#unfortunately i think being like this Does risk making me insufferable to talk to. i find myself insufferable enough already | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heliads · 3 years

Text

Heartbeats (Part Two)

Based on this request: “Jesper x reader where she was in the first army and grew up with mal and Alina, but then when stuff goes down in the fold she ends up in ketterdam (maybe she’s grisha too) and teams up with the crows but her and Jesper end up falling for each other?”

part one / masterlist

As much as you’d like to avoid it, though, the battle on the sand skiff rages on. In the end, despite all of your complaints about Kerch sharpshooters and their unusually quick wits, there’s nothing you can do about the present situation except fight your way out of it. You’ve been a soldier for a long time now, a tracker and a fighter through the First Army. This isn’t your first brawl, and it likely won’t be your last.

It is, however, your first one where you’re actively attacking the grotesque flying monsters known affectionately as volcra. There are also several Grisha on board, and despite your silent protests, you can hear your power almost calling out to them, as if it can recognize those of its own kind. You try to reel it back in, collect it and calm it and force it away, but in a life and death situation like this, your control is weak. If you used it now, you could probably save yourself. The only issue is that by revealing yourself, you might damn yourself to a worse fate than a quick death at the claws of a volcra.

So, you ignore the thrum of heartbeats echoing out around you, electing instead to fire your pistols again and again. You’re not the only shooter here- Jesper Fahey is at your back, the two of you surrounded by a cloud of smoke issuing from the barrels of your respective guns. You could almost fool yourself into thinking that you might make a good team. Clearly, the stress of the battle is getting to you.

Then, just when you’re sure that you’re going to make it out of here alive, you slip up. You took too long in taking down a volcra and forgot about the Darkling’s oprichniki guards still on board the ship. You sense them before you see them, and whip around to see one seconds away from shooting you full of bullets. Your own arm rises involuntarily, as if pulling the string of a marionette. The oprichnik’s body rises in turn, his face turning ashy as his heart is yanked apart under your watch.

The moment is over almost as quickly as it happens. The guard’s body slams to the ground beneath him, head lolling. He’s dead, no question of that. What have you done now? You quickly force your hand back to your side, pretending as if you’d shot the guard and nothing more. Alina and Mal are still busy with the Darkling on the other side of the skiff, so you think you’ve managed to keep your secret intact for a little longer. Saints, you’d sworn to yourself that you wouldn’t let this happen. Grisha are constantly on the run for their lives, and you can only imagine that it will get worse now that word of the Darkling’s treachery has come out. You can’t afford for this to happen.

When you look up, though, you’re met with a pair of eyes. Jesper Fahey watches you from his place a few paces away from you. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s seen everything, that he knows exactly what you are. Strangely enough, though, he doesn’t seem angry or surprised or even afraid. Instead, he just looks understanding, like he knows exactly what you’re going through. He nods his head once, a sharp motion, then moves away again.

You try to redirect your attention back to the fight at hand, but your thoughts keep straying to that one moment over and over again. What will Jesper do with this information? He’s used to being a canal rat running the streets of the Barrel, where any piece of knowledge should be taken and sold to the highest bidder. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’ll tell somebody- why would he ever keep your secret?

However, he gives you no suspicious looks, and when you and your friends finally make it out of the Shadow Fold and into the dim gray sunlight of the ruins of Novokribirsk, he simply walks over to stand with his own group once again. He doesn’t say a word to Alina or Mal or anyone else.

Your stomach is still in knots over the potential of your secret being revealed, and you find that you can’t sit quietly, even when you’re exhausted from the fight on board the sand skiff. Instead, there’s a strange buzzing in your chest, as if you could run a hundred miles and never tire. It occurs to you that this might be because you finally used your Grisha abilities and didn’t keep them tied up for once. Regardless, you can’t be content with a place by Alina and Mal in the long and broken grass, so you stand up, walking to pace back and forth overlooking the ruins of the city.

To your surprise, you’re soon joined by Jesper. He walks with you for a few yards, then turns back to you. “Why do you keep the fact that you’re a Grisha a secret?” Your feet stall in place, and you quickly check around you to make sure that no one can hear the conversation. Alina and Mal are a ways away, so they probably won’t be able to tell what you’re saying, but you can never be too sure.

“It means I can stay with them. It means that my friends don’t look at me like I’m an enemy, one of the Darkling’s men. They don’t trust Heartrenders that well. I cannot have them think that of me.” Jesper nods, but doesn’t speak. You glance over at him. “Aren’t you going to do something? Make a joke about how I’m too afraid of my friends?” He shrugs. “You’re not the only one with secrets to keep.”

Before you can think more on this and what the seemingly open Jesper Fahey could possibly have to hide, he’s turning his attention back towards the ruins of Novokribirsk below you. At the sight of it, the wind drifting through clouds of smoke and dust, he whistles softly, the low note hanging in the silent air. “Are you looking for anyone down there?” You shake your head. “I have no one anywhere.” Jesper regards you for a moment longer, a strange look in his eyes, then turns and walks back to his Kerch friends without another word.

As you watch, he speaks to them in low voices. Although you cannot make out a single word, you swear that their gazes lock on you several times. Later, after everyone has had time to recover and start to think about moving forward, Jesper’s friend Kaz steps forward. “We’ll be heading back to Ketterdam soon. You should either run or find a place to hide. They’ll be looking for you soon enough.” Alina nods, giving Mal’s hand a comforting squeeze. “We plan on going to Novyi Zem.”

It hurts you a little, this quiet intimacy. They’ve clearly discussed this, although you weren’t in on their plans. You’ve known that it would be like this for a while, that the two of them would always need each other a little more than you. Truth be told, you’re largely alright with it, although it does sting a little to know that you will forever be on the outside of their happy pairing.

Kaz now turns to you. “If they’re going to Novyi Zem, where does that leave you? We have a position in our ranks, if you’re interested in taking it. You appear to have a skill set that we could use, and it would probably be best for your Sun Summoner if you split up into smaller groups.” You look between him and Jesper, who appears to be doing his best to remain nonchalant. Was this what they had been talking about- offering you a job?

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you step forward. “I’ll go with you to Ketterdam.” Alina stares at you. “Really?” You nod, clasping her hands. “I’ll miss you, Alina. You too, Mal. But he’s right- you too need your best chance at staying hidden from him if he comes looking. It’ll be safest if we split up. Besides,” you try for a laugh, “I’d probably get really bored in Novyi Zem anyways.” You might just be kidding yourself, but you swear that Jesper’s looking at you with an honest smile now.

This is how you end up boarding a ship to Kerch, how you end up saying goodbye to Alina and Mal with tearful hugs and farewell waves, how you end up staring with a smile at the cobblestoned streets and grimy alleys of Ketterdam. Jesper laughs at your awestruck expression. “It’s just the Barrel, darling, not the Grand Palace. No need to drop your jaw quite so low.” He dodges out of the way when you try to hit him, unfortunately. “Compared to the endless hills in Ravka, I’d say it’s pretty good.” If you didn’t know better, you’d swear that Jesper’s smile looks almost proud now.

Ketterdam is surprisingly good. Sure, you’re on the run for your life practically all of the time, whether it’s because of Kaz’s mad schemes or because some gang boss or another has decided that they’ve got it out for you, but you’d be lying to say that you didn’t do it all with a smile on your face. You might be risking your life all of the time, but at least you feel like you actually have a life to risk now, instead of just another place as just another tracker in the First Army.

You also spend a lot more time with Jesper. At first, you had rolled your eyes and questioned your Saints as to why they seemed determined to damn you with one of the most insufferable sharpshooters known to man, but in all honesty, he’s starting to grow on you. It’s just the way that the two of you get to have neverending competitions to see who can shoot the farthest and the best and the quickest, who can come up with the wittiest retort or steal the best object from a store in the least amount of time possible. It’s just that he seems to click with you in every way. Maybe a life as his rival was something you’ve been waiting on for a long time.

You keep waiting for the shoe to drop, for him to reveal to Kaz or Inej or any one of the numerous information seekers in the Barrel that you’re a Grisha. He never does, though. Instead, he waits for you late at night, when everyone else is asleep, and lets you practice your gifts on him. At first, you’re just monitoring his heart rate and trying to sense where he is in the room with your eyes closed, then you’re carefully adjusting his consciousness and the flow of his blood through his veins. It’s nothing major, certainly not enough to hurt him, but it’s practice nonetheless, and you always walk out of each session with a smile, skin practically glowing with exertion and the thrill of using your powers.

The first time he’d dropped by your room, offering such a thing, you’d practically laughed in his face. “Sure, you want me to Heartrend you. Aren’t you worried that I’m going to mess something up and kill you?” He’d just given you one of his textbook smirks. “If I was worried about you stopping my heart, love, it happened the first time I saw you. Plus, ‘Heartrend’ isn’t a verb.” You’d had no troubles with helping him into unconsciousness after that.

Now, when you sit across from him, both of you cross-legged on your bed with your hands on his wrist to sense his pulse, you can’t help but wonder why he’s there. Jesper, as if sensing that there’s some deliberation going on in the head of someone also trying their best not to kill him, tilts his head to the side questioningly. “What’s wrong?” You shrug. “Nothing. I just don’t know why you’re doing all of this. I mean, you could have turned me in at any point, but instead you’re here, letting me mess around with your heartbeat. Why go all this way?”

Jesper leans back against the wall, considering this. “You’re not the only one who wants to hide their Grisha heritage, Y/N. If one of us can have at least a little time to use their gifts, I’d want you to have it.” You can sense that there’s something in his words when he mentions his Grisha heritage, that even if he’s brought it up he doesn’t quite want to talk about it. So, you focus instead on the second part of what he’d said, the part about his attention to you.

“Why, though? What’s worth it about some orphan from Ravka?” He chuckles now. “Y/N, if I thought for a second you were just an orphan from Ravka, I’d pawn off my revolvers to the next person to walk through the door. Not everything has to be for an angle. Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you.” For a second, you almost think that your focus lessened, that you messed something up with your gifts. There’s no reason why his pulse would seem to jump as he said that, why his heart rate always seems to increase whenever he looks at you as he looks at you now.

You decide to take a chance. “I want to spend time with you too, Jesper. Even if I didn’t have Grisha abilities to hone.” His smile is genuine this time. “I’m glad to hear it.” Jesper’s hand slips slightly in yours, moving your fingers away from his wrist so he can link them around his. When he looks back at you, his eyes hold an unspoken question. You nod. An instant later, he’s kissing you, hand slipping from yours to guide you closer to him. You can’t seem to sense anything except an overwhelming rush that might be his heartbeat or yours or everyone in this entire Saintsforsaken city. To be honest, you’re fairly sure that you’d be fine with questioning it until the day your own pulse runs out.

grishaverse tag list: <3 @underc0vercryptid, @darlinggbrekker, @cameronsails, @aleksanderwh0r3, @story-scribbler

#jesper fahey #jesper fahey imagines #jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey oneshot #grishaverse #six of crows #shadow and bone #grishaverse imagines #six of crows imagines #shadow and bone imagines #grishaverse oneshot #six of crows oneshot #shadow and bone oneshot #sab #soc #sab imagines #soc imagines #sab oneshot #soc oneshot

123 notes · View notes

punkcupcakestyles · 3 years

Text

Just One More Time

Part 2

Read Part 1 here!

Harry was insufferable, and he knew it.

Unfortunately for you, you could see his face, even in the darkness of the room. Between his phone’s screen and the moonlight, you could see him grin, and you were more than ready to turn around and leave his apartment. Maybe sleeping in the hallway wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“I don’t want to sleep with you,” you patiently said, as if he were a child and you were explaining to him why he couldn’t have the candy he wanted. “I just want to sleep.”

It was true. The events of the night had left you drained and your ankle still felt sore from the moment you twisted it and your heel broke. You shouldn’t have gone out that night, you kept repeating to yourself.

Harry provided you with your first triumph of the night, as he got up from his comfortable spot on the couch. But it was a short-lived sentiment because as soon as Harry stood in front of you. It was a new kind of feeling, only being able to feel him and not see him. Your skin prickled at his breath that fanned over your heated skin and the air filled with his sweet smell of oranges on a crisp summer morning.

You wondered if he was looking at you with those intense eyes of his, that seemed to want to look into your very soul and rob you of all of your secrets. Or if his lips were as pink as you remembered them, or if they tasted just as sweet.

“Just sleep?” Harry asked with a deep voice, and your body tingled in parts it should most definitely not be tingling.

“Y-yes.”

“Your call, then,” he said, with a smile that lingered in the air, and felt him walk away from you.

Well, it felt like you had made the wrong one.

You followed Harry to the room, once again walking close behind him so you wouldn’t knock anything over, you were very good at getting random bruises. And maybe Harry sensed that because his hand found yours, and he laced your fingers with his, as he guided you to the safety of his bed. Under any other circumstances, his touch would’ve been innocent enough to go unnoticed, but now, it brought the memory of the burning feeling of his fingers on your skin, and flashes of memory from that night. You had fucked all night. If it was just going to be one more time, why the fuck not?

Harry stopped as you got to the mattress and his hand left yours, going to your waist instead. The world stopped and you paralyzed with it, forgetting how to breathe as you waited for his next move. It could be anything, you truly didn’t care, because maybe then you would forget about the night, and you needed to forget.

But, to your disappointment, Harry wasn’t planning anything other than to help you climb on the bed, and you blindly made your way under the blankets, until you reached the pile of pillows you had set up for yourself earlier.

“So, how do you wanna do this?” Harry asked as he sat on the mattress. Oh, you wanted to do this in a lot of ways. But none of them seemed like something you could say out loud. So you stayed quiet, rolling the cotton fabric of his sheets between your fingers waiting for him to take the first guess. “Should I hug you? Would that keep you warm?” Harry offered and you nodded, not fully realizing that he couldn’t see you. “Use your words.”

“Yes, please,” you said, as energy ran up your spine. “Why do you sound like you enjoy ordering people around in bed?”

“Because I do,” Harry replied and there was a smirk on his lips. You didn’t even need to see it to know it.

That night, Harry hadn’t stayed long enough for you to cuddle. You had woken up wrapped up in the safety of your own bed, and your legs still felt weak and euphoria still bubbled in your belly. The untouched side of the bed didn’t bother you, you said to yourself. Why would it?

So, having him lie next to you was a whole new feeling. He was careful as he laid down and his legs pressed up to the back of yours. Out of instinct, your legs tangled with his, spreading apart enough for him to let his thigh sneak between yours and for you to curl your ankle around the back of his calf. His fingers traveled gingerly over your thigh and up your hips, until he settled them on the curve of your waist, looping his arm around it as you shifted closer to his chest. His breath fanned over the nape of your neck, and you shivered as you felt his lips grazing your shoulder as he started to speak.

“You’re just wearing a shirt?” Harry asked and you had to drown out a grunt of despair, pretty sure that your voice would give up on you if you tried talking.

“I’m not wearing any pants of yours,” you said.

“Why not?”

“Because...you could’ve done things...and they could be dirty...and I’m not risking it.”

“What kind of things?” Harry teased you. He knew the answer very well, he just wanted to hear you say it.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Please, tell.”

Not being able to see him while in an unfamiliar room meant that you could feel him everywhere around you. He had shifted to prop himself up, you knew that much, but your eyes still refused to see much more than the outline of his body. The goosebumps all over your skin told you just how close he was.

“I mean, you might’ve touched yourself…”

“And?” He pressed.

“And...cum might be in your pants.”

“That night I came a few times in your pussy, that didn’t seem to bother you. You cleaned me off with your tongue, remember?” Harry was enjoying himself, pressing your buttons hard enough to get you mad, but also, to make you think about the night he fucked you as you had never been fucked before. You remembered it well, especially in your lonely nights and in your long showers.

“Did I? I cannot remember.”

Harry lied back down on the bed, and once again, an electric wave rolled down your body, reacting to his presence next to you. It did the trick because you felt warm enough already.

“So, what were you doing home tonight?” You asked, wanting to get rid of the tension that was filling the air. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Are you sure? Does she know that?” Now it was your turn to tease him. She was blonde and fucking gorgeous, and she smiled at you like you shared a secret whenever you run into each other in the hallways. She had that satisfied smile every time.

“Sure…”

He didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it, and you weren’t sure you wanted to insist too much. He could still kick you out of his house, and you found yourself to be too damn comfortable in his bed. So, you stopped pressing. It wasn’t your problem, anyway.

****

Electricity buzzed on again sometime around the night, because the heater was on in the morning, and you had already peeled off a couple of layers, with blankets bunching up around your feet, while Harry and you still cuddled up in bed.

It wasn’t like you had noticed, because you were blissfully unaware of the world around you. Harry’s arms surrounded you, his fingers tangled in your hair while his other hand went under your shirt, as you hid your face on the crook of his neck. Nothing could bother you at that moment, except for the loud banging on the door.

You jolted up, untangling yourself hastily from Harry as you begrudgingly opened your eyes and sneered at the air. Whoever it was was relentless, ringing the bell as if their life depended on it.

“Harry…” you prodded him, but there wasn’t much response coming from him. He turned around and buried his face into the pillow. “Harry!?” You insisted, this time shaking his body with your hands.

“Hhmm?”

“Someone’s at the door.”

“Could you please open it?” He said without bothering to wake up completely. You could see that he was doing his very best not to.

“What if it’s your girlfriend? And she drags me by my hair?”

“It won’t be.”

You weren’t too sure about his answer, but it seemed like it was the only one you were going to get because he shifted in the bed and buried himself even deeper between the blankets. So you sighed, deeply and morosely, and got up from the bed because there’s a sense of urgency in the way they’re knocking and you don’t want to be responsible for someone’s death. If it was indeed his girlfriend, you hoped that she would focus her rage on him, and leave you alone.

The cold of the morning was much more forgiving to you than it had been in the night, and the thought of putting on pants only crossed your mind as soon as you opened the door, and Mrs. Lee, from 6C, looked at you from head to toe. She looked confused, to say the least, checking back on your apartment to see if she hadn’t knocked on the wrong door.

“Mrs. Lee?” You smiled at her, leaning on the door as your pretty neighbor got her composure back. Her fingers grazed over her gold chain and she offered you a dashing smile. Her cleavage was stunning and in full display and you found yourself struggling to look away from it. It was so early, so cold.

“I’m sorry, I was looking for Harry, I need his help with...something.”

Oh, where’s Mr. Lee, darling? Could he not possibly help? You thought, but those questions were pushed down in your brain, not daring to come out and live in the air.

“He’s asleep,” you smiled brightly and you could see the wheels turning in her head, as she wondered...“But I’ll make sure he gets the message.”

“He is asleep?” She asked, and for a second there, you felt bad. It surely was not the answer she was expecting. You had always wondered why she stayed with Mr. Lee, who was considerably older than her, not very attractive and not very energetic. Money was always the easiest answer. Love never came to mind.

“Yeap.”

“Oh...so you slept here?”

“I will tell Harry you came to visit,” you smiled in response, and slowly closed the door on your stunned neighbor’s face. As soon as she was out of sight, a wicked grin formed on your face, and a rush of energy bubbled in your tummy as you made your way to Harry’s room.

So, Mrs. Lee...

“Who was it?” Harry asked as soon as you walked through the door. He was sitting down on the bed, with his sheets wrapped around his waist. He was shirtless, and probably only wearing his boxers because as you peered around the room, you noticed that his sweatpants were on the floor, and he looked even more inviting than you could remember. Your imagination ran wild, no matter how hard you tried to shut it down, and you had to make an effort to remember about your half-naked neighbor by his door.

“It was Mrs. Lee,” you managed to smirk. “She said she needed your help, which I think it’s code for her wanting you to fuck her.”

“You think?” Harry chuckled and you waltzed closer to him until you were standing in front of him.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first neighbor you fucked.”

“Or the one I want to fuck the most,” he smiled.

“No? Who’s that?”

***

The day Harry moved into the building, everyone knew about it. You were having a Very Busy Day being a Very Stressed and Very Overworked Junior Associate, so you barely noticed the fuzz around the building. The last exciting thing that had happened there was when Ms. Rose had forgotten to turn off the tap of her bathroom and had caused a leak in Mr. Grump’s apartment (or Mr. Jackson, to those unfamiliar with the man), so the arrival of a handsome, British, young, single man, was bound to cause a stir.

Pink was the first one to come to his door and make him pet her like it was her right and his duty to do so. Some of your neighbors looked at the interaction with dreamy eyes and wondered if he would do the same for them.

You didn’t get an opportunity to meet him. You didn’t care how much Ms. Rose would gush about him, dropping hints that you two would make a lovely couple and should give her the grandchildren she could only dream about, you just wished he didn’t play the guitar in the middle of the night when you were trying to focus on typing the perfect email for your neurotic boss.

The first time you saw Harry wasn’t in the hallways of your building, or when he opened the door for you and helped you carry your groceries. The first time you saw Harry, he was a stranger on the train looking at the passing city through the dirty window. You couldn’t stop looking at his golden eyes that reflected the inclement light of the sun, or at the bob of his Adam's apple, when he tilted his head back, enjoying the music a little bit too much. His headphones were almost as big as his head and his world seemed rather peaceful. And maybe you were staring too hard because when your eyes met, you realized his weren’t really golden, but green, curiosity glinted in his stare and a small smirk tugged up the corner of his lips.

That very same day, you saw him again at the coffee shop you usually visited on Fridays, when you would reward yourself for getting to the end of the week still employed, by buying a large portion of the most scrumptious chocolate cake ever. And even though it wasn’t Friday yet, you needed a win or a shot of sugar, it didn’t matter which one. You sat on your usual corner, with a tall glass of sparkling water and a large piece of cake, that you would have to work out for 5 days straight. You licked a spoonful of chocolate and your gaze wandered around the shop, which was full of trinkets and dolls, only to be stopped at the sight of the boy from the train. He was tall and lean, and his smile lit up the place as he picked up his order, and carried with ease all four cups of coffee and three small boxes. For a second, it seemed like he wasn’t going to see you, but you still dragged your feet under the table, making yourself smaller by sinking into your chair, just in case. But of course, he turned, perhaps because he felt your stupid, burning stare, and when his eyes fell on you, you could see a glint of surprise and amusement in them. The way he looked at you made you shiver down to your toes. A group of people passed by him and he disappeared with them. Maybe you had dreamt him, you truly did need to take an 8 hours long nap.

A couple of weeks after, you were certain that your mind was playing tricks on you, and maybe you were still behind on your sleep schedule, cause the boy from the train was standing by your door, this time without a shirt on. His sweaty body was almost gleaming, and your eyes traveled down his body without your permission, taking notes of the muscles on his chest and the ink spilled randomly across his skin.

There was no time to react, not when he was looking at you as he remembered you, the peeper, and a mocking smile was starting to curl his lips upwards. So you took a sharp breath, and like the coward you were, you got into your apartment and slammed the door behind you as hard as you could.

Then came the girls, and the screams, and the deep-seated annoyance that could easily be hatred or envy, it depended on the night. Then came the passive-aggressive notes asking him to shut it, and the chocolate bonbons he would leave by your door right before you got from the gym, a smiley face and an “a sweet for my sweet” corny note, and the way he would laugh entirely too hard once you banged the door shut. How he would roll his eyes at your boyfriend, and you would tut-tut in disapproval every time you caught a glimpse of a new girl.

You knew Harry’s type, too pretty and he knew it, too cool and he enjoyed it. Experience had scarred you enough.

You know better than to pin for him.

****

“You,” Harry replied, and the simplicity of his words made your bones tremble. Your mind ran wild with images of what could be.

