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wardenparker · 6 months

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Red Lipstick

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 8.8k Warnings: Ghost!reader, drug use (cocaine), mentions of murder, mentions of past adultery, dirty talk, hair pulling, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, fingernails/scratching, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sex while high. Summary: When Dieter moves into a new house, the last thing he expected was to end up with a sultry new roommate. Especially one that died almost a hundred years ago. Notes: Blessed Samhain and Happy Halloween everybody! Let's celebrate by having Dieter get both high and nasty.

"I think you're going to be really pleased with how things are set up, Dee." As his personal assistant, Kendra has spent the last month getting her best and only client packed up, moved into his new house, and unpacked again while Dieter Bravo has been overseas filming. He had decided that the mansion he had been living in, in Malibu, just wasn't doing it for him anymore and she had been dispatched to fix the problem.

This art deco colossus in the Hollywood Hills was her answer — supposedly having belonged to some long forgotten starlet back in the silent era. Poor thing was poisoned by her husband's mistress, if the rumors were true. But Dieter didn't need to know that. Instead, Kendra sweeps him inside the door with an encouraging smile on her face and tries to get him to look around. "If you want anything moved around, you just say the word," she promises him.

“It’ll be fine.” For all his bullshit, Dieter isn’t actually as fussy as a lot of people might believe. He just wants a comfortable, vibey place to relax, do drugs and fuck. He looks around and nods, impressed with how quickly they’ve set everything up. “Kinda creepy. I like it.”

"I found some of the original furnishings in the attic and had them cleaned up. Reupholstered as necessary. I thought you'd like them." Extremely pleased with herself, Kendra looks around the large front hall and smiles. "There is food in the fridge with reheat instructions and plenty of things in the pantry if you want to eat without fuss. Your chef will be coming by every other day like usual. Would you like a tour?"

“Sure.” Maybe it’s a little odd that he’s needing a tour for a home he now owns, but he couldn’t be bothered to actually look at the listings that Kendra had sent him. She knew what he liked and what he didn’t, and he had trusted her to pick the best one for him.

The first floor has all the usual rooms, and considering the place was built in 1920 it has some unusual ones, too. A library and a dining room make perfect sense. The sitting room has been transformed into a relatively normal living room. The conservatory with all the plants Kendra could reasonably cram into it has a big table for playing games at and a bunch of places to sit for when he has people over to work but they want something nice to look at. The former ballroom? She left it sparsely decorated so he can decide what he wants to do with it later. Upstairs, the five bedrooms all have walk-in closets and their own bathrooms, and the largest one has been turned into his new bedroom. The giant brass bed in the attic was way nicer than his so she topped it with his mattress and covered the whole thing in his favorite sheets, blankets, and pillows. His other furniture is all set up, and his assistant has set up all the other guest rooms to be ready to go. “What do you think?” Kendra asks, leading him into the room with dark green wallpaper and mahogany wainscoting.

Dieter frowns and tilts his head at the ornate bed. “Did– that’s not my bed, is it?” He asks, pointing at it. “I would remember being tied to it, and I – I’ve not done that yet, I don’t think.”

“I found it in the attic,” Kendra tells him, passing by the comment with just a half-smirk. “I thought you’d like it.”

"It fucking cool." His eyes are positively excited as he rushes towards the bed and caresses the brass scroll work on the bed. "It's mine? It came with the house?" He can't imagine that someone would leave this badass bed, he wouldn't. It's orate and beautiful, drawing him to it in a way he can't describe. Imagining amazing sex in this bed and the flash of a woman. Just a glimpse as his hand wraps around one post.

“It’s yours.” She’s pleased with his reaction and smiles as he inspects the looming piece of furniture. “I know you have a few favorite booty calls in town if you want to try it out tonight.”

He chuckles and almost agrees but he doesn't. Deciding he wants to spend his first night in the house alone. Settle with it and figure out what kind of vibes it's giving him. "Maybe," is all he says.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” She nods when he looks back at her and heads for the stairs, leaving Dieter alone in his new house. He has the keys, he has his bearings, and he has dinner already made. She’ll be back tomorrow to check on him.

"Hello?" He calls out, just for fun even as the door has closed behind his assistant minutes ago. He's a firm believer in spirits, knowing that his aura projects out into the universe. It's why he doesn't like things messing with his brain waves like the bluetooth headphones.

“Hello sweetie.” From the doorway of the bedroom that once was yours, you place your hands on your waist and practically hum at the man standing near your bed. He doesn’t have that slick, smooth, buttoned-up look that men of your era did, but he has an undeniable appeal all his own. Not that he can see you — oh no — but at least you’ll have something nice to look at. The last family to own the house your fortune built was rather…unfortunate looking.

There's something. Dieter's skin tingles and he hums as he looks around the room. Swearing that he had felt something. "I'm– uh, I come in peace." He tells the room.

“Aw, sugar…” Tutting, you saunter into the room and cross your arms over your chest. The dressing robe you’ve worn for the last ninety-five years still gives you the feeling of swishing around as you move even though that’s now impossible. “You can’t see me, handsome. Or hear me. Nobody can.”

"Whoever you are..." Dieter's brows lift and he gives a sympathetic expression. "I feel you. Just know that I'm here to live beside you. And get really high."

“Feel me?” It would be too much to ask for it to be true, and you tilt your head at him curiously. “Sugar, I’d let you feel me in a heartbeat.“

"Can spirits get high?" He asks, mostly to himself and he chuckles. "We can get faded together."

“Guess we’ll have to find out.” You laugh softly to yourself. “Might be fun.”

"I'm hungry." Dieter groans, rubbing his stomach and then scratching it. "Gonna go down to the kitchen and get something to eat." He looks around the room. "Don't like– throw a knife at my head or anything, okay?"

That makes you laugh, a deep sound that is unpretentious and unexpected, and you decide to follow him down to the kitchen. The blandness of the last owners had been absolute, but this one is fun. And at least not a stick in the mud. Maybe his food will be worth smelling as well.

Rambling down the stairs, Dieter starts to hum a little tune. One that he doesn't recognize but he swears it from some old black and white movie.

“Now how do you know that?” The sound of the tune makes you hurry up, floating alongside this new man on feet that no longer touch the ground. You’d know it anywhere. The theme from a movie long gone and long forgotten — but that you’d sung yourself into that big studio microphone to be recorded and played for your first ever ‘talkie’. If only you hadn’t died first, you might’ve made a go of musicals.

"What movie is that from?" Dieter loves to get stoned and watch old movies. Having hundreds of channels that include a lot of classic movies, black and whites and even the great era of silent movies. There was something about that time that just appeals to him, the art of acting without saying a word. It took a lot more skill to portray emotion and your intent when you cannot say anything. "I'll have to look it up."

“Bernice Bobs Her Hair…” The film had been full of dances and a few good songs, all wrapped around that darling story by F. Scott Fitzgerald. It was supposed to be a breakout. Reignite your star. Instead you were dead on premiere night. “It was called Bernice Bobs Her Hair.”

“B something,” Dieter frowns, cocking his head as he reaches for the fridge. “The chick who was in it died the night it came out.” He snaps his fingers and yanks the door open to see what Kendra had left for him, “Ohhhhh Thai!”

"Thank god I looked good, at least." You huff, crossing your arms again as you try to figure out what he's tying as he takes things out of the icebox.

“Peanut sauce, fuck yes!” He could kiss his assistant, knowing he’s been on a Thai kick lately and she has put all his favorites in there. “I can reheat the samosas in the air fryer. That will be good.” He talks to himself. “Pad Thai, that omelet thing I can never say right. Fuckkkkkkk, she got me the green curry. Imma get fucked up and munch.”

He's got a boyish kind of charm to him as he zips around the kitchen, and if you could you would be leaning back against the counter to watch. As it is, the small sound of your laughter and the smile on your face is private, but you find yourself hoping he might continue to speak to himself out loud from time to time. It's nice to be able to pretend that he is actually talking to you.

Dieter straightens up and looks towards the counter near the fridge. “Oh shit. Forgive me. I don’t know how to live with a – a spirit.” He shrugs. “Do you want to join me? Can ghosts eat? Probably not right? Fuck. That would suck. I’m sorry.”

When he looks right at you, you feel your mouth fall open and your eyes double in size. "You— can you— see me?" It's just a coincidence. It has to be. He can't possibly be looking at you, right? Just...in your general direction...

“I swear to fuck you are right there.” He points at you and sighs. “Or you’re so goddamn lonely you’re inventing ghosts to have someone to talk to, Bravo.” He blows out a breath, wondering when he lost his fucking mind.

"I am right here." Moving away from the counter, you get closer to him and closer, wondering how it's possible at all for him to sense you. If he has any idea who you are. "I'm right in front of you..." you murmur, wondering what would happen if you reached out to try to touch him.

“Right.” Dieter drops his head and reaches up to rub his neck. “Time to do some cocaine.” He grunts, sure that he’s answered his own question. “Or maybe that new shit Kevin brought me.” It amused him to no end that his regular supplier’s name was Kevin. He had him in his phone as ‘Home Alone’ for kicks.

"Ooo, cocaine. How darling and nostalgic of you. I miss cocaine." When he walks away you can't help but sigh. Or you would, if you still drew breath. Instead you occupy yourself in the most entertaining way currently at your disposal: following around the living person in your house.

There's a reason Dieter loves to have ornate or even simple flat mirrors around his home. One, it reflects light and brightens any space up. Two, it's great for setting up a line for coke. Making him think of those 80's parties every time he uses his credit card to line one up to snort, he giggles. "Too bad I don't have one of those fancy rings where you open the little compartment to take a bump." He grunts, knowing he would always have that thing loaded.

“Find my jewelry box in the attic and you’ll find a few beauties.” You hum, setting yourself on the nearby chair to lounge. That’s all you can do these days and it’s terribly annoying.

Once the line is as perfect as he wants it, Dieter rolls up a five dollar bill and bends over the mirror. It's quick, the pain of snorting something up his nose long since faded, and he throws his head back at the rush of pure endorphins. Eyes closed as the feeling settles over him like a warm blanket and he groans, dropping his head back down and opening his eyes.

Only to give a yelp when he spots a woman lounging on one of his living room chairs. "What the fuck!"

“You can see me!” This time there is no mistaking it, and you practically bounce and clap your hands with glee. “Sugar, that magical white powder of yours is a little more magical than you think!”

"Who the fuck are you?" Dieter stumbles back and bumps into a table behind him, rocking the lamp but he doesn't pay it any attention. "How the fuck did you get in. I– look, I don't want a crazy fan in my house. I'll call the police!"

“Call the police all you want, handsome. They won’t be able to see what you’re so worried about.“ It had happened with the last owners — when you had gotten fed up with being ignored and invisible and dead you had gone on a good old fashioned haunting spree that resulted in everything from police being called to exorcisms being performed. The family finally moved out in a rush and the house had been empty for almost ten years. “And darlin’?” You drawl, delighted that he can actually hear you. “You’re the one in my house.”

"Your house?" Dieter shakes his head and blinks again. Swearing that he's on a bad trip, but there is a shimmeriness around you and your hair is very styled. Despite the fact that you are wearing a vintage dressing gown, with the feathered sleeves that seemed to be in every old movie from the classics. He frowns, blinking again and then it clicks. "Oh shit. I know who you are."

“Oh, really?” Practically preening at the idea that he might recognize you since he clearly has seen at least one of your films, you instinctively strike a pose in the chair. “Guess I just have one of those unforgettable faces,” you purr.

"You're dead though." He shakes his head again and throws out a lopsided grin. "But you look really good for a dead broad." He says your name and then pauses. "Right?"

“Right as rain.” You chirp happily. It’s been so long since you’ve even been seen that being recognized again seems like a faraway dream. “But who is this handsome fella that’s in my house with my bed in his room?”

It can't be real. It can't be. You died. A fucking long time ago. Dieter hums, realizing he must be in another one of those hallucinations of his. They are getting more and more vivid the longer he uses. Maybe his agent was right and he needed a stint in rehab. For now, he shrugs and introduces himself. "Dieter Bravo. I'm an actor too. Oscar winner." He adds.

“Oscar winner, huh?” The brag isn’t lost on you, and you bat your eyelashes at him in your old accustomed way. “A big shot.”

"Maybe." Despite his air of arrogance that he wears, Dieter is like most actors. Neurotic and craving validation and love. "To some."

“I would’ve had one,” you toss one hand in the air flippantly, delighted that he can actually see you do it. “But they didn’t start those things until after I died.”

“Really?” He hums and tilts his head. “What year?”

“What year did I die, you mean?” A dramatic sigh from you is an effort since you don’t need breath anymore, but it’s so fun to play. “I died October 27, 1928, sugar. Right here in this house.”

“How?” He asks with a frown. “I mean, you look great. You don’t look dead.”

“Well, aren't you sweet?” A girl does like a compliment now and then. Especially when she hasn’t had one in almost a hundred years. “It was poison, sweet thing. Should’ve known better than to let someone else mix my drinks.”

“You were poisoned?” Dieter looks alarmed, too alarmed for a death that happened nearly 100 years ago, but he’s looking around like the murderer would pop out at any moment.

“Tale as old as time, handsome.” You shrug your shoulders, having had plenty of time to process the betrayal. “My best friend was sleeping with my husband and they wanted me out of the way. Don’t know why he didn’t just ask for a divorce…probably so he could keep my money.”

“Fuck.” He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m sorry. Want a drink?” He asks, feeling comfortable enough to offer a ghost a drink. “Oh shit– no, you wouldn’t want me to pour you a drink. I’m an idiot.”

“If I could have a drink, I’d let you pour me one.” He seems sweet. A little lost. Maybe abandoned. But sweet. Like a puppy that needs to be pet more often.

“I can see you.” He reasons. “Maybe you can. After all…” he shrugs. “Ghosts can’t sit and you're lounging on my chair, sprawled theatrically.”

"Oh sugar, I can assure you that ghosts do sit. We do a hell of a lot of it, in fact. Or else we'd do nothing but float around or stand all day, and variety is the spice of...well...death."

“What else can you do?” Dieter latches onto the conversation with an eagerness that surprises him but it’s not everyday he converses with ghosts.

"I can push things over sometimes." You have managed that early on. Scaring the devil out of your husband and his plaything so frequently that they had abandoned the house and sold it as quickly as possible. "Flicker the lights. Cause breezes. You know...ghostly things."

“Hmmmm.” Dieter moves over to the bar and pours a glass of whiskey. “Come see if you can drink.” He urges you.

"I seriously doubt it, darlin', but why not." Shrugging your shoulders, you lift yourself up from the seat you had been lounging in and saunter over to the bar. It's been a hell of a long time before you were able to do anything at all, and this man – Dieter – is the first person who has been able to do as much as sense you in decades. Why not have a little fun? Once you're standing beside him you reach out, waggling your bejeweled fingers a little before attempting to wrap them around the glass. As hard as you can possibly concentrate, your hand slips right through the glass and the liquid inside, coming up empty.

“What if I hold it for you?” The rational part of his brain is screaming that it won’t work, but there’s this voice that keeps telling him to try.

“Why the hell not?” It won’t work, but it seems to amuse him to try, so you sway closer and tilt your head expectantly.

He's nervous, not because he needs to step closer to you, but because – what if this works?. He might be able to do something no one else has been and thats pretty fucking cool.

You really hate to see him get his hopes up, but indulgently tilt your head back for the liquid to – as expected – pass right through you to a puddle on the floor. “It’s alright, sugar,” you croon softly when he looks disappointed, and ingrained instinct makes you reach like you could somehow pat his face even though you’ve just proven the opposite. Imagine both of your surprise, then, when your cold hand neatly cups his burning hot cheek.

"OH SHIT!" Dieter jumps, nearly pulling away from your touch because of the temperature difference, but then he manages to keep contact. "Oh shit, you're– how? I thought you couldn't– what the fuck?"

“I don’t know— I don’t know!” As panicked as he is, you reel back instantly and stare at your hand, cradling it like it might combust. “I don’t know! That’s never happened before!”

"You touched me! Quick, do it again!" This time Dieter is reaching out for you. Seeing if he can touch a ghost and he yelps again when his fingers connect with you.

“How in the world?” It shouldn’t be possible. It doesn’t make sense. And yet— it’s happened.

"Oh god, are you sure you're a ghost?" Dieter frowns, fingers curling around your jaw, making sure it's not one of those celebrity masks things people sometimes wear. That you aren't tricking him even if he had just watched your drink pass through you. "You feel real."

“You’re the first person to have a feel in ninety-five years, darlin’.” And that in and of itself is why you’re sure this is actually happening. You were there — you remember every single one of those ninety-five years’ worth of days.

“Oh fuck, this is, this is so cool!” Dieter groans out with an ecstatic expression on his face.

“This is unbelievable.” Never in your entire afterlife have you ever tried to touch a living being. When Reggie and his trollop were still in the house you had haunted them right out into the street. The second owners could not have been more oblivious to your otherworldly presence if they had been doing it intentionally. The third had simply bored and annoyed you so deeply that you had spooked them just out of sheer habit. You had lost your zest for haunting for a long, long time. But this? This is utterly remarkable.

“This shouldn’t be happening, right?” Dieter asks, as if being a ghost makes you an expert on them. “What’s different? What’s making this happen?”

“Damned if I have any idea, sugar.” It’s almost too exciting to bear, but you test the thing by flexing your fingers against the rasp of stubble on his face. “But it’s never ever happened before.”

"Is it because I'm high?" He wonders. "My mind is just....in tune with the spirit world?"

“Maybe?” It’s impossible to know for sure, but your hands are making his face with enthusiasm because you’re afraid to touch his clothing and lose this magical ability to touch again.

Dieter reaches out and touches you again. "You feel so soft." He hums. "You've got a hell of a skincare routine."

“Being dead seems to have its advantages.” You joke with a wink. “Can’t wrinkle if you can’t age.”

"So you look like you did when you died?" He asks. "You were fucking sexier than the screen made you look."

“Why, Mr. Bravo, you flatter.” Even though your instinct is to close your eyes against the searing heat of him and how solid he feels against you, you’re fully afraid that if you do, he’ll disappear. And true to form, instead of facing fear, you continue to joke. “But really, gray makeup does no one any favors.”

"It had to be like that, right?" He asks curiously. Remembering the history of cinema classes that he had taken in college. "Because it would show up on film better?"

“Just so.” His hand is so broad it feels like it spans one entire half of your face. “But I always preferred red.”

"Red lips are always sexy." He murmurs, licking his own lips and glancing down at your painted red lips.

“Always?” The question hangs — if he’s going far enough out on that limb to actually be considering what he seems to be considering. And if you’re far enough out on that limb with him to go along.

"Always." He agrees, rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip. "Should I– would it be weird if I kissed you?" He asks. "For science?"

“Depends.” If you still had a heartbeat it would be frantic — excitement and nerves crawling up your spine. “Ever thought of kissing a woman born before 1900?”

"Am now." He admits with a self deprecating shrug. "I don't know if it counts, but I had a crush on Greta Garbo when I was a boy."

“Good taste.” You hum, chuckling from somewhere deep in your chest. “She was a hell of a woman.”

"You knew her?" He asks in surprise.

“Knew her?” You demure, all amusement and sly smile. “She was a remarkable kisser.”

"Really?" Dieter's eyes blow wide and he glances down at your lips again. "Are– were you– uh, lovers?"

“One or two parties that got a little out of hand.” A chuckle grows from your chest and you nudge his chin up to close his mouth, delighting in the not so simple act of touching him. “My husband wasn’t the only one dissatisfied with our marriage, I suppose.”

"So you're bi?" It's a fucking interesting development in the conversation and a fascinating one at that. “Uh, bisexual?” He isn’t sure if that phrase was used back then. “You like both sexes?”

“I used to just say ‘adventurous’.” You have heard the term, though. Through the decades you have learned a whole lot about the world.

"Adventurous." He chuckles quietly and smirks. "Then I guess I'm 'adventurous' too." He admits. "But I want to kiss you."

“We can try.” His hands on your skin feel burning when you didn’t think you could ever feel anything again — so wouldn’t it be foolish not to try?

“Let me know if you– uh, feel anything.” He’s honestly not sure if he’s so high he’s imagining things, or this is real, but it feel like the greatest fucking high of his life. Holding onto the silky waist of the dressing gown and leaning in to press his lips to yours ever so gently.

The last fading memory of a kiss that you have is from the night you died, and it is one of the most melancholy things to have past those lips of yours that you can still remember. This, comparatively, is like being set on fire even when it only lasts a second. The sound of a gasp comes from one of you — likely him, all things considered — but you could swear the world has turned on its axis just a touch, in letting the living and the dead collide like this.

Your lips are cold and yet the reason Dieter shivers isn’t because of that. It’s from the tingling, the way that his hair raises on the back of his neck and his cock starts to harden. He’s kissing a ghost and he likes it.

“Impossible…” Yet it’s undeniable. It happened. You both experienced it. A living man and the ghost of a woman long dead, sharing a kiss.

“Again.” Dieter demands, taking a step closer to you and sliding his hand down to your waist. “I want another kiss.”

There shouldn’t be any way in hell this is possible, especially with him now touching your robe instead of your skin, but you can feel him. The breadth of his hand on your back, his chest presses against yours, hot breath fanning over your face and the hardness against your hip. It’s all real. “Happily.” You hear yourself groan out, diving back into another impossible kiss.

This time there is tongue. Making him groan into your spiritual mouth and tighten his hold on you. Unable to believe this is happening and not another hallucination, he pulls back. “Pinch me.” He demands. “Scratch me, something.”

It should surprise no one that the shade of deep red on your lips matches your nails, and even though your eyebrows pinch with the same disbelief and confusion as his, you rake your nails down his forearm and gasp when they leave behind a trail of equally red marks in their wake. “How?” Is all you can ask, knowing that neither of you has an answer.

“I don’t know, but goddamn that felt good.” Dieter moans quietly. He slides his hand up, cupping a breast and pinching your nipple through the silken material of your dressing gown.

The gasp you let out shouldn’t be possible either, but the fact that you seem to be solid under his touch and him solid to yours is exquisite. Coupling that with an arousal like you haven’t felt in almost a century and you’re dragging him back to you by the fabric of his shirt, willing to live in this miracle for as long as it lasts. To feel alive again.

Making out with a ghost isn’t something that he could have imagined when he arrived at his new house, but he’s enjoying it. Backing you up, he presses you to the wall as he continues to kiss you.

It pulls another gasp from you, shocked when you don't instantly evaporate through the wall like normal. Somehow – some way – in touching and being touched by him, you are solid again. You can swear you almost feel your heart beating. Racing out of time as you start to pull at his clothing and he blindly attempts to untie the sash holding your robe in place.

“What the fuck?” Dieter hisses, breaking away from the kiss to look down at the knot on your robe. “Who the fuck tied this?”

"I did." But now, in retrospect, you huff about it along with him. "To discourage my louse of a husband."

“Fuck.” He grunts, shaking his head. “We need– fuck, the bedroom, we need to go to the bedroom.”

"Afraid to let go–" You admit, fingers still tangled in his shirt as you both pant for breath. To pant is such an exquisite sensation that you cannot possibly describe it and you must look positively ecstatic in the moment.

“Then don’t.” Dieter chuckles, deciding that he will be putting the weight training for his last film to good use when he pulls up your dressing gown and grabs your thighs to lift you up. “Fuck, you feel heavy for a ghost.” He grunts as he picks you up.

"Rude." A single swat at his chest is nothing, and you rope your arms around his shoulders to press hot kisses along the column of his neck while he moves down the hall.

Dieter groans, hands cupping your ass he stumbles towards his new bedroom. Trying to remember the way when half the blood meant for his brain is operating his cock. Realizing that you are no longer cold, but almost scorching hot in his arms.

"Your left! Not my left!" You mumble against his skin, giggling and trying to give him directions when you refuse to detach yourself from kissing any part of him that you can manage.

“Fuck. Fucking new/old house.” He grunts. “Fuck, you’re so sexy. You know that? I bet you had all your co-stars wanting to fuck you.”

"A few of them did." His fingers digging into your ass brush perilously close to your pussy and you moan. "But you've fucked some of yours, too, sugar."

“Yes.” He groans, pulling you against his cock. “Fucked them, ate them out, sucked them off. Whatever we felt like doing.”

"Bet you want to add me to that list right about now, don't you, sugar?" The nickname has stuck, and you've decided you like it. Leaning back in his arms and finding both your body and clothing have returned entirely to the corporeal plane, your eyes find his with the same fire he is feeling now. "I can feel how much you want me."

"Fuck, do I want you." He groans, unable to believe that he's ever wanted someone this bad, but how do you explain the attraction to a 100 year-old ghost? "I'm going to strip you down and bury my tongue and cock in your ghostly cunt. See what filling it with my cum looks like." At least here, he's almost certain there's zero chance of catching something or a pregnancy scandal.

As soon as he sets you down on the bed he’s diving into it after you, covering your body with his and drowning in kisses that make your head spin as you tug at the knot you tied in your robe. It is amazing how your skin has warmed up. Gone from being a muted color to technicolor. Like you are being brought to life by his touch. His mouth drags over your shoulder when the silk slips down and he bites. Chuckling in absolute delight when he leaves behind imprints on your skin.

With your head tossed back on the blankets you revel in a moan, looking up at him with eyes that feel hazy but have not seen this clearly in years. “If we only get tonight, let’s make the most of it. Sound good, sugar?”

“Absolutely.” He moans in agreement, ecstatic that you seem to be on the same wavelength as he is. Maybe that’s why this is happening. Your spirit is touching his. “I’ve never eaten haunted pussy before.” He jokes as he kisses down your body and pulls the gown down over one breast to latch onto it.

“Can’t say that again passed tonight.” You chuckle, gasping at the searing heat and eager grasping of his mouth on your flesh. It is electric in a way you have never been able to describe and adds to the incredible miracle that is tonight. “Good thing about being dead is that the pussy stayed shaved.”

“Very good thing.” He mouths from around your breast, hands pulling open the dressing gown when you finally get the sash untied.

The last time you felt a breeze on your skin was so long ago that you moan at it, back arching into him as he exposes your body to the bright electric lights and air from the open window. The fingers of one hand are in his curly hair and your other is pulling at his shirt, wanting him as bare as you are for everything that is to come.

He’s reluctant to let you go, but he has to. Has to hurry to pull his clothes off so he can have the wildest encounter that he could probably never even talk about.

Soft and strong is always how you’ve liked your men, and the corded muscles in his arms and back — when you catch a glimpse — that give way to a soft middle and full cheeks are just your type. When he’s entirely bare and pushing your silk robe away from your body with every ounce of concentration he has, you instinctively spread your legs wide for him to take his place between them.

“Fuck, I’ve never – fuck.” He groans, knowing that you will understand what he’s meaning. It’s not like you’ve done this either from what you’ve told him. Kissing and nipping down your body, it’s interesting to hear you moan at the sensation. “Here goes.” His eyes flick up to your face before he dives into your cunt.

The moan you let out is deep and unbridled, as earnest as you are eager to watch every single moment. You lean up on one elbow to prop yourself up, raking the fingers of your other hand through his hair to get yourself the best view possible. He’s gloriously messy — enthusiasm over technique — and it makes it all the more hedonistic to moan and sigh at the sensations you know are coming from the deepest depths of desire.

