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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 2 years

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Part 6

Masterlist

Series masterlist

Part 5 🍂 Part 7

Pairing: Syverson x ofc

Series summary: Life with Sy, what more can you wish for? The most amazing husband and father to a whole litter of cute little kids... Sometimes you wonder "how did you get here?"

Chapter warnings: Mostly fluff, some frustrations (we're still remodeling, folks), some angst? We're collectively getting mad at Jules...

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: @keanureevesisbae is now officially so far ahead that I owe her until part 10... You're an absolute powerhouse, babe, keep it up! ❤️❤️

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn

This weekend was going to kill you, you were sure of it. It was Friday, you were free. Jules had taken a day off, so had Sy and Patrick – you’d begged them not to, but they insisted. The shipping company hadn’t been able to find your stuff, and had agreed to reimburse you for the costs of service and the lost furniture. Now, you were left with the lovely task of buying new furniture. Some things you’d been able to order online, but others you wanted to check out in person. Like a mattress. And a couch. That meant you and Julie had some shopping to do, while the boys had agreed to start painting the rooms downstairs - there was plenty of time to take care of the second floor, but first you needed at least one room in that house to feel livable.

“You said what?” You sure were glad Jules thought it was funny. Her hysterical laughter stopped at once when you told her about his reaction – which was probably for the better, because she almost drove you into a ditch.

“Girl, get some!” she practically begged you. “And get this man off my boyfriend’s couch, please!”

“Are you suggesting we move in together?” you asked her sarcastically. Julie did seem to realize that that was possibly a bit more than she could hope for at this point.

“Did anything else happen?” This interrogation was never going to end… You replied by casually mentioning the shoulder-pinching, and the way he’d leaned his leg against yours underneath the table while you’d been eating.

“Ooh, he’s getting touchy!” Julie almost sang the words, and looked very excited. Touchy. That was new and scary. You’d never even kissed him and – Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Julie honking at some douche who cut you off in the parking lot.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole!” Jules yelled before sighing and turning to you. “Oh well, let’s buy you a bed!”

“Need some help with that?” Patrick called when you and Julie were dragging boxes out of the back of Sy’s truck. It had been a good idea to take that, instead of Jules’ tiny car. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been yours, or even hers.

“Told ya that it wasn’t gonna work with your li’l Fiat, Jules,” Sy teased as he also stepped outside to lend a hand. You threw your head around to tell them they could continue painting, not expecting both of them to be standing there without a shirt on. It was 35 degrees out, sure, but did that mean they had to be half naked? Well, ‘they’… Patrick could be half naked all he wanted, he was taken and – if you had to be honest – a little scrawny for your taste. If you allowed yourself to be superficial, you know. Seeing Sy, however, fuck… He was something else. The little sneak preview of his abs hadn’t prepared you for the rest of him. Your arms were jelly – in part because they were still sore from the carpet-adventure, and in part because of Sy, who you only now realized was walking over to you, just as the box in your hands started to slip.

“For someone who spends a lot of time yelling at everyone who offers her any help, you seem to get yourself in a lot of situations that look a whole ass lot like you’re in need of some help, Sugar.” He picked up the box like it weighed nothing and winked at you. Or, again, tried to, which made you crack up. Of course that didn’t knock the stupid grin off his face, no. You just knew it only got wider as he walked your stuff back to the house while you just stood there, unable to move, watching the muscles in his back move…

“Earth to Lara?” Jules waved her hand in front of your face impatiently. “Hi, yeah. Thanks for joining us today. Pat and I have some errands to run, you and Sy can hold down the fort here, right?”

“Errands to run? What errands?”

“Someone’s got to pick up your new floors, right?” Jules smiles deviously. Yes, someone had to pick up the new floors, but not them?

“Can't we go together?”

“Let’s see… No.” And just like that, she was gone. Patrick waved with a sheepish grin on his face. You were pretty sure he knew exactly why Jules insisted they go together, and you didn’t like it at all.

“Sugar, can you come lend a hand?” Sy leaned against the door frame, still not wearing a shirt.

“Of course,” you said as you walked towards him.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Oh, great, another cute little nickname to stop your heart in its tracks. Pat called you the exact same names, you knew they were pretty damn casual around here. Then why couldn’t you just take them that way when Sy said it? Sy walked you to the three rooms on the ground floor. He and Patrick had somehow managed to do the work of five men while you and Jules were out. That being said, it probably helped that they were tall enough to not have to step on and off a ladder the whole time. The last room you walked into had the boxes that contained your new bedframe.

“Sy, just so you know, I’m practically worthless when it comes to putting furniture together,” you said. Not to mention you were beyond exhausted at this point, and therefore practically worthless when it came to everything.

“That’s why I’m gonna do it for ya, Sugar, I just need an extra set of hands.” He grinned. You were far too tired to protest, so you just did as instructed while Sy did most of the heavy lifting on putting the bed together. Thanks to Sy, you were done faster than you could have even figured out the instructions. Dragging that mattress to the other room would have cost you your back, but not Sy. You grabbed the sheets from the bag in the kitchen, kicking your stupid air mattress demonstratively before finishing up in your new temporary bedroom. For the first time in months, you had a decent bed, and you were very excited about that. 200 housewife points for you! Sy sat down on the edge of the mattress and bounced up and down for a bit while flashing you a suggestive smile. “Feels sturdy enough,” he said. His smile turned into a grin when he saw you roll your eyes, barely able to control your own face, where a smile threatened to break through.

“Sy,” you said as you took a step towards him, “thank you.” You knew you were about to cry the same tears as you did after that phone call that Sy had handled for you, and there was absolutely nothing you could do to stop it. He pulled you in so you were standing between his knees.

“It’s just a bed, Sugar.” It wasn’t. You knew it, he knew it, Julie would no doubt know it if she were here. Patrick would probably be clueless, but that was just who he was most of the time. It wasn’t the bed itself, but the fact that he made you go out and buy it, the fact that he put it together for you. It was the fact he was taking care of you, even though you’d never asked him to do that. You were reminded of a random line from Grease; ‘the only man a girl can depend on is her daddy’. Well you couldn’t even depend on him, so why depend on anyone else, ever? Over the years you’d built walls around the walls you’d built around your walls. But you’d seen Sy with a sledgehammer. You were fucked. You could kiss the independence you’d worked so hard for goodbye. Maybe it was time to swallow your pride.

“I could never have done this without you, Sy,” you whispered. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it louder, it already hurt too much to throw everything you were away like this.

“Know what, Sugar, I think you’re right.” Sy laughed, which you found incredibly annoying. “You think, if I bought this house, that I could have done all of this by myself?” Part of you was convinced he would have pulled it off, but for the most part, you knew he wouldn’t even have tried.

“Thanks, Sy, you’re a great…” Your voice trailed off.

“Friend?” Sy added. His voice was rough, his expression grim. Unconsciously, one of your hands reached for his cheek. The hair of his beard was surprisingly soft.

“Maybe more.” It wasn’t even a whisper, it was just a breath.

“Sugar, if you think this could be something, kiss me.” His eyes were intense, his voice low and gravelly. It was incredibly sexy, and you were incredibly turned on. And incredibly scared. You couldn’t fuck this up again – Jules would have you drawn and quartered, and you’d gracefully accept your fate because you wouldn’t want to live in a universe in which you were so goddamn stupid as to ruin a chance with a man like this twice. The problem was: you couldn’t move. Sy scoffed and started to turn away, you had to do something…

“Sy, I need your help,” you said shyly. It took him a second to catch up, and then he chuckled. A large arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you onto his lap with ease. Your hand was still on his cheek, the other wrapped around his neck. His face came closer, your eyes fell shut…

“We’re back!” The already very unwelcome exclamation was followed by an even more unwelcome shriek.

“Jules, you have the worst goddamn timing,” Sy growled.

#syverson fanfiction #syverson x ofc #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson #syverson #syverson fic #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters

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whumble-beeee · 1 year

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Whumptober 2023 | Day 6 | The Bee’s Whumptober Masterlist

“Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

CW: li’l bit of blood, implied kidnapping, restraints

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Caretaker did their best not to cry out as they were forced to the ground by a kick to the back of the knees and a firm downward force on their shoulder. A fist tangled through their hair and pitched them forward, slamming their face straight into the concrete with a dull thunk and bright bolts of color momentarily crowding their vision.

“Glad you could make it, Caretaker.”

They pressed their hands into the floor to sit back up, but a hand squeezed their neck and held them in a forced kneel, head bowed so they couldn’t see past Whumper’s polished dress shoes. Whumpee stuttered out a weak “No, don’t!” somewhere in front of them. A foot nudged Caretaker’s head gently to the side.

“Thought you’d be more of a challenge to subdue, though.”

“Fuck you, Whumper, let me go.” Catetaker hissed. Then corrected, “Let us go.”

The shoes disappeared from their view as the hand holding their neck squeezed more, making the world spin around them.

“I will. Eventually.”

Caretaker heard the telltale rattle of chains as footsteps meandered across the room. Whumpee growled as the pacings grew nearer to them, only for them to walk right past to a different target that Caretaker could only guess at. They lurched for the second time to press out of the death grip on their neck, only to be shoved further to the ground, so their forehead almost kissed the floor.

“I’d stop being difficult,” Whumper called idly as the ratted through a box of something. “Unless you want to be next on the chopping block?”

“Yes, yes, let Whumpee go, they have nothing to do with this! It’s me you want anyway!”

Whumper paused, as if actually considering.

“Mmmm… After.”

“Wait, you can’t, please don’t, don’t–” Whumpee started gasping in distressed whines as Whumper sounded ever closer to Caretaker once more, before yelping out loudly by the footsteps taking a quick detour into Whumpee’s stomach and silencing them. Caretaker clenched their fists against the concrete, and the impeccably polished shoes appeared in their view again.

“I have something different planned for now. It’ll be fun. Let them up.”

The iron grip dug even more into their arteries and jerked them backward, so at least they weren’t lying prostrated before the madperson anymore. Who wears suits to a torture session? They finally got a good stock of the room they had been forced into: Prison grey cement walls, surprisingly well-lit considering the whole “torture room” thing. A cabinet of man-made horrors well within Caretaker's comprehension sitting to their right, and Whumpee chained to the damn wall across the room, half curled in on themself and staring at Caretaker with pleading tear-soaked eyes. Only a couple of bruises littered their skin, a single streak of blood running from their disheveled hair down their temple.

Then Whumper, crouched down right in front of them, looking expectantly into their eyes while holding something out for them to take. Their white dress shirt had its sleeves rolled up.

“What?” Caretaker spat, sizing up what Whumper was holding out. Some sort of camcorder. They had to manually unclench their muscles and instead glare daggers into Whumper’s soul, wishing they were sharp enough to kill.

Whumper shook the camcorder lightly and rolled their eyes. “Take it. I’ve been waiting just for you to do this. Fond memories and all. You’ll film the entire session, and if both of your friend and I aren’t in frame the entire time, or you stop it early, or god forbid you throw to camcorder away, I’ll up the ante accordingly on poor Whumpee accordingly.”

“And if I say fuck you?”

“Then I’ll kill them when I’m done.”

Whumpee’s face went ghost-white behind Whumper. To match Caretaker, they imagined. A chill ran down their spine. They searched Whumper’s face for any sign of a bluff, but their eyes hadn’t so much as twitched from the almost disinterested mask of vague amusement that marred their features.

Caretaker sputtered. “You’re joking. Or– Or you’ll do it anyway.”

Whumper craned their neck to look at Whumpee, and they whimpered, shuffling their feet on the ground and shoving further back into the wall as if they could phase through it with enough effort. Whumper turned back to Caretaker, brow raised.

“You willing to take that bet?”

Caretaker turned their attention to Whumpee. They offered nothing more than a desperate pleading look. Help me.

Caretaker swallowed. “Please, don’t,” they whispered with a shaky voice. “It should be me, please. Torture me, kill me. Not them. Not Whumpee. They’re innocent.”

Whumper didn’t move a muscle except to extend the camcorder further.

“Please, please, please!” they cried. They bowed their head and pressed their forehead to the floor, willingly this time. “Isn’t this what you want?! I’ll do anything, whatever you want! Just don’t hurt them, please, I’m begging you, I’ll do anything!”

No response. Then Whumper gently nudged their face off the ground and forced them to look up at them, though Caretaker still hunched before them. Whumper breathed out. A microscopic narrowing of the eyes. A dare. Caretaker swallowed. Closed their eyes as tight as possible. Clenched their jaw. And snatched the camcorder out of Whumper’s hands, holding it close to their chest.

Whumper hummed, a rare smile tangible marking their voice. “Good. Good Caretaker.”

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ponyguru · 1 year

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This ponymail came from literally months ago, but my summer always seems to get crazy!! I was super excited to find this My Little Puppy Li’l Litters Sweet Spaniel mommy in glitternsold ‘s sale, as she is my first! These cuties are made by Hasbro, and are a part of the official My Little Pony line, in case you’ve never seen them before! 🐶 Thank you so much glitternsold !! 💖💖💖

#mlp #mylittlepony #my little pony #mylittleponyg1 #g1 mlp #mylittleponycollector #mylittlepuppy #lillitters #mlpg1 #sweetspaniel

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theponiesiownies · 2 years

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And with this wee baby, my My Little Kitty/Bunny/Puppy collection is complete after 14 years.

#my little kitty #my little puppy #my little bunny #lil litters #nursery families #li’l litters #mlp g1 #my little pony g1 #vintage my little pony #vintage mlp

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modx-reborn · 3 years

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Y’know that hc that c!Sapnap has like some kind of pyro abilities? Yeah so much that with like possible branding kink and him just leaving marks all over your body with it while y’all are getting it on 😩 li’l but if temperature play y’know? -💫

Oh yeah...

In the winter Sapnaps heat is a blessing, even now as spring sets in and the wind warms the feeling of his fingers against your skin is heavenly. Like small tails of fire they lick up your sides at his every touch, but today he seems to burn brighter, run warmer like he is trying to brand himself into you at every chance he can get.

Being wrapped in his arms and pressed close to his chest lets you fall away into a half-sleep, comfort building from the warmth but stinging just sightly when he presses too hard, burning his heat into you.

"Could brand myself on you ya know? Leave you all pretty in marks from me that will never fade, have you let the whole server know that your mine..."

