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jtargaryen18 · 2 years

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How I Disappeared...

How I Disappeared

Masterlist

Words: 4.5k

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ only Warnings: Dark fic. Torture, violence, references to murder, explicit sex, non-con, oral (fr), illegal use of mustache, kidnapping, gore. Relationships: Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: You arrived early for your meeting with Ransom Drysdale about a job in publishing. You really shouldn't have...

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

The closet door you were cowering behind didn’t do much to muffle the screams of the man they’d been torturing for nearly an hour. There was nothing you could do for whoever they had strapped to the chair in Ransom Drysdale’s posh office.

What the hell is happening?

They’d removed several of the man’s teeth with a rusty pair of pliers as he’d emitted a macabre chorus of pain-filled cries. The last time you dared peer out the slightly opened door, you were horrified to see the car battery. There were jumper cables clamped to the man’s face, burning him until he screamed. You could smell the searing flesh. Those screams become gurgles while he fought hard not to answer the man’s questions.

But eventually, he did answer the questions to make the pain stop.

Your heart raced in your chest. You had to be quiet. It was the only shot you had of getting out of this.

The last peek you took, showed you the poor man’s lead tormentor. A tall, imposing man wearing a polo shirt in shades of mustard and tan. The gray slacks and expensive shoes hinted that he might be someone important. The gold of his pinky ring winked in the light as he moved around the chair, removing the metal clamps from the man’s ruined face.

The tormentor caressed the man’s face with his hand, a gentle gesture.

Whoever he was, you would have found him oddly attractive anywhere else but here. Everything about him from his perfectly trimmed mustache to the precise styling of his hair told you he was methodical, maybe manically so. Now that you could see him, you didn’t move. You stayed right there in the shadows, watching him grin at his tortured victim.

“See? It didn’t have to get this bad, did it?” the man reasoned, leaning down to get on eye level with him. “We all get what we want. I learned what I wanted to know. You now get out of this chair.”

At the subtle motion of his hand, armed men came into view, freeing the man from the chair and hauling him roughly out of it. As the group of them moved out of your view you heard three simple words.

“Make him dead.”

Adrenaline and fear had your body humming as you fought to stay still. Now wasn’t the time to get stupid. All you had to do was sit tight. Wait. Wait until it was quiet, and you didn’t hear anything anywhere around you. And when you were sure you were alone, you’d wait a little longer.

You were going to get out of there.

When the door flew opened, a scream ripped from your throat. You’d made yourself small in the darkness of the coat closet, shaking in mortal terror as you looked up to meet the blue-eyed gaze of the man who appeared to be in charge.

You might have thought his smile was authentic in different circumstances.

“What do we have here?” he asked in a way that led you to believe he had some idea. A spike of fear shot through your heart. “Somehow I didn’t think you made it out of the building.”

When he lunged at you, you scrambled away until your back met the closet wall. His grip on your wrist felt like a vice. With a hard jerk, he yanked you up off the floor. There was little you could do when he wrapped an arm around your waist and hauled you out of the closet.

The man was easily twice your size. You fought him but it did little good.

Yeah, you’d reached the part where you should probably be begging for your life. Tears were already filling your eyes and sliding down your face.

But he let you go. Let you stand there in the fading yellow light filtering through the office window. The man just watched you, slowly walking a circle around you and studying you like he was trying to decide something.

How to kill you most likely.

“You were here to meet Drysdale, right?” he asked with deceptive calm. There was an intensity about him that had you flinching. A blue-green storm brewing in this sharp eyes. It made you feel exposed and vulnerable. “You got here early.”

You nodded. You didn’t mean to get there almost an hour early. Just now, you really regretted it.

“Why?” he demanded.

“A j-job offer,” you replied.

The best thing you could do was cooperate, say as little as possible.

“And how did Drysdale run across a sweet thing like you?” Slowly, he walked another circle around you.

Dropping your gaze, you shrugged. “I worked for his mother’s real estate firm. He told me to make an appointment to see him about a job… in publishing.”

Ransom Drysdale was the CEO of one New York’s top publishing houses. You wanted to be an author. It was an offer you couldn’t pass up.

Were they after Ransom Drysdale then?

Your hopes sank as you realized it didn’t matter who the terrifying man stalking you was after. You’d seen something you weren’t supposed to see.

Coming to a stop next to you, the smirk was back.

“He wasn’t going to offer you a job, cupcake,” the man explained. “He was trying to fuck you.”

The stinging truth in those words had you dropping your gaze. Maybe. But given your dismal track record with men, you’d been prepared for such an offer. If men were just going to use you for sex, you may as well get something out it, right?

“Please.” You were blinking back tears. “I’ll tell you anything I know about him. I swear.”

The man chuckled, his perfect white teeth gleaming. “There’s nothing you can tell me about him that I don’t already know.”

Panic had your mind whirling. “I didn’t see anything. I promise.”

“Yes, you did.”

You were about to die.

“I won’t say anything,” you swore, pleading. “I don’t have anyone to t-tell.”

The man took a step closer. “No, you don’t, do you?”

That stopped you. He said your name quietly.

“Your mother is dead, your father was never in the picture,” the man explained. “You have no siblings or extended family. You go away? No one will miss you. You’ll be just another pretty face on a missing poster.”

You cried then. It was over. This was how you disappeared. It was the end.

“M-make it quick,” you whispered. “P-please.”

“Shhh,” he soothed, walking up and pulling you into a hug. The man was warm, solid. The scent he wore subtle. His hands smoothed over your back as you cried there against him, a lamb to the slaughter. “I’m not going to kill you just yet.”

Yet.

“I mean I could kill you and leave you here for him to find.” He spoke so casually like he wasn’t discussing your life. “And he might feel regret.”

Shaking, you just stood there with his arms around you as he impersonally decided your fate.

“But if I really wanted to piss him off, I’d take what he really wanted.”

You were all too afraid you knew what that meant.

Easing back and grinning at you like he was about to tell the best joke in the world, he said, “You’re not my usual type. You’re his. So pretty... But you are desperate, right?”

You were desperate to survive.

The man’s gaze raked over you, over the strappy summer dress you wore today. You could tell his mind was going a mile a minute.

“Take off your panties,” he ordered you.

You couldn’t have heard him correctly. What?

His brows shot up in his amusement. “You’re not commando under there, are you? If you are that will make the next part much easier.”

You shook your head in denial.

“Then take them off,” he told you. “Now.”

Humiliation burned you up from the inside as you quickly reached under your skirt and slid them down, dropping them to your ankles. They were easy to step out of with the flat sandals you wore.

You couldn’t meet his gaze once you’d done as he asked.

“Give them to me,” he ordered.

Was he serious?

“I’m waiting,” he prompted you, his jaw tightening when you chanced to look up.

Unless you wanted him to start pulling out your teeth, you decided it was in your best interest to do as he said.

Fishing them out of the floor, you held out the simple lilac-colored garment with a trembling hand.

That smirk pushed your anxiety higher as he took them from your grasp. You just stared at him when he brought them up, pressed his face into them. Breathing deeply, he took in the smell of you.

When his gaze was back on you, he nodded.

“You do smell good, cupcake.” The heat in those intent eyes had you taking a small step back. “Did Drysdale ever have you before today?”

“No,” you told him, horrified to be having this conversation.

“Not even a taste?”

You shook your head. Sure, the man had hovered over you when you worked for his mother. He tried to find excuses to touch you. He just never had much of an opportunity to do much else.

The laugh was unexpected. “Oh, this is just too fucking easy. But I’ll take it.”

Shoving your panties in the pocket of his slacks, he motioned towards the huge wooden desk that was the centerpiece of the office.

“Go to the desk, walk around to Drysdale’s chair,” he instructed. You felt his gaze as you did. “Now be a good girl and take a seat on that desk.”

Your anxiety was through the roof. You had no idea what he expected you to do. If you sat down there, you were turning your back on him. What if that made him angry? The blood-covered pliers were there on the desk not far from you. Your heart was pounding out your fear.

“No,” his voice was deceptively soft. “You’re not understanding the assignment.”

You heard his heavy steps as he walked around the desk to join you. His huge form blocked out the dying light from the setting sun. In his shadow you felt cold. You didn’t move as he pulled the enormous leather chair back and took a seat.

“Let me give you a point of reference then,” he explained, taking you in casually. You flinched when he grabbed your hips, moving you to sit directly in front of him. “We’ll pretend I’m Drysdale. And if I were Drysdale and you’d come to my little meeting, I’d sit you right here.”

You were now on top of a stack of important looking papers, contracts, and you fidgeted nervously. The man’s expression was pure disapproval.

“Now, pull up that skirt. Since I disrupted Drysdale’s meeting, I want to leave him something.”

A muscle at his jaw twitched when you didn’t spring into action. Fear had you doing what he wanted even though you were horrified to have your bare ass on top of that small stack of crisp, printed pages.

The man sighed before scooting his chair up, so he was closer to the desk. Then he did it again, until his knees touched your shins. You had nowhere to go when his hands clamped down on your knees. You froze, afraid of what he’d do next.

When he wrenched your thighs wide apart, hiking up the skirt of your dress to reveal your most private parts to him, you struggled in his hold. Tossing your ankles to the outside of the arms of the chair, he moved closer, between your thighs, one strong hand grabbing your throat. He got in your face.

“You’re going to do exactly what I say,” he told you. “Or I’ll duct tape your ass to that chair over there and I’ll treat you like I did the asshole who was just here. And I know you saw what I did to him.”

Oh, you had. You swallowed hard beneath his hand.

“Got it? When I tell you to move, you do it. When I tell you to scream my name, you scream.”

Your mouth opened before you realized you shouldn’t talk. The man just watched you in fascination.

“Oh, that’s right. I didn’t tell you my name,” he said after a moment. “It’s Lloyd. And I want to hear it when I say. Nice and loud.”

His other hand tightened over your bare knee before sliding up over the quivering flesh of your inner thigh. You froze as his fingers skimmed higher, into your folds without preamble. It took everything in you to stay in place while those digits explored you.

“This won’t do,” Lloyd told you, his face still close to yours. “All dry and scared.” The look of disapproval was back. His hand tightened around your throat. “I want this little pussy purring for me.”

Your thighs shook worse now. Was he serious?

“What do you like, cupcake?” Moving closer, his lips were by your ear. “Do you like fingers? Or do you like oral better? You can’t believe the tricks I can do with this mustache.”

Those hotly whispered words in your ear had you squirming in his hold. Despite the situation, your body was warming up to him. His fingers slid a little easier now.

Lloyd’s chuckle was dirty. “Yeah, all the girls like the stache.”

Using his hand on your neck, he pushed you down on the desk. He rose, looming over you as you lay on the desk now. His fingers were still sliding around your lower lips and your body was easing his way.

“A little above your head is the edge of the desk,” the man told you as he released your neck, lowering himself back into the chair. “Grab it and keep those hands there until I tell you that you can let go.”

What choice did you have? The movement had your back arching.

You felt his mustache first and you flinched. The brush of it over your outer lips was a duel between scratchy and soft. His lips were hot and wet as they nibbled at those petals, burning a path down towards your opening.

Sucking in a breath, your hands tightened on the edge of the desk. You’d had guys go down on you before, but it was usually fast and half-hearted. A bone they threw you until they could get their bone in you. To get to the main event. It had always been something awkward that you were in just as much of a hurry to get through as they were.

It didn’t help that you’d watched him straight up torture another man. You were terrified, had no idea what he’d do next. Every inch of you was tensed and trembling.

At first.

He wrapped his powerful arms around your thighs, holding them open for him as he just dove in. His mouth, that mustache, worked into your folds. You fought to keep quiet, to be still. But the only reason you managed the latter was the steely grip he had on your lower body.

His tongue danced around your clit for several seconds, making it throb and ache. From anticipation? Because the brush of that mustache was the only stimulation he gave it.

You didn’t know what he was doing but it was insane. The flicker of his tongue around your opening pulled breathy gasps from you. When it traced up to your clit again only to avoid it, you whined, and it was an embarrassingly loud sound. There was laughter in his blue eyes gazing up at you over your mound.

Your back arched more, your grip on the desk hurt. But you were afraid to let go. The important papers beneath your ass were no doubt ruined as the man destroyed you with his mouth and he was yet to touch you where you needed him most.

When his tongue finally slid over your clit you cried out, the sound filling the room. Lloyd laughed into your flesh as you felt a finger tracing around your opening. You realized you were fighting to get closer to his mouth, not away. You writhed on that desk as that finger penetrated you, the pad of it gently stroking your front wall in a way that took your breath.

What was he doing?

Lloyd alternated between brushing that mustache over your clit, the bristling just shy of painful. Then he’d teasing it with the tip of his tongue. The finger now was a sinful torment, sliding in and out slowly, soft strokes taking you apart on that desk.

Drunk on sensation, you squirmed, and your breath came fast. The pressure built fast, and you didn’t know if you’d survive it.

“Please,” you begged him. What were you going to do? You’d never had an orgasm with someone else present. Not once. Now you felt like you were going to explode.

His moan was a deep rumble in your quivering flesh. His tongue soothed you where his facial hair was just shy of abrasive. The rough pad of his finger tested the weeping wall within you until you were about to lose your mind. You didn’t know what he was doing, and you were ashamed that it felt amazing. Worse, you were afraid of how your body was going to react to his continued campaign.

“You’re just about there, aren’t you, cupcake?” Lloyd whispered into your soaked flesh.

You shook your head in denial. You didn’t know where was. But your heart was racing, and your thighs ached from his unrelenting grip.

“Please,” you whispered again.

“Give me what I want, and I will,” he whispered into you.

What did he want?

That finger was an unceasing torment that was zeroing in one small space inside you, stroking it with a delicacy you wouldn’t have expected from someone like him. When his tongue resumed teasing the center of your distress, soft wet strokes that you couldn’t get away from, you screamed. Whatever he was pushing you into couldn’t be avoided.

“Scream it,” he ordered.

“Lloyd!” You screamed as the gush of wetness literally burst from you. Lloyd backed away just enough to watch, delighted with what he saw. Raw currents of pleasure raced through you, wrecked you. His finger kept up those soft strokes, prolonging the wild, unfamiliar spiral he’d just sent you on.

“My little cupcake can squirt.” He waggled his eyebrows at you as he sucked you off his finger. “That’s a bonus.”

Horror at what you’d just done to Ransom Drysdale’s desk bled onto that fading pleasure. You would have covered your face in shame if you hadn’t been instructed not to let go of the desk until told.

“You’re going to be happy about that in a few seconds,” he told you as he rose from the chair, his hands going to the front of those dove gray slacks. He stopped only long enough to reach for a drawer to his left, fishing a small black condom pack out of it.

You stared at it not sure what surprised you more. That Ransom Drysdale just kept condoms in his office drawer or that Lloyd knew where they were.

Lloyd tore open the pack and got busy rolling it onto the swollen erection revealed when he opened those slacks. You shifted on the desk, the expensive paper sticking to your ass.

Those sharp blue eyes were on you in disapproval. “Don’t you dare let go,” he warned you. “I’ll fire your ass up if you do.”

You froze and you thought disappointment flashed in those blue eyes.

Then he started pushing into you with a determination that had you gasping. Sure, you’d had sex before, but Lloyd was stretching you quite a bit more than you were used to.

Sex with all the men who only managed to disappoint you in the end seemed quick and apologetic. There was nothing apologetic about the way Lloyd was claiming you. There was a dominance that had fear mixing with something primal within you, had you clenching around his intrusion.

Once he sank all the way in, Lloyd grabbed the front of your dress, and with a vicious yank, he pulled it down until the straps gave way. When he’d bared your breasts, his big hands covered them.

And then he started railing into you. His thrusts were swift and firm. They would have moved you up the desk if he weren’t holding you in place. With the position of your arms, your breasts were thrust up for his easy access.

“Such a good girl,” he muttered as he worked you hard, panting above you. “Drysdale would love this ride.”

Lloyd slid easily in and out of you on all the excitement he’d drawn from you. If the smirk he wore was any indication, he was enjoying it. His shoulders were wide enough to block out the last of the evening light, and your thighs were locked around his slim hips as they slammed into you over and over.

When he started speeding up, you hoped he was close. He leaned forward, the slightest movement, and then his pelvis was hitting your clit in such a way…

The wave of sensation rose fast, sweeping you away from a place where you were holding on until it was over to a place where you were about to fucking shatter. As Lloyd continued to fill you, fighting for his own end, you broke out in a sweat. Your core tightened as he plowed into you, your heart racing in your chest.

The orgasm hit you with the force of a hurricane. Your nipples were painful points under his hands as he rode you hard, crying out as he worked himself through his own release with strong thrusts that punched the air from your chest. Your cries blended with his. His frantic movements only served to prolong your release and you were panting and trembling as it went on and on.

Lloyd was looming over you as laid there, just trying to breathe. How the hell your hands were still over your head, gripping the edge of the desk, you had no idea.

His breath huffed over your damp breasts when he moved his hands, causing you to shiver. Those blue eyes moved over you with renewed interest.

“Let go,” his voice was strained. Smoothing back the longer locks at the top of his head, he studied you. “You’re a surprise, aren’t you, cupcake?”

You just watched in fear with no idea of what would happen now. Your arms crossed over you chest as you waited.

“You weren’t really part of the plan,” he muttered, pulling himself out of you, “but I admit I like the way this turned out.”

Pulling off the used condom, he dropped it off the side of the desk. Tucking himself back into his slacks, he took the time to tuck in his shirt, made it perfect.

“Now I’ve got to get you out of here.” Then he started chuckling as his gaze moved over you. “I didn’t give that a lot of thought,” he said as he tugged at the skirt of your ruined dress.

Lloyd walked over to the closet where he found you, searching its contents as you trembled on the desk. When he pulled out a huge camel-colored coat, you just stared.

“Up,” he ordered you as he approached the desk with that coat.

You scrambled to do his bidding, one arm trying to cover your breasts, the other trying to hold up the dress. He pulled the soaked papers away from your ass as you rose. To your horror, you saw the stack of papers was wet, the ink smeared.

Lloyd wrapped the coat around you, and you were grateful for the coverage. But was this just a temporary reprieve? Was he taking you somewhere else to kill you then?

“Let’s go,” he said, grinning back at the mess you’d both made of Ransom Drysdale’s desk.

***

Ransom Drysdale marched into his office an hour later, frustrated with how his day had gone. The board meeting he’d called had run over. He hadn’t even counted on having to deal with his legal team today. And then finding out one of the men who’d been working for him was a plant?

He’d sent Lloyd to deal with that and asked him to make it quick. He was expecting you to be waiting for him when he finally did make it back. He’d been looking forward to that all week.

It didn’t take him long to realize that those well-laid plans had gone straight to hell. The blood stains on the chair pushed out where it wasn’t supposed to be? That was the first clue. Then he saw the bloody pliers on his desk.

Goddamn it, Lloyd. Did you have to do it here?

Where were you? Had you been warned off? Scared away?

Blowing out a sigh, he walked around the desk and that’s when the scent hit him. Sex.

The contracts left on his desk for review, contracts for one of his top authors, were ruined. It didn’t take him long to figure out why his desk in disarray. With a dry laugh, he shook his head.

His phone hummed in his pocket. When he fished it out, he saw it was Lloyd.

“What the fuck?” Ransom demanded, not letting him speak.

“Oh, what’s wrong?” Lloyd purred into the phone. “Upset that I ate your cupcake?”

Peering over the edge of his desk into the wastebasket, he saw the condom.

“You did more than that, didn’t you?” Ransom asked bitterly. “Where is she?”

“I brought her back to your house,” Lloyd explained calmly. “Didn’t really have a choice. She was hiding in your closet while I dealt with our friend.”

While it wasn’t ideal having you see what Lloyd had likely done to the fucking plant, having you at his mercy? Now that was appealing.

“Where are you?” Ransom asked, grabbing ruined the stack of contracts and throwing them into the basket.

“Hanging out at your house until you get here,” he explained. “I need to catch you up on the situation today.”

Ransom nodded. There was that.

“Fine, I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said finally.

“And the girl?” Lloyd asked.

“Once we’re done talking business, we’ll have dinner.” Ransom grinned. “Then I’ll have you hold her down for me.”

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#Lloyd Hansen #Ransom Drysdale #Tag team from hell #dark fic #illegal mustache use #violence #kidnapping #non-con

603 notes · View notes

bruciemilf · 2 years

Note

um....yandere jason for starfire...i'm trying to see somethin👀

(You are so wrong for making me show my possessive jason kink on main sjsjsj)

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˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Honey Don't Feed It [It Will Come Back]

“...Is that Jason’s hoodie?”

Kori pauses, mustard coloring her upper lip a bright yellow. Dick all but covers her entirely when he inches closer, inspecting the large garment hugging her waist, riding past her thighs.

It makes a smitten giggle spill past her lips. It’s a scarce occasion when clothes are too big for her. It feels like safety. “Yes! He was here last week. He needed assistance with something and forgot it here. It’s so comfortable! And he’ll never know.”

Contrary to Jason’s opinion, she could be mischievous.

Dick’s eyebrows join together. “I think he will, Star. He’ll notice if it’s you. You’ve been…Getting closer lately.”

Kori lightly kicks his stomach with her bare feet. “Envy is a bad habit, Nightwing.” She knows there are no strings of resentment attached to their current position, she knows;

But Dick was a friend before anything else. She wasn’t pardoned of his protective streak.

“ Don’t toot your own horn, Koriand’r,” he smirks, ice cream still coating his chin. Even then he manages to look serious.

“I’m serious. Jason likes you. Maybe a little too much. Which happens never. He doesn’t get attached, but when he does, it’s…Hard to push him off.”

She blinks, eyelashes fluttering in confusion, “ I don’t want to push him away. I love having Jason around.”

“That man’s like a cat. Feed him once and he comes back forever.” He says nothing more on the subject, but there’s a note of sigh lacing his words, as if he’s watching Kori make an expected mistake.

A mistake she should’ve seen coming. A landmine she should have dodged.

Dick leaves after their little slumber party, but Kori never feels alone. A protective presence dominates her pretty apartment. It’s been there for weeks.

Something dangerous but harmless, - to her, at least, - and it feels so nice. To be watched over. To be claimed and safe and sleep carelessly, Jason’s scent of gunsmoke and ash covering her like a warm blanket.

She loves it; She hopes it’ll cling.

And Jason does visit her; Not for work, or because he needs a hiding hole, or because of another motive he makes up as excuse to see her.

Lately, he just assembled himself a place in her home, snug, possessive, free reign over her space, which she happily provided. “You had fun with Grayson, baby?”

She purrs inwardly. She loves that name.

“Oh, yes! We watched that TV show you recommended. As you said, he doesn’t understand the romantic motivation behind baking. I don’t understand, it’s impossible to miss, -” she does stop, briefly, because she’s excited to see him, but a drop of hesitance spikes the thrill his presence gives her, “ …I did not tell you Dick was visiting.”

“Nah, just…Happened to run into him and he told me himself,” he says that with a wolfish smile, all teeth and little warmth. He watches her closely and intimately and she wants to preen under his gaze;

Kori does love his attention, - always undivided, always filled with adoration, - and his rough hands grip her waist. She didn’t know he was so comfortable with touch. “ You want me to leave, princess?”

“No! I love having you here,” she pouts, face in his purring chest; it’s cold and pleasant and she loves it. “Dick’s protective instincts blur his clarity.”

Jason hums, deep voice softly tickling her heart, sending a wave of hot shivers down her spine, “Maybe you shouldn’t see him for a while, hm? I’ll have a talk with him. He upset you, huh?”

Kori wants to say no, to say it didn’t, but something in her, something docile and purring, wants to agree.

So she does. The pout still doesn’t leave her lips. “I’m grateful for your company. I hate sharing a space by myself. Loneliness is not a desirable feeling. “

“You’re not alone, baby. I’m always with you. Always.”

“Then please? Stay the night? And watch Barbie with me?”