You feel real, you taste real. There’s nothing about this that would indicate that there’s nothing beyond a gorgeous, horny woman in his bed and Dieter is here for it. Moaning into your damp folds as he tries to find which flick of his tongue drives you wild.

Everything feels good, and if you weren’t always a ‘the deeper the better’ kind of girl in life, you certainly are in your afterlife. Simultaneously too much and not enough, the not enough side is winning a little more every second. Dieter pushes your thighs wider with his shoulders and shoves a hand up, desperate to feel himself deep inside you, even if it’s just his fingers. Wanting to see how high pitched your breathy moans can get.

"Fuck–fuck–right there, baby. Oh god–" When he finds that perfect place it has your hips rolling and your back arching off the bed, chasing every pump of his fingers and flick of his tongue. The sensations are divine combined with your own hand pinching and pulling your nipples to add another lick of sharp pleasure to the symphony. Even touching yourself feels amazing after so long with nothing at all.

Dieter groans, soaking up the praise, the moans. Doubling down and flicking his tongue even faster as his jaw works open and closed. Despite being dead, your cunt is dripping for him, coating his fingers in slick that makes it easier to push them deeper, curl them up more as he works you open.

Rambling praise takes over, your mind finding a measure of ecstasy in the ability in the simple fact that he can hear you while he is feasting on your pussy and fucking his fingers as deep inside you as they will go. It's only when your scrambled, breathy monologue starts to stutter and break that he knows how close you are – that, and the tight grip you have on his curls as you start to shake beneath him.

Panting, he grinds his hard cock into the mattress. Moaning as you tug on his hair, making his scalp burn and continuing to affirm that this is not a dream. Curling his fingers up one last time and sucking your clit into his mouth as your body bows up underneath his touch. The moment that snaps the thread of tension in your body is when the fingernails of his free hand bite into your thigh at the same point he curls the fingers of his other hand and barely scrapes his teeth along your swollen clit. The force of all three sensations makes your vision go white, and for the first time since all of this began, your eyes fall blissfully shut while your body shakes with the force of your orgasm.

He feels the way your entire body relaxes, slumping down into the bed. Humming to himself as he slowly works you through that blissful high. Keeping his fingers buried inside you as his tongue licks up every drop of your pleasure.

"Hell in a handbasket." Sighing out, you soothe your fingers against his scalp and grin down at him when he licks the last drop of cum from your cunt. "Get up here, sugar. Let me ride you."

“You want to ride?” His head pops up in surprise. He had expected you to want to be treated after so long, but he can’t deny the idea of a ghost riding his cock is appealing.

“Not very fair to make you do all the work, handsome.” Your smile is lopsided instead of pointed now, lazily drawn across your mouth like the human iteration of a contented house cat. “And I wouldn’t want to be rude to my new house guest.”

“Aren’t you technically my guest?” He lets you pull him up and roll him over onto his back. “Since it’s my house now?”

“Semantics.” Once he is on his back, you pin him down with one knee on either side of his thighs and wrap one hand around his cock to pump his length a few times experimentally. The precum beaded at the top is pearlescent and musky, the scent of sex from your own climax filling your nostrils and giving you the thrill of yet another sense coming back to life.

“Oh shit.” He grunts out, twitching in your hand. “I– fucking hell, please, please, put your mouth on me.”

“Ooo, he begs.” It’s a delightful discovery, and you obligingly bend over to kitten lick the tip of his cock just to see how beautifully he’ll groan.

Dieter is a whiny, spoiled little bastard who is given everything he wants because that’s how you treat celebrities, but he will beg. He will beg for anything and everything in bed. Slightly more submissive than most people expect. He moans your name loudly and closes his eyes as his hips rock up.

“Watch, sugar.” Something about it, the magical quality perhaps or what feels like literal magic, makes you want to keep him in this bubble with you. This state of hyper awareness. Your mouth hovers over the tip of his cock and you give it a long kick to get his attention. “You’re gonna watch me just like I watched you.”

Dieter whimpers, opening his eyes obediently. As soon as he sees the length of his cock disappear down your spectorly throat, he moans, twisting his fingers into the sheets under him. “Fuck, fuck, I’m getting my dick sucked by the hottest fucking ghost I’ve ever seen.” The fact that you’re the only ghost he’s seen is a moot point.

You chuckle low, deep in your throat, and it vibrates around his girthy length as you start to bob your head deliberately. Slowly. Wanting to savor every second of this for as long as it lasts. If you didn’t have a mouth full of him you’d be teasing him about the other ghosts he’s seen to compare you to, but you just don’t care. Not right now. Not with him at your mercy.

"Holy shit." He hisses, moaning loudly. "You're so good. Did you just– fuck, spend the last hundred years practicing on a ghost banana?"

It makes you chuckle again, and instead of answering you take him that much deeper. If he thinks you were showing off before? Just wait.

His toes curl, scrunching his feet up as you apparently have every intent of sucking his soul out through his dick. Could he die from a blowjob? It seems possible. “Fuck, baby doll.”

He wanted your mouth so he’s going to get every benefit of your focus right up until he can’t stand it any longer. He throbs against your swirling tongue, twitching in your mouth and against your fingertips where you are stroking the last few inches of his length that don’t easily fit in your mouth — there’s no way you’re ruining your vacation from ghost-hood by accidentally choking on a cock.

"Fuck, do you swallow?" Dieter moans. "You should swallow, I want– oh fuck." You keep sucking, pulling him closer every heartbeat until his vision blacks out, the hoarse cry ripping out of his throat.

Spurt after spurt of hot cum jettisons down your throat as his body bares down on itself, muscles tightening and extremities curling. The man is a geyser and every time he pumps more cum into your willing, waiting mouth you groan loudly and swallow around him. The feeling of being truly alive is not one that you are going to take for granted tonight and he is making it all the more memorable by just giving in to those most basic of human needs. There is nothing sexier than a person who has completely given themself over to the feeling of pleasure, and by the time you lift your head from Dieter’s cock, he has absolutely done that.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" Dieter yelps the last curse, feeling like you are sucking so hard it's to the point that it hurts, keeping him hard. He must have snorted that batch of coke that he had mixed viagra in, because he normally is a one and done for at least an hour kind of guy.

When he doesn’t soften at all after cumming your throat in cum, you pull off of him with one raised eyebrow and smirk. “You still alive there, sugar? Can’t have both of us dying in this house.”

He pants out a laugh and manages to lift his head to look down at where you are grinning up at him, your hand still wrapped around his hard cock. "Not dead. More alive than I've ever been."

“That makes two of us.” Giving his cock another few strokes, you shift forward and comb your fingers through his sweat-damp curls. “You want more, handsome?”

“Want everything.” He groans quietly. “You want to ride me, or you want me to fuck you?”

“Want everything.” You echo him with a sly grin and shift forward. “I’m gonna ride you to the edge and then you’re going to fuck me as hard as you can. Got it, sugar?”

"Fuck, I didn't know people were so fucking dirty back then." He groans, twitching against his stomach as you drag your wet cunt over him. "I think I would like it back then."

“The Kama Sutra is hundreds of years old,” you remind him with a throaty chuckle. “So is pornography and promiscuity.” Positioning yourself over his cock, you start to sink down slowly and sigh out in absolute bliss. “Humans have always loved to fuck.”

“Ghosts too, apparently.” He moans, grabbing onto your very solid hips as you settle down on his cock. “Fuuuuuuuuuck.”

“Least ghostly I’ve been in ages.” It’s also the first time since death you’ve experienced something as human as being aroused and it’s entirely liberating. “Maybe this thick cock is magic.”

He starts to giggle out of a groan when you clench around him. "Magic stick." He grunts, rocking his hips up. "It attracts allll the ghostly nymphos." He jokes, sliding his hand down to press against your clit.

“They can line — oh, baby — up.” You let your head drop back but your eyes are still open, arms raised up to let your tits bounce as you start to ride him in earnest.

He's never had someone ride him so fucking enthusiastically. It might be because it's the first time you've been able to feel in a hundred years, but he will take what he can get. Unable to fucking believe that this is happening, although the pressure around his dick and the way the bed creaks and groans proves that it's real.

The slight change in the angle of his hips when he plants his feet on the mattress has you crying out again and nearly growling. “That’s it, sugar.” And “Oh Fuck!” And “More, baby.” Echo through the room with the slap of skin on skin. The volume seems to rise along with the pleasure you’re both receiving, so it is nothing short of a beautiful noise the more you ride him.

Breaking in the new bed in his new house is an experience he could never, ever top. His hands slide from your hips up to the headboard and he wraps his fingers around the scrolled metal. Hanging on and using it as leverage to thrust up into you harder.

He propels you forward, losing your balance slightly so that you end up having to brace yourself with both hands on his chest and your tits bouncing in his face, but you really don't think that either of you minds. Instead, your fingertips instinctively dig into his chest, biting half-moon marks into his skin. Leaning forward changes the angle of his thrusts, letting him strike against entirely different places inside you, and you whimper softly without even realizing it when he scrubs against that perfect spot inside you to make you see stars.

“Right there?” His pants, recognizing the glazed look on your face. “Yeah, fuck, that’s the spot.” Despite the drugs that are pumping through his system, or perhaps because of it, he is attuned to the way you react.

"Right there." It has you breathless, how good it feels and how solid and real the feeling is.

"Holy shit." The feeling of you around him has him rolling his eyes back, your cunt even better than your mouth if possible. "Want to see you cum."

It certainly won't take long, not with the way his cock is shredding up inside you, and your previously loud moans are quickly being replaced with high pitched pants the closer you get to your own climax. Having the breath fucked out of you is such a stark difference from the existence you've been leading for the last many decades and it's such a welcome change. It takes barely another minute – maybe two – before you're sobbing out filthy praise and clenching down on his cock to wrench every last drop of pleasure from the moment that you can.

There's nothing sexier than a woman cumming, but you? You take his breath away. Steal it from his very lungs as your lusty sobs reverberates through him. Taking control and rocking up into you, working you through the most intense orgasm of your existence.

“Fuck.” Breathed out shakily as you let yourself fall down to his chest, your fingers comb through his curls and tug on the strands sharply as you’ve found that he likes.

He moans quietly, twitching inside you and humming as he lets go of the bed to wrap his arms around you to roll you under him. Eager to find his own release again and see how it looks dripping out of your cunt.

“That’s it, sugar.” Sprawled out on your back underneath him, you wrap your legs around his waist and tangle your hands in his sheets. “Take what you need.”

Dieter is normally not aggressive but there is something about your tone, your words, that spurs him on. Setting his jaw, Dieter starts to rock into you, keeping his pace harsh. Thrusting deep and moaning when you roll your hips.

Unconsciously mirroring him from just moments ago, you reach above your head and grasp the bars of your headboard. Every time he thrusts into you he shakes the whole frame, bouncing your tits and his curls and everything around you. The bed creaks and threatens to give but you know it won't – this one single piece of furniture is as sturdy as the whole house. It was made for you to fuck in.

"Fuck baby, fuck." Dieter growls, jack hammering his hips as he fills you again and again. Unable to brace his body above yours any more and dropping down to his elbows. He can't believe that he is still going, but he can't stop. He won't stop.

As much he wants to give or take, you are here for every second of it. With his head buried in your neck and the rhythm of his hips starting to stutter, your moan and whimpers are a symphony mixed with his own.

It flashes through his mind that this is some sort of sick hoax, that you are and have always been real, but he can’t worry about that right this second. The second that his mind goes blank to everything but his body’s needs and he thrusts deep, slamming his hips forward and groaning your name as a prayer.

“That’s it, sugar,” you croon again, this time cradling him close as rope after rope of hot cum fills you to the brim.

“Oh God.” Dieter pants, snuggling deeper and not sure if or when you might disappear, so he holds on tight.

“Hardly.” Your typical, throaty giggle rides through your body and you stroke his back gently. “But I’ll take the praise if that’s the mood you’re in.”

“Hmmmm.” He hums and shifts so he is not weighing you down, rolling to his side and bringing you with him. “I’ll give it.” He murmurs, suddenly sleepy after the vigorous sex and starting to come down from his high. “Stay.” He mumbles quietly, rubbing your back this time.

“You’re in my house, remember?” This time your laugh is a little less indulgent, tinged with worry as you wonder how much longer you’ll be able to feel him. Speak to him. Have him see you. “But I’ll try.”

“That’s right.” He smiles, turning his head and pressing his lips to your sweat damp hair. “But this is a spirit friendly bed.”

“I hope so,” you murmur, watching as he snuggles in next to you and lets his eyes drift close with a sigh. “I truly hope so, sugar.”

******

Dieter opens his eyes, slowly peeling them apart and blinking to try to get rid of the gritty feeling. “Baby doll?” His voice is rough with sleep and he had expected you to be weighing him down. “Where are you?” For a moment, for a split second he had thought he dreamed it. His gaze finding its way to the picture on the wall that he hadn’t noticed last night. A portrait of a woman, of you, gorgeously sprawled on a chaise with a sultry smile and ruby red lips.

He is almost convinced that the best night of his life was a figment of his imagination as he moves. Until it catches his eye. Red. More specifically, red lips. The sight of kisses scattered over his body and down under the sheet. Making him lift them to see lipstick wrapped around his cock, hard this morning and it makes him grin.

It hadn’t been a dream.

______

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 @katheriner1999 @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

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #Dieter Bravo x female reader #Dieter Bravo x f!reader #ghost reader #The Bubble #Spooktober #sexy and spooky #haunted sex #drug use

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0-solshroom-0 · 2 years

Text

For the @drinkwithme-exchange

I got to give a gift to @wheresurboytonighthelookslikeenj and I chose the duo Eponine and Marius from their favorite friendships! I really hope you like it, I write some fanfiction but I’ve never written for Les Mis before so I did my very best. It’s modern au i hope that is okay with you 💕

(disclaimer: do not cycle your tank for an hour, it takes from several days up to 2 weeks to cycle a tank properly but for the purposes of this fanfiction I bent the rules. do proper research before buying a fish! Do not be like Marius)

Eponine had assumed it was an emergency. No, not assumed, was told it was an emergency. Marius barely understood how to use his phone to call someone, let alone text. So when he had texted her to “come over right now, it is the biggest emergency in the world,” she had assumed it was pretty important. What she had not expected was to see Marius on his living room floor clutching a fish bowl.

“Pontmercy..?” Eponine murmured as she finally stepped in the doorway.

“Eponine I accidentally won a goldfish from the carnival and I have no idea what to do with it.” Marius spoke all at once, words jumbling together.

Eponine knelt down next to him, and sure enough in the tiny glass bowl was a rather sad looking orange fish swimming lazily in a circle. “Well… it can’t stay in that.”

“I know, I need a bigger bowl.”

Eponine shook her head. “Definitely not. You need an actual fish tank. And tank decorations… and a filter and food. And probably a bunch of other stuff as well. Good lord Marius did you think this through?”

“I didn’t mean to win the goldfish!” Marius insisted, “I had gone to the carnival with Courfeyrac and then everyone else showed up and we were all taking turns playing this game, but no one was doing well and we all thought it was funny and then it was my turn and somehow I didn’t do badly and now I have a goldfish.”

“You couldn’t have gotten a giant stuffed monkey or something cheesy like that? It had to be a goldfish?” Eponine laughed, shaking her head.

“The lady had already handed me the bowl! I panicked!” Marius insisted.

Eponine laughed a bit more, “You’re panicking again! We see what kind of bad decisions you make when panicked, so let’s calm down yeah? Come on, put the fish on the shelf. We’ll go to the pet store down the way and everything will be fine.”

The trip to the pet store was much more eventful then either of them could have hoped, with Marius almost tripping into the wall of fish tanks, Eponine getting startled by the geckos, and finally the two asking a lady in the shop for help only to realize that Marius’s new pet was going to require a much bigger tank then initially thought.

“Twenty gallons for one little guy…” Marius sighed, shook his head, and continued carrying buckets of water between the sink and the new fish tank, which sat on the coffee table in the middle of his living room as there was nowhere else to put it.

Eponine laughed, arranging plants and wood around in the tank that was slowly rising in water level with each bucket full. “You signed up for this Marius, next time don’t be so good at carnival games, or give the fish to Jehan or someone I don’t know.”

“I just spent two hundred dollars in a pet store Eponine, this is madness.” Marius sighed.

“You could have given the fish away if it was that big of a problem.”

Marius looked offended, “No, I love him. Leave Marius Jr. out of this.”

“Marius Jr.? That’s the best you could come up with?” Eponine raised an eyebrow.

“Uhm…” He glanced around nervously before sighing, “Yes…”

“Well… I guess if that’s what you want.” She laughed as Marius added the last bucket of water. “Okay, I guess now we just wait on the heater to warm the water and then put the fish in?”

Eponine shrugged, “Do I look like a fish expert?”

“You knew it couldn’t live in a bowl.”

“Everyone with a brain knows a fish can’t live in a bowl.” Eponine gently flicked his forehead.

“I have a brain. Courfeyrac told me once that I am very intelligent.” Marius crossed his arms over his chest.

“Courfeyrac also wholeheartedly believes the gnomes in Musichetta’s garden come to life at night and swap places, so that’s not helping your case much.” Eponine chuckled, sitting on the couch. “Don’t trip over that extension cord by the way. It was the only way I could get the filter plugged in.”

“I won’t.” He nodded, taking a seat next to her.

“Famous last words. C’mon, let’s watch something while we wait on this fish tank to actually be suitable for fish. There’s a new crime documentary on Netflix I wanted to check out.”

“Eponine if I watch a crime documentary I won’t sleep tonight.” Marius insisted.

“You’ll be fine.”

Marius paused, and for a moment the two were in a stare off before he finally sighed. “Fine, but only because you helped me set up the fish tank…”

One crime documentary later, Marius Jr. the goldfish was happily swimming in his new home. Marius was in a trance watching the little fish swim back and forth between pieces of wood.

Eponine laughed. “Worth all the trouble?”

“Definitely.”

#les miserables #les mis #les amis #marius #eponine #drink with me #drinkwithme2022

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tryst-art-archive · 1 year

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October 2012: "Please Take My Card Away"

Every so often, I come into some money and get a little reckless. The amount of money varies, ranging anywhere from one hundred and fifty dollars to three hundred dollars. Admittedly, those are still pretty pitiful sums in the scheme of things, but they’re not chump change either. Whatever the precise amount, it’s usually a larger sum than I’ve had sitting in my wallet or lounging in my checking account for a long time, and magically one hundred and fifty dollars transforms from two weeks of hard work or three potential trips to the grocery store into enough money to buy four or five of the Nice Things I’ve had my eye on for the past few months. My logical mind always knows that what I’m holding is Practical Money—just enough for things like bills and food and T passes—but somehow I’ll manage to forget that factoid and start seeing my newfound wealth as Riches—plenty for food and bills and T passes and socks and shoes and video games and decorations and artists’ works and movie tickets and fancy dinners and tasty snacks and clothes and books and music and so forth and so on. The end result is invariably two weeks to a month in which, while waiting on the arrival of three pairs of five-dollar striped socks and a copy of Spec Ops: The Line, I don’t eat a whole lot, but when I do it’s at Elephant & Castle and I insist on paying for my companion.

One such occasion arrived with the first semester of my senior year of college. I had spent the summer in the role of [Company Name Redacted]’s design intern—a peculiar unpaid position which left me both blindingly certain that I needed to get out of school in order to be happy and equally convinced that perhaps, maybe, my life plan wasn’t going to hold up—and had, as a result, only managed to scrape by through the generosity of my family and the sturdiness of my savings account, now sadly depleted. The return of school brought with it the return of my job—I’d been working in [college]’s print shop and mailroom since the day I’d come to the school and though I only make around minimum wage, I’ve given over the majority of my weekday free time to [Different Company Name Redacted], resulting in cold hard cash—and thus the return of a stable income. I’d arranged to work twenty-four hours per week which, with paychecks coming biweekly, worked out to a little over three hundred dollars per pay period. After three long months of nothing but the basics, that first three hundred dollar check looked like a fortune, and I immediately, unconsciously, sought out something to splurge on.

PAX East—a Boston-based video game convention run by the creators of webcomic Penny Arcade—has been a staple of my year since it first took place in March of 2010. It’s expanded rapidly over its short life, being forced to move from the Hynes Convention Center after the first year to the Boston Convention and Exhibition Center for the second year and now PAX East 2013 has sold out of three-day passes within one day of those passes going up for sale, surprising its creators who, like so many others, foolishly believed there was little to know [sic] interest for “that sort of thing” out here on the east coast. Silly boys.

I went to PAX East 2010 first because the notion of a three-day event entirely about video games excited me unspeakably and secondly because I’d never been to anything remotely like a convention before and I rather suspected I’d enjoy it. I was entirely right; I loved the experience to death, even the boring parts, even though I went that year with a boyfriend who would be a hated ex in a mere month, even though I was in the worst phase of an eight-year depression at the time. I adored the exhibit halls where one could preview recently or soon-to-be released games and buy Chessex dice for your favorite table-top roleplaying game. There were tables for trying out every board game, card game, and pen-and-paper roleplaying game one could think of; there were tournaments for fans of Magic: The Gathering and contests for the best-dressed cosplayers (folks dressed in elaborate, detailed costumes of their favorite video game characters) and an overwhelming swath of free giveaways, including the massive swag bag guests received for simply walking in the door. PAX East boasted a huge array of panels from industry professionals and celebrities both in the digital and analog gaming communities, for those interested in discussion, and there were rooms of arcade cabinets, PlayStations, Xboxes, and PCs where one could borrow any game they wished for an hour. An entire hallway was cordoned off and filled with massive bean bag chairs so that people could sit with their handheld systems and play games with these stranger-brethren who gathered to PAX East with them. At night, musical artists like Metroid Metal, the Video Game Orchestra, and Jonathan Coulton provided concerts for PAX East’s guests, and throughout the whole convention one massive competition—the OmegaThon—was held to determine who was the all around best gamer at PAX that year. The concerts were almost a spiritual experience for me—I am not religious, but something about standing there watching an orchestra play an array of songs that not only meant an entire childhood to me but to all of the hundreds of people standing and sitting with me resonated in the way I imagine church resonates for the religious—and I loved the panelists for intellect. The cosplayers had my admiration for their skill, the bravery I thought it must take to put on that costume and pretend to be that character for no other reason than frivolous passion, and the sheer joy on their faces. I spent something like two hundred dollars, not counting ticket price, that first year, forty of which was solely on dice, and I came away with the absolute knowledge that I would attend PAX East for every year that I lived even remotely near Boston and that one day, I, too, would cosplay.

I did not cosplay at PAX East 2011, though I spent most of the autumn leading up to it thinking I’d don a Team Fortress 2 costume—a Scout or an Engineer. I simply never got around to constructing it; I am dreadfully lazy. For PAX East 2012, I managed to throw together a generic fantasy costume from odds and ends around my apartment—I’ve owned a purple cloak for at least six years and a pale green corset for perhaps two and these, in combination with alternately a beach wrap from 2002 or a long, rust skirt from my Irene Adler Halloween costume of 2011 worked out to something resembling a mysterious elf lady from a fantasy painting who was really risking her skin on the BCEC’s many escalators—but it wasn’t a character from anything in particular; it was a costume, not a cosplay. Perhaps it is no surprise then that when I found myself with three hundred dollars and PAX East 2013 six months away, I decided that I would create a cosplay costume; I would be Chell, the protagonist from Valve’s beloved video games Portal and Portal 2.

I began the search at work in the mailroom one day. It was a slow day with few customers and very little mail to sort, and I was bored. I did not, initially, think that I would put together a cosplay in a serious fashion. I merely wondered how easy it would be; was it possible? I had recently purchased a white tank top from ThinkGeek with the logo of the game’s fictional research laboratory, Aperture Science, emblazoned on the front. I knew the Portal 2 model of Chell well enough to know I needed about four to five more pieces to have her full look. What if it was easy? What if I could be Chell?

I decided to search out the little things first. She wore a dark gray pants-like something under a cerulean tanktop, white tank top, and orange jumpsuit. The jumpsuit, in the Portal 2 model, was unzipped and tied at her waist. She also wore Long Fall Boots—fictional footwear that enables its wearer to fall for any distance and fail to completely decimate their legs upon landing—and carried a Portal Gun—an equally fictional, vaguely gun-shaped device for creating two linked portals which defy space, enabling a person to move between them regardless of any intervene distance, gravity, or logic—and wore her hair in a ponytail. There were white bandages around one of her wrists.

I spent some time staring at various images and renderings of Chell before deciding that the gray, pants-like something was going to have to be spandex shorts. I remained undecided as to what, exactly, the gray, sheer swatch at her midriff was meant to represent, but I figured spandex or athletic shorts would get the point across just fine. As I mentioned before, I am terribly lazy, and so I don’t own anything even remotely akin to athletic wear, nor do I know where one goes to buy such things. I polled my coworkers on the subject, but they weren’t much help, so I decided to go with general clothing stores. I subsequently spent some time on the websites of GAP, Old Navy, Kohl’s, Target, Sears, and Macy’s. None of these turned up results I particularly liked, and certainly not in the shade or size I wanted or needed (I have a very large bum; clothing companies do not cater to people whose bum is twice as large, proportionally, as the rest of them). So I turned to eBay, scummy savior of us all, and wound up purchasing a pair of dark gray spandex shorts—“One Size Fits All,” it said, and I laughed, thinking how quickly my bum would destroy those shorts. The answer turned out to be a single wearing. Not the moment I put them on, quite, but near enough to; they now have a lovely seam along the butt crack that certainly wasn’t there before, but it’s not visible when I have the jumpsuit on.

At this juncture it became apparent that I was actually going to do it; I was going to make the costume. I immediately set about finding the cerulean tank top to go underneath my white Aperture Science one. This took an absurdly long time, though I searched many of the same places I had for the shorts, and for many of the same reasons. Shirt sizes, fortunately, are not a problem for me—I am almost always a Small, regardless of brand, though if the style calls for cleavage and low necklines, then I either need an extra-small or, more likely, probably just can’t wear it at all—and that was not the trouble here. No, the trouble was the particular shade of cerulean. Oh, there were plenty of light blue athletic tank tops out there, but none of them quite matched the light sky blue with the subtlest hint of yellow that Chell’s tiny scrap of visible under shirt displayed. I think I spent something like two hours trying to find the perfect shirt; it was certainly more time than I’d spent on the pants. In the end, I wound up giving target thirty dollars for a pretty ugly athletic tank in a nerve-wracking extra small. It was the closest match to the color that I could find, though everything else about it displeased me and shelling out thirty bucks chafed. When it finally arrived—I ordered it online; I couldn’t be bothered to try and get myself to a physical Target, not without a car—it turned out that the built-in sports bra was tight enough to restrict my breathing. “Oh well,” I thought. “I paid thirty dollars for it; I’m going to wear it.” (I never return things; I don’t like being an inconvenience to anyone but myself.)