Just words you had thought a passing thought as you drifted off beside him, humming in agreements not seeing the sharp way he looks at you watching how your skin turns pink under his hands, tracing his name on your skin and watching it fade time and time again as he scrawls across your skin.

But weeks later he brings it up again, a more permanent mark for others to know to keep away, that you were his and this time you could think on it. Have his name on you just as blatantly as the bite marks, bruises, and hickies that have littered your skin for weeks on end.

Temporary marks that had sated his need for marking till now, till he had stayed up so many nights heat at his fingertips, scrawling his name just so. Loving how one time he had gone too hot and left you with it burned on you, just a minor thing he had panicked and treated it immediately but the sight of how his name lingered for days after on your skin had begun to spark something in him.

"So what do ya think? You wanna wear my name for everyone to see? Let the whole server know your my darlin and no one else's?"

#💫 anon #c: sapnap #dsmp smut #k: branding #k: marking #possessive behavior #mxad #anon response

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ahkaahshi · 4 years

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Ello Fran!! Firstly I just want to say I adore your work <3 thank you so much for sharing your talent with us! I choose option A! For my request I’d like a scenario with Atsumu and Osamu, where the relationship is complicated, and 1. Where you get caught with one by the other lol it’s up to you which one it is, I’m content with either twin tbh :}

prompt: ☾ #1 -> getting caught in the act with one of them by the other one

roomies: the miya twins (osamu is the love interest)

genre: smut (18+)

warning(s): explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, mentions of a threesome

my note to you: hello 😊 you’re bringing out the brit in me with that greeting lol 😂 you are so kind!! I really appreciate you saying such nice things my heart is just 💓💕 for you!! I'm deciding on getting caught by atsumu for this one since I have another request for getting caught by osamu lol #miya equality :) ty for sending this in lovely ❤️

getting caught having sex with osamu by atsumu [scenario]

tbh you and osamu have been tryna fuck for a while since y’all just had that instant connection after moving in together. plus, you guys have been friends for a long time.

but, it’s challenging since the two of you are often with atsumu during the times when everyone’s not busy for once

eventually, the tension just gets too much for you to bear and you end up just going at it one morning over the weekend while atsumu’s sleeping in his room

since you don’t wanna wake him up, you have to be as quiet as you can, but that’s kinda impossible when you’re getting railed by someone you’ve been desperate to have rail you for too long 😂

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire beneath Osamu’s as his hot breath spills over your neck like a lava flow while he thrusts into you at a tantalizingly slow pace. When he feels you writhe beneath him and sees your lips tremble as you try your best to bite back the loud sounds of pleasure you feel aching in your throat, he litters your mouth with gentle kisses. “That’s a good girl,” he praises in the brief moments when his lips separate from yours.

Moaning softly into his mouth elicits a grunt from him and spurs him to bury his cock inside of you even deeper. In response, you tighten your grip around his back, trying to bring his body as close to yours as it can get so you can feel every inch of him. As he slowly starts picking up the pace, his dark eyes roam your features, watching as they morph into expressions of pleasure and torment at having to stay quiet. On a particularly deep stroke, you let out a breathy cry of his name that you can’t hold back.

Hearing his name uttered in such a delightful tone makes his dick throb against your walls. He wishes Atsumu was a heavier sleeper or would just spend some time out of the damn house so he could listen to your sweet cries of pleasure all day long. Tapping on your lips with his finger prompts you to open your mouth so he can fill it with three of his long digits. Even though you know they’re meant to help muffle your sounds, you can’t help but close your lips around them and trace a path along them with your tongue.

He releases a low growl at your actions, eyeing you lustfully as he resists the urge to thrust his fingers deeper into your throat. Instead he kisses your forehead and continues pounding into you, intent on finishing you off by slamming into that sweet spot of yours.

However, the sound of his bedroom door swinging open rather abruptly puts your steamy sex session on hold, and you dig your fingers into Osamu’s back in an attempt to hide yourself from your intruder.

“Dude, where the fuck’s my--” Atsumu cuts himself off when he realizes what he’s walked in on in his sleepy stupor. As if he can’t believe what he’s seeing, he rubs his eyes, blinks a few times, and then opens them again so he can assess the situation. “Shit. My bad.”

“Athsssumu!” you choke out, his name slurred by his twin’s fingers pressed against your tongue.

Osamu glances down at you before sighing, “Whaddya want, then?”

“My blanket. With the li’l foxes on it.”

You move your hand onto Osamu’s wrist and pull his fingers out of your mouth so you can answer, “You left it in my room when we were watching a movie last night.”

“Sick,” he responds with a nod. After this, you expect him to leave so he can retrieve his beloved blanket and go back to sleep. However, he remains standing near the doorway somewhat awkwardly, making Osamu narrow his eyes at him and you cock at eyebrow at him.

“Don’t know if ya’ve noticed, but we’re kinda in the middle of somethin’, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu spits, moving closer to you and inching his dick just enough further inside of you to elicit a soft whimper from you.

His blonde-haired brother shrugs and explains, “I’m bored. I got nothin’ ta do. ‘Nd yer over here, fuckin’ (f/n), so, can I join?”

A long pause ensues his question, during which you expect Osamu to reject his request and send him away, but, instead, he turns his gaze back to you and murmurs, “I mean, I’m fine with it, but it’s up to you.”

Your heart races with excitement at the proposition, and just moments after a gentle “Okay,” leaves your mouth, Atsumu’s shutting the door behind him and hopping onto the bed beside you so he can set himself to work. And though you’re a bit unsure of your decision at first, the pleasure you receive from having both twins focused on you at once makes you wish you’d suggested it earlier.

⭐︎ fran’s 600 milestone event! (reqs closed, interactions welcome!)

#fran writes hq!!#ahkaahshi gets wild #haikyuu!!#miya atsumu #miya osamu #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #x reader #reader insert #miya atsumu x reader #miya osamu x reader #haikyuu #hq!!#anime #manga #smut #fran's 600 milestone event!!#fran writes requests!!

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

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thoughts on a centaur au? Jask is a Buck and Geralt is probably one of those Draft horses! maybe when jask goes to Kaer Morhen they are fascinated with Jasks' antlers and Lambert hangs shit on them like Lil'Bleater or bowls

This ask made me do some happy wiggles of excitement because centaurs!! I adore your idea of Lambert hanging things on Jaskier’s antlers and we’ll get there, but first, I think a bit of tension is needed :D

The forest was overrun with men who hunted indiscriminately. Jaskier had been avoiding them y climbing higher and higher up the mountain he had always been warned away from. But he figured that nothing the mountain hid could be worse than what the humans were doing. At least, he thought that while it was daylight and he had energy. Now thought, it was dark, getting cold and Jaskier was hungry. He hadn’t had the chance to grab provisions as he had fled, an arrow glancing off his side, leaving a sluggishly bleeding gouge. Around him, the trees had stopped being large and welcoming with the sun peeking through them. Instead, they loomed menacingly, hiding any number of evil threats.

Exhausted, Jaskier couldn’t go on any longer. He found a small clearing next to the path, haphazardly gathered up a few armfuls of leaves for a makeshift nest and curled up as small as he could, hoping none of the howling creatures would stumble upon him. Sleep, no matter how tired he was, didn’t come easy. Every small snap of twig had Jaskier flinching, trying to listen out for anything prowling closer. Heart fluttering in his chest, Jaskier tried to calm himself yet he didn’t dare even hum to soothe his worries.

He was so caught up in calming his heart and stopping his trembling, Jaskier missed the soft fall of heavy hooves.

“You sure have strayed far from your patch, little buck,” a deep voice all but growled and Jaskier was up, legs buckling nervously as he looked up at the new arrival. He was big, taller and broader than Jaskier. “What brings you to our territory?”

Our?! Jaskier’s breath hitched as he twisted and saw that two more similarly built centaurs had materialised from between the trees. He was surrounded, outnumbered and outclassed. If he had been less exhausted and not injured, Jaskier might have been able to outrun them but, in his current state, he couldn’t even slip past them in all likelihood.

“I was hoping for a quiet, peaceful night in relative safety,” he managed to spit back, wit and tongue still as sharp as ever even if his body wasn’t.

Eyes glinted in the dark, positively predatory. Worse, moonlight filtered through the trees and Jaskier caught sight of scars littering torsos and faces. There was nothing friendly or reassuring about the new arrivals. What Jaskier didn’t expect was a low rumble of laughter.

“You won’t find that here.” And Jaskier didn’t think he could have heard anything less friendly. He braced to make a break for it, willing to risk his all because the only other option was to stay put and die.

“Stop being mean, Lambert,” the one behind Jaskier sounded amused and a lot closer than he was a minute ago. Jaskier whirled around, head tipped down to at least look like his antlers could do some damage if he was pushed. “Relax, little buck, we mean no harm. Could smell your blood and merely came to investigate.”

A hand merrily smacked Jaskier’s rump and he bucked, kicking out and skittering away, colliding into a firm chest with a squeak.

“That was mean, Lambert,” the chest rumbled under Jaskier as hands helped right him. “Go check the traps and pick up our bundles. We’re done for tonight and heading back. Eskel, take the rear.”

The one who was evidently called Eskel grumbled something under his breath about them not being bleeding hearted softies but he still moved as told, offering Jaskier a small half smile.

“Apologies about our herd. Brutish but well meaning. Come back to our home, we’ll tend to your wounds and you’ll be free to go whenever you want. We’ll even give you some food for whatever journey it is you’re obviously embarked on.”

Options were slim pickings and Jaskier could either go with them or run. He was too tired to run though so he allowed himself to be led up the mountain. The path was difficult, he delicately stepped over larger cracks and holes in the ground that the others seemingly avoided naturally, like it was a habit of theirs.

Sooner than expected, they were outside a giant, sprawling keep. Parts of it were crumbling away but a good portion of it appeared to be well maintained.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen,” the leader said, opening the doors.

“Geralt, what is the meaning of this?” Another large centaur asked, standing opposite the open door. In the flickering light of torches, Jaskier could see they were all draft horses but heavily scarred as if, rather than working in haulage, they fought for their keep.

“A stray. Found him just before the Forktail’s Pass.” Turning to Jaskier, Geralt smiled. “This is Vesemir.”

Vesemir looked about as welcoming as a pit filled with hungry wolves and when Jaskier was ushered past him, he tried to give the old and grizzly centaur a wide berth.

“Let’s have a look at your side then I’ll show you to bedroom.” Geralt said, ushering Jaskier into a room that looked like an infirmary. “Though Eskel’s usually better at healing.”

“Damn right I am,” a voice joined them and Eskel walked in. He should have looked so much more frightening in the light, what with scars marring his face and arms. Yet all Jaskier could see was someone who had a lot of pain in his past.

His side was gently prodded, cleaned and a light bandage was wrapped around it. All while Eskel was doing that, Geralt was silent in a corner and occasionally staring at Jaskier. Or rather, his antlers.

The bedroom Jaskier was shown to was basic but functional. Most importantly, is had a lock on the inside. Though what it would achieve was a mystery when any of the inhabitants of the old keep could probably very easily kick through the wood of the door. It didn’t stop Jaskier feeling a little better as he slid the lock into place. Exhausted, he pulled the knitted throws and pelts into a nest and curled up, leaning against the rest, pulling it away from the wall a little to make room for his antlers.

In the morning, Jaskier was disoriented and still tired. His stomach was actually hurting with hunger so, fighting down the worry, he opened the bedroom door and did his best to strut towards the sound of quiet murmurs and the smell of food. All chatter came to an abrupt stop as Jaskier all but pranced in. His rescuers were still terrifying but at least Jaskier didn’t think they were going to slaughter him immediately. At least, the pelts he’d slept on were all predator ones.

“Good morning my handsome heroes,” Jaskier forced a smile. Eyes followed his every step but nobody moved until Geralt cleared his throat.

“Help yourself to food.”

Permission granted, Jaskier helped himself, piling a plate high with food and trotting to the table. He could pretend this was normal, that he belonged, was one of the giants who lived here. Four sets of eyes were trained on him as he ate and he ignored them in favour of taking a bite and lauding the chef with a happy moan.

His hosts never stopped looking at him, sneaking glances even when they tried to get back to their own meal. Plates empty, it was Geralt who offered him a small smile.

“Shall I show you round?”

If Jaskier hadn’t had antlers, he was certain Geralt would have offered him an arm to guide him. However, too close, Jaskier had to turn his head so he didn’t take Geralt’s eyes out. They had stopped in the courtyard when Geralt finally mustered up some courage.

“May I?” His hands were raised towards Jaskier, reaching for his antlers.

“Of course!” Jaskier even dipped his head to allow it, appreciating how gentle and soft Geralt had been on their impromptu tour. “I shed them once a year. Probably due to do it in a few weeks.”

A wicked smirk split Geralt’s lips wide. “I have an idea.”

There was a general fascination with Jaskier’s antlers amongst the others. While Geralt asked for permission to touch them, Eskel only looked at them surreptitiously. Lambert, on the other hand, was on a mission to be secretive and mischievous. The first time Jaskier ended up with a sausage on his antlers, he thought he’d had a mishap at breakfast and thought nothing of it.

However, the incidents kept up. There was a paper chain, carefully crafted that was draped to span his antlers after Jaskier woke from a nap. For the rest of the day, he proudly wore it, suspecting Lambert was the culprit behind the draping. Though the crafting of the chain was much more the kind of thing Eskel would do. It became a game after that, Jaskier noticed. While the others worked tirelessly to keep their keep and surrounding lands safe and their gardens free of pests, they needed some downtime. Which was where Jaskier seemed to fill a hole in their lives. Singing and bringing a splash of colour and art into their lives, Jaskier was reluctant to leave. Especially when Geralt invited him to late evening walks through Vesemir’s rose garden. It was all incredibly sweet.

As sweet as it was, Jaskier was a bit outraged when he woke up to see Lambert hightailing it out of the room and half the kitchen hung on his antlers, clanging bad enough to make Jaskier jump which only dislodged more pots, adding to the noise.

His antlers had been itching for a few days and Jaskier longed to find a good tree to rub against. Instead, he got to ask Geralt to rub the bases for him.

“Payback is going to be so sweet,” Geralt rumbled and Jaskier nodded. The antlers were a little loose. All he needed was something a little heavier on them and they’d likely fall. “I’ll encourage him.”