“Too bad we already used that chance,” you whispered at Harry, at the same time you took a step back just for good measure. Being close to him made you weak at the knees and you had no time for that.

“Did we?”

“We did.”

“What if…” Harry considered his words and you had a bubbly feeling in your chest that assured you that whatever it was that he was going to suggest, you were going to say yes. “We make that our trial run to see how good we could be, and now we give it a real try.”

“Just one more time?”

“If you want. Or we can make a deal.” He said, the confidence of a man who knew damn well he had already won.

Your heart, your poor heart. There was a bubbliness in your chest, and you could jump so fucking high.

“What?”

“I get to try to make cum just as many times. So, if you came around my cock,” he said, raising one finger in the air. His smile was devilish, delicious. “My tongue.” Two fingers in the air. “My fingers.” Harry held three fingers in the air and you felt a sudden need to grab his hand and suck on them. “More than once with some.”

He was right, you almost blacked out with pleasure, barely able to express just how fucking good it felt, other than with guttural noises every time he rammed into you. It wasn’t nice or soft, but desperate and hungry, and you had quite preferred it that way.

“It was 4,” you whispered, your tongue swiping across your dry bottom lip. Who knew if it had been 4, 5, or 6, or maybe it was 0 and you had dreamed the whole fucking thing.

“So, 4 times.”

“Is that a promise, Styles? Am I to expect you to make me cum several times every time we fuck?” You smirked and raised your eyebrows, offering a mocking stance that Harry had learned to appreciate. Crave, even. “What if you don’t?”

“Then we save the rest for a rainy day.”

“Until I’m just one more name in that long list of yours,” you said and you didn’t know how you managed to do that, because there was a void that sat on the lower part of your tummy, hungry, demanding.

“S’not that long. And you’re on a list of your own.”

Your shy smile was like fuel. He didn’t quite understand how you managed to fire him up so much, while still blushing, so fucking unaware of the effect that you had on him. You made him dizzy, which he didn’t even know was possible. Butterflies were just a myth.

This time, there was no doubt he was the first one to kiss you, stalking down to you before either one could think things through. There are moments in life where just your brain isn’t enough.

His hands wandered down your body, nails digging on your flesh as your bodies started to mold to each other. The need to bite him and lick him overpowered your senses and you looped your arm around his shoulders, just in case he would get any ideas of taking back his promise.

You kissed him, not in a nice way, but more in a “you fucked me a month ago and I saw God, why haven’t you fucked me more?” kind of way. But your enthusiasm was met with Harry’s need to explore and taste your mouth. He wasn’t in a hurry, he never seemed to be, and still, he was able to set your body and your heart ablaze, matching the rhythm of his own. You could feel it beating hard underneath your fingertips.

Your fingers pushed into his curls and you pulled lightly on them, as his tongue massaged yours. His soft grunt echoed down your body, the electric pull making you shiver as his fingers found the round of your ass again, and he took a step further until you had no other choice but to lie down on his bed.

You weren’t wearing much, just his white cotton shirt and your underwear, while Harry only had his black boxers on, tight and short. He was lean and his chest was muscled in the perfect kind of way, while his hips were still soft and round, and you wanted to do was bite him there, trail your mouth down his navel until you could take his cock in your mouth and kiss it, lick it, suck it, so you could taste him.

Your hands traveled down the soft skin of his neck, the firmness of his collarbones, and the tautness of his chest, and his breath turned sharp into the kiss as your fingertips brushed over his tummy. The kiss was soft and deep, slow and maddening, and Harry enjoyed the way you felt under his fingers, warm and sweet if anyone was fool enough to believe you. You were made out of fire, and even if he didn’t know how to put it into words, you made him curious and eager to learn the taste of your skin and the map of your body.

Harry pulled away from your kiss, but he didn’t give you time to whine about it, like you had begun to do, because he kissed the hinge of your jaw and down your neck, making you shiver as he licked your delicate skin. His hands pressed to your thighs and as he trailed them up your body, he riled up the cotton shirt you were wearing. As he grazed over your waist, a shy smile curled up the corner of your lips, and you obediently raised your arms and let him take the shirt off of you, and went lie down on the bed so Harry could hover over you and trail kisses down the valley of your chest.

As Harry stopped kissing you and looked down at you, he did something he had never done before. His fingers wrapped around your throat and he stared at your face, as your pouty lips formed into an ‘o’ and your eyes went wild with lust when he squeezed lightly. He was still looking at you as his fingers went under your panties and he grazed a fingertip over your wet slit, and he wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something about the way you arched your back and opened your mouth for him that made his lower tummy burn.

“Do you want me to fuck you, babe?” He asked, drawing tight little circles on your clit. He knew very damn well the answer to his question, he could feel it from how wet you were and how easily he could slide one finger in your center, then two. His thumb brushed over your clit and his lips spread into a grin as you visibly shuddered for him.

Now, he had to play his cards very carefully.

“Yes,” you laughed deliriously, maybe from the lack of oxygen in your brain. “Please, fuck me right now.”

There was something about having sex with Harry that was quite different from what you defined as sex. Yes, there was a lot of fucking involved, but you weren’t the giver as much as the receiver. Harry was careful and sexy and giving, and he liked to see you moan and roll your eyes to the back of your head with sheer pleasure, and so, he kissed and touched your body in just the right ways to get everything out of you. Your body held a lot of joy and pleasure and he seemed to want it all for himself.

4 times. You had 4 more chances to look up to.

But Harry didn’t do as you wanted, not right away at least. His thumb kept drawing lazy circles on your clit, while his fingers rhythmically fucked you, rubbing the spongy spot of your walls every time. Harry let go of your throat, to your disappointment, and he lied down next to you, pushing down the fabric of your bra to play with your nipple, pulling on it before he sucked it into his mouth, and moved his thumb just a little faster. Your trembling fingers tangled in his hair and you pulled on it as Harry drove you to the edge. It started in your curling toes and bubbled up to your legs until it settled in your belly, pulsing and fiery, making you quiver and tensed up at the same time.

You were so close that you could already feel the start of a delicious high, clouding your mind and taking over your entire body. So, you felt more than a little inconvenienced when Harry stopped. Your eyes flew open and you glared at the stupid smirk that had printed on his pink lips. Yes, your nose flared and you opened up your lips to protest, but you were soon silenced as Harry’s fingers hooked around your panties, and he pulled down your legs as he went to stand between them.

“C’mere, babe,” Harry smiled, and his fingers curled around your thighs and pulled you to the end of the bed, just as he got on his knees for you. Your laugh bounced off the walls, but it was soon cut short by the deeply heartfelt ‘fuck’ that came at the feeling of his tongue lapping across your wet slit. It felt thick between your lips and its tip slid in your center, pumping in once and twice before he went back to focus on your sensitive clit, pulling it between his lips as he sucked it.

“Harry, fuck,” you moaned. His fingers were now pumping into you as well, as his tongue played with your clit.

Harry was everywhere, the fingers of his free hands were pressing on your tummy so you couldn’t arch your back, but he could feel it starting to tremble, just as your knees, which were hooked around his shoulders, did the same. His eyes couldn’t tear off of you, so he watched you as your mouth hung open and your eyes scrunched up closed, your messy hair sticking to your forehead. You were close again, throbbing around his tongue, and clamping your legs around his head without control. His name was a prayer in your lips.

It wasn’t fair when he stopped and he knew it.

“I fucking hate you,” you whined, all pouts and glares, coming down from your rush. You were so close, it took you a couple of seconds to regain control of your body, and light spams still took over your belly.

“You don’t,” Harry smiled in response. “Come and take off my boxers.”

You did as you were told, sitting on the bed with a slight bounce of anticipation and looking up at Harry in his eyes as you tugged on his boxers, pushing them down from his hips, the round of his ass and his meaty thighs, and ignoring his cock, as it sprang free from the restrictions of the fabric.

Harry wasn’t fully hard, and his sharp breath filled the air when you wrapped your lips around his cock, taking as much of him as you could and hollowing your cheeks to suck him tightly. He grew heavier and thicker on your tongue, and if you looked up, you would’ve been able to see the veins of his neck popping up as he threw his head back with pleasure.

“Fuck, baby,” Harry moaned, which was fucking music to your ears, as you wrapped your fingers around his length and twisted them around while you sucked the tip, lapping your tongue sloppily around it and kissing it. There was a new hunger about the way you did it, a new need to give him half the pleasure he had provided. But as Harry’s cock twitched for the first time against your lips, his hands pressed to your shoulders and he made you stop as he pushed you back to bed, so you lied down for him, with your legs spread open and your fingers between your lips as you licked them.

The slight burn of your walls as Harry pushed his tip inside you made you moan, and you arched your back to adjust to him. Harry smiled as your hands brushed over his neck and your fingers tangled on his soft curls, and he pressed his body to yours to kiss you softly and deeply, matching the slow pace of his hips.

“Can you hold it for me?” Harry whispered against your lips, his voice already strained.

“I can do anything for you right now,” you whispered back. You weren’t sure you were going to be able to hold it, though. Harry was picking up his rhythm, and he thrust his hips hard and fast against yours, while he kissed your neck and your chest and his deep grunts rumbled over your skin, adding to the fire that was crippling up again your skin, raising goosebumps everywhere and making your body shiver without your permission.

You needed to hold it, but it hard, because Harry was hitting just the right place, that spongy spot between your walls that made your walls clench every time, and he kept sucking and licking on whatever skin he could find, particularly excited about taking your nipple between his lips and lapping his tongue sloppily on the sensitive skin. You needed to hold it, but your mind could barely put thoughts together anymore, much less remember what restrain meant.

“Be a good girl foh’me...fuck…” Harry whispered in your ear, and you whined at his words, closing your eyes as blissful waves pushed against your walls, ready to roll all over your body. You were more than ready to cry out of pleasure, but as you clamped your legs around his hips, Harry’s thrust became sloppier and his legs went stiff as he looked for his own high. So you brought his face to yours and kissed him hard and deep, at the same time you rocked your hips and clenched your walls to tip him over that edge.“Can I come in your pussy?”

“Yes, please, do that. Cum in my pussy.” It took him a few more seconds, or maybe it was minutes, time was weird and it didn’t really matter in times like this, to get there, but you felt yourself get warm as his juices filled you and turned into a kaleidoscope full of bright colors that made your head spin. The fire that burned in your tummy spread across your body, and your bodies kept moving as you rode the high, sharing lazy kisses and soft touches.

Harry lied down on the bed when he rolled off of you, and you pressed your clammy body to him, to kiss on his chest and his neck.

A nagging voice in the back of your head told you that you should not get too comfortable in Harry’s bed and that you should get up and leave before he told you to do it, but it didn’t seem like the thought was even crossing his mind, because he was drawing mindless patterns on your back and looking at you with a lazy smirk.

“Had fun?” He asked and you nodded, resting your head against his shoulder so he could hug you.

“Had lots of fun. Could’ve had a lot more if you had let me cum.”

“I told you, we can keep’em for a rainy day or a sunny one, I don’t fucking care.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“You want some pizza? I’m fucking hungry.”

“Yeah, I’d like that. No pineapple, please,” you said, to which he snorted. You just weren’t sure if it was a snort of agreement or one of protest. You watched him, as he got up from the bed and went to pick his phone, fiddling with it while he ordered the pizza, hopefully, one without pineapple. He looked fucking good, sweaty and naked, all yours to ogle at. You must have blushed when he turned around, cause curiosity glinted in his green eyes and he rushed to bed to climb over you, the weight of his body pinning you down to the mattress. It didn’t matter, it gave you a chance to play with his curls.

“What?” He asked and smiled childishly when you shook your head. “Just so you know, I have never fucked Mrs. Lee,” he said, which was not what you were expecting. “She sometimes comes here and asks me to fix shit for her. I think she wants company.”

“Nah, she wants to fuck you.”

“I’m not interested.”

“What about your girlfriend?”

“She’s not...we’re not together anymore.”

“Why?”

“I met her after that night, and I really liked her...I guess I was the only one that thought we were exclusive,” he shrugged, even though, if you listened carefully, there was a hint of hurt in his voice. Was it his ego that hurt? or was it his heart? Very different and yet, similar enough for people to mistake them for one another.

“Oh...”

“It’s ok, we weren’t really nothing, I was just getting my hopes up.”

“Love suck, man. We should form our own club: the broken-hearted bunch.”

Hiiiii, thank you for reading!! It truly means the world to me! If you liked this story, and maybe want more, please let me know! I am currently writing for “me”, so any type of feedback would be greatly appreciated, as it helps me to find out if you want me to keep sharing! Also, a reblog would help me spread my stories around, but if you don’t feel like it, it’s ok. Have a nice day, and very very happy holidays!

#Harry Styles #Harry Styles Smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #1dff #harry styles fluff #writing #hs #hiiiiii

191 notes · View notes

azrielsribbon · 3 years

Text

!!! A COURT OF SILVER FLAME SPOILERS !!!

Alternatively, Asli finished the book in like six hours and has many, many thoughts.

ON THE TOPIC OF NESTA, SOME CASSIAN AND NESSIAN AS A WHOLE.

holy shit. this is a lot.

She has grown so much, and I mean that by the little things.

I love that sjm didn’t make it so she was addicted to the wine and sex

Okay I understand Nesta was frustrating sometimes because she really was stubborn but some of the shit Cassian said was really out of line. Especially when he screamed that no one like fucking liked her.

Cassian was down so bad this entire book and I knew that the moment he said he hadn’t bed a female in two years. He was STARVINGGG

Her determination in getting down those stairs, I probably wouldve tested myself down a window or something.

I liked how she bonded with the House. It was a refreshing, different take on loneliness and finding a friend.

The House and how it looked after her. It was the biggest thing in her journey.

One theme I see in Nesta a lot is self sabotage, especially when it means the safety of others. She’s ready to throw herself in front of them.

Her banter with Cassian was really nice to read.

WHEN SHE MENTIONED HAVING A THREESOME TWICE I DIED

Cassian and his backstory was rip. It was really sad thinking about how little kid Cass really regretted some of the things that even he couldn’t control.

sjm did not disappoint with inner thoughts. Those were really refreshing.

She wasn’t vividly jealous or furious at Mor and Cassian’s friendship and I really liked that take.

Cassian’s silent jealously when Helion tries to flirt with Nesta and she dodged it LMAOOO

When Cassian kisses her in front of their family to help her get out of the map

Her silent bond with Az! That kept me going honestly. He was a sly bastard sometimes.

Sometimes I really questioned somethings, like those fast smut scenes but that’s just my preference.

Her marching down to Amren’s after she finds out they voted against her having the weapons she Made

Not to mention how she told Feyre about the baby and the labor risk out of anger, that really hurt both of them and me.

When she stayed silent during her punishment hike with Cassian. Each thought tore me apart.

When he warned her about falling and she was glad he didn’t see the expression on her face. How she didn’t mind if she fell down and how it would better.

When she cried after all those days of silence and finally told him how she felt underneath all that.

He softened up fast too and blamed himself for not realizing all this time why she hated the fire.

Can we talk about that dancing scene with Eris? And how Cassian was secretly exploding on the side as he remembered her mother wanted her to marry a Prince just like Eris.

WHEN ERIS ASKED RHYS WHAT HE WANTED IN EXCHANGE FOR NESTA TO BE HIS BRIDE AFTER LIKE A COUPLE DANCED LMAOO

The Solstice scene had my heart. The gift Az got Nesta and how she hugged him after he told her about it. How Cassian smiled at the sight.

HOW CASS GOT HER A LITTLE MUSIC BOX RECORDED WITH THE MUSIC FROM THE BALLROOM AND HOW HE ASKED THE MUSICIANS TO PERFORM IT FOR HIM AFTER EVERYONE LEFT SO HE COULD GET IT FOR HERRRR

They really kept shit away from each other till it exploded in an argument and that’s a reoccurring theme with this book couple.

WHAT MADE ME SO FRUSTRATED WAS HOW HE WANTED TO STAY IN HER BED AFTER SEX AND SHE WANTED TO CUDDLE BUT THEY DIDNT SAY ANYTHING AND ASSUMED THE OTHER DIDNT WANT IT

The topic of mates was RUSHED. Like I mean really rushed. First they argue, he says shackled and then the next time they get to speak (after the forced Blood Rite and labor scene) they accept it? I dont know, it didn’t sit with me.

I wish Nesta would elaborate on why she didn’t believe in Mates even more and Cassian would actually listen for once. Again, rushed.

The ending was fast paced in my opinion. We could’ve really had more to go off of, I needed more domestic Nessian.

ON THE TOPIC OF NESTA, GWYN, EMERIE

I am obsessed with Gwyn, Emerie and their friendship with Nesta.

I love how Gwyn and Nesta started, both gritting their teeth and still appreciating that aspect of each other.

How Nesta raced to help her with a book even when their first encounter wasn’t the friendliest.

Gwyn being persistent in paying back her small debt. I love her.

When Gwyn applied to defense lessons after Nesta defended them from the scholar priestess.

Emerie, my homegirl. I love her to death. The way she easily befriends Nesta, how Nesta stands up for her when her cousin comes to bother her.

I don’t know if it was just me, but Emerie and Mor might possibly be something. Either good friends or interested lovers.

THE WAY EMERIE BONDED OVER SMUTTY NOVELS WITH THE OTHER GIRLS AND LET THEM BORROW HER STUFFFFFF

Gwyn helping Nesta with her research on Valkyries. Muah.

Gwyn and Az, I feel like something might happen here and if it does, I do not want any Elriel drama getting dragged in, MY GIRL GWYN HAS BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH OKAY

Gwyn thinking she doesn’t deserve the purity jewel the other priestesses wear and her backstory honestly just broke me. She endured so much.

Emerie and everything she lost. Her mother, her brother, her wings and any dreams she had of flying. How she distracts herself with work and gardening to keep that off her mind.

The way the girls all developed inside jokes, jokingly hanged up on Cassian at training and always had Nesta’s back.

The way they were dedicated to each other even during the Rite when they couldve let one another behind and won.

HER SISTERSSS I CRIED I WOULD DIE FOR THIS MF TRIOOOO

ON THE TOPIC OF THE INNER CIRCLE + THE ARCHERON PARENTS

Fey-ruh was pregoooo she and Rhys raw dogged it

I felt really really bad when no one fucking told her she would die because the baby had wings and she wasn’t fit to give birth like that. Like. What.

Can we talk about how they fucked when Feyre was in her Illyrian form and didn’t think the thing through?

Rhys, I can’t stand the guy. First he wants to make a bargain with his mate that they die together and then he wants to keep it from her that she can die when giving birth to their kid.

I think what pissed me off the most was when he was trying to help Cassian get Nesta out of a nightmare/power “episode” and had to experience what she did with the Cauldron and seeing Elain and Cassian hurt. He said he knew she was feeling something but seeing and feeling it yourself was different. Yeah, what else did you think smartass.

Rhys has a habit of keeping important shit secret, Amren is no better either. I think that’s what pissed me off the most. They sometimes kept the too important shit away.

As much as Nesta grew, so did Feyre. They both developed pretty good in my mind, I don’t hate her as much as I despise Rhys sometimes. All and all I love how she and Nesta ended up.

Amren....I get her point about Nesta using and abusing their friendship. At the same time, sometimes she was too harsh.

Elain, darling old cottage core aesthetic Elain. I found her to be a little insufferable sometimes. How she showed up unexpectedly at the Library to talk to Nesta and they got into an argument was funny to me since Nesta pulled out some stuff on her.

ELAIN THANKING NESTA AND SAYING FINALLY AFTER SHE TELLS HER TO “OH FUCK OFF” AT THE SOLSTICE PARTY WAS SO RANDOM

Elain and Lucien is some fucked up shit. I understand how she doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that they’re mates and all that but you can atleast thank the guy when he gives you a gift on Solstice.

I feel bad for Lucien because as sweet as Elain might show to be, she’s really hurting him and could just reject him if she really doesn’t want him.

AZ AZ AZ I LOVE HIM AND HIS SLY MOMENTS

Az when he cockblocks is the best thing. Do it more often.

Az and Nesta’s bond is something I want to see more, as well as how she literally thought about a threesome with him and Cassian.

Morriiiiigan. Everyone mentions her beauty and how she’s like the sun walking and I admire that. She wasn’t as annoying as I thought she’d be on the topic of Nesta and Cassian being an item.

She also wasn’t in the book as much which made sense since she was in Vallahan. I did like how she accepted Nessian towards the end.

The long awaited Mrs Archeron. Some of my theories about her proved true! About how she groomed her daughters into marriage ideologies at the worst age. 12 and 11? What the fuck?

The way she called Elain a pretty thing with no ambition at 11, no wonder Nesta and Elain have no proper knowledge of survival like Feyre did. She was set on making sure Nesta married someone who would treat her well, Elain married someone rich since her beauty was beyond all three of them.

Literally Mrs Archeron was not okay LMAOOO why are you telling your daughters this when they haven’t even bled yet damn CHILL

I felt bad since she didn’t care for Feyre and only their father doted on Elain and Feyre. Nesta was kept all to her mother to feed off Mrs Archeron’s narcissism.

Not to mention she died a year later

I found it funny Elain mentioned how at 15, Nesta even had their dad fearing her. Like it’s your daughter, wdym you fear her

The backstory on how Nesta treated him and how she feels now looking back. It was saddening and I unfortunately know the regret of not doing somethings. It must eat her alive.

I enjoyed reading this book, even if I wasn’t content with the ending. I tabbed a LOT of things so you’ll probably catch me editing and adding more to this in the morning. Thank you for reading all the way down here! 🤍

#nesta archeron #nessian #acosf spoilers #acofas #a court of silver flames #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #cassian #feyre archeron #elain archeron

68 notes · View notes

rheawritessometimes · 3 years

Note

hey I really liked the photographer au!! would it be possible to make a part 2 with the liyue men (zhongli, xiao, childe)? only if you're really feeling up to it of course!

{ Model!Childe/Xiao/Zhongli x Photographer!GN!Reader }

{ Summary } Taking pictures of the Liyue gang. Model AU Part 1

{ Warnings } Flash Photography, Zero Research Done, Suggestive

{ Notes } I felt up to it. Is there favoritism? No, only who I felt most inspired by. Some of these people would just make terrible models. Masterlist

{ Word Count } 1,464

Childe

Unfortunately, Childe is aware of the fact that he is handsome. A lot of his natural attractiveness is cancelled out by how insufferable he can be.

If he catches you looking at him, or even if he’s just in your field of view, Childe will strike a dramatic pose. About half the time he will insist that you take a photo of him and will not move until you do so.

Childe also likes to suggest ideas for the shoots. You’re not sure if he’s serious about them or not, but they’re all awful.

“I think it would be better if I did this shoot shirtless,” the redhead says before cleverly adding, “You’d like it better that way too, right?”

It’s hard to tell if he’s being serious between the grin and wink he shows you and the fact he immediately goes to take off the jacket and shirt he’s wearing. Sometimes you wondered why he even accepted modelling contracts, he acted like he just wanted to be photographed according to his own ideas.

“Childe, keep that on. This is a fashion shoot, you’re supposed to be modelling these clothes,” you say, sounding like a tired, scolding parent. "If you want to just have pictures taken of you then you can hire me some other time."

"Oh. Would you be open to a nude shoot, then?"

At least he always brings you treats when you’re photographing him. Something to eat or drink, and sometimes even trinkets that reminded him of you. Very occasionally even expensive jewelry.

Actually, Childe is very obviously rich and it’s not from modelling. You have no idea where he gets the money and question why he’s even a model, the man is loaded enough to do nothing for the rest of his life.