I figured the bandages would be easily obtained at the Chinatown CVS, and they did turn out to be, and I already had the haircut for Chell’s ponytail. That left the three distinctive items—the orange jumpsuit which had, on closer inspection of images of Chell, a number of fine details; the Portal Gun which I could either buy an over-priced replica of or I could make; and the Long Fall Boots that I would have to make, no matter what. It was several days before I decided what to do about any of these items. The cheapest Portal Gun replica was one hundred dollars on ThinkGeek and sold out until December; there were a number of orange jumpsuits and coveralls to choose from but half of them were low-quality “prisoner” Halloween costumes and the other half were proper, working man’s coveralls only ever available in men’s sizes and typically costing a minimum of forty dollars. There was also a replica of Chell’s very specific jumpsuit available for one hundred dollars, but it wouldn’t be released until October 15th. As to the Long Fall Boots, making them was a daunting prospect. The in-game boots were heelless with a metal strut extending from the back of the calf to the floor that took Chell’s weight, her foot arched as though she wore a high heel. The black-and-white boots also had a massive open section at the shin and were, apparently, held on by straps there; the whole boot needed to stop just short of the knee and had a handful of black designs to be accounted for.

I do not sew, and I do not know how to operate a lathe. I also was getting three hundred dollars every two weeks and, following a painful and on-going break up, found that my living expenses and, particularly, food bill had dropped to a mere fifty bucks. I didn’t go out much, without the gentleman caller, and when I did it was to see my gaming group; I didn’t eat much, because my response to break ups is to unintentionally starve myself, and when I did I ate poorly and certainly not at restaurants or via Foodler; my rent and bills all amounted to very little compared with my previous lease, and so I knew I could have those well in hand. In short: I had disposable income, and I knew it. I did not sew; I did not know how to operate a lathe; I did not want to cut PVC or sand foam blocks into round shapes or figure out how to wire LEDs; I was and am terribly lazy: I dropped the hundred for the replica of Chell’s jumpsuit when it was released on the 15th, and I made mental plans to drop another hundred on the Portal Gun in December. In the meantime, a twenty dollar plush Companion Cube—another distinctive prop from the game—would suffice as a prop for the cosplay. Sufficient for Halloween at least. I can’t tell you how the Portal Gun will turn out, as at the time of writing, I haven’t bought it, but I can say that the Companion Cube turned out to be the perfect pillow for watching TV while laying on the couch and the jumpsuit ripped along the seam in the crotch as soon as I pulled it on (I must have a large, invisible penis) and is currently awaiting repairs from my roommate, who does sew.

Thus there were the boots; the things I had to make. I’d already lost at least two hundred and sixty dollars to the costume, not counting shipping. I couldn’t stop now, buyer’s remorse or no buyer’s remorse. I spent some time looking at what other cosplayers had made: there were modified Go-Go boots up the wazoo; there were a few examples of heelless fashion shoes converted through clever plaster work into Long Fall Boots; two people had actually done the amazing and made honest-to-god Long Fall Boots from scratch by sawing the heel of some high heel boots and milling aluminum to create a sturdy strut. These last were absolutely stunning in their craftsmanship and their accuracy to detail, but they weren’t up for sale, and I’m no more comfortable with power tools than sewing. I decided to go the Go-Go boot route.

Finding the right boots took some long hours of searching; I used the search term “Go-Go boots” because it most nearly fitted what I needed—white, knee-high pleather boots with a small platform and a tall heel. I wasn’t concerned about walking around a convention hall in three to four inch heels, as I wear heels every day and have done so since January 2011, if I’m not mistaken, but I was concerned about finding a style of heel that wouldn’t draw the eye. Most Go-Go boots, it turns out, have chunky, vaguely hourglass-shaped heels. Aside from being ugly and painfully sixties, this kind of heel wasn’t going to fade from sight after I painted them black—photos from cosplayers who had used this kind of boot proved that. No, what I needed was a stiletto, and it took two days before I found one I felt satisfied with through a long chain of store-hopping and modifying search terms. I risked the shoe size on an eight wide—like my bum size, my shoe size does not conform to fashion or factory standards; designers do not make high heels for people with wide feet, particularly not when those people should rightly be a seven or seven and a half in length—figuring that if it was too big I could wear multiple socks and trust to the boot shape to keep the damn things on. The size turned out to be almost perfect—lucky break—and I spent a couple more days staring at the untouched, white boots before I considered getting to work on them. The first step, I knew, was to cut out the front and create straps. I was terrified; what if I messed up? I’d have to buy new boots, and buying them and the supplies to modify them had easily brought the costume’s total cost over three hundred dollars. At this point, I was going to have to wear the stupid thing for every costume-able event for the next three years just to make the whole endeavor worthwhile; it was a damn good thing I counted Portal among my favorite games.

Finally, after much fretting, I sat in my living room with two of my roommates and my ex–gentleman caller. One of my roommates was gluing coyote fur to himself—he goes to art school and considers himself a therian (if you happen to know what that means), so this is par for the course in my day-to-day life—while the other, his lesbian girlfriend, made some felted birds for a set of commissions my mother had handed to her—the commissions were all from moms, grandmoms, and aunts—and my ex–gentleman caller was trying to improve my white-blue, defensive Magic deck that I couldn’t be bothered to make myself. I explained my nervousness over the cutting of the boots, drew moral support from my three literally and metaphorically closest companions, and set to work. I made cardstock templates for the cuts I would make and cardstock templates for the areas I would paint. I taped my cutting template to the boots with painter’s tape and started cutting. The first came out beautifully; the second I cut too far at one point and had to use a combination of duct tape and krazy glue to mask the massive horizontal slit in the boot. I use cyan dry erase marker to denote where the buckles—actually one-inch silver D rings I’d gotten at Joanne Fabrics—for the straps would go and made slits along those lines. I inserted the D rings and folded over a quarter inch of the edge of my cut and used about four packets of Krazy Glue to make the fold and the D rings permanent—I don’t sew, remember. I wound up with a shell of Krazy Glue over my finger tips because there is no easy or safe way to deal with Krazy Glue and so spent most of the drying time trying to scrape the little caps off. The following day, that one roommate attached a coyote’s tail to his butt, over his jock strap and using a binder of Pokemon cards as a weight to make sure the pressure on the silicone glue was strong, and meanwhile I threaded double-sided Velcro straps through my boots’ buckles, pulling them on and measuring out precise lengths so that the straps would have enough leeway to be adjustable at need but wouldn’t extend beyond the area of the cut out. I took the boots off and applied my cardstock stencils and painted high gloss, black acrylic paint onto the boots, creating a black toe, turning the platform black, coloring most of the heel and all of the stiletto black, and adding a swoosh to the outward-facing side of the boot. This took two coats and resulted in a number of missteps and smudges that I later had to obtain some Titanium White acrylic paint to cover up. I spent maybe four days on the painting, all told, adding numerous layers of both colors to ensure consistency in both hue and texture, buying a tiny professional paintbrush so as to refine the edges of the areas I’d painted black.

While the paint dried, I took a black, light aluminum, double-sided wreath hanger and had one of my roommates, a jeweler, saw it in half, giving me to gentle aluminum hooks. I filed the rough edge of the cut away and used my hands and a pair of pliers wrapped in scrap leather to bend these hooks into the shape of the Long Fall Boots’ struts. Half of the struts conformed to the back of the boots’ and my calves, while the rest bent outward in a gentle curve before coming back in toward the boots’ stiletto heels. I glue black foam and black felt to the bottom of the struts to prevent them from scratching floors, and then I used several packs of Krazy Glue to adhere the struts to the boots. This, it turned out, was the most nerve-wracking moment. I had thought that cutting out part of the boots was terrifying—what if I destroyed them? rendered them unusable?—but this was far worse. If I messed this up, not only would I be destroying the boots, but I would be wasting what had come out to about three weeks of on-and-off hard work to make these things look just right. These boots had been keeping me sane, through the senior year of college I did not want to have not because I didn’t want to graduate but because I had never wanted to go to college in the first place, because I only attended out of a perceived obligation to, because I suddenly understood those previously inexplicable students who dropped out in their final year of college or high school even though the beneficial, degreed end was around the corner; through the break up with a gentleman caller whom represented everything I had ever looked for in a friend, in a lover, in a partner, in a future but whom did not or perhaps could not return the feeling, could only care for me as a friend—oh, a good friend, indeed—and even as an object of desire but never as a romantic partner, never as someone to honest-to-god love; through the suicide attempt of a close high school friend who chose me, out of all the people in the world, to confide in, who, predisposed to anxiety and depression, had been finally and utterly decimated by the unintentional emotional abuse present in a relationship I had suggest she enter into with my best friend. Here were those boots, and if I did not attach the struts correctly, I would have ruined them, and I would have to start all over—I didn’t need that right then.

I attached the struts, and I used scrap pleather from that first hesitant cutting to create a little pouch over the top of the struts so that they’d be a bit more secure in place and would be less likely to stab me in the back of the knee, should I kneel while wearing the Long Fall Boots. I gave them a coat of high gloss black to disguise the glue’s dandruff, and I left them to dry. After several days, the struts still held, and the fabric of the boots did not tear under their weight. Several friends of both myself and my roommates saw the boots and declared them lovely; I myself was utterly pleased with them. Oh, there were some errors, to be sure—the swooshes in particular had been problematic, causing me to go over some rather extensive areas with mistake-hiding white, and there was that slit from my cutting error, and one of the struts was hanging ever so slightly askew, and I wound up having to put a felt liner along the edges of my pleather folds to keep the Krazy Glue there from chafing, and at one point one of the D rings popped out when I pulled on a strap too hard, putting the boots on, so that I had to glue it back in—but most of those errors were only visible up close; at PAX East, no one would be getting that close; from where they would be, in the lighting they’d be photographing (people always photograph the cosplayers) in, those errors would be virtually unnoticeable. I had a workable, aesthetic product, and I’d made them with my own two hands, through some tiny miracle, in the midst of two months of pain and disaster.

I set the boots on my unkempt floor, beside my bookshelf, and I put away the other pieces of the costume in my red file cabinet with my other, miscellaneous costume pieces, and I began looking forward to Halloween when I would wear the costume for twelve hours, throughout my work and school day—it would be the durability test, and by god, if anything was going to break, it was not going to be my boots.

#old writing #writing archive #nonfiction #personal essay #prose #the more of these i read the more distressed i become #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH #assignments #college #relationships #money #credit card #making things #cosplay #you will see the cosplay #10s #2012 #Age 21

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gucciwins · 3 years

Text

Frosty the Snowman

Harry and Y/N love the holiday season but Harry takes the teasing a bit to far and well Y/N decides to give it right back.

Word Count: 5126

A/N: hello! thank you so much to @goldenbluesuit for organizing this wonderful christmas fic challenge. thank you for allowing me to participate, kate. i’m so happy i got to be a part of it. merry christmas and happy holidays to you all. sending you all a big hug and lots of love.

_____

Christmas has never been much of importance in your life.

That was until you began dating Harry.

Harry and his family loved celebrating in particular because Harry was gone for so many months of the year. They loved giving gifts, and Harry loved spoiling his family. He was a true family man who loved to be doted on by his mother and teased relentlessly by his older sister. His smile never leaves his face when he's with them.

Ever since Harry found out how you spent the holidays alone drinking wine and hot chocolate on and off and binging all the best holiday movies. He declared that was not acceptable and that furthermore and until the end of time you would be spending it with him and his family.

The first year was something out of a storybook, a house full of kids and adults, Christmas music all day, and a big festive dinner. Gifts passed around, photos being taken to be added to the end of year scrapbooks. Lots of stories being told; honestly, it overwhelmed you.

Anne found you outside wrapped up in Harry's coat that you swiped before slipping out unseen. She stood next to you, overlooking her garden with you. "My son loves you; he's brought you here not to overwhelm you but to let you know that you have a family here, and you always will." You let your tears run free, feeling comforted, and loved. "I've never seen him shine as bright as he does when he's with you and when he's speaking of you. We all want you here as much as he does." Anne then pulled you into a long hug, the motherly hug you never got growing up. Reminded you not to stay out too long.

Three Christmases later, you now take part in family traditions, helping Anne cook dinner and staying in sweats and playing family games all of Boxing Day.

It's what makes your move to London with your boyfriend of four years easy. Knowing they want you there, knowing that the love Harry has for you won't fade, you've gone through many hurdles together, and it only strengthened your bond to one another.

Four years together, and you're still learning new things about each other, like Harry having to have coffee first thing in the morning, bread was a must-have always in the house, and that he owned more mugs than he needed. He picked up that you adored your shoes, meaning you wouldn't throw them out until they were ripped and beat up enough for a new pair. Also learned that you rather eat lots of fruit during the day than making food in the kitchen because it meant more dishes that would be needed to wash. You loved doing the laundry, Harry knew it was to steal his shirts, but he didn't mind. He always knew where to find them.

The one thing that really surprised him was your love for Christmas music; you knew every song, maybe couldn't remember the name, but you would be able to sing it. It never failed to make him smile; you even knew ‘Feliz Navidad’ and didn't butcher it as he did.

Your love for Christmas music was signified because you never celebrated the holiday, and music was easy to access. It was what you immersed yourself in.

This is why Harry is confused when he hears you begin to sing ‘Frosty the Snowman’ under your breath, then switching to a soft hum in the tune of the song as you start to place your freshly washed sweats in their drawers.

Harry was not sure why you did that; you loved singing out loud. You had a decent voice, as you liked to say, but why switch.

You're clueless to Harry watching you, deep in thought, trying his best to analyze you.

Then Harry gasps; it all clicks, making sense.

You raise your head to look at him, shutting the drawer with your hip. "What?"

"You don't know the lyrics." Harry accuses.

"To what?" You step towards the bed, wanting to finish the rest of this to finally go down and each lunch.

"Frosty the Snowman."

"I do." You defend.

Harry smirks, crossing his arms. "Prove it."

"No."

"Why not?"

You frown before taking a deep breath and begin to hum the song correctly to Harry.

"Okay, you know the tune, now the lyrics." He gestures for you to go on.

"Frosty the snowman..." Your voice dies down, you rake your brain for the correct lyrics, sending a smaller prayer you're right. "had a shiny nose?"

"Oh, this is golden, love." He's laughing now. It's filling up the room.

"Harry," You whine.

"You call yourself the Christmas Queen." Harry is holding his stomach, his laughter getting to be too much. "Next, you're going to tell me you don't know the lyrics to 'All I Want For Christmas Is You.'"

"How dare you, that came out in our birth year." You're over making fun of you.

"Okay fine, but really so many years, and you never learned. You said you love all Christmas music, and well, that's a classic, dove."

You run a hand through your hair, your fingers getting caught on the tips for not brushing it out. "I never actually got to make a snowman, so I never listened to the lyrics."

"Are you secretly a Grinch as well?" Harry teases.

You throw a balled-up shirt of his and hit him square in the face; it quiets him down. "Conversation over."

You walk out of the room, leaving him alone, to his chuckling.

_____

In your home, something was always baking.

It was either Harry trying to better his last bread or you baking a new vegan cake that Gemma sent you.

It's something you both loved to do.

For you, though, it was your own form of meditation. No matter the time of day, if you felt your head spinning, you'd just head to the kitchen and begin to take out ingredients letting that be your only focus. The Great British Baking Show also brings a lot of comfort to you, Harry happily laying his head on your lap, your hand running through his hair as you just let the show play on and on.

Now, you're in the kitchen for a whole other reason; you're baking gingerbread cookies, from snowflakes to snowman and even little reindeer. Harry has invited friends over for a fun holiday decorating party. It sounded like a good idea until he left you to do it all yourself as he ran errands that he pushed off for a week.

Thankfully, there were no distractions during the time it took you to make one hundred cookies because there would be casualties during the decorating. Just as you were putting the last dozen on the cooling rack, does your phone ring causing it to cut off Paul McCartney's singing of 'Wonderful Christmastime.'

As you pick it up to answer, you check the caller id and see that it's Gemma calling.

Gemma forgoes a greeting and goes straight to the reason for her call.

"You don't know 'Frosty the Snowman!'" She exclaims more than asks.

"I'm going to kill him." You groan into the phone.

Gemma laughs, "No, no, please don't. Mum likes you too much to see you behind bars."

"Gem, he's been relentless." Thinking back to the past few days and how he'd randomly come up to you and just begin to sing the lyrics to you, not shutting up until you tickled him too much to continue. "Please don't let it come up later."

"I've got you," Gemma assures you.

"Thank you."

"As long," Gemma begins, but you groan jokingly into the phone.

"Go on," You sigh, knowing this is how the eldest Styles sibling acts.

"As long as you tell me what Harry bought mum for Christmas."

"Alright, fair." Very well, Harry would most likely spoil this himself the closer the holiday arrives.

Just as you were about to spoil Harry's gift, he walks through the kitchen, saved by the devil himself. "I'll tell you later when you get here." You tell Gemma, smiling at Harry as you bid his sister goodbye.

"Who was it, love?" Harry asks, kissing you lightly on your lips, being able to taste the gingerbread on your lips that makes him beeline to the cooled cookies.

"Gems, a huge birdie told her I don't know the lyrics to a popular song." You lean against the counter, smiling as he has a cookie in hand already; he is also a big reason you made so many.

"Hey," He says, offended, a cookie half shoved in his mouth. "I'm not huge."

"Never said it was you, hun." You smirk. "Thanks for fessing up."

He pouts, not liking that you outsmarted him.

"Might want to watch the cookies." You pinch his love handles, snatching what was left of the cookie from his hand and heading upstairs.

Harry watches you walk away, upset that you stole his cookie; also, he knows you love his winter gains.

_____

You and Harry are up fairly early, he likes to go on a run around the neighborhood, but you like going to the park. This morning you skipped your run because Harry was meeting up with a friend for breakfast.

Sure, you got up at your usual time at 7am and began to prepare yourself breakfast. You usually drank coffee with Harry and seeing as he wasn't here, you decided to skip it, instead going straight to the fridge to get the fruits and orange juice to make a smoothie. Something simple, not wanting to clean much after.

As you finally settled on the couch, getting ready to read Educated by Tara Westover, a book Gemma recommended to her then gifted to her. Tara's memoir is her story of how she comes from a Mormon background and recounts how she educated herself to go to college and learn about the world. It's a Friday, and what better way to spend it lost in a book.

You had just flipped it open when your phone rang, alerting you to a message. As much as you didn't want to check because you were finally in a comfortable position, you knew it could easily be Harry checking in who gets worried about not getting a reply even five minutes after. He's a worrier at heart.

As you retrieve it and settle yourself back down, not at all comfortable anymore, you see it's a message from Iz. She was the first friend you made on your own that Harry didn't introduce you to. Iz saw you at a coffee shop you began to frequent and complimented your tote bag that had wildflowers embroidered on it. You thanked her and shared you made it. Iz was shocked, just throwing compliment after compliment. You offered to make her one, but she said you had better teach her instead. Thus, a friendship began.

Her message read:

Radio 1 Breakfast Show. Listen in!

It was definitely a strange message coming from Iz, but you did as told.

Greg James was saying goodbye to his special guest, no idea who it was. "Before he signs off, he's going to play you one of his favorite Christmas songs," Greg says, then silences, allowing his guest a moment before speaking.

"This week's Christmas song is in honor of my girlfriend who loves singing Frosty the Snowman... without knowing the lyrics. Happy Holidays."

Your jaw drops.

That your boyfriend's voice. You are the girlfriend.

He went on record.

Harry really went on live radio to tell thousands that you don't know the lyrics to a Christmas classic.

You want to laugh because you never expected this from him and are annoyed that something personal now the whole world will know by the end of the day.

You can't wait until he arrives home.

"Harry Edward Styles!" You yell as you hear Harry open the front door.

He looks sheepish. "Yes, my darling angel."

"You told me you were having breakfast with Greg James, not that you were going to be on the Breakfast show."

"I took muffins, and they provided coffee, therefore, breakfast." Harry defends

"You exposed me to all of the UK to not knowing 'Frosty the Snowman.'"

"No one knows you're my girlfriend." Harry tries to brush it off.

"We've been dating four years; I'm not that much of a secret. Anne posts me on her story from time to time, and your friends follow my Instagram, fuck; you've introduced me to Greg." You're not angry, more annoyed than anything because he won't let this go.

"It's just to give everyone a good laugh; no one is going to hold it against you."

"No, just my boyfriend and everyone who listens to the Breakfast Show." You cross your arms before storming up the stairs away from Harry.

"Love? You're not actually mad, right?" Harry asks, pushing the bedroom door open.

"You even got Iz on it!" Your turn around with a pout on your face.

Harry laughs. "I honestly thought she wouldn't go through with it."

"Well, I see where her loyalty lies."

Harry steps close and pulls you into his chest. You sigh, wrapping your arms around him. He knows how much you love his hugs.

"I promise this is the last I mention of it."

You frown into his chest, not at all believing him. Harry pats your bum, and you take that as the queue to look up at him. He's smiling down at you, leaning in to give you a quick peck. "I promise."

"Okay, then." You lean in and kiss him, firmer this time and much longer. Harry sneaks his tongue in, instantly getting a moan out of you.

"I know how you can make it up to me." You gasp, pulling away,

Harry raises an eyebrow at you. "Do tell."

A smirk on both your faces as you guide him to the bed, very much hungry for something that wasn't breakfast.

_____

Harry has the Christmas playlist running; it's a Sunday, meaning they spend it at home doing absolutely nothing. To be truthful, they rolled out of bed past ten and still have their pj's on. Not at all bothering to change, why waste more clothes if no one will see them like this in the comfort of their own home.

You cooked grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch and now are playing a game of scrabble.

Harry puts down the word 'light,' then reaching his hand into the black pouch to pick five letters to have seven once again. You are looking back and forth between the board and your letters, thinking of the best place to place your word.

"I've got a question," Harry says, looking at you, wanting all your attention as well.

"What is it?" You're focused on your letters. Rearranging them, not putting down the 'q' in your hand. It's currently useless but will eventually give you a word to win the game. Not that you both ever keep points, oh no, that stopped after you beat harry 120 to 66, and he flipped the board, causing letters to fly everyone. You still claim that there are missing letters.

"Frosty is a cute name."

"Reminds me of that Wendy's dessert. I'm still not sure what made it so good." You say, maybe you should get up and eat some. Harry did just pick up new flavors that he had been wanting to try something about them being richer in flavor.

"You're getting off track."

"Sorry, Frosty is cute for what?" You don't let him answer before you're speaking again. "A dog, did you get a dog?" You pause, looking up at him, "a cat, did Anne find a stray and wants to give them to us?" You wait, but Harry is about to crush all your excitement.

"None of that." He shakes his head at you, and disappointment fills you immediately.

"Well, can this conversation end then? I'm disappointed."

"Darling," Harry chastises you for not letting him go on.

"Go on then, mate." You gesture him to continue. Shifting your attention away from the game in front of you.

Harry frowns, his eyebrows pinching together in the sweet way that makes you want to rub them out until he's relaxed. "Why'd you call me, mate?"

"Oh, I've called you this before." You brush off Harry's reactions; he's always dramatic.

"I'm not your friend." He states.

You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head and really look at Harry. "Well, of course, you are boyfriend," You emphasize, dragging out the word. "You're my best friend."

"You can't say boyfriend anymore. I'm your fiancé now." Harry states proudly, but you feel a little dumbfounded, not knowing why he is saying that.

Your eyes widen when you look down at your left hand, and no ring rests on your left ring finger.

"Fuck, I missed your proposal, and the ring got lost." You pout, trying your best to stop the smirk from coming out.

"Darling, I'm sorry." Harry quickly apologizes. "I'm still your boyfriend, but I will be proposing soon." He promises. "Shit, you were supposed to not even know. I really am bad at hiding things."

"Fuck, you really are." You laugh, "but boyfriend sounds cute. Can't I still say boyfriend when you do?"

"Doesn't fiancé sound nicer?" Harry tries.

You shrug. "Not as fun, husband is nice."

"You're rejecting my future proposal, then." Harry is teasing, and you can tell by the sparkle in his forest eyes.

"Of course not, you dummy. You can be my fiancé and my boyfriend." You tell him like it was the most obvious answer.

"Seems like a lot of work."

"Rude." You stick your tongue at him.

"Right, love, well try to remember I'm your husband once we're married, no more boyfriend."

"I will, hubby. You're going to be my hubby."

You both go silent.

You burst out laughing, "That's awful, I hate it."

Harry chuckles, nodding his head. "Yeah, I do as well."

"This is why I'm the brains in the relationship."

"Right," Harry rolls his eyes at you, not at all agreeing.

"Uh, darling, I went to uni and got two degrees while you only finished school at sixteen before going off to steal millions of hearts around the world."

"Including yours." He teases.

"I was always more a Zayn girl." You correct him.

Harry throws his arms up, "Can never let me win, can you?"

"Nope"

"We're off-topic." Harry realizing how far they strayed from their starting point.

"Where did we start?"

"Frosty."

You sit back, resting against the couch; you take him in and smile at how cuddly he looks in the purple robe that he stopped letting you use. "Well, go on."

"Seeing as-" He pauses, hearing the familiar opening notes to the song he was thinking of. 'Frosty, the Snowman' is now his favorite song. "Perfectly timed, as you don't know the lyrics to Frosty the snowman."

"Gosh, you're never going to let this go," You grumble.

"Nope. I figured we will have a little fun with this."

"More fun than the breakfast show."

He gives you a pointed look.

You let out a long sigh, "Let's hear it."

"You learn all the lyrics and sing it for me, and I'll let you get us a dog or cat." Harry's grinning at his idea, knowing you'll agree without a fight.

"Can we go to the shelter?" You look like a kid on Christmas morning who had just received their presents from Santa, and in a way, you have.

"Yes, we can. Only if you can learn the entire song." Harry tells you again, wanting to emphasize the singing.

"Done deal."

"Great, I'm giving you a week."

You smile wide, nodding, looking, finally focusing back down at your words and the ones Harry has placed. You put down the word 'queen,' and this wins you the non-official game. Harry looks down at his poorly hidden score sheet and curses under his breath.

"I win."

Safe to say you lost more letters that day.

_____

It's been a week, and Harry is patiently waiting on their bed as you get ready in your shared closet. Your shared closet is large and mainly holds all of Harry's clothing. You definitely have a nice share of clothes filled with gifts from friends as well as Harry's friends and your treasured thrifted pieces. You smile at yourself in the full-length mirror.

Harry really can't begin to imagine what you have in store for him.

The speaker is set out and ready, and all that is needed is for you to make your entrance.

You shake out your hands in hopes of ridding yourself of the nerves. You look yourself over one last time before taking a deep breath and pushing the door open.

"Close your eyes." You call out.

Harry rolls his eyes but does as he is told.

You walk over to the speaker and press play, letting the music fill the room, making your way to stand in front of Harry, who slowly opens his eyes.

He gasps; he feels himself start to get hard. His eyes can't seem to take everything in fast enough. You smirk, loving the reaction you got out of him. It gives you the extra boost of confidence you were needing.

You stand there, hand on your hip in a sexy snowman outfit to go with the performance you are about to give.

The dress, if you can consider it with how short it is, has three black buttons in the center. The material hugs your chest nicely, giving Harry a nice view of your breasts that are close to popping out. The dress hugs your waist and begins to flow out right past your butt. You wore your favorite black heels that Harry sometimes begs you not to take off. You had on a plaid scarf and a black hat that matched it perfectly.