Sure enough, when Jaskier was pretending to snooze the next afternoon, Lambert appeared with Eskel’s prized goat. It was a sweet, placid thing, Jaskier quite liked Li’l Bleater. He watched as Lambert approached and hefted the goat up. The weight of a happy goat settled on Jaskier’s antlers and there was a small snicker from Lambert. Eskel rounded the corner and he froze at the sight. Which was the exact moment there was a crack and one of the antler fell.

Lambert caught Li’l Bleater before he could fall but there was horror on his face as he watched Jaskier’s antler on the floor.

“Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuckity fuck.” Lambert backed away and even Eskel looked too stunned to do anything.

Pretending to wake up, Jaskier shuffled around and froze when he so obviously caught sight of his antler. Raising a hand, he patted where the antler had been and, with his best acting skills, looked up at Lambert with devastation in his eyes.

“What have you done to me?”

There was a shriek and Lambert crashed into Eskel as he tried to run away. They stumbled, legs tangling and Vesemir came running to see what the upheaval was.

Jaskier was already doubled over laughing and, from the other side of the room, he could hear Geralt hooting.

“I broke the buck!” Lambert cried. “I broke him.”

Vesemir took one look at the scene, stomped over to cuff Lambert on the back of the head and turned to give Jaskier the same treatment.

“Idiots. The lot of you.” However, his eyes strayed to the antler on the floor. “You got use for that?”

“It’s yours, parental figure of the herd,” Jaskier leaned down to pick the antler up and offered it to Vesemir.

“You’ll do,” Vesemir snorted and took the antler, much more gently than Jaskier had expected. “You know your way round already. Stay as long as your heart desires. And maybe ask Geralt about his heart too.”

He gracefully ignored the snickering comment from Lambert about getting the old breeding block out. Though Eskel did cuff him on the back of the head for good measure. Jaskier had never felt more at home or more accepted. He decided he could easily spend several seasons at Kaer Morhen, seeing if it could truly become the home he’d craved all his life.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #vesemir #centaur au #long post #tldr: buck jaskier finds a home with the draft horse witchers of kaer morhen

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chainsxwsmile · 4 years

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What if, instead of meeting Gollum in the caves, Bilbo meets a certain Troll? (Not much is changed in canon, but this is my first fanfiction!)

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He had landed on something soft; at least Bilbo had enough self-awareness to be grateful for that. The ample colony of sizable mushrooms softened his fall down the cavern yet the same couldn’t be said for his goblin assailant. Despite Bilbo’s own knuckles skinned raw, his hip throbbing from the fall, and all sorts of grime gathered upon his clothes, his injuries couldn’t hold a candle to the unfortunate goblin who had taken a tumble alongside the hobbit. The creature wheezed, with barely enough strength to move its head about the darkened crevice surrounding them both. Bilbo had half a mind to pity the creature, even if he had only felt its rotten teeth sink into his neck just a few moments before their fall. The edges of Bilbo’s vision still blurred, and he squinted against the lowlight— and jumped as a pair of uncannily massive eyes met his own. A skulking being, vertebrate protruding from its arched back as it stalked forward on all fours, slunk into the dim light. Instinctively, Bilbo stilled within the cover of the mushrooms, and he held his breath as the creature’s raspy voice echoed across the chasm.

“Yesss. Yes! Yes,” the creature grinned terribly, before something between a cough and choke rose from its throat. “Gollum. Gollum!” it hissed, and its spindly hands snatched the ankles of the dazed goblin. The sudden movement launched Bilbo’s former assailant into a frenzy and the goblin thrashed about, shrieking and clawing. The gangly creature returned the blows, stone in hand, strategically smashing in the goblin’s skull; the goblin went limp and the shrieks died in its throat. “Nasty goblinses are better than old bones, precious,” the spindly creature mused aloud, grunting as it dragged its prize behind it. “Better than nothing.”

Only when the horrid creature and its prey slipped from his sight did Bilbo finally remember to breathe. It came out in a shudder, and the hobbit scrambled to his feet; and quite grateful beyond doubt that his sword—still glowing a dazzling blue— buried itself beneath a mushroom cap, hidden from the terrible creature. As Bilbo’s hand steadied the weight of the sword, a metallic flash on the cavern floor caught his eye. He bent down and retrieved in his hand a ring. Golden and simple, yet starkly elegant against the cavern walls. A screeching wail far off in the distance snapped Bilbo from his thoughts, and he trekked forward, pocketing the ring and keeping his glowing sword low. “Aah, too many boneses, precious! Not enough flesh,” the gangly creature cried, and then in a harsher voice; “Shut up! Cut its skin off! Start with its head.” Against his own instincts, Bilbo slunk past the piles of bones that haphazardly littered the cavern floor, his eyes fastened to the creature perched atop a sharp rock protruding out from the cavern lake. “The cold hard lands, they bites our hands, they gnaws our feet, for rocks and stones are like old bones all bare of meat, cold as death, without no breath it’s good to eat.” In every beat of the song, the creature’s hands—armed with a sharp rock— descended upon the goblin’s head. Bilbo winced visibly at every strike and each sickening sound the blows produced. At last, the rock smashed the goblin’s skull once more that Bilbo’s sword flickered like candlelight before being snuffed out, dead.

Suddenly a booming voice growled from beyond the rock, and Bilbo watched silently as the horrid gangly creature scattered from his sight, frightened off by the owner of the voice. From the shadow beyond the lake drew a hulking figure; so large Bilbo wondered how it had managed to get into the caverns in the first place. Nearly five meters tall, the being towered over the fallen, dead goblin, sniffing it shortly before giving what Bilbo presumed was a disgusted growl. Then two glowing, beady blue eyes met Bilbo’s and the hobbit saw the beast’s posture straighten in mild surprise.

It had seen him.

The hobbit scrambled back from the water, back against the rock, and lay still as he could, hoping that the beast would either lose interest or leave. Yet not even a moment went by that Bilbo felt any icy droplet of water on his curled locks. And then another. And as his eyes glanced upward— and upward and upward more— Bilbo felt his heart stop. The beast had silently crossed the lake and stood over the poor frightened hobbit, who gaped helplessly at the enormous foe. The beast quickly lumbered down from the rock formation, hastily putting itself between Bilbo and any means of escape; the behemoth’s movement so eerily silent, Bilbo couldn’t help but start to shake. But that wasn’t even the worst part; as the beast faced the hobbit, a terribly wide grin stretched across its scarred lips. If there was any breath left in Bilbo, the sight of the toothy smile snatched it from him. Canines the size of the little hobbit’s legs flashed a deadly white alongside each pointed, razor-sharp tooth. Heavy brows lidded the beast’s beady eyes in what Bilbo could only assume to be a ghastly intrigued expression. Like a cat licking its maw and readying itself to play with a poor mouse until it was beaten dead. The thought only escalated Bilbo’s shaking, and he was quite surprised he hadn’t dropped his sword yet. This close, Bilbo could see with what he was dealing: the beast was a troll. Not a stone troll; a slate-blue color graced the creature’s rough skin, and a black mane ran down its thick, muscular neck. Its broad nose was shaped like that of a great cat’s and it idled naturally on all fours. Then it spoke, in a deep, rumbling voice that sent a shiver down Bilbo’s spine.

“Hello,” it— he— bellowed. For a moment, Bilbo could only reply with a squeak— as that was all he could get out of his throat, at first. “Y-Yes, hello,” he replied politely, backing against the solid rock and holding his sword out precariously before him. Much luck that sword would do; it looked like a toothpick to the troll! The beast neared closer again, placing his enormous face— and toothy maw— within touching distance. The troll’s nostril’s flared and a sharp exhale billowed Bilbo’s hair and elicited a rather pitiful whimper from the hobbit. Yes, this troll was much bigger than the stone trolls; and Thorin’s company was very likely on the other side of the mountain for all Bilbo knew. Oh, what terrible luck! “Never seen a tasty li’l bite like you b’fore,” the troll mused. A gargantuan hand rose up to prod at the hobbit, and Bilbo quickly reacted, swinging the sword at the giant hand’s threat. “Stay back! Stay back!” the hobbit warned sternly, though his knees shook, and the sword trembled in his hands. The troll blinked, and for a moment Bilbo wondered if the beast would decide to smash him with a fist and be done with it. Instead, a hearty — albeit blood-chilling— laugh rolled out of the troll’s cavernous throat and his terrible teeth flashed evermore brightly. “Easy there, li’l morsel,” the troll reassured Bilbo; or at least, Bilbo wondered if that was even meant as a reassurance. “Just wonderin’ what you are, is all. I don’t get much company these days.” Bilbo blinked, and then swallowed hard, his throat dry with anxiety. “My name is Bilbo Baggins,” he answered, suddenly feeling rather claustrophobic despite the enormity of cavern around them both. Suddenly the clawed hand shot forward again— and Bilbo braced himself to take its blow— until it stopped short before him, extended out in greeting. “Name’s Bruce,” the troll grinned toothily. Bilbo was fairly certain he’d have better luck fitting his whole body in the troll’s palm than successfully shaking the troll’s hand. Let alone wrapping one of his hands around the troll’s single finger. The troll— Bruce— caught onto Bilbo’s hesitation and, after a beat, retrieved his hand. “So, Bilbo,” Bruce continued, still towering over the poor hobbit. “Where’re ye from?” “I-I’m a hobbit. From the Shire.” Bilbo answered quickly, wondering when and if the troll would back away, and allow Bilbo a chance to escape. Or even just a chance to breathe. “A hobbit, eh?” The troll’s smile grew— if that were possible. “Well, I’ve never had a hobbit b’fore,” Bruce chuckled before adding, almost as an afterthought. “Well, never as company, that’s for sure.” With each morbid joke at his expense, Bilbo’s paralyzing fear metamorphosed to panicked irritability; his brows lowered and narrowed his eyes, and his mouth drew to a thin line. “Okay, look— I just want to get out of here, so if you could quit playing your games, I’ll gladly be on my way!” Bilbo pleaded. Well, if he knew how to get out of there. The various tunnels wound about the mountain in a cavernous labyrinth. “Games, eh?” The troll let out a noise which Bilbo couldn’t quite discern; it was either a low, lulling growl or a thoughtful hum. “Well, my li’l tidbit, why don’t we ‘ave ourselves a li’l wager, eh?” Bruce arched a brow. “A li’l guessin’ game, if ye will.” Bilbo furrowed his brows, tentatively. “What, like... riddles?” he asked. “Yeah! Just like that. Ye wanna get out so badly, why not make it fun.” Well, perhaps fun for you, Bilbo grumbled in his mind but considered the offer, silently. He hadn’t any clue this troll would keep his word. But if Bilbo didn’t play along... what stopped Bruce from killing him then and there? The hobbit cleared his throat. “Very well; if I win, you show me the way out of here.” “Ah, that’s the spirit, li’l bite,” Bruce grinned broadly before inching closer, ignoring the sword pointed at his face. “And what if I win, eh?” A short breath slipped out from Bilbo at the thought of such a grisly end; he wondered how this troll fancied to kill him. Perhaps like the stone trolls— maybe the giant brute would cook him alive, or sit on him and crush him, or tear the hobbit limb from limb. Bilbo shuddered before finding his words. “If you win, you can... have your way with me.” Perhaps Bilbo just needed to spare himself the details for now. “It’s a deal, then,” the massive troll replied before backing away; and for the first time in what seemed like hours, Bilbo finally grappled to catch a breath without the beast hovering over him. As Bruce backed off, Bilbo could take in the entirety of the troll without having to move his head about wildly. In the lowlight, Bilbo could vaguely catch traces of a dappled pattern along the troll’s back, shoulders, and arms that appeared like blots and splatters of ink. His toes were shaped more like plantigrade hooves than normal feet. His skin was bare, save for a weathered leather armored skirt that fell to his knees. “You go first, li’l morsel,” Bruce ordered, turning to face Bilbo before the troll reclined onto the cavern floor like a great big cat. Remembering his manners, Bilbo, in turn, sheathed his sword. The hobbit paused a moment in thought before beginning: “Thirty white horses on a red hill. First, they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still.” Bilbo watched as the troll’s face took on a mildly puzzled expression, and Bruce’s beady blue eyes flit across the cavern floors as if the answer lay spelled out the piles of bones. Yet, not a second later, the troll’s face lit up and Bruce grinned toothily. “Teeth?” he asked, and Bilbo felt his own posture deflate. Bruce, however, took it rather victoriously, letting out another deafening laugh. “Hah! Good one, li’l hobbit! Guess it’s my turn, then?” Bruce cleared his throat. “My body is a tree and my teeth are from the ground. I’m carried by the millions, and I lunge to strike you down.” Bilbo wet his lips and nodded, trying to ignore the troll’s constant, predatory gaze upon him. Body is a tree; that means it’s made of wood. Lunging to strike. Not a snake. Teeth from the ground. Not a sword. “A spear!” Bilbo guessed. The troll scoffed, though the smile betrayed him. “What, am I makin’ this too easy for ye?” Bilbo blinked, mouth opened but couldn’t quite find the right, careful words to reply. So, he continued onto the next riddle: “A…a box without hinges, key or…or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid.” The troll’s smile faltered before a thoughtful expression—one Bilbo hadn’t imagined befalling the face of a troll—crept onto Bruce’s face. Bilbo leapt back as the troll rose from the ground; yet this time, Bruce did so slowly and nonchalantly—so much that Bilbo had half a mind to wonder if this was a trap. That the troll feigned disinterest in the hobbit and more attention to the riddles, only to turn around a snatch him up. Yet as Bilbo watched, the troll’s lips moved silently, as if reciting back the words of the riddle. The hobbit breathed shakily, impatiently. “Well?” “Didn’t think there was a time limit,” the troll retorted, arching a brow, and Bilbo drew back silently… until the troll’s eyes lit up suddenly again. “Eggs?” The hobbit sighed audibly, disheartened, and wondered how much time he’d been wasting trying to keep this beast entertained; Thorin and others were probably on the other side of the mountains by now, and presumably didn’t even notice his absence. The troll didn’t laugh this time at his win, which caused Bilbo to glance up, worriedly. Bruce lumbered back towards him, and the hobbit’s hand subconsciously reached for his sword. “My turn, li’l bite,” the troll purred, moving past Bilbo. A cloud of vocal, screeching bats suddenly took wing from the cavern walls and caught the hobbit’s attention, and he whipped around, momentarily distracted. Yet when Bilbo’s eyes returned to where the troll should have been, a gasp slipped from his mouth. How did such a massive creature just disappear? One moment, Bruce had been there, idling and hovering over Bilbo, and the next— From out of the various tunnels and shadows, the troll’s voice echoed once more, reminding Bilbo that the beast was still very much there. And watching him carefully. “The fallen li’l bat pup caught in the lion’s claws. The fledgling in a mist net. The minnow in gar jaws.” The hobbit felt his brows furrow in confusion; Bilbo hadn’t heard any of these troll’s riddles. “Well?” boomed the voice from the shadows. The hobbit shook his head. “Please give me a moment! I did give you a good long while.” Bat pup? Lion? Fledgling? Minnow? “I don’t know this one,” the hobbit confessed, in a voice louder than he anticipated. Again, the rumbling, growling hum echoed about the cavern walls. Bilbo turned about, unable to find the direction of the source. “Want three guesses, li’l morsel?” the voice crooned. Bilbo found himself nodding, against his better judgment. “Bad luck?” the hobbit guessed aloud. “Close,” the voice bellowed back. “But a bit too broad. Guess again.” Biting his lips, Bilbo racked through his brain, though anxiety threatened to cloud his thoughts. “Prey?” “Ye’re gettin’ there,” the voice crooned again. “Last guess. Last chance.” He was close—at least according to the disembodied voice echoing about the cavern walls. Bilbo turned about, trying to adjust his eyes to the dim light. Trying to pick out the massive troll from beneath the shadows. The hobbit unsheathed his sword, feeling his heartbeat accelerating with every second. “Captured prey?” The voice gave a ‘tsk’ sound with a tone of feigned pity. “Wrong.” “Well, then what is it?” the hobbit turned and turned, sword out before him. Bilbo felt hot breath on his neck and a growl in his ear. “You.”