“I’m a model because it would be a crime not to show the world this beauty.”

It’s a struggle to keep your eyes from rolling at his words, but somehow you manage. You were getting used to the Snezhnayan’s theatrics, though you were beginning to notice a good deal of it was used to dodge any questions you had about him. It wasn’t really any of your business, but the man had a lot of mystery surrounding him.

Speaking of mystery, sometimes Childe comes in with random cuts and bruises. He gives no explanation for them. “Oh, are you that concerned for me?”

Once he even came in with a black eye. The makeup artists were good, but there’s no working around that kind of swelling.

“Childe! What happened to you?” you ask, unable to contain your surprise. The man had come in with a black eye as though it was nothing. The eye was even swollen shut, certainly not something that could be covered up with a bit of makeup.

“Oh, is it that bad?” he responded, laughing it off like it was nothing.

“There’s no way we can do the shoot with you looking like this. Come on, let’s get some ice on that.”

“What, you don’t think I’m still handsome?” he asked, but the teasing died off when you grabbed his hand. The action shocked him into silence, allowing you to easily drag him off to ice his eye.

Xiao

Honestly, you’re not sure why Xiao is a model. He’s gorgeous, yeah, but he seems to hate the job. This man does not like sitting still and seems to hate being perceived at all.

It’s hard not to feel bad for the makeup artists when Xiao comes in. It’s no secret that he hates sitting in that chair and having his face pokes at. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard him growl at the makeup artists on more than one occasion.

He’s never growled at you, but Xiao can't even look you in the eye when you get close. He turns his head away from you whenever you need to adjust his clothing or position.

Xiao isn't the greatest at controlling his facial expressions. Oftentimes he just looks angry.

“Xiao, can you please not scowl so hard?” you ask, though it sounds more like a plea at this point. He didn’t need to smile for this shoot, but he was supposed to look neutral. Not like he was plotting a murder.

Xiao grumbled at your request, something about how he’s ‘not scowling’, but did try to adjust. Unfortunately, his expression only shifted from murderous to constipated. At least it was progress in the right direction. Sort of.

Xiao takes naps during breaks but refuses to admit to it. You don’t know why, but he always denies having been asleep. He was just ‘resting his eyes’. You have a few pictures that say otherwise, but you won’t tell him that.

Skateboards to shoots sometimes. The first time he walked in with a skateboard in hand you were so surprised you asked who’s it was. “... It’s mine.”

“Will you teach me how to skateboard, please?” you ask, flashing Xiao you best puppy dog eyes. His expression as he looks at you tells him they’re effective in weakening his resolve.

“Fine, but only the basics,” he agrees after a long moment of consideration.

On the next break you find yourself outside the studio, balancing on a skateboard with Xiao holding your hand. He refused to let go of you, too worried for your safety. With the grip he had, you didn’t think you were at risk of falling.

“Relax a little, you can’t balance if you’re too stiff,” he says, brows furrowed as he concentrates on keeping you steady and correcting your posture. But, as soon as you shift to relax, you wobble a bit on the skateboard. With strength you didn’t know he had, Xiao is lifting you up off the skateboard and onto the ground.

“That’s enough, this is too dangerous.”

Zhongli

There’s no way Zhongli can be human, out of all the people you’ve photographed he is by far the most beautiful. The man even moves with a certain grace you’re certain no human could replicate. But, he laughs it off every time you mention something about it.

To put it bluntly, Zhongli is a pleasure to have on set. He’s polite and a good conversationalist, not to mention very photogenic.

Of course, nobody's perfect. There’s a few downsides to working with Zhongli, primarily his long monologues that make shoots run late and the strange way you always find yourself spending Mora on Zhongli.

Somehow, you frequently find yourself going out to lunch with Zhongli and footing the bill. Sometimes you stop inside a bookstore on your way back and find yourself purchasing a novel for him. You’re not entirely sure how it works out that way, but a day spent with Zhongli always ends with your wallet feeling lighter.

“Thank you again for lunch,” Zhongli says as you two are walking down the street from the cafe.

“No problem, it’s my pleasure,” you tell him with an earnest smile on your face. It’s a few more steps before you realize you have once again paid for this outing. You wouldn’t have minded so much if it weren’t for the fact that last time you went out, you swore it was the last time you were paying for Zhongli.

It always turned out like this, though. You’d never seen Zhongli pay for anything, and from the way Childe spoke of his time with Zhongli, he had noticed the same trend. It wasn’t like the man was hurting for money, he had a very successful job as a model. Just how did this keep happening?

It’s strange, you ended up meeting Zhongli on a shoot that was made last minute due to scheduling errors, but now you’re the only photographer he works with. For a long time you didn’t know this, but Zhongli really only does high end modelling, and you’re definitely not the best of the best, but he only does shoots with you. He refuses to be photographed by anyone else. (You don’t know this, but he made it one of the terms of his contract.)

Zhongli may talk a lot, but most of what he has to say is interesting. He has extensive historical knowledge and often offers unique insights. Sometimes you even find yourself going to him for advice.

Has a dog named Azhdaha.

The screen of your phone illuminates and the ding of a notification resonates through your room just as you’re about to settle into bed. You’re surprised to see the message is from Zhongli, even more so when it contains only an image with no accompanying text.

The image is of a large brown dog splayed out on a tan carpet. You’re about to reply when another message comes through.

Apologies, that was meant for Childe. It is my dog, Azhdaha.

11 notes · View notes

louiseleblancdiggory · 4 years

Text

Trick, treats, bets

31 Days of Spooktober

Day 11/31

Prompt: “Scaring the kids? You already do that without a mask” brycehunt pls (i'm asking this one bc of you)

Bryce both loved and hated Halloween.

She loved the costumes, the whole spooky vibes. The candy promotions were amazing, and the Devil’s Night parties were even better. But she also hated the—

Her thoughts were interrupted by the thing the hated the most. Bryce grunted, getting up and grabbing the bag of candy sitting by her side. It’s not that she hated the kids that came to her apartment for candy, she herself had done it throughout her childhood and adolescence, she just hated needing to get up all the goddamn time unless she wanted spray paint on her door or toilet paper glued to it.

She thought about leaving a bowl outside and letting the kids grab it, but it always ended up with a single boy taking the whole thing, not only making Bryce need to get up all the time during the night nonetheless, but it also forced her to buy a new bowl on the following day.

Plastering a smile on her face, Bryce opened the door, looking at the pack of children in front of her.

“Trick-or-treats!” They all said in unison, some voices muffled by their masks. Bryce’s smile turned genuine, and she started handing out the candy. As they received their candies, the kids said a quick thanks, moving to the other apartment across the hall.

Bryce prayed that he wasn’t at home, that he, like any other adult, had gone to some Halloween party. She had planned on, but her shift started so early on the following morning that she just gave up the idea, celebrating only Devil’s Night. Unfortunately, her prayers were not heard because a second later, the red door across from hers opened, a gigantic figure taking up all the threshold space. He was in his usual black pants and black shirt, a Scream mask covering his face.

Upon seeing the mask, some kids screamed, some kids laughed and most did both. They repeated the same phrase they had said moments ago to her, and so he started handing out candy.

Incapable of holding herself back, Bryce smirked ironically, leaning against her door frame. “Scaring the kids? You already do that without a mask, Hunt.”

As he always did when Bryce teased him, Hunt’s head snapped up, and she could almost see his eyes narrowing under the Scream mask.

The thing about her neighbor was plain and simple.

She fucking despised him.

Always had, even though Danika would usually point out that it was only Bryce’s stubbornness talking too loudly. Her roommate actually liked their neighbor, and that sometimes meant that Bryce had to arrive to see Hunt and Dani talking on the hallway as if they were friends. Bryce supposed they were, but she’d never admit that her best friend was friends with him.

Dani hadn’t been there when Bryce first moved their shit in. She had been traveling with her excuse of a mother to visit her sick grandpa, and so Bryce got the responsibility to move everything in before the end of summer. She hadn’t mind, not really. It wasn’t like Danika owned tons of shit, and most of the boxes were Bryce’s anyways.

And that’s when she had met Hunt.

For her whole life, Bryce had been told she was the biggest pain in the ass anyone could meet. The people saying that obviously hadn’t met Hunt Athalar.

The guy had bothered her every fucking day for a whole month. Every time a different complaint, every time just as annoying. She was being too loud, she was coming in too late and slamming the from door, her music was shit, she had to shut her dog up… Bryce wondered if Hunt made a fucking mental list every weekend regarding what he was going to complain about that week.

In the beginning she tried to be nice, tried to be polite to her neighbor but after two weeks she was just so fed up, that when Hunt complained about her coming back home so late, she just snapped.

“Well, you fucking prick, I come home late because I have a social life. Differently from you, apparently, who spends his day planning what’s he’s going to complain about next.” Bryce said, her drunken voice loud in the corridor. Hunt was standing at the door, eyes narrowed at her. “Actually, I can understand why you do that. Why you don’t have a fucking social life. It’s because you’re fucking insufferable! Going out with you must be the worst fucking torture ever.”

After that, she had slammed the door and prayed to the gods that the outburst would finally make him stop bothering her.

It didn’t.

When Dani came home, however, things got better. For some reason, Hunt seemed to like her better than he liked Bryce. If it depended on her, Danika wouldn’t even talk to that asshole, but since talking to her roommate apparently made him more friendly, Bryce never complained.

Hunt raised his mask from his face, giving Bryce a sarcastic smile. “Quinlan, always a fucking pleasure hearing your voice.”

“There are kids present.”

Hunt rolled his eyes, giving out candy to the last kids. “Cussing makes me look cooler than you to them.”

Some kids giggled, and Bryce tried— she really did try— to keep her mouth shut. “Don’t kids adore clowns?”

Despite the fact that Bryce felt as if she was back at fourth grade after that one, she felt somewhat smug.

Hunt let out a single laugh, still sarcastically smiling down at Bryce from across the hall. “I’m still the preferred one.”

“No, you’re not.”

As the kids left, Bryce knew she should go back to her apartment and hope she wouldn’t need to see Hunt’s face again for the rest of the night, but he kept standing there, and she didn’t want to be the first one to back down.

Hunt managed to bring out the very childish side of her. It was just wonderful.

“Why don’t we bet, then?” He asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Bryce narrowed her eyes, looking him up and down for no reason at all other than attempting to unnerve him. Judging from his impatient look when her eyes raised back to his face, her attempt was successful.

“I honestly would rather put toothpicks under my nails and then hit them against a wall.”

“So dramatic.” His smile widened. “But it’s ok that you don’t want. I’d be scared too.”

Oldest fucking trick on the book. Stupidest one too.

And she fell right into it.

Bryce grunted her jaw. “What fucking bet?”

“I think the kids would prefer me over you. You think the opposite.” He explained, gesturing to the middle of the corridor. “We put a box there asking them to write the number of the best house. Whoever wins gets a favor from the loser.”

Bryce scoffed, shaking her head. “As if I’d put the risk of having to owe you a favor in the hands of a bunch of ten years-olds.”

“Shouldn’t worry if you think you’re gonna win.”

Bryce bit the inside of her cheeks, looking Hunt up and down again. She knew it was a terrible bet, and she definitely did not want to owe him anything if she lost. Bryce didn’t even care about what the kids thought of her, she just didn’t want Hunt to be all smug and feeling superior.

“Fucking shit.” She murmured, rubbing her eyes. “Put the fucking box in the middle of the hallway and at midnight we count.”

And what was supposed to be a calm night— sometimes annoying— of just handing out candy, became a kissing-the-ass-of-a-bunch-of-kids night. Bryce was extra nice to all the kids, but she never asked them to vote for her house. She didn’t even knew if they were actually doing it, but she felt like asking for votes felt a little too much.

She handed out more candy to each one as she had previously expected, complimented costumes and even made small talk to the older trick-or-treaters, but beyond that she just acted normal.

As midnight approached, though, she started to wish that she had asked for those votes. The perspective of being in debt with the person she most fucking despised was terrifying, and she knew that if she lost, Hunt would definitely pick something to make her miserable.

Although she’d never admit it, she was anxiously waiting by the door for ten minutes already when the clock chimed midnight. Both she and Hunt opened the door at the same time, both looking at each other for a quick second before rushing to the box in the middle of the hallway. For the first time since she had met him, Bryce didn’t insult, scowl or even talked to Hunt. They just sat in silence on the floor and started to count.

Surprisingly, it looked like all the kids had found the question interesting enough because there were at least sixty paper votes inside the box. Half to her content, half to her worry, she and Hunt were pretty tied.

Hunt smiled, shaking the box. “Last vote, Quinlan.”

Bryce was staring at that box as if it held the answers to all of her problems. They were currently 34-34, and whoever got that vote won.

For the seconds it took Hunt to take the paper out of the box, Bryce’s heart was basically galloping inside her chest.

And when he smiled, her heart dropped.

Before he even placed the paper down on his pile, Bryce was already resting her head against the wall, groaning and cursing the children.

“Fuck no. No, no, no. Fuck, fuck no.” She groaned, shaking her head as she looked up to the ceiling.

“Don’t be a sore loser, Quinlan.” Hunt said, and although Bryce wasn’t looking at him, she knew he was smiling.

“Go choke on a dick, asshole.”

Hunt’s rich laughs reverberated through the corridor, and Bryce groaned one more time.

“The way I’m feeling right now.” Hunt gloated, only half speaking to her.

Bryce snapped her face back to him, eyes opening. She made a face, showing him the middle finger. “Why don’t you just ask your fucking favor and leave me alone?”

Hunt’s smile was nothing short of scary, and Bryce was already bracing herself for his next words. “Remember two weeks after you moved in?”

Bryce’s nervousness was substituted for confusion, and a crease created in between her eyebrows. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

Hunt’s smile grew. “Remember what you said?”

Bryce simply narrowed her eyes.

“That going out with me would be, and I quote, the worst fucking torture ever?” Hunt’s voice was sweet, smile enormous, and it took Bryce only a second to understand.

“Oh, fuck you.” She said, jaw falling. Bryce knew Hunt had no interest in her, he just wanted to antagonize her life. “Fuck you, you fucking fuck.”

Hunt laughed again, throwing his head back. Bryce crossed her arms, head shaking as she still had her jaw somewhat dropped.

“Really? You can ask for anything and you decide to chose something stupid just to annoy me?”

Hunt was too busy laughing to respond to her, and Bryce got up, scowling down at him.

“I’m gonna make you wish you’d never been born during the three hours I’m out with you.”

Hunt controlled his laughter, looking up at her. “Wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”

Bryce opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, she just turned on her heels, walking up to her apartment and slamming the door without looking back at Hunt.

She decided, in that moment, that she actually fucking hated Halloween.

A/N: Getting sick when you’re doing a challenge is the biggest bitch ever. I’m hopeful I’ll finish before Halloween but who knows? This is quick and the first time I write Brycehunt, so new waters for me. Hope you enjoyed!

Tags:

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @lexflame @sleeping-and-books @annejulianneh111 @perseusannabeth @linshryver @mu-si-ca-l @camilamartinezdunne @dank-queen7 @minaidss @starborn-faerie-queen @booksofthemoon @loveofbooksandwine @jesstargaryenqueen @bluejaberry @multifandommessblog @yesdreamblog @superspiritfestival @ireallyshouldsleeprn @woollycat22 @julemmaes @claralady

63 notes · View notes

thereluctantinquisitor · 3 years

Text

OC Kiss Week 21

I arrive with a humble entry, dedicated to my lovely @frenchy-and-the-sea. Thank you for letting me borrow one of your Seven Cities characters!

This turned out a lot longer than expected because of who I am as a person. Anyway I hope you like it, and I apologise in advance for any wild inconsistencies with the Captain of my Heart and Soul.

~2000 words, original fiction (a hearty blend of Stonebreaker and Seven Cities)

_______________________________

There weren’t a lot of things to be said about sailors. Well, other than the conclusive fact that they were all utterly insane. But there was something about that cocksure Captain Alex, with her big hat and big ego to fill it, that had been keeping Sylda up later and later into the night. Before, she would just lie in her makeshift pallet, entertaining increasingly ridiculous ideas; the kind that scythed their way through her skull to the rhythm of the rocking ship. This time, partly out of desperation, she had opted for the aid of fresh air to clear her mind.

Perched on the wooden taffrail, her gaze - and left leg - swung out over the ocean’s dark oblivion. For the first time in over a week, she was finally alone. Thinking.

Just... thinking.

How Delver had managed to find them passage on a remotely seaworthy vessel was nothing short of a miracle. Sylda hadn’t asked any questions - she certainly knew better than to look the proverbial horse in the mouth. But the fact that they hadn’t been gutted and keelhauled the second they lost sight of land still hadn’t quite sunk in. She’d heard stories about the mad seafarers of the east. About their obsession with dark water. About their greed and cold steel. About the way they used people as bait to lure creatures from the deep...

Well, she supposed she should be grateful they hadn’t ended up on one of those vessels. Delver was a lot of irritating things, but at least a decent judge of character appeared to be one of them.

The sound of a door suddenly creaking open earned a carefully languid glance, the motion at utter odds with the lurch of surprise in Sylda’s stomach. Relax, she chided herself. This wasn’t some ale-soaked back alley. It was probably one of those twins - Fin or Din or something - wandering out to take a piss.

Her rational side’s attempt to assert dominance crumbled the second she realised who had actually stepped out onto the afterdeck.

“Captain Sheffield.” Sylda wasn’t about to snap to attention, but she gave Alex what she felt was a suitably deferential nod. “It’s a nice night. Out for a stroll?”

Alex’s nose wrinkled slightly. “Some fresh air, more like. Not much strolling to be had back here.”

That was true enough. There were far better options for an evening walk than the stern, after all. Letting the door swing shut behind her, Alex groaned softly and moved forward, hands on her lower back, stretching as she went. From her vantage, Sylda swore the line of Alex’s spine had fixed itself into a slight bow, ready at any moment to diligently curve itself over a desk. Whatever she and Delver had been up to, it seemed to have gone far longer and far later than expected. He probably drove her half-way mad, rambling on the way he does, she thought, smiling slightly to herself. At least someone else got to experience the uniquely infuriating pleasure of his company.

As quickly as the smile arrived, she shooed it away with a start. No - she would rather die than admit to even an ounce of fondness for the insufferable man. He was a means to an end, and she was exactly the same thing for him. That knowledge - that truth - had served them well over the seasons.

A sharp clearing of the throat pulled Sylda from her thoughts. Alex had stopped a few steps from the door, and something about the hawk-like intensity of her gaze made Sylda feel very much like a mouse on a platter. “Do me a favour,” Alex began slowly, as though each of her words required careful and deliberate measuring. “If you’re plannin’ on tipping yourself into the sea, kindly do so when I’m not close enough to feel obliged to go in after you.”

That startled a laugh out of Sylda. “Oh? Is that something captains do?” When Alex’s stern expression didn’t waver, she cocked her head and smiled. “C’mon - don’t give me that look. Are you trying to tell me that daring rescues aren’t actually part of the job description?”

It took a moment before Alex responded, and when she did, it was strangely like a confession. “It’s... more a personal habit than a demand of the position.” She snorted softly. “An unfortunate one at times, if you ask Tahir. Reckon that particular impulse has had a fair hand in turning him grey over the years.” The brief moment of levity, however, vanished as quickly as it arrived. “But let me be clear; I've no intention of feeling guilty tonight.”

There was no mistaking the unspoken command. And frankly, with those piercing eyes leveled at her, Sylda didn’t feel particularly keen to risk disobedience. That was a strange thing all by itself. Divider, she’d cussed out bandits with a knife to her neck - spat in the face of guards hauling her off for a week in the pit. But now, she found herself sighing and swinging both her legs ship-side. Without even a trace of her usual malicious compliance, she slid smoothly until her feet were pressed safely to the wooden deck. “Well, I wouldn’t want to cause you any grief, Captain.” Her eyes flicked up and she flashed a half-smile. “You know, I’ve actually got a pretty steady set of legs under me. Been running rooftops since I was tall as your waist.”

“That so?” Alex folded her arms, but something about her posture had shifted. Loosened. “Well, when rooftops start pitching in a swell, make sure you pass on word. I’m sure plenty of folk will be keen to know another viable application for their sea legs.”

“Alright, alright. Point taken. I’ll keep my arse off the rails.” Still chuckling, Sylda turned, leaning her forearms on the lacquered wood instead. “Can’t imagine a stiller night than this one, though. Can a ship even move in this?”

The sound of boots against the deck heralded Alex’s approach. Arriving beside her, the Captain mirrored her pose, allowing her weary back to settle into a more familiar position. “Aye, it can, but not at any particular speed.” She motioned at something in the dark, her finger tracing a line over the water. “The current here runs south-east. We’ll just let her drift in that direction until the wind picks up.”

“That won’t take us off-course?”

Alex shrugged. “Not far enough to be worried, unless we’re becalmed for days on end. But I can’t say I’ve had that happen out here. The Pale’s not a quiet sea. This is...”

Alex trailed off, closing her eyes, as though to better feel the strange stillness. There was no real need for her to finish her sentence; Sylda simply allowed herself to lapse into the same peaceful silence. The sound of the water lapping against the hull was a soothing rhythm for tired souls. It had been a long few weeks. Seasons, even, if she were being truly honest.

“Hey... can I admit something?” Sylda eventually asked. That, it seemed, piqued Alex’s curiosity. The Captain turned away from the water, arching a brow to indicate her approval. Maybe even her curiosity, if Sylda felt like flattering herself. “Coming out here,” she continued, “out on the open water... it kinda scared the shit out of me.”

To her surprise, Alex snorted. “And here I thought you’d be telling me something I didn’t guess the first hour out of port.”

Sylda cringed. “Was it that obvious?”

“Finn reckoned you were wound tighter than a tenday clock.”

Groaning theatrically, Sylda made a show of hanging her head. “Alright, alright, laugh it up. At least I kept all my meals down.” They shared a glance at that, and twin smiles slowly spread across their faces. Who would have thought that the image of Delver, green-faced and dramatically clinging to the rail, could actually bring people together? For a moment, Sylda almost forgot where she was. Who she was with. It was like being back in Yelen. Back in the Nest, sitting across from someone she knew. Someone she trusted. Respected, even. Someone with eyes of steel and a liberal dusting of freckles.

Someone she might just want to lean towards and...

As quickly as the feeling had taken her, Sylda remembered that everything she knew about Alex Sheffield could comfortably fit into a thimble - with her thumb already in it - and the smile drifted away. Clearing her throat, she did her best to hide her burning cheeks, turning back towards the quiet, dark ocean. The Pale. An ironic name if ever there was one. “Anyway... I heard a lot of stories. About the deep water. I’m not sure if any of them are true, but they were enough to convince me I wouldn’t let myself anywhere near it. Just in case.”

Alex turned as well, the folds of her shirt shifting softly as she leaned backwards against the rail, her weight resting on her elbows. With the stillness of the night and her head tipped slightly skyward, Sylda couldn’t help but picture Alex as a kind of statue, her sight forever set on the stars. She supposed anyone willing to sail the open water had to be a bit like that. A bit in love with things distant and unknown.

“But, despite it all, here you are,” Alex said after a moment. Her voice was suddenly soft. Thoughtful. Somehow, Sylda got the distinct feeling that she wasn’t just talking about her anymore. That was alright. It was a night for quiet contemplation, apparently. That could be nice, sometimes. Calming.

