fine.” Joseph steps from the kitchen, his casual wear of jeans and a Loch Ness Monster dress shirt still somewhat jarring to the former villain who only ever saw him in suits, “Aubrey, Dani, can I get you anything to drink?”

“Yes please. Okay doctor, time to play.” Aubrey opens the special hatch in Ratopia and deposits the rabbit, who settles in to be groomed by his smaller friends.

Dinner is fancy macaroni and cheese and fruit salad, Indrid’s favorites. As Ned regales the table with his latest misadventures in fixing up his new van (“I was unaware an owl could nest in a seat cushion”) Indrid glances at the entryway.

“Everythin okay?” Duck whispers.

“Yes. I, ah, I simply did not expect so many gifts. I know it’s customary to receive them but I thought you got one or two. Not that everyone brought them.”

“You wanna open them?”

Indrid nods, grinning, “very much so.”

He takes care not to peek at the futures when unwrapping them, wanting to preserve the excitement as long as possible. Aubrey gives him a six pound bag of Lucky Charm marshmallows, Dani sneaks out to the car and returns with a potted plant (“I modified it so that the blossoms will be extra attractive to moths”). Ned gifts him a signed, limited run poster from Red Dust on His Soul, Joseph and Barclay a stack of new romance novels (“I think you’ll like Agent X, it’s a mystery series but he romances quite a few characters in them”). Mama sent a package from West Virginia that contains a small, wooden duck she carved herself and made especially smooth so it would be soothing to rub). And Lydia Little, AKA Sylvia Cold, presents him with a mug declaring him “Favorite Brother.”

Duck’s present is the last one he opens. Waiting for him in the rectangular box is a white shirt with “World’s Greatest Rat Dad” on the front. The back is covered in squiggle-scratches of five different colors, which Duck explains are signatures from the mischief made in rat-safe fabric paint.

“It’s perfect.” Indrid sighs, kisses his boyfriend and then beams at his friends, “it is time for cake.”

They dim the lights, sing to him as Barclay emerges from the kitchen with a massive, mothman shaped cake with lots of candles. To his delight and surprise, the inside is layers of pink and yellow, flavored with strawberry and vanilla. He eats far more than is perhaps wise, but it is his birthday and it is his understanding that such things are allowed.

His guests linger for a few hours more, Aubrey and Dani the last to leave with a reminder to put the plant on the balcony. Indrid waves goodbye, closes the door and arms the security to full. He turns back into the house, sees the cards and gifts his friends put so much thought into locating for him, the stray dishes and half-empty glasses that signify they were here. For him. Because they wanted to be, because they care about him.

“‘Drid? You want any more cake before I put it aw--oh fuck, sugar, what’s wrong.”

“Nothing” he sniffles, grins, “these are tears of happiness. I, ah, I hurried us into cake because I felt them upon me when I opened the gifts. It will take some time yet for me to be willing to show such feelings around our friends.” He wipes his eyes, “thank you, my love, for arranging this.”

“Any time, darlin.”

He smiles, “Have I mentioned lately that you are my hero?”

“Pretty sure you called me that this mornin. But I sure as hell don’t mind hearin it again.”

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

“What is this?” His brother scowls up from the paper plate Indrid passed to him through the complex delivery system keeping his cell from the world around it.

“Cake. Today is our birthday. Did you know that?”

“Who cares for such frivolous things, little brother?”

“Those of us who do not spend our lives steeped in the misery of others, twin brother. If you do not want it, give it back and I shall share it with one of the guards.”

Apollo looks at the cake. Then he kneels on the floor, tearing into it with his hands. He doesn’t eat it what he destroys, and after a moment Indrid grasps why.

“Did you really think I hid some device to help you escape in there?”

“Yes.” His brother is now trying to light stab the cake with his gaze.

Indrid rubs his forehead, “Perhaps some day you will learn to see things for how they are, not how you believe them to be.” He starts for the door, looks over his shoulder and says softly, “happy birthday, Apollo.”

A slam as his brother strikes the see-through front of his cell, “Get back here this instant you worthless, traitorous, coward!”

The door slides open and Indrid steps into the hall. Joseph is waiting for him, drops his eyes from the security feed to the man in front of him, “what a waste of Barclay’s cooking.”

“Agreed.”

A gentle pat on his shoulder, “You tried, that counts for a lot. Now go enjoy your night.”

“And my knight?”

“Him too.” Joseph waves goodbye, then adds, “and happy birthday!”

Indrid gets home before the city trick or treating hours begin; he’s feeling rather good, all things considered, and Halloween is so beloved by villains that the odds of his evening being interrupted by work are almost none.

Duck is on the porch lighting their Jack ‘O Lanterns, grinning brighter than all the candles and lights on the block combined when Indrid walks up the steps to join him. He sees in the futures that he’s made him a special, Halloween themed birthday dinner.

He pulls Duck into a hug, kissing the top of his head with happy sighs, thanking whatever twist of fate pushed him into the arms of the man who was, in many ways, his first-ever pleasant surprise.

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #taz amnesty #superhero au

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wholesomemendes · 4 years

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Basket Full of Love

Summary: After buying a new house, you and Shawn are at a flower nursery to decorate the outside and lots of love ensues.

Author’s Note: This is literally just fluff. That’s it. Fluff on fluff. I got this idea when I was buying flowers with my mom the other day and all I could do was picture this happening. She’s short (only 1.4k), but she’s sweet so I hope you guys like it. As always, please tell me what you think, any feedback is appreciated!

“Shawn, which one do you like better?”

At the sound of your voice your husband turns his head away from where he was admiring a bundle of pretty, pink peonies and makes his way towards where you were comparing two hanging baskets. He wraps his arms around your middle, letting his head come to rest on your shoulder, “Which ones am I looking at?”

You pointed at two baskets filled with an arrangement of red begonias and other white flowers with hints of yellow in them, “These two right here. I’m thinking of hanging one of them on the back porch next to the birdfeeder.”

Shawn stared at them, examining all of the bright colors with furrowed brows, “But baby, they’re the same thing.”

“No they’re not,” you huffed, pointing at each of them, “This one obviously has more begonias so the color stands out more, but this one seems to have more buds.”

“A-what? A bedona?”

You laughed at his words causing him to squeeze you a little tighter and press a kiss to your forehead, “A be-go-nia is this pretty little red flower right here.” You leaned forward slightly to gently touch the gorgeous petals, rubbing one between the pads of your fingers.

“Oh, a be-go-nia.”

You let out a small giggle at how he was sounding out the word, but still turned around nonetheless and placed a kiss on his cheek, “That’s it, bubs. You’ve got it.” He contemplated his decision for a few more moments before pointing at the one on the right.

“I like that one, the red in it looks nicer.”

“Perfect, then we’ll get that one.” You stood on your tiptoes in an attempt to reach the hook, smiling to yourself when Shawn placed one hand on your waist and reached above you to help grab it instead. You mumbled out a thank you as you kissed his bicep lightly while he put the new basket into your cart.

“Alright, are you ready to go?”

“What? No, we still need to get two baskets for the top of the steps in the front and some flowers to plant in the garden in front of the main entrance and then there’s…”

“Ok, ok I get it, lots of flowers,” he sighed, resting his head on his arms that were on the cart which was already filled with three other assorted plants, “Why do we need so many?”

“Shawn, we literally just bought a house. That means you need to decorate a bit outside, you know, make it presentable. The perennials your mom has in her garden didn’t just grow by themselves.”

Your husband groaned again, lifting his head to face you this time, “Babe, you know I have no idea what you’re talking about when you spit out all of these big flower words.”

“Perennials are the flowers that rebloom every year without you needing to replant them. Annuals are the flowers that die before the winter season.”

“So why don’t you just buy all perenals or whatever the heck they’re called so you don’t have to replant them every year?”

“Perennials and because you want to change it up a little bit! It’d be boring to have the same flowers every year.” Pushing him playfully out of the way, you grabbed the cart and headed towards some of the perennials you wanted to plant in the front garden, Shawn trailing behind you like a lost puppy. One of the flower labels caught your attention a few rows down and you gravitated towards it immediately, “Shawn, look! Daylilies!”

“And…?”

“Andddd these attract hummingbirds! Wouldn’t it be cute to see some hummingbirds around the house? We could even put up a hummingbird feeder!”

A smile broke out on Shawn’s face at your excited state and he placed his lips on top of your head, mumbling into your hair, “That sounds great, love. Anything to put a smile on your face.”

You smiled up at him before grabbing a couple trays of the soon to be beautiful flowers and placing them in your cart. You could tell Shawn was becoming antsy to go home because he was either pulling out his phone more than usual or being extra clingy, a telltale sign of his boredom. “Hey bubs,” you snapped him out of the trance he was in on his phone, “Why don’t you go pick something out? Whatever you want to get.”

“Anything?” he asked, a bright smile taking up his face.

“Anything, just please don’t pick something that will ruin the outside of our house.”

“I won't, I promise, I’ll pick out the prettiest flowers for you.” He placed his hand under your chin so he could peck your lips quickly before he ran off somewhere in the nursery to, what you could only assume was, cause trouble.

Two baskets and a handful of trays later you were satisfied with your cart, the only thing missing being your giant of a husband that was still somehow on the hunt for his special flowers. “Is this flower for sale?” a deep voice whispered into your ear, causing you to jump from the fright. You immediately recognized the voice and bright chuckle as your husband’s and you turned around, meeting his mischievous grin.

“What took you so long, bubs? Pick out anything good?”

“Mhm, but nothing as beautiful as this flower right in front of me.”

You blushed at his words, lightly pushing his chest to hide your red cheeks, but his muscular body didn’t move an inch, “‘M not a flower.”

“You could be though,” he smiled at you, hands coming to your waist to pull you closer to his body, “You’re as gorgeous as one and you smell just as good, too.”

“Oh stop it, I’m your wife now. You don’t need to shower me in compliments anymore.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m always gonna give you loads of compliments cause you’re my girl and you deserve them.” He leaned in to place a searing kiss onto your lips, gripping your hips tighter to bring you flush against him.

“Shawn,” you mumbled against his lips when he tried to deepen it, “People.”

He pulled away unwillingly, a small pout on his face, “What? I can’t kiss my wife now?”

“You can...back home. Now why don’t you show me these flowers you got.”

“Oh right! Flowers, yes.” Moving to turn around to where he had placed the basket on the ground, he held it up for you with a proud grin adorning his lips, “Ok, so I had to get some help from one of the workers, but I got it. Basically, it’s a basket full of love!” He pointed to a handful of white flowers on one side, “These ones are supposed to symbolize everlasting love, which you know, made me think of us and it’s supposed to represent fertility and motherhood which I think will be helpful for the future.” You looked at him with tear filled eyes, not knowing how the man who wanted nothing to do with flowers earlier had managed to find the perfect array of them that also happened to be so meaningful. “The dark red ones mean love and affection as well and the rest of them in here don’t really mean anything, but I think they’re super beautiful.” You wouldn’t think that the mix of orange blossoms and red carnations would look as pleasing to the eye as they did, but you thought that the meaning behind them made them that more beautiful to you. “So? What do you think?”

“What do I think? Shawn, I-” you leaned your head back in an attempt to keep the tears at bay- “I don’t know what to say, they’re absolutely perfect. I don’t deserve you, bubs.”

“Awe baby, don’t cry,” he cooed, wrapping you up in his arms, “I love you, you’re the one I don’t deserve.”

“You can’t say that, you just made me cry in the middle of a nursery.” You sniffled one last time before placing your lips on his, holding him tight against you.

“I thought you said no kisses in public,” Shawn mumbled against your lips, but not making any move to pull away from you.

You detached your lips from his and cocked an eyebrow at him, “Do you not want to kiss me right now?”

“Hell no, get back here,” and with that you melted into his arms, a basket full of love leaning against the two of you.

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owillofthewisps · 4 years

Text

unspoken

notes: shout-out to tumblr for not being functional - this was originally a response to an ask from an anon asking for eskel smut! hi anon!! i hope this was what you wanted/is something you find sexy!

i feel like you weren’t quite looking for 5k of smuff (smutty fluff) but it’s uh. what you’re getting. sorry about that. and i could have written a whole nother scene. that’s probably show up down the line.

i’ve never written eskel before and hooo it shows. sorry anon!!

pairing: eskel/fem reader

rating: explicit (warnings: fingering, oral (f receiving), brief handjob, slight overstimulation, some self-esteem issues referenced/briefly mentioned. i think that’s it.)

word count: 5.3k one day, you think, Eskel will be able to hear the words you’re already saying.

You hear the galloping hoof beats too late.

They’ve been obscured by the churning rhyme you’re humming, the slow, steady song of home.

“Lil’ Bleater, no!” Eskel calls, his deep voice edged with a hint of panic. From the sound of him, his rambunctious goat has left him behind in a quick burst of speed. She’s a nimble little thing, you know, liable to dance around the broad Witcher as he tries to corral her.

There’s no time to turn, and you shriek with laughter as the small goat butts against the back of your knees. Her horns catch in your skirts for a moment, tangling like river reeds caught in the current. It sends you stumbling forward. You catch yourself against the heavy churn, still giggling despite the small sting of her horns, blunt though they are.

“I thought we were friends, little thief,” you tell Lil’ Bleater, who merely bleats at you around the mouthful of verdant green alfalfa sprouts she’s knocked from the pocket of your apron.

“Lil’ Bleater!” Eskel says, practically tumbling into the lean-to in his rush. The goat prances away, eyeing him warily as she continues to munch on her prize. “Don’t you - oh.”

“Well met, Eskel,” you say, turning to face him with a soft smile. You wipe at your brow with the back of your hand, knowing that you are likely shining with sweat from the heavy work of churning. “You were right, I shouldn’t have let her know I have alfalfa in my pockets.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says, not meeting your eyes. You wish he would. You so often yearn for the sunlight of his gaze, the way his amber eyes go soft for you, like butter melting. His fingers flex. He scrubs a hand over his face, and you know his scars are pulsing. They’re vivid against his skin. It reminds you of the meadow near your birthplace, where the sorrel grew wild, leaves streaked with crimson veins. They are terrible scars, you know, but there is beauty in them too.

“Are you hurt?”

“Just a little sore,” you say. It’s a soft kiss of pain, something summery in it, the ache of slipping from a tree branch when you’ve climbed just a bit higher than you should have.

Eskel shifts, and you know the slight hunch of his shoulders. Before Eskel, you never thought a Witcher could look so small. You shake your skirts loose from their tangle and cross to him. His large hands flex, rising slightly as if to touch, and then he drops them back to his side. You catch your sigh between your teeth and swallow it down.

The Path takes him from you often, and you bear him no grudge for it, but sometimes he returns to you with unsure hands, as if he worries that you will fade away like a dream should he touch. It is still new, though, this thing between the two of you, a sprout unfolding into a stem, stretching closer to the sky. You are not patient, but for him, you will be.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and he sounds oddly helpless. “You’re sure you aren’t harmed?”

You trace a hand over the bulk of his shoulder. It’s a light touch, a gentle summer breeze ruffling through the wildflowers, slipping over their petals like silk, and something in him eases.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” you say airily. “I’m hardier than you think. Though Lil’ Bleater may need to apologize to the chickens for stealing their treat.”

“I’ll get you more.”

You raise a brow. “I’ve a whole field of it,” you point out. “Besides, if you truly wish to make amends when none are needed, you can greet me with the kiss I’d like to have.”

That finally draws his gaze to you. In the light filtering into the lean-to, his eyes gleam amber, translucent like summer honey. His eyes always leave you greedy, feeling gold-drunk, a dragon coiled around her hoard.

“Only if you’d like,” you remind him, because you will take nothing that he does not wish to give.

Eskel cups your face in his large hands, draws you close, and drinks from your lips. You hum into the kiss, your eyes fluttering closed. His fingers gain surety, the rough pad of his thumb dragging over the sweep of your cheekbone, and you drape your arms around his neck. He’s so broad against you, steady and grounding, an ancient oak firmly rooted. You tease a sharp breath out of him with your tongue.

When you pull back, his eyes have darkened to the golden glow of a mostly-set sun. His hands slip to your waist, his fingers tight on the plush curve of your hips.

“I missed you,” you admit boldly. Sya often tells you that you have a brazen tongue. You aren’t quite sure of that, but you know you tend towards bluntness. A hammer instead of a blade, Sya tells you.

Eskel makes a soft noise that you can’t quite place. He slides the tips of his fingers into the small gap between your skirts and your bodice, his amber eyes tracing over you. You refuse to be embarrassed. It’s true, after all, and you will tell him until it is not. But you do not think it will ever be untrue.

