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bqluvr · 2 years

Text

Stranger

(1/?)

Warnings: none!

Words: 2.5k

Summary: After dumping your boyfriend, you find yourself at a bar. The man you meet there changes everything, but you failed to even get his name.

A/N: hi everyone! this will be a few part series, im not sure exactly how much im going to write but there will definitely be another part at the very least (there will also be smut eventually). enjoy!

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“Go fuck yourself.”

That was the last thing you had said to your on-again off-again boyfriend, who was now officially your ex after you realized how much shit he had put you through. You thought it was love as the two of you started dating at a young age, with frequent gaps in conversations that you’d make up for with sex.

Day after day you defended him against your friends who adamantly told you to leave him. You told them, ‘he’s really not that bad,’ ‘he fucked up a few times, so what? Everyone has.’ They rolled their eyes at you, telling you that you deserved so much better, but you wanted him.

Eventually, after a long day of drinking and contemplating, you made the decision to cut him off. Of course this didn’t come easily, as he put up a fight to get you to stay.

“Please, Y/N, don’t be stupid. We need each other. I’m nothing without you.”

Even just thinking about his words left a bitter taste on your tongue. You felt pity for him deep down, but he put you through hell and back. He didn’t deserve your pity. But you did love him at one point, so it wasn’t fair to turn your back on him completely, right?

“You alright?” A gruff voice sliced through your thoughts. You looked up from your drink, remembering that you were in a bar. The ice that had been in your whiskey had melted away to your disappointment.

“I’m good,” you lied through your teeth, giving the man a forced smile. He looked at you quizzically but said nothing else, simply giving you a nod before turning back to his own drink.

You studied him for a minute. He had big hands, with a ring on his right middle finger. His beard and hair matched, both being long with grey streaks in them, along with a hat sitting on top of his thick locks. His posture held a lot of tension. Anyone could see how on edge he was, it was evident in the way he hunched his back slightly and kept his eyes scanning over the room constantly, as if there was a threat hidden somewhere.

His dark brown eyes once again flickered over to yours and you quickly averted your gaze, a blush creeping up on your neck. You didn’t mean to get caught staring, you just got lost in your thoughts easily.

Something about him was incredibly compelling, but you didn’t know what it was. Was it the way he kept rubbing his fingertips together? Or the way he sat so stiffly while his eyes danced across the room over and over? Maybe it was his leg that wouldn’t stop tapping the floor? You didn’t know. It was sort of frustrating, and with you being a rather shy person, you were afraid to talk to him again.

He cleared his throat and you snapped back into reality, immediately wanting to hide under the table when you realized that he caught you staring again. Fuck, you were an idiot.

“Uh, sorry about that,” you mumbled, offering him a weak smile. He shot one back, but you could tell it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Something was holding his smile back, and you were curious as to what it was.

“No worries,” his voice was gravelly and deep, with a pretty thick New York accent which told you that he probably lived around the area.

“What’re you drinking?” You asked, desperately trying to make small talk with the man a few seats away from you. He seemed a lot more confident than you, which was intimidating but it was also a new thing that drew you to him.

“Jack and Coke. You?”

“It used to be whiskey on the rocks,” you laughed a little, showing him your glass with no ice in it. He gave you another smile, and you noticed again that it was strained. Maybe he just didn’t want to talk to you.

“Come closer, I can barely hear you over this god awful music,” he said to your surprise. You didn’t hesitate to slide into the seat directly on his left. His scent now filled your nose, and it was intoxicating. You could smell alcohol of course, but there was also hints of cannabis, and also something that smelled like straight campfire smoke. All of those mixed together with the smell of his skin, and you felt drunk despite only having one drink the entire night (which you hadn’t even finished, you noted).

“Not a fan of The Beatles?”

“I am, just not this particular song,” he tilted his head to look at you, “it’s overrated.”

Now that you could see his full face properly, you could tell he was significantly older than you. His breath, like his clothing, smelled like alcohol. You didn’t mind, though. He was quite attractive. His brown eyes stared deeply into yours, trying to figure you out the same way you were trying to figure him out. It seemed like some sort of unspoken game.

“I think you’re wrong,” you finally said, leaning away from him. He scoffed with a charming smile. One that was still not genuine.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. None of their songs are overrated.”

“What about ‘Hey Jude’?”

“Okay, maybe one of their songs are overrated,” you giggled, which made him chuckle too. The noise rumbled from his chest, and you couldn’t do anything but stare as his smile softened.

“So, can I ask what brought you here this late at night?” The man questioned, his voice gentle and calm even if his body language screamed otherwise. You noticed that his eyes were still not at rest, continuously checking out the area once or twice before landing on yours again.

“An ex. You?”

“An ex,” he repeated, a sad smile appearing on his face. You mirrored it and took a sip of your drink, sighing when you swallowed it.

“What happened?” He spoke up again.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Figured if it bothered you enough to drink about it, you might want to talk about it.”

“To a stranger?” You countered, watching as he lifted his eyebrow playfully.

“Might be easier to talk to someone you don’t know. Kind of like a priest at confession.”

“Are you religious?”

“God, no. Just givin’ you an analogy.”

You hummed for a minute, debating whether or not you wanted to tell him. He was right, it would be easy to spill everything and never talk to him again, but you didn’t want that. You felt like he had more to say than what time allowed you during one measly night. He had years worth of stories to tell, you could see it in his face. And he could see it in yours, you were sure.

“I dumped my boyfriend,” you started, gauging his reaction. When you saw no signs of judgement or anything else for that matter, you continued.

“We’ve been on and off since,” you counted back in your head, “fuck, probably since middle school.”

You gave him a second of time to see if he wanted to say anything, but he didn’t. His attention was all on you though, his eyes had stopped scoping out the room and they instead were on your eyes (and occasionally your lips - which hadn’t gone unnoticed by you).

“We were just bad for each other. We tried over and over for years but every time it ended the same way; me telling him that it’d never happen again and him agreeing just for us to be in bed together the next week.

I finally broke it off with him a few hours ago and hopefully it stays that way. He told me that he’s nothing without me, and that kind of has me conflicted. I know I shouldn’t go back but I really felt like we had potential but didn’t know what to do with it, you know?”

The man looked deep in thought, giving you nothing but a nod to show he heard you. The pair of you didn’t speak for a minute or two, with him simply soaking in the words you said.

“What made you two bad for each other?” He said after a few more moments of silence.

“He was just a man-child. It was difficult because he expected me to take care of him and myself, and he just didn’t want to see me grow as a person. He wanted me to stay the same as I had been.”

“And you’re not the type of person that’s satisfied with somethin’ like that,” he finished for you. You nodded and so did he, once again drifting into his own thoughts.

“I’m gonna be honest, though,” you mumbled, “I can’t act like I didn’t do anything wrong.”

You didn’t know why you were telling this man everything. You just felt like you could trust him. Even if you couldn’t, after this night the chances were that you’d never see him again. That thought bummed you out a little.

“There were times where he’d yell at me for something stupid like why I didn’t have dinner ready. I’d yell back and say a lot of… hurtful things.”

“It’s not your job to make a grown man dinner,” he pointed out.

“I know, but I’m really not a confrontational person. Just something about him brings out the worst in me.”

The man let out a short chuckle before taking a sip of his drink and exhaling heavily through his nose. His elbows rested on the counter and he held up his head with his hands, his eyes focused on you for a split second before they traced the room for the hundredth time.

“What happened with your ex?” You asked curiously. He had listened to you, and now it was his turn to speak.

“Left me a week before the weddin’,” he scoffed, shaking his head, “ran off with some cop.”

Your gaze softened when you heard the sadness in his voice, feeling a rush of sympathy for the broken man in front of you.

“My ego took a huge blow,” he admitted with a low laugh.

“I’m so sorry. That’s just such a horrible thing to do.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad she left before we got married. Nothin’ scares me more than a loveless marriage.”

“Yeah, those are tough.”

“Been in one?”

“Oh no, not me. My parents,” you felt bad that the conversation was turning back to be about you again, so you asked him another question about his ex.

“Did you know the cop?”

“He was a buddy. I worked in the FDNY for a while and I met him through a couple friends I had there,” he explained, his fingertips rubbing together again, “I always thought he was a good guy. Fuckin’ sucked finding out about the affair.”

All you could do was apologize again. He didn’t look very upset, but you could tell that he was. His hand had started to grip the glass a little tighter, his chest rising and falling a little faster as he tried to control his breathing. He was experienced in masking his emotions, if you were a bit further away you wouldn’t have been able to tell he was upset. Only once you got close and could truly observe the tight lipped smile he wore, the way his leg tapped faster and faster as he talked, his incessant fidgeting with his ring, would you be able to read his inner turmoil.

“What do you do for a living?” He asked out of nowhere, quickly changing the subject to avoid any more awkwardness. You chose to allow him to dictate where the conversation went, so you followed his lead.

“Uh, I’m a journalist,” you answered his question truthfully, “I travel around a lot.”

“And how do you like that?”

“It’s good. Very demanding but overall rewarding,” you told him with a slight smile, “what about you?”

“Comedian, among other things,” he mumbled, “also very demanding but not quite in the same sense as your job.”

“Do you like your job?”

“It’s hard at times, for sure. But gettin’ people to smile and forget how hard they have it is gratifying no matter how difficult.”

“Difficult?”

“Knowin’ that no matter what goes on in our lives, something as simple as a laugh can make it better,” he explained, “it’s a lot of pressure. You wanna distract people from their problems but it’s hard when you’ve got your own.”

You nodded in genuine interest, soaking up every smooth word that left his mouth and clinging to it like your life depended on it. The way his voice sounded when he talked about something he was passionate about was incredibly attractive.

The conversation between you two flowed easily, as if you were lifelong friends. You got to know that he had a show with three of his best buddies, and you told him about some of your travels.

You were interrupted in the middle of your conversation by the bartender, who announced that it was closing time. Sadly you knew your time with him was coming to an end. You didn’t even know his name, but you felt attached to him. Closer to him than most people in your life. You could tell he felt the same, with the way his shoulders slowly loosened up around you as time passed by.

“This is me,” you said, looking over at him when you reached your car. He scanned it quickly and gave you a smile, one that seemed more full of life than it did just a few hours ago.

“Thank you for listenin’. I needed it,” he spoke gruffly, his hands fidgeting at his sides before he put them in his pockets.

You wanted to kiss him. But you knew that he wouldn’t be that type of person, and it would be horrible for you to make a move after not only just meeting the man, but also knowing he just recently split with his fiancé. You wouldn’t do that to him.

“Thank you for tonight.”

He gave you a nod and turned around, taking a few steps away from you before looking back quickly. You wanted to call for him, get his name, his number, anything at all. But something stopped you from doing that. You didn’t know if it was nerves, or maybe the universe gave him to you for just one night.

When his figure retreated into the dimly lit streets, you sighed. You got into your car and started it up, feeling a little bit empty after he had left. You hadn’t had that deep of a connection with someone like that in years. Did he not feel the same? He could’ve tried to get your number, too.

‘Whatever. It’s okay,’ you thought to yourself, even though you knew it was everything but okay.

If you were truly meant to keep him in your life, he would find his way back to you.

#brian quinn #brian x reader #brian quinn imagine #quinn x reader #q x reader #q imagines #joe gatto #james murray #sal vulcano #impractical jokers #the tenderloins

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safetycar-restart · 1 year

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So fabio managed to get that tractor to third. And then he wore that cowboy hat. And now its his birthday.

The bestest boy deserves all spoiling, im thinking like taking him to a spa, buying new massage oils with his favorite scent and giving him full body massage, really comfortable clothes in the patterns he loves, making him his fave dinner and going on a hike with him since the chaos baby cannot be still to long. Naked cuddling and cuddling included whenever he feels like it

Do you agree or would you spoil him in another way?

YES YES YES FINALLY WE CAN HAVE FABIO CONTENT!!! I love Fabs so much oh my god.

Firstly, I have no doubt that he celebrated both his birthday and his podium in Texas and was still drunk for a fair few days afterwards. He had so much fun though!!

If you weren't there, he would have sent you hundreds of drunk selfies and videos, completely incoherent but so so happy.

This matters because I think that because of that, he honestly wants to have a bit of a quiet day for his birthday. He's spent so much of his time with you being upset and depressed, needing to be looked after and loved and of course you've done so without complaint.

But now, now he finally has had a small win and it's his birthday and he's already celebrated plenty with friends so he just... he wants to happy with you? Be genuinely carefree with you.

Maybe you start the day off with the hike? He loves hiking so much and okay yes maybe he did quite literally run circles around you but it was so much fun! He was hiking with you!! That's everything to him!

Maybe you even get up early enough to watch the sunset? It's genuinely the best start to the day ever.

You have a shower together when you get home, where you both exchange kisses and wash each other and fabio doesn't stop smiling for one second.

Then he gets his presents! You have to spoil him after the start to the season he's had, buying him expensive and also cheep and cheesy things. He deserves it all!! And plenty of flowers!! And clothes in completely ridiculous patterns!!

He starts crying and bouncing on his toes when he sees all his gifts, requiring immediate cuddles and kisses and even makes you open the gifts because his hands are too preoccupied with cuddling you and wiping his eyes.

He doesn't expect the massage at all, but it's so good!! You use his favourite scent, massaging his whole body and tracing his tattoos and he LOVES it. He gets hard at some point, but has no desire to actually do anything about that just yet because he's so comfy and the massage feels so good.

He also insists on returning the favour? Except he can't really massage anyone to save his life and gets massage oil everywhere and you have to change the sheets afterwards but it was so much and he still gets kisses for his effort.

#sub!fabio #fq #soft soft vibes #nsfw.#gn!reader

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deadsnothere · 1 year

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HIII, Sheepy boy, i was wondering ab you L&Co. Dr? Like your script, if so, where you got it, and any headcannons you have ab the main three trio?

Love,

Your local ghost

Hiii! first of all love the little local ghost sign off cool as hell second of all thank you so much for asking i've needed a reason to rant about this dr :D

I got my script from a person on tiktok! it's called "script template - ‘downtown girl’ aesthetic" by @shiftingmwah I really enjoy their templates!

There are a few things i've added, like a talent section, My talent is touch but my main focus at the agency is to work on designs and upgrades for new flares and different safe explosives that can help us with cases.

I have headcanons about the main three! adore all three of them so there will be a section for each!

Lucy! -

My top headcanon for Lucy is that she is a lesbian. im not sure if that sounds crazy but i genuinely see her as a lesbian who just doesn't know what she's doing but is going for it.

Sleeps with her socks on. Now! you may think this is wild until you feel how cold the attic can get in snow, out of the snow I judge her all day about it.

only actually showers for like 5 minutes gets all clean and just sits there on the bottom of the tub, thinking about life.

a romantic when needed, i am a really big romantic but Lucy will wing man me all the time, "Oh Lockwood? Why do you always have to up with alias ya know me and george would like to stick with them one day!" but once he actually lets me go with george, Lucy is still teasing him about it.

She spent so much money on Norrie while she was in ghost lock. Clothes, hats, nicknacks different things she thought she'd like. Norrie was bombarded with gifts when she wakes up.

Watching movies with any of them is hell because they figure it out before the movie ends and you want to pop their heads off.

Loves spicy food

George -

My top head canon for george is his card to the British archives. After a while of us doing cases george thought it might be his best idea to get a card for there! It took him two days because they were genuinely confused and concerned about why he was there so much!

Although george is a very smart and very clean guy he still finds ways to get sick really easy, and when he is sick? HE IS INSUFFERABLE.

stays up WAAAY to late for cases, Like he gets an hour asleep a night late. it's concerning but we do normally get him to get some sleep at night!

Kinda good with spice

Lockwood! -

This poor man has nightmares like every night and is just like "no babe it's ok even if dream about my dead family without you, you can go!" he's wild sometimes

Spends most of his time reading gossip magazines, or trying to find new cases. I fully believe this man has no chill.

This is a very specific headcanon but as i'm kipps little sister, him meeting my family was hell on earth. "You must be the lovely parents that raised your beautiful daughter, and Quill. You've done an amazing job rasing such a good ghost hunter, and quill. They're the best mechanic, i've never seen someone with skills quite that good with metal working. What can you do quill? Nothing i know!"

Cant handle spice

I do have more for both george and Lockwood but most of Lockwood are romantic so i'm not sure how you would feel about that? and with george i cant keep his organized so it's a hot mess.

#lockwood needs sleep #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood and co dr #george karim #lucy carlyle #speak ali!!

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onecanonlife · 3 years

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In which Tommy has a nightmare, and enderwalk!Ranboo is of the opinion that grass blocks make everything better.

(word count: 1,413)

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Tommy jolts out of a nightmare that he doesn’t want to remember, and a few seconds later, finds himself hyperventilating outside on the grass.

It’s not on, is what it is. He hardly asked for this, for these awful dreams and this inability to sleep for more than a few hours at a time at best, for this creeping certainty that Dream is breaking out, is going to come for him, and that it’s only a matter of time before something awful happens. He didn’t ask for any of this, but he has it, and he’s not moving out of his house, because that would feel like a concession, but on nights like these he wakes up and the dirt walls press in around him and he can’t breathe, and it is completely and utterly the worst.

So. Outside. Grass. Hyperventilating.

Calming himself down is old hat, by now. He figured out how to do it a long time ago, around the time when he realized that there wasn’t going to be anyone holding his hand anymore, that he was well and truly on his own, without a friend in the world. Other than—but no, he doesn’t go there. He knows better, now, even though his brain still tries to play tricks on him sometimes, tries to convince him that Dream is the only one who actually has his best interests at heart.

The point is, he knows how to do this. He’s used to it. And frankly, he’s glad that he is, glad that he can do this on his own, because he doesn’t want anyone else around him when he’s like this. Doesn’t want anyone else to see, doesn’t want anyone else to know that this happens, doesn’t want anyone else to be able to point at him and go, look, the great TommyInnit brought low.

So when he regulates his breaths and swipes the tears from his face and unclenches his fingers knuckle by knuckle, he looks up and most definitely does not expect anyone to be crouched in front of him. When he sees that there is, he scrabbles backward and lets out an incredibly manly scream, and he doesn’t think he can be blamed for it, because what the fuck?

“Holy shit,” he wheezes, “holy shit, you can’t just—” And has to stop, because it’s not just any weird crouching person. It’s his fucking—what’s the word for when a very irritating and terrible person marries your best friend? What’s the title for that? Annoyance-in-law?

In any case, it’s Ranboo.

“What,” he says, “the shit are you doing?”

Ranboo makes a sound that is not words at all. In fact, it sounds very similar to an enderman vwoop, which, alright, the guy’s half enderman, that checks out. Except, his eyes are also purple, and he looks rather taller than he normally does, even crouching down, so something is weird here. Something is very, very weird.

“Fuck off,” he says. “Go and, go and raise your shitty child or something. Sing ‘im a lullaby. Go on.”

He makes shooing noises with his hands, like one might do to a dog, or a persistent crow. Ranboo tilts his head very slowly, like a complete fucking weirdo, and then rises in one fluid motion, and goes walking off somewhere. Tommy stares after him, because he hadn’t really expected that to work. But alright, he’ll take it.

“That’s right,” he mutters. “Just fucking, fucking leave, go on.” He stares down at the grass, running a shaking hand through his hair. He is, maybe, not quite as recovered as he’d like. He’s usually not, after the initial panic, usually can’t make himself relax until the sun has crested the horizon and the sky has begun to lighten. He’s ruined for sleep tonight, that’s for sure.

But it’s alright. It’s alright, he’s used to it. He can do it. He can do this. He’s a big fucking man, and he can survive on a few hours of sleep a night, and he can avoid looking at himself in the mirror and remembering another face, eyebags just as dark, hair just as wild, eyes only slightly more desperate. He doesn’t have to remember things. Not if he doesn’t want to. He’s great at not remembering things, him.

Footsteps. He jerks, looks up again, and Ranboo is standing over him, and why is he so fucking tall?

Ranboo makes another vwooping sound. And then a little trill, almost like a bird, if a bird gargled gravel and then turned into an eldritch monstrosity. He crouches again, and then holds out his hands, and there is something in them, something that he is offering him, and—

Tommy squints. It’s a grass block.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” he asks.

Ranboo vwoops.

“Could you just stop being so fucking weird?” he demands. “For five minutes? I don’t think that’s too much to ask, really. God, you’re just. The worst.”

Ranboo shifts a bit closer, still holding out the grass block. Like he wants him to take it.

“I’m not taking your stupid block,” Tommy says, and accepts it.

Ranboo vwoops.

“Why would you even—” he says, burrowing his fingers into the dirt. A bit of it crumbles to the ground. He doesn’t understand how endermen manage to do this, keep these blocks in perfect shape, grass and all. “Why would you even give me this? What are you trying to pull on me, eh? It won’t work. You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, pal. You’re up to something. Why are your eyes all purple?”

Ranboo vwoops.

And then—Tommy remembers something. Something he wasn’t particularly trying to remember, and usually, that’s not such a great thing, but it’s not so bad this time. Because this memory is from just a couple of weeks ago, in Snowchester, one of those times that he was trying to hang out with Tubbo, but Ranboo was just there and wouldn’t leave, and Tubbo wouldn’t make him leave, so Tommy spent the entire time being vaguely pissed off. And he was trying not to pay attention to Ranboo, really, he was, except he remembers him saying something about how he gets anxious, and how holding blocks of things and putting them down places helps him. At the time, he made a point of not acknowledging him, because Tommy’s not an idiot. He knew what he was trying to do, and he didn’t appreciate it.

But—

He stares at the block in his hands. And then back at Ranboo.

He wants to be angry, at the idea, at the presumption, because who the fuck does Ranboo think he is, trying to patronize him like this? But Ranboo keeps up his soft warbles, and he finds his eyes filling with tears instead.

“Are you,” he says, and his voice is not choked, it’s not, “are you trying to help me?”

Ranboo vwoops. Chirps. And then reaches out, slowly enough that Tommy doesn’t feel the urge to flinch, and runs gentle clawed fingers through his hair.

“Oh,” Tommy says. And doesn’t lean into the touch. He doesn’t. But if, hypothetically, he does, that’s between him and Prime on high. Or at least, it would be, if all his muscles didn’t go lax a few seconds later, and if he didn’t accidentally on purpose tip forward against Ranboo’s chest.

The dirt slips through his fingers. But that’s alright, because one of Ranboo’s arms wraps around him, and the other keeps carding through his hair, like Wilbur used to do when they were younger and things were better and they were two halves of a whole rather than puzzle pieces that got bent out of shape. The way his head is, he can feel vibrations running though Ranboo’s chest, like the purr of a cat, and it’s going to lull him to sleep if he’s not careful.

He can’t let that happen. He has more dignity than that.

Except he’s very tired. And Ranboo is clearly—sleepwalking, or something. Not all there in the head at the moment. So maybe he won’t remember this in the morning, if Tommy makes sure to wake up first. And that would be alright.

“You’re still terrible,” he mumbles, but the words are slurred, and Ranboo’s arms are very warm and comforting, and he’s drifting. He can feel it.

So he lets himself. Ranboo’s warbles follow him into sleep, and he dreams of stars.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #tommyinnit #ranboo #enderwalk ranboo #allium duo #/rp #cw swearing #cw panic attack #cw past manipulation #cat writes fic #i should let y'all know that tommy deffo does not wake up first #the conversation the next morning goes something like this:#ranboo: why are we here??? why are you on top of me????#tommy: i'm attacking you #ranboo: ??????#tommy: i'm winning

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euphoriyoongi · 3 years

Text

Yoongi Historical au/ Royalty au

prompt requested: number 7:

I’m secretly in love with you but you never seemed to give me the time of day but you all of a sudden tell me you love me and my only thought was to make out with you.

Summary:

As the daughter of the military director, you’ve always had a liking towards the crown prince, Yoongi. Now, many years later, as your secretly in love with him, he’s secretly in love with you.

Pairing: prince!yoongi x reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Genre: royalty! au, historical au, friends to lovers

Warnings: none.

_________________________________________________

Joseon Era.

As a child, you dreamed to marry Yoongi. Too bad he was way out of your league.

Not look wise, but rank wise.

He was the only son of the king, heir to the throne. Now you were decently high up as well, being the daughter of the military head, but not even close to being able to even dream about him.

You didn't have a chance. Not even a thought. It's not like he would even like you back anyway, given how he was never one to look into your eyes when you'd speak to him, as if talking to you wasn't important anyway.

As you both aged together, you've noticed him always walk around the palace without any guards, always sneaking around to be alone. He'd never want any attention drawn to him, and if you would wave your hand to say hi, well, chances are that he would walk right past you.

It was hard, as the years flew by and you were still left with the heart wrenching feeling of a one-sided love. It was long enough to call it that, since you have been into him since you laid eyes on him.

Your father and the king were very good friends, and would often bring you to visit him whenever they'd have something to chat about. So you would sit off the the side with Yoongi, who never seemed to be able to replace the frown on his face with a smile.

The only time you had ever seen a smile on his face was when you saw him out of the corner of your eye, only for him to drop it as soon as you turned towards him.

Now in your mid twenties, your father is begging you to marry. You are at the age where you should have at least two kids now. For you to be single and constantly training to become a good fighter just like your father was, you didn't believe you had time for children. And anyway, ever since you turned fifteen to now, you used the excuse that you wished to marry when you met the one.

Your father now tried to bring up the conversation of marriage at this moment, and you stood pin straight, facing the target ahead of you with a bow and arrow in hand, ready to shoot. "But y/n, you really have to think about how important it is. You'll be thirty years old in no time!" He exclaimed, and as he slammed his foot down in irritation, you let the bow slide through your fingers, releasing it only for it to hit the corner of the target.

Groaning, you drop the bow to your side. "Father, I have more important things to be doing." You hummed, giving him the side eye as he stared at you with worry. You reached up to dry a patch of sweat on your forehead.