Jason holds her gaze until he can’t; His will to her ‘puppy eyes’ are a losing battle every time.

“I’ll get the popcorn ready. Just get your pretty self in some pajamas, because I’m not ripping my favorite hoodie off of you.”

He says that while his fingers, big and strong and so handsomely calloused, gently squeeze her neck.

Kori closes her eyes and coos. Maybe Jason sticks to her, but she sticks on him, too.

#asks #starfire #dc #dc starfire #koriand'r #jason todd #jaykori #jaykory #yandere jason todd #jason x kori #does this count as fanfic sjsjs #fluff #dc comics #writing #my writing

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discotenny · 6 months

Note

IDEK WHERE THE IMAGES R FROM IM SEEING EVERYWHERE BUT CANT FIND VIDEO BUT HEY LOOK DID U SEE THIS (from someone random blog post bc idek where to find the original)

https://www.tumblr.com/lochness-art/733533305005293568/no-one-asked-but-here-r-my-opinions-on-the-new

NEW SPRITFESSS TIME SKIP REAL TIME SMIP REALFL

NEW SPRITES NEW SPRITES AWAHHWAHFHEAJIORERER

I posted my thoughts on the outfits when that big compilation image came out but now that we have visible LEGS for the all the charas now I feel obligated to update my thoughts fdsafadsfs. Put under a cut cause I have a feeling its gonna be long fdsfdsafs

Original thought post

Original post listed in the ask

ALSo, the images are from the new hypmic flava trailer posted on their yt channel here :3

Ichiro: We saw him in full before, but I just want to reiterate how they intentionally got rid of all the connections Ichi had to the bros within his clothing. From Jiro's blue on his sleeves, the zip up shirt they all shared, and having the iconic BB lettering not there anymore- it seems like they're trying to distance Ichi's character from being so bro centric. Maybe to show growth how he's going to be more independent? It's a bit odd because being dependent isn't Ichi's flaw, that's Jiro and Saburo's... Maybe it's to show how THEYRE distancing from HIM 🤔

Jiro: This hair change is such a W for Jiro fans!! It was unclear if he actually changed it in art prior but this is a W SUCH A W!!! I miss the white stripes on his shoulders for contrast reasons but he looks just like a more mature version of his old design. It looks like he's wearing the checkered shirt instead of wrapping it around his waist which is cuter and makes much more sense fdsafdsfds.

Saburo: He looks all grown up LOL The time skip is only supposed to be a few months from what I recall, so at most he's now 15 but imo I think they're keeping them to og ages tbh. The mustard is such a good look for him! The more pastel yellow and school uniform esc coat of his old design did a lot to keep him looking / feeling young so this new design feels like he's growing up to be more comfortable to be who he is ;_;

Samatoki: He looks just as hot and he's somehow showing even MORE skin despite having a jacket lmao. Those popping buttons I see you Toki fdsafdsaf. Again he looks less like a gangster / yakuza but I wonder if they're trying to lean into that look. He pretty. Real pretty...

Jyuto: Thoughts have pretty much stayed the same, it reads like an Extra Wardrobe outfit rather than something he'd wear on the daily. In the new arc did he stop wearing his uniform since the government shut down? Did he just say fuck the dress code? I do like the outfit, it makes him look a lil more sleazy LOL

Rio: Rio looks good he looks good!! I don't have much thoughts on him since I never really do but I still find it hilarious he has the same pants as his old outfit.

Ramuda: He looks excellent as always but I do agree with the original poster that I miss his blue :C I think the yellow makes him look really young and it kinda doesn't jive with me ??? I love the hat though he looks very very cute. Ramuda also has the best shoes in the cast and I appreciate they didn't change it.

Gentaro: Gentaro is so funny I think they legitimately just made his back cape longer?? He also got rid of the high collar undershirt, which probably symbolizes that he's hiding less of himself to his friends. I love Gen but I need to see him not in motion to see how well this outfit fits him. ATM I think the longer cape messes up his silhouette by making him seem like a rectangle.

Dice: I miss the trench coat!! I miss the trench coat!!! I don't care if it would be smelly I miss the trench coat !!! I think getting rid of the black parts on his collar and outside his sleeves kind of make him look too... normal??? Like idk, where's the spice!! Give him fingerless gloves or sm shit he needs SOMETHING to make him look less like just a guy :C He's cute but I think his old fit is >>>

Jakurai: He looks SOOOOO GOOOD. We've seen this in full before but he looks CUUUTEEE. Like I'm no Jakurai stan but hooo boy that coat does smthn to me. He looks looser, like he's gonna have some fun, maybe go to the mall or smthn he looks good !!!!! Anons brought up Jakurai removing his doctor coat as a symbolism for his savior complex going away and I think it's really cool !!! One of the best new fits imo.

Hifumi: I like his og outfit much better I'm sorry 😭😭😭 I think with Materno's main color being light grey, Jakurai being in white, Doppo being a light grey now, Hifu being that off white just makes him blend together with the other members. Maybe it's the fact that he's set against a white background but he just gets lost among the other two. Having the darker colors concentrated around his head / upper body helps though.

Doppo: I love him my baby I love him I lve nye my baby my vobeoteoy frmajwfmweoijfghuefuwafjewanjmisafkowafewoawfeaiow. I say from my last post: "He’s getting loose he’s getting silly he’s CRAZY DOPPO IN THE HOUSE !!!"

Sasara: I like the outfit on it's own but I kind of... hate how it's matching with Rosho. SasaRo enjoyers rejoice but I don't like how it doesn't allow Sasara (and Rosho in turn) be his own character. It was mainly an issue I had with Rosho but this new fit puts in on Sasara too, that it kind of forces you to look at him in the lense of his relationship with Rosho rather than who he is as a chara on it's own. Also they made him less colorful :CC The bowtie is super cute though I like it.

Rosho: Rosho does look cute but again I wish it wasn't so obviously a callback to his relationship with Sasara!! I do like the hair, it's very cute fdsafdsa. He looks a lot more comfortable and a lot more confident but I'm unsure if its due to character development or just for cool points. Rosho looks like he smells good

Rei: He's too grey 💀 TOO GREY !!! I think getting rid of the hat and glasses was such a downgrade it does not look very good. It's a lot of my issues with Hifu's outfit without actually having a good clothing design to make up for it. I think it's nice how it could possibly be a call back to Kazuma Kiryu but that doesn't really make up for it :/

Kuko: I was wrong his hair did not get shorter 💀💀💀 But he is INCREDIBLE !! IT'S VERY GOOD!!! I have nothing to complain / nitpick about I think it's very good. (one nitpick I guess FDSAFDS. His bright hair now seems a bit out of place against the darkness of his clothing. Maybe making the purple accent stripes blue or red would have made it better? Unsure though.

Jyushi: He looks very good but I wish they gave him more interesting pants they're very underwhelming compared to his incredible top!! Like imagine sm crazy shit like lace racing stripes, some peekaboo patterns in triangles at the bottom of his flares, it would be very cute !!!

Hitoya: Very cute, very good, a stark improvement from his original look I have nothing else to say fdskafdasfdsa. Again, a 35 year old baby.

I think for some of the characters the outfits really really really really work (Doppo, Hitoya, Jakurai) but for a lot of them I think their original looks were much more iconic and much more fitting to themselves (Dice, Sasara, Rei). I hope we still get content put out with their original outfits because I'd legitimately be sad to never see Dice in his trench coat again :C

#asks are fun uwu #hypmic #hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #mod ioten rambles too much despite not writing anything at all

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all-things-fic · 3 years

Text

Somewhere Only We Know

A/N - Hello, you lovely lot! Hope you are all keeping well in these utterly shit Covid times. Who would’ve thought that we would still be here in December?! Please see my offering for @goldenbluesuit‘s Christmas Fic Challenge. Hope I’ve done a bit of justice with this piece.

I can remember Katie texting me telling me about the challenge, and I’ll admit I was given first dibs and now I’m absolutely shitting myself because I’ve seen all the brillaint entries so far and I’m not sure I really cut the mustard with this piece but I’m proud of myself for being able to put a solid 70% of this together in just one day (that one day being today).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Katie has done a brilliant job and I know how grateful she is towards anyone who has joined the challenge or supported by reading/sharing etc.... I need to stop rambling... Okay, thank you for sticking with me as always and happy reading! .x

***

The last thing you remembered actually reading in the group chat was “make sure you have your wellies”. You were glad that you remembered that part at the very least.

Winds whipped around you as you buried your face further into your cream roll neck cable knit jumper, all but hidden underneath your tobacco borg teddy coat that someone had already likened to Macklemore.

Nothing like being back home with your closest and oldest friends.

Mud squelched under your feet as you walked in line with two of your oldest girl friends, eyes looking over the four males in front of you as they led the way over the grassy hills.

There had been zero planning on what today’s events would bring. It was quite clear that the seven of you just wanted to be reunited with the country air and wind bitten cheeks.

It was nice. How simple it was. On the surface at the very least. That was until you zoned in on the little things.

Like his laugh. The same laugh that always carried somehow and it seemed like the wind was making it that much more prominent than usual today.

There was no denying, he had this glow about him. Even from the back of him. You felt silly for thinking it, but it was true. It was in the way he held himself as he attacked the grassy hills with his feet clad wellies and brown trousers.

Life had changed a lot in over a decade. Christ, had it been that long? You’d all gone from baby teenagers to fully fledged adults. The age range of your friendship differing slightly, the odd person here and there slightly older than a couple of people in the group.

Nonetheless, many of the experiences had been the same. The big job offers, and the even bigger promotions. The heartbreaks, regardless of their prominence or lack of, had been the felt the same. The flirtation between some of you sparked probably a bit more so now with a finesse that didn’t have you rolling your eyes but rather leaning into it.

Four out of seven of you were single. Jack and Jonny were virtually married off, however neither of them were with their partners this year with both deciding to spend Christmas at home and New Years with their significant others. Alice was still loved up and going strong with her fella, as was Grace who you hadn’t heard a peep from as she constantly checked her phone to see when the person she was besotted with finally arrived up North thanks to West Midlands Trains pulling into Crewe.

So that left Will, you and Harry. Harry who had quite publicly made it known that he was single. Well, according to your Mum he had, in several interviews. Including the one that she had described as an ‘incredibly relaxing watch and nice background noise to my Sunday evening brew and ironing session’.

That was a strange one for you, his honesty. In earlier years of friendship, he always seemed quite aloof. Like he was keeping his options open. Guarded in a way that frustrated at least 75% of the friendship group, in the nicest way possible. You knew that was a contradiction but any annoyance came from a good place.

You remembered one night in 2014 when he wouldn’t quite give you a straight answer over tequila shots whether he was shagging someone or not. You also remember the way he’d been pulled away from you tactfully by Alice that night when she sensed how you were about to blow up at his lackadaisical attitude.

The same had been felt in 2016. Not so much in 2018, but you weren’t single then so maybe you just didn’t care.

2019 was significantly different though.

See the thing was, you knew him now. Like, knew knew him.

Some would think it was a lapse of judgment, a reading that you would agree upon given what had happened two days prior if ever prodded about it publicly.

Others would vehemently disagree. Stating how long any sort of energy between the two of you had been bubbling for a number of years.

Looking back you couldn’t even understand why you’d attended his show. You lived in Camden and it made sense, but that’s where the sense stopped. Even the ways he had reached out had been one of the most random messages you’d received from him

There was no context, just a simple ‘I’m playing the Electric Ballroom and there’s tickets waiting for you if you want ‘em.’

And the thing was, you loved that venue. The grungy-ness of it all. The way you had stuck to the floor while trying to dance along to the likes of The Hives and Kings of Leon when seeing them playing there, basking in your sweaty happiness.

But the stickiness of the floor and sweatiness of the room didn’t compare to the stickiness and sweatiness you later found yourself partaking in as Harry took you from behind over the side of his couch.

A shiver rolled through you at the thought, one that you would blame on the December bitter chill because it was a secret. One that neither of you had mentioned since it happened on Thursday night, or to be technically correct the early hours of Friday morning.

He’d been good. Of course he had been.

He had that way about him that night that pulled you under a false sense of endeared security. From his dimpled smile to gleaming eyes. He was happy.

And the way he had shone as he found you on the balcony had warmed you like nothing you had known in the longest time.

It caused you to forget about the worry that had laden you limbs as you turned up at 9.13pm to the wooden doors of the building, wondering how many songs he was in to the set as you convinced yourself he would start at 9.00pm.

As you’d been ushered over to a clear box window and uttered your name to a dorky looking man wearing a tracksuit pull over and watched him handover a white envelope through the circle hatch.

You stood in the dark, next to two much younger girls who enjoyed the way his glances lingered over at their side. Eyes had found Gemma in the opposite corner of the balcony, her dancing and singing with some recognisable faces mainly more so because you had seen them on social media.

You, however, kept yourself to yourself. Until you were anchored in the tightest hug from Gemma that you had ever felt from her and swayed from side to side as she made it known how pleased she was to see you once the concert was over.

That familiarity had been nice. The vibrancy of nostalgia consuming you in your entirety.

Watching him work a room when he finally entered the after party was a sight to behold, in his navy blue pinstripe suit and yellow ‘I’m gonna die lonely’ t-shirt.

He wasn’t. Gonna die lonely, that is.

He glided so smoothly from one person to the next, spilling a drink down himself in the process you’d seen (and later felt when your hand clung to the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed), making time for everyone in his own unique way.

Big eyes followed you over Gemma’s shoulder when he had finally found himself within your circle and hugged his sister once more that evening. They were hard to read but also openly filled with a glimmer of hope as he dropped his gaze to see what you were wearing.

And when he approached you, he hugged you in a way that managed to pull you into the darkened corner of the dingy space. Spinning your body to keep your face concealed from any prying eyes.

He revealed to you how he didn’t think you were going to turn up, scanning you with his gaze as he spoke. You did the same, a bit taken aback by just how attractive you were finding him. He had always been handsome but the aura he gave off, made your fingers itch to have him closer to you.

Words ran away from you that night as he begged and pleaded with you to tell him what your favourite song had been. Based on first impressions, which the show has been, then Canyon Moon and Watermelon Sugar had smothered you and given you no other option but to pick them.

If he were to ask you now you’d probably say To Be So Lonely, thanks to the drive home being longer than originally thought and said album being your choice of road trip music.

Forget Driving Home For Christmas, nothing slapped more than one of your closest friends admitting to being an arrogant son of a bitch.

After your chat, he mingled some more but Harry was always tactile and that night had been no different. He veered conversations with people you had never seen before to take place by the zone that you all occupied.

He actively kept his back against yours, allowing the faintest of touches and brushing of arms - sometimes hands too if he dropped them down heavily enough with his arms as he spoke - to entice and create a spark.

You were kept late enough to miss the last tube. Battery dangerously low on your phone that you didn’t know if a transaction with Uber would be worth a try.

Jumping into the same car as him had been easy. His soft and tired eyes findings yours in the cab as he leant his head back against the headrest in the back seat and let his lips tip upwards in an expression of tenderness that had you melting in your seat.

“‘S been a while since we’ve both been a bit pissed in the back of a taxi,” he mused, pushing his fallen locks out of his eyes to ensure his view of you wasn’t obscured. “Come an’ cuddle me like you used to do when we went out a’ home and were worse for wear.”

Falling into his side was almost second nature, eyes closing as you let your forehead rest against his jawline and let his worn in cologne fill you senses and scatter your judgment.

You don’t even remember how you ended up kissing that night. A mixture of confessions about missing each other and praise of how good you both were in your own ways. The sound of his whispered, “are you coming home wi’me?” against your lips an offer too good for you to refuse as you sat pressed into his side and half in his lap.

The giggles that night, around dramatic shushes as you tripped and shuffled from the car to his front door were almost haunting in your memory as he tried to chastise you around spluttered laughter about being respectful of his neighbours.

Getting the key in the lock proved unchallenging - one of the better analogies aligned to your memories and latter sexual endeavours - as you slipped into the house. He enjoyed watching the way you walked ahead of him into his home, not realising how much he needed that visual of seeing how well you fit in.

While time seemed to slow in that moment, movements desperately sought the opposite. Hands gripped and clawed like their lives depended upon it.

Looking back now, both he and you wished it hadn’t happened the way it did. Skirt lifted and over the side of his couch. Teeth clashing and hips knocking.

It had been every inch a drunken fumble. A first meeting slightly cheapened but wanted nonetheless. Only made even cheaper by the hush-hush concealing of it ever occurring.

But a secret it was and a secret it would remain.

And oh how you wished you had a pillow you could press you face into right now and scream, this time for an entirely different reason. Unlike that night.

“Not seen a sign of any deer yet, mate,” you heard a voice break you out of your indulgence of recollecting past events. Harry was the worst at wanting to get a reaction.

“Christ, have a bit of patience would yer?”

You smiled at the bickering, just like it always was as the River Dane could be heard in the distance somewhere as you walked. If you listened really close, that is.

Lifting your eyes, your smile lingered as you watched Harry spin his body around and let his hands get lost in the massive pockets of his parka. He walked backwards holding your gaze softly with his eyes twinkling before he gently rolled them at the overreaction and impatience of your friends.

He seemed pleased that you’d enjoyed his teasing as you once again hid you smile into your jumper.

You’d be alright.

***

You heard giggles and screams ahead of you as your friends stumbled in the dark and messed about as you got closer to the viaduct. This place or the people didn’t change, and at times while it filled you with a warm nostalgia, it could be heavily jarring.

A soft and lazy smile pulled at your lips as you felt his heavy forearm lightly tug you closer to him, his lips finding your hair. And then there was Harry.

“Think we should go this way m’self,” Harry mumbled, the nudge of his hips against yours had you stumbling slightly in your heels away from the direction of your friends and somewhere completely different.

“And why’s that?” You turned your face slightly, cheeks warm and flushed thanks to the mixture of alcoholic beverages; eyes glazed as they lifted up to look at him.

“Cause you never would’ve let me when I was sixteen,” he admitted.

“You didn’t ask.”

“‘M askin’ now.”

With slow blinking eyes, you looked at his own unfocused vision. A soft shine to his skin, hair blowing gently against his forehead. The softest of smiles tilted at your lips.

“On yer go,” he nudged you forward, this time more so with his crotch and his hands, which wrapped around your hips to help steer you. Harry was met with only a small amount of resistance from you as you split off from your friends and turned in the different direction.

You bit back your laugh, dropping your head slightly as you felt your heels started to sink into the grass as you walked. Harry was level with you when you sunk down noticing the way you legs slightly gave way, a soft chuckle omitting from his throat as he asked, “You alrigh’?”

“I’m sinking in these bloody things,” you grumbled, pulling your heel from the grass and trying to place the sole of your shoe onto the ground beneath you first.

“So much for no’ being able to take the country out o’ the girl. London’s changed yer, swear it.”

Shaking your head, you cut your eyes to give him a harsh stare for his wind up. His amused expression lit a fire in you like no other. He really wasn’t one to talk though, was he?

“Gi’me your hand ‘ere,” he held his out to you, quickly cupping it when you handed it over and pulled it under his bent elbow. “Remind me again who’s idea this was, eh?”

He didn’t need reminding, he had been one of the keen instigators for the whole jaunt down Twemlow Viaduct. It usually was him, or Jack. The two of them often reminiscing on times they had both raided their parents' alcohol cupboards and managed to sneak out with some dusty bottle that held a liquor that tasted out of date and stale, and if not that then, cheap.

“‘S still fucking freezing down ‘ere, in’it?” He asked, lifting his left hand up to his mouth and blowing against it to try and get some feeling back into his fingers.

“We’re so close to the river, I don’t know why you’d expect anything different?”

“Is this why everyone was always so insistent on necking anything with over 11% alcohol in it when we came down ‘ere as kids?”

“Probably,” you softly laughed.

“‘S a bit different now though innit?”

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” you started to correct him, shrugging your hand out from under his elbow and reaching for your bag. Quickly fumbling with the clasp, you lifted up the quilted flap and managed to pull out the stainless steel hip flask.

Harry cackled a harsh laugh, his eyes crinkling as he slowly let his laughter die down and softly let his joy wash over his features. “Impressive. Gone all proper on me.”

“You know I haven’t,” you held his eyes watching as he nervously cupped at the back of his neck for a short while, a gentle bite down of his bottom lip, as you quickly uncapped the item and held it out to him. He looked like he needed the courage. You continued, “We’re just a bit more refined, that and we earn a good living. Some more than others, and by some I mean you.”

He held his hand up towards you with an amused grin at your comment. “You first, ‘s yours after all.”

Lifting the item and knocking back your head, you swallowed the whiskey with a small grimace, before offering it to Harry once more. This time he accepted, his right hand making light work of taking the item from your hands and sipping at the contents.

His face wasn’t as contorted as your’s when he swallowed, a fan of the chosen beverage if needs must. “‘S the proper stuff, tha’ is,” he commented with a quick lick of his lips before continuing, “Come a long way from sneaking the bottles of dusty Blossom Hill from the back of the cupboard.”

“Don’t know about that,” you smiled, taking the item and pushing it back into your bag. “I’d still drink if, if it were on offer.”

“‘M sure Mum’s got a bottle or two going at home?”

“Is that your way of asking me to go home with you?” You paused. “Again.”

Harry remained silent at your words. Both you and he knew it was going to happen. A mixture of sparks and lovelorn, lingering glances was enough to make anyone both want to give up, while also giving a burning confidence usually unknown.

Neither of you expected it would be you who started the conversation, however.

“It is, ‘f it’s gonna work. ‘M not sure I could wait any longer t’be’onest wi’yer.“

Laughing, you reached up to push at his shoulder. He always knew exactly what to say, but no way was he going to make a laughing stock of the whole thing. “Oh, give over,” you spoke, harshly swallowing when he kept your hand against the thick cable knit black jumper he had on. “You’ve made it this far, thus far just fine.”

“‘M not playin’,” he whispered, hand gently curling around your own and lifting it up to press against his face. His cheeks were warm underneath the cooler hands, despite the cold night whipping around you both and your mind quickly wondered if he was just as embarrassed for his lack of acknowledgment as you had been. “Homes nice, you’re nicer.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it,” you let your soft voice get taken by the wind.

“An’ what gave you tha’ impression?”

He did. He gave you that impression. By not mentioning it. By treating you how he always did.

“You.”

“Me?” Harry responded, indignantly, blowing out a sigh that had his cheeks puffing out underneath your hand. “‘M not doing a very good job then am I? I can’t keep m’eyes off o’you. ‘S not my fault you don’t bloody notice ‘em.”

But you had noticed them.

His eyes, gaze following your every move, near enough. Stupid little touches. Glances of approval. Not just now, but from years before.

Treating you how he always did.

Oh, treating you how he always did.

Bringing your eyes back to his figure, you saw the way his gaze darted and nervousness dragged at his features. A frown began to set itself between his eyebrows from worry.

“Changes everything.”

Running his tongue along his teeth, Harry pursed his lips. “Everythin’ has changed, changed a long time ago an’all.”

You dropped your hand down, it now massaging against the back of his neck and shoulder as you felt the tension of his body radiating through his clothes. Under the dim moonlight and the odd spotlight that had been added to the viaduct with each passing year for safety, Harry exhumed everything anyone would want in a boyfriend. He was soft, and so bloody gorgeous. Not just because he was personification of an almost six foot tall string of handsomeness, but his character did the talking for him.

He knocked the door before he walked into a room, for example. Who really did that kind of thing anymore?

But you could also still see the heartbreak that lingered, albeit not as strong as it once was, it was still there. And that was problematic and scary. To be on the receiving end of it. Not that you would hold it against him, because you had been him at one point too. At many points in fact.

When the two of you had shagged, because let’s face it that is exactly what it had been, while a sense of familiarity in the person was prevalent it was definitely overruled by the desire to just hit a euphoric high that if hit right could not be topped.

Familiar overruled in other aspects, and it wasn’t to be brushed away. But was familiarity a mask that would slip sooner rather than later? Was it the start and the end?