He pulls you in for another kiss, and this time, you can sense the teeth in him. The hunger. Eskel kisses you breathless, the pads of his fingers slipping higher on your bare skin. He kisses you until the world fades around you, until it feels quiet despite the chirp of the birds and the rustle of the breeze.

You press closer still, tangling your fingers into his mahogany hair. He rumbles out a noise that arrows through you. You can feel his hand trailing up the ladder of your spine, leaving a blazing trail of heat behind it. Your bodice loosens as he tugs at the laces. The sweetly embroidered neckline dips low, catching on the thin fabric of the chemise, and you pull in a tight breath.

“Eskel,” you murmur. He dips his head to your neck, his breath whirling warm over your skin, and then - Lil’ Bleater makes herself known with a bleat and a headbutt. She mouths at your apron, trying to pull the pocket open for more alfalfa.

“Lil’ Bleater!” Eskel hisses as you laugh into his shoulder. He leans down as she butts against you again with another faint cry, dismayed to find your pocket ransacked and empty. She turns her attention to him, butting against his large hands, and even though Eskel is swearing under his breath, he is gentle as he shoos her away.

The goat squawks her displeasure and flounces out of the lean-to. You’ve no doubt that she’ll take her revenge against the rolling hills of your herb garden, particularly the large stalks of sweet fennel she favors, often gnawing them down to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Eskel says, looking sheepish, but at least there’s a smile lingering in the corner of his mouth.

You press a kiss against the skin peeking over the neckline of his shirt. He’d shed his armor before coming to find you, clearly, and you hope he went into the cottage this time instead of leaving them outside, too polite to enter without you there to let him in. “It’s for the best,” you say with a low laugh. You nip at his skin, taste the salt of him. “Been a while since I’ve been tumbled in the hay.”

“A shame, that,” he says, and you are glad to hear the tease of it, to hear him start settling back into familiarity. His fingers trail low on your hips as you step out of his grasp. You catch his hand as it falls, wind your fingers between his thick ones like tendrils on a trellis. He makes a perplexed little noise, almost too quiet to be heard, and you glance back at him.

Eskel is sun-drenched, the light streaming through the window to bathe him, to swallow him in its incandescent touch. His deep brown hair gleams dark under the light’s touch, a shadow of a crown, and sometimes you think you will never have words for the color of his eyes. They are too many things at once: the soft shimmer of coin glinting in low tavern light, the glory of a sun peeking over the horizon, the golden drip of a noblewoman’s necklace. He shares them with other Witchers, you suppose, but you think you would find his different still, a treasure all your own.

Many women would not call him handsome, you know, too distracted by the scars carving canyons across his face. It is not something you understand.

You find Eskel attractive always, but like this, touched by light, gilded by the sun, he is something else. Your breath catches in your throat.

Eskel doesn’t seem to notice, his golden eyes fixed on where your fingers twine around his. You realize then. The breath caught in you grows thicker, and you ache for this man.

You tighten your grip on his hand. When his eyes flit up to you, a darting little glance that reminds you of the nimble flutter of a hummingbird’s wings, you smile, soft and slow.

“Come,” you say. “As I said - I’ve missed you.”

His fingers tighten around yours, and then he follows you out into the warmth of the afternoon.

The short walk to your cottage takes longer than usual, the two of you swept up into each other’s current more and more, like shells caught spinning in the ocean’s waves. Eskel kisses the breath from you, pinning you against your front door, his knee between your thighs, tugging you close until your clothed cunt drags across the length of his muscled thigh, until you can feel the hard length of him against your hip.

You fumble with the latch as he palms your breast, slipping his large hand down the front of your chemise. He kneads at the flesh as he mouths at your neck, scraping his teeth against the column of your throat. You whimper as he strokes a thumb over your nipple until it pebbles, the barest hint of lightning starting to flicker down your spine, like a summer storm still sparking on the horizon.

The door unlatches, and you yelp as you go stumbling backwards. Eskel moves like water, his large form impossibly fluid, hooking an arm around your waist and steadying you.

“Careful now,” he says lowly, a grin flickering at the edges of his lips like hearthfire.

You swat at him, but lean up to kiss him with a laugh as he sets you back on your feet. He nudges the door shut and pulls you back to him. You’ve never known a man so steady. There are moments where he reminds you of the stalwart rocks of the coast, unmoving despite the ocean’s howling waves, standing firm against the water’s pull. Instead, though, he is more the tide, sweeping into your life and then out again, an ebb and flow always.

“Stop thinking,” Eskel says softly, and promptly kisses the thoughts right out of your head. You clutch at him in the haze of it. He enfolds your senses like fog, the taste of him sweet on your tongue, the prick of his teeth catching on your lower lip spreading through you. It’s the heat of his hand that brings you back to yourself, his large hand slipping under your skirt and between your thighs to cup your cunt.

“Fuck,” Eskel groans, because you’re already wet enough to soak through your smallclothes, the cloth clinging to your cunt as he presses up against you until your hips jolt forward, chasing the friction of his palm. You grasp at his hair as he ducks his head to suck at your nipple, mindless of the barrier of your chemise, his mouth closing wet and hot around the stiff peak. His cheeks hollow slightly, and you can feel the rasp of his stubble. The sensation arcs through you, spitting sparks like forgefire.

You wind your fingers into his thick hair and pull him tight against you with a quiet moan. Eskel rocks his palm against your cunt, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit. You clench, feeling your cunt pulse around nothing. “Off,” you say, tugging at his shirt, deeply grateful that he’d shed his jerkin earlier. You catch at the hem, start to lift it as best you can with him curved around you like a fern.

You can feel the smile on his lips as he tightens them around your nipple, his tongue tracing over the pebbled furl of it. He pulls back and the damp fabric goes chill without the warmth of his mouth. Gooseflesh rolls over you like a fogbank, skittering across your skin.

“Impatient,” he chides.

“Always,” you huff, because you have long demanded satisfaction in all aspects of life, and have long learned that sometimes you must push to get it. You shrug out of your loosened bodice, let it slip down you like a water drop slides across a leaf. Eskel pulls back to undress, his hand dragging across the length of your cunt, but you have greedy hands, and you don’t let him go far, slip your hands up the loose fabric. Your fingers skate against the defined planes of his stomach. The muscles jump beneath your fingertips, rippling, your touch a stone skipped over their surface.

Eskel’s thick fingers slip into the ties of your skirts. They give with one quick tug, puddling around your feet. You step out of the froth of them and into his arms, catching the hem of his chemise once more, urging it up until he finally strips it off.

He’s a sight, all coiled muscle, scars scattered across his torso like constellations. You corral him back towards your bed until he’s laid out on your linens, sprawled out like a feast.

You peel off your chemise and let it drop to the floor. Eskel pulls in a sharp breath, the sound like whistling wind. Heat rises into your cheeks as he gazes up at you with something perilously close to reverence, a supplicant at your altar.

“Beautiful,” he tells you, and you feel the same, gazing down at him, at the glow of his eyes and the carved sculpture of his body, and mostly - the tilt of his lips into something soft and sweet. You know better now, though, than to speak your thoughts aloud, at least for now. It turns something in him to stone.

“Oh?” you say instead, crawling over him and settling on the washboard of his abs, your wet smallclothes sticking to skin. “I think you’re too kind, good sir.”

“Nay,” Eskel says, and though he’s playing along, there’s a quiet solemnity glinting in his eyes. His scars burn bright against his skin, and gods, he is so lovely it makes something in you twist. “I only settle for beautiful as there are no adequate words.”

That shakes you. Oh, you think. Oh. You hide your fluster in his skin, leaning down to sink your teeth into the thick pillar of his neck. Eskel groans, his immense hands coming up to bracket your hips, and you push forward to suck marks into his tanned skin, to ruddy his skin like red wine lingering on lips. One hand slips down to palm your ass roughly, his blunt fingers squeezing and kneading. He rocks you forward with his grip, lets your cunt slide against the ridges of his muscled stomach.

The gasp spills from you like wine, and Eskel drinks it from your lips as he pulls your soaked smallclothes to the side. He swipes his thumb over your clit, sends sparks skipping through you, the pleasure going from strikepoint to strikepoint, lightning caught in your skin. He circles your hole with a blunt fingertip, teasing against the sensitive, wet silk of your skin, and you catch his lips once more as he sinks a thick finger into you.

You can’t muffle the whimper, and he moans against your lips at the sound of it, your voice thickened to slow honey. Your cunt pulses. Eskel kisses the curse off your tongue as he starts to thrust, each slide of his fingers rolling you against his hard muscles until you’re keening. The pressure of his abs against your clit makes you tremble, and then he sinks another finger into you, and then a third. You spasm around the fullness, dropping your head onto his chest to pant against him.

There’s sweat gleaming on your skin as you push back against Eskel’s fingers, driving them deeper in the clutch of your cunt.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Fuck, that’s it.”

He scrapes his teeth against the ridge of your shoulder. He pulls you down against him, your breasts soft against the hard plane of his chest, and the change in position grinds his fingers against a spot in your cunt that makes lightning arc up your spine. You clench, dripping around his fingers spreading you wide.

“That’s it,” Eskel says again, his voice silk rasping against stone. “So pretty, sweetling.”

He twists his fingers in the way you like, deft despite the size of them, and his other hand drops down to slip against the slick of your clit. White heat streak through you, pleasure like a falling star in the sky of your body, plummeting through you to burn hot in your cunt.

Your voice breaks on Eskel’s name as you shake apart on top of him. He pets at your back as you tremble against him, slowing the thrust of his fingers as you pant. Vaguely, beneath the ringing in your ears, you can hear him muttering sweet things to you.

He pulls his fingers from you. It sends steel-edged pleasure cutting through you.

You can feel the heat of his cock radiating against your inner thigh. Eskel catches your wrist as you start to reach for him, wanting to feel the weight of his cock in the palm of your hand, to feel the velvet drag of his skin against yours.

“Not yet,” he tells you, and he tilts you off of him with a shift of his powerful hips.

The yelp spills from you as you topple over onto the mattress with a small bounce. Eskel rolls over on top of you, cages you in. The corner of his lips is soft with a secret, and you squirm beneath the silk of his eyes, the way they trace over your features as if you are art.

“I want your cock,” you say, at the edge of a whine.

Eskel grunts at that, his eyes going dark. “I want to see you cum again,” he tells you, and then his mahogany hair is brushing against your collarbone as he ducks lower, pressing a biting kiss between your breasts, his mouth hot and sharp with pleasure against your skin. He licks and kisses his way down your stomach before setting his teeth against your hip bone, finally peeling away your sopping smallclothes. Your nerves buzz under your skin.

“Eskel,” you sigh, and he dips his mouth to your cunt. His stubble scrapes across the delicate skin of your inner thighs. He shifts your legs wider with a nudge, the barest hint of the strength that lies just beneath the sweetness of him. The flat of his tongue sweeps through your soaked folds and you grab at his hair without thinking. The sizzle of sensation is sharp-toothed, digs into your bones, and when you buck, you can’t quite tell if you’re pushing forward or pulling back.

He swings a heavy arm over your hips, presses you down like a flower between the pages of a book. You know you cannot move him with anything but your words. He peers up at you over the curve of your stomach and the swell of your breasts. “Okay?” he asks, and his lips are reddened and shining in the sunlight leaking through your shutters.

“Yes,” you gasp, because you have never shied from keen edges.

You can feel him smile against the wet of you. He leans back down and then his mouth is tight around your clit, until the pleasure cuts into the marrow of you. Eskel works you with his talented mouth, licks and sucks at you like summer fruit, the smallest hint of teeth gentle against your cunt. You jerk against the anchor of his arm, hips thrusting up as you toss your head back, sweat slicking the hair at the nape of your neck.

“Please,” you babble, fingers fisting tight in his hair. “Eskel, Eskel, please.”

He hums against your dripping folds, and the way it resonates through you makes you think of how you’ve imagined the snap of magic against your skin, prickling and intoxicating. Your skin feels too small. The sensation of Eskel lapping at you, one thick finger deep in your cunt, rides the knife’s edge, half-pain, half-pleasure. He closes his mouth around your clit and sucks, hollowing his cheeks, and it snaps through you.

“Fuck!”

Your trembling thighs clamp around Eskel’s head as you cum, back arching as much as you can beneath his firm arm over your hips. He lets you ride your orgasm out, still gently licking at you, just enough to keep the sparks rolling over your spine.

He kisses the junction of your hip and thigh as you calm.

“Gods,” you gasp. “You are a menace.”

Eskel laughs into your skin, low and sweet.

“Come here,” you demand.

“Impatient.”

“Always.”

He slinks up your form. You lean up to catch his lips, taste the tang of yourself on his tongue. You cradle the back of his head as he sighs into the kiss. Some part of you wonders if all Witchers are soft at the core of them, or if it’s just Eskel, kind, giving Eskel, who thinks he has little to offer based on the map of scars scrawled across his face.

His cock is heavy in your palm, all hot, silken skin. You stroke the length of him, relearn the heft and girth of him. Eskel moans into your kiss, his voice a deep rumble of noise. You huff a laugh against his lips, delighted at the noise, and twist your hand before thumbing at the head of his cock, smearing the wetness there down his length.

You trace your tongue over the pulsepoint in his neck, feel the slow, lazy river current of his heartbeat. His cock twitches in your grip. You feather your fingertips under the ridge of the head before dragging your thumb against the same spot, relishing the soft hiss that flows from Eskel’s reddened lips.

“You’re so good,” you dare to say, giving a quick upward stroke.

Eskel moans, his thighs trembling.

“Look at you,” you murmur, pressing your lips against the blade of his collarbone. He stiffens, just slightly, and you catch yourself, change the words before they leave you. “Always make me feel so good,” you say, and his shoulders unwind, the muscles of them shifting.

You would like him to weigh heavy on your tongue, close your lips around the thickness of his cock, to gaze up at him from under your lashes until he gushes hot into your mouth. Eskel shies from it, though, and you are wary of pushing him too hard. You know that your bold mouth sometimes hammers where delicacy is needed.

You can feel his abs flexing against your knuckles each time you drag your hand up the length of his cock. When you nudge at him, Eskel sits back on his knees. His amber eyes gleam gemlike in the light, and you are again struck by the beauty of him, the strong sculpture of his features.

Eskel’s brow knits as you push to your knees as well, your legs quivering like a newborn fawn. “Are you sure?” he asks

You drape yourself over him like a silken cloak, settling just over his hips. “Yes,” you say, guiding his cock to your cunt. “I told you - I want your cock. I rarely change my mind.”

The way the head of his cock spreads you knocks the breath from your lungs. Your nerves sing with starsong, something bright and vast trickling through you, crackling just under your skin. Eskel steadies you as you sink down on him, as he splits you around his cock. He gazes up at you with his sungold eyes, so stark against the deep brown of his dark hair, and you think of how the sun gives life, how it shines on others to nourish them.

He closes his eyes as you lean down to press your forehead against his. His lips part slightly, and you drag your thumb over the curve of them. Eskel turns just enough to press a kiss against your palm. Your stomach twists with something you can’t quite think about as you are filled with him, as your cunt flutters around his cock.

“Eskel,” you say quietly, softly sweet, but you lose the rest of your words as he kisses you, his mouth fervent and consuming.

You shift your hips. His cock drags against your walls, warms your veins with that biting pleasure, and his hands tighten on your hips. You remember the girth of him well, but the memories pale compared to the feel of him spearing deep, until it feels like there is nothing but him. His cock pulses as you flutter around him, clenching down tight on the weight of his cock.

“Please,” you breathe, catching his lips in a kiss, rising onto your knees until just his tip is caught in your hole, the thick head stretching you wide. You drop back down onto his cock and you are already trembling. Lightning crackles beneath your skin. Eskel huffs a breath as you tighten around him, your cunt velvet around his length.

You lean forward and press your face into the junction of his shoulder and neck. The rhythm of your hips is a slow current, rising and falling like the ocean tide. Your breath is shaky against Eskel’s sweat-slick skin. His hand nestles into the hair at the nape of your neck, and he guides you back up so that you are looking down at him, a witness to his worship.

“Eskel.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, gazing up at you as if you are the stars, something vast and unknowable above him. His fingers tighten on your hips, the pads of them digging into the plush flesh, and with a flash of that intense strength, he moves you.