You were the human version of the snowman except for a more rated r version.

Harry is sitting his mouth wide open at a loss for words. You blow him a kiss before letting the song lyrics flow out of you.

Frosty the snowman

Was a jolly happy soul

With a corncob pipe and a button nose

And two eyes made out of coal

You sway your hips side to side, singing, enjoying the ravenous stare he was giving you. You throw the hat, letting it fall at his feet, but not even that breaks the gaze he has on you, not wanting to miss a single movement of yours.

Frosty the snowman is a fairy tale they say

He was made of snow

But the children know

How he came to life one day

You take a few steps forward, but never enough to allow him to touch you, and he's craving it; you know he is. His hands are gripping his thighs, his knuckles turning whiter by the seconds.

He still hasn't said a word. You have him mesmerized.

You sing the lyrics proudly, knowing you practiced all week for this moment. The moment Harry will never forget all the teasing he had been doing, always forgetting you win these battles.

There must have been some magic in that

Old silk hat they found

For when they placed it on his head

He began to dance around

"Baby," Harry breathes out, putting a hand out to touch you, but you take a step back before he can do so.

You smirk, shaking your head no at him. You were having a lot more fun than you expected.

You bend over, slipping off your heels, never breaking eye contact with Harry; he could very easily see up the dress that you had nothing underneath. His green eyes turned dark, and you swore your heart stopped, and you were sure he was about to attack. You were the prey, taunting him until he had enough, but surprisingly enough, he took a deep breath, and his composure was back well, just a bit of it.

O Frosty the snowman

Was alive as he could be

And the children say he could laugh and play

Just the same as you and me

You stopped right in front of him. Harry's eyes trained on your red lips, hanging out to every word you were singing. You reached a hand back and began to unzip the dress. The grin on your face excited for the next reaction you were about to receive.

Once you reached the bottom of your back, the dress fell to the floor. Harry let out a loud gasp. Your breasts on display, the small owl tattoo on your hip staring at him, he could see how wet you were, and all he wanted was his head between your thighs as you screamed his name.

You were a dream. You missed Harry's touch. It was the reason you stepped close enough for him to finally pull you in.

He led them down the streets of town

Right to the traffic cop

And he only paused a moment when

He heard them holler "Stop!"

Harry has no expression on his face as he sits you on his lap. He lets his head fall into your next, feeling how wet you are through his thin sweats. You move to stand up, but he grips your hips tightly, thrusting his hips against yours, searching for some kind of relief or a reaction from you because you still haven't stopped singing.

"Baby, stop singing." His hand is cradling your cheek as his lust-filled eyes stare at you.

You shake your head, not letting him distract you. The only piece of clothing left was the scarf, and Harry lets out a growl before ripping your scarf off your neck, throwing it off to the side.

Now you truly sit there naked in his lap, and you feel all the control you have over him. The song is coming to an end, meaning you've got to remove yourself from your favorite place to sit but knowing you'll be back there soon enough.

Frosty the snowman

Had to hurry on his way

But he waved goodbye, saying

"Don't you cry I'll be back again someday"

You sing the final lyrics in his ear before walking away to turn off the speaker, an extra sway to your hips, knowing Harry is very well still watching your every move. You stand a delighted look on your face as you wait for his praise.

"Those were the longest two minutes of my life," Harry says; he puts a hand over his heart, feeling like it might just burst out. "I'm never going to be able to listen to this song in public or around anyone that isn't you."

You smirk, thrilled to hear that.

"What did I do to end up with someone as beautiful and perfect as you in my life." He confesses.

"Probably stopped a war in a past life." You throw out jokingly.

Harry puckers his lips and makes grabby hands at you. "Kissy, please?"

And who are you to say no? He spreads his legs, letting you step in between. You slip your fingers into his hair, pulling back with enough force to have him let out a moan. You lean down and connect your lips in a hot kiss, one that has Harry gripping you tightly wherever he can get his hands on. You moan as he slips his tongue into your mouth, and you happily give up the control to him.

You pull back and rest a hand on his chest, preventing him from pulling you back for you. You wipe your thumb over his bottom lip that now has some of your red lipstick. "Seems like I won, sweets."

"I feel like the real winner here," Harry tells you cheekily, sneaking a kiss to both your boobs. You giggle, not at all surprised by his action.

"Well," You fiddle with the collar of his shirt. "Why don't you show me how winners celebrate?"

"With pleasure." Harry groans standing up quickly and pushing you back against the best. He strips as fast as he can, not without a small stumble; you're sure to keep your giggle quiet, knowing very well how easily he gets embarrassed.

He is quick to get on top and kisses you hard. His kisses are always soft, but it seems the teasing seemed to flip a switch, one that you will happily remember to look to turn on again on a later date. Tonight, you are ready for an endless night of pleasure and love.

Harry connects their lips, ready for an endless night of pleasure and love.

_____

Christmas cards were a lovely tradition. Harry insisted they started because he wanted to show off his beautiful girlfriend to his friends and family. He also liked them handwritten because it added a nice personal touch. Who were you to argue about it?

This year you were the one excited to send them out.

It read: Merry Christmas from our beautiful family to yours

You and Harry sat in front of the fireplace, four stockings hanging behind you. Harry made you sit in his lap, wanting to show off your matching two-piece buffalo plaid pajamas. You both had the biggest grins on your face, eyes shining bright. Next to you, laying on top of a box that was wrapped with blue sloth wrapping paper, was a one-year-old Australian shepherd that had spent the better of six months in the shelter because the small pup was quiet who didn't do well with people, but that changed instantly the minute he met you. You decided on the name Frosty for him. Not only did Harry get you the dog of your dreams but a small kitten as well. You brought home Snow, a six-month white Birman kitten who was the rut of his siblings, and how could you just not bring him home with you with his big blue eyes staring at you begging to add to your family because he had lots of love to give. At least that's what you told Harry what the look he was giving you meant. The two siblings laid next to each other, both surprisingly staring right at the camera, making it their best Christmas photo yet.

A photo can honestly speak a thousand words because one glance at this photo tells you how much love there is in that home and their relationship.

Christmas was all about spreading joy and love, and well, Harry accomplished just that for you.

_____

thank you so much for reading! i honestly hoped you loved it and would love to hear what you thought so send me a message if you like.

i love you!

#harry styles #gbsxmaschallenge #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #christmas #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Thirteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: merry christmas

***

Nesta and Cassian agree to take separate cars to Velaris— not because they’re so afraid of being discovered together that they’ll risk global warming, but because Nesta has a preceding event and tells Cassian not to wait up for her.

After a rushed Secret Santa with the boys at Emerie’s apartment, Nesta drops by Gwyn’s place and leaves a small parcel at the doorstep. She doesn’t have time to knock and make conversation, but the gift is the least she can do after Gwyn surprised her the other day with a copy of a highly anticipated romance book weeks ahead of its official release.

“The library got early copies and I borrowed this one for you,” she said out of nowhere one afternoon, handing her the book. Nesta blinked in shock, not realizing that she and Gwyn were close enough for such acts of kindness. Even if their conversations felt like they’d been friends for much longer, they’d only known each other for a couple of weeks. It was then that she realized that’s just how Gwyn is. She does nice things because she can, not because social bonds or etiquette compels her to.

Guilt isn’t something Nesta feels often, but she was ravaged by it when she thought of not repaying Gwyn’s kindness. She couldn’t bear the idea of imbalances or debts being created in her relationships with her new friends, and spent the last two days searching everywhere for a decent gift to make up for it. She’ll have to text to make sure Gwyn got her present later tonight.

After a two hour drive (she might have taken detours to stall), Nesta is in the hallway leading to Feyre and Rhysand’s penthouse apartment. The door is cracked open enough that laughter and music float out to where she stands, and her fingers tighten on the bag carrying her sisters’ gifts. She checks her makeup in the hall mirror one final time, assuring that not a smidge of her perfect armor is out of place.

An in-and-out operation, she tells herself, flicking a lock of hair away from her face. She’s prepared for this.

Walking up to the half-open door, she’s struck down by the decision of whether to knock before going in or not. Luckily, the choice is taken away from her when the door swings open on its own, and Feyre is on the other side.

“Nesta,” her sister says in surprise, in a good or bad way Nesta doesn’t know.

Nesta blinks. “Did you know I was here?” She gestures to the door.

“Oh, no...” Feyre pokes her head past Nesta into the hallway. “Actually, I was checking to see if the pizza guy was here yet,” —she looks back at Nesta— “but this is even better!”

The slight strain in her voice makes Nesta think otherwise.

She doesn’t play along with the game. She doesn’t even comment on how they’re having pizza on Christmas Eve. Feyre adds after a moment, genuinely this time, “You look beautiful, by the way.”

Nesta glances down at her dress, a skintight ruched piece that shows more chest than usual, and then back up at Feyre’s designer jumpsuit. “So do you,” she says, her voice more flat than she’d prefer it. But she means it. “Can I come in?” she gestures inside, hoping to put an end to this conversation and her nerves.

“Right, duh,” Feyre laughs, grabbing Nesta’s gift bag and waving her inside. “Elain’s in the kitchen if you want to see her. Grab a drink and make yourself comfortable.”

Nesta steps past the door cautiously, eyeing the penthouse as if it’s her first time here. The winding iron-railed staircase is to the right, leading up to the second floor which holds all the bedrooms. The living area sprawls to her left, and through a wood-paneled threshold across from her is the dining room and kitchen. If anything is different from the last time she visited, it’s that the place is now considerably more lived in: pictures, hand-picked art, and other signs of life and love decorate every inch of the apartment, to the point where it makes Nesta feel like a home invader.

She’s so busy absorbing this place she doesn’t belong in that it takes her a moment to realize the room has fallen silent.

She turns to the living area, and her eyes land on Cassian first. He went so far as to put on a suit for tonight, and he’s watching her with a stunned quietness that makes her proud of her own outfit choice.

Nesta knows there are other people in the room, but she really can’t bring herself to care. Her hands twitch at her sides, instinctively reaching for him—

“Look who finally decided to show up,” a smug voice drawls.

Nesta looks away from Cassian to find that just about everybody else is staring at her, too. The voice who spoke up is that tiny woman named Amren, and she’s watching Nesta now with a sharp glint in her gray eyes.

Slick discomfort coats Nesta’s insides at Amren’s tone, and she lets her hands fall behind her back so they can’t reveal her anxiety. “Merry Christmas, everyone,” are the first words out of her mouth.

“’Sup, Nesta,” Cassian is the only one that bothers to respond. His tone holds none of the closeness or intimacy it usually does— it’s been replaced with a removed, almost strained friendliness instead.

Remembering that seeking him out for comfort is not an option tonight, she tries to find somewhere else to look.

In the span of a second, she spies Mor’s curiosity, Rhysand’s vague distaste, and Varian’s hesitance, before finally settling on Azriel’s bland look of disinterest. His phone dangles lazily from his hand, and he looks about two seconds away from going back to it and ignoring her completely.

It’s his detachment that grounds Nesta enough to remember her words. “I’m going to…” she gestures vaguely toward the kitchen, “get some food.”

“I can help—” Feyre starts.

“No, thank you,” Nesta quips, then hightails it out of there. The conversation, along with Nesta’s heartbeat, restarts as soon as she’s out of the room.

Following the short hallway connecting the dining space to the huge kitchen, she freezes when she finds Elain standing before the dual range oven, staring intently down at her phone. She curses herself silently— how did she forget her other sister would be waiting here right after being told so?

Elain’s head snaps up at the sound of Nesta’s heels on the tile, looking flustered. She quickly tucks her phone into the pocket of her apron before she realizes who she’s looking at, and a wide smile overtakes her beautiful face. “Is that really you?” Elain marvels in her lilting southern accent.

The words hit Nesta bluntly for some inexplicable reason. She shakes it off with a blink and smiles back, far more subdued than Elain but still genuine. “Lain,” she greets kindly, like they’re two old friends picking up right where they left off.

It’s Nesta’s fault that things are like this, she knows. She hasn’t bothered holding a real conversation with her closest sister in months, and now she’s in the same room as her hoping she won’t have to face Elain’s disappointment for her distance.

“Oh, get over here, how’ve you been?” Elain crosses the sleek kitchen and waves her into a hug. Nesta awkwardly pats her back, and is held even tighter when she tries pulling away.

She only manages to detach from Elain when Elain’s apron pocket vibrates. Stepping back, she takes her phone out and silences it before tucking it away once more. “So,” she grins when her focus returns to Nesta, “how’s the lone wolf life treating you? Isn’t it great to be back at your old apartment?”

“It’s good. I’m doing good,” she nods along. Nesta hates small talk more than anything, but this is the least she owes Elain. And the least she owes herself, if she’s being honest. Even if she knows she will never truly be fit for a life of socialization.

She takes things a step further and nods to the oven, asking, “What are you cooking up?”

She knows she’s done something right when Elain’s dark eyes light up, and she starts rattling off the three-course menu she’s prepared for tonight. (“What about the pizza on the way?” Nesta asks. Elain’s face darkens. “Don’t get me started. Some of the people in that living room have the taste palate of five year olds.”)

Nesta takes a seat at the island and falls into the age-old rhythm of listening to her sister talk, her heart feeling bruised and soothed at the same time. How similar and different they are now from the people they were ten years ago. Nesta doesn’t know if this is a good thing or not.

***

“That’s the thirtieth time you’ve checked your phone since Mor started telling her dolphin story,” Cassian mutters to Azriel sitting next to him on the couch.

Az clicks his phone off and turns it facedown so Cassian can’t see the screen, his face remaining blank the entire time. “I can’t help it if I’ve heard the dolphin story a hundred times already.”

“You’ve been staring at that thing the entire night,” Cassian calls him out. “Anyone on there more interesting than us, dear brother?”

Az snorts, not bothering to look at him. “Like you’re one to talk.” He reaches for his glass of liquor on the side table.

Cassian frowns as the chatter drowns out his murmur. “What do you mean?”

Azriel takes a sip from his drink, not replying. “When do you plan on letting us back at your cabin?” he says instead.

Cassian snorts. “It’s not like I’ve been keeping you away from it.”

“You turned Rhys and me down every time we made plans about coming over.”

“Because Nesta was staying there.” He is very, very careful about the way he says her name. Even talking about her is walking a thin line.

“She moved out a while ago, though,” Azriel continues. He leans back into the couch. “Speaking of Nesta, I don’t remember her being that hot. Did you see her in that little dress tonight?”

Cassian tenses, dull anger sliding over his bones and under his skin. “We all fucking saw her,” he says tightly.

Az clicks his tongue. “Damn. A woman like that shouldn’t be wasted in a small town.” His eyes slide over to Cassian’s with a dark glint of amusement. “You mind sharing?”

In that moment, Cassian is presented with the option of punching Azriel in the face. Hard. It’s only due to a divine miracle that he doesn’t.

Even with his temper, Cassian knows when he’s being played with. “How did you know.” His voice is flat, cold.

“You have ‘Nesta’s bitch’ written all over your face.”

Goddammit. Cassian clenches his teeth, saying nothing. Can everyone see it, or only his closest brother? How long has he known?

“I had my suspicions,” Az says simply, “when you ran out of Thanksgiving dinner like your ass was on fire after she sent you that thirst trap.”

Cassian blinks. Of course; the bastard peeked at his phone the last time they were together. No reason other than that.

“It wasn’t a thirst trap,” he grits, on high defense now. “It was a perfectly appropriate photo that you never should have seen.”

Az’s lips twitch upward. “Could’ve fooled me with the way you reacted to it.”

This— this is exactly why he doesn’t want anybody to know about him and Nesta. Because even though a weight has been lifted off his chest with Azriel knowing, an even heavier weight has started to sink in his stomach.

For months, Nesta has been his alone. And the idea of opening their relationship up to others’ opinions and judgements...

“Cass?”

He breaks his death glare at Azriel to find Feyre standing over the couch. He blinks; when did she cross the room? “Yeah?”

“You okay?” She glances between him and Azriel, clear-cut concern in her eyes. “You’ve been a little out of it tonight.” These last several weeks, actually, he knows she’s thinking.

He pulls his best Nesta face, all emotion carefully hidden behind a wall so blank it’s almost dead. “I’m doing fine,” he says simply. “Don’t worry about me; worry about Rhys spending all of your money on cards tonight.”

When Feyre still looks hesitant, Cassian summons his signature smile, the one that puts everyone and their babies at ease. He knows he’s succeeded when Feyre’s shoulders sink and she smiles back, nudging him in the arm. “Alright,” she says begrudgingly. “Just don’t keep pulling that long face. It’s Christmas Eve.”

***

Nesta is still hiding out in the kitchen while Elain finishes up a roast chicken when Feyre wanders in, eager to play the doting host.

Nesta pauses in the middle of telling Elain what she got earlier today for Secret Santa, waiting for Feyre to interrupt or insert her opinion, but Feyre only leans against the kitchen entrance and waits for her to go on.

“... So I thought it was hideous, but she insisted I keep it,” Nesta finishes cautiously.

“Who insisted you keep what?” Feyre speaks up.

“My friend Emerie got me a Christmas sweater.” Nesta waves a hand. “It looks like it came out of the recycling bin of a thrift shop, but I think she legitimately expects me to wear it tomorrow.” She huffs a lighthearted laugh, remembering how she and Emerie had cackled over the tacky gift together.

She finds she doesn’t mind talking about Emerie to her sisters. Rather, it’s something that brings her pride, like how she imagines new parents talk about their babies.

“Ain’t that amazing?” Elain speaks from where she arranges the chicken onto a platter, her back turned to both sisters. “While we were worried this whole time about Nesta being holed up in her room, she’s been going out and making friends.” Her voice is tight with a forced cheerfulness that only their mother could have taught her. Nesta stiffens in her seat at the island.

“Oh,” Feyre says shortly, blinking. “I see.”

The easiness Nesta had from talking about her friends slips away, being replaced with her usual mask of steel and ice. “See what?”

“Nothing,” Feyre defends, moving to lean against the island across from her. “We barely ever speak anymore, Nesta. How are we supposed to know what goes on in your life these days?”

“Well, I’m telling you now,” Nesta says coldly.

“She’s also in therapy.” Elain still hasn’t turned around from the stove. “How exciting.”

Nesta whips her head toward Elain in disbelief at the information spilled. So she is angry at Nesta for avoiding her calls.

“Therapy?” Feyre looks taken aback. “For what?”

Elain swoops in before Nesta can choose between scoffing or rolling her eyes at Feyre’s question. “Who cares what it’s for?” She finally turns around, bracing her hands on the counter. “Does it even matter?”

Nesta tastes venom on her tongue, and it wants to be spit in her sisters’ direction. “If you have something you want to say, Elain, say it. The passive-aggressive act makes you look like a fake bitch.”

Elain flinches, and Feyre looks away to hide her tired disappointment. “We still can’t have a single conversation without you going from zero to a hundred, I see.”

You haven’t even seen a hundred yet. “Tell me,” Nesta demands. “What did I do to mortally wound you this time? Is it the fact that I have a life away from your incestuous circle, or am I missing something else?”

Feyre scoffs incredulously, throwing her hands in the air. “It’s the fact, Nesta, that you have it in yourself to be good to everyone except for your sisters! When it was just me you hated, I could accept it fine, but then you left Tennessee and shut Elain out, too. With no explanation.” Hurt dances across her face. “It’s been years and it’s only gotten worse. And after months of near silence you show up here like—like you would rather be part of any family except ours.”

She keeps saying we, like her and Elain’s feelings are one and the same. Like they’ve talked about this before.

Nesta crosses her arms. “So you are mad I have friends.”

“How is that your takeaway from this?” Feyre has to struggle to keep her voice down.

Nesta’s heated eyes cut to Elain, who’s been silent during this whole exchange. “And you agree with her? Or is there something else you’d like to add?”

Elain opens her mouth to respond, but Nesta doesn’t give her the chance. “If I haven’t changed, then neither have you two,” she seethes. “You still think this is the fucking Disney channel or something, where we’re all best friends who have sisterly sleepovers and text each other good night. Wake the fuck up,” she bares her teeth. “Stop expecting things from me and just be happy I’m alive and doing well— because that’s the bare minimum that I’ve always given you!”

But no matter what Nesta says or does, they will never understand her. She will never be enough for them. The realization sinks in with a rattling finality at the resigned look on Feyre and Elain’s faces: like they didn’t hear a word she said. Nesta wonders when they stopped listening.

A throat clears behind her, and she whirls to see Feyre’s boyfriend at the doorway. His pretty-boy face is drawn tight, barely hidden rage simmering in the violet of his eyes. “Pizza’s here,” he says curtly.

Elain blinks tears out of her eyes, spinning back to the counter to pick up the platter of chicken. “Of course,” she says quickly, “the rest of the food is ready too.”

Feyre leaves the kitchen first, then Elain, then Rhysand with a final deadly glare at Nesta.

Nesta doesn’t know how long she stands there in the same spot, unmoving. Only when her phone buzzes from the island countertop does she turn.

Gwyn: did u get me a vibrator for christmas???

***

Cassian hasn’t looked at her all night.

Nesta doesn’t know what she expected when she told him they couldn’t be together in public, but it wasn’t this: him, laughing and talking with everybody at the table save for her. Like she isn’t even sitting there.

Nothing has changed. Least of all her.

She swallows around a mouthful of dry meat, feeling herself slip back into that old, familiar role: the background character. Except tonight is different, because everyone saw Elain’s watery eyes and Rhysand’s furious stare when they left the kitchen, and now Nesta is being ignored on purpose.

The buzzing in her head is louder than any conversation going on at the table anyway. Whether her sisters would believe her or not, Nesta had made plans. Plans to call more often, to make amends for the years of radio silence, to reintroduce herself to Feyre and Elain as a better sister. Not now, but one day— when she finally learned how.

Plans that were all dashed in the span of one conversation. Her knuckles turn bone white around her fork. So much for getting better.

The longer the night goes on, the more hurt and rage swells in her chest, until she fears she can’t say a word without screaming. How long will it be like this between her and her sisters, between her and the world? As if Nesta owes them all one thing or another: her time, her energy, her best smile and her affections. Why does everything have to be an exchange, and why is she always the one giving something up?

Cassian is the one person who always let her be, adjusting to her whenever she couldn’t adjust to him. But she’s having trouble remembering that fact when he won’t even spare a glance her way. When he’s sitting there laughing with Mor in a way he never laughs with her.

“And what about you, girl?”

Amren’s voice drags Nesta out of her haze, and she realizes the woman is speaking to her.

Nesta doesn’t like the way Amren speaks— with barely hidden cruelty, like she takes joy in watching people squirm.

Nesta blinks. “What?”

A slow smile creeps up Amren’s red mouth. “I said,” she repeats, “are you finding the pay for your work at Night Court sufficient?”

“Amren,” Cassian starts, but Nesta is already on her feet. The table falls silent.

“I have to...” she mumbles unintelligibly. She can’t come up with an excuse. Shaking her head, she leaves the table without finishing her sentence. Leaves the dining room and the whole damn apartment.

***

The slam of the door shutting echoes through the penthouse. No one speaks for a long moment, and Cassian finds himself filling the silence: “Was that necessary, Amren?”

Amren sneers. “What did I do?”

Because he’s counting down the seconds until it’s acceptable to go after Nesta, Cassian indulges her. “Not everyone has it in them to play Mean Girls with you whenever you feel like it.”

“Yeah, but did she have to ruin dinner over it?” Mor snorts, reaching over and plucking a roasted Brussels sprout from Nesta’s nearly untouched plate.

Feyre stands up. “I’ll go after her—”

“Don’t bother,” Cassian says, earning a raised brow from Azriel. Elain looks inclined to agree with Cassian until he adds, “I’ll check on her. You don’t need to stress, Feyre.” With a reassuring smile, he pushes out of his seat and heads for the door.

Each casual step toward Nesta lasts a million years, but he finally reaches the hallway beyond the apartment, letting his facade drop in the same breath that the door shuts behind him. Relief wracks his body when he finds Nesta waiting for the elevator, still here.

“Nes,” he calls, hurrying after her.

She punches the elevator button repeatedly, as if that’ll get it to hurry up. He catches up to her and takes hold of her hand, turning her around—

She snatches her wrist out of his grip like she’s been burned, her fingers flexing with pent up emotion. “Not tonight, Cassian.”

“I’ll go home with you, you can tell me what’s wrong—”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?” he demands. She never shuts him out like this.

Nesta stares intently at the elevator doors. “Go back to forgetting I exist.” Her voice is flat.

He scoffs in disbelief. “You’re not serious—”

She whirls on him so quickly he almost stumbles back in surprise. “You didn’t look at me once the entire night.”

Cassian stills, stunned. Is that what this is about? “How could I have?” he laughs, shaking his head. “You’re the one who doesn’t want anyone knowing about us!”

“So you pretend I’m not there at all?” Hurt flares beneath her angered words.

“I can’t do both.” He fights to keep his voice low, aware of the thin walls. “I can’t look at you and not have everyone see what I feel for you— you’re all over me.” Even Azriel sees it, for God’s sake.

“What’s the truth, then?” she hisses. “Are you a terrible actor or a great one? Because in that apartment I forgot we were even in a relationship.”

“You walked in looking like that,” he gestures wildly at the black sheer mesh hugging her body, “and I was supposed to, what? Act like we were friends?” He hasn’t spent all night nearly losing his mind trying to fulfill Nesta’s wishes, trying not to let his feelings show, to get dragged through the mud for it.

“Is that your best excuse?” Nesta sneers. “I used to be too boring to spare a glance, and now I’m too sexy?” She steps closer to him, bringing them chest to chest. “We were good distractions for each other in your lonely little cabin, but deep down you know we wouldn’t last a day in the real world. That’s why we haven’t told anybody, Cassian.”

Cassian knows a spiral when he sees one, and he’s fighting not to get dragged into Nesta’s. “I know this isn’t about me.” He closes his eyes, praying for calm. “It’s about whatever happened with Feyre and Elain tonight.”

Which is the wrong thing to say, from the way Nesta’s face reddens. “Don’t even fucking go there.”

He doesn’t realize that the elevator has dinged open until Nesta reaches out her arm to stop the doors from closing. “You know nothing about me,” she says heatedly. “You were sad and desperate for acknowledgement when we first met, and you’re the same way now. You haven’t. Learned. Anything.”

Cassian almost wishes she would scream senseless things at him like she used to do whenever she was upset— because this refined wrath of hers is so much more hurtful. And it makes him angry, too.

He leans in until his nose is brushing hers. “If this is one of those things where you try to push me away by being cruel, I’m not fucking buying it.”

Like a switch is flipped, the flame in Nesta’s eyes flares out. He sees that dead nothingness and knows he’s lost. “You don’t have to buy it,” she says simply. She steps onto the waiting elevator, and he doesn’t try stopping her. She doesn’t want to be stopped.

Nesta gives him a final look before the doors shut between them. “And I wore this dress for you, asshole.”

Cassian stands there long after she’s gone. Not knowing what to do next.

A muffled laugh breaks through to him from the other side of the walls, and he realizes that everyone has moved back into the living room. Turning around, he goes back inside to his friends.