Leaning into the moment, Sylda exhaled slowly, feeling her shoulders dip. Feeling the weight of her feet pressing against the deck, of her arms on the rail. “But here I am,” she replied, then playful smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Fuck me, right?”

Alex snorted. Confused, Sylda turned to discern the source of her amusement, and when it hit her a half-second later, she let out suffering groan. “Oh come on. You’re better than that.”

“Am I? You’ve seen the kind of company I keep.”

It was Sylda’s turn to laugh. “Okay then, maybe not. But if we could side-step the gutter for a moment, I’d like it known to you and anyone eavesdropping nearby that I expect at least a kiss first.”

“That so?” A gentle breeze stirred - just enough to tease the curling locks framing Alex’s face - before quickly falling away again. For a second, Sylda’s words stuck in her throat, and she realised just how close they were. Just how alone they were.

Then the playful gleam in Alex’s eyes - as though she somehow knew exactly what she was doing her - tugged Sylda back to the present.

“What can I say? I’m an old fashioned kinda gal.” Sighing in mimicry of the high class ladies whose purses she liked to pluck, Sylda arched her back and mimed demurely fanning her bosom. “I require courting.”

“Really?” Alex raised a brow, her lips twisting in what Sylda quietly hoped was amusement. “With just a kiss?”

Sylda grinned and mimed tossing the fan into the sea.

“Well, I never said a lot of courting.”

Laughter seemed to carry further on still nights. It was as though, in the absence of wind, it sought to fill the sails all by itself. For the first time since leaving port, Sylda felt lighter. Not without burdens - never that light. But at least, for a few moments, she could flit and flirt and pretend it was something a person like her just got to do. Without guilt. Without worrying about all the things standing in her way. About all the ways she would inevitably fall short.

And for her part, Alex proved surprisingly open to the game. Maybe it was just because she was tired, and her walls were lower than usual. Despite her curiosity, Sylda hadn’t expected to even catch the Captain alone, yet alone rope her into a starlit conversation. After all, she knew - acutely well - how much of a time-siphon Delver could be. Particularly when his passions were piqued. It was a miracle he hadn’t shackled himself to Alex’s ankle like the ball and chain he was.

No. That's not fair. Closing her eyes, Sylda pulled in a long, slow breath. When she opened them again, Alex was regarding her quietly, her arms folded once more, her head cocked ever so slightly. Sylda knew when someone was sizing her up, but this... well, it wasn’t quite the same. A step to the left of it, perhaps, where she knew something was being measured, but she just wasn’t sure what.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Sylda asked eventually. Alex blinked, then reasserted herself, her arms unfolding as she hummed and levered herself from the rail.

“Just committing some things to memory. Don’t worry yourself over it.”

At that, it was Sylda’s turn to arch a brow. “Oh?” She reached up absently, her fingers twisting the ends of her hair as Alex smirked and headed back towards the door. Then, finally, she decided to be brave. “Well, before you head off, here’s another thing for your memory. I wouldn’t mind, ah... worrying myself.” She paused, then hastily added, “Over it. That.”

She swore she heard someone snort from somewhere in the rigging, but she was already too mortified to pay it any real heed. Well, that was smooth as fucking gravel, Sylda thought, cringing inwardly. It took everything in her power not to flip herself over the rail and into the sea. Idiot. This is why you don’t do this. This is why...

Again, maybe it was the product of weariness, or perhaps the strange stillness of the night, but Alex Sheffield, Captain of the Ranger, actually turned back. Her hand rested on the carefully carved doorknob. Her hair, untouched by wind, curled loosely at its ends.

“Well,” she said, then graced her with a quick, sly smile. One that went straight to Sylda’s knees. “Suppose I’ll go ahead and add that, too.”

#OC kiss week 21 #dskjadsjakld I APOLOGISE FOR THE LONG #this is what happens when i type directly into tumblr drafts and dont have a word count to keep me humble lol #alex sheffield #sylda #other people's ocs #reluctant writes #<3 #Frenchy-and-the-sea #sylda has a bit of a crush okay? and she is Not Coping lol #someone save her from herself

11 notes · View notes

hollenka99 · 3 years

Text

The Doctor’s Sons

Summary: This entire clone situation with Ranboo has been occupying Docza’s mind but not for the reasons Techno seems to think.

Warnings: Implied/referenced death

If he was going to be honest, he wasn't particularly paying attention to the conversation going on behind him. He thinks it was about Techno's experience of travelling in the TARDIS with him. Whatever Technoblade and Ranboo were discussing, he was glad the two of them were getting along. This entire cloned offspring situation had thrown him for a loop. It certainly complicated matters. He would rather focus on figuring out how best to placate both sides of the war between the humans and Hath. Although, undeniably, he may have developed a soft spot for Ranboo without entirely meaning to like Techno had. "You will. Won't he, Doctor?" He is brought back to the present. "Hmm?" "Do you think Ranboo'll see any new worlds?" "I suppose so." A warm smile forms on his face. As unsure as he was about these events, there's no doubt he wouldn't mind another friendly face tagging along. "You mean- You mean you'll take me with you?" "Well, can't leave you here, can we?" "Oh! Thank you, thank you, thank you." Ranboo's arms find themselves around the Doctor before he can react. It is too familiar of a feeling. Wilbur stares down at the key his father had handed him moments before. "You're trusting me with your TARDIS?" "Well, better than you stealing one like I did." The force of the hug is not something he is expecting. "Thank you, Dad, thank you! I promise I'll take good care of her." "You'd better. And don't be gone for too long, okay?" With a grin, his son pulls away. "You got it." "Come on, let's get a move on." And like that, Ranboo is rushing off round the corner. For a split second, he could have sworn Tommy was the one leaving his sight. "Careful, there might be traps!" "Kids! They never listen." He can feel Techno glancing at him, face falling as he realises his Time Lord friend isn't so ready for joking around. "Oh, I know that look. You see it a lot where I'm from. Piglins with frowns and smaller versions of themself. You've got Dad Shock." His brows momentarily furrow. "Dad Shock?" "Sudden unexpected fatherhood. Takes a bit of getting used to." Ah. "No, it's not that." "Well, what is it then? Having Ranboo in the TARDIS, is that it? What's he going to do, cramp your style? Like you've got a sports car and he's going to turn it into a people carrier?" Might as well be truthful. "Techno... I've been a father before." "What?" "I lost all that a long time ago, along with everything else." "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Why didn't you tell me? You talk all the time but you never say anything." "I know. It's just... when I look at him now, I can see them. The hole they left, all the pain that filled it. I just don't know if I can face that everyday." And it's true. If he allowed himself the chance to truly reflect on it, he'd be too preoccupied with all the memories Ranboo had unintentionally caused to resurface.

----- Wilbur appears at the door of the TARDIS with baby Tommy on his hip. He nearly doesn't notice, busy with performing maintenance on the console, but when his eyes catch on his son by the entrance, he happily pauses to face them with wires still in his grip. "Is something up?" "Oh, it's nothing. Just thought you might want to know Tommy's found a new way of getting around so everybody better watch out." He moves so the infant is positioned to stand of his own accord. Crouched, he encourages his brother. "Hey Tommy, you want to show Dad what you can do?" Tommy obliges by taking a number of clumsy steps before collapsing to the floor. Oh forget the wires, so long as he kept them away from the toddler's reach, it wouldn't be a problem. By the time he's taken a step forward, he is going back on his initial reaction. Come to think of it, there was only more work to be done now. His hands weren't entirely clean either. And besides, there was time to celebrate this milestone later. "That's amazing, boys. Guess I need to Tommy-proof the TARDIS now that he's walking. Call for me if you need anything." "Sure. Come on, Tommy." He throws open the doors. "This, boys, is Spica, in the constellation of Virgo. Or, at least, what's left of it because in a few short minutes, it's going to begin collapsing in on itself." "You've taken us to watch a star die?" Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "What's the point in travelling the universe if you can't admire the view every now and again?" He smiles. "We'll stay here for a little while then I'll bring us a few weeks forward so you can both see the supernova at its peak." True to his word, their father soon repositions them so they have a more enticing display to witness. Arms on both of his sons' shoulders, they all marvelled at the sight before them. "One day, when you're both done with the Academy and only if you want to, of course, I will show you the universe. Then, perhaps, you might want to see it for yourself and show me things I've missed. Sound good?" Wilbur, already intrigued by it from a young age but in love with the prospect ever since he faced the vortex in its purest form, beams at him. "Definitely." "Will we get to see more stuff like this? It's really pretty." Tommy asks in a voice that is small yet paradoxically loud. "Oh, you bet. All of time and space with just the three of us. It'll be great." "Tommy, you'll be fine." He reassures the eight year old who was due to be sent to the Time Lord Academy. "But I'll be away for so long. And... and what about the Untempered Schism?" "Yeah, maybe you'll go crazy." "Wilbur." A warning glare. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding." He throws his hands up, failing to suppress his grin. "It made me want to graduate as soon as possible. Arguably, not the best thing for a kid who had only started his time at school since it made me insufferable as a student but now I'm free to go where I like." "But remember, if you run, there's no shame in that. I did and I haven't really stopped. Honestly, you shouldn't even be exposed to it so young but unfortunately, it's part of growing up for us." "We'll be here for you, whatever happens." "Exactly." Tommy looks between his father and brother. He nods with more confidence than he's had all day. "Alright." When he feels a significant breeze in his living room, he knows something isn't right. His hypothesis gets proven when he sees a fireplace by one of the walls. An opening appears from the fireplace he knows he shouldn't have which reveals Wilbur and a boy with bright orange hair. "Surprise! Sorry to show up uninvited but you're a very difficult man to get ahold of. Don't worry, Tommy was the one who gave me the co-ordinates." "H-Hiya, mate. It's been a while." "Yeah... about that. This is Fundy." Once sat at a table with tea for the adults and biscuits for the kid, Wilbur launches into the story of what he had been up to since leaving home. Including, it would seem, discovering a planet where a branch of humanity's descendants had evolved camouflage abilities, meeting a half-Ichthyoan woman there and staying for her. When Fundy returns to his father's TARDIS, subsequently leaving the range of being in their earshot, the older of the Time Lords puts forward the question that had been bothering him. "Are you going to stay there indefinitely?" Wilbur chuckles. "No. You think I could do that to myself? Nah, I'm there for Sally and Fundy but once he's grown up, I think I'll leave. For now, I've been doing the same sort of thing you did. They barely notice I'm gone most of the time." "I don't think what you're doing is wise." "It'll be a while before I'm 100 and I don't plan to find myself in a situation where I'd risk regeneration any time soon. I have plenty of time to have my hearts broken. No need to rush into it with one of my first serious relationships." "If you're sure, Wilbur..." "I am. Don't worry." "You shouldn't do this." "The time for adventures is over." Wilbur says grimly. "For now, at least. I can't stand by and let our people lose this war, not if I can help in some way. Stay on the sidelines if you want, be there for Tommy. But I need to do this. I don't think I could forgive myself if I didn't do something." "Wil-" "We're meant to only observe, right? All of time and space and we're meant to let histories happen as they were supposed to, never interfering in the slightest. You can't make yourself do that. I can't either. We've made friends but we've also seen the natives of the places we visit get hurt or even die. Sometimes we had the power to prevent it but failed to do so somehow. Well, this is me trying to prevent needless deaths if that's possible. The Daleks can't win. We both know how devastating that would be to the universe. They just can't. It- it's already leaving the universe destroyed in its wake. So I'm not letting that happen, not if I have any say in it. You've made Earth your home and I'm glad you've found a place like that. But... Gallifrey is mine." His eldest son chuckles. "I can't find my Earth if Gallifrey burns right before the rest of the universe does." "I can't... I can't let you do this." "Tommy, Sally and Fundy. Look after them for me. Please. Yourself too, of course. I promise I'll be back in one piece before too long. Same face as well, hopefully." "That's not funny." Wilbur takes his hand, a grin forming. "Like I'd let a Dalek exterminate me. I swear I will be absolutely fine. You have nothing to worry about." He sighs. “Please stay safe.” “Of course.” When Wilbur heads out the door, he reiterates his promises. In a way, he does keep one of them. Wilbur does return in one piece. The only loophole was that it wasn't the way his son intended to do so. He isn't even recognisable to his own family.

Tommy activates the breaks while his father is in the middle of preparing for another trip. "You need to stop running." "Excuse me?" "Wilbur died and it seems like all you can do is jump in your TARDIS for another adventure. You refuse to talk about him, you don't let yourself stay anywhere for long or speak to people unless you absolutely have to, you- you barely even look at me either. Guess what, I miss him too. And trust me, I know I'm the worst with dealing with this sort of thing but at least I'm not acting like everything is fine. You told me it would be a trip or two to help make it easier. Bullshit. Let me go home." "What, so you can fight yourself? No, I don't think so. Over my dead body." "Yeah. Yeah, actually, you know what? I think I might. He was right. This is not the time to hop from planet to planet or from one time period to the next. I'm going home one way or another. Even if I have to sneak back to the TARDIS when your back's turned. It's not like I don't know the co-ordinates." "We are not going back to Gallifrey, it's too dangerous." "You don't have to step out that door when we land but I will." The two of them end up participating in a glaring contest. "One last trip." He offers. "Do you not understand the meaning of 'no'?" "Let me fit in one more then you can go. You can even pick our destination, if you want." With everything he has, he wishes Tommy had stood his ground and insisted on returning home. He wishes he himself hadn’t been so persistent in attempting to keep his remaining child close. At least that way, the young Time Lord wouldn't have been armed with only curses during an unexpected run in with Autons. ---- "It won't stay like that. He'll help you, we both will." "When they died, that part of me died with them. It'll never come back. Not now." "I'll tell you something, Doctor, something I've never told you before. I think you're wrong." The clone of himself with Enderian DNA sprints back into view. "They blasted through the beams. Time to run again? Love the running, yeah?" "Love the running." The pain of his conversation with Techno seemingly erased from his face, he lets adrenaline fuel this next part of the adventure.

#dream smp #philza #docza #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #technoblade #ranboo #my writing #based on a scene from the doctor's daughter

10 notes · View notes

kpopchangedme · 5 years

Text

Plot Twist [M] | Park Jinyoung

Being locked up until tomorrow morning with your biggest rival in the Archery team might not be all bad after all...

Protagonists: Park Jinyoung & You

Word Count: 5.5k

Genre: NSFW - Enemies to Lovers - Romance - Smut *explicit* - [Drabble 2k]

Prompt: “Dramas did not prepare me for this”

Requested by: @prettywordsyouleft, I hope you like this, even though, I’m sooooo sorry... I’ve made it smutty because I got carried away!!

GOT7 | M.list

There are a lot of things that you love about archery and only one that you vehemently hate. Perhaps that’s why you’ve been excelling at it ever since you first picked up a bow. As soon as you showed promising skills, your parents ensured you’d turned out to be one of the greatest. You’ve trained with the most successful archers, former Olympians... Won all the most important awards and competitions... Entered the most prestigious sports-study program on a full scholarship...

And look where all that got you… Stuck with the only thing you absolutely hate about it.

Fighting your suffocating feeling of helplessness, you kick the closest object on the floor. Whatever it is, it crosses the room in a blink, hitting a shelf full of supplies that then wobbles dangerously.

“I’d appreciate not being buried alive by dirty Football gear,” his voice cuts through the darkness and you turn to glare at him, “thank you very much.”

“Shut up Park,” your harsh reply is instantaneous, “or else...”

Yes, literally stuck with him; Park Jinyoung, an archer almost as good as you, your nemesis, your relentless competition.

Locked in a dark supply closet, connecting to the Archery team’s interior training ground. You’re dumb enough to have let the door close behind you when you knew it automatically locked from the inside. Jinyoung is even dumber for having followed minutes after; probably curious as to where you disappeared. You didn’t manage to catch the door in time before it shut, condemning you both to each other’s company. Although you two usually train late at night in the gymnasium, you always ignore and avoid the other. It’s a safety technique you’ve developed, keeps you from ending up in jail for his murder, especially since you’re armed most of the time. Unfortunately, since you train alone, there’s no way of knowing when people will notice you’re missing, even less find you in here.

“Or you’ll make me?” Jinyoung snorts in distaste, “You always had a bias for the dramatic. What more can you do? Being here with your is already Hell.”

“Ha. Ha.” You furiously wipe the sweat from your forehead. He’s right, with this bad of a company and ventilation, this supply closet certainly feels like the burning flames of Hell.

“Why are you always such an ass? It’s not like it’s my fault you followed me in here.”

There’s a long silence before Park groans, and thanks to the security light of the gymnasium, shining through the crack under the door, you see him rub his face with both hands. “I needed to borrow an armguard from here, mine’s busted!” Saying this, Jinyoung shrugs it off, throwing the garment across the room. You hear it fly by more than you see, rolling your eyes when it hits a wall.

“Whatever you say, stalker.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You think everyone is obsessed with you!” He barks, clearly unpleased by the nickname. It’s something you’ve been calling him for years. You aren’t even sure when that even started, over ten years ago probably. All you know is that suddenly, an insufferable little boy started showing up every day to practice with you, and you had to share your trainers with him. He even got in the same exclusive program as you did, on the second scholarship. Much to your despair, he followed you everywhere, like a stalker. “All the guys from the team are wrapped around your little finger. They’d do anything to get in your pants.” Even in the darkness, you see Jinyoung’s eyes narrow, spiteful. “I’m not desperate enough to settle for you.”

“Of course not, Park.” You smile, pushing his buttons despite the fact that you shouldn’t. “You’re too frigid and boring for me. I bet you’ve never even gotten into any woman’s panties.” You’re not sure why the guys crushing on you are a problem to Jinyoung, but he sure likes to rant about this whenever he has a chance. As if you’re making them fall for you on purpose. It’s not your fault you’re the only woman who made the team.

He exhales audibly in frustration; “You’re so full of yourself, y/n. I’ve never met someone as disturbed and with an ego as big as yours.”

“The feeling is mutual. Ain’t that a blessing, Park? That we found each other...”

“And contrary to popular belief, I’m not a boring virgin...” He says this out of nowhere and pauses to cough and peel his shirt from his body unsuccessfully. As soon as he lets it go, the cotton sticks to his abs all over again. The heat in here in insufferable, you’ll suffocate at this rate, and you don’t have any water. “I just don’t obsess over you or sex like the others. The WAC are all I care about.”

The World Archery Championships, the gateway to the next Olympic Summer Games. One of the reasons you’re looking forward to you two being (obviously) eligible to participate, is the idea of competing against Park. He might be training and living here, but he’ll get to represent his country; South Korea. You’ll destroy his team’s female archers; you’re way better than any competitors of your generation. Even Jinyoung can’t argue with that. It helps you train to have a goal, someone to tear down. You discovered that when you first met him.

“Good to know what you fantasize about...” You announce, giving up on any sense of pride and decency. It’s way too hot in here to remain proper. “At least you won’t ever gawk at me.” Struggling with the wet fabric, you manage to take your t-shirt off. There’s no way you’re staying here all night, marinating in your own sweat.

There’s a scoff of disbelief, loud and clear. “Are you trying to seduce me?” You freeze on your knees, finally freed from the disgusting piece of clothing. You did not expect him to assume anything like that. “I mean… People do talk a lot about you crushing on me... But I just told you I’m not interested, y/n.”

“You wish, Park.” You spit through your teeth, “I’m just melting over here.”

“Why does this feel like the plot of one of your dumb dramas?”

“Trust me. Dramas did not prepare me for this.”

“Lock two people in a blazing room, wait for them to strip and they end up…” He completes his sentence with less than appropriate hand gestures.

“Ew, I’d sooner fuck Wang than you.”

“I hear you already did.” Jinyoung almost sounds vexed, but you’re too embarrassed to look his way and confirm. Sure, you have enough confidence to sit there in your bra, but it doesn’t mean you want to hold his gaze while you’re half-naked. “I’m probably cleaner than he is.”

“Probably.” You agree with a shrug. Why does he even care? “But the major difference is; I don’t hate Wang.”

A loud silence falls between you, almost deafening in the tiny space of the sealed off storage. It stretches, and it’s after five minutes or an hour of this that Jinyoung loses his mind. You don’t know, none of you has a phone; they’re prohibited during practice.

“That’s it!” Jinyoung barks, jumping to his feet. “I’m not spending all night in here, listening to shit like this!”

You watch, unbothered as he paces back and forth, eyes glued to the vent that is pushing warm air in. What is he planning to do? Crawl in there like a spy? Suddenly, Jinyoung takes off his own training shirt, and you try not to stare. Oh shit, he’s built, you hadn’t noticed before. Nice arms and shoulders, he’s an archer after all. He even has an amazing torso. Amazing? You blink, tearing your eyes away from his honey skin. What is wrong with you, are you having a heat stroke? That is Park Jinyoung! Your worst enemy; the boy who boasted about breaking your Target Archery long standing record after he only had been training for a year!

“10 bucks say you can’t fit in there.” Despite the situation, you want to further annoy him.

You visually compare his sculpted shoulders to the metal frame of the air vent. Huh huh. No way. Jinyoung doesn’t even bother acknowledging your bet. He’s busy rummaging through the stuff on the nearest shelf, emptying the content of plastic milk crates to pile them. He still has a long way to go through, that ceiling is high.

“Come here, y/n.” He eventually requests, groaning as he pushes the shelf to make space.

You raise a brow in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

Jinyoung stands, raising his arms to the sky. “Come on, you’re right. I obviously don’t fit it there!”

“You want me to crawl into the hot air vent?” Your whole face twists in horror, the man must have truly lost his mind. “Who am I, Kim Possible?”

“Let’s spend some quality time together then… We have all the time in the world to talk things through… See where that gets us, maybe we can even become friends.” He leans against the shelf, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, and I hope someone needs something from this storage tomorrow morning!”

Before he’s done with his sentence, you’re up next to him. “Ok, what’s the plan?”

He shakes his head, probably impressed with his own convincing skills. “This obviously runs straight over to the gym, I’ll help you get inside. If you manage to find a way out, you can unlock me. If not… We’ll just be back to square one.”

You’re skeptical when you watch him get on the wobbly pile of crates and open up the vent, but you have to admit the risk seems worth it. You’d rather be stuck in there than down here with him anyway. Careful, you accept the hand he’s offering to help you up on the fortune pyramid. Once you’ve joined him, you’re closer than you’ve ever been before. Your mouths are inches apart. It’s the first time you smell the sweat on his skin or see him like this. You feel a shiver run down your spine, something instinctive that you push aside. Before you can wrap your head around this effect he seems to have on you, Jinyoung’s hands are on your hips. He hoists you up, using his bent knee as a step. Your legs stick to his damp chest, and he looks up expectantly. You’re glad it’s too dark for him to read your expression because he’d never let you live if he saw. You just discovered you find him attractive, and the whole situation is… Perhaps that’s because of what he said earlier about dramas, but…

“This is beginning to feel more like a torrid porno than a drama.”

You regret the joke as soon as you say it. His eyes go dark. “Good to know what you fantasize about... But I’m just trying to get us out of here.” You inhale sharply at his reply, brought back to reality. “Help me a bit, y/n,” Jinyoung asks, voice even more tensed, “with your arms...”

Slightly out of it, you take your hands off his shoulders like he’s ardent. They treacherously found that support by reflex, to keep your balance when he grabbed you. Shit. Obeying, you reach for the metal frame to pull as he lifts. Faster than you expected, and with much ease, you find your way to the ceiling. Boy must have been working out.

“Can you m-make it?” He grunts distractingly under you. Why are you even finding that sound sexy now? You really need to get out of this damn closet, or else...