Eskel rocks up into you, fucks up hard into the clench of your cunt. His hips are steady with each hard push. He feels immense, as if you are molten metal in his forge of his desire, his to mold and reshape. You can feel each throb of his cock, feel him swell inside you. Hazily, beneath the fog of it all, you think that Eskel will always be under your skin, will line the edges of you for the rest of your life.

You set your teeth against the salt of his skin, some part of you desperate to see that you sink as deeply into his skin as he has into yours. He grits out a moan. You wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you down into his thrusts, rolling his hips to catch the head of his cock on the spot deep inside your cunt that slides a knife of pleasure through you.

“So good,” you mumble breathily against him, tightening around him with each push of his hips. “Gods, Eskel, please.”

He whispers something you can’t quite hear, and then his hand is slipping between you both. You sob as he draws a tight circle over your clit, your nerves singed beneath the heat of his touch. Eskel presses a soft kiss against your lips as you clench viciously around him, the velvet of your cunt unrelenting, and you shatter.

“Fuck,” Eskel hisses, and underneath the lightning strike of your own consuming pleasure, you can feel the way his abs tighten against you. He pulses inside of you, each twitch of his cock searing through you. He spills hot and thick in you, your cunt fluttering around him, his thighs tense beneath you. His groan is long and heated, a bonfire of sound.

He catches your face in his hands, pulls you into a heated, messy kiss. There are little strikes of lightning still flickering across your skin. Eskel is throbbing in you, small spurts of cum still spilling into your cunt. The coiled muscles of his thighs flex and quiver beneath you.

The two of you spend a moment just breathing. He brushes his fingers against your jaw, his touch delicate.

“Menace,” you tell him, voice soft.

Eskel pulls you into another kiss to hide his smile.

It’s easy to get lost in him, to be carried off in the steady kindness of him. He kisses you sweetly, the corner of his mouth soft with something secret. You groan when he pulls out of you, the blade of sensation a true cut now.

Eskel coaxes you to curl up on the bed. He rises, and you only have enough energy to voice a wordless complaint, trying to catch him by the wrist and pull him back to you.

“Just a moment, sweetling,” he says, but you can hear the laugh lining his voice. You crack an eye open to glare at him.

You’d thought he would know, considering his enhanced senses, but you don’t think he’s expecting your gaze, considering the look on his face. Eskel is perhaps the most reverent lover you’ve had, but softness painted across his visage as he peers down at you steals your breath away. It’s something gossamer, a thin, shining spider’s thread woven into an intricate web of emotion that Witchers aren’t meant to feel.

He doesn’t seem to realize it, though, that he is laid bare to you for just a breath, and you close your eyes as he turns away. He returns to the bed with a cloth and you wipe each other as clean as you can.

You collapse back onto the bed, already aching, and peer up at him. Eskel slips into the bed and curls around you. His scars shine red in the afternoon light, and he is beautiful. You hope that one day, you can tell him that. But today, you cannot, so you simply say: “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Eskel says, his voice petal-soft.

You drowse in the patch of sunlight illuminating your bed, your fingers tracing soft circles on Eskel’s skin, feeling contentment settle over you like a blanket. It is quiet, and sweet, and in the silence of affection, the two of you are united.

At least until Lil’ Bleater expresses her annoyance with the front door being closed with a series of particularly loud bleats.

All you can do is laugh.

taglist: @witchernonsense @hina-chans-stuff @whitewolfandthefox @raspberrydreamclouds @riviawitch3r @tutuwho @restingnurseface @ambivertomnivore

#eskel x reader #eskel x you #eskel imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine #nsft

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flowesona · 4 years

Text

The Sun - Yandere! Hoseok x reader

The Tarot Series

Warning: Stalking, Depictions of violence

“Miss (L/N)?” When (Y/N) arrived back from her lunch break, she didn’t expect to be met by one of the security guards holding some flowers sheepishly.

“For me? You shouldn’t have!” She grinned, taking the bouquet out of his hands.

“It was left for you anonymously. There’s a note for you as well.” The security guard said apathetically, leaving her alone with the gift.

Sure enough, when she turned the bouquet around she found a small card.

‘Hope all is well. You deserve this more than anyone else in the world, my sunshine.’

(Y/N) beamed, feeling her heart warmed at the thought of her mother’s endless support through her acting career, even when things were going tough. Now, with a key role in this film she was shining brighter than ever, and she had the support of those who loved her to thank for that.

She held them close to her chest, sending her mother a silent message before placing them in her bag.

“We’re shooting in an hour, you need to come with us for hair and makeup touch ups.” An assistant materialised by her side, leading her away.

It was fortunate for Hoseok that (Y/N) wasn’t a paranoid individual. Her innocence had been one of the things that had attracted him originally. Watching some small k-drama early in the morning had led him to discover the girl, and he slowly became fascinated with every role that she had. Words could not describe his mirth when he found out that she had a starring role in a new show, one far better than the other underfunded cheesy shows she had been in before.

It was a lucky guess as to what her favourite flowers were. In the end he decided on classic roses, to express his passion. As much as he wished to see her face when she received his gift, he couldn’t hang around too long. Besides, he’d have plenty of opportunities to see that expression in the future. He’d bring her roses every night, just to make her understand how much he loved her.

However, the first bouquet he’d given her had a hidden role. He was reliant on the notion that she wouldn’t throw it away, and there was a pang in his heart when the GPS tracker didn’t move for five hours. What if his gift had been thrown away?

He sat, obsessively looking at his phone, willing it to guide him. Not even the grumbling of his stomach, nor the pinging of messages from his friends could distract him.

And, soon enough it did as he asked. The dot dragged along the map, winding through streets before coming to a stop after twenty minutes. A smile settled on his face as he jotted down the address, looking up his directions in an instant.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

He’d practiced for this moment for months. To silently stalk towards her, peel back the sheets and hold her closely. Hoseok’s heart was beating like a hummingbird as he opened the door as slowly as possible, slipping in through the small gap to avoid letting any light in. He wouldn’t want to wake her up from her slumber, after all. What kind of lover would he be if he did that?

As he approached her bedside, his hand reached out to stroke her cheek. A warm flush overcame his face, only intensified as he noticed the flowers he'd gifted her were in a beautiful vase on her cabinet. She cared for him, truly! Why else would she hold his gift to such high esteem?

He removed his hand from her soft skin, ready to climb into bed with her and shower her in an affection that she could not deny.

However, there was a significant hurdle in the way. A person whom, in his infatuated trance with (Y/N), Hoseok hadn’t noticed. Upon closer inspection, he recognised him. Kim Seokjin, a famous actor. He was (Y/N)’s co-star in her current picture, and they’d been seen with each other several times off the set. The pictures of him with (Y/N) lay tattered at the bottom of Hoseok’s waste bin, disregarded as a mere acquaintance and no threat to Hoseok’s fantasy. But why was he in (Y/N)’s bed, when he hadn’t even been on set that day?

Hoseok staggered back in horror as reality set in. This man had, as if all of the girls pining after him weren’t enough, decided to monopolise (Y/N). He was keeping Hoseok away from her, depriving her of her soulmate all for his lustful desires.

In his blind scramble Hoseok didn’t notice himself bumping into the cabinet, the force sending her vase of flowers tumbling to the ground. The beautiful glass shattered into a thousand pieces, and the loud noise instantly woke up the room’s slumbering inhabitants.

(Y/N) reaches over to switch on her lamp, catching the intruder in her house like a deer in headlights. They just stared for a second, until (Y/N)’s forgotten partner awoke, saw the stranger and instantly reached into the drawer to find his gun.

“W-what do you want?” (Y/N) choked out, as Jin shakily held the gun up.

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear.” Hoseok held his hands up in surrender.

“Empty your pockets.” Jin stood up, approaching Hoseok with the gun pointed at his chest. “What have you taken?”

Once Hoseok’s attention was drawn towards his rival, fury started to bubble up.

“What have I taken? The more pressing issue is what you’ve taken!” Hoseok snarked. “What are you doing in (Y/N)’s home?”

“That’s none of your business. If you give back what you’ve taken and leave our house right now I won’t call the police.” The two men stared each other down, Jin edging closer to intimidate the intruder. But as he did, Hoseok slowly bent down to pick up a large shard of glass from the shattered vase.

Once he felt the muzzle of the gun poke at his chest, a threat to leave or face serious consequences, he attacked. Hoseok twisted Jin’s arm behind his back, disarming him as the taller man let out a cry of pain. He then held the shard of glass to his neck, identifying the vein that would surely lead to the man bleeding out should it be slashed.

“(Y/N), what has he done to you?” (Y/N) watched the scene in horror, unable to say a word.

“Has he touched you? (Y/N), just say the word and I’ll get rid of him. Right here, right now.”

The actress just shook her head.

“Don’t hurt him…” She whimpered. “Please, whatever it is you want, I can give it to you.”

“I want… I want you to love me, (Y/N).” Hoseok looked like he was about to cry. “I want to be the one who makes you smile, the one who you’ll come home to. I’ll make you dinner everyday, and you can tell me all about your day.”

(Y/N) made eye contact with Jin, who was breathing heavily. Her heart swelled, unable to let him die at the hands of a sasaeng.

“W-well we can do that.” Hoseok was ecstatic as she held open her arms for him, shoving Jin to the floor and throwing himself into her embrace.

She cautiously ran a hand through his hair, feeling relieved as he relaxed into her hold.

“I love you, (Y/N). My sunshine, my everything.” Trying to stop herself from feeling sick, she looked at Jin, gesturing for him to leave. With a reluctant expression he crept out, unnoticed by the enamoured Hoseok who just continued to press himself into (Y/N).

She let him, for the moment, eyeing one of the glass shards only a few centimetres away. He could only live his daydream for so long.

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coralstories · 4 years

Text

October 19th: Potion

Day 1 of @dumbassunderthemountain 13 Days of Spooky Writing Event

Bilbo x femReader fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 1204

A/N: Yay, here we are!

“Master Baggins, keep up!” Thorin called.

Bilbo huffed, jogging to catch up with the last in line. As soon as he reached her he fell to a walk.

“Are you okay, Bilbo?” she asked him.

Y/N was Gandalf’s apprentice. After Gandalf vouched for her, Thorin begrudgingly allowed her on the quest. She and Bilbo were sort of in the same situation in this way. But while Thorin was short with Bilbo, he often seemed to act warmer towards Y/N. She knew that it made Bilbo feel even more excluded.

“Oh, fine,” Bilbo responded. “It’s a beautiful day to be marching through the forest.”

Y/N gave him a soft, kind smile.

“You’ll get used to it,” she said.

He made a noncommittal noise, his shoulders drooping.

“Don’t worry, Bilbo,” Y/N said. “It’ll be alright. You’ll see.”

The next morning, Y/N sat with Bombur as he cooked breakfast. Bilbo watched them as he rolled up his sleeping pack. Y/N was laughing at something Bombur said and play-fighting with the princes. Bilbo sighed and looked away. He thought that he and Y/N were growing closer. But this morning she had been ignoring him, just like most of the company. He ran through all their conversations, wondering if he had said something to offend her. Perhaps she didn’t care about him after all.

When Bombur was done cooking breakfast, Bilbo left his seat to go grab a bowl. As soon as he stood, he was surprised by Y/N standing right in front of him. She smiled at him, holding a bowl of whatever Bombur made and a cup of what looked like tea.

“Here you go, Bilbo,” she said. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength today.”

Bilbo blinked owlishly.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” he said, taking the bowl and cup from her. “Is this tea?”

Y/N nodded. “Yes. It’s good, drink up.”

She sat beside him and they ate their breakfast in silence. Bilbo was quietly pleased. Maybe she wasn’t ignoring him after all.

That good feeling followed him throughout the day. With Y/N next to him, even Thorin’s glares and angry muttering couldn’t get to him. He also found he had more energy, and kept up with the group more easily. He and Y/N talked while they walked. They talked about the Shire, about his home, and she listened with great interest. Few outsiders had been to the Shire, after all. After having been to Bilbo’s home, she couldn’t deny feeling the attraction of a quiet and comfortable life.

The next morning was the same. Y/N went and sat with Bombur, then brought Bilbo his breakfast and a cup of tea. While they walked, she talked about her home, and how she came to be Gandalf’s apprentice. Bilbo was excited to learn about magic and magic users. She didn’t go into detail, however, preferring to talk about her adventures on the road with Gandalf.

“And so this man mistook Gandalf was a vagabond, and what he thought of me I can only imagine, but then he tries to—“

“Y/N!” Thorin called.

Y/N snapped her mouth shut and turned to the front.

“Yes?” she said, smiling.

“Where did your master run off to?” Thorin asked.

Y/N looked around, noticing that Gandalf was missing. She shrugged.

“Not sure. Perhaps he went to scout ahead?” she suggested.

Thorin grunted.

“So long as we do not lose each other,” he said.

He stopped paying attention to them and marched on. Y/N smiled at Bilbo and they kept talking as though there had been no interruption.

It became a ritual for Bilbo. He would wake up, roll up his pack, and wait for Y/N to join him for breakfast, bringing tea. Then they would talk the day away, the rest of the company sometimes joining in. He began to look forward to this morning ritual. Some mornings they weren’t able to do it, and he spent the entire day missing Y/N’s tea. Bilbo slowly began to feel more like a member of the company, especially after what happened with Azog on the cliff. Despite her fear and concern for him showing in her eyes, Bilbo saw Y/N’s proud smile over Thorin’s shoulder.

The next morning they were able, Y/N made tea for him again. Bilbo noticed that it was stronger than what she had been making.

“Where do you find the herbs for this tea?” Bilbo asked.

“They're from my pack,” Y/N answered. “I keep an assortment of herbs for tea.”

“Did you bring the allspice?” Gandalf called from across camp.

“Yes,” Y/N called back.

“And the cinnamon?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been giving him chamomile and rosemary?”

Y/N blushed. “Yes.”

“What about echinacea?”

“Gandalf, I know what I’m doing!” Y/N exclaimed.

Bilbo looked at her in surprise.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

He suddenly remembered that as Gandalf’s apprentice, she was technically a witch. Had she been putting some spell on him? That would explain why his heart beat as fast as a hummingbird’s every time she smiled at him. And why he couldn’t get her off of his mind, even when they weren’t talking, and why—

“I’ve been feeding you potions every morning to help you,” Y/N confessed.

Behind her, he could see Gandalf smiling. Y/N saw the confusion and panic in Bilbo’s expression.

“Potions?” Bilbo exclaimed. “What-do you mean the-well, why—?”

“I saw how much you were struggling, so I figured some potions for health and happiness and success wouldn’t hurt,” Y/N said. “And then you seemed to really like it, so I just kept—“

“The tea?”

Y/N nodded mutely. She folded her hands together in her lap and awaited Bilbo’s judgment. It was hard not to notice how quiet it had become in the camp.

“You were only trying to help me?” Bilbo asked.

Y/N nodded again, her eyes on her hands.

“Is… is this the only magic you've done?”

Y/N nodded fervently. Bilbo sighed.

“I appreciate you wanting to help me. But it still doesn’t explain this feeling in my chest,” he said.

Y/N looked at him. Confusion flashed across her features.

“What feeling?”

“The feeling that I care about you. A lot. And that if anything were to ever happen to you I might go mad. And that—“

“Bilbo,” Y/N said, cutting him off.

She wanted to say something, and she had a feeling that if she let him, he would go on for hours.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“I’ll keep making tea for you every morning until you decide you don’t want me,” she promised.

Bilbo smiled. “So then, forever?”

Y/N smiled back at him, her eyes bright.

“Yes. Forever.”

THE END

P.S.

“Now kiss!” Kili yelled.

Bilbo and Y/N jumped. The dwarves all exploded; some scolding Kili, while most cheered. Even Thorin smiled. Bilbo turned red and hid his face in his hands. Y/N laughed. She laid a hand on Bilbo’s arm and he looked up. She kissed his cheek gently, before going off to finish packing her things.

“That’s not what I meant!” Kili exclaimed, barely audible over the clamor.

#13daysofspookywritingevent #middle earth #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #bilbo baggins #bilbo x reader #fluff #kili #fili #thorin oakenshield #thorin #gandalf

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plantanarchy · 2 years

Text

The first bed I put in at this house is just over one year old! There are three different species of milkweed in this bed (common, showy, and swamp) as well as some species Achillea millefolium I saved while weeding at work two years ago, plus some mountain mint and a ton of dill and fennel. I just added some seedling zinnias and tithonia, plus a flat of dwarf marigolds, but I won't be mad if the rest of what's growing here outcompetes them. Last year this was just a patch of nasty bare ground full of so many rusty nails and mysterious bits of metal, all hard clay and creeping charlie. Now it's a little space for pollinators.