You used to tell him how much you wanted to marry the prince as a kid, but now it seemed too childish to use as an excuse. She knew she would never be able to marry him anyway, since he probably would have to be married to someone specific.

Yoongi was quite the character. He rarely spoke, but always wanted to leave the palace and go into the town, where his friends would live. He had a select few, and would also run into you as you went on errands.

Whenever he'd spot you, either in the palace or town, he'd stare at you for a moment and look away, almost telling himself not to even pay attention to you. It always made you upset, making you wonder why he would never pay attention to you. It's not like he didn't know you.

You lived your whole life pining over him. From the way he slightly dragged his feet across the dirt, to the way he would always wear a large hat to hide his face whenever he'd leave the palace, you loved him. He was the person you wished to marry even after all these years.

It seemed childish, yes. But if you were to marry and bear children, it would have to be to him. And if it wasn't him, well, it was no one. But your dad didn't need to know that information. "Listen, father, I will marry when I find the one." You said to him, lifting up your bow to shoot another arrow. "Just give me time."

He seemed to understand that you were trying to focus, and stepped back a few feet. Hearing him sigh, you gave him a side eye. "Okay okay. I'm sorry. I just want the best for you." He smiled, giving you a little bow in respect. "I'm off to meet the king for lunch. If you would like to pay your regards to him, let me know."

The arrow slipped through your hand again, now completely missing the target board all together. "Will the prince be there?" You didn't mean to ask this, but you couldn't help it. You haven't seen Yoongi for weeks, and you wished to see his beautiful face again. Would it be so vain to just..use the king as an excuse to see him?

Now, the king loved you. He wished Yoongi was as dedicated as you were, and always asked to see you when your father would visit. You had wished that he would ask you to marry his son, but knowing that it would make no impact with the kingdom, it was out of the question. He was probably just happy with his son having a friend of sorts.

Your father let a smirk reach his lips. "Hm. I'm sure he would be, if he's not galavanting in the village or anything."

Maybe she should stop by to greet the king. "I'll come with you." You said, smiling without paying attention. "I'm sure he'd be happy to see me."

Your father laughed. "I'm sure someone else would be happier."

"Greetings, your majesty." You bowed along side of your father as you stood in front of the king, who was sitting under the pavilion.

Smiling, the king beckoned you both to come under the shade of the pavilion.

Sitting next to him was Yoongi, who looked bored out of his mind. His gaze didn't even reach you, and you looked away from him and back to the king as you walked up the stairs. So much for coming here to see him.

The meal went on, your dad chatting with the king and talking about marriage. You pretty much tuned the whole thing out, given that you say next to Yoongi, who scooted over in the opposite direction of you.

Ouch. Now you knew you really didn't have a chance with him.

"I'm surprised you're sitting down with us, my son." The king bellowed, smiling at Yoongi who sat to his right, you sitting next to Yoongi. He huffed and picked up his utensils to start eating. "Usually you're out in the village—undercover I hope."

Yoongi hummed, not even answering with a word, and continued to eat, and the king brought his attention elsewhere. He faced your dad, smiling. "So, I'm surprised your daughter isn't married yet! My my, what a beauty."

You glanced over to Yoongi, who still stared down at his food. "Yeah, she has a few men lined up to marry her." Your father laughed, making the king chuckle as well. Yoongi finally looked up when he heard those words, now paying full attention to the conversation as he gripped his silk gown tightly in his fist.

"Oh I always wondered why a beautiful girl like her was still unwed." The king smiled over at you, and glanced at his son, who seemed to turn a bit red. "Im sure the wedding will be soon then, eh?"

Your dad hummed as he drank some rice wine. "Ah, yes. Whoever is her husband is sure one lucky guy."

"Why would be be lucky?" Yoongi scoffed, sipping his drink. "She's not even that pretty."

Silence. You nearly dropped your cup as he said this, staring at him with wide eyes.

Your dad cleared his throat and set down his cup. "Well at least you spoke today. I haven't heard your voice in ages..." he carried off, seeming offended by Yoongi's choice of words that were against his beloved daughter.

The king glared at his son. "Yoongi, that is no way to talk to our guests." He then looked over at you, noticing your dumbstruck look. "Please forgive him, he doesn't really socialize well."

Yoongi scoffed again, now slamming his cup against the table. "Why are you guys even pestering her about marriage, anyway? She has no chance with anyone other than—" he cut himself off, looking at you with a solemn expression out of all of his anger. When he noticed your eyes droop away from him and down the the table, he sighed and didn't finish what he was going to say.

Everyone was quiet. The sudden outburst from Yoongi put everyone off, even his father. As Yoongi glanced from your dad to you, you had enough of this degrading. Even though he was the one you dreamed to be with, it wasn't right for him to say those things about you.

You stood up and bowed. "I will take my leave." You said, looking to the king and to your father. "Thank you, your majesty."

He signaled oh that it was okay to leave, and you nearly ran down the steps as if to get away from the embarrassment. How did you not know that Yoongi felt so strongly for you in the most opposite way you wanted? What was the reason for him to hate you—

"Y/n!" You heard a voice yell behind you, the smack of footsteps getting louder and louder. You had stopped in your tracks, standing next to your favorite tree in the palace, the beautiful cherry blossom.

It was Yoongi behind you. He had reached you, now bent over and out of breath as if he just ran a mile. "Ah, you're fast."

You turned around with your arms across your chest. "What do you want?" You looked at him in the eye, and he stared back, nearly begging for forgiveness.

He sighed, kicking a rock that was near his feet. "I uh..." he carried off, now not being able to look at you.

No matter how mean he was to you, he always looked stunningly beautiful. His long dark hair was pulled up, his silky gown matching his hair. He had quite the scar across his cheek, but it made him more attractive in her eyes. As he stumbled on his words, you took the chance to speak. “Listen, your highness, I don’t what to hear your explanation.” You seethe, upset about how he feels towards you. “I don’t know what you were trying to say back there, but I got the message. Clearly.” You growled, turning away from him as you kept your tears in check.

Yoongi reached his arm out to touch your shoulder, making you jump. “What? What are you doing?” You asked, looking down at the ground once again, seeing the rock that he kicked was now near your feet.

“I just…” he carried off again, unable to speak the words on his mind.

You needed to get out of here before the tears began to fall. You were the daughter of the military head, how dare you cry over a boy. At least that’s what you tell yourself. You turned around quickly. “No, your highness, I’m not going to stand here and listen to how ugly I am. How I’m never going to be married because of my looks, how I—“

“I love you.” He sputtered out, looking anywhere but your eyes. “I’ve loved you since you taught me how to sword fight…and when you told me my scar was beautiful..” he carried on, now looking into your eyes with a small smile on his lips. “I didn’t mean any of that stuff back there, I was just upset to picture you..getting married to someone else.”

You were shocked. You stood there, your eyes wide open, standing in front of the man you always wished had feelings for you. And now he’s spilling his guts about how he loved you and—well, what the hell?

He stared into your eyes with worry. You weren’t saying anything back, and just when he was going to say something else, you leaned forward and let your lips touch his, out in the open courtyard for anyone to see.

You kissed him with all of the emotions you held back for as long as you could remember, and it startled him. He didn’t kiss back immediately, but as you pushed your body into his and gripped the back of his head to deepen it, he pushed his face towards you and grabbed onto your hips, pulling them flush against his.

His lips tasted like the cherry blossom tea that he drank, and his hands felt like ecstasy as they nearly tore through your clothing. His touch was like a drug you so desperately needed, and the taste of him made you feel even higher.

All that time you dreamed of kissing him could never live up to this moment, and when you pulled away, your hands still cradling his face, his still resting on your hips, he stared into your eyes and began to chuckle. You laughed back, resting your forehead on his.

“So,” he trailed on, his smile visible. “I’ll take that as an I love you too..?”

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #bts fanfic #min yoongi #friends to lovers #daechwita #royalty au #historical au #bts royal au #bts historical au

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whorefordazai · 3 years

Note

Hey thereeee, your headcanons with s/o being a parental figure to Q just slapped me with a big fat UWU (also, maaaybe the reason why Chuuya puts up and tends to Q is because they were granted an ability that drove people away from them and only used Q as a weapon and took advantage of their ability, just like Chuuya when he was young, im crying- im just gonna say my request before I sob on this for a week straight haha)

If it is not too much, I was wondering how Dazai and Fyodor (separately) would react to s/o pampering them and taking care of them after a bad/busy day from work? So if it's alright can I have some headcanons?

They're both the same breed of bastards but I have a soft spot for them and wanna shower them with love and affection, like maybe making their fav dish and drying their soft fluffy hair for them while giving em soft kisses??? Anything fluffy goes, I just *holds them close. I just wanna take care of em.

Thank you! I also completely agree on the Q thing. sobbing🙏 alright, time to write about my favorite mass murderers🤩

s/o pampering their boyfriend

ft. dazai | fyodor x gn! reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

Dazai

Dazai exhaled with a quiet groan, taking off his coat and placing it on the chair. Today had been a particular pain-in-the-ass day for him.

He was solving a case with Kunikida, and they had won. Unfortunately, he was beaten up quite bad. That was one of the disadvantages to his ability-Yosano couldn’t heal him.

“Osamu? You’re home.” Your voice called out, a smile tugging on your lips. But it quickly dimmed when you saw your boyfriend’s beaten up body.

His mouth formed into a serene smirk. He held out his arms like a little kid, still sitting on the chair. You chuckled and gladly walked to him.

“Ah, darling. I’m so happy to see you.” Dazai mumbled, nuzzling into your stomach. His hands were wrapped around your waist, pulling you close.

“I made your favorite dish, crabs. Why don’t you go take a shower first?” You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair.

“oO see, I would take a shower buutt...I can’t leave any lovely darling all alone, can I? Plus, crabs are waiting for me I-!”

His words were immediately silenced when you smashed your lips onto his. His hands made their way to your cheeks, caressing the skin under your eye.

After a few moments, you pulled back to see a very stunned Dazai.

You laughed and pat his cheek. “We’ll continue this after you take a shower and eat dinner.”

His eyes blinked a couple times, registering what had just happened. Eagerly grinning, he furiously nodded his head and zoomed to the bathroom.

Meanwhile, you brought out two glasses of wine to drink later on.

Walking out of the shower, Dazai took in the familiar smell of the crab he enjoyed so much.

“Hey, your hair is still wet.” You eyed your boyfriend, grabbing the towel in his hands and motioning him to sit down on the chair.

He smirked, obeying your orders. You took the towel and began drying his wet hair. It was silent between you two, except for Dazai humming his signature suicide anthem.

Without saying much, you set the towel down and hung your arms over his shoulders. You peppered soft kisses on the back of his neck.

The mood was just right...

Until Dazai’s stomach let out a grumble of hunger ಥ‿ಥ

“Let’s eat now.” You laughed, ruffling his hair. Dazai jokingly frowned, crossing his arms and pouting to the side. A mischievous smirk played across his lips.

“Fine. But I’m getting my way with you once this is over.”

I know these aren’t exactly headcannons, but I just couldn’t help myself😭

Fyodor

It wasn’t everyday that your boyfriend came home pissed off and in a bad mood.

Because usually, all his plans went well seeing as though he was the smartest out there (or so he loves to say...and you believe him)

The days where he comes home in a bad mood, you know exactly how to help him.

Make him his favorite Russian dish🥰!

Although Fyodor would never admit it, he loves it when you pamper him. He finds it so strange how you care enough to memorize his favorite food, how he likes to spend time, and all the details he thought were so pointless.

“Ah, Fyodor. You’re home.” Your warm smile greets him as he walks into the room.

“Hello, my love...” his eyes soften as he places his hands on either sides of your cheeks, putting a light kiss on your forehead.

“Hm...is that my favorite dish I smell?” He perks up at the wonderful aroma surrounding the both of you.

The two of you have a wonderful dinner. Afterwards, Fyodor takes a bath.

There’s a catch though🥰

You and him always take any chance you get to take a bath together. It’s not even sexual sometimes, it’s just the two of you facing each other in a warm bubble bath.

It’s the only time he’ll ever take off his hat💩💓

He’d love it if you washed his hair for him. Massaging his scalp with your hands, soap duds surrounding the both of you.

He’d let you place soft kisses everywhere on his face or neck (it makes him feel really loved)

You’re glad you get to see this special side of Fyodor that no one else in the world does🤫

You’d pat his hair dry with a towel, his back leaning against your chest on the bed. On the days he’s too tired to play his cello, the two of you snuggle up in bed with the lights off.

I don’t see Fyodor as much of a cuddler per say, but I definitely think he’d hold you close to his chest with his arms wrapped around your waist.

Like I said before, Fyodor always finds it strange how you manage to do so much for him even though you’re not obliged to. He’s never had anyone care about him as much as you do.

He’s not used to affection but if it’s coming from you, he’ll gladly take it🥰

#bsd headcanons #bsd imagines #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #dazai x y/n #dazai x you #dazai headcanons #dazai imagines #fyodor x reader #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor headcanons #dazai x reader

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seokahwrites · 3 years

Text

NUISANCE | chapter 2 (or, i hate him so much my heart skipped a beat)

5.6k

back to nuisance masterlist

pairing.

| lawyer! jeon jungkook x lawyer! reader

summary.

| all you wished for was a relaxing two weeks in a big ass boat eating some big ass shrimps, away from the real world. but instead you’re stuck with your arch rival with no means of escape — and goddamit why does the bastard smell so good.

tags.

| 2 BROOKLYN 99 REFERENCES TELL ME IF U CATCH THEM; paragraphs dedicated to jungkooks back muscles; im so sorry like a few parts were really thirsty; but there’s a very sweet paragraph dedicated to jungkook’s smile; reader and jungkook bonding???; jealous reader; smug jungkook; love sounds like hate; a lot of plot convenience if you haven’t noticed

a/n.

| hello everyone! first off THANK U FOR THE MASSIVE SUPPORT ILY. i feel like this could’ve been better but i’m not sure how. but no they’re not moving too fast bc… well 😃😃 also i’m planning on writing more serious pieces after this series even though i’ve barely started :P anyways, i hope u all have an amazing day lots of love

“What kind of neanderthal doesn’t go outside for two days?

Jungkook asks through the open bathroom door as he’s sitting on his couch, your mouth still too foamy and minty to give him a quick-witted answer.

You spit into the sink and glare at him through the mirror, “I was being productive and I cooked horrible food all day,” you splash water on your face and pause at the door frame on your way out, “Unlike some people that spend their hours hunting for their next prey.”

You don’t stick around to watch the way he rolls his eyes, walking over to your bed to grab the orange wrap skirt and white top for today’s outfit. But you couldn’t really put it on since someone was still in the room.

There isn’t an inkling of a thought in Jungkook’s doe eyes, the time it was taking for him to get a hint was more than enough for you to pass your eyes over his black tank top, stinky green shorts and dark sandals. How did he look better than you in a tank top? Fuck him. Wait, no he doesn’t. Still, fuck Jungkook.

Once your eyes are back on him, the fiend has a shit-eating grin on his face as if he’d just caught you red-handed in the middle of a dirty sin — you were just judging him.

You raise your eyebrows in an attempt to maintain your composure, “Well?” And wave the clothes in your hands to help him understand the situation.

No sound comes from the ‘Oh’ of his lips, his small brain finally coming to terms with reality. But just before he heads out the door, “We’re having lunch at the deck,” and he doesn’t wait for an answer, slamming the door behind him.

Who the hell did he think he was?

Now, you didn't have to go along with Jungkook’s plan — hell, it was probably the last thing you wanted. However, does going to the rooftop deck to have a nice lunch and a-little-too-early drinks really sound like a bad idea?

And the answer to that question is what led you to pulling your clothes over your head and reassuring nobody but yourself that, “I’m only going because of the fucking food,” cursing Jungkook here and there too, of course.

Just before heading off, you grab the cruise’s complementary sun hat, a long string of pastel beads for your neck and your favorite pair of sunglasses — not that you were going to use them for more than keeping your hair away from your face anyways.

Breathe in, Y/N.

You’re out the door, “I’m ready.”

Your exposed skin stings as you feel Jungkook’s eyes go from your leg exposed from the slit of your skirt, to your fluttering stomach and slowly — as if he didn’t want to miss a single detail — up, up, up, until his gaze meets yours. And that look is back, the one he’s only ever used whenever he couldn’t hide what he truly felt for you: aversion.

Yet, instead of the slander you were expecting, Jungkook does nothing but shake away whatever was on his mind and lock the door. Beep, And he goes the entire way to the elevator without uttering a single word.

Still, even if the silence was deafening you don't make much of a fuss, only observing Jungkook’s silent figure as he stared ahead and around anywhere he wouldn't have to meet your eyes.

He was a pain in the ass even when he wasn't speaking.

Ding.

You’re the first to exit, part because you were excited to get a breath of fresh ocean air and part because you couldn’t stand whatever the hell was happening in the elevator.

There were half naked people everywhere, kids running around and chasing after each other through the zig zag of chairs and tables. From the wooden floor to the samples of blue and yellow on the umbrellas, cups and slides, the view was the very core of vacation.

Jungkook suddenly stands before your wide eyes and takes you by the wrist, taking the lead as he shoves his way to the stairs that lead to the highly-expected rooftop restaurant, the place safely guarded on the opposite side of all the commotion.

As your sandals flip-flopped against the wooden stairs, you start to see a flood of blue and beige chaise lounges, white coffee tables centered in the space of each one and the alabaster bar surrounded by people in all sorts of summer attire. Maybe Jungkook was onto something.

Speaking of, he grabs your shoulders — ruining the view as always — and pushes you down the first empty couch he finds. “Stay here, I’ll get us some food.”

You don't fight him on it, deciding to just let the sea breeze caress your face, closing your eyes and taking it all in. Things were nice.

That is until you look at the entrance and see Jungkook talking to the same raven-haired girl from yesterday. The sight bothers you and you can’t quite put your finger on as to why, perhaps it was because he could’ve at least had the fucking decency to not hit on people while he was ordering your food. God. Only he could put a stain to an otherwise perfect morning.

And you could’ve looked away, but just as a bee is attracted to pollen or a driver is allured with the sight of a car crash, you simply couldn’t — not that you were attracted or allured to Jungkook in any way, though.

The woman’s cotton cover up flowed with her hand as she playfully hit Jungkook on the arm. You envy her, you’d never touched an implant before. Jungkook crosses his arms at this movement, probably thinking his biceps were going to pop out even more. Your body threatens to convulse in second hand embarrassment.

But the lovebirds are interrupted when the cashier calls out for Jungkook, his order ready and trayed up. You look away and could only hope it was just in time for none of them to notice that you were ogling, but Jungkook’s mystery girl catches your stare and her angelic smile dissipates in front of your eyes. Chills, literal chills.

You feign surprise when Jungkook sits beside you, placing the tray of colorful drinks and drool-worthy pasta on the table with a clang.

“I hope the mimosas are a good enough treat for your highness,” he bows his head.

You can’t repress your squeal nor your smile as the glass meets your lips and you have a real summer drink for the first time in forever, the girl’s glare fading with every sip you take. Jungkook simply watches, amused when you down half of the drink in one go.

You’re content, only with a simple worry in your mind. “What time is it?”

Luckily Jungkook had brought a watch on his wrist, your phones long forgotten on the nightstand, “One something,” he grabbed both plates, handing over yours, “Why? Gotta run away from me again?”

You try to scoop as much chicken, sauce and pasta as you can twirl on your fork, practically salivating once you're munching down the food. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Jungkook crosses a leg over the other as he eats the chicken from his own plate, “What are you up to today?”

Huh. You asked yourself the same thing. “I actually have no idea,” you admit, “I just saw the words massage and wine and thought ‘I have to go’.”

“Of course,” and he doesn’t sound the least bit surprised — or judgemental, at that. “You did the same exact thing at the last firm getaway.”

Your hand flies to your mouth, “Oh, God. Why would you remind me,” Jungkook is slapping his knee at a miserable attempt of stifling his laughter, “Nothing will ever compare to the misery of being surrounded by a bunch of sobbing tipsy widows.”

His laugh only booms alive and you try to convince yourself that it scratches your ears, but it doesn’t and you find yourself giggling as well. What the hell was in that mimosa?

“God, youre such a fucking idiot.”

“Lower your voice, boozer,” you slap his thigh — hurting you much more than him — and catch a few glares in your direction.

Jungkook drinks his entire glass, “Eh, screw them,” not sparing a second thought to the strangers, “Are you heading to the fifth floor again?”

The alfredo pasta in your plate has been reduced to nothing, “Yeah, why?”

“I’m heading that way too.”

You snort — you know, like a wild boar. “Gonna meet up with yesterday’s catch?”

He has a conceited smile on his face and you fear the next words to come out his mouth, “Maybe,” he places his plate on his lap and leans closer to you, his breath tickling your ear, “Jealous much?”

Scoff.

You push him away, drinking the rest of your orange juice. Scoff (again). You’ve never met someone so egotistical. How dare he?

“Don’t act like being seduced by an incubus like you is such a big deal,” you hope to poison him with your words but he only bites down a sweet smile, “And it’s not like she’s seen anything that I haven’t in the past two nights.”

Goddammit, Y/N. Where the fuck did that come from?

Jungkook drapes an arm over the couch, “Someone’s been enjoying the view.”

You try your best to scowl at the demon, but when your eyes accidentally tarry on Jungkook’s collarbones and arms — why is it always the fucking arms? — for a few moments too long, red paints your cheeks instead and you simply fiddle with your empty glass.

Jungkook’s victory weighs heavy on the lifted corners of his lips as you wait for him to finish the rest of his food — he ate like a five year old.

“This is where I leave you, I guess.”

The walk to the fifth floor was a quick one, you and Jungkook standing in front of the familiar entrance, that same chalkboard from yesterday scribbled with roses this time.

A woman is the one welcoming you at the door today, the same list and my-boss-forced-me-to smile on her face, just like yesterday’s guy.

“Ms. L/N,” she calls out as you and Jungkook come closer, “You must be the last couple to join us today!”

She manages to sneak her way behind you, pushing both of you into the dim room before her words could even reach your eardrums. Did she say couple?

Jungkook attempts to correct her, “I’m just here to drop her off—,” to no avail.

The woman has a menacing smile and look to her eyes that shuts the both of you right up, “The first activity was just about to start,” she rushes to the exit and shuts the door, but not before a friendly, “Have fun!”

Was this cruise actually full of psychos?

You and Jungkook are frozen in place, only noticing the handful of couples sitting on the floor, the petals spread across the room and romantic candles sticking out the walls, a moment too late.

“Welcome! Welcome!” An elderly woman approaches you, her short hair wrapped in a pink bandana, the boho print matching the rest of her clothes and chunky jewelry, “I’m Hattie, your instructor. Why don’t you two sit down so we can start?”

Though you're both in shock, none of you attempt to make an escape, taking quick but hesitant steps to the last empty space in the back. A flustered Jungkook is the first to talk once you’re sat down, “What the fuck, Y/N?”

Hattie seemed to have been saying something when Jungkook whispered a tad too loud, both of you putting on a smile when she looked. “I have no idea what’s happening either,” you grit through your teeth,

Once she looks away, you and Jungkook take a breather.

“I legit didn't see anything about onboard couple’s therapy, I was really tired,” you rub between your brows, “You can go, Jungkook,” your head gestures to the sealed exit, “I can take the embarrassment. Plus, that’s kind of the whole point.

“But that guard lady locked us in here,” his fading hope is visible in the way he buries his head in his hands, seemingly forgetting who he was with when he asks, “Am I really stuck here with Y/N?”

Are you fucking kidding me. You can’t believe you were empathetic with the monster for even a second. “Don’t be over dramatic, it’s only until six.”

His shock takes over his hands and the volume of his voice when he hits his legs, “WE’RE GOING TO BE HERE FOR FOUR HOURS?”

The murmurs and whatever that instructor was saying, are quickly silenced.

“We’re sorry,” you apologise on his behalf as he struggles with reality, “Please, continue.”

She coughs and puts back that old lady smile of hers, clasping her hands together, “As I was saying, we have three tasks ahead of us,” she puts up a finger for each one she lists, “A loving touch, a loving conversation and a loving drink.”

Her voice is drowned out by your dread, your eyes glancing at the couples holding hands and touching, whispering what were surely forbidden secrets into each other’s ears, the candle wax melting and falling in a picturesque way and how the music was crispy to the ears. It was all so… romantic.

And then there were you two idiots that stuck out amidst the crowd, both awkward yet number one is redder than the roses and number two was sweating like a hog. I’ll let you decide which is which.

Hattie’s words are what bring you back to the present, “For us to loosen up, we will begin with the loving touch session,” please say massage, “Each couple should head up to their respective massage rooms.”

At last, the sun is found in the storm.

You follow with an excited sway when Hattie finally comes to bring you to your room. She closes the door behind her with an, “Enjoy!”

A masseur is waiting on the opposite side of the massage bed with welcome arms, “Good afternoon, Mr. and Ms. L/N.”

Jungkook raises his hand, “I’m actually Jeon, she’s the only—.”

“My mistake, Mr. and Ms. Jeon,” Goddamit, Jungkook can’t you say anything helpful for once? “Which one of you will be massaged first?”

You practically leap to grab the robe in his hand before Jungkook could steal the chance, pointing to the jade door, “Is this the changing room?.”

The man nods, a little taken aback from your excitement.

You're out of your clothes and in the backwards robe in the blink of an eye, laid down on the bed in less than a minute, your head now resting on the top of your crossed arms.

“So, Mr. Jeon,” you feel a cold oil drizzle over your back, experienced hands spreading it across your back, “You’ll be placing your hands—,” wait, where did they go, “— right here.”

And just like that Jeon Jungkook’s hands were on your bare back, the concept of a loving touch finally flickering in your mind. His hands were a little more rough and shakier than you would’ve imagined.