“Yes, I think I… Let me just…” Arms first, you twist your way through the entrance of the vent. It’s scorching, hotter than you expected, and dark as night. Once you’ve managed to get your chest inside, you feel his hands slide on your thighs, almost on your-

“Park!” You shout into the echoing metal and he stops.

“Something wrong? You’re halfway in.”

Your mouth opens in awe, understanding he doesn’t care what he’s touching at all. Jinyoung might as well be frigid for real; you’re the only one affected apparently. He resumes pushing, fingers digging the back of your thighs, probably marking them. With his help, you worm your way inside, managing to win a few inches by twisting and wiggling. Trying not to think of his hands on you like that… It is way harder than you expected, even if you’re inside a disgusting enclosed space. What a sight this must be for him, your ass dangling like that.

“Shit.” You hear his muffled curse and freezes. Park Jinyoung never swears.

“W-What?” Sweat is dripping from your face, falling in the burning metal. If you stay here longer, you’ll roast like a chicken on a grill.

“Hum, I don’t think your as… Your h-hips aren’t gonna make it.”

“What? No! Push!” Squirming with a renewed fervour, you feel him directly press on your ass cheeks this time. Unfortunately, he’s right. Although you try your best, the metal frame only digs your hips dolorously. You give up after a minute; you’re completely wet by then. The air in there is barely breathable, and both the physical effort and the idea of his close proximity have drained you. “Get me out.”

There’s nothing, no answer.

“Get me out, please!”

Your eyes round in horror, panic rising. Surely he wouldn’t abandon you like that… Wiggling, you try to back away, but you lack the support and strength to escape this Hell.

“... Park?” Your voice is nothing but a miserable whimper this time. You lay there, inert, halfway through the burning air vent. That’s the single stupidest thing you’ve ever done; trust him. “Jinyoung!” Your tone is shakier than you’d wish, but his muted answer finally comes.

“I was considering…” He clears his throat, clearly embarrassed by something. “What if you took your shorts off? I think the-”

“Please, get me out! It burns!” You beg, unable to tell if he’s joking. By this point, your naked skin is painfully sticking to the metal. It was the worst idea. You start to cry, tears stinging your eyes. “Jinyoung, please-”

“Ok ok! I got you!” His hands are back on your thighs, pulling you to him.

You back out as fast as you can, skin marking even if you’re careful not to get stuck and burned. It takes double the time as it took to get in. When you finally exit, your panic causes you both to fall off the pile of crates. Your breathing is erratic as you sit, back on the floor of the closet. You’ll be covered in bruises tomorrow, but at least you’ve made it out. You don’t even realize Jinyoung is the one who absorbed most of the drop. Running your hands over the wet hair that has escaped your ponytail, you try to calm down unsuccessfully. You thought you were going to suffocate in there.

“Hey, are you alright?” Jinyoung manages to sit. He winces, hands catching your forearm to better see one of the red marks in the dim lighting. “I didn’t consider how hot it’d be.”

“I- I- I t-thought,” you pant, half-hyperventilating, half-weeping. “You l-left me!”

Jinyoung’s face falls, almond eyes rounding. “I’d never, y/n…” He cups your cheeks, wiping your tears and sweat with his thumbs. “I didn’t think you’d get hurt.” He keeps stroking you, and you let him do it, forgetting for a brief moment that you hate him. Your breathing begins to slow down, matching his. “I’m so sorry it was a bad idea, but I’d never do this on purpose. Ever. Why would you even think that?”

“You h-hate me.” You whine and he scoffs, breath ghosting over your face.

“Whom would I fight with if you weren’t there?” Jinyoung chuckles still holding you like he’s also forgotten he’s not supposed to. You blink, unable to comprehend his words. You’ve known him for years; you’ve been playing this game for a long time. You know the rules. Trying to tear away, but he follows. Really, what’s with you and him tonight? You whine ever so slightly and the corner of his pout jiggles. “If this was a drama… That’s when I’d kiss you.” After this, he coolly sits back, leaning on his open palms and making his forearms flex. You stay there frozen still, in a daze. What was that?

Annoyed, to be this affected, you turn to hit his arm roughly. “What’s with you and all these drama ref-” Jinyoung’s mouth muffles the rest of your scolding.

He’s kissing you.

Park Jinyoung is kissing you, and you should fight back… Unfortunately, the only thing you do at the moment is laying on the floor, tugging at his neck for him to remain over you. Wow, that’s not what he expected. Jinyoung follows, apparently not minding your sweaty state and poor presentation. You’re not doing any better, fingers digging the muscles of his shoulders. You had no idea he was this sexy all along; it feels like you should’ve been made aware of this. If you had, perhaps you wouldn’t have been as surprised and overwhelmed tonight. You wouldn’t be giving in to this crazy urge of having him all over. Jinyoung’s mouth opens yours and your tongues meet messily. None of you cares or wants to retake control of the situation, you’re just going at it. Making the best of a shitty night. His left hand is between your head and the floor; the other one is caressing down your belly gently.

“I thought you weren’t interested...” Managing to get the words out, you feel his breath on your cheek when he chuckles.

“Just this once, just now.” He replies, nose nudging yours. “I thought you hated me.”

“I still do.” Your nails trace his spine, leaving a scratch behind. He rolls your lower lip between his teeth, straight up challenging. His mouth drops to your jaw, exploring down on your neck. You shut your eyes, feeling his teeth graze your collarbone. “Jesus.” Curving against his chest, you hush, and he hums on your skin, pleased by the reaction. Jinyoung’s hand drops from your stomach to your hip, then to your thigh and ass. It stays there, holding on tightly. That’s your cue to reach for a t-shirt that was abandoned on the floor earlier, using it as a fortune pillow. When he offers you a quizzical look, you smirk. “Who knows how long we’ll be here… Might as well make us comfortable. Oh, and tell me... What do we do to kill time, now that your escape plan has failed?”

His erection is already pressed on your thigh through his shorts, and there are goosebumps all over your body. You hate to admit, but you’re so turned on you want to take this further, and you hope he’s on the same page.

Nothing could have prepared you to his burning look right then. “I have a few ideas...” He says, clicking his tongue. Before you can question anything, his mouth is trailing down your body with an obvious end goal. He kisses your belly button and pauses there, thumbs hooked into the waistband of your stretchy gym shorts. “If that’s fine by you,�� Jinyoung adds in a business-like manner. Count on him to be so formal even when he’s unmistakably proposing to eat you out.

Your hands are already in your hair to hold on to something, and you nod, gaze crazy. He smirks, tugging your clothes down. As soon as you’re exposed, his mouth resumes. You should probably be more embarrassed by this weird intimacy. You feel sweaty and disgusting, but Jinyoung doesn’t seem to mind so you quickly forget all about it. He grips your thighs to allow himself access. You arch, waiting for his touch, and he dodges your sex at the last second.

“Shit.” You swear when he keeps going down with his butterfly kisses, a chuckle shaking his shoulders. Jinyoung was never one to ruin an opportunity by shooting too soon, and apparently, he’s going to be the same when it comes to this. His lips are damp and soft, brushing all over the inner sensitive part of your thighs. Fuck, you’re already so ready. “J-Jinyoung…” You purr, wiggling under him for mercy.

“Shit.” He seems to agree by echo, words muted by your skin. Leisurely, he comes closer to your sex again, like he’s got all the time in the world. He’s one Hell of a tease. Although you're not sure when you’ll get rescued, you’re pretty certain you’ll be dead by morning if he keeps this up. “You’re so pretty.” It’s so unexpected that you don’t know what to reply, so you don’t. Jinyoung presses the most infuriating kiss on your mons, making you tremble under him. Bringing his right hand under your ass, he spreads your labia, observing intently.

“Jesus fucking Christ Park…” You whine, done with his antics. “Are you doing this just to make me hate you more?”

“But that’s my favourite part, y/n… Making you angry.” He smiles, smearing your arousal with his thumb. It’s clear he’s a little shit, even in bed. “I usually like to take it slow… But not you, no... You’re always doing things too fast. I bet you could already take my cock... Do you think you could?”

Ok, again, not what you expected from someone as buttoned-down as him. Your mouth remains ajar as you moan in reply, hips rising in hopes of pressing closer to his thumb. If you thought he was hot earlier, it was nothing; right now he’s the sexiest man ever. He has all the power, and you gladly let him have it for once. You want him too much to fight. Jinyoung eyes go dark once more, and he licks his lips. He lowers himself, but instead of pleasuring you, he takes his time to lick his own finger clean.

“No arguing? Since where are you this horny for me?” Are you supposed to play along, is dirty talk his thing? How unexpected. It’s a fun new game. “I would have fucked you sooner if I knew.”

His words make your core clench on nothing. “Since you took off your shirt...” You’re a fast learner. “I’ve been dripping wet.”

“Locked in here with me...” Jinyoung sighs, gaze dropping to your glistening sex. “You said it felt like a torrid porno.” A sweat droplet falls between your breasts. “Those words coming out of your mouth… I’ve been hard since then.”

“Jinyoung.” You sing in awe, suppressing a shiver. You had no idea.

At his name, he decides he’s done enough teasing for now. He obliges after an eternity, licking up your slit. You gasp and he ends by pressing a kiss on your clit before doing it again. Shit. He repeats the gesture, tasting your juices one last time before concentrating on your bud. His tongue flattens, swirling and nudging your clit. It’s not long until he finds the perfect motion that has you jolting against his face. “F-Fuck!” You cry, not bothering to remain quiet when there’s no one to hear. He’s amazing. Shit, ‘not a boring virgin’ he said.

Running his fingers on your sex, Jinyoung smears your wetness until they’re soaked. Then slowly, he inserts one of them inside you to help his task. He doesn’t falter, obviously almost as heavily turned on as you by all this. Adding another finger, he keeps going, sucking more and more harshly until you’re practically dancing under him. The sounds filling the storage are filthy, but can’t find it in you to mind. You’re seeing stars, enjoying every single second as he eats you out. Jinyoung lasts longer than any guy ever, waiting diligently to build you up. He’s determined to show you he’s the best at everything, not just archery. This moment stretches out until you’re spent and clenching uncontrollably. He accelerates; not changing anything. He’s aware you can’t handle it for much longer and that it’s repetition that’s getting you off. Soon, your eyes roll into your head. You cry out his name as you come, thighs clenching around him. Your hips rise against his face one last time, and he sees you through your orgasm. Holding you until you’re done and clean before finally pulling away from your sex.

Afterwards, you stay on the ground, panting, heartbeat deafening in your ears. You can’t believe you just came that hard on Park Jinyoung’s face. Jesus Christ. Shouldn’t you feel embarrassed? There’s no real reason to though, not when he’s the one who ate you this diligently in the first place. He clearly wanted it, asked. Unaware of your awkward train of thoughts, Jinyoung lies beside you, exhausted but still very smug of accomplishment.

“That was…” You begin shyly, but trail off. “I’ve never… With someone...” He rolls to kiss your shoulder, and h hard-on brushes you.

“Perfect.” Jinyoung simply replies, getting it, he’s even more pleased with himself. You turn to face him on the ground, breathing slowing down. Pecking his chin, you wrap your arm around his waist to pull him closer. You had forgotten where you were; in the gym’s dirty storage.

“Only many hours left ‘til morning...”

“Mmm…” He doesn’t pull away when your hand slip in his training shorts. “Due to an unfortunate incident, my schedule’s cleared tonight.”

“What are you saying, Park?” Tracing the outline of the strain in his briefs, you raise an eyebrow.

“I’m saying… I’m not too busy to make you come a few more times.” Jesus. He blinks, pulling you closer to add in your ear; “I’ve actually dreamt of having you like this for a long time.”

“Really?” You exhale, out of it. That’s impossible, you’d know.

“Sure. Every time the guys are around, you turn the charm on, but when we’re all alone...” The rest of his sentence is up in the air, but you get what he means. Jinyoung plops himself up on an elbow to read your reaction. “You never once wondered about what I think of your slutty training outfits? Then tonight you go and take your top off like I’m not in here. You’re always so mean to me, forgetting I’m a man too. ”

You cross the last barrier of fabric between him and your hand, smirking. Again, you had no idea he thought of you that way. Jinyoung immediately twitches in your palm, cock swelling even more at the skin-to-skin contact. He’s larger than you expected. “How am I doing now?” You coo, snuggling in his neck as you stroke him.

“Better.” He admits, almost inaudible. Your hand tightens around his length and Jinyoung grunts. “Mean. I think I’ll have to fuck you hard a few times, teach you some respect.” With that, he rises above you and you laugh, helping to get rid of his shorts and underwear. When he’s freed Jinyoung lies between your legs, cock directly on your swollen cunt.

You gulp, toes curling tightly from expectations. “How do those dreams usually go?”

Jinyoung’s jaw clenches in concentration and he rocks his hips, rubbing himself on your wetness. He breathes out haltingly, “Sometimes, you’re just bent over a chair at a championship, and I fuck you while everyone’s in the room.”

“O-Oh!” Your eyes automatically shut when his tip brushes your clit.

“But more often, it’s like this; all sweaty after practice, no one else at the training ground…” His voice is strained, and you totally relate. Eager to feel him inside you already, you align him to your core. You can’t bear to hear shit like this anymore.

He doesn’t seem to mind the guidance. Almost instantly, he begins to push in. His head enters you slowly, and you spread your legs wider. You need him deeper, want him to fill you. Your tightened walls stretch around his cock until he’s inside you, throbbing. Jinyoung lets out a weird sound, almost breaking. He’s a lot less talkative now. Using your hands on his hips, you force him back and then forward, the friction nearly making you lose your mind.

“Shit.” Jinyoung breathes out, unstable.

“Shit,” you confirm, word morphing into a groan when he moves again. He’s tougher this time, fingers digging your right thigh firmly.

He slides into you with ease, your core more than ready for his cock. Jinyoung finds a fast rhythm hitting you hard every time. You can’t believe how good it feels; letting him have his way with you like that. He thrusts powerfully for a moment before pulling out, much to your displeasure.

“On all fours.” At his order, you hurry to flip while he observes, pumping his dick with your juices.

He’s back between your legs at once, spreading them with his own. Not wasting any second, he positions himself at your entrance. You fall on your forearms when he pushes back in, eyes rounding in ecstasy. He’s closer than before, cock fitting your core so perfectly you cry out. Shit. Jinyoung repeats his thrust, and you swear loudly, making him chuckle.

Again. Again.

He grabs your ass, sinking himself deeper, and with way more urgency. His balls hit you with every grind forward. Unforgiving, he keeps going until you’re on the very edge again, gasping. You arch even more, and when his hips meet your ass this time, you almost break. He hits something up your core that’s so intense it hurts of the greatest pain.

Again. Again.

You’re a mess, knees and ass burning, but you don’t want him to stop. You beg him to keep going and he does. Making sure to fuck you like no one has ever. Covered in perspiration, Jinyoung’s not holding back much better than you. He’s unsure if he’ll be able to keep pace much longer.

“C-Come!” Jinyoung requests with authority, and you whimper under him. “Come for me, baby!”

As though his command is magical, you break apart; tightening and convulsing around him. He pulls out before being overwhelmed, letting you ride off your second orgasm on your own. It’s just in time because he comes right away too. Spilling on your ass with a shudder, unable to contain himself anymore. You don’t even seem to notice, head still in the clouds. He wipes off his mess with his briefs; not bothering to think about what he’ll wear later. Falling on the ground before him, you’re breathless and obviously completely satisfied.

This escapade will not help with his bravado when you’re back to reality. Jinyoung lies next to you, one of his arms under his head and the other one on your back. It’s as though he can’t stop touching you just yet. You are still too high to be self-aware and remember what you two are outside this storage. The silence that fills the air is nothing like earlier, relaxed and comfortable. It coexists with your breathing slowing down, yours and his almost synchronized.

It takes a long time for you to break it, unable to keep your train of thoughts to yourself. “What a plot twist to the drama.” Staring at the dark ceiling, you miss the smug smile on Jinyoung’s lips.

“What is?” He asks, absentmindedly rubbing circles on the curve of your back to break the droplets of sweat accumulating there.

“Us,” you reply after a heartbeat, “this.”

He snorts, “This isn’t a plot twist at all. Everyone saw it coming but you.”

Raising on an elbow to observe him, you frown in confusion; “Really?”

“Sure.” Jinyoung is smiling dumbly, an expression you have never seen him before. “What did you think all that sexual tension was going to amount for?”

You think for a moment. “Murder.”

He straight up laughs, loud and clear. “Jeez y/n. How can you be so dense...”

“Shuddup,” groaning, you nudge him and he catches your hand, “I hate you.” You both stare at your linked hands, not needing words to express your true feelings at the moment. “How many hours do you think we have before morning?”

When you ask this, he turns to stare at you in disbelief. “Probably enough for us to die of dehydration if we keep this up...”

Smirking, you lower yourself for a kiss. “I dunno,” you murmur against his lips, “it’d sure be a sweet death...” Laughing quietly, Jinyoung pulls you over him.

You have no idea how long you’ll remain locked in this storage… But you’re certain you’ll use the time you have left wisely from now on.

GOT7 | M.list

#Park Jinyoung #GOT7 #GOT7 Smut #Jinyoung Smut #park jinyoung scenarios #GOT7 Scenarios #GOT7 Fanfic #Park Jinyoung Fanfic #GOT7 Imagines #Park Jinyoung Imagines #Prettywordsyouleft #2000 followers drabble game #Park Jinyoung Drabble #GOT7 drabble #I'd crawl the fuck into that air vent for Park Jinyoung. Let's be real #I'd get stuck and wouldn't mind.#Park Jinyoung is a cult #Plot Twist

468 notes · View notes

iamalivenow · 4 years

Text

“You hold a lot of tension in your body, did anyone ever tell you that?”

Margaret's voice is gentle, like it always is. Travis has tried to tell her that she really doesn't need to keep doing a voice, but apparently that's just what she sounds like. It reminds him him of Dref a bit, when he got really passionate about something and was slightly creepy about it. Not that Travis missed him or anything.

“You did, just now.”

“Mmhm.” She says, and pushes a strand of his hair behind his ear. “Your jaw is locked, and your shoulders are rigid.”

“What do you want me to do about that then?”

“You could start with relaxing them, at the very least? Unclench your jaw?” Travis, because he's a mature adult, sticks his tongue out. That gets a laugh out of her, at least, and it's nice. If he closes his eyes he thinks he can pretend that it's his Margaret from a million years ago. “It's a start.”

She pats his hand.

“My shoulders are just stuck like this.” He says after a moment of silence, a moment of staring down at her hand, at the polish on her fingers. “Can't help any.”

“Maybe Gable could?”

“The big dumb idiot would snap me like a twig.”

“They are very strong, that is true.” They sit in silence, the rush of the river audible even from here, but then of course it is. “What if I ask them very nicely.”

“Isn't that supposed to be something you do? Not to be presumptuous but that's big intimacy points or whatever.”

“Travis, I'm fixing you-” He interrupts her, because he's tired of hearing it.

“Because I'm a broken thing I know, I know-”

“Can I?” She's always so calm and collected- Totally not at all like Dref, actually. He definitely doesn't miss him- he's just talking out of his ass because he's tired. From not sleeping. Yeah. That's it. “I want you to, after this, after me, to be able to build your own relationships too. Get more friends, or at least be more open with the ones you have. They can help- and no offense but even just looking at you I can tell you're wound all the way up.”

“So you do want them to snap me like a twig.”

“Well.” She tilts her head in that specific way that his Margaret always used to do when she was about to say something particularly sly. Why does she- why is she- “It would be fun to watch, if nothing else.”

The smile comes unbidden, he certainly didn't ask for it, but here it is anyway.

“If nothing else.”

…

“I have no idea why you let her talk you into this.” Travis says, and removes his new, unfortunately nice, coat.

“She can be very pervasive.” Gable says behind him, cracking their knuckles. Not a pleasant sound at all. “You know that by now. She talked you into this too.”

“I sure can be.” They both jump- like they forgot Margaret was in the room- watching Gable almost smash their head into the ceiling almost made this entire thing worth it- “I'll head out don't worry, just wanted to make sure he's being cared for.”

“Oh, I'll take care of him alright.”

“If you don't find my corpse in three days, alert the authorities.” He calls after the door shuts and he can hear her laugh down the hall.

“She's intense.” Gable says, and they're not wrong. Not at all.

“Hm.” But he'd rather die than admit that. “Did she tell you what you're doing?”

“She told me to not snap you in half. Like a twig. Which I could. Because I'm very-”

“Big, yes, I'm aware. I've noticed.” He sits on the bed, back to them. “Fuck me up, I guess.” Gable's fingers are fine, uncalloused despite years of labor, but then so are his. Maybe he could work some up in the few days he has the ability too. On one singular hand. Travis sighs and Gable stills- “Don't slack now. What am I paying you for.”

“You're not.”

“That does explain the awful service.”

Gable huffs, in what is probably irritation, and begins in earnest, fingers digging into his back. It hurts, but he's not going to give them the satisfaction of knowing that. When was the last time he got a massage- maybe a century and a half ago- when he was still in the blissful early years.

“Get your shirt off.”

“Buy me dinner first-”

“Travis.” Oh, they do sound very annoyed. He grins to himself and tugs it off. Gable's fingers are big, just like the rest of them, and they press into the muscles in his back, on his shoulders, every few minutes smoothing the skin down by running their entire palm along the flat of his back. “Lie down.”

He doesn't protest this time, maybe, Maybe, because he's kind of getting into the way they push and pull him around.

His back is warm.

“She wasn't kidding.” Gable's voice is soft too- maybe this entire thing was just a way to trick him into sleeping because it is unfortunately working. “Knots on knots Travis. You've had this body for like three days, how have you-”

“I live a very high risk life style.”

“Do you.”

“I'm a skyjack actually, maybe you've heard of me.” There's a scoff or a laugh, who can say.

“Can't say I have.”

And then it's quiet again. The only sound in the room is Travis' breathing because he's not sure Gable has to do that. So that's how it is, he guesses. He suspects, somewhat, that this was just a situation Margaret crafted for him to ask about the whole curse thing, but it's-

Too soon.

Or not soon enough.

He's scared, maybe, or maybe he doesn't want to ask anything important while Gable's bare hands are on touching him because jokes aside, they probably, definitely, for sure, could snap him like he's porcelain or glass or any other tiny brittle thing.

“Gable?” They hum an acknowledgment as their thumbs dig down along his spine. “Do you remember the prison?”

“Which one?”

“Ha ha.” He grits his teeth when they really dig into a knot- and his muscles feel warm under their hands. “The cold one.” They hum their agreement in the way that they do when they're annoyed with him- or annoyed with themselves. Who can say. “Why didn't you just tell me.”

“Because you were insufferable.”

“Still.” He wants to twist around and catch their face. He doesn't. “I was the only person not trying to dissect you.”

“I don't think you know what insufferable means.”

“Actually, I don't think you do. Because here you are. Suffering me. Still.”

There's a sigh.

“Yeah. Guess I am.” And a pause. “You were a snake for most of it, right?” Travis nods, chin digging into the mattress. “Weren't you cold?”

“Oh, sure.” He didn't remember the cold, just the monotony. He remembers the icicle they threw at him, the way it bit into his hands.

“Why did you come to my cell when you could have coiled up by a fire somewhere?”

Yeah, Travis. Why didn't you.

“I was curious.”

“It wasn't that interesting of an answer.”

“I mean, I've met weirder. But it's up there.” Their hands still, and then stop entirely and he rolls over, stretching his arms. He feels looser, that's for sure. And there's still the heat of their hands on him, lingering. “Would you have let me coil around you?”