#the only thing missing is my hummingbird attractant #i could still plant some purple salvia #my plants #garden content #also i need to thin the baby milkweeds but i hate to do it

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kayliemusing · 3 years

Text

42: top 3s

1: Top 3 ice cream flavors - classic vanilla, birthday cake/birthday batter, bubblegum

2: Top 3 Disney Movies - Mulan, Onward, Soul (but this changes frequently lol)

3: Top 3 vacation destinations - I've never been outside of my home country so I'll say my top 3 DREAM destinations: NYC, Hawaii, a random countryside in either France or the UK

4: Top 3 places to shop - Dynamite, Sephora, Winners/Homesense

5: Top 3 subjects of study/classes to take - English/anything creative writing related, Interior Decorating/Design, Communications?

6: Top 3 make up products - YSL Touche Eclat Foundation, literally any Mac Lipstick but it has to be matte, & Fenty Beauty contour stick

7: Top 3 music artists - Taylor Swift - Of Monsters and Men - The Lumineers

8: Top 3 spices/herbs - Cinnamon - Nutmeg (literally tastes like autumn) - Paprika

9: Top 3 drinks - Diet Coke - Hot Chocolate - Vanilla Bean Frappe

10: Top 3 apps to use - Instagram - Pinterest -iBooks

11: Top 3 months of the year - May, October, December

12: Top 3 clothing items - My black/white turtle neck, high waisted jeans, plaid blazer

13: Top 3 binge perfect tv shows - Bones, Supernatural, Brooklyn Nine Nine

14: Top 3 romantic dates - (I've never been on a date but if I had, it would be this) Evening walk, late night drive, late night coffee date (tbh anything at night feels romantic)

15: Top 3 kinds of flower - Water lilies, cherry blossoms, roses

16: Top 3 christmas movies - A Christmas Carol (2009), Home Alone, The Polar Express

17: Top 3 OTPs - Nesta and Cassian from ACOTAR series by SJM, Manon and Dorian from Throne of Glass series by SJM, Casteel and Poppy from From Blood and Ash series by JLM.

18: Top 3 quotes to describe your life - "I write not to find, but to leave" by Scherezade Siobhan - "I want to be myself again. I want to be six. I want to stop knowing everything I know" by Catherynne M. Valente - "The truth is, I pretend to be a cynic, but I am really a dreamer who is terrified of wanting something she may never get" by Joanna Hoffman.

19: Top 3 characteristics you love about yourself - my kindness bc it's not surface level kindness, but actually something deeply rooted within me - my resilience even tho sometimes it doesn't feel like resilience - my loyalty bc it is a hard as steel kind of loyalty

20: Top 3 kinds of candy - Maltesers, Kit kats, smarties

21: Top 3 ways to exercise/ be active - Walking, dancing, mowing the lawn/shoveling the sidewalk

22: Top 3 spirit animals - wolf, hummingbird, tiger (i googled it bc i didn't know and i was scared it was a joke but)

23: Top 3 petnames - I like 'lovebug', 'love', 'sweetheart'

24: Top 3 books read outside of school - The Hating Game by Sally Thorne, A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J Maas but viewers discretion is advised, Crush by Richard Siken

25: Top 3 most used websites - Youtube, Tumblr, Pinterest

26: Top 3 people you last texted - my mom, my bestie megan, and my sister bc they're the only people i text...

27: Top 3 hashtags you use - the only time i use hashtags is if i'm trying to promote some of my writing so I'll usually use writingcommunity, writersonig, poetryonig lol

28: Top 3 instagram accounts you follow - Trista Mateer, Griefmother, obviously taylor swift

29: Top 3 guilty pleasures - buzzfeed quizzes, early 2000s music, romance novels

30: Top 3 summer activities - Going to the zoo, long evening walks, campfires and s'mores

31: Top 3 things to draw/doodle - hearts, flowers, random swirls bc it's the only thing i can doodle...

32: Top 3 aesthetics - cityscape aesthetic, autumn aesthetic, rustic aesthetic

33: Top 3 things you'd buy if you gained three million dollars - a new car, a condo, another cat

34: Top 3 ways to treat yourself - facial, a large bag of maltesers, buying the makeup i really want but have been putting off

35: Top 3 celebrity crushes - Evan Peters, Matthew Daddario, henry cavill

36: Top 3 books from your childhood - Love You Forever by Robert Munsch, The Big Friendly Giant by Roald Dahl, and Madeline by Ludwig Bemelmens

37: Top 3 accents to hear - Australian, super poshy british accent, new zealand accent

38: Top 3 scents - Fresh rain, vanilla, sweet cinnamon pumpkin from bath and body works

39: Top 3 "Friends" quotes - "WE WERE ON A BREAK" -Ross, "Guess things were just going too well for me" -also ross, and "it's so exhausting waiting for death" - phoebe

40: Top 3 cupcake flavors - tbh I haven't tried that many cupcakes so your typical vanilla, chocolate, and Pink Lady Cupcake from Babycakes Cupcakery

41: Top 3 fruits - Pomegranates, Strawberries, Raspberries

42: Top 3 places you've had amazing pizza from - Pizzahut, Dominos, Pizza73

43: Top 3 sports teams to watch - i don't

44: Top 3 crayola colors - uh, i guess red, purple, and pink??

45: Top 3 things you hope to accomplish in college - Certificates/Degrees in Copyediting and Creative Writing, and I think simply just deeper critical thinking skills when it comes to writing and books

46: Top 3 fanfictions you've read - I read more books than fanfics, I've read a couple on tumblr but don't remember the names sorry :/

47: Top 3 people you miss right now - my dad, my best friend bc she's in vancouver, taylor swift bc she's not on tumblr anymore rip

48: Top 3 fears - Failure, Loss, not achieving anything in life/not reaching my full potential

49: Top 3 favorite literary devices - Foreshadowing is always god tier, cliffhangers although evil i love those too, symbolism

50: Top 3 pet peeves - People dragging their shoes on the floor when they walk, when you tell someone your fav hobby/music artist/interest and they immediately go 'oh I hate X!', and people who go 'you're so quiet!!!' but in a way that draws in more attention and/or makes me feel more uncomfortable like i would literally rather die

51: Top 3 physical things you find attractive - Hands, nice hair, defined jawlines

52: Top 3 bad habits - Nailbiting, picking at my blemishes oops, lip biting

53: Top 3 pets you've had/wish to have - Cats bc they complete me, I've always wanted a Samoyed, and I've always wanted a turtle

54: Top 3 types of foreign food - Chicken Chow Mein, deep fried shrimp, japanese chicken wings

55: Top 3 things you want to say to someone in your lifetime - 'I quit', 'I love you', 'you changed my life'

56: Top 3 dog breeds - Samoyed, german shepherds, collies

57: Top 3 cheesy romance movies - You've Got Mail, How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days, 10 Things I Hate About You

58: Top 3 languages you speak/wish to speak - French, Sign, and maybe Japanese?

59: Top 3 series (book, movie, television) - The Cruel Prince series by Holly Black, A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J Maas (but literally only for Cassian and Nesta), From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L Armentrout

60: Top 3 pizza toppings - Mushrooms, alfredo sauce, pineapple

61: Top 3 youtubers you're subscribed to - Game Grumps, Charlotte Dobre, Megan Batoon

62: Top 3 tattoo / piercing ideas - I want to get a tattoo on my wrist of the last thing my dad ever wrote me, a hummingbird tattoo right next to it, and then a cross on my index finger

63: Top 3 awards you want to win - National Book Awards, Nobel Prize, and maybe even Goodreads Choice Awards lol

64: Top 3 emojis - Laugh/Crying emoji, the please sir emoji that kinda gives off those puss n boots eyes, and the stars emoji

65: Top 3 cars you dream of owning - 1970s Chev Impala, tbh a cute little Hyundai Venue, and maaaaybe the 1964 ferarri 250 gt luso (idk if that name was totally right but i had to do tons of googling to find it. i don't know a lot about cars and i don't really have a top 3 lol)

66: Top 3 authors - Right now I'm really into Sarah J Maas, Sally Thorne, and Holly Black maybe?

67: Top 3 historical figures - Jesus, Anne Frank, Vincent Van Gogh

68: Top 3 baby names - Ryder, Leila, Gracie

69: Top 3 DIYs - Candles, refurnishing old furniture (i.e. my mom and i painted our wooden garbage can), and really just any type of autumn diy

70: Top 3 smoothie combos/flavors - Strawberry/Banana, Mango, Strawberry-Mango

71: Top 3 songs of this month - Happier Than Ever by Billie Eilish, Biblical by Calum Scott, and Visiting Hours by Ed Sheeran

72: Top 3 questions of this post you want to be asked - I did them all bc I made it a survey instead of an ask meme ;)

73: Top 3 villains - Regina/The Evil Queen from Once Upon a Time, Cruella De Vil, and Moriarty from Sherlock

74: Top 3 Cities you want to see - Montreal, NYC, Vancouver (honorable mention: LA)

75: Top 3 recipes you want to try - different kind of salad and/or burger bowls, Stuffed bell peppers, and homemade lemon loaf

76: Top 3 dream jobs - Bestselling author, the person who runs a companies social media accounts, youtuber/blogger

77: Top 3 lucky items - tbh don't have one

78: Top 3 traditions you have - Christmas Eve Service and if I don't go to that at least incorporating reading the christmas story on christmas day or eve, idk if this counts as tradition but going to the corn maze every fall, and whenever it's easter/christmas/thanksgiving we always have a big meal w/ family

79: Top 3 things you miss about being a kid - reckless abandon, dreaming about growing up with hopefulness and no dashed hopes, experiencing holidays like halloween and christmas as a kid

80: Top 3 harry potter characters - I've never read or watched Harry Potter rip (ok well i saw the first and second (and maybe third?) movie in the sixth grade I think) but I think I really liked Hermoine, Harry obviously and Dobby

81: Top 3 lies you were told - i don't have 3, but this one has a story but basically when my sister and i were in elementary school my sister got hit by a car and so the insurance thing was that she would recieve 10k when she was 18 and as a child i thought that was unfair so my dad told me that my sister had to split it with me when we were 18 lmao obviously that didn't happen (i think i realized that wasn't true in middle school)

82: Top 3 pictures in your camera roll right now - Pictures of my cat, one of my sister in a hilarious filter, and a picture of my rocking my TS merch

83: Top 3 turn ons - Kindness, defined jawline, easy going

84: Top 3 turn offs - arrogance, unkempt, super loud and obnoxious

85: Top 3 magazines/news papers/ journals to read - I don't read much of those so I'll tell you some sites I love for writing purpose's: there's Wellstoried, justwriterlythings, springhole.net (which is filled with generators if you're stuck and also tons of infomation and advice)

86: Top 3 things you wish you had known earlier - that toad in Mario Party was wearing a mushroom hat and that it is actually not his head, that immaculate means 'clean' before i misused that word like several times over the years, and that the one turn i always take on my way to work where i thought everyone didn't know how to drive was actually bc i didn't have the right of way rip me

87: Top 3 spongebob episodes - the one episode where spongebob and patrick find a ghost ship, that one episode where they form a bikini bottom band and perform it at a football game in a little fish tank, and the one episode where squidward has his first snowball fight

88: Top 3 places to be in the world - I'd love to be in NYC, Montreal, or Hawaii

89: Top 3 things you'd do differently - I would not have applied for RDC, similarly I should have just paid the 500 dollars to the one certificate program I wanted to do instead of overthinking it, and I wish I wouldn't have ended a friendship the way I did

90: Top 3 TV shows from your childhood - Spongebob Squarepants, That's So Raven, and Hannah Montana

91: Top 3 meals you love - Turkey Burgers, Chilli, and Instant Pot Chicken Tortilla Soup

92: Top 3 kinds of tea - i don't drink tea

93: Top 3 embarrassing moments - one time in sixth grade I tripped and fell right on my face in front of my crush, this other time like a couple years ago i opened the door to my car and only realized much too late while i was staring at this random family that it was not my car, and when i went to the gas station to get gas and couldn't get my gas lid on my car opened and this guy had to help me which was already embarrassing enough but then the gas pump wouldn't work so i had to go inside to pay just to realize i forgot my wallet and had to shamefully walk back to my car and then run back inside the convenience store and then pay and then walk back to my car and finally fill my tank.

94: Top 3 holidays to celebrate - Christmas, Halloween, Thanksgiving

95: Top 3 things to do in the rain - have an existential crisis, pretend you're in a music video, walk through puddles like you're six again

96: Top 3 things to do in the snow - Sledding, Build a snowman, shovel it even tho you don't want to

97: Top 3 items you can't leave the house w/o - phone, keys, wallet

98: Top 3 movies you'd like to see - Jurassic World 3, Hotel Transylvania: Transformania bc i'm a child, and the animation of the addams family

99: Top 3 art mediums - Writing fiction/poetry, painting, music

100: Top 3 museums you've been to - Royal Tyrell Museum, Canadian History one in edmonton lol, and heritage park in calgary

101: Top 3 school memories - Middle school dances when the popular kids would grind to the song "Low" which was always an interesting experience, in the twelfth grade at winter formal when we all shouted "SHUT UP AND DANCE!" at the same time when they played Shut Up and Dance, and the day i left

102: Top 3 things you don't/Won't miss - School, my sisters ex, 2016 bc she was a rough year yikes

103: Top 3 pick up lines - "My name is Will. God's Will.", "I'd like to take you to the movies but they don't like you bring your own snacks", "are you from tennessee bc you're the only 10 i see"

104: Top 3 sports to watch - none of them

105: Top 3 taylor swift songs - all too well - exile - coney island

#survey

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peachfluffsoftstuff · 4 years

Text

Lost and Found [1]

Content: Soft Vore, Half size, Unwilling Prey, Mischievous Pred, Lamia/Naga Pred, Fearplay, Safe Vore (Ambiguous At First)

Word Count: 3927

Fandom: N/A; Original Content

A/N: My first piece posted on this account!! If you enjoy, please drop a reblog or comment!! <3

- Bahi watched the small human warily trek through the forest, eyes trying to peer through the darkness of twilight. The poor thing didn’t have any sort of night vision or even a weapon, from the looks of it. He’d been watching the young adult travel in a jagged, uncertain path for the last hour, and it looked like he was well and truly lost. Vulnerable.

As such, it was best that Bahi get a grip on him before any of the… less friendly folk in the forest did. He waited silently for the human to get past his current hiding spot, and then quickly struck from behind, knocking him over with a yelp and encircling him with his thick snake half in the next instant. He waited patiently for the human to stop uselessly struggling before speaking.

“Well, hello there.” He said with a wry curve to his lips. “Not often I see a human around here!”

The human took in his size and appearance with a wide eyed expression, lips pressed together in fear. Bahi looked back with an amused sort of curiosity.

“And what’s a mouthful like you doing in this part of the woods?” He asked, tightening his coils’ grip on the human just slightly. He could feel his quick, hummingbird-light pulse and the slight, ineffectual jerks of the human’s body reacting to the snug hold Bahi had on it.

“I lost my way. Didn’t mean to end up here.” The human’s voice was soft, and surprisingly steady, considering that Bahi had heard his breath audibly hitch at the word ‘mouthful’. A reasonable reaction, what with all the rumors about lamia dietary choices.

“Oh man, you must be a pretty unlucky guy.” Bahi commented, leaning forwards on his thick snaketail till his face was only a few inches from the human’s. “You got a name, or am I going to call you ‘snack’?”

The human shuddered, soft brown eyes locked on him. “... It’s Ran.” He answered after a moment. His hands clenched and unclenched lightly from where they were trapped against his sides. Bahi grinned, chuckling at how Ran’s face paled a bit at the sight of his teeth.

“Well, Ran, thanks for getting lost in my corner of the woods.” Bahi propped his head up with one hand, casually. “I’ve been feeling hungry all day.”

Ran’s body stiffened, eyes widening. He inhaled, but before he could utter even a syllable, Bahi surged forward and covered his mouth with one hand. “Hey now,” He whispered, as though telling a secret, “don’t start making noise or I’ll have to bite you.” He smiled sharply again. “That’s no fun for either of us, yeah? There’s stuff in this forest that would be a lot less kind with you than me. A morsel like you doesn’t want to attract their attention.”

Ran stared at him with pinprick pupils, and he withdrew slowly, holding a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture to emphasize the message. Sure enough, when he removed his hand, the human didn’t start screaming.

