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ramblingoak · 9 months

Note

how about being caught kissing with the cardinal?

Ooo yes, wouldn't that be nice! I wouldn't mind getting caught doing worse with him to be honest... Prompt is from this list of Kiss Prompts!

Yay Satan Day

Cardinal Copia x Female Reader ~ Copia does his best to distract you from your job

Warnings: Copia being a smug shit, vaginal fingering, nsfw, 18+ only, MDNI, 1600 words

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

He was doing that stupid thing with his eyebrows again.

You and Cardinal Copia had been stuck in a meeting with Terzo for close to an hour now. Sister Imperator had instructed you all to create an event to try to bring the local community closer to the church. ‘Something to show them we don’t spend our days sacrificing babies and having orgies’ were her exact words. At least the baby part wasn’t true, but you knew of at least four orgies that had taken place in the last week alone.

“We should call it ‘Yay Satan Day’.”

“Can we focus on actually creating the event before we name it?” You pretended you didn’t see Terzo rolling his eyes. “And for the last time we’re not calling it that.”

Copia sighed and his chair creaked as he leaned back in it. You gave him a quick glance but then forced your eyes away. Most days you had a hard time keeping your eyes off of him, but it was always harder when he wore the white suit. The bastard had to have worn it on purpose today judging by how he waggled his eyebrows every time he caught you looking at him. You had no idea how this man had become a Cardinal, let alone win all those stupid employee of the month awards. He wasn’t listening to a damn thing Papa was saying.

Terzo himself didn’t seem to be focusing that much either. You really didn’t blame him, you were the one technically in charge of all the event and party planning at the abbey. Usually Terzo’s main job at these things was to show up and look pretty. The only thing he seemed interested in helping with today was naming the event, but he kept pouting after you shot down all of his ideas. You weren’t naming the damn thing ‘Yay Satan Day’ no matter how many times he’d suggested it.

“Sorella? Do you agree?”

Fuck. You focused back on Terzo who was looking at you expectantly.

“Yes sorella, I would like your input as well. On his idea.”

That son of a bitch. You looked down at your notes to buy yourself some more time. All you had on there was a small doodle of one of Copia’s rats. You looked over at him, narrowing your eyes at the stupid smirk on his face. When he raised an eyebrow you gritted your teeth and glanced away. You were going to shave both of his eyebrows off when he fell asleep tonight.

“I think that as long as we uh, well as long as we stay under budget that should be feasible.”

You wrote a quick note down like the responsible event planner that you were and smiled up at Papa. Now he was raising one of his eyebrows at you, but you kept the smile on your face, refusing to back down. Terzo chuckled and then popped up from his chair, straightening his clothes as he made his way around his desk.

“Well this has been great fun, but I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere.” You hid your notes when he stopped by you and tried to give him an innocent look. “I’m sure you two can handle everything else, si? Cardinal make sure my banner gets ordered.”

“Of course, Papa.”

When you spun in your chair to glare at Copia he was ignoring you and picking imaginary lint off his suit. What the fuck had you agreed to?

“Ok, you two have fun, but not in my office. Ciao!”

“Okie dokie, Papa.”

Copia caught your eyes as he called out to Terzo before the door shut behind him.

“Copia, what does this banner say?”

“Nothing special.” He bit his lip for a moment before continuing, “Have you kissed me today?”

“Yes, several times this morning.” You threw your pen at him, laughing when he squawked as it hit his suit. “Have you forgotten already?”

“Ah well, you know. Silly me.”

He held out your pen but as soon as you reached out to grab it he took your hand and tugged you out of your chair.

“Copia, no, I don’t have time.” You sighed in exasperation when he successfully pulled you into his lap, not that you had put up much of a fight. He wrapped an arm around your waist and held you tightly against him, smiling smugly at you the whole time. “Are you happy now?”

“Mmm, si. Very happy. But…” He stuck his bottom lip out a bit and you sighed. “I wish we were kissing.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Very much so. I think I deserve at least one for helping during the meeting. Maybe two.”

“I’m sorry, how did you help? All you did was make stupid faces at me!”

“I said I’d order this banner, didn’t I? That’s very helpful.”

You wiggled around in his lap so you faced him, ignoring the little pleased grunt he made.

“You’re not ordering anything, Copia, what does this banner s–mmph!”

A hand in your hair and his mouth on yours stopped your question. Normally you’d be annoyed at this tactic, but it had been a while since you’d kissed him last. You settled against his chest, deciding to just let him win this time. He made a pleased sound in the back of his throat and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping in to tease yours. After a few minutes he pulled away, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before leaning back to give you a lazy smile.

“We should put you in a kissing booth for this thing.” You groaned and tried to get up, but his arms stayed firm around you. “No, no I’m serious! You’re very good.”

“Copia, come on. I’ve gotta go.”

He sighed and loosened his arms. You immediately got up before he changed his mind, spinning and stepping back to lean against Terzo’s desk. You watched as he rose from his chair, grunting a bit as he straightened up. He reached down to tug at the crotch of his pants to give himself more room. You felt endlessly pleased that he was already half hard just from a kiss, but when he noticed your smug look he raised that damned eyebrow again.

“Something to say, sorella?” When you shook your head he stepped closer, resting a hand on either side of you against the desk. “Do you like getting me all riled up?”

“Yes, I do. It’s great fun.”

Copia muttered ‘brat’ under his breath before moving in to take your lips again. This kiss was much more intense, your mouth opening under his immediately. You buried your hands in his hair while his came down to your hips, his hands squeezing your flesh and urging you up. Without breaking away from his mouth you let him help you onto Terzo’s desk, ignoring the sound of things clattering around as Copia shoved them out of the way. Once you were settled he placed a hand on your knee, slipping it under your habit and up your leg. The leather of his glove was warm against the skin of your thigh and you moaned into his mouth when he reached the hem of your panties. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against yours.

“Are you wet for me?” You gasped into his mouth when he ran a finger over the silk covering your cunt. “If I take my glove off will I feel how much you want me?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Copia growled, bringing his hand up to his mouth and tugging the glove off with his teeth. Another growl rumbled in his chest when he tasted you on the leather. When he was done he tossed it behind you onto the desk and leaned in to kiss you again. His bare hand quickly found its way back under your skirt and you gasped when his fingers slid under your panties. He rested one right at your wet entrance and you both broke away again, panting into each other's mouths when it easily slipped inside. A smug grin broke out on his face, but before you could snap at him the door opened and Terzo waltzed back in.

“What are you two still do–ai! No! What did I say?!”

You shoved Copia away and jumped down from the desk, frantically straightening your skirt. Terzo had switched to Italian as he and Copia began to snap back and forth at each other. You grabbed your pen and notebook from the floor, freezing when Terzo turned with a finger pointed at you.

“Sorry Papa!” He waved a hand at you and then stomped over to his desk. Muttering under his breath as he straightened up the things you and Copia had knocked over. You glared at Copia when he snickered as he walked towards you. “Stop that! You got me in trouble.”

Copia grabbed your hand, grinning as he tugged you towards the door.

“Far worse things have been done on that desk. He’ll get over it.”

“Hey!” Both of you turned at the sound of Terzo’s voice, you watched warily as he glared at you with his hands on his hips. “We’re calling it ‘Yay Satan Day’.”

“Ugh, fine!” You ignored Terzo’s triumphant grin and turned back towards the door. “I hate you both.”

“Si, I know.” Copia opened the door for you and squeezed your hand when you went into the hall. “Let’s uh head back to your room to clean up a bit, okie dokie?”

More shouts from Terzo stole your attention away and you peered around Copia to see Papa poking something on top of his desk.

“Cardinal! Come get your glove! Satan, where has this thing been?!”

You looked at Copia and smiled before squeezing his hand back.

“Okie dokie.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

my masterlist

my ao3

#my fics #my writing #cardinal copia x female reader #copia x female reader #the band ghost fanfiction #cardinal copia fanfiction #copia fanfiction

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pinkiepiebones · 1 year

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I’ve been thinking a lot about a little ficlet you wrote, the one where special waits for copia backstage during a ritual. It mentions how spesh glows when he’s excited. I was wondering if you have any ideas/headcanons for the first time spesh did this, in general and around Copia? I can imagine he must’ve been quite confused at seeing his ghoulfriend light up like a christmas tree lol :•)

First off thank you for dumping a bucket of dopamine on my brain!!!!! I can't believe anyone thinks about my silly fics!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As for the first time Copia saw him glow...

Copia grew up within the church. He had been raised there. Some said he was even born there, though this was not factual- he had been born elsewhere, and left at the narthex steps as an infant. But, yes. Copia essentially spent the entirety of his life in the church. At least until he turned 25. At age 25, he was granted permission to visit nearby towns to spread the word of the Dark Lord. He took advantage of these monthly trips, proselytising as ordered but also wandering around, purchasing music records. By 28 he had managed amassed an impressive collection of music- not just records, but cassette tapes and new compact discs as well, and a lovely record player he had taken ages to restore. He had little space to call his own but managed to keep it all safe in his dormitory room. After long days of doing mindless research or writing manifestos or sermons for Papa Nihil, Copia relished in putting a good record on and flopping onto his little bed, letting the music wash over his aching back and shoulders.

He was creeping close to 30 when he met the nameless ghoul called Special. Well, to be clear, he had seen the ghoul dozens of times. It was one of the many nameless ghouls that haunted the hallways or ceilings or catacombs of the church, but this one managed to stand out amongst the nearly identical, mouthless, humanoid gargoyles. For one, it's tail never stayed still. It wagged. It twitched. It would even occasionally curl into a question mark. No other ghoul acted so... lively.

The other way the Special ghoul stood out was in it's voice. All ghouls communicated telepathically, but their telepathy had the unfortunate tendency of activating the same parts of human brains that stir up intense fear and nausea, so ghouls rarely spoke to humans (in fact, it was widely believed that those who rose through the ranks within the church's bureaucracy were just people who could listen to ghouls without screaming or crying). But Special's voice was wrong. It spoke telepathically, sure, but for whatever reason, it's voice registered in the human brain as audible input. Having Special talk to you was like listening to a human. A babbling, obnoxious human. His voice would drift into Copia's mind sometimes, and it would be as though someone were walking by his office and talking.

So when the nameless ghoul called Special knocked on his door one night and asked to listen to the music- "I've actually been sitting outside your room for weeks now, just listening, trying to build up the courage to ask you if I could come in, because I know humans don't so much care for us ghouls being close, I've heard we smell, which is probably true, I mean, we are made of Hell itself after all, it's no bed of roses there," and on and on- Copia was only a little bit surprised.

Copia knew about ghouls only as much as Sister Imperator had deemed it necessary for him to know. He had been a child when she took him down to the lowest basement to show him the portal from which all ghouls emerged. He had held her hand tightly, afraid something would come up from the glassy darkness if he let go of her. She squeezed his little hand reassuringly and told him "the Dark Father does not send ghouls to us without a purpose for each of them, C. Every ghoul you see in this church was brought to us with a reason for it's existence woven into it's very being. Each ghoul stays connected to our plane of existence by tethering to an element- Fire, Water, Air, Earth, or Aether. Each serves a purpose."

And now he and a ghoul had become friends. It was not something that happened in the church. Imperator had expressed her concern and Copia, in a rare moment of standing up for himself, had replied "all ghouls are sent up for a reason. What if Him Below sent this one because I need a friend?" Imperator had started to retort but Copia fled back to his room, where Special had been listening to Pink Flloyd.

"Special," Copia gasped. He flopped onto his bed and the ghoul scrambled over to the bedside, tail twitching in concern.

"Whoa, what's happened?"

"I talked back to Sister Imperator."

Special tilted his head, bird-like. "And?"

Copia looked at the ghoul with a mix of emotions.

Special continued, "aren't you, like, a hundred years old? Isn't that an adult? You can talk back to your mom at this age, I am sure."

Copia smiled a tiny bit. "I'm not a hundred, Spesh."

The ghoul's tail wagged. Copia sat up on his bed and sighed, then looked at the tail threatening to wear a patch in his rug. He looked at Special's featureless face. "What's that about," he asked, gesturing to the tail.

"You called me 'Spesh.' I get called Special almost all of the time when I am called something, but just now, you called me a new name."

Copia shrugged. "It's just short for 'Special,' not that big of a deal."

Then Copia noticed fine cracks appearing in the ghoul's dull grey scale-like skin. He backed up on his bed until his back hit the wall. "Fuck, what happened? Did I break you?"

Special looked at his arms, then his torso, then his legs, and laughed. "Oh, no! No, this is-" He gestured with a talon as though trying to pull the tight words from the air.

"I'm happy."

Special seemed to emit a honeyed glow from the cracks, as though his body was composed of burning embers. Copia stared, wide-eyed, and slid off his bed to sit beside the ghoul. He touched the ghoul's arm, amazed at the gentle heat radiating off it.

"This is the purest expression of Fire Ghoul happiness," Special said softly, shyly. "It equates, I think, most to human joy. Or love."

Copia and Special sat quietly together until the embers died down and vanished. And then Copia did something never before seen in the church.

He leaned in and hugged the ghoul.

Special startled but hugged the human back.

"Thank you for being here," Copia whispered. "Thank you for finding me, Spesh."

Special had no mouth but somehow smiled.

"No problem, uhhh, 'Cope.'"

#the band ghost #ghost bc #cardinal copia #special ghoul #Zombie still can't write endings

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 4 years

Text

Swiss Ghoul (Ghost) 18+

I realized a while ago that I always shoulder shimmy whenever I hear a song with a particularly good beat (usually Hispanic music lol), so it was about time I wrote something about Multi.

Warning: The reader has night terrors. I don’t have night terrors myself, so I apologize if I portray it incorrectly! +SMUT.