“Then? No. Absolutely not.”

“And now?”

It's getting later, sunlight a little more orange as it drifts in through the window.

“Depends on the day, I guess.”

"Are you going to apologize for my arm?"

"No, absolutely not."

"Well I'll give it another eighty years then, see how you feel then, since that's evidently the buffer zone."

They reach over him to grab a pillow and try to lightly, dare he even say, affectionately, smother him with it.

At least some things never change.

#skyjacks #campaign podcast #sky jacks #campaign skyjacks #writing #full fic

22 notes · View notes

tysonrunningfox · 4 years

Text

Toothless: Return to the Black Pony of Second Chances: Part 7

This is fast but also I am practicing.

Ao3

I didn’t expect Astrid to actually come find me the next time she has to go into town.

Honestly, I expected her to pretend that we never ran into each other in the barn. And she basically did, barring the fact that she now critiques how I pet Toothless at least once a day.

I picked his feet. He didn’t like it at all, and I wish I’d spent longer practicing with Stormfly. I’d risk going into Stormfly’s stall when Astrid isn’t there, except I already feel endangered by the fact I’m aware of her summer school status. I guess Fishlegs is still alive, but also, he’s been on chicken coop duty for the last three mornings, so I don’t want to trade.

Anyway, I didn’t expect an invitation to town when Astrid found me after morning chores.

She looks the best and the scariest that any teenage girl has ever looked with mud smudged under her jaw and in her hair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her clean, or not since church lunches a decade ago, because by the time I’m up she’s already halfway through her pre-morning set of chores. Seeing her clean would be like seeing Heather without dark makeup and chipped nail polish. Maybe mud and cow poop is just the Wyoming version.

I don’t expect Heather to text and I don’t know how to feel about that. I don’t really want her to when Astrid might get nosy again.

“Ok, can I trust you to drop the stack of orders in the back at the post office?” She looks up abruptly, opening the truck door and climbing halfway out before I can even attempt to answer. There are muddy handprints on the back of her thighs and hay sticking out of her back pocket and I look away at the stack of envelopes in the backseat.

“Do I look like I’m six?”

“You act like it,” she counts a stack of money in the envelope she pulled the list out of, frowning a tight frown that would make me feel bad for her if she weren’t always on my ass. “Meet me in Gobber’s store when you’re done.”

“You trust me to cross the street all by myself, it’s an honor, Master Hofferson—”

“And don’t talk to anyone in there,” she cuts across me without looking, “we need them to like us in case we need any favors.”

“I’m glad you reminded me because I was going to ask each and every individual about their cows.”

She shakes her head and walks off without saying anything else and I hate that more than anything. I’m pretty sure only one person has ever been done with me before and that was my mom when she drove me to the airport because she couldn’t handle me anymore, but that took a hard-fought decade. Astrid’s past that point in less than three weeks, her steps smooth and unaffected as she opens the door to Gobber’s store, picking up a basket inside.

I do what she says and go to the post office, dropping the stack of bills and packages on the counter and waiting for the man behind it to check each one for proper postage.

“Stoick’s boy, right?” He asks, checking an address like it’s his job and not someone else’s problem.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Heard you were back for the summer,” he looks up and grins slightly, “you don’t happen to remember me, do you? I babysat you once, you were barely knee high.”

“I…sorry, I don’t,” I look back at Gobber’s store, hoping Astrid is coming out after efficiently getting everything we need and giving me an excuse to exit this conversation.

I miss anonymity. Already. I miss notoriety being a choice even more. Here everyone stares because I’m Stoick’s son and because they all remember the accident and because I’m new in town and that practically makes me a bigger tourist attraction than the world’s biggest cow turd or whatever passes for interesting around here. I could drop my pants on the side of the road and if anyone was around to see it they’d just pass it off on the city ruining me, when really it’s an almost insufferable lack of self control only made worse by the fact Astrid sees me as a responsibility to keep busy and out of trouble. And the fact is that when everything is boring, trouble is obvious.

“Bucket,” he taps the side of his head and it clangs like skulls don’t, “old army nickname, you might remember that at least.”

“Oh yeah,” I lie, because the only thing worse than people acting like my leg doesn’t make me different is acting like I should feel the same, “I bet I got a kick out of that.”

“All the kids do,” he finally drops the packages in a bin behind the counter, “I’ll let your father know if he gets anything else in, maybe I’ll see you again when you come to pick it up.”

“Yeah, sure. Maybe.” I feel like I’m supposed to say goodbye because it doesn’t matter what I do, it all feels rude in some way. Like I’m in a minefield of backcountry etiquette laser triggers and tripping one means one of those bored, withering looks from Astrid. And probably an assignment to clean the next most disgusting poop to what she already made me clean.

“See you around!” Bucket does wave and I sort of raise my hand as I’m opening the door and stumbling out into the wind-blown parking lot.

There’s an honest to god tumbleweed against the tire of the truck and I sigh, opening the door to Gobber’s store and flinching at the loud bell that jingles and announces me. Astrid and two guys I don’t recognize all look over and she’s the first to look away. One of the guys is younger and behind the counter, leaning on his elbows like he needs to see Astrid’s list. The other is older and the first person I’ve seen wearing anything but filthy jeans since I crossed the state border. It’s just slacks and a button up shirt and tie, but it stands out as much as the fact that he’s the kind of attractive that only appears in proximity to girls as hot as Astrid.

That’s how it always was with Heather, at least, the zone ten feet around her in all directions instantaneously populated with GQ rejects and aspiring young actors or influencers or whatever other title inspires a guy to wake up and do a thousand crunches.

Astrid glares at me as I approach and I almost want to warn them both, like yes, she’s unreasonably pretty, but at what cost? Don’t they realize they’d have to deal with her personality too? And that she snoops and bosses and if you’re ever randomly, instantaneously better than her at something she seethes about it for literal weeks.

“I mean, normally, shipping on that would be an extra twenty bucks to get it here by Friday, but I think I can take that off as a discount,” the kid behind the counter types something into the geriatric computer and it whirs ominously, “for you, especially.”

The man in the tie looks irritated.

“Thanks Gustav,” Astrid flips through her list, apparently clueless and not even looking at me as I walk up to stand next to her, “did you get the mail sent?”

“Yep, Bucket clanged his head for me and everything.”

“Mr. Haddock’s son, right?” The man who is even more clearly not a boy when he opens his mouth and literally talks in a British accent like this all isn’t already ridiculous holds his hand out and I shake it, trying not to wince at that unnecessarily bruising grip. “I heard you were coming back to town. I’m Eret.”

“Back to town? It doesn’t quite sound like you’re from town.”

“He’s with the bank,” Astrid says flatly, setting her list on the counter and looking back at me, “and you actually saw Bucket put the envelopes in the bin? He didn’t just leave them on the counter?”

“I think I know how to mail things.” It feels oddly like being chastised by my dad in front of people, and more than that, people who apparently don’t like me just for standing reasonably close to Astrid and talking to her.

“You’re lucky to have Astrid watching out,” Eret, the mysteriously well-dressed British banker man who is honestly reading like a glitch in the Wyoming matrix, says like he wants nothing more than for Astrid to break that unusually bland even for her expression. “I don’t know how anything would get done without her around.”

“It wouldn’t,” the guy behind the counter, Gustav, apparently, agrees, giving me a similar glare. “She practically keeps inventory around here.”

I feel vaguely like taking off my once white sock and waving it like a flag of surrender.

“That’s because you don’t,” Astrid rolls her eyes and she’s either mean to everyone or literally so clueless I shouldn’t be mad for her telling everyone that Heather is my girlfriend because maybe she actually thinks that.

It’s a little weird to see, honestly, because I’ve seen Heather surrounded by hopeful guys dozens if not hundreds of times and she always knows. She always looks at them differently and ends up with something from the experience, like a date or a free meal or tickets to something impossible. But Astrid is just standing there, her usual angry, uptight self, like she doesn’t realize what’s going on at all.

It might be halfway endearing, like all that hard-working self-sacrifice is actually the result of nothing going to her head, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s practically impossible. She has to know, she has to have some sort of opinion about it.

Either that or she’s literally incapable of any opinion but annoyance and unattainable expectations.

“So, ah…” Eret pauses and looks at me like he’s just remembering I’m unfortunately still here. I know that face too, the one where he’s trying to tell if I’m just incomprehensibly lucky or if I’m following Astrid around like a lost little duckling.

The answer is neither, and I almost want to tell them that. I am merely a referee and witness who will probably be on their side at the trial.

“Hiccup.”

“Hiccup, right, how long will you be around?”

“Hopefully just the summer.” I try to sound bored. I succeed. Astrid digs into her pocket for the stack of bills my dad gave her and counts them carefully.

“That’s what I said, now I’ve been here a year,” he says like he’s claiming some sort of badge over me and I take a step away from Astrid, like proximity is enough to re-state the disinterest my expression obviously isn’t yelling loud enough.

“I’ve been here fifteen,” Gustav says smugly, counting Astrid’s stack of twenties, “and you’re a little short. Sorry.”

“Here,” she reaches over the counter and pulls a pack of socks out of one of the paper bags, “how’s that?”

“I can just delete the socks from the inventory, you know, it’s not like anyone counts it around here.” Gustav looks worried, for a second, glaring at Eret about something other than standing too close to probably the only girl who’s going to come in here today.

“Like I’m going to let you get away with that,” Astrid scoffs, and I don’t think I’ve heard her closer to joking. It’s not close, by any means, but it’s better. Less wooden and bossy and proper and it makes me uncomfortable how much it shocks me.

“True,” Gustav sighs, “five dollars and twenty-five cents is your change.”

“Thank you,” Astrid puts it right back into the envelope from my dad instead of pocketing it, like five dollars or a pack of socks matter in the long run and I don’t know the last time I’ve felt more out of place, which is really saying something. “I’m sure I’ll be back like…tomorrow, with how much we run out of things.”

“I’m not working again until Thursday, if you could like…wait,” Gustav smiles. I feel for the kid, because at fifteen I sort of was him, thinking Heather would turn around and look if I was there reliably enough.

And I don’t know Astrid, not in any of the ways that matter, but I also know that giant, attractive, misplaced, well-dressed Brits almost always take precedence over kids willing to steal socks or gum or banana rum shooters from the corner store.

“Right,” Astrid picks up one of the bags and practically drops it into my arms before I’m ready and picks up the other two herself, “we have to get back, the last couple of cows should be calving any minute and I left Ruffnut all alone with them.”

“Sounds serious,” Eret moves like he’s going to open the door for her, but she kicks it open before he can, rolling her eyes when I barely slip through before it closes.

She buckles the jug of orange juice into the backseat so that it doesn’t fall on the bumpy road and I’m surprised that I know that, that something weird and pastoral and every day is sticking into my mind. The same way that I know the name of three or four different brushes that all look almost the same and I know how to check Toothless’s gums for how hydrated he is.

Maybe this is how someone comes here for the summer and ends up staying longer.

Astrid is buckling her seatbelt when Eret comes back out of the store and practically jogs to her side of the car. She frowns before rolling down the window, and maybe there’s something to the absolutely, untouchably frigid act because he sticks that package of socks through.

“Here.”

“What are you doing?”

“They were seven dollars, just take them, it’s the least I can do.” He says it like there’s some veiled importance, like in his year of study he’s learned that packages of calf-length women’s athletic socks are important to Wyoming mating rituals. Astrid crosses her arms.

“I’m not a charity case.” She turns the key in the ignition and jams the truck into reverse like she’s actually going to peel out of the parking lot and take his arm with her. And as much as I’m inherently uncomfortable in this situation, I’m more uncomfortable being an accomplice to a crazy person literally running someone’s anachronistic, dress shoe clad foot over, so I hold out my hand.

“I know where her dresser is.”

He frowns. He tosses them to me anyway and I actually manage to catch them. He lingers for a second longer while she refuses to look at him and then pats the side of the truck before walking away.

“That took longer than it was supposed to,” she rolls up her window as soon as she’s back on the road, turning the radio up a few clicks like attacking me with some ridiculous song about stomping in a corn field is going to keep me from asking questions.

“That’s what happens when you stop to flirt for fifteen minutes.”

“What?” She looks at me, half confused and half her normal accusatory.

“Come on, even you aren’t that clueless,” I toss the package of socks into the backseat with everything else, “Mr. Statutory and ‘I’ll embezzle for you especially’ Gustav.”

“Embezzle?” She frowns, turning too fast onto a dirt road and spewing dust up behind us. It’s the same sort of confidence she has with Stormfly, like she’s not actually doing anything dangerous because she’s done exactly this so many times that the boundaries are more like brick walls to her. I don’t think I’ve done anything that repetitively ever and no wonder she’s insane. “Gustav’s just a kid, and the only kid who would let Gobber hire him instead of making more money on a ranch somewhere.”

“Because he wants to talk to you, obviously,” I don’t know why I’m doing this, it feels more like advice than an argument, so I turn it back around, “just like the attractive British guy who, of course, would only brave the tiny square of this state that’s directly next to you.”

“Eret works for the bank.”

“Yeah, and you have so much banking business to take care of, right, that’s why he’s buying you socks, to win responsibility for your assets.”

She grits her teeth, signaling again even though there’s no one around and turning left onto another dirt road I don’t think I’ve been on.

“You really shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

“Yeah, and I really appreciate you telling everyone I have a girlfriend that I don’t.”

“You’re still on that?” She scoffs, “I said I was sorry.”

“And it felt so authentic, really. I’ll be the bigger person and not tell everyone that you’re practically sharing expenses with Mr. Statutory—”

“Stop calling him that, he’s like twenty-three or something,” she glares at him, “you sound crazy. He’s just someone I know because he works at the bank that has all of the loans for land around here.”

“Because teenagers know so many bankers.”

“Why do you care so much?” She turns again, past the first fence line I recognize as Haddock property. “Don’t you have anything better to do than worry about who I talk to in town?”

“Not really. There’s literally nothing else to do, I don’t get why no one else understands that.”

“There’s plenty to do, did you forget that you’re the only one who can touch a dangerous horse that’s taking up food and resources? That’s something to fix, right there, something no one else can even bother you about.”

“Right, because I know so much about training horses.”

“You could ask,” she scoffs, “I’m sure someone taught you to do that at some point.”

I almost blurt out that I’ve never really needed to but that’s a bad idea when there are no witnesses and she’s already mad at me.

“Who would I ask?”

“I’ll help you.” It’s less of an offer and more of an order, “I have an old saddle you can use.”

“Ok, fine.” I shrug and look out the window at those two warped trees by my dad’s dingy, wind-blown house.

“Don’t tell anyone I talked to Eret,” her voice is a little softer, a little more unsure, “Ruffnut’s all about him, I don’t want to deal with that today.”

00000

I grew up hearing about how beautiful baby animals are.

And yes, the cow that I helped um…retrieve from the rear of a groaning cow is cute after the cow licked all of the…stuff off of it, but it didn’t seem beautiful, necessarily. Useful, maybe. Important.

More important than handing out flyers outside of a meat-packing plant or avoiding chicken nuggets, but not beautiful.

Functional.

Gratifying, especially when Astrid left me alone with it for a second to check the other cow. Like she might trust me. Like proving that I can in fact give stacks of letters to a person actually did start to establish some base layer of trust.

Of course, that all proved false the next morning after mucking stalls when she announced it was time to start training Toothless.

“Do you know if he’s green-broke?” She asks, hanging the pitchfork back on the wall and wiping her palms on her jeans, seemingly unaware of the hay in her hair.

“He’s…black.” I say, pointing through his stall bars.

“No, is he—green-broke means that he’s comfortable with a saddle.” She clarifies, already a bit annoyed with me, and honestly it’s more familiar than her being halfway trusting, so I’ll take it.

I shrug, “I wouldn’t know.”

She takes a frustrated, determined step towards his stall and Toothless’s nostrils flare, whites of his eyes showing as he tosses his head.

It seems like Astrid can’t think when she’s standing still.

I get it, in a way that I think it might be the only glimmer of a thing that we have in common, and she shoves her hands into muddy pockets, looking at me like she hates that she’s depending on me for the concept of a landline.

A landline she probably doesn’t believe in because what wire survives the wind howling outside.

“Why are you helping me?” I ask, the question that’s been on my mind boiling over like the milk Ruffnut didn’t buckle in yesterday when she volunteered to fall on the flirting with Gustav sword.

It catches Astrid off guard and she sputters for a second before taking a step back from Toothless’s stall, and shrugging.

“You’ve been…surprisingly non-whiny.” She shrugs, gesturing pointedly at my arms, sunburned and peeling slightly where they peek out from under the sleeves of my torn H&M flannel that’s rolled halfway up my forearms. “All things considered.”

“All things?”

“For a city kid, you’re surprisingly useful.” It’s more backhand than compliment, but I don’t hate it, necessarily.

It’s honest.

There’s no commentary about potential or effort or how I’m wasting either.

“Useful.” I echo the word that’s never been applied to me before.

“You can’t tell if a horse is green-broke or not but…that’s not your fault.” She pulls the insult like it’s heavy for her and she expects me to help her heft it and maybe the frosty, general inaccessible thing has its charm, because right now it’s like she’s gesturing to a hay rope that I might even be allowed to access if I weren’t so scrawny.

“It’s the city’s fault, I know. Can’t fight the corruption of places being open past 8pm with biceps like these.” I flex.

She blinks at me, exhausted, and I don’t know why I suddenly realize that she always has been. She’s all dark circles and scowl, all slightly too skinny angles in her cheeks, like I always felt when my mom insisted on a stricter than usual vegan kick with no more cooking lessons than she’d had previously.

“Come on, you can learn on Stormfly.” She waves me after her, purposeful again, boots clunking heavy on the barn floor as she takes Stormfly’s halter off of its hook. “We’ll deal with Toothless when you know some of what you’re doing.”

She says the name with the same tone that her eyes had when she acknowledged my arms and my jeans and my general unacceptability. Like she accepts it, despite initial reservations.

Acceptance. Yet another word I don’t know I’ve had directly applied.

It’s heavy, like the saddle she promptly plops into my arms. Which I drop.

She doesn’t laugh and it feels like an assignment.

#t:rttbposc #hiccstrid fic #httyd fic #modern au #horse girl hiccup #i remembered that it's ok to let your characters bond at 30k words #lol

15 notes · View notes

mageicalwishes · 4 years

Text

Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter (On Tumblr): here

Summary: “I’m egging your house for a dare, but you’re parent is a cop and now they’re yelling at me, so I told them you were my ex and you wronged me, and now you’re coming outside, so please just go along with this, I really don’t want to go to jail” AU.

When Simon Snow agreed to egg some posho’s house, he never thought he’d find himself here - The only thing standing between himself and a criminal charge, the word of a handsome stranger.

Chapter: 6/7

Words: 7,418

Finally done with Chapter 6! Sorry for such a long wait, this chapter was a pain. A lot goes down, though - So, I hope you feel as though it was worth the wait :)

Baz

Staring into my reflection, I fiddle with my hair, desperately trying to smooth out a particularly disobedient wave. Realistically, it doesn’t matter (From the persistent tangle of Snow’s curls, it’s fairly apparent that he doesn’t mind the messy, untamed look), but it feels important.

Clicking my phone, I check the time once more. 11:07 - Seven minutes late, typical.

We haven't met up since whatever happened last time, and I’m anxious to get the potential awkwardness of seeing him again over with, as soon as possible. We completely ignored it over text (Since he never brought it up, and I wasn’t exactly thirsting to accidentally expose my idiotic crush), but I'm not sure when can do the same face-to-face. I mean, surely it'll be more difficult to just pretend it never happened, confronted with the face of the memory, in real life. Although, despite the optimistic spark of hope buried deep within my gut, I doubt it really meant anything to him - So, maybe it won’t.

Either way, I just wish that he’d get here soon. The anticipation is killing me.

————————————————————————————

Just as I’m about to call and berate him, the doorbell rings.

Scrambling over to the door, I swing it open, pitifully enthusiastic.

“What time do you call this then?”

“Dunno,” he smiles, stepping inside. “I bought scones, though. So I think I’m worthy of forgiveness.”

My pulse slows at the sight of him, the trepidation thrumming throughout my body cooling. Bright and smiling, he’s the same Snow as always. So, it seems that, despite it all, nothing is weird. Just as I suspected. Which is good, obviously (I mean, I didn’t want to ruin what we have), although, somehow … Mildly disappointing, too.

Risking a lingering glance, I take him in, appraisingly. It’s immediately apparent that he’s made an effort with his appearance today - Although, I consciously avoid thinking too deeply about why that is, knowing that my love-plagued mind would only lead me down the dangerous path of wishful thinking. He’s obviously attempted to brush his hair, which, going by it’s strangely loose, fluffy appearance, was a remarkably stupid idea. And he’s sporting a simple, white shirt. Objectively speaking, it’s a little too tight for him, the fabric pulling obscenely against the swell of his chest (Although, personally, I can’t say I object).

He’s a sight to behold - A little dishevelled, perhaps, but no less wondrous. I'd lavish in it all day if I could, although, conscious of getting caught, I tear my eyes away from him, reluctantly, and stare down at the floor, instead.

“Now that … Is entirely up to me, Snow,” I drawl. “And, I’m not convinced that a packet of scones is enough to earn you my forgiveness, especially considering that this isn’t your first offence.”

“Offence,” he snickers, bitterly. “I’m ten minutes late, at worst!”

Showily, I lift my wrist to glimpse at my watch (It’s set at the wrong time, so is, in reality, useless - Although, I won’t tell him that).

“Twenty three, actually.”

He glares at me, and murmurs something incoherent under his breath (Probably a swear word. He always resorts to those, when he’s frustrated), so I decide to ease off. He's only been here a minute - And there really is no need to do all of our bickering now.

“Come on up, though,” I call, biting back a laugh, and padding up the stairs - The heavy clunk of Simon’s stomping, following behind me, momentarily. “I’m sure you can make it up to me somehow.”

————————————————————————————

“Just to let you know, I like talking while I’m watching movies.”

“Oh god,” I groan. “I should've known, you’re one of those people. Why didn’t you warn me?!”

“I just did, you pillock!”

“Yes - As I’m putting the bloody disc in! That doesn’t give me enough time to mentally prepare for your onslaught of meaningless commentary, Snow!”

“Hey! It’s not meaningless! I’ll have you know that I’m very perceptive ... I’m sure that my commentary will only enrich your movie-watching experience.”

I raise my brow, entirely unconvinced. If he was really so perceptive, I doubt that we’d be spending the day watching Pride and Prejudice - Considering that there are many other things I’d rather be doing with him, right now.

“You're such a liar,” I tease. “You best not just sit there spouting a bunch of useless crap, and claim your being insightful. If your chatter gets to be too much, I retain the right to clobber you, you know - So be warned!”

Apparently at a loss for words, he sticks his tongue out at me - His nose scrunching up, sweetly, as he does. Oh god. I even find that pathetically childish display endearing. Clearly, I’m disturbed - I mean, poking his tongue out, seriously? I'm in need of some serious correction.

Sucking in a breath, I try to push Snow out of my mind - Which is an undeniably big ask, considering that he’s sat barely a metre behind me, laid out on my sofa, grinning to himself, boyishly. So it’s no surprise that, I fail - My mind trailing off into thoughts of whether Snow’s chest is as freckly as the rest of him.

