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heavenlyvision · 3 months

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Why are you sorry?

This is a second part to Truth or Dare with Kung Lao, read that part ˗ˏˋhereˎˊ˗

Word count: 12.8k

Pairing: Raiden x F!Reader

A/N: It is done! It's a bit longer than I had planned for it to be but not by much <3 hopefully you all enjoy :) if it's not quite comprehensive, it's because I am listening to Hozier's new ep while editing and I maybe was not paying as much attention as I should have been :3

Summary: Things in the house are tense when Raiden finds out about your night with Kung Lao but even more than that, you are confused on how you're feeling about both your roommates.

Warning: 18+ only, smut, praise kink, fingering, minor handjob, spit as lube, p in v sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, big dick raiden lol, no use of y/n !!

MDNI | SMUT UNDER CUT

Not much at all has changed since what happened between you and Kung Lao, he’s been more affectionate? You guess, or more openly touchy but he doesn’t cross any lines and you haven’t even kissed since that day. You’re a little bit confused on what you’re meant to do now, should you ask him what you mean to each other or are you reading into things too much? Was it just a one-time thing? But then why did he say to only sleep with him?

Being casual is not something you’ve ever done before and you aren’t even sure if that’s what you are doing. You’ve been too scared to ask because you don’t even know what you want from him… you’re just worried about your friendship. Things have been mostly the same though, as in, it’s not awkward, you’ve both just gone back to how things were.

It’s the weekend and you’re playing a game of cards, ‘bullshit’ to be precise, you wanted to play scrabble – naturally – but both Raiden and Kung Lao outright refused to play with you. It was mean, this is the only time they ever gang up on you, well this and your wellbeing. Whatever, you’re more upset about being denied a scrabble game, Kung Lao played one game with you after you deleted the shy strangers phone number and cancelled your date with him but he hasn’t agreed to a game since and you feel slighted.

Pushing your thoughts to the side you glare at Raiden; he’s glaring back at you over the top of his cards. Moving slowly, he places two on the pile in the middle, “Two… queens,” he raises a brow at you.

You can’t tell if he’s lying or not but you’re too scared to call him either way, considering you currently hold a hefty amount of the deck in your hands, sighing you place three cards down, “Three kings,” both Raiden and Kung Lao share a look but ultimately don’t call you on it.

Kung Lao’s smile twitches slightly, “Three aces,” he boldly claims, placing his last three cards onto the table.

You squint at him and then laugh slightly, “Bullshit!”

“Wha– how did you know?” He exclaims

Raiden shakes his head at his stupidity, lightly snorting at the scene.

You fully laugh at him now, “I have all four aces, dunce, pick up the damn deck!”

Kung Lao groans dramatically, “Ugh, this is no fair when you have… every card ever,” he complains, picking up the cards on the table.

“Use your brain some more and you could’ve ended the game,” you smile at him.

“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes, “Raiden, carry on,” he huffs.

Raiden eyes his hand for a sec before placing two, “Two threes.”

The game continues around for a bit, mostly it’s just you and Kung Lao stopping Raiden from winning, he tries to bullshit but since both of you have a large chunk of the deck it’s proving to be a little difficult. This game is better played with a few more people. Both your hands start dwindling though and it’s all becoming muddled as the deck is split more and more. You’re losing track of what you’ve lied about at this point but you’ve somehow gotten yourself down to two cards and they’re a pair, they’re just not the pair you need right now.

Luckily for you, Kung Lao calls Raiden on his two fours, a risky move, considering the pile on the table has grown very large, “Bullshit.”

Raiden smiles at Kung Lao, “Have a look.”

Kung Lao is already groaning in annoyance as he flips the cards over to see, he was in fact, not bullshitting, “How are you good at like, every game we play, this sucks,” he grumbles to himself as he picks up the cards on the table.

It’s your turn now and you place both your cards down, “Two fives, I win,” you smile victoriously.

“Uh uh, not so fast, I call bullshit,” Kung Lao points at you.

You raise a brow at him, lips quirked up in a very self-satisfied way, “Check?” He squints at you and flips the cards, the cards that are in fact, a pair of fives. Kung Lao’s head falls to the table in defeat and Raiden starts laughing, hard. “Should’ve trusted me,” you shrug simply.

“This is crap,” Kung Lao laments, head still planted on the table.

You elbow his ribs, “Bullshit even?”

“You have too many trust issues, Kung Lao,” Raiden chastises him.

Kung Lao ignores him and continues wallowing in his shameful loss, “Just a few rounds ago… I was going to win…”

“…But you didn’t, because you suck,” you snicker at him.

He turns his head to the side to look at you, “That is just plain mean.”

The pair of you look at each other for a bit, apparently in a suspicious way because it prompts Raiden to state, “Something has happened between you two, something has changed.”

“What?” You question, taken aback.

Kung Lao denies, “Nothing has changed.”

“That wasn’t a question, I was stating. Something has changed, what was it?” Raiden scrutinises the both of you, looking back and forth between you.

You feel shy under his eyes and look away, you’d prefer he didn’t know that you slept with Kung Lao, you aren’t sure why but it hurts. You don’t regret sleeping with Kung Lao but you also feel like… you don’t want Raiden to know about it.

Kung Lao doesn’t shy away from Raiden, in fact, he looks proud of whatever he may or may not have done.

Raiden takes a moment to assess you both closely and then concludes, “You slept together.”

You go to deny, “No!”

“Yes,” Kung Lao confirms, and you pinch his side, “Ow, what was that for, he already figured it out.”

Raiden pinches the bridge of his nose, “When… when was it?”

“Couple weeks ago,” Kung Lao shrugs easily, no guilt at all, or if there is, he’s hiding it well.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Raiden asks, “Is it going to happen again?”

You answer, “I… don’t know–”

“–Probably,” is Kung Lao’s answer.

You shoot him a look from the corner of your eye and he looks blasé, not really understanding why you’re so uncomfortable or guilt ridden.

Kung Lao leans back in his chair and stretches, “Is it such a big deal?”

“I cannot say I am overjoyed at the news,” Raiden closes his eyes, thinking for a moment.

“Raiden… we’re sorry,” you try apologising.

“Speak for yourself, I am sorry for nothing, best lay of my life,” Kung Lao interjects.

Smacking him you say, “Ew, don’t be crass.”

Kung Lao adds smugly, “You didn’t seem to mind when–”

“–I am going to my room,” Raiden sighs, moving away from the table and heading back to his bedroom.

You feel… so bad for Raiden, sighing you look at Kung Lao, “What the hell? Can’t you see he’s obviously upset at us?”

“Yeah and I don’t get why, it was just sex,” he shrugs back.

“Just sex?” you clarify.

His brows pull together inquisitively, “…Really good sex?”

“You’re a dick,” you shake your head solemnly, angrily packing the cards away before heading back to your room too.

Kung Lao sits at the table, confused as to what the hell just happened.

𝜗𝜚

When you wake up in the morning, you can hear Kung Lao and Raiden thumping around in the kitchen. Their voices are muffled but you can tell they are not happy with each other, their voices are raised but hushed, the walls between your room and the kitchen also dilute the sound. Getting out of bed, you walk towards them, catching the tail end of their argument.

Kung Lao groans, “Ugh, Raiden! It was just sex, why are you so annoyed at us?”

Hearing him say that again, makes your heart pang and your footsteps slow, taking your time in getting to the kitchen.

Raiden is silent for a moment, assumedly glaring at him, “Would you be so nonchalant if she and I had slept together?”

Kung Lao stands there idly, his expression showing that, no, he would not be so relaxed about it.

“Exactly,” Raiden sighs, turning back to the sink, scrubbing at the dishes.

Something clicks for Kung Lao in that moment though and he frowns as he has his silent realisation about Raiden, watching him impatiently and trying to think of something to say.

Moving closer to the kitchen, you lean against the archway and ask, “Why are you both arguing so early in the morning?”

“It is nothing, do not worry about it,” Raiden dismisses, his focus on the dish he’s cleaning.

Kung Lao shakes his head before gesturing to you, “No, well let’s see, would you be upset if you were in his position?”

“Would I be upset if you two slept together?” You snicker at him.

He frowns and looks at you straight on, “Come on, you know what I meant.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you wave a hand at him and walk into the kitchen, sitting on one of the counters, “But yeah, I probably might be, we’re not just all friends, we’re also roommates, it makes the situation a bit uncomfortable, no?” sighing, you roll your neck and add, “I told you at the time… it might end up being a bad idea.”

Kung Lao also sighs, knowing you’re right, he turns back to Raiden, “I do not know what you want us to do to make this better.”

Raiden ignores him, seemingly done with talking.

You go to lighten the mood, offering, “Well… I could always sleep with Raiden and make it even.”

“What? No! That is not what I–” Kung Lao’s words are frantic.

Raiden turns to face the pair of you, “–Well, why not? She slept with you and I thought it was ‘just sex’,” he throws Kung Lao’s words back in his face and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t bring you a little sense of joy.

It’s silent for a moment, both of you looking at Kung Lao, who is scratching at the back of his head and thinking really hard, he hesitates momentarily, “I guess… she can sleep with whoever she wants…”

It hurts again, hearing that, especially since those weren’t his sentiments those few weeks ago but now you’re wondering if that’s just something he said and didn’t actually mean. Did he mean any of it? Or was he just really horny? Raiden eyes you carefully, catching something that you thought you were hiding well. You shy away from his gaze, how he always manages to read your feelings gets annoying when you’re specifically trying to hide something that you can’t even identify yourself.

Raiden wipes his hands off on a towel, “I am… not annoyed with you both…” Kung Lao and you give him a look and he breathes out an annoyed but amused sound, “Alright, I cannot say I am overjoyed but I am not… angry, you can do whatever you want.”

It’s fairly obvious that Raiden is still… upset but you’re also inclined to believe him, you think he’s trying fairly hard to not be upset about Kung Lao and you sleeping together. At least, you think he’s trying to not be angry at you both but you can tell he’s feeling some type of way about what happened.

It’s silent again in the kitchen as Raiden puts the clean dishes away, only the clanking of porcelain remains. The three of you not really sure what to say, the atmosphere tense, this is something you were worried about happening but you have no idea what to say to make this situation better and your heart continues to ache because of it.

Breaking the quiet, you suddenly ask, “Do you mean it, Kung Lao? I can sleep with whoever I want?”

Raiden stands stock still, feeling like he’s intruding in on a conversation he should not be privy to.

Kung Lao looks at you, his eyes slightly widened in shock, put on the spot suddenly, “I mean, yeah… we are not… exclusive and you have your own autonomy, do as you like.”

“Right,” you force yourself to sound agreeable, not wanting to show your souring mood, “I am going back to bed, you two need to start getting along again or I am going to do something drastic,” you point at both of them, your tone full of mirth, back to teasing them.

Before they can say anymore to you, you’re heading back to your room and crawling into bed. You don’t sleep, even though you try, you just lay there for a bit, numb. This awkwardness, this uncomfortableness and the weird feelings, is exactly why you said sleeping together was a bad idea. You wish you’d had more will power to stick to your guns but you let your judgement be clouded by emotions and feelings you aren’t even completely able to explain.

The time ticks by while you lay flat on your back in bed, staring up at the ceiling, motionless. You can hear the guys stomping around the house, their footsteps tracking back and forth as they go about their days, you know you’ll have to get up soon and be productive but you don’t know if you really feel like it. Everything feels like effort right now and you don’t have a good reason as to why.

Soft taps on your door force you to sit up, calling out as you do, “What?”

“Are you going to come out of your room at all today?” It’s Raiden’s voice, he’s clearly concerned but it also feels like you’re being scolded by a parent rather than being checked in on by a worried friend.

“No.”

He’s quiet for a moment before speaking again, “…Kung Lao has gone out… if that changes your answer at all.” You grunt out at him in acknowledgement and he asks, “Do you… want to hang out?”

You consider him for a moment before smiling to yourself, “Can I braid your hair?” you’ve asked him multiple times before and he always says no, you’re hoping he acquiesces this time.

He asks though the door, “Is anything else going to make you leave your room?”

“No.”

“Not even scrabble?” He challenges.

You feel yourself perk up a bit at that but ultimately decide, “No, not even scrabble.”

A soft sigh leaves him as he gives in, “Fine.”

You giggle as you pull yourself out of bed quickly and race over to the door, pulling it open to reveal Raiden in front of you, already looking regretful at agreeing to this, “Amazing, let me get my stuff and I’ll be right out.”

He hums at you, “Take your time,” he says as he walks away to the living area.

It takes you no time at all to collect your brush and hair ties, not wanting to give him the chance to change his mind. Your footsteps are rushed as you shuffle out of your room and into the lounge with Raiden, he’s sat on the couch waiting patiently for you, half wishing you changed your mind and want to play scrabble instead. When he sees the stupid, giddy smile on your face though, he finds himself not really minding that he’s agreed to this.

“Okay, sit on the floor,” you direct, moving to sit on the couch yourself.

He supresses his smile at your happiness and moves to the floor, “How long are you going to drag this out for?”

“Only until you look really pretty,” you snicker.

You spread your legs, him sat between them on the floor, his frame is larger than you have ever taken notice of. It’s hard to ignore Kung Lao’s stature, he’s frequently shirtless and showing off… but Raiden is just as built and you find yourself forgetting that a lot. You’re careful as you undo his hair, not wanting to pull too harshly and hurt him.

His hands come up to yours, placing them over top and stopping your movements, “You could pull harder, I will not break,” he half laughs, “But I got it.” He tugs his hair free of the bun.

Your skin heats slightly as his touch feels like it lingers on your skin, even as he’s moved them back to his lap, he was so gentle, his hands so large. Shaking your head slightly, you bring your attention back to the task at hand, you run your hands through his hair a bit, it’s soft, softer than you were expecting.

“You have soft hair,” you mention mindlessly.

Raiden scoffs, “Were you expecting otherwise?”

You grab the brush and start gently untangling his hair, “A little… yes.”

He mumbles out, “Rude.”

Your tone is full of mirth, “Hey! You’re the farm boy, what else was I supposed to expect?”

“I am clean! Thank you very much,” he’s pretending to be offended.

“Hmmm, I am not convinced,” you prod further.

He drops his head back onto the couch between your legs, looking up at you, “I can leave? If I am so unclean?”

“No, I am sure you’re so clean, the cleanest even,” you smile innocently.

He smiles back at you but rolls his eyes at the same time and then raises his head again, letting you continue to brush it.

“Where has Kung Lao gone?” You ask him.

He hums at you, “It is his turn to run errands… but he will probably get distracted, knowing him.”

Your laugh is airy as you recount, “It’s sweet though, he plays with the kids, he can’t help but get roped into their games.”

“It is nice until you actually need whatever it is he went out for,” he grumbles slightly.

You continue brushing his hair, “Remember when he didn’t come home until sundown?”

Raiden’s face scrunches at the memory, “Yes… I remember, all I wanted was tea and had to wait hours for it.”

“What about the time you had to go looking for him,” you remind.

He scoffs, “It was getting so late, for all I knew he could have fallen in a hole and gotten stuck.”

You laugh a lot at that, Kung Lao has a bad habit of getting really involved in whatever game the kids are playing, sometimes he even lets them win… if he’s feeling benevolent, that is. There are a lot of memories that both you and Raiden share of having to wait on him longer than expected because he was trying to win a game of hide and seek or something similar. It can get annoying but for the most part, it’s just endearing.

Mindlessly, you continue to untangle Raiden’s hair, though it’s mostly untangled now, it wasn’t even that bad to begin with, you’re just caught up in thinking of all the times Kung Lao did something kind or stupid, stuff that makes you laugh at how dumb he’s being.

“Are you okay?” Raiden asks suddenly.

You drop the brush onto the couch, coming back to yourself, “I’m fine.”

The scepticism in his tone is hard to miss, “And that is why you spent all morning in bed… because you are fine?”

“…Yes?”

His hand wraps around your ankle, the only part of you he can reach without moving too much, “You do not have to talk about it if you do not want to… but I can tell something is bothering you.”

You rub at your eyes, thinking, “It’s not and I am fine, I am just… confused.”

He pushes, “About?”

“Kung Lao has just… said some conflicting things… whatever, it doesn’t matter,” your hands drop back to your lap.

Raiden thinks for a moment before asking you a question you don’t have a concrete answer to, “Do you want to be with him?”

You don’t know what you want from him, so you answer honestly, “I don’t… I don’t know, like I said, I’m confused.” You fiddle with your fingers, “I am sorry though… I mean, I don’t regret sleeping with him but I am sorry… for upsetting you.”

“I am not upset at you, and you have nothing to apologise for,” he’s taken aback by your apology to him, not expecting it.

“Good.” You smile to yourself, “I’m gonna start braiding your hair now then.”

He slumps a bit, “Go for it.”

Moving your hands, your fingers delicately brush his hair away from his forehead, pulling it back, you’re careful as you collect the hairs by his temples. Grabbing three strands, you start the braid, collecting more as you go. Raiden holds still for you, letting you quietly do your thing. Aside from your small humming the house is silent, he doesn’t mind it though, he’s not even sure you’re aware that you’re doing it. He doesn’t want to bring your attention to it though, he doesn’t want you to stop.

It tickles him when your hands gently brush against his neck, gathering stray hairs. You’re being so gentle with him, soft brushes of your fingers against his skin, light tugs of his hair when it’s uncooperative, it’s overwhelming him. Your legs either side of his body close in on his sides, he’d started moving unconsciously and you’re attempting to keep him still.

“Hold still, please,” you murmur, still focusing on his hair, wanting it to look nice. He involuntarily moves again and it causes you to tug at his hair, it jolts him and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from whimpering aloud, “Shit, sorry, Rai,” you apologise to him guiltily.

“No, that was my fault,” he’s quick to reply, not wanting you to feel bad.

He’s feeling uncomfortable, particularly in the lower region, your touch and proximity is setting him on edge and he can’t help the way he grows pitifully hard at just your hands in his hair and legs hugging his sides. You don’t notice anything though, still braiding his hair, humming to yourself again. Somehow, even the sound of your soft, singsong tone, has his erection throbbing in his pants. This is part of the reason why he always said no to you doing his hair, he doesn’t trust his reactions to you.

The pressure of your legs holding him still is filling his head with images that are more… graphic in nature, the context completely shifting in his mind. Instead, imagining your legs hugging his waist as he–

You lean down beside him and speak next to his ear, “I am done!”

His train of thought is cut short but the effects of it remain, he’s flush in the face and fully erect. Feeling beyond embarrassed right now and wanting to leave the room without it being suspicious, he’s actively thinking of ways to remove himself from this situation.

“Great… thanks, I am sure it looks great,” he rushes out quickly, trying to appear normal but failing miserably.

You shuffle to the side more, trying to see his face as you ask, “Are you okay, Rai?”

He turns to look at you, his skin heating at how close you are, “I am.”

Your brows pull together, “Are you sure? You look a little flush… do you feel sick?”

He feels like there’s a lump in his throat, “I feel fine, honest.”

You hum at him in thought before leaning into him and pressing your forehead to his, your hand coming up to rest your knuckles against his cheek, “You feel a little warm.”

Raiden feels like he may pass out, any chance he had of redirecting his thoughts and calming down are gone. You’re so close and you smell so nice and your hand is so soft against his skin and your lips are right there.

As you pull back slightly, he takes a shaky breath, your hand comes away slowly, as if to give him time to stop you. You both look back at each other silently for what feels like too long but is only probably a few seconds, ultimately you’re interrupted by Kung Lao walking through the front door and into the house.

“…Hey guys,” Kung Lao greets, a little confused by the scene in front of him.

You pull away from Raiden completely and sit back on the couch, your legs coming away from his sides as you pull them up onto the cushions, “Hey,” your tone comes across as slightly dismissive but you smile politely at him.

Raiden clears his throat, “What took you so long?”

“Before we discuss that, we have to talk about your hair,” he replies, voice full of mirth.

“No! Don’t mock him! I did that for him and I think it looks very nice,” the last thing you want is for Raiden to get mocked so severely by Kung Lao that he doesn’t let you do his hair ever again.

Kung Lao raises his occupied hands in defence, “Sorry, sorry! I love it so much, it does look… very nice,” he’s holding back a laugh, you can tell by the way his face is scrunching up and his mouth twitches.

“You’re next,” you squint, pointing a finger at him, feeling slighted on Raiden’s behalf.

Raiden interrupts before Kung Lao can attest, “I do not think he deserves such an honour!”

“You know what, you’re right, my hair braiding skills are too good for him,” you raise your head up and away from Kung Lao, playing up your offence.

Kung Lao squints at Raiden who looks back at him with an incredibly smug look on his face, clearly proud of keeping this act between the two of you. Happy that he’s convinced you to deprive Kung Lao of an intimate moment like the one you had just shared. Maybe he’s being petty but also… maybe he doesn’t care.

You glance back at them and laugh at their battle, unaware of the very real and very tense underlying emotions between them, “Anyways, what took you so long? Fall in a hole?”

Kung Lao looks back to you and his gaze softens but still contains a teasing edge, “No… I just got really involved in a game.”

Raiden scoffs and you hum a small laugh, “Yeah, we had assumed as much, at least you came back without us having to come and get you.”

Kung Lao groans and rolls his neck before walking into the kitchen, calling back, “Come on, you have only had to come and get me a handful of times.”

Raiden sighs, “Two handfuls, maybe.”

You’re thoroughly amused and you giggle softly but take the lull in the conversation as an opportunity to leave the room. Choosing to hide yourself back in your room before either of them can question you on what you’re doing or where you’re going. It felt normal, the conversation between the three of you, for the most part anyways but you still can’t help but be upset at Kung Lao and that frustrates you more because you don’t feel like you have a good reason to be upset with him. You’re friends, not lovers, you don’t even know if… you don’t even know if you like him like that.

The only thing you wish had changed… was that he didn’t say the things he did only to contradict himself later. If he hadn’t done that, you think… maybe, you wouldn’t be this upset… or at least not this confused.

𝜗𝜚

It’s unintentional but you ended up drifting to sleep too early in the evening and now you’re awake at some ungodly hour in the morning, it’s too dark in your room to read the clock on your wall. All you know, is that it has to be late and you’ve just had the kind of nap that takes you a few seconds to readjust to real life after waking up. You’re confused momentarily on where you even are before settling and then you’re just really thirsty.

Peeling yourself off the mattress, you stumble your way through the dark house and head towards the kitchen, your eyes slowly adjusting to the dark as you go. You knock your knee on the corner of a wall and hiss slightly, stopping to silently lament your clumsiness, how long have you lived here for? You’d think you could navigate the house in the dark without hurting yourself.

Sighing and in a slightly worse mood than before, you hobble the rest of your way into the kitchen. As you enter the room, you jump at the shadowy figure already lurking in the dark, the surprise making you gasp and clasp a hand over your beating heart.

When the initial shock wears off, you can immediately tell who it is, “Rai, geez, give a girl some warning.”

He mumble at you, voice thick with sleep, “Sorry, thought you saw me.”

The deepness of his voice pricks at your skin in a… not unpleasant way, ignoring it you ask, “Does that mean… you heard me knock into the wall?”

He tries to hide it but you can hear the quiet laugh he lets out as he admits, “Yes.”

“…Great,” you sulk.

“Just wake up?” He asks, changing the topic.

“I didn’t even realise I’d fallen asleep,” you sigh, moving for the cups, “Why are you up?”

He rests against the bench, “Having trouble staying asleep, was in here for some water.”

“Mmm yeah, I need some too, I woke up and felt like I’d been eating sand in my sleep or something,” you grumble, filling a glass with water.

He laughs as he watches you chug the whole glass before refilling it, “You were not kidding.”

“I never kid,” you say seriously, moving to lean against the bench next to him.

“That is the biggest lie I have heard to date,” he says deadpan.

You shrug, smirking into the lip of your cup, “You are entitled to your incorrect opinion.”

“Well, thank you so much for allowing me at least that much,” he breathes out a small laugh.

“You are most welcome,” you tease, lightly bumping his shoulder with yours.

It goes quiet after that, neither of you having much to say right now, slowly, you finish your second glass of water and place the cup in the sink. Continuing to linger in the kitchen, not wanting to leave but not having a reason to stay.

When you can’t find a good enough reason to stay any longer, you push off the counter, “Good night, Rai,” you pat his shoulder before walking back to your room.

You’re careful not to knock yourself against another wall on your way back and successfully make it to your room injury free. Just as you go to close your door, Raiden presses a hand on it and opens it again, letting himself into your room.

Before you can ask him what he’s doing he instead asks you, “Why are you sorry?”

You don’t know what he means, “What?”

He barely lets you get the word out before he’s asking again with more words, “Earlier today, you said you do not regret sleeping with Kung Lao but you are sorry to me… why are you sorry?”

You stammer, not really sure how to answer because you aren’t even really sure of the reason yourself. It doesn’t help that he’s walked closer to you, it’s making you feel like he’s in your space, he’s moved so close to you, looking at you so intently, waiting to see what you have to say.

When you can’t manage to produce anything, he sighs softly but puts his hands on either side of your face, his thumbs gently stroking the highest parts of your cheekbones. He seems like he’s considering something, weighing the pros and cons of his next actions. After a few moments of consideration and holding you like this, he pulls you to him and kisses you.

Initially, you’re taken by surprise but when you register his soft lips on yours, your hands grasp his shirt and you kiss him back. It’s electric, he kisses you in a gentle but consuming manner, like he’s being careful but reckless all at the same time. His lips are insistent but hesitant at the same time, knowing what he wants to take but worried about taking it. He’s making you lightheaded either way, a small sound escapes you when he kisses you a bit more forcefully.

He stops the kiss before it progresses any further, pulling his face away from yours but still holding you. You’re lost at his sudden absence, you were enjoying the kiss, you… don’t want to stop kissing him.

You’re slightly out of breath when you ask, “Why did you do that?”

“I wanted to see,” is all he says, scanning your face.

You frown up at him, “See what?”

His gaze lingers on your lips, “If you would kiss me back.”

You’re shocked by his answer and also still dazed from his kiss, what the hell does he mean ‘he wanted to see’?. You’re still frowning up at him and he presses his thumb into the crease between your brows encouraging you to relax. He smiles at you, it’s kind and also somehow, a bit smug, a quiet kind of smugness that he has shown only a handful of times in the past.

You pout, “That’s it?”

He seems a little nervous now, “Why? Do… do you want me to kiss you again?”

“No– I mean, I wouldn’t mind– that’s not what I was asking!” He smiles softly at the way you fumble and you have to gather yourself before asking clearly, “I mean… Is that the only reason you kissed me? To see if I would kiss you back?”

He removes his hands from you completely, “No.”

“No?”

He nods, “No.”

You place your hands on your hips, “Are you going to give me any more than that?”

He offers, “I will give you more… if you can tell me why you kissed me back.”

You’re annoyed at how well he reads you, especially right now because you don’t have an answer. You kissed him back because you wanted to…

He smiles at you wistfully, “When you have worked out your answer, find me and I will have an answer to your question.” He pats your shoulder and then leaves your room.

What the hell just happened? You don’t even know how to react, he just… what are you… why was this so attractive? Collapsing into bed, all you can do is think about how much you enjoyed kissing Raiden and what that means for you. Going back to sleep seems like an impossible task now.

𝜗𝜚

In the morning, when it’s a more appropriate hour to be awake, you spend your time avoiding both of the guys. It’s a little difficult but you think to yourself, you only have to do this until your afternoon shift at the tea house and then you’ll be at work and it’ll be so much easier to avoid them.

You time your exits from your room carefully all morning, to dodge possible run ins with them. It feels silly but you crack open the door and peek out to see where they are adjacent to you, straining your ears, listening for them when you can’t see them. It’s all a bit childish but you don’t want to talk to Kung Lao because you’re still feeling upset over how he’s been acting after your night together and you don’t want to talk to Raiden after last night, you will talk to him though… when you have that answer.

Thankfully, you make it the whole morning without seeing either of them on your trips to and from your room. They also don’t come looking for you and leave you alone, probably assuming you’re sleeping in. The only time you see them both is in passing as you leave the house.

“I’ll be back later this afternoon, bye!” You call out as you rush out the front door, not stopping to give them the chance to reply properly.

You feel just the slightest bit bad but also not really, you’re allowed time to collect yourself and your thoughts, it’s not your fault they’re the cause of your confusion. On your walk to work, you consider what it all means, how you’ve been feeling, why Kung Lao’s blasé attitude upset you, why you liked kissing Raiden back and there’s only really one, glaringly obvious answer to both of those situations. How annoying, you cannot have this realisation right now, you have work.

Ignoring the answers you had been searching for, you get to work and waste no time in distracting yourself. It’s ironic really, you’d been trying so hard to think and have this realisation and now you’re pissed at yourself for figuring it out now and trying to ignore it. You don’t even have time to process how this makes you feel, well… you do and you could, you’re just choosing not to.

Focusing all you attention on your job kind of works as a replacement for thinking, you’re forced to put all your energy into other things but your thoughts tug at the back of your head and you know you’re going to have to confront this if you want it to stop. Just… not right now.

The shift itself is actually pretty good, there aren’t many people here today and the people that are here and that you interact with are incredibly kind. Some regulars come in and you get roped into polite chatter with them but you don’t mind, it’s welcome today.

It’s getting to be towards the end of your shift and though you’re happy to be almost finished with work, you also feel nervous about going home. Those nerves aren’t eased when you see both Raiden and Kung Lao walk into your place of work together. They do leave you alone to finish your shift, though Raiden stands by the exit, waiting for you to be done for the day. You don’t know where Kung Lao is, you’ve lost sight of him. Disregarding their presence, you tidy up and do some other things for Madam Bo before realising your shift is over and you’ve also managed to stay back a little by helping out with things that really weren’t urgent.

Feeling bad for making them wait, you head over to where you saw Raiden, still unsure on where Kung Lao has gone, “If you were waiting for me… I’m sorry, I was just helping out with some stuff.”

Raiden straightens up when he sees you, “I was but it is fine, I would have waited longer… if you needed extra time.”

“No, no I’m good to leave now,” you smile at him.

He smiles back but nods down at you, “Are you sure?”

You look down at yourself and realise you had kept an apron on, sheepishly, you rub the back of your neck and laugh, “Right… sorry, I will be right back.”

Raiden laughs lightly at your embarrassment as you jog away to the back area of the tea house. Quickly, you tug off the apron and put it away, taking a second to calm down and try to look like less of a mess and then you walk back out to where Raiden is still standing and still waiting for you.

“All better?” You ask, spinning around in a circle for him.

He confirms for you, “All better.”

You look around the tea house, trying to spot Kung Lao, “I thought I saw you come in with Kung Lao earlier…”

“Ah, so you did see us,” he jabs at you for avoiding them, seemingly, you are not as slick as you like to pretend you are, “He… uh… he has a date? Kind of? He’s meeting someone here… now.”

That makes you stop, you try not to but you can’t help but feel dejected, “Oh.”

“Hey…” Raiden reaches his hand up and places it on your shoulder, “I do not think he actually wanted to go… it was set up a bit ago by one of the ladies who is friends with Madam Bo… he is doing it more of a favour to her.”