Edit: I’m adding smut at the end of this...don’t know why. This would be the first time writing something so explicit. So, 18+ 18+ 18+!!!

~~~~~~~~~~

Every night, you’d get these horrible night terrors.

It started when you were a young, after your parents died. You’d always cry or scream in your sleep. You went to the church’s Priestess for help, but she told you that there was nothing she could do. You prayed to your lord every night, hoping that he could take away your suffering. He never answered.

Eventually, almost a week of screaming every night, it was decided to move your room to the most secluded part of the abbey. You didn’t blame them. You were sure you’d get tired of listening to your screams every night too.

You knew everyone felt sorry for you, but you didn’t need their pity. You just wanted one good nights sleep...was that too much to ask?

In your room, no human could hear your screams. No human. But unfortunately, the Ghouls could. Curse their super hearing...

The Ghouls didn’t have to tell you that they could hear you, you could tell by the way they looked at you with pitiful stares every time you’d pass them in the halls in the mornings. You felt so embarrassed...

The worst part for you was everyone in the abbey treating you like you were made of glass. You had lived with night terrors for so long now that you knew how to make sure that you didn’t get hurt. You did not need their help with that.

After one practically awful incident, you grew more and more careful of how you slept. It was when you were living in foster care, about a year after your parents died. You had already dealt with the night terrors, but that night, you got hurt. You don’t usually remember what happens when you have these episodes, but your foster parents told you that you flailing around so hard that you fell off your bed, hitting your head on the bedside table in the process.

You had to deal with the risk of getting concussions after that, and ever since you’d make sure to wherever you slept was basically safe enough for a child.

After becoming a Sister of Sin, the night terrors mellowed out for a while, but it didn’t last.

You sighed, pushing your fork around, some scrambled eggs and a sausage being the only thing left on your plate. You looked around the mess hall, it was pretty empty. You were usually one of the first ones to arrive for breakfast since you rarely got your full eight hours.

Even if the night terrors were detrimental to your sleep, you were still thankful you didn’t remember them. But ever since you got hurt, you’ll admit, you’ve been afraid of sleeping. Nowadays, you get about four or five hours every night at the most.

You suddenly think back to a psychology class where your teacher said that lack of sleep can cause early deaths and heart attacks...oh well.

“Good morning, Y/N!” Swiss’ voice called out, making you drop your silverware in shock.

“Morning.” You sighed and yawned.

“Sleep well?” He asked, making you glare at him. He grinned nervously, knowing full well of your predicament. “Bad joke? Sorry...”

Being annoyed, you still chuckle. “It’s alright.”

“Gonna eat that?” He asked, pointing at your neglected eggs and sausage.

You smiled weakly, and pushed the plate over to Swiss. “Knock yourself out.”

Swiss licked his lips in anticipation, a puddle of drool already pooling on the table. He grabbed your previously held fork and stabbed it into the greasy piece of meat. He lifted up the impaled sausage and brought it to his mouth, only to bite the bitter metal of the fork.

Swiss whined and looked around for the culprit of his stolen breakfast, only to see Dewdrop already scoffing it down. “Hey! That was mine!” Swiss fussed.

Dewdrop grinned and sucked off the leftover grease that coated his fingers. “You don’t eat sausage with a fuckin’ fork. You were basically asking for it to be stolen.”

“Civilized Ghouls use their manners!” Swiss growled.

“Swiss, when has Dewy ever been civilized?” You chuckled, making Dewdrop narrow his eyes at you.

“I told you not to call me that, brat.” He growled.

“Ha! You’re calling me a brat?!” You laughed loudly.

“You wanna meet your maker early?!” Dewdrop shouted.

“Ugh, children. Stop fighting!” Aether said suddenly, sitting down beside you, opposite of Swiss, making you feel quite protected from Dew’s empty threats.

“She started it!” Dewdrop pointed a sharp claw at you.

“If you wanna get technical, it actually Swiss that started it.”

“What?!” Swiss squeaked.

Dewdrop suddenly grinned evilly. “You know what, you’re absolutely right.” He said, Swiss immediately begging for his life before Dewdrop tackled him to the floor.

You and the rest of the Ghouls watched in amusement as Dewdrop and Swiss wrestled each other on the floor, Aether enjoyed his breakfast while watching the show.

“Hey! Hey!”

You all looked to see Sister Imperator storming towards the group, a spray bottle in hand. She quickly sprayed a still fighting Dew and Swiss with water, forcing them to break apart.

“You Ghouls are supposed to be at practice soon! Copia is gonna waiting!”

The Ghouls suddenly remember that they had to go on tour soon, frowning when they had to leave you alone. But shooed them off anyway, you didn’t want to be the cause of their possible punishments for blowing off work.

“We’ll hang out later, okay?” Swiss smiled at you, showing his pearly white teeth, water still dripping off his silver mask.

You nodded and smiled, but frowned as soon as his back turned and headed off to the studio where they usually practiced. “Y/N,” Sister Imperator said, “can I talk to you?”

You held your breath for a moment, nervous about the grim look on her face, but you answered anyway. “Yes, of course, Sister.”

Sister took a seat where Aether previously sat, and put a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Your terrors haven’t stopped.” She stated.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “H-how...?”

“The Ghouls.” She answered. “They haven’t been getting much sleep lately. The band is suffering because of this. They just can’t focus on their music due to lack of sleep.”

You looked down embarrassed. “Sister...I’m-”

“I know it’s not your fault, dear. But...” She sighed. “It needs to stop or else they won’t be tour ready.”

Your heart almost stopped. “...are you kicking me out?” You almost cried.

“No, no, no!” She said. “Not permanently.” You nodded tearfully. “It would only be until they go on tour, dear. I promise. It’s just...they need their sleep to get the most out their practice time.”

“I understand.” You said, your voice barely passing a whisper.

“You won’t be homeless. We’ve already set up a living arrangement with a member of the church that’ll be happy to house you for awhile. Okay?”

“When do I leave?”

“Anytime tomorrow.”

You bit your lip to keep it from trembling. “Okay...I’ll go pack now if that’s okay with you Sister.” You said and got up without waiting for an answer.

You dug your nails into the soft material of your habit, willing yourself not to break down on your way to your room.

The waterworks started flowing at soon as you closed your door, throwing yourself onto the familiar comforting feeling of your bed, remembering that you wouldn’t have this bed until you got back.

It made you cry for hours, until you fell asleep...

You suddenly gasped awake, quickly trying to escape the claustrophobic feeling you felt around you. “Hey, hey, hey...shh...” You heard.

You looked up, and quickly realized who the voice belonged to. “Swiss...” You smiled, but Swiss didn’t smile. He looked worried. “What?”

You tried to sit, finding it difficult when you suddenly felt a sharp pain in the palms of your hands and forearms. You hissed in pain and looked at your arms. They were covered in scratches, and your palms had deep crescent shaped indents in them, all bleeding.

“Y/N...” Swiss frowned. “We got to take you to the infirmary.”

“No, no.” You groaned. “It’s okay. I have a first aid kit in my closet. Bottom shelf, I think.”

Swiss immediately rummaged through your closet and pulled out the kit, bringing it over to you as you sat up. “Does this happen often?” He asked while take out some antibiotic ointment.

You sighed. “Not really. I usually don’t hurt myself...it hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“I didn’t know it could get this bad...” Swiss gently took your arm, uncapping the tube. “I’m sorry.”

You smiled. “It’s not your fault. If anything, I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Swiss briefly gave you a confused look, continuing to treat your self inflicted wounds. “What do you mean?”

“Sister...she told me I’ve been keeping you all awake because of...my screaming. You Ghouls have always had better hearing than humans.” You laughed nervously.

Swiss’ eyes darkened. “She told you that?”

You nodded. “Practice hasn’t been going very well for you guys.”

Swiss sighed and shook his head, starting to wrap your hands with gauze. “I...yeah, it’s true. But it’s not your fault!”

“You’ve lost sleep because of me! How is that not my fault?”

“You can’t control what you do in your sleep, Y/N.”

“I have to leave tomorrow.” Your statement made Swiss halt his actions. “I have to stay at a Clergy member’s house until the band goes back on tour.”

“Fuck that.” Swiss suddenly said, making you blink in shock. “I’m not letting you leave.”

You chuckled bitterly. “It’s not like you have a choice.”

“I don’t care. You don’t deserve to be kicked out, even if it’s temporary. because of something you can’t control. I will go on strike, hell, all of us will.”

“Swiss...” You tried to scold, the determination in his voice making it hard for you to crush his hopes.

“Nope. Shut up.”

“Swiss.” You laughed.

“I’ll talk to Sister Imperator. I’ll convince her to let you stay.” Swiss said, looking you in the eyes. “Okay?”

You sighed in defeat. “...okay.”

Swiss finally finished treating your wounds, and put the first aid kit back in the closet. “Move over.” He ordered when he got back over to your bed.

You were confused but listened anyway. “What time is it?” You asked.

“Hmm, about ten.” He said and sat beside you.

You frowned. “You should probably leave then.”

“No, I’m staying with you.” Swiss said, making you blush. “If you want that it. Maybe it’ll sleep better?”

“Swiss, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Swiss giggled. “I don’t know if you remember, but I’m a Ghoul babe. You’d have to be really freaking strong to even leave a scratch on me.”

You giggled. “Okay then. Fine.” You said and snuggled up against Swiss, finding his muscular body quite comfortable.

“I’ll make sure you don’t hurt yourself again.” You heard him whisper before his warmth lulled you into a deep sleep.

The next morning, you woke up still in Swiss’ arms. You found it surprising that you hadn’t scared him away. You looked up to see a sleeping Swiss. His mask was slightly crooked, showing a tiny bit of skin underneath. You smiled when you heard his soft snores. You always found him adorable.

But you frowned, remembering that you had to leave the abbey today...you had to leave Swiss.

You reached up and gently poked his jaw, him groaning in reply. “Hmm?”

“It’s morning.” You said softly, looking back towards your window that had sunrays shining through.

“Oh, really?” Swiss yawned, finally opening his eyes to look at you. “Guess what?”

“What?” You smiled.

“You didn’t scream in your sleep.” He smiled.

“Really?” You almost shouted, making Swiss wince slightly.

“Mhm, you didn’t even more around that much. You mumbled a little, but other than that, you pretty much slept like a baby.”

“Huh...that’s odd. I mean, it’s great but still, kinda odd. That doesn’t usually happen. I guess that means the others Ghouls finally got some sleep too.” You laughed.

“Oh, don’t worry about them. You should be focusing on yourself.” Swiss snuggled into your neck, the cold metal raising goosebumps all over your body.

“I have to leave today...” You frowned. Swiss stayed silent, not loosing his grip on you. “Swiss...”

“I told you I’d take care of it.” Swiss said, slightly muffled. You sighed and decided to sit up, making Swiss groan. “No, come back.”

“I have start packing.” You started to get up but Swiss grabbed your wrist, pulling you back down and looking at you with an intense glare.

“I told you, I’d take care of it.” Swiss said and stood up. “Stay here. Don’t fucking leave.” He ordered.

You rolled your eyes and fake saluted him. “Yes, sir.”

As soon as Swiss left your room, you started packing your suitcase. It’s not like you didn’t trust Swiss’ abilities to talk his way out of any problem, but talking to Sister Imperator was a whole other thing. She wasn’t one to take anyone’s shit, so that was worrying.

You didn’t exactly know how Swiss was going to try to convince Sister, but you hoped he could anyway.

Meanwhile, Swiss gathered up his fellow Ghouls and explained the situation. Dewdrop made the mistake of joking around that he wouldn’t mind if you left, making Aether slap the back of the head.

But they all agreed to help out, quickly going to Sister Imperator and successfully convincing her to let you stay.

You however decided to change out of your habit, not really thinking you’d have the need to wear it in your new temporary home. It felt like you were being put in foster care all over again...

You swiftly removed your habit, neatly folding it and placing it on your dresser. You picked some comfortable clothes and briefly wondered if you should take a shower. But before you decided, Swiss barged in through the door without knocking.

You squeaked and quickly got underneath your bed covers, hiding your half naked form. But it was too late, Swiss was already wearing a smirk. “Oh, learn to knock, will ya!” You blushed furiously.

“Sorry.” He laughed. Yeah, he obviously wasn’t sorry.

As if he wanted to make you more embarrassed, he sauntered over and sat in front of you. “Swiss...” You whined and sighed.

Swiss smiled, looking over to your open suitcase and frowned. “You were packing?”

“...uh, yeah.”

“I talked to Sister Imperator. She said you could stay.” He said, still frowning.

But you grinned. “Oh my...wow, really?! That’s...Swiss, I don’t know how you did it, but thank you! I’d totally hug you right now, but well, you know.” You giggled nervously.

“Y/N...” Swiss said lowly. “Didn’t I say that I’d take care of it?”

“Uh, um...” You stuttered, suddenly nervous by Swiss’ gaze.

“Use your words, babe.”

“Uh, yeah. You did say that.” You sighed.

Swiss moved closer to you and placed a gentle hand on your knee. “So, why is it that you’re packed, huh? Did you not have faith in me?” He pouted.

“N-no...I didn’t have faith that Sister would be convinced.” You chuckled.

“Hmm, I suppose I can understand that.” Swiss said, moving even closer to you and placing his hand on your cheek. “Guess you’re stuck with me now, huh?” He smiled.

You suddenly became aware of how close he was to you when you felt his warm breath on your face. He would not stop looking into your eyes. You glanced down at his lips, feeling the urge to taste them.

Swiss smiled and leaned in, the cold metal of his mask hitting your face first then his soft lips.

You almost moaned at the pleasant feeling. You always had a soft spot for the charismatic Ghouls, now, you were finally his.

Slowly but surely, you started to feel the fabric of your duvet slid off your body. “Is this okay?” Swiss whispered.

You nodded rapidly, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

As soon as you gave consent, Swiss ripped off your coverings. Moving closer to you, he rubbed his large hands up and down your thighs. You could already feel yourself become slick with excitement.

Swiss brought a hand up to your underwear, delicately moving the article of clothing out of the way. You gasped when his cold fingers started moving in between your folds. “You’re so wet for me already, babe?” He grinned beautifully.

Swiss then inserted a finger into you, pumping in and out at a rate that made your head spin. You panted and tangled your fingers into his hair, placing the other hand on his bicep to try and steady yourself.

You moaned in pleasure when Swiss added another finger, then rubbing tight circles on your aching clit with his thumb. “Fuck, Swiss...”

Feeling a little guilty that you were getting all the pleasure, you brought your hand down from his head to palm his hardening length through his pants. “Eager, are we, Y/N?” Swiss groaned, throwing his head back slightly and chuckled.

With Swiss’ consistent pressure on your clit, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Quick shocks of intense pleasure making your body jolt occasionally. “Swiss...I’m gonna-”

Swiss quickly pulled his hand away, making you whine and almost let out a sob at the loss of contact. He grinned and brought his hand up, licking and sucking you off his fingers. “Can’t have you cumming just yet, babe.”

Swiss stood up from the bed to remove his clothes, taking off his briefs released his throbbing cock, a bead of precum already leaking out of the tip. He then hovered above you, placing himself in between your legs. “Again, you sure about this, babe?” He asked softly.

You almost groaned in frustration. “Yes, Swiss, I’m sure. Now please just fuck me!” You begged.

Swiss quickly obliged, thrusting up into you with a snap of his hips, not worrying about getting you to adjust to his size since you were already so prepared. You moaned loudly, finally feeling him stretching you out. “You feel so good.” Swiss moaned.

Swiss kept up a steady pace, his length hitting all the right places.

From already being so close to your release from his fingers before, you could feel the knot building up inside you once again. “Swiss, I’m so close.” You stuttered.

Swiss nodded and picked up the pace, close to his release as well. He thrusted into you fast and hard, making your tits bounce and your head close to hitting up against the wall. His mouth pouring out delicious moans every time he felt you clench around him.

You soon felt that familiar sensation flow throughout your entire body. The knot in you finally snapping, causing waves of ecstasy to burn through you like lava. You moaned loudly, eyes tearing up and your vision becoming hazy as you rode out your orgasm.

Swiss’ thrusts became sloppy, chasing and finally catching up to you in reaching his own climax. The shots of his warmth filling you up, making you moan in unison with him.

Swiss pulled out of you with a huff, throwing himself beside you and soon wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Wow...that was-”

“Fuckin’ amazing.” You giggled.

~~~~~~~~~~

I came up with a really dumb, cheesy title for a Multi Ghoul story. “Shimmying his way into my heart.” But I have no idea what to write to fit that title😂

Also, that was my first time writing smut so I’m sorry if it sucked. The cringeeeeeee 🙈

#the band ghost #ghost band fanfiction #swiss ghoul #multi ghoul #the band ghost smut #god I suck lmao

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jalebi-weds-bluetooth · 3 years

Note

Thank you JWB on that brilliant analysis on Arnav’s angst again. I am really in awe of your creative and analytical skills and it’s rarely that someone possesses both in equal measure. I also love you for getting Khushi’s trauma completely——post first marriage torture could have pushed anyone to the extreme. My heart breaks to see Khushi being abandoned by all, and I hate Arnav for making her life hell. Why do you think he never confides in anyone—not even Nani—about Shyam? Ty, analysis anon

Dear Analysis Anon,

So many sweet words? Aww now come here for a big hug!

Post marriage bites me because there are no true reparations for it. And since it’s fiction we do expect a certain kind of payoff for every setup.

As I’ve said before, I WOULD HAVE LOVED to see a cold, empty contract marriage with angst and its build up to a resolution - what I never understood is the abusive nature of their relationship. It was painful and some things should have never happened - which is why it’s even more imperative for people in reality to know that if their relationship remotely resembles this phase of Arnav-Khushi’s relationship… LEAVE IT RIGHT NOW.

Now coming to your question;

Why do you think he never confides in anyone - not even Nani - about Shyam?

One thing I find interesting is that Arnav and Khushi nearly reacted identically about Shyam.

They both took a minute to understand wtf happened and their first reaction was to approach Anjali and tell her the truth irrespective of the coincidence.

But Anjali’s pregnancy stops Arnav, just how Anjali’s breakdown over Shyam’s disappearance stopped Khushi.

Arnav cannot tell anyone because:

1) Anjali - she’s pregnant (it’s implied that pregnancy is almost a miracle in her case) and he cannot risk jeopardizing her and her child and Shyam now has an advantage on this relationship.

2) Nani - she’s old, what if she suffers a stroke/heart attack, and she may not be capable of handling this pain again.

3) Akash - he will immediately stop his wedding (which took all the convincing in the world) to happen. And Akash would want to know how Arnav got to know about this and given how devoted Akash is to his sister - there’s no way Akash would be marrying until everything about Anjali and Shyam would be sorted.

4) Mami - very biased, would add to his stress, would permanently break every single relationship with the Guptas.

5) NK - pretty sure at this stage Arnav doesn’t consider him a support or close enough to confide in.

You see, Arnav needed a support to confide in and telling anyone risks health or a relationship so he actually has no one. He’s cornered. So he took a decision - half motivated by logic, half blinded by rage and probably possession.

In Khushi’s case she is also confused, it’s Shyam who was overconfident about Buaji’s love for him and thought if he told the truth then the family would be calm with him. But ofc that backfired and the whole family nearly kicked him out (he was smart to insinuate the negative impact this could have on Akash Payal’s budding relationship though - scaring Garima and Khushi effectively).

And post marriage Arnav, I believe, is constantly evaluating the risk of telling the truth. In his opinion quietly striking the contract with Khushi was the least damage inflicting way (not saying it was, I’m just thinking Arnav thought that would be the least messy)

However post the first reveal when everyone was shocked Arnav knew to be quiet because he knew:

1) the family couldn’t process more information

2) everyone and everything was broken

3) he was afraid

It’s when Nani approached him and asked to how the truth that Arnav tells her everything. In those moments Nani also showed herself to be someone who can see the situation without a bias. So Arnav does confide to Nani then, also knowing it would risk nothing.

So I’m not saying Arnav was right in not confiding in anyone, I’m just saying it makes sense for him as a character to not be able to confide.

If I had a piece of advice for Arnav:

1) confide with Akash and mama because they’re known to be of calmer temperament and more rationality (which is what Arnav needed). I won’t ask him to confront Khushi immediately because it’s tough, at that point I also would only want to protect my family and not verify the claims that were crafted very intelligently by Shyam.

2) Track Shyam’s finances cause his expenditure is very telling (a perspective Arnav doesn’t realize until a very long time)

3) And once Arnav isn’t too sure about what to make of Khushi, confront her in a way to get the beans spilled. Clearly he wanted to use the six months to probably prepare Di to throw Shyam out (and buy some time) so start reeling out the story from Khushi (he ofc doesn’t have to believe her)

Hope this made sense!

Best,

- JWB

#ipkknd #ask #analysis anon #analysis #Arnav #Shyam #why did Arnav not confide

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mitchsmarners · 4 years

Text

Penny for your thoughts, dollar for your insights (Or a fortune for your disaster)

pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier [reddie] rating: teen & up word count: 7,173 summary: Richie is suddenly forced from his home, his kingdom and his birthright, and sent to live in a shithole town in Maine, he doesn't think he'd could ever be happy here. He's quick to learn that there's more in Derry than he'd ever expected. ⤹ a birthday fic for the amy (@eddiefuckinkaspbrak)

Read on AO3

perma taglist: @jwilliambyers, @stebbins, @lermanslogan, @s-s-georgie, @transrich@eddiefuckinkaspbrak, @edstozler, @emgays, @anellope, @thorn-harvester-ven, @wheezyeds, @vipertooth, @tozierking, @billdenbrough, @starrystoziers, @trashmouthtozierr, @perseusjaxon @loserslibrary (let me know if you want added!)

Richie Tozier was pretty sure he was barely even conscious when he was being dragged out the bed. It wasn’t his bed, because his bed was much higher off the ground with nearly a hundred more pillows than whatever this poor excuse of a mat had. He was pretty sure this blanket was wool, and if his head wasn’t pounding something fierce, he would be raising major complaints.

“Prince Richard must go.” Charles, who had been Richie’s footman for his whole life and sometimes had more to do with Richie’s up bringing than Richie’s own royal parents, hissed in his ear as Richie clutched at his head. “We need to get away.”

“Away? Away from what?” Richie grumbled. It was mostly dark in the room but as they moved, little flashes of light showed through the long, dark curtains that informed Richie and the sharp ache behind his eyes everytime the light touched them, that it was very much daylight outside. “Can’t it wait? My head is fucking killing me.”

His parents had always begged him to control his cursing, and in their ideal world, he simply wouldn’t curse at all. It wasn’t becoming of a monarch, and if Richie wanted his people to love him, then he couldn’t go around cursing like a common sailor. Not that it mattered much, as Richie had ruined any chances of ever being loved by his parents’ people when he came forward and declared how much he loved dick.

“I’m afraid it simply cannot wait, Prince Richard, I’m sorry.” Charles said desperately, nearly holding up Richie’s half asleep form. “There has been discourse in the kingdoms, and it seems it’s no longer safe for you here, Your Grace. It is imperative that you be removed tonight.”

“Moved where?” Richie asked, suddenly feeling much more coherent. He and Charles stumbled out onto the roof of one of the taller towers of his castle home, and the sunlight burned so painfully that Richie was forced to squeeze his eyes shut. “For how long, when am I coming back?”

There was a silence from Richie’s footman that was only interrupted by the chopping noise that could only be a helicopter landing nearby.

“I’m sorry, Prince Richard.” Charles had to shout over the sounds of the helicopter as Charles continued to guide Richie over to it. “At this time, it’s a matter of your safety and your life. You will not be returning to Chamberlain.”

Richie was dazed as Charles pushed him into the helicopter and somebody- Richie couldn’t even be bothered to figure out who- buckled him up. And even as it burned his eyes and made his actual brain throb, Richie watched the Kingdom of Chamberlain disappear from view.

He couldn’t have told anybody how long the ride lasted after Richie couldn’t see his home anymore. Could have been hours, could have been days. Richie felt numb right down to his core, but eventually the helicopter landed on a large landing strip and Richie was being ushered back out. People certainly were being grabby with him today. And his head still fucking hurt.

A man in a formal grey suit was waiting on the tarmac and gave Richie a slight bow as he approached. “Prince Richard, it’s an honour to meet you.”

Richie forced a smile. “There is no need to bow, sir. I know little of what is going on, but it certainly I am no longer any prince. Just Richie is fine.”

The man straightened up and gave Richie a wiry smile. “My name is Donald Uris, and I’m part of a very private branch of the United Nations which works lands such as your kingdom, to provide safety and protection for those of royal blood such as yourself in situations like this. I will do my best to give you an easy transition into your new life.”

Richie nodded and followed Mr Uris back to a small, grey van parked the end of the turmac strip. Richie crawled into the backseat and buckled himself up. Immediately, Mr Uris was pulling out pieces of paper and handed them to Richie. Most of them didn’t make any sense to him at all, with numbers and dates and signatures but something did catch his eye near the bottom of the pile.

CERTIFICATE OF VITAL RECORD. STATE OF MAINE.

TOZIER, RICHARD IRA. MARCH 07, 2003 M LITTLE CANADA, MN

Richie frowned. It was his name, sort of. His first name, certainly, but not last name nor his even middle name. Not his actual date of birth, but the correct year. He didn’t even know what a Little Canada or a Maine was, except that he assumed it was somewhere in America. Just like he was now.

“The story we’ve come up with is that you are the son of my deceased sister, come to live with my family.” Mr Uris said. “All these documents are everything you will need to be a legal citizen and navigate your life here in America. You’ve been enrolled in public high school, though I will warn you that their curriculum is likely behind that of your personal studies in Chamberlain. My son, Stanley is of an age with you and will be showing you around the school and the town and helping you feel at home.”

Richie flipped through the papers again, still not completely absorbing what they said. “Can you…” Richie started, then cleared his throat. “Do you know why I had to come here?”