A giant clawed hand struck out. Before Bilbo could even process the sudden blur of movement, he was on the ground, tiny bones prodding into his back. He heard the distinct clatter of metal against stone and his right hand felt vulnerably empty; his sword glinted almost cruelly just out of reach. All breath left him as the clawed hand weighed down upon his entire body, pinning him to the cold cavern floor. His legs kicked futilely, and he squirmed beneath the troll’s grasp. Bilbo could barely remember his mouth opening, but found his own voice – “No, no, no, no!” – so very far away, as if it didn’t even belong to him anymore and he was dead already. Then the troll’s terrible grin suddenly filled every inch of Bilbo’s sight as Bruce’s face steadied itself half a meter from Bilbo’s own. The little hobbit prayed that it wouldn’t be the last sight he’d take to the grave. “Looks like I win, then,” Bruce grinned triumphantly. The troll didn’t even give Bilbo any time to respond or react before the massive hand flipped him over, and Bilbo could only watch from the corner of his eye as jaws descended upon him. The poor hobbit let out a strangled scream as the enormous canines slipped beneath his chest and above his legs, and he felt hot breath spread across his captured torso. Bilbo struggled and scratched and kicked with every parcel of strength left in his body. He watched helplessly as the ground fell beneath him, as the troll raised him into the air, and the horrid realization set in; Bilbo was held— captured— in the troll’s jaws. It was almost too much for the little hobbit’s heart, and the corners of his vision blurred. Perhaps if he were lucky, he would faint and miss the pain of being torn in two by the sheer strength of the troll’s bite. Seconds felt like hours as Bruce held the hobbit in his teeth’s grasp, and Bilbo glanced about his surroundings, dazed by the attack and partially awaiting the minute that the jaws would snap together, and he’d be reduced to cuts of meat.

But the agony didn’t come.

Suddenly, Bruce lurched forward. They were moving. Forward, he thought, though vertigo set in and, for a moment, Bilbo couldn’t quite tell up from down. He could feel the points of the troll’s premolars digging into both his chest and thighs; luckily, they hadn’t pierced the skin, but would most certainly bruise later. If Bilbo wasn’t eaten before that.

“Where are we going? Where are you taking me?” Bilbo asked, breathlessly. His hands grappled at the flesh along the troll’s chin and his legs kicked weakly in protest. “Ye’ll see soon ‘nough,” the troll replied, his words muffled; this close, Bilbo could feel the deepness of Bruce’s voice vibrating through his body and it did little to calm whatever nerves he had left. The edges of Bilbo’s vision blurred, then darkened, and the little hobbit slipped out of consciousness.

Bilbo awoke with a jolt and immediately felt the teeth digging into his chest once more. The hobbit gave a shaky sigh, disappointed that it hadn’t all been a nightmare and he’d been back in Rivendell this whole time. “Oh, good! Ye’re awake. We’re comin’ up to a dodgy part in the path ahead. If it makes ye feel better,” Bruce said, shaking Bilbo from his thoughts. “Don’t look down.” Don’t look—? In the dim light, Bilbo couldn’t quite discern if the ground had fallen away, or if the cavern floor were simply a pitch black. The troll’s claw dislodged a stream of pebbles that descended into the floor, swallowed up by the darkness below. Well, that answered Bilbo’s question. A sharp ravine wound beneath both him and his captor with a width large enough for the hobbit to slip and fall through. Yet the troll’s size was so great that it was nothing more than a furrow in the middle of the road; Bruce kept his arms and legs on each side, far from the middle of the path. After moments turned to minutes and fear dissolved into disgruntled impatience, Bilbo found his voice returning to his throat. “Why aren’t you telling me where we’re headed?” “Would it matter to you?” The hobbit sighed, dejected, and grew silent. Bruce was most certainly taking Bilbo to his hoard, or his part of the cave to devour. And Bilbo figured that the troll knew that the hobbit knew this. And he hadn’t even his sword to defend himself. “So ‘ow’d ye end up down ‘ere, anyway?” the troll asked, words still garbled from holding Bilbo beneath his teeth. Self-awareness nearly caused the hobbit to scoff with sickened amusement. Here Bilbo was, dangling from the mouth of a giant troll, and the troll wanted to know his prey’s life story. “Do you ask that question to everyone you eat?” Bilbo asked, impatiently. “Or are you just trying to fill the silence?” “The latter, usually,” the troll replied, with a shrug. “Might as well, while we walk.” “Fine,” Bilbo sighed, brow low as he squirmed with discomfort. “I… I was with a company, but I lost them in the mountains,” Bilbo said, shortly before adding, “But I doubt my absence will matter all that much.” The troll grew uncharacteristically silent for a moment and Bilbo chanced some movement to turn his head, catching a glimpse that confused him greatly. The beady blue eyes of the troll had softened, brows knit with an almost concerned expression. What was it spread across the beast’s face? Guilt that he was going to soon eat his company? Sympathy to Bilbo’s plight?

After a long moment, Bruce finally spoke again. “We’re ‘lmost there, lil’ morsel,” the troll said solemnly. “It’s just up ahead.” Bilbo turned his head to the side, in the direction of their path. A single thin line of light sliced through the darkness. For a moment, the hobbit could only see white through the shape; yet as his eyes adjusted and the troll drew closer, he could catch colors of green and blue, and caught the scent of pine trees and crisp air. The way out. He was so close. So close to freedom that he could feel the wind of the outside world. Yet, just as the realization had settled into the hobbit’s mind, Bilbo felt the troll lurch to a stop and his heart sank. It was right there. The door was right there! Suddenly the ground rushed up to meet Bilbo as Bruce lowered his jaws to the ground. The hobbit didn’t feel the teeth pull away from him until both of his furry feet were planted on the ground. Already, Bilbo could feel the wind on his face and the warm light from the outside world dip the stark, gray stones around the entrance into a honeyed glow. Even the troll’s features shone clearer; Bilbo noticed the various scars lining the troll’s body and the odd hue of blue in the troll’s skin. He also noticed that the troll stood in the sunlight, yet Bruce’s skin didn’t transform into dusty gray rock. Which meant— Oh, Bilbo’s heart sank suddenly. Even if he made a mad dash for the exit of the cave, the troll would catch up to him. Not even sunlight could save him.

“’lright, Bilbo. Ye ready?” Bruce’s voice bellowed from behind Bilbo, and the hobbit felt his face redden. So that’s how it was going to be, then? The troll would ask the hobbit to just hold still and snap him up, when Bilbo was inches from getting out of the horrid cave? Did the troll think Bilbo would react kindly—obediently— and go quietly as he was butchered? No! Certainly not! This was too much! “You— you absolute fiend!” Bilbo needn’t care about any insult thrown towards the troll; he was going to die, anyway. And Bruce’s treatment towards his prey couldn’t be any crueler. “Is this all a game to you? Taking me all this way out of caves just to eat me? Just to have freedom be right there and snatch it all away?!” Furious, the hobbit punched and kicked at the troll’s legs, thick as tree trunks. The blows did little to move Bruce, and Bilbo doubted the troll could even feel them. If only he’d still had his sword; at least he’d give the troll some pain for the hobbit’s trouble. Only when the hobbit’s attacks persisted did a giant hand snatch Bilbo up again. Yet anger had replaced any fear still residing in Bilbo and his mouth pressed firmly into a line, defiantly glowering at his captor. “I’m not gonna eat’cha,” Bruce confessed, a guilty expression spreading across his scarred features. “Never was.” Bilbo froze, blinked, and then sputtered indignantly. Not that he wished to be eaten or killed or mangled— heavens, no! “Then why didn’t you just say so?!” the hobbit asked as the volume of his voice rose, sternly. The troll heaved a heavy sigh. “I wanted to! I did, believe me! It’s just… I heard the little cave creature followin’ us—” Bilbo blinked in confusion before memories rushed back, of stone in gnarled hand and the goblin’s broken skull. “He was gettin’ quite close to you from the shadows; I needed to make sure he thought ye were a goner.” The hobbit recalled the spindly creature, its throaty, scratchy voice as it bludgeoned the goblin to death. Bilbo could barely find his own words, bewildered. “But you said— “ “You said I could ‘ave my way with ye,” Bruce grinned, yet this time his eyes were soft. Thoughtful, even. “Never actually said anythin’ ‘bout eatin’ ye, that’s for sure.” The troll then reached behind him along his leather belt and retrieved a shining object, pinched delicately between his thumb and index finger. Bilbo’s brows rose. His sword! All this time, he’d thought the troll left it behind them in the cave. With a strange gentleness, Bruce set the hobbit down and handed the sword back to Bilbo, handle first. “Might wanna hurry ‘long then. I smell yer friends up ahead.” The hobbit blinked incredulously before accepting back his sword and returning it to its sheath. He swallowed before raising his gaze up to the giant. “Thank you,” Bilbo said, quite sincerely. “Maybe we’ll meet ‘gain, li’l bite. Hopefully under better circumstances,” Bruce said, giving a nod to the hobbit before turning back towards the cave. Bilbo gave one last look at the troll before nodding in return; and he hurried along, racing down the hill in hopes of catching up to the company.

#bilbo baggins #Bilbo #olog hai #olog #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #Bilbo fan fiction #bilbo fanart #my art #my fanfic

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furys-mercy · 3 years

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Duplicitous Deeds, Part Two

Kerrich Fisher was not supposed to be here. Not in this tavern, not at this table, and certainly not in the uniform of a Summoner of the Immortal Flames. He was a Fisher. In both the literal and the familial sense, as his father had been, and his father before him. Teenage rebellion had led Kerrich to join the Flames, and Nymeia’s twisted web had saved him from the fires of Ifrit. His life had been a whirlwind since—training and summoning and drinking and training again, all of which led him to this very moment. It led him to the creaky chair he sat in, to the grimy playing cards in his sweaty grip, and to the Hyur seated to his left.

“Halone’s frozen fuckin’ tits…” The Ishgardian slumped forward in his seat and slammed his cards down on the splintered table. Kerrich did his best not to stare at the burn scars that littered his fingers. “Ain’t got nothin’…”

“Been a rough night there, ey Merc?” The Miqo’te across the table fanned her hand out for all to see. Her wide grin revealing both joy and a pair of stubby little fangs.

He hadn’t even looked at his own cards. Even though he’d been staring at them intently since he’d picked them up. Better that than…

A rough hand clapped him on the back, jolting him from his daydream. “What ya got kid? Gonna let Senah over there get tha best’a ya? Again? Think may she’s gettin’ more’n a li’l too big fer her britches with each gil she wins off’a me.”

“I… well… I…” He stammered out, still trying not to look away from his cards. “I… I… fold.” He manages to say just as the card slip from his fingers and fall face down on the table.

A deep chuckle echoed in Merc’s chest as he clapped Kerrich on the shoulder once more. “I know tha’ feelin’. Watchin’ all yer gil jus’ slip away. Don’t ya worry, come on. I’ll buy ya a drink, yeah? Can let Senah here take someone else’s hard-earned coin fer a change.”

Kerrich watched as the machinist pushed up from the table and set off for the bar.

You’re playing cards with August fuckin’ Mercer. You’re having a drink with August fuckin’ Mercer!

“Hey!” He snapped back to reality as Senah snarled at him. “Pay up and run on. I got better things to be doing than watching you make goo-goo eyes.”

“Oh. I… no… I’m…” He fumbled for his purse, clumsily producing the gil he owed.

Senah snatched it from his hand, and set about counting it, shaking her head as she went. “Get better at bluffing, boy. You’ll need it if you plan to run with the likes of him.”

“What they say ain’t true!” The protest was automatic and the words more forceful than anything he’d managed since they’d arrived.

The Miqo’te shrugged, pocketing her winnings. “Don’t much care, myself. He’s good for a laugh or two and lines my purse just as well as the rest of ‘em. Just think a kid like you should think twice, yeah? Don’t want to end up involved in something that’s too big for you.”

The flaming claws of Ifrit flashed before his eyes. He struggled to blink them away and he rose slowly from his seat, his hand tapping nervously on the grimoire bound to his hip. “Too late for that…” He muttered and turned on his heels to make for the bar, his jaw set.

“I know what you are!” The words leapt from his lips before he’d thought them through. “What you can do, I mean…” He stammered out a vague recovery. “I saw you!”