***

;)

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#nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic

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sunflovverharry · 3 years

Text

Driving Home for Christmas

a/n: hii! i wanted to make this a super cute dad!h during christmas fic so i hope you enjoy! this fic is a part of @goldenbluesuit ´s christmas song fic challenge which i’m honored to be a part of! It's the first fic challenge I’ve entered and I’ve been nervous to post something along with all these other amazing writers, but I'm excited to post this little piece centered in the dad universe. Happy reading, and remember to read the rest of the entries as well (which I’ve read some these past two weeks and they’re fab!) <3

pairing: dad!h + y/n

warnings: none! just a cute dad!h piece

word count: 3.8k

Harry was loading the trunk of their Audi, putting all their packed suitcases and bags of presents in there. The car was smack full as this year they had another addition to their family, waiting patiently for her mum to feed her before they left the city. It was snowing heavily and Anne made sure they knew they didn’t have to drive up today with the weather making the roads worse than usual. Y/n also told him a hundred times it was his decision as he was the one driving. Harry didn’t budge though, telling his mum they would definitely be there by tonight.

This year's Christmas celebrations were being spent in Cheshire with Harry’s family seeing as they were with her family in Nottingham last year. They’ve found it works best this way rather than splitting it up to go both places every year. After four years together and buying a house at the start of this year, y/n thinks this might be the last Christmas spent out of their own home. They have their two cats (Nellie and Sunny) and having their first child it might be time to start celebrating the holiday at their own house.

«Babe, did you remember to pack the board games?» Harry heard his girlfriend ask from the threshold where they had hung a mistletoe and had Harry not been busy trying to make everything fit, he definitely would’ve turned around, ran up to her and gave her a big smack on the lips. He settled for giving her a thumbs up not swirling around as he was too busy trying to figure out how he could make most of their things fit in the trunk, thinking it was just like a game of tetris. While Harry had been doing the heavy lifting and packing; y/n had put a cute Christmas onesie on the still tiny body of their daughter, definitely small for her age but she was eating like her daddy so where the weight went they had no idea.

Olive was a generally happy, cuddly baby who more often than not reached for her dad over her mum. It didn’t bother y/n that she was a daddy’s girl, knowing how much Harry loves children and now that he has his own he’s all over her. She finds the two cuddled together on the sofa, their bed or the armchair in her nursery at least a couple times a day. Her phone is now overflowing with photos of the two and she’s hoping to put together a photo album for Harry’s birthday filled with them - knowing he’d cherish it forever.

Half an hour later they were pulling out of the driveway. Harry had checked multiple times that all the lights were out, the doors were locked and the alarm system was functioning properly. Olive was smiling as she sat still in her car seat behind y/n. She had wondered if sitting in the back with her daughter would be better, but decided against it. If she got fussy they’d stop at a gas station and she’d move to the back.

The couple was tremendously excited to bring along their little bundle of happiness and get to show her off to all of Harry’s family and friends. Of course, his family have seen her when she was a newborn but living quite far away most of them only get to see them once or twice a year. It’ll change the dynamic of how they celebrate the holidays for sure, but it's a positive change. Anne will spoil her rotten, just like she does to y/n when they visit - making her tea whenever she wants some, washing their dirty laundry (which y/n didn’t care that her mother-in-law saw her underwear cause she didn’t bring anything too scandalous) and heading to the shops when they needed even the smallest thing. Really, y/n thought she was too kind for her own good. At the same time though, y/n always did play a good host when Anne visited them - spoiling her with the comfiest bed sheets, making the food for every meal, not wanting her to lift a finger as if she was the queen.

Olive was eight months - a fairly active one at that - and loves to crawl everywhere, especially to follow her mum or dad around the lower floor of their (way too big) house for only the three (five) of them. Since the pair hadn’t brought Olive with them for such a long drive, the longest being an hour, they were anxious to find out how she’d react to being confined over a longer period of time.

Half an hour in and Olive was babbling away to the teddy bear in her arms (she got it from her nephews when she was born and has been attached to it since) as Harry and y/n talked about how excited they were for their daughter to explore her daddy´s hometown and how his whole family and friends would fall in love with Olive even more. With their little girl just starting to sleep all through the night in her own room, Anne wanted to make sure she got her own room at her nana's too, so apparently she’s cleaned the office and made it into a makeshift nursery for her granddaughter.

Y/n doesn’t know who’s more excited to see all the familiar faces, the family that’s become not only important to her in the last four years, but now also to their baby. The last time they visited Cheshire, y/n was barely two months pregnant and as tough as it was to keep it hidden from Anne for another month, they managed to keep it to the two of them (with just a handful of slip-ups). They were sure Anne knew they were having a baby with the small smirks she gave y/n and harry when she didn’t want the wine - Harry keeping to non-alcoholics in solidarity with her - which was unregular for her, normally jumping on the thought of having a glass or two after a long day.

“You know mum won’t give her up after she gets her hands on her right as we walk through the front door? Might want to hop in the back and get your fix before we get there.” Harry let out a chuckle with y/n joining in knowing just how true his words were. Anne was a godsend of a grandmother, taking Olive in her arms doting over her until she’ll start crying for her daddy. Though everyone gives her all the attention she could wish for, no one could ever do what Harry can. He’s her favorite, no matter how much I wish I could be.

Another half hour later and we were making our first stop at a local gas station in Aylesbury. We were about a third of the way in, but the weather was getting harsher with the snow falling harder and the wind picking up just a little bit. While Harry filled the car up with gas and made sure Olive didn’t start fussing, y/n went inside to get a couple snacky items for the three of them and a filled up cup of coffee for her boyfriend. Coming out of the station she could see Harry in the back with his love bug, bringing her out of the car seat as her cute little wails haltered. She was due for a feed, so they found a secluded space to park so no one would stare at her while breastfeeding their daughter.

Sitting in the front passenger seat with her daughter attached to her nipple with her baby daddy sitting in the driver's seat next to her they spent the next twenty minutes singing along to the Christmas songs playing one after the other on the radio.

Y/n had always loved this time of year - the snow, the songs (which - admittedly - she listened to throughout the entire year), the decorations, the joy and cheer. With y/n and Harry moving in together a month before Christmas, only half a year after they first began dating, they had a mutual understanding for how they would go all out with lights, trees and decorations both on the inside and outside. Though their house was gated with a high fence along the perimeter of their entire land. The trees lining the driveway all the way from the gate to where the gravel road extends into two, one leading to the garage and the other to the front door, were now lit up with strings of light going through them. It was only the beginning to their decorations, but it couldn’t be seen from the gate. More lights were lit along the house, windows were accentuated by red tape creating squares with spray along it, making it seem like snow on the glass. Though there aren’t tons of colourful lights, outside at least, the inside is littered with different colours, shining and sparkling along the staircases, mantels, dressers, counters and tables.

Olive felt like there was something new to look at, touch and be amazed by in every room of their house. As the clock sets seven in the morning, like clockwork, Harry hears Olive’s wails for him to get her out of the crib so she can move around. He kisses y/n’s forehead as he lets her sleep for another half hour to an hour like every morning before pulling on a pair of boxers and some pajama pants if it’s cold to get his daughter from her nursery across the hall.

The two of them were like two giggling girlfriends when they finally saw each other for the first time that day, not being able to keep their smiles from their similar lips. Walking downstairs Olive points at the garland wrapping the staircase and every time she sees it, a small sound of surprise and excitement exit her puckered lips. Harry talks to her about how good her mama is at decorating their house and how good it looks good for Christmas (he only helped her put up decorations, following her direct orders). Y/n had a certain way she liked to decorate and with this being the first Christmas in their house she wanted everything to look perfect.

Coming into the kitchen after turning the dimmed lights on low to have some lighting in the morning dark they had a little shimmy along the floor. Olive babbled along with Harry’s singing and mumbling to her explaining how the buttons on the walls turned on the different lights. She probably didn’t understand or care about the lights, but the two continued singing and talking about nonsense along the way. In the kitchen, Harry made her a bottle she demanded having before getting started on the omelette he makes for him and y/n every morning he’s home without fail.

When they finally got back on the road the snow was coming down heavily and the only thing they could see were the lines of cars in front of them on the M40 pushing the break every few seconds before accelerating again moving only a couple meters before breaking again. Y/n didn’t have a lot of patience in traffic - or in general - and quickly became annoyed making Harry laugh at her telling her to calm down (she wasn’t even the one who had to drive through this horrible weather). This lasted for another forty-five minutes before the snow let up just a little bit and the cars seemed to roll along the road like normal.

“I didn’t think driving home for Christmas would take this long. At least, I hoped it wouldn’t.” They’d been on the road since nine thirty this morning and now, two and a half hours later, they still have at least another two hours left until they’re at Anne’s. It wasn’t unusual for y/n to call Anne’s home, having stayed there for weeks at a time during the almost five years her and Harry have known each other. Harry isn’t unknown to calling y/n’s parents’ house his home either.

“I know. Wish it didn’t have to take this long and I’m sure little Ollie is going to get antsy soon. If the weather continues like this and we don’t have to take more than one more break, I think we’ll be there within three hours, but if we run into traffic, we might have to take more stops along the way.” Harry wanted to move along quickly to get to his mum’s before Olive’s nap time around three, if she didn’t end up sleeping in the car. We knew when we decided to drive in the morning that Olive would probably stay up the whole way, too engrossed with the cars and lights along the way to ever be able to fall asleep.

“You know what we should do to keep her happy for another half hour at least?” Y/n turned to look at Harry with a smile grazing her lips. “Play some Christmas music! She loves when we sing and dance around the house.” Playing the memories of hearing Olive’s belly laughter through the house while Harry and her danced in circles around her like another pair of idiots.

Putting on the same Christmas song list they’ve played since making it together all those years ago, the first song coming on shuffle being Santa Claus is Coming to Town. The noise was at a comfortable volume so they could still hear Olive if she started fussing though it’s unlikely and for it to not be too disturbing for Harry’s driving. With Olive seated with her back to them she couldn’t see her mummy dancing in her seat while they sang along to song after song, but she heard her parents’ voices singing out to the songs she’s heard oh so many times before.

“This is accurate, huh?” Harry snickered as Driving Home for Christmas began playing through the speakers.

“You don’t say.” It was one of their favorite songs and it fit the scene they were in, driving home for Christmas, excited to see their family, singing along the slowly getting better traffic. Looking around at the cars next to them, most of them looked to be families also driving home to be with their families for this year's holiday celebrations.

The rest of the drive was filled with more singing, two more stops for Harry to give his baby some cuddles and walking around one of the local Tesco’s they stopped at to get some more drinks and snacks. Olive was waving at everyone walking past us and talking all kinds of gibberish. While y/n grabbed the snacks, Harry had Olive walking along the aisles in between his feet while holding her little hands in his following her around the store.

A quarter to three they finally made it to Anne’s home, reversing into the driveway so they could get their baggage inside easier later in the day. Y/n saw Anne open the front door in the rearview mirror when Harry was pulling in the last meters. There was a bright smile on her face when we got out of the car. The snow had laid thick on the ground up north and the slick ice underneath made it harder to walk without having to make sure every step was carefully thought out.

Just minutes later Olive was already crawling with her little legs all over her grandma’s home, interested in anything and everything she could get her chubby hands on not seeming to be tired at all. They decided to forgo her nap and hope for an early night, which isn’t likely with everything going on around her. Anne was on granny duties right away telling the pair to sit down and relax with the tea she had prepared while she took care of the baby. There was no doubt she loved the attention from the person she might not remember from this summer but quickly became attached to, almost as much as she is to her daddy.

Harry found his place on the sofa, head in y/n’s lap and feet hanging over the armrest demanding her fingers curling through his locks. It wasn’t surprising to her that he was tired from driving the entirety of the way in traffic and tightly packed snow at times. Sure, if needed he could have stayed awake, but with his mum taking care of his little love he didn’t care much, falling asleep to his other love combing her fingers through his hair. It didn’t happen too often that they could have a cuddle in the middle of the day - just the two of them - with Olive needing their attention at all hours of the day so when the opportunity arose he wasn’t going to turn it down. He admits, though this is nice as well, that a naked cuddle in bed would definitely top laying on the sofa with his mum and daughter running around them. Maybe tonight, he thinks, as he finally falls asleep to the sound of Olive’s giggles.

As nighttime inched closer and Olive’s bedtime was passing them in the chatter and laughter, y/n told Harry to get their things from the car while she nurses Olive before getting her ready for bed. While they took care of their daughter, Anne made a nice spread of cheese and crackers for them to indulge tonight while catching up on everything that’s been going on in their lives since the last time she visited them in London.

Harry found Olive’s bag first, choosing a pair of christmassy pajamas from the mountain of clothes they had brought for her. Y/n walked upstairs to the nursery Anne had set up, seeing Harry already unpacking her bags into the cute vintage turquoise chiffonier Anne had bought from a neighbour only a couple weeks ago immediately falling in love with it.

«Would you like to have a cuddle with daddy before bed, Ollie?» Y/n firmly believed her daughter needed the nightly cuddle from Harry, just like she does, to fall asleep. She was already reaching out for him with her nimble hands waiting for him to take her in for a snuggle in his arms. There was no armchair in the makeshift nursery like they had purchased for Olive’s nursery back home where they always sat but Harry made it work. Anything for a cuddle with his baby growing way too quick for his liking.

It was no secret Harry loved babies and that only heightened when he had his own baby. With how good Olive is and how lush it’s been having a baby around and it not be just the two of them, he had thought about what it would be like with another baby around. Another little love for them to have, give Olive a sister or brother to play with. He hadn’t said anything to y/n about the thoughts he’d been having, not knowing if she'd agree with him. It’s been eight months and when they had talked about it before they agreed on a maximum of two years between their children.

Only a couple hours later they headed to bed themselves, ready for a good night's sleep before another long day tomorrow. Harry had been debating with himself whether he was going to mention babies to y/n or not - ultimately ended up with yes, he would mention it. Now they were finally alone with y/n resting her head on Harry’s pillow, her fingers delicately drawing patterns on his chest.

“I have something I’d like to discuss with you.” Harry’s voice wasn’t much louder than a whisper, not wanting to ruin the calmness around them. He wasn’t nervous so to say, but he felt his pulse quicken the tiniest bit at the thought of getting turned down. Y/n turned her head to watch Harry as he pulled her in as close as he could without suffocating her.

“It’s been lovely having Olive, right? Seems like it was meant to be to have a baby and during the holidays it’s been so fun watching her so interested in everything.” Y/n murmured her answer. She had loved having a little one to care for and to fill their days with joy over the last eight months.

“Well, with how well it’s been going with her, I was thinking we could talk about having another little one? Maybe discuss it a bit. What do you say, let's make Ollie a big sister?”

“I think we might be well on the way to making her a sister, bub.” Harry turned his head at lightning speed hearing her words, not knowing if he heard her quite right. His open mouth and big round eyes weren’t something she saw often combined as she wasn’t always the best at surprising him, but this time she was sure her secret had come as a big shock. It wasn’t as if they had been trying for a baby either, only forgetting a condom a handful times when they were too in the moment to care for it.

She found out only a week ago, thinking she could keep it to herself until Christmas day. It wasn’t difficult to hide it from him, not struggling with morning sickness and only craving sweets as if she was on her period. Knowing they had agreed on the number of children they wanted - four - she wasn’t scared of him reacting badly.

“You’re not joking, right?” Harry smashed his lips onto his girlfriends when she shook her head - no, i’m not joking - kissing her slow and long, showing her just how happy he was. They spent the night talking about how thrilled and excited they were to expand their family with more children and how great of a sister Olive would be. Baby names were flying between them, agreeing to never naming one of their babies after a city, but rather continuing naming them something more unique than Chloe or Adam.

The rest of the holiday spent up north with Harry’s family was relaxing and lovely all around. Playing board games, exploring the city with Olive (who was way too fascinated by all the snow), family dinner parties and having fun with friends they didn’t get to see all too often. Olive was wiped out after opening her presents on Christmas morning and spending all her energy on all the toys she got and the paper ripping she played with (more than the toys to be honest).

This year had been special for the family and Christmas was just the same. Olive was lively and it made y/n and Harry exhausted with everything going on, but they wouldn’t change it for the world. After all, Olive was their little girl and soon there would be another little love in their family. Trying to keep the pregnancy from their family and friends was easier this time around as she could blame not drinking alcohol on her breastfeeding and decided they would keep it hidden from everyone until the last possible minute.

#gbsxmaschallenge #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles drabble #harry styles fiction #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #fic challenge #harry styles x oc #harry styles x yn #writing

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wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse · 3 years

Text

Wishes (Aragorn x Fem!reader)

Word Count: 2207 Warnings: ANGST

AHHH OK so this fic was made in collaboration with @hey-its-nonny and it was so fun to write!

You woke in a restored Gondor, eyes fluttering open at the beams of golden sunlight seeping through your window. The day you‘d dreaded for months had finally come. It was the day Aragorn was to be wed to his love, Arwen.

You rose, already mourning your loss of your friend and your love. You didn’t know how you could stay, concealed in the dark. Hiding. Ignoring your emotions and acting as if they didn’t exist was a difficult task. But, if it meant Aragorn would be happy, you would try your best, unsure of what might come of it.

Slowly, you slid on your dress, the silky fabric brushing your legs. It was a beautiful gown, one that Arwen had made especially for you. It fit perfectly, snug around your waist and flaring out. In your favorite color, too.

The necklace Aragorn had given you laid heavily on your neck. It felt wrong to be wearing it to this event, but without it, you didn't feel whole.

And with a look in the mirror, you sighed, a saddened smile gracing your lips while you prepared yourself for what would be one of the saddest days of your life.

You thought back to a better time when everything was easier. When your love for Aragorn had bloomed.

It was a cold night. You and Aragorn had gone on yet another adventure together through the hours of the night. After plenty of frolicking and distractions, you’d both agreed that it was time to eat.

You’d decided a warm soup was the way to go, and Aragorn agreed with you on that as well. And while you waited for your meals, you talked around pointless things, avoiding the affection that was blossoming.

You were teasing him, pushing him around, baiting him. When he finally retaliated, he accidentally hit your soup out of your hands. The target for the food? your clothes. Your shirt was covered, and you stifled a laugh while Aragorn looked mortified.

You winced a bit at how hot your soup was, as well as the fact that you could no longer eat it, since it was so elegantly spilled on your shirt.

“Y/N, I am so sorry. Here, let me- I can-” The poor man rambled, looking for a cloth to dry your shirt. You couldn’t help but giggle at how flustered he was, though the fiery wrath of the soup was definitely a contender for your attention.

Yet still, you laughed, opening your bag with a hum. “Aragorn, I’m sure I have a spare shirt in my pa- What? Where is it?” You quietly gasped, Aragorn’s eyes brightening.

“Take mine, Y/N. I have a spare.” He stated, the red on his cheeks dissipating.

Your gentle hands gingerly grasped the shirt as you stood, sharply inhaling at the temperature of the soup. “I’ll be back.”

After a minute or two, you walked over to the table and sat down, cozier than ever in Aragorn’s off-white shirt. You offered a smile and caught Aragorn’s eye, his shocked expression warming your cheeks. “It is a little big, I will admit, but it will do until I get a fresh change of clothing.” You grinned, biting back a smile.

“Keep it.” Aragorn smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the slightest and sweetest of ways. “It looks better on you than it looked on me.” He stated, inhaling a breath after stealing another glance at you.

You still had that shirt, after all the time that passed.

Those were fond memories you had of him, but fleeting. You smoothed your dress down and slipped on your shoes. Another memory came to haunt you, the emotions overwhelming.

You were wandering Rivendell when you heard a giggle. You had turned a corner, finding Aragorn, his lips glued to Arwen’s. You cleared your throat, causing them to break apart, looking at you sheepishly.

Arwen spoke softly, “Oh, I am sorry about that. We didn’t know anyone else would come here.” Of course, she didn’t know that Aragorn and you had spent many hours in this same place. You avoided his gaze and hid your emotion, laughing instead.

“Oh I have so many things I could say, but most important of all, I could tell everyone!” You paraded around them, joking of course. They laughed along, not truly seeing how much this hurt you. And you would keep it that way.

The decorations were beautiful. You gazed upon the arch that Aragorn was to be wed under, trailing down the cascading vines and flowers. You counted at least a hundred guests.

If it weren’t for the emotions you felt at the moment, you might have smiled just because of how beautiful everything looked.

The bells rang, signifying that the ceremony would start soon, and you took a sharp breath. Your stomach churned like you were about to face the armies of Mordor alone. But it wasn’t the time to be afraid. It was time to be Aragorn’s friend.

The very man that your thoughts were formed around jogged up to you, handsome as ever. His armor contrasted his eyes beautifully, and the smile he wore made you melt.

“Y/N. Just the woman I wished to see.” He grinned, placing a hand on your shoulder while you returned the smile.

You hummed, straightening your back. “What do you need?” You asked, ready to do whatever he needed.

“A friend.” He replied, indicating that he was nervous.

“You’ll be fine, Aragorn.” You smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Everything will go smoothly, I assure you.”

The man nodded, a dreadful sigh escaping his lips once the bells rang again. Of all the things you’d said today, the three words that left your lips were some of the hardest to get out. “Go get her.”

Once everyone was settled, the ceremony began with Elrond giving Arwen away. You watched Aragorn closely, the way his eyes lit up when Arwen was unveiled, the pure love and devotion he had for her nearly killing you. You had no idea it would be this hard. Tears pricked at your eyes when they kissed and you were glad you could blame it on the “beauty” of the moment.

You watched Aragorn lead Arwen down the aisle, each step a dagger in your chest. No matter how strong you wanted to be for Aragorn, you couldn’t watch this any longer. Your strained smile slowly disappeared as they walked out of sight. You had to get out of there.

So, when he wasn’t looking, you quietly slipped away, allowing the tears to finally fall. What you didn’t know, however, was that he saw you walk away, more confused and worried than ever.

Once you were far enough, you broke into a sprint. You needed to get as far away from there as fast as you could. You slipped your shoes off, the cold and roughness of the stone adding to your anguish. Upon reaching the garden, you sobbed, collapsing onto the stone ground where you once stood. You couldn’t control it. Your shoulders softly shook as you cried, feeling nothing but sorry for yourself. You thought you could watch Aragorn give a special part of himself to Arwen. You really did. But you couldn’t.

And you hated yourself for it. You held your head in your hands, sniffling quietly into the silence. You never got to tell him how much better he made you. You never got to hug him as Arwen would. You never got to laugh at his flirtatious jokes like Arwen would be able to. You never got to kiss him as Arwen would. But then again, why would he ever kiss someone like you? You weren’t even half as pretty as her.

Too lost in your own sorrow, you didn’t hear Aragorn’s footsteps approaching. Something about rangers, they always knew how to stay quiet and test the situation. Upon seeing you, he removed his crown, kneeling beside you with worry written on his sharp features. “Y/n? Y/n, why are you upset?” The worried man asked, gently grasping your trembling shoulders.

You flinched under the touch, shrinking away from the touch. “It is nothing, Mellon. Please, go be with yo- Arwen. Were you not just betrothed?” You asked, wiping away the salty teardrops on your cheeks.

While you stood to leave, Aragorn mimicked your actions, blocking your exit. “Y/n, please. I only wish to help,” He pleaded, following your gaze. He gently grabbed your chin, sending a shiver down your spine while he forced you to look at him.

“Aragorn, please let me go.” You sniffled, lip quivering while your eyes begged him to leave.

Aragorn frowned, giving one final attempt at helping you. He couldn’t know. He could never know. “Was it Arwen? Gandalf? I do not know what could have upset you in such a way.” He frowned, brow creased in worry.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. No more games, or guessing, or hiding from it. You’d tried so hard, only for it all to come crashing down in flames before your eyes. “It’s you, Aragorn!” You cried, hot tears streaming down your cheeks while throwing your hands out.

You laughed a sad laugh, backing away from the man you’d loved for countless years. “It’s always been you.” You croaked weakly, your voice brittle and defeated. Aragorn was still confused. He cautiously stepped forward, taking your hands in his own. “Y/n, what do you mean?” He asked, clearly worried that he’d hurt you in some way.

You shook your head, biting your lip while you trained your gaze on the ground. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just-” You smiled, shaking your head as you met his gaze. “Just go be with her. You need to be with her.”

But instead of walking away, Aragorn shook his head. “Y/n, we cannot keep circling amongst each other like this. Please, tell me what I’ve done to hurt you.” He pleaded, worry and remorse engraved in his expression.

You took a shaky breath, tearing up once again. “I can’t, Aragorn.” You admitted, the cost of saying the words far more than you were willing to give. “If I do, I will have to leave.” You choked, willing away the tears.

Aragorn sighed, determination set in his jaw. “Whatever you are facing, Y/n, whatever comes, I will face it beside you.” He stated, confidence and truth behind the words. You hated how perfect he was. Always an amazing friend, but not for much longer.

Finally, after a minute of silence, you decided that if you were going to leave Gondor for the rest of your days, you might as well make it memorable. “Forgive me, Aragorn.” You pleaded, leaning in to steal a kiss from Aragorn.

He hummed in surprise, but didn’t back away, eyes fluttering shut. You relished in the feeling, your hand on his warm, stubbly cheek. It was incredible. Until the both of you realized what was happening. You gasped, backing away from the kiss. “I-“ You stammered, quickly going into a panic. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” You breathed, stumbling out of the garden.

You felt like such an idiot. All of the nights wasted in tears rushing back to haunt you as you ran away from the love you’d held onto so dearly. You ran as fast as you could for the forest, clutching the necklace Aragorn had given you. Habit.

Little did you know, Aragorn decided to run after you, desperate to clean up the mess you’d made. You ran, skillfully weaving throughout the trees to lose Aragorn.

Once you thought you were far enough, you leaned against a tree, dirt marks along your arms and legs. That was the last time you would ever see Aragorn. You wasted it. So, you cried. Then you decided you would move on. Start over.

Aragorn approached, careful not to startle you. You looked up, resting your head against the tree with an irritated sigh. “I can’t stay.” You whispered, your defeated tone letting Aragorn know just how much of a toll this took on you.

Aragorn frowned, the glisten of a tear catching your eye. “Why? We can forget it happened, Y/n. We can make this right.” He suggested, a pleading in his voice that you’d only heard a handful of times. It hurt.

“We can’t. I have to leave.” You replied, forcing yourself to look at him. “I love you, Aragorn. I always have and will. Nothing can ever change that. So, unless you have miraculously realized that it is not Arwen, but me you love, which I highly doubt, I’m leaving.” You explained, standing with a sigh, knowing Aragorn would try to follow.

He stood, watching while you unclasped the necklace Aragorn gave you. “Goodbye, Aragorn.” You spoke defeatedly, gently grasping his hands to place the necklace in them.

“Y/n, anything you wish, I will do. Just stay.” He asked one final time, slow tears falling down his cheeks.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wiping away his tears with your thumb. “I wish I were Arwen.” And with that, you walked away, thankful that Aragorn didn’t try to follow.

taglist: @lady-latte

#Aragorn #aragorn x reader #lotr #lotr writing

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4stars-uswnt · 4 years

Text

My Rock [Christen Press x Reader]

requested by anon: Could you maybe write one where R is dating christen. R is always finding pretty rocks on the sidewalk and stuff and giving them to christen. The team always teases her but one day during a match the reader “finds” a rock and proposes to Christen in front of the sidelines?