Shaking your head, you say, “I don’t mind, he can do as he likes, or who he likes, for that matter…” trailing off you add, “He always does…”

You say that but you still feel hurt, he made you get rid of that guys number after you slept with him but he’s going on a date after saying he’d never want anyone else… Whatever, you’re ignoring this… this whole thought process has been added to the huge ignore pile you have created in your brain.

Raiden squeezes your shoulder and recaptures your attention, “You ready to head home?”

“Beyond ready,” your smile is tired when you look at him and he pats your shoulder, the pair of you turning to walk out of the tea house together.

The walk back starts off quiet, a peaceful and unhurried pace is shared between you, he breaks it though, asking, “Are we okay? I… did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable last night–”

“–I have an answer,” you look down to your feet, feeling his eyes on you, your steps slow slightly, “I wanted to.”

He stops completely, “You wanted to?”

You also stop but you can’t look at him, feeling embarrassed and instead choosing to look off in the distance where the house is waiting, “…I kissed you back… because I wanted to kiss you.”

“…Then conversely, I kissed you because I wanted to,” he sounds nervous as well but he’s hiding it better than you. You still won’t look at him and he sighs from beside you, “Because I like you.”

It feels like cold water has been dumped on you and you look to him with a shocked expression on your face, “I– I can’t, I don’t–” taking a deep breath you try to verbalise your response better, “I think… I– I am confused, Rai.”

He smiles softly at you, “I know,” he reaches out to your arm and touches along it before taking your hand in his, “I will wait… until you figure it out.”

You look to him and your eyes feel wet, it’s like… he already knows how you’re feeling, he’s steps ahead of you and just waiting patiently for you to catch up to him, “I’m not asking you to do that.”

“No… but I will,” he squeezes your hand and starts walking again, leading you back home.

You follow with him silently, not having much else to say, you think for now, everything that needs to be said and that you can manage to say has been. If he’s willing to wait just a little longer, until you can sort yourself out, until things can start making sense, that would make you ridiculously happy. He’s so… kind to you… and he always has been, you’re being overwhelmed by feelings for him.

When you’re back in the house, he lets you through first but as soon as he closes the door, you turn around and face him, stopping him from moving into the house any further, “I would like… I would like it if you would kiss me again… please?”

His eyes grow wider, surprised by your sudden question, “Right now?”

You’re feeling foolish now, “Only if you want to… you don’t have to.”

“I want to… I always want to,” he murmurs, moving closer to you, one of his hands reaching up to your face, “Are you sure?”

It feels like you soften for him all at once, “Yes.”

Leaning down, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back enough to ask, “Is this alright?”

“No. I want more,” you mumble, looping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself to him, kissing him firmly.

His hands move to your hips, holding you close, his mouth moving against yours enthusiastically. He grips the fat of your hips harshly and pushes you back towards the wall, crowding you in, you gasp when you make contact with it. He takes the chance to deepen the kiss, his lips are insistent, eager, it’s making you dizzy. He moves his leg between yours, pinning you to the wall, the movement against your core shocks you and you let a small noise slip from the back of your throat.

Raiden pulls back at the sound, his forehead falls to your shoulder, breathlessly he apologises, “Sorry… I– I am getting worked up… I can stop–”

“–No… that’s not… I don’t want you to stop,” your voice feels small, you feel shy but you don’t want him to stop… you want him to go further, you want him worked up. Moving your lips to his ear, you say softly, “I want you.”

A shiver runs down his spine and you think if your hearing was slightly better you would have caught the small whine he made at the sound of your voice. He doesn’t move though, holding completely still, trying to reboot. Taking initiative, you grab one of his hands off your hips and lead him down the hall to his bedroom. He dutifully follows behind you, letting you take him wherever you want, he thinks he’d follow you into hell like this.

Once you’re in his room, you turn around to face him, you got him in here but now you’re feeling unsure, your confidence short lived, “Rai, I’m not good at… this.”

He’s a little dazed as he looks down at you, gaze busy watching you, “I think you were doing fine,” he hums. You go to complain to him, bothered by his response but he’s reaching out to you, grabbing at your waist, his lips close to yours, “You still want me?” He checks.

Breathlessly, you answer, “Yes.”

He smiles at you before leaning in and kissing you again, this time letting himself be unrestrained, his tongue in your mouth immediately. His hands roam more freely, groping at you. Your arms loop around him again, pulling yourself to him, you moan into the kiss and it drives him crazy.

He walks you back towards his bed and you let him but as you reach the edge of the frame, you part from him, you have something to say but you’re huffing, trying to catch your breath. His hand holds your face and his thumb wipes your bottom lip, cleaning you of the messy and rushed kiss you shared.

His eyes linger on your lips before asking, “Is something wrong?”

You feel like an idiot as you awkwardly get out, “No… I– I just… wanted… you to sit… first? maybe?...”

He looks confused for a moment before clarifying, “You want to sit on my lap?”

It’s said in a way where he’s only asking to be sure but it makes your skin feel hot and now you’re embarrassed, “…Only if you’re okay with it.”

He smirks at you in a way you’ve not seen before and it makes your heart skip a beat, “You are welcome to sit anywhere you like.”

You make a shocked expression at him, not expecting him to say something so suggestive. He kisses you again, not removing the stupefied look on your face, only changing the reason for it and then he removes himself from you to sit on his bed, waiting for you, he even pats his lap lightly with a small and welcoming smile on his face.

It feels silly as you crawl over to him, especially since he watches you so closely, he’s always watching you closely and it makes you lightheaded. You sit in his lap and his hands stroke your thighs, up your sides, caressing your body tenderly.

He goes to lean into you but you stop him, “Wait–” you crawl off him and he sighs in disappointment but watches to see what you’re doing. You shuffle out of your pants before crawling back and sitting on him again, he groans when your covered pussy makes contact with his cock, “Sorry… I thought this would save time.”

He intakes a deep breath, “I think you may kill me,” he mutters, his hand drawing towards your cunt, thumb swiping over the front of your underwear.

His cock is hard underneath you and he feels… “Rai?”

He hums at you in response, he’s distracted, his fingers pulling at your panties without actually moving them, waiting for your okay. When he realises you’re waiting for his full attention, he moves his hands to your inner thighs and rubs them, fingers digging in a tiny bit, it has you wiggling down into him, the pressure flipping your tummy.

He looks into your eyes, “Yes?”

You falter a bit, “Are… are you… fully hard?...”

“Pretty much… yeah,” his brows crease, confused at your question, “…Why?”

“You just…” your hands grip onto his shoulders and you drag your clothed cunt along the length of his cock, he chokes and grips you harder, shocked. You bite your lip to supress your sounds, you’re just trying to see something. When you stop grinding into him, he lets out a sad sound, his hands pulling at you, wanting you to keep going, “Rai, you’re huge.”

“What?” He looks genuinely confused, “I am not, I am average.”

You shake your head at him, “Rai, you might not…” You frown and look away, feeling flustered.

He understands what you’re worried about though, “Oh, I will,” he assures. The way he says it makes your heart skip a beat, he’s so certain, you’re so… not. “Can I?” He asks, nodding towards your panties.

“You have to take something off first,” he cannot see your pussy while also still being fully clothed.

He easily takes off his shirt and chucks it down onto the floor, “Now?”

You nod at him and he eagerly pulls your panties to the side, his index and middle finger slide through your wet folds and he grumbles lowly to himself at how slick you are. You grip his shoulders for purchase, needing the stability. He plays with your cunt, fingers making a mess of you, gently touching your clit every now and again just to see the way you jolt and get an increasingly more desperate look in your eyes.

You gasp out to him, “Rai… you’re being cruel.”

He smiles to himself, “Sorry,” he replies, although, he doesn’t really seem all that sorry.

Thankfully, he does actually move his finger towards your entrance, his middle finger slowly pushes forwards, careful not to hurt you. Your pussy swallows the digit and he moans at the way you grip him. Your thighs shake and little noises you aren’t quite aware of slip past your bitten lips.

Raiden has to control himself, wanting to finger fuck you until you’re blind but not wanting to hurt you or go too fast. He focuses on opening you up on his one finger, cock twitching in his pants at how you make little whimpered sounds for him.

Your eyes are low and wet, looking to him and asking, “More, please.”

You look dazed, eyes sparkling with how malleable he’s making you. He might melt into a puddle for you right here, “Mmm, you look really pretty,” he comments. The compliment goes to your core and your cunt throbs on his finger, “Oh… you like being told how pretty you are?”

“Rai don’t,” he’s embarrassing you.

“Why not? Do you not want to hear how beautiful you are to me while I stuff my fingers inside you?” He singsongs, another finger moving to join the one already inside you.

You go to speak but he fucks them up into you and crooks them, rubbing them against your inner wall just right and the only thing that comes out it an incredibly pitiful whine. A sound that Raiden delights in, if his smile and bright eyes are anything to by.

“Make cute noises, too,” he utters to you, his other hand leaving your waist and holding the side of your neck, “Wonder how you will sound when you cum, though I think I know…” you look at him with wide eyes and he looks back to you, his eye contact intense, “You seem to forget that you have roommates.”

You try to look away from him but he moves his hand up to your cheek, forcing you to look at him. How are you meant to reply to that? You’re feeling really embarrassed and exposed, especially since his fingers are knuckle deep inside your cunt, reaching places you can’t touch when you’re doing this by yourself.

“I can’t– I don’t– If I’m so loud… why do you –ngh– never say anything?” It’s a struggle to get the question out, you’re trying to refrain yourself from grinding down into his fingers.

His smile is saccharine as he replies, “If I did that… you would probably stop.”

You gasp at him and he begins thrusting his fingers into you again, not caring to hear your protests to his answer. The sounds in the room are embarrassing to say the least, your skin feels hot and you can’t tell if that’s because of him or your humiliation at how wet you are. His eyes flick between your pussy and your face, lingering on your face for a few moments and pulling your lip down with his thumb before focusing his attention back on where his fingers are devastating you.

“Could you take another?” He asks gently, glancing up at you and waiting for your response.

You nod enthusiastically, “I can.”

“That is good, you are doing so good,” he practically purrs, it makes your pussy spasm and his smile grows, he’s going to use this against you a lot and that makes you nervous… and aroused, something he definitely knows.

He scissors his fingers, trying to open you up for a third, you squirm and look down, his hand is so large and… slick. Glistening with how you spill down his fingers and into his palm. It’s an obscene sight that makes your heart flutter, you moan as your hips wriggle down, silently begging for friction, for more.

It’s slow, when he first adds a third, it’s a lot more to take but you’re getting impatient and the sounds you make convey as much, Raiden tuts at you, “Just stay still for me, please.”

You clench down on him but hold as still as you can manage, noises you didn’t think yourself capable of getting stuck in your throat as his thumb rubs at your clit. He eases his third finger inside and your own fingers grip at his shoulder, gasped and stuttered breaths leaving you as you try to take it.

Raiden holds a moan in his chest, getting off on how you look right now, his cock painfully hard. He’s trying to be so patient, trying his very best to not lose it at how well you’re doing for him, how compliant you’re being. He’s not asked much of you at all and you’re so completely willing, eager even, it feels like electricity is running through his veins.

Your voice is pitched high when you plead with him to move, “Rai– please~”

He looks to you, his smile kind but his aura smug, “More?”

“More,” you confirm. You’re getting close to finishing, your stomach tightening, pulling taut, your pussy throbbing around his fingers. All you need if for him to move, “I am –hah– I am getting close–”

“–I know,” is what he replies with, apparently perfectly aware of how close you’re getting but still taking his time anyways.

Once you relax more, he retracts his fingers and begins thrusting them in and out of you, the sounds that result make even him blush. His eyes dazed and lustful, his ego growing with just how wet you are for him. His free hand moves to grip your hip, holding you still, preventing you from bucking into him. Something he’s glad he did because when it begins to feel like too much you try to pull back and he doesn’t want you going anywhere.

“Is too –ngh– much,” you whimper to him, the feeling overwhelming you.

His eyes stay on your cunt, not looking away from what he’s doing, “You can take it, you have been doing so good.”

The moan that his praise pulls from you is damning evidence of how much his encouraging words effect you and he huffs a small sound of amusement at how much he’s effecting you just by telling you how good you’re doing. You’d snap at him if he weren’t so close to making you cum, you don’t want to risk this slipping from you. Your thighs shake and your tummy flips, your hands pull and grasp at his skin and you all but hold your breath as you cum on his fingers.

Unable to stay upright, you fall into his chest, your head on his shoulder, your moans being muffled into his skin. Your eyes shut tight as you jolt against him, your orgasm wracking over your body. Raiden groans at how your pussy trembles around his fingers, a shiver running down his spine.

You can’t speak, not yet, you’re shaking still and you just need a moment to collect yourself. Raiden retracts his fingers to let you collapse into him completely, your weight sat comfortably on top of him, his cock jerking underneath you from the friction and heat of your bare cunt.

He moves his head slightly to the side, his nose brushing against your cheek, “Are you okay?”

“More than, I just wasn’t… expecting all that,” it comes out mumbled, you’re even drooling onto his skin slightly.

He counters, “You are the one worried about taking me.”

You harrumph against him, pouting slightly, “For good reason!”

“We do not have to, if you are worried,” he strokes the back of your head, his touch delicate.

Pulling back to look at him properly, you assert, “I want to.”

He pulls you into him, kissing you deeply, his lips tender despite the depraved manner in which he’s kissing you. His lust clouding his head as he kisses you deeply, hands searching your body, groping and pulling at you, on your hips, your ass, your waist, your breasts, anywhere he can get to. All you can do is hold onto him and let him kiss you into oblivion, that’s not a complaint though, you think you’d let him kiss you for as long as he wants to.

His hands slip under your shirt, resting against your bare skin, revelling in the feel of your soft skin against his rough palms. His arms move to wrap around you completely, tugging you to his body, your front pressed against his as he kisses you stupid. You need air, you’re being deprived, slipping your hands into his hair, you tug, signalling to him that you need to breathe. The action pulls a moan from him, shared in the kiss, he understands your ask though and rests his forehead against yours. He’s huffing harshly, apparently needing air too and just refusing to pull away from you.

You go to ask him if he’s okay but he beats you to it, instead asking you, “Can you take this off?” He tugs at your shirt.

“Hmm?” It takes your dazed mind a second to catch on, “Oh! Yeah, okay,” you giggle softly at your stupidity and it makes Raiden smile goofy and big.

He slips his hands under your shirt and tugs it up and over your head, exposing yourself to him. He chucks it to the floor before his hands hesitate at touching you, grabbing one of his hands you place it on your body, encouraging him to touch you, that it’s okay. He’s more comfortable after that, both of his hands on your body, he holds your breasts in his large hands, pawing at them.

Leaning down, you kiss him again, he welcomes it but doesn’t take his hands away from your tits. Reaching for his pants, you begin tugging at the layers of clothes between the two of you, you’re struggling though, lost in his kiss and his warm hands. You let out a shocked moan when he pinches at your nipples, rolling them, your moan disconnects the kiss and your head falls to his shoulder.

He softly chuckles at your reaction, removing his hands from you and down to his pants, “…Sorry.”

“I don’t think you are,” you grumble against him.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, “You are right, I am not.”

He hisses as he pulls himself out of his pants and you lean back to look down at him, his cock is slightly larger than you were expecting, average your ass. The tip is angry and red, leaking precum profusely. Clearly, he’s unbelievably worked up, his dick twitching as he holds the base of it. Your hand moves towards him, hesitating just as he did before, he lets go of his grasp and pulls your hand to him, mirroring your previous action, showing you it’s okay.

When you take him in your hand he holds back a moan, resulting in a small, hummed noise instead. It makes you smile to yourself, the noises he makes are cute… you want to hear more. You pick a languid pace and jerk him off, his chest stutters and his cock jumps, your thumb rubs at the tip of his dick, collecting the precum there and working it up and down his cock, making him slick.

His hips rise and stutter, wanting you to go faster but you don’t want to make him cum, you just want to tease him a little bit. You wonder how much you could tease him before he can’t take it anymore and just takes what he needs from you, the idea of seeing Raiden break and be little bit mean to you excites you more than you care to admit… but it’s a lot.

You’re still worried about taking him, he’s not slick enough and you need it slick if you’re going to sit on all of him, which you are determined to do. Gathering the saliva in your mouth you spit down onto the tip of his cock and he groans at the sight, fighting the urge to tip his head back, wanting to watch what you’re doing instead. You use your spit to lube his cock, your hand glides up and down his shaft easier like this. Raiden stutters out a sharp breath, he’s beyond horny, he’s getting twitchy, needy.

He huffs out, “Can I –hah–”

“Hmm?” You can’t tell exactly what he was going to ask, though you probably could guess.

“Can you just–” He sighs, exasperated, “Sit on it,” he waits a moment before adding “Please?”

His phrasing makes your pussy jump, you weren’t expecting that kind of directness from him, it is welcomed though. You bite back a smile at his increasing impatience, which he doesn’t miss, his eyes narrowing at you but before he can even think of something to say, you grip him tightly and sit up on your knees, drawing closer to him. His focus is suddenly back on your cunt, waiting for you to sink down on him.

You get frustrated at your underwear though, wanting them off before taking him, you let go of his dick and he grunts, “Hold on, I want to take off–”

Raiden looks mildly annoyed in front of you, his hands stop you from going anywhere and in an entirely bored manner, he tears your panties off of you. The material ripped from you and chucked across the room, a pathetic noise leaves you at it and he sits back, waiting on you again.

He looks up at you, “Better?”

You gape at him, “That was… impressive.”

He blushes a little but is serious as he says, “I can be so much more impressive, if you would just sit down, please.”

You squint at him but take his cock back in your hand, hovering over it again, you feel nervous to take him and you falter slightly. Just as you’re about to follow through, Raiden’s hands are on your hips, stopping you.

He looks concerned, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I am still a little worried about how large you are,” you’re genuinely fine, you are determined to take him.

He strokes your thighs, “You do not have to–”

“–I am fine, I can take it, I will take it,” you cut him off, you can do this.

He shudders at your assertion, “Fine, just… take what you can, do not force it.”

“Mhm,” you mumble out dismissively, already looking down again.

His hand moves to your face and makes you look at him, “I mean it, do not force it.”

“Okay,” you answer him properly this time, knowing full well… you probably, might, definitely force it… just a bit.

He squints at you, inspecting you for a moment before letting your face go and allowing you to carry on. You notch the tip of his cock at your entrance, breathing deeply as you begin sinking down on him. Raiden grips your thighs, his breath faltering in his chest, all of his focus put into not slamming you down onto him. It’s slow going and the stretch aches, you bite your lip as to not make any noises, not wanting to sound completely pitiful.

Once you get the tip of him inside you, your hands move to hold onto his shoulders, keeping yourself stabilised. You need to wait a moment before you can continue, you need to adjust. Maybe gaslighting yourself will help, you can take him, he’s not even that big. Looking down to where his cock is sitting, you realise gaslighting did not help, a small whimper leaves you at the sight of his dick not even close to being fully inside you.

He strains himself to say, “Take it easy.”

Raiden rests his head back against the headboard, his eyes shut tight, pleasure crawls up his spine and he’s having the hardest time not fucking up into you right now. His stomach pulls taut, he could probably cum just like this, which embarrasses him beyond belief. What kind of grown man cums from this much? Oh, but he’s so on edge and you’re so warm and tight and wet and he could die now and be happy.

Almost out of spite, you drop down onto him more, forcing it only slightly, still not quite halfway but significantly more than before. The shock of it causes Raiden to moan loudly and raise his head to look at you, his hands gripping you, not allowing you to do that again. His eyes are angry and wet, he’s in disbelief at you.

He’s a bit breathless now because of you, “I just said to take it easy.”

“I know,” you mutter, looking down, eyes looking at how he’s stuffed inside you.

You’re distracted, he might be saying more but you raise yourself back up before sliding down on him again, fucking yourself on what you’ve managed to take. He chokes and whimpers at the feeling, his eyes also watching where his cock is gliding in and out of you, his hips want to chase you, he wants so much more. He settles for gripping your skin and watching how you leak onto his dick.

He lets you take your time; you take what you can, fucking yourself open on him, his heart beats hard in his chest at the scene in front of him, his eyes all glazed over. Looking at you, you’re doing no better, you’re all fucked out with the cutest, dumbest look on your face, eyes gooey and mind far away. The noises that leave him make his skin flush but he can’t stop, not with how you devotedly ride not even half of him, he’s genuinely worried you’re going to kill him.

Eventually, after working yourself up and down his cock for a bit, you manage to take half of him. You slip down and whine at the feeling of him being so deep in you, “I don’t –ngh– know if I can take it all.”

“Does not matter– just– do not stop,” his words are rushed and borderline begged, pleading with you to keep going.

You do keep going, continuing to take what you can. Raiden leans forward, his face resting between your breasts, his hands gripping you higher on your back, still refraining himself from thrusting up into you.

“You feel so good… so good, such a pretty girl, doing so well,” he’s mumbling mindlessly into your skin, “Taking me so nicely, make sweet little noises, love listening to you.”

He’s going to make you cum if he keeps complimenting you like that but based on the way he doesn’t stop, you think that may be his intent. Compliments and sugar-coated words leave his lips as you try to keep the pace you’ve set, you’re throbbing around him, you’re so unbelievably close and if it didn’t feel so good you might be a bit more ashamed over how much his words effect you.

“Mmm, gripping me so tight, so perfect, have such good reactions –hah– I know you are close,” he’s still speaking into your skin, one of his hands moves to your cunt, his thumb rubbing circles into your clit, “I want it,” he groans.

You gasp, nails clawing at his skin, he shocks an orgasm out of you, it takes you by surprise, you knew you were close but not that close. You want to grind into him, you need more, and in your hazy, needy fog, you take more of him, dropping down as far as you can go. The sudden, extremely full feeling has you moaning loudly, your orgasm shuddering up and down your spine. You rock down onto him, at this point, forcing yourself to take him all, the pain only adding to the extreme pleasure you’re experiencing.

Raiden is holding you close, still not fucking up into you but whining under you, the pleasure he’s feeling taking over his mind. He can’t believe you did that; he can’t believe you forced yourself the whole way down his cock while cumming on him, he’s going to pass out. His dick is twitching, his teeth bared as he holds off on finishing.

Your limbs relax and you slump into him, your body trembling with the post orgasm shocks that run through you. Raiden pulls his head back to allow you the room to rest on him properly, his hands run up and down your back, soothing you, giving you time.

Being fully sat on him now is driving you mental, you’ve just cum on him and you’re greedy for more, he fills you so nicely, you feel so fucking full and it makes your head spin, “I can go again,” you promise, your hips grinding down into him.

He moans, surprised, “Take a break.”

You shake your head no at him, continuing to grind down onto him, it’s lazy and needy, basically only serving to try and pull another orgasm from you. It’s frustrating Raiden, he wants to go easy on you but you’re not letting him, you’re making his skin itch, he’s so fucking desperate for you and is still trying to be a gentleman, something you’re not appreciating. You’re being a brat but oh, it feels so good while you do, your walls hug him so firmly. His dick fully sheathed inside you is going to have him going insane.

He can’t take it anymore, the way you ardently rut down into him, eager for more, it pushes him over the edge. His hands grip your thighs and he readjusts his footing on the bed, giving himself leverage.

He speaks through gritted teeth, “Take a break, sit there and let me do it properly.”

You whimper at him and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, memorising the sound you just made at him. He uses his new position to fuck up into you how he likes, how he needs, this is all he’s wanted. He just wanted to drag his thick cock through your tight walls how he liked and now that he can, it’s making him release strangled moans and whimpers.

All you can do is take what he’s giving you, his thrusts harsh and targeted, he knows exactly where to hit and it has you moaning and drooling onto his skin, your head tucked into his neck. You take the opportunity to suck a hickey into his skin, a particularly hard thrust from him makes you bite his skin lightly. He whines at the feeling, his dick jerking at the way you’ve dug your teeth into his skin.

You need him to know, “Rai –ngh– feel really –mmph– good–”

A shiver runs through him at your compliment, he turns his head to the side slightly and speaks lowly to you, “If I feel so good… cum again.”

You gasp at him, your mind reeling, he says the most shocking things, not even all the obscene, just completely shocking to you.

“So desperate for it,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, before directing to you, “Taking my whole cock so nicely, taking it all just like you said you would,” and then he adds something that devastates you, “Such a good girl.”

He’s done that on purpose, you know it, “Rai– I can’t– it feels–” It feels different, your orgasm is tightening all your limbs, your stomach flipping, your mind going foggy.

You try to move away from him, pulling back but he keeps fucking you how he likes, “It is fine, let it happen.”

He’s so sure that it’s fine and it convinces you that it is, you let it happen, you let your orgasm wash over you. It has you almost thrashing, your hands digging into his skin and your feet kicking against the bed as you silently scream, panted gasps leaving you as you squirt all over his lap. Raiden relishes in the way your eyes roll back and your body shakes, your cunt clutching and spasming around him so tightly he can barely fuck you through it.

One of your hands move to his hair and tugs him harshly, his head moving back with it, he moans loudly and his balls tighten. He doesn’t fight it this time, he lets himself cum, filling your pussy with his thick load, finishing so much that it leaks out around where he’s stuffed you full. His moans trail off into small whines until he takes a deep breath and calms down, his eyes watch how you leak your shared releases down into his lap.

Your eyes are bleary, wet with unshed tears, you’re not capable of cohesive thought and it feels like electricity thrums through your veins, jerking you every now and again. You feel like you might collapse backwards at any moment, it makes you grateful for Raiden’s hands on your hips, giving you some stability, enough to keep you upright anyways.

You look to Raiden and he smiles at you, “You look beautiful.”

You make a distressed sound at him as your cunt jumps but that just makes him wear an even larger smile, it reaches his eyes.

“You okay?” He asks.

“Mhm… I didn’t think– I didn’t think I could do that,” you slur, shocked at how he’s managed to do that to you.

“No one has ever made you squirt?” He says it so earnestly and it makes you feel shy.

You look away from him, “I hadn’t even cum from anyone else before Lao.”

“And how many times did he make you cum?”

You glare back at him, “Why?”

He smiles politely, “Why else? Want to compare.”

You frown at him, “This is not an analytical essay, we are not comparing and contrasting.”

He continues smiling at you, waiting patiently for the answer he knows you’re going to give him.

And you do, you concede to him and reveal, “Twice.”

You can feel the way he’s proud of himself for not only having you finish three times but also making you squirt. He changes the topic though, not pushing you, “I hope you know; this was not just sex to me.”

“…It wasn’t to me, either,” you look away from him.

You can’t bring yourself to tell him what you had realised earlier, you’re painfully aware of how much you feel for him, of how much you feel for both of them but you aren’t quite ready to have that conversation yet.

His hand guides your face back to look at him, “Hey, it is okay, I told you before, I would wait. If it is you… I can wait.”

You lean forward to hug him and he holds you back, he’ll hold you for as long as you need and you know that. He makes you feel so cared for, you won’t make him wait, even though you know he will, you won’t do that to him because he may be able to wait… but you can’t.

𝜗𝜚

Thank you for reading !!! I hope it was good and silly and that you had fun reading <3 if you have any thoughts, feeling, questions, don't hesitate to reach out !! have a beautiful day/night :3

#mk1 smut #raiden x reader #raiden x reader smut #raiden smut #raiden mk1 smut #raiden mk1 #raiden x you #raiden x you smut

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

Merlin accidentally becomes Legolas/Katniss/Merida… you know the type;

He may be shitty at sword fighting, but Merlin begins to use a traditional bow and arrow and… actually becomes very good at it??

I imagine the first time he does it, it’s a complete fluke.

The five knights, The King, and Merlin are on their way back from yet another (frankly, ridiculous) quest.

They have been, of course, ambushed by a group of bandits, twenty to their six (six plus Merlin, though no one bar Lancelot knows about his magic, so he isn’t counted as a fighter). Though the knights outweigh them in skill, their sheer numbers makes it a… challenging, fight (meaning that they are winning, but far too slowly for their liking, and no one wants to admit it).

Now normally, Merlin hides behind a tree or in a ditch, and performs his spells quietly without being noticed, slowly helping and speeding up the fight. Except this time, the Gang was in the middle of a barren, open field, the bandits had disguised themselves with magic until the moment they attacked, and Merlin was right in the middle of all the action.

Everyone worried for his safety. There was nowhere for him to hide here, so they had to keep an eye on him, lest he get hurt (and Arthur sulked, or kicked off, depending on how badly he was hurt).

With nowhere to hide (and no branches to drop, or roots to trip people with), and one of the knights throwing a glance his way every ten seconds, he couldn’t use his magic.

He was currently on his hands and knees, Leon directly in front of him, Percival to his left, holding off four attackers between them (Merlin would marvel at how impressive that was if he weren’t otherwise preoccupied).

He keeps trying to get to Arthur, crawling between legs and over the groaning, injured bodies of bandits (he made a point to land sharp elbows and harsh knees into the more… sensitive areas), but with everyone moving around so rapidly, and the vicious swinging of swords and axes and maces inches above his head, he kept getting side-tracked and blocked and almost knocked out.

With a frustrated huff, he notices yet another bandit rounding on The King. Said huff turns into a pained gasp when he realises that Arthur hasn’t seen him yet.

The bandit raises his weapon in the air, seconds from bringing it down on Arthur’s back, but Leon is right there, and there are no branches to drop on him, and Arthur still hasn’t noticed!

The noise is too loud, grunts and yells and clashes of metal drowning out any sort of warning yell that Merlin could throw Arthur’s way, and he scrabbles around on the floor desperately; hands raking through sharp grass and over bloodied bodies as he stares in horror at the triumphant smirk on the future-King-killer’s face.

Time seems to slow (no magic, just adrenaline) as Merlin’s hands find purchase on a smooth, curved piece of wood. He picks it up without looking, at first intending to throw whatever it is as hard as he can in the bandits direction, before something (magic, instincts, periphery vision, who knows) tells him to look down.

He obeys, and widens his eyes as he sees the longbow gripped tightly in his right hand, and a stray arrow on the floor next to his left.

Merlin is no expert, only having actually hunted once or twice back home in Ealdor, when he was younger, but that was just enough knowledge for him to know roughly how to notch the arrow and fire. He pulls the two up quickly, a plan formulating in his head:

Step 1) Notch arrow.

Step 2) Close eyes.

Step 3) Magic? Hope?

Step 4) Come up with some sort of lie that explains how he managed to make the shot from sixty yards away, through a crowd.

Thankfully, it would appear that Merlin’s bad luck has given him a rest today; the first three steps go off without a hitch (the fourth will come a little later, when the battle is over), but he doesn’t have time to congratulate himself before he’s thrown into the fray, the bandits now obviously seeing him as some sort of threat.

Arthur finally defeats his own attackers, looking behind him in shock to see his unknown enemy lying on the floor, gurgling up blood and grasping weakly at the arrow through his neck. His head whips to the side, trying to find whoever had made the shot; his bewildered gaze meets Merlin’s for only a second before the servant is dragged to his feet, and promptly punched in the face.