Mercer quirked an eyebrow as he took a slow sip of his whiskey. “Been listenin’ ta rumors have ya? Look, kid.” He sat the glass down on the bar and sucked on his teeth before continuing. “I ain’t half’a wha’ people say I am. Can’t do half tha shit people claim, an’ prolly wouldn’t do tha other half. I ain’t slick enough ta pull off tha shite people’re spewin’ ‘bout me right now.” Another drink. “Seven fuckin’ hells.”

Kerrich’s jaw nearly hit the floor as he realized what he’d just done. What he’d accused his idol of being. “No! Oh… shite. No. That… I didn’t mean that. I mean, I’ve heard that shite Hunter’s been slingin’, but… well, he’s just jealous ain’t he? Jealous cause you’ve got more skill in your little finger than he’s got in that giant head of his.” He paused and looked towards the bar, almost frantically searching for liquid courage.

Mercer’s eyes lit up in recognition, either of the rumor or the man spreading it. With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent his own glass of whiskey sliding down the bar towards his companion. Kerrich caught it, palms sweaty and hands shaking, but still managed to lift it to his lips for a small steady swig. “I ain’t buying any of that Garlean spy shit.” His words were steadier with each breath and with each swig from his glass. “And the people who do ain’t got their heads screwed on straight. That or they’re drunk off their arses.”

“Then I’mm’a need ya ta be tellin’ me exactly wha’ yer on about, yeah? Wha’d I do now, besides dare ta exist outside’a the damned gutters?” The strain in the machinist’s voice is hidden behind an air of playful self-deprecation.

Kerrich leaned against the bar, gaze falling into the now nearly empty glass. “I saw you that day. In the field. Against Ifrit. I saw your last stand… I saw…” He sucked in a deep breath. “I’ve never seen anythin’ like it. Hunter… well he swears I’m full of shite, but… just…” His bright blue eyes darted back up to Mercer. “How’d you do it? How’d you summon Bahamut-egi?”

The playful mask the Machinist had been wearing slipped. A wince played across his lips for an instant, but as he slammed his hand against the bar top, it vanished. “Another!” He called out, the words half-strangled by something just underneath the machinist’s haughty exterior.

“I didn’t mean to… I just…” The boy returned to stammering, trying to salvage the conversation he’d been dreaming of having for so long.

“Look, kid…” Mercer’s words were weak, nearly ash in his mouth. “Don’t go lookin’ up ta me. I might not be what Hunter’s claimin’, an’ I’ll deny tha’ shite until tha day I die, but… I ain’t some big godsdamned hero, either. I… I don’t rightly know wha’ ya think ya saw, but… wasn’t me. There were other people up on tha’ ledge, an’ I… well, all I was was a fuckin’ liability. Sorry ta be burstin’ yer bubble, but… I ain’t who yer lookin’ fer. I’m jus’ a Brume rat who learned a couple’a spells.”

“But! No! I saw you!” The scene was still clear in his mind, as if he relived it every day since. Giant blue wings unfurling from the back of a dragon. Aether made corporeal. Summoned by the hand of dark haired Hyur slick with mud and gore, but unshaken, unphased. He would not back down. He would not break.

Mercer picked up the glass of whiskey as soon as the bartender slid it in his direction and downed the entire thing. “I don’t know wha’ ya want me ta tell ya, kid.” He muttered as he pushed away from the bar, leaving both glass and gil behind. “I ain’t yer hero.”

“But… I…” The boy’s words blended into the hustle and bustle of the Ul’dah night as he watched Mercer disappear into the street. Where many would have seen a broken man, shoulders slumped, face hidden, gait uneven, Kerrich saw what he’d always seen: burned, bloodied, and nearly broken, but still fucking standing. Despite everything—despite Mercer’s own doubts—he was still Kerrich’s hero.

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #balmung #crystal data center #ic fiction #story #august mercer #fury's mercy #kerrich fisher #duplicitous deeds

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rainbowpollypocket · 5 years

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G1 My Little Pony Li’l Litters Baby Bunny

#toys #toycore #kidcore #g1 mlp #mlp #my little pony #vintage #figures

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Forty-Two, “Music To My Ears”

*Gif is not mine*

Clickable Links:

- *NEW* Becky Magazine Cover from an O.C. Tag Challenge

- Masterlist feat. all chapters and Character Surveys

- Inspo tag

- Hecky Playlist

- Read on Wattpad

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: None

Music Inspo: All My Love by George Ezra (click to listen)

SNEAKYYYYYY PEEK

It all feels surreal and so quickly, seeing him there dressed to the nines in another handsome suit. He’s back, and he’s all mine. I don’t quite know how we’re going to do this whole thing, but I can’t fucking wait. I’m unsure of how different it will be at the firm and as his mentee, but I know we’ll make it work. After the last few years of shit we’ve went through, this seems like a piece of cake, or so I hope.

“Morning,” I almost whisper, wishing I was threading my arms around his middle right now and not standing across the room. Instead, they sit flat against my front, hands clasped at my waist. His shiny brunette curls tickle his temples when he looks up fast and over to me, the light of a thousand suns filling his face.

“And so, when a person meets the half that is his very own, then something wonderful happens: the two are struck from their senses by love, by a sense of belonging to one another, and by desire, and they don't want to be separated from one another, not even for a moment.”

― Plato, The Symposium

My first attempt is measly, but by the second time, I get it open despite my wildly trembling fingers. The sigh I had been coaxing to remain inside of my lungs finds its way out at last when the door clicks! into the hinges. The blissed out smile I can’t remember being without sticks to my lips as my back graces the door. Somehow, the air inside here smells even sweeter as the fireworks still ignite within my chest.

I’m only brought back to the present when I hear somebody clear their throat. Opening my eyes, I find Skye waiting on the couch with her knees brought to her chest.

“So?! That was a long fucking time to be standing out in the hallway just talking, Rebecca Holte!” Skye exclaims with an eagerness filling her cheeks with crimson.

All that escapes my lips is the happiest laugh I’ve felt my insides flourish in as long as I can remember. Her eyebrows raise with a question posed to me, and I answer it with a mere nod that causes her to shoot out of her seat and over to me.

“Ree, finally!” she almost screams, and I echo it with my eternal laugh, relaxing into her arms.

“Yeah . . finally it’s all coming together.”

I have just enough time to recount the details of the event to her in all of its glory. As if on cue, my ‘You’ve Got A Friend In Me’ ringtone begins to sing from my pocket.

“Ooooo, is that him already?! You better answer it, Ree!” Skye exclaims with eagerness to her voice. The blush finds its way back to my cheeks as I escape with a cheek kiss from her, my feet soon padding down the hallway.

“Wow, you actually mean it when you said you would call.”

“Why, o’ ‘course I meant it, bug. I always keep me promises,” Harry hums in return, just the sound of his voice launching my heart into somersaults.

“I see that . . thank you,” I mumble, closing my door behind me softly, in order to deter Skye from eavesdropping anymore than she already is.

“Can I say sumthin’ weird?” he murmurs, voice sounding far away almost. I blame that discrepancy on his phone paired to his car by Bluetooth, making him feel all the more far away from me.

“Sure, I like weird. I mean, I like you.”

“Wow, good flirtin’ there, Ms. Hotshot. ‘m really feelin’ all tha love,” Harry titters until it wanders into a soft sigh. He clears his throat and a nervous laugh follows, pulling me to attention.

“Oh, why thank you . . But, go ahead. What is it, Harry?” I return, falling onto the messy covers of my bed, exiled outfits littering the surface.

“I already miss you, bug. Hasn’t even been ten minutes and I bloody miss you,” he confesses gently, a sad giggle adorning his words, echoing those that sit within my heart.

“You’re not the only one, Harry. I miss you too. If we’re gonna be honest with each other, I missed you so much last week, and even more those seven months we didn’t talk, and-” I reveal into my phone, and then into his ears. The anxiousness falls away at my confession, one I’ve been coaxing to remain within my own ears for far too long. I had hinted at it and said it with my lips, but it feels so freeing to finally let the words loose to the world. To him.

My Harry.

“Tha year afta ya quit . . I know. I missed you like hell durin’ all o’ those times too, it tore me up bein’ away from you,” he continues, pulling the words from my mouth where they leave to inform his ears. “And I want us t’ be honest with each otha, Becks . . Always.”

“I thought I’d never stop missing you during all of those times. And now, here we are,” I say, an ironic and yet happy laugh filling his ears.

“Yes, here we are, bug. Togetha . . ‘s ‘bout fookin’ time,” he giggles, and like he always has been able to do, he pulls one from my lips with the help of his contagious happiness. “So, back t’ happier things . . Erm, what’re ya doin’ on Sunday?”

“Eh, probably just watching FRIENDS in my pajamas.”

“Mmm, I admit that sounds like a ratha wondaful Sunday. Why dontcha come ova t’ mine and watch FRIENDS in yer jammies with me? ‘ll even put on me jammies too,” Harry suggests, further proving that this can actually get better. I didn’t think that was possible.

No, I did not after that incredible first kiss, and second, and third.

“That sounds amazing, Harry. I’d love to see you in your ‘jammies.’”

“Yers too, bug. ‘d like t’ make dinna fer you, as well,” he continues, knocking me off of my feet once again.

“Aww. That would be so awesome, Harry! Hey, can you make your chicken pot pie? That pic you sent me from the last time you made it looked so yummy.”

“‘Course, ‘d love t’ make it fer you,” he giggles, the tell tale sounds of traffic accompanying his words. I hear a train toot its horn in the distance, and the rhythmic clicking of his indicator.

“Okay, great, and I’ll bring dessert.”

“Sounds great, bug. I can’t wait, Sunday can’t come fast enuff,” Harry says, the purring of his engine filling the background.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

His adorable laugh graces my ears, somehow being too long since the last time I had heard it, “How does 5 sound?”

“It sounds like a date,” I chirp happily, wondering for the hundredth time if the words that are coming out of my mouth are indeed real.

Real, they are, sister, the demon living inside the walls of my skull chimes.

Where ever did you run off to? I reply.

I’ve been here the whole time, mate, just watching and waiting. I’m usually not big on love, but holy shit, are you two adorable. Go on, now. You’re interrupting my entertainment.

You stop interrupting! the angel groans back.

“Hey, ‘m s’posed t’ say that part ‘coz ‘s my date! I said ‘d get tha second date,” Harry pouts from my ear, and I wonder if I’ll ever stop laughing. The better question is if I’ll ever stop smiling. I don’t know the answer to that one, and I think I’m okay not knowing.

I wonder if I’ll ever stop loving him, and to that question, I already know the answer.

“Oh, sorry,” I chuckle hard now, fueled further by the sound of his clucking tongue, muttering a sarcastic ‘fer God’s sake, Becks.’ “Let’s start over.”

“‘Kay . . How does 5 sound?” he snickers, feigning composure in his voice when it’s needed most.

“I’ll be there!”

“Great, it sounds like a date then,” he titters, and soon our laughs mingle together, forming a duet.

I thought my favorite song in the entire world was his laugh, but now, I think I may be wrong.

Surrealness blankets my body like a cloak, invisible, and yet all around me, as I stand in front of that door. The handle of the cloth bag digs into the crook of my elbow while the cold seeps in through my coat. I only grow colder when my fist raises once more, but it falls with a defeated sigh. Fear joins the other emotions fighting for the stage inside of me, and it nearly debilitates me with every second that passes.

At last, my fist meets the muted scarlet red surface of his front door. A faint ‘c’min!’ sounds from the other side, causing my heart to gallop quicker inside me. A shaky exhale drops from my lips just before I swing the door open, and am met with the comforting smells of home cooking. I see him before he sees me, and the sight itself takes away the anxiety I’ve felt all day for this moment. For tonight. You’d think I’d have been more nervous for the first date than the second date. Nope, here I am nervous as can be standing in the doorway of his home, a bundle of nerves.

Harry couldn’t look more adorable, or handsome, kneading his bottom lip while steam wafts along his face. Adjusting the yellow tea towel strewn over his shoulder, he closes a cookbook before his eyes dart over to me. His lips injected with golden sunshine reach his ears and the dazzle returns to his eyes dripping with green.

“Hey, bug,” he hums, setting down the towel on the counter. The concoction of onions, herbs, and chicken tickles my nose while my heart races just at the sight of him. It does a few dances at the memory of our last date, and just how it ended.

“Hi, Harry. It smells incredible in here,” I say, greeting him. After closing the door, I toe off my shoes to sit on the mat by the door.

“Thanks, babe. Dinna’s all ready, I jus’ took tha pot pie out a few minutes ago,” he grins, coming to a stop in front of me with that sunshiney smile. The cover of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Rumors’ album dons his cream shirt in black and white. His long legs and bum tempt my thoughts in the form-fitting black joggers he wears.

“Hey, you’re not wearing pajamas like you said,” I tease when he pulls me into a hug, feigning annoyance when that’s something I could never feel in this moment.

“Neitha are you, li’l one. I can’t wear bloody jammies on a second date, ‘s far too soon. I still gotta make a good first impression,” Harry replies, the joking words brushing against my temple. Laughing, a shiver courses across my body but soon disappears once his arms settle to hold me against him.

“I think that’s pretty far gone, that first impression thing,” I counter playfully, hesitantly removing my face from the crook of his neck to find his playful eyes waiting for me.

“Doesn’t hurt t’ try, bug,” he giggles, and no matter how much I adore the sound, I can’t stand it any longer and steal it away with my lips. A similar giggle of my own is muffled against his lips that taste like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. They taste like him, I realize silently and happily.

Our happy sounds mingle together while his lips mold against mine. They grow especially when he struggles to remove the bag from the crook of my arm, belatedly setting it down on the floor, allowing me to wrap both arms around him. The point of my nose dances across his prickly cheek when I pull away just slightly to surround his top lip with my own. The feeling of his prickly upper lip surprises my own, and leads my hand to caress his cheek. Smattering of vanilla sticks to his skin in spots while his warm breaths brush against my skin. The thrumming of my heart grows when I feel the lukewarm metal of his rings against my lower back, and then wandering in my hair.

The feeling of his pillowy, soft lips are a thing of the past when he pulls away with a titter against mine. A soft question tumbles from my lips but he doesn’t answer it, instead pressing a whispery peck to my lips that still crave his.

“Missed you,” he rasps, my skin igniting with sparks when his soft thumb pulls my bottom lip down, only to spring back.