Why was that going through your mind?

You should’ve been wishing death on him, yourself and everybody else in the boat, shouldn’t you?

“A loving touch is all about, not only a physical connection but really feeling your partner’s body, go ahead.”

Jungkook, being the pet he was, followed his orders and he did it a little too well, he slowly moved his hands from the knots on your shoulders to the very low of your back and you’d be lying to yourself if you said it felt horrible.

“It’s connecting on a whole new physical level with the other,” Jungkook’s hands travel to the dimples of your spine and linger for a moment too long, but they quickly come back up and focus on the crevices of your neck instead, each movement seemingly aiming for all of your stiff muscles.

Not too bad at all.

The masseur’s philosophical rant about touch and love is completely ignored, your mind hyper focused on every inch of skin Jungkook set his fingers on, his hands sailing further down the sides of your body, the extra attention he pays to your waist not unnoticed.

“Fuck.”

Indeed.

Oh, God. What did you just say?

No, no, no.

Perhaps it was just low enough for nobody to hear it—

“I guess that means you should switch now,” the masseur chuckles with a cringed tone.

It was not.

You prop yourself up and look at Jungkook who you could only hope wasn’t laughing at you, your eyes glassy and pleading for something unclear.

And the bastard was snickering, looking in no direction in particular with a blush to his cheeks and a mocking, lip-biting chuckle on his face.

Once you’re up and standing, it quickly dawns on you that it’s Jungkook's turn. Meaning you had to touch Jungkook and massage Jungkook and touch Jungkook.

The world did hate you.

Jungkook realises he was taking too long and mutters a quick, “Uh,” before pulling his top over his head and you shut your eyes — weren’t you Ms. Jeon, though?

The masseur has to call out your name for you to open them back up again, Jungkook laid on the bed with his head on top of his arms.

“I suppose you know what to do, Miss,” the man smiles.

“Yeah, Y/N,” he exhaled and you can hear his smug, “You know what to do.”

The square footage of Jungkook’s back intimidated you the tiniest bit now that it was splayed out before you, you must admit. Still, you place gentle hands on his back and you’ve confirmed once and for all that those bumps were indeed not from a disease but muscles. Rock hard muscles.

You don’t even remember you had to repay him the favor of embarrassing you — because yes, it was his fault — as you get lost in every dip and fold of his skin, your fingers moving on pure intuition.

The curve of his back, the ridges of his shoulders and the little jolts on the surface of his skin, you could feel all of it.

A hand to your wrist jolts you awake, Jungkook stirring with a glaze to his eyes as you both look up at the masseur, “It’s time for your next activity, Miss.”

Oh, God. What just happened?

You cough and don’t bother to excuse yourself as you leave the room, Jungkook grabbing your forgotten clothes and putting on his robe as he follows behind you.

You try to shake away the burning that creeps it’s way to your fingertips and cheeks as you sit back down on the floor. But it doesn’t work, your sweaty palms joining the party instead. Great. Just great.

Hattie’s voice saves the day, “I hope we’re all relaxed and ready to converse with our partners,” not at all, “If you could all just face each other, cross your legs and hold hands. This intimacy is important when facing important feelings and questions with your partner.”

As if Jungkook slathering oil on you like you were a nice roast chicken wasn't enough, now you had to hold hands with him. Is death still an option?

You’re facing each other, Jungkook’s palms up, “Shall we?”

Uneasiness settles in your stomach, a feeling you’ve never felt with Jungkook before. Sure, you’ve felt judged or uncomfortable but never truly uneasy. Maybe it was just your body reacting to the physical trauma you had to endure.

You nod.

“You know,” Jungkook seems to still be waking up, “You’re not too bad with your hands,” and he laughs.

But it’s a welcome sound that unbundles your nerves in the most peculiar way, your own smile coming back. “You’re not shabby either.”

“I could tell—.”

“I suppose you honeymooners didn’t hear my explanation,” None of you bother to correct her anymore as she places a deck of cards between you, “But all you need to do is pick a card in turn and answer the question. Don’t forget to look into each other’s eyes,” she winks and stands up, making her way to the front of the crowd.

“I guess this is when we start asking each other the questions,” the cringe in your tone is all that rasps your ears as you hold hands… with Jungkook.

“Go ahead,” his head points to the pile of cards in front of you but his eyes only look at Hattie and the way she seemed to ignore every other couple in the room except the both of you.

You breathe in as deep as you can, your hand grabbing the first question, your uncontrollable blush heating up tenfold when you realise this was probably even more intimate than the event-that-shall-not-be-named that occurred in the massage room.

Your mouth stumbles before properly saying, “How long have you been together?”

But Jungkook doesn’t seem as embarrassed as you, the same tint painted on his cheeks but he manages to laugh all the same, your chuckles joining his.

“I’d say about two years?”

Sly bastard. “I’d say two years too.”

He’s the next to grab a card, placing both of your hands on his left one before reaching.

“This is a great one,” he snorts, putting on a serious face when he replaces the card with your hand, “Are there any issues you’d like to bring up?”

You throw your head back just like the exorcist girl, and cackle— were you okay?. “Well, where should I start?”

This was actually kind of fun.

“Okay, but let’s be real for a moment,” he lightly squeezes your hands, “What is your issue with me?”

Or, maybe not.

“Well,” you curse at the old woman for putting you this close, your eyes left with close to no space to avoid Jungkook’s, “There’s just this way you look at me.”

Your gaze is back on the confused boy, the furrow between his brows strong enough to be considered a wifi connection. “What are you talking about?”

“Like—,” you try to come up with some way to explain, “—The first time we met, right? It’s like, you just go silent for a few seconds and literally look through my soul. It makes me feel like I murdered your entire family.”

Jungkook’s eyes grew wide with every word you spouted, the flush on his cheeks practically steaming from his skin.

Did he seriously not know? Oh, well.

“I’m just gonna go ahead and grab the next one,” you say to the top of Jungkook’s head since his face was pointed to his lap.

“Oh, God,” you squeeze Jungkook’s hands with a little more force than necessary, but at least it makes him look up, “You ready?”

Nod.

“What do you love most about your partner?”

Now that was a real couples’ therapy question. Great job, Hattie.

“I think you should answer this one,” you seem to state the obvious, “Since I was the only person to answer the last question.”

Jungkook’s shoulders fall from their perfect posture, “Fine.”

His eyes have that same glint you mentioned before as he scans you up and down. Was that the fifth time today? New record, guys.

“I guess,” he purses his lips with a slight smile, “She always knows how to make a moment memorable. Oh?

Your palms were sweating once again and you wouldn’t have taken note of it if you weren’t holding Jungkook’s goddamn hands at the moment. Why you of all people?

“Coming of a little strong, partner,” the nervousness in your giggly tone ever the obvious thing.

A small smile, “What about you?”

Oh, right. You needed to answer.

It wasn’t like you were an actual couple, “Uh—,” but why is the air between you so thick?

You struggle to find an answer and decide to go with the first thing that pops in your mind,“Well,” Shut up, Y/N, “He always manages to sneak his way in my thoughts.”

Why didn’t you shut up?

However, at this Jungkook smiles, but it isn’t the taut one you’ve seen hundreds of times before, no. Jungkook’s entire face scrunches up and the moons under his eyes seem to have constellations that creased outwards; the way his nose rumpled, his cheeks puffed up and his front teeth steamed the spotlight. Jungkook wasn’t smiling, the boy in front of you was beaming.

And he was beaming at you.

“Next one?” He asks, his face still shining.

You can’t even move at the sight.

Shuffle. “What is your favorite memory with your partner?” He puts it down, “I have like three answers for this one.”

The lightness is back in an instant and you keep that picture of Jungkook on the back of your mind, “You do?”

“Yup,” he pops the P, “First, at the last Christmas party, I go to take a piss at the men’s bathroom, as one does.”

“Please, don’t say it,” you groan and you can’t even hide your face because Hattie would probably slap your hands into Jungkook‘s.

“But, wait,” he feigns shock, “I hear someone gagging in a stall, more specifically a woman. And who else could it have been but the Y/N L/N.”

The almost forgotten memory of you retching your heart out in a smelly toilet and a suited Jungkook carrying you back to Seokjin comes back, and though it’s fuzzy and the mere thought of it is dreadful, Jungkook’s laugh is contagious, even to you now.

“Ah, I never thanked you for that.”

“You don’t need to—.”

“I didn’t finish,” you look at him disillusioned, “And I shouldn’t, because Mother Jin rubbed it in my face the rest of the night about how I was the boss and he was the lousy, underpaid assistant.”

“Classic Jin,” he chuckled. “Okay, second of all, when you threw a coke at my face two seconds after meeting me.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny, Jungkook,” your voice is dry, “But to my defense—.”

“I looked at you weird, totally a justifiable course of action,” he raises his brow, “What about you?”

“What about me?,” Your confusion is cleared up when you’re reminded that you were simply playing a silly card game, “I would have to say… Watching your boss throw a drink at your face after you asked her to make you a partner in the firm.”

Jungkook seems to have buried the memory, “What is it with you people throwing liquids at me?”

You put a thoughtful hand to your chin, “You just have a very drink throwable face.”

He’s quick to snatch your hand back into his and it doesn’t even ring in your mind, “Another one.”

Groan. “Fine, uhm—,” you purse your lips, “Honestly? Maybe, right after that when you were on the sidewalk crying and piss-drunk and you just kind of talked to me.”

Jungkook’s surprised expression has a genuinity to it, “Oh, no. What did I say?”

You shake your head as if to say ‘Nothing’, “You were just going on about how hard you’ve been working and you couldn’t even go out with your friends and you didn’t look at me in the eye even once,” you’re staring into the empty space, “You just said ‘this was a nice dream but I have to wake up now’ and blacked out.”

Your giggle is akin to a little schoolgirl’s and you look backat Jungkook, the night sky in his smile back once again. Hm. Cu—

Hattie claps and the noise bounces you back from your trance. You whip your hands out of Jungkook's hold, afraid they were going to end up drenched from your heart palpitations — Seriously, why was it so hot in the middle of the ocean?

You avoid Jungkook’s searching eyes to the best of your abilities. This could only be a fever.

“We seem to have reached the end of our loving session,” the biggest smile on her face, she can’t wait to get rid of us, “Each couple’s loving drink is awaiting at the exit. The robes are complementary, please do not forget your possessions and stay in love!” Thank God.

You’re on your feet in no time, practically jogging to the exit when Hattie suddenly grabs hold of you, making Jungkook stop in his tracks.

“You two kept on interrupting my class,” she narrowed her eyes but there’s a nicety to her, “But I let it slide, it’s not like I haven’t dealt with worse. Plus, you two have something special that most of the other couples in this room didn’t have.”

A woman scoffs at Hattie’s words when she passes by with her own wife.

Your lack of response is filled with Jungkook’s curious words, “And what is that?”

She leans in a little closer, “Shine,” she whispers this time, “A shine to your eyes and a shine to the way you dance around each other, it’s envying.”

The shine she was referring to was surely the dislike you had for each other. Surely.

You were so sure that you wouldn't stick around for another crazy word of hers and you go back to your almost-running pace to the elevator, not looking back to check if Jungkook had followed behind you.

Why were you so embarassed?

You reach your room in no time and hide yourself beneath the sheets. For a few moments you don’t move, as if you were waiting for something, or someone, to come knocking at the door; and when no one does, your chest weighs a little heavier as if you were disappointed.

“Are you telling me that Jungkook made you moan?” Jin’s voice shrill through the speakerphone, your knees to your chest as you sat at the balcony.

“That’s besides the point, Jin,” you groan, “But, yes.”

He hisses through his teeth, just like the snake he is, “Yeah, there’s no coming back from that.”

“Please,” you’re begging at this point, “Help me.”

“I don’t know what to say Y/N. The symptoms you described don’t sound like the flu, it sounds like raging thirsty hormones.”

Beep, you hear through the glass doors, making you turn, “You’re the worst,” the handle was rotating, “I gotta go, Jin. Love you, bye,” you whisper into the microphone as you grab the phone and make your way into the room for who knows what reason.

And there you were, like a fucking idiot, standing in the middle of the room when Jungkook walks in, scratching the back of his neck when you lock eyes.

“Hey.”

You bite your lip, “Hey.”

The air weighs down with words that wanted to be said and the uncertainty of what they meant, and nobody says anything as you fidget with your skirt Jungkook makes his way to his pile of clothes.

You watch as he digs his way and he seems to be looking for something.

Does he need help—

“Fucking hell, Y/N?”

Excuse me?

You come closer to his little circus act with your hands behind your back, “What?”

Jungkook stands up and you can feel his breath on the tip of your nose, “Where’s my shirt?”

Now, you were truly baffled.

“What shirt?”

He goes to the bathroom and continues his search for said shirt, “My hawaiian shirt,” his voice echoes, “It’s pink, it looks exactly like yours.”

Wow. And he picked on you for that on your very first night together. Wow.

“Why would I steal it?” You start searching through the pile of clothes on the chair, sure to find something.

“I didn’t say you stole it,” Jungkook is striding towards you, “You could’ve just gotten them mixed—.”

His sentence never finds an end when you stand up and turn at the very same moment he comes behind you, your bodies clashing and falling to the floor with a bang. Jungkook is on top of you, the only thing stopping your faces from touching being his upend arm, you don’t even notice your hand was holding onto it until you feel something flex beneath your fingertips.

Could this day get any better?

It takes a few moments for any of you to move, but when you do it’s up and rushing, both of you dusting off your clothes as if there was anything to dust off and staring intently at the ground.

“Uhm—,” Jungkook is the first to break the silence as he grabs something from behind you, “Found it.”

And you both wait for someone to say something else, still no one does and Jungkook puts the shirt back in the pile, walking towards the door.

But just before he could take those final steps, you grab him by the wrist and breathe out. You hated this.

“Look, Jungkook,” he does, “I’m really sorry for running off, I just felt really weird, you know?”

He early waits for you to continue.

“It’s just—,” you let go of him, your fingertips burning from the touch, “—today was a lot. I think we’ve never had real, sober time together that lasted for more than an hour and there was so much touching and talking,” you find yourself rambling, “It was just, really overwhelming because we’re not that close, “So, let’s just go back to insulting each other every two seconds and have a good dinner?”

He seemed to be expecting more, but if he was he doesn’t say a word about it and puts on a happy façade, “Only if you promise to not moan in the middle of our meal.”

Your expression falls flat. “You know what, forget it—.”

“Fine, fine,” he puts his hands up in defeat and unlocks the door, “They’re serving sushi tonight,” he doesn’t wait for you as he heads to the elevator, “So hurry up, dumbass.”

You smile, tucking your hair behind your ears.

Dumbass.

taglist. (open)

| @fangirl125reader / @vantxx95 / @jinpanman / @ggukkieland / @miniiimee / @giadalin / @mrcleanheichou / @btsmylife21 / @primadonnasdream / @paizthemaiz

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erosofthepen · 3 years

Text

Letters From Amad pt.2

After about five months of not knowing how to continue it, i have finished part 2!! There will be a third part, not nearly as long, and i already have most of it written, so it should be out a lot sooner lol. BUT, i hope you enjoy it, and thanks for putting up with me lol.

-Part 1

-Words: 4,898

-Warnings: blizzard/storm, injury, hypothermia, some swearing

-Tags: @grunid, @elvish-sky, @sassyscribbler, @whore4fictionalhoes11, @smaugs-guardian, @bitter-sweet-farmgirl, @jotink78, @marvel-ous-hobbit, @anjhope1, (if i forgot you, im sorry, i have trouble keeping track sometimes)

It was moments like this that reflected Thorin’s terrible decision making. In actuality, his decision to not put anymore lives at risk was very wise. But still, it was Fili who was out there. And Kili. And since Thorin would not send a search party out, it was time to take matters into your own hands.

First things first, you went back to your chambers and put on your warmest, fluffiest, most wind-resistant coat. Rabbit fur covered the insides (the hides were hunted and tanned by Fili, a courting gift to you), and thick leather made up the outside, keeping the cold out and the warmth in. Next, you pulled on your winter boots (you had actually just had them made last week, and there were three little pockets perfect for concealing knives in), as well as a hat, gloves, and a scarf, all knitted by Ori, his way to show gratitude after your help in the libraries. You then proceeded to gather up some salted meat and cram, walk down to the entrance of the mountain, and enter the stables.

You choose a faithful companion to keep you company, namely, Daisy. The Mare had a thick wooly mane, and an extreme proclivity towards sweets. This was not to be your first venture with the pony, and now you knew better to bring him anywhere within five leagues of a bakery. You had not been amused when he had eaten an entire box of pastries meant for you and the scholars, though Kili and Fili had thought it to be the most hilarious of stories. However, despite his tendency to devour pastries, Daisy was reliable and resilient, and you hardly rode any other steed.

Several stableboys tried to dissuade you from leaving in the storm, but you brushed off their remarks as you tacked up Daisy. Thankfully, they didn’t try to block your path as you left, though they did warn you to be careful. You weren’t too concerned, for the storm had grown tamer in the day, and the frost was not biting your face. Yet, that is.

You reached Dale in about an hour. It took much longer than expected, with Daisy being nearly up to his belly in the fallen snow. Dale was practically devoid of men and women, most of them having the brains to stay inside during the storm. The only exceptions were some watchmen and one or two passersby.

“Oi, it’s a bit too cold for a morning ride lady, have you lost all sense?” A guard asked as you were leaving the gate on the other side of town.

“No my good fellow, I'm just looking for my friends. Have you seen two dwarrow come this way?”

“Can’t say that I have, but Maurice said he saw a pair last night, a few hours before the snow started.”

“Did Maurice mention where they were headed?”

“To the caravan, where else? It’s about fifteen miles from here, I would guess. You’re not considering going out there, are you?”

“I’m afraid that I must. Good day to you sir,”

“And a very cold day to you, lassie. Best of travels.”

“And to you as well.”

You quickly left and mentally cursed yourself for wishing him best of travels in return. He wasn’t traveling, you idiot!

The embarrassment faded as the wind began to pick up. The blizzard was steadily getting thicker, the puffy snowflakes turning more compact and icy. The city of Dale had long disappeared behind you in the snow, and you could only hope you were headed in the right direction.

However adventurous and bold it sounds, riding bare-back on a pony in the middle of a freezing cold snow storm was not at all an easy task. Your scarf had been moved to cover most of your face, and your hood was tied tightly ‘round your head, yet the flakes still stung your flesh. You were definitely starting to rethink your whole “making sure the brothers were alright in a storm idea.” Especially since it was pointless to look for them in between the caravan and Dale, as you couldn’t even see ten feet in front of you. Your goal now was to simply make it to the caravan without frostbite.

Around noon, you tried eating a bit of the bread you had packed, only to find it frozen. As well as the cheese. And the dried meat. It wouldn’t do good to gnaw on it either, as that would just make your innards cold as well, so you just went with your stomach protesting.

It was starting to get quite dark when you finally saw what seemed to be a glow in the distance. As you drew closer, it grew apparent that it was the caravan, and you sighed in great relief.

The dwarrow on watch were very suspicious. Of course, once you explained your purpose, they grew less so.

“I come from Erebor, in search of the Princes. Prince Fili and Kili left last night with the intention to travel here, have they arrived?”

The guards started to look a bit nervous.

“No my lady, no one’s seen anything of them.”

Your heart dropped to your feet.

“Are you sure?”

“Aye, the whole group would have known.”

You might’ve cried, but your eyes felt nearly frozen. You turned your pony, with full intent to head back out into the blizzard and look for your love, when one of the watchdwarrow stopped you.

“You’ll freeze out there my lady, as will your pony. Stay and get warm.”

“Aye lass” another said, “Besides, if the Prince’s are out there, her Lady Dís should be informed.”

Ah, that’s right. Dís.

One of the guards led Daisy off to get warm with other animals, while the other led you to Her Ladyship’s tent. He announced your presence, awaited approval, and then lifted the flap of the tent, beckoning you inside before letting it fall behind you.

Dís was a truly stunning Dwarrow, even for her age, with long black raven hair and a beard to match. Some strands were turning silver, much like Thorin’s, and her blue eyes were more piercing than an orc’s. She looked incredibly confused when you walked into her tent.

“Good Mahal lass, what the hell were you doing out in that storm? You must be senseless.” She said, looking up from a book she had been reading and furrowing her brows.

“I was looking for the Prince’s. I should introduce myself, my name is (Y/N).”

Dís’s eyes widened and she stood, showing off quite an impressive height.

“Why would you be looking for my sons out in this storm, (Y/N)?”

“They… Fili left a note this morning, he and Kili were coming to the caravan to see you. The watchdwarrow said they hadn’t arrived.”

The Dwarrowdams jaw went slack for a moment, and then she cursed, banging her hand on a small table that held a bottle of whiskey.

“Foolish boys! Have they no sense? I was to be seeing them in only a few more days, but they could not wait, could they? Och, the beasts!” Dís continued her rant for a while longer, before she turned her gaze back on you.

“And you journeyed out here in the storm?”

“Aye. I could not rest well knowing that they were out in this foul weather. I will be going to head back out to look for them as soon as I’ve warmed up a bit,” you replied, very conscious of the Mother’s piercing stare. She was quiet, until she breathed a worried sigh.

“It’s no use to search out in this weather, lass. Especially at night. Rest here with me, we’ll go searching first thing on the morrow. I must talk with the guards for now, make yourself comfortable, I will return soon.”

And, just like that, Dís left the tent. Her talk was brief, and left you standing dumb in the center of the tent. For some time, you debated on whether or not to go out searching anyways, but the fire was surely inviting, and something in you knew Dís wouldn’t take kindly to you leaving against her wishes.

Your travel bag, heavy and frozen from being exposed to the elements for so long, left your shoulders as you set it down by the entrance. Next came your gloves, and then the outer coat, snow and ice caked on it making your fingers fumble whilst trying to unbutton it. Eventually, it joined your bag, as well as your boots (if you had thought the coat was difficult to get off, the frozen buckles on your boots were torture). After you had stripped the burdensome clothing off, you simply stood in the center of the room, close to the fire. There were blankets nearby, piled near a bedroll, but you dared not touch them, seeing as they belonged to Dís. It was rather awkward, simply sitting in a stranger's (of sorts) quarters, and weren’t sure what to do.

Your eyes did some exploring for you, falling first on the book that Dís had been reading. ‘The Heart of Hrund’. Huh. You recognized the title, from the Great Library, but you knew very little about it. You’d have to read it now. Your eyes then fell to the whiskey bottle. ‘Breaker’s’. Ah. Memories you shared with Kili at the beginning of the journey returned, however hazed they were due to your drunken state. Strong stuff, Breaker’s was. Bofur managed to get his hands on a few bottles from a merchant, and you and Kili had stolen one from him, much to Thorin’s disappointment and Fili’s annoyance (he was upset to be left out of the fun). Your eyes then drifted to a leather-fitted box, beautiful khuzdul runes and designs etched into it, however, before you could get a closer look, footsteps crunched through the snow outside the tent.

Dís and a young dwarrow entered, carrying stew, bread, and a plethora of blankets and pillows.

“Mahal,” Dís started, placing the tray of food down on the little table and grabbing a quilt from the other dwarrow, “Have you just been sitting here freezing? You could have taken a blanket, you know.” She said, wrapping the quilt around your shoulders and moving you to sit down.

“I, er, I didn't want to be rude.” You replied, now sitting cross-legged on the floor. Dís screwed her face at you.

“Lass, it is never considered rude to take a blanket in the cold. Only exception is if someone is already using it.”

You didn’t reply, feeling very uncomfortable social-wise, despite finally starting to warm up physically. Dís grabbed the rest of the supplies from the other dwarrow and nodded at him to leave. As he left the tent, Dís set the other blankets down and started making a bedspace for you near the fire.

“I can help with that,” you said, starting to get up to help.

“Nonsense lass, you get yourself warm.” Dis stood and grabbed the food tray once more. “However, I do request that you eat.” she set the tray down in front of you, and you thanked her, feeling a bit guilty as you started on the stew.

“Uh, have you eaten yet, My Lady?”

Dís scoffed, resuming her work on your bed roll. “Don’t call me that child, call me Amad. I can hardly stand to be addressed in that way by servants, let alone my sons One. But yes, I’ve had my fill.”

Her words shocked you, having only ever heard Fili refer to you as his One. You hardly expected Dís to accept you as Fili’s lover, let alone his One.

“Alright.” You replied, once more feeling dumb and without anything to contribute. So you sat in silence, trying hard not to slurp and watching Dís make up your bed. Eventually, She moved up and away, surveying her work.

“Thank you, that was very kind.” you said. Dís sighed and nodded, sitting down on the other side of the fire. You were quiet once more, and were now re-considering going out to search for Fili and Kili, if only to avoid the discomfort of the situation.

“I hope you are only not talking because of the storm. I expected a much more chatty lass, if i’m being honest.” Dís remarked, eyeing you carefully.

Panic flashed through your eyes as you tried to think of something to say, but Dís let out a soft chuckle before you could make a fool of yourself.

“I’m only joking, child. You needn't be nervous here. Tell me, how was your journey from the mountain to here?”

“Cold,” You blurted out, shuddering as you imagined the wind biting your face. Dís smiled at your bluntness.

“Indeed, I imagine it would be, especially if you’ve been out all day. Tell me, was there any sign of them as you came over?”

You shook your head. “Unfortunately no, I could hardly see past my nose once the snow grew thicker.”

“I swear, those boys will be the death of me,” she muttered.

“Just be glad you weren’t Thorin trying to deal with all three of us,” you said without thinking. Dís locked eyes with you, and then started chuckling.

“I do not envy him, based on what I've read of you three. It seems that you made it your entire purpose to create trouble for my brother dear.”