He stumbles back and can just about hear Leon yell something from beside him but he pays it no mind, righting his balance once again and swinging his arm back, before bringing it down harshly on his newest attackers head. The resounding crack echoes over the field as the wood of the longbow splits in two on the bandit’s skull, and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

The fight doesn’t last much longer, each knight taking advantage of their enemies' fatigue, and Merlin using his now broken longbow to whack them in the shins or trip them up when they weren’t paying attention.

He was sad to see it broken, but two of his closest friends literally owned a blacksmith's, and he had easy access to the Castle’s armoury; he could get a hold of another one easily enough, as long as he survived the journey back home.

The battle finally came to a close. Everyone was exhausted, and each of them was sporting more than one hefty bruise, but they were all alive and there were no serious injuries, so they could be grateful for that. After Arthur had counted his men, and generally taken stock of things, he traipsed tiredly over to Merlin, who had abandoned his broken bow in favour of cleaning a still weeping cut on Elyan’s temple.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Merlin.”

The servant ignores him at first, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully wipes the grime away from the wound. It was small, so an infection wouldn’t be too worrying, but it wouldn’t be comfortable and would make the scarring worse, so best to avoid it if at all possible. He hums in satisfaction as he leans back on his heels, Elyan gives him a grateful smile, and Merlin finally throws a glance Arthur’s way, before focusing back on threading the needle in his hands; it would only need two or three stitches, thankfully:

“Hmm. I'm not fond of hunting, but we had to for food back in Ealdor. Except we didn’t have fancy crossbows or hunting dogs, so we had to make do with hand-whittled longbows.”

Arthur nods, frowning slightly:

“Still, if I’d known you were that good, I would’ve demanded you had a bow of your own; that way us lot wouldn’t have to spend so much time making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Merlin smirked and quirked an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from Elyan’s stitches, whispering an apology at the man’s wince before he speaks slowly, concentrating:

“Careful Sire, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Elyan snorts out a laugh, but Merlin tuts and lightly slaps his leg disapprovingly, and he stills again. Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff:

“As if. Hurry up, I want to get moving as soon as possible.”

Arthur wasn’t the only one that noticed Merlin’s outstanding shot, and over the course of the next few day’s journey home, he received a multitude of compliments from the other knights.

Including an hour long excited infodump about the history and use of longbows from Leon, which Merlin eagerly hung onto every word of, a fond smile on his face (Leon was a noble, and had it practically beaten into him to not ramble, so Merlin always did his best not to discourage the man. That, and the fact that it was actually very interesting, and useful, if he were to keep up this charade that he was an expert marksman).

When Merlin finally had a moment alone with Lancelot, a few days after they had gotten back, he burst:

“Please please tell me you know how to use a longbow??”

Lancelot raises his eyebrow from where he was sat on the bed in Merlin’s room. Merlin was staring at him with unconcealed desperation, and the knight chuckled as he answered:

“Why? It’s not like you need any more training, that was a cracking shot.”

Merlin huffed loudly, running his hands through his hair as he looked back at the knight:

“I used magic!! I closed my eyes so no one would see and I guided the arrow with magic! Now everyone thinks I’m some master marksman! This is bad. What if next time I can’t use magic, or what if someone notices that I have my eyes closed when I fire?”

Lancelot clamps a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to stop himself from giggling, but he gives up quickly, bursting into laughter at the younger man’s panic. Said younger man fumes, sputtering as he picks up one of the knight’s discarded boots and throws it at him:

“It’s not funny, Lance! I’m being serious, this is an actual issue!”

Lancelot calms himself, rubbing the mirth from his eyes as he takes a deep breath:

“Ok ok, sorry. Yes, I can teach you to use a longbow properly. Have you ever actually used one before, or was the hunting thing a cover?”

The red fades from Merlin’s face slightly as he realises the other man is intending to help him, his panic lessening:

“Sort of. Yeah, I went hunting with a bow a couple times, but not enough to be that good at it.”

Lancelot sighs fondly and nods his head:

“Well, that’s a start at least. Come on, I’ve not got patrol until after dinner, and Arthur thinks you’re busy helping Gaius, so we’ve got a few hours.”

So I imagine that’s how it goes for a while.

After their last big adventure, Arthur was reluctant to head out as a group again, wanting to give everyone time to recuperate and get back into the swing of things.

Merlin’s skills with a bow were bought up constantly by everyone, news had even reached Gwen (who gave him a proud smile and a cute little dance to congratulate him) and Gaius (who raised an eyebrow, and had much better skill than Lancelot at holding in his laughter).

Gwaine, Elyan, and even Percival were desperate to set up targets and watch him shoot shit (their words), Leon wanted to talk about the specifics of technique and crafting, and Arthur... well. Arthur sounded like he was taking the piss, but there was something else in his tone that Merlin couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Affection? Pride?

Probably not, probably jealousy and annoyance that Merlin is so effortlessly good at something that Arthur himself was average at at best.

Merlin manages to avoid it for a while, showing his “skills” off, but he and Lancelot are running out of excuses, and Arthur is starting to accuse him of being a fake who got lucky. Normally, things like that didn’t bother Merlin, and technically Arthur wasn’t wrong... he had got lucky, and cheated with magic, but that wasn’t the point. It was nice for Merlin, to be good at something, really good.

He was good at plenty of other things. Magic for starters, though not even Lancelot knew the full extent of his power in that area. But he cooked well (shown by the fact that the knights always scoffed the lot), he was a good physician (shown by the fact that the knights trusted him just as much as Gaius when it came to treating injuries and sickness), and he was a BRILLIANT servant, if he did say so himself.

But he never got any actual praise for that. Merlin hated to think badly of the knights, his friends, but they only complained when Merlin wasn’t there, never praised him when he was. Well, apart from Lancelot. And that had just started a bunch of rumours that they were... uh... boinking.

(False. Anyone with more than two braincells could see that Sir Lancelot was head over heals in love with the newly-promoted Housekeeper, Guinevere, and that The King’s Manservant had an affinity for certain a blond prat-King.)

ANYWAY

It was nice for Merlin to have a skill that others thought worth complimenting, and with Lancelot monitoring his practice sessions, correcting any mistakes and offering congratulations whenever he did well, he hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he no longer had to come up with excuses.

Luckily, Merlin picked it up very quickly.

Despite being clumsy by nature (though Lancelot is starting to suspect more and more that it’s all for show), the dark haired servant can consistently hit bullseyes from fifty yards within a month. The further away from the target he got, the less astounding his aim was, but that was to be expected, and another month later he could successfully hit a moving target from seventy feet.

A training session, around three months after he started properly practicing, he finally “gave in” to Gwaine’s begging. Lancelot helped him set up a bunch of targets, and fetched a bag of apples to throw.

Merlin put on quite the show, grinning at the uproarious applause he got from the knights when he hit every single bullseye, and every single thrown target. Thankfully the knowing, proud smiles between the servant and Sir Lancelot went unnoticed, and even Arthur gave him a clap on the back and an impressed nod.

The first time Merlin met the knights in the courtyard to find Leon holding a longbow and quiver of arrows out to him, he panicked slightly, but one reassuring smile from Lancelot boosted his confidence, and he took them with a quiet thank you.

(After the fifth time, Arthur huffed, and told him to just keep them. He was the only one that regularly signed them out of the armoury anyway, so it would just be easier if he just took possession of them.)

It settled everyone’s stomachs, knowing that not only did the group have a master marksmen, hiding in the trees and taking out enemies that they didn’t see coming, but that Merlin personally now had more than his frankly horrifying (or... horrifying as far as they were concerned) stealth skills to keep him safe.

And that (a master marksmen in the trees) is exactly what happened.

In the early days, it involved a lot of bruises; Merlin could fire well, but firing and balancing at the same time? Took some getting used to, and involved a lot of falling out of trees at inopportune times.

The knights, Gwaine and Arthur especially, laughed endlessly at that, but quickly stopped after a particularly tired and irate and bruised Merlin fired an arrow so close by Gwaine’s crotch, that it stuck his trousers fast into the tree just behind him.

At first, it was meant to be just as back-up; Merlin was no knight. He still refused to wear armour, and Arthur didn’t want his manservant to make himself a target... at least that was his excuse.

Really, it was because (as far as Arthur was aware) Merlin had never deliberately killed before. Even now, years into his Kingship, and even longer into his knighthood, Arthur hated killing; it made him sick, and took a lot of practice at compartmentalization before it no longer bothered him as much.

Merlin was his manservant, his (best) friend, the love of his life (secretly). He was not a warrior, he was not meant to kill, he was meant to be protected from that.

But alas, Merlin did not get the memo, and the first patrol he went on with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, he killed at least five bandits.

After the fight, it was Leon who approached him first, a concerned look on his face despite Merlin’s nonchalant expression as he checked over the string for wear and tear:

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin? You got a few good shots in there, you’re not feeling sick?”

Merlin looked up at the hand on his shoulder and the soft words, a confused look on his face:

“Why would being good make me feel sick?”

Leon tilts his head in sympathy, which just makes Merlin even more confused:

“The man you killed the other month was spur of the moment, protecting your King. But you... you killed a fair few men today, Merlin. I know that can be incredibly difficult at first, I just wanted to check in.”

The others had finally walked over to join them; Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and Arthur looking equally concerned, whilst Lancelot hid his proud smile. Merlin just raised an eyebrow at them:

“You seem to be under the impression that I’ve never killed anyone before?”

Everyone (bar Lancelot) looks taken aback at that, and Arthur frowns whilst Leon drops his hand in shock. The King speaks slowly:

“Merlin, are you telling us you’ve killed people before?”

The manservant clenches his jaw at that and looks back down at his bow, resuming his checking of the string and its knots. He speaks lowly, and the knights can tell it’s not a topic he’s fond of:

“Hmm. It’s a tough world, Sire. I’ve done what I had to, to keep myself and the people I care about safe.”

At his dark reply, conversation stopped, and didn’t resume for the rest of the day as everyone contemplated Merlin’s words.

That is, until he was the first one to successfully catch dinner later that evening. At which he got an incredulous look from Arthur when he made it back to camp with his half of the patrol:

“I thought you despised hunting??”

Merlin didn’t look up from the hares he was skinning, and the rest of the knights tuned in, curious:

“No. I hate hunting for sport; it shows hubris and cruelty. Hunting for food is not only necessary and natural, but humbling, if you do it right and honour every part of the creature.”

Arthur, ever the eloquent one, stared at him blankly, and said, rather dumbly:

“...What?”

Merlin huffed, finally looking up:

“Going after helpless animals on horseback with crossbows and hunting dogs is like giving yourself a huge pat on the back for winning a tournament against an unarmoured, unarmed, unconscious opponent, and then calling yourself strong and brave for daring to fight in the first place. It’s an egotistical act of violence for no other reason than cruelty for the sake of cruelty.-”

The knights looks on him with shock, Percival and Leon at least having the decency to look a little ashamed. Merlin looks back down to the hares, and everyone notices the careful way he cuts at the fur:

“I’ve taken these lives to feed us as a necessity. The meat will be eaten, but that isn’t all. I’ll take the bones home for Gaius, the marrow is useful in a lot of medicine. The fur can be repurposed for winter gloves or socks. The organs and other bits that we won’t eat: I’ll take for the pigs in the farms, or the dogs up at the castle. In using every part of them we are... honouring them, in a way. As a thank-you for their... sacrifice.”

Arthur looks a little dumbfounded. As royalty, he of course had never really considered the waste that comes about with hunting, but Merlin, a farm-boy from a rural village who barely scraped by every winter? Of course he saw a deeper meaning in hunting. He would have to.

Elyan is the first to break the silence:

“You almost sound religious, Merlin.”

Merlin looks up at him, a strained smile on his face. As magic incarnate, he has a particularly strong, temperamental relationship with nature and her creatures, a bond that some might call faith. To be wasteful or cruel in any way hurts him in more ways than one:

“Not really, I just have respect for nature, is all.”

No one mentions the thinly-veiled insult, but everyone creeps closer, wanting to see the way he disassembles the creatures for future reference.

It’s been eight months since that first, perfect shot.

Merlin’s skills with a longbow had become a normal, expected part of The Gang’s experiences, but the knights never stopped praising and thanking him when he saved their lives (something that Merlin still hadn’t quite gotten used), and The King had apparently not stopped thinking about it for barely more than a second.

Yule was approaching quickly: Merlin, Gwen, and the Steward being constantly busy with preparations in the castle, the knights being run off their feet escorting emergency aid to the border villages for the harsh winter, and Arthur himself having every minute of the day taken up with speech writing, invite sending, and his other general King-during-Yule duties.

That however, was all to be expected, and of course did nothing to keep Arthur and Merlin from their annual traditions.

It wasn’t official, it wasn’t even spoken of, but the last evening of Yule, the night before the new year, the two of them always spent together.

The last feast of the year would finish, Arthur would stay to see his guests off, thank the staff for all of their hard work, and finally retire to his chambers, his tired manservant barely a hair’s breadth behind him. They would sit in front of the lit hearth (in comfy chairs that only they used), work their way through a jug or two of wine, exchange small gifts, and fall asleep in front of the fire. Their hands, dangling over the side of their chairs, seem to be creeping closer and closer with each passing year; though have yet to become entangled by morning.

This year was somehow no different, and very different, at the same time.

The King and his Manservant settled in their chairs, tired and already a little more than tipsy from the wine drunk during the feast. Arthur looked up at Merlin, the fond smile dropping from his face when he sees the other man’s features pulled into a contemplative frown:

“What’s on your mind, Merls? I don’t think I’ve seen you this serious since the start of the celebrations.”

Merlin looked up at him suddenly, his eyes wide, but he smiles and shakes his head:

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking is all.”

Normally, Arthur would raise an eyebrow and let a scathing tease on the state of Merlin’s intelligence fall from his lips, but not tonight. This is the only night of the year that The King allows himself to entertain the idea that perhaps he and Merlin were more than friends, or at least could be. So instead he resumes his smiling, and looks back to the fire, taking another sip of his wine before responding softly:

“What about?”

Merlin hums, copying Arthur’s wine-sipping, before taking a deep breath:

“The future, mostly. You, me, Camelot. Secrets and truths, and when one might turn into the other. Soon, I think... yeah. Soon.”

Arthur huffs slightly in amusement. He knows that Merlin hides a great deal of himself, but he always becomes more cryptic after a few glasses of wine, like he desperately wants to say something and doesn’t have the power to stop himself from hinting at whatever it may be.

He asks his next question good-naturedly, a smile sweetened by wine gracing his face:

“The hell does that mean?”

Merlin lets out a short laugh, looking up at the other man:

“Oh, you know. Thinking about spilling all my deepest darkest secrets to you, at some point soon.”

Arthur snorts, saying, only for the sake of keeping up the charade they’ve built:

“You don’t have any secrets, Merlin. Certainly not any that are deep or dark.”

Once, Arthur would have believed that. Then, when he stopped believing it, he was angry about it, and now? Now, he finds he doesn’t mind so much. He is confident, he has faith, in both himself and in Merlin. He knows that those secrets are there, and Merlin knows that he knows, but that’s ok. Nothing either of them could reveal would tear them apart, at least not for long, so Arthur was happy to wait until Merlin was happy to share.

Merlin chuckled at Arthur’s response, shaking his head slightly before reaching down and picking up a small wrapped parcel that he’d stowed away before the feast:

“Come on, I’m a little nervous about your gift this year, so let’s get it over and done with.”

Arthur nodded, accepting the change in subject, and set his wine down so he could pick up the (much bigger) parcel by his own chair.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. After the first gift-exchange happened, Merlin had put his foot down and made Arthur swear to not go overboard on the expense side of things. Arthur may have been a prince, and now a King, but Merlin was still just a servant/physician; he could hardly afford anything worthy of a King.

He had a feeling that Arthur might’ve broken his word this year, but where Arthur had likely gone overboard with expense, Merlin had definitely gone overboard with sentimentality.

They swapped parcels, Merlin placing the large, heavy box carefully at his feet as he gestured Arthur to open his first. Arthur got to it, tearing the paper off without a second of hesitation, and Merlin allowed himself to smile fondly at the child-like excitement on the blonde’s face.

Arthur’s brow creased as he dropped the paper to the floor, stroking soft fingers over the worn leather of an old, well-loved book. Merlin took deep, fortifying breaths as Arthur carefully opened the first few pages, butterflies in his stomach as Arthur’s eyes wandered the yellowed paper in curiosity.

The King looked up at him, amused confusion on his face as he asked:

“Is this yours? I didn’t know you could draw, Merlin.”

Merlin gulped, and shook his head as memories of the exquisite sketches filled his mind; detail-perfect renditions of the castle, the town square, waterfalls and knights in action and people that Merlin didn’t recognise (for the most part. Arthur evidently hadn’t gotten to any of the pages with young Uther on them).

“No, not mine. This one requires a little explanation-”

Arthur nodded, carefully closing the book and holding it protectively in his lap as he gave Merlin his undivided attention:

“-I mentioned off-handedly to Leon a few months ago that I thought the lack of... of paintings of the late Queen in the castle was odd.-”

Arthur gulped at the mention of his mother, but nodded with a small smile when Merlin paused:

“-He said that when she passed, The King had everything to do with her moved to the vaults. He couldn’t force himself to destroy any of it, but looking at it, day in and day out, was too painful. We found the keys, with the help of Geoffrey, and went down to have a look, see what we could find. We didn’t tell you about it because we didn’t want to disappoint you, in case we couldn’t find anything.-”

Merlin once again looked a little nervous at this, and reached a hand out towards Arthur. When the man didn’t flinch away (if anything, he leaned into it), he moved to grip his shoulder blade, running his thumb over the exposed skin at the base of The King’s neck.

“-We found... a lot. Old clothes and paintings mainly, some jewellery. But then I found that;-”

He nodded at the book in Arthur’s lap, and tightened his grip on his shoulder. Merlin spoke his next words so quietly that Arthur almost doesn’t hear him, a soft smile on his face:

“-your mother was quite the artist, Arthur. I knew you had to have it.”

Arthur gasped softly, his eyes widening as he looked down at the book:

“You... you think my mother drew these?”

Merlin smiled at him, moving his hand to squeeze Arthur’s wrist slightly, before dropping it entirely:

“Check the back page.”

Arthur took a deep breath before doing what Merlin said, handling the book with even more care than he had before now that he knows who it belonged to. He turned to the very last page, to see an inscription written in beautiful cursive. Merlin recited it aloud, having memorised the words weeks ago:

“My dearest son, my silly sketches are able to hold only a fraction of our Kingdom’s beauty. I know one day that you will see what I see, treasure it just as much, and make it your own. You have my support, forever and always, your loving Mother.”

Arthur bites his lip harshly, lifting the book to press his forehead against the words as he shuts his eyes tightly, though that does nothing to stop the tears. Merlin replaces his hand on The King’s shoulder as the man shakes. He sniffles slightly, putting the book back in his lap, though keeping his hands wrapped around it securely, as he looks to Merlin:

“Merlin, I... I don’t even know what to say. This is... amazing. I... Thank you.”

Merlin smiles, shaking his head slightly:

“Technically, it wasn’t even mine to give, it’s always been yours. But I thought it might make a nice surprise. There’s plenty of other stuff down there, I’ll show you in the morning.”

Arthur nods his head, wiping his tears as he carefully places the book on his side table and gestures to the box at Merlin’s feet. He was itching to scour through the book, dedicating every single line to memory, but whilst Merlin had been nervous about Arthur’s gift, Arthur was buzzing about Merlin’s, and he was desperate to see the man’s reaction.

Merlin huffs out a laugh, but picks the box up, noting once again how heavy it is. He sets about removing the paper, much calmer and more methodical than Arthur had been, with his face pinched in concentration.

He frowns in curiosity as he sets eyes on the wooden box. It had a hinged lid, and a logo that he’s certain he recognises burned like a brand into the corner. He can feel Arthur bouncing in his chair slightly, and looks up at him in amusement, laughing once again when he nods excitedly back down at the box.

He lifts the lid, and takes in a shocked breath.

Inside was a beautifully crafted long bow; the wood smooth and varnished and carved, and a leather quiver. The patterns embossed in the leather and carved in to the metal at the base, match those carved into the wood of the bow, and Merlin traces soft fingers over the intricate swirls, stopping with a teary smile at the Pendragon crest, carved just next to a Merlin bird.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding as he looks up at the excited King:

“Arthur this is beautiful. Gods I almost don’t want to touch it, I feel like it should be on display behind glass.”

Arthur lets out a laugh, obviously pleased with Merlin’s reaction:

“Nope. It will be going with you every time you leave the city, and considering how much trouble we always seem to attract, I have no doubt that it will see a lot of use.”

Merlin laughs, closing the lid carefully and setting the box back on the floor, before launching himself bodily at Arthur. The blonde laughs, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle with no hesitation as the other man mutters endless thank-yous in his ear.

The servant finally pulls back, settling in his own chair again, and the two of them hope that the other puts the flush on their face down to the wine, and nothing else. They look to each other with wide grins on their faces, and Arthur breaks the stare first, taking another gulp of his wine before laughing jovially and speaking:

“Well. Here’s to an amazing year, and hopefully an even better one, starting in a few minutes.”

Merlin nods, lifting his own goblet to tap it against Arthur’s:

“Here’s to the past, that guides us-”

He gestures to the book on Arthur’s table:

“-and the future, that calls to us.”

He gestures to his new bow, and they both finish their wine off, a healthy flush to their cheeks and fond smiles on their faces.

They fall asleep in their respective chairs, the same as every year.

In the morning, they wake with pounding headaches, a promise of a golden future, and hands intertwined.

THE END!!

We love a cutesy/hopeful ending😌

Like always lads, you wanna write it out in full, go for it, credit and tag me✌️

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butgilinsky · 4 years

Text

the last five years // rc

warning; language, angst if i’ve ever seen it, mentions sex one time

summary; rafe has to decide if the last five years with you is worth saving.

word count; 3k+

i was listening to if i didn’t believe in you from the musical the last five years and got this idea. so you could say it’s inspired by that song but kind of the whole musical?

“i have to go, y/n!” it was the same argument the two of you had been having for the past year.

rafe had some event he had to go to, according to him, in order to keep up his image at work. it looked good for business if he was always there, drink in his hand and bright smile adorning his lips. you knew it was truly just him wanting to go to these events rather than staying at home with you, or even going out with you, ditching the tie and blazer for one of his long sleeves and soft hair.

you had met rafe in college, and it had honestly been a dream. the last five years of your life seemed to revolve around rafe and your relationship with him, and you liked it like that. for four years you had never had a doubt in your mind that you wanted all of rafe, all the time.

you were fairly young when the tall, broad shouldered boy caught your eye. you had been going shot for shot with one of his fraternity brothers for the past twenty minutes, failing to suppress your drunken giggles for the past ten.

his friend, admittedly, had no idea about your unusually high tolerance for the amber liquid he’d been pouring out for the both of you. he had no idea that you had three older brothers that had thrown house parties every time your parents went away for the weekend, which was a lot more often than most teenagers experienced.

you had started drinking regularly with your brothers at an all too young age, finding it funnier now than you did back then. though the boys that protected you at all costs hadn’t peer pressured you into anything, you had made it your life mission to be able to hang with the older crowd that was almost always at your home.

this did, however, set you up for college quite comfortably. you were never the sloppy one at a tailgate, and you’d never be the one that couldn’t walk home with her friends, no matter the mileage you had to endure.

rafe had been astonished by the sight of you downing three shots back to back without making a single grimace. you had opened your throat, barely tasting the slight sting as the liquid flowed expertly. you didn’t need a chaser, and even let out a small smirk when the boy across the table from you coughed for someone to hand him anything to wash down the whiskey.

“holy shit, y/n!”

y/n. the name echoed in rafe’s mind as he watched the scene in front of him. most people in the house were watching, gathered around the half assed decorated table in the middle of the room. you had a smile spread across your face when your friend, who rafe didn’t know the name of, dropped his hands down on your shoulders and cheered along with your other supporters.

“y/n has three older brothers, dumbass.” your friend, who rafe had seen a few times (he remembered one of his brothers talking to her at a party a few weeks prior), kissed your cheek drunkenly, which made your laugh fill the air around you.

rafe was smitten before he even had a chance to introduce himself. though, you didn’t need an introduction. you knew the name, knew the face. you had looked over him a few times before, having been in his house a few times for the parties that were the solution to parties being forbidden in greek village.

you hadn’t paid much attention to the boy until that night, locking eyes with him more than once. the last time you’d caught his eye without either of you making a move towards one another, still a few yards apart from one another, was when you winked at him from across the room before downing your sixth shot of the night.

he had never felt his heart beat so fast in his entire life.

the rest was history. rafe had never let you spend another party without slinging an arm around your shoulder for the majority of it. you’d never spent another night after a long, excruciating day by yourself. you were almost always with one another, and it seemed easy for the longest time.

you had spent the first year and half of your relationship in college, both graduating together and finding your somewhat dream jobs in the same area. you’d gotten married young, and though none of your friends had been surprised, your family made no attempt to hide their hesitation.

you knew about rafe’s home life. you didn’t spend much time on the island that rafe had grown up on, much to rafe’s satisfaction. you knew his family well enough, spending a few brunches and quick lunch hours with sarah after you two had grown heavily acquainted with one another.

ward grew a liking to you, giving rafe proud smiles more often than he ever had before rafe had set off for college. you’d brought a sense of pride back to the forefront of his father’s mind, and for that, he’d be forever in debt to you.

however, your seemingly picture perfect life didn’t stop the problems from developing. you had done everything you could think of to keep the bright spark between the two of you, but nothing seemed to be playing out in your favor. not after rafe’s company had completed a large merger that had been a turning point in rafe’s career.

he was thriving, setting plans in stone that would snowball rafe into inevitable success. his large role in the merger had granted him a hefty raise, as well as a guaranteed spot in the company for many years to come. though this was a bright light in both of your lives, it required things from rafe that he had never expected to have to endure.

he wasn’t home much. whether it was travelling on business trips across the country (sometimes even out of the country), or black tie events, rafe had been flooded with busy hours. hours that used to be dedicated to you, but no longer were.

while you were happy for rafe in more ways than you could count, it was impossible to ignore the growing tension between the two of you. you hadn’t seen him for more than an hour after he’d arrive back at your shared home, usually opting for a shower before crawling into bed.

to say it was weighing heavily on you would be an understatement.

you’d tried to fix it before it got too far out of reach, trying to set up dates or nights in for the two of you to stay up to date with one another. that quickly failed, due to rafe’s required overtime, or intense need for sleep once he got back to the house.

you had snowballed into a routine. you’d go longer than you’d like without seeing rafe, and while it weighed heavily on you, he had enough of a distraction to not pay much mind to it. and to top it all off, whenever you’d bring up these feelings, rafe would jump to his own defense, claiming that his career needed to be his number one priority.

“you don’t need to go, rafe. you want to go.” your tone was harsh, but your heart was heavy. you’d felt your husband slipping through your fingers for longer than you’d ever wanted to before, and you were out of solutions.

“sure, y/n. i want to go, let’s call it that. even if that was the case, it should be enough for you to understand that this means a lot to me. the fact that you can’t see that is a problem within itself.” your eyes focused on the tie he had been tying for the past ten minutes, getting repeatedly frustrated enough to make a wrong knot, or flip the piece of fabric over in the wrong direction.

you stepped forward, closing teh gap between the two of you and reaching up to fix the knot he’d made. your fingers worked slowly, enough for you o notice the slight tremble in them as you worked the thin piece of silk around his neck.

“i know it’s important to you. i just wish i was that important to you.” your voice was soft, exhaustion and defeat evident in your tone.

it wasn’t the rafe didn’t notice that, because he did. despite beginning to slip away from you, he knew you better than anyone else ever had. he knew you better than you knew yourself at times, and barely anything ever slipped by him. he was the most observant person you’d ever met, and it worked to his advantage more than not.

“you are important to me. you’re the most important thing to me, y/n, but i can’t put my career on pause to eat chinese food with you while we watch a movie we’ve seen a hundred times already.” you chewed on the inside of your cheek, letting your head fall into a slow nod while you smoothed the lapels on his jacket.

“i’m not the most important think in your life, rafe. i haven’t been for a while, now.” you whispered softly, leaning up to kiss his cheek softly before making a turn towards the stairs leading up to your bedroom.

“y/n, you don’t actually believe that.” he called after you, watching you pause in stride, sleep shorts riding up your thighs with every step enough to expose more of your legs than he’d seen in weeks.

your shoulders had fallen, head falling. forward slightly as you let out a sigh through your nose. you turned over your shoulder as you reached out towards the railing up the side of the staircase.

“if you don’t believe that, rafe, then we’re living in completely different worlds.” rafe shook his head, trying to ignore the worry filling his chest at the sight of you walking away from him to end your night before his even began.

“baby, just come with me. i’ll stay by your side all night. a few conversations and maybe a couple glasses of champagne and we’ll come back home.” you shook your head, knowing that that had been nothing but an empty promise.

“that’s not going to happen, rafe. we’re going to show up and you’ll be swept away from me before we can ever say hello to somebody. i’ll be whisked away by other wives and drink wine i don’t even like for hours before i see you again. nothing about this stupid event is different than the last ten we’ve been to.” rafe ran a hand over his face, frustration building back up quickly.

“you know, i can’t slow down my career just to be in line with yours.” there it is. his go to defense mechanism.

“i’ve never once asked you to slow down for me. all i ask is that you pay me more than one glance a week. more than one shared affirmation or kiss for days on end. i don’t even remember the last time we had sex, rafe. the last time you kissed me or even hugged me for fuck’s sake.”

rafe stood there, tongue between his teeth as he tried to filter his thoughts. he didn’t remember, either, if he was being honest. he was exhausted by the time he got home, that he hadn’t even thought about any of those things.

it was a lazy kiss to the forehead after a shower, before he’d roll over and fall into an easy sleep. a sleep that you couldn’t fall into with him. it was a quick ‘hi’ while you stood at the stove, making something he barely had an appetite for as he slipped into your shared room before changing out of his suit before you could even return the greeting.

it was the lack of eye contact, or the smiles that were no longer shared between the two of you. it was the fact that the pictures on the wall and the heavy stone on your finger were the only reminders that you were even married to this man. the thought of being the same couple you had been just two years prior so distant that you thought you had dreamt the first three years of your relationship.

the fourth year had been the transition year to where you had been now. it wasn’t the same high you’d felt back in college, or the first year you’d been married. it wasn’t the same, but it was good enough. the last year, however, had been the recipe for disaster.

the last twelve months had been your worst nightmare coming to life just before your eyes. you were lost without rafe, truly. you didn’t know what you would do the day that one of you moved out, taking every sign of your relationship with you. the day was bound to come at some point, you were just waiting to see who would be the one that made the move to end this cycle for good.

you were trying to wait it out, trying to see if he had the guts to pack up and leave. you knew you were a security blanket that rafe would deny having. you brought him a sense of warmth and comfort that he wasn’t sure he’d ever find again. he knew you’d love him endlessly for the rest of your days, even if the two of you split one day down the line.

he knew that no matter what, he’d come home to a house with the porch light on, along with, at the very least, the stove light turned on so he could navigate the house. there’d be whatever food you’d made and hadn’t eaten yourself sitting in the fridge, plastic wrap over the top of the dish so it was still good by the time rafe got home.

he knew that you would always set the coffee pot with everything it needed to brew at 5 in the morning, long before you’d wake on your own. rafe knew you’d always be here, and he took it for granted.

you knew you couldn’t bring yourself to do it on your own. you didn’t have the stomach to pack your things while rafe was at work. you didn’t have the heart to call one of your brothers or parents, asking for help to move your things out of the home you’d bought not that long ago.

your lives were too entangled together, creating enough ties that you worried about breaking. you were stuck in this life, and you were scared you’d never fall out of it.