“I-It’d be much more kind of you to let me go.” He said shakily, almost as low as Bahi’s whisper. Bahi pretended to consider this.

“It would be,” he conceded, “but I’m hungry, and you smell delicious, so it turns out I’m not that kind.”

With that, he shifted his coiled tail to orient the struggling human horizontally, picking at the laces on his boots until they came loose enough to be tugged off. “No way I’m eating those,” he commented errantly, and then nudged Ran up at an angle just slightly so he could make eye contact with him.

“Thanks for the meal.” He said, smiling, and then opened his mouth, teeth folding back. He huffed a chuckle at the human’s panicked breathing, and caught both ankles in one hand, pinning them together to bring them into his mouth.

“Gghghhaugh.” Ran said weakly as Bahi wrapped his tongue around his ankles. He would have laughed at the reaction if his mouth hadn’t been occupied with feet. Instead, he lifted his tail to hold the human above his head, almost completely vertical. Never hurt to let gravity help out.

He loosened his coils, causing Ran to start sliding lower. His throat opened up easily to accept the human’s twitching feet, and he swallowed thickly, a pleased purr starting up in his chest. Ran whimpered, and Bahi ignored it completely in favor of running his tongue along the calves in his mouth.

“There’s gotta be something I could do for you so you’d let me go. Please, I’ve got money, I can hunt, I’ll do anything, please-” He twisted in his hold, chest swelling with panicked breaths.

Bahi huffed a laugh again, and made it clear exactly what he wanted from him by tilting his head back and swallowing, pulling more of Ran’s legs into his mouth. The fabric of his clothes didn’t taste nearly as good as his skin, he noted. Still interesting flavors, though.

As soon as he reached Ran’s navel, he unwrapped his tail from around the rest of his frame. Unsurprisingly, Ran immediately tried to go for his eyes, presumably to claw them out. Bahi caught his hands easily with his own, and then coiled the end of his tail around Ran’s small wrists, locking them together and then pulling them up above his head and out of the way.

Ran swore, writhing and straining to pull himself out, but his struggles only made him sink deeper into Bahi’s throat. His purring intensified as he swallowed again, eyes narrowed with enjoyment. Even so, his meal’s rapid, fearful bargaining was growing louder, and the last thing he wanted was to be interrupted. He reached up with one hand and ruffled Ran’s dark hair teasingly before pushing downwards, shoving him further into his mouth and swallowing several times.

Bahi paused. At this point, the only part of Ran not entrenched in the lamia was his arms. Almost all of the human’s body was tucked into his throat and first stomach, his wriggling a delightful sensation on Bahi’s insides. Taking his time, he curled his tongue around Ran’s arms and swallowed lightly, dragging more of him into his esophagus.

He looked cross eyed past his nose to the grasping hands sticking out of his mouth, and tilted his head back again, relishing the feeling as Ran slid down deeper, first stomach already starting to stretch with its new occupant. Lips twitching up in a satisfied smile, Bahi poked Ran’s fingers into his mouth one by one, and swallowed a final time.

Soon enough, the only sign that the human had ever been there was the writhing imprint sliding down his throat. Bahi pressed his fingers against the movement and sighed as the last of the weight dropped into his stomach, wrapping his coils around himself and leaning back against them. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He cooed, and got a bout of violent thrashing and indistinct panicking from Ran in response.

“Come on, you’re not even being digested. I couldn’t digest you in that stomach if I wanted to.” Bahi pressed down on his exposed abdomen, chuckling when Ran shifted around trying to get away from his touch. After a few moments of silence as Ran absorbed that statement, he spoke. “You couldn’t?”

Bahi grinned. “Nope. I like to make my meals last as long as possible, after all.”

Ran was shaking inside of him. “You… You’re a monster.”

The lamia rolled his eyes, amused. Humans were so easy to mislead. “Yup. Thought you’d figured that out when I caught you in my giant snake coils? A little slow on the uptake there, kid.” He punctuated this by stretching out and relaxing, another rumbling purr starting up at the sensation of being pleasantly full.

“Why would you even do something like this?” Ran spat, shuddering at Bahi’s movement. “Why not just kill me?” The implied ‘it’d be better than this’ went unsaid.

“Man, you’re kind of boring, huh?” Bahi continued over Ran’s indignant sound. “I did it for fun. And because I was hungry, obviously.”

“Fun?! Eating people alive is fun to you?” Ran spat, twisting around as much as the small space would let him. Bahi’s eyelids drooped at the sensation, his pleased purr increasing in volume, much to the human’s ire.

“Very.” He murmured, on the edge of deciding to head home and settle down for a nap.

Before he could curl up properly, a sound caught his attention. It was faint, barely discernible to even his advanced hearing, but… It sounded like someone calling. Bahi stretched out leisurely, ignoring the discomfited movements from Ran, and then headed that way, long ears twitching to try and pick up the noise better.

He didn’t have to go far before he could understand the words. Someone was yelling Ran’s name in long, echoing calls. He grinned in amusement. “Oh, so you didn’t come here alone?”

“What?” The human evidently hadn’t heard his would-be rescuer yet. “What are you talking about?”

Bahi didn’t bother answering, instead moving faster towards the source of the noise. He knew Ran had heard it too when the human suddenly started struggling with a renewed vitality.

“Stop! Don’t go near him!” Ran demanded, with a surprising amount of ferocity for someone who was in no position to make demands. Bahi kneaded his hands into his stomach in retribution and kept moving, eventually reaching the source of the voice.

It was another human, this one taller with downturned hazel eyes and worry lines creased into his face. He was following the dirt path, but peering through the trees in search, presumably of his missing friend. Bahi flicked his tongue out, scenting the air. It seemed as though this one would be just as tasty as Ran. Maybe even as amusing.

He moved further ahead along the path, finding a tree with a comfortable fork to rest his coils on. Before long, the new human came into view, and froze at the sight of the huge lamia draped in front of him, looking ready to bolt. Bahi offered him a sly grin, and then directed his words at the human curled up in his gut.

“Looks like your friend is here.”

Ran thrashed, alarmed, and the other human ran forwards a few jerky steps, eyes wide with horror. “Ran?” He yelled, eyes locked on the human-sized lump in Bahi’s stomach.

“Glin?” Ran shouted back, hands pressing desperately against Bahi’s stomach lining. “Glin, run away! Get out of here!”

The newly-named Glin hesitated, looking between Ran’s trapped form and Bahi’s lax expression. He stepped forwards again, to Bahi’s amusement. Humans had no sense of self preservation. It was hilarious.

“You… ate him?” Glin said, unsteadily. Bahi nodded a bit smugly, lowering himself to the ground and slowly making his way over to circle the human. Glin tensed, turning to keep him in view.

“Could you… let him go? Please?” Glin said, backing up a step as Bahi came closer.

“It depends… I could be persuaded.” Bahi answered, tone light with humor as he felt Ran still inside of him. He flicked his tongue out again, picking up the delightful taste of a very nervous Glin from a foot away. “But I am so hungry… Perhaps I could release him for someone more likely to fill me up fully.”

Glin’s head jerked up, understanding immediately what Bahi’s intent gaze meant. He looked at Bahi’s body, where Ran was now kicking up a fit that made the end of Bahi’s tail curl in pleasure, desperately trying to convince Glin to get away and leave him there. He swallowed visibly, and then met Bahi’s eyes, gaze determined and terrified in equal measure.

“Let him go. I’ll take his place.”

Bahi smiled a very unreassuring smile. “How generous of you.”

Ran was thrashing about still, making him one of the most energetic occupants Bahi’s stomach had ever had. He easily stopped the panicked movements and flailing limbs by tensing his core, his stomach muscles compacting Ran into an easy-to-regurgitate ball. It was never pleasant, forcing a human back up out of his gut, but it wasn’t particularly difficult either. In no time at all, the last of Ran’s wriggling form dropped out of his mouth, landing on the ground covered in saliva and stomach fluids.

“Ran!” Glin quickly jumped forwards to help his friend, pulling him up and hugging him tightly. “I thought you were dead-”

“What are you thinking, you idiot?” Ran hissed back, struggling to his feet. “I don’t want you sacrificing yourself for me! I-”

“Whoops!” Bahi picked Ran up by the collar, prying him away from Glin and hoisting him into the air like a disobedient puppy. “Don’t go running off before your time!” He dropped Ran into his coiled tail, wrapping it tightly around him like a woven basket to muffle his protests.

Glin looked near tears, stress evident in his body language. “You said you’d let him go.”

“I did! And I will, once you’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain. I wouldn’t want you both trying to escape and betraying the deal. Then I’d be free to break my end of the deal.” Bahi leaned in, reaching out to run his clawed fingertips along Glin’s cheek. “I’m sure I could make room to fit you both, if I really tried. You wouldn’t want that.”

Glin nodded jerkily. “R… Right.”

“Good.” Bahi smiled, and then pulled one of Glin’s hands to his mouth, wrapping his tongue around his wrist to taste him properly. Glin was tense but unmoving, and Bahi was delighted to find that he tasted just as good if not better than Ran. The stiffness wasn’t ideal though… Normally, he had no problem getting his unwilling prey to struggle all the way down, but Glin might interpret that as breaking their deal, which was no good.

“I’ll give you a chance, since you bargained for your friend so valiantly. If you can get free of me now, I’ll let you both go.” Bahi offered. As the proposal registered in Glin’s mind, he brought both of the human’s wrists to his mouth and swallowed, eager to begin.

Glin jerked back, but found that once something was stuck in Bahi’s throat, odds were you weren’t going to be able to just yank it back out. Instead, he kicked out at Bahi’s abdomen, making him grunt slightly. A valiant effort, but one doomed to fail.

Bahi met Glin’s gaze with amused eyes, and then let his jaw open further and shoved his head in, swallowing again so that Glin’s arms were fully caught in his throat and his head only inches from following suit. Glin writhed with the fervour of an animal caught in a trap, and Bahi reached down and picked the human up by the sides, tilting his head back as to ease the process. He had to be careful now if he didn’t want Glin to suffocate, which would be no fun.

He swallowed, easily accommodating the human’s upper half, and paused to savor the taste. Glin kicked desperately, wriggling with his whole body, and Bahi began to purr with satisfaction. Frenzied movement in his coils reminded him of his other catch, and he loosened them enough that Ran could see as Bahi angled his head back further, letting Glin’s thrashing legs slide further into his mouth easily.

As expected, Ran nearly howled in protest and began to attack the coils holding him with renewed energy. Bahi struggled not to laugh, instead wrapping his tongue around twitching ankles and swallowing a few times to get the last of Glin down, exhaling with pleasure as his meal slid into his stomach completely, still thrashing.

For a moment, he simply basked in the sensation of being full, eyes half closed as his whole body vibrated with the force of his purring. After a moment, Glin stopped struggling, probably having accepted that escape was futile, and Bahi forced himself not to take a nap when there was a very angry human still wrapped in his snake half. He tightened his coils, forcing Ran to quit trying to fight, and lifted the human up in the air.

“Oh, quit it. You were the one trying to get out a while ago, so be grateful. Your friend made a brave choice for you, after all.”

Ran had gone limp, staring at Bahi’s slightly distended stomach. Bahi glanced down as well, and realized that while he could feel every shuddering breath Glin took in his stomach, from the outside it looked as though his prey wasn’t moving at all.

“Oh, he’s fine.” Bahi sighed, rearranging himself so that he could settle down on his coils properly, and then shoved Ran against his abdomen, causing Glin to jerk in surprise. Ran almost flinched away, and then seemed to dismiss the fact that he was pressed up against a lamia’s full stomach, and sought out Glin’s shape instead. “Glin! Glin, are you okay?”

Glin twisted, able to hear Ran’s voice even through flesh. “Ran! Why are you still here? Go! Please, just run! Go home!”

Ran stared, almost uncomprehending of the choice he was supposed to be making. “I can’t… I…” He looked up at Bahi, eyes glassy. “Please, I can’t leave him… I’ll do whatever you want, anything, I’ll feed myself to you, just please let him go. He only came here because I got lost, it’s my fault and he shouldn’t have to suffer for it. Please, I’m begging you.”

Bahi had been nearly asleep, enjoying the blissful sensation of having two humans pressed up against the inside and outside of his stomach walls, and sighed as he was dragged back to dealing with the situation. Panic and anger were amusing, but tears like this simply soured the sweet taste in his mouth. He supposed he should have expected it, preying on the bonds between two close friends like this. “I can’t sit here in this forest all day making deals and re-eating the both of you.” He grumbled.

Well. That actually sounded appealing on some level, but he wanted to nap already.

He leaned forwards lazily and dragged his tongue along Ran’s face, reminding himself of the taste. Ran’s whole body twitched but the little human forced himself not to jerk away, even as Glin pleaded with him to run. Bahi sighed, as though put upon. “A nap.”

Ran blinked, slowly. “What?”

“I want a nap, and then I’ll let your friend go.”

“Won’t… won’t he die? Please-”

Bahi rolled his eyes. “Didn’t I tell you I can’t digest anything in that stomach? He won’t die. I’d have to hibernate for days for him to run out of air in there.”

Ran seemed to consider this, watching Bahi’s face as though gauging his honesty, and then nodded, slowly. “Okay… I’ll wait for you to finish napping.”

“Good.” Bahi stretched, excited at the prospect of sleeping, and reached over for Ran. “C’mere.”

He lifted the human up again, watching as he twisted uncomfortably in midair. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Did you think I was just going to leave you out here so you could run off and bring back a hunting party? I’ve got just enough room to squeeze you in there.”

Ran seemed to freeze, and Glin spoke up. “You said you’d let him go! We made a deal!”

Bahi sighed again, setting Ran down on the ground proper. “There. I let him go.” Ran stayed still, like a rabbit trying to figure out its next move. “Last chance to run away.” Bahi told him, nudging his shoulder with his tail. Ran stumbled a step, looked to Glin, and then the forest path. He looked at Bahi. “I’m not leaving Glin.”

Glin tried to protest, but Bahi easily ignored him to instead lift Ran back off the ground. “Great, then it’s settled. Don’t move too much and this will go quicker.” He said, and then opened his mouth wide. Ran looked down into Bahi’s maw and let himself go lax. “Okay.” He said weakly.

True to his word, he didn’t thrash around as Bahi lowered him into his mouth for the second time. It went much faster this time around, as Ran didn’t struggle and Bahi didn’t take quite as long savoring the sensation. He swallowed quickly, dragging him down into his throat with impressive speed, and patted Ran’s head before finishing up, once again tracing the human’s descent to his stomach.

It was a somewhat tight fit, shoving two humans into his first stomach, but the slight discomfort was dwarfed entirely by the pleasure radiating through his body as the two struggled to adjust, moving around and speaking to each other in low whispers.

He moaned slightly, tempted to just sleep right there on the forest floor, but there was always the chance that something bigger could come along and swallow him up, and then he wouldn’t be able to fulfill his part of the deal. So, he set off for home, travelling slowly along the ground. His passengers struggled to rebalance themselves.

“Where are you going?” Ran asked, alarm creeping into his voice. He shifted nervously, making Bahi’s purr rise in volume for a moment.

“Home.” Bahi said, a bit blearily. “Safer to sleep there.”

“Where is that? This wasn’t the deal.”

Bahi yawned. “Relax. ‘S not far, and we won’t get snapped up by anything big if we’re there.”

“Bigger than you?” Ran radiated disbelief.

“Big enough to gulp me down in two mouthfuls.” Bahi winded through the trees, amused by the shocked silence that followed. “This forest is full of dangerous folk.”

“Then… why do you live here?”

Bahi hummed in false consideration. “Because of all the tasty humans that get lost in the woods.” He retorted, teasingly.

Glin stiffened, but Ran just halfheartedly kicked at his stomach wall. “You enjoy toying with us, don’t you?”

“Ah, so you caught on.” Bahi purred, ducking underneath a branch. “Humans are too funny not to mess with. Especially when hunters come out trying to skin me, of all things. Hilarious.”

“Did you… eat them, too?” Glin asked, tentatively.

“I eat most humans that come my way. I’ve got to eat to live, after all. And humans are the most filling thing out there,” he said blithely, aware they’d misinterpret his words but not satisfied enough to give the game up just yet.

There was silence from the two for a while, probably thinking about how they were in the same stomach that had contained plenty of humans before them. Bahi sighed in relief as he finally reached his little cove, clearly marked with his scent and difficult to stumble into on accident.

Ran finally spoke up again. “If you hadn’t heard Glin, would you have digested me?”