“Well, we tried to. For the first half of the journey, at least. He was much more willing to withstand our meddling before we crossed the Misty Mountains. Then came the orcs, and goblins, and Mirkwood, Laketown, the dragon… and the battle too.” Your face had fallen whilst you spoke, and Dis reached out her hand to comfort you.

“You mustn't dwell on the hardships of the past, child. It does nothing but cause trouble for the mind. Believe me, I know.”

At that moment, Dís seemed to age very quickly, and the wisdom and experience that this dwarrowdam had became clearer. You knew her story well-enough, from nights Fili had needed to find comfort in you, telling you about his childhood and family. Dís had wed Víli Heptifilissøn, and twelve years after Kili had been born, he had fallen ill from the Black Lung*, and had spent months growing weaker and weaker until he perished. Fili was able to remember the wretched coughing, and his Adad’s ragged breaths, as clearly as the day it happened. It was the reason he refused to go deep into coal mines, or else made up excuses. If those memories still hung onto Fili, you could only imagine how horrible it must have been for Dís, who had to watch her husband suffer such a death. Looking at her now, you never felt more in awe of a single person.

“You speak truly, my Lady-”

She looked at you sharply, but with a twinkle in her eyes.

“-I mean, Amad.”

That satisfied her, and she relaxed her hand away. “I do indeed, child. Never has a lie crossed my lips. Except when I told Thorin that he had a mighty spider in his beard.” You chuckled at that, but it quickly turned to a yawn. Dís raised a brow.

“It’s time for sleep then,” she commented, “I’ll leave you in peace to finish eating, and then it’s straight to bed.” Dís stood and went back to her chair, and resumed her book, leaving you to scoop that last of the stew in your mouth. It was not long before you were warm and cozy in your makeshift bed, and Dís bid you goodnight before blowing out the lanterns.

You woke to shouting. In your groggy state, you couldn’t make out the words, and you blinked in the dim light of the fire.

“What new madness arises?” You heard Dís murmur, followed by the sounds of her fumbling about. The shouting grew nearer. “Are you awake, (Y/N)?”

“Only partly,” you replied, trying to untangle the covers from your legs. You shuddered as the extra warmth left, but hurried to your feet, only stumbling slightly. The noise was becoming considerably louder, and your ears could start to make out the words being yelled.

“Get a healer, lads!”

“He looks frozen stiff!”

“SHOVE OFF! WHERE IS AMAD?” Kili’s furious shout snapped you into alertness. At that moment, Dís was able to find a lantern, and finally the tent’s interior was more visible. The flap in front of the tent lifted, and Kili stumbled in, hair frozen with bits of ice and face bright red. With horror, you realized he was supporting another dwarf who was barely conscious. Fili.

You jumped to your feet and rushed towards your betrothed, supporting his other side and lifting his head. Fili’s lips were tinged blue, and his teeth were chattering bitterly, clacking together in a terrible rhythm. Dís was there not a second after you, and she helped guide you all to lay Fili down in the space you had slept just moments before.

“Strip him down,” Dís commanded, starting to work on his boots. You followed her orders without hesitation, helping Kili with Fee’s coat. It didn’t take too long for the three of you to undress him to his underclothes, and you winced when you saw his shoulder looked… definitely not normal. Dís pressed on it gently, and Fili made a weak groan that twisted at your heart.

“He fell off his pony,” Kili said.

“Of course he did. Kili, fetch a healer.” The younger prince sprang up, filled with energy even after being out in a blizzard for nearly an entire day. But he was hardly at the entrance when a grizzled old dwarrow entered, a satchel in hand and a hard look set in his features.

‘‘Hanarr,” Dís welcomed, nodding her head. The old dwarf grunted in acknowledgement before kneeling down by Fili’s shoulder, feeling along the bone. He grunted once more, before looking up at Kili.

“Hold down right here lad,” Hanarr instructed, moving Kili’s hands to rest on Fili’s other shoulder and chest. “Right, hold it firm.”

Hanarr outstretched Fili’s other arm, and began to move it towards his head. A click sounded, and Fili called out, however weakly. His shoulder looked back to normal again, and Hanarr quickly folded his arm against his chest, before searching through his medical pack and pulling out a sling.

“Sit him up, lad.” the healer instructed Kili. He propped Fili up against his side, and this time, Fili held his own head up, his gaze landing on you. Confusion flitted across his nearly-frostbitten features, and he mumbled your name despite of his state.

But Hanarr was upon him again, and soon the sling was fastened to his arm, and the Healer was moving his legs so that they were tucked against his chest. He addressed Kili once more, “Get rid of yer tunic, and stay close to yer brother” and then turned towards you, “do the same, but mind his shoulder lassie.” Without hesitation, you followed his command and soon Fili was sandwiched between yourself and Kili. Dís (with the permission of Hanarr), wrapped several blankets around the three of you, and soon set to work on making some tea. Hanarr presented her with a root of ginger, and, after seeing that all that could be done was done, decided to take his leave.

“He should be fine in a few hours, I'll come back to check on him soon. Keep him awake.” were his final words before departing.

The silence that followed his departure was intense, interrupted only by the sound of the fire, the kettle, and a knife. Dís was the first to speak.

“I would have your hides, if I was not so glad to see you again.” She said in a low voice as she shredded the ginger.

“I’m sorry Amad,” Kili said, eyeing the movement of his Amad’s knife, “Patience has never been my strong suit.” Beside you, Fili shifted and rested his forehead against your temple.

“Indeed not,” Dís replied, her voice heating like the water she was boiling, “How did you convince your brother to join you in this endeavor?” Fili moved again, this time nuzzling his face into your neck and hair, his nose startlingly cold.

“Who said it was my idea?” Kili argued. However, Dís turned her glare on him, and He flushed and murmured, “he wanted to see you too, it didn’t take much to convince him.”

“(Y/N)” Fili said, drawing the attention away from arguing. “ ‘m tired.” He let his head rest heavy against your shoulder, and you (reluctantly) moved him away.

“You must wait to sleep, Kidhuzel,” You said, bringing your hand up to brush his hair away from his face. He opened his eyes wider, in sheer betrayal. You could have smiled, knowing Fili’s tendency to become unreasonably cross when denied sleep, but instead you kissed his cheek.

“Your Amad is making tea for you, and when you drink it, you’ll warm right up.” The blond prince’s eyes dropped once more and he tried moving back to the crook of your neck, only to be refused a second time.

“ I’d prefer Ale,” He muttered bitterly. At this, you did allow yourself to smile.

“Not a chance. Your heart might stop.” He grumbled and detached his uninjured arm from Kili, taking your hand and squeezing it with what feeble strength that had returned to his veins.

“It won’ stop as long as you’re ‘ere.”

Kili snorted, but was silenced as Dís sent him another glare, and you laughed softly, shaking your head and squeezing his hand back.

“If it worked that way, then I would gladly give you the finest Ale, however, I do believe tea would be a better option.”

When the tea was ready, you helped Fili to drink it. At first, the prince had winced at the heat, but soon he drank it gladly, becoming more alive with each sip. You sensed Dís watching you and Fili carefully, but brushed it off, telling yourself she was only concerned for Fili, not observing how you interacted. A small part of you that wouldn’t be silenced said it was both. Soon the mug was empty, and it had apparently helped Fili along much more than you anticipated, and soon he had detached himself completely from his brother and was pulling you closer.

“Careful of your shoulder,” you reminded him.

“ ‘s fine.” He replied, pressing flush against you. His skin had already warmed, thus proving the hardiness and hot blood of dwarrow. Kili scooted away, seeing that he was no longer needed, readjusted the furs covering yourself and his brother, and pulled his tunic back on. Dís immediately walked over and threw another fur across his shoulders, and pulled him into a tight hug, which he returned just as tightly. You averted your eyes when Kili started to sniff and tremble.

“I missed you,” he said.

“And I as well, inùdoy” Mother and son stayed in once another’s embrace, until she drew away and made him drink his fill of ginger tea as well.

A half hour later, you were struggling to keep Fili’s eyes open, and Kili had already crashed on Dís’s bedroll. The dwarrowdam herself grew impatient for Hanarr’s return, and had gone out searching for him. She reentered the tent with him not ten minutes later, and Hanarr (as grumpy and irritable as he was, he was an excellent healer), inspected Fili. Truly, your prince was proof that dwarves were nothing more than portable furnaces, and his temperature was more or less back to normal. He still was a bit out of it, but it was nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix. Soon Hanarr declared that it was safe for Fili to sleep, and almost immediately, the blond sank into your bedroll and began to snore.

Diís left after Hanarr, telling you to rest and call her if need be. You didn’t question where she was going, and she did not share it with you.

However tired and exhausted you were, sleep would not come. You sat in front of the fire for hours, feeding it and stoking it, keeping your mind entertained with the images dancing in the flames.

You had just finished adding another log to the fire, when a hand lightly gripped your wrist.

“Ghivashel” Fili said faintly. Your head turned towards him, and you smiled despite all things; for while Fili’s face was still red, his hair undone, and his eyes bleary, he was alive and conscious.

“Khuzd allakhul” you scolded, bending down to lean your forehead against his, “What sort of prince are you, to go out in the snow and frighten your lover?” You kissed his lips softly before drawing away just enough to wait for his answer.

“A very foolish prince indeed,” He murmured, his hand on your wrist pulling you back towards him. “But what sort of lover are you, to worry so greatly and come after me in the snow?”

“A very devoted lover, who has half a mind to leave now that you’ve insulted my care of you.” Fili’s eyes widened and he summoned his strength to pull you down, nestled in his side.

“Forgive me, I was not thinking of insulting you, amrâlimê. I just don’t want to see you suffer for my sake. Menu Tessu.” He said, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. The beads on his mustache braids still felt frozen, but his lips were warm. You smiled and took his hand, entwining your fingers together.

“All is forgiven. So long as you won’t do anything as stupid as that ever again.” you replied. Fili sighed and kissed the side of your mouth.

“I shall try my very hardest not to.”

“That isn’t very reassuring.”

“Then you must forgive me once more, for I cannot make such bold promises whilst Kili remains my brother.”

You both chuckled at this, before settling into comfortable silence. Slowly, your eyes began to drop, the crackling of the fire and the steady rhythm of Fili’s breath making it harder and harder to evade sleep. The fact that the lion prince had begun to rub circles into your shoulder with his thumb wasn’t helping. After the third time you startled yourself awake, Fili’s voice was near your ear.

“You can sleep now, Amralime. I won’t be going anywhere.”

His words were nothing short of a spell, and in less than a minute, your eyes closed and sleep overtook you, a comforting, dreamless sleep, the best kind.

When next you woke, indeed, Fili was still right next to you, awake, but only just. He was blinking the sleep away, and you suspected that his movements had been what had woken yourself. Cold winter light was shining through the tent flaps, cutting like a blade through the warm glow that filled the inside, and a conversation was taking place.

“We left in the wee hours, m’lady, just before dawn. You can imagine the state Thorin was in when he heard that the entire future of Erebor was out in the snow.” The voice of Dwalin more than successfully brought you to awakeness, and you sat up, looking around for the source of his voice.

“Indeed, I imagine he would be weathering the floors with pacing. I expect we’ll be leaving soon, no?” Now Dís spoke, and by this point, you and Fili had turned behind you to see the pair talking over mugs of mulled wine. Kili was also there, however, he was still dreaming on Dís’s previous sleeping roll, limbs sprawled out wide and mouth hung open almost comically.

“Aye, as soon as these three are dressed and ready.” Dwalin said, turning his gaze onto you and Fili, brow raised and the slightest of smiles on his warrior face. “What a lot of worry you and your brother had us in,” he continued, addressing Fili specifically, “I swear to Mahal, you’ve no idea what sort of panic you caused. Course, when yeh come back with your shoulder like that, everyone’ll be doting on yeh. ‘The poor heir who got caught in a blizzard trying to see his Amad’, not ‘the fucking idiot who didn’t have any patience and went out in the night despite knowing there was a storm brewin’.” But all while saying this, there was humor and relief in the warrior's voice, betraying how glad he felt that the boys were not frozen under three feet of ice and snow.

“Both versions are correct,” Fili pointed out, his voice still croaky from sleep.

“Aye, but only the first version will get told.” Dwalin replied, to which you laughed. He turned his focus to you now. “Don’t think you’re innocent lass, Thorin nearly had a heart-attack when we couldn’t find you. Both the heirs missin’ was bad enough, but the lady who’ll be adding to the heirs disappearing made it all worse.”

“Och, Dwalin, she had a noble cause to come out in the snow, you needn’t blame her for anything.” Dís said, coming to your aid.

“Was our cause not noble and justified?” Kili’s voice piped up. The Prince's eyes were hardly opened, but he was more than ready to defend himself from accusations.

“Not when you were to be seeing me in less than a week. If I was able to refrain myself from going out into a blizzard in the late hours, you should have been able to as well.” Dís retorted. A sour expression crossed Kili’s face, but he dared not argue with his Amad.

“Right then,” Dwalin said, “Get yourselves up an’ ready, we’ve not much daylight left to get back to Erebor.”

*Black Lung: Coal miner’s pneumonia.

Kidhuzel: Gold of Gold

Inùdoy: Son

Ghivashel: Treasure of Treasures

Khuzd allakhul: Stupid Dwarf

Menu Tessu: You mean everything to me

(part three will be out soon)

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rjshepherd · 3 years

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Re8 spoilers (kinda) character talk

these arent REALLY spoilers. they dont give away any story, its mostly just some fleshing out of the characters and some quirky things i noticed about notes and gameplay

ill put it under a read more just incase

Heisenberg is funny as fuck he had me snort laughing at least 5 times in like 2 minutes of screen time.

Karl seems to be the youngest of the lords. Alcina refers to him as a child twice.

He tips his hat as thanks which is just cute af.

Karl also seems to have some anger issues, i believe his powers are tied to his emotions or are at least compounded by them.

He seems to be on good terms with Donna as he refers to her by name whereas he calls sal "moreau"

He doesnt seem to respect titles, he refers to Mother Miranda as just "miranda" right in front of her. he also only calls Ethan, ethan rather than Mr Winters.

the daughters have weight to them despite being files. you can hear their boots on tile as they land and reform. this could be useful for tracking them while you play.

im not sure which girl it is, possibly cassandra, but she seems to suffer from physical ticks. She moves constantly, twitchy hands and shifting facial expressions while standing beside Alcina. i just thought that was intresting.

At the start of the castle section, the daughters are flirtatious and a little sexual towards ethan.Daniela seems to mimic Alcina in her movements, doing twists and making sure ethan is watching. Bela does a little childish wave and cassandra has a deep sniff of ethans blood followed the little tissue wave which again is cute as shit.

Alcina seems to have some alcoholic tendencies. she has wine or some sort of drink in her hand in quite a few of her cutscenes. not to mention her diary entry which explicitly says "i need a drink"

the floor sounds in this game are fuckin sending me. you know that scene in the shining where danny torrence is riding his big trike over different floors? that's what this reminded me of .

i feel like i have to tell people that the girls are invincible until exposed to their weakness. don't bother fighting them. if you need space, a shotgun blast when they solidify will buy you time.

their voices and personalities change when you make them vulnerable . its sort of cool but also sad?

Bela def takes after her mother the most. she uses some of alcinas lines on occasion including the "stupid man thing." line

all of the daughters SEEM to have different ways of moving while in fly mode. their ai is mostly the same but i noticed Bela moves directly while Daniela moves like a jelly fish, sort of in pulses and waves. Couldnt find solid pics of cas moving to see how she goes.

without wanting to spoil, i think one of the puzzles in the castle is actually statues of the lords past or at least how the current lords used to be. (also soft confirmation of alcina being queer coded)

(also also very soft confirmation that karl has a soft spot for donna.)

alcina has BIG mommy issues. and not just because she is a big mommy.

i am 1000% certain George trevor helped design this castle but i cant see any confirmation of that. trust me when you play it yourself, you'll know exactly what i fuckin mean.

Even alcina pronounces her last name different and yes thAT IS AS ANNOYING AS IT SOUNDS.

the video i was watching went to private again so im gunna keep looking to find more vids and info.

#resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil village spoilers #resident evil 8 spoilers #resident evil 8 #re8 #re8 spoilers #alcina dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #karl heisenberg #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #mother miranda

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tortilla-of-courage · 3 years

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welcome to my TED Talk. Skyward Sword Link is the ancient hero mentioned in Twilight Princess. here we go

(for my own sanity im referring to SkSw Link as “Sky” and TP Link as “Twilight”)

so like, The Big Reason: the Hero’s Clothes. it’s probably really obvious but y’know how it be. when you first get them in Twilight Princess, Faron tells you this:

In TP’s timeline, the only heroes there have ever been in Hyrule are the ones from Skyward Sword, Minish Cap, Four Swords and Ocarina of Time/Majora’s Mask. Out of them, Sky’s outfit is almost identical to Twilight’s, sans the embroidery, and it’s honestly the only outfit that would fit Twilight.

MC’s and FS’s Links were children, and OoT/MM’s Link wasn’t remembered as a hero because of all the time travel stuff (which is where Hero’s Shade comes in but that’s something else entirely). Even if he was, his outfit is completely different than Twilight’s, and only the child Hero of Time’s version would exist in that timeline, since the adult version of the outfit was given to OoT Link in the Sacred Realm. So really, the only option left is Sky.

They’re both around the same height and age, and the elements in their outfits are basically the same, with tiny differences. There’s the high-collared undershirt (Twilight’s is sewn closed while Sky’s is open), the chainmail, the tunic with the same base design...

We know Twilight is strong - he works at a farm, can throw goats and gorons like it’s nothing, picks up big rocks with ease... while Sky can barely pick up a barrel without running out of breath/strength in a few seconds. Twilight clearly has more muscle mass, and we can see this in the outfits’ differences. In these design notes, we can see the sides of Twilight’s tunic have been opened, then half re-stitched, and the same goes for his sleeves.

Meanwhile, Sky’s lacks all of these modifications. On him, the tunic even looks baggy, made for someone bigger than him, while on Twilight it’s really tight-looking.

Even the hat seems to have been adjusted for Twilight’s head... and also elongated, judging by the extra fabric sewed on the tip. the length difference is a bit clearer in the following screenshots. It can also be seen that Sky and Twilight’s adventurer bags are almost identical but that could just be coincidence rather than them being the same bags.

Actually, the Hero’s Shade talks about the Hero’s tunic too.

This could just be a reference of the Shade to his own outfit as the Hero of Time, since he also talks about accepting the life of the hero in another of his encounters - but if he doesn’t consider himself a worthy hero after being unable to pass on his secrets, it wouldn’t make sense for him to refer to the Hero’s Clothes in such a way (”the proud green of the hero’s tunic...”)

It could go with my theory of the Kokiri’s green clothes being inspired by the first hero (Sky, not the 25th anniversary manga’s Link), with the Kokiri evolving from the Kikwis in Skyward Sword who met him. OoT Link, growing up as a Kokiri, could have heard stories about this first hero, maybe even looking up to him (kind of like the Koroks with Wind Waker and Breath of the Wild Links). It’d make sense then for him to think so highly of the hero’s outfit despite his own situation.

Outfits aside, there’s the Double Clawshots you get in Twilight Princess. Besides TP, these only appear again in Skyward Sword - other games just have hookshots or grappling hooks.

They have really different designs in general, yes, but that could either be explained by the different art styles of the games, or that, even if they’re not the exact same pair, TP’s were inspired by SkSw’s. Considering Sky’s clawshots are a sacred gift from Nayru herself, though, they should be able to last thousands of years.

Actually, talking about Nayru, that’s where we can get some “proof” that they could be the same pair. In TP, the first clawshot you find is in the Lakebed Temple - at this point in the timeline, water is Nayru’s element (instead of Electricity like in SkSw), so one of her divine gifts being in her element’s temple (possibly put in there as an offering either by Sky himself or by his descendants time after Skyward Sword) is completely fine... But what about the other clawshot? Well, you find it in the City in the Sky. Not entirely sure why they’d leave one behind like that, but it being in what could be a modified version of Skyloft’s ruins...

We could also mention the Hero’s Bow in all this. Its description even mentions the hero of legend, supposedly the same hero the outfit Twilight wears belonged to.

It looks quite similar to the bow you use in Skyward Sword. There are obviously design differences (it’d also mean Sky never upgraded it during his adventure), but they share key elements.

TP’s bow shares a few more key elements with Majora’s Mask’s bow than with SkSw’s, such as the little branches near the edges, but MM’s is way smaller (mostly to fit that Link, but yeah) and Twilight wouldn’t be able to use it. Though, it should be noted MM’s bow is also referred to as the Hero’s Bow, like in TP, so it could be the same bow in all three cases.

(Wind Waker’s bow is also called the Hero’s bow - and looks a bit more like Skyward Sword’s than these other two but that’s another timeline,)

Anyways. The ones guarding the Hero’s bow in Twilight Princess are the Gorons. Now, why would the Gorons have it? It’d mean this Hero of the past would have to have been close enough to them to trust them with it. The first Link to pop to mind with that is usually OoT Link.

But, when he gets sent to the past by Zelda after his adventure’s done, it’s to before he ever goes to Death Mountain, and before he becomes sworn brothers with Darunia. I’m not saying he couldn’t have gone and befriended them later, but I don’t know if, with that being the case, all the future generations of Gorons would refer to him as a Hero even hundreds(?) of years later if he didn’t physically defeat any evil, or even consider his bow a treasure. And if they did, I don’t think they’d just call him the Hero of the past, considering he was relatively “recent”.

Another one of the heroes in this timeline who has had some contact with Gorons is Sky. Granted, it was only with about... 4 or so of them, but him (or one of his descendants idk) giving the Gorons his bow for safekeeping would make sense considering they’re 1) one of the first species he ran into on the Surface, and 2) helped him a bit during his adventure. And coming from the very first hero (one of the founders of Hyrule, even), it being treated as a treasure by the Gorons even thousands of years later seems to make a bit more sense

It could also probably tie with one of the Clawshots being in the Lakebed temple. Maybe that clawshot was given to the Parella, who would later turn into the Zora? Maybe all the races Sky ran into during his adventure got a “gift” of sorts once Hyrule was offiically founded, maybe to unify all the races currently living there? And the other Clawshot could stay behind in Skyloft with the Loftwings, that could have turned into the Oocca. Who knows

#Skyward Sword #the legend of zelda #zelda skyward sword #Twilight Princess #zelda twilight princess #wow this got long ahaha #back on my bullshit to connect ss to every zelda game i can #also during this i realized a few things minish cap and skyward sword have in common so that's also fun #might go over skyward sword's stuff being in other games some other time #i feel like im forgetting to add something to this post but idk i've been sitting on it for a few days already #also this is just me rambling dont scream at me if i got stuff wrong #like id love to hear other points of view just dont be rude pelase #please*#zelda theory #again this is all probably already known but uhhhhhhhhhhhh shrugs #im still thinking about ambidextrous sky from my other post i have ss brainrot #long post #skyward sword spoilers #twilight princess spoilers #ocarina of time spoilers #legend of zelda #tortilla posts #tortilla thinks

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honkhonkrichard · 3 years

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Theory: Stanley Uris was Murdered.

Tagging @vvanini I hope you can follow this okay it’s very word vomity lol

Okay So TW because this post will touch on Stan's death ad the methods behind it

I propose that Stan Uris was murdered. by IT. In his home on that fateful night. I think that Stan posed the biggest threat to IT and therefore IT felt the need to take him out before the battle even started.

Allow me to explain.

Okay, so, I need to lay out some basic "rules" or "facts" before I make my case. They are as follows.

- IT planted it's roots in Derry, and finds it difficult to leave, but still can at it’s own wil. If you read the book (I honestly don't blame you if you haven't) You'd know that once the Losers kill IT for the final time, Derry (the Physical town) is obliterated. Buildings explode, sinkholes appear, things are flooded. The town is in ruins by the time that the Losers leave the sewers. The movies don't adapt this so If this is news to you thats fine. the bottom line is that destroying IT destroys Derry, like ripping a tree out of the ground with all it's roots. Because of this, we can make the claim that while it can Leave Derry (as it does every 27 years) it probably takes tremandous amount of power to do so, which is why IT only goes when the cycle is over. Why does this matter? Well, what if IT left Derry to get to Stan? The murders had stopped for about a week when they're all in the Jade of the Orient. Plenty of time for IT to cross from Maine to Georgia. Side Note: We KNOW IT leaevs Maine to elsewhere in the world because of King's extended universe all interconnecting. it's not far off at all to make the claim that IT is the same evil that haunts, say The Shining's Overlook Hotel, which is in Colarado.

- IT is omnipresent This is also a given, IT lives everywhere, and can fuck with time and space in godlike (or maybe eldritch like) ways. in IT: Chapter Two, when Mike claims "IT Doesn't know I know what I know" he's unfortunately wrong, because we know that IT can be in A) Multiple places at once, B) can manipulate anything on the drop of a hat (See: Stan being teleported away from everyone else in Chapter One, Everything about Neibolt, etc) and C) Knows everyone's deep fears. This is further proven by IT Saying things like "Beep Beep Richie" (although this is Horribly Horribly executed in the films, ugh.) and so on and so forth. On top of all of this, We can make the claim that IT can exist outside of Time as well, given that IT is immortal. SO, what's stopping IT from Knowing Mike was going to call them all back (Espically considering that IT TOLD Mike to do this?). Even if we keep IT's omnipresence to the location that IT inhabits (in this case Derry) IT would still have knowledge of where the losers are through Mike. And if you take the Lucky Seven/Chosen Seven route (oh my god I got theories on that too) you could argue IT knows where they are inherently due to their cosmic status.