“i’ve never asked you to do that, rafe, and i never will. your career took off far faster than either one of us expected it to, and there’s not another person on this planet that’s happier for you than i am. i love with you my entire being, even if you don’t feel that way anymore.”

he stepped forward then, walking over to stand in front of you, closer to your height now that you stood on the first step while he was level with the ground of the first story of your house. his hands found your waist, a solemn look on his face before he laid his head in the crook of your neck.

he pressed a soft kiss to your neck, sighing out and staying still for a moment to soak in the almost unfamiliar feeling. your hand easily threaded into the hair on his head, fingers scratching gently at his scalp while he moved to wrap his arms around you.

“i love you. i’m sorry you’ve ever had to doubt that.” he pulled his head back, titling it enough to press his lips evenly against yours, reigniting the fire inside of you that you thought might have been gone forever. “i love you more than i��ve loved anything in my entire life.”

you’d be a fool to fall back into line with him. to ignore the past year as if it had never happened, and to move on without a second thought was a rookie move that you convinced yourself you’d never fall for.

fortunately for rafe cameron, you were a fool for him. you loved the man so deeply and so absentmindedly that falling back into his embrace and convincing yourself there was still possibilities untouched was easier than breathing for you.

“i can’t stay in this place forever, rafe. i’m suffocating and if i don’t get to breathe soon, i’m going to fall over the edge.” he nodded slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as he tried to let himself bask in your confession. you weren’t going to stick around forever if nothing changed.

“i’m going to do better.”

and though you weren’t sure you believed him, your desire for the simple words to come true was enough for you to sleep that night. it was enough to keep you hoping for weeks to come.

you’d keep leaving the light on for rafe, even when you fell asleep on the couch accidentally, laptop still open on your lap and a half full cup of coffee sitting on the coffee table.

except this time, rafe would come home and grab the cup, pouring the brown liquid down the sink and moving your laptop to the table before shutting it closed. he’d throw his jacket onto the back of one of the chairs tucked under the dining room table before looping an arm around your back and another underneath your knees.

you’d wrap and arm around his neck in your sleep, nuzzling your head into his neck instinctively, though it was enough to bring a soft smile to rafe’s lips as he walked you up the stairs and into your bedroom.

rafe cameron was going to get it together for you, because the last five years was too important to him to leave it all in his rear view mirror.

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe #obx #the obx #the outer banks #outer banks netflix #outer banks #drew starkey #rafe angst

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mrs-hollandstan · 5 years

Text

Filthy Rich || Rich Kid! Tom Holland

Warnings: There’s a lot. Smut, oral (brief, male receiving), rich kid Tom, talk of past sex stuff, rich people tings, language, mention of alcohol, HEFTY prices on things, talk of sex toys and their use.

Word Count: 5,297

Author’s Note: So this is the rich kid!Tom thing I talked about. I have an idea for the little piece at the end that Tom mentions but I’m very open to suggestions on what you guys would want to see if I do write a part two so let me know! And enjoy! (Italics is a flashback.)

My Masterlist || Read Inheritance (part two) || Add yourself to one of my taglists

"Hey you, come here often?" You giggled as Tom bound his arms around your waist. Clicking your tongue, you swat at his hands placed at your hips, "What are you doing? I thought you were with your little golf friends at table six." "Oh stalking me now, are ya?" You giggle again, "Definitely not. I served you guys water not too long ago. Back then, you were talkin about... whatever... that was." He chuckled, "Do you ever pay attention to me?" Turning with a full tray, you smile, "To answer your question, yes, I do come her often. I work here dummy." He tsks,

"Tryin to leave me already?" Glancing over your shoulder, you shake your head, "Like I said, I work here. I gotta get back to it. I can't have any distractions." Tom watches you walk away, licking his lips as he eyes you up and down like he always does when you're any measurable distance away. He looks dashing in his crisp, white button up and black polyester slacks, hemmed at the bottom. He tucked his hands in his pockets, trudging forward after you, a smile set wide on his face at the polite gesture of you offering water to some of the other boys in his golf club. That shy smile you gave, he'd seen beyond. He almost felt dirty for thinking about it. The way you laugh and focus your attention on him. The way you wear his shirts even though he's offered to buy you the finest, most expensive pajama sets in New York. He remembered that first time you kisses him and the way it made his heart leap out of his chest. And how that night, you cried out his name like a mantra for the first time. "Gosh, we really shouldn't be here. I feel guilty just standing here." Tom had chuckled at the way your cheeks were rosey in embarrassment. All the other women in lavish boutique looked as though they belonged to millionaires and the purses they carried, watches they sported, clothes they wore, added to the effect. Tom just scoffed and took your wrist, "Oh come on, you said you'd do this for me. I wanna see you try some of this stuff on. My mum used to bring me and my brothers round these shops all the time to look for party dresses. I used to envision doing the same with a girlfriend of my own. Now I..." He'd gotten embarrassed himself at the idea of calling you his girlfriend. He didn't know what to call you at the time but he knew that with how beautiful you were, always, he didn't want to stick to the friendzone. You just followed him in silence until he stopped in front of a rack of brightly colored garments, all of them with a blazing yellow price tag sporting a number that heavily exceeded three month's worth of rent. Tom could read you when you turned, mouth agape to elucidate the regret and uncertainty in your body. He held a hand up, "Don't... darling don't. Have fun with this. I'm not saying that every dress you like I'll buy you. I just want to see you in... rich people clothes." He shuddered as the words left his mouth, his nose crinkling in distaste. He hadn't really thought of him as a spoiled little rich kid until you'd popped off, thinking you'd proved a point. He'd felt bad though and he stopped brandishing thick stacks of cash in an attempt to stifle your indications. His savings sat in his bank, collecting dust for a few months as he and you spent your time at coffee shops and cheap restaurants, wasting weekends studying or sitting on your broken down couch in old, torn shirts and sweats, mouths full of pizza while you watched a comedy special or movie on either his Hulu or Netflix account you'd fought him tooth and nail not to log into on your laptop. He of course won and to this day, you still used them. You rolled your eyes and your shoulders slumped, but you turned and scowered the expensive pieces hanging on the racks. Sitting on a large, white, leather couch, Tom kicked a foot up on it, holding it in place behind his knee, his arm laid over the back of it. He eyed you, watching you shyly thumb through the hangered clothes as if you'd rip them. Tom chuckled, "You won't rip it... and even if you did-" "If you even think of saying you'll buy it, I will literally throw myself through a window." Tom chuckled again, watching you slide a dress back from the others on the thick metal pole, cocking your head. Tom rolled his eyes, "Would you like me to pick stuff out for you? You seem to not know what you like." He piped up snarkily. You sighed, your eyes closing before he steps up behind you, his shoulder pressed against your own as he eyes the expensive navy blue, velvet dress you'd chose out of all the others. He nods, "I like it." You scoff, tucking hair behind both ears, "Not for that price." He rolls his eyes as you mumble, pulling the thick wooden hanger off the rack and sorting through some other dresses. He hums satisfactorily at a blush dress with a low front and back, the bottom made of tulle that came off the silk top in waves. He shrugged and pulled it from the rack, moving through the other ones. He found a number of dresses he liked before he turned to you, "Alright... ready to be my little model? Be the little spoiled rich kid's own, personal fashionista." Rolling your eyes, your feet carry you after him with the insistent hold on your wrist. Pulling you into a large, all white dressing room with a couch and a pedestal centering the room surrounded by a circle of mirrors, Tom sighed, "This is one of those places you have to ASK for the champagne." Rubbing a hand over his face, he shakes his head and hangs the dresses on a hook. Sighing, he turns and cocks his head, "You can try the one you were interested in first. You really seemed to like it." "They're all beautiful Tom. They are... I just... with those price tags... those price tags all alone are worth more than my entire life." Tom's face broke out in a cocky smirk, "Probably twice or three times over darling." He stares for a moment, finding an unamused look written on your lips and in your eyes. He clicks his tongue, taking a step forward, "I'm kidding and you know that. Love... money doesn't constitute you. You're worth more than this. Quit acting like if you drop a pen in one of these quaint little shops, you'll have to pay a hundred thousand dollars. Fuck these people. You could go on without me and be worth more than I could ever think of being." Pulling the navy dress from its hanger, he holds it up, specks of gold catching the light. You sigh, watching the dress glisten before stepping forward. Nodding, he gives a reassuring smile, eyeing you as you take the dress, "Want me to turn my back?" You swallow back your nerves and shake your head, setting the dress on the pedestal before stripping of your shirt and jeans, while Tom flops on the fainting couch, propped up on an elbow, his phone in his nimble fingers. His jaw clenches and his eyebrows furrow as he scrolls through his notifications for just a moment as you neatly fold your clothes, setting them on the pedestal and picking the dress back up. Sliding it up your legs gently, Tom only glances up when the thin straps are pulled up over your shoulders. "Now," he stands again, strutting over and buttoning the dress's three buttons, "normally this," he flicks the strap of your bra against your skin, "wouldn't be worn." When you meet his eyes in the mirror, they're dangerously playful. He raises an eyebrow, "Get the hint?" After a few seconds more, you nod and he watches you reach behind your back and unclasp your bra, sliding it off your shoulders and tossing it on the pile of clothes. He gives a sigh, placing his hands at your arms, "See? It looks better." You nod, watching Tom's fingers brush your hair aside, looking you over in the mirror. He cocks his head, "You're stunning. I can see you at gala's sipping champagne with the most expensive dresses with your nails and your hair and your makeup done. The prettiest little thing on my arm." Leaning in, his lips pressing the gentlest kiss to your neck. A kiss that breaks the skin out in goosebumps and has you tilting your neck. Looking up again, his hands drift to your hips, being hugged by the navy material, "And I suppose it's you that wants to pay for it?" You speak quietly. He shrugs, "If you'd like me to. I could." "That's your dream, not mine. You see that. I... I don't." When you look down at your hands, he hums, "Why? Because you think you're being self righteous?" Your head snaps up, "Because I have self awareness. I have boundaries. I wasn't RAISED a spoiled brat. I don't like the idea of transforming into one to conform to your twisted ways Holland." The corners of his lips twitch up into a half attempted smile, "Is that so?" You give one curt nod, before you glance down at his fingers, "Unbutton me." He smiles fully before giving a gentle nudge to your shoulders, towards the mirror, "Look at yourself first. Tell me you don't look good. Tell me you don't like the way you look... the way you feel." Peering over your shoulder at him, you humor him, taking a few step forward to stand before the row of mirrors, looking yourself over in each of them now that the bar lights above them are basking you in an annoying, but flattering glow. He tucks his hands in his pockets, watching you smooth the dress over your stomach and hips, "Beautiful aren't you?" He purrs, entranced by the way your hair has fallen over your shoulders, making you look like the absolute goddess you are. And for just a moment he sees the idea of being his arm candy glint in your eyes. You nod hesitantly, "Its a sight, I'll give you that." He chuckles, "You could have the world if you were with me." He informs. "Is that what this is?" You turn, eyes locked in his, "This is a curtain call for a girlfriend? You wanna see how I look in your getup so you can either approve me or deny me and move on?" You rationalize. Tom raises his eyebrows, "Is that what it seems? That's not what I intended." Walking towards the row of dresses laid out for you to try on, he pulls the blush pink one from its hanger. Turning to look at you, he holds a hand up and guides you over with a finger. After another second, you walk towards him, eyeing him and turning. He reaches forward and unbuttons the three pearls on the back of the dress. Holding it to your chest, he watches you, cocking an eyebrow, "Shy now?" He smiles, his eyes sparkling in playfulness. Quirking your own eyebrow, you let the dress fall to your feet, his eyes wandering your nearly nude body. He gives a satisfied nod, eyes locked on your full breasts before he holds the blush dress up, "Need help?" Turning to him, you shake your head and take it from him, sliding into it while he resumes his place on the couch again, pursing his lips. You press your hands to your stomach, looking yourself over in the seemingly distant mirrors. You'd liked how you looked in the navy dress, but the way you looked in the blush dress prevailed. "C'mere darling." Tom huffed out, setting his phone on the couch beside him. Spinning on your heels, you walk towards him nonchalantly, playing with your fingers, "You really liked this dress... how do I look?" You say shyly, Tom's stomach flipping at the sudden loss of attitude. He licks his lips, looking you over, "Like... can I be honest with you?" You nod, chewing the inside of your lip. Grabbing your hips, he turns you and pulls you down into his lap, the pool of tulle covering his legs down to his shins. He clears your hair off to the side again, "I've never wanted to fuck anyone more than I do you... right now." "Earth to Thomas." Tom comes back from his zoned out expression with your hand in his face, your lips turned up into a smile. Blinking away the memory of that day, he nods and turns fully to look at you, "Jeez... you were zoned for a long time. What was that all about?" Setting the pitcher of water down beside him, he looks around the both of you, "Are you due for a break yet?" Pursing your lips, he watches you swallow. Taking hold of his arm, you glance at his watch, "I'm due for a half right about now... yeah, why?" Reaching up, he tucks hair behind your ear, much shorter than that day in the boutique, "I really want you darling." He rasps out, goosebumps erupting up over your skin. You lick your lips, "Oh... uhh... yeah, let's... let me go ask Yolanda." He nods, watching you walk off, his eyes locked on your hips and the way they sway naturally. He loves holding onto them when he takes you from behind. Sooner than expected, you return with a swift nod, "While everything's calm right now, she said I can have my half." Tom nods, "'Right, do you have somewhere we can be... alone? Like somewhere private?" Licking your lips, you cock your head, "There's a little bathroom like all the way across the golf course no one really uses." He nods and takes your hand, "Take me there." In a short walk, you've reached a dimly lit bathroom, licking your lips and releasing his hand, "So... what were you daydreaming about in there?" Turning to him, you cross your arms, Tom stepping forward and bending at the knees to run his hand up your thigh under your denim skirt, "That first day... in the boutique... in downtown Manhattan." Watching his hands drift up towards your core, you swallow again, "Oh... yeah?" He nods, licking his lips, his eyes meeting yours, "Take your shirt off for me baby." He croaks, watching you uncross your arms and pull your top off. He groans, leaning in to kiss the mounds of your breasts, barely hidden beneath a lacey red bra, "So fucking gorgeous. God when you took your bra off in that boutique, I could barely function. You're absolutely flawless love." Reaching up, he unbuttons your skirt, letting it pool at your feet. Taking hold of your thighs, he lifts you to sit on the counter, reaching up to unbutton his own shirt. He glances up when you reach behind yourself, and unclasp your bra, tossing it with your clothes on the sink beside you. Tom licks his lips once more, shrugging his shirt from his shoulders. Taking a step forward between your legs, he leans in, his lips finding yours. You reach up, running your fingers through his hair before he steps back, unbuckling his belt, "I fucking love you." You giggle and slip to your knees, unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks when he pulls his belt free. He swipes his nose with his thumb, watching you tug his slacks and underwear down, freeing his proud member. He places his hand over your right ear, "Gonna suck me off a little bit princess?" You nod, leaning in to kiss his sun kissed thighs. Smiling, you suck at his tip a tiny bit, "So naughty. I shouldn't be thinking about you sun tanning naked on your private beach house like I am. You're so sexy Tom." He chuckles, watching hour cheeks hollow, "I shouldn't think about how much cum have been on those beautiful tits of yours. I also shouldn't be thinking about you riding me. There's a lot of things I shouldn't be thinking about when it comes to your perfect body." He grunts when you finally wrap your mouth around him, his head falling back, "The way you looked in the blush dress. The way you begged me not to buy it for you because it was five thousand dollars. The way you said you'd do anything and I ended up buying it and we fucked anyways." He panted, feeling you run your tongue along the base of him. Bobbing your head gently, he moans, "God you're absolutely amazing princess." Humming around him, you glanced up at him through your lashes, running your teeth along his shaft. His knees nearly give out and he growls before taking hold of your arm, "Stand up love. I don't wanna wait for you." Tsking, as you stand and bend over the counter just the slightest, you lean on your hands, "Impatient little rich kid." He laughs rather loudly, slowly drawing the red lace of your underwear down your legs, "This impatient little rich kid bought both your bra and your underwear." Your cheeks burn an aggressive pink as he looks at you in the mirror, one of his eyebrows disappearing behind the mop of curls that had bobbed to his forehead. Lifting your legs by the calf, he hummed, slipping your underwear from around your feet and standing, wrapping his arms around you and showing you the brand name at the inside of them, "I did buy you those right? That was me, correct?" You nod, "Piss off Holland. Don't be rude." Clicking his tongue, he tosses your underwear with your other clothes and tears a condom open, tossing the wrapper into the trash and smoothing it down onto him. Jerking himself harder, he licked his lips, spitting onto his shaft for lubrication. He hummed as he lined himself up with your entrance, a hand running along your back to hold onto your shoulder, rings gently nipping at your skin as he gently glides inside of you. He glances up at your face in the mirror as you moan, his own features twisting up in pleasure, "Fuck. God I'm inside you like every other night and you're still so tight." You giggle, "Its not every other night. The last time we've done this was... what, almost a week ago?" He chuckles, "That's too fucking long for me. That's how long it's been." Smiling, you gasp, your head dropping forward as he gently holds your hips and thrusts in and out of you, "Fuck... God Tom you... fuck..." Tom chuckles at your broken statements, watching you bite your lip, and your eyes roll back in your head, his lips turning up in a wide smile, "Still so fucking stunning." The metal of his three rings, a matte black Lashbrook E8D, a meteorite and whiskey barrel band, and a platinum Cartier D'amour band and the cold leather of his stainless steel, Master Ultra Thin Moon, Jaeger-LeCoultre watch that he'd spent a good amount of time this morning debating if he should wear, presses against your skin and he listens to you hum. Pulling back on your hips, he leans in and presses his palms over both breasts, "I want... to buy more lingerie for you. I want you to have... more for special... occasions." He practically pants as you reach up to press your hand to his own. You buck your hips back against him, "Tom... you're wearing... four pieces of jewelry right now... and all of them total up... to nearly fifteen thousand dollars. I can't... imagine how much... the lingerie you want to buy me costs." You rasp out between moans. He chuckles in your ear, "Around five hundred but... who's counting?" "Me... what have I told you about... buying for me?" He forces himself deeper, his hand snaking up to your throat when you cry out, your head falling forward. Leaning in he growls through grit teeth, "Didn't hear you complain when a box of sex toys arrived at your door all those months ago." His smile in the mirror is devious when your cheeks and clavicles flush a deep red. You could remember that day. He hadn't answered the phone immediately, having to sneak into a bathroom during his internship and answer with a whispered hello where he'd practically got you screaming at him, wondering why there was a box of various colored and sized dildos, vibrators and even a few fleshlights for him, meticulously packed in a black, unmarked box and laying on your bed before you. He'd just smiled, chuckling out a reply about the two of you having fun before demanding that you give him twenty minutes before he went on his lunch break so you could use a particularly long and thick dildo, a cum tube included for the first time over the phone. And that was the first time the two of you had had phone sex. A harsh slap to your ass brought you from the nostalgic memory, "Naughty girl. Did you just grow wetter thinking about the contents of that box? You quite liked some of those toys huh? Loved the way my eyes sparkled when fake cum dripped from your pretty little pussy. Loved the way I pounced and fucked it back up into you, huh?" He doesn't mistake your nod, squeezing your throat just the slightest before his hand slides down your chest and back to your hip, his eyes locked on his cock, now glistening in your slick. His heart stutters in his chest when you whimper, his hand slipping down to your thigh, lifting it up onto the counter, "The way you had... no shame in fucking that fleshlight that first time. Like you'd... done it before." "I had." He leans in to whisper in your ear. Leaning back into him, you can feel his fingertips dig into your hips, your eyes locking over your shoulder, "In front of another girl?" You pant out. He hums, "Well no." "Good. I better be the only girl you do that for." You reply sternly. Reaching around, he strokes your clit, nipping at the shell of your ear, "Always. Only for you my girl." Reaching up, you stroke his cheek, moaning for him. After a few more heart pounding moments, he reaches across to hold your bottom, drawing back until his tip slips out of you before pressing back in. He does it a few times, loving the way your slick sounds each time your pussy clenches down around him and then releases him. He loved the way you whimper and whine, his name thrown into the mixture before he completely pulls back, grabbing your arm and careening you back into the handicap stall, your back pressed against the tan, brick wall. Placing your hand at his shoulder, you both glance down to watch him guide his cock back inside of you, Tom drawing your knee up into the crook of his elbow, his hand placed at your hip. You meet eyes when you gasp, Tom giving a loving smile, "I can never get over you. You're fucking stunning." Giggling, you bite your lip and moan when he starts to thrust into you again, "Can't keep your hands off of me. What are we gonna do with you?" Grabbing your ass in both hands, he pulls you closer to him, your arms falling around his neck, hands pressed between his shoulder blades. Leaning in, his teeth sink into the skin of your neck, "No lovebites. I have to go back to work Tom." "I'm almost there." He grunts, reaching around to stroke you clit, continuing to nip and suck at your neck, "No lovebites Tom. They'll send me home." You gasp. He growls, "You can come back to mine. Finish this." "I can't Tom..." he groans, drawing back and kissing up your throat and under your jaw. Pulling your hips more firm against his, he grunts, "Tell me again." He whispers in your ear again. You moan, "What?" "Tell me again. Tell me what you told me that day." "What day?" "That day in the boutique... after I told you I wanted to fuck you." Your brain is filled with all the things you said to him, the rude and less. All the things you did to him. The angry fuck that ensued after you'd walked away from him and got lost only for him to find you and lead you back to his car where your clothes were abandoned for half an hour in his backseat. But you know exactly what he was talking about. "If you can shut up long enough and put those hands to better use than dishing out your money I think I can manage to open my legs for you." His skin breaks out in goosebumps beneath your hands, his hips stuttering for just a moment before they speed up, his fingers pinching your clit. When you whimper, he leans in, his lips pressed to yours in a rushed, hungry kiss, "Oh fuck... Tom." Your high is building and Tom knows. He can feel you clenching down around him, your legs starting to shake. Rearing back and swatting at your bottom, grunting as your head falls back against the wall, "Tom-" "I know baby." Drawing your other leg up into his arm, he lifts you, carrying you back to the counter which he sets you on. Dropping your legs, he holds your knees to his hips, pounding into you. You squeal and bury your face in his neck, digging your nails into his arms. He groans, "Fuck. Cum for me." He growls in your ear. "Baby-" "Cum for me darling. Just like you did in the backseat of my car. Say my name." Curling your toes and clutching him tight in your hands, your head falls back, flopping as he continues to thrust up into you, his tip gently skirting along your g-spot, "Tom." You gasp out. He hums, leaning in to suck at your skin again, just over your collarbone where he knows no one will see. "Tommy." You press, fingertips on one hand digging into his shoulder while the other hand slips down to hold his bottom, the coil in your belly so close to snapping. Tom watches your head fall back again and you cry out, reaching up to give his hair a harsh tug when he reaches around to toy with your clit again. When you scream, his name slips past your lips and your legs quake in his hands. He spirals over the edge, spilling the contents of his orgasm into his condom with a growl, his chest pressed against yours nearly knocking you into the sink. "Fuck baby." You pant out, leaning in to kiss his cheek when your haze is gone. He hums, binding his arms around you, "Yeah... fuck." His lips press into a tight line when you reach up to brush fallen curls from his eyes, "You're good. Really good." He nods, "So I've been told. Hey... that reminds me... ive been meaning to ask you something." Gently drawing back, he pulls out and slides the condom off, tying it and tossing it into the small bin while you start to pull your bra back on, "Ask me what?" He turns, taking his boxers from your hands and stepping into them, "I'm headed to Seychelles to accompany my dad on a business conference. We're staying in separate rooms on the beach and I..." You look up at him, his eyes finding yours, "I want you there with me." You nod, "I could go for a beach week or... however long. You gotta let me know when it is so I can ask for it off." He nods, "I think it's just a little over two weeks. I'll text my dad, give you an answer by the time your shift is over." You nod, buttoning your skirt and smiling when Tom's arm bind around your middle, "Love it when you scream my name pretty girl." You giggle, placing your hands over his arms, "I know you do handsome. I love you." He smiles, leaning back when you turn your head, "Love you too. I wish you'd let me buy more for you. I find some beautiful things and I'm cut off... ya know?" You nod, finding the right end of your work shirt, moving out of his arms to slide over your head, "I know, I know. I just... I want us to be in love without material things. There's no need for all these fancy things in life. I feel like I'm being bought into loving you and I don't want to. I love you more than anything and all these numbers being thrown my way on price tags... the dresses, the necklaces and promise rings, the trips and souvenirs and all... its nice to have memories... yes, it's nice to be spoiled every once in a while but you don't have to buy me." "I know baby, I know I just... sometimes I see things that I know you'd love but I can just see myself getting yelled at for buying them. I just wish you were more blinded by my money." Taking hold of his face, you bring it to your own, the tips of your noses touching, "I wouldn't yell at you. I'd scold you but... I have lingerie on that you bought me and my nails are done with your money. I enjoy it sometimes but... I gotta stay humble... and keep you down to earth. Can't have you bein an airhead with that ego." He smiles, holding your hips. He nods, "Yeah, I get it. I love you." "I love you too." You coo, leaning in to kiss him, "But I got a job to do. My half is almost over and if I'm a minute late I'm gonna get in so much trouble." He chuckles as you pull the small bag from the trash can, "Disposing of the evidence eh?" "Hey I’m just looking out for you. Someone use this to try and frame you for child support and all." He follows you out, still buttoning his shirt and crinkling his nose, "Gross." You giggle, tossing the bag into the dumpster and trailing further to the open double doors of the banquet hall, "Hey but uh... who do I have to bribe for you to serve dinner to our table?" Fixing his collar and helping his tuck his short in his slacks, you tsk, "Me, I'm already serving you guys." Reaching in his pocket, he pulls out his money clip, counting out a hundred and offering it up. He chuckles when you roll your eyes and swat at his hand, "One, what did we just talk about? Two, you should not carry that much cash. Three-" He cuts you off with his lips against your own again, "Lemme guess, you're not a whore that can be paid for." "Exactly." He nods, "I was kidding." You nod back, smoothing his shirt down, "I'll see you in like an hour and a half okay? Just in case I don't pay attention to you." He nods, placing his hand at your lower back and holding you close as he pecks your lips, "Yeah, I love you." "Love you too rich boy."

Taglist: @embrace-themagic @delicioustommy @spiderman-n @winters-beauty @smexylemony @lolabean1998

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pennywaltzy · 4 years

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(Banner by @strangelock221b)

…And All The Men And Women Merely Players - Mycroft Holmes is not-so-subtly trying to make sure there’s a reconciliation between his youngest sibling Sherlock and his ex-wife, Molly Hooper, by forcing them to work together on a theatre project. But it isn’t all smooth sailing when his and Sherlock’s sister comes back from the States with a boyfriend who is the devil incarnate…and all hell is about to break loose.

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 4 | BUY ME A COFFEE?

He woke up in the morning to get ready to go to the second day of auditions to the sound of a key being used on his front door. He grabbed the first thing in hand in the sitting area, an Olivier, and prepared himself to toss at his intruder.

“Really, Sherlock, you should change the locks when your sister is in town,” his best friend said as he came into the foyer. “You know that degenerate boyfriend of hers has, at the very least, taught her to pick locks while he goes snooping for blackmail.”

Sherlock relaxed and set the award back on the mantle. John would probably be among one of the first to know of the arrival in London of Eurus Holmes because his mum considered John her third son by all accounts. If Eurus was there to cause trouble and he had gotten a call about it, John would as well. “You almost ended up having my Olivier embedded in your head,” he said, going back to fixing his cuffs on his dress shirt.

“Eh, they’d wipe the blood and brain matter off or replace it with another one next year,” John said with a chuckle. “Really, though. A deadbolt would be an asset. Better alarm system. Alarms on the windows?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Really, John?”

“Look, you don’t know what kind of dirt the arsehole wants. If he thinks he can blackmail you or Mikey into giving him a role...”

“It’s not as though I still live in the apartment anymore,” he said. Though he had more than enough money to support himself, he had moved into the upstairs portion of his old dramatics teacher’s home, since she had been treated poorly by the school which had employed her. She had given him full run of the topmost floor to do with what he pleased, and he, in turn, had fixed up the downstairs portion and the adjoining sandwich shop that she ran when he had found out she was on hard times. Speedy’s now made quite a bit of money and only a select few knew he resided at 221B Baker Street, but it was well worth it.

He remembered his mother’s words the night before and allowed himself a ghost of a smile. Large heart indeed.

“With the trouble those two usually cause, yes, I’d consider it prudent even if you don’t live in yours and Molly’s apartment anymore,” he said, and then a slow, sly grin spread across his face. “How is the missus, anyway?”

“Still perfect,” Sherlock grumbled. “And deserving far better than me and vastly more than the arse she was engaged to in New York.”

The slyness melted off John’s face. “You know...you do have a rather large heart, all things considered,” he said. “Let her in on the truth for once.”

Sherlock groaned. “How did you find out?”

John put his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Oh come off it. Russell being your son? I know you’re fond of Janine but I don’t care how shitfaced you may get, you’d never shag her. She’s more...little sister than lover.”

“Keep that to yourself, especially considering who’s in town,” Sherlock said, sweeping by his friend to go get a cup of coffee. “Does my mum have any idea?”

“Doubtful. I think Mycroft does--”

“He knows,” Sherlock interjected.

“Well, then that probably means Greg does. But I think that’s all.” John moved into the kitchen with Sherlock. “It’s going to come out, eventually. That he’s not yours.”

“There’s no need for that to ever happen,” Sherlock countered. “We can take Russell aside and tell him the truth when he’s an adult, but hopefully by then he’ll look at me as his father and it won’t matter who the biological bastard is.” He roughly pulled the pot from the carafe and coffee sloshed up the sides. “It was abandonment. He seduced her, shagged her and scurried off without even giving his real name or telephone number. And you know Janine. She’s Catholic. Abortion was never going to be an option, and admitting to her family she’d had sex with a stranger? They just barely tolerated sex outside of marriage with me when I proposed to her.”

“Yet you didn’t get married,” John pointed out, literally pointing to the ring on his finger. “You never stopped wearing that, either.”

“Her choice,” he said. “I could come off as an arse in the entire situation, pay her a hefty sum in child support and still get to see Russell while she got some relative freedom. There’s a man in Sussex courting her and it seems to have worked out quite well. Should he be a good match and want to adopt Russell, I’ll make sure they have my blessing. Legally, I mean. And I’ll help support Russell, though discretely.”

“So what is he really to you?” John asked as Sherlock poured two cups of coffee.

“Godson. Unofficially, of course.”