The both of you experienced similarities in your life that could not be matched by the friends in your friendship group. London had chewed you up and spat you out, ruthlessly so. While rewarding you with long hours but fat pay cheques, careers that catapulted you to new heights and enabled you to see parts of the world that two country kids (which in one way you were) could never have imagined.

Sure Harry’s had been on a much, much larger scale - you would not ever deny that - but you no longer fit in.

And neither did he.

This was a place that only the two of you knew. A place where you watched those around you fall in love and have the time to do so. A place where your friend's happiness was created a lot easier than it wasn’t and allowed a sense of success to weave its way in, through the most unexpected of happenings.

Not a place where you found happiness in your work because there was less of a space for happiness to blossom elsewhere. Not really. Not like you; both of you.

Understanding was vital.

This had been a place you knew like the back of your hand. A place that had you feeling the earth beneath your feet, fresh air in your lungs and had at times made it so you found yourself sitting by a river and finding yourself feeling complete.

Yet looking over at the almost 26 year old, that just wasn’t the case anymore.

And for once you didn’t feel alone.

The sound of the odd piece of cobbled pavement underneath Harry shoes, buried beneath overgrown grass and plants, broke you from your thoughts, as you watched him kick at the ground and scuff his shoes.

He sighed, head tilted back before he knocked it to the side and caught your eyes. A small scoffed laugh left his lips as he shook his head and dropped his gaze to his feet.

“‘S it fucked?”

You hummed, a small frown lacing your features.

“Fucked it, haven’t I? Fuckin’- idiot-“ he breathed out a noise as he clenched his teeth, one that wasn’t quite a growl but enough to let you know he was agitated. Only strengthened by how tight his jaw became.

Before you could even think, the back of your hand gently brushed against the pulsing hinge of his jaw. Muscles taut as you tried to soothe him in a way that your mind was screaming was far too intimate.

You didn’t want him having any internal battle about right and wrong. Not when you had both taken the same steps to get here.

“Thought it was just meant as a one time thing,” you admitted. “Like you needed it, and I needed it. Was what it needed to be at the time. Bit rough, bit sloppy-“

You cringed are the use of the word. Wanting the ground to swallow you in a weird fashion. You should be able to talk open and honestly with someone who you had known longer than hadn’t.

“Rough?“ Harry swallowed audibly, his face fallen. “That’s not-“

His eyes held an emotion similar to sorrow at the mention of the word. “That’s not the impression I wanted to give you.”

“We were both drunk, it happens.”

“Not with me it doesn’t. Not when it’s me, wanting to be wi’you.”

“I mean I was into it if that helps anything?”

“Were yer?”

You looked at him from the corner of your vision, watching his lips try to fight a smile as you rolled yours into your mouth to not give yourself away. You knew what you were trying to do by speaking those words aloud but you wished you hadn’t. Awkward breathy laughs were shared by the two of you as you held his eyes.

“Was I?”

You hummed in agreement to answer his question, letting your smile dance along your lips now and watching as Harry’s dimples started to show. His expression was youthful, slightly smug.

“Good t’know.”

***

Finishing saying your goodbyes to your friends and ignoring their suggestive expression because ‘Harry was stopping as an extra pair of hands’, you shut the heavy wooden door and reached up to close the deadbolt lock at the top. Shortly after, you let your feet drop as you stopped standing on your tiptoes and pressed your forehead against the door.

The silence of the pub was always a strange one to you. A place that was usually thriving, whether it was just your friends, or your parents friends. When the lights were turned out, it was actually quite a lonely place. Regardless of growing up around this sort of industry your entire life and having parents as publicans nothing was more depressing than an empty bar, lifeless and nothing like it was intended.

A suggested lock-in from Jack, who managed to interrupt both yours and Harry’s conversation earlier had not been a bad shout after all. You knew it meant that you would have to deal with the fallout with it being Christmas Eve, but it wasn’t very often that you found yourself in the setting.

Turning to move from the door, you almost jumped out of your skin when you heard the opening of a familiar Lily Allen song start to play over the speakers.

Harry emerged from the corner of the pub that housed the jukebox, slowly rubbing his hands together before he wordlessly picked up the scattered pint glasses that had remained on one of the tables that had been missed by the staff on the evening shift. His eyes glanced over at you, as you stood with a hand to your chest.

This wicked smile and gleam washed over his face as he paused his movement. “Did I scare yer?”

“Do you not think it’s a bit loud?”

He wrinkled his nose at you, a soft shake of his head no, to answer your question.

“‘S your fave innit?” He asked, head nudging to where the jukebox was now hidden.

With a small smile you nodded, “Prefer the Keane version in all honesty.”

“Don’t have it in the bloody jukebox though, d’yer? Can’t like it that much.”

Your smile deepened at his exclaim and how prominent his accent sounded as he spoke, the small clink of the glasses he was holding only heard if you really zoned in.

“Where d’yer want these?” He asked, holding up the five pint glasses he had collected. “Behind t’bar?”

Humming, you nodded and watched as he weaved his way through the tables to you. You frowned as he got closer, not understanding why he hadn’t bypassed you completely.

Once he was close enough to you, you watched as he reached for what you knew to be your own glass of wine that was almost finished.

“Fancy the rest of this or can it go too?”

Looking at him and down to the glass, you gently wrapped your hand around it and brought the lip to your mouth. You knocked the item back quickly, swallowing the rest of your wine, before handing over the now empty glass back to Harry.

“Good girl,” he joked, light laughter lacing each word. “Sit yourself down.”

Wearing an amused and quizzical expression, you let yourself sink down into the wooden chair. Resting your chin on your hand, you spun slightly in your seat to keep your eyes on Harry as he placed the glasses down and lifted the hatch so he could step behind the bar.

With your free hand, you started to tap the worn beer coaster labelled with the Cheshire Brewhouse logo against the table. Part of you hated how Harry had a knack for anything, including knowing his way around a bar.

He busied himself with collating the glasses once more as you let your eyes take in the surroundings you had known, loved and even grown out of.

Your parent’s pub was cosy and friendly. A truly

classic and quintessential British village pub, featuring open fires, bookcases found in the very far corner or the jukebox in the other, lots of old oak and a really pleasant garden with benches for the summat and heaters for the winter. You know the kind that had its regulars that had kids who had seen each other grow up.

The bar was the centre of the pubs house, with an extensive array of whiskies amongst many other delights. A nice range of local ales and a well-balanced, great quality list of wines on offer designed (which you would be taste testing if the service hadn’t decided to take a break) to complement the food menus designed daily by a team of chefs who all have a passion for great cooking using fresh, seasonal and local ingredients.

It looked as Christmassy as Christmas could get, with a real tree which was locally sourced from one of the many surrounding farms and traditionally decorated with golds and reds. Twinkly lights shone, not only on the trees but as part of the garland that was hung above the bar each year, much to the annoyance of your Dad and the delight of your Mum.

Slowly dragging your eyes back to the bar, you watched Harry as he poured you another glass of white wine and started to recap the bottle. He must’ve felt your eyes on him, his gaze meeting yours almost immediately.

“Service is a bit slow,” you jibed, once you knew he was with you. “Going to ruin the reputation of a fine establishment.”

His chuckle was breathy in response, but warmed you through as he turned his back and pushed his tumbler glass up against the device at the bottom of the Glenfiddich distilled malt whiskey, not once but twice going for a double.

“Helping yourself to the stock now, as well.”

“‘M sure your Dad won’t mind,” he responded, twisting his body back around to reach for your own glass and place it onto a tray that sat along the bar top. “In fact he’d probably make a comment about how it’d put hairs on m’chest.”

You laughed, unrestrained, knowing just how right he had been with that comment.

Over the otherside of the room, Harry smiled and shushed you as he walked closer, easily holding the tray with your drinks upon it. “Being a bit loud,” he taunted as he slid the tray down to the oak table.

“Oh, now you’re concerned about the noise.”

With his hand against the back of the chair which was currently housing your outstretched legs, you felt him start to wobble the seat to give you a warning.

“Hang on,” you said, “Plenty of other chairs.”

“This one’s mine,” he responded.

Wanting to roll your eyes but deciding not to, you let your legs drop down and gave the seat back to Harry. Once he was comfortable and he’d taken your drink off the tray, he gestured with his right hand.

Not entirely focused, he had to do the ‘come hither’ motion a couple of times before you finally cottoned on. He was willing to let you put your legs on his lap instead, while he may have taken the seat it didn’t mean he wanted to take away your comfort.

No sooner had your legs been raised to rest against his tan washed velvet corduroy trousers, was he fiddling with the buckle of your stiletto sandals.

“Got mud everywhere,” you commented, wiggling your toes that were painted a festive red and inspecting the little dots of dirt that were splattered against your skin, as Harry dropped the first shoe to the floor and quickly worked on the second. “Dread to think what they smell like.”

“Smell alrigh’ from ‘ere,” he mused, smirk faint but glaring obvious in his tone of voice as he threw a quick and mischievous glance at you. As you elongated your foot against his thighs, the tips of your toes were just about able to press into his thick jumper to try and jab at him for his comment.

Before you were able to put any sort of force behind your action, Harry’s hand clamped down around the top of your foot causing your eyes to snap up away from his hand and up to his eyes.

There he sat watching you, top two teeth pressed into his bottom lip keep his smile at bay. Releasing his lips slowly, his whispered threat left his throat, “I will tickle.”

You tried to fidget away but to no avail. With a whined laugh, you frowned as Harry goaded you by slowly raising his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

You had tried him.

Truth be told you wanted to again.

If he wanted to.

Reaching for your wine, you took a hefty sip and let the silence swallow you both. Harry, who kept his hand on your foot and his fingers dancing gently against the top, let his head fall back awkwardly against the hardwood. His head dropped to the side taking in his surroundings and their familiarity.

“Do you ever get tired of coming back?”

You hummed, sure you had misheard due to the way the blood was rushing around your ears. He turned to look at you, all double chin and puffy cheeks.

“Of everything being the same, but different?”

His whispers captivated you, hushed confessions not quite meant for anyone else but his own mind yet spilling from him with such an ease that he did nothing to fight them.

“I’ll admit, I come home for other people. Not for me.”

“People?”

“Mum, Dad,” you paused. “You.”

His smile deepened. His chin knocking down to his chest, his eyes looking up at you from underneath his curling hair from being caught in the moist winter evening just hours before.

“You can stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you did three nights ago.”

Harry breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring and his chest expanding. A lick of his lips, before his mouth dropped to sit slightly agape.

“What if I don’t wan’to? What if I want t’look at yer like this all the time?”

You found yourself unable to respond, nose burying itself into your wine glass as you pressed your lips against the cool outside to try and hide your burning smile.

His lips curled lightly, before he breathed a laugh once and gently shook your foot with his hand. “Eh? Come ‘ere-“

“Harry,” you breathed.

“C’mon, c’mere. ‘S room for more than just your feet.”

If it wasn’t for the creak of your chair as you slowly started to push yourself out of it, you wouldn’t have consciously been aware of how you were making your way to him.

His body relaxed, somehow managing to become closer to horizontal than sitting upright in his seat, as he peered as you walking the short distance over to him.

With his legs widened, he pressed his face into your side now that you were close enough. His nose inhaled the familiar scent of your perfume which was only faint now due to the other senses and scents it had mixed with throughout the evening.

Rolling his face out of your body, he knocked his head back and pressed his chin where his face had been. The face you showed him was worn with worry, an expression he did not want to meet.

“‘S wrong?”

His ask was lazy. Not wanting to dig deep and know. What if he didn’t like what he found?

“We know how this is going to end.”

“Do we?” He prodded. His eyes moved over your features quickly before they partly disappeared to him, thanks to your curtain of hair which slowly fell down.

His hand reached up, desperately brushing it away and cupping at the back of your head as best as he could while he remained seated.

“How’s that? Tell me.”

“Same, but different.”

You knew you shouldn’t use his words, not in a way that could be considered against him, but they - in the most ambiguous of ways - described everything perfectly.

“Not if I have my way.”

His words were almost lost against your stomach as he pressed his face against you once more and wrapped his hands around you; sweaty, nervous palms pressing to the backs of your thighs.

“Same, but better.”

Harry guided you down to his lap, his lips somehow managing to remain pressed into stomach, or your chest, or your clavicle, as your face became level with his.

“Different, but better.”

He kissed against your cheek slowly, nose nudging at your skin as he willed for you to relax against him. “I don’t know how you like it, like this,” he whispered in confession. “Show me?”

A puff of air left your lips as you turned to look at him with hooded eyes. His mouth was closer to yours than you originally thought, corners of lips brushing as you slightly pulled away.

When your lips met, it was in the softest of pecks that trembled under your nerves. Both sets of eyes looking back at each other as you innocently engaged.

If you were to take your eyes away from him in any way, you would notice those fluffy curls of his falling over his forehead and the lightest dusting of red blush making itself known against his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

He felt like a school boy, lost and clumsy. The kid who was once again flicking paper at you in science class just so he could pull a face at you over something your teacher was saying to get you to laugh.

Mouths hovering over each other, your breathing mixed, as Harry nodded to you slightly. You pressed your lips to his once more, feeling the way he gradually opened up to you, warmed and softened underneath the puckering of your mouth against his.

His hands, that slightly trembled, smoothed over your hips trying to pull your body so that it was more so flush against his. You moaned softly, your hands running over his jumper covered shoulders, fingers digging and pulling at the material just below the nape of his neck.

The chair beneath you moved lightly against the floor, not quite a scrape but a dull drag. Neither of you broke the kiss, but his hands against you allowed fingers to dig in to hold you steady to him so if you were to fall from where you were sitting, he still had you.

His lips slowed, moving to press against your cheeks again as he panted and his warmth breath bounced off your skin. “Think I got it,” he heaved.

“Do you?”

Harry hummed his ‘yea’, before pressing his lips so tenderly to your chin and the underside of your jaw. He felt how you swallowed heavily, throat dry from the way your mouth hung open and your neck further exposed itself as you lolled your head back.

You were falling further and further back, finding it hard to stay upright as he devoured you and made you weaker with each pulling kiss. His groans were needy, muffled and making your ache. While yours were silent and making his desperate to pull something from you. To build is confidence in that he was doing something right, you liked it this way too.

Hands fumbled and dragged upwards at your skirt, faintly aware now how it was similar - if not the same one - to the garment you wore to his show.

“Gonna take this off properly,” he mumbled, feeling the way your hips moved slightly from his hands to roll over him.

“You don’t have to-“

“No?”

Your voices were rushed as you spoke to each other, barely audible but loud enough all the same. His head was knocked back slightly as you hovered over him and you found yourself admiring his blissed out face even only in the lead up.

This was a sight that you hadn’t received last time, and if you had your way it was one you were going to greedily enjoy in all its glory.

Like watching the way his eyes closed and he softly grinned, the left side of his teeth started to show as the one side of his face reacted first while your hands blindly moved to lift up his jumper and the white tee he had on underneath, to allow you to find the button of his corduroys.

“What ya doing?”

“Nothing,” you mused.

He pulled a face, the kind that down turned his lips, eyebrows raised and head slightly tilted to the side. The kind that had you smiling.

“Not trying to get m’trousers around m’ankles for a second time within a week then?”

You giggled. “No.”

“Please do.”

A low moan left you as you pressed your forehead to his jaw and dropped your eyes. Your hands slowly started to pull at the brass button and pop it open before seeking out the zip thanks to his desperate plea, encouraging you to continue.

Hands quickly sought out the waistband of the trousers and gently pulled at the item. From the way that you were sat, you knew there was no way you were doing to make them budge.

“Stand up fo’ me,” he mumbled, quickly helping you get off his lap so that he could make light work of his clothing and pull down his trousers and underwear.

His bare bum made easy contact with the cushion leather beneath him, eyes carefully watching you as your hands moved to underneath your skirt.

The fabric of your underwear slipped so easily down your legs, his eyes just about caught the sight of them as they pooled against your ankles and you kicked them away.

Legs pressed together, you slowly untucked the v-necked blouse you had chosen and pulled it over your head. Wearing nothing but a fancy black bra, and a tight little skirt you hastily snatched for your wine and took a hefty gulp.

You could feel his eyes on you, a gruff groan catching in the back of his throat and when you finally turned your eyes from where they had been looking down at your heaving chest and how great this bra made your boobs look, causing him to move his hand down to start playing with himself.

His name left your lips in a breathy gasp, causing you to look up quite surprised at the find of his right hand gently tugging at his hard length.

“Keepin’ me waitin’,” he groaned, his left hand sloppily reached for the back of the collar of his jumper and tee, pulling the item roughly over his head.

“Fuck sake,” he mumbled under his breath, agitated that he was unable to get both items of in one go.

“Smooth.”

Harry stared up at you with a playful squint, before he gently fell back and moved the chair as he did so, the dull scrape heard once more.

And if you didn’t know he was flushed before, when you first kissed, you were definitely aware now. His eyes were blown out and hungry as they devoured you. Hair wildly haphazard before he let go of himself with a soft slap of his skin and harshly pushed his fingers through it.

“‘S it still a couple of quid for a strip of three,” his words brought you back to him. This smugness radiated off of him as he groaned and leaned forward to push his trousers down all of the way. Over his vans and socked feet, before he toed them off as well be harshly pulled at his white sport socks.

You didn’t even need for him to explain what he meant, staying silent as you watched his hands tug at his corduroys from the floor and retrieve his wallet. As his fingers moved around to find a couple of quid, the jangle of the coins was taunting.

One leg crossed over the other, you swayed and found yourself blushing when he looked up at you once he’d managed to find enough money and then some. With his wallet thrown on the table, he stood proudly from the seat and closed the short gap between your both.

Leaning forward he easily took your lips with his own before pulling away. With his face still close to yours he whispered, “Promise not to look at my arse.”

He didn’t hang around long enough for your reply, instead turning away and brazenly giving you all the time you would ever need to admire him, his fantastic bum and his hairy legs before he opted for a jog-walk type of thing, suddenly conscious that he was absolutely walking around naked from the waist down in a pub owned by your parents.

While you waited you took a quick pull from his whiskey, needing the heftier burn for Dutch courage. Nervousness returned when you heard the endings of what you believed to be Harry whistling.

“Machine ate all m’fuckin’ change,” he grumbled, regardless of the twinkle in his eye at the strip of overpriced condoms he had managed to score from the men’s bathroom. “‘S Durex. Business must be booming, your Dad’s definitely gone up in the world.”

“Please don’t talk about my Dad.”

He smiled brightly before he reached for your face with one hand and pulled you towards him mumbling his ‘sorry’s’ against your lips as he gave you several kisses in quick succession.

His other arm loosely wrapped around your back and pulled you with him as he walked backwards and slowly lowered himself back onto his previous seat. The chair creaked as you joined him, slipping into his lap and feeling the way he was smiling now.

Pulling away from your kiss, he quickly tore away one of the condoms allowing the others to fall without much care to the floor. Teeth took a hold of the foil-like packaging and he tore it not so elegantly with his eagerness.

With his cock nestled in the crease of his own thigh now, the heat radiating from it matched your own agonising yearning. Scooting back to give him space, you heard him groan as he gently rolled the condom down onto himself. Eyes looking up just in time to see him knocking his head back and breathing deeply through nose. The foil-like packaging was back in between his teeth once more as his hands were otherwise preoccupied.

Slowly your hand reached up to take it from his mouth, feeling some playful resistance as Harry continued to hold it in his teeth. His eyes were open and boyishly sincere, as you tugged at the item and he finally released it when you lightly laughed.

“Gi’me a kiss.”

Obliging him, you leant forward and slotted your mouths together a lot easier than you had done at the start of the night. A heat built easily between the two of you, as Harry gave you his tongue and you felt the flex of his jaw under your hand as he worked your mouths together.

He was eager, his hands tightening on your waist before he growled when he understood he had to grab handfuls of skirt before he could cup your backside. But when his skin met yours and you ground down onto his lap, the groan that left him was the most animalistic sound imaginable.

The frown your face fell into showed your desire to whimper, as he kept you atop him and marvelled in the way you writhed, both from satisfaction and keenness at the pressure of his cock against you.

“Can I have you again?” He asked, the startings of sweaty hair being pushed off your face. His eyes peered at you, searching for his answer as you seemed to be able to do nothing but pant and look back at him yearningly. “Are you letting me?”

You dragged your fingers down his t-shirt covered torso and lifted it slightly just to see the quiver of his stomach as pulled you onto him once more.

“Like this?” you voiced, meekly.

“‘F this is what you like then, yea’”, he breathed into your mouth, hands shifting your pliant body. “Is this what you want?”

You wordlessly nod, mouth falling open in a breathy gasp when he managed to move you so he sat so enticingly at your entrance. He was teasing both yourself and him, wanting to keep you both on the edge.

Harry blinked a few times as he looked at you, and you revelled in the way he couldn’t seem to concentrate. His hands held your flesh tightly, fingertips dipping into the skin of your bum cheeks as he gently guided you down.

An unattractive and dull, quite strangled noise, left your throat as you let your forehead fall against his temple. Eyes falling down you see the cups of your bra fall slack, you felt his hands softly gliding over your shoulder blades and shoulders.

He rid you of your bra, hands moving to your chest to squeeze your breasts. His jaw fell slack when you found yourself sitting snugly on his lap - on him - settled and already feeling spent.

This was so different compared to the last time; if not overwhelming so because of the way you both appeared to be so present. Each movement of your hips, and the way they rolled and grinded and dragged felt too much. So much so that you had become nothing more than a mess of short, quick breathing and blushing, sweaty cheeks.

Slack-jaw, you were unable to find it in you to return Harry’s kisses, and his joyful, breathy chuckle seemed to lead you to believe he was fine with it. In fact he was happy to keep going as you were.

Your movements were frantic, and despite the build up, not entirely driven by lust either. Harry continued to encourage you to move as you were; slow, grinding motions on his lap that caused the filthiest of groans and dirtiest of laughs from the two of you. Laughter that was only made stronger as the chair that held you both started to creak too.

You couldn’t do much about it though other than to breathe into each other’s mouth, and rock your hips together with more fervour each time.

“Yea’,” he breathed against your lips, left hand at the back of your head holding you to him, while his right rested just above your bum. “‘S better. That’s better.”

It was better. Better than last time. Better than anything before.

And while it hadn’t been frantic before, it was now as your legs that were hanging down either side of the chair started to tremble and your toes started to dig into the worn carpet beneath them. Hips knocking and your clit dragging heavenly against his public bone, you grasped his name as you buried your face into his neck and dug your nails into his nape.

Harry hissed his approval which fell to a groan as your nails pushed up into his hair and lightly pulled as you sought leverage. There were so many things you were learning this time around and his penchant for liking his hair pulled from time to time, was one of those things.

“God, ‘m gonna come soon,” he admitted, gruntly as he forced your hips down as he anchored his legs and widened his seating position. “Are you close?”

“Yeah,” you whined. “Yes. Like this-“

And as you pressed your face to his once more, he was everywhere. Soft but hard, loving but commanding. Smelled like clean washing detergent but of country air. Inviting and alluring, allowing you your lingering kisses between grounding breaths that became staccato in unison with the movement of your hips.

You aren’t ashamed of the whines that escaped your throat as you squeezed down on his cock, praised by indecipherable works that left Harry but were nothing more to you than lips moving against your rough and dry ones. Word that made the burning feeling of your pending orgasm spread through your entire body, warming you and setting you alight.

It was long and deep, with your toes curling into the carpet they were pressed against now. Barely able to catch your breath, sucking in harshly and shaking.

And when you came to, thoroughly exhausted, you noticed that he was waiting for your say so. That he could let go and enjoy the pleasure brought about by your shared labour.

“Coming-“ was all the warning that you got and was enough to encourage you to watch him as he came, his face completely void of anything other than pure pleasure. Wrinkles and frowns fade, his mouth falling open with his pink lips glinting prettily under the dim Christmas lights around you.