- Stan is the "most Powerful" loser So, obviously all the Loser's are powerful, espically considering they're the ones who Defeat IT (Again going on to the Lucky/Chosen Seven theory). This next claim is going to be less focused on what the 2019/2017 Movies do because they are Bad Movies and that's a whole other rant. However, in the book, Stan is (to my knowledge feel free to correct me on any of this) the only loser to Actively ward off and 'defeat' IT on his own without running away. He uses his belief in this what is Real (birds) to ward off what is "not real" (IT). The other losers do manage to take down IT in their own Right, but Stan is ultimately the one to Really get IT. This is because Stan's character revolves around Belief and Willpower. These are, in some form or another, the ways to Defeat IT. the ritual of Chud is a battle of Wills. in the book, Bill takes IT down and Eddie does the final blow. In the Remake (ugh) the losers can defeat it Technically using the belief that IT isn't as powerful as it claims because IT's "just a clown" (Ihatethatfuckingendingsomuchugh). Stan being much more skeptical than the rest of the group in his ability to understand Reality vs IT's illusions is a powermove, and IT knows that ability doesn't go away as Stan grows up, but rather he gets more powerful. Stan is the Only loser out of the 6 who left that has any sort of knowledge about IT, where the other losers have nothing. Bev has nightmares, yes, but she still forgets them. We're told in his chapter (Chapter 3, Six Phone Calls (1985), Part One: Stanley Uris Takes a Bath) that he has some hazy knowledge of his place in the Lucky Seven, and even goes so far as to MENTION it sometimes, even if he doesn't quite remember or understand any of it, his knowledge of IT and Derry is worlds more prominent than that of the rest of the losers.

(page 52 of IT: "Stanley, nothing's wrong with your life!" "I don't mean from inside." he said. "From inside is fine. I'm talking about outside. Something that should be over and isn't. I wake up frmo these dreams and think, 'My whole pleasent life has been nothing but the eye of some storm I don't understand.' I'm afraid. But then it just... fades. The way dreams do." OR page 45: He had been smiling a little. Now the smile faltered, and for a moment he seemed puzzled. His eyes had darkened, as if he looked inward, consulting some interior device which ticked and whirred correctly but which, ultimately he understood no more than the average man understands the workings of the watch on his wrist. "The turtle couldn't help us," he said suddenly. he said that quite clearly.)

So, Stan has some cosmic knowledge of IT and Maturin and his role in the battle against It. What does any of this have to do with his death? Well, let me point out some other things about Stan's death that always stuck out to me. - His death chapter is narrated by his wife, Patty, rather than himself. The other chapters - almost all the other chapters - are narrated by their respective Loser (the caviot for this is Ben, but Ben is also wasted out of his damn mind so its understandable.) - Stan's personality is few and far between in the book, but we know he has a weird little sense of humour and that he's incredibly logical. I think that this logical part of him would be able to understand that Suicide is Never Ever the answer, and that it would cause FAR more problems than it would solve. (the 2019 movie tries to reexplain his death and it's crap and i hate the letters i hate the letters so much im gonna explode) The other losers try to rationalize his death by saying "He would rather Die Clean than Live Dirty (Page 506, Chapter 10, The Reunion, part 3, 'Ben Hanscom Gets Skinny') but he had already BEEN Dirty when he defeated IT the first time, and I think he would've recognized that. - upon finding him, Patty (in her narration) notes that Stan's head is bent back over the edge of the bathtub, so from his sight she would have been upside down. If Stan DID kill himself, why would he be positioned like that? It's unnatural, like someone Posed him. - the cuts on his arms are two length wise cuts. I'm no expert but.. that's suspicious. That's weird. - IT is written in blood on the wall. Why? Why would Stan right THAT of all things? You know who DOES like to paint with blood? IT.

Alright, returning to my thesis statement, Stanley Uris was murdered. Do I think Stan genuinely was going to take a bath at 7pm (which we're told is weird for him)? Yes. I think that's absolutely a thing he could have done or planned to do. Do I think he slit his wrists and commited suicide so he wouldn't go back to Derry? No. Not even remotely.

Let me paint a New Picture.

It's May 28th, 2016, or 1985. Stanley Uris gets a call from Mike Hanlon. Stan is incredibly hesitant to go to, and says he needs time to think about it. Or tht he'll try. He can feel the starts of a Panic attack, and as he's remembering the circles of Hell he went through as a child, he tries to hold himself together. He doesn't want his darling wife to see his break, so he says "I think I'll take a bath" and nothing else before going upstairs. he hides in the bathroom. He closes and locks the door, because, well, he's panicking. Locking doors is one of The Small things he does. Is it usually the bathroom door? no, but still (OCD is a bitch, and even with medication, but this is a special case). He looks in the mirror and tries to breathe. This is fine. He can do this. They killed IT once before and they can do it again. He thinks about his younger self, the promises made, and how he could explain all of this Patty in time to catch a flight to Maine. It's terrifying, but if his friends are going to bite the dust, he wants to be there with them, wedding vows be Damned. Then he looks at his reflection again. A younger, rotted version of himself stares back at him. IT crawls through the mirror. Stan freaks out, obviously. This isn't real. This Can't be real. But IT utilizes this notion against him. It digs it's claws into his arms, and forces him to bleed out in the bathtub. IT then sets the scene nicely. Razorblades on the counter, a bloody signature on the wall, a horrible posture of Stan's neck. So on and So forth. and then IT returns to Derry. IT's a little weak, yeah, but Stan is dead. That's what matters. the Lucky Seven has now Officially broken, and the balance shifts in favour of the clown.

So that's the theory. feel free to correct me on anything or engage I have plenty of theories on this story and I like discussing this stuff :).

#anyways #Stan #stanley uris #Stan uris #mine #Murder Theory #honktheory #thats a tag now I gues ??#pw #analysis #meta

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phykios · 3 years

Text

this one is dedicated to mi amor mari @perseannabeth, who is a beautiful bird and a wonderful friend and i am v v vvvvv grateful to have crossed the airwaves with her :”)

Today Was A Fairytale [read on ao3] T, modern royalty, fun at disneyland!

She stares at him.

He stares back. “What?”

“Really?”

“What?”

“You really think this is going to be enough?” Annabeth points at her head, the blue Yankees cap squishing her curls.

“Of course! It’s the Clark Kent effect.” As if to underline his point, Percy slips on his fake hipster glasses, except that stupid grin of his is too bright not to draw attention.

“That’s not a real thing.”

“Sure it is. Studies show that glasses are actually good enough to alter your appearance if someone doesn’t know you well.”

“Then why didn’t you bring a pair of glasses for me?”

“Because your hair is definitely the prettiest thing about you,” he says, automatically tugging an unruly curl which peeks out from under the brim, a gesture so practiced she almost doesn’t register it--until he blinks, dropping his hand, blushing lightly. “I mean--the most noticeable thing. You know. A hat should be fine.”

He looks away. Heat rises to her face, too. Because it’s so hot out, obviously.

“Anyway,” he mumbles, “um. No--no one’s going to give you a second look if your hair is hidden.”

Chewing her lip, Annabeth can’t help but worry. Percy’s face is extremely well-known, possibly more than hers, and they’ve both spent the better part of three weeks with their faces plastered all over the media on their diplomatic trip. This is probably a really, really bad idea. Then, a thought occurs to her. “How about,” she says, perking up, “you give me your glasses, and I’ll give you mine.” From her backpack, she fishes out a pair of sunglasses, big and nondescript. He’ll practically be wearing a superhero mask with these.

Percy smiles again, and Annabeth thinks she might fly. “Perfect.”

Which is how Her Royal Highness Anna Elisabeth Ingrid Irene of Sweden and His Serene Highness Perseus Alexandros Ioannis of Thera play hooky from their day of boring meetings, insufferable dignitaries, and stuffy security guards, to go see the eighth wonder of the world: Disneyland Resort in California.

And how Annabeth eats her words as they make it past the security gate unchecked. “Eh?” He beams, nudging her with his elbow. “Eh?”

Rolling her eyes, she shoves him back. “Shut up.”

***

[description: a tiktok video which depicts a line at Disneyland. the op, a black girl with braids, covers her mouth and looking into the camera, turning the camera to focus on the two people behind her. one is a tall boy with black hair and sunglasses, and the other is a blonde girl with a yankees hat and glasses. both are white. video text reads: “p sure the people behind me are prince percy and princess annabeth??? um?????”. background audio is a dubstep remix of the fight theme from undertale. end ID]

***

Maybe it’s a little weird, on account of her being actual royalty and all, but Annabeth has always been interested in princesses, both as a matter of historical record (history is awesome) and in the general sense. Like millions of other people, she, too, was raised on Disney movies and tales of princesses and true love, and she was just as captivated as the rest of them. She and Percy used to watch the Disney catalogue whenever their families held state visits for each other, staying up into the small hours of the morning, sharing some popcorn and singing along.

Luckily for Annabeth, her favorite princess is holding a meet and greet at the Royal Hall.

“Excuse me,” Percy says, approaching Princess Ariel. Well, her cast member, anyway. “Could I get a photo for my friend?”

“Of course!” she trills, her blue eyes sparkling. “It would be my pleasure.” Holding her hand out, perfectly poised and graceful in a way that would impress even Annabeth’s stodgy etiquette instructor, she smiles, warm and welcoming, pivoting to bring Annabeth in for one of those weird, semi-awkward half-hugs. “What’s your name?”

“Anna,” says Annabeth. Hey, it’s not untrue. She’s a little leery of using any of her names, but Anna is common enough. Annabeth? Not so much. Even with her glasses and hat disguise, a little paranoia is justified, she thinks.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you, Anna,” she says, cheerful, with all the grace and charm of someone who doesn’t spend hours saying the same thing over and over again to excitable, temperamental children. What a trooper, she thinks.

“Don’t you recognize a fellow princess when you see one, your highness?” Percy says, grinning that stupid, smarmy grin of his.

Annabeth glares. Oh, he thinks he’s so damn clever.

“Oh, of course,” says Ariel, smoothly. “How could I have thought otherwise? Your highness.” And she curtsies to Annabeth, a short dip, her hand placed delicately against her chest. “Perhaps I can introduce you to my friend Anna, princess of Arendelle?”

Still smirking, Percy takes some more pictures, trapping Annabeth into smiling for the camera. She can’t be glaring daggers in her pictures, nor can there be video evidence of her kicking him--no matter how much she wants to.

And she definitely doesn’t miss the way Ariel not-so-subtly checks Percy out, eyeing him up and down.

“You fucking asshole,” she hisses as they leave the photo area, swatting him lightly, and he giggles.

“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Ugh, I hate you so much.”

It’s hard to stay mad at him, though she definitely tries as they enter back out into the park proper, giving him just the barest hint of a cold shoulder.

“Aw, come on,” Percy says. “I was just teasing.”

“You shouldn’t go around tempting fate like that,” Annabeth says. “Do you want to cause another international incident?”

Percy winces, no doubt remembering the Gateway Arch incident of 2008.

“If someone recognizes us, we don’t have Zoe or any of her team to protect us,” Annabeth goes on. “Not that I think anyone here would try to hurt us, but…” But it’s a little nerve-wracking, being on her own like this. She hasn’t been alone like this for a really long time.

Wincing, Percy rubs the back of his head. “I guess I forgot you’re a little higher profile than me. Sorry.”

She doesn’t like to think about it, but it’s true. Percy, by his nature as the younger son of a largely defunct royal house, doesn’t have quite the same number of… issues… that someone like Annabeth might have.

Deflating, she uncrosses her arms. “It’s okay.”

“I should have asked you first.”

“It’s really okay,” she says. “No harm no foul.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks, entirely serious. “I can call someone up.”

She knows just how long they’ve planned this, how many favors he’s called in and policies he’s sidestepped. Backing out now would just be a waste of a day. She shakes her head. “It’s fine,” she says. “I’m just… feeling a little exposed, I guess. But, I don’t want to ruin all our plans. Let’s keep going.” She grabs his hand, squeezing a little.

“...Okay,” Percy says. “But say the word, and we’ll call it a day. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Like he doesn’t have any other expression today, he smiles at her again.

It hits her, suddenly. He’s so much taller than she remembers. Once upon a time she used to be taller than him; now, he’s basically a whole head above her.

It’s annoying. But also… not.

Spying something over her shoulder, his eyes light up, and he practically gasps. “Cinderella!” he points with his free hand, like a five-year old. “Come on!” And he takes off to one of the park corners, dragging Annabeth along with him.

He has to wait in line behind a pair of twin girls, six or seven years old by the looks of it, in identical Cinderella dresses for a photo, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, and when it’s finally his turn, he nearly trips over himself to go up and ask for a photo.

Cinderella agrees, and now Annabeth is relegated to the job of cameraperson. Percy slides in next to the princess, his hand on her waist, but, ever the respectful gentleman, loosely held, so the cast member can slide out of his grasp without any difficulty at all.

Taking a few shots, it does look kind of strange to have Cinderella’s beautiful, shining face, and Percy’s enormous sunglasses blocking his. “Take off your glasses?” she says, lowering her phone for a second.

Dutifully, Percy slips them off, smiling again for the camera.

Cinderella’s smile doesn’t falter, a credit to her professionalism, but Annabeth can see her eyes widen, just a touch.

Annabeth snaps off a few more photos, “Got ‘em!” and Percy once again gushes over the princess, thanking her for her time. Grabbing Annabeth’s hand again, he practically skips off, leading them in the direction of a nearby candy shop.

***

me: IM SHAKING GUESS WHO I JUST TOOK A PICTURE WITH????

sis: prince percy?

me: HOW TF DID YOU KNOW

sis: its on twitter already

***

They’re walking along, Annabeth slurping up a Dole whip, when she suddenly stops in her tracks, outside of one of the many, many gift shops. “Wait up a second.”

“Hm?” Percy says, around the giant lollipop in his mouth.

“I want to get some Mickey ears.”

Very quickly they get lost in the sea of Disney merchandise, walking the labyrinth of Star Wars and Marvel and Pixar goods. There’s a surprising amount of black for the so-called happiest place on Earth, but things do brighten up when Annabeth finally turns a corner and finds the enormous selection of Mickey ears. It’s a wash of sparkles, flowers, bows, and occasionally characters, for children and adults alike. Annabeth eyes a pair designed like Baby Yoda, eyes wide and ears adorably huge, before she fingers a pair of white Mickey ears that have a bridal veil attached to them, contemplating its counterpart, the black ears for the groom, each ear emblazoned with a sparkling silver “Happily Ever After.”

She looks around. Where did Percy wander off to, anyway?

Well, wherever he is, hopefully he hasn’t gotten mobbed by a horde of excitable fangirls. Given that she can’t hear any screaming--well, any unusual, non-Disneyland-relevant screaming--that’s probably a good sign.

Running her fingers over the ear selections, she finally picks out a pair of silver sequined earrings with a shiny gold bow, a tiny, rhinestone Cinderella’s castle placed delicately in the middle.

Yeah. This one.

Percy finds her as she is paying for her ears, a pair of his own already on his head, red balloons inside of plastic circles. The sunglasses, she notes with a tinge of nervousness, are tucked in his shirt, and not on his face, protecting his identity. “Oh, check mine out--they light up!” he says, giddy, pressing the button on the side, not that she can tell in the brightly lit shop.

“That’s not why I was looking.”

Walking out of the store, ears firmly in her possession, she looks around again. Percy’s face is out there for the world to see, and no one is giving them a hard time.

And her hat is really sweaty.

Ah, fuck it.

She removes the Yankees cap, shaking out her sweaty curls, sliding the ears on in its place.

And the glasses, for good measure.

“Cinderella?” Percy asks.

“I thought you’d approve.”

Outside the shop, next to a corn dog cart, Percy pulls her aside, out of the way of a whole classroom’s worth of children, holding up a plastic plag. “So, confession.”

“Percy…” He didn’t. “We said no gifts!” They had agreed to it that morning!

“Well, see,” he says, fumbling around in the bag, pulling out a black t-shirt. “I saw this, and I thought--I thought you might like it.”

He unfolds it, and Annabeth frowns at the shirt design.

It’s… a drawing of a man in a purple mask against a solid black background, glaring at the viewer. Circling him, in distressed, white-grey military font, are the words “BARON ZEMO,” and the logo for the show he must star in, Marvel’s The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. She doesn’t really watch superhero shows, though, and she’s pretty sure Percy doesn’t, either. Maybe he’s started this one and he really likes it? “Thanks,” she says, confusion coloring her voice despite her best efforts.

But he doesn’t look too disappointed. “I was looking through their pride merch, and they didn’t have any stuff with the ace flag, which totally sucks, but then I thought that maybe you might like something a little more subtle? So, yeah.” He shakes it. “Ace pride!”

Oh. Oh, this boy.

She remembers, so vividly, visiting his father’s summer home on Kalymnos, a few years ago, the summer she turned nineteen, waking up to a banging in the kitchen, noisy pots and pans making a real racket. Granted, it had been one in the afternoon, and Annabeth probably should have been awake sooner, but she had stumbled out of the guest room into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of her eyes, to the sight of Percy wrestling with the standmixer, making bright, neon purple frosting. The night before, sometime around three or four AM, that weird, liminal hour where the shadow of night just starts to recede, the sky a sweet, soft, dusky blue, she had come out as demisexual to her best friend, saying the words aloud for the first time ever. Loopy from lack of sleep, the moment had passed without much fanfare.

But Percy, dark-circled and still yawning, had woken up early to make her a chocolate cake. By the time she had woken up, he had baked the cake, chilled it, and made two out of the three frosting colors, a beautiful, moist, dark chocolate cake which ended up being frosted with a marbled mix of purple, black, and white, all folding into each other into a kind of colorless, grey sugar.

Here, now, in Disneyland, she throws herself at him, wrapping his arms around his neck. His arms automatically come up to circle her, hugging her tight.

She had been worried it had been some kind of defense mechanism. A young girl with an alarmingly high profile, Annabeth had been the subject of intense scrutiny with regards to any romantic entanglements, with critics, tabloid reporters, and fans alike attempting to invent gossip-worthy relationships with every boy she ever talked to--most usually Percy. They did grow up in the public eye together, attending all kinds of events and functions together over the last fifteen or so years. And they did tweet at each other. Like, a lot. They even had their own portmanteau hashtag. But no relationship ever materialized.

She thought maybe she was just being stubborn, unwilling to play the media game. But it hadn’t been stubbornness. It wasn’t about shyness or inexperience. It was real, and it was her.

And Percy hadn’t even blinked.

“I love it,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says, swaying her from side to side, just a little. “It was my pleasure.”

***

What’s happening: #percabeth (Entertainment • trending)

@kndrck__ STREAM CHROMATICA: um @TheraUS @SwedenRoyals i think i found your sick royals? #percabeth #disneyland

@wasabiviking: omg werent they supposed to be at some hospital opening today #percabeth

@ChampionSno brando he/him: LMAOOO NOT #PERCABETH PLAYING HOOKY LIKE IT’S ROMAN HOLIDAY

***

“Holy shit,” Percy moans, his mouth full of food. “Oh my God. Dear God in Heaven.”

Annabeth kicks his ankle under the table. “Don’t be rude.”

He swallows, eyes fluttering. “Oh my God, Annabeth. Holy shit. This is the best damn sandwich I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

“A monte cristo?”

“A deep-fried monte cristo! In sweet batter!” Taking another bite, he moans again, just this side of indecent. “Oh my God I love Americans. They are absolute culinary geniuses.”

“Better than Bistrot Chez Rémy?” They had both been to Disneyland Paris, separately, sadly, and Percy had recommended the restaurant to her with great enthusiasm for her upcoming trip. As usual, he was spot on with his food recs.

He nods, eyes closed in rapture. “By a mile.”

“You’ll have to learn to make your own when we get back home, then.”

He jolts, straightening up, cheeks full of food. Roughly, he swallows. “You’re right! I need to take notes.” And he takes out his phone, hurriedly typing down whatever scent and flavor notes he must be able to discern. “This is definitely challah…”

Plucking another piece of chicken with her fork out of her jambalaya, Annabeth lets her attention wander a little, content to watch the passengers on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride as they float on beside them, down in the artificially constructed bayou river.

Truth be told, she’s kind of tired. They’ve been walking around all day, and even with the brief reprieve of rides, her shoes really aren’t the kind that deal well with huge amounts of walking. She can already tell that she’s going to crash, and crash hard, whenever they get back to their hotel. You know, if their security detail doesn’t eviscerate them first.

When Percy had first presented his idea to her, she had agreed without hesitation. They had had a long, dense schedule of public appearances planned for their excursions to the states, and the days had begun to seriously wear them out. Together, they had worked out the kinks, coming up with contingencies, negotiating things to do, all over Discord so no one else would get wind of what they were doing. Prior to this trip, she hadn’t seen him in… probably almost a year. She knows his father had been keeping him close to home for whatever reason, and Annabeth had had a handful of official functions to deal with. Their paths just never managed to cross, up until now.

She hadn’t realized how much she had missed him.

It’s lonely, growing up in the public eye. It’s cliche, but it’s true. And while Annabeth is afforded a metric ton of various intersecting privileges, she thinks she’d probably give it up in a heartbeat. It kind of sucks being a living, breathing tourist attraction.

Growing up, she had her cousin Magnus, and a handful of other assorted children to play with, but she would never say that she had a best friend, or even a good friend, until she’d met Percy. Her mother and his father, famous for their mutual dislike, had put aside their differences to host some kind of charitable dinner for the disgustingly wealthy, and had trotted out their respective children in all their finery. Annabeth, being all of twelve years old, hadn’t really grasped the gravity of the event, and had gotten into an itty bitty little food fight with the then-unknown Prince Perseus, the result of an extramarital affair whom his father had so graciously decided to acknowledge and adopt.

After that night, they became fast friends, and she decided that, if she ever left the royal life, she’d make sure to take Percy with her. He’s one of the few things that makes her life bearable.

She thinks about it, sometimes. Renouncing her title. It wouldn’t exactly be hard. There was Magnus, just in line behind her. And it’s not like her family held any executive power anyway. They’re just fancy, historically interesting celebrities.

Would Percy give up his, she wonders?

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

He looks at her oddly over their dessert, two vanilla-bourbon creme brulees. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Just tired. Long day.”

“You want to call it a night?”

She frowns. “What’s left?”

“Well, we did Space Mountain, Rise of the Resistance, Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Caribbean, a few others,” he counts off his fingers, “saw the princesses, got Mickey ears, ate at Blue Bayou… I guess all that’s left is walking around the pier, if you want.”

“Sounds like you two had a full day.”

As one, they almost leap out of their seats, Annabeth choking on her spit. “Jesus, Zoe,” Percy pants, his hand over his chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Oh?” says Zoe Nightshade, the head of their security detail, who had just apparently materialized out of thin air. “Funny. I could say the same about you, sir.”

Coughing, Annabeth eventually manages to get her air back. “Hey, Zoe,” she wheezes. “How was your day?”

“Eventful. Let me tell you about it in the car.”

Annabeth glances at Percy, who’s looking a little bit like a deer in headlights. Honestly, she’s surprised they even made it this far without one of their own tracking them down. Still, it looks like their game is up.

...Or is it?

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a large tour group, approaching on the horizon.

“Sure,” Annabeth says, getting up. Luckily, they’ve already paid, so they can just head out; they don’t need to wait for another big group of people to cross their paths. “Will you let us go to the bathroom, first?”

Zoe squints. She’s always been able to see through Annabeth’s bullshit. But Annabeth has her best, Percy-patented baby seal eyes on, perfectly innocent. Surely, Zoe wouldn’t deny them a physical need such as relieving themselves?

After a moment, she nods. “Make it quick, if you please.”

“Of course,” Annabeth says, looking over at Percy, hoping he gets the message. He stands up, slow and stiff, eyes darting between the two of them. “We’ll be right back.”

They wander through tables and chairs towards the bathroom, her eyes always on the tour group as it just starts to pass by. Reaching out, Annabeth grabs Percy’s hand, and with a turn that would make her track coach proud, sprints out of the restaurant, using the throng of people as cover.

She thinks she hears Zoe yelling behind them, but maybe it’s just her own laughter. “Come on!” she shrieks, breathless, as Percy’s long legs keep pace with her. “To California Adventure!”

***

darthbingus said: the monarchy are fucking parasites but percabeth is pretty cute i guess :/

ladyofsandwiches reblogged and said: it’s obviously a publicity thing lmao, also prince Percy is gay???

eowynning reblogged and said: he’s dating rachel dare, right? he can’t be gay

ladyofsandwiches reblogged and said: That was a publicity thing too obvs, and Annabeth hasn’t ever been linked to a guy. The king of thera is hardline greek orthodox, there’s no way he’d let his son come out publicly. They’re both gay and pretending to date because homophobia

lardoftheprks reblogged and said: people can be bi and ace and pan and all sorts of things you know

batgirlcock reblogged and said: can you animals leave them alone fr

***

Zoe only spots them after the ferris wheel starts moving. Sprinting over to them, they’re still a full forty feet off the ground by the time she reaches the operator. “Sorry!” she yells down to her, hands cupping her mouth. “We’ll be down in ten minutes!”

“Ananbeth!” he chokes, giggles still escaping him.

“What?” she laughs.

“We’re in enough trouble as it is!”

“Exactly,” she says, settling back on the ride. “You’ll probably be grounded for life.”

“Me?” he squawks, playfully offended. “What about you?”

She scoffs. “Please. I’ll just pin it all on you.”

Leaning back, he pouts, arms crossed. “Wow. I plan this amazing day, violate a few embassorial rules, and probably put both of our countries on a massive red alert, and this is the thanks I get?”

“I helped plan it, too.” But he does have a point. “Thank you,” she says. “I had a lot of fun today.”

He turns his head to her, a grin stretching across his face. “Me too.”

His voice is so soft, so fond. They share a look, a moment, no words between them, only the silence of a true, deep companionship. They don’t need to say anything else, because they already know what the other would say.

As one, they break away, looking back out into the California evening.