“Of course,” John said with a nod. “The bloke she fancies is going to find out.”

“If it comes out to the general public after their marriage, I don’t suppose the harm will be too bad. It’s only if it comes out now that it would be disastrous.” He pushed one mug of coffee to John and then went for the sugar for his. “So keep this newfound information to yourself. Janine doesn’t need trouble.”

“And neither do you,” John said, clapping him on the shoulder before picking up his coffee. “Tell Molly the truth.”

Sherlock glared at his friend, but damn it all, he made mental notes to improve the security here, at the shop and at Janine’s as well as to figure out how to tell the only woman he’d ever truly loved that the very thing he needed kept a secret was, in fact, a lie.

The only problem was...would she keep it to herself?

#sherlock #sherlolly #mollock #fanfiction #fanfic #sherlock holmes #john watson #multipart: and all the men and women merely players

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imhereformysciencefriends · 5 years

Text

Pt 2

—

“Aw, Carm, this is a beauty,” Zack praised, running his hand affectionately over the dashboard. “Listen to her purr.”

“Why are all your cars girls?” Ivy asked disdainfully, hiding her pleasure at seeing Zack so excited again. So genuinely happy.

“Because I love women and I love cars—and I also love boats and planes, and trains, and motorcycles, and...”

“I’m glad you like it,” Carmen said, getting in. “We need a quiet car for quiet getaways. Can’t leave a noisy car running at the ready.”

“This is gonna be so great,” Zack said, hugging the steering wheel like a long lost lover, “This is already so great.”

Ivy rolled her eyes.

“So,” Carmen said, sitting next to Ivy in the backseat, immediately grabbing all of her attention and making the space seem so much smaller, “tell me about yourself, partner.”

Ivy felt her heart leap into her throat.

“Well, I’m from Boston,” she started, trying to make herself sound as casual and natural as if she were meeting a normal, regular human being, not the (muscle muscle muscle HOT GIRL muscle pretty) partner-in-crime of her dreams, “born and raised, haven’t gotten out much. Enrolled in the toughest undergraduates my college had to offer for my major last year and breezed through ‘em so fast I took nothing but graduate courses this last semester and a half.” She didn’t normally feel any particular need to brag, but, well, she really wanted to impress this woman who’d been raised from infancy to be a thief and special operative. “Make gadgets. Joined the white hat hackers for something to do and ended up gettin’ invested.”

“They’ve got a certain allure,” Carmen agreed, nodding. Ivy was too tongue tied to make any kind of slip about the other alluring component of her very current situation.

Underneath them, the car purred just a little louder, and Ivy realized that it had been accelerating smoothly, seamlessly, without her even noticing. The scenery was rocketing past them.

“Zack, I don’t think we should get caught by police this early in the game,” she said, just a tiny bit irritated.

“Relax, Ivy, we’re in the middle of nowhere! Where are the cops gonna be in the Midwest? Hiding in a corn field?”

“Most major cities in Midwestern America do have state patrols on the interstate not far out from city limits, precisely to catch people who share that mindset,” Carmen informed Zack, oozing that well-earned, deceptively simple confidence that Ivy knew was deserved. “And while it’s known for corn, a large number of farmers grow soybeans as well, which can be chocolate coated and eaten like candy, harvested for oil for biodiesel fuel, and can even be turned into crayons.”

Ivy stared at Carmen, rapt.

“The Midwest is often referred to as ‘tornado alley,’ or its more traditional moniker, ‘The Great Plains.’ The plainlands are notorious for their green, electric skies that foretell tornadoes, and also have some pretty stark shifts through seasonal changes. Though, no one ever seems to think that spring lasts long enough.”

“Well aren’t you just a walkin’ geography book,” Zack said, sounding about as stunned as Ivy felt, and the car slowed a little.

“Thanks. But Zack is also right. This far from the city, nobody with a badge is going to see us until we hit the next small town.”

There was a beat, and then Ivy heard the engine rev, climbing speeds with renewed vigor. “Awwww yeaaaah!” Zack crowed.

Carmen turned back to Ivy, and she kinda hoped she wasn’t blushing as hot as she felt like she was blushing. Carmen was an ocean. Ivy didn’t get to see much change on the surface, but there was a deep power and awe-inspiring quality to Carmen that lied just beneath, so close to the surface Ivy could practically feel it thrum. She wondered what it would be like to see Carmen storm.

She was staring, oops, uh, conversation, normal-people talk!

“So, tell me about you,” Ivy choked a little on the word, “partner.”

Carmen arched a single eyebrow and Ivy internally bemoaned how it wasn’t fair. She could never make her face do that! “I thought Player already debriefed you.”

“He gave me the basics,” Ivy nudged Carmen’s shin with her sneaker, like she would any other casual, regular-friend acquaintance. “I wanna hear from you.”

“It’s gonna have to wait,” Zack warned from the driver’s seat, “according to Player’s GPS, we’re gettin’ close.”

Far off, a semi truck was just becoming visible. Carmen nodded with determination, brown eyes locked on the distant figure.

“According to our intel, V.I.L.E. has probably already stolen the pipe. It’s an important relic that dates back centuries, and V.I.L.E. knows it’s a sacred part of Oglala Lakota culture. Plenty of shady museums are willing to pay a hefty price for the stolen artifacts of Native cultures. We’re going to make sure it gets back where it belongs.”

Ivy felt something electric in her pulse—and for once it wasn’t attraction to this pretty lady. It was something bigger, faster, far more exciting. Like the buzz of working with Zack to get into mischief, but amplified, nameless.

“Right,” she agreed, with a passion she was surprised to feel. They all activated their comms—tiny, closed-route devices Ivy made that linked them all to Player and each other—and got ready.

Zack slowed as they got to the semi, and Carmen leapt deftly through the open top of the car onto the hood. Zack kept a steady pace, bumper to bumper despite moving down the interstate, and Carmen fastened one of Ivy’s gadgets to the lock. The door of the truck swung open and—

Carmen had dodged and blocked before either of the twins had registered there were assailants inside. Deftly, competently, confidently, Carmen jumped into the metal cavity and punched an operative straight in the nose.

“Really, it’s like none of you remember to protect the face,” Carmen said as she dropped low to avoid a punch and then slammed the underside of her aggressor's chin. “Coach Brunt gives very good advice. You should listen.” Ivy distantly noted that the audio quality of their comms was perfect, exactly what she’d hoped.

Ivy watched Carmen move like Zack watched his video games. Utterly immersed, not wanting to even blink. There was fire in her gut, sparks inside her veins, a drumming noise inside her head that swelled in her lungs and threatened to burst from her ribcage.

Then someone got an arm around Carmen’s neck and Ivy knew, instinctively, in her very bones, what she needed to do. She pulled the grappling hook from her bag and leapt into the passenger seat, one foot propped on the rim of the windshield as she attacked the hook.

“What are—Ivy, Ivy you haven’t tested that yet!”

“Perfect time then, eh?” Ivy asked, barely hearing her brother over the thrum in her skull and veins. She aimed while one of the operatives picked himself up off the floor, grabbing a baton while Carmen struggled against the arm pressed to her windpipe.

“Not a perfect time! Now is not the—“

With a click and a woosh and a surge forward off the windshield, Ivy was airborne. She kicked her legs out hard and planted her feet right into the fellow with the baton, cushioning her landing but knocking him out cold. And maybe breaking a rib. Who knew—who cared?

“Hiya!” Ivy screamed as she rounded on the other man who—who was. Not standing anymore. Carmen stood, like she hadn’t been choked or bothered at all, and Ivy felt just a tiny bit silly for her shout but mostly she felt alight with something that could’ve been adrenaline.

“Nice gadget,” Carmen praised, and Ivy grinned, heady with their seeming victory.

A booming noise and blue light from the open door grabbed their attention, and the truck gained speed like it was a bullet train.

“That’s Dr. Bellum’s nitro,” Carmen informed swiftly, scooping Ivy up in her arms, “We’d better bounce.”

Carmen leapt, Ivy in her arms like a princess in the embrace of a valiant knight, from the semi’s open door into the open top of the car that was just barely still close enough for them to make the jump. Carmen shoved Ivy down as they landed, so that she bounced into the seat, head knocking against the headrest, and Ivy held onto Carmen, keeping her body from rocketing into the metal rim of the roof (or worse, toppling over it). Carmen and Ivy were both breathing hard, eyes locked as Carmen flopped into the seat, and they shared twin grins as Zack slowed the car and took off down a highway, branching from the interstate into the endless, gentle hills of the plains.

“That was great,” Carmen told Ivy as she pulled the pipe from her red coat, grinning triumphantly, “especially for a rookie.”

Ivy laughed and punched Carmen playfully in the shoulder, still high off whatever this was. “That was amazing. Zack, Zack, we are never going back to Boston.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Zack crowed as well, “I mean, unless there’s a caper there.”

“I will allow one excuse for Boston capers. Oh my god!” Ivy said, laughing again, flopping bonelessly in the backseat as the adrenaline crashed. “That was so cool.”

“Yeah,” Carmen said, sounding pleased.

—

<<Player you ain’t gonna BELIEVE what happened today!>>

<<Is it that Red swept you up in her arms and jumped from the back of a moving vehicle? Or that you discovered your passion for benevolent crime that was latent inside you all along?>>

<<SHE’S SO STRONG!>>

<<Yeah, Red already told me about it. Glad the first caper went well. It’s always nice to get off to a good start>>

<<She picked me up like it was NOTHIN’. Do I even weigh anythin’ to her?>>

<<It’s probably like lifting grapes or something>>

<<Player oh my god what have you done? How am I supposed to survive this?>>

<<You’re welcome>>

<<On a more serious note, yes I did discover my love of crime and theft and kicking dudes really really hard and you were absolutely right about me wantin’ to go on an adventure; how’d you know?>>

<<Eh, some wishful thinking and a lucky guess>>

<<I’m gonna go pass out now.>>

<<Make sure you hydrate>>

<<That goes double for you, cave goblin.>>

—

<<HER SKIN WAS SO SOFT>>

<<There there, Red>>

<<PLAYER SHE SMELLED SO GOOD>>

<<It’ll be okay; you’ll get through this>>

<<She hadn’t tested it yet! She risked her life specifically to come help me!>>

<<It was very cash money of her>>

<<Did I tell you about how she counterbalanced me so I didn’t crack a rib or go over the rim?>>

<<You did>>

<<She doesn’t have any training, Player. She just DID THAT! For me!>>

<<Player I think I have a crush>>

<>

<<Help I‘ve never had a crush before>>

<<You liar>>

<<Well okay yeah I’ve had crushes before but never when I could actually DO anything about it! I was always ‘that island kid’ to all the people I had crushes on, and by the time I was finally old enough to maybe date one of the students there weren’t any options.>>

<<Mhm>>

<<El Topo and Le Chèvre have been an item since practically always, Mime Bomb was just… no, Tigress hated my guts, and Crackle was basically the brother I’d always wanted.>>

<<Yeah>>

<<Wait, what if that’s it? Ivy is the first real option I’ve ever had, so my brain is going haywire and overreacting.>>

<<What do you feel about Zack?>>

<<...>>

<<,’:)>>

<>

<<Mhm>>

<>

<<Yes>>

<<Player what do I do?>>

<<Well, my mom says all good relationships are built on the solid foundation of good friendships. Start there>>

<<So focus on being her friend and not the dumb complicated feelings that are dumb and complicated, got it.>>

<>

<<Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense.>>

<>

<<Haha>>

<>

<<Yeah. Hey, Player?>>

<<Red>>

<<Thanks. Talking to you always makes me feel grounded.>>

<<Hey, what are besties for?>>

Part 1 | Part 3

#carmen sandiego #carmen sandiego 2019 #carmivy #carmen #ivy #cs #me #haro #my writing #haro writes

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sanjisock · 6 years

Text

Fuck, Marry, Kill (or, how Usopp becomes the best matchmaker of the sea without really trying)

ao3

It’s a classic , Usopp said. Any pirate worth their salt would play this at least once , he said.

Sanji would say he’s around eighty-percent sure Usopp just made this game up, but Sanji is always eighty-percent sure Usopp made something up just by principle alone. It certainly doesn’t help Usopp’s case that Nami is grinning wide beside him, notepad and quill in hands.

“So,” Nami echoes Usopp’s earlier question cheerfully, and her smile is way too beautiful and magnificent for the words that come out of her mouth next: “fuck, marry, kill. Who’s your pick?”

There are rules to this stupid game. Actual fucking rules . Not even the world government kind, the ones they break on a daily basis anyways because, hey, pirates. These rules are the kind that forces you to pay Nami a hefty amount of Berries if you break them, which, on the deck of Sunny, means nothing short of Serious Business.

Nami had taken to the game with surprising interest as soon as Usopp told her about it, but then again, she talked about it with the same tone she uses when she’s going to swindle a lot of money from an unsuspecting poor fellow (read: Zoro), so maybe this isn’t much of a surprise at all.

The rules, pinned next to the spice cupboard and right under the dishwashing duty roster, are as follows:

A crew member must be picked whenever possible.

Only one name is to be given for each category.

If, and only if, one has come up with a legitimate reason not to pick a crew member, it has to be someone they’ve met, known, or at the very least, heard.

Choices are based on pure objective reasoning and any FUCK/MARRY shall not be interpreted as anything resembling interest or, worse, intention to pursue. This means you, Sanji.

The same applies to KILL. This means you, Zoro.

Individual answers are confidential and worth B500,000/answer, or 10% of your last loot, whichever is higher.*

*) Payments are to be made in cash to Nami.

Really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise at all. Sanji thinks he saw her eyes turn Berries-shaped. He personally thinks she still looks beautiful, and tells her as much.

She tells him this doesn’t excuse him from the game, and expects his answer by the end of the week.

Sanji is the first victim by elimination — Chopper is out of the game because he is young, innocent and, ultimately, not human, Zoro is sleeping like the oaf he is, Luffy doesn’t seem to have figured out that the thing below his belt is useful for something other than peeing, and the others have left the ship to explore the newest island they’ve just docked at.

Sanji silently wishes the marines would start attacking them just so they could distract Nami and Usopp from the shitty game.

It’s not that Sanji wants to ruin what is — Nami’s expensive fine notwithstanding — ultimately some harmless fun. Sanji has never had problems going along with the crew’s antics, and between declaring war on the World Government and punching a royalty so hard they call a marine admiral after you, this one is far from outrageous by any means. He doesn’t think it’s physically possible for him to give Nami a no for an answer, either.

It’s just that... he doesn’t actually have an answer.

He’s a romantic person by nature. He likes to make everyone happy, and when that doesn’t work out, he likes to make everyone he gives a shit about happy. He does preen from the more... feminine attention, but between the bustling customers of Baratie, entering and leaving as they please, he never learned how to pick favorites.

Nami points at rule number two.

Usopp suggests he should just pick Zoro for MARRY, because they already fight like an old married couple anyways.

Sanji threatens to put Usopp under KILL and break the fifth rule, exactly in that order. Usopp has enough self preservation instinct to shut up really fast after that.

Brook has never heard of the game, which gives more credibility to the Usopp-Made-This-Game-Up Theory, but it’s not like there’s stopping them at this point, so Sanji fumes and glares, but in silence. Usopp smartly stays quiet.

Brook asks if Nami would show him her panties if he puts her under MARRY. Nami clocks him in the skull.

He settles on Zoro for MARRY.

“What,” Sanji says, stunned.

“Well, Zoro-san is a disciplined, reputable swordsman,” Brook explains, “and any decent swordsman would make a responsible husband.”

That...probably makes sense in Swordsman-Speak, or whatever language people like Zoro, who substitutes normal greeting with stabbing and slashing, speak in. Whatever. Sanji is civilized , and will not bother to even try to understand.

Brook can’t name anyone under KILL. He is, however, curious if anyone wants to pick him, considering he’s already dead, yohoho, skull joke!

Nami groans and hits his skull, again.

Franky has heard of the game, but he can’t pinpoint where he’s exactly heard it from, and Sanji suspects it’s from Usopp.

Franky also puts Zoro under MARRY. Franky is so not on Sanji’s list of favorite people today.

“Not you too,” Sanji groans, scandalized, because Brook is approximately a billion years old and therefore would understandably consider Zoro’s neanderthal values desirable, but Franky is, like, the future . Cyborgs are essentially sentient robots.

Franky shrugs. “He’s a super dude, his fights make great shanties, he can help me carry the ship materials —”

“ I can help you carry the ship materials,” Sanji interrupts, and wonders how his life has gotten to a point where he’s trying to compete with Zoro for Franky’s hand in marriage.

“ And ,” Franky presses, “he won’t chew me out for burping on the table after dinner.”

Sanji’s eyes twitch at that. Well. In sickness and health, sure, but that? That’s just barbaric.

“He’s a great dude who breaks the Sunny’s railings once a week,” Sanji points out, switching his strategy. If he can’t win, at least Zoro should lose, too.

His strategy backfires as Franky raises his eyebrow at him and asks, “Speaking of, didn’t you break the front railing yesterday?”

Franky puts Sanji on KILL for that.

Sanji considers smashing his feet through the railing again, just because he can.

Robin immediately picks Zoro for MARRY, because blah yadda blah bushido code, something something gentlemanly, yeah, yeah. Sanji mentally apologizes for tuning her out, but if he has to listen to beautiful Robin-chan talking about Zoro being a good husband, Sanji won’t be able to resist arguing, and that just won’t do. He isn’t about to question a lady’s decision, however irrational. Nobody’s perfect after all — not even Robin.

She also puts Zoro under KILL for ruining her flower bed last week when he accidentally dropped his oversized training weight (which is unnecessarily huge and totally an overcompensation for something ), and he falls for her all over again. Robin really is perfect.

She then tries to clarify whether normal Franky and Cyborg Franky count as one.

“Uh,” Nami says, confused, “would it even make a difference?”

“Nami,” Robin says as she leans forward, chin in hand and a mysterious smile playing on her lips, “the hands make all the difference.”

Robin puts Cyborg Franky under FUCK. Sanji blinks.

Usopp grimaces.

Nami has a distant look on her face, the kind of expression that guys wear when they witness other guys get hit in the nuts.

They pointedly don’t ask , and back away from the room slowly.

The final tally is:

Sanji gets one flattering FUCK (he hasn’t found out from whom, and honestly, considering the available options of Usopp, Luffy and Nami, doesn’t want to take his chances), Robin gets two (Nami shiftily avoids everyone’s eyes for this one), Cyborg Franky gets one (Franky opens his mouth to question the specificity, turns beet red by his own realization, and promptly closes it), and Zoro gets one ( ew , is what Sanji would like to say, but Sanji is man enough to admit that Zoro can get it, considering those abs and deltoids he keeps flashing due to his unexplainable aversions to clothing. Fucking caveman).

Zoro gets a whopping five for MARRY.

That’s literally all the strawhats, minus Luffy (who probably doesn’t even know what marriage is), Chopper, Zoro himself, and Sanji.

What the actual fuck .

Sanji succumbs to curiosity and pays Nami his ten percent.

Zoro put Sanji under KILL, he finds out.

It’s not a surprise. Hell, it’s the most predictable thing coming out of this game—the sky is blue, water is wet, and Zoro puts Sanji under KILL. Whatever. Sanji still hasn’t decided on his list quite yet, but he is certain he’d put Zoro under KILL, too.

Nami asks him if he wants to know what Zoro’s FUCK and MARRY are, and Sanji politely declines because he just doesn’t care which random chick Zoro wants to do the deed with and not because the way his stomach clenches oddly at the thought, really . It’s probably that beautiful marine lady that always tags along with Smoker — Tashigi-chan or something. Zoro always acts funny around her, even when the others never noticed. He’s an open book to Sanji like that.

Sanji walks away and doesn’t give it a second thought.

Bastard.

He gave it a second thought.

And a third. And a fourth. And damn his shitty traitorous brain to hell, a fifth.

By the time lunch rolls around Zoro and Tashigi are married with a quaint little dojo at the foot of a mountain and blessed with three bespectacled, green-haired children Sanji can’t even bring himself to hate because they’d smile just so when their Uncle Sanji makes their favorite apple pie.

Not that there’s anything to hate. About Zoro and Tashigi-chan, that is. Well, there’s always something to hate about Zoro because he’s Zoro , and Sanji would probably nag him a little for receiving the affections from such a beautiful lady like Tashigi, but there’s absolutely nothing deplorable about the idea in general. They’d get along swimmingly anyways, probably spending hours and hours just talking about shitty swords and other sharp, pointy things as their three children play in their backyard overlooking a beautiful deep blue sea, the setting sun painting a warm backdrop on the wooden walls of their dojo.

He blinks as his train of thought crashes and derails into a nearby mental chasm.

He blinks again, just for good measure.

Holy fucking shit, he has a problem .

“Marines!” Usopp yells from the crow’s nest, and Sanji wakes up, eyes still bleary, to three marine ships surrounding Sunny, cannons loaded and aimed towards the deck.

Be careful what you wish for, he feels like telling his past self.

He rushes to the deck to get a clearer view on their enemies, and hell , he’s convinced the universe finds pleasure in finding new ways to fuck him over because he sees Smoker on the helm of the largest marine ship.

And if there’s Smoker, there’s —

“Shit,” Zoro mutters from beside him, and Sanji only needs to follow his gaze to see Tashigi walk up towards the helm to stand beside Smoker. Because of course Zoro would notice her immediately. There are roughly a thousand marines on three of these galleons and she’s the first person Zoro sees. Great. Awesome. That would make a romantic story to tell their three green-haired children.

God damn it. His brain really needs to stop with the children already. He considers going for a check up with Chopper just for this.

A thousand bloodthirsty marines prove to be a good enough distraction from Zoro and Tashigi’s imaginary children, and soon Sanji is lost in the rhythm of the fight, almost enjoying it. He kicks a marine on the back of the head, does a spinning kick to immobilize another ten, and jumps aside to avoid a gunshot —

Only to find himself face to face with Tashigi.

“Black Leg —” Tashigi says, immediately taking a fighting stance, but Sanji is faster.

Before he knows it, he finds himself kicking the two guys guarding her, lifts and drives his right leg on her sword and into the cabin wall right beside her head, effectively pinning her to the wall. Sanji doesn’t kick women, would never harm a woman, but anything around her is fair game and he feels almost guilty for trying to wrestle a loophole in his own principle.

He needs to do this, though. He has to. She’s a marine, his enemy, a threat. And… there’s something he needs to know.

He blurts without thinking, “fuck, marry, kill. Who would you pick?”

Tashigi starts. “What?”

He thinks he’s blushing, but he figures if he wants to avoid embarrassment the ship has sailed a long time ago so he says, “out of the strawhats. If you had to choose, who would you fuck, marry and kill?”

Tashigi narrows her eyes and pulls harder on her sword. “Are you joking, pirate?!”

Sanji is stronger, though. He pushes her sword deeper into the wall. “I’m sorry, mademoiselle, but I don’t joke about this.”

Tashigi wears the expression of someone who wonders what kind of life decisions she’s made that has led her into this situation, which is something Sanji can relate with. “Well, fuck you , pirate. I’d kill you .”

That’s fair, Sanji supposes. “And marry?”

She opens her mouth, stops herself from saying at least three other different curses before turning an interesting shade of red.

She mumbles her answer.

“Yes, Tashigi-chan?”

“Don’t call me Tashigi- chan ,” she snarls, much louder, before muttering again, though Sanji can hear it this time, a low, shy, “well, that swordsman of yours did save my life back in Punk Hazard.”

Tashigi blushes brighter, and Sanji knows a lost cause when he sees one.

Zoro and Tashigi have four children this time in his head, three girls and one boy, and it sucks, so fucking unfair that everyone wants to marry Zoro, with his stupid hair and stupid face and stupid everything. What’s so good about him anyways? The moron doesn’t even have depth perception . He doesn’t deserve all these beautiful girls, wouldn’t even be able to cherish them and treat them with love like Sanji would.

Who’s to say that they would know him either? Zoro’s a moron , after all, and he probably only has, like, three sets of expressions. Sure, Sanji can read his tics, knows the way Zoro clenches and unclenches his left hand when he sees a potentially strong opponents, the way Zoro would rub the back of his neck when he’s embarrassed — but these girls don’t know that. He doesn’t think anyone knows that, and without knowing the real Zoro, how could they make him happy? Would they know how to find him when he gets lost? Would they cook him his favorite food every day? Would they love him as much Sanji does —

Wait.

Sanji pauses.

And.

Breathes.

Tashigi has started protesting now, demanding her swords to be returned now that she’s gone along with his ridiculous demands, but it all sounds so distant now, because.

He loves. Zoro.

Sanji inhales. Then exhales.

He loves Zoro .

He sees it again, the dojo at the foot of a hill overlooking the beautiful blue sea, but this time the dojo belongs to Zoro and him , and two of the four children have blonde hair, and the sea outside is All Blue. The imagination seems so vivid because somewhere along the line that has become his dream , a future he envisioned as clearly as finding All Blue and witnessing Luffy become a Pirate King.

Fuck, he’s in love with Zoro.

“Shit,” he says heartily. “I’m in love with Zoro.”

“What?” Tashigi says, perplexed. Sanji hopes it’s because she can’t hear him amidst the cacophony of gunfire, swords, and bodies hitting the floor.

He lowers his leg and steps back, still in shock by the revelation.

Tashigi is looking at him in confusion, or at least he assumes she does, because he’s no longer paying much attention to his surroundings. How could he, when he’s just come to such a huge revelation about himself, holy fucking hell he’s in love with Zoro —

A passing marine takes the chance and stabs a sword through his lungs.

The last thing he remembers is choking on air, mentally laughing at the fucked up irony of living on a ship surrounded by endless seas just to meet his end by drowning on dry land. He thinks he saw flashes of metal, of Zoro’s stupid green hair and stupider face, torn apart between anger and concern, Sanji’s name for once stumbled out of his lips — but Sanji is pretty sure he imagined this last part up. He is a romantic fool like that.

He blinks himself awake to the familiar smell of Chopper’s infirmary, the oddly soothing mix of medicine and sweets. He tries to sit up as far as his bandaged torso would allow, and when he catches the orange of Nami’s hair his heart warms but doesn’t flutter. It hasn’t been, he realizes, for quite some time.

He really is in love with Zoro. God damn it.

“Sanji?” Nami says when their eyes finally meet, and she hurriedly stands up, “oh my god, you’re awake, I need to wake Chopper up, Chopper —”

“Don’t worry, Nami-san,” he says, catching her wrist just in time before she rushes out of his reach, “I’m fine. Let our doctor sleep for some time.”

“But,” she says, but it’s a token resistance at best, as she’s already sitting down again. She tugs his grip lightly at that — a small, playful movement — but he feels the pull reverberate through his arm and to his chest, jarring him into a coughing fit.

He thinks he’s coughed up both of his lungs before a glass of water touches his lips. It takes him a few gulps and a couple more deep breaths before he realizes Nami is rambling a guilty “oh my god, Sanji-kun, oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

He clears his throat and tries to give her his best smile, “please don’t apologize, Nami-san! A beautiful face like yours shall not be marred with unnecessary worries.”

Nami sighs, but it’s fond. “You were unconscious for a whole week,” she says, squeezing his shoulder, “let me fuss over you for a while.”

Sanji whips his head towards her in shock, mouth hanging open

“A week,” he echoes. No wonder he feels so sluggish. He thought it might have been the medicine, but apparently he danced far too near to the grim reaper than he was comfortable with.

His gaze drifts to take in more of the infirmary, afraid that he’s missed more important details like not remembering an entire week of his life . For the most part everything seems to be in place, large shelves filled with Chopper’s neatly-arranged medical books beside his work table, with complicated looking medical appliances situated more at the corner of the room, near the door. His gaze eventually falls on the small bedside table and he does a double take.

Zoro’s katanas — all three of them — are leaning against the foot of the table. Sanji frowns; it’s rare to see them without their owner, and rarer still to see them being parted with so voluntarily, away from the swordsman's sight.

“Yeah, Zoro was here,” Nami answers the unvoiced question as she notices what he’s been staring at, “been by your bedside all week, actually. We had a roster, just in case you —” Nami pauses at that, looks away and — did her voice waver at the end there? “You know. Anyway, didn’t even need the whole roster thing in the end because Zoro just wouldn’t leave. Stubborn man. Just his luck you woke up when he took a bathroom break; serves him right for growling at me when I offered him to switch on the first day. He looked like he was ready to gouge his remaining eye out and leave it in the infirmary if it meant keeping an eye on you, science be damned.”

Sanji blinks, again, at the story. There’s a weird tug at this chest. He lifts his hand up to touch it, and it feels warm, from the inside.

“It’s frankly kind of cute, how he’s been acting like a mother hen,” Nami continues, and her smile gains a mischievous edge as she adds, “or, you know, like a worried husband.”

Sanji wants to say something to that, but Chopper probably gave him some strong stuff because his tongue feels heavy and he can feel the strong pull of sleep dragging him back to unconsciousness.

He sees darkness at the edges of his vision, and doesn’t think at all as he says, “yeah, he would make a good husband,” and eyes already closed, he sees the house at the foot of the hill and mumbles, “I’d marry him.”

Chopper’s medicine really is strong.

The next time Sanji opens his eyes, there’s a cottony rasp on the inside of his mouth and dread looming at the back of his mind. It’s reminiscent of days when they partied too hard and he drank one too many glasses of liquor, but worse , because he remembers every single word he said to Nami.

He considers asking Chopper on his stance on euthanasia.

It doesn’t help that the person sitting beside his bed is not the ever-beautiful, ever-wonderful Nami, but the last person he’d rather see after his accidental confession. He has no doubt that Nami has told Zoro everything — has told everyone everything — and while his body has mostly recovered from the injuries, he’s pretty sure he could still die from embarrassment.

He sits up on the bed, scrambling for an excuse, “Zoro —”

“You almost died,” Zoro interrupts before Sanji could even finish his sentence, and takes Sanji’s hand in his. “Don’t you dare do that again, Shit Cook.”

Sanji stares at their hands, and wonders if Chopper’s medicine is even stronger than he thought. “What does it mean to you?”

Zoro shrugs. “You know what,” he answers vaguely.

Sanji doesn’t , though. Zoro shifts in his seat, looking away, seemingly embarrassed by his own words, and Sanji is left wondering what the fuck is happening. Zoro is the type of person who gives brutally honest and oftentimes insensitive answers. He doesn’t give cryptic, vague answers — that’s more of Sanji’s department. “What?”

Zoro pulls his hand away, and Sanji hates how his own hand feels very cold all of a sudden. “You know. Our answers for Usopp’s stupid game.”

Sanji would rather take another sword to the chest than to continue with this conversation, so he does the cowardly thing and practically leaps out of the bed. “I’m not in the mood to talk about that.”

Zoro is faster, though — Sanji is blaming all the medicines in his bloodstream for his slow reaction — and manages to catch Sanji by the wrist. “Where are you going?”

“Away. Out.” He pats his pockets with his free hand, but doesn’t find his cigarettes, unsurprisingly. Fuck, he needs a smoke. “In case you forgot, I haven’t been out for a week from this shitty room.”