A/N: this request was so freaking cute. i absolutely loved it!

“Chris!” You chase after your girlfriend, holding a small rock you’d found on the sidewalk. “Look at this one! It reminds me of your eyes.” Beaming, you hand the speckled green rock over to your girlfriend.

“Thanks, babe.” Christen giggles, kissing your cheek.

“(Y/N), that’s like the fifth one you’ve found that ‘looks like Christen’s eyes’ and we’re not even halfway back to the hotel.” Tobin jokes.

“You should see her whenever she’s in Utah. It takes us forever to get places because (Y/N) always finds cool rocks everywhere.” Kelley quips, smirking at your blushing cheeks.

“How many rocks has (Y/N) given you, Chris?” Alex teases, as you hide your face in the crook of your girlfriend’s neck.

“I dunno. I honestly lost track after like a hundred or so.” Christen chuckles at your embarrassment.

“I can’t help it. I find a pretty rock, and I give it to a pretty lady.” You confess. “Plus, they’re good little pieces of our relationship and a reminder for Chris that I’m always with her even when I’m not.”

Your teammates internally soften at that, not fully understanding your obsession with collecting rocks until now.

“So, do you actually keep all the rocks?” Megan asks your girlfriend, genuinely curious.

Christen nods. “A lot of them are used as decoration around our apartment, some of them I take with me when I travel, and the rest are just in a box under my bed.”

You can’t help but swoon, hearing that your girlfriend has kept every single rock you’d given her. You had seen the special ones that Christen had put in your bedroom or in the kitchen, but you hadn’t known she’d still had all of them.

—————

The next day, after practice, the USWNT piled onto the bus. After a couple of minutes, there was still no sign of a single midfielder.

“Where the heck is (Y/N/N)? I’m trying to get some food!” Sonnett yells from the back of the bus.

“Press! Where’s your girlfriend?” Kelley pops up from her seat. Before Christen could answer, you stumble up the steps.

“Sorry! I got a little caught up.” You squeak, both of your hands full of stones. Hurrying into your seat, you spill the rocks onto your lap, wanting to show your girlfriend what you’d found for her.

“Got enough rocks there, (Y/N/N)?” Ash calls out.

“Seriously, dude, what’s the occasion?” Tobin laughs.

You roll your eyes, ignoring your teammates teasing, as you explain to the brunette forward why you chose each one. Throughout the ride back to the hotel, the team pokes fun at you, before Christen waves them off, verbally hushing the bus.

“This one reminded me of Morena and Khaleesi. This one looks like that tree we saw on our hike last month. Oh! And this one is one of my favorites: it’s the same color as your mom’s eyes. And this one is just pretty…” You trailed off, practically shaking with excitement.

Christen beamed, her eyes twinkling. She always loved it when you gave her a new rock, especially when you had a story or explanation for them.

—————

Later that night, as you’re getting ready for bed, you notice a couple of the rocks and pebbles you’d given Christen on the dresser.

“Babe?”

Christen walks out of the bathroom, still drying her hair. “Yeah?”

“You said earlier that you travel with some of the rocks that I’ve given you. Can I ask which ones?” You gesture over to the dresser.

“Sure.” She softly smiles, bringing them over to the bed. “Whenever I travel for national team camps or for away games, I always bring these five with me: the one from our first date, this one from our first kiss, when we first said ‘I love you,’ and the ones from our first and second anniversary.”

You give her a watery smile, your heart swelling full of love for the woman in front of you.

“I love you so much.” You whisper, as you pull into a soft kiss.

“I love you, too.” Christen smiles, kissing your nose. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go to sleep.” She snuggles closer to your side and pulls the blankets over the two of you, as you drift into a deep sleep.

—————

That weekend, the team was preparing for their CONCACAF Olympic Qualifying final match against Canada on Sunday. Everyone was feeling pretty good about it, seeing as you’d been playing incredibly, easily defeating your opponents. You, yourself, felt confident about your game throughout this tournament, scoring three goals and getting five assists in only four games. Despite the high spirits, the team was still focused and serious, as they made their way into the locker room, considering it was a game versus Canada, their international rival.

“Here you go.” You tap Christen’s shoulder, holding out a small round pebble you’d found outside the stadium.

“What’s this one for?” Your girlfriend smiles, turning to face you.

“Good luck. Not that you’ll need it” You peck her lips, giving her a wink before heading to your locker.

“Thanks, babe.” She calls after you, chuckling under her breath. As she puts your little gift away in her bag, Christen can hear Kelley teasing you.

“Hey! Where’s my good luck rock?”

“Score a couple goals and then maybe you’ll get one.” You taunt the defender, as you make your way out into the tunnel, Kelly chasing after you.

—————

As the ref blows the halftime whistle, you quickly grab something from your bag, before going to meet your girlfriend at the sideline.

“Hey!” You grab Christen’s attention, stopping her from heading back to the locker room.

“What?” She gives you a puzzled look. By now, the rest of the team also stopped to watch what you had up your sleeve.

Bending down onto one knee, you look up at the love of your life. “I found you another rock.” With that, you pull out a black box from your pocket, opening it to reveal a beautiful diamond ring.

Christen gasps, bringing her hands to cover her mouth, tears beginning to pool in her eyes.

“Christen Annemarie Press,” You start. “The past two years that we’ve spent together have been an absolute gift. You constantly amaze and inspire me with your beauty and your soul. You have been my best friend through the good and the bad, and I can honestly say you’ve made me a better person.”

You pause to take a deep breath, taking Christen’s left hand in yours.

“Thank you for loving me for who I am, and thank you for believing in me when no one else would. You truly have been my rock.” At that, you hear a few chuckles coming from your teammates and Christen herself. “You have shown me how to love with passion, purity, and unconditional acceptance. I know that forever is nowhere near enough time to spend loving you, but I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else. So, Chris, will you marry me?”

“Yes! Of course!” Christen bursts, unable to contain her happiness, tears streaming down her face. Grinning, you stand up to pull your fiancée into a searing kiss, slipping the ring onto her finger.

Pulling apart, you rest your foreheads against each other. “I love you.” She whispers.

“I love you, too. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.” You kiss her again.

Your intimate moment is soon interrupted by your teammates, who’ve now gathered around you, smushing you two into a huge group hug. After many congratulations, screams, and hugs, Vlatko signals that you do in fact have to head back to the locker room for the halftime talk. The team bounces down the tunnel, excitement from the proposal radiating off of everyone.

You and Christen trail behind the team, hoping to bask in your new engagement. Bringing your intertwined hands up to your lips, you place a kiss to the back of her hand.

“You’re amazing. I can’t wait to call you my wife.” Christen gushes.

“I can’t wait either. I love you so much.” You kiss her cheek, as the two of you enter the locker room. “But let’s go kick Canada’s ass.” You smirk, as you sit at your locker. Your fiancée huffs out a laugh, going to her own seat across the room from you.

Before heading back out onto the field, Christen puts her ring away, adding her new favorite rock to the collection she’d gathered over the years of your relationship with many more to come in the future.

—————

Liked by tobinheath, ashlynharris24, and 251,914 others

christenpress: She keeps me grounded. She keeps me going. She’s my rock. Now and forever.

tagged: yourusername

- - - - -

uswnt: Congratulations, Christen and (Y/N)! What a nice halftime surprise.

kelleyohara: The best rock she’s given you

yourusername: You’re my favorite person in the entire world.

mrapinoe: Love the two of you

ashlynharris24: Time to celebrate! 🥳

alikrieger: Can’t wait to see what the future holds

tobinheath: ❤️

cdunn19: Yes girl!

glennondoyle: I am so excited for the two of you. Hope to see you both soon so we can celebrate!

↳abbywambach: Congratulations!!

—————

Liked by alexmorgan13, allie_long_, and 985,463 others

yourusername: A real gem 💎

tagged: christenpress

- - - - -

uswnt: She truly is.

christenpress: I love you ❤️

alexmorgan13: It’s about time! Congrats! 🎉

kelleyohara: Still waiting on my rock…

↳allie_long_: Same. I want a rock like Christen’s

malpugh: Aw, pretty Chris

lindseyhoran10: How are you already getting married?

emilysonnett: She’s a diamond in the rough ;)

julieertz: Congratulations! Can’t wait to celebrate more

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #christen press x reader #christen press imagine #christen press imagines #uswnt #christen press

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miss-tc-nova · 3 years

Text

Kupo - Riku x Reader

Ooo, I like this one. However, because I already did a haunted house with Hermod, I’m gonna mosey on over to the carnival! I hope you enjoy, anon!

~~~~~

Eyes on the horizon, I am literally bouncing down the street. The only thing preventing me from bursting into a sprint and shoving Sora out of the way is the grip on my hand holding me in place.

“Will you calm down,” Riku says. I’m almost one hundred percent certain he’s enjoying the torture he’s putting me through.

“But Riku! It’s the carnival!” I reply, waving at the rides and booths set up in the distance. “It only comes to Destiny Islands once a year! How are you not excited?!”

Kairi, walking ahead of us with Sora, turns back. “Cut him some slack. Riku and Sora only got to go to the carnival a couple times.”

“Yeah,” adds Sora. “Our parents were usually busy when it came around, so we hung out on the island instead.”

“So he should be even more excited! C’moooooooooon!” The young man easily resists my pulling. “How are you walking even slower?! Aaaaarrrrggghhhh!”

“What are you complaining about? We’re here.”

I pause; he’s right. We’re finally here and I feel the built-up excitement just might pop. The bright lights and colors, the mouth-watering smells, the exhilarating rides: it’s been years since I’ve been to a carnival myself so I don’t even know where to start.

Someone walks by with a plate and Sora practically starts drooling. “What is that? Can we get one?”

Okay, I know one place not to start.

“No! You can’t eat yet!” I tell him.

“Aww, why not?”

I point to the claw-like structure waving several rows of seats in the air. “Because the last thing you want to do is pay for carnival food and then go on that.”

He waves me off. “I’ll be fine.”

I slap that hand down. “No! Ride first, then funnel cake!”

His blue eyes go wide. “Funnel cake?!”

“Later!”

As per my demands, we take on the rides first. Due to space, the rides are situated on either side of the carnival; so on our way to the other side, we pass through the game booths. Lines of stall attendants call out to patrons trying to lure them in. Some seem deceptively easy or just like a good time. On top of that, there’s an old rivalry sparking between Sora and Riku.

And then I spot it.

My fingers turn into a death grip around Riku’s hand as I emit the loudest gasp of my life.

“KUPO!”

“What?”

Releasing my boyfriend, I lose the group and slip through the crowd like a snake until I pop up at my targeted booth. There’s a hopeful grin on my face as I awe at the wonderous prize I hope to own by the night’s end. White plushies decorate the shelves in various sizes and even a few different colors.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Riku catches up, looking miffed. “You can’t freak me out like that!”

Pointing at the plush hanging above the game, I say, “It’s a moogle, kupo!”

His green eyes spot my distraction and a sigh emits from his mouth. “You still can’t just freak out like that.”

“My bad,” I say with a cheeky grin.

Green eyes roll; he can’t argue with me when I’ve admitted fault, so he moves on. “Anyway, I didn’t know you like moogles.”

“Are you kidding? Look at that face! That one’s huge!” I wave to the three-foot-tall plush sitting at the back.

Riku laughs. “Yeah, moogles don’t actually get that big.”

“Stop ruining the fun!” My attention finally turns to the game and I become a bit more apprehensive. “Hmm, skee-ball…”

“You got a bone to pick with skee-ball?”

“Let’s just say it’s not my best game.” Rifling through my pocket, I pull a handful of munny.

A silver brow quirks. “So you’re gonna waste your munny?”

“I want that moogle.” The currency drops into the machine, releasing five skee-balls.

“You’re the kind of person these games target.”

I pick up one of the balls, sizing up the game ahead. “Hey, even without a prize on the line, carnival games can be fun.”

“Just not skee-ball?”

The first ball rolls down the lane, pops up, and bounces off one of the rings before rolling into the 10-point hole.

I let out a puff. “…Maybe not for me.”

Riku chuckles and watches the rest of my miserable attempt.

There were five holes vertically aligned at the other end of the lane with point values of ten, twenty, thirty, forty, and fifty. For the extravagant moogle I had my heart set on, I needed a near perfect game of two hundred and forty points. Alas, with my skee ball skills, I’d be lucky for the keychain prize at one hundred and eighty points. At least I didn’t bring all my munny with me today.

The game ends with a pitiful score of one hundred twenty. Two following games don’t turn out any better and I figure it’s time to cut my losses.

“No moogle for me, kupo,” I sigh.

“Let me try.”

Before I can question, Riku nudges me out of the way and drops in a few munny. His first attempt is, expectantly, as bad as any of mine, but his second is much smoother; unfortunately, he still ends up ten points shy of any prize. However, a hard glint sparks in his eyes and I consider the problem I may have created.

Two keychains later, I decide to intervene.

“It’s fine, sweetheart.” I tug on his arm before he can start the next game. “Let’s go. Sora and Kairi probably went on all the rides without us already.”

Riku’s eyes flicker between the me and the game but he shakes off the competitive state he’s worked himself into.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You got these!” I dangle the keychains. “They’re freakin’ cute and there’s one for each of us, kupo!”

“Are you going to say that all day?” he asks, but I see that quirk at the corner of his lips.

Capturing his fingers, I lead the way. “Maybe. It’s fun, kupo. Say it.”

“No. Not gonna happen.”

“Oh come on! Please, kupo!”

“No.”

“Rikuuu! You’re no fun!”

I pester him to no avail; he’s clearly amused but he’s not budging on this one. Then it’s Kairi and Sora’s turn to pester us about disappearing—of course I get all the blame.

Our day continues with rides, attractions, games, and food that’s not at all good for you but tastes so good. We did a few more rides before we got food though, because there was no way I was sitting next to anyone on a ride right after eating. Then we moved on to games and attractions. The glass maze might be my favorite; I laughed so hard I almost couldn’t get off the floor. Sora and Riku both got stuck running into walls and now they both glare when we pass by the maze. Competition galore comes around with the games, though I notice Riku actively avoiding the moogle skee-ball stand. To be fair, we did already play it.

Once I’m confident there will be no barfing on the rides, it’s time for round two. Riku, however, seems distracted and I’m worried he might be getting sick. Just before we jump in line for another ride, he stops.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, but I’m gonna sit this one out. You guys go ahead.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m going to walk around for a bit.” Leaning in, Riku presses a kiss to my forehead. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Okay, but don’t be gone too long.”

“Got it.”

Riku splits off from us as we get in line for the gravity ride, but as he walks, I can’t help wondering what’s up.

“Where do you think he’s going?” Sora asks.

“No idea,” I say.

We enjoy the ride, but when there’s no Riku when we get off, we find another nearby. A couple rides and another shared funnel cake nearly waste an hour but still, there’s no sign of my boyfriend. The sun’s been long gone and booths are starting to close. Soon after, workers begin ushering people towards the exit.

Standing outside the carnival, I scan the crowds heading home.

“Where is he?” I question, looking around.

“He didn’t go home, did he?” Sora says.

I cross my arms. “If he ditched us, he’s going to be in serious trouble.”

Kairi folds her arms thoughtfully. Then her eyes light up and a smile plays on her lips. I try to follow her gaze, but just as I turn around, I run face first into something soft.

Thrown off guard, I cling to the squishy object, which offers no support whatsoever, but, thankfully, someone else keeps me on my feet.

Stable in my stance, I lean back, coming face to face with a pink-nosed, pompom-wearing, three-foot-tall, winged moogle.

“Kupo?” I mutter in confusion.

“For you.”

My gaze pulls from the plush to find Riku behind this ambush, clearly over-the-moon proud with himself.

The grin pulling at my mouth comes more from my understanding of his secrecy rather than the gift itself.

“So that’s what you’ve been up to this whole time,” Kairi announces.

His ego falters, marred by the tint bleeding across his nose. “Maybe…”

“Dude, you’ve been gone almost an hour,” Sora blurts out. “How many tries did it take you?”

The shade darkens. “Uh well…It’s been a while since I played skee-ball…so…”

Kairi jams a finger against his shoulder with her own smug simper. “You spent that whole hour playing, didn’t you.”

Suddenly, there’s a shout from the passing crowd. A little girl holding a small moogle waves her hand. “Thank you, moogle man!”

Another pair of kids behind that family, also with smaller moogles, also wave.

A hand against his face attempts to hide the face of defeat, but it’s too late—Kairi and Sora have already put two and two together. Riku had won many games of skee-ball, but didn’t stop until he obtained the extra-large prize.

My arms tighten around the moogle. “Well, I love him.”

Riku’s pride makes a small recovery. I love that look in his eyes, the one that says he’d do anything, even play a ridiculous game for an hour to win some silly prize.

“Which one? Riku or the moogle?” Sora asks.

I giggle. “Yes.”

While the brunette tries to figure out my answer, I push the moogle onto him. The moment my arms are clear, I lunge at Riku, even throwing my legs around his waist. Pouncing at Riku isn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence, so there’s no surprise when he keeps his balance and holds me up.

“I love you, kupo.” I nuzzle my nose against his, pulling a chuckle from the young man. “Say it.” He glances away. Not about to take that as an answer, I smush my face against his. “Say it! You know you want to! Say it!”

Riku’s hands release me, forcing my feet to come down before I drop onto the concrete. He peers down at me, face turning redder with each second and smiling like a bashful fool.

“I love you too, kupo.”

#riku kingdom hearts #kh riku #riku x reader #gender neutral reader #novas requests

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hey-its-nonny · 3 years

Text

Wishes

Aragorn x reader

okay this will be my last angsty fic i promise

I’m excited to announce that this fic is a collaboration! i wrote this with @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse and i am super pleased with it!

chap. six of In Between is out, so be sure to check that out. ANYWAYS this is inspired by the song Heather by Conan Gray :)

let the heartbreak commence <3

~~~~~

The necklace Aragorn had given you laid heavily on your neck. It felt wrong to be wearing it to this event, but without it, you didn't feel whole.

And with a look in the mirror, you sighed, a saddened smile gracing your lips while you prepared yourself for what would be one of the saddest days of your life.

You thought back to a better time when everything was easier. When your love for Aragorn had bloomed.

You winced a bit at how hot your soup was, as well as the fact that you could no longer eat it, since it was so elegantly spilled on your shirt.

Yet still, you laughed, opening your bag with a hum. “Aragorn, I’m sure I have a spare shirt in my pa- What? Where is it?” You quietly gasped, Aragorn’s eyes brightening.

“Take mine, Y/N. I have a spare.” He stated, the red on his cheeks dissipating.

Your gentle hands gingerly grasped the shirt as you stood, sharply inhaling at the temperature of the soup. “I’ll be back.”

You still had that shirt, after all the time that passed.

Those were fond memories you had of him, but fleeting. You smoothed your dress down and slipped on your shoes. Another memory came to haunt you, the emotions overwhelming.

The decorations were beautiful. You gazed upon the arch that Aragorn was to be wed under, trailing down the cascading vines and flowers. You counted at least a hundred guests.

If it weren’t for the emotions you felt at the moment, you might have smiled just because of how beautiful everything looked.

The very man that your thoughts were formed around jogged up to you, handsome as ever. His armor contrasted his eyes beautifully, and the smile he wore made you melt.

“Y/N. Just the woman I wished to see.” He grinned, placing a hand on your shoulder while you returned the smile.

You hummed, straightening your back. “What do you need?” You asked, ready to do whatever he needed.

“A friend.” He replied, indicating that he was nervous.

“You’ll be fine, Aragorn.” You smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Everything will go smoothly, I assure you.”

So, when he wasn’t looking, you quietly slipped away, allowing the tears to finally fall. What you didn’t know, however, was that he saw you walk away, more confused and worried than ever.

“Aragorn, please let me go.” You sniffled, lip quivering while your eyes begged him to leave.

Little did you know, Aragorn decided to run after you, desperate to clean up the mess you’d made. You ran, skillfully weaving throughout the trees to lose Aragorn.

He stood, watching while you unclasped the necklace Aragorn gave you. “Goodbye, Aragorn.” You spoke defeatedly, gently grasping his hands to place the necklace in them.