They don’t talk much as the ferris wheel climbs higher and higher. Honestly, Annabeth is kind of impressed with how well he’s handling himself--she knows heights are a bit of a weakness of his. He grabs the edges of their gondola every once in a while as it drops a few feet, knuckles white and face a little green, but he manages to keep his dinner down, even as the ferris wheel grinds to a halt, Percy and Annabeth at the top of the world. The swing back and forth a little, hot faces against the cool evening breeze.

And they stay there.

And stay there.

And… stay there.

Annabeth checks her watch. How long have they been up here?

Percy taps his feet, a little too frantic just to be ADHD.

Finally, there’s a burst of noise from below them, garbled and static. “Uh, yes, excuse me--” the voice says, amplified through a megaphone. “Yeah, um, it appears we are having some… uh, technical difficulties with the Pixar Pal-A-Round. Please remain calm, as we have our best technicians on it, and we are working on evacuating the ride in a calm and efficient manner.” Then the voice cuts out.

Annabeth glances towards Percy. He has his hands in his lap, fists clenching and unclenching, over and over again. “Uh… you okay?”

“Hm? Oh, sure,” Percy says, “just fine. Peachy keen.” He squeezes his eyes shut, slowly blowing out his breath through his mouth.

“Hey.” She reaches over, and takes one of his hands in hers, lacing their fingers together. After a long day of holding hands, somehow it still manages to surprise her, how well they fit together, how her skin tingles as she rubs her thumb against his finger. “It’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna be just fine. They’re going to get us off this ride, and then we’ll fly home and be grounded for life.”

“I thought,” he wheezes, “you’d blame it all on me?”

“As if you could come up with a plan as genius as hiding from our guard in It's A Small World.”

He nods, shakily. “Right. All you. Definitely not my idea. Everyone knows I’d have looped back to Pirates of the Caribbean.”

“Definitely.” She squeezes his hand, scooting a little closer. “Just breathe with me a little, okay?”

They breathe together, slowly and evenly. At some point, Percy takes her hand in both of his, running his thumbs over her palm, tracing her lifelines like a map. His hands are big, and warm, and it seems to calm him down a little, so she doesn’t mind all that much.

Twilight darkens, stars twinkling against the grey, dusky sky, and still they are holding hands. Eventually, Percy relaxes, slumping against his seat.

“You good?”

He nods. He still doesn’t let go. “Yeah. Just…” he sighs, stretching his arms up, taking Annabeth’s hand with him. “Not super looking forward to the dressing down I’m going to get.”

She winces. Annabeth’s dad is a little more flexible than Percy’s when it comes to breaches of protocol. The king of Thera is somewhat famous for his paranoia. “I hope it was worth it.”

He whips his head to her, eyes wide. “Of course it was worth it!” he says, as though the opposite were even fathomable. “You kidding? This was the best day of my life.”

“Better than your sixteenth?” His father had officially acknowledged him that day. Annabeth had spotted him in a deserted hallway with his mother, the two of them fighting off a few happy tears. She knows just how special that day was for him.

“Not even close.” Squeezing her hand, he smiles again, that smile she knows almost better than her own by now. That smile she grew up with, a quiet oasis in a whirlwind of ancient tradition and modern media coverage. That smile is safety, familiarity. That smile was there to greet her when her mother chose to leave her family, when her uncle died without heirs, thrusting the position of heiress on her, whenever she had a rotten day or a bad grade or a lonely night, just on the other end of a phone, or down the hall, or in the kitchen.

Whatever happens, she knows, Percy will be her best friend. Her anchor.

Her…

She swallows. “Thank you,” she says again. “I needed this.” A day without an agenda. A day just for them.

His eyes are dark, and soft, like the water beneath them. One hundred and fifty feet in the air in a broken ferris wheel, there’s nowhere safer she can be. “Me too.”

So she’s not really surprised at herself when she says, “I’d really like to kiss you now.”

Eyes widening, just a hair, he opens his mouth, momentarily speechless. “You--are you sure?”

She nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

“Cool. Uh, me too.”

“Cool.”

Neither of them move.

“So, do--do you want to--”

Annabeth leans in, her other hand cupping his cheek, and kisses him.

His lips are soft. His mouth tastes like vanilla and bourbon. They are trapped in a metal box, one hundred and fifty feet off the ground, about to get the punishment of their lives when they get down, and it is absolutely, utterly perfect.

And when Annabeth pulls back, there are fireworks.

Quite literally.

Percy’s face glows with pink and green and purple, and a little fire in his eyes that’s all him. The pops of the fireworks, loud and brassy, and muted, completely overshadowed by the pounding of her heart in her chest.

They rest their heads against each other, breathing each other’s air, quiet and intimate, the calm before the storm that is surely coming. But that’s fine. Let it come, she thinks. She’ll be safe with Percy.

When the park technicians eventually get the ferris wheel moving again, Percy and Annabeth disembark from the gondola like nothing’s even gone wrong, waving to the crowd of people, fans, and reporters alike, who have swarmed the pier, phones and cameras held aloft in a constellation of light, before being quickly hurried away by Zoe and her crew, ushered to the end of the pier where Annabeth’s embassy’s car is waiting.

Percy doesn’t let go of her hand once.

***

KALYMNOS, GREECE--Prince Percy has arrived on the island for his family’s annual summer retreat, bringing his girlfriend, Princess Annabeth of Sweden, with him for the fifth year in a row, and the third as his official partner. Lifelong friends, the couple were most recently seen at Disneyland Tokyo, continuing something of a tradition for the two royals where they visit Disneyland parks across the globe. Our sources inside the castle are hinting that the family is planning something big this year. Could we see a proposal by the end of summer? Be sure to subscribe for more updates!

#pjo fic #percabeth #percabeth fic #my fic #au #perseannabeth #the rivalry ends here #will i ever stop writing modern royalty aus? no 💖#also look mari i even used a taylor swift song

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lumosandnoxwriting · 3 years

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Teapots, Secret Passageways and Forever - George Weasley

Title: Teapots, Secret Passageways and Forever Pairing: George x Fem!Slytherin!Reader Warnings: NSFW!!! Dirty talk, fingering, oral (male receiving), throat fucking, orgasm denial, light spanking, degredation. Summary: turns out falling in love with your enemy is more complicated that George and Y/N thought. A/N: here it is, the sequel to good girl!! This actually ended up turning out differently than I thought I would and im not sure how I feel about that but I’m gonna upload it anyway otherwise it will quite literally never end up on here haha. But anyway, feedback is always appreciated/welcome!! Read part 1 here!

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George lets out a sigh, causing Y/N to glare up at him. He had promised to be good when Y/N agreed to let him tag along with her to the library, but they’ve only been there for 20 minutes and this is already the 5th time he’s let out a deep sigh. George grins at her, and even though she wants to be mad, Y/N finds him too adorable to even act like she’s mad.

Y/N rests her chin on her hand, just letting herself watch George for a moment. It’s hard for her to believe that just a few months ago she hated his guts, because now just the sight of George makes her feel dizzy with love. “What do you want, George?”

“Your attention,” George responds as if the answer is obvious. “When you said I could come with you I figured you’d end up sucking my cock or something. Not actually do homework.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the shiver that runs down her spine. “How can one person be that horny? We literally just had sex this morning.”

George bites his lip, memories of their early morning meeting taking over his mind. Y/N is still apprehensive about spending the night in his dorm, so Saturday mornings have become their opportunity to be together before George has Quidditch practice. There isn’t a deserted corridor or secret passageway they haven’t done it in, and they spent quite a few hours together this morning in the same secret passageway they hooked up in for the first time.

“Have you looked in a mirror lately, darling? You’re absolutely gorgeous and not to mention sexy,” George compliments, reaching out to cup Y/N’s cheek. “I just can’t control myself around you. Every time I’m around you I have the overwhelming urge to just touch you and pull you close.”

Y/N can feel her cheeks flushing, and she tilts her chin forward to silently ask George for a kiss. He kisses her briefly, but it doesn’t fail to make Y/N feel lightheaded. “That’s very sweet of you to say, Georgie. And while I find you extremely, extremely sexy, I do actually have to do my homework. Because of your inability to keep your hands to yourself I’m falling behind in Potions and Herbology.”

“Oh come on Snivellous loves you, he’d probably do your assignment for you if you asked. And Sprout is a total pushover. All you have to do is give her some sob story and you’ll get an extension easily.” George’s lower lip juts out, giving Y/N his best pout. “Please? Just pay attention to me a little bit.”

“Or, you can sit here with me quietly while I do my homework, and when I’m all done you can take me to the room of requirement and have your way with me,” Y/N suggests, picking her quill back up.

“Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal.” George sits back in his chair, just watching Y/N work. She’s worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she works on a Potions essay and George finds it incredibly cute. He finds it hard to believe that he once wanted nothing to do with Y/N. He’s absolutely captivated by everything she does, and he could spend hours just sitting there watching her do nothing.

“First Quidditch game of the year next week,” George comments idly. He knows he shouldn’t say anything, but he’s been sitting there quietly for the past 45 minutes and he can’t resist his urge to say something. It’s a Saturday evening and they’re the only two in the library, so he doesn’t even have anyone else around to watch and distract himself.

Y/N hums, not looking up from her essay. Honestly she’s surprised George lasted 45 minutes without saying anything, so she’s willing to humor him a bit while she works. “Is that so?”

“Mhm. Angelina’s first game as captain. She’s a nervous wreck. But she’s been doing really good. It’s like Wood is still there.” George pauses, watching as Y/N scribbles a few things down. “You gonna be there?”

“Of course.” She looks up to wink at George. “Slytherin’s playing. I never miss a Slytherin game.”

George rolls his eyes playfully. “But you’re not just going to be there for Slytherin, right? You’re gonna be there to watch a super-hot Ginger whiz around the field hitting bludgers at everyone.”

Y/N shrugs. “I dunno. If you ask me Fred really isn’t that good of a Quidditch player.” When George pouts at her Y/N laughs and leans forward to kiss him. “I’m only joking, love. ‘Course I’ll be there cheering you on. Maybe not as loud as I’ll be cheering for Slytherin but cheering nonetheless.”

“Guess that’ll have to do,” George drawls, fake disappointment in his tone. George bites his lip, watching Y/N flip through her Potions book before she scribbles something down on her essay. “Can I ask you something?” When Y/N nods he continues. “Will you wear one of my extra Quidditch jumpers to the game?”

Y/N looks up at George then, putting her quill down. “And betray my house? George Weasley how dare you ask that of me!” she responds, feigning shock. “How about I wear your Gryffindor hat or scarf? That way you can spot me in the crowd of Slytherins and I’ll be warm.”

George frowns. “But I want you to wear my jumper. You can wear your own hat and scarf and my jumper will keep you warm.”

“It’s just that. I always wear one of Adrian’s quidditch jumpers. And Daphne wears one of Marcus’. It’s like, our thing. Has been since second year when they made the team,” Y/N explains. She reaches out to grab George’s hand, frowning when he pulls it away. “Georgie. Don’t be like this.”

George huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. He knows that Adrian and Y/N are best friends, and even though she’d reassured him that her and Adrian never had romantic feelings for one and other, George can’t help but feel jealous when it comes to him. Obviously Y/N is his girlfriend and he knows that she loves him, but the mere mention of Adrian never fails to drive him up the wall.

“Just thought you’d want to wear you boyfriend’s Quidditch jumper,” he mumbles, settling back into his chair.

“It’s just a jumper, George. I don’t see what the big deal is.” When George doesn’t say anything Y/N sighs and gets up, walking over to George. She straddles his waist and places her hands on his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to George’s mouth. She keeps pecking his lips until George melts and kisses her back eagerly, his hands settling on her hips. “If it really means that much to you, I’ll wear it.”

“Promise?” George asks, unable to keep from smiling.

“Promise. But I’m wearing my Slytherin hat and scarf. Can’t let people think I’ve gone completely soft for you.” Y/N looks back at her homework, before looking at George again. “Ah screw it. I’ll just finish that tomorrow. Take me to the room of requirement?”

George’s eyes light up and he grips Y/N’s thighs as he stands up. “No need to ask me twice.”

“You can’t even have one meal apart from him without making love eyes at each other across the hall. It’s disgusting,” Daphne teases, pretending to gag.

Y/N flips her off, not bothering to break eye contact with George. Ever since they started dating Y/N and George have eaten every meal together, taking turns at which house table they sit at. But since it’s the night before the first Quidditch match George had opted to sit at the Gryffindor table without Y/N, so that Angelina could go over a few last-minute things with the team. He’s supposed to be listening to whatever Angelina is saying, but with how focused he is on her, Y/N knows whatever she’s saying is going in one ear and out the other. Adrian and Marcus join them then, and Y/N finally breaks eye contact with George, since Adrian sits right in their line of sight.

“You guys ready for tomorrow?” Daphne asks as they start to pile food on their plates. Snape had given the whole Slytherin Quidditch team permission to skip their afternoon lessons so they could get one last practice in on the field before tomorrow’s game. And both boys look exhausted, but also excited.

Marcus nods happily, “Oh yeah, Gryffindor is going down, no doubt about it.” He turns to grin at Y/N. “No offense to you or your boy toy, of course.”

Y/N flips Marcus off. “He’s not my boy toy, he’s my boyfriend, there’s a difference, moron. And there’s no need to be jealous, Marcus. I know it’s hard to watch me and George be together and I’m sure someday Daph will want to kiss you when she’s sober.”

Adrian laughs, prompting Marcus to hit him in the back of the head. “Don’t get feisty with me because Y/N is right. Oh, that reminds me.” Adrian reaches into his bag and pulls out one of his Quidditch jumpers. “Here, for tomorrow. I probably won’t see you before the game.”

“Oh, um. I don’t need it.” All three of her friends give Y/N a look and she puts down her fork. “I’m gonna wear George’s jumper tomorrow.”

Daphne frowns. “But you always wear Adrian’s. And I wear Marcus’. It’s a tradition, Y/N.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “It’s just a sweater, Daph. You’re acting like I’m stabbing him in the back or something.”

Adrian huffs and puts the sweater back in his bag. “If it’s just a damn sweater then why are you wearing Weasley’s? Didn’t know you stopped making decisions for yourself when he started shagging you.”

Y/N whips her roll at Adrian’s head. “You’re lucky there’s a table in between us Adrian or I’d break your fucking arm. Why are you being such a dick? George is my boyfriend and he asked me to wear his jumper. It doesn’t mean anything to me, but it does to him, and I love him so I’m going to wear it.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Adrian apologizes. “It just annoys me that things are changing. It used to be just us four. Now it’s always us four and George.”

Y/N sighs. As much as she hates to admit it, Adrian is right. They’ve operated as a foursome ever since the first train ride to Hogwarts, when they were all just scared 11-year olds. Throwing George into the mix has changed their dynamic and she’s sure it’s been hard on all of them to adjust. “I’m sorry. It’s not like I planned on getting a boyfriend, it just kinda happened. I’ll wear your jumper to every other Slytherin game, okay?”

“Guess it’ll do,” Adrian settles, taking a bite out of the roll Y/N threw.

“Woo! Let’s go George! That’s my boy!” Y/N shouts, causing the Slytherins around her to all glare. Harry has just caught the snitch meaning of course, Gryffindor has won. Y/N turns to Daphne who’s pouting next to her and shapes her fingers in the form of an L. “Sorry, Slyther-losers. Good luck winning the Quidditch cup now!”

Daphne rolls her eyes and scoffs. “You’re a Slytherin too, you realize that, right?”

“Not today!” Y/N pulls her Slytherin knit cap off her head and shoves it into her jacket pocket as she unzips it to show off the red and gold jumper she’s wearing. “I’m a Gryffindor today, baby! Now come on let’s go, you can go make sure Marcus doesn’t drown himself in the showers and I can give George the congratulatory blow job I promised.”

“Ew! Way too much information, Y/N,” Daphne grimaces.

Y/N laughs as they start to head down to the pitch, unable to keep the smile off of her face. George looks hot just sitting there doing nothing, so seeing him whiz around the field hitting bludgers has left Y/N feeling dizzy with a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. He was gripping his bat so hard his knuckles were turning white, and the veins on his hand were visible from her seat in the stands. He looked so powerful up there on his broom, and it’s a sight Y/N never wants to forget.

When Y/N and Daphne finally reach the ground she’s about to breakaway to sneak into the Gryffindor changing room, when Daphne grabs her arm. “What?”

“Look!” Daphne insists, directing Y/N’s attention towards the outskirts of the pitch.

Y/N swallows the lump that has appeared in the back of her throat. Angelina, Katie and Alicia are holding onto Fred, who’s desperately fighting against them, a dark look on his face. George has an identical look on his face, and he’s trying to throw Harry off of him. Draco is standing in front of them, and while Y/N can’t hear what he’s saying, she knows it’s nothing nice. “That can’t be good.” Her and Daphne rush over, just as Marcus and Adrian start to approach.

“Get back up to the castle,” Marcus directs not even bothering to look at them.

Daphne hesitates, but Y/N grabs Adrian’s arm. “What are you guys doing?”

“We’re gonna back up Malfoy, obviously. You heard Marcus, get out of here.” Adrian tries to shake Y/N off, but she tightens her grip on him. “I’m serious, Y/N. Go back to the castle. Whatever is about to happen is not going to be pretty.”

Y/N looks over at George. Harry now looks just as angry and is struggling to hold onto George’s Quidditch robes. They’re close enough now that Y/N can hear the tone of Draco’s voice, and it’s dripping with cockiness. George’s fists are clenched at his sides, like he’s preparing to knock Draco’s lights out. She’s never seen George like this, and while it turns her on to no end, it also scares the shit out of her. She lets go of Adrian’s arm and starts heading towards George to try and stop whatever this is that’s about to go down.

It’s Adrian’s turn to stop Y/N, and he wraps his arms around Y/N’s waist. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You’re about to put yourself in the middle of a blood bath.”

“Let me go, Adrian! As much as I would love to watch George beat the shit out of Draco this is not the time or the place.” She tries to break free from Adrian’s grip just as George finally looks away from Draco. Their eyes meet for a brief moment, but Y/N doesn’t miss the pure rage in them. George’s eyes drop to where Adrian is gripping her and before anyone can do anything George is lunging at Draco, punching him straight in the jaw.

“What did I tell you?” Adrian growls as he starts to pull Y/N back towards the castle.

Y/N lets Adrian drag her away as watches in horror at the scene unfolding in front of her. Harry has joined in the fight as well, and he and George are on the ground on top of Draco. Fists are flying everywhere and every time one connects with a body Y/N’s stomach lurches. After what seems like an eternity Madam Hooch and several professors are descending on the scene and their view is completely cut off.

Y/N takes the stairs up to Gryffindor tower two at a time, desperately in need of seeing George. It’s been a few hours since the debacle that went down on the Quidditch pitch and Draco has just finished bragging about the event after getting back from the Hospital Wing. What Y/N had wanted to do was grab Draco and hang him in the dungeons from his ankle, but instead she stormed out of the common room in search of George. His punishment is severe, and all she wants to do his hug him close.

“Oh thank god,” Y/N greets Ginny as she reaches the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. She really hadn’t thought about how she was going to get in until she was already halfway up the staircase. Y/N had planned on just standing around until a Gryffindor showed up, so she’s truly thankful that Ginny is already there.

Ginny smiles at Y/N and pushes the Fat Lady Portrait open. “When George got back I figured it would only be a matter of time before you came to find him. He’s up in his dorm”

When Y/N steps into the common room it’s dead quiet. Gryffindor’s parties are notorious around school, and Y/N knows that if the match had ended differently there would be a rager going on right now. Fred is starting daggers at Y/N, and she can feel her face heating up as she heads up towards George’s dorm. Fred is still not the biggest fan of her relationship with George, but he’s usually less obvious about his feelings towards Y/N.

Y/N takes a deep breath as she reaches the seventh-year dorm and she knocks quietly. “George? Georgie? It’s me. Can I come in? ”When George doesn’t say anything, she frowns and pushes the door open anyway. “Georgie,” she coos as she enters, shutting the door behind her tightly. George is sitting on the edge of his bed shirtless, facing away from her. His shoulders are tense, and it makes Y/N’s chest ache.

“How did you get in here?” he asks firmly, not bothering to look at her.

Y/N bites her lip and starts to tentatively walk towards him. “Ginny let me in, she was waiting for me, actually.” She stops when she’s a few steps away from him. “Are you okay?” she asks softly.

George huffs. “What do you think?” His tone is sharp, and Y/N can feel tears welling up in her eyes. She figured he would be upset, but she has no idea why he’s upset with her.

“I can’t believe that toad banned you guys from Quidditch. Actually I can believe it, she’s fucking awful.” When George doesn’t say anything Y/N starts to play with her fingers. “Will you talk to me George, please?”

“I don’t have anything to say to you, Y/N. Just go hug Adrian or whatever it is you do when I’m not around.”

Y/N frowns and goes to kneel behind George on the bed. She reaches out slowly and places her hand on his shoulder. “Georgie what are you talking about? You’re the only one I wanna be with. Every second of every day. You know that.”

“Do I?” George asks as he stands up and turns to face her. “Because you two looked pretty cozy today down on the pitch.”

Y/N lets her eyes drag over George’s face. His eyes are dark and narrow, reminiscent of the way he was looking at Draco earlier. His lip is busted open and he’s got a pretty daunting black eye, but he still looks like George. “We weren’t hugging down there, George. Is that what you thought that was?”

“That’s what it looked like, Y/N. His arms around your waist like that. Only I’m allowed to touch you like that,” George growls, his fists clenching. “If you hadn’t been standing in front of him I would have broken his jaw, not Malfoy’s.”

“You’re such a fucking idiot, George,” Y/N spits, suddenly feeling angry. Although she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t turned on a little as well. Seeing George so angry and possessive has ignited a pit of arousal in her stomach. “He wasn’t hugging me. He was keeping me from throwing myself at you to keep you from hitting Draco. You know if it wasn’t for Adrian you could have hurt me, George.”

“I’ll be sure to go thank him then,” George sneers. “God, Y/N how can you be so daft. He’s clearly in love with you. I’m sure he was just looking for some excuse to touch you.”

“You can’t be serious George. We’ve talked about this. Adrian and I have never and will never have feelings for each other.” Y/N gets off the bed and comes around so she’s standing in front of George. “And you know what even if Adrian does have feelings for me I don’t return them. I’m in love with you, you big fat fucking moron. So quit it with this jealousy crap, George.”

George suddenly grabs Y/N’s hips and pulls her into his chest harshly before leaning down and kissing her hard. “I’m not jealous,” he insists as he pushes her back onto his bed. “But you’re mine, Y/N. And I’m gonna make sure every person in this school knows that. Especially that prick Adrian.”

“God, George. You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.” Y/N sits up and wraps her hand around George’s necking, pulling him in to a desperate kiss. She lays back against the bed as George forces his tongue into her mouth, pulling him on top of her.

George starts to bite and suck on Y/N’s neck, feeling the need to mark her up as much as possible. He wants there to be no doubt in anyone’s mind who Y/N belongs to when he’s done with her. He nibbles along the underside of her jaw, leaving small purple bruises in his wake. “You look so fucking hot in my jumper, Y/N. Such a shame I’m gonna have to take it off.”

George’s hands have started to run up under the jumper, his cold hands shocking her warm skin. “Then don’t,” she gasps as George bites the crook of her neck harshly. “Leave it on while you fuck me, please. It smells like you, Georgie.” Y/N moans and tangles her hands in his hair as George starts to cup her bare breasts, his calloused thumbs rubbing harshly at her nipples.

“That desperate for me already, darling? So needy for me that you wanna be able to smell me while I ruin your pretty pussy with my cock?” George pinches Y/N’s nipples hard, smirking as her back arches up off of the bed.

“Please, George,” Y/N moans, tugging on his hair. “Just wanna be your good girl.”

Y/N’s words send a shiver down George’s spine and he kisses her briefly. “You sure you wanna be my good girl? ‘Cause the way you’ve been talking makes it seem like you wanna be a bad girl.”

“Yes, George. Always wanna be your good girl, wanna be so good for you.”

George pulls away from Y/N completely and sits up, starting to fumble with the button of his trousers. “If you wanna be my good girl so bad, then you’re gonna use that pretty little mouth to show me just how good you can be.”

Y/N sits up and bats George’s hands away, undoing his trousers and shoving them down to his thighs along with his boxers. She practically drools as his hard cock pops out, and Y/N immediately wraps one of her hands around it and starts to stroke him lightly, while her other hand pulls George down into a searing kiss.

George grabs Y/N’s face in his hands as he lays back onto the bed to keep their lips connected as she settles in between his thighs. He groans as Y/N’s thumb starts to swipe over the tip of his cock and he pulls away from her mouth, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as he does. He watches it snap back into place, a little redder and plumper before and he starts to shove her head downwards. “Go on then, Y/N. Wrap those pretty lips around me so I can fuck your throat.”

Y/N immediately settles on her knees between George’s thighs, gripping the base of his cock tightly as she takes him into her mouth. She loves it when George is rough with her and tells her what to do. Seeing him jealous and angry turns her on to no end, and she can already feel her wetness coating her thighs. Y/N takes him down as far as she can, moaning when he gathers her hair in a ponytail and gives it a sharp tug. His hips jut up, shoving his cock farther down into her throat, and Y/N braces one of her hands on George’s hip while the other fists his bed sheets.

“Oh fucking hell,” George moans as Y/N looks up at him from under her eyelashes. “Look so fucking pretty like that, darling, with your mouth wrapped around my cock. You love sucking my cock, don’t you Y/N?” She hums around him, and George’s hips surge upwards, burying the rest of his cock between her lips. Y/N gags as he hits the back of her throat and George uses his grip on her hair to keep her there for a moment before he pulls her off slightly.