His forehead gleamed with sweat as he wrapped his arms around you tightly and his hips bucked up one, two and three times for good measure. “Fuck me,” he heaved gruffly.

You were suddenly desperate to feel his lips on yours despite the way you both continued to fight to get your breath back, but settled for resting them against the skin of his cheek, which was hot to the touch.

When you felt Harry start to go soft, you reluctantly pulled away and let him slip out of you. He wasn’t so keen to let you get too far, holding you just that bit higher than before with his hand cupping gently but firmly at your hip. “Where’d you think you’re going,” he hummed, eyes still closed as he continued to heavily inhale and exhale.

You softly smiled, taking in his soft face and responded by nuzzling close to him again.

Nowhere. Somewhere. Anywhere with him.

A place where only the two of you knew, like the back of your hand. The same way you knew each other. Now and possibly forever.

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564 notes · View notes

alinastracker · 3 years

Note

If you’re still doing the prompts I have oneeeee hehe

" i mean... i-i'm cool with sharing the bed if you are. "

you got it baby 🥰

but i know something’s starting right now

It’s a sweltering Ravkan summer day, but nothing brings heat to her body like watching Mal in the pool, water droplets racing down his chest. His shaggy hair is a mop on his head, and she realizes this is what he must look like in the shower.

This is exactly why she didn’t want to bring him on the trip.

It’s the first week of July, and for the past three years, that’s meant a trip to the Os Alta Resort with Genya and Zoya. It’s a way for them to relax after exams and catch up now that they all attend different schools. But at the end of May, the two of them had FaceTimed her about a change for this year.

“We were thinking of taking the boys with,” Genya says gently, nervous for her reaction.

Zoya is frank as ever. “It’s cheaper that way. Besides, after all this long distance, I could use a week of uninterrupted fuc—”

“Zoya!”

“Relax, Starkov. We’re all adults here.”

“Anyway,” Genya cuts in. “We’re just telling you in case you wanted to bring someone, too. Maybe Mal?”

“Mal and I aren’t dating.”

Only in her dreams.

“Might as well be,” Zoya mutters.

So in the choice between bringing Mal on what has basically turned into a couple’s retreat and going to said couple’s retreat alone, she’s chosen the former. It would be fine. Mal knows her friends. Him and Nikolai like to talk sports. Maybe it’ll be a little weird, being the only non-couple, but they could deal.

It would have been fine, if it weren’t for this morning’s check in.

"So it looks like we have you booked for three single rooms," the concierge says.

Alina frowns. "One of those should be a double."

The concierge checks again, each click of his mouse making her anxiety rise. He frowns. "Sorry, miss. It's showing me all singles."

"It's fine," Mal says. "Could we just upgrade it to a double, then?"

"Er, I'm afraid we're all booked, sir."

Nikolai claps his hands together, cheerful as ever at Zoya's side. "Well, I'll just switch with Alina, and Mal and I can — shit, Zoy!"

Zoya had stomped on his foot.

"We are not switching shit," she hisses under her breath.

Nikolai sighs. "My deadly dearest, certainly it's no big deal—"

"I bought us a new toy for this trip. We are not switching."

There is a brief moment where everyone freezes, then Genya groans, shaking her head as she murmurs apologies to the concierge, who is trying hard to pretend he hasn’t heard a thing. The tips of Mal's ears go red, and Alina is sure hers match. David, lost in his audiobook, is oblivious to all of it.

Nikolai clears his throat and turns to the two of them with a sheepish grin. "Sorry, mate. You're on your own."

The concierge slowly raises a finger and says, "We might be able to supply a cot?"

Alina can feel everyone's eyes on her, which is the last thing she ever wants. She has the strong desire to curl in on herself, but that only really works in the winter when she dons large coats and sweaters. But it’s summer, and she is in only a mustard yellow crop top and jean shorts, though she suddenly feels as exposed as if she were completely naked.

Mal takes one look at her and gently nudges his foot against hers. "I mean . . . I'm cool with sharing the bed if you are?"

Her brain is looking for anyway out of this whole conversation, so she nods.

So far, they have been in their room once to drop off their things and change into bathing suits, both of them dancing around the bed without ever touching it. The air in the room feels charged even with sunlight still pouring in. What would tonight be like?

More importantly, how was she supposed to handle sleeping beside him when she can’t even handle watching him in the pool?

Genya climbs on Mal’s shoulders for a game of chicken — David is, unsurprisingly, not in the pool, but sitting beside Alina on a lounge chair. She feels a pang of something like jealousy as she watches the game commence, which cannot be more ridiculous.

They can’t avoid the night forever, and it comes much too quickly despite how long they spend mingling at the resort bar. In their room, Mal lets Alina use the bathroom first. A kind offer, she thinks, until she realizes it leaves her to stake out a spot on the bed first. No more dancing.

Left side or right? Does Mal have a preference? Does she? How long until Mal finishes in the bathroom and comes out to see her staring at the bed like a mental person?

Right side, she chooses finally. She curls up on the left side of her body usually, so this way, she doesn’t have to face him as they sleep. Good call. As she untucks the covers from the bed, she secretly hopes to find something horrifying, like blood or bugs, so they can get a refund and leave. Sadly, it is a perfectly fine bed. Alina plops onto it and tucks herself in.

Mal finishes in the bathroom a few minutes later, and if he’s as rattled about their sleeping arrangement as she is, he does not show it. There’s plenty of space between them as he settles into bed. Maybe this won’t be as bad as she feared.

“Well, goodnight,” Mal says through a yawn.

“Goodnight,” Alina replies.

They each turn off their bedside lamps. Mal is softly snoring soon after, but Alina stays awake much too long for her liking, thinking of how close he is.

They fall into a similar routine for the next couple nights. During the day, all is fine. Their little group meshes well. Genya and Nikolai are often off together, both of them on a mission, it seems, to try every flavor of ice cream from Os Alta's ice cream bar. Or sometimes it’s Nikolai and Mal running off, joining a game of pool volleyball, both of them stupidly competitive. When Zoya gets annoyed with the overload of children at the waterpark, she joins David on one of the lounge chairs to read for a while — Zoya a smutty historical romance and David a nonfiction on modern space travel. We just shouldn't let Jeff Bezos come back, he argues to Genya later, while Zoya murmurs to Nikolai something she wants him to do to her that night.

Alina thanks the saints her room isn’t next to Zoya’s.

The trip is going so smoothly that she doesn’t realize what trouble Sunday brings with it. It’s always their favorite part of the trip: bottomless margarita night. They all have absolutely horrific, hilarious pictures and videos of themselves from the past three years thanks to bottomless margarita night at Os Alta. But the thought of being drunk like that while she’s sharing a bed with Mal?

Okay, so she just won’t drink tonight. Problem solved.

“You can’t not drink!” Zoya says, personally offended.

“Come on, it’s tradition!” Genya agrees.

But she’s determined to hold out. Only when she sees the others with their drinks, she decides one sip won’t hurt. One sip becomes one drink, and one drink becomes a couple. Soon enough, she’s drunk enough to sign herself up for karaoke, another Os Alta tradition.

“I dunno what I should siiiing,” she slurs, swaying lightly on her feet.

“I have the perfect song for you!” Genya cheers excitedly.

So that’s how she ends up on stage, drunk off her ass, horridly singing Taylor Swift’s We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together. She really gets into it, jumping and nailing the talking parts a little too well. But she can hear Genya and Zoya screaming the lyrics along with her, and it only encourages her.

Genya records a Snapchat of her performance, snickering to Mal and David about how she’s going to accidentally send it to the asshole Alina dated last year who’s still entirely too obsessed with her.

Nikolai is the only one of the boys drunk enough to sign up, taking the stage after Alina to perform a disgustingly off-key version of Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now. They all agree that Freddie Mercury is rolling in his grave.

By the end of the night, the four of them are totally wasted. David, who had spent the night nursing one drink, his focus on getting Genya her drinks and ensuring that she didn’t trip over herself, has to help the aforementioned redhead up to their room. Nikolai and Zoya are a sight, both wickedly drunk, trying to help each other stay upright. Mal had only downed a couple drinks and is mostly sober, which Alina is very thankful for, as she can’t hold herself up to save her life. She nearly trips on absolutely nothing so many times that Mal finally scoops her into his arms, carrying her the rest of the way to the room. Alina giggles the whole way.

There’s no getting ready for bed that night. Mal sets her on the bed, and she resigns to sleeping in her red summer dress. When Mal joins her after having a shower, drunk Alina has no qualms curling up against him and sniffing him.

“Mm, you smell good,” she hums.

Mal chuckles even as he tenses. Alina has her arm around him and her face pressed into his side. He’s not sure he can breathe. She’s too drunk to notice the blush on his face.

“That’s probably just because you smell like alcohol,” he hedges.

Alina giggles and shakes her head. “No, you always smell good.”

He doesn’t know what to do with this information, but he does a lot of thinking instead of sleeping as Alina passes out next to him.

Monday morning brings with it a pounding headache for Alina. She prepares for the bright sunlight streaming through the window, but the room is dark when she opens her eyes. Mal isn’t beside her, but he left aspirin and a glass of water on the nightstand in addition to pulling out the blackout curtains. She falls in love with him a little bit more.

The day is a quiet one. The girls and Nikolai spend their time at the spa, Mal and David off doing saints know what. She gets the best massage of her life, and while her head still aches despite the pain pill, seeing Nikolai get his toenails painted bright red makes every sip she had last night worth it.

When they’re in the room again after dinner, tucking themselves into bed, Mal says, “You told me I smell good last night.”

Alina pauses. “I did?”

The night comes back to her. She totally told him he smelled good, and she had closed the space between them on the bed, curling up right next to him. She remembers all of it, suddenly and painfully.

“Oh, saints. Mal, I’m so sorry. I didn’t . . . I shouldn’t have—”

He cuts her off. “It’s okay, ‘Lina. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I don’t?”

Mal smiles an amused smile and leans over, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “No, you don’t. Not you. Never you.”

Alina is almost positive she can hear her heart pounding as Mal reaches for something tucked in the drawer of his nightstand.

“For you,” he says, handing her a long rectangular box. “Saw it today when I was out with David and I just— I thought of you.”

She can’t even process the image of Mal and David out shopping together, needing to open this damn box. With shaky fingers, she lifts the lid. Waiting for her inside is a dainty necklace with a gorgeous gold sun charm.

“Oh,” she says softly.

Mal blushes, and this time, Alina notices. “Do you like it?” he asks. “I just thought of you singing last night when I saw it. You’re so bright, Alina. All the time. Just like the sun.”

She has no idea what this confession means, or how she earned it from drunkenly telling him how good he smells — which his really quite good — but her heart has kicked into overdrive. She isn’t sure what, or how, but she knows something’s starting right now.

“I love it, Mal.” She turns so her back is facing him and hands over the necklace. “Will you help me put it on?”

He wraps the chain around her neck. The sun rests perfectly against her heart. She notices every little brush of his fingers against the back of her neck as Mal works the clasp.

When the necklace is secure, they both lay back down, noticeably closer this time. Not as close as last night, but close enough that their arms occasionally brush, close enough that she’ll end up kicking him during the night. Alina sleeps on her right side.

Their trip might be ending tomorrow, but something better was beginning tonight.

#malina #malina fanfic #fanfic #grishaverse fanfic #writing #my writing #THIS IS DAYS LATE BUT I KEPT STARTING THIS OVER BC I WASNT HAPPY WITH IT #also tried writing in present tense which i rarely write in so excuse if it's a mess lmao #short and sweet and not my best imo but i hope u still like it bb!!#cuddlingwithharry #if u spot the song reference (besides the obvious) u r superior

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angryinternetduck · 3 years

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Key

hello!!! this is my submission for the @1dffchallenges quarantine challenge. here’s 4.3k words of fluff on you and Harry in an established relationship, quarantining together in his cafe. featuring Valentine’s Day lattes in March, neon green crocs, and a proposal or two.

A smile curved your lips involuntarily as you walked into the cafe, breathing in the rich scent of coffee and sighing in the warm air. You shrugged off your coat, folding it over your arm and hovering around the edge of the cafe for a moment.

It was just after lunch and the rush was fading. You tried to look nonchalant, letting your gaze drift over the various paintings on the wall, but your eyes kept darting to the cute barista behind the counter.

His name tag said Harry, and his dark curls were hidden under a black cap. Your stomach fluttered every time he met your gaze. You’d been in there countless times, but you swore your heart rushed more each time he looked at you.

Once he finally finished his last order and the line had disappeared, you walked over. He grinned, leaning over the counter. “Well, hello, there,” he greeted you. “Hello,” you said back, smiling up at him coyly.

“What can I getcha?” he asked, and you hummed, looking at the menu behind him. “How about… hm. How about, surprise me?” He raised a brow, shifting forward, and said, “How about… a kiss?” He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, making kissy noises.

You giggled, shaking your head but kissing him anyway. “This friendly to all of your customers, are you?” you asked, walking around the counter. “Only the ones I date,” Harry replied, starting on your latte.

“Yeah?” you said. “And how many is that?”

Harry winked. “Don’t worry, love, you’re my favorite.”

“You flatter me,” you laughed, hopping up on the counter and swinging your legs. Kissing you again as he walked past to grab something next to you, Harry said, “My soul purpose in life,” and you snickered. “What a sad fate.”

Harry shrugged, nudging your leg. “I’ve learned to enjoy it.”

“Impressive,” you said, taking the cup as he handed it to you. “A Valentine’s Day Latte,” he said, and you frowned. “It’s March, H.” He smirked. “And?” You laughed, and took a sip, and he raised a brow. “Yay or nay?” You tilted your head from side to side, taking another sip before nodding your head. “Yay,” you decided, and he pumped his fist. “Success!”

“Very Valentiney,” you laughed, and he shrugged, leaning back on the counter behind him. “That was the intention,” he told you. You peered into the glass, watching the rose petals float around in the pink colored coffee. “And pink,” you added.

“Got something against pink, hm?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed. “Only makes it better!”

Harry grinned. “Wicked.”

There was a beat of silence, and you sighed, your smile fading a bit as you swung your legs. “So I just came from Niall’s…” Harry nodded and crossed his arms across his chest. “Right. How’s the pub doing, then?” he asked, and you shrugged. “Eh. He was telling me about closing for COVID.”

Harry bit his lip, looking at the ground. “Right… I’ve been thinking about that…”

“The website’s up, right?” you asked.

“Yeah, but… I don’t think…” He sighed, shaking his head.

“We could do deliveries,” you said, cracking a smile. “Get a few bikes.”

“Get a tandem,” Harry replied. “Go together.”

You shrugged. “Or I could ride on your shoulders.”

“Do it on a unicycle. Charge extra for entertainment.”

“And get a monkey. Make it worth their money.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head again and putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know what we’re going to do.” You sighed, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “We’ll be alright.”

He shrugged, putting his hand on top of yours and squeezing back. “Yeah.”

***

To be completely honest, you were nervous.

It was a few days later, and the cafe was (temporarily) closed, and Harry had sent you a text. Cafe in ten, it had said, and that was it. You saw Harry on the counter through the glass walls as you walked towards the cafe, hunched over his phone. The sign was flipped to Closed on the door, but it was unlocked, so you walked in.

“Hey,” you said, and he looked up with a grin.

“Hey!” he said.

You raised a brow, watching him hop up excitedly and shove his hands in his pockets.

“Right,” he went on, looking a little more nervous than you felt as he walked over to you and grabbed your hands. “Right,” he said again, “well, I have a question.” You laughed, nervously, and said, “You’re worrying me, H.”

He bit his lip, holding back a smile. He stepped back, and shoved his hands in his pockets again, and then pulled something out. It was a little black box, and your heart stopped when you realized what it was.

A ring box.

And then, he got down on one knee, and your hand flew to your mouth as you stepped backwards. You loved him - of course you did - but you’d barely been dating a few months. You hadn’t even moved in together. It was way too soon for this.

You began, “Harry -” but he cut you off, saying your name quietly as a smile tugged at his lips. “Will you make me the happiest man on earth…” He opened the box, so slowly, and despite yourself, you were curious about the ring he picked, and then -

Your heart dropped back down to your chest from your throat.

It was a key.

You caught your breath, laughing in surprise as you buried your face in your hands.

“... and quarantine with me?”

“You fucking bastard,” you laughed, catching your breath and shaking your head. “I was getting ready to reject you, you fucking moron!” Harry smiled, so smug, and raised a brow. “And? Is it still a rejection?”

“Of course not,” you breathed, still giggling as he stood up and you wrapped him in a hug. “Of course I’ll quarantine with you, idiot.” Harry laughed, kissing you gently but murmuring, “Somehow the insults don’t seem like a good beginning.”

“Jesus Christ, we’ll kill each other,” you said with a grin.

“And live happily ever after as ghosts.”

“Whoever takes over the cafe will be haunted out of their minds.”

Harry smirked. “Damn right.”

***

Harry pouted, leaning into you. “One more.”

“You said that ten minutes ago.”

“But it’s so… hard,” Harry whined, kissing you again.

You smirked. “Hard, huh?”

“You’re not making this any easier,” Harry mumbled, glaring at your outstretched hand but then groaning and pulling himself up when you just walked away. “You’re a bloody tease,” he complained, following you down the steps.

“And you’re bloody lazy.”

“Maybe we should camp out in the cafe,” Harry said. “‘s empty anyway.”

“Yeah, right,” you replied as you reached your car. “Neither of us could handle that - you look like you helped Frankenstein reanimate his monster with that posture, and sleeping on the ground would not help.”

Harry scoffed, swatting at your shoulder as you grabbed a box. “If my back’s that bad, maybe I shouldn’t be carrying your entire apartment in a box, hm? Ever think about that?” He grabbed a box anyway, and you laughed, kicking the door open for him with your foot.

“It’s a sign of how much you love, me, H, and it is not my entire apartment.”

“Might as well be,” Harry grumbled, huffing exaggeratedly as you reached the top of the stairs. Living directly above the cafe was incredibly convenient, you were learning, in all times except moving. Then the two flights of stairs were just torturous.

Despite that, you’d made your way through almost all of your belongings - which really wasn’t that much, Harry was just being dramatic - and only had a few more boxes to go. If you’d keep moving, it’d probably take less than an hour, but…

“We deserve a break,” Harry declared, plopping down on the sofa again.

“H, we just -”

“Pretty please?” Harry said, giving you puppy dog eyes.

“It’s gonna take -”

“Pleeasse?”

Finally you sighed, curling up next to him. “I can’t believe this is happening,” you murmured after a second, and he shrugged, kissing your forehead. “I can.” You smiled, looking up at him, and said, “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and he kissed you. You sighed, leaning into him. “Maybe we can get the rest of them tomorrow,” you mumbled, kissing him back. You shifted around to settle on his lap, and you felt him grin against your lips.

“Your first good idea of the day,” he said happily.

***

It only took a few days to fall into a routine.

It wasn’t a very productive routine, but it was a routine nonetheless.

Mornings were leisurely, spent in bed whispering nonsense under the covers or sharing lazy kisses. Lunches were ordered or made in the kitchen, fumbling over recipes and making a mess. Nights were the most action of the day, which was mostly just popcorn fights and giggly somersault competitions around the floor in front of the TV.

You probably made it through every single show of interest on Netflix, plus every single romantic comedy on the face of the earth. TV show reactions varied. Sometimes they’d keep you quiet, entranced in the worlds they created, and other times they were too ridiculous and far fetched to be believed and the dialogue would get lost in your laughter. Rom-coms tended to be a mix of gushing tears and snickered comments under your breaths.

You made competitions out of memorization, attempting to recreate the sword fights in the Princess Bride with chopsticks as you danced around his apartment and singing over each other as you rapped lines from Hamilton.

So really, you thought, listening to Harry snore with a smile, overall, not too bad.

***

“Pink walls,” you said, “with green trim and orange polka dots.”

Harry shook his head. “All green. Plus mustard yellow.”

“And orange polka dots.”

“Pink polka dots.”

“Fine. And blue stripes.”

Harry snickered, leaning forward off the back wall of the cafe and propping his chin on his fist. “We’ll give them a headache so they’ll get coffee just to stop the pain.” You nodded. “That’s the plan,” you agreed, and Harry raised a brow, turning his head to look at you. “The plan, hm? I thought that was just your atrocious eye for color.”

You scoffed. “You’re one to talk, mister neon green crocs.”

“That was one time.”

“One time too many.”

Harry sighed, shaking his head. “I’d paint the whole place that same shade of neon green just for something to do.” You bit your lip, then stood up, dusting your hands on your pants. “Let’s… let’s dance.”

Harry just stared at you.

“C’mon,” you said, a smile growing on your lips as you held out your hand.

More staring.

“Harry,” you whined, giving him puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

“We don’t have music,” he said.

“We have our phones!”

“Mine’s dead.”

You grinned, pulling yours out of your pocket. “Mine’s not. We can slow dance to… uhhh… to Etta James.” Harry groaned, leaning back against the wall. “I have no energy. We should sleep.”

“It’s eleven.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s eleven.”

“C’mon, old man,” you replied, plugging your phone in and starting a song.

I Wanna Dance with Somebody started playing, and you held out your hands as you sang to him, “Clock strikes… upon the hour… and the sun begins to fade!” Harry laughed again, sliding down to the floor and watching as you pranced around the empty cafe.

“This is hardly Etta James, love.”

“Well, I’m hardly slow dancing by myself…” You raised a brow, holding out your hand again. “Unless…?” Harry grinned, shaking his head. “Oh, no,” he said, “I’m quite enjoying the show. I’d hate for you to stop on my account…”

He finally got up when the chorus hit, and you squealed in excitement. You pulled him around with you, laughing when he attempted a few moves and then encouraging him when he pouted at your mockery.

You saw him biting back a smile, and you couldn’t help but kiss him when he spun you around and dipped you low as the song ended. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” Harry said, grinning against your lips.

You grinned right back, pressing closer. “And what a wonderful way to go.”

“You know,” Harry began after a beat, “after all that dancing -”

“- it was one song -”

“- I don’t know if I can walk back up all those steps.”

You smirked, leaning into him and sliding kisses against his jawline. “You know… the one place we haven’t quite broken in yet…” Harry laughed. “Hardly sanitary, what you’re implying, you know…”

“We’re good cleaners,” you murmured.

His fingers slid your sleeve off your shoulder. “And we do need something to do…”

“Really doesn’t make any sense to go back upstairs,” you whispered.

“No sense,” Harry agreed with a grin. “None at all.”

***

“What if,” Harry mumbled the next morning, waking you up with soft kisses against your cheeks, “I left you… to go be a part… of the next Frankenstein remake...” You giggled, nosing into his shoulder. “Is it really that bad?” He pouted at you miserably. “Worse.”

You grinned, rolling over. “What’s the assistant guy’s name?” you asked. “Igor?”

“No idea,” Harry sighed. “We gotta watch that movie again.”

“Maybe you’ll find out when you audition for the part.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Harry groaned as he sat up and cracked his back.

“You sound like an eighty year old,” you laughed.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you very much.”

“At least there’s coffee right there,” you said, sitting up and grabbing Harry’s discarded shirt as he pulled on his boxers. “And food…” Harry yawned, stretching his arms towards the ceiling. “We should learn French,” he said as he opened the mini fridge under the counter.

“French, huh?”

“Or Italian.”

You shrugged. “Or Spanish.”

“Or Spanish,” Harry agreed, cracking an egg into a bowl. “Or Arabic.”

“Mandarin.”

“Gaelic.”

“Czech.”

“Russian.”

“Urdu.”

Harry smiled, whisking the eggs. “All of ‘em.”

“We’ve got time.”

“Wanna help out, lazy bum?” Harry asked, spraying a pan with oil with a teasing smile on his lips. “Or should I do all of this myself?” You grinned, replying, “It’s good practice for your role as an assistant,” but standing up and popping bread in the toaster anyway.

“Think Frankenstein ate eggs?”