“I missed you more,” I argue and his cherry lips fall into disbelief.

“Hey, that’s my line!” he exclaims, and I only laugh, realizing the trick I pulled. His happy song soon ghosts over my face, trailing behind his nose that draws a line against my cheek. “My Becks,” he coos in a whisper, ending his sentence with a punctuating kiss to my temple.

“Harry . . My Harry,” I echo, accentuated by my hand running through his hair that is especially curly today.

“‘m all yers, babe, have been fer longer than ya know,” he agrees aloud, escaping to the crook of my neck where his lips leave whispers below my ear and up my neck.

The words themselves make my heart swell with what else other than love. It finds its way past my lips in a happy chuckle against his hair, and in another kiss pressed to his sunshine lips once he’s looking at me again.

The temptation of one-upping him escalates within me, but I resist, unable to make a joke in this second. No, not after what he just said and the echoing words bubbling up inside of me.

“I never could be anything but yours, Harry, it’s always been that way,” I smile, welcoming the truth and reality laced throughout my voice. The words resound in my heart louder, spreading throughout my body as I observe them fill his ears. A glow claims his eyes and then his lips, the dimples in his cheeks threatening to never leave.

“You’ll neva know jus’ how happy ya make me, Becks, and how much ‘s magnified jus’ in tha last few days, bug. Yer me favourite person all ova again,” Harry mumbles in between blissed out smiles, one I haven’t had the pleasure to meet yet in all of our times together. No, I don’t think so. Spoiled, I am. “Let’s go eat dinna, bug. We can kiss mo’ later,” he rasps against my cheek, stealing one more kiss from my grinning lips. I nod, listening to his breathy laugh that I missed more than I realized while he was gone.

My hand falls into his naturally, and he gives it a firm squeeze. Here he is, back with me, and he’s everything I’ve always wanted. This, is everything.

“You’ve always been my everything, you just didn’t know it. Sometimes, I forgot it too,” I confess in a mere whisper, words interrupted soon by his. I only wish I had the courage that he does to speak them, loud and proudly.

“What was that?” he mumbles, leading me over to the oval shaped wooden table on the other side of the kitchen island.

“Nothing.”

“No, I heard ya say sumthin’, jus’ couldn’t make it out,” Harry insists, coming to a halt at one of the chairs. Luminescent moonlight trickles in from the almost closed drapes on the sliding deck doors opposite of us. Shaking my head nervously, a dominant blush attacks his teasing cheeks. “Ya gotta tell me, bug.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything!” I joke, and a high-pitched scoff adorns his lips quickly. A giggle spills from my mouth to greet the air when he yanks me into his arms, fingertips assaulting my sensitive ribs.

“Becks! Stop playin’ hard t’ get, li’l one. We’re past that now,” he exclaims, feigning authority, but I can hear the affability shining in his deep voice. Laughs explode from my lips until they slowly die away, finding safety where I always do, hiding my face in the crook of his warm neck.

“Or are we?” I titter against the pulsing, freckled skin. My lips shake louder when another offended scoff greets the air, feeding my laughter only more.

“No, we aren’t, ya brat,” he pouts, and any worries I had are dispelled when his nose tickles my hairline. “Now, why can’t ya tell me what ya said? I wantcha t’ know ya can tell me anythin’ in tha world, Becks . . Promise.”

“It’s kinda scary to say,” I admit, wondering about these lengths I’ve suddenly gone to that he somehow jumped within moments. He soothes the worries with his long fingers doting stripes up and down my back.

“Ya can tell me scary stuff too, bug. Anythin’ at all. Could neva be mad at you when ya make me so bloomin’ happy without hardly doin’ a thing.”

A breathy laugh graces my lips now, muffled by the place where his neck and his broad shoulder meet. He remains silent, and the only sound I hear is that of his rhythmic breathing that does wonders for relaxing me in this crazed moment. His lips feathery against the top of my head do it for me, unraveling the ribbon that tied my not-so-secret together.

“You’ve always been my everything, Harry . . you just didn’t know it, but I did,” I admit, taking my time enunciating every word into the confines of him.

“‘ve always wondered, Becks, think it was coz ya’ve been me everythin’ longa than I can rememba,” he comments, taking my breath away with little to no effort, something he’s entirely too good at as of recently. “Thank you, babe,” he finishes adamantly, moving away and in the process, drawing my eyes upwards and towards his captivating greens.

“Thank you, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“‘ve wanted it mo’,” he giggles, and I ruffle a hand through his hair to mess it up.

“Stop it with the one-upping! You ruined the sentiment, Styles,” I exclaim, mouth falling into an exaggerated pout. His laugh disappears quickly, soon brushing my ears when it’s his turn to dive into my neck. ‘Sorrys’ meet my ears and are soon reciprocated with ‘okays’ and a squeeze from my arms around his middle.

“But I do mean it, Becks. It wasn’t love at first sight really, but bloody hell, ya sure roped me in fast when ya wouldn’t take me shit. Ya became me best friend befo’ I knew it was happenin.’ I knew ya were sumthin’ different altogetha, I jus’ realized it too late,” Harry confesses softly below my ear, and for the first time since noticing those sad songs on his phone, sorrow wrenches at my heart. I had forgotten what it had felt like, the seeds of our relationship finally growing within my heart that’s been filled to the brim with happiness all of a sudden. “You neva once stopped bein’ me everythin’, Rebecca Ann Holte . . I neva wantcha t’ fo’get that . . ‘m sorry if I eva made ya feel othawise . . ‘m so bloody mad ‘bout you, and I can finally tell ya all ‘bout it.”

The right words escape me, like they so often do, a quality he luckily doesn’t possess, especially after everything he just said. Instead, I leave my hiding place wrapped up in safety, and press at the back of his neck until my lips are against his.

“Mad ‘bout me as well, are we?” Harry asks, the question dancing across my lips in between kisses.

A joke sits on my lips, ready to fire, while the shocks of caramel glow in his sage irises. Multitudes of feelings consume my words and pump me full of happiness, all thanks to the face I finally get to melt at the sight of. The face I finally get to call all mine, and cover with kisses too. I don’t know which is better.

“More and more every day,” I admit at last, letting the reaction unfold on his face framed by dark facial hair. No longer is it just stubble, and the realization excites me, leading me to wonder what he’ll look like with a proper beard.

Quickly, the anticipation grows and then settles, resting assured that I'll get to be there to see it happen. I’ll get to see so much of his life happen, and get to share mine with him as he stands at my side.

“Couldn’t have said it betta meself,” Harry grins, planting one last kiss on the very tip of my nose. “Let’s go have some dinna and watch FRIENDS, Boops.”

“Ya really can’t disappoint me when it comes t’ baked goods, y’know that? Oh, and if they’re chocolate, that too. Yer really settin’ tha bar high here, Becks.”

“Why do you make that sound like a bad thing?” I say, turning my palm up in question that dissolves with the same happy sound that surrounds his lips.

Shrugging his shoulders, another bite of the chocolatey bread passes his rosebud lips. The sounds I make only grow louder at the fake crying expression claiming his face, “Means ya gotta keep bakin’ me stuff, and bloody hell, mo’ o’ this chocolate banana bread, please. Two o’ me favourite things in one right here.”

“You can keep the loaf, Harry. I have another at home.”

“Oh, so when I run outta mine, I can jus’ come ova t’ yers and help finish that one off then?” he questions, licking streaks of chocolate from his thumb.

My God, you’re such a fucking tease, Harry.

Chill it, would you?

Who? Him or you? the demon chuckles

Fuck, probably both.

“Sure,” I respond, eyes following his long figure that leaves my side to wander to the kitchen. “You can come over anytime you want . . How does Tuesday night sound? I’ll make you dinner, and there will be more chocolate banana bread for you.”

“And mo’ watchin’ FRIENDS in our not so jammies with wine and loads o’ blankets?” he hums from the kitchen, the sloshing of a liquid into a glass following his words.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Good, ‘ssa date then,” Harry chimes, returning to the sofa to slip underneath the multicolored quilt I’m tucked underneath. “A third date.”

“Whiskey now too? I thought you liked the wine,” I laugh, confused after my eyes had danced over to him where he sips from an old-fashioned glass.

“I do, but ‘s not strong enough. Plus, ‘s yer Rebecca wine that I didn’t wanna drink all up.”

“What are you talking about, Harry?” I chuckle, scooting closer to him after he mumbles something I can’t hear.

“‘m nervous ‘round you,” he says again, louder this time before the amber liquid passes his lips once more. His eyes remain staring forward at the television where Monica and Rachel argue in the apartment.

“You are too?” I wonder aloud, ever so softly, but there’s just enough volume in my voice to pull his eyes over to me. A nod fulfills his words while one corner of his mouth lifts slightly, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Surprise, surprise. “Why are you nervous? You’ve been so much fun all night, and the food was wonderful.”

“Why d’ya think? New relationship jitters - I don’t wanna mess anythin’ up,” he confesses shyly with a short smile overflowing with conflict.

A ‘hey’ plummets from my lips without permission as I scooch closer to him, closing the distance until there’s no more steps I can take. My arm winds around his bicep, my other hooking my finger under his chin to get him to look at me.

“You’re not going to mess anything up, that’s my job,” I tell him adamantly, pleased at the sound of his smallest of laughs. “I’m nervous too, like all of the time. I don’t want to screw this up either, but I’ve spent so many years wanting this with you - to be sitting on your sofa together at your house watching FRIENDS laughing together, and getting to kiss you, that I’m not just going to sit here and let it get the best of me. You shouldn’t either, Harry,” I tell him, my hand finding its way to him unsurprisingly.

He leans into my hand that caresses his cheek, the pad of my thumb moving back and forth over his abrasive stubble. A ‘but’ jumps from his lips, but I don’t let any others follow when I place my lips on top of his.

“Ya always know what t’ say, dontcha, bug?” Harry coos, flitting his eyes to mine under the shelter of his dense eyelashes.

“I thought you had that claimed, not me. That’s something you have to teach me. I swear, you have a way with words.”

“Dunno whatcha yer talkin’ ‘bout, love,” he tuts, shaking his head as he pulls me against his side, arm winding around my shoulder.

“Look at that, you got the first ‘arm around the shoulder.’”

“No duh I did, ‘s tha man’s job,” he jokes, voice contorting into a deeper one that leaks with humor. My head heavy with dreams falls to his shoulder, and my hand strays to his chest.

His hand brushes against my cheek, yanking my attention away from the show and to his patient eyes. He winks at me, followed by dipping down to press a kiss to the top of my head.

“Alright?” I pose to him, taking a page from his book.

“Can’t rememba tha last time I felt this ‘alright,’” he answers, the smile trickling into his eyes. “And you, bug?”

“I’m more than alright,” I comment, letting my eyes fall shut when he bumps his forehead against mine affectionately. A content sigh of mine, the first in a long time, tickles his chest as he falls back against the cushions. His fingernails leave zings of electricity among my arm underneath the fabric of my jumper, and soon they shoot across my head when his chin comes to rest there.

“Which one ‘s this ‘gain?” he hums from above me, the words rumbling through his chest. The thum...thum of his heart resumes underneath my ear, and I feel as if I could fall asleep right here and now.

“The One with the Candy Hearts,” I answer after pressing a button on the remote, hearing an ‘mmmm’ from his lips.

“Could eat you up like a candy heart, yer so bloody cute,” he titters with words pointed at me, and I echo his happy sound. “Fook, it feels so good t’ finally get t’ say all tha cheesy flirtin’ rubbish I want t’ ya, Becks.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” I murmur chuckling, words soon stolen away by a yawn that ends with a smile when he scatters kisses along my cheek.

“Don’t fall asleep now, bug. I might jus’ continue watchin’ tha rest o’ tha episode without you, like a certain sumbody I know,” Harry jests playfully, the most perfect sound igniting sparks across my cheek where his words land. “‘m kiddin. If ya need some shut-eye ‘s okay, ‘ll tell ya what happened when ya wake up, bug. I wouldn’t leave me favourite person out like that, not eeva.”

“Thanks,” I giggle, allowing my hand to stray to a chestnut ringlet that tickles his forehead. It draws his attention to my touch, and next, I find his green eyes with my own. “Harry, I have a request.”

“Ya, li’l one?” he hums in response, quirking an eyebrow in accompaniment.

“After the episode is done, can we listen to some of your old records and paint each other’s nails?” I pose, the nerves peaking through in my voice. The approval pulls his lips up towards his cheeks once again, and I truly don’t think I could ever get sick of that smile.

Never, ever.

“‘d love that, Becks. ‘ll hafta play some o’ me favourites fer ya.”

Sometimes, like in this very moment, I can’t remember there ever being a time when you stopped being my favorite person. There certainly were times, but they seem like other realities now, especially now that I know there’s no possibility that it could ever stop being you, Harry. It has always been you, and it will continue to always be you.

My Harry.

The sight in front of me still manages to baffle me, and it throws me for a further loop when I press my lips to her temple. She lets me, with the smallest of smiles gracing her blush lips. At times, it all feels like I’m in one of my dreams, until I realize that I indeed am living one of them.

It’s about fucking time.

Chandler and Joey bicker about something on the telly, but try as I might, I can’t get myself to focus on it. I didn’t miss a beat during the last episode, but now with the whiskey and wine coursing through me, the fear has fallen away. Her skin is warm against my lips, and the vanilla-orange blossom scent that she’s drenched in surrounds me. The easiest of smiles finds its way to my lips once again, and grows larger as I let my forehead meet her head.

“You’re supposed to be watching,” she whispers from below me, a soft amusement carrying her words. Opening my eyes, I find her long eyelashes flutter. Her scent trickles away when she moves her head, looking up at me curiously. The hint of a smile that’s been stuck to her lips ignites once again, keeping the fire alive within my heart.

“What? ‘m good at multitaskin’,” I insist, knowing by now that we both can tell when the other is lying.

“No, you aren’t. That’s why you get so little done on the days you bring your guitar to work,” Becks responds, widening her eyes a little at me to emphasize her words.

“Rude,” I remark, but it’s stolen away by giggles. Hers and mine, and it might be the best sound I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing.