“Seriously?” Zoro growls in reply, tightening his grip. “That’s all you got to say? Didn’t you pay for my answers? Nami told me you — if that sea witch is lying again —”

“I told you not to call Nami-san like that,” he replies, almost instinctively, feeling more and more agitated by the turn of the conversation. “What the fuck are you talking about, brainless mosshead.”

Zoro glowers at him, face oddly serious. “Did you or did you not get my answers for the stupid game?”

Sanji is going to lose it. Is Zoro seriously trying to rub this whole thing in his face? The fact that Sanji wants to marry him, even after knowing Zoro only puts him under kill? Knowing that Zoro doesn’t find him desirable in any way, that he’d prefer having three wonderful well-mannered kids with a beautiful marine lady?

“You put me under KILL!” He yells, unable to stop himself. “If this is your way of telling me you want to kill me, drop it. Way too roundabout for your style, Marimo. And just in case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t bother to find out who you want to fuck. Or marry.” He looks away, trying not to choke on his own heart. “Happy?”

Zoro’s eyes widen comically at that, and he loosens his grip on Sanj’s wrist in surprise; Sanji doesn’t miss the chance and kicks him on the chest.

Zoro flies out of the infirmary through the door with a satisfying bang , and Sanji relishes his victory for a moment before growing reluctantly concerned as Zoro doesn’t get up from that. Surely he didn’t kick him that hard, did he? He jogs towards the dust-covered body on the deck, and finds Zoro with his head in his hand, mouth twisting into a hysterical laughter.

“Stupid cook,” Zoro says as soon as Sanji’s close enough to hear him, “are you jealous?”

Sanji growls, and pointedly doesn’t blush. “I’m going to kill you.”

When Zoro drops his hand and looks up, he doesn’t look like he’s making fun of Sanji, though. He looks surprised, and even almost… hopeful? “You are jealous.”

Sanji has about a thousand retorts to that, but all of them die in his lips as Zoro tugs him down by the hand, pulling him to crouch right in front of Zoro. Their faces are really close like this, and Sanji can’t look away.

“Cook,” Zoro says when Sanji doesn’t say anything, “Nami said you put me under your MARRY. Is that true?”

Sanji refuses to answer, but the way he looks away and blushes like a fourteen-year-old is probably a good enough answer for Zoro. Zoro laughs, tightens his grip on Sanji’s wrist and pulls him into a kiss.

Sanji’s life needs to have fewer twists before he dies from heart attack at the tender age of twenty-one.

When they part, Zoro doesn’t lean away; presses their foreheads together instead, his hand large and warm on the nape of Sanji’s neck. There’s a big grin plastered across Zoro’s flushed face, the kind that Sanji only sees whenever the swordsman comes across an alcohol he likes, or wins a particularly hard fight, or — as Sanji begins to understand, heart hammering in his chest like it’s trying to escape — whenever Zoro is really, really happy, apparently. And to think that Sanji is the one who puts that smile on Zoro’s face —

“I put you under MARRY, you dumbass,” Zoro says, though his insult doesn’t carry much weight, considering the stupid grin still wouldn’t leave his face. “Put you under everything , Cook. Kill, fuck, marry — the whole deal. Because that’s how far you’ve messed me up — you idiot, stupid, annoying, oblivious Shit Cook,” he presses another kiss, chaste and light and all too quick, leaving tingling sensations on Sanji’s lips. “I am in love with you.”

The words rattle against Sanji’s ribcage, his heart threatening to burst from his chest. His face feels warm all over, and he’d look away, except for the fact that Zoro’s hands are gently cupping his face, thumb rubbing absentmindedly against Sanji’s cheek.

“You’d make the shittiest husband ever,” Sanji tells him, because Zoro might be the love of his life — and ain’t that a thought that could make his heart miss a couple of beats — but he still wouldn’t miss a chance to tease Zoro.

“Yeah.” Zoro simply agrees at that, laughing softly. “I’d be your shittiest husband, though.”

Sanji doesn’t find a reason to argue with that, heart jackrabbiting against his chest, and simply leans for another kiss.

10.

By unanimous decision, and with some heavy censorship by replacing FUCK with SLEEP, they decided that Chopper is at least old and human enough to know what’s going on with the game.

“I’m not happy at all that you decided to finally include me in the game, bastard!” Chopper said with a happy wiggle, his hooves clapping together excitedly.

He puts Zoro under SLEEP. Literally. Chopper thinks Zoro makes a great pillow, and a great sleeping partner because he doesn’t move around.

Chopper purses his lips at MARRY.

“The idea of human marriage is still foreign to me,” he says, explaining his silence, “there are too many factors involved in human marriage. For us reindeers, all we look for in a mate is one who can provide us food.”

As if on cue, Zoro throws a large fish onto the deck. There are three large slashes on its belly, crossing through its gills.

Chopper picks Zoro for MARRY.

Sanji resists the urge to bash his head repeatedly on the ship mast, and doesn’t go through with it only because Zoro leans in and steals a kiss from him, effectively blocking his path.

Bastard. Shittiest husband ever .

#opfanfic #zosan #roronoa zoro #sanji #one piece #easily the longest fic on this account. please take it AWAY from my hands

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years

Text

Natural Opposite: Re-post of 1/16

Tumblr deleted the first four chapters of my CSBB, so I’m reblogging them. If you reblogged the first time, I would appreciate it if you reblogged again. I can’t remember what I said when I posted this originally. I think I gushed about how much I love everyone in the CSBB and how rewarding it was. I hope I gave my beta @distant-rose love for this chapter in particular because it wouldn’t be what it is without her. Thank you for pushing me, Ro, and I’m sorry if I kicked and screamed a little bit!

Gorgeous banner above was made by the amazing @optomisticgirl who deserves all the good things for her amazing talent. She was also a huge fan of this story, for which I’m grateful.

Summary: Dance is more than Emma Swan’s career; it’s practically saved her life on more than one occasion. But when it comes to reality TV shows, she’s always danced in the shadows of her twin brother David and her sister Elsa. Her first season as a pro on Dancing With the Stars was a disaster, and she enters her second season determined to prove herself. All she needs is a good partner. Hollywood bad boy and ladies’ man Killian Jones isn’t what she had in mind.

Rating: M for mature themes, steamy dance routines, and sexy times (But NOT smut)

Trigger warnings: discussions of online solicitation of a minor, bullying, statutory rape, and emotionally abusive/controlling relationships; stalking; anti-Rumbelle, anti-Neal

Can also be read on Ao3

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be added to my tag list) @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @kday426 @bethacaciakay @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @followbatb @onceuponaprincessworld @hollyethecurious @ohmakemeahercules @wellhellotragic @sambethe

Natural opposite: a movement in ballroom dancing which corresponds directly and naturally to that of your partner

Chapter One: Jar of Hearts

Emma Swan pushed her long blonde hair over one shoulder and reached around to hook the clasp on her bra. The man lying in bed next to her reached out his hand, his fingers lightly touching her arm.

“There’s no hurry,” he said huskily, shifting closer to ghost his lips over her bare shoulder.

She looked through her curtain of sex-mussed hair to take in his dazzling smile. It was his best feature, the first to draw her attention at the bar. Second only to the long, dark lashes that framed his amber eyes. Emma said nothing in reply, merely snatching her little red dress off the floor and shimmying into it.

“Help me with the zipper?”

He merely pouted at her, making quite the picture with his chiseled muscles across his smooth, mahogany skin. An errant dark curl fell over his forehead, another feature she had admired at the bar, though then his tight curls had been styled and tamed. He looked really good post-coital, too good. Emma looked away, contorting her arms to reach the damn zipper herself.

“I’m beginning to think I’m just a one-night stand.”

Emma grabbed her shoes and purse, tossing him a flippant grin. “You catch on quick.”

Despite the tinge of hurt in his voice, she was determined to remain nonchalant. Part of her was inwardly cursing herself for not putting the breaks on the whole thing earlier. There had been warning signs: the way he kept wanting to talk, the way he seemed slightly dazed by her brazenness. She had a sinking suspicion that this was a first for him. Not the sex, God no, obviously not, but she would guess he was normally a third date kind of guy.

She was proved correct when she headed for the door. He ran to intercept her, holding his hands up in a pleading gesture as he blocked her way out. Emma took a reflexive step backward.

“Come on, baby, stay. We’ll get room service.”

Emma flinched as he reached out to stroke her hair, and her heart rate doubled. “I’m no one’s baby,” she snapped as she pushed her way past him and out the door.

Her legs wobbled as she hurried down the hotel corridor, and her hands shook as she hit the elevator button. Come on, come on! She tried to push away the fear that he would come after her, telling herself it was irrational. Finally, the doors opened, and Emma rushed in, not letting out a sigh of relief until she had pushed the button for her floor and the elevator started moving. She backed into the corner, her breaths coming rapidly. When the door pinged open, she knew sleep wasn’t what she needed. What she needed to do was grab her dance bag and head downstairs to the ballroom.

*********************************************************

Emma always felt more free here, the portable wood dance floor they took on the road cool beneath her bare feet. Especially in the silence of the empty ballroom, the dance and the music could allow her to feel things, express things that she normally couldn’t. Christina Perri’s “Jar of Hearts” played from the iPod hooked up to the speakers in the corner. She spun across the floor, arms reaching, torso contracting, blonde hair whipping.

As the strains of the music slowed then disappeared, she leaned against the far wall. This ballroom had been reserved as rehearsal space for the cast of Dancing With the Stars. Right now it was empty, and the brass chandelier overhead was dark. It took her a minute to remember what city she was in . . . Seattle, that was it. Later that day, the bus would take them to San Francisco, the last stop on the tour.

Emma’s chest heaved with emotion rather than exertion, and she pushed her messy hair out of her face. She always danced with almost desperate movements to that song. Instead of dwelling on the reasons for that, she marched over to her dance bag and grabbed a towel for her sweaty face and neck.

Emma took a swig from her water bottle, shouldered her bag, and turned to head back to her room. She let out a gasp when she saw a broad shouldered figure blocking the exit.

“Shit, David!” she yelped, her hand going to her heart. “You just took ten years off my life!”

As her twin brother stepped closer, Emma could see the worried lines on his face. “It’s three in the morning, and you weren’t in your room.”

Emma rolled her eyes as she brushed past him. “And evidently neither were you.”

“I saw you go upstairs with that guy.” He kept pace easily beside her as she strode quickly down the hallway.

She snorted a laugh. “And what were you planning on doing? Banging on every door in the place until you found me?”

David slug an arm around her and pulled her close. “Maybe,” he teased.

Emma turned to him when they reached the elevator, batting her lashes exaggeratedly and clasping her hands beneath her chin. “My Prince Charming!”

David leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face sincere. “I figured you would be here, though. Dance therapy? Did that guy -”

“No,” Emma cut him off with a raised hand as she jabbed the elevator button, “he was nice, actually.”

“Mary Margaret thought so, too,” David admitted.

Emma ignored the comment as the elevator doors slid open. David’s celebrity dance partner and now fiance had tried to make a double date out of the guy, and Emma had to resort to drastic measures before she ruined everything by getting the guy to share things.

“Yeah, tell Mary Margaret I’m sorry about her dress. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

They fell silent as the elevator ascended. David was looking at her with that concerned, fatherly look on his face. She stared at the numbers lighting up over the door rather than meet his gaze.

“So if he was nice, did you get his number?”

“David,” Emma groaned, casting her gaze to the ceiling.

“No, Emma,” he continued, and she knew by his tone that he was speaking his mind whether she wanted to hear it or not, “I want to know why you live like a nun in LA, but then on tour, you . . . . you . . . “

“I what?” Emma snapped. “Act my age? I’m twenty-eight with a ten year old kid, so forgive me if I let myself have a little fun for a change.”

The elevator doors opened, but David didn’t move. “Fun? So that’s why you were down there dancing your feelings?”

Emma crossed her arms protectively around herself and jerked her chin. “I believe this is your floor.”

David deflated and stepped off, glancing back at her with a concerned expression as the doors slid shut. Emma however, kept her stiff posture and stoic expression as the elevator rose to the next floor. She kept it as she walked down the quiet hall to her room. Only when the door shut behind her did she allow herself to sink to the floor. She was a ballroom dancer, after all. She knew how to stay in character.

*******************************************************

Emma tapped her fingers on her steering wheel as her car made its way slowly in the carpool line at Henry’s school. Part of her felt pretentious about putting him in a private school, especially one like this that was famous for its celebrity alums. But it was diverse and urban, it gave out loads of scholarships, and it was extremely close to the ABC backlot. Plus, getting in wasn’t easy and not because you had to drop names or money. The school was notorious for rejecting kids with impressive last names. No, it was hard to get into because you had to be crazy smart.

Emma smiled as she recognized Henry in the sea of plaid streaming across the front courtyard of the school. Yes, her kid was smart. She didn’t care if she sounded like an obnoxious, bragging mom. She was proud of him, and that was why she didn’t mind writing that hefty check each month. Of course, his academic scholarship also helped.

“Hey, mom,” he told her as he hopped into her car.

“You sound happy,” she observed as she pulled out of the parking lot and into LA traffic, “did that math test go well?”

Henry instantly scowled. “I got a B minus!”

“Oh no, a B minus!” Emma teased. “How will you ever survive the horror?”

“Ha, ha, very funny. As hard as I studied, I should have gotten an A!” he retorted, crossing his arms in a huff.

“Sorry kid,” Emma told him with a shrug, “I just didn’t give you the math gene. I have to use a calculator to figure out tips.” They both laughed, and Emma gave her son a pointed look. “So what’s with the good mood? Is this about that girl Ava I saw you walking out with?”

Henry wrinkled his nose. “Ew, Mom, gross! You know what today is!”

Emma cocked her head and feigned ignorance. “Today? What’s special about today?”

Now it was Henry’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah right, like you don’t know. Tomorrow you’ll be crying when I have to get on the bus.”

He was teasing, but she did miss driving him to and from school once the show started filming. She may not cry like the day he started kindergarten, but there was an ache to her heart over it.

“Oh, that,” she chuckled, “so what flavor are we getting?”

“Rocky road, definitely.”

Emma nodded an emphatic agreement as she pulled into their favorite ice cream place. They would both get a waffle cone that was way too big, then get a pint to take home. Her siblings said she had the appetite of a fourteen year old. She was lucky she had a high metabolism and a career that burned tons of calories. She and Henry were also both lucky that her older sister Elsa lived with them. She seemed to think Emma would be lost without her, and even though it sometimes drove Emma crazy, nutritionally speaking, Elsa was probably right. Without her cooking for them on a regular basis, Emma and Henry would probably be living on grilled cheese and onion rings. Except for breakfast. Emma could make some mean scrambled eggs and pancakes. Pancakes from a box, maybe, but still.

Emma felt the last vestiges of stress from the summer tour roll off her as she licked at her waffle cone and listened to Henry tell her enthusiastically all about his day. Emma’s little unconventional family was why she danced. Dance brought her and David to Ingrid, Elsa, and Anna. It gave them a family. And now, it helped Emma provide for her son while still doing something she loved.

*************************************************************

Emma pressed the button on the side of her cell phone to lock the screen with unnecessary force, then swore under her breath in frustration as she crammed it into her silver clutch.

“ Regina still hasn’t contacted you yet?” Elsa asked sympathetically.

Emma looked up to see her sister standing in the doorway of her bedroom. She was wearing a lavender bridesmaid’s dress identical to the one Emma was wearing.

“No,” Emma replied, frustration coloring her words, “and I don’t understand the delay. I mean, every other pro knows who they’ve been paired with!”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Elsa mused with a shrug as she stepped out into the hallway of the three bedroom apartment. “I mean, we don’t really have a huge name on the roster so far.”

“You don’t think Ursula Neptune is a huge name?”

Elsa seemed to think about it as she tossed lipstick into a tiny drawstring purse. “Well, yes and no. Yes, she is a legend in R&B music. But she’s older. And older celebs have a limited fan base.”

Emma snorted. “Tell me about it.”

Last season had been Emma’s first as a pro dancer. She had spent two seasons on the show performing in the troupe, and then finally last season she was made an official pro cast member. But she and her partner, a washed up 51 year old character actor, had been voted off in the first elimination round. To say Emma had lacked chemistry with Leroy was an understatement. The tension between them could have been cut with a knife, and Emma called him Grumpy in private.

“What about David’s partner, Violet Clemens?”

Elsa shook her head as she added a tiny pack of tissues to her bag. “She’s a Disney Channel star and only fifteen. The older viewers won’t have a clue who she is.”

David, Emma’s twin brother, had found his way onto DWTS the same way his sisters had; through that other dancing show, So You Think You Can Dance. Unlike Emma and Elsa, he had won the entire thing and was still the only ballroom dancer to do so. Two seasons later, Emma and Elsa auditioned. Their similar names and appearance combined with their deep friendship had made them viewer favorites from the beginning. When the judges chose the top ten girls, they brought Emma and Elsa in together, leading them and the viewers at home to assume the pair would be separated. Emma would never forget her pounding heart as she gripped Elsa’s hand. The head judge had told Elsa she was in the top ten first, and Emma had been shocked when her sister wept in sadness that Emma was going home. Then, of course, the judge had added with drama, “And . . . so is your sister!” Emma hadn’t known whether to punch the man or kiss him. In the end, they hadn’t lasted nearly as long as David, not even making the overall top ten in order to go on tour. But that ended up being a blessing in disguise because Dancing with the Stars wanted both of them, right away.

Yet they’d only wanted Emma in the troupe at first, and she wouldn’t lie, it stung. She got the feeling from Regina, the casting director, that Emma was seen as a liability. While her backstory – almost quitting dance at eighteen when she found herself pregnant with Henry – had gotten her votes on SYTYCD, it seemed to make the studio executives at DWTS doubt her professionalism. Just thinking about it made her grit her teeth. She would show them. This season, she would prove she deserved her spot.

If she got a half-decent partner, that is.

Emma straightened, pushing hair out of her face as she looked at Elsa’s reflection in the hall mirror. Her foster sister was putting on the faux diamond stud earrings that Mary Margaret had given as gifts to her bridesmaids. Emma already had her earrings on, her blonde hair swept up in a French twist identical to Elsa’s. She plopped down on the loveseat to wrestle on her strappy heels.

“I’m still worried. What if Regina’s having a hard time scrounging up a twelfth celebrity? If she’s having to scrape the bottom of the barrel, what kind of partner will I get stuck with this time?”

Elsa smiled reassuringly as she turned from the mirror to face Emma. “Anything will be better than last season, though, right?”

Emma huffed as she stood, trying not to roll her eyes at her sister. “Easy for you to say. You hit the jackpot with your partner. A marine who won the purple heart and runs a nonprofit for veterans? Nobody will even care how he dances; his back story will get him all the votes he needs.”

Elsa shrugged, a slightly smug expression on her face. She didn’t even try to argue. “And he’s pretty handsome, too. And his service dog is adorable. I keep having to remind myself that I can’t pet him.”

Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise. “He brings the dog to rehearsals?”

“Of course. PTSD is pretty serious. His therapy dog pretty much has to go with him everywhere.” Elsa’s eyes were narrowed, and her lips were set in a firm line as she spoke.

Emma started to ask why she was so defensive on the subject, but before she could say anything else, Henry appeared in the doorway of his room with a frustrated look on his face. He tugged on the tie around his neck, which was lopsided and knotted sloppily.

“Uncle David showed me how to do this,” he groused, “but I just can’t get the hang of it.”

Emma gave her son a soft smile. He looked so handsome and grown up in his little suit. How had ten years gone by so fast?

“Here, kid, let me help you out.”

Emma got surprisingly emotional as she fixed Henry’s tie. Not just because her son was growing up, but because her twin brother was getting married today. And the fact that he had asked her son to be his best man. He could have asked Kristoff, or his best friend Sean who had danced with all of them since they were little. But instead he had asked Henry. Emma blinked rapidly lest she start crying in earnest and ruin her mascara.

“There,” Emma said, voice thick as she ran her hands over the lapels of Henry’s suit jacket, “you’re all ready.”

“Okay, Swans!” Elsa announced as she grabbed the keys. “Time to get this show on the road!”

Emma laughed as she grabbed her clutch. Ingrid, their foster mother, used to always usher them out the door with the same expression. Performing wasn’t just the family’s hobby; it was their life.

“You know, Emma,” Elsa commented as they headed down the two flights of stairs to the car, “this could be the season you find love. Like David.”

Emma rolled her eyes as she climbed into the front passenger seat. “Highly unlikely considering I’m the last pro to be assigned a partner.”

“I think you’re reading way too much into the delay,” Elsa remarked as she backed the car out of its space.

Emma said nothing in reply, merely resting her chin in her hand as she gazed out the car window. Maybe her sister was right. Maybe Regina wasn’t plotting to stick her with the absolute worst partner. Yet that didn’t mean she’d find what David had with Mary Margaret. As a matter of fact, she could pretty much bet on it.

Because Emma Swan had risked her heart once, and she wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

*********************************************************

The wedding was beautiful. Not that Emma had expected anything less. Mary Margaret had been a vision as she practically floated down the aisle in a gown with a fitted bodice and a skirt that seemed to be made of the most delicate, pure white feathers. Her dark hair was curled and piled atop her head in a loose bun with tendrils falling to frame her face. She looked so different from the YouTube videos that had made her famous. In those, she had a pixie haircut and wore demure cardigans buttoned to the top button.

It was those videos that had changed Mary Margaret Blanchard’s life completely. They had started as a way for a third grade public school teacher to vent about the irritations and struggles in the American public school system. Eventually, it all led to an invitation to do Dancing With the Stars where she met the pro dancer who became the love of her life.

“Uncle David is really happy, isn’t he?”

Emma gave her head a slight shake at the sound of her son’s voice. She tore her eyes away from her brother and his new wife to gaze down at her son. “Yeah, kid, I’d say he is.”

Henry looked up at Emma with a wistful expression. “I want you to be that happy.”

Emma bit her lip, overcome with what a big heart this son of hers had. She cupped his face with her hands. “That’s sweet of you Henry, but I’m already happy. Because I have you.”

She pulled him close in a hug, brushing her lips across the top of his head. Just then she heard her cell phone buzz. She snatched up her clutch from the seat beside her and pulled out the phone.

“Mo-om,” Henry admonished, “you didn’t turn off your cell phone?”

“It was on vibrate,” Emma protested. The name on the screen made Emma’s stomach swoop: Regina. “Gotta take this, kid.”

“But the next dance is the best man and maid of honor!”

Emma held up a finger, to signal that she would only be a minute. Then she took a few steps away from the dance floor as she answered and pressed the phone to her ear. Emma’s brow furrowed in confusion as Regina spoke crisply and rapidly.

“I’m sorry,” Emma said with a shake of her head as she plugged her other ear, “it’s really loud. What did you say?”

Regina let out a long sigh which clearly conveyed that Emma was trying her patience. “I said be ready at 8 am sharp tomorrow morning. I’m sending a car to take you –“

Regina’s words were swallowed up by the cheers of the crowd as David and Mary Margaret finished their first dance.

“I’m sorry,” Emma asked again, “what was that?”

“To Comic-Con!” Regina practically shouted. “You’ll be meeting your partner at Comic-Con.”

“Well, don’t drag out the suspense,” Emma snapped back, rolling her eyes, “who is he?”

Emma could hear the smugness drip from Regina’s next words. “You’ll find out when you get there. And the best part is, the cameras will capture every second of it.”

#csbb #csbb fic #cs ff #csbb 2018 #dancing with the stars au #modern au #enemies to friends to lovers #natural opposite #searching wardrobes

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 5 years

Text

Wan High Weeping (Part 50)

Sorry for the delay all. It’s been wild. http://bellatrixobsessed1.tumblr.com/post/182721163856/boy-howdy-everyone On the plus side I used that time to type some chapters. I just didn’t have internet connection to post it with.

Zuko took a step back to appreciate his work. The forest green chip was fixed into the teacup next to one of a bright purple. It had been a pain to not only fit them all onto the tea cup but to get them to stay put. It was a feat that required him to heat each coin up until they were soft enough to bend. More than once he had earned himself a minor burn or two. By month ten, he had gotten pretty good at avoiding that. He set the teacup back on his shelf amid the other knick-knacks uncle had bought for him.

He hurried to dress himself. He could smell the sweet aroma of hot maple splashed with a touch of blueberry. He smiled to himself. She remembered.

Of course she remembered.

Blueberry waffles had been his favorite since he was a child.

It was a meal she had cooked for him on his first day of school until she left. “Good luck today.” His mother greeted as took his seat.

“You too.” He returned. Today was the day she’d be holding a signing for her second novel. “I’ll try to swing by if I have time after class.

“Don’t rush, dear.” Ursa replied. “I want you to earn your GED, if you miss my book signing you can always come to the movie premiere, like Azula is.”

“Azula can’t come to your signing either?”

“She has school until two, remember. The signing ends at three.”

“Right.” Zuko replied. “Well, my prep class ends at twelve so I should be able to make it. I’ll see you then, mom.”

She gave him a quick hug and with a text from Azula, he was on his way.

.oOo.

“Is your brother dressed?” Michi called from down the hall.

“He was.” Mai grumbled. She’d left him for about five minutes and he already had his socks and shirt off once more. “Tom, you’re a first grader now. First graders keep their clothes on.”

He looked up at her with big grey-brown eyes. “Not this first grader!”

“Yes, this first grader.” She forced the shirt back over his head. “You like this shirt, remember? It’s the one with the Brontosaurus.”

“It’s a Apatosaurus.” Tom-Tom corrected.

“Right. Apatosaurus.” Mai replied as she led him to the breakfast table. She poured him a bowl of cereal and a glass of milk. “Now, don’t spill it this time.”

“First graders don’t spill milk.” He said with Mai.

“Good.”

“I’m gonna get my whole sticker chart full soon.” Tom-Tom declared.

“I’m sure you will.” Mai replied as she fixed her own breakfast. She peered and Tom-Tom and quickly slipped up to her room to stuff the rest of her supplies into her backpack. “Azula is going to be here soon, mother.” She noted on her way back to the kitchen.

“Alright, let me know when she gets here.”

It was progress. Mai still felt as though she was doing most of the hard work when it came to Tom-Tom, but at least her mother was putting in some effort now. It would probably take a few more family sessions to make her understand why she needed to put some more effort into raising her son, but it was a start.

A text appeared on her phone and Mai called up to her mother. She turned to Tom-Tom. “Be good for mom, and maybe next time Azula, TyLee, and I go to the mall, I’ll get you a surprise.”

“Okie!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up, nearly knocking his milk over in the process.

Mai sighed and headed outside. It was nice to see Azula’s car there again, there was a sense of comfort that came with it. A sense of normalcy. And a bigger sense of that in noticing TyLee in the passenger's seat. “Really, TyLee? One of these days you’re going to have to let me ride shotgun again…” her front seat odds didn’t look so good, with she and Azula living together. “And let me chose some good music.” She added while she was at it.

“How can you, hate this?” TyLee asked as she cranked it even louder.

“I will jump out of this car and walk.” Mai replied with an eye roll.

They parted ways where the hall split. Azula had a locker on the opposite side of the school and TyLee had the misfortune of getting a second floor locker. Her phone buzzed and she noticed a text from Zuko. She sighed to herself. One of these days she was going to have to talk to him.

She peered at her arm, the slashes on it were mostly healed, some turning to scars. She decided that it was time to let her relationship with Zuko do the same.

.oOo.

‘Tonight is going to be busy. Does the weekend sound good?’

Truth be told, he had plans with Hahn, but he figured that he could put those to the side. Hahn was pretty understanding about things like that.

He texted Mai back with a simple, ‘yes, it sounds great.’ And then he selects Azula’s number. He would tell Hahn about the change of plans in person. He types a small thing or two about how so far things were going pretty smoothly.

For the most part things had been going well for him. They had been since the week after the trial. The first week after the trial was hectic. They had been escorted to Ozai’s estate with a police entourage, so that Azula could gather the rest of her possessions that had been left there.

The man had been oozing with cruel things to say to all three of them as they made their way in and out of the house. Mostly his words fell on deaf ears, it was the ranting and ravings of a bitter soul. The sort of thing that wasn’t worth paying attention to.

The man had broke the terms of his restraining order several times, contacting he and Azula both and Ursa as well. Even Iroh wasn’t spared a nasty word or two. Eventually the messages grew less frequent, and Zuko was left to assume that Ozai was running out of money to blow on fines. The trial was a rather public matter and the outing of how he had led his son to heroine and his daughter to bulimia did hefty damage to his company. One by one, headlines came about various companies breaking their partnership with Ozai’s.

Headline, by headline, Zuko felt more at ease.

The man was losing his power.

He had lost his power when Zuko had made his escape.

He stuffed the remains of his lunch back into his lunch bag and hurried to finish the final half of his first day of prep class.

.oOo.

The rest of her day was quite a drag, save for Moo-Chee making a scene about how he was the dark one and he would have respect. Over the summer, the boy had upped his poser game. Taking it from simply leeching off of the goth scene to pretending to worship the devil. The boy was a constant source of entertainment. He was mostly harmless these days, save for the constant threat of secondhand embarrassment.

Only after she found Azula’s car in the parking lot, did she remember that the girl was staying later for volleyball practice. She made her way back inside. She recalled that TyLee was going for the poms team again. That left her to figure out how she wanted to spend her time. She considered simply going to the gym and watching Azula.

Instead she found herself wandering down the hallway in search of another club. Poetry didn’t sound too awful and they only met on Mondays. It would give her a distraction if she needed one but it wouldn’t take up enough time for her mother to pitch a fit.

Naturally when she stepped into the room, she spotted Moo-Chee. Perhaps she could make the boy a side project. Help shape the boy into less of a poser.

The club members welcomed her warmly and the instructor motioned for her to take a seat. “I am Macmu-Ling, welcome to the Five-Seven-Five society. Right now we are working on introductory poems.” She paused. “Write a little something about yourself in the form of a hiku, and then we will read aloud, what we have come up with.”

Mai nodded. She wasn’t a hiku type of person, but she was willing to give it a try.

.oOo.

Zuko helped Ursa take down what remained of her signing set up.

“Thank you for joining me today, Zuko. How about I treat you and Iroh to some tea and coffee?”

It sounded perfectly charming. “I’d love that.” He replied as he packed the last of the books away. He would wait a little longer to text Azula, if he remembered right, she was probably still in the middle of practice. But he was curious as to when she planned on stopping by next.

“You think that this book store is hiring?” Zuko asked.

“GED first.” Ursa said sternly with a dip of her head.

Zuko lifted his hands. “Just asking.”

“That’s the last of the boxes.” Iroh spoke. “Let’s brew some tea!”

“Would you like to invite Hahn, dear?”

“He’s already on his way.” Zuko hoped that this invitation would make up for cancelling their weekend plans.

.oOo.

Azula had dropped her off at home only a few hours ago. Apparently she had something to take care of before the three of them went to the movies. If she didn’t hurry, they’d end up having to watch the midnight show. In which case, Mai was fully prepared to suggest that they see a horror movie instead. Suddenly, she wanted Azula to take her sweet time. She hadn’t seen a good horror movie since last year. Of course she would be avoiding the body horror sub-genre. She was in the mood for ghosts and demons, a little something to give her insult ammo. She was going to need it if she was going to pursue a friendship with Moo-Chee.