“Wonder if he had chickens,” you said.

Harry grimaced. “Probably had a few zombie ones.”

“Think their eggs taste better or worse?”

“Oh, better, definitely - they’re just green,” Harry said seriously, and you laughed as you slid the toast out of the toaster and onto a plate “Want some zombie eggs and ham, Sir Sam?” you asked, grabbing utensils.

“But I don’t like zombie eggs and ham,” Harry said with a pout, coming around to sit next to you at the counter. You raised a brow, crunching on some toast. “What happened to ‘better,’ huh?”

“Right, well, that’s my opinion,” Harry replied as he scooped some eggs. “I’m sure Sir Sam -” He frowned, pausing. “Wait, ‘sir’? He’s not a… he’s a knight?” You snorted, shaking your head. “I have no idea, babe.”

Harry tsked, giving you a disappointed look. “You should really be more knowledgeable about the classics,” he chastised. You raised a brow. “Classics, huh?” Harry grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Absolutely.”

You smiled despite yourself, nudging his shoulder. “Okay, Dr. Seuss, whatever you say.”

***

You woke up in front of the TV, yawning as you sat up.

The end credits of some movie were rolling on screen. It was a film, all in French, that you had, apparently, fallen asleep in front of. Harry was asleep too, curled behind you on the couch.

The two of you had been going through movies in foreign languages for the past few weeks, and they hadn’t actually been that bad. A few of them were mildly interesting, a few downright boring, and a few, like this one, so tiresome that you’d both fallen asleep about halfway through.

You started cleaning up, grabbing the empty popcorn bowl from the coffee table and walking into the kitchen to slide it onto the counter. When you walked back in, remote in hand to shut off the TV, Harry was awake and yawning.

“Riveting film, hm?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

“Oui, oui,” you agreed, sitting down next to him again. “What time is it?” Harry asked, fumbling for his phone. You glanced at the clock, beating him to it, and said, “Ten. We should do something.”

“Let’s go to France,” Harry suggested, stretching out on the couch. “Buy some wine.”

“Or a vineyard.”

“Or both.”

You sighed, laying back against him and watching the ceiling fan. “Imagine quarantining in France. Or Italy, or something. On a vineyard.” Harry nodded. “Would certainly be easier to learn another language, yeah?”

“We’d be drunk half the time,” you mused.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You smiled, and you turned to look at him in the dim lighting. “Can you imagine? Frolicking around all day in our two hundred acres, half drunk?” Harry smiled back, shifting you slightly so he could sit up next to you. “Sounds like heaven.”

“I don’t know about the two hundred acres part,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him, “but we could certainly do the half drunk part…” Harry shook his head, grinning against your lips. “Sorry, love, I don’t do anything half arsed.”

“Oh, my mistake,” you giggled, kissing him once more before standing up.

“Don’t bother with the glasses,” Harry called once you were in the kitchen.

“What are we, barbarians?” you laughed, and Harry shook his head. “No, darling, just incredibly lazy. Don’t feel like washing dishes…” You came back in, handing him the bottle of wine, and then looked around, biting your lip.

Harry took a sip, watching you, and then grumbled, “Oh, no.” You smiled, glancing at him inquisitively. “What’s wrong?” Harry sighed, looking at the wine mournfully. “You have your thinking face on,” he sighed, “which means we’re going to do something, and this bottle will be woefully full by the end of the night.”

“You’re too dramatic for your own good,” you laughed.

Harry looked up, smiling again. “And you’re not nearly dramatic enough.”

“We make a good pair.”

“That we do,” Harry agreed, standing up as he stretched his arms towards the ceiling. There was a beat of silence, and then Harry raised a brow, nudging your leg. “C’mon, then, out with it, what’s the idea?”

You grinned at him. “Cookies,” you declared.

“Cookies?” Harry echoed skeptically.

“Cookies.”

“Too far away,” Harry said conclusively, plopping back onto the couch.

“On the contrary!” you exclaimed, pulling him back up. “We’ll make them ourselves,” you said, and then laughed at the expression of horror on Harry’s face. “My dear rose petal,” he said, holding your hand gently in his, “my gorgeous honey pot. We are not making cookies.”

You scoffed. “Why not?”

Harry pouted, holding up the wine. “Because relaxation.”

“How about… relaxation… and cookies?” you asked, taking the wine bottle from him. He gasped indignantly and reached for it, and you giggled, backing up into the kitchen as he followed you.

“You clever minx,” Harry mumbled once you finally stopped, leaning into you and pressing kisses against your lips with a grin. After a second, you pulled away, smiling when he chased after you. “Cookies?” you asked, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

Harry sighed dramatically. “Cookies,” he relented.

You shouted in victory and started rooting through the cabinets. Your favorite song came on after a moment, and Harry winked at you, coming around to help grab supplies. The two of you shouted along to the lyrics, spilling things as you measured and poured and scooped.

It was a game of theft once the dough was mixed, stealing pinches while his back was turned and playfully slapping his hand when you caught him doing the same. Thankfully, you still had a decent sized batch when you slid the tray into the oven.

Then you both stumbled back into the other room, and collapsed onto the couch. “We should have put wine in the cookies,” you murmured into Harry’s shoulder. Harry snickered, and then said, “That’s a grape idea…”

You blinked. “What?”

Harry giggled, nudging you. “Grape? Like, great? Because - wine?”

“Jesus fucking -”

Harry cut you off with a kiss, and you laughed despite yourself, leaning into him and letting yourself get carried away. His hands drifted, shifting you onto his lap, and your hands slid into his hair, messing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

It could have been seconds, or maybe hours, before you came up for air, breathless and red cheeked and way too hot and bothered for just a simple make out session. “You’re being a bit mean,” Harry whispered, and you raised a brow. “Am I, now?”

Harry nodded, feathering kisses down your jawline and behind your ear. “Too many clothes. ‘s quite rude, actually.” You giggled, leaning into him, slipping your hands out of your sweater, and then frowned.

Was something… burning?

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping off of him, and Harry gasped, reaching after you. You pulled yourself together, sprinting to the kitchen, shouting, “The fucking - the cookies!” Harry groaned, walking in after you.

They were burnt.

Well and truly burnt.

Harry came and stood next to you, gazing at the charred lumps of dough with a deep frown. “Fucking cock block,” he muttered, and you looked up at him, and then burst out laughing.

After a second, he sighed, wrapping his arms around you. “This went well, didn’t it?” he said. “Oh, wonderfully,” you agreed, and you shut the oven door. “Say, Styles,” you said, turning to face him, “ever heard of Postmates?”

“Why, no, I haven’t!” Harry replied with a grin. “You’ll have to show me!”

You nodded, pulling out your phone. “I guess I will!”

***

Between a few more cookie-baking-attempts, even more cookie deliveries, a couple more foreign-language films, twice that amount of romantic comedies, and even one or two morning jogs, quarantine dragged on as quickly as it probably could. Neither of you were sure how long it was going to last, nobody was, but you were constantly reminded of how happy you were Harry had asked you to quarantine with you all those months ago.

In fact, you were being reminded of it at this very instant, because you’d woken up to an empty bed and a sticky note signed by Harry with only the words, In the cafe, scrawled in green ink. A bit nervous, you got up, and got ready, and then headed down the steps.

The deja vu was unreal - he was sitting on the counter, hunched over his phone, swinging his legs. “H?” you said softly, and the deja vu continued. He jumped up, hands shoving into his pockets, a stupid grin on his face. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” you said back. “What’s up?”

“I, er - I wanted to ask you something,” he said, and you grinned, coming around to stand in front of him. “You’re making me nervous,” you replied, and he bit his lip, fiddling with his pocket again.

“Right,” he said, holding back a smile. “Right, well, quarantine has been fun, yeah?”

You raised a brow. Slowly, you agreed, “Yeah…”

“Well, I, erm - I was just thinking…” He ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “I was just thinking that I wouldn’t mind quarantining with you my entire life.” You laughed a bit. “I dunno about that,” you joked, and he flushed, shaking his head.

“I mean - I mean, of course not - obviously, the pandemic, I just - I meant -”

“Harry,” you interrupted softly.

“Sorry,” he murmured, smiling again. “Well, I have a question.”

“So you keep saying.”

He laughed, finally pulling his hand out of his pocket. But somehow, you almost weren’t surprised when it was a ring box. You grinned, glancing at it and then back at Harry but keeping quiet as he knelt down on one knee.

“You know,” he said, and all you could think was how much he was dragging this out, “they say you’re supposed to get down on one knee because of some old Norse tradition. Apparently, getting married is like taking an arrow to the knee and, erm - and, well, you know, falling onto one knee...” He dropped down to both knees, and you raised an eyebrow. “... but I’m getting down on both, because I’ve fallen… completely… for you.”

Before you could roll your eyes, he opened the box.

And this time, there was a ring inside.

“Oh my god,” you breathed.

“Well?”

“I thought - I don’t - this is like - but I thought -”

Harry laughed, leaning forward. “Christ, the suspense is killing me, woman!”

“Yes!” you gasped, letting him slide the ring onto your finger. “Shit, Harry, yes! Yes, of course!” He stood up, kissing you deeply, and you laughed against his lips. “Jesus, I thought… I don’t know what I thought - I just -”

Harry cut you off with a grin. “Shush,” he murmured.

You giggled, kissing him again, and then pulled back, letting your forehead rest against his. “Harry?” you said softly. He smiled, stealing one more kiss, and then said, “Yeah?” You grinned. “That Norse mythology thing isn’t true,” you whispered.

“Bloody hell,” Harry groaned, laughing as he stepped away and shook his head.

“Hey,” you said, pulling his back. “Hey, hey…”

He shook his head again, still grinning. “Yeah?”

“I love you,” you said.

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes and mocking nonchalance. He nudged your shoulder, kissed you, smiled. “I mean… I guess I love you, too… Even if the legend isn’t true… I don’t know if I’ve fallen completely for you, though…”

“Oh, shut up!”

Harry smiled, and kissed you. “If you insist.”

***

and there you have it!!! really hope you enjoyed! and if you did, a reblog or some feedback would be very much appreciated. thanks for reading!

masterlist | ask

#1dffquarantine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry stylesxreader #harry stylesxyou #harry stylesxy/n #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles story

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Text

flour, sugar, salt

Words: 3.6k

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims

Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Baking, Gentle Kissing, Light Angst, Safehouse Period, No Apocalypse, cooking and baking as love languages

Summary:

It had gone like this:

“Tell me something,” Jon said, leaning his head against the curve of Martin’s shoulder.

After a moment, Martin laced their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze. “I’ve never had a birthday cake.”

----

Jon’s never baked before, but how much harder than cooking can it possibly be?

Things do not go well.

Read on Ao3

Or read below:

The cake is awful. There’s no getting around that, Jon thinks as he scowls at the misshapen lump of frosting in front of him, adorned with little yellow and blue candles that he’d found tucked in the meagre baking section of the village’s shop, right next to the boxed cake mix that Jon had hesitated in front of, his hand stalled halfway to the candles. Just add water! it had proclaimed cheerily, which in no way assured Jon that the resulting product would be anything close to edible. So, he’d retrieved the candles and moved on, collecting flour, sugar, baking powder, and the rest of the ingredients for the recipe. For beginners, it had said, and Jon had felt like a child, but he’d followed the steps anyway, doing everything exactly right.

Perhaps he should have just gone with the boxed mix. At least then the final product would have at least looked edible and not like something one would immediately toss into the bin, like Jon has half a mind to do. But the idea of not having a cake makes Jon’s stomach twist into knots, because he needs the cake. This whole thing is- is pointless without the cake, but the cake looks horrible, and—

And he’s completely forgotten to put the gołąbki in the oven. He does so now, trying to calm the shaking of his hands that is born more of frustration than anything. It really wouldn’t do to drop the main dish all over the lino, after all. Best not to ruin it more than he already has.

It had gone like this:

They’d been sitting on the couch, the flames of the fire licking at the brick edges of the fireplace as it eagerly consumed the new wood Martin had topped it off with just minutes earlier. The moment Martin had settled back onto the couch, Jon had resumed his position curled into his side, breathing a small sigh of satisfaction as warmth began to radiate throughout his body once again. Martin ran hot—hotter than Jon, anyway, whose fingers had a tendency to get so cold they burned when warmed between Martin’s hands—and the slight guilt at using Martin as his personal space heater had dissipated entirely at the small, contented noise Martin had made as he’d wrapped his arm around Jon’s shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

It had been months since the Lonely, since those first few awkward weeks in the safehouse tucked away in the Scottish highlands where Jon hadn’t been sure if loved was to be taken at face value and Martin wasn’t sure if the little touches Jon gave him were just to stave off that creeping fog that still lingered in the blue-grey of his eyes and the white-streaked curls that mirrored Jon’s own. It had been even less time since Martin had opened the front door, an excuse about needing ‘a much thicker coat, it’s bloody freezing out there’ on his tongue, to find Jon gripping a sheet of official Institute paper in a white-knuckled grip. The words calmly spilling free from his lips were silenced only once he’d slumped bonelessly in Martin’s arms, Martin’s hand still clamped firmly over his mouth and twin tear tracks streaking down both of their faces.

The statement had gone up in flames easily and without fanfare, the small strands of smoke tickling the still-blue sky that, to Jon, seemed like the second most beautiful thing in the world.

Now, there’s just this: sitting curled next to the fire, and taking long walks even as the cold of February nips at the tips of their ears, and getting to know each other through fragments of stories and brushes of pinkies and whispered confessions.

“Tell me something,” Jon said, leaning his head against the curve of Martin’s shoulder and letting his eyes fall on Martin’s hands where they gripped the edges of a notebook, curling script decorating the pages in starts and stops and marred in places with crossed-out lines. They’d established a routine after Jon had admitted one night as they lay in bed, knees curled into his chest protectively, that sometimes what Peter Lukas had said in the Lonely still played on his mind. That they barely knew each other, and that the love Jon felt so potently in his chest and his lungs and his bones was based on nothing more than a construct, something he’d tricked himself into believing was real. It had been hard to think, even harder to say; Jon had squeezed his eyes tightly shut and had held his breath.

Martin’s hand had found his and squeezed it tight. “Tell me something, then,” Martin had said, a tentative smile on his lips. And so, Jon had.

Now, Jon’s hands were relaxed as he played absently with the cuff of Martin’s jumper sleeve. It was one of his favourites, a mustard-yellow one that was slightly oversized on Martin and consumed Jon entirely every time he managed to steal it from Martin’s side of the closet. Martin hummed and closed the notebook, turning his hand over and letting Jon’s hand rest against his palm; after a moment, he laced their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze.

“I’ve never had a birthday cake,” Martin said, sounding a bit wistful as he said it, and Jon leaned back slightly so he could see his face. Martin’s eyes were trained on the fire, and though his lips were still curled into a hint of a smile, his eyebrows folded inward in that way they did when an old wound itched just below the surface, stitched messily shut and stubbornly ignored even as it healed crooked and wrong. “At- at least not one of my own, that is, or- or that I can remember. I don’t know why I didn’t when I was younger, not really, but after Mum got sick, and my dad… well, birthdays just never really seemed all that important anymore, I guess? At least, Mum never seemed to want to celebrate.”

Martin let out a small laugh, the kind born from reflecting on a memory that was quite the opposite of humorous. “And by the time I was old enough to make one for myself, it all just seemed so… pointless, I suppose. You know, that time we went out for ice cream was the first time I’d even celebrated my birthday since I turned 21?” Under his breath, Martin said, “Though I’m not sure you could call buying myself a bottle of Moscato and drinking alone in my flat celebrating.” He drew in a shaky breath before giving Jon a small, embarrassed smile. Not too long ago, he probably would have stuttered out some sort of apology, like it was shameful for him to show the vulnerable parts of himself. Now, he simply said, “It was nice, I suppose. To have people who cared, even if it didn’t seem like it meant all that much at the time.”

Martin had that quietly sad look on his face, the one they both shared when thinking of the easy comfort of those first months in the archives, with Tim bright-eyed and smiling and telling jokes that Jon only understood half of the time and Sasha looking the way she had in the Polaroid Jon had found tucked away in the box of statements and cassette tapes Basira had delivered, clearly meant to be more salt in a wound that had been stitched closed before it had the chance to bleed. Jon squeezed Martin’s hand tighter, and when that didn’t seem enough, brought it to his lips and laid a soft kiss across the knuckles. “Yes,” Jon said softly, feeling that same sadness curling within his stomach and mingling with the beginnings of determination, a plan half-forming in his mind. “It suppose it was.”

It was going to be perfect. Martin had left some time ago to make the longer trip into Inverness to pick up the supplies they couldn’t get in the village, forehead creasing slightly at Jon’s fabricated excuse of ‘not feeling well’ and Jon’s subsequent refusal of Martin’s offer to stay behind and reschedule their trip to a time when Jon was feeling more up to it. Jon had practically pushed Martin out the front door, letting out a small breath of relief when he saw Daisy’s car—now ostensibly their car—trundle down the cratered dirt road and out of sight. He’d had all of the ingredients; he’d followed all of the instructions. It was supposed to be perfect.

At least the gołąbki turned out well, he thinks with a resigned sigh as he extracts the glass dish from the oven, setting it atop one of the electric hobs to cool. The cake sits in his periphery, almost mockingly; some of the frosting has sloughed off the top, leaving the chocolate pastry underneath starkly exposed.

It… it wouldn’t hurt to try to fix it, right? Just a little more frosting to patch up the hole.

Somehow, the middle of the cake ends up collapsing inward, taking a good portion of the candles with it. Christ, Jon can just picture his grandmother’s expression, the stern tilt of her eyebrows and the press of her mouth into a thin line that, thinking back on it, was really more amused than anything as she told him that no, five minutes was not long enough to properly cook chicken breasts in the oven, and no, he could not set the temperature to 260 degrees just to speed things along. She’d taught him how to mince garlic and to make Desi Ghee and to spice dishes without the need for measuring spoons, saying that he may as well put some of his anxious, restless energy to use and that the kitchen was as good a place as any.

The first time he’d cooked in the safehouse, a few days after they’d arrived, when Martin had sat shivering on the couch with his eyes iced over with fog, his stomach had knotted in worry that he wouldn’t remember how—that he’d neglected it for so long, subsisting off of ready meals and tea in the beginning and then mostly statements after a while, and that this knowledge was the kind of nice, wonderful thing he wouldn’t be allowed to keep. But the knife strokes had come easily, almost mindlessly, and he’d filled the kitchen with mindless chatter as he’d worked in the hopes that it would give Martin something to cling to until he could press a bowl of chicken dumpling soup into his hands and gently coax him to eat.

After that, Jon had taken to cooking most of their meals while Martin sat at the table and wrote with his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration, or stood behind Jon and wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his chin against Jon’s shoulder as he watched him work, or formed a pile of flour and sugar and spices into a bread or a pastry or some other lovely, doughy concoction that Jon just couldn’t understand. Because Martin could cook, yes, but he’d never really liked it, he’d mumbled into his pillow one night after Jon had whispered, “Tell me something.”

“It just reminds me of my Mum,” he’d said, voice small and quiet, and Jon had understood.

But baking seemed to come so easily to Martin, lighting up his face with a radiant joy that captivated Jon to the point where he’d burned several meals just staring at Martin while he worked, transforming the same ingredients into a myriad of different desserts that all tasted light and lovely on Jon’s tongue, even though he’d never been a fan of sweets. At least, not until Martin had pressed a raspberry-filled Paczki into his hand with a tentative smile. He’d made it seem so easy, and Jon had been sure that, at the very least, he could manage a birthday cake.

Clearly, he’d been wrong.

He’s halfway to the bin, having decided that having no cake at all is distinctly better than having the monstrosity of a cake that’s currently balanced precariously in his hands, when the front door swings open, bringing with it a rush of winter air that prickles goosebumps onto Jon’s skin and sends a flush to his cheeks. Though that may be only partly due to the chill.

“Hey,” Martin says, kicking the door closed behind him. His arms are laden with canvas bags of various patterns and designs, collected from a myriad of different shops over the past months, and he’s looking at the floor as he kicks off his boots so he doesn’t see the way Jon freezes halfway to the bin, the offending cake still suspended in front of him in the way one might hold a particularly offensive-smelling bag of rubbish. His muscles lock in indecision, and his mind is a mess of do I throw it away do I hide it oh Christ what do I do he’s going to hate it I have to get rid of it, and then Martin’s looking up from the floor and saying, “Are you feeling any—?”

His eyes alight on the cake, on the stricken expression on Jon’s face, and his sentence trails off into a small, “Oh.” He takes in the kitchen, which is still in a state of disarray because Jon thought he had more time, surely Martin said he’d be out until six. He says as much, because he’s really not sure what else to do.

“It’s quarter past,” Martin says, still staring at Jon with an unreadable expression that’s sending Jon’s stomach into a chaotic mess of nervous butterflies, and Jon’s eyes flick over to the clock above the oven. It does, in fact, read 18:14, and Jon feels his cheeks heat further.

“Ah.” He’s still holding the cake awkwardly in front of him, he realizes, so he pulls it closer to his chest, almost protectively. Martin’s eyes track its movement, and on reflex, Jon says, “I- ah, I made dinner? And, er. A cake as well.”

“Oh,” Martin says again, and Jon still can’t tell what he’s feeling. Not that he’s ever been good at that, but Martin has a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, which usually makes it easier.

Nerves loosen his tongue, and he begins to ramble. “I- I know we hadn’t really discussed it, and I- I didn’t want you to think that I forgot about your birthday—which is, ah, tomorrow, I know, but I- I suppose I thought it would be more of a surprise today, and we did make plans for tomorrow already, and you- you said you’d never had a birthday cake of your own, and you’re always baking for me, so I- I thought it might be nice to make something for you, and you always make it seem so easy, but it, ah, it didn’t quite—”

He shrugs helplessly and nods down at the cake, which is looking significantly more pathetic now that it’s under Martin’s scrutiny. “It’s a bit ruined,” he says, trying to convey within his words the entirety of the apologetic mess that’s been tying his stomach into knots. He stares at the floor, eyes fixating on Martin’s boots and the small puddle of water accumulating beneath them as the snow caked on the sides of them melts. The hot embarrassment that’s rapidly consuming him keeps his eyes cast firmly downward.

“Oh,” Martin says once more, and it’s a soft, tender noise that makes Jon’s gaze twitch upward. His breath catches in his throat when he sees the wet shine to Martin’s eyes, the open, vulnerable look on his face where the stunned mask has finally cracked. “Oh, Jon.”

Martin sets the bags on the floor and quickly crosses the room to where Jon’s stood. He takes the cake carefully out of Jon’s hands, despite Jon’s protests, and sets it on the counter like it’s something precious instead of the worst baking monstrosity Jon’s ever laid eyes on.

“Martin, what—?”

One of Martin’s hands is on Jon’s shoulder, the other carefully cupping his face. He pauses there for a moment, like he always does, giving Jon a chance to pull back. When Jon doesn’t, Martin leans in and kisses him.

It’s more insistent than usual, both of Martin’s hands coming up to rest on Jon’s face and thumbs running soft circles over the tops of his cheeks as he presses into him, swallowing Jon’s soft gasp as he pushes him back against the kitchen counter, narrowly avoiding the cake as he kisses him soundly. Jon’s arms come up to loop around Martin’s neck loosely, his fingers brushing against the curls at the nape of Martin’s neck, and the tension he’s been holding in his body for the last hour melts away under the gentle, rhythmic motion of Martin’s thumbs against his face and the little noises Martin’s making against his mouth.

When Martin pulls back some time later, his face is flushed a lovely shade of pink, and Jon realizes with a start that there are tear tracks running down his cheeks. He brings a hand to Martin’s face and rubs gently at the tears, his stomach twisting again ever so slightly in concern. “What’s wrong?” he says quietly, still breathless from the kissing.