“Y/n, anything you wish, I will do. Just stay.” He asked one final time, slow tears falling down his cheeks.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wiping away his tears with your thumb. “I wish I were Arwen.” And with that, you walked away, thankful that Aragorn didn’t try to follow.

~~~ i LOVED writing this!!! if any of you writers ever wanna collaborate, hmu!!

tags: @eru-vande @thewhiteladyofrohan @from-patroclus-with-love @elvish-sky @lady-latte @entishramblings

#aragorn #aragorn x reader #aragorn x yn #lotr #lord of the rings

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weirdo-with-a-nametag · 3 years

Text

Brain is tv static with random frames interspersed

Think I'm like. Really stressed and jumping between topics to try and find something that helps / feels good

Topics:

Anyone know a good health tracking app for adhd people? I want one that like pops up when you open your phone, maybe? But is unobtrusive. Like maybe you just rate your mood or whatever when you open your phone, and it closes, and you go about your business. I just hate every app and paper method I've tried but really want to track some stuff

Pigeon. ? Pigeon as pet?

Service animals re: cats, pigeons, my cat specifically, and then also ESAs and also what to use as treats while training my cat (he's pretty happy to learn behaviors with praise and pets as reinforcement, but treats would make everything move much faster, but I haven't found something I want to give him so we've just been y'know. Chillin)

Service animals re: what tasks can my pet potentially do that would help me? I don't really know a lot about service animals and there is a Huge range. If anyone has suggestions, or places to read about it, I'd appreciate it! Mostly thinking they may help with anxiety, sensory, and mobility/fatigue related stuff. Not much of a need for medical alerts.

Bioactive enclosures for my snakes, need to research their biomes and make progress on designs and equipment specifications

Also. Hit a seriously hard patch and haven't been handling them much at all this month so that's not great

Casting stuff. Saw jewelry today made of metal casts of claws, skulls, etc, and they were really well done and made me want to do that

Some taxidermy / vulture culture stuff I won't get into right now

Puzzles????

How to organize my room

Need a shower

Need to organize bathroom

So Much Schoolwork

Uhhhhh trying, but not making much headway, to figure out how I want to do my music collection. Also really need to clean my records..

Make?

Food??? Ew.

Dental hygiene ://

Plampts. So many. Houseplants need maintenance, many need repotting. Keep taking in people's problem plants and like, they're doing better, largely, after being trimmed and watered and whatnot, but need repotting. Also need to trim some aquarium plants.

Also need to put water in tanks. And spray nepenthes.

Laundry.

Gotta pick up trash in my room. There's so much. Everywhere. Why.

Schoolwork. I'm so behind. So, so stuck. Kind of feel like I'm dying.

Going on a picnic tomorrow. Have to figure out what still needs doing for that, probably need to go to the store.

Leo needs water. I'm so....ugh, I'm trying so hard, but it feels impossible. I do my best to take good care of my pets, and I think they live pretty good lives most of the time, but sometimes I get like This and completely drop off the face of the earth and then like, wake up or whatever and two weeks have passed by and I have not cleaned a water bowl! That's a serious problem!!!! I do not know how to combat that, really, besides more reminders. Having someone around who is willing to like, help, when things are especially hard, would be great, but I don't live with my partner right now and do not feel like I can ask anyone here for that. But I can't put my animals at risk. I check on them every day, and if their bowls are dirty I do take them out and clean them, but sometimes (like now) i cannot get myself to do it without a pressure like a dirty bowl, or a feeding day. And like, it's really important that they have clean water. I'm talking to myself here but like, if anyone has advice. Please. With the tank redesigns and upgrades, the bowls will be more accessible, which will help because one of them is very heavy at the angle I have to pick it up, and another requires moving a lot of branches and is best to take out while the snake is out (this is Leo) which is fine because I love my boy, but adds time to the process, and makes it harder to start, you know? Maybe if I just got more bowls - I could take the bowl out and immediately replace it, fill the new one, and replace the decor and snake, and then clean the bowl as a separate task? That would be easier for my brain. Currently I have a Specific bowl I prefer to use for each tank, and then everything else is Just In Case, but I mean. Acquiring extras is something I want to do anyway, and it may help with several problems, so. Yeah. I'll try that. But also, any other ideas, guys?

Anxiety: can't stop picking at my face, skin, nails, cuticles, scalp, pretty much everywhere with callouses, also scratched a mole off my face, which is something I've been trying Not to do for a while, so that's...not great. Can't find my earmuffs, and also all of my headphones are painful? Ears are really sensitive lately.

Been playing a lot of Moth Game (flutter: starlight if you wanna be friends say hey I don't know how to do it but would enjoy talking about moths if nothing else. The game is just like, an idle ish collecting game with cutesy versions of different species, and very little actual information, but it's still fun, and if anyone else is on there and also Into Moths like I am, hiiiii) and like it's fun and cute but also greatly impacting my productivity, and raises my stress levels during events, which is most days, so the game has. Not been helping. But I can't stop because then I'll miss Exclusive Moths.

Anyway. Had baklava and two mugs of Thai tea today and the sugar has made me nauseous.

Trying to journal. Hurts to write. Also takes too long. Also my handwriting is very bad. But typing is..not as good

Want to draw. Thinking about drawing cats

Plants again! Want to make seed bombs, have seeds, have most of the other ingredients, just need to put em together, basically.

Really sad :(

Or am I?

Weird noise coming from dining room?

Birds. Spent half an hour at least on the deck tonight listening to a hundred different bird calls (literally) to identify one I was hearing, it was a pine siskin, which I checked early on but the recording was bad and I didn't realize which call was identified. Anyway, cool to put a name to a face, so to speak.

Need to practice for ASL

So much.....to do...

Only had like >3 hours of work this week which was not great because money, but also like I'm really feeling those 3 hours....

My cat is basically refusing to come into my room? Which is very strange and I'm worried something is Off but cannot figure out what. Also means less cuddles which means I'm sad.

It feels strange whenever people follow me, the attention is nice but I have no idea what content y'all are here for. So to everyone: hi, enjoy, hope my random personal posts aren't a surprise to anyone who followed for like. News reblogs and informational stuff.

Do I even have it in me to..be successful in school? Should I drop out of college? I'm struggling really hard and do not feel like I'm building on the skills I need to continue, so like. Uh.

My dad is being. Abrasive.

Mom and grandma are very angry lately

Housemate is also angry, about things i thought we were on good terms about, so I am stressed because like,, are we okay?

Can't find my eye mask :(

Yoga? Like...restorative yoga? Need to track down my PT stuff. And. Do it.

Need to put the stickers on my license plates....oops...

Still haven't found my antidepressants! Yay!

Do I want to store my stuff in open bins, or with lids? Which stuff needs spill protection and stacking capability and which stuff needs easy access?

How to earn money without..chaos

Gotta go to the pet store tomorrow. Have to compile my list of pet store items i need. Uhhhhhhhhhh

Also I have an essay due tomorrow that I've barely started. So. Wooooooo

Kt tape for supporting arches / inner ankles? I keep messing up my ankles, and part of it is walking wrong because I don't have the energy to engage the muscles in my feet/legs right to like, avoid injury, and part of it is I just need new shoes inserts. But i wear slippers a lot and they do not have arch support and it hurts. PT to help with this also but Where Is It

Family can't seem to get dish soap I can use, so I've just been having to avoid washing anything by hand, or being in the general kitchen area while anyone uses the stuff, which has led to more of my dishes sitting out, and more conflict over dishes. Lovely.

How hard is it for parents to learn they have to respect boundaries? Very hard, apparently. And you're supposed to just sort of remind people, and explain, over and over and over but like at this point my self worth is actually pretty good and the lifetime of proof that they do not want to listen? That's making me want to stop trying. Like, if you're not going to respect my boundaries I'm just not going to involve you in my life. I'm not talking to my dad right now because of this. Maybe I'll decide to lay things out to him, again and again and again again, maybe not. And I'm comfortable saying that's on him.

How to drink water

Am I dehydrated or are my hands just completely callous now. My fingertips have such hard skin. Why? It's uncomfortable. This is part of why I've been biting them.

Also testosterone. Been having a lot of trouble doing my shots, because anxiety and physical freakouts, but also not feeling super urgent about it. Which I'm realizing may be a sign i need to look at the effects so far and the possible effects of continuing, and see what they make me feel. It's possible I'm where I want to be as far as T, and don't really want to stay on it. A big thing for me is a deeper voice, so it seems time to take a look at whether I like my voice where it is or want to see if it'll drop any more. Etc etc

Miss my lil sisters

Saw a lot of cool rocks today. Huge (like hand sized) ammonite for $28. May go back and buy one because. Wow.

Want to plant food plants

Also my natives. Whole garden plot standing empty with a bunch of stuff waiting in nursery pots, needing to go in the ground. Because I can't get out of bed. Love that. Stuff is dying out there, I'm dying in here, there's a poetry to it and I do not want to romanticize suffering so I will say this: I brought a Bucket full of moss home a month ago and planted it and now go outside sometimes to drench my moss and it is very rewarding because the stuff is just so green. Incredible. When the rest of my plants are finally in the ground, that feeling will only intensify. But, for now, the moss is very nice.

Made a glow in the dark bead lizard from memory during therapy yesterday, and I love him. Also, still struggling with bringing up autism and psychosis topics with my therapist. Still very worried about. Things. Would like to get a new person? But sometimes she is helpful? And we have a routine. It's very hard to break the routine. Maybe I can set some time aside during the summer, to figure out what to do there.

Term ends in a couple weeks. The task of catching up, of passing, seems impossible. I really need to pass my courses. I'm on academic warning, because my GPA is lower than it should be, and if I can pass all of my classes this term I can get off academic warning but otherwise I'm not sure what will happen to my financial aid.

My phone is playing the same 50-100 songs on shuffle and I don't even particularly like most of them and it is very strange

Got my face wipes! Hooray, i can wash my face again

Been eating too much sugar in general. It's making my joints hurt more, and the nausea

Pet a dog the other day. I miss that. It would be really nice to have a dog in the house again. The exuberance, the cuddles, the tail wagging, the walks... I'd really like that. Maybe once I'm out in my room, tanks and catio built and everyone is situated, I'll look into getting a dog instead of a cat next. Was planning on holding off in case I'm not physically able to take them out on walks and such, but I've been pretty successful at doing this job, and I think that my main hurdle for walking really is motivation. Dog walking is a strong motivator for me. Best to start by fostering, or just do Wag, for a while though. I'm feeling overwhelmed with my current responsibilities, and here I am talking about getting a dog. Good job, me

How do you get wax off of somewhat water soluble rocks? My housemate broke my lava lamp on some of my rock collection and I am not sure how to get some of them clean without damage.

I am...pretty sure there are collared doves nesting over my room but it seems they're less common around here than I thought? But they are..pretty distinctive. Like if I'm wrong, what are those birds. Some very distinctly colored feral pigeons? Who are nesting here, in a tree, without their flock, and who happen to have pretty much the exact same pattern?

Probably should go to the dollar store and get some bins for organizing

Been wanting to keep a bin by the door and stock it with stim/fidget stuff people can just .have ..like extras of some of my favorites and other things i can get ahold of, to offer to my friends who haven't really had the chance to explore the world of stim toys

Hands are really just not doing great the last several weeks. Arthritis type pain cropping up more and more in all the little joints, making it hurt more to write, type, or just use them for whatever. Coordination isn't great because of that distraction, and because my hands/arms are slow to respond and kinda weak. Most people would say I'm not using them enough but I've been doing 15ish hours of manual labor per week, so maybe it's the other direction? More water would help. If only it wasn't so heavy.

I haven't taken a single shower since I started my job. Which was March 29th. That's not great.

Practiced parallel parking today. 10/10 still very bad at it.

Having anxiety that my friends think I'm lying about things, faking, and are watching me to see if I'll slip up. So that sucks. Can either talk about that directly or indirectly, or just shut up about those things until I can get my brain under control again. I'm not sure right now if the reassurance would work as a reality check or make me believe it more, right now, so might hold off on the talking bit for a little while.

Saw, smelled, picked a couple pretty roses. Good times

At this point I'm just trying to list all my thoughts so that maybe I'll be able to sleep and not worry I'll forget

My mom has put her spider plant on the deck, and it has maybe five living leaves. I have no idea how she killed such a well established spider plant, the last time I saw it it was so happy. Did she stick it in a corner and forget to water it? Whatever happened, it is now in the Plant ER, so hopefully I'll be able to...help get it on the up and up again

Leo is such a pretty noodle. He's so pretty. He's posing. Hi, baby boy.

Oh, he saw me moving around and decided to come say hi. Sorry little man, i did not mean to disturb you. Please resume lounging. I can't bring you out right now, I'm trying to sleep.

Also, terrariums. Water features. Need to ask. Someone. The one who was making that super cool garter snake enclosure and blogging the progress? With the lazy river and pool? About maintenance on that kind of setup. My milk snake really enjoys water, and I'd love to put a water feature in his tank. But I'm unclear on how to keep it clean, or honestly where to start. Don't want any huge falls or anything, though it actually may not make the humidity too high if I did maybe a small drip wall into the pool? That seems like something he would enjoy, and a good way to support different types of plants. But like, that's the thing, it's bioactive and I haven't done that before and no amount of research is ever enough.

Oh, Shogun has a dirt hat. How cute. I love when they do that

See, this is the thing. My snakes make me so happy. All three of them are actually hanging out where I can see them from my bed right now, and it's really nice. I want their lives to be the best possible, and I think I have the resources to do that. Which is so exciting. Now if only my brain and body would cooperate. It would hurt quite a lot to have to re-home any of them, but the most important thing is their health and quality of life, you know? If I can't get my act together somewhat, it may be that one or all of them would be better off with another keeper. I don't know. It's just, i talk about all these tank ideas and all this husbandry standards stuff but how much of it actually gets applied to my own animals whose lives are in my hands? How well am I caring for them, really?

Oh!!! My red thread! I thought that was gone forever.

Anyway, please do not worry. My snakes are healthy. I pay attention, and watch for signs of illness, and they're okay. There will always be places to improve, and the water is a big one, but most of the time i change their water out frequently, I'm just worried because of bad depression and fatigue times, you know? I'm working on making the most self sustaining systems i can, in part so that I am sure they'll be okay if I mess up sometimes. Just saying this because I hope you guys don't feel like you need to worry about the welfare of my pets. They're okay, i just always want better for them, is all.

Anyway, the sun is coming up and I should probably go to sleep. So uh, thanks for reading, if you read all of this randomness, and if anyone has thoughts or advice on anything in this post, i would welcome it! Good night!

#mine #long post #snakes #pets #food m #uhhhhhhhhhhhh whatever else needs tagging

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essays-for-breakfast · 3 years

Text

Let the Time of Separation Disappear

Kiane Week Day One: Touch/Feel

This group thing was a terrible idea. The Seven Deadly Sins – more like the seven daily prayers King sent to the Sacred Tree to put an end to this madhouse. No matter how skilled the individual fighters might prove in combat – and King had his doubts about at least two of the four oddballs in this matter –, they would not function as a unit. The afternoons he spent trapped in the community quarters high up in Liones castle demonstrated this point with such emphasis, he might laugh. That is, if he hadn’t felt so miserable.

On the rare occasion that the Mage, Merlin, showed herself, she would levitate in a corner of the room, smile to herself, and watch the disaster unfold. She played the group without the need of a single word, and King did his utmost to turn invisible whenever she teleported into their midst. But the Captain, Meliodas, would always shatter his efforts by showering everyone on the team with a disgusting excess of liquor only humans could find amusing.

And unfortunately, ‘everyone’ included King.

The third of the bunch, Gowther, did nothing much at all. He sat on the floor in his clunky armor, took away space, and sometimes speed through a book Merlin handed to him in about a minute. The mere thought of gluing his eyes onto a piece of manufactured wood filled with this many words gave King a headache.

And no, the alcohol was not responsible this time. Although the sight of Gowther’s untouched mug on the floor did produce a foul taste on his tongue. King hurried to open the nearest window, and swallowed a lungful of oxygen. A bit better. Even though the air circling around the human castle lacked the scents of nature, of conifers and pollen and grass heavy with morning dew.

“What’s the matter, King, you gotta throw up?”

King craned his neck to throw a death glare at the owner of the voice.

Ban was by far and away the worst. If a single human existed to whom King liked to demonstrate the deadly capabilities of his Sacred Treasure more than Aldrich, Ban would make for the ideal candidate. Careless, loud, rude, followed by the stench of alcohol wherever he went, and overall, the most human-like human King had had the displeasure to meet. The day he would fight alongside this man would without a doubt bring about the end of Britannia.

“I would have rather stayed in my cell,” King said with a pleading look in Meliodas’ direction.

“Too late. I got’cha out of there, so you owe me your eternal loyalty. Although I might free you from your debt if ya take another drink and relax. I’ve got good news this time.”

Gowther looked up from his book with a teeth-clattering shriek of his helmet. “Does this mean you have found one of our missing members?”

Meliodas grinned. “Bingo.”

“Nooo!” King buried his face between his hands. “Not another one. I won’t take another.”

The only hinderance that had so far saved him from the dreaded field missions as a special order of King Bartra’s Holy Knights with a special talent for lacking any resemblance of teamwork, had been their shortage of numbers. According to Bartra’s vision, seven knights would unite against an unnamed great threat. King’s lucky streak had not only pushed him into the spotlight as one of these seven, it had also chosen the worst people as his teammates. And he had little hope that the Sins of Envy and Pride would upset the trend once they showed up.

Meliodas wiggled an accusing finger in the air. “Now, now, King, you have to give her the opportunity to win you over. I met her by chance before she was sentenced. She’s a nice girl. And her grilled pork tastes far better than mine.”

“That’s a low standard to beat.” Ban robbed across the lavish carpet – the pelt of a white hound-like creature if King had to guess – and put an arm around the Captain’s neck. “I’ve never tasted worse food than yours!”

“Well, it’s not like cooking’s a revered skill where I come from.”

“To return to your complaint, King,” Merlin said while hiding her intentions behind the rim of her wine glass, “I believe our newcomer will surprise you. You might find that you share more than a few things with her.”

Aha. Another one of Merlin’s cryptic messages. Did the Captain carry with him a dictionary on the way she shared knowledge in singular puzzle pieces to understand her? And could King borrow such a dictionary?

“Let’s just get this over with,” he said with a sigh.

Meliodas clapped his hands together. “Great! But we gotta go out to the yard to meet her. She’s a little shy.”

With crossed arms, King floated behind the others through the great halls of the castle. Cold stone atop of more cold stone, decorated with stone ornaments. A handful of knights passed them on their way towards the yard and stared at the group with a mixture of curiosity and hostility. Many a hand wandered towards the hilt of a sword, mace, or spear. King could handle the glares, as a Fairy, he had earned a plethora of glances and hushed comments from his prison guards throughout the past two hundred years. His human form did little to divert suspicion, after all, he hobbled behind an armored colossus, a drunkard, and a blond child. But what unnerved King far more was the fact that he would soon have to collaborate with these human knights and fight their war. Last time he had been forced to kill, his hand hadn’t stopped trembling for days on end.

King bumped into Ban when the latter stopped dead on the doorstep towards the yard. The string of curses he planned to hurl at Ban died in his throat, suffocated by the sight of his newest teammate. She reached thirty feet above the cobblestone, her head blocked the sun, and she refused to dissolve after one, two, four hacked breaths that escaped King’s mouth like whimpers.

She hadn’t changed one bit. Of course, she had grown in these two hundred years, the shape of her body had become more defined with added curves, but she still wore her hair in pigtails, she still shuffled her right foot over the ground, and she still hid her face behind brown locks when none of the other Sins raised their voice to greet her.

Her eyes, a shade of violet more intense than any forget-me-not – the same.

Her hands, strong and dirt-stained and able to form clay into fantastical figures – the same.

Her voice when she mumbled a “Hi, guys” into her hair – the same.

The world turned upside down and shrunk, King’s vision and his sense of smell narrowed until no one but her existed, her and a cave and a field of flowers he had called home. She had survived – what had led her here? Did she remember? No, of course not, the spell King had woven had plucked every last hint of him from her memory. But she still stood here, presented to him as his teammate. They could spend their time together like they had used to – but they would fight in a war together. She might get hurt, she might be forced to kill, she might see the failure he was, a killer who didn’t hesitate to end his best friend’s life. Even if the universe had worked its magic to make her remember him… wouldn’t she hate him? For abandoning her?

Ban smacked his elbow into King’s ribs. “Will ya say hi to her already? Otherwise my feet are gonna freeze to the ground.”

What? Had any of them talked? Had Meliodas introduced her already? King turned towards the Captain for help, but he only offered a knowing grin that matched Merlin’s expression to a T.

She extended a hand towards King, the skin covered by tiny scars from a life in the wild. “The name’s Diane.”

“Harle- You can call me King.”

“Nice to meet you, King.” The smile she gifted him was ripped right out of his memories, untainted by the two hundred years of separation.

And when he placed a trembling hand against her outstretched finger, every moment that had withered and lost its gleam in the darkness of his prison cell returned to him, and they were kids again. The games of tag, the stories she told him, the anecdotes about plants he shared with her, the sound of her laugh, the smell of grilled pork, the warmth of her body next to him when they slept.

All of this and more overwhelmed King at the touch of Diane’s skin. The sweaty palm of his human form against the softness of her fingertip, so close that he felt the individual grooves and bumps of her skin.

His heart might have well run away and forgotten to beat when Diane leaned forward. “We wouldn’t happen to know each other, right? Something about you feels familiar… I can’t put my finger on it.”

“W-where could we have met?” King blinked against the sting in his eyes. Probably dust. Yeah, definitely dust. “I’m sure you’re imagining it. You can find a face like mine all around human towns, right Captain?”

“Sure, but most of those folks can’t fly.”

“I always wondered about this,” Ban said. “But I’ve had at least two… three… five bottles of ale, so I can’t trust me ears or my eyes anymore. Speaking of, with our sixth member tracked down, the evening calls for a celebration! Captain, you wouldn’t happen to have more of that Vanya Ale stocked somewhere?”

Meliodas grinned. “I’m one step ahead of you. You’ll join too, right Diane?”

“How could I decline when you’re the one asking?” Diane winked at the Captain, but by some miracle, her eyes found their way back to King. “Still, I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before. It’s like a memory from long ago I can’t quite reach.”

“Maybe it was a dream,” King said. “People can imagine the most wonderous things when they’re dreaming.”

But he remembered. He remembered all of it, all the moments, the conversations, and the quiet togetherness Diane had forgotten. And on this day and throughout the next five years King stayed beside her. He found excuses to touch her, hand her a drink, brush her arm when floating next to her, high-five her after a successful mission. Her skin against his skin for the briefest of moments.

So that at least one of them remembered.

#kianeweek #kianeweek2020 #nnt #nanatsu no taizai #nnt fanfic #king x diane #kiane #king #diane #the sins #my writing #I don't know what this is #but it's not the prompt #too tired to edit

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gloves94 · 4 years

Text

Sunburn [Prince Zuko] 21

Warnings: None Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Zuko/OC Summary: “You have everything you’ve ever wanted.” “No.” He said softly. “Not everything…” His golden eyes looked at her with a melting intensity she had never witnessed before. “I guess not.” She responded with glassy eyes as tears welled up threatening to break the dam of her eyes.

My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T

"Have you ever thought about why you're the only person in your family- in the world with that color of hair?" Iroh said.

Tsai wished more than anything that she could see his face or be sitting next to him. She didn't know what hurt her more. Having had to hurt Iroh like that or her melodramatic break up with the prince.

She touched the tips of red auburn-red hair as she looked at the color pondering on the ominous meaning of his words. All along she thought she had inherited it from a distant relative from a faraway land. She always thought they there might be somebody else with the same hair tone but Iroh was right. They had practically gone around the world and had yet to encounter someone with similar hair.

"Tsai, your hair. It's that color because-" He was interrupted by a door being slammed.

"Prisoners are to be kept in isolation!" A guard intruded as she heard them barge into Iroh's cell.

"I feel that your journey will be difficult Tsai. Much more difficult than mine!" He shouted as they seized him.

"No! No!" She pounded on the walls. "Wait!"

"Be strong! Have faith and be brave! But most of all remember who you are! Look for the light! You are the light!" He shouted over his shoulder as he was escorted out of the prison cell dungeon.

"Please! Don't take him!" She pleaded her voice cracking. "Don't leave me alone," she let out a miserable whimper as the tears spilled from her eyes.

"Please…" She managed to let out a squeak. She wrapped her arms around herself feeling more alone than ever. That night Tsai spent the night in the cell in isolation and her tears almost drowned the miserable prison...

xxx

Zuko frowned slightly as he leaned against the ship railing and stared out at the moonlit ocean in front of him. He was finally going home after three long years. It was something he should be happy about, but a part of him rebelled against the emotion.His stomach churned with anxiety at the thought of seeing his father again.

Why did he feel so… filthy?

Why did he feel as if there was a missing part of him? As if he had lost something?

He didn't understand the heartache that consumed most of his internal turmoil and blended emotions.

"Aren't you cold?" A voice suddenly interrupted hit thoughts

The scarred prince turned his head slightly to glance at his ex-girlfriend. Not Tsai. It was Mai his ex-ex-girlfriend. She looked the same as she had before his banished. Her chalk porcelain skin remained emotionless her midnight straight black hair flowing down in two strands like two-night cascades. She walked over to him, hands hidden inside her sleeves and stopped less than a foot away from him cool, calm and collected.

"I've got a lot on my mind," he responded his tone flat as he turned his attention back to the ocean.

"It's been so long, over three years since I was home. I wonder what's changed. I wonder how I've changed."

Mai suddenly yawned and she looked at Zuko with a bored expression, "I just asked if you were cold, I didn't ask for your whole life story."

Zuko pursed his lips and turned away from her, his brow furrowing slightly in annoyance. Thoughts of a certain auburn-haired girl from the Fire Nation colonies flooded his mind. Thoughts about his uncle also seized him. His-No- Their betrayal. Yes. That's how it had been. They betrayed him. He shook his head slightly in an attempt to rid himself of his thoughts and the pulsating headache that was about to become a migraine.

He was so distraught he didn't notice Mai stepping closer to him and wrapping her arms around him.

"Stop worrying." She said with a small smile as she cupped his cheek and turned his face towards her.

He looked away, turning away from her. She leaned in to kiss him. Yet he recoiled. The only thing he could see was Tsai's look of pure horror on her face in the crystal chamber back in the underground lake cave. Mai pulled back with a frown, her expression one of hurt and confusion. They hadn't spoken in over three years; he hadn't seen her in over three years. He didn't feel connected to her anymore.

Then again he was sure he didn't feel anything at all anymore.

"Zuko?" She questioned perplexed, her brow knotting as she didn't understand just what was going through his mind.

Zuko starred at her for a moment. Her eyes weren't warm. Her skin wasn't sun kissed. Her hair wasn't red, but she was standing right before him and maybe- just maybe she'd help. She'd help put the memory of Tsai in a box and become the last nail in the coffin that would be buried away forever.

After all she was a traitor to his country and to his uncle- the apathetic look that she flashed him her empty eyes haunted him.

He hesitated but leaned forward to kiss her. She gently touched his face when she did and smiled faintly at him when she broke the kiss and walked away.

Zuko bowed his head and shut his eyes as he leaned on the ship deck's metal rail. It didn't work. Just like it hadn't worked when he kissed Jin in front of that fountain that night. His insides churned with unease as guilt stirred inside of his consciousness. He had to get rid of her. He had to forget her. Nothing would ever be the same after Ba Sing Se. He had to forget ALL of her.

He suddenly felt a sensation burning in his pocket, he snatched the burning coal out and realized it was her family's necklace. The one he had taken from her as the Blue Spirit. He had forgotten to return it to her and had stayed lost amongst his possessions in Ba Sing Se. He looked at the amber sunstone that decorated the center of the choker and the way that it gleamed. Wild thoughts raged inside his head. He clenched it in a shaking fist and raised it over his head throwing it into the dark depths of the ocean. Yet- his palm did not open. He could not let go. He used every ounce of physical strength he could muster, but his hand would not unclench.

"Why can't I let you go?" He roared in anger as frustration consumed him.

xxx

Isolation was a different type of hell. It was depressing. It consumed your sanity.

Tsai had a schedule of activities she would practice every day in an attempt to keep her sanity at least in the borderline. They would feed her flavorless rice and a bucket of water a day. She would sleep in the cold, dark floor and the only sound she could hear besides the crashing waves was the one of the sea gulls outside flying on the deck. Feeding on whatever scraps had been left over from lunch.

“You have to stay active.” Iroh had instructed. “Keep both your mind and body strong.”

She would awake, scratch another white line on the ground which symbolized another gone day. She would spend a period of time stretching, running from one side of her cell to the other, keeping her muscles strong. Part of it was spent singing and the other thinking.

Thinking was the worst. She couldn't stop thinking about the what if's. What if she had never gotten on that ship? What if she had joined the Avatar when she could? What if she turned really turned on Iroh just like his ungrateful nephew had? What if she had conformed with what she had known about the Fire Nation her whole life and stayed quiet? What did Iroh mean about her strange hair color? She also thought about her dream… The one that had been lost so many times… Maybe Zuko was right. Maybe she would never acknowledge anything extraordinary in her life.

Several weeks had passed now and she suspected they were nearing the Fire Nation's dock.

Tsai was taken to the prison dungeons in the North Tower upon their arrival to the Fire Nation. People threw rotten food and other trash at her and the disgraced Dragon of the West as they were escorted to the tower. Whooping, cursing and trash talk followed them as people cruelly hollered them on.

A part of her thought it was slightly humorous that she had been imprisoned in the Southern Water Tribe, the Earth Kingdom and now in the Fire Nation. All this prison bird was missing from her BINGO was visiting the Air Nomad's jail.

“They will first take you as a prisoner,” Iroh had predicted. “It is very important that you remain true to yourself. That you know what you want and what you have to do.” He had instructed.