She received a text from Azula, stating that she was on her way.

“I’m going out, mother.” She called.

“Would you mind taking Tom-Tom with you? Your dad and I have an important meeting tonight.”

Mai sighed, horror movies might be out of the question. “I guess I can, but next time…”

“Next time, I will bring him along.” Michi promised.

“Alright, Tom, c’mon.” She picked him up. “Do you like secrets?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“If you keep a secret for me, I’ll let you see a scary movie with my friends and I.”

Tom-Tom gasped. “A scary movie!?”

“Shhh. Not so loud. If you’re too loud you won’t get to go to the big boy movie.”

“I wanna go to the big boy movie.” Tom-Tom whispered.

Mai smirked. “Great. When mommy asks you what movie you went to see, tell her you saw the one with the dinosaurs.”

“Kay, Mai.” He smiled as she fastened his seatbelt.

She strapped herself in. “Tell me all about your first day of school, Tom.” She smiled softly to herself as her new partner in crime told her all about first grade.

.oOo.

It was nightfall by the time they reached the cafe. Azula had finally answered his text, she was planning on dropping by either this weekend or the next, stating that she would carpool with Mai. From the sound of it, Mai was doing much better.

It weighed heavily on him to hear that she had contemplated suicide. To think that he might have had a hand in it, though she insisted that it wasn’t his fault. He still felt obligated to make it up to her somehow.

He didn’t yet have an idea of how to do so, he supposed that he would have to just let things fall into place. That’s what Iroh had told him; just let things happen. So far it was a working method. His sessions with Jeong Jeong had left him with similar advice. He had to accept things for what they were.

So he would. He would accept whatever happened with Mai over the weekend. Just like he was accepting that his heroine abuse had happened. He ran his fingers over the small pockmarks, he no longer had a desire to rid himself of them.

A self-respecting man wouldn’t try to hide such a large and important part of his life.

And Zuko had decided that he was going to be a self-respecting man.

The sort that would show Ozai that he had completely lost.

The sort that would earn a GED and make something of his life.

#Avatar #Zuko #Azula #Mai #TyLee #Suki #Katara #Toph #Sokka #Fanfiction

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the-black-sigma · 6 years

Text

Heartfelt thing that I stupidly wrote at 6AM.

I'm so glad I get to see this show in November. Mark, Ethan, Bob, Tyler, Wade, everyone has done so much good for this community over the years and it’s really beautiful to see what they’ve achieved.

youtube

Mark was in a low point in his life when he started all those years ago. But with just a camera and some recording software he slowly built up the best community I think I’ve ever seen online. From a hundred subs, to a thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand, a million, all the way up to 22 million people who may not all watch his videos every day, but at the very least saw the passion he put into his hobby that turned into a career. Person by individual person, 22 million saw Mark’s achievements over time and chose to support him. Because he deserves it. And the best part? He supports the community back. He’s done so much for us to get him to this point. He entertains us with his videos, helping us smile and laugh when we may not otherwise have a reason to. He regularly streams for charity, and as well as giving thousands of dollars himself asks of the community to do the same. And we’re happy to oblige because the charity is a worthwhile cause, but the fact is that even if it’s the community raising the money it never would have happened without Mark’s encouragement. He strives to be the best person he can be, for himself and for others. The reason he made the channel was to be a better person. To go from struggling Mark to the best @markiplier. Despite always seeming, in my opinion, to have reached his goal of being the best he can be, he always topples that thought by finding new ways to improve and be better for himself and be better for us. It’s incredible to see the journey Mark has taken. And it’s incredible he brought us along for the ride. Not only us, but his friends too.

Bob, Muyskerm, originally having met Mark through a “introduce yourself to your roommate” phone call and just talking about what kind of consoles they each had, has amassed his own community of seven hundred and ten thousand subs. And while people may say “oh, that number’s so small compared to Mark’s” that’s because numbers are always relative to one another. You could say compare 22 million to 710k and one’s obviously smaller, or you could say that’s 710k people that choose to support one man. Still a hefty number of individuals, wouldn’t you say? Because like Bob, each of Mark’s friends deserve that support for the entertainment they provide and the charity they give back to us. Some people consider Mark’s friends more as sidekicks than equals, and while the sub counts back that up, you have to realize that they are in fact equals. Each one of them a unique and individual person with their own personality and own brand of entertainment that many people care about and rely on. So what if Bob may have only gotten all his attention from Mark? The fact is that he keeps that attention because he is worth it. And the same can be said for the others.

Wade, @lordminion, the butt of the team’s jokes, has 1.4 million subs that Mark may have helped him get, but it’s Wade that earns their continued support. Whether it’s being salty at Uno, or salty at Golf With Your Friends, or salty at Gang Beasts, or salty at Litte Big Pla- Mostly just being salty. It’s always hilarious and what keeps the community loving Wade not just for being Mark’s friend, but for being himself.

Tyler, Apocalypto_12, a face that was once made of stone has cracked to reveal a huge permanent smile as he encourages anyone who watches his streams, follows his twitter, subscribed to his channel with 126k and only a single but very personal video on it, or even just people who know him from Mark to “Smile Always.” A simple and pure message, in the same vein of Jack’s PMA (though maybe not as intense) to say that no matter what horrible things may be happening in your life there will always be a silver lining to that rain cloud. Or if there isn’t a silver lining, the wind will blow that cloud away eventually. With a positive outlook on life and a smile on your face, it’s possible to brave even the harshest whether and see the beauty of life on the other side.

Ethan, @crankgameplays, the back-flip boy. Originally only known for back-flipping at any of Mark’s panels he went to, through this tradition became Mark’s friend and was added to the team. The sweet baby blue boi, known for all sorts of hilarity from Fergalicious, to weird massages, to being terrible at reading. His Cranky Crew is 653k strong and it isn’t going to stop there.

None of their channel growths are going to stop there. So long as they continue being themselves, bringing the laughs, the smiles, giving back to the community, then they will continue to grow as channels and as people. And we’re here for them every step of the way.

Personally, each and every one of these guys have done so much for me, supported me through so many struggles and hardships. Something that I’m not alone in saying. I’m not going to give my whole life story, since I already gave you theirs, but it means a lot to me that these people care so much about their audience and the audience cares back. It is truly an inspiration for me that one person alone in a room playing videogames can do so much for so many people, can help his friends do so much for so many people.

So, no matter how much I’m paying for a trip from the one Australian state they aren’t going to, no matter how much I paid for tickets, it is an honour to see these fine people do what they do best. Entertain. And to see it all live. It’s an honour and my pleasure to see my heroes, though they may ask not to be called heroes despite literally saving the lives of people who were contemplating suicide by giving those people a brief moment of happiness that allowed them to hold on just a little while longer, it is an honour to see my heroes on stage and doing what they do best.

I would thank each and every one of them personally, if given the chance. But instead I have to just give one general thank you from some small blog that very few people will see.

Thank you, Mark. Bob. Wade. Tyler. Ethan. I thank all of you so much, for everything you have done for me. And you may say I’m welcome, as the tour name implies, but that’s all the more reason to say it. From not just the bottom of my heart, but my whole heart, and every atom of my entire being:

Thank you.

#markiplier #muyskerm #lordminion777 #crankgameplays #apocalypto 12 #you're welcome #you're welcome tour #markiplergame #thank you

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blankdblank · 6 years

Text

Alone Pt 11

The sun began to set stirring another wave of nerves that lapsed as the King’s firm arm curled around your waist pulling you into his empty Throne Room closing the door behind you, lifting you in his arms for a passionate kiss. Breaking to rest his forehead against yours releasing a velvet whisper, “Please My Love, don’t be concerned, they’ll love you. No one would risk your safety, you have full control over the food for all of Dale. They may be upset but they will understand.” His lips landed on your nose sweetly continuing, “I’ll be with you, alright?”

Sighing softly nodded and leaned in to kiss him again, “Alright.”

Lowering you after another kiss his arm curled around your back with a loving smile as he eyed the braid he’d worked into your hair admiring the small pink and white flowers woven and blooming brightly in your star speckled raven curls. Turning forward again giving Legolas a smile as well as he joined his father’s side accepting his father’s long arm around his shoulders on your walk to the stables.

Mounting their horses the King’s normal group of guards watched as the King raised you onto the saddle and climbed on behind you curling his arms around your middle and led the ride over to Dale. Growing closer you spotted the increased numbers of freshly arrived Dwarves along the outer gates whispering about you with those that had already met you. With a creak, the front gates opened allowing you through and into the crowded streets for the trek to the large guest house beside Bard’s in the inner ring of the Kingdom. Looking up you noticed the shift of curtains from the upper floors as Thranduil lowered himself before helping you down safely to the ground, making sure to whisper sweetly, “I’ll be right next to you the entire time.”

Nodding again you gave him a soft smile and slid your hand under his arm, making his smile grow. Leading you towards the large house and through the now open front door smiling at two Dwarves who had opened it before Dain came into view with a large smile eyeing your hairstyle and said, “And here I thought you weren’t fond of crowns.” Your playful glare brought a chuckle from him as he turned to lead you through to the main sitting room where three Dwarves stood taking in your full appearance, from your yellow sundress over your long socks and tall grey boots to your unique hairstyle as you wove your hands together behind your back.

The elder of the two women straightened up with a stern but kind expression with her silver eyes shining brightly with the light from the fireplace and lantern reflecting in them and bowed her head to you as Dain introduced her, “King Jaqiearae this is my Aunt Princes Diaa, Mother of Prince Thorin, Frerin.” The man to her left, nearly the twin to Thorin bowed his head to you with a mischievous smirk as he glanced between you and Dain, “And Princes Dis, Mother to Prince Thorin’s heirs, Fili and Kili.” Dain’s eyes watched as your brief head nod was cut short as you noticed Princess Diaa smoothing her hands over the lower portion of her outer vest covering her thick corseted dress, “And of course you remember King Thranduil and his Son Prince Legolas.” To whom they bowed their heads shallowly but only without the fidgeting.

Smiling you turned to Gimli who entered bowing his head lowly to you with a growing smile, “Queen Jaqi.”

The Royals watched as your eyes softened through your growing smile as you said fondly, “Gimli.”

Gimli glanced at Dain and said, “Had some trouble with the gates to the treasury. Seems the giant lizard left quite a stash behind. Roand is down there helping Bard count it out.”

They glanced at you curiously making you grip your fingers tighter behind your back and nodded, “Yes, Bard mentioned that the first time we spoke.”

Diaa, “And you won’t be demanding it?”

Your eyes locked with hers, “I have no use for gold, and besides, they found it, it’s theirs.” You glanced at Dain, “Isn’t that the normal set rule, finders keepers?”

He smirked and promptly hid it as Diaa’s brow twitched up and drew your attention again as she said, “Dale is Dwarven land, King Thror ruled over it, granting tenancy to Lord Girion! That gold is Dwarvish and belongs with our Kin!”

Her scowl grew at your growing grin, “Technically, Dale is mostly inhabited by Dwarves, especially since your arrival. That gold, which you’re so upset about has been so far used to pay said Dwarves for their services in assisting the rebuild on Dale. Within time the coffers will be bare and the gold will be in fact, in Dwarvish custody again. Unless they trade for goods with the Men that is.”

She turned her head to look at Dain for confirmation only to receive an affirmative nod, “It is true, we’ve come to quite a favorable deal for both sides in Dale.”

Dis glanced at her mother then to you and quickly asked in a polite yet eager tone, “I hear you’ve also repaired the greenhouses?”

You nodded, “One of the first things I did. My first trade with Thranduil involved supplies for the greenhouse.”

Diaa, “The supplies should have still been there. Not likely anyone would take those when we fled.”

Your smile returned, “Those supplies I had yes, but what I needed was insects and a few rarer supplies for the testier of the crops.”

Diaa, “Insects. You’re a King and your first trade was for insects?”

You nodded, “Yes. Butterflies to be exact.”

Her hand rested on her hip as she shifted her weight to her right leg, “And just how much did these insects and supplies set back the hoard?”

“I didn’t trade for gold. Thranduil offered them in thanks for killing Smaug.”

Diaa’s eyes went to the Elf King who smiled at her kindly, “None of your Kin’s gold has traded hands and remains safe inside the treasury still. My people are still in a great deal of debt to King Jaqiearae for her ridding us of the Fire Drake and the healing of our forest. She has been nothing but generous with her food supplies produced in the greenhouse and even shared her baking and cooking skills for the meetings between our kin.”

Dain nodded, “She does make a mean brisket. And you’ve got to try her muffins.”

Diaa, “Must charge a hefty sum for those food supplies, I’ve seen those potatoes you’ve grown.”

“I haven’t charged anyone, for anything. I told you before I have no use for gold.”

Frerin, “So what exactly have you gotten out of all these deals?”

“I’ve made invaluable friendships and had a part in returning two races back to their Kingdoms, even though I still cannot turn it over quite yet.” Your head turned to Dain with a larger smile. “Oh,” Your shoulder bumped into Thranduil’s side making his smile break through for a few moments until he drew it back again, “Thranduil received a letter earlier. The Company arrived in Rivendell last night and should be along in a week, possibly two depending on how many fountains they insist on bathing in.” Giggling as Thranduil drew in a breath to contain his chuckle at the six pages of complaints from Lord Elrond as Legolas chortled then masked it by clearing his throat.

Dain clapped his hands together and turned to Diaa with a large smile, “See now Aunt, told you it wouldn’t take long. We’ve been here for months but you’ve got the easy wait.”

Her eyes met yours again as she finally realized you hadn’t been invited to join them in the sitting room yet or offered any refreshments, sending a surge of panic in her at her grave insult towards you. Promptly turning, she motioned her hand to the chairs across from them, “Please forgive my rudeness, come and join us for some tea while we discuss the contract for turning over the Throne to Thorin.”

Glancing between Dain and Thranduil your voice all but vanished in shock at her statement. The Elf King’s hand snuck onto your back to give you a gentle nudge forward and followed you to the couch across from theirs with two large seats on either side for Dain, Gimli, Legolas and Tauriel. You and Thranduil sat and both crossed your legs in your normal fashion. Resting your leg against his with your hands laid across your lap as you asked, “I’m sorry, but did you say a, contract, to turn the Throne over?”

She nodded, “Of course. How else are we to come to terms on the trade.”

Unable to stop your chuckle her brows pressed together as you said, “I won’t be, trading it, for anything.” She shifted in your seat making you raise your hand slightly off your lap, “Don’t misunderstand me, the Throne and Kingdom is all Thorin’s. My contract already is to slay the Dragon and turn it over to no one but Thorin. The terms are clear, not trade. I have nothing to barter and nothing I wish to barter for.” Their expressions dropped as you continued, “This is your home, and I know you have no reason to trust me, your son had no reason to trust me, and yes, we fought and that is why I traveled ahead alone. But I gave him my word that I would return him safely home.

Now he has made his way to Rivendell on his own, in spite of his sheer stubbornness and I managed to secure a safe escort for the Company from Lord Elrond back to Greenwood and Erebor from there. Please trust me when I say I would never dream of making you barter for your home. My contract is clear and I wish I could hand it over to you but that is a conversation you will have to take up with whomever drafted it. I have managed it well and hopefully there will be little discomfort in returning to the minor repairs still necessary for your son to have to manage, all of which I’ve itemized and set aside to turn over to him with all his other future duties.”

Her lips parted and Dain’s eyes shifted to the servant pouring tea into an already overflowing cup. The spillage which you’d controlled to form into a growing sphere that fed into the other cups on the tray below, his brows pressed together with a soft, “hmph” raising his finger to gently tilt the nose of the teapot upwards drawing the servant’s attention back to her duties in passing out the rest of the tea. Her hand shakily passed you yours with a kind teary smile as you softly thanked her and claimed a sip scanning your eyes over the still stunned Durins until you asked, “I have to ask, what is the Journey like to the Iron Hills, I’ve heard it gets quite treacherous near wintertime.”

Shifting your eyes to Dain you smiled feeling Thranduil’s elbow gently rested against your side again as he accepted his tea with a soft proud smile at how you’d handled the trio. While Dain went into full detail about the trails and ended with an invitation to visit sometime that you graciously accepted just as another servant entered the room announcing dinner was ready.

Standing you followed Dain inside the spacious dining room with a table nearly the length of it and claimed the chair at the far end under Thranuil’s mental whisper at your confusion on which chair was yours. Glancing at him your eyes softened as he gave you a soft smile waiting for you to sit first before he took the chair at your right, making sure his foot was rested against yours. Legolas and Tauriel claimed the seats to his right nearly on opposite ends with of that side. Tauriel being near Gimli who was at Dain’s left with the trio on your left with several seats between and Dain nearly off on his own at the far end of the table. Eyeing the setup, your mind tapped Thranduil’s and you whispered, “Duil, this is ridiculous. I’d have to throw the salt if he needed it.”

Holding in his laughter he replied with a calm exterior with a humored tone, “The small anvils at each seat are for seasoning. I should warn you Dwarf cooking is not like yours.”

You sighed, “As long as it’s nothing like the veal recipe Gloin tried to make us on the Journey I’ll try anything.”

His eyes twitched over to yours for a moment, “What was wrong with the-.”

Dain stood with a smile as the servants walked in with steaming plates bringing a familiar stomach churning smell as he said, “I do hope you like veal Your Majesty, our grand mother’s recipe.”

Thranduil forced on a smile as you gave him a large plastered smile in return raising your water glass to say in a cheerful tone, “If it’s anything how Gloin makes it I’m sure I’ll clean the plate.”

Dain chuckled softly patting Diaa’s shoulder saying, “See, I told you, she’s part Hobbit, meat in every meal.”

Giving you a wink as you sipped on your drink mentally whispering to Thranduil, “We’re going to need more seasoning. It won’t make it perfect, but it will help.” Sliding your hand into your bag and slowly digging out a small box you folded in the fabric of your skirt over your lap and gently flicked your napkin out of its Dwarven fold as Dis did on your left and gently covered it as your plate was set down before you. Smiling larger you thanked the servant and snuck a pinch of the seasoning as they turned to fill your empty mugs with ale you spread it through the sauce around the veal and slipped the box onto Thranduil’s knee.

With his long arms he was able to easily claim it inconspicuously, to do the same before closing the latch and reaching back mocking a stretch to flick it over to Tauriel. Who’s arm reached back behind the servant adding her mead before he noticed and was able to claim a pinch and sneak it to the Prince who snuck it in his pocket as Prince Frerin across from him started a conversation with him over archery training for Elves. Sneaking a glance at your plate Tranduil mixed the seasoning through the sauce as you did and eased it over the veal and started to slice through the thick meat and held your smile through the meal feeling Thranduil’s leg pushing further against yours unable to interrupt your conversation with Dis over what your Journey from Bree was like.

Dis, “So you just, had breakfast together?”

You nodded, “They did arrive rather early and I thought at least one of them might be hungry.”

She glanced between you, “And you’ve been courting since?”

“Not exactly.”

Thranduil added, “We hadn’t actually discussed it until about a week ago now. But I’m certain my intentions were clear.” He glanced at you with a kind smile then turned to Dain as he let out a loud laugh.

Dain, “Oh anyone could tell he was ready to crumble if he hadn’t asked her soon, and that was months back. We were curious how he managed to breathe without shouting it at her. Though if I do say so she is quite an incredible woman and not a one of my men lost any moment wondering on why he would fall so hard for our King here.”

Your smile grew as you cut another sliced another bite off of the veal and slid it into your mouth feeling Thranduil’s fingers graze over your knee under the table as he took a sip of his drink stealing a loving gaze at you before his hand retrieved his silverware again. Bite by bite the slightly less tasteless meal was finished and a friendly conversation grew between your group through the next set of tea and smoking before your ride back to the mountain.

Sighing you accepted the hand down from the Elk and gave a soft grumble as your stomach shifted uncomfortably signaling the nausea that would soon follow as Thranduil led you across the bridge out of sight from Dale behind a large statue. His hand curled in yours after you slid the seasoning tin back in your bag after the Prince passed it back to you. Leaning against the large gate the King stood smiling at you, “Are you tired?”

“A bit. Though I have to brew some mint tea, you three should as well, it’ll help.”

Legolas swallowed dryly laying his hand over his stomach, “Am I supposed to be queasy?”

“Unfortunately yes. I am not certain how Dwarves can survive on such food. I feel so sorry for Bilbo.”

Thranduil’s hands gently slid over your sides bringing you closer to him softly asking, “Does this mean I have to test our new pillows alone?”

Your eyes met his, handling him your bag after you’d unbuckled it from around your waist, “I’ll meet you upstairs. I’ll brew the tea.”

His smile grew as he leaned down to kiss you before pulling back to say, “I’ll hurry.” Staggering and pressing his hand to his forehead. You locked eyes with his Elk kindly asking it not to rush on the way back, walking over to his side leading him back to the Elk’s side even as he said, “I’ll be alright, it’s not that far of a run.”

His smirk grew as you grabbed his chin and turned his head to face you, “No rushing.” You glanced at the rest of the Elves, “Same for all of you. It will only make you feel worse. Nice and slow.” He narrowed his eyes and you gave him another quick kiss, “I mean it.”

He sighed, “As you wish, My Love.”

Chuckling softly you watched him slump back onto his saddle holding in his groan while his head swam. Stroking his Elk’s face you gave it a gentle peck near his snout before you turned back to the mountain. While Thranduil settled your bag on his leg through the slow pace that rocked him from side to side through the forest path, drawing groans from the three Elves who swore they wouldn’t eat that meal ever again if they could help it. Easing down from their steeds they made the slow walk up to the Royal Wing where they caught a wafting scent of mint tea instantly bringing a calm wave over their nausea.

Entering the room they each claimed a cup from you with dim smiles before claiming their seats as you grabbed your bag from Thranduil and went to his room to change and finish drying your hair from your long swim from Erebor.

When their cups were empty they each went to their rooms, feeling better but still a bit sluggish.

Pausing at his door the King mentally reached out to link with your mind asking softly, “Are you decent?”

“Just untangling my hair.”

His smile returned as he walked in, spotting you in a tank top and your knee length pants with your hands raised gently easing the flowers from your hair. The distracted smile on your face drew him closer to assist you in removing the flowers and his braids he’d placed through your hair before combing through it between his drying your hair with the towel you had before re-braiding your hair into a long simple braid.

Turning you moved to sit on the foot of the bed as he entered his closet removing his long robe, boots and socks. Returning to the room his smile returned and his hand slid into your open palm for you to lead him back to his vanity to sit as you removed his flowers and braids before you could remove his braid as you said, “Thank you for tolerating the braids and flowers.”

Turning around his hands pulled you gently into his lap, sliding one gently across your cheek with a sincere smile, “You’re my One, My Darling Starlight, and I will proudly wear anything you place in my hair or any stitch of clothing you designed for me. Those pillowcases with the fish stitched into them, if you wanted fish stitched into everything we own, including our guard’s armor I will make it happen. I love you and trust me, there is nothing about you I would ever be tolerating. Everything you have touched or created is a blessing to me, because it came from my Queen.” Closing the distance between you his lips gently landed on yours before his eyes met yours as he asked, “Were you tolerating my braids all day?”

Your head shook making his smile grow as you slid your hands around the back of his neck, “Wearing a crown, is daunting. Being a King, or a Queen.” His hands slid over his back to gently stroke it, “But, it was from you, and it’s different having to do it on my own and if I’m at your side. If it means I’m yours there’s no tolerating involved.”

His smile grew before he kissed you again, “I’m glad. Now I can plan out all the jewels and crowns I’m going to have crafted for you.”

You rolled your eyes, “One crown.”

He shot you a playful glare, “Of course, one crown,” Kissing your lips, “For each month.”

Rolling your eyes again, “There’s no stopping this is there Duil?”

He smirked again, “Not a chance.” His eyes darted to the vanity mirror behind you after he’d stolen another kiss from you, softly asking, “Did you still wish to see my scars?”

“You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Giving you a soft smile he lifted you to your feet as he stood and led you over to the bed, “I’ll show you my back first.” He caught the twinge of concern and leaned forward giving you a gentle kiss and sweetly saying, “It’s just my back, a few small ones on my arms you’ve already seen, three small ones on my legs, but those are from my tree incident at Lothlorien, and lastly the ones across my face.”

“Your face? What happened to your face?”

His lips curled into a soft smile hoping to ease your nerves, “My first encounter with a Fire Drake I was too close to one of their attacks. A mild burn considering how close I was. Nowhere as bad as you’re imagining I’m certain. First, my back.” You nodded and he gripped the back of the neck of his shirt and pulled it off. Allowing you a chance to swallow as his view was blocked, still the second time the King was shirtless before you brought the same sudden heat to your cheeks. Smoothing his hand through his hair pulling it over his shoulder he sat beside you drawing in a deep breath with his eyes shut as small soft pink lines formed across the back of his right shoulder a spiral of jagged lines covering his entire shoulder blade that drew your fingers right to it making the King flinch.

Drawing them back you softly apologized, “Sorry, I didn’t-.”

His head turned to glance at you with a soft smile, “You can touch them, they’re just sensitive when I first drop the masking.” Gently curling his fingers around your wrist he raised our hand back to his scar with a comforting smile, “Go ahead.”

“Do they hurt any other time?”

“My shoulder gets sore through long battles when I use long swords. So I mainly keep to my twin blades. I can last days longer with them.” He shifted to his left and moved his arm to the side revealing a long white scar from his underarm to the end of his ribs, “This one was from before my first battle, working out the best armor for me. Took a hard hit in training, healed quickly. The first time I’d seen my own blood, quite terrifying, tore the stitches and made it worse.”

Shifting slightly after you’d slid your fingers along that one he rested his arm along your lap revealing the small cuts over his upper arms, “First time I fell from a tree, surprisingly most of my scars are from my own clumsiness. And lastly.”

Swallowing he brushed his hair behind his ear turning his head to the right revealing the patch of skin along his cheekbone and the corner of his left eye in a slight hook of patchy skin resembling ripples in water in a pale pink shade softening to white around the edges. “See, not that bad. You should have seen it, had to shave half my hair off for the healing creams for nearly a decade. An impressive look. I have a sketch of it somewhere from my Naneth.”

Chuckling softly at the image your fingers rose to slide along his jaw with a softening expression making his bright smile grow as you leaned in to gently kiss the scar across his face, “You don’t have to hide them around me if you don’t wish to.”

Chuckling softly his eyes met yours again after he stole a kiss from you, “The one on my face heals faster when it’s masked, the others, if you wish, I won’t hide from you. Should you change your mind I won’t mind masking them again.”

Curling your arms around the back of his neck to gently kiss his cheek again, “If it helps. If you’re comfortable showing them you can.”

His hand slid across your cheek as the scar on his cheek vanished again through his gentle peck on the tip of your nose, “I won’t hide my scars from you, and you don’t have to hide yours from me either.”

Nodding you slid back sliding your hair over your shoulder grabbing the bottom of your shirt and gently raised it to your shoulders revealing the two circles from arrows in each shoulder blade above white lash marks over the lower portion of your ribs that only appeared as the light from the fireplace danced across them. Lost for breath his trembling hand stretched across the scars on the right to trace his thumb gently across the deepest of the marks as a tear ran down his cheek. “The first time I met Lord Elrond I was carrying his wife into Lothlorien.”

His lips parted as bumps rose over his skin, “You’re the one who saved Celebrian.” Turning back you caught his mournful gaze still eyeing your scars, “How did you find her?”

“A few of our Hobbits went missing on their travels, they got caught and I spotted Celebrian being drug inside, I couldn’t leave them there.” Turning to your right your arm shifted revealing four white barely visible slash marks on each side from Warg claws and you looked into Thranduil’s eyes watching them pool with sadness at the pain your wounds must have brought you. “Are they that bad?”

His eyes met yours as another set of tears slid down his cheeks as he shook his head and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead speaking in a soft tremble, “No. I just wish I could have spared you the pain. These wounds must have been painful for you.”

You smiled weakly at him, “Actually, Hobbits, we heal even faster than Elves, and can be far more resilient than Dwarves in certain situations.” Your hand rose to wipe away his tears, “We escaped at dusk and the wounds healed by the moon rising. Bruises however, tend to linger for some inhumane way.”

He chuckled softly, “They aren’t bad. Just a shock you could have faced such torture as a lashing.”

“It seems we’ve both had our own painful troubles.”

His eyes lowered unable to see the scars until you drew in a breath causing the light to hit it just right revealing them, exhaling he slid his hands over the scratch marks as he knelt at the side of the bed sliding you closer to him allowing him to gently kiss each of your sides. His eyes met yours as he raised your legs and slid his fingers over the markings on your back as he shifted allowing the light to hit them bringing them into his view to gently kiss each of them as his fingers slid over your sides. Causing bumps to rise over your skin at his warm hands never left your sides until he joined you on the bed again to curl you into his lap and kissed your lips as you turned to face him.

Curling his arms around you after he lowered your shirt again, “You never have to hide any of your scars from me.” His eyes trailed to the large pile of pillows coated in the new covers you had designed with a growing smirk as he playfully asked, “Why don’t we give these new pillow covers of yours a try. We should sleep before the mint tea wears off and the veal tries to fight back again.”

Giggling softly you were raised up as his arms slid under your legs curled under you while he climbed to his knees and carried you to the head of the bed. Brushing down the covers and laid you down as you giggled again while he fluffed the pillows around you and settled at your side pulling the covers up over you drawing you closer to him and held you tightly. Pressing gentle kisses to your forehead, “Do you like them?”

His smile grew, “You designed them, I love them, they’re perfect.”

You giggled again, “Pillow covers aren’t very unusual of a design.”

His fingers turned your chin so you’d face him with an adoringly playful smile, “True, but the fish are entirely from your design, and they are perfect, I love you and I cannot wait to see what other changes you make around our Kingdom.”

The sparkle in his eyes made you chuckle nervously, “Oh yes,” You giggled remembering your changes to Erebor, “I can see it now, one day you go out on a ride and return to find the entire forest coated in jeweled flowers.”

His smile grew as he imagined it, “Something I can’t wait to see. Any changes you make will be incredible. And I am eagerly waiting for the day the robe you’ve designed for me is ready for me to flaunt to everyone.”

Glancing over his shoulder with a slight blush you watched the stars sparkling causing you to smirk, “It seems you’re about to break your own rule.”

His brows rose with a soft “Hmm, what would that be now?”

You giggled softly, “Your dancing rule.”

Chuckling softly he rested his forehead against yours pulling you closer to his chest, “Mmm, We can continue that rule tomorrow.”

Giggling again you sat up pulling from his grip, standing on the bed and walking towards his attached kitchen, “No excuses. I’ll make more tea.”

Sighing he laid back on his back before climbing out of bed, following after you to curl around your back as the tea brewed. And you both enjoyed a warm cupful before he led you into the large empty area near the large double doors leading to his balcony and claimed your hands laying them in place with a growing smile as you hummed softly between giggles as he led you through your first dance. Joining you in humming the tune you’d chosen with a growing smile as the moon and starlight brought out the glowing mithril lines across your skin.