Martin hiccups a laugh, small and disbelieving. “Nothing’s wrong, Jon. I- Christ, I’m just so- so happy.” He brings a hand up to grasp at the one Jon has on his face, squeezing it tightly before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of Jon’s palm. “You made this for me?”

Jon blinks, once, before remembering the cake. His forehead creases in disappointment, directed entirely at himself. “Ah. Yes, that.” He glances at the cake, which looks just as appalling as it did before—possibly more so due to the fact that Jon’s elbow seems to have, at some point, jostled the cake after all, dislodging another section of frosting and quite a few candles along with it. “It was meant to look significantly more… edible.”

Martin lets out another laugh, this one with a bit more substance. “Jon, did you try it?”

Jon’s frown deepens. “I don’t follow.”

Martin disentangles himself from Jon, despite Jon’s small noise of protest, opens the cutlery drawer, and retrieves a fork. “How will we know if it’s edible or not until we try it?” he says with a smile that’s entirely too wide and excited at the prospect of eating a cake that looks like it was run over by a car.

“I really don’t think that’s—Martin!”

Martin carves off a section of cake, ignoring Jon’s protests to, “At least wait until after we eat.” He puts it in his mouth, and Jon braces himself for the inevitable disgust.

Martin hums, his eyes still crinkled with a hint of a smile even as he swallows and says, “It’s really not that bad, Jon.”

“Not that bad,” Jon echoes, glaring at the offending pastry and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Christ, this- this was supposed to be romantic.”

Martin’s hand finds Jon’s face again, turning his head gently until Jon meets his eyes. “It is,” Martin says softly, eyes full of something so tender it makes Jon melt. “It’s- Christ, I’m going to start crying again. In a good way,” he adds quickly, at Jon’s stricken expression. “You- you just—”

Martin pinches his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes shining again with unshed tears, and he says in a small voice, “I love you so much, Jon. And I love that you did this for me. I know you hate it when people say that it’s the thought that counts, but—no, don’t give me that look, it really is. I’m not using it as an excuse to- to soften a criticism or anything, or to subtly say that I hate it. I love the cake, Jon, because I love you, and so it really doesn’t matter that it kind of looks like somebody stepped on it.”

That pulls a small giggle from Jon, entirely against his will and born mostly from the release of the knot of nerves that had reformed in the pit of his stomach. “God, it really does, doesn’t it?” He laughs again, more intentionally this time, and takes Martin’s hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “Well, I promise that the main course is significantly more palatable. It’s from that little recipe book you gave me—the one you picked up at the bookstore?”

“Oh!” Martin’s eyes brighten as they alight upon the glass dish still sitting on the hob. “You made gołąbki! Christ, I haven’t had that since I was a kid. My grandmother used to make it for holidays before she passed.” When Martin’s eyes meet Jon’s again, they’re full of such fondness that the Jon of a few months ago would have squirmed under the weight of it. Instead, he lets himself lean into it, feeling the flutter of his heart against his ribcage as Martin places another warm, achingly soft kiss against his lips. “Thank you, Jon,” he says, pulling back just enough that the words tickle against Jon’s skin. “I… just, thank you.”

Jon’s I love you is interrupted by the rumbling of Martin’s stomach, loud and insistent. Laughter splits Martin’s face into a wide smile, and he says, “I suppose we should eat, then.”

“I suppose so,” Jon says, feeling his own smile grow softer as Martin turns to the glass dish and begins to portion out the gołąbki.

Maybe they could bake together, he thinks as he sits across from Martin at the table, Martin’s foot reaching underneath and hooking around Jon’s ankle. Yes, that… that might be nice.

The cake ends up going into the bin after all. Though neither of them really seem to mind.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #the magnus archives fic #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #my fic #my writing #you know i realized that i forgot to post this on tumblr since it was anonymous for a week #better late than never i guess lol

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thejudgingtrash · 3 years

Text

Invisible Strings (2,5k)

(Ruby Red!Percabeth AU and I hope tumblr doesn’t mess up things again 🙄 Not beta’d, this was just a random sprint for a scene)

“Mister Jackson!” yelled Mrs. Dodds as she was trying to chase after the taller student who unfortunately had longer legs, better stamina and much more urgency to get out of this situation. An unwelcoming combination and another chain of chaotic events that had unfolded.

“Come back at once!” Percy didn’t think to march back to that wretched woman that called herself a math teacher. Why now? Why me?, he cursed in his thoughts. Alas there was no time. He had to flee if he didn’t want everyone to witness what was about to unfold.

“Percy!” Grover huffed as his best friend had just shoved his backpack into his stomach. He was more than aware of Percy’s… condition, but that didn’t mean that Percy could just do what he wanted, whenever he wanted. That and he was much slower due to the cast around his foot and the tight pants from the mustard yellow school uniform.

But things took a different turn as Percy’s stomach turned and the feeling of the quick drop from a rollercoaster reappeared.

“Argh!” Percy yelped. Nausea spread through his body like a mutated infection and he felt sick. Waves of heat followed, however, there was no fever. But it was no ordinary sickness that plagued him, no. It was much worse.

The two boys fled as best as they could, Grover with his crutches and Percy’s backpack in his hands and Percy who tried to not trip and turn invisible in front of the entire few confused students in the hallway that were watching. Not to mention a certain crazy teacher that was chasing after them.

“Quick! Into Mr. Brunner’s classroom! The room should be empty, the sixth graders are on a field trip,” Grover remembered and took a sharp turn with his best friend following. Percy ran into the classroom; possible students be damned if they were in there. Luckily, his best friend had been right. The room was unlocked and entirely empty. Chalk dust and smelly remains of unwashed teenagers stood in the air.

Grover barely sneaked into room as it happened right in front of him. The student would have never thought that he would see it happening live in front of him.

“Take care of my-” Percy was unable to finish his sentence. His vision blurred and it literally felt like someone had pulled the rug under him. His feet didn’t feel like they were touching the hard floor anymore.

Grover’s jaw dropped as Percy seemed to have been pulled up by an invisible hand and pulled back into nothingness with force. Perseus Jackson had disappeared and Grover had no idea where he was. Or rather when he was.

For Percy it felt like a minor earthquake. His vision shook and his feet found the ground again. Instead of the bright daylight in the old castle that usually was his school, it was the middle of the night. The tall windows showed the moon in all of its beauty. But now there was no school. It was quite literally an old castle. Instead of neon tubes amounted on the ceiling there were dozens of candles trying to bring light to the room. Instead of two dozen wooden desks where students normally sat around to at least pretend to learn something and a blackboard in front of them, there was only one mighty secretary in the middle of the room. It overflowed with scrolls and books, coins and other instruments. An abacus? Swords stacked on the walls? Who knew.

Percy grimaced at the thought of the carelessly displayed candles that were a fire hazard as he was alone in this room. It was good for him for the moment to have a source of light but with his clumsiness it would be a matter of minutes until he would accidentally knock something over and set everything ablaze.

Bookshelf after bookshelf was stacked against the wall, some with carefully crafted decorations, many books written in Latin and therefore nearly unintelligible for Percy. Taking Latin in class and understanding Latin on a whim were two very different things. The dim light did the rest as it was simply not bright enough to snoop around further. Percy walked around the desk and looked at the other items on the table. A fancy quill, dark ink, a couple of envelopes, a tricorn hat and an unfinished letter.

Beloved mother, the person wrote and didn’t bother to finish the correspondence. July 17th, 1764 was marked as the date in the upper corner. What a lousy child, Percy shook his head. His eyes moved to the left where a finished letter remained. It had been written by someone else.

To my dearest son Apollo, the first line was the most Percy could read as the cursive was way too embellished and elongated for him to decipher in such a short period of time. Apollo! His heart swelled. The friendly school ghost was still alive, not a ghost yet and thriving in 1764. Technically that meant Percy could try to sneak out and look out for him…

A laughter erupted outside the door and the doorknob turned. Percy was lucky he didn’t scream. He was ready to jump underneath the table for all he cared. He wasn’t in the mood of getting chased through a house in a different time period yet again. The young student was lucky. He was able to hear the muffled voice of a woman say, “Oh no! Not in here Zeus! I do not wish to defile your son’s study yet again!”

“Alright, my dear. Let us make sure my wife shall not interfere this time,” sighed Zeus. The woman’s laughter slightly echoed as they moved further away.

Percy frowned. Yikes, Apollo was right when he said his father was a rake. Then he shook his head and carefully approached the door. The steps got quieter. The student inhaled and with all of his courage he turned the doorknob. A cloud of perfumes and spices hit him straight in the face. Then the sour and foul smell of sweat, urine and other unpleasant things followed.

Percy sharpened his senses. He could hear music. String music to be exact and a pianoforte in the background. More laughter, heels stomping on the floor. Or where people dancing? Dancing to the string music? Conversations tried to dominate and drown out the music but it was an everlasting fight of audience and musicians. Who could be the loudest?

The hallway that Percy was used to was no longer covered in its ugly orange coating, instead a lovely violet was illuminated by dozens of candles that hung around in the walls and standing still in candle sockets. Gone were the lockers, the corridor was filled with pompous vases and statues, expensive artwork which included a painting of Apollo smirking at the observer. Percy cracked a grin and shook his head. That was Apollo to you.

“Wait!” pleaded a young woman as someone else climbed up the stairs. It was a tall man and from his stance and body language he seemed to be more than just displeased. The young woman fought her way up the stairs with the hoop skirt and layers upon layers of fabric.

“Please wait! Let me explain!”

The man she seemed to hunt down, didn’t bother listening to her and it was a matter of mere seconds until Percy got exposed. Panic spread through his synapses and the muscle memory forced his feet to go. He took a turn around a corner and approached the first door. The room was already occupied as the door stood ajar.

If Percy didn’t know any better it was that Zeus guy and his mistress as a middle-aged man in the finest robes was kneeling on the floor and taking the pair of tights that covered his lover’s milky legs. Oh my god no, Percy thought and approached the next door in a haste. He opened it and was greeted again by an empty room to his relief.

But the steps only got louder and louder. Percy looked out for a hideout. There was nothing but a couple of sofas, another row of bookshelves and a contrabass in the room. Oh no, Percy thought as the steps approached. He looked to the windows, only to realize they had been covered by heavy looking curtains. Better than nothing. He ran to the window and thanked the gods for the broad windowsills. Percy was scrawny enough to fit onto them.

“It’s not what you think it is!” The woman tried to explain as the man stormed into the room.

“Oh yeah?” The man huffed. He sounded familiar. Way too familiar. Percy decided to pull a little bit of the curtain aside. He saw the broad shoulders of the man and the emerald green tail coat he was wearing. The man had long black locks that were tied into a pony tail. A proud stance that prevented the golden heels on his feet from looking utterly ridiculous.

“Also, it would be improper for me to run after you. It should be you defending me, in case something happens,” the soft voice of the lady demanded.

“Me defending you?! Anna, did you forget you carry daggers in your corset and had a goddamn sword hidden underneath there?” The 18th century man pointed to the wide skirt.

“I don’t think-” He had crossed his arms and spun around in an annoyed whiff only for his eyes to widen and his face to pale. Percy behind the curtain pressed his hand against his mouth as he was also shocked. The man standing in front of the other woman, was him. Him as in Percy.

It was weird looking at yourself for the first time without a mirror in front of you. Was your forehead really that wide? You really needed to visit the saloon soon again. Whoever that other Percy was, he made a waving motion with his hands, signalizing “Hide!” to student Percy.

“What are you doing there? Could someone be spying on us?” this Anna lady asked. The candle light brightened up her face and Percy saw her light gray eyes for the very first time. Her heart shaped face made him speechless. His heart stopped beating for a second or two. The pointy nose and rosy cheeks, white teeth and the light eyebrows. The way she bit her lip as she was calculating the next move, the slight worry in her eyes. She didn’t look as ridiculous with that huge red wig as most other people would. The green dress hugged her curves despite the ridiculously large amounts of fabric surrounding her. She didn’t seem much older than he was, but the authority her voice carried made her seem that way.

“Nothing, nothing!” the other Percy clearly lied.

“Did you already forget?” Anna huffed as she tried to place her hands around her waist without ruining the beautiful dress. Her eyes were glued to his back. “I can tell when you’re telling a-”

She did not finish her sentence as she had been cut-off by the other Percy. Cut off by his lips, to be exact. The Percy behind the curtain looked shocked at the scene in front of him.

The strange girl and his other self separated. “I’m…” The other Percy harrumphed and looked to the side. “I’m terribly sorry, I don’t know what overcame me and-”

“Oh, shut up!” the beautiful young woman barked, grabbed the other Percy by the ruffled collar and pulled him in for another kiss. The pair kissed as if there was no tomorrow left. The Percy on the other side of the room had never kissed a person in his life. The truth or dare kiss five years ago from Nancy Bobofit did not count. But as far as he could tell… he did a great job. At least Percy assumed he did as the woman grabbed his hair and didn’t seem to want him let go. Oh wow, the large hands found her tiny waist and Percy hoped that both of them remained steady on their feet. From the swaying it looked like they would fall flat to the ground.

Then the wicked feeling came back. The dizziness, the spots in his vision, the rumbling ground. Percy’s fingers clung to the windowsill as he felt being spewed into his right time line. If he had been sorting his thoughts right, he would have disturbed the wood shop class by Ms. Minerva. Percy closed his eyes and shoved the curtain aside. No screams or gasps, no puzzled students. He opened the sea green eyes again.

Oh yeah, the kids are on their field trip, he remembered. Ms. Minerva otherwise would have reprimanded him further to Mrs. Dodds pleasure. The flabbergasted student quickly left the room. Percy had to lie to janitor Argus about why he was still at school and fortunately managed to get away with his lame excuse of forgetting his smartphone in a classroom. Said smartphone he just pulled out of his pocket and pressed the first number in his call logs.

“Grover!” Percy exhaled. “I just spent my time in 1764, I saw an unfinished letter in Mr. Brunner’s classroom.”

“You are okay! Where are you? Mrs. Dodds wants to murder you!”

“Just got out of school, I’m on my way home.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Grover sighed into the speaker which created a little bit of static. “You were gone for almost two hours! I shoved all of your stuff into Jason’s stomach who was not pleased with you ‘skipping school’ earlier.”

“Shit,” Percy cursed. Two hours? How? It felt more like five minutes, did he truly spent that much time lingering around? He should have picked up Estelle from band practice an hour and a half ago. His mother would kill him.

“There’s something else I need to mention,” Percy began. “I didn’t just land there in 1764… I saw someone…”

“Who?” Grover asked.

“Myself,” Percy answered. “It was clearly me… Or a twin brother I didn’t know I had and I was…” Kissing a pretty girl. “Having an argument… with some weird girl that I didn’t know either. I shooed myself away for her not to notice me! Grover, what the hell is going on?!”

Percy imagined how Grover’s eyebrows rose and how he was fumbling with the zipper of his favorite jacket as he always used to do whenever he was trying to connect new information. Someone else yelled in the background. It sounded like Mrs. Underwood.

“We need to talk about this later and strategize, mom needs me downstairs,” proposed Grover. “Percy, you have to speak to your mother about the time traveling! She knows more about all of this, she has to! Who knows into what time period you’ll jump next! Pretty sure that London in the 1940s seems more than just dangerous with world war two going on. Or… I don’t know. Any other year when vaccines still weren’t a thing yet. Catching the plague or medieval herpes sounds horrific.”

Percy winced. Both at the thought of more uncontrolled time jumps and also at the thought of medieval herpes.

Grover was right. He needed to speak to his mother and confess. It wasn’t his annoying cousin Jason who had inherited this weird time traveler gene.

It was him, Perseus Jackson, the poorest bastard one could imagine.

I tried and I blame you for everything @marisolsnose 🤷🏾‍♀️

#pjo #invisible strings #Percy Jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #percy jackson and the olympians #percabeth #percabeth fanfiction #pjo fanfic #mel writes

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tothedarkdarkseas · 3 years

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Okay, since Halloween is coming up...

What couples costumes would you LOVE to see our boys in?

Oh boy. These two sporting couples' costumes would be a nightmare, I can only imagine how Murdoc has tricked him into this. I have to assume he's spied on Stu's costume and snuck out to find a matching one, ala Jake and Amir - Costume Party.

It would be charming if they were the sort of mates who'd go in on a matching costume on purpose, I can almost imagine that happening in the early years-- a choice made after smoking a bowl together at 2am, surely.

I'm just spitballing, but! Here's what I've got for Stu and Murdoc couples' costumes:

David and Victoria Beckham. Stu did not agree to this, he's just meant to be a Chelsea player, but Murdoc showed up in a black bodycon dress and a bob wig and won't stop hanging on him every time he tries to chat up a girl.

Jagger and Keith Richards. They barely have to try.

A lazy costume which seemed brill when they were stoned: Stu's got a green athletic jacket zipped up to the neck and he's carrying a 7-Up, Murdoc's got a brown leather jacket and he's carrying a bottle of whiskey, and both have the number 7 stuck on them with tape. Together they're a 7 and 7.

Matching Bowie looks, but maybe different eras. I would normally say this fits Stu more (and Stu will certainly tell you he wears it better, loudly) but given there's now canon artwork of Murdoc based on a Bowie picture, that seems like a good enough justification. I feel like Stu could pull off any era, but for a Halloween costume, it does seem like they'd gravitate toward the iconic 70's looks ala Ziggy Stardust-era. I can definitely see Murdoc sporting this one, eyepatch and all (Stu can't wear the eyepatch, see, 'cos of his depth perception, and Murdoc assuredly makes a comment on that) or, if not doing Ziggy, more of the early 90's looks with the long Union Jack trench coat or the tight neon trousers and no top. Stu could pull any of it off: 60's Space Oddity, clearly any Ziggy, the Thin White Duke (I may personally gravitate toward wanting this) or some mishmash of parts.

This is purely for me, but Ketchup and Mustard as a faithful recreation of that Jake and Amir bit.

Vampire Murdoc from that recent Jamie artwork, and Stu's just got a yellow t-shirt and sunnies on and he's carrying a rolled up newspaper cone full of chips and says "Me? I'm, ah, jus' enjoying the sun, aren't I?"

...Stu as a tall scrawny boxer and Murdoc as a ring girl, please this is so funny of an image. Stu's got his lip curled up to show his missing teeth in every photo and Murdoc's bikini top is folding out to the sides to show his nipples all night.

Please send me any you've thought of, anon!

#headcanon posts #long post

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let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

Text

Hogmanay Hauntings Chapter 3 -- Future: M'annsachd

Chapter 2

Read on AO3

The longer Jamie sat in the darkness, drowning in his own sorrow, the more he was convinced that perhaps a third spirit was not coming. Both Claire and Faith had said it would, but it seemed to be taking longer than the time between Faith’s disappearance and Claire’s appearance. He began feeling around blindly to light his candle and drag himself back to bed, but then he froze.

Something was glowing behind him.

For a moment, he was afraid to look. His child, born and gone years ago, had been the one to show him his past. His wife, she who still carried his heart showed him their present. So who was there, waiting for him now…?

He slowly turned around, trembling only slightly.

A child stood there, fiery hair tied back and yet uncontainable, donning strange looking, stiff blue trousers and a buttoned wool shirt that resembled a tartan pattern. He recognized the child immediately, older than Jamie had just seen, but the same bairn nonetheless.

“Hi, Da.”

For the third time that night, Jamie had the wind knocked out of him.

“It...is you then?” he said softly. “My...my child?”

“Yup.” The child gave a curt nod. “My sister is of the past, Mama is still your present, but me, I’m your future. So here I am.”

Jamie swallowed thickly, chuckling through his blur of tears. What a confident, bold wee thing. Not at all like the timid sweetness of Faith, but there was a graceful gentleness beneath the surface.

“I...dinna suppose ye could tell me if ye’re a lass or a lad?”

“Nope.”

Jamie sighed sadly.

“Sorry, Da. Couldn’t if I tried. The Spirits took the choice away from me. I can’t even say the words.”

A chill ran down Jamie’s spine.

“The Ghost of Christmas, er, Hogmanay Future is creepy,” the child said with a shudder. “I hope you get something out of this, because I don’t wanna talk to him again.”

Despite the eeriness of the child’s words, Jamie laughed again. “Ye’ve got yer mother’s tongue, d’ye ken that?”

The child beamed. “Yeah, I know.”

Jamie realized he was still on his knees, but he thought perhaps to stay there, to remain at eye level with his child. His child. Not the child that had entered the world and left it without drawing breath, not the child that Claire had wept over, alone and broken. The child he had seen Claire holding, alive and smiling, the child that lived in his present.

And yet he or she was his future.

“Ready?”

“What’ll ye show me, then?” Jamie asked. “Yer sister showed me the family I lost, yer mother showed me what I could lose if I dinna change...what must I see in the future…?”

“Well I can’t explain it,” the child said with exasperation. “Let’s just go.”

He chuckled again, despite his fear and trepidation.

So bloody fiery.

“Will ye dangle something before my eyes like yer mam?”

“Nah. The spirits said I could hold your hand like Faith did.”

Jamie’s heart soared, and the child reached out a small, delicate hand. “Come on, Da.”

He eagerly took the hand out of sheer joy of touching his child, phantom touch or no, but not necessarily out of excitement to see what it was he had to be shown. The familiar fading away and roiling gut began, finished off by the world reforming around them once more. Their surroundings looked familiar, nearly identical to that Christmas morning that Claire had shown him just before. There were only slight differences in the parlor, and in the woman sitting on the sofa.

Claire’s hair was entirely different, even shorter, and the curls were gone. It was streaked with grey as well.

And she was still so sad.

The air itself seemed different this time, more stifling.

“This is our first Christmas without Daddy,” the child beside Jamie said softly, the softest his or her voice had been yet.

“Wi’out…?” Jamie looked down at the child, then back up at Claire. “He’s to die, then…?”

“Yeah.”

“I…” Jamie stammered, looking down at his bairn again. “I’m sorry, a chuisle…”

The child said nothing, just kept staring at Claire. Jamie noticed immediately that Claire’s sadness was not more magnified than it had been for the last Christmas he’d seen; she was exactly the same. Frank’s passing did not cause her grief, not the way one would think, anyway. It seemed to be just one more thing to add to the list of things weighing her down.

Clomping footsteps on a staircase jolted Jamie from his thoughts. It seemed to jolt Claire as well; she looked up from the mug she’d been staring at and straightened up. When the footsteps did not continue into the parlor, her brow furrowed. She set her mug on a small stable and stood up, leading the spirits that followed her without her knowledge into a hallway that led to the front door. Claire paused, her eyes widening.

There was a tall, lanky young person pulling boots over thick socks and under loose trousers, bundled in a mustard yellow coat, green scarf, and a hat, all layers hiding the length of hair that Jamie knew to be fiery red. Jamie almost sighed with relief; if his child had to lose the only father he or she had ever known, at least it hadn’t been until he or she was nearly grown.

“Where are you going…?”

Jamie almost wept at the sound of Claire’s voice. It was so small and timid. He’d never, never heard any such sound come from her mouth.

“Lenny’s.”

Jamie tried to decide based on pitch and timbre if his child was more male or female, but came up empty again. She could have been a fully grown young woman with a strong, husky voice, or he could have been a newly adolescent lad. It was impossible to tell.

“It’s...still morning. Joe and Gail told me two o’clock.” Claire crossed her arms over her stomach, hugging herself tightly.

“They told you two o’clock,” returned a biting voice, lacing up the boots. “Lenny told me I could come over whenever I wanted.”

“But it’s...Christmas morning,” Claire’s voice was losing strength with every sentence she uttered. “The...presents…”

“I haven’t believed in Santa in nine years, and I can open what you gave me whenever. They’ll still be there tonight.”

Claire swallowed thickly, her eyes glistening. “Ehm...okay…”

“I’ll see you later. Okay?” The young adult straightened, and Jamie finally took in how bloody tall he or she was, towering over Claire nearly as much as he himself did. “I’ll give you your gift when we do the exchange over there. I’ve got it.” He or she patted a coat pocket.