I sigh, frustrated. I’ve had crushes before, obviously (I mean, Rhys from Year Eleven Maths was an absolute God), but none have been quite as virulent as what I have for Snow. Nobody else has ever consumed my thoughts, so entirely. Nobody else has ever made my heart stutter, so dangerously. Nobody else has ever …

I seriously need to stop. He’s barely been here half an hour, and I’m already subsiding into a hormone-fuelled madness. If I keep this up, it's going to be an insufferably long two days.

————————————————————————————

True to his word, Snow has managed to ramble over pretty much every scene, so far (With an unhelpful 'He sounds like Snape!' here, and a 'Her legs must be super tired, if she walked all that way!' there).

The urge to throttle him (or shut him up another way) was certainly growing. Although, beneath the seething anger, I must admit that his menial observations were somewhat winsome.

We’re about three-quarters of the way through the movie, when Snow flops down onto my leg, with a dramatic puff - His cheek pressing against my thigh, heavily.

Suddenly tense, I clench my hands into fists by my side, and try to refocus on the movie.

“He’s cute isn’t he? I like that guy,” he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled against the fabric of my jeans.

I glance down at him. He’s staring up at me, his blue eyes bright, and his lips curved into a soft smile.

“Really?” I ask, my tone laced with judgement.

“Yeah? You don’t think?” He asks, his brow furrowed deeply. His forehead folds into small crinkles, and for a mad moment, I imagine reaching out and smoothing them out with my fingertips. I don’t. Obviously. But, I could. He’s right there - Within my reach. It wouldn’t take much (Except a level of confidence I simply don’t have).

Pathetically, I look away, unable to hold his gaze any longer (My treacherous face, already flushing with heat).

“No. I never said that-” I scoff.

I didn’t say that, because it’s objectively untrue. He is, as Snow so eloquently put it,'cute' - His hair ruffled excellently, and the hint of a dimple popping each time he smiles (Just like somebody else, I know). And while he is, undoubtedly, a blithering idiot, somehow, on him it’s charming. So ... It would be unfair to call him unattractive.

“- He’s … fine. But this is a very emotional scene, Snow. I thought you might have more to say than 'He’s cute'. I pity your English teacher, if that is your level of analysis!”

“Oi nah! I got a B in English. And my teacher loved me! She gave me a homemade cookie on the last day, and everything - Only a few people got that! So don’t be a bellend!”

“Sure she did,” I taunt. “I mean a B … That certainly is impressive. I got an A star, but -”

I’m interrupted by Snow jabbing his fist into my thigh, as hard as he possibly can, his knuckles digging into the muscle, sharply.

“Fuck off, you arrogant tosser!” He gruffs.

I laugh, despite myself - Embarrassingly loud and cackling.

“Ow, dick! You didn’t have to hit me so fucking hard,” I whine, snapping my head down towards him, and swatting at his arm, teasingly.

“You deserved it.”

“I know, I know,” I laugh. “I’m only winding you up though - A B is a perfectly good grade. It’s just funny to watch you pout ... If it’s any consolation, I only got a C in DT. My shitty attempt at a table fell apart before it was graded, so the coursework sort of tanked my grade. It’s my greatest shame. I told everybody else I got an A, so you're the only one who knows the truth.”

He beams over at me, his tongue pressed against his front teeth, goofily.

“Really? Well … That is unfortunate. I got an A star. But I guess we can’t all be so talented.”

I glare down at him, my face twisted into the cruellest scowl I can muster (It’s a fairly weak effort, though, but, in my defence, he does look adorably happy when he’s pleased with himself).

“Oh ha ha. So hilarious,” I drone. “Just shut up and watch the film, you numpty!”

With an over-exaggerated huff, he rolls his head back towards the screen, his weight shifting against my leg, warmly.

Unobserved, I smile down at him, the movie significantly less appealing than the sight of him beneath me - His curls swept to one side, and his face smushed slightly where it’s pressed against me.

He doesn’t look back up at me after that.

I try not to let it bother me.

————————————————————————————

I leave Simon playing Fortnite alone, to go to fetch our dinner (He’s better at it than me, anyway).

“Hello, you,” Daphne smiles, scooping a mush of baby-food off of one of the twin’s chins (I find it impossible to tell them apart when they’re not in their colour-coordinated clothing, although she always manages to, somehow). “Your dinner is in the oven- I wasn’t sure how long you’d be, so I thought I’d keep it warm. There’s dessert in there, too … If you’d like. Your favourite.”

I scrunch up my face, awkwardly.

“Cheers.”

“No problem. So … How is it going? How's Simon?”

“Good,” I drawl, suspiciously. “We’re only playing on the PS.”

“Okay,” she shrugs. "I was just wondering.”

I turn, scrambling with the casserole dishes, and hurrying over to the door, hoping to nip this mortifying line of conversation in the bud.

“Hey what!” Mordelia shouts, finally looking up from her plate. “How come he gets to eat in his room? That’s not fair! If he gets to, why don’t I?”

I falter, my hand on the door - Freedom laying tantalisingly close.

“Because,” I spit. “I have a friend over. When you have friends over, I’m sure Mum will let you, too.”

Daphne nods in confirmation. “Let Basil get on with his dinner, Mordie.”

She crumples up her face, angrily, apparently dissatisfied with the idea. Oh, Christ, here we go!

“Does Dad know about your friend?” She presses, an sinful tinge to her voice.

My shoulders drop, instantly. Shit. Of fucking course.

“Don’t tell him,” I command, sternly.

“Why not?”

I press a fist to my forehead, in irritation.

“He doesn’t like my friend. Okay?”

“Why?” she coaxes. “Are they a girl.”

“No,” I sigh. “Obviously not. Look, I really don’t have time for this. Just … What will it take for you to keep your mouth shut?”

She grins, manically. Even though she’s just a child, she’s already worryingly devious (I suppose, in that respect, she takes after me).

“You … Have to help me with my violin practice, this week,” she chirps.

I think of her horrifically, screechy 'playing' with dread, and look over to Daphne for help - Her perfectly painted lips, pulled taut, into a poorly suppressed smile. For God’s sake!

While I do enjoy spending time with her, I’d really rather skip the whole violin tutorial element of her bargain. Although, I suppose, a short-term earache, is a small price to pay for avoiding Father’s acrid disapproval.

So, loathfully, I agree - Storming out of the kitchen, and jogging back upstairs, in a rush.

————————————————————————————

Simon

I peek a glance around Baz’s head, staring over at the casserole dish on his dresser.

“Do you normally have dessert?” I ask, innocently, shovelling the final spoonful of Shepherd's pie into my mouth.

“Not normally, no,” he laughs. “Although, I made sure that Daphne made one, especially for you. Which I think you may have suspected, given that you’ve been gawping over at it for the last five minutes."

I scrub the back of my neck, and chuckle awkwardly, embarrassingly exposed.

He flashes me a smile, mercifully free of mocking.

“I can get you a serving now, if you’d like?”

I definitely would like. Although, Baz still hasn’t finished his main - So, I should probably wait (Penny said it’s rude to make people feel like they have to rush their meal).

“Oh no. It’s alright,” I murmur. “I’d rather wait a minute.”

A knowing smirk spreads across his face, and an eyebrow raises, suspiciously.

I wish that I could do that - The eyebrow, thing. I tried practising it in the mirror the other day, but I didn’t look all cool, and elegant like him … I just looked like a constipated twit.

“You don’t have to wait for me to finish, Snow,” he beams, his voice alluring velvety. “If you’re hungry now, then I’ll serve you up a bowl - It tastes better warm, anyway.”

“Okay,” I chirp, contented. “That’ll be perfect. Thanks.”

Siding his plate off of his lap, he stands, treading over to the dresser, and spooning the pudding into a bowl for me.

I try not to stare at him (I’ve been trying all day), but it’s proving increasingly difficult.

He hasn’t tied his hair up today - Leaving it free, draped in loose waves against his face. And, he’s dressed more casually than I’m used to - Having opted for a navy-blue T-shirt (Rather than his usual boxy button-ups). But, in spite of his more dressed-down style, he still looks ridiculously expensive - His jeans dark, and perfectly fitted, and a thin, silver watch glimmering against his thin wrist.

“Here you go,” he says, thrusting the bowl into my hand.

Excitedly, I snatch it out of his hand, and peer down into it. The look of it catches me off guard - The bowl filled to the brim with a mildly peculiar looking, light brown, slush.

Confused, I scrunch my face up.

Baz sighs, rolling his eyes upwards, exaggeratedly.

Fuck. That was definitely rude of me.

“It’s nothing sinister, Snow,” he assures. “Don’t worry. If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn’t waste a perfectly good dessert, on it. I’d just spike one of your scones, or something.”

I school my face back into an uncertain smile. God, I’m such a dick.

“No, no, sorry,” I stumble. “I didn’t mean to do that. It’s not bad. I mean … There’s nothing wrong with it. It smells delicious. I just … Don’t know what it is. That’s all.”

“Om Ali,” he shrugs.

I still have legitimately no idea what he’s talking about, but I decide to just drop it. I wasn’t lying, it really does smell nice - So I suppose that it hardly matters what it actually is.

Clearly, he sees right through me, though - Rolling his head backwards, and scoffing, dramatically.

“It’s sort of like … A Bread and butter pudding. Just with proper flavour ... It’s Egyptian.”

“Oh, I see,” I say, smiling, and digging my spoon into it. “Are your family like … Egyptian then?”

“Yes, Snow. My family are 'like' Egyptian,” he drones. “Well, my Mother’s side are, anyway.”

I really am excelling at making a twat of myself, today.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound … I was just - Sorry. Is that your mum, then?” I ask, pointing over to the field of photo frames. “The lady in the pictures?”

“It’s fine,” he laughs, his gaze following my finger. “And, yes … That’s her.”

“She’s pretty.”

He raises his eyebrows, smirking suggestively.

“Not like that!” I splutter. “Ew, no! I just mean ... You look like her.”

“Yes, well, funny that - That is how genetics tend to work, Snow”

“Sod off!” I grunt. “You know what I mean. You look nothing like your dad.”

“I know, thank the merciful gods! Could you imagine if I'd inherited those non-existent cheekbones … That would be a tragedy of unparalleled proportions!”

I beam over at him, my eyes scrunching half-shut, as my cheeks force themselves upwards. He’s being completely ridiculous, but I still find myself stupidly endeared.

He looks up at me, then, and catches me smiling.

“Just get eating, you divvy,” he chastises, scowling at me fiercely. “You barely breathed between mouthfuls, earlier, and now, suddenly, you’re Mr. Chatterbox ... It really is nicer warm, you know.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice - Plunging my spoon into the bowl, I scoop up the largest mouthful possible, and take a bite. It’s slightly unusual (And much crunchier than I was initially expecting), but so, so good - Filled with intoxicatingly sweet coconut and raisin.

“Oh my god,” I moan, unable to find the words to convey how fucking delicious it is.

He simpers over at me, clearly pleased with himself (Even though he didn't make it).

“I know. I did tell you it was good … It was actually my favourite dessert, as a kid. My mum used to make it for me every Saturday, as a treat.”

“Does she still make it for you?” I ask, the words slurring in my food-stuffed mouth.

Something awful flashes across his eyes, the smug look wiped clean from his face, immediately. Oh, God. What have I done now?

“Uh no. Not anymore,” he mumbles, staring down at his bedsheets, blankly. “My mum, she ... Passed away when I was around five. Car accident.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m such a moron. I’d just assumed his parents were divorced, and that his mum lived in some other mansion, down the road, or something. Not that. I never even considered that.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe.

“It’s alright. You weren’t to know.”

“I know, but still … I really am sorry.”

“Hey. Come on now, Snow. There’s no need to get all gloomy,” he smiles. It’s a shadow of his proper smile, hollow and painted-on - Although, I can hardly fault him for that. “I didn’t 'go all awkward' on you, the other day, so don’t do it to me. That would just be terribly hypocritical, of you!”

“Okay. I won’t. Promise.”

We sit in silence for a while after that.

I occupy myself with the dessert, while he just sits there, scraping his fork over the top of his mash, aimlessly. Regretfully, I think that my line of questioning may have killed his appetite. But, I’ve still got some scones left, so if he gets hungry again, later, we can just share those.

I snatch a glance at him, in my periphery vision. He’s got his brow tugged down, and he's scrunching his lips up on either side of his face, alternatively.

I’m pretty sure he’s thinking, so I just sit there munching, quietly - Patiently, waiting for him to speak (I've learned my lesson. Anything I could say, would probably just make matters worse).

He clears his throat, with a stifled cough, and then he’s talking again - His voice, barely a whisper.

“When Daphne found out about it (The dessert thing, I mean), she bought herself some Egyptian cookbook, and taught herself how to make it. It’s not quite the same, since my Mother used some family recipe she had memorised, but … It still reminds me of her. It was lovely of her, really, but, when I was little, I used to get so mad at her for making it. I’d always pretend that I didn’t want it, but when I thought everybody was asleep, I’d always sneak downstairs and steal myself a bowl. It makes no sense, but I just - Always thought that she was … Trying to replace her, or something. And, you know, nobody could replace her. Not ever.”

He looks at me then, his grey eyes stormy, and flooded with tears. His lips pulled into a hard, stony frown, and his jaw taut with tension.

I gulp, miserably. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t mean to upset him - I’d never mean to upset him. I just … Wish I’d never said anything.

Leaning forwards, I grab his hand - Slotting our fingers together, and squeezing lightly, in an attempt to comfort him. I’ve never really been the best at physical affection (Being unused to it, it always made me feel clumsy, and weird. Sort of like my skin didn’t fit right), but it’s easier with him. Everything is easier with him.

He smiles, meekly, clenching my hand back, and pressing on with what he has to say.

“One day, when I was around fourteen, I confronted her about it. I was properly awful, screaming at her in the kitchen like some spoiled brat, throwing it all right back in her face. But, you know, I was … Well, I don’t know what I was. Just … Not good. I hadn’t been for a long time, either, so I just - Snapped. Accusing her of trying to replace Mother, and yelling at her for even daring to make it. I went so far as to say that she did it on purpose, just to upset me. I mean, can you imagine?”

He snickers, mirthlessly - Wounded, and weak.

“I probably deserved a slap, to be honest, but she didn’t even raise her voice. She just hugged me - Even after I tried to fight her off ... Eventually, I just gave up, and sobbed against her chest. It was all very dramatic, and I can’t imagine how pitiful I must’ve looked. But, afterwards, I felt … Better. Not fixed. I don’t think I can ever be fixed. Something like that, I don’t think that it ever goes away - Not fully, anyway. But, I think that … At that moment, that's what I needed the most - To just … Let go. It had been a long time coming.”

I nod my head, affirmatively, just to let him know that I was still listening.

“Later on, when I’d calmed down a little, she told me that she knew that I used to eat it, secretly - That she’d always known. She apologised (Even though she really had no reason to), and explained to me that she was only trying to help. I think that, deep down, I’d always known that ... I just wanted somebody to be angry at. And you know what’s funny?” He asks.

I shake my head.

“Nobody else in the house even likes the bloody thing! She used to just throw a few portions in the bin, so that I’d feel safe to go and steal mine (Under the impression that, nobody would notice a little bit extra going missing).”

I smile, cautiously, tracing a finger against the inside of his palm.

“I was so cruel, Snow. So bitter, and broken, that I’d torn her apart, when all she wanted to do was help me. I didn’t speak to her for days, after that. I mean, how could I, after I’d been so awful to her? And, I stopped eating the Om Ali, all together. I didn’t deserve it, anymore - Didn’t deserve the joy that it brought me. I thought … If my Mother could’ve seen me, she’d have been so ashamed of what I’d become - Of who I’d become. Like I said, it was always intended as a treat - And ... Bad people don’t deserve good things -”

I interrupt him then, unable to listen to him berate himself, further.

“Please don’t say that, Baz,” I plead. “I know, I don’t know her, but … It’s obvious she loved you, dearly. She would’ve understood. It was a mistake. You’re not a bad person, you were just … Hurting.”

He nods, wordlessly. I don’t know if that means he agrees, or he’s just acknowledging what I said, but he clearly doesn’t want to speak - So, I don’t ask.

“She still made it, every few weeks or so, in that hopes that I’d crack. She even still threw half of it away! And then, you know, on my mum’s birthday she snuck one up into my bedroom, for me. She looked so hopeful, and I just wanted to make her happy, again - So ... I took it. I gorged myself that night - Ate the whole thing, in one sitting (I’m surprised I didn’t hurl, to be honest).”

He lets out a watery laugh, then, his eyes damp, but a slight, genuine smile breaking across his face. Hesitantly, I mirror him, grinning back, shyly.

He huffs in a shaky breath, and grips my palm tighter.

“It was amazing. I'd denied myself it for so long, as a sort of penance. And I still wasn’t sure that I actually deserved it, but it was so, so good to finally have it back. To have a piece of her back.”

I stare at him, unsure of what to say.

“Anyway,” he laughs, his voice splintered. “I don’t even know why I’m even telling you all of this … There’s me lecturing you about getting gloomy, and then I go and start bloody weeping! Do forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I shrug. “I like … Knowing about you. I want to know things about you.”

“I see … Well, I promise you that the rest isn’t so dreary.”

“Even if it was, I’d still want to hear it. It’s still you.”

He smiles properly then, the reddened skin surrounding his eyes crinkling, slightly.

“Yes, well,” he murmurs, tearing his hand from mine, and reaching up to scrub at his eyes. “We’ll save all of that for another day. Want to play some FIFA, or something? I fancy beating you again.”

Truthfully, I don't, and I don't think that he does either - But, I can tell that he needs the distraction, so I agree.

I mean, there are definitely worse things to do.

————————————————————————————

We’ve been playing for about two hours, when Baz flops back against the sofa, dragging his hands down his face, tiredly.

“I’m going to go and get ready for bed,” he sighs, his voice still a little rough from earlier.

Despite my initial reluctance, I don't want to stop playing. I mean, it’s only just gone Ten, and I’m finally winning - Four matches to two (I may, or may not have, forced the lads to play with me everyday, since I last saw him, as practice).

“But I-”

“Hey,” he interrupts. “Quit complaining. I saw you yawning, Snow. We can play more tomorrow.”

Displeased, but unwilling to argue, I nod my head. I suppose that, as long as he doesn’t actually intend to go to sleep right now, it doesn’t really matter - Mostly, I just want to talk to him (Beating him at his own game while doing so is just a nice, little bonus).

“I’ll be fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” I sing.

I don’t trust that timescale, for a second - But, I’ll tease him about that later.

————————————————————————————

Unsurprisingly, he takes ages in the bathroom (Even though all he really needs to do is brush his teeth).

When he eventually reemerges, the familiar scent of Cedar and Bergamot fills the room, although that is not what I pay attention to. What I pay attention to, is what he’s wearing - A set of long, silky, maroon pyjamas, decorated with a deep blue piping.

I let out a wild cackle, clapping a hand over my mouth, in a failed attempt to try and contain it.

“What?” He asks, indignantly. “What the fuck are you laughing at?”

I pause, still desperately trying to stifle my laughter.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Pyjamas,” he deadpans, scowling slightly.

I laugh, gesturing toward him vaguely.

“But I mean … Really?”

“Yes really, Snow. Why? What do you wear that’s so much better?”

“Boxers,” I shrug.

He snaps his head down towards the floor, clearly embarrassed.

Whoops. I sort of forgot about that, to be honest. It probably would’ve been polite to bring a pair of trackies to sleep in, or something (Even though, they'd only make me overheat).

“Right well … I get cold. So, I wear clothes, like a normal person … Now quit being a prick, and go and brush your teeth.”

“Okay, grandpa” I giggle.

He shoots me a warning look, his eyes piercing into me, fiercely.

Alarmed, I dart towards the safety of the en-suite, slamming the door behind me, and guffawing absurdly.

“Stop laughing right now, you nightmare!" He shouts, bashing against the door, angrily. "Or else, I’ll make you sleep in the garden!”

————————————————————————————

Luckily for me, Baz didn’t actually make me sleep outside. Although, the spare room he does put me in, is hardly any better.

It’s bitterly cold, and the bed is covered in these horrific, carved gargoyles, whose eyes stalk me around the room (Well, maybe not, really - But it definitely feels like they do!).

I thought he was having me on, at first, but one look at his stupid, smug face, showed me that he was (Unfortunately) deadly serious.

I’m just about to text him to voice my complaints (Manners be damned!), when I hear it - An awful, shivering wail. Because, of course, out of all of the rooms in this shithole, Baz just had to put me in the one that's fucking haunted!

Petrified, I bury my head beneath the starchy, old duvet, and pray for safety.

————————————————————————————

Baz

It’s barely twenty minutes before there is a timid knock at my door. My little plot having, seemingly, worked perfectly.

Smiling to myself, I pad over to the door and pull it open as quietly as I can manage (It still creaks, gratingly, but I at least tried).

And there he his - Simon Snow. Standing on my doorstep, his hair mussed, and a blanket pulled over his shoulders like a cloak (Apparently, he wasn't kidding about the boxers thing, then).

He looks a little ridiculous, to be honest, but that doesn’t stop the swelling in my chest.

“Your house is haunted,” he whines.

“No it isn’t, Snow. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just old.”

“Nu-uh … It’s haunted. There were all these creepy wailing sounds.”

“That’ll be the pipes,” I deadpan. “Somebody probably just ... Used a tap, or something.”

“Well … It’s weirdly cold in there - Like there is a ghostly presence.”

I shake my head, amused.

“Yeah, that's down to the practically non-existent central heating. Like I said … The house is old.”

“Whatever,” he huffs. “Can I just … Sleep in here, with you. I’m too creeped out to go back in there, alone!”

I roll my eyes in faux displeasure, and step to the side.

“Come on in then, coward. I’ll protect you from that dastardly pipework.”

“Just shut up,” he mumbles, shuffling into the room, and plopping himself down onto my bed.

He stares down at his hands, picking at his nails, savagely.

“Do you - Do you want me to sleep on the sofa, or something?”

My throat constricts, purposelessly, as I swallow down a nervous lump. I definitely didn’t think this through, properly.

“Up to you,” I drone, moulding my voice into a cool, nonchalance.

“It might ... Be warmer if we’re both in your bed,” he breathes, his voice so quiet that it’s barely audible.

“Sure. That makes sense,” I shrug. “Just get in, then.”

Tip-toeing across the room, I slide into bed besides him, and stare up at my canopy, expressionless.

“Baz,” he whispers, turning his body to face mine.

I mimic him, immediately - Rolling onto my side, to face him. His eyes are wide, with barely a slither of blue still visible - His pupils fully dilated in the dimness of the room.

“Hmmm,” I hum.

“Do you like ... Anybody?”

I puff out a breath, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Yes, Snow. Obviously, I like some people.” I answer, tartly.

“No, you dick. You know what I mean! Do you … 'Like like' anyone?”

“Oh wow,” I sneer. “'Like like', Really? What are we twelve? I can go and fetch Mordelia, if you’d like. I’m sure she’d be very interested in this conversation.”

“Just answer the question, you knob,” he groans, shoving the hell of his palm into my shoulder blade, painfully.

“Alright, alright,” I laugh. “Yes, Snow. I 'Like like' someone … How about you?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, his eyes fluttering shut, and a soft smile gracing his face.

My stomach twists uncomfortably, as bitter jealousy pulls at my gut.

“What’s he like, then? - The guy you like.”

I scan my eyes across his face, taking him in properly - His stubby, bronze lashes, the slight rosy tinge of his full cheeks, the perfect constellation of moles that adorn practically every inch of skin. He’s perfect. Indescribably perfect.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, my voice pinched.