As the seconds tick on, I keep wondering when I’m going to wake up and the dream will be over. When I close the small distance between us, catching her lips with my own, I hope I never have to wake up. They’re like honey against my own, sweet and golden. The taste of her fills me and for what must be the tenth time now, her top lip tastes better than I could have ever imagined. It fits between my own like a jigsaw piece, affirming my notions I’ve had about this girl for years on end.

Her decadent giggle grazes my ears when her ocean blue eyes fill my own again. I can’t help but join her, taking part in all of these things with her. I’m beside myself with how so goddamn right they feel. The smile that my lips haven’t been without for days now is mirrored on her own, the very pair that I’m still amazed I just got to kiss. The lips I’ve been dying to kiss for the last two, incredibly long, years.

“What are you thinking about, thumbing at your lip like that?” she wonders aloud, my very favourite voice in this entire world. Cocking her head to the side, she stares up at me. The warmth inside of me spreads amongst my limbs, tingling at the end of my fingers where one of her dark curls wraps around it. Too much like the way she’s had me wrapped around hers ever since that very first day I called her ‘Becks.’

It was history after that, they say.

“Jus’ rememba’d an old friend I ran into tha otha day. ‘s a story you’d like,” I respond, enjoying the way the light catches the dark and light flecks of blue in her irises. The Holte Blue Eyes, they appear to be, and I can’t stop myself from thinking what a child of mine would look like with those blue eyes.

“Who’s that?” she smiles, tipping her head to rest on my arm wound around her shoulder. The pads of my fingers explore her back, drawing shapes over her too adorable olive green knitted jumper.

“Alcott- Professor Alcott,” I answer, observing the connection echoing in her eyes. Nodding, her blues remain perked up at me. I can’t think of a better sight in this whole universe, and it brings happiness to my lips like she can do without hardly trying. “That day I ran into you at tha market, I saw him there right afta. I guess it was a good day fer run-ins with old friends.”

My subsequent out of place laugh pulls her natural eyebrows together in question, one that she soon vocalizes, “What’s so funny, Harry?”

“‘s not so much funny as jus’ . . I dunno, ratha perfect,” I answer, and the happiness spilling from her lips is accompanied by a raise of her eyebrows. “When I saw him afta I spoke t’ yer class that one day, tha first time ‘d seen ya in almost a year . . I erm, asked him ‘bout you. I had no bloody idea ya were goin’ back t’ finish yer LLB, and so I was full o’ questions afta seein’ you in his class. He had all good things t’ say ‘bout you, big surprise, and there was this one thing he said that I never forgot ‘bout.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” Becks says, almost on the edge of her seat at the revelation of my story. “Harry,” she giggles when I take too long to respond.

It doesn’t have anything to do with reluctance, but more so because of how fucked I am right now losing myself in her eyes. Those blues, my God. The thought continues to unravel, and my smile fills out at its discovery.

I really do hope that my children get to have those blue eyes of hers one day, they’re the most gorgeous color I’ve ever seen.

“Sorry . . He said sumthin’ ‘bout you comin’ back t’ work at me firm once ya graduated. ‘Circle of Life,’ he called it, so it was funny when I ran into him at tha market. I was beside meself with glee gettin’ t’ tell him that you did indeed come back t’ work with me. He was happy t’ hear it and ‘s very proud o’ you, as am I,” I share, and the confession plants the dimple into her left cheek.

After all of this time, I think I’ve figured it out. I can only find it there when the happiness engulfs her, surprising her with its intensity, letting the dimple out of hiding.

“And did you tell him?” she ponders, now getting all shy on me by averting her eyes. I don’t think I have much to complain about, seeing how she’s tracing the outline of a tattoo on my forearm. A ‘what’ whispers from my lips as the curl relaxes around my finger, and my hand wanders to her cheek, pulling her back to me. “That you had a crush on me?”

“I did, ya, but I don’t think that’s how I phrased it,” I chuckle, finding the redness in her cheeks that also sit in mine. “Don’t think ‘d call it that, would you?”

Her answer is sufficed by a shrug of her shoulders, and quickly I’m losing my lips in the brown freckles scattered across her neck. My name flies from hers in a titter as my arms surround her.

“Hmmm?” I hum against her skin, finding the hollow below her ear with my eager lips.

“No, I guess I wouldn’t call it that, either,” she laughs, the words vibrating beneath my lips. Letting my eyes fall closed, I lean into her and feel her curl up against me. “It’s far more than that,” Becks says softly, carding a hand through my curls. Bringing me forth, I move away from her to find those ocean deep eyes sitting on me. An honor, indeed.

Bloody hell, what a fucking honor it would be if my children had that twinkle in their eye and that song in their laugh, too. As well as that one little cheek dimple, just like Becks.

I don’t even care at this point how carried away I’m getting.

“Sure ‘s, bug,” I murmur, my surroundings soon cloaked in darkness when her lips find mine. Her hair falls through my fingers like buttery taffy when it finds the back of her head. Her lips taste like strawberries and sunshine, and not even because of the wine. Specks of chocolate hide in them, surprising me with their sweetness, just like she keeps doing to me.

I may never get over how sweet my little bug is, and that’s just fine with me, because I finally have all of the time I want to get used to it. Although I’m unsure if it will ever be enough, I know that Becky undoubtedly is.

A laugh sputters from her lips, bringing an end to our kiss.

“What’re you laughin’ ‘bout, Rebecca?” I snicker, nudging my nose against hers, stealing another peck from her candy coated lips.

“First, you saying my name like that, and secondly, keep playing with my hair,” is all she says, joined by her head falling to my chest. The disappointment at the absence of her lips is short when I’m again amazed by how effortlessly she gets me going with her head on my chest.

“Why ‘s that funny?” I ask, keeping my word and letting her satiny waves run through my fingers. Glancing away, I find her eyes flutter closed against the fabric of my shirt. The weight of her on my front feels comforting, and so does this entire thing. It’s just comforting the mere fact of her being here with me, and in my arms.

I still have a hard time believing my eyes.

“You’ll see.”

A question knits my brows together as I giggle, combing my hand through the front of her hair until I reach its end moments later, sorting out the snarls. Her breathing begins to slow and her body stills against mine.

“Becks, dontch’u fall asleep on me, bug. Our episode isn’t ova quite yet,” I snicker. The champagne bubbles that have filled my insides over the last few weeks climb higher and higher when her lips mirror the action.

“I will if you keep playing with my hair.”

“Ah, so ‘ve found yer weakness, have I?” I reply, looking down and placing my puckered lips on the crown of her head.

“Mmmhmm, it’s always been able to lull me to sleep, and relax me. My dad always did it when I was little.”

“Noted,” I murmur against her hair, letting my cheek fall to rest atop her head. My arms sing when they embrace her, welcoming the familiarity they find.

“Doesn’t help that yer a proper li’l heater too, yer makin’ me wanna fall asleep now too, bug. ‘s only six-thirty,” I yawn, my eyelids growing heavy as she snuggles into me.

“Then take a little cat nap with me, Harry,” Becks yawns, burrowing deeper into the hollow of my neck. “I’ll keep you warm.”

“‘Kay, ‘ll just shut me eyes . . fer a few minutes,” I drawl, knowing that the slow rise of her chest on mine will soon take me away into dreamland.

I don’t know what I could possibly dream about that’s better than this, though. Perhaps little dark haired babies with her blue eyes and dimples set into their cheeks, sat upon her lap.

Oh, please.

A feeling that I had hoped and dreamed years for, sticks with each step I take the next morning after getting off onto Seventeen. I haven’t been able to kick the smile that arrived on my lips the moment I parked my car, and my cheeks have only grown more tired since then.

Like every other morning, he’s nowhere to be found. Missing in action. Although I sat at his side with his arm around me until nine o’clock last night, my heart aches for him worse than any other morning at work.

I spend no time dropping off my own messenger bag in my office, along with my lunch and thermos of coffee. My heart speeds up its racing when I slip into his office searching for him to no avail.

I’m ready to throw in the towel until I remember his not so hiding place from last time, and once again, there I find him with a stack of papers in his hands. A smile winds its way up my lips at the sight of him pressing his lips together, creating comical popping noises.

After the last few years of shit we’ve went through, this seems like a piece of cake, or so I hope.

“G’mornin’, bug. What’re ya doin’ all tha way ova there, huh, why’re you bein’ a stranger?” Harry grins, waving a hand over to me while the large copier makes whirring noises, taking his document away.

A nervous laugh tumbles from me as I take slow steps over to him, unsure if the smile climbing his cheeks at the mere sight of me is true.

I wonder if seeing is believing.

“C’mere, ya slow poke,” he titters, holding out an arm towards me. Finally, my heart begins to slow down. It only truly does once my cheek touches his shoulder and our arms settle around the other. “Mornin’, my Becks. Sumbody looks tired, I see. ‘m sorry I kept ya up last night with our texts.”

“It’s okay,” I yawn, tipping my head towards his eyes that await mine. “I had lots of fun talking to you about all sorts of things after I got home.”

“So did I, bug, so did I,” he agrees, leaving a whispery kiss on my forehead with his lips that smell of coconut chapstick. Hmm, I wonder if they taste like coconut too, and the budding thought stirs up a craving I’ve had for his lips since I woke this morning. “Don’t be fallin’ asleep on me t’day, tho’. We have work t’ do.”

“Hey, you stole my line!” I giggle, staring up at him through my lashes doused in a few extra coats of mascara.

“Seems we’re even then,” he grins with a cheeky wink, earning a nod from me. The dimples remain in his cheeks marked by the stubble that I’m coming to like more and more, a sure surprise to me. “Ya look gorgeous once again, bug. There’s jus’ sumthin’ ‘bout ya in yer lawyer getup that gets me goin’,” he chuckles, the last few words muffled against my cheek. A blush rises on my own and I move ever so slowly until his lips are a breath away from mine.

“Now you know how I’ve felt all of these years,” I admit breathlessly, the mere sight of him stripping the breath from my lungs.

“Do I now, li’l one?” he teases, brushing the back of his finger against my cheek. His cheeks soon match mine with a warm pink that fills my eyes before he envelopes my lips with his own, finally. They’re smooth and pillowy against mine, and within moments, I taste the coconut chapstick coating them.

The notifying bleep! of the copier nudges at my ears, but the sound of a voice outside the door pulls me away from his lips. A glint sits in his eyes when I find the courage to meet them before turning around. I’ve put only a few feet in between us when I hear the click! of the door opening, and Rose’s sing-song voice.

“Are we hiding from our job in the copier room, again? If you’re doing it, then it must be okay for me to do it too,” she jokes, her fiery waves tickling the jade fabric of her long sleeved blouse.

“Hey, don’t be puttin' words in me mouth,” Harry scoffs. With a new glossy black folder I found on the supply shelf, I turn around to find Rose rolling her eyes at him.

“I don’t know how you do it spending every minute of every work day with him. Four hours, give or take, a week spent with him is enough for me,” she sighs jokingly, her words wrapped up with a wink. An amused smile curls at the edge of my lips as I face her, nervously tapping the folder against my thigh.

“I don’t know how I do it sometimes, either,” I sigh, throwing up my hands in a shrug.

“Hey, would you two stop gangin’ up on me? Bloody hell, ‘m yer boss,” Harry exclaims in utter disbelief, but by now I hardly have to listen for the tell tale signs of sarcasm in his caramel voice. I know that they’re already there.

“Oooo, I’m so scared,” Rose whines, yanking a laugh from my lips as she dunks a hand into the open box of pens on a shelf. “I swear, Myles nicks all of the good pens when they come in, it’s no fair.”

“Maybe you could trade him some for your Styles and Lawson coffee mug,” I suggest with another laugh bubbling within my voice, soon joined by Rose’s loud laugh.

“Good one, Becky,” she chuckles, her long gold earrings dancing with her movements. “Have I told you yet that I’m glad you hired her again?” she poses to Harry with a smile. When I follow her eyes, I’m rewarded with Harry’s glimmering pair. No longer is a smirk waiting in them for me, but something else entirely, and it’s that very sparkle he let loose for me just a couple days ago.

“I think ya have, once or twice,” he hums softly. “Can’t blame ya tho’, she’s a riot, alright. Pretty happy meself fer bringin’ her back.”

Oh, Harry, the things you can do to me with just a few words. And I know that you’re well aware of just that.

“Those mugs, though. I don’t know, Myles must have ordered a hundred of them when the firm was born, because I get one every year for Christmas without fail,” Rose mutters, taking apart the empty pen box before tossing it in the recycling bin.

“Don’t look at me, I tell him tha very same things - that they’re cheesy, tha font isn’t even right, and that we need t’ order new ones if he’s so keen on givin’ ‘em out,” Harry argues, holding his hands up in defense.

“Yeah, keep talking, Harry. As if you’re not drinking out of one this very second with that shit-eating grin on your face,” she responds, and a laugh sputters from my lips without my approval. Harry’s eyes cast over to me and he shakes his head at me with narrowed eyes, over his onyx colored mug. It’s all for show, and soon he’s winking at me.

“Good luck with spending forty hours a week with this one. I think you’re stuck with him, you poor thing,” she remarks, clucking her tongue as she slaps the pen against her palm rhythmically.

“Yeah,” I huff, dragging my eyes over to Harry with a smile absent from my face. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it either, I’m stuck with him for a few years at least.”

“You better get out while you still can!” she jests with faux wariness injected into her voice. Laughing, she slips out through the door as my eyes fall to the floor. I try to hide the amused sounds escaping my lips, but I find them growing louder as his footsteps sound in my ears.

“So, yer ‘stuck with me,’ are ya now?” Harry rasps from behind me. I nearly rise off the floor when his fingers dance along my sides, eliciting surprised shrieks into the air.

“Harry!” I exclaim, goosebumps forming along my neck when his breathy laughs coast over the skin. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“‘m ratha happy ya are, y’know.”

“So am I. I wouldn’t have it any other way,�� I respond, spinning around to find his smirking lips once more. Unlike his, mine slowly plummet and too soon, I find his doing the same.

“Neitha would I, bug, but . . how come ya don’t sound too sure o’ that?”

“I am, I don’t know what you mean,” I say, sheepishly. Not helping my case, my eyes fall to his hands. The typical rings don most of his long fingers dotted with dark hairs. I mingle my own with his by lacing ours together.