Claire nodded dumbly, lips flapping uselessly for a moment. “Are you...hungry…?”

A shrug. “I’ll grab something when I get there.”

“You don’t want...any of the cookies? Christmas cookies for breakfast, remember? And...hot chocolate…?”

The grown child looked like he or she felt a small, brief flash of guilt. “I’m sorry, Mama...I just...I don’t wanna be here right now. It’s…” Trembling hands stuffed into coat pockets. “It’s too sad.”

“Oh.” Claire’s throat bobbed, and she tightened her grip on her opposite elbows. “Ehm...okay. I...understand.”

“Do you?”

Claire blinked. “What…?” “Do you really understand?” It was a challenge; blue, cat-like eyes narrowed, chin jutted.

“What on Earth are you implying?”

“It kinda seems like this is just another holiday to you. You know full well it’s not. You remembered all the stuff you and I did, but none of the stuff Daddy used to do. Do you even know what that stuff is?”

“I…”

“You’re acting like you don’t even notice he’s gone!” The pale, freckled face turned red, voice raising. “And I’m trying to get out of this damn house because I’m choking on every single reminder, and I’m choking on you not even caring!”

“I care! Of course I care!” Claire’s voice broke, tears finally spilling over.

“Whatever.” The front door was heaved open. “I’m sorry I brought it up.” There was still heat and disdain in that voice, desperately trying to be dampened. “I’ll see you later. Okay?”

Claire opened her mouth, but she seemed to choke on the words, so she closed it again, nodding. “Okay.”

The front door shut, a bit too roughly, and Claire remained frozen in place, seemingly unable to move. She stared at the door for a long while after her child was gone, silent tears dripping down her cheeks.

And then she just turned, slowly making her way back to the couch she’d abandoned, sinking back into it with a sense of finality.

She did not weep, did not sob. Just picked her mug back up, even as silent tears continued to fall, picked up a small, odd looking box and pointed it at a larger, equally as odd looking box, bringing images and sounds to life. Jamie jumped at the sudden light and noise at first, then remembered what Claire had once said about motion pictures, deducing that perhaps they were now things that belonged in households as well.

“I know she loved Daddy,” Jamie’s spirit-child spoke for the first time in a long while, looking sadly at her mother staring blankly at the flashing images of light. “Even on this day, I knew. But I didn’t understand her behavior, and I wanted to hurt her.” The child sounded older, more mature than he or she had been in the cave. “Because she was hurting me. But I know she loved him.”

Claire roughly wiped her eyes and sniffled.

“But I also know she’ll always love you more.” Jamie’s heart twisted. “Even after all those years, she was still more devastated about losing you than she ever was about Daddy.”

Jamie could not stop himself; he walked over to the sofa and sat down beside her, painfully aware of how he was not really sitting beside her at all. He did not even see the strange contraption emitting light and noise; all he could see was light dancing on her too-pale skin and in her glittering, tearful eyes.

“Your puir heart never healed,” Jamie whispered, nearly inaudible, ghosting his hand over the strange shape of her hair, her cheek, her shoulder, feeling nothing beneath his touch.

“Neither did yours,” their child said, her voice feeling like a summer breeze on the back of his neck.

Jamie swallowed thickly, his entire body literally aching with the impossible-to-fulfill need to hold his wife.

“I thought...I thought she’d be happy…” His voice was hoarse. “I ken she grieved, aye, but she...so much time, now...and she never…”

“I certainly didn’t make it any easier,” the child said, slightly guilty, and yet laced with humor. “You really can’t blame me, though. I had no idea what I was talking about.”

Jamie’s lips quirked into a smile despite himself, despite the very image of pain right before him in his love.

“But,” the child went on, plopping down beside Jamie. “You were the love of her life, Da. It got harder and harder to pretend the more time went by. She never got over it. Not here, at least.”

Jamie’s brow furrowed, but he would not tear his eyes off of Claire. “What d’ye mean?”

“Come on.”

Jamie turned to see that his child was reaching for his hand. Jamie looked over his shoulder at Claire, unspoken protest on his lips.

“She’ll be okay, Da.” The child smiled, touching his hand. “You’ll see.”

Jamie whipped his head around to catch one final glimpse of the poor, broken woman his wife had become, his heart lurching as she melted away into nothingness. When the world reformed around them, they were not sitting on a sofa, but they were standing again in a glowing room. There was nothing familiar about this room; Jamie had certainly never been here before. Was this more of Claire’s future, or the child’s…? No, there was something familiar here; there was no electricity, no trace of any of those contraptions littering Claire’s twentieth century home.

The abrupt, loud sound of whooping cheers filled his ears, followed swiftly by a fiddle. That, too, was familiar; midnight had just stricken at a Hogmanay celebration. The room they stood in was empty; the celebrating occurring on the other side of a door. And then that door burst open, an entire gaggle of children pouring in.

“Me first! Me first!”

“Haud yer wheesht, Mandy! I’m older!”

“Well I’m older than you, Jem!”

“Doesna matter, Germain! Ladies first!”

“Grandda! Tell them! Tell them I go first!”

“Christ’s Cross!”

Jamie’s stomach flipped. That voice was quite familiar.

“Ye’re louder than the entire rest of the guests, ye wee heathens!”

Then there he was, himself. Jamie’s jaw fell slack; he was wearing a bloody kilt.

“This canna be real!” Jamie turned to his spirit-child. “Tartan is outlawed! Ye mean to tell me the bloody king will lift those restrictions?”

“No...he won’t,” the child said sneakily, smiling.

Before Jamie could demand more answers, the sound of French filled his ears, both from several of the children and one of the adults. Jamie whipped his head around to see a grown man and a small blonde hanging on one another, a gaggle of three children swarming their legs.

“Fergus…?” Jamie stepped closer. “And those are all his bairns…? Then whose are…?”

Before his thought could finish, another young man stumbled through the doorway, and Jamie’s heart stopped. There was simply no way that boy was not his son.

Jamie’s lips flapped uselessly for a moment as the young man joined the throng, the red headed little boy called Jem and the lass called Mandy flocking to him.

“That...that’s you, then…?” Jamie said, his head spinning. “Ye’re a lad…? And ye’ll...here…? Wi’ me?”

“Keep watching,” was all the spirit-child said.

More footsteps sounded from the doorway, and a young woman entered on the arm of a dark haired, green eyed man, sending Jamie spiraling again. There was no way she was not his daughter.

“Christ! Did yer mam carry twins?”

The spirit-child barked with laughter. “We’re not twins! But I’m not allowed to spoil anything, remember? So I can’t tell you.”

“Then what the devil…?”

Then all other thought ceased as she entered the room.

Yes, this was his time. She was dressed like the blonde woman, Fergus’s wife, he presumed, and like his daughter, no trace of her own time’s fashion. Her hair was loose again, long, curly, and free. She was smiling again, with no trace of that perpetual misery he’d seen only seconds ago. She was on the arm of a handsome man, who, upon hearing him speak, made Jamie’s nose wrinkle.

“Another bloody sassenach?”

The spirit-child laughed again.

Mandy and Jem began calling the young woman Mama, and Jamie’s heart soared to think those were his grandchildren, his blood. But could it even be possible? He’d sent Claire back with child, and his spirit-child had confirmed she’d only been carrying one. Could the spirits be showing him different possible outcomes? Perhaps the lass was Faith, and the lad was the one he’d sent away with Claire, and the spirits truly wanted Jamie to lose himself in a fantasy of perfect loveliness.

No...of course it couldn’t be possible. Claire thought he was dead. There was no way to tell her otherwise, despite all he’d seen tonight. This vision had to be fantasy and nothing more.

And yet as Jamie watched himself, his older self, come alive with light and open his arms to receive Claire...he didn’t give a damn.

She was lovely, radiant. She laughed into a kiss, and Jamie’s head felt lighter, like he was floating. They were both streaked with grey now, as was the man whose arm Claire had walked in on, and even Fergus was greying at the temples.

“Stop kissin’ Grannie!” one of the bairns blurted. “Ye promised presents at midnight, Grandda! It’s been at least two minutes!”

All of the adults burst into laughter, including Jamie and Claire as they broke apart of their public display of affection.

“Aye, alright, alright,” Grandda-Jamie placated, tucking Claire into his side. “Line up, weans, youngest to oldest.”

“What?!?”

The older ones all groaned, and the tiny ones clapped with glee. Jamie and Claire laughed again, their heads bowing into one another as they did. One by one, the grandparents handed each of the children boxes, and as they dispersed to tear them open, Jamie sat in a chair by the hearth, pulling Claire into his lap. The children squealed with glee and whooped with delight, waving about wooden swords or toy horses or wee dollies.

Jamie wanted to fall to his knees and weep. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. This entire brood of children had come from his and Claire’s bloodline, adopted or no. This was his family.

He did fall to his knees then.

“Tell me...tell me, a chuisle...is this true…? Will this truly be in my future…? My wife at my side again...my child…children...?”

“These are the shadows of things that may be,” the child said simply. “So...I couldn’t show you something impossible.”

Jamie’s stomach flipped, his heart lurching into his throat. “It’s possible then…? All of...this...?”

“Of course.”

He laughed, truly laughed, a full belly laugh. “Oh, Christ!”

He looked up again to see that three of the children were literally hanging on their grandfather, on himself, and fresh tears poured from his eyes. So much love in this room.

“But,” the spirit-child interrupted. “It all depends on you, Da.”

“On...on me…?” He turned his head to look at the spirit.

“Mhmm. Do you think Fergus will want to be here with all his kids if you don’t start treating him like a son?”

Jamie deflated slightly, shame burning him again.

“And do you think you’ll be sitting there with Mama if you let yourself waste away?”

He blinked, tears of a different kind stinging his eyes.

“This...isna certain.”

“It’s the future. Nothing is certain.”

Jamie exhaled with a shudder. “You...how are ye so articulate? Yer sister sounded nothing like that.”

His child giggled. “Faith will always be a baby.”

That shattered his heart in a way he didn’t think possible.

“I’m much older than I look, really. You can see me grown, right now, whichever one I am.” The child winked. “The spirits thought you’d rather talk to me like this. And I like it, too. I liked being this age. And I...I kinda like having to look up at you from down here. I can pretend I didn’t miss an entire life with you.”

His heart went out to his child, longing to press the little body to his chest just as desperately as he’d wished to with Faith. Then he surveyed the scene before him, shrieking children, laughing adults, drinking and clinging to one another, dancing. Christ, he hadn’t danced like that in years, laughed like that. To be that happy again...

“It...it canna be true,” Jamie said finally. “How...how could she come back to me…?”

His child said nothing.

“And...the kilt. It isna possible. I’m...I’m grateful to ye, to the spirits, fer allowing me to see such beauty. But I canna...I canna live thinking that I’ll have...this someday, only to no’ ever have it.” He gestured helplessly before him. “I’m content to believe that this is what Heaven will look like. Wi’ you,” he gestured to the young man, “and yer sister,” he gestured to the young woman, convinced she was Faith, “Yer brother, yer ma, and all yer children. This...this is what awaits me in the Eternal Kingdom. I understand now.”

He looked to his child for confirmation, but he or she merely shrugged, reaching for Jamie’s hand. “Whatever you say, Da.”

And then it was all gone.

When next Jamie opened his eyes, he was in the cave, illuminated by his child’s glowing presence. He was greeted with a sweet smile and a glint in those blue eyes that seemed beyond their years.

“Ye’ll...ye’ll leave me now?”

“Yeah, I have to.”

Jamie sighed shakily, taking a knee before his child. “It has been...an honor to meet ye, a chuisle.”

“Same to you.”

Jamie chuckled sadly. “Take care of yer mother.”

“I try.”

“And...dinna forget me. If it’s possible.” His voice broke.

“Don’t worry about that, Da.”

He waited for the child to elaborate, but an explanation did not come.

“I...I ken I’ve known ye such a short time...but I love ye wi’ all my heart. I have since the verra moment I knew yer mother was carrying ye.”

“I know, Da. I love you too, a lot.”

He breathed a teary laugh, his vision blurring. The child’s light began fading.

“You made my sister a promise, and you made Mama a promise. Do I get one?”

“Aye, mo chridhe, of course.”

“Promise me you won’t give up.”

Jamie swallowed thickly, tears spilling over. “Aye...I won’t. I promise...for you, for your ma...I won’t.”

“And for Fergus?”

Jamie bit back a sob. “Aye. For Fergus...for my son.”

A radiant smile, even as the light dimmed lower and lower. “Thanks, Da.”

“I love you.”

“G’bye, sweet wee lad.”

And there it was; without even thinking, he’d let it slip that he suspected this child was a boy.

His answer was a loud guffaw, followed by an undignified snort. “Goodbye, Da.”

And then he was gone.

I will name him Brian. After your father.

Jamie closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his mouth taut with pain.

My sweet wee laddie. My Brian.

All of a sudden, light flickered behind him, and his heart soared, thinking perhaps that one of his loves had returned to him. But it was only his candle. Something, or someone had lit it again.

He relaxed onto his haunches, thinking.

Christ, how long had it been? Was there still time?

Perhaps he could still make it, could find Fergus and lift the lad’s spirits, could find wee Maggie and tell her that he would be honored to accept her Hogmanay gift.

Now, man. Go now.

He leapt to his feet and yanked on his boots with a clumsiness he did not think himself capable of, then yanked his cloak over his head, concealing himself, just in case. He trekked through the woods, guided by moonlight, and when the sight of the house greeted him, his heart soared. There were swaths of people pouring out of the front door; the first footing was beginning, midnight had only just struck.

He quickened his pace, making for the back door so as to draw as little attention to himself as possible. He looked around aimlessly for a moment, and then made his way to the back stairs.

He needed to make things right with his son first.

He wound up the smaller staircase to the third floor, having seen the lad storm up there when Claire had shown him Hogmanay Present. He reached the shut door, and took a calming breath. He knocked.

“Come in.”

Jamie’s stomach flipped as he pushed the door open. Fergus was looking down, as if expecting one of the weans to enter with gifts, but his eyes raked up to Jamie’s face and lit up.

“Milord,” he said with surprise. “I thought you were not coming?”

“I...I wasna.” Jamie took a few hesitant steps into the room. “But I, uh...I’ve got some things to apologize for, laddie. Some things to make right.”

“Like what?”

Jamie cleared his throat, dropping his cloak and kneeling in front of Fergus where he sat on the bed. His beautiful blue eyes were wider than usual, firelight dancing in them.

If Claire can push through her grief and be strong for our child, I can do the same for our son.

“I’ve...I’ve no’ been good to ye, lad,” Jamie began, his voice already wavering. “I’ve been wretched, in fact. Ye...ye dinna deserve the...the husk of a man I’ve become.”

Fergus said nothing, just blinked at him.

“When I...When I said I loved ye like a son...I meant it, lad. And I’m sorry I’ve no’ been too great at showing ye.” He brought a trembling hand to cup a cheek that was no longer so little. “Christ...I’m so sorry. I...I ken ye miss her. I’ve been too busy drowning in my own pain and guilt that I havena cared to notice yours. And I’m sorry.”

Fergus’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and he unconsciously leaned into Jamie’s touch. “You never speak of her,” he said softly.

“Aye, I ken,” Jamie rasped, a tear rolling down his cheek. “And that isna fair to ye. She was...she is yer mam. Ye deserve to speak of her freely, to feel like she’s still here wi’ ye. I’ve robbed ye of that, and I’m sorry.”

Fergus nodded.

“D’ye...d’ye wish to speak of her now, laddie?”

A tear finally slipped out of Fergus’s eye, and he nodded.

“What…what d’ye miss most about her?”

Fergus sniffled again. “I miss her smile.”

“Aye, she was beautiful.”

“Aye.” Fergus nodded in agreement. “And I...I miss how she held me, at night. It is silly and childish — ”

“No, lad. It isna. No’ at all.” Jamie cupped his other cheek. “She was so tender, so full of love. She loved ye.”

“I know.” Another sniffle.

“And I...I love ye too. I never stopped, even if it felt like I did.” He tenderly brushed Fergus’ tears away with his thumbs, and Fergus abruptly threw his arms around Jamie’s neck.

“I love you too, Milord.”

Jamie wrapped his arms around the lad’s scrawny frame, cherishing every moment. How had he deprived the lad of this comfort? How had he deprived himself? He was so raw and bare that one ounce of affection could have broken him.

And, God, it did.

He fell apart so thoroughly and completely that the lad clung to him tighter, and then they were both crying.

My son. Our son.

After several minutes, there was a knock at the door, even though Jamie had left it ajar.

“Brother…?”

Jamie gave Fergus one final squeeze before releasing him and turning to see his sister, flanked by Maggie and Kitty.

“Happy Hogmanay, Janet.”

Jenny broke into a wide grin.

“Yer gift, Uncle Jamie!” Maggie squeaked.

“Aye, mo chridhe, why dinna ye fetch it?” Jamie said.

“And yer Da, and yer brothers and sister,” Jenny added as the lassies ran off, squealing.

Jenny shook her head and crossed the room, and Jamie stood up, fiercely folding his sister into him. Jenny let out an undignified yelp of surprise before giving in, wrapping her arms around his middle.

“Ye’re a wee bit late, brother.”

“Aye,” Jamie said hoarsely, kissing the crown of her head. “I am. And I am heart sorry.”

Jenny tensed a bit, perhaps sensing that Jamie was apologizing for more than just missing most of the party.

“I love ye, sister. Fiercely.”

He felt Jenny swallow. “I love you too, brother. Even though ye’re a great fool.”

Jamie chuckled wetly, pulling back to look her in the eye.

“What’s brought all this on…?” Jenny asked, her voice tinged with sympathy as she reached up to brush away the tears on her brother’s face.

“I was…reminded,” Jamie looked behind him at Fergus, then at Jenny, and then at the bairns that toppled back into the room, “how fleeting life is, how I havenae been cherishing it properly.”

“Nunkie! Nunkie!” Maggie squealed, tugging on his trousers. “Here!”

“I made one, and Maggie made the other,” Kitty added, twisting her skirt in her hands.

Jamie took two uneven, sloppily knitted stockings into his hands and pressed them to his heart. “They’re bonny, lassies. Just like you both.” He pressed a fervent kiss to both of their foreheads, and they clung to each other with joy.

“Here, Uncle!” Wee Jamie chimed in, holding up a chunk of wood. “I carved this for ye. Da helped.”

As if on cue, Ian appeared in the doorway, likely struggling to keep up with his wee heathens.

“It’s a horse,” Wee Jamie went on.

“Aye, that it is,” Jamie said, examining it on all sides. “It’s braw, laddie. Thank ye.”

He kissed the lad’s head. Michael and Janet were too wee to make any such thing, so he just gathered them both, each in one arm, and kissed each of their wee cheeks.

“Happy New Year, Jamie,” Ian said.

“Happy New Year, a bhalaich.” Jamie stood and shook his hand, pulling him in for a tight embrace. Ian produced whisky and offered the bottle to Jamie, he took a healthy swig.

“To family,” Jamie called, looking around at the small brood. “To love.” Fergus got up off the bed and stood at his side. “And to life.”

Jamie was reminded of the brood he’d seen of the future, the brood that would never be, and his heart pained him. He did not know how real it was, any of it. He did not know if he’d truly been visited by his dead daughter, his wife and child that he’d sent away. He did not know the truth of any of the visions he’d seen.

But what was real, and true, was the son that he put an arm around, already far too tall for Jamie’s liking, and the tiny wee nieces that wrapped themselves around each of his legs, and the sister that reached down for one of her sweet toddlers.

True or no, those visions had given him something to hold onto, something almost resembling hope.

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winterhawkremix · 4 years

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The time has come!

The collection has been opened up and all of the fics we have received are now available to be read... except no one knows who wrote what!

Here’s the full list of all the remixes that were created for this year’s Winterhawk Remix in alphabetical order. There are 18 fics in total, so that should keep you all going for a while, and maybe you’ll rediscover some old favourites when you see what has been remixed!

Note that, while we’ve included ratings, to conserve space, we have not included tags, so make sure you check them out when you click through! Fic responsibly, folks.

And now, without further ado...

Go forth and read!

[Remix of] Is That The Fangs I Get? (Rating: Teen) A remix of @downwarddnaspiral’s Is That the Fangs I Get? “He does know, right?” “Know what?” “That I’m a vampire.” “Oh! Yeah. He’d have to, right?” Behind Bars (On The Other Side Remix) (Rating: Explicit) A remix of @captn-sara-holmes’s Behind Bars If Clint had known that hooking up with his cellmate would lead to escaping prison, making it all the way to Wakanda without being recaptured, and convincing King T'Challa and Captain America to let him stay once he got there, then he'd...well, he'd probably still have kissed the guy. Bucky was smoking hot, after all. Clint just really hopes he doesn't get mad when he finds out that Clint's been telling everyone he's Bucky boyfriend. Bottom of the Sea (just don’t go without me remix) (Rating: Teen) A remix of @verdantmoth’s bottom of the sea It was on his way out that he saw it. It looked pretty innocuous, like a bedroll or someone's discarded coat, but he knew it as soon as he saw it. His mom's had looked the same way, too long unworn and faded around the edges, but still silky smooth and beautiful in the right light. Clint limped over and grabbed the skin, draping it over his arms as best he could, trying not to touch it too much with his hands and the crusted-in blood under his fingernails. By Faith Alone (Rating: Teen) A remix of @badacts’ sola fide Bucky's daemon knows full well what he wants, but it's going to take a while for his head to get onboard with his heart.