“Hm?” Bahi settled under his favorite rock outcropping, finally getting to settle down properly. “Why would I digest you? Much nicer to let you squirm around in there.” He coiled around the humans in his stomach, eyelids fluttering as the sensation of being full began to lull him to sleep.

“I mean once you got bored of me. Or were you going to leave me in there until I suffocated? Are you really going to just let us leave tomorrow?” Ran shoved out, only increasing the volume of Bahi’s sleepy purring.

“Too many questions… Talk in mornin’. Tired.” Bahi mumbled. Ran said something in response, but it was indistinct to his ears, and in moments he was asleep.

#Safe Vore #Soft Vore #Extreme Cuddling #Naga Vore #Unwilling #Fearplay #Peach Writes #Vore Writing #Vore Story #Half Size Vore #Let me know if I'm missing any tags!!#Original Characters #OC: Bahi #OC: Ran #OC: Glin #What sharp teeth queue have!

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asgardian--angels · 4 years

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My Syracuse Pollinator Garden - Year 2

Hi everyone! I’m sure a lot of us are facing stress during these troubling times and so as I’ve mentioned before, gardening is an excellent way to take your mind off of current events, de-stress, reflect and connect yourself with nature while remaining in the safety of your own property. Last year, when I moved into my Syracuse apartment (technically a room in my landlady’s house; I’m here for grad school), I was granted permission to start a pollinator garden. I am a pollinator ecologist slash conservation biologist so I bring some expertise with me here. I say this because I always encourage anyone who sees this and is curious about doing it yourself to come and ask me questions! I highly recommend you check out last year’s post which thoroughly goes over 1) the principles of gardening for pollinators and wildlife, 2) resources to help you learn more and get started, 3) what plants I have in this garden, and 4) how it progressed over the course of the summer in 2019. Unfortunately, because of fieldwork and coursework I had trouble keeping up with it regularly so I think I missed a fall installment. I intend to be more thorough this year. Quite a lot has already happened, and I will review it the best I can and from this point forward, attempt monthly updates.

I also want to mention that I’ve learned a lot since last year too - better ways of doing things, since I’m not a landscaper. Such as, you don’t have to break your back digging up turfgrass for hours on end. Instead, you can smother it for three months with old newspapers and get rid of it that way. It’s also important to note that the way I have my garden laid out is not ideal for a pollinator garden, it doesn’t follow every recommended principle. That’s because I had limitations and conditions under which I had to work, given that it’s not my own land and I had limited funds. But any effort is better than nothing, so don’t think that just because it’s not perfect, it’s not worth it. It is! You can always build, change, or improve upon it later.

In the second year of a new garden with perennials, you can expect a lot more vibrant growth - the plants have established root systems and can put more energy into above-ground growth and flower production. Thus, I was thrilled to see my plants growing more vigorously than before!

MARCH

Here in central New York, March was still freezing, wet, and snowy. But, by the end of the month, the garden was starting to show signs of life, sending up the first shoots of hardy native perennials.

In particular, the Jacob’s ladder already had quite a lot of new growth, with the nodding onion and yarrow close behind. In my herb garden, the chives had erupted with force from the leaf litter. The yard was still messy, with dead stems and fallen leaves blanketing much of the ground. My landlady insists I clean these, but if it’s your choice, leave the leaf litter around where you can. It’s important habitat for invertebrates and returns nutrients to the soil as it decomposes.

APRIL

The world was beginning to wake up. I had cold-stratified hundreds of seeds of native plants I’d collected last fall, and it was time to take them out of the fridge. The wild cucumber (Echinocystis lobata) had already sprouted, so I planted them in pots. The rest, I put in a seed starter tray.

Next, within the first few days of April, male hornfaced bees (Osmia cornifrons) started emerging in multitudes from my bee hotel. These are a non-native, but naturalized, species of mason bee common in suburbia and they are the most frequent users of bee hotels in the northeast. I watched as they dug through the mud cap on their natal nests, peeking out with fresh eyes at the sun for the very first time. I felt like a proud parent. (You can see more pictures here)

At the same time, male Dunning’s mining bees (Andrena dunningi) were patrolling the new nest sites of females, dug in the soil between the stones laid down near the front door.

There wasn’t much for these bees to forage on yet, mainly the wild violets that grow each year on the lawn and my landlady’s invasive vinca. But many more of my perennials had started to come up, and I decided it was time to cut the dead stems.

It is best to cut dead stems back in April or so if you’re in a northern clime; the purpose of this is to offer nesting places for stem-nesting bees, which will start flying in April and May. Don’t cut them to the ground, give them several inches. Leaving stems through the winter also allows birds to forage on the seedheads.

Towards the end of April, despite several more snowstorms, the barren strawberry began to bloom.

I also saw the emergence of the female hornfaced bees, with males pursuing close behind. It is advised that you discard a bee hotel after the bees have emerged, or else they will try to nest in it again, which can lead to high mortality rates, as an old structure harbors parasites and is generally dirty.

MAY

May was a month of excitement. Given that I have been at home almost every day instead of being on campus, I was able to closely monitor the progress of the garden, apart from a week spent at home for my birthday. The dandelions dotted the yard, attracting gynes of common eastern bumblebees (Bombus impatiens) and the first honeybees (not native, need I remind you).

Alongside the dandelions was ground-ivy, which sent up stalks of purple flowers also used by the bumblebees. Almost all my plants had sprouted at this point.

My wild cucumber, which is a vine, had grown so rapidly that I couldn’t give it support fast enough, and eventually it decided to wind itself around my drapes. I brought one home as a gift for the parents, and placed the other two outside and snaked them around the front banister. However, despite my best efforts, only two other seeds from the hundreds I cold-stratified sprouted. A disappointment for sure; I was hoping to have swamp milkweed in the yard. But, there’s a chance for the wild hibiscus! Alas, with new growth comes deer, traipsing through the yard each night intent on nibbling my natives. They hit the columbine heavy this year as they did last year, and that stunted its growth and prevented it from flowering on time. I managed to protect it by putting a recycling bin over it each night. From the 7th to the 17th, I went home and visited a local native nursery.

There, I picked up a new plant for the garden - scarlet bee balm, Monarda didyma. I already have bee balm (M. fistulosa), but this species blooms red and is attractive to hummingbirds.

When I got back to Syracuse, I was astounded to find how quickly everything had shot up.

Among new blooms were the Jacob’s Ladder, woodland stonecrop, and finally, the wild columbine. The chives and thyme began to flower as well.

The milkweeds were one of the last to come up, being late to break dormancy. But once they did, they grew like lightning, gaining a foot in a week.

I planted my row of annuals (cosmos and sunflowers) along the walkway, and added beans to my herb garden. The dill and basil sprouted and once they get a bit bigger I’ll transplant them outside.

Then, in late May, I visited my advisor’s farm, and he gave me two new plants for the garden, from his own land - Golden Alexanders (Zizia aurea), which is a lovely yellow-flowered member of the carrot family which blooms in spring, and the classic purple coneflower (Echinacea purpurea). They transplanted well.

Honestly, everything is doing better than I could have hoped. What were ungainly spaces between the plants last year are starting to fill in as they grow more vigorously - the single-stalked milkweed I put in last May is now 17 stalks, and I see seedlings of the biennial brown-eyed susans coming up all around it in a three foot radius. Even the purple prairie clover which was eaten to the ground by rabbits last summer has miraculously returned. The only thing I am still waiting on is the bottlebrush grass, which remains dormant. It’s a warm-season grass, so I hope as we get sustained high temperatures in June, it will come back! But its seedlings too are popping up all around the beds.

And this sums up spring! It has become cold again for the week, but that won’t halt the growth once it’s started. The New England aster is almost half as tall as me, and my black raspberry has flowered and hopefully will produce a small handful for me to enjoy!

Check back in late June for another update on the garden!

#pollinator garden #pollinators #bees #nature #gardening #mine

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serialreblogger · 4 years

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Tagging Game

thank you for the tag @theproblemwithstardust!

rules: tag 10 people you think would like to be tagged, and copy/paste the asks into a new post. Answer all/as many of them as you want!

1. do you prefer writing with a black pen or a blue pen? bold of you provide such a boring binary. i prefer green

2. would you prefer to live in the country or in the city? again: no. give me Forest or give me death

3. if you could learn a new skill, what would it be? FLIGHT

4. do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? so MUCH. i have to add half of it at the hot water station at work and half at my desk so my coworkers don’t catch on that i’m a hummingbird in human form

5. what was your favorite book as a child? one??? well i loved The Girl Who Could Fly by Victoria Forester. When i was little i read pretty much whatever i could get my hands on tho, most of which were really old and British for some reason? which is why i now talk like a horrific combination of “abominable tumblrite” and “Victorian aristocrat”

6. do you prefer baths or showers? BATHS but only if i can play music to drown out the sound of my ears ringing

7. if you could be a mythical creature, which one would you be? i WOULD be a dryad, but if i could choose i’d be a shapeshifter (capable of transforming into anything and everything)

8. paper or electronic books? i hoard books like a dragon hoards gold, but like. electronic books are also valid (no no look i’m not elitist, some of my best friends are fanfics)

9. what is your favorite item of clothing? i have a sky blue dress shirt that is the perfect fabric and colour and shape and i love it so much

10. do you like your name? would you like to change it? my Name is Linden, and i love it. my legal name is distressingly ugly and i hate it

11. who is a mentor to you? dang, friend, i don’t think i trust any adults enough for them to count

12. would you like to be famous? if so, what for? i would like to be famous for writing excellent, world-changing fantasy fiction. it will have actual representation and will be so popular that no one will remember the name of that other british writer, she who must not be named

13. are you a restless sleeper? ehh i don’t have insomnia but like. i don’t -enjoy- sleeping

14. do you consider yourself to be a romantic person? nah fam i’m MUCH to screwed up for that. i like romance well enough but i’m awkward as heck, doubly so with romance. sorry Cris, i love you

15. which element best represents you? aether! i am Edgy

16. who do you want to be closer to? some of my irl friends, i guess, bc i’m real bad at relationship maintenance sometimes

17. do you miss someone at the moment? i miss my girlfriend!

18. tell us about an early childhood memory. my childhood had happy parts but i mostly remember all that trauma, so imma give y’all a pass on that one

19. what is the strangest thing you have eaten? honestly, probably calamari. i’m not an adventurous eater. but i do like me some nice rubbery squid

20. what are you most thankful for? i just got a job, which means i can (hopefully) move out in the next little bit!

21. do you like spicy food? NO i do NOT enjoy the feeling of flame inside my mouth, i am TOO WHITE for that

22. have you ever met someone famous? Ryan Reynold’s brother’s cousin or something works at our local Costco, does that count?

23. do you keep a diary or journal? it’s called a “tumblr blog”

24. do you prefer to use pen or pencil? pencil!

25. what is your star sign? i like 🌠

26. do you like your cereal crunchy or soggy? unpopular opinion but soggy cereal is better

27. what would you want your legacy to be? i want something i do to have a real, significant, important impact on the justice of this awful world. i want my life to make it easier for the kids who come after me to live theirs

28. do you like reading? What was the last book you read? i LOVE reading but these days it’s only fanfiction. Do you accept The Reverb in These Holy Halls by @wolftraps? I hope so because it well surpasses most fiction for thematic complexity and superb characterization, do recommend

29. what are you afraid of? literally everything

30. what is your favorite scent? i don’t really like scents, but i love the smell of my girlfriend’s house

31. do you address older people by their name or surname? i prefer to simply Not address them (because i want to call them by their surname but at this point i’m also an adult and that’s apparently weird)

32. if money was not a factor, how would you live your life? i would MOVE OUT. then take a part-time desk job and spend the rest of my time growing succulents and writing stories

33. do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? mmm also no

34. what would you do if you found $50 in the ground? honestly i’d probably ask the nearest person if it was theirs, and they would say yes even though it wasn’t and i wouldn’t clue in until i was halfway down the block

35. if you were to get a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? i GENUINELY don’t trust myself enough to get a tattoo. i’m not permanent enough for that. but if i had to i’d probably pick a little, colourful, very pretty tree design and put it on my ankle or the inside of my wrist

36. what can you hear now? Welcome To The Black Parade by MCR

37. where do you feel the safest? lol imagine feeling safe

38. if you could travel back to any era, what would it be? look if i existed at any point prior to today i would, 100% without doubt, be dead by now. that said the 1920s had some sweet hair jewelry

39. what is your most used emoji? 😊

40. describe yourself using one word. contradictory

41. what do you regret the most? who i used to think i was. the person i tried to be

42. last movie you saw? The Meg (hey, it has a surprisingly good romance subplot. i was actually mildly invested, A+ for a canon m/f ship in a dumb action movie. Also it has Attractive Bruce Willis in it, so bonus points)

43. last tv show you watched? i think it was Community

44. invent a word and its meaning: Hieuule is from my current wip. It means “treasure/wealth of spirit”

ok imma tag @onionwithanxiety, @existentialcrisisetcetera, @hitsuaya, @imthesheikofaraby, @elmofongo, @oliver-in-retrograde, @thenorsiest, @lunarmultishine, @marshmallow-fluffy and @affzinho! I’d love to see y’all’s responses (but please don’t feel pressured, of course) and anyone else who wants to do this, consider yourselves tagged by yours truly!!

#ask game #tagging game #long post

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serendipitioussurvival · 5 years

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They Call Her Alpha - Pt 1

Fem!Stiles/Peter Hale

<Next>

“They call her Mother, Destroyer… they call her Alpha.” she was supposed to instill fear into all who opposed her, hope in all that worshiped or called for her. She was supposed to be powerful, not this twig of a teenager giving him the most pitiful glare he’d ever received in his life. “They swear by her like she is a Goddess. She leaves no enemies alive, no records of her face or what she looks like, and all her people are unfalteringly loyal. The only vague description we’ve received of her looks is from the Oracle.” what, exactly, was so inspiring about the little sparkling in front of him?

She wasn’t too attractive - her hair had multiple hues of red, honey brown, black, and chestnut but was much too oily - though he did find himself sort of enthralled with mapping out the moles and freckles dotting the expanses of fair skin he could see.

“It’s not rare for scents to be shared.” he reasoned while turning to face his sister, completely dismissing the almost human in front of them. “She doesn’t exactly strike fear into me, sister dearest.” when she seemed unable to stop staring at the girl he let out a small, irritated growl that was quickly answered by a flash of her ruby red eyes.

“I would remember my place, brother.” she snapped dismissively then turned her attention back to the young woman in front of her. “Isaac,” a young man with cherubic features and curly blonde hair to match stepped forward, hands shaking ever so slightly as the only indication that he was nervous - much to Peter’s pride. “Take the tape off her mouth.”

Peter had severe doubts that this strange wannabe witchling was the dreaded spark they were looking for, those doubts all flew out the fucking window when Isaac moved into her personal space. Whiskey eyes turned almost beta gold, her anger simmered into something calming and comforting that had his inner wolf prowling from underneath his skin. When Isaac pulled the duct tape off of her lips he did so with steady hands and in a fluid motion that he quickly bowed his head in apology for. He blamed biology for paying close attention to the pink tongue that came out and wetted peach lips.

“Pretty sure Kidnapping is still illegal, declared or otherwise.” if his wolf was prowling before it was now right underneath his skin, ready to pounce so it could get closer to her. “Heard rumors that the new queen was a ‘were, guess this war has been beneficial to you and yours.” the few Enforcers of the Hale Pack stepped forward with claws extended the moment their Alpha Queen snarled, Isaac - still relatively new to the pack - and Scott - another new addition who was the same age as Isaac - both shrunk back. Peter did not miss the way the supposed ‘Mother, Destroyer’ glanced once towards them before settling back on his sister with a tight anger that he, strangely enough, understood.

“No war has been formally declared,” Talia reasoned after recollecting herself.

“Oh? Might want to tell the victims that then. Humans and traitors to both sides are the casualties of your ‘peace’ war with the Unseelie Queen and her geriatric psycho fuck Pappy.” a snort of amusement escaped him before he could even think to control it. “Oh?” her eyes centered directly on him, unnerving and pleasing at the same time. “Think the death of traitors and humans is funny, do you?” she tsk’ed and eyed him up and down, “Bad dog.”

“Then you are the ‘Alpha’?” Talia snarled while drawing her Enforcers back.

“Alpha? I’m no wolf,” she snorted and leaned back against the chair, “You mean The Mother, though, don’t you?” she sighed heavily and rolled her shoulders. “Might as well just kill me now then, won’t get anything useful out of me.” Peter sauntered forward, grinning wide when her attention focused back on him.