Y/N lets her tongue run up against the underside of George’s cock as he starts to thrust into her mouth and as his hand guides her head. George shoves the tip of his cock into the back of her throat with each thrust, and Y/N can feel tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes with each gag. She makes sure to pay attention to the tip of his cock every time he pulls her back, letting her tongue flick at it and collect the precum that’s started to bubble up at the top.

George picks up the speed of his hips, groaning as drool starts to dribble down Y/N’s chin. “Always suck me so well, Y/N. Such a good girl for me.” George let’s his cock hit the back of Y/N’s throat one more time, before he pulls her off completely. He wipes some of the drool off of her chin with his thumb and cleans it off on his pant leg. “Thank you, baby for getting my cock nice and wet, perfect for me to fuck you with. Go on then, get on your hands and knees.”

Y/N gets into position as George gets off of the bed to take his bottoms fully off. She feels George push the bottom of his jumper up, so it bunches around her hips and she moans as his large hands grab her ass. The bed shifts as he settles in behind her, his hands tugging at the fabric of her leggings.

“George!” she gasps as his hands tear a whole in her bottoms, suddenly exposing her bare core to the cold air of the room.

“No panties?” George asks as he shoves two fingers into her wet heat. Y/N moans as her walls clench around his digits and George starts to slowly fuck her with them. “Such a dirty fucking whore you are, Y/N. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to use you like a little fuck toy, like you’re just a warm wet hole for me to bury my cock in. Isn’t that right?”

“Please,” Y/N begs as George’s fingers curl and finally brush up against her g-spot. George has never been this lewd with her, and she can still hear the anger in his voice. “Please, Georgie,” she whines, pushing back against his hand.

George smacks Y/N’s ass hard with his free hand, revealing in the moan that leaves her lips. “Answer me, Y/N. If you wanna cum tonight you’ll be a good girl and use your words. You’re just a warm wet hole for me to fuck and ruin, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, George, yes,” Y/N pants as his thumb starts to rub her clit.

George bites his lip as Y/N’s thighs and arms start to shake, and he smacks her ass again. “And you love being my dirty little fuck toy, don’t you?”

Y/N moans as George curls his fingers again, nodding wildly. “Love it so much Georgie, please. Wanna be your good girl, wanna make you feel good.”

In one fluid motion, George removes his fingers from Y/N’s core, grabs her hips and slams his cock into her, his hips moving until he’s buried completely inside of her. “Always so fucking tight for me darling,” George groans as he starts to move his hips. He sets a relentless pace, fucking into Y/N hard and fast. “I want to hear every little noise that comes out of you as I fuck you, understand? Want this whole fucking school to know just how good I make you feel.”

“So fucking big George, holy fuck,” Y/N moans. “Always fuck me so good, Georgie. No one can ever make me feel as good as you do, love your cock so much.” Unable to hold herself up from the pleasure coursing through her veins, Y/N falls forward onto her forearms, arching her back for George. The new positions allows him to slip even deeper inside of her, and she clenches her walls around George as she whines. “Right there, oh fuck. Harder George please. I need you,” she begs.

George tightens his grip on Y/N’s hips and slams into her harder. Normally George prefers to take things slow, but he still has the image of Adrian’s arms around Y/N’s waist and he wants to fuck her so hard that he forgets it completely. “Such a dirty fucking whore, Y/N. Begging for me to ruin you.”

“George,” Y/N groans as his thumb starts rubbing harsh circles on her clit. The tip of his cock rubs her g-spot with every thrust and her hips start to push back against him as her orgasm starts to build. Her body feels like it’s on fire and she can’t help the noises that come out of her mouth with each of George’s thrusts. “Please, George. Been such a good girl. Can I? Can I come George, please?”

George grunts as Y/N clenches around him even tighter, trying to keep his own orgasm at bay. “I don’t know if you deserve it, darling. Fuck toys don’t get to cum, do they? And that’s all you are, isn’t it? Just a little fuck to for me to use for my pleasure?”

“Please, please, please,” Y/N babbles as tears start to stream down her cheeks. She’s teetering on the edge of her climax and all she needs is for George to allow her to feel it. Pleasure is moving like an electric shock through her body and she desperately wants to let go. “Georgie, please,” she begs, the desperation clear in her voice. “I’m all yours, only yours please. Only want you, George. Please, please, let me cum.”

“Fuck that’s right, Y/N. You’re mine,” George growls. “Forever. Understand that? No one’s ever going to touch you or kiss you or fuck you ever again. Just me, only me. Go on then, baby. Be a good girl and cum all over my cock.”

Y/N cries out George’s name as she cums, her whole body shaking as pleasure courses through her. She collapses against the bed as her chest heaves with heavy pants, her body feeling like it’s floating. George’s hips have started to stutter as his own orgasm approaches, and Y/N clenches around him to help bring him to his climax. “Fill me up George, please. Claim me, make me yours forever.”

“Fucking hell, baby.” George collapses against Y/N’s back as he cums, his orgasm rocketing through his body. He doesn’t think he’s ever cum this hard before, and his hips slowly roll as he twitches inside of Y/N. Once he’s finished releasing inside of her George slowly pulls out and collapses on the bed next to Y/N. Silent tears are still rolling down her cheeks and George immediately pulls her into his chest. “I went too far didn’t I? Fuck I’m so sorry Y/N.”

Y/N sniffles as George starts to stroke her hair and press soft kisses all over her face. “They’re good tears Georgie I promise. It was incredible, honestly, love.”

George wipes away a few of the tears before he pulls Y/N in for a passionate kiss. Their lips move together slowly, and George starts to gently rub her back. “I would never be able to forgive myself if I hurt you. I love you, Y/N, so much.”

“I love you too, Georgie. Forever, yeah?”

George pulls Y/N closer to his body and kisses the top of her forehead, praying that the anger he still feels in his chest goes away. “Forever.”

Despite the fact that George had promised her forever that night, Y/N can’t help but feel that they’re starting to drift apart. With their lifetime Quidditch ban in full effect, George and Fred have started to put even more time into their Weasley products and Y/N feels like she barely sees George anymore. He still walks her to class holding her hand tightly and he’s always sure to remind her that he loves her, but they no longer eat meals together and Y/N can’t remember the last time George begged her to skive off her homework to fool around in the room of requirement. But she’s happy that he’s found something to put his extra time into, so she doesn’t think too much is wrong until George misses their next Saturday morning meeting.

“What’s wrong?” Adrian asks as Y/N slumps over to the Slytherin table. Most Saturdays Y/N’s friends don’t see her until lunch time, so they’re all surprised as she falls into her seat next to Adrian.

Y/N sighs and starts to put random food onto her plate, not really feeling like eating. “George never showed this morning. We were supposed to meet in the room of requirement and I just sat there for thirty minutes feeling like an idiot.”

“You mean your prince charming stood you up? Guess things aren’t as happy in the kingdom as they seem,” Marcus teases. Daphne smacks him upside the head, prompting him to frown. “I was just trying to make her smile Daph no need to try and take my head off.”

“You’re an idiot, Marcus,” Daphne scolds before turning her attention back to Y/N. “I thought something was up with you guys, but I didn’t want to say anything. I feel like I’ve barely seen you two together this past week. George is usually always hovering around you, I mean he practically worships the ground you walk on. You guys get into a fight or something?”

Y/N shrugs, picking at her muffin. “He was pretty pissed after what happened last weekend at the Quidditch match. When Adrian was trying to hold me back from going over there he thought we were hugging or something. I don’t know, he was really angry though. But I thought we uh, worked it out if you get what I mean. But clearly not.”

“What a git. He managed to score the hottest girl in school and yet he still managed to fuck it up,” Adrian murmurs, putting his arm around Y/N’s middle. “You deserve better than him, Y/N.”

Y/N rests her head against Adrian’s shoulder and sighs. “He’s all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“Don’t look now,” Daphne whispers, leaning over the table. “He just walked in with Fred, act natural.”

Y/N ruffles Adrian’s hair as she sits up, trying to pretend that she can’t feel George’s eyes starting at the back of her head.

George slams his quill down on the table, running his hand through his hair. “Fucking bullshit. No matter how many times I calculate it the numbers just don’t match up.”

“Will you chill out? It’s not that big of a deal we can work on that shit later,” Fred urges, watching George carefully. “What’s got your panties in a twist lately? I’ve never seen you this worked up.”

It’s Saturday afternoon, and Fred and George are tucked away in a corner of the common room, working on stuff for their joke shop. George has been trying to work on an input output expense sheet, but all of the numbers keep blurring together and he can’t seem to figure out how to make them balance. It probably has something to do with the fact that things between him and Y/N aren’t quite right, but he doesn’t want to think about that.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” George says flatly, looking back over the sheet in front of him.

Fred sighs and leans back in his seat. “You’re a shit liar, you know that? And I do have eyes, you know. Something’s going on with you and Y/N and you’re clearly upset about it. And I’m not going to stop asking about it until you tell me so just spill it so we can get back to work.”

“I’ve just been so angry with her lately, like constantly. Every time I’m around her it just flares up in my chest and I have this urge to just, I dunno. Yell at her.” George pauses. “I mean did you see the way he was touching her today? I wanted to storm over there and rip him away.”

Fred knits his eyebrows together. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Adrian,” George clarifies, his voice dark. “He’s always touching her, and Y/N just lets him. Even though she knows how I feel about him. Did you know I had to beg her to wear my Quidditch jumper to the game last week? And do you know why? Because she always wears Adrian’s,” he mocks. “I’m her bloody boyfriend and I had to beg her not to wear another guys jumper, it’s ridiculous.”

Fred reaches out and puts a comforting hand on George’s shoulder. “You’re my brother and I care about you, please try and remember that as I say the next thing. You’re a fucking idiot, George. I know I’m not Y/N’s biggest fan, but it’s clear that she cares about you. The way that she looks at you George, even when you’re not paying attention it’s like you’re the only thing in the world she cares about. I don’t think she means any harm when she’s like that with Adrian and deep down you know that too. I mean they’ve always been like that. Remember when you guys got detention before you were together? He showed up to walk her back to the common room and he gave her a piggyback ride. It’s not like they’ve just started being close. I don’t think I ever saw her away from Adrian or any of her friends until you guys started dating. Whatever you’re feeling is all in your head.”

“It doesn’t feel all in my head. The way he looks at her, it’s not the way someone looks at a person who’s just a friend,” George insists.

Fred rolls his eyes. “Okay so say Adrian does have feeling for Y/N. He’s clearly very deep in the friend zone. We all heard you guys last weekend, screaming about how she’s yours forever or whatever. Nearly made me throw up in my mouth, mate.”

George punches Fred’s shoulder lightly. “Fuck off. Y/N said the same thing but-“

“See! There you go,” Fred interjects, cutting George off. “Y/N said it herself. She’s in love with you, not Adrian. So, stop being an idiot and go apologize to her before she realizes what a dolt you are and ends it for good.”

George does leave the common room then, fully intending to go and see Y/N. He still feels angry deep in his chest, but his need to be close to her overwhelms all of it. That is until he finds Y/N in the library, her head titled back in a laugh at something Adrian has said. The anger in George’s chest flares as she pushes him playfully, a wide smile on her face that’s usually reserved for George.

Y/N can tell something has gone wrong, when there’s no Weasley’s in attendance at breakfast on Monday morning. They had all been a dinner the night before, and one Weasley not being around is perfectly normal. Even two being absent is normal if it’s Fred and George. But all four of them is unheard of, especially when Harry never shows up for breakfast either. She tries to keep herself calm, thinking that maybe they’re just doing something for the DA or planning some revenge on Umbridge. But when lunch comes around and Y/N has yet to see George or Fred in class and there hasn’t been a single streak of red hair floating around the halls, Y/N makes a beeline for the Gryffindor table where Hermione is sitting alone.

“Hey, what’s going on? Where’s George and everyone else. I haven’t seen them since dinner last night,” Y/N asks as she takes a seat next to Hermione. When Hermione finally looks at Y/N there’s a worried expression on her features and it makes Y/N’s stomach drop.

“George didn’t owl you?” When Y/N shakes her head, Hermione leans forward to whisper in her ear. “I can’t say too much, Dumbledore’s orders. But something happened and Mr. Weasley was badly injured, he’s in St. Mungo’s. George and the rest of the Weasley’s along with Harry took a portkey home last night, Dumbledore gave them all permission to start winter break a few days early.”

Y/N frowns, a mixture of emotions flowing through her body. On one hand she’s worried about George’s dad and how he’s coping with everything. And on the other she’s hurt that George didn’t feel comfortable enough to reach out to her and tell her what’s going on. Y/N had hoped they could make things right before being a part for two weeks, but it seems that the wedge between them is only being pushed farther and farther apart.

“Is he going to be okay? Mr. Weasley? God George must be freaking out.”

Hermione shrugs. “I haven’t heard anything yet, Harry sent an owl when they got to their destination last night. They hadn’t heard much yet, but I’m sure he’s in good hands at St. Mungos. And I’m sure George will reach out soon, Y/N. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Y/N gives Hermione a small smile before she goes to join her friends, a pit of despair growing in her stomach.

“It’s Christmas eve, Y/N. You’ve been held up in your room sending letters all break, can’t you give it a rest for a few days? I’m sure Daphne or Adrian will understand if they don’t get any letters from you for a bit,” Y/N’s mother says, reaching over to grab the quill from her hand.

It’s been a week since George’s father was attacked, and Y/N has been sending him letters nearly nonstop without hearing anything in return. Her owl always comes back with an empty beak, so she knows he’s been getting the letters, and her heart hurts every time he doesn’t respond. She just wants to know if he’s okay, if there’s anything she can do for him. Y/N knows she’s been ignoring her parents a little too much, but she can’t think about anything except for George.

“I’m not writing to Daphne or Adrian,” Y/N huffs, finally looking up at her parents. They’re sitting at the table having lunch together, or at least her parents are. Y/N’s owl had turned up without a response from George just before food was ready, and Y/N wants to send another to him as soon as possible.

“Well then who have you been writing too?” her father asks. “I don’t think I’ve seen you write this much in your entire life.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, a pink blush appearing on her cheeks. “George Weasley,” she mumbles, looking away.

“George Weasley? Y/N whatever prank that boy pulled on you can be dealt with when you get back to school. There’s no need to be going on and on with him over break,” her mother tuts with a shake of her head.

Y/N’s parents have spent much of their time over the past few years listening to Y/N complain endlessly about both Weasley Twins, so it doesn’t surprise her that her mother thinks her letters to George are out of anger instead of love. Especially since she’s yet to tell them about their relationship.

“Actually, George is my, um. He’s my boyfriend,” Y/N mutters, sheepishly looking back at her parents. They both look shocked and she rolls her eyes. “Don’t look so surprised, I’m a great catch, of course I have a boyfriend.”

Y/N’s father laughs. “Sweetie we’re not shocked that you have a boyfriend, you’re the most beautiful girl in the world of course. But I’m going to be honest, George Weasley is the last person I thought you’d end up with. Last we heard you hated the very sight of him.”

“Well not anymore. I love him, so much. He’s been going through some stuff recently and I just want to make sure he’s okay,” Y/N explains. She makes sure to leave out the part that she thinks he’s going to break up with her when they get back to school, since she’d much rather ignore that for now. “Can I just finish this one letter, please? And then I won’t send another until boxing day, I promise.”

Her mother sighs and reluctantly hands her back the quill. “Fine, just one more letter. But seriously no more until boxing day. Not only is it the holidays but your poor owl needs a few days to rest.”

“You should write her back you know,” Ginny comments as she sits down next to George.

George hums, gripping Y/N’s most recent letter in his hands. His chest aches at how sad she sounds, but he can’t bring himself to pick up a quill and write her back. “I don’t know what to say.”

Ginny rolls her eyes. “How about I’m a big fat idiot and the second I see you again I’m going to fall to my knees and beg for your forgiveness? That’s probably a good place to start.”

“Dunno why I have to be the one to apologize,” he mutters, wincing when Ginny smacks him upside the head. “What the hell was that for, Gin?”

“For you continuing to be a big fat idiot,” Ginny spits. “You’ve been acting like a huge asshole to her lately George that’s why you need to apologize. It only takes a person with half a brain to see how you’ve been pushing her away. So cut the crap. Either apologize to Y/N and beg for her forgiveness or break it off.”

The thought of breaking up with Y/N makes his stomach lurch. There’s no doubt in his mind that he wants to be with her, but it feels like he doesn’t know how to anymore. It seems that whenever Y/N is around Adrian is right there too, and it makes anger flare up in his chest. He knows it’s not rational, but it doesn’t make it any easier to stop feeling that way. George wants Y/N all to himself, as selfish as that may be.

“She’s probably gonna break up with me, so I don’t see the point.” George tosses the letter in his hands onto the coffee table and leans back against the couch. “Who knew being in a relationship would be so difficult?”

“It wouldn’t be so difficult if you just talked to her, git,” Ginny points out. “She’s written you a letter practically every day of break, obviously she cares about you and is worried about you.” Ginny pauses so George will look over at her. “What’s wrong anyway? Thought you guys were doing okay?”

George shrugs. “I can’t stand Adrian and his smug fucking face. He’s just there. Always. Watching her, trying to get close with her. And Y/N just sits there and lets him. You know I caught them together in the library a few nights before Dad was attacked.”

Ginny’s jaw drops. “You caught them hooking up?”

“What? No. They were doing homework,” George explains.

Ginny punches George in the thigh as hard as she can. “You’re a fucking moron, George. Since when is doing homework in the library someone cheating? Or a reason to get mad?”

“It wasn’t just the fact that they were doing homework. They were sitting next to each other and he was making her laugh,” George huffs, as if Ginny is the one being unreasonable.

“You’re joking, right?” When George doesn’t say anything, Ginny rolls her eyes. “Since when are you this insecure, George? Y/N is crazy about you. And Adrian is her friend, of course he’s gonna be around.” She bites her lip. “I think you’ve been putting too much thought into this George.”

George sits there for a moment, letting Ginny’s words sink in. Perhaps he has been getting a bit ahead of himself. Something about seeing Y/N with Adrian when he was so worked up over what Draco had been saying must have twisted something in his mind. He had felt jealous about Adrian before that, but never in a way that made him question his relationship with Y/N. Usually all it takes is one look from Y/N and all of his ill thoughts flush away. But lately it seems nothing can calm him down. He’s been putting distance between them in the hopes that his anger would finally go away, but as soon as it feels like he’s back to normal the second Y/N is in his vicinity with Adrian it all comes rushing back.

“I think I have been too,” he admits quietly. “It doesn’t feel real, sometimes. That Y/N is actually mine. I thought I only started developing feelings for her this year, but I think I’ve felt things for her for a while, I was just too stubborn to realize it. And now that I have her I want her all to myself. Like if I share her with other people she might just disappear from my life completely.”

Ginny reaches out to pat George on the shoulder. “Then tell her all of that, George. Because it’s actually kind of sweet in a weird way. Y/N loves you, George. And I know you love her. I don’t want to see either of you get hurt because you don’t have the balls to just talk to your girlfriend.”

“What a pep talk you give, Gin,” George chuckles. “But you’re right. I’m gonna talk to her, first chance I get. This is too much to put into a letter. I wanna be able to look at her while I talk to her.”

“Great. Now will you stop being so miserable? It’s really killing the Christmas spirit,” Ginny teases, ruffling his hair.

“Are things with George getting any better?” Daphne asks from her spot on Y/N’s bed. Her parents had decided to do some traveling in the new year, and Y/N’s parents allowed Daphne to finish up the last few days of break at their house.

Y/N shakes her head, flopping down next to her. “Nope. I haven’t heard a thing all break. Every time Aries comes back his beak is empty. So, he’s clearly reading my letters and he can’t be bothered to write back.”

Daphne puts her arm around Y/N and tosses the copy of Witch Weekly she’d been reading off of the bed. “What a fucking prick. I haven’t said much about it because I love you and you’re my best friend and I know he means a lot to you, but Adrian was right. You do deserve better, Y/N. Your boyfriend should be worshiping you, not ignoring you.”

Y/N hadn’t told anyone about George’s dad, and she’s sure he’d get a bit more sympathy from Daphne if she knew, but if Hermione couldn’t even tell her how his Dad got hurt Y/N is sure she shouldn’t tell anyone about it at all. And besides, Hermione had owled the day after Christmas to let her know that Mr. Weasley was home and recovering well. George’s lack of communication cut Y/N deeper after hearing that.

“I think he’s going to break up with me,” Y/N admits out loud for the first time, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I love him so much and I thought he loved me too, but I don’t know. It’s like overnight things changed between us and I’m the only one trying to fix it.”

Daphne pulls Y/N in tight and hugs her. “This is the second time you’ve cried over George being an asshat and my offer still stands. I will have Adrian and Marcus beat him up.”

“The last time I cried over George he was only being an asshat in my head. But now, I’m sure he’s being an asshat in real life too,” Y/N sniffles. “God I wish break lasted just a little bit longer. I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I see him on that stupid train tomorrow.”

Daphne starts to stroke Y/N’s hair and wipes away a few of her tears. “Well just say the word and I’ll have Adrian and Marcus on him before he can even say Quidditch.”

When Y/N and Daphne get on platform 9 ¾ the next morning George’s shock of red hair is the first thing she sees. She forces herself to stay focused on her parents as they say goodbye, no matter how badly she wants to look over at him. Her heart feels like it’s going to beat out of her chest, and all she really wants to do is sneak onto the train and to her friends without running into any Weasley. But of course, the second she’s on the train she walks smack into a hard, familiar chest.

“Trying to mow me down?” George teases, wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist.

It reminds Y/N of when they were still dancing around each other, too scared to admit their feelings, and it punches a hole in her chest. “Hi, George.” Y/N pushes away from him and starts to walk away, but George’s hand wraps around her wrist and pulls her back towards him. “What?” she asks flatly, looking up at him. Her eyes catch something shiny stuck to the scarf he’s wearing, and Y/N bites her lip to keep from smiling. “You got your Christmas present I see.”

She had wanted to get him something big and flashy for their first Christmas together. But everything she considered just didn’t seem special or sentimental enough. She had found it in some muggle store in London while shopping with her Mum, and even though it was tiny and simple, it was the perfect thing. It’s a little enamel pin in the shape of a teapot. The hours she spent with George scrubbing teapots is the foundation of their relationship, it was after that night that she first started falling in love with him.

George bites his lip and reaches out to cup her cheek. “I was an asshole to you. And you have every right to be super mad at me. But can we go talk somewhere, please?”

Y/N nods and lets George grab her hand and take her over to an empty compartment. It’s clear to her that she and George have some issues they need to work out, but she’s happy to just enjoy some time with him for now. They haven’t been alone together in nearly three weeks, and she’s been dying for his attention. She takes a seat as George closes the door behind them and pulls him down next to her once he’s close enough.

“I have a lot of things to say and I don’t know if they’re going to come out right so please just stick with me while I try and say them, okay?” George takes a deep breath and reaches out to grab Y/N’s hands in his. “I’ve missed you so much these past few weeks, even before break. I think Draco knocked something loose in my head when he punched me, I’ve just been so angry since that day, and I don’t really know why. Just seeing you and Adrian together fills me with rage. And I know it shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t know what I would do without you. I just kept getting in my head about everything and it made me not treat you the best. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Then why push me away, George? Why not answer one of my stupid letters? I’ve been losing my mind here, trying to figure out what’s going on in that head of yours. I meant what I said that night, I’m yours forever, Weasley.”

George sighs and leans down to press a lingering kiss to Y/N’s forehead. “I started over analyzing everything and I couldn’t tell what was real and what was going on in my head. You mean so much to me, and the thought of losing you made me go even crazier.” George pauses so he can tuck a stray piece of hair behind Y/N’s ear. “I should have written to you and at least let you know I was okay, I’m sorry for that. But this is a conversation I didn’t want to have in a letter. I wanted to be able to see you and hold you.”

“It’s okay, George. I guess when we started dating there was some stuff we should have talked about that we kind of just ignored and that’s partially my fault. I just tried to integrate you into my life that already existed, when in reality we should have started something new together,” Y/N explains, squeezing his hands. “Adrian and I are closer than normal friends, and I can see why that would concern you. Same thing with the sweater. Of course, you’d want me to wear yours, I shouldn’t have even questioned it. I’m sorry, George. I’ll try and do better too, okay? Because I love you and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“I love you so, so much. And I’ve been really shit at showing it. I meant what I said that night too, Y/N. Forever.” George leans down and presses a soft kiss to her lips, melting when she returns it. “I don’t deserve you.” George kisses her again, winding his arms around her. “Alright, I think now is the perfect time to give you your Christmas present.”

Y/N holds her hands out, bouncing up and down excitedly. “Come on then, let’s see what you got me!”

George rolls his eyes playfully and takes a long black box out of his jacket pocket. “I do want to preface this by saying that I bought this ages ago before I got your present in the mail, and they do say great minds think alike.”

“You got me a tea pot pin too?” she teases, taking the box from George. A quiet gasp leaves her lips as she opens the box, and she gives George a small smile. “George it’s perfect.” Inside the box is a delicate silver chain with two charms attached. One is in the shape of the letter G and the other is a teapot. “Although I find it quite funny that we both got each other teapot related items.”

“Well that’s the night it all began, isn’t it?” George ask as he takes the box from Y/N. He grabs the necklace and motions for her to turn around so he can put it on her. “After that detention I knew I couldn’t live without you, Y/N. Listening to you talk about wanting to be a healer, and how you wanted to change the world, it made me see you differently. Made me start to fall in love with you. Besides I don’t think I could find a charm of a secret passageway.”

Y/N giggles, and as soon as the necklace is on Y/N turns around and pulls George into a kiss, her hand coming up to grip the charms tightly. When George starts to pull away Y/N surges forward to keep their lips pressed together for a few extra moments. “I love you, George. Thank you.”