Mr Uris was quiet for a moment before he started up the van and began to pull away from the drop off. The helicopter was already long gone. “I don’t have all the information, Richard, I’m afraid. All I’m aware of is that an attempt had been made on your life, a very close attempt, and it was the belief of your parents and counsel that the best course of action would be to allow those who harm you to believe that they succeeded, and to get you somewhere safe.”

“They told everybody I was dead.” Richie said slowly. Another awkward silence settled in the space between him and Mr Uris.

“It’s not a cut and dry as that, Richie.”

But Richie was pretty sure that it was.

The Uris’ house was nice. Certainly no castle, but bigger than any of the houses in the village’s under Richie’s reign. Two stories, possibly with an attic. Large windows and front porch with a swing. A front yard with flawless green grass and white mailbox. A wooden fence separated the property to the neighbours nearly identical houses, and there was a large two car garage. Suburban bliss, Richie thought to himself, though he’d never really experienced suburban- or even urban- other than the occasional at times he’d sat down and watched American television.He’d never considered when watching to take notes, that it would end up being his life.

It was only when Mr Uris guided him up the stairs, that Richie realized that he didn’t have any belongings. He was wearing a pair of pajama pants and a white t-shirt that he’d awoken in, possibly days ago, and he suddenly felt disgusted. “Mr Uris, I’m sorry to interrupt but I think I really could use a shower. And I don’t have any change of clothes or anything-”

“Oh yes, of course!” Mr Uris’ eyes widened as though surprised he hadn’t thought of that himself. “The bathroom you and Stanley will be sharing is just down the hall. I will tell you that my son is rather particular, so I ask that you did not touch any of his belongings. We placed shampoo, conditioner and soap in there for you already, and we will take you shopping for anything else you might need or if you don’t like shampoo brands we’ve gotten for you. The Aveeno products are all Stan’s, so please don’t touch them. And the same goes with blue towels and face clothes in the top cupboard, yours are in the bottoms cupboard. Your bedroom is on the left joining side, and there are some clothes in there for you. Nothing fancy or extravagant, but I think it will be adequate for you.”

Richie blinked, information being thrown at him with no qualms.

“This is it here.” Mr Uris opened the bathroom door and Richie was happy to see that it wasn’t much different than that back home. Smaller, but just as efficient. “Take your time, but we do have mandatory dinner at 5:30. You’re free to leave again after the meal, curfew is 11pm.”

Richie laughed. “Thank you, Mr Uris, but I don’t think I need to worry about curfew anytime soon.”

Mr Uris smiled back at him. “You might be surprised. My son has a nice little group of friends and I’m sure they’d be happy to have you along, Richie. Life here might not be as glamorous as royal life, but it’s not too horrible.”

Mr Uris left him alone to his thoughts after that, as Richie turned the water on as hot as it would go and stood under the burning stream. He still wasn’t sure he had un-numbed yet. Richie had never had friends before, not really. There were people around the palace, always, that Richie sometimes chummed around with but the only person Richie had ever really been close to was his sister.

The choking feeling of incoming tears hit Richie hard. God, Reed. He’d probably never see his sister again. She might not even know he was alive, but she was going to be being groomed for rule now. Thrusted into the position after the sudden loss of her only sibling, and her life would never be the same. Reed was sweet, pure, and Richie feared the pressure of rule could crush her.

Richie didn’t mean to cry, but when he came out with dripping hair and red skin, his eyes were no doubt puffy and red as well. He wrapped himself up in the beige towels from the bottom cupboard and pushed open the joining door to the bedroom.

Only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of two boys in the room. A thin boy with wiry blonde curls and a distinct nose and jaw line that made it obvious he was Mr Uris’ son, Stanley, was seated at the desk in a pastel blue button up and khaki pants. Lounging across the bed, in white T-shirt and red runners shorts, was a boy with day messy brown hair and wide brown eyes.

“Oh, uh- shit.” Richie said, suddenly aware of his obvious nakedness besides the towel around his waist. He was glad his skin was already flushed from hot water, otherwise his blush would be horribly obvious. ”I’m sorry. I thought your dad said my room connected to the bathroom.”

“It does.” Stan said simply, turning back to the door he had previously been reading. “It joins on the other side, the left. I’m sure my father told you. Do you know what left is?”

Richie's mouth dropped and blinked hard at him. “I- yes I know what left is! I got a lot of information in a short period of time. I forgot.”

Stan stared him down for a month before he smirked. “It’s fine. You’re not in a blue towel, so you’re forgiven.”

“Is this your cousin?” Stan’s friend spoke up suddenly, and Richie was aware of how the other boys’ gaze was trailing down his torso. “Richie, right? I’m Eddie.”

Eddie held his hand out but Richie stared down at it awkwardly, his own hands still holding tightly to the towel around his waist. “Yeah, I’d love to shake your hand but I think I’ll do it a little less naked if that’s cool.”

Eddie laughed and that sound made Richie’s stomach jump. ”That seems pretty fair. Your room is on the other side of the bathroom. The bed is really comfortable by the way, I crashed there enough times to know.”

“Don’t mind Eddie,” Stan called over to them, his eyebrows pinched together like he found something deeply amusing. “He’s in the middle of a reborn and he’ll hit on anything that moves.”

“Well, it’s pretty convenient that I am able to move then, isn’t it?” Richie waggled his brow, tried to ignore the fact that he was naked and relished in the way Eddie’s freckled cheeks pinkened slightly. Richie made his way back into the bathroom and let himself into the room on the other side, the room that belonged to him.

It wasn’t too different from Stanley’s, a double bed with a comforter set. A desk pushed into the corner and a large window with flannel curtains. But there weren't any pictures or posters on the walls, or awards or trophies littering shelves. It looked like exactly what Eddie had described it as, a guest room.

Richie sighed and moved towards the double door closet and opened it to a selection of jeans, khakis, button up shirts and white t-shirts. Richie had never chosen his own clothes before, never really considered the option, and this didn’t feel much different. Instead of an assortment of suits, it was just a different type of wardrobe.

He threw on a pair of jeans, cringing when they came up a couple inches short of his ankles. He grabbed a white t-shirt and one of the button ups- pink and white striped- and left it unbuttoned. He shook out his hair that way he always did when he wasn’t forced to style it for some sort of event, and he knew it was how his curls looked the best once they dried. He grabbed a pair of plain white socks from the basket in the bottom of the closet and tugged them. He hung the wet towel on the back of the door and returned back to Stanley’s room.

Eddie chuckled at him the moment Richie entered back into the room, eyes glued to the too short pants. “Your pants don’t fit.”

“Yeah, my dick is so big it’s forcing the fabric up.” Richie shot off.

Stan rolled his eyes in Richie’s peripheral vision but Eddie didn’t seem fazed. “Well you look like an idiot with them like that, let me help you.

Eddie dropped down to his knees in front of Richie, and Richie felt his face burn a bright red. Eddie rolled up the cuffs of his pants just slightly, enough that they looked short on purpose, and popped back up with a grin on his face. “There! Now you don’t look so much like an idiot.”

“Thanks, Eds. You’re really saving my ass.”

“Are you two done?” Stan asked, marking his place in the book and pushing away from his desk. “Because it’s 5:30 so we have to get to dinner.”

Eddie's eyes light up. “Mr Uris makes the best spinach pasta, you’re in for a treat.” He took off out the bedroom and downstairs towards the kitchen Richie had walked through when he’d gotten there. Richie moved to follow but Stan caught his arm before he could get anyway.

“Nobody in town knows who you really are except my parents and myself.” Stan told him seriously. “I don’t like lying to my friends, but I know it’s a matter of your safety so I won’t complain. I just ask you please try not to slip up. I don’t want my friends to think I’m a liar, and it’ll put your life in danger.”

“Your friends are the people who are trying to get me off’ed?” Richie challenged, simply for a lack of any other response.

“The more people who know who you are, the more possibility of your identity getting out.” Stan said dryly. “You should take this seriously. It’s literally a matter of your life or death.”

Richie learned within the week that it was actually rare for Stan to have his friends over to the house. Stan was always jetting out, returning home for his 5:30 dinners then taking off again until curfew. Mr Uris assured Richie that Stan was usually around the house more often that that, but it was the last week of summer vacation and he was trying to suck up the last bit of freedom he had left before going back to school. Richie wasn’t too upset that Stan wasn’t around much, Richie was still getting used to the entire situation.

Richie’s first day in town, Mr Uris had handed him a cell phone and showed him all the sorts of apps. Richie hadn’t bothered to set up any sort of social media, but once Mr Uris showed him a music app called Spotify, Richie had been hooked. It was like having every bit of music ever released at his fingertips in a way that Richie had never experienced before, and it blew his mind that everybody had this sort of access here. He spent days just exploring the apps playlists, learning new artists and devoting hours to their entire discographies if he could.

Richie had been so immersed in his music library that he hadn’t even noticed the door to his bedroom opening. Richie relished in the privilege to hide in his bedroom, something he was so rarely allowed to do back in Chamberlain.

Eddie had let himself into Richie’s room and was grinning at him. Riche yanked that headphones out of his ears and sat up in the bed. Ever since Eddie had rolled up the cuffs of Richie’s jeans his first day in town, Richie had been trying to continue doing it with the too short selection pants in his closet. He never managed to make it look as good Eddie had. The cuffs usually didn’t reach the same length, one thicker than the other, but Richie didn’t mind too much.

“Stanley isn’t here.” Richie said, resting up against the headboard of his bed. “I actually sort of thought that he was out with you.”

“We have other friends,” Eddie said dismissively. “I’m here to see you. Well, to steal you.”

Richie raised his eyebrows, legs starting to jitter under him. He stood up and moved over towards Eddie. “What like, kidnap me?”

Eddie smiled. “School starts tomorrow, you can’t go in with all these too small clothes. Come on.”

Richie frowned but let Eddie lead him out of his bedroom and down to where Mr and Mrs Uris were sitting at the small kitchen table with steaming mugs in front of them. They glanced up and only Mrs Uris seemed mildly surprised to see Eddie there.

“Edward, we’ve told you that you don’t need to sneak in.” Mr Uris said, voice dripping with amusement.

“Sorry, sir, force of habit.” Eddie chuckled. “Richie needs new clothes.”

Mr Uris blinked and glanced at Richie, two short jeans and button up shirt and chuckled. “I suppose you’re right, Edward.” He stood and pulled his wallet out from the back pocket of his pants, pulling out a slick bank card. “Go ahead and get whatever you need to within reason, but from here on out, if you want spending money you’ll need to do chores like Stanley does.”

Richie blinked. He’d never done any sort of housework before, but he didn’t think he should point that out. He still wasn’t sure what was considered normal, and what wasn’t, and he was pretty sure that not owning any clothes that fit him fell under the “not normal” category. The last thing he needed was to make Eddie suspicious of him, when it had been made very apparent that Richie should be doing everything in his power not to be drawing unwanted attention to himself.

So he let Eddie guide him to the closest bus stop, and pretended to his best ability that he’d taken a bus before at any point in his life. The mall didn’t seem to be anything overly impressive, a long straight hallway with stores. Mostly clothing stores, but there were two or three cell phones shops as well as a bookstore. There was a single As Seen On TV! Store that caught Richie’s eye, but Eddie quickly shoved him into the first clothing store.

“Okay, you need jeans. What size are you?” Eddie guided Richie over the long table with pair and pair of denim pants laid out across it, in different shades of blue and some black. Some were already ripped through the knees and thighs and Richie frowned at them, reaching out and putting his fingers through the rips in the fabric.

“Richie?” Eddie prompted again, startling Richie out of his wonder.

“Oh, uh…” Richie frowned. “Tall?”

Eddie crinkled up his nose and shook his head, before looking Richie up and down slightly. “How does somebody not know what size pants they are? Here.” Eddie started scooping up different pairs of pants in the same style, and tossed them into Richie’s arms. “We’ll get a dressing room, try them all on and you’ll figure out pretty quickly what fits and what doesn’t. We can go from there.”

Richie felt beyond embarrassed to have to ask the workers for a change room, and even more embarrassed to be changing down into his underwear with Eddie standing just outside. Whenever Richie had gone for a fitting before, it had always been himself and his stylist aside from any occasional time his mother would show up to pass her own judgement on whatever they were trying to put Richie into.

He eventually did figure out however, that his pant size was and Eddie quickly started tossing him as many pairs of pants as was allowed in the changing room at a time. He liked the pants that were tighter in the legs and ankles, and while he didn’t really understand why somebody would buy jeans that were already ripped, he couldn’t deny there was something he enjoyed about it when he looked at himself wearing them in the dressing room mirror. He got two pairs of the blue ripped jeans, and another two pairs of the regular jeans, one in a dark blue and one in black.

Eddie nodded with a satisfied smile. “Sweaters and shit are all on back to school sales, so this really is the best time to shop for anything.”

Richie reached his hand out and touched one of the sweaters on the hooks. It was soft, and checkered black and white. He noticed Eddie wrinkled his nose as Richie gave it attention. “It’s not good?” He asked. He wasn’t sure why stores would sell clothes that weren’t nice, and something about the pattern called to Richie, but he wouldn’t want to wear anything that would make him look wrong.

“I wouldn’t wear anything like that.” Eddie said. “But it doesn’t matter what I like, it’s what you like. Get it if you want it.”

Richie turned back to the sweatshirt and smiled slightly. He’d never had this sort of freedom with clothing before, and he pulled the sweatshirt from the rack before proceeding to grab the clothes with the brightest and wildest colours and patterns he could find. He watched Eddie get more and more amused as they moved through the store.

As the cashier rang them through, Eddie turned to Richie. “Do you need anything else for school?”

Richie frowned. “What would I need?”

“Uh-” Eddie faltered and Richie realized he’d asked a “not normal” question. “Like… pens and paper? Binders?”

“Oh!” Richie said, trying not to flush as he put Mr Uris’ card into the machine and put in the four number code he’d given him on his way out the door. “No, no. Mr and Mrs Uris have that stuff coming out of their asses, I’m pretty sure.”

Eddie chuckled. “I don’t think I doubt that. We can just pick up some new shoes for you because you’ve been limping around in those sneakers all day like they’re two sizes too small.”

They were just a pair of black sneakers that Mr Uris had from when he’d gone through a short period of thinking he wanted to go to the gym, and they were certainly hurting Richie’s feet. Eddie led Richie down that long hall again to a store that seemed to sell only shoes, and a pair of thick black boots caught Richie’s eye immediately.

He tried them on, going a full size higher than the sneakers on his feet, and Eddie made him walk and also buy a pair of sneakers because he assured Richie that they were much more practical than the boots. After they finished, Eddie even helped Richie carry his bags onto the bus and back to the Uris’ house. Richie excitedly unloaded all the new clothes and shoes into his closet, and felt a warm flutter in his chest when he thought of going to school the next morning.

He was significantly less impressed with the thought of school when he was dragged out of bed by Stanley at 6:30 the next morning. He threw the first things he saw in the closet, one of the ripped blue jeans with a shirt covered in Hawaiian flowers that was so large on him that it reached the middle of his thighs and threatened to slip off his shoulder. He tossed his hair up into a half-hearted bun on top of his head that he knew would be mostly fallen out by the end of his day and graciously accepted the buttered toast and orange juice that Mrs Uris handed both Stan and Richie as they were being ushered out to Mr Uris’ car.

One of the only other vehicles sitting in the parking lot when they arrived was a big red truck. The paint was chipping on the sides, and a group of teenagers were standing around it and sitting in the bed. Stan gave his father a quick goodbye and took off running towards it, while Richie hesitated in the back seat of Mr Uris’ Sedan.

Mr Uris’ caught his eye in the rearview mirror. “If you’re not ready yet, you can take another day off at home. I know this must all be a lot.”

It was, but Richie cleared his throat and unbuckled himself. “No, uh… It’s probably easier to be the new kid on the first day right? Instead of coming in when classes have already started?”

Mr Uris’ smiled. “It is, yeah.”

Richie gave his new guardian a thanks as he slid out of the car and walked slowly over the group of teenagers that Stan had rushed over to.

“Hey, Richie!”

Richie sighed a breath of relief when Eddie called out to him. While he’d known that Eddie was going to be at school with him- there was only high school in town- it was still nice to see Eddie was already there, meaning one less introduction.

“Guys, this my cousin Richie.” Stan said, lying with such ease it startled Richie. He smiled as Eddie gestured for him to climb up into the bed of the truck and sit down beside him. “I told you he’d be coming to live with us. Richie, this is Mike, Ben and Beverly-” He pointed to each person in turn. “You already know Eddie, and Bill should be coming but he’s late because that’s who he is as a person.”

Mike gave him a toothy grin. “Bill isn’t always late, I usually pick him up but I learned a long time ago not to bother trying on the first day of the school because it would just mean we’d both miss the first period.”

Richie laughed. Eddie leaned into Richie’s space, chin resting on Richie’s shoulder. “Mike and Bill are together,” he whispered in Richie’s ear as the conversation around them swirled into what their first periods were. “We all pretend we don’t know, but they’re not subtle at all.”

The parking lot was quickly filling up with cars and people, and Eddie kept his chin on Richie’s shoulder. “Ben has had a crush on Beverly since like sixth grade when he moved here.” Eddie continued whispering his friends' secrets to Richie as they talked obliviously. “She and Bill dated for like, three years or something, though, it’s just something we don’t talk about. We don’t talk about how Bill and Beverly used to date, either, but it makes Beverly really awkward.”

Richie nodded. “No talking about the love square. Got it.”

Eddie giggled directly in Richie’s ear and it really couldn’t be healthy how his heart jumped, skipping a full beat.

It actually surprised Richie had quickly he got the hang of his new life. Mr Uris hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said that their education system was behind that of Chamberlain, and Richie quickly rocketed up to the top of their class. September turned into October, and people stopped giving Richie weird looks in the hallways and started asking him for homework help instead. Beverly officially caught Mike and Bill on a date, and the not secret-secret officially became open knowledge amongst Stan’s friends. Stan got a crush on a girl in his and Richie’s AP math class, and Richie teased him about it mercilessly, but Richie was still the first person Stan came to when he asked her out and she said yes.

As the end of October loomed nearer, Richie quickly realized he rarely spent any time away from Eddie Kaspbrak. They had most of their classes together, and Eddie was over at the Uris’ house almost everyday after school if the group wasn’t all hanging out. Just a couple days before Hallowe’en, Eddie had invited Richie to see some horror flick and paid for the entire thing. He’d gotten scared and spent half the movie with this face hidden behind Richie’s shoulder, and the fluttering in his stomach kept Richie up almost the entire night after he’d gotten home.

Hallowe’en came around and Stan ordered Richie a costume to match all the rest of their friends. They weren’t doing anything like Hallowe’en on American TV, not trick or treating or going to some sort of intense rave in costumes that were basically half naked. They’d all gotten oversized sweaters with Pokemons on them, each of them a different one, and they were all going to have a sleepover out at Mike Hanlon’s family’s farm.

Richie had had a few other sleepovers since he’d come to Derry, but this was the first time that Eddie was going to be there all night. Eddie’s mother rarely let him out of the house overnight, and Hallowe’en was one of the occasions that Eddie felt important enough to argue with her over his sleepover rights. Richie was stupidly excited and painfully nervous.

Richie had never really had a crush on somebody before, certainly not like this. He was only a drink or two into the mix that Mike and Bill had somehow provided and Richie was feeling a buzz under his skin that he did not associate with the glasses of wine he’d be allowed to drink with meals back in Chamberlain, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off Eddie across the campfire in his huge Squirtle sweater.

Richie couldn’t think of any good reason not to, so he crawled around the fire and settled at Eddie’s side. They pressed together from knee to shoulder and Eddie turned to give Richie a slow smile. He was still nursing his drink of the evening and his eyes were bright and alert. “Hey, Togepi.” He said, grinning down at Richie’s sweater.

“I think it’s kind of bullshit that my sweater is the only one that’s white.” Richie said with a sigh. “I’m probably the most likely to get myself dirty.”