“Y’know, ‘ve been able t’ tell when yer lyin’ fer years now, ya don’t have me fooled. You look away and don’t say much when yer lyin,’ they’re yer poker ‘tells’ . . . Now, what’s tha matta, Becks?” he hums gently. A breath catches in my chest when the callused tip of his finger ghosts along my cheek, replacing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Becks?” he asks once more, and I hear it. I recognize it, because it’s the very emotion threatening to consume the happiness that’s been drenching my insides.

Fear.

“How are we going to do this, Harry?” I question, finally lifting my eyes to his. “I don’t want this to sound bad, because I want this more than anything, so please don’t be upset. I-,” I try to explain, but he doesn’t give me the chance to continue. Unlike all of those times he stepped on my toes when I first met him, he’s doing a fine job of wishing those away with none other than his lips.

His velvety aegean blazer is satiny beneath my fingertips when I gather the front of it into my palms, pulling him closer. I feel his smirk against my lips, but all too soon it’s not long enough and he’s pulling away. His dimples fill my eyes and next, those shiny green eyes consume my sight.

“Jus’ like this, like we’ve been doin’. Behind closed doors, my love,” he mumbles, sealing the words with a soft peck. Those very two words send shivers down my spine, and zings of electricity right to my heart. “I wanna show ya off here, believe me I do, but at work I think ‘s betta if we keep it professional in front o’ e’rybody else,” he explains, and the second the horses leave the gates, I’m nodding along with him. A relieved sigh blankets the air in front of me when I’m graced with the knowledge that he too agrees. “I know it blows and it’ll be hard, but ‘s fer tha best, Becks. Outside o’ work and behind closed doors tho’, anythin’s game . . . Alright?”

“Yeah, I’m more than alright. I was thinking the same thing . . I’m here to be your mentee and to learn from you so I can one day, hopefully, be even half as good of a lawyer as you . . Dating you is just a bonus.”

Scarlet engulfs his golden skin while my favorite song in the entire universe tickles my ears, “I couldn’t agree mo’, li’l one. We got some fun in store fer us, that’s fer sure,” he rasps, pulling me against his front, and there, I melt like I did for the very first time, all those years ago.

I hold onto him tightly, never wanting to let him go.

No, never again, will I. There’s nothing in this world that could ever take him away from me again, I won’t let it.

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burning-fcols · 4 years

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"Excuse me!" A huffy snake demon slithered over to the black spider. "I was talking to you! Very rude to just leave when I was in the middle of my monolouge!" ( It begins~ )

- ✩ { @canondiivergence } ✩

{ ☆ } Arackniss doesn’t get paid enough to deal with bullshit like this... Doesn’t get paid enough to deal with half the crap he does. But that’s just part of the game, he supposes. Being the head honcho’s only son doesn’t exactly bring forth a lot of special treatment. The opposite in fact... He’s expected to work harder, act harder, BE harder.

He’s carrying the family name on his shoulders, after all. Since Angel Anthony already threw aside his self-respect— or whatever shreds he’d been keeping up a farce with —long ago. And Molly... Well, the family legacy isn’t fit for a delicate dame, whether or not she could or should be considered such. As the eldest, it all falls to him; mainly because his siblings somehow proved to be even BIGGER disappointments than the runt of the litter.

Whatever... No point in bitching over it.

Speaking of bitching—

Disinterested gaze is only disrupted by the scarce raise of a brow, ebony slits glancing over within bright scarlet as eyes give a slight glow of warning. A faint tenseness in his shoulders betraying his on edge nerves, despite his seeming lack of ‘fear’. Fur bristling like a disturbed cat and top lip arching in a slight snarl, lower limbs clench at his sides while an upper hand taps the end of a lit cigarette, ash tricking down as the chatty serpent gripes about his ‘rude’ behavior. As if it’s a surprise he’d decided to turn tail when it looked like the cartoon villain was going to go on and on... Who the fuck has the time or patience for that? Frankly, the stranger is lucky he didn’t catch a lead-induced headache.

❝ Yeah... I know. ❞ Arackniss dryly retorts, taking a drag from his cigarette— small and quick strides not lessening, forcing the other to either follow or cut him off if he wants this talk to continue —before blowing a cloud of sickly black off to the side, surprisingly keeping it out of the snake’s face. Although it’s doubtful whether the tiny spider could even reach the looming serpent. Still, intentional courtesy of not, his words are far from cordial, ❝ This might be eternal torment, but that don’t mean I got foreva’ ta listen ta yer li’l spiel... ❞ Another puff of his vice, a heavy breath escaping as smoke pours from his mouth, the cigarette is then flicked away without a second thought.

Watching its brief flight, Arackniss gruffly says, ❝ Y’wanna bump gums? Eitha’ get real interestin’ real fast... or find someone else ta give a shit. ❞ Looking up at the stranger with a half-lidded gaze, brows knit and a scoff tainting his lips, he quips, ❝ Because that ain’t exactly my specialty. ❞ { ☆ }

#(Yes; Yes it does :3c )#burning-fcols #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ɪ'ᴍ ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ɢʟᴀꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀʟᴀɪꜱᴇ ❞ ¦ 「 Arackniss IC 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ꜱᴛʏʟᴇ ❞ ¦ 「 Sir Pentious 」#canondiivergence #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ‘ᴛɪʟ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴅᴏ ᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ; ʙᴜᴛ ᴡᴇ’ʀᴇ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴘʜᴀꜱᴇ ❞ ¦ 「 RP 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇʙᴏᴅʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ— ❞ ¦ 「 Queue 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ'ꜱ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏɴ ᴛʀᴀɪᴛꜱ ɪɴ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ❞ ◌ ᴍᴀɪɴ ¦ 「 Arackniss 」

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honestsycrets · 5 years

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What She Really Wants III: Doppelganger

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | hvitserk encounters a surprise when he meets his long lost love.

❛ warnings | verbal arguments, explosion, fighting, single family, broken family.

❛ sy’s notes | here is the next segment!

For those brief few seconds, your mind is racing.

Magnus doesn’t call you Mor, and so you know it’s not Magnus. It’s your little boy. Your grown-up Mads who just opened that creaky door and found his absent father standing there in the hall. Your little Mads whose body is quivering as much as his voice was at the sight of a man who looks… so familiar. If he were fifteen years younger, they might have passed for one another. Except for certain looks of yours he inherited.

“Mor--” he calls out in a question of a statement. You drop your sopping cloth, rushing around the corner.

For those brief few seconds, Hvitserk’s mind is racing too.

A little punk in your home. He thought he ran one off. Did you really have two little fuckers you were fucking? But as the door shut behind him, he realized something was off about this one. His eyes were flecked with green and shaped like delicious little almonds. His cheeks were full. Clearly well-fed, and his lips were slender, puckering as those eyes widened so deeply in recognition.

Neither of them knew each other. But both knew.

“Far?” he whispers.

It stings. It fucking-- it fucking stung him harder than any bee, hornet, or even that snake in India. You grip the edge of the breakfast bar a few seconds too late. Mads swallows a dry breath when his father fists his t-shirt, pulling him into his face.

“What the fuck is this? Who the fuck are you?”

“Mor!” he shouts.

“Don’t give me that Mor fuckin’ bullshit you li’l rat--”

“Hvitserk stop! He’s your son.” You hear yourself say. You take a few wide steps up to Hvitserk, grabbing his shoulders. That’s enough to make him pop off.

“My son?! My son is dead!” He spins around, shoving your neck into the wall. A sharp pressure digs into your throat from his curling fingers. Mads lurches, and yet, you will him down with a hand. “You told me he was dead.”

But he’s not. You don’t need to say it.

“You-- you fuckin’ bitch.” Hvitserk holds your frightened eyes for minutes. Then, leaving your throat, his hand slips off to your shoulder, balling up to punch just beside your head. His knuckles crack, smacking the same spot with each pained word. “You lied to me!”

“Don’t disrespect my mor like that! You’re the one who left!” Mads dares say, stepping to the side of his father. He grabs Hvitserk’s shoulder and whirls him around. His words punch the anger straight of Hvitserk’s stomach. “You left me.”

Your skin crawls. It was your mistake to go with that lie. No, not your lie. Your mother’s lie. Except she was dead, in the cold cold ground. His face sears with hate you’ve never seen this close. You were told things. That Hvitserk’s fury unchecked could result in a beating.

“I didn’t fucking leave.” Hvitserk thumps his head on the wall, as opposed to yours, holding himself back. His strong and intent expression shifts, looking at you through the corner of his eye. If you were carved of wax, you would have melted in your shame. “I was fucking pushed out. You think I’d leave my kids? My fuckin’... my fiance.”

His eyes grew heavy with the thought. As he thought of that day, fifteen years ago, Hvitserk finds himself tremoring. Your shattered family, his phone going off, surgery-- you called it. You had surgery. And that night.

His jaw works as if he tries to hold back the words that curdle in his mouth, his shoulders tense with knots. He steps away from Mads, slamming in his steps to the door. Mads steps in front of it.

“Move,” Hvitserk says, tapering in anger while reaching around him.

“No!” Mads shoves him back, hard enough with his palms that he has no choice but to stay there rather than claw past his new-found son. One of them was going to lose control. It was only an issue of which one.

“Mads, let him go. I know you’re angry but--” you stop. Feel your body tighten up. A part of you knew that both boys wouldn’t understand why or how you made the choices you did.

“He has shit to explain!”

“Mads Nikolaj—“

“You called him Mads.” Hvitserk throws his hands behind his head. He grins like a savage, feral thing as he walks away from the door and deeper into your house. “You knew what you were doing that night.”

You were planning it all out. Leaving him… it hadn’t been some spur of the moment decision, no. You planned to leave him.

To take his son away from him.

All fifteen years of him. It takes all of his effort to simply stare at the clock, to pretend like a pendulum of his patience wouldn’t strike into an explosion. Mads looks askance at you, and then to his father, eager to ask him something new.

“Go to your room.”

“But Mor I have questions--”

“NOW Mads.”

The shuffle of footsteps tells him that Mads has gone to his room. Wherever that was. All your secrets, out in the open. Lies. Lies is what they were. Ones to placate Mads in the easiest way how. By blaming Hvitserk, making him the scapegoat. Maybe it did not matter.

Hvitserk’s hands are still raised behind his head when you turn back to him, the muscles of his back tense. “It wasn’t safe for him. After far’s death and our little baby—“

He winces at the mention.

“He wasn’t safe with you. Mor thought I should…”

He turns around, whirling to face you. He digs in his wallet, ripping out a film. When you look down to it, you realize what it is.

A sonogram. Of the twins.

“I want my paternity established.” Hvitserk says without another word, stepping around you. The door closes shut with a slam. You exhale a breath. It’s not of relief. In the other room, you had a grown son that was looking for answers. How long had he gone on thinking his father did not want him? Years too many. But… Hvitserk was here now. He wanted to be in his life.

You owed him that at least.

“Mads?” your knuckles clack against his hollow door.

With no response, you push in. He’s sitting on his bed, his long hair over his shoulder out of the tight bun he usually kept it in. His shirt has been thrown off somewhere, the floor littered with his clothes. You pick up his clothes as you come in, gingerly setting them in his white laundry basket. Mads sits there with his basketball in his hands, flicking it around while his eyes stare off at his light grey walls.

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” Mads asks, calm but with a sense of hopelessness to his voice. He heard his father leave. He wondered if he would come back. The bed creaks under your weight as you sit beside him. You study his face, tracing out just how enraged he was with you. Unlike his father, though. The heaving of his chest results in harsh shuddering breaths. He’s not mad, you acknowledge, he’s so impossibly hurt.

That’s worse than being mad. You hand him the laminated sonogram that Hvitserk had shoved at you, leaning in against his shoulder. The basketball falls from his fingers with a dribble, rolling away toward his connecting bathroom and the walk-in closet to the right of it.

“Two sacks?” he asks.

“This is you… and your sister.”

“I have a sister?” Mads asks, staring down at the young ultrasound. The last one before the accident. If you could dispense the memory of that event, you would.

“She didn’t make it.” You say, running your tongue over your lips. Mads’s lips press together.

“The accident?”

“After it, Mormor thought it would be best if… we didn’t tell your father. He’s a Ragnarsson and-- his ex caused it. She thought you would be in danger and,”

“But that doesn’t explain why you lied. You-- I could take it, you know Mor. Just… if you talked to me. You didn’t have to lie to me.” Mads sucks in his breath, garbled. Your boy with his calm demeanor, wide smiles, and limited interest in anger. He sets the sonogram aside, clenching his eyes together. His fist migrates to his mouth, biting his knuckle with force. “It would’ve been better than thinking my Far abandoned me.”

“No, baby-- no.” You reach out, lowering his bitten knuckles from his face. “He loved you. More than anything.”

“But he isn’t gonna come back.”

You dip down to fall to your knees in front of your son. You pull him close, pressing your lips to his forehead. “He’ll come back,” you say. “For you. He wants you in his life. We’ll establish paternity and…”

“I ruined it,” Mads whispers, the wetness of his tears falling over your skin. You reach up to clear his skin of the tears. You think you’ve covered it all but his knowing. He’s a witty, smart boy. He must have known why he was there. “Mikkel said-- he said he was coming back to be with his family, that he loved you, and he’d only be in the way and I thought that I could see him and thought-- thought--”

“It’s okay,” you wrench him close, off the bed. His soft cheek presses against your chest through the tears.

“It’s not your fault,” you kiss the top of his hair. Wet sobs wrack through his body, shaking from his hands to his fingertips. Through the tears, he cracks a laugh, one with no humor behind it. “I wanted a family.”

That, you fear, is now out of the question.

Contact sent.

Mads’s number, be gentle with him.

The message sent reads early evening. While you send it some time ago, you had been busy coaxing Mads out from his grief. You fell back onto your bed in little more than the silky white slips you always used to wear. The ones that Hvitserk would glide his hand under your ass, give you a mean squeeze and… or spank you.

With Mads fed and doing school work before bed, you had nothing to do now that the sun was set over the horizon. The locks were locked twice over, the security system set. Everything was peaceful and should be perfect but… there’s no Mikkel, there’s no Hvitserk. These nights are the hardest. Your fingers ghost over your stomach, empty and barren. Mads was a good son. If you only had him, you would be fine. You doze off, descending into sleep. A buzzing on your nightstand doesn’t wake you.

Hvitserk

Thanks.

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