“Course, darling. Anything for you.” George pulls Y/N into his chest and presses a kiss to the top of her head, the anger he’s felt for so long finally quieting down.

#George weasley #George Weasley imagine #George weasley smut #gw #golden

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waatermelon-sugaar · 3 years

Text

Take Care of Me

Pairing = Santiago x reader

Words = 5.5k

Summary = A discussion about sex toys turns into something more … concrete

Warnings = Swearing, talk/description of mild anxiety. SMUT (18+ only), use of handcuffs in a sexy way, oral, piv sex

A/N = Prompt no.8 requested by @itspdameronthings as part of my 300 follower celebration, thanks so much, hope you like it! Prompt was “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself” w/santi and bolded in text. Also 3 things; 1 = Tom doesn’t exist in this AU, 2 = this is basically pure smut im so sorry, and 3 = I did do head hopping in this, which I know you’re not like supposed to do but also fuck the rules y’know?

Posted to AO3

Masterlist

***

It’s always easy to be loose after one of Benny’s fights.

It’s a heady mix of adrenaline, beer and testosterone, swirling together into a mix that makes you forget your normal boundaries. You’re normally quite brazen about your sex life anyway, but there is a line. You respect your partners, and there’s no need for your teammates to know too much.

You’re all packed into a half-moon booth, Benny straddling a chair that he pulled up to the table after he spent too long chatting up the bartender.

It’s a small comment from Benny (because of course it’s Benny), saying that you haven’t got laid in a while, and you’re honestly surprised he noticed. But then, that’s the only predictable thing about Benny, that he is unpredictable.

Your surprise means you take a little too long actually thinking about it, which confirms Benny’s statement. You lean back a little in your seat, desperately ignoring Santi, who’s sat to your left. It also means you bite back a little harder in defence.

“Well maybe if you guys didn’t look like you’re about to murder anyone who even dares ask for my number maybe I’d have better luck.” That’s a lie, but there’s no way you’re going to tell them the truth. No way you’re going to tell Santi-

Your thoughts are interrupted by Will, sat to your right. “So you’re asking for our help?”

You scoff, hitting him up the head. “No, thank you.” Will knows why. Because of course he does. One of your oldest friends, he’d been the one who convinced you to join the team in the first place. “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself.”

You send a wink down to the table to Benny, who’s the first to catch on, hollering, and you try not to react to Santi leaning forward, suddenly interested, as though you’re not already hyper-aware of every body movement of his.

You continue, deciding you’re quite enjoying the effect you’ve had. “What do I need some stranger for when I can give myself a better orgasm than he could ever dream of?” You take a sip of your drink to hide your grin, as both Benny and Will holler, gaining a few glares from the pub’s other patrons.

That sip means you’re unprepared for Santi to lean in closer to you, his lips so close to your ear that you can feel his breath. “Maybe ‘stranger’ is where you’re going wrong.”

You swallow, unprepared for the sudden flare of attraction shooting through you and turning your head, just as he says, “I could take care of you.”

You catch a glimpse of Santi’s fuck me eyes when Benny (the dickhead) interrupts. Crossing his arms on the sticky table in front of him, he asks, “Does that mean you have toys?”

Frankie’s hat somehow tips lower on his head, if that’s possible.

Will twitches towards his brother, like he wants to strangle Benny for being so uncouth, but you put your hand on his upper arm. “Of course.” The best course of action is to just act like this is normal, so add a bit of air to your voice. This was normal. “Who doesn’t?”

There’s a blush rising on Benny’s cheeks and you can’t help but stoke it, grinning at him, and attempting your best bedroom eyes. He’s still not too ashamed to ask though. “What kinds?”

Will decides he’s had enough, glancing at Santi behind you with a frown and hitting Benny over the head in an imitation of the way you’d hit him. You laugh, unexpectedly pleased at the reaction you’ve gotten. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Benny nods, eager, even as Will stands, grabbing a hold of him, and steering him towards the bar. “Yes! Yes I would!” He manages to throw back at you and you laugh again, twisting your body to face Santi and Frankie, bringing your left leg onto the bench.

***

Meanwhile Santiago is in hell. He’s been in multiple hellish situations before, most similar to this one, in that it was always the 5 of you, bullets flying around your heads, rifles in your arms, weighed down by heat and sweat and tac vests.

And yet somehow, he thinks this might be the worst. Your foot next to his thigh, your knee bent, pulling your jeans up your leg and exposing your ankle to him. Watching you flirt with Benny, talking about sex, and toys, and masturbation. When that's all he wants to do with you. He just has to get the courage to tell you.

With you, there was a before in Santi’s life, and an after.

Before he knew you; and after he knew you.

Before he loved you; and after he loved you.

Except Santi’s not quite sure when he fell in love with you.

It started when Will introduced you as the newest member of the team, one of his childhood friends. He didn’t mean for it to happen, he treated you like he treated anyone else, quickly discovering that you weren’t like anyone else.

He welcomed you into his life with open arms, starting off innocently - he wanted to spend time with you. You were Will’s friend, which meant that there must be something good about you. You made him laugh, made him feel safe (even when he wasn’t). He’d wanted to do the same for you and thought he did a pretty good job.

He became your friend, until one day the two of you were watching a film. He can’t remember what it was, just that you were at his house, drinking and laughing and talking, huddled in one of his blankets, and looking like you belonged there, forever.

Falling in love with you was so easy, Santi didn’t even realise he was doing it.

Santi’s still impressed with himself that he didn’t just blurt out the words then and there. I love you.

How long had he been in love with you for? He couldn’t pinpoint down a specific moment. He remembered the night when you’d become friends - the last two around the bonfire, toasting marshmallows, making that awkward small-talk that occurs between acquaintances.

You’d made him laugh, playing chubby-bunny and teasing him until he’d had a go. You’d talked and talked, and Santi can’t even remember what about. Nothing, probably. The basics. Boring stuff, but filled with details that he’d used to keep the conversation going the next day.

He knows when he became your friend. Recognised when you trusted him more than the others, with the exception of maybe Will.

But he didn’t know when he fell in love with you. Just the day that the love became so overwhelming in his chest that he realised it.

The real nail in his metaphorical coffin was the night afterwards. The 5 of you had gone to a bar, and a girl had started talking to him as he was buying drinks. She was pretty, but she wasn’t you. And like a flashbulb, all of Santi’s previous partners flew through his mind and he realised that nothing had ever come out of them because they weren’t you.

They didn’t know how he liked his coffee, or why he had joined the military. They didn’t know the story behind his callsign, or what his favourite song was.

You did. What you weren’t there for, you asked about. You remembered. You made him feel important, like he mattered. In ways that he didn’t even really know existed.

You were the one that started him on decaf without telling him. That had been a conversation and a half. Before morning briefings, you’d started bringing him coffees. He hadn’t noticed much of a taste difference, and shamefully, had come to expect them.

Until, a month later, you weren’t there. A small trip home to visit your family, everyone knew you’d be back in a couple of days. Regardless, Santi had ordered what he’d thought was his usual coffee.

And found his anxiety rearing up again. It was subtle, making him more jumpy, less able to sleep, but it was there. He wasn’t sure what the cause was, definitely hadn’t linked it to the coffee, instead assuming that maybe he just missed you. Maybe because his anxiety hadn’t disappeared all the way, even with decaf. Maybe it was because it was your presence that helped him too.

He hadn’t even really noticed when the caffeine was gone, hadn’t noticed the absence of something wrong, only seeing the contrast when it returned. Maybe because it was gradual, the weaning off the caffeinated coffee, whereas the return, with his request of additional shot, had been too sharp for him.

You hadn’t noticed at first, assuming that Santi’s bear hug when he’d first seen you had just been because he missed you. But after lunch you pulled him to one side.

“Are you alright?” Your eyes are slightly wider with worry, and you’re chewing slightly on your bottom lip.

He hates that he’s the one to do that to you, and he tries to brush it off. “I’m fine.” That was his first mistake. His second was trying to push past you.

“Santiago!” He’s pulled up short, and there’s that tension, pulling at his shoulders, his eyebrows. “Tell me what’s wrong.” Your tone of voice hasn’t changed, but this time it’s a command.

Exhausted, hating himself, Santi drags his hands across his face. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I don’t...I don’t know.” He takes a breath, and it shudders through him. “I don’t know.” He sounds defeated, and he hopes you can’t hear it. “I just...I feel…” How does he feel? “Jittery.” Is what he finally settles on, but the word still feels wrong somehow.

You frown, looking him up and down like you’ve never seen him before. In fact, you’re silent for so long, Santi starts to be worried that you’re going to tell him to stop being so fucking ridiculous.

You don’t, but you ask questions.

Has he been sleeping? “Not really.”

Does he have something big coming up? “Just the usual.”

Has his daily routine changed at all? “No, I don’t think so. I get myself a coffee in the morning and the-”

You interrupt him with a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.” And now it’s wrong, because now you’re looking at him like it’s your fault, when it definitely isn’t. “Santi I’m sorry. It’s your coffee.”

Santi frowns. His coffee? And you sound so apologetic, and he doesn’t understand why. “I switched you to decaf.” You can’t meet his eyes any more, gaze skittering to his shoulder with nerves. And you’re not shutting up. “I’m sorry, I should have told you, or asked if I could, I just... I knew you were getting nightmares, and decaf helped me so I thought it might help y-”

Santi cuts you off with a hug.

And now, the three of you sat in the booth, he hates himself for agreeing with Benny. He would like to know. He has a sneaking suspicion, odd little comments you’ve made throughout the years that when pieced together, paint a picture. A very vivid picture that he sometimes uses to torture himself, late at night in bed, imagining what you’d look like with your hands between your legs and wrapping a hand around his-

Santi shakes his head. Now is not the time. There’s never really a good time to fantasise about one of your best friends, but in public when they’re sitting next to you, is definitely one of the worst.

And why did he have to offer to take care of you? Did he think he was in some kind of cheesy porno? What if you hated him-

In the end, it’s you who breaks him out of his thoughts. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed Pope.” You push out with your foot, lightly kicking his thigh, unable to read his stony face.

Throughout all of this, Frankie has kept quiet, and now the conversation seems like it’ll be returning to safer ground, he rubs a hand over his face, lifting his hat slightly. “No.” Santi protests, although he says it too fast for it to be sincere. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“Good,” you reply, and Santi can see the moment a thought pops into your head that you can’t resist, he can see it in the way your eyes light up with mischief. “Out of all the boys, I figured you’d be the most likely to use toys.”

Frankie quickly slides out from his seat, muttering something about going to the toilet, his cheeks aflame, as Santi chokes a little on his beer. “Or maybe Will,” you muse, and Santi coughs again. “Shit, are you alright?” You ask, rocking forward to lean on your knee so you can rub Santi’s back for a second.

He concentrates on getting himself back under control, on not focusing how warm your hand is against his back. He takes deep breaths in an attempt to calm his heart down, praying that the room is dark enough that you won’t see him blush.

Santi nods, his eyes watering a little, and you laugh, but it’s not unkind, not even when one of your thumbs wipes at his lower lash line, brushing away his tears with the pad. It’s so unexpectedly soft, another sharp contrast to this sticky, seedy bar they’re all in, where the booth seats are cracked and the most complicated drink they make is a rum and coke.

“Good,” you say, voice quiet, scooting back on the bench, your foot closer to his thigh this time, and Santi hates himself for wanting to follow you.

Instead, he pretends everyone else is still here, even as he watches Will whisper something into Benny’s ear as they stand, drinking next to the bar, with no clear intention of returning. Suddenly Benny punches Will’s upper arm, and Santi’s eyebrows twitch slightly in confusion. Benny looks ecstatic, and for what?

“I’ve used handcuffs,” he says casually, half of his mind taken up with Benny and Will acting like lunatics at the bar behind you. He’s wrenched back to you when you raise an eyebrow, and he’s reminded what it feels like to be the centre of your world.

Fuck, you’re sexy though.

***

Your heart beat speeds up, suddenly sounding loud in your chest. Your mind is screaming Danger! at you - but how can it be? This is Santiago. You would trust him with your life. You have.

I could take care of you, flashes through your mind again. Maybe-

“Yeah?” You ask, trying to act calm when there’s a steady thrumming under your skin. “And are you the tied up person, or do you do the tying?”

Santi scoffs, like he thinks the answer is obvious. Maybe it is.

“I do the tying.”

You smirk, dragging an exaggerated eye up and down his body. “Sure about that?”

He looks relaxed, like he can take up more space now Frankie has gone. One of his hands is on your calf, gently trailing up and down, slowly setting you on fire, and you don’t even think he realises he’s doing it. There’s something in his eyes that you don’t recognise, darker, although it seems familiar. That’s been happening more and more lately, especially when it’s just the two of you. You like it.

“You want to test me babygirl?”

You feel breathless. “Maybe I’d like to try.”

You’ve never spoken with Santi like this before. You flirt with him more than the other boys, but this is new. This feels...real, somehow. More dangerous. And he’s closer now, shifting, so your foot is over his lap, his hand wrapped around your ankle, on your bare skin and you’ve forgotten how to breathe. You watch his hand move on your leg and you feel like you could evaporate.

“That’s not what good girls do.” Fuck, his voice.

“Good girls don’t do a lot of things I do.”

And you’re not sure what gives you the sudden confidence, but you lean forwards, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. It’s a horrible angle, your legs in the way, but you don’t care.

And then you’re retreating, opening your eyes again, suddenly unsure of what you’ve just done. Your mouth feels tingly, where you can still feel Santi against you. His grip has tightened on your leg, no longer moving.

And then his hand is tugging at you a little, and there’s a smile threatening to take over his face.

Come here.

You scoot up, so your left leg is fully over him, your right leg tangling with his under the table and you can smell him now, beer and - as weird as it sounds - like a man. It’s familiar. Nice. Breathless, you shoot him a little grin, suddenly unsure.

And then he’s kissing you again and it’s everything you ever dreamed of. His lips are soft, but firm, moving against your mouth, contrasting with the slight stubble growing on his face. His free hand moves to your waist and you let out a small sound.

You break apart after a second, both of you breathless. You’ve slung your arms around his neck, fingers idly playing with his chain, and you’re the first to speak.

“So do you use those handcuffs on anyone?”

Santi kisses you again, short and sweet, before he answers, his lips mumbling against yours. “Hmm, just on girls I really like.”

You kiss again, neither of you really wanting to stop. “Can I use them on you?” Santi asks, moving to kiss along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe. You feel surrounded by him, he’s all you care about, all you can feel.

Your eyes snap open, desire pooling in your belly. Is this really happening? “Yes.”

“Good.” Santi’s voice is still low in your ear, before he moves down your neck, soft lips a stark contrast to his stubble catching on your skin. “How do you feel about a date, too?”

“Yeah?” You lean back slightly so you can see his face. He’s beautiful in this light, face half hidden in the shadows, eyes dark.

His lips are brushing yours again.

“Yeah. I’ll pick you up, take you somewhere nice, do it properly.”

“Good,” you mumble against him, “that sounds really good.” Your fingers are still playing with his chain, lightly brushing against the scar on his neck. “Shall we go?”

Before you know it, the two of you are sitting in a cab, having said a quick goodbye to the others, Will asking if it was safe for them to sit back in the booth. You’d responded with the finger, not bothering with a proper reply.

Santi leans over to you, whispering into your ear. “Can I really tie you up?”

You clench your thighs together, closing your eyes in an effort not to physically respond. The pause is enough for Santi to hesitate, hand shyly holding yours. “It’s ok, if you don’t want to, that’s fine, it was just a-”

You stop him with a kiss, moving your hand so you can squeeze him in reassurance. When you answer, it’s a mumble against his mouth so the driver doesn’t hear. “Break out the handcuffs, and we’ll see if you’re as tough as you act, big boy.”

Santi groans when you lean away from him.

Getting inside Santi’s flat is a feat in itself, and you’re honestly a little proud of the restraint both of you showed by not fucking in the stairwell, stopping every couple of meters to kiss each other senseless, hips clumsily knocking together as you rile each other up.

You’ve been inside his flat before, so when Santi kicks the door closed, walking you backwards into his bedroom, kissing you all the while, you don’t protest. It’s so nice to finally kiss Santi like you’ve wanted to for a while now, so nice to feel his hands on your waist, pushing you backwards while his hips press into yours, steady now, purposeful.

His fingers are playing with the waist of your trousers, and you help him, shimmying your jeans off, pushing them down your thighs and letting them fall to the floor. Then he surprises you, dropping to his knees in front of you, pulling your knickers down your legs.

Looking down, you feel dizzy from the rush of power this brings you. Santi looks like he’s about to worship you, his face close to your pussy. His hands are on your waist and he pushes at you, encouraging you to step back.

When you don’t he tips his head back, exposing his neck to you. “Step back.” His voice is dangerous and you can feel more wetness gathering between your legs. You grin down at him, still not moving.

In response Santi nips at your thigh, grinning when you gasp, hands flying to his hair. He pushes at you again, and this time you let him, stepping back until you hit his bed, sitting down.

Santi presses his hand against your stomach, and you allow yourself to be pushed back, falling back onto your elbows so you can watch him. He presses his nose to your mound and you squirm, impatient, as Santi spreads your knees so he can fit between your legs.

You watch him press his nose to your pussy, burying his nose in you, feeling yourself grow wetter. “You taste so good,” he groans, “Sweetest pussy I’ve tasted.” As he begins to explore you with his tongue, your hips lift off the bed with a groan and it takes you a second to recognise your own voice, broken with need. Santi’s arm reaches out, pressing you down as he explores your folds. Stubble is scratching your thighs, a pleasantly rough feeling compared to the soft wetness, the pliability of Santi’s tongue. Your clit is the first thing he concentrates on, his tongue practically lapping at you, and it all feels so good.

One hand is desperately fisting the sheets to the side of you as you try to hold on to reality, the other knotted in Santi’s short curls, nails scraping ever so slightly along his scalp even as he lifts you higher and higher. Broken pleas of his name fall from your lips when he inserts two fingers into you, gently pumping in and out, with a strangely satisfying squelch under your cries.

Your orgasm creeps up on you, slow and unsuspecting. One second your chest is heaving, breaths short and shallow, the next you’ve tensed up as you fall apart under Santi.

He keeps kissing you, gently pressing his lips over your thighs, hips, stomach as you stare at his ceiling, willing rational thought to return to you. He’s murmuring praises into your skin, telling you how good you are for him, what a good job you’ve done, how pretty you look when you come, how he wants to make you do it again, and all the while you float somewhere above your body, hardly daring to believe this is real. Santi keeps kissing you, any skin he can get his mouth on, desperate to keep tasting you. Gradually he moves up your body, even as you lie there, panting, letting him push your top up, bunching under your arms and around your neck.

Your hands fly to his hair when he bites the soft skin of your breast peeking out from your bra, and you arch your back towards him slightly, letting out a small whine. You can feel his smirk against you, so you wrap your legs around his waist, canting your hips up, grinding against where you can feel him, hard and aching in his jeans.

Now it’s your turn to smirk, slow and lazy when Santi lets out a low growl in response. He tips his head up so he can look at you, his eyes soft as he smiles at you. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

And then his body weight is gone and he’s standing next to the bed, taking his top off and it’s not the first time you’ve seen him shirtless, of course it isn’t, but it’s the first time you’ve seen him and been allowed to look, and Santi’s all shadows and soft muscle, pale scars highlighted on his skin.

You sit up, and it takes you a second to fight your way out of your top, quickly sliding the straps of your bra off, and dropping your clothes to the side of the bed as you watch Santi cross his room, and fish out a pair of handcuffs from a box with a couple of other objects inside, as well as what you’re pretty sure looks like a strap-on. And maybe it’s because his ass is currently in your eye-line, maybe it’s the surprise, but the image of you wearing it, teasing Santi with your dick while he waits on all fours on his bed, begging for you to touch him, suddenly pops into your head, and you have to work to hold back a moan at the mental image. Oh my god.

When Santi turns back to you, he’s opened the cuffs. “Are you familiar with the traffic light system?”

You suddenly feel nervous, your mouth dry, and you don’t know why, this is Santi. He’s made it clear that you don’t have to do this, and anyway you want to. “Green is good, orange is slow down, red is stop,” you recite easily, and Santi nods in satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he says and his words hit deep in your stomach, unfurling something you hadn’t known existed. “You say something and I’ll untie you.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back on your hands, eyeing up the way Santi’s jeans are still on, now hanging low on his hips, exposing a small trail of hair down from his bellybutton. “What if I don’t want you to untie me?” You ask.

You can see how his eyes darken, but he doesn’t move. “Tell me you understand,” he says, voice stern and you shiver.

“I understand,” you parrot. Santi nods, pleased at you doing as he says, and steps out of his jeans, pulling his boxers off at the same time, releasing his cock. He’s hard, curving up towards his stomach and leaking pre-cum.

Almost on instinct, you lean forwards to lick it off, and Santi lets out a groan of satisfaction at the sensation of your mouth just wrapping around his head, your hands on his thighs. Before you can take him any further, he’s stepping back, shaking his head.

“Lie back,” he instructs, and you obey. Santi kneels next to you, tugging your wrists up, above your head, looping the handcuffs through his headboard and clicking them on around you. You give them an experimental tug, biting back a moan when they hold fast. “Colour?” Santi asks, and you grin up at him.

“Green.” Your voice already sounds broken. “Santi, please.”

Santi just kneels back, looking at you with those hungry eyes. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes out, hands running up and down your body, ignoring how you squirm as best you can under him.

“Oh yeah?” You ask. “Why don’t you come down here then, instead of just watching me?” Santi’s hands reach your breasts, squeezing and gently massaging and you arch your back towards him.

“You’re unhappy with my hands?” Santi returns, and stops touching you. You can’t help it, letting out a whine and straining to move your arms towards him, before remembering you can’t, your attempted movement jangling the chain a little.

“No, Santi,” you’re desperate for him to touch you again, especially now you can’t touch him,“Santi please, touch me again, touch me more.” Begging has never come so easily to you. And then Santi’s moving between your legs, gripping your hips and thrusting up, but not into you, just along your folds. You moan, shifting as best as you can while Santi coats himself with your slick, the head of his cock just pushing your clit, teasing you and riling you up further.

You suddenly really want to touch him, to rake your hands through his hair, to scratch your nails down his back, to be able to suck a purple hickey into his skin. You let your head fall back to the bed, pushing your hips towards him, desperate for more, desperate for him.

It’s only when you open your mouth in a desperate plea, a whine of his name, “Santi, Santi please,” that he begins to push into you.

Your mouth falls open in silent pleasure, just as Santi begins to talk. “Fuck, baby.” The stretch of him is delicious. “I wanted this for so long.” Now fully seated in you, he rests on his forearms, kissing you softly, first on the forehead, then on your lips. “Colour?” he asks softly.

You nearly cry from how sweet it is, how sweet he is, before responding, a mumble against his lips. “Green.” You feel full, like this is how you’re supposed to feel all the time, this is your base state, and you’re going to spend the rest of your life trying to achieve this specific feeling.

“Good girl,” Santi murmurs and you keen at the praise, feeling insatiable, wanting more, clenching around him. He grins, registering your response. “You liked that? You like being told what a good job you’re doing, how good you feel around me..” he breaks off with a gasp, and your eyes close as Santi begins to move in time with his words, long, slow thrusts as he begins to put you together again, building you up, further and further, his thrusts speeding up gradually, the sound of his dick sliding into your wetness, and the slap of skin-on-skin loud in his room, mixing with your moans.

You lift your legs up, wrapping them around his waist, hooking one of your feet around Santi’s butt. They don’t stay there for long, one of Santi’s arms pushing one leg up your body, hand under your knee as he splits you open. The new angle hits something deeper in you, and you gasp, unable to move and at the mercy of Santiago.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, coming out of nowhere, your lower body suddenly clenching around Santi, arms straining against the handcuffs, as you try in vain to touch him. You tumble through it, muscles spasming as you fall under him. He keeps moving into you as you shudder below him, pulling you through with murmured praise and encouragement as another broken cry leaves your throat.

His thrusts start to get sloppier as he goes faster, losing his rhythm slightly and you can tell he’s near his end. As best you can, you start moving your own hips, grinding up to meet him, words of encouragement slipping past your lips. “Santi, you feel so good, are you gonna fill me up?” You coo, pouting a little, tugging your wrists a little for emphasis. “Please Santi, I want to feel you, come in me, please-”

You stop when Santi snaps his hips once more, with a groan of finality and you can feel his cum inside of you as he holds himself there, his cock pulsing within you. He presses a couple more gentle kisses to your neck before sliding out, and you hiss slightly at the pull on your sensitive folds of your pussy.

He leaves for a second, returning with a key and gently releasing your wrists. “Good girl,” he murmurs, massaging your skin. “You did so good for me.”

He helps you sit up, kissing your cheek before leaving again. This time when he returns, he has a wet rag, and a glass of water, which you take a sip from, not having realised how thirsty you were. He gently dabs the rag on the inside of your thighs first, and the two of you watch in slightly morbid fascination as Santi’s cum leaks out of you onto the rag.

“That’s kinda hot,” you comment idly, wondering if Santi fucked all sense of you.

He only laughs, wiping the mess away and cuddling up next to you. “Do you want me to do it again?” he asks as you lean into his arms, his hands wrapping around your wrists to rub circles into your skin.

“Yes,” you answer, probably too quickly but beyond caring.

“Good.”

There’s a pause, and you can tell Santi wants to ask you something, so you twist in his arms, kissing along his shoulder. The act feels small, and innocent somehow, despite your states of undress, as you try to reassure him.

“You were right,” you murmur near his ear, “Stranger was where I was going wrong.”

It takes him a second to piece your reference together, but then he grins, and it’s like he hung the sun in the sky. “Yeah? I took care of you?”

You kiss him again, this time on the lips, biting back your own identical grin. “Yeah.”

***

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