He opens his eyes then, beaming over at me, cheerfully. My chest swells, pitifully, at the sight of him. Drenched in moonlight, he’s the Sun - Bright, and warm, and beautiful. And, painfully untouchable.

“You must know,” he titters.

“Well, yes. Obviously. They’re just - It’s just hard to put into words.”

“Oh wow! The great Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch speechless, they must be special!”

“They are,” I reply, thoughtlessly.

His eyebrows jump upwards, clearly shocked by my earnestness.

“I see,” he drawls. “And have you known Mr. Special long?”

My heart stutters within my chest. I'm walking on dangerously thin ice, here.

“No. Not really. How about you? Have you known your person long?”

“Guy,” He rushes, his tone urgent. “They’re a guy,”

“Okay,” I whisper. “Have you known your guy long?”

“Nope. But, that doesn’t really matter … Does it?”

“Not really, no … I don’t think so, anyway.”

He smiles softly, then, but his brow quickly follows, furrowing conflictingly. He looks - Well, I don’t know how he looks. Disappointed? Pained? Worrying his lip, he screws his eyes shut, firmly.

My eyes dart across his face, madly, desperately trying to read him.

“Snow,” I call, poking a finger to the inside of his wrist. “Are you alright?”

Opening his eyes slowly, he sucks in a breath, and lifts his lips, weakly.

“I’m good. It’s good. I’m just -”

He sighs, frustrated, tugging at the curls that lay over his forehead, roughly.

“I don’t know. I just … Don’t know how to say it.”

I nod slightly, my pillow crinkling beneath me.

“Okay. Just take your time.”

"I don't think - I mean, I don't think that rushing is what's wrong. I can ... Maybe try and show you, instead. If you'd like?"

“Sure?” I answer, my voice creeping with uncertainty. “Whatever is easiest for you.”

Trembling slightly, he reaches forwards, timidly, and carefully tucks a wave of hair behind my ear.

My breath stills, as my treacherous body tenses up, defensively.

“Okay?” he whispers.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

He huffs out a breath, relieved, and reaches up, laying his hand against my cheek, properly. Tracing his thumb along the high-point of my cheekbone, softly.

His eyes trail downwards, tantalisingly slow - His gaze, impossibly hot, as it lands on my lips.

My heart skips a beat - A momentary break, from the insistent careening of my pulse.

I don’t really know what I’m thinking anymore, my mind trapped in a useless haze.

It’s completely overwhelming - Being looked at like this, being held like this. Like I’m something precious. Like I’m something worthy. Like I’m something … Loveable.

He must know - Surely, he must see it. His touch rendering my utterly defenceless, it must be written all over me, the truth of my affections tattooed across my skin, clear as day.

He’s right there, his face mere inches from mine. His hand resting against me, warm and reassuring.

I think I might do it. Just forget words, forget an explanation, forget caution, and just do it. Just end this exhausting charade and kiss him.

“Simon, I -”

And then he kisses me. Surging forwards, and crashing our lips together desperately.

For a moment, I freeze, stunned into stillness by the newness of it all. But then, instinct takes over, and I’m kissing him back - Sliding my lips against his, hungrily.

I have no idea what I’m doing, but doesn’t seem to mind - Humming against my lips, contentedly, his hands clasping at my hair.

He just his chin forwards, confidently, and I feel it everywhere - My body thrumming with his fire, from my tingling lips, to the white-hot heat, stirring deep within my stomach. It’s a wild push and pull, and I take everything he has to give me, willingly - Savouring each and every spark, greedily.

Utterly blissed out, and unstoppably happy, I smile against his lips, helplessly.

He pulls away, giggling breathlessly - Grinning down at me, his hair hassled, and his cheeks flushed.

Pushing my shoulder lightly, he presses me down into the mattress, and clambers on top of me, clumsily. Holding himself up above me, before leaning down and pushing his face into the crook of my neck - Nipping at the skin there, teasingly.

“I cant keep doing it if you keep smiling, idiot” he sing-songs, the deep gruff of his voice vibrating against my neck. “As much as I like you, I don’t really wanna kiss your teeth.”

Still floating, I laugh openly, my heart squeezing within my chest.

“It’s not my fault,” I mumble, leaning upwards, and pressing a chaste kiss to his exposed collarbone.

“Hmmm,” he hums, cradling the back of my head in his hands. “Whose fault is it, then?”

Refusing to answer, I stare at him - His eyes sparkling, and a wicked smirk, plastered across his face.

“Shut up,” I smile, rolling my eyes jokingly.

“You’re gonna have to make me.”

I raise my eyebrows, suggestively, reaching up and tugging him down towards me by the back of his neck. Our lips mere millimetres apart, I whisper against him, coquettishly.

“Oh. I will. Rest assured, when I’m finished with you, you’ll barely be able to string a sentence together.”

Puffing out a shaky breath, he trembles against me - A needy whine escaping his lips, as he does so.

I did that to him. Me. Fucking marvellous.

Wonderfully pleased, I snake my arms up his body, pulling him forwards, minimally, and claiming his lips with mine once more.

————————————————————————————

I’m sat propped up against the headboard, now (Snow pulled me up a while ago, grumbling about how I was 'Too far away'). He’s seated himself atop my thighs, our hands laced together between us, and his mouth working against mine, insistently.

I don’t know how long we’ve been wrapped up in each other (Long enough that my leg is prickling through lack of movement), but I’m certainly not complaining.

Shifting backwards, he beams over at me, a playful glint, sparkling in his eyes.

Enraptured, I trail my eyes over him, appreciatively, my gaze falling on his neck. Reaching a hand upwards, I circle a thumb over the small, red mark, blooming against the fair skin, a strange sense of pride welling up within me, as I do so. I hadn't set out to do it (Starting off with completely innocent intentions, I'd only hoped to press a kiss to a particularly appealing mole), but I’d quickly gotten carried away, his breathy huffs urging me ever onwards.

With a chaste kiss to my brown bone, he rolls his hips down against mine, just-so - The friction eliciting a pathetically needy moan, from me. I grip his hips, tightly - Pressing my fingers into the softness of his side.

Humiliated, I thunk my head down against his shoulder, hiding my face away, as it fills with a burning heat.

“Eager,” he giggles, his lips moving upwards, brushing against the peak of my forehead.

I pinch his thigh, lightly, in retaliation - Simon yelping against me, in surprise.

“Unless you want to discuss what’s currently pressed against my thigh, I suggest that you shut up! Otherwise, you can sleep alone,” I threaten.

“No, Baz,” he cries, throwing himself down onto the bed besides me. “You can’t do that to me. I’ve been proper nice to you, all night!”

I flip onto my side, so that I’m facing him, again - Apparently incapable of keeping my eyes off of him, for even a minute.

“I'm pretty sure that I can.”

His shoulders drop slightly, as his hand pats along the bed in search of mine.

“Yeah, but ... You wouldn’t, though. Would you?”

“No, Snow,” I breathe, weaving our hands together. “I wouldn't.”

Harumphing, he pouts his lips outwards, sulkily.

“What?” I chuckle, pushing myself up onto my arm, and leaning over him. “I thought you didn’t want me to.”

“Yeah but - You called me Simon before.”

I press out foreheads together, helplessly charmed.

“No, I never,” I argue - Because, despite all my unforgivable softness this evening, I’m still me. Irritatingly petty, to a fault.

“You definitely did.”

“Hmmm,” I hum, airly. “Well … I have no memory of it.”

He scoffs then, rolling his eyes, and peppering a flurry of kisses against my jaw.

“You definitely did. But ... No worry - Deny it all you want. I’ll get you to say it again, soon enough. I just need to soften you up,” he shrugs. “And that is easy, enough - A couple of snogs here and there, and hey presto ... I’ll get myself another 'Simon'”

I wince at his awful imitation of my accent. I don't know why he even bothers trying, with it - He always just ends up sounding like a drunken Prince Charles impersonator.

He chortles, bright and joyous, but is interrupted by a long, gasping yawn.

“Tired, Snow?” I goad.

He nods, smiling lopsidedly.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Why ever not?” I pry.

“Nervous … You know - About this,” he murmurs, stroking the pad of his thumb against my lower lip.

My chest swoops joyfully, an unbridled grin breaking across my face.

Pursing my lips, and kissing his thumb, quickly, I reach down, and slot my hand into his. Interlocking our fingers, I drag our joined hands down, underneath the duvet, and spread his palm flat against my left breast.

He giggles lightly, pushing upwards, and pecking the tip of my nose.

“Your heart’s going super fast,” he breathes.

“Yes, well. You are aware of what we’ve been doing for the past … I don’t know how long.”

“Uh huh, I’m aware,” he affirms, the smugness plain in his voice. “It’s okay - Mine is, too.”

“Is that so?”

He nods, driving forwards, and pressing our lips together, once more. It’s slower this time, although no less exhilarating, his lips moving against mine, languidly - Our frantic desperation, replaced by a slower, sweeter indulgence.

I sigh, joyfully, luxuriating in the feeling of him against me. Melting into his touch, I’m putty in his hands - Open and relaxed. My heart feels exposed - Beating proudly, unprotected outside of the walls of my chest. But, I’m not afraid. I know he’ll treat it tenderly.

Snaking his free hand upwards, he tugs against my hair, enticingly. Moaning against his lips quietly, my stomach sparks with heat, once again.

Despite my eagerness to continue, I'm increasingly conscious of the hours slipping away from us, and so pull backwards, mournfully - Lifting my hips away from his, to remove temptation.

“Enough of that, you insatiable thing,” I chide, twisting a bronze curl around my finger, absentmindedly. “We’re going to have to wake up early, to put you back in the right bed, in case Daphne decides to check. And, if we don’t stop now, I’m not sure we’ll ever get to sleep.”

He huffs petulantly, his eyebrows pinched, and his lips pulling into a deep frown. I shake my head at him, unimpressed.

“Fine,” he whines. “Just - Roll over then.”

“What?” I cough, flustered.

“I said - Roll over. I wanna cuddle you.”

“Oh my god. 'Wanna cuddle you',” I groan, disdainfully. “Seriously?”

“Yes seriously, you wanker. Don’t pretend you don’t want to. It’s definitely a too late for you to start playing hard to get, Baz.”

Called out, I abandon my false protests, twisting onto my side, and wordlessly surrendering to what I want.

Wrapping a strong arm around my waist, he pulls me backwards slightly, and tucks me against his body, neatly.

With my face hidden from view, I smile, privately - The simple innocence of having him besides me, embarrassingly thrilling.

“G’night, Baz,” he mumbles, drowsily, blessing my shoulder with a feather-light kiss.

Uncontrollably lovestruck, I decide to indulge him (And, if I’m being honest, myself).

“Goodnight, Simon,” I coo.“Sleep well.”

With his smile against my skin, I flutter my eyes shut, and snuggle against him. Unfamiliarly content, I succumb to sleep, quickly - My mind blissfully quiet, and my heart seeped in love.

#carry on #wayward son #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch

11 notes · View notes

punkcupcakestyles · 3 years

Text

Just One More Time

PART 2 COMING SOON (sneak peek)

part 1

Harry was insufferable, and he knew it.

“I don’t want to sleep with you,” you patiently said, as if he were a child and you were explaining to him why he couldn’t have the candy he wanted. “I just want to sleep.”

It was absolutely true. The events of the night had left you drained and your ankle still felt sore from the moment you twisted it and your heel broke. You shouldn’t have gone out that night, you kept repeating to yourself.

Harry provided you with your first triumph of the night, as he got up from his comfortable spot on the couch. But it was a short-lived sentiment because as soon as Harry stood in front of you, the air started to run heavily in your lungs. It was a new kind of feeling, only being able to feel him and not see him. Your skin prickled at his breath that fanned over your heated skin and the air filled with his sweet smell of oranges on a crisp summer morning.

“Just sleep?” Harry asked with a deep voice, and your body tingled in parts it should most definitely not be tingling.

“Y-yes.”

“Your call, then,” he said, with a smile that lingered in the air, and felt him walk away from you.

Well, it definitely felt like you had made the wrong one.

Harry stopped right as you got to the mattress and his hand left yours, going to your waist instead. The world stopped and you paralyzed with it, forgetting how to breathe as you waited for his next move. It could be anything, you truly didn’t care, because maybe then you would forget about the night, and you needed to forget.

“So, how do you wanna do this?” Harry asked as he sat on the mattress. Oh, you wanted to do this in a lot of ways. But none of them seemed like something you could say out loud. So you stayed quiet, rolling the cotton fabric of his sheets between your fingers as you waited for him to take the first guess. “Should I hug you? Would that keep you warm?” Harry offered and you nodded, not fully realizing that he couldn’t see you. “Use your words.”

“Yes, please,” you said, as energy ran up your spine. “Why do you sound like you enjoy ordering people around in bed?”

“Because I do,” Harry replied and there was definitely a smirk on his lips.

“You’re just wearing a shirt?” Harry asked and you had to drown out a grunt of despair, pretty sure that your voice would give up on you if you tried talking.

“I’m not wearing any pants of yours,” you said.

“Why not?”

“Because...you could’ve done things...and they could be dirty...and I’m not risking it.”

“What kind of things?” Harry teased you. He knew the answer very well, he just wanted to hear you say it.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Please, tell.”

“I mean, you might’ve touched yourself…”

“And?” He pressed.

“And...cum might be in your pants.”

“That night I came a few times in your pussy, that didn’t seem to bother you. You actually cleaned me off with your tongue, remember?” Harry was enjoying himself, pressing your buttons hard enough to get you mad, but also, to make you think about the night he fucked you as you had never been fucked before. You remembered it well, especially in your lonely nights and in your long showers.

“Did I? I cannot remember.”

Harry lied back down on the bed, and once again, an electric wave rolled down your body, reacting to his presence next to you. It did the trick because you felt warm enough already.

“So, what were you doing home tonight?” You asked, wanting to get rid of the tension that was filling the air. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Sure…”

****

It wasn’t like you had noticed. Actually, you were blissfully unaware of the world around you. Harry’s arms surrounded you, his fingers tangled in your hair while his other hand went under your shirt, as you hid your face on the crook of his neck. Nothing could bother you at that moment, except for the loud banging on the door.

You jolted up, untangling yourself hastily from Harry as you begrudgingly opened your eyes and sneered at the air. Whoever it was was relentless, ringing the bell as if their life depended on it.

“Hhmm?”

“Someone’s at the door.”

“Could you please open it?” He said without bothering to wake up completely. You could see that he was doing his very best not to, actually.

“What if it’s your girlfriend? And she drags me by my hair?”

“It won’t be.”

“I’m sorry, I was looking for Harry, I need his help with...something.”

Oh, where’s Mr. Lee, darling? Could he not possibly help? You thought, but those questions were pushed down in your brain, not daring to come out and live in the air.

“He’s asleep,” you smiled brightly and you could see the wheels turning in her head, as she wondered...“But I’ll make sure he gets the message.”

“Yeap.”

“Oh...so you slept here?”

So, Mrs. Lee...

“It was Mrs. Lee,” you managed to smirk. “She said she needed your help, which I think it’s code for her wanting you to fuck her.”

“You think?” Harry chuckled and you waltzed closer to him until you were standing in front of him.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first neighbor you fucked.”

“Or the one I want to fuck the most,” he smiled.

“No? Who’s that?”

#harry styles #harry styles fan fic #1dff #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #is this too long to not have a read more?

36 notes · View notes

rosellasans · 4 years

Text

Definitely Okay With This

Summary: Sans set his brother up on a blind date with his friend.

Ballet/Dance AU

Pairing: Cinnamon Roses - Papyrus/Rose; hint of Kustard

Rated T

“Huh? A blind date?” Papyrus was in the dressing room. His brother visited him and proposed such a thing. Which was rare and unexpected. So Papyrus was skeptical.

“Yeah, bro. I figured, since you were dedicating yourself to your a lot, I could introduce you to a friend of mine. He’s also in the ballet business.”

“Oh?” That’s a surprise. “Guess I could give it a shot.” It doesn’t hurt. And since his brother approved this person enough to introduce them, he was also curious.

“Great. I’ll give him a call. How does the See You Latte Cafe sound?”

“Terrible.” Sans chuckled as Papyrus groaned. “Why would they get such an atrocious name for a perfectly good cafe.”

Sans shrugged. “Dun know, bro. I think it’s brew—” “Don’t” “—tiful.”

“Uuurgghhhh.” Of course.

----

Papyrus dressed impeccably. A far cry to his old dating outfit. His brother told him he’d come a long way, but Papyrus couldn’t help but wonder what Sans’s expression would be like if he told him he was joking all that time?

Regardless, a light blue collared shirt, a pair of light beige pants, brown moccasins, watch and shades, and he was good to go. Oh! He made sure he didn’t forget his wallet and keys before leaving the house and taking his car to head to the cafe.

It didn’t take long for him to reach his destination, parking the car in the lot as he heads inside. Sans told him that his blind date would be wearing a dark orange sweater shirt and black pants.

Ah. Papyrus spotted his date. They also had shades, set on the table by the small leather bag, and a watch on them. It was a skeleton monster like him … with an obvious difference. The other’s ectobody was out from those hills under their sweater shirt and how those pants were filled out.

Oh. He was staring. How uncouth. He should go and introduce himself already.

Papyrus walked up to his date with an amiable smile. “Hello! Did I keep you long?”

The skeleton smiled back, making Papyrus notice how similar he was to Red and Fell. Sharp teeth. “Not at all. I just came not too long ago.”

“That’s a relief.” Papyrus sat across the monster. “It’s honestly a surprise to me that my brother was actually meticulous with time. For once.” His date chuckled. Always a good sign. “Say, if you don’t mind me askin’.”

“How I know Sans?”

“It’s rather rare for him to introduce his friends to me as potential dating partners.”

“My, I’m flattered by the high standards.”

“Oh! That’s not what I—”

“Relax, relax. I know what ya mean.” The other grinned. “And I suppose it’s because I work in the dance industry. Heard you do too. Sans and I met at a dance club with his other friends. They were actually getting into some fight. The owner of the club was someone I knew, so in order to stop the whole thing from getting worse, I had to interfere.”

“Wowie! What happened?” Sans certainly hasn’t told him of such a thing! This is news to him.

“Well, the rowdy crowd wasn’t settling down through talking, so I took ‘em outside and beat them up… Oh! But I made sure to hold back. I didn’t want to risk injuring anything cuz I had a rehearsal the day after.”

“Fair point.” Papyrus nodded in agreement. It was a good surprise that his date had good combat abilities along with dancing. It was admirable. “Pardon the late introduction. My name is Papyrus.”

“I’m Rosella, but Rose is preferred.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Papyrus winked.

Rose chuckled, “Pleasure is all mine~” He winked, flirting back. And Papyrus was definitely okay with that.

Chatting over tea, and baked goods, Papyrus didn’t mind how flirty and maybe even raunchy Rose could get to his surprise. They also worked in the ballet industry with Rose taking the ballerina roles, and Papyrus taking the danseur. They could work on doing a duet together in the future if everything goes well.

They walked around town afterwards, bantering back and forth, arguing and defending their opinions towards various topics, and were still open to accepting concepts for debate.

“No, but you know werewolves in those movies transform after being bitten or scratched, hence ‘infected’?” Rose questioned, looking through a rack of clothes. They were window shopping.

“Right.” That was certainly the case. Papyrus picked out a shirt and showed to Rose. The latter chuckled at what it said. ‘:): You decide’ It was simple and smart. Back to the rack it goes.

“If they give birth, would it still be human?”

“Hmm. I would believe so. They only shift in full moon. Or shift whenever they according to that other movie.”

“Ah ah ah.” Rose wiggled his finger. “But isn’t there an original? If that’s the case, won’t they give birth to puppies then?”

… Huh.

“Sooooooooo~” Rose grinned. “Is it still human? Or puppies?”

Goodness! “More research would be needed!”

“Mhm.” Rose smiled brightly. “I agree.”

Papyrus had never been so happy to agree to this blind date. He found himself already planning another date with Rose with how much fun he was having. It was already becoming late, so they headed back to the car, and Papyrus drove Rose home.

“Thanks for today. I had a great time.”

Papyrus felt the same way. “Me too. I was, um, actually wondering when you’re free.”

“Freedom,” Rose said seriously, dramatically. “Is life’s great lie.”

Papyrus followed in a beat. “Once you accept that,” he took off his shades. “In your heart, you will know peace.”

“I’m free next weekend.”

“I am too. So movies?”

Rose leaned over for a peck on the cheek. “Movies.”

----

Assemblé. Grande Jeté. Pirouette. Croisé. Plié.

The danseur and the ballerina never missed the rhythm. The emotion and grace with each movement. The audience couldn’t look away.

Even though Romeo and Juliet was a famous piece, done over and over, the tragic and sweet love of youth was projected, captivating and moving people to tears.

As sweat trailed down from Papyrus’ jaw from the intensity of the finished performance, it looked like he bore tears of agony and excruciating pain at the loss of his love. Following after death.

Rose performed a solo. With the death of his partner, bore a mournful express. It seemed that he was brought to tears at the end of their love. And only when he soon followed after, there was peace.

The crowd cheered loudly, giving a standing ovation as the curtain closed.

And all the dancers went on stage to make one big bow.

The performance was a success.

----

“Great performance, bro. It was a real—” “Don’t” “—tear-jerker.”

“Uuuuugghhhhh.”

Rose entered the dressing room, chuckling after hearing the pun. “Sounds like you’re—” “Don’t” “—crying out loud.”

“Why must you also make me suffer?”

“Wife privileges.” Rose quipped.

“Brother privileges.” Sans added.

And their responses made Papyrus groan some more. “Insufferable!”

“Yeah, but you love us~!” Rose went to wrap his arms around his husband’s waist from behind.

“Unfortunately.”

“Heh. I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. Else my own husband will come barking mad at me for disappearing again.”

“Tell Red I said try out the dildoes I gave him to practice deepthroating on.”

Sans turned blue while Papyrus coughed. Crude as always.

“H-Heh. Will do.” And he was gone.

“... They’re so gonna fuck.”

“A big possibility. But that’s none of our business.”

“Hehe~ I’m too lazy to argue with that.”

Papyrus swivelled around to face Rose, pulling him to an embrace.”Great work out there, love.”

“Mmm.” Rose snuggled to Papyrus. “Thanks, you too. Your jumps were very—”

Papyrus put a finger on Rose’s mouth. “No no. I’ve had quite enough today. If you make any more. I’m not baking you any cream puffs—” Rose gasped. “—for a week.” Rose gasped louder. Honestly, his wife loved cream puffs too much. It surprised Papyrus early in their relationship by how much. It was scary.

Where does it even go anyway … Ah. His question was answered when he looked down at the soft pillows against him. Right. It goes there.

“Okay, no more puns.” Rose immediately conceded. His life was on the line. The things he’d do for cream puffs. “On another topic, where are we going to celebrate our 4th anniversary?”

“We’ll see what resorts we can book for that month.” Their work was finished, so they were using their vacation days for one month trip.

“Hehe~ Rather excited on the fun things we could do.”

“Must you always have sex in mind?”

“Yes. It’s mandatory. Who am I, without sex.”

Papyrus snorted. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I’m lucky that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me.” The glint of their silver rings shone under the lights.

It caught Papyrus off-guard to hear something sincere from Rose. His heart softened and warmed, holding his dearest tight. “And I never regretted it.” It was uncommon near to rare to see Rose blushing and being endearing. And it was all only for Papyrus to see.

He was definitely okay with that.

#cinnamon roses #rosella sans #ut!papyrus

6 notes · View notes