Eddie waggled his brow and licked his bottom lip before pulling his drink back up to his mouth and taking a long sip. “It’s eggshell, not white. You’re a fucking egg.”

Something about Eddie deadpanning the term you’re a fucking egg hit Richie hit in the giggles, head dropping down onto Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie shivered as Richie’s breath blew across his neck and suddenly the rest of the sounds in the barn seemed to fade away around them.

Richie lifted his head slightly, and Eddie’s hand came out to rest on his cheek. Richie was pretty sure his heart was in his throat as Eddie leaned into him, but he still found himself- “Eddie, wait.” Richie breathed out. He didn’t want to do it like this, he couldn’t. “I… I have to tell you something. I’m not who you think I am.”

Eddie blinked at him, not pulling away or lowering his hand, but pausing his motions forward. Richie inhaled slowly. “I’m not Stanley’s cousin. I’m not… I’m not related to him at all. I’m… okay this is going to sound insane but I’m actually a … prince.”

Eddie’s hand fell from Richie’s face, dropping to rest on top of Richie’s hands in his lap. “Okay, please, I know this sounds absolutely crazy and you can ask Stan if you need to. I mean, he might lie actually, I’m not sure. I was sent here for my own protection, people in my home country were trying to kill me. Maybe for being gay, maybe for something else, but probably for being gay. I’m not supposed to tell anybody who I am, but I didn’t want you to- I didn’t want us if you didn’t really know who I am because that’s not fair to you. Even though you probably think I’m fucking nuts now.”

Eddie sat there a long moment, just looking at Richie’s face. If Richie had thought Eddie had got his heart racing before, it was certainly nothing compared to how raced with panic now. “I should think you’re fucking nuts.” Eddie said slowly. “But I actually believe you.”

“What?” Richie asked, voice coming out more of a gasp than actual words.

Eddie broke into a shy smile. “It actually makes a lot of stuff make more sense. Like how you moved here without so much as a pair of shoes to your name, and you didn’t know who Lady Gaga was.”

Richie chuckled and Eddie’s thumbs brushed over the backs of Richie’s hands. “Thank you for telling me, honestly. I really like you, Richie… and I wanna like you for who you are. Whoever you are.”

“I really like you, too.” Richie said, feeling himself blush. “I don’t think I’ve ever liked somebody like this before.”

Eddie beamed. “Can we makeout now?”

“Oh. I don’t… I really don’t know how-”

Eddie smirked and reached up to tangle his fingers in Richie’s black curls. “Oh, I think I can show you the ropes.” He tugged Richie in to connect their lips, and Richie was a little shocked to realize how quickly instinct took over. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there with Eddie, could have been hours, or just minutes, but he was brought back into the reality of the party around him when a marshmallow hit him in the side of the head.

“Kaspbrak!” Stan shouted from across the fire. “Get your tongue out of my cousin’s mouth!”

Eddie joyously flipped Stan the bird before pulling Richie in for another kiss.

November flew back in a haze of Eddie and colourful leaves. The snow began to fall and Richie began to learn all about Hanukkah from his new found family, and about Christmas from his boyfriend. The amount of things that took place in such a small period of time at the end of December was a little dizzying for Richie, and he expressed as much to Mrs Uris one day as she was helping him making real hot cocoa for himself and Eddie.

“Nothing is expected of you, Richie.” Mrs Uris told him gently. “We know that this must be weird for you, the holidays away from your family. I’m sure Eddie knows it, too.”

Richie’s ears burned slightly. It had taken all of three days into his and Eddie’s relationship for Richie to confess to Stan and the Uris’ that he told Eddie the truth about who he was. Stan had been supportive and happy for him, while Mr and Mrs Uris had still been apprehensive about Richie sharing that information. Stan had tried reminding them they’d known Eddie since the other boy wore diapers, but they’d still been concerned that it put Richie’s safety at risk.

“Richie…” Mr Uris called from the front foyer of the house. “Can you come here, please?”

Richie stepped towards Mr Uris, only to freeze at the sight in front of him. Shedding out of long grey trench coats were Richie’s parents and younger sister, Reed. She gasped at the sight of him, and flung herself into his arms without a care of the snow still hanging off her. Though shocked, Richie didn’t have any hesitation in wrapping his arms around her and giving her a tight squeeze.

“Rich?” Eddie’s voice sounded from behind him and Richie slowly pulled away from his sister’s embrace. Eddie was standing at the bottom of the stairs, Stan and his girlfriend, Patty, just behind him. Mrs Uris was hovering nearby in the doorway between the kitchen and the front hall.

“These are my parents, and my baby sister.” Richie smiled at them and reached his hand out behind him for Eddie. Eddie shuffled over and grabbed hold of Richie’s awaiting hand. “You guys, this is Eddie. My boyfriend.”

Eddie smiled bashfully at them, only half hidden behind Richie’s figure. Reed let out a delighted gasp while his parents donned polite smiles.

“It's lovely to meet you, Eddie.” King Wentworth said, sounding genuine enough. His parents had been loving and understanding when Richie had come out to them, and he knew that most of their wants of Richie to keep things shushed was out of concern for his safety. Rightfully so, it would seem. “Richard, we come with news.”

Richie raised his eyebrows at them, finding himself struggling to slip back into the formal person he knew he should be right then. “Yeah… Uh yes, okay. Let’s sit.”

The merged families sat around the sunny Uris’ living room as Mrs Uris offered everybody their selection of drinks.

“I’m afraid we cannot stay long,” Queen Margaret said sweetly, patting at Mrs Uris’s extended hand. “The royal family cannot all be absent from their places for long. We have pressing issues to discuss with Richard that must have been said in person.”

Eddie squeezed Richie’s knee, and Richie leaned to the side to press a soft kiss to Eddie’s cheek. There was a burning feeling in his gut that told him this was going to get messy.

“We have found the culprit who was making the attempts on your life.” King Wentworth said, eyes only for his son. Richie felt a chill run down his spine. “It was Lord St George of Little Tall Island. He was unhappy when the bethoral between yourself and his eldest daughter, Lady Selena, and he seemed to believe that it would be better to have you dead then it be revealed that you have rejected his kin.”

Richie only dimly remembered Selena St George. A mousy girl with long braids, they’d met only three or so times, and he felt she’d said an equal amount of words in his presence.

“We have him contained and he’s awaiting a trial in our dungeons.” King Wentworth continued. Richie heard Eddie whisper the word dungeon in awe at Richie’s side. “We wanted to let you know that, should you choose to return, it is safe for you.”

Richie was sure for a moment that he’d misheard, but the way every eye in the room was trained on him promised that he hadn’t. “Go… Go back to Chamberlain? I thought… didn’t you tell everybody I was dead?”

“Yes, when we believed it unlikely we would ever find the person responsible for the attempts on your life,” Queen Margaret said softly. “We have found him, and there is no reason to carry on the charade that you’ve been lost to us.”

Richie swallowed audibly. “You said if I choose to, you mean it’s up to me?”

The King and Queen exchanged a look with Mr Uris. “Donald told us much about how you’ve grown the past four months. That you seem… happy. Adjusted here. We would love for you to come home with us, but Donald’s stories prompted us to wonder if that would be what make you happy.”

Richie glanced at his sister, who smirked and pointedly looked in Eddie’s direction. Richie’s boyfriend was sitting stalk still beside him, pale and pressed against his side. Richie thought of their relationship, how they’d only just begun to fall for each other, and he thought of sneaking into Stan’s room at night to talk even though he pretended it annoyed him. Thought of all the clothes in his closet upstairs, every single one picked out by him for him. He thought of Mike, and Beverly and Ben and Bill, the first real friends he’d ever had. He thought of the stories that Mrs Uris and Eddie had told him of Hanukkah and Christmas, and how even though he was nervous about it he wanted to experience the holidays.

“I.. I think I want to stay.” Richie said slowly, looking at Mr and Mrs Uris. “If that’s okay.”

“You are more than welcome to stay, Richie.” Mr Uris assured him with a fond smile.

“You need to be sure that’s what you want.” King Wentworth leaned forward and rested his hands on Richie’s knees. “If you do wish to stay in America, we would continue forward under the premise that you have died. For your safety and your privacy. The privacy of the family who took you in and your friends. We would charge St George with your murder rather than simply an attempt, you would not be able to ever return to Chamberlain.”

Richie’s stomach tensed for a moment before he remembered a simple fact. “I already believed that to be true.” Richie said in his most princely voice. “I had accepted that I would never see you or Chamberlain again months ago, that was what they told me when I came here. I made my own life, and I love it. I love the people in it.” Eddie’s head came down and rested gently against Richie’s shoulder. “And I love you guys, too, so much but I… I don’t want to be a prince, I don’t want to rule or any of that shit. I’m not built for it. This is the life I want, and Reed will be an amazing Queen. Better than I could ever be a King.”

Reed gave him a tearful smile. “You know it, big brother.”

“That’s your final decision, son?” King Wentworth asked his only son.

Richie made only a second of eye contact with Stanley, who offered him up a half twitch of a smile. “Yeah.” Richie said happily. “It is.”

#reddie #reddie fic #my writing #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak

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britishassistant · 4 years

Text

Mr. Hale’s Art 301

August— Before Class

7 Months Earlier

Peter needed to remind himself more often that, high schooler or not, Lydia Martin was a force to be reckoned with.

She and the rest of the original Hale-now-McCall pack vowed revenge on him not long after he revived, but all went about it in different ways.

Scott McCall simply punched him in the face and left it at that.

Stiles Stilinski somehow managed to find and break into his apartment and sprinkle crushed wolfsbane into enough garments and towels that Peter was still wary when he was getting ready for the day.

When Allison Argent was alive, she repeatedly left arrows bearing her family sigil in both his home and places he frequented— presumably, like Stiles, to violate his sense of territory and just to show that she could.

Derek just brooded and looked by turns murderous and guilty whenever his uncle was in the room before he left town, though his stint as Alpha could be called punishment enough.

Lydia Martin, however, played the long game.

He still wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed it.

Somehow, despite Peter never sending in his resume or going for an official interview, Lydia Martin had arranged for him to become Beacon Hills Middle School’s new art teacher.

She’d even managed to have a touching, heartfelt story printed on the front page of the Beacon Hills Daily about the miraculously recovered coma patient attempting to give back to the community via imparting his gift to impressionable young minds.

How she’d found out he was capable of art despite all of his portfolios and most of his dissertation research burning in the fire was also a little beyond him, but he digressed.

Scott appeared so moved by the article that any attempts to suggest that Peter wasn’t actually going to take the job resulted in the alpha’s claws and fangs coming out in a way that promised either a maiming or expulsion from the McCall pack entirely.

And Peter had too many irons in too many fires to allow that to happen.

So he’s standing in the front office of Beacon Hills Middle School, contemplating the rictus of existential pain on the face of something he thinks is meant to be a beaver.

It’s one of the better methods that he’s devised so far of blocking out the scent of emerging hormones, social anxiety and too strong body spray belonging to over 300 adolescents that are sleepily beginning to shuffle into the halls of the building.

While waiting to meet the Principal and Assistant Principal of this farce of an educational facility at 6:30 in the fucking morning.

So yes, Lydia Martin needs to have a closer eye kept on her in future.

For the good of man- and werewolf-kind really.

Finally, finally, he’s able to hear a man’s footsteps walking towards where he’s been waiting and politely avoiding the leering gaze of the elderly secretary. For some reason the man’s heartbeat, as choked by cholesterol as it is, sounds vaguely familiar.

“Well, well, well. Long time, no see, Hale.”

A portly man with a large bald spot has swung open the door and stands there with his hands on his hips as though he’s in some kind of soap opera. He has the beginnings of jowls and a shiny badge with the words ‘Assistant Principal’ on it that smells like it’s recently been polished. He’s also got a look of cocksure smugness on his face that seems out of place for some reason—

Peter’s mind supplies an image of a gangly teenager with overlarge glasses, a perpetually resentful expression, one ill-fated month with a fedora, and several pathetic attempts at a beard.

“Tommy!” Peter exclaims, smothering as much delight into his tone as he possibly can. It’s galling that he has to work for this sniveling toad, but he’ll be dammed if he lets the scum of his high school know it. “It’s been ages since we graduated, how have you been? You seem to have done well for yourself.”

Tommy’s face drops into the nostalgic expression of sour resentment that Peter so fondly remembers. “It’s Assistant Principal Thorne to you, Hale.”

He turns sharply on his heel. “You’re late— not a promising start. Follow me.”

‘Because you kept me standing out here for 30 minutes while you primped for your grand entrance, you miserable tapeworm.’ Peter thinks, but does not say, plastering on his widest devil-may-care smile on his face instead.

Memory serves him well despite his brief sojourn into the great beyond, because Thorne’s face twists further in response before he feebly tries to not look like he loathes Peter’s guts.

He is lead into a warren of corridors that end in a door that is marginally nicer than the others, with the plaque ‘Principal Melinda Johnson’ on it.

Thorne knocks on it, and opens it when a pleasant female voice bids they enter.

The Principal is a professional, pleasant woman with cropped hair and prominently displayed family and wedding photos on her desk. She looks him in the eye when shaking his hand and tells him honestly that she is honored to have him on board her staff, without a whiff of arousal to be found in her scent to Peter’s subtle relief.

She is clearly more used to dealing with the administrative affairs of the school as her speech about her school and students makes it evident that she is laboring under the slightly misguided assumption that her successes as a parent have translated to successes as an educator.

Thorne continually shoots his boss dark glances that were overlaid with the warring stink of contempt and arousal.

Peter kept a disgusted snort to himself. The toad really hadn’t changed since high school. He’d been like that around Talia, loathing her for her position as Student Body President and objectifying her in the same breath.

It was one of Peter’s most cherished memories, watching his sister casually verbally tear the covetous little bastard a new one when he tried to suggest that she was somehow unsuitable for her position due to her “womanly concerns”.

It was just a shame she’d shot down his suggestions to tear Thorne’s gaseous black sedan a new one as well.

“And once again, Mr. Hale, may-I-say that your decision to come in so early for your new position shows remarkable promise for your future teaching career.” Principal Johnson enthuses, oblivious to the mutinous glares of her subordinate.

“Early, ma’am?” Peter inquires pleasantly, feeling the prickles of both righteous outrage and not-quite-so righteous homicidal urges at the sight of Thorne’s now sickly grinning face.

“Oh? Well, I thought Mr. Thorne had sent you the package that outlined the time slot for your class this year–1:30, wasn’t it Mr. Thorne?”

“12:30, Principal Johnson, just before A-lunch.” Thorne replies in a tone that does very little to disguise how smug he sounds.

Peter needs to clench his hands slightly to force his claws back in.

Don’t rip his throat out now. It’s too quick. Too painless. Wait until McCall’s pack is suitably weakened, then tear apart this farce of an educational facility while the toad whimpers, and string his guts from the rubble.

Maybe total his car beforehand just to rub salt in the wound.

Peter smiles sheepishly, making sure none of his intentions for the school or certain members of its incompetent staff are visible. “Unfortunately, my apartment’s mail system is a bit byzantine; it wouldn’t surprise me if one of my neighbors ended up with my packet and forgot to return it to me.”

“Oh dear! Well, I’m sure Mr. Thorne can easily print you off another copy, can’t you, Mr. Thorne?”

“Mr. Thorne” curls his lip and then attempts to straighten his expression into a genial smile at the small frown that flits across Principal Johnson’s face.

Peter keeps his look of boyish, charming innocence, and begins to plot exactly how he can have the assistant principal removed from office, and maybe even from the great state of California.

He’s got to amuse himself somehow during this torment, after all.

Peter wishes he’d been able to go home and at least nap for one of the six hours between his meeting with the principal and when he was due to start his class.

But no. Assistant Principal Thorne decided it was imperative for him to meet every member of the faculty that the school building had to offer.

After the third lunch lady and the fourth janitor, the adults began to blur together into an amorphous mass of names, ink and stress-soaked scents, and awful, awful fashion sense.

Really, Peter should be commended on his self-control for not ripping out Thorne’s throat in the boys’ locker rooms then dragging the body outside to claim that it was a random vicious mountain lion attack.

But he digresses.

A couple do stand out.

The gym teacher—Brody or something— who starts out acting like he belongs on McCall’s high school lacrosse team, before breaking down in hysterics over his ex-wife and children. The long-suffering faces of his students suggest that this isn’t an uncommon occurrence.

The mathematics teacher— a Ms. McGrath—who reeks unpleasantly of resentment and poorly concealed fear. She is in the Derek Hale School of trying to control people via shouting and threats, though hers are more geared towards grades than bodily harm.

The english teacher— Mr. Joshua Nord— is a name Peter takes the trouble to remember simply because he appears to be the least afraid of his own students. He could be tolerable company or the one most likely to stand up to Peter if he gets bored and decides to make his own fun.

By the time 12:00 rolls around, Peter already feels exhausted. He hasn’t even had to deal with any of the actual children yet.

He was suddenly very glad for Principal Johnson’s insistence that he only hold one small class this year, as though exposure to too many middle schoolers at once would send him back into a coma.

Still, at least the scents of paints, inks and clay was familiar enough that it loosens something in Peter’s chest a little.

Funny, the things you don’t realize you miss until they’re suddenly returned to you.

He decides to peruse the back rooms, see exactly what he’ll be working with and how much he’ll need to compensate for budget limitations.

It’s mostly cheap paints, crayola color pencils, crayons, markers, a few sharpies, and some watered-down india ink, but at least there’s a decent set of lino blocks, some traditionally “craft” materials, and several air-sealed bags of clay that make him grin in anticipation.

A pair of small footsteps approach his classroom, and the door creaks open.

Peter contemplates emerging, but none of his students should be here yet. The footsteps that creep into the room are cautious, hesitant, ready to turn and run at any moment.

There’s a couple of high-pitched whispers of “It’ll be on the desk!” and “Quickly, quickly!” and Peter shifts so that he’ll be able to spy on the intruders into his territory through the glass window in the back room door.

The brown hair that rests on the child’s shoulders reminds Peter of a beagle’s floppy ears. The bags under her eyes (it’s usually a her with that sort of hairstyle) only furthers the similarities as she looks around wide-eyed on her twitchy, overly-cautious journey to his desk, clutching a brightly colored piece of plastic.

There’s a scent of heavily applied makeup emanating from near the door, combined with high-pitched snickering, suggests that her lookout is most likely a girl as well.

The child finally gets to his desk, and Peter rolls his eyes at the sound of rustling papers.

Really, how does this child ever sneak anything past her parents or older relatives? It’s almost cartoonish how obvious she is— she makes Stilinski at his most discombobulated seem subtle and discrete.

There’s a soft scratching sound, and the scent of graphite. So a basic graffiti prank then. He hopes she at least does something more creative than a simple penis. Though it could make for a good first critique project...

The acrid burst of Sharpie ink gives him pause. Well, either she’s going above and beyond in the call of duty or, as the repetitive sound of the mark making suggests, she’s looking more to conceal something than to add.

Peter’s lips curl into a slow smirk.

The pencil scratches a few more times against the paper before the girl loses her nerve and barrels back towards the door of the classroom, bumping into her lookout, and the two sets of footsteps pound off down the hall, nervous giggles floating in their wake.

Peter lets himself out of the back room, and rearranges the freshly photocopied syllabi and scattered codes of conduct. He pauses to take in the results of the intruder’s meddling.

The smirk widens.

This promises to be interesting.

#my writing #art 301 #art teacher Peter Hale #teen wolf #peter hale #art class #middle school #lydia martin #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #talia hale #teen wolf oc #chase brody #ocs #nanbaka oc #wkm oc #AP Thorne #Principal Johnson

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ghost-drabbles-bc · 5 years

Text

“Sounds like a good idea.”