Each dance bringing more laughs and giggles from you both through your lesson that only ended with Thranduil’s eyes closing as he drew in a slow breath causing you to take him back to bed. Brewing your selves another cup each, drinking them before you rinsed the glasses and climbed back into bed laying across Thranduil’s chest. He smiled as his arms tightened around your back as the lights from the lanterns and fireplace died out.

Leaving only the light from outside allowing the King to admire your every detail through your drifting off to sleep before he joined you, feeling his eyes slowly dropping as the warmth spreading from his chest deepened. A loving warmth that deepened and spread at the great pleasure of being able to wake up with you still in his arms before sliding out of your grip laying you across one of the pillows to curl around it as he gently kissed your forehead and quietly slipped into the kitchen to make you breakfast.

Pt 12

#Thranduil x Reader OC #Hobbit #lotr

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pennywaltzy · 6 years

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…And All The Men And Women Merely Players (4/?)

Whoops! I just realize I posted chapter 4 to AO3 but not here. Yesterday was a jumble, I swear...but here you go! John makes his entrance in this part.

Read Chapter 1 | Read Chapter 3 | Help Me Survive? | Commission Me?

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Really, John?”

“Look, you don’t know what kind of dirt the arsehole wants. If he thinks he can blackmail you or Mikey into giving him a role...”

He remembered his mother’s words the night before and allowed himself a ghost of a smile. Large heart indeed.

“Still perfect,” Sherlock grumbled. “And deserving far better than me and vastly more than the arse she was engaged to in New York.”

The slyness melted off John’s face. “You know...you do have a rather large heart, all things considered,” he said. “Let her in on the truth for once.”

Sherlock groaned. “How did you find out?”

“Keep that to yourself, especially considering who’s in town,” Sherlock said, sweeping by his friend to go get a cup of coffee. “Does my mum have any idea?”

“Doubtful. I think Mycroft does--”

“He knows,” Sherlock interjected.

“Well, then that probably means Greg does. But I think that’s all.” John moved into the kitchen with Sherlock. “It’s going to come out, eventually. That he’s not yours.”

“Yet you didn’t get married,” John pointed out, literally pointing to the ring on his finger. “You never stopped wearing that, either.”

“So what is he really to you?” John asked as Sherlock poured two cups of coffee.

“Godson. Unofficially, of course.”

“Of course,” John said with a nod. “The bloke she fancies is going to find out.”

“And neither do you,” John said, clapping him on the shoulder before picking up his coffee. “Tell Molly the truth.”

The only problem was...would she keep it to herself?

#sherlock #sherlolly #sherlock holmes #john watson #fanfic #fanfiction #mollock #multipart: and all the men and women merely players

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devilsknotrp · 5 years

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Congratulations, Cee! You’ve been accepted for the role of Bobby Davies with the faceclaim of Julian Morris. Here’s another sample application from one of our existing members. You can find our other sample applications in this tag here. If you’re working on an app and have any questions, don’t hesitate to send them through.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Cee Age: 20 Pronouns: She/her Timezone: GMT+10 Activity estimation: During my university break, I can typically post IC every day or every second day, doing multiple threads. During semester, I’m usually able to write and post IC every 2-3 days, at least. If I know I’ll be extremely busy, I’ll request a hiatus or semi-hiatus or stagger posts slightly! Triggers: N/A

IN CHARACTER: BASICS

Full name: Robert ‘Bobby’ Davies Age (DD/MM/YYY): Thirty (30/09/1966) Gender: Cis male Pronouns: He/him Sexuality: Homosexual demiromantic Occupation: Systems research analyst Connection to Victim: Truthfully, through town gossip. He’s never spoken a word to any of the Goodes. Maggie’s brought Linda up once or twice over dinner, especially since Brian has gone missing. All Oh, poor Brian and sidelong glances at Deborah. That, or the Goodes have been mentioned in passing when he’s landed himself in a hushed, sensitive crash-course on his younger sister. Alibi: He was at a high-end wine bar in Lansing that afternoon, doing his damnedest to impress a colleague over a twenty-dollar glass of merlot. Bobby’s been tentative to suggest to him they go for drinks, especially on a four-thirty Friday knockoff. So they agreed for Saturday instead. He drove back alone to Devil’s Knot around 8.45 that night and went straight to bed. Faceclaim: Julian Morris

WRITING SAMPLE

His eyes are starting to blur. Long gone are the heat mirages and blinding pale sunlight across the flat. Now, the horizon bleeds into purple and blue. Worse yet, the radio’s been reduced to static and there’s not a cassette to be found in the car. A hand idly goes up to pinch the bridge of his nose first, then rub at the corner of one eye. At first, the distant spot of light is dismissed by fatigue, although as he nears the brightness grows, bringing into focus silhouettes of parked trucks and cars, patchy along the line of a gas station.

Once there he pulls over. At the pumps Bobby stops, although he doesn’t get out of the car right away. He’s somewhere over the Nevada border, past Reno but ultimately nowhere. Why didn’t he buy a goddamn plane ticket? Right. Work had left him high and dry, damn near cashless save for what he’d stuffed his wallet with. They’d even been hesitant to cough up a final pay, leaving Bobby with no choice but the car, though he suspects it’s got a touch more leg room than economy.

Deep down, he drives for the nostalgia. Lets himself revisit the same sights from the way over when he was eighteen. Though, there’s a few more strip malls than he recalls along the way, and the songs on the radio don’t sound quite right. No more Bruce Springsteen and AC/DC. It sounds sadder. The drive’s also to tell himself that when he gets back to Devil’s Knot, Perry won’t be there waiting. Neither will Maggie. It’ll likely be close to midnight when he arrives, the town deadened by sleep and the outskirts pitch black. It’s a cosmic joke that he’ll probably have to get a room at Sal’s run-down motel. Maybe that’s his trial by fire.

Bobby lets out a sigh and leaves the car. His feet shuffle on the spot as the tank refills, homed in on the rhythmic click of the gas pump, the rush of trucks that fly by left muted, as if they’re ways away rather than right beside him. Inside, he meanders between the aisles of garish chip packets and half-melted candy. He’s not proud of impulse buys but the CD copy of a Toto album is set on the counter with resolution as he mutters the pump number, pulls out a few fifties before going on his way once more. The CD slipped in, the stereo begins to blare in a bid to stay awake. Maybe if he can just make it to the state border and hit Utah, it’ll be enough to get there by the end of the week.

He has to stop at a place far closer, though, because there’s a lightness in his chest and not enough air seems to be getting in. It’s asthma, he chalks it down to; only part of the cocktail of nerves he can’t gulp down. At the back of his neck there’s gooseflesh. It doesn’t go away, even as he checks into a highway motel and clicks the television on to the eleven-p.m. news while he searches for a puffer in his duffel bag. It’s a feel-good story, the newscasters smiling and laughing with each other. With the help of a stale mini-bottle of whiskey from the motel fridge, Bobby manages to fall asleep before the midnight television static sets in.

ANYTHING ELSE?

BACKGROUND

TW FOR DRUGS / DRUG USE, OVERDOSE.

As many others can attest to, 1984 has, and continues to, shake Bobby to his core. Try as he might to swallow it back down the taste lingers sour, like bile. Until then he had grown up having what most considers a ‘normal’ childhood. Or a variant of it; depends on who you ask. Small town, a single mother, no dad in sight and grades high enough to make a Mensa member swoon. He had brought up his father once or twice when he was quite young. His curiosity eventually waned once he grew closer with his mother, Maggie, or found his nose becoming caught between a hefty book more and more often. Much to her chagrin, he’d already begun to gobble up Stephen King novels by the time he was thirteen. Books were a pleasant escape from the static of Devil’s Knot, at least for a while.

The year Phillip Silverman died and Pete narrowly avoided the same fate sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s red and swollen and throbbing – infected – and clear as day in the back of his head. Although he’s tried to rid himself of it, tuck the year away nice and neat, it threw everything off-kilter. The IB grades, the cherry-red As on his papers. An Ivy League university just in his grasp. Whatever he was sure of in himself; a hundred and one ways to get out of town and make something of himself once graduation rolled around, all gone. He wanted to get to NASA – where did that go?

Instead of graduating with friends and spending afternoons blush-drunk in the car of the boy he loved a little way out of town in the summer, an ugly mess of events sent him fleeing. He’s never forgotten the flash of red and blue some months later outside the house. Snow dappling the frozen, muddy front year, hands just free of a prayer before dinnertime, Max up and gone with the follow of Charlie Taylor’s pinched stare.

As if the murder, the endless days spent sleuthing for a whodunnit like an episode of Scooby Doo didn’t leave an imprint on him, the trial certainly did. It was the first time he’d ever worn a suit – a proper suit. He still remembers the too-tight collar, the beads of sweat on his forehead, the click of the stenographer in a Lansing courtroom. The worst part, though, was the fall of Maggie’s expression at the end of it.

Bobby didn’t even graduate high school. Where his diploma should be on the wall of Maggie’s living room, framed in beautiful wood and glass and stared at with that wistful smile of hers, it’s not. Instead he drove west with Perry Esposito. He’d planned it for some time. A tatty duffel bag under the bed, bursting at the seams with a few good books and wads of cash he’d saved from odd jobs, birthdays, loose change and old clothes. Cooped up in Sal’s shitty crate of a car with his knees to his chest, poring over a paranormal reader’s digest in the passenger seat, he was sure he could wean himself off the growing panic that grappled its way up his chest cavity. But somewhere in a Californian hotel parking lot, things crumbled once more. Raised voices skipped over the roof of a car, he stole it and ended up boggle-eyed and knee-deep between the swathes of tech geniuses in Silicon Valley.

It sounds like something out of a movie, he can admit. But it’s true. There were a few hiccups here and there for a kid with no qualifications, although things ironed out once people realised he had a natural aptitude, was too smart for his own good. He soon forgot Perry; or acted like he did.

Habits of small town living still lingered there. Although, people on the West Coast seemed more… accepting. Nobody would bat an eyelid if he said he had no other qualifications besides a few months between a tech start-up and unpaid internship, if he became too touchy with another man beside the pool at a casual ‘work’ party or a friend gestured to a tabletop lined by neat white and somebody’s credit card, for that matter. Over the years he’s gotten his hands grubby with money, drugs, uttering This means nothing, agreeing to it. Although it made him feel sure of himself, strangely, it hasn’t come without a price.

When he looks back, it was all far too much for somebody of his age. It raised him, in a way. Just as Maggie did. Except ambitious corporations brought him up on lackey internships, BASIC, an eight to six day and a celebratory drink at the end of the week. Bobby, prone to burnouts and stubborn perfection, slipped into a drug habit by the time he’d hit twenty-five to cope with the pressure – although he was proud to say he’d never gotten into cigarettes. Touted as the young, bright kid obsessed with computers from a place only made infamous by grisly crime, there was an immense expectation he felt he had to live up to.

In 1993 (or ‘94, things get hazy here), Bobby willed himself to walk through the front door of a rehab centre. He’d gone too far at a party. Having wound up in a hospital with an awful taste in his mouth and a drip in his arm, the idea ate away at his head until he forced himself to it. Going back to his job as if nothing had happened, as if his friends weren’t the ones who’d egged him on to have a bit of fun, blow off steam, was much, much harder. After having grit his teeth for another two years, Bobby got in his car that summer to make the drive back to Devil’s Knot, thinking endlessly about the fact that Perry wasn’t in the seat next to him to shout Dancing in the Dark at the top of their lungs while he drove along an empty desert stretch.

Settling back into Devil’s Knot has been met with fleeting doubts. Before Brian went missing, it seemed too good to be true. Nearly everyone from high school remained. Maggie was there, albeit with a surprise that he’d ignored for a staggeringly long time. He picked up a job in Lansing in no time. Or talked his way into it, his boss raising an eye at the fact he’d not gotten so much as a high school diploma, let alone a degree. Since the disappearance of Brian Goode, the oppressive weight of 1984 has set itself upon his chest once more, made the air stifling.

HEADCANONS

Bobby feels as if he’s failed Maggie by returning home with his tail between his legs. His first dinner back home was by far the most nerve-wracking experience, even more so than the shock of catching sight of Perry Esposito behind the bar counter when he ordered a martini filled to the brim with top-shelf liquor (or the best that Devil’s Knot could muster). He expected conversation to fall back as it was in 1984. Although he’d given Maggie the occasional telephone call over the years, it was never enough to properly connect. And after 1994 it turned into complete silence until the evening he arrived back right before the stroke of midnight, hoping the front porch light was on so he could beg for a spare room. Deborah’s a strange addition to the family, although he’s teaching himself to accept it and bite back the simmering fear that he’s lost the place where he stands with Maggie. But it’s a no-brainer. He couldn’t have possibly expected, after twelve years, to come back and have the jigsaw pieces slip neatly into place. He’s skinnier now, with purple always beneath the eyes and a strange edge he hasn’t worn away just yet. Things aren’t going back to the way they were, even if a childish part of him hopes for it.

He’s been living alone for years just fine. Why has it become so difficult to do back here? Bobby’s box-sized townhouse at the end of Main Street is a mess. There’s a distinct lack of furniture save for the stuff that came with the place, a rickety tower of empty Styrofoam takeaway containers in the kitchen sink where dirty dishes should be, television antenna askew and screen buzzing with static snow in his cramped living room. Most of the furniture he owned in California has ended up in a thrift store somewhere, collecting dust. The only thing he brought with him were his clothes, a far-cry from the jean jackets and ratty Adidas Superstars he wore when everyone last saw him. He’s become plainer. Boring. Ironed slacks and crisp white button downs, the collars starchy. No bright colours. Just white and black. The only casual clothing he’ll resort to wearing is a polo shirt and blue jeans on the weekend, if he’s really struggled with the laundry. The lack of company’s certainly gotten to him. His job in Lansing is a muted nine to five, the office laid out like a rat maze and punctuated only by the ring of a telephone or clack of a keyboard, the odd few friends to chat with there at arm’s length. Lately, he’s sought company at Mandy and Mary’s place, particularly on weekends. It’s nice. It makes Devil’s Knot more bearable, as well as dinner time. Bobby can’t cook to save himself. It either turns out burned, undercooked, or tasteless. That, and the weekly family meal at Maggie’s has been his saving grace. He’s still got his place at the table there, to his relief.

Rehab was an easy decision, kind of. Simple in thought, far more difficult in execution. Around 1993, or ’94 (he struggles to remember which; the early years of the decade were a blur) he’d left what little belongings remained in his one-bedroom apartment to settle in, to bunk beds and lights out and positive affirmations and group therapy, all with a hankering for the rush he’d forced himself to wean off. Going back to work was much harder. The culture seemed stifling, or perhaps too impulsive to let him be comfortable. Come on, a little won’t hurt. It’s not that bad. It didn’t take a phone call, or a missing boy in the news to send him back home. No, it was an itch under the skin that kept coming back on every Friday night get-together for after-work drinks.

Brian’s disappearance has made Bobby feel as if he’s been thrown back to 1984. Nothing pleasant, like Marty McFly going back to a wealthy family and happy girlfriend with a big shiny truck. No, it’s as if the search parties, sombre conversation with old friends has put him right back into his spot in the teenage “Scooby Gang” he’d wound up a part of. Worse still is that the sympathetic remarks he’s gotten from those in town makes him feel like he’s been reduced back to a wide-eyed teen. Or maybe it’s all in his head. With a tendency to bottle things up and never set things straight, Bobby’s nowhere near as open as he used to be. There are many things he hasn’t told Maggie, there are many things he hasn’t dared to admit to himself. He can feel the tension bubbling away at the back of his throat. One day, he suspects it’ll come right back up.

Bobby is selfish. After having learned to finally say no, stop putting himself up to the task of making sure others are happy at his own expense, there are many things he does that signals he wants to save his own neck. If he wants to get his way, he knows he can do so with money, all under the guise of a smile and sugar-coated generosity. Although he’ll genuinely splurge on those dear to him come Christmas time and birthdays, there are others he wants to have a sway over through grand gestures. He knows the novelty will wear off eventually.

His new job is okay – just okay. The work is repetitive at best, although it pays the bills and keeps him fed. He wanted a more senior position at first (I’ve got the experience and the skills straight from Silicon Valley, he’d pitched at the interview) but one glance down to the missing degree on his resume was all it took to put him down as a mundane desk worker. The last few months working it are bearable, although he wonders whether it’ll get any better than what he’s got now. A New Year’s resolution Bobby plans to keep once 1997 rolls around is to move to Lansing, maybe. Work part-time, go for a proper degree. If not only to make himself feel like less of a failure in Maggie’s eyes, it’ll help him shed off the worry that things are becoming static again.

#literate rp #town rp #dark rp #new rp #bobby davies #sample #accepted

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white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen · 7 years

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Never Con a Conman

Summary: Even con artists can be conned – a lesson you thought you were teaching; instead, it turned out that you were the one being taught.

Word Count: 3,235

There was a method to your madness. One day you would work out what it was. Until then, you lived crazily. There was nothing more exhilarating than getting away with something you shouldn’t be doing.

Right now, you were in Times Square with a satchel at your waist, beating against your hip with every step you took, pounding to the rhythm of your gait as you matched the tempo of the city. New York was one of your favorite cities. No matter how far you ventured, you always came back here. You used your contacts as an excuse, but the truth was that you were a Yankee in spirit. You passed by hundreds and hundreds of unknown strangers, innocent and oblivious to what you had hidden in your bag – gorgeous natural red rubies, an entire set of them, each plated into a solid golden chain. They were treasures you weren’t supposed to have, but Africa wasn’t nearly as hard to steal from as America, and you had done far more complicated jobs with far fewer resources.

You imagined showing off your wealth just by donning the necklace and strolling about your day, being part of the flashy one percent in appearance, but you were smarter than that. Showing off for the sake of showing off was dangerous. Pretty much everyone who tried ended up caught, either by enemies or by cops.

Speaking of being smarter, you needed to get a new fence. Your dumb contact had been passed to you by a friend, but despite your so-called friend’s competence, the fence was slipping. He was an older man, well-respected, very skilled, but his age was letting his mind go. He’d sold your looted necklace to two different buyers. Two different, very influential, very intimidating buyers – buyers that would kill you and your fence if you didn’t give them what they expected to have.

Thus, you came to New York not just because it was where you might’ve lived, had you been a civilian with a nine-to-five job, but because it was home to the best forger you knew of, and you were prepared to make his acquaintance. You had a plan. You’d have him forge two identical necklaces just like the ones in your bag, give those to the buyers, and melt down the real gold and the rubies through a proxy, then reshape them into something else entirely. In a different fashion, they’d sell under the radar on the black market, and you could use the cuts from the unexpected second and third sales to bolster not only your own account, but to afford the services and the discretion of your forger and your better fence.

You chose to think of it as an opportunity – an opportunity to make a contact and a lot more money than you otherwise would have. You regretted that you’d have to destroy such a beautiful piece of jewelry, but you couldn’t leave the real thing floating around. There was too much risk if you kept it on your person, but if it got back to either of your buyers and they compared the real stuff to the synthetics they would be given, you’d be screwed.

You left Times Square with a smirk on your face and decided to cut through Central Park and get a crepe from a vendor on your way. The address you’d gotten had been a little trickier to come by and cost a few grand for the cooperation of various players, but you were certain that with your score in mind, it would be worth it. Maybe you could even take a vacation.

Neal Caffrey spent four years in a federal super-max prison, but the people he still talked to said he was just as smooth as ever and hadn’t even come close to losing his touch. You doubted he’d talk to them much more once he knew they’d given his location to someone who wanted to find him, but that was okay. You’d have built a bridge by that point, and his contacts weren’t of any particular use to you, now that they’d set up a meeting.

You were a little wary of entering the church of a known Italian mobster, but the pews contained scattered amounts of civilians. You weren’t entirely alone, but you weren’t exactly standing up at the front of the room and discussing your potential partnership through a microphone, either. You appreciated that it was a territory where neither of you were the alphas, and so, since you really didn’t know where you could find a more renowned forger at such short notice, you slipped into the church, kept your head down docilely when the Father observed you, and slid into the pew at the back beside a suit-clad man with a jauntily-tipped fedora.

“I expected slightly less Freddy Krueger and a little more Jason Bourne.” You commented quietly, already recognizing his face from his Wanted posters. “You know, a little more sneaky, a little more scary.”

“A little more CIA,” he countered, lifting his head and raising an eyebrow at you. “For shame. This isn’t Krueger, this is Sinatra.”

You smirked at him and studied the hat again. You supposed you could see it. He was hot, and one of the few men in the twenty-first century who you’d seen successfully pull it off without giving you Wes Craven flashbacks. His striking blue eyes complimented the dark blue silk around the brim and almost matched his tie.

“Alright, I relent. You’re sophisticated, classy, and old-fashioned.” Your lips quirked as you teased. Neal chuckled.

Internally, you felt a thrill. This was going better than you had hoped. Neal was calm and engaging; not flighty in the least. His confidence inspired some of your own, but that was an old trick of the trade, and you knew better than to fall for it too hard.

“Is it really a two-person job?” You cynically asked, looking Neal’s friend up and down.

He was a short bald guy in glasses, skittish and fidgety, and he’d had more glasses of wine since you all sat down than the number of burner phones you owned. You could tell just by his demeanor that he was an anxious little fella, and you tried to avoid partnering with the overly-nervous. Too many nerves made it hard to effectively pull off a job.

“Haversham has all the equipment we need.” Neal told you, topping off your glass like any hospitable host would’ve. “No one’s as good as me. But he comes pretty close.”

“What’s the job for?” Haversham, as he was apparently called, asked you. Unlike Neal, he struck you as incredibly flighty. His voice was a little loud and confrontational. Neal shot him a look, practically screaming at him with his eyes to calm down.

You liked Neal, but you liked a lot of people. You weren’t a con woman because you disliked people. And besides, trusting and liking a person were entirely different ball games. Your life was at risk because of this stupid necklace; no way in hell were you going to tell them the truth about what they were working on, lest they backstab you or use the threat to your health as a means of exploiting more money out of you. They didn’t strike you as the type, but anyone could be a good actor.

You just needed to pull a con on the conmen you wanted to help you with yours. It was a simple process, really; you just needed a lie with as much background information as you wanted to share. You’d already thought of one, anticipating that the question would come up sooner or later.

“There’s a hefty buyer looking to pass off a piece of jewelry as the real thing for a very large sum.” You put your wine glass on the table delicately and crossed your legs at the ankles. “Unfortunately, the real thing was looted in the seventeenth century and reportedly melted down. Discovering part of the horde would be… financially beneficial… but my client is far more interested in putting it on display.” You grimaced as if the idea sickened you. “He’s offering me too much to pass on, no matter how little I approve.”

Neal and Haversham looked at each other.

“If the real piece was melted down four hundred some years ago, how do you expect us to recreate it?” Haversham challenged you, narrowing his eyes while his fingers tapped bouncily on his knee.

You smiled politely. “My client is convinced he can have this authenticated based on the records kept by the original owners. He’s created approximations and send photographs with the dimensional specifications. It’s not perfect, but he can’t very well put plastic and colored glass on display with a price tag as large as we’re talking. So he needs real rubies and real gold.”

Neal winced. “To each his own. A score’s a score.” He raised his glass towards you. “I think we can do this project. Shall we discuss rates?”

You tapped your glass against the side of his gingerly and then took a sip, feigning consideration. It was your life on the line; you would happily pay more than you’d normally like for their cooperation, but you had to behave as though it were any other con. If Neal knew that he was as much of a mark as anyone else in your scheme, you doubted he’d still be singing the same tune.

“We can work something out.” You decided. “Five percent?”

Neal tilted his head at you, scoffing slightly. “Your entire plan is contingent on the products of our labor.”

“Fine.” You huffed. “Ten percent each. You wouldn’t be getting this job if I wasn’t facilitating it.”

Haversham scoffed. “Twenty-five combined!”

“Twenty-two,” you deadpanned. He seemed easily spooked, so you locked your eyes on him in a mean, cool stare.

He sat back. “That’s fair,” he said compliantly, avoiding looking at you. You smiled slightly at Neal, who was giving you a vaguely scolding expression for scaring his friend.

After five days, you had developed a routine of sorts. Neal and his odd friend would be in your secured warehouse by the portside, working on developing the synthetic rubies with tools you didn’t even recognize. You kept the real necklace far from the pickpocket, but brought photographs with you to compare the gems, and recorded the specs for their use.

Haversham had on thick, flame-retardant gloves up to his elbows when you entered with your electronic key. Neal was set up at a table several yards away from the superhot industrial oven. Haversham was wearing a welding mask and thick clothes. The temperature made you start sweating even after you’d been inside for a few seconds, so you imagined he was sweltering. His dedication to protecting himself from boiling gold was laudable. When it splashed, it left burn scars. You’d heard of more than one person convicted for their carelessness.

Neal wore long pants and a tight wife-beater shirt and thick-soled, metal-toed boots to protect his feet, but aside from protective goggles on the table near where he stood over the fake rubies, he wore nothing else. You could see his abs through his clothes, and sweat glistened on his arms. You liked how he was strong and built, but not obnoxiously so, and you gave yourself a second to pretend that you were allowed to be enjoying the view as much as you were.

“Hey, boys,” you called, raising an arm to wave lazily at Haversham, who didn’t respond. You walked to the side of the table and pushed yourself up to sit on the edge. Neal looked up at you, a curl of hair falling over his face and a satisfied, self-indulgent smile on his mouth. “How’re things coming?”

“We finished making the rubies this morning.” He placed his fingers in the group of gems and divided them into two groups, each corresponding to one of the false necklaces. “We should be able to leave them in the gold plating by tomorrow and have them finished days before your deadline.”

“Uh-huh.” You admired the rubies. They looked gorgeous; picture-perfect. Unrealistically beautiful, in fact. “Now, how are you going to make them look like they weren’t manufactured?”

Neal’s lips quirked appreciatively at your catch. “Imperfections on the jewels, forced oxidation on the gold. We have the photographs to go off of.” He cocked his head and stalked to you slowly. You hoped it wasn’t just your imagination that you had his complete, rapt attention. You spread your legs so he could stand between your knees, and he put his hands down on the table on either side of your thighs, leaning over you. “Of course,” he whispered, leaning down. You could see the flecks of shades in his irises. “It would be much easier if we could model off the physical approximation.”

It was hard to act like you didn’t care. You flirted a lot yourself, and you knew it was a ploy. Still, Neal attracted you like few people managed to. He was smart, he was gorgeous, and he had a sense of humor – and, unlike most decent guys you met, he was in the lifestyle. No normal man would understand not to ask questions if you had to take off to Bohemia or be absent for months at a time. You wished you could return the flirtations, maybe even invite him out for drinks, but mixing work and pleasure wasn’t a great idea, especially when failure to deliver the goods would get a target on your back. Self-preservation was always your first concern.

“I love your enthusiasm,” you whispered back playfully, “But I haven’t forgotten that you’re a thief as well as a forger.”

“Touché.” He smiled at you more sincerely then. “I had to ask.”

“Sure,” you compliantly agreed.

“In that case, I should tell you what else I am.” His smile faded. Your expression darkened and you tensed, prepared to shove him away. Sudden mood swings were never reassuring. “Y/N, I might have misled you slightly. I am criminally active – however, those crimes have been more often than not sanctioned by the FBI as of late.”

You swallowed and stared up at him darkly. “If you don’t move, I’m going to punch you in the nose and walk out of here.”

“I just had to see if you would give up the necklace, but Agent Burke will get a warrant to search your hotel room.” Still, he stepped back and gave you room. You hopped off of the table swiftly, backing away while keeping your eyes locked on him.

Your heart raced. Is he lying? You couldn’t find any tells. His tone was even, his expression was wry and bittersweet, and as you listened for anything else in the room, you realized you couldn’t hear the bubbling gold anymore. You held out a hand to stop Neal from advancing and spun quickly to see over your shoulder. Mozzie had moved away from the oven, turned it down, and was taking off his mask to fix his fogged and dripping glasses.

“Please don’t make a scene,” Neal requested, pulling on his lower lip with his teeth. “I like you. I’d rather not watch this get messier than it has to be.” He pulled on the strap of his shirt over his shoulder and turned it inside out so you could see a small microphone on the inside. “Clear, guys. Come on in.”

The door to the warehouse clanged open. “FBI!” A man shouted, his gun out.

Self-preservation.

You put your hands up harmlessly, but glowered at Neal for a moment before lowering your eyes. Maybe this was your karma for your madness. Everything caught up to everyone eventually. It wasn’t really his fault if you were the one morally in the wrong (you were big enough to admit that you were the antihero, even from your own perspective). Besides, working with the FBI was probably the best for his self-preservation.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” the first man called to you, lowering his weapon. The other agent, a beautiful woman, kept hers out and she approached behind him, keeping an eye on you. The man stuck his hand out as he came closer, smiling genially. “Special Agent Peter Burke.”

“No,” Neal sighed, crossing his arms. “Peter, don’t say it.”

Peter’s grin widened. “It’s a pleasure to catch you.”

Neal sighed again, looking away. You ground your teeth and stared at his outstretched hand skeptically.

Self-preservation.

“I should probably mention that the real reason I want fake necklaces is so that I don’t get killed by people rich enough to hire hitmen,” you blandly stated to the federal agent. It felt like you were in shock. You knew you’d rail against it once you had time to process and understand what had happened, but at the moment, you were working to make the most out of it for yourself.

Peter nodded sympathetically and realized you weren’t going to shake his hand. He dropped it to his side. “We can take care of that.” He took up handcuffs from his belt. “Behind your back, please.”

You sent another look at Neal. He shrugged at you, his eyes compassionate. He didn’t seem at all surprised that you’d lied about your motivations. You wondered if he’d gone running to the feds as soon as you approached him. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, thinking, before you turned to Peter and asked, “Can I have a moment?”

Though confused, Peter agreed. “Yeah…?” He said it like a question and turned to look at the woman with him.

“No funny business,” she warned you. “I have excellent aim and I’m looking right at your knees.”

You stepped up to Neal. He leaned back on the table warily. “Nice one, Caffrey.” You defeatedly admitted. “I didn’t see it coming.” You paused. If your work wasn’t going to be finished, there was nothing to mix the pleasure with. You’d be damned if you went to all this trouble to partner up with Neal and didn’t get anything out of it.

You reached for his waist and tugged on the belt loops in his pants, pulling him closer to you. Neal moved his hands to your hips impulsively and you reached for his shoulder, sliding your hand easily across his slippery skin, dragging him down to meet you halfway, pressing your lips to his. Neal kissed you softly, gently; his lips were soft and full and his mouth tasted rich with an aftertaste of coffee.

Peter coughed when you pulled back, your hands still on his hips. Neal looked down at you, blinking in surprise, but with a charmed, happy grin on his face. You hoped it didn’t last too long – you still wanted him to feel at least a little bit guilty about getting you arrested.

After a few more seconds of feeling the warmth of his body, you dropped your arms and took a step back. “Alright,” you said exasperatedly, turning around so your back was to Peter. You held your hands behind your back. “I’m cooperating, lady. Leave my knees alone.”

“Thanks for your help, Mozzie,” Peter said to someone.

“Suit!” Haversham hissed, stripping off his gloves. “Why would you say my name?! I don’t want her to know who I am!”

“It’s a bit late for that,” you grumbled.

Requested by @white-magician

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