“Why’s that sweetling?” he actually laughed when she recoiled away from him in disgust.

“Ugh, okay Uncle Bad touch, let’s just keep you over that way.” she actually did a ‘shoo’ motion with her foot, “You could totally make Creeperwolf over here a torture method,” she remarked casually to his sister but centered her gaze directly on him when he took another step towards her. “No, go away, shoo.”

“You’re really not attracted to me,” he murmured, amazed, even as he leaned into her personal space to get a good whiff of her scent.

“Yeah, no dip Sherlock. Yo, Queeny, what the fuck? Can you tighten the leash or something on him, this is totally borderline sexual harassment.” She was amusing, no one - aside from powerful Dark Fae - ever spoke to his sister like that. For that alone it was almost worth keeping her alive.

“You will watch your tongue when you speak to the Seelie Queen, ant.” ah yes, cousin Andrew. How Peter adored the fanatic cousin that believed devotedly in his sister.

“Hmm, Ant, new one. Well, your ‘Oh, most powerful light fae, Seelie Queen, unmatched in lighty goodness’-” He had to turn away from her lest she see his grin. Little tart was a mouthy one wasn’t she? Damn, he was already half smitten. “What can this humble Spark in training do for you?”

“You’re the Alpha, the Mother.” she actually laughed for a spell before she realized that no one else was laughing with her.

“Oh my - okay, open your lil wolfy ears and hear me when I say; I am not the Mother, Alpha, or whatever the hell else you’re searching for.” that fact that her hummingbird heartbeat remained steady and that her scent remained clear of deceit had Talia deflating just a little. “There, okay, can I go? I know it may seem hard to believe but I’m not exactly overflowing in the friend department. I’ve only got one and we kinda got a codependency goin’ on, so if you don’t mind?” she wriggled so the chains keeping her confined to the chair would jingle. Peter liked her, mouthy brat she was.

“You were fighting a Strigoi from taking two Pup’s, why?” the girl sagged back into her chair and eyed Talia with a fatigue that dulled her vigor.

“Because they were full shift wolves and the bastard wanted to enslave them and sell them back to Psycho Bitch Barbie and her cult of meanies.” Peter couldn’t help his laughter even if he wanted to - which he definitely did not - when he registered that she was calling Kate Argent, current Queen of the Unseelie Court, a Psycho Bitch Barbie. That took balls, it took either a tremendous amount of stupidity or courage and this little sparkling didn’t seem all that stupid. Evidence to the contrary. “Is that why you thought I was the Alpha? ‘Cause I did a little whoop ass on the Dark side Jackasses?”

“You fit the description we’ve received, vague though it may be.” Peter’s warning growl for her at giving too much away was cut off by intrigue when she leaned forward, smelling of vanilla joy and curiosity.

“I did? Itty bitty badass me?” Talia’s eyebrows pinched in frustration. Either because of her or because of the case of mistaken identity, Peter couldn’t tell.

“We were clearly mistaken,” she shook her head slightly to clear her thoughts and murmured something to Scott. Nearly all watched as he left the room before they centered wearily on her. “Were you declared before?”

“Before I sided with the humans and those abandoned by both sides? No.” she settled back with a huff and kicked a single leg out to test the strength of the chains. He adored the way her grin was just a tad blood thirsty when Andrew growled warningly at her, Beta blues flashing as a warning.

“What is your name then, Spark?”

“Polish, you can’t say it.” She sighed and looked around, clearly bored with the current conversation. “Also an Orphan, so no known surname. Life’s a bitch, innit? You can call me Stiles, if you want to try niceties, but I’m not declaring Seelie.”

“It is an honor-” Andrew started vehemently, drawing twin eyerolls from both Peter and ‘Stiles’.

“And now I know that I will be avoiding you at the next siore.” he didn’t know what enticed him more, the fact that she said soire so perfectly or the fact that she could clearly speak multiple languages.

“So, French and English. What about Polish?” he crouched in front of her, knowing that his jeans hugged his thighs and ass just right when he did so. Little tart didn’t even glance.

“Well well, Uncle Bad Touch, you ain’t so bad at sleuthin’. So I got three languages under my belt, care to guess at which one is my native one?” he grinned and leaned in closer, ignoring his sister’s warning call of his name.

“I’d rather get under your belt myself,” she tsked again and sighed as if disappointed with him.

“As much as I like trading barbs with you, Uncle Bad Touch, I will have to gracefully decline. Her head tilted to the side, exposing her pretty neck and the trailing of moles that he wanted to trace.

With his tongue.

“You wound me,” he joked, hand clasped dramatically over his heart as he rocked back on his heels.

“I’d like to,” she glibly returned, eyes gleaming her joy and flooding the room with her vanilla pleasure.

“Enough!” Talia snapped, drawing him back to her side by his wolf. He hated when she did that, when she took his control and snapped it to achieve her own goals. “Enough. As an undeclared you are not bound by our laws. We will let you go,” she rose her hand to quell the disagreements that rose from her decision, “but we will be keeping an eye on you. If we so much as suspect that you play a bigger part than what you seem to then we will collect you again. Make no mistake, Spark, if you so much as move a foot in a direction I deem suspicious I will make you declare a side to either be punished or governed as seen fit.”

“You know,” the Spark mused as Scott began unlocking her confines. “You’re not so bad, Queeny, but you’re hopelessly misinformed about the actual state of things. I’m sure your Seelie losses have been big,” dainty fingers rubbed at the red indentations on her wrist, “If you were aware of the actual losses your ‘not-war’ has caused-” she trailed off as she got lost in her own thoughts. “Well, whatever. Can I get dropped off where you’re people kidnapped me from?” A better man wouldn’t have taken the time she was walking away to check out her ass, a better man would’ve probably felt sympathy for the sparkling. Peter was not a ‘good’ man, but he wasn’t a bad one either, so when she looked back at him from over her shoulder he tore his gaze from her tempestuous ass to wink at her. Of one thing he was certain, she was either on the cusp of her twentieth year or she soon would be. She was much too interesting to kill or enslave, he hoped she stayed that way.

“Peter, I want you to keep an eye on her.” sweet, sweet victory. “She’s hiding something but I feel we’ll have a better chance at finding out what when she thinks she’s not under scrutiny.”

“With pleasure, sister.”

#Peter Hale #female stiles #rule 63 stiles #spark stiles #Teen Wolf Au #Seelie #Unseelie #Kind of like Lost Girl #Only with a different twist #Eventual Steter #steter #Stiles Stilinski #eventual BAMFStiles #Queen Talia Hale #Hale Family is alive #inspired by a song #not a song fic though #Alpha-little destroyer

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years

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Until the Day Breaks and the Shadows Flee: 5/8

Hold onto your seats, everyone, this is where we earn our M rating! This chapter is also pretty long, but it will make up for chapter six, which will be on the short side.

Thanks as usual to @kmomof4 and the rest of the writers in the @cssns especially for the recent grammar conversations on Discord :) Huge thank you to my beta @snowbellewells who has reread this fic multiple times and caught all the times I’ve accidentally repeated myself! Thanks also to my artist @hollyethecurious for the perfectly mythological story banner!

Summary: Every night she traces the contours of his body as Killian whispers words of love against her skin. But can Princess Emma ever be fully happy with a husband who only comes to her in utter darkness? A Captain Swan AU of the myth of Cupid and Psyche.

** My source material for all the titles will especially enhance the meaning of this chapter title in particular. Anyone know what it is?***

Rating: M for sexual situations

Words: 5,000 and some change in this chapter

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Also on Ao3

Tagging: @jennjenn615 @kday426 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @welllpthisishappening @profdanglaisstuff @distant-rose @shireness-says @mythologicalmango @wellhellotragic @branlovestowrite @xhookswenchx @optomisticgirl @winterbaby89 @ultraluckycatnd @vvbooklady1256 @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @whimsicallyenchantedrose @tiganasummertree @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules @delirious-latenight-laughs @nikkiemms @gingerchangeling @revanmeetra87 @cocohook38 @effulgentcolors

Chapter Five: A Sachet of Myrrh

“And that’s when I told the Jinn that if he wanted to strand me in the desert, he’d have to do better than a crazed flying carpet.”

Emma laughed at Killian’s story as she scratched her nails through his chest hair. His fingers played with strands of her hair. They no longer sat up against the headboard, but cuddled under the blankets as they talked.

And kissed. There was a lot of kissing. Emma had never tasted anything as heady as Killian’s lips; she simply couldn’t get enough. The fairies often found her staring off into the distance, completely missing their questions or attempts at conversation, and every single time it was because she was thinking of Killian’s kisses. Sometimes she wondered if that was his magic - lips that dripped with fine wine.

Despite their passionate kisses for the last week or so, Killian was still a gentleman. He kept his hands in only the appropriate places, refusing to cross an unseen line. Emma wondered if it was because of her past with Baelfire. And it was sweet, it really was, but Emma longed for his body in ways that made her blush at times when the fairies caught her daydreaming.

Now, as she lay pillowed against his chest, she thought of his whispered words when he believed her to be sleeping: When I win your heart Emma . . . it will be because you want me. Maybe he was waiting for her to make the first move. After all, she’d been the one to invite him to sit beside her; the one to ask for a kiss.

Emma craned her head up, squinting in the dark as usual to see him. It was amazing how she could be so attracted to someone she had never seen. Her hand trailed over his sculpted abs, and she smirked. She may not have sight to base her attraction on, but she sure as hell had touch, and oh, how perfect Killian’s body felt beneath her hands!

Emma shifted, tracing Killian’s torso, neck, and then face with her hand so she could find his lips. When she did, she pressed her own to his, her body half on top of him. He responded with a half growl, devouring her with his mouth as he pushed up on his elbows to meet her. Emma dug one hand into his soft, thick hair while she threaded the other beneath his arm. Splaying her hand on his upper back, she rolled backwards onto the mattress, bringing him with her. The weight of his body on top of her had her heart beating erratically. Killian cupped her face, his arm brushing against her satin-clad breasts. Emma grabbed his wrist and guided his hand to her breast. She gasped as his thumb fondled her hardened nipple through the satin, breaking their kiss. Killian’s lips slid across her jaw and down to her neck, his hand still cupping her breast.

“Emma,” he breathed against her skin before sucking at her pulse point. She dug both hands into his hair as she moaned. His hand slid from her breast up to her shoulder blade. He turned the attention of his lips from her neck to her collarbone, trailing kisses as he slid the strap of her nightgown off her shoulder. His lips found hers again, and he kissed her deeply as his hand once again found her breast, naked this time.

“Killian,” Emma groaned against his lips. His other hand found the other strap of her nightgown, and he slipped it off as well. Cool air hit her exposed breasts as Killian pulled away slightly, running his hands reverently over her flesh. Heat rose into her cheeks as she remembered that though she couldn’t see him, he could see her.

“You’re exquisite, my Swan.”

The words thrilled her even before he rested his head between her breasts. She tugged at his hair and arched her back as he showed her just how thoroughly a person could be kissed.

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

The view outside the wall of glass in the salon was beyond beautiful; the sun was tinting the flowers with its gentle morning light, and a hummingbird flitted just in front of the central window, its ruby red stomach glittering like a gem.

Yet Emma saw none of it. She idly ran a finger over the top of the cinnamon bun on her plate, and once she’d coated her fingertip with icing, sucked the sticky sweetness off. The act made her think of all the things she and Killian had done with their lips the night before, and a tiny giggle-snort escaped her.

“Someone’s in love,” Tink teased as she filled Emma’s mug of hot chocolate.

Emma’s head snapped up, her eyes blinking rapidly. “I . . . um . . . what are you talking about?”

Tink plopped down into the chair next to Emma and propped her chin in her hands. “Distracted, smiling at nothing, loss of appetite: they’re all classic signs.”

Emma shook her head adamantly. “Love, Tink? That’s rushing things a little, don’t you think? I mean, I’ve only been . . . that is to say . . . “

“You’ve only been married,” Tink supplied, “for 16 days and 12 hours?” Emma’s eyes widened. “That’s . . . specific.”

Tink shrugged. “I’ve seen people fall in love in less time. After all I used to -” Tink suddenly broke off, her jaw dropping almost to the tabletop.

“Used to what?”

“Nothing,” Tink said, waving it off with one hand, “but back to you and Killian. I think something happened last night, didn’t it?”

The fairy wiggled her eyebrows, and Emma buried her flaming face in her hands.

“I knew it!” Tink squealed, clapping her hands together. “Oh, I’m so glad Ariel is off with Eric, or she would have gotten all the juicy details first.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, “ Emma said, raising one hand, “first of all, it isn’t what you’re probably thinking. And second, I’m not giving specific details.”

Tink visibly deflated. “You didn’t finally consummate the marriage?”

Emma groaned and massaged her temple. “Not yet, okay, but we did . . . other things.”

“Oooh,” Tink said eagerly, and Emma rolled her eyes.

“I just,” Emma bit her lower lip as she broke off a piece of her cinnamon bun, “never knew it could be like this.”

Her eyes watered unexpectedly, and she blinked the moisture back. Baelfire was the last person she wanted to think about right now, but he rose up in her memory nonetheless. He had never taken his time to kiss her body the way Killian had last night. He had certainly never pleasured her without thought to himself. Come to think of it, he had never pleasured her, not fully. That had become obvious last night when Emma cried out Killian’s name as his scruff rubbed the inside of her thighs. It was like a million fireworks had gone off inside her, terrifying and rapturous all at once.

“Whatever you’re imagining right now must be good,” Tinkerbell teased. She rose from the table and gave Emma a wink before she left the room.

Emma smiled to herself as she bit into her cinnamon bun. The sticky icing dripped down her fingers, and she caught it with her tongue. Her smile turned to a smirk.

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

Emma had absolutely no interest in talking tonight. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy her long conversations with her husband, it was just that she had been wound tight all day, and she couldn’t wait much longer for release. She was glad that Ariel was still off with her prince because when it came time for bed, Emma merely discarded her pale pink dress and all of its accompanying undergarments and slid beneath the cool sheets of her bed - their bed - wearing nothing at all. She had doused all the lights, pulled all the tapestries closed, and when she pulled the blankets up to her chin, she curled in on her side and closed her eyes. She tried to regulate her breathing despite her racing heart. There had been a night here or there when Emma had drifted off before Killian arrived, usually when he had been traveling to distant realms. Each time, he had slipped under the covers as he whispered her name, then gathered her sleeping form into his arms. Usually, Emma awakened at his touch and the feel of his solid form pressed against her back.

She hoped tonight he would do the same. She bit her lip thinking of the surprise that awaited him beneath the sheets, then reprimanded herself to relax.

The tapestries rustled, and cool night hair tickled Emma’s nose. She squeezed her eyes tight, her body trembling pleasantly in anticipation. The bed dipped and Killian’s hand touched the blanket covering her shoulder gently.

“Emma?’ he whispered.

She pressed her lips together as a giggle tried to escape. She swallowed, heart thumping as Killian pulled the covers back. Just as she had anticipated, he reached for her, pulling her back flush against his chest, his arm encircling her waist.

“Why Swan,” he said huskily, burying his nose in the riot of her hair, “you seem to have forgotten your nightgown.”

Emma turned in his arms, lining her body up with his. The half toga he always wore about his waist couldn’t hide his length as it pressed against her.

“Someone’s happy to see me,” she teased, running her fingers up and down the hard planes of his chest. “It’s a shame really that I can’t see you.”

“You can feel me,” he growled as he pressed her back into the mattress. Emma squealed with laughter as he nibbled at her ear and ran his hand up and down the side of her body. He grabbed her hip, hard enough to leave a mark, and she yelped. At the sound, he yanked back.

“I’m sorry, love,” he apologized, collapsing against her and resting his head between her breasts, “I got carried away.”

Emma ran her fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead. “You didn’t hurt me,” she assured him, “you just surprised me.”

Killian lifted his head and then shifted so he was lying alongside her instead of on top of her. He caressed her face, his lips hovering close.

“But I remember what you told me. You wanted tenderness and something precious. I plan to give you that, my Swan.”

Emma trembled at the sincerity of his words as he kissed her gently, his thumbs lightly stroking her cheeks.

“Now,” he said, rubbing her nose with his, “the first order of business is for me to appreciate this exquisite beauty.”