She had to play the long waiting game and by their rules. She let out a breath she had been holding and attempted to find comfort in her discomfort. The rats that kept her company, grime and filth in the small cell did not help.

xxx

"Your Princess Azula, clever and beautiful, disguised herself as the enemy and entered the Earth Kingdom's Capital."

Her royal aides, Li and Lo, stood before at the top of the battle tower in the Royal Plaza in the Fire Nation Capital's harbor. Li addressed the soldiers below "In Ba Sing Se, she found her brother Zuko, and together they faced the Avatar..."

"And the Avatar fell!" They chorused together, "And the Earth Kingdom fell!"

"Azula's agents quickly overtook the city." Lo continued loudly, "They went to Ba Sing Se's great walls..."

"And brought them down!" The two women shouted in unison.

"The armies of the Fire Nation surged through the walls and swarmed over Ba Sing Se, securing our victory." Li exclaimed.

'Several Dai Li agents stood at the top of the Outer Wall then they leapt down, sliding down the wall with their hands and feet pressed against it. When they landed on the ground they quickly lunged forward and slammed their fists against the wall, bringing down several sections and allowing hundreds of Fire Nation soldiers into the once impenetrable city of Ba Sing Se...'

"Now the heroes have returned home!" Li and Lo shouted together.

"Your princess, Azula..." Lo introduced and the crowd below cheered loudly as the young princess stepped forward, a smirk on her face.

"And after three long years," Li continued to speak, "Your prince has returned..."

"Zuko!" Li and Lo shouted together.

Zuko swallowed imperceptibly and walked forward with a vaguely worried expression on his face, his head slightly bowed. How would his people react to his return form exile? He was taken aback in surprise as crowd cheered loudly when he reached the edge of the balcony and he stared down at them for moment then lifted his chin, holding his head up proudly. A small smile on his face. They accepted him. They welcomed him back. This was all that he had ever wanted.

Their honorable prince had finally returned home.

xxx

Zuko sat cross-legged beside the small pond in the palace's square garden he and his mother used to sit by, and he tossed small pieces of bread into the water, watching quietly as the turtle-ducks quacked. His thoughts went to his mother. What would she think of him? What would she have done? Would she be proud?

He sighed and pulled out the sunstone necklace from his pocket. He traced the stone with his thumb and looked at it sadly.

He had so many questions that were unanswered…

“You seem so downcast. Has Mai gotten to you already?" Azula commented with false warmth as she approached her brother and she smiled slyly as she stood in front of him, "Though actually, Mai has been in strangely good mood lately."

Zuko ignored her provocations and stared at the pond lost in thought, "I haven't seen Dad yet. I haven't seen him in three years, since I was banished."

What would he say when they met again?

"So what?" Azula snorted. Thinking her brother's concerns were pathetic.

'"-Your father sent you on a fool's errand to capture the Avatar was because he didn't want you-"' Tsai's harsh words echoed in the back of his head.

What if she was right?

"So," Zuko growled in annoyance, "I didn't capture the Avatar."

"Who cares? The Avatar's dead..." Azula replied flippantly, though her eyes narrowed when she saw her brother look away, "Unless you think he somehow miraculously survived..."

'"This is water from the spirit oasis at the North Pole." Katara explained as she held up a small vial on a leather string for him to see, "It has special properties, so I've been saving it for something important."' He could still remember the waterbender saying to him.

"No." Zuko growled lowly after the memory faded from his mind and he turned his head to glare at his sister, "There's no way he could have survived."

Azula's eyes narrowed and she glared down at her brother for a moment then she shrugged nonchalantly, "Well, then I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

It was then that Azula’s eyes caught a glimmer in his hand.

“What’s that?” She asked with narrowed eyes.

Zuko instantly pulled his hand away in a defensive tone. “Nothing,” he said much too sharply.

“Let me see!” Azula wasted no time and dove for his hand prying it open.

“Go away Azula!” Her brother argued back as he tried to keep his hands clamped over the jewelry artifact and tugged his way. Azula tugged the opposite way. “Let me see!” She insisted childishly. It was then that Zuko fell back hitting the back of his head against the tree’s back. Azula gave a step back from the sudden momentum yet saw a glimmer go up in the air. With one swift motion she jumped and caught the gem midair with one hand.

Zuko starred at the strappy part of the torn part of choker necklace in his hand and rose to his feet a deep scowl on his face.

“Look what you’ve done!” He exclaimed angrily.

“What is this?” Azula narrowed her eyes and inspected the small orange colored stone between her index and thumb. It was small, round and well-polished.

“None of your business!” He barked.

“A gift for Mai?” She assumed. “Why would you give her such a tacky present?”

Zuko snatched the gem from her hands and shoved it into the depths of his pockets. He wouldn't allow her to have it. To touch it. Even look at it.

“You’ve got awful taste.” His sister said looking down at her brother’s taste in jewelry. That was totally not Mai’s style. “Besides, everybody knows that diamonds are a girl’s best friend. Much classier too,” She said something about this being fun and walked away laughing as she did.

Zuko sighed and secretly looked at the gemstone as he retreated and once again took his seat by the pond. By this point all the turtle ducks were gone and he sat alone.

Zuko pursed his lips and he looked back at his reflection in the water, his anxious thoughts drifting from the ruined heirloom to his reunion with his father when he suddenly saw a familiar reflection appear next to him in the water. He almost fell to the side as he turned in shock. It was her. Tsai was standing next to him clear as day. She stood proudly with her back straight as an arrow as she usually did hands crossed over her chest.

"What do you think the Fire Dad will do to you if the Avatar is alive?" She clicked the back of her tongue in disapproval and shook her head.

"What are you doing here?" He snapped angrily hiding the stone in his pocket again, this time for good.

She rounded around him not breaking eye contact.

"Am I.…really here?" She pondered out loud. "Or am I rotting in the dungeons where you sent me!"

He must be going mad. People in his family had a history of mental turmoil and hallucinations. He wouldn't be surprised if he was actually seeing things.

"You're not real!" He shouted tossing a piece of bread at her which clearly went through her shape.

"Guess I'm real enough to haunt you," she shrugged casually. "What's it like?" She cocked her head to the side hair falling to one side. "Having everything you ever wanted back? Your honor? Your throne? Your family's respect!" She snapped viciously her eyes fixed on his, her expression loaded with contempt.

"Shut up!" He shouted back. He shook his head. He was speaking to nothing. There was no one there. She wasn't real. He was talking to himself. "SHUT UP!" He shouted pulling at his hair shutting his eyes tightly.

When he opened his eyes she was gone.

xxx

"I am so proud of you, Prince Zuko. I am proud because you and your sister conquered Ba Sing Se." Fire Lord Ozai said with pride as he walked around still kneeling son. This was it. The words he had longed to hear. His father's approval and recognition. It was what he had always wanted. So why was he on edge expected to be lashed out at? "I am proud because when your loyalty was tested by your treacherous uncle, you did the right thing and captured the traitor. I am proudest of all of your most legendary accomplishment. You slay the Avatar."

Zuko's eyes widened in shock before he schooled his face into a neutral expression as he turned his head slightly to look at his father over his shoulder.

"What did you hear?" He poked.

"Azula told me everything." The Fire Lord explained lowly, "She said she was amazed and impressed at your power and ferocity at the moment of truth."

Zuko pursed his lips slightly and looked off to the side, his mind whirling with questions.

"Like I said- what will daddy think if the Avatar is alive?" A familiar voice echoed inside his head.

Xxx

"Seems odd doesn't it?"

Zuko stomped through the hallways of the Fire Nation's palace. A figment of his imagination haunted him. A most annoying figment.

"Azula doesn't do things to be kind. Specially not for you." Tsai shrugged as she walked next to him. She looked like she always had. Strong, unapologetic, glowing.

"She's my sister. She wouldn't do that. You don’t know her," he growled out at the nothing. Trying to keep his eyes focused forward. "You're right," the girl answered after a moment. "After all, I'm just a figment of your guilty conscience. I only know what you know." He turned to where the girl was standing and swatted his hand over her repeatedly making her mirage vanish.

Zuko threw open the door to Azula's chambers and narrowed his eyes, "Why'd you do it?" He demanded to know. He hated to admit it but his conscience was right. Azula really did not do things out of kindness for anyone and less for him.

"You're going to have to be a little more specific." Azula commented coolly without opening her eyes or moving from her bed.

"Why did you tell Father that I was the one who killed the Avatar?" Zuko demanded as he walked further into his sister's room, his hands clenched at his sides.

"Can't this wait until the morning?"

"It. Can't." He spat.

"Fine." Azula sighed and she opened her eyes as she sat up in her bed, "You seemed so worried about how Father would treat you because you hadn't captured the Avatar. I figured if I gave you the credit, you'd have nothing to worry about."

"But why?" Zuko asked in confusion.

"Call it a generous gesture." Azula asked smugly as she slipped out of her bed and walked towards her brother, "I wanted to thank you for your help, and I was happy to share the glory."

"Generous? Since when does Azula share her glory?" It was that voice again. Scoffing in the back of his head.

Zuko's eyes narrowed as he regarded his sister, "You're lying."

If you say so..." Azula replied as she walked past him.

"You have another motive for doing this, I just haven't figured out what it is." Zuko growled as he turned to glare at his sister.

"Please Zuko, what ulterior motive could I have? What could I possibly gain by letting you get all the glory for defeating the Avatar?" Azula asked mockingly as she turned around and approached him, putting her hand on his shoulder, "Unless, somehow, the Avatar was actually alive. All that glory would suddenly turn to shame and foolishness. But you said it yourself, that was impossible."

Zuko scowled at his sister as she laid back on her bed and he turned his back on her, preparing to leave the room, "And what did you tell father about Ts-" He faltered slightly and stopped himself. The boulder of guilt on his shoulder's becoming heavier and heavier with every passing moment.

"About the girl that was traveling with uncle. " He corrected.

She appeared in his vision once again. "I have a name you know?"

Azula smiled slyly, "You mean your girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfriend." Zuko said. This time more quietly.

"You got that damn right!" His torturous vision screeched as she stood next to Azula.

"That's not what I heard," Azula said teasingly. "Did you see the look on her face?" She laughed. "When she was begging you to betray us alongside uncle. It was pathetic. I should've struck her down when I had the chance, but I guess rotting in the dungeons is a fit punishment. Even tho in an interesting turn of events she was the one that brought down Uncle."

Zuko saw Tsai's translucent imaginary hands wrap around Azula's neck as she attempted to strangle her. Zuko clenched his hands into fists at his sides as he stopped in the doorway, his back to his sister. He couldn't see or hear Tsai's voice anymore.

"Of course, father knows about her. He wants to meet her. Wants to find a fit punishment to atone for her family's crimes towards the Fire Nation's crown" Azula continued with a wicked smile as she closed her eyes, "Sleep well, Zuzu."

Zuko swallowed thickly and closed the door behind him, his eyes closing in anguish.

xxx

They came for her suddenly. She didn't even have a moment to react. She resisted kicking, fighting and scratching the soldiers that seized her.

"Where are you taking me?" She shouted.

She was completely stripped off her clothes and thrown into a moist concrete pit where buckets of ice-cold water were thrown at her. She shivered and was told to wash herself. After a pair of semi decent clothing consisting of a dull brown dress with long no sleeves were given to her. It was fastened at the waist with a simple string.

She was escorted into the palace. A palace which as a little girl had more than anything dreamed of visiting one day. It was as mighty as the nation with tall traditional Fire Nation roofs that curved up and reflect a bright red color. Crimson columns, gold and painted dragons danced the royal hallways.

“Knowing my brother, they will grant you an audience… Not to hear you out, but to humiliate you. I warn you. My brother is not the forgiving kind.” She could still remember Iroh’s instructions.

She was taken before Fire Lord Ozai.

The Fire Lord's face was striking with the embers that surrounded him. His cheeks were prominent and hollow, eyes were a pale yellow like a snake’s and his midnight dark hair was work in a half up updo as if was traditionally worn. He looked down at her as if she was an insect ready to be squished.

She could definitely see the family resemblance between him and his children.

“Play them like a game of Pai Sho.”

How many times had she been instructed to bow before the Fire Lord in her childhood if he was ever to visit the colonies. Of course, the man never did. How many days had she pledged her allegiance to the Fire Nation before school started as a child. Hell- she had drawn the face of their powerful leader countless of times, and now she stood before him. It was all a little unreal.

Azula stood to his right, Zuko to the left. The three of them standing before her. She suddenly fell to her knees being pushed to the floor by a guard. She glared at the man from underneath her bangs which had grown long and now covered most of her face.

"I should have your head," Ozai suddenly spoke. "For your dishonor and disrespect. Your family's too." He stroked his dark slim beard with one hand.

She remained silent.

It pained her but she had to play the long game...

Zuko looked at her. He did not look like she remembered. Her cheeks were thin, her eyes were wild, and her hair had grown dull and longer past her shoulders. She didn't glow like she seemed to in his mind, in his memories. She almost looked feral. Like a wounded animal.

"This is the harlot you decided to keep as company?" He tossed at his son who had been holding his breath this entire time. Ozai had asked a question, yet it sounded like a statement.

'Coward..' Tsai thought bitterly. 'To think that she had… That she had lov-' her eyes snapped back to Ozai. She couldn't afford to be distracted.

"I can see why you kept her. She's quite striking. And you know what they say about colonial women they are.." He paused for a moment. "Less sophisticated than us. In more ways than one," a ghost smirk made way to his face. "I should teach you a lesson." The Fire Lord stood, his fist gleaming with a burning fire.

This was Zuko's worst nightmare. He looked at his father with fearful eyes while attempting to wear a stoic mask of indifference. He wanted to say something. To speak up but he couldn't. He had already suffered the consequences of speaking up once without being spoken to and the results had been dire. Tsai didn't move. Her body stiffened at the sight of the flames. She remained silent as she wondered how Iroh could be related to this monster?

"Your existence is a mere insult to my nation. A half-bred mongrel with blood from the Earth Kingdom. Your existence is a stain in the history of a line of prestigious Fire Nation military men."

'Don't speak about my family,' she wanted to snarl. His cruel words were tearing at her as he insulted her pride, her home, her heritage and family all being shredded before her. It hurt. Standing in silence went against her nature. What she was about to do went against everything she had learned and grown in the past year. It broke her, but it was something she had to do. She had to at least make them think she was on their side.

"Fire Lord Ozai." She then rose to her feet and bowed her head to him with nothing but respect. Keeping it lowered hoping he wouldn't see past her façade.

She knew that this family was obsessed with honor and decided to have a play at it.

"It is truly an honor to be in your presence."

Zuko kept his hands behind his back as he starred with his jaw going slack. He couldn't believe what he was witnessing.

"I captured the traitor and bow before you and acknowledge my sins against the Crown and my Nation whom I hold so dear." She looked up at met his pale-yellow eyes. Here she stood before the most powerful man in the world lowering her head pathetically, groveling to him. Lying. It made her sick to her core. She couldn't believe what she was going to say next. "And I hope... I hope the Crown will pardon me and grant me the opportunity to regain my honor."

The prince kept a composed expression, yet he clenched his fisted hands behind his back tightly. Nails burying into his palms. His heart racing against his rib cage uncomfortably.

"You freed the Avatar." Ozai stated. "At the Pohuai Stronghold. Because of you the siege for the North Pole failed."

"My intentions were noble." She said bravely standing her ground as she pushed her hair back out of her face. "I couldn't allow a filthy man like Zhao to have that glory and honor of capturing the Avatar. Not when it didn't belong to him."

"Who did it belong to then?" The Fire Lord asked leaning forward slightly in what appeared to be intrigued.

"Your son. Our Prince. I saw it upon my duty to protect his honor." She lowered her head once again and the Lord let out what sounded like a blend between a humorous huff and a scoff.

"My son doesn't need anybody to protect his honor. Much less a colonial harlot."

The words didn't sting. Yet fueled her internal anger.

"And the Blue Spirit?" He asked after a moment of quiet.

Zuko stiffened next to his father.

"It was me." She once again lied through her teeth.

Zuko's face went white. What was this idiot doing? She was going to get herself killed. He could feel a bead of sweat sliding down his temple. His voice gone. He didn't want to look at his merciless father. Ozai spoke and he expected the worst. He was beginning to feel his knees growing weak. After all he was capable of anything. He had to do something. He had to speak up- but his voice. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth it would betray him and it wouldn't sound out.

"Killing you would be kind," The Fire Lord breathed almost in a sympathetic tone.

"What do you think we should do?" He questioned out loud. Azula slightly bounced ready to present her list of vile ideas and ploys in which she could torture and humiliate one of the Fire Nation's biggest traitors.

"Zuko..?" He turned to test his son.

It was then that their eyes suddenly met, and he felt a pang in his chest. His eyes went slightly wide. Heart almost stopping. Her eyes. They held no sympathy for him, no care. They weren't the same ones he had looked into countless of times before. His father was testing him. He had to answer something. Now more than ever he couldn't be wrong. He had once promised her he wasn't going to let anyone, or anything hurt her when they arrived to the Fire Nation. He had promised they were going to get it all back. If there was a time to act upon his promise it was now more than ever.

"She's to spend the rest of her days in the dungeons. In isolation," he answered coldly. 'At least she would be safe there…'

The Fire Lord remained silent. His displacement obvious.

"Boring," Azula laughed. "Is that the best you can come up with?"

"I have a better idea," she stepped forward. Malice clear in her voice. She waved the guards away with her hand and walked around Tsai mockingly. The girl only kept her eyes frozen forward on the Fire Lord's pale ones.

"She's harmless really," Azula laughed and pushed her forward making her tumble. She then kicked the back of the girl's head stepping on it pressing her face against the palace's cold marble floors.

Zuko fought the urge to run towards her. To help her. To knock his vile sister on her back. To fight the aching that longed for her inside him. The sunstone burning hot in his pocket.

"All I want is a shot at redemption," She tried to speak as eloquently as possible. "I would be spitting at the graves of my ancestors if I continued to pretend I'm something I'm not. Back in Ba Sing Se I realized that what I wanted more than anything was to serve my nation. The Fire Nation. The greatest Nation of them all. Just like my father and fore father's before him."

Ozai looked at her with intrigue as he once again stroked his beard.

"Without me. The Disgraced General would've never been captured." Azula stepped harder on the back of her cranium.

"I need a new servant daddy. Can I keep her?" Azula pouted as she stepped harder on her head. The red head let out a snarl from the back of her throat. "I have always wanted a pet."

"I don't have time for such trivial things," Ozai dismissed bored. "Do as you wish Azula."

Zuko could feel his father's eyes on him. He had just gotten in his good graces. He couldn't afford to disappoint him again.

"She'll be our servant." Zuko managed to find his voice. He looked at her hard, his chest swelling with a shaky breath he was holding. "You will be stripped of all of your noble and royal titles and you will work every day for the rest of your life as a peasant. Serving us. Until you are deemed of being considered honorable."

"Which will be never!" Azula cackled proud of her brother stepping up.

Ozai relaxed back into his seat appearing pleased with his son’s punishment.

"I…" She rasped and heaved anger dripping from her words. This was humiliating. "I pledge my loyalty to the Fire Nation and to the ruling Crown." She lowered her head. "It will be my honor."

Ozai's malicious grin stretched even further. An expression which sent cold chills down her spine.

Azula stepped harder on the back of her head. "You're going to wish you were dead by the time I'm done with you!" Azula cackled maliciously. She finally stepped off her and kicked her side laughing. She kept her head low not wanting to meet Zuko's eyes. She couldn't bear the sight of him.

The colonial girl was taken to a private servant quarter near the royal chambers. She had no belongings. No name to her. Nothing. Not even a mirror in her new prison. On the way to her new 'prison' she thought a thousand and one ways in which she could poison Azula. Not that she would get away with it, but if she was going down, she might as well take the bitch down as well.

Zuko remained petrified. His heart was pounding in his chest. Sweat had formed on his brow and he was finally able to unclench his tight jaw. All while his father's cold eyes scrutinized on him.

"Don't tell me you actually grew to care for that colonial half-breed mongrel," his father spat out venomously.

"No," Zuko answered back, eyes hard and cold. "She means nothing to me."

xxx

AN: I am NOT okay 😭😭😭

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CHAPTER MASTERLIST

#prince zuko #zukoxreader #Zuko x oc #Zuko x you #zuko #imagine #atla #atla fanfic #avatar #avatar the last airbender #avatar fanfic #avatar x oc #avatar fanfiction #iroh #ozai #azula #fan fiction #wattpad #aoc

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crimsonbluemoon · 4 years

Note

For the prompt game 12//07//25 please? Ah... Ohmtoonz? or a pair you've been itching to do :3

EACH TIME I SAY I WONT OVERDUE IT

Yet here we are. >.>

AU: BabysitterTrope: Childhood friendsPrompt: “I know this looks bad, but I swear it’s not.”

Pairing: Ohmtoonz

“Okay, I know this looks bad-” Ryan had to take a deep breath to keep from bursting out in laughter at the scene. His kitchen, which had been pristine and tidy when he’d left for a meeting with his lawyer three hours ago, was covered in more colors than he thought he could process. In the middle of the room sat Joe, hands splotched in yellow and smearing the substance down the tiles already coated in pink. The ‘babysitter’, (the term used very loosely, since it was a last minute decision after Joe’s original babysitter got sick) was in no better shape. Blue clumps of paint (Ryan hoped it was paint) were threaded through hair he remembered being much fluffier when they were children. Age had tamed it, though the red beard was even brighter now with fingerpaint between the strands. The place, his four year old son, and his babysitter were a disaster that Ryan still wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry over. “But I swear it’s not.”

“Luke.” Trying to keep from smiling, Ryan stepped forward, hands leaving his slack’s pockets to point above. “My ceiling is purple.”

“And orange!” Joe supplied happily, splashing his hands down into an actual pile of paint beside him.

“What happened? You’re a police officer; you literally shoot people for a living. How did a four year old get the jump on you like this?” Ryan had to tease, because it’d been so long since he’d been able to. Luke had always been the one that got away; his best friend for nearly two decades before, at eighteen, he left to travel Europe and ‘find his meaning’ in life. Ryan had wanted to go, nearly asked to join, but had simply stood in the airport and held back tears just long enough for Luke to enter the gate without seeing them. He’d been head over heels in love back then, and sometimes he’d thought the feeling was mutual. But all the ‘what ifs’ flew away with Luke on his plane, and Ryan had forced himself to move on.

Eight years, one messy divorce, and a son later, Ryan had run into his high school love at the bank four months prior. Luke had come back to their hometown years ago to become a cop, but Ryan’s wonderful ex-wife had demanded he move to the west coast with her. He’d never got wind of Luke’s return, too distracted by the birth of Joe and the mother of his child abandoning her duties to run off with the pool guy. Ryan hadn’t been able to move back to his hometown until four months ago, still working on finalizing the paperwork and letting Joe finish his first year in pre-school before moving him back across the country.

He’d felt a little lonely, raising his toddler without a hand to help support him on days he didn’t want to get out of bed. It wasn’t like his marriage had given him much in that department, either. She’d been distant after Joe was born, jealous of the attention Ryan gave their son, and sought her happiness in someone else. She hadn’t even said goodbye to their son when she left, which had been the coldest part of it all. And Ryan didn’t know how to de-thaw from her abandonment. Joe helped, because he was Ryan’s world. Honestly, the only good thing about the marriage was the ball of optimistic sunshine. But he had bouts of crying and questions about why his mom left that kept Ryan awake and aching for hours. Wounded with nobody willing to help heal him. Maybe he’d always been that alone, that empty and unlovable-

Except one look of relief and the words ‘There you are’ in a bank full of people was enough to fill his heart to the brim again.

“Your kid’s way sneakier than the idiots in our town.” Luke glanced down at Joe with a grin that proved his next words were affectionate. “Like a damn little squirrel.”

“That’s my favorite animal!” Joe gasped out, and Ryan shook his head in disbelief. Two days ago, it had been a flamingo. He’d begged Ryan to buy him a lawn decoration of the pink bird, which Ryan had firmly said no to. They barely even had a lawn, and he knew that Joe would never play with it. The puppy dog eyes were hard to refuse, but Ryan was getting better at putting his foot down. They did not need the bird.

But then Joe asked Luke, who bought it before Ryan came back from the bathroom. Ryan wasn’t sure who he scolded more that night over chicken fingers and fries.

“Yup, you mentioned that. Six times.” Without an ounce of annoyance, Luke let Joe climb onto his lap, sitting cross legged so the toddler had a better seat. Green was smeared over Luke’s sweatpants from where Joe had dragged his knees, but like the amazing human he was, Luke didn’t show any regret over being a human jungle gym. “And remember what I told you each time?”

“Daddy’s favorite animal is a bunny,” Joe chirped back, and the long forgotten memory bubbled up too quick for Ryan to hide his blush.

“Luke!”

“What? I didn’t tell him why you like rabbits so much.” Except there was a grin on Luke’s face that was anything but innocent. Because how could it be, when Luke had never let him live down the time he walked in on Jonathan and Evan’s first time. He hand’t meant to blurt out ‘they were fucking like rabbits’ so loudly, and didn’t know that Mini had been recording the party. Craig got the perfect angle of Ryan nearly throwing himself down the stairs to escape the traumatizing experience. He wasn’t sure who had the tape anymore (maybe Panda, since his friend always liked to watch it whenever he was needing a pick me up), but Ryan had to guess that Luke watched it over a hundred times.

“We’re not talking about this,” Ryan said, sending Luke a meaningful look through his blush. “We need to talk about who’s going to clean this disaster you and my son created.”

“I’ve got the kitchen if you take the rugrat.” The offer of help was so simple, yet every time, it sucker-punched Ryan. Luke had not been expecting Joe when Ryan came back from California, blaming Jonathan’s ‘lack of understanding with the English language’ as to why he didn’t know. Ryan hadn’t been a fan of social media, and only kept in touch with a few old friends from the town. But like Joe was his own, Luke didn’t hesitate to jump into the fray with Ryan, helping out whenever he could. Being a cop meant weird hours and long shifts, but Luke never complained when he popped over to visit them after work. Ryan never needed to ask for help; Luke just gave it. Whether it was cooking Joe food while Ryan took a much needed shower, or picking out pjs as Ryan bathed the fussy kid, Luke was there to lend a hand and a smile right when Ryan needed it.

But for the life of him, Ryan couldn’t figure out why. Luke was attractive and single, and the talk of the town even now. It was hard to go into the supermarket without hearing one of the cashiers asking Ryan how Luke was doing. It was common knowledge in their little town where Luke spent most of his days, and it seemed people thought the best way to catch his attention was through befriending Ryan again. The jealousy and insecurity from high school reared up, and Ryan had to attack it with a fire hose to keep from Luke knowing. Luke had a right to date, to court whoever he wanted, because he didn’t owe Ryan and Joe anything-

“Uh oh, daddy’s daydreaming again.” Joe’s words and a snort of Luke made Ryan re-focus, turning his attention back to the two still on the floor. Luke looked so content with the toddler in his lap, and Joe showed no signs of discomfort being so close to the other man. They were covered in paint and his house was a wreck, but Ryan felt his heart swell at the warm image.

“Maybe you should go pick out your pjs so I can check in with your dad.” Luke’s words were like magic; with a quickness that he never had when Ryan asked him to move, Joe scampered out of the kitchen. Little purple footprints made Ryan groan, but his shoulders barely got to slump before warm hands were pulling him forward into a hug.

“You’re covered in paint,” Ryan protested weakly, though put up no real fight. The smooth hand that slid down his spine melted his stress away, and Ryan felt helpless to the urge of sinking into Luke’s warm chest.

“What did Tyler say?” Luke didn’t mince words, but kept his voice low against Ryan’s ear. There was no reason to shiver at the contact or intimacy of their position, because Ryan knew it meant nothing like what his heart hoped it would.

“He said this next court case will be the final one; she’s not fighting for any custody.” He should have been happy about the news, since it’d been what he and Tyler had asked for when discussing Joe’s fate. But it’d stung, knowing that even now, his ex-wife wanted nothing to do with the son they had created together. How did he explain that to Joe when he got older? When he asked questions about her, when he got angry and confused about his own self-worth? Ryan would do whatever he could to raise Joe with love and care, but fights would happen. They’d disagree over bigger things than eating broccoli or only reading two stories before bed. Who would Joe turn to in those moments? That was why he’d probably tried so hard with his ex-wife to begin with; he’d never wanted Joe to feel unsupported or disadvantaged because he’d only have Ryan.

But he couldn’t make her love Joe. And that killed him more than the divorce ever could.

“She’s an idiot.” Luke’s words of anger toward a woman he never met was unlike him. Charisma and open-mindedness were his middle name, never judging a book by its cover. But Joe’s mother seemed to be the one exception, Luke showing disdain toward her from day one. “She had everything anyone could ever want, and she gave it up like an idiot.”

“You really liked babysitting Joe that much, huh?” Ryan tried to make a joke, but his laugh was cut off when Luke grasped his shoulders and pulled him back far enough to force eye contact.

“I’m not just talking about him.” The serious gaze made it hard to breathe, Ryan’s chest stuffed with too much to sort through. His eyes blinked slowly, reminiscent of the unspoken feelings he’d shut down at the airport years ago. Now they oozed out without his permission, and he didn’t have a plane to help hide them this time around.

“I’m…I’m not-”

“Not what? Intelligent? Charming? Sweet? A great father that your kid would spend every second of the day with if he could? Not someone who deserves love?” Luke’s words were followed by a grin, a warm palm cupping Ryan’s face and slowly dragging a thumb under his wet eye. “Not the most amazing guy I’ve ever got to meet? Who, if I ever got the chance to call my husband, would never go a day without knowing how crazy in love with him I was? Cause I’ll tell you right now, you are all of those things. Every single one of them. You are worth so much more than you could ever know. And I’ll knock out any fucking moron who says anything else.”

“Luke…” But what could Ryan say? His stomach fluttered at the words, hope rising in his throat and keeping his vocal chords from speaking again. There was no room for protest, because Luke’s steady words and lack of hesitation proved the statements came from his very being. He really saw Ryan as something to brag about, as someone to keep. When his own wife, who was supposed to want him until death do them part, threw him away. Ryan knew he needed to say something, to give a response in some way to the confession (and Jesus, did Luke say he loved Ryan?), but his mind was too fuzzy and scared to speak and destroy the fantasy.

“Luke said a bad word!” Joe, however, had no such problems, and Ryan forced his eyes away from Luke to see his son with his hands pointing to the counter. “He needs to put money in the swear jar!”

“Oh, ri-right.” Ryan swallowed slowly and tried to focus, but a little peek at Luke from the corner of his eye made his heart jump into his throat again. His blush was deep, he knew it, but there was no saving himself. “You owe a dollar to the jar.”

Luke’s grin was a mile wide as he slipped past, dropping the bill into the jar while keeping his eyes set on Ryan. And when he spoke, Ryan knew he wasn’t speaking about the swear.

“So worth it.”

#hubcat99 #Ohmtoonz #Ohmwrecker #Cartoonz #Sultry boys #<3 #Crimson drabblez

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