Words: a lot (1,731 to be exact)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus III X Reader (Female)

Prompt: This is literally just confessional sex and I’m gross lol. (little plot though)

This is based off of the prompt for the 12th for @ghostbcfandomevents ‘s Valentines day prompts! It’s been a very long time since I’ve actually written out something as long as this, so I hope you enjoy! Let me know how I did! ~Gorey

It’s been a long and busy few months for the church as of late, and especially for you. You’ve been so busy with the work that had been piled on top of you in the past couple weeks, and it’s been a while since you’ve had a free day all to yourself. Today was that day. No one to give you work to do, no one to boss you around. You knew exactly what you were going to do, and when you dropped the last bit of paperwork off in Imperator’s office, you made a beeline for the confessional booth.

From what your fellow sister had said, there was a specific schedule as to who you would be confessing to. It went in order from oldest to youngest Papa, and then Copia. From how it seemed, and you’d been keeping track, Copia would be cooped up in the confessional booth today. You had talked to him frequently about your little… well... crush. You couldn’t just tell anyone outright about the feelings you felt for III, and you especially couldn’t tell the man himself about it. You were so afraid of what he would think if he ever found out you, a higher ranking sister of sin, who he frequently had small conversations with, felt so many things for him.

You had spoken to Copia about your feelings through the little window for a while now. So much that he can tell when you’re in there before you can get so much as a whole sentence out. It’s actually helped the two of you to build up a small friendship. Although with how busy the past few weeks had been, you hadn’t been able to get your advice from your friend. The crush has grown much bigger in size since the last time you’ve said anything to him.

By the time you’d gotten to the confessional, your mind was racing from what you were going to say. There wasn’t too many people waiting, but being the last person made the wait feel like forever. It took 15 minutes at most to be able to sit side by side in the booth to The Cardinal, and you had time to think of what you needed to say, but the moment you sat down, all words left your mind. You needed a moment to collect yourself and your words.

“F-forgive me Cardinal, for I have sinned. You probably already have an idea of who this is, but don’t say anything until I’ve finished. I know I’ve come to you before seeking advice on what to do about this, but my feelings for him have gotten worse… I never expected them to get to this point, but now I just can’t stop thinking about him. Especially when I’m in bed… When I can’t sleep, The Third just slips into my thoughts… I know it’s a little sinful of me, but I can’t stop myself from trailing my hands down there when he comes to mind. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore, but I can’t just confess myself to him… What if he wouldn’t feel the same?”

It’s silent. Usually you would have heard Copia shift or make one of his famous noises to show he was thinking of what to say, but it was dead silent. “I’m done, Cardinal. You can speak now.” There was nothing from the other side of the booth. Your mind started to race. Maybe you had overshared, and now he was uncomfortable. Did you just ruin the little friendship that you had? Over your worries, you could hear someone speak, but it wasn’t the voice you were expecting. Another familiar voice spoke up. “What else do you think about me, il mio peccatore?”

It was him. The man who you’ve been trying to steer clear of even talking to just in case you were to make a fool of yourself. Now he knew everything. “Well? Don’t keep me waiting! I would love to hear what else you thought of while you were supposed to be sleeping.” He teased from the other side of the grated window of the confessional. There was no getting out of it now. You’ve already given him so much to hold against you, so why not just have fun with it?

“P-Papa I wasn’t expecting you to be here today… Isn’t it supposed to be the Cardinal’s day for confessions?”

“Yes, but things change. He had a lot of work to do, so my father asked me if I could take over for the day. I almost said no, but now, I’m glad I went through with it. Now, what else do you think about, hm?”

You could tell he was smirking from the other side, and you didn’t even have to look at him. You think you hear the ruffling of clothing too. Why not stroke the man's ego for a little? See where this goes?

“I think of Papa’s fingers being inside of me instead of my own, and I think of how he would feel inside of me. It gets me really wet, and usually gets me to my edge.”

You hear a light groan from his side. “Is that so? You feel yourself while thinking of him? Such a dirty little sinner...”

“Y-yes! I think about his big cock inside of me. I want him to use me any way he’d like! I only want to please my Papa!”

Without another word, you hear the little click of his door open. It’s silent for some time. You can feel a pit growing in your stomach, and it’s only making you feel needier. He startles you by sticking his hand through your curtain, and pulling you out. He sits back down in the cramped space in the middle of the booth, and pulls you slightly into it with him. He reaches around you to close the door again, and immediately pulls you into his lap. His lips connect with yours roughly, a feeling of lust and hunger to it. You don’t mind though, this is something you’ve been dreaming of for months on end now, and it’s finally coming true.

You can feel the bulge from under his clothes growing harder and harder by the minute. You start to slightly grind on him, and it brings out a frustrated groan from the man. Hearing how you’re making him feel gives you an idea. You slide onto your knees in front of him, and start taking his pants and briefs off. It’s a little easier on you, since they were already unbuttoned and unzipped. He lifted his hips a little to make your job a little hastier, and the moment they were off, your hands were on him.

You worked at him for a little bit before he took a fistful of your hair into his gloved hand, and pushed your face closer to him, silently telling you to use your mouth. You licked a long stripe from the bottom of his length, to the head, and lightly begin to suck on the tip. He still has his hand in your hair, so he takes it and pushes you down a little to get the point across that he wants more. You bob your head up and down on his cock, and he fucks into your mouth. He hits the back of your throat, and you try your best not to gag.

You can hear him moaning and groaning quite loudly, and after a little while of him using your mouth, He pulls you off. He brings you up to his level, and pushes you up against the wall. He lifts your skirt and you can see the lust fill his eyes immediately when he makes the discovery.

“No panties? You really are a filthy little sinner!”

“Anything for you Papa” You say with a little smirk.

He lines himself up with your entrance. “Tell me what you want Tesoro~”

“I want you Papa!”

“What was that, amore?”

“P-please Papa! Please stop teasing me! I want you to fuck me!”

“As you wish~”

And with that, he slams into you. He doesn’t give you very long to adjust before he’s pounding into you. It hurts a little, but the pleasure outweighs the pain. The thought of someone walking in and seeing the booth shaking only turns you on more. Having sex in here helps you to confirm that the booth is pretty shabby. His moans and groans getting louder by the second, and you’re being pretty loud yourself.

“P-Papa be quiet! What if someone comes i-in and hears?”

The thought must have made him feel something too. His groans turn into little growls as he pounds into you harder, hoping to bring more noises out of you too. It works, and within seconds you’re a panting, moaning mess. He hits that spot in you that makes you want to scream out of pleasure. You start to feel what seems to be a rubber band in your stomach. It’s getting tighter and tighter, as if it will break at any moment

“Maybe I want them to hear, Cara Mia. I want them to know who you’ve been thinking about on those late nights you’ve been having. Let them hear!”

“Haah… Ahh!! Papa~!”

“Louder, Tesoro. Show them who you belong to!”

“Pa-a-apa I’m going to cum!!!”

“Yeah, I know sweetheart. Cum with your Papa now~”

That was all it took to snap the band in your pit. Your orgasm rippling through your body as his thrusts started to get sloppier by the second. You knew he was going to cum, and the feeling of your body tightening around him wasn’t going to stall him. He cums inside of you, your body helping to milk him of everything he’s got.

After he was finished, he slowly and carefully sits down with you still in his lap. He’s playing with your hair, and looking into those beautiful eyes of yours.

“We should do this again sometime. Maybe somewhere different though. I don’t think this confessional could hold up with us in it again!”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea”

You smile to yourself. Hearing that he would like to see you again makes your heart skip a couple beats. He wants to see you again.

#Ghost #ghost bc #the band ghost #Papa emeritus III #papa emeritus 3 #papa 3 #papa III #copia #cardinal copia #the cardinal #cardi c #not worksafe #smut #Pastor Gorey #this is just confessional sex

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killjoy-loveit · 5 years

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Stitch Me Back Together- 1

A/N: This is the fourteenth spooky season story! I apologize for the delay in the continuation of the spooky season short stories, however, I believe it was imperative to take time for my mental well-being. I would like to clarify that everything written in this story is complete fiction and isn’t to be taken as a true portrayal of reality. This is written in 1st POV, the character’s name is Fleur, and this will become a series. I am still working on it, the end date isn’t set as of yet, however, I will try to update it when I can. Every member of Vixx will be featured in this piece, though for this first part the only one of them in it is Ken/Jaehwan.

Excerpt: Currently I was seated in front of my tv, a hot cup of coffee sitting on the table in front of me- being completely ignored. Some reruns of an older show were playing but I couldn’t focus on the scenes of characters bickering about some insignificant problem they had. My mind was too busy running through the events of last night for the millionth time.

Word Count: 3,412

Genre: Supernatural/Fantasy/Mythical AU, Angst

Prologue | Chapter 2 | Chapter 2.5 | Chapter 3

****WARNING: Mentions of blood and death****

“Fleur.” My sister whined into the phone.

“What?” I dragged the word out in an identical fashion. Though it wasn't an important question, I knew what she wanted. Sometimes it's just fun to mess with her. Lucille, whom I commonly refer to as Cillie, wanted me to bring her food once I get off my 16-hour shift at the hospital- which ends at midnight. That means not a lot of places are going to be open, plus she works around thirty minutes from where I am. And my apartment is five minutes from where I work, so I'll have to drive all the way back.

“Pretty please, Fleur? Nothing will be open when I get my break, and I forgot to bring food.”

“Cillie,” I sighed into the phone. “Fine, I'll bring you food, but only if you promise to set a daily reminder to take food with you to work from now on. This is, what? The sixth time in the past two weeks, you can't keep doing this!”

“I promise! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're the best, Fleur! I love you.” She sang into the phone at the end of her excitement.

“Yeah, yeah, love you too. I have to get back to work now.” I murmur, a smile tugging at my lips.

“Bye! See you after your shift!”

I rolled my eyes as I hung up. Lucille can be such a bother, especially since we have a similar work ethic, which is basically to work our asses off. Neither of us has much free time since we spend most of our time at work, which leads to her frequent requests for food. Every time I bring her food, I end up staying while she eats, and we catch up. It's difficult for us to go more than a day without talking and even harder if we go too long without seeing each other. That's what happens when you grow up with parents who don't care about you.

Our parents were pretty absent, and every promise they ever made fell through, the only thing they were good for was stocking the fridge and keeping a roof over our heads. The only person we had to rely on was each other, and that's how it has remained. Which is probably why it isn't shocking that we ended up in related fields. I became a doctor, just out of my residency stage, and Lucille became a coroner. Even though our jobs tend to dominate our time, I know that neither of us would change it.

Now, I can't precisely say what Lucille thinks, but for me, this is something I know I'm good at. It's a job where I know I'm making a difference in every life that I save. And it's not necessarily that I only find validation or meaning in saving lives; instead, it's that I don't feel I'm meant to do anything else. If I were to be born again or wake up with amnesia one day, I know that I would always find my way back to this field.

Despite my shift ending twenty minutes ago, I couldn't bring myself to move. Maybe my brain froze and wasn't capable of rationalizing what had happened. Or, the more likely reason was that I was in shock. My pale-yellow scrubs were stained a dark red from an amount of blood that no person could lose and still live. I couldn't keep him alive. Why couldn't I save him? Did I move too slow? Did I crack under pressure? Would I get fired? There was just so much blood everywhere, it covered all of the wounds to the point I couldn't find where the most blood loss was coming from. There were so many bullets. How was I supposed to staunch the bleeding from nine bullet wounds?

A hand clapped down on my shoulder, a sore attempt at a comforting gesture. “Hey, you did the best you could. Don't hate on yourself because of this, okay?”

I swallow roughly as I look up. “How am I not supposed to hate myself? That guy was practically a kid! He couldn't have been older than nineteen, and now he's lying dead because I couldn't do my job right and save him!”

“Fleur,” Carson sighed, dropping into the seat next to me. “This is the first time you've had someone die on you, isn't it?”

I nod, averting my gaze from the older doctor.

“Well, I'm sorry to break it to you this way, but this won't be the last time someone dies on you. The only way to move past it is to know you did everything you could, and you did, Fleur. You didn't make a mistake; you did everything right. The guy came into our ER like someone used him as a practice dummy,” He said, getting to his feet. “Don't blame yourself, you weren't the one who shot him.” Carson paused at the door, turning to say one more thing. “And actually, I'm surprised he wasn't DOA.”

Logically I knew he was right; it wasn't my fault the patient died. It's just that maybe I could have done something more. And if I had, he might not be dead right now. Which, yes, I'm aware that it's stupid since I did everything I could. If my vision was better or my hands faster, he might have survived. But all the maybe's or what if's in the world can't change the outcome. Shaking my head, I finally stand up and grab my coat. I couldn't find the energy, nor did I care enough, to change from my scrubs. Lifelessly I pulled on my coat, zipping it to hide the bloodstains.

The drive over to the lab where Lucille worked went by in a blur after I grabbed food. I honestly couldn't remember the details of how I arrived. Maybe I should've called a taxi. Cillie's workplace was always cold. It makes sense; it is a morgue. I've never liked walking through the hallways to get to her office, the lighting is frequently dim, and it typically leaves me feeling uneasy. Like there's something off about the whole building, kind of dark and creepy. It could be from all the death this place has seen. I don't understand how she can work here without a problem; I'd probably become paranoid in a matter of days if I worked at this place.

Whenever I come, Cillie tends to be in the main area of the building, where the dead bodies are kept. I've never gone inside that area, and this time was no exception. Knocking thrice on the door was enough to signal to her that I was waiting for her.

And she responded with a quick shout. “Give me a sec, I'll be right out!”

Cillie raved excitedly about the autopsy she'd performed earlier on the walk to her office. Something about malformed organs and how amazed she was that the lady had managed to live for so long. Her chattering was nonstop, even when we reached our destination, and she plopped into her chair. She only went quiet after digging into the bag of food, munching happily on the chips within.

“That sounds exciting, Cillie,” I say quietly.

“It was, Fleur,” She breathed out, bouncing lightly in her seat. “You should've seen it!”

“I'm glad I didn't.”

Lucille's eyebrows furrowed as she looked at me, the chip in her hand quickly forgotten. “Why do you seem off? Did something ha—” She froze mid-question, eyes locked onto the small portion of my scrubs peeking out from my coat. “Why is there blood on your scrubs?”

“I work at a hospital.”

“Now is not the time to be smart with me,” She snapped. “You don't usually wear your scrubs out of the hospital on a normal day, and the one time you do, there's blood on them. Something's up, tell me what happened. Now.”

“I lost someone.” Tears stung at my eyes as I stared at the ground. I was afraid that if I looked at her, and saw the sympathy on her face, that I would break apart. It's hard for me to stop crying once I start, so it's best not to start in the first place. I would've been fine, really, I would have. But then she hugged me, and the floodgates opened.

Her hands smoothed down my back. “It's okay. Fleur, it's okay.”

“I'm sorry.” I sobbed into her shoulder.

“Don't you dare apologize! Losing a patient is hard, but I know you. And you always put a hundred and ten percent effort into everything. Do you know what that means?” I shook my head as she pulled back from the hug. “It means that I know you did everything you could to save that person.”

My lower lip quivered. “I did.”

“I know,” Lucille murmured. “Now, do you feel comfortable alone at home, or should I ask for the rest of the night off?”

“No, no, you don't need to ask off the rest of the night. I… I'll be fine by myself.” My voice broke at the end, and I thought for a second that Cillie might try to ask off anyways.

She eyed me in disbelief but nodded nonetheless after a moment's consideration. “Fine, but you call me in the morning. And I want you calling out for your next shift, you'll be of no use to anyone until you can move past this.”

“Okay.”

I did just as Lucille ordered when I woke up the next morning. My supervisor expressed her concern and mentioned that there was a policy in place for just this situation. That being required therapy and a week away from the hospital before being permitted back. At that moment, I felt both relieved and anxious. Time off meant having nothing to do, and that meant being left alone with my mind. How was that supposed to help? I could avoid such thoughts during the day when distractions are plentiful, but at night there's nothing to keep the darkness from creeping in. I guess that's what the therapy's for. Hopefully, it would be able to help rid me of the lingering doubt and guilt I held. I called Lucille after speaking with my supervisor, but as expected, she was asleep. A message left on her voicemail was sure to suffice, seeing as Lucille could probably sleep through the apocalypse.

The television sat on its stand, playing old reruns and being completely ignored by me. It wasn't alone, though, as a cup of coffee sat on the table in front of me, forgotten. My mind was so far off, in a place where the incessant bickering of some sitcom characters couldn't reach. I was too busy running through the events from the night prior for what seemed to be the millionth time. Granted by this point, I had lost count; I just knew that the times I had replayed the events were numerous. Each time something was nagging at the back of my mind, something wasn't right. The guy shouldn't have still been alive when he got to the hospital. The whole situation felt off.

Even Carson said that the patient should've been dead on arrival. And this is the statement of someone who has been a doctor much longer than I. This begs the question, why wasn't he? From the moment I set my hands on him, he maintained a steady pulse, and I thought there was a chance. It was small, but there was still a sliver of me that thought I could save him. That hope was short-lived, though, only lasting a scant minute. After that, it was just like his body short-circuited, and everything stopped. There was nothing I could do at that point.

The number of bullets in his body seemed too high. Either there were multiple shooters, or someone really hated that guy. Except if it was just someone who hated him, why would they use a gun? Most murders that involve an intense emotion occur with whatever weapon is closest to the attacker, which, more often than not, is a knife or an object that could be used to hit or bash. A gun would allow the attacker to become distanced from the victim, and it could potentially remove the emotional aspect entirely. That means whoever shot my patient wasn't particularly close to him, they might not have even known him at all. Unless the shooting was premeditated, which could mean that hatred had been building for a while. Or he could've just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. All of this is just pure speculation though, I'm no cop after all.

A loud rapping on my door had me springing up from my couch. It couldn't be Lucille. Who is at my door at, what is it, ten a.m.? I made my way over to the door quickly, hoping to prevent the person from knocking again. As I opened the door, I noticed the person's hand was raised to knock once more before it dropped hastily.

“Is there something I can help you with?” I questioned softly.

The man standing in front of me appeared very well put together. Dressed in a light gray button-up with a navy tie, black dress pants, and matching shoes. His was dark hair swept to the side, and he had eyes that simmered with a hidden secret. To top it all off, his coat resembled a trench coat, albeit slightly more modern and fashionable.

“Fleur Boudreaux?”

I hesitated, slightly confused as to how he knew my name. “Yes?”

“I'm Detective Lee, and I have a few questions about the death of a Remi Juarez. The patient you had in the ER last night.” He stated, producing a badge from one of his pockets.

“Oh, um, of course, detective.” I stepped aside to let him into my apartment.

Two steaming cups of coffee sat on my kitchen table, one untouched and the other half empty. Of course, it was the cup sitting in front of me that was still full; exactly how am I supposed to calmly drink coffee while being questioned about a patient's death? The air felt thick, quite suffocating as the silence stretched on. Had he asked a question? I couldn't recall him asking anything yet. All I remember is that I asked if he wanted a cup of coffee, and he nodded, thus the coffee. Is he waiting for me to say something?

“Did you ask something?” I murmur, looking up from the dark liquid swirling in the cup in front of me.

He nodded, a smile playing at his lips. “Yes, I asked if you were okay. You seem a bit, well, a bit unsettled.”

“Sorry, sorry. Actually, I'm not okay, but that's none of your concern. You had questions about the guy I treated in the ER?”

“That's correct. Did you notice anything odd about him?”

My eyebrows scrunched together. “What do you mean, odd?”

The detective shrugged. “Just anything out of the ordinary.”

“No. No, I didn't. What I noticed,” I continued, my voice beginning to rise. “Was that he was shot nine times and that he was bleeding out under my care because I couldn't get the bullets out and stop his bleeding quickly enough.”

“Did you manage to recover any of the bullets?” Detective Lee asked, tilting his head, fingers tapping an odd rhythm on the table.

“No,” I muttered, crossing my arms and looking away from him. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes.