Emma giggled as he yanked down the sheets. He lay on his side, her body completely exposed to him. The cool air sent goosebumps skittering over her skin, but that was nothing compared to what Killian’s hands did as he explored her body. He paid particular attention to her breasts, slowly tracing them with the tip of his finger, then tracing the same path with his tongue. He kissed every inch of her body, but it was different from the night before. He was taking his time, agonizingly so, until Emma was writhing beneath his touch. She was arching her back and panting, her hands fisted in the sheets, but he wasn’t finished with her yet.

“Do you want me Emma?” he asked her as he lay down atop her again.

“Yes, yes, gods, yes!” she cried, yanking at the tiny scrap of clothing encircling his waist.

He took hold of both her wrists and pinned them beside her head. “Not quite yet, love.”

There was something incredibly arousing about the way he stilled her arms as he worshiped her body once again.

“Killian,” she whimpered, “please, please.”

She heard him chuckle as he released her hands and she made quick work of discarding what little clothes he was wearing. This was the part that wasn’t new to her, and she thought she knew what to expect. A few quick thrusts accompanied by a few grunts, and Baelfire had been finished with her.

Killian, however, was a different kind of lover, and he was far from finished lavishing his attention on Emma. The pleasure she had experienced the night before was nothing like the waves of ecstasy that washed over her now. Killian had worried earlier when he had dug his fingers into her hip, but Emma was worried she might draw blood on his back, and if she tugged any harder on his hair she might end up pulling it out.

When he collapsed against her, both of them spent and slick with sweat, Emma wasn’t sure she ever wanted to leave this bed again. Her thighs shook, her breaths came raggedly, and her arms felt limp. Killian’s head found its favorite spot between her breasts, and Emma ran her fingers through his damp hair. Tears welled in her eyes, surprising her.

“I . . . I love you,” she whispered.

Killian stilled completely in her arms, and her heart almost stopped. Surely this didn’t come as a shock to him? He shifted, and Emma squinted to try to see his face in the dark. When she couldn’t, she reached out and traced his jaw with her fingertips. When he turned and pressed a kiss to her palm, she let out a shuddering breath of relief.

“I love you so much, Emma,” he told her, voice thick with emotion, “it’s difficult to put into words. You’re . . . my soul, Emma.”

He kissed her then, an almost sloppy thing, and Emma found herself laughing as she peppered his face with awkward kisses of her own, her lips never landing where she meant them too.

“And you’re my heart,” she whispered into his ear.

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

Several nights later, Emma was wrapped up in Killian’s arms, her back to his front. She was content and slightly drowsy after making love, and she was trying to motivate herself to ask Killian to find her nightgown for her. He was the one who had tossed it over his shoulder, after all. They had both laughed when they heard it hit the tapestry.

“What are you laughing about, Swan?” Killian’s voice sounded just as content as hers. His thumb rubbed lazy circles on her bare stomach and his nose nuzzled in her hair.

Emma turned in his arms and gave him a little push so he was lying on his back. She pillowed her head against his chest almost purring in her serenity. “You threw my nightgown,” she mumbled against his collarbone, “and I can’t see a damn thing.”

His hand drifted up over her hip then trailed along her spine. “You don’t seem particularly eager to get dressed,” he observed.

Emma just murmured blissfully against his skin and relished the feel of his fingers in her hair. “I need a washcloth too.”

“When I leave, I can light the candles.”

“But I might be asleep by then,” Emma whined.

“Then perhaps I should take my leave -”

“No!” Emma squealed, grabbing his shoulders to keep him from rising.

He chuckled as settled back down into the pillows, holding her tight. “I”m increasingly confused by you, love.”

“I know I’m not making sense, it’s just . . . I wish you could stay all night. I wish I could wake up in your arms, just like this.”

Killian kissed the top of her head. “I know, and so do I. Soon, hopefully, we can have that.”

They fell silent again. Killian ran his fingers up and down her bare arm, and Emma splayed her hand over his heart. It thumped beneath her palm, steady and comforting.

“Are you happy, Emma?” he whispered.

Emma hesitated, the pitch dark around them contrasting more than usual with the heart beating beneath her cheek. “Yes,” she finally said.

“You hesitated.” His voice was quiet, slightly hurt, but patient. “What is it, my love? How can I help you be happy here?”

Emma sighed and rolled away from him. He followed her, pushing her hair out of the way to trail kisses across her neck.

“I love you,” she told him, “but I also miss my family and my friends. If I could only see them and let them know that I’m alive and safe . . . “

Emma trailed off as Killian’s breath came out in a sigh against her skin. She worried she had angered him until he gathered her in his arms again.

“Everyone has to believe you are dead, Emma, but I could arrange a visit from your friends - “

“Really?” Emma squealed, turning back around so rapidly, her forehead collided with his chin.

“Bloody hell,” Killian muttered. “Oh gods, I’m so sorry!” Emma cried and tried to reach out to pat his cheek only to poke him in the eye instead.

Killian yelped in pain again, but it quickly turned to laughter. “Calm down, love, before you damage me permanently.”

“Sorry,” Emma whispered, pressing both hands to her mouth. “Can you really let me see them?”

“Your friends, yes, but your family isn’t possible.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll have to erase their memory before they leave here, but it would be impossible to do so with a bond between parent and child.”

Emma deflated for a moment, but then gave a firm nod of her head. Killian loved her, he cherished her, he listened to her. The fairies all adored him and trusted him, surely so could she. He was protecting her from something, but he was trying to make a way for them to really be together. Once he accomplished that, her parents could come stay with them for awhile. He didn’t have to make a way for her to visit with her friends, but he was willing to do it just to make her happy, despite the risks.

“I understand,” she told him, “and I trust you.”

Killian grabbed her suddenly in a searing kiss that was brief yet intense. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to hers. Oh, how she wished she could see his eyes!

“You don’t know how much it means to hear you say that,” he told her.

She smiled and kissed him chastely in response, grinning when she didn’t miss.

“You’re getting better at kissing in the dark,” he teased her.

“But I still poked you in the eye,” she laughed. She rubbed her fingers through his chest hair, then frowned. “But how will you get my friends here?”

“No worries, Swan,” he said, brushing a kiss to her temple, “I have my ways. Be ready for tea tomorrow afternoon?”

Emma was glad he could see her beaming smile in response.

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

Just as Killian promised, the bell at the front door rang at precisely three pm the next day. Emma had already told Tiger Lily that she would get the door herself in order to put her friends at ease, so she rushed to answer. She flung the door wide eagerly, her smile bright as she saw her three closest friends standing on the castle’s marble landing. Three pairs of eyes widened in shock when they saw her, and soon the four young women were embracing one another in an awkward group hug. There were tears and shocked exclamations as well.

“We thought you were dead!” Elsa choked out, her blue eyes shimmering with tears.

Emma shook her head, joy spilling into her countenance. “I’m fine, as you can see.”

“But how?” Lily asked, her brow furrowed.

“There was a burst of magic from the mountaintop,” Ruby explained, “then those sick from the plague suddenly rose from their beds, perfectly fine. We all thought . . . “

Tears were rolling down Elsa’s fair cheeks now. “We assumed that was the moment of your death. It’s been so difficult. Everyone is joyous that the plague is past, but your parents are in mourning and -”

The duchess clapped her hands to her mouth, choking back a sob. Emma frowned in sympathy as she reached out to place her hands gently on Elsa’s arms. She pulled her friend over the threshold as she gestured to the other two women.

“I’ll tell you all, but please, come in. Tinkerbell has prepared tea for us in the salon.”

“You were expecting us?” Lily asked in confusion as Emma ushered them through the marble halls.

“Of course,” Emma answered merrily, “Killilan promised me he would get you here in time for tea.”

“Who’s Killian?” Ruby asked.

Emma ushered them into the salon where Tinkerbell had outdone herself with the tea service. She made sure her guests were seated first, and only then, after sinking into her own place at the table, did she answer.

“Killian is my husband.”

Silence descended at the table as her friends gaped at her in astonishment. Emma couldn’t help the tiny smirk that lifted the corner of her mouth. “Tea?’ she asked as she lifted the pot.

Wordlessly, her friends accepted the offered beverage. They added cream and sugar, stirred, and sipped, until finally one of them spoke. Emma wasn’t surprised in the least that it was Ruby.

“So what’s he like?”

“Rich, obviously,” Lily snorted as she swiped a few teacakes. Emma’s lady-in-waiting had the least refined manners of Emma’s friends, having been raised in the village by a single mother until being hired by Queen Snow to work at the castle at thirteen. Snow chose her personally to be her daughter’s maid, and the queen’s instincts as usual were spot on. Lily had been more like a friend over for a sleepover than a servant from the very beginning, just as Snow had hoped.

Emma smiled, feeling a blush stain her cheeks as she spread jelly on a biscuit. “He’s wonderful; kind, tender, funny. He really listens, you know?”

Ruby leaned over the table. “But is he handsome? I’m guessing he is based on how you’re blushing.”

Emma bit her lip and then stalled by taking a bite of biscuit. After swallowing, she answered honestly. “I actually . . . haven’t seen him.”

All three of her friends furrowed their brows in confusion.

“But you just said . . . “ Elsa stuttered.

“What do you mean you haven’t seen him?” Ruby cried.

“We’ve spent time together - “ Emma started to explain.

“So you have seen him?” Lily asked.

“No,” Emma answered slowly, “you see, he only comes to me at night, and it’s dark -”

“Emma!” Elsa cried. “You can’t be serious! You mean to tell me this man . . . has relations with you,” the proper duchess’s voice dropped to a whisper, “but he won’t let you see him?”

Emma’s face turned so red she had to press her fingertips to her cheeks to cool them down.

“And he’s obviously rather good at those relations,” Ruby quipped.

“Ruby!” Elsa admonished.

“What? Look at Emma’s face! And did you not hear the way she said he’s wonderful?” Ruby gave an exaggerated imitation of Emma. “She was practically swooning.” The brunette turned to Emma and grabbed her arm eagerly. “You have to tell me everything. How does he kiss? Did he make love to you the very first night? Was that the burst of magic we saw? Was he better than Baelfire?” Ruby laughed and waved her hand dismissively. “Of course he’s better than Baelfire -”

“Ruby!” Elsa repeated, louder this time. “Stop acting like a silly schoolgirl. Emma could be in a dangerous situation here.”

“Killian isn’t dangerous,” Emma argued.

“How do you know that, Emma?”

“Because I know him, Elsa!” Her voice was rising with an edge of defensiveness, which she knew wasn’t helping her case.

“How well can you know him, really?” Lily demanded. “He won’t even let you see him!”

Elsa placed her hand gently on Emma’s. “I’m worried about you. You seem happy, but I just want to make sure this man is trustworthy. It all just seems a little suspicious.”

“And the oracle said you’d be sacrificed on the mountaintop,” Lily pointed out.

Ruby rolled her eyes as she finished chewing on a petit four. “Would you two stop? It’s obvious Emma is happy, and look at this place!” Ruby grabbed Emma’s other hand and smiled broadly. “This is a celebration! Our friend is safe, and she’s married!”

“Ruby’s right,” Emma insisted as she lifted the platter of petit fours, each one decorated with a tiny frosted rose. She offered the plate to each of her friends, and each young woman selected a bite-size cake. “I really am happy. Can we talk of other things? I want to know what the three of you are up to!”

“To Emma and a happy marriage!” Ruby cried as she lifted her cup of tea. She glared at Lily and Elsa to follow suit. Reluctantly, they imitated Ruby’s posture.

“To Emma and a happy marriage!”

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

The rest of the tea went well as her friends told her what they and their families had been doing over the past month. Elsa wept as she relayed how Anna had recovered from the plague, and Lily blushed as she talked of stealing a kiss from a handsome knight in the halls of the castle. Ruby told her that Granny was doing well, but kept fishing for information about Emma’s mysterious husband. Once the tea pot was empty, Emma rose from the table and invited her guests to take a tour of the castle.

“Look at this library!” Elsa gushed.

“How did your husband get all these books?” Lily asked, her tone almost accusatory. “And all the artwork? I’ve never heard of anyone rich enough to acquire treasures from so many realms.”

“He travels,” Emma said with a shrug, “speaking of, how did the three of you get here?”

“It was the strangest thing,” Ruby told her, “one minute, we were chatting in your mother’s flower garden, and the next, we were suddenly standing at your front door.”

Emma smiled as she traced her fingertips over the bindings of several books. “That sounds like Killian.”

“He has magic?” Elsa asked.

Emma sighed. “Don’t ask it in that tone, okay? It’s light magic.” At least, she’d always assumed it was, especially since fairies lived on the property. Before her friends could ask any more questions, she ushered them out. “Speaking of gardens, the ones here are lovely . . . “

Emma felt a headache coming on, even though the sweet scent of roses filled the air. Even here, in this beautiful garden, her friends were each acting as they had since they first arrived. Ruby was exclaiming in delight over everything, Elsa was suspicious, and Lily seemed increasingly irritated.

“It’s all a bit . . . pretentious,” Lily deadpanned.

Emma blinked rapidly. “Excuse me?”

“Did your husband have to show off by planting every rose known to mankind?”

Emma wasn’t sure if Lily’s eye roll was for the word “husband” or “have”, but either way,

her irritation was growing.

“The roses are gorgeous,” Ruby put in quickly.

“Enough about the roses!” Elsa declared, yanking on Emma’s arm. “We have to talk about Emma’s situation.”

“My situation?” Emma pulled her arm from Elsa’s grasp.

“Yes, Emma,” Lily added coming close to her side, “think about it. The oracle said you needed to sacrifice yourself on the mountaintop in order to save the kingdom. Now you find yourself here with a husband who only comes to you at night? In the dark?”

“This place is thick with magic,” Elsa put in.

Lily nodded. “Can’t you see? Your husband is the monster.”

“No!” Emma exclaimed. “I may not have seen Killian, but I know him. We’ve been intimate in ways I never was with Baelfire. There’s no way he’s a monster.”

“Exactly,” Ruby said, “don’t listen to these two, Emma.” She came alongside Emma, threading her arm with hers.

“Ruby,” Lily snapped, “you have read way too many romance novels. Whoever this . . . husband is he can’t be hiding in the darkness for anything but nefarious reasons.”

“Lily, I think you’re just jealous.”

“Jealous!”

“Yes! You’ve been jealous of Emma for years now. You come here, you see her with all this wealth and gushing about her wonderful husband, so of course you’re trying to spin it in a negative light.”

Ruby’s words infused Emma with encouragement, but then Elsa’s words rushed over her like a cold rain.

“If he were really trustworthy, Emma, he wouldn’t hide from you.”

“He’s the monster,” Lily repeated, “and he’s been toying with you like a cat with a mouse.”

Emma’s heart beat erratically as she remembered herself thinking that very same thing the first night in the castle.

Elsa spoke again. “Don’t let his seductions blind you. Something isn’t right here, and I get sick to my stomach thinking of anyone - man or beast - taking advantage of you.”

“Maybe he’s just embarrassed for Emma to see him,” Ruby argued. “He could have scars or be deformed in some way.”

Lily wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, think of what you might have been sleeping with this

whole time! If anything, he has to look hideous.”

Emma tilted her chin. “I don’t care what he looks like. He could be missing limbs for all I care. I love him!”

All three of her friends fell silent at her declaration. Ruby dropped her head to Emma’s shoulder. “Oh, darling,” she whispered.

“You know what they say,” Elsa said gently, “love is blind. Which is exactly why I want you to be careful. If he won’t let you see him, wait until he’s asleep, then light a candle and see him for yourself. Please?”

Elsa kissed Emma on the cheek, and all Emma could do was nod. “I think it’s time you all headed home,” Emma said wearily, “you’ll be expected soon for the evening meal.”

She wasn’t sure how Killian would get her friends home, but after Ruby clutched her tight, whispering in her ear to ignore the other two women, the brunette simply disappeared on a wisp of wind. Elsa embraced her next with whispers of endearments, then she too was suddenly gone. Emma turned last to Lily. Her former lady-in-waiting gave her a hesitant smile as she clutched both her hands in hers.

“Don’t be a fool, Emma. One night as you lie in his arms, he’ll kill you, maybe even devour you like the monster that he is.” She leaned in close, intensity in her eyes, and steel in her voice. “If it were me, I would hide a dagger under my pillow. I would seduce him, and then while he slept, I would plunge the dagger into his heart. I would kill him before he could kill me.”

Lily had already begun to fade away as her final words drifted Emma’s way. Alone in the garden, it suddenly felt to Emma like there was a chill in the air.

#cs ff #cssns #cssns 2019 #captain swan supernatural summer #enchanted forest au #slow burn #cupid and psyche au #myth

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