Fractured, a Splintered Remix (Rating: Explicit) A remix of @flawedamythyst’s Splintered Clint touches something mystical at Dr. Strange's place and next thing Bucky knows, there are four extra Clints running around. He takes it upon himself to gather them up and help them come to some important realizations about the world. You know. Sexually. I dreamed I held you in my arms (Rating: Teen) A remix of @fadedsepia’s Like Sunshine He’s just about managed to focus on the mission, mentally reviewing the details of the target, when Clint strolls out of the bathroom, long and lean and — “You’re wearing that?” James finds himself saying. Clint stops short as he loops the purple aid around his ear and presses the earmold in, sky-blue eyes wide and startled. “Yeah? Why — is there something wrong with it?” James can’t help himself, his eyes wandering the slow course from head to toe. The dress shirt is mustard-yellow, linen so fine that it’s practically transparent. The collar is unbuttoned almost midway, showing the sharp jut of Clint’s collarbone and a slice of freckled chest below. The residual steam from the shower is already making the fabric cling to Clint’s incredible musculature. It’s fucking obscene. i hope i'll see you when it's light (the remix) (Rating: Teen) A remix of @nightwideopen’s i hope i’ll see you when it’s light After the fifth time they sleep together, Clint knows he’s in too deep. I Still Choose You (The Public Domain Remix) (Rating: Teen) A remix of @1000-directions’ i don’t have a choice (but i still choose you) Clint really didn't intend to do anything more than make a joke, but when his stupid 'soulmate' comment gets posted on social media, he ends up in a fake relationship with the one person he wishes really were his soulmate. Just Being Neighbourly (The Remix) (Rating: Teen) A remix of @mariana-oconnor’s Just Being Neighbourly Bucky can’t remember the last time he worked this hard to get somebody’s attention. He lowered the beaters into the mixing bowl with the speed setting turned up a little too fast, making his batter fling up in tiny flecks. “Jesus, again? What are you baking for now?” “Shut up, Stevie, and hand me the vanilla, damn it.” Make You Feel At Ease (Rating: General) A remix of @tintedglasses’ tell you truth, but never goodbye Just because it was Memorial Day and things in the past had definitely not been as kind to Bucky as they should have been didn’t mean that Steve needed to worry. But he also knew that man deserved a whole lot more good than that world had decided to give him. Novel Recognition (Rating: Teen) A remix of @lissadiane’s Blame It On Bad Luck Bucky tries to ignore the sudden change, the words that push to the surface of his skin some time between getting off work and getting Steve’s rail-thin ass up the stairs without falling or bruising any more of his best friend’s ribs, but… Why the fuck would it show up now? Bucky Barnes finally has a soulmate; someone he knows, but has yet to meet. Organic Chemistry (the remix of Improper Fractions) (Rating: Explicit) A remix of @cloud--atlas’s Improper Fractions Natasha's got a hot new roomate, and Clint's got a staring problem. The guy's a science teacher for fucks' sake. But if Clint doesn't get to suck his dick, he might actually die. Personal Security (Let's Go Steal Ourselves a Remix) (Rating: Teen) A remix of @kangofu-cb’s Personal Security Whatever his intentions, right now Clint’s a thief and a liar, and Bucky has worked hard to leave this kind of life behind him. It wouldn’t be fair to make a move right now. Push and Pull (Rating: Mature) A remix of @flowerparrish’s hey there, demons Bucky really wasn't expecting to see his one night stand at work the next day. right here, empty for days [a Written On My Heart remix] (Rating: Not Rated) A remix of @supervillainny’s Written on My Heart Soulmarks are funky lil' things. He can’t feel the lines on his skin, doesn’t know they’re there until he spots them. (Sometimes he thinks that’s a bit of a fluke on fate's part. What happens if ya miss ‘em? Or ya can’t see ‘em? Maybe fate knows though, which ones are meant to be seen.) safe and sound (finally safe remix) (Rating: Teen) A remix of @loonyloopylisa’s Finally Safe “I’m so sorry,” Clint says and it feels inadequate, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He thought he had a rough time waking up in that HYDRA cell, but at least he woke up somewhere else. He can’t imagine what it would be like to wake up in the same place he went to sleep, knowing that there’s no one else out there for him. “It wasn’t rare,” Bucky says, ducking his head slightly. “It was the thirties and healthcare wasn’t great and so it wasn’t rare for people’s soulmates to die before either of them reached twenty-one.” Bucky swallows hard again, his voice the quietest it’s been when he says, “But I guess I just never thought that it could happen to me.” susurrus (the one touch to know remix) (Rating: Teen) A remix of @drgrlfriend’s A Murmur in the Trees Sam Wilson has a nice place. It’s also conveniently located across the street from a small park with several old, heavily-in-leaf trees with an excellent vantage of his windows. Clint, settled high in the canopy in the vee between two sturdy branches, watches a weary, limping Cap arrive fresh from the hospital through binoculars. It’s embarrassing that this is what his life has come to. take a snapshot (dirty laundry remix) (Rating: Explicit) A remix of @thescarletwitch’s Take a Snapshot (If It Makes You Feel More At Home) You know this is basically soft porn, right?” Clint murmurs with a sly grin, cupping his own dick through his pants before shaking his head and laughing. Clint, like Clint Barton. Like the Avenger. Fuckin’ Hawkeye, for fuck’s sake. The not-so-secret love of Bucky’s very gay life. “Nothing soft about it,” Bucky mutters to himself. Clint and Bucky get dirty at the laundromat.

Author reveals will take place on 30th June. Until then, have fun reading and enjoy the mystery!

#Winterhawk #Winterhawk remix #Winterhawk fic #Winterhawk remix masterpost #Masterpost

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oh-so-scenarios · 4 years

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Loose Ends | two

⇢ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ʟᴀsᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴍᴘʀᴇssɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ...ᴛᴏᴏ ʙᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ sᴛɪᴄᴋ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀᴍᴀɢᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇᴅ.

⇢ᴄᴇᴏ! ᴋɪᴍ ɴᴀᴍᴊᴏᴏɴ x ᴀᴅᴍɪɴ ᴀssɪsᴛᴀɴᴛ! ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇx-ғɪᴀɴᴄᴇs!ᴀᴜ, ᴀɴɢsᴛ, ᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇsᴛᴏʟᴏᴠᴇʀs

**A/N: There are errors! Please ignore them! This chapter is a little awkward(imo), but it’s just laying down the foundation but it will pick up. (Word Count: 4.9K)

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《 PAST 》

Y/N:

“So we’re partners?” I said, sitting down at the empty desk. I glanced over at the quiet boy sitting beside me. His head was down and he focused his attention on the black sheet of paper in front of him.

Maybe he was shy? I couldn’t be sure, but what I did know was that I wasn’t planning on slacking off.

They say your freshman year of high school will determine the rest of your years and I will not get off to a bad start. I was already a push-over in middle school, letting myself get tricked into doing all the work. But I am entering high school with a new confidence. I will keep my head high and speak up when I feel wronged.

“Your name is Namjoon right?” I called softly. I leaned over, trying to catch his eye. I knew he could hear me, seeing him side eye me momentarily. He finally lifts up his head and looks my way, showing a shy smile.

As I finally got a good look at him, I couldn’t help but smile. He has high cheekbones, kind eyes that were behind thick circular glasses and his hair is jet black, brush forward and covering his forehead. There are a few pimples on his face, but he’s a cute guy.

“Hi.” He says quietly, his ahead falling back to his desk. He’s shy. I can’t help but giggle, noticing his eyes widen at me. My giggles stop short, my eyes also widening.

“I’m not laughing at you or anything!” I rush out, “I just think you’re...cute.” My giggles start up again, a blush growing throughout his face.

“I’m Y/n.” I stretch my hand out and he shakes it briefly. He opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by the teacher.

“Alright! I gave you some time to get familiar with your partner! Don’t worry you’ll have time to talk some more! They will be your writing partner for the rest of the school year!” The teacher gives everyone a big smile before turning back to the board.

I settle into my seat, leaning back into the chair and smiling. I can’t help but glance over at the shy boy was didn’t speak much.

《 PRESENT 》

This is cruel. This is unforgiving and devilish. Why should I have to see Kim Namjoon again, let alone work for him?

My gut was telling me to turn down this job, and it wasn’t wrong. I shouldn’t be here. It should have been someone else. Fate couldn’t be this cruel. It just couldn’t. I thought I could have gone another 10 years before I had to lay my eyes on that man again.

I lean my head against the cold metal wall of the elevator. I watched the elevator doors close, leaving me to stare at my own reflection. It’s now day 2. Only 238 more days till this contract is over. I can’t help but chuckle at how ridiculous this situation is.

I finally reach for and press the button for the 23rd floor, the elevator pings and shifts as it went upwards.

I didn’t let my emotional breakdown yesterday stop me. I went to the bathroom, cleaned myself up and walked back into the office, doing the work that was expected of me. I am grateful that I didn’t have to see Mr. Kim again till he was leaving his office for the day. He didn’t spare a look my way.

Maybe he doesn’t recognize me? How much can a person change in 3 years? Or he counts our time together as a different phase of life? He probably doesn’t see the need to mention the elephant in the room. Rather let sit there, and bother both of us. He thinks it bothers me more and if he does, he’s right.

Today I wore a long sleeved mustard yellow blouse that was tucked in into my black and white houndstooth pattern pencil skirt. It’s not a look I usually go for, but I wanted anything to distract from the dread that was clear on my face. The outfit was cute and the colors worked wonderfully, so I praise myself for that.

I looked down at my peach-nude heels and thanked god that it matched. I was practically a zombie as I walked out the house today. I couldn’t remember what shoes I put on. My hair was down and I kept my make-up natural.

My purse hung on my shoulder, only carrying my schedule book for Mr. Kim, my phone, keys and wallet. The elevator dinged once more, and the doors slid open to show the pearl white walls. It’s day two. Another fresh start. The past doesn’t matter here. Just work performance.

I stepped through the doors and started down the hallway. As I hear the clicking of my heels, my nervousness vanishes. I am simply an assistant. As long as Mr. Kim plays it cool, so should I. He doesn’t owe me anything.

“Good morning.” I called as I walked in. My words stopped short as I realized that Sana wasn’t there. I look at the watch on my wrist. It’s twenty to eight. I guess I am a bit early, but that’s better than late. Most employees don’t start coming in till about 8:30. Mr. Kim arrives somewhere between 8 am and 8:30am.

I grab my schedule book and set my bag under the desk. I wasn’t too out of it yesterday to forget to write my to-do list. I turn on the computer and my desk and look through my email to find the needed documents. I want to have them done before anyone else can get in my way.

I sent the documents to the printer and soon found myself moving back and forth in the office. I walk through the double doors that lead to the cubicles of the employees and go to the copy room. I’m making copies and finding folders to pack them into. It didn’t feel strange with it being just me in the office.

It feels better to work in silence, with less people around me. After printing, copying and organizing all the documents, I made my way towards the empty conference room and spread the folders out.

Mr. Kim has a meeting with some employees about the books that were to be published in the next 3 months. That meeting is followed by another meeting on authors to sign with. I printed and copied the documents for the second meeting. I took those folders back with me. They were stacked in my arms, and blocked my view.

I managed to waltz into the lobby area and to my desk just before they started slipping out of my hands. I grabbed the empty white box that once held my belongings and dropped the folders in there.

I stood up straight, smoothing my skirt and reaching for my schedule book on what to do next.

I took a seat and started sending out emails. It wasn’t long before I heard footsteps approaching, Heels clicked in a speedy matter, the jiggling of keys mimicking the quick movement. Sana comes around the corners in sand colored dress pants and an ivory white blouse. Her keys are in her hands and her bag is clutched in the other hand.

“Oh you’re here!” She wails, through her hands up as if saying thank you to a higher power.

“I forgot I’m not the only secretary anymore.” She mutters as she walks towards the desk. I resume typing up the emails, giving Sana a pointed look as she plopped into her seat.

“Sana, get in the habit of coming in early. I was able to do the needed work for the morning on my own, but it won’t always be like that.”

She nods, still catching her breath, “Or course! I don’t want to slack off! I want to learn from you.” She lazily tosses her bag on the floor and switches her computer on. Her acrylic nails tap against the desk as she hums a tune to herself.

“Let me help prepare the meeting docu--”

“Done.” I deadpan. She narrows her eyes at me and a small smile pulls at the corners of her lips.

“Seriously?” She was in disbelief.

“Yes,” I answered, sparing a glance.

“And the deadline emails?” She questioned, leaning over to sneak a glance at my computer screen.

“That’s what I am doing now.”

“Wow, Y/n! You’re killing it!”

I try to keep from rolling my eyes, “The sooner you do things, the smoother they run. Once Mr. Park arrives, I’m going to get the financial report of the previous quarters and make copies for the meeting with Jung Hoseok of Jung Funding.”

“That meeting isn’t till 3.” Sana points out like I’d forgotten.

“Do we have to wait till 2 pm to get started on that?” I raise my eyebrows at her as she shakes her head no.

“Exactly.” I answer back.

“What if Mr. Kim changes something at the last minute?” She leans back in her seat, a grimace appearing on her lips while she looks off to the side. She must have dealt with something like that previously.

I sigh, “Then we just go with it. It happens, there is nothing that can be done about it.”

I press send on the last email, check the time on the computer. It’s 8:20 am. Mr. Kim should be on his way in--

“Get started on the documents for the first meeting. It’s been moved up 30 minutes.” His voice cut through the lobby like a knife. The light weight atmosphere created by small talk was stepped on by his demanding presence.

“They have been completed sir.” I stood up from my seat as he walked in, walking like he was taking a stroll in the park.

His steps stop, and he puts both hands into the pocket of his pants. His outfit today was missing the coat. He wore a white dress shirt with a dark grey vest and pants that matched. He kept his head down, giving us a view of his profile.

I try to ignore the pounding in my ears as I stare at him, waiting to hear what he says. I work to keep my breathing under control since it felt like my heart slamming itself against my rib cage.

“You’ve done that already?”

“Yes sir--”

“And the paperwork for the potential authors meeting?”

“That is done as well.” I answered back, keeping my tone neutral while giving a friendly smile. I hope it didn’t look as stiff as it felt.

He doesn’t say anything else and trods into his office.

“He was totally looking for something to be angry about.” Sana says in an annoyed tone.

I don’t reply but sit back down in my seat, sorting through emails. I can’t be sure how much time goes by before I hear footsteps coming down the hallway. This time it’s accompanied by chatter and laughter. The sounds get louder and a big group of employees turn the corner.

Did they all wait to come up at the same time? There were about 9 of them. They were chatting among themselves but it seems there was on person who was the center of all that talk. A man I haven’t seen before.

“Mr. Park?” I called out. It was a guess, but I wasn’t left feeling stupid as the man stops mid laugh, He looks around then meets my questioning expression. The two women that stood around didn’t hide their glares. I ignored them, looking at my computer screen for a moment before standing up from my seat.

“Good morning Mr. Park, I am--”

“Y/n L/n.” He cuts me off, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Wow. What a good looking man. He must be a charmer, and with how the women of the office flock around him...he’s trouble. His hair was jet black and parted to the side and slicked back. He wore a sharp black suit with a white dress shirt underneath.

He carried a suitcase that he handed to one of the women that were clinging to him. The woman gladly takes it.

“You’re the new administrative assistant right? I’ve heard a lot.” He says while flirtatious light comes to his eyes. I don’t miss the way his eyes move along my face and body. His attention is brought back up to my eyes and he smiles innocently like he wasn’t just checking me out.

“I need the financial reports for the last eight quarters. If you could please gather that up and email it to me.” I sat back down to grab a sticky note, jotting down my email and holding it out.

He takes slow steps towards the desk, and since my patience is short this morning, I simply stick the note to the desk surface.

When he takes the note from the desk, I can feel his eyes on me. I look up from the computer screen to see the smile on his lips widen.

“I am Park Jimin, but you can call me Jimin.”

I exhale, taking my hands off the keyboard and leaning back in my seat, “Mr. Park, I need those reports quickly.”

“Don’t let his smile fool you, Mr. Park is not a man to get wrapped up in.” Sana mutters from beside me. I noticed the women that were glaring at me earlier entering into the employees area, through me another stank look before letting the doors close behind them. More employees were slowly making their way in for work, not of them batting an eye at Mr. Park who was leaning against the desk.

“It takes a lot more to fool me than a smile.” I said to Sana.

“You heard her Mr. Park, you’d be wasting your time.” Sana jeers. Mr. Park doesn’t acknowledge her words at all, only slowly stepping away from the desk then turning around to walk into the employees area.

“Looks like Mr. Park has set his eyes on you.” Sana says, still looking through some paperwork.

“That doesn’t feel like a good thing.” I sneer.

She chuckles, “It’s not.”

The next hour goes by smoothly. Not instructions or emails from Mr. Kim and Mr. Park sent the reports over. I am in the process of printing and copying them when I hear a booming voice.

I step out of the copy room just in time to see other employees shying away from the voice. I can’t help but sigh as I realize it’s probably Mr. Kim. Ugh. He’s found something to be angry about and it isn’t even noon.

“Ms. L/n!” A voice roars. I roll my eyes knowing what’s coming. I’ve been yelled at many times, so there is nothing Mr. Kim could do to faze me.

“Yes?” I call out delightedly. I keep my voice light as I round the corner to see him stalking down the aisle.

The angry look on his face with the hands on his hips tells me all I need to know. His ears are turning red, as they usually do when he’s angry, and his brows are furrowed. The creases in his forehead as he glares at me, ages him a bit.

“Why am I getting phone calls from angry authors?” He yells. Everyone around me flinches as he shouts. I can only stare up at him with a blank facial expression, not moving an inch as he yells at me.

He steps closer, a familiar cologne whisking off of him. Not overbearing, but present enough that you want to lean in to smell more.

“I am not sure sir. I do not have a complete understanding of the situation.” I answered calmly. Employees around us were pretending to work, but it was clear that they were listening in. I notice Mr. Park watching from a distance, his facial expression unreadable.

“The deadlines you emailed were incorrect! These dates are impractical! 2 weeks? Come on Ms. L/n! Use your head! I thought you were supposed to be smart.” He hisses. I can say, I have never seen Namjoon like this. The Namjoon I knew would never raise his voice like this, at least not in front of other people.

I cleared my throat and answered back confidently, “I will send the deadlines to you for correcting sir.”

I watched his face contort in confusion, “Excuse me? To me?”

“Yes sir.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“Well, those are the deadlines you wrote up for me sir. I was not aware that the dates were incorrect, for it was only my first day. I am so sorry for the stress that was caused to your authors. I will email each other apologizing for the mix up.”

“You have some nerve. Ms. L/n, are saying this is my fault?” His voice is quieter this time, but the menacing tone didn’t flatter.

I smile sweetly, “Of course not sir! I will simply issue apologies to the authorities and make sure the correct deadlines are given to them.”

“Don’t even email them. Call them personally.” He adds.

“Of course, sir.” I nod. The whole office I silent as I keep the appearance of my small smile, holding the folders close to my chest as he glares at me in silence. Though it isn't showing in my face, it felt like my heart could explode in that moment.

Who is this man? So familiar but so foreign.

“When you’re done with your paperwork, come to my office.” It felt like he was towering over me, and for once I can feel the difference in levels. This is not Kim Namjoon, the dorky boy I knew in 9th grade English. This is Mr. Kim, wealthy CEO of KM-Moonchild Publishing.

“Of course sir.” I reply before he turns around and exits the way he came in. I simply shrug and turn around to go back into the copy room when someone calls out to me.

“You really talked back to er. Kim like that?” It was a female voice. I groaned, spinning around to face the voice. It was a woman with dark red hair and a black and white jumpsuit. She was pretty. Her figure was slim with an hourglass shape. Her hair was in gracious waves that effortlessly rested on her shoulders and down to the middle of her. I'm certain that she’s one of the girls that were gossiping about me yesterday.

I stared at her, and I’m sure my gaze came off as bored, because I was. I don't care what this lady has to say. It’s nothing of use.

“I was just having a conversation with Mr. Kim. A conversation requires two people to speak.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, “You have no respect! It’s one thing to think you’re better than us, but can your ego relax. Mr. Kim isn’t someone to--”

“I am not here to be lectured. I have work to do. I haven’t been fired yet,when I am I will make sure to come and cry that you were right so that your ego can get the boost it needs.” I try not to laugh at the expression on her face but a slight chuckle leaves my lips as I turn into the copy room.

I hum to myself as the copy machine does it’s job, being and humming as it does so. I’m tapping my fingers against the buzzing machine when I sense a presence behind me.

“Yes?” I called out, looking over to spot Mr. Park leaning against the doorway with a smug smile.

I bit my tongue to keep back the groan that wanted to leave my lips. Not this guy again. I already feel the need to have HR on speed dial.

“Are you here to bother me?” I say out, and turn my back to him again. It’s quiet for a while before I heard a soft sigh.

“I’m not here to start any trouble, I just think it’s very cool the way you handled things back there.” His tone was different from when we spoke earlier.

“I always handle things. Mr. Kim is no different from the other people I have worked for. I have been yelled at many times.” I grab the newly printed papers and turn to face Mr. Park just so I could place the papers on the table. I started my second batch of copying before he spoke again.

“You’re not worried about being fired?”

I shrug, pushing another button on the machine, “I’ve already been paid 50% of my contract payment, so I could care less. Mr. Kim only has me for eight months.”

“Eight months huh? That’s too bad.” He mutters to himself.

~!~

“He’s so gonna fire you.” Sana whispers to me. I don’t look away from my computer, typing up the emails for the new deadlines that were sent to me by Mr. Kim. He must have realized he was in the wrong, seeing how the corrected deadlines were sent to me before I could return to my desk from the copy room. But when I returned to the desk, Mr. Kim was in his first meeting of the day. So here I sat with Sana who had heard about what happened as one of the women were giggling about it on their way out the office.

“Let’s hope he does.” I mumble. Sana hears me, looking my way and pouting.

“Do you not like it here?”

“It doesn’t matter if I hate it here or not, it’s my work.” I didn’t think much of it when Sana didn’t say anymore. I was finishing up the email with the new deadlines when some heavy footsteps came from the employee area, and the double doors opened to reveal Mr, Kim who was being trailed by some employees.

I could see them out of the corner of my eyes. I focused on the computer screen once more, pretending I didn’t notice the glance my way from Mr. Kim. The two men stand in the middle of the lobby speaking about the meeting that just ended.

I spend the last deadline email and turn to another page in my scheduling book to begin the apology phone calls. That doesn’t go far because Sana nudges me with her arm. When I look at her, she’s looking forward. I follow her gaze to see Mr. Kim practically glaring at me.

“Ms. L/n, my office please.” He says. His voice was too neutral for the scowled that was burned onto his face. I didn’t get the chance to respond before he spun around and zoomed into his office.

I stood up, smoothing my skirt and grabbing my scheduling book. I ignored Sana’s puppy dog's eyes, seeing as she was scared for me.

I strolled to the heavy wooden doors, knocked and opened it to see him standing behind his desk.He hands were behind his back and he was zoned out. His attention was elsewhere and his mind was far off somewhere else.

I closed the door behind me and fought back the smile curling at the corner of my lips. The lost look on his face reminds me of Namjoon from high school. The smart boy who would daydream in class.

“Mr. Kim?” I call out. His neck snaps up and his eyes grow hard and dark. The gentle expression on his face was no more.

I approached his desk, holding the schedule book close to my chest.

“You wanted to speak to me?” I say, feeling nervousness bubbling up in me. Something about the atmosphere has shifted. By the look in his eyes, I know what he's going to do.

“Why are you here?” He asks in an icy tone. I raise an eyebrow at him, pretending to be clueless.

“What do you mean Mr. Kim? If this is about the deadline--”

“Y/n, cut the shit.” He deadpans. I press my lips into a tight line, gripping the schedule book tighter and clear my throat.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Did you come here to torture me?” He says quickly, ignoring my attempt at feigning ignorance. My face scrunches up in offense. I took a step back before shaking my head in disbelief.

What the fuck? He thinks I came here on purpose?

“I came here to work.” I hiss, “I didn’t know a damn thing about this job when I got the offer. You think’d I take the job I knew I would see you?”

He runs his fingers through his hair and I watch him intently, waiting for him to speak again. When he doesn't voice my thoughts.

“I came here to work. Not to torture you, not to bug you. I couldn’t care less about you and what you’re doing. Separate work from personal and keep it moving.”

“Of course that’s easy for someone as heartless as yourself.” He jeers, laughing humorless. My breath catches in my throat and I take a second to collect myself. That one stung a little bit.

“Insulting me isn’t going to change anything.” I kept my voice level, hoping that the trembles that were starting to climb up my body wouldn’t show in my voice.

His eyes narrow at me, one corner of his lips turning up in a sinister smile. The loathing touch to his sharp eyes made me feel small in that moment.

“You’re standing here talking to me like a fucking robot. Does seeing me not invoke any sort of emotion?”

“I am just here to work, Mr. Kim.” I repeat for the third time, mustering a strained smile. I try not to think back to the crying fit I had the day before. The shock of seeing Namjoon truly took everything out of me, but it doesn’t matter. Things couldn’t go back to normal even if we wanted it to. Too much damage has been done.

“If that’s all sir, I’ll be taking my leave. I have authors to call and apologize to.” My legs feel shaky when I take the first step to turn around, and I stumble a bit. I catch myself, and just pray that Namjoon chucks it up to losing the balance of my heels.

“How is your sister doing?” He rushes out, like he wanted to keep me from leaving the room. I put my hand on my doorknob debating what to reply.

“I’m not going to pretend to care about the current state of your life, so don’t pretend to care about mine.”

“I am not--” I open the door and step out quickly, letting the door close on it’s own. My quick trot to the desk made Sana gaze at me with sad eyes.

“That was quick. It was probably a rough lecture wasn’t it?”

I plop down in my seat, “Nothing I can’t handle.” I lied.

I’m lying. I can’t handle this.

∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ❣

Things are a bit awkward, in terms of the writing but it’ll get there. More info will be revealed later.

Let me know what you thought of this chapter! How do you feel about this story?

#kim namjoon #bts #bts rm #bts namjoon #bts kim namjoon #bts angst #bts fan fic #bts ff #bts reactions #bts scenarios #kim namjoon angst #namjoon angst #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader

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