The questions continued until he'd gotten every ounce of information I knew about the patient, who I'd learned was named Remi Juarez. Though I didn't know much to begin with, what information I had was given to him. It was difficult to tell what he was expecting from me, but it seemed like he was relieved that I didn't know much. But I wasn't sure why he'd be relieved about that unless there's something fishy going on. Briefly, the urge to ask why I was being questioned instead of the detective using the coroner's report for information flashed through my mind. Thankfully, I managed to keep that question to myself.

The detective stood up, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a card. “Well, if you think of anything that seemed out of the ordinary, please call.”

“I will, sir,” I replied softly.

When I stood, I went to take the card from him, and as I did, our fingers brushed for a fraction of a second. And it was in that seemingly insignificant contact that shifted something inside me. The anguish I'd been feeling about losing my patient disappeared, replaced by a feeling of complete serenity. My chest felt lighter, almost more comfortable to breathe. I couldn't remember ever feeling such peace in my life. Wide-eyed, I looked from the card to him. It was the glimmer in his eyes and the tilt of his smile that hinted he was hiding something. Surely… Surely, he couldn't have anything to do with the sudden peace I was feeling. Could he? No, that's impossible. How could someone change another person's emotions with a single touch?

With the rate at which my thoughts were spinning, I barely remembered that he was on his way out until I saw him walk towards the entrance of my apartment. “Let me get the door for you.”

Before I could reach the door, it swung open, revealing Lucille balancing a tray of coffee while simultaneously unlocking my door and clutching a bag in her hand. As she stepped fully inside the apartment with a satisfied smile after yanking her keys free, she looked up and froze, eyes widening considerably. “I didn't know you had company, Fleur.”

“Lucille,” I shot her a look, indicating she shouldn't overreact. “This is Detective Lee, he had questions about the patient that died last night.”

At the mention of him questioning me, a fiery blaze grew in her eyes. Lucille hastily placed the coffee tray on the table, which was quickly joined by the bag of food. Then she spun to face the detective, hands placed heavily on her hips the way she does right before she goes to reprimand someone. Which is precisely what she proceeded to do before I could stop her.

“You listen here, I understand that you have a case to solve and all that crap, but you should have some sensitivity! Or at the very least some human decency.” She took a step closer to him, finger poking harshly into his chest. “I don't know if you consider questioning a doctor who is an emotional wreck an okay thing to do, but in my book, it isn't! Maybe you should've thought harder about whether or not you should question her once you saw she wasn't in the best state of mind. Did you even think of that? No, I bet you didn't. Solving the case comes first, not someone else's mental well-being!” Lucille ranted.

“I—” He started only to get cut off, his mouth opening and closing in a similar manner of that of a fish.

“Nope, I don't care to hear ‘how important this case is.’ What I want,” Lucille snarked, shepherding him to the door. “Is for you to leave, so that I can make sure my sister is okay. Oh, and for you to learn some human decency, okay?” She quickly shooed him out, opening the door and all but pushed him out. Then for good measure, she slammed it shut in his face and locked it.

Lucille turned to me, moving swiftly to embrace me. “Are you okay? I can't believe he questioned you right now, he should have at least waited a day.”

“I'm fine, actually.” My words got muffled by her shoulder, which I tapped lightly to get her to release me. To an outsider, Lucille might appear like the older sister, but it's just in her nature to mother everyone. I still have the upper hand in age, though, a whopping two years I have on her.

She pulled away, stepping back only to give me a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. Well, I brought coffee and food, and I took the day off to be here with you. We can binge whatever movies or shows you want, and I will supply you with all the food you crave today.”

“Alright.”

#vixx #vixx fanfic #vixx scenarios #vixx supernatural au #vixx n #vixx ken #vixx leo #vixx ravi #vixx hongbin #vixx hyuk #vixx jaehwan #vixx hakyeon #vixx wonshik #vixx taekwoon #spooky season stories

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ghostheadcanons · 5 years

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Papas + Copia: Love Interest Outside the Church

Anonymous said:

How would the papas and copia approach a romantic interest that is not a part of their church, an outsider? Completely different worlds but the person says or does something that takes their interest. God, realistically it would be so fucking weird. Not unpleasant but weird. Like that Addams family thing that other anon was talking about.

Ahhhhh! Forbidden love! One of the oldest tales in existence, and I am living for it. Let’s see how it plays out!

Papa Nihil:

Both his one night stands and romantic interests are usually in the church, so it surprises him to find that he’s romantically interested in you at all, a barista at the local coffee shop. It’s not that he’s adamant on keeping his love life in the church, he’s had a lot of sexual flings outside of the Ministry! But he’s definitely slowed down a bit in his old age.

Sister Imperator does not approve one bit. It’s just fine if it’s purely carnal in nature, but wanting a full-on relationship with an outsider? “Papa, please think this through. How could they possibly hope to understand anything about what we do if they’re not one of us?”

But Nihil is undeterred. He would begin showing up daily at your place of work, always smiling and ordering the same drink.

He might flirt with you a little, but nothing too inappropriate. He never takes up more than ten minutes of your time, tops. When you get him his drink, he would thank you and pay you in cash, and he always tips incredibly well.

Afterwards, he would sit at a table for a few hours, sipping away and keeping an eye on you.

Sometimes there’s a satanist tract with the money he hands you, with information about the Ministry. Who knows? Maybe if he’s lucky, you’ll stop by after your shift and ask for more information...

Papa I:

For him to be romantically interested in someone who isn’t part of the faith? Has Hell frozen over?

It’s definitely your intelligence that caught his eye--working in the local plant nursery, your ability to make rational and logical decisions and always recommend the best plants for the best occasions and environments. Your talent with making plants grow is a factor, too.

The two of you see one another often--he comes in quite a bit for new flower bulbs and new supplies. On the slower days, you have long, thoughtful conversations. Not just about plants, but about people, and living, and eventually, religion.

“I’m afraid that one of my more exotic plants is wilting. Would you be willing to come and take a look at it?” This smooth motherfucker invites you over to the church to see his garden, and to also gauge where you stand on satanism.

If you’re not open to the idea of conversion, he would probably stop his ‘flirting’. It’s not that he doesn’t like you. He’s the Papa who just can’t have a meaningful relationship with someone outside his faith.

Papa II:

You don’t take any kind of bullshit from anybody. The night at the bar he saw some pervert put his hand on you and watched you break the man’s fingers? That’s the night Papa II became interested in you.

He would definitely step in and start flirting. If not that night, then another night.

The two of you establish quite a rapport, seeing one another more and more often for dates.

Unlike his brothers, Papa II is perfectly comfortable with the idea of sharing a romantic relationship with someone outside the church. He wouldn’t press for you to convert (though he would discuss his religion with you if you were open to it), but he’s upfront about the fact that your relationship can’t be an ‘official’ one. His duties to the Ministry will always come first in his life. They have to, no matter how much he cares for you.

If you’re okay with that (and don’t want to join the church), then the two of you will be very happy together.

Papa III:

Out of all of his family? This one is the most likely to fall head over heels for someone outside the clergy.

He’s very secretive about his personal life, not revealing to you that he’s actually a head of the church until later on in your relationship.

He would gush about you to his family while they collectively roll their eyes, because they’ve seen him do this with lots of partners and they think you’re just another bedmate to him.

It’s when he starts praising things other than your abilities in bed they start to realize this isn’t a passing fling.

Sister Imperator is the one to put her foot down. Papa III has a duty to the church, first and foremost. If you aren’t part of the church, then your relationship with him will never be more than what it is now. Marriage is out of the question, and so are children.

With this in mind, III might try a few times to convince you to join, if only so he can make the two of you official.

But even if you don’t, he wouldn’t ever stop seeing you. He might not be able to have a ‘sanctioned’ relationship with you...but he can still be with you.

And that’s all he needs.

Cardinal Copia:

Oh no! He’s met someone outside of the Clergy who has caught his attention! And they’re really cute!!

You thought this man was stressed trying to get into a relationship with someone in the church?

You haven’t seen anything yet.

He would be a nervous wreck. He likes you. But do you like him? Would you like him, if you knew him personally? And on top of that, he’s a higher clergyman!! He’s trying for a higher position. How is having a lover who isn’t part of his faith going to look to everyone else???

He lays on his bed, staring hopelessly at one of his rats. “Why do I do this to myself?” he mumbles. The rat squeaks sagely in reply.

He has no idea how to approach you, or if he even should. Honestly, it would be up to you to take the reigns if you want to get anywhere.

#ghost #ghost bc #papa nihil #papa i #papa ii #papa iii #copia #cardinal copia #love #relationships #ghost headcanons #ghost bc headcanons #headcanons

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kiruuuuu · 6 years

Text

Monty/Bandit continuation in which Bandit hatches and follows through with a plan. (Rating T, it’s very slowly getting better, ~2.2k words)

The other parts of Protection Mountain can be found via tags or here on my Masterpost! (Mobile version here)

“You’re going to collapse if you keep going like this.”

“How convenient, the hospital is right there.”

Blitz doesn’t seem to appreciate his sarcasm and glares at him from the side. “Look, starving yourself isn’t going to achieve anything, except worry him to bits the next time he sees you.”

“Which will be when?”

A sigh. “I don’t know. He took the brunt of that explosion. It’ll be a while, I assume, Six is already asking me whether it’s possible for me to come back.”

“Fucking go, then. I don’t need a bloody babysitter, especially not one who’s doing such a terrible job.” Regardless, he nibbles at the nougat-filled croissant Blitz forced onto him. He’s switched to demanding Bandit eat in his presence and, unfortunately, the outside of the hospital offers barely any distractions he could use to his advantage, therefore Bandit doesn’t really have a choice. It’s a miracle he’s not getting thrown off the property as a whole but figures security would rather have him where they can see him. “Your boytoy is probably missing you horribly, too. Let me wither away in peace and go back before Six gets her knickers in a twist. But if she wants me to come back as well, tell her she can shove it right -”

“She wouldn’t.” Blitz absent-mindedly begins taking his own croissant apart without eating any of it, gaze locked on his fingers. Talk about hypocritical. “She knows, Dom. They all know. I get daily inquiries about how he is, but more often about how you’re doing. They know you don’t read their messages and they probably know you’d break down due to the reality of it all if you did, so they ask me instead. We all know how much you love him. How much you love each other.”

“Shut up.” The croissant tastes like cardboard and the nougat reminds him of dark chocolate, so he looks around the ugly courtyard, turns his head away to blink away the tears. It’s becoming a trend and he hates it. “You’re bored out of your mind anyway, I can tell, and you’re fucking sick of me. Go back.”

“You’re going to do dumb shit if I do.”

“This isn’t fucking Romeo and Juliet, I’m not gonna drink bleach a day before he gets released out of the ICU. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Blitz side eyes him and they both know they’ve been friends for long enough that he’s worryingly aware of the kinds of thoughts buzzing around Bandit’s head right after Montagne was injured, when it was still unclear whether he’d make it. “There’s other dumb shit. I don’t know what you’re going to do, I just know you will. Trying to beat up Olivier falls under that, just so you know. It wasn’t his fault, even if both of you seem to think so.”

“Are you even listening to yourself? If I do stupid shit regardless of whether you’re here or not, it obviously doesn’t matter.”

And Blitz just sighs. They know he’s going to leave regardless, though he’ll inevitably keep checking in.

The pattering of small drops on his umbrella is meant to be soothing but if anything, it erodes his patience. He’s sick and tired of spending his days doing nothing, letting his mind run wild, but he’s afraid of the alternative. It’s imperative he spends as little time as possible in the hotel room he used to share, just like he needs to be in the vicinity when it’s visitor hours. He can’t afford to miss Madeleine in case she stops by that day, needs to be here if – if anything happens, but even if it did they probably wouldn’t tell him. It’s illogical to sit here regardless, on his usual bench, slowly feeling his shoes and socks soaking up the rain and cursing himself for not bringing another jacket. He’s freezing and his exhaustion exacerbates the icy feeling in his bones.

But how could he be anywhere else when Montagne is right here?

His days feel empty not only because of how little he actually does for how much time passes but also because there’s no joy in them. Every memory is sullied by worry – even if Montagne recovers fully mentally, what if he can never walk again? The possible long-term consequences are incredibly intimidating, so daunting that he’d rather not consider them at all. Still, when he thinks back to any wonderful moment between them (and they are endless), they loom threateningly in the background, casting a shadow over it all.

Someone comes to a stop in front of him and the boots are too heavy to belong to Madeleine. When he looks up, lifts the umbrella to reveal a dark expression, he scowls in return. “Get the fuck out of my face”, he hisses and decides to maybe leave it at a warning this time. The scratches on Lion’s cheek have healed by now.

“Come on”, the Frenchman growls, rips the umbrella out of his hand and begins walking towards the front entrance of the hospital. Despite how much Bandit wants to stay just to spite him, he might actually end up with hypothermia if he does, and so he eventually gets up and jogs after the thief. Lion shakes off as much water as he can before he returns the umbrella unprompted. “You’re allowed back in, I vouched for you. If you cause trouble again, we’re both banned, so don’t start shit. Got it?”

Bandit heaves a deep breath of relief but can’t bring himself to thank him, not after all he’s done. He nods and they venture forth together, take the stairs, greet the receptionist who squints at Bandit and sit down next to each other. He doesn’t know what Lion wants or why he did it, but the last thing he needs right now is a fucking talk. Fortunately, Lion seems to agree, merely crosses his arms and remains silent.

They sit like this for at least an hour, Bandit tense, Lion unmoving. He doesn’t know whether it really is a test of patience or whether Lion isn’t aware of the anguish his presence alone causes, but it’s beginning to piss him off. “You don’t deserve to be here”, he murmurs eventually, propping up his head on his knees, leaned forwards while Lion is leaning back.

“And if I wasn’t, you’d bitch about that too.”

He’s not wrong. Bandit remembers Blitz’ words: It wasn’t his fault, even if both of you seem to think so. Bullshit. He peers at the other man from the corner of his eye and notes how he, too, seems to have suffered. He looks exhausted, both mentally and physically. “Fucking bastard”, he mumbles.

“Cunt”, says Lion, unperturbed.

“You’re blaming yourself, aren’t you?”

The Frenchman’s brows draw together. “I’ve thought about it a lot. The whole mission. And I’ve come to the conclusion that we didn’t make a mistake, instead we were missing intel we had no way of acquiring prior to going in, intel we weren’t aware of missing. With all the information we had when we planned it, I think I’d agree on doing it all the same way again. I’ve retraced all our steps and it was the best possible approach. Just because the outcome turned out bad doesn’t mean there was a mistake in the decision making.”

Bandit mulls it over. He’s done the same thing but exceedingly more biased, frantically looked for people at whom he could point fingers. Ultimately, he came up empty and this revelation was a whole other punch to the gut: sometimes, life is simply unfair and accepting this isn’t easy. “Yeah”, he offers eventually. “Doesn’t answer my fucking question though.”

“Yes. I am.” Lion uncrosses his arms. “Of course I am.”

And this is unexpected, a show of weakness possibly meant as an armistice. “Me too”, Bandit says and feels a curious gaze on him. “He wouldn’t have been on this fucking mission if not for me. We requested to be deployed together, so we did. This wasn’t really his normal gig, too messy.”

“You can’t know whether he wouldn’t have been sent anyway.”

“No. I can’t. But that doesn’t change anything for me.”

“I have absolutely no fucking idea what he sees in you.”

Bandit catches himself before he agrees, swallows the words with a wistful smile and then shoots back: “And I can’t understand in the slightest why he’s friends with you.” They look at each other and shrug. “He’s just like that, I suppose. He sees something pitiful and he has to nourish it.”

Lion huffs in amusement. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

“Have you met his sister? Madeleine?” A shake of the head. “She’s the only one visiting him at the moment.”

“Oh? What is she saying about his condition?”

“I don’t fucking know, I don’t speak French.” Lion snorts derisively. “Don’t give me that, I’ve seen how bloody lost you are with the people who only speak German here. Maybe you can translate for me the next time she’s here. She might come in later.”

“Sure.”

Bandit ponders this for a while. What is he going to tell her? He can’t really divulge any details as to what happened and as for - “Don’t mention anything about Gilles and me though. Our families don’t know yet.”

Instead of only Madeleine, Bandit meets Montagne’s parents that day and it’s the most awkward fifteen minutes of his life. There he is, hopelessly in love with the son of this overly friendly elderly French couple and terrified of them finding out on top of having to pretend everything is fine between him and his translator who seems to hit it off extremely well with them, when instead all he wants to do is kick Lion in the shins for prolonging the small talk to unbearable lengths. Not to mention he can’t go into detail of how exactly Montagne and he know each other, given that he doesn’t want to reveal their relationship and isn’t sure how much they know (or are even allowed to know) about Rainbow. The members of staff (who can clearly put two and two together and have effortlessly figured out Bandit is longing for his loved one as well as meeting his parents for the very first time) try and fail to suppress smirks the entire time.

It helps that he has a lovely conversation with Madeleine afterwards, learns that she’s a journalist and they exchange anecdotes of Montagne which leave all three of them smiling. Having Lion translate back and forth is annoying but required and despite all, Bandit is grateful for his help. Madeleine closes the conversation by saying how glad she is her brother has such devoted friends and she’ll be sure to stay in contact, laments the regulation of them not being able to visit Montagne regardless, hugs them both and remains blissfully unaware of the seed she’s planted in Bandit’s head.

Blitz left the day before and so his nights are lonely and unproductive, only this one is an exception. Madeleine told a story about the hospital Montagne was born in and it gave Bandit an idea – an idea which requires a bit of researching and a lot of unlawful thinking.

The next day, Bandit is busy. He spends a large part of it perfecting Montagne’s signature until he can forge it with his eyes closed and the rest on scouring the internet for certain French phrases and letter templates. He double and triple checks each one he composes, every single one of them absolutely essential to his plan, therefore they all need to be perfect. What little he remembers of taking French in school helps and eventually, he’s decently satisfied with the result.

Further researching reveals a small obstacle which is solved easily by contacting one of his old buddies who knows someone who in turn knows someone who can put Bandit through to someone who does small favours for small currency, and additionally to making that phone call to the French hospital Bandit needs, he even proofreads Bandit’s mangled letters, laughs at him for half an hour and then corrects them.

Finally, after printing and signing them, he drops them in the mail. Now he just has to wait.

A few days later, Bandit enters the registrar’s office of his home town Berlin, the city in which he’s still listed as a resident. It’s an extremely fortunate coincidence but he would’ve travelled half the country too if it’d been necessary.

“Good morning”, he greets the clerk politely and hands over the papers in his hand which are comprised of all the necessary documents: his and Montagne’s ID (which he left at the hotel when they went on the mission), both birth certificates (and France should really re-think how easy it is to get one of these) and a document certifying that Montagne is indeed single after having been married before. Additionally, he carries a writ of consent stating that Montagne agrees to all of it, signed by no other than Bandit himself. He’s proud of this particular signature and is sure it’d even hold up in court.

It’s all highly official and obtained extremely illegally. And with a smile, he announces: “I would like to get married.”

#rainbow six siege #montagne #bandit #montagne/bandit #fanfic #protection mountain #bandit you tire fire #blitz KNEW it

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deadromance619 · 5 years

Text

Meeting the King

When we reached port I was glad Lucy, my horse, had been with me the whole time we had been at sea. There were humans on that boat and they complimented on how well I took care of her, but I'd been taking extra care of her since I was on an Alliance ship, that for so long, had been my enemy's. Yes, I was nervous, and I was feeding her, washing her, brushing her, and making sure she got enough exercise while on that ship. It was a much-needed distraction. Also, it had given me some common ground with the humans that were working on the ship. They admired how beautiful she was, and how close she was with me.

She's a chestnut horse and I've always dawned her with shining golden armor and red velvet sheets. I polished my armor sometimes, but I took extra special care of hers. But she didn't have any armor right now. It might have fallen off or she might have taken it off herself, but she was here now. Somehow, she knew exactly where I was, it must have been so difficult for her to run around alone without getting caught. She found Protecto and brought him to where I was.

Animals can't speak but I feel like they might have something to them, something deeper and stronger in personal connection over what we've traded for the complexity of language. I feel it with her, she is so much more beautiful now without her armor. Her reddish browns shined brightly in the sun like a silk sheet, with white areas that reflected from the sun. I combed her hair to one side as it moved about in the ocean wind, and she was so strong. We ran all around Azeroth and she never had any problem holding me in full armor or heavy weapons and the muscles on her body showed that. She was taller and stronger than most of the wild horses I saw in Northrend.

I felt I might have gone a little overboard with the gloss though, she would get so dusty if I brought her to Orgimmar and I didn't know what the sea salt would do to her skin. So, I brushed her again removing the excess wax on her coat. If anything, I didn't want her to dehydrate because of the salt from the sea and I gave her water to drink. Vereesa did walk by a few times and was surprised I was still tending to her and I had to explain that this was my life goal. I wanted to breed Lucy and make a business raising horses. I know I've talked about it in my last entry, but I was always rejected when I brought up the idea to members of the Horde. It was just better that I just stayed being a soldier and a paladin, but it was good that I could keep Lucy because I had proven time and time again that horses could be imperative to any battle. Stormwind wouldn't reject the idea of me raising horses, so I guess it would only be a matter of competition of care and quality of breed. Maybe I could push the idea of races, but I don't know. I like horses most of all, but there are other mounts out there and the closest thing to races in Azeroth are the Brewfest keg deliveries on rams, but I usually just get really drunk and do something to embarrass myself, good times. I will miss the Horde.

The Alliance, the house of my enemy for so many years. Is it too late to turn back now, I mean all I would have to do is call Protecto, take off all this oily make up on my body, go back to Orgimmar, and do stuff at my garrison in Draenor. It was lonely there, but it was comfortable. I could stay in the Order Hall and take the jobs in the service of the Light. I'm sure I could take new vows to get my power back. Also, I've run away from these types of things before and things have always had a way of working themselves out.

But, how is anyone going to remove that sword that is in Silithus, best case scenario things will work out, I'll be a soldier for the rest of my life, Lucy will die in ten to fifteen years and I'll never see a filly or colt if I'm expected to keep sending her off into the battlefield.

Worst case scenario, Sylvanas Windrunner manages to turn every living creature into an immortal undead. The sword in Silithus may or may not be dealt with and the planet of Azeroth will crack open like an egg.

I can't turn back now. I'll do what I can to stop Sylvanas, maybe even kill her if need be. I think when the battle is over, and the dust clears, and they know me by the name Melfina. I'll reveal what I am and beg them to let me stay, let me live a normal life, just a bit of land where I can raise a family and not have to worry about war anymore. I don't think it's a lot to ask for.

We got off the ship to Stormwind Harbor, there navy was so beautiful, and the smell of the sea was fresh in the air as I walked off port. The gulls were screaming overhead, and the smell of raw crawfish and oysters were strong in the air as I came into the hard-stone brick floors. I was on Lucy's back taking it all in as I looked around, but I saw Vereesa run off, "Come on." She said, "Or were going to be late."

So, we rode through unfamiliar areas and I really had to keep close to her. I saw bridges and tunnels I had no idea where they went and there were streams filled with clear water and fish. I had seen this place from far away, but to be in Stormwind itself was breathtaking, nerve racking, and beautiful at the same time. We came to Stormwind Keep and I saw the most strangest thing from all the guards I saw. I had to do a double take when I came into the keep, but he was walking backwards, and he appeared to be walking forward. I really had to stop, see him move up this path, then turn around, and moved about his patrols, "Melfina." Vereesa said impatiently. "I need to introduce you to the king."

I looked confused, "Did, did you see that guard just now?" I asked.

Vereesa shook her head, "They all look the same to me."

I lightly touched the brim of my nose trying not to smear my makeup, "It must have been nothing."

He wields the broken sword and separates kings from tyrants, seek him out. My auntie's words came back as I saw Anduin Wrynn, the king of my enemies was both beautiful and terrifying to me. He wasn't the awkward looking boy I saw in the jungles of Pandaria. His gaze was so calming and friendly, his smile inviting, and pleasing. He looked strong as his heavy looking armor didn't seem to trouble him at all as he stood up to greet Vereesa like a relative he hadn't seen in years. "Vereesa." He said, "How are you, it's been so long."

"How does the day greet you my king. I trust you got my letters?" Vereesa said formally.

Anduin nodded, "Yes you said that you have a promising recruit that you trained personally, is this her?" He asked, looked over at me.

Vereesa held out her hand toward me, "Yes, this is Melfina. A night elf ranger that I've trained and would like to join the Alliance's cause if you'll have her."

Anduin put his hand under his chin and looked at me, "Your hair is white, how old are you?" He asked.

Vereesa stepped in, "A lady will never-"

"24." I interrupted quickly and smiled nervously.

Vereesa cleared her throat, kick my foot slightly, and looked at me.

"Hundred years old." I continued, as I saw Vereesa roll her eyes.

Anduin laughed.

"It's nice to meet you, King Anduin Wrynn." I stated.

He held out his hand to meet mine. I crossed my legs and I curtsy as gracefully as I could with an invisible dress and lowed my head. I saw Vereesa look at me kind of funny but Andiun put his hand down. His leg extended backwards, lifted one of his hands flat, and bowed his head, putting one arm on his chest, just as gracefully as I would come to expect from a king. "It's just Anduin, please." He said as he raised his head and smiled seeming somewhat relieved.

I stood up as well and Vereesa looked at us both kind of confused, "I'm afraid there are more pressing matters concerning." Andiun said, "If you're serious about joining the Alliance meet me in Stormwind Embassy."

And we walked away from the keep and Vereesa asked me, "What was that?"

I didn't really acknowledge what she said, but answered, "A nobility practice, you wouldn't understand."

"Nobility don't shake hands?" Vereesa asked, somewhat offended.

"A lady never touches a man's hands unless she's sitting down." I explained.

"But you told him how old you were." Vereesa asked questionably.

"He asked, and I was nervous." I stated.

So, she led me to the Stormwind Embassy, it was a fairly wooded area, and a cabin that was surrounded by several bodies of water. We rode there, and my guess is that Anduin flew because he was there before we did. There were quite a few powerful people in this room both in political and physical, but I recognize Alleria Windrunner, Genn Greymane, and Tyrande Whisperwind. I expected Vereesa to greet her sister with a warm greeting like she had given Anduin, but she just nodded her head and said, "Sister."

And the nod was returned from Alleria, she did look at me and I waved to her, but she just rolled her eyes and waited for the King to start speaking.

"Thank you for joining us." Andiun started, "These are dire times, indeed."

Andiun looked over at me and then everyone else, "We all know the Alliance incurred heavy losses in the war against the Legion. And even now the world bleeds in the aftermath of Sargeras's final strike."

He thought back, "Meanwhile, the Horde musters its forces and arms for war. Their aggression must not go unanswered. Our future depends on bringing other likeminded allies into the fold. I call upon those of you gathered here for your suggestions."

A paladin in blinding bright armor started talking, "Victory on Argus was only possible because the heroes of Azeroth fought side by side with the Army of the Light. Many of our bravest soldiers gave their lives for the cause. Those who remain would be proud to join the Alliance. Among our number are brave initiates about to undertake the arduous path of becoming Lightforged."

I didn't really understand what he was talking about. I never actually went to Argus, but I did remember that big green moon showing up in the sky and cause the storms on the ocean to be ten times more worst then before and about twice as common.

Andiun smiled at him, "Thank you, High Exarch. Lightforged soldiers would indeed bring strength to our numbers."

Alleria stepped forward, "High King," She started, "I remember the days when my people and yours fought together against the Horde. I reached out to them in hopes of seeing Silvermoon return to the Alliance. My efforts proved… futile."

"Futile?" I spoke out.

Alleria looked at me, "Yes?" she looked at me questionably.

"Why don't you tell the king what really happen?" I said trying to keep my rage under control.

"What?" Alleria looked at me confused.

"Tell him how you almost corrupted the Sunwell for a second time."

"I… " She looked at me enraged shaking her head, but I was just as angry.

"Don't you dare pretend to be the victim in this!" I shouted.

Vereesa grabbed my arm and yank me back, "Melfina!" She looked into my eye as enraged as I was, "Do you want to go back home, because I will send you back right now!" She screamed at me.

"Vereesa!" Andiun yelled out and held out his hand, "How could you say something so insensitive. You know that Teldrassil is still burning. I don't know why Melfina came to you for help, but she came here to help the Alliance." He shook his head and looked around, "I'm sorry, members of the council, we schedule this meeting for another time. I would like to speak to Melfina alone."

We walked outside, "I'm sorry my king, I know I should have stay quiet." I said regretfully.

Anduin shook his head, "If what you told me was true you were right to tell me, but I will still need her void elves in the upcoming battles." He explained.

"Will you use them to attack Silvermoon?" I asked.

Anduin looked at me in shock, "No, why would you even think that?"

I looked away and frowned, "My people want vengeance for what happen at Teldrassil."

"Is that what you want?" He asked.

I shook my head, "No, I want this war to end, and I want peace among all people of Azeroth. Not a ceasefire, not a parlay, but true peace where I would be able to invite anyone born on the planet, or not, over for a meal without a suspicion of conspiracy."

Anduin gave me a look of shock, "But they burned down your home, is that honestly what you want?"

I looked away, "Killing more people won't put out those flames, nor will it restore those homes, and revenge is such a stupid thing to waste your life on." Vareesa’s words, but I agreed with them too. I looked at him. "Sylvanas must be stopped and that’s why I want to join your Alliance, that is why I'm going to fight for you, my king."

He looked away and then nodded his head, "I agree with you, thank you."

I stopped and Anduin noticed and stopped as well, "Anduin." I said as I opened my bag.

"Yes?" he looked at me curiously.

I pulled a waterskin from my bag and presented it to him, "I managed to save this water from Teldrassil. When it was burning large amounts of nature energy were seeping into the ocean and I managed to save some of the water. I think it might be possible to plant another world tree with it."

He looked at me sadly, "I don't think I should take that."

I insistently held it out to him, "Then you need to tell me who will. I don't know if it's possible, but I think in the right people's hands there could be a chance."

Andiun nodded his head and took it, "Thank you, again."

Andiun turned around and picked up his pace a little, "Vereesa tells me that you're a ranger but I didn't see a pet when you entered the council or Stormwind Keep." He stated.

I tried to keep up with him, "No, I've never taken a pet. I wouldn't have the heart to keep an animal caged like that." I explained.

He stopped, looked back at me, smiled, and shook his head, "This won't feel like imprisonment I promise."

He picked up his pace to a brisk jog and I kept up. When he slowed down we came to the edge of a river that surrounded the area and there was a big cat that was laying on its side. "When I told my father, I wanted to be a Priest he told me that he was disappointed in me." Anduin explained. He bent down and petted the lioness, "He tried so hard to find some other outlet for my interest and he gave her to me."

I looked at the lionness, she could have easily been a mount and she responded to his touch wanting him to touch her head more. "I'm sorry my king." I shook my head, "Your father gave her to you, and he was such a great man, I can't take her from you."

He stood up and shook his head, "Heavens no, I could never part with her. But-"He reached back behind her and pulled a beautiful lion cub and held it to me. "He should be old enough for you to take care of."

My heart sank in my chest as I looked into the baby lion’s eyes, they were like a shining black boat on a beautiful ocean, and Anduin had the same eyes. I looked at them both and I held him in my arms. He was about as heavy as a child, he let out a soft roar as he was taken away from his mother. "Hey." I spoke softly like I would to Lucy and kissed him on the top of his head, "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you." And held him over my shoulder as if he were a baby.

"What are you going to name him?" Anduin asked.

I thought back on my childhood in Silvermoon, "Kel'Magnus." I answered.

"That sounds Elven." Anduin stated.

"It was my grandfather's name. "I said as I held the cub in my arms and looked at Anduin.

Anduin smiled, "Then I know you'll take good care of him."

I bowed my head as I held him, "Thank you for this act of kindness, my king. I will never forget it."

Anduin nodded his head, "For the Alliance."

I smiled and without a doubt I said, "For the Alliance."

I took him back to the Inn in Stormwind and I have been trying to get Kel'Magnus to eat meat, but he won't, but the innkeeper gave me some cow's milk in a bottle that he could drink and it so precious to see him do it. I love my horse Lucy, but there’s this feeling of someone needing you and it's a stronger feeling of love, and then there’s Anduin. I can't stop thinking about him. I remember feeling this way about Oranio but this time it so sudden. Like a storm that came from nowhere, shocked you with lighting and continued to pour rain on you and rain isn't stopping and every image I remember is like a bolt of lightning. Did my aunt Telavani know this was going to happen? Words come to mind and…

I loved you when I saw you.

Who could not love you for so long.

You gave me wings of gladness.

And lead my spirits song

I loved you within the hour

With only a look in your eyes.

Your lips I could not capture.

By storm or by surprise.

Your mouth that I remember

With a rush and sudden pain

As one remembers a starlight

Or roses after rain.

I long to hear your laughter

But suddenly I am sad…

The days and night that haunts me,

For the kiss I'll never have.

I wrote this? It is how I feel though, I want to give it to him. What if he doesn't feel the same way? I know he doesn't feel the same, but this is too good for me to let go. He should know that someone does at least feel this way about him. This wasn't supposed to happen, curse you aunt Telavani, you must have known. I promised myself I wouldn't do this again, I wouldn't feel this way again, and here I am again. I'll give him the poem, he doesn't have to know it's me, but I can't just give it to him, I know it's childish, but I need to give it to someone else to give it to him, and not because I'm scared.

No, I'm petrified, I'm a Blood Elf dressed as a Night Elf, not just because I'm afraid of what he might say, but yes. That's what I'll do, but who should I give it to. You know I might check in on that backwards walking guard he seemed interesting, I could meet him someplace and ask him to give him the poem. Okay Perfectia, okay Melfina, tomorrow morning. This lion sleeping in my bed is so beautiful and I think I'll sleep well next to him.

(Beforehand)

Anduin walked back to Stormwind Embassy after leaving his gift to the Night Elf Melfina. Vereesa ran up to him, "I am so sorry Anduin, she’s not from Teldrassil, I'll send her home at once."

"No!" He shouted suddenly, he looked back at Melfina walking away with the lion in her arms. "Please don't, she's, I feel. I feel like she'll be important and I'm not just talking about the Alliance. She has a good heart, from what I can tell. I need people like her."

Vereesa sighed as she looked at him looking at her, "She has been known to be a bit melodramatic, and I wasn't surprised from her outburst during the meeting, are you okay?" Vereesa looked at him looking at her.

Anduin shook his head slightly and looked at Vereesa, "Yes, I’m fine. It's better if I knew what happen during Alleria's meeting with the leaders of the Blood Elves. The void elves need to stay away from Silvermoon and that includes her as well, but I won't reject them here."

Anduin put his hand on the back of his head and leaned close to Vereesa, “Vereesa, hm…” He whispered.

She came closer to him. “Yes?”

“Well, it’s just, I’ve never seen an elf with hips like that.” Anduin shrugged slightly and looked away shyly, “Is that normal?”

Vereesa looked away and shook her head, “What did I just do?” She said to herself.

Anduin blushed and laughed slightly, “I’m sorry, I know that was a rude question, you don’t have to answer.”

Vereesa sighed, laughed slightly, and shook her head, “It’s not, but she from Mount Hyjal so…”

Anduin nodded, “Of course. Please forgive my rudeness.”

“It’s fine.” Vereesa stated.

Anduin whistled for his mount and it showed up and carried him to the Emissary. Melfina ran up to Vereesa and showed her the lion, "Look at what the king gave me, isn't he perfect?" she asked gleefully.

"Melfina listen you need to- "

But was interrupted by Melfina's baby talk to her new pet, "I'll feed you and wash you and brush you, but you are so precious, Kel'Magnus."

Vereesa put her hand on the brim of her nose, "I'm going to go." She said, "In spite of your outburst the king is happy to have you join the Alliance."

"Thank you Vereesa, I can never repay for what you've done for me." Melfina stated.

Vereesa looked away, smiled, and shook her. She looked at Melfina and punched her the middle of the chest as hard as her could. So much that if knocked her back.

“What was that for?! You almost hit Kel’Magnus.” Melfina yelled rubbing the part she hit.

“Oh, shut up, you’re as flat as three-day mug of dwarven ale.” Vereesa teased.

Melfina looked at her confused, “So, that did give you the right- “

Vereesa interrupted, “‘Beaten down by the stresses of marriage, command, and motherhood?’ “ Vereesa quoted her diary.

Melfina looked away and shrugged, “I wrote that before saw you again, you look great now. I didn’t think you would get that far, I’m sorry.”

Vereesa smiled, “I was just widowed so I wasn’t at my best. You were sick for a while when I read that Melfina, but I hit you so, I forgive you.”

Melfina nodded and smiled, “Thank you and for everything else.” Melfina lifted her arm to try to hug her.

Vereesa shook her head and put out her hand to block her, "Just try to control yourself please. Keep writing if it helps and…" She looked away and breathed in, “…Nevermind.”

Melfina nodded, whistled for her dragon, and it came by and picked her up.

Vereesa started walking to the open path that would lead out of the woods. Alleria ran up to her, grabbed her by the arm, and Vereesa pulled herself away, "You've never let a Night Elf under your apprenticeship." Alleria accused. "What changed?"

Vereesa half smiled, "She needed my help and since when did you start caring who I trained and who I didn't?"

Alleria got in her face, "Who is she?"

Vereesa smiled and shook her head, "A good friend, and none of your damn business. Stay away from her because I would take her side over yours."

Alleria focused her gaze at Vereesa, "Over your own sister?"

Vereesa smiled, "She’s not a liar." Vereesa saw how angry Alleria got, but put her finger in front of her face, "Oh and by the way, Lirath might still be alive."

"What?" Alleria said in shock.

"Someone brought him back. I would look for him myself, but I have my children and a covenant to run, maybe some of your Void Elves can try to find him." Vereesa stated, she walked away from Alleria that was still in shock, and made her way off the first boat out of Stormwind.

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3one3 · 7 years

Text

The Sequel - 859

Private vs. Public

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

The two Juan Matas’ restaurant was very popular. The food was very good and reasonably priced, the service was first rate, and the space was comfortable and interestingly decorated, so critics, foodies, and bloggers reviewed it with nothing but compliments. The younger Juan’s teammates frequented the place too, and he was often there himself, and that brought in customers as well. There were some Spanish flags up over the bar in honor of the Olympics, to go with some special cocktails, but Christina noticed the German flag hanging down behind the top shelf of liquor bottles first. There was a mirror back there, and someone was keeping a medal tally on it in colorful marker. The chart included Spain, of course, all of the nations leading the medal counts, and Great Britain. There was a separate pair of columns beside it labeled “Show Jumping”, with Germany versus “Other”. The Germans’ three medals were reflected, and “Other” just had an “X”. As if that wasn’t enough to show the recipient of two of those medals that she was a beloved member of the family who owned the joint, the spontaneous round of applause by the entire staff that greeted her when she walked in the door sure did.

Christina blushed hard and accepted hugs from Juan’s mom, dad, and sister while the servers, bussers, hostess, and bartender clapped for her, and she had to show off her hardware right away. Antonio, and Juan’s friend David, who happened to be the restaurant’s Executive Chef, also greeted her with hugs and happiness. Other diners figured out the reception when the medals came out, and many of them congratulated her when she was finally permitted past the entrance area and made her way to Juan’s favorite table, denoted by a kitschy sign on the wall that read “Rincón de Juan”, or Juan’s corner. It was set for 5- for the whole family- and there were champagne flutes already placed beside the regular wine glasses. The whole welcoming scene made Christina feel good inside, in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was like she’d made everyone proud, and that was practically unfamiliar. André, Juan, her barn family, and her team family were frequently very proud of her, and she felt that, but that pride was different than the real family kind. The players’ proud smiles and hugs weren’t the same as those of proud parents. They just couldn’t be. It was different. Christina couldn’t actually remember what it was like to see that in her own parents, so experiencing it with Juan’s was almost like déjà vu instead of recalling a solid memory. That good feeling inside made her really glad that she decided to stop in London before heading home.

There were a couple of champagne toasts to her and Dirk, and then she got to retell all of her Olympic stories again. That wasn’t getting old. It was still fun, and she was still animated and detailed in her recounting. She still wore her heart on her sleeve when she talked about her Holsteiner’s performance, and about how much he loved the medal ceremony. The two Juans came and went a bunch of times and so did the food. They had a bit of everything on the menu, just as the rider requested- her favorite croquetas, tortilla, the special house potatoes, garlicky chicken, roasted lamb, her own custom mini-paella without any unacceptable seafood, and tons of other little plates with tastes of summer in Spain. There was also some sidra, and wine. And then there really was a cake. Juan texted the request to David while his houseguest was sleeping. She thought she wasn’t getting one. The chef told her he had to tap into his distant memory to remember how to even make a cake, since dessert wasn’t really his thing. Still, he made it for her himself, and it was delicious. It was two layers of moist, course textured coconut cake seeped with a little rum and separated by “pina colada” mousse and sweet pineapple jam, covered in flaked coconut. It looked and tasted homemade, not like something one would buy in a bakery or encounter at a catered event, and that imperfection made it all the more dear to Christina, though she didn’t really know why.

“I’m so glad I’m here when David is here,” the girl at the center of all the attention announced to her best friend while the rest of the table was visiting with some family friends who came in the eat for the first time. Everyone left her alone after the spectacle of the cake delivery. There was a sparkler on it, and the staff accompanied it to do a bit of hip-hip-hooray. She was still eating her cake and sipping her champagne long after the others declared themselves stuffed. All the talking slowed down the eating. “The food is better when he cooks it.”

“Yeah, I wish he could be here more,” Juan nodded as he slid back into his seat beside her. He started to put his arm around her neck but then stopped and patted her knee instead. Her left one was folded up on the banquette. Her left shoe was abandoned on the floor. Rincón de Juan was a good place to feel at home. “His restaurant in Oviedo is rightfully more important to him.”

“Also, I love your family. And not just because they care about me and watch me on TV. Like, I genuinely love them. I know I tell you that all the time, but-“

“They love you. I didn’t invite them to dinner. I told my dad we were coming and everyone else just wanted to see you,” he shrugged. “Do you want to take the rest of the cake with you? I don’t know how to pack it up for the plane but you could have some in the morning, or again later tonight. I doubt you’ll be going to sleep soon.”

“Definitely. I can put it in my suitcase if we can find a sturdy plastic container to put it in.”

“Why don’t you put the sweatshirt on?” the Spaniard suggested when Christina visibly shivered. He could probably also feel cold on her skin where he poked at it through her pants. The hole was spread out wide when she bent her knee. He always ended up playing with the strings across the top of it and the little frayed pieces around the edges, and she always told him to stop because she was afraid he’d pull too hard at something and make her favorite jeans more distressed than the designer intended. His fiddling ceased when he helped her get his sweatshirt unstuck from her armpit. She picked the navy pullover because it looked small and had a dancing cacti graphic in the middle in bright blue. The Chelsea man had a weakness for novelty sweatshirts, but only subtle ones. The dancing cactus design made his girl smile because it was anything but subtle. She tipped over onto his right shoulder once she got it all the way on and pulled the cuffs of the sleeves into her hands so that they were covered but she could still operate her cake fork.

“I can’t believe I’m still tired,” she yawned before stuffing some more coconut goodness in her mouth and being careful not to drop any on herself.

“I think you use more energy every time you talk about the rounds than you did actually riding in them, cariña,” Juan snorted.

“The riding wasn’t tiring. All the stuff in between was. It was so intense going into the team final. We knew it was going to be close. The Frenchies were annoyingly consistent, and Kent’s amazing run of form was suddenly contagious for the other US riders, and the Dutch guys always have horses that turn up in the biggest moments. We just assumed we’d need three clears, and kind of anticipated a jump-off. And it was like...instead of being chilled about how hard it would be because that like gives you an excuse not to win, we were all like “Let’s just be perfect, ja? Everyone clear, ja. K.” And I was like...” The German girl followed her bad German guy accent with her patented “WTF” face. Juan’s body lifted with his little laugh, despite it being at least the fourth time he heard that particular aspect of her experience. He definitely didn’t need to see her expression on his shoulder to know what it was. “D Money loved that ring though. He loved the surface. I wish we could jump there every week.”

“Mhm.”

“Sorry. I’m babbling, I know. I’m tired.” Christina needn’t explain her rambling motor mouth either. The midfielder was well aware of how she got when she was overtired and still on a high.

“Let me get someone to pack up your cake and we go home,” he suggested.

“Actually, can we drive up to the observatory? It’s not that late yet.” She put her fork down and pushed her sleeve up to check her watch since her phone was on the other side of her plate and would have necessitated lifting her head off her friend. “Does your new car have a big sunroof?” Juan replaced his Audi sportwagon with a small Mercedes SUV. She didn’t like the model but she liked the Cardinal Red color- a dark, metallic shade.

“Yes, but it’s raining.” He looked down at her with a fond grin and she looked up at him with a more perplexed countenance that made a dent in her forehead and her lower lip kind of pouty. Then she mumbled that she forgot that part. Their old standby activity for random nights when just sitting together and talking seemed in order- driving up to the Royal Observatory in Greenwich Park- was only fun if there was something to see in the sky through an open panoramic moon-roof like in Christina’s old X5. A cloudy, rainy night rather made it futile. “Let’s go home, cariña.”

She knew exactly why he looked back like it was imperative that they leave soon but without pleading or acting desperate. Her visit was almost over and while they were alone together for nearly all of it, she’d also slept through most of it, or sat up Indian-style animatedly telling her stories with her hands and hopping up to point to things on the TV screen. He wants to go home and make out and have fun and actually relax instead of being the sponge for my emotions spill, she realized while inadvertently chewing on her lip. Doing weird things with her lips was another side effect of overtiredness. All I did last night was talk at him forever and then get all teary and dramatic and tell him how much I needed him to do what I did, and I’ll I’ve done today, when I wasn’t snoring, is tell him how special I am and what it entitles me to, and make him listen to me tell other people the same stuff he’s already heard. I can tooooootally go home and give him attention too, the rider thought, still blinking blankly at the center of her mental attention. Completely without thinking, she stretched up from his shoulder to kiss him, and only realized a fraction of an inch from her target that she couldn’t do what she wanted. She swerved at the last second and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, since she couldn’t actually reach his cheek and didn’t have time to figure out another alternative. It was so awkward that she froze there, afraid to turn away and have to see if anyone watched her bizarre kiss that felt like when she had unfortunate hug/handshake miscalculations and went to shake someone’s hand while they tried to hug her, or she thought they were doing cheek kisses but it was really just a hug. It wasn’t long that she stayed there, but it was long enough for Juan to put his hand on her chin and adjust her from hiding in her weird mistake to receiving a real kiss, on the mouth, the way lovers do it. Christina resisted and pulled away as soon as she understood what was happening.

“Dude, we can’t-“ she complained, annoyed. Her shifty eyes were already frantically sweeping the restaurant to see if anyone noticed.

“I don’t care. I just don’t.” The Spaniard’s eyes grew dark and cold, and he shook his head at her as he folded his arms. He was preparing to launch a full-on offensive and she could see it coming, unlike the kiss. He’s going to say I shouldn’t kiss him behind closed doors anymore if he can’t kiss me in public, and he has every right to feel that way, she rued. Still, that conversation couldn’t happen there.

“Don’t,” she quietly pled. “We can talk about it at home. Er, your home. Your place. Whatever.”

“Chris...” he sighed back plaintively. I hate how both of them only ever use my name when they’re frustrated and wanted to ring my neck.

“I know. I know you’re frustrated.” Her attempt to be comforting and understanding didn’t really help. Juan got up and took her cake away- to box it to go, she hoped. His mom returned to the table right after, and apologized for leaving her there alone. “No worries,” Christina told her flatly, distracted. “Juan was here.”

“Where did he go?” Mama Mata turned in her chair to look around for her son.

“Either to box up the rest of the cake for me, or to smash it to pieces and throw it in the garbage.”

“What? Why would he do that?” she laughed.

“Because I’m his girlfriend on the phone, in his flat, at his house, on my boat, and in hotels, and I’m his friend everywhere else.” She already knows anyway. Christina figuratively rolled her eyes and literally tried to blow some hair out of her face. She felt helpless, and absent any of her Olympic joy. If winning medals was supposed to give her some kind of strategic happiness reserves to call on to combat future upset, there was a fault in the system somewhere.

“Oh, Chris,” his mom cooed sympathetically. She even reached across the table like she wanted to pat her hand or something, but the rider’s hands were safely back inside her cozy, too-long sleeves. “It’s not that, sweetheart. It’s not private versus public. He’s tired of sharing, you could say, and he doesn’t know how to say that or what to do about it, so he acts out the frustration in other ways.” This new theory of the case garnered all of Christina’s focus. She snapped to attention instead of speaking absently and staring at the doors to the kitchen.

“Did he tell you that or is it mother’s intuition?”

“He asks me what I think, what he should do. I always tell him to be honest with you, and talk to you about how he feels. “

“That’s like his tagline. It’s his favorite advice. Figures he can’t take it himself.”

“It’s hard on him. Think from his perspective.” Juan’s mom remained consoling, but she was sticking up for him too.

“I know.” I don’t want to have this conversation with her. For two hours she’s been treating me like her favorite daughter- no offense, Paula- and I love and appreciate that so much. I know it’s hard for him and I know it must be hard for her to watch that. I’m sure I’m a huge disappointment to her in that way. But what am I supposed to do? Christina checked the doors again, just as the man in question was pushing through them with a large plastic container. “Guess he didn’t toss my cake.” That was the end of the talk. His mom didn’t want him to know she was having it any more than Christina wanted to have it at all.

The player remained grumpy through goodbyes and thank you’s. He didn’t talk much in the car, or when they got back to his building. He changed back into the shorts he had on earlier and parked on the couch. His guest took her time changing, called André to talk about the game and say goodnight, and then parked herself on the kitchen counter with her box of cake and a large fork. The two friends in the overly complicated relationship didn’t speak. They weren’t even like ships passing in the night, because neither of them moved. Juan watched TV and Christina looked at things on her phone while she picked at the cake. Instagram and Twitter were more satisfying than allowing herself to think about what she should do. Nothing the player or his mother said was news, or new, or unexpected. She knew he was frustrated and that their arrangement was unfair. Eventually he wanted a drink, and that required walking in front of her to get a glass. She stuck her right leg out to keep him from getting to the refrigerator, and then her left to stop him from going the long way around the island.

“Don’t be grumpy, Juanin,” she told him very plainly.

“I’m not grumpy. I’m thirsty.” The Spaniard’s voice was flat too. He faced her and let his eyes convey his disinterest in her game. He could just move me if he really wanted to, she thought, studying him. Seriously, all I can do here is remind him that I’m worth it. That WE’RE worth it- like, what we have together. I think it’s worth the hard parts.

“Come here.” Christina tried to use her feet around his waist to bring him closer. “Want some cake?”

“No.”

“Not even this little bite?” She used her pointer to collect some of the creamy pina colada mousse and shaved coconut to offer him a taste. Juan just shook his head. “More for me,” she shrugged before bringing her finger to her mouth, without breaking the eye contact. It only took one swipe of her tongue to dislodge the blob of dessert from it, but she sucked the whole finger clean anyway, slowly. “I’m sorry about earlier. And I’m sorry about...everything, really. The way things are. But I...don’t know what else we can do.” The pretty girl in his dancing cactus sweatshirt put her hands on his shoulders and slid them casually, at different times, up his neck and around to the back of his head, into his hair. His face said he wasn’t buying her kind of sedate sweetness, but he was in no way resisting her effort to bring his body in right up to the counter so that her ankles were almost crossed behind him. “I love you, and I...need you. So I’m...not gonna let you out of this. I won’t give up on it, or let you try to move on. I can’t. I know I can’t. You’re stuck with me, babe.” With a less than innocent smirk on her face to hide her insecurity and worry, and a whole lot of hope inside that the words she was confidently speaking were more than just words, Christina bent down to kiss Juan again, the way he wanted to kiss her sitting at his table in his restaurant, surrounded by his people. Lip to lip and nose to nose, she couldn’t keep up the act. Their kisses were real, and the connection broke right through facades they put up. Juan kissed back, and she felt a millisecond of relief and then a whole lot of anxiety. She was the one reminded of how worth it their relationship was. I can’t lose him. I can’t lose this. There has to be a way for us all to stay happy. “I love you so much,” she croaked in a whisper before gently grabbing at his top lip again. The Chelsea man grabbed at her bottom one back, much less tenderly. He grabbed at her thigh too, which tickled for a second, and then hurt. His other hand found her waist. Next he grabbed her neck, with his teeth. She was breathless. “Don’t leave me.”

Juan said nothing. Either he didn’t want to make that commitment to her, or he wanted to make it with his actions rather than using words. He pulled her to the very edge of the counter and then stopped, like he’d decided pulling her down to her feet wasn’t a good idea after all, and kissed a jagged, jaunty path from where he bit her back to her mouth, via much of her jaw line. She had to lean against him to avoid falling off the granite. Her hands helped, on his shoulders. One of his wrapped tight around her neck while he alternated between mauling her mouth and keeping still, just caressing different parts of her coconut and pineapple flavored lips with his very skilled bottom one. There wasn’t much room in it to think a whole lot, but the rider wondered if the man between her legs was struggling to make up his mind about what he wanted, and she meant both in terms of the kissing and whatever would come from it- did he feel like being aggressive and possessive and dominant or did he want to slow down and love her more tenderly- and what he wanted for their relationship- more of the same, back to just friends, time off from everything, or even a demand for a change on the other side of the equation. The flip-flopping went on long enough that her butt started to feel numb from sitting on the hard countertop with just her seat bones.

“Babe...”

“Mm?”

“Can I get down from here?” Christina asked as she felt the Spaniard’s fingers kneading at the back and front of her neck. He let go and moved the glass he put down next to her at some point, not that sliding another couple of inches forward would have had anything to do with the glass anyway. He filled it with green tea from the refrigerator while she stood around uncertain about what to do next. What she wanted was to go to bed and work on that whole reminding him that she was worth it thing, superficial as that method was. Part of her also wanted to talk about things though, like how he felt and what he really wanted. Juan just stood in front of the refrigerator after replacing the jug of tea, staring at the door and sipping the tea. His friend didn’t know what to do with herself, so she put the lid back on the cake container and took her fork to the sink to rinse it off.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t know why you apologized.”

“Because I-“ Both of them turned to address one another, and one was prepared to lie to the other. The other was going to reverse a lie.

“I don’t know why I said that,” Juan laughed. “I know why you apologized. You were panicked and you would have said anything to make me want you. I hate that so much, intellectually, but it turns me on. It makes me crazy. You did nothing wrong but you would take responsibility anyway, and put aside that you want an explanation, and I know you do, and you said those things. That’s not you,” he explained, his shoulders lifting as if to shrug but never coming back down. “You could tell me how you feel but not like that. I like it when you’re desperate like that. I know you mean it when you lose yourself completely, all self-respect. It turns me on to know how badly you need me, baby girl. Bad enough to be completely honest, no games.”

“Not to pour cold water on it, but I meant I need you for a lot more than that.” I’m gonna go home sore. He has that look in his eyes, Christina realized when she was finally able to look at the other beautiful blues in the room. Like he wants to spank me and strangle me and find out how long I can stay on my knees and elbows. It’s going to be amazing. But seriously, that’s not what I need him for.

“I know that. I know that every day, no problem. I don’t need any help remembering that. Something you miss when you don’t have a regular girlfriend around all the time in a normal relationship is that kind of turn on. I can talk with you every day. I can’t see you be sexy by accident. I don’t get to have you come over in the middle of the night after you go out with your girlfriends and drink too much and you’re horny and want to use me, or be fucked stupid. I can’t catch you fingering yourself on the couch in the afternoon. I don’t get to have stupid fights with you that you try to fix by being sexy but then your heart gets in the way and you accidentally tell the truth that makes me feel like the world to you. I don’t get any of that with you. Our visits are always the same. Our whole relationship is that pattern now- apart, together, apart, together. I’ve never had every day with you. Never. It’s all I want. I think it’s the only thing I can’t get for myself. I can buy whatever I want, I can go anywhere, I can probably meet whoever. I finally proved to myself last season that if I wanted another trophy bad enough I could get it. I always wanted to have a business, and we have the restaurant now. I have the Common Goal project. I’m writing. It’s all there. Everything except every day as your partner. I’ve always believed I could have the other things, and I will always believe I can have every day with you, but to be honest- it’s very hard, baby girl. It fights back harder than any of the other goals. You get injuries, you don’t get selected for the team, you fall out of a competition and it makes the Champions League trophy or the World Cup seem far away, but that doesn’t happen over and over all he time. Every time I open Instagram and see a picture of you with André, or I’m incredibly lonely at home at night, or I see a beautiful couple having coffee, or you say you can’t come here, or you tell me about what you’re making for dinner, or you’re upset and I can’t hug you, or my parents tell me about their friends’ kids getting married, or one of the guys tries to introduce me to a girl, or I go by myself to an event- practically 5, 6 times every day I am reminded that I don’t have what I want and that it’s all stacked against me to reach my goal. It’s very hard to have belief and faith. You have to really want something to keep it up. Especially when you say that you want every day with me too but you never act like you do. That’s the worst pushback. Nothing tries to make me doubt it will happen more than you do. I can’t make you want it. I can’t buy it, or score goals to get it, or network with the right people, or learn it, or anything else. It’s hard to have a goal that you can’t do anything to get but be yourself and wait.” Christina puffed out her cheeks like a chipmunk, and then rubbed her eyebrows while she let the air out.

“Well that took an unexpected turn,” she replied, having thought Juan would say something dirty and then they’d start taking each other’s clothes off.

“I didn’t know I was going to go there either,” the Blues midfielder told her while scratching at the crown of his head. She took a couple of steps closer and wrapped him in a tight hug. He didn’t need to illustrate the injustice and difficulty of his position relative to her, but the way he did almost brought her to tears, both in terms of content and style. His eloquence was beautiful, and revealing. His plight was heartbreaking and heartening at the same time- simultaneously deserving of sympathy and seriously inspiring. Christina wasn’t sure if anything had ever meant as much to her as she meant to him, or wanted something as much as he wanted to be her real, full-time, only partner. Even her Olympics quest, finally achieved, felt lesser in comparison. She had nothing as erudite or beautiful handy to say back that would convey her feelings about him or what he said, so she hoped her hug was speaking volumes. Juan knew she was at a loss.

“I’m sorry, angel. I don’t mean to put pressure, or make you feel guilt.”

“I know, but I do, and I always do, even without you spelling it out that way,” she mumbled against his shirt.

“To me it’s like you can’t do anything about it either. You can’t feel differently than you do. I think of you as in the long wait with me. Neither of us can change it by will or hard work. We wait together. And we enjoy what we already have,” the Chelsea creator added, gathering up sweatshirt in his hand at her back so that he could uncover her butt. “I did not mean to change the mood.” His inability to move on from the great turn-on he described previously made Christina smile, even as her still rather numb behind was then squeezed and the trim of her underwear was pulled tight.

“Couch, or bed? Or the chair in your room?”

“Bed, I think. Which do you want?”

“Bed.”

“What do you want to do there?”

“I still wanna remind you it’s all worth it.”

“Show me.”

#i keep writing this and forgetting to bother with posting it

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